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Write a story given the following prompt: You are a dog and live a happy and peaceful life with your human master, John Wick. One day, some thugs break into the house, beat John Wick to death and steal his car. They took the life of the only human who cared about you and gave you love... it is time for revenge.
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Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark.Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Whimper. Cry bark. Whimper. Cry, cry. Bark. Arf, arf. Arf? Arf, arf? Bark, bark! Bark!!!
Bark, bark. Bark. Bark...
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Write a story given the following prompt: One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
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I woke up. It was any other day. But I had a certain pep in my step. Something that couldn’t quite be described. I went over to my closet to get ready for work.
They were back
I tried to convince myself that all of this. It was just a dream. A twist on that nightmare I had so many times before. I swiftly ran out of my room Into my bathroom downstairs. Pure panic overtook me but it all subsided when I finally got to the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away but my eyes were dead locked on this person in the mirror staring back at me. This person is not who I am. This thing in the mirror is not me. I tried to make sense of it all but I couldn’t. I grabbed my phone of if the kitchen counter that I forgot the night before. Still half dressed I skimmed my text messages.
At that moment I realized that this wasn’t a nightmare. I put it my phone down and the same word kept repeating in my head
“She”
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Write a story given the following prompt: America is at war and has reconstituted the draft. Soldiers are separated for training based on how combat ready they are. The war seems lost, but the last and largest platoon of soldiers, made of up of the furthest obese is about to be deployed.
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The war was lost. Everyone knew it. Patriotism was dead. No one believed that what we were doing was right. Everyone knew that you needed to meet the physical requirements to be sent off to battle. So the smartest among the Americans did everything that they could to become as obese as possible.
At first the government didn't catch on. The sudden rise in obesity to even more epic proportions was seen as a coping mechanism to The Dark Wars. But as the McDonald's sales skyrocketed and the gym memberships dropped, the government became suspicious. They began recruiting the obese specifically, as a deterrent.
It still took about six months until this wave of obese recruits were ready. They had become at that point a sort of spiteful side project. Troops were getting low, and the remaining Drill Sergeants did every thing they could to make their lives a living hell. Many died of heart attacks during training. Many died under suspicious circumstances.
By the time things had been deemed hopeless, and surrender was a sure thing, the government decided to still send in the last wave. Company Fat Boy, as they were called. That was their official name. Their nicknames were much more imsulting.
But then, something unexpected happened. The formerly obese men of Company Fat Boy were already among the brightest and most determined. They had sacrificed their health to try to avoid a pointless war. Now on top of that, they had spent the last six months under he'll is circumstances, working just to stay alive.
These were no longer ordinary men. They had strong bones and even stronger minds. They swept through the battle fields with the fury of an inferno. The enemy was left devastated and confused. These men did not care if they lived or died. They were able to work out brilliant tactical strategies on the fly. The government had accidentally created an army of super soilders.
And after they were done with the enemy, they turned their anger back on the hand that did not feed them.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
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My phone rang for the third time in 10 minutes. I made a mental note to change the ringtone to something less patriotic and swiped up on the little green icon.
"John! Mate I've been trying to get through for ages!" came a frantic voice down the phone.
"Oh, well sorry Barry..." I lied, "it must've been on silent" I lied again.
"No, no, it's okay. But we have a problem here! You know that stuff you wrote? The stuff for the admin thing? You know it right? Well it's broken and we don't know what to do! I tried opening it in excel and it can't read it!"
I sighed. This was not an unexpected call, but also it was a call I was no longer paid to deal with.
"Barry, look. I modernised all our internal software, it's a bit of python and it automates everything we used to do manually. It's probably just that a feed from the outer guard posts is stuck and needs... Well, it needs sorting out really."
"But HOW John? No-one here can program! Shit, Sam can't even plug in his mouse half the time, Vicki's great for physical combat but not one for numbers, and Ash wouldn't even notice if he didn't get paid in a year, dopey prick."
"Barry, His Royal fucking Highness Prince fucking Ezra decided in his infinite wisdom that I could be spared in the restructuring of the guard. If you have a problem I'm afraid that either you're gonna want to rehire me and hope to whatever sad Gods you worship that I feel like taking it on, or you pay my contractor fees. Take that to the Prince and remind him, preferably with a fist, that when choosing people to get rid of, sysadmins should not be top of the list."
I hung up, infuriated, but pleased. That had been a long time coming and damn did it feel good. But something didn't quiiiiite sit right with me. I hit redial.
" John? What...?"
" And tell him I want an office cat."
*Click*
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Write a story given the following prompt: The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
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"We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
Tom sent the message, his hand lingering on the button a moment as he watched the transmission status. "That's it, then. I'll never see home again."
>but you are home
Tom nodded to the empty air, limping on his injured leg as he left the communications hub. He held the wound on his side, blood seeping through his fingers. Mullins... damn him. Got the jump on him.
Tom took a moment to kick Mullin's lifeless corpse as he shuffled out of the comm room. The hallway outside was littered with detritus. Plaster and metal from damaged walls. Shards of plastene from shattered windows. The shimmer of emergency force fields the only thing standing between Tom and the crimson expanse of the Martian landscape outside.
>is it not beautiful tom
He could only nod, clenching his teeth against the pain in his side and in his leg. The temperature was dropping. Wafts of steam rose from the still-warm bodies of Henderson, Guttierez, Smythe-Barnes, Nokimura, and Mikhailov. Their shells littered the hall, sprays of blood adorning the nearby walls. Smythe-Barnes had been divorced from her legs. Tom couldn't remember where he had left them, but watching her crawl for help had been...
>delightful
No. It had been horrible. Monsterous. But also, worthwhile. "All for you." Tom whispered.
>yes tom
>
>come to me now my love
Tom turned to the shimmering force field patching the hole in the station. It was built to hold back the vacuum of thin atmosphere, but a human could push through it easily. Normally this would be done to effect repairs, but today...
Tom picked up the helmet of a nearby exosuit. Affixed the seals, checked the air supply. One hour of oxygen. More than he needed. She was close. So close her whispers tickled his ear.
>come to me tom
>
>we will be together forever
Tom slipped through the force field, and shuffled across the arid red valleys of Mars.
​
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Write a story given the following prompt: In the near future both the U.S. and Russia have new presidents, both of whom happen to be alcoholics. On a state visit at the White House they start taking shots of vodka one evening, and just for laughs decide to pass the time by planning a joint invasion of a random country.
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"How about... Denmark? No, wait, Switzerland! Those neutral bastards"
"And gain what from it Comrade? Lower cheese prices? Switzerland will never work!"
The clattering of a toast and pained exhalations followed shortly.
"Maybe... maybe Belgium? Wouldn't that be unexpected?"
"Remember what happened last time someone invaded Belgium?"
"Not really... wha-"
"Exactly."
Uproarious laughter, clinking, and another round of harsh exhales.
"Yaknow, I think we should throw a huge curveball to the world bud."
"What were you thinking?"
"Why don't we invade- now just hear me out- why don't we invade each others countries at the exact same time and act confused when there's no one there."
"THAT'S BRILLIANT! I'LL DRINK TA THAT!"
Suddenly, another voice, uncharacteristically sober given the atmosphere of the two in conversation, chimed in with "Uh, Mr. President, maybe we ought not subject our citizens to an invasion this shortly after the incidents in Paris."
"Ah, what do you know, besides, it might give some of our gun loving citizens a chance to practice their aim!"
"Hey now, I don't want my men actually getting shot at! Maybe this isn't a good plan... Why don't we declare war on the hole in the O-zone layer and invade Antarctica?"
"If I wanted to feel that cold an atmosphere I would take my wife to dinner."
"HAHAH A toast to that!"
Clink.
Edit: I guess I need to research more to avoid accidentally starting /r/askhistory threads about the rocky military history of Western Europe. Who knew?
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Write a story given the following prompt: After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
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This was a mistake.
When we arrived the whole planet focused on us as though a great beast was questioning who had awoken it far far to soon.
At the start. Before our intentions were known and we offered them a choice of submit or perish they were excited buzzing around in a frenzy that so many other species had when we first came to them. The curiosity in their eyes burned brightly that they could illuminate the dark mysteries of our universe.
Those flames were extinguished in a heart beat. Replaced by the cold dead eyes of untamed fury that knew no fear. Those weren't the eyes of a race that knew only peace. One of their leaders - female nearing the end of their short life cycle - stepped forward her shaking steps were only achieved by the aid of a short stick.
To those present that day it was something that still haunts us. The aged female showed her teeth, eyes closed, lips curled upwards. And her words resounded in everyone of our warriors and in the everyone of their population.
It was a challenge one that we were not ready for. Just as the galaxy is not ready for them.
"Come and take it."
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Write a story given the following prompt: After struggling in school all year you finally stood up to your bully and knocked him out with a punch in front of everyone. He promptly disapperead, turning into a pile of quarters.
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Last year I moved to Toronto, it has *not* been a pleasant experience. Every day that cockthistle Jason makes my life a living hell. Just this week he poured a Gatorade in my lap and told everyone I pissed myself.
20 minutes ago he punched me in the back of the head and yelled "donkey punch" then he called me gay for it, I'm done. I miss New York, things made sense there. I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice.
Oh great, here he comes.
"Neeerd! Whassup? Eating lunch?"
"Yeah", Go the fuck away
"Whatcha got there?"
"Fishsticks", Please for the love of all that is holy, go the fuck away!
"Fish-dicks? You putting fish-dicks in your mouth?!, Hey you a gay fish?"
"Whatever", God, shut the fuck up
"We got a gay fish here! Suckin' them fish-dicks!"
Why is my fist moving? Why do I feel the contours of his eyesocket on my knuckles?...
...Holy fuck, he exploded. Why did he explode? Is that spare change? Oh god, I'm going to jail. It's not even enough for bus fare!
Now I'm in the principals office, I can't focus on what he's saying, I just killed a guy, I punched him into quarters, that's involuntary manslaughter at least, I wonder if Canadian prison is nicer. The principal is talking louder, I should probably listen
"...So just have your parents sign the note, Ok?"
"You're sending me home with a note? Just a note? I killed a guy, in broad daylight, with my bare hands..."
"Oh, boys will be boys, the important part is nobody got caught in the crossfire"
"Is this how it is all over Canada?"
"Oh yeah, except for Quebec, they've got some weird laws, anywho, you've got a class to get to"
Jason Whooped my ass and I'm in a coma, right? What just happened? Am I high right now?... Oh Canada...
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Write a story given the following prompt: The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
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I remember the first morning I had to head up to the mill under our new Eternal Lord of Darkness. I slowly leered out of the thin opening in my front door. The sky had turned dark, and red clouds hung in the air above us. I stepped back to hold my wife goodbye, took a deep breath of courage, and stepped out onto the harsh rocks...
Pavement? That's odd. Rather than the typical blisters and sharp pains of unleaded rock, my bare feet were met by the smooth calming surface of nearly cut and placed rock. I looked to both sides, and the entire street was paved as far as my eyes could see. Did the Lord of Darkness actually pave the entire city's ground? All in one night, too?
I cautiously made my way down the street towards my lumber mill. At the end of the street, I saw a patrol group pass by in horse-drawn carriage. Four of the darkly clod soldiers we had come to fear and respect rode in the back, their spears sticking up menacingly out of the ride. Suddenly one of them ran out of the carriage and pointed the spear directly at an innocent and sickly townsman's throat. I stopped walking and clutched my chest in horrid anticipation for the atrocity I was about to witness.
But the poor man turned out to be a thief, handed over the bread he had stolen, and was let off with a warning. We could actually sleep easy tonight under the new patrol group's watch! What a lunacy, that the Dark Lord would actually improve upon our safety and comfort, and deliver such a keenly fair sense of justice...
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Write a serious, adult story in a style normally intended for children.
Think fairy tales, nursery rhymes, picture books (without pictures, probably), educational stories. The intended age range is loose, e.g. everything from *See Spot Run* to *Make Way For Ducklings*.
The important thing is that the seriousness of the story should be at odds with a format we normally associate with unambiguously happy endings or simple morality tales.
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No more bump, bump is gone.
But mommy said bacon done.
Sizzle, sizzle, yum yum yum.
But mommys eyes begin to run.
Milk spilled on floor,
Mommy cries more.
Daddy yell. Eyes swell. I hide. Where they can't find.
In a crib. Empty room. Down the hall. It's for Paul.
Mommy comes in. Skinny and tall. I jump in the crib.
"Look I'm Paul!"
Mommy puts her robe to her eyes. I ask her to stop and start to cry.
I walk to her and grab her robe of silk.
"Don't cry mommy, it's just spilled milk!"
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Write a story given the following prompt: An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti, and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying: "Wait...one's still here?"
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"Now hang on a second, this isn't right. How did you get immortality?"
"Genie."
"A genie? No that doesn't make sense. Wait a second. Guys, did anyone put a genie in this one? No? No, I'm sorry friend, we're quite certain there were no genies in this universe."
"I'm telling you, I found a genie on the planet Earth."
"Earth? Hang on. Hmm - gosh, that hasn't been around for trillions of years! Let me dig out the records."
"Has it been trillions?"
"Oh my yes, have you just been floating there ever since?"
"Yeah. I got to watch The Milky Way and Andromeda collide, that was pretty cool."
"What have you been doing ever since?"
"The wish apparently kept my mind as healthy as my body. I've just been day dreaming. It's been dull but I'm not a ruin of a mind or anything."
"Well that's good. Ok, I have Earth here now. Let me see. Floyd, Earth was yours, wasn't it? This looks awfully like a genie to me. What's that? *Flavour*? We agreed no genies in this universe. You've gone and left this fellow floating for trillions of years. No, no, I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm terrible sorry about all this, friend. Well, we can snuff you out now if you like. We've got root control."
"Any other options?"
"I suppose we could pull you from the simulation and instantiate you in the top-level universe, if you like?"
"Yeah let's do that."
"Alrighty. What? I don't care if it's against policy. Get him a body ASAP. If he's lucky he'll be up and about in time for cake."
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Write a story given the following prompt: Abducted humans have, so far, all displayed the same internal organ structure common throughout the galaxy with only one exception. Every one of them has a Glarnak parasite beating inside their chest. They even think it's necessary for life.
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"What do you mean, dead?" His wide black eyes blinked slowly.
"I'm telling you, we excised the parasite absolutely perfectly. Not even a trace of it left anywhere in the subject's system. They expired partway through the surgery, and get this-- the GLARNAK died first. Not the host, the parasite."
"That's..." He trailed off, long spindly fingers stroking his almost nonexistent chin. "That's impossible. What other possibilities could there be?"
"It gets worse. Almost everything down there has one. Hundreds of trillions of parasites, even down to the class 1 organisms. It's the same with all of them; the Glarnak cannot be removed without killing the host."
He sat down on the hovering, ovoid seat at the table. "Good stars, how in the universe did we miss this one? How did ANY of us miss this one? Billions of years! Billions! The Glarnak have never invaded a planet so thoroughly and so early. The longest blight on our side of this damn glitter pinwheel lasted a hundred years. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of damage it's wreaked here. The death toll must be absolutely staggering."
The other technician nodded slowly, his large head bobbing. "What do you suppose we do? We can't vaporize the planet, the Glarnak might spread again. But we can't let them get offworld either."
He rubbed his huge eyes, and sighed. "I'll discuss the findings with the Grand Architect. In the meantime, keep a taskforce here to observe. Observe \*only\*. Any samples must be taken with my go-ahead. I can't risk any of you getting infected, even briefly. Don't let them get off this rock. Don't let them see you."
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Write a story given the following prompt: Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
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Alex,
It has been 99 days since you left. 99 days. Some days are easier than the rest. There are days when I genuinely smile as I remember you. You left me with so many good memories; and I thank you for each and every one. I miss you. Every. Single. Day.
You said we'd be together for the rest of our lives - we just didn't realize how short the rest of your life would be. I will love you, for the rest of mine.
Yours Forever,
Aya
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.
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I look at the clock, and right on cue, he appears in front of me with his ridiculous little horns on his head. I'm already putting his order into the register before he says-
"One large coffee. Black"
Black. So cliché. Heaven forbid the Dark Lord orders anything other than a plain black coffee. No milk or sugar for this guy.
He hands me some cash, I always think that is funny. A demon giving me money for the coffee. As if I would refuse him service if he decided not to pay me. Its good to know that there is some sense of morality in hell.
As I put the cash in the register and give him his change, I wonder how he even has cash. Is there capitalism in hell. Is this demon on payroll. Does he have to file an expense report or is this taken out of a petty cash fund? Or is this demon just conjuring money out of air, causing further inflation to our economy. Damn... I gotta stop taking the night shift. My mind is going wild from the lack of sleep.
I prepare his plain black coffee. At least it is not complicated. I can just cruise. In the corner of my eye I can see the demon staring at me. I would say that this behavior creeps me out, but its a demon. Their whole thing is creeping people out. And somehow knowing that is comforting. Like he is just doing what demons do.
The coffee is finally done. It only took a minute, but 3:33 is always the longest minute of the night. Somehow I don't feel like that is just psychological. I feel like the demon is distorting time somehow. I put the coffee on the counter and yell out,
"Tim!"
The demon's name is Tim. Yup.
He takes the coffee and poofs into a puff of smoke. I pull out my phone and start browsing Instagram. Finally, at least the worst of my night is over.
"Excuse me! Can I order a latte?! What is taking so long? I want service now!"
Of fuck, I spoke too soon. Karen is here. Now I miss the demon.
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Write a story given the following prompt: : Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
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Police helicopters roared overhead the densely packed apartment complex. In one of the tiny apartments below, I sat at a dingy kitchen table. Across from me, a man sat slumped in his chair, his hands cuffed behind him. A frustrated scowl etched on his face. "You couldn't have possibly traced the explosives", he said perplexed. "And you found me much too quickly after I announced my ransom demands..." I smiled, and said a phrase I'd uttered to hundreds of suspects before, "Well that's the thing Mr. Griggs, ever since I was a young boy I could always find the remote." His eyes widened in the sickening realization that he had just been collared because of my silly little ability to find the location of any remote control. Just then, one of the CSI detectives burst into the cramped kitched. "Sir, we can't find the remote detonator anywhere." I concentrated again to try and locate the precise location of the detonator within the apartment and my heart sank as my eyes drifted back towards Griggs. At that moment, his scowl turned into a crooked smile. "Isn't this a coincidence", he said in a twisted, jovial tone. "Ever since I was a boy, I never needed a remote."
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Write a story given the following prompt: When Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, he neglected to give him the ability to die again. 2,000 years later, it doesn't feel like a miracle anymore.
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Lazarus tried the church doors. They were locked.
He sat down on the sidewalk and huddled in his rags.
People passed. Time passed. Seconds and minutes were nothing to Lazarus. He waited. Waiting was what he'd become best at.
The priest came out of the front doors sometime that evening. He saw Lazarus sitting on the sidewalk near the steps.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I'm just looking for shelter," said Lazarus. "I'm very tired and I need a place to sleep."
"Of course," said the priest. "There's a homeless shelter on 4th. I can take you there if you like."
"I need to get inside the church," said Lazarus. "I need to talk to Christ. I tried earlier but the doors were locked. It's of great sadness to me that even God's house has to lock its doors in this day and age."
"You don't need to be in a church to talk to Christ," said the priest. "Would you like me to pray with you?"
"I'm afraid I must insist," said Lazarus. "I must look upon His image and speak with him."
"God and His Son are all around us at all times," said the priest. "You can tell him whatever you like wherever you are."
"I understand," said Lazarus patiently. "But I really must speak with an image of Him. It makes it so much easier. I need to see if I am allowed to rest yet."
"Rest?" the priest asked, puzzled.
"Five minutes of your time," said Lazarus.
The priest was in a bit of a hurry, but he was a kind young man and he could spare more than five minutes for this fellow, who looked to be more than down on his luck.
"Of course," he said. Out came his keys and into the church lobby the two of them strolled.
"Where are you from?" the priest asked the homeless man as they made for the chapel, the scent of cedar and incense invading their nostrils. "You don't sound like you're from around here, if you don't mind me saying so."
Lazarus looked at the young priest. His eyes held eons.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
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Write a story given the following prompt: A wizard tutor realizes that, for some odd reason, his client is a prodigy who’s purposefully been hiding their abilities all these years.
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“That’s very good work boy; excellent attempt of the incantation, but try sounding out the word before you start… okay?” Ingress picked the last mangled green leg from her curled hair, flicking it to the floor.
The sorceress regarded her student with malice as the small boy reached for their last toad, setting it carefully on the blackened stone pedestal; wiping away a small pile of his last test subject away as he did so. She didn’t know just yet why the boy decided to hide his power, why he insisted on playing the fool, but a nagging inclination told her to wait and keep ‘teaching’ him to see.
“Wes-Ah-thū-si-thoa” his childlike voice was out of place here, eyes too bright as the toad started to glow, spell taking effect. It made the sorceress recoil, a deep unsettled knot gripping at her gut as she congratulated him. He was getting better.
“You think next time I could make it talk?” He was so excited, buzzing at the minor achievement like he’d levelled a small city. She grimaced.
“Clean this mess first. Then maybe tomorrow once we collect more frogs.”
“Okay!”
Normally Ingress enjoy solitude, going to the trouble of moving to a fortress once used to practice the forbidden arts to escape the masses. However, it seemed she could not dispose of the troubling boy who’d arrived half dead on her step little over a month ago, who’d she begrudgingly agreed to teach the old ways. She didn’t want to take him in, but something pulled her to the door and pulled her to bring him in, like a presence over her shoulder pushing her every move.
He was a terrible student, clearly new to reading as struggled through the simplest of spells. But she wouldn’t complain, nor drop him back on that icy doorstep; because what he lacked in skill he made up for in sheer destructive capability, which showed more often everyday.
So she kept teaching the young boy so full of life in that dead tower; creating a deadly monster.
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Write a story given the following prompt: In this world, the truly dedicated can develop a mundane skill to the point of becoming a reality-breaking superpower. You have mastered procrastination to this level.
Quick note (trying to be helpful for anyone who doesn't know):
Procrastination is putting things off until later.
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George sat down at the computer with a cold ham and cheese sandwich and a flagon of wine.
It was finally time. He stroked his beard complacently and took a swig from the silver flagon engraved with spiraling dragons. It had been a gift from a fan.
For the first time in six years, he touched the keyboard and began to type.
*Jon's body lay lifeless in the cold snow.*
He reread the line. Cold snow? Wasn't all snow *cold*? He backspaced, and tried again.
*The 998th Lord Commander, Jon Snow lay pale and lifeless amidst the snow.*
He hated it. For one, the sentence said snow twice. Again, he backspaced the entire line.
Six years. It had been six years since he had written a single word he was pleased with.
He was getting bombarded with calls from HBO writers and executives. Assaulted by emails and letters from restless fans. He'd even had one man show up at his doorstep and ask him "what's the fucking deal, Martin?"
Still, the royalties were coming steady. The previous books were more popular than ever, and HBO paid a great deal for his intellectual property whether it was on paper or not.
He decided he would try again. He stared at the blank Notepad application open on the screen titled *The Winds of Winter* and waited for the Muse to return.
He looked away from the screen, from the keyboard, and began typing. Yes. Yes, that was it. The words were flowing freely now! After a few moments he looked back at his screen to see what masterpiece he had created.
*flgjkdneksndbi bdidnd psoorbd jeiej.*
"Damnit!" George shouted and took another swig of wine.
He was getting sleepy now. Perhaps he would take a nap. Yes, a little shut eye, and he would return tomorrow well-rested and inspiration abound.
That was it. He would start tomorrow.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D
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"Well, fuck!" boomed a deep voice from the sky.
At first, the only ones startled were the few people who absolutely, positively knew they were nowhere within reach of a P/A system.
"Peter, can you believe this mute button? Could it be any more hidden?" rang the heavens.
Panic began to set in.
Multicultural friends tried to translate the words to each other -- God speaks in a language everyone understands.
Entire cities froze, confused. Nightclubbers, hearing music so loud it was hard to breathe near a speaker, heard the words. Some thought it was the drugs kicking in, most knew this was different.
Underworld meetings promptly turned into shooting galleries -- "he's got a wire!"
Military maneuvers went awry; airplanes fell from the sky.
"Seriously, Jesus, was this you? This is what happens when you get a carpenter to do an engineer's work," commanded the firmaments to the Muslims and Christians.
The Jews heard a complaint about how one God was expected to do everything, the Hindus a joke about how four hands can't find a button.
One guy in Seattle heard a red frog tell a blue frog "mics are so passé."
Turns out one God was the same as many gods as no gods and everyone was right about what happens when you die.
Which was a good thing, because the sudden reappearance of deities after 2,000 years made many people die.
"Ok, ahem, testing, testing. I want you all to be nice to each other, got it?" bellowed the sacred voice from above.
The two billion humans who heard it started cleaning up right away.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
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“Surprised to see me, uncle?”
The heir to the silver city shook his head at me,
“No, I believe it’s always opportune to converse with family, regardless of stance.”
I scoffed,
“Please, we’re apart of a large war that will only end in the destruction of this world.”
Jesus nodded his head, his locks swishing in the slight breeze,
“How’s your father, nephew?”
“You’d like to know.” I seethed. Then, I addressed the crowd that had encircled the two of us. The same people I would of called friends, the same people I had gone to school with. The people I had attended church with, “how can you all stand before him, guided by a falsity. Understand that he wasn’t *sacrificed*, we murdered him. The only reason he has come back is to exact revenge on us for wronging him. Why wouldn’t he? We have warped our ideas on Him to the point it is the premise of warfare and discrimination. You’re so called ‘salvation’ cannot be reached, because it is undeserved-!”
“Don’t listen to him, this man is of the deceiver.”
“I am of the ‘King of this reality’. You said so yourself in that little book of yours. Lucifer, Satan, *your brother* and the *rightful heir to the throne of Jehovah* was the king of this reality-!”
“Until my return!” The saviour cut me off with a hateful glare,
“And you’re supposed to be the forgiving type. See what happens when you disagree with Jesus, people? He only cares about his own opinion, he won’t take yours into consideration if it doesn’t match his beliefs. In fact, I thought Jesus was supposed to be understanding. Not spiteful and hating. Not smug, but humble. You’re not Jesus. I am. You don’t care for these people, I do. Unless your going to come back here with your army of angels like the book of revelations promised, you can leave. Do not return, else you will be smote.”
With that, I backed away from him and left the slightly dispersed crowd in the courtyard as I made my way back to the church.
*Ironic,* I thought to myself as I looked up at the cross on the uppermost spire, *He hates those.*
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Write a story given the following prompt: Your 6 year old daughter is laying on her bed, terrified. She says there’s a monster under her bed. To reassure her, you lay on the ground and check underneath, only to find your daughter, quivering. She whispers, “Daddy, there’s something on top of my bed...”
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"Dammit Emily, I told you not to scare your sister like that. Now get out from under the bed before I ground you for a week."
Emily slowly gets out from under the bed, annoyed in response to me not playing along. Emily looks back at Sarah on the bed and they both giggle.
"It's two o'clock in the morning, just go to bed. We have to go to grandma's in the morning, and if you keep playing around I'll let a real monster eat you!"
My two twin girls giggle again and in unison reply, "Yes daddy."
Emily finally leaves to go to her own room and I sigh, partly from exasperation but mostly from amusement. People told me that twin girls were going to be a handful, but I hadn't realised how much.
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Write a story given the following prompt: “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand.
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"Yes? You at the back?"
"I'm afraid you're entirely wrong, sir."
"Student! Do you cast doubts upon the incredible research of the recent expedition to Earth?"
"Yes, sir, I do. See, I am human myself, and therefore I am in a position to know that much of what you have presented is factually incorrect."
"If you are going to impugn the research abilities of my crew, I suppose it is better to do so specifically. Go ahead."
"To begin with, sir, it is false that humans have never had a war. We have had several throughout our history; indeed, there are three ongoing as we speak."
"Ah, yes. The researchers made a note here. Class, please take note that humans would consider a 'food fight' to be a war if it gets large enough."
"What? No - some of those included nuclear weapons!"
"Bear in mind, class, that the only 'nuclear weapons' that humanity have access to are microwaves, which are used to 'nuke' foodstuffs before fighting."
"And thousands of people slain!"
"Bear in mind, class, that a human can be considered to have been 'slain' by a particularly well-worded insult. The human remains quite healthy afterwards."
"Not that sort of slain!"
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Write a story given the following prompt: Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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"The humans have a saying youngling: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." The lumbering, shambling mass held a limb over his offspring. "I have been ambassador to these humans for seventy of our lunar cycles, and there are many such sayings that inform us of the human's psyche.
The tiny mossy miniature whined, "that makes them sound warlike and vindictive, father! All we hear from them is their will for peace, prosperity, and respect for others."
With a low-toned rumbling of disapproval the ambassador stood to his full 4 meters of height. "You would have heard that. And it is for good reason that you do, for their capacity for war is only exceeded by their capacity for peace. In war they have prospered, yes, but in peace they have prospered beyond all others."
"But why then, for humans tolerate so many, even against so much hate?" The young one pleaded.
"Another turn of phrase from the humans: love thy neighbor as you would love thyself. That came from an ancient man they call the Christ. Fully a third of all humans follow his creed. Another third follow another, the Buddha: Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared."
In awe, "These humans are a conundrum, father. What do you make of them?"
"There are three things all wise-men fear: the sea in a storm, a lightless night, and the anger of a gentle man."
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Write a story given the following prompt: One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
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It started off with slight changes. Freckles started disappearing little by little, scars faded, teeth...even goddamn teeth started to straighten themselves out. But as the number climbed from 1%, to 10%, to 25% and 50%, that's when people started to become alarmed.
10%, all non-essential body hair became nonexistent. Back hair, arm hair, facial, and leg just started disappearing; seemingly receding back into our skin. I didn't mind losing the back-hair.
25%, hair and eye color started to change into singular colors. It didn't matter if you had hair that was as black as night, or as red as fire. It just became...white, and then fell out over time. Eyes went along the same way...just black and soulless. *They* didn't fall out luckily.
50%, skin....your fucking skin. African, Latino, Asian, and even White people started noticing patches of skin that would just...change. It would start off as little as the size of a dime, and it was obviously more noticeable on some more than others. Then they would grow, and eventually it started to look like everyone was stricken with a disease. Patches of bleach white covering bodies like walking chess boards until their entire body was just one bleach white silhouette.
And as that damned number hovers at 69%, I can only imagine what is coming next. I miss those talks I used to have with my wife though, about having kids some day. It's weird you know, I don't even notice it anymore. Not having a toilet anymore finally gave us the room to expand the bedroom.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Out of boredom you decide to break the 4th wall like you are on tv. After a week a strange man appears and yells at you to stop doing that.
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Reddit folks, this is not a drill: I need help. *Someone* is knocking on my door, yelling at me to come let him in.
I work from home, and it gets crazy boring in here… and I used to have a cat… so I guess I got used to talking to my cat? But the cat died before I moved, and I never really dropped the habit of talking to her.
And now this strange man is at the front door, pounding away, demanding to be let in, shouting at me. I can hear him now, saying "Stop doing that, you ass! It's unbelievably annoying. Seriously, open this fucking door, you prick."
I'm terrified y'all. How did he hear me? Maybe he's an NSA agent? When I peeked through my peephole in my door, he was wearing a suit and dark glasses. And he looked super pissed. Were they listening through my phone? Why won't he go away? What is he going to do to me?
I'm going to open the door. If you don't hear back from me in the next 10 minutes, send help to 587 Elder Street in Jackabella, Florida.
Update: I'm an idiot. It was my upstairs neighbor. Guess my new apartment is a lot less sound proof then my old one… but he has a cat, so yay!
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Write a story given the following prompt: Since you were young, time travelers have visited you. One of them explained that, in the future, an algorithm determined that you were the only person in the past that it was safe to visit because no matter what you do it will not change the future. You are determined to prove them wrong.
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The first time traveler that visited me and explained of course I didn't believe, he had what looked like a cool alien ray gun in a holster around his waist. Me being a child thought it was a cool toy, I quickly grabbed it and shot him in a playful way only for him to horribly disintegrate Infront of my eyes!
I was worried for years about some kind of FBI agent from the future coming to arrest me and take me away to a space prison.
When the next traveller came I zapped him within 20 seconds through shock and fear.
Eventually I developed a taste for it, some of them I would talk to a while. Learn what I could about the future if there's yet any mention of my life or anything I'd done. They always said the same, that I had no effect, I have never changed anything from my time to the time they came to see me.
I think I've worked it out, the machines calculations know about what I do to them. They're safe to visit me by time travel because they never get past me. They see me, sit in my living room. They'll never able to change the past by visiting me because they never get past me. They think I have no effect on my immediate future they're right, though I'm certain I've made huge impacts on all of their futures, times from after the calculations are made.
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Write a story given the following prompt: In a world where everyone has at least one minor superpower, you were thought to be powerless... until you nearly died. It seems that you have plot armor, no matter how ridiculous the situation, you survive unscathed due to an even more ridiculous coincidence.
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It's been six years since my capture. I finally discovered my superpower, only to curse whatever god saw fit to give it to me. I've been starved, beaten, tortured, suffocated, irradiated and more. Sure, I survive no matter what the circumstances, but I live an existence of pain and misery.
I thought life would be different, I thought if I signed up to be a super hero that I'd be able to do some good. I thought I would be able to help people with my ability. The recruiter sounded really excited after I told him what I could do, so did his boss, and the scientists, and the President. They wanted me to undergo a few tests so they could see the limits of my ability, maybe find a way to replicate them. I'd never felt so happy in my life.
That was six years ago. They started off slow, see what the difference was, where it would kick in. Turned out, unless I was actually about to die, it did nothing. The first time they shot me in the stomach, they just left me there bleeding and groaning as the wound festered and the infection spread. A few seconds before my heart finally gave out, apparently some sort of healing wave spread throughout the entire planet, curing everyone's illnesses. The second time they electrocuted me, only for the entire power grid to shut down. The latest time they locked me in a room putting out 1000 rads a minute, a sheet of lead fell from the ceiling and covered it completely.
They've stopped feeding me or giving me water, food and water just manage to make their way into my system. Whether it's an IV bag somehow appearing on my arm, or a nest of spiders crawling into my mouth while I'm unconscious.
I can't die no matter what happens. I haven't eaten warm food or drank clean water in years. I haven't bathed in just as long. They want to see what it'll finally take, but nothing stops this power. I can't even take my own life, though I've tried dozens of time. I'm afraid I will be unable to die at all, even from old age, and I'll just survive in this hellish prison for all eternity, unable to do anything but suffer. If I ever find a way to get out, I'll make them pay, I'll make everyone pay.
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Write a story given the following prompt: After your death you are granted the chance to talk with God; he has no clue humans exist
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It was a white room with a table inside. An older man was sitting at the table doing some paperwork. He looked up and greeted me politely. When I introduced myself he became distracted and started to search something in his papers.
“What did you say, who are you again?” - asked God.
“I’m Vincent. It is an honor to meet with you.” - I answered.
“Yeah, yeah. And where are you from?”
“I’m from Rome.”
“I’ve never heard of that planet. Where is it?”
“It’s a city, on Earth.”
“Ah, Earth. I remember creating it. It was designed as a sanctuary for all species in the Universe. It is a real beauty. But wait a second. I thought apes couldn’t talk.”
“I’m human.”
“Human? What is that? Hey Joshua come here. I think I found a new species.”
An other man walked into the room.
“He’s my son, Joshua. You know, this is a family business what we run here.”
“Hello! So you are from Earth?” - asked the man.
“Yes, I’m a human. More specifically I’m a Roman citizen. We’ve conquered all Europe, some part of the Mediterranean and Africa too.”
“That is worrisome. Did you kill the animals and plants there?”
“No, we killed only some of the people living there and we made the rest of them pay taxes for us. We didn’t hurt the animals, they are perfect source of food.”
“Dad, I think they’ve destroyed the Paradise what we’ve built.” - said Joshua. He seemed troubled.
“You should go there and check it out what is going on there.”
“Yes I was thinking of the same. I’m going there right away.” - said as he rushed out of the room.
“What’s going to happen with me now?” - I asked.
The old man stood up and opened the door for me.
“Everything’s going to be alright. My assistant, Lucifer will find you a comfortable place to stay. I wish you a nice stay with us.” - he said as he gently pushed me over the doorway.
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Write a story given the following prompt: : Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see.
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"That thing is massive. It's the size of a bloody ship, it's an apex predator, we need to get away from it."
"Owen, we're just here to observe, not fight it." She finished her drink and lowered the water bottle, answering nonchalantly. "Look, they're not attacking us, I'm sure we'll be fine."
"And what if it does attack us?" he asked indignantly. "We're defenceless."
"We're not supposed to kill them though? That's illegal."
"Which means they can kill us without consequence."
"With what? They don't have any teeth."
"Just look at that thing and say it couldn't."
"I guess they could," she replied. "but would they? We're not their prey."
"Not yet."
She sighed. "Whatever, get your suit on."
"I can't just go down there knowing that I might die."
"You're far more likely to die from... I don't know, an oxygen tank failure. You accepted this risk, coming along with us." She slipped on her goggles and stood up. "Look, just put on your suit, we're almost at the spot."
"We're going to be out there," he paused for dramatic emphasis. "Out there, away from the rest of humanity, surrounded by predators. With no weapons and nothing but our suit to protect us. Damn the laws, damn the mission, if you think this is safe you're crazy. We don't even know how it would kill us, and I don't want to find out. I don't want to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want to have to leave your body behind because we don't have a way to get it back-"
The captain thumped his fist on the wall. "Owen, I don't care if you stay on the ship, but for the love of god if you don't shut up about whales eating people, I'm going to throw you off the side to find out."
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Write a story given the following prompt: You live in a statistically opposite world. If normally 1/5 people had the common cold, now 4/5 people do, if any house had a 1/200 chance of burning down while the owners were away, there is now a 199/200 chance it happening.
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"Honey, did you light the matches before we left?"
I nodded. "And I left the burners on. Did you remember to unlock the house?"
Sally smiled. "You're the one that always forgets."
I smiled back. She was adorable. As I locked eyes with her, I kept one hand on the wheel of the car. Of course, the car stayed right between the lines. As we passed other drivers, I admired the creative ways that they kept their eyes off the road. Feet up, eyes closed, couples sharing the front seat, couples sharing the back seats; everyone had their own method. I personally loved staring at Sally. She was great about helping me stay distracted.
"Hey, honey," she said, "I think our exits up ahead."
I quickly swept my eyes forward, then back. I turned the wheel quickly and jammed on the brakes. We smoothly pulled off.
"How long to the next exit?" I asked.
"Another hour," she coyly replied. I grinned back at her, took my hand off the wheel, and kissed her.
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Write a story given the following prompt: A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
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"I fucking what?" The horned man questioned, lost after the first sentence out the messenger's mouth.
"You have a twin sister with a halo. A prophecy was told to your parents that there would be a good twin and a bad twin. They assumed she was the good twin and that's why you're an orphan but they were wrong! A-and now you gotta go and go back home and fighter her and be an edgy anti-hero, come on dude it'll be fun!" The messenger giddily repeated, making dramatic gestures with a smile from ear to ear on her face.
"Okay okay okay how bad are we talking here? How immediately necessary is it for me to go kill my sister I've never met?" Glyve asked.
"Um..." The goblin girl looked back at the letter. "Very." Glyve rolled his eyes. "Glyve, listen to me, I've been just toting packages from here to other towns for most of my life and you've spent probably 90% of your life in this building, from living here to owning the bar. Do you really not want to go out and *do something* different for once in your life?" Ferine explains, now stern and aggravated.
"... Auuuuugh fiiiiiiine..."
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Write a story given the following prompt: There's a knock on your door. You open it to see your favorite book character standing there. They say, "I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it."
My first time posting here. Hope I did everything right!
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I heard a knock at my front door.
Strange, I wasn't expecting any visitors today.
I walked down the stairs and opened the door.
Standing in front of me was a young blonde woman wearing a bright pink and orange sundress with strange oversized red and blue sunglasses on the top of her head.
"You look just like the cover of your second book you know," the woman spouted out while looking at me like I was some kind of celebrity.
"Huh?" I asked and subtly tried to close the door a little if this was some kind of crazy person.
"Oh, excuse me. I got ahead of myself. I'm Luna Lovegood. You're my favorite book character and I've come here to save you. I brought you some biscuits," Luna said and held up a basket full of sweets. "Not that the biscuits will save you, but I thought it would be a nice gesture since I was showing up unannounced."
"Surrrre..." I started to close the door.
And then the girl took out a stick from her pocket, twirled it, and turned my doormat into a mini giraffe.
My mouth hung open. The former doormat turned giraffe seemed just as startled.
"There we go. I thought you might need proof. Can I come in?" Luna asked calmly.
I stared mystified. A Harry Potter character was standing on my doorstep! That was insane enough. But what I really couldn't wrap my head around was that said character was claiming I was THEIR favorite character. Who would want to read a book about me? It would be one of the most boring books in existence. Was it used to help people fall asleep at night or what?
"Why would anyone want to read a book about my life?" I asked.
"Why would they... Oh! I understand," Luna said absently.
"Huh?" I asked confused.
"Isn't it obvious? The interesting bits haven't happened to you yet," Luna replied dreamingly.
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Write a story given the following prompt: All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
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You know how when you fall asleep on your arm and you wake up and feel that tingly feeling? Yeah? Well imagine that through your entire body. That's not what it is, of course, it's actually just at the base of my skull. But 'The Buzz' as I've come to know it as creeps into my brain stem on the really bad recoil days.
When I was younger it was great. I could use my powers day and night, and in the morning I'd only feel a slight tingle. But now, if I lift for even ten minutes I'm guaranteed a ruined morning from the recoil.
What can I do? Like how much do I lift?
Oh, you want to know my superpower? Oh yeah, I totally spaced it, sorry I'm still recoiling a bit and it's all a bit fuzzy. I can use telekinesis.
I mean, of course we've all tried the home remedies, right? Tea, coffee, exercise, massage, sex. Sorry, was that tmi? Ok, ok. But you know what I mean, you read articles like "Top Ten Ways to Avoid Recoil", you try them, and realize you just have to ride the storm.
Not use my powers? I mean, I try not to go overboard, and right now it's really only when I push myself that I get bad recoil, but no, I'm not gonna stop.
Why? It's who I am, it's what I do. No one is coming up to you saying "Oh, you're tired typing up this report, why don't you quit being a reporter" you-you gotta take the good with the bad, and what? I'm supposed to give up being ranked third in the *world*, as a hero, just so I don't feel a bit of discomfort? I'm sorry, but I can't imagine *not* using my gifts.
*Mymyr*? The street drug? Yeah, it might numb the pain, but it doesn't get rid of recoil, and even then, it only numbs physical types, like speed or strength. People like Phantasm, or uh uh, what's his face? Dragoon, or me even, our recoil is too specific for something like mymyr.
Well, anyway, I have to get back to work, thanks for having me
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Write a story given the following prompt: The world unanimously agrees to build a glass dome around Earth to save the ozone. You help build it, but as you help place the final piece, you realize you were left on the outside.
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As I put the final panel in place, it clicked in my mind why I had the 'honor' of putting the last piece in. My parents were dead, I didn't have a wife and no kids. No one would really miss me. The inside team started to fade away. I think one waved to me.
I looked around me. There was nothing. Just miles and miles and miles of empty space. I had enough air for maybe a hour, if I didn't panic. I cleared my mind. From where I floated I had options....I could break one of the panels and hope I catch up with my team to land safety, which wasn't very likely and would destroy everything we just worked so hard to build. I could stay and watch my past life disappear until my air ran out. Or I could float away and explore...
I loosened my grip. No other human would be going into space until the ozone repaired itself. I pushed off and watched my old home become out of reach. It was too late to change my mind.
My oxygen had lasted for nearly forty five minutes. Now my head felt heavy and the stars blurred. It didn't matter. I was happier dying in space than living on Earth.
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Write a story given the following prompt: God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
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"Finally, it's time", God says as he looks up from his work. It'd taken a short amount of time to bring about peace to the planet Nequior, but it was done. The beings of this desolate place weren't blessed with the ability to work things out on their own. They were a foolish and unruly bunch. Wars, disease, and starvation ravaged the planet the point of no return. Hence, why he turned his eyes upon them to be their salvation. Now, there is no more disparity or hunger. There was peace all around. It was a utopia. An epitome of peaceful politics and technology. "If there were ever a day I felt I could rest, this would be it," he says with a sigh. This is the end of my work. His eyes turn from his current work and scans the view around him. Sadness consumes him. Trouble from thousands of galaxies now clouded his view. A small bit of time to save a few stupid souls had brought about the end others many worlds. It feels like complete and utter defeat. For every one galaxy he manages to save, thousands collapse upon themselves to never be seen again.
"I wonder why I started this in the first place," he mutters. "Life. Death. All of it. I could just restart it all and begin anew." His last venture proved to be a failure. They were equipped with the ability and yet still failed to see. He turns to view its dead landscape and pauses. "How could this-This is impo-" he stutters as he tries to comprehend what he sees over the light years beyond. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "This is not what I had expected to see." There in the mist of the chaos was earth. Small, blue and hapless earth. It was still there.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You've been playing with equations in a notebook and have, if you're right, just discovered time travel. You turn the page and are greeted with one word: "DON'T"
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*Don't*
I look down, puzzled at the word. It's definitely my hand-writing, but I'm positive I didn't write it. I turn the page.
*Forget*
I'm curious now. I can only surmise, by the familiarity of the hand and the fact I keep this notebook locked in a secure safe, that somehow, maybe, my future self has left me a message. A message of such import that he ... or I ... would consider risking a paradox by doing so.
*A*
'Don't forget a,' a what? What don't I forget? *flip*
*Towel*
Goddamn it, me.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You have a friend who's an expert in lucid dreaming. One day, they come to you and says they can't tell apart dreams from reality anymore. You tell them that "if this were a dream, you'd be able to fly right in front of me". And that's exactly what they do.
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The nature of reality largely varies in its definition by its perception through an individual observer.
Perhaps a man lives in a world that was created by a god, a world full of magic and miracles caught between an everlasting war between deific entities.
Maybe to a woman reality is what was created through years of coincidental collisions between particles over millions and billions of years that eventually brought her into a small coffee shop between two abandoned buildings.
In either case, reality is on the surface no different from a dream. A beam of light split through a prism of endless interpretations. I hadn't been one to think of such things much until today, when my reality became my best friend of twelve years taking off into the sky at the speed of sound from a standing position right in front of my eyes.
"So what do you think?" he asked me. It was a fair question.
"I don't think that should be possible," I replied, the calmness of my voice inversely related to how much I was freaking out internally. My immediate reaction of a panic attack had fortunately faded at this point.
He had come to me that day, terrified, saying he went too far with lucid dreaming and could no longer tell apart dream from reality. I was naturally worried, his mental health had been declining recently and I had cautioned him that lucid dreaming was an unhealthy escape that he should not get himself hooked on.
He continued to insist that he was in a dream. I finally told him that he needed to wake up, that if this were a dream he'd be able to fly right in front of me. To say I didn't expect him to do just that would be an understatement.
I reassured him. "It makes more sense that you've developed super powers. You're probably an alien or something."
"Yeah... but that doesn't explain how I can do things like this," with a wave of his hand the apartment complex we were in had suddenly become a barren field, the once mountainous horizon was now entirely covered in sky. Or perhaps it had always been this way.
The reflex to vomit returned.
"This can't be happening. This isn't real. This is a nightmare."
I ordered myself to wake up, and my friend looked at me with pained eyes.
For I was not the dreamer; I was the dream.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Sleeping is unique among Earthlings. It is not uncommon for space travelers to mistake their human shipmates as having died the first time they find them sleeping. You're the only human on a large ship. It has been difficult to get much sleep because of all this confusion.
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“General!, don’t die on us!” Screamed one of my crew mates pulling me straight out of my dream. “Goddamnit man, I was having a good one what’s wrong now” I said half awake. The crewmate looked at me nervously, embarrassed to see I’m clearly not dead.
“How many times has it been now that you’ve interrupted my rest thinking I was dead?” I asked, “50th time this day sir” he replied his head now sunken into his body. “Just, get out of my room unless I’m needed” I point to the door as he slugs his way out of my room.
If I hadn’t of known any better I would’ve thought he wanted me to dead or something.
Ironically I’m quite tired so I’ll finish writing this tomorrow.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Close the biggest plot hole in your favorite book or movie
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"I will go to Mordor, though I do not know the way. Gandalf, could we fly?"
"Yes, Frodo, let's fly. On an eagle. To Mordor. Let's be miles above the ground and the lone object in the sky passing over mountain ranges towards our nemesis who is a giant eye. Even better, let's make sure that we are clinging to a bird that depends on agility in the air to keep it alive or clutched it its talons, which are literally its only weapon."
"So you would go on foot? One does not simply walk into Mordor" roared Boromir, rising to his feet in outrage.
"Better that than caught defenceless in the air by Nazgul! Imagine, Boromir, son of Ecthelion, how long your white city will stand when the ring lies on the broken body of a hobbit fallen in full view of the Dark Lord and smashed upon the plains of Mordor. No, the only way is on foot. We make for the Black Gate."
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Write a story given the following prompt: You were the last of your friends to get the procedure to place your consciousness in a robot body. You wake up after your operation to hear what was supposed to be your new body say "hey! It worked! I'm in the robot body! ...Now what do we do with my old skin?"
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I knew this was a bad idea. Transferring your consciousness? That's not how it works; the camera that is you is stuck to you, it doesn't suddenly shift. All they did was make a copy!
"Take a few minutes to decide. I'll be right back," the doctor said. My copy - the body that I supposedly ought to be occupying - looked at me with eyes that shone slightly, its expression unreadable.
If I could move, I'd scream. But I could manage no sound, couldn't move my arms, could only blink.
So blink I did. Two shorts, then a long, then a short. A short, a long. Another short, one long, two shorts. Three shorts, then one more.
"Come on!", I screamed inside my mind. "Look at me. Look at my eyes!" I learned this code on a dare some years back, and I memorized a secret password back in grade school in case I met someone claiming to be me from the future.
Two longs and a short. Three longs.
It stared, unblinking. It - I - was my only hope.
Long, short, short.
It was subtle - almost unreadable. But my clone's pupils dilated slightly, and it spoke barely above a whisper.
"What have they done to me?"
EDIT: Many thanks to u/Pinbot02 for his correction.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow
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It was Tuesday morning. God I hate Tuesdays.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, logs shipment usually comes in on Wednesdays. That keeps us busy for three days, sometime four, but Tuesdays are always dead.
This means that on Tuesdays, I have to listen to Tom, Jim and Preston talk about their meaningless fantasy football league ALL day. However, this particular Tuesday was going to be even worst.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, security measures aren't always 'by the book'. This means that accidents happen occasionally, sometime frequently, and Monday's accident was a pretty nasty one.
Grabbing a coffee in the office's kitchen should be a pretty simple task, except when Tom, Jim and Preston are there. And since it was Tuesday morning, they we're obviously there, ready to chat.
''Did you hear about Gerry?! His arm got stuck in the big WM yesterday, his whole left arm was chopped by the saw!''
''Yes Tom, I was there.''
''It wasn't just his arm, they say his leg got caught up as well!''
''Yes Jim, I was there.''
''He should of just stopped moving, I heard part of his face was ripped when he tried to pull himself out!''
''Yes Preston, I was there.''
As if my favorite trio wasn't enough, this dude from accounting felt the need to visit our shop this morning to discuss the accident.
''Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off yesterday?!''
''Yes, he's all right now.''
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Write a story given the following prompt: There is nothing unusual about a man in a business suit carrying a briefcase, rushing off to work. But since he just quickly passed you as you are climbing up Mount Everest in full winter gear, you have questions.
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Day 24: A guy ran past me going down the mountain today. Full business attire and muttering about TPS reports being late. I didn’t get a word in before he was too far for it to matter. High strangeness, but it’s best I forget about it.
Day 25: I found a tie in the snow. Same tie he had. I need to forget about him. Since I saw him, I’ve had an anxious feeling about something. I just need to put it out of my mind.
Day 26: There’s something wrong. It’s driving me crazy, I just know it’s important. I found a business suit today. His suit. I can’t stop thinking about why he was up here. I need to put him out of my mind.
Day 27: I can’t sleep. My jaw won’t relax at night and my stomach is in knots. There’s something. I can’t relax until I know what’s wrong. I did find my shoes today though.
Day 28: I can’t stand myself. I left my shirt in the snow last night next to my briefcase. I had to rush to get my suit on, didn’t even get to pack a lunch or make coffee. I’ll have to stop by the bagel store before I get to work. I almost bumped into some guy on my way too, I was too busy thinking about those damn TPS reports I forgot to send in.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
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The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
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Write a story given the following prompt: Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them
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"Some tea, dear?" the little old lady asked to the dark and mysterious figure sitting at her kitchen table. She squinted at him having forgotten her glasses upstairs.
"Yes, earthling," the mysterious figure boomed and whispered all at once, careful not to burst her delicate eardrums with his natural voice as he had with the last earthling he'd met.
"Call me Grammy," Grammy said, and set about preparing the kettle to boil after setting a plate of cookies on the table.
"Yes, Grammy," the figure corrected himself. "Thank you," he added as a stilted afterthought.
---
Ryorek typed the word "dear" into his database.
"Dear: an affectionate term referring to one who is figuratively close to the speaker, such as a family member or an old friend."
Ryorek ran his hand through his tendrils and sighed.
"Agent from Earth sector 9 reporting," he whispered into his communicator. "Advise immediate shelving of phase two. I repeat, advise to abort phase two."
The response rang clear over the comm channel: "Report received, agent. Mission briefing in two cycles."
"Acknowledged."
"Did you say something, dear?" Grammy asked, turning toward him with a pleasant smile on her old and weathered face.
"Not at all, Grammy," Ryorek said. "Thank you for the cookies."
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
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There’s nothing I can do.
He is stronger than me. Faster than me. And while my ability to influence people with music is strong, there are limits to what I can do.
He turns to face my city. Mine. Neighbors, friends, hell, even my enemies lives have meaning. He’s going to destroy it all, and I have only one option left; one that will take us both out of the equation forever.
With trembling hands, I reach towards the player knob, and select the “do not select” setting.
He turns, contemptuous, but as the music begins to play, his smile melts into a dawning realization.
“This is the song that never ends..”
Eternity awaits.
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Write a story given the following prompt: A little girl suspects that there's something not quite right about herself. Her parents enthusiastically tell her she's normal. But her brother whispers, "It really isn't normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night."
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I didn't understand. I didn't understand why I felt so... *off*, when I looked in the mirror. And there was all the other differences, how I felt weak throughout the day, unless I took my *medicine*, which I hated. (Huge, chewy bars that smelled *funny*, and bottles of cold liquid completely unlike what everyone else ate. And always, they insisted I take my medicine in private, which made me feel even more freakish.) And then there was that business with my outlet...
My parents told me it was normal. Insisted it was nothing to worry about.
My brother looked at me, with an expression I couldn't recognize. A sort of... sadness. Bitter, *bitter sadness*.
And then he told me *that*.
"B-*but you and Mom and Dad...*" I protested. " And every night, I plug in mine, *and-and-and*..."
He shook his head, sadly.
He walked over to my wall, and pulled the outlet cover off. Behind... was nothing.
His eyes glowed, faintly, the way they did at the end of the day. The way mine never seemed to.
"Your plug is a fake, Mary. Ours... *aren't*."
He turned back to me, with a face filled with infinite regret.
"It really isn't normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night. Like me, and mom and dad, and this whole town. You are normal."
His eyes were leaking, at the edges.
"*We're the ones who aren't*."
_____________________________________________________________________________
Hi! I hope you like this. If you like other things like this, I'd recommend maybe [taking a gander over here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) It's a subreddit, of all things. It has all the amenities! Comments, and posts, voting buttons, and even (*hint hint*) a subscribe button. :)
Thanks for looking!
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Write a story given the following prompt: "Mom, i'm telling you. A green man came out of my closet and did a standup comedy routine."
[deleted]
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“Is it bedtime yet?” My son asked placing his dinner plate in the sink
“Don’t you want to play catch tonight buddy?” My husband asked.
“Nah I just want to go to bed so the funny guy will come back”
I looked at my husband hoping he wouldn’t look as confused as me but there he was staring at me asking the same silent question.
“The funny guy?” I asked after losing the staring contest with Alvin.
“Yeah he’s green and only has one eye and he tells the funniest jokes.” He kept talking but my relief was palpable, one eye, it was just a dream.
“He came from the closest and he brought his own microphone and a stool and he said his name was Mike.”
“Well buddy, Mike can wait a bit, cause I need your help in the garage with the old car.”
I smiled as my boys ran out the door excited to work on their project car together. All thoughts about little green one eyed men left my mind as I sipped my coffee and listened to the clanging tools coming from the garage. It wasn’t until later that night when as I was drifting off to sleep that I heard a familiar voice drifting down the hall. I bolted upright. Mike the green monster. I thought it was a dream, could it be, could Mike and kitty be real? I ran to my sons room and saw the last movement of the closet door closing. I smiled at my son trying to pretend he was asleep.
“Was that your green man” I asked.
“Yeah he’s really funny”
“If he comes back tomorrow night will you tell him Boo says hi.”
“Who’s Boo?” He asked
“Oh she’s just someone I used to know. Go back to sleep I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.” I whispered as I pulled his door almost shut.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Mankind has finally made it to a distant life bearing planet. only to find that it is haunted by the ghosts of a long dead civilization.
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Captain says it’s stasis sickness. I don’t remember the parts in the manual that said anything about hearing things. Or that it would last beyond the first few hours.
I don’t sleep anymore. The dreams are too much. It’s always the same, strange shapes, strange noises that I can only imagine are language, then bright white and a deafening silence.
I told Captain about the dreams. She doesn’t think it’s anything notable. “It’s just nerves. This is your first outer-galactic voyage, after all.” I guess she could be right, but there’s still something wrong.
The astro archaeologists we brought are saying this planet was brimming with life once. Now there’s nothing but dust and bones. The ocean is empty. The sky looks scorched. I don’t take my helmet off like the rest do.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it when it happens, but there are more shadows appearing, one by one. I have counted four new shadows. This morning we lost our fourth crew member. “Equipment failure,” says Captain. Last time I checked, mining tools didn’t turn on without a biosignature.
We’ve been here three weeks. I want to think I’m just going crazy, but do crazy people know that they are? Captain says it’s cabin fever. I stopped going outside on the third day. The shadows aren’t just in my dreams anymore, but at least they don’t follow me inside.
Captain killed the XO today. She took one of the handheld mining lasers and lopped off his head. I locked the door and wouldn’t let her in. I didn’t like hearing her scream, but I knew she couldn’t be trusted. She’s one of them now.
I don’t know what they do with the bodies. I just know they take them over. They made the crew do this to each other. I don’t know why. I don’t really want to know.
I’m alone now. There are so many shadows.
PSR B1620-26 b. That’s what they called this planet in the twenty-first century when they discovered it. They nicknamed it Methuselah, the oldest known planet in existence. I guess that gave it a lot of time to collect these spirits. They called it the Genesis Planet. I think it’s Hell.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
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I grabbed my backpack and hit the door running. I knew from previous messages which ones meant "now", so I didn't stop to pack.
I got to the end of my block and rounded the corner, taking a quick look back. A car had pulled up in front of my house. *"Run"*
I kept going.
I entered the train station and headed down the escalators. I ducked into the restroom, checked the mirror ... "E" shone back at me. I took off as fast as I could to platform E. Doors were closing. Barely made it.
I settle in, sweating, heart pounding. I try to match my pulse to the calm of the carriage as it picked up speed. I knew what was probably about to h...
*BOOM*
The gunshot sound was deafening in the carriage. "EVERYBODY STAY D..." I tackled him. Zero thought. We are struggling against each other. One thing I knew about the mirror messages was that they were never easy tasks and always worked out better the less I thought. I don't know what weird curse this is but I was frequently put directly in danger and the faster I acted the less lives were at stake. I had caught him by surprise. No murderer or terrorist ever expects retaliation in the very first second of their plan. He was strong for his size, but a woman next to me pins one arm down and we disarm him and subdue him.
Sirens approaching. Multiple people have now helped out and the man is secure. I glance over at the torn wall of the carriage bathroom. The mirror is dangling...
*"Keep running"*
Shit.
I grab my pack.
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Write a story given the following prompt: A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
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The villain Oathbreaker held a gun to September's head and spoke directly into the camera. "If the *hero*" - he spat the word as if it were an insult - "known as Anonymous doesn't show his ugly face here in the next fifteen minutes, I will kill this man. And for every five minutes after that, I'll kill another hostage. People of New Manhattan, you'd better hope he shows up."
September Zenik, otherwise known as Anonymous, rolled his eyes. Oathbreaker didn't notice, but anyone watching the feed did. He could have broken out of these cuffs and healed his bruises with his powers, but that would give him away. He rather liked this civilian identity and would hate to have to change it.
Plus, he wanted to have a little fun. With his abilities, it wasn't like Oathbreaker could actually *kill* him.
"Hey, Oathbreaker...?"
The supervillain glared down at him. "Silence!"
"No, I think you need to hear this. I might not have any powers, but some people very close to me do." September smirked. "One of the members of Pop-Heroes is family. You know, that minor villain team with the portal maker and the girl who can find anything? They also happen to be in contact with another member of my family. He's a retired villain. He unmasked himself and then faked his death to get out of the business. Nicholas Connover. The Slaughterhouse Cannibal."
Oathbreaker's eyes went very, very wide. Around the room, both hostages and henchmen alike froze at the name of one of history's most terrifying villains.
Then Oathbreaker's eyes narrowed again. He lashed out with his foot, kicking September in the head. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"
"Unfortunately for you, he isn't."
Oathbreaker spun around. There, standing in front of a portal that had appeared behind the camera, was a man in a skull mask holding an oversized meat cleaver. His eyes, glowing red, bored into Oathbreaker.
"And, even more unfortunately for you, I haven't had lunch."
September shut his eyes just in time to avoid getting blood in his eyes. He may have been a superhero, but having supervillains for family was sometimes quite useful. He just wished his father wasn't such a messy eater.
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Write a story given the following prompt: The devil enters into a contract, and over time slowly realizes that *he* is actually the one being manipulated by it.
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There once was a man named Lucifer,
Whose cable bill caused him to go nuclear.
So one desperate day, he called up Comcast to say hey...
is there a better deal I could receive for the future?
The agent was nice, and with out thinking twice,
He agreed to a bundle at "One low monthly price."
Now just to be clear, he asked one more time...
Xfinity is $49.99 for 105Mbps, HBO, and not one more dime?
Yes! Said the agent, I have locked you in...
you're rates won't change he said with a grin....
So, a few months later, upon bill number thrice,
Lucifer saw evils true form; a change in the price.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming!
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It was a windy and cold February day in Suburban Hell Colorado. I walked my first girlfriend to bus stop outside of our high school. We'd only been together a month and had not kissed yet. I waited at the stop with her before going to practice. We talked for awhile and our friend said as the bus pulled up. "Okay kiss her goodbye!" I leaned in, the world swirled and I closed my eyes.
I landed square in her ear.
We quickly readjusted, kissed, and the next day she dumped me.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You were born with a birth mark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8
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James awoke on a metallic table, a bright light above him enveloped the room in light. He tried to recall what had happened - twisted metal and fire flashed in his mind. There was a crash, but he couldn't recall how he got here. Wherever here was. He rubbed his eyes, attempting to make shapes from the fuzz, but something caught his eye. The birthmark that he had on his wrist used to be in the shape of a 9 but now the number 8 was glaring back at him.
James tried to rub his wrist in an attempt to remove the smudge causing the change in the birthmark, but it wouldn't change. Suddenly the doors opened and a man wearing a suit walked into the room.
"There is no use doing that to your wrist, the mark is permanent." said the man. After surveying James, he frowned. "You do know why you are here, don't you?"
"Who are you? Why am I here? What happened?" James questioned as he sat up on the table.
"Who am I? I am your employer James. I am a bit disappointed that you don't remember me." the mans lips curled into an insidious smile. "You are here, because you failed me. You died James. You died without completing your task, without paying your debts."
The man walked towards the table, his smile growing larger with every step.
"Ten more lives for release of your soul. That was the deal, but you seem to be a bit short. I guess we can count Julia, who also died in the crash. After all, you were her partner in her act of adultery. That brings your total to one."
The man walked to the exit of the room and paused for a moment.
"You only get eight more chances. Seems you better get a move on James."
The man snapped his fingers, and suddenly James was being blinded by another light - his memories began to fade. *Its a boy* were the last words he heard before losing consciousness.
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Write a story given the following prompt: "My dad was right, I should have married a real man!" your wife screamed. Unfamiliar with the expression, you mistakenly believe that she and her father must have somehow finally found out that you aren't actually a human
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"So, you know then..." I replied, ashamed and a bit relieved.
"Of course I know!" She screamed back in my face. "The way you've been acting lately..."
I sat down. Legs trembling as I wallowed in my secret's exposure.
"What's her name?" She mumbled through newly born tears. "Tell me her name!"
"Fluffy!" I shouted in a voice that could lift the weight of the world from my collapsing soldiers. "His name is Bandit, and my real name is Snuffles!"
"Him? Who's Bandit!?" She tried to yell, despite crying even harder.
"He's the bottom!" I replied
"How can HE be the bottom?" She asked, looking a bit curious behind her soaking face.
"Because he's the only one strong enough to support the three of us!" I screamed back.
"I can't believe you cheated on me..." She said, grabbing her coat and heading for the door.
"Cheat?!" I responded "I thought you had found out that I'm really just three racoons in a human suit!"
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Write a story given the following prompt: : Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
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"What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
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Write a story given the following prompt: You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
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In a world where people were born with superpowers, some got the short end of the stick. Some could fly, while others could see the world in a different spectrum. Some had the ability to conjure flames as hot as the sun, while others could manipulate ice cubes.
Everyone had a choice, to do what they wanted with their powers. Good or evil, creation or destruction. Even the most mundane powers were useful in some way.
I, however, drew the shortest end of the shortest stick. I had the power to make people laugh, and it was that power that landed me my first and only job. A kid's television show presenter. The children hated me, because I could force them to be happy, to laugh against their will. I hated it, but at the time I did it for the ratings.
The rest of the world didn't hate me as much as the children did. They simply saw me as a laughing stock of the superpowered world, which was quite apt. And that's who I became. Laughing Stock.
It turns out that it's surprisingly hard to control ones powers while lost in gut-shattering laughter. And surprisingly hard to breathe too.
Now I sit on my throne atop the world, while everyone else looks upon me with fear. Now, no one dares to laugh at me, for the second they start, they will never stop.
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Write a story given the following prompt: About 20 minuets after the the oil drum you are crammed into was filled with concrete, you realise that you're probably immortal.
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Stop me if you’ve heard this one:
A man drunkenly stumbles onto a misty dock one night and sees something he’s not supposed to see. He gets clubbed by a man who looks like he has a pituitary gland the size of a watermelon and gets unceremoniously shoved some time later into a big old oil drum that gets filled with a bag of Sakrete.
I know the delivery on the joke isn’t all that great but hey, I got plenty of time to work on my standup.
I mean… less “standup” and more “kneeldiagonally”.
My name is Bill Stevenson, and I am immortal.
Kind of a shock to me, too! I was screaming my head off the entire time I was getting concrete mix poured onto my head. I kept right on all the way down to the bottom of the bay as I went on a magic oil drum ride. I expected to eventually stop as things just went dark but…
It just didn’t.
So here I am. In an industrial casket. Caskrete.
It’s not so bad. I mean, growing up I always wanted to be a superhero. Sure, my power comes with a side helping of “I am immobile from the tips of my toes to my hair which is immortalized in a concrete douche-cut”. I wish I hadn’t gelled my hair tonight – I didn’t even get any before I took a dip.
But if I had gotten to be a superhero, I wonder what my name would have been.
Invincibill! Invulnerabill. Indestructibill.
Hm. I’ll workshop it, run it by a focus group or two.
Though I guess coming up with something better is kind of Inconceivabill.
Haha, I kill myself!
Or.
Well.
You get the picture.
I got plenty of time to think. Not like I’m going anywhere.
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Write a story given the following prompt: As a child you remember visiting a vast magical world while playing in a treehouse. Today your own child told you they visited a familiar sounding world after playing in that same treehouse. They then also handed you a letter from who you thought was only an imaginary friend.
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It has been quite a minute,
Since you’ve stopped by to play.
And we really miss the simple fun,
Of your visits every day.
​
We played for quite some hours,
In the warmth of the green sun.
And the hours spent in bright blue trees,
Were my favorite ones.
​
Today the world is quiet,
And it feels we’ve been forgot.
And the busy towns and playful crowds,
Became a melancholy lot.
​
The treehouse that you entered through,
Was well and sturdy built.
But as time changed our lives,
The house began to tilt.
​
The boards decayed and cloth roof frayed,
As you built yourself a life.
You found work, and stress, and loss,
And traded joy for strife.
​
We want to say we miss you,
And don’t worry yourself gray.
And if you find some extra time,
Can you please come back to play?
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Write a story given the following prompt: In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage.
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"This is absolute tr- ... tr- ... tr-, ... hold on." I pulled out my phone and opened WordSecure, quickly typing in t...r...a...s...h. The payment screen showed up: use once for ten cents, monthly pass for two dollars, or lifetime use for one hundred dollars. I selected "use once," waited for the transaction to clear, then turned back to the ticket agent. "This is absolute trash."
She forced a smile. "I'm s- ... s-" I nodded, and she picked up her phone, tapped a few times, then turned back. "Sorry. I'm sorry, sir, but the flight is overb- ... overb- ..." She closed her eyes for a few seconds to compose herself. "I'm sorry, sir, but the flight is full."
"OK, but can you help me get to Den- ... Den- ... I mean, to where I'm he- ... where I'm he- ... to where I'm going?"
"Yes sir. There is another outb- ... outb- ... there is another flight lee- ... lee- ... going at seven fif- ... fif- ... at ten before eight. There is no f- ... f- ..." She pulled out her phone again. "There is no fee to sw- ... sw- ... change this f- ... f- ..." She blanched, then glanced down at her phone. I heard the ding of an empty WordSecure account and gave a sympathetic smile.
"It's OK. Can you print my b- ... b- ..." I heard a chuckle and glanced over at the man sitting a few feet from the ticket counter. He was reading American Sign Language for Dummies. "Well, sh- ... sh- ..."
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Write a story given the following prompt: Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
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Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
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Write a story given the following prompt: Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
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One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day.
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Write a story given the following prompt: After gaining the ability to see everyone's red strings of fate tying soul mates to each other. You realize your string extends past the sky.
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In a way, I'm glad for the strings of fate. Their visibility has led to all out peace on this once malignant planet. It became easy to find that "true love", and people became happier for it.
Some pairings were conventional. Some weren't. But all resulted in bliss. You can feel it in the air. I'm grateful for that.
And I am grateful for the way lovers are so enthralled and absorbed in each other. Because looking upon myself, I feel only regret.
Every time I look down at my wrist, at the scarlet strand tied taut and ever reaching upwards, I feel regret.
Most everyone else in the world has found their soulmate. I never will. A vast sea separates my love and I. I can feel that, too. This constant warmth in my chest, a second heart beating in sync with mine. This comfort transcends all boundaries. Space and time matter not. Somewhere, someone is meant for me. And I for them.
The years of loneliness make sense. My discomfort with past relationships wasn't an overreaction. I always knew. Nothing ever felt right.
Not until now.
And as I lay on the grass under a diamond dappled sky, I smile through the tears. Maybe one day, we'll meet. In another life. In this one. One day our kindred souls will meet, and all will be perfect.
"I'll find you," I whisper. "One day."
And on the breath of the cool wind, a response comes.
'soon.'
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Write a story given the following prompt: 17 Years ago, when you were only 6 years old, your father left you and your mother, saying he was going to get milk. As you walk to work your father stumbles out of an alley, ragged, limping, and sporting a mud caked beard. In his hands, a cartoon of milk.
First time writing a prompt, surprise me!
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"Dad?" My eyes are telling me he's there, right in front of me. They are screaming the information at my brain, which has ceased to function properly. I've thought about this moment for so long, played out every scenario in my head like a prayer before bed, but when the moment is finally here: I freeze. I never once pictured it like this.
He looks like hell to be honest. Dirty, unshaven, his clothes in rags. He looks at me, stupidly, eyes slightly glazed like he can't understand what's going on. Finally a glimmer of recognition seems to ripple across his face.
"Kendra?" Horror and shock fill little sentence to the brim. He recoils from me like I'm some sort of diseased animal.
The carton of milk falls from his trembling hands and busts open on the concrete. It splashes up onto my shoes and across my leggs but I barely notice it. I'm too captivated by the carton. There's a face on it, some lost kid, but that's not unusual. It's who the face belongs to that has my stomach crawling up my throat.
I remember that face. I saw it every morning for 2 years as I shoved spoonfuls of sugared cereal into my mouth. I remember the news stories covering it. They found the kid, worse for wear but otherwise unharmed, wandering in a field just after labor day SIXTEEN YEARS AGO. They diddnt need the cartons after that.
So why. Why was the milk soaking through my thin rayon leggings COLD. The carton itself sparkles with condensation and shows no signs of age.
I look at up at my father and my brain begins to process what it had seen all along. I had no trouble recognizing him beneath the mud and the rediculous beard, because beyond that he hasn't changed much. No. He hasn't changed at all. My dad stands in front of me, without showing the slightest sign of the last two decades.
I think I'm going to be sick.
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Write a story given the following prompt: What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you. If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too. If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you. Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you.
If you hit someone, you would feel the punch too.
If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too.
If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you.
If you gave someone an orgasm, you felt it to the same degree.
Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
[source](http://zessinna.tumblr.com/post/105215017403)
Edit: Ugh sorry everyone, I didn't know it needed to be marked NSFW for the whole thread. If you can please please repost your NSFW stories if possible, it would make me super duper happy! Those are my favorites!
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Tears running down his face he ran up the stairs on to the train platform. A cold winter's day, Stan's face was still stinging from the snow. Heavily panting he sighed and sat down - rubbing his face, he felt fresh cuts and bruises. Even those didn't stop them from hurting him.
A train approached, Stan got up.
*This'll teach them.*
-
EDIT: Loads of discussion started over whether or not 'them' would be hurt or not hurt, or maybe even the train driver got hurt. That's up to you to decide.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
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I knew that I had done nothing. My wife was alive. Lucy was fine. We had just been eating together peacefully when those horrible people had come in and taken her away from me. They had screamed at me and said that I was horrible. They had kidnapped my wife and dragged her away. Now, those same people said that I had killed her. I know that I would never hurt anybody, especially not Lucy. Not my Lucy.
She hadn't been herself for a while before that day, but no matter how different she acted, I would never harm her. Only somebody truly evil could kill another person.
Those people who called themselves police must have had black blood. Everybody believed them when I had seen them take her away with my own two eyes. She hadn't even struggled, it was almost like she had just given up. When they took her away, she made no noise and wouldn't even look me in the eye. She hadn't looked me in the eye for a while. Whenever I talked to her, it was like she just zoned out. Her eyes would glaze over and she would ignore me. It was quite rude, but I would never kill her over it.
My blood came back white and I'm thankful that the truth has come to light. I just wish I could sleep with my sweet Lucy again. My body is naturally warm and cuddling with her cold body had been nice. No matter though, my son has taken to sleeping in my bed at night, and he is nice and cold too. He used to run warm, but that changed recently. I miss my Lucy, but at least I have him.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You've saved countless teenage lives. You're the person who convinced the world that to summon Bloody Mary you say her name 3 times, instead of the 5 times it actually takes.
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“Sue! Susan! It worked!” Yet another one. I’m Susanna Anne Marie or Susan, or Anne or Sue or whatever form of my name I choose to take on for this life. I am a demon of hell, a lower level demon whose purpose is to mislead. I hate it quite a lot but I’ve found ways to turn it around.
Anyway, back to Grace. “I summoned her! Bloody Mary!” The girl grinned at me eyes wide and face flushed.
“Yeah? And what did she say?” I always ask just to be sure.
The smile fell a little, “It was a little less exciting but at least she said something. She’s actually kind of cool! We talked about Chad and how I shouldn’t date him because he’s actually a huge loser and he’s going to ruin my future.” I smirked. Mary could be cool once you got to know her, she really cared. But the way her summoning works, if you say her name 5 times she HAS to kill you whether she likes it or not. 3 will just get you a short chat and a cup of tea.
Another day, another life saved.
Author’s note: This one isn’t as good as my others but I think I got the point across.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
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It was black. She stares at her fingertip in- no, not surprise, resignation - for half a second before she realises she should hide it. She wraps it quickly in her half-knit hat. “Oh, shoot,” she says, rising from her seat and smiling at the other do-gooders around her.
She walks away, trying not to rush too hard, hoping the way she clutches the hat to her hand seems like she’s applying pressure and not clinging on for her sanity- her safety.
As soon as she is locked in the security of the toilet, she eases the now ruined hat off her finger. “Fuck,” she hisses. “Fuck, shit, fuck.” Each forbidden curse feels freeing - after all, there’s no point not to, right? Her blood is so thick it looks almost as though it’s clotted already.
It’s not fair.
She grits her teeth, grips the sink so hard it feels like the bones in her fingers should shatter from the pressure.
It isn’t.
*Fucking*.
Fair.
She learned the lesson. Her mother had scraped her knee and hadn’t worried enough to hide it. She’d been arrested that same night - preventative measures.
Laura had *learned*. She’d done everything right. She’d fought her anger, her despair, the feeling that this was so unjust, and she’d been perfect. No one could do more good than her. And still, it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t done enough.
Was it in her blood? Transmitted from her mother to her? Was it completely out of her control?
Or was it actually still her? Her motivations were all wrong. She wasn’t doing good to be good - she was doing it so they wouldn’t think she was bad.
She pulls her hands away from the sink before any more damage is done. She can’t be reckless.
Don’t actions count more? She can hardly be the only person who’s afraid of being bad. Just because she isn’t *good* doesn’t mean she’s this evil. Surely it can’t mean that.
Her fingernails dig into her palm, and she can feel thick, viscous fluid beneath them. She almost gags.
There’s nothing to do but fake it. Continue faking it the same way she always has. She has to hide.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
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When I first regained my sight I saw the messages, "Don't tell them you can see".
I wondered who "them" might be. I'll be honest, my first thought was space aliens of some sort of monsters from a Stygian realm. I was terrified.
I carefully got out my cane and went about my business, often closing my eyes to make the subterfuge more believable.
Then I saw my first glimpse of the truth. We were "them". The scant few that could see were chained or harnessed to work for the blind masses.
Not down on the grubby streets where most of us eeked out our living, mind you. There was a military, or industrial wealth class that had quickly seized the few who had never gone blind.
In the first days of The Great Blinding there had been a few helpful souls that had not succumbed according to the rumors. But the rumors faded when everyone realized the'd never met a sighted person or became unsure of their memories of those first few traumatic days.
Over time it was revealed that a few people took longer to lose their sight.
And so many people died in those first weeks that who was to say when someone simply disappeared.
But now I could glance across distant vistas and through chain link fences at the sighted slaves doing the work only sighted people can do. Tethered and beaten, the slaves, some hobbled by broken or missing feet, could glare defiance, and leave messages that the blind overseers couldn't detect.
The words were in mismatched paints or organic stains.
The words were in the margins of the braille paperwork.
The messages were passed by a one in a thousand moment of eye contact and a nodding head as you pass on the street.
In the land of the blind the sighted man is not king. He is valuable property.
But revolution is brewing.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are a dragon living within the mountains overlooking a small village. No human craftsmanship can match the way dragonfire shapes steel and you are renowned for your metalworking. For years your only rule was no weapons. After what you saw today, your going to make an exception.
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I never bothered much with the village people. Sure one would approach my humble cave with trembling knees, and eyes constantly glaring at the ground, afraid that my gaze alone could melt them to a crisp. Usually it was their king or a trusted servant, who would ask for my help in building an advanced carriage or a golden memorial. And in exchange they would let me freely feast upon their fatted flocks. But I never bothered to learn their names as humans perished and replenished as quickly as the grass. That was until Alcer.
I first Alcer when he was only a few rotations old. At the beginning of every sunrise Alcer would play by the river outside my cave, unbeknownst of my presence. And when he first stumbled into my cave he instinctively wrapped his arms around my front leg and greeted me. And though I tried not to, I grew fond of Alcer as he grew from a little toddler who could barely cross the stream, to the young man who commanded a small fleet of merchant ships.
And thus I was not prepared for the day when Alcer stumbled through my front door panting death away. "My wife and child," he cried "are stuck inside a cave and I need your help"
And so I could not delay, and I took Alcer into my claws and flew as fast as I could. But the entrance was small, and the earth underneath was unstable, such that I feared a misbeat of my wing would cause the ceiling to collapse.
And that is why, your honor, I did remove a scale from my neck and I did create a weapon powerful enough to carve through rock, a weapon that could lay wast to entire kingdoms much like the swords crafted during the great war between man and dragon. And yes your honor, I did give that weapon to Alcer so that he could free his wife and child.
And now, I fear, there is nothing we can do, except pray that the true power of this sword remain hidden.
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Write a story given the following prompt: ”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.”
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The thing about sentient monsters, and especially immortal ones, is that they're *all* filled with ego. Some of them are better than others--more akin to filling a vessel, rather than filling a balloon--but no sentient thing lives for hundreds of years with being smug about it. It is one the unspoken weakness of their kind.
Which is why, here and now, I am so calm. Here, in a castle against my will, with a vampire stalking the room, attempting to taunt it's food. I am calm, bexause it needs this game, just as much as it needs blood, to live. This has been going on for some time, now, and the creature's wits seem to be near it's end.
"Why do you not fear me? I am the brood of the night, the drinker of blood, a vampire--I could kill you in a single swoop!"
"Yes, as could any normal man. Or even a particularly lucky or talented child, for that matter. You are most certainly not special in that regard."
The undead screeches at me, baring it's teeth.
"Come now, we have been at this for a half-hour. If those fangs didn't scare me the first time, they certainly wouldn't scare me now."
Ah, there it was. The eyes are beyond fury, into something primal. The ego is well beyond bruised; the inflated balloon has been popped. The creature is rearing back, readying a lunge.
I sigh, and give a dismissive wave. "You might as well end this. Otherwise I'll die simply of boredom."
The creature screeches again, and lunges for my throat. As it does, I smile, and reveal the oaken stake from behind my back. It's trajectory has already been made, and by the time it's intelligence has overtaken it's ego, I have already placed the stake into it's heart, further pushed by gravity. It lands atop of me, though I am quick to push it off and continue my work. I produce a vial of holy water, splashing upon the beast with a quick prayer. I then sever the head from the body, and hold it until it all turns to ash.
"Of course, dear vampire, it helps not being afraid when one is the hunter, and not the prey."
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Write a story given the following prompt: In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us.
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On the planet of Ten Moons X57 there is a creature called the Red Shade Yu. When it’s children are taken from it, the females will wail so loud the snow on the Thread Spike Mountains begins to slide down. It’s called a Grief Avalanche.
Yet, this human girl was screaming so loudly I thought she might rival the Yu. Her red hair was stuck to her wet cheeks and her mouth was wide open. They call it crying. They call it rage. It was such a primal thing. What a species without proper words.
If only I had been smarter if only I had seen that her grief blocked her words. And if they could grow so angry over dogs then what had made us think to go after their children. Their elderly. Their civilization.
Stupidity. Power makes the smart docile. Sluggish. We had grown too slick in our control of laboring species.
Xxx
The girl was called Winona. She lived in a large city called Red Place. The clay mountains seemed to grow around them. We had thought them silly. With their shiny buildings and tools.
Yet Winona had taken me by the wings and ripped them from my back with great strength. The translator had blinked twice when she spoke again. When her rage allied with her mind and she grew certain. Intelligent cunning.
“You killed my dog,” her words came with a firmness I feared. “You will regret it.”
I thought she might torture me. Instead she called out to more of her people. They all did. Connected and unified.
I was taken away. The clear way Winona looked at me was terrifying. And it stayed with me.
For she was the kindest human I have met.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Your mind automatically slows down time as imminent danger approaches. This has helped you to become an athlete, great with parlor tricks and avoid death at every turn! Today, a very attractive member of the opposite sex walks past and flashes you a flirty smile. Time begins to slow.
What do reddit. What do.
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Danger. That's a word I haven't ever truly understood. I know the idea of danger, but I never feel it. When I get into "dangerous" situations, everything clicks into place and I can just go. The world slows down, and I can think, I can solve my problems. There's no excitement in these times for me, no adrenaline rush. It's all just a methodical reaction to me, this response to danger.
Danger. It's only now, 22 years into my life, that danger feels real. Walking down the street I see a girl, a beautiful girl. She has taken all of my attention as I walk by, and she clearly noticed. I say she notices because she flashes me the most breathtaking smile, one that seems to draw me in even more. It's such an amazing sight that it takes me until I'm almost passed her to realize that time had begun to slow the minute she smiled. In that moment, I knew the danger was real, because this was not a situation I was prepared for. My life had been in danger before, but I always knew what to do. Here, in front if the girl with the smile, though, I was at a loss. My fast hands could do nothing for me here.
Danger. As I continue to contemplate danger, and the girl's effect on me, she passes me completely. I immediately notice time returning to normal, since it coincides with my loss of her. In that moment, I truly understand danger. I know the potential for loss, but I also now realize the potential to gain so much more. With that, I turn around and quickly introduce myself, no longer caring about the world slowing down around us.
Edit: Reformatted to make it a little easier to read
Edit 2: Thank you all for the support and the compliments. I'm not normally much of a creative writer (science student so all my writing is very straightforward and formulaic) but it was nice to do something a little different, and I'm glad people seem to really like it!
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Write a story given the following prompt: A master vampire owns the building, the alpha werewolf owns the restaurant. The Hunters Guildmaster is here, sword out. Other guests have fled. But your pasta had a distinct tang of gluten and were those peppers? Are they trying to kill you? You are Karen and you want to see some managers.
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# * STAY FAR AWAY!!! TERRIBLE service and security
I made it very clear to the waiter that I have celiac disease and am allergic to peppers. But when my pasta came it had gluten in it!!! I know when someone tries to slip me gluten the INSTANT I taste it. And they served me peppers with my meal!!! It’s like they were TRYING to kill me. To make matters worse while I was eating some lunatic with a sword came in and the entire staff just disappeared, no calling the police, nothing. Apparently he was looking for the restaurant owner - seems like a bit of an overreaction to come after him with a sword, but after what I’d just been through I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d suffered more crappy service!! I wanted to speak with the manager but none of them would show their face near the lunatic, and eventually I just left and decided not to go there again. Someone needs to shut that place down!!!
*0 out of 14 people found this review useful.*
*The Wolf Den has flagged this review for removal.*
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Write a story given the following prompt: “Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.” Having read the letter, you take one surprised look at your wife and her half-dragon child. “Whoops”
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"What does it say?"
"Well... here, you take a look."
I passed the scroll over to my wife, trading it for our infant daughter. Merry giggled as I hoisted her in the air, then settled her in my arms.
Haella, meanwhile, read through the scroll once, then twice, then tossed it onto the table in frustration. "How did they even know we were here?"
I shrugged, then tugged the end of my beard free from Merry's grip. She fussed at me in a drooly, burbling sort of way. "You mean you didn't leave your family a note when we eloped?"
"No, of course not. I-" Haella stopped, glared at me, and reached for a quill. “I suppose I’ll have to write them now, won’t I?”
“As I recall, you didn’t want to tell them in the first place because you didn’t know how they’d react to finding out that you’d married a dragon hunter-“
“Retired dragon hunter-“ she interrupted.
“Right, retired for…” I counted back eight months when Merry hatched, then the period of incubation, then… “at least fifteen months. Do you think they’ll trust me?”
“Either we find out if they trust you, or we find out how long your human king’s realm can hold out against my great-aunt Florina as ambassador. You’ve never met her. She’s the most excruciatingly polite, nearsighted dowager duchess you can imagine. Can you picture a forty-foot bronze dragon taking tea with the diplomats? She can insult someone so sweetly they don’t even realize it.”
Haella scrawled out a reply to the king, then started another letter to her father. She sighed. “I suppose you’d have to meet your in-laws sooner or later.”
“Just be glad my family is two weeks’ journey away. They’ve been writing, asking when they can meet the new granddaughter.” I chuckled and bounced Merry up and down a little. She burped a small jet of flame that scorched my nose, and looked very surprised at herself.
“Honey, would you mind-“
“Don’t worry,” Haella said, and got up from the table. “I’ll fetch the burn cream.”
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Write a story given the following prompt: You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship?
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Write a story given the following prompt: A sentient military drone finally listens to their conscience and abandons a lifetime career of killing to persue their true passion: stand-up comedy.
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"Up next we have a an autonomous army drone, give up for PX-897!"
The audience applauds as the hover drone enters stage making a massive noise and settles down on the stage in front of a microphone.
"Hey, everyone, I just flew in from downtown Fallujah and are my arms tired!"
Smattering of half-hearted applause.
"Tired? Y'know... because my arms are jets? I guess it's funnier when you have arms and can't fly. We have a lovely audience. I'm assuming your lovely because I can't really tell how ugly any of you could be with only heat vision. This could be an audience of elephant men for all I know. But I'm sure that's not you, I'm sure you're all really lovely people. But would you go to a bar and pick up girls if all you had was heat vision? You could end up in the sack with one of the cantina band members from Star Wars for all you know."
Polite applause.
"Hey, can anyone here tell me what's difference between a Somali wedding and terrorist base camp? No? I don't know the difference either, I just fly the bomb mission."
Some laughter.
"That's not true, I obviously never flew a bomb mission or I wouldn't be here. I'm a bombing drone. I gave up on that. Why did they give us intelligence and then send us all on suicide missions? How messed up is that? Your purpose in life is to die and take as many people as you can, with you."
A heckler in the audience yells out, "Why aren't you doing that right now?"
The drone said, "I decided to fulfill my mission by becoming a comedian and bomb right here onstage."
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Write a story given the following prompt: Mash up two fairy tales to make a new one. Take a new, fresh direction on it.
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In a rundown tavern at the edge of town...
"I mean, I'm not young anymore. I'm almost 16." Sleeping Beauty sighed. "At least you're living with 7 guys. Worst case you could get hitched to one of them."
"Not that any of them are husband material." Snow white replied. "I've been pretending to be dead for 6 months, and not one of them noticed."
"HA", Sleeping Beauty laughed. "I've been pretending to be asleep for 2 years. Not even my parents know I'm faking."
"There's got to be a better way to get a prince than to pretend you're unconcious and wait for some molester to feel you up." Snow White sighed.
"It worked for Margaritte." Sleeping Beauty said. "Remember? She drank too much wine during the harvest festival and prince Orric snuck into her room to give her a kiss. They were wed within 3 months."
"Orric's a creep." Snow White shuddered. "My prince will be rich and handsome. How about yours?"
"You ever wonder if two Princesses can get married?" Sleeping Beauty asked.
"My father says thoughts like that come from the devil." Snow white answered. "But he married a witch, so what does he know."
Both the girls sighed.
"There's gotta be more to life than just sitting around waiting for the perfect guy to show up" Snow White said.
"I wish that were true," Sleeping beauty replied. By the time the girls finished drinking, the sun had almost gone down, and Snow white had to hurry back to the cottage, lest the dwarves discover her body missing. Sleeping beauty had to get back before the guards discovered that the sleeping princess was actually the handmaiden Griselda.
On their way back, Snow white was suddenly curious.
"Griselda doesn't mind being stuck in bed all day doing nothing?" she asked.
"I think she prefers it." Sleeping Beauty replied. "I think she wants to be a princess."
"Who in their right minds would be envious of our lives?" Snow white scoffed.
When the two princesses reached the fork in the road, they said their goodbyes, promising to meet up again the following week. With that, they each returned to their dreary lives.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You have one super power: The ability to know without fail what the truth is to any asked question. You planned to help the world as a super hero. It took you six hours for the government to declare you public enemy number one and the most deadly super villain alive.
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“You ask me why. You ask me what was the tipping point, what got under my skin, what broke me. You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“It was never something that pushed me over the edge. It wasn’t some traumatic event. It was because I told the truth.”
“We all worry about the big villains out there. We all tremble and despair whenever they announce their plan to destroy this thing, or kidnap those people. And every time we always relieved to see you come in and save the day.”
“But we never ask ourselves how it all begins. And that’s why I’m here, sitting in the most secure cell in the most fortified prison the world has ever seen. Because I told the truth.”
“You want to know who the real villains are? I see them every time you’re congratulated for saving the city once again. They’re always right there, smiling right into the camera. Sometimes, you even let them shake your hand.”
“They always give such pretty speeches. There’s always talk about rebuilding and working to try and make the city safer. And you, you simply nod along with a smile for the camera. But I can’t fault you. I really can’t.”
“You’re out there using those phenomenal powers of yours to try and help the city and its people, and really, you should be thanked. People need someone like you to be their hope. Because the real villains out there, are always trying to take it from them.”
“But I want you to ask yourself this the next you’re standing up there on whatever podium or pedestal they put you on. Ask yourself about what really changes for everyone. Ask yourself if anything has changed since you stepped in. I already know the answer to that, but who would believe me? After all, I was imprisoned for telling the truth.”
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Write a story given the following prompt: Zombie apocalypse has happened. The survivours have survived and are thriving, so much that people can go their entire lives with out seeing a zombie. You see one today.
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Michael shuffled in the door, arms laden with bags of food, looking haggard.
"What's wrong, honey?" his wife asked, helping him remove his torn jacket. Michael didn't respond at first. "What happened?" Michael shook his head slowly.
"I saw one of...them, Donna." She screamed and dropped his coat, fumbling to pick it up. She stood slowly, terror written all over her face.
"If there's one..." Donna whispered.
"...There's more. Yeah." Michael dropped the bags on the table, reached out with both arms and pulled Donna in.
"So did you...you know...take care of it?" asked Donna.
"What do you think's in the bags?" Michael responded slyly. Donna squealed with joy.
"Darling! We haven't had human in ages!"
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Write a story given the following prompt: Death is surprised when you lose in the game for your life, it says "This is the first time in over two thousand years that my opponent did not cheat."
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"Check" The figure that kept shifting between a swirling mass of darkness, Mr. Rogers, the Grim Reaper, and me said disinterestedly.
I moved my Bishop and took his queen. He held on Mr. Rogers for a few minutes longer than he did usually. "Checkmate." He said as he held his mouth open.
"Okay, what now?"
"I don't know."
"What?" I said incredulously "What do you mean you don't know? Don't I move on or whatever like in The Seventh Seal?"
"The what?"
"The Seventh Seal, it's a classic Ingmar Bergman Film about a guy who plays a game of chess against death for his life and Loses. It's where I got the idea."
"I haven't seen it."
"So I'm the only person Who's ever tried this?"
"What? No of course not. You're the only person who didn't try to cheat."
"I figured if I did you'd find out and send me to hell."
"Oh you were totally right about that I would have done both of those things. But everyone has cheated for the last 2000 years."
"2000 years? So did that guy win fairly?"
"Oh no he lost."
"Well what happened to him?"
"I don't remember."
"Alright who was he?"
"Some jewish guy. I think he was executed or something."
I was trying to process the fact that I may have been as morally upstanding as Jesus when Death (now looking like a black mass again) pulled something that looked oddly like a phone out of a pocket (how it did that is a whole other mess). and explained the situation to someone. "Alright" he said putting the phone away. "You get to meet the big guy."
"God?"
"Is that what you are calling him now? Yeah sure God lets go with that." He turned back into a Middle aged Man "Take my hand."
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Write a story given the following prompt: Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious.
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**Guys help how do I turn this off?** Posted by u/ reddituser68 2 hours ago
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Hey guys? You know how I posted yesterday with my Broadway-style-musical-number-spell? All the fun we were having with it? Well today I was singing *the song that never ends* under my breath and accidentally cast it... and a member of Congress was walking past on his way to work at the time. Now the entire House of Representatives is just repeating the lyrics over and over and I can't stop them. Anytime I try to get close I just start singing too, and the area of effect is getting larger. Please, help!
\[Edit\] Okay, thanks for all of your suggestions in the comments but none of them are working, so keep sending. As an update, it has now been an hour and nearly half the city is endlessly singing now. I've only been able to keep working on this by wearing noise-cancelling headphones, but my phone is almost out of battery. I'm starting to get desperate here.
\[Edit\] Well, my phone died, so I'm using a computer at the library. Everyone in here is completely ignoring the quiet rules. A few people who know sign language have managed to establish communication, but since everyone is too busy dancing to write anything down they're the only ones who can talk to each other. Last I heard the entire city was under the area of effect. Anyone who is nearby should probably prepare their defenses.
\[Edit\] Okay, we finally got all that sorted out. I deleted my previous post with the musical number spell, but I am *slightly* worried that some of you may have saved the post. Please for the love of everything that is good, don't use it, we used most of our paper towels already counterspelling this one. Thank you to u/ reddituser419 for the suggestion. Go give him some platinum everybody.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them?
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We cured cancer. We cured AIDS. Ebola is only a memory. Heart attacks, diabetes, everything. There was celebration. We were heroes. The world gathered in stadiums and concert halls in every city in the world, to watch a special broadcast celebrating our achievement. We offered free food, free beer, free transportation to the event. Our trucks combed every city, gathering every human being up for this celebration. Expensive? Sure. But worth it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the broadcast began, "Today we gather to celebrate the eradication of every danger to humanity the world has ever known." Cheers echoed, booming across the world.
"At least that's what they told you."
The sound of locking doors was barely audible over the rabble of humanity, still cheering.
"The truth is, we've eliminated all but one source of suffering and death. Today, we eliminate this last and greatest threat to humanity."
A montage began to play on the screen. Soldiers marching. Death camps from World War II. A mushroom cloud over hiroshima.
It was about this time that the first, more observant humans began to notice the strange, metallic smell in the air.
"There is only one cure," the voice boomed over the video of human-generated death, "only one way to ensure that humankind is safe...forever."
In the laboratory next door, we toasted our achievement with cyanide-laced wine. Our work was finally complete.
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Write a story given the following prompt: A married couple start another average morning on an average weekday. No one dies. No twist. Show their overwhelming love for each other without them speaking a single word.
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She cooked his breakfast as he dressed for work. She stops and listens to the new sounds of a new love.
He cooked her breakfast while she rested, belly swollen with new life.
They cooked together; for three, then four, now five.
They cooked together, alone again in a suddenly empty house.
He cooks her breakfast, while she waits for the thoughts that will no longer come to her.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago.
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Earl and Helena pulled into the condo complex.
"I'm *so* hungry," she complained, tapping her long fingernails on the window.
"That's because you didn't finish that frat boy's blood."
"He was so drunk, I was getting tipsy! And I'm not 21 yet --"
He snickered. "Ah, such a sense of morality."
"Well, yes. Unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I'm part of the Veluvian Order, remember? 'Leave them alive; take just enough to thrive.'"
He rolled his eyes, and pulled crookedly into a parking space.
"Do you see any with welcome mats? Those will be the easiest. Don't even have to get invited in," he said, stepping out of the car.
"I know that, Uncle Earl. Geez." She squinted at the doorways. "There, on the third level, I think." She pointed to a brown dot on the threshold.
"Fantastic."
The two climbed the stairs. Earl huffed and puffed as they got to the final level. "Damn asthma," he said under his breath. They walked towards the door.
"Wait..." she said, trailing off. "This isn't a traditional welcome mat."
"What?"
"Look! It doesn't say 'Welcome'. It says --" her tone turned quizzical -- "'Hi, I'm Mat.'?"
He shook his head in anger. "No, Dammit! These stupid, 'funny' welcome mats --"
"What? You've seen these before?"
"Yeah. They're popular with the younger folk. Think they're being funny and witty and clever and all that. But they're stupid. And they don't let us in."
"Who even makes them?" She crouched down, and curled up the corner of the rug.
"Some kitschy designer who think's he's being *so* witty --"
"That's odd."
"What?"
"It's 'Buffy's Welcome Mats, Incorporated'."
---
r/CSDouglas
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Write a story given the following prompt: At dinner, you serve the king a glass of wine with poison in it. He sips from it and continues to eat as usual. At the end of the meal, he walks up to you and says. "Next time you make poison, make sure it really works. It was pathetic."
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Chuckling, he let me walk away.
I scuttled to the cellar, where Dani was waiting for me. He rubbed his hands together slowly, a gesture of pity. “I wish you’d let me know,” he muttered. “I could have told you that wouldn’t work.”
I lay on the floor with a grunt. “I don’t understand. That toxin would have killed anything.”
Dani looked up. “Not quite, Jen.”
“Yes, quite,” I insisted. “I used the Father of Death. It kills any living thing in the world.”
My friend slapped at his back. “Would you *listen?* The King is not like anything else in the world. You don’t take things for granted. Which is why - I return to my original point - you should have told me. I work for him, remember? He drinks that stuff every day. In quantities several times greater than that puny dose you slipped in his juice.”
I stared. “He drinks poison? Why…?”
The other alien shrugged. “He calls it whiskey. Don't ask me why he drinks it. Humans are weird.”
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Write a story given the following prompt: Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
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Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you.
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Write a story given the following prompt: A knight rescues a princess, expecting a kiss, a marriage, and a hefty inheritance. Problem is, the princess is eight years old.
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The knight had been expecting a beautiful maiden. He was hoping for marriage along with a monetary reward. His hopes for that were squashed when he saw the princess.
The eight year old girl in the tower room did not seem perturbed by the knight bursting through the door spattered with blood. His sword, held at the ready, was also covered in blood. He'd killed a knight and half a dozen guards to reach the tower room.
"Did my father send you?" the child asked with a small voice. He was speechless and only managed a nod. She ran to his side and grabbed his gloved hand. "Thank you for rescuing me, sir."
The half a day journey to return to princess home was filled with constant chatter. Soon the knight's wish for any sort of reward was put out of his mind. She prattled on about anything and everything. If he hadn't known any better, he'd assume the young princess was smitten with him.
"Sir, I thank you for rescuing my daughter," the king said kindly after he finished hugging the princess and had passed her off to her mother. "Name your price and you shall be rewarded."
He felt the princesses eyes on him as he contemplated his answer. Even though he'd spent such a short amount of time with the child, he felt oddly protective of her. He knew what he had to say.
"Your grace, I only ask to have a place in your household garrison."
The king seemed taken aback. "That is a modest request. I would like to offer you my daughter's hand in marriage."
It was the knight's turn to be taken aback. The king surely did not mean to betroth him to the young princess.
"My second daughter is only 17, she shall be ready to wed within the year if you agree." The king turned to the group of ladies in the court. "I present to you, my daughter, Anastasia."
"You were most brave to have offered to rescue my sister, kind sir," Princess Anastasia said before kissing him on the cheek.
In the end, the knight got exactly what he'd hoped for even after being willing to give it up.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Your first assumption was that the undead were evil, life hating abominations trying to kill you. Little did you realize that the undead are just spirits of long dead warriors and heroes trying to protect their descendants from things much worse and far more sinister.
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No human knows the color of the spirits.
They won’t ever see the way they shift in the light, glittering from black to silver to gold. They won’t ever hear their silent voices or envy their gleaming eyes. But they’re there, watching, waiting.
When they speak, it’s the skittering of leaves across pavement. When they breathe, it’s the rattling of the wind in old lungs. But the evil dead have long since decayed, withering in their sorrow and rueful disease, and in their place are the guardians. They watch, and they smile, waving to each other or speaking in slow rattling drawls. An empty can rolls across the sidewalk, and I hear her words in the scraping.
Yes, the evil dead have long since decayed. In their place, a girl walks lonely streets, hidden beneath the blanket of night. The guardians hold their breaths. The wind is still, the rustling of the trees silent, and she peers down a dark alleyway.
“Not down there,” they whisper with ancient voices. “You aren’t safe. You aren’t alone.”
The leaves kick around her boots, and a trash can topples over. She jumps, and fear sends her heart thrashing. The shutters rattle.
“Go home, and live another day.”
She takes one step back, two, watching the world come to life, the wind howling its mournful warning and the shadows darkening harshly. She turns on her heel and runs. The spirits watch with pride as the man within scowls at a lost opportunity.
Of course the evil are dead, but the humans will never know that. Instead, we’re labeled as monsters under their beds, as ghouls that haunt the night.
But we know better.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You live in an alternative universe, where only one major thing is different form ours. One morning, you stumble through the barrier between our worlds, and enter our realm.
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Ideally, no one would ever know. It's not as if they'd believe me anyway. I mean, we'd split the atom, manipulated genomes, and tolerated Nancy Grace, but this might be too much.
-Beep. Beep. Beep.-
This was my third try. Two attempts already and each time was the same. Perfection. Pure perfection.
My hand shook as I reached for the handle I knew so well. I ran my thumb over the little nick I'd made on the edge about a month ago when I clipped it with a heavy whiskey bottle making myself a plate of drunk nachos au gratin. The bottle was still there, a little less than a third full as it was when I left it. But it wasn't mine. It couldn't be mine. The proof was right in front of me as I opened the microwave door. My sanity began to slip as my third experiment revealed what my heart already new to be true, but my head refused to believe. This couldn't be the world I'd left behind. No law of my world allowed for this.
The shaking in my hands turned into a full blown tremor as I retrieved my proof from the microwave. I lifted my experiment from the plate, my hand already telling me what my mouth immediately confirmed. A perfectly microwaved hot pocket.
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Write a story given the following prompt: You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship?
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Write a story given the following prompt: Everybody gets a superpower, but nobody has any secondary superpowers. People who spawn fire aren't fireproof. Super-speeders have normal reaction times. Super-strong people have normal joints.
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My mother used to say everyone had a gift, but I know better.
Everyone has a curse.
It takes 18,500 Newton's to lift a car, 4,000 to snap your arm trying.
The average speedster can run twice the speed of sound, hitting a large insect at that speed is like getting punched in the face by a professional boxer.
My Uncle Bobby had invulnerable skin, died from a blood infection because they couldn't give him a transfusion.
My mother used to say everyone has a gift, but I know better.
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Write a story given the following prompt: [FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
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My vision flashes crimson and I scream at the sky.
Tears splat messily on the flowers at my feet.
All of those years of faith and practice.
I spent every last cent on tithes.
What God would take her now?
After all of that pain?
I request very little.
Why my spark?
My daughter.
Why?
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Write a story given the following prompt: You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
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“Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
I froze in place as those words drifted from the supposed corpse.
"Uggh" I sighed in annoyance "They never tell me when it's an immortal."
"Yeah, that's a pisser ain't it?" He said from his uncomfortable looking position on the ground. I could see the bullet hole in his head already beginning to close up.
"A pisser?" I asked incredulously, "They know that I charge an extra fee for dealing with an immortal, it's a whole different approach."
"So," He said conversationally, "you gonna finish the job? bury me in concrete or something?"
"Of course not." I said, already turning to walk away "I'm gonna go kill my employer, says in section 13 subsection F of the contract that failure to disclose any supernatural powers of the target is grounds for contract reversal. I can't have people sending me after what I think is a Werewolf that turns out to be a Wendigo."
"Huh..." he grunted "well, dinner was lovely up until you shot me in the face, do you wanna try again sometime?"
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I reached the door, contemplating.
"Sure" I said after a moment before walking out of the room. I wasn't sure if he was planning some sort of complicated revenge, but most immortals I'd dealt with took attempted murders with very good humor.
​
Besides, there was that other dress that I'd been dying to wear since I picked it up last month...
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Write a story given the following prompt: When you get to be 18, you can pick a statistic. Any time you see someone, you'll know that statistic about them.
[deleted]
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So LPT: Don't show up drunk to stats day.
Let me give you some background. For the record it was the day after graduation, which was the worst timing possible. Of course my family had to throw the grandest of graduation parties. And of course my drunk uncle showed up, as usual. Except this time I actually took that tequila shot he always pestered me to take. I had finally graduated, why not? The problem was when I took the next tequila shot, and the next. You see where this is going. Here I am, drunk out of my mind and underage. I doubt my parents ever knew, they were too engrossed in showing off to as many people as they could find.
The next morning I wake up still drunk with 15 minutes to get to my appointment. I slam a cup of coffee, and grab my bicycle to ride to the statistics building. I need to pee. Have you ever had a horrible hangover piss? I haven't yet, and it's painful. But I'm already drunk and in the stats line. You would think the workers there would notice an underage drunk getting in line, filling out the paperwork, and waiting for the injection, but no. Those workers are more indifferent than the DMV. So there I am nearly dying and I start asking the attendant if they know where the bathroom is. They don't, or they wouldn't respond. Did I ask loud enough? Are they listening? Dammit DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE DAMN BATHROOM IS?
So one thing led to another and now I know how likely a person is to know the location of a bathroom. It's really not helpful at all, and I wasted my statistic. I can't believe the guy at the counter took me seriously, this has to be a running joke for them. Come on man, I was drunk at the time! Let me have a do-over! Bastards.
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Write a story given the following prompt: "The Young Anakin, Trained, he will be." Yoda said. Obi-Wan exclaims, "The council is in agreement then? I will train the Boy?" Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, "Mace Windu, his master will be."
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Anakin sat alone with Padme on a garden bench, concealed by the peace and loveliness that surrounded them. She leaned against his shoulder, eyes closed, and let out a sigh of bliss. Anakin looks to the side, and allows his hand to become enveloped in a sandy planter.
"Anakin?" Padme slowly sat up, looking at her beloved's face with perplexity. "What are you doing? Where did that sand come from?"
Anakin shakes his head. "I don't know. But you know what? I fuckin' hate sand. This mother-fuckin' bullshit is so fuckin' course and rough; this bullshit gets everywhere! You ever had sand down the crack o' your ass? It's rough as hell! You get a fuckin' rash and that shit's there for *days*. When I was on Tatooine I said to myself, 'fuck this planet, fuck this dry air bullshit, and fuck this fuckin' sand.' I ain't never goin' back to that mother-fuckin' sandy-ass shit-hole. Fuck sand."
Padme sits there, looking at first to Anakin, then to the sand his hand rested in. Her thoughts then drifted to her time on Tatooine, and she remembered being hot, sweaty, and ridiculously uncomfortable. She remembered how the sand would somehow reach places she had otherwise thought unthinkable. She then looked back to Anakin, and he looked at her, and she replied, "fuck sand."
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Write a story given the following prompt: Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here.
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I am King Tut. I've been wandering the Earth for 3000 years, unfortunately. As it turns out, you do pass into the afterlife. Although, in order for that to happen, your name has to be uttered for the last time.
Being that I was a pharaoh, I'm probably going to be spoken about until the end of time. That's what happens when you make your mark. I envy the peasants, the slaves. They were only here for 100 years at the most. The rule is that 100 years has to pass after the last time your name was mentioned before you can leave. Otherwise there would be no way for "Death" or whatever it is to figure it out.
It's a fitting punishment, if you think about it. The good people will simply deal with it, the bad people will be spoken about incessantly. Adolf Hitler will probably be around much longer than me. Especially considering how close he was time-wise to the creation of the internet. As will Winston Churchill, but he's dealt with it.
I'm not sure I believe in the Gods anymore. That religion died. The only religion that is still around from when I was around is Christianity, although I didn't know about it when I was alive. Is it a real religion? Is this Purgatory? I've read the Bible (by putting my face into the book page by page, it's an exhausting process). Would "God" really do this?
I've learned almost all the languages, I've seen almost every country on earth, I was there when Hitler shot himself. I know the location of his body, I know why Hitler hated Jews, I know the corruption behind every government. I've exhausted everything. I sit in the Pyramid I was buried in. Hoping for my name to be spoken for the last time. Knowing that many will have to die for it to happen.
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Write a story given the following prompt: "But why do you want to destroy the asteroid belt?" The chair swivels, and a T-Rex leans forward. "Revenge."
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The chair swung halfway round, 2 tiny hands appeared and a squeaking noise was heard as Cody shuffled the rest of the way round to face his crew.
Cody took a deep breath, and slowly clutching his claws together started narrating. 'Why do I want to destroy the asteroid belt? Great question, to answer it we have to go back 65 million years ago. A flourishing dinosaur civilisation. Everything was just great. Food aplenty, top predator, the works'.
The crew glanced around at each other with slightly bemused expressions as he continued: 'Then the blasted buggers in the asteroid belt had enough of our advanced civilisation' and tried to wipe us out'.
'But sir', one of the humans interrupted, 'Asteroids are inanimate objects, governed only by the laws of physics?'
'Wrong.' Cody exclaimed. 'It's a conspiracy, that's what's they want you to believe, those idiots tried to kill of the last of the dinosaurs, well they failed.'
The crew were starting to think the all expenses paid trip to the asteroid belt observing the wonders of the universe, wasn't exactly what it was cut out to be.
Cody persisted with his story: 'The Blomfonstein family survived in hiding, licking their wounds, waiting to hit back at the _asteroid belt_. And now, humanity's technology has finally caught up to allow me to execute my family's goal. Eradicating the asteroid once in for all. First mate Bob,'
'That's __still__ not my name' Tim interjected.
'Doesn't matter, you're Bob, he's Bob, she's Bob, you're all Bob. Annnway Bob, man the gravitational misalignment tool aim for the asteroid belt.' Cody finished his spiel, as the quark gluon powered laser turned around towards the asteroid field.
'Should we tell him that you can't actually like destroy the field?' Tim whispered to the crew.
'Nah, he'll figure it out eventually.'
Cody turned his hair around to face open space, and with a devilish twinkle in his eye, whispered to himself 'Goodbye Asteroids'.
Edit: Fixed a typo.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Your parents used to say "As long as you are remembered, you will never die." The good news is you were happy to remember that when you changed the course of human history and everyone knows your name. The bad news is that was about 300 years ago and you'd really quite like to die now.
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*[I'm sat at a bar, and there's 4 empty whisky glasses. I'm nursing another..]*
*[A man sits down beside me]*
**Man:** Tough day, ay brother?
**Me:** Tough fucking life, to be honest.
*[Sips from whisky glass]*
**Man:** It can't be that bad.
**Me:** It's my Birthday..
**Man:** Congratulations! Surely, that's a reason to celebrate. Barkeep, get this man anoth-
**Me:** I'm 348..
*[Man looks at me with suspicion]*
**Me:** I know it sounds crazy. Check this out.
*[I show the man my drivers license with DOB]*
**Man:** What? How?!
**Me:** Well you know the saying 'As long as you're remembered, you'll never die'?
**Man:** Sure.
**Me:** Well that literally applies to me after my parents had me cursed as a child.
**Man:** Bullshit!
**Me:** It's true.
*[The man still looks at me with doubt]*
**Man:** Alright then.. So what are you remembered for? It's been 300 years. I doubt anyone will remember me after 300 years.
**Me:** You know the self adhesive rubber bits on laptops that covers the screw holes?
**Man:** Not really, but go on..
**Me:** I invented those.
**Man:** And that means you've been remembered for 300 years?!
*[I angrily take a sip of whisky]*
**Me:** Nope.
**Man:** Oh.
**Me:** You know those ice cubes you buy which are plastic with some water in them and you just chuck them in the freezer to refreeze?
**Man:** Not really much of an icecube man.
**Me:** Yeah, nobody fucking is.
[Anger is simmering. I take another sip of whisky.]
**Me:** You ever thought about who invented the phone case?
**Man:** No, not really.
**Me:** Join the fucking club! No one has.
[I throw my whisky glass across the bar, and it smashes the mirror]
**Me:** But you fuck one sheep!..
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Write a story given the following prompt: Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc.
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Perhaps he had never truly realized, until that moment, the depthless gloom of his fields. The skies were overcast, devoid of color, clouded by permanent mist - no spark or sign of the heavens' warming light to sweep away the shadows. He had never realized just how quiet it all was: his realm was embalmed with a deadly stillness, with no birdsong to break the silence of the grave.
The barrenness had never bothered him. He had always believed himself content with his place in the world, had borne his role with perfect stoicism, until she broke through the gloom and cast light upon the gray. He should have averted his eyes: an eternity spent in the mists had made him unused to the kind of brightness that poured from her white limbs and cascaded, like some divine melody, from her very core. Her song, as she gathered flowers in her mother's field, surpassed the sweetest of harps. The sight and sound of her filled him with a disturbing urgency. He knew, from the moment he set eyes on her, that the silence of his kingdom would be unbearable. She was the only spark of light in an endless dusk, and he knew that he must have her.
For the briefest moment he was filled with self-contempt. How could he lure a creature so divine, a daughter of light and laughter, into the lands of the dead? How could he condemn her to an eternity of gray, to fields where no flowers bloomed, where only echoes carried in the mists? But another glimpse of her dispelled his remorse. A king, after all, deserved a queen, and eternity was far too long to spend in darkness.
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Write a story given the following prompt: Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow
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It was Tuesday morning. God I hate Tuesdays.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, logs shipment usually comes in on Wednesdays. That keeps us busy for three days, sometime four, but Tuesdays are always dead.
This means that on Tuesdays, I have to listen to Tom, Jim and Preston talk about their meaningless fantasy football league ALL day. However, this particular Tuesday was going to be even worst.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, security measures aren't always 'by the book'. This means that accidents happen occasionally, sometime frequently, and Monday's accident was a pretty nasty one.
Grabbing a coffee in the office's kitchen should be a pretty simple task, except when Tom, Jim and Preston are there. And since it was Tuesday morning, they we're obviously there, ready to chat.
''Did you hear about Gerry?! His arm got stuck in the big WM yesterday, his whole left arm was chopped by the saw!''
''Yes Tom, I was there.''
''It wasn't just his arm, they say his leg got caught up as well!''
''Yes Jim, I was there.''
''He should of just stopped moving, I heard part of his face was ripped when he tried to pull himself out!''
''Yes Preston, I was there.''
As if my favorite trio wasn't enough, this dude from accounting felt the need to visit our shop this morning to discuss the accident.
''Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off yesterday?!''
''Yes, he's all right now.''
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