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Nitral-AI
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Reddit-SFW-Writing_Prompts_ShareGPT

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[ { "from": "human", "value": "It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says \"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON\". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending \"It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.\n\n\"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!\"I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. \"Yeahwah?\"I managed, blearily.\n\n\"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up.\"\n\n\"Must be my other girlfriend.\"An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. \"Mmhhmm.\"She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit. \n\nWith slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath. \n\n\"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.\"\n\nWait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...\n\n\"Shut up, shut up.\"I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. \"Curiouser and curiouser,\"I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message. \n\n\"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it\"\n\nSo, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.\n\n\"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!\"\n\n\"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!\"\n\nSomething about the \"honey\"sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.\n\n\"Look at that moon out over the water honey!\"It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?\"\n\n\"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!\"\n\nAnd as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping. \n\nLook at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon.\"\n\nMustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea. \n\n\"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.\"\n\nI pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen. \n\n\"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!\"\n\nShe looked down, and started crying. \"I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry.\"\n\nI rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. \"Sorry for what!\"I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. \"Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!\"\n\nShe stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. \"Oh WOW!\"she said \"Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!\"\n\nI let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon. \n\nAnd then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set. \n\n\"Oh WOW!\"she said \"Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!\"\n\nAnd I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful.\"\n\nI sighed.\n\n\"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white.\"\n\nI wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little. \n\n\"You know the rest,\"I said when I had regained my composure. \"I came out of the coma. I woke up here.\"\n\nThe officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to. \n\n\"I'm sorry for your loss.\"she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. \"Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?\"\n\nI sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.\n\n\"No,\"I answered. \"No, I don't think I can.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean.\"\n\nI looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. \"Yeah,\"was all I could muster. \n\nShe stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, \"do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?\"\n\n\"Yes,\"I said, quietly. \"Yes, I do.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "After defeating the Devil down in Georgia, Johnny proudly proclaims he's the best that's ever been. A flash of lightning crashes down and God appears, fiddle in hand. The Devil gets his popcorn ready." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Devil went down to Georgia \nWhere he got his red ass whupped \nJohnny was proud \nAnd he said out loud \n\"I'll never be one-upped!\" \n\nBut as that challenge echoed \nOut into the Georgia blue \nThe Lord jumped in \nWith his violin \nSaid, \"It's time for round two!\"\n\n\"You're getting mighty cocky,\" \nSaid the Lord, \"Now you're in trouble!\" \n\"That kind of pride, \n\"I won't abide! \n\"It's nothing or it's double!\"\n\nWell, Johnny tightened up his strings \nHe said \"Don't make me groan! \n\"I'll take the bet, \n\"But what I get \n\"Is a day upon your throne!\"\n\nThere came a flash of lightning \nAnd the Lord said \"You're all in! \n\"But if you lose, \n\"You'll take a cruise \n\"Into oblivion!\"\n\nJohnny, now you're in too deep; that fiddle better sing! \n'Cause now you're up against the guy who made everything! \nIf you win, you get a chance to rule both great and small \nBut if you lose, you won't exist at all...\n\nThe Lord rosined up his bow \nAnd said \"This will be quick! \n\"I know some things \n\"On Heaven's strings \n\"That ought to do the trick!\"\n\nWith a mighty flourish \nThe Lord began his line \nAnd his fiddle played \nA serenade \nThat was quite divine:\n\n&nbsp;\n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n[ANGELIC MUSIC PLAYS] \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n&nbsp;\n\nWhen the Lord had finished \nJohnny only rolled his eyes \n\"If that's your best, \n\"Just take a rest, \n\"And witness your demise!\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \nRationality that you can't resist! \nJehovah's in a fight with an atheist! \nAll of Heaven's angels start to grieve! \nYou can't beat a man who doesn't believe! \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n&nbsp;\n\nThe Lord, he raised an eyebrow, saying \"Johnny, you've been cheating! \n\"There's no sense smiting you, boy, if you can't feel the beating!\" \nJohnny said \"I'll tell you what, just save those declarations. \n\"I'm so high, I've been playing the fiddle against hallucinations!\" \nAnd he played:\n\n&nbsp;\n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \nEating all the mushrooms and seeing stuff! \nThe Lord and the Devil have both had enough! \nBut Johnny has a question buried deep within: \nWhere did he find a golden violin? \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n&nbsp;\n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬!" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was, more often than not, the smiley ones I watched out for. While I checked their IDs, their gazes would frequently flicker over to their friends for support. The more jittery among them would chatter away with quotes plucked directly from the latest Fortune magazine or how \"buying their own place was the best thing to happen to them\". If only they knew they weren't the only ones saying those things ...\n\nInevitably, after about fifteen seconds of my careful, silent scrutiny of their spotless plastic cards, the first tracks of sweat would begin to appear on their foreheads. Their conversations would die down, and the fidgeting multiply. The desperate ones would say, with frequent glances over my shoulder at doorway through which pulsing lights and throbbing music emerged, \"Could we, uh, hurry up? Our friends are waiting for us inside.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, but you're underage. This ID isn't valid,\"I said.\n\nSometimes, I wished I could just tell them the truth—that I could identify crap-all about them from the card. The printed numbers meant little against the large , glimmering digits floating above their heads. It'd taken me several childhood years and the help of a mirror to figure them out, but they made me damned good at my job.\n\n\"This can't be right,\"the young man said, jaws tightening even as a visible, nervous shudder coursed through his body.\n\n\"I'm guessing, seventeen?\"I almost laughed at his shocked expression. Jerking my thumb toward his older male companion, I said, \"Your brother'll just have to take you elsewhere.\"\n\n\"C'mon, let's go,\"the other man said, pulling him out and shooting me one last dirty look.\n\nSuch was the life of a street-level NYC bouncer. As I was writing down the ID's details on a register, I heard the clicking of heels approach. Next moment, a slim, small hand slid an ID card onto my podium.\n\nI looked up and did a double-take—literally jumping back a step. She was pretty, more girl-next-door than supermodel, with loose auburn hair hanging to her shoulders framing a lean face. About five feet tall, she wore a tight-fitting black dress that terminated at mid-thigh, though her figure wasn't anything more spectacular than I'd been seeing for the past hour or so.\n\nSo, your typical college girl lookalike ... but for the number above her head.\n\nThree thousand and nine.\n\nWhat. The. Hell.\n\n\"There might be an issue with your age,\"I blurted before I could stop myself.\n\n\"Excuse me?\"she said in a faintly European accent. Other than her mouth, the rest of her hadn't moved at all—even the fingers clutching the purse in front of her were like cold marble. I could feel goosebumps popping up on my arms as I reached for her ID.\n\n\"Sorry, just give me a moment to check,\"I said, darting furtive looks at the age number above her head as though I expected it to change at any time. I'd never been wrong before; perhaps this was the first time?\n\nHer name was Helena Ricci. Born here in the US twenty-two years ago. I ran the scanner over it. Clean. Shit.\n\n\"Er, I'll need just a moment to register you into our system,\"I said.\n\n\"Take your time. I've got plenty,\"she said. Her eyes remained cold above her smile.\n\nOnce the process was complete, I handed the card back to her. \"Have a pleasant evening.\"\n\nShe took the card and stalked off into the club. I felt tempted to go after her—so many questions were in my head—but that would mean revealing my gift. And one didn't go around spouting such nonsense so easily, so my dad had warned me.\n\nSo I threw my attention back to the impatient and growing line of patrons waiting for me.\n\n*\n\nThe hours flew by. I kept an eye out for Helena among the clubbers trickling out. Once, I thought I saw her in the midst of a small group of men, who went and lounged by a Levante parked not far away. They smoked for a while before returning to the club.\n\nAt about four in the morning, when activity was visibly slowing down, she left the club, flashing me a grin on the way. That, more than anything, helped make up my mind.\n\n\"Helena,\"I called, jogging from my post to catch up to her. \"I've got something I want to ask you.\"\n\nShe paused in her step, but maintained her distance out of my arm's reach. \"Yes?\"\n\nI tore my eyes away from her numbers and met her searching gaze. \"How old are you?\"\n\nShe snorted. \"Really? We're still not over this?\"\n\n\"I can see people's ages, above their heads,\"I said in a rush. \"I've always been able to—since I was a child. And I see that you're—\"\n\n\"Quiet!\"she snapped, looking around almost fearfully. \"You must be dreaming, or imagining things. I'm only twenty-two, recently graduated—\"\n\n\"That's bullshit,\"I said. \"I've never been wrong. I know what I see. And I'm most definitely not high or anything.\"\n\nShe scoffed. \"Stay away from me, mister. I've got Mace here in my purse.\"With that, she hurried away.\n\n\"I told you my secret. Don't I deserve a little truth from you?\"I said.\n\nShe stopped in her tracks and turned her head halfway. \"I never agreed to a trade.\"\n\n\"I won't say anything to anyone, I promise,\"I said. \"I just—seeing you is almost the same as NASA revealing that alien life exists on the Moon or something. Can't you imagine what it's like for me?\"\n\nFor a long time, she remained quiet. I could almost see the gears turning in her head. At last, she said softly, \"Fine. Come, I'll show you.\"\n\nElated, I followed. She didn't speak to me as we traversed the silent, shadowy streets, but I held my tongue as well. If I asked one question too many, she could turn me away.\n\nAbout fifteen minutes later, we arrived at an unmarked red door in a back alley, sandwiched between two dumpsters. I frowned at our surroundings, suddenly realizing that if she wanted to rob me—or worse—I wouldn't be discovered until the next week probably.\n\nShe knocked on the door, but instead of a rapping sound, musical notes floated from somewhere inside. Then, it swung open to reveal a heavily bearded giant of a man. His fierce gaze took one look at Helena before his expression melted with warmth, and he wrapped his arms around her.\n\n\"Who is this?\"he said.\n\n\"With luck, someone smart enough to keep his life,\"she said.\n\nI tried not to gulp as the man held out a brick-like hand for me to shake. \"I'm Olander,\"he said.\n\n\"I'm Jeff, pleased to—holy crap, you're over a thousand years old,\"I said.\n\nHe blinked in astonishment. \"How did you know? Oh, Helena, what have you brought us?\"\n\n\"He might be useful. Shall we go in?\"she said.\n\nOlander led us into a long, stone tunnel with an arched ceiling. It looked extremely cramped for the big man, but he hunched his shoulders in a manner that indicated familiarity. The two of them spoke in a language I didn't know. Somewhere in the distance, there was a constant gush of water—perhaps we were near one of the city's waterways?\n\nMoments later, we reached another door, this one made entirely of solid, carved wood. I had only begun to marvel at its surface when Olander pushed it in and revealed the chamber within.\n\nI gaped, open-mouthed, at the twelve Roman columns supporting a ceiling of painted frescoes, spaced around the cavernous place lit by huge chandeliers and colorful wall-mounted lanterns. In the center of the room was a fountain almost ten feet tall, crystalline water spilling from the top into three descending circular pools and sparkling with light.\n\nPeople of various races and attire filled the room, mingling in small groups; eating from the buffet tables, drinking, admiring paintings hanging on a section of wall, or listening to an orchestral quartet on a small stage.\n\nAnd above all, I was stunned at the numbers everywhere. Two thousand and eighty-two. One thousand five hundred. One thousand and six. Three—freaking three—thousand, seven hundred and forty-four.\n\n\"How?\"I stammered. \"What is this?\"\n\nHelena didn't answer except to point at the fountain. And then it dawned one me. Before I could inquire further, she pulled me back out of the chamber into the tunnel.\n\n\"Would you be interested in a new job here at our club?\"she said.\n\n\"I, er ... what job?\"\n\n\"Doorman.\"She sighed. \"You see, we can't have too many of ... us ... running around the world. Defeats the purpose of actively staying out of the history books, if you know what I mean. Anyone below a thousand must not be allowed in—sometimes, it's really hard to tell. But you already know that with your current job.\"\n\n\"I'll have to think about it,\"I said. My head felt like it was about to split apart. Those people ... some of their clothes looked like they predated writing. \"Are there ... younger people ... trying to get in, too?\"\n\n\"More than you know,\"she said in a grave tone. \"Olander takes care of them, usually, but it's really insulting if you turn away the wrong patrons. And grudges can last for a long time with us.\"\n\n\"Well, you already know we have a great healthcare package, networking opportunities, insurance and investment returns. I won't pressure you to give me an answer tonight,\"she said, going to stand in the doorway. \"Take your time. I'm in no hurry.\"\n\n\n\nThanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you'd like more stories.\n\nEdit: Floored and extremely humbled by the reception. Again, thanks to all of you who read it and for the aurums. Now for news some might find disappointing ... I don't have plans to expand this for now, mostly because of time constraints, working on some ongoing projects. This story was intended to be a one-off—with a sense of unresolved mystery at the end that could allow readers to fill in the gaps with their own imagination. That said, I really appreciate your comments, feedback, critique, and most of all, support, which is why I'll give the plot some thought and work on it soon as I can. Also you won't have to buy it—I'll post the story for free on my sub :)\n\nEdit v2: I'm outlining the plot. Will begin writing in a couple months. Hah, what a turnaround ...*" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You hire a female prostitute, tell her to meet you at a fancy restaurant, and ask her to pretend to be your colleague from the bank. Hire a male prostitute, and tell him the same thing. You sit at a table next to theirs and listen to their conversation." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was called Fuck You money, the type of money you burn in front of poor people just to see the hope fade from their eyes. It was the type of money you used to hire the most expensive prostitutes in America, tell them to pretend to be bankers, and have them meet for lunch in Le Bernardin in the heart of Manhattan. Each thought they were meeting a client, both were told to never break act.\n\nI sat at the table next to theirs, twirling a stainless steel pen with the letters Goldman Sachs gilded on. The girl, Anna, was the first to arrive. A tight black skirt hugged her figure. The skirt was short, but work-appropriate short. She was the best prostitute Fuck You money could buy which meant she was the best in the world. She turned her wrist and checked a silver Rolex. It was a Daytona model. She had certainly done her research.\n\nThe guy, Brandon, soon followed. He wore a navy blue suit without a single crinkle. I glanced down at his shoes. Brooks Brothers, custom-made. It looked hand-crafted even. A smile touched my lips as he sat down and extended his hand for a handshake.\n\n“Anna, was it?” Brandon said. “Thanks for meeting me, my name’s Brandon, VP at JPMorgan Chase, housing division.”\n\nAnna returned him a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m a VP at Merrill Lynch, risk division.”\n\n“Look at us, if our bosses found us here. They’d have our bonuses.”\n\nShe laughed and took a sip of wine. “So, I was told that you had a business proposal for me?”\n\nThis was it, the reason I had dropped five figures on two prostitutes. Brandon would fumble through banking buzz words and financial pseudo-sciences as I sat back, laughing at his stupidity. Then Anna would follow in their dance of idiocrasy, all the way until they left La Bernadin, never to return because they couldn’t afford even its dress code. My pen twirled in anticipation.\n\n“Credit default swaps,” Brandon said. “It’s insurance against bad loans. So if we make a string of bad investments, even when we lose, we make money, just not as much.”\n\nAnna furrowed her brow. “I work risk at Merrill Lynch, I know how to lower risk.”\n\nA giggle tickled my throat. What would a prostitute know about credit default swaps? He probably read the first Wikipedia paragraph and now thought himself an expert. I wondered who would be the bigger idiot, Brandon or Anna?\n\n“What if we pair that up with thousands of high-risk loans?”\n\n“Like we already do?” Anna asked.\n\n“But not individually.” Brandon leaned forward, his voice lowered so I had to strain my ears just to hear his words. “We pool them all together and then securitize them into a single asset. Tell me Anna, what happens when you bundle risk?”\n\n“It drops,” Anna said. “But those have been around for a while now. Are you proposing that we just keep doing what we’re doing?”\n\nBrandon frowned. It looked like Anna had done more research than him. I pretended to cough to stifle my laughter. It was he who would look the fool!\n\n“Wait,” Anna said, “but how about we talk to the ratings agencies. The bigger the pool of assets, the lower the risk. If we get a big enough pool, any sort of shitty asset could have a triple-A rating.”\n\nMy jaw dropped and I broke character by staring straight at her. The two didn’t even notice, they were so buried in their conversation.\n\n“We can lower it further by having it asset-backed. Like a car loan,” Brandon said, his voice rising with his excitement.\n\n“Like a mortgage!” Anna said. “We can sell janitors million dollar houses on loans they’ll never pay off, pool all those loans together, and then sell them off as a Triple-A asset before they crash and burn.”\n\nMy fingers trembled, but not with the same excitement I had purchased. They were right. Banks could securitize all these shitty mortgages and their value would rise because their ratings would, even though the risk technically stayed exactly the same. My pen dropped to the napkin in front of me and I wrote a single phrase into it before slipping it in my pocket and leaving.\n\nSub-prime mortgages.\n\n---\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang for daily WP stories, continuations by popular demand, and more!" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was a real good guy, through and through. Never met anyone quite like him since, never really expect I will either.\n\nPeople like Joe don't come around often. Once in a lifetime maybe, if you're lucky.\n\nAlmost everyone I've ever met had the tiny silvered papercuts of white-lies on their fingers. It's a price of formalities, a camouflage of sorts- as everyone has a few, some deeper cut than others over the years; opened and reopened time after time. And not just that, but the larger cuts, silvery things on forearms and shins, necks or backs. People lie, it's just the way of things.\n\nSometimes the pain it worth the deception, the balancing scale plays out mentally before a person's mouth opens.\n\nJoining the force was what I wanted. There was a lie I told myself: A Lie I scratched in deep, over and over again. I wanted to change, I wanted my parents to be proud: All lies, tiny scratching lines on my shoulder to create a strange and deceitful pattern that never seemed to heal completely.\n\nIn truth, I joined the force because I had nothing left. I joined as a last ditch effort to save myself from rock bottom. Among the elite, surrounded by the brave and the successful, I simply kept my head down. It felt like being a fox, stuck among a pack of wolves. Just being there in the first place felt like deception.\n\nBut then, there was instructor Joe.\n\nI had more scars than most, and that earned little trust- but if people were politely cold with me, they were visibly frigid with Joe. See, he didn't have the traditional marks on his hands, he didn't have cuts and nicks along his arms, his face or neck: At a quick glance you might have thought him the most honest man alive. In fact, at first people did. A man in his fading thirties without scars? \n\nThat's like a god-damn unicorn. They're more myth and legend than person- yet there he was. Plain as day.\n\nEveryone liked Joe that first week. Everyone wanted to be on good terms with him- I mean, who wouldn't? In a world of liars and cheats, proof reminded at every twist and turn of the road, who wouldn't want someone they could trust? \n\nWell, that was before he took of his shirt in the locker-room. Before we all saw the hideous mark that covered half his back. One lie, but the most gruesome thing I've ever seen. From his shoulder blade to his ribs, it looked like a crashing comet of red and silvered white. A tiny portion of it just finally healing, a rough tear now recovered again.\n\nIt was all the same lie. That's something you can just tell sometimes, just know it. Usually you can tell how many times too, but whatever the number was which he'd said that aloud, I don't know. \n\nHe rarely spoke to begin with, issuing the orders with a stern smile, instructing as all the rest did. He was positive, encouraging, truthful: But that scar was on everyone's mind. Deep, dark, and terrible: Someone who could tell a lie like that... Well, there was someone to watch out for. In the end though, it was at the range when things went well and truly sour.\n\nLive-fire runs, we'd done them a thousand times, but that day I guess someone forgot themselves. Maybe they thought too much on what and how and their brain skipped a beat, or maybe they were just careless. Regardless of the reason, a shot fired when it shouldn't have. Brass spit fire, Air swallowed metal, and lead took its first taste of iron, calcium, iron and dirt.\n\nIn that order.\n\nWe all stopped, eyes wide and watching that kid fall down real slow. First standing, staring with his hand pulling away- not even scared, just shocked. Red, like deep crimson soaking and spreading, he dropped down to his knees. Still, he wasn't even there yet, it hadn't quite processed.\n\nThat's when Joe caught him- and all the shouting erupted. The pandemonium, the first real training turned to action kicking in. Cries for \"Medic!\"and \"KIT! Get the kit!\"as people ran for the directions they thought mattered.\n\nI was close enough to know that wasn't going to make a difference. Center of mass was what we trained for, the reason was straight and forward: Shoot to kill. Eliminate the target and move on.\n\nSo I sat there, weapon heavy in my hands as I watched Joe hold this kid, blood pouring out into the dirt like a faucet, and I listened to him repeat the words that cut deep. Over, and over, and over again.\n\n\"Hang on, look at me. You're gonna be alright.\" \n\n\"You're gonna be alright.\"\n\n" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The heart monitor marked the slowing of her heart beats, the beeps getting farther and farther apart each passing minute. The looks from the nurses told me it was only a matter of time until it was all over. I picked absentmindedly at a loose string hanging from the sling holding my arm tight against my body.\n\nI hadn't seen the car coming, because I had been yelling into the back seat at her. I couldn't even remember what I had been yelling about, but it didn't matter right now. She looked so small lying in the hospital bed, her golden curls on the pillow. I wished for a way to take her home, to make her safe again.\n\nThe heart monitor beeped out a warning that the nurse quickly shut off. Her eyes fluttered open and my heart leapt with a momentary hope. I wished to apologize, to tell her it was my fault. Her eyes closed again, and my sorrow ballooned once more.\n\nI prayed the way only a broken man can. Nobody was saying anything, we all just waited. The doctor walked in the room silently. Was time starting to run out?\n\nShe opened her eyes again. I smiled at her.\n\nIt was happening.\n\nHearts stopped.\n\nChildless." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The actor stood answered the knock at his trailer door. When he saw who it was that knocked, he said, \"I wondered when you would show up. Want to come in?\"\n\nDeath nodded his skeletal head and said, \"Yes.\"\n\nThe two took seats, the actor in his chair and the skeleton on a long couch. There was silence between them for what seemed a long time, or at least what mortals consider a long time. During the interval, Death patted out his suit and fidgeted with small items sitting on the table next to the couch. It was the actor who finally broke the silence.\n\n\"What kept you?\"\n\n\"Well, um, you see....\"Death said, then straightened his tie, \"It was, shall we say, a clerical error? Every mortal has a timepiece, an hourglass. When I see the sand has run out, I go find the person and call them home.\"\n\n\"Okay. Go on.\"\n\n\"Yours... well, this is embarrassing, but it got bumped.\"\n\n\"Bumped?\"\n\n\"Yes, as in knocked over. I think it was sometime in the 1500's? There was this flood in Rome, I was so busy and I must have upset the thing while i was in a hurry.\"\n\n\"Occupational hazard, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes indeed. Well, your hourglass... it rolled under my desk. I'm not a very fastidious cleaner, you understand, so I just now found it.\"\n\n\"You haven't cleaned under your desk in almost 500 years?\"\n\n\"I have things to do. Besides, have you seen how much good television is on right now and... look, I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"It's okay. I knew this day was coming. I'm ready.\"\n\nThe skeleton laughed. It was a strange sound, like sand being sifted onto a peice of sheet metal. \n\n\"You're not dying today. Is that what you were worried about?\"\n\n\"I'm not worried. I've had a good life. Several actually. I'm adored now. But it's sometimes a sad existence. I think it's starting to show. It's probably time. But if it's not my time, then why are you here?\"\n\n\"My superiors thought it was important that I come apologize personally. Your hourglass was righted. You will start to age now. You will die a natural death.\"\n\n\"Any chance you'll tell me when?\"\n\n\"Soon enough. But since your situation is... unusual, and frankly my fault, a formal apology and a head's up seemed appropriate. As to not upset you and let you return to a normal, mortal expectation.\"\n\nThe actor ran a hand through his hair. One came out. He looked at it. It was gray. A smile crept up in one corner of his mouth. \n\nHe said, \"Okay, then. I guess I'll see you in a little while. Thanks.\"\n\n\"It's really the least we could do.\"\n\n\"Want me to walk you off the lot?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Reeves. I'll show myself out.\n\n\"Oh, and by the way, really looking forward to John Wick 3.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.\n\nThere was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.\n\nSome of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.\n\nPersonally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as \"the last great super volcano.\"It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a \"hail Mary\"attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked. \n\nI live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 \"luckiest\"people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.\n\nEdit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!\n\nI did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.\n\nThank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome!" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You know, I really couldn't say when I first saw the lines.\n\nI mean, sure, I know it was sometime around my tween years when I saw them for sure. I was 13 when I saw the brightly colored lines cutting straight across the gravel parking lot, leading me back to my parents after I had gotten lost on that road trip. But before that? I really couldn't say. Maybe I had seen them before, mistaking them for pavement lines and supermarket markings.\n\nRegardless. After I noticed them, I couldn't help it. I saw them everywhere. Two lines, red and green, etched into the ground like they were marked in paint. No one else could see them. I'd commented on them once, to my mother, and she looked at me like I was crazy. I was old enough at that point to know to keep my mouth shut.\n\nBut I watched, as they wove their way in and out of my life.\n\nAnd, as one does, I inevitably found myself overwhelmed with the need to investigate them, to see where they led. The curiosity was more than I could take. The memory of that first time was too fresh in my mind, of the green line leading me straight back to safety.\n\nAnd so, when I was 14, I grabbed a botle of water and a snack, and I followed them. The green line, of course. Green is good and red is bad, right? It just seemed smarter that way. It had taken me on a winding, twisting path, deeper and deeper into the city, until at last I found myself at a robotics tournament being held that afternoon. \n\nIt was thrilling.\n\nI had no idea that something like that was even a thing, but my interest was piqued. I decided - I wanted to do something like that with my life. And I looked at that little green line with newfound respect.\n\nSo I followed it again.\n\nOver and over, I followed it. And time after time, my life was rewarded for it. It took me to the front door of a prep school where I met Mr. Graves, whose tutoring I hold directly responsible for getting me into college a few years down the road. It led me out of danger, as a kitchen fire burned out of control in my school. And, it crossed my path with that of the woman of my dreams. Literally. We smacked into each other in a crosswalk.\n\nSo, here I was. I was 30, and the world was at my fingertips. I sat in my leather gaming chair, in front of the desk holding all of my equipment. I looked out the window of my top-floor penthouse, gazing down at the city below. The walls were covered with the awards I had won, in automation and robotics and system design. My lovely, smart, beautiful wife was in the other room, reading a book as she brewed coffee.\n\nIt was perfect. Really perfect. All thanks to that little green line.\n\nBut I couldn't help it. I was bored. \n\nMy whole adult life, I'd relied on that invisible line to guide my steps. It hadn't bothered me when I was younger. I was just a kid, and this line opened doors for me I didn't even know existed. I'd followed it without hesitation, trusting it to take my life where it needed to go.\n\nNow that I was older, now that I had time to stop and think about it, I wondered if this had all really been for the best. Had I just taken the easy path? Had I gone with the flow, and given up on taking my life into my own hands? It kept me up at night, I'll be honest.\n\nAnd through it all, it burned, in the corner of my vision. That red line. It seared into my sight like it was on fire. It demanded attention, begging for me to give it the shot I'd only ever given its green brother.\n\nThat old curiosity was back.\n\nAnd so I grabbed an old messenger bag out of the closet, a remnant from my college days. I threw in bottles of water, and a pocket knife. A charge cable for my phone, and a granola bar. I laughed to myself, as I saw it. It looked so much like the bag I had packed, all those years ago, when I first walked the green line. But that felt right, you know?\n\nI slipped out the door, with a quick goodbye to my wife. She accepted my excuses of taking a walk without hesitation, pressing a kiss to my cheek and wishing me a good day. I smiled to myself, as I left the house. She was the best thing that the green line had ever gotten me.\n\nAnd then I stepped onto the red line.\n\nOnce again, it led me into the city, deeper and deeper. But where the green line had taken me straight towards the center of activity, leading me towards schools and conference centers, the red line seemed to be taking me right to the worst part of town. I flinched away from seedy glares, eyeing my bag and the make of my coat, as I hurried onwards.\n\nI hoped this wasn't going to be the last mistake I ever made.\n\nThe buildings around me loomed higher, the roads and streets giving way to narrow alleys. I was about to give up, to declare this a fool's errand and turn back.\n\nAnd then I heard her crying.\n\n\"Please. Please, no. I swear I won't say anything. I don't have any money, I- I don't have anything. Please just let me go and I swear I won't ever-\"\n\n\"Shut it.\"\n\nThe woman's voice was high, reedy with fear, and her tears threatened to overwhelm her words entirely. It stopped me in my tracks, before I even had a chance to hear him speak.\n\nThe voices were coming from ahead. The red line burned, inviting me onwards.\n\nAlmost against my will, I found my feet moving fowards. And then I saw her, huddled on the ground in a mass of scarf and hair. A man was in front of her, kneeling, with her purse torn open in front of him. He dug through it, tossing receipts and makeup cases aside carelessly as he looked for anything valuable.\n\nIn his other hand, he held a gun. It pointed at her lazily, weaving back and forth as he eviscerated the bag.\n\nThey were right there, no more than twenty feet in front of me. Neither of them saw me. The man's back was to me, and the woman was in no state to notice. \n\nMy hand plunged into the bag slung over my shoulder, latching reflexively around the familiar shape of my knife. I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but having it in my hand made me feel a little better.\n\nI needed to call the cops. This was all wrong. There was no way I could do anything to help her. I was just going to end up getting her killed, or myself, or both of us. He had a gun. What could I possibly do against-\n\nHis hand swayed, the barrel pointing back at her. His finger tensed on the trigger.\n\nBefore I had time to think, I was running. The knife was out of the bag now, gleaming in my hand as I thrust it towards him. Towards his neck. If I could knock him over, if I could get that gun pointed away from her-\n\nI swore colorfully as I stumbled. The man grunted in surprise and pain, as my knife dug into his wrist. I winced, even as I ran headlong into him. Turns out my aim with a knife sucked.\n\nBut it got the job done. He fell, cursing and screaming, as blood flowed from his wrist. The gun clattered to the cold pavement, forgotten, as he stumbled back. His eyes were locked onto my knife, through the mist of pain I could see in his expression. \n\n\"What the fuck?\" He cursed again, clutching his wrist. \"Dude, fuck off.\"\n\nI swiped the knife at him clumsily, more threatening than actually intending to hit him. He swore one last time, jumping back. \"Fuck this. Keep your shitty purse, lady.\" With one last parting jab, he spun on his heel and vanished rapidly down the alleys.\n\nThe woman was a mess, eyes all red and sniffling desperately. But she pulled herself together as I approached her, beginning to tuck her belongings back into her bag.\n\n\"Are...are you ok, ma'am?\" I asked tentatively, my voice low. She glanced up at me, smiling.\n\n\"I am now. That asshole. I- I was so scared. Thank you so much. Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you-\" \n\n\"Don't worry about it. I'm glad I was here. We should get you to the police.\" I cut her off before she could go on. I knew the signs of an incoming meltdown, and figured I needed to get her somewhere safe before her emotions finally caught up with the shock.\n\nShe nodded, accepting my offered hand with a grateful nod, and we stumbled onwards down the alley.\n\nI glanced dowards.\n\nThe red line glowed brightly ahead of us. My stomach roiled. More?\n\nThe noise of the city was returning to normal around us, as we returned to some semblance of civilization. I began to relax, just a hair. And then, as we turned towards the main street, I hesitated.\n\nThe red line was turning, down a different alley. It led half a block down, and then cut straight up to the front door of a little shack.\n\nI could see a tiny, hazy tendril of smoke, rolling out from under the side door.\n\nThe line burned, screaming red in its urgency. It seared a line into my vision as I looked down the alley. I paused, caught deep in thoughts. Questions, that had been lingering in my head for years, and answers that had suddenly become apparent.\n\nThe green line took me where I needed to go. It showed me the easy path. The path that I needed to take.\n\nWhat if...What if the red line showed me the hard path? Not the path that I needed, but the path that other people needed me to take? What if it took me to where other people needed me to go?\n\n\"Can you manage from here?\" I heard my voice say, ringing distant in my own ears. The woman glanced back to me, smiling faintly.\n\n\"I think so. Do you have to go?\"\n\n\"I..I think I do, yeah.\" I didn't look back at her. My eyes were still locked onto that little building. The smoke was growing, swelling by the second. I half turned, releasing the woman's hand and giving her a reassuring smile. She returned it shyly, waving as she merged back into the flow of pedestrians and made for the police station.\n\nI turned back to the red line. And then I broke into a run.\n\n---\n\n(/r/Inorai, critiques always welcome!) \n\n[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/6vuflx/redline_2/) " } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. \"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "“What did you say?”\n\nI paused, my card already jammed into the receptacle and deducting $5.29 from my bank account. “What?”\n\nThe clerk stared at me, his green eyes narrowed. I drew half a step back almost unconsciously. “Uh. I asked if I could have my drink cup. You guys keep making us wait and it’s kind of annoying.”\n\nThe man stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What are you doing?”\n\nAll right, the guy was clearly crazy. I tore my debit card free, shoving it back into the holder permanently resting in my pocket. “I’m trying to get a Big Mac. What’s your problem?”\n\n“Are you insane?” he hissed, leaning forward across the counter. “What are you doing?”\n\n“Greg?” someone called from across the store. A manager, judging by the color of their uniform. Their voice was carefully cheerful. “What’s going on?”\n\n“Nothing! Just helping this gentleman out,” Greg said, his face snapping back to carefully neutral as he smiled at me. A plastic cup was shoved into my hands, along with the paper slip of my receipt. “Look - don’t be an idiot,” he said, his voice dropping low enough I had to lean in to hear him. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but you can’t walk in here talking gibberish. Leave me alone.”\n\nI stared at him, my mind racing, but the customers behind me were already pushing forward. I stepped back to join the others waiting for their food, my mind churning.\n\nI had a bit of a gift. Well, that’s how I liked to think about it. It had taken a few years to figure out - all languages sounded exactly the same to me. No matter if I was speaking to someone blabbering on in French or chattering in Italian, it all came across as plain old English.\n\nMy parents had been freaked out, understandably. It had taken a bit of doing to convince them I wasn’t just crazy. And as soon as we’d pieced together what was going on, we’d begun hiding. It wasn’t as though I could suddenly start spouting off Spanish and German, after all. We couldn’t even just leave copies of Rosetta Stone lying around meaningfully. The instant someone I actually knew called me on it, the secret would be up. I kind of valued living a normal life, too much to allow something like that to happen.\n\nTray in hand and my mediocre food steaming, I filed back to my seat. I could feel Greg’s eyes on me the whole way - staring.\n\nWhat was his problem? Had I stuttered?\nAnd what had he meant, gibberish? Maybe he spoke a different language, sure, but why would that be a problem? He should be happy that I’d spoken Polish or Swahili or who-gives-a-fuck. Maybe a bit surprised, but not angry. His reaction wasn’t normal at all.\n\nI couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Normally I would have lingered, taking my time in eating. With the feeling of Clerk Asshat’s eyes on the back of my neck, I just wanted to leave. I shoveled my value meal down as quickly as I could, hardly tasting it. My phone lit up with notifications, friends and family blabbering away, all wanting to know where I was. When I’d be finished with the day’s chores. Could I pick up this grocery list for them, or finish that errand?\n\nI ignored all of them. The wrapper crumpled instantly in my hand as I pushed myself upright, dumping the whole lot of it in the trash.\n\nThe guy wasn’t there. A bit of the tension slipped out of my shoulders as I saw his station replaced by a tiny, grinning brunette. Good. Maybe his manager had finally taken him down a notch.\n\nThe lights on my car blinked across the parking lot at me as I stepped out of the store. The cold air snapped me awake, back to reality in an instant. I was letting that guy creep me out for no reason. He was just a jerk, that was all - trapped in his minimum wage job. Probably just a crazy, when I thought about it. He was probably just-\n\nI yelped, eyes widening as fingers buried themselves in my hair, pulling painfully. Someone had me. There was something cold at my throat - cold and sharp.\n\n“Ok, asshole,” Greg hissed in my ear, his voice wild. “We’re going to go for a walk.”\n\n“What the fuck are you-”\n\n“Shut up.”\n\nThe blade dug into my neck. I could feel a hot line of blood dripping down my skin. My mind raced - this was insane. He really was crazy. A lunatic. He was-\n\nThere was nothing I could do to fight him as he turned me, forcing me towards the back of the store. A dingy, beat-up station wagon waited in employee parking, the lot unlit and dismally dark. I scanned the lot even still, ready to bellow for help at a moment’s notice.\n\nIt was useless. There was no one around. No one was going to hear.\n\nHe slammed me into the back of his car, my face pressed painfully against the glass.\n\n“How stupid do you think I am?” he spat.\n\n“What the hell are you talking about?” I cried, shaking.\n\n“What, you think you’re being subtle? You’ll just walk in, talking the Old Tongue like you were born to it, and I’ll roll over for you?”\n\n“Look, dude, there’s been some mistake,” I moaned. “It’s-It’s just something that I can do, all right? It’s not-”\n\n“Right,” he said with a laugh, his fingers still pulling painfully at my hair. “Like I’m going to believe that.”\n\n“I speak tongues, all right?” I said, craning my head until I could look at him. “That’s all. I don’t know what you heard. All I know is-”\n\n“How long until they get here?”\n\nI blinked. “What?”\n\n“I’m not stupid,” he spat. “I’m not going to sit idly until they come to finish the job. How long until the rest of them show up?”\n\n“The rest of who?” I said, trying desperately to keep from crying.\n\n“You know damn well who-” he said, but stopped abruptly.\n\nI blinked.\n\nSomewhere in the distance, sirens were approaching.\n\nMy heart leapt. Police. Yes. Someone must have seen him, someone must have called the cops. I was saved. He’d-\n\nHe let go of my hair in an instant, leaping away. His car abandoned, he vanished into the underbrush of the woods behind the McDonald’s. I fell in a crumpled heap, my heart still pounding in my ears.\n\nTires screeched as the cop car pulled up moments later, a pair of officers piling out.\n\n“Sir! Sir, are you all right?” one yelled, racing over to me. “Can you tell me what happened?”\n\n“There was- a man,” I said, glancing back at the woods. ‘H-He had a knife. He was crazy. Thought I was speaking some funny language or something.”\n\n“Why would he think that?” the other said, his brow furrowing.\n\n“I-I don’t know,” I said, instinctively clamping down. The cops paused, staring at me.\n\n“What, that’s it?” the first said.\n\n“I’m sorry,” I muttered, unable to meet their eyes. My gaze drifted, needing to find something, anything else to look at. The flashing lights of their cars drew my eyes in, holding my gaze.\n\nI froze.\n\n“Well, look. I’m sure this has been a traumatic event. Why don’t you come back with us, and we’ll talk about it?” The second said, smiling blankly at me. One hand dropped to his belt.\n\nNeither of them was wearing a radio. There was nothing on his belt but a gun and a pair of handcuffs. The details of it stuck out like a lightning flash in my mind.\n\nI took a step back.\n\n“Look, don’t worry, all right?” the first said, beaming at me. “You’re safe now, right?”\n\nThe insignia on their car was wrong. I’d lived in the town my entire life, and it was wrong. It didn’t even have the right name on it. It just looked…\n\nGeneric.\n\nI took another step back.\n\nThe smiles were beginning to fade from their faces.\n\n“Look, come on,” the first said. “Just take it easy, ok? We’ll just go for a ride.”\n\nHis hand reached out, grabbing for my elbow. I skittered away before he could touch me, suddenly sure of two things.\n\nWhoever those two were, they were not police officers.\n\nAnd I was in a mess of trouble.\n\n---\n\n(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)\n\n~~Not against a part 2, but I'm off to bed for the night, and part 2 would come in the morning xD there is a thread [on my sub -](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/8tn2oh/wp_whenever_you_speak_people_hear_you_speaking_in/e18qek8) Leave a comment there and I will update you if this gets more :)~~\n\n[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/8tvvbk/silvertongue_2/)" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper \"today you, tomorrow me\"when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why don't you just kill them?\"\n\n\"Because they're living creatures, Lindsay. You ask me that every ti–\"\n\n\"Oh shut up,\"she rolled her eyes, cutting him off. He sighed as he opened the door to the backyard. The moon was full but barely visible through the clouds. He knelt in the grass and whispered, \"Today you, tomorrow me.\"The spider leapt from his palm and disappeared into the darkness. He crouched there for a minute, wishing that he too could disappear into the darkness. He just didn't have the strength to leave. \n\nNo one believed that she had given him his scars, they didn't want to believe. He saw it in their eyes. They would laugh, mock him, shrugging it off, waving their hands, shaking their head as if to rid their ears of the words. He didn't tell many people, a coworker, a guy from the gym, his brother, and his best friends from school. The disregard for his confession hurt more than a book to the head or a fork to the arm ever could. But nothing hurt more than her betrayal. Every apology was a glimmer of hope that the woman he'd fallen in love with would return. Every insult she spat and object she hurled made him wonder if she was ever there, or if it had all been a dream. \n\nHe stood up slowly and turned to go into the house. If I were more understanding, more giving, patient, she'd remember what we had and come back, he thought. He'd had thousands of similar thoughts. He was a fixer. Maybe he could fix it. Fix himself, fix her, fix them. Deep down he knew he couldn't, but his hope and her blame kept him tied there. He'd tried counselors. He went alone when she'd refused to go. And when she insisted that he stop, that the counselor was driving them apart, he'd stopped. He shook his head, disappointed in himself again. \"Honey,\"he said opening the door, \"what do you think about trying to see Dr. Smith again?\" WHACK He heard the sound of glass shattering, but he didn't know what had hit him. He struggled to get up, but something else hit him. And he went down again. \"Lindsay, please...\"He looked up to see her looming over him, his old baseball bat in her hands, and he put his arms up to protect his face as she swung at him over and over and over and then she was shrieking. \n\n\"What is that??? *scream* Get them off!!! GET THEM OFF!!!\"He lifted his head to see his wife being swept out the back door in a wave of blackness. He thought he was hallucinating. His head was throbbing, bleeding as he struggled to get up. Leaning against the back door he watched as she disappeared into the woods, her scream echoing. \"Lindsay!\"he called after her, attempting to follow, but he collapsed in the doorway. \n\nThe next morning he woke up on the couch. He groaned, eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The room filled with evidence of the night's events but Lindsay wasn't there. He started to sit up to look for when he noticed a black rectangle on the wall. It looked like it was moving. Slowly, the blackness shifted, forming the words: \"Yesterday us, today you.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Your spouse has the annoying habit of unexpectedly licking you. When you ask them why they do it, they always reply \"just so you know it's really me.\"You think it's nothing but a cute joke. One day, feeling something is off, you realise your spouse hasn't done it in over three weeks." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was packing up some of Fi's old things when suddenly it hit me.\n\nThree weeks, four days, two hours without a lick.\n\nIt was a strange little thing, just one of those things that made Fi, well, Fi. Randomly, out of nowhere, \"just to let you know it's really me.\"\n\nSometimes, it would happen in public, and people would give us strange looks, but we'd act like nothing even happened.\n\nSometimes, she'd stop mid-sentence for a lick, and continue on like nothing ever happened while our friends and I all tried to stifle our laughter.\n\nSometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd wake up to a familiar wet sensation against my arm and a whispered \"sorry\".\n\nI laid the box on the floor and sat down, staring at the now barren counter. A few minutes ago, it had been covered in tiny pebbles, each one equally spaced from the others. Another one of her Fi-diosyncrasies, as we used to call them. I tried to remember some of the others, trying to remember her.\n\nHow, whenever she turned on a lightswitch, she'd flick it three times, on then off then on again.\n\nHow she'd go to the fridge and open it, look inside for a second, then close it, even though she'd just looked a few minutes ago.\n\nHow she'd take the stairs in an alternating pattern, one stair, two stair, one stair, two stair, the sound of the two pounding through the house.\n\nShe hadn't been able to do the last one in over a year, though.\n\nI remember finding her, lying on the stairs, passed out. At first, the doctors said she'd be fine, that all she needed was a few days rest. Over time, though, it became clear that wasn't true.\n\nI watched her slowly fall apart, one Fi-diosyncrasy at a time. Day by day, she lost the energy required to keep up all her obsessions, and then to do anything at all.\n\nAfter she couldn't walk anymore, she'd randomly call me up to the bed, saying she needed something. She'd talk faintly, almost in a whisper, so that I'd have to lean close to hear her. And then, I'd feel something wet hit my cheek. \"Just so you know it's still me.\", she'd whisper.\n\nI picked up the box again and headed out the door to the car. But then, I noticed something.\n\nA small cat sat on the porch. No collar, matted and dirty fur; probably a stray. I put down the box again, and knelt to get a closer look at it.\n\nSuddenly, it dashed over to me, and gave me a small lick on the hand. It stared at me, eyes wide.\n\nJust so that you know it's really me.\n\nNow, I'm no believer in reincarnation. I know that, whatever happens, my wife is gone now, and nothing's going to change that.\n\nBut that didn't stop me from calling it Fi." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "“Sir, we’ve checked and rechecked the translations, and we are 100% positive that this is what they said,” General MacMillan said. The army-man’s eyes were blazing intensity, and he knew what he wanted to say. However, attacking the invaders had already been written off the board by higher powers than he.\n\n“Five minuets,” the President said. “Five minuets. Not minutes. We’re sure it’s minuets.”\n\nIt wasn’t a question, but the general answered, “Yes.”\n\n“Can Eminem even do a minuet? Doesn’t he do…I don’t know, do rappers even dance?”\n\n“From what I understand, no, sir, they just bounce around and speak rapidly.”\n\n“How can he tell the history of the entire Earth in five minuets?” The president leaned back and rubbed his chin where a beard had grown until five minutes before he entered the political stage. That had been over twenty years ago, and now he wasn’t sure that anything in his experience would save him now. “Especially if he can’t talk.”\n\n“We have people working on it. Choreographers in Hollywood, and others of those ilk. Folks who worked in the opera.”\n\n“But why Eminem?”\n\n“We don’t know. We still have the option of a tactical, nucle—”\n\n“I told you already, I’m not going to go down in history as the president who caused interstellar war. We give in to their demands, Eminem will dance the history of the Earth, and they’ll begin trade with us.”\n\n“Sir, I strongly reco—”\n\n“Just have your people keep an eye on it. I’m going to give Eminem a call.”\n\n*\n\n“Yeah, I got it, just ask my daughter Haley,” Eminem said to the person who was teaching him ballroom dance. \n\n“How’s his progress?” the president asked. \n\n“Better than I would’ve expected, just watch his turn on the Cambrian Explosion,” Rick Leon, Eminem’s personal tutor, said. Mozart was playing in the background. “It’s beyond graceful. The way he moves…it’s just impossible to interpret it as anything but a true representation of Earth’s 4.5 billion year history.”\n\n“So you think he’ll be ready?” As the president spoke, Eminem performed two forward steps, swinging his open hands behind him each time. He spun and stepped sideways, raising his arm as though holding the gentle Earth on a string between his fingers. “Never mind.”\n\n\n\nEminem walked to the stage that stood on the National Mall, where the aliens had requested the performance take place. He felt awkward without a microphone in his hand, but he knew it was up to him to save humanity. \n\nCritics, artists, and everyday people watched in rapture as he danced the five minuets. Never in the history of the Earth had anyone seen a spectacle that was simultaneously so stunning yet beautiful, so intense yet graceful, so confident yet lacking that egotistical nature of the rapper’s life works. Put simply, it was the culmination of the entirety of human culture. \n\nBy the end of the first minuet, people cried. At the closing of the second, they wept. At the end of the third, they closed their eyes, feeling unworthy of the sight that unfolded before them. The fourth minuet ended, and paramedics were on the scene, resuscitating and performing first aid on those who had lost consciousness due to the sheer magnificence of the act. The fifth started, and came close to an end. Those able to witness it, those who had endured the crazed glory of the dances thus far, were the only people to hear the rapper say, “Look If you had. One shot. Or one opportunity. To seize everything you ever wanted. In one moment. Would you capture it. Or just let it slip?” He then dropped his pants and mooned the alien mothership.\n\nA short time passed, and the invasion began.\n\n**\n\nEDIT: Thank you for reading! And for the compliments and gold!" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "When you die, you wait in purgatory until you can be judged by the 4 people most impacted by your actions: the person you were the most cruel to, the person you were the nicest to, the person who was saved by your actions, and the person who died because of your choices." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In a room blacker than night, devoid of stars or any other such beauties, I floated. It was some shattered gap between nowhere and everywhere, the kind of lonely afterlife I'd always imagined would suit me best. \n\nI deserved nothing more. \n\nIt stayed that way for -- how do I put this? Forever, and yet not forever. I did not age, or move, or even feel the eons slink by in a human manner, and yet I knew it had been an eternity by the time the angel first appeared. He was a stark contrast to the void around us, brighter than the sun, yet cast light on nothing, as if his glow were being devoured by the abyss. \n\nSuddenly, I was standing on a circular piece of stone, and had some semblance of weight and being. \n\nThe angel opened his arms and spoke not in words, but directly to my mind. \"Timothy Halpert Bennington. You are now ready for judgment.\"\n\nJudgement. Ha, of course the afterlife would be something like religions predicted. I'm sure my life had left a bad taste in God's mouth. I didn't respond, only stared into the nothing below me. \n\n\"Your first Judge: the one you were cruelest to in life.\"\n\nI cocked my head, brows knitting into a line. People from my life would be judging me?\n\nNo. No, please, just send me to Hell.\n\nMy eyes tried to shut, like slamming the door behind you to avoid a conversation you don't want to deal with, but something kept them open. The angel hadn't moved a muscle, and yet, I knew it was him. \n\nA pocket of light smudged something within itself. That smear of darkness stepped forward, onto another stone tile, and clarified as the pocket zipped up. \n\nIt was her. I knew it would be, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. \n\n\"Oh, Timmy, you're so young,\"she said, a soft smile on her face. \"I've missed you so much.\"\n\nI couldn't meet her eyes and searched for words, but my lips only trembled, mouthing empty motions. My eyes fell to the stone beneath her. \n\n\"Look at me, Timothy.\"\n\nI obliged.\n\n\"When you were a boy, no more than fifteen, you once burned all of my photo albums. Not just the ones with your father in them, but the ones of us, family trips and gatherings, every memory I ever had. They were erased forever, those last bits I had of him and our carefree times. I cried every day for a month, when you weren't home. That was my joy, mementos of when life was simple and fun, which you turned to ash.\"\n\nThere was nothing I wanted more than to squeeze my eyes shut, but I could not; I was forced to watch the sadness in her eyes as she spoke.\n\n\"That was your most cruel action-- it hurt me more than when your father left us. He had always been unkind, but for you, the light of my life, to torch away our memories like that... it broke me.\"\n\nBefore I could muster the courage to apologize, she slipped away into light. I felt sick, so humanly sick in my stomach, but knew there would be no relief. One does not vomit in the afterlife.\n\nThe angel offered me no reprieve. \"Your second judge: the one you were most kind to.\"\n\nOnce more a flash, and once more an approach. My eyes widened, face flickering as I tried to understand.\n\n\"You didn't expect to see me again, did you?\"Her smile was wide and bashful. \n\n\"How...?\"\n\n\"Oh, silly boy. The mind plays tricks on us sometimes. You probably thought that, because you'd caused me a great pain in life, there was no way you could have brought me joy, but life is not that black and white. It's so much more than that.\"\n\nStill I searched, and still I found no words. \n\n\"You were harsh -- even cruel -- at times, but it wasn't always like that. Your pain changed you, and even then, you weren't a purely cruel person. Just one that lashed out once in a while because you didn't understand how to handle it. Life can get very confusing.\n\n\"This is my favorite story. When you were ten -- such a cute little man -- you wrote me a poem for a school project. I'll never forget the words on that card: To Mom, my bestest friend. I love you more than gummy bears or mac and cheese. You make me happier than Racer when I drop a potato chip and he eats it. Happy birthday to the best mommy in the whole wide world. You wrote that on a card decorated with hearts and smiley faces. You didn't know it, but that was right when I'd first been diagnosed and your father started to show signs of his poor character as a man. Then, on top of it, you cooked me dinner, and it was so bad but I ate every bite. It was the best meal I've ever had. \n\n\"Never in my entire life have I felt as happy as I did in that moment. You were such a deeply caring boy before everything went wrong.\"\n\nI barely even remembered any of that. Had I really done something to make her happy? Why didn't I remember it, when I remembered such other, terrible things so clearly? \n\nShe disappeared into the light as I searched my soul, digging for answers but only turning up dirt. The angel, kind as he was, did not let me take a moment to figure things out. \n\n\"Your third judge: the one whose life you saved.\"\n\nI froze. The one whose life I saved? I'd never saved a life, I'd only done things far from it. Perhaps it was standard practice, and no one would walk through the portal this time. \n\nBut, just like clockwork, she was back again, her smile warmer than the halo over her head.\n\nI gaped at her. \"No. No, I killed you. This makes no sense, I didn't save you. Is this some kind of sick joke? Do angels play pranks on people?\"\n\n\"Oh, sweetie,\"she said, shaking her head. \"It was mercy. Besides, the sickness had already stolen me. Letting me go in peace in no way makes it your fault. Have you held yourself accountable all this time?\"\n\nI couldn't find it in me to respond, mashing my teeth together instead.\n\n\"It was my time to go. There was so much pain and suffering that plagued me, in the end; my sickness was no fault of yours. The fact that you put all your hurt aside and stayed with me so I wouldn't be alone meant more than the world. You did the most brave thing a boy can do for his mother, and saved me.\n\nFinally, there were words I found that I'd been looking for, choked and jagged as they were. \"I love you, Mom. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better son.\"\n\n\"Shh, now, darling. Your hurt is almost over. I'll be waiting for you.\"\n\nOne final time, she faded away. \n\n\"And now, your final judge,\"the angel said. \"The one whose life you took.\"\n\nMy nails bit into the skin, I clenched so hard, and I breathed deep to keep myself together in front of the angel overseeing it all-- though, honestly, hiding things probably didn't work when in the presence of Godly beings.\n\nFor when the swirling portal of light opened, it was not my mother that walked through as it had been the previous three times. No, it was someone much more familiar, and somehow, more terrifying. \n\nMe. \n\nI fought hard to look away, harder than I'd fought before, but I just couldn't. There was no power in me, wherever I was, and so I simply stood there, frozen and sobbing at my own reflection. \n\n\"This is probably pretty rough for you,\"he said, pursing his lips. \n\nI let out a croak in response. \n\n\"You've always been too hard on yourself, you know that? Isn't it time that you get a little peace, too?\"\n\n\"I don't deserve it,\"I whispered.\n\n\"Everyone does. This world is a complicated and terrifying place, and everyone knows their own pain. You lived a life consumed by yours, more than equal penance for your mistakes.\n\n\"You've heard what she had to say, and seen the smile she still wears. You hurt her, yes, but you were also the joy of her life. Your father left because she was sick, not because you weren't worth it; he was the problem, not either of you. Your mother loved and still loves you, and you're not a bad man for the things you suffered. I only wish I could've shown you that earlier. \n\n\"But, alas, I digress. Let's not do this-- you've spent long enough convincing yourself you don't deserve to be happy. It's time to rest, now, Tim. Be at peace.\"\n\nHe held out a hand. \n\nI stepped forward and took it. \n\n---\n\n/r/resonatingfury\n\nSide note: the outreach on this has been absolutely incredible. Thank you all so much for reading; I can't keep up with the responses, as I'm off my lunch break now, but thank all of you so much for the kind words and awards ♥\n\nI'm working on my first novel based off a prompt, [which can be read on my sub here](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/bie5ep/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/), if you're interested!" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FADE IN:\n\nEXT. A DEEP VALLEY - THE HIDDEN CAMPSITE - NIGHT\n\nSeveral figures are huddled around a campfire, thick blankets covering each of them. The flicker from the firelight casts curious shadows on the high rock walls at the edges of its glow. Quiet-yet-casual whispers are heard, as if everyone present has grown used to feeling perpetually tense. An alarmed voice shouts from above. This is DEREK.\n\nDEREK: (O.S.) Stranger approaching!\n\nThe figures leap to their feet, throwing off their blankets and revealing that they are clad in worn combat gear. Firearms are drawn, and everyone turns to face the valley's entrance. One of the older individuals looks upward. This is ROBERT.\n\nROBERT: Can you tell anything about him? \nDEREK: (O.S.) ... No. \nROBERT: What do you mean, \"no?\" \nDEREK: (O.S.) He walks a bit like a Steve, but he doesn't seem as confident. He has a Matthew gun on his hip. \nROBERT: So, when you said \"no,\"what you really meant was \"I can't be bothered to extrapolate from available information.\" \nDEREK: (O.S.) I'm not a Francis! Dereks never got any fancy-shmancy logic training! \nROBERT: Yeah, well, the first Derek was probably a meathead.\n\nOne of the figures in the crowd pumps his fist in the air. This is CHAD.\n\nCHAD: (Shouting) Football! \nROBERT: Shut up, Chad. \nCHAD: Sorry. \nDEREK: (O.S) Anyway, it's not just the Matthew gun or the Steve sneak. He also has a Robert sword in a sheath on his back.\n\nRobert glances down at his own hip, where a machete-like weapon his hanging.\n\nROBERT: On his back? \n\nA young woman at the back of the crowd raises her hand. This is SARAH.\n\nSARAH: Maybe he's a Jacob?\n\nRobert shakes his head.\n\nROBERT: Jacobs have hand-to-hand training, last I checked. A Jacob wouldn't be carrying a blade. \nSARAH: Well, maybe a Jacob got in touch with a rogue Robert somewhere along the line. \nDEREK: (O.S.) He's not a Derek, I'll tell you that.\n\nRobert rolls his eyes, and many of the people in the crowd murmur with mild annoyance.\n\nROBERT: Yes, Derek, we're all aware of your precious sniper skills. \nDEREK: (O.S.) Do you think this is easy? Huh? \nSARAH: Yes. \nDEREK: (O.S.) You guys get to sit down there by the fire all night, and I'm...\n\nThe sudden sound of something slipping on dirt interrupts Derek. Several small rocks fall from above.\n\nROBERT: ... Are you okay up there? \nDEREK: (O.S.) I dropped my dinner. \nROBERT: We'll get you another one. Look, how far away is this stranger? \nSTRANGER: (O.S.) Uh... hi?\n\nEveryone whirls around to see a young man standing behind them. This is THE STRANGER. Robert sighs and rubs his forehead.\n\nROBERT: Derek... \nDEREK: (O.S.) You never asked which direction he was coming from! You just assumed! That's not on me! \nSARAH: I say we shoot him. \nSTRANGER: (Panicked) Wait, wait, wait!\n\nThe stranger holds up his hands and takes a step back.\n\nSTRANGER: (CONT'D) I'm not trying to make trouble! I just want to trade! \nSARAH: That's fine. I was talking about Derek. \nDEREK: (O.S.) Screw you, Sarah.\n\nRobert makes his way through the crowd, approaching the stranger.\n\nROBERT: I'm sure you can understand our hesitance to let just anyone into our camp. \nSTRANGER: No, yeah, that's... yeah, I get it. \nROBERT: Let's start with your name. What are you?\n\nThe stranger clears his throat nervously.\n\nSTRANGER: Uh, I'm... look, don't worry about it.\n\nSeveral seconds pass in silence.\n\nCHAD: (O.S.) Football! \nROBERT: Shut up, Chad! \nCHAD: (O.S.) Sorry. \nROBERT: (To the stranger) Don't you have a name, son? Something you do? \nSTRANGER: Let's just say that it's unique. My parents... well, they had some weird ideas. \nSARAH: Stupid ones, more like. \n\nDespite already looking nervous, the stranger begins to appear even more uncomfortable.\n\nSTRANGER: Uh, yeah, I... it doesn't matter. I just want to trade. \nROBERT: I'm not sure you have anything we need. \nDEREK: (O.S.) I need some new food, if that counts. \nSARAH: I could use a new soldering iron. Do you have one of those?\n\nThe stranger shakes his head.\n\nSTRANGER: Sorry. I have spare parts, cigarettes, some medicine, survival supplies... you know. The usual fare. \nROBERT: Oh, so you're like a Srikanth! \nSTRANGER: Nah, I can't haggle worth a damn.\n\nThe sound of a large explosion in the distance causes everyone to pause and glance at the sky for a few seconds.\n\nDEREK: (O.S.) Welp, the southern Inclusion Republic outpost just ate it. \nROBERT: An attack? \nDEREK: (O.S.) Looks more like a Dave screw-up, honestly. \nSTRANGER: Actually, I just came from there. They had three Daves. \nSARAH: That's bad. \nROBERT: Yep. Emphasis on \"had,\"I suppose.\n\nRobert sighs and shakes his head, then turns back to the stranger.\n\nROBERT: (CONT'D) You're welcome to stay here for the night, but you'll have to earn your keep. \nSTRANGER: That's fine. \nROBERT: What can you do? \nSTRANGER: Couldn't I just... you know, like, wash your dishes or something? \nROBERT: Why are you so reluctant to say what you can do? What are you, anyway?\n\nThe crowd tightens around the stranger, whose discomfort grows. His eyes dart around... but then, he sighs with resignation.\n\nSTRANGER: Oh, whatever. Fine. Let's get this over with. \nCHAD: (O.S.) Football!\n\nA dull thud is heard, followed by the sound of an unconscious body hitting the dirt.\n\nROBERT: Thank you, Michael. \nSARAH: (To the stranger) So? Let's hear it, then. \nSTRANGER: Okay. So.\n\nThe stranger sighs again. He closes his eyes. When he opens them, a complete change seems to have come over him: He is animated, and his face has broken out into a comical grin of nearly manic amusement. Several people take steps back, but nobody says anything.\n\nSARAH: I'm getting impatient.\n\nThe stranger leans toward Sarah, his insane smile widening.\n\nSTRANGER: Hi, Getting Impatient! I'm Dad!\n\nCUT TO BLACK." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Dumbledore's plan backfires completely. After enduring years of abuse, Harry Potter lashes out, killing the entire Dursley family, setting him on the path to becoming one of history's most terrible dark wizards." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Harry glanced nervously at his aunt and uncle at the dinner table, eyes darting between them as they feasted, desperate for their approval.\n\n“I must say, Harry, these porkchops are quite exquisite” Vernon said, taking a momentary break from shoving more food down his mouth. He set down the bone, let out a small belch, and wiped his mouth.\n\n“Thank you, Uncle,” Harry replied sheepishly. Despite going to the trouble of preparing the meal entirely by himself, he stood hungry next to the dinner table while his relatives indulged.\n\n“You know, boy, I’ll never approve of your….oddities…but we may have some use out of you yet” Petunia chimed in. “For some reason it never occurred to me to ask you to prepare dinners for us. When you volunteered I was skeptical, but now – now! After eating this, I think of all the time I’ve wasted preparing food for the three of us when we could have had you doing it the whole time.”\n\n“I’m glad you like it, Aunt Petunia,” Harry quietly responded, looking at the floor. \n\nOf course, the other unspoken reason they were initially apprehensive was that they were afraid Harry would use some of his magic to help prepare the meal. After all, he had been at Hogwarts for four full years now and they were clueless as to what he was capable of. This is why they were intent on watching Harry like a hawk during the entire preparation process, and only allowed him to prepare the meal for just the two of them on a night that Dudley was staying at his friend’s house just in case anything odd might be afoot.\n\nThey watched him from start to finish, but Harry had followed the rules by the book. He brought in the meat fresh, cleaned it, prepared it and cooked it all the old fashioned Muggle way. No wand, no magic involved in the preparation of the meal whatsoever. He figured surely the way to some sort of semi-workable relationship was through their stomachs. \n\nHe didn’t even care that the meal was split between them and he didn’t get any. That wasn’t the goal here. He just wanted to make sure that they enjoyed the meal he prepared for them.\n\nVernon took another brief respite from inhaling the meal. With food still in his mouth, he mused “You know…actually, I do have one…small complaint. Could use a tad more seasoning next time.”\n\nHarry started to fume. More seasoning? He had gone to such extreme lengths to make it perfect…spent hours to please them and didn’t even have anything to show for it himself. More seasoning? Vernon was wrong, straight out. Every Muggle cookbook he consulted said this was the perfect amount and any more would be overkill. Vernon had no idea what he was talking about and Harry’s blood started to boil. He briefly considered grabbing his wand. But, no. Harry’s resolve returned.\n\nHe had overcome so much over his first four years at Hogwarts, in particular the most recent one. He had to sit there, panicked, afraid for his life as Voldemort was resurrected with his blood. \n\nHe still could barely come to terms with the fact that the man that he thought was Mad-Eye Moody was actually Barty Crouch Jr., Voldemort’s most loyal follower and was planning to kill him the whole time. He trusted “Moody” implicitly, and the man had been so kind to him, shown him and taught him so many things. \n\nIn spite of himself, he let out a slight chuckle, reminiscing about the time that “Moody” transfigured Malfoy into a ferret. \n\nThat moment came as quite a surprise. Until that point, he didn’t even realize that wizards could transfigure other people into animals. \n\nBut it was a valuable lesson learned and one he took to heart. Satisfied once again, he watched with delight as his aunt and uncle ate the pig that used to be their son.\n" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "\"So they are a war species then, huh.\"The alien scratched his head: \"Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean.\"The other alien got closer. \"They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So what does that even mean? Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity.\" \n\"That's the thing, most war species... you know... like war. Human's absolutely detest it. Something like a quarter of their literature is whining about how much war sucks. That being said, most of that literature goes into great detail about how exactly war was fought ages ago, right now, or in some hypothetical future.\" \n\"I'm still not following you.\" \n\"OK, say you are doing something you love to do, you stretch it out, you make it last, you try to set it up so you can do it again as soon as possible. \nSomething you hate, but have to do often. You do it quick, you do it efficiently, you try to set it so you never have to do it again. \nWith war, that involves inflicting the greatest amount of death, with the greatest amount of suffering, to anything that can possibly provide resistance. \nThat's what the humans have been doing. \nYou know how many war species invented chemical warfare? None! There's no fun in opening a valve and having all the other side drop dead. All examples were peaceful species acting in self-defense against war species. \nThe humans hadn't even had heavier than air flight for 2 decades before they already started mass deploying. They only stopped because they developed chemical masks and found the mask were negatively affecting their ability to kill quickly. Even then they started working on actual neurotoxic gasses which could be absorbed through the skin. \nYou know why they did it? That particular conflict had gone on for a few years, and everyone was getting sick of it, so they tried to do the horrible thing and get it over with. \nDid you know that they had their first fission bomb before they had their first fission power plant? They justified that by saying that if they had attacked conventionally, they would have actually killed MORE people. So they dropped two city-busters and called it a mercy, because the alternative was to lay waste to an entire densely populated subcontinent. \nThat's humanity in a nutshell. They're fairly creative sorts, but they have an unusual view of the big picture. They see war as an utter horror. So horrible that the greatest atrocities are but mild annoyances. So, they say: we find war so horrible, we will spare you and the universe that great horror, by unleashing this other far lesser horror. So that's why we virus bombed that eco-system, flooding the atmosphere with oxidized hydrocarbons, and then set it alight. So we can spare you the horrors of war. That's why we redirected that gamma ray-burst. To spare you the horrors of war. That's why we unleashed that arguably sentient nano-swarm to painfully reprocess that entire sentient species. To spare you the horrors of war. \nThey are a species so scared of war, that nothing else can scare them, and in their fear, they'll unleash horrors unimaginable on the universe and count the universe fortunate.”" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!”" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As the eight strange beings applauded, one of them even cupping a hand over her lipsticked mouth to cheer, Joel tried to grasp what was happening. The nine of them sat in a fire rimmed cavern around a conference table shaped from warm volcanic rock. A chandelier of human bones dangled from the cavern’s ceiling, and it rattled around at random like wind chimes. A massive goat-man with reddish-black skin and wicked horns on his head towered above the seven others, who flanked him to either side. \n\nThey looked like pure stereotype. \n\nA fat slob with sixteen chins, a used car saleman looking guy with gold and silver jewelry all over him, a sultry dominatrix in skin tight leather. On the other side a disheveled looking college drop out, a pretty boy staring in a mirror, a bald, muscular dude who looked like someone’s pissed off step-dad and a sour faced woman glancing jealously around the room. Just where the hell was he?\n\nJoel concentrated on his last memory. He remembered highlighting pages as his private jet, “The Holy Gust,” flew over the sapphire waters of the Bahamas. He had been reviewing his sermon for Sunday – dotting the I’s and crossing the crosses, a little god humor there, praise him – and the pilot’s voice had crackled over the intercom about turbulence. Kimberly, his personal assistant, had taken his plow out of her mouth and put on her seat belt. The plane had shook and then…\n\n“Oh God,” Joel said. \n\nHe, none other than Joel Nosteen, the most beloved and syndicated mass media prosperity preacher on planet earth, had died. And this didn’t look like heaven. \n\n“Welcome,” boomed Satan. “Let’s go around the table and introduce ourselves to our newest member. Hi, I’m Lucifer. I’m originally from heaven, and my favorite movie is Star Wars The Last Jedi.”\n\nWhen Satan gestured to the handsome, blonde man looking into the hand mirror, he looked up annoyed.\n\n“I’m pride,” he said. “I’m from-“\n\n“NO ONE CARES,” Satan shouted. “Did you think I was serious? What do you think this is the rotary club?”\n\nAs the gathered freaks shared a chuckle, Pride blew Satan a kiss and went back to his self reflection.\n\n“There’s been a mistake,” Joel said. “I’m a man of God. I’ve done nothing but honor his glory with success my whole life. I’ve spread His word to millions of people all over the world.”\n\n“Yes,” said Satan, a smile carving across his face. “You preached one thing…”\n\nThe fallen angel held out his hand, palm up. He turned it over.\n\n“…and then you did something else. You got rich while your followers got poor. You lied, you cheated, you lusted and you envied. You gathered up everything for yourself while you pretended to care about everybody else, and you did it all with a smile. You convinced millions that you were virtuous. You made everyone in this room very proud, Joel.”\n\nThe seven sins around the table nodded and murmured their assent. Aside from sloth, who had fallen asleep, his Iphone still held limply in his hand.\n\n“You’ve got it wrong,” Joel said, his hands locking together in prayer. “Please God, save me from this hellish torment. Take me up into your light and grant me your salvation, Oh Lord.”\n\n“Don’t embarrass yourself, Joel,” said Greed. “You’re one of us now. How much for that watch?”\n\nInstinctively covering his Rolex from the greasy man’s sight, Joel looked around in surprise.\n\n“One of you?” he asked. “What does he mean?”\n\n“He means welcome,” said Satan. \n\nHe slid a mask across the table, stopping just before it teetered into Joel’s lap. When he picked it up, he saw a smiling visage on the outside of the mask. It was pleasant. On the inside of the mask though, a downturned mouth snarled with dagger teeth, and brows arched menacingly upward. \n\n“You are one of us now.” Satan grinned. “Hypocrisy.”" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You ask for unlimited bread sticks as your final meal and the prison obliges. The warden brings you the first basket of bread sticks, sets them down, and says \"as soon as you stop eating, the meal is over\". It's day three." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The garlic bread came left and right\n\nCrumb by crumb, bite by bite\n\nThe warden nowhere near in sight\n\nWarm and cold, dark and light\n\nThe man, somehow, was always hungry\n\nSome were soft, some were crunchy\n\nThe guards were getting bored and antsy\n\nThis one’s good, this one’s nasty\n\nOne day, two days, three days, four\n\nSomehow, there was always more\n\nNo clue what they had in store\n\nHow long would he eat them for?\n\nOne cop asked, “Why garlic bread?”\n\nThe man ate all he could\n\nWith his mouth stuffed, the man then said,\n\n“They’re really fucking good.”" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, \"Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?\"\n\n\"Of course, Professor.\"\n\nProfessor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.\n\n\"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay.\"\n\n\"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that.\"\n\n\"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to.\"\n\n\"Thank you professor.\"\n\n\"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often.\"\n\n\"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\"\n\n\"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me.\"\n\n\"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time.\"\n\n\"I guess.\"\n\n\"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you.\"\n\n\"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?\"\n\n\"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us.\"\n\nEyes to the floor Matthew said, \"I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport.\"\n\nProfessor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.\n\n\"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor.\"\n\n\"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?\"\n\n\"It's easier if I show you.\"\n\n\"Lead the way.\"\n\nThe two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, \"Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew.\"\n\n\"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?\"\n\n\"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely.\"\n\nNodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.\n\n\"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?\"\n\n\"Yes, Professor.\"\n\n\"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": ": 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." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This isn't possible!\"the man screamed, as the guards dragged him into my office. \"How! How the hell did you find me?\"\n\n\"That's not the important thing, Mr. Spencer.\"I said, calmly, as the guards pinned him face down to my desk. \"The important thing is after my firm put up the money for your bail, you attempted to skip out on your court date. Unacceptable, Mr. Spencer. Unacceptable.\"\n\n\"Your damn tracker can't have worked!\"he snarled, as they lifted up his shirt, exposing a thin, recently healed scar. \"I was picked up in an air car with a lead-lined interior! They flew me around the city for hours and verified we weren't followed or observed from any angle! My safe house is 30 feet underground, inside a Faraday cage! There's no signal on Earth that can penetrate that!\"\n\n\"Apparently there is.\"I muttered, as I withdrew the extractor from my desk drawer and placed it over the implant site on his back.\n\n\"How did you do it?\"he pleaded, a wavering, almost panicked obsession creeping into his tone. \"I don't even care that you caught me anymore, I just want to know how! Your men were at my location before I could even have the damn implant pulled out! It's not possible, it---AHG!\"\n\nHe snarled in pain as the extractor's laser scalpel automatically made a quick, clean cut, sucked out the implanted capsule, and then resealed the incision with a medical adhesive.\n\n\"How do I always know where each shipment I insure for my clients is? How do I know the location of every priceless piece of art or errant trust-fund child I'm hired to look after? These are the secrets of my trade, Mr. Spencer. They're not for the likes of you.\"I said calmly, putting the extractor away and palming the implant out of his sight.\n\n\"Tell me! Please, for the love of God, how did you do it?!\"he wailed, tears of frustration filling his eyes as my guards dragged him away. I shook my head -- bad risk. I shouldn't have given him the chance to try and screw me over. But then, there was never really a chance he'd get away with it.\n\nI looked down at the metal capsule in my hand, and smiled as I opened it, revealing the tiny, old fashioned brass key inside.\n\nThey were common when I was a kid, but these days electronic locks have replaced them for almost everything. If not for some lateral thinking, that would have made my particular gift almost useless.\n\nYou see, unlike most people, I never, ever lose my keys." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I awoke to the quorking of ravens. The fact that I knew that sound meant ravens, or even what quorking was, surprised me, but didn't concern me. Nor did the fact I couldn't quite remember where I was or what I had been doing. That too, should've concerned me but, pleasantly, didn't. It felt like I was waking from a long nap, a bit foggy but refreshed. The ravens flapped and hopped around their perch in a way that seemed to indicate confusion or argument and, for a time, I just watched them. It was some time before I realized there was someone else in the room, or space, or where ever this was. A hooded old man, also observing the ravens with something approaching paternal concern was turned away from me. I tried to clear my throat politely but the sound echoed impossibly and all three figures turned to regard me. \n\n\"Greetings traveler,\"the old man said, \"You've caused my little friends here a bit of confusion. It seems your tale is a bit unusual for my halls, so I've chosen to hear it directly. Tell me sir, are you a warrior of your people?\" \n\nIt didn't feel like an interrogation and somehow I wasn't scared. It was like my grandfather had asked me about what I had for breakfast that day. It felt right to reply, and suddenly memory became clear. \n\n\"Uh...sir, no...not a warrior. Actually, farthest thing from it by most peoples way of thinking - I'm just a cook.\" I felt this would somehow end the dream, or whatever this was, or the man would be unimpressed, but he wasn't. If anything, he seemed to be smiling. \n\n\"That explains this,\"a dented, scratched spatula appeared in the mans hand. Memory seemed to awake at the sight.\n\n\"Yes! That's mine! I mean, well, the one I always use. I guess it's my favorite, as much as a spatula can be. I was using it just a little while ago, making....what was I making? I'm sorry, I can't remember.\" I felt the need to apologize to this figure, although I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He seemed familiar, somehow, like a relative I hadn't seen in years. \n\n\"Don't bother yourself with worry, traveler. Why don't you take up your favorite...spatula, and tell me of your...labors with it.\" The old man offered the spatula to me, handle first, carefully, almost tenderly, like it was precious and fragile. I reached out a hand to touch it and felt a flash of memory. \n\n\"I...I was in the...cafeteria...Yes, that's where I was. I work for the district and was making lunch. Chicken tenders and tater-tots, green beans, apple sauce, even a little salad. It's good for the kids to have good food to eat, don't you think? I always loved working with the kids and the district was kind enough to give me a job, even though I had a record.\"\n\nIt felt natural to say this to the old man. He was feeling more like a long missed friend so sharing with him was comfortable...easy. \n\n\"A cook, for children? That was your task? Your role amongst your people?\" The question wasn't delivered with malice or derision, the old man wasn't mocking me or being cruel. If anything, he seemed..surprised, maybe even a little impressed. \n\n\"Yes, I love working with the children. Little Cheryl and Tommy and Franz were always nice to me, always tried to tell me jokes. I made sure to give them extra tater-tots - they love tater-tots. They even made me some macaroni art! I hung it up behind the counter so I could see it every day.\" The children. Something about the children. Something horrifying was crawling at the edge of my memories. The children were in danger! The old man must've seen panic on my face.\n\n\"Peace, traveler, the children are safe,\"The old man put a hand on my arm and I instantly felt a peaceful calm return, \"tell me of this day, friend, then we can go from this place.\" \n\n\"Today? Normal day I guess. Spilled tea on myself getting ready, had to change my shirt and almost clocked in late. I was just getting ready for lunch when I started hearing something from upstairs. I didn't think the kids were doing a field day and the banging was so loud. I went to look out and kids were already running down the stairs, screaming and crying...\"I could feel tears of my own forming at the memory...\"I saw Tommy and Franz holding Cheryl...trying to push their hands against her side, already slick with blood. Tommy was missing a chunk of his right ear but didn't seem to care, he was holding onto Cheryl as hard as a 7 year old could. He was so brave, even as the other kids ran in every direction.\" The memory was an avalanche now. The screams of panicked adults and terrified children. The smell of blood and gun powder. The thunder of the shots getting closer. I remembered.\n\n\"I...I took them into the freezer, in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy, Franz, Cheryl....all the kids I could find. I found the big first aid kit we always keep in the cafeteria and yanked it off the wall to throw into the freezer with them and told them not to open the door, no matter what. Then I broke the handle and I think...\"my memory ended with the shock of impact, of a force on my back and a sudden red stain on the freezer door. Understanding slowly unfolded in my mind. \n\nThe old man stood silent for a long time. The ravens had taken to his shoulders at some point and all were looking at me intently. It was only now that I realized the old man, face hidden in shadow, seemed to have a patch over one eye. He also had a tear running down his face. \n\n\"I see now why my little friends were confused, traveler. Midgard has changed greatly since I last walked there and with it, so has the shape of battle. Thankfully, what hasn't changed is the stout heart of man.\" The old man seemed to be drawing himself up, getting impossibly big and powerful looking. In the distance, horns blared. \"Listen, friend, the horns of my hall are sounded for you. You have a place among the honored dead here. You fell upon a field that should never have been a battleground, defending those who should never need be warriors. You showed the bravery of long ages past and when you did, you held this in your hand.\"\n\nThe final memory blossomed in my mind. I had used the spatula to break the handle, that's why it was dented and scratched. Something new blossomed there. I could see minutes later, help arriving, the freezer being forced open, medics attending the survivors. \n\nEven little Cheryl. \n\nI saw a memorial in the cafeteria, candles and flowers. I saw drawings of crayon and sparkles, thank yous and prayers, Cheryl walking slowly, still bandaged, crying, laying another piece of macaroni art on the pile. In the middle, on a small stand, was the spatula. My spatula.\n\nI turned to the old man, who I now knew as if he was my father. He indicated a direction and we began walking together towards his distant hall as his ravens took flight, quorking to themselves contentedly. \n\n\nEdit 1: I am stunned and humbled by the response this has elicited, especially from folks who work with or at schools themselves. Thank you all. I will try to respond to all the comments I can individually, and will thank all the folks who were generous enough to gild this directly as soon as I can. I'm also integrating the very helpful feedback from a few folks who noticed I drifted into the 3rd person a few times. \n\nEdit 2: A few people have asked if I had a subreddit, so I've decided to condense all the prompts I've responded to over here - https://www.reddit.com/r/SpecialistSix/. I hope a few that didn't get much traction the first time around get some new readers. \n\nEdit 3: Check out /u/NachosGalore [reading of the piece](https://soundcloud.com/anartiesaysmoo/spatula/s-MVmlN) - I think it's great! " } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's just not the same,\"Ultraman continued, from where he was sitting in an armchair. \"Everyone is so distracted by their phones and their electronics and their doohickeys. Now, back in my day-\"\n\n\"Rime!\"yelled out a voice from the hallway. \n\nRime, Bringer of Frost, Mistress of Winter, and current President of the Federal Confederation of Villainy, let out an exasperated huff. A hero? On a Wednesday afternoon? \n\nShe snapped her fingers.\n\n\"I'm here to- urp!\"\n\nUltraman paused in his story. \"Did you say something, Rime?\"\n\nRime gave him an apologetic smile. \"It wasn't me. I think it's from outside. I'll just pop out to see what it is, won't be a moment.\"\n\nShe stepped out of the study and shut the door behind her gently before leaning back on it, taking a deep breath. She could feel the familiar weight of her mask clipped to her belt. It was designed to cover her whole face with dark, jagged crystals, all harsh lines and sharp edges, black ice as twisted and as dangerous as she was supposed to be. She put it on.\n\nRime briskly made her way to the hero she'd flash frozen in a cube of ice in her hallway. She couldn't quite make out the mask underneath the murky surface, but the costume was gaudy, the colors garish. She couldn't help but sigh. An amateur, but that was only to be expected - the veterans in the United League of Heroes knew better than to disturb her on Wednesdays.\n\nShe snapped her fingers. \n\nThe cube melted in an instant, freezing water gushing across the floor, draining quietly through the numerous storm drains she'd had installed. \n\nThe hero inside it coughed, a series of violent, hacking sounds, and Rime felt her lips curl into a sneer. She'd only frozen the hero for a minute at best. Newbies nowadays...\n\n\"Rime!\"the hero called - well, wheezed. \"I'm here to-\"\n\n\"Your name?\"Rime said. \n\n\"Stop you- huh?\"the hero faltered. This close, their voice was young, high pitched, still slightly squeaky. \"My... what?\"\n\n\"Your. Name.\"Rime said, enunciating the words clearly. She gestured at the hero's bedraggled costume.\n\nThe hero blinked up at her. \"I'm- I'm Phoenix.\"\n\nRime rolled her eyes. Seriously? \"Let me guess. You had some sort of traumatic incident in your life most likely due to a supervillain, a superhero saved you, and since then your lifelong dream was to become a superhero just like them?\"\n\nPhoenix stared at her, mouth slightly open, as though halfway through objecting but not sure to what.\n\nRime waited a moment. It was only polite.\n\nWhen no response was forthcoming, she continued. \"Let's see if I'm on a lucky streak. Lo and behold, you're one of the lucky few that get usable powers, you realize you have a knack for fire, and you have the brilliant idea to come here to try to get rid of me once and for all because I'm the President of the Confederation and hence must be the worst villain around, and fire, after all, completely negates ice? Or so you'd think, at least?\"\n\n\"Uh.\"said Phoenix.\n\n\"Did you listen at all during class? They teach you this on the first week.\"\n\nThe blush was a dead giveaway.\n\nRime sighed. \"Oh, dear. You went off to find me the moment you got your powers, didn't you? Did you have the costume ready made?\"\n\nIt was disappointing. The quality of fledgling heroes kept dropping with every passing year. There were just too many heroes convinced they were experts on fighting crime after reading a how-to guide on the internet.\n\n\"So, Phoenix,\"Rime continued. \"Usually, as retribution, I'd freeze you in a block of ice and keep you that way until the League realized you're missing, but my afternoon is already fully booked. I need to deal with Ultraman's latest attempt to foil my plans. Do feel free to come back around tomorrow if you fancy being frozen again.\"\n\n\"Ultraman?!\"Phoenix exclaimed, suddenly talkative once more. \"He's like... old, and washed up, and senile! He's not even part of the League anymore!\"\n\nRime had to restrain herself from freezing Phoenix - oh, but how she hated that name - right then and there. \"He's also been fighting crime for more than fifty years,\"she said coldly, \"Which you would know if you actually went to class. And when the League decided he wasn't useful to them anymore, they discharged him without so much as a pension or even a thank you. Fifty years and it meant nothing to them. The League isn't government funded. It runs for profit, and at the end of the day, it cares about money. The League didn't much fancy taking care of an elderly, senile hero... so it let him go.\"\n\nPhoenix gaped at her. It only lasted for a moment. \"The League would never do something like that!\"\n\n\"Ask the League where Ultraman's pension is,\"Rime said. \"Or Wonderlady's, or Crowstorm's, or any of the older heroes for that matter. The League doesn't care. But we at the Confederation remember, and we at the Confederation care - we have a caretaker rotation. The enemy of my enemy and all that, as they say, because the League most certainly hasn't been friendly in its dealings with its older heroes. One might even say it's been quite villainous.\"\n\n\"You're lying!\"Phoenix cried out. \"The League wouldn't do that, and you're just saying it because you're, you're a villain! And evil!\"\n\nRime had lost what little patience she had left for that conversation. \"If that helps you sleep at night, then by all means keep telling yourself that. Just remember to ask yourself why none of the League veterans ever come to challenge me on a Wednesday. Now get out of my lair before I decide I do actually have enough time to freeze you.\"\n\nA wave of her hand sent a barricade of ice slamming up from the floor, a wall of jagged frost that blocked Phoenix from her sight. \n\nRime stepped back into the study a few minutes later. \"Sorry, Ultraman. That took a little longer than I expected...\"she trailed off, finding Ultraman asleep in his armchair.\n\n\"Huh?\"Ultraman grunted, rousing himself. \"Whassat?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\"Rime said. \"Sorry for waking you.\"\n\n\"You younglings nowadays, and your nothing.\"Ultraman grumbled. \"It's always nothing with you. Back in my day, we didn't sit around doing nothing, we found ourselves something to do.\"\n\nRime smiled, turning away to hide it. \"I'm sure you did,\"she said. \"I'm sure you did.\"\n\n\"You kids nowadays have it so easy, sitting around all day. Back then, being a hero meant work! We had pride, a real pride in what we did, and...\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "When you die, you wake up in an alien world holding a bong, with other aliens saying how was the trip." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "“I love you, grandpa,” my youngest grand-daughter, Sherry, said as she squeezed my hand.\n\nI looked up at those emerald green eyes she had gotten from me, at my entire family’s as the heart machine’s slow beats gently faded. Eighty years had passed by in a blink of an eye. When I had been Sherry’s age, I had thought myself invincible. Then, at forty, I had worried constantly about death, thinking through sleepless nights about it. But now, I realized that it wasn’t so bad. Because if there was ever a scene to immortalize, to be my last, it would be this. Sherry, her bright green eyes glistening with tears, my children and grandchildren all around me as the heart beat monitor lulled me to a gentle and permanent sleep.\n\n“I love you too,” I told them all and I closed my eyes.\n\nMy eyes opened.\n\n“How was the trip?” a familiar voice asked from beside me.\n\nI looked around at the purple moss smothering the rolling hills and the campfire burning in front of me. On my lap was a bong. At last, I remembered. My name had never been Terry, it was Zor’oah.\n\n“Yo, dude, you back with us?” Galmroh said, snapping purple fingers in front of my face.\n\nI coughed and nodded. Seventeen eyes looked at me from the six people sitting around the campfire. Just as I had wished as fifty-year old Terry, I had gotten my time back. Zor’oah was a freshman in high school who finally got invited by the popular kids into a drug-fueled camping adventure. Three boys, three girls, and a lot of “you can’t blame me for that, I was high”.\n\nGalmroh and Sardak had already paired up, leaving me with Sierrah, the reason I had agreed to come. She now looked at me with sharp blue eyes, a small grin on her lips. Her purple hair had pink streaks across it that dangled off her head and curved into her chest like directions on where to direct your eyes.\n\n“So Zor’oah, how was it? Tell us all the things you did,” she asked.\n\n“Bet you can’t beat me,” Galmroh said, his chest inflating with pride. “My first trip, I enslaved an entire race and forced them to build these stupid triangles.”\n\n“At least he can’t do as bad as Sardak’s first trip. He was just a slave. At least he killed someone before his trip ended.” Sierrah said.\n\nThey turned to me again, waiting to hear of all my misdeeds. “I was a man named Terry,” I muttered. “And um… I met this girl named Sarah.”\n\nSierrah’s smile grew. “Sarah, eh? Tell us, what nasty things did you do to this Sarah?”\n\nBlood rushed to my face, burning it a deep violet. “I married her,” I said.\n\nGalmroh choked on a breath. Sardak burst out laughing. The rest of the girls only furrowed their brows.\n\n“Yeah.” I knew I should stop. I had spent an entire semester trying to join this circle and continuing the Life of Terry was social suicide. But someone had to know of that first kiss with Sarah, the look in her eye staring at our first child together, and the tears in Sherry’s eyes when she told me her final goodbye.\n\nSo I told them, my voice tinged with pride. At the end of my story, I was the only one smiling and my smile stretched from cheek to cheek.\n\n“Dude,” Galmroh said, awe in his voice. “That was… super lame.”\n\nEverybody burst into collective laughter.\n\n“You did even worse than me on my first trip!” Sardak howled. “You’re such a wimp! Why are you even here?”\n\nI nodded to that one. “Yeah,” I said, talking to myself. “Why am I here?” I pushed myself up and walked back toward my spaceship.\n\nLaughter followed me the entire way, but I didn’t care. I opened the hatch of my spaceship and was just about to get in when I heard, “Zor’oah!”\n\nI turned to find Sierrah. She hunched over, panting, one of the buttons on her blouse undone. “Hey,” she said, “you don’t have to run. I mean, your trip was totally lame, but your next one’ll be better. Plus”—she bit her bottom lip and her eyes grew big—“you don’t want to be the only virgin in school, do you?”\n\nBeneath the starry sky, the silver luminescence of our twin moons, I recognized the glint in her eyes and for a single second, they were a brighter green than any emerald in the world.\n\n“Sorry,” I told the most beautiful girl in my high school and slipped into my spaceship. “By the way, the trip wasn’t lame.”\n\nMy engines roared to life and I flew off into the twilight. There were a trillion stars above me and I knew that around one of them, on one planet, was a girl with wild grassy eyes still clutching her grandpa’s hand. There had to be. Tears filled my eyes as I flew back home.\n\nFiction or not, it was the most real thing I had ever done.\n\n---\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and ~200 stories already written!\n " } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Smoke and a raging fire swirled and filled the room like the most terrifying tornado the world had ever witnessed.\n\nWell, Daniel thought so anyway.\n\nHe clutched the stack of papers he had been preparing for the past week, not wanting to lose a single page of the work in the swirls of smoke and wind. Even one missing document could mean the end of all he hoped for.\n\nThe fire ceased and before him stood a nine foot tall demon. Its blackened skin looked as if it was melted on to its gaunt frame. Horns shot out of odd and illogical areas and its eyes glowed a bright orange. At the end of overlong fingers, sharp talons took the place of normal nails.\n\nBizarrely, it seemed to be wearing a Members Only leather jacket.\n\n\"You have summoned me, Daniel James Simms?\"it roared.\n\nDaniel took a quick glance at his cheat sheet before responding robotically, \"I have called you into my presence.\"\n\nThe torn muscles above the demon's eyes scrunched. \"Indeed,\"it finally responded. \"What deeds do you wish of me?\"\n\n\"I have a request of you, Baazaal, Demon of the Ninth Quadrant of the Garden District, located within the First Netherworld,\"Daniel read from his first page. He looked up to see if the demon was following.\n\nIts head was tilted up toward the ceiling, as if it were calculating something. \"Continue,\"it bellowed.\n\nDaniel nodded and looked down at his stack of papers. \"So then you are agreeable to negotiations without an arbitrator present?\"he read. He looked back up.\n\nBaazaal still looked confused. It nodded toward the stack of papers. \"You wish to be a famous novelist?\"\n\nDaniel flipped through until he found a heading that read Demon Offers Suggestions and read the advice.\n\n\"I do not require assistance in the stating of my desires, Baazaal, Demon of the Ninth Quandrant of the Garden District, located within the First Netherworld.\"\n\nBaazaal looked annoyed. \"Continue, then.\"\n\n\"I, the Wisher, have prepared this contract detailing my wish. It lists the very specific aspects that I want as well as forbids several actions on the part of you, the Granter.\"\n\n\"And what exactly is this wish?\"Baazaal grumbled, eyeing Daniel's kitchen with mild interest. It put an oversized hand on a hip.\n\n\"As per my right via subsection 865 of the Demonly Laws of Conduct, I wish to express my wish to you in a summary. Is it understood that what I will say is not my wish, but simply a summation of it for your understanding? Your lawyer, arbitrator, or Netherworld-appointed representative of your choosing can clarify the more specific details for you at a later date.\"\n\nBaazaal sighed, which sounded more like a growl. \"Sure,\"it said, shrugging its huge shoulders.\n\nDaniel nodded and thought for a moment. \"I wish for a convenience to be restored to me. Again, in the vaguest of terms,\"he added hurriedly. He handed over the contract, which Baazaal seized in immense agitation. \"As per Article 4, section 10, subjection 82, clause 10, my verbal utterances cannot be confused for my wish once a written contract has been presented as my true intent and wish,\"Daniel said sternly.\n\nBaazaal reached the end of the contract, read the final line, and looked up in disbelief.\n\n\"You did all of this so you wouldn't have to pump gas?\"it roared. \"I knew I should have never taken a call from Oregon!\"\n\n-------\n\nIf you enjoyed this story about a horrendous demon, perhaps you would like a story about a corrupt politician running an election against an unearthed eldritch god.\n\nMy satirical dystopian novella, An Honest Policy, is free from today through the 22nd on Amazon. Check out my subreddit if you're interested!" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tensions are high as the male confronts the female, this species is known for unusual and often varied courting methods - this particular male has done away with the more common methods of wooing the female with erratic movements and hip thrusts. Instead he opts for a more simple approach, he aims to give the female a gift.\n\nIt should be noted that within this species females often travel in packs. This pack mentality serves as a natural deterrent against males who don't have the drive to show their face to a whole group when courting a single female - a form of natural selection if you would. The pack waits behind the female being courted, 'oohing' and 'ahing', mechanisms used to separate the truly decisive males from the others. It is often observed that males who make it this point succeed in their efforts.\n\nThe male now slowly approaches the female, gift in hand - a rose, roses are commonplace as courtship gifts within this particular sub-species known as 'high-schoolers'. After a brief moment the female takes the rose, he's done it. A snicker ensues from the female's pack, the male embraces the female and pats her on the back - the female, visually deterred by this, smiles and returns to her pack.\n\n A sound much like a bell rings signalling all present members of the species to return to their dens for more group tutoring.\n\n(This is my first prompt reply - I tried!)" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in.\n\n\"And I just feel like no one gets me, you know?\"The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he \nsprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. \"I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous, \nbut… I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?\"\n\n\"Ja, It is very hard, my master,\"the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies.\n\n\"Hey, Hitler,\"Bob said, stepping in, confident. \"May I?\"he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer.\n\n\"What is this!?\"\n\n\"Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff.\"\n\n\"Bob Ross?\"\n\n\"Yes. Here's the thing – I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not \ninvade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people.\"\n\n\"Holy shit, I do that!?\"Hitler widened his eyes.\n\n\"Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how \nlong it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument.\"\n\n\"What's the internet?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\"Bob leaned forward. \"This is what we're going to do – I'm going to teach you how to –\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\"Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. \"I'm afraid I must intervene here.\"\n\n\"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?\"\n\n\"The twist?\"\n\n\"Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and \nwhen you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over \nGermany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do.\"\n\nRoss frowned. \"I don't follow.\"\n\n\"You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?\"The servant asked.\n\n\"How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910.\"\n\n\"Never mind about that.\"The servant leaned back. \"My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you \nteach Adolf how to paint.\"\n\n\"Why!? Why would you do that?\"\n\n\"Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some \npurpose for the plot, right? And let's face it – go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've \nseen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example.\"\n\nBob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. \"Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?\"\n\n\"Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient.\"\n\n\"Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!\"\n\n\"Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some \npeople.\"\n\n\"It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not \nself-referential parody?\"\n\n\"Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy.\"\n\n\"Not my shortcomings. I'm not the author.\"\n\nThey both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug.\n\n\"Anyway,\"Hans said, resuming the conversation. \"Do something different. Fast.\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"Huuuuuuh…. Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!\"\n\n\"Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks.\"\n\n\"Okay, then… you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out Hitler has cancer too, and –\"\n\n\"I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen.\"\n\n\"Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out.\"\n\n\"Hitler? Any suggestions?\"\n\nAdolf looked around. He got up and paced. \"I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a \nday?\"\n\n\"And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring.\"\n\n\"Yeah…\"Hitler stopped. \"I don't know then. I really don't know.\"\n\nHans shook his head. \"Okay, I got this.\"He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. \"Send them in.\"\n\nRoss frowned. \"Send who in?\"\n\nStatic emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: \"Copy that.\"\n\n\"Send who in?\"Adolf repeated. \"What's happening?\"\n\n\"Well,\"Hans said, getting up. \"If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way \nto turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing \nPrompt's classic tropes.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nThe door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in – a boy in round \nglasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson. \n\n\"Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?\"\n\n\"Yup,\"Harry said, in a bored tone.\n\n\"Harry Potter fanfic? Really?\"Ross shook his head. \"For fuck's sake.\"\n\n\"If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly.\"\n\nHermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed.\n\n\"Fuck that, I'm out,\"Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the \nStatute of Secrecy was violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care.\n\n_____\n\nFor more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)\n\n" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His life had been a simple one, uncomplicated. What little excitement there had been surrounded expected events. Births of children and grandchildren, marriages, graduations. Though he had been a smart man, he never felt the need to work particularly hard, \"furthering humanity\"as some of his peers were compelled. There was the time, following several successful years as a Scout Master, that it was suggested that he run for mayor of the small town where he lived. He had laughed and said, \"No thank you\"to the members of the town council who had gathered on his doorstep.\n\n\"He squanders his potential!\"she had whined at the other ladies gathered around the table. They gathered every other day to play Bridge, drink mimosas, and humble-brag about the minor intercessions that they were allowed in the lives of mortals. \"Everyone knows that if he wanted the VP job, he'd have had it long before that philanderer Jacobs was ever hired.\"she let out a slow breath, almost whistling through pursed lips. \"No drive, no motivation\"\n\nGrandma had been famous dancer back in the day. She was a regular on \"Soul Train\"and was in several scenes in Saturday Night Fever. She had started her own dance studio in the city and kept her instruction costs as low as she could in order to give as many kids a chance at a career. She had worked her feet to the bone, and then some. Practicing, paying dues, always just short, always just coming from behind. \n\n\"I made it to level 60 before I was 65!\"It was invariable that the other women would hear about how his grandmother had started a charity for retired artists. The organization had helped countless artists move off the streets and back into permanent housing by helping them do things as complex as recover owed royalties or as simple as apply for disability. It was a worthwhile use of her hard-won fortune and fame.\n\nWhen word came that he had finally died, 4 days after his 80th birthday, his grandmother was adamant.\n\n\"A real level 25 if I've ever seen one!\"\n\"He'll be in heaven, living on the Lord's pity!\"\n\nThe \"Vita\"began to print. The first thing that anyone saw, after your name, was the score. This was followed by every interaction, thought, word, or action that changed your level and the commensurate \"XP\"change, positive or negative. \n\nThe ladies read his name, and only one digit of his level.\n\n\"3.......\"\n\nThe grandmother sagged like wet cardboard. She could barely hold the paper as it poured from the printer in the way that always felt like it was decanting a whole life. There were no large changes in his score. None of the multi-level leaps that all of the highest level individuals possessed. Nothing attached to world changing events, nothing indicating that he radically changed humanity.\n\nWhat he did have was the \"multiplier\". The longer the string of positive or negative interactions, the greater the \"XP\"that the next was worth. His interactions were almost all positive. He had gone almost a decade without a negative score at one point. Simply making his wife tea at night without being asked had scaled to the point that it was worth the same relative XP at level 3000 as it had at 30. \n\nWhen some would've shaken their fists and yelled as they were cut-off in traffic, he just tapped his brakes and checked the rear-view mirror.\n\nWhen some would have railed at the \"idiots\"at work making their job more difficult, he quietly cleaned up the mess and moved on.\n\nWhen he was frustrated, he didn't take it out on his coworkers, wife, kids, or friends.\n\nAll of the small things that could break a multiplier string. All of the small, seemingly inconsequential items that prevented almost everyone from achieving arch-angel status. He had avoided most of them.\n\nAs he lay, dying in a hospital bed. His daughter asked him a question, though she well knew the answer and had heard it a thousand times. She wanted to hear it once more, so she asked, \"Dad, how can I have a good life?\"\n\nHe smiled and his cloudy, shimmering eyes seemed to focus on a point ten feet above his bed.\n\nHe whispered, trailing off, \"Do unto others...\" \n\n\n\n\nEdit: Wow, absolutely thanks everyone. I enjoyed reading all of your comments, and I'm pleased that this supplants my previous high karma statement which was a quote about a man in the depths of an ether binge.\n\nSpecial thanks to those that gilded. I'll have to sign into my account more often again and see what it does. " } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jen gnawed her lip as she stared through the lens. Jase hadn't covered it with his thumb, which was unusual. Even more unusual, he was actually carrying groceries, a couple of big paper bags of them, one in each arm.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Please let me in, Jennifer,\"he said. \"Things will be different.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\nHe'd had a shave and a haircut. There was a little crusted blood around one nostril, the way he got sometimes when he hadn't had any coke in a while. \n\n&nbsp; \n\n\"Aren't you gonna tell me to turn off the computer?\"she asked. In the background, the intro music of High Seas of Naelor could be heard. Sometimes that game was all that got her through the night. Jase had always hated it. He'd deleted all her accounts multiple times. She always got a new one, and now she had password managers that he couldn't crack. He'd split her lip for that once, but she had not given in. She kept the apartment spotless, she handed over every cent of her check every two weeks, she worked out and never showed him a face without nice makeup on it, but he could not take away her elf pirates.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"No, Jennifer,\"he said. \"The computer is a reasonable coping mechanism in a situation traumatic to your sp - to someone in your situation. Please let me in. We will talk. Things will be different.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"I've been watching the news,\"she said. \"You're not Jase, are you?\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\nHis eyes were big and wide and brown, not narrowed in suspicion and impending temper.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"No,\"he sighed. \"I am not Jason Alexander Rembrandt, aged twenty-nine, occupation unfixed, residence apartment 301 building N.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"You're one of them things,\"she said. \"The invaders.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Yes. I am one of them things,\"he said sadly.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"And Jase is dead.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Yes, Jase is very dead, Jennifer,\"he said. \n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Promise?\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"I promise. I currently occupy the entirety of what was once Jase's frontal lobe, so I can say this with some certainty. I apologize if that is unpleasant for you to hear.\" He blinked a couple of times, and she realized he hadn't blinked since the first time she'd seen him. \"I suppose you will be contacting the authorities. Could I persuade you to give me a head start?\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"No,\"Jennifer said as she took the chain off. She opened the apartment door. \"But you can come in. Is that fresh bread?\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\nThe thing that wasn't Jase smiled in a way that Jase never had, as if he were genuinely happy to see her. He took the groceries into the kitchen as she locked the door again and began putting them away, his movements a little clumsy.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Yes,\"he said. \"Jase remembered that you liked the kind with olives in it.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"He never brought me any,\"Jennifer said.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"No, he did not,\"the thing said. \"May I stay here? Now that I have a host I have no reason to hurt anyone, you know. We only want a place to stay. All of us.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Well, you can't all stay in here,\"Jen said, leaning her elbows on the counter. \n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"No, no. We would not all fit. Ha, ha?\"he added hopefully.\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"The laugh isn't convincing,\"Jen said. \n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Sorry, Jennifer.\"\n\n&nbsp; \n\n\"You can stay.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\n\"Thank you, Jennifer!\" It smiled again. It kept forgetting to blink, but the smile was surprisingly real. \"May I watch you play your pirate game?\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\nJen smiled back. \"Sure. Come on.\"\n\n&nbsp;\n\nAuthor's note: WOW I did not expect the level of response I got to this one! Thank you to everyone leaving comments, and to those who have given me silver and gold as well. I love parasites and symbiotes, and I actually have a novel project about one in progress, although it's post-apocalyptic and not much like the story of Jase and Jennifer. Given how much you guys seem to like this little one-shot, though, maybe I need to think about doing a modern-day retelling." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I remember before I met friend. I don't like to remember, but I can. I remember the dark and cold. I remember mama wouldn't wake up. It was raining. Big men came and put me in a box, then put that box in a bigger mover box. I remember bumping up and down and the men talking loudly, and the rain hitting the bigger mover box, and loud angry geese sounds. When the big box opened they carried me in my little box inside. I was shaking and barking and shrieking and scared I was scared. They emptied my box into a bigger box and left me there for days. I got food and water, but people poked and pricked at me. I was scared and no one could help and I was lonely and I missed mama and I didn't think I was going to get out. The other dogs were bigger and louder and barked at me through the box walls. \n\nThat's when I met friend. He came in and stopped and looked at me. I didn't want him to grab me like the other men did, but he lifted me gently. It reminded me of mama. I liked him and I wanted him to stay, but then he walked away and I barked, and I barked, and I barked, but he didn't hear me. But then he came back. He put me in a big mover box again, but I wasn't in the smaller box so it wasn't as bad. \n\nThen when we got to his inside place it was the biggest box I had ever seen. I ran all around it, and I was tired by the time I had run around the whole thing. I could jump and run, and friend was always there to play, or sit on, or protect. He went away a lot when the sun was out, but he was always home after it went down. Some days he was with me the whole day. \n\nI was scared of the outside when he first found me, but he made me love it again. The walks, and the toys, oh the toys, there were so many toys, and bones, and treats, and belly scratches. He let me run free and was always there to go back to. I remember those days. They were my favorite. \n\nHe even helped me get over my fear of the big mover boxes. Usually, they went to the park. Sometimes, they went to the other place. The other place reminded me of where friend found me. It was all white and the floor went click click click under my paws. It had a big lady with glasses and a white coat. She would poke and prod at me, but friend was always there so I wasn't that scared.\n\nBut all of that seems so long ago. My legs are tired now. The outside seems so much bigger than it did. I can only run for so long now. But friend still brings me. He brings my toys too, they still cheer me up. They don't squeak as much, but I don't mind. The outside is starting to hurt. The cold gets through my fur easier. I feel so sorry to friend. I know he wishes we could still run and play. I try to, for a time, but I don't think I can keep up with him anymore. I wish I could thank him for everything. For getting me out of that box. He made me the luckiest dog in the whole world. He gave me things I didn't think I would ever have. I never felt so lost when my mama went to sleep. I thought no one would ever make sure I was ok. No one would ever be there to protect me. Then friend did. I was never able to thank him enough, but I hope he knows.\n\nFriend says were going for a ride soon. He's been taking me to the park more, so that's probably where we're going. I remember once, when I was tiny, we went to the other place and the woman poked me with a needle. It made me sleep for at least a hundred years. I feel like that now; like I could sleep for one hundred years. Maybe Friend can bring me back there. So she can give me another poke. I'll be less tired after another hundred years. \n\n\nEdit: Thank you all for the kind words. I only hope that this thread was able to ease OPs pain, even if just for a little while. To all those crying, it's alright, I cried too. Dogs are too pure for this world. For everyone giving me gold, thank you, really. But please, donate to an animal shelter instead. Every little bit helps." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Death was the oldest. Since time immemorial, people have died and they have come to him. Mankind fights an endless war against him. Though they may have succeeded in stifling his actions, Death is patient. He knows that in the end, all things come to him.\n\nPestilence was Death's brother. He brought plague upon the lands. Staining the Earth black with disease and blight. His method of bringing people to his brother was slow and excruciating. However, mankind have begun to stave him off. Disease was beaten by technology and he increasingly faded into irrelevance.\n\nFamine was as old as Death and pre-dated the birth of mankind. He worked with Pestilence to target the source of man's strength, his food and fuel. He destroyed crop and rotted grain. Starvation and a slow path to Death awaited those afflicted by him. However, man stood strong against him. They developed methods to create a surplus of food, too much for Famine to destroy. They developed methods to deflect his hand so that he may no longer afflict the source of man's strength. Thus, Famine, like Pestilence, faded into irrelevance.\n\nWar was the youngest. He was smart and cunning. He channeled man's strength against themselves. Conflict and strife became the grounds for which man displayed his strength. Efficient in work, he brought many to Death. However after his most brilliant work, where War embroiled the world twice over, mankind caught on to his cunning. Man made laws and grew to depend on each other. Though they may never fully quell War's influence, they made sure he would never afflict the world so spectacularly ever again.\n\nDeath was unhappy. Mankind had defeated his brothers and impeded his work. In his impatience and anger, he consulted his 5th brother, Kyle.\n\nKyle was a strange fellow amongst the brothers. He was quiet, lazy and seemed to care little for Death's work. He decided that his own birthname was too tedious to pronounce and opted for an easier name. Gaelic in origin, \"Kyle\"meant \"narrow\"a strange name for a Horseman to take on.\n\n\"Help me Kyle. My brothers are defeated. Mankind may one day defeat me as well. Please help out just this once.\"Kyle said nothing and merely nodded. He then disappeared off to perform his work.\n\nAs Death sat around his bedridden brothers, a miracle occured. Pestilence finger twitched and he his hands grew fleshy. Disease once again spread around the world. No longer as powerful as he once was, but alive once again.\n\nFamine groaned and began to sit upright. Once again, crops wilted and people starved. Famine however, felt something amiss, some of his work was...voluntary. Mankind began to starve itself.\n\nWar rose from his bed with new found strength. The gears of conflict shook off their rust and began to turn once again. Innocents die in battle again, widows gained and fathers lost. Misguided soldiers die under authority's whims.\n\n\"You revived our brothers Kyle. How did you do it?\"Asked Death, impressed with Kyle's work.\n\n\"I am Kyle, \"narrow\", the fourth of the Horsemen. Born with humanity but before War. My influence appeared when the first man decided that he did not need his tribe to survive. Narrow are the minds of humans.\n\nHumans defeated disease with miracle cures. Now some fear that those cures are harmful to them. Let them face Pestilence's wrath.\n\nHumans defeated Famine through piling resources and modifying crop. Now they hoard but never give. They let their breathren starve. Now they feel that excess of food is sin. They willing starve themselves of their source of strength to meet society's whims. Let them suffer by Famine's hand.\n\nHumans defeated War through tolerance, diplomacy and restraint. Now they turn intolerant and unleash violence against those not of their own group. They justify their \"Holy Wars\"with the blood of innocents. Violence begets violence, vengeance for innocent blood spilled is carried out by the sword. Let them spiral down to oblivion, guided by War.\n\nNarrow are the minds of humans. They do not think before they act. They believe what they want to believe and ignore what they don't. \n\nI am Ignorance. Until mankind is capable of defeating me, they can never truly destroy the Horsemen.\"\n\n\n\nEDIT: Nice to receive some criticism, turns out I severely lack knowledge on how the whole 4 Horsemen thing works. I really should go read up on this. Some mistakes here and there as well. I kinda, forgot to follow up on the \"modified crop\"thing that was pointed out. Oops. Also apparently my 5th paragraph should have Death refer to Kyle as his 4th brother, not his 5th.\n\nReddit gold. Did not expect that. Thanks to those who tossed those my way. " } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "EDIT: Part 2 is ready (see below):\n\nxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx\n\n\"The colors are all so beautiful,\"I say out loud and the faces around me smile, pleased. There is a man leaning over me, staring intently into my eyes which have just started working for the first time since I was born.\n\n\"How do you feel, any headaches or nausea?\" He has an older, kind face. I recognize his voice as the doctor that has been working with me since I checked into the hospital, and he still seems to shine as bright as the others. It's a kind of luminescence that sends trails of color as he moves.\n\nI shake my head slowly. \"No, I'm just a little,\"I pause to think of exactly what this feeling is. I'm excited, but there's still a bit of hesitation. I swallow, \"it's all a little disorientating.\"\n\nThe glowing doctor smiles. \"That is to be expected. Take a few minutes, get adjusted slowly. Your family is here.\"\n\nAnother older woman comes towards me slowly, tears in her shining face. Her steps as light as a bird on a windowsill, the same steps my mother always uses when she's worried.\n\n\"Annabel, what do you see?\" I smile at my mother, each tear a prism of color and light sparkling on her face.\n\n\"I can see you mom.\" I smile and she rushes forward, squeezing me into a familiar and comforting squeeze. Over my mother's shoulder, I see the woman who in in the bed next to me. We've talked briefly over the last few days, while I sat bandaged waiting until I recovered enough from the surgery to test my new eyes. She was going in for brain surgery later today.\n\nShe is pretty, a lean frame and bangs that frame her face. She is looking at me and smiling as well at the good news of my sight. But there is something drastically different about her. \"Shelby, why aren't you in color?\"\n\nMid-hug, my mother stiffens. The doctor gently pulls her back and shines a small pen light in my eyes, flicking it in and out of my field of vision. \"What do you mean Shelby's not in color?\"\n\nI look closer. Her bed, her sheets, her gown. Everything she touches is a deep gray, as is Shelby herself. She frowns, concern crossing her features. The doctor turns to her. \"Shelby, would you mind coming over here, please?\"\n\nShelby slides her legs out of bed and stands, making her way slowly over to me. As the last of the sheet slips from her body to rest back on the bed, the bed turns back to color, although it doesn't have the shining light that the people in the room do. The other doctors standing quietly to the side in the room begin scribbling furiously on their charts.\n\n\"Please Annabel,\"the same doctor begins, looking through a handheld device, peering through it with one of his eyes and my faulty one. \"Go ahead and look carefully at Shelby and see if there's still a difference up close.\"\n\n\"Yes,\"I answer without hesitation. \"The room is full of colors. Everyone else in the room is shining. I can see Shelby clearly, but she is in black and white. There are no colors.\n\nThe doctor puts down his instruments and turns back to Shelby. \"Thank you for you help. You can sit down, the anesthesiologist will be in soon to start prepping you.\"\n\n\"Is Anna going to be ok?\"she asks, sliding slowly back under the covers, draining the color from everything she touches.\n\nThe doctor turned back to me. \"Of course. There is a lot of new pathways that need to develop between the eyes and the brain. But just to be safe, I'd like to go take you to get an MRI and a few other tests done. Just to take a look at what's going on.\"\n\nAnd so began the long series of events I'd become to accustomed to during my stay in the hospital. Trips to different parts of the hospitals, filling out the same forms and confirming the same information over and over. I peeked into other rooms in the hospital during my trip. Some of the patients were in vibrant color, others in black and white.\n\nAfter the rest of the afternoon had slipped away into a string of inconclusive tests, I was finally brought back to my room to rest. Shelby was gone, already in surgery. So I started to settle into my half of the room. I had barely picked up my book from the side table when my mother was back in the room, rushing towards my bed.\n\n\"Have you been here the whole time mom? Why don't you go home for a bit?\"\n\n\"I have some bad news for you, sweetie. Your roommate, Shelby. Her surgery didn't go well. The doctors just came by to let us know she didn't make it. I thought it would be easier if you heard it from me.\"\n\nI blink back the few tears that spring to my eyes and look towards Shelby's now empty bed. I only knew her for a few days, but she was nice and it's difficult when death touches so close.\n\n\"Thank you for telling me mom. I'll be ok, I'd actually like a bit of time to myself. Go home, you have to be exhausted.\"\n\nMy mother smiles weakly, massaging her shoulder and down her left arm. She takes a deep breath, coughs a bit and tries to take another, sighing. \"Maybe you're right. I could use some sleep.\"\n\nAs she turns around, the small beads of sweat around her hairline and brow are the first things to change. The rainbow prism of color pulls back into the drops of sweat, taking all the color with them. From the center of her chest outward, the color seems to leak and drain, until she too, is only black and white.\n\nShe is almost out of the room before I yell in terror, \"No, mom. Stay here in the hospital with me.\"\n\nr/StaceyOutThere\n\nPart 2 is ready. Find it here: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/StaceyOutThere/comments/9sp4j9/color_blind_part_2/)" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Kiss the ground, ladies and gentlemen!\" They had burst into the bank, but at the order, everyone had frozen. A few shots quickly in the air had everyone on the ground. \n\nAnd Joe was just returning from the restroom. He had heard a few loud shots, just as he was drying his hands. He moved away from dryer and heard the noise as people shuffled to the ground. \n\nThe restrooms were situated down a small hallway, which allowed Joe to move quietly down the hall to survey what had gone on. He saw men, women and children on the ground, and guys in masks already walking past the hallway, and toward the front counter. \n\nSomething bumped into his stomach, and he took a chance to look down... only to find a young girl, no more than 10 or 11, huddled next to a potted plant that was situated in the hallway. She was hiding. No one had seen her. Joe breathed a sigh of both relief, and profound irritation. \n\nHe slid down next to her, and they exchanged glances. She looked terrified. He stared, and smiled in what he hoped was a fatherly-way. \n\n\"Psst, kid... What's your name?\" \n\nThe girl looked him over, trying to decide if he was a stranger, or not. She didn't smile, but something in her eyes made Joe realize she was going to trust him. A little. \"I'm Katy.\"she whispered back.\n\n\"Ok, Katy. My name is Joe. I'm a super.\" \n\nAnd her eyes went wide. \"Really? Are you going to save us?\" \n\nHe took a small breath. \"I'm going to try, but I need your help. I know this sounds weird, but listen. I don't really have much power on my own. But I can make others do impossible things.\" \n\nShe turned her head slightly, in confusion. \n\n\"I know you don't believe me. But I'll prove it. I want you to visualize a candy bar. Think of your favorite one.\" \n\nShe closed her eyes. \"Ok...\"she said, but doubt was starting to creep into her voice. \n\n\"Think about it, visualize it. Now, if you really believe... if you truly wish for the candy bar, it'll be in your bag. Waiting for you to reach in, and grab it.\" \n\nHer face was a mixture of confusion, but also of magic. Kids really want to believe in a higher power. In a world of Superes, it's a little easier for them to believe. But she knew the candy wasn't in there five minutes ago. I can only hope she's a believer... \n\nShe kept her eyes closed as she reached into her bag. And pulled out a snickers bar. \n\nHer eyes opened, amazed. Her pupils were slightly dilated. She looked at Joe and smiled at him. \"Wow! It worked!\" \n\nHe smiled. \"It worked because you believed. But here's where it gets crazy. See those bank robbers? You can stop them, all by yourself.\" \n\n\"I can?\" \n\n\"Yup, you can. Just think to yourself how bullet proof you are. How invincible you are. Nothing can harm you, nothing can hurt you. You're like Night Girl, or Fire Fly!\" \n\nShe looked at him, and he could tell if she was wondering how true it was. \"Do I get super powers?\"\n\n\"Anything you want, Katy. But you have to really believe in them. You're a hero, Katy. You just don't know it, yet.\" \n\n\"I'm just a little girl, though. What can I do?\" \n\n\"You're young, but that doesn't matter. Haven't you heard of Million Strikes, or Pinion? They were young, when they started. But they've saved so many people.\" \n\nShe nodded, and smiled at him. \"Wish me luck, Joe.\" \n\nHe smiled, and stood up. \"You don't need it, Katy. You're a Super, now, too...\" \n\nShe started walking out toward the group of people on the floor. One of the men noticed her, and pointed his gun her way. Another had seen Joe, and pointed his gun at him. \n\n\"You two! Get back on the ground.\" \n\n\"Katy, get down! You're going to get hurt!\"he could hear a person saying. The tone of her voice showed Joe it must be her father. \n\n\"I'm sorry, Dad. I can't get down. But don't worry... they can't hurt me.\" \n\n\"You hear this kid? She thinks she can't be hurt.\" One of them started to walk toward her, and he brought his gun down to strike her in the head. \n\nBut the gun broke on her head, instead. \n\n\"She...\" \n\nKaty looked up at the man, and smiled. \"I'm a Super! I can do anything!\" And her eyes were suddenly flaring up with flame, and her hands were engulfed in ice, and water, and lightning. And a sudden storm inside the bank brought the robbers to their knees. They were struck with lightning, and were down for the count. \n\nJoe smiled as he walked toward them, kicking their guns away. He had plastic cuffs for just such an occasion, and locked them up. \n\nKaty's eyes returned to normal, and she smiled. \"I did it! I believed I had powers over the elements! And I really couldn't be hurt!\" The father had jumped up and was holding Katy, now. Joe smiled. \n\nHe turned, then, and left the bank as quietly as possible. A new super, born in the world. She'll never stop believing, and so she'll always be Super. \n\nJoe smiled, as he walked down the street. He was ready to get home, and watch the news. \"Maybe I'll be featured, one day.\" \n\n*Part two is here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6imc4i/wp_you_have_weird_super_power_if_you_successfully/dj8ic7i/" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says \"I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now\". He looks off into the distance, \"They're coming\"." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My first thought is that I'm insane. My second is that I'm way too stoned, my eyes glancing at the half-smoked joint sitting in the ashtray on the porch.\n\nI'm dead sure I just heard Jax speak. And now there are howls in the distance, a chorus of neighborhood dogs calling to one another, Jax included.\n\n\"Can you repeat that?\"I say, forming the words slowly.\n\nJax abruptly halts his call to the skies, one paw still resting on the chewed up orange ball. \"You need to get inside.\"\n\nI try to comprehend the situation, my muscles involuntarily locking, with only my eyes flitting back and forth between Jax, the lawn, the half smoked joint and the orange ball. Something wet hits my bare foot, causing me to snap out of my paralysis. I swipe at the long line of drool hanging from the corner of my mouth.\n\n\"Get inside,\"Jax says again in some sort of bastard approximation of his bark.\n\nI turn and walk back to the house, still not quite understanding but now starting to accept - despite the absurd improbability of the situation - that my golden retriever is talking to me.\n\n\"Hurry, Abe,\"Jax says, nuzzling his snout against my ass. \"There isn't much time.\"\n\nI sit down on the living room couch, scratching my head in a caricature of confusion. \"What in the world...\"I say, mouthing the words silently as I stare out the window at Jax, who is now rapidly digging a hole in the front lawn with a dedication quite unbecoming of the lazy, irreverent best friend I thought I knew.\n\nAnother line of drool drapes itself across my knee and slowly steeps to the floor, forgotten. Jax pulls out what looks like a flak vest and a riot helmet and somehow dons them, then begins to howl again. The howl has a deep sense of purpose behind it, almost like a battle cry, like some sort of canine call to action.\n\nMy dog flashes a look back in my direction. His eyes contain a deep intelligence that wasn't there before.\n\nNoticing my discomfort and confusion, Jax bounds up to the window. \"We are man's best friend,\"he growls through the glass, puffing up his chest with pride. \"To defend you is our true purpose.\"\n\nA woman is sprinting down the street, causing Jax to snap back around and crouch low. She screams a terrible, blood curdling yell as something black streaks across the pavement and cannons into her, causing her to flail into the concrete. The creature rips the back of the woman's head to shreds before she even comes to a stop. I'm pretty sure it is Samantha, the kind lady down the street.\n\nThe black creature stops, satisfied with Samantha's splayed, lifeless form, then it turns and looks me dead in the eye, it's fangs glistening with bright red blood.\n\n\"Fucking cats,\"Jax says, setting his shoulders." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "\"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?\", the alien being asked \"It is.\"\"So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?\"\"With whom?\", I responded confused. \"The other major race on your planet.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is it true you can only see three basic colors?\" the alien being asked. \n\n\"Just about. Our eyes have three major primary colors perceived by the cones in our eyes, and most of the colors we perceive on what we call the visible spectrum are a mix of Yellow, Red, and Blue.\"\n\n\"So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?\"\n\n\"With whom?\", I responded confused. \n\n\"The Other Major race on your planet.\"\n\n\"I wasn't aware of any other such intelligent race.\"\n\n\"But you keep care of Ghoosha ambassadors in major cities. Surely you've established a means of communication. You have hundred of humans meeting with them every day. When we arrived, we spoke to them first. They welcomed us to your planet with a spectacular display of dazzling colors and welcoming patterns, as well as a three hour dance of peace.\"\n\n\"Care to describe where these Ambassadors are?\"\n\nThe alien fiddled with their glowing tablet for a moment, and then responded. \n\n\"My computer tells me that even within the borders of this country, there are ambassadors in the locations you would call Gulfport, Mississippi, Orlando, Florida, Indianapolis, and San Diego, California.\" \n\n\"There must be some kind of mistake, those aren't major capitals of the U.S. Would you care to describe what the Ghoosha look like?\"\n\n\"They are distantly related to the Homo Sapiens, different order but the same class of Mammlia. Unlike the fingers you have, they have pectoral flippers, and a tail fin for propulsion. The Ghoosha told me that humans have an understanding where they are allowed to occasionally visit their domain of over 71% of the surface of the planet for the purposes of sharing food and using transportation.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute ... flippers? Do they have a breathing hole on their back?\"\n\n\"Yes. They also use the surface of their skin on their back to relay messages and communicate on top of regular verbal singing. We thought you humans were the same, as you have [stripes and spots on your skin](http://mentalfloss.com/article/65092/our-skin-covered-invisible-stripes) and also use unusual singing and verbal communication.\"\n\n\"Flippers, blow holes, in a few cities, making performances ... are you talking about Dolphins?\"\n\nThe alien once again checked their tablet. \n\n\"Correct, although we are aware they don't like being called that.\"\n\n\"But humans don't have stripes. And last I saw them, which granted was when I was still a teenager, Dolphins don't change color.\"\n\n\"Do you not use cameras to translate their performances? What colors do you see the Ghoosha as?\"\n\n\"I dunno, I'd say a solid grey?\"\n\nThe alien looked perplexed, then twisted their tablet around to face me.\n\n\"Would you care to tell me what you see on my screen?\"\n\n\"Looks like a solid white to me.\"\n\n\"There is so much more to the spectrum that you've been missing.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying \"What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop\". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "“....happy birthday to you!” The crowd finished singing and I blew out the candles that spelled out “50”.\n\nNo one asked what my wish was; I think we all knew. We all only had one wish these days: to get off the damn train.\n\nA short while later, the cake was divided into pieces and divided among the crowd. We were finally starting to dwindle in numbers. After twenty long years on the train, many were choosing to leave, consequences be damned.\n\nFor we did not know what the consequences are. We all awoke one day sitting in different cars with nothing on us but our clothes and a single note:\n\nWhatever you do, don’t get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop.\n\nThe first day had been chaos. Accusations flew about as all of us tried to figure out how we got on the train, how long we had been there, what happened to our friends and families. \n\nEventually, we figured out there were 50 of us from across the world. No one knew anyone else. There was no single link between any two people. \n\nThe first stop came that night. Five people opted to get off immediately. We still don’t know what happened to them. \n\nThe bravest of us explored the length of the train. The biggest discovery was the dining car, which had been vital to our survival. Every day, we would enter the dining car’s galley and find it fully stocked with a surprisingly wide variety of fresh meats, vegetables, fruits, and standard pantry staples. A few passengers tried to stay in the galley for a whole day to see who restocked it; that day, we went hungry.\n\nBut the majority of cars were standard passenger cars. There was the coach car we awoke in, a handful of lounge cars, and enough sleeper cars for everyone to have a bed at night. My personal favorite was the observation deck, which sat at the back of the train. It provided an excellent view of the landscapes we rolled through and more importantly had a consistently stocked bar.\n\nAnd the landscapes were beautiful. The first day we saw endless rolling plains dotted with herds of buffalo. Since then, we’ve traveled through snow-covered mountains, blinding deserts, dark forests, and almost any other type of terrain you can think of except a city. There was even one awful month where we were stuck in an arctic wasteland for just under 28 days. Six people got off the train at the next stop, the largest group that left at one time.\n\nThat month was also the longest we had gone without a stop. Most often, there was at least one stop a week, though the time between stops varied widely, and the duration of the stop changed often, sometimes lasting for a few minutes and once lasting for an entire day. During one terrifying week, we had almost one five minute stop every hour. It felt like being on a subway in the city.\n\nBut there was no city. There never had been any, not even a building or the slightest sign of civilization other than the train, the tracks, and the stops.\n\n“What are you thinking, Jim?” Kelly asked as I stared out the window.\n\n“Who says I’m thinking?” I replied with a slight smile.\n\n“You haven’t touched your cake,” she pointed out. “And you always stare out the window when you’re feeling down.”\n\n“Hm… I’m getting too predictable.”\n\n“We’ve been interacting pretty regularly for twenty years, Jim. It would be more ridiculous if you weren’t predictable.”\n\nI grunted and continued to stare out the windows. Today was like the first day, rolling plains, but this time with mountains visible in the distance.\n\n“You’re thinking about them?” she asked quietly.\n\n“It’s been twenty years, like you said. Do they even remember me?”\n\n“Or has no time passed at all? We just don’t know,” she sighed.\n\n“Perhaps not. But we’re aging, are we not?” I scratched my scruffy beard. It had begun to turn grey a few years before, and it seemed like I found a new wrinkle every day. “It would only make sense for time to pass in the real world.”\n\n“It does,” Kelly admitted. “But I can hope.”\n\nI rubbed my eyes tiredly. “I want to. I really do. But...“\n\n“You’re not… you’re not thinking you want to get off, do you?” she asked, eyes widening.\n\nI remained silent.\n\n“Oh, Jim…” She wrapped her arms around me and I could feel tears begin to soak into my shirt.\n\n“I have a family out there, Kelly. I have to try.”\n\n“What if you die? You can’t take that risk!”\n\n“It’s twenty years today. Maybe that’s the end.”\n\nShe sniffled. “Maybe.” I could tell she didn’t believe me. “What if there’s no stop?”\n\n“There will be,” I said. “There’s always a stop at the hard moments. After the arctic. At one year, five years, ten years. There will be one.”\n\n**\n\nThe train squealed to a stop later that night just as I had thought it would. The rest of the passengers, now only twelve not including myself, gathered around the door silently.\n\nI took a deep breath.\n\n“Look me up when you get off,” I said. “I’m not dying here, even if this isn’t the last stop.”\n\nI stepped onto the platform, my feet touching solid ground for the first time in twenty years. I looked around at the plains and mountains, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stood for a moment. Within a few seconds, the train began to whoosh and the wheels slowly spun into action.\n\nI had failed. It was not the train’s last stop.\n\nI opened my eyes, feeling strangely calm. The plains had disappeared. I was standing outside my old house. It had changed over the last twenty years. The sidewalk was a bit more worn and the siding was a new color.\n\nAs I had thought, twenty years of my life had been gone.\n\nI sighed and stuck my hands into my pocket. \n\nThere was a new slip of paper.\n\nWhatever stop you get off at is your last stop.*\n\nI let the paper fall to the ground.\n\n“[Fuck](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).”" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You are the ageless evil of the land, and a prophecy has been made about a chosen one arising to end your rule. Instead of antagonizing the Chosen one, you send Gaurds to his farmstead, and give his parents tax breaks." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Dark One, Overlord of the Fifteen Worlds, had kidnapped the oracle years ago. It was best to keep prophecy-spewing maidens close to the den, after all. So when the aforementioned oracle made the \"Great Prophecy\"that foretold of his reign's end by the hand of a farm girl, the Dark One was the first to hear of it.\n\nIn response, he did the logical thing. He marched over to the squalid hut that the baby lived in, gave the parents enough money to be comfortable, and kept his second-best regiment posted by their newly-furnished house. After all, the Dark One assured the parents, their child was destined for great things. You could never be too careful. There were plenty of people who'd want to take advantage of a gifted child.\n\nLook, he might have gotten the title of \"Dark One\"thanks to his mastery of black magic, but he wasn't evil. Unlike what those rebellious bands of terrorists thought, he had a reason for everything he did. It rankled a bit to rule over the realms with an iron fist, but come on. Until the populace was educated and advanced enough to govern itself, the people had to be united by force. The centuries of civil war before him just proved his point.\n\nSpeaking of education, he also ensured that Little Miss Chosen One had access to the best teachers. Dammit, if he was going to be overthrown by someone (though he was still holding out on that), it better be by someone smart—not some lunk with a sword. Of course, the drooler extraordinaire seemed more interested in slobbering over the books than reading them.\n\nOnce the kid actually learned how to read, however, that changed. The Dark One would visit her in between crushing insurrections with a new bundle of books in hand. She had an insatiable curiosity, devouring books faster than he could throw them at her. Her parents, though good people, didn't know the answers to anything. And though her tutors were the best, their knowledge paled in comparison to the master himself.... which is why he got the short end of the stick. \n\n\"Uncle Dark,\"she'd chirp, persisting in calling him by that stupid name, \"why can't we make more magic? Why do the elves and orcs hate each other? Why are there two suns?\"Why, why, why. If he never heard that phrase again, he'd die happy. If he ever died, that was. However, the Dark One had to admit that there was something satisfying about teaching someone and watching them thrive. He wondered why he hadn't done it sooner, honestly. (Oh, right. Students tended to overthrow their teachers to an alarming degree.)\n\nThe years seemed to pass faster than usual. He visited the girl, developed the economy, killed copycat \"Chosen Ones,\"vanquished chaos demons, and before he knew it, the child was no longer a child. Her knowledge began to outpace that of the tutors he sent, and soon, she was a skilled mage in her own right—a fully-developed person, too. With his immortality, the Dark One had forgotten how quickly mortals grew. He could forget no longer, though. \n\n\"Did you do it?\"she asked, standing as tall as his physical body. \"Did you massacre all those Reedlings?\"\n\nThe Dark One paused in his eightieth reread of The Elements of Magic. He remembered the massacre very well. It was what had given him his name. The Reedlings had kept rebelling and rebelling, and he'd just cast the immortality spell so his control had been unstable, and... he could think of a thousand excuses, but that wasn't what she'd asked.\n\n\"Yes,\"he said instead. \"I did.\"\n\n\"Why?\"The Dark One could hear the echo of her childish squeak, but the steel in her voice was anything but. \n \n\"I have never lied to you. I will not start now.\"And so, he began to talk. He started at the very beginning, back when he was still a mortal child in a different world. He talked about his discovery by a master wizard, his accidental use of the dimensional-portal spell, his rise to power... and everything in between. For the first time, he explained everything—what he did, how he did it, and most importantly, why.\n\nThe sun had set by the time he'd finished. The Chosen One was silent for what felt like too long.\n\n\"I understand,\"she said finally. \"What you did wasn't right, but I understand.\"\n\nA weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the Dark One knew that he'd done something right. \"I think you should join the rebellion.\"\n\n\"What?\"She stared at him. \"You want me to join a disparate, silly gaggle of terrorists that want to kill you?\"\n\n\"That's what they are right now. But with you at the helm, they'll be a force to reckon with.\"\n\nIt took her quite some time to agree, but the Chosen One wasn't stupid. He'd made sure of that. She understood what he was asking, and so, she set off to fulfill her end of the prophecy. On his part, the Dark One encouraged rumors of the Chosen One's rise. He'd already loosened his grip over the empire in the last few decades, and it mostly functioned without his direct intervention, leaving him as just a figurehead. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait. \n\nYears later, the Chosen One faced him again. The ragtag band of rebels had become a united force, and she led them as an accomplished mage and skilled tactician. They exchanged a show of magic for the masses before the Dark One allowed himself to be cornered inside his own castle. Everyone else was kept out by the barriers.\n\n\"This realm is ready for you,\"he said, sitting at the foot of his throne. \"The economy about to industrialize, the populace is educated, and best of all, everyone is united in their hatred of me.\"\n\n\"You really did plan this all, didn't you?\"The Chosen One laughed before taking her seat beside him. \"I've always been in awe of your foresight, but one question has bothered me through all these years: why did you do it?\"She paused and continued in a much softer tone. \"And why me?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"During my long life, I've learned that prophecies come true whether you like them or not. I hate them on principle, of course. They're too deterministic for my taste, but even prophecies let you choose how they come true. If my reign has to end, then I'd rather it be by someone who knows what they're doing. Someone like you.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry that—\"\n\n\"Don't be. I've been needing a break. Besides, I haven't visited the other worlds in a long, long time. One of them probably needs an evil overlord to overthrow, right?\"\n\nShe wiped away her tears and gave him a watery smile. \"I'll make you proud, Uncle Dark.\"\n\nThe Dark One patted her head, and as he disintegrated into dust, he said, \"You already have.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Holy shit, Dave! Look at your fucking face!\"\n\n\"Oh come on. It's not that bad.\"\n\n\"Are you kidding?!?\"\n\n\"It's not like it hurt.\"\n\n\"Dave, they tattooed pentagrams EVERYWHERE.\"\n\n\"Oh like I didn't know that, Carl.\"\n\n\"Well you don't seem very upset about it!\"\n\n\"It's not the 1950's anymore, man. People aren't judgey about tattoos anymore.\"\n\n\"SHHH. I think I hear someone coming.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah, they said something about \"The Virgin Ritual\"when they were bringing me back.\"\n\n\"Are you kidding me?! You didn't think to say anything sooner??!!?\"\n\n\"What? Jokes on them right? Neither of us are virgins.\"\n\n\"...\"\n\n\"Oh my god, Carl. Hahaha. Are you serious?! You're 37! How have you never had sex?\"\n\n\"This isn't helpful, Dave.\"\n\n\"Well maybe they just wanna help you get laid? You never know.\"\n\n\"THERE WERE ARMS ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN THEY WALKED US IN.\"\n\n\"Yeah, so maybe they just wanna 'give you a hand'.\"\n\n---------\n\nEDIT: I did NOT expect gold on this. Thank you, kind stranger! (I've always wanted to say that)" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My profile page bore the golden border that indicated a number one position. A first place spot in a ranking. I was astonished. As far as I knew, there was nothing remarkable about my life. \n\nI clicked open my rankings dashboard. At the very top of the page, my highest accolade read: “#1 Most Time Spent Awake, But Still in Bed — Darell Harrelson”. \n\nI gaped at the screen. The rest of the Internet cafe had paused to watch my revelation. I could feel their eyes probing. \n\nI blushed heavily and left my coffee unfinished by the computer. I slipped past the staring onlookers and pushed through the door. I hopped back in my truck and peeled out, headed back to Pa’s ranch. \n\nI needed to lie down for a while." } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When I was a kid, I thought winning a lifetime supply of Oreos would mean truck after truck appearing at my house, each overflowing with Oreos. Back then I didn't think about things like where in the world we'd keep that many Oreos, or the fact that they'd all go bad shortly after, or that sooner or later I'd get sick of eating them. I just had this grand vision in my head I guess, didn't want to let it go. So I was pretty disappointed when a little package showed up on our front porch.\n\nThere were fifteen Oreos in the package. I asked my mom where the rest was, and she told me more would come next month. Waiting an entire month seemed like torture at that age, and made what arrived doubly crushing. Another package of exactly fifteen Oreos. It slowly sunk in to my little head that this was what winning a lifetime supply of Oreos looked like. No trumpets and fanfare, no overloaded trucks pulling in one after another. Just a little packet of fifteen Oreos on the first of every month.\n\nFifteen! I couldn't believe it. That wasn't even one Oreo for each day!\n\nThe grand imaginings we have as kids rarely come true. For example, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Then the whole world started collapsing and now there are hardly any fish even left, much less people with the time or tools to study them.\n\nAnd yet, those packages kept coming. To my house. To the shelter. To my tent. To the stick laid against a tree with an old coat draped over it so I could huddle under, away from the worst of the rain. Wherever I went, there they were. Fresh and neatly packaged up on the first of every month, like nothing bad had ever happened anywhere.\n\nFor a long time I tried to figure out where they were coming from, who delivered them, how they were finding me, anything. I ran after every lead, pursued every theory. Aliens? Fairies? Time travel? Some bizarre joke? All in my head? But I never found anything, and eventually I gave up on finding out. I didn't want to finally get my answer only to realize it was like everything else- Like the trucks of Oreos, like undersea exploration, like falling in love. Something that seemed to exist just to disappoint people naive enough to believe in it.\n\nToday was the first of the month, I'd guess. Haven't had a calendar for a long time, but the deliveries never fail. This time the package was placed neatly across a few sturdy branches of the tree I'd slept in, hoping to avoid the mess of trouble that had gone on below. I wasn't sure how I'd get down considering I'd messed up one of my legs pretty darn badly in the night's scuffle, but my package was close enough to reach from where I sat. Same little shipping label as always, though the address lines had been left blank since I stopped having an address.\n\nI opened it up. You think I'd be sick of them by now, but when times are rough you wouldn't believe how good that sugar tastes. Only, strange thing, there weren't so many in the package this time. Five was all, I was ten short. I considered that maybe wherever they came from was running out, or that something else had gotten to my supply before I had. Then I considered something else.\n\nA lifetime supply of Oreos.\n\nI guess this is my last one.\n" } ]
[ { "from": "human", "value": "You work at a hospital. Outside a terminal patient’s room, someone tries to enter. You stop them, “Sorry, family only.” They give you a strange look, as do those nearby. “You can see me?” They ask, summoning a scythe from thin air. You just told Death they couldn’t claim a soul." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I cleared my throat nervously and checked my clipboard again.\n\n\"Yeah, I'm sorry sir. It says family only.\"I said apologetically, gesturing at the paper.\n\n\"But I'm Death,\"he replied bluntly. He was clearly confused. As was I. \"I generally don't need to ask permission.\"\n\n\"Hospital policy, you know how it is.\"I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. I was acutely aware of people side-eyeing me as they walked by, probably wondering what this young lady in a nurse uniform was doing, conversing with and showing medical documents to, apparently, thin air. I made eye contact with them and grinned nervously, possibly making it worse. I didn't know what else to do.\n\nDeath surveyed me. Now that I was getting a closer look, I saw that he didn't look quite as scary or mystical as I had previously pictured him. He was tall -- about six feet -- which was above average, but certainly not unheard of. The long robe he was wearing made him look more like a kid in a Halloween costume then an immortal shepherd to the afterlife, and the face peering out from the recesses of his large hood looked like that of an average, middle-aged man. He wouldn't look out of place working at an accounting firm or a bank.\n\nBut it was still hard to deny just how intimidating it was to stand less than a foot away from Death, telling him that he couldn't get what he came here for. Especially while he was holding that scythe.\n\n\"How can you see me?\"he asked, though he didn't seem to be asking me directly. He appeared to be addressing himself, or perhaps some higher entity; not God, but some other being that had some sort of say in destiny's trajectory.\n\n\"I'm not sure, sir,\"I said truthfully.\n\n\"Well, I need to go in. I have an appointment with Miss Randall.\"\n\nTrying not to let the surprise show on my face, I felt my stomach perform a somersault. *I* am Miss Randall. The person inside the hospital room languishing in an adjustable bed isn't a Randall. And he certainly isn't a Miss.\n\n\"Miss Randall is not taking visitors right now, I'm afraid you will have to come back,\"I lied.\n\nFor the first time, Death's face exhibited emotion other than confusion: a mixture of annoyance and frustration flickered across his face. He was not quite angry, but appeared to not be far off.\n\n\"Ma'am, I am Death. Do you not understand? Do you really think you can have a say in this matter?\"he said. \"I'm on a very strict schedule, you know. This hospital isn't exactly small. I don't know why you can see me -- only the person I'm coming to collect is supposed to -- but you're going to have to step aside.\"\n\n\"Do you have any documentation?\"I asked, stalling for time.\n\n\"Documen-- ugh! Fine!\"he said. He lifted up a fold of cloth on his chest and produced a piece of paper. He handed it to me. The thick, yellow page had been clearly rolled into a scroll until very recently. At the top, in a spidery script, read: \"Notice of Earthly Departure,\"followed by today's date.\n\nI glanced over the text, stomach slowly filling with dread. Name: Bethany Randall. Age: 27. Date: March 25, 2019, 11:47 a.m. Cause of Death: Sudden brain aneurysm.\n\nWhat the fuck? A brain aneurysm? Striking a nurse working at a hospital? What kind of odds are those? I checked my watch. 11:41. Apparently, I was supposed to die in six minutes.\n\n\"Is there any way you can go see the other hospital patients first?\"I said. \"Bethany's family is supposed to come visit soon, I want them to have the chance to say bye.\"\n\nDeath hesitated, then shook his head. \"No, I'm sorry. I have to see her first. She'll die regardless of if I'm there. I'm just supposed to provide the next instructions.\"\n\nOh shit. \n\n\"And... uhh... what are those instructions supposed to be?\"I asked, trying not to let the fear show on my face. \"You know, just hypothetically.\"\n\nHe gave me an odd look, then he silently pushed past me and entered the hospital room. Fuck. I stood there for a moment, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. Should I run away? Should I stay here and face Death? Did I even have a choice? Apparently not, according to Mr. Reaper himself. I'm going to die anyway.\n\nNot sure what else to do, I quickly texted \"I love you\"to my husband and followed him in.\n\nDeath was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the figure before him. He was clearly unimpressed. Old Mr. Perkins -- the actual patient -- clearly didn't see him, but he grunted in recognition when I entered. Poor guy. Terminal cancer of the liver.\n\nDeath looked at me. \"Care to explain why this 27-year-old woman looks like an old man?\"\n\n\"Ah, um, hi Mr. Perkins. Just making sure you have enough pillows,\"I stammered, trying not to look back at Death. \"Yeah, looks like you have enough. Guess I'll go back outside.\"Mr. Perkins gazed balefully at me from over his oxygen mask.\n\n\"I'll follow,\"said Death sarcastically.\n\nWe went back out into the hallway. I checked my watch. 11:45. I looked expectantly at Death.\n\n\"Well, that's never happened before,\"he sighed, removing his eyeglasses and polishing them with a fold of robe. He looked exasperated and tired now, rather than annoyed and frustrated. Was he always wearing glasses? I couldn't remember.\n\n\"I-I'm sorry.\"I gazed at the ground. I could see people looking at me again, but I didn't care.\n\n\"No, it's my fault. I should've double checked the cause of death and done more research on you. I guess I just assumed it would be the person in the hospital room, not the one standing outside.\"He laughed gruffly. \"I also can't blame you for trying to escape death.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but I'm dying anyway in,\"-- checks watch \\-- \"one minute. I guess I never really had the chance to escape. So you'll have to give me the abridged version of your instructions.\"\n\nIt's a weird thing, knowing that you're about to die. I was slightly surprised to feel oddly... serene. It wasn't something I was entirely prepared for, but there's something kind of calming about knowing when the end is coming and that you can't do anything about it. What use was freaking out and throwing a tantrum? God knows I've watched enough people die to know that the worst part about death is the uncertainty. At least I can skip that. At least I can die somewhat in control.\n\nDeath looked at me knowingly. I wondered if he could read my mind.\n\nThen he extended his bony hand and said: \"I think you'd better come to my office.\"\n\nAs my watch ticked down to 11:47, I took it. Then everything went to black." } ]

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