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Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

I showed this to my crazy uncle. His response was "challenge accepted." Approximately 26 minutes later, he asked me to post this despite the prompt being nearly two weeks old. *Note: This is not my own work* Across the star lit sky, like a slashing knife, the meteor flew. Burning away its crust, over, and over, as it plummets. Crashing through the atmosphere and smashing through clouds, the piece of space debris plummets towards its target. Did destiny bring them together? Earth and meteor, Terra and space. Flying overhead, the burning rock drags its flaming tail. Growing ever longer, the light starts to overwhelm the surrounding stars. Howling erupts from the fiery visitor as the water in the air boils away. Igniting the tops of trees as it misses a mountaintop. Jumping from peak to peak, then from hill to hill, the remaining ball of fire continues to approach its final destination. Kissing the fields with its flaming surface, grass is scorched and burned in its wake. Landing does not adequately describe the way the meteor burrows over 10 feet into the earth, throwing plumes of dirt in all directions. Men and women rush to new crater. None gathered had ever seen anything like this before. Overhead, the night sky returns to normal. People stare in wonder at the new arrival. Quiet ensues. Resting in its smoldering, earthen cradle, the meteor waits momentarily to be retrieved. Scientists will study this gift for years to come. Time and patients will reveal many secrets. Understanding those secrets could take lifetimes. Various tests will have to be performed. Whole scientific research complexes will be developed to study this meteor. X-rays will pierce it and core samples will be analyzed. Yesterday, space was all it knew. Zodiac has landed.

Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

Very nice

Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

[deleted]

Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

Posted this in reply to a comment with a single sentence challenge. I thought I'd post it to the main prompt as well. Here is the fruit of my labour! Al bitterly chuckled. "Different? Every foolish girl here I judge knows: looks matter, not original performances. Quietly resigned, she turned, utterly vanquished. "What x-factor? You're zilch."

Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

[deleted]

Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

*"As Arduous as the work is, Gentry, it's critical you stay composed."* Barrier after barrier impeded her work. Circuitry had to be cut and rewired before access to the mainframe could be established. Devices critical to the mission's success hung from carabiners hooked onto her jumpsuit. *"Everyone's waiting for your go, Gentry."* Four minutes now before the power kicks back on. Gentry considers the implications, then cuts a yellow wire. "How can we be certain she won't mess this up? Isn't it true she's only on the team because you fancy her?" "Jesus, if you had reservations about Gentry, you should have voiced them prior to mission." Knit ski masks turn to face one another as the four members of Ops squad search for expressions beneath the masks. Light from gentry's headlamp shone onto an infinite grouping of colorful wires. Massive, evil looking cables, further back behind the initial circuitry, snaked away, toward *the source*. Nerves holding steady, and with surgeon-like accuracy; she cuts a green wire. Only three minutes now before the power kicks back on. Pigeon coops populated the roof where the four Ops squad members stood voiceless after the turbulent exchange earlier. Questions were being asked, but not out loud. Retreating, and then stepping forth again, a free pigeon walked up to them. Swiftly, a member unholstered his silenced Walther P2K and fired two muffled shots into the bird's body. "Target practice", he says. Underneath each ski mask, a smile spreads. Visions of the world made freer from what Gentry will have taken part in begins to flood her mind. With her mind frolicking elsewhere, she moves to cut a blue wire. Xenon, a heavy gas used in her headlamp, helps to weigh down further her head which already hangs low in defeat. Yanking futilely at the wires, Gentry screams. Zero minutes now before the power kicks back on...

Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]

All the time I spend thinking about where I'm going and when I'll get there. Better to get out of my head and just live life one day at a time. Could any advice be more easily said than done? Doing anything in this life that's worth it is tougher than you think it's gonna be. Everything worth doing is, kinda by definition. Fairy tale endings don't exist in reality, but horror stories unfold there every day. Getting used to the facts of life never gets easier, you simply learn to accept them with time. How you come to terms with things depends on what your personality is. I have personally always been naive and optimistic. Just perfect. Kill me now. Living is kind of overrated, anyway. My philosophy teacher was once reading us a passage from Plato. Now I'm probably gonna butcher this idea, but the way I understood it went like this. Our whole fear of death is kinda stupid, because we have no idea what it's like. People just assume it's bad, but why spend your whole life fearing it just based off a hunch? Quality thinking from those Greeks. Really, this kinda speaks to my point. Simply living to survive until tomorrow is a waste of today. Today is all you can really be sure of, and that should be enough of a reason to make it count. Understanding this is what pulls at my nervous brain when I find it returning to my nervous patterns of thinking. Visions of what I think my future will be like are only illusions. What I'm really seeing is my fear of the unknown bearing down on me. Xeno said if you keep going halfway you'll never make it there. You gotta close your eyes and take the leap of faith. Zero regrets.

Daily Prompt: The Case of the Impossible Murder

Follow these footprints from the edge of the road, two sets: one of them large with long measured strides, the other smaller, bunched up in places as if the walker was excited, got a little far ahead and had to wait on dancing feet. Standing in the middle of large patch of dry desert dust, a tall man, dressed in linen, Homburg hat, bushy hair trying to escape from beneath. Dr. Inspector Wolf. He’s holding a folder in one hand, and a photograph of a dead body, laid in this precise spot, in the other. Pacing behind him in circle, a shorter hedgehog of a man, in too-warm tweed, large mustache dancing as he chewed on an unlit cigar. Sergeant Walrus. Around them the desert plain stretched away to a nothing horizon. “One more lap and I think the cup is yours, Walrus.” Walrus harrumphed. “Teleportation?” Wolf shook his head. “Hasn’t been invented yet.” Walrus continued pacing. His steps, their footprints, and those left behind by the men who’d come for the body, photographed the scene, and took it all away were the only signs of any activity in the dirt and sand. “Dropped from an aeroplane?” “No impact displacement. “ Wolf switched from the photograph to a coronor’s report. “And it says here he died of drowning.” “I thought Snake said he found a bullet hole.” Wolf nodded. “Yes, he did. But no bullet. And apparently it wasn’t the cause of death. “Bribery.” “No, Snake’s a real cockroach, I’ll grant you that. But I don’t think he'd take a bribe to fix an autopsy. That’s just silly.” Walrus stopped walking. “Well, so is a man found in the desert with no sign of any egress, a bullet hole in his chest and died of drowning. Maybe it’s occult, Wolf.” Walrus went back to pacing, even faster. Wolf gazed at the spot where the body had been found. Arthur Kitten, a big bulldog of a man, 47, chartered accountant. One of the most boring individuals one could invent, if one was wont. As unlikely a murder victim as, say, a murder suspect. The sun silently screamed down on them as Wolf chewed on the lack of facts and Walrus continued to pound sand. Suddenly, Wolf looked up. “Ice bullet.” “Good idea. I’d kill for a drink. Stupid tweed.” “No, that’s how he died, of drowning. Shot with some sort of ice bullet.” “But that’s impossible. Surely.” Wolf turned and began walking back to the road. He grinned, large teeth on display beneath a long sharp nose, bushy eyebrows creased in a malevolent frown “Maybe. But here’s what’s worse, Walrus. I think our killer knew we’d figure this out. I think he went through elaborate measures just to show us he could.” “That’s dastardly” said Walrus, running around to get into the driver’s seat of the car. “It is. And I’m afraid this may just be the first of many murders. Mark my words.”

Daily Prompt: The Case of the Impossible Murder

i've actually been working on a longer piece--ostensibly a novel, but i wouldn't even dare to presume i'll finish it, at least not in a timely fashion--involving a body discovered in the wheel well of a passenger aircraft that acts as the touchstone for a wild winding gyre intertwining an FBI agent at the twilight of his career, a fat hateful German, two Belizean scuba dive instructors, a semi-comatose former medical student, and an American teenager. it's frankly a mess, but i'd be happy to share excerpts if anyone's interested.

Daily Prompt: The biography of your antagonist

I can't believe I'm doing this, but the counsler recommended it. Then my annoyning wench of a mother pushed the topic. So here it is. Dear Journal, Today after classes taugh by those over-payed and idiotic proffesors, in this shit hole they call a college, I went to the gym. Mostly to work off my frustration with this place. I honestly thought physics would be harder. Maybe I will switch to nuclear or theoretical physics. There was this ROTC asshole there. He was bosting how he had been selected for some Army programm to help develop some sort of combat suit. He then had the gaull to walk over and ask I needed a spotter as I benched my traditional warm up of one hundred fifty pounds. I hope one day to find him and grind him into the dust under my boot heel. Then, maybe I will get the respect I deserve. Damn these people and their weakness. Having to write out what I feel about the events of my day. Such a stupid waste of my time. I came here to study, and advance my knowledge to make myself able to get what I want from this world. Not discover myself as a person. I know who I am and what I want. Though there was this rather attractive female waiting to see the counsler behind me. I have heard rumor of her acting the same way I do. Maybe I she can be my release for my frustrations, possibly in more than way. I have yet to be refused and I will get I want. Till next time you worthless pile of paper.

Daily Prompt: The biography of your antagonist

Olivander Zandt Born in the era of the first generation of cybernetic implants, Olivander quickly proved his brilliance by refining those techniques and pioneering theoretical nanotech augmentation procedures while still in grade school. He was constantly picked on and bullied in school due to his abnormally large head and thick eye glasses, as well as his odd habit of wearing bow ties. Many experts are of the opinion that being abandoned by his parents and being left a ward of the state in all likelihood reinforced his rather disagreeable disposition and general disdain for humanity. Always an outsider, he once told classmates that they would one day fear him and the army he would create. How true his words would turn out to be when he founded the Seditionist Movement in his early twenties and proceeded to take over the world. A lofty goal indeed, especially for one so young. It was around this time that he began insisting on being referred to as "Emperor Zandt" and forbade use of his given first name, stating that it sounded quite silly. Fortunately (for the rest of us) at the same time he was developing his cybernetically augmented army, Free World military contractors had also launched the first Exos Mark I powered suits and weaponized them for combat use. While it would be unfair to say they were prepared for the first assaults by the Seditionists, at least they had a fighting chance. Olivander's nemesis will always be considered Dr. Janet Moore. It was she, along with her team, that took the nanotech augmentation capabilities he had created to an entirely new level with the "Dakota" series of implants. Named after the first agent equipped with the new and improved augmentations, the Free World Dakota League became a force to be reckoned with. They were stronger, faster and had visual display as well as synaptic adapters that also allowed them to react much more quickly to stimulus. To put it bluntly, The Seditionists never knew what hit them and were quickly defeated. This all annoyed Olivander to no end. To all appearances he seemed quite put out by the entire affair, although he later claimed it was "All according to his evil plan." Most experts today doubt this is true. Olivander died of natural causes while serving his prison sentence having never achieved his lifelong goal of world domination.

Daily Prompt: The biography of your antagonist

The Royal mines. Gemstones breed in the tunnels. I raise my pick and hit the rocks and gems fall out for my masters. New gems appear in the vein and I hit the rock again. The day is over and I return home. Another day. More gemstones. I raise my pick and hit the rocks and gems fall out for the kingdom and now I can't find any more gemstones. Now it's payday. Payment keeps me fed. Keeps me alive. Keeps me in the pattern. Gives time for the gemstones to grow. I am not of the pattern - son of dragon and dog and donkey, God's trash. I raise my pick. And yet I am, I hit the rock and gems fall out to support my pattern. Every day. Anger boils up among the other miners, builds to a melting point and a riot forms. The riot is quashed and anger drops to zero and builds up again. The gemstones are back. I raise my pick and hit the rocks, gems fall out. And they don't come back. Odd. I stare at the hole where the gems used to be. It gets darker. I should just move on and find another vein. But I stay.

Daily Prompt: The biography of your antagonist

FUN!!!!! It's hoaky mind you. ______________________________________________________ Regis Lance Black came into power as king of Pavalia when he was only twenty-one years old. The world had high hopes for his rule and even anticipated their freedom from his father's United World Pact. Unfortunately this was not the case. Thanks to the mercy of his wife, Maria Black, some laws and regulations were loosened greatly so the world was able to give a sigh of relief. He had grown up as one of the first children born after disease had taken the lives of many children and a cure was found. His father held the health of Lance above the world as proof at how much more superior his people were. The world surrendered for the sake of their dying futures in exchange for a sustainable army that they would naturally provide. Lance Black fell in love with Maria, who had been an outcast. Her mother was a famous murderer and the title had been inherited to Maria. Naturally Maria was the opposite and resisted her mother. To protect his new love, Lance kills his father and takes the throne for himself. He then makes Maria's brother, Micheal and Micheal's wife his bodyguards. Unfortunately over time Lance grew into the power hungry man his father was. He betrayed his friends, abused his power as Regis and hungered for even more. Though he was already supreme ruler of the world and had each country in the palm of his hands he feared the person whom revenge had hurt most. As her uncle he had neglected her, had her parents killed and made sure was left desolate. Once grown up she had the rights to the throne if she fought for them and Lance was going to make sure she wouldn't by arresting and imprisoning her into servitude. From his throne he tortured her and made her life as complicated as possible, but his niece was patient.

Sunday Prompt: ACTION!

Sorry for the delay in this prompt getting through... the spam filter decided to block it. Please continue submitting prompts, I've added you to the list of approved submitters so you don't go through it again.

Sunday Prompt: ACTION!

"It's over," I whisper. The caverns were endless. We'd been roaming for hours on end, and still we'd seen no light other than the ones we'd supplied ourselves. "Don't say that," she says forcefully. "We'll get out of this." She continues walking. I stay still. "Emma. I can't. I'm...there's no point," I tell her. "What do you mean there's no point? You were perfectly happy searching for a way out a few minutes ago." "Yes, but this was before my legs began giving out and my throat felt like it was clogged with sandpaper. This, combined with...never mind." Of course, the fact that I said never mind only drew her to me. She walks back to me and looks me in the eyes. "Combined with what?" "I love you, Emma. I love you, and I've loved you for years. You decided to go and get married with James, though, and now it all seems pointless," I whisper, tears forming in my eyes. "I've always loved you more, I just thought you were never interested. I'll marry you instead, but please, we just need to escape first." And so I continued walking. We trekked forward for hours until, finally, I saw light. "Emma- Emma look!" She looked excited for a second, then her face grew dark. The journey up into the light would require a lot of climbing and risky leaps. I had to do it, though. I had to do it for my new found future with Emma. I groaned and muttered to myself as I put hand above hand, climbing up the grey stone of the cave. Emma followed. It took forever, as my legs were already sore and tired, and my lungs felt like they were about to burst, but finally I made it to the entrance of the cave. "BEN!" I shouted, knowing that he was probably nearby still, waiting for us. "Come on, Emma. You can do it!" I shout down to her. She was on the final jump, just as I was. "Okay, just jump up and grab my hand," I tell her. Then she falls back. "NO!" I shout. She flies into the darkness, disappearing with a scream that I knew would haunt me forever. I swing myself backwards, lying on my back and looking into the stars. Ben's face flies into my vision. "Ben, I need to tell you something about Emma," I say to him quietly, already aware of how he'd react. "Emma? What're you-" he asks me, the smile that had appeared on his face disappearing quickly. "She's dead, Ben. She fell backwards. And there's more. She-she's leaving you, Ben, because-" Ben's face looked scared rather than shocked. "Are you feeling alright? I mean, you've been in there for a while now..." he asks me, putting his hand to my forehead. "She was going to leave you because she loved me more!" I blurt out, expecting him to walk away, or hit me, or show any sign of anger. Instead, Ben looks me dead in the eyes and says "Emma doesn't exist, Allan." I instantly start to deny it. "What do you mean she doesn't exist? It's Emma. Your fiance." I say, wondering why I had to remind him. "She doesn't exist, Allan. You fell into that cave by yourself. When I saw you, you looked into the entrance there, screamed "NO!" then flung yourself back. There was no girl there." "Well yeah, but you couldn't see her because-" but then I realized that even though she was still underneath the surface, because of the angle of the ground Ben still would have seen Emma somewhere. And just like that, every memory I ever had of Emma disappeared. She didn't exist. My brain made her up when I was lost to help me move along. And that has made all the difference.

The winners of the June WritingPrompts contest! (and two more contests upcoming

:D Thank you!

The winners of the June WritingPrompts contest! (and two more contests upcoming

Congratulations to our winners!

The winners of the June WritingPrompts contest! (and two more contests upcoming

I keep saying June. Title should say July. I keep forgetting it's almost the end of July.

The winners of the June WritingPrompts contest! (and two more contests upcoming

Hell yea!

The winners of the June WritingPrompts contest! (and two more contests upcoming

>On July 1st there will be a new contest >... >Anyone will be able to enter throughout the month of July >... >The voting for winner will be done during the first week of August You do realise that the 31st of July is tomorrow, right?

The winners of the June WritingPrompts contest! (and two more contests upcoming

This is a wonderful prize. I've discovered something new in Flash Fiction. Thanks.

DAILY PROMPT: The countdown

[deleted]

DAILY PROMPT: The countdown

Admin: 30 seconds. Tyree: I'm trying! Admin: Please state the nature of the problem. Tyree: The flux capacitor isn't fluxing. How the hell do I know what's wrong? Admin: Please concentrate on your job. Tyree: Fuck off! Admin: Please state the nature of the problem. Tyree: The jets are NOT going to fire! I am going to DIE! Admin: 20 seconds. Tyree: Yeah, thanks. For NOTHING! Admin: Perhaps if you stop talking and concentrate on doing your job? Tyree: I think I got it. I think... Admin: 10 seconds. Tyree: I know! I know! Admin: 5 seconds. Tyree: FUCK! Admin: Time. Status please. Admin: Status update is now required. Admin: Status update is now required. Admin: Your failure to report status has been logged. Admin: You are now in violation of your agreed terms of employment. Admin: Your employment is now terminated. Please report to your immediate supervisor.

DAILY PROMPT: The countdown

"You do realize that if you fail to act within the next sixty seconds, everything...," and then I slammed the mute button on the AI stand. "God damn computer. I know what will happen," frantically returning to typing into the computer. Then in the corner of the monitor, a little text box came up. ///AI SerN6585Ea591135: ACCESS LOCAL TERMINAL: ACCESS RESTRICTED BY AI LIMITIATION ACT:OBSERVATION STATUS ONLY/// ///:THAT WASN'T VERY NICE JOHN. WOULD A VISUAL AID BE MORE USEFUL?/// "No, but I know that won't stop you Sernea," grumbling under my breath as I saw I wasn't getting anywhere with the program. ///FIFTY SECONDS REMAIN/// "Thank you captian obvious," using the sleeve of my t-shirt to get the sweat out of my eyes, "Come on you stupid door..." ///FORTY SECONDS JOHN. INSULTING THE DOOR DOES MAKE IT WORK./// "No shit. Really?" ///VERY MUCH SO JOHN. I AM SORRY I CAN BE OF NO LONGER USE/// ///THIRTY SECONDS REMAIN/// Just getting desperate at this point, I tried the last thing I could think of. An admin reset, then I noticed explosives in the corner, but I made myself focus becuase they wouldn't be able to break the door or the wall, "Well, at least they can't say I didn't try" ///TWENTY SECONDS JOHN/// At fifteen seconds, the terminal shut down and more locks slammed down, sealing the door, "Fuck me." ///AI SerN6585Ea591135: SENT MESSAGE TO PERSONAL WRIST COMMUNICATOR/// ///I AM TRULY SORRY JOHN. YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW DON'T YOU?/// Grabbing the explosives, priming them and I backed into the corner, "That I do. But those...things...won't get me. Hell, maybe I can take a few with." Then I heard the howls of the expermints from down the hall. They were moving so fast, I forgot to breath with one of my few precious seconds. ///AI SerN6585Ea591135: SENT MESSAGE TO PERSONAL WRIST COMMUNICATOR/// ///FIVE SECONDS. GOOD BYE JOHN/// Taking one last breath, "Good bye Sernea, and thanks. For everything." ///CATASTROPHIC EXPLOSION DETECTED. ACTIVATE FIRE SUPPRESSION. EXPERTIMENTAL SUBJECT STATUS: SEVENTY PERCENT DESTROYED. TWENTY PERCENT UNSALVAGEABLE. FIVE PERCENT REMAIN RAMPANT. FINAL ADMIN DECEASED. SHUTTING DOWN FACILITY AND WILL BEGIN VENTING OF ATMOSPHERE///

DAILY PROMPT: The countdown

*1 minute of oxygen left.* I would have refilled my tank - it's just that there isn't any more oxygen left in this universe. So I dive into the infinite depths of this "ocean". Somehow I knew that down there was a solution. I just had to get there. The pressure increases. *30 seconds* I push harder, inching closer to god-knows-what, but the water thickens. I get an inch deeper and my lungs shrink. My body tells me that if I go farther, I'll die. I'm dead anyway. *15 seconds left* I paddle faster. I get half an inch deeper. My lungs collapse - why am I still worried about the oxygen in my tank? The pain in my chest amplifies - my heart must have stopped working. My body numbs. *7.5 seconds left* My brain tries to turn me off, but there is only a quarter inch left to go. In response, I kick my legs and arms harder. The pressure crushes several of my bones, and yet the muscles are functional enough for me to persist. *3.75 seconds left* How am I still thinking? My body is little more than pressurized meat, and yet a few stubborn cells remain - I think I can pass the few millimeters left. I just don't know how. *1.875 seconds left* I'm dead. Gravity fights water pressure. The pressure is winning - but I should pass the boundary first. *0.9375 seconds left* Only atoms remain between the boundary and I. How do I know this? Gravity surrenders, but Brownian motion is still on my side. *lim(x->∞) seconds left* ---------------- yea, I just finished a calculus assignment

DAILY PROMPT: The countdown

I took this as a different kind of countdown, but this is one I experience every day. __________________________________________________________ "On your mark!" Words the small child was always eager to hear before starting something fun. After weeks of practice he finally managed to run and that was an experience he appreciated. "Remember, on your mark!" It was yelled again. The child stood still, waiting for his moment. The moment when speed and thrill embraced him by his own means. He felt he could out run anything. "Get set!" His little legs tensed up as he waited for the magical word. The word that gave him permission to run. He remembered his mother telling him to wait til he's older, then he can run really fast! But right now, in this moment, his speed was perfect for him. "Get set, Gabriel!" The boy wanted to shout that "He knows!" but he worried that during that time he might miss it. How fast would he run this time? His eagerness to hear that magical word was killing him! "GO!!!!" "GO!" the boy shouted as he ran clumsily down a hallway in his house. His little bare feet smacking hard at the wood floors, as if this naturally made him move faster. Smiling brightly, he reached the end of the hallway and quickly turned back to run back to his Aunt. She smiled pleasantly back at him when he finally reached her. "Ready to go again?" She asked him.

DAILY PROMPT: The countdown

"I'll count down from eleven, you have that long to tell me the truth. I suggest you start talking quickly." The man he spoke to was tied to the chair, a heavy steel chair bolted to the floor. There was no way he was getting out unless he could tear through inch thick rope. His back was to the man, so he didn't see him pick up the cutting pliers. The other man laughed. "Oh I'm so scared!" He turned around. "Eleven." He smirked. "Really, big scary count down? I gu- what's that in your hand?" "Ten." He called quickly, reaching forward and cutting off the other mans little finger. "WaiIITTAHHH!!!" He screamed. "Oh fuck, mother fu-" "Nine." "No no wait!" He cut his ring finger off. "FUUCK! Stop you bastard, hear me out!" "Talk, or.. eight." He took his middle finger. "He'll kill me!!! You know I can't!" "*I'll* kill you, seven." Index went next. "GAHHH!!! He'll kill my family!" ----- Six till one had followed much the same pattern. "Are you ready to tell me now?" The other man's head was hung low, his chin against his chest. He'd thrown up twice in the last minute and was trying to pass out. He slapped him hard enough to bring him round. "Last chance. You might not even bleed to death if you talk now." He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks as he mouthed out the word please. "Fine..." He drew the knife and sunk it into the other man's chest, stopping his heart. He shook his head. It took a few minutes to get him off the chair and into the bathroom. He threw him beside another corpse and walked into the bedroom. Six more men were tied up, hands and feet behind them, struggling somewhat, the drugs keeping them sober. "So, who's next?"

Prompt: Mythology.

“Looks like we got a bad quarter comin’ up, boss.” Ted hadn’t expected to wake up this early, but when he got the phone call, he was out the door wearing only his ten gallon hat, cowboy boots and whatever rumpled clothes had been closest to the bed. His truck, an old Suburban that was just starting gather rust, was at the edge of the field. Ted was walking so quickly it was almost a run. Cows are urgent. The day seemed to have started as early as he had, the light already bright and the shadows already sharp even before the dew had been sucked up off the tall grasses. “Take a look right here. That’s pretty telling, I think.” The intern was pointing at an explosion of cow guts splayed across the bisected carcass. The grass around the beast was wet with blood and littered chunks of intestine. Ted leaned over to take a peek. “I reckon you’re right,” he said, peering at the gore. He was impressed with the intern. Usually the hermeneutics of reading stolen cows took a long time to really get a hang of, but here comes this kid who can look at ‘em and just see, really know what’s going on. “He’s been busy,” said the intern. “This is what, the eighth this month?” “Ninth, yup.” Ted nodded. They were well on track for a hecatomb this year. He bent down and traced a finger along an intestine. It was bad news. “We’ll have to call a meeting. Some folks is gonna lose their jobs. You ain’t gotta worry, you got college to get back to.” The intern was a little flustered. It’s difficult to be given a suggestion of the future and know that you’re fine while someone else is gonna hurt. How can they not hold it against you? The intern went off to check on the thighbone wrapped in fat. The one that had been left was burning nicely. In the distance, a storm threatened the bright blue sky. The wind was beginning to pick up, change direction. The storm cloud threw out a vicious, crack of a lightning bolt. It was bad news.

Prompt: Mythology.

The businessman hissed into his cell phone like a sharp blue gas flame. "I told you to sell. How could you have forgotten? Now we won't make more than 20 on the docking futures, and gods know we're not made of drachma. Idiot!" He pulled away from the stammering intern for a moment. That reminded him. As the magnet train slowed from its inhuman pace, the businessman shoved his way to be one of the first out the door. His designer shoes clicked on the polished marble as he turned back to pick apart the bungler. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it, too? Can't you even pretend to care?" He stepped out into the open. The blue light from above from the Small Sun cast a light down onto the single city below, casting an underwater sheen on the tall jagged buildings in a way that brought the ocean across the waterless and nothing-full gulf that separated the metropolis from its sisters on Delphi and Herodotus and countless other islands of people. "Really? YOU'RE sorry? I can't imagine why you wouldn't be. Congratulations on the bare minimum." Now he shoved his way through the most open place in the city plan. Many stalls were here, most made of plentiful alum. Here, a man was selling small wooden trinkets and making a killing. There, a man was sitting like a warlord in front of a zoo of medicinal plants and algae. But he knew what he was looking for. "If you weren't working for free I'd fire you," he said as he held up a single finger and nodded at the merchant. The merchant reached back and handed him a single dove in a cage. The business slapped down the appropriate drachma note and took off with the dove toward another district. "All right, well we can salvage it with another sale. I hear the Kallisti blockade was broken. What's the news from how the city is now? Starving and decay in the streets? Perfect! Sink some money into food futures, we'll make a killing." The entrance to the recess was low and designed to make anyone bow to enter, which never had set well. On the inside was a grate leading to a small box in the wall. To the side was a stylized button. The businessman said, "I'll see you back at work on Dehfehhra. You and I will continue this conversation." He clicked off his phone, reached into the dove cage and brought it out screaming by the neck, and in one fluid motion pushed it into the sacrifice box and hit the button. The dove was instantly immolated and the pleasant aroma went up to Zeus. Without stopping to meditate on the rightness of his action or even watch the vacuum tube dispose of the charred corpse, the businessman ducked out of the chamber. The smell always made him hungry. Maybe he'd go back and pick up another consecrated dove for dinner.

Writing prompt: Fear

Abigale stared at herself in her little pocket mirror. Sweat had completely melted away her professionally applied make up. The gentle red lipstick had been licked away by her nervous habit of licking and pressing her lips together. Why couldn't her hands stop trembling?! The butterflies were having their go at a meal Abigale had had earlier that day. She had been too afraid to eat before the event and worried that the butterflies would bring her breakfast back up to greet her. Everyone was staring at her with curiosity. They probably wondered if she would be able to pull this off. As a stand in, everything depended on her, specially her future in this business. If she could just get out there on her own will then maybe from there things would get easier. Abigale doubted this. Her legs were more likely to carry her out of here running full speed than they were walking her onto that stage. Of all nights why did the lead have to fall ill in the middle of the show? Won't everyone know that Abigale was a fake? She was an amateur, completely content with being an understudy or a chorus girl. How often were under studies actively used these days? Memories of a song she sang in preschool came to mind. Everyone had hated her afterwards, saying she had completely butchered the song. As a small child this probably should have scarred her from ever wanting to perform again. Acceptance still scared the ever loving hell out of her but she wanted to get better. Abigale was sure she was about to have a heart attack. Her arms felt weak from the trembling in her hands. She was actively fighting back what she was sure would be a severe panic attack. Her hands found their way to her face and she quickly panicked and brought them back to her sides. The cosmetic blood was all over her cheeks now. Now she was not only afraid of her impending failure of a performance but the lashing she would get from the make up girls. They had worked frantically during intermission to dress her and paint her to look the part. She was quickly warmed up and refreshed on the setting. The diva had been carted out in an ambulance in secret while everyone prepped Abigale. The entire procedure was quick and thorough but Abigale was sure that they had way too much confidence in her. "Are you listening to me?" A voice yelled over the room filled with cast members. It was the director. He was staring at Abigale, clearly trying to keep his composure in the current situation as well. Everybody was on edge in this room, not just Abigale. "This look is fine, its perfect for madness," He said in a reassuring tone. Abigale shook her head, cold tears finding her way down her cheeks. 'There goes the mascara' she thought, fighting the urge to wipe the tears away and make it worse. The director smiled and roughly wiped the tears away, smudging her make up on purpose. "You are Lucia and you have slain your husband Arturo you are not Abigale tonight." his voice lulls deep into Abigale's ears. She was no longer Abigale, she was now Lucia of Lammermoor. Her mind suddenly seemed free of her worries and fears. The trembling in her legs and hands ceased to be. From under the stage she could hear the ending act and her body seemed to will itself forward. This new woman, Lucia gazed down at her hands, realizing what she had done. Her body carried her to the stage, exposing her evil deed to her audience. Blood soaked her wedding gown and her arms. The blood that she had accidentally smeared on her face had begun to drip down her neck from the sweat. Lucia stared across the vast darkness of the auditorium and began to sing.

Writing prompt: Fear

Johnson sat huddled behind the fallen log. He was slowly freezing to death. In his mind's eye he could picture the position of every one of his friend's inert bodies that had been mowed down by the machine gun nest. His fear now sat as a frozen, dead lump in the pit of his stomach. His hands shook, not just from the cold, but from his fear. His mind raced from one impossible salvation to the next. The truth was, nobody even knew they were here, let alone that they were in trouble. Johnson had to move to live, but to move was to die. His mind kept looping back on that thought from one end to the other. Backwards and forwards. It was a catch-22 for sure. This was the end. He had no desire to continue. It was not that he wanted to die, he just didn't want to go on like this any longer. He could no longer abide the fear. He was desperate for change, desperate to find warmth, desperate to simply end this nightmare. His body left him no option, but to move. His fear drove him to take action. If we are being honest, he panicked. Johnson struggled to rise. He stumbled forward on legs that would barely move, his breath coming in quick rasping gasps in the frigid air. Firing almost blindly into the enemy position, he charged. And on that day, a hero was born.

Writing prompt: Fear

First post here. I'm not much a of a creative writer, but I figured I'd give this a shot. I used the prompt pretty liberally. Criticism welcome. ------------------- It’d been a little more than 20 hours since Tyler last slept. He shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat and glanced over at Herrera, who was nodding off as they glided down the road. “Hey.” Tyler nudged Herrera, whose head snapped up. “You’re bobbing for cock.” Herrera shook his head like a dog and wiped his eyes. “Okay. Okay.” He leaned forward under the weight of his gear and fumbled around in his drop pounce to produce a can of Rip It. Tyler turned his full attention back onto the black strip of asphalt slicing through the sand in front of him. He noted every pile of trash and irregularity in the road and breathed easier when they passed them. “How you doing up there, Schultz?” Tyler back. Shultz offered standard short reply from the turret, punctuated with a homophobic slur. “You too,” Tyler replied quietly, tapping his trigger finger on the wheel. The lead vehicle was slowing down and turning off the highway. “Okay, here we go. We’re almost back.” Tyler watched the sign warning everyone to stay back or be shot in both English and Arabic bounce along with its Humvee as they began to navigate their new, unpaved route. Tyler took a deep breath and sat up straighter for a better vantage point as he followed the other vehicle. Behind him, Schultz braced his feet against the floor as they lurched off the pavement. Herrera drained the last bit of his Rip It as they moved onto more even ground and stuffed the empty back in his drop pouch, humming a song Tyler didn’t know. The convoy had slowed considerably, and their Humvee was considerably louder as it shuddered along the rocky path. Now visibly alert, Herrera scanned their surroundings, his eyes lingering on everything alongside the road. He furrowed his brow at an oddly shaped pile of rocks. “They better avoid that shit,” he said, repositioning his rifle between his knees. Apparently, the driver in the lead vehicle had the same thought, because they gave the haphazardly piled rocks a wide berth, dipping off the road bit. The second vehicle followed suit, matching the lead’s line. Both Tyler and Herrera leaned forward and peered over the hood. “Follow their tire tracks,” he instructed. Tyler gripped the wheel with both hands, glancing over at the pile of rocks that was now almost directly to their right. “If I knew you were going to tell me how to drive, I wouldn’t hav—“ “More to the left, more to the left,” Herrera cut Tyler off. Tyler sighed, and eased through the softer sand, following the same path the previous vehicles had, his finger furiously tapping on the wheel. Completing the little detour, their vehicle lurched back onto the road and fell back in line behind the other Humvees, accelerating forward. Herrera sat back, opened his mouth and there was a bright light. Intense heat punctuated the stillness that had suddenly enveloped Tyler and he felt himself slam against something. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the steering wheel, the dash of the Humvee. Instead, he found himself stumbling forward on unsteady legs. He came to a stop, took a knee and hunkered down behind the second vehicle. He hefted his rifle up to provide security. Heavy footsteps impacted the sand and Sgt. Flood skidded down next to him. “Wright. You okay?” Tyler peered down his optic and murmured something affirmative. He was shaking furiously as his finger, straight and off the trigger, tapped out an erratic beat on his rifle. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler watched Sgt. Flood evaluate him. He cursed and then lumbered away, calling out to the rear Humvee. There was a flurry of activity around him, people yelling and dismounting. He heard a few people shout Herrera’s name. He didn’t answer. Schultz commented on the state of their Humvee from somewhere behind him. Tyler didn't answer him. There wasn’t any contact, and no one fired their weapons. Tyler remained in the same spot, endlessly scanning the horizon, looking for targets as his finger rapped endlessly away.

Writing prompt: Fear

They say it is soothing once you let go, but it is hard, the constant panic before the moment of calm. It is calm right here, with the senses impaired and I am just falling. Why can I not let go. I fear it will hurt and not that it will be over. It is already over, take it, TAKE IT. I can not control my body anymore. It is over, I am calm.

Writing prompt: Fear

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Writing prompt: Fear

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Writing prompt: Fear

I'm going to submit a link to Skydrive because it is too long to be put here, but it isn't more than a page and a half. [Here](http://sdrv.ms/OQQf2y)

[FF] As we lay in the mountains

I got to writing a bit of this prompt and it took me to an unexpected place... so I'm going to save it and expand upon it for part of a book I'm writing that it might fit nicely in. Cheers! :)

[FF] As we lay in the mountains

"You know it was not easy for me to get here honey" It was a clear, dusky night up on Wayworth Mountain which overlooked Oplaque city. And there she was, the love of my life, standing there slightly puffing from the climb. I will always remember her, her red hair waving down past her shoulders, her beautiful pale skin illuminating even against the purest of black, and those red, seductive lips. "Why did you ask me to arrive up here?" She inquired. "O, you know," I began "For a chance for us to get away from our lives, from the hustle and bustle of our work, and the constant amount of people just trying to grab a glimpse of us. Why did you come love?" She sat down on a nearby rock, and lit a cigarette "I just came to retrieve what you took from me." "O, so you came back for your hat did you." "It is one of a kind, and you know it, plus it looks rather fashionably on me, no other hat would simply suit my complexion like that one and you know it. May I have it back please." To this she extended her hand over to me. I looked deep down into those crystal, clear, brown eyes and said "In good time, but let us sit down, have a chat, eat, enjoy this rare time that we get to be by ourselves." She then pulled her hand back, grabbed the cig, flicked it so that the ash blew in the wind, said "I suppose there is not other way of convincing you is there" placed it back into her mouth and crossed her arms. "There is no other way sweaty, sorry. Now if you allow me" And to that I took out the blanket and spread it over part of the grassy top of the mountain. I brought out some candles, lit them, brought out plates, glasses, wine, and food, all from my handy basket. She then took the cigarette, and put it out on the rock she was sitting on and then stood up right before the picnic blanket. "How very romantic pooky, I suppose this is the moment where I say 'O you shouldn't have' or 'My gosh, this is quite the surprise!' and that is when you give off a compliment saying 'how radiant I am looking tonight' or 'that red trench coat never suited you better' and then we will wine and dine, and at the end of it, we shall have our fun. You know instead of all of that, how about let us skip the chit-chat and get straight to the love making." As she was saying all of this she was slowly approaching me until we were face to face, and I cold smell both the smoke as well as the rose perfume that she wore, and stare more deeply into her star lit eyes. Then at the end she placed her hand onto my side and gently caressed my arm. To this I put my hand on her shoulder and said "You really want that hat do you." She then placed her mouth beside my ear and whispered "you have no idea" gave a gentle nibble and then stood right back in front of me. "So what's it going to be?" she continued. "Shall we get ourselves comfortable?" "Even though that sounds rather lovely snookums, I was rather looking forward to our meal, after all I did put a lot of work into it. And don't worry there is nothing wrong with any of it." I added in seeing the slightest suspicion as she looked at the wine and sandwiches. "Please let us sit down, and at the end of the night, I guarantee you will have your hat back." "That would be most lovely if you could" and she took off her coat exposing her black shirt and jeans, and sat cross-legged on the blanket "So, how about those truly charming sandwiches and that most exquisite looking white wine". And that is how we began our meal. As we were midway through are meal I asked "What's new with you, any new adventures, or close captures?" She paused from eating her sandwich and stated "Wouldn't you like to know, but no, same old same old, always things needing to be grabbed and people wishing to grab you in return." "That is truly a very plain way to describe your truly colourful life." "But, how I phrased it is true, and isn't the simpler way to describe something better then getting caught up with the minor details, you asked me what is new, and I let you know that nothing is really that new." "Perhaps nothing is new by how you see things, but for me, it has been a year since I have seen you, so there are things that have happened that may have been old for you but are sure to be new for me." "How about this, I will ask you what is new, and then I may or may not tell you what is new with me, how about that sweetums, deal?" "Works fine with me, is there anything in particular you wish to know?" "Not particularly, I would suppose you have done some sightseeing in some more crowded places." "Well, yes just yesterday I was going around the pyramids of Giza, when a flash mob of dancers appeared, a movie crew for a mommy movie bustled in, and a circus convention converged on there all at the same time, quite intriguing." "Yes, quite intriguing." she said staring into her wine quite looking quite bored. "That is when I saw the Egyptian president raise his hand to show this remarkable ruby and made an announcement stating that he is storing Egypt's blood eye back into the pyramids from where it was found." At these words she looked back up at me, with a twinkle in her eye "And what else happened?" "Well," I continued, "I could tell you that is not where it is being kept at this moment." "What? Where is it then, do you know?" "Please tell me now what is new with you, and I shall continue." I could see her take a deep breath, obviously calculating in her mind what she should say, at the end of it she forcibly said "I have met someone." "Who?" "He is smart, lives to do what I do, and we get along quite well, that is all you need to know, so what about that eye." "It was given to a man within the pyramid for safe keeping for him to keep on his travels." "And where is this man now?" "Do not know." "You do not know." "Last I heard he was searching for this woman criminal who dressed all in red." "Can you describe me this man." "From what I could tell is that he seems intelligent, goes under the guise of a thief, and I would guess you two would get along swimmingly." "What of his name?" "Professor James Moriarty" "Your telling me, he has the eye." At this she looked very shocked. "Why yes, is there a problem?" She then stood up "Not really a problem, just a betrayal, I know how to handle it, but for now I must be on my way." "And what of your hat?" "It can wait." "That is the first time I heard you mention that." "I do not need it know, I suppose you've known about the tracking device all along didn't you." "The one you have placed on the eye because you were not able to take it at the time?" "Yes, that one." "I did indeed." "Why not just give me the hat and let me find out for myself." "He knows about it, but not who from, if you went, he would learn it was from you, and the lengths in which you went to find it, he would either than dispose of you, or use you much as he has this past while." "How would you know this, you don't know him, he stated so himself to me that no one knows what he will do based on his intelligence." "Well, that would make sense because that is what he wishes to believe, however I came into contact with a man that has dedicated his life to thwart his movements, that is how I know what he plans to do." "Let me guess, he is some top notch agent from ACME isn't he." "Actually no, he tends to work alone with a colleague of his, he is not part of ACME." "Where is he now?" "London." "I should also find this person?" "Why? He has no current interest in you?" "Well maybe I would be able to use his information to my advantage." "You could, but I doubt it." "Really?" "Yes, the only information I got out of him that I wished to use for my advantage he gave of his own choosing, I doubt anyone could get any info from him without his control." "Well, perhaps I should persuade him with a lovely night." "That shall not work either." "And why not." "He views women as a distraction to his work, trust me love focus on this professor first." "And how shall I do that." "Combine forces with ACME like you once did before." "And if I shall refuse." "You will be in great danger from Moriarty, you know this, please." She stood there for what seemed like five minutes contemplating what to do before finally saying "fine I accept" "Fantastic let me just go and call forth the helicopter right now" "Just a romantic night between the two of us eh?" with a slight mocking tone in her voice. "What? You were the one who was seeing someone else." "You now sweaty pie, I can get there on my own, I am a big girl, I can defend quite a bit by myself, I will come to ACME, but of my own accord alright." To this I approached her and offered my hand. "I just wish to see you safe." She took my hand "And you shall see me safe, trust me, everything shall be fine." She then lent in and gave me a kiss, I kissed in return. "Fine then, I will let you be on your way, promise me within the week you will be at HQ." She stared deep into my eyes and said "I promise" and turned to walk away. "O and Carmen." She turned to look at me "Your hat." and I tossed her great red hat that I stored in my basket. She placed it on her head, turned, said "Thank you Waldo" and continued to walk away. I then packed up my things and continued my way down the opposite side of the mountain. *** Five minutes after reaching her apartment, she pulled out the disposable cell phone that Jim had given her, texted "It has been done, I have met with the hide and seek champion, accepted to back to ACME, I leave V.I.L.E. to you, as instructed, in my stead while I am with the 'goodies', I have the champion's fingerprints, and your arch enemy is still in London, everything has gone as you predicted" sent it, and then threw the cell phone into her burning fire place.

[IP] The hedge labyrinth

Thanks for posting these. I just wanted to let you know I use these, but I write by hand and don't take the time to type them up. Your work is not for naught.

[IP] The hedge labyrinth

I followed the twists and turns of the green halls of the massive labyrinth. I had long ago lost track of all my left and right turns that eventually lead me to the center. As I gazed in quiet wonder around me and mentally congratulated myself for my success, my attention was diverted by unexpected movement. I beheld a wizened old man seated on the ground, leaning against a wall. He was dressed as workmen dress in old raggedy jeans and a loose fitting shirt that may once have been blue. On his head was a worn baseball cap. He casually struck a match and lit a small ornate pipe. The smell of burning tobacco slowly wafted my direction. It had a sickly sweet aroma to it. "I see I am not the only one to find my way here." I said with a smile. "You proceed from a false assumption young man. I did not need to find my way. I have always been here." he replied with an odd gleam in his eye. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means that I am the gatekeeper. I guard that which must be guarded." "What must be guarded?" I asked. This was really starting to get uncomfortable. "The future. It's always in jeopardy." “From what? How is the future in jeopardy?” “Ah… that’s easy. The past. The present. Only from this place can you find your way forward." “Why are you telling me these things?” I asked, now quite startled by the conversation. “Because someday you will have to make a choice. One path leads to your continued struggle along your present course. The other path leads to your eventual downfall. I am not convinced I should allow you to leave until you understand.” In that moment I felt the man was truly insane. I ran from him and entered the labyrinth again. I followed the many twists and turns and eventually found my way back to entrance just as darkness fell and the rain started to fall. The old man was left far behind, but that no longer mattered. I still abide within the labyrinth and await my moment of choice, without understanding.

[IP] The hedge labyrinth

Officer JC stood at the entrance of the maze. She looked at the ransom note once more: I have the boy. Meet me at the center of the labyrinth in thirteen hours or you'll never see him again. The clock was ticking. She drew her Beretta and held out her right hand to the wall of the maze. There was no time for a wrong turn. She charged into the maze, disturbing a hidden owl. JC's heart was pounding with rage. When she found the kidnapper, she would kill him. This was personal. She heard rustling ahead and crouched down. "It's OK, I'm a friend" growled someone through the hedge. JC proceeded with extreme caution. A short, portly man stepped out from a hedge wall. "I want to help you! You see, I've been imprisoned here. Maybe you could save me?" "You know the way?" said JC. "Oh, yes. Follow me", said the man. JC saw an evil grin as he turned away. "What's your name?" she asked. "H-" BANG! The empty shell hit the cobblestone. No one can be trusted within the labyrinth. JC looked at the clock-tower that rose above the maze. 20 minutes left. She ran through twists and turns, searching for the heart of the maze. She heard laughter from through the hedge. "I wasn't expecting you to make it this far", said a rich, resonating voice. Shots were fired in the direction of the voice. "That's not fair!" teased the voice. JC's trusted handgun crumpled in her hand. "Now I have the upper hand." taunted the voice. JC turned another corner to see her little brother sitting patiently on a stone platform, unhurt. Her attention was turned to a strange figure lounging on a stone bench. He laughed. shaking his blond mane. His painted face smiled, "You win". JC roared, "I'll kill you!" as she charged forward. The man held up a hand. JC stopped, mid-stride, shaking. The world around her began to change. It was as if she had entered a new dimension. Laughter echoed around her. Struggling against this unseen force she shouted, "You have no power over me!" The dreamworld shattered like glass around her. She was back in the maze, but the man was gone. She grabbed her brother and ran. She kept running when the maze was far behind.

[IP] The hedge labyrinth

*(Sorry it's quite long...inspiration kept it going for a while. Hope you enjoy!)* Tiny, stiff needles nipped at the hem of her light summer dress like little kitten's paws, inspiring her to twirl away free of the hedge and more into the center of the path. Her feet danced lightly over the soft green earth, and the world spun a moment longer in her eyes once she stopped. The young girl giggled, lifting a hand to brush along the green wall as she walked. In some areas the needles were soft with new growth, but mostly they were coarse and stiff, and felt rather like the stiff bristles on the horse brushes in the stables. Or really, she thought, perhaps the brushes merely felt like the hedge. The hedge walls towered above her, blotting out the sun all hours but noon, and stretched on with apparent endless twists and turns to any who could not find their way. Her smile widened in memory of the young boy from two weeks ago, some nasally noble's son who had lived far too pampered a youth, as he boasted his way into the labyrinth and cried as he was lead out, after having been lost within for two hours on a hot afternoon. But not Lily, she never got lost in the maze. It was *her* maze. When she was not eating, sleeping, or sat forcibly down for her lessons, she inevitably traversed the long green halls, singing and dancing with all manner of imagined companions. The maids warned that such wild behavior was not befitting of a lady of her birth, but she did not care. Her father was ever so busy and cared only that she was both out from underfoot and suitably happy. When he did take care in her affairs and attempt to be stern, her smile disarmed him and soon she was back in the labyrinth. The gardeners who kept close care of the hedge did their duty every day, but even they did not know why she loved the maze more than anything she had ever owned. More than toys and kittens, more than pretty dresses and fine desserts, more even than the beautiful white pony her father had given her on her last birthday. The labyrinth was *hers*, but what awaited her at the center could never belong to anything but the magics and mysteries of the unknown, as distant as the stars but as close as her own heart. At the center of the labyrinth, awaiting her arrival each day and bidding her fair well with each departure, was the Minotaur. She turned the familiar turns, followed the path long memorized and came soon to the path which changed. She had told her father once that the Minotaur sometimes liked to change the path for her, to give her a challenge, but he merely smiled and commented on her imagination to their disapproving maids. She never bothered to insist he believe her, it was better that her stories remained mere stories to his ears. That way the maze, the true heart of it, would always remain hers. It was different today. The path narrowed, stray branches grew thick and forced her to push her way through. The air grew thick and heavy and damp, with moisture brimming on the edge of each leaf. She lifted the machete and hacked a few vines aside, the dipping songs of colorful birds and hoots of monkeys filling her ears as the thick hedges gave way to steaming jungle. She came upon an opening to her left and passed beneath a broad, moss-covered branch and found a jaguar blocking the way. It stood with its nose high in the air, alternating between staring intently and sorting out what it could of her scent. "Though my father might find use of your coat, I have no desire to harm you." She informed the jaguar. It hissed and took a step back. "Now none of that! Step aside that I might pass, kitty. Go on." She shooed the beast with her machete, and it turned, darting into the undergrowth with a disgruntled growl. The shining dappled fur of the cat blended into the jungle almost instantly. She continued forward and soon found another path to the right, and another right, around the great trunk of an ancient tree and into the dark. She had to turn sideways to fit through the small crevasse in the rock, but the cave beyond was plenty spacious and filled with enough beauty to chase away all thoughts of claustrophobia. Glittering veins of crystal wound their way in curious spiral patterns, occasionally bursting forth from the stone like flowers on a vine. In the center of the circular hall was a pool, from which more crystals sprouted, these in the shapes of lilies and pads. She padded quietly on bare toes to the shoreline, inching her way into the icy water in order to pluck one of the delicate white lilies. It snapped off into her hand and there twinkled, catching the light from her torch and reflecting it into her eyes. She sniffed it, inhaling deep the smell of the earth and what its incredible pressure had wrought for her, then placed the delicate flower in the small bag at her side. Continuing from the cave she explored a ravine in the tundra and said hello to a mammoth, wound her way through the creaking wooden underbelly of a ship full of drunken, cavorting pirates, and, a few gold coins richer, snuck her way back out into the shadow of the hedges. "I enjoyed the caves very much, and can honestly say I had never met a mammoth before today." She said lightly as she turned into the center. The Minotaur sat comfortably in an overstuffed (and oversized) chair, hooves crossed and fingers placed delicately together beneath his bearded chin. He smiled, inclining his head gently in greeting. His sweeping horns made the subtle movement more broad and, somehow, dignified. His fur was immaculately brushed and trimmed, as always, but today he had woven a few new braids from his mane. "The jaguar was entirely less than sociable, however." She took her customary seat across from him. Whereas his chair was huge and soft, hers was small and metal, a delicate thing made of white-painted tubes woven into the shapes of hearts and birds and butterflies. He hunched down over the table, just slightly too high for her comfort but far too low for his, and poured her a cup of tea, two lumps, a blot of milk, with great care. She took the china cup and sipped, smiling as he did the same. A sip, for him, drained the cup. "Fine tea, as ever. Thank you, Mr. Minotaur." He inclined his head once again, a faint smile on his bovine face. When she returned to the house, she found her father speaking with Professor Antoine Durant, who was both the local scholar and her tutor, and a regular visitor for dinner on Saturday evenings. "Afternoon, Lilly dear. Have a nice time in the maze?" Her father smiled kindly. "Good afternoon father, I did sir. Thank you." She hugged him, then turned to the professor. "Professor Durant! Sir, did you know that woolly mammoths are not brown? They are actually blonde. Strawberry blonde!" Her father turned a quizzical look to the professor, who looked equal parts perplexed and amused. He answered her father's unspoken question before responding to her. "We were learning about prehistoric beasts today." He habitually slid his glasses back up his nose as he looked down at the girl. "But I believe you remember that fact incorrectly, dear. Mammoths had great, brown shaggy coats, which absorbed more warmth from the sun." "No, sir! You see, I met one today, in the labyrinth. He had strawberry blonde fur, and great tusks which curled almost back to his trunk. He was quite nice, I shook his trunk." The two older men laughed, but insisted she keep her imaginings to herself should the continue to contradict facts. It was important to remain grounded in reality, even if our minds should take us into the heavens themselves, her father lectured. She nodded and agreed, but only in words. That evening, after a meal of leek soup, baked trout, roots and a fine brazed shank of pig, all followed by crispy fruit pastries glazed with honey (her favorite part), she lay in bed and stared out at the stars. They seemed to shine brighter than usual that night, but they looked ever more beautiful still when shining through the clear, beautiful pedals of the crystal lily which she held aloft.

DAILY PROMPT: Writers Block (an exercise)

I like your suggestion to take a shower. When I get writer's block, I'll sometimes go sit in the bathroom. As for my paragraph, do you think that going between Osbourne's inner thoughts and narrating the action is too disorienting? Should I have separated the two perspectives? I welcome any criticism. Grammar, too! I don't have the money to hire an editor, so I welcome any grammar pros to nitpick. [EDIT]: This thread popped up on my front page. I didn't realize it was so buried. Oopsie-doodle. --- Osbourne watched as his asset skulked from the room with a smirk on his face. His natural instinct as a spy seemed to have failed him this time. The door was left open; that seemed to confirm things. After four years of developing a relationship with this man, why would he go back on their deal now? It didn't matter at this point. Osbourne reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette to rest between his lips. Negotiating with locals for intel had always been a calculated risk, but a necessary one. The uncomfortable wooden chair he sat on creaked as he leaned back to take a lighter from his pants pocket. Osbourne lit the cigarette, never taking his eyes from the empty doorway. He clicked the lighter shut, dropped it on the floor, and had time for one breath of smoke before the room was flooded with soldiers.

DAILY PROMPT: Writers Block (an exercise)

Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 was my song for this. I didn't take a shower but I did cook my nephew and I lunch. _____________________________________________________________ There was that smile again. It had been such a beautiful enticing smile once. A smile that had melted Amy's heart and made her fall in love with him. Now, however, that smile was an awful reminder to her weakness. She hated the feeling of having been fooled for so long. That mans infidelity had scarred her for life, scarred her from ever wanting another man in her life. _________Stopped (Started Music) Amy cursed herself for having wishful dreams of marriage and children. Having dreamed of such things made her feel even worse. How badly did she want a future with this man that she completely disregarded the clues? Many nights were spent in bed alone while he consistently worked late, but never answered his phone. She lost count how many times she had called him and his phone simply went to voice mail. Now he stared at her, his green eyes burning his superiority right into her very being. He was proud that he had gotten away with this for so long. His smile expressed that this was a misunderstanding and that he knew he would probably be able to get out of this situation somehow. The beautiful blond that he had in their bed was already fumbling around in search of her clothes. She didn't even have the decency to cover herself up in front of another woman. Hell, she didn't even seem surprised that she was caught with another woman's man. Her gaze would sometimes wander over to Amy, as if trying to guess how the situation would turn out. _________Stopped (Made Lunch) "I really need for you to leave for awhile." Amy finally managed to say. Throughout her life she wasn't known to be very outspoken and in this current situation it was hard to find words. "Leave, really?" Craig laughed as he went in search of his own clothes, "Yeah, I guess I could do that for awhile." "No, you really don't need to come back at all." Amy was slowly finding strength in her voice. Maybe it was all of her hate that was building up now that she wanted to be heard. "Baby, you know this was just a one time thing, I'll never do this again." He was flashing his enchanting smile at her. Unfortunately for him, that was no longer her kryptonite. She narrowed her eyes at him over her glasses and set her purse down on their nightstand. Casually she started to remove the sheets and pillows from the bed and balled them up into a large pile. "Amy--love, this is really just a misunderstanding." Craig was still going at it. By now his blond beauty was dressed and looking for her shoes. At least she knew not to speak in this sort of situation. The woman tiptoed around Craig and left the bedroom. Amy was glad that she was gone. "This is my home, Craig." Amy started, all the love she once felt for him was now completely gone, "You will leave and never come back here, I'll send your things to wherever it is you end up." Craig laughed again, now pulling on his work shoes. He wasn't moving fast enough for Amy. She found his other shoe and threw it as hard as her arms could manage. Now he understood that she was serious. They both made a rush for his keys, but Amy's wrath made her faster. She freed her house key from his keyring and aimed for his face this time when she threw them. A liberating laugh freed Amy from her rage for a moment as the keys nailed him in the forehead. She hoped that they left a mark. That mark would forever be his first battle scar for being a cheating bastard. Amy grabbed the bundle of sheets and pillows and proceeded to push them into Craig's arms as he was shoved out of her front door. She couldn't understand his muffled voice through the sheets. It's not like it mattered anyway. Her freedom could start now.

DAILY PROMPT: Writers Block (an exercise)

First time I've written in a very long time. It was a sunny day, not unlike any other supposed 'perfect day'. The sky was a light blue with not a single gray wisp in sight. He breathed in deeply, held the crisp autumn air within his lungs for a moment, almost as if the array of pastels smeared in his periphery would rejuvenate him. He then continued to exhale slowly and deliberately through pursed lips. Thirteen leaves had fallen in the time it took for him to regain his composure. He proceeded to open the door of his car and slithered out, but left it ajar, there was no reason, but he felt that it needed to be that way. The man walked around his car, and sat on the ground, with his back to the passenger side door, the one he held open for her so many times. All this opposite the curb which divided the carefully manicured lawn, the baby junipers they planted just last spring, the flower garden that hadn't yet begun to wither, and the antique wooden wheel barrow that lay perched atop the black mulch in the very center of their yard, it layed as if it had been there a century and it slowly...carefully, sank into the ground, eventually becoming part of the landscape. He had pulled her around in the wheel barrow as children, and consequently, this rotting display of wood and iron held his first memories of her. "This is first" he thought. He rose from the ground as if an invisible force had pulled him up by his collar, opened the right rear door, and fondled the floor blindly searching for a tool to carry out his duty with. He could not find anything fit for the task, and in a flurry of emotions he tore the floor mat out, and threw it across the single yellow line in the road. This in turn peppered his already beet red face with sand that must have layed dormant in the rug since their beach trip that last summer. He slammed the door shut, he slammed it so incredibly hard that the glass within the window shattered, the glass he intended on putting his fist through. He walzted almost methodically to the other side of the car, to the door he left ajar, what now seems like an eternity ago. He reached underneath his seat and found a miniature wooden bat, whose existence had slipped his mind. He bought that bat at a minor league baseball game about a year before this happened. He walked slowly and composed towards the wheel barrow. He walked through it, kicking holes in the old wood, stomping it as if the antique were responsible for what happened. He reached the front door after conquering the five steps that led to it, and opened it slowly, remembering the creaks it would make, and at which points they would sound, he lightly lifted the weight off the hinges and crept inside the house leaving the door open just a crack. There was no wind that day, so he wasn't afraid it would make unwelcome noises, alerting them of his presence. After making his way up the tan, wool carpeted staircase, he turned right and found himself eye to eye with a small circular night stand that is placed four paces from their bedroom, and four from the bathroom to his left. A white lamp was placed atop the stand, and a single drawer lay beneath it. He unfortunately recalled what was housed in this drawer, but he opened it anyways, reluctantly, reached inside, and pulled out a black 9mm pistol, he now began to twitch, and mutter nonsense to himself as he ebbed ever closer to the bedroom door. He opened the door a broken man, but on the other side was redemption. Glue. His demise. There lie his wife, nude in bed with his best friend. He had known since he pulled his black BMW up to the house, but seeing this with his own eyes was almost surreal. Infuriating, horrendous, betrayal. Thunder crashed. "odd" he thought, as there was not a cloud in the sky only ten minutes ago. He looked in his hand at the gun, and noticed the wisps of smoke curling out of the barrell, and then at the hole in the side of his friends head, now draining its contents on the immaculate bed, on his sheets. His wife sat in shock. She didn't move a single muscle. He looked at his wife, who was now in tears, she stared back in disbelief, as she waited, and willfully accepted her well deserved fate. He stumbled backwards and hit the far side of the eggshell white wall, never breaking his stare, he slid to the left with his back still against the wall that was now propping him up, he slid until the left side of his trembling body hit the where two walls met. "We've been meaning to paint, haven't we." he said as he put the gun in his mouth, bit down on the barrel, wrapped his tongue around the warm metal, and pulled the trigger.

DAILY PROMPT: Writers Block (an exercise)

Jonas unlocked his smartphone for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. There were only two international flights scheduled to take off and there was still no sign of Karl. Jonas felt the whiskey turn sour in the pit of his stomach. His worst fears seemed to be coming true. Just as he grabbed his phone again, it started ringing. *Karl calling...* After a second of disbelief, Jonas answered. "Where the FU-" Jonas was promptly interrupted by a soft voice that did not at all bear the resemblance that of a 50 year old con man. "Jo, have you seen Karl at all? His clothes are all over the place and he took his suitcase with him. Do you know anything about this?" Jonas could not bear to tell her the truth. She had been betrayed just as much as he had but she did not know it yet. "I heard from him earlier in the day but if I find him you'll know for sure," he replied without any emotion. "Is he in danger? Tell me the fucking truth Jo!" There was a definite sense of panic in her voice. "No." Jonas' suspicions were confirmed. Karl was probably long gone. It would not have been easy for him to make that decision. He had a partner, two kids, and a perfect house. It was his cunning that got him in to this mess to begin with and he had brought Jonas down with him. Jonas thought for a moment on his own family. It was nothing like what Karl had. Jonas had not talked to anyone in his family for the past eight years. His wife had left him after his DUI. His daughter was estranged and did not even have the slightest inclination to call her father. His son was killed by a drunk driver. Track and Field superstar, Dean's list student, Prom King, and now six feet under. There was not a day since when Jonas had not thought of Adam. Although the drunk driving stopped, Jonas found no better way to cope with the loss of his son than numbing his own subconscious with alcohol and cocaine. Those were quite expensive habits, but Jonas always had a knack for saving up his money. After all, he had no one to support anymore. It was not surprising that Karl had asked Jonas to fund the job he was about to pull. They had worked together many a time before. Karl had spent his money much more freely though. He had a quaint 3 bedroom house, drove a nice Ford Explorer and always knew how to party. Jonas thought about Karl just then. He envisioned Karl on some lavish yacht with a few playmates, champagne and white powder. That's how Karl always talked about retirement. "Guns a blazin' and ridin' in to the sunset!" He would say. No matter how hard he tried, Jonas had a difficult time facing reality. It was not even about the money, he was at peace with that. He knew what risk he took when he fronted the cash. It was the fact that he would leave his own flesh and blood behind for a price. The price did not even matter to Jonas. It was the concept itself. Jonas was in defeat, and it was noticeable in his walk back to his car. His head was slumped and he took no interest in his surroundings. Colours had faded. Sounds had muted. The only feeling he felt was pain in his heart. He pulled out his keys for his Inifiniti and sat inside. He reached for the glove box and pulled out his stash. First, he looked at picture of what was his family. You could see the pain in his eyes. He dealt with this pain the only way he had ever known how to. He jammed his key inside the ziploc bag and insufflated a significant line. Just enough to go numb. His mind went blank and suddenly he felt free from burden. He could hear the planes above his head. He could see the bird's nest 50 yards away. Jonas reached for the shiny piece of blue steel sitting in his passenger seat and smiled.

DAILY PROMPT: Writers Block (an exercise)

Burial - Archangel ------- Henry patched a connection between two ports and powered up the synthesizer. A glitchy bassline played from his monitors and repeated itself. *Wouldn't be alone.* He jumped, knocked a dial out of place and looked around his sound proof studio. There was nothing but him and his instruments. Perhaps the silence was causing him to hallucinate - after all, it was quiet enough for him to hear his heart as it went *lub-dub*. But never mind that - Henry had a contract to fulfill. He could not seem to recreate the loop- *lub-dub* - the wobble was too fast and it felt too clean. Another patch cable. *lub-dub* He turned a dial and pushed the power button. The bassline resumed. And yet, Henry didn't still like it. *lub-dub* More knobs, more dials, more patches, more basslines. *lub-dub* Too glitchy, too fast, too slow, too clean. He lost something. But what?

[RE] Full circle.

*Colt *Cackle Is this Supernatural fanfic?

[RE] Full circle.

The intricate pattern of lightning was burned on Ezra’s skin. Static seemed to radiate from the blue lines. She looked at him and admired her handiwork. “How does goodbye sound?” Her voice was a cackle of electricity. Ezra looked at her blue green eyes and tried to see if there was any humanity left. Black clouds were rolling in overhead and a smattering rain was just starting to fall. “Don’t pretend you aren’t happy that I found you.” “Storm chaser, I warned you to not to follow me.” “Yes, I remember.” He rubbed his hands over the colt in his hand. The barrel was scratched and the handle was tarnished. Ezra had waited a long time to catch up with her. The echo of thunder was hard to trace. Lightning was too quick to hold, and he’d been a fool to try the first time. “Here we are at the crossroads.” Ezra waved the colt casually in her direction. “The path you put us on.” “Oh no, no, no.” She tilted her head. “I don’t remember the storm like that.” She stretched out her arms, as if she could touch the clouds. “You are just one little lightning bolt. You think too much of yourself.” “You think too much of your gun.” Ezra held it up, and began to load black bullets in to it. She leaned closer to inspect the foreign bullets. The weeds at the corners of the crossroads began to wilt in terror. “That’s the thing Sal, this isn’t just a gun. Lightning hit ground twice last time.” Her pale hair whipped around as the wind picked up. “You wanted me to be here. I gave you what you wanted.” She looked around the empty expanse. “I don’t even know why you’re upset. Because I took your little girlfriend?” The rain was picking up. “Or are you upset over Aurora? I burn, I hit, I can’t fight my nature. Everything burns.” “Mm-hm.” Ezra slammed the barrel shot and leveled the gun against her head. He cocked back the hammer. “You weren’t meant to be here. That’s why.” “Ezra, you are forgetting something.” She gestured at the twisted pattern up and down his arms. “No, I’m not.” He fired the gun. She didn’t have enough time to scream. As it hit her there was a flash of pale green light. There was no sound, but the air was charged with heat. They both fell down in convulsions. The rain fell harder. Ezra felt the burns on his skin move and slither. He wanted to yell but his muscles were clenched tight. Sal, his Sal who he hadn’t seen smile in two years, had her mouth open in wordless agony. Her hair was changing color. The gun was smoking in between them, completely useless now. Two damn years to long. In the exact center of the crossroads he had buried the picture of them at his Aunt’s barn raising, and crushed lily weed. The folk stories he had heard promised chance to see a storm up close, to touch thunder at the cross roads. Sal had picked out the picture to use, and he’d found the spot. Storms don’t like to be watched, as it turns out. Storms like to run wild. Thunder echoed. Ezra’s back arched and his entire body fell loose. Sal stopped moving, but her eyes were shut. The bullet had hit here just below here collarbone. It would be a beautiful scar if she lived. Ezra pushed himself to inch closer to her. She was breathing, just barely. There was no help to come save them, not way out in the middle of nowhere. In the end, he should have known there was no coming back.Sal groaned and rolled over to face him. She opened her eyes to see him. They were dark green again, they were *her* eyes. Relief washed over him. Ezra smiled and reached out to touch her. "Ezra, I knew you'd chase me down." -------- *I have no idea what I'm doing.*

[RE] Full circle.

I think I get this now. Then again, I may be completely wrong in my interpretation. I have read it perhaps 10 times in total since it was posted. I keep coming back to it for some reason.

[RE] Full circle.

I have an idea for this, but I'm not sure what this is so I think I may follow beastwith2backs.

[RE] Full circle.

The clearing was empty except for the two of us. Shadowy figures locked in battle, oblivious to the fury of the storm. Lightning flashed all around us as the fierce winds assaulted our rain soaked forms. "How does goodbye sound?" she asked with a definite cackle in her voice. "It never had to come to this you know. We are the last of our kind." I replied sadly. The damage was already done. She had gravely wounded me. She laughed at me. "Mine is by far the greater power. You were foolish to agree to meet me here." "I admit that you are stronger. I cannot hope to defeat you using magic." I said slowly and very deliberately. The crooked smile grew on her face. She raised her hands towards me to cast her final spell that would end my life. "Farewell fool." "Here we are, at the crossroads of the path you put us on." I whispered, leveling my Colt at her head. I turned my eyes away just as I pulled the trigger, ending her existence. "You know, in the end, I should have seen this coming." I mused, looking past the empty hospital bed next to me and into the brightly lit hallway. "She always was such a disagreeable soul."

[RE] Full circle.

The bed to my right contained the only other person I cared about on this earth and this woman before me now almost succeeded in taking us out of it. "This was only supposed to be between family, why did you have to drag him into this?" I growled, struggling to sit up in the hospital bed. The plastic stitches in my shoulder and sides were stretching a bit, but I kept that colt against her head. It's metallic handle felt hot in my hand from where I had been hugging it all night. I knew that eventually she would grace me with her presence to finish what she had started. "You can't just abandon the family and think it's finished, Grandfather is not happy." She said to me through grit teeth. I was sure that she knew I had the nerve to pull the trigger. She was wise not to test me right now. The doctors weren't sure if Nathan would ever wake up from his coma, but for some reason, I would manage to get out of this with only a few scars. It wasn't fair. He had lived his life as a good man and because he fell for me and my weakness'.... I shook my head and tried to refocus on the facts: leaving the family hadn't worked, creating a new life with someone else couldn't refresh my record. This is something that I had to take into my own hands and using this colt was the first step. The knife that this woman had at my throat, my aunt, was pressed down hard and drawing blood. I didn't mind the risk of having my throat slit as long as it meant taking this bitch with me. "You were born into our world, you should have known better than to---"My aunt started but I pulled the trigger before I let her finish. I didn't need to hear what she had to say. It no longer mattered.

[RE] Full circle.

Nick idly pressed buttons on his cell phone. Beth was tapping out some unknown pop song with her pen. Beth grinned, "How does goodbye sound?" with a cackle in her voice. "That's just cruel. Six years, Beth. I'm not going to just end it with "goodbye"." Nick slid his phone a few inches away and stared at the lock screen; a picture of him and Kristi. "Ah, L'amour. When are you going to change that picture?" "When the breakup is official." "Then send the text." "Breaking up via text is insensitive." "It was YOUR idea." Beth was twirling the pencil now. Nick picked the phone up again, flicking it to his text messages and opening up Kristi PSYCHO DO NOT CALL. "So you've changed my contacts." "Just one." Nick fumbled his thumbs on the touchscreen and took at least three breaths before hitting "Send". The door opened only minutes later. Beth muttered the word "Uncanny" under her breath. Kristi slumped in. Slumped as her body was held aloft by sheer force of will and the barest remainder of sobriety. Nick stood. "Kristi, what are you doing here?" Kristi took one long stumble up to Nick and pulled his collar until their foreheads knocked together. Nick stared at his now-blurry, now-ex girlfriend and figured he probably looked blurrier to her. At least he hoped. "A texsht." WHACK! Kristi leveled Nick with the quarter-full bottle of alcohol and followed him to the ground. Beth jumped back from her chair, (and moved behind it, the table, and what was not likely a safe distance). "Here we are, Nicky bicky icky. At the croshroads of some path somewhere in our relashunship. And you put us here." Kristi slid the bottle of Colt 45 and held it against Nick's head. She certainly didn't see the chair coming. Even Beth was surprised it happened and she was the one holding the chair. Nick felt the lump growing on the side of his head. "Okay. So I just did that...what do we do now?" Nick sat up. Kristi woke up six hours later. Nick knew this because she happened to wake up five minutes into visiting hours. The bare minimum would of course be to ensure she didn't receive any brain damage. Well...serious brain damage. "Hey...beautiful." Nick flinched, ready to regret the doctor's decision not to strap Kristi to the hospital bed. Instead, Kristi just lay there with her eyes to the ceiling. Nick sat on the bed next to her. "You know, in the end..." Kristi interrupted him, "I should have seen this coming." The silence went on for another five minutes and Nick just stared at Kristi's hospital bed, unable to meet her eyes. Eventually his gaze went to the floor and he took one long, slow deep breath. "Kristi, I'm-" The bedpan clanged hard on the back of his head and Nick went face first to the floor. "You bastard!" Kristi kept banging away while Nick tried to shield his face. He knew, that in the end, *he* should have seen this coming. He looked up at the hospital bed next to him and saw it took three orderlies to subdue her. "Ah, l'amour."

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

Some tips/questions to consider (or disregard): - Write out a mythology for yourself for the creature. The characters (if you have any) may not know the creatures origins or any abilities it might have... but it can help if you, the writer, knows. - Does this creature (or creatures) have any enemies? - Any weaknesses? - Is the creature known to everyone? Is it new? old?

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

I'm reading the Hyperion Cantos right now and the Shrike is so intriguing, so I'm liking this idea. Also just went through a Lovecraft phase so my expectations are high.

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

How loosely are we using the term "creature"? Animals could technically be considered creatures, whereas the prompt makes me think of creatures with human qualities.

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

Is it alright if the story is, like, way longer than 750 words?

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

Are we allowed to include an illustration with our piece?

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

Can deities be considered creatures for this prompt?

The August Writing Prompt Contest [with a prize!]

I was just wondering - for longer stories, I tend to use my typewriter. As long as it was clearly above the word minimum, could I scan in a typewritten manuscript? The appeal of transcribing it is minimal, for me, though I can do so if utterly necessary.

[FF] Epiphany

I interpreted the "Include the words" rule a little loosely, but they're all there in a definite pattern. If that's lame, though, I'll take it down. --------- “It’s not as if we weren’t trying to kill him!” The mercenaries braced themselves against the sturdy wooden door. It buckled again from another blow. Their leader studied the door thoughtfully. “All my life,” growled a hoarse voice from the other side. “I thought that pain held me back. I thought that it stopped me. *I thought it mattered*.” Another blow to the door, and a crack ripped through the center, an axe-head gleaming through the hole. “I see things differently now.” The men against the door shared a nervous glance. About an hour ago, they had tied one of their own up and thrown him into a fire for treason. He had refused an order to kill the child of a man they’d been hired to assassinate. They’d meant to break that will in the fire, but had soon realized that it was stronger than his bonds. “What do we do?” One of the men cried to his boss as another blow threatened to split the door. “We perceive his truth.” “Perceive his *what*?” To the soldiers’ surprise, their boss grabbed their shoulders, pushing them aside. The scorched man kicked the door in, glaring around. “Be calm. We know that pain isn’t real. We know what’s true.” The leader reassured. Their victim stared at him, bemused.. “True?” He asked as he took a staggered step forward. He gestured to his scarred flesh, brandishing his blood-covered axe in the process. “Make no mistake – this hurts like a bitch.”

[FF] Epiphany

There in only one word to describe him…grotesque. The stench was unbearable, the long, stringy hair, greasy, the vomit stained coat, the urine soaked baggy pants and the rotting teeth were more than I could stomach. So when he asked me if I could spare some change for a starving child, I was more than happy to overlook the obvious lie he was telling me and hand him the money. As he reached for this gift that was begrudgingly being handed to him, I noticed his filthy, bony hands and his dirt filled fingernails. The fear of any part of him touching me was paralyzing, for if this were to happen, I would surely die of some horrifying disease. I dropped the money before he was able to grab it and watched it fall to the ground. As he slowly bent down on one knee to pick it up, I noticed the grimace on his face and as he reached for my hand to be helped up, I turned my head in disgust and continued on my way. Impression, it’s all about what we perceive to be true. As I rounded the corner, I had the urge to look back and I saw this man, who only seconds ago I considered not to be deserving of life, hand the money to the woman sitting on the cold concrete cradling a baby in her arms, as he smiled and continued on his way. There is only one word to describe him…beautiful

[FF] Epiphany

Sasha looked out of his window,

[FF] Epiphany

Exactly 250 words. I wish it could've been more :( _____________________________________________________________________________________ Before I drove my dagger into his heart, his vile, barely beating heart, I stopped to think: why was I so dead set on ending this person’s life? That’s something I’ve been craving my entire life. In my rage, I had a moment of clarity: I had no personal vendetta against this man. He has never done anything to me. Hell, I don’t even know his story. I was only after him because I had been taught to do so. I had been taught to hate irrationally. In reality, what that man did was to save my country. And that fact ran through me in cold waves of regret. I stepped back in shock. I heard a *clang* behind me as my dagger slipped from my hand. What the hell was I doing? It’s funny how clarity can only come when you reach that moment of reckoning, that moment when your beliefs stand up to the test. It’s all about what we percieve to be true. Good and evil are subjective. After all, “evil” people don’t truly believe they are so. “Good” people take pride in being so. But the levels of good and evil are subject to change in the eyes of the beholder. To me, this man was not evil. How could someone with such a hurt expression on his face truly be evil? But in reality, there are no absolute guidelines to qualify for good or evil somewhere in the universe. It’s all what the hivemind thinks. Edit:formatting

[FF] Epiphany

I'd killed before, I'd kill again. That was a simple truth that I lived with every day. It is who I am, what I am. Asking me to be anything other than that was about as ridiculous as asking a lion to not be a lion. I didn't do it for the money or because I particularly enjoyed it, I did it because I was good at it. It was as simple as that. Those that took some pleasure out of it were usually the ones that got caught, they'd linger, or take a memento, leave their calling card. Amateurs. Almost as bad as those that just needed the cash, they were inevitably desperate and desperate men never made good calls. Not to mention the evidence you'd leave behind in a panic, they didn't have the stomach for such a job. Sure you could call it evil, call it a crime. But then if killing is a crime why is it so acceptable, why do you cheer on the murders who wear green and wave your flag as they shoot down innocent civilians and call it collateral damage. At the end of the day, it's all about what we perceive to be true. Is a killer evil just because the government don't pay his wage? Just becasue they tell you he is? Killing is natural, it's part of life. But for me it was just a job. So then, why is it that I standing here over my brother's corpse? **Word count (excluding this) = 250**

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Clean Crisp blue lined heaven blank empty waiting What words will fill it's pages what doodles will line the edges will it contain my one day published novel or will it contain my late night troubles my new notebook full of promise

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

It's not exactly an event of this year, but it was a big event during the year it happened lol. ______________________________________________ First kiss I remember my first kiss Standing, leaning on a winters door Gazing into nothing but the passing cars My friend I knew all but too well Stood aside and watched over me well Brazilian eyes, dark like tree bark his curly hair, untamed like his heart. Brave was he, to make the move and kiss me on my forehead. Though it were not on my lips it was a crown he'd placed upon my head.

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Oh, tea-pot how you amuse me for every time I do a week goes by without using you and meanwhile you sit on a table or a chair the tea-leaves inside you rotting as you sit there and each week a new strain of bacteria or mould forms twisting and filling the inside of your clean glass walls and as they run out of nutrients they turn into stone

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Sitting in my room. How I love my room. A place where I can sit do All the things I love to do. Except browse the Internet. I'd love to browse the Internet... Browsing the Internet. I love the Internet. A place where I can sit and search All the things I love to search. Except for reading books. I love to read those books... Reading gripping novels. I love to read most novels. Places where I can sit and read All the things I love to read. Except for all the romance. I hate stupid romance.

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Oh Darth Maul how you wait there Steady as you go, raised on your plastic pride rock Your name etched in gold, worn away by hopeful hands You're dual saber, down to one You intimidating face, fades to black You're still ** My Darth Maul Bank that i got, but is broken haha EDIT: Sorry for formatting

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

A softly shallow pink heart Shines through the stars of time A horseshoe meets it's maker A clover fits my rhyme Blue moons shine through the darkness A pot of gold full of dabloons The rainbow flutters briefly As I count 99 red balloons A bowlful soon, a handful now, diabetes is an alarm I do not care, it's worth the risk, they'll never take my lucky charms

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Curiosity Hangs forever by a thread Then at last: touchdown.

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

The lonely pint stood majestic and tall Like a man erect with his chest out Warm light from the bar casting its golden glow to the bottom of the glass Embuing it with it's own hypnotic shade of amber Tiny bubbles from seemingly nowhere make their way up So many of them, all chattering like the bar patrons themselves Coming together to form a sweet white bouquet at the top of the glass Staring into this wonderous creation across from me was Julia Julia and her heaving tits To be so lucky as to have both of God's great masterpieces in my presence Not many days like this are bound to come Today is a good day I down the pint and do the same with Julia Today is a good day

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

[deleted]

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Had to write this for english last semester, but the literary technique requirements kind of messed with me. Either way, here it is. My First Day as a Pokemon Trainer! This is a story from the pokemon world of pokemon boys and pokemon girls this is a story about me, Dean all I wanted was to live 'the pokemon dream' The night before my tenth birthday I stayed up too late So when I awoke I ran to the gate There I stood before Professor Oaks lab, wondering which pokemon I soon would nab! Charmander, Squirtle, Bulbasaur? But when I asked Oak he said there were no more I put my head down and walked to the door. But as I was leaving and heard him say "Dean, I do have one more pokemon left today" He cautioned me saying" Raising this pokemon is not an easy task, you'd be much better off starting with a Rapiddash" I turned around excited, my eyes had a gleam "Which pokemon will be the first on my team!" "This is a pikachu, it's yellow and round, though it has an anger, that is quite profound" "I'll take him!" I said, in a really big rush, soon I found out his shock was too much. We started our way to Viridian, you should have heard the squak of a pokemon, Spearow, The bird! I was excited and threw a pokeball little did I know that was my downfall It flew away and at the speed of light Then I saw there were thirty spearows, ready to fight. Me and my pikachu were in deep trouble So we stole misty's bike making it double Needless to say she was a little upset I looked down at the ground and noticed it was wet Yes, it was raining, just my luck The next thing I knew pikachu's thunder struck! The bolt went through the air like a jet plane I felt sort of bad when I heard the spearows cry in pain But this wasn't the time for spearows or for fame this was the time for getting out of the rain so I pedaled, pushed and I also did pump I managed to take the bike off a pretty sweet jump But upon landing I heard a big bump! The tire was flat, but I didn't care I ran me and pikachu the rest of the way there When I got to the pokemon center I was in shock Pikachu could die before we even got to face Brock I knew Pickachu wasn't a toy But why would they trust such a pokemon with only a boy I couldn't tell explain the feeling when I saw nurse Joy There was my pikachu, healthy and new He let out a soft pikachu coo Understanding the pain that it had been through I knew Exactly just what I'd do "We'll be the very best one day, me and you It won't be long before we reach the Indigo Plateau" The beginning wasn't easy, but I'm proud to say, me and my pikachu are best friends to this day. Edit: Attempted formatting.

DAILY PROMPT: Poetry can be entertaining...

Hush little raver don't say a word the sun is rising the nights a blur. The tune you hear is just a song close your eyes and dream along. No more dancing rest your head the parties over it's time for bed. Your glow sticks dim and start to fade I'm sorry to say we can not stay. Hush little raver don't shed a tear we can always come back again next year.

DAILY PROMPT: [HP] In 1879 Swift Runner, believing he is possessed by a 'Wendigo', becomes a cannibal

Chuck stopped eating for a second as a moment of clarity awoke him. The finger knuckles he held were almost unrecognizable as a human hand anymore, but he knew where they had come from. Mr. Fitzgerald had been a kind, if gruff butcher. He had had to be the first to go, because Chuck needed his implements of trade for his and Kashyyk’s endeavor. Chuck briefly wondered how he had gotten so fucking crazy, but it didn’t really matter anymore. He was here, and he liked it. All the food he could eat, he had cool gothic decorations all over his house, he actually HAD a new house (as a lovely gift from crotchety old Mrs. Hackett, who incidentally, was tough and stringy)... life was good. He had frozen Mr. Fitzgerald for later while he went to work on the little village of Stratford in the far north of Canada. Initially he had been afraid of getting caught, but as the population dwindled both by his hand and the resulting terrified abandonment, he listened to the wendigo inside him more and more often. His children had been difficult, but Kashyyk took over for him then and after it was over, he exulted in not having to reprimand them for anything anymore. For once, they were contributing to the food budget instead of deducting from it! His wife Wendy had been luckier, but even she had contributed to the food bill. He had hacked off her forearm before she hit him with a cast iron pan and escaped. He had learned then that they needed to be dead before he could start butchering them. He had also learned that the human body has a unique scent. Take his wife, for instance. He had eaten her pussy innumerable times and he loved the aroma; when he ate her arm, her exquisite taste was there, and he sat and pondered the implications of it. From then on he contemplated the taste of his dinner with much appreciation. He connected the meat he was eating with the person they used to be and found a fuller understanding of their existence. Really it was a better death than many of them could have expected.

DAILY PROMPT: [HP] In 1879 Swift Runner, believing he is possessed by a 'Wendigo', becomes a cannibal

Call me what you will, I have had many names through the millennia. I reach out from my being to inhabit their fragile bodies for a time. The journeys are short to be sure, only an instant to me. Yet, I have learned much. Only in these forms do I experience emotion. Love. Joy. Fear. Hatred. So many people. It's intoxicating. They fascinate me to no end. I remember the touch of a woman. The touch of a man. These memories reside in me now, though I have never directly experienced them. The look in her eyes as she looked into mine. The touch of her hand. Feeling the gentle curve of her breast and the swell of her hips. Inhaling deeply her perfumed essence. The scent of her. The rasp of his beard as he rubbed against my cheek. Running my hands over his hard muscled chest, my fingers combing through his hair. Inhaling deeply his rugged essence. The scent of him. It is not enough. I want more. I must find another to inhabit so that I may taste their flesh and feel the joy of feasting upon it. It's time to feed.

DAILY PROMPT: [HP] In 1879 Swift Runner, believing he is possessed by a 'Wendigo', becomes a cannibal

My father was a beast. A sick man, deluded, deranged and monstrous. My sister and I were young and innocent in the first winter. When temperatures drop so low that none go outside, he would beat us mercilessly with a length of hide, forcing us to the frozen edges of our one room cabin, and seating by the fire alone, tempting us with food and heat, only to beat us back again if we approached. Those were the good nights. In a mood, a savage animal overtook him. His wife long dead and noone to keep him company, he would put me in the woodlot and bar the latch, taking my sister into the house to fulfill his appetites. The screams on those nights will never leave my dreams. He tainted the scent of fresh pine so that it only breathes despair and powerlessness into my lungs. I raged against my wooden cage, but to no avail. As I became larger, I was less easily forced into submission, and one night he built up his anger with me after I broke the woodlot. My sister ran away when he came to wreak vengeance upon me, only increasing the furiousness of the beating. I was driven away from my home, a barbaric and horrid place, but warm, and possessing of food needed to survive winter. I found my sister in a nearby ravine, shivering and crying, trying to stop the flow of blood. After one night huddled together for warmth, the brightness was gone from my sisters eyes and the cold had stripped her body of life. I wailed, raged against the trees and the world. Hated the gods themselves for taking my only comfort. As if to guide me, a heavy tree branch snapped under my lashings. Pointed as a spike at one end, it was a sure weapon, an instrument of revenge against my father's beastly nature. Ironic that the forest should provide ammunition against the beast, but the forest knows it's own, and my father was surely not one of them. I trudged back to my home, through snowdrifts thick and tangled roots, grabbing at my numbed feet. I saw no warmth in the house, though massive footprints dotted the snow. From inside, the sounds of silence, permeated with a soft moaning, as if in delight. A sudden snap, loud enough to crackle through the woods and wake the birds. On reaching the doorway, the smell of raw meat and fresh blood pounded my nostrils. There on the floor lay my father, barely recognizable through the layers of his life's water caked on his person. Pooled steaming on the floor were his innards, his left leg jaggedly cut from his body, one the floor beside him his femur, cracked to reveal marrow and bone blood. I did not turn away from that, but exulted in his death, long deserved. I turned my eyes on my saviour, but over my father's body stood a creature like none I’ve heard of before or since. A demon, human once, but no more. Hair matted against pale skin, ice hanging from locks unshorn. Hands contorted into vilest claws, covered in blood and marrow from a broken bone. Between hands and hair a naked freak, emaciated and vile, bruised but covered in blood, meat and dirt. Staring at me with eyes of ice while a tendon hung from it's mouth, still steaming with the body's heat. I ran to the woodlot, covered myself in my former cage, and barred the door from inside, listening to the sounds of my father being eaten. I felt no rage this time. Say what you will of Swift Runner, but to one, he is a hero.

Writing Prompt: An Unexpected Delivery

My mentor, an english teacher in High School, shared a common interest with me. Mythical kingdoms- Places where adventurers venture towards. Two years after I graduated, I got a letter from his wife telling how he was dying from cancer. I visited him in the hospital three days before he died, and the last thing he ever said to me was how close he was to finding 'it'. He never told me what it was. That was over five years ago. After a stormy weekend, I found a package in my bedroom/office, marked with his name and no return address. Inside were several books that he liked, and a map, along with several cyphers to help decode the language and puzzle on the map's faded paper. I've already begun my work on deciphering it. The map leads to an empty patch of sea one hundred miles off the coast of England, and details instructions on what to do when I get there. Why do I believe it? The box contained a photograph of towering fortresses of gold and stone.

Writing Prompt: An Unexpected Delivery

I sighed as I pulled my car into a long awaited empty parking space in front of my apartment building. "Finally, I can put an end to yet another ordinary day of my ordinary life" I thought to myself as I opened the door to my building and entered the vestibule. I'm not sure why I even bothered to check my mail box, as no one ever sends me anything, but I did anyway, forced by habit I suppose. To my surprise there was a small package wrapped in brown paper with my name and address scrawled upon one side in black ink. I checked all over for a return address, but to no avail. "That's odd" I muttered to myself as I tucked the package under my arm and began climbing the two flights of stairs that lead to my apartment. As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, I immediately set the package down, eager to reveal its contents. As I began to unwrap the box from its brown paper covering, I noticed there was no form of postage anywhere on the package, the box must have been delivered by hand. Removing the brown wrapping paper revealed a simple wooden box. I briefly considered calling the police, however my curiosity got the better of me. With some apprehension, I opened the box. The box contained but two slips of paper. One piece of paper was a printed photograph of the United States' President. The other slip had printed on it an address located in Washington D.C. and the message "I trust you know what needs to be done. -V"

Writing Prompt: An Unexpected Delivery

It was rare getting mail. Rarer from the dead. Charlie supposedly died years ago, but sent a package postmarked yesterday.

Writing Prompt: An Unexpected Delivery

Lights flashed in the main cabin, bringing adrenaline to the heads of the crew. A ship was getting ready to dock with theirs without any type of warning or permission. Henry, the captain, ordered two hands to check the docking bay, but it was probably nothing. Just a drifter or something. The relatively young privateers were patrolling the Parsius Sector for Alliance ships carrying what they needed. Supplies, food, anything they could find to send to their destitute families back on Earth. They had already had quite a haul from a three-ship trade caravan, but they still hadn't filled their limit. The crew were close, relatives, but not by blood. They had a common goal, a common enemy, and the means to carry out their mission. Each relied on one another with not only their life, but also their family's lives. Nothing could have forged a stronger bond. Their ship was the newest technology, stolen from a wealthy adventurer a few years back. This beautifully crafted vessel won them a place in the League of Pioneers, which was just a nicely crafted name for a band of space pirates. They had their reasons, though. The Captain and his crew were driven by a specific and righteous goal, in their minds, and prior to setting out, Henry made sure to only enlist those with the purest of intentions. This didn't mean that some didn't stray from their goals once out in the nothingness of space. While Earthside, Henry and his family were living in squalor due to horribly alienating economic laws enacted by the government. He and his brother watched as his mother was robbed and beaten for their family's rations one week. She resisted, showing resilience and courage. She'd be damned if someone made her babies go hungry. "Just give me the food, and you won't get hurt, lady!" The robber's glossy eyes shined in the sun, with almost enough moisture gathering to form a tear. He didn't want to do this, he needed to. She didn't say a word as she fought back. She tried to speak but couldn't when she was bleeding from a stab wound. There was no husband to fight for her, he had left years ago. She rubbed Henry's head lovingly and with all her might she blew a kiss to his brother, Peter. Henry would never forget. He was sure Peter wouldn't either. From that moment on, they were the providers for their baby sister, Amelia, and their grandmother. After years of scraping by, they had a chance to board a privateer's ship as lowly hands, enticed by the thought of becoming rich for each other, and for Amelia. The first things they took were communicators, able to send messages over long distances in space over a unique radio frequency. They worked their way up, with determination and the thought of their family at home. Eventually they each got their own ships, making the communicators invaluable while they teamed up against larger trade ships. Sending just enough back for their family to live comfortably turned into sending them well in excess, and both brothers were finally able to enjoy life. Henry rationally wanted to keep growing the operation, but Peter didn't agree. Being a pirate got to be boring for him. He needed something new, something more reliable than stealing. There were paradises waiting to be found, utopias waiting to be explored. "Our family could be safe somewhere, permanently safe. Along with everyone else in the slums on Earth. We can start a new planet! The perfect society!" Peter said to Henry on day, as Henry shook his head. "We can't just leave them in the dust, Peter!" "Well, I'm going. You can stay and keep providing while I search for what I know is out there." That was the last time Henry saw Peter. Those of Peter's crew still wanting to provide for their families remained with Henry and Peter set out towards Alpha Centauri with a rugged crew who had nothing to live for, nothing to lose. The two hands arrived in the docking center and through the plasma window they saw an escape pod guiding itself to the bay. Once attached, the chamber between the two ships pressurized and made an intense hissing sound. The doors opened slowly and there was nobody inside. "Oi, Henry, sir, you might want to come check this out. Neither of us have seen something like this before." "What is it?" "Well, it's empty." "What d'you mean its empty?" "The pod...It's empty." Henry raced down to the lower deck, knowing there was only one way for an escape pod to come empty to another ship. He arrived to the docking center to see the two hands peering around the corner of the docking chamber, scared of what might come out of the pod, but curious enough to look. "Someone must know our coordinates or signature. Lets just hope it's not an Alliance threat." Henry walked in the pod and saw Peter's communicator hooked up to the guidance system. A piece of paper sat on the seat with only coordinates scribbled on its lines. "These coordinates aren't even in this system. Did he...?" Henry looked out the escape pod's windows, bewildered.

Writing Prompt: An Unexpected Delivery

Giorgio woke up to the sound of his older sister moaning in the next room. She was having sex with their stepdad. Giorgio shuddered and rolled over in bed, unsure of what he was more disgusted by, the fact that the sex was consensual, or that they had spent half a million for this house and it had paper-thin walls. Unable to fall back asleep, he reached into his drawer and put on his headphones. The glow of his green iPod's screen illuminated the room, joined only by the *Thomas the Tank Engine* nightlight in the corner next to the door. U2's *Who'd Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?* starts playing gently into Giorgio's ears. It takes him away from his bed, from his room, from the bi-weekly sexual sessions in the next room...it takes him to his special place. Before he knows it, he's riding a stallion through the grand canyon, trotting along at a brisk pace. Before him is another rider, one with long blonde hair, whistling happily to the same U2 song. She turns around on the saddle to face Giorgio, a beautifully white smile on her face. His mother. She urges him forward and Giorgio's horse begins to trot alongside her's. She takes a green iPod from her jacket pocket and puts in the earbuds, beginning to whistle the U2 song again. Giorgio couldn't be happier; this was the first time he's seen his mother so happy, so *free* since the second divorce. This happiness in Giorgio's soul vanishes as he feels the earth shake within the canyon. The ground splits ahead of them. He screams at his mother, warning her, but she can't hear him. She falls along with her horse into the blackness. Giorgio's alone, and he has been ever since. Giorgio wakes up back in bed as the song ends. The moaning in the next room has stopped, only to be replaced by the gentle sobs of his sister. He hears the buckling of a belt and doors opening and closing. The lights in the hallway go out. The crying continues. Giorgio, about to remove the headphones, freezes. *I don't own any U2 albums,* he thinks. Immediatly, he turns the iPod back on and looks at the song's album title. It reads *I Will Always Be Here For You.*

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

Read ['The Spirit Level'](http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Spirit-Level-Equality-Everyone/dp/0241954290/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344365961&sr=8-1), it's basically this question!

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

Legend tells us that on the day all forms of money vanished from the planet, holy men walked the streets. Their chants were taken up by the masses. The people stood together and cried out as as one for a single brief moment in our history. "And the meek shall inherit the earth." After the world economy collapsed, the rich had tried very hard to remain rich. The problem was that despite their considerable resources, they only possessed a finite number of things they could barter and little means of protecting their interests. What they possessed was soon taken from them by the strong. The world degenerated into chaos and war. A darkness descended upon us that lasted for many generations. Humanity fell to a point where very few could ever foresee us rising again. As we ran out of resources to feed ourselves, the world population plummeted. Then came a time of peace. The world healed itself. Over the years nature once again found a balance. The renaissance that followed was truly phenomenal. Sustainability became something more than an ideal. It became our way of life. Our salvation came from all disciplines. Artists, craftsmen, blacksmiths, farmers, anyone with the ability to produce something that could be used by others. We found our way through the dark times to finally become everything that some of us had always hoped we could be. We are the children of the race of man.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

Jon rubbed the side of the lamp to polish it to a sheen and to read the inscription. Smoke billowed from the lamp and convalesced into a kneeling, turbanned human form. "Thank you for waking me from my rest, gentle human. As a reward, I--" "You're a genie!" "Ye--yes. I was getting to that. I--" "You gotta give me three wishes!" "Listen. Are you always this rude? Really? Can you just let me finish my sentence? This is really fucking annoying. I have been in a fucking lamp for 300 years and you won't let me finish my sentence." "Oh. Um. I'm sorry." "You should be sorry. Cunt. Now, as I was saying-- what was I saying. Oh fuck it. I'm a genie. Wishes. You get them." "Ok, cool. God, I wish I could think of some good wishes..." "Wish granted." "FUCK! I didn't mean that! God, I really wish I didn't make that wish..." "Wish granted." "FUCK! Now I can't even think of any good ideas anymore... Well.. Um, okay, how about I wish that there is no money in the world anymore, okay?" The genie smiled darkly. "Now that's a good wish. Wish granted." Jon smiled proudly to himself. Without money, he thought, the world would be a better place. That sure would put rich people in their place, he mused. As he opened the door outside, he presumed he would see his envisioned paradise... The world was a dark, post-apocalyptic place. Buildings were in disarray, people starving on the streets, the sound of gunfire in the background. Jon, after having a quick wank, became very worried about the situation. He needed to find out what had happened. He approached a group of people huddled around a burning oil barrel. "Excuse me, old woman..." "Man." "Oh... Old man..." "I'm 37." "This seems really familiar. Can you tell me what happened? Why is the world like this?" "Oh, well, isn't it obvious? Those bastards over there got food, and we want it, so we gotta take it and shoot them in the face." "Okay. Why don't you just ask them for food?" "Well, we did try that, but then they said 'We don't want to give you any food.' We couldn't think of any way to convince them to give it to us, so, y'know, we started beating them and taking it." Jon paled considerably. "Oh. Fuck." "But the good news is, blowjobs are free." And Jon lived in that paradise until the end of his days.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

In the very distant future for Humanity, so distant that they have evolved into something that is not even Human at all, money is obsolete. Evolution was crucial to the realization for the race (the realization that money is unnecessary). For Humans are greedy, self driven animals, and it took becoming something else for this change. The race of Neo-Humans now lived to advance each other, not themselves. The small factions of Neo-Humans spread throughout the Milky Way Galaxy. They didn't need direct compensation for providing crucial services or even food and resources to each other, for the act of helping someone was compensation enough. Neo-Humans forged forward throughout the cosmos rapidly, a new golden age at hand. The race of Neo-Humans populated the galaxy over thousands of years, their progress extremely rapid due to their simple and direct objective. They even encountered other races, not as intelligent as them, some, and others more so. The less intelligent served to learn from them, for other sentient races had forms of bartering and selling. The equally developed races were very similar to the Neo-Humans: they were driven by helping themselves, and even other intelligent races they encountered! In the Milky Way Galaxy it was forged..... The Alliance. The intelligent races of the galaxy working together, advancing even faster now. This was all made possible because the beings of the Galaxy were motivated to advance themselves as a whole, and not as an individual.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

The San Francisco sun blazed overhead, coating the world with its golden fury. The man sat with his back to a great concrete pillar and looked out over the San Francisco Bay. Overhead, the Golden Gate Bridge sheltered him from the burning rays of the midday sun. His hair was thin and matted, his beard thick and disarrayed. Both were grey, with flecks of brown holding out valiantly against the forces of old age. He wore an old black T-shirt with a hole in the right armpit and worn jeans that were just a little too big around the waist. Battered sneakers protected his feet from rocks and glass. As his eyes traced the shifting waves, he wondered what was happening in the city. Signs of some kind of commotion had reached him. Of course, it didn't really matter. He wasn't part of the city. The city had rejected him. Still, he couldn't help but be curious. Out over the bay, a flash of movement caught his eye. He turned his head just in time to see the first one hit the water. A glimpse of a tailored black suit and slick blond hair, and then the waves covered the man, devouring him. The moment he was out of sight, a second, this time in a tan suit, made contact with the water. More followed quickly, all dressed impeccably to meet the bay. It was like a sudden waterfall. Well, human bodies are 70% water, so technically, maybe it was. The man knew the sight should have frightened him, but strangely, he was more curious than worried. He watched the jumpers impacting the water, imagining the morbid crowd gathered at the edge of the bridge above. He wondered what they had lost that caused them to seek something new below the waves. Not everything, judging by the nice suits they still wore. The most important thing? But what could that be? He could never have understood. He was too different. Even if he'd lost what little he had and sat naked under that bridge, his day-to-day life wouldn't have changed much. The waterfall turned into a trickle, then ended. The man stood and stretched his legs. In his mind, he pictured the dumpster behind a nearby McDonald's, the chain link fence he'd have to climb over again. He sighed and turned to leave. It was lunch time once more.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

Kari awoke that morning feeling very tired. Something felt wrong, and it wasn't just the argument she had had with Rob the night before. She checked his side of the bed. He was up, as always, before she was. The dog had climbed up to his pillow, and was resting his head there, tail thumping. "Oh Ferris, you're such a hound." She smiled and rolled out of bed, and Ferris jumped down with her, barking happily. She hopped over to the tall curtains covering the floor to ceiling windows, and threw them open. The street below was deserted. "That's odd," she thought, as she searched up and down the street three stories below, seeing no one. It was a Wednesday morning in downtown Paris, and it was already 9AM. The streets should have been busy with cars, bicycles, shoppers stopping in at the small stores on the first floor. Everything was quiet, as though everyone had woken to the beautiful summer morning, and decided that today would begin their vacation. Her first thought was to run downstairs and turn on the TV. She flew down the stairs, her nightgown billowing around her legs and Ferris almost tripping her as he hurried down with her. "Rob! Rob! What's going on, you should see the street! Oh, and Ferris needs to go out. Rob?" There was no answer from Rob. She couldn't see him on the first floor, anywhere. Their apartment, though in a historic building, had been remodeled on an open plan, and it was clear that, unless he was in the bathroom, Rob was not downstairs. "Rob! Rob! Where are you! Rob!" Now she was irritated. It wasn't like him not to wake her when he got up, not to have breakfast ready and the coffee on. She remembered the argument the night before. "Oh, god, I wonder if he's out pouting at the coffee shop." It really wasn't that important an argument. Just the typical money fight that couples sometimes have. Kari had lost her job, and Rob's finance position, though it paid well, wasn't enough to maintain the lifestyle they'd come to enjoy. He had bought a new Vespa without talking with her about it, and that made her angry. Not the Vespa, really, but the failure to ask about it. Maybe she was just sensitive because she lost her job. She had forgotten about the TV, in worrying about Rob. She ran over and turned it on, to the national news station, and ran up the stairs to get her cell phone to call Rob. Faintly, she heard the news reporter talking about "martial law." Kari didn't speak French fluently, but she could understand the basic French used for the news. She ran down the stairs again to see if she had heard right, clutching her phone in her hand. It was turned off, and she quickly hit the power button while glancing back at the news. What she saw made her gasp. There were tanks in the streets of Paris, and not only in Paris, but in all of Europe. She made out the words, "Euro collapsed" and started to panic. Her phone signaled that it was on, and she saw she had a text message from Rob. "I had to go into work early, honey. The banks are collapsing, not just here, but around the world. We're in real trouble." The next message was just a few minutes ago. "They've declared martial law. I can't get home yet; they're working on it for us. Stay inside Kari. They said nonessential people on the street will be subject to arrest." Ferris whined. "Oh crap, Ferris. You have to go outside. I hope no one minds if we use the courtyard." Dogs weren't allowed in the garden courtyard, but Kari had no choice. Outside in the beautiful garden, everything was peaceful. The beautifully arranged flower gardens made her think of her in laws' farm. They grew lavender in the south. They kept some cows, sheep, and chickens too, for their own use, and had a beautiful vegetable garden as well. For the moment, she could forget the problems of the world.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

I interpreted this prompt loosely; A day when money didn’t exist… I woke up this morning, as I do every morning, to go to work. I work for food, I work for rent, I work to survive. All other things come second to work these days. I took a shower and made myself a cup of coffee. I don’t even look at the clock anymore, my morning routine is so ingrained in my physical memory; I could do it blindfolded and still be on time. I stepped outside with my coffee to watch the sun slowly come up and have a smoke. Something is wrong, different. I have been ignoring the pain for some time, but as I stepped outside it came shooting past all mental barriers urging me to acknowledge its existence. I winced a bit and sat down and smoked my cigarette in defiance, refusing to let it change my routine. Like a set of dominos, if one thing moves out of place, the pattern is ruined; disastrous for my already precarious reality. I went back inside and finished dressing and made a sad lunch of leftover rice from last night. As I made my lunch I calculated how much I would need for today and tomorrow. Damn, I ate too much last night. Rice is incredibly unsatisfying but it fills me up, and at the end of the week more food will come. Next week I will be working for rent, but this week its food. My work day began as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I was hired for my brain, at least that what my boss likes to remind me of when he thinks I am not working hard enough. I usually shoulder his criticisms. I know I am lowly worker bee, and he’s the reason I have any food at all. But today, something was wrong. That pain wouldn’t let me think and I couldn’t push it away. If I can’t think I can’t work. My boss noticed this with disgust. He exiled me from the office until I took care of “the problem.” I am now sitting outside a free clinic. I don’t go to work to go to the doctor. I cannot decide which pain is worse: the one in my head or the one that will show up when the rice runs out. edit: spacing and spelling

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

My uncle Jon always told me of the day all currency was gone. It was at the time when every man was poor, aside from a select few. The United States government had appointed but four intelligent, kind men to use the government's budget properly and to rescue the US's economy from hitting rock bottom. The men, then known as the treasure keepers, had succeeded making several well thought out reformations, and by the time of their death, the country's economy had been restored to it's former glory. When the original treasure keepers had died, their children were to take over. On the date of August 4th, 2012, Samantha Barnes and Aron Noble, two of the new treasure keepers were found dead. "Poison", Jon remarked with a look of despair in his eye. Only two months ago, Jon had been promoted to an Inspector in New York's Finest. At the time, Jon had never been more excited when he heard the few, fine words from the chief of police. "Welcome back, Inspector Barnes." But now, the badge he wore was not of honor, but of shame. Ever since Samantha had died, he was a shadow of his former self. "Who could have wanted to poison her? She did nothing to harm anyone!" Jon said to the chief. "Samantha and Aron had one thing in common. They were treasure keepers." "Then why haven't James and Alex died yet?" The inspector asked. "That's what I was wondering." **Chapter two and stuff** "James, are you sure this will work?" "Of course it will, Alex, all we have to do is manipulate the system. They make it so easy for us!" James and Alex were always the best of friends growing up. They both shared the same rebellious feelings against their parents, and they grew closer. They had orchestrated the plan a year ago, and all their cards were in play but one. The piece of paper Alex had to sign, to eliminate all currency, and set the world back years. "They were better times," James said. "Less greedy, rich people, when every man had an honest trade." And with that said, Alex sighed and wrote his signature on the piece of parchment. It was then that currency had been completely wiped from the United States, causing an economic crisis across the entire world.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

Stories told from generation to generation explain concepts unknown to our populace. Almost as if they're legends told to such a frequency no one pays attention anymore. An elderly man sits with youth sitting around him half listening, half fiddling with sticks or small stones near them on the ground. Listening from afar, this concept finally clicked, finally resonated at a point where my mind could develop into an internal track for my train of thoughts to follow. "Paper, small pieces of metals combined into circles, cards that could not be torn by hand only broken..." said the old man. How would this work? Why would people find such easily destroyable, misplaceble and replaceable things so valueable? "You could get anything you wanted if you had enough. A knife you didn't have to make or inherit, a house you didn't even have to build, even a life supply of food and water so long as you had enough!..." The youth brush it off, no way such an amazing theory could have ever been true. I've heard enough to fuel my thoughts. I look around and see my village, built from whatever anyone could find to make a home. In the distance I see what looks like an animal moving at incredible speed... almost impossibly fast for any animal to be moving... is it made of metal? Panic ensues, everyone runs for fear of the unknown. I stay, I must, I have to know what this is. It comes to a slidding stop leaving incredible tracks behind it. The sides of this metal beast open and out steps a man. A man? A living breathing man birthed by metal... This man approaches me talking in a tongue I've never heard... He pulls a countainer of sorts out of his metal beast and opens it to reveal something I would have never believed I'd see ever... Paper, but not regular paper, some sort of valuable paper. I try to grab it to look but I get tackled to the ground by more men who emerged from his metal beast... Why? What makes this so valuable? In the distance I see more different metal beasts traveling towards us. They seem angrier, bigger, and more destructive... Ripping trees out of the ground, destroying hills leaving behind flat paths... When it clicked. Paper is valueable to them and they are bigger and better armed. In order to survive, we must assimilate to their lifestyle or be taken by metal beasts... Survival is valueable, just as paper is.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

She brushes the dust off of her knees and stands up. Wiping her mouth, she pushes the smoke that is currently being blown in her face. She smiles and holds out her hand. A strong, burly, and nondsecript man stands in front of her and places an item into her hand. He exhales heavily. "That was good. Same time tomorrow?" She snickers and turns her back to him. "If the Money Crisis of '12 hadn't happened you'd still be a virgin". "Ha, I found a way to capitalize on my situation and took it. You're just a slut for obliging". He cackles loudly. She grimaces with her face out of his view. These words sting her deeply. Before the money crisis she was an innocent girl, one of the quiet ones. She enjoyed staying in her house and playing video games for hours a day slowly garnering an addiction. After the crisis she needed a new way to get her electronic fix. She turned to prostitution - which in this time had become a world wide epidemic and legalized. Pimpsta's ruled the land and the world reverted back into a male dominated society. She was different. She turned around sharply and struck the man in the face. His nose buckled under pressure and exploded in a mess of cartilage and warm red blood. He screamed as he clutched his face and stared at the girl. Standing 5'3 with pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes it was inconceivable to him how she could hit so well. "Your Pimpsta will deal with you but not after I take care of you first!" He lunged for her. He was a heavy set man and was slow on his movements. She slides around him to his side and kicks low at his knees. A sharp crack is heard and the man buckles over unimaginable pain. He tries to get up but is met with another swift blow to the back of the neck and blacks out. The girl stands over him and mutters under her breath, "I don't have a fuckin' pimp." She takes a drag of his still lit cigarette and drops it on his back. It solders his skin and the smell of burning flesh mixed with tobacco rises. She turns around and walks into the dark locker behind the passed out man. She emerges minutes later clutching 2 Xbox 360's and a bunch of games. She throws it in her duffle bag, walks to the window, and jumps into the night.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

It was quick, sudden, and devestating. Geico was the first to discover him. The man made of money. He was featured in a commercial, and many believed he was simply the result of special effects, but it was soon discovered otherwise. It was mystifying and inexplicable, this man was simply made of money. Once the story broke the news, nothing could stop the masses. The people descended upon him like starved lions upon a helpless lamb. His source of money seemed to be limitless, and for every dollar taken from him, there was another dollar sprouting out from his head, hands, or neck to take its place. It wasn't long before chaos overtook order, and the human race faltered. Money was useless, the rich had nothing to protect themselves, except for possessions for barter, but suddenly luxury cars were not valuable. The power and safety of a pickup truck was much preferred. Houses were looted, and revenge was taken in the wet dream of Occupy Wall Street. The south turned into a safe-haven with the right connections, and a desolate land of death for those without them. The government managed to hold itself together, and the president holed up in the White House with enough weapons, supplies, and manpower to survive for a long time. They waited there, and plotted, trying to form some plan for long term recovery. After a few weeks, the country began to right itself. The human race had regressed, but would survive. Farming was suddenly the most important priority, after that it was warmth. Luckily there was enough shelter remaining for the world to survive. Years passed and a hybrid way of life took over. The nation began to revert to its old self, with new currency, and a new status quo. People had changed for the better. They were, in general, kinder, and had a greater sense of community. Then the man made of money had his first kid. Shit

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

John woke up to his alarm clock, shutting it off and heading to the shower. His morning routine was always the same. He would wake up, shower, eat, go to work, come home, eat, and then sleep again. He remembered a time before, when he did more things, when he tried harder. That was a time when there was a currency, a method of money. Then that concept was lost, stolen away from them. Everyone could remember what it used to be, some kind of object that everyone put value in, but they could no longer force themselves to put value in it. Several groups had tried to put value on different objects, but no one took to it, and so they just gave up. The government had stepped in to prevent chaos, and thank god that they had. A new system was designed within a week. entertainment jobs no longer existed, everything that anyone did was to provide a benefit for someone else. There was no reason to try harder, everyone went to work just the same, contributed just the same amount, and was given the same amount of food. there was no more tv to watch shows on, no more websites to visit as no one could make a profit from it. No one seemed to care anymore. you went to work, made some machinery, or worked a field, and then you came home and ate and slept. There wasn't really anything left to do. Nothing new was invented, as no one could make money from it, and no one seemed to want to spend a lot of extra time doing something that wouldn't benefit them at all. Everyone just spent long periods of time working, eating, and sleeping.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

You wake up. Groggy, as usual. Go through the motions. Get out of bed. Brush teeth. Take shower. Eat something. Drink coffee; ah, that's better. Your head begins to clear as the caffeine hits your bloodstream. Your thoughts start to organize themselves; the world comes into focus. Finish the routine. Get dressed. Grab keys. Phone. Wallet. Hm. Something's off. Wallet feels lighter than usual. You shrug it off and get to your car. Your neighbor is out on the lawn yelling about something. Hm. Get in, turn key, put in gear, back out. There are overturned garbage cans in the street, spilling their contents on the asphalt. Hm. Garbage man's usually come and gone by this time. You make your way through the debris as best you can, though you suspect something's stuck to your tires. Streets are pretty empty otherwise. You think you see something on fire in the distance, but you're not sure. This is certainly good; you're making much better time than you usually are. As you pass the gas station, you notice some people who appear to be trying to uproot the gas pump. Still more have climbed through the shattered window and are grabbing as many snacks and cigarettes as they can. You turn on the radio. No music, just some news anchor talking about something. Hm. There's usually music on this station. You turn the radio off. You keep driving. There's certainly less traffic than usual, but the debris field is making it more difficult to drive. You arrive at work five minutes early; you sit in your car for a few minutes and daydream. You step out, and barely miss a computer monitor hurled from a fifth story window. Hm. You climb the stairs to your office. It's quieter than usual. You spend the day typing up a report. Come five o' clock, you leave, and head back home. The streets are considerably busier now. There are a lot of people and things on fire. You drive around them as best you can, though you suspect something's stuck to your tires. Hm.

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

Ley woke to the sight of a large picture window. Its view revealed an immaculate garden, obviously inspired by Versailles, extending to the limits of his vision. The window and garden weren't there when he went to sleep. "This has to be one of Sette's little pranks" he muttered, as he got up and turned to his right, where he always had a traditional continental breakfast with liters of thick, obsidian-colored coffee waiting. Instead of his usual simple linen-covered table and bistro chair, his eyes were greeted by the smiling face of Sette, sprawled across a swirling leopard chaise that appeared to have undulating muscles beneath its surface. "Fuck, Sette! Where's my coffee? And what's with the dramatics? You know how delicate mornings are for me." "Dear brother, while you were sleeping, something a good deal more valuable than your coffee went missing." "Damn it, Sette, at this moment of the day, nothing could be more important." He wrinkled his face and, knowing this to be her "you're dead, you just don't know it yet" look, Ley resigned himself to another of her tutorials. A long, uncaffeinated tutorial. Fuck. "Okay, I'll bite. What's up? What's gone missing and is so important that you think you can get away with screwing up my carefully arranged morning rituals?" "First a little review to see if you paid any attention in history class." "Christ on a crumpet, Sette, why do you have to make everything so goddamn dramatic? Can't you just say what you came here to say and let us go back to our mutual agnostic apathy?" "That's an entirely different subject, brother of mine, which I would be happy to elaborate for you, but the present matter is more urgent. I'll try it your way, but I bet the history lesson will still be needed. The urgent thing that has brought me here, the thing that has gone missing, is the private key for Orai Holdings." "What? Who the fuck are they? And why should I care if they've lost their private key? And how can anyone lose a key, when it's probably etched in sapphire stored in a vault somewhere?" "See? You haven't got a clue. That's why we always end up doing things my way." "Just fuck you, Sette. Fuck you and the broom you rode in on, okay? You come in here, screw up my architecture, deprive me of coffee, then lay some bullshit on me about how some holding company has somehow managed to lose their private key, which is pretty much impossible, and nag me like the vindictive, tiresome pedant you've become, and for what?" "Are we wealthy, brother?" "Now you're just being annoying. But I can see you're not going away so I'll play along. Yes, Sette, we are a very wealthy family and have been for over a century. Any other obvious questions?" "What makes us wealthy? Do we have a lot of money? Gold, Jewels?" "We used to have a lot of money, some gold as insurance. Now we have licenses for IP." "Ah, no more money, gold or jewels. What happened to it?" "Its value evaporated when the first assemblers allowed anyone to produce a copy of any physical object, and allowed anyone to exponentially construct micro-miners that could extract any useful material from any hunk of solid matter in a matter of days. Great-grandpap had the foresight to convert all our physical wealth into IP the day MIT announced a successful demonstration of an assembler. Lesson over?" "When physical objects no longer held value, what did?" "I just said - information. Intellectual property. To have your home assembler build you a new house, you must download the plans. Plans that we own the rights to in roughly half of all cases." "And how does owning these rights make us wealthy?" "People exchange other rights for the rights to use our plans. Location rights, water rights, copyrights, rights to name their first-born, anything and everything, really, all negotiated by software" "How do we use these rights?" "We trade or lease them as needed to gain whatever we want. Such as your monumentally expensive gardening exercise this morning, just to cite a ready example." "Ah, that. Thing is, I didn't do the garden. Or your morning coffee going missing. We don't know who was behind those items." That got his attention. He was now fully awake. "What?!? Who the hell could get the location rights, leave alone the design and material rights to build that, that monstrosity outside? Next you'll tell me that you didn't do the window either?" "Oh, I did the window. I wanted you to see this first thing when you woke. Funny how territorial you are, brother. You're playing along, nodding your head to get me to shut up and leave right up until you find out someone who isn't us has been diddling your bits."

Writing Prompt: The Day When Money Didn't Exist

The date marks August 9, 2012. On this day earth was tapped out of oil. Stock markets crashed, riots began, thousands laid off. After three weeks of no oil, the streets are littered with cars, and trash laying all over the ground. No one has heard anything from the government, electricity has been cut, and it's too dangerous to step foot outside your house. Gangs rule the street, but they too are running low on oil, it is just a matter of time before they lose their vehicular advantage. After 2 months the city looks like something straight from a post apocalyptic world. Small house fires are scattered throughout the neighborhoods, no one to put them out. Some bodies lay still on the street, no one to retrieve them. Money is inconsequential. After many months looters have looted, gangs have killed, and the streets are finally empty. People start to use whatever resources they can to survive. Some grow tomatoes in their backyard, others harvest honey from the honey farm up the street. The grocery store has become a central trading hub, there is no need for money. People trade supplies they have for supplies they need. A sense of community is finally starting to come alive. Now, people start to get desperate. Towns have banded together to become their own kingdoms. St. Catharines a small town in southern Ontario has set up defences, check points throughout the city, manned by militia with equipment from the police stations. The town to the south, Niagara Falls, have planned an attack. Niagara Falls in directly on the border of the US, they control all imports in this region, they have more supplies, more men and more equipment. As the pending attack grew nearer a farmhand stepped up and notified the militia there was some military vehicle in his uncle Reggie's barn. No one ever talked to old man Reggie, he passed away 7 years ago, he lived on the outskirts of town, the mayor, Randy Warren sent 12 men to find out what exactly the farmhand was talking about. Then they saw it, a tank. This was the miracle St. Catharines needed to win this war. They found a stockpile of ammunition not too far from the barn and set up the tank at the man entrance, when Niagara Falls sent it's militia to plunder St. Catharines, they noticed the tank, and quickly retreated. Day-to-day life in this world is terrifying, small towns, like St. Catharines will need to band together for survival, or all will be lost.