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Prompt Replies

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Mew
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Prompt Replies

Post by Mew on Tue Oct 14, 2014 5:14 pm

Please include the prompt you received and the response to it below.


Last edited by Mew on Sat Oct 18, 2014 2:25 pm; edited 1 time in total


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Min
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Min on Tue Oct 14, 2014 7:58 pm

Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse.

uses league of legends characters; Orianna, Vi, and Thresh. (with added cameos)

    The sound of rough fabric dragging against cement resonates through the night. Dim streetlamps barely keep the alleyways lit, and the nauseating stench of old gore and rotten guts are quick to permeate the air. Despite the long streets being framed on both sides by both houses and workshops, not a single entrance was opened. Every window was bolted tight, doors barricaded from the inside. This, however, was a normal night for the city-state of Piltover.
    It wasn't always like this. If anything, it was the exact opposite. During the late hours the citizens would bustle about night markets and clubs, hosting parties for their great technological success and boasting about their inventions to their peers. Once a merry and joyous population, it was only a few months prior when individuals were reported missing and subsequently their hacked, mutilated corpses were discovered around the state. It had caused an uproar, the citizens of Piltover calling upon their champions to apprehend the perpetrator. Heimerdinger tried, setting up his turrets along the streets only to find them broken come morning. Rumble, eager to show up his rival, marched through the city at midnight in his mechanical titan only to have the leg joints popped out with an attack from afar. Blitzcrank for no discernable reason refused, and Ziggs' artillery was simply too dangerous to set in the city. This time, it was Piltover's Finest's turn.
    Cold, dirty hands gripped tightly to the collar of the body's shirt, awkwardly dragging it across the alleyway and onto the main street. On most days the killer wouldn't have had to have done this, after all, she had a partner. It was tonight that her accomplice said he would be late for their nightly routines, and quietly she missed the familiar presence of spectral mist by her side. The body was nearing the middle of the street when a sharp, rough voice echoed from her right, along with the sound of gears shifting and powering.
    "Freeze! Or don't, I don't care!" a familiar voice and snarky comment broke the silence a pink-haired enforcer lunged forward and initiated a Vault Breaker. The perpetrator whirred and clicked and barely avoided the attack as precise, metal hands produced a knife and brandished it towards their foe. The Piltover Enforcer, Vi, turned to attack once again before she halted to a stop upon seeing the killer's face.      "Wh...Orianna! Orianna, is that you?" her tone was one of disbelief, brow furrowed as she stared at the steel-plated face across from her. A small smile appeared on Vi's lips along with a short chuckle. "Oh, well I guess the cat's outta the bag, eh? I didn't expect you to be the perp, but you're better than just a normal person. I mean, now all we need to do is turn you into Corin and he can rese-"
    "There is no cat," Orianna hadn't moved from her place, the key on her back winding as she spoke. Her voice rough, a cacophony of grinding steel. "Furthermore, there is no bag. There is only a carca-"
    "No, no! Not literally! Did Corin never update your language settings? I mean like, it means the secret is out...like, the fact that you're the perp we've be--oh hey Ori hold up Cupcake's calling," Vi stops mid-explanation to fumble into her pockets with her massive gauntlets. It is difficult, but she manages to remove the tiny phone and accept the call, putting the device near her ear. Her free hand is a fist pointing towards the automaton, charging up with a Vault Breaker as a threat in case the Lady of Clockwork decided to flee. "Hey Cupcake! Where are you, I caught the perp! You wouldn't believe who it was, it was Ori!" her voice is enthusiastic talking to the city's sheriff. "I've got her right here, she won't be moving anytime soon." Upon hearing those words Orianna huffed, shifting to one side out of spite. "Yeah, yeah. I know she might just be a drop in the bucket. I mean, she can't even carry a body on her own. Alright, I'll keep an eye out. Get over here as soon as you can, Caity."
    "Why do you refer to me as a drop, when I am clearly a machine?" As soon as Vi ended her call the robot began to ask questions, the metal of her face bent to create a frown. "I do not understand. Furthermore, I cannot fit into a bucket. I may be able to fit into a barrel, yes, but not in a--"
    "Ori don't sweat it, there's no use beating a dead horse. I'll ask Corin to update your language processors and--"
    "I am unable to sweat. Enforcer, are you sure your eyesight is proper? The body I drag is clearly of your species, it is not remotely equine in any shape or form and--" she stops and clicks curiously as Vi groaned loudly, a single massive hand covering her face as an exaggerated facepalm.
    "Ugh. You know what? Just stay quiet. Corin can fix everything. Corin'll fix you and everything will be as good as new. I just hope Cait gets here soon enough," she removed her hand from her face and shivered, exhaling a breath only to find it become a puff of white from her lips. "Why is it so cold today? It's like smackdab in the middle of the summer and we're in, what, mid Valoran? I mean, come on!" While Vi complained, Orianna was facing away staring into the shadows, where she spotted the green flames of the undead Jailer.
    Lucky for Thresh, he knew exactly how Orianna worked. "Clockwork Maiden, do not fret over the chip on your shoulder."
    Sure enough, Orianna instinctively turns her head. "Where?" As she spoke a massive hook flew past her, missing her head by only a few centimetres as it smashed squarely into Vi's skull. Soon after, a lantern lands before her, and without hesitance Orianna grabbed on, being flung back to Thresh's location. "You have lied, Thresh, there is no chip."
    "It must've been a trick of light then, my dear."
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SkeletonCupcake
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by SkeletonCupcake on Tue Oct 14, 2014 9:26 pm

Prompt;
        The world's best doctor is also the Reaper in human form. He takes souls to keep himself alive, and encounters the next dying patient who's soul will let him live another day--his mother. 
__________________________________________________________________________
Weak beams of pale sunlight filtered into an otherwise pitch black room through holes in the dusty burgundy curtains. Groaning with disdain as the shining light washed over his face, a young disheaveled male rolled over, hoping to escape the burning rays of morning sun pervading his room. Instead another wide ray caught the young male finally rousing him for the day. Sounds of sizzling bacon and cracking eggs filled the air, Zivian retched slightly at the wafting scent of human food. 'Why does that woman insist on cooking such vile, grease filled nourishment?' The dark haired reaper grumbled mentally, rising to his feet. He had carelessly fallen asleep in his street clothes again, a heavy, half hearted sigh parting Zivian's lips, he discarded the wrinkled jeans and rumpled tee shirt to the overflowing hamper. Dragging his feet across the threadbare carpet to the half opened wardrobe the young reaper haphazardly tugged his uniform from the hanger just barely poking out of the wooden door. A vague noise resembling a yawn wiggled free of Zivian's mouth as he pulled his trousers on in a painstakingly sluggish manner. His button down shirt followed suit and finally his white coat, both carefully buttoned to avoid wrinkles.

Finally the disatisfied youth shambled down to the kitchen grumbling about the overpowering stentch of bacon and eggs. "Good morning Ziv," A feminine voice cooed. Audibly hissing at the sugar coated words, Zivian sat down on a feeble looking wooden stool and lifted the mail from the dark marble island top. "Bitter as always I see," The woman noted, fidgetting with bits of food on a cracked red dish. "Well Helga, if you would cease using my kitchen to prepare such vomit worthy meals I might be a bit kinder in the morning," Zivian replied, his face set into a scowl as he flipped through the envelopes. Helga started to ramble on about how humans need to eat but he'd heard the rant before and simply tuned her out until his fingers brushed over a gritty, black envelope. "You aren't even listening to me are you?" Helga cried in frustrated anguish. Zivian smirked and passed her the wax sealed paper sleeve. Helga froze momentarily but sighed and pushed the package back to Zivian. "I don't want to know who it is today." Helga murmured. Grinning widely, the reaper tore into the envelope with glee. Crimson gloop oozed from the opened paper sleeve, the sight caused Helga to shudder in disgust, but Zivian almost squealed with girlish delight as the blood like substance formed a humanoid figure.Once the figure was fully formed however, the joy lighting up the eager youth's face drained in an instant. 

"Mother..."He rasped in disbelief.

"Zivian...? Are you all right?" Helga asked, trying very hard to remain calm about the sudden reveal of who her young friends next meal was supposed to be. Concern mixed with mild fear washed over Helga's face when her friend did not respond. 'What sort of cruel joke is this, to force a boy, barely a man to kill his mother just so he can live?' She wondered, cursing whatever entity would do this to Zivian. 

Time ticked by slowly for the pair of friends as they stared at the slowly melting figure of Zivian's mother. "I...I need to go to work." Zivian finally spoke, breaking the long silence. Slightly started the elder female nodded, gently patting the youthful reaper on the head lightly. "It's your decision Ziv, but you should try to spend the day by her side." Helga offered, her gentle words reassuring Zivian that regardless of what happened she would support him. "Thanks, Helga..." Zivian answered, his voice strained and dry. Without another word Zivian left his rundown shack of a home and headed to work.

Traffic was loud as always, smog filled the already polluted air, yet to the young male plodding along towards the hospital it was nothing but background static. 'What am I to do...? How am I supposed to end my mothers life...?' He continued to ask himself even as he pushed through the crowded hospital entryway to get to his station. Zivian moved in a jerking manner, twitching errantly like a puppet on too many strings. Senka, his supervisor and a close family friend approached him with a warm greeting and a soft, melencholy smile. "Zivian, I know the news must be hard. If you would like I can clear your schedule and you can spend the day with your mother," Senka offered her voice filled with unease. "What news...?" Zivian mumbled, curious considering he only ever told Helga about himself. "Your mother is dying, she has a tumor in her brain...It's too large to remove, we believe it's cancer," Senka informed him "She will perish sometime this evening, I am sorry." A pained cough escaped the otherwise emotionless youth as he forced himself to hold back tears. Zivian nodded in agreement, despite knowing he could cure her, the rules of a Reaper were firm and unforgiving. To save his mother would mean his death.

"Very well. I will take your appointments for the day, she is in the-" The supervisor began but Zivian had already left to find his mother. Fifteen minutes was all it took for the conflicted reaper to find his way to his dying mother's beside. Seeing her pale, weak, skeletal frame made Zivian cringe, sorrow threatening to spill from his watering eyes. Holding it back he sat by her bedside in the strong, blue cushioned oak chair. As if sensing his arrival, Zivian's mother opened her eyes with a small hiss of pain. "Zivian...You came..." Leshandra coughed, forcing a small smile. Despite the growing disdain for himself, he offered her a similar grin hoping to ease her pain at least a little. "I had to mom...You're family." He murmered in reply, his hands shuddering with restrained sadness. "Hush dear." Leshandra rasped, licking her dry, cracking lips. Zivian fell silent and softly grasped his mother's hand searching for comfort, for an answer to his dilema. Suddenly his mothers soft humming drew Zivian's mind away from his thoughts and into the past.

Haze filled the room as the scent of baking muffins permeated the stale air around them. Zivian's older brother Julian was running about with a large plastic plane. Meanwhile little electronic insects tumbled feebly across the floor, much to a younger Zivian's disdain. A foggy version of his mother when she was healthy and full of life stepped out from the kitchen with a large smile plastered on her face."Who wants a snack?" The memory asked in an almost sing song tone. Both boys shouted and jumped about, running into the kitchen with joyful spring in their steps. "We want a snack," The brothers cried in unison. Leshandra's illusion chuckled and grinned at her sons. "Okay okay, one at a time, and no running indoors." She chided playfully. "Yes mother," Julian begrudingly muttered. Zivian knew his mother was just joking around despite his younger age. Pulling freshly baked carrot muffins from the oven, Leshandra carefully handed the boys each one. "Once you are done you should go outside and play for the afternoon." She noted, brushing her hands clean on her apron. 

The humming continued but faded slowly as the hours ticked on. But even noticing this Zivian felt content to slip away into his past and forget the current issue at hand. But his mother knew, as despite his wishes Helga had confided in Zivian's mother, because of this awareness she wished to ensure his safety, even if it meant the end of her life. With a small, pathetic cough she continued to hum softly.

The haze thickened and shifted bringing into focus another memory. This time Zivian was alone with his mother at a park, aimlessly looking for his brother, distraught that he did not come. "Your brother is staying with your father Zivian." Leshandra informed the young child. Zivian knew this but despised the thought of his brother hanging around with their father, he was a disgusting vile man. "Why does he have to spend time with him?!" Zivian cried in anguish, clinging to his mothers skirt. With a heavy sigh the aging woman lifted her son gently and held him close. "Because he chooses to. Zivian please understand the world is not all about you, your brother still loves you." Leshandra did her best to explain to quell the childs tantrum. It worked in part but he still sobbed unrelentingly. "I know b-bu-but..." He hiccuped.

Zivian chuckled at the naivity of his younger self, but something was wrong, the humming had stopped. Panic rose in the young reapers heart as he frantically looked to his mother and took her pulse. Still there, but barely, the sun had long since set during his trip down memory lane, he hissed in anger. He could not save her now, time was too short, he had but one choice left to him. "Why did you do this...?" He pleaded, begging for an answer from anyone. His mother sputtered a bit. "Because I have lived long enough my son, take my soul, keep living your life." Leshandra uttered, her voice feeble, and shaky yet still holding the kind authority of a mother as her eyes fell closed. Zivian watched with tears rolling down his cheeks as his mother's light went out and the flame of life that was her soul leave her body. Unable to neglect his mother's dying words the young reaper absorbed the cold orb, saying a small rite of passing before stealing out the window into the night.
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ShadowCharizard
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by ShadowCharizard on Wed Oct 15, 2014 11:39 am

He had no arms or legs. He could not see, hear, or speak. This is how he led a nation.

Though many nations have been led by great leaders, there is one who has led a nation without his arms or legs, blind, deaf, and mute. He had to be carried by people to move around from one place to the other. George, had no way of knowing where he would go as his eyes could not see where he would be taken to. He could not hear the footsteps or any sounds as he is deaf and could not communicate for he is mute. How did he lead a nation without a word? One might say that not all leaders need to speak to tell his advisor what he wanted for his people. George, had no way of signaling anyone without his arms. He couldn’t walk without any legs, so only thing he had was his body and head. When he was thirsty he opened and closed his mouth sticking out his tongue. He was fed by his maids and well taken care of by them.
 
George had many motions to tell those of his needs and how he was able to tell if someone was around by the vibrations from the ground. Each time someone came and gone he felt each step by the vibration it makes. People from all over the world visited George and gave him money for charity, and praise for his remarkable deeds that he has done for his people. George had lived a noble life until the day of his death. Since then, he was honored and remembered as a great leader to his people and honored by those he had been served by.
 
It was a sad day for the nation when he died, but in his memory they named a newly developed park in his name. Many of his relatives known him as a man who never gave up, even though he could not walk, talk, hear, or see. Many textbooks tell some of his deeds and pictured him as a noble man despite his inabilities. In his nation he will always be remembered as the silent and noble George. Those who come from all over the world to know about George and his deeds visits the University to learn all about him.
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2KB

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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by 2KB on Wed Oct 15, 2014 7:49 pm

A man wakes up from surgery to realize the doctor and nursing staff have been slaughtered. He's responsible.
       It was early autumn when I underwent brain surgery. I'm nothing much, just an average guy, with an average job, an average house, and an average life. But like any average person, I had my fair share of troubles in life... I suppose this could count as one of them. I faced severe headaches for weeks on end. I couldn't stop twitching. My memory was hazy. I skipped out on work frequently as a result, I couldn't interact normally with my peers, but I couldn't go for a check-up. While I had insurance, I wasn't exactly... financially stable enough to pay for a doctor's visit. Economy is shit after all.
       But that changed after a while. What pushed me to the edge and finally go for a check-up, would be the hallucinations. At first I thought it was because of drowsiness, I was just tired from a long day at work. I had them for the longest time, long before the episode. They got worse with the recent symptoms. Instead of shadows out of the corners of my eyes, it'd be there in the open. In the kitchen, in the backyard, on the bed, and even standing in the closet. They're my nightmares incarnated into reality, I struggled to live everyday peacefully without having a freak-out over it, but in the end, I gave in. I needed this fixed.
       The check-up was simple; the doctor told me there was a few things to tinker with my head and I should be as good as new afterwards. We scheduled it out, we made sure I was physically and mentally prepared, we communicated enough to make sure I was entirely comfortable with the situation. A voice whispered in the back of my head, that this might not turn out well. The only thing I could do was look to forward and hope for the best.
       I didn't expect to be like this though. No, not like this. I woke up a few days after the surgery took place. I woke up in a sea of blood. With the mangled corpses of the surgical staff, the nurses, the patients. Everyone in the hospital was massacred, yet it was not discovered until I struggled outside, screaming out for help.
       I burst through the front doors of the hospital to outside, only to find... shadows. Everyone was a shadow; with claw-like hands, a single red eye, and a barely visible humanoid shape. They all turned to me, they all screeched at me, they pointed, they laughed, the mocked me. I lost my voice at the sight of them, I trembled, and I crumbled to the ground in writhing agony. 

It didn't go away.

       Did they kill them? Did they decide to haunt everybody now? Did they want me to go mad?
       I...
       ...
       There's not much to say about what happened afterwards. I kicked and flailed, the shadows stole me away. They threw me in a cell, all I could hear was their screeches as they spoke with each other and occasionally glancing over to me. I couldn't sleep that night, I feared for my life as they now begun interacting with me. They'd take me out, throw me in tiny room with nothing more than a seat just to screech and screech.
       And screech.
       It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me. I swear, it wasn't me.
       Eventually, they just kept me in the cell. They refused to look at me, touch me, or screech at me. They did nothing but throw in food and take away the half-full plate. I was an average guy, with an average job, an average house, and an average life. I am now nothing but the shell of the man I used to be.
       God, have mercy on my soul.

---

       "Mama, what's wrong with Daddy?"
       The woman held her child close, peering through the little window of the padded cell. She watched the man mutter to himself endlessly, occasionally letting out a whimper when his eyes met her's.
       "Is it because I hid in the closet again when he came home?"
       She shook her head, "Daddy's just getting fixed, honey. He'll come back soon."
       With a kiss on the child's forehead, she slowly turned away from the cell, leaving the man and his mutterings alone. The sound of her heels as it clattered against the floor and the squeaky shoes of a child echoed throughout the lonely hallway as they made their way back to the front desk.
       "There's today's news if you haven't read it," the clerk smiles, pointing to the side of the table. The woman nods her head, mumbling a quick thank you as she pulls the newspaper off the rack.
       Headline: "Hospital Massacre - Murderer now in mental hospital"
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identitist
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by identitist on Wed Oct 15, 2014 9:25 pm

An ancient Dragon, nearing the end of its long and eventful life, takes its last moments to reflect on it's past.
[This is going to be so cliché.]

Death had crept unto him like a slow, silent stalker, biding its time. The old dragon had always known it was there, slowly edging closer with each groan of his heavy, brittling limbs; each exhaust of ash and hot air in the stead of fire from his maw; each time he opened his eyes to the feel of warm sunlight and made the decision to relax and sunbathe, rather than beat his massive wings to the sky to see the world that was once his. The reptile’s breath echoed heavy in the cave, though now it was light and raspy to him, and his eyelids felt heavy as they slid open to reveal tired, old eyes, one half-blind and the other scarred and completely unseeing.
 
He could tell, that today would be the day that his centuries would end. It had been a long time coming, and albeit once upon a time when he thought he ruled the world and death wasn’t even a consideration, he considered it now when his silent stalker had finally come to him at eye level. He managed a slight snort, a deep rumble of the Earth in his cave nonetheless, at the thought; he supposed Death was the true ruler of the world, in the very end.
 
How funny. How many times had he both inadvertently and purposefully brought death himself? Especially the humans. Funny creatures they were. They had attacked him on sight the moment they had seen him when he was still young, and that had given the old dragon an early fear, and eventual dislike of them. Now, he could conclude that the humans were likely only afraid of him, as he was of the humans, and could only think of how different his life would have been had he been more understanding back then. Probably a significantly smaller amount of wounds, he figured, like his scarred eye. Maybe even free food. Then again, the thought of dragons living in cooperation with humans had never before been heard of, and both sides thought of it as ridiculous and banished the idea.
 
No, instead, the dragon grew as a dragon should: aiming to become the most powerful of the land and the skies -- the ocean too, if the dragon could swim. He never did like the water, much, as it extinguished his flames. But the water has fish in it, he remembered. That could’ve saved him quite the amount of trouble during those harsher decades where land prey was rare. If only his avoidance of water hadn’t stopped him. ’Ah, listen to me,’ he thought in his own mind, aimed to nobody in particular, ’musing over all the things I should’ve done and nothing that I’ve done.’
 
What had he done? He had burned villages that were a threat to his life and to his territory, to all the animals living in it. He had flown the skies all over his domain, seeing the world from the top as he had always wanted to do from young. He had all hunted, be hunted; save, be saved; brought death, and now it was time for death to be brought unto him. In retrospect, he hadn’t done all that much, he realised. No, he did plenty -- but he did naught that would leave the world remembering who he was, his name and appearance for centuries to come. He did as any other dragon before him had done when they were alive, because that was just the way a dragon was.
 
No, what would truly matter would come after death.

His scales would become the glittering shells at the shores of the sea. His flesh would become nutrition for the decomposers and scavengers, the trees and the brushes. His bones would become the new foundation of soil for roots to take hold. His carcass would become the cave that was his home, the trees he often sharpened his claws with, the earth that gave life to what gave him life; the earth that would inevitably birth and raise a new dragon after him, who would learn the world the same way he did.

The dragon had ruled  the world when he had lived. Now, as death finally rested a cold hand over his unseeing eyes, he thought: now, he himself would become the world.
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Long-stride
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Long-stride on Thu Oct 16, 2014 5:39 pm

@Mew wrote:"You each have one piece. From this day on, you three must never see each other again."

Of the three that sat, the room was silent. Dim lit, a man and woman sat side by side on the couch. A man stood in front of them, his expression was savage. Tears streamed down his face despite the anger, and a loud sound rang through the room as he slammed one fist onto the table. "Dammit...! Why?! Why would you DO this to us?!"

The black haired woman flinched, her eyes on her hands. "Gregory, look... I'm sorry." The blonde beside her reached out in a comforting gesture, but a hiss made him stop. Looking up at the furious Gregory, he opted instead to stay still.

"Sorry doesn't cut it Michelle. This is your fault."

"Hey now, that ain't true," the sitting man growled. His eyes bore into the other, his eyes an impossible shade of ice blue.

"The fuck it isn't, Brandon," Gregory spat at him. His eyes turned back to the silent Michelle. "She knew the consequences. She knew what it would cause. She-"

"Quit fuckin' blaming the poor girl," Brandon growled. He stood without warning, tightening his fists. His fingernails sharp as nails dug into his skin. Gregory met his gaze fearlessly, the sparks between them about to ignite the room to hell. "It ain't Michelle's fault," he repeated.

Gregory took a step forward. He flipped his hand over on the wood table, digging dirty yellow fingernails into the wood. "Stop talking like you didn't cause this, you dillhole."

A feral sound built in Brandon's throat, meeting the challenge with a step forward. Suddenly Michelle bounded forward, standing beside the table that separated the two males. "No! Greg, Brandon, stop! I can't- I-I can't..." Immediately the two turned to her, their eyes softer.

Brandon reached her first, due to being closer, but at his touch on her arm she flailed. Stepping away from him, her distressed expression turned to both of them. "I know. I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have cheated on you, Greg. I shouldn't have slept with your species. I shouldn't have with Brandon's. But what's.. done is done."

She walked away from both males, to a segregated crib. Inside were three babies, one with blonde hair, one with dark brown, and another with black. The first two children were squirming, staring up with unblinking eyes. The brown haired boy had gold eyes to match Gregory, the blonde child sharing Brandon's icy blue. The third child did not move at all though. "Now we have no other choice."

Brandon and Gregory both moved to speak, but Michelle silenced them with a look. "I knew the consequences of falling in love with a Werewolf," she told Gregory, then turned sadly to Brandon. "And a Vampire."

"Please don't," Brandon begged, his face pained. Michelle picked up the blue eyed child and gentle handed the girl to him, turning to do the same with the gold eyed child and Gregory. She did not speak until taking the last, silent baby into her arms. "He, though..is human. I can keep him at least." She smiled to his sleepy face, both males behind her stoic and devastated respectively.

Gregory spoke first. "Then.. This is it Michelle. I will never be able to come here again." His voice cracked, betraying his pain, as Brandon choked back a sob.

She nodded to him, turning to smile with tears running down her face. "I will always remember our times together..both of you. Even though cheating is a sin.. I don't regret loving either of you."

The Werewolf walked out without a word then, vanishing into the dark void of night. Brandon hesitated, sobbing out a single request, "Please. Don't." 

Michelle pressed her lips to his forehead, smiling despite the tears running down her cheeks. "Take care of our son, Brandon." The human turned and slowly retreated, following Gregory's path out the front door.

The air outside was chilly.
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ShadowCharizard
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by ShadowCharizard on Thu Oct 16, 2014 9:42 pm

Due to an advancement in technology, prison is no longer physical, but mental.

Prisoners usually are behind bars, but with the advancement of technology, prisoners are no longer in jail serving time. Their minds are now locked in a state of temporal distortion by nanomachines. One prisoner reported that he felt his mind being locked in a way where he felt remorse from his crimes. Another prisoner had reported that he also had his mind locked from what he committed. We interviewed the people who felt safer with the technology advancement on the prisoners. James Carter a man living here in Shatner had this to say from our reporters. “I feel a lot safer with the people who once committed crimes now locked up mentally.” Other residence has agreed to James Carter’s statement as they help raise awareness in their community. The Prisoner Recording System(PRS) has been online keeping communities safe as prisoners can no longer commit crimes they did in the past. Our scientists have come up with the prisoner locking system and injected the nanomachines inside the prisoner’s arms and they quickly work their way into the brain. The Warden had this to say to our reporters. “I hope this new technology works. With our prisons in the nation overfilling this could change the way we deal with prisoners.”
 
Crime continues to decrease and the prisoner rate continuing to drop. Residents are rejoicing with this new prisoner locking system in place. Banks have reported that they haven’t been robbed in the past fifteen days and places where crime rates are high have dropped substantially. Child abductions have been scares as a result of the advanced technology. Many people are glad that the prisoners are locked up mentally. From other cities and towns have also reported the new system is in working order. Out of the nation into the international level however, the new system is being installed across Europe and Asia. South America, Australia and Africa have made an announcement of implementing the prisoner locking system in their nations.
 
Jorge Vasquez, a member of the South American government had just released an announcement that they will adopt the American prison system in the next month and its installation date is in the following day after installation. King Richard of the U.K., President Adolf Von Porsche and President Francis have released a statement that their countries will be making mandatory prison purge by injecting the prisoners with the nanomachines that will monitor and keep the prisoners minds locked until their time is served. In Asia, Russia’s prime minister has also announced they’ll be injecting the prisoners Thursday. In Australia and Africa, they have yet to release any announcements of using the Prisoner Recording System(PRS) but, we’ll keep updated on their announcements.
 
Back here in America, the warden has announced that those who are still sentenced to life in prison will be subjected to this technology hopefully in the next month. We caught up with the chief of police and this is what he had to say. “We’re glad that the system has helped with our job and hopefully the countries without the system will come around to adopt it soon.” And finally, the Prisoner Recording System(PRS) will stop a prisoner if he acts in violence. “This is Greg McCarthy reporting in Shatner channel eleven news.”
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Chroma
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Chroma on Sat Oct 18, 2014 4:17 pm

On the third night, the villagers destroyed their clocks. The sounds of whirring gears and chiming metal held only dread for them.

The ticking. It started with the ticking. The simple shove that led the village into what could only be interpreted as madness. The nearby villages knew it would come eventually, but not like this. One by one, the ticking came to a stop, but along with it, the villagers faded into darkness.

This village was not an ordinary village. It was odd, though similar to the others nearby. Along with every child born here, there was a clock. In other villages, other objects were used. These items, were what tied these children to life. And if anything were to happen to them, the townsfolk tied to it would receive the same pain and as such, everyone became paranoid. However, nothing got as bad as the clock village. The incessant ticking led their fear to become frantic, and thus, the domino effect began. It turned into villagers destroying the other villagers' clocks, then everyone became too scared to even leave their homes. 

The ticking only led them deeper into their anxieties. It was a countdown. If their time was up, the clock would be destroyed, and with it, so would they.

And finally, when they couldn't take it any more, everyone decided that it was time. It was time to end it. Gathering together, their clocks in tow, they looked at each other. Were they about to do this? Was it finally time to be free from the tick-tock nightmare that was their town? As if some miraculous feeling overcame them, they all agreed. It was time.

The ticking stopped with the sudden noise of shattering glass... and crying.
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Crepuscular
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Crepuscular on Thu Oct 23, 2014 4:30 am

"Thank you sir" he says, "It has been an honor."

Two figures sit on either side of a lush field, isolated from the rest of the world by a round, invisible barrier. Crickets can be heard chirping from outside, the breezy air is pleasantly cool, and the full moon shines brightly. It would in any other situation be a wonderful thing to behold. But not right now.
 
Blood stains the walls, the grass, and their persons. Their clothes, once a pleasant white, are now so heavily soaked with blood that they drip with it. And yet the two combatants feel as strong as when the carnage had started.
 
They can still fight, but refuse to do so any longer. They have  been fighting for hours. Sword strike after sword strike, their wrath and skill were equally matched. They will never tire from this. But they do not want to hurt each other anymore.
 
The person that had sealed them to this fate is still watching. That damned Warlock; he will never let them die. The both of them had acted insubordinately for once in over ten years of service, and this was their punishment.
 
Their service was obtained through a Devil's contract, signed by the Warlock in their own blood. They were forcibly enslaved for their skills as warriors, to break in new slaves which would then be bent to the Warlock's will. They did so, wholly unwillingly, for ten years. Their hearts are long-broken, but not their souls.
 
Within less than twenty-three hours, the both of them had disintegrated the Warlock's control over his slaves. It was a dangerous gambit, for they had used what small will they had to find a loophole in the Devil's contract. For better or for worse, there was now an army of destruction outside the Warlock's impenetrable doors.
 
It has been far too long. They must not idle any longer. The Warlock is watching them both, and is undoubtedly growing impatient. They must act soon.
 
One of them stands up slowly, and begins walking. The other does the same. As they walk, they remember. They remember this place, and now they remember this battle. Ten years and twenty-three hours ago, this was where they had promised that they would never hate each other again. They had lied, and they had fought. The Devil's contract proves that.
 
They could not free the many others who suffered here; their broken souls and insane minds are a testament to the Warlock's previous control over them both.
 
But they could be free. And without them, the Warlock's power would fade. For He did not know what they knew. For now, He was about to lose everything. Upon coming to the others side, they speak:
 
"I know it has been too long, Elena." One of them says sheepishly.
The other nods solemnly. "It has indeed, Markus."
"Let us never hate each other again, for it has done much wrong."
"Indeed. And let us make things right once more." They both smile.
"Thank you, madam." he says. "It has been an honor."
"Thank you, sir." she says. "It has been an honor."
 
Immediately after, their bodies give way to death. Up to this point, the Warlock's contract had given them everything. It was eternal mortality, given to them by their own sins. It was power, for they had everything they could ever want. It was lies, for it drove them to slavery. But it never gave them happiness. They are now giving it all up. The air is disturbed as a presence tries to press its influence upon them. It is slow, and desperate. The contract begins to burn.
 
As much as the Warlock tries to douse it, it burns with a hellish fire which then consumes Him. His hatred fails Him, as the rioters break down His doors. His hatred has failed him. His power is gone and He is, for once in his life, afraid.
 
The lovers float into the sky as the Devil burns below.
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Baloo
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Baloo on Wed Nov 19, 2014 8:08 pm

My prompt was
"We awoke to find our gods dead, faiths shaken, and ideas lost."


How had the world gone so bad? Kaaba crumbled seemingly overnight along with the Vatican and Bethlehem.Varanasi and Pushkar swept away in a storm. Jerusalem destroyed in the ensuing war between Israel and Palestine. There was nothing left at all. Religious leaders struck mute and insane. The Gods have forsaken us... The thought process was lost. There was no longer a thing to believe in not even one's own ideas. Some wandered aimlessly through these destroyed places confused and lost. No one would have thought religion as such a staple in life especially those who had none. Now no one had one. It was odd to feel lost without knowing why. No one had the thought process to think or figure out why. Perhaps if faith was so easily shaken and slowly broken, it was not meant to be placed in something that could be destroyed. Having something to believe in must just give hope. False hope though. The Gods are dead... How could anyone know? Heavenly bodies dead? There wasn't any concrete way to know. The collapse of the statue in Rio and the Kaaba in Mecca were just signs humans took of the coming Apocalypse. Records said so since no one had the thought process to think it was that. But no. As he stood grasping the last known scriptures of a long forgotten book, he started to wonder. All faith had been placed in things long ago. In things thought dead now.

When had the world gone so bad?
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Penumbra
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Penumbra on Tue Dec 23, 2014 1:37 am

A drunk driver kills an old man in a hit and run. The old man was a mob boss.


Putting this under a spoiler because it turned out a lot longer than expected:

Before he saw the news the next morning, he thought it could have been a dream. He remembered little about the night in question; his friends- the two or three that Jeremy had managed to keep in contact with after high school, anyways- wanted to take him out for a drink or twelve. He hadn't been very enthusiastic about the idea at first, though the things he was enthusiastic about nowadays were few and far between.

“It's your birthday,” Adam had said, clapping his much shorter friend on the back and pretending to take no notice of the way the blond shrank away from his touch. “You're turning twenty one. It's pretty much your cue to party; don't waste it on account of something stupid.”

Something stupid being the constant insecurity that had plagued him longer than he could remember. His household had been less than friendly, and growing up in it had been torture. He almost would have called it hell if it wasn't so cold; his parents had always expected the best out of Jeremy and his siblings, and anything less than that ended with severe punishment. It had started simply over the years, with a slap on the wrist here and there for getting a B on a test instead of an A, but eventually escalated to unhealthy levels for the tiniest of imperfections. He could recall- though not without a shudder- getting locked in his room for hours on end for trying to leave the house with his shirt untucked from his pants. They picked at his imperfections whenever they got the chance, and out of all of his brothers and sisters, he seemed to be the favorite punching bag. The result- at least in Jeremy's case- was a nervous, unsure young adult who seemed to be afraid of papercuts, his reflection, and everything in between.

It was natural that he jumped at the chance to get out of there once he turned eighteen, though the city he had moved to wasn't really much better. The amount of crime was ridiculous, and his apartment was so tiny it bordered on claustrophobic. But it was away from home, and away from his family, so he was happy. Or at least something vaguely resembling it.

That being said, he was still relatively hesitant to go out drinking with friends. He really wasn't the type; alcohol had never been something that appealed to him in the past, and now that he was of a legal age to consume it, Jeremy's feelings hadn't changed much. He had always been a bit of an oddity like that, acting in the opposite manner of the majority of his age group. While his peers busied themselves with parties, tweeting and prom dates, Jeremy was a complete recluse. He liked reading; it was the only thing he ever really used the internet for. He wasn't very picky about what he read. The blond was fine with everything from articles about current events to classical literature. He would have almost considered a career in journalism if it wasn't for the fact that he had a crippling fear of talking to strangers. That was fine, though; he was still working on getting through his basic college courses before he decided on a job of any sort.

That didn't change the fact that he was completely uninterested in drinking. And yet, after a bit of whining and convincing on Adam's part, Jeremy agreed, albeit reluctantly.

He drove his car to the designated meeting point, and everything after that was a blur. He supposed it should have been expected, considering he had absolutely no experience with alcohol whatsoever prior to that point; he hadn't had much, but it was enough to knock the blond on his ass in no time flat.

When it started getting late, his friends- the aforementioned two or three from high school- decided to head home one by one. And Jeremy was left on his own. Adam had insisted they treated him on his birthday, so he hadn't brought anything in the way of money with him. What was he to do? The last thing the blond wanted to do was bother anyone by calling them when they were already heading home, and he couldn't ask his family for help. He didn't want to leave his car there, either; with the city being as shady as it was, there was no guarantee he would come back to find it in one piece. Perhaps getting behind the wheel wasn't the smartest idea Jeremy had ever had, but in his alcohol-riddled mind, it was the only option he had.

His apartment wasn't very far from the bar, after all. What was the worst that could happen?

Unfortunately, he soon found out. Though at the time, he hadn't thought it was real. It had been dark that night- very dark, in fact, with a thick blanket of clouds blocking out the moon and stars. His eyelids had been drooping, and fatigue seemed to tug at every inch of his body. Despite that, his head was swimming with a pleasant buzz that seemed almost uncharacteristic for the blond, not that he really minded. Alcohol, Jeremy decided, was by no means a bad thing. Or, at the very least, it was better than he had originally assumed. Perhaps he would even make an attempt to indulge in it more often, whenever he felt like it was absolutely necessary. The taste wasn't exactly something he was fond of, though the way it made him feel more than made up for it.

So caught up was he in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the old man until he was almost upon him. The blond swore he was able to meet the male's gaze, if only for a fraction of a second, before he was gone. His car shuddered briefly, before rolling on smoothly down the street. Just like it had never even happened.

For a moment, he considered stopping. It would have been the right thing to do, after all. However, the potential consequences soon began bubbling up in his mind before he even had a chance to decide. What if the man was badly hurt? What if he was dead? If he stopped, then his guilt would be without question. They would know he decided to drive while intoxicated, and that he hit another human being while doing so. It would cause the blond more than his fair share of trouble, and he wasn't sure if he could deal with it.

He wasn't sure if he could handle much of anything. Certainly not being branded a murderer. What would his family think? Would he be sent to jail? Probably. He couldn't survive in prison. They would kill him. And if they didn't decide to kill him, his life would end up ruined, regardless. Who wanted to hire a murderer?

That familiar feeling of anxiety began rising up in his chest. Taking a deep, shaky breath, the blond pressed down on the gas pedal and kept driving.

He reached his apartment in what seemed like no time at all after that, tearing off his jacket and kicking off his sneakers before stumbling into bed. His coordination was terrible, presumably an effect of the alcohol. Despite the small part of the blond that was panicking at the prospect of being labeled a killer, he tried his best to tune it out and repress the memory. Maybe it wasn't a human being he had hit. Maybe it was just an animal- maybe he had imagined the whole thing. But regardless of how hard Jeremy tried to squeeze his eyes shut, the image of the old man's face- shock splashed across his features, mouth hanging slightly open with his gaze both parts confused and fearful- seemed to be burned into his eyelids.

Eventually, however, the blond managed to fall into an alcohol-induced sleep.

He at least felt better when he woke up the next morning- emotionally, anyways. His head wouldn't stop pounding, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Whatever had been troubling him the night before, however, had seemingly slipped Jeremy's mind. Not that he was really complaining; it was a weekend, but he had a paper due Monday that he needed to get started on, and the last thing the blond wanted to do was spend the day wallowing in self-pity. It took a bit of silent arguing with himself, but eventually he managed to crawl out of bed.

The first order of business was to feed his cat, but once he got that out of the way, he made himself some toast and sat down on the couch to absentmindedly flick through the TV channels- at a mercifully low volume, of course. He wasn't really looking for anything in particular; just some white noise while he woke up and attempted to not feel like he was liable to drop dead at any moment. It was only by complete coincidence that the blond settled on the news; he had put down the remote temporarily so he could take a bite of his breakfast.

When they decided to switch to their next story, however, Jeremy almost choked.

He knew the scene well, even if it had been dark and he was driving at the time. His blood ran cold, and he wanted more than anything to just look away. Perhaps if he turned the television off or changed the channel, he could go back to pretending that it had never happened. Pictures flashed across the screen. Numbered markers placed around the street where there was evidence, blue and red lights flashing just enough to dimly illuminate the surrounding area. The footage must have been taken before dawn; it was still dark out. How long had it been until someone called the cops, he wondered. How long until someone noticed the old man laying motionlessly in the middle of the street, the culprit of such a heinous crime nowhere to be seen?

He wasn't sure why he continued watching. Perhaps he simply wanted to see who he had hit. What life was he responsible for ending? Somehow, without any sort of direct confirmation, the blond knew that the old man was dead. The hit had been that direct, that hard; there was no way someone could survive, and especially not when they were elderly.


When the man's face flashed across the screen, Jeremy squinted. Did he seem familiar, in some way? He wasn't really sure. It was only when the newswoman revealed his identity that, for the second time that day, he nearly choked on his breakfast.

A mob boss. He had killed a mob boss? The blond sat there in silence for a few moments, staring at the television, yet not comprehending the images before his very eyes. Did that mean he was off the hook? He had killed someone, but they were a criminal- and a very high ranking one at that. Surely the police wouldn't be out for his blood when he had done the city such a great service.

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief and felt around for the remote, finally comfortable enough to change the channel.

The rest of the weekend went by relatively quickly. He got his paper done in record time, and spent the rest of it absentmindedly surfing the internet for nothing in particular. Not even his hangover was enough to keep him down, though he did admittedly make it a point to avoid watching television for the time being. He wasn't worrying himself to death over the hit and run anymore, but that didn't mean the blond was very enthusiastic about the concept of being confronted with his crime.

When Monday came, he washed the blood off of his tires and drove to school.

Things were relatively okay for a while after that. His life continued as normal, and the death seemingly faded to the very back of his mind. However, it was about a week or so after the accident that Jeremy started to notice something.

The stares.

Perhaps he was just imagining things. That was what he had initially assumed, anyways. But he swore he kept catching people looking at him out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to face them, of course, they ended up looking away. But he could still recall the stares. Initially, the blond had wanted to write it off as a series of coincidences. After all, there was nothing inherently bad about a few people looking at him here and there; it happened on a regular basis. But the fact that he had recently killed a man- and the leader of an organized crime group, to boot- set him a bit more on edge than usual. The city was filled with an unusual amount of crime, after all. Jeremy had always been very careful to never get involved before that point. If anyone knew he was the culprit behind the old man's death, it would have certainly been his head. But surely it was impossible, right?

When he left school one day only to find his tires slashed, the blond began doubting that particular impossibility.

Things only seemed to get worse over time. The stares continued, but were accompanied by the occasional laugh or knowing smirk. A brick sailed through his apartment window, shattering the glass. When he looked outside, he saw nothing but the darkness, illuminated intermittently by the streetlamps dotted down the sidewalk. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. The next time Adam invited him out he refused, too terrified of the possibilities to even consider leaving his home unless it was absolutely necessary. The last thing he wanted to do was get a friend involved, anyways.

He felt like a noose was being tightened around his neck. He wasn't quite sure why they were insisting on toying with him in such a manner; Jeremy had already figured out what they were doing, after all. And he had no doubts they would get bored of toying with him eventually.

After roughly a month of torment, the blond finally came to a decision.

He left a note in his apartment, addressed to Adam; someone needed to take care of his cat, and there were few people he trusted enough to do it. Then he headed for the police station.

He had expected to be more terrified when they placed the handcuffs around his wrists after he barged in, blurting out his confession, but instead he only felt relief.

It was over.
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Un_kébécois
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Un_kébécois on Tue Dec 23, 2014 11:04 pm

Mew


It's been 10 years since the president shut down the internet. You are now 35 years old, and while walking down the road you encounter a little kid with an EJ t-shirt.
 
16h30, Finally.
 
I get up and moved toward the exit, saluting my coworkers that were either entering their work shift, or taking a break in the lounge. I salute the secretary and exited the building. While I was walking down the street to get to my car, I sighted heavily, mostly out of boredom. It's been now about ten years that the US president decided to shut down the Internet. "It is a matter of National Security!" they told us. Whatever. The thing is, when they shut down the Internet, they shut down everything related to it. No more Facebook, no more online games.... Heck, even the multiplayer servers and support were shut down. Not only that, but soon, other nations followed his example, and as a result there's no more internet available anywhere in the whole world. 
 
I finally got to my car. As I was to enter it, a little kid gambolled, all happy and carefree. I smiled bitterly, as I recall being like that at his age. He passed beside me, and I blinked my eyes. I didn't have the time to carefully look at his shirt, but the design was looking familiar to me. I shrugged it off at first and was ready to get in my car, but I told myself: "Oh, what the heck." and called the boy. He turned around, an uncertain look in his face. Now I could clearly see his t-shirt. At first, I couldn't help but stare. It couldn't be. I must have something in my eye that makes that. I stared it for a long time. There was no mistake: it was a shirt from EpidemicJohto. To be more precise, it was Motherfuckin' Xander! I would recognise that pattern anywhere, despite being cut off the internet for so long. I quickly walked to the boy, who appeared to be very concerned about my mental stability, but I didn't care. "That shirt.... Where...Where did you get it?" He looked down at his shirt, extended it as to show it off and told me his father bought him that shirt off a street salesman from the market area, about two days ago. I looked the shirt again. It was brand new, not even a sign of over-washing. I ran back to my car, started the engine and went straight to the market area. 
 
Even if the stores usually close at 16h00, the street markets remain open for a longer time. I ran from stall to stall, trying to find the shirt I've seen earlier or at least one with the EJ signature on it. I went back and forth, frenetically searching through the piles of clothes, enough to be shooed away by some of the clerks. I couldn't find any of them. After a while, I told myself it was too late, the salesman must have traveled somewhere else. Then, I saw it. A shady stall between two stores, in a shallow hallway, a little set back from the street. I went to check, and to my great surprise, there were EJ shirts and designs, Not only that, but they were EXCLUSIVELY EJ shirts in that stall. I looked straight in the eyes of an average man, probably about the same age as I. He welcomed me with a smile and asked me if I was interested in his merchandise. I asked him back where he got all this stuff. He refused to tell me, citing the confidentiality of his suppliers. I asked him again, in a little lesser nice tone of voice, and he repeated the same thing, with a mocking smile. Since I was determinate to know where it came from, I grabbed him by the collar and stamp him against the wall behind. His smile disappeared, replaced by surprise and fear. I shook him good, and then he told me he'll show me.
 
I followed him through the labyrinth of little streets and hallways. He suddenly stood in front of a steel-plated door. He indicted me it was it, and then he quickly disappeared, probably changing his stall of place. I wasn't sure if I could trust him, but I'll give it a shot. I knocked on the heavy door. I waited for some time, and then I knocked on again. I heard a voice shouting from the inside. "We don't accept salesmen here. SCRAM!" I looked around, and I found out they were looking at me through a camera. I told them I knew about the shirts, and I wanted to speak with a manager or the person in charge. They told me to get lost, before not answering anymore. I continued, but they kept ignoring me. I turned away, defeated. There was no way I could force the door, since it only open from inside. I was loosing my time. Then, I had an idea. It was silly, but I guess it could work: «... I want to talk to Suicune."
 
Everything went silent. I could only hear my breathing. I thought at first they had enough of me and just shut down the intercom or something, but soon I heard footsteps coming and the clinking of metal bolts being removed from the door. It opened, slightly, only to let me see a wary eye, and the end of a baseball bat. "You better not be a cop." I was greeted in a rather.... rude way, but the guy then opened the door completely, letting me enter the stone arch leading in the tunnels underground. Followed tightly by the first guy, we entered a small control room. Lots of buzzing noises and chirping could be heard. It was the first time since god knows when I've seen this much of electronic stuff in the same place. There was also what looked like a huge laser printer. I guessed that's what they used to print EJ's designs on the shirts. Another man greeted me, eyeing me from head to toes, before turning to the screens. "How do you know about Suicune?" A silly question that I answered without problem: "Of course, I was one of the first members of EJ, along with a few other people." For some reason, I felt he didn’t trust me. I sighted, then I asked how I could prove that to them. He pointed the screens and gave me a keyboard. "Log in." But how could I log in? There wasn't.....
 
.... There WAS internet. Somehow, they've managed to get some internet back! I couldn't believe it! How they went unnoticed for all those years? So many questions, but the irritated looks of both men were urging me to prove myself, and fast. I rapidly typed the website name, hit the Enter button and I was sent to the front page. It hadn't change a bit since the brutal end of the internet ten years ago. I entered my username without problem. However, I couldn't remember my password. I tried different combinations that I remember I used to take, but to no avail. I frenetically typed variations of password I knew, until finally I logged in.
 
After a quick verification, the two men stared at me and handed me over a piece of paper with an address written on it. I asked them what it was, but they just told me I needed to go there, and then I'll talk to Suicune. I exited the basement by the same door I entered, and walked in the now empty streets. I checked the address again.
 
California. It's in fucking California.
 
... But the wheel of change is rolling, and there's nothing stopping it, doesn't it?
 
I took a few days off and immediately booked a plane to California. Flew there, passed the customs without a problem. I did not loose any time and asked for directions. Of course, I didn't ask for the exact address written on the paper. It was only rational to be overcautious, since running any device linked to Internet was now punishable by law. I got a cab to drive me around. I exited it, and walked the last steps to get to the location. It looked like an ordinary bar at first. As I walked up to the counter, the few people present there were looking at me suspiciously. I nodded to the barman, who just raised an eyebrow before asking what I wanted. I was about to answer when the shooter menu caught my attention. Especially the one named "Suicide’s Mane". I looked around, and realised the style of that bar wasn't fitting that name, at all. I asked to have one. The barman just showed me a curtain beside the counter. I slowly went trough, still feeling the gaze of everyone staring at me.
 
I passed the curtains, to find myself in front of the same kind of metal door back home. I knocked on the door and waited for a response. A familiar voice answered me: "Who's there?" That accent... I couldn't mistake it, even if it's been forever that I've heard it. It was John. "John! It's so good to hear about you! It's me, Kéb!" My smile quickly faded away when John didn't answered right away. The answer wasn't encouraging either: 
 
"I.... do not know a Kéb. Who are you?"
"Hey, come on John! Mew! Apos! It's me! Kéb! Xander! "
"Again, I do not know such person. Please go away."
 
I was hurt. After all those days passed together, even he forgot about me? What kind of cruel joke it was? My sadness slowly gave its place to anger. I didn't make all this distance to be returned like that.
 
"Open up you walnut, or I swear to Arceus I'm going to tear that door down and face hump you UNTILL YOUR FACE MELT DOWN!"
 
I was out of breathing for screaming at the top of my lungs. I waited there, planted in front of that metal door when I heard something. At first, I didn't knew what it was, but I soon realised it was a snicker, then a laugh. "I didn't expect less from The Kéb". The door opened with a click. 
 
"Welcome home, Kéb".
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Deus
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Deus on Fri Feb 20, 2015 7:16 pm

@Mew wrote:Planets orbit their stars. Stars orbit the center of their galaxy. We just found what all the galaxies are orbiting.

A man ran up, frantic. "B-but sir! These calculations have been done a baker's dozen times already!"
Despite his eyes wide with panic, his superior did not hesitate with the gruff reply. "I don't care. DO THEM AGAIN. There is no way these are correct!" He roared and causing the man to flinch.
"A-as you wish, sir," he stuttered before rushing off.
The elder in charge gave a great sigh with the retreat of his subordinate. Pulling his hat off and gripping it in a massive fist, he ran his free hand through his graying hair. "We'll all be working overtime until this is sorted out...mark my words," he growled under his breath.

They had originally been a research team. Lining the walls were monitors of every caliber. Green numbers on black screens and complicated maps on others.
A dozen men and women rushed around the rooms and typed furiously alike, distress clear on every one of them. There was no space for the people to even move in such chaotic ways, but somehow they managed to avoid each other like a barrel of snakes when they ran off in each direction.
In the middle of the yelling mess of scientists was where the elder stood. He gripped his hat roughly still, ruffling the fabric in his hand.  






In a small schoolhouse a young girl's hand shot up in response to her teacher's question. The young woman's face lit up a bright and warm smile as she pointed to the child. "Yes, Suzanne. What is your interpretation of Him?"
Suzanne's face was optimistic as her dimples lined her smile. "I believe that He is not a He, Miss Collins! I think God is actually in fact a We, in all of us!"
The Teacher's face was kind as it softened at her pupil's seemingly innocent response. She opened her mouth to praise the child but she was far from finished. "And We are all Him, which that means that we are all actually God, too! And He is a She as well as a He and a We."
The little girl beamed then. Miss Collins however bit her tongue and refrained from the words she had on the tip of it.
"...Suzanne, may I have a word with you?" she asked in a tense way. Unfazed, the student bounced up from her desk and ran up to her teacher.
There remained a smile on her face as she looked adoringly up to her teacher. "What is it Miss Collins?"

The woman spared a glance around her as she first made sure no one else was in ear shot. She waved her hand in the air to signal the children talk among themselves before addressing Suzanne.
Within the safety of the round of young voices rising loudly in the large room, the teacher looked down at Suzanne with concern. "That was a very big way to think of Him, Suzanne. Where did you learn that?"
"My big brother told it ta me!" she chirped proudly in response. The student was too absorbed in the praise she thought to be given to her that she missed the look that flashed across the teacher's face.
The girl's brother was very well known in the town as a lunatic. Almost an atheist. In the teacher's mind, he was corrupting his baby sister without her even realizing

"Listen to me Suzanne. You should never listen to him about our Lord. He will lie to you, you understand? Just like the snake in the Garden."
The little girl's face twisted into horror. Her eyes threatened tears as Miss Collins's tone grew harsher.
"You must never say that you are Him again, do you understand? We are not Him, but made in His image. Never say we are God again, that is dangerous and a filthy lie. You must go home and beg His forgiveness for using such language. Next time I will speak to your mother about exorcising the Devil from you..."
Tears spilled over in Suzanne's eyes before her teacher even finished speaking.






Colors pulsed and grew, they snaked their way through the space like ribbons made of life.
Stardust whispered of the past, suns showed scenes of life not able to be comprehended by man.
Wind through the cosmos grew visible, a million shooting stars across everything that existed.
Suddenly the man gasped, falling forward.

His eyes were round, alert, and perspiration dotted his face. Lifting one hand, there was a tremble to it as he slowly curled his fingers into a fist.
"It...wasn't a dream," he whispered as clenched his hand tighter.
Around him were portraits of various meanings, from religions to space to life in general. One had the Buddha, another Jesus Christ kneeling and reaching out to a pair of birds, seeds in his hands. More had pictures of women and children laughing, boys laughing with a dog, magical creatures such as a Unicorn and a flock of Gargoyles. More so of creatures never heard of, half human, half alien, thrice as tall as a normal man with shimmering skin.

The monk fell forward, his breathing in ragged gasps. He had seen it.
The center. It was surrounded by planets, by stars, by galaxies-- it was not anything he had ever seen before. It made no sense.
Yet to his spiritual mind, his deep beliefs ... it did. He had found it.
He had found it.






Back in the military chaos, the room of monitors and scientists, the older man had moved to stand by one of the others. "Impossible..." The man he stood by was stiff, sweat dripping down his forehead and staining his clothes.
"S-sir, there is nothing more we can do... the calculations are correct." The elder did not respond. Words had long since escaped him, there was nothing more to be done.

On the computer screen before them, they saw masses of countless clusters of stars, planets, and space bodies.
They moved peacefully, gently, but it was not them that the men were worried about. In the middle of the void of space, surrounded by everything that was or had ever existed. They clearly were slowly but surely moving around it, the gravity not making any sense on a logical scale.
The center had faded to a pure white, the blackness giving away to golden and cerulean light flashing and flickering deep within. Every time the mass breathed, a comet shot from it, a rainbow shooting star.
On every computer in the room, the men were working on calculations, scrambling to do so, with a close up of one of the projectiles on the screens. Flashing brilliant colors, every person in the room perceived it differently.

As the higher up ad the scientist stared at it, the pair were silent. They knew what it was, the tests had run for weeks and weeks.
The lights were souls, shooting off towards their new lives, vanishing into the vacuums of space.
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R'hia Kyrie
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by R'hia Kyrie on Sun Mar 15, 2015 1:17 am

You wrote a letter to your future self. You get a reply.

I walk in from the front yard, the cool house pulling me away from the searing rays of the hot outdoors. Such a trivial task, it seemed. My younger cousin and I had just buried time capsules with letters to our future selves, in and decided to wait fifteen years to open them. God knows whether or not we will actually open them then, be it our lack of patience or simply poor memory of their existances that may cause such an event. He had been taken home as soon as we were done, though not before an unneccesarily hot hug.
With a loud "poomf," I uncermoniously flop onto the old couch in the front room. I pull my still-powered laptop onto the small meal table set up beside the armrest, and open my emails. Once again, I had somehow recieved about 500 emails that day. This is what I get for signing up for damn near everything on the internet... With a discontented groan, I get ready to start deleting them in bulk as per my routine. Past the first few, a certain email stands out- rather, the address it came from. My old email account from before I was even into my teen years, lilbuddy, on AOL. "You're still a little shit." Well then, some hackers just have no class...
My eyes were already deep into my head from the annoyed eye-roll, when I get to thinking about the email. Wait, this address is nearly a decade old... don't they delete unused accounts or something? And how the hell would some jackwad know my CURRENT email address? What was once simply another pestering annoyance of the day was becoming a nagging curiosity. Not being one to turn any kind of curiosity to the door, I double click. The new window pops up, and I bring it to full-screen. "If I recall, the address caught your eye, then the subject caught your interest. Or just annoyed you. It's been fifteen years and you know your memory sucks ass. Still does, by the by. Yup, still use that phrase as well. Damnit, I'm getting sidetracked. Though, it is actually really fun to just type what I'm thinking. Quack. Meow. Now that you are amused and thoroughly confused, let's gently break the ice... I'M YOU FROM THE FUTURE, AND DEAR GOD YOU GET UGLY. Ok, not really, as long as you keep karate up you end up pretty damn handsome. Even get the six pack around twenty one years old. Then, of course, you realize that you cant taste sweet chocolate on a diet of plants and powders. That triple fudge bomb cake is still the best decision I made in 2017. You made. Or maybe it is I? You make, I made, that one. Either way-"
Ok, time to take a reality check. Future? Bull. Prove it... "Either way- HERES YOUR PROOF, NOT GET YOUR DAMN FINGER OUT OF YOUR NOSE." With a bit of a blush, I pull my pinkie out from its nose-mining position, grumbling to myself. No true words, just incoherent, flustered gibberish. "And now you need a moment to cool off, because you're all red in the cheeks. Get the leftover orange chicken from hanging with Vance, and some water to splash on your face when it hits you." Oh, right! That was a damn good batch too, the last of it, all crunchy... and he's right, I am thirsty. I pop myself up from the side seat of the sofa, trotting to the fridge and happily grabbing the leftover Panda Expression orange chicken, setting it aside, open, before grabbing a small plastic cup and filling it with cool water from the f- ...What. I immediately grasp the cup and splash if over my head, standing in place with a rather befuddled expression smeared acrossed my face. Why did I need the water?
Frankly, it wasn't that big of a shock to me. I'd had spirits talk to me, what may as well have been a demon try and make me into his meatsuit, and more. I use a convenient hand towel to dry my face and hair, and strut into the front room once more. Good thing I was home alone, without the snooping parental units around, or I'd have been yelled at for multiple things at this point. I sit down, more towards the edge of my seat this time, and pick up where I left off. "No, you didn't need the water, but I got you to do it still, didn't I? Like I said, you are STILL a little shit. Also, you left the food out, I'd say you need to put that back but knowing me, you won't. You have a shitload of questions, but I know which one you really want the answer to. Yes, you and vance were still close as all hell. I'm not telling you details, though. Paradox risks and shit. And before you think 'Were still close? The hell you mean?' -Awwww you thought it didn't you? Yeah, you did, don't lie you little rebel." So this is what its like to be on the recieving end of... me. Not bad.
"You're dead. D-E-D Ded. Also I lied about fifteen years, it's been much longer, but that was a small but key psychological thing to help you believe me. You know how it all works, you loved the small ways the brain makes us give hints and shite at your age right now. Shit helps you throughout your life, to be honest, keep learning and remembering it. What I did NOT lie about is your delicious booty being quite lifeless. The body at least. Yeah, spirit realm is real, Vance was right about the whole rebirth thing, though you never really doubted it and believed it yourself even before he really talked about it in depth if I recall. I'd love to get all serious and tell you how to live the perfect life but... well, you know I can't. I want you to experience it yourself. You screw up, you make it up, you do great things, you do crap things. You're mostly human, it's in your nature. No, I will not elaborate on 'mostly.' You already have ideas, none of them are right, you'll learn sometime soon."
Talking to my future self is actually... kinda stupid. No, not stupid. ANNOYING. God, he knows- er, I know exactly what I'm gonna do, and just- ugh. "Stop thinging about your pet peeve of people predicting what you-"
"SON OF A FREAKING BITCH BOOTY MONGER!" I yell, having to get that out now before I drive myself crazy- literally. "...what you- Ok, now that that's done. No, you haven't lived for nothing. You've helped people. You will help more people. As odd as this may sound, I can't tell you to stop doubting yourself... we both know that the doubt helps you stay humble, and keep on doing your best to be the good in a world of horrors. I won't hold your hand, guide you through it, give you step-by-step instructions on how you should do it all. Why? Because you'd depend on it wholly until you were no longer living your life, but the one I gave you. So, all I can really say,instead, is that you should just keep living. And when the time comes, just do what you have to do to save as many as you can. So, uh... is this where I put the awkward joke about- wait, considering what this whole thing is for, that joke is so not proper. Well, anyways... go kick that boss's ass. The one in Dank Souls 2 or whatever."
I sit back, just soaking it in. I read myself like a book. Then again, isn't that how it's supposed to happen? I know me better than anyone else, especially when I've lived my life to the end already. I sit forward again, knowing damn well this would all hit me like a sack of bricks on a speeding train sometime tomorrow. I scroll down, noticing that there was more to read. At the very bottom, in bold letters, I had written: "1- The password to lilbuddy was 'BaseballRocks' by the by. 2- Clean up the mess from when you splashed the water on yourself. 3- EAT THE ORANGE CHICKEN, IT'S STILL SITTING OUT. Kbye."
With that, I went ahead with life. Starting with that damn fine first bite of orange chicken.
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Fern on Tue Mar 17, 2015 10:48 am

@Zapdos wrote:You are supposed to be an evil sorcerer, but you cannot resist helping people.

I come from a long line of sinister mages. My father, Wulfsin Burrow, was considered the most barbaric of his generation. His motive was to trump his forefathers before him with his twisted deeds, and that he did monstrously well. Wulfsin instilled so much fright in the people that villages arranged sacrifices for him. Needless to say, my father luxirated in the suffering of others.

His tyrannical reign of terror over the kingdom of Drazia ceased adruptly when he commited the iniquitous act of torturing and slaughtering many children. That was the final straw that caused Drazia to unite and rebel against him. My father, however, did not work alone. He was not only the High King of the kingdom itself, he was also the High Mage of a league of dark sorcerers known as The Nocturnal Privelege. The war that ensued was grueling, but neither side dared to surrender.

The battle went on for two decades. In the fourth year of this civil war was when I was born. When I reached the ripe age of sixteen, my father was killed in battle, which caused The Nocturnal Privilege and all who allied themselves with them to surrender. I attempted to lay low amidst the townsfolk during the war, as my father had instructed, as he did not want anyone to be aware that I was his son. Despite his cruelty, his love for me was deep.

After his death, I recall my irate gooseflesh as the victorious townsfolk danced in the streets in their triumph. I gradually became more choleric as they severed his head and impaled it on a pike, parading it around as if his entire life were a jest.

I had considered myself a virtuous wizard, but my morals were shattered at this sight. I was not a novice in the art of sorcery, my father had trained me when given the time. I made a decision the night of my fathers death, leaving the humble village of Bladerun for what I believed to be forever.

Eventually, I found myself before the weakened Nocturnal Privilege, or what was left of their broken society. I stood before them, bellowing, "I am your heir!" while brandishing my staff above me, beckoning the heavens to open above to fell lightning bolts below.

They did not believe I was truly the heir, however, they were impressed and astonished by my skills in sorcery despite my age. After much deliberation, I made the decision to avenge my father and made the blood pact to join their ranks. They schemed to use me as a weapon against Drazia, and supposed that I would be a turning point for a new revolution, a revolution of which the Nocturnal Privilege would conquer.

Or so they thought.

The training was brutal, the trials were cruel. It was not uncommon for me to be led on incognito missions where I would slay the innocent and steal from the poor. I recall one trial that I almost failed in. The rules were simple; you either decapitated a pregnant woman, or you would be killed. My will faltered at this point, and reluctantly, I did the deed, although I was beginning to regret my choice more and more.
As I grew older and the tests became extremely diabolical, my rage towards the people of Drazia ebbed, and I soon pitied them. We were the ones who were truly evil. I no longer desired to be a part of the Nocturnal Privelege, but I had no other option. I had made a blood pact, and if broken, blood pacts can be Hell on Earth. So I decided to conduct a clandestine operation; I was going to turn spy for the villages of Drazia.

When the mages planned to attack, I would alert the townspeople so that they would have time to prepare to fight or evacuate. I couldn't allow unjust deaths to occur, for I myself had known loss and agony, and that was something that no one deserved. I had saved many lives from the Nocturnal Privelege in secret, without them suspecting a thing due to their intense trust in me. I even would visit the villages after my training, giving food to the hungry and love to the masses, and that made me feel truly euphoric. But the evil deeds that the Nocturnal Privelege forced me to commit almost rendered me a husk, withering me from within.

Eventually, the time arrived when I had to complete the final task of my training: finding and slaying a Unicorn. Once I achieved that, they would use the magic from within its horn to rule Drazia with a devilishly strict fist, and no one would dare uprise against them again.
I didn't want to slaughter such a benevelont creature, and I didn't want the Nocturnal Privelege to rule. I desperately hoped that I would be able to devise a plan to overthrow them, but none came to me. I also knew that if I refused to kill the Unicorn, the Nocturnal Privelege would kill me, and the villages would have no hope, for I was their only inside source of information.

Unicorns are an arcane sight in Drazia, and I was always told they only approached the pure of heart, so I was certain one would not come to me. I wandered for many days and many nights searching for one with the heaviest of hearts.

Miracuously, one evening, I saw one. I had set up a small camp on the outskirts of a gorgeous forest when a Unicorn approached me with a serene gait. I was flabbergasted and in awe of the majestic creature, so much so that I fell to my knees. I will admit I began to sob when it looked me in the eyes, as I knew when it did, it had witnessed all of my sins. "Run!" I had commanded through my tears, but the Unicorn stood rigid. "Make haste! I do not desire to kill you! If you do not flee, I will be forced to!"

But the Unicorn was unafraid, and he bowed his head to me, touching my chest with the tip of his spiraled horn. At that moment, I felt all of my heartache alleviate, courage suffuse me, and tranquility inject itself into my heart. I gave the Unicorn my gratitude, and inquired for it to return to the villages with me. To my delight, it followed me, and I knew that with the essence of purity at my side, the Nocturnal Privelege would fall before me. The Unicorn, and their trust in me, would be their downfall.

When I approached the villages with the Unicorn alongside me, many bowed before it and quivered as I had. But I would always declaim, "Fear not! The Unicorn does not wish to harm you, in fact, he is here to assist us in this time of crisis! March with me to The Nocturnal Privelege, and I will enlighten you! They will tremble before us! They will be purified!"

And with this mere speech, I had an army. They were no fierce warriors, but they possessed purity of heart as the Unicorn did. We infiltrated The Noctunal Privelege's mighty walls, and we killed nor harmed any of them, and they killed nor harmed any of us, for the Unicorn's presence prevented any maleficent act, as he warded off any evil spells.

And the Unicorn touched The Nocturnal Privelege by its horn, one by one, until they were all cleansed of evil and sought only to do what was right. We all rejoiced as we knew the wicked society was no more, for the blackness of their hearts were diffused with only the cleanest of emotions. And with that, the Unicorn left us to return to its enchanted wood, and I was voted to join the monarchy. That was how I became High King of Drazia.

I am now an elderly sorcerer, and I do not possess much time on this Earth. I have conjured up a prophecy for my inevitable reunion with this world:

By sword, by knight, by wicked three,
I will return to all of thee,
Lodged within forgotten stone,
Is where our king will sit alone.


I urge you to never forget my name. I am Merlin, the greatest wizard Drazia has ever known, and I am writing this so that the kingdom will have solace in my death. I will be returning, in a different life, and a different time.

May the Unicorn watch over you.

-Merlin
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Deus
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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Deus on Sat Mar 28, 2015 3:56 am

@Mew wrote:A band of young gods search for the elixir of death to save their father from eternal suffering.

I had been so wrong. I thought our mission was just. I thought it was the right way, the only way..!

I... I was wrong.




It started a long tme ago. Born to a world much different than now. In a land of flowers in bloom and steam engines coexisting. The sun was yellow, not red. The people were just that, people. They loved him.
They named him many things, the titles he did not care for. Many just referred to him as simply Father. That is what he was, after all. A Father.

He was a strong man. He was clearly not human as he stood easily over two and a half meters tall. The advantage was allowing children to ride upon his great shoulders, while he laughed and cared for them.
He had white hair that was not old. Father was the lifeblood of the people, he brought magic to the world.
In turn, they worshipped him.

Father was given great gifts. In the beginning it was fruits and flowers in temples. Father never required substance to live, but he could enjoy taste. He thanked the people himself in those days.
But over time, his followers became many. Those that left gifts became corrupted in the mind, believing in a different Father than existed. Father visited his temples and found red staining the marble, the corpse of a goat or a young girl left on the alter.

Horrified, Father tried to stop the insanity. He told his people that he loved them, he only wanted their joy. The blood shed shook him, and his people told him they would change. At first, Father thought the issue was dealt with.
One single germ remained despite his efforts, intent on infecting them all.

Father continued his existence for the years after. All was peaceful, the people happy. He watched steam change to electricity and flowers spread to all the lands.
But his attention was brought back to sin as his followers talked of murder, massacres.

Disturbed, Father looked into them himself at first. One isolated incident sank his heart, but he could grow and heal if it were jut the one. Rapidly the problem exploded across his lands, though. Father grew frantic. He needed to save his people, but the solution did not occur to him for many moons.
Upon concluding what he must do, though, Father grew peaceful.

He was but one man, one deity. To help his people, he would need aid. Siring children with several of his most loyal followers, he had three daughters. They were named Joy, Peace, and Leisure.
Being of magical origin, they grew to adulthood rapidly, loyal and loving to their Father.

After training his daughers, they were finally sent to do their life's duty. First, to hunt down the head of the one organizing the murders, then to bring them to Father. He would try then to talk the one out of his sins with only words and kindness. Father had no intention of causng harm.

The daughters headed to separate ends of the land. Peace went North. Joy headed South, and Leisure searched West.

Bloodshed continued, despite the efforts of the three, but after a time, Leisure had a break through.
She was able to narrow down a name and found the man hidden in a remote village. Upon cornering him, Leisure demanded answers. "Why are you killing?" "Why do you hate our people?" "Why do you spite Father?"

The man did not give any information, but instead he asked: "Did you know your father...before?"

Confused, Leisure dropped her guard. Taking the bait, she listend to the man's words.
He explained a time from before, a time when his ancestors were under the high command of Father. He wove a tale of when order reigned. The man said that the murders were not his fault, but Father's

Unbelieving, Leisure demanded the truth.

The man said that Father was not getting what he needed, in the time of before he had gotten all he used to suvive and thrived. By that tim, Leisure was beginning to buy the stories. The man said, sadly, that the deaths were of Father's origins.
Going mad, he could not control his powers and took it out on his people while feigning innocence.

Leisure finally accepted this as truth, and demanded to know wh her Father needed.
The man acted coy, but explained after prodding: "The flowers."
"The...flowers?"
"Yes.

"Crush several of the flowers into a powder. Take them, add in a drop of Father's blood under the light of the moon, then give it to him.

"It will heal him."

Leisure abandoned her sistes' objective, rishing off to complete the potion. She had to fix her father. It was up to her.
She could not allow him eternal suffering..!

It was not difficult to get the elixir together. The flowers were abundant, and her father suffered wounds often with his times in the field.
Leisure added it all together under the light of the moon, as told. It was then time to save Father from madness.

The next time a meeting was held with their family, Leisure offered the elixir as a health potion. Father accepted it blindly as Leisure beamed and grinned widely.

Father immediately reacted, though not in how he was expected too. Father fell, as the daughters rushed foward.
They could only watch as his body convulsed then grew still. As they watched in fear, Father died, crumbling first to stone, then dust.
Horrified, Leisure screamed. She was interrupted by a familiar voice: "I see you fell for it."

The sisters realised that the man, from before, had found them. Leisure moved to attack him, but the man pulled out a wand. One wave and the sorcerer flicked Leisure away like a flea.
"That was a spell, you see, dear... dear Leisure.

"It was the sole way to get him out of th picture."

The man kicked the pile of dust, causing the sisters to howl in outrage again. He waved his wand and they fell silent once more. "I do not take kindly to interruption. ...As I was saying. This fool is no Father. He is merely the ruler of light. I have been waiting for eons... EONS for his naivety to ruin him."

"A new age has come, dear Peace, Leisure, Joy... the age of Dark."

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Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Sunny on Wed May 20, 2015 4:16 pm

Your prompt will be " 'Pain will be your mentor, Agony, your tutor.' "

Prompt reply:
It was just yesterday… but the gripping claws of internal agony rake the seconds along like hours and the minutes like years. I lie still, my plush body unable to move, upon a reeking pile of grimey dumpster trash… but my heart, my heart is back at home with my little girl. My best friend...Where is she?

So much has happened… It’s all too difficult for me to remember. All I know is that the last day I saw Mia, whenever that was, started off like any other…

After waking up in the cozy arms of Mia and her polka-dot pajamas, she gently hid me away in the top drawer of her wooden dresser, underneath an array of tall and stripey socks. It was hard, knowing that Mia was ashamed of our friendship… but I tried to understand; After all, Mia was not a little girl anymore, but a teenager, though to me she had never grown up. We still played together every day… and she still loved me, even after all of our years together. Besides, sweet Mia was already bullied far too cruelly at school for being different… I watched, heart breaking, as she gazed down at me with her honey-brown eyes and smiled warmly while stroking my head a single time… then, as usual, she pulled the hood of the black jacket she now wore far over her bruised, beaten face. She hid herself just as she had hidden me…
She quietly closed the drawer and the morning sunlight was shut out, black shadows surrounding me instead as I was encased in the musty wooden dresser. But I patiently waited for her to return like always and jerk open the drawer, scooping me up and smashing her face against mine in a warm embrace. I always dried her tears with my fuzzy, velvety texture, and sometimes she just lied on the floor holding me tightly against her chest as we listened to loud music together.

But that day... that day was different…

I felt a rush of joy pulse through me when I heard the pounding footsteps of Mia stomping quickly up the house staircase, before she slammed her bedroom’s wooden door closed with a loud bang. Finally, she was home from school. I had waited all day and finally we could spend time together, just the two of us.

But something was wrong. Very wrong. Because Mia did not open the drawer for me like she always did… instead, I heard angry voices coming from outside the bedroom, booming and screeching tones that made me glad I was safe inside the enclosure of the dresser. But Mia was outside without me… and I could hear the familiar, heart-wrenching sound of her soft crying as things were apparently being shuffled around the room.

Clothes, maybe…? Being placed into a… a suitcase…? Why?

The pace picked up and the voices grew louder, but the words being said all blur together in my memory. All I know is that Mia was in a hurry. She wasn’t thinking straight. My eyes darted around in the dark drawer and the joy that once rushed through me turned into a deep fear, a panic unlike any other felt before. Where was she going…? Was she… was she going to forget me? She wouldn’t, would she?

Mia? Mia, what’s going on?

I’m still in the drawer… Mia?


But… I don’t know what I expected. As always, my tiny knitted mouth never opened and my fuzzy plush body didn’t move in the slightest. My thoughts, the thoughts that so desperately wanted to become screams, were forever trapped inside my inner being.

Don’t forget me, Mia, I’m still in here!

Let me out! I’m… I’m scared…


But all I heard was the dull scrape of the bedroom window being jerked open. Then a thud of something being dropped… then a second thud… Mia… had she just left without me?

I don’t know how long I waited for her to return. I waited until I stopped smelling the musty wooden scent of the drawer, until it merely became the scent of air for me. I waited until I could no longer hear sounds, because none of them were the sounds of Mia that I longed to have ring in my ears again. I waited until it hurt, I waited until I no longer wanted to wait but only wanted to… to just stop existing.

Then finally, I saw daylight… I had forgotten what it looked like. Mia’s mother had opened the drawer; I knew it had to be her, because she looked just like Mia with kind brown eyes glittering with tears and a warm smile, though her smile caused quite a lot more lines to form on her face than Mia’s had. She picked me up from the drawer, my plush body flopping lifelessly in her gentle grasp. For the first time in what felt like so long, I began to feel a joy rushing through me again… Certainly she was taking me to Mia, I thought…

But she wasn’t. She didn’t. Instead, she tossed me like trash into a large black bag with a sticky, clingy texture. I was enveloped in darkness once again, and once again I waited for someone to save me… and I waited… and I waited…

And then yesterday came. The bag began moving… someone was taking me somewhere, me and all the socks and other unidentified fabrics. Was I being taken to Mia? Would I at last see the face of my best friend once again?

No…Still tightly enveloped in this clingy, terrifying blackness, the entire bag and I were thrown violently onto what felt like countless other squishy black bags. And then I waited… and waited… and then more squishy black bags were thrown on top of mine, directly smashing against my side of the bag and causing it to bust open. I tumbled out of the bag and slided onto a pile of slimy, indescribably foul-smelling trash… it was then I realized…

...I’ve been thrown away.

I waited and waited for rescue, but I’ve now given up hope. I’m now forced to look up at the night sky as I lie on my back in a dumpster, hopelessly gazing at the softly-glowing stars and remembering all the times I looked at those same stars with Mia. My inner being burns with an unending pain that digs deeper and deeper into my chest, but somehow it isn’t physical… is this… a new form of sadness? Is this… loneliness? I try to look away from the sky, I try so hard, but my body doesn’t budge. Where was Mia? How could she have just left me like this? Did she know of this misery I would be in without her, this everlasting longing in my chest?

She knew. She just didn’t care.

The raspy, deep voice I hear is not my own. Yet… it is an internal sound, one inside my head.

She didn’t forget you... She left you…

But… who is that voice? Their words can’t be true. Mia… she must’ve forgotten me. We may never see each other again, but… the separation was not intentional. It couldn’t have been…

She grew up. She grew up like all the other kids that grow up and ditch their toys. She doesn’t care about you. In fact, she’s probably already forgotten you even existed…

No. No, that can’t be true. Mia could never ditch me. But…

Then why didn’t she take you with her? She remembered to pack clothes but didn’t remember to pack you? She didn’t want to take you with her. She’s a teenager now, she doesn’t care about her stuffed animals anymore. Don’t you hate her for it? Don’t you hate her for what she’s done to you?

A new feeling burns through my chest now, stronger than before yet not as painful… anger. The mysterious voice has a point… Mia knows what sadness and loneliness feels like more than anyone… yet she just left me behind, she just left me to feel the pain of those emotions without her. I had always dried her tears and comforted her day after day after day, yet she’s just left me to rot away here helplessly with the city’s useless trash.

You should find her… confront her. Show her the pain she’s caused you and make her sorry for it.

...What? I could never hurt Mia. I could never--

Funny, because she had no problem hurting you…

The burning anger in my chest digs deeper into my soul, just when I don’t think it can be any more fiery. It’s agony; I’m suffering with these cruel emotions running through me, yet I can’t let them go. I… don’t want to let them go.

“I do hate Mia…I will make her sorry…”

The words come out of my mouth. What…? The words actually, literally, come flowing out of me in a voice that is like my thoughts yet clearer...I suddenly realize that I can move. I can move my whole body.

I lift my head and move my hands in front of my face. My once soft, cream-colored fur is now a rough, lavender fabric that is both pale and dull in color at the same time. I now have three stubby little fingers at the ends of my hands, and I flex them up and down miraculously... I look down at my body and the fabric colors and textures are just like that of my hands, and it seems that my single tail is now made up of multiple pieces of straw. I carefully touch my face with my shaking hands… it feels like the rest of me too, except there is a stinging pain when I touch my blinkable eyes, and my mouth seems to be zipped up in a rough, metallic contraption. I find the end of the zipper and go to pull it, but…

Don’t touch that!

I stop.

If you unzip that, I’ll have to leave you… and you don’t want that, do you? You don’t want to be alone again, waiting around for that girl who doesn’t love you. Do you?

...No. No, I certainly don’t want that. I never want to be that sad, pathetic stuffed Meowth again… This new body of mine is symbolic. I am a new being now… I am independent, I am strong, and I will make Mia regret leaving me behind. I will make her sorry for causing me so much misery…

So I listen to the mysterious voice in my head. I listen to all that it tells me. Sometimes we have conversations about Mia and all the hurt she’s caused; other times the voice tells me what to do now that I can move around, like how I’ll grow stronger if I stick pins into this new body and invite other mysterious voices into my head. And I do… I grow much, much stronger, and so does my hatred for Mia. I search for her every day now. But it isn’t out of loneliness. No, I wander about these filthy city alleyways seeking revenge, seeking to make Mia sorry for all she’s caused me to lose and show  her all that I’ve gained.

The anger and hatred continue to burn within my very core, causing me indescribable misery but making me feel more alive than ever. I keep sticking pins into my arms every chance that I get, and though it’s almost more pain than I can bear, I know my suffering will all be worth it when I find Mia. But… I haven’t found her yet. Day after day has passed, and I realize that yet again, I’m still waiting around for Mia… That makes me angry, too.

Sometimes I can’t take it anymore. Sometimes the heavy weight of all these burdens is too much to carry around on my soul, so I just return to the dumpster where my new life began and cry alone inside it. The voices never comfort me… they just leave me in my time of need, too. Just like Mia.

Other times, I take everything out on passing Pokemon and Trainers. But most Trainers just run from me, scared off by my hideous appearance before I can even make a move. “Banette”, they call me, and often even my very name causes people to shudder when talking to each other. Sometimes I miss being the cute and cuddly cat plushie that I once was… but then I think about where that got me, and the emotions sear through me once again.

But… wait. As I aimlessly wander about a wretched alleyway, hanging my head and dragging my oversized arms along the dusty concrete, a voice catches my attention.

“Oh! A Banette!”

It’s young, feminine, and sweet. Just like Mia. I quickly turn my attention to the girl responsible, only to see that it is not Mia. It is a teenage girl with long, dark hair and an all-black dress that drags along the ground like my arms. A Hex Maniac, people probably call her… her dark clothing and kind smile remind me of Mia, and rage fills my plush body.

Kill her! She’s nothing but a--

“Aww! You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?”

Her sweetly-spoken words cut through me like a Nightslash. Me...cute…?

The girl reaches in her leather purse and gets out a Pokeball. She already has six strapped on a belt hanging around her waist, but… she can’t possibly be trying to catch me. No, nobody would want a Banette like me. She must be some sort of special Trainer with seven Pokemon.
But…the red-and-white capsule comes flying at me before I can dodge it. I expect it to strike me hard between the eyes, but it stops just before it hits me and suddenly a heavenly white light flashes around me. I’m enveloped in the light now, and a peace comes over me, melting all of my hatred and all the physical agony caused by my pin needles… It’s a stark contrast to the dark, depressing drawer Mia always stuffed me in...

No! She’s just like Mia!

Suddenly the light disappears and I’m back on the cold concrete ground, a broken Pokeball rolling to a stop against my leg. The girl simply giggles…

“It’s okay! Go on, go inside!”

She flings another ball at me and again I’m surrounded by the peaceful light. And it’s now I begin to think… so what if she’s just like Mia? Would it be so bad if I was loved again, even if only for a little while…? I think about the rush of sheer joy I felt as Mia ran around her house with me as a child, holding hands with me as I flopped around through the cool air. I think about lying on the floor with her in her teenage years as we listened to music, just being still in each others arms and being at peace. And I think about the pain… the pain of being locked in that dark drawer waiting for her, the pain of being junked into a dumpster unwanted and alone… but somehow… I don’t care about the latter thoughts. Somehow… it doesn’t sound so bad, going through the love and hate again. It sounds… worth it.

I ignore the frantic voices in my head telling me to fight this. They’re all but background noise now as I hear a click! that is both loud and soft at the same time. Because I realize now… it isn’t the hate and anger that’s made me feel alive all this time. It’s been the love. I realize now that love is not just a magical rush of joy, but a rush of pain and longing, one that is both miserable and beautiful. The hate and anger simply taught me this lesson, one slow step at a time. Pain has been my mentor, agony has been my tutor… and they have taught me that to love is to truly hurt, and to hurt is to truly live.
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Phoenix
Centurion
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Age : 30
Posts : 586

Re: Prompt Replies

Post by Phoenix on Fri Jul 17, 2015 8:06 am

Write the farewell of two best friends that know they will never see each other again.

They sat back to back, naught but the rough bark of the tree between them, but nary was a word spoken. It was time, they both knew it. Time to let go and move on, to see what else the world had to offer. Childhood doesn’t last forever, things change as do the people we once knew. So even as the girls sat in their comfortable silence it wasn’t as though this meeting was a mystery to either one.

“You left…” whispered the first girl, soft and shimmering brown curls blowing gently in the wind. The sorrow on her face was evident, because even though you know something can’t last forever it still hurts when it is gone. The older girl sighed, head leaning back to rest on the scratchy surface of her prop, blonde waves thankfully not catching in the textured wood. She closed her grey eyes slowly and let out a heavy sigh, the weight of her feelings nearly crushing her heart inside its bone shelter. “I know…”

Several minutes passed again as the two once more resumed their period of hollow silence, each with an ocean of feelings to convey but neither seeing the point when this was the end. As the sun slowly started to dip in the horizon the shadow of their tree stretched across the fields to point at two identical houses. The one on the left was if out of a picture, worn but cheery as life bustled within. The shutters were open and the light poured out onto the soft green grass and blooming garden that wrapped around the small country home. The other was dark and worn, sadly falling apart and looking all the more run down as its picturesque sister stood only an acre away.

“I didn’t leave on purpose,” the second girl finally admitted, eyes drawing away from the crumbling house. “I joined the Army.” The brunette hugged her knees to her chest and pulled her skirt around them tightly, knuckles clenching tightly. “But you didn’t even say goodbye…” she whimpered, burying her face in her knees. “We were shipped out right after basic, I didn’t know I was going until the day before. They barely even let me warn my parents, and even then it was just a hastily scrawled letter in the middle of the night.” The defense sounded as pathetic in her head as it did out loud but sadly it was the truth. She might have found time to write one more letter but she had been scared of what would happen the following morning. Too scared to remember to write the girl who was practically her sister.

As the last shimmers of daylight danced in the sky a cold wind rustled the tree, leaves falling around the pair like a halo. Pulling her over-sized uniform jacket closed the blonde shivered but her companion was still too upset to move. “Why did you do it?” the blonde finally asked. Raising her eyes from her knees, the green orbs shimmering with tears, the curled head did nothing but shake. “I don’t know…” she finally whispered. “I guess I just missed you too much.” Tears brimmed in the grey eyes of the veteran, threatening to spill with the threat of unresolved sorrow. “You were so sweet and happy,” she sniffled, fear not allowing her to even turn to look at the blonde as she finally got the weight off her chest. “You could have waited for me to contact you at least so you knew I would come home. You could have waited for me…”

The pain was too great to continue any longer as the tears finally spilled over, the blonde covering her face and sobbing openly. It was finally dark, and the moon shone high overhead. Once again the pair sat forlornly underneath the oak but as the cool winds blew a yellow ribbon played gently between them. The tendrils of the ribbon danced gently across the face of the first girl, the brunette sniffling quietly before finally uncurling her legs. She dug the heels of her hands to wipe her eyes free of tears as a sorrowful smile finally broke her expression. “But you didn’t come back…” she whispered softly, standing up and catching the edge of the yellow ribbon on her shoulder. Turning gently her childhood features suddenly vanished and a pale young woman with dark hair stood in her place, adjusting the bow of the ribbon as it tried to unravel.

As her friend stood the blonde too rose to her feet, but her features did not change. The moonlight shone through her translucent body as blood patterns danced across her uniform, color fading from her form as she turned to finally look at her childhood friend who was no longer a child. Yet she would forever be one, a child that is. A child sent off to a war she didn’t understand and one of the countless lost in a bombing that wiped out an entire neighborhood of the city she had been patrolling. “I may not have come back,” she admitted, “but a part of me never left.” She walked around the tree and tapped gently at the necklace shining on the brunette’s neck. Half of a heart that read ‘St. Ends. Ever.’ Opening her friend’s palm she placed a silver chain delicately inside before closing it again, tears still softly trailing down her cheeks as she stepped away into the moonlight.

“Don’t forget,” she said softly, sad smile playing across her face. She watched as her friend opened her palm and let out a heart wrenching sob. Another half of a heart with the etching ‘Be. Fri. For’ sat lightly in her hand. How many years had she spent wondering if her friend had even though of her after leaving? How many times had she pushed people away for fear they would leave her too? As she held the small trinket in her hand she suddenly became overwhelmed with laughter. Her sorrow suddenly lifted and she felt lighter than she had in years, playing with the pendant in her palm before lifting the chain up and clipping it behind her neck, revealing thin scars playing up her arms and wrists. She lowered her hands and allowed the two silver pieces to clank delicately together before smiling back at her lost friend. “I’ll never forget. I Promise.” And even as the blonde’s ethereal form began to fade the two girls found themselves repeating to each other a childhood promise that transcended even death, knowing that this time would be the last time they ever got to say it. "We'll always be..."

“Best.
Friends.
Forever.”
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Lespri
Ace
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Age : 23
Posts : 4

Prompt Reply

Post by Lespri on Wed Aug 26, 2015 3:43 pm

@Lespri Your prompt is as follows:

It has been a month since the nukes went off, and the creatures have only multiplied.



“Voice log number 313, Dr. Vorne speaking. The date is August 23rd of the year 2027. I am in the underground lab so graciously offered to us by Bethesda Naval Hospital. My research is going quite well, making leaps and bounds now that I have to proper equipment with which to work. The fatality rate of the test subjects has fallen to a mere 5% and their learning abilities are incredible. Some have even begun trying to mimic human voices. I only hope we can continue this astonishing pattern of growth. I must tend to their feeding now, so I conclude my audio log with this note. This research will change the world. ” A smooth voice intoned from a battered black object that sat, like some sort of dangerous creature, on a steel table delivering it’s tale to a circle of tense onlookers. As the last words dwindled and the recorder clicked off, there was a moment of silence before a gruff voice whispered a single question.
   
 “You mean to tell me… That our own government created those… Those freaks?!” The voice belonged to a rather young man, contrary to his voice. His skin was a deep pitch, scars and new wounds alike showing lighter against his dark skin. He slammed a fist on the table, eyes flashing as he hissed, “Why the hell would the military do something like this?!” The others seemed shocked at his outburst. His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace as he jarred his shoulder, setting a young woman fluttering about him. Her short blonde locks hung in unkempt hanks, and as she ran a hand through them, stuck up giving her the look of having been electrified.

“Judge, you’ve got to calm down. You’ll reopen those stitches and you know how hard it was to even get ahold of surgical thread.” As her nimble fingers moved over his skin she spoke softly to him. “I know how you must feel. The military was your home and family. But we know that even the greatest often do despicable things..” Her soothing seemed to calm him and his muscles unlocked slowly as he sighed. Her wide blue eyes were lined with slight crevices, brought on by stress and lack of sleep; she certainly didn’t look like a young woman fresh out of her residency with medical school. Her thin mouth was pinched with concentration as she checked over her companion’s stitches. “It all looks good here.” Straightening up she looked at the others for a long moment and when she finally spoke, her voice was grim. “That’s not the only thing I found down here either...”

Terra approached the table, setting down a folder gingerly and opening it. “It says here that they had 15 of these experiments in this lab. So tell me why we’ve killed 20.” She spread the papers out, ignoring the rust colored stains they bore, across the table so the others could see. “It says here that the week before the bombs dropped, they were introducing something. A breeding program of sorts. The only thing is that the things they were using to create more Freaks? They were human beings. Dead, albeit, but humans. The last notes say only one thing.” She set the page down and in glaring red ink read the words. Experiment Successful. The gasps that answered were full of horror and Terra once more ran a hand through her hair and sighed, “Can anyone tell me what’s outside this compound?” The realization seemed to hit like a jolt and the group dispersed into panicked talking.

Judge walked quietly towards the door towards the back of the room, his hand gliding over his head, noting how his once shaved scalp was beginning to prickle with growth. Pacing back and forth, he seemed to be thinking deeply, mumbling to himself softly. “The world above…” He paused, “It’s a god damn incubator for them. They can use bodies no matter the condition, they can fight, they can kill us all.” When he swiveled, moving to make another circuit, Terra was standing in front of him with an odd expression. “Terra? What’s wrong with you?” He reached out to touch her shoulder and she whispered softly, leaning into him.

“There’s one of them in here with us.” His body tensed and he disguised it by pulling her close in what seemed to be a sympathetic embrace and she continued. “Bartholomew has been acting strange since he came back from the scouting trip through the labs below. I didn’t put it together till I read the notes.” Her voice took on an edge, “They can, if they get into a still living body, use it like a puppet. Access it’s thoughts and memories, use its voice.” Judges eyes found the man in question, who oddly enough seemed unfazed. The man’s shaggy brown hair was pulled back out of his face horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Though the strange thing was not his reaction, but the fact that he was simply standing, up and moving about. “That wound he came back with. He should have been dead Judge. It should have killed him. And even if it didn’t, we are in a top grade medical lab but he still wouldn’t have recovered so quickly.” As Judge listened, Bartholomew turned to meet his gaze and the man’s maw split into a hideous smile.

“Terra.” He spoke to her softly, “Did those files say anything about their learning curve?” She nodded. “Did they say anything about what would happen if one of the experiments managed to get their hands on a living body?” Another nod and he looked down at her. “Terra. He knows.” A soft moan of horrified realization escaped her as she turned to face Bartholomew.

“How long?” Her voice quavered as she watched him turn towards her fully. To her growing horror the other’s slowly began to turn as well, their mouth’s curling into those horrendous smiles. For the first time she noticed the differences. The eyes were too wide, as though in perpetual surprise and the pupils were pin pricks against Irises. The fevers that had befallen the group, one by one, after Barty had returned. Terra had always written it up to Radiation exposure. She spoke again, squaring her shoulders and attempting to block out the feeling of growing panic. “How long God damn you?!” She shouted at them, hating and fearing their frozen faces. They had tricked her and Judge, fooled them as they slowly took over. Her voice rasped as she asked once more, “Tell me how long you have been here.”

A voice whispered from behind Terra, his chapped lips brushing her ear, “Since the bombs went off.” Tears streaked down her cheeks as his hand came down, striking her across the base of the skull, and as her vision faded he murmured to her. “Our survival is all thanks to you Terra.”
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BatEmmaman
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Age : 19
Posts : 34

Re: Prompt Replies

Post by BatEmmaman on Sat Dec 12, 2015 3:42 pm

A human with the power of invincibility is also the most unluckiest person in the world.



“God dammit,” she cursed. All around her were pieces of wood and strings of a piano splayed across the pavement. People didn’t actually get pianos dropped on them that only happened in movies.
Yet here she was with chunks of the instrument sticking out of her fawn hair and stuck to her clothes. She let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the people screaming at her.
“Oh my god, lady are you okay,” a man shouted from above her. He had a thick, greying beard and shock was clear on his aging face. “Hold on, I’ll be right down!”
“No it’s okay,” she called back, but it was too late. God, all she wanted was to go to the grocery store. She returned to picking out the scraps that stuck to her. She thought about running, refusing to give an explanation and hoping that no one would be around the next time bad luck attacked her. Sometimes she envisioned a dark cloaked figure following her around, using his magic to test her invincibility at every turn. She sighed and turned to walk away just as the man got to the sidewalk.
“Hey lady, hold on,” he said, wrapping a callused hand around her upper arm. “Are you hurt, I can drive you to the hospital, my car is right around the corner?”
“I’m fine thanks, it didn’t actually hit me, just missed me. You should really be more careful.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, a blush spreading across his cheeks from underneath his facial hair. “My partner called in sick so I didn’t have any help today.”
She rolled her brown eyes and shrugged him off before walking away, dodging pieces piano strewn around the cement.

What a fucking day, she thought. Twice in ten minutes. For the second time her little bad luck demon has attacked. She can’t even cross the street without almost being exposed.
It wasn’t even a car this time, she couldn’t count the times a car has hit –or almost- hit her. No of course not, she said as she shoved her way out from under the stop sign she was smothered under. Her t-shirt was torn and cut up from the sign and being dragged across the pavement. She loved this shirt, sure she had a flannel shirt of every color, but she was still going to miss the destroyed red flannel.
She choked down a chuckle at losing her red flannel to the same colored sign. She turned to the car that had slammed into the sign. Luckily the man inside didn’t seem too injured, if anything he looked annoyed. His glare rivaled hers, and she flipped him off before (once again) leaving the scene.
Her simple walk to the grocery store has turned into an absolute disaster, and she wasn’t at all surprised. She thought about giving up, going home to her apartment where only small, hidden disasters. But she was craving those god damn ranch flavored chips, and gods help her she was going to get them.
She kept walking, despite her ripped up shirt and she tried to stop herself from glaring at everyone she passed, but that was getting harder and harder to do.
Maybe it was a despicable, dark cloaked monster that followed her around. Or perhaps it was a fluffy, goofy creature that was just trying to have fun. Like a cat that knocks a glass of water off the table, just an animal craving attention.
She ignored the funny looks she got as she made it to the store, a child pointed at her and his mother pulled him away, and an elderly woman sent her a disapproving look. She ignored them as she rushed to the chip aisle. She searched up and down the lane and almost screamed when she couldn’t find any.
She stomped towards the exit barely flinched when a pyramid of cans fell on top of her. She finally let out an angry scream from underneath the aluminum mountain she was buried under.
Taking a few, deep breaths to calm down she began climbing out of the pile. She made eye contact with a panicking mother and a weeping child. She turned to them, held her arms up to show that she wasn’t hurt. “It’s okay, I’m fine. Please don’t cry.”
She had never been good with children, they were too breakable and she had too much bad luck. The mother nodded and pulled her sobbing child away after seeing she was okay.
She turned to the doors solemnly and started heading home without her potato chips. As she passed the express line the man called to her.
She almost cried when she saw he was holding up a bag of her ranch flavored chips. “You’re my hero,” she told him, pulling her money out of her back pocket.
“I know how you can be when you don’t get your chips,” he said, laughing. “How many accidents did you have on your way over?”
“Only three, I’ve definitely seen worse.”
“That’s for sure. Well good luck getting home.”
“Thanks,” she said, collecting her change and rushing out. She clenched her back of chips to her chest, nothing was going to stop her now.
(Fate laughed, pulling their strings,  eyes on the girl)

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Re: Prompt Replies

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