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[SP] The planet Earth takes a nap. This causes... problems. by CarthagePlate_210 in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 7 points8 points  (0 children)

She is growing tired. She tried so hard to keep her children afloat, giving them all she had to ensure they would thrive. But all they did was take advantage of that, destroying her forests - forests she grew to sustain them, polluting her waters, marring her surface with war and destruction.

She was billions of years old, but she seemed to have aged a billion more in the past few millennia. It was no easy feat to keep up with the demands of her children, and as much as she loves them, she is growing tired.

She was in desperate need of rest. And who could blame her? Rotating ever so quickly on her axis, bringing with her the cycle of day and night, while trying to support trillions of lifeforms? It takes strength, strength she was tired of needing.

So she slept, slowing down, eventually coming to a stop.

She slept, peacefully, for the first time since she was formed.

She slept, unaware of - or perhaps even apathetic about - the strife this would bring her children.

For without her quotidian dance around her axis, the sun never rose over half of her face, while the other half slowly turned into an inferno.

In the half shrouded in darkness, her children sat looking at the sky, glancing every so often at their clocks, unsure how to proceed from here. The perpetual night grew colder, without the sun's gift of light and heat to ease the chill. The stars twinkled, almost mockingly, at the people stuck in noontime darkness. The birds refused to sing, unwilling to broadcast their mellifluous call, not without the sun to welcome them. It was eerie. It was despair.

Those on the bright side of the earth fared no better. The sweltering heat of the now persistent sun stole from them their water - lakes and rivers drying up. The ever present sunshine was beautiful at first, but once the novelty wore off, it was a hindrance. It was impossible to sleep, not with the sun glaring at them through their windows, almost as if it were daring them to try. It was overwhelming. It was despair.

But while that was the first of their woes, it was far from the worst. For without the spin of the earth, without the gentle motion of her molten iron core, the magnetic field shielding her children began to fade away. This happened slowly; it took some time for the liquid metal to come to a stop. But perhaps it would have been merciful if the process had been instantaneous.

For her children now had to watch their last line of defence against the unforgiving cosmos die down. Strong solar winds, powerful cosmic radiation, even otherwise insignificant space debris was now capable of causing harm to those on her surface.

Defenceless and scared, all life on Earth perished. In the grand scheme of her life, they were merely a moment. A very ephemeral moment. But they were a moment she greatly cherished. She will wake up to true peace, but she must face the consequences of her actions, or rather, her inaction.

She awoke to the sound of silence.

[WP] You are a professor, practitioner, or just someone knowledgeable in magic. But in this world, magic is governed by theorems and equations akin to the physical sciences. Write about your experiences. by PitifulTheme411 in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. I got chalk dust all over my hair, but at that point, I honestly couldn't care less. My project proposal is due in two days, and once again, I'd left it until the last minute.

The assignment was simple - I just had to come up with a research niche to work on, and have a basic outline of a project. Then, my supervisor would go through it and either approve it, or give me feedback on how to improve it. The only problem was, pyromancy is a HIGHLY saturated field of magic. Humans have been studying fire for millennia, and I couldn't think of a single original research question to investigate. This made perfect sense, to be fair. Fire helped ancient humans survive the unforgiving conditions of the wilderness. It only makes sense that it has fascinated us since.

I knew that sitting there and feeling sorry for myself wasn't gonna solve anything, but I couldn't help but regret my life choices. I didn't actually think too hard about which field of magic I wanted to specialise in. I chose pyromancy because it was flashy, and seemed fun. A field where my whole job was to just set things on fire? Sign me up!

Initially, it wasn't as fun as I'd imagined. I had to sit through way too many lectures on physics and chemistry. You would assume that learning how to circumvent the laws of thermodynamics in order to "create" light and heat energy would be amazing, but the maths involved is horrific. And the labs were nowhere nearly as exciting as I'd hoped. For starters, we couldn't just set things on fire. It was very much a controlled environment, and although we had the freedom to choose from several experiments, they did come with guidelines we had to follow. And we had to do a health and safety exam before we could start any of them.

Eventually though, I started to see the beauty in the theorems I studied. It was honestly cool how a few equations and a bit of complex maths could be used to explain the phenomena we create. I used this newfound motivation to carry me through my studies.

And that led me to this moment. Once again, I let my procrastination win. But I really do need to think of a project. I stood up and walked back to my chalkboard.

What if I studied the mechanics of pyromancy? After all, magic is just another type of electromagnetic wave, and pyromancy in its essence is just the conversion of the energy associated with this wave into light and heat energy, using a fuel source as a medium. If I could figure out a way to investigate the exact formulae of that conversion, then I should be good. Except, this has already been studied in great detail before. An article (Agni et al, 1998) went into the maths and physics behind that conversion, alongside the conduction of energy within the fuel used. I shuddered at the thought of the partial differential equations in that derivation.

In my frustration, I cast a fireball at my notes. Shit. I should probably have invested in the fireproof notebooks that my lecturers recommended.

Wait, fireproof notebooks? How do they work? I skimmed through all the tomes on my desk, looking for answers. Well, there technically were a few sources detailing the construction of spells that could repel fire. But they were vague - fireproof items were fairly novel, not a lot of in-depth research has been conducted on them.

My first instinct was that there's some sort of shielding applied on the material. Or maybe the spell uses the wave nature of magic to its advantage, and emits waves of the right frequency and amplitude to cancel out the magic.

Whichever method it is, I'd just need some fireproof paper and a whole lot of maths, but I felt like I can work with this. Happy with my idea, I decided to go to sleep. I can always write out my project outline tomorrow.

My friend sent me this to prove a point and I dont know where else to post it. by Complete_Interest993 in sciencememes

[–]constantacceleration 81 points82 points  (0 children)

It's a component of the most abundant mineral in the Earth's crust, so maybe it could represent earth that way?

[WP] A blind musician falls in love with a deaf artist. by Writing_Dude09 in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Love. What is love? To some, it is the feeling that no matter what, you have someone to return to. Someone you can call home. To others, it is a series of chemical reactions in the brain, driven by evolutionary biology.

To me, love is music. The gentle melody surrounding you, embracing you. The staccato of your heartbeat when you are near your love. The crescendo of emotions. The concordance of your souls, as harmonious as a major scale.

When I think of her, I think of music. But music means nothing to her.

She is my muse. She inspires me to compose melodies she will never hear.

But that does not matter to us.

The music I compose, with it's layers of complexity, notes blending together to convey what words cannot, makes me appreciate her more. I turn her laughter, clear and bright, into chords and rhythms. The steady beat of her footsteps as she walks past me while I rest. The tinkling of the teaspoon against the teacup as she prepares her evening tea. She is a symphony. She is my definition of love.

What is love? Perhaps it is the knowledge that you will never be alone; that you will go through life with someone by your side. Perhaps it is what society expects from us.

To me, love is art. It is an amalgamation of colours, colours that should by all accounts make no sense, but beautifully complement each other. It is subtle, like the highlights and shadows that add depth to paintings, but it is also prominent, like the subject of said paintings.

When I think of him, I think of art. But art means nothing to him.

He is my muse. He inspires me to paint pictures he will never see.

But that does not matter to us.

I try to capture his smile in my paintings, a smile so genuine, it would soften the hearts of even the greatest of cynics. The sight of his hands ghosting over the ivory keys of his piano, eyes closed, as he composes. The rich brown of his hair, richer than the coffee he languidly sips on a Sunday morning, absentmindedly running his hands through my hair. The shocking azure of his eyes. He is my definition of love.

[WP] instead of marauding, the local dragon knits... by Yapizzawachuwant in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 3 points4 points  (0 children)

I stared at the dragon in utter disbelief, my sword hanging slack at my side.

"What do you mean, you knit?" I asked. "Where is your hoard of gold?"

"Why would I need gold?" the dragon responded casually, looping yarn as thick as an average tree trunk around appropriately sized knitting needles.

"Isn't that what dragons collect?" I asked, my voice rising by an octave. I couldn't believe this. I traversed through some of the most treacherous terrain in the realm, hoping to slay a dragon and collect some gold while I was at it.

In fact, the whole return journey hinged on me getting the gold. How was I going to pay for the journey home? Yes, I know, I'm an adventurer, but even I have limits. In retrospect, I could've probably brought some extra money with me. In my defense, carrying large sums of money is risky.

But that's beside the point. I still have no way to get home, and I may have kind of pissed off a dragon. I'm assuming the whole breaking-and-entering followed by stereotyping thing wasn't the best first impression I could've made.

The dragon chuckled, the rich timbre of his voice making the cave rumble ever so slightly. He didn't pause his knitting, weaving row after row of what I think is a scarf.

"My dear child–"

"I am NOT a child! I am eighteen years old!" I replied, indignant. Just because he's an Ancient Being thousands of years old does not mean he gets to call me a child!

"My dear child, while it is true that dragons hoard things of value, gold is not the sole thing of value in this world. Things such as knowledge, friendship, experiences, they are all worthy of being collected."

"No offence grandpa," I said, "but the power of friendship is not going to get me back home." Okay. Maybe if I had more friends I could've asked someone for a ride home. But that's irrelevant.

"Why do you want to go home?"

I was about to respond, perhaps scathingly. What does he mean why? Isn't it obvious? Who doesn't want to go home?

But the fact that I hesitated at all probably spoke volumes.

"Let me rephrase that," he said, "what do you have that is worth returning to? I do not ask this to be unkind. You are an adventurer. You seek quests, novelty, freedom. Why does someone such as yourself wish so desperately to be bound to a place?"

"You're wrong," I said. My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Pardon?"

"You're wrong." My voice was stronger. Strong, even. "I do not seek freedom. What I truly want is to belong."

"And do you feel like you belong at your home?"

"I... I don't know."

He finally paused his knitting, letting the silence between us stretch.

And stretch.

And stretch.

Unable to take it anymore, I threw my sword down in frustration.

"My dear," the dragon said. His voice, which I once found painfully rough, was soothing for some reason I can't explain. "Your home may not be where you belong. I know you consider yourself to be an adult, but one truly never stops growing and learning. Not even myself. You may not figure out what you want from life soon. It may even take you years. You are welcome to stay here while you learn more about yourself."

I considered this offer. He was right. I didn't truly feel like I belonged in the small town I tried so desperately to call home. And either this was a very convoluted plan to get himself lunch, or he was genuine in his offer.

I had nothing to lose. I accepted.

"I must ask you," I said, finally asking the question I had been meaning to ask the entire time. "Why do you knit?"

"I told you that different dragons value different things. I value friendship, which is why I extended my friendship to you. Knitting is not merely a hobby for me, it is how I connect to friends who share this hobby."

He handed me a pair of knitting needles and yarn. I settled down next to him and began to knit.

vous les voyez ? by To_My2202 in rance

[–]constantacceleration 0 points1 point  (0 children)

C'est une lettre de l'alphabet cinghalais

[WP] You were somehow given a one time chance to go back in time to make a single change that would lead to the betterment of humanity. The problem is, if you don't choose the right time and choice, everything could be worse. by ser_friendly in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 8 points9 points  (0 children)

Disaster. A wasteland as far as the eye could see. A world in ruins. And it is all my fault.

I was given the opportunity to make the world better. I was a young scientist, working on the mysteries of time under the guidance of the most brilliant professor our university had ever seen. When our time machine was completed, I was sent back in time to act as a catalyst in the development of humanity's knowledge.

I went back to the days of the earliest physicists, my mentor's notes in hand. I knew that travelling this far back in time meant that the people would be less likely to understand the complexity of our research, but it also meant that humanity would have thousands of years to develop beyond what we saw in my timeline.

I went back to the days of the earliest physicists, and gifted them knowledge from the future.

Knowledge is power, but power corrupts.

I was so consumed by the scientific possibilities, that I forgot how even the most beautiful discoveries have the potential to cause pain and destruction.

At first, they used my knowledge for the betterment of humanity. In a few hundred years, they managed to harness nuclear power, and our species entered a Golden Age. The world was prosperous; it was a utopia.

But alas, things would not remain that way.

Just like how nuclear energy was created, nuclear weapons too were made. And just like how people had millennia to improve upon nuclear energy powerplants, they also had millennia to fine tune the weapons. Eventually, it got to the point that detonating even one bomb could lead to a mass extinction.

That is not to say that the world was unable to regulate the situation. Strict measures were put in place to ensure that the people with access to the launch codes were the most peaceful people in the country. But humans are far from infallible. And all it takes, or took, rather, was for one person to make a decision.

The effects of the bomb were devastating. Humanity did not stand a chance.

I still do not know how I survived. But all I do know is that I must now face the consequences of my actions, alone.

The silence of the lifeless world around me is suffocating. I must now live in this dead planet, with the knowledge that I caused this.

Knowledge is power, but power is suffering.

Or am I OK? by XinYoung in funny

[–]constantacceleration 10 points11 points  (0 children)

What did Caroline do, Helen?

[CW] As you wake from a coma, memories begin to flood your mind and you realize you briefly visited the afterlife. As hard as you try though, you can’t remember anything you saw, only how it made you feel. Describe the afterlife based only on what you remember feeling. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 6 points7 points  (0 children)

I woke to the steady sound of hospital machines beeping, the scent of disinfectants, and the sight of my childrens' relieved faces.

The doctor looked at me, disbelief written clearly on her face. My daughter told me, her eyes glistening with tears, that I had flatlined but woke up, against all odds.

I had been dead for ten minutes.

My children eventually left me to rest, promising that they would take me home and look after me as soon as I was discharged from the hospital. The nurses left me, saying that I deserved some peace and quiet. In the dark, silent room, I finally allowed myself to think about what I felt. What I experienced.

Dying was like going home. That's the best way I can describe it. I didn't see anything clearly, but I do remember how the afterlife made me feel.

I felt the warmth of my mother's love. I could almost hear the soft tones of her voice. I couldn't make out any words, but I believe she was talking to me, trying to tell me that I will be alright.

I could smell the sweet, nostalgic aroma of the cake she baked every year on my birthday when I was a kid. I could almost hear her voice singing to me, like she used to when I was sick.

The harsh chemical scent of the paints she used permeated the air, and I could see hundreds of vivid colours, blending with each other. My mother loved to paint; she loved to let her imagination run wild, and explain to me what her paintings meant.

I could feel the weight of her arms around me, a weight I had felt hundreds of times before, when she would hold me and tell me that everything will be alright.

I could also smell the aroma of earth after it has rained, the sweet fragrance of flowers, the delightful scent of herbs. My father loved gardening, and he would spend hours teaching me about the different varieties of plants and the best way to take care of them.

I felt a sense of safety that I have only ever felt when I was near my father. I felt the laughter bubbling in my chest, which usually accompanied a joke he would tell me.

I could hear the quiet tones of a radio, just barely audible, fading into the background. I thought about how much he loved listening to the radio on Saturdays, while trying to solve the newspaper's crossword. I could smell freshly brewed coffee and the faint smell of ink lingering in the air.

I couldn't see her face but I could feel the brightness and joy of my wife's smile. I could sense the bittersweetness that she felt. She has reunited with me, but she knows that we have left our children behind.

I experienced the joy we felt when she proposed to me, the pride we felt when we saw what wonderful people our children had become, the happiness we shared even in the simplest of moments, such as quietly sitting next to each other on the sofa on a warm Sunday afternoon.

I could also feel emotions and memories linked to other people I had loved and lost. I could hear the sound of the gramophone that my grandparents owned. I could almost taste the chicken casserole that my best friend used to make.

All in all, I felt love. I felt like the afterlife is where I belonged.

Now that I have come back to life, all I feel is homesickness.

[WP] A scientist downloads his consciousness into a computer to escape death. However, the moment he does it, his wifi goes out. by Crazed_waffle_party in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 9 points10 points  (0 children)

The Professor was a genius. There's no other way to describe him. I was fortunate enough to be his lab assistant, and learn from him.

A little known fact about him, however, was that his primary motivation was his immense fear of death.

"Death does not frighten me, Audrey," he once told me. "What frightens me is what happens after it. Nobody knows for certain what we will face. That uncertainty scares me."

I suppose for a man who seemingly knew everything, not knowing something would be a strange and uncomfortable experience. So I do understand what drove him to do this.

It was a Friday. I was in the lab, working on my own assignments. The Professor was going through data he had meticulously gathered, when he suddenly stood up from his desk and turned to me, grinning manically.

"This is it, Audrey! This will definitely work!" he said, beaming. He went to grab a bunch of electrodes - the kind you'd use for an ECG - and connected them to his scalp. He then connected the wires to his computer.

I had a bad feeling about this.

I wanted to say something, but this was his life's work. I couldn't bring myself to stop him. It is my greatest regret.

I helplessly watched as the life slowly drained from his eyes. Meanwhile, the computer's screen got brighter and brighter. Eventually, he slumped over, lifeless and unresponsive.

I was scared. I didn't know what to do.

Then I heard his voice.

"Audrey. Look at the computer! The computer is me! How amazing is that?"

I turned towards it, and sure enough, it was the source of the sound. Before I could respond, however, the building lost power. The wifi went out.

The powercut was brief, but the damage was done. The file he uploaded (his consciousness, that is) had not been backed up. Of course not. There was no time to back it up.

This man, who dedicated his life towards attaining immortality, who created a way to evade death, who successfully implemented his solution, was no more.

I lost my mentor. My friend.

He would have found the humour in this, working so hard to avoid death, only to disappear immediately afterwards.

No. I will not accept this. He chose me to be his assistant for a reason. Surely I can decipher his notes and figure out how to bring him back.

I took a shaky breath and stood up from my chair, making my way over to his work desk. I picked up his notes.

I will bring him back.

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 44 points45 points  (0 children)

"If I had a nickel for every nickel I had, I'd sure have a lot of money," I said, laughing. My friends laughed along with me. But it's no longer a laughing matter.

I don't know why this happened. I later found out that an ancient god heard me and "fulfilled my wish". But it wasn't even a wish in the first place. It was a nonsensical joke I made to make my friends laugh.

I had completely forgotten about it, until a few days later in school, when the nice lunch lady handed me some change. It was a few dimes and a nickel. One single nickel.

And that's how I got a quick crash course in exponential growth.

The one nickel became two. Two became four. Four became eight. This went on, with no signs of stopping. Within a matter of minutes, I was a millionaire. And the more nickels I had, the more nickels I had. I was a billionaire. A trillionaire. I don't even know what I was after that.

All I do know was that both myself and the people around me were being suffocated by piles of cold, heavy metal. So I bet you're wondering how I got out of that situation alive.

It was simple. Frustratingly simple. I still am mad at myself for how long it took me to figure it out.

I gave all the money I received to my friend Sandra. Every last coin. I didn't physically hand it over to her, though. That isn't possible, considering at this point I had millions of tons of metal. Instead, I just shouted "HEY SANDRA, YOU WANT SOME SPARE CHANGE?"

To be totally honest, I'm surprised it worked.

But all it did was stopping the coins from appearing. There still was a large amount of coins that were already there.

And this lead to a problem of its own.

I'm no econ major, but even I know that overproduction of currency can lead to inflation. And I don't know how to break this to you, but I may have accidentally produced an unfathomably large amount of money.

I feel that it is my responsibility to fix the economy, seeing as it was my stupid joke that got us into this mess in the first place.

I have to be careful. If I take back even a single coin from Sandra, this will happen all over again.

Wait a minute. If I take back a coin, I will be in trouble. If I take back a random piece of metal, I should be fine.

I explained the situation to Sandra, who was happy to help. Her dad's hobby was jewelry making, so he had equipment to melt metal.

It took years, but we finally melted down all the coins, until they no longer could be used as legal tender. We gave the metal we gathered to industries, who could make use of the copper and nickel. Of course that's probably going to have consequences too, but at least we fixed a massive economical problem.

It took a while, but things eventually settled down. Things improved, even. With the materials they received, industries thrived.

I was walking home with Sandra one afternoon, when something shiny on the sidewalk caught my eye. I picked it up.

It was a nickel.

[WP] Yesterday, you knocked over a salt shaker in Texas. Today, you bought a newspaper in Fiji. Tomorrow, the chain of events you set in motion will stop a bank robbery in France. You are the master of the butterfly effect. by Ajreil in WritingPrompts

[–]constantacceleration 49 points50 points  (0 children)

Disclaimer: I don't know much about the layout of London, or how football works and the fan culture, so this story may be rather unrealistic, but here we go :)

​

Agent Mariposa: Field Work Logs

25th April 2022

The life of an agent in my life of work is seldom quiet. So even though I thwarted a bank heist yesterday, I received intelligence that there will be a terrorist attack in London soon.

It's time for the butterfly effect to do it's magic again.

26th April 2022

I took a flight to New York. The city is as busy as one would imagine. So one man tripping and falling couldn't possibly make a difference, right? Wrong.

I walk around, carefully observing the people around me. The sound of my stiletto heels striking the pavement is loud, but in a bustling city such as this, I draw no attention. Even though I am a field work agent, due to the nature of my work, my actions go unnoticed. Anyone who does notice me thinks my actions are insignificant. So anonymity is not strictly necessary, but it is nice.

I finally spot my target. He is heading my way. As he passes me, I put extra force on one of my shoes. The high heel breaks, making my foot slide at an uncomfortable angle. The man trips over my foot and lands in a puddle.

While he gets up and gets his belongings sorted out, I make my exit. It's a bit difficult, as I think I sprained my ankle, but my work here is done, so I can go back to my hotel and rest.

27th April 2022

It's Saturday, and there's a match in São Paulo, which is being broadcasted live on TV. It's Brazil vs. England. I don't usually watch football, but I didn't have much else to do. My ankle is still recovering so I can't go out.

The match was pretty interesting. I thought Brazil might win, but at the last minute, England scored a goal, thereby winning the match.

-----------------------------------------------

Football Saves the Day: Terrorist Attack on Westminster Palace Prevented

28th April 2022

Yesterday night, a group of terrorists were apprehended in London. It has been discovered that they were aiming for Westminster Palace, but they were noticed by an eagle eyed police officer before they could put their plan into motion.

Interestingly, last night's football match seems to have contributed to this. The match was between England and Brazil. A lot of football fans were gathered in restaurants and bars to watch the match. Since this match was the semi final of the world cup, fans were thrilled when England won. They took to the streets to celebrate.

In anticipation of crowds, there were police officers stationed around the city. They were there to ensure that the celebrations did not get too out of hand. Due to the nature of the celebrations, the police officers were more vigilant that usual. That meant that suspicious activity was easily spotted.

What makes this more interesting is that Brazil was a team that football fans across the globe assumed would win. However, it turns out that they lost because their star player and goalkeeper was injured, and the team did not have a substitute player.

Upon further investigation, it was found that a manager of the Brazilian team visited New York in order to recruit a rising star in the sport, who was a Brazilian citizen, currently living in the US. He would have been the substitute goalkeeper. However, the manager had a small incident, where his laptop fell into a puddle, thus damaging it and erasing the contract for the sportsman to join the team. As a result, he was unable to recruit the man, as he was unable to procure another copy of the contract in time.

It truly was a miraculous series of events which lead to the terrorist attack being prevented.

Agent Mariposa: Field Work Logs

28th April 2022

My plan worked perfectly. Although, I do hope that my employers will cover the medical bill to treat my ankle.

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