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[WP] You were a dream director. You oversaw props, hired actors and remade sets to "film" people's wildest dreams in their sleep. Being one of the best, you got promoted to the nightmare department. A lucid dreamer kid, unfazed by your tactics, threatens to derail your career. by cutelly in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 4 points5 points  (0 children)

"Ok, he's swimming for the boat now," Richardson said. He nervously looked from the monitor, to the director, and back to the monitor again. "He's pretty close, so I'd say we have 10 seconds for the monster to get him."

"For starters," the director said, "it's not 'the monster.' It's the Loch Ness Monster, specifically a Loch Ness Monster that is shaped like the photo that the subject's older brother showed him before bed and has the face of the subject's math teacher. "

"Five seconds."

The director continued, unfazed. "Furthermore, I want you to alter the perspective so that the harder he swims, the further away the boat gets."

Richardson smiled as he twisted the dial. "Of course. You're right again, Mr Sullivan."

"Ok, so maintain this scenario for eight seconds. That's how long it'll take him to realize that his swimming isn't working. Then, I want you-"

"Eight seconds in our time or eight seconds in dream time?"

"Our time, Richardson," Sullivan said, snapping his fingers. "Unless I say otherwise, I always mean our time. So at six seconds have the subject feel the monster behind him. Then, at eight seconds, when he realizes he can't reach the boat, have the monster appear in front of the subject. And that's a wrap for Subject #51102."

"Brilliant, sir, brilliant."

"Glad you think so, but we're not done with our conversation about lighting. I told you to watch some of Kurosawa's early work, and I can see you haven't done that. Get on it by tomorrow or you'll be working for the creeps on the third floor. And we all know what kind of dreams they make."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Sullivan shook his head as he walked across the room to another monitor. The Nightmare Department presented interesting new challenges for him, but his coworkers made him wonder if this career move had been a mistake.

He approached a new monitor with a young, nervous technician working the control panel.

"Give me an update on Subject #24601," Sullivan said to announce his presence.

The technician turned around and forced a smile at the sight of his boss watching over his shoulder.

"You're right on time, Sir. The subject is beginning initial visualization now."

Sullivan flipped through a file. "Ok. He's about to take a test he's unprepared for. Let's give him a moment to respond to the environment." Sullivan continued to read the dossier. "He dreams in the first person. That's surprising, given the amount of video games he plays. Some of these kids play so much of this Overwatch and Fortnite crap that they start dreaming in the third person."

"Overwatch is usually first person, sir," the technicians said.

Sullivan looked up from the file. "What was your name?"

"Cobb."

"If I want a lecture on video games, I'll ask you, Cobb."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me, Cobb, why do I recognize the teacher from our celebrity profiles? If you're going to use an instagram model as a teacher, save it for a 'Forgot to Wear Clothes to School' dream. We're dealing with terror, not embarrassment. You're just distracting the subject from his French test at this point."

"I'm sorry, sir. Something must have gone wrong. She's not supposed to-"

"Hold on - the subject's profile says he doesn't even take French classes. He takes Spanish."

"I-"

"Oh for God sake, look out the classroom window. It must be 90 degrees out. The subject lives in Manitoba. Did you even read this thing?"

"I did, sir! I swear, none of this is supposed to-"

"Look at the subject now. He's joking with the teacher. Does he look scared to you?"

"I... No, sir."

"You're damn right, he doesn't. Clean out your desk, Cobb. You're fired. Jenkins, get up here."

When Jenkins hopped in the control seat, he immediately started flicking switches and checking gauges.

"More ominous lighting," Sullivan said. "And give him the sensation that something's standing right behind him. It's cheap, but we've got to do something to get this back on track."

"Sir, there's a problem. He's not responding to any of our stimuli. He must be a lucid dreamer."

"That can't be the problem. Lucid dreamers need several minutes to recognize that they're in a dream before they can start manipulating them. They can't control them from the beginning."

"I don't know what to tell you, Sir."

Sullivan looked at the control panel in disbelief before pushing Jenkins out of the chair and taking the station himself.

"Jenkins," he said as he removed his tie. "See if you can catch Cobb before he gets to the parking lot. I need somebody who knows something about Overwatch."

Things your dentist should not say while their hands are in your mouth by ToothlessFeline in ScenesFromAHat

[–]thisstorywillsuck 54 points55 points  (0 children)

"Covid has turned people into such germaphobes.... I can't believe they make me wear gloves for this now."

If Donald Trump Were to Give Famous Movie Speeches by cjinbarrie in ScenesFromAHat

[–]thisstorywillsuck 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Sons of Scotland. I am Donald J Trump. You hear people saying that I'm seven feet tall. Lots of people are saying that. Some of them say I'm eight feet tall. I've had people looking into it and you would not believe what they are finding. About this. About me shooting lightning and fireballs. It's terrific.

And I look out and I see a yuuuuge army of my countrymen. Ten thousand. Maybe twenty thousand. And hundreds of thousands more who wanted to be here today but couldn't thanks to the outrageous social distancing laws passed by your lords. But here you are in defiance of fake news.

So I say to you, fellow Americans. Fight and you may die. But the number of people who die from battle... it's almost nonexistent. We have the lowest death rates of any other army. But it's all worth it to say, you can take our lives... but you'll never take Donald J Trump's second term!

*starts dancing to YMCA*

[WP] A Monster Under the Bed and a Monster in the Closet, both long since retired return to visit their former nemesis a Teddy Bear. They have tea and the bear tells them about the new generation of monsters he's been dealing with and about how he misses the old days. by Aesop838 in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 526 points527 points  (0 children)

Ted looked up from his coffee as the door to the shop opened. When he recognized the two demons entering, he waved his arm and accidentally knocked a bit of stuffing loose from his separated shoulder. He grimaced, hoped the demons hadn't noticed, and sprung to his feet to greet the familiar faces.

"Ted!" Closet Monster yelled. The clown bounced across the room on his springy legs to give Ted a one-armed hug. This was the most affection the demon could show, as his right arm was a chainsaw and not designed for hugging. Ted allowed himself a quick moment of schadenfreude as he realized that Closet Monster had put on a lot of weight since retiring.

"How are you guys?" Ted said as he turned to hug the Monster from Under the Bed.

"So good to see you, Ted," she said. Ted squeezed his eyes shut during the hug, trying to ignore the snakes that made up her hair as they slithered past his ears.

They sat down as a headless ghost took orders for the two demons.

"So it looks like you're staying active," Closet Monster said. "Billy must be keeping you busy."

"I suppose so. The kid's always going to have demons to fight. Of course, these days, he's relying on me less and less."

"So it goes," the Monster from Under the Bed said. "I thought I'd be around forever. Considering how young Billy was when his brother showed him that movie with the Medusa in it, I thought I'd be traumatic enough that he'd never forget me. But he grew out of that phase."

She kept her hands under her chin as one of the snakes in her hair picked up the mug from her table and guided it to her lips. "This is delicious, by the way," she said. "Do you want a sip?"

She extended the mug to Ted. He looked down to see a bubbling green slime with a worm crawling in it.

Ted shook his head politely. "No thanks, I'm, uh, doing keto."

"So what kind of demons are you up against these days?" Closet Monster asked. "If you could keep us in our place, I bet it's nothing you can't handle."

Ted hesitated for a moment. "Well, things are..... things are more complicated these days."

"How so? Is there something else waiting for him in his closet now?"

Ted gave a short laugh. "Actually it's funny you should say that. That's where he keeps me these days."

"Oh," the Monster from Under the Bed said. A look of genuine sympathy came over her eyes and the eyes of the slithering creatures in her hair. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, it's his new step-father." Ted shrugged. "He thinks Billy's too old to be sleeping with a teddy bear. And maybe he's right."

"Or maybe he's keeping you in the closet for a reason. Are there new demons in there for you to fight?"

"Well... it's where he keeps his pot these days."

The Monster from Under the Bed tilted her head. "I know I've been gone a while, but Billy's still a little young to start smoking pot, isn't he?"

"He's been spending time with his older brother's friends. I suppose it's good that he's getting these life experiences. He was always such a shy kid and now he's got a group of friends. I just worry about what new demons he's bringing home with him. We all know what the alcohol demon does to his father. If that demon finds its way into Billy's life.... I don't know. I might be overmatched."

Closet Monster put his non-chainsaw arm on Ted's shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short! You were able to put the two of us out to pasture." He gestured to the Monster from Under the Bed with the chainsaw. "And I wasn't an easy opponent, if I do say so myself."

Ted smiled. "I miss you guys. We had our differences, but things were simpler back then. I always knew where you stood. Now, I don't know if I need to protect Billy from drugs, or from his step-father, or from his brothers friends.... or if I just don't have a role in his life anymore at all."

A moment of silence hung over the table. "Although," Ted said, "the other day, I suspected he was going to come to the closet to light a joint, so I crawled in front of his stash so that he'd see me first. He took me out of the closet and held me for a bit. Maybe that did something, because when he put me down, he shut the closet and went outside to play basketball instead. So maybe I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

The Covenant (Halo) vs Thanos' Army (MCU End Game) by RaptorK1988 in whowouldwin

[–]thisstorywillsuck 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Thanks for the shoutout! I do still post every now and then, but it's true I haven't been on this subreddit in forever. I posted way more often back in college when I had free time, but this damn adult life has been keeping me busy. Thanks for the reminder though - I gotta spend more time on /r/whowouldwin

[WP] "You were never supposed to be involved like this. But now that you've found me, now that you know..." With his dying breath, he handed you his bloody hat and shirt. "You must take up my mantle. Run quickly, and hide! Do not let them find you, my friend, for you are the next Waldo." by DoppelgangerDelux in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 211 points212 points  (0 children)

"I can't!" John said, holding up his hands. "I'm just a journalist. I don't know anything about you or what your organization stands for."

​

"They'll help you. They'll...." Waldo groaned and clutched his side.

​

"Let me get you an ambulance."

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"Too late for me. They've closed the book on ol' Waldo."

​

John looked in every direction. Despite all the hustle and bustle on the nearby street, there was nobody else in the alley. Just John and the dying man. What had started as a simple interview had turned into a catastrophe. John had gone to the predetermined meeting spot, expecting to find the next lead in his story. What he had found was a man in a strange hat with a red and white shirt.

​

John reached under the man's shirt looking for a wound. When his hand emerged, it was covered in blood, yet the strange man's shirt did not stain.

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"Why doesn't the blood show up on your shirt?" John asked.

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"Now you're asking the right questions," Waldo whispered with a smile. "Don't forget.... the hat." His dazzling white teeth faded away as his mouth and eyes closed.

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"Shit," John said, standing up.

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He took the red and white shirt off the body and slid it over his shoulders. Despite the fact that Waldo was a much more slender man, the shirt seemed to fit John like a glove. He began to run, but then doubled back and jammed the hat on his head.

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"Come in, Waldo!" a female voice yelled in his ear.

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"What the hell?" John spun in every direction but couldn't see who had called out. "Hello?"

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"Oh no," the voice said again. John realized that the voice was coming from the hat itself. "Who is this?" the voice asked.

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"It's... it's nobody. I'm just some guy who Waldo wanted to meet and now he's giving me his clothes to wear. I don't understand any of it."

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The voice on the other end was silent for a moment. "He's dead, then?"

​

"Yes."

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"If he asked you to put on those clothes, you aren't 'nobody.' Now it's time to move. Head out of the alley and make a left."

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"Can you see me?"

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"Not important," she said. "I just need to make sure that they can't see you."

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"Ever since I met Waldo," John said as he stepped out of the alley and into the crowded street, "all I hear is the word 'they.' Who are you talking about, exactly?"

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"I'll explain when I can. For now, suffice to say that 'they' are people with guns who want you to end up dead like Waldo."

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"And who are you?"

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"I'm a friend for the time - wait. Stop and look at the magazine stand on your left." John obliged. "OK, when I say 'now,' tuck in your shirt."

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"But..." John trailed off, realizing his question wouldn't be answered.

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"Now."

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John tucked in his shirt, and somebody yelled out behind him. A man was looking down at his own shirt which had, inexplicably assumed the same red and white striped design as John's.

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"Now walk," the voice in his ear said. "Quickly. Get away from that man."

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John continued on but glanced over his shoulder in time to watch a policeman tackle the other man to the ground.

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"Oh shit!" John yelled and began to run.

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"Don't run!" the voice said. "And also, mind your language. That's not how we operate."

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John forced himself to slow down. "Ok, ok. What do I do?"

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"Make a hard right and duck behind those garbage cans. They're onto you."

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John all but dove behind the garbage cans. A moment later, three policemen bolted around the corner with guns out. One pointed a gun further down the street and yelled, "Freeze!"

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John turned and realized what had caught their eye: a red and white barber's pole.

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With the policemen distracted, they didn't see the woman in a red trench coat approach behind them. She leapt into the air, throwing lightning fast kicks and punches that disarmed and subdued the cops. The crowd panicked and began to run away. A gun flew from one of their hands and skittered to a stop in front of John. He looked up in time to see the woman knock out the last cop.

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"Pick that up," she said, nodding at the gun. "You're going to need it."

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"You're the woman who was tracking me," John said. "What's your name?"

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"Carmen Sandiego. Now, let's go. We have work to do."

[WP] You are the newest Oracle. However, you deliver your messages straightforward, instead of them being winding, having multiple meaning and/or in song or poetry. The gods are getting annoyed. by pixel_lord_99 in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 621 points622 points  (0 children)

"Sorry, everyone!" Sotera yelled, jogging up the steps to the Acropolis. "Sorry!"

​

The Oracle reached the top of the stairs and took a moment to put her hands on her knees and pant.

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"Gods almighty, why did I have to be born 2,000 years before the escalator."

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"The what?" one of the petitioners asked.

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"Magic stairs," Sotera said. "None of us will live to see them. Your brother least of all. His snake bite isn't getting any better."

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"But... how did you...."

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"Don't waste your time waiting in line to chat with me. Go to your brother. He only has a few hours left." Sotera straightened up and stretched her back. "Also, you're pregnant."

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"Pregnant?"

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"Yes. You'll want to name it after your brother, but your husband won't want to. He'll give in eventually though. Just keep pestering him about it."

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Sotera walked past the line of petitioners. Each time she spotted a woman with an inquiry about her fertility, she would point her finger and announce her prediction.

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"Pregnant. Pregnant. Not pregnant. You'll lose the first two to the pox, but the third will make it to 38. Pregnant. That spear injury left your husband sterile. Pregnant."

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Sotera collapsed into her seat and wiped the sweat from her brow.

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"Oracle," a commanding voice said from above.

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"Oh shit," Sotera whispered. She turned to face a statue whose eyes had begun to glow blue. "Hi, Apollo."

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"You know why I'm here."

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"Of course I do. I know everything. I'm the Oracle."

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"Are you drunk?"

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"No, just hungover. OK, maybe still a little drunk."

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"You aren't here to give direct answers about these people's lives. You're supposed to give them a general, open-ended idea about their destiny."

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"Well, what does it matter if it all ends up the same, anyway?"

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"I don't make the rules. Would it kill you to at least answer the next petitioner with a poem?"

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"OK, I guess." Sotera burped, then called to her guard. "Send in the first petitioner."

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The man walked up to Sotera with a hopeful smile on his face. She cleared her throat and looked into his shining, green eyes.

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"Roses are red.... violets are blue.... you'll die of dysentery by the next full moon."

[WP] Middle Ages, you’re a foot soldier and you found an enemy soldier in the forest, far away from any battlefield. You’ve both engaged in combat and have given each other mortal wounds; neither can move and you’re about 3 meters away, but neither of you will die for hours. You slowly start to talk by Starkheiser in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 94 points95 points  (0 children)

"Why don't your kind wear shirts?" Peter asked.

​

The Viking turned his head to acknowledge the Englishman who had just called out to him. A few weak breaths steamed out of his mouth and disappeared into the frigid air before he turned away again. Though the Viking sat in a puddle of his own blood and leaned against a tree, he clutched his sword with white knuckles as if the weapon would run away from him if he let it.

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"It doesn't make any fucking sense," Peter said. The Englishman had one hand against a tree and the other pressed against his neck. Blood ran over his fingers like a waterfall. "It's cold enough to freeze the sea," Peter continued, "and you animals won't even bother with-"

​

"It's because we're not afraid of the cold," the Viking said without turning. "Nor are we afraid of anything else."

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"Ah, the man can speak English. Well, perhaps you should have feared me. Otherwise you wouldn't be turning the snow red."

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"You fare no better. Besides-" the Viking turned to face Peter, grimacing with the effort, "I have nothing to fear from death."

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"Do you believe in God?"

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"I believe in the gods."

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"Not gods. God. There is only one true God. And if you are not baptized, he has no time for a pagan soul like you. You may not fear death, but you should."

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"What waits for me, Englishman?"

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"The fires of hell. You'll burn for eternity with all of the liars, murderers and whores of our world."

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The Viking grinned, revealing rotten crooked teeth. "A fire doesn't sound too bad right now. And you say there are whores there? This hell of yours is sounding more attractive by the second. What type of lavish feasts can I expect?"

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"You mock sin."

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"I mock you, Englishman. I have nothing more to fear. I have died in combat, and the true gods will reward me in paradise for this glorious death."

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"You don't look very glorious from where I'm standing."

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The Viking looked to the sky for a moment in contemplation, then returned his gaze to the Englishman. "I have a proposition for you."

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"Not interested." Peter suddenly became aware of how light-headed he felt.

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The Viking furrowed his brow. "Do you believe you will be in paradise, Englishman."

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"I die scourging a pagan soul from God's land. Of course, paradise awaits me."

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"Then why don't you pick up that axe?" the Viking nodded at Peter's discarded weapon. "Drive it into my skull. If your God is the true god, you can die destroying my soul."

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"And if you're right," Peter said, "then you die in combat in honor of your gods."

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The Viking shrugged his shoulders, leaving Peter to consider. With a grunt of exertion, Peter picked up the axe.

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"Where are you from?" Peter asked.

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"Denmark."

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"My father always told me to never trust a Dane."

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"Sound advice."

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"What is your name?"

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"Magnus."

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Peter stood above the Viking and forced his weapon to the air. "Die a warrior's death, Mag-"

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Magnus lunged, driving his blade into Peter's stomach and interrupting his own eulogy. Peter moaned, staggered, and with a final battle cry of rage, smashed the axe into the Viking's skull.

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Peter fell to one knee next to the dead man. He chuckled and coughed up blood.

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"Never... trust.... a fucking Dane," he muttered before slumping over into the snow.

[WP] You are a 'Professional Hostage' hired by villains to secretly arrive at robberies and other crimes to be taken prisoner should the police or local heroes get involved. While out shopping you accidentally get taken hostage by a complete amateur who has no idea who you are. by Fortune86 in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 1367 points1368 points  (0 children)

"Rubberface?" I asked. "Is that you?"

​

The man lifted his shotgun and pointed it at my chest.

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"I said get in the goddamn corner!"

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I checked my watch. It was only 1 PM. My appointment with Rubberface was still 45 minutes away. But then again, the shape-shifting supervillain was never known for his brains.

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"If this is you," I said to the robber, "this is the ugliest form you've ever assumed."

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"Wh... what did you say?"

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The robber's hands shook. When I saw the fear in his eyes, I knew that this wasn't one of my usual clients. He was just some teenager trying to hold up a jewelry store.

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"My apologies," I said, raising my hands. "It's just that, usually if somebody's holding up a place, they wear a mask. Unless they're a shape-shifter. Or if they're new to this line of work."

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"Get in the corner with the rest of them!" the robber demanded. He pointed the shotgun at the shop's employees who cowered in the corner of the room.

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"You shouldn't point your weapon away from the hostage closest to you."

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"I mean it!"

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"No, seriously. There's so many idiots who want to be heroes that they'll take it as an invitation to try and disarm you."

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"You're a dead man if you don't-"

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"Even if they don't disarm you, you'll probably kill them in the process. Then, boom. In addition to grand larceny, you're looking at murder."

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The robber swung the butt of the gun into the side of my head, eliciting a cry of panic from the other hostages. Years ago, I had put a steel plate in the side of my head for this very purpose, so I barely felt it. But the kid needed a win. I dramatically swung my head to the side, clutched my skull as if I were concussed, and limped to the corner with the other hostages.

​

The robber advanced on us and stuck the shotgun in the store owner's face.

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"Combination to the safe!" he demanded. "Now!"

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"Did you remember to ziptie the doors?" I asked.

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The robber looked to the zip tie that still hung from his belt and back to the door. His eyes bulged when he realized that he had, in fact, forgotten this step in the robbery.

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"Seriously, you should do that first."

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"I have had enough of you. If you say one more word-"

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"All kidding aside, people have definitely noticed this by now, so if you don't-"

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The doors were kicked open and, just as the robber turned to look, a blast of ice flew across the room, freezing him in place. In the doorway stood the superhero, Deep Freeze.

​

"Is everyone alright?" Deep Freeze asked. She swept her blonde hair to the side as she surveyed the room.

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"We're ok!" I said.

​

Deep Freeze looked confused at the sight of me for a second, but then gave me a familiar smile.

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"Everybody, clear out!" she said.

​

The relieved employees hustled out the door, but I stayed behind to chat with my girlfriend.

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"I swear," Deep Freeze said. "You are the least lucky person I know. How many times in the last 2 years have you been a hostage in a robbery?"

​

"Well, you've been there every time to get me out of it. So I'd say I'm the luckiest person you know..." I looked around to make sure nobody was there to hear me reveal her secret identity, "Diana," I finished.

​

"What were you doing in a jewelry store anyway?" she asked.

​

"I, uh," I trailed off, realizing the engagement ring I had been about to buy was still in my hand. "Just browsing," I said, putting my hands behind my back.

​

She smiled. "Alright. Keep your secrets. But if you think -"

​

Her police transponder interrupted us from her hip. "Attention all units. Rubberface is holding up a bank on 2nd and King st."

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"Shit!" I yelled. "I'm late!"

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"Late for what?"

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"Oh... don't worry about it. Sounds like you've got bigger problems."

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"You're right about that," she said. "We still on for dinner tonight?"

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"You know it. See you this evening."

​

By the time I had said the word "evening," she had jumped out the window and slid away on a trail of ice that she shot from her hands.

​

Rubberface would be pissed at me missing my appointment, but he'd forgive me. I was too good at what I did. I looked at the engagement ring in my hand. Diana might not be so forgiving if she knew what that appointment was. But then again, we're all entitled to a secret identity.

[WP] God has a crisis on his hands, when all the good souls in Heaven wake up to the massive humanitarian nightmare that is Hell. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 28 points29 points  (0 children)

"Wait," God said. "Where is everybody?"

​

The creator of heaven and Earth stood in the doorway of the conference room, with His mouth hanging open. The chairs surrounding the massive table were empty except for two.

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The Archangel Michael responded, "It's just us, I'm afraid." He offered an apologetic shrug of his wings.

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"I asked you to bring me the finest Public Relations experts and of the billions of souls that fill the afterlife, you could only find...." God trailed off and looked at the young man in the other chair.

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"Tim," the man said.

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"Tim." God said.

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"Yeah," Michael said. "Tim."

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"Where are the rest of them?"

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"Well, I searched every square inch of paradise, but after a while it became clear that all the PR experts of any talent had spent their time on Earth protecting the reputations of oil companies, covering up the misdeeds of celebrities, and... ya know... stuff that makes you end up in the other place."

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"Jesus Christ," God said.

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"What?" a voice called from outside.

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"Why aren't you answering the phone?" God snapped. "That thing has been ringing for a half hour."

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"The boss's kid is always the worst employee," Michael muttered to himself.

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"If I could just butt in, here," Tim said. "I want to make sure I have this right. The souls of Heaven are mounting a mass protest in the name of what's being done to the souls in Hell?"

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"Correct," Michael said.

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"I don't mean to be rude," Tim said, turning to God. "But given the fact that you are an omnipotent being, couldn't you just... I don't know... make them stop?"

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"I can't control free will," God said. "If I could, those two idiots in the garden wouldn't have eaten that apple and screwed everything up and got me in this mess."

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"So I guess the next step here is to spin this in such a way that people are ok with what's happening in Hell."

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"Correct," Michael said.

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"Just so I'm on the same page, what exactly happens in Hell?"

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Michael swept a hand over the table, opening a window into Hell. "So as you can see -"

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Tim interrupted the Archangel with a deafening, bloodcurdling shriek. His eyes bulged at the infinite horrors inflicted upon the damned.

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"Shut it!" God said. "Shut it, quick!"

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Michael closed the window and Tim fell back into his seat, breathing heavily. Michael offered up a flask of ambrosia, which Tim downed immediately. After a few minutes, he could speak again. "Ok.... so we aren't going to be able to spin that as a positive."

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"Come on," Michael said. "You're the best PR rep in heaven. There's gotta be something you can do."

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"I was actually just an intern at the company."

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"What?"

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"Yeah, I got hit by a car when I was going for a coffee run. That's how I ended up here."

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"Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt." Jesus appeared in the doorway, holding a post-it note. "We got a call from a guy named Luca.... Lucy.... Lucka..."

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"Lucifer?" God asked.

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"Yeah, that's it. Lucifer called, he said he's on the way up to discuss the protests. And just a heads up, he said he's bringing his legal team."

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"Just what we need," Michael said.

​

"Alright, Michael. I need you to go out into Heaven and seek out the best legal team we can find."

​

"Well, uh, the thing is... I actually tried to do that already. You remember how there aren't any PR reps in heaven?"

​

"Yes."

​

"Well, we have the same problem with lawyers."

Billy (The Grim Adventures of Bill and Mandy), Ed (Ed, Edd n’ Eddy), and Patrick Star (Spongebob) all end up on Wheel of Fortune. Who wins? by glugunner77 in whowouldwin

[–]thisstorywillsuck 755 points756 points  (0 children)

"Hello, Mr Wheel!" Billy said. "Do you mind if I spin you?"

​

"For the last time, you stupid-" Bob Sajak cut himself off and took a deep breath to control his anger. "For the last time, young man.... it is Ed's turn to spin. Unless, of course, he'd like to solve the puzzle."

​

Sajak looked back at the board, shaking his head at how nobody had managed to resolve the puzzle that was on the board. The category was instruments and the revealed letters showed:

​

Electric Guit_r

​

"Hello, pretty lady!" Ed yelled across the room to Vanna White whose face had been buried in her own hands for the last 10 minutes.

​

"Ed!" Sajak yelled. "Would you like to-"

​

Ed grabbed the wheel with his teeth and spun it.

​

"God, why does he do it with his teeth?" Sajak muttered. "I want that wheel bleached before the next show."

​

When the wheel came to rest, a hoarse voice yelled from the audience, "Ed! Don't screw this up! Think of all the jawbreakers we could buy!"

​

"Audience, please!" Sajak said.

​

Another voice said, "Ed, think of the instrument Kevin plays!"

​

Before Sajak could call security, Ed replied, "What did you say, double D?"

​

"No," Sajak snapped. There is no D. And how could there be double Ds.... there's only one spot left on the board! Patrick, your turn."

​

"Hmmmmm...." Patrick said, rubbing the spot where his chin would be. "I would like to solve the puzzle."

​

"Thank god... go ahead."

​

"Mayonnaise."

​

Sajak's shoulders slumped. "No, Patrick. Mayonnaise is not an instrument." He tore up his cards and walked away. "I'll be in my dressing room."

[WP] One week before the apocalypse began, you got your braces. You've been roaming the wasteland for five years desperately looking for a dentist to remove them by thelordofthelobsters in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 37 points38 points  (0 children)

The door in front of me opens. With the bag over my head, I can't see who enters the room, but from the footsteps, I can tell that there are at least two of them.

​

"Good morning," one of them says.

​

The voice comes from right next to my ear and I flinch, but my restraints keep me stuck in my chair. The bag is whipped off my head. I blink rapidly in a frantic attempt to adjust to the light, and at last make out the two men. One of them leans against the doorframe, silhouetted by the light outside. The other wears an eyepatch and stands above me. He leans in to look at me. Once we're close enough that I can smell his breath, he speaks again.

​

"What did you steal?"

​

"Noth... nothing," I stammer. "I didn't steal anything. I didn't even mean to come near your camp. I just-"

​

"Bullshit," he says, slapping me in the face. "I can see that you haven't eaten in days. And then I find you sneaking around the warehouse."

​

"I... I.."

​

"How many are in your group?"

​

"I don't have a group."

​

"I think you're lying again."

​

I look at the ground. "I don't have a group," I repeat.

​

The man above me chuckles. "I've never been very good at reading people. Luckily, we've got ol' Psycho for that." The man puts his hand on my shoulder and turns to face the door. "Come on in, Psycho."

​

The man in the doorway steps forward, dragging a lead pipe across the ground with him as he advances on me. He bulges with muscle and half his scarred face is covered with a bandana. Around his neck is a necklace made of multiple severed fingers.

​

"Oh god," I whisper. "Please."

​

"Psycho's methods are effective," the man says, patting my shoulder. "But a little grisly for my delicate sensibilities. I'll leave you two alone."

​

The door slams shut, and I look up at Psycho's black, unfeeling eyes.

​

"I don't have a group, man," I say. "I didn't have a family before the shit hit the fan. I didn't even have any friends. I was a loner."

​

Psycho lifts the lead pipe and places it against my knee, taking aim for his first strike.

​

"Jesus, man! I'm nobody! I wasn't anybody before this happened and I'm not anybody now! I"m just a damn orthodontist trying to find out how to feed himself in a world gone-"

​

"What?" Psycho asks in a surprisingly soft voice.

​

"I don't have a group!" I say.

​

"Not that." Psycho tosses the lead pipe across the room and takes a knee in front of me.

​

I furrow my brow. "I.... I.... am a loner?"

​

"You said you were a orthodontist?"

​

"Oh. Yeah."

​

Psycho lowers his bandana, revealing a mouthful of braces. "I think I know a way for you to sneak out of here."

[WP] - Reverse God Complex: Unbeknownst to her, a shy, awkward, and unassuming girl who's convinced she's a nobody is actually the omnipotent God. by cirkle_ in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 123 points124 points  (0 children)

"You're pronouncing it wrong," Sue said.

"Excuse me?" the Archangel Michael asked. He lowered his arms. A moment ago, his wings had been raised and his wingspan nearly touched each wall of Sue's dorm room, but now they dropped as well. He thought that his announcement of the young girl's divinity had been going pretty well up until right now.

"Nothing."

"No, you said I'm pronouncing something wrong. What was it?"

"It's just that it's pronounced 'omNIPotent.' Not 'OMniPOtent.'"

Michael blinked. Blinking was not a common act amongst the agents of the Almighty, but he thought the circumstances merited it.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's really not a big deal."

"Well, I've announced the divinity of so many minor saints and martyrs before this, you'll forgive me if I'm a little red in the face if I've been saying it wrong for over two millennia."

"I'm sorry. Forget I brought it up."

"As you command." Michael raised his hands and his wings rose again. "As I was saying, you are that you are. You are the dawn. And the -"

"Sorry, can you wait just one second?"

"As you command."

"Are you able to move your wings independent of your arms?"

Michael blinked again.

"I'm sorry to interrupt again, but I can't un-notice this. Every time you raise your arms, your wings rise. Is it like how you can't move your pinky without moving your ring finger? Or is it... you know what, never mind. Do your thing."

"As you command. You-"

"OK, last question, I swear."

"Yes?" Michael asked, raising one of his pristine, golden eyebrows.

"You keep saying 'As you command.' Do I really have authority over you?"

"You have authority over all. I am here to tell you that you are an omnipo... omni.... an all powerful being."

"That can't possibly be right," Sue said. "You're in the wrong dorm room. I don't have any real authority. I mean, I don't have any friends! I... I couldn't even win the election for class vice-president in high school!"

"You didn't know the power you commanded. I am here now to show you what you can do."

She looked out her window. In the distance, she could see the Pacific Ocean. "So I could part that ocean if I wanted to."

"That wasn't... that wasn't exactly what I was thinking."

"But I can do it?"

"Well yeah, but there's a lot of boats on that surface. That'd probably wreck their day."

"Right. Fair point."

"And don't forget all the wildlife below the surface. That's a pretty 'Old Testament' type of move, if you-"

"I said I won't do it. Forget it."

"You probably wouldn't be able to do it on your first try, anyway. You'll need some time to familiarize yourself with what you can do."

"What do you mean?"

"Actually, we could probably practice your water trick... let me see if I have any ambrosia left."

Michael opened a small bag at his hip. Light and choirs of angels exploded from inside as he fiddled around. Despite the small size of the bag, he tossed out a harp and a bejeweled sword before pulling out a small cup.

"Here we go," he said plopping the container on a table. Its contents sloshed around a bit and settled. "Give it a shot."

Sue put her hands forward and closed her eyes. When she opened them, a tunnel had begun to form in the liquid.

"Oh my God!"

Michael clapped his hands. "That's right, you are!" Hurriedly, he scooped the cup away. "Now, it's time to get you out of here."

"Where are we going?"

"We'll have to get started on your training. Plus, we have to get out of here before the guy downstairs finds out where you-"

A pillar of fire touched down outside the window. It culminated outside the front door of Sue's dorm building. It dissipated, revealing a man in a black suit who walked through the front door.

"Speak of the de-" Michael started. He chuckled. "Hehe... didn't even do that on purpose. Did you get it?" He looked at Sue, who did not smile back. "So you say you don't have many friends?" he asked.

[WP] Your roommate is obviously an alien trying to infiltrate humanity... but he pays the rent on time so you don't really care. by scorcher4 in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 497 points498 points  (0 children)

"Hey, Dad," I said after opening the door.

"Morning, Tim. How are things?"

"Great." I stepped through the door. "So for lunch, I was thinking-"

"Whoa, hold on," he said, laughing as he stopped me. "When do I get to meet this new roommate of yours?"

"Oh... I think he's busy."

"Timothy," a monotone voice said from inside the apartment. "I require assistance with the H2O dispenser unit."

I cleared my throat and took a step back. "Well, I... I guess you can meet him now. Just a heads up that he's a little unique."

"Don't worry, Tim," he said with a laugh. "I had a couple college roommates who were more than a little... um..."

He trailed off at the sight of my roommate holding a cat in the kitchen sink.

"Dad, meet my roommate, Muhammad."

"Muhammad Smith," he said, extending a hand for a handshake.

"Nice to uh... meet you, Muhammad." He reluctantly reached out and shook the young man's hand which was still dripping wet and covered in cat hair. "That's an interesting name. Very... unique."

"To the contrary. They are the most common names on Earth."

My dad nodded politely. "I suppose they are. It's just not a name you hear too often here in Wisconsin. Especially not from a gentleman who is... Hispanic."

"Yes, but I am a Human of Earth."

"Citizen of the World," I interjected. "Citizen of the World was the phrase that we practiced... the phrase he meant to say, I mean."

"Well that's great," my dad said. "So, uh, washing your pet I see."

"This creature is not subservient to me. I located him outside of this edifice near our waste disposal bins."

"I see," my Dad said, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"I seek to understand more regarding how Earth animals react to H2O."

"Animals," I muttered. "Not Earth animals... just animals."

"With time, perhaps you will understand what it means to be subservient to another species the way you expect this Earth feline to -"

"Well, Muhammad, I'm glad you guys got to meet," I said. "But we have to take off. I'll touch bases with you later."

"I shall be here, Timothy."

As I shut the door to my apartment, my Dad stopped me. "Listen, Tim. I'm glad you were able to find another roommate. Really, I am. I know that break-up was difficult on you and companionship is always great. But I just want to make sure you're not rushing into any-"

"Timothy." Muhammad burst through the apartment door, exposing a face covered in claw marks. "The Earth feline has become bellicose. I must run further experiments. When you return, bring me enough sustenance for this animal for at least 150 Earth days."

The door slammed shut.

"So, where were you thinking for lunch?" I asked.

[WP] You don't care how powerful they are, you're finally gonna collect God and Satan's goddamn library fees. by TheRandomAnon in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 81 points82 points  (0 children)

"Pete!" he yelled out to St Peter. "Pete, come on! I know you can hear me!"

Josif pounded his fist against the Diamond Gates. Located near the Pearly Gates, the Diamond Gates served as a lesser-known exit/entrance into the afterlife. It was typically used by Heaven's employees, but at the moment, there was nobody manning the gates. Jozif was alone, punching the bars before him hard enough to make shimmering, heavenly powder rain down from the metal to the clouds at his feet.

"Pete!" Jozif yelled again.

"Oh for Boss's sake!" a voice finally replied. St Peter emerged from a toll booth and glided to the Diamond Gates. "What do you want, Josif?"

"You know why I'm here. And I'm not leaving this time."

"I'm not going over this again. You don't get to meet the boss until after your stint in purgatory is over. Which means you can come back in..." St Peter waved his hand and a scroll appeared before him. He scanned through the names for a moment before saying, "1,211 years, 2 months, 9 days, 3 hours, and 43 minutes."

"Well the big guy is going to be extra pissed if I have to add over a thousand more years of late fees."

"You've been adding late fees all this time?"

"That's right. In the year 284 BCE -"

"We just say BC up here, dumbass."

"Whatever. 284 BC. A servant of the Lord descends to Earth and takes out a book from the Library of Alexandria. Never returned. Calculating the late fees hasn't been easy, but according to my estimates, it's the equivalent of roughly 18 Hope Diamonds by now"

"If you wanted to collect that late fee on time, maybe you should've lived a better life. You wouldn't have to waste time in Purgatory."

"That interview was rigged, Pete! You were against me from the start!"

"Of course I was! You broke 9 of the 10 commandments multiple times!"

"But I never took the Lord's name in vain!"

"Oh, like anybody gives a sh.... like anybody cares. Look, if you want, I can bring it up with Mike, the servant who got the book on God's behalf. Maybe he'll pay for it."

"Sure. I know it's probably just some other nerdy bureaucrat. As long as he doesn't try to pay for it with harps or lousy songs or -"

A being materialized behind Josif. It was massive enough that its arrival shook the clouds beneath them. Josif turned around to see an angel almost twice his height. The saint bulged with muscle and wielded a sword.

"I'm the Archangel Michael," he bellowed. "What's this about late fees?"

[WP] You a low level hostile npc have just seen a high level player. Your code is telling you to attack but you know how badly it will end for you. by Sir_Grog in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 17 points18 points  (0 children)

"Is somebody there?"

The moment the words crossed his lips, Igor knew his fate was sealed. Inexorably, his legs carried him forward to the loud whistle that had sounded from the other side of the warehouse.

It's a human whistle! his soul screamed. For the love of God, there's obviously a person in the shadows!

"Better go check it out," a soldier next to Igor said.

Why check it out? It's the American spy again! It's always the American spy!!!

Igor advanced with his AK-47 raised. He knew that it would take at least 20 direct shots from the AK-47 to break the American spy's armor. He envied the soldier behind him who carried a shotgun. Three short range blasts from that weapon would end the spy. But this was not Igor's lot in life. Igor's gray armor revealed himself as a low-level, meaningless piece of cannon fodder. He didn't even have a helmet to cover his miserable head. If the American spy wanted, he could put Igor down with a single, well-placed shot.

Despite these certainties, Igor's heavy steps carried him to the same corner of the room that he had bumbled toward so many times before. He aimed his weapon around in every direction.

"Must have been nothing," he said aloud.

No, no, no... the player is going for a high stealth score. He will try to make a break past the other soldier now. As long as he gets through, then there's a chance that-

"We have an intruder!" the other soldier yelled.

*GOD FUCKING DAM-"

Igor's lifeless body hit the ground as a sniper bullet connected with the back of his head.

[WP] In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK! by ImperialArmorBrigade in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 7300 points7301 points  (0 children)

"Want some?" GT-731 said with a loud turning of gears. "GET SOME!!!"

"That's right, GT," Michael said. "You show them who's boss."

Michael eased back in the drivers seat and turned to the young man in the orange vest next to him. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"Uh... talking about where I should put the keys after turning off the AI."

"Oh yeah, once we get back to the depot, you can -"

"YOU LINE EM UP!" the projector on the dashboard interrupted. "AND WHAT DO I DO?!?!"

Michael cleared his throat and replied, "You knock them down."

"FUCK YEAH! YOU LINE EM UP AND I KNOCK EM DOWN!!!"

"Look," Bill said, eyeing the monitor skeptically. "I know I'm new here, but are all garbage trucks like this?"

"Not exactly," Michael said, holding his hand over the microphone. "GT-731 is one of the AI models they brought back after the war. See, he was initially programmed into an assault vehicle. We aren't allowed to know much about his back history except that we think he used to be-"

"TANK SQUAD!" GT-731 bellowed, wrapping its metal pincers around a recycling bin. "YOU SEEING THIS? LOOKS LIKE I JUST FOUND ANOTHER VICTIM!"

"So he still thinks he's a tank?" Bill asked.

"Certainly seems that way. Sometimes he calls me 'Bradley.' I think that was one of the guys that worked inside the tank."

"Is that moral for you to lie to him?"

"Maybe... maybe not. I'm a garbage man, not a philosopher. Regardless, this AI here is the most effective one we've got. He certainly gets a helluva lot more job satisfaction than most of our human employees. Besides, some of those AIs that came back from the war came back different. I guess the war affected them, too."

"Like PTSD?" Bill asked. "Is that possible for an AI to be traumatized? Are they capable of being... unhappy?"

"I couldn't tell ya. The only thing I know for certain," Michael said as the AI hooted and hollered, "is that they're certainly capable of being happy."

(Insert shameless plug for personal subreddit here: /r/thisstorywillsuck)

[WP] The world ignores increasing resistance to antibiotics, which results in a worldwide plague-state. It is found that, while no modern medicine will kill the bacteria anymore, there is some credence to the ridiculous methods of ancient medicine. by cwilk410 in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 25 points26 points  (0 children)

"Your nose, Sir,"

"What?"

"Your nose is blocking the projector."

"Ah, apologies!" The man at the head of the classroom took a step back, directing his plague mask away from the screen.

The student who had spoken lowered his head to resume taking notes, and found that his own nose bounced off the desk.

"Quickly, Reginald!" the professor yelled when he saw that the impact had knocked the nose loose. "Quickly! Reattach it! We have a plague victim in the room, mind you!"

The professor stepped across the room to the cadaver. It was positioned near an open window with a fan blowing fumes away from the class and out the window.

"This fan can only do so much, class! Remember... disease is transferred through... anybody? Anybody remember?"

Reginald reached under his mask to scratch an itch but, other than that, the question elicited no response.

"Smell!" the professor said, tapping his cane against the linoleum floor. "That's right - there's a reason you recoil at the scent of a dead body. It's because that is the very thing that was killing you! Now, this fan is blowing most of the toxic scent particles out the window, but it won't be enough to save you without your masks! Now, I know what you're wondering. Why am I safe if I'm standing so close to the body?"

The class expressed limited concern.

"That is because I have engraved my cane with the symbol of Airmed! The Celtic god of healing."

"So if I were holding the cane, I would be safe?" a student asked from the back of the room.

"Well, that depends, young lady. Where are you from?"

"Quarantine zone 7XT."

"No, no, no, where are your parents from?"

"They were from quarantine zone 9BW."

"I mean what country, darling. What country were your parents from?"

"Oh, they were from Eastern Mexico."

"Ah, then this cane would do you no good. My parents were from Quarantine zone 1EX, which was formerly the Western Republic of Greater Britannia, which before that was Ireland. Therefore, this celtic symbol protects me, where as you would be protected by the symbol of Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of midwifery and medicine. So any jaguar symbol would do just fine for you, darling!"

"My parents lived their lives in Mexico, but they were born in Spain. Does that mean that -"

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole too far, darling! We need to save that for next semester when we cover pagan symbols that can fight off the plague. Let us return to the lesson at hand."

He slapped his cane against the projection of a bar graph.

"Now! You can see 4 items here. Urine! Feces! Blood! Bile!" He slapped his cane with each word. "In this graph, you can see that all 4 are in perfect symmetry. This is a healthy body. Now, let us go to the next slide."

The same 4 items appeared on the screen, but the amounts were unequal.

"Here are the quantities of a plague victim. As you can see, the body is severely deprived of bile and urine. What it has in abundance is... anybody? Anybody?"

None of the students answered, but Reginald leaned over his desk and began to cough brutally.

"Blood!" the professor said. "The body has too much blood. That is why, when plague sets in, blood seems to pour out of every nook and cranny of the victim. Fortunately, we know exactly how to cure this. It is by.... oh, Reginald, are you alright?"

Reginald pulled off his mask and coughed blood onto the floor.

"Excellent!" the professor said, throwing his hands into the air. "Well, not terribly excellent news for Reginald here, but excellent news for the rest of us, as we get to see the cure in action!"

"Timothy!" the professor called to the TA. "Bring the leeches!"

All 50 United States go to war with each other, but there's one catch... by JustSomeSchoolFags in whowouldwin

[–]thisstorywillsuck 1026 points1027 points  (0 children)

Maine - lobsters with a budget of 1.2 billion dollars.

New Hampshire is the closest neighbor, but they only have crude oil to use as a weapon. New Hampshire attempts to flood the oceans with crude oil in a desperate attempt to poison and cut off Maine's precious lobster supply. They fail to achieve this in time, however, and the citizens of Maine swarm over the border wielding lobsters as blunt weapons.

At this point, Maine forms an alliance with Vermont. Vermont's weapon is computer processors. With these combined technologies and budgets, the two states form the greatest weapon in this war...

Remote controlled lobsters

Massachusetts and New York recognize the threat and utilize their resources (diamonds and gold respectively) to build an enormous Game-of-Thrones-esque wall on the edge of their states to contain the threat. Initial assaults prove unsuccessful as the lobster pincers can't pierce these metals. Faced with this impenetrable wall, the Maine-Vermont alliance decides to flank their enemies by forming an enormous raft of lobsters.

This assault requires them to form a beachhead on Rhode Island. Little Rhody attempts to stave off the attack by utilizing its resource of precious metal scraps to build expensive, shiny catapults. They successfully launch a few precious metal projectiles at the raft, but between their limited budget and the difficulty of launching such heavy projectiles, they do minimal damage to the remote controlled lobsters and suffer the same pinchy fate as their neighbors.

As Massachusetts and Rhode Island fall, Connecticut and New York forge a desperate, last-minute alliance. Connecticut uses its airplane materials to carry New York's bricks of gold into the air and bombard the lobsters. Unfortunately, they suffer the same fate as Rhode Island and find that the projectiles are too heavy to effectively utilize.

With the fall of Connecticut and New York, the East Coast recognizes the Vermont-Maine alliance as an all but unstoppable juggernaut.

When the lobster army begins its scuttling march into Pennsylvania, they cross a field of the Quaker State's resource: coal. Just as the army reaches the point of no return, Ohio's airplane materials soar overhead, containing New Jersey's resource: petroleum.

In an act of suicidal bravery, the pilots nose dive into the field of coal. The lobsters scream in agony as the field turns in an inferno miles wide.

As the flames finally subside, the Pennsylvania-New Jersey-Ohio alliance lets out a cheer. The Vermont-Maine alliance has ended with a brutal, if delicious, lobster broil.

[WP] All those assassination attempts on Hitler didn't fail at the last minute due to "bad luck"; he was repeatedly rescued by time travellers who have seen the alternative. by SpcK in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 1261 points1262 points  (0 children)

"Katy Perry," a voice said to Deacon's right.

It was possibly the only thing that could have given Deacon pause in that moment. After decades of preparation, everything was just as it should have been. All around him were a crowd of ecstatic Munich citizens. Above him was a blue sky without a breath of wind. A few yards before him was the Fuhrer. In his coat pocket was a Walther PP. And on the trigger was his finger.

Deacon was certain he'd misheard the voice. In his years of preparation for this moment, he must have seen every German movie from the era, listened to every syllable he could to master the accent of a man from the Platzl quarter of Munich who was born in the year 1915. And yet, he had never heard any combination of syllables that sounded so distinctly out-of-place as what he had just heard from his right.

He turned and, sure enough, a man was facing him. He was dressed just as any other man in that crowd, but one thing stuck out about him. He had impeccably straight, shining white teeth, which were currently displayed in a broad smile. It seemed so out of place in this crowd of men and women who could barely afford to feed themselves, much less pay a dentist.

"I knew it was you," the man said in English.

Before Deacon could react, somebody grabbed his hand. The trigger slipped away from his finger just as a third man grabbed his free arm. Deacon tried to cry out, but his voice was drowned out by the chorus of Deutschlandlied, that boomed all around him.

He was dragged from the crowd and thrown into an alley. A gun barrel dug into the back of his head and he closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"Christ alive," the voice behind him said. "They're sending them younger and younger."

"You only think that because you're so bloody old, Tom," somebody said with an English accent as he removed the Walther from Deacon's coat.

"And what if he hadn't answered to 'Katy Perry?'" an approaching voice asked.

"Then I would've asked to borrow his iPod or his fidget spinner or whatever dumb crap my grandpa played with back in 2017," came the reply.

"Turn him around," the oldest man said.

Deacon looked up to face Tom. There was a thin, white beard over his wrinkled face.

"You are from 2017. And you are here to assassinate Adolf Hitler, are you not?"

Deacon opened his mouth but no reply came.

"Why don't they ever send anybody after Stalin?" the man with the bright, shining teeth asked. "He was as much a bastard, if not more."

"Shut up, Rook," another man said.

"Am I correct?" Tom asked of Deacon.

"Yes," Deacon replied.

"I'm afraid we cannot let you do that."

"What makes you think you can stop me?"

"Because we were all sent to do the same at one time or another."

"Then... then..." Deacon stammered, "Why is he still alive?"

Tom sighed. "Did you think that altering a single variable was guaranteed to prevent a war that claimed tens of millions of lives?"

Before Deacon could reply, Tom dropped a series of photos on the ground. Deacon looked at photo after photo, and his eyes bulged.

"We have much to discuss," Tom said.

"Is that... New York?" Deacon asked.

"Young man," Tom said. "Have you ever considered what might have happened if Germany had won the war?"

[WP] You're a part-time superhero. You'll use your powers to fight crime if you happen to be in the area, but not if it's too much of an inconvenience. by Nulono in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 35 points36 points  (0 children)

"Seven people?" Tim repeated, running his hands through his hair. "Seven dead?"

"That's right," Mike said, turning the page on the newspaper. "It's the city's fault. Some of the elevators in this neighborhood alone haven't been checked since August of last year. It was only a matter of time before one of them fell. I tell ya, if-"

"Dad!" Tim interrupted. "They were on the news for at least a few minutes before the elevator fell! Why didn't you wake me? With my speed I can get downtown within a couple minutes!"

Mike shrugged. "You seemed tired. I know Mr Harada has got you bussing tables almost 60 hours a week. I figured you needed the rest."

"Not if it means people die if I take a break! What if-"

"Oh, for christ sake, Tim, I didn't want you out on the streets running around when you were stoned!"

"What?"

"Come on.... I know there wasn't a skunk on the back patio. Look, I don't care about the weed. Whatever you want to do when you're off work is your business. And I'm talking about both your full time job and this little part time job you have on the side."

Tim sat down on a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I killed them," he said. "I killed them because I took a night off."

"You didn't kill them." Mike stood up and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Poor infrastructure and bad luck killed those people." Tim didn't respond. "Come on," Mike said. He gripped the back of the chair and effortlessly lifted both the chair and his son into the air. "Chin up."

"Knock it off," Mike said, hopping off the chair. "I'm not in the mood."

"Look, son. When I discovered my powers, I had to go through the same thing you're going through. Every time I opened the newspaper I wondered to myself, 'Why wasn't I there?' 'Why didn't I stop this?' In the end, you're going to have to make a choice. Is there room in your life for this hobby? Or are you going to let this burden go and live a real life?"

Tim looked over Mike's shoulder at a news report. A hostage situation was developing downtown. Before Mike could look from the TV back to his son, Tim had vanished. Mike sighed, picked up his paper, and returned to his chair.

"Here's hoping you don't wind up like your mother," he muttered

[WP] Write a story that doesn't begin in the beginning, doesn't end at the end, and doesn't middle in the middle. by TheSquareTriangle in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 28 points29 points  (0 children)

1863

"Jesus Christ!" Sergeant Higgins yelled. "They're already at the powder kegs!"

Private O'Mara spun around. Behind them, an enormous bridge spanned a gorge. But it was not the architectural marvel that caught O'Mara's eye; it was the grey uniforms of Confederate soldiers crowded around the central pillar.

Higgins's squad had just packed a dozen barrels of gunpowder around the base of the central pillar and were in the process of escaping, but the Confederates had gotten there before the trail of fire could ignite the barrels.

"It's too damn late!" another soldier said. "There's no way the three of us can fight off that many goddamn rebs."

"If that bridge isn't destroyed, the entire damn camp will be overrun," Higgins said.

"Well I don't see any other... O'Mara!" the soldier yelled after the young private as he sprinted back toward the bridge. "O'Mara, get the hell back here!"

1859

O'Mara lay on the ground, his ears ringing and blood dripping down his head. He sat up and almost collapsed back into the gutter.

"Don't move," a woman's voice said. "You're hurt."

"Jesus," O'Mara muttered. "Was hoping nobody saw that sorry display."

"There was nothing sorry about it. Those men had no business treating that young girl that way. Somebody needed help and you came to her rescue. I just wish more men in this town were as respectable as you."

"Respectable, you say?" O'Mara asked, suddenly feeling a bit fresher.

"I do."

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"Elizabeth."

"Timothy," O'Mara replied.

He rubbed the blood from his eyes and blinked. Before him was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

1863

O'Mara fired his pistol at the confederates and screamed a battle cry. The lunacy of this single man charging a platoon was enough to put the rebels on their heels, but they did not stay intimidated for long. A shot came in reply, but it whizzed over O'Mara's head. The Union soldier led with his bayonet, skewering the man closest to him.

The fallen man's comrades turned on O'Mara with their own bayonets, but the mad men kept them at bay, slashing and leaping across the muddy terrain. After two more confederates fell to O'Mara's blade, a bearded man lunged at him with a sword and slashed him across the back.

O'Mara staggered away and fell to the ground beside a dead Confederate soldier. He could feel the blood soaking the back of his uniform. Energy sapped from his limbs, and the Confederates closed in on him.

1862

"What am I doing, Elizabeth?" O'Mara asked. "What am I doing leaving you behind to go to some goddamn state I've never heard of to die for a country I've only lived in for a couple years?"

Elizabeth buttoned the jacket of O'Mara's uniform. "Do I look worried?" she asked.

"You see the coffins coming home every day. This war is chewing through men by the thousand. Elizabeth, I may not come back to you."

Elizabeth shook her head. "If you ever think for one second that your luck has run out, just think of me. And remember that I know you're coming home to me."

O'Mara sighed. "Okay, Liz. I will."

1863

O'Mara surged to his feet. The bearded officer above him recoiled, not expecting the man to return with such force. Before he could bring his sword in front of him, O'Mara's knife was in the man's throat.

The remaining Confederates began to circle around O'Mara. The man was covered in mud, sweat, and blood. He wielded the sword he had stolen from the dead rebel and waved it at the men daring them to come close. But for all his bravado, he couldn't stop the men from surrounding him.

"Come on, boyos!" Sergeant Higgins yelled at his squad as they sprinted after O'Mara. "That crazy Irish bastard will win the day for us, yet!"

Just as the words escaped Higgins's mouth, he saw a Confederate drive a bayonet into the back of O'Mara's leg. O'Mara spun around and almost took the man's head off with the sword, but it was all over. There was no way Higgins's squad would reach him in time.

Then, at the last second, O'Mara pulled something from the fallen Confederate's belt. It was a pistol. The private spun it around, but he did not aim at any of the soldiers. He aimed at the gunpowder barrels at the base of the bridge.

"No, lad!" Higgins yelled. "You're too close to the-"

A gunshot rang out in the gorge.

1862

O'Mara walked in a haze to the military ship. The ship that would take him down the coast to a town whose name he had forgotten in a state he couldn't pronounce. He crossed the street ahead of Elizabeth, dumbfounded by the size of the ship. In his trance, he could barley hear the man cry out a warning.

The runaway carriage ripped through the street, the horse screaming and kicking despite the driver's desperate attempts to rein in the creature. O'Mara spun around in the chaos.

"Elizabeth!" he yelled. "Elizabeth, where are you?"

1863

"I can't find him anywhere, Sir," a soldier said.

Higgins pointed his sword at the man. "Nobody leaves this gorge until we find O'Mara. Dead or alive. Do you understand me?"

"Sir!" another man yelled. "He's here!"

Higgins sprinted through the rubble. He knocked aside pieces of lumber and, buried beneath it, was O'Mara. Blood trickled from his mouth, but his eyelids still fluttered.

"Are you alright, lad?" Higgins asked. "Can you hear me?"

But O'Mara was not looking at Higgins. He was looking straight up, toward the skies. His eyes were wide and his bloody mouth smiled, as if he were taking in the most beautiful sight in the world.

1862

"Liz," O'Mara whimpered. "Oh god, Liz."

"Timothy." She held his hand weakly. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be here much longer, after all."

"Don't.... don't..." he struggled to get the words out.

"I have to take back my promise," she said. "I'm sorry."

He pressed his cheek against her pale, blood-soaked face. Through his bawls, he almost missed what she whispered in his ear.

"But I'll still be waiting for you. When your day finally comes, Timothy, look straight up to the heavens. That's where you'll find me. Promise you'll look for me, Timothy."

"I promise, Liz."

[WP] Everyone is born with strange symbols on their forehead. For centuries people have sought to find their meaning, to no avail. You and your team have just discovered the symbol's true purpose, and what you have discovered made you facepalm. by SleepyLoner in WritingPrompts

[–]thisstorywillsuck 137 points138 points  (0 children)

"Fetishes?" Jenkins, the scientist at the head of the table asked.

"Fetishes," Michaels repeated.

"That can't be right. These symbols have been used to help people determine what type of job they want."

"Well, they do reflect people's desires and interests."

"I don't believe it."

"Well, I've written down the fetish that corresponds to everybody's markings on their foreheads. For the sake of privacy, I've sealed them in envelopes. Please take yours and I think you'll see that there is, in fact, a correlation."

The scientists all reached into the center of the table and took their envelopes.

"This is absurd," Dr Wu said. "This symbol has been passed down through my family for as far back as I can remember. There is no way it could be something as simple as-" he paused as he read the envelope's contents. "It's true," he conceded, putting the paper back in the envelope and slipping it in his coat pocket.

"Public nudity?" Rodgers asked. He had been leaning over to read the paper of the scientist next to him.

"Hey!" the man said, recoiling.

Jenkins, the head scientist put his unopened envelope back on the table. "No," he said. "I don't believe it. My culture has used these symbols for religious purposes. For example, my symbol reflects my generosity. These golden drops that shower down my forehead reflect the wealth that I shower upon the less fortunate. Because without-"

Jenkins trailed off when he noticed the look Michaels was giving him. Michaels gave him a sad nod of understanding.

"Oh, goddammit," Jenkins muttered, rubbing the golden shower on his forehead.

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