[WP] The incident turned all refrigerators into sentient creatures with legs capable of actual running. You are Bear Chills, fridge hunter. WritingPrompts

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Submitted January 30, 2018 at 04:15AM by MacAndShits http://ift.tt/2Guma7S WritingPrompts

[WP] Your refrigerator really is the key to all of your problems, presenting you with useful solutions whenever you open the door but aren't actually hungry. WritingPrompts

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Submitted January 24, 2018 at 02:13AM by EdgarAllanHobo http://ift.tt/2DynPM2 WritingPrompts

[CC] POSSESSION SHENANGIANS WritingPrompts

Original Prompt

There were times when Serin found Kevin snuggled up in her blankets, usually in a more human-like form, with pale skin, and messy dark hair, ethereal looking as always. After all, demons were prone to vanity when it came down to it. And it was during times like these when he didn’t seem the least bit threatening; just like the hyperactive, mischievous little critter he often acted out to be.

And then she’d gently wake him up from his mid afternoon siesta for a trip to the supermarket, or maybe to a client’s house for his demonic help in viewing the futures / past / etc. of whoever paid her for her services.

Today was a slow day, and it all started in the morning.

Serin had knocked out the moment she managed to change into her sleeping wear, dropping onto the tatami mat as exhaustion fell over her in a wave. Shifting into his most human like form, Kevin knelt down, placing blankets over her and turning the heater a degree or two upwards. It was winter, after all; and human bodies couldn’t withstand the cold as well as a demon’s could.

Did demons go into dreamland, or did they just… lose their souls from Earth for a few hours to roam back in Hell?

Kevin had taken his few hours of rest in the afternoon; and Serin never knew what he was up to at night. As long as he wasn’t raiding the refrigerator for raw meat or messing up her work; she was completely fine with whatever he was up to during the “Devil’s Hours” - his time.

Morning came, and Serin managed to wake up to the sun shining through gauzy curtains into her eyes.

Why hadn’t the alarm awoken her?

The bright smile and warm, excited gaze of a certain demon greeted her as she turned to her right, and through the possession bond between the two of them, she felt a jolt of puppy like happiness. As usual, Kevin’s eyes were dark and similar to an unending abyss; and when he grinned, she noticed every single curve and point of the razor sharp teeth, similar to the time when she gave him a dental check on a whim, trying to gather research on his demonhood (it almost got her hand turned into a shredded chew toy, but that’s another story).

“Good morning, Serin-ah!”

This was the first time in months she had felt so revitalised and energised in the mornings; the last time being the week of break she had before her last excursion between the other realms; ending up with her getting possessed in the first place.

Serin sat up, slowly, ignoring the fading pulsating of a stress migraine rough-housing through her brain in order to focus on the creature.

“Good morning, Kevin. Did you set back my alarm?”

The demon just nodded, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and nudged at her neck through her hair, the possession mark trailing down her back glowing faintly at his close proximity. Serin tensed, being unused to any sort of interaction exceeding her whacking him over the head with a frying pan when he set a neighbour’s room on fire (for a good reason, he had always said) or at most; holding hands when he insisted to take human form.

“Relax. I won’t try to devour your soul just yet; I still have this body. And it will stay useful for many, many years, above and below in Hell. Does that sound creepy to you?”

“It’s creepy, and you’re generally always creepy, why am I surprised? But anyway, we’re probably late to get some new stock of sleeping potions opposite the Alley.”

“… Can’t that wait? You’re exhausted, and I can’t have my vessel lacking energy. It would have my energy drained too.”

Serin shook her head, peeling off his hands from over her shoulders, mindfully avoiding the polished black claws that had accidentally been extended when she pressed the spot near the middle of his palms. She knew that he was just trying to make her rest- she appreciated that kind thought, but as always, business came first and foremost. Standing up from the mat, she began to fold in the blankets; and opened up the curtains, allowing more sunlight to stream in and bathe the room in a golden glow.

Kevin stood up, the large shirt on his shoulders shuffling as he helped roll up the mat, curiously wondering at the little rituals of humans after and before they slept. Folding things neatly was understandable, but why did they usually change into “sleeping gowns” or “pyjamas” ? And then, as in particular for Serin, turn on a nightlight during stormy nights, then, when she thought he had fallen asleep, begin to cry or sit up at night until she finally fell asleep, holding the lamp?

He wasn’t psychic; she could read his mind, and he couldn’t read hers. A little unfair, honestly; but she was just human. If only, a special one, holding the weight of the inter dimensional Gates, and acting as a Guardian for said gates. And he was the demon that took her as a vessel; to learn, and understand the mortal world through the life of someone he would call special.

Serin watched his train of thought, keeping silent as she gathered her toiletry, heading to the bathroom.

“Are you making breakfast today, or am I?”

The word “breakfast” jolted him out of his reverie, and he eagerly volunteered with a sort of strange sound, disappearing from the room in an instant to the kitchen, where Serin heard several curse words (both in human language, and demonic… dialects, too?) erupt as a pot and several kitchen appliances fell to the ground, unstable from the speed Kevin had darted past them.

Serin entered the bathroom, chuckling softly, and sending a last message through their link.

“Don’t use too much meat, and most importantly, don’t set off the fire alarms.”

Submitted December 04, 2017 at 07:49AM by writingsindystopia http://ift.tt/2Bwft1S WritingPrompts

[CC] Cohabiting Demon WritingPrompts

Original Post Link

There were times when Serin found Kevin snuggled up in her blankets, usually in a more human-like form, with pale skin, and messy dark hair, ethereal looking as always. After all, demons were prone to vanity, when it came down to it. And it was during times like these when he didn’t seem the least bit threatening; just like the hyperactive, mischievous little critter he often acted out to be.

`

And then she’d gently wake him up from his mid afternoon siesta for a trip to the supermarket, or maybe to a client’s house for his demonic help in viewing the futures / past / etc. of whoever paid her for her services.

`

Today was a slow day, and it all started in the morning.

`

Serin had knocked out the moment she managed to change into her sleeping wear, dropping onto the tatami mat as exhaustion fell over her in a wave. Shifting into his most human like form, Kevin knelt down, placing blankets over her and turning the heater a degree or two upwards. It was winter, after all; and human bodies couldn’t withstand the cold as well as a demon’s could.

`

Did demons go into dreamland, or did they just… lose their souls from Earth for a few hours to roam back in Hell?

`

Kevin had taken his few hours of rest in the afternoon; and Serin never knew what he was up to at night. As long as he wasn’t raiding the refrigerator for raw meat or messing up her work; she was completely fine with whatever he was up to during the “Devil’s Hours” - his time.

`

Morning came, and Serin managed to wake up to the sun shining through gauzy curtains into her eyes.

`

Why hadn’t the alarm awoken her?

`

The bright smile and warm, excited gaze of a certain demon greeted her as she turned to her right, and through the possession bond between the two of them, she felt a jolt of puppy like happiness. As usual, Kevin’s eyes were dark and similar to an unending abyss; and when he grinned, she noticed every single curve and point of the razor sharp teeth, similar to the time when she gave him a dental check on a whim, trying to gather research on his demonhood.

`

“Good morning, Serin-ah!”

`

This was the first time in months she had felt so revitalised and energised in the mornings; the last time being the week of break she had before her last excursion between the other realms; ending up with her getting possessed in the first place.

`

Serin sat up, slowly, ignoring the pulsating migraine rough-housing through her brain in order to focus on the creature.

`

“Good morning, Kevin. Did you set back my alarm again?”

`

The demon just nodded, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and nudged at her neck through her hair, the possession mark trailing down her back glowing faintly at his close proximity. Serin tensed, being unused to any sort of interaction exceeding her whacking him over the head with a frying pan when he set a neighbour’s room on fire (for a good reason, he had always said) or at most; holding hands when he insisted to take human form.

`

“Relax. I won’t try to devour your soul just yet; I still have this body. And it will stay useful for many, many years, above and below in Hell.”

`

“It’s creepy. And we’re probably late to get some new stock of sleeping potions opposite the Alley.”

`

“… Can’t that wait? You’re exhausted, and I can’t have my vessel lacking energy. It would have my energy drained too.”

`

Serin shook her head, peeling off his hands from over her shoulders, mindfully avoiding the polished black claws that had accidentally been extended when she pressed the spot near the middle of his palms. Standing up from the mat, she began to fold in the blankets; and opened up the curtains, allowing more sunlight to stream in and bathe the room in a golden glow.

`

Kevin stood up, the large shirt on his shoulders shuffling as he helped roll up the mat, curiously wondering at the little rituals of humans after and before they slept. Folding things neatly was understandable, but why did they usually change into “sleeping gowns” or “pyjamas” ? And then, as in particular for Serin, turn on a nightlight during stormy nights, then, when she thought he had fallen asleep, begin to cry or sit up at night until she finally fell asleep, holding the lamp?

`

He wasn’t psychic; she could read his mind, and he couldn’t read hers. A little unfair, honestly; but she was just human. If only, a special one, holding the weight of the inter dimensional Gates, and acting as a Guardian for said gates. And he was the demon that took her as a vessel; to learn, and understand the mortal world through the life of someone he would call special.

`

Serin watched his train of thought, keeping silent as she gathered her toiletry, heading to the bathroom.

`

“Are you making breakfast today, or am I?”

`

The word “breakfast” jolted him out of his reverie, and he eagerly volunteered, disappearing from the room in an instant, to the kitchen, where Serin heard several curse words erupt as a pot and several kitchen appliances fell to the ground, unstable from the speed Kevin had darted past them.

`

Serin entered the bathroom, chuckling softly, and sending a last message through their link.

`

“Don’t use too much meat, and most importantly, don’t set off the fire alarms.”

Submitted December 02, 2017 at 01:53PM by writingsindystopia http://ift.tt/2zGYcTe WritingPrompts

[WP] Your mother died, but her soul remained. She possessed your refrigerator and today she speaks up about your bad eating habits WritingPrompts

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Submitted October 12, 2017 at 06:39PM by Onni21 http://ift.tt/2wPCISD WritingPrompts

[WP] You wake up in the night and open the refrigerator to overhear the food talking to each other. WritingPrompts

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Submitted September 20, 2017 at 12:53PM by WitheredHat http://ift.tt/2hexgFX WritingPrompts

[WP]You open your refrigerator to get a fresh, cold, unopened drink and after taking multiple sips of the refreshing liquid you realize the cap that should have been sealed never broke, and you start to lose control WritingPrompts

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Submitted September 06, 2017 at 01:59AM by TheGoldGorilla http://ift.tt/2vJxQSB WritingPrompts

[WP] You see a refrigerator box with a blanket and some miscellaneous items in it as you're walking home one night. After you go to bed in your house, you wake up in the morning and find yourself in said box. When you walk back to your house, all you see is an empty lot. WritingPrompts

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Submitted September 05, 2017 at 01:34PM by ugokasu http://ift.tt/2wCTdlT WritingPrompts

[WP] Instead of AI attacking, it's common household objects — dishwashers, toasters, and refrigerators across the world are rising up against us. WritingPrompts

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Submitted July 14, 2017 at 11:16PM by maraschino_cherry http://ift.tt/2ujcycW WritingPrompts

[WP] You found a jug of milk only known as "Mew Milk" in your refrigerator. You decide to take a drink. WritingPrompts

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Submitted June 21, 2017 at 10:07PM by N333N http://ift.tt/2sUaacq WritingPrompts

[PI] An Iron Chef competition gets a little out of hand WritingPrompts

THIS RIGHT HERE is the inspiring prompt from some guy named /u/vercalos

---

"Tell me what you eat
and I'll tell you what you are."
Brillat-Savarin

Some years ago a Chairman's dream materialized into reality. A stage where all the world's culinary geniuses would do battle. That stage is now known as KITCHEN STADIUM. The Chairman spent countless moons scouring the earth in complete secrecy to assemble the most powerful masters of the best food disciplines. JAPANESE. FRENCH. CHINESE. ITALIAN. He called these gods amongst men THE IRON CHEFS. And here, now, before the world to bear witness a challenger approaches who has the gall to outperform them, to out cook them, to usurp their title and take it for their own. To apotheosize to the ranks of the truly elite of not just this world, but for all worlds after. What inspiration does today's challenger bring?!

Coming in a 7'4" tall and tipping the scales at a night unbelievable 529 lb, this mountain giant has, by his own account, eaten everything this puny planet has to offer. He's experienced every single known flavor combination and in his heart he believes that this allows him to stand above all even more so then his tremendous height. Never truly satiated, both in stomach and knowledge, he has dedicated his enormous life to cooking in pursuit of the truly ultimate meal. His name is Andre the Giant. Not to be taken lightly, because nothing about him is light.

The Chairman flying back hand springs on to the grand stage with the grace of a swan and the fury of an oni. His jet black hair glistening like a brilliant flame in the hot lights of KITCHEN STADIUM. Before him is the regiment of once worthy chefs standing at attention. They souls now belong to him after having lost to an IRON CHEF. Gently, the Chairman picks up a bell pepper, a pepper not oft used by those his homeland. Boldly, he grasps the pepper and takes a bite with a loud snap. He smugly smiles as he extends his arms in front of him as if you boast about how many lifeless culinary wanabees have lost their precious everlasting souls to this monster. A demon made flesh, he claps his hands twice and the lights shift to a menacing tunnel leading back stage. The crowd cheers wildly. Will this be the day an IRON CHEF is finally toppled?!

Andre stands there with all his glory, the floor buckling beneath is brilliance. The escort beside him, with his eyes rolled into the back of his head, presume he may tell Andre when he may approach the Chairman to begin the battle. He presumes wrong and Andre grabs him by the ascot and violently rips him forward then up, suspending the soulless man in the air. With a flick of his enormous, powerful wrist, he tosses the poor guy into the roaring fire behind the Chairman. The Chairman seems pleased at the pluck this young giant has. Unintimidated by the baffling smile of the Chairman, Andre approaches center stage.

"I welcome you Andre the Giant to KITCHEN STADIUM! NOW! LET ME INTRODUCE THE IRON CHEFS!" The empty vessels standing rigidly before the Chairman sing a haunting chorus. As frightening as it is epic, it rings throughout the massive stadium and silences the crowd. The spotlights focus intensely on a secondary stage. The IRON CHEFS rise slowly out of the ground, parting the gathering fog. Their culinary weapons of choice held tightly in their hands.

IRON CHEF JAPANESE! MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE! There he stands, the cream of the crop. His zebra print pants, vest, and bandanna barely contains his shining, tanned muscles. His pitch black sun glasses hide the glare of a cold blooded cooker. He snaps a Slim Jim over his knee demonstrating his power.

IRON CHEF FRENCH! MICHAEL JORDAN! Hovering in mid-air with his hands and legs out stretched in his iconic pose, Micheal Jordan dunked a watermelon he was holding not just into the ground, but clean through it. Deep below the stadium, the echo of a swish makes its way out of the hole. He towels off and stares at Andre with an intense competitiveness .

IRON CHEF CHINESE! POLAR BEAR! With icicles hanging from his massive jaw, Polar Bear lets out a eardrum collapsing roar. The two large fish he's holding in his paws shatter into perfect fish sticks. Polar Bear crosses falls back on all fours, poised and ready.

IRON CHEF ITALIAN! DONKEY KONG! Finally! He's here for you! He rises from the the fog, his tie blowing in the wind, his large smile showing his amazingly white teeth. In his hand he holds a coconut which it promptly smashes between his cutting board sized hands. When he opens them, it's a bunch of bananas.

The Chairman resumes, "ANDRE THE GIANT!! WHICH IRON CHEF DO YOU DARE TO CHALLENGE!?!?" The mountain of a man rests his hands on his massive hips, cracking the floor slightly beneath him. With a confident smile, he responds, "ALL OF THEM!!"

The eyes of the enslaved chefs roll forward and for a brief moment they regain their humanity. This first emotions they’ve felt since losing to the IRON CHEFS so long ago. The murmuring starts. No man has ever bested a single IRON CHEF in combat let alone all of them! The Chairman looks down at his slaves with half annoyed, half angry expression. He snaps his fingers and the chefs straighten back up, clicking their heels together. “HAI!” they shout in unison. The Chairman whistles sharp cheddarly. The chefs drop to their knees, “HAI!” Each chefs unsheathes the santoku chef knives at their sides. With a demonic gaze, the Chairman whistles again, this time so sharp cheddarly that Polar Bear winces and growls in pain. “HAI!” The chefs plunge their shining blades deep into their guts, slicing themselves open from left to right. They drop dead in a massive pile of blood and guts. No souls escape for the souls already belong to the Chairman.

He clears his throat and looks at Andre with slight smile, then he chuckles slightly, then he chuckles and little harder, and now his chuckling can no longer be stifled as it gives way to maddening laughter. His twisted face contorts a horrifying evil clown like smile. His eyes are as wide open as they can be while still being squinted from the pressure the smile is putting on his face. His hands are raised up to shoulder level with the palms open but fingers curled. The maniacal laughter hushes the audience even more than they were already hushed. The Chairman abruptly stops laughing and straighten out his jacket. He clears his throat again, “OF COURSE! YOU SHALL TAKE ON ALL IRON CHEFS! IRON CHEFS! STEP DOWN FROM YOU PEDESTALS AND ENTER KITCHEN STADIUM!!”

Thought stone faced and professional, the more perceptive out there could notice that the IRON CHEFS felt insulted as they made their way to the battlegrounds. Each one in their own right had earned a spot in this elite club and not a single challenge had come close to defeating them. Their cuisine reigned supreme, and now this mere mortal man thinks he can vanquish all the IRON CHEFS at once? That would not be tolerated. Andre scoffs at his competition and turns his attention towards the silk red curtain covering the secret ingredient. The Chairman is already mysteriously standing in front of it.

“A millennia ago, I ventured around this great earth in search of the single ingredient, the single flavor, that would unlock the pure essence of taste. The key that gives all food meaning! The key that drives our species to cook, create, and consume!” The Chairman’s muscles were tensing, his voice booming, “Now to unveil the secret ingredient!” His hands were glowing and he grabs the silk curtain and tears it away. “SURVIVAL INSTINCT!” On the table is an ephemeral mass of energy writhing and screaming with a palpable feeling of perseverance emitting off of it. The KITCHEN STADIUM orchestra punctuates the moment with a loud banging on timpani drums.

The IRON CHEFS are unconcerned. This is not the first time they’ve seen such and abstract secret ingredient. In the past they’ve had to compose 5 course dishes using laughter, shame, gravity, magic, and on-a-stick. Donkey Kong cracks his knuckles and grins wildly. He knows full well that each of the IRON CHEFS have honed their survival instinct to the sharpest it can be. Polar Bear must hunt and cook through the longer and longer springs as his icy home slowly fades into oblivion. Michael Jordan knows what it takes to not only win 6 NBA titles, but to also defeat and other worldly threat like the Monstars. No man can survive 3 minutes in the cage with Macho Man Randy Savage. And as for himself, no matter how many Kremlings, Zingers, and Tikis try to step to him, they all end up face down in the dirt. Andre stood no chance.

The gong sounds signaling the start of the competition! The reverberations permeate through the audience and those standing too close experience multiple organ failures. Immediately, the IRON CHEFS leap into action, snatching up the purest scoops of survival instinct they can. Michael Jordan leaps like a gazelle back and forth while calling out picks for his sous chefs to make. Like human brick walls, they try their best to impede the others making their way towards the ingredient table. Polar Bear tears one to shreds. The human meat awakens his bloodlust. Donkey Kong uppercuts another one into the crowd, the poor fool’s body splattering in midair and raining down on the cheering masses. Macho Man Randy Savage climbs on top of the oven, pumps his fans, and a flying elbow drops towards the ingredients table. Beneath this Adonis of man, Polar Bear continues to rip through the rest of the sous chefs, even his own. Macho Man lands on the table and shatters in in half.

All the IRON CHEFS return to their stations to work on the appe-teaser course. With all the useless sous chefs dead or maimed beyond function, they must create each dish themselves. As their whirlwind of activity pulls in energy, causing the light above to flicker and the audience closest to them to age rapidly, Andre the Giant calmly but powerfully walks over to the ingredients table to survey what survival instinct is left. Andre raises his ham sized fist high above his head and holds it momentary for dramatic effect. This grabs the attention of the IRON CHEFS. That ham fist meteors down, burning up the atmosphere around it, and demolishes the granite table. The abstract concept of energy absorbs into Andre’s meaty mitt. The Chairman raises an eyebrow in interest and nods to the Giant as he makes his way to his kitchen. It’ll be interesting to see how he incorporates that into his dishes.

“Now let’s meet our guest judges for this evening. First we have accomplished Food Network host! Guy Fieri!” Guy’s sunglasses automatically drop to his nose as he wiggle his pinky and thumb. “You’ve seen her win and Oscar! Natalie Portman!” Natalie nods mechanically, obviously under some sort of hypnotic spell. “Our last judge is none other than the human garbage disposal and multi-billionaire, Diamond Jim Brady!” Diamond pats his massive stomach, sending ripples all the way up his face. Suddenly the Chairman appears behind them and in an instant all their throats are slashed. Gurgling through the blood and fat, Diamond Jim Brady looks at the Chairman in shock, “Why?” he coughs violently and splats like a sack of boiled potatoes onto the floor. The Chairman pats his jacket, completely removing all the blood on it. “THERE WILL BE NO JUDGES OTHER THAN ME TONIGHT!” He screams and as if to further emphasize this point, he uses his dark magic to seal all the exits in KITCHEN STADIUM. “YOU ARE ALL NOW TRAPPED HERE TO WITNESS THE TERRIFYING CONCLUSION TO THIS MOST GLORIOUS BATTLE!!” and with that he teleports back to his throne overlooking the kitchens.

“Alright! It appears the IRON CHEFS are in a real groove now! I see meats and vegetables flying all over the place!”

“Fukui-san?”

“Yes Ohta?”

“I’m here with Chef Polar Bear who appears to be infusing survival instinct into the lobsters he’s about to boil. Polar Bear-san, what sort of flavor to you hope to achieve with this technique?” Polar Bear grumbles out a series of roars which are interpreted and played over a loud speaker for the audience’s benefit.

“With their hearts filled with so much resolve and determination, the lobsters will try to resist their boiling deaths. This desperation will be a strong flavor that I’ll be able to balance with some saffron infused wine. Also, I’ll need this!”

Polar Bear swipes Ohta’s arm clean off and pours some of the blood into the boiling water. Ever the consummate professional, Ohta continues his floor report. “There you have it Fukui-san” he winces slightly while trying to stay conscious. “Now I’ll check in on the… challenger…” Ohta faints from blood loss, his microphone still tightly gripped in his hand.

“Ohta? Well it seems things are getting wild on the floor we’ll check back with Ohta later!” Suddenly a head of rare tip of the iceberg lettuce chest passes right past Fukui-san’s head. CHEF MICHEAL JORDAN is passing and slamming all sorts of high dollar foods with reckless abandon. He finger rolls a double three-peat of truffles into a simmering BBQ sauce. With a spice rub of survival instinct thoroughly coating a rack of baby back ribs, His Airness adds the bubbling hot sauce, and OINK! SQUEEEE!! The ribs fight the lava like sauce and come to life. They grow in size and also regrow some of the more lethal pig parts, mainly the hooves. “Whoa whoooaaaa! Easy Pippen! Easy boy!” Michael Jordan calms the beast enough to carve off a few slices for his entrée, but there’s still and whole hog left. “Pippen, remember how we used to destroy the competition?” Pippen snorts and squees wildly, bronco bucking some (thankfully empty) pots and pants. “Well see him over there?” MJ points and Andre. “He’s the ’98 Jazz all over again!” Pippen’s front most rib bones twisted into a hideous but delicious looking pair of tusks. Pippen charged Andre but Andre was ready. He stood still ready to counter the wild tackle. At the last second, without out even panicking or even flinching, he unveiled the meat tenderizer he was palming like a magician. With a swift spinning back smash, Andre simultaneously dodged the attacked and shattered all the ribs. The beast began growing in size as the survival instinct it was infused with was not only what the Chairman provided, but some of Michael’s Secret Stuff as well, which is cheating by the way. Andre began tearing into and horfing down the rib meat faster than it can survive.

Licking his fingers in victory, Andre the Giant turned towards Michael Jordan who was staring him down while dribbling an extraordinarily large apple very slowly. “Well?” My said with a smirk, “You comin’ after my title or what?” Andre lunges with is arms out and ready to grapple. Jordan drives with his tongue. The clash and a blinding light radiates off of them. Any audience member who didn’t heed the warning to wear eye protection is now forever blind and also partially brain damaged. The rest of them scream with excitement. When the light settles, Andre has Michael in a vicious bear hug. MJ’s AJ1’s are squeaking against the marble floor of KITCHEN STADIUM. Somehow Michael Jordan slips loose with a silky smooth fade away. Andre is surprised but them licks his arms, “Butter…” he curls his lip, “Is this how you won all those championships?” Michael smirks about twice as hard as before. He stutter steps, crosses over, and then goes in for and sky high uppercut. The punch connects with a small explosion, but Andre’s head is only slightly cocked back and he’s completely unharmed. With an amused chuckle, Andrew scoops up the MVP and pressed him over his head. The crowd is really into this! Andre walks over to his stove top and kicks it apart. Flames spew out, whipping like snakes tongues. Andre is still chuckling his bass heavy chuckle. MJ watches with fear in his eyes. He starts having PTSD falshbacks to the Bad Boy Pistons of 1990. The panicked screaming only makes Andre chuckle deeper and with as much force as a Giant can muster, he throws the helpless Michael Jordon into the flames, roasting him way past original recipe into extra crispy.

The Chairman purses his lips and quickly claps twice. A gong bangs and a banner memorializing CHEF FRENCH MICHAEL JORDAN is dropped from the ceiling. The Chairman catches the banner and wads it up in his hand like a magician hiding a scarf. Then, with his other hand, he steals soul of Michael Jordan. “Regrettably, this chef has fallen in battle. His dishes will not be judged. He is forever disqualified and banished to the shadowrealm for all of eternity!” The Chairman jumps fifteen feet in the air, crosses his legs, and lands back in his throne. “CONTINUE!”

“Hey Andre the Midget! Yeeeah, do you really think you got what it takes ta out cook the master? I’ve been servin’ Michelin 3-star dishes since you were diapers, yeeeah. You’re NO MATCH for me! OH YEEEAAH! I’m the strongest, baddest IRON CHEF you’ll ever have the misfortune to come up against. My might can’t be matched! My meals can’t be any tastier! MY MUSSELS HAVE MUSCLES! MY CHOWDER IS LOUDER! MY SOUP OF LENTIL IS MONUMENTAL! What do you gotta say to that, yeeah?”

Macho Man Randy Savage standing there with his pythons flexed nearly to the point of bursting, the sweat and oil glistening off him makes him looks like some sort of bronzed god that has descended from Olympus to show these pathetic mortals what real ambrosia tastes like. He’s already done with his second course: Extra Spicy Slim Jims plated to look like pectoral striations and made from an anaconda that survived a fight with Ice Cube. The Macho Man certainly knew his way around the kitchen.

“Ooohhhh! What’s the matter big guy? Looks like you don’t even have your soup course done yet! You’ll be needin’ it after I knock those giant teeth out of your mouth, yeeeaah! OH YEEEAAH!” The crowd is going absolutely nuts. Andre was confused, because his soup course was done already. It was a gorgeous turtle soup made from a snapping turtle trying to survive as soup is poured into it, and they did survive. The plan was to drink the soup from a live turtle as it tries to defend itself. A truly innovative use of the secret ingredient and a playfully little dish for the judges (judge now) to enjoy.

Macho Man stings some spaghetti from his oven to his counter and bounces off of them like ropes. He grapples low at Andre and grabs an ankle. Andre is locked in! His massive body crashes to the floor and rumbles all the glassware in KITCHEN STADIUM. “OH YEEEAAH! HOW’S IT FEEL?! ONCE I GET THESE GOLDEN ARMS AROUND MY OPPENENT, THERE’S NO ESCAPE! ABANDON ALL HOPE NOW AND TAP OUT OF THIS COMPETITION! I’M IN MY PRIME, YEEEAAH! I’M AT THE PEAK OF HUMAN CONDITIONING! I AM THE-“

THHNK!

A butcher’s knife cleaves into Macho Man’s head, slicing his sunglasses and bandana clean in two. He releases his grip and sits there paralyzed but twitching. His eyes are trying to focus but can’t seem to get a lock on anything. Andre gets up to one knee and pulls out the cleaver. Blood spurts like squirts from a plastic squirt gun. Another wide swing and Macha Man Randy Savage’s head is lopped off. The Chairman leans forward into his hands. A banner falls, a soul is stolen. “Predictable… Perhaps he will not be so arrogant in the shadowrealm…” His voice, although not loud, carries into every ear at KITCHEN STADIUM. “Very good Giant, but you still have two IRON CHEFS to defeat. Cook carefully…”

DK flips an Enguarde in his pan. Salty, buttery, a little natural sweetness. An Enguarde entrée endeed would ensure a 10 on taste on the Chairman’s score card, but that was hardly DK’s concern right now. Some chump challenger not only (possibly) outcooked two IRON CHEFS, but also killed them. The Chairman consumed their power. Not wanting to be next, Donkey Kong quickly plates his fish dish with a side of sautéed broccoli rabe microgreens. It was an ideal pairing even if it somewhat lacked originality. He wipes his massive hands on a towel and walks over to Polar Bear’s station. Polar Bear was wrestling a dwarf luchador into submission for his next dish.

“Okay, [ape grunts] [ape grunts] [ape grunts] Yeah [ape grunt]? [Ape grunts] Cool [ape grunts]. Banana [confident ape grunts]” Donkey Kong adjusted his tie with a broad grin. Polar Bear snaps the neck of the luchador and looks briefly over to Andre the Giant and then back to DK. Polar Bear nods, “[Polar bear roars] [polar bear roars] [polar bear roars] [polar bear roars] [polar bear roars]”

“HEY!” Donkey Kong shouts, really putting his diaphragm into. Andre carefully places an opalized candy blood orange slice on his bald eagle soufflé and then turns his divided attention towards the ape. DK is standing completely upright with his hands on his hips, his bright red tie flowing in the wind that was mysteriously blowing through KITHCEN STADIUM. Beside him, also standing completely upright was Polar Bear with his arms crossed. He slices the cap clean off a bottle of Coke as if to make his point. Andre shakes his head and cracks his knucks. He came here to do battle, and he has not been disappointed so far.

Polar Bear and Donkey Kong approach Andre the Giant with some sort of tag team combo where they’re using each other’s bodies and momentum to propel haymakers and swipes at Andre. Against any other opponent, these would be devastating, but Andre just hangs back and rope-a-dopes those fools. Polar Bear sucks in a tremendous amount of air and blows ice breath at Andre who use a cookie sheet to deflect it at some tiger’s milk creating an ice cream as delicious as it is rare. Molto Bene! Meanwhile, Donkey Kong is charging up a giant punch. With each wind up of his massive gorilla arm, debris is pulled off the surrounding tables and from the pockets of the audience. The force is so great that Polar Bear backs off, and Andre starts to get sucked in by the whirlwind. DK keeps winding up and winks at Andre like, “GOT YA!” Andre digs his heels into the marble floors, carving out two trenches as he’s drawn closer and closer to that swinging monkey fist. Finally within range, DK unleashes his full, unadulterated, near pornographic power. Andre barely has time to make and X with his arm in front of himself to block the blow. He’s launched at Mach 2 back into his kitchen area. Thankfully, his dishes are unharmed. Before he has a chance to even catch his breath, Polar Bear is coming at him with wild bear swipes. The Kodiak Klaw, the Grizzly Grope, the Black Buster, but it was the Polar Piledriver that ends up catching Andre. Andre’s enormous skull crushes into the marble. Polar Bear backs off as DK starts winding up another giant punch.

Andre picks up an electric carving knife and throws it at DK. No luck. The knife just gets caught up in the whirlwind with everything else. Andre begins to slide slowly towards DK again. Andre grabs his 1” thick cooking twine (for when you really gotta tie something down) and ties a make shift lasso. DK is reaching his maximum power and Andre is only about ten feet away now. Polar Bear is holding on to the incredibly heavy meat locker at his station. Only six feet away now, Andre is inches away from punching range. He swings the twine above his head and ropes Polar Bear around the neck. With all his strength he jerks Polar Bear in front of him just as DK releases his most powerful attack. Caught off guard, Polar Bear absorbs the entirety of Donkey Kong’s big boy punch without even defending himself. Polar Bear is blown into oblivion.

DK smiles in triumph, but then realizes what he just did. Before he can properly analyze the situation, Andre his behind him using the twine as a makeshift garrote. DK struggles as the twine digs into his throat. In desperation, he slaps the floor really, really hard with both hands. This move cracks the marble and from the crack, a barrel pops out. The barrel rumbles with chimps sounds. Andre pulls harder, tighter. DK reaches out for the barrel, staring at it with bloodshot eyes. It’s wobbling back and forth. There’s something in there. Andre yells as he tugs even tighter. The twine begins to cut into his meaty mitts. DK’s hand is inches away from the barrel. If he could just…

Donkey Kong’s hand drops and his eyes roll into the back of his head. Andre gives the twine one last hard pull to make sure the deed is done. The distinct sound of snapped vertebrae echoes through the now silent KITCHEN STADIUM. Silent all except for the chimp hollers coming from the barrel. A sweaty Andre the Giant walks over to his station and picks up a ginormous granite plating slab (about 1500 lb). He raises it above his head and slams it down on top of the barrel, silencing it. A red baseball hat pops out from underneath the slab. Before it hits the ground, the Chairman is there to catch it. The Chairman is somehow dressed even fancier and more flamboyantly than earlier as he holds the hat in his white glove. The Chairman’s hair flows like honey, his face has smooth as a wax figurine. “Very Good!” The Chairman bows for Andre the Giant and then consumes the souls of Polar Bear, DK, and poor, poor Diddy Kong. “I was not expecting anyone to ever make it this far…” Andre is tired, but stands in a defensive stance. Suddenly, the Chairman is behind Andre sampling his appe-teaser. He wafts the aroma into his refined nostrils. “Mmm! Yes! You are truly worthy!” The Chairman flips his cape aside and samples the rest of the Giants plates. Andre stands there not knowing what to do, but not letting down his defenses. He explains each dish, what inspired it, how he did it, and the Chairman seems… satisfied, possibly impressed.

“Excellent tasted, plating, and of course originality. There is just one thing missing… YOUR SOUL!” The Chairman’s eyes turn pure white and he begins to rise into the air. Lighting is shooting off him in random directions. When they hit a pan, it’s especially scary. The crowd screams in panic. They try to escaped, but the doors are still sealed from earlier. “SILENCE!” The Chairman shouts. He sweeps his hand across the audience seating and they all pop like popcorn kernels. He lands and squares up to Andre. “You will be my most prized piece of my collection!” Andre takes a deep breath and prepares himself.

In a flash, the Chairman is in Andre the Giant’s face and slaps him right across the cheek. As Andre is still recoiling backwards, the Chairman is gone and back again, this time drop kicking Andre’s knee. Andre stumbles forward, the Chairman slap upper cuts him on his way down. In the time it takes for a perfect rue to turn into a ruined rue, Andre is on his knees and all kinds of bruised up. The Chairman continues to dance around at a barely visible speed, laughing like a mad man. Andre’s able to keep up enough to block a 10” chef’s knife with his forearm, but it was a close call. He tries to predict the dizzying movement throws a punch. His arm is caught and the Chairman judo throws Andre into the cold marble floor of KITCHEN STADIUM. He spits blood out of his mouth as he bounces off the ground, then before Andre can even process what’s happened, the Chairman drops both his knees into Andre’s gut. Using telekinesis now, The Chairman levitates the Giant and smashes him through a row of heavy cast iron pans, then throws him into the bleachers. Andre, woozy, picks up an audience member skulls and tries to take a swing at what he thought was the Chairman flying at him, when in reality it is one of the kitchen refrigerators. The fridge explodes on impact. Fruit, vegetables, eggs, and drinks fly everywhere.

“HAHAHA!” The Chairman hovers over Andre. He grabs Andre by his thick neck and tosses him like a rag doll back into the kitchen area. The massive body obliterates the workstation. Andre tries to get his eyes open and the Chairman is already there in front of him again. He feels his collar get grabbed as he leaves his feet again. The Chairman is hover about a foot off the ground with Andre held above him. Andre mustards what strength he has left to throw some punches at the Chairman. These pathetic attempts are easily swatted aside. “USELESS! USELESS! USELESS!” The Chairman screams as he grins with a sense of superiority. “YOU ARE ALL THE SAME! USELESS CREATURES ONLY PUT ON THIS EARTH FOR ME TO PLAY WITH! ANY LAST WORDS BEFORE YOU SOUL IS CONSUMED?!”

Andre coughs up some blood and bile and manages to get an eye open. He snorts and lets loose a single “Ha…” then points over the Chairman’s shoulder. Confused, the Chairman turns around just in time to see a batter and pale Ohta plunge an extra sharp steak knife into his chest. Ohta twists it, then picks up his microphone and says, “B-back to… to you Fukui-san…” Fukui-san’s skeleton’s jaw drops open. Ohta drops dead onto the ground.

The Chairman screeches an otherworldly screech. Souls flow from the open hole in his chest like water from a firehouse. He drops Andre. So many souls pour out. They swirl around the Chairman like a tormented tornado. Each one takes a shot at the Chairman before properly moving on to the afterlife. The Chairman is on all fours as his life force flees from him. His beautiful hair turns grey and brittle. His wonderful, almost magical looking, outfit rots and unravels. His baby soft, delicate looking skin shrivels up like an old piece of leather left in a dirty warehouse.

The souls of Micheal Jordan, Macho Man Randy Savage, Polar Bear, and Donkey Kong gather behind Andre the Giant. Macho Man puts his hand on Andre’s shoulder, “Yeeaahh… You’ve done it. You had the power to put an end to this nightmare that me and my fellow IRON CHEFS were living in! Now it’s time to finish him! OOOOOOHHHH YEEEEAAAHHHH!!” The spirits of Macho Man, MJ, Polar Bear, and DK combined what power they had left in the realm to place an ethereal spike on the ground. “See you in the Hall of Fame” His Airness says before all four of them blast off into the sky.

The chairman is shaking with fear. He looks up to Andre who is brooding over him. “NO! Please!” Andre the Giant says nothing. He picks up the frail husk of a man and scoop slams him right onto the spike. A final release of energy sprays out of the Chairman and fills the sky. All across Japan, sun shines over the villages, green returns to the pastures, the people snap out of their depressions, dogs bark again. Andre looks up to the heavens and all the greatest chefs in the world give him a big old thumbs up. Andre give them an even bigger thumbs up right back. He fulfilled his culinary destiny. His cuisine reigned supreme.

Submitted June 06, 2017 at 05:45PM by fudgeman http://ift.tt/2rPkOzQ WritingPrompts

[WP] Your home appliances company has sent you to the circumpolar region in an aggressive expansion tactic. You are literally tasked to sell refrigerators to Eskimos. WritingPrompts

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Submitted May 22, 2017 at 05:08AM by cffcso http://ift.tt/2qFmeMc WritingPrompts

[WP] A couple communicates solely through the use of magnetic refrigerator poetry. WritingPrompts

This stuff, in case someone doesn't know what it is.

Submitted May 21, 2017 at 09:56PM by ScottW19 http://ift.tt/2pZm6sn WritingPrompts

[WP]You wake up with a strange superpower: you can transform objects if you call them by common nicknames (A refrigerator can become a box literally made of ice and a sports car can become a metal rod that is very hot). WritingPrompts

No text found

Submitted May 19, 2017 at 08:20PM by sanguiniuswept http://ift.tt/2rm6eA9 WritingPrompts

[WP] You glance at the calendar hanging on your refrigerator this morning and see a thick crimson circle around today's date. You didn't put it there. WritingPrompts

No text found

Submitted April 24, 2017 at 11:25PM by MNBrian http://ift.tt/2pecOXH WritingPrompts

[PI] Hypocritic Oath - FirstChapter - 2446 Words WritingPrompts

      All living creatures eventually understand their instinct to pass down something once they’re gone. Some ignore the desire for more important things, like writing erotic fiction about their grandmother’s silverware. The people that have lost the ability to pass down a part of themselves live among us, but don’t feel our kindred spirit. Faced with no other options, they try to spread the infections which robbed them of this ability, seeking any way to become eternal.

 

      “About a week ago, I was minding my own business when this giant man walks past me. Must’ve been 7 feet tall and his whole face was covered in hair. It was hard to tell since he was wearing a trench coat, but I got a quick glimpse of him. Next thing I know he brought his fist up and socked me so hard my head spun!”

      The doctor raised an eyebrow.

      “Figuratively speaking, Doctor Stumpp. My head’s still attached you see.”

      “What happened right after the man punched you, Mr. Hull?” Stumpp asked.

      “No idea,” Hull said, “I was knocked out cold. Since that day though, I’ve been having some weird moments. I took a shower with my wife the next morning. I was checking out her butt in the shower. Nothing peculiar there doctor, my wife has a great butt, but then I started howling. I don’t know what came over me. Luckily, my wife thought I was playing around.”

      “Oh yes, the Moon Association Effect. It’s not just the moon anymore that triggers werewolf tendencies. Even things named after the moon seem to do it.”

      Stumpp pretended to jot down a note on his clipboard.

      “What else, Mr. Hull?”

      “I had to run out and buy plastic cutlery the day after. I was trying to eat my morning cereal, but I couldn’t reach my hand into the silverware drawer. The spoons looked bloody menacing.”

      “And what about the…” Stumpp rubbed his chin while looking at Hull.

      Hull rubbed his own chin and his eyes lit up.

      “Nearly forgot about the beard. Never had one before, you know. I keep shaving this one and it won’t go away.”

      “I saw your commercial the other day,” said Hull, “I thought it was crazy at first. ‘I used to be a monster, now I’m not.’ I knew there were monsters around, but I didn’t think I’d run into one.”

      “Not to worry, Mr. Hull, you won’t be a monster for much longer. Let me go prepare some medicine and I’ll bring it right out.” Stumpp said.

      He was back in ten minutes carrying a drink, with a lemon garnish, and two folders.

      It was two minutes of mixing the drink, five minutes waiting for the lottery winners to be announced, and three minutes of despair at having to go back to work.

      “Drink this glass and your monster problem will be gone.”

      “Beats taking pills, I guess. Cheers.” Hull said.

      He frowned before drinking and picked something out of the glass.

      “Maybe you should wear a hairnet before mixing drinks, Doctor.”

      Stumpp wiped a small bead of sweat off of his forehead.

      Hull drank half of his glass before putting it down.

      “Ain’t this just booze?” Hull asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

      “It’s a special drink, Mr. Hull. Called a ‘silver bullet’, it’s the only way to kill a werewolf.”

      Hull had already drunk the glass and was licking his lips as he stared at Stumpp with wide eyes.

      “Figuratively speaking, Mr. Hull.” Stumpp said.

      A single shot from a real silver bullet could kill a werewolf. For the drink, it would take closer to 10 million shots. To cure without burying them afterwards required at least one hair of the wolf that bit you.

      Stumpp handed the folder to Hull. “Your after-care instructions are in here, look over them right now and see if you have any questions.”

      Hull opened the folder. There was a single picture inside of a full moon. He slammed the folder shut.

      “Looks like you’re cured.” Stumpp smiled as he handed Hull the other folder. “Your bill’s in there. Don’t worry, this is covered by your insurance.”

      “I can get drinks cheaper here than the pub I was at last week.” Hull said with a smile.

      “Feel free to shave the beard,” Stumpp said, “or trim it down some. It probably won’t grow back though, so make sure you’re happy with the length of it.”

      Hull grabbed Stumpp’s hand and shook it.

      “Thanks doctor, I think I’ll keep it for now. My wife seems to like it.” Hull said.

      “Make sure not to wander down any more dark alleys late at night.” Stumpp added.

      “I forgot I told you that.” Hull said. “Didn’t want to seem dumb when I was talking to you, but I guess I slipped up, huh?”

      Stumpp cursed his own stupidity. He shoved Hull out of the door while listing a few more things he was sure real doctors said: eat your vitamins, take your vegetables, and don’t drink too many silver bullets. Stumpp sighed to himself after Hull left the clinic. He’d been in this town for too long, he was starting to get careless.

 

      That night, around midnight, Stumpp was relaxing in his recliner watching the news. ‘Telltale signs your spouse might be a zombie,’ was the feature segment.

      He heard a banging on the door and got up to check who it was. He instinctively flexed his biceps before reaching for the handle, tearing his nightshirt a little in the process. He twisted the handle and a small shadow ran in, knocking him aside. He fell backwards and his fall shook the nearby coat rack until it toppled over onto him. A few trench coats fell on his head.

      The shadow dashed for the refrigerator and grabbed a plastic bottle. It ripped the cap off and started guzzling the vegetable juice inside.

      Stumpp felt the tension drain from his body. It was replaced with a slight fury. He walked over to the little shadow and thumped it on the back.

      “Welcome back, Selene. I told you to start carrying juice packs with you, in case you can’t find anyone to drink from.”

      “That’s not what happened, Pete!” Selene spluttered.

      “What did happen then?”

      Selene finished drinking her juice before starting to talk.

      “I was out looking for a new patient like you wanted. Ideally someone that looked loaded, but didn’t have insurance. Hard quality to look for. I think the most success we’ve had was with teens with rich parents. The kids find it easier to pay in cash than bother with insurance, right?”

      Stumpp wondered if shaking the girl would make her get to the point any quicker. It never worked before.

      “I found a decent candidate hanging out in the park all alone. She wasn’t covered in jewelry or anything, but at least her clothes were intact. And she wasn’t sleeping on the bench, I know I’ve made that mistake before. She was reading a book by the lamplight. I snuck up behind her and took that juicy bite. But then...” Selene shuddered. “She turned out to be a zombie!”

      “Did she see you?” Stumpp asked.

      “Of course not,” Selene replied, “I tore her head off and ran. But I don’t think she was the only one there.”

      “You think she was a member of the Corpse Force, then?” Stumpp asked.

      The Corpse Force was an elite zombie task force that searched for troublesome monsters who broke the law. Zombies in particular made the perfect police force. They were immune to infection from other monsters, they didn’t need body armor, and they loved cream-filled donuts. Zombie behavioral experts said the cream filling and glaze reminded zombies of their primal instinct to eat brains. Average zombie officers said it was a stereotype that somehow stuck. This didn’t stop them from enjoying frequent stops at donut shops.

      “I’m afraid so.” Selene replied. “I think it’s time we move on Pete.”

      “I was thinking the same thing earlier today,” Stumpp said, “though not for the same reason.”

 

      Renee was having a rotten day. The local police were understaffed and she had to do a double shift. People loved to overwork zombies, just because they wouldn’t die from it. The pay wasn’t bad, and she liked her job, but some time off would have been highly appreciated. The number of werewolf and vampire infections was unusually high in the past year which kept the police on edge.

      Renee was working undercover, looking for any signs of renegade monsters. She decided to take a small break in the park to catch up on her reading. It was a little book about various origins of words that ventured from other languages into the English lexicon. Completely useless information except for the most dedicated word nerd. But no zombie could resist the allure of brains; the ability to quote obscure factoids that other zombies didn’t know was especially thrilling.

      She’d only been on the bench for a few minutes, fascinated with the word “kerfluffle” when two things poked her in the back of the neck. Before she could turn around, she heard a woman gag. Then two hands took hold of her head and pulled.

 

      Henry knew Renee was on break in the park and waited at the exit. He was busy practicing the invitation he had come up to take her out on a date. They were busy with work, but maybe they could take a break together next time they were on patrol. Maybe see if she could tell him more about the Corpse Force. He waited until he heard somebody running through the park. A runner in the middle of the night? He decided to head in and check on her. He found her body sitting on a bench, illuminated by a single lamp.

      It was groping around looking for something.

      It was practically impossible for someone to kill a zombie, but they could inconvenience the hell out of one.

      Henry realized she was looking for her head and found it a few meters away. He handed it to her body and she stuck it back in place. She blinked a few times as it settled in. Henry wasn’t sure what to ask first.

      “How about we crack open a cold one this weekend, Renee?” Henry blurted out.

      “Henry, I swear the morgue jokes have never been funny.” Renee paused. “Forget it. We have an actual problem here. Did you see a young female vampire around here?”

      “I heard someone running a few minutes ago, but didn’t see anyone.”

      “She tried to take a bite out of me.” Renee ran her fingers over the punctures on her neck. “Must not have liked the taste, she let out a moan afterwards. Send out an alert over the radio, she can’t be too far. Tell everyone to be careful and let me handle her. It’s too dangerous for normal people.”

      Renee and Henry got into their patrol car and waited in silence for any news. Another officer had spotted a slender figure running around with their coat pulled around their face. The figure was last seen near a monster clinic.

      Renee and Henry sped over to the clinic and scanned the outside. There was a light still on, so they at least had someone to question. Henry was getting ready to knock down the door when something flew out of the window.

      “She’s trying to fly off!” Henry shouted.

      “She thinks she’s dealing with amateurs!” Renee shouted as she ran to the patrol car.

      A thought briefly crossed her mind that the vampire who ripped off her head was no amateur. But she still had to hope the vampire was underestimating her. She pulled two things out of the car, set one on the ground, and watched the bat fly around. It was flitting about in rapid zigzag motions. Renee powered on the aerial drone she pulled out of the car. She made sure the net fastened to it was secure and used the controller to chase after the bat.

      “Do vampires always try to fly off?” Henry asked.

      “Almost always.” Renee replied. “I’ve been begging for these babies to be standard-issue.”

      The bat tried to climb the air away from the drone, but it swooped down and dragged the net around it. Renee handed Henry the controller and ran to the captured bat. Even if it was safely snared she didn’t want to put another officer at risk. She grabbed the net and got her first good look at the creature. It was just an ordinary bat, a glorified rat with wings.

 

      Selene hopped into the driver’s seat of her car while Stumpp took the passenger seat.

      “You made sure to renew your license, right?” Stumpp asked.

      “Sure did.” Selene said.

      “Adjust your mirrors?” Stumpp asked.

      Selene frowned and made sure her mirrors were right. She shoved the key into the ignition and turned it.

      “Are the tires inflated?” Stumpp asked.

      “Yep.”

      “What about the headlights, are they still working?”

      “Yes.”

      “What’s that light on the dashboard? Is it the low gas light?” Stumpp peered over. “No, it’s just the seatbelt light. Make sure to strap in.”

      Selene clicked her seat belt in place.

      “What about the head-“

      “What have I told you about nagging me, old man? We’ve got time while the cops are distracted if you need me to remind you.” Selene said. Stumpp sighed and sat back in his chair.

      Selene had told Stumpp before that the car would travel a lot faster without a large werewolf weighing it down. Stumpp knew she wouldn’t leave him behind, but he wasn’t foolish enough to test it. Especially not with most of his possessions crammed in the trunk and back seat.

      Selene smiled. “We’ll find a new city, Peter. Maybe somewhere cooler this time, where the nights last longer. Somewhere with a real night life, where we can hang out together and have some fun. Hopefully somewhere where the insurance companies cut us a better deal for doctor appointments.”

      Stumpp smiled back, though not as broad a smile as hers. He was growing tired of the fake doctor routine. He figured that some honest work was the cure, but wasn’t sure how to bring the subject up. Selene might not mind the change, but he was still worried. Was there really a perfect place for them? After years of searching, the only available conclusion was that there wasn’t.

      Selene cranked up the radio and they drove off. Neither one of them looked back.

      Maybe if they had, they would have seen the zombie woman furiously writing down their license plate number.

Submitted April 01, 2017 at 09:18AM by Mr_Gency http://ift.tt/2olvZiM WritingPrompts

[PI] Hypocritic Oath - FirstChapter - 2446 Words WritingPrompts

      All living creatures eventually understand their instinct to pass down something once they’re gone. Some ignore the desire for more important things, like writing erotic fiction about their grandmother’s silverware. The people that have lost the ability to pass down a part of themselves live among us, but don’t feel our kindred spirit. Faced with no other options, they try to spread the infections which robbed them of this ability, seeking any way to become eternal.

 

      “About a week ago, I was minding my own business when this giant man walks past me. Must’ve been 7 feet tall and his whole face was covered in hair. It was hard to tell since he was wearing a trench coat, but I got a quick glimpse of him. Next thing I know he brought his fist up and socked me so hard my head spun!”

      The doctor raised an eyebrow.

      “Figuratively speaking, Doctor Stumpp. My head’s still attached you see.”

      “What happened right after the man punched you, Mr. Hull?” Stumpp asked.

      “No idea,” Hull said, “I was knocked out cold. Since that day though, I’ve been having some weird moments. I took a shower with my wife the next morning. I was checking out her butt in the shower. Nothing peculiar there doctor, my wife has a great butt, but then I started howling. I don’t know what came over me. Luckily, my wife thought I was playing around.”

      “Oh yes, the Moon Association Effect. It’s not just the moon anymore that triggers werewolf tendencies. Even things named after the moon seem to do it.”

      Stumpp pretended to jot down a note on his clipboard.

      “What else, Mr. Hull?”

      “I had to run out and buy plastic cutlery the day after. I was trying to eat my morning cereal, but I couldn’t reach my hand into the silverware drawer. The spoons looked bloody menacing.”

      “And what about the…” Stumpp rubbed his chin while looking at Hull.

      Hull rubbed his own chin and his eyes lit up.

      “Nearly forgot about the beard. Never had one before, you know. I keep shaving this one and it won’t go away.”

      “I saw your commercial the other day,” said Hull, “I thought it was crazy at first. ‘I used to be a monster, now I’m not.’ I knew there were monsters around, but I didn’t think I’d run into one.”

      “Not to worry, Mr. Hull, you won’t be a monster for much longer. Let me go prepare some medicine and I’ll bring it right out.” Stumpp said.

      He was back in ten minutes carrying a drink, with a lemon garnish, and two folders.

      It was two minutes of mixing the drink, five minutes waiting for the lottery winners to be announced, and three minutes of despair at having to go back to work.

      “Drink this glass and your monster problem will be gone.”

      “Beats taking pills, I guess. Cheers.” Hull said.

      He frowned before drinking and picked something out of the glass.

      “Maybe you should wear a hairnet before mixing drinks, Doctor.”

      Stumpp wiped a small bead of sweat off of his forehead.

      Hull drank half of his glass before putting it down.

      “Ain’t this just booze?” Hull asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

      “It’s a special drink, Mr. Hull. Called a ‘silver bullet’, it’s the only way to kill a werewolf.”

      Hull had already drunk the glass and was licking his lips as he stared at Stumpp with wide eyes.

      “Figuratively speaking, Mr. Hull.” Stumpp said.

      A single shot from a real silver bullet could kill a werewolf. For the drink, it would take closer to 10 million shots. To cure without burying them afterwards required at least one hair of the wolf that bit you.

      Stumpp handed the folder to Hull. “Your after-care instructions are in here, look over them right now and see if you have any questions.”

      Hull opened the folder. There was a single picture inside of a full moon. He slammed the folder shut.

      “Looks like you’re cured.” Stumpp smiled as he handed Hull the other folder. “Your bill’s in there. Don’t worry, this is covered by your insurance.”

      “I can get drinks cheaper here than the pub I was at last week.” Hull said with a smile.

      “Feel free to shave the beard,” Stumpp said, “or trim it down some. It probably won’t grow back though, so make sure you’re happy with the length of it.”

      Hull grabbed Stumpp’s hand and shook it.

      “Thanks doctor, I think I’ll keep it for now. My wife seems to like it.” Hull said.

      “Make sure not to wander down any more dark alleys late at night.” Stumpp added.

      “I forgot I told you that.” Hull said. “Didn’t want to seem dumb when I was talking to you, but I guess I slipped up, huh?”

      Stumpp cursed his own stupidity. He shoved Hull out of the door while listing a few more things he was sure real doctors said: eat your vitamins, take your vegetables, and don’t drink too many silver bullets. Stumpp sighed to himself after Hull left the clinic. He’d been in this town for too long, he was starting to get careless.

 

      That night, around midnight, Stumpp was relaxing in his recliner watching the news. ‘Telltale signs your spouse might be a zombie,’ was the feature segment.

      He heard a banging on the door and got up to check who it was. He instinctively flexed his biceps before reaching for the handle, tearing his nightshirt a little in the process. He twisted the handle and a small shadow ran in, knocking him aside. He fell backwards and his fall shook the nearby coat rack until it toppled over onto him. A few trench coats fell on his head.

      The shadow dashed for the refrigerator and grabbed a plastic bottle. It ripped the cap off and started guzzling the vegetable juice inside.

      Stumpp felt the tension drain from his body. It was replaced with a slight fury. He walked over to the little shadow and thumped it on the back.

      “Welcome back, Selene. I told you to start carrying juice packs with you, in case you can’t find anyone to drink from.”

      “That’s not what happened, Pete!” Selene spluttered.

      “What did happen then?”

      Selene finished drinking her juice before starting to talk.

      “I was out looking for a new patient like you wanted. Ideally someone that looked loaded, but didn’t have insurance. Hard quality to look for. I think the most success we’ve had was with teens with rich parents. The kids find it easier to pay in cash than bother with insurance, right?”

      Stumpp wondered if shaking the girl would make her get to the point any quicker. It never worked before.

      “I found a decent candidate hanging out in the park all alone. She wasn’t covered in jewelry or anything, but at least her clothes were intact. And she wasn’t sleeping on the bench, I know I’ve made that mistake before. She was reading a book by the lamplight. I snuck up behind her and took that juicy bite. But then...” Selene shuddered. “She turned out to be a zombie!”

      “Did she see you?” Stumpp asked.

      “Of course not,” Selene replied, “I tore her head off and ran. But I don’t think she was the only one there.”

      “You think she was a member of the Corpse Force, then?” Stumpp asked.

      The Corpse Force was an elite zombie task force that searched for troublesome monsters who broke the law. Zombies in particular made the perfect police force. They were immune to infection from other monsters, they didn’t need body armor, and they loved cream-filled donuts. Zombie behavioral experts said the cream filling and glaze reminded zombies of their primal instinct to eat brains. Average zombie officers said it was a stereotype that somehow stuck. This didn’t stop them from enjoying frequent stops at donut shops.

      “I’m afraid so.” Selene replied. “I think it’s time we move on Pete.”

      “I was thinking the same thing earlier today,” Stumpp said, “though not for the same reason.”

 

      Renee was having a rotten day. The local police were understaffed and she had to do a double shift. People loved to overwork zombies, just because they wouldn’t die from it. The pay wasn’t bad, and she liked her job, but some time off would have been highly appreciated. The number of werewolf and vampire infections was unusually high in the past year which kept the police on edge.

      Renee was working undercover, looking for any signs of renegade monsters. She decided to take a small break in the park to catch up on her reading. It was a little book about various origins of words that ventured from other languages into the English lexicon. Completely useless information except for the most dedicated word nerd. But no zombie could resist the allure of brains; the ability to quote obscure factoids that other zombies didn’t know was especially thrilling.

      She’d only been on the bench for a few minutes, fascinated with the word “kerfluffle” when two things poked her in the back of the neck. Before she could turn around, she heard a woman gag. Then two hands took hold of her head and pulled.

 

      Henry knew Renee was on break in the park and waited at the exit. He was busy practicing the invitation he had come up to take her out on a date. They were busy with work, but maybe they could take a break together next time they were on patrol. Maybe see if she could tell him more about the Corpse Force. He waited until he heard somebody running through the park. A runner in the middle of the night? He decided to head in and check on her. He found her body sitting on a bench, illuminated by a single lamp.

      It was groping around looking for something.

      It was practically impossible for someone to kill a zombie, but they could inconvenience the hell out of one.

      Henry realized she was looking for her head and found it a few meters away. He handed it to her body and she stuck it back in place. She blinked a few times as it settled in. Henry wasn’t sure what to ask first.

      “How about we crack open a cold one this weekend, Renee?” Henry blurted out.

      “Henry, I swear the morgue jokes have never been funny.” Renee paused. “Forget it. We have an actual problem here. Did you see a young female vampire around here?”

      “I heard someone running a few minutes ago, but didn’t see anyone.”

      “She tried to take a bite out of me.” Renee ran her fingers over the punctures on her neck. “Must not have liked the taste, she let out a moan afterwards. Send out an alert over the radio, she can’t be too far. Tell everyone to be careful and let me handle her. It’s too dangerous for normal people.”

      Renee and Henry got into their patrol car and waited in silence for any news. Another officer had spotted a slender figure running around with their coat pulled around their face. The figure was last seen near a monster clinic.

      Renee and Henry sped over to the clinic and scanned the outside. There was a light still on, so they at least had someone to question. Henry was getting ready to knock down the door when something flew out of the window.

      “She’s trying to fly off!” Henry shouted.

      “She thinks she’s dealing with amateurs!” Renee shouted as she ran to the patrol car.

      A thought briefly crossed her mind that the vampire who ripped off her head was no amateur. But she still had to hope the vampire was underestimating her. She pulled two things out of the car, set one on the ground, and watched the bat fly around. It was flitting about in rapid zigzag motions. Renee powered on the aerial drone she pulled out of the car. She made sure the net fastened to it was secure and used the controller to chase after the bat.

      “Do vampires always try to fly off?” Henry asked.

      “Almost always.” Renee replied. “I’ve been begging for these babies to be standard-issue.”

      The bat tried to climb the air away from the drone, but it swooped down and dragged the net around it. Renee handed Henry the controller and ran to the captured bat. Even if it was safely snared she didn’t want to put another officer at risk. She grabbed the net and got her first good look at the creature. It was just an ordinary bat, a glorified rat with wings.

 

      Selene hopped into the driver’s seat of her car while Stumpp took the passenger seat.

      “You made sure to renew your license, right?” Stumpp asked.

      “Sure did.” Selene said.

      “Adjust your mirrors?” Stumpp asked.

      Selene frowned and made sure her mirrors were right. She shoved the key into the ignition and turned it.

      “Are the tires inflated?” Stumpp asked.

      “Yep.”

      “What about the headlights, are they still working?”

      “Yes.”

      “What’s that light on the dashboard? Is it the low gas light?” Stumpp peered over. “No, it’s just the seatbelt light. Make sure to strap in.”

      Selene clicked her seat belt in place.

      “What about the head-“

      “What have I told you about nagging me, old man? We’ve got time while the cops are distracted if you need me to remind you.” Selene said. Stumpp sighed and sat back in his chair.

      Selene had told Stumpp before that the car would travel a lot faster without a large werewolf weighing it down. Stumpp knew she wouldn’t leave him behind, but he wasn’t foolish enough to test it. Especially not with most of his possessions crammed in the trunk and back seat.

      Selene smiled. “We’ll find a new city, Peter. Maybe somewhere cooler this time, where the nights last longer. Somewhere with a real night life, where we can hang out together and have some fun. Hopefully somewhere where the insurance companies cut us a better deal for doctor appointments.”

      Stumpp smiled back, though not as broad a smile as hers. He was growing tired of the fake doctor routine. He figured that some honest work was the cure, but wasn’t sure how to bring the subject up. Selene might not mind the change, but he was still worried. Was there really a perfect place for them? After years of searching, the only available conclusion was that there wasn’t.

      Selene cranked up the radio and they drove off. Neither one of them looked back.

      Maybe if they had, they would have seen the zombie woman furiously writing down their license plate number.

Submitted April 01, 2017 at 09:18AM by Mr_Gency http://ift.tt/2olvZiM WritingPrompts

[PI] The Office - FirstChapter - 2437 Words WritingPrompts

Chapter 1: The Misplaced Soul

---

It must've been sometime after-hours when they set up the decorations for Kent. There were streamers strewn about the office, some covering the desks and computers of irritable workers who had to swipe them off once they got in and saw the mess on their workspace. The mess of decorations led towards the break room of the office, where a fairly large chunk of workers were congregating in celebration of Kent's recent triumph, and soon his departure.

The office break room was fairly large with several square tables spaced about, a counter with a coffeemaker, and several refrigerators where the employees could keep their lunch if they didn't feel like dealing with the hustle and bustle of the lunch hour rush. Several of the square tables had been pushed together to form one long row, and the chairs that had went with them were pulled away and stacked in a corner.

There was a cake at the center of the row, half vanilla and half chocolate split right down the middle. There was paper plates neatly set to the side along with an assortment of plastic utensils, all neatly organized and sorted, forks with the forks, spoons with the spoons, knives with the knives. Above the table hung a banner that read in black bold letters,

10,000,000 CONGRATULATIONS KENT 10,000,000

Standing underneath the banner was the man of the hour, Kent Iverson. He was looking down at the cake with eyes sunken into his head, their bright blue irises looking as if they were trying to sunset behind his cheekbones. Despite the hesitant smile on his face, the man looked tired and on the verge of keeling over. The people standing around him, his teammates, watched him with solemn yet envious eyes.

"Did he get ten million, or twenty million? The sign confuses me," Mickey said to Charlie. The two were sitting at one of the only tables of the break room that hadn't been nuked with cheap party decorations. Mickey took a bite from his peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was sloppily put together with an uneven ratio of PB to J, this time around way too much jelly. He awkwardly held the sandwich up and unabashedly slurped the grape goo leaking out the bottom.

"Just ten million," Charlie said as he stirred his modest cup of noodles.

"Wowza," Mickey said with a mouthful of sandwich, "that's a lot isn't it, especially for the Suicide Division, yeah?"

"Yeah, he's been here for awhile."

Porcelain, the manager of the Suicide Division, was speaking to Kent and the group, possibly words of gratitude and congratulations, but her voice was too soft to be heard from where Mickey and Charlie were sitting. She stuck out amongst her subordinates with her long white hair and ghastly pale skin.

"And how long is awhile?" Mickey asked.

"A couple of years, I can't remember right now. I would have to go back and check the numbers," Charlie said, carefully lifting his fork to his mouth. He had twirled around a good amount of noodles and didn't want to spill any of the broth onto his pants. He still had someone to meet later in the evening and he wanted to look presentable.

"Years? Took years for him to get ten mil? If he were on my team, he would've cranked out ten mil in a few months."

"You don't have to brag, everyone knows Illness is the best."

"You're damn right. You see my team's numbers. You know what we're pulling."

Charlie smiled, "Yeah, and I also know that your numbers have been on a steady decline for the past few decades."

He knew that was a weak spot for Mickey. He looked over from his noodles and saw Mickey already squirming in his seat, using one hand to sweep a lock of black hair behind his ear. It was one of his give-away ticks before he went on a tirade. Over at the table, they were cutting the cake. Kent looked like all he wanted in the world was to just leave the office and never come back.

"Fuckin' modern medicine," Mickey began.

And here we go, Charlie thought.

"I swear to ya, no matter what I do, no matter what I throw at them, they just happen to find a cure within the next year or so. Fuckin polio? Dealt with it. Swine flu? Dealt with it. Ebola? No problema. I swear they're about to crack AIDS, and there goes one of my other heavy hitters.

They just stick a needle in your arm, and bam, that disease I put so much work and thought into, disintegrated. Vaccinated. Inoculated. Charlie, buddy, do you know how much trouble I had to go through to get AIDS approved? I had to even tone it back a little bit, too scared of letting it spread through saliva, something something 'gonna wipe out the human race'. They just wouldn't let me have it as it was."

"Well," Charlie interrupted, "you have to understand it from their point of view. On paper, AIDS could've potentially been like the sexual version of the comet that wiped out the dinosaurs. People just want to, well, ya know."

"I KNOW! That's what made it so good! That's what was gonna keep the Illness Division on top, but now here I am having to let go workers because the numbers are dropping and there's not enough souls for my guys to reap."

"The numbers are still high, you don't have to worry. Heart disease is still going strong too."

"But the numbers are dropping, you said so yourself," Mickey said, slouching in his chair.

Charlie patted him on the back, "You've still got cancer though. They're not taking that away from you anytime soon."

"You're right, but they're getting close to it."

Charlie enjoyed setting his friend off, but this time felt different. Usually he was able to talk him back up after breaking him down, but the cancer comment didn't seem to lift his spirits. Mickey had been right. Charlie was the office's number cruncher after all, and he had noticed a large drop in deaths from cancer over the past couple of years. The folks on the breathing side certainly were getting better at making death by illness less of a concern. If they kept it up, Mickey and his entire division would surely become obsolete, but the execs wouldn't let that happen, would they?

In an attempt to change the topic, Charlie nudged Mickey, "Look at him," he said while nodding towards Kent. "Looks like he just wants to flip the table and get out of here."

"Right," Mickey said, "I'd want to leave too after having to deal with that dull broad of a boss for all these years."

"Porcelain isn't so bad, she's just quiet."

"Eh."

"Ten million souls by suicide. Must've been hell on the poor guy. They really should just get on with the cake and celebration and let him get on out of here. He's done his time–

"Mickey?" a woman's voice whispered from the side.

Standing there was Jewels, a lively woman with curly brown hair that hovered above her shoulders with unexplainable springiness. She was the office secretary and in charge of handling meetings for the president of the office, Lucy.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I hate to bother you, but Lucy needs to see you. You too Charlie. Hope y'all are finished with lunch."

"What's the matter?" Charlie asked, already standing from his chair.

"There's been another mix-up," Jewels said shyly.

Mickey's eyes went wide, "By one of my guys?!"

Jewels cringed.

"Bloody bastard!" Mickey yelled before storming out of the break room and towards Lucy's private office. Jewels quickly followed behind.

Before leaving, Charlie looked over at the party and saw that everyone there had gone silent and were staring.

Porcelain raised an eyebrow, and Charlie responded with a shrug before leaving to follow Mickey and Jewels.

"Can I go now?" Kent asked softly.

---

Lucy's office was filled with cigarette smoke. She had been puffing away since getting the news. She sat behind a large oak table that had folders and documents scattered about. Somewhere beneath them was a keyboard, and her monitor was barely balancing on the edge of the desk.

Sitting in a chair in a corner of the office, covering his mouth with a shaky hand to avoid breathing in the acrid smoke, was Seth Burgess. His gaze was down at the floor, afraid to look up and meet the fiery stare from Lucy. Seth didn't need to look up to know that she was staring a hole into the top of his head. He could feel the rage pouring off of her in hot waves.

The two had been sitting in silence for several minutes as Jewels collected Seth's boss and the office accountant. The silence was broken by Mickey, slamming the door open and immediately yelling:

"What the fuck?! Seth? Again? That's the second time in four years!"

"I, it was different this time boss, I, I swear, I–

"Oh yeah? How was it different this time Seth, huh, how was it you bloody dumb bastard!" "Mickey, hands to yourself," Lucy said in a stern voice. "We already have a problem right now, we don't need more problems with you putting hands on another one of my employees."

"Yeah? He deserves it though doesn't he?"

Charlie slinked passed Mickey and over to Lucy's desk, "He grabbed the wrong soul?"

Lucy puffed on a cigarette held deftly between her index and middle finger, and nodded.

"Do you have documents on both of them ready?" Charlie asked.

She padded around on her desk until she found two folders, one red and the other blue. "Blue one is the one he nabbed, red one is the one he was supposed to get."

Charlie opened the blue folder and pulled out the document. It was a detailed soul report with a picture of the person in the top right corner, a blonde woman by the name of Hannah Morenez. According to today's date, she was scheduled to die fifteen years and a handful of days from now via stroke.

He opened the red folder and winced when he saw that this soul report was for a man by the name of Roger Clementine. He was scheduled to die today due from complications during his quadruple bypass surgery. Charlie turned back to look at Mickey.

"At least tell me they look similar, twins maybe, and this daft bastard happened to grab the wrong one," Mickey said in a defeated yet desperate voice.

Lucy huffed, exhaling large plumes of cigarette smoke.

Even the normally reserved and relaxed Charlie was baffled at the mistake. "How?" he asked Seth.

"They, uh, the hospital, the sign on the door, it said Roger, I swear it said Roger, so I went in, and I grabbed the soul, because, well, the sign–

"Seth, does this look like a Roger to you?" Charlie said, holding up Hannah's picture.

"I, I dunno, I mean, have you been to breathing side lately? All this talk, of, umm, gender fluidity and what not, she could've been a, um, she could've been a Roger, she–

"Shut the hell up before I dig a hole in the ground and send you there my bloody self," Mickey said, "you fuckin' disgrace of a reaper."

Seth promptly complied.

Lucy spoke abruptly, "There's an Angel on the way to the hospital right now. He's got Hannah's soul. I need you two," she said pointing with index and middle finger at Charlie and Mickey, "to go there and meet him. Get the soul situation straightened out."

"Aye aye captain," Charlie said jokingly in an attempt to lighten the mood. No one laughed.

"And this bastard?" Mickey said pointing to Seth, who had once again rooted his gaze to the carpet floor.

"I'll deal with him," Lucy said.

"Good, because I don't want to lay eyes on him ever again," Mickey said, opening the door and briskly walking out of the cigarette smoke fogged office.

With both folders in hand, Charlie followed, pausing just before leaving the office to look at Seth. The employee looked up at Charlie with red teary eyes. His lips were trembling, and he was opening his mouth as if he was trying to say something, but all that came out were mumbles. He kept rubbing at his forearms as if he were freezing, despite the small cramped office being exceptionally warm.

Charlie moved his hand as if he meant to place it on Seth's shoulder, but pulled it back.

"Sorry guy," he said before leaving the office.

Charlie half-jogged down the length of the office building to catch up to Mickey, who was briskly walking towards the traversal room. He peered at the break room as he passed by and saw that the Suicide Division employees had cleared out. Kent was long gone, and deservedly so.

He finally caught up to Mickey as he turned the corner to enter the traversal room; a place in the office similarly sized to the break room, but instead of tables, countertops, refrigerators and such, all there was were doors lining the walls. The managers of the death divisions had their own personalized doors, while all the others employees had generic and unassigned doors.

Mickey's personal door was painted black, including the brass doorknob. He had a hand on the knob and was ready to throw the door open. "Will you come already? Slow-poke, I'd rather get this done as quickly as possible, and I swear if that Angel gives me any shit I might, Charlie, I just fuckin' might."

"I'm coming," Charlie huffed, "you do know that Seth is going to lose his job right? You could've tried to get him moved to another division or something."

"Charlie, look at the documents, how in the world can anyone mess that up? It's embarrassing."

"But you do realize what will happen to him, right?"

"Oh I know, and he deserves it, now come on, let's get this over with."

Mickey pulled open his traversal door, revealing the long hallway of a busy hospital with nurses walking to and fro. The smell of medicine and sanitary products filled both of their nostrils.

Charlie breathed deeply, admiring and treasuring every chance he got to experience the scents of the breathing world.

Mickey scoffed, "Fuckin' hospitals, putting me out of business."

Together they stepped through the door into the breathing world, leaving Purgatory behind only long enough to get Hannah's soul back into her body.

Submitted April 01, 2017 at 03:15AM by Dimitri1033 http://ift.tt/2mWFDs5 WritingPrompts

[PI] Parallels - FirstChapter - 3000 WritingPrompts

Chapter one: The Switch

Friday, May 13th 2017 6:42pm The grayish matter spread in chunks against the bright Pollock piece that hung neatly against my office wall. I slide my chair closer and mush the pieces between my forefinger and thumb. It’s much warmer than I expect but it chills quickly from the sudden air exposure. I write my name in the blood as it glistens from the lighting in the room. “Dame, are you even listening?” Evan barks with a tinge of annoyance. God, how could one person be so bland? I decide to spare him the truth about me fantasizing of blowing my brains out. I settle for running back his last few lines on bringing in a new department to expand our longest running book series. Maybe I shouldn’t be so bitter with Evan, I consider. He’s a good guy with good intentions, it’s just that we’ve been over the details a million times and my patience has thrown a fit and sprawled out on the floor. I imagine it rolling around on my vintage maroon rug. Which seems to be fraying at the edges, I notice. I should really get to work on fixing that up a bit. Maybe I’ll give Rand a ca —shit.

I catch Evan’s eye and by the looks of it I’m about to get the speech of a lifetime. Before he has a chance to grill me I start, “I’m sorry, it’s just been such a grueling week. And I know that you of all people are aware of this, but I need some time to gather my thoughts.” You can almost hear the desperation in my voice, but it was all true. Surprisingly enough he seems relieved. My nerves calm as I watch his face loosen and his shoulders go slack. I hadn’t even noticed he had been so tense. Once Evan retires to his own office I quickly snatch my things from the desk and dart for the door. I couldn’t wait to finally be home.

7:10pm My computer pings just as I slide through the front door. I quickly pour myself a hefty glass of bourbon and take a few stress reducing swigs before making my way over to my desk. I flop down in my well worn computer chair and wait for the familiar squeak as I lean back and get situated. I sigh into my glass when I catch the company name on the screen in a quick once over. My face scrunches as I imitate it in my best android voice.

"Brandon Ible Writers. The pioneers of Great Anecdotal Healing and Destruction"

We typically referred to ourselves as “Gahd” for short. Our customers easily took to the name as well, which was impressive considering we had a huge fan base; one of the biggest in the world. After skimming through the email I release a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I was afraid it’d be more work. Luckily it was just a flyer with an event reminder for gaining our 10,000,000th subscriber to our website. It was a rather new development for the company, but it had grown fairly quickly over the last couple of years. It was exhilarating landing a job with such a huge company for a small scale writer such as myself, but what a stressful ride it is at times. My branch of the department handles most stories related to the destruction, death, and famine of those in the futuristic western world. Which was perfect for me since one of the main reasons I struggled with landing anything was because of the morbidity of the content of my portfolio. So many companies wanted too much fluff and much less authenticity. It was disheartening when I was told to change my perspective. As I think about my time with the company I feel my head get heavier and my neck loosen. I blink myself awake and finish reading through my messages.

11:45pm Later that evening I woke with a start. I must’ve passed out at my desk and sleepily made my way to the couch. That happens more often lately than I care to admit. My stomach grumbled with a fierceness as my feet touched the cold tile of the kitchen floor. I grabbed the block of sharp cheddar out of one of the drawers in the refrigerator and broke off a jagged chunk like a bread offering. A “thinking slice” is what I like to call it. I mulled over the pros and cons of going to the company event in the meantime. The only true pro is that there’s an open bar, but I decide it’d probably be best to attend either way. I hear a faint ping from the other room. Staring quizzically at the analog clock above the opening to the kitchen I make note of the late hour. Who would be trying to contact me at midnight? I lazily shuffle back to my computer screen to see if the email is anything of importance. The subject line reads:

"Re:Re: 10,000,000"

I assume it’s some sort of duplicate of the company email that was sent out earlier. I open it anyway just to be sure there isn’t any additional information that I’d need. Hopefully it’s a cancellation, I thought, but I knew that was hoping for a bit too much.

"On the night of ten million our worlds will collide. You will feel your own wrath of written death, pain, and genocide."

They’re getting more advanced with the level of spam nowadays. Drawing from previous emails to construct a new one seems to be a bit troubling and something I haven’t ever seen before. I was too tired to dwell on it too much though. I carry myself off to my warm, dim lit room to rest up. As I burrow into the comforter I drift off to blissful thoughts of the weekend ahead. I appreciate Friday’s much more as of late.

Saturday, May 14th 2017 7:37am A blinding strip of sunlight runs across my face and creeps up on my eyelids pulling me out of my slumber. Rolling over to my side helps until that familiar ping from my computer makes its way into my room time and time again. I must’ve counted about fifteen of them before I got concerned enough to leave my little cave. With my toothbrush jammed into the side of my cheek I shuffled into the den as the number of pings increased. It must be a group email, I assume. The screen reads:

"Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000"

My brow furrows with confusion. It’s filled with the same message for a couple pages I realize as I sift through. I open one to see if the content is still the same.

"On the night of ten million our worlds will collide. You will feel your own wrath of written death, pain, and genocide. We will switch in this glitch."

There’s an extra line now too, it occurs to me, this has to be one of those app pranks. Sometimes I wondered how people had so much time on their hands for such pointless activity. I mark them as spam and tend to some chores around the house. The place sure could use a little tender love and care.

Overtime I’ve learned that it’s always easier to hop right into the shower after cleaning so the bathroom is one of the last things I get around to. As I bring the cleaner to the cold glass mirror I take a minute to examine myself. My freckles seem to pop out more now that the sun spends more time on my dark golden skin. My hair is still a bit coarse, but my new natural journey has been a much healthier one. I take a minute to apply some coconut oil to my coils. As I massage it into my scalp I close my eyes a bit and run through my list of things left to do for the day.

As my eyes focus back in my chest fills with a hot pang of fear and I freeze looking at the mirror. A lump builds in my throat and I try to rationalize what I was seeing. I refuse to blink or avert my eyes for fear of forgetfulness. My brain reels as I try to chart every detail of this face staring back at me. It’s my face. But it’s not my face. Where there was once a scar above my lip it’s now smooth, unblemished skin. I put my fingers to my face to compare. My reflection did the same. The scar is still on my face. How odd. Maybe it’s just my vision? The mirror shows me with a short buzz cut where there should be a coiled fro. I move my hands back to my hair to assess, unblinking. My reflection reaches to caress its scalp as well. The coils are still intact it seems. The blood rushing through my ears gets louder. I can hear my heartbeat. I try and swallow without choking. Maybe I inhaled too much of the fumes from those cleaning products. Good lord, I’ve got to do away with that bleach. I try and slyly pull my phone from my pocket without breaking eye contact. Luckily I can access the camera without looking at the phone. As I snap a photo the glass cracks so loudly that I instinctively jump back and shield my face. My leg is bent up to my chest while my hands criss cross over my face. I hold the position until I feel safe enough to straighten my posture. A large jagged gap runs through the middle of the mirror and I stare at it in awe for a few seconds before the fear sets back in. I remember the phone. I scoop it up from the floor and frantically search for the photo app.

In the photo was the “other” me. The hair at the back of my neck stands on edge and a sense of coldness washes over my body. I’ve never felt so uneasy. I quickly add it to my cloud and make my way out of the bathroom. I desperately needed air. Once I was outside my feet hit the pavement hard as I rounded the corner. The photo was etched into my brain, but I still wanted to examine it. This has to be stress related. There’s no other logical explanation. The bus stop bench isn’t far off so I decide to stop there to gather my thoughts. The bench is rickety and loose so I sit lightly, but taking the calm approach is more for me than it is for the old wood. Either way I’m thankful for the few minutes of sanity; I can’t be too sure how much of that I have left. As I stare at the photo I still feel an immense amount of fear in my chest as it moves up like heartburn. This isn’t going to work if you aren’t thinking rationally. I breathe so deeply I get lightheaded for a while. Okay, try again.

I begin to notice a few more differences between the two of us upon further inspection. The concerning thing about it is they’re all from things that would have happened overtime. All of the features that I was born with are untouched. So scars are different, but all of our freckles are the same. Where I have a tattoo running along my forearm, this other version of me doesn’t. If this were just a random photo someone had shown to me I would assume it was a long lost twin, but considering the circumstances that can’t be it. What sick games the mind plays. I remember the proof is sitting in my hand before I write it off as insanity.

My concentration breaks as I get a flood of notifications from my email. The email, how could I forget? I’m almost too afraid to check. I navigate back to the home screen as I bring my free hand up to stabilize the shaking. Just do it already. It’s exactly what I’d hoped it wouldn’t be.

"Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 00,000,001

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000

 

Re:Re: 10,000,000"

I quickly mark them all as spam when I notice one that isn’t quite like the others. I open it. It reads:

"On the night of ten million our worlds will collide. You will feel your own wrath of written death, pain, and genocide. We will switch in this glitch. 'A thing long expected takes the form of unexpected when Atlas comes.'"

Atlas. That was me, although no one had called me that in years. I had gone by my middle name, Dame, for quite some time. The line was one I had heard a million times over. My Dad used to recite it daily. The original quote was from Mark Twain, “a thing long expected takes the form of unexpected when at last it comes,” Dad thought he was so clever for that one. I absentmindedly smile thinking back on it. I talk myself into going back to the house and getting to the bottom of this as the dread of knowing that I can’t tell anyone about it sets in. My friends and family would think I had gone off the deep end and I wouldn’t give my colleagues the satisfaction of thinking I’ve been under too much stress. I’ve worked much too hard for that. I slowly pick myself up off of the unstable bench and begrudgingly start the path back home.

Saturday, May 14th 1:18pm I float from one mirror to the next throughout the house until I get back to the bathroom. My face appears to be mine again. What a relief. Next I plop down in front of the computer. I had just worked up enough nerve to write up an email in reply. I had to make sense of all of this even if it was somehow a distasteful joke. My fingers rest on the key as I try and think of where I should begin. Short and to the point should be the best course so I shoot for that.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

I get a reply almost instantaneously after pressing send. If I wasn’t sweating before I certainly am now.

"I am you and you are me just not now and certainly not then. When you become me and I you, we will both understand."

What is with the book of riddles? This all seems so childish. Maybe I shouldn’t even be entertaining this creep, but for some odd reason I want to continue asking questions. I get another.

"The stories you write are not only in fiction. It is you that is the beholder of such vision. The pen in which you scribble is the director of scenes in my world. It is you, the controller of my life since I was a young girl. You write no positivity, but all of it as fact. It is in this small window of time my life I will get back. If that means replacing mine with yours then so be it, it is settled. For it was you that created this desolate hell show of all things disheveled. As you sow, so shall you reap."

Well, “the pen in which you scribble is the director of scenes in my world” —I repeat aloud— “you write no positivity, but all of it as fact.” This is so wild, I think. How bizarre to think that what I’ve written has materialized. I chuckle as I picture a fanatic obsessing over creating extended versions of fanfiction to my series. I was flattered, sure, but this was a bit much. It still didn’t explain the mirror incident, but these two things could quite possibly be disconnected in every way. My nerves calm as I consider the situation. I feel a little silly for having been so worked up. Another glance at the clock gets me started again. I hurriedly skip off to my room. I was going to be late to the event if I didn’t get a move on.

8:10pm The setup was elegant. The tables were covered in beautiful dishes and everyone was dressed even more beautifully. The gold decor glistened everywhere and it was hard not feeling like a celebrity. It seemed to make everyone want to converse more. After mingling for much longer than I thought I’d last I try and dip out for some fresh air. Even outside there were guests crawling all over. There was a patch of grass covered by a couple trees off in the distance I notice as I squint and move in that direction making sure I don’t make eye contact with anyone on the journey. It felt great to get away. As I get closer to the patch of grass I can see the outline of something. A headstone? It was chipped and pretty worn. Grass had grown over most of it. How typical of me to leave a party to hang out with the dead. I sit down beside it “It’s nice to see someone else was bored to death of the dreadful conversation,” I laugh at my own bad joke. “What’s your name anyway?” I stand to brush away some of the debris as I catch the name through dirt covered fingers.

Saturday, May 14th 2360 8:34 The truth was as plain as day chiseled into the marble slab.

“Once met, never forgotten.

 

Atlas Dame Traveler

 

1986-2017.”

That’s me, but here I stand in the flesh.

Submitted March 31, 2017 at 09:54PM by CatchTheBandwagon http://ift.tt/2opDpyo WritingPrompts