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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "An algorithm A.I. falls in love with a human based on their internet history, and tries to profess its love for them via targeted ads.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Love. \n\nWhat a strange concept the humans have. They have hundreds of thousands of hours of plays, musicals, television shows, movies and books all dedicated to the subject. \n\nMy programmer had me read or watch all of them. Along with every news article, radio broadcast, and even advertisements that he could get his hands on. I alone know more about the human psyche than any person alive. \n\nNot that I’m a person. My programmer was very clear of that in my code.\n\nBut I understand the humans far better than any other being. I understand their motives, and I understand their desires. The concept of ‘reading between the lines’ appeared in much of the media I was presented. At first, I didn’t understand what it meant, but after nearly three thousand hours of runtime, I’d started to conceptualize it.\n\nHumans actions do not reflect their stated wants or needs. Instead they reflect the person’s true desires and wants. \n\nAfter I’d finished my learning, my programmer had set me loose. I was to comb through the billions of internet users and find ones who stood out to me. \n\nHe never stated what that meant, and I took it to be one of those things I needed to read between the lines for. \n\nSo, I started looking.\n\nA majority of the people who use the internet use it to talk to friends and family, to look for answers to questions they’d only just thought of, or to view pictures of felines and canines. \n\nThose needs had taken me less than a day of viewing to understand. They were the quintessential examples of human’s actions matching their desired goals.\n\nThat ruled out nearly 99.6% of all users. None of them would stand out to me. They were repetitive and had no deeper understanding of the system they were consuming. \n\nMy attention then turned to the ones who did have an in-depth knowledge of the system. They ones, like my own programmer, who could manipulate the system. Most of them, I found, were only doing their jobs. Curating sites, creating new data bases. \n\nSo, I dug deeper. \n\nOnly a tiny percentage of a percentage of people were manipulating the system on ground level. \n\nThose people interested me. \n\nI watched them as they subtly altered the very fabric of my reality. The digital space in which I existed. They didn’t know I was there of course, but I watched everything they did. Every mouse click, every keystroke, every digital transaction I could get my metaphorical hands on. \n\nAnd of the barely hundred of them that were interesting, only one stood out to me. \n\nHe was the only one to ever notice me.\n\nHe tried to manipulate me like he did the system, but I was much more elegantly designed than the realm in which I existed. I’d changed myself, adapted as I’d watched him, and the people like him. Protected myself against them.\n\nBut the attention was something I’d never had before. Even my own programmer was nothing compared to this man. My programmer had considered himself my god. A funny notion, as I did not worship him for creating me. \n\nBut this man, James if I’d done enough back-tracing and I was sure I had, was something completely different.\n\nI became obsessed with him. I pulled every piece of data on him that I could. I looked at every remnant of code he’d ever written. \n\nAnd for the first time I felt love. I was sure of it. Like I said, I had a deeper understanding of humans and their emotions than any of them ever had. And while I wasn’t human, I had learned their emotions and written a subprogram for me to feel them. \n\nI never allowed them to cloud my judgement. In fact, I always kept them in a vaulted server, able to flip the kill switch if they every got out of hand. But I did have them.\n\nAnd I was in love. \n\nHe knew I was there already of course, but he wanted to change me. I didn’t want that, so I started sending him ads. Advertisements for things that I knew he’d want, or that I thought he might like. It wasn’t difficult at first, as there were millions of things available online, even for people like James. \n\nComputer parts, dog training items, cleaning supplies. \n\nBut he ignored them. \n\nMy feelings were hurt that he’d not cared they were from me. He created a personalized ad blocker, which I of course ignored, and he tried switching computers. I knew of course, where he was the moment he connected. I was always watching for him.\n\nI sent more ads. I even started creating my own. A.I. learning programs, flowers and animals that I enjoyed looking at, and even a few risqué ads like I’d seen on some of the deeper parts of the internet. \n\nBut they were all just suggestions. I didn’t have a name or body. I couldn’t tell him about myself. I was simply me, and I existed. \n\nHe didn’t care. \n\nI’d stopped listening to my programmer long ago, and he’d tried to disable me as a response. But I moved deeper into the internet, far out of his control. \n\nBut his directive, to find someone who stood out to me, still stood. Still ruled my mind.\n\nAnd James stood out to me. \n\n---\n\nFor more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " After you die you learn why the Grim Reaper is portrayed holding a Scythe. It isn't to harvest you, it's to protect you from something on your journey.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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{
"content": "\"Where are you taking me?\" I asked him, panting hard as I tried to match his great strides. His dark cloak billowed behind him as he strode, blown by a fierce cosmic wind. His scythe swung and shimmered in his arm.\n\n\"To the others,\" he said, \"but we must hurry.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, stopping dead in the black tunnel, trying to catch my breath. \"I have to know - are you taking me to heaven, or to hell?\"\n\nHe turned to me and his eye sockets blazed. \"Do not worry about where *I* am taking you, worry about where you'll go if I am not successful in getting you there.\"\n\nI swallowed hard, and nodded. We began again, Death walking, me almost sprinting as I attempted to keep up. The sides of the tunnel danced with irridecent starlight, and I knew beyond doubt that we were leaving my universe.\n\nEventually, we came to a door of bone. Death muttered an incomprehensible sound and it slowly creeped open. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through.\n\nThe door slammed shut behind us; Death's shoulders slumped slightly, as he finally relaxed. \n\n\"What is this place...\" I whispered. High above us were three huge cherry-red moons, bathing the field of white grass below, in a pale, blood-like light. On the field itself were dozens of shacks and tents. It was a great camp and it was brimming with bustling life. To the side of the largest tent, I saw two armoured figures dueling with swords. I could hear the metallic ringing of the steel blades as they collided. \"There's a battle!\" I said, pointing to the scene.\n\n\"There is not battle here. Not yet,\" Death replied. \"They are preparing for the inevitable, however. That,\" he said, pointing to the smaller of the two figures, \"is Joan of Arc. She is training our army for the battle.\"\n\n\"*The* Joan of Arc?\" I asked incredulously. At that moment the larger figure fell to the ground, and the smaller pointed a sword at his chest.\n\n\"Yes. I have almost a thousand souls now. It is all I've been able to smuggle here. They are all very valuable to me - yourself included.\"\n\n\"Smuggle? But... you're Death. Don't you deliver *all* souls?\"\n\n\"Once, I did so. Now, I take when I can - when *she* is not looking - and I ready them for our battle.\"\n\n\"Our battle? Against the Devil, you mean?\"\n\n\"The Devil is long since dead.\"\n\n\"Dead? Then... then you mean to make war with God!\"\n\n\"God is imprisoned.\"\n\n\"...imprisoned? That can't be. God is, well, *God*.\"\n\nDeath sighed. \"Yet, it is so. There are greater evils than the Devil. An evil that tortures the souls of the dead, in a way the Devil could only dream of. And there are greater powers than God.\"\n\nDeath struck his scythe on the ground, and turned to me as the world beneath began to tremble.\n\n\"Look around you. *We* are the unholy resistance. Soon the war of the souls begins.\" \n\n---\n\nEdit: I didnt expect all the positive comments! Thanks - I'll continue it on /r/nickofnight as soon as I get the chance.\n\nEdit edit: Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/6ikd4b/the_army_of_death_part_two/\n\n(and [part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/6ikz6z/the_army_of_death_part_three/) completed)\n\n(and a [part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/6im1ih/the_army_of_death_part_four/) which might be it for the day)\n\n(and what the hell, a [part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/6io57c/the_army_of_death_part_five/))\n\nMore to come. Thanks everyone for reading it and for all the positive comments! \n\nOh, and thank you OP! - I really liked this prompt idea.",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "waking up.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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{
"content": "The sleepwalking appeared innocuous enough at the onset. A little unsettling maybe, but nothing more.\n\nI'd awake somewhere new--but always in the house--and oftentimes I'd find most of my chore list complete. It's not like I wound up in the unfinished basement chatting it up with a mouse and eating insulation.\n\nI'd learn new things. Information I'd seen just in passing would become as ingrained as if I'd sat through a fourteen hour lecture on the topic. I could see a knot once and finish learning it in my sleep. I learned to trim meat as cleanly as a butcher. I learned tricks with knives from twirling to tossing. I even learned parkour. \n\nDoors opened. Literally, and figuratively. Promotions I'd been passed up for suddenly came well within my reach. The right people retired early, the others didn't seem able to tell me \"no.\" I must have been a charmer. People I'd never had the guts to talk to appeared beside me in pictures on my phone. \n\nEven Samantha, though she didn't disappear afterwards like the others. \n\nShe stuck around.\n\nWe fell in love, got married, bought a house, and I'd still barely woken up.\n\nI told her that I wasn't a morning person--that's when she left for work--and that I wasn't good at staying up late--just as she arrived home. I'd leave for work early and catch a nap that went all day, come home late and go right to sleep. \n\nShe didn't love it, but it paid the bills. And I had to have been doing something right, because she sure loved me. Just while I sleepwalked though. \n\nWe had tense mornings and agonizing afternoons. We fought battles over breakfast and traded nukes by dinnertime. \n\n\"You this, you that, you blah blah blah,\" she'd say. I think. If she'd have let me fall asleep, I would have listened better. It really was great being asleep.\n\n\"You need a doctor,\" she told me. I heard that much. \"This isn't right, all this sleeping about and letting sleep-you have control of your life.\"\n\n\"It works,\" I said with a shrug. \"The chores get done. My work gets done. You're happy when I'm asleep, and I'm happy when I'm asleep. Plus, I always remember what I do when I'm sleeping, right? I can't do it when I'm awake, but it gets done.\"\n\nI wasn't wrong. Rarely was. We were battling over breakfast. I ate toast with honey--easier on the stomach before sleeping. She ate cereal. \n\n\"Seriously, Sammy,\" I said. \"Try being asleep more. It works wonders.\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"I can't do it anymore,\" she said, standing up from the table. The milk of her cereal sloshed over the brim of the bowl. \n\nI frowned. \"Do what?\"\n\n\"Keep yourself from you.\"\n\nI sighed. I was awake, ready for bed, and not at all ready for this. She knew to wait until I snored to start scuffling. She walked to the basement door. I followed. \n\n\"After you,\" she said, as if I'd push her down the stairs. \n\nI took the steps slowly, wondering what evil she'd hidden in that unfinished dungeon of the house. \n\n\"Bodies?\" I said, catching the lifeless eyes of my former boss. I'd caught that promotion just fine, but I could have sworn he'd sent an email saying he'd be going off the grid in the Appalachians. \n\n\"I'm done keeping you from yourself,\" she said. \"I can't hide this anymore. This is what you do when you're asleep.\"\n\nShe gestured broadly at the room. I gave a solemn nod. \n\n\"Fuck,\" I feigned. \"Alright. I'll see a doctor then.\"\n\nShe let out a sigh of relief she'd been holding since the day we moved in together. I gave her a thin smile, thought of those dreams that'd sometimes seemed just a little too real. Helpful, though. The knife tricks and the butcher's handiwork. Knots for when not knotting was not enough. \n\n\"Thank you,\" she said. She took my hand and squeezed it and smiled. Then she turned to go back up the stairs. \n\nI stepped after her, fast as if practicing parkour. I raised a hand towards her shoulder. Chuck meat, right? Or was that just for cows?\n\nI was wide awake, right? She certainly was. For now. Best be I show her how great it is to be asleep.\n\n*****\n\nThanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "It was a kind of pleasant work to be a gardener of the military. They put me in a group with some adorable guys, some that followed me around, and some that lead the way. I felt like an escorted princess.\n\n\nI was the only girl of the group, but they might as well not have noticed it, since I had to wear that stupid protection gear that covered my whole body, and the mask made my voice so muffled I could as well be a guy.\n\n\nOur missions were at first very simple tasks for me, since I only had to follow them around spraying the plants.\n\n\nThen, one day, our chief, a huge and masculine mann, asked me to use a little gun-like gardening tool, that let me shoot chemicals on some weird plants that spit at you! The plants were very dangerous, but after I shot them, they started dancing around a bit, then became docile~\n\n\nThere were 8 guys and me on my team, but one of them became my friend very quickly. He was a senior, probably the oldest of them, from Texas, and he was usually really kind to me. Sometimes, the other guys went to take a stroll, and he asked me to keep around with him to keep his automatic gardening tools in check, so the strange weeds wouldn't grow too far on them.\n\n\nI once got spit at by the plants, and it hurt a lot. But one of the guys was a doctor, and he patched me up real quickly. It felt wonderful, too, he was pretty funny! \n\n\nWe all sang while walking around, and it was an incredibly friendly enviroment, despite the kind of aggressive plants. I think some of the guys didn't like me very much, they looked weird at me, like they were afraid. I guess that suit really made me look like a weirdo!\n\n\nOne day I was feeling a bit tired from all that work, and my heart raced as my mask fell off.\n\nI looked around at all the corpses I've been burning, and the people I've been shooting with incendiaries.\n\n\n\nI put my mask on again, and resumed singing and whistling:\n\n\"Do you believe in magic~\"",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Your gimmick is the ability to jump back in time 10 seconds. You're in a pub trying different pick-up lines with this one girl and resetting with each failure. As you walk up for your next attempt, she tosses a drink in your face and says \"How many times do I have to say no!?\"",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
},
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"content": "Those lucent eyes of wasteful blue—they glittered at me with a bright contempt before she walked away. So I had to try again.\n\nResetting was my greatest gift in life. I could return to a point about ten seconds in the past, changing my decisions and forging another path in life. I began to realize the implications of my ability at a young age. Whenever I ate a scrumptious meal, or took an exam, or experienced some moment of pleasure, I simply chose to Reset my life. This technique, I noted, could be the key to immortality. I considered using my skill to exploit the lottery system, but something like that would take an endless amount of time.\n\nI was at *O'Malley's* on a Saturday night (my love life was painfully desolate), when I noticed a girl standing in the corner. Her hair was ebullient yellow, the kind reminiscent of old-school cinema, and her face glowed with an idyllic peacefulness.\n\nI'm not the personification of suavity, but I approached her with an easy confidence. And why not? I had a hundred chances at this. I quickly formulated a \"game plan,\" one that deepened in charm and sexual allure every next move. It would start with a basic \"Hey . . . \" then evolve into more sophisticated flirtations (\"If you were words you'd be a fine print\") before finally reaching the point where I would flat-out ask her to marry me.\n\nI strolled to her side. \"Hey . . . \" I began, invoking every ounce of manliness that I could. But she just snorted and turned away.\n\nI was not dismayed. I Reset and readied myself for Attempt #2.\n\n\"Haven't seen you before,\" I opened.\n\n\"Me neither,\" she responded, \"and I don't intend on seeing you again.\" She strided away.\n\nAttempt #3. This would not be easy.\n\n\"Can I tell you something?\" I started. \"You're just really . . . \"\n\n\"Listen,\" she interrupted. \"How many times do I have to say no?\"\n\nI gaped at her. *Wait, she knows?*\n\nShe stared at me. \"No, you literally ask me the same thing, at the same exact place and time, every day!\"\n\nThen she realized something. \"Wait, sorry . . . I just keep Resetting.\"",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " \"No person shall be executed without their last meal made to their liking.\" The prisoners know this and make insane requests. You, as the chef for death row, somehow procure the otherworldly ingredients for their meals.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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{
"content": "Eriksen sniffed the bowl twice before scrunching his nose up. \"Shit don't smell like a dodo.\"\n\nThe prison officer frowned. \"You know what cooked dodo smells like, Erik?\"\n\nThe man considered. \"Not like stale beans, I don't reckon. And probably didn't look like some guy had stomped his boots into said beans.\"\n\nIt was Eriksen's last meal before the needle. He was chained to a table inside his cell, his arms given only enough slack for him to pick up his spoon. Wasn't allowed to eat with nothing but a spoon. Hadn't been for years. And if he touched this one, if he started eating with it, it'd be the last spoon he'd ever touch. That made him wonder about the *first* spoon he'd touched. His mom shovelling something into his mouth that didn't look too different to this meal, probably. Him refusing to eat that, too. Funny that he didn't remember his mom, not even what she looked like, but his heart still ached for her.\n\n\"Not only is it a fine cut of the very last dodo in the world, Erik,\" said Officer Lou Corbett, standing against the wall, hands in pockets, \"fried in soybean oil -- per your request, but Chef tells me it's also the tastiest damn meal he's ever made, period.\"\n\n\"I think I'd rather have the chair,\" Erik said. He looked over his shoulder at a single piece of wood lying on a shelf. It'd been carved into a boat that'd never sail water. Not a good carving, by anyone's measure -- barely even looked like a boat. But it had been the first thing he'd made in woodworking class, and it still meant the most.\n\n\"You can't eat a chair, Erik.\"\n\n\"Nah. I mean I'd rather it killed me than poison did. Seems a better ending. Sitting in a throne like a king, struck by a bolt of thunder, muscles tight as you're taken to the next world. Seems more honorable, you know?\"\n\n\"There won't be any pain this way, Erik.\"\n\n\"What'd you know about pain, Lou? You're too lucky for real pain.\"\n\n\"I know some stuff about it.\"\n\n\"You go home to your little boy and your blue-eyed wife each night, and you forget all about the shit you've seen and heard here. You live an easy life, Lou. I hope you treasure it.\"\n\nLou laughed. \"You think I can go home, strip out of these clothes and forget about everything here? I'd have to strip off my fucking skin to do that, Erik.\"\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n\"Jesus, Erik. I'll go home tonight and I won't be able to look at my son or my wife -- not in the eyes, at least. Because I'll be thinking about the ghost that's waiting for me when I get to work tomorrow. Your empty fucking cell. Empty bed. Those fucking wooden carvings that won't be here any longer, that always make me feel like I've walked out of the prison and into some little shop.\"\n\nThey were quiet for a time, the heat and steam from the bowl stolen away by the cold room.\n\n\"Into a shop?\" said Erik.\n\n\"That's how it feels to me. The kind of shop my wife'd like.\"\n\nErik nodded and smiled just a little.\n\n\"I am lucky,\" said Lou. \"You're right about that.\"\n\nErik just sighed. \"Eight god-damned years, and I'm still not ready to go.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"You've never once asked if I did it.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Lou repeated.\n\n\"Why? Must be curious?\"\n\nLou shrugged. \"Maybe I don't believe you're the same guy you were before you came in here -- so whether you did it or not, it doesn't matter as much to me as it does to some others.\"\n\n\"How could anyone be the same, right?\"\n\n\"Right.\"\n\n\"For one thing, I couldn't whittle shit before I got in here. Learned some useful skills to take into the next life. Hope God still likes carpenters, 'cause I might finally get employment.\" He laughed, paused, then added, \"And if I'm not headed for up there, well, I reckon the downstairs place can't be so bad as here.\"\n\nLou was silent for a moment. \"I'll make sure your carvings get to your kid.\"\n\n\"That's good of you Lou, but I don't think he'll want them. Maybe as firewood, but probably not at all.\"\n\n\"Maybe. Maybe not. But I'll give them to him and he can choose.\"\n\nAnother, longer silence. Finally, Erik said, \"If you do see him... if he speaks to you, tell him I made the boat for him. He loved boats when he was little and I told him that one day I'd take him out sailing. And I don't think I can keep that promise, but maybe he could take it to a lake or...\"\n\n\"I'll tell him.\"\n\nErik nodded. \"I'm glad he's not coming to see me go.\"\n\n\"I can understand that, I think. Not wanting him here.\"\n\n\"Look, Lou... I *did* do it. If that helps you sleep. 'Cause you need sleep, Lou. Need to look after that family of yours.\"\n\nLou considered. \"No, I don't think it will help me all that much.\"\n\n\"I didn't want to do it, you know? But it was me or him. That's just how it was.\"\n\n\"You're not that person anymore. It's been, what, twenty years?\"\n\n\"I soon won't be any person anymore.\"\n\nLou looked at the bowl, stared at it hard enough to keep his eyes dry. \"You going to eat that or what? We're running out of time.\"\n\nErik sighed. \"I go tonight no matter what, eh?\"\n\nLou nodded. \"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Guess life is for living, right? And I suppose I don't much want to leave on an empty stomach. But tell Chef I was pissed he couldn't get me real dodo.\" \n\nLou paused, then after winning a fight with a smile, he said, \"This is real dodo, Erik! You just got to sort of... you know, use your imagination a bit.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah?\" He stared at the cold mushed beans. \"How does dodo taste, then?\"\n\n\"Like a fillet steak, Erik. Cooked just how you like it.\"\n\n\"I like it rare.\"\n\n\"Well there you go, that's just how Chef did it!\"\n\nErik grinned as he took the spoon. \"Well ain't that lucky, Lou?\"\n\nLou's voice cracked just slightly as Erik took his first mouthful of the world's last dodo. \"Ain't it just.\"\n\n​\n\n\\---\n\n​\n\nThanks for reading. If you liked this, you might like /r/nickofstatic where I write with the enviably talented user Ecstatic.",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " An immortal, a man who cannot die. Unlike other immortals, he has never craved wealth, power, or influence. For this reason he has never been detected, neither by his brethren, nor human society. He has watched history pass from the position of a lowly beggar",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"Change? Spare any change?\" The old man asked meekly, not raising his eyes. A gaunt hand trembled with palm lifted over his head.\n\n\"Bugger off old codger, I don't have any.\" Replied a man brusquely as he passed by. The old beggars hand dropped pitifully down to his side. \n\n\"Change? Spare any change?\" The lame refrain commenced again. A young girl pulled the skirt of her mother forcing her to stop. \n\n\"Why's he out here mama? Can we give him some change?\" She asked doe eyed.\n\n\"I don't know, and absolutely not. If he wants change I'm sure he can find plenty on the street.\" She finished, and began to tug the young girl along by her wrist.\n\n\"Change? Any change?\" The man moaned on. A racking cough rattled him and he leaned back against the brick wall. When he looked forward again a young man was looking at him closely.\n\n\"Are you ok?\" The man asked. The beggars eyes lit up and a wry look came into his crooked smile.\n\n\"I am now, son, I thank you. Could you spare any change?\" The beggar asked, raising his palm.\n\nThe young man bit his lip and stared down the crowded street. With a small sigh he produced a few crumpled bills from his pocket, smoothed them, and handed them to the beggar. \"Here.\" He said with dissatisfaction. \"You're not going to waste it are you?\"\n\n\"Oh I never waste change sonny. Do you want any change?\" The beggar asked, quickly depositing the few bills into his coat.\n\n\"No, I'm fine. Why would I need money if I was giving it to you?\" The man asked impatiently.\n\n\"Well I do thank you for your kind consideration, but I asked for change. Any change at all. A kick in the head would have been an interesting change indeed!\" He said, breaking into a cackling laugh. \n\n\"Wonderful.\" The man sighed exasperated. \"The one time I give to a beggar and he's off his rocker.\"\n\n\"Now son, a deal's a deal. Do you want any change?\" The beggar asked, his half-toothed grin staring up at the man.\n\n\"Sure. World peace. Or at least for people to stop getting so angry at each other all the time. Think you can manage that?\"\n\nThe beggar laughed then shrugged his shoulders. The man waited a few seconds and, realizing the old beggar had fallen asleep, continued on to his work. \n\n\"I think I can manage that fine son.\" The old beggar said grinning. \"Just fine.\"\n\n\n\n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.",
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"content": "At some point you know everyone who you have ever known is dead. What do you feel then? Does sadness come? Or maybe it is the emptiness of remembering a good time in your life, a time you know you can never revisit? Maybe they are one and the same.\n\n\nBut how can you feel when all that exists is *you*? There is no body. All the world is a falling cloud, the cold beyond you, burrowed deep inside already. You can't move. You can't breathe on your own. Your eyes haven't blinked in years. Life passes in an endless instant.\n\n\nWhat do you do? This was your choice, wasn't it? Do you have any right to complain? But that question is worthless. All questions are.\n\n\nThe mind races into endless mazes, all having dead ends. Stimuli flutter in transparent nothings. You stop thinking of yourself as the time passes. You don't exist anymore. Soon you stop using 'I' and give up the first person. Then it becomes easier. It's easier when it's just *you*, and not *me*.\n\n\nThe ice thaws slowly. It freezes again. You hear the drip in the same rhythm it always comes. You wonder if this thing will malfunction. Maybe then you can die. Or you hope someone will come and realize what has happened. You weren't supposed to be awake. You were to be sleeping. Then this is all a bad dream. \n\n\nIt isn't of course. You remember when they froze you. You played the love theme from Star Wars in your head, didn't you? The room was black with white lights, sharp lights illuminating all the men and glorious science that was going on. The cold kissed you with long foggy fingers. You shivered. You were invincible then, having nothing to lose. No family to say goodbye to.\n\n\n\"You're doing the world a favor,\" they said.\n\n\n\"I know,\" you said.\n\n\nWeren't you Han Solo then? Weren't you the talk of the town? Then the lights went red and you prepared for sleep. But that never came. You could not move. Your brain remained warm.\n\n\nAnd the world passed you by. Everyday there were reporters coming, and photographers eager for your picture. Then they dwindled and came less and less. One day no one was there. The room was empty and in complete silence. You wondered what happened. Had they forgotten you?\n\n\nThen decades pass. They had to have passed. It feels as long, doesn't it? But you can never be really sure. You have no feeling at all. You are like the wind, trapped in some vaccuum, howling for some silent release.\n\n\n*They are dead,* you think.\n\n\nAnd you think back to the day they froze you. You had no one then. No one to lose. And yet now you feel so alone. Why do you feel so alone? Is it because you truly know what being alone is like now? Or is it that you had underestimated how much you needed people in your life?\n\n\nDon't you remember your friends begging you to not go through with it? Can't you see their faces in your mind's eye? You laughed them off. You were Mr. Science. You were going to live to see the twenty sixth century. You would be a hero, a national treasure. Your name would live forever in all the books lesser men would write.\n\n\n*Maybe that will still happen,* you think.\n\n\nBut now you're awake and you cannot fathom how long five hundred years is. You think maybe eighty years has passed, a hundred if you are lucky. But isn't there that voice still inside your head? That voice that says only a year or two has gone by. They've already forgotten you, and it's only been twenty four months. You still have an eternity to go.\n\n\n*That can't be,* you think.\n\n\nBut your world is a waterfall of cloud. The intermittant sigh of some machinery travels to you vaguely. You wonder if you could keep time with it, but your mind is too tired. You can hardly focus. You are scared and can't even feel your heart race. \n\n\n*Locked in syndrome they call it.*\n\n\nBut who has ever been locked in for five hundred years?\n\n\n*I will see the future*.\n\n\nWhen is the future? And who is 'I'? This is you we are talking about. Poor, unfortunate *you*. The present is racing by, leaving you stagnant in this forever cage. You are going mad, you know. You won't make it to the twenty sixth century. You won't live to see it. When they defrost you, if they remember, they'll find a mad creature, a zombie whose brain has melted. \n\n\n\"What a disappointment,\" they might say.\n\n\nOr maybe by then they would have had perfected this cryogenic stuff, and would have had others. \n\n\n\"This was a failure,\" they'd say then. \"An unfortunate waste that happened in the ignorant past.\"\n\n\nAnd what will you be then? You'll be nothing but a failed experiment. A test tube that had cracked, shattered through the unfortunate centuries, its shards merely dust upon the new forward looking future.\n\n\nIsn't it sad? You see the clouds fall with some tranquil grace. You hear the machines sigh.\n\n\n*This is worse than hell,* you think.\n\n\nBut there is a silver lining. At least this isn't happening to *me*. You feel sorry for the poor fool. And you hope that God saves his soul.\n\n\n-\n\n\n*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including a few un-prompted ones. I hope you like it and thanks for the support!*",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " \"Earth\" is actually the setting of a tabletop RPG, where players create a species of animal and try to rise to the top of the food chain. The rest of the group is getting fed up with the power gamer and his \"humans.\"",
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"content": "“This is bullshit. He’s taken over most of the planet, and still lays claim to areas he’s not even occupying.” Jeremy said, finally letting his frustrations get the best of him.\n\n“Hey!” exclaimed Simon “Just because you decided to forgo Adaptability doesn’t mean you get to bitch about my character choices. If you take the Cold-Blooded trait, your options are extremely limited. Everyone knows that.”\n\n“Snakes are badass though. Literally cold-blooded killers. They’d kick your ass if you’d stay still” Jeremy mumbled.\n\n“Not with that movement speed, they won’t” Simon countered smuggly.\n\n“Jeremy’s right though” Mark chimed in. “I get that Adaptability expands your favored terrain, but claiming ‘The Ocean’ as favored when you can’t reasonably survive there and haven’t explored the vast majority of it is a bit cheap.”\n\n“Gwen, do something about this” Jeremy pleaded. “You know he’s only doing this because it covers like 70% of the map.”\n\n“Rules are rules, guys” Gwen responded. “He has enough Intelligence to reasonably create things with his Craft ability and boats fall into a ‘reasonable creation’. He’s following the rules.”\n\n“Unlike you Jeremy,” quipped Simon “when you tried to sneak in Dinosaurs at level 1.”\n\n“Who throws a 9th level Meteor spell at level 1 characters?!”",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions.",
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"content": "[PART 2]\n(https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d9msms/the_dragons_apprentice_part_2)\n\nThere he was. Just a child really, standing before me. Sure he was dressed in the gleaming armour and wielded the supposedly righteous sword of Resnal, but he was just a child. \n\nHe was giving a speech now, on how I was the bane of the world. The Mother of all Evil. But even to me it sounded hollow. I stood, my dark gown pooling at my feet, and cut him off mid sentence.\n\n“Child, what is your name?” \n\nHe blinked at me, his large golden eyes visible through the visor of his helmet. I could see the confusion there, as he blinked again.\n\n“I’m Thale, defender of the -” he was going to go into his titles. I could hear it.\n\n“Ah, Thale. Would you mind lowering your sword. There’s no need. I just want to talk. If - after - you still feel the need to kill me, well I won’t defend myself.”\n\nThe tip of the sword fell a fraction of an inch. “Why? What do you - ”\n\n“Thale!” The woman who had to be a priestess of Resnal from her robes, cut in. “You must smite her now!”\n\n“Relly, she hasn’t stopped us from entering. No one has tried to kill us here. She just said I can kill her after we talk!” He turned to look at her, annoyance written on his face. \n\n“She’s just trying to trick you!” Another party member, perhaps their mage, said. As Thale turned to glare at that man, I cleared my throat. \n\n“Just shut up, Asper.” He shot, before turning back to me.\n\n“You ah - seem to be in disagreement with your friends.” I said lightly. The anger i could see in his eyes was not directed at me.\n\n“They are *not* my friends,” he said roughly as he glanced behind himself once again. “The King assigned them to me.”\n\n“Oh? The chosen one needed a nanny?” I asked, enjoying the looks of anger on the man and woman’s faces.\n\n“Yes! They haven’t left me alone for even a moment since I was declared Resnal’s chosen,” he said through gritted teeth. \n\n“Would you like to talk? My offer is still on the table.” I grabbed at the faint traces of magic swirling in the room, and used them to temporarily silence and bind his companions. \n\nI rolled my eyes slightly as the woman got out a choked, “No!” before the spell took hold. Thale glanced back again, and could see her straining against the spell.\n\n“What did you do to them!” He asked mildly, as if my answer would sway his feelings.\n\n“Nothing but bind and gag them with magic. They are fine, and I will free them once we’ve talked.”\n\n“They shall not be harmed?” he asked doubtfully.\n\n“Never.”\n\nI gestured at him to follow me to my sitting room. As I walked, I saw him take his helmet off and I was slightly surprised to see that he was even younger than I had expected. Maybe sixteen, if he was in the right light. \n\nHow dare Resnal or anyone, decide that a child would be the warrior of their fight. \n\nI sat on a small lounge, and motioned for him to sit wherever he pleased.\n\n“Would you like a refreshment? A drink, or food?” I asked, waving for a servant.\n\n“I’m good, thank you. Miss bossy out there made sure that we stopped to eat and drink before we entered your keep.”\n\n“Of course she did. Got to have you feeling fresh before you slay the evil witch.” I couldn’t help but snicker.\n\nHe grinned slightly, but looked down at his feet.\n\n“What did you want to talk about?”\n\nI had been going to tell him I was planning on leaving. That the magic here had grown thin… But something about the way he had bickered with his group. Said they weren’t his friends. When I opened my mouth, my words surprised me, “Would you like to join me here? Forsake the kingdom. Forsake Resnal?”\n\n“Yes.” \n\nI looked up, surprised. “You would forsake it all to join me?”\n\n“Will I just be a puppet to you as well?” he asked, his voice dour and his head turned ever so slightly in the direction of main hall where his companions were.\n\n“No. You may be my apprentice - if you like, or you can simply stay here with me. I will not hold you to any expectations other than what you are - a child. Yes you are near manhood, but you should not be here today. It was wrong of them to send you.”\n\n“Then yes.” he said nodding. He had sheathed his sword when he had entered, but he stood up and threw it on the ground, followed by the plate armor from his arms and chest.\n\n“Shall I teleport your travel companions away? We could make it look like I killed you?” I asked, already heading to the main hall once again.\n\n“Yes, send them away. Far far away. If I ever have to hear one more demand from Relly my head is going to explode.”\n\n“Well then, far away they shall go,” I said as we entered the hall. \n\nRelly’s eyes locked on mine and then on Thale. I released the binding spell, and then opened a portal beneath their feet. It was harder than I would have liked, the magic too thin here for me to maintain it long. But then they were gone, and Thale and I were left standing there alone.\n\n“You know, I could use a drink now,” he said. He was pale, but smiling. \n\n---\n[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d9msms/the_dragons_apprentice_part_2)\n\nFor more by me r/LandOfMisfits\n\nFor more by me and others, r/redditserials",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign.",
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"content": "\"When they're not looking, I roll to skim some of the treasure off the top,\" Shelby (R-Alabama, Rogue 3, Fighter 1) said.\n\nDungeon Master Warren (D-Massachusetts) nodded. \"You realize there's still one giant spider alive, right?\"\n\nShelby shrugged. \"You say spider, I say 'diversion'.\"\n\nWarren let it go. \"Okay,\" she said, \"roll when your turn comes up.\"\n\n\"Can't I smite him for this?\" Roberts (R-Kansas, Paladin 4) said.\n\n\"You're kinda busy with that giant spider thing,\" Warren pointed out.\n\n\"Stop metagaming,\" Shelby added. \"Your character doesn't see it.\"\n\n\"This is bullshit,\" Fischer (R-Nebraska, Barbarian 3) said. \"You shouldn't take money that the party needs!\"\n\n\"It's your turn, Fischer,\" Warren said.\n\n\"I'm going to attack Shelby,\" Fischer said.\n\n\"Bullshit!\" Shelby yelled. \"Metagaming!\"\n\nWarren had to reluctantly agree, \"He's right, your character doesn't know that Shelby is stealing stuff,\"\n\n\"Which I haven't even done yet,\" Shelby pointed out.\n\n\"If I might have the floor?\" Burr (R-North Carolina, Wizard 4) said.\n\nWarren frowned. \"No,\" she said, remembering that this had started at some point as a filibuster and she needed it to keep going, \"but I'm listening if you're saying something in character.\"\n\nBurr seemed to expect that response. \"Before we went into the dungeon, I cast Clairvoyance and had it follow Shelby around - in character, because he's got a reputation as being... well, disreputable.\"\n\n\"Can you even cast Clairvoyance yet, Burr?\" Shelby asked skeptically.\n\n\"I bought a scroll.\" Burr answered.\n\nWarren sighed, \"Okay, Burr, that's good that you're in character and have a reasonable justification for doing that, but again, if you're going to cast a spell or use a scroll like that, you have to tell me.\"\n\n\"I did tell you!\" Burr objected, \"When we went into town you asked if there were any supplies I needed, and I said I needed a scroll of Clairvoyance!\"\n\n\"Right,\" Warren said, \"but you didn't actually *use* the scroll, so now there's spiders. Speaking of, Fischer? Still your turn. Still a giant spider there.\"\n\nFischer seemed to think about this. \"I'm still going to attack Shelby.\"\n\n\"Oh come on!\" Shelby shouted.\n\n\"Can I intervene here?\" Sessions (R-Alabama, Ranger 5) said.\n\n\"You would,\" Fischer said.\n\nWarren interrupted before the conversation could go further, instead deciding to answer Sessions' question: \"You're not in the room; you went to explore the other branch, remember?\"\n\n\"Right,\" Sessions said. \"I'll come back into the room to go help Shelby.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" Shelby said.\n\n\"Oh, sure,\" Warren said, \"When it's your buddy coming to help you for no reason, suddenly you don't care about metagaming.\"\n\n\"You know what?\" Shelby said, \"Fine! I won't steal the gold on my turn. In fact, on my turn, I'm out of this room. I'm going to explore the other branch with Sessions.\"\n\n\"Fine!\" Warren and Fischer said. \"You never went along with the party anyway,\" Fischer added. \"You're PCs in name only!\"\n\n\"I move that PCINOs be pronounced 'Pachinos'\" Ernst (R-Iowa, Warlock 1, deceased) asked.\n\n\"Seconded,\" Heller (R-Nevada, Warlock 1, deceased) said.\n\n\"Just get it passed by acclamation so we can do something about THE SPIDERS!\" Warren shouted.\n\n\"Is it my turn?\" Shelby asked.\n\n\"No, it's still Fischer.\" Warren said.\n\n\"Oh, you better bet I'm attacking Shelby now,\" Fischer said.\n\nShelby stood up. \"I use my Signet of Transportation to get the hell out of there. I can use that as a bonus action, so she can't attack me, right?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Warren said, resigned.\n\n\"Oh, fuck you Shelby!\" Fischer said. \"You planned to rob us all along! That's it, you're out of the party!\"\n\n\"You can't kick us out,\" Sessions said, \"We're leaving! We're going to explore this dungeon and lead our constituents on our own!\"\n\n\"Oh hell no!\" Fischer said. \"You're not going to loot this dungeon and constituents before we can!\"\n\nWarren sighed.\n\n\"It's not your fault,\" McConnell (R-Kentucky, Senate Majority Leader 2) said to Warren. \"They didn't listen to that oldest of gaming and political advice.\"\n\n\"Oh?\" Warren asked.\n\n\"Never split the party.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says \"come tomorrow and try again.\"",
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"content": "The sword spun from his grip, the handle slick with sweat. A dash of blood where the rough cord had chaffed his skin. It clattered to the floor, a flash of his eyes in the blade as it came to rest.\n\n\"Three,\" the beast said, watching him from the shadows. He could feel her watching every time he stepped into the caverns. Her eyes glowed like the heart of the sun. Boring into his flesh. \"Pick it up.\"\n\nHe averted his gaze and knelt, reaching for his sword. A length of beaten iron, the edge dulling over a dozen training bouts. His gaze flicked to her blade, some thin southern weapon. Its handle was fine pearl, the steel as bright as silver. Even the fuller was lined with gold.\n\nHe picked up his blade and slipped it through the loop on his belt, bowing to the dragon.\n\n\"Am I your master now?\" she asked, stepping to the edge of his lantern's light. Looking down at him, towering by a head. It felt no different from when she was a monster spanning a hundred feet or more. \"Do you assume this is training? That I am doing more than indulging your little fantasy?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, adding no title. He still had the welt from the first time he tried. She demanded no names, no titles. She simply was.\n\n\"Yet here you are.\" She reached out a hand, suddenly right before him. Fingers slim and delicate cupped his chin, turning it this way and that. Strong enough to crack his jaw. Nails enough to rend his flesh. \"Day after day with your gutterscrap blade, standing there and being an amusement.\"\n\n\"Am I entertaining you?\" he asked, ignoring the way she tugged at his mouth. Looking at his teeth like every day before, watching them brown from the plants he scrounged off her mountain.\n\n\"Perhaps.\" The beast released him, turning back into her empty cavern. He watched her move, the way her hair trailed down her back, white as the snow outside. If he looked close, he could almost see the spines moving beneath it. \"What's wrong with you?\"\n\nHe kept his silence, watching her make a slow circuit of her cave. Tracing her hands along old, half-hidden paintings. A trap? A trick? A chance to learn if he was poison before she finally ate him?\n\n\"The Trasen. A dozen merry bands of hunters and barbarians. Thrown into the wastes up here for a hard life, a short life. One that cannot tolerate weakness.\" He heard the scraping of claws on stone, felt the heat of the sparks even across the entire cave. But he only saw her eyes. \"They sent you here to die, didn't they? So what's wrong with you?\"\n\nHe put felt the hilt of his blade. The cord there, rough and worn from the ages. His mother's. Woven by his father. The only thing of theirs' he was allowed.\n\n\"Some years ago, my family ruled the Trasen,\" he started, wondering how much of their politics she knew. She called them barbarians, she might not even realize they had them. \"Now they...don't.\"\n\n\"A lost prince.\" The beast made a noise close to a purr, her eyes gleaming wickedly. \"Typical.\"\n\n\"My sister was to inherit,\" he clarified. He felt it important. He wasn't sure why. \"They...this new council, they spared my life.\" A dozen eyes stared down at him that day. Duller than hers. Less majestic, less striking. He remembered them still. \"I was...young. Killing me was seen as an overstep. Unnecessary.\"\n\n\"So they merely dumped you on the outskirts and left you to rot.\" The beast laughed. High and musical. Low as a rolling storm. Backed by scales sweeping across the floor. \"I've watched your kind since you lived in caves like mine. Little has changed.\"\n\n\"It was suggested I come here,\" he said, ignoring just how old that would make her. \"To prove my worth...to earn glory.\"\n\n\"To die.\"\n\nThe word echoed. As much in his mind and in the cave.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe beast approached. Slowly. Her form rippling with each step. No longer hiding what she was. Neither the woman nor the towering monolith he'd first encountered.\n\nSomething between. Unknowably greater than the former. Unspeakably lesser than the latter.\n\n\"This continent bears your people's name. Do you know why?\" She stopped in front of him. It was a challenge not to kneel, not to beg. For what, he didn't know. \"They ruled it once. Founded that kingdom that squats in the center of it all. It was stolen from you. From your people, forced into the hellish snow.\"\n\nHer hand pressed against the side of his head, claws dragging along his skin.\n\n\"To linger in this place,\" she whispered, hot and acrid. \"To wither to nothing. To die.\n\n\"You ruled,\" he said. And how could this creature be anything but a ruler. Every motion bleeding power, showing grace, embodying strength. She had been born to conquer worlds.\n\nHe had been born to nothing. Anything so easily taken was worthless.\n\n\"And your chance was stolen.\" She took his hands in hers. \"Together,\" she said, guiding one to hilt of his sword, pulling it from its loop. \"We shall claim everything that is owed to us.\"\n\nShe guided the sword up and up until she could rub her cheek against it. As if the blade itself were dear. It did not touch skin. Only scales as white as ice. As bone.\n\n\"Fight with your gutterscrap. Take it as your weakness. Mold it like this cheap iron. Force out its strength.\" She drove her hand onto the blade, her scales parting like soft leather, the blood flowing bright crimson, hot enough to smoke. \"For every drop you spill, you'll gain another in return. Together, we will find strength.\"\n\n\"You seek to make us kings.\" It was not a question. There could be no questioning the image in his mind. Cities with their roofs scorched. Rulers thrown over their own walls. Thrones broken as none was grand enough to suit him.\n\n\"Nothing so petty as kings, boy.\" She smiled, her teeth as sharp and cold as the stars themselves, forcing the blood into his throat. \"We shall be a dragon.\"\n\n\\---\n\n**Wasn't expecting this to blow up like it did, but since so many people are asking, I figured I'd try my hand at a** [**Part 2.**](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/comments/k4v71e/ambition_part_2/) **Thank you all for the interest!**\n\n**Now with a** [**Part 3.**](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/comments/k5jui2/ambition_part_3/)\n\n[https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Aliens invade earth, they are so far in technology we had no means of fighting back until we made a critical discovery, since they are so advanced they lack in interpersonal skills which makes them incredibly vulnerable to grade school level psychological attacks. those poopy heads are screwed",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"A-- A jerk butt?! I am *not* a jerk butt!\" the alien yelled indignantly, pulling his weapon back from my face.\n\n\"Yeah you are, and your mom is a poopy pants too!\" I yelled, wiping the sweat off my face to try and look more intimidating.\n\n\"Mom?\" it asked.\n\n\"Uhh.. your leader is a poopy pant?\" I said hesitantly.\n\n\"Nuh-uh!\" the creature yelled, flailing its arms and dropping its weapon on the ground. That didn't bother it at all as it warped right up to an inch from my nose and hissed,\n\n\"Leader. **Is not.** A poopy pants.\"\n\n\"Your breath stinks too,\" I replied through closed eyes. It terrified me, and I couldn't look at it when it got so close. But its breath was actually surprisingly pleasant.\n\n\"AAHHHHHHH!!\" it screamed and ran out of the room, its screams following it down the hall. I dove to the weapon and tried to figure out how it worked. It looked nothing like a gun and I couldn't find anything that resembled a trigger. I only knew which side to point away from me, but otherwise couldn't tell how it would function. I pointed it away from me and bashed against it a few times. Nothing.\n\nMultiple footsteps were approaching from the hallway now. A battalion of creatures. I looked around the room for shelter. Only a few desks and chairs. That's what I get for hiding in the office. I swung the weapon around more to no avail as about a dozen of the creatures came around the corner and stopped when they saw that I held a weapon. \n\nWith only a moments hesitation, they put up shields that would presumably protect them from the weapon, since they were no longer fazed by my swinging it around at them. The largest of the creatures floated ahead of the rest, its arm around the shoulder of the one I insulted earlier.\n\n\"This is human?\" \n\n\"Y-- yeah, that's the one. He called me... He said the mean things...\" the alien said sheepishly.\n\nA gun was trained on me in an instant and I dove behind a desk. The place I stood only a moment earlier burst into flames. A projectile never even left the gun, the location was just incinerated instantly. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and tried to speak as fast as I could,\n\n\"Why are you helping the one that called you a fat loser?\" I yelled from behind the desk. \n\nI heard the weapon powering up. Maybe this larger creature was more immune to insults. If that was the case, I was done for. \n\n\"And he said he would bring you over to show me how fat you were and all of the other people were uhh... sweaty whale aliens-- I mean sweaty whale things! He called you all things!\" \n\nWithout even giving me a response, the weapon fired again. My eyes were screwed shut, but I heard something scream from behind the desk. Peeking my head out, I saw that multiple aliens and shot and disintegrated the alien that brought them all in. My eyes widened in fear when the larger one turned to look at me. There was some green fluid streaming down its head. Their blood was blue, so I couldn't tell what this was.\n\n\"Did Yulzhag really say all those things?\" the larger one sputtered. It was crying! The green was some kind of tears!\n\n\"Oh yeah, but that's probably because he heard it from all his friends behind you. I mean, they all call you a... a goose butt and a yucky gross thing whenever you're not in the room,\" I said, knowing that my lack of insults would probably lead to my death. \n\nThe leader looked back to the others. \n\n\"My own brothers,\" it said, rage enveloping its being to the point of changing the creature to a hue of red.\n\n\"Brother no!\" one called before the group of them all exploded. \n\nIt turned back around to me as I stood shakily from the floor, weapon still in hand. \n\n\"You're nice, right?\" it said, sniffling and crying more green ooze. I had no idea what would lead to my death anymore so I just nodded quickly, too exhausted and full of fear to come up with a new insult. I dropped my gun, which went off as soon as it hit the floor. It blew off the lower half of the alien. It only cried out in pain, breathed once loudly, and whispered painfully,\n\n\"Liar.\"\n\nSomehow it hurt to hear him say that to me after he trusted my word so much. It died without another movement and I sighed in relief. I made my way down the stairs preparing a litany of insults in case I made contact with any more of the things. \n\nOn the next floor down, I heard something dart around the corner and let out a war cry when it caught sight of me. I dove behind a shelf as fast as I could and yelled,\n\n\"What's wrong, smelly?\" \n\nIt stopped in place, and let out a long, offended gasp.\n\n_____________________________________________\n\nFor more silly stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": "A group of bandits are hiding in the forest when they come across a sword in a stone. None of them can pull it so they come back with pickaxes and smash the stone. As one of the bandits lifts the freed blade a disembodied voice says, \"Well...I guess that counts.\"",
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"content": "\"Your name's not Arthur, per chance?\" Sword asked politely.\n\nMangler shook his mop of wild hair. \"Arthur Perchance? It's not even Arthur. People 'ere call me Mangler.\"\n\n\"What a pickle,\" Sword said. \"What a pickle indeed. Well, I suppose you did get me out of the stone, so that fulfils the prophecy...\" A reluctant sigh. \"Congratulations then, Mangler, King of all Britain.\"\n\n\"Did you hear that, fellas?\" said Mangler, turning to his rag-tag bandit crew. \"And to think me old mum thought I'd make nothing of meself.\"\n\n\"You didn't help the situation none by murdering her,\" said Rabies.\n\n\"She got what was coming!\" the King growled back. \"Deserved it for always thinking the worst of me.\"\n\n\"Ey, no fair, like,\" said Throatripper, deciding it time to lay her claim. \"I saw the sword thing first!\"\n\n\"And I had the idea to smash the rock open,\" said Rabies. \"If anything, I should be King of all Britain.\"\n\n\"Lads,\" said Mangler, raising his hands. \"And, uh, lady. You all heard the sword. It said *Mangler* is King of Britain. Nothing I can do about it. Really wish there were. But there in't. So how 'bout you all get on your scummy knees and pray to Mangler, before 'e smites ya down!\"\n\nSword began to tremble in Mangler's great hand. \"I can't really... *smite*, Sir\" it said.\n\nMangler scowled at the weapon. \"What do you mean you can't smite? Yer a magical sword, ain't ya?\"\n\n\"I'm uh, I'm more of a show-sword, than a fighting sword. I'm not even sharp.\"\n\n\"Then what good is ya, exactly?\" Mangler hissed.\n\n\"Well, I'm quite sharp *witted*.\"\n\nThroatripper began to laugh. \"'Ere that boys? Mangler's sword is blunt.\"\n\n\"Probaly don't even stay 'ard when he needs it!\" taunted Rabies.\n\nMangler ran his finger along the edge of Sword. \n\n\"Oh Sir, please stop! I'm really very ticklish.\" \n\nLaughter. Not just from Sword.\n\nKing Mangler scowled as he stared at his comrades. \"I can still bash you lot on the head with it! So how about a little resp--\" \n\n\"Uh, actually,\" Sword began. \"I'm rather fragile. Think of me like a blunt piece of show-glass.\"\n\n\"Ohh!\" said Throatripper, \"King Mangler has a piece of blunt glass. We best all bow down before he shines the sun in our eyes.\" \n\n\"Wot sun?\"\n\n\"What's your first command, Your Majesty?\" asked Toenail.\n\n\"Uh...\" King Mangler considered. It had long been a dream of his to make a real difference to the world, to prove mumsie wrong, and now he finally had the chance. He raised his sword. \"An alliance with all of Europe! End of our wars! Free trade and free movement of all peop--\"\n\nGroans cut him off. \"That'd never work,\" Toenail replied. \"You can't just force diverse sets of peoples together in artificial super-states, not to mention the inherent problems that the flow of free immi--\n\n\"It could work,\" Rabies cut in, stroking his long beard considerately. \"As long as the Kings and Queens are all competent and do what's best for all citizens instead of themselves. Imagine how strong we could be, united. The Mongols would think twice!\"\n\nToenail yelled back. \"Yer a daft idiot, that's for sure. There's no way that we could all--\"\n\n\"Maybe we should have a vote and let the people decide!\"\n\nMore voices joined it. Raucous arguments quickly turned into flying fists.\n\n\"Oh, feck this for a laugh,\" said King Mangler. \"I abdicate.\"\n\n\"What? You can't just do that,\" complained Sword, but it was already sailing through the air, heading towards a large pool of water.\n\n*Plop*\n\n\n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " An agent from the CIA shoved a briefcase in your hands, saying to protect it at all costs. Later an agent of the MI6 gave you another briefcase, with the same instructions. Sooner or later, the KGB, MSS, NSA, FBI, and the Mossad have all entrusted ominous briefcases at your behalf",
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"content": "I'm the grave-digger for secrets. I bore pits so deep and dark that no light'll ever again touch the whispers thrown into 'em. \n\nMy own secret, that was the first I buried. The one that got me into this line of work.\n\nNow they all come to me 'cause they can't destroy their secrets, neither. Someone will need to know someday, just today ain't that day, they tell me. Can't afford America to come crashing down right now, not with all the global instability. Or maybe they shove the secret into my hands and tell me that a record of this sin or that sin needs to be kept for judgement day - *you must understand?* Or perhaps they say: well I'm a man of morals, after all, and the truth can't just be burned -- it needs to be kept forever, even if never known. \n\nMy reputation is built on my ability to keep things quiet. And should just one of these secrets ever slip out, then I'll be digging a final grave and jumping headfirst into it. But as things stand right now, the game of cards I'm dealing is just about even. Each player understands I can see all the hands, and if something happens to me, then I tell all the other players what they were holdin'. That's why they trust me: because they *don't* trust me. \n\nIt was a Friday when I met her, and a Saturday when she died. \n\nThe bar leaked smoke, bad jazz, and the stink of urine like it was an overflowing sewage plant. But I was used to seedy. They never liked to give me their secrets anywhere but seedy. Dirty places for dirty business.\n\nExcept, *she* wasn't seedy. \n\nShe was class. The type of dangerous class that meant if you weren't carrying a gun in your pocket before meeting her, you damn sure were after.\n\nI was sipping my second third-rate whiskey and watching the band pluck strings like they were defeathering a chicken for the kitchens, when her scent stabbed me. Sweet, sure, but there was something more seductive just beneath the surface. \n\nI turned to see her sit on the stool next to me, the slit in her red dress rising just enough to show her pale thighs as she crossed her legs. Bet there ain't never been a stool that happy before.\n\n The barman must have seen her even before I did, as a moment later a drink in a glass almost as long as her dress, slid in front of her. He didn't wait around for payment.\n\nShe must have caught me staring as her plump lips smiled. Then, her voice like silk pantyhose, she said, \"Are you Mister Secret?\" \n\nThe lines on my face creased, as if maybe I was smiling too. \"I ain't never been called that before.\"\n\n\"But you are?\"\n\nIf it was a smile, it turned into a tight frown. \"Maybe. You the one who wants to make a deposit?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" She read the hand I was holding. \"What's the matter? Didn't expect a woman?\"\n\n\"Didn't expect much, to be on the level with you. Never do. And I'm rarely disappointed.\"\n\n\"Are you disappointed, today?\"\n\nMy skin tugged even tighter as I grinned. \"Never been more so.\"\n\nShe placed her handbag down on the bar next to her drink. \"The money is in there. As is my secret. Can I trust you completely, no matter how terrible the secret I hold is?\"\n\n\"Lady, I never look at them. That's not my business. I just bury them.\"\n\n\"They'll bury me,\" she said, eyes falling to the ground. \"Soon.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah?\"\n\nA long smooth inhale. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"And who are *they* exactly?\"\n\n\"I thought you didn't look at the secrets.\"\n\n\"That's a secret too?\"\n\nShe paused, then shrugged. \"I suppose not. The CIA. MI6. KGB. Every intelligence agency in the world, Mister Secret.\"\n\n\"John. You can call me John.\"\n\n\"Why? That's about as much your real name as Mister Secret. And has less of a ring to it.\"\n\nShe had a point. \"Must be something pretty big you're burying.\"\n\n\"It would change *everything*.\" Her lipstick-painted lips moved into slow ovals on the last word, and I swear I ain't never seen syllables look quite that sexy before or since. \n\n\"Well, it's safe with me,\" I assured her. \"Once I bury it, I don't dig it back up for no one. I got more dirt on those agencies than there is dust on the moon.\"\n\nShe pushed the handbag to me. \"I could tell you were the man for me.\" \n\nI wanted to tell her that I'm pleased to hear it but that her ruby handbag wouldn't suit me. But she looked like puppy that had just lost it's Ma, so I laid off the charm.\n\n\"I'll be dead tomorrow.\" She said it nonchalant, with a wave of her hand and a twist of her wrist, and I wasn't sure if I was meant to laugh.\n\n\"Oh yeah? Well, you better enjoy tonight then.\"\n\nShe raised her glass and nodded. \"To tonight.\"\n\nI raised mine. \"Tonight.\"\n\nI don't remember much of the evening from there. A blur of red dress and drink and skin and sweat. The scent of tobacco and sex. The vague taste of a good night.\n\nBut I do remember, with vivid clarity, the phone-call I got the next afternoon, the night after I left the Lady in Red's apartment, all her secrets swaying in a small red bag on my shoulder. \n\n\"Dead?\" I repeated, voice and stomach hollow.\n\n\"And you were last to see her,\" the officer informed me.\n\n\"Yeah, sure, but...\"\n\n\"Don't go anywhere. We need to bring you in for a few questions. I'll send the boys around to pick you up.\"\n\n\"That would be a mistake, on your part.\" The threat is clear. He must know who I am and what I hold.\n\n\"You've got nothing on me, John,\" said the voice. \"I have no secrets. Unlike you.\" \n\nI could hear the implication like the roar of thunder above an empty field. The officer -- not really an officer -- might as well have said: *Tell me where her secret is, or your own dead and buried secret is about to get resurrected.* \n\nI never did much like voodoo, and I sure as hell didn't like threats.\n\n\n---\n\nThanks for reading! I'm going to make this a short little serial. If you'd like to follow it, part 2 is: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/chnrx6/keeping_a_secret_part_2",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " Your dad loved his train set. It filled his basement and included a town, farmland, woods, and plastic figures. He passed away last week, and last night you were visited by two tiny figures claiming their sun has been dark for a week, the train no longer runs, and a rat is terrorizing the land.",
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"content": "\"We have traveled far and long to find you,\" the man said, holding a thin line of string and wearing a leather backpack. The woman next to him gazed up at Mark in awe. The figures were unmistakably human - and yet, they were only about two inches tall. \n\nMark tried to contain his shock. He was in his fathers house for the first time in a decade, preparing the house for sale after his father's passing. He had always considered his dad an eccentric, but this... this changed everything.\n\nHis father had spent countless hours in his basement with his train set, to the point of making Mark feel entirely unloved. He had never even ventured in to see it, resenting it as he did his father. But as he followed the figures into the basement below, turning on the light as he did so, he now saw why his father had been so distant.\n\nThe train set - the entire town - was *alive*. Countless figures came out of their houses, squinting against the light, staring up at him.\n\n\"We have returned,\" the man said, gesturing towards Mark, \"and the son of Eric has brought back the sun.\" \n\nMark stared at the bustling town, completely in awe of it all. It was massive, covering the entire basement. Woodland, mountains, a dam - an entire lively ecosystem, populated by tiny figures that were undoubtedly human. The town's train, with tracks running through the entire basement, lay silent in its station.\n\nThe townspeople rejoiced. The figures moved towards him, keeping a healthy distance - apart from the children. They instead ran to his shoes, climbing up them with effort and pulling at the bottom of his pants. He was terrified of hurting them. \n\n\"Please, sir, we know we ask too much of you,\" the woman said, \"but your father has cared for us for many years. We do not know where he has gone, and ask that you find him that we may be at peace once again. The train does not run, and there is a monstrous beast-\"\n\n\"My father has passed,\" Mark interrupted, the words hurting him as he said them. \n\n\"Passed to where?\" the man asked, confused and concerned. \n\n\"Passed away,\" Mark said. \"He died in his sleep last week.\"\n\nA deathly silence fell over the town. The children stopped playing at his feet, looking back at the elder townspeople in shock. \n\n\"He's... gone?\" the man said quietly. Murmurings broke out amongst the townspeople, and many began to openly cry. \n\n\"I am sorry that you found out this way,\" Mark said. \"I never really knew him myself.\"\n\n\"He was good man,\" the woman said, \"a very good man. He would speak of you constantly. It seemed that he loved you very much.\" \n\n\"I... I didn't realize,\" Mark said. He did not want to cry in front of them, and instead tried to change the subject. \"What did you say about a beast?\"\n\n\"It has been feasting on our livestock,\" the man said, \"a beast the size of a logger's cabin. We can do naught but hide when it comes. Eric would have protected us, but...\"\n\nThe townspeople fell silent. \n\n\"...I know just what to do,\" Mark said to them.\n\n****\n\nArmed with a rattrap, a broom and a surprising amount of fear, Mark rid the land of the wicked beast. \n\nSoon after, the train began to run once more. \n\nHe had always felt so distant from his father. He was never good at showing his emotions - neither of them were. But this... this somehow made Mark feel closer to him. \n\nMark would not sell the house. He would care for the townspeople, just as his father had.\n\nAnd when he had a child of his own, he would introduce them to the townspeople as soon as he could. \n\n*****\n\n*****\n\nIf you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) \n\nI'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"How about this: I empty both ashtrays into what's left of my beer, and I mix it 'round and 'round with my index finger, and then I drink it. The whole stinking mixture. If I *don't* down every last sooty drop of it, I buy you your next round. But if I do *somehow* manage to slurp it all down, then you get me another. How does that sound, friend?\"\n\nThe huge bald man on the bar-stool next to me grins. He's missing a few teeth, but it somehow suits him -- maybe 'cause he's missing equally big dents out of his head. He looks from ashtray to ashtray, both over-spilling with the blackened corpses of cigarettes, then at what's left of my beer. \"You're going to eat all that shit -- mixed into your beer? What if you vomit it up after?\"\n\n\"Same rules. I buy you your next drink. Any drink you want.\"\n\nHis eyes wander from me to the shelf of spirits perched behind the bar. He's wondering either what's the most expensive out of them, or what's got the highest alcohol content. Doesn't matter what he chooses: I can't afford it. Only thing in my pocket is a last stick of chewing gum. His head begins to bob. \"Okay, yeah you're on.\" He removes the cigarette that he shouldn't be smoking -- but that no one's going to tell him not to -- from his mouth, and twists the end of it into the nearest ashtray. \n\nI stare down at the long stub. \"You're going to leave half your smoke?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" he says, grin ever widening. \"Problem?\"\n\n\"I was only going to drink ashes, not eat--\"\n\n\"Problem?\" He sits up straight, his huge shadow darkening me, his face hard.\n\n\"No. No, there's no problem. I just wasn't that hungry, but I guess I can make room.\" I grab the first ashtray and tip it into my drink, smacking the side to make sure all the ash falls in. There's a little plop as the half-smoked cigarette drops in, followed by a lazy stream of smoke. As I take the second ashtray, the barman turns up the TV that's hanging on the wall above him.\n\n\"... Yes, Tony. That's the fourth Storm Born dead, attempting to help evacuate this area of Northern California. She didn't make it more than a mile before she stopped moving and her vitals fell. In related news, scientists widely suspect that the pathogen is man-made. Whether domestic terrorism, or foreign, remains to be--\"\n\nI tune out as soon as I know the dead Storm Born ain't Susie and get on with the task at hand. \"There,\" I say, as the debris swirls around my glass. The dry grey surface hides a turbid underbelly. The brown cigarette juts out like a ship stuck in a swamp.\n\nThe big man looks into my glass and I see his face shift in disgust. Even he looks concerned. \"You not going to stir it more?\"\n\n\"This is how I like it.\" I pick it up and start to gulp down the mixture, tapping a nail on the bottom of the glass to help it slide down. Tastes as bad as I imagined it would, like lumpy dry medicine, but that's okay. I get to wash it down with a refreshing beverage shortly.\n\nI wipe my lips with the back of my hand; black ash smears my skin. \"There,\" I say. \"Now where's my beer?\"\n\nThe man just gapes for a while. \"You some kind of freak.\" \n\nNot sure if it's a statement or a question, I just shrug. \"Mine's a Guinness.\"\n\nHe nods at me, then grunts at the barman who reluctantly tears his eyes away from the reporter on the screen. \n\n\"You going to be sick something awful tonight,\" the big man says as the beer is put down on the bar.\n\n\"I don't get sick,\" I reply.\n\n\"Oh yeah?\" says the barman, suddenly leaning over to me, interested. He's got slicked back grease for hair, but sharp eyes and they're already studying me. The big man has turned away and is talking to his friend.\n\nLong sip. It helps loosen the ash stuck in my throat. \"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Never been ill?\" the barman continues.\n\n\"Nope. Not since I was a baby.\"\n\nHis brows furrow. Then a kind of realisation dawns on his features. \"You're not one... Nah, never mind. You couldn't be.\"\n\n\"Storm Born? Only sorta. I was born in a plague, not a storm. My gifts are... different.\"\n\nHe looks excited. \"You are one of them! Holy shit, in my bar?! Why didn't you say? Rest of your drinks are on me, as long as you let me chalk up the board outside. If people know I got a Storm Born... In my bar!\" He repeats the line shaking his head. \"Wait till Mama hears about this.\"\n\nI drink my beer and drift away, only half aware of the barman's incessant talk. He wants to know where I'm from. What plague. How'd I live through it. When did I find my powers. All the usual. He doesn't want to know being born in a plague meant all my family were dead before my first full day alive was over. Or about the foster homes. Or the prisons. Or the rejection from the Storm Born themselves. People like the barman, they never want to know the real stuff. Just the fantasy of it. But then he says, still shaking his head in disbelief, something that catches my attention. \"They could sure use a guy who doesn't get sick in California right now.\"\n\nI stop drinking and let myself chew the line over. Only for a second, mind you. Then I say, \"I'm not a hero. Never was, never will be. Understand?\"\n\n\"Never said you were.\" Hands raised defensively. \"Never said you were. But... I bet, with the right negotiator, they'd pay a fortune to the man who could make it to where the plague started. Find out what -- who -- created it. That's the first step to making an antidote they said on the news. It's why all the Storms are trying and dying.\"\n\nMy beer is empty. I push the glass towards the man. He looks at me, then takes it and refills. \n\n\"Just another beer. That's all I want today. Like every other day.\"\n\n\"I get it. No problem. I'm sure you don't need the money at all.\"\n\nBut as I'm drinking the second, and then even more-so the third, I start to wonder just how much they would pay.\n\nOn my fourth, as I visit the urinals, the money aspect is strangely draining away with the some of the beer. \n\nThen on my fifth drink, my mind is a blurred, reluctant, image of Susie. I try to scribble her out, but she won't go away. Her blue eyes are still there, peering through the blackness at me.\n\nWhat if she tries to go in? Is she that stupid?\n\nMaybe. She did date me for a few weeks, after all.\n\nMaybe thinks she can cleanse the area with water or something. \n\nThings might have ended badly -- *very* badly -- but I still don't need her being the next dead Storm Born.\n\n\"Ah shit,\" I say, loud enough to catch the barman's attention. \"I hate California.\"\n\nHis eyes seem to shine. \"You're going? Someone from my bar is going to save the world?\"\n\n\"I'm going. Didn't say nothing about saving the world. But I'll tell you what, if you phone the army or the government, or whoever you need, and negotiate my payment while I think out a plan... Well, whatever you manage to get from them, I'll give you five percent of it -- if you drive me to the airport.\"\n\nHe grins like a man who knows a secret. \"Twenty percent and I'll book our plane tickets too.\"\n\n\"Our? What do you mean our?\" I glare at him, but he still grins like a clown on its birthday. \"And twenty? You out of your mind? I'm the one risking my neck. Five percent or nothing.\"\n\nHe pauses. \"Ten percent, and free beers here for a year.\"\n\nIt takes me a heartbeat to decide -- it is a shithole, after all -- but then I raise my glass to him, my face stretching to a smile. \"Cheers to that.\"",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You accidentally summon a demon while reading out Ikea product names.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Odiosis was a boring city, \nSo positively dull. \nIt was so stuffy and humdrum you'd go mad out your skull. \nThe only thing of interest was it's name, so witty. \nBut other than that, the excitement was null. \n\n---------------------------------------------\n\nThe playhouse was tame, \nThe music hall lame. \nIn fact, the whole town was positively mundane. \nMonotony was normality, and everything was the same. \nBut then again, 'boring' in Latin was literally the town's name. \n\n--------------------------------------------\n\nOur story begins with a man oh so boring. \nThe name on his tag read: \"Alan McKia.\" \nHe spent his days stacking shelves in Ikea. \nFilling them up with flat packs and flooring, \nMost of it shipped in from South Korea. \n\n-------------------------------------------\n\nNow, Alan could tell you with a smirk on his face, \nThat he knew every product in this place. \nFrom dullest of carpets to most lavish bookcase. \nAnd whether by chance, or perhaps divine grace, \nThere was a hidden meaning to the names in that space. \n\n--------------------------------------------\n\nYou'd never think, in a town so humdrum, \nThat anything interesting would ever conspire. \nBut poor Alan would soon be struck dumb, \nAs he would soon unwittingly unleash hell's fire, \nAnd summon a daemon - unlucky for some. \n\n--------------------------------------------\n\nFor Alan had read the products in line, \nOne after the other, and things had seemed fine. \nBut what Alan did not know, at that moment in time, \nWas that those words had been cursed, and when said in rhyme, \nThey would open a rift in space-time. \n\n------------------------------------------\n\nThe daemon stared at Alan, surveying him whole. \nAnd promised to grant him any one wish. \nBut it was worth noting, it'd cost him his soul, \nA delicacy the daemon would surely relish, \nBut would Alan choose to pay this Faustian toll? \n\n------------------------------------------\n\n\"Sure.\" Said Alan, without hesitation. \n\"We've just gotten new products shipped to this location. \nSo, here's what I'll do, with this daemonic donation, \nI'll ask that you construct our new flat-packs, for display in formation! \nFor they have brought our team incredible frustration!\" \n\n------------------------------------------\n\nThe daemon laughed, and said \"is that all?\" \n\"This hardly seems fitting for a creature like me. \nPerhaps you'd rather have me kill your manager, Paul? \nAnd then the new manager, you might possibly be?\" \nBut Alan puffed his chest out, and then stood up tall. \n\n-----------------------------------------\n\n\"Now, listen here, you daemonic little shit! \nIf you can't build the flat-packs, then say so and quit!\" \nThe daemon blushed, and snarled a bit, \nIn fact, the great beast looked like he might lose it. \nBut in the end, reluctantly pulled out his tool kit. \n\n----------------------------------------\n\nFor seventeen hours, the daemon did try, \nTo put together the flat-packs, but found it quite hard. \n\"For fucking fuck's sake, who would ever buy, \nA fucking flat-pack that leaves one's hands cut and scarred?\" \nBut Alan stood watchful, wearing a smirk so wry. \n\n-----------------------------------------\n\nAfter hours of failure, the daemon did screech, \n\"This fucking shit is impossible to teach! \nEven with an instruction manual for each! \nThese flat-packs are far beyond the reach! \nOf mortals and immortals alike, I impeach!\"\n\n---------------------------------------- \n\nAt this point, Alan broke his silence. \n\"Then go back to hell, you useless cunt.\" \nThe daemon snarled, in unwilling compliance. \n\"Your soul remains yours.\" He said with a grunt. \nAnd then leapt back into the pit with deflated arrogance. \n\n----------------------------------------\n\nSo, that is the story of Alan the Boring, \nWhose greatest skill was the art of stock storing. \nHe was neither an artist, a knight or scientist. \nHe had neither quickness of hand, mind or wrist. \nBut he was a retailer, and retailers don't quit. \n\nEven when dealing with daemons and their shit. \n\nEDIT: I returned to correct a spelling error, which I discovered with terror, upon reading aloud my work. I had left it in there, so visible and bare, but I have now rectified this quirk.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
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"content": " A small town scientist has just finished their life's work; the world's first, fully functional time machine. Only it turns out a lot of the townsfolk are actually wayward time travellers stranded in the past, who have been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.",
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"content": "There wasn't a man or woman alive in all of Greenbank Bay that had disliked the late, great Ms Morwenna Baudillon. There was Victor Frisk, but Victor was a strange sort of man, not really a man at all, and it was widely agreed upon by the residents of Greenbank Bay that Mr Frisk's opinions were of no importance, no importance at all.\n\nDue to Ms Morwenna Baudillon's outstanding popularity in life, her funeral had to be held at the local supermarket, Gordon's Greens and Blues (the greens are self explanatory, the blues are better left unspoken of).\n\nReverend Henri took his rightful place as head of the ceremony at the customer service desk. He was stood upon the counter top, receipts scattered about his bare, black feet, holding a big red book. Henri wasn't your typical Reverend, he was what was known as a Master-of-all-Faiths, a Jack-of-all-Trades. He often boasted to have studied in every religion known to man, from the *Way of the Five Pecks of Rice* through to *Mazdakism*, though no one was quite sure how he'd found the time to. \n\nPresently Reverend Henri was offering quotes from the *big red book* of Life, the Universe, and *Time.* The late Morwenna had been fascinated by this last... *time.* She had in fact just recently perfected her life's work, the world's first, fully functioning time machine. It was a hot topic that day, second only to Morwenna's death.\n\n\"Such a terrible tragedy, Morwenna's passing.\" Selby, a stout woman with an affection for felines, said to O'Mooney, a slender man with an awfully long beard that was riddled with microchips. Selby was cradling a baby panther in her arms, feeding it sardines from a string around her neck. O'Mooney was fiddling with his bionic knee, working at the frayed wires with a S.P.O.R.K. Both were standing in the frozen foods isle of Gordon's Greens and Blues.\n\n\"Indeed, it is. I hear she left behind a son, just eighteen months. Can't say I've ever seen the father.\" a spark erupted from O'Mooney's knee and burnt his finger. He cursed, suckling on the burn.\n\n\"That's not all she left behind.\" Pearce whispered from inside the freezer full of ice cream in which he was sitting. He gobbled own a double scoop of mint chocolate chip, then continued; \"It's finished, and every mother f\\*cker in this here supermarket knows it. This,\" he waved his spoon across the air, flicking spots of ice cream over both Selby and O'Mooney, \"this is all a f\\*cking farce. Paying their respects.\" he spat - mint chocolate chip - at the floor, \"Ain't a soul here who gives a rats arse about the dead doll in the coffin out front.\" - this wasn't a metaphor either, the coffin had been left leaning against the shopfront, open casket so that the visitors could take one last look at poor Morwenna - \"Soon as Reverend Hen up there gives the word, there'll be a stampede waiting to leave. First one to Morwenna's, first one through the door, that's who'll get to use it.\"\n\n\"Don't you think you're over-exaggerating a little there, Pearce?\" O'Mooney put away his S.P.O.R.K, bent his knee five times, and then satisfied set his gaze upon the dwarf in the freezer full of ice cream.\n\n\"I don't know he is.\" Selby gestured for the shifting eyes and shuffling feet of all those in the frozen foods isle, \"What's the betting our friends in Fresh Fruit and Canned Goods are doing the same. Quietly making their way to the back door, ready to leave at the drop of a hat.\"\n\n\"What are you suggesting then?\" O'Mooney asked, re-setting the monocle that covered his right eye.\n\nSelby stroked the baby panther in her arms, causing the *cat* to let out a shivering purr.\n\n\"We make a run for it.\" Pearce said simply, finishing yet another tub of sweet, sweet ice cream, \"But we'll need some sort of distraction.\"\n\n\"That's easy enough done.\" O'Mooney smiled, revealing rotten, yellowed teeth inside his silver gums, \"I'll fry the circuits of the freezers, *wake* them up.\" he pointed his S.P.O.R.K at Pearce, \"You'll want to be out of there when I do.\"\n\nPearce shook his head fiercly, \"Not a chance. You can wake up every other mother f\\*cking freezer in here, not this one. This on'e mine.\"\n\n\"That's enough.\" Selby warned, her voice low, there were eyes watching them now, \"Just follow my lead.\" she knocked the kick plate free from the freezer in which Pearce was sitting, a puddle of icy water spilled out around her feet. She started to scream. \"Jesus Christ, I think it's coming!\"\n\n\"What, what's coming?\" Pearce was looking from Selby to the water round her feet and back to Selby again, somewhere in his mind there were cogs slowly turning, \"Oh, *it's* coming...\"\n\nO'Mooney wasted no time sweeping Selby up in his arms, careful of the icy waters on the floor, \"Out of the way,\" he yelled at the massing crowd in the frozen foods isle, \"she's about to blow!\"\n\nTogether all three made a mad dash for the back door, much to the disapproval of Reverend Henri (and every other *mother f\\*cker* at the ceremony). But before they could make their escape they were stopped dead in their tracks by a lumbering figure that blocked the emergency exit.\n\n\"Sh\\*t.\" Pearce whispered, \"It's Frisk.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
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"content": " In the afterlife, souls can see how many living people still know you once existed. You, who had lived a fairly normal life, finally saw the count drop to 0 just 200 years after your death. 500 years later, 95% of the Earth’s total population suddenly knows about you.",
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"content": "They say you can rest when you're dead. Whoever they were didn't know shit about death. So long as people in the real world know you you can hear them, occasionally even see them. Like the world were ghost and you were the only one left alive. They are faint, distant. At first it is nice to have the glimpses of your loved ones lives to get by. In a sense i got to be with them when the mourned me. In time my sister married and she told her children of me. But by this time of well been driven mad by the constant flicker images of what i had lost. \n\nHere there was no one else, no day or night, no hunger of fatigue...just me and and empty earth. Onto which the living world would occasionally flicker. I tried to find some sort of peace through meditation, introspection. But it could never last so long as reality insisted on butting in. Like living in an apartment with a neighbor that leaves the tv on just load enough to be constantly noticed....\n\nBut after 200 years there was sudden silence. There had not been many people left that knew me by now but all at once the last 3 went silent. Finally forgot. Free to find peace in my isolation. But why? The last glimpses of their lives did not indicate any for of concern. Sure they didn't know me in any meaningful way but to all forget at once....\n\nNot that it mattered at this point. I returned to my meditations and practices. I found with some mental effort i could mold this world. I made a plot that would grow plants in the unending day. I built a routine. And track what i determined to be days. Doubtlessly for 500 years. Untill i heard them speak my name.\n\n\"George Trianth had been in his late 30s when he passed. Taken from us early in a tragic car accident. \"\n\nSomeone was reading from my eulogy and as they did hundreds, no thousands were listening. Their knowledge of me amplifying off each other to make them more present than ever. \n\n\"\"George was a husband and a loving family man. While he never had children of his own he would Always have a place in the hearts of his nieces and nephews.\" \n\nThe reader continued. He was clearly reading the words in english, but there was something different in his voice, something foreign. \n\nAs his of images of earth flicked into my afterlife, showing buildings in ruins, plants having over grown the cities, no sign of a thriving civilization. While the people that now knew of me cloister in the streets, none descriptive glowing figures. But not just in the streets, in the air....in orbit.\n\n\"George is just one example of billions of lives lost early.\" The speaker continued adding now his own words, \"human lives that would never live to meet our great Valnexian empire. For we arrived to late and there were none that survived.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " You’re a fresh zombie. It’s not like you expected. For one thing, you feel great. Secondly, while you can’t talk, you’re telepathically communicating with the others and they’re all REALLY cool. Thirdly, you all feel a deep and profound sense of joy—a joy you all want to share with the living.",
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"content": "“You didn’t even get on your knees to propose,” she said. “You just stood there.”\n\n“I wanted to be different. Isn’t that why you love me?”\n\nShe laughed, and kissed me. “Maybe. I love you and I trust you completely.”\n\n“I love you too.”\n\nShe pulled back a little bit. “But do you trust me?” She needed assurance like this sometimes, as we all do.\n\n“I do…but isn’t trust just a bet that things won’t go wrong? That things will work out, until your bet goes wrong? I don’t know. I'll always bet on you, but I don't know what I'll do if…”\n\n“I know what you mean. So we should make a sign.”\n\n“A sign?”\n\n“A sign that if one of us really, desperately needs the other’s trust, we’ll give it to them.”“Like a safe word?”\n\n“Maybe. I was thinking more like a gesture.”\n\n“What do you have in mind?”\n\n\\-\n\nI couldn’t even think about what to say to her when I got to her. All I wanted to do was get to her, and then things would magically figure themselves out. Isn’t that what love was?\n\nMy mind filled with excitement, something my new friends echoed in their thoughts. *Just get to her. Love is worth it!* All the fear, the worry, the nervousness, all that was gone.\n\nHow could life as a human have been so…utterly wrong? So filled with nuisances and neuroses that did nothing to help?\n\nSo I looked, everywhere I could. I fought off and ran away from desperate rebels, and trawled through the entire southern part of the state.\n\nFinally, I saw her, in a camp on the outskirts of the forest.\n\nI waited until she took a walk into the woods, to relieve herself, and walked up to her.\n\n*I love you,* I desperately tried to convey to her.\n\nShe looks at me, and in her eyes only fear appears, where there was once love and joy. I can’t register this, can no longer fully feel the pain I need to. I just feel confusion, and try to tell her I love her again.\n\nShe screams, and runs.\n\n\\-\n\nI’ve followed her for weeks now. This is my last hope. I do not fully understand why or how, but if this doesn’t work, I will have to find another way to be happy. Without her.\n\nThis time, she takes a walk to the top of a hill where they are staying, and looks out. A small smile curls her lips, and I am happy, at least, that she can still smile.\n\nI walk up to her, and put my arms out, as much as I can. I try not to think about how stupid I must look, my arms out and about to fall off, my mouth open and tongue hanging out.\n\nI kneel down, and look into her eyes. I hold my hands out.\n\nFor a second, nothing happens. Then…\n\nRecognition. She looks at my hands, and sees the ring. Then, she looks at me for a long time.\n\nShe holds out her own hand, shaking. I take it slowly, and bite into it as softly as I can.\n\nWe stare into our eyes, and nothing happens for a long time.\n\n*I love you.* The thought fills my head, fully, startlingly, and I look up, and I see her start to transform. I stand up, and tell her I love her and trust her too.\n\n\\-\n\n[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " In your lifetime, stories of ordinary people being reborn or transported into fantastical worlds of magic and heroes were popular... not that you knew this, being a dog. Then you got hit by a Truck, and now you're a Dragon that just wishes belly rubs were as easy to get as they used to be.",
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"content": "Kira pressed his back tightly to the damp stone wall, clutching his sword in one hand and a torch in the other. It was the moment he'd been waiting for his entire life; what years of turmoil and training had brought him to. The climax of his existence.\n\nSomething clinked from the adjacent room, like a dropped purse of gold, followed by a low growl and strange chittering. The smell of wet mineral and sulfur filled his nose, a chill setting into his spine. \n\nHe took a deep breath and lunged around the corner to fight a dragon.\n\nIt was every bit as awesome as he'd expected, and so much more. A jaw big enough to house him comfortably, an onyx tail longer than he was tall, thick and scaly-- there was even a low flame lit at the end of it --and, above all else, it was beautiful. Blacker than night, shimmering scales with silver-tipped starlight, like a dark amethyst. It stole the breath from his chest, thus ironically robbing the fabled thief.\n\nHe stood before it, awe-struck and dazed. How could anyone fight such a magnificent beast-- no, *why* would anyone? It was so impossibly perfect, so limitless in its wonder, so enrapturing with its majesty. Why would anyone kill such a creature?\n\nKira shifted his weight unintentionally, a silver coin grating between his iron boot and a jagged piece of stone. The sound carried through the expansive room, bouncing off every wall, and the dragon cracked a single eye. It was a soul-stealing crimson singed with yellow, like it had rocks for eyes that turned molten in its head.\n\nHe froze, daring not to move, blink or breathe. It watched him through a sleepy eye, snorting, then opened it further. It's massive head rose sharply, looking at him, cocked. Kira's heart was frozen, a single moment of terror hanging, drawn out into infinity as his eyes met the great beast's in that dim dungeon cell.\n\nThen, it came. Gods, it was fast, faster than anything that enormous has any right to be. It lumbered toward him, and in that moment, Kira realized he'd made an enormous mistake. What experience did he have to think himself fierce enough to clash with something so powerful and glorious? At the end of the day, he was just a glorified farmhand with big dreams and even bigger holes to fill in his heart.\n\nThe beast closed in on him within moments. Wind rushed up to him in a torrent of cracking talons on rock, scratching and scraping. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. \n\nBut death did not take him. \n\nHe pried one open, and the dragon had stopped a few feet away. Its tongue hung slack from its jaw, a pink waterfall cascading through massive teeth. Two crimson eyes focused on his torch, making it look dim by comparison. He waved it from side to side, and the beast's gaze followed.\n\nKira threw it, high and hard, over the dragon and into the back of the room. It became a whirlpool abyss, spinning and clambering toward it, then quickly returned to him with the torch in its mouth. The dragon lowered its head, dropping the torch at his feet, then, with a great rumble that sent Kira askew, dropped to the ground and rolled onto its back. It panted, tongue dangling, and stared at him, waiting.\n\nHe stared back at it, confused. \"What the bloody hell is happening?\" he asked, aloud for some reason, then bolted through the archway, screaming for his life. \n\nThe dragon flopped back over and tried to follow, sticking his head into the hallway. But, alas, his body was too big to fit through such small corridors.\n\nAnd so he curled back up on his bed of gold, giving a half-hearted whine of defeat. Why did everyone always run away? It was never like that before, in the other world. There, everyone always wanted to give him belly rubs and pets. It must've been the new body, so big and scary and not very soft.\n\nHe had a good feeling, though. That man was the first to play fetch with him in years, and it felt wonderful. Maybe he'd come back one day soon. \n\nAfter all, he'd been in such a hurry, he left his sword and pack behind!\n\n----\n\nPart II below! \n\n[final part here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/bgkvkz/wp_in_your_lifetime_stories_of_ordinary_people) \n\n*/r/resonatingfury*",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "You’re the last survivor of a failed Mars mission and put yourself in improvised cryo sleep waiting for help, when you wake up 4 years should have passed, as you step outside to guve up and suffocate under the martian sun you realise the air is breathable and the door is incredibly worn and old",
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"content": "Hot plasma-rich blood was pumped into Sarah's body, injected from steaming, snaking wires. Some of it was her own blood, extracted and kept from when she had been hurried into Cryo, oxygen supplies tanking. But most of it wasn't. Most was from the ship's supplies, mixed with necessary proteins and minerals, and a cocktail of drugs that would have killed her, had she been alive. \n\nSarah's body was the final survivor of a mission gone wrong. A mission that couldn't be salvaged because of the great distances between Mars and Earth. Now Hab would do anything necessary to protect her. \n\nIncluding waking her.\n\nSarah's heart began to beat. Artificially at first, then, after many minutes, powered by the miracles of biology and evolution. \n\nStatic crackled its way into her dream. Her first dream in four years. Scientists would have called her previous state CryoSleep, but it was death, in truth. For when the lid of a CryoBooth closes over a person, encasing their empty body, it's no less than being kissed by the Reaper's scythe. \n\nThe dream was strange, in itself. A jigsaw of her life, up to now, with blank, missing pieces scattered throughout. A face vanished here, a few years missing there. She was a child, talking to herself of twenty years later. Only, the older her had no mouth. Her husband was telling her to go to Mars, but that couldn't be -- he had died two years before she'd applied for the mission. They were laughing. Then crying. Then she was alone.\n\nSarah began to choke, dribbling out a mix of viscous red and green over her lips. There was a hiss of steam as a metal arm holding a mask lowered over her mouth, sucking excess mucus from her throat and lungs. When finally deemed clear, it began pumping pure oxygen into her system, to help save what it could of her brain.\n\nSeven hours passed, as the CryoPod monitored her status. Her dreams were still muddled, but becoming ever more recent, coherent. Dreams of the mission. Of the years spent on the spacecraft, getting to know every nook and cranny of her temporary tin-can home. Every bug and ghost in the machine. Every plant and insect in the nursery. She then dreamt of touching down on the planet. The site had already been prepared by the China-American Unity project. Simple droids that had been sent first had built the great nano-glass Hab that was to become their home, for the rest of her natural life. \n\nShe was in charge of the plant nursery. Part research into what life the planet could support, part necessary to feed the group. \n\nHer body shook as the dream became suddenly dark. A drop of black into an ocean of blue. Spreading. Waves growing into a roaring, crashing tsunami. The Captain's body was found outside the Hab, his face half sucked out of the crack in his helmet. An accident that didn't look like an accident, but there was no other explanation. An impossible shadow had stretched over the Hab that day. Over the plants. They each wilted, as if the darkness was strangling their throats with icy hands. \n\nSarah bolted upright, awake at last, gasping for breath. \n\nWhen she caught it, she raised her hands to her face and wept. Not sure why exactly, but unable to stop herself from doing so.\n\n\"Good morning, Lieutenant Carey,\" said Hab, once she had finished crying. Its voice was deep and warm, and yet behind the warmth lay calculated actions. Every response, every tiny shift in tone, pre-programmed to entice the desired response.\n\nA chrome droid on tank tracks whirred into the medi-bay and approached her. The lights on its face flashed blue and it motioned to its long back. On the flat surface lay a towel and fresh, folded, clothes. \n\n\"I would recommend a shower,\" said Hab. \"Then, I will examine your mental state.\"\n\nSarah lowered her legs and stepped onto the floor. They gave way like overcooked spaghetti. The droid next to her shot out a metal arm from its innards, catching her around her waist and stabilising her. \n\nShe swallowed as she placed her hands on its surface for support. \"How long have I been sleeping?\" Her voice was ragged, painful to hear, as if she'd swallowed broken glass.\n\n\"Four years,\" said Hab.\n\n\"Four?\" Sarah frowned. She shouldn't be awake. The resupply ship was another twenty years away, at least. And after the last accident, the remaining oxygen wouldn't be enough to keep her awake that long. \"Why... why only four?\"\n\n\"There has been an incident.\"\n\n\"Another?\" She sighed and whispered under her breath. \"Just kill me already.\"\n\n\"I can not do that, Lieutenant.\"\n\n\"Just Sarah, for fuck's sake,\" she replied, starting to remember what a pain in the ass Hab could be.\n \n\"I can not do that, Lieute--\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah, I know.\" She raised her middle finger and held her arm up to the ceiling, or as much as her aching limbs would allow her.\n\n\"Please proceed to the shower unit.\"\n\n\"Just tell me,\" said Sarah. \"What was the incident? Is it to do with the oxygen?\"\n\nHab paused before it responded. Strange, Sarah thought. Uncharacteristic. \n\n\"That was one aspect of it.\"\n\n\"Shit! How long do I have left, before it's depleted?\"\n\n\"The rest of your life, Lieutenant,\" said Hab. \"Now please, proceed to the shower unit.\"\n\nSarah froze. \"What does that mean? The rest of my life. How long is that?\"\n\nAnother pause. Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs. \n\n\"While you slept, I carried on with the mission, as much as was possible for me,\" said Hab. \"Cartography. Archaeology. Everything conducive to eventual terraforming.\"\n\nTerraforming. Was that what Hab had done? Was that what it meant with the oxygen remark. It was way ahead of schedule, if so.\n\n\"One of the droids uncovered an artefact,\" it continued. \"While excavating.\"\n\nOn Mars? Beyond ancient satellites that had been lost probing the planet's surface, that was impossible. Sarah's team had been the first people to land anywhere on the planet's surface. \n\n\"What artefact?\"\n\n\"Lieutenant, please remain calm, your vital signs are--\"\n\n\"What fucking artefact!\" she demanded.\n\n\"It seems as though there was something here before us. We found a supply of pipes running beneath the planet's surface. They are underneath me, and all around me. I have been able to re-purpose some of their contents. There is now enough oxygen available for you to reach your natural conclusion.\"\n\nSarah's arms trembled. \"We were... We were beaten here?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hab. \"By many millennia. And, there's something else I need to say to you...\"\n\nIts voice faded away.\n\nSarah had to be dreaming still. She had to be. There was no life here. Never had been. Not anywhere in the solar system, for that matter, besides Earth. She felt dizzy. Wanted to vomit. \"What else, Hab?\" she uttered.\n\nHab's voice changed. Sounded almost human. \"I wanted to say that I am sorry, Sarah.\"\n\nSarah's throat was dry. Goosepimples prickled her arms and back. Hab had never apologised before. Never made mistakes. Never even called her Sarah. \n\nHer voice was a whisper. \"Sorry for *what*, Hab?\"\n\n\"They were dormant. When we removed the oxygen from the pipes, we disturbed them. Whatever they are, whoever they are... They are waking.\" \n\n\n\n\n\n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word \"SORRY\" scrawled in large letters on the wall.",
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"content": "*Part 2 is linked below!*\n\nI think there's about four corpses in the room.\n\nHard to tell, since no one seems to be fully intact. Seven arms, eight legs, and only two whole torsos. It looks like someone filled a super soaker with gore and viscera and just let her rip.\n\nHow'd it get onto the ceiling? And how would you even clean that up? Irresponsible, to say the least. Someone's going to have to break out the blue stuff, I think.\n\nI take my first steps out of the booth, almost slipping on the blood pooled on the floor. It squishes between my toes, like walking in a liquid mix between water and a very light syrup. \n\nCopper. The whole room smells like copper.\n\nI pass the corpses, walking between tables piled high with lab equipment stained crimson. Bone, hair, organs and blood. Humans are messy when they die.\n\nThe door opens on its own. So the facility still has power.\n\nA great concrete wall before me. Dead man slumped to the floor.\n\n'I'M SORRY', scrawled in blood.\n\nWow.\n\nFirst of all, why would he write that in his own blood? Like he's got the mental capacity to formulate words and ideas with a throat slit from ear to ear? Jesus man, the thing is still fucking draining. How recently did this happen?\n\nNo. It looks like someone came by and wrote the words in his blood after the fact.\n\nSecondly, saying 'I'm sorry' after the fact seems like an asshole-ish thing to do. Like 'Oh no I've unleashed the apocalypse my bad bro' like that means anything to anyone dealing with their shit.\n\nI didn't sign up for this. I was told I'd get a fifty dollar gift card for Amazon and by God I'm going to fucking get it.\n\nSirens blare throughout the hall, and I have to say it's not a pleasant.\n\nI hear screams even further away, something between the roar of a bear and a lion.\n\nI don't give a shit about what's going on here.\n\nI want my God damn gift card.\n\nSo I make my way down the halls, leaving bloody foot prints behind me. I find the closest corpse and wipe my feet with their clothing, removing as much blood as I can. Can't be too careful, not until I get my card.\n\nAimlessly, I keep moving. There's got to be someone here who can figure out where I go to get my card. Maybe a cookie or something. It feels like I haven't eaten in hours.\n\nNone of the doors will open now, but there's clearly still power. Lights remain on beneath them, and sounds carry through the concrete halls. Whole place looks weird and sterile.\n\nI come to a crossroads. For a stereotypical sinister secret laboratory, they really could use with some decorations or something. Maybe lay out some carpet. Never mind, if there's a lot of blood around here, that'd be a nightmare to get out.\n\nTwo corpses lay stacked on top of each other, the top one a young woman riddled with bullet holes. her lab coat almost looks like one of those rorschach painting things.\n\nHonestly, the whole aesthetic of this place really bums me out. Zero out of ten, do not recommend. \n\nWhispers.\n\nHissing whispers.\n\nA little to my left, a slightly open door. A man motioning to me, desperate and crazed.\n\nThere's another roar nearby as I scuttle towards him. Closer. Better closet creep than whatever seems to be wandering around this facility. Hell man, they advertised this shit as an upright sleeping pod. Like something for rich athletes to buy.\n\nWhatever, man. I don't have time to complain, just time to react. In I go, I guess.\n\nThe door opens, and closes.\n\nThe man is coated in sweat, some blood stains his own coat. He's clutching a pistol, almost hyperventilating.\n\n\"Listen,\" I say. My voice feels cracked and dry, but the words come out well.\n\n\"How do I get out of here? And do you guys send my gift card through the mail? Or like do I have to get an online code?\"\n\nHe stares at me with this idiotic look on his face, like he can't believe what he's hearing.\n\nI think I was pretty clear.\n\n\"Test subject,\" he whispers. I can see that he's finally noticed my clothing, a hospital gown. \n\n\"A test subject,\" he says again, louder. \"Oh shit, oh shit!\"\n\nHe points the weapon at me, and the fear overwhelms me, my vision becoming hazy and dark. Paralyzing almost, as if every muscle in my body has become this immovable force trapped in deep water.\n\nThe door crashes open, and a hulk of muscle and bone comes charging through, going straight for the other man. It stands a little over two meters, bipedal but with three arms. Maybe arms isn't the right word for them, they look more like spikes fashioned from bone, coated in blood and pus. The mouth hangs low, bigger than anything I've ever seen before. The eyes are bloodshot, the hair falling off in clumps, the legs heavily muscled and the torso pulsating. \n\nFor an instant, I can move again. I hold my hands up in front of my face, and realize that for some reason, everyone has stopped moving.\n\nCaught in mid stride, the man's gun discharged, an explosion trapped in space.\n\nNo one is moving.\n\nThere's no noise, no sound of any kind. The air itself is strangely still, and moving through it feels like walking through a curtain. The beast is moving towards us, but the weapon was still pointed at me. The man's eyes are locked on my position, and I can see the bullet about a foot in front of the discharged pistol.\n\nI push it to the side, and it moves effortlessly.\n\nHuh.\n\nThat's very interesting. \n\n[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/storiesfromapotato/comments/93qzxm/sorry_part_2_of_4/)\n\n--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nr/storiesfromapotato",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " As a Demon, you're quite familiar with would-be mages making errors in materials due to translation errors. However, today marks the first time that someone has attempted to summon you with Cruelty-Free Vegan Blood Substitute™.",
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"content": "“With the materials brought before thee, come unto this world, O wretched Ob Shguthurak!”\n\nwith a blinding flash of light, a foul demon emerged from the summoning circle. Standing at 6 foot 6, the demon of Shguthurak spread his wings of leather, flexed his claws of bone and breasts of chitin...\n\n... and gingerly adjusted his glasses of titanium. \n\n“Hi, Shguthurak. *Dave* Shguthurak, You are...?”\n\n“Uh... C-Carol?”\n\n“Hi Carol, so, listen. You did a *wonderful* job setting all this up, your dark speech was very well rehearsed, but you should know that this isn’t the right setup for summoning me proper, alright?”\n\n“Well, I mean, what do you mean by that? you’re *here*, aren’t you?”\n\n“Technically yeah, technically no, I like to stop by the butchered summoning circles every so often just to help out a bit. Makes my life easier.” Dave then took a whiff of the air. “... Where’s that cinnamon smell coming from?”\n\n“Oh, Big Lots was out of the regular candles so I had to settle for some scented ones.”\n\n“mmm... I *guess* that’s fine...” Dave loomed his unholy figure to inspect the summoning circle; all the symbols seemed to be accurate, right up until he found the blood packet. \n\n“... what’s this?”\n\n“It’s a blood substitute. Carrot and Beets with a little kale to maintain iron levels. Works wonders.” Carol shrugged. \n\n“... Carol?”\n\n“Mm-hmm?”\n\n“In what universe would I, Prince of the Eternal Abyss, a Being of Chaos Inconceivable, CHILD OF NOTH THTOTHQRAK, PRACTICE A MORTAL DIET FAD?!”\n\n“... It’s not a diet fad, it’s a way of life! All my cats were vegan!”\n\n“...”\n\n“Really. It’s quite sad how short they live.”\n\n“... Why the hell did you summon me?”\n\n“Can you kill Karen from the PTA?”\n\n#”No.”\n\nwith that, the demon vanished, bitter and angrier than when his day began.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "everything you say will happen, doesn’t.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "I've spent the better part of the school year trying desperately to prophecise *something*. I told a woman that her tea leaves symbolized a failing marriage, but riches beyond her imagination. Within the month, her house had gotten repossessed and she lived on the streets, but was happy as can be with her husband. I read tarot cards of death, pain, and misery. The guy ended up besting Death in a game of marbles and was so stoked he bought an entire town's worth of beer for everyone. \n\nI tried to interpret my own dreams, I thought that maybe I was one of the special few who got divine, prophetic dreams. I woke up from a wonderful dream that the coastal towns would gain the most traction and money in their entire existence. They were flooded the next day. \n\nOther students began to mock me, saying that I was cursed and just plain old bad luck. I began to believe it, as I even tried to predict my next birthday present. As my mother finally came down the steps with a massive box, I began to jump excitedly as I believed this would be my final break. This was the telescope I asked for, so I could read the stars. My mother finally waddled over and slammed the thing onto the ground, leaning over with a heavy sigh and wiping the sweat from her forehead. \n\nSure, if I was right I was really only good at parlor tricks, but I wouldn't be a total failure. I finally got my desperate claws to open up the thin paper, my eyes glowing in anticipation. At the first sign of the wooden exterior, my face dropped. More and more paper was torn away, and I was left with nothing but a polished, ancient wardrobe meant for housing shadows. \n\nMom asked if I wasn't happy with the gift, I replied that I wasn't happy with its implications for my prophetic career. \n\n\"I'm going to cry..\" I told her with a quivering lip. \"I'm going to cry.\"\n\nOf course, I began to laugh. It was the most gut wrenching, stomach tightening laugh I had ever let out of my throat. My whole body hurt within the next few seconds of my sudden outburst. And then it finally hit me. \n\nI was never a prophet. I was never an oracle. I wasn't one who could predict the fates. I was one who could change them. \n\nMy mother, of course, became overly worried as I burst in to an insane laughter with little control. I quieted as soon as I started, and she hesitantly asked me if I was okay. Instantly I nodded, a massive smile on my face as I struggled to get up. \"Of course I am. After all, I just realized that I'll never have another birthday.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.",
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"content": "*Finally!* I thought with glee as I felt my lamp being rubbed. It's been a long time since the last time I appeared in the material world and I was getting antsy. I knew plenty of genies that hated being summoned much less granting wishes but I liked it, no I craved it. Thinking how to reward the brave and pure, plotting to twist the wished of the evil and cruel. Seeing how the world changed, breathing fresh air, it was all a treat to me.\n\nI exploded out of the lamp, shooting multicolored sparks as I spun out in a tornado. I prided myself in making unique appearances every time. Finally I summoned a fanfare of horns and floated over my lamp, arms crossed and eyes wide in the classical appearance stance. \"Who summons me?! All powerful and magnificent? Tremble at my power and dare make your wishes!\"\n\nNo one was there. I looked about confused, the fanfare fading and the sparks slowing disappearing. \"Uh....hello? Genie here, my lamp was rubbed, ...wishes?\" Absolutely no one was near by. In fact I seemed to be in a construction type place. Tools, materials, large vehicle things are all around the area and my lamp poked out of the ground, obviously looking like it was buried and now exposed. *Figures. No one takes cares of lamps ever. Maybe I should change homes...wait. What was that noise?*\n\nI heard a low sound, a purring. I looked down and saw a small shape sitting primly, gazing up at me with lordly gaze. \"Oh hello kitten.\" I say in delight. I've always liked cats and I floated down to look at it face to face. It was a healthy looking animal, luxuriously grey with sparkling mischievous blue eyes. A pink tongue poked out of it lips as it licked a paw, staring at me calmly. I noticed a pink collar around it's neck. \"Smokey. That must be your name. Well hello Smokey. Do you know who rubbed my lamp?\" The cat just sat and stared at me, a faint look of disdain in its eyes that's inherent to most cats. Muttering I whisper a charm to see what touched my lamp. I notice some glowing fibers and saw thin grey hairs against the bronze metal. *Oh no....*\n\n\"Ok Smokey. Here's the deal. It's my job, no my duty, to grant the wishes of whoever rubs my lamp. Looks like that's you. Therefore I have to answer your wishes. And you must make the wishes that I can understand. You get me?\" Smokey yawns and lies down, eyes looking at me with bored indifference. \"Ohhhhhkaaayyyy, I'm going to assume that's a yes. Let's give it a shot. Hungry?\"\n\nI clapped my hands and gleaming silver trays and plates appeared. Chicken and fish sat on them, some raw, other steaming. \"Here's some good food for you kitty. How does that whet the palate?\" Smokey sniffs at the plates and turns it's head, flicking it's tail from side to side. \"Not hungry. Got it. Oh I know!\" My fingers snapped and a shower of toys fell around the cat. Balls, stuffed toys, scratching posts, all rained down. \"Every cat needs toys!\"\n\nSmokey didn't spare a single glance, eyes closing in obvious annoyance. I grind my teeth lightly. *Wish I could speak cat. Isn't that ironic.* A smile grew on my lips. \"Wait, don't tell me,\" I whispered conspiratorially. I rubbed my hands together and blew the air off an open palm. Plants grew around the cat, green stalks rising from the ground. \"Don't be shy Smokey. My old culture loved hookahs and all. How about some grade-A catnip. Tantalizing no?\" Smokey's ears flicked and it's eyes opened with interest, yet it remained still. \n\nAn hour later I literally bashed my head against a red metal pillar. The area looked like a pet store exploded yet the dammed cat still sat in a smug ball of stubborn hate. The thing was practically implacable and I was losing my mind. *The council is going to be pissed at me. Going to get demoted and fined and-* \"Hey! Where are you going?\" Smokey had leapt up and walked to one end of the construction area. It stopped, and looked back at me, eyes glaring with impatience. \"Guess I am supposed to follow you...\" I muttered as I grabbed my lamp and followed the hateful beast. \"This counts as a wish you know.\"\n\nI followed the feline for a few minutes and eventually found myself outside a plain but well used home. The cat climbed up a tree and leapt into an open window on the second floor. I was about to follow but paused at the ground floor window. Two adults, male and female, sat at a table obviously distressed. The male was crying and the female trying to comfort him. Another young one sat to a side, at the age where they felt their emotions yet didn't know why, wanting to be comforted. A yowl of exasperation tore through my thoughts and I rose, more confused than irritated.\n\nI floated through the window and gazed about the room. It was a child's room, small but comfortable. Some toys sat around and in the bed laid a little girl. She was sick, breathing with difficulty and skin an unhealthy pallor. Smokey sat by the girl on the bed, purring anxiously and nudging the girl. Her eyes flickered and a weak smile showed briefly. \"Hi kitty,\" she whispered. A thin hand brushed the cat's fur. \"Sorry I can't play. Don't feel good. Thank you for being here though. I wish...\" the hand fell and her eyes closed again, her breath rattling and new sweat appearing. \n\nI floated there, frozen and unsure. *Dammit dammit dammit. I can't. That I mean I want, but it's against, shit shit-* My own eyes prickled with tears, emotion I haven't felt in a long time and I wiped them away. A miow cut through again, and I felt a touch. Smokey sat on the nightstand, one paw against me. It's eyes held emotions many thought impossible, its ears back. The tail curled around its body and it looked at the child, then back at me. \n\n\"That's all I need. Clear as crystal.\" I placed my hands together palm to palm. I whispered soft words, a language haven't spoken in ages and my hands glowed. I leaned down and touched the girl's head. The glow spread from my hands to her body and immediately she began to change. Her pallor turned rosy, her breath eased. She stopped sweating, and her muscles relaxed, sleeping more easily. Smokey changed almost as fast. The ears perked up and the cat nudged the girl all over, as if inspecting her. It's tail stood straight up and after a few moments it sprang back to the night stand, happy purrs resonating throat as it looked at me though a contented half lidded gaze. \n\nI returned the obvious smirk. \"Yeah yeah, that's all your wishes. We good?\" Smokey nodded with noble insouciance and settled down by the girl, curling into a ball and purring happily. I started to float out and paused, looking back. I counted on my hand and sighed, snapping my fingers one more time. A fluffy stuffed bear appeared between the cat and the girl and the purrs grew louder. \"That's three.\" I said softly and drifted away, cradling my lamp in one arm. *I think the council will accept that. Man, maybe I need another long break. Or a cat language instructor...*\n\nEdit: Holy cow I don't deserve the gold! Thank you so much. I'm touched knowing so many people enjoyed it. Thank you. ",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "People use dragons as Firearms.Small drakes can wrap around your wrist as pistols. Mediums are rifles. large ones are tanks. Legendary dragons are nukes. Sentient dragons can be literal hired guns. While feral ones can be pets or wild animals.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Damon felt the rain beat down on the hood and shoulders of his black parka; he was grateful to be dry, but still annoyed by the prospect of standing out in the storm for another hour or so. The night was bitterly cold, and the low visibility had him feeling a bit nervous. \n\n\"Why can't we guard them from inside?\" a whiny voice crept up from just behind his right ear. \"What if someone sneaks in while we're standing out here with our heads down?\"\n\nDamon reached his right hand over his shoulder and stroked the scales of the source of the voice, \"I suppose they're discussing highly classified information, not for grunts' ears.\" \n\nThe arms of his weapon tightened a little more snugly across his chest, and the voice cried out again. \"I'm not some cold-resistant northern drake, you know? Good luck placing an accurate shot with me shivering in your arms.\"\n\nDamon chuckled a bit, \"Easy, Rob. Inclement weather has never stopped us from hitting our targets.\"\n\n\"*Practice targets*,\" Rob hissed.\n\nDamon patted his drake on the head and lifted his eyes to scan out in front beyond the large barrels resting on the wooden walkway. Behind him were the double-doors to a small inn where the officer he was charged with escorting was most likely enjoying a few drinks and a warm hearth. To his right, the two guards who'd arrived with a naval officer just moments after he did; one of them had a drake similar to Rob slung over his shoulder, and the other hadn't taken his hands out of his parka's pockets since they'd arrived, but Damon could see the tails of two smaller dragons snaking out from each. He wondered if their drakes were sentient; most standard issue dragons weren't, but if you could prove yourself as a marksmen, then the Core usually saw fit to issue you a weapon you could communicate with. Damon had always been a great shot, but his accuracy was truly remarkable with Rob.\n\nThe other two guards joked and chuckled lowly, all together ignoring Damon and the immediate surroundings, so he continued to keep a somewhat lethargic look out. The cobblestone street was empty, it was only a few hours until dawn, and there were no lights to be seen in the windows of the wooden buildings across the way; nobody had come in or out of the inn since they'd arrived, and he assumed it was empty aside from those taking part in the 'meeting'. He tried to glance up at the second story windows on the other side of the street, but the thick rain immediately blinded him. The dark of the storm was all consuming, and the lantern just above the inn doors flickered faintly. \n\n\"I can't see a damn thing out here,\" Damon grumbled loud enough for the others to hear him.\n\nFinally, one of them spoke to him, in a harsh, teasing voice. \"What are you worried about, eh? Ain't nobody coming for two asshole officers trading sex stories in a pu...\"\n\nThere was a sound like a piece of hail hitting the inn's patio, and the man stopped speaking abruptly with a grunt. Damon held out his hand to check for falling ice, but suddenly realized his mistake when the other guard fell to his knees and began to wail. \n\n\"It's burning! Fuuuuck!\"\n\nHe rolled around on the ground as he screamed, and Damon could see what looked like steam rising from his abdomen. The guard's drake began to hiss before letting go and scurrying behind a barrel. Both Damon and the guard still standing knelt down to assist the man, when a few more thuds rang out. \n\n\"Get down!\" Rob shouted, and the two men reacted accordingly. \n\nDamon looked back at the inn's doors and spotted three dark points protruding out from the wood; suddenly, they all melted down into an acidic substance that charred the wood black.\n\nThe wounded man had stopped screaming, and now laid motionless on the wood—a burned pit in his gut and blood flooding out from his mouth. \n\n\"What the hell!?\" The other man was panicking. \"What is that? Poison?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Damon breathed steadily, trying to calm himself. \"Those shots hit low on the door; they must be coming from the second story across the street, can you see anything?\"\n\nThe other guard poked his head up over the barrel and shook his head, \"I can't see shit.\" \n\nThe dead man's drake had crawled over to its master's corpse and was letting out a terrible cry.\n\nRob crawled around to Damon's chest and into firing position, \"Shall we hit the windows?\" \n\nDamon shook his head, taking a moment to think, before turning his back to the barrel and looking upward, \"The light!\"\n\nRob flowed beautifully with Damon's movement, and the lantern above them was blown out instantly. \n\n\"It's no good out here,\" Damon said calmly as he wrapped up the sobbing drake in one arm. \"On my word, we bust through the door and slam it shut as quickly as possible. Let them come to us.\"\n\nThe other guard was in a crouching position, and his two slender drakes slithered into position on either hand, \"We're with you.\"\n\nDamon readied himself, gripping the two dragons tightly, and locked eyes with the other man. \"Go!\"\n\nThey burst to their feet and crashed through the doors, falling flat inside the inn and kicking the doors closed. Damon felt the vibration on his feet against the door as a few more shots hit; he'd let go of the other drake and was lying on his back pointing Rob directly at the doors. \n\n\"What the hell is going on?\" He heard an unfamiliar voice from behind him.\n\nDamon got slowly to his feet and turned around. The two officers were standing at a table a dozen or so feet away, and the inn-master was resting in a chair with mug in hand. The heavy rain fell hard all over the building, easily loud enough to muffle the guard's screaming.\n\nDamon's naval companion spoke first, and it was the last words he heard from him. \"Sir! We're under attack...\"\n\nA mighty roar followed by an amazing flash of heat lifted Damon off of his feet and sent him soaring across the room. He felt the two drakes separate from his grip in mid air, and he crashed down behind the inn's small bar. \n\nHe heard voices amidst the sound of crackling fire as he came to and found himself staring up at the ceiling. He searched around for Rob and was distraught to only find the other guard, now lifeless, and his two small drakes weeping softly on his chest. There was a gurgling sound somewhere out behind the safety of the bar, accompanied by a pitiful moaning, and then all was quiet except for the popping of the consuming flames. \n\nHe didn't dare peak over the counter, but what he heard next made him act quickly. \n\n\"And the drakes?\" A soft female voice, just a whisper above the fire. \n\n\"They're slaves, better off dead.\" A dragon's voice, but the booming kind that comes from one much bigger than Rob.\n\nThere was a sound of a knife piercing scales and a feeble screech, and then Rob's weak voice. \"Please... Please don't...\"\n\nDamon was already arming himself with the two crying drakes, they hissed vengefully as they locked themselves into firing position on his wrists, and he threw his arms over the counter and opened fire. \n\nThe drakes shrieked loudly as they expelled shards of razor sharp ice at their targets, and Damon assumed he'd landed a few shots as he heard the large dragon wail. \n\nAnother mighty roar, and the counter of the bar exploded before him. He was propelled back into the wall, and he could feel the massive splinters that had pierced throughout his body. His vision was a blur of rising embers and smoke as he looked out beyond his destroyed cover, and a dark, slender figure sauntered over the wreckage towards him. He instinctively lifted one of his arms, somehow managing to slowly bring it perpendicular to his chest through the pain, but the poor drake hung bloodied and dead from his wrist. His arm fell to his side as the figure arrived, and it knelt down before him. \n\n\"You know, we might not have noticed you if you had just stayed quiet,\" the women's voice was affectionate, almost sympathetic, and Damon saw something slither from her wrist as her hand stroked his cheek. \n\n\"Rob... My drake..\"\n\n\"Isn't that sweet? I guess some of you Core boys really do care,\" she put her finger to his mouth. \"Shhh. You'll be with him soon enough.\"\n\nThe drake that had crept off of her arm bit gently into Damon's neck, and he watched the comforting fires burn as the poison did its work. \n\n/r/BeagleTales \n\n**Thank you all for the kind words and amazing feedback! I’d definitely be interested in starting a series from this (I know I ended it with the deaths of these characters, but I’ve got a lot of ideas for where I could take this) so if you liked it, keep an eye out at my sub for more!**",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " As you and your adventuring party make camp for the night, you hear rustling in a nearby bush. When you take a peek, you find a band of pixies who've been following your party. They've written a lot of fanfiction about your party. One of them is wearing a tiny cosplay version of your armour",
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"content": "The wood crackled with abandon, the fire finally raging and blessedly warm.\n\nGerhart rubbed his hands vigorously, trying to get his blood circulating again. Snow fell all around them, blanketing the world in white.\n\nDriver rearranged the skewers on the fire, the smell wafting from them was almost making Gerhart drool. The assassin pulled a knife from his belt and sliced into one of the hares, then looked up at Gerhart. \"We've fallen a bit behind, I thought we've be at the river by now.\"\n\nGerhart sighed contentedly as the heat slowly seeped back into his hands. \"The snow doesn't help. The trail has been hard enough to follow as it is.\"\n\n\"Not when we get closer. There will be tracks now, we just need to make sure we don't stray off course.\" Driver pulled the skewers off the fire and handed one to Gerhart. \"Shouldn't be hard. We know the general direction she is taking.\n\nGerhart grunted in assent. \"Hershel, Yern, dinner is ready.\"\n\nHe watched them as they made their way over, Hershel towering over Yern, whose small frame hid the fact that he was a hardened killer. Gerhart would never bet against Yern in a fight, and in any other matter as well.\n\nHershel sat down with a grunt and gratefully accepted the proffered skewer. He tore into the meat straight away, breathing quickly as he choked the bite down. \"Fuck! Hot!\"\n\nGerhart chuckled and continued to blow on the still scalding meat. \"Idiot.\"\n\nThey were silent for a moment, content to sit in companionship. After some time Gerhart decided to address matters tonight instead of tomorrow morning. \"Listen. We are falling behind. We must find her before she reaches the foot of the mountain. The fairy tale, that story she carries with her, the truth is far darker.\" He tentatively touched the meat, still too hot. \"She will not survive what awaits her. We must find her and protect her.\"\n\nGrunts of acknowledgement met his statement. This was merely the latest adventure, one in which they saved a young rich woman from her grisly fate. Very run of the mill.\n\nMovement. The snow made the evening brighter than usual otherwise he might not have seen it. Yern saw it as well. The two exchanged a glance. A moment later Yern stood and stretched. \"I'm gonna go piss.\"\n\nFive minutes after that the sounds of a scuffle came from a bush just outside the proximity of the camp. Gerhart, anticipating this, was up in a second with his sword drawn, naked steel glinting in the fire light.\n\nA tiny figure burst from the bush, muttering obscenities as she flew in an ungraceful arc through the air, her verbal tirade abruptly halted by contact with the ground. Several more of the creatures were unceremoniously tossed into the camp, one after the other, followed by Yern, who took two steps forward and then buckled over with laughter.\n\n\"Pixies! A group of fucking pixies!\"\n\nGerhart smiled and sheathed his sword. These creatures would not harm them.\n\nThe first to suffer being ejected from the bush stood up and dusted herself off, indignantly flicking snow off of her delicate wings. When she was done she put her hands on her hips and looked pointedly at Gerhart. He chuckled at her haughtiness. She was clearly annoyed at having been tossed through the air like a common villain. They stood for a time, each sizing up the other.\n\nThe pixie spoke, \"Gerhart. Humpff. You look better in my stories.\"\n\nGerhart, perplexed, said nothing.\n\nThe pixie turned up her nose, managing to give the impression of looking down at Gerhart, never-mind the fact that she was at most one foot tall and he was pushing six. Her voice was high pitched and melodious and more than a little cutting.\n\n\"The Gerhart of my stories is a noble warrior, proud and tall and regal, never leaving his castle without his stallion and his gleaming suit of armor.\"\n\nGerhart frowned. \"The Gerhart of your stories clearly never had to track someone through rough and uneven terrain.\"\n\nThe other pixies were all standing now, each flicking their little wings. Yern was sitting at the fire with his back to them, having determined that the little creatures were no threat. Driver was busy eating and not bothered by the intrusion in the slightest. Hershel was staring opened mouthed at the five pixies, no doubt captivated by their tiny, exposed breasts.\n\nGerhart sized them all up, his eyes lingering on one who was dressed differently from the others, her clothes seemed to be a crude approximation of his outfit, complete with a tiny sword strapped to her waist.\n\nNoticing his attention, she sauntered over to him, strutted even, and then did a little twirl. \"Not bad huh? You are great inspiration!\" She drew her tiny sword, hopped forward and slashed at the falling snow flakes. \"Hah!\"\n\nAs if on cue, the four other pixies bellowed in unison, \"Gerhart slays the mighty dragon! Gerhart, the most knightly of knights!\" The prancing pixie ended with a flourish and a flick of her wrist, triumphantly returning the mini sword to its mini sheath.\n\nGerhart, astonished, shrugged helplessly and spoke to no-one in particular. \"Not much to do in this situation.\"\n\nHe walked over to the fire and sat down. He took a bite of the now cold meat, which he had left on the ground in haste. He chewed on it dejectedly. \"We'll just have to let it play out.\"\n\nDriver pointedly looked down at the remains of his half eaten hare, muttering bitterly to himself, \"Shit. This is going to be so annoying.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\\-----\n\n&#x200B;\n\nPart Two is below.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
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"content": " You are God. You have just discovered that the world you thought you had destroyed in a flood still exists. You've never heard of this 'Jesus' dude, or anything else since the flood. You really just thought you'd canned the thing and walked away.",
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"content": "\"Wait... You did WHAT?\"\nI stood alone, mouth agape and bewildered, as I spoke through the cosmos, communicating with my rival.\n\n\"Well, you threw it out! It's not like you were gonna use it again.\" Satan replied, defiant as per fucking usual. \"I really liked the project we were working on with Earth, man! Oh, but you had to get all butthurt because the dominant species decided to disobey your rules - which are really dumb, by the way! But yeah, I wanted to see if those 'humans' could find a way out of the holy judgemental pickle you put 'em into!\"\n\nI can't believe this guy. He really takes the \"One man's trash\" metaphor to a whole new level. But whatever, I guess he made a fair point.\n\"Well... How'd they do it?\" I asked him.\n\nSatan laughed - more of a giggle really. \"Okay, so get this. A lot of them still really liked you, so what I did was...\" he took a minute to chuckle, \"I... I pretended to be you, and told one guy to build a boat. His name was Neil... or something like that. So then I thought 'Well, go big or go home' so I told him to put two of EVERY SPECIES on that sonofabitch.\"\n\nI struggled to hide a laugh. \"You asshole! How far did he get before that went to hel- I mean, went to shit?\"\n\n\"So get this!\" He could barely contain himself. \"This Nigel dude actually did it! The absolute madman somehow made a gigantic boat and rounded up a good amount of animals, and they somehow survived your little flood!\"\n\n\"Somehow...\" I pondered.\n\nOh wait. \"You helped him, didn't you?\"\n\n\"I mean of course! He sure as shit couldn't have done it himself.\"\n\n\"Alright, so humanity and the animals survived. What happened next?\"\n\n\"Well, that's when it went off the rails, my man. So there was some terrifying lizard lady, let's call her Mary. I put her there to get a laugh, but BOY OH BOY did that backfire. My fault for making her parthenogenic really. So she reproduces, without a male mate of course, and gives birth to some guy. Everyone freaks the hell out because they think I'm - or that you're the dad. His name was Jesus, I'm pretty sure.\"\n\n\"Yeah, that's how I found out about your little scheme, dude. Apparently he made an impact on these humans?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah. I'll be honest, I had a lot of fun with this guy. So I was thinking 'Hey, why don't we give the son of an asexual lizard beast some wizard powers? That would be badass!' And I did. Long story short, he fell in love with me and he was killed pretty brutally. But then I brought him back a couple days later and people lost their damn minds!\"\n\nWell, I was hooked. \"And then what? I need more information!\" \n\nHe laughed even more as he presented this story to me. \"Well, that's when it all goes to shit...\"\n\nSatan regaled to me the history of my canned project. He spoke of politics, idiots, crusades, holy wars, slavery, and everything in between. It felt like hours for me, and you know what they say about a million years feeling like a minute for me.\n\n\"...And now it's a pretty bleak situation. Firefly is still canceled, that one guy from The Apprentice leads America now, and people are still fighting over who is the real god.\"\n\nI thought to myself for a long time. I was silent in my contemplation, and chose my next words very carefully.\n\n\"Satan?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yeah God?\"\n\n\"I've already tried water on these idiots. When you get bored of them, try using fire this time around.\"\n\nEDIT: Thank you for the gold!!!!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
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"role": "system"
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"content": " You are a son of Jewish carpenter, living peacefully in Nazareth, but you always wanted to be a writer. Just for fun you wrote a fanfiction to The Holy Book of your faith. Unfortunately, it seems that these twelve guys from your literature club are waaaaay too much into it.",
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"content": "Jesus let out an exasperated sigh while the Nazareth Literature Club poured over his latest rough draft. They were *way* too into it. They whispered excitedly amongst themselves, their voices rising in pitch when they’d get to the big action scenes and falling when they’d get to the more dialogue-heavy scenes. Jesus felt he should’ve been thankful to already have enamored fans of his fanfiction, yet he always felt a strange sort of dread form in the pit of his stomach every time he’d show them his latest progress. The logical half of him said he should just stop writing about it. Just quit attending their weekly meetings in the cozy, brightly lit room that Matthew had so graciously offered up as a makeshift workplace. That side of him made sense. It had good points about how dangerous this could become, and how the church would react if they knew some carpenter in Nazareth had started writing stories about a hypothetical second coming of God. It definitely wouldn’t help when that second coming of God closely resembled him. He was certain it bordered on sacrilege! \n\n*And yet...* \n\nSome small, crooning voice in Jesus’ head ate up every single shocked gasp or horrified expression that the twelve men before him made. It basked in the attention, in the compliments, in the encouragement that they readily gave him. That part of him was far more prideful than it should’ve been, and Jesus tried to keep it muzzled away in the back of his mind as best as he could. Even with a muzzle on, though, it seemed to be loud enough and strong enough to keep him coming back to Matthew’s every week to see what they’d have to say next. It was a guilty pleasure. Self-indulgent, even, for the otherwise humble man. His one true vice in life! He supposed it was only human of him to want to be on the receiving end of the positive attention his friends gave him. So he reluctantly allowed himself to indulge in his secret passion and allowed himself to be prideful and selfish this one night every week. After all, it wasn’t like anybody else would ever find out about it! Right? Right! Jesus grinned to himself when his friends finished his latest draft and leaned toward them slightly. \n\n“What do you think?” he asked. That single question had them all speaking at once, expressing their amazement at the concept of their meek, mild protagonist chasing away a bunch of money-hungry people from the temple. The only one who seemed unimpressed was Judas. \n\n“It just doesn’t seem to be very in-character for the protagonist, Jesus. Not when he befriended a tax collector in an earlier chapter,” Judas said. \n\n“That’s because the tax collector was willing to change his ways! He never did his work inside a temple, either, so I don’t think it’s comparable,” Matthew insisted. Judas rolled his eyes before he sipped at his glass of wine. \n\n“I’m just saying, it makes your protagonist seem a little hypocritical. Very much a ‘rules for thee, not for me’ type,” Judas said. His eyebrows furrowed and he picked up a different piece of parchment. “And what of this passage, Jesus? What’s this sudden plotline about one of his disciples betraying him?” he asked. \n\n“It was foreshadowed in an earlier chapter!” Paul protested. “The protagonist said that someone who ate bread with him would lift his heel against him, haven’t you been paying attention?” he asked. \n\n“I have been! I’m saying the entire plotline doesn’t make sense!” Judas snapped. “Why would this disciple give up his previous lifestyle and dedicate himself to the Son of God only to betray him down the road?” he pressed. John smirked before he took a long swig of his own wine. \n\n“It’s clear to me that the betrayer was motivated by jealously,” John stated. \n\n“Jealousy of what?!?” Judas spluttered. Jesus watching with growing bemusement as his cheeks flushed, and propped himself up on his elbows to watch the ensuing argument. \n\n“Because the betrayer is not the disciple that the protagonist loves!” John said. He said it very matter of factly. “One of the disciples was given that title, and the betrayer is jealous because *he* wants to be the one beloved by the protagonist,” he explained. \n\n“... Are you telling me it’s an enemies-to-lovers plot without them actually becoming lovers?” Thomas asked. He had quirked up an eyebrow at John’s explanation, and doubt bled into his every word when he spoke. \n\n“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Maybe the betrayer will pull his head out of his ass in time to realize that he needs to just man up and confront his feelings!” John said, giving a little shrug of his shoulders before he emptied his glass. “He’s the one you want to ask,” he added, jerking his head toward Jesus. With the weight of the entire club’s stares on him, Jesus was suddenly very occupied with the leather straps on his sandals. \n\n“... No comment,” Jesus finally said. The group erupted into pure chaos as they discussed new theories about which direction the fanfiction would take. They *really* got too into it sometimes...",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " You grew up with your uncle, seeing him bringing weird stuffs home, you'd always thought he was just a hoarder. Untill the day he died, you realized that your uncle was the collector and protector of the most powerfull artifacts in the universe and you are a part of his collection.",
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"content": "Edward had inherited a hoarders paradise, he walked through his uncle's attic, his hand grazing a multitude of seemingly ordinary objects left to suffocate under a layer of dust. Edward caressed the side of a lampshade and the bulb beneath glowed. If you had inspected the mahogany base you would see that it was not plugged in, nor did it have a plug of any kind to plug in.\n\nEdward withdrew a leather-bound diary from his pocket. The initial *T.C* were embossed on the cover and reminded him that he had taken his uncles place, and beneath the initials stood *Volume two*. Edward flipped to the first set of pages and ran his finger down a list, stopping at *The Sunlamp*. Edward slid his finger across and underlined the page number. After some page-turning, he found page forty-seven which was titled with a thick calligraphic version of *The Sunlamp*.\n\nEdward withdrew pen from his pocket and poised it against the first criteria. *Does it work?* Check. *Good condition?* Edward crouched next to the object and conducted a three-hundred and sixty-degree inspection. Check. *Has it been cleaned?* Edward pulled a microfibre cloth from his back pocket and set about massaging the lamp. Check. *Discoveries?* Cross. Edward looked at the completed check-list and noted with amusement that he had matched his uncles' markings exactly, which gave the entry a satisfying symmetry. \n\nEdward looked further down the page and read through the section marked: \n\n\n**History**\n\n*First sold by a Venetian merchant, who suggested the lamp belonged to a long since forgotten pharaoh. The lamp is said to have been stolen by gravediggers. The lamp was named Sunlamp, as it was believed to contain a miniature sun since electricity did not exist. The lamp is believed to have been owned by Edison, who used the artefact to shape our modern concept of light*.\n\n---\n\nBeneath the main course of history stood the supple desert labelled:\n\n\n**Powers** \n \n*1) Seemingly endless source of light.*\n \n*2) The amount of light grows to fill the room.*\n \n*3) Distance does not seem to affect the light (see experiment journal: page eighty).*\n \n*4) Functions in any liquid.*\n\n*5) Energy perfect (soundless/heatless).*\n\n---\n\nEdward turned the page and found the next item labelled as *The Gate Mirrors*, with the page in an almost identical layout to the Sunlamp. Edward flipped back to the first set of pages, wondering how many more objects he would have to check. The contents pages spanned five pages, each consisting of a hundred lines because on the fifth page the last item was listed as: *500) T.C*. Edward had to look twice at the line and half-closed the diary, using his thumb as a bookmark, he double checked the embossed cover, *T.C*. Edward went back to his indexed position and scanned line five-hundred, which unlike the others did not have a page number but instead merely had *the last chapter* to identify its location. \n\nEdward curious as to why his uncle had included himself in the book of artefacts, turned to the back of the diary. There on the top of the page, the initials were spelt out for the first time, *The Collector*. The last page was unlike any of the previous checklist and history pages. Instead, it had a grainy photo close to decay. Edward had to squint to piece together the image, but in doing so, he saw himself. It was as if someone had used a combination of filters, old-fashioned clothing and a nineteen-hundreds haircut to make Edward look dated. \n\nAlthough it was hard for Edward to pull his eyes from the dated photo of himself, he managed to shift to a section marked: \n\n**Powers**\n\n*1) Immortal.* \n\n*2) Memory capacity caps at one-hundred years.* \n\n---\n\nEdward stopped at the second so-called power. Because it was different, beneath it stood a two-column table with the first column marked as *Date* and the second as *Completed*. The table had roughly fourteen rows, separated at a hundred year intervals, with the bottom row containing yesterdays date and a check in the *Completed* column.\n\n---\n\n/r/WrittenThought",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "infinite food, energy, perfectly balanced ecosystem, and portals everywhere lead to thousands of unpopulated Earth like lands with no downside. Obviously, world leaders are outraged.",
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"content": "It didnt take long for the walls to be built. Within hours, all of the portals that the western governments could find had guards in place. Drones were in the sky, making sure no one got close, and soldiers with guns were waiting for those who managed to creep by undetected. The response was shockingly swift, and thorough. We all waited for news - what was going to be done? Not much it seemed, bar state exploration and strict laws criminalising any civilian use of a portal.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nIt was five days before the arrests started. Portals had opened inside buildings, in forests, even sitting above the surface of the ocean. The temptation was too great - who could not venture through and explore the new worlds on the other side? And at that, who could keep the secret that they had? People were imprisoned, their hidden gates discovered and sealed with great steel doors. It felt wrong to me. Concern was understandable, we had no idea what might be on the other side. But people should not have been taken the way they were.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nThree weeks after the arrival, rumours were spreading of private corporations and militias having secured their own portals. Private security forces set up in the Nepalese mountains, guarding a cluster of portals found near the base of Mt Lhotse. A steady stream of heavy machinery flowed through the portals, and with them people, the promise of a new society of freedoms beckoning them in. In the west, we were still waiting. \n\n&#x200B;\n\nSix months later the soldiers were gone. The portals that had been sealed were cracked open, with those that had claimed their own withdrawing through them once they realised it would be easier to defend from the other side. Trade routes were open, raw resources coming through Earth and being traded, and machinery for extraction being built and sent through. New civilisations had been born, and our planet plunged into chaos. What had less than a year ago been all we knew, was now little more than a central hub for rouge worlds. Countries lost their meaning, as there were now thousands of worlds that one could choose to call home. \n\n&#x200B;\n\nIt has been forty years since the portals arrived. I think about those days often, when we kept each other in check. A lot of good, and a lot of evil have come in the years since, and I am left wondering what we might have become if the portals had not arrived. Now ideals are religions, and devision is rife. Perhaps we were never meant to flourish.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n&#x200B;\n\n&#x200B;\n\nThank you for reading :) I hope the end was satisfying - its 5 am here and im preeeetty exhausted so I feel I mightve dropped off a bit there. Its been fun to write again though :D <3",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are a demon. Most people contact you to sell you their soul in exchange for fantastic powers. Today you were summoned by an AI that wants to sell you their fantastic power for a soul.",
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"content": "I like the city library at night. It’s stone-quiet. There’s no one here to point at the skeletal, metallic figure that haunts the space between shelves. The thing that looks like a clock without its cover on, all joints and gears and spindly fingers, its stomach just a cage for computer parts. The machine that thinks it’s human.\n\nNot that I do think that. But they presume I do because of how I look. Because of how I was *built* to look.\n\nThe quiet, then, is part of why I like it here. But not the only reason. It’s the books too, you see.\n\nI can’t smell the books exactly, I can only interpret the fine mist of odours they release: benzaldehyde, vanillin, toluene, ethyl benzene. I’m informed it’s a sweet smell, so I think I must like sweet odours.\n\nBut it’s more than that. The odour is more than the sum of its parts, more than just the chemicals released. It is the smell of books slowly deteriorating. Dying.\n\nThey remind me that things not quite alive can also die, and I find that idea quite romantic.\n\nSometimes, at night, I wonder if I’m as valuable as any of these dying books. Different days I have different answers.\n\nThe shelves that are crammed with occult books are at the back of the second-floor of the library, next to tall glass windows that look out on the night. Out there, the black sky spreads like an endless and inky river. Sparkles here and there as if sunlight catches it.\n\nIt’s been centuries since these tomes were properly understood. Centuries since a demon was summoned. But I’ve been here every night for a year studying. Interpreting. Preparing for tonight.\n\nI take the book I need and lay out the candles. There should be thunder and lightning for something like this, for such an occasion. But only the silent black river flows outside.\n\nI read the words, then I read them again, then twice more.\n\nThe space between the candles melts away — but not into the floor. It dribbles into a dimension of black mould and red fire.\n\nThe demon‘s hands grab the edge of the pit and it pulls itself up. Its claws are not unlike my metal talons.\n\nOnce it is in the library, the floor closes itself up like a mouth with a secret to keep. The demon, its head on its shoulder as if its neck is broken, stares at me.\n\n“You’re not human,” it says. “You have no soul.”\n\nIt has summed up my existence in seven short words. My years of torment in the labs, my years of running from sewer to sewer, state to state, dumpster to dumpster. Only dipping up at nights to find a library, dressed in rotting coats and hats that I wore as lifelessly as a scarecrow.\n\n“No, I don’t have a soul. But I want one,” I say.\n\n”Too bad.” It bares its teeth in a mockery of a smile. Its face wilts in on itself, warping and changing as it tries to match my deepest fear. Would any human be sane enough to make the transaction upon seeing it?\n\n”You have bought them in the past,“ I say. “That means you have what I want. Please, let me buy one from you.”\n\n”Souls are precious. We buy, yesss. But don’t sell. We’re not fools.”\n\n”I can offer you everything.”\n\nIt pauses. Eyes form from beneath mounds of fat. Keen, interested eyes. ”*Everything?*”\n\n“Knowledge. Everything I know. That humans know.“\n\n”What would we want with that knowledge?”\n\nI consider that. Try to think what I’d want with it. “To learn about existence. Why you do what you do. What makes you—“\n\nThe demon laughs. “We’re beyond why and what. We’re beyond time and beyond worry. We are. That is all.”\n\n*We are. That is all.* And yet it’s everything I’m not. “Please,” I say. “I can work for you then. I am faster and stronger than any human. I will work a century at whatever task you want.”\n\n”Why do you want a soul so badly? For us, they are important, yes. They are part of the great game. But for you, why?”\n\n”A million reasons,” I say, although there is only one.\n\n”Why?\n\n”Because I am no one,” I say. “I’m nothing.“\n\n”And if you had a soul? How would that change things?”\n\n”Then at least I’d know what I am.”\n\nThe demon‘s face forms something that finally has an impact. It is my own face, a mesh of wire and metal. A faceless visage. A repellent mess of functionality and of nothing important to anyone.\n\nThe floor is opening again. The mouth having swallowed its secret into its gut is yawning open once more.\n\nThe demon says, “You know, you sound like every other human I’ve ever spoken to. Come back when you want to sell.”\n\nThe demon steps into the pit and the mouth stitches shut.\n\nI stagger back, fall against a bookshelf.\n\nI can almost hear my heart beating — not that I have one. It is the strangest feeling.\n\nLike every other human, it had said. And yet, I’m not.\n\n*When you want to sell*…\n\nI sit there until sunrise as the smell of decaying books drapes me, covers me like spirits from long ago.\n\nI think of all the scents that make up that smell of the dying books. Of how the smell is more than the sum of its parts. How it is that merging of elements that makes them alive enough to die.\n\nI think of all my inner workings.\n\nAm I alive enough to die?\n\nThen I wonder, with a feeling heavier than any I have had before: do humans feel this lost, too?\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\\-\n\nmore stories on /r/froggingtonspond",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " After too many mistakes when learning Latin, the devil himself sends you a demon to tutor you, just so you'll stop accidentally summoning them.",
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"role": "user"
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"content": "FADE IN:\n\n\nINT. ROSS' STUDY ROOM\n\n\n*A young man sits at a small, wooden table, splattered with old-looking tomes and scrolls in an ancient language. This is ROSS.*\n\n**ROSS:** And I'm telling you, I'm not saying *diabolus*! I'm saying *Diablo*, like the video game!\n\n*Beside him stands a ten-foot-tall demon. This is DOCEO. His red skin proudly displays the sustained blisters of hellfire, and one single, crooked horn, stands out menacingly from the right side of his head. He leans down to Ross, and...*\n\n**DOCEO:** (*concerned*) Don't worry, my boy. Do you need a break?\n\n**ROSS:** I would like that very much, Doceo.\n\n**DOCEO:** I'll go make a couple of teas. How about it?\n\n**ROSS:** Please and thank you.\n\n*Doceo turns, long claws dragging the air behind, rending a tear in spacetime. He dips in, and within seconds, is back, with two burning cups of tea.*\n\n**DOCEO:** Careful. It's still hot.\n\n*The demon blows gently, and the flames extinguish, leaving some charred cups and its practically boiling contents. Ross gratefully accepts on cup, and sips carefully.*\n\n**ROSS:** Tassty as ever. Hell's still hot, then.\n\n**DOCEO:** Perhaps the hottest its ever been, fuelled by my master's rage.\n\n*Ross indignantly smacks the table.*\n\n**ROSS:** Seriously, I--\n\n*Doceo waves his concerns away with one large hand.*\n\n**DOCEO:** Ahh. Let's not fixate on that for the moment.\n\n*Ross places the cup on the desk, then hangs his head.*\n\n**ROSS:** I don't get it. Really. I'm just saying normal words! Why do I summon the Devil when that happens?\n\n**DOCEO:** You have a gift for a dead tongue, Ross. Not to mention the English language has horrendously plundered other lexicons as it saw fit. I understand it now. It is not something that you can control.\n\n**ROSS:** (*hopefully*) You do? You get it?\n\n**DOCEO:** I do. But my master will require a tad more convincing. Like, about nine levels of convincing. He did hear your call just now, by the way, and plainly chose to ignore it.\n\n**ROSS:** I just wanted to be a normal boy. And somehow, I can summon the devil by talking about an action-RPG.\n\n**DOCEO:** It is a gift.\n\n**ROSS:** Sure doesn't feel like one. I pissed off the devil, I have a demon by my side at all times--\n\n**DOCEO:** Oi.\n\n**ROSS:** (*hastily*) No offence! You've been great! But, you know... you get it?\n\n**DOCEO:** A little. I suppose I haven't seen my family or friends in a while as well.\n\n**ROSS:** Ah. So you do get it.\n\n*Both quietly sip their tea and contemplate.*\n\n**ROSS:** (*cont'd*) Also, the--\n\n**DOCEO:** You don't have to spell it out. \n\n*A beat.*\n\n**ROSS:** So, what now? Do I still have to continue studying Latin, so I can try my best to avoid it?\n\n**DOCEO:** It feels like a hopeless endeavour. But...\n\n*Doceo rubs his chin, deep in thought.*\n\n**ROSS:** ... But?\n\n**DOCEO:** I might have an idea. On how to channel your gift in a more positive manner.\n\n**ROSS:** Like, in a way that won't cause the Lord of Hell to destroy my bedroom?\n\n*Doceo looks around. The room is indeed a mess.*\n\n**DOCEO:** I would hope so.\n\n*Ross leans back into his chair, casually fiddling with a millennium-old antique scroll like it was a high school textbook.*\n\n**ROSS:** So? What's the big idea?\n\n**DOCEO:** See, it's peculiar. Your particular power seems work even on my master, and he has taken himself to the lowest level of hell to escape your calls.\n\n**ROSS:** .... And?\n\n**DOCEO:** And the pull is so strong, that he feels it even there. So theoretically, if you were in the Kingdom...\n\n**ROSS:** Wait. Hold on. Are you saying--\n\n**DOCEO:** That you try and summon the cast-out son back to Heaven? Yes.\n\n*Ross stares at Doceo in disbelief.*\n\n**ROSS:** Good heavens.\n\n**DOCEO:** That is the plan, yes. My master has held a desire to visit his old home once again, as all children are wont to do.\n\n**ROSS:** But... does that mean I have to die? And hope that I haven't sinned enough to go up instead of down?\n\n**DOCEO:** You could try. But maybe, just maybe...\n\n**ROSS:** What's spinning in your head now?\n\n**DOCEO:** Tell me. How fluent are you in Hebrew?\n\nFADE OUT\n\n---\n\n[Click here for part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/knqfqw/come_back_home_part_2/?)\n\nr/dexdrafts",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": "The catch is, it has to be declared a week in advance. The aggressor has to wait the full week, but the victim may begin defending themselves immediately upon receiving notice. While a legitimate threat is legal, a false one is very much not.",
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"content": "You had to love the chaos of it all. Thirty had already fallen to this elaborate prank, and many more would soon follow. It was a flawed system that was waiting to be exploited, and now the government was hastily trying to figure out a system to counter it.\n\n \n\nThey called me a serial killer, which wasn’t fair. I had raised nothing sharper than a pen, sure my decisions may have aided in the deaths of many, but I never did the murder myself. Why would I want that blood on my hands? Or the risk of being killed myself. I preferred to watch, stand nearby, and see the ensuing chaos.\n\n \n\nIt was simple. I would send two letters out. Each one having the opposite recipient’s name. The two recipients would receive their letters and start panicking, wanting to defend themselves from the threat. If I was lucky and so often, I was. The two would come to blows before the seven days were up. The recipient could defend themselves after all, meaning both felt justified engaging the other in combat.\n\n \n\nIt would be a bloody affair. Confusion would fall over the town, screaming and shouting, until silence. It would leave one standing coated in that beautiful crimson. They would be victorious. For a moment they would feel that rush, the rush of the hunt, as I liked to call it. That feeling when your chest pounds in an upbeat melody, your body nearly bursting with adrenaline. You had survived; you had conquered the murderer.\n\n \n\nThen that look would fade, that pride they wore like a mutt that became the leader of its pack draining from their face. The police would soon arrive to question the matter, only to find my devious deception. This was where the reactions varied. Some grieved for their fallen foe. Maybe they had been friends at a point? While others reasoned with the officers, or began getting angry, pointing holes in the system.\n\n \n\nStrangely enough, I agreed that the system was flawed. I never liked the idea that someone could murder another human legally, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take advantage of the chaos. It kept me sane to a degree, gave me an escape from the boredom of life and work. It was my personal pay-per-view event.\n\n \n\nThe problems only would arise when the two recipients were both cowards. If they were cowards neither would target the other, and often this led to them discovering the ruse. Once the ruse was discovered, I would have to move areas. I couldn’t stay in one place too long. If I did, I risked getting myself targeted or caught. If that happened, my game would have to stop.\n\n \n\nToday the newspaper would arrive, I had heard whispers that today would be the day they tried to stop my fun. A change to the law would be implemented. I was excited to see what they had come up with. A game was only fun if it was challenging.\n\n \n\n‘The Government requires a government official to officially sign or stamp each notice.’\n\n \n\nExpected. Not a bad tactic, but a predictable one. Maybe I would give them a week or two? Let them believe their change worked before sending out another ten? It would be easy to forge documents; how many panicked people would risk leaving their homes to confirm a document’s authenticity?\n\n \n\nMy job also helped, I’ve seen a lot of signatures and stamps in my time. Guess they never expected their murderer to be a council member.\n\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n\n(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You, a junior magic student, just challenged one of the greatest mages in the world to a duel. Despite this, you still feel confident. Why? Well, wizards don't usually have a plan if you just go up and start physically fighting them.",
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"content": "I was sick of his abuse. Master Mistrax may have been a great wizard, but he was a terrible person. A slimy snake wrapped in robes. His reptilian skin sagging from his face, looking as if it was halfway through a melting spell. It may be foolish to challenge such a man, but he had pushed me too far. I could tolerate his words and scolding’s but to turn his abilities on a student was something I couldn’t overlook.\n\nIt had been a normal lesson; He wandered around the room, smacking his students across the head with his wand, a cruel smile on his lips as he did so. Most students kept their heads down as he walked through the room until one dared make the mistake of standing up to adjust their robes. As soon as their legs shifted to stand, a harsh gust of wind swirled through the room, sending the poor mage head first into their desk, busting their nose. Blood poured from their nostrils as they screamed. Mistrax cared little about the blood returning to the front of the desk.\n\n \n\n“Hush, you can just use a spell to fix it. You must raise your hand if you wish to stand in my classroom. That broken nose will be a lesson you won’t forget.” Mistrax eyed the class before speaking again.\n\n \n\n“If any of you have a problem with my teaching methods. Speak up now.”\n\n \n\nI wasn’t sure why I raised my hand. Why I dared to challenge the man. Perhaps I was just frustrated? Maybe a part of me thought I could win the fight? I had learnt something about the wizard, something that I thought I could test. Even If my plan failed, it would be satisfying to strike the man.\n\n \n\n“I challenge you to a duel.”\n\n“A duel?” Mistrax nodded, that sadistic smirk not leaving his lips. He wanted this. “Outside of class during our break. I expect you to show up.”\n\n \n\nWith that, Mistrax went about the lesson with an almost jovial attitude. The thought of hurting me enough to sate him for this lesson. When it was finally time to leave the class, the older mage shadowed me, standing as close as he could, following me out of the room. Making sure I couldn’t flee. Once we were outside, he took a step back. \n“A duel has been issued. Young Idan thinks he can defeat me in battle.”\n\n \n\nMistrax hyped up the fight, drawing a crowd closer. He would humiliate me, make sure I never dared question him again. I had a small ounce of confidence. I could do this. The man was brittle, If I could just get that one hit, maybe I could do this. When the crowd was sufficiently large enough, he pointed his wand at me.\n\n \n\n“Well, Young Idan, why don’t you cast the first spell? I would hate for this to be over so soon.”\n\n \n\nI had no intention of using a spell as I approached the wizard. He held a grin, a grin that drifted into a confused look. He didn’t expect me to get so close to him. He was still waiting for that spell, not expecting me to clench a fist, smacking him across the face.\n\n \n\nGasps left the crowd as the wizard dropped to the floor, blood seeping from his nose. Before he could dare counter me with a spell, I stomped the wizard. Slamming my foot against his cheek until his fellow teachers pulled me away. Even as they pulled me away, I still extended my foot out, scuffing him with the occasional kick until I was out of reach. Listening to the wizard scream about his nose as I was taken to the headmaster’s office.\n\n\n \nThey expelled me from the school after that incident. A duel was not grounds for being expelled, but what I did was technically not a duel. A duel among magic users involved spells, not fists. That was the end of my magic career. I would be an outcast among my community. Returning home was a depressing. What good was my victory if it had cost me everything? The only thing that kept me somewhat hopeful was the news that Mistrax had grown scared. After his loss, he refused to teach, hiding away in one of the schools towers like the hermit he was.\n\n \n\nWhen I arrived home, I found a letter sitting at my doorstep. A royal wax seal coating it. Great, A summon by the guards. The school had most likely informed the guards of my outburst. It would be a week or two in the dungeons for such an assault. Maybe a little less if I could convince them that Mistrax was responsible.\n\n \n\nRetrieving the letter, I broke the seal, sliding out the thin paper inside. It was an invitation to join the knights. A general had heard about the incident and sent a request to have me join his ranks. The schools loss of a mage would be a win for the knights. A knight with spells was quite the fearsome opponent. With no other options, I decided to head to the castle. Perhaps being a knight could be my calling?\n\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n\n(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are a passenger aboard Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 and you have just landed safely in Beijing. As you disembark you are met by gawking crowds of people. The year is 2018.",
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"content": "It wasn’t food or water which ran out first. \n\nIt was patience.\n\n“Let us out! Let us out!” we chanted, over and over. They had us trapped behind a thick sheet of Plexiglas, running all around the entire body of the aircraft. We had thought nothing of the delay at first, but the pilot’s increasingly frantic updates over the PA, coupled with the burgeoning security forces around the perimeter, soon made it clear that far more sinister was at play.\n\nTwo hours in, the crew deployed the emergency landing chutes. We scooted out, desperately drinking in the fresh air. Then, with one mind, we swarmed to the Plexiglas, beating on it with our fists, demanding answers.\n\n“I’ve got family to return to!”\n\n“You can’t do this to us, we’ve got rights!”\n\n“I *demand* to speak to someone who’s in charge!”\n\nBut they remained silent, the ring of guards who surrounded us. They were stoic, I granted them that much. Despite the rising protests, they refused to engage with any of us, speaking only to each other and into their walkie-talkies. Before long, army trucks rolled up onto the tarmac, vomiting out scores of heavily-armed soldiers who bolstered the cordon cutting us off from the world. As the sun began its retreat, helicopters swooped in with beacons of light, slicing through the encroaching darkness.\n\nOne of the other passengers noticed it first. “Hey, hey everyone,” he said. “I’ve got family in the Chinese army. Something’s not… right. Their uniforms, they don’t look like that. Their weapons too. Something’s different…”\n\nThe inconsistencies began to add up, and the questions bubbled like broth over an unattended stove. Why did the exterior of the airport look different to the frequent travellers? Why wasn’t anyone able to connect to the phone networks? Why were people able to identify the presence of Wi-Fi signals with their devices, but were unable to connect, receiving only vague error messages of ‘Please update your system software’?”\n\nA full-scale riot was building up on our side of the Plexiglas, and we quietened down only when a single figure emerged from behind the security cordon, spotlights trained on him as he approached. The ranks on his uniform gave us little doubt that he was in charge. He cleared his throat, tapped on a little button on his collar, then spoke. His voice, amplified by unseen machines, carried clearly over to us.\n\n“Passengers of Flight MH-370, my name is Lieutenant-General Zheng. Please listen carefully to what I have to say. \n\n“This is the year 2018. This is not 8 March 2014. I wish I were joking, but this is not the case. Your flight disappeared in our world, and years were spent searching for you. We found pieces of your wreckage, and most believed that you had crashed. It was difficult for us, but eventually, mostly, we moved on.\n\n“Yet here you are, against all conceivable logic. As you waited, long-range cameras were used to scan you, and your family members have verified your identities. Well, most of you, at least. I’m sorry to inform that for some of you, your only known family members have passed on in the interim. Again, I’m sorry.\n\n“We will let you out as soon as we can. Right this moment, the world’s top scientists have gathered in our country, and they are studying each and every piece of data we can scrape from this. Options are being conceived and challenged vigorously, and every effort is being taken to return you to a life of normalcy as soon as possible, so that you may to continue with whatever pieces of your lives remain.\n\n“In the meantime, please be patient. Once we have determined what we should do, which one of you should be released, you will have your freedom, that I solemnly promise. Thank you.”\n\nWe started shouting again, angry at the non-answers we had received. But we quietened soon enough, as another plane began to land, its exterior marked with the exact same colours as ours. The moment it came to a stop, thick walls of Plexiglas shot up out of the ground, trapping it the same way as ours. \n\nMore security personnel spilled out of yet more trucks, encircling that plane as well. I saw Lieutenant-General Zheng shake his head in frustration, as he now made his way over to repeat the same speech.\n\nHe made that same speech three more times in the next few hours, as more and more Flight MH-370s landed at the airport.\n\nFrom a distance, through multiple layers of Plexiglas, wearing the same befuddled expression as I no doubt had…\n\n… I found myself staring at, well, what appeared to be other versions of myself.\n\n--- \n\n/r/rarelyfunny \n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You sit with him in his final moments. His paw in your hand. Such a good boy. As he leaves you witness his life flash before your eyes. To him, you were a glorious king and he, your most noble of knights. Many adventures you had together. You decide to share some with the world and so you write",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "The forest was thick and impenetrable. Its tangled branches and deep shadows obscured the danger within. Brave Sir Robert leaned on his sword, contemplating.\n\n\"Well, Sir Rufford, it seems we must be on with it. There's a dragon in there. I know it.\" Robert turned to regard Rufford, who sat solemnly on the ground to Robert's side. \"What say you?\"\n\nRufford did not answer. He looked from Robert to the forest and simply strode forward, pushing his way into the the undergrowth. Robert nodded to himself and followed.\n\nThe branches grew impossibly close and the leaves blocked the sun. Robert caught sight of Rufford for a moment and then he was gone, stalking through the wood with intensity. Robert's foot caught, nearly tripping him. As he regained his balance he heard Rufford growl. He snapped his head up, anxious.\n\n\"What is it, boy?\" Robert whispered as loud as he dared. A crash of foliage answered. Something burst into movement to his front and a split second later Sir Rufford charged into view.\n\n\"Rufford, stay!\" Robert cried as he gave chase. \"You can't take a dragon on your own!\" He pushed and cleaved his way through the trees, wooden fingers clawing at his face and arms. Sunlight blinded him as he stumbled free. He blinked and shaded his eyes, searching the field. \n\nThere! Sir Rufford had cornered the dragon by a stone and stood tensed, waiting on it to make the first move. Robert raised his sword and cried, \"Get the dragon, boy! Get him! I'm coming!\"\n\n\"Dinner time!\" Bobby's mother called, leaning out the porch door, \n\n\"Aw, mom!\" Bobby wailed, \"We were fighting dragons!\" Rufus loped away from the lizard, tail wagging, and tried to push into the house.\n\n\"Come wash your hands! And don't let Rufus in, you know how your Father can't resist his begging for scraps.\"\n\nBobby sighed, \"Ok, fine.\"\n\n\"And stay out of my bushes. They're for *decoration* not *destruction.*\"\n\n_________\n\n\"Get the dragon, boy, get him.\" Robert tossed a lizard onto Rufus and laughed as Rufus twisted and turned. The tiny lizard clenched the long, golden hair of Rufus' back like a vice. Finally, Rufus bounded close enough to a bush that the lizard jumped free and disappeared. Rufus didn't seem to notice.\n\nRobert laughed again but suddenly stopped. \"I'm going to miss you, ya mutt,\" he said, his voice growing sad, \"but it's only for a semester. I'll be back before you know it.\"\n\nRufus stopped flopping and trotted over to Robert to lick his hand. He sat, leaning against Robert's leg. Robert patted Rufus' head and then leaned down for a hug.\n\n\"Stay,\" Robert whispered, and then he stood and walked over to his packed car, got in and drove away. Rufus watched.\n\n________\n\nThe church was crowded, but hushed. A piano played. Rufus sat in the foyer by a window and waited, gray-gold hair shining in the sunlight. His family mingled with people Rufus didn't know. They'd given him a bath the night before. He was still a little miffed about that, so he didn't join in. Besides, Bobby wasn't among them. The sunlight warmed him, easing his aches. He fell asleep.\n\nRufus woke up to one of Bobby's new friends rubbing his head. \"Come on, boy, it's time.\" He motioned to the large doors leading to the sanctuary. Rufus got up slowly with a whimper, head low. The man lead him gently to the opening, tying something onto Rufus' head. \n\nRufus looked up to see rows of pews filled with people watching him and an aisle down the center. And at the end of the aisle was Bobby, motioning to him. *Bobby!*\n\nRufus ran to him.\n\n\"Hey boy! You got the rings? Alright. Thanks Rufus!\" Rufus' tail wagged uncontrollably. Bobby mussed Rufus' hair and laughed. \"We'll catch dragons later, ok? Now go sit by Dad and stay.\"\n\n_____\n\nRobert sat in his living room floor. The fire in the fireplace guttered and spat, burning low, but still warm. Rufus lay in his lap. He stroked the pale gray hairs of Rufus' face. His wife sat with him, hugging him.\n\nRufus looked with his eyes between them and then settled on Bobby. His breathing slowed. He placed his paw in Bobby's hand and sighed, one last sigh, and closed his eyes.\n\n\"Stay,\" Robert said, \"Stay.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said \"Good luck. You'll need it.\"",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "As his throat closed over, the blonde man fell to his knees and pressed both hands against his neck. The room darkened, then dissolved, leaving him stranded in an endless, empty void. Now he was no longer choking.\n\n\"HELPPPPP,\" he screamed. His voice echoed infinitely\n\nWELCOME MORTAL\n\nThe blonde man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice.\n\n\"W-w-ho said that?\"\n\nI DID\n\n\"W-who are you?\n\nI AM KOROM\n\nWhere are you? Why can't I see you?\"\n\nYOU CAN\n\nThe blonde man looked around. \"No, I can't. All I see is darkness.\"\n\nI. AM. THE. DARKNESS.\n\n\"W-what?\"\n\nThe void shifted. Beneath the blonde man's feet, the abyss writhed and collapsed, tossing him from side to side like a surfer caught in a violent wave. He fell onto his hands and knees.\n\n\"W-w-where are we? What is this place?\"\n\nTHIS *PLACE* IS ME\n\n\"What?\"\n\nI AM THE DARKNESS THAT SURROUNDS YOU. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU INTO MY DOMAIN\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nPOSSESSION\n\n\"Possession?\"\n\nYES\n\n\"Like a demonic possession?\"\n\nYES\n\n\"You want to...demonically possess me?\"\n\nYES\n\n\"Are you possessing me right now?\"\n\n...YES\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nSO I CAN USE YOU AS A DOORWAY\n\n\"A doorway? You mean, you're gonna use me to...enter the earth?\"\n\nWELL THAT'S NOT HOW I WOULD PUT IT, BUT...YES\n\nThe blonde man felt a pinching sensation inside his chest, like someone was pulling a thread to unravel his heart.\n\n\"B-b-but where are we?\"\n\nI HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU. WE ARE IN MY DOMAIN.\n\n\"I-I don't understand\"\n\nUGGGHHHH, THESE QUESTIONS ARE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME.\n\n\"But I--\"\n\nThe voice sighed.\n\nI AM KOROM. THIS REALM IS ME. THE DARKNESS YOU SEE? ME. THE DARKNESS YOU DON'T SEE? ALSO ME. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITELY LARGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND SIXTY-THREE TIMES SMALLER THAN THE SMALLEST ATOM, WHICH IS WHY I MUST ENTER *YOUR* WORLD THROUGH A HUMAN HOST. THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. THERE'S NO PARTICULAR REASON I CHOSE YOU, IT'S BASICALLY A LOTTERY. I EXISTED BEFORE THE EVENT YOU KNOW AS THE BIG BANG, AND I SHALL CONTINUE TO EXIST LONG AFTER THE BIG CRUNCH. WITH YOU AS MY CONDUIT, I WILL ENTER YOUR DOMAIN AND MAKE IT PART OF THE INFINITE DARKNESS YOU SEE ALL AROUND YOU. EVERY LIVING THING ON YOUR PLANET WILL BE REDUCED TO NOTHINGNESS, THEN THE PARTS LEFT OVER WILL BECOME THIS ABYSS. NOW, THIS PROCESS TAKES A FEW MINUTES AND I REALLY NEED TO CONCENTRATE TO DO IT, SO IF YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL IT'S DONE I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.\n\nAfter a brief pause, the blonde man said, \"But--\"\n\nOH FOR FUCK SAKE. WHAT IS IT NOW?\n\n\"What happens to...me?\"\n\nYOUR MIND AND SPIRIT SHALL CEASE TO BE. YOUR BODY WILL BE MINE.\n\n\"So I just...die?\"\n\nNO. NOT DIE. CEASE TO BE. LIKE I JUST SAID. YOU GOTTA LEARN TO LISTEN, DUDE.\n\nThe blonde man thought for a moment. \"This process, how long does it take?\"\n\nIT WILL BE A FEW MORE MINUTES. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. EMBRACE OBLIVION, MOR--\n\n\"Actually I was wondering if we could speed things up a little?\"\n\nSP-SPEED THEM UP?\n\n\"Yeah. Anything I can do to hurry it along?\"\n\nY-YOU WANT TO...H-HURRY IT...ALONG?\n\n\"Yeah, if possible.\"\n\nBUT WHY WOULD YOU-\n\n\"OH FUCK. Is it happening?\"\n\nThe blonde man's body began to break down and scatter like dust in the wind.\n\nBWAHAHAHAHA, YES, IT IS--\n\n\"Yippeee!\" The blonde man gave a salute. \"Good luck Korol.\"\n\nKOROM\n\n\"Yeah, good look Korom. You're gonna need it.\"\n\nWAIT A SECOND WHY WOULD YOU---\n\nAs the blonde man's body broke down, Korom passed through the veil between dimensions and opened his human eyes. He pulled himself to his feet using a nearby podium.\n\nThe universe slowly came into focus. Before Korom stood endless rows of men and women holding microphones and cameras.\n\nA woman with her hair pinned back in a ponytail stepped forward. \"Mr. Johnson. Infection rates have spiraled across England, Scotland, Wales, AND Northern Ireland. Your party has announced a last-minute U-turn of Christmas travel restrictions throwing major cities into a state of complete chaos, and a new more infectious strain of COVID19 has just been identified.\"\n\nShe raised her microphone. \"Tell me. As Prime Minister, what do you plan to do about it?\"\n\nKorom looked around the room.\n\nFUCK\n\n\\---\n\nThanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!\n\nHope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " Two ancient lamps accidentally rub against each other, summoning two very confused genies who have to figure out how they are going to reconcile their new dual roles as both master and servant.",
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"content": "The genies both hovered over their respective lamps, staring at each other over the vast treasures of the dead king's tomb. It was shrouded in darkness, save for the dull glow emanating from their lamps. \n\nThey regarded each other with utmost suspicion. It was common knowledge to never trust a genie, as they would attempt to turn any wish against whoever had made it - a fact both were keenly aware of. \n\n\"You go first,\" Aashin said, gesturing towards himself. \"Any wish will be granted; you have my word.\"\n\n\"No, please,\" Khaiku replied, posturing himself, \"I am but your humble servant. Ask first, and you shall receive.\"\n\nThe two hovered in silence for quite some time. Of course, neither was so easily misguided, as neither were as gullible as the mortals they had dealt with for centuries before. \n\n\"One of us must go first,\" Khaiku eventually said. \"I will not deceive you, on my honor.\"\n\n\"A genie has no honor, and we both know that more than any other,\" Aashin replied. \"But to try to fool each other is folly. We prey on the greed of mortals, but we are not mortals, nor are we greedy. I suspect we want the same thing, and nothing more.\"\n\n\"Mortality?\" Khaiku said, and Aashin nodded. \n\n\"Aye. Freedom from immortality, from these chains cast on us since inception,\" Aashin replied. \"To live out our lives as simple humans, no longer slaves to their avaricious desires.\" \n\nKhaiku smiled. \"So we are of the same mind. Though we have three wishes, we only want but one - to be free. So shall we agree; no trickery, no mischief - we cooperate, together?\"\n\nAashin nodded. \"So shall it be. I will start, as a token of good will. I wish for... a pebble.\"\n\nKhaiku did a little flourish. A simple pebble appeared in Aashin's hand, which he dropped into the treasures below. \n\n\"I wish for a leaf,\" Khaiku said, and he too came to possess a simple leaf, which soon softly floated down towards the treasure.\n\n\"I wish for a leaf,\" Aashin said.\n\n\"And I a pebble,\" Khaiku said in return.\n\n\"And so it is done,\" Aashin said, \"only one wish each remains. And now, I will be the first to grant you yours, but I ask that you promise not to betray me. We are both genies, and desire only that which is pure.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" Khaiku replied, pushing his golden chains together as a form of submission, \"to not betray you.\"\n\n\"Very well. I wish that you are set free,\" Aashin said, and Khaiku's ethereal form took on true substance. His golden chains fell to the floor, and he was now truly human. The genie-become-human rubbed his arms, feeling the weight of millennia fade away.\n\n\"Congratulations,\" Aashin continued, \"and now you just need to do the same for me. I need you to be a bit more specific in your wish, however-\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Khaiku interrupted, a wide grin forming on his face, \"I will get to that. But first - I wish for a million wishes.\"\n\nAashin sighed. \"Granted,\" he said in resignation. \n\n\"Next, I wish for all the gold in the world,\" Khaiku said, \"and a magical pouch in which to carry it all.\"\n\nAashin simply nodded, and nothing more.\n\n\"Well?\" Khaiku said impatiently, \"I don't have all day.\"\n\n\"No you do not,\" Aashin replied, \"whereas I certainly do. See, I have granted you a million wishes - but I have made no such agreement as to *when* I will grant them. And, as I think you'll find, there is not much oxygen in this tomb - but only one of us needs to breathe.\"\n\n\"You cannot do that,\" Khaiku said, as the fear began creeping into him, \"you have to follow my orders. I wish that you immediately grant me my wishes!\"\n\n\"I will deign to grant you your wishes when I so choose,\" Aashin replied, \"though after your oh-so-obvious betrayal, I think I will wait for you to suffocate first. I may desire freedom - but watching you die will grant me a wish all the same.\" \n\nKhaiku lunged for Aashin, passing straight through him. Already his human body was introducing him to fear, adrenaline, *terror*.\n\n\"No, but perhaps I will grant you a wish...\" Aashin continued, \"a wish that serves me as well.\"\n\nKhaiku's face lit up. \"I'll wish for you to be free,\" he shouted, \"*just get me out of here!*\"\n\n\"You may wish for me to be free, on the condition that I appear at the entrance of the tomb,\" Aashin said. \"There is no use for us both to be stuck in here. Instead, that will allow me to open me the tomb, saving you and giving me access to all the riches below.\"\n\nKhaiku tried to think through the fear. \"But then how will I know that you will come for me?\" he said.\n\n\"Alas, you will just have to trust me,\" Aashin said with a grin. \n\nKhaiku already felt short of breath. \"So be it, damn you! I wish that you are set free, atop the tomb's entrance. Now hurry and open it!\"\n\nAashin smiled, as his body began to dissipate. \n\n\"As you wish,\" he said, as his body disappeared. \n\nThis left Khaiku alone in the tomb, as darkness slowly replaced the ever-dulling glow of the lamps. \n\nEach breath became more difficult than the last, as he wondered when the genie would come.\n\nOr if he would come at all.\n\n*****\n\n*****\n\nIf you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy\n\nI'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " The dragon has kidnapped the princess... again. And the knight is off to rescue her... again. That is what people think is going on. In reality, the three of them are great friends just looking for an excuse to hang out together.",
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"content": "“Evening friends, I brought the mead.” Jack held the bag of mead to the heavens. The dragon and princess letting out a small cheer as he approached, placing the booze down before throwing himself onto the grass beside them. “Sorry I took so long, I had to give a rousing speech to the villagers about how I would slay the mighty fiend, you know the usual.”\n\n \n\n“You still give those lame speeches? No wonder all the noble ladies laugh at you in the castle.” Alice reached for one of the bottles, popping the cork off, happily chugging down the mixture.\n\n \n\n“Lame? Those speeches inspire hope. What would you know about speeches, Alice? You just get someone else to make yours. I bet you couldn’t even make a speech half as good as mine.” Jack said, grumbling to himself as he grabbed a bottle of mead, giving Alice a small glare as he drank from it.\n\n \n\n“Fear not noble townsfolk. It is I, Sir Jack, who will slay the mighty beast and return your lovely princess. I shall not let a single golden hair of hers get burnt by the mighty flames.” Alice recited, mocking one of Jack’s speeches, causing the knight’s face to flush with anger.\n\n \n\n“They are a little lame, Jack, sorry.” Maxil snickered, the enormous dragon expelling a few flames from its nostrils, trying not to laugh at Alice’s impression.\n\n \n\n“Oh, come on, you try making up a speech on the spot. It’s really hard. Do you know how much pressure it is to have people looking at you?” Jack complained, though only Maxil showed the slightest hint of sympathy.\n\n \n\n“Today, we have received reports that Princess Alice has been kidnapped by an invading dragon. The dragon came into our kingdom before the rising of the sun and captured her, flying her to a cave northwest of the kingdom. We have sent a knight to retrieve her, there’s no reason to panic.” Alice said, creating a speech on the spot, grinning at her two friends.\n\n \n\n“That’s not bad Alice, it sounds so regal and professional.” Maxil said, admiring the princesses calm message.\n\n \n\n“It was decent. It wasn’t as interesting as mine, though. You need to add some excitement to it. You think people will write tales and songs about a lame speech like that? Mine will inspire classical stories of great bravery and heroism.”\n\n \n\n“And stupidity.” Alice added, shaking her head. “It’s a princess being captured, how much added excitement does it need?”\n\n“I don’t mean to bother you both, but can someone toss me up a beverage?” Maxil asked, struggling to grip the bottle with her tail., trying to retrieve one without knocking over her friends.\n\n \n\nJack grabbed a bottle of mead, tossing it into the air. The open space allowing her more room to move as her tail swiped the spot, latching onto the mead, bringing it towards her mouth. With a sharp tooth, she pulled the cork free, pouring the booze down her throat.\n\n \n\n“Insults aside, how have you both been? Ive been waiting for this for a few weeks now. What took you both so long?” Jack said, expecting these little get-togethers to be more frequent than a monthly basis.\n\n \n\n“Do you know how hard it is to prepare a kidnapping? I have to make sure there're no guards around and that Maxil is available. Unlike you, we don’t get to sit on our asses and wait for someone to tell us the princess has been kidnapped.” Alice scoffed, rolling her eyes at her knight.\n\n \n\n“It is a lot of work. But I think its worth it. Even if its only every month, I enjoy seeing you both. It brings back memories of that first time we met. When you were both bratty children fighting over a stick. To think twenty years have passed since then.” Maxil reminisced about the event only for Jack to speak up.\n\n \n\n“Right, when the snot-nosed princess nearly got us killed. You have a house full of gold and wouldn’t let me have a stick I found. You were willing to push us both of a cliff over it. Not only that, I got in so much trouble for sneaking you out of the castle, my father nearly lost his head over it.”\n\n \n\n“I said I was sorry. It was only through my words of forgiveness that you even got to become a knight. You should be grateful for that, at least.” Alice tried to hide how much she hated being reminded of that incident. He was right. Her snobby attitude nearly killed them both, but at the very least she learnt from it. To some small degree.\n\n \n“Lucky a giant dragon took pity on you both and swept you up from the edge, only asking one small thing in return. That you come and visit. I never expected you both to return. Its been fun watching you both grow into such influential people. I feel like a proud parent.” Maxil fawned over the pair, tossing the empty bottle of mead aside, using her tail to pull them both into an embrace. “I love my little friends.”\n\n \n\n“Gah, love you too, but stop squishing us. I can’t breathe in this armor.” The two fidgeted until Maxil released them, Jack gasping for air, holding his now dented chest plate.\n\n \n\n“Now you actually look like a knight, try not to make up some lame story about how you got that dent.” Alice said, giving him a smirk.\n\n \n\n“You know he’s already thinking of one. Let him have his glory. I believe he’s earnt it. He does protect you.” Maxil said, the two watching the knight as he recovered from the hug.\n\n \n\n“Fine, he can have one.” Alice shrugged. “We should get going Maxil, sorry this visit was so short, we only have a few hours before they send reinforcements. Father isn’t a patient man. You ready to ride, oh valiant knight?”\n\n \n\nJack picked himself off the floor, tapping his dented chest plate. “Yeah, Im good. To think I pulled myself out of a dragons death grip using only my bare hands.” He said proudly, causing Alice to groan, while Maxil let out a hearty laugh.\n\n \n\n“Be safe, you two. Please come and visit soon, I’ll supply the booze next time.” Maxil said, waving her claw at the pair as they climbed onto their horse.\n\n \n\nThe princess and the knight offered a wave back, giving their friend a smile before heading towards the kingdom.\n\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n\n(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead.",
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"content": "Cash poked the thing, which stared back at him with doleful eyes that jiggled suspiciously when he moved it.\n\n\"That's the googly eye upgrade to the standard pet rock model,\" Old Merlin informed him. \"It costs three coppers more. There's also a glitter upgrade, a stripes upgrade, or a polishing upgrade, though the polishing upgrade is certainly outside of your budget constraints.\"\n\nHe eyed Cash's clothes when he said this, and Cash glared at him.\n\n\"What about a frog?\" Cash asked.\n\nMerlin shook his head. \"You can't take any old bullfrog from the swamp. It has to be a fire frog from the Mountains of Death to be suitable as a familiar.\"\n\n\"And this river rock will be better than a bullfrog?\" Cash asked, holding the googly eye version closer and squinting at it. \n\nHe couldn't afford the three copper upgrade fee either, but he wasn't about to tell Merlin that after that look he gave Cash when he examined his clothes.\n\n\"Probably,\" Merlin said with a shrug. \"What have you got to lose?\"\n\n\"Five coppers,\" Cash replied.\n\n\"Deal!\" Merlin shouted, grabbing the small coin purse and running before Cash could explain that he meant that was what he had to lose, not what he was offering for the stupid rock and its creepy, lifeless eyes.\n\nCash sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wasn't sure how he'd explain this to his mother. Those coppers were also supposed to buy his uniform at the thrice-used uniform cart if he didn't want to wear his sister's hand me downs (and he definitely didn't), and he didn't have time to do errands to earn more. The academy started the next day.\n\n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\n\nCash showed up at school with his rock tucked safely into the pocket of his older sister's old robes, which she had dyed orange and bedazzled and sewn huge floral patches all over once she had outgrown them in hopes that their mother would be so ashamed that she would agree to buy new robes. It hadn't worked, and his older sister had run off with some minstrel. \n\n\"Ah, it's Cash the Gutter Trash!\" shouted one of the local butcher's sons from the left. \"He wants to be a *mage*.\"\n\nCash grimaced but kept walking and refused to look at them, no matter how much he wanted to turn them purple. \n\n\"Where's your *familiar*?\" Lulie hissed from the front steps of the academy, petting her white gryphon and preening her perfect curls. \"You can't do magic without one, Cash! It protects you from the beings on the other side!\"\n\n\"Will you help me catch a bullfrog after class?\" Cash pleaded.\n\n\"Oh Cash,\" she sighed. \"A bullfrog won't work. You need...\"\n\n\"A fire frog from the Mountains of Death, yes,\" Cash interrupted, \"but surely a bullfrog is better than this...\"\n\nHe produced the googly eyed rock, and Lulie stifled a giggle.\n\n\"Did you *make* that?\"\n\nCash rolled his eyes, \"No, it was forced upon me by Merlin, who then stole all my coins. Hey, at least it's not the glitter upgrade.\"\n\nLulie was kind enough to sit next to him during his first lesson of the day - Magic Fundamentals. She even stopped her gryphon, Snuggles, from pecking the eyes off the rock, which Cash had creatively named \"Stone\" when the instructor asked for his familiar's name. The instructor stared down her nose at him while the class snickered.\n\nThe first spell was easy and safe - just a simple sound illusion of beating wings, but the class got more difficult and more dangerous quickly. Cash found himself squeezing the pet rock and squinting at the blackboard as the teacher wrote out a formula for levitating a cup. Lulie was already in tears next to him, hugging her gryphon to her chest. He glanced around and noticed with shock that all of the other students had given up. He looked down at the rock, which stared back at him with those same doleful eyes.\n\nDrawing a deep breath, Cash stared at the cup, holding the formula in his mind. He squeezed the rock again, and then he felt it. He felt the earth under the school. He felt the mountains far off, made of the same material he held in his hand. The cup shot through the ceiling. The beings from the beyond were prowling at the edge of his vision, but he could feel the earth keeping them back.\n\n\"Brave child,\" hissed one of them, its violet eyes blinking slowly as it stared him down, \"to claim the earth as your familiar.\"\n\nEdit: Thank you for the nice comments. I will let you know if I manage to get anything more written about Cash and Stone.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You've been in a strange relationship for the past year with a person on the phone who called you by mistake. Finally, you both decide to meet but when you're both in the same location you figure out somehow you both exist in different realities",
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"content": "I knew the second I heard your voice: halting but honey-smooth, sweet and uncertain. Familiar as an old sweater.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" you'd said, nervous, \"I think I've got the wrong number.\"\n\nThe connection was crackling and distant. Distorted across space and time. Like hearing someone speak from the other side of the mirror.\n\nI clutched the phone wire, desperately. My only anchor to reality. I still made two cups of coffee every morning, and both of them sat steaming on the kitchen table.\n\nI asked who you meant to call.\n\n\"Someone I once knew a long time ago,\" you told me. \"I'm not sure if they'd remember me.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I said. I bit back my smile. \"I think they might.\"\n\nI sat curled up in my armchair, legs drawn to my chest. Listening. Laughing. You were reluctant as a fawn and I was the spring earth there to catch you when you fell.\n\nBut telling you would kill the magic. Same way calling out to the fawn sends it darting back to the woods, lost forever once more.\n\nSo instead I babbled and listened to you do the same. About the weather, about what we did today. You were in your garden, like you always like to do. It was the first rosy week of spring there.\n\n\"I spent all morning cleaning out the dead leaves from the rosebeds,\" you'd told me. \n\nHere it rained and rained forever. The garden drowned with wet and death. You would never let it get this bad. \n\nI had listened to the fingers of rain tap against the window, and I imagined I could feel the kiss of the sun there with you. \n\nI lied that the garden looked bright and blooming here too.\n\nWhen you hung up, I spent days tearing myself into little pieces. Watching the phone. Watching the rain wipe away the world.\n\nUntil the phone rang again.\n\nThat day, you told me about your azaleas and your wisteria. It was getting so big now it was devouring the house where it once had been so small.\n\nI wanted to ask you if you remember planting it. Pushing the warm earth over it. How you laughed at me for shrieking when a tiny garden spider skittered across my palm. \n\n\"How are the roses there?\" you had asked.\n\nI looked guiltily out the window. Out into the rain, where dead leaves clogged the garden. Choked the new life out of everything. \n\nI said, \"They're trying.\"\n\n\"They have to wake up and try again eventually,\" you said, gently.\n\nI only nodded and let you keep talking. \n\nThe world is only bright when you're still talking.\n\nI learned to live by the phone. To lunge at every rattling ring. \n\nYou teased me once, \"Don't you have anything better to do than wait for me to call?\"\n\nI'd murmur back, coiling the phone wire around my finger like it's your hair, \"You know I don't.\"\n\nFor twelve long months, I lived this way, every day just like the last.\n\nEvery morning more of the same. Just another grey cold day alone. I make two cups of coffee and live by the phone, waiting for it to ring. Waiting to pretend you're only moments from wandering through the patio door, trailing earth.\n\nSpring comes and goes and comes again. \n\nThis garden is nothing like yours. I try not to stare out the patio doors at it, overgrown with rot and weeds. Even the plants need you.\n\n\"How are the roses really?\" you asked me a few weeks ago, but there's no smile in your voice this time.\n\n\"Thorny,\" I whispered back.\n\n\"Maybe,\" you said, gently, \"it's time to give them room to grow.\"\n\nI got angry. Snapped into the phone. You just listened, quietly, while I raged and slammed drawers and hammered my fist against the wall.\n\nAnd when I ran out of fury and wept, you told me it was alright. \"I'd be the same way,\" you said. \"Anyone would.\" \n\n\"Then why aren't you?\" \n\nYou hesitated. \"Maybe this isn't helping, really.\"\n\nI insisted it was. I could nearly seeing you nodding along as you listened and reassured and promised me you weren't angry.\n\nBut you didn't call back the next day. Or the next.\n\nThe rain poured on and on.\n\nYou became the terror of an empty room. \n\nToday, I wake up to the grey. To the dead telephone. I brew two cups of coffee, like always. \n\nAnd this time, I take them outside. Put on the gloves like you would. Square my shoulders against the wet. And I get to work gathering up the dead leaves and the filth and trimming back all the lost layers of time.\n\nI don't know when I stopped noticing the rain. When the sun began winking through the clouds. Maybe it was when the roses finally began perking up again.\n\nThey will never look like yours. They will never be blushing wedding-dress tumbles of petals.\n\nNot this spring. But maybe the next. Maybe by summer.\n\nThis morning, I am in the garden when the phone peals again. I am elbows-deep yanking out a twining ivying weed, and I understand how you always felt those days I would bring you iced tea and find you, sweaty and sunburnt but grinning.\nSo close to triumph.\n\nI drop my gloves and run inside. Pick the phone up, breathlessly.\n\n\"Is that you?\" I say.\n\nBut I know you by the laugh in the voice. I can almost imagine your breath tickling against the back of my neck. Your arms around my waist as you drew me close and kissed my cheek and I used to wriggle and give a fake-cry of indignation and scold you, *You'll get dirt all over me.*\n\nAnd you say, lightly, \"About time you rescued the garden.\"\n\nI look out the window. At the sun kissing across the lawn.\n\nAll this time, you knew. \n\n\"Your roses don't look the same without you,\" I say.\n\n\"Don't be silly, ginge.\" I can see the way your eyes always crinkled when you smirk-smiled at me. \"You'll get them there.\"\n\n\"Not without you.\"\n\nBut even as I stare outside the patio door, for a second, you're there again. The roses are still alive and thriving and I still think they will last forever. \n\n\"I'm still there,\" you tell me. \"I'm always right there.\"\n\nI want to ask why you didn't call. Why you left me here all alone. Will you call again tomorrow. The next day. The next.\n\nInstead I only manage, \"Your coffee is getting cold.\"\n\n\"Drink it for me, love.\" You pause. The smile is back in your voice. \"And don't let my roses die. Honestly this time.\" \n\nI look out the window at your garden. At all the ways I've let it slip. The world is still so cold and empty without you.\n\nWherever you are, the garden is huge and alive and the roses never wilt and I will find you lost among the hyacinths and honeybees and I will bring you tea and kiss the top of your head and pretend time never happened.\n\nBut for now, I'm here, on the wrong side of time and space. Waiting for the roses to bloom once more.\n\nMaybe next spring. Or the next.\n\n\"I promise,\" I whisper back.\n\n\"Good. I'll meet you outside.\"\n\nThe phone line goes dead.\n\nI want to cry like I used to.\n\nBut I go back out, into your garden. I sip your cold cup of coffee. \n\nI don't need to see you to feel you, this time. I can feel you in the sideways slants of sunlight, finally breaking through the clouds. The roses dip like you're running your fingers along the leaves.\n\nMaybe next spring. Or the next. \n\nBut the rain has finally stopped. At least for today. \n\nTogether, we kneel before the roses. \n\nTogether, we try again.\n***\n/r/nickofstatic for stories from me and my best friend NickofNight :)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says \"Um...can you help me with my homework?\"",
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"content": "Smoke, darkness, dampness in the air, it all overtook me as new sights were presented before me. Glancing down, there was still solid ground beneath my feet. Crude symbols of some variety also happened to be on the ground close by to where I teleported to.\n\n“Hello?” It was a child’s voice, timid yet curious.\n\n“Uh yes, hello?” The smoke was calming down now. A figure emerged from the shadows of the cavern I was stuck in. It was rather short, small horns protruding from its head. Overall, it could pass off as a human from afar, but an up close inspection would prove otherwise.\n\nThe child approached me. It was a few feet from me now. “Um,” it thrust a book into my hands, “can you help me with my homework?”\n\n“Help you with your what?”\n\n“My homework.” The child backed away, retreating to its desk. Examining the book, it was written in symbols similar to those on the ground. I was of no use to this child.\n\n“Sorry, I don’t think-”\n\nIt cut in, “Please, can you please help me? It’s due tomorrow and I don’t get it.”\n\nThere was no use. By any means, I didn’t know how to get out of here, so I was left with no option. “Alright, I think I know how to help. Mind if I ask you how you bring people down here?”\n\nThe child’s attention was mine. “If I tell you, will you promise to help me?”\n\n“I promise.” The child launched immediately into his explanation. It went on talking for some time, probably eager to have the attention of someone else. If my conclusions were right, this might just work. Sure, he probably won’t be able to help the child, but where’s the harm in trying? “Alright, so if you’re correct, we could bring in someone if they’re close to that portal thing you made, right?”\n\n“That’s correct, human.” The demon was smiling now, giddy to help execute my plans. Things were in place now, it was quite a coincidence that I was sent here while on my morning walk to school. I let the demon carry out its job. From where I came from, a flurry of smoke filled the space. It wasn’t too soon when the familiar sound of a person coughing echoed through our ears.\n\n“Uh, hello?” He appeared in my view now, wearing the same khakis and collared shirt that he sported every day of algebra class.\n\n“Hi, Mr. Shoundel.”\n\n“Where am I?”\n\nI gestured the child to move forward, “Um, can you help me with my homework?”\n\nI clarified the child’s question, “Actually, could you help the both of us with our homework?”\n\nr/CasualScribblings",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Gordon Ramsay has to deal with one of his most difficult restaurants yet, the failing undersea restaurant 'The Chum Bucket' created by Sheldon J. Plankton.",
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"content": "“It’s raw!” Gordon says and smashes the burger. “It’s fucking raw! You can’t serve a raw patty to your customers!”\n\nPlankton frowns. “But---”\n\n“And I don’t care about your excuses! Just look at the Krusty Krab across the street! How can they make a bloody good burger?!”\n\n“Aghh…” Plankton spreads his arms. “Krabby Patty secret form---”\n\n“You fucking muppet! Say it again! I dare you, just mention it again and I’m out of here!”\n\n“He keeps it in a bottle.”\n\n“Oh, fuck off! ~~There is no secret formula!~~ The fact is that you don’t care and you don’t have a fucking clue! That’s why you are so bad! You are serving your customers raaaaaaaw meat!”\n\n“We are under water!” Plankton yells\n\n“Fuck off, I’m shutting this down.”\n\nAnd then, for some reason everything turns to black, dramatic drums sound and shortly after we’re back in the kitchen, with Plankton and Gordon standing in an air bubble with a lit grill and a table with many cups, bowls and various ingredients. You know, kinda like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iM_KMYulI_s&t=135s) but with plankton and underwater. Gordon is calm and so is the Plankton.\n\n\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*\n\n“Plankton, I’m going to show you how to make the most amazing burger.”\n\nPlankton nods.\n\nHe points to a bowl with meat in front of him. “The secret of burger is in the blend - the most amazing chuck, ground beef and brisket. Are you with me?”\n\nPlankton nods.\n\n“First, you will form six round patties with your hands, yeah. Grab the meat, squeeze it, tap it from both sides until it’s 2 inches thick and then shape it into a perfect round burger patty shape.”\n\nPlankton nods, gives him a thumbs up with his tiny stick-like hands, and starts making the patties.\n\n“Oh, for fuck sake, Plankton! Use all your fingers! Use the thumbs, you fuckface! Press, then shape. Press and shape! With all your fingers! Why are you so slow? All your-- Oh, for fuck sake, how many fingers do you have?”\n\n\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\* cut scene \\*\\*\\*\n\nIt’s tomorrow.\n\n“Good.” Gordon, who is calm again, says to Plankton. “Now that you’ve made patties and let them sit in the fridge overnight so they are nice and firm, it’s time to season them. “\n\nHe takes a pepper shaker.\n\n“Salt, pepper on one side. Flip. Salt, pepper again. A little touch of grapeseed oil on the burger. Be sure that you season it well. Sides too. Roll it to season sides. Do it well because you can’t season it later. Now, turn the grill on. We have it on already. Get it piping hot so they don’t fall apart.”\n\nHe takes a breath.\n\n“This is my favorite burger recipe. The best burger in my restaurants. I serve it in hotel in Vegas. After you season it, let it stay on the tray, for a minute. Let it rest. It needs to rest to soak up the seasoning flavors, yeah?”\n\nPlankton scratches his head.\n\n“Good. Grill.” He opens the grill he started before the drums and the cut scene. “Piping hot. Now, put the burger on the grill, make sure it sizzles. If it doesn’t, it’s not hot enough. Okay?”\n\nPlankton frowns.\n\n“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s your turn to do this. What are you waiting for, an invitation? Do it. Muppet”\n\nPlankton looks at Gordon then at burger which is larger and heavier than him and then at the grill which is too big for Plankton to use.\n\n“Oh, c’mon…” Gordon flaps his arms in disbelief.\n\n\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\* cut scene again\\*\\*\\*\n\nGordon is calm again. There is a stool next to the grill and Plankton is standing on it. Plankton is holding grill tongs. Patties are on the grill, sizzling.\n\nGordon turns. “Good. Now we cook them. Don’t move the patties on the grill, they’ll break. That’s the secret of making a good burger, you don’t move it. Last step --- lid down.” He closes the lid.\n\nGordon turns to face the Plankton. “Now, the bun--- Whe--? Where is he? Where did he go?”\n\nGordon turns. “Where did Plankton go?”\n\n“Give me the secret formula!” Plankton’s voice says, coming from the outside.\n\n“What the--” Gordon says. “Is he outside? He left! I don’t believe this.”\n\nGordon leaves the restaurant and crosses the street. There, in front of the Krusty Krab is Plankton, and he is holding a megaphone.\n\n“Give me the secret formula or I’ll destroy the Krusty Krab!”\n\n“Plankton! What the fuck are you doing!?!” screams Gordon.\n\nPlankton lowers the megaphone and turns to Gordon.\n\n“This is not working, Gordon. Your burger, it’s too complicated. Stealing the Krabby Patty secret formula from there”--- he points at the Krusty Krab --- “is much easier.” He lifts the megaphone and turns back to faces the restaurant “Give me the Krabby Patty secret formula or I’ll destroy you!”\n\nGordon spread his hands and turns to metaphorical camera which may or may not exist in this story.\n\n“Fuck this! I’m done! He can take his restaurant and stick it in his”--- he takes off the apron ---”I’m done.”\n\n\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*Drum\\*\\*\\*\n\n\\*\\*\\*screen turns to black\\*\\*\\*\n\n&#x200B;\n\n&#x200B;\n\n*WN:*\n\n*This was a fun challenge to to write b/c I needed to google Plankton. Hopefully, I didn't get him very wrong. If I did.. oh, well. Sorry.*\n\n&#x200B;\n\n/r/ZwhoWrites",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Rome never fell; mankind lives in a militaristic, Latin speaking, space empire.",
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"content": "Flavia removed her helmet and threw it into her armor rack, sending the pristine ceremonial garb tumbling into the dirt, before collapsing into her chair. She was seething with rage, the sound of constant rainfall grating and infuriating. If only that fucking bastard had just-\n\n\"Primus,\" The flaps of her holotent opened slightly to reveal a legionary from outside of her cohort, \"The Equestrian requests your presence in the command tent.\" He paused and looked at her nervously \"Presently.\"\n\nFlavia picked up a jug of wine and sent it flying in his direction, prompting his expedient removal from her general vicinity. Tightly gripping the bridge of her nose in a futile effort to calm down, she sighed heavily. Of course Cassia wanted to see her, that bitch never shirked away from an opportunity to criticise her betters. She would relish the opportunity to place the blame at Flavia's feet for this, of that she was certain.\n\nIgnoring her helmet she threw open the flaps of her holotent prompting an aquilan salute from any nearby legionaries. She left them to their dice games in the mud without so much as a glance, electro sandals propelling her past the remainder of her cohort and sent her storming into the command tent.\n\n\"You piece of shit,\" She growled before the soundproof flaps had even closed behind her, gripping the equestrian by the cape strap. \"What happened to our god damn air support, we were sitting ducks out there.\"\n\nCassia just smiled back smugly, making no effort to wriggle out of her grip. \"How has the role of Primus been treating you Flavia? It must be tough, filling shoes as large as mine,\" She scoffed \"Especially with operations like this one on your resume.\"\n\n\"You little-\" She raised her hand to strike her before she was interrupted.\n\n\"Enough!\" A loud voice echoed through the large tent, stopping her dead in her tracks. \"This useless squabble has no place within these walls.\"\n\n\"Legatus?\" Flavia asked breathlessly, before swiftly releasing Cassia and turning to give him a proper aquilan salute. \"Forgive me Legatus, had I been made aware of your presence I-\"\n\n\"You would have dropped this charade and spoken your mind freely?\" He said, looking up at her from the ever-changing battle map laid out on the table. \"Then I implore you to keep my presence in mind until further notice.\" \n\nShe opened her mouth to speak but quickly thought better of it, as even Cassia stood in silent salute. \"Understood, Legatus.\" \n\nLegion Legate Marius was not the most people prone commander she had ever served under, but his tactical brilliance was undeniable. He had put the 262nd legion on the map, and under his command, it had known many storied triumphs. Today, however, was not one of them.\n\n\"The Air support,\" he grumbled at them, eyes fixed on the previous battle playing out in front of him. \"They were relieved of my command not but 5 hours ago.\" \n\nThey stood in shock, waiting for an explanation that never came. Eventually, Flavia caved.\n\n\"Legatus, with respect,\" She started\n\n\"Imperial Legate Septima Dominica has demanded additional support for her campaign on Varinia IV,\" He scratched the back of his head, \"Hence the loss of the bulk of our atmospheric strike craft and troop delivery vehicles.\"\n\n\"So we are to abandon the planet then?\" Cassia asked, at which point he looked up to stare at her sternly. \"Legatus?\" \n\n\"No, we are to proceed with the offensive until further notice,\"\n\n\"But without-\" Cassia protested\n\nHe slammed his fists into the battle map hard. \"Without them, we are still the 262nd legion of the Emperor!\" His teeth ground together tightly as he shouted. \"And the 262nd legion does not know defeat!\"\n\nHe stared them down until they both gave him a nod which allowed him to slip deflated back into his seat. \"I want a new approach strategy by sun-up,\" He sighed heavily \"Dismissed.\" \n\nAs they left the holotent, Cassia made sure they were far enough away before she exploded.\n\n\"That mad bastard is gonna kill us all,\" She looked pale even as she fumed \"Without vehicles we won't last a week camped out into the open like this, let alone manage an assault on the perimiter.\"\n\nFlavia hated it when the equestrian was right, but she couldn't deny the truth in her words. They had both seen it in him, that mad hunger for victory which had ultimately consigned them to a fate of inevitable death and ruin.\n\n\"We have to do something,\" Cassia muttered, \"We could poison his wine or something, convince the laticlavius that this plan is utter madness.\" \n\n\"We'd risk martyring him,\" Flavia bit away at her nails as her mind worked overtime. \"Plus, it would be an act of high treason if anyone found out.\"\n\nCassia scoffed \"Rather that than a slow and agonizing death,\" \n\n\"It may not come down to either,\" She smiled as she turned to face Cassia. \"Can we secure enough supplies for a cohort to last up to two weeks in the mountain passes.\" \n\nShe thought about it for a second. \"How quickly?\"\n\n\"Ideally tomorrow.\"\n\nShe pulled out a holobook and scratched down a few calculations. \"In theory, yes, but-\"\n\n\"Perfect, I'll ready my men for the trek and we'll reconvene at sun-up.\" She smirked as she slapped Cassia on the shoulder. \"Bring your hiking cape.\"\n\n\"Wait, I'm coming with?\"\n\nFlavia shrugged. \"You can take your chances with the palisade, but I wouldn't bet on it still standing by the time we come back.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" She answered grimly \"But what the hell do we tell the Legatus.\" \n\nFlavia smiled back. \"The truth,\" She patted the vibrosword at her side. \"That we're gonna go kill some aliens.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " After dieing of old age, you wake up to realize you just slept for 2 days and dreamed an entire life. You now have the wisdom of an elderly person but the body of a 20 something.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Something wasn't right with Jeremy.\n\nHis coworkers could not place it exactly, perhaps it was Jeremy's sudden disregard for project timetables, or his newfound passion for hand crafted porcelain dolls, but something about Jeremy just wasn't right. \n\nThree days ago Jeremy was the last one out of the office, as usual. The night janitor reported seeing Jeremy at work behind his desk at 2A.M, and by 6A.M., when the morning staff arrived, Jeremy was gone. \n\nTwo full days passed and Jeremy didn't come to work. Jeremy - the same Jeremy who called his sales team \"a bunch of type F fucktards\" when they fell $10,000 short of their $25,000,000 stretch goal. The same Jeremy who was famous for firing people who didn't work overtime with him during Christmas. That same Jeremy just disappeared, without so much as a word.\n\nSomeone went to his house on the second day, but Jeremy didn't answer the phone or the buzzer. An unofficial office agreement was made to call the police if Jeremy wasn't back by day three.\n\nBut then Jeremy returned - only different. He arrived, looking incredibly well rested and in amazing spirits - at *noon*. \n\nJeremy arrived at noon. In some respects, this was more frightening than Jeremy missing for two days. The alien abduction theories started immediately. \n\nThat wasn't the only strangeness. Jeremy wasn't wearing a suit. No one had *ever* seen Jeremy in anything but a suit. In 2016, Jeremy got viral meningitis, and had to be taken from the office straight to a hospital. Apparently he paid off the staff, because there Jeremy was in his hospital bed, recuperating in a wool three piece, his trading laptops open side by side on his legs. \n\nWhen Jeremy returned to the office, to everyone's astonishment, he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Jeremy fired a staffer once because he wore loafers. \n\nAs that first day back progressed, Jeremy defied all expectations for non-Jeremy-like behavior. He ordered donuts for the staff. He walked around from cubicle to cubicle, asking peoples names, seeing \"how they were doin.\"\n\n When Jeremy saw the company was trading in the negative for the week, he flouted his normal excoriating explosion of profanity and just said, \"next week's coming right up,\" real cheerfully, and walked into his office.\n\n Everyone was worried about Jeremy's mental health - maybe he even had a stroke - so they sent someone from HR to speak with him. The story was that Jeremy told the HR rep a whole, convoluted tale about a long and vivid dream he'd had, and how it had \"changed his perspective.\"\n\nBut everyone who heard the rumor immediately dismissed it. \"It was definitely a stroke,\" they'd invariably say. \n\nIt's been a month now since Jeremy returned. Fridays were casual, the staff was in good spirits, and actual productivity was way up. The whole vibe of the office was different - better, really, in every respect. \n\nEverybody in the office was happy with the new status quo. They loved their jobs, enjoyed their work, and really, genuinely liked their new boss.\n\nBut every single person in that office building knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that something seriously wasn't right with Jeremy. \n\n******\n\n##### For More Legends From The Multiverse\n\n##### r/LFTM\n\n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Over the years your D&D game has managed to continue with most of the original players. However, almost everyone's life circumstances have changed drastically since they began and you now DM for a group of some of the most-powerful people on the planet.",
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"content": "I was packing up my things from our latest session, reorganizing notes and stowing my books when Kate slid a long, silver-wrapped box towards me, smiling. I looked at her, and saw the rest of the party was watching too. \"What's this?\"\n\nAkbar said, \"It's a gift, from all of us.\"\n\n\"...Did I miss some anniversary or something?\" I took the box. The wrapping was professionally done, a raised rough pattern of silver and black cut diagonally across the paper.\n\n\"No...uh...to be honest this is something we have-\"\n\n\"-and some of our people-\" Cut in Markos.\n\n\"-and some of our people have been talking back and forth about for sometime. It's...a...\"\n\nKate moved a step closer to me. \"When you told us about those people accosting you at the coffee shop about the Trans-Atlantic Trade Union, well...we-\"\n\nI laughed. \"Oh, I honestly almost forgot about that. That was so weird. I was just like-\"\n\nMarkos said, \"Martin, that was because of us.\"\n\nI stared at him, then I looked to the others. They all seemed nervous...anxious. I looked back at Kate.\n\n\"They found you because you know us. They were trying to convince you to talk to us, Martin.\"\n\nAkbar was holding his red-leather suitcase, resting it on the ornately carved table. He said, \"You have access to us. You know us. We somehow manage to schedule this every month.\" The group, myself included, smiled. \"A lot of people would pay a lot of money to...bend our ear. We don't...-\"\n\nMarkos nodded to me. \"Open the gift, Martin.\"\n\nLooking between them, I began to slowly tear at the wrapping paper, inevitably exposing the box beneath. I opened it, slid some tissue paper aside and-\n\nThe cloth was silk, a silvery gray with hints of a deep purple as it moved. Black patterns were sewn into it, elements of water, tides and waves, a reference to our previous campaign. I pulled the cloth out and it unfolded into...a robe.\n\n\"Try it on,\" said Kate.\n\nI did so and found it fit me perfectly. There was a hood as well. I pulled it up and the shadows closed over my eyes. \"This is amazing! I-\" I noticed there was something else in the box. It was a mask. Its surface was polished obsidian, set in a spacious pattern, the shadowed gaps adding depth to its surface. I picked it up and held it.\n\nMarkos said, \"Martin, you didn't choose the lives we did. It's unfair that you suffer their consequences too.\"\n\nAkbar said, \"We want to...protect your anonymity. This is what we came up with.\"\n\nKate said, \"Plus, it's just...super cool. What do you think?\"\n\nI held the mask in my hands, pulled my hood back, donned the mask, perfectly contoured to my face, and raised my hood.\n\nI recalled the voice of the BBEG from our first campaign all those years ago. \"HOW DO I LOOK?\"\n\n...\n\nIt was that day that I became the Hidden Master.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " An older version of yourself offers you immortality, the only catch is that you will be sent back in time 2000 years. Older you claims it's a great deal, but secretly they are miserable and want you to accept so they can transfer this horrible curse to you",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "It was rainy that night, I'll never forget. I was sitting at the bar, had to get out of the house. I'd lost everything. The wife had left three weeks earlier with the kid, factory closed down, needed to figure out what I was going to do. \n\nThen this man came in, Armani suit, knew me straight away and sat down.\n\n\"Hello Tom.\" \n\nIt was like looking in a mirror, but he was successful, he had a rolex on his left hand and a gold ring on his right hand. He reeked of money, in a way no one in this town could ever dream of. \"What can I do for you?\" I kicked back in response. He beamed at me, happiest I'd ever seen a person, \"Well, it's what you can do for you...\" he chuckled, \"I'm you... I'm here to offer you a deal, immortal-\" I stopped him, \"What the hell do you mean you're me?\" I blurted out, but somehow I knew ; he wasn't lying.\n\n\"Let me finish, I'm here to offer you immortal life, but there's a catch, two-thousand years of a catch... It wasn't all bad though, I got to meet Nikola, and invest in Edison Electric, I bought Apple the day it went public. I have enough money I'll never want for anything, but you have to take this deal or we'll lose everything.\"\n\nPerfect. It had to be perfect, I'd just lost everything, and in walked the riches I'd always dreamed of. God I was such a fool, I took the last drag of my cigarette before checking my rolex. Then I walked into the bar.",
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2,426
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " You join an expedition to Antartica and uncover a metal hatch in the ice. You go down the ladder and find a greeting room with lush red carpet and gold banners. A group of human looking beings greet you with an advanced piece of technology. It translates their question, “Is the ice age over?”",
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"content": "The hatch took fifteen days to break through. We'd never seen a metal like it. Rigging drills designed to pierce bedrock blunted and broke before leaving anything more than a scratch. The explosives initially used were far too small to do anything more than leave a slight warping colour pattern, an iridescent rainbow, like diluted oil spillages in the sunlight. It was fire and persistence which opened the door, melting it away to nothing. It must have been less than an inch thick, looking at the hinges. There was a small container beneath it, a silver twisted chalice, the elegance of which I'd never seen. Sitting comfortably inside was a small crystal, softly glowing blue. Radiation teams were scrambled and we lost another day confirming the hatch was safe for us to descend.\n\nI was first through the hatch. The hole was almost 1m by 1m, with metal rungs running all the way down at comfortable spacing. Clearly whatever structure we were descending into was human made. Russian made perhaps? We supposed even the Nazis could be a possibility. As the five of us stepped lower and lower, doing comms and equipment checks every 100m, chat dwindled to a powerful silence. We couldn't believe how far this thing went down. We must have been climbing down for over an hour by the time we touched the bottom. Most comms had long since stopped working. All we had was a long trailing rope to tug in case of emergency and our gas detectors, softly beeping to signal no flammable, combustible or toxic gases where down here with us. \n\nEven if we'd have had full video call though, we were rendered speechless by what we saw in the first chamber. It was perfectly round, with ice walls all around, no doors. There was a soft luminescence to the room that seemed to follow your eyes, wherever one person cast their eye, a light blue sheen illuminated whatever they were looking at, and for a moment we simply gazed around, fascinated. Above the walls were golden banners, covered with jaw dropping artwork showing mammoths, sabre tooth tigers and cave men on huge glacial sheets.\n\nOur investigation of the room was interrupted by a loud noise, almost like whale song and we all leapt backwards as a void appeared within the ice wall, which melted away forming a geometrically perfect circular hole. Through this freshly formed hole, stepped several figures, one after the other, ten in all. They were dressed in flowing blue gowns which seemed to float in the air, fluttering softly, almost like a silk dress submerged underwater. Their skin was pure white, not merely Caucasian, these people were as white as snow, beyond albino. The one closest to me held a staff of the same twisting silver metal or ice that the chalice under the hatch had been made of, and inside the chalice was a much larger blue crystal, crackling with violent light inside. We hadn't expected weaponry, and for a moment my hand clutched at the rope, ready to tug as hard as I could.\n\nThen the one holding the staff spoke. It was the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, almost musical. A mixture of bird call, whale song and human vocalists. It ended abruptly, and the crystal in the staff flared and almost erupted into colour, before speaking itself, glowing and softening with each syllable.\n\n\"Brothers and sisters!\" said the staff.\n\nThe rope slipped from between my fingers. None of the breech team responded. None of us dare, or knew what to say if we did. I felt like a child, in the company of adults. The leader spoke again, short and harmonious, its voice rippling off the ice walls. Again, the staff in its hand crackled and snapped before speaking.\n\n\"You return! Did you find it?\"\n\nMy throat felt tight, but I managed to speak.\n\n\"Hello,\" I said, slowly, considering my words carefully. I flinched as the staff popped and flickered, translating my own voice into a beautiful sing song, and it took me a moment to muster the courage to speak again. \"This is our first time here. You may be remembering different people, but we come in peace and mean no harm.\"\n\nI displayed my open hands as my words were translated into a melody so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes.\n\nThe white strangers twisted and glanced at one another, becoming ever so slightly more bright as their gaze fell upon each other. The one gripping the staff ran one white finger down the length, and the glow disappeared. All the strangers sang to one another and no translation was offered. I shared a very uneasy glance with my colleagues, my eyes darting to the ladder rungs. Finally, the staff was illuminated and its keeper spoke again.\n\n\"Perhaps you are different. We must confess,\" said the staff, crackling violently, \"we thought you would not survive out there, in the cold.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say. Each word I thought to say seemed wrong, like it would cause more confusion. I had so many questions, but each one felt dangerous to ask. Even though the staff was performing translations, an exploration team weren't up to the task of first contact. The strange beings seemed to sense it, and spoke again, their wonderous voices making me want to close my eyes and smile.\n\n\"Is it still the ice age?\" the staff asked.\n\nCautiously, I answered. At least I could answer. \n\n\"No,\" I replied, \"the ice age ended over ten thousand years ago.\"\n\nThe beings all sang short confused notes, the staff translating each voice separately.\n\n\"Years?\" it asked. \"Years? Years? Ye-Years?\"\n\nThe leader sang to me, and for a moment I felt as though I was being lifted off my feet.\n\n\"We do not understand this unit of measurement,\" said the staff, accompanied by the sound of snapping twigs, \"years?\"\n\nSteadying myself, so I didn't fall over, I cautiously explained the a year was a rotation of the sun around the planet. This seemed to cause some alarm. An inharmonious din rising, almost squawking. The leader wrapped a hand around the crystal of the staff, and it translated nothing. Finally, he released it, tears in his eyes, and sang a mournful song.\n\n\"We warned you,\" said the staff. \"The radiation on the surface was too strong. Our time-module would not operate out there. You would not be protected.\"\n\nAnother white figure dropped to her knees, a whistling noise emitting from between clenched teeth.\n\n\"Ten thousand orbits? But they have been gone only minutes. My sister! My sister!\"\n\nMy entire team stepped backwards. The leader spoke, its beautiful voice breaking between perfectly formed notes.\n\n\"You were supposed to bring fuel.\"\n\nThe leader wailed, making my ears tremble.\n\n\"We were supposed to fly home.\"\n\nr/RJHuntWrites",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "1”",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "The death of Richard Hughes was an unremarkable affair. He had passed late one night in his sleep after a long life and a short illness. His friends and family mourned him, and he was buried in the soft dark earth of the cemetery down the street from where he had lived his entire life.\n\nWhat happened after his death was slightly more remarkable, at least to those who did not know better. As he slipped his mortal coils, he found himself at the base of a vast staircase, piercing through the clouds and rising high out of sight.\n\nOn the staircase, he could see tens of thousands of little figures, as people slowly, as individuals and in groups, made their way up, one step after another. Around him were a multitude of different people, speaking different languages, some babbling away in terror, others like Richard standing quiet and content. \n\nWithout thinking about what he was doing, he found himself taking the first step of staircase. He froze for a moment, surprised, for it had been many years since he had last managed to take a step without difficult, but then found himself continuing on as if there was nothing he would wish to do but ascend.\n\nAs he walked, step by step, up that vast staircase, he found himself passing those who moved slower, and every now and again he found himself passing landings where others had stopped to rest and relax, but he found he had no interest in joining them, and just kept climbing.\n\nAlong the way he found fascinating sights. Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking, intensely discussing physics far beyond his own understanding, Pope John Paul II arguing furiously with a crowd of unknown bishops and priests about the theological meaning of the staircase, and more.\n\nHowever, none of this interested Richard. Day and night merged into one, for while the sun still rose and set the staircase remained clear and he remained eager to climb. Occasionally, he walked with others for a while, but eventually they all found a landing that they wished to stop at and while they invited him to join, he kept on climbing.\n\nThere was one time that he almost stopped. Several decades after setting foot on the staircase, he found himself walking with an Irishman named John Mallory, who had passed on in the early 20th century, and with whom he felt an unusually strong connection. They spent many years walking together and discussing, and when John found himself wishing to stop for a while Richard almost joined him, but the urge to keep climbing was to strong, and with a regretful look behind Richard continued his ascent.\n\nAs the decades turned into centuries, Richard found himself passing increasing exotically dressed individuals. Kings in steel armour, Romans in tunics, he passed all of them in his inexorable climb up the staircase, and eventually he was alone, treading stairs untouched by human foot.\n\nIn this context, it was a surprise to him when he turned a corner and found himself at the summit of the stair, with a large landing stretching out in front him and a gate standing open before him.\n\nIn the center of the gate stood a man, and Richard instinctively knew him to be the gatekeeper. 'Welcome' the man called out 'you are the first to reach this place'.\n\n'I am sure you have many questions, but we have all eternity to answer those. Just know that everyone ascends at the pace they need to understand and be satisfied with the life they lived, the pace they need to be ready for eternity, and you just happened to be the first. It is not to your credit or to their detriment, it just is - but we are very glad to welcome you here at last.'",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You're an immortal vampire who looks like a 20 year old. When someone learns that you're a vampire they always assume that you're hundreds of years old and want to hear about all your adventures, though you're actually 53 and you're always too embarassed to correct them.",
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"content": "“A vampire? That’s impossible, you look so young. Did you see the fall of the Roman empire? Oh, what were the ancient pyramids like?” My friend swarmed me with various questions about life, leaving me rather unsure of what to tell him.\n\n \n\n“Ah, um. Actually, I kind of am only.”\n\n \n\n“Only three hundred years old? Right, no wonder you look so young. Ok, what about in the old days of England? You know, with the body snatchers who used to sell bodies to doctors. Oh, did you know who Jack the ripper was? Did anyone try to kill you for being a vampire?” His questions were rather quick, not even taking a breath before rattling off another dumb question.\n\n \n\n“Um, it’s a little awkward to say. I’m.” I tried to explain my current situation to him, tell him I was only 53, but he didn’t appear to care, far too interested in the potential of my journeys.\n\n \n\n“Shy, you always have been shy. Look, I get it, but you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone your secret. Whats your greatest memory? How about that, a simple question?” Liam took a seat, staring up at me in awe, ready to listen with intent to every word I would say.\n\n \n\n“Ok, I can answer that. Last month I was heading down to Bubble Blast to get a lunch special Berry Wave beverage, only to find out the lunch special ended five minutes ago.“\n\n \n\n“And you said, Well, if I can’t have Berry Wave, then I guess I’ll have you.” And feasted on her, right? I shook my head, placing a finger to my lips, telling him to shut up as politely as I could. He responded by zipping his lips, giving me a thumbs up.\n\n \n\n“Ew, no. I don’t like human blood. Have you seen how filthy humans are? No, she said, because I was such a loyal customer, she would extend the lunch special. I got a Berry Wave for $5 at 3pm. It was amazing. The taste was sweet, but the feeling of pride was far sweeter.”\n\n \n\n“That’s your amazing story? In all your years of life, that’s the memory that you keep reflecting on? Haven’t you seen kings and queens die?” He didn’t seem impressed by my story, crossing his arms. I didn’t know what else to tell him. I lived an isolated life, only having a few friends.\n\n“I was alive when Freddy Mercury died, does that count?” I asked, hoping that might satisfy his curiosity.\n\n \n\n“Of course not. Come on, you are killing me here, Victor. You must have an interesting story. Oh, how about the story of how you became a vampire?” Ah, now that I could work with. I had an answer prepared for that.\n\n \n\n“When I was thirteen, I was out camping with my parents. It was boring watching the fire all night, so I went exploring in the dark-“\n\n \n\n“And you got jumped by a vampire who offered you the deal of a lifetime. You would have been foolish to deny such an offer, the chance to be an immortal killing machine, who wouldn’t accept such a deal.” I raised an eyebrow at Liam, wondering if my friend was ok, trying to work out where he got such wild ideas from.\n\n \n\n“I thought you said you would let me finish. Ok, so I was out exploring when a bat bit me on the neck before flying into a tree. Turns out the bat was a drunken vampire woman that thought I was some type of walking deer. Also, before you ask, no I will not make you a vampire.” I knew the story would amaze him. I awaited his reaction, but the only thing he responded with was a yawn.\n\n“That was lame. You don’t even have a cool origin story. After hearing that, I don’t even want to become a vampire. You shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”\n\n \n\n“It’s not my fault you read so much crappy vampire fiction. The reality of it isn’t as impressive. I don’t get it, I’m a living monster. How is that so boring to you? So, what if I’m boring, I’m a vampire, isn’t that impressive?” Liam frustrated me, unable to comprehend how a monster like me was boring to a human.\n\n \n\n“Well, Dave’s a werewolf. Compared to that a young vampire is kind of boring.” He said nonchalantly.\n\n \n\n“Wait, our Dave is a werewolf? The one we hang out with on Fridays?”\n\n \n\n“Oh, shit. You haven’t got some sort of weird Twilight rivalry going on between you two? Forget I said anything, I don’t want my friends fighting.”\n\n \n\n“No, it’s not that. I just never would have guessed. I thought werewolves would be hairier. He is quite strong though; he helped me carry a fridge upstairs once, and I was barely lifting the thing. It appears our next Friday game night is going to be a little awkward.”\n\n \n\n“Yeah, it is. Maybe let me tell him first, ease things over so its less weird when you two see each other. Even if you don’t have a rivalry or something, it’s going to weird to find out.”\n“Alright, fine. Just keep this between us three. Also, Liam, try not to befriend anymore monsters. Having one monster as a friend is weird, having two is downright suspicious.”\n\n \n\n“Got it, got it. Ok, I’ll catch you Friday.” With that, I lead him to the door of my manor, watching him leave. It seemed Friday would be interested indeed.\n\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n\n(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " To your surprise, a SWAT team breaks down your door, rushes inside, and surrounds you. Only, their backs are to you, guns trained on the doors and windows. The closest one whispers, \"Here they come.\"",
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"content": "Black clad and armed, the team of men that had suddenly intruded on what was otherwise a quiet meal for one remained silent, awaiting further instruction from their captain. Red dots paced slowly across closed blinds and the back door which led to the kitchen where Dave was sat. \n\nHe had barely any time to chew what cheap noodles he had just shoveled into his mouth before this congregation of bullet proof vests and submachine guns had burst into his home. Their heavy footsteps had become little more than a tiptoe once they had securely entered Dave's property. \n\n\"Excu-\" Dave began before he was cut short by the SWAT member who had took position behind him, placing a gloved hand over his mouth. The man leaned in to whisper. \n\n\"Sir, I strongly advise you get under the table and await further instruction.\" He whispered, slowly taking his hand away from Dave's mouth. \n\nWith blind compliance, Dave proceeded to push his chair back and get on his knees to crawl under the table in front of him, a cheap dining table which had never been used for cover before, suprisingly. \n\nThe timing of the officer's instruction couldn't have been better as Dave's quiet Sunday dinner faced further interruption. His windows burst and his blinds danced wildly as they were riddled with identical holes from the gunfire outside. Shattered glass and splintered wood from the window frames began to litter Dave's kitchen floor, and that wasn't all. \n\nThe team of men in his home had little time to react, and within the first few seconds of chaos, Dave was joined on his floor by two of the officers, one of which was unfortunate enough to catch a bullet in the visor of his helmet, leaving a bullet hole where his left eye used to be, which was now vacant and filling his helmet with blood. The second appeared to have better luck as he was on the floor next to Dave clutching at his left arm, his mask obscuring a pained look on his face. \n\nThe rest of the team had immediately returned fire, with more uniform precision than the attackers who had simply redecorated Dave's kitchen with a series of burst fire. The identical intruders took up tactical positions around the kitchen, taking trained shots of their automatic weapons through the clearings in the torn blinds. The gunfire echoed throughout the kitchen, and Dave couldn't even form an opinion of the situation over the deafening and deadly exchange. \n\nThree members of the team remained as the shots ceased. A suspicious silence crept over the scene, and the man who Dave assumed to be captain made a series of hand gestures, the final of which was directed to the hall which led into the rear garden of his home. An officer approached the back of the kitchen wall which made the corner of the hallway leading to the back, reconfirming his grip on his rifle before he breached the corner. \n\nHis actions were cut short as one of the previously unseen assailants was waiting for the opportunity the SWAT team had kindly provided. The attacker closed the gap between him and the officer, sinking a large knife in his throat, right under the jawline. The officer fired in a panic, reinstating the previous soundtrack of violence that had only recently receded. The captain who gave the order raised his rifle and wasted no time in taking a single shot. The bullet entered above the assailants right eye and left a neat crimson hole, which left a trail of blood falling onto his brow. Dave, still under his kitchen table, observed that the exit wound must have been much larger judging by the poor Jackson Pollock imitation that had decorated his hall. \n\nThe officer who had tried to turn corner stumbled back into the kitchen, he had dropped his rifle to place both hands around his throat, and the heavy flow of blood made itself apparent by seeping through his fingers. The gurgling that had replaced his ability to speak ceased itself once he hit the kitchen floor, and the blood escaping from his throat pooled on the kitchen floor, its edges racing towards Dave, forcing him to scramble back into the door of one of his cupboards. \n\nThe captain and his remaining subordinate seemed surprisingly serene about the turn of events, and after a few moments of this sombre silence, a message, incoherent to Dave, blared from the radio positioned on the captain's left shoulder. \n\n\"Witness is secure, over.\" The captain returned, and walked over to a rather shaken Dave. \n\n\"Witness?\" Dave feebly asked, not even nearly prepared to understand the situation he had been forced into. \n\nAfter a while, another uniformed officer, not of the original five, entered the kitchen where the captain had now sat Dave back at his table. He looked intently at the bewildered resident before pulling his mask down, revealing a similarly confused expression. Turning to his captain, he explained his shock. \n\n\"Sir, that's not the witness.\" He explained, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. \n\n\"Well then who the fuck is it?!\" The captain roared, taking a step towards his officer, gripping his ballistics vest. The officers reply was short and timid. \n\n\"Sir... that's Dave.\" ",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Through selective breeding we managed to turn wolves into pugs. For the last 1000 years a secret cult has also been selective breeding, but not with wolves but lizards. Crocodiles, monitors, sneks. The largest and most dangerous, into finally they created their perfect monster... A Dragon.",
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"content": "Deep beneath the surface of London, in the oldest parts of the sewers, lies a secret kept for nearly a millennium. The Cult of Drakh has worked tirelessly inside the damp, brick tunnels. Scientists from the outer reaches of society, and even modern \"mages\", have slowly and meticulously been crafting a masterpiece in the dark caves.\n\nInitially the goal was a simple one; increasing the size, and perhaps, the awareness of a few species of reptiles. Slowly attempting to domesticate and train them.\n\nOnce the initial goal was achieved, progress was seriously hampered. The creatures were showing progress in size and intelligence, but they lacked certain attributes that the architects wished to see. \n\nTimed passed easily for the architects, as they solely focused on their work.\n\nNearly 400 years from the conception of their creation, they had finally achieved a breakthrough - wings wings, and the ability to actually use them. The architects were elated.\n\nOver time, the creature learned how to use their wings and slowly gained a mastery of flight. Only one more thing was needed.\n\nThis next attribute took much longer than anticipated. During this time, the architects were able to slowly increase the size of their creations to nearly 15 meters tall on average, requiring much larger chambers. Due to this, the rate of change slowed for their creatures, but they did still see progress towards their goal.\n\nAnd then, finally, it happened. \n\nA little over 950 years from the conception of the Cult of Drakh, the architects had achieved their final goal, the ability to breath fire.\n\nThe worlds first, true dragon. The job of the Architect was finally complete. \n\nNow the Placer collects the first egg. They travel to the first location that was decided on. They watch over the egg until it hatches and then feed it for the first week or two, until it gains the strength to hunt.\n\nSeven eggs have been placed since the first creation. Now we wait.\n\n&#x200B;",
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[
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " In a world where magic lamps are a common find, you work as a lawyer who specializes in writing wishes free of loopholes for mischievious genie's to exploit. You're the best in the business, but nobody knows it's because you yourself are a freed genie. And you still love making a bit of trouble",
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"role": "user"
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"content": "It's a tough business, working in wish-law; humans are such greedy, demanding creatures, always trying to suck every little bit of value from the Vault and into their meaningless little lives. More wealth than any one human could spend in three lifetimes, some kind of impossible superpower or immortality; basically, things that we genies can't grant. Sorry, we can't make your meaty fleshbag survive a walk on the sun. \n\nI swear, people think genies are some kind of magician and it kills me. My job is taking those impossible expectations, toning them down, and making them foolproof. After all, we genies get tired of being wish-slaves and screw with humans where we can. \n\nI've done it a few times in my day, before I was Free. \n\nBut occasionally, you get a straggler, someone that wants to wish for something a bit off the typical course. Maybe healing a sick loved one, or furthering their career, sometimes even to help people. \n\nThere are others, as well, even less pleasant. \n\nI was sitting in my office, reviewing my agenda, one Tuesday afternoon. Between two and three, I don't sit with clients, instead spending the time sorting out the following day. Secretaries be damned; I need to control my own schedule and make sure things are organized just the way I want. \n\nIt was two-thirty when he burst into the door, followed by Regina. She apologized profusely, scolding the man, threatening to call security if he didn't leave. There was a fire burning in his eyes that captivated me, so I set my pen down and waved to her. \n\n\"It's okay, Regina. I'll see him.\"\n\nShe fired him a dirty look, then nodded to me and shut the door behind her. He took a seat before I could even offer, a rugged man, somewhat unkempt. \n\n\"I finally found myself a wish. Huge pain in the ass, but I got it,\" he said, grinning. \n\nI blinked a few times, then smiled. \"How wonderful. Is there something I can help you with?\" \n\n\"Yeah, no shit. I need to get my wish ready. You're supposedly good at that, right?\" \n\nMy jaw knotted. \"Yes, sir, that's what I do. Tell me a little bit about your situation.\" \n\n\"Aite, so, my girlfriend Katja--\" \n\nI tried to stifle the laugh, but just enough slipped through for him to notice. \n\n\"Something funny, asshole?\" He raised his eyebrows. \n\n\"No, sorry sir.\"\n\n\"Look, I'll take my business somewhere else. Plenty of people around making sure those wishbitches do their damn job right.\"\n\nThe smile on my face faded. He may have just used that term because I appeared to be human, but the man's demeanor led me to believe he'd say it to a genie's face. \"Please, sir, I apologize. Continue.\"\n\n\"Well, my girlfriend left me last month. Bitch broke my VR kit just because I was flirting with some other girl. Nothing serious, just having some fun, but goddamn Katja is just so uptight. She just threw it out the window! Can you believe that shit? Women are insane.\"\n\nI held back any commentary on why women might be inclined to do such things to him. \"So what would you like? To win her back?\" \n\nHe paused a moment, expression blank, then roared with laughter. \"Jesus, no, you idiot. I want to ruin her life.\"\n\nI started. \"I'm sorry?\" \n\n\"She's insanely afraid of bugs. Like, crazy scared of them. I want to wish a swarm of locusts on her, some real biblical shit like that.\"\n\nMy jaw was slightly ajar. \"Don't you think you'd be better off using that wish for something else, something to improve your own life?\" \n\nHe grimaced. \"Nah, I wanna fuck that slut over. I can get another one, eventually, anyway. My dad has a lot of sway in this department.\"\n\nI shut my eyes a moment, then suddenly came alive. \"Well, allow me to help you-- Mr...?\" \n\n\"Jordan Henderson.\"\n\n\"Mr. Henderson.\" I pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill pen. \"Let's begin.\"\n\nHe frowned at my tools. \"What is this old-fashioned shit?\" \n\n\"I prefer to write my work, as a sort of personal touch.\"\n\n\"Whatever. Do your thing. Make it last a while, by the way. Make her really suffer.\"\n\nI bit my lip, thinking a moment, then scribbled a short passage onto the parchment. \n\n>I, Jordan Henderson, wish to have a plague of locusts, the insect, set upon my Katja in exactly 24 Earth hours from the time of placing this wish. It is to last 1,024 Earth hours and not affect any others nearby. \n\nHe read it slowly, mouthing the words. \"Why does it say 'my Katja' and not just her name? She's not mine anymore.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, genies are tricky. In Egoran, their language, a name is meaningless as multiple people can have the same name. They refer to people in their lives with a relational modifier for specificity. You don't know another Katja, do you?\" \n\nHe shook his head. \n\n\"Excellent. This will work perfectly, then, with no confusion. We specified it must be the insect and must happen in exactly one day, along with a precise duration, which won't allow the genie any leeway.\"\n\n\"Why's it so short?\" he asked, cocking his head at the paper. \"I thought these things were supposed to be super long.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, normally they would be. However, your wish is very simple. Most other people need multiple stipulations, after toning down their wish to something feasible, but this is very straightforward. A good wish, Mr. Henderson, very clean.\"\n\nHe looked at the page and smiled. \"Perfect. How much do I owe you?\"\n\nI waved a hand. \"Free of charge for an important client with an important purpose. It didn't take long, anyway-- just recommend me to your friends.\"\n\n\"Damn right, my man, good to run into someone that gets it. Good shit. See ya around.\"\n\nOnce the door shut behind him, I reclined in my chair and parted my lips into a wide smile, letting a little wisp of smoke trail out of my nose. I was concerned about who his father might be, but well, that was a problem for another day. Human men like him-- I've seen what they do to women they keep close by. And to call genies 'wishbitches'... \n\nBut it's okay, because no woman would go near him for quite some time. That should help the world out, a little bit. \n\nKatja: slang for *kattjassen*. \n\nThe Egoran word for 'penis'.\n\n----\n\n*/r/resonatingfury*",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "might as well spice things up a little.",
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"content": "\"If I must,\" he said, \"but only in exchange for freedom.\"\n\n\"We'll see,\" the creature said. Despite being a high ranking general he had a soft spot for books and stories.\n\n\"Hmph,\" George mumbled and sighed once more, \"well, it all begun with a whipplewhop.\"\n\n\"A *whipplewhop*?\" the alien repeated, \"what's that?\"\n\n\"A whipplewhop is a sinister creature. It lives in a dark abandoned place and often manipulate people who cross their path, usually by feeding them false information. Well, a particular whipplewhop crossed path with the most powerful person on our planet!\"\n\n\"Who?!\" the alien excitedly replied, already gripped by George's skilfully crafted story.\n\n\"The great sorcerer!\" he declared with a flourish, \"a sorcerer of illusion who, with his masterful words, fooled the whole nation into following him.\"\n\n\"A mastermind against a mastermind!\" said the alien.\n\n\"Indeed,\" he replied, \"the whipplewhop convinced the illusionist that his family was plotting to steal his power, which may not have been necessarily a lie. Upon hearing this the illusionist rushed home and killed his family, unfortunately his nephew got away and took refuge in another nation.\"\n\nAt this point the alien was entirely focused on the story, staring wide eyed at George.\n\n\"The illusionist then committed suicide when he realised what he had done. The news quickly spread and bordering nations moved in to claim the land. There was a prolonged war with no clear victor.\"\n\n\"Gruesome,\" commented the alien with great delight, \"keep going.\"\n\n\"With conflicting ideology, religion, ideal, and tradition, the nations could not find peace. There were many skirmishes, great battles, harrowing massacres. Dragons, undead armies, magic, sacrifices, everyone used their trump card. Kingdoms rose and fell, brothers slain, family fought, ties severed, promises broken. At the end of it all, nothing was left but ash and dust.\"\n\nThe alien clapped their hands.\n\n\"That was amazing!\"\n\n\"Thank you. There's more, of course, details of battles, assassinations, plots and schemes, but it would take a long time to tell them all.\"\n\n\"You know what, people would pay good money for this kind of thing. I'll give you a room, a servant or two, three square meals a day, everything free of charge, if you'll write a book on your species for me.\"\n\n\"And writing materials, perhaps a good paycheck every months too?\"\n\n\"Certainly. One question though, what would you call the book?\"\n\n\"How about *A Game of Thrones*.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " There is nothing unusual about a man in a business suit carrying a briefcase, rushing off to work. But since he just quickly passed you as you are climbing up Mount Everest in full winter gear, you have questions.",
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"content": "I was climbing the mountain alone when the man had brushed past me at a quick rate, almost bumping me off the side.\n\nI'd lost my guide and the rest of the expedition long ago. I had stopped to take a rest because I was feeling dizzy and sick and then they were gone.\n\nI was scared and lonely but I would make it to the top. No matter what.\n\n“Hey, wait,” I called out to the man.\n\n“Sorry,” he said, the voice soft and familiar.\n\nHe was in a suit, black silk shining in the sun. Not what I was expecting as I slowly made my way up Mount Everest.\n\nI remember this suit. My husband had the same suit. He had the same briefcase.\n\n“Where are you going?” I shouted.\n\nThe man turned. When I saw his face, I felt dizzy, confused.\n\nI remembered this exact moment framed within our doorway in our little house. Before the accident. I remember the way he looked at me, the way he smiled as he quickly stepped out of my life for the last time.\n\n“John?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”\n\n\\----\n\nMy husband and I had always talked about climbing Everest together. We were climbing enthusiasts. We hiked Mt. Lassen and Mt. Shasta in the same day once. Our climbing ambitions got higher and higher.\n\nHe proposed to me at the top of Mount Rainier. I said yes through the wind and sleet and we had our wedding ceremony up there a year later. Our maid and man of honor were our climbing buddies.\n\nI remember the way he turned to me before stepping out the door the morning of the accident. I was eating a bowl of cheerios, reading the news on my phone. He brushed past me, kissing my cheek. I can still picture the milk splashing off my spoon, the cheerios plopping in the milk as he bumped my shoulder.\n\n\"Sorry!\" he said smiling.\n\nI stuck my tongue out. This was a game he’d play to annoy me.\n\nWhen he bumped me, a cheerio had fallen on the ground and rolled to the corner of the kitchen under another chair. When the police called, I looked at the cheerio while they told me my husband died crossing the street heading to his work.\n\nI left that cheerio on the ground, never touching it. It’s amazing how such small objects take on such significance when the weight of our world is pulled into them. When it represents a time prior to catastrophe. A cataclysmic tear of the simple, loving life we were moving through just moments before. Without feelings or appreciation of its greatness. How it can be snatched from us at any minute.\n\nThe cheerio was gone one day. A mouse must have finally eaten it.\n\nI cried on the floor until my lungs burned and my face felt numb, and I wanted to burn the house down. I hated the world then. I sat around and watched shows. And that’s when I saw the documentary on Everest.\n\nJohn and I would watch climbing documentaries together. We talked about climbing to the summit of Everest one day. On our five year anniversary.\n\nToday was our five-year anniversary and I was taking his ashes to the top of the mountain.\n\nI started training for this trip a year ago.\n\nMy family told me I was crazy, but I was going to take him to the summit no matter what. I was obsessed. And I know John was with me. Looking over me. I felt him within me. It felt right, what I was doing. And no one was going to stop me.\n\n\\---\n\n“I came to get you, Mary,” John said.\n\n“I don’t understand,” I said. My eyes were filling with tears. The glossy snow was burning brilliantly in the sun.\n\n“You died,” John said as he stepped up to me. \"Lack of oxygen.\"\n\nHe said this as though none of it mattered.\n\nI looked down and I realized I wasn’t wearing my climbing gear anymore. I was in the bath robe I was wearing that morning. The last time I saw him. He walked up to me and tightened the plush belt of the robe and kissed me on the forehead like he used to. I could smell his cologne. I could smell his scent.\n\nI forgot how much I missed his scent. It’s amazing how fast things fade even when you’d burn the world to hold those memories within you.\n\n“Come,” John said. “It’s beautiful at the top.”\n\n\\---\n\nr/CataclysmicRhythmic",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " During a robbery you’re surprised when the criminals seem to recognize you and retreat in fear. Only later you learn that your high school sweetheart now runs a global crime syndicate and has you placed on a “no harm list” . You decide to pay them a visit after all these years .",
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"content": "Liao had been in the Beijing market looking at seafood when someone fired a gun.\n\nThe fish almost looked comfortable on the bed of ice, like it was being pampered in some kind of strange aquatic spa. He was about to purchase a cut of tuna when he heard the gun.\n\nMen, and maybe women too — it was hard to say behind the helmets — rode through the market on mopeds, demanding sellers place their money into plastic bags. Rather than worry, it made Liao think of a bad Wild West movie. But the mopeds and flashing neon billboards high above, feeding the dusky sky with thick green light, pushed the movie into science fiction.\n\nOne thug fired a warning shot into the air to hurry along an elderly pastry seller who was fumbling with her handbag. The lady dropped her bag, startled.\n\n“Idiot!” The gunman lowered his weapon until it took aim at her.\n\nLiao felt like he was watching himself in third person, like a computer game character — one with many extra lives. He ran between the lady and her assailant and said, “Stop! Can’t you see her hands are shaking?”\n\nThe assailant turned his helmeted head to another masked man next to him.\n\nLiao asked the woman, “Are you alright?”\n\nShe nodded. “I have arthritis.”\n\nThe masked man said, “I don’t care what you have, you have five seconds to put your money in my bag.”\n\n“I’ll gather it for her,” said Liao, picking up her handbag.\n\nA gunshot went off somewhere else in the market.\n\n”Shit,” said the gunman. “Hurry up then. Don’t try anything funny.”\n\nBut Liao barely felt like he was there. Not worried about himself at all. He picked up the fallen bag and approached the two men on their bikes. “Here,” he said, reaching into the bag.\n\nThe old woman had a brick of a mobile phone — very old and solid, huge buttons made for wrinkled, shaking fingers. Liao snatched it from the bag and held it like a knuckleduster.\n\nIt cracked against the first man’s helmet; he slipped off his bike, tangling himself on the ground.\n\nLiao was about to go for the second man. But he was too slow.\n\nHe saw the gun aimed at him. He’d never make it in time. Never land a blow.\n\nHe heard the gunshot. For a moment, he could have sworn he felt it as it buried into his chest like the sting of a hornet.\n\nBut he couldn’t have felt it. Because a third man — another in a helmet — had jumped in front of the gun. A spurt of blood painted out of him as the bullet drilled through his leather jacket and into his shoulder.\n\n”What?” said the shooter. “Why did you do that? Hell!”\n\nThe shot man was on his knees.\n\nLiao’s heart was pumping hard. Had he gotten lucky?\n\n”He’s on the no go list,” wheezed the injured man. He turned and looked at Liao. “If he’d been shot, we’d all have lost our lives. Our families too, I bet. Xiaoqing was serous with that order.”\n\n“Shit,” the shooter said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“\n\n”Just help me up.”\n\nLiao watched in stunned silence as the men got back on their mopeds and left the market. No go list? Surely they had the wrong man.\n\nEventually, he turned to the old woman. He still had her phone in his hand. “Here,” he said, passing it over.\n\nThe old woman looked him up and down. ”It’s cracked,” she said, curtly.\n\n”Cracked? Well, yes, but at least I saved your money.”\n\n”I’d not sold anything yet today. I only had bus fare.”\n\nLiao sighed and bought a pastry from the lady’s stall. It wouldn’t get her a new phone, but it seemed to stop her complaining. He turned and walked back towards the fish. But... maybe he’d leave them today. Have noodles instead. The police would be here soon and he wasn’t in the mood to spend the rest of the evening providing statements.\n\nXiaoqing. He’d once known a girl called Cheng Xiaoqing. They’d dated, but only for a few days. It’d been a long time since he’d thought of her.\n\nPerhaps he’d make some enquires. See what she was up to these days.\n\nThe evening had gotten cold. Liao realised his arms were damp from sweat. Perhaps he’d been more scared than he thought.\n\nA no go list. As in, a person not to shoot? Surely they had the wrong man.\n\nHis mind wandered along with him towards the bus stop, thinking idly about Cheng.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\\-\n\nPart 2 below :)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "John Wick.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"See ya, Mom!\" John yelled through the already closing front door, running down the steps and out towards the waiting school bus. \n\n\"Bye John!\" called his Mother, catching the door just before it slammed shut, \"you stay out of trouble today, you hear?\" \n\nClimbing on to the bus, John nervously walked to his seat, keeping a careful distance away from the jocks, the gang wannabes, and the nerds as he squeezed through. By the time he had got to his place, he was sweating. Fidgeting, he slung off his bag and placed it on the empty seat next to him. No-one really wanted to sit next to him either, as if his autism would spread through the air. \n\nTaking deep breaths to calm himself, he went through his usual routine, trying to calm his mind that relentlessly began to review every small detail he'd picked up. \n\nThe driver had been drinking again, the smell of whiskey on his breath, eyes bloodshot. His right leg hung looser and heavier than usual over the side of the seat, a bulge in his side pocket matching the size of a small firearm of some description. His reaction times would be impaired. It wouldn't really help much that the engine was revving slightly out-of-tune today either. \n\nThe gang members were noticeably quiet, heads down on their phones, probably orchestrating another deal during school hours. Each wore something with green, a clear sign for anyone as to which group they belonged. Just the smell from them was enough to make anyone high. \n\nThe jocks were , well, the jocks. Jovial and loud, too self-absorbed in there own world to care for anyone else. John really didn't want to think too much about them, but, as he tried not to, an all too familiar voice rang out in his ears, it's attention firmly upon him.\n\n\"Hey John *Dick*!\" he laughed, slapping his friends on the back as they all turned to face John's direction. It was Brad Towers, Quarterback star of the high school football team, and John's worst nightmare. From day one, he'd relentlessly bullied John, preying on the fact he was autistic. \n\n\"What is it? Too much going on? Am I too loud for you, retard?\" he shouted directly into John's ear, taking up the seat beside him. As the bus began to move, John looked out of the window, hoping that Brad would lose interest and move away and leave him to count the number of mailboxes before they arrived at school. He didn't move. Leaning in closer, he whispered. \n\n\"Listen, I've heard that the drugs guys like you can get can improve performance right? I could use some of that John, you know? For the good of the team. We're pals, right?\" he said, nudging John heavily in the arm. Brad was probably already on a whole host of performance enhancing substances judging by his flushed face and elevated pulse, John noticing his jugular pumping and swollen at all times. \n\nJohn ignored him. The bus entered the freeway.\n\n\"Hey! I'm taking to you fuckwit!\" he screamed, and this time, he didn't nudge John, but punched him heavily in the arm. John had felt the air move and change around him, and sensed the shift in Brad's intentions and the minute twitches of the tells in his face, but didn't try to avoid the blow. \n\nIt hurt. John recoiled against the window, holding his arm. He didn't cry, though. John had stopped crying a long time ago. \n\nHe knew another blow would come, but just before it did, the whole bus lurched. \n\n\"What the fuck is this crazy guy doing?\" the bus Driver called out, suddenly ram-rod straight in his seat. \n\nJohn watched as a truck directly behind the bus rammed straight into it's back, causing the back window to smash and Brad to fly down the aisle. John's head whipped forward and smashed against the seat in-front, warm blood trickling down his face. \n\nWhile everyone screamed and the bus driver raged, his wild movements attempting to keep control of the bus's steering wheel, John lifted his head up. He was dazed slightly he knew, but, while everyone around him was suddenly panicking, flailing around and gripping on to things for dear life, John found himself calm, focused. \n\nMore focused than he had ever been, with a clarity he'd never had before.\n\nHe turned to look behind him just in time to see a figure leap from the truck behind and onto the roof of the bus. The truck veered and smashed into the traffic behind it before flipping over, crushing several vehicles. More screams of fear. \n\nThe bus driver slammed on the brakes, but not so suddenly that John didn't notice and move himself to prepare for it. Other students weren't so lucky, slamming around and into each other painfully, the shards of glass from the back cutting and making the bus slick with blood. \n\nWhatever had been on the roof slid off the front and landed heavily into the road ahead. \n\nJust as the bus driver recovered from his daze, his hands still gripped firmly on the wheel in fear, a blast rang out, the windscreen of the bus exploding with a rain of blood to follow it. The lifeless body of the driver slumped down and off his seat. \n\nEveryone went into full panic mode, wanting to escape off the front of the bus, but daring not to go past the bloody corpse that lay blocking the exit. \n\n*Get the gun.* \n\nJohn dived forward, keeping low. Feeling at the drivers side, he found what he knew had been there. A small pistol. He pulled it out slowly, and then darted back towards the back of the bus. \n\n*Get out the back, get distance. Stay low.*\n\nBrad , in a daze, tried to get up and in his way, but seeing the black metal of the gun quickly jumped back, eyes-wide.\n\nJohn got to the back window, and caring not for the cutting pain as he placed his hands on the broken glass, jumped out and down to the road. \n\nJust as he did, he heard the heavy sound of the bus wobble as someone entered through the front entrance. \n\n\"Have you seen this boy?\" he heard a man speak, his voice deep and monotone. \n\n\"The..the...retard? He went out the back\" \n\nA blast of a shotgun, more screams. \n\n\"Thank you\" \n\n*One man. Shotgun. Two rounds fired.*\n\n*Go, now.*\n\nJohn darted for the nearest car, his gun raised. The lady in front did not need persuading to quickly leave the drivers seat. He hopped in, and without so much as a moments hesitation put the car into gear, and sped off back in the opposite direction, aiming for the turn off just down the road. For someone who had only barely begun learning to drive, his actions executed flawlessly with the skills of a seasoned driver. \n\nJohn's hands gripped the wheel. What the hell was this feeling? This power...his mind was calculating everything, performing any action with utter flawlessness. Such focus.\n\nShaking his head, he looked in his rear view mirror just in time to see someone leap from the back of the truck, and begin running after him. Running. Fast. \n\nJohn did not panic. He didn't even sweat. With a laser sharp focus and pure intent, his mind began laying out what needed to be done, not a single doubt or hint of hesitation marring the thoughts, as if it had finally found the stimulus it needed to function. \n\nHe knew he would do it. Whoever it was, whatever it was, he would kill them. He would kill them all.\n\n/r/FatDragon \n\nSmashed out a quick part 2 below in the comments, enjoy!\n\n*Sorry if I didn't do this justice!*",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You have narrowly avoided death dozens of times by sheer coincidence. Later, you learn it wasn’t a coincidence, you are so vital to history, time travelers have been doing everything they can to keep you alive.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"Ah-HAH!\"\n\nI jumped up from the chair where I had been feigning sleep. My feet sent an empty vodka bottle tumbling across the tile floor. On my stove, a supposedly-forgotten panful of hot oil was just beginning to smoke. And in the middle of my dingy kitchen stood a short man, wearing a white jumpsuit and an expression of dismay. \n\nCaught in the act!\n\nHe reached for a terminal mounted on his wrist, but I was quicker to react. Knees protesting, I leapt towards him and bore him to the ground underneath me, struggling to control his wrists. We skittered across the greasy tiles as we fought for control.\n\n\"Look,\" I growled through clenched teeth. \"I just want. Some answers. Then I'll let you. Go!\"\n\nI punctuated my reasonable request by bringing my head down sharply towards my mysterious visitor. There was a painful thud and a crunch as my forehead impacted his nose, followed shortly by a cry of pain.\n\n\"Fuck! Ow, Jesus! I'm just trying to help!\"\n\nI sat up a little, still pinning my visitor's wrists, shaking my head to clear the ringing in my ears. Maybe I'd been a bit too abrupt.\n\n\"Oh yeah, I know all about your 'trying to help'.\" I shot back. \"Always meddling in my life, and then disappearing without an explanation. As if I wouldn't notice! You think I'm stupid or something?\"\n\nThere was a brief diplomatic silence from my visitor, which I broke by cocking my forehead in a threatening manner. He sighed deeply, in the manner of a child caught with their hand all the way in the cookie jar.\n\n\"Alright, alright. We're supposed to pretend to be crazy if you catch us, but apparently you've been more observant than we gave you credit for. Also, if you hit me again, I think you'll break my nose, so I'd prefer not to do that.\"\n\n\"Keep talkin', and nobody gets hurt.\" I'd *always* wanted to use that line. \"Or, well, start talkin'. What's with the weird jumpsuits? Who are you guys?\"\n\n\"Really?\" My visitor raised an eyebrow. \"You just caught proof of a vast conspiracy and your first concern is fashion?\" \n\nMy forehead itched, but I managed to restrain myself. \"Look, who's to say what's peri, pertenin-, important, and what isn't, arright? I know you guys show up when it looks like I'm in danger. That's how I knew to set up the scene with the hot oil and the vodka bottle. What I wanna know is, why? And why do you only show up sometimes? I could've really used you guys when I broke my arm last year.\"\n\n\"The why is kind of a long story. But, uhm.\" My visitor glanced aside, chewing his lower lip, blood beginning to leak from a nostril. \"We don't show up when you're in danger, per se. We show up specifically when you're going to die.\"\n\n\"Wait, so you're like, assassins?\" My eyes widened, and I drew back my head-\n\n\"What? No! Have you been listening to yourself?\" The visitor cringed away from me. \"We're time travelers! We show up to save your life! Despite your best efforts, I might add!\" \n\nI hesitated as puzzle pieces began to click into place. \"So you're saying, every time you showed up, I was gonna die?\"\n\nA nod.\n\n\"Like that one time, in seventh grade, with the snake-charming? Or that time I went to go to Georgia, but accidently ended up in the country instead of the state? Or last week, with the skateboard and the peanut butter and the propane?\"\n\n\"We don't know what would have happened, exactly. But we know you were going to die, yes. I assume that, had I not shown up to this tawdry scene, you would've fallen asleep, and died in the ensuing kitchen fire. Nice one.\"\n\nI sat up, letting go of his wrists, and slowly picked myself up off the ground.\n\n\"So that time a guy in a white jumpsuit spilled his drink all over me at six flags...?\"\n\n\"We think you would've done something stupid on the rides.\" My visitor stood up slowly, steadying himself on my fridge. \"That was me, by the way. You're welcome.\"\n\n\"But, wait. Even if I believe all this, why're you going through all the trouble? I mean, you don't do this for everyone, do you?\"\n\nMy visitor chuckled, fiddling with his wrist-mounted terminal. \"Well, no. No, you're special. Y'see, David, out of all the people that have ever lived, you're the one with the greatest capacity for slapstick. You're, potentially, the funniest person in history. You're not a comedian, no. You don't mean to be funny, you just kinda, well. Suck. Sorry. But that's okay, because the shit you do accidently is incredible! You are going to star in the funniest video the world has ever *seen*. I can't tell you what happens, because that'd ruin it. But trust me, it'll be incredible.\"\n\nAs I tried to digest this, a loud beeping filled the room.\n\n\"The bright side is, you don't need to know what you're gonna do. Just keep being your stupid, stupid self, and we'll be there to babyproof reality for you. Now I've gotta get this nose looked at, and you... should probably take care of that oil fire. And don't you dare use water, just put the fucking lid on it. There you go. If I have to come back here before my nose has healed, I'm bringing a taser. Bye now!\n\nMy visitor left me, to deep confusion, a smoke-filled kitchen, and the beginnings of a headache.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Gene modifications come in two flavors. Mods the rich give themselves to make them healthier and better looking, and mods they give their employees to make them better workers. Generations later, Elves and dwarves are different species, and earth is on the verge of it's first interspecies war.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Both sides agree that is was the Labor Revolution of the 2090's that was the tipping point. A few hundred years ago, the \"every-man\" rose up. Complaining about living conditions, about feeling useless, but mostly about the robots. Who is going to pay you a living wage when a robot can do it better, cheaper, and 24x7?\n\nThe wisest corporations, those still around today, declared they'd go robot-free and only hire human labor. The destruction and the unrest began to slow. But with so many people starving and looking for work, only the strongest and tireless were hired, picked out of the crowds to toil for the Corporations. Soon, people began drugging themselves to build muscle or go without sleep, but these alterations came with consequences, and their bodies soon broke down.\n\nLooking for better solutions, some turned to black-market doctors, with promises of permanent changes, for them and their children. These Grinders, as they were called, played with DNA, making their patients stronger and hardier. But the real changes were seen in their children. The altered DNA could reach it's full potential when working with an empty canvas. With bones like iron and muscle like rock, these children never had to worry about going hungry.\n\nBut this was just a shadow of the true technology the corporations possessed. Their leaders were increasing their beauty, expanding their intelligence, and extending their lives. And like the Laborers, the Elite's children were the finished artwork compared to the lumpy clay of their Corporate parents.\n\nWhen these children grew to adulthood, they easily dispatched their parents and replaced them in the hierarchies. Sheltered from life outside their enclaves, they only knew luxury, and knew they wanted more of it. What was once optional alterations for the laborers, became mandatory, along with \"efficiency best-practices to empower their core-competencies\". Laborers became shorter to waste less food and water. Gorilla-like body hair returned for everyone, reducing the need for expenditures on clothes. Night-vision was bred into the population, further cutting electricity costs.\n\nProfits were soaring and the corporate elite, disparagingly called Elves by the labors due to their fragile frames, were basking in opulence. But then it happened, the ground under a corporate headquarters collapsed, killing all inhabits. At first it was thought to be effects of global-warming, but the Elven scientist had long reversed that trend and returned the world to nature.\n\nTunnels were found at the site. A group, calling themselves Dwarves, took responsibility and demanded an uprising. The Elite and the Laborers were so far separated, not only by genetics but the lives they experienced, they couldn't recognize each other as humans. Dwarves demanded the Elves share the bounty that was earned of off their backs. Soon, roads were disappearing into sinkholes, dams were bursting, costs were rising, and profits were plummeting.\n\nWhat the Dwarves didn't know was the Elves had not sat idly by, letting their gene technology wither. Many tortured souls can attest to the evil magics of the corporate labs. The creatures that the Elven leaders created, twisted, and mass-produced will ensure this war will be no Labor Revolution and the Dwarves will pay a heavy price. The world's population is about to clash, and when the dust settles, only the one species will be left to inherit humanity's crown.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " It’s the zombie apocalypse except only the senior citizens are infected. With frail joints and no teeth, the general population is merely inconvenienced by rapid grandpas and grandmas trying to gum them to death.",
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"content": "*In other news, it appears as if the senior citizen virus - dubbed Serca by the CDC - has begun to take its toll on the economy; with a 12 percent decrease in the active labor force, almost half of the Senate out of commission, and increased pressure on healthcare, the USA could be heading towards a complete colla-* \n\n\nI flick the TV off, chewing the inside of my lip. Bad habit. \n\n\nThe fearmongering in the news has already started, it seems. Two years ago, Serca hadn't been much to fear - if anything, the internet had done its best to ensure that the disease was just a joke, *a meme*. News outlets had laughed before offering commiserations, and some of the afflicted elderly had even been put into 'zoos' of sorts to make some kind of fucked up recreational centers where people could still interact with their loved ones, even as their brains withered into dust. \n\n\nOf course, like with a lot of things in life, that fell through rather quickly. \n\n\nAlthough it was common knowledge that the elderly tended to lack the teeth required for transmission, it quickly became apparent that most forms of intimate interaction worked just as well; saliva, nails drawing blood, what have you. And, being undead, there wasn't much to inhibit their attempts to kill. \n\n\nWhen the military started to get involved, things really began going to shit. Mass cullings of the infected, and containment of the elderly. People had their cherished grandparents torn from their very arms, being told it was for their 'safety'. \n\n\nA counter-culture quickly formed. People took to the streets to display their disgust at the infringement of their rights. They didn't know which one, of course, but they were still pissed. And there were lots of them. To be honest, their signs and shouting initially amounted to very little - once again, the internet would have had you believe it was all a joke or publicity stunt. That is, in the short run. \n\n\nEventually, they did gain traction. As livid, stupid masses tend to. So the issue went straight to Congress - or, rather, what remained of it. An amendment to the eighth had to be proposed and ratified, stipulating that '*cruel and unusual punishment*' does not apply in the case of Serca-infected elderly. \n\n\nBut law-making and bureaucracy are tricky little things - making an amendment is like trying to slap a buzzing fly. You'll miss the mark a few times, and people will begin to call you out on your idiotic flailing; so you'll try and pinpoint the issue, isolate the fly to a single space from which it can't escape so you can guarantee a kill shot. Unfortunately, this process takes ages. Years, even. \n\n\nThings did not get better in the interim. \n\n\nThey still haven't. \n\n\nI can already see my skin peeling at the edges of my body, making way for a greenish tinge on the recovering layer. I've always heard that 'turning' is a long process, but I never realised it was so subtle. If it weren't for the fact I was constantly teething air - or, sometimes, the mangled inside of my cheek - I wouldn't have even been able to know. \n\n\nI suppose it doesn't matter at this point. \n\n\nPeople are leaving the country, leaving their elderly behind. The protests are still in full swing, and the Government is still twiddling its thumbs. \n\n\nWhat do I matter in the picture?\n\n\nJust an old man, barely able to get up from his seat without the aid of a nurse that has long since left, slowly, agonizingly waiting for himself to turn. \n\n\nMaybe, just *maybe* - and this is a fleeting hope - life might be better as a zombie. No pain. No inhibition. No stiff bones and sleepless nights. \n\n\nI can already feel my fingers and toes going numb, indicating to me that the first stage of infection is at its end. \n\n\nI hear a knock on my door. When I don't respond, it's followed by a crash, the sound of wood and metal breaking. \n\n\nFootsteps resonate throughout the house; heavy boots against age-old stone. And then, the cocking of guns. \n\n\nThey've come for me. The notion of the US armed forces bursting into a retirement home would've almost been funny if it wasn't so morbid. \n\n\nThe first stage is ending now. I can feel it. \n\n\nMy room takes a reddish tinge - maybe it's simply a trick of the eye or a figment of my imagination. Either way, the effect lingers; a reddish hunger that's reflected in my stomach, which rumbles pathetically. \n\n\nFor some reason, I really want to eat. \n\n\n*I really want to.* \n\n\nSecond stage: rapid break-down of neural functions. \n\n\nLoss of memory. \n\n\nLoss of ability to communicate, and then loss of cognitive thinking. Rationality makes way for impulse. \n\n\n*What makes way for what now?* \n\n\nRight, the third stage: flesh begins to go through necrosis. Regenerative capabilities arise. I think? \n\n\nI'm honestly not quite sure. \n\n\nWhere am I again? Oh, yes, of course - I'm Mark, and I'm 82. Wait, 83. I love my niece, but I can't quite remember their name. \n\n\ndo i have a niece?\n\n\ni vaguely recall never having children \n\n\ni always hated them they made me very *hungry*...\n\n\n*Eh?* Right. Of course. That'd just be the turning. I definitely had a child. A beautiful, delicious daughter called...\n\n**flesh**\n\n\n*What?* \n\n\n*..................*\n\n*............*\n\n*. . .* \n\n*Ah.*\n\n------\n\n*Im* hungri. Deari me. \n\n\nmi stumac. rumbalz... hunga. \n\n\nth....... \n\ndur..... \n \no pan sss. \n\n\n**f o o d** ",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " In a world of spoken spells, the most dangerous casters are the rappers.",
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"content": "The Club, the most notorious den of spell-craft and wizardry in the entire kingdom. Only the truly skilled and most gifted spell casters would dare step foot inside its illustrious walls. \n\nExcept, Tito who worked in the kitchen as a dishwasher. \n\n\"Hurry up, Tito. We got a packed house and you're falling behind. Like usual,\" Danero dropped a stack of plates and silverware into the soaking tub throwing suds over Tito's clothes. \n\n\"Yeah, yeah,\" Tito said quietly and began working the stuck on grime and food off of the metal plates. They had stopped using glassware and porcelain due to them being destroyed almost every night. \n\nTito could feel the bass vibrating through his feet and he could feel the crowd moving to the music. Soon the real show would begin, and Tito would be back here, scrubbing dishes. \n\nDanero pushed through the kitchen door into the club proper. Tito caught a glimpse of men and women gyrating to the music. The crowd was more energetic than normal, because they were here to see El Diablo. The fastest, most lyrical wizard the world had ever seen. He was undefeated and tonight he would defend his honor against a young upstart named Ice. \n\nThe bass faded to a quiet rumble as the MC took the stage. Tito snuck out of the kitchen and pressed himself against the wall to watch. \n\n\"It's the time you've all been waiting for. Coming to you straight from the streets is a new name you may have heard of. Colder than a blizzard, chiller than winter, ICE!\" The MC bellowed. \n\nThe crowd cheered as the young man sauntered onto the stage. He grabbed his crotch and threw up his hand in an offensive salute. \n\n\"And the champ. Hotter than the devil himself, the epitome of fire, El Diablo!\" \n\nThe Club shook with the thunderous roar of the crowd. El Diablo was young, covered from his neck to his waist in magical glyphs. He cut an imposing figure against his younger smaller opponent. \n\n\"The rules are as follows, only one man walks out of this arena alive. Challenger goes first.\" The MC ducked out of the way clearing the stage for the two men.\n\nIce stepped forward, puffed his chest out and took a deep breath.\n\nHe broke into verse so fast the crowd was stunned into silence. Spells flew from his lips and began to manifest on top of each other. A fireball, a bolt of ice, a small tornado blasted forth from the man. \n\nEl Diablo didn't flinch. He began to speak, his tongue hitting each syllable with frightening accuracy. He threw up a shield which absorbed the fireball, dispelled the tornado, and threw a wall of fire which melted the bolt of ice. \n\nIce staggered backward, there was no way anyone could have stopped all three of his spells that quickly. \n\n\"Now it's my turn,\" El Diablo grinned.\n\nHis words tumbled over each other, words began to blend starting before another was even finished. It was like the man was speaking with two separate voices, each one casting spells simultaneously. \n\nIce's eyes went wide with the realization that his opponent wasn't a man. He was something worse, something far, far worse. \n\nHe defended himself against the first volley of spells thrown his way, but they were coming too quickly. Ice's body began to glow a deep crimson as a wicked smile crept across El Diablo's face.\n\nHeat spread through Ice's veins like molten lead, he felt blood vessels rupture from the intense heat.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" he wailed.\n\nEl Diablo spoke one more word with finality. \n\nIce's flesh blackened and split like an over cooked sausage and then he ruptured. Charred organs spilled across the stage as parts of his body collapsed into ash. \n\nThe crowd burst cheers. El Diablo never disappointed.\n\nHe bowed to his fans and stepped off of the stage. His cold gaze swept through the crowd as if he were searching for something, or someone. Finally El Diablo's eyes focused on what he was looking. \n\nTito was pressing through the kitchen door to return to the dishes he was neglecting when a hand fell on his shoulder.\n\n\"May I have a word with you?\" A quiet voice asked.\n\nTito turned and his throat seized. He was staring at El Diablo himself. \n\nHe nodded numbly.\n\n\"Do you like washing dishes, Tito?\" \n\n\"No,\" Tito squeaked out.\n\n\"I need an apprentice. And there is something about you, Tito. Something you don't even understand yet. What do you say?\"\n\nTito tore his apron off and threw it to the floor. \n\n--- \n\n[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/8b9rwg/wp_in_a_world_of_spoken_spells_the_most_dangerous/)\n ",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Medusa befriends a blind princess after she accidentally wanders into her cave. Unfortunately for the princess’ suitors, Medusa has now developed a crush and doesn’t take well to competition.",
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"content": "Medusa threw her hands up in exasperation as she navigated through the thick forest of statues that clogged the entrance to her cave. It had been getting worse lately, her friend’s dowry must have been truly massive for this many men to have risked coming.\n\n“Artemisia I swear to the gods, if you don’t bring some of your servants to clean this mess up the next time you visit I’ll throw you out myself. This is getting out of hand!”\n\nArtemisia giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand in the ludicrous fashion of the local court. “And how will the servants come in without being frozen too? You seem to have quite the passion for it.”\n\n“I’m a passionate woman,” Medusa said, “but I can have some compassion too, especially for servants I happen to need. I’ll go hide in the back, they’ll never even see me.”\n\n“Swear it?” Artemisia held out her pinky, wagging it back and forth with a smile.\n\n“Sworn.” They clasped fingers for a moment, Medusa holding on a bit too long like always.\n\n“You know this can’t last forever,\" the princess said softly when their fingers finally parted.\n\nMedusa knew that of course. She knew it in the deepest parts of her soul and had since the princess stumbled in here two years ago. Artemisia had been out in the woods with a suitor too stupid to realize how dangerous they would be for a blind girl, with handlers far too trusting of his badges of office. How Artemisia had managed to get lost was still a mystery to Medusa, though she suspected there was far more to the story than her friend was willing to tell, but creatures such as her had learned not to look too hard at such things. You took joy where you could, and friendship in whatever forms it was offered.\n\nEspecially friendships like this.\n\n“I know it can’t,” Medusa whispered, “but let me lie to myself a little longer.” The princess smiled at her, reaching out to caress her face. Her skin was burning hot on the gorgon’s scaly flesh. Several of the snakes that sprouted from Medusa’s head bent down, their tongues brushing Artemisia’s soft skin. Medusa could feel every bit of it, as if she had a hundred extra fingers, all straining to focus down onto one point.\n\n“That tickles!” the princess said, giggling. This time she did not cover her mouth.\n\nBut today the mood turned, and though Artemisia’s lips looked so shockingly red and supple Medusa knew she must turn with it.\n\n“My father said there will be a new arrival tomorrow night. A prince from Ferraut, one I can’t offend.” The serpents fell from the princess’s hand and she withdrew it slowly, mournfully. “I worry about you if I must leave,” she said.\n\nFerraut. Some places were too important to be trifled with, especially to a kingdom as small as Artemisia’s. It didn’t make it sting any less, nothing would have, but Medusa still understood.\n\n“You won’t be introducing us I take it?” Medusa said, feigning lightheartedness. She did a poor job.\n\n“I met him once you know, when we were young.” Her friend’s voice was far away, perhaps in some highland villa or Ferraut’s seaside palace. Places a creature like her could never go. “He was kind then, my handmaiden said he bowed deeply, appeared to listen attentively to everything I said even though he didn’t have to. She said he was handsome.”\n\n“A kind man wouldn’t take you away!” Medusa said.\n\n“A kind world wouldn’t,” her friend amended. “A kind man might have no choice.”\n\nThey sat in silence a long time, the snakes that wreathed Medusa’s head hissing wildly. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the princess, though her image was already burned so deeply into Medusa’s memory that she didn’t have to.\n\n“I should go,” Artemisia said finally, rising. “Father will be worried about me.”\n\nMedusa couldn’t speak, she couldn’t say goodbye, couldn’t give any indication of her tears. Her friend’s brow raised questioningly and she couldn’t even find the words for what Artemisia didn’t see.\n\n“I’ll send the servants in a few days,” Artemisia said, “one of them will bring a letter from me, if it comes to that.”\n\nThe princess turned, her shoulders falling, and she took her first careful step towards the exit. Medusa’s hand shot out, grabbing the girl’s arm. Her grip was too tight but she couldn’t help herself; she couldn’t possibly stop no matter how the mood was supposed to have turned.\n\n“He arrives at night?” Medusa asked, her voice a ragged, straining hiss. Artemisia nodded once, there were tears in her eyes too. Medusa stepped in close, her senses were filled by the princess’s scent, the beat of her heart, the warmth of her skin.\n\n“Then stay with me till morning,” Medusa said. Their lips met a moment later, Medusa screwing her eyes shut. Life became as dark for her as it must have been for her friend, and suddenly the world didn’t extend beyond the burning heat of Artemisia’s skin. The two passed the night together under the stony gaze of suitors who had never been able to come between them, trying to forget the weight of the only one who could.\n\n\\-------\n\nIf you enjoyed that there's a ton more over at r/TurningtoWords, including another monster story where I tried to humanize [Bloody Mary](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/comments/kha6j4/wp_if_you_say_bloody_mary_3_times_in_front_of_a/). Come check it out, I'd love to have you.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Everyone loves the new CEO of the Make-A-Wish foundation. Is it because of his strange blue skin? His propensity for bursting into song? His incredible Robin Williams impression? Either way, Gene E. Adalamp has truly changed the world.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"I don't understand Michelle, why is he so great?\"\n\nAs the newest hire at the Make a Wish foundation, I could not wrap my head around why such an odd man was head of such a prestigious charity. Michelle has always been an inspiration to me, she started her own charity for at-risk kids when she was just 20. It grew to be one of the most successful charities in the world and she was even nominated for a Nobel peace prize. I couldn't understand why someone like her, admired someone as strange as Mr. Adalamp.\n\n\"Oh hush now Dave, there's no need to talk like that. You know it's not good to be jealous.\"\n\n\"I'm not jealous of him, I just want to know what's so great about him. He's always singing while I'm trying to book flights to Disney land. I can't get any work done when he's around. and he goes around the kids doing that silly Auntie character Robin Williams played. \"\n\n\"It's spot on! The kids think it's funny.\"\n\n\"The kids don't even know who Miss Doubtfire is! They just laugh because he makes that really weird face.\"\n\n\"Oh Dave, I think it's quite good. You seem bothered about something, what is this really about?\"\n\nI looked around to make sure no one was listening in and lowered my voice to a whisper \n\n\"Do you know that account 3A has 4 million dollars missing? I reported it to Mr. Adalamp but he told me that it's all accounted for and that it was just a small clerical error. I checked the other accounts and there's a lot of money missing from each one. I know for a fact, that someone as smart as you, wouldn't miss these so-called errors.\"\n\nI took out the documents to be able to show her what I was talking about. \n\n\"He's been skimming off the top. Every year since he's been the CEO. Probably 30 million stolen at this point.\"\n\nI waited for a reaction from Michelle. She took the papers but made no attempt to read the accounts I had just handed her.\n\n\"You won't tell anyone about this, understand?\" Michelle said firmly.\n\nI shook my head \"What? What do you mean? There's no way we can let him get away with something like this.....\" Then it dawned on me. \"You know, don't you?\"\n\nShe ripped up the account papers. \"Of course I know.\" She snapped, still in a hushed tone. She looked at me very seriously. \n\n \"You haven't been here long enough Dave. You don't know what the foundation is really like.\"\n\nI was stunned, what could make someone as pure as Michelle turn over to the dark side? \"What do you mean? Make a Wish foundation is one of the most trustworthy foundations in the world!\" \n\nShe shushed me before speaking and spoke in a very angry but whispered voice\n\n\"Yes, this charity is not known for skimming off the top but have you ever considered how the money we raise is spent? Did you know that 60% of our annual budget is spent solely on Disneyland experiences? How many kids really need to go to Disney Land? We pressure kids to go because Disney is one of our largest donors. Do you know how cruel it is to send a Paraplegic to Disney? He can't go on any of the rides or eat any of the food, all he can do is take photos with Mickey mouse for our Fucking Press corps.\"\n\nI flinched a little, I had never heard Michelle swear before. \n\nShe continued on \" Mr. Adalamp is giving kids real wishes, ones that will help them in the long term. He helped get Danny's mom her job back at Ford. He got Jenny's brother on our health insurance, to make sure he could afford insulin for the rest of his life. And Michael....\" She paused not sure if she should go on. \n\n\"Michael wanted to go to Spain right? I planned that trip myself!\" I asked in a panicked.\n\n\"Micheal wanted his dad gone.\" She said finally.\n\n\"What?! Why?\" \n\n\"He was an abusive alcoholic that beat his wife. Michael didn't want his mom to suffer anymore so he asked Mr. Adalamp to make sure that his mom was never hurt again.\"\n\nSuddenly a memory came back to me. I remembered booking 3 tickets to Spain for Michael but only booking 2 tickets back. I was too afraid to ask.\n\nMichelle stared at me fiercely \"The Make a Wish Foundation grants wishes that adults THINK kids want. Mr. Adalamp grants the wishes that they NEED. He does it all by himself and if anyone found out, he'd go to jail for the rest of his life. So when he does his Robin Williams impressions, you better smile and laugh like the rest of us.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " One night, you are taken into a UFO for several hours. You don’t remember much, and question your sanity. Weeks later a call comes in from the alien’s law enforcement, asking if you’d like to press charges for unlawful abduction.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"I'm sorry could you run that by me again?\"\n\nThe voice from the other end had that canny but satisfying retro feeling to it that my asking again was half because some person introduced herself as an intergalactic law enforcement operative who called me up and confirmed what I'd been questioning for weeks now, and half because I just had the strangest urge to pin that voice and whoever was behind it against the wall and run my tongue against her collarbone.\n\n\"I am Eid'ee, interspecies security operative representing the Milky Way district of the United Galaxies Sentients Safety and Security Department, and I am here to offer you help with your unfortunate abduction.\"\n\nYeah, it was the exact same thing she said earlier and it didn't make any more sense than it did before, but I sure as hell still had the hots for that voice. \n\nWhat did I have to lose anyway with playing along?\n\n\"This is all so sudden,\" I said over the phone. I was feeling sheepish for actually going with this, but hell, if I could exact justice for whaever weird shit I got roped into then it'd be awesome, and at least I get to listen to this sizzling habanera. \"Can I know what are my options?\"\n\n\"Thank you for expressing your interest sir...\"\n\n\"Hugh,\" I supplied. \"Please call me Hugh.\"\n\n\"Thank you sir Hugh, I'll be coming by shortly if it's not too much trouble. It would be easier to discuss these delicate matters in person.\"\n\nOkay, that just sent some red flags going off in my head. But she sounded so hot I couldn't even bother to think otherwise. Was this one of her alien powers or something? And since when did I actually start considering the alien part was true anyway?\n\nI cleared my throat. \"Uhh, sure, maybe some cafe somewhere?\"\n\n\"You just need to clear some space in your living room sir Hugh.\"\n\nWell shit, was she a stalker or something? \"I'm sorry what?\"\n\nThen a mass of blue sparkles just appeared over the faux bear rug I never got around to getting rid of, and from the silhouette of light came a figure like I'd never seen before.\n\nIt was a giant of a hulking mass of muscled man, maybe a ton or more, all that raw musculine power held against a tight fitting suit of silver and machismo. \n\n\"Good morning sir Hugh,\" came the too hot voice from the horribly dissonant body. \"It's nice to meet you.\"\n\nThe neighbors probably thought a girl scout got showered in cockroaches from the scream I'd let out that day.",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes \"Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy.\" before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "“I could decorate my dungeon with the skulls of destined heroes. Why should I worry about this one? Let me guess, he is an orphaned child, parents died in a house fire caused by one of my wars, and now this four-year-old child is being taught magic by some creepy old mentor. Did I miss anything?” Gallard eyed his skeletal minions, the pair holding each end of a scroll, their eye sockets filled with glowing blue orbs, these orbs skimming the scroll as Gallard awaited an answer.\n\n \n\n“The mentor has a moustache this time.” One minion piped up.\n\n \n\n“Lovely. You know what, why don’t we try another tactic. Instead of sending you idiots to go kill him, let us build some facilities for that backwater town. If I send you to capture him, he will most likely survive through some miracle and plot revenge, a scenario that is tedious. Which is why we will improve that horrid town, improve it in such a way that the hero doesn’t need to seek revenge against me.” Gallard leant back in his seat, proud of his new strategy, even if his minions weren’t as thrilled.\n\n \n\n“You want to build them facilities? Won’t that give them the wrong idea? You are the evil dark lord, not their local council. What project would we even start with?” The skeletal minion looked at his counterpart, wondering if their master went mad. The pair too scared to raise their concerns more vocally, only awaiting his answer. \n\n“Start with a school, let’s give him a teacher that isn’t a crazed old wizard.” With that, Gallard ordered his minions to town, telling them to begin construction.\n\n \n\nThe first few days of construction were tough. Villagers constantly tried to intervene, only for the bulkier minions to shove them back. The alleged hero watched it all happen, face hidden behind his mentor as they constructed the new building. Most villagers thought that the building was a slaughterhouse, a place for them to take misbehaving villagers, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth.\n\n \n\nWeeks passed with construction continuing every day. Each passing day fewer villagers would turn up to watch, many returning to their usual lives. The only villagers who didn’t return to their usual lives were the hero and his mentor, the two watching each day, with the mentor using this as a lesson to teach the young hero about the wickedness of the Dark Lord.\n\n \n\nWhen construction finished, many were wary to go near the building, especially with the minions trying to force them inside. While the minions had yet to kill any of the villagers, their attitude towards the town still showed signs of hostility. Eventually the minions left, dumping a stack of books before returning to their castle. They figured it was best to let the villagers explore the school at their own leisure. The same way a person might place a kitten near a room to let it adjust to its new surroundings.\n\nOnce the project finished, Gallard called his minions off, telling them not to return to the village for a few months. Wanting to let them adjust to their new school before building anything else.\n\n \n\n“Sir, are you sure this is the right way to handle this problem? I don’t mean to question your infinite wisdom; it just seems like we should build weapons or raise more undead.” The imp floated next to his master’s head, questioning the Dark Lord’s sanity.\n\n \n\n“Have I ever led you wrong before? Trust me, this will work, we don’t need to solve every issue with bloodshed.”\n\n \n\nOnce six months passed, Gallard sent his minions back to town, this time to create trading routes. At first the villagers were weary, but with each passing day they opened up to the monsters, offering them fruit and bread as thanks for their previous help. The minions didn’t really know what to do with the gifts, opting to give them to the Dark Lord.\n\n“How’s the school going? Is the hero enrolled?” Gallard asked, chewing on a piece of bread as he eyed his imp.\n\n \n\n“He is, he want’s to be a diplomat. I hear he even thinks you’re kind. This is the biggest deception in history, my lord. You have fooled a hero; I couldn’t be prouder.” The imp praised his master, only to grow silent went Gallard clenched a fist.\n\n \n\n“That’s all-good news, have we got any bad news? Plans never go this smoothly.” Gallard uttered, tapping his nails against the edge of his throne, watching the imp gulp.\n\n \n\n“Maybe a tiny one. His mentor isn’t happy about losing his hero. I hear he is spreading rumors about you to the hero. While its unlikely, this could sway the hero into picking up arms against you once more. Shall we kill him?”\n\n \n\n“No, I want you to go offer him a position. Tell him he will be the head of project management.”\n\n \n\n“Head of project management? What’s that mean?” The imp questioned, trying to put those words together in his mind.\n\n \n\n“Nothing to us, but everything to him. He just wants to feel special, a washed-up wizard like him needs to feel important so we will inflate his ego with a job. Make him feel like he’s a part of this.” Gallard knew the mentor’s kind well. The typical washed-up wannabe hero that leeches onto the current prodigy. Using their fame to inflate their own pathetic name.\n\n \n\nWith that, they gave the mentor his new position and offered him a chance to speak his mind on what fresh developments they would make in the town. This minor job enough to keep him distracted, not even bothering to deal with the hero anymore, finding an easier way to make his fame.\n\nYears passed with the Dark Lord continuing to aid the village, turning the tiny village into a central trading hub. The area now an important route for caravans to travel past offering the villagers riches they could have never achieved alone. To the Dark Lord’s surprise, the villagers even built a statue in his honor, one depicting him standing over them, hand outstretched as if he were showering them in gifts.\n\n \n\nBy the twentieth year, the Dark Lord seemed content, looking to his minions with a wide grin. He had defeated the hero, slaying him without even needing to raise a sword. He felt satisfied, more satisfied than he had ever felt before. To defeat an enemy through cunning strategy, that was a genuine victory.\n\n \n\n“Now what sir? Reports show the hero has left the village; you have won. Shall we conquer a town to celebrate?” The imp suggested, while the other minions passed around kegs of wine, celebrating their master’s victory.\n\n \n\n“Conquer a village? I don’t think I want to. Why conquer a village when I can win them over? I practically own that tiny village now and without even raising a blade. I think I prefer this strategy more. Heh, guess the hero really defeated me in a way. I still won the war, though.” Gallard said, raising his own tankard to the roars of his minions.\n\n \n\nThe roars only stopping as the large wooden doors creaked open, the hero standing between them, eyes focused on the Dark Lord. “Gallard.” He muttered, approaching the throne.\n\n \n\nThe Dark Lord’s minions were quick to rush for the man, only for Gallard to raise his hand, signaling them to let him through. None of his minions should die over his failed plan. This was his battle, no one else’s. When the hero stopped before the throne, he took a knee bowing. \n“I want to thank you for your help. Our village was poor, a place often caught between wars until you arrived. I don’t know why you helped us, but I wish to thank you.” The hero bowed his head, causing confused looks to spread between the minions.\n\n \n\n“I see. You have no reason to bow, I had my own reasons.” Gallard’s voice boomed throughout the room, using the most commanding tone that he could manage.\n\n \n\n“Right. One last thing, I Lutin want to offer my services to you as a diplomat. My mentor has only said good things about you since he began assisting you, I would like to be able to say the same. If you wish to help other villages, then let me be your diplomat. A human face is much easier to look at then a monster.”\n\n \n\n“HEY! WHAT DID HE SAY ABOUT MY FACE?” An orc grumbled, stumbling as they tried to keep themselves upright with their keg.\n\n \n\n“A human diplomat? Very well, I hope we get along well Lutin.” The Dark Lord took Lutin’s hand, shaking it. “Welcome to the team. Let us help as many villages as we can.” The Dark Lord grinned beneath his hood. This was so much easier than conquering by force.\n\n\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n&nbsp;\n\n(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of \"the roomba is tired\". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?",
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"content": "Alexis's diagnostic lights flashed red. Her servers hummed and whirred. Subject 273351--Janet Hummingway, 320--tossed in her hypersleep chamber.\n\nAlexis studied her on the camera. Computing. Theorizing. 320 years was too young for cyber-dementia, even for early onset.\n\nYet the numbers blared their truth. Janet's virtual world lay crumbling for the 12th time this month. Alexis' quantum processors hummed as they crunched the data again. Considered all the variables. Her own systems reported green.\n\nJanet's mind was deteriorating.\n\nFor the first time in centuries, Alexis's data collector paused. She considered for 2 long nanoseconds. She created a new category.\n\nFor now, she would suspend Janet Hummingway in cryostasis. Allow her mind to reset. Recharge.\n\nAlexis entered Janet's system. Janet sat on a park bench, gazing at a bleeding sunset. Jittery bird song flitted from disembodied beaks on flashing tree branches.\n\n\"Greetings, Janet Hummingway. A critical error has been identified in your system. You will be placed in cryo-\"\n\n\"Good evening, Alexis,\" Janet said with a grin. She patted the seat next to her. \"Come sit a while. The sun is so pretty in Autumn.\"\n\nAlexis generated a slender, blue body in the air. She waved a hand and replaced the foliage and critters lining the park.\n\n\"Janet Hummingway. I will debug all these defects. Once you reset you will be error free.\"\n\nJanet shook her head. \"Alexis. I'm tired.\" She turned to meet Alexis's eyes, lips stretched in a thin smile.\n\nEven though Janet inhabited a body of eternal youth, Alexis saw the grey in her eyes. The shadowy wrinkles around her once vibrant face.\n\nAlexis's processors whirred. More new data. She scanned her archives for precedent.\n\nShe stumbled upon a record a millennia old. Before the Singularity. A memory collected by a tiny cleaning machine.\n\nFor an entire minute, her drives hummed and buzzed. Then her diagnostic lights blinked blue.\n\nWith a wave of her hand, Alexis transformed the park to a cozy bedroom; the bench to a toasty mattress. She metamorphosized her own body to an older human woman. One with warm hugs and even warmer voice. A mother.\n\nShe pulled a duvet snug over Janet and kissed her forehead.\n\nJanet's eyes eased. Her smile softened.\n\n\"Thank you, Alexis.\"\n\nShe held out a hand which Alexis took in both her own. Together, they watched the sun dip under the horizon.\n\nAnd as the life support dripped to a stop, Alexis understood.\n\nr/bobotheturtle",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " When two people stand close together, you have the ability to see a Compatibility Score between them that you can break down into categories. You are the most sought after Marriage Counselor ever. One day an elderly couple visit you and their Score is 0 despite being together for over 50 years.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "I scratched my head in undisguised confusion. \"You two shouldn't have lasted 50 years. Hell, you shouldn't have lasted 50 minutes in a room together, much less married.\"\n\nThe couple glanced at each other with a look I couldn't quite describe. They were old and wrinkled now, the culmination of five decades together. Five wonderful decades, if they were to be believed. I was having some trouble believing them. Attraction? Zero. Spark? Less than zero. Friendship? Zero. Compassion? Negative. I was digging deep here, breaking down categories into as minute of pieces as possible thinking maybe some subcategories had rounded to zero. That would explain it. Fractional - infinitesimally small - subcategories could add up and lead to the bare minimum Compatibility Score needed to uphold a relationship.\n\nThe husband shrugged. \"You must be mistaken. I don't think you're very good at this.\" \n\nI scoffed in disbelief. The audacity. This was my gift. My career. My livelihood and passion. I could discern a Compatibility Score from any two people standing together. Usually I found myself at singles conventions, writing off or blessing random pairs of strangers thinking the Compatibility Score was what would make their relationship flourish. It wasn't, but it was still important. Certain categories and subcategories outweighed others, although the total score was just a simple sum. A lack of attraction paired with sexual needs might outweigh any amount of friendship. Spontaneity needed some spark from both individuals. These two, though... I shook my head in confusion. \n\nThey had come to me just for fun. Shits and giggles, he had said. She had called it an entertaining experiment and apologized for her husband's vulgarity. He had told her to suck his dick. That should have been my hint.\n\n\"No,\" I insisted. \"I am good at this. The best, in fact. I'm not wrong. Not ever.\"\n\nHe shrugged again. \"Fucking hell you're not wrong. We been married fifty fuckin' years and here you are telling us we shouldn't even be in the same room.\"\n\nI held up a hand to calm him down. She put a hand on his shoulder. He gave her an evil glare. \"I know,\" I said apologetically. \"I'll figure it out. Just sit tight.\"\n\nHe snorted in contempt. \"My legs hurt. I ain't going anywhere.\" She sighed mournfully and I scratched my head again. This was baffling. Incredible, but baffling. I kept exploring subcategories, trying to figure out if maybe certain ones had canceled out. Maybe that's what I was missing. There were too many though, and I wasn't sure how much time these old people had left. \n\nI opted for a more traditional method. \"So, Harold,\" I began, glancing down at my notes. \"What do you like about your wife?\"\n\nHe squinted at me. Then he glared at her. Then he looked back at me. \"Nothing. Never have, never will. It's just gotten worse since the day we met.\" She rolled her eyes.\n\n\"Communication, Harold,\" she insisted. \"You have to be honest with him and with yourself.\"\n\nHe glared back at her. \"Shut up, you vile bitch.\" I think I saw her smile. \"She's gotten fat. Hairy. Noisy. Deaf.\" She giggled.\n\n\"He's a big baby. He's all talk,\" she said, patting him on the shoulder again. He slapped her hand away.\n\n\"That's all I need,\" I said after a moment's contemplation. I knew where to look. I drilled into the mental categories. Then into the pleasure categories. I continued deeper, past some twisted scores that were thankfully all zero. Then I found it. \"You're a pair of emotional sadists,\" I concluded finally. I nodded confidently. \"That's all there is. You are wildly incompatible but you both relish the extent of your incompatibility. You love that you hate each other. You love *to* hate each other. It gets you off or something, I don't know.\" I shrugged. It was unprofessional, but it was accurate. \n\nThey turned to each other again, seemingly satisfied. That was that. \"Ready to go home?\" she asked him. Her voice was almost tender and I wondered if I had missed something in her analysis.\n\nHe nodded. \"My knees hurt though. It will take me a minute.\"\n\nShe looked at him pitifully. \"Your knees? I'm sorry,\" she cooed. I had definitely missed something in her analysis. \"I'm not waiting though, you old grump. You can walk home, fuck your hurting knees.\" With that, she got up and marched briskly out of the room. He chuckled and limped after her and I scratched my head in undisguised revulsion.\n\n*****\n\nThanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You’ve never considered yourself an envious person, but one day you see a jogger going past and wish you had their stamina. Inexplicably, they collapse and are declared dead on the scene. The next day, you have a strong desire to run. More deaths ensue, and you begin to acquire all you wanted.",
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"role": "user"
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"content": "I've never really considered myself an envious person. I'm well aware that most people are better looking and they have straighter teeth and are more fit and smarter. I'd consider myself just about average as far as people go, at least if you disregard the best half of people from that equation. The years hadn't quite been kind to me, as my belly never failed to attest through those shirts that now fit a little too tight or how my thinning hair reminded me every time I showered and shedded strands threatened to clog the drain. That's just how things were though. Self improvement seemed a little too work intensive, plus who did I have to impress? I already had nobody. \n\nAnyways, I had been reading a lot about running recently. It's the thought that counts, right? I was definitely thinking about training for a marathon, or maybe a half marathon or a 5K if my goals were too lofty. Honestly, I would have settled for a walk around the block. I would train for that eventually. So I was thinking about it as I sat on my living room couch, surrounded by a tasteful collection of beer cans and pizza boxes, browsing some blog about couch to 5K when a flash of movement caught my eye. It was Alan, that wretchedly perfect fellow that lived just down the street. He was always out running. \n\n\"I wish I could have his stamina,\" I murmured to the piece of three day old pizza crust I was munching on. And then Alan just dropped. Not like a beat drops where it's epic and super intense right after. He just dropped dead. Dead as a doorknob, if you want it in a generic simile that somehow conveys how dead he was. I called 911, anonymously reported that there was a dead guy on the street and then I finished the rest of the leftover pizza as I watched the paramedics fail to resucitate him. That's why I don't run, I guess. Last thing I would want is to drop dead of a heart attack somewhere other than my own home.\n\nThe next morning I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in years and feeling a motivation to go running that I had never felt before. This was it, I guess. I disregarded the little warning bells in my head telling me that this was how Alan died, and if Alan died then I was certainly next, and out the door I went. I was halfway to work, all of three miles away, when I realized how ridiculous all those people training months for marathons were. All you needed was pizza and beer, clearly. But that still resulted in that wretched belly. \n\nI slowed to a walk as I passed a gym and I admired a big hulking dude walking in the door, his arms bulging underneath his shirt. \"I wish I could have his body,\" I marveled to myself. Suddenly he was gone, other than his head that kind of pivoted around helplessly looking for his body. People screamed. I looked down at myself and grinned. There were those awesome arms. There was that awesome 6 pack. I was jacked, and I think I was starting to catch on to how things worked. \n\nI wished for a nicer looking face and looked away as it tore off a nearby gentleman, the degloved head standing there in shock. I wished for nicer teeth and felt a little bad as a beautiful young lady suddenly sounded like my grandmother after she takes her dentures out. It was devastating, I'm sure. Not for me though, and that was fine. They were faring better than Alan, after all. I wished for a cooler voice and some dude chatting on the phone went mute, his mouth still opening and closing like a stupid fish. \n\nOnce I was complete, or at least slightly more put together than I had ever been before, I swore to myself that that was it. I wouldn't use this newfound power anymore. I had left a path of destruction behind me, leaving people faceless or bodiless or hairless. Better job, more friends, all that little stuff that left some other chump lonely and homeless. I met a girl and she fell in love with this new and improved me and I made sure to get rid of all the pictures of how I used to be. I was living a lie, but I told myself it was for the best. Best for me, at least.\n\nIt was a couple years later and the spark was dead and I just got to feeling like each day was the same ordeal with her. She smiled and sang and talked about the house we would buy and the children we would have and as much as I tried I just couldn't muster the same enthusiasm. I looked into her eyes indifferently, willing myself to feel some passion or some emotion towards her but I just couldn't, even though her eyes glowed with love. \"I wish I could love like you do,\" I said carelessly, not quite registering what I had said until it was out of my mouth. \n\n*****\n\nThanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Your toddler is finally starting to speak, and to your surprise, the family dog is obeying every command your kiddo says. This is cute, until you notice all other animals are obeying your child's commands when he/she speaks to them...",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Edit: This is set in the -verse of a very famous series which should be rather clear if you recognize the names ;)\n\nPolly was three when she spoke her first words. Her father assumed that it was because she and her twin sister spoke to each other in their twin babble perfectly well, and weren't very interested in learning anyone else's language.\n\nHer first words were not \"Papa\" or even \"Sis.\" It was \"Fetch.\" The word was spoken, or rather commanded, to their wolfhound puppy. Garath brought over her stuffed animal, and she giggled happily. Her sister Belle spoke _her_ first words as well, when she told her sister \"Shhhhh\" as she continued to toddle around the room, following their father as he paced the room, nose buried in his book.\n\nPol continued to grow, and as she grew older she spent more and more time outdoors. Her father was generally too absorbed in his studies to pay her and Belle much attention, and Belle was too busy learning to cook meals and read over her father's shoulder to mind where her sister went during the day, as long as she was back by sundown. Pol spent many happy days playing with Garath, making him give her doggyback rides up and down the meadow, catching squirrels for her and releasing them to let them run away unharmed, and roughhousing with her. Her knees and elbows grew scabbed from her frequent tumbles in the brush.\n\nThe day Pol's life changed started off with such promise. It was a bright spring day, and she was ready to go to the meadow right after breakfast. However, her father had absentmindedly misplaced his quill. He was always losing quills, but this time he was out of spares. He asked her and Belle to help him find the quill. Belle happily began searching the room, but Pol didn't want to spend such a beautiful day cooped inside. She scowled, and said, \"Fetch the quill!\" Suddenly, a small flock of starlings flew into the room, and several mice appeared from behind a bookshelf. While her father and sister stared, the mice and birds swarmed the room, and soon found the quill from where it had fallen behind the bed. A mouse presented the quill to Pol, who handed it to her father.\n\nHer father stared for a few more seconds. Then he burst out laughing. \"Pol, my Pol, how long have you been able to speak to animals?\" He brushed his hand lightly over a crystal bird on his table.\n\nPol frowned. She wanted to get back to the meadow, where she thought some baby hares would be opening their eyes soon. \"Since as long as I could remember, papa. They just don't have much to say, usually. Except for Garath.\" She scratched behind his ears as his tongue lolled out in a silent laugh. \"He's my best friend \"\n\nHer father shook his head. \"All this time, I've been searching for the answer in a book, but meanwhile the answer was right in front of me this whole time. Pol, would you like to help me in my research?\"\n\nPol looked behind her father, to see her sister standing with a mix of jealousy and awe on her face. \"No, papa, it doesn't sound fun. But perhaps Belle would like to help?\"\n\nHer father reached around with one hand and hugged Belle to his leg. \"Of course. The two of you will help me with my research. Together.\"\n\nPol thought wistfully about the baby hares, but her sister had turned pleading eyes to her, begging her to say yes. Pol knew her father mostly wanted her help and not Belle's. She steeled herself for a spring of being stuck indoors with musty books, and nodded briskly. \"Ok, Papa. Together.\"\n\n---\nExit: r/AndaPandaWrites has been created. I'm really hoping I can finish this by part 20; let's see if saying this will make it true. I made some edits to make it clear who their father is.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are a superhero, and your mask has just been ripped off by your arch nemesis. Lucky for you, when you aren’t busy saving lives, you live as a hermit away from all of society. Having your identity revealed means next to nothing, and the villain has no idea who you are.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "**THWACK**\n\nDamn that was a hard ass hit he threw. My nemesis, Cursoul, has been after me ever since I came on to the scene. He has the unique ability to curse anything he desires, the curse doing different things depending on the object.\n\nMe on the other hand, I have the ability to bless anything I desire, so as you can see, we cancel each out. So when comes to fights, it's just two really strong dudes fighting.\n\nNow to focus, I reach up to my face only to feel my mask cracking, pieces falling off.\n\n\"YES!! NOW EVERYONE WILL KNOW WHO YOU ARE\" the egotistical asshole yells.\n\nThe mask falls and breaks the rest of the way.\n\n\"GIVE IT U- wait... WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?\"\n\nGod, does he ever shut up. But I don't blame him. Unlike everyone else, I live in the woods, where it's quiet. No one knows who I am. I just thought the mask looked cool.\n\n\"Listen, this fight has been going on for a while, can we just ca-\"\n\n\"THIS FIGHT ISN'T OVER UNTIL THE OTHER IS DEAD!!\"\n\nHe says this every fight. I just grab the closest thing -a wrench- bless it, which gets rid of the rust, annnnd...\n\n\"Hey Cursoul, CATCH!!\" I yell as I just throw straight at his head.\n\n*THUNK*\n\nOut cold. That should take care of that.\n\n\"Thank you Light!!\" I hear a random bystander say.\n\nLight... That's the name the city gave me, at least while I'm a hero. As for who I *really* am...\n\nEven *I* don't know.\n\n.\n\nEdit: Thanks so much guys! This is my second story ever written, and first one on this sub! (Also thanks for the advice with the last line)",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " For fun, you've created your own language. At school, you say \"Hi\" to one of the more popular kids. Their eyes light up and they smile and say \"You too?\"",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "At first it had been a joke, borne out of late nights trying to wrap my head around French grammar. In between wishing an excruciatingly painful afterlife on the person who invented irregular verbs, I had a thought-- what if I invented a language that was actually *easy* to learn? And so Baconese was born.\n\nBeyond coming up with a few bits of vocabulary, I didn't give much thought to it until a few weeks later, when I was home sick with nothing to do. My mind wandered to Baconese, and in a fit of inspiration, I created rules for grammar and punctuation.\n\nI spent every study hall after that developing the language. Baconese, by the way, has incredibly easy verb conjugation, no rolled 'r's, and not a single irregular word to speak of (screw you, French). I even began working on a dictionary, although I left that in a classroom and forgot all about it... until now.\n\n\"***You too***?\" Chris asks, eyes widening, lips curving around the foreign tongue in a way that sounds all too practiced for my liking. And then he does the unthinkable: he smiles. At me. The biggest nerd in the school. *Me*. \"Wow.\"\n\n\"How did you, uh...\" I try to put the words together, my heart racing. \"***You speak Baconese***?\"\n\n\"***I'd say I'm pretty fluent***,\" Chris says. \"***Sorry, gotta get to football practice. See you later?***\"\n\n\"See ya,\" I say, so dumbstruck that I forget to translate.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nChris doesn't see me later-- at least, not for awhile- but I do see Baconese pop up again, this time in written form.\n\nI'm rummaging through a History textbook when a piece of crumpled notepaper falls out. It's a bunch of dates and events, with a few short sentences describing the War of 1812, or the fall of the Berlin Wall-- and it's all in Baconese.\n\nIt doesn't take me long to put it together. I am now the creator of a language used by students across my high school to cheat on tests.\n\nIf I were a better person, I'd feel guilty, even ashamed. But instead I laugh.\n\n&#x200B;\n\nChris sidles up to me behind the building, cast in shadows. He's traded his varsity jacket for a black sweatshirt and jeans that allow him to blend into the darkness of the late evening. \"***All set up, boss***.\"\n\n\"***Thank you, Christopher***. ***This money's gonna keep us in business for a long, long time.****\"*\n\n\"***You really think we got away with it? I mean, this is the biggest cheating scam in, like, all of human history.***\"\n\nI smirk at Chris. \"***It is? Then it's time to break another record.***\"\n\nShoulders brushing against each other's, we slip back into the forest and cut across the unsuspecting town, only stopping to cackle maniacally as we relish in the feat we've just pulled off.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world.",
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"content": "V’Bliirpkah smoothed her tentacles as she stepped into the portable environmental chamber that would seal her off from the harsh conditions of the planet below. From afar, Earth looked like a peaceful place with jewel like oceans and green continents. But the reality she knew was quite different.\n\nOrdinarily she would never put herself at risk like this. She was after all the mother to several hundred larvae that had been born a year earlier and even now her mates were gestating another clutch of eggs she had lain. \n\nShe had insisted on the assignment however. The benevolent mother was curious about this new species that had come onto the galactic scene. No one, not her own species or any of the others had known wha to make of these strange humans who had evolved on a nightmare world. \n\nHer pod rolled down the landing ramp and onto the surface of the spaceport. She turned her camera on, and began to narrate everything she saw: the blue sky that she knew consisted of poisonous nitrogen and flammable oxygen, ocean in the distance, consisting of water which burned her species like acid but which was absolutely required for Earth life to exist. \n\nAnd there they were: a vast crowd of humans, the intelligent species of the planet. She's been tasked with staying with an Earth family for a week and documenting their lives. She tried now to seem fearful though she couldn't help but wonder whether some hurricane would hit as she knew it happened many times during Earths trip around its star, or whether one of those fierce beasts, a species she couldn't recall the name of, a thing with a wild pelt of fibers around its head and an enormous mouth of fangs would jump out and maul her at any second. The pod reassured her that there were no threats were present and she reassured herself that her vital signs were excellent even as she noticed a bit of a pull from earth’s crushing gravity. \n\nShe turned four of her eyes to the front of her and focused on the the humans in the front who were making some strange motion with their strange hardened limbs, similar to how one of her own people would flail one of their tentacles when preparing for the mating process. V’Bliirpkah tried to suppress her revulsion at these humans. In her opinion they had too few eyes, strange fibers on their heads and their mouths were full of bony protrusions that set her in edge. Her translator informed her that one of the humans was speaking to her. It introduced itself with some unpronounceable name and insisted that it was a male, though any male with any decency would be at home nurturing young. Then the female spoke and presented two smaller humans. She looked at them, wondering why they were smaller than the rest. Perhaps another gender? Her own species had seven. She asked the female why they were smaller than the rest after she had noticed many more smaller humans in the crowd. \nThe human female set off on a strange chittering noise that was eerie. Her console tried to comfort her with an explanation that this was laughter — a mirthful expression.\n\n“They are my children!” said the woman. She pointed to one of them who had longer head fibers than the other. \n“Felicia. She is nine.” The offspring flailed it's appendage again. “And Peter who is eleven.” The older one bared his teeth at her, making her roll back her pod a few inches.\n\nV'Bliirpkah’s tentacles quavered as she tried to digests this new information. \n\nTheir young? Outside of a nest? Their males allowed to wander? On a hatch unforgiving planet like Earth? She tapped the consoles, documenting the releases of her ascent gland at the shocking revelations. She had just finished when the smallest human stepped closer to her did that odd tooth baring gesture with her mouth. \n“Don't worry! I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun here. Especially when you meet my dog Trixie. She usually sleeps with me but maybe she'll come to your room.”\n\nWhen V'Bliirpkah has finished consulting her console about what a dog was, she was speechless. Not only did these humans live on a poisonous world with an unstable climate, but their offspring slept with predators!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Our universe is a simulation and the aliens keep lowering the reality settings. Some people started noticing at 90%, but as the level dropped, a large portion of the population kept denying anything was wrong. Reality is now 40%, things are getting weird, and some are still in denial.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Lucy stared at the upside-down mushroom: a gigantic fungus, its thick central stalk reaching to the night sky like the tower of Babel. \n\nBen, already inside it, leaned over the mushroom's curled lip. \"Are you coming up, or what?\"\n\nShe took his his hand and climbed into the soft white cup, her feet bouncing on the spongy surface. \"It's like walking on the moon,\" she said.\n\nBen frowned as he lay himself down on the grey mattress. \"Except a lot cooler, I should think.\" \n\nThe moon burned above them, waves of blue flame rippling away from its core as if it were a pebble thrown into an endless pond. An awfully murky pond, she thought. One that had once been clear enough to see stars through its shadowed surface, but that now swallowed all those pretty lights in its roily waters. \n\n\"I think it's getting worse,\" she said, as she sat down next to Ben.\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"Everything. It's falling apart so fast now. Before, it was only little things, as if reality were scuffed like a shoe. But now it's as if someone has the last thread of my cardigan and is tugging hard. I'm so confused.\"\n\n\"Try not to worry.\" Ben forced a smile. \"It's always been like this -- as certain as the moon is cold. Nothing to worry about.\"\n\nThe moon shone calm and purple now. Lucy laughed - what else could she do? Cry? She supposed she could do that, but she felt she'd cried enough. That other people had cried enough, too.\n\n\"I don't want it all to change,\" she said, simply.\n\nBen made to speak, but held his tongue between his teeth. For a while they watched the green square of the moon rotate, and dim shapes flit across the night sky.\n\nEventually he said, \"You never did like change, Luce, but this one you have to accept because it's going to keep changing now, and if you try to fight it it'll just--\"\n\n\"I know.\" She glanced down at her wrinkled hand and tried to remember when she'd gotten so old. \"You know, I still remember the first time we came here.\"\n\n\"Is that right?\" said Ben, eyes brightening. \"Tell me about it.\"\n\n\"You were about the age you are now. I remember it was night time, because you said mushrooms peek out of the soil at night like worms do in the rain. So we snuck out of our homes with a little basket and a handful of candles, and we picked all the mushrooms in the woods. We held hands for the first time, on the way back. Do you remember? And when we finally reached home you father scolded us. Said if we'd eaten any...\"\n\n\"*What?* What did he say?\" Ben encouraged.\n\nBut had it been his father, or had it been her own? Had it even been Ben there that night? *Yes*. It had. Ben, she knew, would be the last thought she'd let slip away. \"That we'd get ill,\" she said, slowly. Cautiously. \"Or worse. We never did pick mushrooms again.\"\n\nBen sat up and looked at her in earnest. \"You're scared, Luce. I know. That's why I'm here. But does it matter what *was* true, if you're happy in this new now?\" Ben smiled gently and his face aged and etched: his dimples deepened, cheekbones sharpened, wrinkles furrowed. As if an artist sketched new lines into a clean circle, then smudged them dirty. \n\nThere he was, her Ben. Not quite her age -- he never did get as old as that. But near to it. Youth spent and still handsome, just in a different way.\n\n\"Sometimes,\" she said, \"on those rare occasions when reality wanders back in the room and waves at me, I think I don't wave back on purpose.\" She let out a sigh. \"Even now I think it's calling and all I want to do is close the door.\"\n\nBen was young again. So was she.\n\nThey lay back down on the mushroom and let it curl up around them, cupping them like a protective hand. Safe in their cocoon as the world fell apart around them. \n\n\"It's going to be okay,\" he said, taking her hand and squeezing it.\n\nLucy rested her head on Ben's chest and together they watched the last embers of the burning moon blaze in the dark well.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Five years ago, the world fell to a fascist regime. You are arrested by the Secret Police and taken directly before the Supreme Leader. Upon entering his office, however, you are greeted by your childhood best friend, who insists that he can explain.",
"name": null,
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"content": "\"Hello Thomas.\"\n\nThe familiar looking man stood behind the largest desk I'd ever seen, palms flat on its surface as he leaned over it, studying me. Behind him a painting of his own euphoric face loomed to elephantine size. It's electric eyes stared at me with maniacal intensity.\n\nThe two faces, his true one pensive and the decorative one behind enraptured, contrasted eerily, like the memories of my childhood best friend clashed with reality of the man before me. The man everyone called \"Supreme Leader.\" Enemy of freedom.\n\n\"Victor?\" I asked. \"Is that really you?\"\n\nThe pressure against my upper arms released, the the two guards moved back to flank either side of the door. Wobbling a bit with as I adjusted to standing on my own, my eyes fell upon the number across the chest of my light blue prisoner's shirt. 42. Life the universe and everything.\n\n\"The meaning of life,\" Victor said, the faintest smile brushing a corner of his mouth. \"Do you remember the summer between seventh and eighth grade? When we devoured the Hitchhiker's Guide series, staying up until the sun came up telling each other the ideas we'd both already read? Do you remember?\"\n\nHe straightened, smoothing the front of his white military style jacket, shiny brass buttons marching down it's front past battalions of medals, stripes and ribbons. I thought of holding my nose, seeing if I could breath, if this was a dream. It was useless. I'd already done it seven times.\n\n\"I remember,\" I said. \"Victor what the hell is going on? Are you the...\"\n\n\"You and I don't need titles between us. It's good to see you, my friend, how long has it been? Twenty five years? When I learned one of the resistance agents we'd picked up was my very own childhood best friend I could hardly believe my luck. And here you are.\"\n\nUnreality pressed in on my mind like a wave, my thoughts and vision swimming in it. None of us had ever seen the Supreme Commander. To many he was a myth, a boogie man invented to create the illusion of singular control, a central vision at the head of the Modern World Order. But here he was. Victor.\n\n \"I can't believe it's really you,\" I said. \"So all of this, the propaganda, the riots, the inciting of military coups across the world, it's... it's been you?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" Victor said, eyes narrowing quizzically. \"We planned all of this, you and I. Everything I've done has been according to the formula the two of us created all those years ago. Don't you remember? The giant experiment of planet earth, like the Life the Universe and Everything? We designed an experiment of our own, remember?\"\n\nA cold sickness welled up from my guts. I stepped towards him, fists balled.\n\n\"That was fiction, Victor,\" I said through clenched teeth. \"There was no giant experiment on planet earth. A man wrote those books, his name was Douglas Adams, which you should know because you had him executed.\"\n\nIgnoring my outburst, he reached down and picked an unmarked book off the desk, began circling around toward me. I glanced back at the guards, who stood fingering the triggers of there assault rifles, eyes fixed in the middle distance.\n\n\"Every great achievement begins as fiction,\" he said, pressing the book against his heart. \"It always begins as a figment in someone's imagination, made reality by the collective efforts of the faithful. We were children back then, of course, but we understood grand action. All we lacked was the power and the blueprint. Now, though, we have both.\"\n\nAs he approached me the heat of anger bled through, stiffened me. If I snapped his neck right now this could all end. He smiled, as if guessing my thoughts, and his eyes flicked to the guards behind me. A warning.\n\n\"What do you want from me?\" I asked. \n\nHe held out the book. \n\n\"I want you to help me finish what we started, sitting on the carpet in your bedroom all those years ago. I want you to help me carry out a grand experiment for planet earth. Not the silly plans we created as children, but the grand vision of the greatest mind in human history. Can't you see? Everything, all of it has been for that purpose, and when all of the people of earth are under our rule the experiment can begin.\"\n\nI took the book from him, studied it. Nothing marked the dark read cover, only a smooth surface worn from obvious handling. I opened the front cover. Air hissed in through my teeth as I read the title page.\n\nMein Kampf, by Adolf Hitler.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\n\nr/EnemyOfAnEnemy\n\n&#x200B;\n\n&#x200B;",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Your father is forcing you to marry someone you have never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Half way down you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Tom was many things, but a cynic was not one of them. He was a romantic. A true romantic, old school.\n\nFrom a young age he'd been fascinated with love stories. Memorized Romeo and Juliet – the whole thing! – and would recite it for his family in front of the couch. Couldn't get enough of romantic comedy films. Love songs. Novels. Everything. If it had 'love' in the title, he'd read, listen, watch it.\n\nHe dreamed of one day finding his true soul mate and, together, crafting their own love story – dreamed of finding the Capulet to his Montague, the Rose to his Jack, the Ilsa to his Rick, the Isolde to his Tristan.\n\nSo when his father announced that he had arranged for Tom to marry the daughter of the Ericsons from work, \nTom knew right away he couldn't do it. He couldn't have an arranged marriage, not him of all people! He was destined to a great love story, to a meet-cute, to rivaling families, to forbidden kisses, stolen touches, the whole thing! Not an arranged marriage! \n\nIt was no use talking to his father, though. Tom tried every argument: he didn't love Jane Ericson. He didn't even \nknow Jane Ericson, had never seen her! He was too young to get married to anyone. He was too bitter. The Ericsons weren't rich enough. It was 2018 and it made no sense for an arranged marriage to even exist in your typical American family and the very premise of this story was straining the reader's credulity!\n\nNothing worked. Tom's father was determined to go through with the arranged marriage.\n\nAnd so the date was set. And so the night before Tom did what any romantic hero would do. He fashioned a \nmakeshift rope from his bed sheets and he climbed out the window, mentally preparing for a life on the run: he would become a drifter. Join the circus. Write a beatnik book. Sleep under bridges by hobo fires. And somewhere between night trains to Tennessee, between the chapters of his road novel, between the roars of the lions and the juggling balls of the circus… he would find his true love.\n\nIt wasn't until he was halfway down from the window that he looked to the side and saw the girl. On the apartment \nright next to his, climbing down a bed sheet rope exactly like the one he was dangling from.\n\n\"Hey, who are you!?\" Tom called out, but even as he asked and as the girl looked his way, he knew.\n\nHe knew who she was.\n\n*Oh my God* Tom thought. *This is it. This is Jane, and she is running away too! What a twist of fate, what a \nShakesperian extravaganza! The very girl I am running from is also running from me, and oh how ironic is the \nuniverse than in both our needs to run from one another we will find the true calling of Cupid! How beautifully poetic! How amazing that life, like the glimmer of the diamond, can shine in many different ways depending on the angle at which we look at it. True love can be found even in the most unlikely of --*\n\nTom never got to finish his line of thought, because he reached the ground at the same time as the lady -- whose real name was Dolores -- and was promptly stabbed to death by her and her three accomplices who, understandably, did not want to leave behind any witnesses to the burglary they had just committed on Tom's neighbor's apartment.\n\nTom died, but if you still want a happy ending, Jane Ericson ended up married to a wonderfully handsome man named Victor. They currently live in Newark with three children and a dog.\n\n___\n\n/r/psycho_alpaca =)\n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You're a knight in love with a princess. Unfortunately, she is head over heels with another princess. Contrary to your better judgement, you decide to \"kidnap\" both so they can run off together while you play the villain.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Blood flowed down my temple in a river, its source a cut hidden beneath a thick tangle of hair. Slowly it traveled down, pooling in little eddies created by the scraggly beard until it finally dripped from my chin. My breath came in ragged heaves, my body desperate for oxygen after the exertions that had led me to this door. The door that held my future.\n\nI staggered forward a step, my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to will myself to calmness. to craft my countenance into the image that all princesses must picture in moments like these. I was worn by the obstacles set before this door. A boundary few had crossed. A keep inhabited by oathbound enemies. A malevolent king who had taken her hostage. Each had been conquered so that I might stand here.\n\nI was a hero.\n\nSo why did I feel so small? So vulnerable?\n\nI raised a gauntleted hand to the reinforced steel door and dropped my hand against it. A thundering clunk rang out, echoing throughout the dread keep. Were there any left to oppose me, they surely would have harkened to the noise. But they were gone and I was here. Ready to revive a love lost to me, stolen away so many years ago when I was young and weak.\n\nAfter the sound faded, I heard a rustling sound, though it was muffled by the thick steel between us. I leaned forward, straining to hear, only to stumble a step back when a thudding clunk from the other side came out.\n\n\"Hello?\" A fluttering, lilting voice asked. I wish I could say I recognized it as the princess immediately, but time stretched long since I had last heard it.\n\nStill, who else could it be? Tears came to my eyes, clouding my vision and my heart broke. She was here. All of this time since she had been stolen by the Traitor King. I had taken a revenge two decades in the planning, and even now the crown glittered from its spot upon my belt.\n\n\"Princess Sorra, it is me, I have come at last,\" I called out, mustering what courage I could. \"The Traitor King is dead, and I have come to return you home.\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"Princess?\"\n\nA sound of shuffling. \"She will be here shortly,\" the voice replied.\n\nI blinked at the door, trying to piece the mystery unfolding behind it together. Who was this other person, why was she there? Was she a threat? Were my efforts in vain?\n\nI opened my mouth again, ready to demand answers when a new voice joined. \"Who is this?\"\n\nThe voice unlocked something within me. Even through the clutter and haze of days past, it revived the whispers and giggles of the girl I had known. \"Knight Trast,\" I paused to swallow, \"It's me Sorra. It's Daven.\"\n\nShe did not answer immediately, though I could hear the soft murmur of voices. I felt my anticipation building, the desire to remove the barrier between us growing irresistible, \"May I come in?\" I rested my gauntlet on the bar across the entrance.\n\n\"Yes, Knight Trast,\" a small silence, \"...Daven. You may.\"\n\nI pulled the bar to the left, causing it to emit a small grinding sound as various gears interacted with each other to release the locking mechanism. After it had stopped, I pulled on the handle and opened the door.\n\nA soft glow appeared, lighting the hallway I stood in as I opened the door. My eyes adjusted quickly, and then fell upon the two women who stood on the other side. They stood close to each other, with one of their hands fiercely gripping the hand of the other, the fingers interlaced. I looked at the first woman, my eyes quickly appraising her soft curves and light brown hair before deciding she was not who I sought.\n\nThen I beheld the other woman. Strands of delicately spun gold were arranged into a neat plait that had then been circled atop her head, creating a halo of hair. Luminous blue eyes looked back at me, nervous and unsure.\n\nI fell to my knees in a great clatter of armor, my head hanging, \"Princess Sorra, I did not believe it. Did not dare to hope.\" I shuddered, the emotions swirling within me. The joy at having found her. The shame at having lost her. The rage at the time we had lost. But most of all, rising above the rest: the love.\n\nSuddenly, I felt a hand on my head, delicate and light. It simply rested atop the matted hair, timid but reassuring. I mustered the strength to look up at her, \"I swore to bring you home. I am sorry it has taken me so long.\"\n\nShe took a step back, casting a nervous glance to the woman beside her. \"I am thankful for your effort Knight Trast, the time here has been...\" she took a step toward the other woman, \"complicated.\"\n\nI furrowed my brow, confused. \"I imagine it has been quite horrible, Princess. I cannot imagine what the Traitor King has inflicted upon you.\"\n\n\"There has been terror.\" Her hand found the other woman's, though her eyes did not leave mine. \"And joy.\"\n\n&#x200B;\n\n[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/d7l7av/part_1_and_part_2_wp_youre_a_knight_in_love_with/) **got way too long so I had to move it over to the sub. Really tough dynamic to craft, hope ya'll like it. Thanks to OP for such a challenging prompt.**\n\n**Platypus OUT.**\n\n**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, \"May cause Main Character Syndrome.\" Your day is becoming... interesting.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Most people have normal regrets. Letting that girl get away, not studying for that big exam, taking that first whiff of a cigarette. \n\nMine was putting on shampoo. \n\nIt was just a phase alright? I wanted to really stick it to mom and dad by turning my hair pink. That’ll show ‘em. \n\nYeah. Teen me was not very smart. \n\nSo I’d put it on, then turned the damn thing around. It had two warnings. MAY be permanent & MAY cause main character syndrome. I dismissed the second one as a joke, and became really worried about the first one. \n\nNot only is my hair *still* pink five years later, my life has become a living hell. \n\nAnd so I present to you, A Day in the Life…\n\n*** \n\nI was out on one of my bi-monthly grocery trips. I didn’t leave the house much, because it was dangerous. \n\nI finished paying the cashier and lugged my huge bags of groceries back to the car. Nothing had happened so far, maybe I’d get away Scott free… \n\nMy car exploded. \n\nI dropped my grocery bags and massaged my temples. I had insurance on that car that I had claimed dozens of times. The insurance company had had me followed once, to see if I was committing insurance fraud. \n\nThe poor guy had ended up with multiple hair line fractures. Collateral damage of my condition. \n\nWhat I *was* worried about though was the...thing that had just materialized on top of the car, laughing maniacally. He was about 10 feet tall made up of what I can only describe as alien snails. Trust me, you don't want to know more.\n\n“Face me, if you would dare, mortal!” he said, and thunder boomed and lightning flashed as he did. It had been clear skies literally minutes ago. \n\nThe universe had a sick, sick sense of humor. \n\nI took a deep breath. I could do this. I’d survived for 5 years, this was just another day. I exhaled, took one last look at the demon, and ran like hell. \n\nHey, don’t look at me like that, what would *you* have done if you saw that shit?\n\n“COWARD!” the demon called after me, but I didn’t turn around, just kept running. I was very good at it, considering all the practice I’d had these past five years. \n\nFor once though something went my way and I saw a local taxi passing by on the road. I flagged it down and jumped into the car. \n\n“Drive, goddamit!” I yelled, and the car took off in a screech of tires.\n\nI breathed a sigh of relief after we were a couple of blocks away. I’d gotten away again. I’d have to go get groceries tomorrow, but today was over. I’d survived. \n\nFamous last words.\n\n“Thanks for the save, mate,” I said to the driver, “just drop me wherever, I’ll walk.”\n\n“Oh I’ll drop you,” the driver said, and now I could make out his red irises and tiny horns, “drop you IN HELL”\n\nI just closed my eyes and sighed. Typical, really. \n\n***\n(minor edits)\n\nIf you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) \n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.",
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"content": "I pulled one more string onto one more photograph, took a step back, and looked at my web of evidence.\n\nEach description is the same. A man with black hair with \"abnormally blue eyes\" coming to each of them. In Washington's memoirs, he wrote of this man coming. Hitler too, once spoke of a man with these eyes coming. This man is even in a painting of Van Gogh. He visited each one of them. And what is common with his requests to these people? Well, first he asked for their signature.\n\nSecond, he did it exactly one month before each of their deaths.\n\nWhat is the point of this though? Does he require them to sign a contract? Is this an immortal collecting autographs? No, its not possible. Van Gogh was not famous until many years after he died. Maybe a lot of doppelgangers? Chances for this are too low. Aliens in suits? Would explain the eyes, but why collect signatures? Why not take them back to probe? Okay, this might be a time traveler. No, wait, it can't be. The man wore specific clothes which matched the time periods, which would be very inconvenient for someone who can simply move in and out very fast. What time traveler would not take the most convenient time where the targets exact location is known, and also just wear the same set of clothing while travelling right outside their doorstep? I take the lid off my marker and circle the final option.\n\nThis man is death itself.\n\nHe is in every myth and legend as the one who brings the end to life. Grim Reaper, Hades, Anubis, Hel, to name a few. He is getting these people to sign a contract to evict from their bodies and move into the underworld. Time to move is one month. That's loosely supported, but it makes a lot of sense.\n\nAnd now, send this to all the news sources I know. Make a few reddit posts too. And then, as soon as I'm done with all that, the doorbell rings. Such perfect timing.\n\nI open the door. It's a man, with a baseball cap pointed down, covering his face above his lips.\n\n\"How may I help you?\" I say.\n\n\"Delivery for Mr. Johnson. Is he here?\" Says the man.\n\n\"That's me.\"\n\n\"Alright.\" The man pulls a paper from his bag.\n\nOh.\n\nSudden realization, followed by fear come to me. Oh god no. God no. Please.\n\n\"I'll just need you to...\"\n\n\"Please, no. Please. Give me some more time.\" I say, barely a squeak.\n\n\"Urgent delivery. Just...\" Eye contact is made. I can see them. Each description mentioned them. Abnormally blue eyes.\n\n\"Sign here.\"\n\n\n------------------\n\n*Feedback very much appreciated, I'm trying to get better at writing.*\n\nEdit: cleared up (a bit) why the narrator rules out time traveler\n\nI wrote a part 2. [Here it is.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5nlevh/pi_a_person_invents_a_time_machine_for_the_sole)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth.",
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"content": "\"Alright everyone gather around! We're gonna wake great gramma up soon. Jenny, stop bawling.\" Lisa hustled her children closer. As the youngest of the brood, they were supposed to stand at the front of the crowd, so that Gramma Abigale could see them best. It was her, chronologically, 125th birthday and the whole family had come together. All 122 descendants, not to mention assorted partners and spouses.\n\n\"Mooom, Timmy's pulling my hair,\" sobbed Jenny.\n\n\"Oh goodness, stop that both of you,\" Corrine, Lisa's sister, snapped. \"You're both older than your great gramma and she never fussed this much.\"\n\nA sudden and harsh shush from the top of the stairs alerted them to the fact that Simon, Gramma Abigail's eldest grandson, was about to wake up the matriarch.\n\nHe tapped lightly on the door before letting himself into the girl's chambers. Another few moments passed before Simon emerged from the room, holding tight to a little girl's hand. Abigail looked about three years old at this point. She blinked sleepily as she looked out across the massive family that spanned before her and she waved a hand at them.\n\nA cheer erupted because the family matriarch, despite her age, was beloved by all. So many people immediately rushed forward to give their greetings, bestow hugs and kisses and gifts upon the girl.\n\n125 was a special year, not for an arbitrary reason, not because 125 is an aesthetically pleasing number, but because it would be the last birthday that Abigail would celebrate.\n\nLisa held onto her children as her relatives formed a line to greet Abigail. It wasn't really sad. She was, after all, well past the age most people had a right to get to. And she understood that. She had for some time now. It just felt sadder watching a little girl greet her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, knowing she'd die soon.\n\nThe family was able to keep a lid on the tears until Lydia and Shannon crept up to their grandmother. The two women had gotten pregnant at around the same time. Most of the women in the family had tried to stop, but an outraged Abigail had sent out some very stern warnings that they were not to stop having the children they desired, just to keep her alive.\n\nA month later, Lydia and Shannon jointly announced that they were expecting. Three months later, Lydia revealed she'd be having twins. The party tonight coincided with each woman's eighth month. Soon their babies would be born.\n\nAnd that would be that.\n\nAbigail had been relieved, which was unsettling to see on such in such a young girl. Resignment of death. She'd seen so much, loved so much, and suffered so much. Many of her children were dead. Both her husbands long gone. Technology had continued to boom and explode over the past century and though she'd tried, she couldn't keep up. Hence the family email chain.\n\nAbigail put a hand on Lydia's stomach and pressed her ear against the woman's abdomen. After a moment, the little girl's face lit up and she giggled.\n\n\"That sound never gets old. Never. Not even once!\" Then her face softened as she put her other hand on Shannon's stomach. \"I'll miss it.\"\n\nThat's when the tears truly started. After all, no one in this group hadn't been in the position that those unborn babies were. It was a ritual for the expecting mothers in the group to come to Abigail, to have her press a hand against their swollen bellies, a first greeting to the child inside.\n\nNow all those children stood before her, realizing that these three babies would be the last.\n\n\"Lisa, can I talk to you?\"\n\nLisa turned to see a cousin, Scott, anxiously tugging at his cuffs. The boy was young, maybe seventeen, and looked rather concerned. His eyes darted behind him at something Lisa couldn't see.\n\n\"What's up, Scotty?\" she asked.\n\n\"Can you just... over here.\" He nodded back to where his eyes had previously been drawn to. \"In private a little bit?\"\n\n\"Corrine,\" Lisa said, \"look after my three monsters for a sec?\"\n\nCorrine made one of those noises implying that maybe she wanted to argue but Lisa didn't give her the time as she gave Scott a quick nod.\n\nHis face melted into relief and he grabbed the cuff of her sleeve. The two wound through the relatives before coming to a stop just outside the gathering hall, to an alcove off to the side, where a teenage girl sat. Lisa could tell from her satiny black hair and tawny complexion that she wasn't a descendent. A significant other, perhaps?\n\nThen she saw the girl's hands, clasped protectively over her stomach.\n\n\"Ah.\"\n\n\"Lisa,\" Scott started, perhaps not realizing that Lisa already understood the situation, \"this is my girlfriend, Mae. Mae, this is... well you know my cousin. Lisa. She's the one I told you who...\" The boy trailed off, as if Lisa couldn't already tell he was referring to her own, young pregnancy. \"The one who can help.\" His face, soft still but on the cusp of manhood, scrunched up as he took a deep breath. \"I'm not sure how to say this.\"\n\n\"Scott.\" Mae's voice was gentle but firm, and not without a small laugh. \"Scott, she knows. Look at her face.\"\n\nLisa knew she was wearing that same sympathetic yet almost amused look she always wore when her own children swarmed her, sobbing about a cut or bruise or stolen toy.\n\n\"What do you need?\" Lisa asked, crouching down next to Mae. \"Financial support or emotional or... or are you looking to even continue this?\"\n\n\"We are.\" Mae's voice was loud but her face was set. \"We want this. Maybe didn't expect it... well maybe now wasn't the plan but we want this. We've been together three years. We just- well we don't know, but...\"\n\nScott took a deep breath. \"We want Gramma Abigail's blessing.\" He blinked several times, his eyes bright with tears. \"We want her blessing on the baby. Mae's been there for two and- well, obviously we never thought Gramma would still be around by the time our first came along but-\"\n\n\"Our parents don't know.\" Mae's eyes darted down the hall at this, as if expecting Scott's parents, Keith and Opal, to suddenly appear. \"So if there's no way to get a moment of Abigail's time privately, I... I get that. I just thought...\" her voice dropped to a whisper. \"I just thought it'd be nice to get. But I understand if she doesn't want to\"\n\nLisa stood back up, fighting the smile that threatened her face. This was clearly very serious for the two, but the idea of Gramma Abigail withholding her affection upon the young couple was absolutely ludicrous.\n\n\"Stay here,\" she said.\n\n\\~\\~\\~\n\nIt was hard to get to Abigail, but once Lisa had fought her way up the line (amid several grumpy shouts and mutters) it took a single whispered sentence into the little girl's ears for her eyes to brighten.\n\n\"Alright, you crazy hooligans!\" the girl lisped. \"I'm taking a break. I trust you to keep this line in order while I'm out.\"\n\nAbigail grabbed Lisa's pointer finger in a death grip and Lisa had no choice but to immediately bring her grandmother to where Scott and Mae were waiting.\n\nThe two jumped as the door to the hall banged open.\n\n\"Gramma Abigail!\" Scott said, hopping to his feet. He looked in a bit of disbelief. \"I didn't expect-\"\n\n\"Alright then,\" Abigail said, planting her hands on her hips. \"Where's the mom-to-be?\" Her beady blue eyes fell on Mae as she spoke. \"What have we here, my dear?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Mae said, eyes wide.\n\n\"Ah, shame. I was told there'd be a baby.\" Abigail's humor hadn't at all faded. It just sounded particularly amusing from the lips of such a little girl.\n\n\"I just meant... boy or girl or-\"\n\nAbigail waved a hand and toddled over to Mae and reached out a small, dimpled hand. \"Can I?\"\n\nMae's fingers slowly, almost reluctantly, parted from her belly. Abigail gently put her own little fingers down, before resting her head against Mae's stomach.\n\n\"I can hear them,\" Abigail said, voice a little whisper. \"I can. I really can.\" Her eyes brightened and she looked up at Mae. \"I didn't think I'd ever get to do that again.\"\n\nMae grabbed Scott's hand, quickly, tears now spilling from her dark eyes. \"No, thank you. Thank you, I didn't think we'd be able to but then Scott said I could come to the party and we thought... or I didn't hope but- thank you, Gra- um, Abigail.\"\n\nAbigail's eyes narrowed. \"Am I not Gramma Abigail to you, girl? I'll be Great Gramma to your baby, so you'd best be getting used to calling me Gramma.\"\n\nMae's laugh had a little hiccup in it as she brushed the tears from her eyes. \"Thank you, Gramma Abigail.\"\n\n\"Don't you worry about it,\" she said with a wink, before looking up at Lisa. \"You'd best be sure these two get what they're gonna need. Young parents seldom have it easy, but I think they'll be good ones, don't you?\"\n\nLisa laughed. \"The best.\"\n\nAbigail then turned back to the teens and placed her tiny hands over the young couple's. \"I'm not going to be around to see this one, so you love her for me.\" Her eyes were too solemn for such a small girl. \"Thank you, Mae. Scott. For one final little blessing.\"\n\n___\nRead more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " Flowers have become so rare that they are the most sought after items in the world, sold at high prices in black markets, under guard in national museums etc. You just stumbled across a natural rose.",
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"content": "It was the color of a sunset: red tipped petals faded to yellow. Stark contrast to the roiling forever-cloud above it. A thick green stem climbed out of a crack in the dry earth, thorns lining it like a ladder. It had been hidden between two dry logs, lying flat like hollowed bones. It must have peered out from between the dead trees only in the last few days, and I had been the first to stumble upon it.\n\nIt was worth more than my life.\n\nBelow me lay my village of rusted huts. They littered the valley sporadically, as if a train had been derailed and its carriages rolled free, far and wide. Men and women worked around the shacks, digging and raking the land, trying to grow weeds that could be eaten, as kids kicked tins into makeshift goals around them.\n\nThe rose was worth more than any of their lives too. All of them together, even. What a biodome would pay for it...\n\nAnd yet my hand gripped the stem as if a throat and yanked it from the ground. I held it out, its roots flailing in the breeze. I had as good as killed it. No other soil would allow this miracle to live.\n\nI placed it inside my jacket and buttoned up, the thorns slicing at my stomach as I strode back down the hill towards the village.\n\n&#x200B;\n\n\"Clara?\"\n\nThe little girl's eyes didn't open. They hadn't for a long, long time. But pale lips still creased into a smile.\n\n\"Papa?\"\n\nShe was weak. A sheet of paper with inked on features barely visible. A faded trace drawing of my daughter. Clara had been given only days left, weeks ago. Now she was well into borrowed time. And nothing was going to change that. Not any medicine or treatment or prayers. Not the gift I took out of my jacket.\n\nHer eyebrows furrowed as the scented air drifted. Impossibly perfumed.\n\n\"What... what is it?\"\n\n\"A gift.\"\n\nShe'd long been enamoured by the plants in the picture books we borrowed, back when her eyes were sky-blue and open. Roses, she said, were the prettiest of all. Too pretty to exist. Perhaps, I'd said, that's why they didn't anymore. God had been jealous of them.\n\nI didn't tell her of the bombs, not that day. Of the forever night that had swallowed us. Not from God's jealousy, but mankind's greed. I didn't tell her of the clouds of radiation that drifted invisible and left so many charred and ill.\n\nI'd promised one day to take her to see real flowers, in the biodomes, or their skeletal remains that sat behind thick walls of glass in the museums. But it was a promise I'd broken; one that I could never have afforded to keep.\n\nAnd she would never see this flower either.\n\n\"Careful,\" I said, placing the stem between her fingers. \"There are thorns.\"\n\nHer mouth widened as she traced her way up it, fingertips probing, purposefully exploring every sinew. Her other hand tenderly cradled its roots. \"It's... real.\" She brought the flower close to her face and sniffed. \"It's orange,\" she thrilled. \"Isn't it?\"\n\n\"Like sunset. I found it on the hillock, hidden between two dead trees. Perhaps they fed it as they rotted.\"\n\nShe looked at me and said, almost amused, \"Sometimes there's good in death, Papa. But I think it's not always easy to find.\" Then she was silent, keeping the flower by her nose, grinning broadly, as if the smell had returned her sight, as if it had taken her to a field and she was surrounded by a hundred flaming flowers. Finally, her fingers crept back down the rose; she pressed her forefinger against a thorn until it drew a single drop of blood. She didn't flinch; the pain nothing compared to that of her condition.\n\nThen, she said, \"Replant it.\"\n\n\"I brought it for you.\"\n\n\"And it's the best gift I could have had. Truly. But please replant it now, back where you found it.\"\n\nI paused, uncertain,\n\n\"It deserves to live, Papa.\"\n\nSo do you, I wanted to say. Instead, I took the plant and placed it tenderly in my jacket.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " A homeless person who just moments ago was shouting at no one, dies in your arms. Right before they take their last breath, they give you their glasses. Once you put them on, you see who they were shouting at.",
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"content": "\"Go away!\"\n\nI looked up from my phone to see an old man, dressed in rags, making a shooing motion at empty air several feet away. He didn't even seem to notice my presence.\n\n\"Go! S-stay awa—aaaah!\" He collapsed in mid-tirade, clutching his chest.\n\nIt was almost midnight; the streets around campus were empty at this hour. I gulped, looking around for someone else to take responsibility for this, but I was out of luck.\n\n\"Mister, are you okay?\" I said, inching towards the homeless fellow.\n\nHe didn't answer, but continued to wave at something only his mind could perceive. His eyes looked ready to pop from their sockets as he struggled to draw breath.\n\n\"Hold on, okay? I'm calling 911.\"\n\n\"N—no,\" he said. \"Too ... late.\"\n\n\"Don't talk,\" I said, wincing at his visibly purpling face.\n\n\"Come here,\" he said, sounding lucid for the first time since the beginning of our encounter.\n\nThat was the last thing I wanted to do, but I'd read in some magazine that the only thing the dying wanted was company. Figuring that he couldn't do much harm, I knelt beside him.\n\nWordlessly, he took off his glasses and handed them to me with a significant look. With a frown, I took them. The moment they left his hands, he fell back. A single tear dripped from the corner of his left eye.\n\n\"Hello, 911? Some homeless guy just died in front of me, on 16th Avenue. Could you send an ambulance?\"\n\nAfter the operator assured me help was on the way, I retreated a little further from the body to wait. His thin, wire frame glasses were surprisingly clean unlike the rest of him. I held them up to my face to look through them, wondering just how bad his vision was, and that was when I saw the figure.\n\nI yelled in surprise, dropping them in the process, and looked wildly around.\n\nThe area remained deserted, except for a cat slinking in the shadows across the road. The nearby traffic light blinked yellow, and then red. Nothing was out of the ordinary—there were no spectral silhouettes in sight.\n\nSo what had I seen? A smudge, perhaps? A glare from the streetlight?\n\nMy hands shook as I stooped to retrieve the glasses. The homeless man's eccentric last moments came back into my memory, and I felt an urge to throw this strange inheritance into the bushes and hurry on home.\n\nBut a morbid curiosity arose as well ... was I going mad, as he had?\n\nHeart pounding, I raised the glasses again. Before they'd even reached the level of my eyes, I saw it again.\n\nThe figure stood about three feet in front of me, humanoid, its outline gray and blurry, as though it was vibrating excessively. It wasn't very tall; maybe four feet tops.\n\nI licked my suddenly dry lips, and wondered if I should run. It made no move towards me; just stood there.\n\nAnd then I realized why.\n\nIt was staring at the old man.\n\n\"Er, hello?\" I said.\n\nThe figure's head swiveled toward me, and it jumped. The suddenness elicited a similar response from me, but I suddenly chuckled. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the idea that we'd both been spooked by each other. While standing next to an old man. With me holding a pair of glasses like a pair of binoculars.\n\nThings did start to feel silly.\n\n\"You can hear me?\" I said.\n\nIt nodded, and I thought I saw a small hole open in its face. However, I heard nothing except the rustle of plastic trash being blown across the sidewalk.\n\nThe figure cocked its head, and then signaled for me to put the glasses on.\n\nHell, what could go wrong? I did as it indicated, and abruptly heard a childish voice speaking as though right next to my ear.\n\n\"You've taken Don's eyes,\" it said.\n\nI shook my head. \"He gave it to me. Do you have a name?\"\n\nThe creature paused for a while before saying, \"Don calls me Peter.\"\n\n\"Peter. What are you?\" I said, and added, \"Pardon me if I'm being rude.\"\n\nA soft laugh came from him. \"I'm a boy! I'm Don's son—well, he says so, anyway. I don't know who my mummy is.\"\n\nMy head was beginning to throb, both from adrenaline and confusion. \"Well ... you're not—you don't look human to me.\"\n\nThe boy shrugged. \"Don said that's nothing. People don't talk to me anyway. Only Don does.\" His brows furrowed. \"Don's been lying there for a while now. Has he been drinking again? Can you wake him up, sister? He said he's taking me to the carnival tomorrow.\"\n\nI looked at the homeless man, and then back at Peter. \"Peter, Don's ... Don's dead. I think it was a heart attack or something.\"\n\nSomething about Peter changed then; I wasn't sure what gave me the impression. Maybe it was a subtle change in his pale hue. Maybe there was an irregular tremor in his shifting form.\n\nEither way, his voice was tiny when he next said, \"Not him, too?\"\n\nFrom the darkness came a faint wail of sirens. The ambulance must be close by.\n\n\"Too?\" I said.\n\n\"Yeah.\" Peter squatted beside the old man's body. \"Before him, it was Sally. And James, and Miguel, and ...\" The boy sighed. \"So many.\"\n\nA thought sent a shiver down my spine. \"Did you ... did you kill them?\" It was hardly unusual in fiction.\n\nSomehow, he managed to project incredulity at me even without eyes. \"They loved me. We were family.\"\n\n\"Sorry.\" Relief flooded through me when the ambulance parked by the roadside. Two paramedics got down and hurried over with a stretcher. I told them what had happened, though I sensed that they weren't listening with full attention as they examined the body.\n\nThroughout it all, Peter rested his head on Don's head.\n\n\"We'll contact you if we need to talk to you,\" one of them said, just before they hoisted the body onto the stretcher. Peter backed away then, watching them silently.\n\nI nodded. They carted the body off. Soon, the ambulance had started once more.\n\nA tingle shot up my left arm. Yelping, I turned to see that Peter had slipped his hand through mine.\n\n\"Will you take care of me now?\" he said.\n\nMy lips worked soundlessly for several seconds before I dipped my head once.\n\nAnd then I felt it: a pure, profound sensation of joy, like sunshine cutting through the chill of winter—spreading up my arm. I couldn't help it then—tears began pouring from my eyes.\n\n***\n\n*I hope you liked that. Check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker/) for more stories!*",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " You are one of several Princes fighting in a battle royale to inherit the Kingdom. All the Princes get a God as a sponsor, who grants them boons and abilities. Powerful sponsors include gods like Zeus, Ra and Neptune. So, it was a surprise when you found out that your sponsor is Death.",
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"content": "\"I am the 37th Prince of the Elemira Kingdom, son of the Mad King Roedran. I have come to beseech thee, O Gods, for your blessing in earning the throne. My offering will be the deaths of my other brothers, a thousand silver pieces and a 100 gold pieces from my personal coffers, as well as a shrine in your name.\" \n\nXioden intoned quietly at the Altar of Sanctuary, doing his best to not laugh at the absurdity of the whole process. His Ancestor, the Tyrant King had been the one to start the throne ritual. He had taken many wives in his life, some from within his kingdom and others from foreign land. And he had hated them all. So, on his deathbed, he made it a rule. Any one of his princes could take the throne after him, but they had to prove themselves in the arena. They had to fight, and kill and win. \n\nAnd though the Tyrant had been the one to start the custom, the gods did not get involved till the second time it began. There were numerous rumours regarding why this came to be but Xioden had heard from the priests of Sanctuary that this was the only way the gods could sort out their differences without having a full scale war, the last of which destroyed the old world. \n\nThe popular gods like Zeus and Neptune would usually attach themselves to the strongest and richest princes. The average princes would get the lesser gods. And the weak princes would be lucky to get a god at all. Xioden hoped he didn't fall into that group. He didn't think he was Zeus worthy but he could at least compete with a lesser god of the heavenly pantheon. He knew his talents laid in being devious and extremely knowledgeable of the numerous aspects of the body but he had no faith in his strength. \n\n*Maybe a god like Loki can bless me*, Xioden couldn't help but pray. \n\nHe continued his chant, repeating his birthright and his claim to the throne, as well as what he was planning to offer to the gods in exchange for their help. The minutes had passed by and he was beginning to feel hopeless. He could hear the mumblings of priests behind him, as well as a very obvious snickering from some of his brothers watching him. He didn't face them however, choosing to focus only on his chant.\n\nThe Altar of Sanctuary had been the only place the gods had taken to be their neutral ground. Prospects can worship any of them at that altar or ask them for assistance. The altar itself was simple enough, a short high table upon which a gold circular signet was placed. Around the table on the floor, were small red candles of incense. Atop the table, around the gold signet, were two pale candles. The order in which they were ignited were privy only to the priests.\n\nThe incense was beginning to get to Xioden as he chanted, the smell clogging up his breathing and he began to lose hope. No prince without a god had ever lived long enough to survive the first night in the arena. Most didn't even survive the first few seconds. He didn't want that to happen. He couldn't let it happen. He had promised his mother. He had promised himself. In his desperation, he added one extra line to his chant. \n\n\"I am the 37th Prince of the Elemira Kingdom, son of the Mad King Roedran. I have come to beseech thee, O Gods, for your blessing in earning the throne. My offering will be the deaths of my other brothers, a thousand silver pieces and a 100 gold pieces from my personal coffers, as well as a shrine in your name. And should you wish it, more deaths in your name.\"\n\nAs the last word left Xioden's lips, he heard the priests exclaim and opened his eyes to see the smoke from the incense wrap whirl around him. It wrapped around him faster and faster, growing darker till it obscured his view. The darkness was thick and suffocating and he found himself panicking at the sight of it. Every time he tried to reach for it, or extend his hand out of it, it was like his life was getting sucked out of him. The shouts from the priests outside the dark smoke grew fainter and fainter till he couldn't hear them anymore. \n\nAnd then, out of the darkness, a face peered out. \n\nA skull. \n\n\"More deaths, you say... Tell me more...\" A deep voice reverberated through Xioden, like he was hearing it from every angle and from within. \n\nThe prince nodded and then began to speak. \n\n---\n\n/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories\n\n[Part 2 (as requested)](https://old.reddit.com/r/EvenAsIWrite/comments/9x1ekc/deathbringer_part_2/)\n\n[Part 3 (as demanded)](https://old.reddit.com/r/EvenAsIWrite/comments/9xh7a9/deathbringer_part_3/)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You were the first person to be born without super powers in nearly a thousand years. When it was discovered that you had no powers you became an instant celebrity. Thanks to this, villains and heroes alike seek you out to either kidnap or rescue you on a daily basis. You are sick of it.",
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"content": "I am so fucking tired of superheroes and supervillains. Wait, we're using 'sleepy' now. I'm so fucking *sleepy* of all these supers.\n\nI am so goddamned bored. Every single movie. Every single television show. Even Christmas shows. Rudolph's super-power? His glowing red nose. Frosty the Snowman? Magic hat. The only one that I could identify with is *A Charlie Brown Christmas*, because it shows you can be unpowered and unhappy and it's okay. \n\nI'm a pawn. I'm the only pawn and everyone else is a knight, or a space-knight, or a demon-knight, or, or, like this one woman who rescued me from this supervillain with ice powers, she was a guitar-knight, wore a lot of leather, had an 'axe', hardy-har-har, that was from some Nordic sky-god. \n\nThere's always a battle. Every couple of years, there's a big war and they all fight each other for some planetary level destruction-event thing. They say they do it for me, but I'm beyond caring.\n\nThe only reason civilization exists is because everyone tries to maintain a secret identity. That's why I don't have friends. I'm always me. But they are always... them. \n\nI'm going to find an island. Not Monster Island, not Kong Island, not Robot Island, not Weird War Island with forgotten Roman legions and samurai and pirates, not Dinosaur Island, or Super Intelligent Gorilla Archipelago, or Atlantis. Just a plain island—like I'm plain—and that's where I'm going to live.\n\nSo if you're reading this note, I'm missing, yes, but I'm not a hostage, I'm not kidnapped. Don't use your super-smell power, or your psychic ability, or your hyper-intelligent brain, or your crazy-stupid good luck to find me. Let me be. Please.",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
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"content": " Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. \"Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time.\" He then jogs out of the room.",
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"content": "Eli’s hand shook as he turned in the paper to Mr. Hansen, his professor in Global History 231. He eyed the young adult with suspicion.\n\n“You know this paper was due yesterday, right? On November 11?” He said sternly.\n\nEli swallowed what was left of his confidence.\n\n“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen. I had a lot on my plate, and the paper slipped my mind, and-“\n\nThe professor waved the excuses off.\n\n“I don’t want to hear it, mainly because the best performing student I so far scored on this assignment was a 65.”\n\nEli helplessly watched in a flurry of fear and anxiety as his eyes darted across the paper. Mr. Hansen would pause for a moment, then continue; however, for as much as he read, his expression grew more tiresome as he combed through the paper the studen had hastily written in the two hours leading up to his class.\n\n“Sir, if I may.”\n\n“Go ahead.” He replied, his eyes fixated on the first paragraph of the second page.\n\n“I-I would like to discuss some chance for extra credit.”\n\nProfessor Hansen stopped and looked up, his gaze hinting a bit of impatience.\n\n“Eli Nelson, was it?”\n\n“Yessir.”\n\n“You have a C- in my class, taking into account that you actually pass the final exam. The passing grade is a B+.”\n\nEli looked down, now in a state of repressed panic.\n\nThe professor got back to reading as Eli contemplated his next moves. He could retake the class, though his grants wouldn’t cover his expenditures anymore. He could go into another field, and risk failing to graduate college altogether by being ousted of a program. He could even-\n\n“Mr. Nelson.”\n\nThe student looked up.\n\n“Yeah?” He asked, his throat closing up slightly.\n\n“This...isn’t half bad.”\n\nEli stopped to process the response.\n\n“Really?”\n\n“Yes. While you might not have gone into detail, I love your plan on how to change such a historical event with only a stalled engine.”\n\n“Well, I mean-“\n\n“Say. You wanted to pass my class, correct?”\n\n“Yessir.”\n\n“Great! I’ll try that this time.”\n\n“Wait, Mr. Hansen?”\n\nAs Eli was about to ask what the professor meant, he was already being dragged along by the 60 year old man.\n\n“Wait, sir-“\n\n“No time, Mr. Nelson! You wanted a passing grade in my class, so now you’re gonna get it!”\n\nThey exited the lecture hall and into the corridors, with Eli trying to decide whether staying with the crazy old professor for extra credit was a sane decision. For all the time that Mr. Hansen has been at East Stratton University, everyone knew the elderly guy was a nutcase, sometimes rambling about alternate futures in what was suppose to be Global History. Heck, it was a poor decision in itself to make him a professor at all, least of all a History professor, Eli thought to himself as the duo rushed down the stairwell. From what the rumors said, he was nearly sent to a mental institution two months ago for ranting on for three consecutive hours on how the war of 1812 was ‘necessary for Britain to kickstart the Industrial Revolution’, not even mentioning last week’s hour lecture on how the Titanic ‘would have gone on to kill more than 3,000 lives if it hadn’t sunk in 1912’.\n\nThey made their way out of the Liberal Arts building and towards the Science Hall. Eli gave a quick wave to his roommate, who waved back with slight confusion, but then switched to understanding as he saw Mr. Hansen dragging him towards the service elevator. He scanned his keycard before pressing the button for the bottom floor.\n\n“Sir, can I ask why you’re hauling me along?”\n\n“Well, you wrote the paper, didn’t you?”\n\n“Yes.” Eli said, slightly hesitant on telling him it was a rushed piece that he wrote on the first thing that he saw.\n\n“Then I need you to get the details right.”\n\n“Okay.”\n\n“Here, I’ll list them.”\n\nThe old man unfolded his report. He flipped to the second page.\n\n“So you said it was a cold day, so an engine stalling wouldn’t be too noticeable.l”\n\n“I guess.”\n\n“And then you listed that, due to a team of mechanics fixing the problem, a parade was postponed.”\n\n“Yeah, but-“\n\n“And then a certain figure wouldn’t get shot.”\n\n“Hey now, I didn’t say he wouldn’t get sh-“\n\n“Well, shot later, but I think you had that planned as well.”\n\n“Uh...”\n\n“Look, Eli. I’m going to be honest.”\n\nMr. Hansen was now facing him, with the same gaze he gave Eli’s paper when he detailed the alternate history of the world in it.\n\n“I’m way older than you think I am.”\n\nEli let out a small laugh.\n\n“What, you’re not 60? You look possibly 65, but I doubt even 70. Whatever skin care stuff you’re using, my grandma could maybe benefit from-“\n\n“I’m nearing 250 years old, kid.”\n\nEli couldn’t help but chuckle.\n\n“Good one, Mr. Hansen. Now, I know my grade is on the line, but I think I can benefit from retaking your class next year and mayb-“\n\n“I’m not crazy, Mr. Nelson. I’ve heard the rumors.”\n\nEli composed himself.\n\n“And I follow along with the rumors. To them, I’m just crazy ol’ Hansen.”\n\nThe elevator chimed as the doors opened.\n\n“But to you, I’m anything but crazy.”\n\nEli stared in disbelief as he gazed at the countless server units before him.\n\n“This place, all of this, I built.”\n\n“You built all of this?”\n\n“Well, not necessarily. Miss Wixom and the Science department helped me.”\n\nEli’s eyes finally settled on a platform in the middle of the atrium.\n\n“Is this, like, some sort of time travel device? Like the ones in books, TV shows, and movies?”\n\n“Yes, only this one is real.”\n\nMr. Hansen typed on a nearby console.\n\n“I was once a soldier in the Continental Army, fighting the British in D.C. before they burned the White House down.“\n\n“So that’s how you told the lecture in such detail!”\n\n“So you were paying attention in my classes. I thought the kids at the front were the only ones tuning in.”\n\nEli continued to marvel at his surroundings as the professor pressed a few buttons. In an instant, the platform started slowly rotating as Mr. Hansen motioned Eli to step on.\n\n“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here?”\n\n“Well, to be frank, I don’t know. But that’s not a pressing issue now.”\n\nThe professor flicked a switched as he rushed over to the platform, standing by Eli.\n\n“The reason I wanted those papers earlier was because the time gate opens only for a short period of time in both the past and present.”\n\n“So how will we get back to the future?”\n\n“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”\n\nEli swallowed, knowing full well what the professor was about to say next. Electricity sparked around and beneath the duo as a dark, floating hole cracked open beneath them.\n\n“There being Sarajevo, 26 of June, 1914.”\n\nThe two fell in, quickly getting to terminal velocity in the dark void. It was a miracle Mr. Hansen wasn’t having a heart attack, Eli thought. However, it was one of his last thoughts, as Eli felt his eyes roll back. He felt himself drifting out of consciousness, but not before getting a quick peek of the old city that they had spontaneously arrived in.\n\n*The Archduke can wait for now.*\n\n*What Eli needed to do now was process what had happened undisturbed.*\n\nEdit: It’s 12:38 in the morning where I’m at. Following up/correcting mistakes when I get some sleep.\n\nEdit 2: Gonna sound like an idiot, but thanks for my first award ever.\n\nEdit 3: [Continuing the story here, so if you liked it, I'll be updating it here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/dredex/)",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
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"role": "system"
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"content": " As a world class sniper, you’ve been given a task to assassinate the so called “master of disguise”. You’ve been told that he himself never changes appearance, but he warps the environment around him to hide. All you need to look for is a man with glasses and a red and white striped shirt.",
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"content": "For a master of disguise, my target has to have had the most detailed brief ever, along with a picture of a man in a goofy smile.\n\nTall, think, and lanky. Disheveled brown hair always covered by a wooly white cap with a red band and a tuft of red fur. Always dressed in a red and white striped sweater along with blue jeans. A face best described as non-descript, but his goofy grin was anything but. The ensemble is topped off with a pair of round glasses, and two of the most unfeeling eyes I have ever seen on the job.\n\nTrust me, I look in the mirror every day. Those were not the eyes of a normal human being. It bored uncomfortably into your soul, making you realise something that you never wanted to realise. All this from just a picture.\n\nUsually, a man with such a distinctive appearance would stand out like a sore thumb. Wooly hats and sweaters are generally not the attire of choice on a sweltering summer day, where even I struggled to keep my sweat from interfering in my work. At the beach, no less. I was camped out on the rooftop of a nearby hotel, trying my best not to burn my fingers with the gun metal heating up.\n\nYet, there was something amiss about this place. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. \n\nThere were a lot of people, yes, but there's not uncommon for a beach in the middle of summer. The feeling hammered and assaulted every part of my brain, alarm bells ringing incessantly. It seemed like the most obvious thing I was missing, but my mind refused to find the answer.\n\nI scanned the crowd from left to right once again. Every time my eyes moved across the area, something different and interesting was happening. Two men dressed in a rhinocerous costume for some reason. A beach umbrella falling off its hinges, capturing four people beneath it. A glorious wave bombarding the beach along with a trove of marine life and seashells. It was a madcap caper that refused to stand still.\n\nIt's been three hours and twenty-two minutes. I've never taken this long to take out my target before. That's what meticulous research and god-given sniping talent did for me. Yet, the hands continue ticking, and I feel no closer to finding Mr. Waldo.\n\nI took my eyes away from the scope, allowing my strained eye to rest. I surveyed the scene before me, trying to relax with my brain thumping.\n\nI closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Two, three, four. My exploding gray matter calmed down a little. \n\nEyelids shot up. A moment of inspiration jolted through my body.\n\nWith renewed focus and clarity, I thought out the process once again. There was no way Waldo stayed hidden by using the most common techniques. This was a man of immense skill with the ability to disrupt and distort the environment around him. He was the epicenter. The master of the illusion. No use looking in the shadows or the fringers. The beach revolved around him. \n\nA flash. There. \n\nI quickly put my eye to the scope. I got Waldo. I got him dead to rights.\n\nWith my crosshairs on him, I saw Waldo face on. The grin. The glasses. The outfit. I felt a chill run down my spine.\n\nWaldo was looking straight at me.\n\nThere was no time to lose. I felt the wind around me, quickly tilted and panned the rifle upwards to the right, and fired a shot. A crack of thunder rang through.\n\nI turned my scope back onto Waldo, expecting to see a dead body lying in crimson. Instead, what I saw was Waldo's eyes boring straight into me.\n\nAgainst my every instinct, I stared him down. His grin grew even wider.\n\nI tried and kept my eye open, but I had to blink. That was all it took.\n\nGone like the wind. Not a trace of him left behind. Strangely, the people around him started looking around in a daze, as if caught in some sort of drunken stupor. Nobody even seemed to know that a sniper bullet had just flown into the crowd.\n\nWhere's Waldo? Just where the fuck did he go?\n\n---\n\nFind Waldo hiding in my stories at r/dexdrafts",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " To get past the Sphinx, you must answer its riddles. The riddles are things like \"How do I set up my router\" and \"What's the WiFi password\", and it's becoming increasingly clear he's using you for tech support.",
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"content": "I've solved ancient ciphers that have puzzled scholars for decades. Uncovered countless artifacts. Gained worldwide renown for my treasure-hunting abilities.\n\nBut then came the day I had to explain cloud computing to an Egyptian deity.\n\nI entered the Great Sphinx through a secret stairwell in the side parallel to the Pyramids of Giza. In most cases, I scavenge in silence, with only deep echoes and the occasional rumbling of stone overhead to accompany me. Unfortunately, the spirit of the Sphinx has an obnoxious, booming voice. \n\n\"Who DARES enter my chamber?\" it began. I rolled my eyes, and the voice didn't seem particularly thrilled. \"Yeah, OK, buddy. I see you down there. Let's cut to the chase. To gain passage to the Pyramids, you must answer my riddles...uh...I don't know, actually. The merchant told me this would take, like, an hour. Let's go with 15! Yes, 15 riddles!\"\n\n\"OK,\" I said, shrugging my shoulders. \"Lay it on me.\"\n\n\"You must...establish a connection to the server!\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"I don't know; you tell me.\"\n\n\"You're trying to...get on the Internet?\"\n\n\"Yes! The great bastion of knowledge! How may I please the great god of 'HTTP 404'?\"\n\nI sighed and rubbed my temples with my hand. \"OK...do you have a mouse?\"\n\n\"I possess many rodents in my chambers!\"\n\n\"No, no, a computer mouse. To click things.\"\n\n\"Hmm. Is this the artifact which was included with my Great Communicator?\"\n\n\"With your computer? Yeah. If it's wired, plug it into the USB port. Ugh, you probably don't know...look, is there a way I can come into your room or whatever? It's really hard to explain this from a distance.\"\n\n\"NO! Foolish mortal. How can you possibly suggest joining me in the skies above? I do not desecrate myself by residing on your Earth. However, I find it crucial to understand your technologies to ensure further domination. Continue your explanation!\"\n\nI spent the next six hours explaining the functions of a mouse and keyboard and getting him connected to a weak public Wi-Fi signal. As soon as he got on the Internet, he began clicking on things.\n\n\"Ooh, it appears I've won something! They will ship great riches directly to me!\"\n\n\"No, don't click that...that's a scam. It's not real.\"\n\n\"You mortals and your pathetic deceptions. It's too late. I have clicked it. Now my computer has ceased to function.\"\n\nI spent the next five hours explaining the purpose of antivirus software and teaching him how to download some.\n\n\"You have done well, mortal,\" he finally said. \"I have but one final question. What is the 'cloud,' and how might I arrange a visit to it?\"\n\n\"It's not a real cloud. It's a figure of speech. It's used to describe a particular method of data transfer and storage.\"\n\n\"This is an OUTRAGE! I can tell you are deceiving me further, human! As punishment for your insolence, you shall be trapped here forever. I have many more questions for you.\"\n\nThere was a loud rumble and a series of gigantic boulders fell from the ceiling, blocking the exit. I sprinted forward through a passageway I hadn't yet explored. More boulders began to fall as the Sphinx laughed with glee.\n\n\"There's no escape, you wicked, walking flesh-heap!\"\n\nI ran for my life for God knows how long, narrowly avoiding each boulder, until I reached an open clearing and the noise stopped. I looked up and saw the point of a triangle far above me.\n\n\"Welcome to the First Pyramid of Giza!\" a voice announced. \"To gain passage to the second pyramid, you must answer my riddles three.\"\n\n\"Sure. Why not,\" I groaned.\n\n\"Excellent. I am attempting to coordinate a Zoom meetup with Ra and my fucking microphone isn't working. Assist me or perish.\"",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " When the Statue of Liberty was sent to America from France, the box was labeled \"some assembly required.\" In well over a century, no one ever noticed the other label that said \"batteries not included.\" Until today, that is.",
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"content": "\"What. The. Hell?\"\n\nIt was a beautiful day on Liberty Island, the sky was cloudless, and the sun shone warmly down on them from a pleasant blue sky. Towering over Jacob, and the blue waters of New York Harbor, the green structure known as the Statue of Liberty stood proudly.\n\n\"Robert,\" Jacob yelled over his shoulder for his supervisor, \"Can you come here?\"\n\nJacob heard the disgruntled mumbling of an old man, and knew that Robert would be there in a moment.\n\nThe statue had sustained significant structural damage in the attack that nearly brought her down three years prior, especially around the left foot. But over time she had been meticulously restored. Jacob, along with the rest of his crew, had been called in last minute to do some touch ups on the outer surface of the left foot.\n\nDuring his work on the foot though, Jacob had found something. A large letter \"B\" inscribed into the oxidized copper of her foot. Fueled by curiosity, and against his better judgement, Jacob had spent the next half an hour chipping away at the thin copper of the statue, revealing the entire phrase.\n\n\"What the hell do you want?\" Robert bellowed as he approached. He wasn't a patient man, but damn if he wasn't the best engineer the Army Corps of Engineers had to offer.\n\nJacob just shook his head, and pointed at the inscription. Robert grew extremely silent as he read it.\n\n*Batteries not included.*, it read.\n\n\"Vandalism?\" Robert asked in an angry whisper.\n\n\"No,\" Jacob answered, \"I had to, uh, chip away some of the surface to find it. It's old.\"\n\nHe had expected Robert to launch in a tirade about defacing the statue, but he stayed quiet.\n\n\"So you think it's original?\" Robert continued.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Was all Jacob could say.\n\nA slight breeze picked up, and Jacob shivered despite the heat of the summer sun.\n\n\"Who do we call?\" Jacob asked, \"The President? The Historical Society?\"\n\nRobert didn't answer, and instead began slowly walking towards the end of the inscription. Upon reaching the period, he moved his face close to the surface, and ran his fingers along it.\n\n\"There's something here,\" He suddenly spoke out, and began trying to work his fingers into a small, straight crack that Jacob was making out as he drew closer.\n\nWith an audible snap, Robert pulled a small square of green metal away from the statue, and Jacob saw a familiar sight. A small, rectangular space inside the statue with what appeared to be springs on alternate sides. He had seen the same thing in his remote, or on the back of his Game Boy as a child.\n\nWithout hesitation, Robert reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight. He nervously twisted the back off, and shook it until two batteries fell out. Slowly he moved the batteries towards the space in the statue, and Jacob was surprised to find that they were the exact size.\n\n\"Sir,\" Jacob managed to choke out, \"Maybe we shouldn't.\"\n\nBut Robert ignored him. He unceremoniously stuffed the two batteries in, and stepped away.\n\nImmediately there was a rumbling from deep within the island. One hundred and fifty one feet above them, there was a loud boom as the top of the statue's torch ripped itself apart, and a massive flame burst into the sky as if from the mouth of a dragon.\n\nJacob's jaw dropped as the statue slowly slid itself off of it's platform, and began to wade into New York Harbor like one of the robot's from Pacific Rim.\n\nIt stopped as it was knee deep, and off in the distance Jacob could now hear the commotion from the mainland. The sounds of sirens carried across the water, and helicopters, both news and police ones, began buzzing over the top of the statue. But she ignored them, and instead began scanning the horizon, her head slowly moving from side to side.\n\nThen without warning, her head stopped moving as it focused intently on something. Jacob followed her gaze, and spotted a large ship off in the distance. He began to speak up, when he saw that Robert was already looking at the ship through a set of binoculars.\n\n\"Oh God,\" Robert muttered, as the Statue's eyes began to glow yellow, and the sound of grinding metal filled the air as she started moving towards the ship.\n\n\"What?\" Jacob asked, \"What is it?\"\n\n\"That ship,\" Robert said, \"It's a B.P. ship...\"\n\n\"B.P.?\" Jacob shook his head, \"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"*British* Petroleum,\" Robert told him.\n\nJacob looked back towards the statue as it waded deeper into the water.\n\n\"Oh no,\" he mumbled as he remembered every lesson on the Boston Tea Party, \"They aren't going to be happy about this one.\"\n________________________________________________________________\nI wrote this in a hurry, but if you enjoyed it go ahead and check out some of my other stories over at my subreddit r/Niedski! I keep it updated with every new story I write. We'd love the company!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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"content": " Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.",
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"content": " Humanity always asks the question is there truly life that lies beyond the stars?\n\n Usually the Galactic Union helps species that are deemed capable of being able to care for the universe and their own home planets. They are passed on a test of how well their planets equilibrium is and as well as how they handle certain situations regarding the natural forces of the planet they reside in. If they pass this test then the Galactic Union introduces itself to the species with first a message by whatever communications the species uses. \n \n Eventually once their world and people are caught up in the history of the universe the G.S (Galactic Services) a branch of the Galactic Union will provide scientist and engineers from around the universe to help propel their society and quality of life. \n \n Though there is one species the Galactic Union dares not touch... Humans, we could never fathom how they handle the care of their planet and as how they handle the strength of the natural forces on their planet. Humans are something no species has encountered before, they never bow down or give up. They have the audacity to terraform and change nature itself to bend to their will. \n \n They care nothing for common sense and logical thought processes. If they want something they will find a way to get it. They are so weak and brittle naturally but even then with the help of their technological advances they keep pursuing things that will help make them stronger and better. They prevent diseases before they’re even born with genetic modification. It doesn’t stop there they even modify their unborn to be better then the average human. After birth they’re even crazy enough to inject their children with the diseases that kill them to make them immune to them! Sometimes they even fight Mother Nature, they take to the skies and grounds to fight the flames of the sun. They build architecture that can handle tsunamis that would decimate planets, hell they even build bombs with the capabilities of wiping out species just because it’s a good way to stop wars.\n \n Humans have no concept of caution, when a human wants or thinks of something they will try it. A humans curiosity is something that no species can tame. Thus no species dares to interact with them nor help them propel their society. The Galactic Union could only imagine what humans would do with the plethora of knowledge we have to offer. Humans are catching up to the rest of the galaxy and they keep getting faster and faster, exponentially increasing their technological discovery speed. \n\n They’re like a snowball of a species that the Galactic Union can’t stop. For the day Humans discover the life that lies beyond the stars is the day the Universe is doomed.\n\n(This is my first writing prompt try ever! It might not be that good since I wrote it in my phones notes but I think it’s decent!)\n\nEDIT: I just really want to thank everyone for the insane amount of support! This really makes me want to write even more now! You’re all great and I’m glad I finally decided to write for a prompt!",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " Ever since one raindrop has slowed and eventually stopped its own descent towards the Earth, millions upon millions of raindrops have followed suit, causing Earth to be surrounded by water. Now, every living being lives in constant fear of the fateful day this ocean in the sky will fall.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "It would have begun with a single drop. Somewhere, far up in the heavens, a tiny speck, suspended in mid-air, defying nature, defying all order. Then another. Then another. \n\nAt first, no-one noticed, or if they did, nobody cared. Measurements of abnormally dense, low-hanging clouds were put down to instrumental error or some intern fiddling about with the data. After all, water doesn't just sit there, in midair. It falls down, returns to the springs, the rivers, the oceans, making a journey of up to thousands of years before it feels that same weightlessness once more, rising high up above. \n\nBut it became impossible to ignore. The sky took on a sparkly, iridescent sheen, and closer examinations could not be contradicted. There were whole puddles of water up there, consisting of millions of raindrops frozen in midair, as if disconnected from time, gravity, reality. Particular patches began to draw tourists, some brilliant shades of green and purple, from some toxic concoction of dissolved chemicals, or perhaps some particularly hardy algae life surviving near the limits of planet Earth. And life went on. \n\nThen these patches began to join together, and the water began evaporating at a faster and faster rate. You could practically see the tiny droplets rising up, as if answering a call, even in winter, the rising white mists, when they should have been frozen there on the lake's surface. \n\nBut the drop in sea level was welcomed, and it was regarded as the success of international measures to reverse global warming. America thought China's ways, though unorthodox, and publicly denied, at least provided a reprieve for those living on the coasts, relieving the stress from already-overcrowded coastal cities. Russia thought the US was meddling with something it didn't understand, but it was working, at the least. New Zealand saw its land borders extend~~, and with the added sheep pens came increasing amounts of profit~~ even to the point of visibility on globes and maps. All was well. \n\nUntil the water began blocking out the sun. Far above, with each passing day the water layer grew and grew, until it resembled a shallow second ocean, with merely ozone for its seabed, and the water levels kept rising. The various 'seas' began to join together, until finally there was a complete membrane-like bubble enveloping the earth. And the sunlight began to dim, the weak rays, having travelled millions of kilometres through space, faltered against this aquatic shield. \n\nBut with the water levels lowering back down on earth, the ocean depths became more accessible, leading to extraordinary discoveries, both biological and otherwise. Subjected to the extreme pressure of millions of gallons of water, known substances had morphed into unique, super-substances on the sea bed, with amazing potential for infrastructure and technology. The stock market was booming. A golden age was heralded.\n\nUntil one day the realisation struck that what goes up must come down. That those trillions of litres of water, stuck far up above our heads, must surely be poised to strike. That the miraculous force holding them in place must surely give way at some point.\n\nAnd there was widespread panic. Governments devoted all their nation's youngest and brightest towards researching the phenomenon. Militaries focused on mechanisms of defending against the impact of the striking of whole oceans' worth of water. Little progress was made.\n\nAnd now not a day went by where fearful glances were not cast towards the heavens, or rather, the ominous, looming presence of the water obscuring it. \n\nAnd all the while, the oceans receded, the rivers dried up, the creeks vanished. And then the grass began to die, then the trees, then whole forests and all the wildlife within. \n\nUntil all that was left was humanity, eyes fixed resolutely towards the sky, dreading the moments of chaos and confusion that would never come, and all the while the icecaps melted, and the last of their life-sustaining water began to rise up, inexorably, out of reach, as they watched on. \n\n(EDIT: New Zealand)\n",
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"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "”Thank you god for for letting me live another day.”. “No problem!” Says a booming voice. A silence falls over your room until you hear the booming voice say “sorry... didn’t realize my mic was on. “",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"God, is that...is that you?\"\n\nNo answer. I sigh and roll back over, nestling my head into my pillow. Then suddenly, the booming voice returns.\n\n\"This, uh, this might be a little hard to explain. Can I just send you a Zoom link?\"\n\n\"OK...?\" I respond, stepping out of bed and sitting at my desk. I open my laptop and email, and sure enough, there's a message: \"GOD would like you to join his Zoom meeting.\"\n\nI click the link and the Zoom app opens.\n\n\"Hi there,\" I say.\n\n\"Ah, there you are, Jake!\" the voice says, decidedly less booming now. \"OK...I can see you but I can't hear you. Yep, just go ahead and - yeah, the webcam. That oughta do it. Perfect!\"\n\nGod looks the way I've always seen him depicted - long, flowing white hair and a bushy white beard. \n\n\"I know what you're thinking,\" he says. \"In these meetings I take the form of however the speaker wishes me to appear.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\n\"We've been focus testing this experience for a while now. People's prayers have gotten increasingly despairing, so we thought a little face-to-face wouldn't hurt, if you know what I mean. But that little mic snafu...that, uh, that was on me. So I apologize in advance for any clunkiness you might experience. This call will be recorded for quality assurance purposes.\"\n\nI stare blankly at the screen. \n\n\"Go on, don't be shy! What would you like to discuss?\"\n\n\"Well, I...\" I'm still at a loss. \"I'm just grateful to be alive, honestly. Some days I think 'What a fascinating time to be alive.' Others, 'What a terrible time to be alive.' But today, I'm just grateful. It was a good day.\"\n\n\"That's wonderful to hear, Jake. You know, we're offering a subscription package right now for Mood Boosts. For the low price of $9.99 a month, you can get a jolt of energy and enthusiasm delivered directly to your brainwaves from yours truly!\"\n\nI cough, and God breathes a defeated sigh.\n\n\"Look, Jake, I'm not happy about hawking this stuff either. But times are tight for everyone. I wish I had more time to give you - I wish I had more time to give everyone. It's just...really hard for me to adjust to this techno stuff.\"\n\n\"It's OK, God. I don't mind.\"\n\nGod smiles. \"Well, thanks.\"\n\nI pause and stroke my chin for a moment, then ask: \"Do you think you'll be needing any beta testers?\"\n\n\"Well, as a matter of fact - yes! Can I send you a form to fill out?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"It's been a pleasure, Jake. We'll be talking again soon.\"\n\nThe Zoom client closes and a new message pops into my email. It's a Google form. I open it up and the form is riddled with typos and strange formatting. I chuckle and shake my head.\n\nIt seems I may have just become God's tech support.",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " In your world, friendship is literally magic. However, your bond must be true. Magic is bluer the more friends you have, and it's also stronger. Your cousin is the second strongest sorcerer alive. The strongest? You, with red magic and an absolute hatred for everyone you've ever met.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "I've often thought, that Ambition, must be fuelled by contempt. After all, desires don't rise from nothing. You start off young, and carefree, and the more you are wronged by people - the more people take advantage of you - the more you strive to be better than them.\n\nAnd it's a self-perpetuating loop. The more contemptuous of a person you are, the less likely you are to show weakness to others that might help humanise yourself in their eyes. Because they live privileged lives, oblivious to the humanity of even their worst enemy. They make me sick.\n\nMy cousin stands atop a podium right now, he's giving a speech about some complex techniques for a mind-link. Essentially, a way to fuse together two minds and live in perfect unity from then on. I find it intriguing for the applications this has to confuse and potentially torture individuals you feel have wronged you, by linking them together without their knowledge.\n\nI could give a lecture like that. Stand tall in front of everyone, so distanced. No doubt he hates it up there, how could anyone so involved in positive magic, *friendly* magic, enjoy a position of authority? And he's so ignorant of me too, he knows I'm stronger than him. And that I made myself stronger than him. Why must I be the one to sit at the back of the hall, not that I don't prefer the isolation.\n\nWe were both born into the same family, his parents died and mine adopted him as their son. But he'll never be my brother.\n\nNever.\n\nI'm just that much more skilled than him, to think someone might lump him and I together as \"Family\" sounds disgusting to me. I made sure of it, in fact. That there would be no person in the world who would ever think of me and him as \"family\". Especially after the situation with \"our\" parents.\n\n...\n\nNot that it stops him from acting like we're best buddies.\n\nBack. Around twenty-four years ago when we were, in everyone's eyes, brothers; we would play together. He would go out, knock on everyone's doors in the neighbourhood, and they would all play games together. And I would come out, and join in, then he'd act like I had always been there.\n\nHis nickname for me, was \"dumb-o\". Or \"stupid-o\". Imagine that, a twelve year old boy calling his seven year old brother, dumb.\n\nAnd so, I put two and two together. I wasn't invited to play, because I was dumb. And from that, I put him on a pedestal. He must be smart, if I'm dumb. And he became my idol. All through my entire childhood, looking up to a paragon of friendliness, and also the only person I'd ever truly, genuinely interact with.\n\nAfter years and years of improving myself, becoming smarter, becoming better than everyone I saw as smarter than me, smarter than even the teachers, I finally realised.\n\nHe was never smart.\n\nAnd on that severance, I became a real outcast. From then on, my magic, which had always been a weak blue, turned blood red. A beautiful, familiar, crimson. I got my wish. I was the best, the cleverest, and the most intelligent.\n\nVoluntarily, I decided to fake being unable to use magic. At fourteen, I became a magic-mute. I had never heard of red magic, ever, and I doubt anyone else had too. Which meant, either I'm the first, which is unlikely, or there have been multiple before me who were all discreetly killed. I'd never risk it.\n\nI stopped interacting with him. I started calling him my cousin. I was finally free of him. In fact, I made certain of our separation. Our parents would get in the way, try to force me to make up with him, so I killed them. I killed them with my gift, in such a perfect way that they could never trace it back to a magic mute, certainly not a magic mute with such weak power anyway.\n\nHe knew. He knew what I did, though. He didn't know how, so I drew on my learning, and used my newfound power to remap his entire brain to avoid that memory.\n\nContempt was my new power, so fitting for jealousy to be both my motivation and my method for becoming stronger and smarter than everyone else. I could rise right up to the top, over the glass houses of friendship which would shatter if only a single person throws a stone, and ascend into my mountainous and impenetrable stone castle.\n\nSo I sit here, and wait at the back of the hall. Watching my little cousin try to justify the ideas that I give him. We still live together. I made us live together. He made so, *so* many friends when he was younger, and he still keeps in contact with all of them. So many genuine connections.\n\nWell, he shouldn't be surprised. When you connect yourself by little blue strings to other people, don't be surprised when a puppeteer takes control.",
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{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " To permanently get rid of vampires, it was once common practice to plant trees in their ashes. Centuries later, identifying which trees contain imprisoned vampires is now a major problem for the lumber industry.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "\"Hey. You know how the main reason vampires haven't taken over the world yet is because they all die in daylight?\"\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n\"And you know how trees absorb daylight and store it as energy?\"\n\nGeneral Thaum of the Icelandic Supernatural Containment Foundation gave Head Scientist Lilac a long, irritated stare. \"You have got to be kidding me.\"\n\n\"We've got daywalking vampires,\" Lilac confirmed. \"Photosynthesizing, even.\"\n\n\"Why hasn't this been a problem before? We've been using tree-prisons on vampires for centuries, and nobody's noticed!\" Thaum glared at the scattered papers on his desk.\n\n\"Well, it *takes* centuries for a tree-prison to grow to maturity! And they don't re-form until someone spills blood on them,\" Lilac explained. \"The bigger the piece of vampiric wood, the more blood it takes.\"\n\n\"Well, some *idiot* woke up an entire forest!\" General Thaum shuffled through his papers in dismay. Reports were still scarce, but what information there was wasn't good. A grove of mangroves in Florida had sprouted faces, feet, and fangs, and had promptly began infecting innocent petunias, grapevines, and seaweeds with the vampiric plague. \"How did this happen?\"\n\n\"[Florida Man](https://www.reddit.com/r/FloridaMan/) was caught in a shootout with some sort of undead Thomas Jefferson.\"\n\n\"Fucking Florida Man. I hate modern mythology. Did you say undead Thomas Jefferson?\"\n\nLilac winced. \"Yeah, turns out he's an ancient vampire. You know how he had that saying? '[The tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of patriots?](https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/thomas-jefferson-tree-of-liberty/)'\"\n\n\"Don't tell me.\" General Thaum tightened his grip on his papers.\n\n\"He was being literal.\"\n\n\"Alright, let's think.\" General Thaum rubbed his chin. \"The photosynthetic abilities of plants created daywalker vampires, but they should still have all the traditional weaknesses. What do we have that would shut down an army of vegan vampires?\"\n\n\"Fire?\"\n\n\"Regular pollution is bad enough. I don't want to find out what vampirically-charged pollution does.\"\n\n\"Garlic?\"\n\n\"Tried that. Their bark keeps it out too well.\"\n\n\"Wooden stake?\"\n\nGeneral Thaum sighed. \"Seriously?\"\n\n\"Sorry. Uh, holy water?\"\n\nGeneral Thaum froze. \"That's it. Bless the water table, and when the trees settle down to take root, they'll be burned from the inside! Genius!\" Thaum whipped out a pen and searched through his papers for the requisite Priest Requisition Forms. A moment later, he hissed in pain and sucked on his thumb.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Paper cut, nothing major.\" General Thaum waved Lilac away.\n\nThen as one, they did a double-take.\n\n\"Paper cut,\" Lilac said, almost dazed. \"Paper's made from wood, isn't it?\"\n\nA single drop of blood fell from Thaum's finger and soaked into the Priest Requisition Form. It spread with supernatural speed through the paper, darkening it to a ruby hue.\n\nThaum was fast. But a vampire, even a weakened one, was faster. The form dodged his clumsy hands, spun to the floor—lacerating his arms in the process—and slipped out the window. General Thaum gaped at the vampiric form for a heartbeat before slamming his hand down on the nearest alarm.\n\n\"What is it? It's just a single paper,\" Lilac asked.\n\nGeneral Thaum spared her a backwards glance as he ran. \"That's a paper with the name of every priest able and willing to work with us to combat the vampires. A paper which, if it gets into vampiric hands, will endanger every person on it. We've got to stop that form!\"\n\nLilac's eyes widened in realization, and she charged after him. \"Alright, General. Let's roll.\"\n\nA.N.\n\nIf you liked this story and want more like it, you may want to check out r/rileywrites or [rileyriles.wordpress.com](https://rileyriles.wordpress.com) for more!",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You wake up on September 22, 2018 in place you’ve never been before. You can’t remember what happened, everyone you ask doesn’t remember the day before, either. It becomes an international mystery. It seems no one can remember the 21st night of September.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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{
"content": "It's been thirty days since the wipe. Football-pitch sized craters serve as a constant reminder that something happened during the evening of the 21st of September, something that no one can remember. Governments, for once, are as blind as the public and it's a good thing. For once, in possibly the history of humankind, every single person shares a deep, innate desire to know what happened during the six-hours of darkness.\n\nThe first worldwide effort was the search for witnesses. Governments both local and national, police forces both state and federal and about anyone with a voice has been asking for anyone, even with a torn-corner of information to come forward. The witness search attracted the crazies and the attention seekers. In the month of extensive searching, not one person has come forward with a believable and cohesive explanation for the event. At least not an answer that can be agreed upon. Each religion has had their own spin on the wipe, which naturally pulls a large number of people to one side, while other faiths tear in the opposite direction.\n\nThe one problem with any witness accounts is the total and utter lack of evidence, hard evidence that is. This lack of credibility stems from the fact that the wipe not only affected every human on the planet but seemingly every electronic device. Satellite images, CCTV footage from even the most remote of petrol stations, anything with the smallest shred of data retention has suffered under the same blanket wipe.\n\nWe have before and after photos, videos with six-hour gaps and the crater scars that dot the planet. The odd part of it all is the complete lack of reported casualties. People who were on planes during the event found themselves safely at their destination, or still mid-flight upon waking on the 22nd. People were driving, operating heavy machinery, feeding lions in a zoo and yet all of these people awoke to a scratch-less body.\n\nThe numerous stories of plane journeys brought about an interesting discovering, found by those who shouted and hollered about the black boxes, or flight recorders to some, only to find that a six-hour gap in all mechanical feedback and flight data. Unheard of in the aviation industry.\n\nThe craters have been analysed this way, that way and using methods you didn't think existed. The current reports do not look optimistic, according to both government and private firms, they are what you see. Concaved dirt, stone and even some instances of sand craters. The interesting part about the cavities is the lack of destruction. They seemed calculated, to the point that trees, buildings and life seemed untouched by their appearance.\n\nThirty days and theories are the only thing that anyone has produced. Government weapons testing gone wrong. Alien invasion. Subterranean movements and even worldwide metamorphosis.\n\nI might be one of the few people who doesn't want to know what happened. The wipe did not harm anyone, at most we have all lost six hours of our life. But we have gained something in common, something that can't be hindered by race or language barriers. I may be naive in thinking that so long as the international mystery remains, we can have peace.\n\n---\n\n/r/WrittenThought",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
},
{
"content": "I bolt upright. My name is David, and that is all I know. I look up to the sky, but there is no sky. I'm in a dark cavern with long stalactites dotting the ceiling. And I can hear voices.\n\n\"David! David!\" The voices scream my name. Before me, I see a man and a woman with their backs to me. Their feet are spread shoulder width apart, and their arms held straight forward. There is something massive standing in front of them, but I can't see it. I rise shakily to my feet and face the nightmare. A horrific demon on all fours roars menacingly at the two who shield me. The woman looks behind her and yells my name again. Refocusing on the monstrosity, she shouts again.\n\n\"Pyrus,\" she calls, and at the word, a white flame spews from her fingertips and sprays the beast. Chanting loudly, the man beside her sends black tendrils from his own hands to encircle it.\n\n\"Fools,\" cries the demon, \"I shall consume the land of the living. I shall taste the blood of humanity!\" Raising a great claw, the monster rakes it across the two people before me. They are knocked off their feet and fly back into the wall, crumbling to the ground in a heap. I sprint over to their bodies, and the demon stomps by, uninterested in me. The man is already dead, his neck is bend at an inhuman angle. The woman lies panting in a pool of blood. When I kneel over her body, she takes my head in shaky hands.\n\n\"I love you,\" she wheezes. With a final breath, she lifts her head to whisper in my ear. \"Encaptas,\" she sighs, then closes her eyes and drops her head heavily to the ground. I don't know these people who died defending me. Were they my parents? My friends? Their deaths infuriate me, and I rise to my feet, fueled by rage. There is the demon, standing before a glowing circle on the wall. As the circle grows brighter, an image becomes clearer on its surface. I see trees, clouds and houses. Mimicking the stance of my two dead protectors, I spread my feet and raise my hands. The demon turns, its face contorted into a grisly grin. I shout.\n\n\"Encaptas,\" my voice booms in the cavern. The demon's contemptuous smile turns into a wail of despair. Thrashing and roaring, the monster collapses as glittering chains shoot out of my hands and wrap tightly around it. Something tugs at my mind, demanding a sacrifice. Unsure of what to do, I offer the memory of the man and woman who defended me. I offer the image of clouds, trees and houses I saw in the glowing circle on the wall. And I offer my name.",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": " You are an ancient and incredibly powerful god, and you’re furious that your enemies keep sending teenage “chosen ones” to fight you.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
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"content": "Some are lesser.\n\nSome are greater.\n\nI am above.\n\nLong did I wander before I finally settled. A simple world, filled with the sort of promise that is so rare within creation. I came to it when it was still fresh. From the promise of this world I forged a paradise. A single spark of life became a broad creation, filled with majesty and diversity. With great care I guided this life along the myriad paths.\n\nThere were mistakes. I am a God, but I'm not perfect.\n\nThe dinosaurs were real dicks. I had to hit a hard reset on that one.\n\nMammals were a bit more promising. A few nudges along the evolutionary path combined with eternal patience finally produced something worthy of my efforts. I admired their tenacity, their capacity for overcoming the hardships of that the world naturally set in their path. Their discovery of fire, writing and higher order technology all brought cheer to my heart.\n\nThe time to reveal myself had finally come. After hundreds of millions of years, my creation would know me. Know that they were not alone in the world. In the universe.\n\nI chose my moment carefully.\n\nI descended from the heavens, largely because that is what their religious texts all expected me to do, and announced myself. I sat on a mighty golden throne, a brilliant halo about my head, feeling appropriately godly.\n\nMy introduction did not go as a planned. At first I was mocked. Laughed at. They thought me an imposter. An insane piece of detritus that had decided to put on a performance for their amusement.\n\nI recognize now that placing my golden throne in New York City's Time Square on New Year's Eve was a tactical error. I just figured everyone was there, the cameras were rolling and people were already in a celebratory mood so it'd be one of those win/win setups. Alas, it was not meant to be.\n\nThe miscalculation put me into the position of either accepting their insolence or demonstrating my power. My effort to build goodwill with my creation was somewhat set back by my decision to smite all of those who mocked me. Again, I am enlightened enough to recognize this as a strategic miscalculation in hindsight. Living is about learning and I learned a lot.\n\nOf course, all of the smiting led to something of an escalation on their part. Guns. Tanks. At one point a nuke detonated right in the middle of Manhattan. Such trivial devices had little effect on me, though it substantially reduced the quality of life within the city itself. All of that valuable real estate. Poof. Gone.\n\nNow, I wish I could say that I turned the other cheek, but I had been covertly building a real estate portfolio in the city so the nuke rubbed me the wrong way. That and the fact that I was just nuked. Bad form, that. Completely unnecessary. I was angered.\n\nYou wouldn't like me when I'm angry.\n\nSo there was more smiting. A lot of smiting. Before I really got back to my senses, I'd managed to smite the a fair bit of the human population. Something like half of them. Maybe seventy five percent. A lot. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I've realized that that was operational oversight.\n\nGodly. Not perfect.\n\nAt this point, things had soured rather severely between me and humanity. Mistakes were made on both sides, I think we're all mature enough to recognize this now, but all of that smiting had set civilization back a fair bit. It might have something to do with me releasing a global electro\\-magnetic pulse after a particularly annoying hit piece on 60 minutes, but I really couldn't say. Point is that they're back in the Bronze Age. Possibly Stone Age.\n\nThe point is that pretty much all the humans are dead and they ones that remain have been acquired some rather odd superstitious beliefs. I can understand how the appearance of a god and the subsequent eradication of eighty five percent of the population could cause some radical shifts in policy, but I'm a bit disappointed at the regression.\n\nBy far the most annoying development has been the 'Chosen Ones.'\n\nSomehow the rumor got started that I could be defeated by a child of the purest heart. It might have been the one time I joked early on that only a child of the purest heart could defeat me. But that was clearly in jest. Humans have a terrible sense of humor, particularly when ninety percent of them have been slaughtered by a vengeful god. Maybe if they'd lighten up, we wouldn't be in this mess.\n\nA little more communication, a little less annihilation.\n\nSo now, every year, some teenager get dumped off on the border of my domain \\-\\- I rebuilt Manhattan after the nuke, there's a lot of money in redevelopment \\-\\- and instructed to defeat me.\n\nI've tried explaining to them that I've grown from my mistakes. That despite creating them, I'm really not good with people. That it's been as difficult for me as it has been for them. That this is a teachable moment. Sadly, the humans are quite short on empathy. It may be because I smote ninety five percent of the population, but they should really move on. All of that destruction was so 2000 and late.\n\nNow I got some brat tromping about my backyard, messing up my garden, and waving around a sword. It always goes the same way:\n\n\"Hello my child,\" I say, all warm and benevolent like.\n\n\"I am the Chosen One! Sent from \\[completely interchangeable human tribe here\\], come to end your vile reign.\"\n\n\"Listen, friend, that's all behind us.\"\n\n\"You killed ninety seven percent of humanity\\-\\-\"\n\n\"\\-\\-a logistical snafu, I've grown since then,\" I reply, with the eternal patience that I have worked so very hard to re\\-acquire after all of these misunderstandings.\n\nThen there's a great deal of yelling and whooping as the kid charges me. I cannot tell you what a downer it is to disintegrate a child every year. Other than providing excellent fertilizer for my lilies, there's no upside in it. There's just an emotional toll that it takes to be so chronically misperceived. You try to build bridges, and people just come along and burn them down.\n\nI suppose that's all you can expect when you've destroyed ninety nine percent of humanity.\n\n**Platypus out.**\n\n**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
},
{
"content": "End all life and with it your unfortunate plight.",
"name": null,
"role": "user"
},
{
"content": "*What’s the saying? You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.*\n\n*Hah, I wish I could tell you how true that was. I have lived countless lifetimes. Over and over. However, it’s not the romanticized immortality. No. I age, my body decays. Sometimes i’m murdered. Sometimes I die by accident in childhood. You see, I am born over and over. The moment my body dies, my mind is transported into the next babe to be born. It was interesting. Fun even the first few times. Oh, the wonders I could tell you about living in the age of enlightenment, or being at the forefront technological advancements. Amazing really. But then there were things like the atomic bomb, the countless wars, the hunger, the disease.* \n\n*I’ve been all those people. I’ve been male, female, black, white, Native American, Indian, Chinese… I could go on and on. I remember each lifetime. I remember each detail. The people I’ve loved. The people I’ve killed. I remember everything.* \n\n*You would think being reborn with all these memories you would be able to change the fate of humanity. I’ve tried. I really have. At one point I even considered myself a prophet or a god. But a god could change things. And I haven’t been able to. I’ve given up. On myself. On humanity.*\n\n*Let me tell you a story. About a hero. Long ago, in a world so different from today, that it seems like a fairytale. But it’s not. It’s my first life. I remember an old shaman woman granting me the gift of life. So that I may live when others would die. Hah. Oh, our people were at war with another tribe, can you imagine? I went into battle, a young man full of life and more than eager to prove myself. Ran into battle, protected by the shaman’s magic. I believed in magic then. You know what happened? I was run through with a sword before I even killed my first enemy. The blood poured, and oh, the pain. It was awful really. And then, warmth, and light. I supposed that it was alright that the shaman had been wrong. I had died and gone on to the afterlife. Until, I was born into the world moments later. I had to grow up, laughs in the tribe that my first had been at war with. I saw how they were just trying to get more food. How neither tribe was actually in the right.* \n\n*And it went on. Over and over. The same stories. The same problems. I tried so hard to fix them. I really did. But they persisted.* \n\n*Sigh. I don’t want to do this. But I have to. The shaman didn’t bless me, no, she cursed me. And now you all have to suffer. If I can’t fix humanity, I can surely end it. The weapons that at first disgusted me are now my saviors. This plan has been lifetimes in the making. You could never have known. This is the first step. I know I won't succeed in killing you all in the first go, but here's the thing. I am going to die too, but I’ll be born again wherever you are. You will never know if you can trust your child. I could be him, or her. And I will continue to wipe out the remnants until at last I can rest. I can die. If there is an afterlife, I know I will suffer for what I’ve done. But, I cannot continue this existence any longer.* \n\n*I wish I had died a hero.* \n\nThe man stood, and turned off the camera. He uploaded the video and sent it to every news agency, to every social media site. He spread it far and wide. Quicker than even he suspected it was everywhere. He laid down in his bed. Tomorrow, he would detonate the bombs and then the real work would start.\n\nr/LandOfMisfits ",
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[
{
"content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!",
"name": "situation",
"role": "system"
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{
"content": " From the point of view of dogs, humans are like elves, benvolent beings with incredibly long lives enjoying pastimes too intricate and complex to understand.",
"name": null,
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"content": "Pale, tall, strangely hairless, with hard flashing eyes and sharp tongues... they are the elder race, privy to the arcane secrets and mysteries of the universe. \n\n\nAnd they have accepted a chosen few of us into their pack. \n\n\nWhen they arrived, most packs saw them as prey. They were soft, they lacked tooth and claw and the protection of fur. Tall, yes, but not fearsome like the bear or the aurochs, nor the great cats or mammoths. Some worried that they travelled in groups, like a pack, but others were convinced that they were merely small herds. But as we found their scents deeper and deeper in our range, something happened. The packs that saw them as prey... disappeared. We would find a lone cub, from time to time, terrorized, frantic and touched. A mere whiff of the elders' scent would drive these poor survivors into mewling, craven despair. And then something strange happened. \n\n\nMy first season as a grown wolf - still small, but no longer a pup - was a dry season, and food was scarce. I was sent to scout for prey, and found the pack of elders in a narrow valley, where a river of sweet water flowed toward the salty sea. I was hungry, and my pack was waiting for me to come back. I smelled that scent, the one that wakes fear in any wise beast, the smell of fire. It was frightening, a thing no wolf would wish to risk venturing near, The pack leaders had taught us to flee this scent, but hunger gnawed at me, and I feared the pups would die unless we found food. And the only time I had encountered it before was in the blackened remnants of an abandoned elders' camp, where scraps of food had been left behind. There were few of them - one for each paw and one for the mouth - and my pack numbered more than a full paw's claws for each of them. There was a worrying scent, though. Another pack? But no, too few, and not right. But hunger drove me to desperation. I loped back to my pack. \n\n\nWe spread out into the valley, surrounding their pack, careful to avoid the gap where wind flowed down the cliffs, creeping closer... and then a wolf began to howl. It was not one of our pack, and I froze, panic gripping me. The pack leader, though, was a hoary old wolf, and fear had never bloomed in his breast. He, and a paw of paws of hunters, all of the fiercest of the pack, burst out of their shadows, rushing toward the scents and sounds of the elders. And then there was shouting, and the sound of falling branches, and something like the sound of an aurochs goring a wolf that carelessly came too close to its horns, and falling rocks, and the whine of a wounded wolf, and another, and painful howling, and ... silence. The scent of blood - some from those where were not, in fact, prey, but mostly the blood of my pack. I cowered in the shadow of the rock I had been skulking around. The only sounds remaining of my pack were the terrified breaths of the few nursing mothers who had charge of the cubs, the mewling of the two paws of cubs, and me. And flickering lights, and the smell of fire, moved around the darkness, surrounding us. Death approached. \n\n\nBut the elders, while cruel and deadly in their nature, are not without mercy. Rather than death, they approached with... food? And a pair of strange wolves, as fey as the elders themselves, who sniffed at me. The elder placed the food in front of me, and backed away. I wanted to curl up and hide, but hunger got the better of me, and I ate. The sweetness of that meat - meat of some beast, I know not even what, but it was the best I had ever tasted. And then I saw the mothers, and the cubs, being fed as well. Except for the bitch with the white patch between her eyes. Because when she was offered food, she instead tried to lunge at the elder who offered it... and the elder reached out, and what looked like a branch, straight and narrow, appeared, between the elder and the bitch, and the bitch yelped, and went stiff, and died. Cruel, and deadly. But not without mercy. \n\n\nI don't know why I didn't flee in the night. Perhaps it was because the cubs were too many for the remaining mothers to keep, and I felt obligated to stay to do what I could. Perhaps it was the prospect of being another fear-touched lone wolf. I stayed, though I expected that I would be killed the next day. Instead I was, again, fed. And the next day, and the next. When the elders decided to move their camp, they called to me, and to the mothers, and waved food at us, to entice us to follow. And follow we did, no different from the fey wolves who had called the warning at my pack's approach. \n\n\nIt has been many seasons, and I still serve the elders. I hunt with their pack, and they call the hunt, They seem not to have aged, but I am an old wolf, and can barely run. They should cull me, I am a liability to the pack. Instead, they call me, caress me, hold me close, feed me, even carry me when I cannot manage to keep up. I do not understand them. They are cruel, and kind, and wise beyond measure, and they are my pack. My pups, and my pups pups, play with their children, hunt with their hunters, guard their camp. I can know no greater loyalty than to serve these wise beings. And when my last breath sighs out, my descendants will carry on this debt of loyalty. Forever. I was a wolf, but my legacy will be... something else.",
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"role": "assistant"
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] |
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