I loved walking the high wall with daddy. We would just walk around and around the top of the building. Daddy would talk to me about all sorts of things. Mostly of things from before The Fall. Things like movies and television and electricity…. All of the things that are make believe now.

He always walks with a big rifle on his back and a walkie talkie on his hip. He calls these walks ‘patrolling’ and says it is super important. How can a walk be important though? That is just silly.

Daddy can be like that though, super serious about the silliest things. Not all dads are like that though. A lot of them are super serious all the time - serious and mad. Daddy is never like that.

We were playing hopscotch on our walk when Daddy stopped and looked over the wall. He started talking real fast into the walkie talkie about ‘stumblers’ on the horizon.

The whole building went crazy. Everyone was up on the wall. There are people everywhere. People screaming and yelling. Little little kids are crying and nobody is paying them no mind. Something serious is going on.

Daddy and all the people with big riffles line up along the wall and look down the guns. The guns are so loud. Even plugging my ears with it fingers, I can hear them shoot.

There must be a zillion rabbits on the other side of the wall because they just kept shooting and shooting and shooting. Nobody was going down to get the rabbits though… someone always went to pick up the rabbits. They must be missing it lots.

Finally the shooting stopped. It was so nice to be able to take my fingers out of it ears. Daddy said we were out of ammo and so we have to hide from the shamblers. That sounds like a fun game. I am really good at hide and seek - I bet this is just like hide and seek.

Lots of people were crying. Maybe they don’t get to play the game. I bet they could play if they just asked Daddy. Daddy is really nice and he would totally let them play with us.

We go to our room and Daddy moves a bunch of stuff out of the closet. There is a secret door in the back of the closet! That is the coolest thing ever! Daddy says I get to hide in there but that is silly, he already knows where I will be. Daddy is doing his silly serious voice, so I go into the secret door and Daddy closes it from the other side.

It is really small and dark in here. I sit down and wait for Daddy to come find me but he is taking forever. Like…. he knows I am right here.

I can hear yells and screams through the door but they sound funny - like they are far away but not - yeah know?

Anyways, I am bored and sleepy. Maybe I will take a little nap while I wait for Daddy, he is going to find me really soon I bet.

12 years ago it happened. It was my birthday and the sirens had started right after I blew out my candles. My family and friends were all there in the living room with me. I had gotten both a puppy and a kitty for presents, and mom had baked me a fudge vanilla cake. We went from celebrating to hiding under the tables and furniture as the world outside shook with fire and smoke.

Dad dragged us out into the root cellar in the garden, as many of us kids that could fit. Some of the elder boys and girls too. For a long time we sat in the dark while the world above us tore itself asunder. I did my best to keep the dust and rocks outside of puppies eyes while my sissy held mittens. In the dark with his wet little nose against mine, I named him Brave.

After a time, it all stopped. The noise, the quaking. The falling dust. Some of the elder boys went out of the cellar and reported that most of the street had collapsed around us. I fed Brave carrots form the cellar while we waited. Eventually after what felt like forever the adults came back. They had hid somewhere else. Some of the children were taken aside by their mothers and fathers. My mother appeared for sister and I. Dad, dad got hurt helping someone else.

I’m 18 now, and most of the neighborhood has been rebuilt. I’d learned later that bombs were the cause of what happened. Bombs and war. I sat on the front step of the house watching some of my friends play ball in the street. My parents could be heard, bustling around and every-once and a while Mittens would come check on us from a window. To make sure we were still there. And my goodest boy Brave, munched on carrots by my side.

The catch, of course, is that you don't know when all of your actions combined over the day are vile enough to break the time loop.

So if unless you are very careful, eventually you'll break it but wish you didn't.

[removed]

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I was am an avid fan of time loop stories.

The passage of time, and the inherently nonchanging nature of them, brings out the best and worst in people. It grinds them down, forces them to confront themselves. After all, when the only thing that changes is them, then there is no external struggle. No challenges that cannot be inevitably beaten. No knowledge that cannot become eventually known. No mystery that cannot be solved. The only thing anyone can focus on in this situation is one's own actions.

Characters trapped in that situation know that morality doesn't apply to them. They could be the worst person ever, and it'd all be washed away the next loop. They could cure cancer, and it wouldn't matter. It's a microcosm of nihilistic determinism, where everything comes to naught. So when they decide to be kind, in spite of it all, it's a beautiful thing.

Such was not meant to be my fate. Transported to a third-world country, in the middle of a village that is to be subject to genocide at sunset of that day, a mysterious entity told me that my only way out was to join with the attackers. To senselessly and brutally destroy the lives of 'random' and 'inconsequential' people whom no one would hear of after the fact.

I refuse.

It's hard. Every day, seeing them die, again and again. They have no chance to fight back, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. There is no chance of survival.

And still, I refuse.

I get to know them. I delve deep into each one of the fifty-eight villagers' lives. I know them more intimately than any of my friends from before the loop. I become able to predict their every action and reaction to nearly every possible stimuli. I become impossibly bored, as I knew I eventually would, for there is nothing they can say or do that I haven't heard or seen thousands of times over.

And yet, I still refuse.

I focus on the attackers next. Learn what to say to avoid death, to ingratiate myself, to survive the day. Learn their stories. Come to empathize and understand.

But even then, I won't join them. I refuse.

I find myself developing self-imposed challenges. This situation, the genocide of a people, almost feels like a game at this point. I do an entire loop walking on my hands, or pretending not to know the language (which is English, somehow), or without clothes.

But I will not attack them. I will not hurt them. I refuse.

At first, I think it's out of spite. If that entity trapped me in this situation, then why should I do as they ask? But no, I'm not that sort of person.

Then, I think it's because it's wrong. But my sense of morality has been worn away by time. Some loops I want to hurt or even kill those around me just for the novelty. And yet I don't.

I'm tired. I'm bored. There is nothing left to say or do that would be new, other than what I was told to.

But I refuse. Because no matter how random or inconsequential life can be, I think kindness is the most beautiful thing of all. And I will strive for that beauty even if I must be trapped here for all eternity.

[removed]

I was playing with my best friend Sadie and my dog Bounce when angels descended down from the sky.

We were looking at them when our parents screamed and grabbed us and put us in the car with my daddy grabbing his rifle.

Daddy kissed me on the forehead and told me loved me and to be strong for mommy and Bounce.

When I saw what he was doing I screamed for him to come back but mommy locked me in my car seat and drove away as quickly as possible.

I never saw my daddy again and now there’s angels everywhere.

I was thinking Flash's Rogues when I was writing this. The Trickster (Placeholder name for this prompt & ironically is also a Flash Rogue) is just messing around. Keeping Core-Fire on his toes, but also letting him unwind after some of the bigger threats.

[removed]

Discovering the undeniable truth of reincarnation was a global game changer. Banks were the first to act in applying unpaid debts to the next incarnation. This set off a massive debate in religious communities that were already aflame at the confirmation of the lack of permanent afterlife. In many religions, curses and sins are burdens to be handled by following generations. These later generations who used to serve as the immortalization of a person now lost their significance when it was discovered there were already the immortalizations reincarnated.

For millenia, ancient prophets were promised offspring to outnumber the stars that would forever signify that prophets importance. What meaning is that when they became their own grand children? Were only those who were reincarnated of the chosen people?

Since the beginning, people have been cursed and their descendants doomed by proxy. What is the point of targeting entire families when the aggressors can destroy their true target again and again?

This religious outrage ultimately spilled over into government policy. The most noteable was the complete rectification act. Predominantly christian nations (which were rapidly reforming into karmically compatible versions) insisted on justice befitting "those who love all as God loves all". Funny how justice, love, and eventually punishment can be wrapped up together in a nice little bow. The result was the carry over of crime into new lives. If you didnt make amends for your crimes in the life you committed them, your next life would be halted until you did so.

Thats how I, at the ripe age of 8 ended up in prison. It was weird how many other young kids were there with me - the youngest was only 3. It all depended on when you started showing indicators of your previous life. I've read in history books that prisons used to be brutal places where you ate terrible food and got stabbed all the time. Once during rec time they showed us this retro movie called "The Shawshank Redemption". I'm not saying we're treated well, but since most of us are only kids we're treated better than that. We're put to work mostly, doing labor best suited to tiny hands. At this point I'm convinced they only put in the new law to unlock new avenues for labor, but at the end of the day, what do i know? We still have to attend school and I've been reading alot of history and philosophy in my spare time, but I hardly know anything about the outside world. That brings me to why I'm telling you all this.

The issue is, I'm in for a life sentence. At 8 years old, I learned the rest of my life would be spent in prison because my past life was somesort of crime lord. Thats the other weird part, since I'm under 18 they won't give me all the details yet. Well, I've decided I don't care.

I'm getting out of this hellhole. The way I see it, I didn't commit any crimes. I've been told that the residual memory is impacting me even now blah blah blah but that doesn't mean I as I am now would do any of the same things. These rules don't consider me as my own person - only as a puppet of my past life's memory. I deserve to choose my life and so I've made a plan to escape.

Its dangerous, as all plans are. I haven't had the 19 years that Andy had to escape Shawshank, but I think I can pull it off. Its possible if they can't stop me from escaping, they'll try to kill me. Then they'll find me in my next life and bring me right back here. So I'm hiding this message with one of the young lifers. He's promised he'll give it to ... me... if I end up back here.

Remember, you are your own person. You're not the criminal who's debt you're paying. You're not even me, who tried and failed to escape. You deserve a choice. If you're reading this, it means I didn't get mine but I promise you that you deserve yours.

[deleted]

[removed]

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Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Also “understand”

Noooo not the furr-

gets overrun by half-dragon army

My second story isn’t much better, but it’s different. Which is nice. Like I told my mother on the weekend when I picked her up from Bingo, it’s good to keep trying even if you never succeed. She didn’t reply, but just scowled. 12 months of Bingo without winning. She thinks it must be fixed. Benedict who runs the Bingo nights is French, which is why she finds him suspicious; she never liked the French. But she’s found some nice friends there who keep her from getting too down. She enjoys crossing out the numbers with her stubby pencil. She’s like Sisyphus, pushing her boulder up the hill, only for it to roll down. Just doing it is the thing; the result doesn’t count. “Yes it counts!” she yells, surprising me by knowing my thoughts. Keep crossing out those numbers, mom. You never know.

Awesome! Wishing you all the best with that!

“You should just leave.”

Charlie looked over at aer partner. “Just leave?”

“Yeah.” Alessia crossed her legs, skirt folding against the black sofa. “I mean, you keep stuff here at my place anyway.”

“So she doesn’t get to it.”

Alessia raised her left eyebrow, the way she usually did when Charlie was missing something obvious. “You keep a go bag packed at all times if you have to get away suddenly, and it has all your documents and legal stuff.”

“Yeah, for emergencies.”

“You can just leave. You can stay with me. You’re an adult now, she doesn’t hold guardianship over you.”

Charlie looked at aer hands. “I can just leave.”

Alessia nodded in Charlie’s peripheral vision.

“Just like that. Never have to see my sister again. No more family. No more…any of it.”

Charlie looked up at Alessia. “There’s nothing we’re forgetting?”

“How could there be?”

Charlie blinked. Ae smiled. “It can’t really be that easy.”

“I’d hardly call it easy. More like you’ve been prepared for years, and you finally have the chance.”

Charlie jumped up. Ae laughed. Once, twice. Then ae couldn’t stop. Ae grabbed Alessia and they twirled around the room, socks stumbling on teal rug.

Ae froze. “I have to get my stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you come with me? I’m.” Charlie swallowed. “I’m scared.”

Alessia pulled Charlie close, the pair enveloped in soft smells of almonds and roses. “I’ll be there the whole way,” she promised. “Wherever you need.”

Charlie gasped a breath, cherishing the denial-driven distance ae had from aer emotions. The floodgate would open eventually. But not yet. Act quickly, and it won’t interfere.

“Let’s go.”

*****

Alessia’s little blue car rumbled through suburbia, and Charlie felt every bump. Don’t think. It’s easier if you don’t think. Or fear. Charlie held an imaginary knot in aer hands, untangling aer anxiety layer by layer. It never ended. But at least ae was breathing.

Charlie stared out aer window at the maroon house as they rolled up. Maroon might be a nice color, if it weren’t for this and blood.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Alessia asked.

“No!”

Charlie didn’t realize ae’d responded so quickly until ae heard aer own voice. “No,” ae repeated softer. “You don’t need to go in there. I’ll go in alone and find things to grab. We can always come back anyway.” No we can’t.

“Okay,” Alessia said, and reached for Charlie’s hand. Hers felt warm and soft, and Charlie was in danger of losing grasp on aer numbness. “I’ll be right here whenever you need.”

Charlie smiled weakly at aer partner. Then to the car door, open and close. And up the driveway ae went.

No car outside. Charlie clicked in the garage combination, and found it empty too. She won’t be home. Thank God. Even still, Charlie held aer breath as ae walked through the house, like aer sister could pop out from behind any corner, like ae was trespassing in a space not meant for aer.

Room by room Charlie dug aer nails deeper into aer palms. Ae blinked and returned to a breathing rhythm every few moments. It was so easy to lose it here. In the kitchen where ae saw a younger version of aerself crouched behind a cabinet in terror. In the living room where ae cried alone after they lost their parents, where Samantha hurled her blame so often. In the bathroom where she busted in insisting Charlie not shower and pulling aer out before the suds rinsed away. Replay, replay, replay.

Charlie was surprised how few things ae even wanted to take. So much connecting aer to this place, so little worth keeping. Ae grabbed aer go bag and a few outfits and books from aer room, then stood in the doorway. This felt so anticlimactic, and still there was a pang of sorrow for leaving. The house itself never hurt Charlie, but ae never wanted to see it again.

As Charlie carried the bag out and closed the garage door, Alessia looked up. Her smile shone brightly, and all of a sudden the bag weighed nothing.

It was really over.

******

Lying in bed, Charlie untied aer imaginary knot of anxiety and found a recorder inside. Ae turned it over in aer hands, marveling at its horrid memories. Ae would never stop it pressing replay. But it would never hit record again.

Thanks! I’m working on getting better so I can actually write my own series!

“Level 2 Since Soul Reincarnation Confirmation” the man in the white lab coat spoke into a recording device. “Here, take this pill” the man ordered. I sat up from my hospital style bed and drank down the pill with some water. I immediately became nauseous. A wave of memories flooded my mind. The memories of an entire lifetime I lived. But it wasn’t ME me, it was my past me.

After the wave finally finished and the memories stopped flooding, I was able to more accurately and systematically analyze them in my head one by one. The more I went through them, the more I felt my mind dread my own existence more and more. Until I got to the 9th memory and I couldn’t help myself from puking at the things I had only recently done. 10 years may seem like a long time, but to this level of devastation, it would be written in the history books.

I had almost no energy after that realization and dreaded acknowledgement. I was still me, the 10 year old kid that lived a fairly normal childhood all things considered. The man pulled over a machine with a tv screen on it and began wiring me up to the machine. Soon after, the tv flickered on and just as I had gone through my memories, the tv began doing the same. The man in white was intently watching along with me as my face began to go pale at the realization he will see what I just saw.

The tv flickered again. The man in white’s eyes go wide as he begins puking just the same as I had. I puked some more but it felt like nothing more could possibly come up. “General, we found him.” The man in white spoke into a walk-in talkie. I was confused and disoriented from everything I only heard what sounded like a muffled staticky 2 syllables. “Understood sir.” The man in white acknowledged. Suddenly he pulled out a gun and pointed it at my head. I connected the dots in that moment what the General ended up saying.

“Kill him.”

Level 3 SSRC

I’ve always known about my past lives since I was a baby and gained enough consciousness to make thoughts. Since taking that pill in the second stage I’ve almost always had the memories of my first and second, even at the early age of 4 years old. But surely, there’s nothing else they can do, right? They’ve had their revenge or whatever? I continued to go on through life until around 9 years old I got incredibly sick and had to go to the ER.

They cured my illness fairly quickly, but once again, a machine with a TV was brought into my room just as had been done before. I was hooked up with the cords once again. I was belligerent from them trying to see inside my head, but they subdued me and forced me to connect anyway. It was required by law apparently. My new mom and dad had no choice. I saw them all watch the tv so intently, first watching through bits of the second level, until they achieved the first level. Once again, they all began puking at the sight of the event. The nurse suggested my parents leave.

The young nurse that had been caring for me since I got in that was so nice and pleasant, suddenly turned sinister and twisted as she pulled a wire out from behind her. She pulled the wire to my neck and began pulling as hard as she could. I tried to reach out for help or to fight back but a 9 year old body can only do so much. “Sorry kid, rules are rules.” She pulled even tighter as I could hear an audible CRUNCH before everything went dark.

Level 8 SSRC

I’ve tried letting things go, I’ve tried avoiding detection as best as possible. I’ve tried going out as a normal individual without being the person I was apparently before. I still dread what I was, but now I dread what they will do to me again if I’m found out. There’s no quality for me in my existence anymore. Every time, I’m discovered again and each time, instant death. It’s been 100 or more years at this point since the event, but I know they are still looking for me. Or maybe it’s people like me. Infinite death. Every time I’m discovered, I’m killed without a second thought.

I tried to sit up against the wall behind me as the heavy rain washes over my body, blood pouring from my bullet wounds. The firefight seemed to end in a draw with everyone dying, including me at this rate. But I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.

I wake up in a smelly, damp cellar room of some sort. A man at the foot of my bed with a bucket of popcorn is staring at the same damned machine that I keep getting hooked up to. “Don’t watch.” I weakly muster up. The man looks at me with a wicked toothy smile and turns the tv my way.

“YOU did this!?” His voice piercing as it was concerningly jovial. “Damn, I wish I had the balls to do shit like this!” I look back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You aren’t… disgusted?” I ask, confused.

“Disgusted!? Man I am IMPRESSED that I found someone as vile and impure as you were.” He turns back to the tv, stuffing his face with popcorn as he watches with an excited smile.

“So… You aren’t going to kill me?” I ask.

“Kill you?” He laughs hysterically, “I’m here to RECRUIT you!”

Cat's in the Cradle

Jacket zipped up tight, Natalie sat on the porch swing, her weekend bag tucked under, and one strap wrapped around her leg. She tapped the screen of the phone in her lap to wake it up and checked the time. 7:30 pm. Then she checked her notifications. Nothing from him.

She wrapped her fingers around the phone as though it were a softball and raised her arm overhead to throw it at the tree in the middle of the overgrown weed-filled yard that was threatening to invade the porch. Natalie grunted and dropped her arm. She had broken two phones this year and if she broke another, she knew that neither parent would get her another. Her eyes began to glisten and she sniffed.

Shortly after 8 pm, her mother opened the front door, wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

“Why don’t you come in, sweetheart?”

“Did he message you?” Natalie asked in an accusing tone.

“No. No, he didn’t. And I wouldn’t expect him to talk to me. You know we don’t speak without lawyers present”

“I know.” She choked on a sob. “I had just hoped that this time…” Natalie trailed off as her mother unfurled, moved to sit next to her on the swing and wrapped her daughter in a fierce hug.

“Oh my baby girl.”

“Moooom. I’m 16! I’m not a baby.” Natalie’s mother cleared her throat and held her at arms length.

“I don’t care what age I am, or what age you are. You will always be my baby girl. I will always see you as the newborn I brought home from the hospital. The curious infant. The adventurous toddler. The strong-willed teenager. Let’s go inside before I freeze.”

“Okay,” the stubborn teenager replied and wiped her eyes with sleeve of her jacket.

***

The next morning, Natalie awoke to find a slew of text messages from her father received between 1 and 3 am.

‘I’m sorry Nat I got caught up at work’

“Okay,” the stubborn teenager replied and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

‘Are u mad at me’

‘You know I don’t mean to misqueme u’

‘Fine. I’m going to bed. Text me tomorrow. We can catch a movie or something.’

After reading through the messages several times, she groaned, rolled over and buried her head under her pillows.

A knock sounded from the door. Then a slight squeak as it was opened.

“Good morning slugabed. It’s almost noon.” Her mother’s pleasant voice was muffled by the pillows. A moment later, she felt the weight of her mother sitting on the bed next to her. Natalie grunted as she turned over, pulled the pillow off her face and sat up.

“I made your favorite chocolate chai latte.”

“Thanks mom,” she said as she reached for the warm cup in her mother’s hands. “He was apparently working late last night.” Nat sighed. “Wait, did you say noon?”

“Almost, it’s like 11:30.”

“I thought you had brunch with your book club today? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with them?” Natalie buried her nose in her cup to smell the chai and avoid her mother’s gaze.

“There will be others. I felt that my baby might need me more.”

“I’m going to text Dad and we’re going to go to the movies,” she said into her cup. Her mother reached out a hand and squeezed her leg through the layer of blankets.

“Well, why don’t we make brunch until he gets here? French toast?” Nat looked up, a shy smile spreading over her face.

“French toast with that berry stuff?”

“And whipped cream!” Their smiles echoing each other were bright. Her mom jumped up and danced out the door. The young lady still abed giggled.

That gave her enough motivation to respond to her father. She quickly searched for an evening movie that she wanted to see and sent the details to him. It wasn’t long before he responded.

'Jen msged, something about a leak, Imma go over and help her sorry kiddo, maybe next weekend will be easier’

Natalie stared at the message from her so-called father. Tears welled up in her eyes and slid silently down her cheeks. This ability to toy with her emotions; it had to come to an end. Fingers flying over her phone she typed her reply.

‘Joseph, upon further reflection, I have decided that until you are ready to make me, your only daughter, a priority, I don’t want to spend weekends or summer with you. If all I am is a checkbox on your to-do list then you are not really my dad. I hope that you and your work enjoy each other. Peace. ~Natalie’

She hit send. Tears dried up and she sat up a little bit as though a weight had been lifted.

~~~~

(WC: 800)

There are some forbidden letters in your story: totally, dysfunctional, and, and, and, and, and, and, already.

So many feels! I love your writing.

My best friend is totally dysfunctional. I got her out of the pokey for the fifth time since November. She didn't give me the money for the rent she owes. Her side of the room is gross. Clothing strewn everywhere. Her bowl and pipe stink up the living room. She needs to go.

I tried to drive her out of the house with the phoney ghost but it turns out she likes ghosts. That weirdo medium she brought in didn't improve things. Horrible person.

I tried being up front but she was high. Interpreted everything like I love her. Perplexing and cumbersome miscues led her to set me up with her boss. Mildred. Yikes. For both of us.

I tried tidying up her mess. She just smiled and complimented the lovely smell in the house. Never even considered why it smelled so good.

So over this chick and her creepy friends and her disturbing music and her slovenly grossness. Done.

She will be home in ten minutes. She will light up in fifteen. No one will detect the poison I put in her weed. I will not be suspect. Her supplier will.

I already posted for a non-deficient roomie. The interview will be more rigorous this time.