Thanks for the correction, in all honesty I wrote that as my final class was finishing up for the day and I had students asking me a ton of questions so I was distracted! Fixed.

And thank you! Excellent prompt!

A bacterial infection causes people to constantly fart enormous volumes of gas, so much so that we choke humanity to death.

Wow, well written. Thank you for that excellent reply!

> she hummed and hawed.

I thought it was hem and haw.

/me searches

Hum and haw is the British equivalent of hem and haw. Then again, i thought "English_American" meant American English, but i guess that isn't the case. :)

Everybody on Earth coincidentally died in fatal accidents over the course of one day, except for a few thousand people across the globe.

They desperately try to find a cause for the deaths, not knowing the fact that there is none apart from really bad luck.

[deleted]

I could not help but bark a laugh, “And they say that the soldiers of the Hosts Radiant have no sense of humour! Fine, a cushion and you of course must abdicate the Sunlit Throne, and the Hosts Radiant must disband. I’ll also want the populations of the cities of Haldar and Suier rounded up and executed for treason. Oh, and the gold plates sheathing that gaudy Temple of the Dawn Victorious in Kuilthal needs to be stripped and melted down so I can outfit my personal legion in ceremonial gold armour and spears.”

She actually smiled at me, and there was a playful edge to it if I were not mistaken. Starless night, had she actually lost her mind whilst I’ve been gone? “And they say that the Lord of Sorrows is a humourless monster. We both know I will not give up nearly that much to you, but I am glad you are finally open to negotiation. You miss it, Nukhri. Do not pretend that you do not. You are not challenged here in this place. Only I can provide you that.”

“And still you say you do not do this, because you crave the same? That you do not miss testing your blade against mine? That you do not miss matching wits and wills. That thrill of Power, of Command, of striving one against the other and All hanging in the balance?” I was close again, almost pressed against her, my voice low, our eyes meeting. I hadn’t quite realised I was moving, that I had grasped her face again, “Admit it to me, Marikha of the Sundered Vale, Dawn’s Chosen. Admit that you long for my return. That you miss me.” I smiled slowly, “Admit what we both know to be Truth, and I will return with you.”

Oh those amber eyes, blazing, forceful. The anger that burned as the sun. The Power hidden within, gathering like a storm on the horizon ready to burst forth in lightning and torrent. I suppose I had missed that. The creeping thrill that this time, this time she might let go and seek to scour me from Existence itself. How bright and blazing and terrible she would be then, and how Creation would scream upon the pyre she would make of it.

It was close, so close but then the anger shifted, twisted and turned inward, and then there followed pain in her eyes and a shameful whisper, “I do. I miss it. There are none in all Creation that are my equal, that can challenge me, that... that make me feel alive…”

I rocked back on my heels, struck by the pain of that admission that I had torn from her. It was intoxicating, potent, and honestly, I hadn’t actually expected it. I could feel my face flushing with the rush of it. I had to compose myself. I summoned up a smug, self-satisfied smile, and steadied my voice, “There, now doesn’t that feel so much better, no more dirty shameful little lies to yourself, True-Seer?” I paused, frowned and then suddenly it struck me what I had done. In the heat of it all, I had made a promise to return if she told me the truth. An oath I would be bound to honour.

Well.

Fuck.

I whirled away from her and began striding towards the door, trying to play it off as imperious and arrogant and commanding as surely she expected of me, “Come then, Chosen,” I called, and with a flicker of will I called forth my dragon bone staff and my iron diadem, and because those would look quite ridiculous paired with a suit I transmuted my clothing into something a little more stately and imperial, “My new reign of terror cannot begin without the valiant champion of the Light to stand in righteous opposition.”

I refused to look back to see if she was following. I most certainly did not want to see if she was looking smug at having played me. I resolved that immediately it was practical when I returned, I would go burn down a village or four just to spite her.

I put down my cup of coffee, black naturally, and give the golden-haired woman before me a long-suffering look. There was a time when that look of pleading desperation in her eyes would have stirred something in me. I would have bathed in that delicious agony for as long as I could, savouring her torment like a fine wine. Now, there was nothing. Not even pity. I shuffled the papers besides me idly and, as the moment stretched on, it became increasingly clear she was not leaving. I sighed again, “Marihka, I am not sure what silly little game this is, but I am not returning. I quite like it here, actually.”

She stared at me, her eyes of amber so utterly pure and utterly shocked. Ah, there was some stirring at that. A hint of a yearning to pluck them from her head. I tamped that down immediately; I would not give her such satisfaction as to try. “You like it here?” She asked, voice flooded with utmost disbelief, and she made a wide, sweeping gesture to beige walls and sad, peeling motivational posters about kittens hanging from tree branches, and the scent of stale cigarette smoke and weeks-old coffee, “Here? I know that to be a lie without even needing to use the True Seeing. I am not above begging. What I did was a mistake!”

I pursed my lips, an eyebrow twitching upwards, “A mistake? You spent two decades in war with me, Marihka of the Sundered Vale. You swore upon me eternal vengeance by the blood of your mother and the bones of your father. You rallied half a continent against me and wiped three cities from the map in your quest to undo me. Yet now…. Now you regret it? I am many things, child, but I am no fool. I do not believe you.”

Hah, and there was the old anger, sparking bright in her. More fitting and familiar than her pathetic begging. She’d always hated when I called her a child. “Damn you, Nukhri I am telling you the truth! Do you have any idea what it is like, back home? The balance is broken completely. Everything is… stagnant, stale. It was fine, at first. Peaceful. Rebuilding. Everything prospered… but now? It just… keeps going. There’s no change any more. There’s no striving! It’s like there’s an indolence growing in the very heart of the world. The colours are too bright.”

I paused, frowned at her, tilting my head, “You’re going to appeal to some fantasy of cosmic balance to justify the fact that you are bored?” I couldn’t help it, laughter bubbled forth uncontrollably in a way it hadn’t for so very long. Stereotypically evil laughter, mayhap, but we all have to have our vices. “Oh! Oh that is delicious. You, who were always going on about the burdens of being Chosen. You, who always spoke of what would come after. You, who dreamt so dearly of peace. And now it is come, you cannot stand it!” The smile that came then was a cruel thing, I admit, a smile like a knife, a smile that had drawn blood once, “Then why should I not leave you to it? Oh certainly my standing in this plane is much reduced… but it is worth it if it hurts you my dear old enemy.”

Her lip curled, anger flashed in her eyes like lightning. Oh, her righteous anger had always been so beautiful. “You always were a spiteful little prick!” she spat, “But no, I do not miss the fighting. The dying. The friends I’ve lost. But I see now that we need you. Or something like you. Something to remind us that we must always strive for a better world. Without you, without something like you to encompass their darkness the people lose sight of themselves.”

I stood up, rounded the desk. She tensed as I drew near, but she did not flinch when I touched her chin, stroked her cheek, “Oh my dear, that’s not my problem.” I let go and she growled low in her throat. It sent a shiver of the old anticipation down my spine – would she draw blade upon me, here? Would it be that easy to get a rise out of her? Ah, but no, I could see her exert that vexingly adamant will of her’s. The dangerous moment passed. I tried not to allow that to disappoint me; if I allowed myself to get drawn in by that seductive memory of truly striving against a worthy foe… well, she might end up getting her way, and I couldn’t have that.

“Besides,” I drawled, “I can do far more evil here than ever I could back home. Here, in this petty little company, I have spread misery to thousands with their far-speaker devices, and with a stroke of my pen I have consigned a million to languish in suffering. Medical insurance, on balance, is far more efficient to draw power from than any continent-spanning tyranny. I even have a dental plan.”

She looked disgusted, and I indulged in her despite for an all too brief moment until it curdled into something sour. I hid a grimace and… wait, what was she doing to her face? What was that? Was that… was that pity? She dared?! “Is this what you are reduced to in your exile, Nukhri? Middle management spreading petty misery. I do not think that can long satisfy you. You were an emperor, a god-king who reigned fifteen centuries upon a throne of obsidian and sacrifices. Where you walked, people knelt in supplication, and when you spoke your words resounded to the four corners of the world. Your slightest whim was the life-command of a million servants and a thousand legions. You cannot tell me that you are content here, having lost all of that. You were many things, but small was never one of them.”

I sneered at her, “I sentence people to slow and painful death more often than not I shall have you know. Besides, that throne was one of the most hellishly uncomfortable things in all Creation. I am well rid of it. I mean, have you ever tried sitting on obsidian?”

She gave me a long look, “If you come back, I’ll buy you a cushion.”

Potatoes have taken over

It just won't stop raining. It just won't stop.

When a bar goes quiet, it's usually because of something a sane person would be scared of. A gang leader, perhaps, or some eldritch horror. This time, it was a child. A little girl who couldn't have been older than ten. A ragged, tearstained girl with clothes too small and the start of a nasty bruise swelling up on her right eye. The Alibi was full this evening, and it was a perfect evening for scheming, recruiting, bargaining, and assorted foolery, as soon as the occupants saw that child in the room everything went quiet.

"Hey little girl. What are you doing in here?" That was Dak asking, if you want to know. He'd been sitting in the back corner, but now his giant form was standing there, right in front of the kid. I honestly hadn't even seen him move, but he's usually fast. It's how gentle he was being that shocked me.

The girl bit her lip, and I don't blame her. Dak was a real bear, 6'3", muscular, huge, really terrifying dude. She said "D-daddy comes here. He says it's for h-hiding. Can I hide here? I'm s-scared." Kinda felt bad for her, the tiny thing, looking at Dak's giant paws. One of those paws rested on her shoulder now as he knelt down to her and asked who her dad was in the kindest voice that ever spoke in that rowdy place. I think the kindness worked to calm her down, she didn't stutter when she responded. "He's not here right now. But he's tall, and loud, and scary. Do I need him with me to hide?"

Dak was about to talk then, dunno what he was trying to say. I don't think he managed to get a syllable out before the door slammed open and Rale walked in, the bastard. Someone in the room tried to say hi, but the rat didn't care. Dunno what he was planning on doing in the Alibi that night, but when he saw the girl it didn't matter. He snarled at her, all temper. "You. What the hell are you doing here?"

The next few things went quick. The girl squeaked and tried to run, where she thought she'd be able to get is a mystery. That bastard Rale grabbed my drink, threw it at her. It shattered on her back, spraying glass and beer and blood halfway across the room. She slipped and collapsed, curling up in a ball by the table leg. Jem and some other bouncer grabbed Rale's arms and Lynn, our lovely bartender, reached for the phone. She's the one who called ya, by the way. She's not keen on violence in her bar. Dak bent down to the girl. Didn't hear what he asked, didn't hear what she said. I was too far away, and besides, at that point I didn't care. Rale was a bastard, he owed me a drink, and he'd spilled blood right there in the bar. We were all pissed. But we weren't Dak.

I expect you already know enough about this bit, but Dak went full out. Smashed Rale's face in, first. Then the rest of him. Used that metal thingamajig right there. Doug, he was at the table by Dak and the girl, got in the way of anyone who tried to stop him. Told the whole bar that Dak had asked whether Rale was the girl's daddy, and if he'd hurt her. Told us that she'd said yes to both.

To be honest, I don't know why Dak did that. I don't know any other reason than that for him to let out on Rale, but if it's true than he had it coming to him. I saw the girl, you saw the girl, I don't know what else needs to be said. So yeah, officer, I guess that's my story. It's true, too. If you ask anyone else you'll hear the same thing.

Humanity launches an experimental colony ship into space, with thousands and thousands passengers cryogenically frozen for the long journey. They all wake to discover the navigation systems failed, the engines have no further power, and there is absolutely nothing within trillions of light years.

USA wins the cold war and the USSR ends.

A meteor nobody saw coming hit mid-asia a few weeks ago, and threw up enough dust to block out the sun for a decade. Most places have already run out of food, and two thirds of humanity has staved to death or died trying not to.

You’re a family oriented person, and a survivor, but your family isn’t helping matters at all.

Everyone got 1 wish. That’s the running theory. Ironically, doomsdayers wished specifically to survive the apocalypse while many others wished it to begin. Many wishes cancelled out but enough came true to end civilization as we know it. And your wish to be cured of cancer was granted, along with your 10 year-old sister’s wish that her imaginary friend Avax would save you. No longer human, your parents long gone, you try to find a place for you and your sister.

Scientists release a fungus that feeds off of plastic in an effort to clean up the ocean and pollution. The fungus has gotten out of control and humanity is desperately trying to preserve all the shit we have made out of plastic.

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This got me. It really shouldn't have gotten me, but it did. Congrats

You worked at a renaissance fair when the apocalypse broke out, now your fake thin metal amour has protected you more times then you can count

"Sign here, here, and..." blackened fingers traced down the page as I searched for the final signature. "Ah, yes, here."

As I looked back down to my own papers, shuffling through the patient's information and the woman's request, she hemmed and hawed.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, my eyes staying on my papers as I read through the request.

"It says here seventy-two hours, I thought we agreed on-"

"Yes, three days; twenty-four hours a day times three days is seventy-two hours." I reminded her, it was always apparent in my patient's families that wealth may buy happiness, but it could not buy them a brain. The woman remained silent as her pen glided along the lines, signing a significant sum of money over to me. When she clicked the pen, I reached out for the papers and nodded to my customer.

"I appreciate your business. The resurgere will take place tomorrow morning at eight seventeen exactly, no earlier, no later. Please have any who would like to witness the resurgere present no earlier than five minutes beforehand. Your..." I glanced down to the papers for a reminder, "husband will return for exactly seventy-two hours. It is highly recommended that he is present, here, by his regressus time. If he is not, please ensure he is in a place that is easily accessible, and as noted in the contract, an additional fee of 10% of your total will be incurred for an absentia fee." The woman nodded along as I spoke, her mind clearly elsewhere. Formailties.

I walked the woman out, and as she left, I waved. The least I could do for a woman paying me more than a year's average salary of a CEO.

The next morning, the resurgere was nearly ready. My garb, a black gown with subtle inlays of crimson Latin phrases, had been prepared the prior evening after my customer departed. The husband's body was placed on the large stone tablet in the middle of the room. The tablet was something to see, it was black. Not simply black, like soot, or smoke, but a void. Looking into the stone was almost as if looking into nothing.

Incense had been burned for the past half hour, giving the room an even more legitimate feel. I waited, hands clasped, as the family began to enter the room. My hood was down, I never liked putting it up unless the family was into the ornate, or the... eclectic arts.

This family was not. It was just the wife and who I could only assume were her children present. After they entered, and glanced uneasily over to me, I began my ritual.

"Confer nobis animam Johannis Aurifabri." I began, my words echoing through the chamber. An orange-red glow appeared around the black void of a tablet. "In loco illius sume per tres dies meam, et per tres dies ad tuum dominium redibit." The glow traveled through the stone, and into the body. As the body began to convulse, I uttered my final words. "Dum anima liberorum vagatur in regno, mea erit in tuo servitio, mi Domine."

I saw his eyes open as mine closed.

Three days later, at exactly eight seventeen in the morning, I awoke, standing just where I was when I departed in his place. His wife was there, holding onto a limp hand attached to a now lifeless corpse. She gasped in shock when I appeared in the cloud of black smoke.

When she regained her composure, she nodded and thanked me again.

After she left, I took a seat next to John. His was a life long lived, a life full of pain and suffering. Not his own, but inflicted upon others. For three long days, I took his place. For three long days, I labored, I suffered. It was worth it though... four hundred and fifty thousand dollars for three days in Hell.

It's always worth it.

Goodbye Johnny was not well liked, and barely tolerated. His real name was lost in a haze of smoke and waves of awful whiskey. Bad bars felt like home to Goodbye Johnny, especially The Alibi. When the people at the Alibi had enough of his meanness, someone would start interrupting him, "Goodbye, Johnny!". Slumped figures at the bar and tables would pick up the words till the room was chanting, and Johnny left. His nickname may seem unkind, but so was he. He greeted people with insults, and he enjoyed inflicting the deepest cuts possible. He'd goad old Mike about his wife's cancer. When he sat near Stacy who had miscarried, he'd hum a lullaby. He tortured Gerald by making beeping sounds, like a vehicle backing up. Gerald, who had accidentally backed his car over his grandson, damaging his legs. And every taunt was accompanied by his jarring, wheezing donkey laugh. Somehow, Goodbye Johnny knew everyone's sore spots, and they hated him.
But no one did anything. The rules at the Alibi were unbending. Alibis for all and NO FIGHTING, as the sign behind the bar said. Until one September night, after shouting Johnny out of the bar, revenge was plotted. He would get what he deserved.

Old Mike talked to a guy, who provided a very recently dead body. No questions were asked.

Sticky, who was actually named after Ronald Reagan by his very average parents, lifted Johnny's buck knife from his jacket, left side. It was easy as Johnny used to tap that spot when he was nervous.

WhileGerald and Mike argued about who would set the grousome scene, Stacy pulled a glove on to protect Johnny's fingerprints, and stabbed the corpse in the heart, leaving the knife in to explain the lack of blood. They gingerly arranged their dead guy so lividity would match.

They shared a soul-searching gaze with the rest of the patrons, and everyone gave a solmon nod.

With a slight tremor in his hands, Mike called his childhood friend, detective Jim Heart. Jim and his partner parked around the block, waiting for a signal. Gerald stood outside pretending to talk to his wife, watching for Johnny. When Johnny walked past Gerald, Johnny made a beeping sound, and guffawed his horsey laugh as he swung open the door. Gerald dialed Jim, it's time. The room was absolutely still. No one moved or spoke. Mike pointed to the dead guy on top of the bar, "Is that your knife, Johnny?" Mike asked quietly. Johnny saw his own, distinctive knife sticking out of the corpse's chest.

Johnny stood disbelieving, his skin instantly pale and sweaty.

It was his vanity, that knife. It was a carving of johnny's own face, done by a gifted artist on the handle, coated in red laquer.

Johnny looked around and tried to chuckle, but it came out strangled. "Well, at least I have an alibi", he said, raising his hand for a high five, but no one moved or spoke, making it easy for Johnny to hear the sirens. Panic rose, and still they sat and watched. Johnny, alternatnated yelling at them and pleading. Finally, Mike smiled and winked, " No problem Johnny, it's the Alibi. We got ya.

Johnny deflated with relief, sinking into a chair as the cops walked in.

Everyone one was interviewed. Johnny swaggered through his, so confident you could smell it. It smelled strangely like teen spirit.

When the police approached Johnny with cuffs, he argued as they secured the cuffs, he stuttered out that he had an alibi.

The police told him that everyone had said Johnny was there, and that it was Johnny's knife..

As they walked him across the room, Gerald held the door and called out cheerfully, "Goodbye, Johnny!"

Stacy and Mike joined in, then they all took up the cry

"Goodbye, Johnny", echoed into the dark...

And good riddance.

The first thing humanity did when they figured out genetic engineering was create cat people. The second thing they did was create weapons of mass destruction. Now the cat people are all that is left.

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I dunno ^^;

All I know is that almonds have a known cyanide content and it fits the theme of the story

The law comes to question you under dim light.

It says, “Tell me, just where were you last night?”

You might respond, “Well, officer, I,

Was drinking last night at the Alibi.”

“Truly,” he mutters, exuding disgrace,

“Not even once have I heard of that place.”

“Surely you have, there on Shoreline and Rye,

A big neon sign reads, ‘The Alibi.’”

Red and blue sirens then drown out Shoreline;

The officers park and look ‘round for the sign.

Do their dismay, you’ve indeed told a lie,

For there is no sign of the Alibi.

One man comes forth, and behind him one more.

They claim to be normals at old Rye and Shore.

“We drink on the daily!” They’re met with a sigh.

“We drink on the daily at the Alibi!”

[removed]