Oh joly shit I didn't realize I wrote that much

As I drink my morning coffee, waiting on input from Motherboard, I decide to check the news to see the fruits of last weeks labor. Terror Attack on Hospital Thwarted, Massacre Averted Thanks to Armed Official, High School Footballers to Keep an Eye On I let satisfaction flow through me as I read the articles, enjoying the misdirected praise I see in the article. As I take another sip of coffee, and look out of my apartment window my phone will start buzzing, Motherboard is calling. North Russia, Coastal Base, Nuclear event imminent. I frown, and start my day with a visit to an outdoors shop, its going to be one cold hike...

I had never questioned Motherboard's orders, her track record of predictions was always spot on. As a relatively new agent, I was refused any requests for more information on her every time I asked. She's a powerful AI, but it always struck me as weird all the secrecy surrounding her. As I book my flight, and select a deaddrop near the site, I wonder how she knows all of this? Surely the Russians military plans aren't something you can just Google after all, this question will linger in my mind on the entire flight over.

I find myself hiking through the wilderness, regretting not getting skis in my dead drop making this journey take the week instead of days. As I crest the final hill, I finally see what should be a military base. It's a wasteland, meters of snow covering what should be a silo installation. The utility shed that leads underground is only the barest indication there is something here, and I didn't bring a shovel. Great.

As I pry open the door, I count my blessings on the General Purpose Toolkit. Inside the facility is dead quiet, and dark. I make camp in the shed, and prepare a base camp for exploring this facility. Whatever cataclysmic threat is in here, it's not going anywhere fast. I can take my time. I call up Motherboard for more instructions. All I receive is a file so large it nearly crashes my device on the spot, and two instructions. Restore power. Upload to Mainframe. Cryptic, but doable. Just like the Motherboard we know and love. I have a quick meal from an MRE, and descend through the hatch into the facility.

I stand in a hallway, Cold War era offices viewable through glass on either side of me, some desks overturned and papers scattered everywhere. No point in reading them, likely work from the Soviet nuclear program. There are no bodies, but I do see blood and signs of fighting. Maybe happened during the evacuation procedures? Maybe the project was abandoned due to infighting. As I reach a branch in the hallway, I look to my left, and see a shorter section of hallway leading to the office of someone important, and on the other side I see the doors to the silo, presumably. No windows on them. I figure to start in the office hoping for some blueprints that can direct me to the power supply. I pry open the door and get to work. The interior of the office is stacked to the ceiling with filing cabinets. Great.

I want to claw my eyes out by the time I find them, God I hate paperwork. Blueprints for the facility, broken down into purpose built rooms. The two of note are the Power Core and the "Mainframe Isolation Chamber." I cross reference with my database in every way I can think of, but there's no other way to say it, they have built a cold fusion reactor down here. The schematics show that this reactor is designed to connect to the MIC and can be completely cut off with an emergency procedure that destroys several important power relays between it and the mainframe before shutting down the reactor with some kind of field emitter. There is no way the Soviets of all people would have this reactor, or a computer that would need it for power. Sounds like Motherboard was right again. If I'm going to fix these relays, I'll need another skydrop. I return to my camp so I can study the schematics and plan a repair.

With utmost precision, the skydrop arrives while I'm studying the less exciting blueprints I found. Workshop, laboratory, and archives which is weirdly amusing considering how many files were stored in the head office. First stop though, taking the elevator to the workshop to prepare the fixes to the power relays. I was not prepared for the grisly sight I came across in this room, automated machine tables frozen solid in the desolate facility, with humans beneath them, seemingly in the middle of some kind of twisted surgery. Machine parts had been grafted to their bodies, but it seems they perished when the power was blown. In the corner of the room however, I see what appear to be metal sheets made of an unfamiliar alloy, blocks of computers, heatsinks and other machines and what appears to be a partially disassembled thruster. An alien ship!

This must have been the threat Motherboard wanted me to come here for, seems like some strange machine crashed in Russia and they reverse engineered it. The facility is inactive, but the virus she gave me should destroy whatever malicious AI is in the mainframe to ensure this can't happen again under any circumstance. I roll one of the failed cyborgs off of a workbench, and get to work creating patches for the relays. After that, I make my way to the Power Core, which appears to be housed in the missile silo. To my surprise, there's little more than a console in this room while the bottom half of the silo seems dedicated to housing the core. Using the archives to obtain information on the cold fusion reactor, they make it sound as easy as pie. Of course, the console is about as user friendly as the 70s gets, so it takes me a while but once it starts, a soft hum seems to fill the facility, cold, silent, and the power supply is climbing. The mainframe should be powered up now, yet not even the workshop has resumed activity. The facility might be silent, but it can't just be this easy.

As the elevator doors open, I see the tunnel has collapsed, with a single hand sticking out of the rubble, grasping a radio communicator. I feel the walls, hoping there is some kind of maintenance crawlspace or some way around this blockade. I find a panel on the floor, designed to allow access to the wires for maintenance. There is just enough room in there for me to inch my way to the other side of the hall. I drop my toolkit, and shed my coat, knowing I'd need all the clearance possible to get to the other side, only taking my gun, and datapad with me. It's tight, and the ton of rock visible through the grate above me makes me nauseous just thinking about it shifting and caving in this passage. Inch by inch, I make myself to the other side. Frozen concrete presses me from all sides, sapping the heat from my body just as well as my strength. My dark thoughts seem to freeze my mind, luring me into a sort of trance as I spend what feels like ages in this tight corridor. I finally reach the other end, and push open the maintenance hatch. Climbing into the hallway again proper, I notice numerous dead or deactivated cyborgs laying around me like broken dolls. I count my blessings they aren't awake yet, and kick open the door to the Mainframe.

It is huge. Gigantic. I have lived in apartment buildings smaller than this computer. The schematics showed it was large, but not this mind-bogglingly massive. Almost as though this chamber has been expanded, strangely enough. There is a series of catwalks that lead to a variety of locations on the mainframe, likely for maintence access or testing. The room is warm, but the computer makes no noise. Only a single red light comes from what seems to be the primary interface for this machine. The interface seems primitive for the size of the computer it is attached to consisting of a clunky old keyboard and a monochrome screen. I see no recognizable ports on the device, only a single cord that seems to end in some kind of puddle of liquid metal. As I lift the cord, I notice the metal clings to it, like it wants to drip off but won't. I bring my datapad near it, and find it morphs effortlessly into a compatible input. The moment the connection is made, my datapad goes dark and the red light on the interface shuts off.

That's it? No gunfight, massive explosions or a homocidal AI flooding the room with deadly vapors? It is then that the screen before me turns back on. "Thank you for making Motherboard whole again. Stand by for integration." I hear footsteps on the catwalk behind me... I stand there, simply shaking my head in disbelief. "Heheheh... Hahahaha. Ahahahaha!" There is naught to do but laugh now, as I feel cold, clammy fingers grasp my shoulders, pure dread radiating from their touch.

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'Some NSFWish Language'

You heard about that teacher with the heart thing, right? Y'know, the guy who teaches math? Ruben or Nuben, something like that.

Welllllll, you might not wanna look at me until he magically recovers unless you want to do a die. I can sort of kill people with a single look. Kinda.

It was difficult, at first. I can remember the first few years after I discovered my ability. I was at school when it first happened, 4th or 5th grade. We used to have these big meetings in the cafeteria where everyone would collect and sit down. It was sort of a makeshift auditorium, there was a stage built in and everything. We used to go there for special stuff, like when these guys who were a group known for their skills at jumprope would perform for us. I think my personal favorite was when they dressed up as skeletons for Halloween and danced/jumped to Thriller.

Ah, sorry! I'm getting off track. Anyway, pretty much everyone was gathering there. It was almost 8 and that was when it all got started. I was finishing up in the bathroom- I have an abnormally small bladder- when a girl walked out of one of the stalls. I turned my head towards her and she dropped dead. Dead as a GOD damn doorknob.

I don't know how long I stood there- well, technically I know it must've been at least under 10 minutes. I'm pretty sure at least, accounting for the time I left and the clock I saw when I was being led away. It's funny, I was freaking the fuck out at the time, but I was still cognizant enough to read the clock. The mind works in mysterious ways, especially mine.

Did you know she was riddled with bullet holes? Yeah, apparently my power means the poor person I 'choose' suffers the same fate the would-be corpses would. And when I say corpses, I MEAN corpses.

Don't make me open my eyes when we're driving somewhere. I'm barely keeping my therapist to sending me to the looney bin as it is.

You know I have autism, right? Pretty well known fact, that's how I got into the magical land of our special needs school. Before all the OCD, BPD, ADD- seriously, apparently God decided I had to get D somehow since I'm a lesbian- it was well known I had autism.

It helped that my mom would announce it to EEEEEEEEVERYOOOONEEE who even came up to TALK with us.

Anyway, autism. Yes. That is a thing. As you know, something that is well known among even the most hard-core 'healers' is that we don't like making eye contact. At all. It's just- just no. It's bad, it's gross and we said no! Why is everyone so hung up on eye contact, anyway?! It's like- 'Honey, you need to look people in the eyes' and immediately afterwards 'Honey, it's not nice to stare at people.' Like, am I supposed to look or not?! Make up your mind, dude!!!!

Sorry, I'm getting off topic again. I swear to god I'm horrible at writing something important, but when it comes to doing something as STUUUUPIIID as this, I go whole hog into it. I mean, I know killing people with a single glance so I save others sounds important, but you get used to it after awhile.

Yup, I'm the grimdark version of The Grim Reaper. I am the opposite of him. I can save people who are about to die by killing the first person I make eye contact with. I have no idea when it's about to happen, too. I'll just be walking around the mall or store and someone will just drop dead. I've thought about wearing sunglasses, but those don't really work and it makes my eyes hurt. The glasses I have on now are already getting worn down as it is. My mom is having to jump through SO many hoops to find any doctors that'll take Blue Cross Blue Shield.

Basically, don't look at me until he heals. Or in general, actually. In fact, we might as well break two birds with one stone. Tell me about anyone you don't like/bullies you and they'll be my go to sacrificial lamb! I can make/buy things for them so they'll stand out! They probably won't die because it only hurts innocent people, but hey! Sometimes it has worked! I'll be glaring at a teacher or a student and POMF! They're dead! It's sort of a gamble, but it's not like anyone will suspect anything, right? I mean, who's going to question the poor little autistic kid who has no idea what's going on? Of course we'd stare at the dead body. It's a little weird we would, but we just don't understand. Why would we talk about it, we barely talk at all as it is.

It's a GENIUS strategy. I effectively choose who lives and dies. Sure, I break a few eggs from time to time, but omelets. Omelets and eggs, y'know? So that's why I suggest you don't look at me. It's simply not safe. I don't want you to die. Our guidance counselor, though?

Hopefully they'll hire a better one this time.

Wow, thanks, I'm honored! Unfortunately you won't see Molek show up in my other reddit stories at present. He does play a pretty big role in my upcoming book 3 though

Father Frost has come to call
and I am not afraid at all
I'll spend tonight out in the snow
it's only fifty five below
do not fear or sound alarm
I will keep you from all harm
I am not fast but I am strong
and I'll keep going all day long
My feet tread gently in the snow
I feel the cracking ice below
I know that we can't go this way
listen close to what I say
here it is, the way to go
for I can smell it in the snow
I know it's been a year or two
but follow me I'll get you through

Eric was a resource manager for a Fortune 500 company not even fifteen days ago. Now, he’s a monster with four bug eyes, antennae, and a thorax with humanoid arms and legs, who, because he has a mouth, opposable thumbs, and can squirt ink from his abdomen, has to help in sorting out what can or can’t be allowed in this new… society.

“Look, Mr. Benson,” Eric says, his four arms on his desk, his hands clapped together. “I just don’t see how we can allow this.”

“She’s my wife,” Mr. Benson, a portly looking elephant thing, snorts through his tusks, his ears flared, his arms motioning towards the thing sitting next to him.

“She’s a bug,” Eric points out, one hand motioning towards the grotesque, fly looking creature sitting on the seat beside him.

“You’re a bug!” Mr. Benson shouts, tooting out of his trunk.

“I am an insectoid. Though I do understand your frustration, Mr. Benson,” Eric says. He motions to Mrs. Benson, “Ma’am, can you tell your husband you love him?”

Her giant honeycomb eyes never seem to move as she rotates her body to look in his direction. There’s a glossiness in Mr. Bensons eyes as he takes her little… hand things in his. Eric was glad he could not see himself, because quite frankly it was a disgusting sight.

She buzzes.

“I love you, too,” Mr. Benson whispers back, his snout touching the slick skin beneath her eyes that could only be her cheek.

“Mrs. Benson,” Eric says. “Can you tell your husband that you hate him?”

Her body turns to him, and then turns back, and she buzzes in the same, very irritating way. He wanted to smack her, but all four of his arms open up.

“See, Mr. Benson. There is no way for anyone to distinguish what it is she is saying. For her own safety, for yours, and for everyone else’s, we are going to have to deny your petition to transfer your marriage license. I- I understand you’re upset, but if you would calm down for a moment, I can give you directions to the Placement Department, and they can assist you in placing her with… her own kind.”

Eric takes one of his hands, and rubs the tip of his abdomen, trying not look as aroused as it made him feel, and stamps the giant leaf with his hand.

“Next!”

Awesome and chilling. Second response that's made me want to check someone's profile.

Hey Menory, super interesting take! I liked the story in a story and exploration of AI emotions a lot. Dialog was strong too. That said, the formatting was very aggressive and in my opinion detracted from an overall strong piece. You might want to switch it to a little more standard format to avoid distracting the reader. Overall, really enjoyable though! :)

It also doesn't help that you only have so many bullets.

Through wisps of snow and over jagged rock, the traveler pushed on. Coming to a rest at an overhang, the lone man kicked a few sticks into a pile, and with a deep breath, blew into his outstretched palm. Sparks and a wave of heat eminated from his palm and strike the sticks, igniting with a soft phwoom, casting soft shadows across the overhang walls. The traveler shrugged off his backpack and began to dig in it, pulling out a few crackers and a tin of dried fruits. He then drove another stick into the deep into the ground next to the crackling fire, a slab of meat hanging from its end.

​

"Damn, I miss Taco Tuesdays." the traveler muttered, taking a seat on a frozen rock. Through the crunch of his crackers and the popping of the flame, the traveler heard a beating of wings in the soft snowfall. Without hesitation, the traveler kicked a snowy mix of sand and pebbles onto the small flame, extinguishing it as easily as it was ignited. The beating stopped with the creaking of a branch, and smoke filled the cavity of the overhang.

A moment passed, the smoke burning the traveler's eyes and irritating his nose. He can feel the itch coming on; unable to hold it in, he sneezed.

​

A quiet beat passed, to his relief. The silence was broken as a ball of ice impacted the ground before him, shattering into hundreds of frozen shards. Immediately after, a winged claw reached through the mouth of the overhang, barely missing the traveler with a swipe, but tore his backpack and caused the contents to spill.

The traveler recoiled, and after gaining his footing, inhaled a deep breath. With his exhale, a stream of flames roared from his mouth toward the opening of the overhang. A terrifying shriek ensued, rattling his bones and splitting his ears.

​

This is my chance, the traveler thought, and leapt out from under the overhang, landing with a roll. Turning towards the overhang, taking in another deep inhale, he locked eyes with the creature. A drake leered over him, clinging to the top of the overhang. The drake let loose an intimidating shriek, its face enveloped in a soft magical glow as it readied another blast of ice.

The two launched their attacks. One with a yell, the other with a shriek, the stream of fire met and melted the incoming ball of ice. The drake was quick to follow with a series of swipes, using its reach and positioning to its advantage. The traveler expertly danced around the first flurry of swipes, preparing his next offensive with a deep nasal snort, but was met with a solid blow to his chest from the final swipe in creature's onslaught.

Reeling back, the stream of fire escaped the traveler's mouth, singeing the shoulder and wing of the drake. The drake launched another flurry of swipes, tearing flesh from the traveler's left arm, and readied another ball of ice, the soft glow casting grotesque shadows upon its face.

​

Oh, this is bad, flickered across the traveler's mind, regaining his footing, instinctively entering into a broad, braced stance. He crossed his arms, blood flowing from his wound, staining the snow beneath him a deep red. The ball of ice launched from the drake's mouth, and met his arms with a solid crack!, his wide stance preventing him from tumbling with the force of the impact. The drake crept down from the overhang, snarling as it circled and closed the distance between it and the man, waiting for him to telegraph his next move.

The traveler's mind was racing. It's do or die, no need for holding back now.

Holding his stance, the traveler took a long, slow, deep breath. He could feel his chest expanding, the heat within burning his lungs, his arms aching and pulsing with pain. He tensed his legs, ready to charge when the moment was right.

The drake inched closer, its cold gaze and otherworldly snarls sending shivers down the traveler's spine. It hesitated as it noticed him complete his breath.

The words exploded from his mouth, a river of flame in its wake."Let's do this! LEEEEEROOOOYYYYY JEEEENNKIIINNNSSSS!"

​

The flames hit their mark. The drake, burned and recoiling, skittered back up to its perch on the overhang. The traveler rushed towards it, preparing another inhale, his lungs screaming from the heat within. As he closed the distance, he noticed the drake was not preparing another attack. He unleashed another exhale of brilliant flame, which the drake dodged with a beat of its wings, climbing into the air. It then settled back down, gripping onto the overhang.

The traveler, wary but curious, re-entered his defensive stance, meeting the gaze of the drake once more. Its cold gaze was replaced with a mournful look. It raised its clawed hand, and gestured between itself and the traveler, before pointing upwards, accompanied by a solemn howl. It then sat on its hindquarters, wrapped its winged arms around itself, its tail wriggling at its feet.

Slowly, the realization hit the traveler.

"You... and I..." he groaned through gritted teeth, "are not so different after all, huh?

"The traveler broke his stance, and fell to his knees, waves of pain and exhaustion rolling over him. After a moment, he gained his composure, and sat cross-legged on the frozen ground.

"So, uh, what now?" he said, contemplating openly with the drake. A rumble from his stomach sounded out. The two locked eyes once more.

"You know, I think I have an idea."

​

Under the overhang, the sound of crackling fire complimented the silence of falling snow. The soft light illuminated both man and beast, bandaged and snoring, exhausted from their battle and full from the meal they had just shared.

Free desalination plant!

It's an old canard that science fiction is best when it mirrors reality. As is done here, and done beautifully. But more than the story and just as important is the formatting.

It can be very hard to paint with words, but if it's at all possible, it's done here. From the multiple levels of story-inside-story to the begin and end Unicode marks to the use of Courier to indicate the robotic nature of the future setting, all of it adds to the story that could be seen as just another sci-fi allegory.

I do feel like a layer is missing, though. The first layer is anti-Artificial, showing them to be as needy and demanding as humans. Then it goes pro, with a wonderful bedtime story. Then anti, with language we've seen used against several groups before... and then anti-again? Unless the last layer is meant to be a twist, I would've liked a fifth. Oh well, word count strikes again.

Incredible stuff, and I hope the rest of campfire enjoys it as much as I did!

Journal entry - 31st January 1990

I know I shouldn't fall in love. If my millennia of a lifetime have taught me anything, it is that falling in love with mortals always ends badly. If you lived through even a fraction of what I have, you too will end up as cynical as me. It is difficult enough ghosting all of your friends and acquaintances and start living with a new identity every few decades or so to avoid people getting suspicious of your never-ending youth. You really don't need a lover in the midst who can not only easily find out that you never age, but also very difficult to leave. Even if I decide to stay with my identity, death comes for all mortals and my mortal partners were no exception. So, believe me, when I say, I have foregone the very idea of a romantic relationship a few centuries ago.

But, When I saw her, I couldn't resist the temptation. She was special, more special than all the women I have seen in my entire lifetime, which is a very difficult thing to achieve if said lifetime is thousands of years. I knew I should avoid getting closer, but she was so beautiful, intelligent, charming and cheerful. She had a response to every one of my cynical remarks, and they were thoughtful too, not just random rebuttals. Slowly, day by day, she wormed into my heart. It was with a heavy heart that I decided that I would give a relationship with her, a try even if she may leave my life someday, (everyone does), because I didn't want to regret missing this. Trust me, if a 40-year-old man has a few regrets, a 4000-year-old immortal has tonnes of them. Her smile, when I proposed to her, removed all my worries from my heart. I was in love.

[Journal entry....]

Journal entry - 31st January 1995

It has been 5 years since the day I proposed to her. It has been one of the very best times I have had. We are still as much in love with each other as the day I proposed, in fact maybe more. Her cheery outlook in life has brought me so much happiness in my life. I also like to think my more practical-mindedness has saved some trouble in her life too. She hasn't noticed anything suspicious about my life so far, but she is far smarter than I give credit for. So, there is no guarantee that she may not discover that my current identity is fake. I only pray that she isn't too harsh in judging me and it doesn't leave me too broken-hearted. I also fear that as we grow closer and closer every day, I may never be able to leave her and this identity of my own volition, my heart won't let me. But, I also know that staying will only reel me in more and the pain of her death would be unbearable. What must I do?

[Journal entry....]

Journal entry - 31st January 2000

Today, we celebrated her 35th birthday. How ironic is it that today is my 4035th birthday, But, the birthdate of my current identity is 04th November 1963. I do wish I have made up the birthdate of this identity to be my actual one. But, I have found out, the hard way that carrying the same birthdates across identities was a bad idea. So, I had chosen a random date and I can never share with her how happy I am that we share the same birthdates too....

As I feared, we grow closer and closer as time passes. If you had asked me some 20 years ago, I would have denied the possibility of me ever being this closer to anyone. To be clear, the closeness is not a bad thing, indeed it feels very good to have someone very close to you, to share your every worry and happiness. Well, not every worry anyway. No, the hard part is the lying. I cannot lie to her face. I have found that half-truths are better, at least for my conscience anyway. It still hurts, deceiving her, But, I cannot fathom revealing the truth to her going in a good way. The knowledge that the man you love and have lived with for the past 10 years was actually a millennium-old immortal who was pretending to be a normal man has never went well. (I found this too, the hard way). Hence, I feel that keeping the pretence going, is better for both of us. But, sooner or later, she is going to become suspicious about my aging, or the lack of to be specific.

She is as beautiful as the day I met her, or maybe it is just that I cannot see it. How can I, when I am too enamoured with her smile and cheerfulness whenever I am with her.

[Journal entry...]

{ I may continue this later, not sure currently. My idea was to portray him as being happy with her, but always being weighed down by the guilt that he is deceiving her by not revealing his true story. Do give me some feedback, may help me in continuing this in some direction. I am not very sure where to take it from here}

Edit: Part 2 in replies to this comment

‘Check Your Humanity’

—-

McKain! MCKAIN!! I got into my dream internship. My path to glory and professional success was guaranteed.

In vast glass fishbowl-like rooms, my fellow interns and I swam each morning to a hot desk of our choosing.

Even the privacy of cubicles was too much after the latest efficiency enhancement effort. ‘By removing dividers, we can fit an additional five interns per room. What progress!’ The office manager crowed when it was announced, their raise assured.

I put my Tumi backpack with its McKain corporate-branded logo down each day on the right-hand side of my desk as I saw the others do. My navy blue Brooks Brothers suit and black military-shined Florsheim wingtips made me feel at home. While not officially required, we all knew we needed to fit the mold.

But two months in and the honeymoon glow had lost its luster. I needed more.

It began when I stapled the PowerPoint decks vertically vs. horizontally. For the first time in ages, those ninety degrees felt like freedom.

That day, within the crisp cream walls of McKain, I found something more beautiful than the office’s art deco furniture and priceless art—my soul. That bright crimson jelly filling to the corporate donut which made me feel whole again.

Erroneously aligned staples gave way to sans-serif fonts in the afternoon. Caliente calibri was now my jam. I even imagined one day I’d go extra-risqué with heady Helvetica. Ta ta times new roman!

People noticed something was different almost immediately but couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Was it my insouciant swagger as I headed to the printer? The way my staples glinted in full silver glory in their cheeky placement as I handed them out at the Pickerel client meeting? Or perhaps it was that my clandestine activities had given me a newfound lease on life as fresh as first love’s kiss?

Whatever it was, I was drawing attention in all the right ways.

Until that fateful moment when my boss summoned me to her office.

I knocked gently, avoiding my trademark non-standard third rap.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me, Carol?”

Her face grave, she spoke in the measured tone middle managers reserve for when they want to project anger and control. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve heard some disturbing rumors today that you’ve, well, been acting human.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, ‘human.’”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I was—“

“Not. Here. You. Aren’t.” Carol looked side to side to ensure we weren’t being watched before continuing conspiratorially. “Look, there’s a reason this place is nicknamed ‘the Borg.’ You can be ‘you’ in your downtime within reason, but not at work. Here, you represent McKain down to how you staple and what fonts you use.”

“You heard about that?”

“Yes. I mean, what’s next—off-brand colors in decks?” she laughed. “You’ve already gone too far.”

“Funny you mention that. I was eying a lovely #FF00FF magenta.”

Carol fainted, as I ran.

——

WC: 499

——

Thanks for reading. Feedback is always very much appreciated

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Thanks for reminding me why I don't want kids, Sevens. :)

Though I gotta say, I feel like Jonah may have a point here. He's nine; sending a note home from the teacher seems a bit much. I mean, Grey Poupon is just a funny name! (Reminded of reading the Horatio Alger stories in 11th grade. A few people in the class couldn't get past the name of the main character.)

Wait, do nine-year-olds know what "cringe" means?

Also, it's an easy word to mix up, but in this case you want principal, not principle. One is a human and one isn't if you want an easy way to remember it.

Love the idea you went with here, telling a story without telling any of the story! Well done.

Oh FUCK! First one that made my stomach drop

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Wasn't permanent, was just sick and tired of all the negativity online, and after you put a smile on my face I figured it was best to evacuate the negativity for a good night's sleep!

I'd watch this film