I enjoyed this, thanks.

Tristen was a humble man who always helped the poor. He was quite wealthy and successful. He never tried to make himself famous, but people still noticed him.

Felix was also very wealthy, but for very different reasons. He knew how to lie, cheat and manipulate to get his way.

The two of them ended up as roommates in the hospital laying next to each other. Both nearing the end of their lives.

"I'm going to send you to hell and I'm going to heaven, Tristen. Mark my words." said Felix.

"You actually think you can manipulate God?" Tristen asked.

"I don't think I can. I know I can." Felix replied.

The next day they both died. Felix stood before Jesus first to be judged.

"I demand to go to heaven. I am more righteous than you. I didn't order the genocide of entire nations in the book of Joshua. I didn't give birth defects to children that make them suffer. You have caused much more suffering than I have. I deserve to be in your place. As for Tristen. Send him to Hell. He's been a devout follower of yours meaning he supports all that evil you've done" Felix argued.

"I see your point" Jesus replied. I will let you into heaven and send Tristen to hell just as you requested.

Tristen's mind was blown. How could he? Did Felix actually manipulate God himself? Tristen knew he had done good and trusted that God knew what henwas doing.

Jesus took Tristen to the side and explained the assignment to him. "You will be assigned to a family from Noth Korea. They were sent to hell because of a technicality. They never accepted me as their Savior because they've never heard of me. They still have a chance. Your assignment is to teach them so they can move to heaven". Jesus explained.

"I guess hell isn't so bad after all when you put it that way." Tristen replied.

Meanwhile Felix was as miserable as ever. Everyone in heaven saw right through his lies. He couldn't deceive anyone. None of his friends were there. It all just felt like he didn't belong. He knew he was an outcast. He begged and begged to be sent to hell because that's where he knew he belonged. Heaven was worse torture than he ever imagined hell was.

“Are you okay, Sir?”

I turned my head slowly to look at the server who had approached me. He had a worried expression. I realized how strange I must look. How long had I been standing here? Half hiding behind a palm tree. Towel and bag waiting in the sand off to my left where I dropped them. The whole time staring at her. It couldn’t be her, right?

“I’m okay.” I replied, shaking off my stupor. “Thank you for asking.” I began to laugh. “Must be recovering from last night still.” A terrible excuse. He didn’t look convinced. “Okay.” He laughed nervously glancing from me to her. Obviously he noticed my staring. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He half heartedly tried to object as I grabbed one of the drinks off his tray. “Thanks buddy I’ll let you know” I said as I began to down it. He walked off shaking his head.

“Hello”

I froze as I looked up from my nearly finished, ill gotten drink. There she was.

“Hi” I replied meekly. Anxiety flooding through me. A million thoughts running through my head.

Is she like me? Does she remember me? Is she actually the same person? What do I say? Do I run away? How is she so pretty? Can I hold back these tears? Do I ask how old she is?

Definitely not the last one. Shouldn’t ask a woman her age.

She smiled. A curious look on her face.

“How old are you?” She asked.

Pick a point. In spacetime, I mean; let's keep politics out of this.

This point in spacetime, is it nearby? Is it somewhere you can see, perhaps? A familiar place, a person you know? Or is it on the far end of infinity, where naught but thought can ever reach it, forever outside of our frame of reference as a Type 0 civilization?

Regardless, I want you to imagine for just a moment the line between you and the point you've picked. A line exactly 1 length long, no matter how long such a length is. The distance between you and your pretty big-titty goth girlfriend is exactly as useful as the line between us and the edge of the universe, or the line between you and the next nearest person who's into your exact collection of specific fetishes, you dirty pervert.

Think of that line. Like a string, suspended taught across reality between two points.

Now, I want you to think of the effort it would take to cross exactly half of that distance. Did you imagine walking across a room, perhaps? Or firing a rocket across the solar system? Perhaps you imagined time instead, halfway between now and then. Or a process, halfway between grinding up innocent chipmunks for their bone marrow and arriving at the final product of nutritionally complete cheese doodles. Stop imagining weird things, you freak; this is a thought exercise about the indescribable infinite, not some sick woodland creature genocide.

Now, think of that halfway point. What's half? Is it a distance? A wait? A weight? A measure of success? What if you can't reach it with the tools you have available? What if just half of your destination is still a goal beyond your reach? Can you find the halfway point without assistance?

Divide it again, then. Half of half; a quarter. Is that a more attainable goal? Half of half the way to the ends of the observable universe, a mere quarter of the infinite? Half of half the way to asking your crush to prom, a mere quarter of the impossible? Draw a demarcation at the point in space at which one quarter of your point is made, achieved, realized. Is that a goal worth achieving in and of itself?

What about half of that--an eighth? Is one eighth of infinity a potentially viable goal? Could you zip over by Tuesday, putter around a bit before heading back for tea and biscuits? Is an eighth of eternity something worth waiting for, considering the costs of waiting?

Divide it again. And again. Now we're at one thirty-secondths of the line you have arbitrarily picked. Can you do 1/32nds of your goals? Can you have 1/32nds of a baby, 1/32nds of learning a language? What does it even mean to ask your crush to prom by a mere 1/32nds' worth? Have we subdivided the possible too much?

Nonsense.

Half, and half again. Sixty fourths and one-twenty-eighths. Much more achievable, yes? You can achieve 1/128 of getting into shape, or 1/128 of getting hired at NASA, right? That's... what, a few dozen situps? Finishing algebra with a passing grade? How do you define 1/128th of the way to accomplishing your goal, reaching the end of your line?

How fast do you have to go to reach 1/256th of escape velocity? How hard do you have to hit, to win 1/512th of a boxing heavyweight championship? What's 1/1028th of using technological augmentation to survive until the heat death of the universe? How many bananas in your rectum is 1/2056ths of the way to setting an unbreakable world record that, frankly, no one else wants to attempt?

My point is, we narrative-thinking primates draw lines that can be broken down as much as we may desire, but which aren't useful or even realistic as goalposts. We pretend to think in fractions to justify our lack of goal accomplishment, when really we should be practicing releasing the expectations of specific and potentially self-destructive goals in the first place. 1/5012ths of a goal is as meaningless as stochastic noise, and just as useful to our psyche. Learning that I'm 1/10,024th of the way to living forever is just as useful as learning that I'm 1/20058ths of the way to turning myself into chipmunk bone marrow soup.

'Do or do not; there is no try.' It's the battlecry of the dichotomists, who hate the thought of nuance and draw their lines directly between possibilities, with no subdivisions permitted. But the idea of binary achievement between nuanced states, a simple 1/0, is exactly how the human brain comprehends incomplete achievement. I ate half the world-record burrito in a single sitting; I gave my children 1/16th of a bath. It means nothing.

Our world, our goals, our spacetime; they're entirely indescribable, except in meaningless and arbitrary subdivisions of achievement. A hundredth of a sandwich; a tenth of the way to success. We can't achieve most of our goals--the lines we draw from where we are to where we want to be--without dividing them in ways that make no sense outside of a single and silly frame of reference.

Perhaps I am describing the indescribable. Perhaps I am 1/2 insane, making 1/4 of a valid argument while relying on 1/8th of a logical fallacy. Perhaps the world really is just fractions, and whole numbers is a delusion we have decided upon, to demarcate accomplishments we will never attain.

Or perhaps there is an attainable halfway point, between ourselves and the person we will one day become. And perhaps you are halfway down the road of destiny, looking for the next quarter or eighth or sixteenth of the way, trying to achieve the one-ness you long for. Perhaps no matter how far you go, how much you divide your journey, you will always be one length away from eternity, and one accomplishment away from immortality.

Whatever the case, I'll see you halfway to the indescribable. It's a maddening line, and we travel in fractions, but if we just keep working at it, perhaps one day we will get there. I'm nearly half certain, even though I'm only 1/0th of the way there.

Zeus is found dead, and while the other gods and demi-gods try to solve the murder, he stays on the sidelines, monitoring the gods by cameras and informants. They finally find out once the murder is solved and are mad as Hades!

[removed]

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

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

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

I agree and disagree. There's nothing stopping people treating anything as a parody, but if the author writes unironically, it literally isn't a parody. I could be hyperbolic and say "we could treat mein kampf as parody, doesn't mean it is", but I think I can find a more contemporary example without having to resort to Godwin's Law.

American Psycho was written as a parody, and is interpreted as such, but the author has admitted that Bateman was a self insert for his own frustration with women and fitting in as a 27 year old (the same age as the character). Its a fascinating character study, but it still bears mentioning that the person who wrote it was fucked in the head. So yes, I don't disagree that a parody can be dissociated from the author, but it also needs to be said that sometimes, people with deeply misanthropic views use parody as a veneer to say what vitriolic opinions they hold while using that veneer as a shield to escape criticism of their strange and disturbing views.

Hacking your biology is real. You can change your metabolism, alter your sensory perception, grow new organs and designer features, and so on. The technological breakthrough that enabled the bionic revolution came from a secret source code leak on the dark web. Thing is, nobody knows who wrote it; the author was pseudonymous. After a few decades, we find out that they also hold the API keys to the new tech... when they start trolling the users.

I feel like I know this one, sort of, was this based on a leaked meeting or something?

Part five?

Of course her name is Ina...

Fully-automated luxury eldritch space communism. I can dig it.

Nitroglycerin causes migraines. Ergot alkaloids treat migraines. Do they affect mana capacity or mana generation? Or do they bypass the mana mechanism and cause the same symptoms by an alternate route?

Disclaimer: I suck at romance writing. It might suck and you will cringe. Also, I changed the prompt a bit. Sorry.

​

​

Being immortal gets really boring after a while. When you lived for a couple thousand years, time really starts becoming a blur, and relationships form and break apart at the blink of an eye. I stopped bothering. To many people, I'm just that hot dude on the beach. So many of them tried to ask me out, I declined. Even more tried to get me to stay with them for just a single night. I refused. Every time, I repeated the same phrase in my head. Don't get attached. Don't get what you aren't prepared to lose. Every day, I see the hurt in their faces and I feel sorry. But then I move on. To a different beach, a different country, a different continent.

I have a soft spot for beaches. It calms me. The gentle waves, the frothing sea foam- there's something about it that just feels serene, even if a couple thousand humans are stomping about trying to scream at the top of their lungs. The food is awesome, too. If there's one perk of being immortal, it's that you get pretty rich when you do stuff for a couple hundred years, and overpriced seafood does taste pretty good when you know that you can buy a thousand of these and it wouldn't make a dent on your bank account. If I notice that I only have hundreds of millions of dollars left instead of billions, I can just sell some old cups that I didn't bother to wash a millennia ago and get enough money to buy the whole damn restaurant a hundred times over. And buy property, I did. Beach houses are a great place to live if you're rich, just pretend to die every fifty years and pass it down to myself again.

One particular night, I was chilling in this beautiful place in Florida. Hurricanes are a pain in the ass, but houses can always be rebuilt, especially when you can afford to rebuild it with all the gold and jewels in the world(I didn't, of course. I'm immortal, not an idiot). I walked down to the beach, feeling the gentle waves beating against the sand. I sighed.

"You alright?" Said a deep voice. I jumped. Next to me was a man I can only describe as God's gift to the world. He looked perfect. His tan matched perfectly with his yellow tee, the moon casting a warm glow around his face. His hair was wet in the cutest way, and I resisted the urge to ruffle it. "Something on your mind?"

Don't get attached. I smiled at him. "Not really. How could there be, here at this beautiful beach?" I stared at him, my eyes saying, "leave me alone."

He laughed, a rich, deep laugh. "Come on, spill it. I know something's on your mind." He seemed to not notice me glaring at him.

Don't get attached. "Do I know you?"

"My name is Brad. Come on, I know something is bothering you," he insisted. "Maybe talking to someone about it might help."

Under other circumstances I, and every other mortal with basic common sense, would run away screaming with fear from this creepily friendly extrovert. But there was something in his eyes that cracked, just a little, what should have hardened inside me long ago.

We talked. I talked about my situation, heavily censored so he wouldn't find out about my curse. He listened. He nodded, and he seemed to understand me, somehow feel my pain. I spilt out everything. My regrets, my sorrows, my past tragedies. He listened. My brain, tired from the strain of centuries of stress and suppression, could no longer stop me. I learned that Brad was visiting this beach for a week with his friends, and a week that he spent with me, listening to my tales. On the last night, I went over to his place. It was a blur, and afterwards I was ashamed that I have broken my oath. I can't get attached to him. That night, I snuck out. Before dawn came I was at the airport, booking the next flight to Hawaii.

That was fifty years ago. I spent those fifty years trying to forget about him, trying to wipe him from my memory. So why, here in Spain-

"I knew you would be here," said Brad, with his wonderfully deep voice that made my heart jump, all those years later. He smiled, brighter than the sun that shined directly behind him.

"What- how- you-" I could barely get a word out. How?

"You-you should be-"

Brad leaned in close. "You're not the only one. I have it too."

I stared at him in disbelief, speechless.

"Man, why did you just leave back then? I spent so much time and money trying to track you down. Then again, I have plenty of both." His smile widened.

Yup, it's definitely Brad, still being able to pull off stuff that would get any other person arrested.

He studied my face. "Ah, I should've known that this would be shocking for you. Sor-"

I hugged him. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's the thought of not being alone anymore. Maybe it's because I can finally say that I love someone. Maybe it's because the man that I was yearning for all these years is still here. I hugged him with all my strength, expelling my doubts, my fears, my sadness that I hid behind my mask.

He hugged back, squeezing me in a way that reminded me of a dad hugging his child after a rough day, comforting and warm. He patted my back.

"So, do you want to get a drink together? Maybe head back to my place?" He asked hesitantly.

"You got food?" I asked, smiling.

"Yup."

"Then why is that even a question? Let's go."

edit: thanks for the comments guys, i currently have the stupidest grin on my face

Perchance they may.

Edgerunner is trapped underwater and the trial subscription to his cybergills is about to expire.

maybe chill on the coffee

we must have different dialects. to me it just means "huh. neat!"

The question is usually asked when there is no answer. It's not rhetorical by design.

The thing I was trying to say was that if it succeeded in conveying a parody of the DARE stuff, then it's fine, regardless of the actual intention behind the comment? It doesn't matter what the person who wrote the comment thinks, that doesn't stop us from treating it as a parody.

If you want to please criticize my writing. I’ve only recently started and am trying to improve.

I train and nurture strong humans, give them a grand power to train, I breed them in camps to make them as strong as possible, but still most can’t even beat the weakest of hellhounds.

Of course there have been some great warriors, maybe one in 100 are able to survive escape my armies and survive on their own. I send weaker warriors to fight them. That kills most but the strongest grow even greater in power. 1 in 1000 of those make their way to me. Only a handful of those have remotely been a challenge for me to kill.

But all that I ever wish for is one of those warriors to succeed in their quest to kill me. I’ve done so many unspeakable things, caused an innumerable amount of death, tortured so many souls, crushed so many dreams. I can’t let it phase me or my status could fall apart, but I’ve lived an awful life.

And here I am again. Another “chosen” warrior confronting me.

“I will kill you if you try this” I couldn’t be bothered at this point in my life to initiate the fight. It was too regular of an occurrence.

“Why do you do this to people? Torture and hurt them? You gain nothing from it!” He said that as he lunged towards me. I held out my hand to block him, and, to my surprise, he actually pushed me backwards.

As he pelted me with attacks, I began to fight back. After all I had to in order to truly die. I expected him to die after a few hits, but the fight continued. It kept lasting longer and longer, and by the end I was on the ground crying. The man was on the ground from exhaustion and his injuries, and I was dying.

“Thank you” I said.

“What?” The stranger responded

“Thank you. For killing me.” I said

“You… wanted me to kill you?” He said with a rasp in his voice

“I’ve lived for millennia, you’ve lived for a mere few decades. Death is a blessing after all I’ve been through” I said solemnly

“Why didn’t you just end it yourself? You could’ve gotten what you wanted and not killed so many people, my family, nearly the whole human race!”

“That’s unimportant. Before I die I have one thing I have to tell you. I will bestow you with my powers of the gods. You must protect the land and lead humanity to prosperity.”

[removed]

1. An Army officer feeds an AI decades of battle reports, books by all the great generals and essays on strategy, tactics and logistics. He's satisfied when it starts generating scenarios and reports and he gets promoted. Until the AI not only predicts a war, but that the officer will die in that war.
2. A researcher has developed a new smart drug that actually works - it makes people smarter and improves their mental health. The catch is that the ingredients are either rare, expensive or very difficult to refine. But the drug works and has very few side effects. Oh, and he destroyed his notes - only he knows how to make it. The bidding starts next week.
3. A teen and his friends are taking a media and journalism class is very bored. They hack into their teacher's computer and mobile phone. Turns out the teacher is a guerrilla journalist who has uncovered the dirt on some very rich, powerful and vengeful people (he knows where the bodies where buried and who buried them). Turns out the teacher was planning on this - all that data was uploaded into the teen's computer and mobile devices. Now the teacher has disappeared and a bunch of very unsavory people are looking around and asking questions.

Let me know if you do!