020 - "The Hero has finally tracked the villian down and cornered him. In a shocking twist, the hero forgives him."

"They're going to write stories about us." Tanner leaned against the cold, wet surface of the brick wall. The alleyway was dark, but he knew there was only one way out. It was past him, and his foe wasn't going anywhere. "Tanner and Dominic - Hero and Villain, to the death."

A few feet away, Dominic laughed. It was a low laugh, filled with amusement before it turned into weak coughing. Although Tanner couldn't see him, he knew that Dominic was a crumpled mess on the ground, blood slowly draining from his stomach. The thought made Tanner smile, and he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, despite the rain dripping down on him.

"Little Sarah would be proud." Dominic groaned as he spoke.

Tanner imagined that the man's lips were covered in blood from coughing, his internal organs slowly killing him as they failed. He cringed at the thought before shaking his head and turning in Dominic's direction. "A bit too late to taunt me, no?"

There was a low snort from the alleyway. "Bitch was too good for you anyway."

"That she was." Tanner held the cigarette out in front of him. With a crooked smile, he wandered over to Dominic. Reality was similar to what he had imagined; Dominic was leaning up against a dumpster, his hands and shirt covered in blood. The rainwater was struggling to wash it all away, causing a trail of blood to flow towards the nearest storm drain.

Dominic looked up, his struggling features still managing to look smug. "What would she say now?"

Tanner leaned down, placing the cigarette in the dying man's lips. "Oh, I don't know." His eyes wandered, finding nothing more interesting than his fallen companion. "Probably argue that a good man would never kill - that you twisted me."

Dominic rolled his lips, spitting the cigarette out. "That I won."

Tanner nodded, his eyes locking with Dominic's. Despite his pale features, Dominic looked as wild and fierce as ever. Tanner laughed, shrugging and patting the man on his head. "Maybe. But I have to thank you."

Dominic seemed confused, some of the ferocity giving way to curiosity. "Thank me? For what?"

"Giving me a reason to kill." Tanner pulled out a knife, the blade still dripping with blood from recent use. "Some men don't deserve a chance to live. I never would have reached this conclusion without you."

The curiosity on Dominic's face wilted away into fear - something Tanner had never expected to see on the man's face. "Wait - you wouldn't."

"Time to say goodbye, old friend." The dagger spun in Tanner's fingers. "It's okay. In the end, I forgive you." The dagger zipped forward, cutting Dominic's neck as he tried to speak out. Tanner smiled weakly, wiping the blade on his enemies coat. "Tell Sarah I'm sorry, if you see her."

-----------------------

Boom boom boom boom. Getting better. I think. I'm enjoying the recent ones more. Original thread here. Have a good oneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

017 - "Tell a story of an encounter with a superhero from two different perspectives."

 Intense heat. That is what I remember. My body still spasms uncontrollably at the memory. I don't know how to explain it, really. Its like trying to explain the taste of chicken to someone who has never had meat before. It was hot.

I don't remember why I was even in the building. A delivery of some kind - doesn't matter, I was there. I remember the smoke first. It filled my head, making the world appear as if I were watching some sort of optical illusion. Things were out of place. I felt lost and alone in a foreign land.

Then came the heat. The little heat at first. It was warm. I remember pulling my tie off, loosening around my neck to let my skin breathe.Then it grew worse, like I was being smothered in a blanket. I could survive the oppressing sensation from the outside. I wasn't worried until it felt as if my organs were going to burst. All I wanted was fresh air - I just wanted my insides to cool off.

Then he was there. I don't know how he got there or where he came from. One second I remember thinking that the flames looked as if they had faces in them, the next, arms like tree trunks are grabbing me from behind. I thought maybe I had backed into a beam that had broken and fallen around me.

At first, I tried to fight against it. I used what strength I had left to struggle, as if these were the last moments of my life and I had no choice but to escape the burly arm around my waist. But he was too strong. No, strong doesn't properly describe it. He carried me through the air as if I were a crumpled paper towel to be tossed in the waste bin. I'm not sure he ever used his full strength, not even as he crashed through the walls, still alight with unnaturally bright flames.

I'm not even sure he was human.

--------------------------------------------

Arson. I'd only been on site for a few minutes, but I'd been certain even as we drove up. After fifteen years as a firefighter, I knew the signs even at a glance. These flames burned brighter than an accidental fire. They licked at the sky, desperately hungry for the oxygen that fueled it. In some places, it looked as if even the bricks had somehow began to burn. It wasn't an accident.

These are my least favorite kind of fires, even above forest fires. A flame burning through a forest is uncontrollable, deadly, and unbelievably destructive - but it is still predictable, in a way. Plans can be made, people can be warned, and, eventually, the fire will die out. They are exhausting, but in the end, the flames will be extinguished.

I'm never so certain with arson. They're unnatural, burning hotter than any typical fire. Most of the time, we're told to stay away from them. We don't know what kind of fuel could be hidden away, ready to ignite the flame's hunger. We try to set up a perimeter and hope - hope - that the flames will rush through it's dinner without inflicting too much harm.

This fire was one of those fires I wasn't sure of. People were inside. We were set to go in, but nobody was really prepared. Something was wrong with those flames. Water didn't help and we had no way of cutting off its oxygen. People were inside, but we were too afraid to rescue them.

But someone else wasn't. He must have been inside to begin with, before the flames started, because he came out before we ever saw him go in. There were three people in his massive arms, and he burst through the wall as if it were nothing. His skin was dark, as if covered in soot, and his face looked as if it may have been burned. But he just dropped the people on the ground, turned, and went straight back into the flames.

When the shock passed, that was enough for my fellow fireman to brave the heat. We went through the path that the massive man had just created, trying to follow after him. It was difficult to see through the smoke, but he seemed to kick aside flaming debris without a second thought, having no care for what it might do to his exposed skin. Some of my fellow workers tried to yell for him to leave, to find safety, but he ignored us. He just kept dredging on, and we followed.

I knew something was unnatural about him as sure as I knew that something was wrong with the fire. We made it to the second floor, and he picked up another three people and tucked them under his arm as if they were dolls. I offered to help, but he just shook his head and kept right on walking - right through the wall of the second floor.

I turned to my fellow firefighters, only to find myself alone. They had scattered, searching through the first floor to see if the stranger had missed anyone. Alone, I thought I was seeing things - that the smoke was getting to my mind. Then, a few seconds later, the brute was suddenly in the hole he had created, ripping himself upwards as if he were climbing a mountain. He moved past me, heading up to the third floor. I followed,  and the process repeated. He rescued, jumped, climbed. All the way through the six floor building. He found what survivors he could, then jumped through the wall, regardless of height, and dropped them outside. When they were safe, he climbed right back in. I couldn't help but follow him, watching.

By the sixth floor, I knew I'd made a mistake. I hadn't been much help, but the heat and smoke were starting to get to me. I couldn't climb down six floors. I was too tired. I couldn't jump out, either. I was suddenly worried that I might die - but he came back for me.

I've never felt so tiny, so utterly useless, as when he picked me up and placed me on his shoulder. I felt like a boy again, dreaming of the cartoons I had hoped to be real. The man gave me a crooked smile. His face was scarred with fresh burn marks, but he seemed unaware of the burned flesh. He simply turned and jumped right off the roof. The weight of his landing cracked the Earth, sending shudders through my body. He set me down, patted me on the head as if I were a faithful dog, and walked off down an alleyway. I tried to call out, to get him medical attention, but my voice cracked in my throat. I stood, watching him go, unsure about everything I had just experienced.

----------------------------

An old one, saved about a month ago, and never finished. WELL IT IS FINISHED NOW. Could be better, but it isn't bad. Which is alright.

019 - "Write as if you were the king, your brother the high wizard, and you are discussing an impending orc invasion, as close to reality as possible."

The table in the center of the dining hall was large enough to cram a hundred people around it. The surface of the table was overflowing with an array of different foods, as if a feast had been prepared to feed half the castle. Instead of an exuberant feast, however, there was only silence as two men sat across from each other, eating slowly.

The first man cleared his throat, the motion turning into a cough. He forced his shoulders back in an attempt to fix his posture, but both his eyes and body drooped with exhaustion. "Anything interesting happen today?" His voice carried across the empty room, bouncing off the walls and returning in a slow, unintelligible mumble. When there was no answer, he tried again, "Any news, today?"

While the first man was hardly picking at his food, his counterpart seemed to be eating so much that it was a wonder his stomach didn't burst. He paused, his mouth still half full, and shook his head slowly. The food slid down his throat as his eyes darted across the table. "What?"

The first man sat up in his large, throne like chair and pushed his food away. His hair was in a strangled mess, with a patchy beard attempting to cover his pale, blemished face. He tried to smile, but the act only resulted in a grimace. "Your king asked if you had anything to report."

"My king, or my brother?" The second man was younger than the first, but taller and far more refined looking. He eyed the king carefully before returning to his food.

"Does it matter?" The king cleared his throat again before shaking his head and letting out a rough cough. "You're the courts high wizard, and my brother. Either way, I need to know what is going on."

"Have you tried talking to the men you pay for information?" The wizard continued eating, his eyes not even leaving the plate in front of him. The food seemed to disappear so quickly that it was a wonder he had time for words.

"I have." The king grimaced. Most of the council made his skin crawl and he wanted nothing to do with them. They were too worried about the politics of a kingdom, rather than its safety. He let out a sigh. "Ren, we agreed to rule this kingdom together."

The wizard stopped, another forkful of food halfway to his mouth. He set it back down, took a long drink of water, and looked up at his king. "Your point?"

"Help me." The king's eyes began to feel a bit glassy, and his vision became a bit blurry. He blinked furiously against the water in his eyes before giving out a weak smile. "I didn't want this anymore than you did. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't think I can lead a kingdom."

"We could leave." Ren leaned forward against the table, his eyes boring down on his elder brother.

"Like dad did after mom died?" The king snorted, shaking his head. "And leave the kingdom to whom? The council?"

"Who cares?" The wizard clenched his jaw, his eyes wandering through the wide empty room to stare out one of the many windows along the wall. "It shouldn't be our problem. Let them figure it out."

"We're the rulers, their leaders - it is our job to protect them against attacks like this." The king felt his sinewy muscles clench up in frustration. If he had the strength to argue, he would have risen from his chair and shouted. Instead, he let out a sigh and rested his forehead against his hand. "We may not be very good at it, but we shouldn't leave."

The silence of the hall seemed to envelope the both of them, but eventually Ren gave a slow nod. "From what we have been able to scry, the orcs should be here within the month. Our neighboring kingdoms have not lasted long against the creatures."

"Options? Ideas?" The king perked up slightly, but he remained with his head in hand, eyes turned sideways at his younger brother.

"Well, leaving would be my first suggestion." Ren glanced down from the window before shaking his head. "Surrender isn't a real option. The orcs kill enough of their own men on a good day. Humans fair much worse."

"What about holding our ground?"

"Not wise. Like I said, many of the other kingdoms are...gone." The stoney gaze that the high wizard gave off was enough to send a shiver down any mans back. The King, however, just felt a twinge of sadness whenever he looked to his brother.

"Yes, well, we don't have much of a choice." The king clicked his tongue against his teeth, counting the beat as he did so. A few tunes tickled his brain, but he pushed them away to focus on the problem in front of him. "What options do we have as far as defensive strategies are concerned?"

"I don't know." Ren looked down at his food, then pushed it away. He reached for another drink of water, but when he found it empty, he let out an audible sigh and leaned back in his chair.

"You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?"

"I don't know."

"Helpful." The king folded his hands together, his eyes wandering out the same window that his brother seemed fascinated with.

Time passed as they sat in silence, neither looking to the other. Eventually, the King gave a crooked smile and brought his gaze back to the table. "If this were a game - one of the ones we created during our childhood - what would you tell me?"

The wizard matched his brothers gaze before rolling his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Here." The King stood, using the full force of his body to push the large chair backwards. He moved to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a large blank parchment and a quill. He carried them to the opposite end of the enormous table. His boney fingers reached out, pushing aside meals worth of uneaten food and replacing them with the parchment. Immediately, he began to scribble across it, drawing a crude map of the realm.

"What are you doing?" Ren sat up a bit straighter, leaning in just enough to see the parchment. "Your handwriting is terrible."

"So is my ability to draw." The king frowned, scratching at his poor excuse for facial hair. "Do you want to do it?"

"No." Despite his words, he stood from his seat and pushed the King aside. Sighing heavily, the wizard reached out for the quill and looked down at the parchment. "What am I doing?"

"Drawing the realm."

"Is that what this mess is?" The wizard released another rush of disgruntled air and started to draw. It wasn't much better than his brother's work, but it at least appeared to be created by an intelligent creature.

When the map was done, they both took a step back and looked it over. "Okay." Said the king. He nodded to himself, then pointed to a few sections of the map. "Those places are gone. You might as well mark them, and their resources, as belonging to the orcs."

Ren nodded, scribbling down the information, consistently careful to avoid getting ink on his hand as he wrote. When he was done, he started to scribble down information of his own. "These are our allies. Rather, the kingdoms that we can depend on holding long enough that we will have a warning if we are flanked."

"Good." The king clicked his tongue against his teeth again and let his eyes wander around the empty room. "We should be careful anyway. Have your wizards create outposts in each direction. They can create firetraps to slowdown our enemy."

"They won't like that." Ren paused, the quill dancing back and forth in his fingers. "They would rather be here. They would be more useful here."

"They would be safer here." The King stood up straighter, his stance growing solid for the first time in weeks. "But they would be more useful guarding our borders. If the orcs breakthrough, the wizards are the only ones able to communicate with us from the outside - and the most effective at harassing our enemy from behind."

"Fine, fine, but I remain here."

"Of course."

"What of the cavalry?"

"What of them?" The King made his way to a window, his gaze drifting out over the scenery. It made him feel powerful to look down upon his kingdom. It was an odd sensation, but one he yearned for as his physical strength waned.

"They are of no use to us inside the keep." The quill was writing on it's own, now, as Ren returned to his seat. Leaning back in his seat, his gaze wandered to the expansive skyline visible over the king's shoulders.

"Fair enough." The elder brother turned, looking over the make-shift map in front of them. "Send them to the West. They can act as diplomats, until the fighting begins. Either they will return with aide, or they shall serve as our relief force, for the wizards. Between the two of them, we should have a high potential for flanking and dividing the enemy force."

"Good." Ren reached out, grabbing another selection of food, despite it growing cold with the passing conversation.

"Are you eating more already?" The King shook his head, a small chuckle rising from within.

Ren shrugged, his mouth stuffed full. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"A downside to being a high wizard." He shrugged. "Are you going to finish your drink?"

The King waved dismissively, his attention on the map. His fingers traced the ink, most of it too dry to smudge under his touch. He took a deep breath and smiled sadly. "We should make tunnels, under the keep. Give our people a chance to escape, should the need arise."

"Ah, yes. The people."

"We are not running."

"If you say so." Ren sat down in the King's throne-like chair, his feet resting upon the table as he sipped on his borrowed drink. "This city was not intended to be defensible."

"So we change it."

"Easier said than done."

"You're a wizard." The King shook his head. "Stop...whatever it is you're doing. We're staying. We're defending this city."

"Yeah."

"We're not going to die."

"Yeah."

"Stop that." They locked eyes, neither of them wanting to back down from their position. Eventually, Ren simply shrugged. The king nodded. "Good. Now, about the archers..."

--------------------------

Started weeks ago. Not sure if I'm content, but I'm content enough.

018 - "You start to wake up from a dream with a beautiful woman. As you fight to stay in the dream you grab her hand and when you wake up she has been made real."

I don't know how I got here. I try to remember, but every time I do, all I see is you. My vision feels like a tunnel, as if you are the light at the end, and everything else is a dark mess of inconsequential nothingness. Something is wrong. I can feel it. I can see it. Your features are as smooth as a peaceful body of water. I reach out, my course fingers brushing your cheek. You smile, the creases moving along your skin as if ripples among water.

You feel real. The touch of your skin among my fingers sends an unimaginable shiver coursing through my arm and down my spine. I can't help but shake, my legs wobbling as I try to maintain my balance. It doesn't seem possible. I pinch your cheeks just to be sure, and you yelp, grabbing my hand and pulling it away. We both laugh, and I can't help but feel my stomach drop. It can't be real.

I close my eyes, attempting to take a steadying breath. It helps. I feel calmer. The air is clean, fresh, as if I were in an open field after a recent storm. I can hear birds chipping and chirping among the trees, somewhere behind me. Insects buzz past my ears, but I hold still, trying to focus on my thoughts. How did I get here?

You give my hand a sudden squeeze and bring it to your lips, brushing my skin with a kiss. As before, my scattered brain quakes, everything dropping away except for you. Your heart beat drums through my mind, matching the unnatural pace of my sporadic thoughts. I take another deep breath, but my nostrils are filled only with lilacs and sweat; with your unforgettable scent.

"Open your eyes." You whisper softly. I can feel the tears now. They are warm as they run down my cheeks, filling me with an uncomfortable sense of the humidity in the air - or the humidity I know should be in the air. I should be dripping with sweat, but instead my face is soaked in tears.

I am afraid to open my eyes. I know I can't be here. I know this to be impossible. My body shakes again, my legs giving way to the uncontrollable shudder. I hear you whispering softly, but your words are nothing more than the clatter of birds.

I force my eyes apart. They sting, but my vision is remarkably clear for looking through a pane of salty water. You're fading now. I reach my free hand out to grasp your auburn hair, but it flows through my fingers as if it were the wind. I still feel your hands around mine, and I give it a squeeze strong enough to fell a bear. I can't let go. I won't let go.

A sob wracks my body and I blink against the newly formed tears. When my vision clears again, all I see is the speckled ceiling of my bedroom. I start to cry audibly, my grip around the pillow in my arms tightening so hard that I begin to lose feeling in my hands. It should be you within my grasp.

"Whats wrong?" I hear the whisper from the emptiness where you used to sleep, but I know it comes from within my own mind. I roll away, unable to face the space where you should be. I continue to cry until the sanctum below my face begins to turn into a wet pool and I am forced to rise in order to avoid drowning in my own sorrows.

I move to get out of bed, but a sudden hand on my shoulder causes me to freeze. My mind attempts to run through various fight or flighty scenarios, but it is too sluggish to be of aide. I take a shaky breath and hug the pillow in my arms.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Your voice cuts through the air this time, and your bedside light flickers on. I pinch the back of my hand so vehemently that blood begins racing down my fingertips. I try to take another calming breath, but my nostrils are filled with the taste of lilacs.

"Hey, talk to me." I feel the bed shift and sway as you move, and suddenly you're on the ground before me, reaching up to dust away my tears. My gut tells me to jerk away, but for the first time in years, I feel calm. I smile, my lips ecstatic to have your fingertips dance across my cheek.

"You cut yourself?" Your second hand gently inspects the blood on my fingers and I wince - half out of guilt, and half out of embarrassment. You rise, moving towards the bathroom in search of something. I close my eyes, trying to steady my body. From the bathroom, I hear you shuffling through the contents of the cabinet. Glass is clinking together, boxes are being shaken, and pills are bouncing inside their containers. The clunk of a light switch signals your return.

I raise my eyelids and focus my vision on your features. You frown as you go to work on my cut, your eyebrows making an awkward v above your eyes. I can see the sporadic blemishes along your forehead and temples, spot the scar over your lip, see the crookedness of your nose, and the odd alignment of your eyes. I see how imperfect you are; how you hold the features that made me love you all the more. Something inside me breaks, and I realize that this is not the same nondescript perfection of my dreams.

I reach down, my arm shaking, and I tilt your chin up towards me. I want to kiss you, to feel the lips that have been missing for so long. I want to hug you until we're both pale as ghosts. I want to do so many things with you, but a voice in the back of my mind screams and claws at my conscious until I have no choice but to speak the words that haunt me every hour of everyday. "You're dead."

Without missing a beat, you frown and say, "Am I?"

--------------------------------

It has been awhile since I have made a post. Probably won't get 365 posts for the year, but if the goal was 200 words for each post, I think I am close to on track with word count. Also, I have a few numbers that I have skipped because I started to write but did not complete them. They may or may not be posted eventually. Woops!

Thanks for reading, for the prompt, click here! Have a nice day.

016 - "500 words or less, flash fiction for League of Legends"

Garen peered around his over-sized hand, attempting to get a look at the board before he let his fingers drop from the king. His eyes darted back and forth between the piece in his finger, and the opponent across from him; neither supplied him with a hint at what would happen next. Begrudgingly, he dropped the piece into place and nodded. "Your move."

As quick as a serpent, Katarina's hand darted across the board, moving her queen to take his lonely bishop. "I do love an old fashioned fork, but this match would be more enjoyable were I able to kill both at once."

"What challenge would there be in that?" Garen hunkered back down, his mind attempting to think of a new plan.

"One does not need a challenge, only victory."

"Typical." Garen snorted, air bursting through his nose like that of a charging bull. "This is a game of military tactics and precision, not some...murder fetish."

"Oh dear boy." Katarina let out a long, drawn out yawn before stretching her arms out wide. "Proper tactics only result in the fulfillment of such a fetish."

"Incorrect." Garen reached a gloved hand down, picking up his queen. The piece danced around the board before eventually returning to it's original location. "Life should be held dear, preserved and protected." He looked to his opponent, who was now sitting sideways in her chair, legs draped over the arm. She met his eyes, giving him a crooked smile. It sent goosebumps down Garen's arms, causing him to swallow  so hard it felt as if a rock had taken refuge in his throat. He tried to return the gaze, but all he managed to do was form an unhealthy looking snarl.

"You take too long with this silly game." Katarina pulled a dagger from out of her boot and started spinning it around one of her fingers. "So meticulous and careful, as if each piece is one of your men. The goal is to kill my king, not protect yours."

The white queen danced across the board before Garen leaned back. His shoulders pulled tight as he looked down at the board, a slow nod directed towards Katarina. "Your turn."

"About time." The dagger in Katarina's hand slowly reached out to her rook, which she slide all the way across the board to Garen's back row. Another little smile flickered across her face. "Check."

Garen's face seemed to turn to stone, and he sat, staring at the board without any sign of life. The only noise in the near empty room of the inn was the crackle of the fire in the hearthstone, and the light tapping of Katarina's knife against her chair.

"What is wrong with you?" Katarina clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and sat up straight. "Where is the aggressive man from the battlefield? The man who slays ten foes at once, charging into unbearable odds in the name of his king. Where is the Garen worth killing?" She flicked her dagger out at Garen's king with the intent of knocking it off the board, but he reached out and caught her by the wrist. She laughed, ever so lightly. "Still in there somewhere, is he?"

Garen pushed her wrist aside before reaching down and sliding his knight across the board. "Check."

"Really?" Katarina blinked, her fingers lightly reaching down to fix her new problem. "Check."

"Check." Garen shifted the pieces faster than he had moved all night. His opponent was leaning in now, and she moved so fast, in the way that he had expected, that he was already moving his next piece before he was done with his last. Each turn ramped up higher and higher, with every play ending with one or the other in check. They traded pieces like they traded men, until there were only two kings left on the board.

"You cheated." Mumbled Katarina, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Only Noxian's cheat."

"I wouldn't even need to."

"That never seems to stop you."

"If you're dead and I'm not, it matters not how it happened."

"Not even your dirty tactics will bring you victory on the battlefield."

"I would kill your king and all your men before you even managed to get your giant ass out of that chair."

"You will not lay a finger on my king, my men, or me."

"Try and stop me." A dagger flew from Katarin'a sleeve headed directly at Garen's chest. He darted from the chair, moving in front of the fireplace with a speed that defied his large frame. The dagger whizzed past him, sticking into the chair with a soft thud. His stoney demeanor returned as he locked eyes with Katarina.

"Combat is illegal outside the League." He had no weapon, but he made no move to flee. A Demacian never faltered, never surrendered, and never fled. His gloved fingers inched towards the sword that was usually strapped to his back, but all his grip tightened around was air. He dropped his clenched fists to his side as he prepared to stand his ground, regardless of what would happen next. "Your move, Noxian."

A smile flickered across Katarina's lips as she vaulted over the back of her chair, three new daggers appearing in her hands. "My move?" She let out a light laugh before her body visibly tensed, ready to spring. "Try and stop me, Might of Demacia."

015 - "The Rise of the Fallen."

"Hi."
"Hello."
"Is this the right number?"
"It depends. Who are you trying to call?"
"...a helpline."
"Any helpline in particular?"
"The suicide helpline. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of greeting?"
"Supposed to."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Where is the greeting? Why are you just answering the phone like I have the wrong number?"
"I don't much like the greeting. Too cheery."
"How can a greeting be too cheery?"
"Hello! Welcome to the suicide prevention helpline! We want you to know that we care and that your life is important. My name is Jimmy, how may I help you?"
"Are you patronizing me?"
"Could be."
"I'm going to commit suicide."
"No you're not. If you were, you would have done it by now instead of calling me."
"You're not very kind."
"Eh. I'm paid to take up enough of your time for the police to arrive. I'm not paid to care."
"...isn't the whole point of your job to care? To stop people from killing themselves?"
"Nah. My wage is mediocre, so my effort matches it. Like I said, nobody who is going to bother me is going to actually off themselves."
"What if I just wanted an audience?"
"Then you would do it in public."
"Fine, fine."
"Whats your name?"
"Michael."
"Okay Michael, let's have it."
"Have what?"
"Your life story. If you're not gonna off yourself, you might as well tell me an interesting story."
"My life isn't interesting."
"Everyone is interesting, you just need the right audience."
"What makes you the right audience?"
"Have you hung up yet?"
"...no."
"Are you going to?"
"No."
"That makes me the right audience. Thus, Michael, storytime."
"Okay, fine. My dad kicked me out of my home and told me never to return. My family disowned me and said they never wanted to see me again."
"Why did they kick you out?"
"My father is strict. The family obeys him without question. I did too, for awhile, but he got bad. Eventually I couldn't. So I was thrown out."
"And your friends?"
"I wasn't allowed any."
"No friends? Sounds rough."
"I don't know what friends are like. I wouldn't know."
"How do you feel?"
"Worthless, alone, lost, and stuck on a world considered the pit of no hope."
"Yeah, friends will help with that. You should try making some."
"How? I'm, a failure, a castaway left to this hellhole to rot and die with a mess of my father's other failures."
"Have you tried talking to someone?"
"I am."
"Try talking to someone else. I'm just a guy doing his job. Talk to a stranger. Someone random."
"I have no idea how."
"Do you drink coffee?"
"I don't know."
"You don't-alright, do you drink tea? Soda? Booze?"
"I don't know."
"Uh, how about food? Do you eat?"
"I think so."
"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrright, annnnnnnnnnyway, go eat? Meet someone else who eats? Do what you like doing. You like doing things?"
"I think so."
"You could be a bit less vague. What do you like doing?"
"Fighting."
"You sound as if you're just brimming with positive energy. What else?"
"I don't know. Maybe...dancing?"
"Alright, good. Join a dance club, take some lessons. Join a gym and spar with others. Do something other than moping around contemplating suicide. You'll find friends."
"But...whats the point? Why should I bother?"
"You have a world at your finger tips. If you're not going to take your life, you might as well live it."
"A whole world?"
"Yeah, a whole universe if you want to be daring and discover space. Point is, quit your pouting and find something better to do.'
"You're really not very nice."
"Yeah, well, I heard they might be giving me a raise. Once that goes through, maybe I'll work on it."
"You could try just...caring."
"You could try being less of a little bitch. We all have something we could fix."
"I miss my family."
"Your father and family sound like trash. Thank god you got away from them."
"Don't insult them."
"They kicked you out and left you alone. Not much of a family."
"I suppose. Maybe you're right."
"Thats the spirit!"
"Maybe it is."
"Damn straight it is. Anyway, police should be there anytime now. You good?"
"I think so. Thanks."
"No worries.You know what you're going to do?"
"Yeah. I have a whole world out there, just waiting to be conquered."

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This was based off of an image prompt about a fallen angel, found right here. I wanted to attempt to write a story that was only dialogue based, even if it didn't highly fit the prompt. Ah well. Thank you for reading, and have a nice day!

014 - "Countdown."

Eight minutes. Eight minutes is how long it takes for radiation from the great ball of fire in the sky to burst down upon our fragile little skin, bury between our molecules, and give us the friction-filled sensation of warmth. This means that if you use the jelly inside of your tiny eye sockets to squint into that burning ball of death, what you will be seeing is an eight minute old painting. You're experiencing the past. You're too slow to even be in the present.

Try and remember the last time you were in a classroom. The teacher stood in front of the class, their glasses tilted down at you just enough for you to think they were egotistical. Boredom clung to the back of your skull like a cat convinced you're about to give it a bath. Some nonsensical information was being blasted upon a screen that was both too bright for your weak, hungover mind to handle, but too dark for your glazed, doughnut shaped eyeballs to process.

Now imagine that freezes. Your teacher is stuck, their nose scrunched in rabid frustration as they try to shout the day's lesson into your overbearingly large skull. Spit molecules are sputtered about through the air, hanging like rainwater on a windshield. This scene is stuck with you, unmoving, for eight minutes. It takes eight minutes for any future information to be processed by your eager, budding mind.

Of course, by the time those eight minutes have passed, the sun, or your teacher, are somewhere completely new, doing something completely exciting and wonderful and you weren't invited, because you live eight minutes in the past. If the sun were to decide to up and leave our lost little solar system, you wouldn't even know it for eight whole minutes!

Seven minutes. Well, for the first minute of the sun saying, "Peace out hommie," - like your strange friend who isn't a friend but a roommate of a friend of a friend - for that full, wonderfully encapsulating minute,  you were being a dunce. I'm sorry, that was mean. You were staring at the sun. Just zoning out, thinking about what it would be like if that brutally unfair teacher - because you're smarter than them - were to suddenly freeze in time and space. It was funny. It was fantastically, serotonin-releasing, blood-clotting, phone-rupturing, excellence.

But you wasted a whole minute! The last eight minutes of your life and you were day dreaming!

Six minutes. Uh, shit. Last two minutes day dreaming. You should probably spend less time talking with the voices in your head. Yes. But then you would be all alone for the remainder of your life. Those poor, lonely six minutes all alone, sitting in the scratchy green grass that hasn't been mowed in three weeks which is way too long and probably full of ticks and now your ankles itch and you only have six minutes to live but you don't really know that yet.

Five minutes. Alright, alright. Let's be serious now. Seriously, you have five minutes left. What can you do in five minutes? Call your family and tell them you love them? Well, maybe, but you don't love them that much! How about that crush? You could walk to their dorm room. Huh? They live in an apartment? How fancy of them. Are they rich, or just smarter than you?

Okay, okay. I'll be as chill as an Earth without sunshine. I don't mean to be mean, it's just-there are only five min-

Four minutes. Four minutes left of humanity. Is it just me, or did the first minute seem a lot longer than these other minutes? Like knowing that your life is about to end somehow sped up time? Unfair, really. I stare at that clock for hours on end and it never moves, but as soon as I'm enjoying myself, WOOSH, I'm a twenty-seven year old naked man with no home or family and I'm living in a prison cell because it's warmer than the frozen over cardboard box the old lady with the stereotypical homeless cart said was home.

Sorry, sorry. We were talking about you. How much time do you have left, four-

...

No? I'm not being cut off mid countdown again? Alright, so you still have fo-

Three minutes. Oh, now isn't that so darn-tootin annoying. These interruptions are horrendous! Please do something. You only have three minutes left until you look up into that big, bleak sky of endless crushed dreams and realize that the sun has vanished. No more warmth in your section of the great big unknown. Just a frozen tundra, with only the core of the planet to give you warmth. Hey! What a wonderful idea! You could move to Iceland. Dig a giant hole and live near the core of the Earth, under a volcano! You could be the last human ever. Maybe a wonderfully, spectacular species of generous, intelligent creatures would fly their spaceships by and notice your life sign buried deep down under the lush green, freshly mowed grass (that would be frozen over) that is Iceland. Then, they will save you, and whisk you off to explore the universe, to have wonderful misadventures with all sorts of new, exciting, and beautiful things for the rest of your naturally short human life!

You could repopulate humanity!

Two minutes. Yeah, you right, you're probably just going to die. You have two minutes now. Do you really not have any last wishes? No one who is even kinda cute who might live in a nearby dorm-room? You could run there, confess your wonderful, copied and prepared feelings intended for another human, and get some nasty, blood-pumping, kinky, end of the world Mario-kart races in.

...

Or, you know, sex. Can you finish in under a minute? Can you?

One minute. Oh, you've gone and buggered it all now. No-Keep your pants on! Even if you could finish in under a minute, whats the point now? Are you going to go out with your pants around your ankles, in a hot, sticky, itchy mess, thinking of the things you only dreamed of? Oh, look at that. Now you're crying. With your pants around your ankles. Buck up! It was a joke. The sun is fine! I mean, really, eight minutes? You really think that the sun is just going to disappear, and then you'll die in eight minutes? Hah!

Lights out. Well, will you look at that. Sorry, I was joking about the bit where I said I was joking. I didn't want you to cry anymore! You looked like a clown who had run into a mule's arse, then tried to wipe the shit off your face with fire ants and a side of hay-fever. You're looking much better now, though! That look of massive, erection bursting anger mixed with unbridled surprise seems to fit you. You should wear it more often. And pull up your pants. There is some good news!

The good news is, uh, well, maybe I should deliver the bad news first, so that the good news is more goodly? Like when the doctor sits down your family and say, "The bad news is, your 21 year old has cancer and the medical bills are going to cost around 200,000 dollars when all is said and done, even though you have medical insurance. But the good news is, he probably won't die! Probably."

I mean, the bad news is pretty obvious - the sun disappeared eight minutes ago! So, no more sunlight. Or warmth. But good news! Which is, uh, I was lying about the dying in eight minutes part. Obviously, since you're still alive. It'll start getting cold soon - like so cold that even ice will start to get frostbite - so you should probably pull up your pants. Seriously. You're making this weird. Pull them up. And you should probably find more pants, to put on top of your pants. Throw a pants party! Because ocean freezing, vegetation killing, Antarctica-feels-like-Hawaii, cold.

And you should move to Iceland. Because, uh, you have about two weeks before it gets so cold that your tiny, meatless, sinewy arms will snap off in the frigid air faster than you can shout, "Where did the sun go!?" It went on an elongated vacation and it isn't coming home until mommy stops being such a frigid bitch, okay? Okay!?

...

 At least you have time to walk to your crush's apartment now. You better not throw away Mario-kart victories to get end of the world sex, either, or I will-

Oh, shit, here comes that teacher we hate. Gotta go. Good luck with the whole lights out thing!

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Well, that was interesting. Uh, for the original thread, follow this. Thanks for reading, and have an enjoyable afternoon.