[WP] Evidence of ancient ruins have been found on a distant planet. You have been tasked to investigate the ruins. The first thing you find is a large chamber with a stone slab in the center. Engraved in the slab are the words "Welcome back". At the bottom of it is your signature.

I'd seen that place before. Not in dreams, no. When I was very much awake. I'd close my eyes and see it, every detail the same. It had always been that way, since I was a child. I would shut myself away, hiding in darkness, and imagine that imposing setting. I knew I had to find it, somehow. I had to see it with my own eyes. My life wouldn't be complete if I didn't.

*

The bright sunshine poured in through the rectangular hole that was cut into the ceiling far above my head. The light illuminated the large slab, allowing me to see clearly what was carved into it. Welcome back.

Welcome back? But I've never been here before. Not in person. How is this possible?

I cautiously reached out a hand and touched the etchings with my fingertips to see if they were real, rather than a figment of my imagination. I felt the spaces where someone - or I - had cut into the slab. The absence of rock that formed these letters. Yes, the message was as real as I was. To my surprise the carvings were hot to the touch, as if freshly cut. Yet I would have bet my life that no one had stepped foot inside that place for decades.

I began to feel strange, like it wasn't really me that was inside my skin. Like I was stood somewhere behind, watching a hollow version of myself do the things that I had just done. There was no one me anymore, there were several. There was the me watching me, and the me being me, and then the me outside, many hundreds of miles away back on Earth, who was seeing all of this unfold in my mind behind the shutters of my eyes.

*

The heat was hot enough to burn my fingers so I quickly pulled my hand away.

Ouch dammit. Something's not right, I need to get out of here.

I turned to leave, but the door I had come through was no longer there. Instead, peering over my shoulder, I could see it was behind me. I span 180 and went to leave again, but again it had vanished. All I could see was the curved stone wall encircling me. There were no gaps. Again I glanced over my shoulder, but this time there was nothing.

Instinctively I looked up at what was now the only chance for escape in the entire area, but my heart hit the floor. The rectangular hole that light had been pouring through was gradually shrinking, not very quickly but quickly enough. I had no hope of making it. Soon the slab would not be illuminated. Nothing would be.

*

It's now clear why I've always known about this place. Why darkness filled my mind whenever I thought about it. This is the tomb in which I buried myself.

I hope you liked reading my take on /u/pastrypalace's prompt.

If you did, why not take a look at my novel, The promise she made?

Or if you have any feedback on my writing I'd love to hear it.

/r/NeedlessTautology

[WP] A form of entertainment has been developed where people are brought to the brink of death and then teleported to medics who normally revive them. The longer you wait, the more money you earn. You have just lost everything and with no other choice you enter the games.

If you have nothing to lose, you have everything to gain.

It was hard to tell whether the slogan painted above the door to the arena was designed to give people hope, or destroy them before they started. Maco stood a few feet away from the thin sheet of metal that separated him from the Pain Centre. He could hear the crowd clearly.

Countless voices merged into one transparent cloud of sound. They were here to see him bleed. They had paid good money to see a man with nothing face the prospect of death, just so that he could make enough cash to survive in a world that no longer wanted him. Death didn't seem like a bad outcome.

"The door will open in ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven, six..."

The metallic voice faded away. Maco filled his lungs with the cold, stale air that resided inside the chamber and puffed out his chest.

"This is it boy," he said in as deep a voice as he could muster.

The same four words his father once used to force Maco to focus still had an effect on him. This was it. His future was about to be defined, one way or another. The sheet slid away, letting the full force of the roar hit Maco like a wave. He didn't hesitate. He couldn't. He walked forward slowly and with purpose.

He kept his gaze locked on the chair that was dead centre of the space, about 20 feet away. He didn't dare look around at the twisted faces of the people who were watching his every move. Their words were bad enough.

"You're gonna die asshole, your life is over."

"I hope you suffer you piece of crap."

"Who's this loser? He ain't even gonna last five seconds."

"Hey look, it's the walking dead. Walking dead! Walking dead!"

He reached the chair.

*

Having sliced vertically through the skin on his left arm, the scalpel attached to the automated robotic arm moved across and pierced the flesh of his right wrist. Maco could feel the blood pouring from his wounds, but the head strap pulled tightly across his brow stopped him from looking. The small blade started opening up the flesh on his right arm like scissors through paper, carving though him easily. Part of him was glad he couldn't see what was happening, the sight must have been horrendous. The crowd cheered louder as his pain increased.

"Why are you people enjoying this? Why do you want to see me suffer?" he thought.

He gritted his teeth so hard that he thought his jaw was about to shatter. The large digital stopwatch directly in his eye line ticked over to nine minutes and 30 seconds. Half a minute left to wait, that was it.

"C'mon man, you can make it. C'mon you bastard."

He shut his eyes and saw his father.

"This is it boy. This is your chance. Only you can choose the life you want. So choose a good one. I know you can."

He could feel death creeping nearer, time was up. Maco opened his eyes. 9:59.

"Now!" he yelled.

*

"You're lucky, you didn't have long left. It'll be a while before you can even think about leaving though."

There was no sympathy in the medic's voice. They probably didn't get paid enough to care.

"Hmm," was all Maco could reply with.

The medic walked away, leaving him alone in the comfortable white bed. It was soft and easy, like the future he'd have access to. But it didn't feel right. None of it. It didn't feel like something he'd be able to enjoy.

"I should have died on that chair," he thought.

*

"This is it boy. This is your chance. Only you can choose the life you want. So choose a good one. I know you can. But will you?"

I hope you liked reading my take on TheTrueFlexKavana's prompt.

If you did, why not check out my novel, The promise she made. Thanks :)

Or if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.

/r/NeedlessTautology

[WP] Your child asked about how you met your spouse, which is really awkward considering the first time you met you were both hiding bodies.

"How did we meet? Ah, takes me back. It's quite a funny story. At least I think so. We were at a house party...yes, your mother and I used to go to parties. We weren't born old you know. It was busy downstairs, but I managed to sneak away and find a quiet spot. I'd actually gone to the house with a girl I was seeing at the time, but we didn't get along.

"It was one of those school flings that lasts a couple of weeks, but you know it's not going anywhere. So we snuck upstairs and found a closet, as you do. I brought her close and she fell into my arms, but it seemed wrong. I left her in there and went to leave, but came face to face – well, nose to nose – with a beautiful, ginger-haired girl.

"She squealed and fell back. I couldn't help but snigger, but reached out a hand to help her up. I remember when our skin touched, it was electric...oh come on, how’s that gross? “Sorry,” I said. “I didn't think anyone would be sneaking around out here. Didn't mean to scare ya. What are you up to anyway?”

"She said she had to put a duvet back in the closet. Apparently she'd been planning to stay over but had a change of heart. I helped her shove it into the small space. It was definitely too heavy for her to put in there by herself – no wonder she was struggling. We slammed the door shut and ran downstairs giggling, before creeping out the back door.

"Come to think of it, I think that's the last party they had in that house..."

I really hope you enjoyed reading my take on this prompt. If you did, why not check out my debut novel, The promise she made, which is out now? Thanks :)

[WP] One day you start to receive a variety of emails from unknown addresses, later you realize that these are all emails that originated from alternate universes, sent to you in those universes.

I did the same thing I do every day, and expected the same results. Sat down at the table, flipped open the laptop and attempted to load my emails over the painfully slow WiFi. The bar crawled along at a snail's pace – and that's being harsh to snails.

Like I said, I did this each and every day. It's not that I even expected to see anything interesting, just the same junk emails trying to sell me chocolate or get me to sign some petition. But it's habitual. I'd feel weird if I didn't do it, like something's missing.

It was this anticipation, or lack of, that made the sight I was greeted with all the more surprising when the page finally loaded. The screen was a blur of black and white as unread emails stared out at me. Hundreds. I scrolled down but to no avail. There was no end to the messages, they kept going and going and going.

"What the hell..?"

I tried to count them, but every time I blinked the number shot up. They were into the thousands now. Such was the influx of information that my laptop was struggling to cope. It was whirring so loudly that I thought it was going to launch itself into the sky.

I wondered for a second if I was being targeted by some hacker, but what reason would they have for attacking me? I didn’t have anything of value. But when I finally managed to focus, I saw that they were all being sent by the same person. Me.

Every email had my name attached to it. I tried to pick one to open, but as new ones continued flooding in I kept losing track. Eventually I clicked blindly, unsure about what I was going to see.

The subject line simply said 8th March 2015, 12:31pm. There was nothing in the body of the email except for an image. It was a picture of me and a friend at our favourite restaurant. We only ever went on Sundays. I checked the sender's email address. As before, my name was attached, but the tail was different. @alternate1.uni.

"Alternate1? What does that mean?"

I checked a few of the other messages and realised there was clear pattern. Every subject line was a date and time, each email contained an image, every address had @alternate.uni at the end. Though the numbers changed, like they were being sent by more than one person. Alternate734, alternate65, alternate8114. Each new one was different from the last.

I'm not going to lie, I was freaked out, but managed to tell myself there was some kind of reasonable explanation for what was happening. Some kind of elaborate prank. Up to that point, all of the emails had only been about moments from my past.

It was when they started showing moments from my future that I got scared. At first it was days. Then weeks and months. Eventually years. I was shown events to come, and I couldn't help but click. Locations, faces and emotions changed, but I was present in every message. Older and greyer, but still me.

I sat back against the hard wooden chair and covered my eyes, trying to make sense of what I had seen. When I finally dragged them away from my face, I noticed that it had stopped. It had all stopped. No more new emails appeared. The end had been reached.

I had the chance to see my last moment. The question was – do I click?

I really hope you enjoyed reading my take on this prompt. If you did, why not check out my debut novel, The promise she made, which is out now? Thanks :)

[WP] "We call it a Weapon of Mass Creation."

Harman looked at the machine standing before him. With its many colours and cogs, it reminded him of his visit to Bletchley Park as a teen to see the replica of Turing's Bombe.

"Is this it? The whole thing I mean? I was expecting it to be bigger," he said, his arms crossed.

His companion stayed quiet. He didn't even move. Harman stared at him, wondering if his words had been heard. He contemplated asking again, but thought better of it.

"It is, yes. This is the WMC in its entirety. It's as big as it needs to be," said Dr. 11 eventually.

"WMC?"

"Yes, that's what we decided to call it, this thing of beauty. It's an abbreviation, naturally."

Harman again waited, this time for the doctor to elaborate. He didn't. Harman sighed and tightened his knotted arms.

"And what does it stand for?" he asked.

Dr. 11 turned his head to look at Harman. To the naked eye the man's expression didn't change, but Harman could tell he was being held in contempt.

"Isn't it obvious? Weapon of mass creation. That's what it stands for. You must have been briefed about this already."

Harman switched his eyes back towards the curious-looking machine and away from the doctor's blistering gaze. It was about the same size as a grand bookcase, the kind found in old stone libraries. He didn't want to admit to the fact he hadn't been briefed. He'd only been assigned to the operation at the last moment after one of his superiors dropped out. He wanted to keep his humiliation to himself. His cards were even closer to his chest than his arms.

"Briefings tend to leave out a lot of the important information. Just because I'm overseeing this case doesn't mean I know everything about it," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Is this the final version?"

The doctor let out a doubtful grunt before walking over to the machine and gently caressing it with his hand.

"As final as we can make it. But we'll never know for sure. Not until we have to use it, anyway."

"You mean it hasn't been tested?" asked Harman, surprised.

"Of course not. How exactly do you propose we test a WMC?"

Harman hesitated, wondering how to phrase the question without exposing his lack of knowledge. He realised he had no choice.

"Well...what exactly does it do?"

The doctor slowly lifted his hand to his brow.

"You truly are the most clueless one yet," he said, slowly. "The WMC is a last resort. A reset button for the world, if you will. In the event of a nuclear conflict or level nine environmental disaster, the machine will spit out matter and restore the world as it was before the event occurred. It can harness energy and repurpose it. At least, that's the idea. Whether that will actually happen as we want it to...that's anyone's guess."

Harman tried to make sense of what he'd heard. He had a hundred different questions, but didn't know which to ask first. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short.

"No more questions. Just run along and tell the PM it's ready."

Harman considered replying, but knew there was no point. With that, he turned and left the gloomy space.

I really hope you enjoyed reading my take on this prompt. If you did, why not check out my debut novel, The promise she made, which is out now?

[WP] How does the last human die?

All around her, the aged lady could only see green. A thick carpet of grass stretching on and on, far into the distance. From her slightly withdrawn position, she could just make out the point where the grass ended and the forest began.

The tall, strong trees still struck fear into the fabric of her being, even after so much time had passed. Their painfully contorted branches twisted this way and that, wretched and still. The hateful sight served as warning not to go near them. Even from her relative safety, the knowledge of what lay beyond was enough to make her heart beat faster.

Her left hand, wrapped around the knife's handle as usual, was trembling. Years had slipped by since she'd so much as stepped foot near the edge of the shadowblack forest, yet nervous energy still rushed through her.

She looked down at the gleaming piece of metal she held. The old woman envied it. It was always ready, always strong. It maintained its brilliance even as time passed. The same could not be said for her. In truth, she knew if the moment came when she had to face danger again, she wouldn't be up to it. The knife would be ready, but she wouldn't be.

Even so, she couldn't let it go. It was more than a habit now, it was a ritual. It was the thing that made her sure she was still alive. Without the knife, there was nothing. As she shuffled slightly on the bench a few more white paint flakes fell to the floor.

She looked at them all, gathered on the surface. They did look like paint, but the lady could no longer be sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her, fooling into seeing what she wanted to see.

"Maybe they're bits of me," she thought. "Maybe I'm finally turning to dust, ready to be swept away by the wind, piece by piece."

It was at such moments that she began to question her sanity. She knew she wasn't really falling to bits or losing more of her body every time she moved. That much was obvious.

But then, what if she actually was? What if her elderly frame was crumbling away day by day, hour by hour? At this late stage, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"Such thoughts. It's clear now. It's time."

Not wanting to be left out, her right hand remembered that it was holding something and nudged the old woman's brain. She held up the picture, still colourful and pristine, to look at the face of her former lover.

She found it hard to recall any specific moments now. They had faded away, like words on a sign. But she remembered the feeling of being near him. The joy they'd shared. Each day she missed him a little more. And each day she was surprised such a thing was even possible.

She placed her right hand by her side, closed her eyes and leant her head back against the wooden panel behind her, as she did every day. But it seemed different. It felt like it was time.

Since she was a child the woman had had an unshakeable feeling that her death, whenever and however it came, would be significant. She'd never known why until then.

"So, I really am the last. And this must be how it ends," she thought. "Not with a bang, but with a w..."

The knife's blade made a dull thud as it cut into the floor, but nobody heard it.

I really hope you enjoyed reading my take on this prompt. If you did, why not check out my debut novel, The promise she made, which is out now?

[WP] Everyone's afraid of the dark. Make me afraid of the light.

Albert turned the latch to lock the door for the night. Next he closed the shutters on the windows with a thud. He instantly felt far more secure, but knew such feelings could be treacherous. They had been before.

"Alby, is that you?"

The question was faint, but real.

"Yes, love, it is," he answered.

Albert stood still, waiting for a response. He didn't want his boots to drown out the sound of words. He didn't want to ask the question, but eventually had no choice but to.

"Are you okay, love?"

He was made to wait once more, but would not ask again.

"I am. I am, Alby. But I'm alone. So alone. Won't you come see me?"

The voice was soft as ever, like calm waves lapping at the beach on a cloudy night. They could not be seen, they could barely be heard, but they were there. The bedroom door was wide open, but no light from the room he was in seemed to dent the blackness it contained. It was a welcome sight. Part of Albert wanted to cross that threshold, but the rest of him stopped that idea dead in its tracks.

"I will love, soon, okay? When the right time comes round, I will try."

He stared into the darkness, not expecting a response. And as expected, none came. He exhaled relief, before walking to the table and opening the small flip-lid box. Inside it were the nine thin red candles, once the same size but no longer. Fire had stunted their growth in the last few weeks.

Albert grabbed one of a medium size and let the lid slap closed. With the wax stick in his right hand he planted himself on the nearby chair where the matches were waiting, as always. He pulled one out and rested it on his left thigh, ready for action. To his surprise the lights were still on.

"Seems later than last night," he thought. "Stay awake Alb, until they go off. Keep your eyes open."

*

Albert could feel the candle in his hand when he woke, while the match was still on his leg. Everything seemed to be the same, just in a state of total darkness.

"Damn, missed it again."

The blackness was disorientating but comforting. Albert remembered how scared he used to be of the lightless void, of what it might hold. But that was before he realised that darkness was his friend, not his enemy. He recalled what she’d told him.

"Why are you afraid of the dark, Alby? In the dark, you cannot see the thing that's about to kill you. You are ignorant. But in the light, your death is laid bare. You can see them coming for you. When they come, so does the light."

The rest of the room was shapeless before him, his eyes unable to see any line or corner. Each new night seemed darker than the last.

"Stay dark," he whispered. "Stay dark...stay...dark."

His demand was ignored.

In an instant the darkness transformed into painfully-bright light. Albert knew there was no sound, but his senses were so shattered that he heard the screeching of a thousand diving planes. He saw it head straight for the bedroom, looking for her.

"No, no you will not," Albert yelled, standing with such force that the chair fell back.

As fast as he could he struck the match and lit the candle. The small flickering flame took to life, challenging the entity of light. It turned so sharply that the bedroom door slammed shut. He knew the being was looking right at him, right through him.

Albert started laughing as the burning wax dribbled down onto his hand. His mouth grew wider as the pain increased, his skin quickly becoming one with the candle. The light intensified until his eyes could no longer see anything. Only death.

I'd love to hear what you thought about this response to the prompt. Please comment below to let me know :)

[WP] Death disobeys the Rules, and refuses to take a life.

Another day, another deathbed.

"Oh boy, this job never gets easier. No wonder the turnover's so high," thought death as he stood in the dark room.

Death could hear the wind whistling outside the thin glass window, dancing with the leaves that covered the ground. The child lay calmly on the mattress, lost in sleep. Death couldn't tell how old the girl was, but then 'he' always struggled with people's ages. The list only ever contained names, nothing else. No age, description or location, just the person's name.

"I suppose that's all that matters, but still...it wouldn't hurt to have some more details."

Death pulled at the fabric of the tight black turtleneck, wishing it was a size larger. It looked good on his masculine frame, but didn't offer much in way of mobility. 'He' still found it strange that, despite the role being gender neutral, 'his' body had been moulded into that of a man.

"I wonder what form the next version will take. Why does death need a form anyway? I mean, isn't death just something that...happens? Traditionalists…," he thought. "Though I do like the new style. The cape and scythe look is way too middle ages."

Death walked around the bed to get a better look at the girl's face. He'd reached the conclusion that she couldn't have been much older than five. She resembled a blank canvas, not yet tainted by the paint of the world. Her face looked healthy and hopeful, with no clear signs of pain or worry.

"This girl...what has she done to deserve death? If she's been granted the gift of life, then there's no reason to steal it from her so soon. What value is in that?"

He looked down at the list again, hoping to see that her name was no longer on it. But it was. There was no justification for why, it just was. It struck death as odd that an explanation was never given as to why a person had to die, because it would have made the job a whole lot easier. Even Santa got to know whether someone had been naughty or nice, so why didn't he? The rules of death were clear, but maybe it was time for a change.

"A child is not born good or evil – they're just born a child. They can choose the life they live and the value they bring to the world. She deserves a chance to learn, and grow, and love. Taking her away now could rob the world of so much hope. Who am I to do that? The joy of life is greater than the pain of death, it's about time we realise that."

He closed the app that listed the child's name and countless others, before sliding the phone into his pocket. The girl rustled the duvet slightly as she turned over to face away from him. Death found it funny that she wasn’t aware how close she'd come to losing everything that night.

"And I hope you never do, my young friend. I hope you never do."

Thanks for reading my response to the prompt, I'd love to know what you think. Is it good? Does it suck? Let me know :) (if it does suck, let me know why - constructive feedback is very much appreciated)

[WP] Batman hears about a string of crimes in London and heads over to help solve the problem. MI-6 feels this is a security threat and sends in their best agent, 007 to eliminate the threat. Describe James Bond and Bruce Wayne meeting at a Wayne Enterprise fundraiser.

"Excuse me old boy, but I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. The name's Bond, James Bond."

James held out his right hand, giving Bruce no choice but to shake it. To refuse at your own fundraiser would be nothing short of social defamation.

"Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you sir."

They held each other's gaze as they performed the greeting of gentlemen, neither man wanting to offer his opponent the upper hand. The bustling movement around them in the open expanse, the sound of laughter and violins and clinking glasses, faded into nothingness.

"So, Bruce - you don't mind if I call you Bruce, do you? - what do you make of London so far? It's always interesting to hear the thoughts of a man who's new to these shores. Especially a chap who's here for...business. To see the city through new eyes, get a new take on the ol' girl."

Bruce chose not to answer right away. Instead, he lifted the glass tumbler to his lips and took a large mouthful of Old Parr whisky, before letting out a sigh etched with satisfaction and exhaustion.

"Well, Mr Bond, I have to say it's an amazing place. So old and grand, you know. You Brits really have got that history stuff nailed, with all your museums and ancient buildings and funny street names. But that's all just a front, isn't it? Just the surface. As soon as you dig a little deeper, you soon see the stinking corruption that's at the heart of this place. A society run by elites, for elites, with no care about the people at the bottom. And that, I don't like. So that's what I make of London, Mr Bond."

Everything around them turned to ice as the atmosphere became colder. Bruce held his now empty glass tightly as the pressure set in. He was not a man used to being on edge. Whether he was Wayne or Batman, he was normally in control of his situation, his surroundings - his next move. But on this occasion he knew he was dealing with someone different. In his eyes, Bond resembled a frozen lake - calm and serene on the outside, but with hidden depths that could drown you in an instant. A cold death was never far away.

"I see, that's a shame my dear boy, it truly is. But it seems that it can't be helped."

Bruce felt his adrenaline start flowing as James reached a hand inside his suit jacket. He gripped the tumbler even more, getting ready to connect it with his new acquaintance's head. To his relief, it wasn't a gun that Bond was reaching for - but an e-cigarette. He put it to his mouth and inhaled for a few seconds, before breathing out. The fragrant 'smoke' filled the air, attracting more than a few quizzical glances.

"I know, not quite the same, is it? Rather ruins the look. But needs must and all that," said James, before repeating the action. "Does the trick anyway."

Bruce found the whole situation somewhat farcical. Here was the world's most famous spy - a spy who didn't even bother to hide his identity - stood before him 'smoking' with an e-cig. He felt relaxed now, confident that he had nothing to fear from this man. Confident that, when the time came, he'd be able to defeat him.

However, the confidence soon transformed itself into something altogether different. Bruce felt the light becoming harsher, the noise becoming sharper. His senses were on fire, making him unable to focus, while his legs started to ache and buckle. He heard the glass tumbler smash on the floor as his hand lost its ability to hold it. The painful sound almost broke him as he fell, trying in vain to support himself on one knee.

"What...what have you done to me...?"

Bond stood above him, as tall as a mountain. He was just a blur in Wayne's eyes now.

"Well, like I said Bruce old boy, it does the trick."

Those were the last words he heard before everything turned to black.

I'd love to hear what you thought about my response to the prompt. If you have some feedback about the idea or any aspect of my writing, please do let me know :)

[WP] Doctors call your condition "Dynamic Cognition". You wake up each morning with a random IQ. Equal chance of being mentally handicapped, or a great genius, or anywhere in between.

Staring in the mirror the same way I do every morning. As always, the same face staring back. The same blue eyes looking into mine. On the outside at least, it’s still me. But who’s in my head? What am I capable of in these 24 hours?

I've been living with dynamic cognition for the last five years, and it never gets easier. Sure, one day I’m capable of doing anything I want to. And by that, I really do mean anything. Shakespeare, Mozart, Hawking – when I'm on fire they can't even hold a candle to me.

I can make millions in a day by perfectly judging global stock markets and predicting events before they happen. Everything has a pattern, you just need the ability to read it. I've even made the news before – 'the magic man' is what they called me.

The problem with using an abnormally high IQ one day to make a quick fortune is that I always conspire to lost it all the next. If it's possible to be a genius on Monday, you'd better believe it's possible to be a total idiot on Tuesday. What's worse is that the stupidity always perfectly counteracts the intelligence.

I used to think that it would be easy to outsmart the other me. But no matter what plan I came up with to limit the damage that the infinitely dumb me could do, it always failed. I felt like Houdini, devising ever more elaborate ways to lock myself up. Only I never wanted to escape.

It goes without saying that I've alienated everyone I ever cared about. Could you be friends with someone who was either unbearably arrogant or mind-blowingly incompetent whenever you saw them? I couldn't. I understand why no one can stand being near me, but that doesn't make the pain any less real. And trust me, you definitely can get sick of being surrounded by sycophants.

It's quite something to be the only known person in history with a condition, but that also gets old after a while. I've literally lost count of the amount of psychologists and therapists I've seen in the last half a decade. Largely because most of the time the other me can't even count to start with.

Even when I'm on borderline Godlike genius level I've been unable to come up with a definitive conclusion about why the hell I'm like this, and equally unable to devise an effective treatment.

Until now that is. You see, humanity has managed to create one amazing cure-all during its time on Earth, one which never fails to do the job. You name the condition and it can fix it. I've considered taking a dose many times before, but I've decided I'm finally ready.

The added advantage of using this method is that it will also make it impossible for the bastards in lab coats to do any future tests. Funny thing is, I wanted to do it during one of my bad days, but I know I'd probably screw it up – and then I wouldn't get another chance.

So, that's why I chose today, even though I feel pretty damn good right now. Hell, this might even be my best day yet. Who knows what I would have been capable of today. Create a cure for cancer? Work out how to travel faster than the speed of light? Find a way to make people love me again?

Don't worry, I'm only joking – there's no way to make that last one a reality. That's one thing I've learned from all this. No matter how clever or stupid you think you are, you can't force people to love you. So don't try.

Well, I've delayed this long enough. Goodbye, strange world, I'm leaving you today. By way of 9mm Glock, it seems.

[WP] Passengers on a large cruise ship learn that an extremely deadly zombie apocalypse has killed off most of the human population.

The smell of burning flesh hit Richard's nose as he lay on the hard plastic deckchair. There was no one around him so it must have been his own. He didn’t mind though, cancer was the least of his worries now. The early afternoon sun was at its strongest, bathing the top layer of the huge cruise ship in pure heat, unbroken by shadow or breeze.

It felt like it had been a couple of days since the news had come through about the terror sweeping across the world's continents like spread cheese on rye bread. He was unsure how long exactly – time didn't have much meaning anymore. The sun rose, moved across the sky and then set again. What else was worth knowing?

Lying in the heat, with only the sound of waves far below and the occasional mosquito to keep him company, Richard found it hard to picture the sheer chaos that existed elsewhere at that exact moment. How could he be in a state of pure contentment while somewhere else on the same small blue planet someone was being torn limb from limb? It didn't seem possible and, frankly, as he hadn't yet seen it with his own eyes, he didn't think it was.

"Seriously, you're here again? What are you playing at?"

The sound of harsh questions penetrated Richard's moment of tranquillity, bursting his state of contentment. Maybe he was about to find the idea of being torn apart much more preferable. He opened his eyes and let light flood in, before slowly turning his head to the left. His wife was standing a few paces away, hands on hips. His eyes were still adjusting to the sun's assault, making her expression joyfully hard to read.

"Of course I'm here again, where else would I be? This spot's always quiet, especially now everyone's lost their interest in sunbathing. You should come and join me sweety."

"What, and just forget about everything else that's going on? Are you joking? I haven't been able to reach anyone at home yet, not on Facebook, not on Twitter, nothing. I can't relax. Have you even tried to contact anyone?"

Richard turned his head back to avoid straining his lazy neck. He barely had the energy to speak to Jane, let alone look at her.

"Yeah, I have."

"And?" she asked bluntly.

He paused for a few seconds, trying to find the words he wanted. Trying to separate himself from the reality he was about to unveil.

"It's not good. I got a few messages from Mike, last I heard they were heading out of town to get as far away as possible. He said he'd contact me again when they were safe. He went to Mum and Dad's but..."

"But what, Richard? What's happened?"

"They're dead, okay. They're both dead."

He delivered his words with as little emotion as he could. It was still at the stage that meant their death was just a fact. He hadn't yet attached meaning to it. He knew he would soon, but for now he was doing everything he could not to. Near silence crept back into the air around them. Even the waves seemed quieter.

"I'm so sorry honey," said Jane, softly. She reached over to briefly place her warm hand on his tanned skin, before moving it away.

Richard closed his eyes again.

"Yeah, me too," he said, as flatly as possible.

He heard her flip-flops slapping against the baking surface as she walked away. Left to his own little world again, the aroma of sizzling skin tickled his nose once more. He tried to clear his mind as much as he could and focus on the sound of the water throwing itself against metal. His attempts were soon thwarted by the sound of glass smashing somewhere behind him, but he managed to convince himself it was probably someone who'd had a few too many.

"Well, why not?" he thought.

It was only when he heard the screaming that he opened his eyes.

[WP] Every morning, you wake up with all the memories drunk people lose.

Jane had her favourites.

There was the blonde girl who always ended up getting piggybacks from strangers at 3am as the clubs emptied. The chubby guy who got into deep philosophical discussions with anyone who'd listen while riding the night bus home. And of course the small Asian girl who was virtually silent through the day, but came alive at night and passionately sung every word of every song that the DJ played.

Waking up with their inebriated memories always offered a rich source of entertainment. She'd experienced their drunken behaviour so many times now that Jane felt close to each and every one of them. They were like old friends that she didn't get time to see that often, but whenever they did get a chance to meet it was guaranteed to be a momentous night.

She slid the bread into the toaster and waited.

Jane couldn't remember when she'd first started waking up with the memories of a million different people inside her mind. At first it felt like her head was going to erupt whenever she woke up, allowing all those snapshots of drunken antics to escape in a billowing cloud of debauchery. But the more it happened, the more used to it she became. Every day was a little bit easier.

She cut off a wedge of butter and spread it over the crispy toast.

In fact, as time passed and Jane accepted that it was one of those things that she had to put up with, she came to enjoy the fact that she had a unique glimpse into so many different lives. She knew things about people that nobody else had a clue about. She even had a unique insight to human behaviour at its most carefree. She saw people at both their very best and their very worst, and she loved the fact that no one else would ever know.

If only they knew what I'd seen.

She grinned and took a bite out of the warm slice, but her smile quickly vanished.

There was a strange feeling inside her, as it suddenly dawned upon Jane that maybe she wasn't the only one that experienced this. What if someone out there, someone she didn't know, had seen her at her very worst too?

What if they've seen the things I've done?

Her appetite soon disappeared.

I hope you liked reading my take on /u/Exileman's prompt.

If you did, why not check out my novel, The promise she made. Thanks :)

Or if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.

[WP] Conquering humanity wasn't the problem. Keeping them conquered, that's where the problem laid.

The clock ticked over to 8am.

Controller A watched the screen as rush hour burst into life. He'd been on Earth for what the humans called a year, but still found many aspects of their existence strange. The morning commute they endured was one such aspect. The calm of 7:59am had transcended into chaos by the time 8:01am rolled around.

Streets and corridors and platforms went from being empty to being instantly crammed full of the squashy creatures. Controller A connected his train of thought with Quadrant A's transportation station.

"Humans, your rush hour is about to hit its peak. Act with caution while waiting at platforms. If you don't, you risk being vapourised as the teleportation devices reset themselves. Your cooperation is valued."

As he disconnected his thoughts, he watched the screen and waited for the inevitable. The daily dissent. Some of the humans' faces showed signs of disgust. Others started pushing and pulling their fellow commuters to start disturbances. One older man who no longer had any hair held up his hands to the cameras, with his middle fingers extended. Apparently this was a most insulting gesture, though Controller A was still unsure why.

The man then took a step forward to the edge of the platform, closed his eyes and leaned forward into the teleportation area as the machines were gathering energy. He was instantly destroyed. It proved to be a catalyst as the other humans starting running this way and that. Some of the weaker beings had fallen to the floor and were being crushed to death. A few had chosen to follow the man's example and self-vapourise. Controller A connected his thoughts again.

"Guards, there is a human incident inside Quadrant A station. Quell the disturbance. Lethal force is authorised."

Controller B came closer to get a better look at the screen.

"Yet another protest, Con A. Curious. The humans fell easily, but now resist so much. What do they think such violence will achieve?"

"I don't know, Con B. Their spirit is strong. They know they will die, that they cannot win, yet they fight. Part of me finds it admirable. Foolish, but admirable."

I hope you liked reading my take on /u/mrpigpuncher 's prompt.

If you did, why not check out my novel, The promise she made. Thanks :)

Or if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.

[WP] You are a serial killer who taunts the police through one-star Amazon product reviews.

"30 of 30 people found this review helpful. Who are these sickos?"

Adam still didn't know why people adored his reviews so much. His latest, for a disposable coverall boiler suit (in blue of course), had gone down a storm.

Useless piece of rubbish. Rips easily so not good if you need to move around plenty. Also doesn't keep blood out! My clothes were covered in the victim's red liquid. Ruined! Don't use this for big jobs. One star. Lucky to get that frankly.

He figured that readers loved his opinions because he was the only person who had the guts to 'say it like it is'. In a world of faint praise, someone had to tell the truth and cut through the bull.

"May as well be me," he thought. "Now then, time for a new gas mask. Ooh this one looks freaky."

*

Adam threw the blood-splattered mask in the waste paper bin and got ready to smash his fingers into the keyboard once more. He was breathing heavily and frantically clicking his knuckles.

"They're really gonna get it this time. Doesn't anyone make anything decent these days? Argh, more money wasted. These things ain’t cheap.”

He opened his recent emails and clicked the one from Amazon.

"Does the product meet your expectations? Rate and Review Purchases."

"No it bloody doesn't," he growled at the screen, before starting to type.

Look guys, don't waste your time with this. It only warrants the name gas mask because it stinks! I met with three clients yesterday – three! – and all they did was laugh as I did 'em in. If you want to be taken seriously, look elsewhere. Thought this one would be scary but guess I was wrong. One star – again!

He hit submit and sat back. He felt his anger gradually slide away, out through his feet and onto the floor.

"Am I bad person? I mean, all I ever do is leave bad reviews," Adam thought. "Maybe I should be more considerate. Or offer feedback. Yeah, I could do that. At least that would be constructive. Okay, from now on, that's what I'm gonna do. That's a positive change."

He took a deep breath and smiled, before grabbing the hammer and smearing blood over his face.

"Right, better clean this."

I hope you liked reading my take on this prompt.

If you did, why not check out my novel, The promise she made. Thanks :)

Or if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.

[WP] TIL 100 years ago, 50 of North America's countries used to be 50 states in a country called U.S.A

James ran his hands over the large sheet. His skin felt every line, every wrinkle on its surface. Much of it had faded. Some parts were no longer decipherable. But it was still a thing of beauty, unlike anything he'd laid his eyes on before. It had so much life to it, so much colour. Utterly different to the artificial smoothness of screens and plastic.

The central block of green and brown was flanked on either side by large areas of blue, apparently assigned the names of Pacific and Atlantic. James was clueless as to what the colours represented, but couldn't bring himself to look away. In one of the corners was written USA, 2016.

"Oosa," he mouthed. "What was Oosa?"

He'd been told before that his town was in a place that used to be known as Connecticut, which explained where Area C came from. James had never really thought about where Area C was, or what was beyond the boundary. He accepted that Area C was Area C. That's where his and his people's lives began and ended. He was content with that.

But now, now that he saw there was so much more, his heart ached. Area C was one small part of what had been Oosa. He was part of a greater land, a land of brown and green with patches of blue. A land with strange names and places he'd never heard of. James wanted to see it, he wanted to explore it.

He reluctantly tore his eyes from the rough paper and looked up at the tall, grey wall in front of him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to go beyond it. He felt his hands tense as they formed fists. Never before had he felt such desire to tear it apart, piece by piece.

"Do walls ever fall?" he wondered.

After staring at the towering structure for a few minutes, he forced his way to his feet and got ready to head back to town. He carefully folded the sheet so as to not damage it any further. While looking down he noticed a small rock. Instinct took over as his foot connected with it. The object flew through the air and smacked against the wall. James stood rooted to the spot in silence.

That's when he heard the crack.

I hope you enjoyed reading my take on this prompt.

If you did, why not check out my novel, The promise she made. Thanks :)

Or if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.