Other Writing Games! Join Anytime!

[Hercynia]

I thought I'd try my hand at this. I haven't written fantasy in a while, and the prompt was very inspirational for it.
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Enchanted
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“Come now. Don’t be scared, Mel.”
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Melody looked up at the strange man. Straining her eyes, she tried read the name tag on his black coat to no avail. The young girl looked to the doorway of her dim bedroom, looking for the reassuring silhouette of her parents. There was nothing. She looked back at the man, the friendly man.
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“Come on Mel. Don’t you want to go on an adventure, Mel?”
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Melody sat up, pushing covers aside as ginger hair flowed behind her, a small flame in the night. The man took her hand, and she swung her legs around, standing up beside her bed. She looked up at the man, up at his dark eyes, dark skin, dark teeth. She smiled up at him, and he smiled down at her.
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“Let’s go, Mel.”
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They walked, walked from the cottage at the edge of the forest, walked through the trees casting their eerie shadows. Melody skipped from shadow to shadow, her hair flaming behind her, until the man told her to stop, they had to be quiet. Melody nodded, kept holding his hand, following him through the moonlit forest.
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“Not far now, Mel.”
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The man led Melody through the gaps of the trees deeper, deeper, darker, darker. Melody started shivering as the forest cooled, moonlight gleaming ever brighter through the whispering forest’s ceiling of silhouetted leaves.
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“Here we are, Mel.”
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The man led Melody to a clearing, passing through two giant trees that looked like proud old men. A small arched gateway stood in the middle, frosted white leaves scattering the ground around it. Dark men like hers stood around the door, peering at Melody, but she felt no fear. She looked again at the gateway, looked at the ripples in it.
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“These are my friends, Mel.”
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The dark men reached out as her dark man led Melody through them to the gap in their circle, the ones near her reaching out and running their long fingers along her bare arms, through her hair, recoiling when she turned to look at them so she never got more than a glance. They hissed strange words to each other, but Melody wasn’t scared. She had her own dark man with her.
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“Are you ready, Mel?”
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Melody could hear distant shouting and crashing back the way she and her dark man had come, the sounds echoing and coming to her only distantly as though she was underwater. She wondered what was happening. The dark men around her whispered, and she kept shivering. She looked up at her dark man and he looked back at her, his black narrow eyes making contact with her innocent green ones.
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“Are you ready to go to Tír na nÓg, Mel?”
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Melody was shivering more than ever, as her dark man led her to the rippling gateway. She gazed into it, flashes of a frozen landscape and a flowery glade interspersed with reflections of her green eyes and her dark man. She looked up at her dark man again, and he looked down at her.
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“Goodbye, Mel.”
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Her dark man pushed her forwards, and Melody stumbled, fell as the ring of dark men around the gateway yelled in delight, fell into the rippling gateway and vanished, spirited away.
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Word Count: 541 (Not including title.)
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[Elephantom]

Timothy — or as many people know him as, little Timmy — had a hatred towards darkness of all sorts; calling it a downright fear would be just a bit less than a laughable blunder, but it was just something that Timmy loathed, whether it was its eerie, uncanny feel or the dismal fact that it could be an abode to creatures from another plane wholly different from the one he was accustomed to. The enthusiastic Timmy, being the little child he was, was rather anxious to prove to his friends that he was one brave, little boy.


On one particular night, at the advent of the fourth of October, Timmy was picked by his fellow companions to act as a 'bait' for their imaginatively creative ghost hunting. Their choice of location, being the appropriately visualized Graveson Manor, which stood in its usual lonesome state at the far end of the street, all abandoned. Its history was painfully dark, but unfortunately, little Timmy knew little about it, and heard little about it, except for the rumours that spread around about its apparent ghost 'haunting'. Timmy was, more or less, a strong sceptic, but the dilapidated, dark appearance of the manor somewhat subtly perturbed him. Pangs of caution ranged out in his heart, eager to lead him away from danger's embrace, but his mind was rather set on completing the innocent venture.


[SIZE= 12px]They steadily advanced towards their location, the street getting more progressively dirtier, much to Timothy's misfortune. Nevertheless, they had reached the Manor rather quickly, the obstructions they faced were relatively minor.[/SIZE][SIZE= 12px] The appaearance of house, it's tall shape, pointy rooftops, it's grimy wooden boards, were enough to send shivers down anyone's spine, but Timothy resolved to stay brave. His companions nudged him to go forth, to which, he replied to with some unnecessary smugness.[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 12px]Passing through the gate was easy, having been unlocked for reason he could only ponder about. The walls were extremely worn out, by a several decade's worth of rain, erosion and harsh wind, and not only that, but they were also defaced heavily with graffiti. Some artists expressed their admiration for art, others simply wrote words that were not comprehensible to the limited mind of Timothy.[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 12px]The pathway between the external gate and the entrance to the house itself, was rather long, and ended in a dead-end. Nevertheless, Timmy had little time to ponder more thoroughly. He mentally noted it to investigate the place more properly, in better circumstances, of course, such as in broad daylight. He briefly glanced back at his companions, who were eagerly waiting outside for a response from him.[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 12px]Timothy could bet, with all certainty, that his friends would leave him as soon they hear even the slightest resemblance of a scream or a yelp.[/SIZE][SIZE= 12px] Timothy's only response to his own cynical thoughts were a brief, weary sigh. He continued on forward, his resolve steadily diminishing with each seperate step, and his wariness increasing. There was an indistinguishable dark, rotten stench that filled the room with an accompanying heavy air, but Timmy couldn't exactly point out what it was, or where it came from; this unexplainable matter only served to agitate the already tensed Timothy. He tightened his grip around the tiny flashlight that he held in his equally tiny hands, before proceeding to turn it on. He illuminated the hallway, realizing that he hadn't actually traversed far enough. It was only the illusion of time passing way more slower than it actually his. Cursing his stupidity, Timothy proceeded forward with a more brisk pace, before a strong irregularity caught his eye. He focused his eyesight, spotting what could only be possible in fiction; an expanse of corner, in the end of the hallway, was entirely dark. However he tried to illuminate the area, his attempts were plainly futile. [/SIZE]


[SIZE= 12px]The rate of his breathing increased dramatically, as a subtle droning sound filled the tight hallways. It was unexplainable at best. Maybe it was his friends playing a prank on him or something? Whatever it was, it was an extremely brutal thing to do. His inquisitive side got the better of him — despite his initial judgment to just run away — and he started to move, rather slowly, towards the darkness. With each step taken, his fear, his actual, true fear increased. He could now hear his one hear beating, expressing its agitation and its desire to survive. [/SIZE]


[SIZE= 12px]The darkness moved; Timothy could swear it moved, he was certain that there was figure inside it, even if the whole area was extremely dark. In a fight or flight respond, his brain chose the latter, but as soon as he tried to flee the area, his ankle was grabbed by what he could only describe as a monstrosity. A shiny, glossy black in colour, features which are downplayed by its grotesquely long fingers. The sudden action of the creature, coupled with the pre-running stance of Timothy, did little to increase his footing, as he down face-first into the dusty wooden floor. He let out a loud, shrill scream to signal his distress, as the creature began to pull him in towards the darkness, which, for the first time ever, seemed oddly welcoming, perhaps his mind knew that death was near and also embraces it?[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 12px]Outside, his friends expressed their own cries of fear, before fleeing away to ensure their own respective survival.[/SIZE]


(Sorry for the abrupt, hastened ending. The original draft was way more longer, and described both the scenario and the atmosphere a bit more better than this version. As a downside, I ain't really that good with portraying a more innocent, extremely youthful characters.)

 

[ArtisticVicu]

He reached out, grasping for the white gloved hand proffered to him. The black and white mask – always grinning, always staring – dipped with the motion of pulling him up and out.


 


“Ready to go?” a female voice asked from behind the mask, the grin on the mask clear in the words.



He glanced back, back at a life he was never meant to live. He nodded and followed the figure.

 
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...................................................        .:~@~:.        ...................................................
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She shuddered, feeling his presence before he ever got the chance to announce himself. She turned, looking back at the black and white mask forever grinning at her. He tipped his head to the side and she got the distinct feeling he was grinning at her. “Ready?”


 


She made a face. “I never had a choice.”


 


He hummed, waiting. She glanced back before stepping towards him, taking his proffered white gloved hand.


 

...................................................        .:~@~:.        ...................................................
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The cigarette smoke wafted towards him as he sat at the bar milking his bottle. The chair beside him creaked as the figure settled into it, a phantom of his mind. “This is almost over,” a voice spoke, neither male nor female but solid, sure, and soft only for him to hear.


 


He chuckled dryly, bringing the bottle up as his perpetual smile grew sharp. “No, really? Could have sworn this charade was going to last forever.”


 


The figure beside him chuckled and he glanced over to watch as the figure pushed up the black and white mask – frozen in a grin as his own face was – and took a puff of a cigarette. The smoke curled around them as the world darkened. “Just hand in there.” The figure placed a white gloved hand on his shoulder. “You’ll make it out of this. Just give it time.”


 


He didn’t believe them.


 

...................................................        .:~@~:.        ...................................................
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She ripped the mask off her face and threw it aside, disgusted as a corporeal form appeared beside her, dressed as she was but still wearing the blasted mask – black and white with its frozen grin. The other tipped his head to the side and she could feel his frown. “There’s no need for that.”


 


“No need!” she bit back, rounding on him. “No need? Did you not just witness the same thing I did!?”


 


He brought his hands, the white gloves bright in the low light. “I did. But that does not warrant this behavior.”


 


She turned from him, yanking at the white gloves on her hands. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this anymore.”


 


His disapproving glare was felt even through the mask. “Too bad. You don’t have a choice.”


 

...................................................        .:~@~:.        ...................................................
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He watched as the younger studied the black and white mask in their hands – forever grinning, forever metaphorical shackles – as he sat beside them, his fingers dressed in white gloves intertwined between his knees. “Henry?”


 


The young man looked up at him, brown eyes belaying the younger’s confusion even as the sharp mind worked to understand. “So, you’re Fate?”


 


He shrugged, looking down at his gloved hands. “More of a branch of Fate, a small part of Fate.” He looked sideways at the mask. “I have the abilities of Fate but Fate cannot be housed completely inside a human body. So, instead, Fate is in every person, allowing Fate to maintain guidance for any and every timeline possible. It allows Fate to see everything and understand it all.”


 


“And this mask?”


 


He reached over and pulled it from the younger’s soft grasp. “A symbol of Fate. This mask is known across timelines, across dimensions, into universes we will never understand.”


 


He gave a sharp grin. The mask cracked in his grip. “Fate is Everywhere, forever present.”


Word Count: 600 not including decorative breaks

 

[Tarmagon]

The hunger was growing. The echoes of the last, terrified screams had long faded, taking with them her sustenance, and leaving her only with the hunger. It was time, time to sing.​

The humans had many names for her, Siren, Banshee, even a strange legend calling her a Piper. None were correct, but none were totally wrong either. Her song called forth the younglings of man, promising them everything they dreamed of if only they would follow the song. Once the children were safely in her grasp, the song changed into the stuff of nightmare and despair. Children did everything wholeheartedly, which made their screams and terror so much more satisfying than adult mortals.​

Drifting through the edge of a forest, one of many she had haunted, she came upon a small cottage set away from any other human habitations. Smoke drifted from the chimney, though no light was visible through the thick windows. It would do. Sitting upon a stump, she began to sing softly.​

She had only sung for a few minutes before the door of the cabin creaked open, and two slight figures stepped onto the grass. A brother and sister! Such a fine feast they would be. Both wore homespun shirts that reached to their knees, and both had the same brown hair and eyes, equally glassy looking as the spell of the song held them enthralled. Rising from her stump, she walked slowly away from the cabin, and into the deeps of the forest as her song coaxed and called, pulling the children after her.​

Finally they stood in the heart of her power, the dark of the forest where her power held sway. Trees had bent aside, then closed ranks behind the witch and her victims, trapping them in a circle lit only by the light of the moon. This was the part she anticipated the most, when the song released them, and her victims knew the first rush of terror. It was as heady as any of the mortal drugs or drink, and she never tired of it. Letting the song fade away, she opened her senses for that intoxicating rush as the children’s eyes cleared and they saw her for the first time.​

Confusion… Concern… Fear… Anticipation…?​

Her eyes snapped to the children who were now staring directly at her without any of the anticipated terror.​

“You are the Witch of the Wood,” the girl said in a high, clear voice.​

“Our father told us of you,” the boy said, his voice only slightly deeper than his sister’s.​

“Did he now?” the witch asked, trying to understand what was happening. “And did he not warn you that I spirit away those children who answer my call, never to be seen again?”​

Something was wrong. There was no fear, only a rapidly growing sense of, hunger that rivalled her own.​

“Oh, that he did.” the girl replied. “The villagers fear for their young.”​

“They are right to do so,” the witch replied. “They are my prey. I feast upon their fear, and then upon their lives, as I shall do to you both.”​

“No, you will not.” The boy declared calmly, catching and holding her eye. “Did you not wonder why our home is so far from others?”​

“It is for their safety,” a new voice growled.​

The witch turned to find the girl gone, in her place a furred hulk that stood on two legs and glared at her with yellow eyes.​

“Your song promised us a hunt,” the boy said, his voice deepening. “Do not disappoint us.”
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word count : 596
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[Lutalica]

Alright, my pretties. It was a hard decision, truly, but I will have to say the winner is...


@asharasahara! Congrats! You have a breathtaking way of writing. Truly wonderful. Keep up the lovely work because it certainly shows.


This update is a little late, but thank you all for participating in this odd prompt. Continue your writing! All of you did amazing!!


- TheLovelyDead

 

[ArtisticVicu]

0-0 *laughs* Well ok then. Thanks.


 

Prompt:


Nothing


 


Word Count: 190 characters, including spaces.


Time Limit: 48 hours


 


Good luck!

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[eclipsa]

I rewrote this like 5 times ahaha. Very challenging.


Word count: 190 characters, including spaces. @Mortem this is for you. You're welcome.

Feeling nothing was safer. That's why Rowen always ran from the things she loved. Especially Donovan.
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He always followed her and wouldn't give up. The risk was nothing compared to losing her.
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[dwale]

1 hour ago, Syzygy said:



I rewrote this like 5 times ahaha. Very challenging.


Word count: 190 characters, including spaces. @Mortem this is for you. You're welcome.

Feeling nothing was safer. That's why Rowen always ran from the things she loved. Especially Donovan.
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He always followed her and wouldn't give up. The risk was nothing compared to losing her.
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1

FOUI I HATE

MY HEART MAN

 

[Noivian]

Thought I'd give this a whack. Seemed interesting. @asharasahara
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He wanted to feel pain. He wanted to feel the scars of their relationship as it turned bad and crumbled like a dried flower. He wanted to feel emotion. He wanted to miss her.
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He felt nothing
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[jinkx]

[COLOR= rgb(39, 42, 52)]She used to be everything. She was an explosion of stars, the creation of a galaxy; the sun the planets spun around, a centrepiece. She was the world I had lived on. And now she was nothing.[/COLOR]
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[Tarmagon]

Riches of the world, absolute success in all that you attempt, and the wisdom of the ages lies within your hand; fame and fortune, you have everything but no one loves you. You have NOTHING.​

 

[eunoia]

She was a black hole. Stars died within her. She was nothing, and she was everything, all in one. She was a great void filled with nothingness. And it was consuming her.


(characters 169)

 

[Tarmagon]

I just want to go on record and say this prompt is/was challenging. By the time you include spaces and punctuation in your character count, there's not a lot left to work with. It definitely puts the emphasis on word choice. It's one of those challenges that makes you improve no matter how you do in the end.

 

[jinkx]

@Tarmagon I know, right? I spent nearly forty minutes on mine and it's only five sentences long. It's so difficult. 

 

[MoltenLightning]

Absence. A missing piece, a nagging thought in the back of the mind that serenaded the thoughts into despair.
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It drove many away from what was real, thrusting upon them the hunger to join it.
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~~~~~~~~~
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I hope this is satisfactory!
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Word count: 190
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@asharasahara
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[Gaycubed]

There is a moment where everything stops. Nothing moves. No one speaks. The world stops. In that moment nothing is felt  Nothing but your own grief. In that moment, everything falls apart.


~~~


Character count: 189 (SO CLOSE!!!)


Anyhow i hope you liked it.

 

[SkyGinge]

Very challenging task - really made me think about every single word.


~~~


Even the stars have company, those big blazing machines; meanwhile, there is me, an ant who thinks he is the universe. A skin cigarette burning noise into hungry silence. Soon to be but ash.


(190 characters exactly)

 

[ArtisticVicu]

These were all fantastic.





 

Winner:





 





@MoltenLightning





 





Congratulations.





 





Good luck, everyone, on the next prompt.


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[MoltenLightning]

Neat! Thanks so much ^w^
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So this means I now have to make a prompt... 
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Hmm...
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Ah, here's one!
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Prompt:
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Defective
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Word Limit:
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Up to 385 
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Time Limit:
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48 Hours
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[SIZE= 14px]Can't wait to see what people come up with![/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]Best of luck![/SIZE]
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[jinkx]

"You know that old thing isn't ever going to work, right?"

"C'mon, Sam, have a little faith in me. I've fixed things before."
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"You ever fixed something smashed into pieces?"

"Your attitude to life?"
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"Ha, bloody, ha. Very funny, McCallen."

"I've told you before that you can just call me Hettie." 
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"I know... It just doesn't feel right."

"Calling me by my name?"
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"It's just weird to think we're friends again." 

"I don't think so." 
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"............."

"Anyway, there's no reason for you to be such a pessimist."
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"You've just been working on that thing for months now."

"What's wrong with having a little dedication?"
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"I never get to talk to you."

"If you want to talk, you should come by more often."
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"Yeah, but I don't want to bother you when you're working."

"I'm telling you right now to bother me whenever you want."
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"But you're always so busy. I don't want to get in the way."

"You could never get in the way. I... I want to talk to you." 
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"McCallen-"

"Hettie."
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"Alright then, Hettie. Do you really think you can fix that thing?"

"Sure, I can. I told you. I fixed things before."
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"In second grade, you tried to fix my watch and it broke." 

"Oh, yeah! I remember that!"
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"You took it apart and kept swearing you could fix it." 

"Sorry about that, by the way."
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"Don't worry. It was... It was cute."

"Aw, you're making me blush. But what's your point?"
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"My point is... You think people can be fixed too?"

"Bibbidi-bobbodi-boo, you're fixed? No, I don't think so."
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"What about me?"

"You always have to make it about you, Sam." 
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"Can you fix me?"

"I don't think you need fixing." 
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"Because I'm "perfect the way I am"?" 

"I didn't say you were perfect. But you're Sam. And Sam's my best friend."
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"Why'd you ditch me the second I was hospitalised then?"

"You know the hospital is a bad place for me."
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"Oh, yeah, since-"

"Sam, I don't want to talk about it."
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"Okay."

"But I really don't think you need fixing. It's stupid to think like that."
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"I know it's stupid. But I can't help it."

"Sam-"
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"You-"

"Just listen: I love you. I love Sam. And I don't think you need "fixing"." 
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[The Atomic Ranks32]

((I guess I'd finally join. OwO))


"Hello Human! I am a TD-43 Unit of--"


"Interesting. Is something wrong with him?"


"I apologize. But if could just--" 


"No. We don't need your input."


It was just the three of them in the large room. Them there, all alone. It was quiet after that. But the machine said something again. "I do think I know what's wrong with m--" "Silence. Shut up." The woman sighed, she simply got closer to the machine. "Do you not understand commands?" "...yes. But if you'd--" The woman typed something into the console. The machine. "What are you doing to him?" The third person in the room said. "I asked you. 'Is something wrong with him?'." The woman said, she continued typing away. Humming.


"You don't know what you are doing."


"Oh. I want you to believe I do." She replied, "And I will fix what you clearly are incapable of doing yourself." 


"No. Stop! You have no idea what you are doing." The man said, he grabbed her arm and tried to keep her from typing. 


"There is...known contaminate in my system. Please. Let me handle it." It would be easy for the machine to fix. All he had to do wa--


He felt a sharp pain. Everywhere. Pain. He couldn't figure out how. But for the first time. He felt it. And it was horrible. It was never ending. Every part of his system felt like it was all going to shut down and die. And it did.


"What did you do to it?!" The man said, clearly cross about what is happening. 


"Oh, don't get sentimental. We'd just start again." 


"This one was perfect. And you destroyed him."


"Perfect? This is far from it. We've got a long way to go." She chuckled as she laid her hand on the cold machine. She grabbed a pen. She "x"ed something out, and wrote something right next to it. 


"[TD-43] [TD-44]" Her markings read.


"Then why are we even here?" The man growled. "You will never figure it out." He said.


"We'd see..." she pressed another button.


"Hello human! I am TD-44 unit of the [FOUNDATIONS OF ROBOTICS AND A.I. CONSTRUCTION INDUSTRY]. I welcome you! I hope you enjoy my time of use Human."

 

[Lutalica]

{ @Syzygy I am so sorry...}
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He couldn't save them. Quincy was helpless in hell fire, yet his friends' screams could not be silenced; not by his hand, and certainly not by his power. He was defenseless, useless, and the metal he tasted on his lips was just a small portion of the crimson liquid that riddled Barcello's streets. He was a virtue who didn't feel so heaven-sent anymore. Quite frankly, he never did to begin with. Where was their lovely God now? Quincy's hands twitched, as if putting up a shield in the aftermath was going to make things better. A brown curl from his own mop of hair fell in his view, but the young man had only one thing on his mind. The girl. She was sitting in the rubble, blood and tears soaked her face, and Quincy -- regardless of how battered he felt internally -- couldn't let her deal with such trauma alone. Laken. The poor girl had gone through enough. He wanted to ease her pain. He needed to ease her pain. The male made himself comfortable on the obscure concrete slab next to her, but didn't speak a word. He couldn't. Quincy put an arm around her, placing gentle hands on her arms to make her feel safe in Barcello's destruction. He closed his brown eyes, hoping he could manipulate the pain that dwelled within her, but there was nothing. She was still in distress, her body ignited with shock, and Quincy couldn't change that. Not anymore. His power was gone. He was defective, and Barcello was lost.
​

 

[eclipsa]

{ @Syzygy I am so sorry...}
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​

He couldn't save them. Quincy was helpless in hell fire, yet his friends' screams could not be silenced; not by his hand, and certainly not by his power. He was defenseless, useless, and the metal he tasted on his lips was just a small portion of the crimson liquid that riddled Barcello's streets. He was a virtue who didn't feel so heaven-sent anymore. Quite frankly, he never did to begin with. Where was their lovely God now? Quincy's hands twitched, as if putting up a shield in the aftermath was going to make things better. A brown curl from his own mop of hair fell in his view, but the young man had only one thing on his mind. The girl. She was sitting in the rubble, blood and tears soaked her face, and Quincy -- regardless of how battered he felt internally -- couldn't let her deal with such trauma alone. Laken. The poor girl had gone through enough. He wanted to ease her pain. He needed to ease her pain. The male made himself comfortable on the obscure concrete slab next to her, but didn't speak a word. He couldn't. Quincy put an arm around her, placing gentle hands on her arms to make her feel safe in Barcello's destruction. He closed his brown eyes, hoping he could manipulate the pain that dwelled within her, but there was nothing. She was still in distress, her body ignited with shock, and Quincy couldn't change that. Not anymore. His power was gone. He was defective, and Barcello was lost.
​

NO. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

 

[Little]

I don't really know what this is. I've been having writer's block and thought I'd give this a shot, see if it could pull me out of the funk. Anyways, here we go! 385 words exactly! 




The adults were huddled by the doorway, whispering in hushed tones and tossing careful glances towards his direction. Thomas pretended not to notice as he played with the little toy car all by himself. All the other children had either been picked up by their parents or gone outside for lunch. He did not, as he had neither parents nor lunch. Not that he minded. Besides, he quite liked having the playroom to himself. It allowed him more space for his car to drive on, more freedom to do as he pleased without having to worry about the other children. Still, this time felt different. He couldn’t say how or why, but he could feel it just like he could feel… other things. Things that weren’t often spoken of. Things that were only spoken about in hushed tones and dashed glances, as if they were afraid they were caught doing something wrong. Thomas was too young to understand, they said. Thomas didn’t know what was best. They did, they said. So he pretended not to notice at all.


“Thomas? Could you come here for a moment, please?” The woman asking for him didn’t sound like she was asking anything at all, thought Thomas. But he obeyed anyway, putting down his red car and making his way over to them silently. Without looking up from her clipboard to see if he was there or not, the woman continued in a monotone, almost bored voice. “It seems as though the new, and last, prescription has been defective, Thomas. And this time I’m not sure we can do anyth─”


“My name is Tom,” he told her calmly.


She looked confused for a moment, her brows quizzically pressing together. Then, as if he hadn’t said anything at all, she continued, smoothly. “Like I said before, I’m not sure we can do anything more this time, Thomas.” Calling him Thomas instead of Tom seemed deliberate, but he pretended not to notice or care.


“Oh,” was all he managed. He knew what it meant. They knew what it meant.


When the woman emerged from the room in which she’d brought Tom into, she sighed. “Erase his files. Everything gets wiped.” She paused, surveying the room. Her ice blue eyes landed on the red toy. “Get rid of the car as well.”

 

[CellistCat606]

-=-=((After watching all these Writing prompts go by for so long I finally got one! I hope you enjoy! ))=-=-
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Word Count: 351
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Defective, well isn't that an odd term, it's a word that we use so often, so carelessly that we never question why. Why is this thing you call "defective," defective? I may ask to someone only to get a response with "It's defective because it isn't perfect." And as I try and continue our little debate they look me down and walk away as if they're not defective. Oh? Now have I got your attention? Well, excuse me for calling you, the reader defective, because as you read this I can hear you yell in your head "I'm not defective!" And to that I ask "Why?" And do you know what I hear next? Nothing, because let's be honest, this time you can't say that you aren't defective because you know that you are nowhere near to perfect. Now do you understand why the person from before was defective? It was because there is no human way possible to be perfect. So why do we have such a term we use to describe imperfect things, when it seems like we really we don't need it, that is because we like to think of people that don't live up to our standards as defective. Now, I know you are extremely outraged that I made this point to you, and that I have hopefully left you mindless, but now, you mindless human being, please, please submit to me, for I can make you perfect, I can make you everything you want to be, so you can not be defective, because am I really going to make you never say defective again? Yeah I didn't think so. And in return of me making you in-defective all I ask for is one thing. You need to come to me personally and tell me, the All Seeing Robot, that you, and every, single thing on this planet, is defective, while you get to not be one, so you can be god to all of these defective people. So how about you come on over, and if you do, I'll make you in-defective.
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- The All Seeing Robot
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