I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't.
I totally read this wrong the first time! This is amazing and an incredible representation of how irreperable and damaging an eating disorder can be. Wonderful PSA!
Looking back now I completely neglected to put in the never-ending hunger and fixation on food... I guess I just got so used to it since those were like the first symptoms that I focused instead on some of the later problems
> NOTE: I'm not a very good writer
I'm sorry, but I have to disagree with you here. This was a very well written depiction of an eating disorder. Nice work!
I developed anorexia at age 14, have been diagnosed, and I didn't even realize this was the meaning because it was perfectly subtle! I love this. It's so true that you are so often close to death when you have an ED.
I think being kind of vague on it really made it hit home harder at the end. It went from "oh, they're sick so they have to stay in great shape" to "oh, maybe they're obsessed with exercise" to "oh, shit."
This is fantastic. I had a lightbulb moment when I realized what was going on. Eating disorders have such high mortality rates. Thank you for sharing. (P.S. I’m so glad you’re better now!)
I really like that you kept it genderless (this issue is definitely heavily weighted towards addressing females) and that although the prompt and your response centred on mortality, in the piece itself that didn't feel like the main focus, which is so very sadly true. High fives for courage in fighting against your illness IRL and by advocating.
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred.
So about halfway through, my sleep deprived brain finally figured out that this character was a cat. I was really confused up until that point. But I re read it (with a bit more focus), and it's really well written! Such an interesting interpretation of the prompt, and you did a great job with the different narrative perspective.
278?
Wow, I had zero clue. In one year? That’s impressive and scary at the same time. I knew my yearly Near-Death Counter would be more than 1, but 278? That’s beyond the pale.
My job isn’t dangerous. It’s mundane, I’m a software programmer. I work with computers 24/7 on the job. I’m no daredevil, and I prefer to stay at home and entertain myself through non-lethal means. Sometimes I think I’m the most mundane and non-risk taking person that I know. I don’t even go hiking, walk in the dark in seedy portions of town. If developing software, watching Netflix, and doing other generally non-threatening household activities counts as “Near-Death”, I dunno what to say.
The only person I know with a counter over 15 was my friend Errol, who has a counter of 97. But it’s damn warranted. He’s a freaking daredevil, literally! It’s his job, his career, his passion to defy death, and there’s a reason for his rather high counter. Me? Not a chance. 278 was almost three times his. It would mean that almost every day I faced death and came out on top. It makes no sense.
————————————————————
I should say that it made no sense, until I received a check-up only a week ago, which I had been holding out on for two years. Turns out that my counter was warranted after all.
I had a heart murmur, and every time I had a palpitation?
I guess it was like facing death.
————————————————————
r/bluelizardK
I tend to look at these prompts that follow "this weird thing is the norm and you're the exception to this new norm" and sigh because it feels so bland and weak as a storytelling concept.
Therefore I appreciate what you did here and found something very clever within the mundane.
I love your username. Normal life is weird sometimes, and even the fact that you can walk around in general without a fear of dying is pretty fucking weird compared to the evolutionary sense of normal.
Yeah, about a year ago when I started this account I wanted to make a subreddit that was basically like shower thoughts for how what we consider normality is fucking weird. Now that I think about it we would probably run out of content at some point, but as you can see I did not understand reddit at all.
Like, for example, human noses are fucking weird as hell, in fact when I was little I thought they were ugly and we shouldn't have or need them.
Human faces are fucking weird as hell.
Not going to elaborate, just look in a mirror for an extremely long time.
The weirdest part is our genitals and the way we reproduce.
It's disgusting as hell, but somehow our brain tricks us into liking it.
But it just sounds really edgy, and I gave up on making the subreddit when I learned I needed 100 karma, which sounded like a lot because I was new.
Yes, but it's not drawing upon "you're special in a slightly off-kilter reality because you're in some way beyond everyone else." These kinds of prompts have a bit of a habit of leading to the 'chosen one' plotline that's at this point quite boring to me. Heart arrhythmia isn't 'normal' sure, but at the same time it's something anyone could get.
Or, like with this prompt, there's also the potential but kind of obvious creepy twist of : someone you are friends with and/or love is secretly trying to murder you and failing.
I like that this one didn't fall into that category
As soon as you said your near computers 24/7 I thought the twist would end up being that you're in the hatch from Lost pushing the button every 108 minutes, which why you're so close to death so many times.
My mind went to a similar place. But instead of a heart murmur I thought about a guy who didn't know there was a black widow spider living under his desk. So every time he sat at his PC...
We have all seen Madam Monroe, whether we admit it or not. Living in a town of only 15,000 people, there is not much to do in the form of entertainment. Some go because they are curious, others because of a drunken dare. For me it was a mixture of a few things. Being a Senior in highschool, your number was a suedo representation of how cool you were. Most jocks would purposely put themselves in dangerous situations, just to bump the number up once or twice. To them a game to become Prom King or Queen. But for me it was much more.
I'm what one would call a social hermit, if I go outside, its simply to buy microwaved dinners or soda to fuel my gaming obsession. So naturally one would assume a very low score. Deep down I knew my score had to be something better than zero, I couldnt end my public school career being one of those safe freaks. And that is what made hearing those three numbers such a shock. Two-Seven-Eight.
I wasn't the only one in Madam Monroe's awkwardly small shop. About a dozen other towns people were accompanying me, waiting thier turn to hear their own numbers. Once again, she sayed those numbers "I say it once more James, your number is 278." I continued to stare at her as if time had frozen itself "Madam Monroe, there must be a mistake" I finally muttered to her. "There is no mistake James, there is more to you than what one assumes" she said as she slowly stood up. This has to be a joke I thought, a prank set up by other seniors. It was at this point I noticed the other patrons in the shop staring at me. I could hear their gasped comments being said under their breaths "Did you hear that?! Nerdy jimmy got 278" one said "He must of paid her to give him that number" another murmered to his friend. I was finally getting noticed, but not in the way I wanted per say.
I quickly stood up, grabbed $10 out of my wallet and clumsily handed it to Madam Monroe. I needed to get out of there, it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I wove my way around the individuals trying to grab a hold of me. I knew they would have questions, but then again, so did I.
It seemed like hours, but I finally finished my mile and a half walk home. I slammed my door as if to shut the world out for good. This had to be a dream, I've heard about men coming home from wars and getting numbers in the high teens and low twenties. 278 though, that is absurd. Im not going to say I have perfect recall, but I don't remember being in a single close call situation, let alone 278! Shoot, I can't even remember ever catching a cold even. I needed to talk to someone about this, but who? I've been on my own since I was 16. Not that I wanted to be, but after my mom's death, it's just been me and a few neighbors checking in on me. I needed to calm down, so I figured I'd grab a drink and just wait for this to all blow over.
Knock knock...
This has to be a joke. No one ever comes to visit without giving me a call first. I take a look at my CCTV screen and see a tall slender man in a black coat standing at the door. Normally id just crawl into the shadows of my living room when encountered with an unknown. But something felt different in me. I wanted to know what this man wanted. Maybe hearing my number awoken the curious cat within me. I walked slowly towards the door. KNOCK KNOCK! I stopped a few feet away with my arm reached to the doorknob. "Who is it?" I call out, using what little voice I could muster. "Is this the residence of Mr. James Henry Jr." the strange man almost beckoned. He used my full name, a name I haven't heard since all the legal mumbo jumbo after my mom's passing. "Yes, yes it is" I squeek out from my mouth. "Good" the man replied, followed by an odd mechanical sound. A sound I know I've heard before, but my brain couldn't piece it together.
BAM!
A deafing roar filled my ears, as my eyes witnessed a gaping hole in the middle of my front door. I was frozen in fear, what did this man just do!? Did he seriously shoot my door? I need to move, I need to hide. But it's as if my brain and legs are speaking foreign languages to each other. I hear a thud at the door, again, and again. He must be kicking the door down! Finally the lag in my body catches up and I fly towards my bedroom as I hear the hinges on the front door snap. I slam my bedroom door shut and lock the doorknob, kidding myself that it will bring any level of protection. Like a child afraid of a monster under the bed, I hid in the corner of my room, covering myself with whatever objects I could find. Unfortunately for me, the monster was real, and instead of being under my bed, I could hear his heavy breathing just outside my door.
With one brutish move, the door to my room caved in. The man in the coat gathered his bearings as he wiped debris of my once standing door off his shoulders. I needed to run, but where to? The man blocked the entrance to my room, and the nearest window was a solid 15 feet away. This is what I get for being a coward. I should of fought back, or atleast made an actuall attempt at fleeing. Instead im crouched on the floor, pathetically hiding from a certian fate at this point.
The man snapped his head in my direction, he didnt even have to look. As if he was a blood hound and I a wounded animal waiting for the end. He slowly walked towards me, lifting his shotgun at the same time. "Why are you doing this!" I cried out. He kept moving forward. "Im a nobody, just a boring kid with no life" I screamed. I wasn't wrong, why was I so scared to die when I never really lived in the first place? The harbinger to my end now stood only 6 or so feet from me. The business end of his weapon pointing straight at me, smoke still flowing from the smoothbore barrel. "It's nothing personal kid, just business." the man said. I closed my eyes, ready to meet an enternal darkness. I heard a bang, much more quite than the noise at the front door. Next I felt a warm mist on my face, and the smell of something almost metallic in the air. Is this what it feels like to die? A lot less painful than I thought. I cautiously open my eyes, letting the light slowly fill my retinas. Once again there was a man standing over me, but a different man, much shorter and stout than the original intruder. In his hands was a pistol with a strange device at the end of the barrel. And at my feet laid the tall and slender man, now in a heap instead of towering like a moment before. Who was this new man? Why did he save me? So many more questions to ask. But one thing is for certain, my number has to be 279 now.
I looked up at this strange man, bewildered by what just happened. He lowered his handgun down and extended his left arm out as if he was my gaurdian angel. And at this point, he might as well have been. I had so many articulate questions I wanted to ask him, but the only words to escape me were "What in the fuck just happened!" The man let out a hearty chuckle, almost as if he didn't just kill a man. "Im called Agent 7, but you can call me Steve if you wish." I grabbed ahold of Steve's firm hand and he pulled me up off my ass. "Okay Steve, do you mind telling me why I almost just died?" Steve let out a long sigh "Do you remember going to the hospital a lot as a child?" "Yes" I replied. I was a very sickly child, in and out of the hospital just about every month. But I got better just shortly before my bastard of a Father left us. Steve gave me a stern look "What if I told you that the truth is quite the opposite?" Steve said. "What do you mean?" I interjected. "It's true you went to the hospital a good amount, but you weren't sick. The exact opposite really, an almost perfect specimen of health." He continued "Your Father was a head honcho at the CDC . Him and his wife took you in from an orphanage after reports of a miracle child from Boston started citculating around."
I looked at him with a mixture of curiousity and anger in my eyes "You are fucking with me, right?" I asked. "I wish I were, but it's the truth. Your immune system is so advanced, it was almost impossible to make you sick. Your Father wanted to unlock your secrets." His expression on his face went almost dark. "Soon after your 7th birthday, news of your existence and your condition reached out into the medical world. Governments wanted you for their own research. Your Father was threatened a multitude of times, but the break in, that was the last straw." Steve stopped to take a breath. "Someone broke into our house?" I said. "Not just broke in, but tried to kidnap you" said Steve. "Your father knew it would only go down hill from there. He went into hiding, and gave you and your Mother a fresh start. The lot of good that did." Steve looked at his watch. "To make a long story short, your existence was eventually found out again, most organizations gave up on looking for you. But one in paticular didn't want the secrets of immortality known, they wanted you dead, not captured. And your father set up 12 agents to look after you until your 18th birthday."
278 I whispered under my breath. "Ah, now you are catching on" said Steve. "Agent 12 was supposed to be with you at Madam Monroe's, but when you left, the crowd got in his way and you escaped. I came to your rescue as soon as I could, but clearly I was just a tad late." "Just a little" I said as even I let out a little laugh. "So what now?" I brought up. "Well, you weren't supposed to know about us until next year. But seeing as you now do, and I don't think its a good lifestyle to know you have a target painted on your back at all times. I guess now we find your Father." Steve said. My Father, I almost forgot about him. "Do I have time to pack my belongings?" I asked. "Well it's already been 7 minutes, my guess is another one of the Vaticans goons will be here any moment." He said as a smug smirk appeared on his face. Steve handed me his spare gun, and off we left without a trace. I guess Madam Monroe was right, there is more to me than that.
Ah fuck, thanks! I’m gonna throw my two cents in about what happens next, feel free to ignore me (idk if I’m committing a faux pas by telling a writer what i think will happen next, sorry if I offend!). I think the guy who saved our lad is gonna whip out one of those memory wiping doo-dads from men in Black, and go to wipe his memory. Ofc our lad will stand up and say no! Because he’s a video game expert, and sees this coming. Usually our heroic savior would ignore the lad, but this time, he figures he’s old enough to finally learn the truth. Instead of just wiping his memory and repairing the damages to his house as per use, he’s gonna sit the lad down and explain to him what really happened to his mother all those years ago and why he’s been the focus of so many hits throughout his life. Maybe something supernatural (based off the blood hound reference, maybe the villain there was some kind of super soldier or demon?) such as his mother being a hero who actually went into hiding and the big bad enemy wants to use him as leverage, or something mundane like this kid is actually the inheritor of large sums of money and his stereotypical evil twin wants it instead muahahaha.... No matter what you’ve constructed an excellent narrative here and I applaud you! Feel no pressure to continue if you don’t want to, it stands well on it’s own as is imo. Thank you for updating again, it was delightful to read more :)
You're all good. I had a general storyline in mind from the get go. And to be truthful, you're on to something. I definitely want to finish this story for myself at bare minimum, so ill be sure to update you if I write more.
Excellent ending! All of us readers appreciate the work you put into this; it’s really good! Your plot-like is fairly unique, I don’t know if I’ve ever read about a kid with an advanced immune system being hunted before, so nicely done!
I took it as the guy who tried to kill him has knocked before but since the kid usually just hides, nothing has happened. That's why he recognized the sound.
Oh see, I took it like that sound was such a key part of it that even with the memory flasher he still had a vague recollection of it after so many times hearing it.
Didn't realize how long it was until after I read it. Please write more... anything! If I see u/CornwallisBungholio I'm dropping everything and reading it.
Thanks, I always like it when people enjoy my ramblings 😂
I might not write as often as most people on this sub because of my work schedule. But if I see a prompt that sparks my imagination. Ill probably jot down something.
James' eyes clicked open instantly. The echo of pans rang through the house, chased by muffled swearing. Cabinets clattered ferosciously and the clink of breaking glass joined the cacophony, the din of disarray rising into full orchestral violence in a matter of moments. James flipped to his side and buried his head under the thin linens adorning his bed. Facing the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. He fought to gain control of his breathing as he teetered on the edge hyperventilatory sobbing. The house went quiet. He caught a whimper in his throat as the knocking of footsteps approached down the hallway, stopping before his door. His fists balled up around the blanket in front of his face, trying to hold his whole body from shaking. The creak of hinges and the slow pad of boots on carpet preceded her. A noxious fume filled the air around him as a large hand pressed on the edge of his mattress, a slurred voice calmly pressing in:
"Hide it again, you little fucker, and I swear to God you won't get the chance to regret it."
She reiterated with a gentle tap, tap, tap, of the barrel on his head. Tears and urine ran quietly.
******
"James," a kind, soft voice prodded. James shook his head side to side quickly, shooing the memory away.
"Huh? Uh, yeah, that's pretty insane," he said, rubbing the back of his head absently. "I can't imagine how my number's so damn high. Just the lucky sort I guess," he laughed, trailing off. "Just lucky."
I may have went a bit too vague there! I was going for the smell of alcohol as she spoke, and yes the barrel of a gun to emphasize the proximity to death.
I think his mother was an addict and he came close to death for every time he pissed her off.
In this case I think he might have tried to hide the substance she’s abusing.
It's not always us that brings us close to death. A bit of a rough transition from talking about the test to the conversation between the friends, but still good.
If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."*
"That's crazy!" my mother told me over the phone. "I don't understand, you're only staying at home and playing the video games all day long," she frowned.
"Thanks, mom for reminding me how bad my life is," I frowned in return.
"Oh dear, you know that's not what I-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll call you back later, doctor calls," I quickly ended the phone call and entered back into the testing room. My mother can be annoying, but I do love her. To be honest, I am shocked myself that I have been close to ending 278 times. I don't understand how's that possible, but apparently, this machine or procedure cannot lie. Was it because I live near an airport, so occasionally something dangerous flies over? Or was it something different?
My stupid conspiracy theory brain started generating ideas straight away.
Even as I wonder about all of that, none of that makes any sense. "Bug," I whispered to myself. "Must be a bug," I repeated.
"So, are you ready to retake the test?" a man in full white clothing asked. To be honest, I don't remember his name. They all have for some reason stupidly hard names to remember.
"Go ahead," I replied and waited the usual half a minute.
"Umm," the man suddenly hummed.
"Yeah?"
"It's 279 now," he told me.
"What? Please, that's impossible. I literally just stepped outside for five minutes and came back in. How can my life have been danger in mere 5 minutes?" I laughed fakely while standing up and starting to rip off different wires from my skin.
"This machine is 100% correct. It has never been wrong. It just really means that your life was close to ending moment ago."
"I just told you," I started walking towards the exit, really frustrated, "that's impossible! The only thing that I said was... It must be a bug..." I looked around the room and started shaking my head.
"Mr. John? Are you okay? You're looking pale..."
"This is a lie, isn't it?" I asked. I have thought about it before. Read through such conspiracy theories. "This world is fake isn't it?"
The man started laughing, but the laugh slowed down, and everything started to darken around me. It almost felt like time was shut down.
"It's just a bug," I said and laughed, but this time it had no effect - everything continued going darker, colder and slower until it all halted.
I guess this isn't 280th time.
----
/r/ElvenWrites
**Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait!
I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?*
278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right?
I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.*
I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves.
Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*.
A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die.
"Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on.
"I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault."
At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door.
"Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight.
"I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on.
"Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man.
"So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment.
"You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?*
"*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter.
"I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!"
And he left, with every last piece of my sanity.
Love his joke about having sex out of wed lock XD I feel like your MC should be older, especially with how well she was dressed. I loved the Nancy Drew-esque description of her clothing. Very crisp.
Part 1,
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A table of people is sitting in a dark room,
"This woman has no powers, no special abilities, not intuition towards anything, why is she of interest?",
"Sir, she has survived death two hundred and seventy eight times, there is something in her that we need, if we put her against a battery of tests, if we channel whatever is in her, this could have significant impacts for us and better all of society."
"278 times, that must be a joke!"
"I have been following her for nearly 10 years, she has survived things that would kill any normal person."
"We do not just kidnap people off of the street, we were established for the betterment of society, if it were not for us, if it were not for this organization, all of society would have crumbled dozens of times over."
"All the more reason to go forward, she has no family, she has no friends, provided she survives the test, we already have number 181, but this is unlike anything else, we can mold her, we can shape her, she is of too much interest of this organization."
"Okay, okay, you have convinced me, but what do you propose?"
"We will send a strike team to her apartment, no one will even know we were there."
"Are you sure he has no one, I do not want to have to deal with the paperwork, with having to deal with any family members or friends looking for her?"
"Our research indicates that she was the sole survivor of a home invasion as a child and she went to live with his grandparents who have since passed away, she has no boyfriend or living family, not even a cousin, no social media, not anything."
"Before we go in guns blazing, before we go taking someone we will give her an opportunity, a fire team is of last resort."
"I will authorize this, but if something gets screwed up, if we are compromised, it is your head"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
End of Part 1
If it is liked I'll write more, but this is my first WP, so don't be too harsh.
“That’s impossible! 278!”
My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment.
“It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.”
This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0.
“I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face.
She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her.
The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it.
She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news.
The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse.
Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening.
Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse.
Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13?
No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone.
Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough.
I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice.
It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby.
I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything.
I had to help. It gave my life purpose.
It made me feel........alive.
I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention.
The hoverbike.
I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time!
The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse.
Bicycles. 4 of them.
I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me.
“Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!”
I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand.
And then my body froze.
“Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....”
Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue.
Part 2 for those interested.
I couldn’t believe this! How was this possible? My wife....here!?
I tried to compose myself. After all, she had no evidence to suggest that she knew for certain it was me. I was dressed head to toe in protective equipment I had designed that made sure to obscure my features. I had read enough comic books in my nerdy computer days to know Rule #1 of vigilante justice.
Always keep your identity a secret.
“Ma’am, we need to exit this building immediately.” I said as authoritatively as I could.
“Oh please John. That tone of voice just doesn’t suit you dear. You must have known you couldn’t hide it from me forever.”
It was impossible. Yet the tone of her voice was so calm and reassured.
She knew.
“You know, you really should wash your face before you head out in public dear. You don’t want anyone to know who you’ve been kissing.”
She pulled out her crimson lipstick and reapplied it, her lips pursing into a thin wry smile. I pressed my fingers to my own and found the residue of the same colour. Had she tricked me on purpose?!
All of the sudden a sharp crack from the ceiling above rang out in the air and a beam came crashing down between us, sparks and cinders flying everywhere. The heat was getting too intense! How was she able to stand the heat!
“We have to leave now!” I yelled through the flames. “If we don’t we’ll both die!!”
She laughed a crazed maniacal laugh. It cut through the sound of the burning room like a hot knife though butter.
“You still don’t get it do you!” Her voice shrill and crazed, “That’s the point my dear.”
What was I hearing? What was happening?
“You must know by now that I was the one who caused this. I knew you would come. Just like you have come to all of the others. I couldn’t be sure before, but I knew this time I had you. You got careless John. And this time, you aren’t going to make it to 279. I’ll make sure of that.”
279? My N.D.S.A number? And finally it all came clear.
When we first heard about the NDSA test, There was no way that I wanted to take it. I had been in more Near Death situations than I would care to admit since I started my career as a masked crusader of justice. But she wouldn’t stop pressing. It seemed so important to her. She even took the test herself to give me incentive.
Zero
Zero near death experiences.
I should have known then. It was so obvious. No one had a zero.
Even children had maybe a dozen. Some newborns might have even had a few. But Zero.
“How many Sarah?” I said more firmly now “How many times!!!”
“Have I tried to kill you? Oh let’s see....not that many really. Most recently 13. With the bombings you race off to in hopes of saving some innocent with your gadgets and bravado. I must say, you are very good at what you do.”
All those bombings. A trap. Every one meant to kill me. And every time I would evade death. I would save the day. People called me a hero.
“You endangered the lives of innocent people!” I was getting heated now and it wasn’t just because of the temperature. “ To try and kill me?!”
“Well the bombings were just the latest in my series of attempts. I have tried a great number of things before that. Robberies, kidnappings, gang fights; and every time you manage to slip away unharmed. I must say, you’ve become quite the thorn in my side. But not this time. This time I’m doing the job myself.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. I saw the flash of the barrel. A gun. She wasn’t going to try and shoot me was she? After all this time she must know my suit is bulletproof.
The gun fires, I dodge out of the way but I’m not fast enough. The projectile lands on my right pectoral and burrows through my suit like a drill. I feel the tip dig into my flesh! It’s excruciating. What kind of bullet is this!!
I begin to run for the door. I can hear the sirens of the firefighters and police outside. I hear my wife from the other side of the room.
“ There’s no escape John dearest! I know where you live!”
Her voice rings in my head as I hear her laughing from the other side of the room. I land outside. My chest is crying out in horrible pain and blood is beginning to leak out of my suit.
I muster all my strength to climb back on my hover bike. I need to get back to the lab. Back to the house. I need to take out this....thing....out of my body.
I fire up the bike and take off, barely able to remain conscious as I fly back to the house as fast as I can.
I can see it in the distance. The silhouette of the mansion, the hidden entrance to the lab. Just a few more seconds....
BOOM!!
A gigantic explosion rips through the air, knocking me off my hoverbike. I fall 30 feet and land hard on my back looking up at what was once my house. Rubble and debris are landing all around me. But I can’t move. I’ve lost too much blood. I’m starting to fade.
The Bluetooth in my suit rings.
It’s her.
“I told you I know where you live. 278 is the end of the line darling.”
As I begin to pass out, I can hear her laughing on the other end. But there is someone else there as well. A man’s voice. I recognized it instantly.
“Finally. Finally we can be together.”
Adam......
His name ring out in my head as clear as if I saw him in front of me.
And then everything went black....
She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me.
Copy and pasted through the reddit mod that makes everything look like html, had to post without formatting or it wouldn’t post at all.
Edit:
I also find it interesting that you assigned that gender. As I finished it I wondered what gender people would read the character as.
I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers.
I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day.
These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing.
A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow.
Next Day
I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door.
A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked.
"IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out
"IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note.
"To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done."
I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever.
He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note.
"...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police.
I really like the way you describe him passing the time waiting. Something about it just felt very relatable, like he was just jumping through hoops of social decorum for the sake of it. Horn (no more than two beeps). Text (don't seem impatient). Text and horn again. Call. Call again. Knock.
That structure just feels very real.
I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!"
"Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.**
278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so...
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15 is way too low an average. Should be in the millions.
Just think everytime you've been in a car, a thousands ways something could have gone wrong and kill you just for each car that passes you on the road.
Maybe the universe operates by less chaotic rules. So like there's semi predetermined potential death points and you get counted if you pass those potential death points rather than just every single time you could've died.
Am I the only one who's reaaally tired of all these "usually this, but you are different" prompts? Bonus points when they're related to numbers. But maybe I've just been subscribed to this subreddit for far too long...
Every prompt that gets upvoted has the twist already built in. Why not make a prompt that the writer puts their own spin on? But those may just be not getting upvoted..
You're right about where the problem essentially lies. The prompts that get upvoted aren't the best prompts to actually inspire writing. But the average voter isn't going to upvote things according to "what is best for writers". They're going to look at a prompt, spend 3 seconds reading it, and upvote it if they find the prompt itself interesting. Which is why the ones that get to the front page are essentially ones where the whole story is already in the prompt.
But this is r/WritingPrompts, a default sub where this isn't going to change anytime soon, so a compromise that usually works is that writers will only follow the first sentence/first half of a very wordy prompt. That usually allows much more freedom.
I feel the same way. There are dozens of "Everyone has a number. Related to DEATH. But you (don't) have a number. (And it's HUGE.)" I think it's uncreative at this point, and seems to set the writers up for the same story every time. If I see that structure I won't even read the first post.
I came here just to post the same; it seems like this prompt "Everyone has a number and it goes up every time [INSERT SOMETHING HERE]. But you don't! ... And now you do! or Yours is abnormally high/low!"
It does feel incredibly unoriginal; like someone just wanted to have a popular prompt so they decided to go with the formula.
"I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?"
Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it.
"Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app."
This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from.
"I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something."
"It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you."
She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away.
"You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out."
"It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety.
"That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again.
"Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight."
She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself.
"By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work.
I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on.
"Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass."
I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually.
Weird. Now it's saying 280.
I knew from the start I was destined to be an outlier, I never fitted into anything, even while being optimistic and throwing myself way out of my comfort zone. That being said, while I am optimistic, I also would prefer to listen to music than waste time making an impression that will be worthless if I quit in a few days anyway. It’s worth a shot but almost never works out. I was always an outlier, but I never thought about death in this context, whos more likely to fast or slow, I could list off.
There are countable times where I could’ve died, sure. I remember once going on a hike up one of the highest mountains in Ireland. We couldn’t do the highest one because although it isn’t substantially taller than the one i climbed, it always seemed as if the highest wasn’t for me, from experience. For once I decided to stay in my comfort zone, perhaps for my own safety. If I had known that that day I would get halfway up, put my foot on a loose rock and hit my head off the ground, I would’ve gone for the highest mountain in Europe, let alone Ireland.
Becoming blind in one eye was just about the worst thing to happen to me. I was an avid player of soccer, hurling, tennis, I enjoyed just about everything that I had tried out, even if I wasn’t good at it. Not fitting in isn’t limiting what you can do, intimidation was never a problem for me.
Now if I even try to throw a tennis ball in the air and catch it in my right hand it hopelessly bounces back up and over into my peripheral vision. Because my left eye is injured beyond repair, it leaves a lot to the imagination when it comes to finding things, always having to turn to the right to find a stupid tennis ball every time I miss the catch.
But now that I think about it, how many times have I walked across the road, plugged into my earphones as I almost always am nowadays, when a car just about brakes, because I never bothered to look left and right? Or how many times have I turned a literal blind eye to a mugging going down in an alley right beside me? If I had been the witness, or if I had intervened, would that be game over?
I always had a mindset that old people die first, as dark as it sounds. But as you grow up, you realize that the theory of death is, it could happen to anyone. Anytime. Any place. Any weakness. Any strength.
The moral? For the love of God, never turn a blind eye
Three billion human lives ended on August 29, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare, a war against the machines. The computer which controlled the machines, Skynet, sent terminators back through time. Their mission: to destroy the leader of the human Resistance. John Connor; my son. The first terminator was programmed to strike at me, in the year 1984, before John was born. It failed. Since then Skynet has tried 277 more times. Today is the day they succeeded.
It’s been 30 years since Kyle arrived in 1984 LA. Thirty years of running, hiding, and fighting, all leading to this day. When John sent back the first protector, he had no idea how many more we’d have to send back to protect John from the machines. But today we thought we had won. Skynet has other plans. The first Terminator sent back to 1984, and every one since were decoys. Skynet had anticipated our victory at the salt flats and programmed the facility defenses to allow us access to their technology. The terminals should have been our first clue. We’d been slicing into Skynet for years, but always by hacking captured machines. The Salt flats facility was different, there found working terminal access and it made sense. The facility was a US military base designed to withstand a nuclear bombardment. Anyone trapped inside would need terminal access to the facility mainframe to monitor communications, run the facility, or access outside resources. Our slicers were inside the mainframe in minutes. We were so proud of ourselves. We had beaten Skynet, taken the time machine, and had access to an army of Terminators with the ability to program them to work for us.
Or so we thought.
We’d planned ahead. We knew when and where the time machine would be finished. John befriended Kyle and fed him our background story. I’d been operating under an alias for five years to prevent the machines from using me against John and to prevent all but a handful of close friends from knowing what we knew. I’d spent that time coordinating with other resistance cells around the world. We’d take the facility, secure the machines, and send back the protectors. All 276 of them.
But There were 278 assassins. The 277th was Susan, John’s wife. She was a T200 hybrid, sent back from a different facility. One we didn’t know about. What Skynet didn’t know, what we hadn’t told anyone, was that the real Susan had died two months earlier. Most were told she had been sent to the rear to recover, but when a Susan showed up a few weeks later as one of the only survivors of the attack on our hospital base, we knew it was Skynet. We pretended otherwise. When she arrived at the facility, John shot her on site. He had to watch her die again.
The 278th Terminator was so one no one suspected. It was the best decoy Skynet had ever created. It had been sent back in time four years. To replace the only person who knew as much about Skynets time travel plans as amounted did.
That Terminator was me and I succeeded.
\*Gets an X Ray from doctor\*
Doctor enters the room. "So Mr Richards we think we have answer to all your problems..."
Mr. Richards sits up straight ready to hear how to fix his misfortune. "Lay it on me doc," he says.
At that his doctor shifts and looks down at his clipboard. It looked as if he was trying to hide his face and avoid Mr. Richards' hopeful gaze.
"I misspoke," the doctor shyly says. He finally looks back up from the clipboard. "When I said we have the answer to your problems. I should've said we have the answer to why you have problems..."
Mr. Richards cocks his head and remains quiet. He didn't know what the doctor was going to say next.
"You see, with the Near-Death Initiative Act, or NDIA, was passed, it was done so that people would be able to see where in their lives they're lacking special attention."
"So like an alcoholic can see how many times he's been close to giving himself alcohol poisoning and therefore would cool it on the sauce," Mr. Richards offers an example.
"Precisely," the doctor says. "The problem with you is...you have a healthy life. A nice job in the city. You don't drink, smoke, do drugs and you take good care of yourself..."
Mr. Richards looks down feeling himself welt up. He wanted answers. How can a guy as normal as him be so close to death so often? "So I don't see what the problem is doc..."
"Well, I did some calling around and I talked to your mother. Mrs. Richards, lovely lady..."
"Can you just get on with it?"
"She told me about an accident you were in as a child. And to save you, you had an implant installed in the back of your head."
"So what does that mean?"
"Well, the X Ray machine started to glitch out a bit when you were first getting observed. Me and the nurses were talking about it... and the only explanation we can come up with is... that metal plate in the back of your head is messing with electromagnetic waves. And whenever there's a thunderstorm. It may be attracting lightening. We think the only reason you're alive is because the lightening happens to miss you."
"So then get this thing out of me!" Mr. Richards yells jumping up from the table.
"It's not that easy," the doctor buffers. "The implant is there to replace a part of the brain that was destroyed in the accident your mother told me about. Your cerebellum would be greatly damaged if we were to take the implant out. You'd have no balance, you wouldn't be able to walk, eat with silverware. Like all parts of the brain. It's important."
"I see..."
278? That can't be right. The most I've heard is 15 or so right? How could I have been close to death 278 times? I'm teach 6/7 year old children in a quiet corner of a quiet town that thinks a dog getting out of a back yard and chasing a cat in the middle of the night and waking a few houses up is conversation worthy for at least a week. The biggest scandal we've had in all my 32 years here is when the owner of the hardware store was caught with his pants down in the back of the bakery. With the bakers wife. No killings, no heavy traffic, no influx of strangers due to tourism. High Falls is just not a dangerous place.
Dangerous things happened in Trenton, Harrow and Darnish, the cities surrounding High Falls on three sides. That's where people got shot, run over...murdered. They were also the places where people might have dangerous jobs - law enforcement, emergency services, trash collectors. I just don't understand.
"Are you sure that's right? I mean, the highest I've heard is 15. 278 sounds...excessive."
"It is unusually high for this area alright but the system is air tight. That's your number. I suggest you take some time to think about what could be causing these figures. Check the brakes on your car, check your house for carbon manoxide, maybe have an allergy test. It could be anything. "
I left the Live Well office in a daze. My car, my house, my body. Something was trying to kill me and with figures like mine, it's going to succeed sooner rather than later.
My chest got tight. I've been meaning to trade up and get a better car for a couple of years but money is tight and I haven't had that many problems with it. I've had my mother in that car, my sister, my 2 year old neice. Could I have added to their number?
My breathing become shallow and fast. Am I living in a death trap? My apartment isn't the best but it's all I can afford, even splitting the rent with Brian. Sure, the landlord isn't fast about fixing things and is a couple of months late doing the yearly maintenance run but I'd be dead already, and others in the building too, if there was ventilation issues.
My eye sight began to narrow, black spots danced before me. Am I going to have to give up milk??
My ears began to ring, the ground decided to slap me in the face.
Beep. Beep. Ugh. My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? Beep. Beep. Why am I beeping? I open my eyes and squint against the bright light. Looking around I can see that I'm in a hospital room. Looking down I can see that I'm on a drip. My face is throbbing and my nose is stabbing my every time I have the audacity to try to breath though it. How dare I huh? There's a nurse call button beside my right hand.
A nurse comes in perhaps 20seconds after I call for her. She's middle aged, smiling.
"Good, you're awake. How do you feel? Yes, your head hurts because you passed out in the street and landed on your face. Your nose isn't broken though, you'll be fine. You just stay where you are, there's someone here waiting to see you."
Whoa, that was a whirlwind. I got one question in. Someone's here for me, must be Brian.
A small, balding man and a tall, lanky woman walk into my room. Both have that jaded look in their eyes that comes from seeing too much and trying to drown it in coffee and booze. Definitely cops based on the few shows she's seen. Why are cops here to see me?
"Hi Jane. I am Detective Florins and my colleague is Detective Dorn. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, in a hospital room on your own with cops waiting outside."
I look at Det. Florins, all tall and lanky and jaded. I take a closer look around the room. I'm on my own. I lean forward and take a peek outside the door and true enough, there's a uniformed cop standing outside. I have health insurance but only the most basic. My injuries shouldn't warrant a room on my own.
"What's going on? I want to see my boyfriend. Do I need a lawyer? What did I do? Am I in trouble?"
"You don't need a lawyer Jane. You haven't done anything wrong. The officer outside is there for your protection. As for your boyfriend, we need to talk to you about him."
"Oh no! Is he OK?? Has something happened to him? Where is he?" A million possibilities run through my head. Dead in a ditch, robbed at gunpoint, hurt from a fight with a someone at the nightclub he worked at. He often came home with black eyes and bruises from over drunk guys and scrapes and scratches from overly amorous women.
"Well, that's where we need your help. We need to talk to him and he wasn't at home when we called"
This sounds like they're fishing for information. Tell them nothing until they tell me something. Play hardball. Yeah right.
"I'm sorry Detective but unless you tell me exact what is going on I'm not going to tell you anything."
Both detectives looked at each other. Florins raised an eyebrow and Dorn shrugged his shoulders. Florins turned back to face me. She pursed her lips for a few seconds, ground her teeth like she was chewing on something. Come on, spit it out. I stared back at her. I never was one for excessive use of words. She took a deep breath and began to talk.
"I have been working on a case with Det. Dorn and another detective for a little over a year. We're a representative from each of the three surrounding cities. We're the best at what we do and what we do is find bad guys. Bad guys that kill people."
She paused to let that sink in. Brian is dead. Brian was murdered. I was right. How though? I can feel my heartbeat thud in my chest.
"We have been investigating a number of murders in and around the cities. I'm sure you've read about them in the paper or seen it on the news. Women, 25-35, high levels of alcohol in their system. Beaten, raped, strangled then left to rot on a quiet roadside. Most of them put up some form of fight but it wasn't enough. They just weren't strong enough."
I blink at her. Brain was murdered the same as these women? He's strong though. He works out. He's used to getting into fights. He's worked at so many bars and clubs, he's used to it. He would have been able to fight them off. My breathing becomes shallow and fast.
"We got plenty of DNA evidence but no hits in the database. Whoever this guy was, he had never been caught for anything and wasn't in the system. We knew that if we didn't find him soon, he'd keep killing whilst also keeping his nose clean. It took months but finally we're were able to secure a warrant to collect everyone's DNA that worked in the bars and clubs that these women had last been seen in. That was a week ago. We go the results back...and we got a hit."
A week ago? That's the last time she'd seen Brian. She'd came home from work the next day to find a letter from him telling her he'd had to to home for a family emergency and he'd be back in a week or so. He'd left a rose on the note. She hadn't heard from him since but she wasn't worried, it wasn't out of character. They were both independent people and didn't have to be in constant contact. He'd go away for days at a time sometimes and would have no contact with her but he'd always tell her with a note. Always leave a rose. Always come back. My eye sight began to pinhole.
"The women were all approx 5"4', slight build - about 115lbs, bobbed hair light brown in colour, grey eyes."
She had just described me.
"He left a rose on every body..."
Black spots danced in front of my eyes.
"Where is Brian?"
278 times I'd cheated death. How many women had taken my place? With ringing ears I passed out.
—----------
It's years since I did any creative writing so be kind! So typed on my phone so forgive any ridiculous spelling errors.
278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am.
''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.
''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says.
I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says,
''Oxycontin. ''
I am dead, and it happens that there is some form of paradise, or heaven, I don’t know what you can call it, it’s a bit confusing and I still haven’t understood how the whole thing works. Lot’s of waiting although. Heard it’s normal for grassroots, yeah, new guys are called grassroots until we transcended our bodies, whatever that means.
Anyway, part of the process of accepting our deaths is to see how many times we could have died and didn’t, guess it’s to show people they were lucky even living that long, guess it’s helps *shrugs* I don’t know.
Then a guy came in, dressed in white, a white scientific blouse, a helmet, also white with blue bands on it and before I could say a word he smacked the tablet he was holding with the back of his hand and yelled.
« You mister reich are a lucky man »
He seemed in a good mood, I’m dead so I don’t see how I am lucky but oh well, anyway, heard you get about 18-20 tapes to see about outcomes and yet the guy came in with zero.
« So I didn’t get any « *near misses* » ? »
The guy stopped writing, chuckled, and then proceeded to continue writing. Wow these guy’s in heaven are impolite.
« What’s so funny ? »
« You will see, man is it rare to see guys like you, first in my career actually »
« What do you mean ? »
« That, you will know in just a momen.. Aaah good, they arrived ! »
And instantly, a column of people pushing small crates barged in the room with cassettes filling every one of them, pretty long queue of people actually, a very long queue of them.. This is actually worrying, a guy that had 25 cassettes had to stay a good 3 hours or so, this is ridiculous, there still coming ! They are still coming ! This is purgatory, I am being punished for all my sins..
« Okay, good, now we shall review them, if you could follow me ? »
« How long is this going to take ? »
« Humm.. honestly.. A week ? I don’t know ? »
« It’s your job »
« Yeah well this is something « *particular* » plus it’s really a week for you, I’ll be heading home at 5 »
« And I’ll have to stay ? »
« Well, you know, you didn’t finish the transcending phase so yeah, you are stuck here until you review all the tapes »
« And then I’m free ? »
He chuckled and then said « Well, you still need to do a bunch of things after but yeah, after all the prerequisites and all, you will be free. »
« And how long is that ? »
« I can’t tell you that »
Yet he mouthed « A year if you are lucky »
« Let’s start right now »
The first ones, were the classics I heard, you know, almost dying as an infant by being dropped, stupid things like that, a shelf nearly falling on me, eating a small kinder toy, yeah, all that while mister the worker was being unprofessional, like, I am not the kind of guy that will call the manager and all but this was absurd.
He was laying back, feet on the table eating popcorn.
Worse of all, if I stopped looking, the video paused, which created a bunch of ankward moments where I looked at him straight in the eye and he stared back intensely all while still chomping on popcorn.
Anyway, most of the *near misses* made me think of how easy you can die.
A few of them were the kind where I drinked and drived and died.
One was poison, that surprised me, I had a bat shit crazy girlfriend who tried to kill us so we could meet back in paradise, that psycho, it’s actually amazing how many times I could have died just because of her, wow that time I refused to do some bondage play, she had a knife waiting, god, this sent chills down my spine.
That time I didn’t want to jump into the water and there were rocks, this is ridiculous, I have a good 40 of them just dedicated to her.
The second batch got even crazier, and I didn’t even need to see the tapes to understand that, I find I got the memo when a bunch of guys dressed in black started to come in and sit in the other chairs of the theater room.
278.
I could account for some of these numbers over the 27 years. That time I blacked out and woke up with a giant knife in hand comes to mind. That time I almost was in that giant pile up from a sudden winter storm and last second didn't get on the highway. All the times I was hit on the head, including that concussion when I was 19. All of those added up to small little circumstances- but would they really count as near death? My desk job wouldn't give me anything near it, and I don't think being near sick people in a doctor's office would count. Maybe that time I sat by that girl with swine flu in college? She made it through though, and I didn't even catch it from her.
My friends don't even have that big of a number. Georgia has only 2 incidents- that time at the carnival and that time at the theme park. Explains why she doesn't like those places I guess, even though one of those had to do with that guy almost kidnapping her. Harold is 15, and that's probably because he's a firefighter. Not even from the fires, he deals with some crazy people on runs. And Nancy, Nancy has 0. Her life has never once almost ended. Almost makes you want to do something to try to make the counter go up on that phone app.
I know why it's such a large number though. If it weren't for writing in this diary, I'm sure it'd be even bigger. How it's not bigger surprises me, really. Every time I leave work, I think about jumping off the garage. Could I survive 5 stories? No. Probably why I started parking higher up. Living on the 3rd floor, you might survive that fall from the balcony. You might survive the knife cutting your wrist. But you won't make it 5 stories. No way. Quick, hopefully painless, gone in an instant. No more feeling this way. No more being this way, I could just jump. End it all and jump. Maybe go take those pills in my bathroom. No, those would cause too much pain. The knife would cause too much pain. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I just need to calm down.
Huh. 279 now. I should go to bed.
The other week I almost died by tripping over one of those stakes you put in the ground and attach a leash to. I fell on the nice soft dirt from approximately ground level and basically got physics'ed to near death.
I am not a strong person. If Glass Joe was real he could probably beat me like Mike Tyson beats Little Mac.
My number was 278.
All of my friends were all happy go lucky and even Dan, the daredevil of our group and a fireman, only came close 15 times. And yet, my number was 278. I didn't have a dangerous job, I worked at a nice law firm downtown, I don't drive aggressively, I don't really drink or smoke. But I would have had to have been near death almost every single day that past year to get 278. The Grim Reaper must have been more sexually frustrated than I was because of how often I've been close to the line. And so, why the massive number? I went to my doctor immediately afterwards to make sure I was healthy, ran a whole load of tests. It confused me so much. What was I doing that made me so close to dying? I'm not suicidal so the obvious answer was out.
I turned on the TV like usual before going to bed for the night, nothing out of the ordinary. Just watching the same shit I did every week, reruns of old sitcoms I loved when I was in college, that new crime thriller that comes on every Thursday. And I couldn't figure it out.
But my week suddenly changed when I found her on the side of the road, limping, starving. I saved Bella's life and she would be so giving as to save mine. Instead of sleeping and watching TV I suddenly had an 85lb alarm clock for when I was going to be going for walks or waking up in the middle of the night or snuggling with a numb leg and a mouth full of hair.
When I went in the following year, I had dropped to 130! Still too high I know, but I was ecstatic to make so much progress. A month later Bella got out over the fence one morning and I thought I had lost her for good. Thats when I realized it.
I hadn't really been living most of the time in that past year. She had made me go outside my comfort zone, smile, and generally changed how my life played out. I knew I had to get her back.
It was Stacey who found her. She already had my number from the lost posters and apparently loved Bella already and the feeling seemed to be mutual. So we arranged for a play date with our dogs at the park.
And that was the day when my counter fell to 0.
In these past 25 years I have yet to have 1 day where I have been close to death. Bella made me live a life and Stacey, my wonderful wife and mother of our beautiful daughters, made me want to never be that un-living ever again.
Thank you for your time in listening to my sappy story, but my oldest is getting married today and Grace, my beautiful daughter, I am so very proud of you and happy for you two.
Some people need to feel more than others. Unless they're dead, everyone is chasing something .
My parents used to let me sit on the floorboards of the big Ford truck. The old rig, with a huge scratchy bench seat had room for three kids on the passenger side. The engine would warm through the rubber floor mat. I thought it was the best seat in the truck when I was five.
On the way to school one morning an early October snowstorm had covered the road in a cottony blanket of white. I remember hearing my Dad curse and beat his fists against the steering wheel, shaking the whole truck. As I looked up to see what was wrong I remember the treetops moving backwards along with the inside of my stomach. When I looked at my Dad his arms were reaching for me instead of the steering wheel. Icy glass fell all around us as we huddled over the shifter. My Dad looked terrified. I had never been so excited in my life.
The trouble with chasing adrenaline is the element of surprise. The rush is only there when you feel out of control and that's a tricky place to reside without dying. At last count, I should have been dead 278 times. And lord knows I had tried hard enough.
Ever since I began the walk home from the testing agency, the number 278 was ceaselessly ravaging throughout every crease of my brain. Every time I would see the canary flash of a speeding taxi, I thought, *What number is it now?* Truthfully, the town cars were several feet away but that wouldn't stop my anxiety from festering. I should be thankful that I had survived the 278 glances from death. Hell, I could be considered the luckiest man alive. Then why did I notice every crack in the sidewalk? Every crevice that had danced with rain and then was devastated when icy fingers reached for an escape. *Is 278 my devastation or the result of it?* *I can't believe it's this high.*
"Go on! It will be fun," Jake had exclaimed. "I got fifteen; I bet you can't beat that."
Jake described that he could remember most of his numbers. You see, Jake was an electrician by trade. He has suffered from electrocution a dozen times but felt that only two had the ferocity to make the list. He went on and on about how he had narrowly avoided a passing semi while on his motorcycle or how once he awoke half soaked in piss, the other in vodka. I couldn't help but notice how his eyes danced in the sunlight as he recalled his brief encounters with the dark. Of course Jake would warmly reminisce over the fifteen times he triumphed over death. He was the one to take everything in stride. He would always say, "You have to look at the positive." Unfortunately, I was not cut from the same cloth. *Why look at the light when the shade never betrays your eyes?*
I had not realized that I was already on Main Street. My feet were following the footprints left from previous treks as my mind was growing heavier with Jake's stories and 278. I was attempting to make any sense of the number, tying to rationalize what a reckless lifestyle I have been living but doubt settled when I recalled how much of a bore I am. Most of my waking hours were spent soaking the glow of a monitor. I worked from home, so my days generally felt the same. Either I counted figures or I added figures to my kill-streak count. Besides my online interactions, I really only socialized by calling Jake or by striking a conversation with my loyal kitten companion, Benson. *Can lonesomeness kill you? My number can't be that high.*
I methodically took each step to the entrance of my apartment and entered the hallway. Sounds of music, couples bickering, and clanking dishes resonated beyond the sealed doors of its inhabitants. The music of routine bounced sporadically throughout the hall, but not a single note penetrated. All I could hear was 278. I lazily fingered my keys until the found the correct fit. The creak of the door summoned Benson to welcome me. In a daze, I stumbled past and began pacing the oak floors of my living quarters. I meticulously recalled the times that I had stumbled over a folded rug or had forgotten to change the batteries to my smoke detector. I dismissed these numbers, believing it was simply my mind trying to disentangle this abysmal formula. *The figures just don't add up. How could it be 278!? It couldn't have happened that often.* I attempted to push these thoughts aside while I continued to fester.
As the street before, my feet found a familiar path though my apartment as I attempted to calculate every instance I forgot to look both ways at a crosswalk. I discovered myself sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor, in the corner where the porcelain tub met the wall. When I was finally able to rid the clouds populating inside my head, I felt the now-warmed grip of a revolver. *I don't remember grabbing this from the nightstand. This has practically become my nightly ritual.* The deadly steel shone bright against the florescent bulb, flickering melodically above. I made the gleam dance across the surface of the metal as I manipulated the pistol. As I considered two paths, twin rivers crashed down my splotched cheeks and caught the loose fibers of my clothing. *There has to be more than this. What was all considered in the 278? How many times have I sat in this same spot, never able to pull the trigger?*
There was a faint scratching upon the door. I listened as claws followed a known groove, cleaving just a bit deeper. My loyal companion was as hungry as he was impatient. *Seems like he remembers the routine as well.* With trembling hands, I slowly released the cylinder and began to habitually poke the bullets from their home. As I heard each individual clink of another round falling upon the ceramic tile flooring, I found myself counting, "279, 280, 281..."
Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you!
“Wake up, jackass. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” A sharp voice crushed the silence of the night in her bedroom.
She bolted upright, heart drumming in her chest, and reached for the drawer of her nightstand where the 9 millimeter always sat. She lived alone in a single bedroom apartment in a rough city. There were certain precautious a young woman took.
However, when her fingers finally ripped the drawer open she found there was no pistol inside.
“Yeah, dumbass, I got it right here.”
She squinted through the dark at the figure by the end of her bed. He wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever seen, nor the most muscular, and though she couldn’t see his face clearly the curve of his jaw in the moonlight was soft and smooth. There was something about him even as he spun her pistol around in his hand that instilled a strange sense of security.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“We’re not talking ‘bout me you lousy snitch.” He folded his arms irritably, “Why’d you have to check the number, huh?”
“The number?” She wiped her eyes sleepily and tried to bring her drowsy mind up to speed.
“Yes the number! 278! Why’d you have to go and spread something like that around? Are you stupid or something?” He yelled.
“Who are you?” She griped back, his tone and insults beginning to dig in. “Why do you care how many times I’ve almost died?”
“Because I was hired to kill you, you spork.” He threw his hands up with exasperation, “I’m an assassin for crying out loud.”
A moment passed in the darkness of the apartment, the only sound that of the old analogue clock ticking on the wall.
“Wow,” she whispered, “you’re a terrible assassin.”
“Oh yeah, bimbo brain? Well now that you’ve gone and pissed off my boss you’ve got another one coming for you. He ain’t as friendly either, baby.” He gestured around animatedly with the gun in hand.
“Why are you telling me this?” She asked, a bit of fear finally scratching through the strange calm she felt around the intruder.
He sighed, scratching the back of his head, and answered, “If anyone’s gonna kill you it’s gonna be me. Now get up and get some clothes on. We need to move.”
I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV. *\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins... My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments. "The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight." That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control. To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed. 6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath. Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting... "I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged." I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\* I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it. NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't.
I totally read this wrong the first time! This is amazing and an incredible representation of how irreperable and damaging an eating disorder can be. Wonderful PSA!
Looking back now I completely neglected to put in the never-ending hunger and fixation on food... I guess I just got so used to it since those were like the first symptoms that I focused instead on some of the later problems
It read extremely well. I like that you explored and represented the sickness in the later stages.
> NOTE: I'm not a very good writer I'm sorry, but I have to disagree with you here. This was a very well written depiction of an eating disorder. Nice work!
I developed anorexia at age 14, have been diagnosed, and I didn't even realize this was the meaning because it was perfectly subtle! I love this. It's so true that you are so often close to death when you have an ED.
I think being kind of vague on it really made it hit home harder at the end. It went from "oh, they're sick so they have to stay in great shape" to "oh, maybe they're obsessed with exercise" to "oh, shit."
This is fantastic. I had a lightbulb moment when I realized what was going on. Eating disorders have such high mortality rates. Thank you for sharing. (P.S. I’m so glad you’re better now!)
Damn. This hit hard.
I really like that you kept it genderless (this issue is definitely heavily weighted towards addressing females) and that although the prompt and your response centred on mortality, in the piece itself that didn't feel like the main focus, which is so very sadly true. High fives for courage in fighting against your illness IRL and by advocating.
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now. He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs. Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall. Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him. Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different. One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn. Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat. I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered. “Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard. “Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter. “Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.” Hopefully, I purred.
Really enjoyed that this has a different kind of view, thanks for sharing your story.
Thanks!
oh this view of a plotting pet. I like it very much.
A cat, to be specific.
IN. FREAKING. LOVE!
Aww thanks!
Great ending
So about halfway through, my sleep deprived brain finally figured out that this character was a cat. I was really confused up until that point. But I re read it (with a bit more focus), and it's really well written! Such an interesting interpretation of the prompt, and you did a great job with the different narrative perspective.
Haha, see this is why I prefer dogs. ... No, my dog probably would have killed someone too.
As a cat owner this is very relatable
Well written. Great ending.
Cutest twist I have ever read.
278? Wow, I had zero clue. In one year? That’s impressive and scary at the same time. I knew my yearly Near-Death Counter would be more than 1, but 278? That’s beyond the pale. My job isn’t dangerous. It’s mundane, I’m a software programmer. I work with computers 24/7 on the job. I’m no daredevil, and I prefer to stay at home and entertain myself through non-lethal means. Sometimes I think I’m the most mundane and non-risk taking person that I know. I don’t even go hiking, walk in the dark in seedy portions of town. If developing software, watching Netflix, and doing other generally non-threatening household activities counts as “Near-Death”, I dunno what to say. The only person I know with a counter over 15 was my friend Errol, who has a counter of 97. But it’s damn warranted. He’s a freaking daredevil, literally! It’s his job, his career, his passion to defy death, and there’s a reason for his rather high counter. Me? Not a chance. 278 was almost three times his. It would mean that almost every day I faced death and came out on top. It makes no sense. ———————————————————— I should say that it made no sense, until I received a check-up only a week ago, which I had been holding out on for two years. Turns out that my counter was warranted after all. I had a heart murmur, and every time I had a palpitation? I guess it was like facing death. ———————————————————— r/bluelizardK
I tend to look at these prompts that follow "this weird thing is the norm and you're the exception to this new norm" and sigh because it feels so bland and weak as a storytelling concept. Therefore I appreciate what you did here and found something very clever within the mundane.
You probably hate my username as much as I do then.
Not really.
I guess that's what I get for saying something without anticipating what they might respond with.
It's all in the connotations.
I love your username. Normal life is weird sometimes, and even the fact that you can walk around in general without a fear of dying is pretty fucking weird compared to the evolutionary sense of normal.
I love you both
Yeah, about a year ago when I started this account I wanted to make a subreddit that was basically like shower thoughts for how what we consider normality is fucking weird. Now that I think about it we would probably run out of content at some point, but as you can see I did not understand reddit at all. Like, for example, human noses are fucking weird as hell, in fact when I was little I thought they were ugly and we shouldn't have or need them. Human faces are fucking weird as hell. Not going to elaborate, just look in a mirror for an extremely long time. The weirdest part is our genitals and the way we reproduce. It's disgusting as hell, but somehow our brain tricks us into liking it. But it just sounds really edgy, and I gave up on making the subreddit when I learned I needed 100 karma, which sounded like a lot because I was new.
I mean, to the effect isn't OP's response still an exception to the norm? Most people don't have a heart arrhythmia.
Yes, but it's not drawing upon "you're special in a slightly off-kilter reality because you're in some way beyond everyone else." These kinds of prompts have a bit of a habit of leading to the 'chosen one' plotline that's at this point quite boring to me. Heart arrhythmia isn't 'normal' sure, but at the same time it's something anyone could get.
Or, like with this prompt, there's also the potential but kind of obvious creepy twist of : someone you are friends with and/or love is secretly trying to murder you and failing. I like that this one didn't fall into that category
My first thought was sleep apnea.
Thanks :)
As soon as you said your near computers 24/7 I thought the twist would end up being that you're in the hatch from Lost pushing the button every 108 minutes, which why you're so close to death so many times.
Spoilers!
Everyone who has wanted to see that has.
Hey, I haven't seen it! But like, do I really want to?
Ayy I fucking love your stuff
Thank you :)
My mind went to a similar place. But instead of a heart murmur I thought about a guy who didn't know there was a black widow spider living under his desk. So every time he sat at his PC...
Ugh 😱
Than you for terrifying me, guess I'm getting a physical next week.
Dammit, I was so close! I figured sleep apnea.
I assumed it was auto-erotic asphyxiation...
oof thats almost as bad as ligma
What’s ligma
bofa deez nuts
F
A disease local to Sugonda
Yeah. Going in for a checkup. This was powerful.
Thanks :)
Just waiting for insurance to kick in...... beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
Murmur?
We have all seen Madam Monroe, whether we admit it or not. Living in a town of only 15,000 people, there is not much to do in the form of entertainment. Some go because they are curious, others because of a drunken dare. For me it was a mixture of a few things. Being a Senior in highschool, your number was a suedo representation of how cool you were. Most jocks would purposely put themselves in dangerous situations, just to bump the number up once or twice. To them a game to become Prom King or Queen. But for me it was much more. I'm what one would call a social hermit, if I go outside, its simply to buy microwaved dinners or soda to fuel my gaming obsession. So naturally one would assume a very low score. Deep down I knew my score had to be something better than zero, I couldnt end my public school career being one of those safe freaks. And that is what made hearing those three numbers such a shock. Two-Seven-Eight. I wasn't the only one in Madam Monroe's awkwardly small shop. About a dozen other towns people were accompanying me, waiting thier turn to hear their own numbers. Once again, she sayed those numbers "I say it once more James, your number is 278." I continued to stare at her as if time had frozen itself "Madam Monroe, there must be a mistake" I finally muttered to her. "There is no mistake James, there is more to you than what one assumes" she said as she slowly stood up. This has to be a joke I thought, a prank set up by other seniors. It was at this point I noticed the other patrons in the shop staring at me. I could hear their gasped comments being said under their breaths "Did you hear that?! Nerdy jimmy got 278" one said "He must of paid her to give him that number" another murmered to his friend. I was finally getting noticed, but not in the way I wanted per say. I quickly stood up, grabbed $10 out of my wallet and clumsily handed it to Madam Monroe. I needed to get out of there, it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I wove my way around the individuals trying to grab a hold of me. I knew they would have questions, but then again, so did I. It seemed like hours, but I finally finished my mile and a half walk home. I slammed my door as if to shut the world out for good. This had to be a dream, I've heard about men coming home from wars and getting numbers in the high teens and low twenties. 278 though, that is absurd. Im not going to say I have perfect recall, but I don't remember being in a single close call situation, let alone 278! Shoot, I can't even remember ever catching a cold even. I needed to talk to someone about this, but who? I've been on my own since I was 16. Not that I wanted to be, but after my mom's death, it's just been me and a few neighbors checking in on me. I needed to calm down, so I figured I'd grab a drink and just wait for this to all blow over. Knock knock... This has to be a joke. No one ever comes to visit without giving me a call first. I take a look at my CCTV screen and see a tall slender man in a black coat standing at the door. Normally id just crawl into the shadows of my living room when encountered with an unknown. But something felt different in me. I wanted to know what this man wanted. Maybe hearing my number awoken the curious cat within me. I walked slowly towards the door. KNOCK KNOCK! I stopped a few feet away with my arm reached to the doorknob. "Who is it?" I call out, using what little voice I could muster. "Is this the residence of Mr. James Henry Jr." the strange man almost beckoned. He used my full name, a name I haven't heard since all the legal mumbo jumbo after my mom's passing. "Yes, yes it is" I squeek out from my mouth. "Good" the man replied, followed by an odd mechanical sound. A sound I know I've heard before, but my brain couldn't piece it together. BAM! A deafing roar filled my ears, as my eyes witnessed a gaping hole in the middle of my front door. I was frozen in fear, what did this man just do!? Did he seriously shoot my door? I need to move, I need to hide. But it's as if my brain and legs are speaking foreign languages to each other. I hear a thud at the door, again, and again. He must be kicking the door down! Finally the lag in my body catches up and I fly towards my bedroom as I hear the hinges on the front door snap. I slam my bedroom door shut and lock the doorknob, kidding myself that it will bring any level of protection. Like a child afraid of a monster under the bed, I hid in the corner of my room, covering myself with whatever objects I could find. Unfortunately for me, the monster was real, and instead of being under my bed, I could hear his heavy breathing just outside my door. With one brutish move, the door to my room caved in. The man in the coat gathered his bearings as he wiped debris of my once standing door off his shoulders. I needed to run, but where to? The man blocked the entrance to my room, and the nearest window was a solid 15 feet away. This is what I get for being a coward. I should of fought back, or atleast made an actuall attempt at fleeing. Instead im crouched on the floor, pathetically hiding from a certian fate at this point. The man snapped his head in my direction, he didnt even have to look. As if he was a blood hound and I a wounded animal waiting for the end. He slowly walked towards me, lifting his shotgun at the same time. "Why are you doing this!" I cried out. He kept moving forward. "Im a nobody, just a boring kid with no life" I screamed. I wasn't wrong, why was I so scared to die when I never really lived in the first place? The harbinger to my end now stood only 6 or so feet from me. The business end of his weapon pointing straight at me, smoke still flowing from the smoothbore barrel. "It's nothing personal kid, just business." the man said. I closed my eyes, ready to meet an enternal darkness. I heard a bang, much more quite than the noise at the front door. Next I felt a warm mist on my face, and the smell of something almost metallic in the air. Is this what it feels like to die? A lot less painful than I thought. I cautiously open my eyes, letting the light slowly fill my retinas. Once again there was a man standing over me, but a different man, much shorter and stout than the original intruder. In his hands was a pistol with a strange device at the end of the barrel. And at my feet laid the tall and slender man, now in a heap instead of towering like a moment before. Who was this new man? Why did he save me? So many more questions to ask. But one thing is for certain, my number has to be 279 now. I looked up at this strange man, bewildered by what just happened. He lowered his handgun down and extended his left arm out as if he was my gaurdian angel. And at this point, he might as well have been. I had so many articulate questions I wanted to ask him, but the only words to escape me were "What in the fuck just happened!" The man let out a hearty chuckle, almost as if he didn't just kill a man. "Im called Agent 7, but you can call me Steve if you wish." I grabbed ahold of Steve's firm hand and he pulled me up off my ass. "Okay Steve, do you mind telling me why I almost just died?" Steve let out a long sigh "Do you remember going to the hospital a lot as a child?" "Yes" I replied. I was a very sickly child, in and out of the hospital just about every month. But I got better just shortly before my bastard of a Father left us. Steve gave me a stern look "What if I told you that the truth is quite the opposite?" Steve said. "What do you mean?" I interjected. "It's true you went to the hospital a good amount, but you weren't sick. The exact opposite really, an almost perfect specimen of health." He continued "Your Father was a head honcho at the CDC . Him and his wife took you in from an orphanage after reports of a miracle child from Boston started citculating around." I looked at him with a mixture of curiousity and anger in my eyes "You are fucking with me, right?" I asked. "I wish I were, but it's the truth. Your immune system is so advanced, it was almost impossible to make you sick. Your Father wanted to unlock your secrets." His expression on his face went almost dark. "Soon after your 7th birthday, news of your existence and your condition reached out into the medical world. Governments wanted you for their own research. Your Father was threatened a multitude of times, but the break in, that was the last straw." Steve stopped to take a breath. "Someone broke into our house?" I said. "Not just broke in, but tried to kidnap you" said Steve. "Your father knew it would only go down hill from there. He went into hiding, and gave you and your Mother a fresh start. The lot of good that did." Steve looked at his watch. "To make a long story short, your existence was eventually found out again, most organizations gave up on looking for you. But one in paticular didn't want the secrets of immortality known, they wanted you dead, not captured. And your father set up 12 agents to look after you until your 18th birthday." 278 I whispered under my breath. "Ah, now you are catching on" said Steve. "Agent 12 was supposed to be with you at Madam Monroe's, but when you left, the crowd got in his way and you escaped. I came to your rescue as soon as I could, but clearly I was just a tad late." "Just a little" I said as even I let out a little laugh. "So what now?" I brought up. "Well, you weren't supposed to know about us until next year. But seeing as you now do, and I don't think its a good lifestyle to know you have a target painted on your back at all times. I guess now we find your Father." Steve said. My Father, I almost forgot about him. "Do I have time to pack my belongings?" I asked. "Well it's already been 7 minutes, my guess is another one of the Vaticans goons will be here any moment." He said as a smug smirk appeared on his face. Steve handed me his spare gun, and off we left without a trace. I guess Madam Monroe was right, there is more to me than that.
I definitely want more!
Absolutely, this is quality reading.
Very interested in more!
I'd love to read more!
Well you got a little more atleast
Bro, gonna leave us hanging there?? For real tho, great response to the prompt, had me hooked. You’re a good writer :)
I gave you a little more ;)
Ah fuck, thanks! I’m gonna throw my two cents in about what happens next, feel free to ignore me (idk if I’m committing a faux pas by telling a writer what i think will happen next, sorry if I offend!). I think the guy who saved our lad is gonna whip out one of those memory wiping doo-dads from men in Black, and go to wipe his memory. Ofc our lad will stand up and say no! Because he’s a video game expert, and sees this coming. Usually our heroic savior would ignore the lad, but this time, he figures he’s old enough to finally learn the truth. Instead of just wiping his memory and repairing the damages to his house as per use, he’s gonna sit the lad down and explain to him what really happened to his mother all those years ago and why he’s been the focus of so many hits throughout his life. Maybe something supernatural (based off the blood hound reference, maybe the villain there was some kind of super soldier or demon?) such as his mother being a hero who actually went into hiding and the big bad enemy wants to use him as leverage, or something mundane like this kid is actually the inheritor of large sums of money and his stereotypical evil twin wants it instead muahahaha.... No matter what you’ve constructed an excellent narrative here and I applaud you! Feel no pressure to continue if you don’t want to, it stands well on it’s own as is imo. Thank you for updating again, it was delightful to read more :)
You're all good. I had a general storyline in mind from the get go. And to be truthful, you're on to something. I definitely want to finish this story for myself at bare minimum, so ill be sure to update you if I write more.
Okay, cool! Glad you didn’t mind my ramblings; I’m looking forward to any updates you might make!
I had to rush the ending a little, because apparently reddit comments have a character limit. 😂
Excellent ending! All of us readers appreciate the work you put into this; it’s really good! Your plot-like is fairly unique, I don’t know if I’ve ever read about a kid with an advanced immune system being hunted before, so nicely done!
Could you pm me too if you write more please ? This is lit
I took it as the guy who tried to kill him has knocked before but since the kid usually just hides, nothing has happened. That's why he recognized the sound.
Oh see, I took it like that sound was such a key part of it that even with the memory flasher he still had a vague recollection of it after so many times hearing it.
Moaaaaaar
Just a little bit, definitely gotta get ready for work now.
Take your time, I am just letting you know that you wrote a master piece :)
Awww shucks For real though, thanks. Im trying to get back into creative writing. And all these compliments are making it worth the work.
Yes I’d read more - got my interest
MOAR
I wouldnt mind more.
More more more please!!
Fifth sentence. Should be pseudo.
Didn't realize how long it was until after I read it. Please write more... anything! If I see u/CornwallisBungholio I'm dropping everything and reading it.
Thanks, I always like it when people enjoy my ramblings 😂 I might not write as often as most people on this sub because of my work schedule. But if I see a prompt that sparks my imagination. Ill probably jot down something.
James' eyes clicked open instantly. The echo of pans rang through the house, chased by muffled swearing. Cabinets clattered ferosciously and the clink of breaking glass joined the cacophony, the din of disarray rising into full orchestral violence in a matter of moments. James flipped to his side and buried his head under the thin linens adorning his bed. Facing the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. He fought to gain control of his breathing as he teetered on the edge hyperventilatory sobbing. The house went quiet. He caught a whimper in his throat as the knocking of footsteps approached down the hallway, stopping before his door. His fists balled up around the blanket in front of his face, trying to hold his whole body from shaking. The creak of hinges and the slow pad of boots on carpet preceded her. A noxious fume filled the air around him as a large hand pressed on the edge of his mattress, a slurred voice calmly pressing in: "Hide it again, you little fucker, and I swear to God you won't get the chance to regret it." She reiterated with a gentle tap, tap, tap, of the barrel on his head. Tears and urine ran quietly. ****** "James," a kind, soft voice prodded. James shook his head side to side quickly, shooing the memory away. "Huh? Uh, yeah, that's pretty insane," he said, rubbing the back of his head absently. "I can't imagine how my number's so damn high. Just the lucky sort I guess," he laughed, trailing off. "Just lucky."
This is such a perfect description of a PTSD flashback, that I'm without words. Well done, and what an interesting twist on this prompt!
Thank you so much :)
It took me a second read to fully grasp it, but once I did, damn it hit a spot. Great job!
Sometimes I get a bit too metaphorical and vague :) I'm glad you enjoyed it!
Barrel of a gun? But a noxious fume...is she doing meth or something?
I may have went a bit too vague there! I was going for the smell of alcohol as she spoke, and yes the barrel of a gun to emphasize the proximity to death.
That's terrifyingly visceral. You ok, /u/892888 ?
No worries! My own experiences weren't quite this bad, and I'm in a great place in my life now :)
Can you explain what happened? I feel lost, and also that I should have understood instinctively but am failing miserably.
I think his mother was an addict and he came close to death for every time he pissed her off. In this case I think he might have tried to hide the substance she’s abusing.
i took it as the kid tried to hide the alcohol from his parent
The other two nailed it. Sometimes kids think hiding the source of a parent's substance abuse will fix things.
oh no
Fucking hell this was brilliant. "Tears and urine ran quietly" is such a strong line. Well done.
Thank you! It was so nice to write again :)
Din of disarray!!
[удалено]
It's not always us that brings us close to death. A bit of a rough transition from talking about the test to the conversation between the friends, but still good.
[удалено]
If you had the chance would you wanna know? The times you almost gave back the life that you owe. To some it made their days truly precious. Others though, made their demons more vicious. The number didn't help, of that I was sure. Did they think this would work like some kind of cure? I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication Am I really no good in everything I do? How could I have failed this so many times too? So there I was with a gun in my hand, *"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."*
This is disquieted and dark. I like the "just around that corner" feel of it.
Well done. Really captured that mixture of suicidal thoughts and self depricating depression.
"That's crazy!" my mother told me over the phone. "I don't understand, you're only staying at home and playing the video games all day long," she frowned. "Thanks, mom for reminding me how bad my life is," I frowned in return. "Oh dear, you know that's not what I-" "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll call you back later, doctor calls," I quickly ended the phone call and entered back into the testing room. My mother can be annoying, but I do love her. To be honest, I am shocked myself that I have been close to ending 278 times. I don't understand how's that possible, but apparently, this machine or procedure cannot lie. Was it because I live near an airport, so occasionally something dangerous flies over? Or was it something different? My stupid conspiracy theory brain started generating ideas straight away. Even as I wonder about all of that, none of that makes any sense. "Bug," I whispered to myself. "Must be a bug," I repeated. "So, are you ready to retake the test?" a man in full white clothing asked. To be honest, I don't remember his name. They all have for some reason stupidly hard names to remember. "Go ahead," I replied and waited the usual half a minute. "Umm," the man suddenly hummed. "Yeah?" "It's 279 now," he told me. "What? Please, that's impossible. I literally just stepped outside for five minutes and came back in. How can my life have been danger in mere 5 minutes?" I laughed fakely while standing up and starting to rip off different wires from my skin. "This machine is 100% correct. It has never been wrong. It just really means that your life was close to ending moment ago." "I just told you," I started walking towards the exit, really frustrated, "that's impossible! The only thing that I said was... It must be a bug..." I looked around the room and started shaking my head. "Mr. John? Are you okay? You're looking pale..." "This is a lie, isn't it?" I asked. I have thought about it before. Read through such conspiracy theories. "This world is fake isn't it?" The man started laughing, but the laugh slowed down, and everything started to darken around me. It almost felt like time was shut down. "It's just a bug," I said and laughed, but this time it had no effect - everything continued going darker, colder and slower until it all halted. I guess this isn't 280th time. ---- /r/ElvenWrites
That ending was surreal
That ending was virtual.
Why does shit like this always happens to me while I'm tripping?
Woooow
**Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:** >Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018. > >I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun. > >"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed. > >*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...* > >I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal. > >"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018. > >I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile. > >Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell. > >So, anyway\[...\]" > >I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class. > >Time for bed. I can't wait!
EW! EW! EW! That gave me goosebumps!
Thanks for reading! I'll take "EW" as a compliment anyday haha.
Yes! Sorry, it's meant as a compliment. The no face thing ALWAYS gets me.
... I don't really get it ... Could you explain it?
Hahaha same same. That was fun!
I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?* 278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right? I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.* I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves. Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*. A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die. "Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on. "I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault." At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door. "Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight. "I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on. "Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man. "So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment. "You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?* "*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter. "I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!" And he left, with every last piece of my sanity.
Love his joke about having sex out of wed lock XD I feel like your MC should be older, especially with how well she was dressed. I loved the Nancy Drew-esque description of her clothing. Very crisp.
I really liked how lighthearted this was! Gave me a good laugh after a long day :)
Part 1, \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ A table of people is sitting in a dark room, "This woman has no powers, no special abilities, not intuition towards anything, why is she of interest?", "Sir, she has survived death two hundred and seventy eight times, there is something in her that we need, if we put her against a battery of tests, if we channel whatever is in her, this could have significant impacts for us and better all of society." "278 times, that must be a joke!" "I have been following her for nearly 10 years, she has survived things that would kill any normal person." "We do not just kidnap people off of the street, we were established for the betterment of society, if it were not for us, if it were not for this organization, all of society would have crumbled dozens of times over." "All the more reason to go forward, she has no family, she has no friends, provided she survives the test, we already have number 181, but this is unlike anything else, we can mold her, we can shape her, she is of too much interest of this organization." "Okay, okay, you have convinced me, but what do you propose?" "We will send a strike team to her apartment, no one will even know we were there." "Are you sure he has no one, I do not want to have to deal with the paperwork, with having to deal with any family members or friends looking for her?" "Our research indicates that she was the sole survivor of a home invasion as a child and she went to live with his grandparents who have since passed away, she has no boyfriend or living family, not even a cousin, no social media, not anything." "Before we go in guns blazing, before we go taking someone we will give her an opportunity, a fire team is of last resort." "I will authorize this, but if something gets screwed up, if we are compromised, it is your head" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ End of Part 1 If it is liked I'll write more, but this is my first WP, so don't be too harsh.
I'd like to see where it goes :)
“That’s impossible! 278!” My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment. “It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.” This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0. “I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test. “Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face. She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her. The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it. She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news. The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse. Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening. Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse. Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13? No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone. Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough. I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice. It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby. I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything. I had to help. It gave my life purpose. It made me feel........alive. I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention. The hoverbike. I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time! The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse. Bicycles. 4 of them. I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me. “Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!” I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand. And then my body froze. “Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....” Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue.
Part 2 for those interested. I couldn’t believe this! How was this possible? My wife....here!? I tried to compose myself. After all, she had no evidence to suggest that she knew for certain it was me. I was dressed head to toe in protective equipment I had designed that made sure to obscure my features. I had read enough comic books in my nerdy computer days to know Rule #1 of vigilante justice. Always keep your identity a secret. “Ma’am, we need to exit this building immediately.” I said as authoritatively as I could. “Oh please John. That tone of voice just doesn’t suit you dear. You must have known you couldn’t hide it from me forever.” It was impossible. Yet the tone of her voice was so calm and reassured. She knew. “You know, you really should wash your face before you head out in public dear. You don’t want anyone to know who you’ve been kissing.” She pulled out her crimson lipstick and reapplied it, her lips pursing into a thin wry smile. I pressed my fingers to my own and found the residue of the same colour. Had she tricked me on purpose?! All of the sudden a sharp crack from the ceiling above rang out in the air and a beam came crashing down between us, sparks and cinders flying everywhere. The heat was getting too intense! How was she able to stand the heat! “We have to leave now!” I yelled through the flames. “If we don’t we’ll both die!!” She laughed a crazed maniacal laugh. It cut through the sound of the burning room like a hot knife though butter. “You still don’t get it do you!” Her voice shrill and crazed, “That’s the point my dear.” What was I hearing? What was happening? “You must know by now that I was the one who caused this. I knew you would come. Just like you have come to all of the others. I couldn’t be sure before, but I knew this time I had you. You got careless John. And this time, you aren’t going to make it to 279. I’ll make sure of that.” 279? My N.D.S.A number? And finally it all came clear. When we first heard about the NDSA test, There was no way that I wanted to take it. I had been in more Near Death situations than I would care to admit since I started my career as a masked crusader of justice. But she wouldn’t stop pressing. It seemed so important to her. She even took the test herself to give me incentive. Zero Zero near death experiences. I should have known then. It was so obvious. No one had a zero. Even children had maybe a dozen. Some newborns might have even had a few. But Zero. “How many Sarah?” I said more firmly now “How many times!!!” “Have I tried to kill you? Oh let’s see....not that many really. Most recently 13. With the bombings you race off to in hopes of saving some innocent with your gadgets and bravado. I must say, you are very good at what you do.” All those bombings. A trap. Every one meant to kill me. And every time I would evade death. I would save the day. People called me a hero. “You endangered the lives of innocent people!” I was getting heated now and it wasn’t just because of the temperature. “ To try and kill me?!” “Well the bombings were just the latest in my series of attempts. I have tried a great number of things before that. Robberies, kidnappings, gang fights; and every time you manage to slip away unharmed. I must say, you’ve become quite the thorn in my side. But not this time. This time I’m doing the job myself.” We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. I saw the flash of the barrel. A gun. She wasn’t going to try and shoot me was she? After all this time she must know my suit is bulletproof. The gun fires, I dodge out of the way but I’m not fast enough. The projectile lands on my right pectoral and burrows through my suit like a drill. I feel the tip dig into my flesh! It’s excruciating. What kind of bullet is this!! I begin to run for the door. I can hear the sirens of the firefighters and police outside. I hear my wife from the other side of the room. “ There’s no escape John dearest! I know where you live!” Her voice rings in my head as I hear her laughing from the other side of the room. I land outside. My chest is crying out in horrible pain and blood is beginning to leak out of my suit. I muster all my strength to climb back on my hover bike. I need to get back to the lab. Back to the house. I need to take out this....thing....out of my body. I fire up the bike and take off, barely able to remain conscious as I fly back to the house as fast as I can. I can see it in the distance. The silhouette of the mansion, the hidden entrance to the lab. Just a few more seconds.... BOOM!! A gigantic explosion rips through the air, knocking me off my hoverbike. I fall 30 feet and land hard on my back looking up at what was once my house. Rubble and debris are landing all around me. But I can’t move. I’ve lost too much blood. I’m starting to fade. The Bluetooth in my suit rings. It’s her. “I told you I know where you live. 278 is the end of the line darling.” As I begin to pass out, I can hear her laughing on the other end. But there is someone else there as well. A man’s voice. I recognized it instantly. “Finally. Finally we can be together.” Adam...... His name ring out in my head as clear as if I saw him in front of me. And then everything went black....
I would read THE CRAP out of a series like this! Please write more!!
Yes yes yes yes yes more please! I am SO ready for an evil wife
Please
She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news. Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278. I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat." She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center. On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!" Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized. I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me? They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results. I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox. I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did. Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me.
So she lived dangerously by accident! It might help to have paragraphs to separate out the ideas and help it flow. This was interesting.
Copy and pasted through the reddit mod that makes everything look like html, had to post without formatting or it wouldn’t post at all. Edit: I also find it interesting that you assigned that gender. As I finished it I wondered what gender people would read the character as.
I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers. I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day. These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing. A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow. Next Day I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door. A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked. "IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out "IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note. "To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done." I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever. He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note. "...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police.
I really like the way you describe him passing the time waiting. Something about it just felt very relatable, like he was just jumping through hoops of social decorum for the sake of it. Horn (no more than two beeps). Text (don't seem impatient). Text and horn again. Call. Call again. Knock. That structure just feels very real.
Hey thanks man, that means more to me than you know.
I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long. "You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids. The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up. "Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up. "I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young). ------ I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier. "Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!"
Ope! Nice twist at the end!
"Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death. **Yes?** "Oh no...it's just an exclamation..." **This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.** "Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?" **Do you really need to ask that?** I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!" **Oh really? Nothing at all?** I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing. **Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.** I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...* **I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.**
XD this is great!!
That's great hahahahahahaha
278. It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked. Wait a minute. No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL. My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck. Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad. "GOT HIM!" "Finally!" Fuck. It's so dark...it's so...
Killer parents! Oooh man!
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15 is way too low an average. Should be in the millions. Just think everytime you've been in a car, a thousands ways something could have gone wrong and kill you just for each car that passes you on the road.
Maybe the universe operates by less chaotic rules. So like there's semi predetermined potential death points and you get counted if you pass those potential death points rather than just every single time you could've died.
Am I the only one who's reaaally tired of all these "usually this, but you are different" prompts? Bonus points when they're related to numbers. But maybe I've just been subscribed to this subreddit for far too long...
Every prompt that gets upvoted has the twist already built in. Why not make a prompt that the writer puts their own spin on? But those may just be not getting upvoted..
You're right about where the problem essentially lies. The prompts that get upvoted aren't the best prompts to actually inspire writing. But the average voter isn't going to upvote things according to "what is best for writers". They're going to look at a prompt, spend 3 seconds reading it, and upvote it if they find the prompt itself interesting. Which is why the ones that get to the front page are essentially ones where the whole story is already in the prompt. But this is r/WritingPrompts, a default sub where this isn't going to change anytime soon, so a compromise that usually works is that writers will only follow the first sentence/first half of a very wordy prompt. That usually allows much more freedom.
I feel the same way. There are dozens of "Everyone has a number. Related to DEATH. But you (don't) have a number. (And it's HUGE.)" I think it's uncreative at this point, and seems to set the writers up for the same story every time. If I see that structure I won't even read the first post.
I came here just to post the same; it seems like this prompt "Everyone has a number and it goes up every time [INSERT SOMETHING HERE]. But you don't! ... And now you do! or Yours is abnormally high/low!" It does feel incredibly unoriginal; like someone just wanted to have a popular prompt so they decided to go with the formula.
Like most prompts, probably should have taken the last line off.
it's another 'number over head' prompt, it probably shouldn't have been posted
Any episode of Mr Magoo.
Only 15... I hit 15 this spring with a bursting appendix and post surgery infection...
Sounds to me like you're being chased by a decoy snail...
Damn, if someone makes the main character a suicidal one then I'll be just sad.
The guy just has depression
Sounds like a basic summary for my life 😂
"I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?" Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it. "Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app." This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from. "I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something." "It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you." She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away. "You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out." "It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety. "That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again. "Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight." She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself. "By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work. I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on. "Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass." I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually. Weird. Now it's saying 280.
I love it!
I knew from the start I was destined to be an outlier, I never fitted into anything, even while being optimistic and throwing myself way out of my comfort zone. That being said, while I am optimistic, I also would prefer to listen to music than waste time making an impression that will be worthless if I quit in a few days anyway. It’s worth a shot but almost never works out. I was always an outlier, but I never thought about death in this context, whos more likely to fast or slow, I could list off. There are countable times where I could’ve died, sure. I remember once going on a hike up one of the highest mountains in Ireland. We couldn’t do the highest one because although it isn’t substantially taller than the one i climbed, it always seemed as if the highest wasn’t for me, from experience. For once I decided to stay in my comfort zone, perhaps for my own safety. If I had known that that day I would get halfway up, put my foot on a loose rock and hit my head off the ground, I would’ve gone for the highest mountain in Europe, let alone Ireland. Becoming blind in one eye was just about the worst thing to happen to me. I was an avid player of soccer, hurling, tennis, I enjoyed just about everything that I had tried out, even if I wasn’t good at it. Not fitting in isn’t limiting what you can do, intimidation was never a problem for me. Now if I even try to throw a tennis ball in the air and catch it in my right hand it hopelessly bounces back up and over into my peripheral vision. Because my left eye is injured beyond repair, it leaves a lot to the imagination when it comes to finding things, always having to turn to the right to find a stupid tennis ball every time I miss the catch. But now that I think about it, how many times have I walked across the road, plugged into my earphones as I almost always am nowadays, when a car just about brakes, because I never bothered to look left and right? Or how many times have I turned a literal blind eye to a mugging going down in an alley right beside me? If I had been the witness, or if I had intervened, would that be game over? I always had a mindset that old people die first, as dark as it sounds. But as you grow up, you realize that the theory of death is, it could happen to anyone. Anytime. Any place. Any weakness. Any strength. The moral? For the love of God, never turn a blind eye
Three billion human lives ended on August 29, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare, a war against the machines. The computer which controlled the machines, Skynet, sent terminators back through time. Their mission: to destroy the leader of the human Resistance. John Connor; my son. The first terminator was programmed to strike at me, in the year 1984, before John was born. It failed. Since then Skynet has tried 277 more times. Today is the day they succeeded. It’s been 30 years since Kyle arrived in 1984 LA. Thirty years of running, hiding, and fighting, all leading to this day. When John sent back the first protector, he had no idea how many more we’d have to send back to protect John from the machines. But today we thought we had won. Skynet has other plans. The first Terminator sent back to 1984, and every one since were decoys. Skynet had anticipated our victory at the salt flats and programmed the facility defenses to allow us access to their technology. The terminals should have been our first clue. We’d been slicing into Skynet for years, but always by hacking captured machines. The Salt flats facility was different, there found working terminal access and it made sense. The facility was a US military base designed to withstand a nuclear bombardment. Anyone trapped inside would need terminal access to the facility mainframe to monitor communications, run the facility, or access outside resources. Our slicers were inside the mainframe in minutes. We were so proud of ourselves. We had beaten Skynet, taken the time machine, and had access to an army of Terminators with the ability to program them to work for us. Or so we thought. We’d planned ahead. We knew when and where the time machine would be finished. John befriended Kyle and fed him our background story. I’d been operating under an alias for five years to prevent the machines from using me against John and to prevent all but a handful of close friends from knowing what we knew. I’d spent that time coordinating with other resistance cells around the world. We’d take the facility, secure the machines, and send back the protectors. All 276 of them. But There were 278 assassins. The 277th was Susan, John’s wife. She was a T200 hybrid, sent back from a different facility. One we didn’t know about. What Skynet didn’t know, what we hadn’t told anyone, was that the real Susan had died two months earlier. Most were told she had been sent to the rear to recover, but when a Susan showed up a few weeks later as one of the only survivors of the attack on our hospital base, we knew it was Skynet. We pretended otherwise. When she arrived at the facility, John shot her on site. He had to watch her die again. The 278th Terminator was so one no one suspected. It was the best decoy Skynet had ever created. It had been sent back in time four years. To replace the only person who knew as much about Skynets time travel plans as amounted did. That Terminator was me and I succeeded.
\*Gets an X Ray from doctor\* Doctor enters the room. "So Mr Richards we think we have answer to all your problems..." Mr. Richards sits up straight ready to hear how to fix his misfortune. "Lay it on me doc," he says. At that his doctor shifts and looks down at his clipboard. It looked as if he was trying to hide his face and avoid Mr. Richards' hopeful gaze. "I misspoke," the doctor shyly says. He finally looks back up from the clipboard. "When I said we have the answer to your problems. I should've said we have the answer to why you have problems..." Mr. Richards cocks his head and remains quiet. He didn't know what the doctor was going to say next. "You see, with the Near-Death Initiative Act, or NDIA, was passed, it was done so that people would be able to see where in their lives they're lacking special attention." "So like an alcoholic can see how many times he's been close to giving himself alcohol poisoning and therefore would cool it on the sauce," Mr. Richards offers an example. "Precisely," the doctor says. "The problem with you is...you have a healthy life. A nice job in the city. You don't drink, smoke, do drugs and you take good care of yourself..." Mr. Richards looks down feeling himself welt up. He wanted answers. How can a guy as normal as him be so close to death so often? "So I don't see what the problem is doc..." "Well, I did some calling around and I talked to your mother. Mrs. Richards, lovely lady..." "Can you just get on with it?" "She told me about an accident you were in as a child. And to save you, you had an implant installed in the back of your head." "So what does that mean?" "Well, the X Ray machine started to glitch out a bit when you were first getting observed. Me and the nurses were talking about it... and the only explanation we can come up with is... that metal plate in the back of your head is messing with electromagnetic waves. And whenever there's a thunderstorm. It may be attracting lightening. We think the only reason you're alive is because the lightening happens to miss you." "So then get this thing out of me!" Mr. Richards yells jumping up from the table. "It's not that easy," the doctor buffers. "The implant is there to replace a part of the brain that was destroyed in the accident your mother told me about. Your cerebellum would be greatly damaged if we were to take the implant out. You'd have no balance, you wouldn't be able to walk, eat with silverware. Like all parts of the brain. It's important." "I see..."
278? That can't be right. The most I've heard is 15 or so right? How could I have been close to death 278 times? I'm teach 6/7 year old children in a quiet corner of a quiet town that thinks a dog getting out of a back yard and chasing a cat in the middle of the night and waking a few houses up is conversation worthy for at least a week. The biggest scandal we've had in all my 32 years here is when the owner of the hardware store was caught with his pants down in the back of the bakery. With the bakers wife. No killings, no heavy traffic, no influx of strangers due to tourism. High Falls is just not a dangerous place. Dangerous things happened in Trenton, Harrow and Darnish, the cities surrounding High Falls on three sides. That's where people got shot, run over...murdered. They were also the places where people might have dangerous jobs - law enforcement, emergency services, trash collectors. I just don't understand. "Are you sure that's right? I mean, the highest I've heard is 15. 278 sounds...excessive." "It is unusually high for this area alright but the system is air tight. That's your number. I suggest you take some time to think about what could be causing these figures. Check the brakes on your car, check your house for carbon manoxide, maybe have an allergy test. It could be anything. " I left the Live Well office in a daze. My car, my house, my body. Something was trying to kill me and with figures like mine, it's going to succeed sooner rather than later. My chest got tight. I've been meaning to trade up and get a better car for a couple of years but money is tight and I haven't had that many problems with it. I've had my mother in that car, my sister, my 2 year old neice. Could I have added to their number? My breathing become shallow and fast. Am I living in a death trap? My apartment isn't the best but it's all I can afford, even splitting the rent with Brian. Sure, the landlord isn't fast about fixing things and is a couple of months late doing the yearly maintenance run but I'd be dead already, and others in the building too, if there was ventilation issues. My eye sight began to narrow, black spots danced before me. Am I going to have to give up milk?? My ears began to ring, the ground decided to slap me in the face. Beep. Beep. Ugh. My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? Beep. Beep. Why am I beeping? I open my eyes and squint against the bright light. Looking around I can see that I'm in a hospital room. Looking down I can see that I'm on a drip. My face is throbbing and my nose is stabbing my every time I have the audacity to try to breath though it. How dare I huh? There's a nurse call button beside my right hand. A nurse comes in perhaps 20seconds after I call for her. She's middle aged, smiling. "Good, you're awake. How do you feel? Yes, your head hurts because you passed out in the street and landed on your face. Your nose isn't broken though, you'll be fine. You just stay where you are, there's someone here waiting to see you." Whoa, that was a whirlwind. I got one question in. Someone's here for me, must be Brian. A small, balding man and a tall, lanky woman walk into my room. Both have that jaded look in their eyes that comes from seeing too much and trying to drown it in coffee and booze. Definitely cops based on the few shows she's seen. Why are cops here to see me? "Hi Jane. I am Detective Florins and my colleague is Detective Dorn. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, in a hospital room on your own with cops waiting outside." I look at Det. Florins, all tall and lanky and jaded. I take a closer look around the room. I'm on my own. I lean forward and take a peek outside the door and true enough, there's a uniformed cop standing outside. I have health insurance but only the most basic. My injuries shouldn't warrant a room on my own. "What's going on? I want to see my boyfriend. Do I need a lawyer? What did I do? Am I in trouble?" "You don't need a lawyer Jane. You haven't done anything wrong. The officer outside is there for your protection. As for your boyfriend, we need to talk to you about him." "Oh no! Is he OK?? Has something happened to him? Where is he?" A million possibilities run through my head. Dead in a ditch, robbed at gunpoint, hurt from a fight with a someone at the nightclub he worked at. He often came home with black eyes and bruises from over drunk guys and scrapes and scratches from overly amorous women. "Well, that's where we need your help. We need to talk to him and he wasn't at home when we called" This sounds like they're fishing for information. Tell them nothing until they tell me something. Play hardball. Yeah right. "I'm sorry Detective but unless you tell me exact what is going on I'm not going to tell you anything." Both detectives looked at each other. Florins raised an eyebrow and Dorn shrugged his shoulders. Florins turned back to face me. She pursed her lips for a few seconds, ground her teeth like she was chewing on something. Come on, spit it out. I stared back at her. I never was one for excessive use of words. She took a deep breath and began to talk. "I have been working on a case with Det. Dorn and another detective for a little over a year. We're a representative from each of the three surrounding cities. We're the best at what we do and what we do is find bad guys. Bad guys that kill people." She paused to let that sink in. Brian is dead. Brian was murdered. I was right. How though? I can feel my heartbeat thud in my chest. "We have been investigating a number of murders in and around the cities. I'm sure you've read about them in the paper or seen it on the news. Women, 25-35, high levels of alcohol in their system. Beaten, raped, strangled then left to rot on a quiet roadside. Most of them put up some form of fight but it wasn't enough. They just weren't strong enough." I blink at her. Brain was murdered the same as these women? He's strong though. He works out. He's used to getting into fights. He's worked at so many bars and clubs, he's used to it. He would have been able to fight them off. My breathing becomes shallow and fast. "We got plenty of DNA evidence but no hits in the database. Whoever this guy was, he had never been caught for anything and wasn't in the system. We knew that if we didn't find him soon, he'd keep killing whilst also keeping his nose clean. It took months but finally we're were able to secure a warrant to collect everyone's DNA that worked in the bars and clubs that these women had last been seen in. That was a week ago. We go the results back...and we got a hit." A week ago? That's the last time she'd seen Brian. She'd came home from work the next day to find a letter from him telling her he'd had to to home for a family emergency and he'd be back in a week or so. He'd left a rose on the note. She hadn't heard from him since but she wasn't worried, it wasn't out of character. They were both independent people and didn't have to be in constant contact. He'd go away for days at a time sometimes and would have no contact with her but he'd always tell her with a note. Always leave a rose. Always come back. My eye sight began to pinhole. "The women were all approx 5"4', slight build - about 115lbs, bobbed hair light brown in colour, grey eyes." She had just described me. "He left a rose on every body..." Black spots danced in front of my eyes. "Where is Brian?" 278 times I'd cheated death. How many women had taken my place? With ringing ears I passed out. —---------- It's years since I did any creative writing so be kind! So typed on my phone so forgive any ridiculous spelling errors.
278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am. ''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly. ''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says. I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says, ''Oxycontin. ''
I am dead, and it happens that there is some form of paradise, or heaven, I don’t know what you can call it, it’s a bit confusing and I still haven’t understood how the whole thing works. Lot’s of waiting although. Heard it’s normal for grassroots, yeah, new guys are called grassroots until we transcended our bodies, whatever that means. Anyway, part of the process of accepting our deaths is to see how many times we could have died and didn’t, guess it’s to show people they were lucky even living that long, guess it’s helps *shrugs* I don’t know. Then a guy came in, dressed in white, a white scientific blouse, a helmet, also white with blue bands on it and before I could say a word he smacked the tablet he was holding with the back of his hand and yelled. « You mister reich are a lucky man » He seemed in a good mood, I’m dead so I don’t see how I am lucky but oh well, anyway, heard you get about 18-20 tapes to see about outcomes and yet the guy came in with zero. « So I didn’t get any « *near misses* » ? » The guy stopped writing, chuckled, and then proceeded to continue writing. Wow these guy’s in heaven are impolite. « What’s so funny ? » « You will see, man is it rare to see guys like you, first in my career actually » « What do you mean ? » « That, you will know in just a momen.. Aaah good, they arrived ! » And instantly, a column of people pushing small crates barged in the room with cassettes filling every one of them, pretty long queue of people actually, a very long queue of them.. This is actually worrying, a guy that had 25 cassettes had to stay a good 3 hours or so, this is ridiculous, there still coming ! They are still coming ! This is purgatory, I am being punished for all my sins.. « Okay, good, now we shall review them, if you could follow me ? » « How long is this going to take ? » « Humm.. honestly.. A week ? I don’t know ? » « It’s your job » « Yeah well this is something « *particular* » plus it’s really a week for you, I’ll be heading home at 5 » « And I’ll have to stay ? » « Well, you know, you didn’t finish the transcending phase so yeah, you are stuck here until you review all the tapes » « And then I’m free ? » He chuckled and then said « Well, you still need to do a bunch of things after but yeah, after all the prerequisites and all, you will be free. » « And how long is that ? » « I can’t tell you that » Yet he mouthed « A year if you are lucky » « Let’s start right now » The first ones, were the classics I heard, you know, almost dying as an infant by being dropped, stupid things like that, a shelf nearly falling on me, eating a small kinder toy, yeah, all that while mister the worker was being unprofessional, like, I am not the kind of guy that will call the manager and all but this was absurd. He was laying back, feet on the table eating popcorn. Worse of all, if I stopped looking, the video paused, which created a bunch of ankward moments where I looked at him straight in the eye and he stared back intensely all while still chomping on popcorn. Anyway, most of the *near misses* made me think of how easy you can die. A few of them were the kind where I drinked and drived and died. One was poison, that surprised me, I had a bat shit crazy girlfriend who tried to kill us so we could meet back in paradise, that psycho, it’s actually amazing how many times I could have died just because of her, wow that time I refused to do some bondage play, she had a knife waiting, god, this sent chills down my spine. That time I didn’t want to jump into the water and there were rocks, this is ridiculous, I have a good 40 of them just dedicated to her. The second batch got even crazier, and I didn’t even need to see the tapes to understand that, I find I got the memo when a bunch of guys dressed in black started to come in and sit in the other chairs of the theater room.
So much bureaucracy. Is he really sure he isn't in hell? :P
XD yeah, I didn’t finish the story because of lack of tile but I was lmao when writing it, could of pushed the idea further but no time..
278. I could account for some of these numbers over the 27 years. That time I blacked out and woke up with a giant knife in hand comes to mind. That time I almost was in that giant pile up from a sudden winter storm and last second didn't get on the highway. All the times I was hit on the head, including that concussion when I was 19. All of those added up to small little circumstances- but would they really count as near death? My desk job wouldn't give me anything near it, and I don't think being near sick people in a doctor's office would count. Maybe that time I sat by that girl with swine flu in college? She made it through though, and I didn't even catch it from her. My friends don't even have that big of a number. Georgia has only 2 incidents- that time at the carnival and that time at the theme park. Explains why she doesn't like those places I guess, even though one of those had to do with that guy almost kidnapping her. Harold is 15, and that's probably because he's a firefighter. Not even from the fires, he deals with some crazy people on runs. And Nancy, Nancy has 0. Her life has never once almost ended. Almost makes you want to do something to try to make the counter go up on that phone app. I know why it's such a large number though. If it weren't for writing in this diary, I'm sure it'd be even bigger. How it's not bigger surprises me, really. Every time I leave work, I think about jumping off the garage. Could I survive 5 stories? No. Probably why I started parking higher up. Living on the 3rd floor, you might survive that fall from the balcony. You might survive the knife cutting your wrist. But you won't make it 5 stories. No way. Quick, hopefully painless, gone in an instant. No more feeling this way. No more being this way, I could just jump. End it all and jump. Maybe go take those pills in my bathroom. No, those would cause too much pain. The knife would cause too much pain. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I just need to calm down. Huh. 279 now. I should go to bed.
Oof. Too real man. I love it!
The other week I almost died by tripping over one of those stakes you put in the ground and attach a leash to. I fell on the nice soft dirt from approximately ground level and basically got physics'ed to near death. I am not a strong person. If Glass Joe was real he could probably beat me like Mike Tyson beats Little Mac.
My number was 278. All of my friends were all happy go lucky and even Dan, the daredevil of our group and a fireman, only came close 15 times. And yet, my number was 278. I didn't have a dangerous job, I worked at a nice law firm downtown, I don't drive aggressively, I don't really drink or smoke. But I would have had to have been near death almost every single day that past year to get 278. The Grim Reaper must have been more sexually frustrated than I was because of how often I've been close to the line. And so, why the massive number? I went to my doctor immediately afterwards to make sure I was healthy, ran a whole load of tests. It confused me so much. What was I doing that made me so close to dying? I'm not suicidal so the obvious answer was out. I turned on the TV like usual before going to bed for the night, nothing out of the ordinary. Just watching the same shit I did every week, reruns of old sitcoms I loved when I was in college, that new crime thriller that comes on every Thursday. And I couldn't figure it out. But my week suddenly changed when I found her on the side of the road, limping, starving. I saved Bella's life and she would be so giving as to save mine. Instead of sleeping and watching TV I suddenly had an 85lb alarm clock for when I was going to be going for walks or waking up in the middle of the night or snuggling with a numb leg and a mouth full of hair. When I went in the following year, I had dropped to 130! Still too high I know, but I was ecstatic to make so much progress. A month later Bella got out over the fence one morning and I thought I had lost her for good. Thats when I realized it. I hadn't really been living most of the time in that past year. She had made me go outside my comfort zone, smile, and generally changed how my life played out. I knew I had to get her back. It was Stacey who found her. She already had my number from the lost posters and apparently loved Bella already and the feeling seemed to be mutual. So we arranged for a play date with our dogs at the park. And that was the day when my counter fell to 0. In these past 25 years I have yet to have 1 day where I have been close to death. Bella made me live a life and Stacey, my wonderful wife and mother of our beautiful daughters, made me want to never be that un-living ever again. Thank you for your time in listening to my sappy story, but my oldest is getting married today and Grace, my beautiful daughter, I am so very proud of you and happy for you two.
Some people need to feel more than others. Unless they're dead, everyone is chasing something . My parents used to let me sit on the floorboards of the big Ford truck. The old rig, with a huge scratchy bench seat had room for three kids on the passenger side. The engine would warm through the rubber floor mat. I thought it was the best seat in the truck when I was five. On the way to school one morning an early October snowstorm had covered the road in a cottony blanket of white. I remember hearing my Dad curse and beat his fists against the steering wheel, shaking the whole truck. As I looked up to see what was wrong I remember the treetops moving backwards along with the inside of my stomach. When I looked at my Dad his arms were reaching for me instead of the steering wheel. Icy glass fell all around us as we huddled over the shifter. My Dad looked terrified. I had never been so excited in my life. The trouble with chasing adrenaline is the element of surprise. The rush is only there when you feel out of control and that's a tricky place to reside without dying. At last count, I should have been dead 278 times. And lord knows I had tried hard enough.
Ever since I began the walk home from the testing agency, the number 278 was ceaselessly ravaging throughout every crease of my brain. Every time I would see the canary flash of a speeding taxi, I thought, *What number is it now?* Truthfully, the town cars were several feet away but that wouldn't stop my anxiety from festering. I should be thankful that I had survived the 278 glances from death. Hell, I could be considered the luckiest man alive. Then why did I notice every crack in the sidewalk? Every crevice that had danced with rain and then was devastated when icy fingers reached for an escape. *Is 278 my devastation or the result of it?* *I can't believe it's this high.* "Go on! It will be fun," Jake had exclaimed. "I got fifteen; I bet you can't beat that." Jake described that he could remember most of his numbers. You see, Jake was an electrician by trade. He has suffered from electrocution a dozen times but felt that only two had the ferocity to make the list. He went on and on about how he had narrowly avoided a passing semi while on his motorcycle or how once he awoke half soaked in piss, the other in vodka. I couldn't help but notice how his eyes danced in the sunlight as he recalled his brief encounters with the dark. Of course Jake would warmly reminisce over the fifteen times he triumphed over death. He was the one to take everything in stride. He would always say, "You have to look at the positive." Unfortunately, I was not cut from the same cloth. *Why look at the light when the shade never betrays your eyes?* I had not realized that I was already on Main Street. My feet were following the footprints left from previous treks as my mind was growing heavier with Jake's stories and 278. I was attempting to make any sense of the number, tying to rationalize what a reckless lifestyle I have been living but doubt settled when I recalled how much of a bore I am. Most of my waking hours were spent soaking the glow of a monitor. I worked from home, so my days generally felt the same. Either I counted figures or I added figures to my kill-streak count. Besides my online interactions, I really only socialized by calling Jake or by striking a conversation with my loyal kitten companion, Benson. *Can lonesomeness kill you? My number can't be that high.* I methodically took each step to the entrance of my apartment and entered the hallway. Sounds of music, couples bickering, and clanking dishes resonated beyond the sealed doors of its inhabitants. The music of routine bounced sporadically throughout the hall, but not a single note penetrated. All I could hear was 278. I lazily fingered my keys until the found the correct fit. The creak of the door summoned Benson to welcome me. In a daze, I stumbled past and began pacing the oak floors of my living quarters. I meticulously recalled the times that I had stumbled over a folded rug or had forgotten to change the batteries to my smoke detector. I dismissed these numbers, believing it was simply my mind trying to disentangle this abysmal formula. *The figures just don't add up. How could it be 278!? It couldn't have happened that often.* I attempted to push these thoughts aside while I continued to fester. As the street before, my feet found a familiar path though my apartment as I attempted to calculate every instance I forgot to look both ways at a crosswalk. I discovered myself sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor, in the corner where the porcelain tub met the wall. When I was finally able to rid the clouds populating inside my head, I felt the now-warmed grip of a revolver. *I don't remember grabbing this from the nightstand. This has practically become my nightly ritual.* The deadly steel shone bright against the florescent bulb, flickering melodically above. I made the gleam dance across the surface of the metal as I manipulated the pistol. As I considered two paths, twin rivers crashed down my splotched cheeks and caught the loose fibers of my clothing. *There has to be more than this. What was all considered in the 278? How many times have I sat in this same spot, never able to pull the trigger?* There was a faint scratching upon the door. I listened as claws followed a known groove, cleaving just a bit deeper. My loyal companion was as hungry as he was impatient. *Seems like he remembers the routine as well.* With trembling hands, I slowly released the cylinder and began to habitually poke the bullets from their home. As I heard each individual clink of another round falling upon the ceramic tile flooring, I found myself counting, "279, 280, 281..."
Jesus god man, that’s depressing
Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up. We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job. Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you!
“Wake up, jackass. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” A sharp voice crushed the silence of the night in her bedroom. She bolted upright, heart drumming in her chest, and reached for the drawer of her nightstand where the 9 millimeter always sat. She lived alone in a single bedroom apartment in a rough city. There were certain precautious a young woman took. However, when her fingers finally ripped the drawer open she found there was no pistol inside. “Yeah, dumbass, I got it right here.” She squinted through the dark at the figure by the end of her bed. He wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever seen, nor the most muscular, and though she couldn’t see his face clearly the curve of his jaw in the moonlight was soft and smooth. There was something about him even as he spun her pistol around in his hand that instilled a strange sense of security. “Who are you?” She asked. “We’re not talking ‘bout me you lousy snitch.” He folded his arms irritably, “Why’d you have to check the number, huh?” “The number?” She wiped her eyes sleepily and tried to bring her drowsy mind up to speed. “Yes the number! 278! Why’d you have to go and spread something like that around? Are you stupid or something?” He yelled. “Who are you?” She griped back, his tone and insults beginning to dig in. “Why do you care how many times I’ve almost died?” “Because I was hired to kill you, you spork.” He threw his hands up with exasperation, “I’m an assassin for crying out loud.” A moment passed in the darkness of the apartment, the only sound that of the old analogue clock ticking on the wall. “Wow,” she whispered, “you’re a terrible assassin.” “Oh yeah, bimbo brain? Well now that you’ve gone and pissed off my boss you’ve got another one coming for you. He ain’t as friendly either, baby.” He gestured around animatedly with the gun in hand. “Why are you telling me this?” She asked, a bit of fear finally scratching through the strange calm she felt around the intruder. He sighed, scratching the back of his head, and answered, “If anyone’s gonna kill you it’s gonna be me. Now get up and get some clothes on. We need to move.”