30 Nov 2019
Today’s prompt: “You are the pilot of a jumbo jet, just realizing the plane may crash. What will you tell the crew and the passengers?”
“Good evening, passengers of Flight 1642 bound for Minneapolis,” you say into the microphone. “I appear to have been possessed by the ghosts of 27 seagulls who are pretty angry about having been sucked into jet engines. They have merged with my intelligence, but are controlling my movements and have forced me to program in a new flight plan that will crash us into the ocean. So, turns out animals have souls and ghosts exist. Squawk squawk!”
28 Nov 2019
Today’s prompt: “Write a story that ends with the line ‘And this is the room where it happened.’”
Never let it be said that cultists don’t like their musical theater parodies.
You’re in a room. A room with a sigil painted on the floor. A room with chains bolted to the floor, holding you still over said sigil. A room with a boom box in the corner, which one of the cultists presses the play button on.
A trumpet sounds out. Dah dah dah-dah-dah-dah-dah!
They begin singing.
“Two cultists and a victim walk into a room
“Diametric’ly opposed, foes
“Two of them re-emerge, having opened portals that were
“Previously closed
“Bros….”
You sit in stunned silence watching the cultists sashay and shuffle in their robes. Why on earth are they doing this? Do they just get bored with their rituals after a while?
“No one else was in
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“No one else was in
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“No one really knows how the game is played
“How the ritual’s made
“How the victim gets slayed
“We just assume that it happens
“But no one else is in
“The room where it happens….”
You try to wriggle out of your manacles so you can escape. Or possibly clap. Mostly escape. But they’re locked tightly around your wrists.
There’s a new soloist singing now.
“Well I arranged the whole thing
“I arranged the vigil, the sigil, the offering.”
And now they’re back to the chorus.
“But
“No one else was in
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“No one else was in
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“The room where it happened
“No one really knows how the
“Old Ones get to Earth
“The humans that are sacrificed in
“Armageddon’s birth
“We just assume that it happens
“But no one else is in
“The room where it happens….”
You’ve always loved Hamilton. You’ve always loved this song. But it’s never felt quite so long before – probably because you’ve never anticipated being murdered at the end of it, and you feel like you’re swimming in your own adrenaline. At the same time, it’s so short. Verse after verse slips away, spelling certain doom.
“The art of the sacrifice
“Hold your nose and close your eyes
“We want the Old Ones’ reign to flower
“We don’t get a say in who they devour
“So we’ll spill blood from human hearts
“And practice the arcane black arts
“Dark as a tomb where it happens
“I’ve got to be in
“The room where it happens
“I’ve got to be
“The room where it happens
“I’ve got to be
“The room where it happens….”
The cultist who has been singing the Aaron Burr part of the song parody pulls a pistol out of his robe and slowly, deliberately aims it at you.
“I’ve gotta be, I’ve gotta be, I’ve gotta be
“In the room….”
Click boom.
And this is the room where it happened.
26 Nov 2019
Today’s prompt: “A strange girl who hides herself under layers and layers of clothing”
You thought maybe she had body image issues. But it turns out she wasn’t trying to hide her frame, just all of the weapons she carries around with her to kill nosy, well-meaning strangers.
24 Nov 2019
Today’s prompt: “Write a love letter to a person you dislike.”
“Cthulhu, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways,” you write.
“Thy strong tentacles constrict my chest.
“Though all your Cultists make their lives a quest
“To seek you, yet you found me. As you raise
“Yourself from ocean’s depths, on man to graze,
“And other victims scream in their distress,
“I eagerly wait for you to ingest
“My flesh, my self. So set this world ablaze
“And crush mankind beneath your monstrous feet.
“The end is nigh, but ‘til my final breath
“My love for you will only grow in heat.
“Your choice to feed on me rewards my faith.
“Destruction is delicious; slaughter, sweet;
“And I shall love thee better with my death.”
22 Nov 2019
Today’s prompt: “Tell the story of the time you lost an argument.”
“Look, even if you don’t think Cthulhu exists, you might as well believe in Cthulhu. There’s no harm in believing it if he doesn’t exist, and if he does, you’ll be well prepared to run away from him the moment you see a stray tentacle appearing over the horizon as his footsteps shake the ground.”
“Regardless of what my own beliefs actually are, that’s a bad argument,” you say. “There are tons of cults that have mutually exclusive beliefs. They all say their Old One is the only Old One. So I can watch out for Cthulhu, or I can watch out for Hastur, or I can watch out for Shub-Niggurath … it all gets ridiculous after a while. Also, you clearly haven’t proven Cthulhu exists; you’re just telling me I’m better off for pretending he does. If you were arguing for the existence of a benevolent and omniscient god, I might argue that pretending I believe would be ridiculous since the god would know my true feelings. But you’re not even arguing for the existence of a benevolent and omniscient god. You’re arguing on behalf of a chaotic, evil god who would devour me whether I believe in him or not.”
“Still! You have everything to gain, nothing to lose, by believing in him!”
“It’s not like believing in Cthulhu is consequence-free. To prove their belief in him, believers have to make regular human sacrifices. Imagine making those to a god that doesn’t even exist! Think about the harm being done!”
“Look, all I’m saying is, flee while you have the chance!”
“Sure, and if I were to actually see Cthulhu, I’m sure I would,” you say. “But when you’re making an extraordinary claim, like the existence of Cthulhu, the burden of proof is on you.”
“All I’m saying is you’d be a lot safer if–”. Your debate opponent’s words are cut off by the thunderous footsteps of Cthulhu. There is no fleeing in time. And for what it’s worth, he eats believers and nonbelievers alike.
20 Nov 2019
Today’s prompt: “What won’t you touch with a 10-foot pole? Why?”
I’d say “Cthulhu,” but his tentacles are longer than that.