Reddit writing prompts

 [WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan.

 

 

You are dead, it must be the room it is not cloudy, you see no angels, no winged persons, no harps no old man with a halo. You look around hopeful, is this the heaven with the 99 virgins? 

 

Ah, so you are one of those, looking for the 72 virgins? A voice sounds like it is in your head, within you. 

 

You look around stunned you must be on some chemicals some neurotransmission warped mind bend. You get up, you were laid down on the ground. Dust yourself off the voice says, and you do, slowly, groggily slapping your thighs, your shins, you see no dirt but there must because now there are clouds all around you. 

 

You feel a pull, a slow tide, a collection of dark real images where light from a source is blocked by an object going in one direction. You glide with them; this must be how magnets work you say to the voice. No answer. 

This must be how hives work. Still no answer. 

It has become so important to you to get an answer. You feel panic build inside you. You are not afraid. You are fear. The voice is silent. 

You are in an amphitheatre with floors and floors of souls. There is no foundation there is no sky. There is just presence, an empty desolate boundless four-dimensional continuum the extent to which object and events have relative position and direction. 

 

The algorithms and calculations of arithmetical and non-arithmetical steps producing well-defined visuals on a giant jumbotron, it must be this unfathomable expression swirling around us. You realise now there is us. This is us. We are counting and being counted. We have lost individual control we are controlling each other. The voice in your head is the person next to me, the person underneath me, the person above me, the person inside me. 

 

We are the supreme being, creator and principal object of our faith. Us.  We are the entity seducing each other to sin and falsehood. 

Today we pick an avatar, the same coin, two-sided faces. 

We want change, the status quo is not working. We will only get what we want if we sacrifice the God avatar. The promises have not been kept. The quality of being morally good or virtuous is not fulfilling as it was promised to our collective consciousness. Kill the God, create the new God. 

 

Weaken the king of lies! It is not defined by what it is not, the absence of good. Profound wickedness, moral and natural its existence denied. The evil’s stain is too difficult to clean.   No good is ever enough when a single quark of bad seeps into the Hercules-Corona Borealis of the collective.

 

Life is not binary, the voice says. Finally speaking up. How do you know what is good if you have never known what is bad? 

Stupid reasoning, you shout out. You don’t want to have this uncomfortable feeling that tells you something is wrong. 

Your wish is my command the voice replies as sharp thin objects impale your reasoning. You feel nothing, the surge of souls computes the results are in! The visuals on the large jumbotron declare you are the new Satan avatar. The God avatar remains unchanged. 

 

 

[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.

 

 

They say I practice magic and communicate with the dead. That I summon their spirits. The dead that is, as apparitions and visions. Sometimes they say I raise them bodily for the purpose of divination, imparting the means to foretell futures events and discover hidden knowledge. 

Sometimes they say, I bring back people from the dead and some nights it is said I use the dead as a weapon. 

Do you believe them, my love, do you believe you are dead? Do you believe this connection we have is because you have tasted death and the amount of energy transferred and converted per unit time for you to rise again? 

Have I the power of Elijah or are you are the descendant of the widow’s boy he raised?

Or is it more fitting for me to be seen as Melisandre, rest assured Jon Snow would not have been my choice?

 

The fair and reasonable contract terms are enforced by the Necromancy Act of 300 AD. The malefic restrict the limits the undead can place potential liabilities when creating a necromancy contract.  The Act focuses on the contractual provisions and notices that limit or exclude liability. This includes noncontractual terms and is designed to avoid stretching the supernatural laws that are in place.  Any dead wishing to rely on these contract terms to assess liability should review the Necromancy Act prior to any challenge made in the Mosaic Law court system which prescribes the death penalty to practitioners of necromancy. 

 

As your existence is against the law and it is the law of the land that I am put to death. We can either run and found our own land with new laws or stay and change the laws of the land through activism, lobbying and good old fashion corruption. 

 

What I need from you is proof that your love for me is unwavering, how you chose to prove it is at your discretion. Even as the media surrounds us and the anti-necromancy wing (ANW) gains popularity and ammunition within every household is an alley with a secret wish for me to return their loved ones to them. 

 

Prove your love to me and we will change the earth. The day will come when the undead and living co-exist in uneasy harmony.

I wake up with a heavy heart. I know I will find you gone. On my phone is a message from you. “You can’t handle this, it’s too much. You hated life when you were living why did I have to bring you back?” 

 

I open the app on my phone, to read the tracker in your skull.  I forward the location pin to my contact in the ANW. 

 

As I walk through the night my heart torn, there is a pandemic of depression that has infected the living and the dead. There is no peace with so much unresolved pain.

 As I think of you and what severe mental and physical suffering you will be going through. Behind me like the Pied piper is a scraggly line of the undead slowly waking. 

 

With access to centuries of dead from the past, present and future, somewhere there will be that someone that gets me, that connection of minds, that mutual respect, that unconditional love, that total understanding.

 

My phone rings, it is the administrator, Susan Hockfield. How did it go she says over the phone? Do you need to ask? I reply. 

 

No, she says, I can see the dead rising from the soil in the cemetery through the glass walls of my office.

 

It cannot be helped I reply numbly.

 

Leave with me she says. 

 

And I will.

I trust her to create a new society, with new laws, the new Earth. 

It is a new day.

I smile.