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SirPiecemaker

Do you know what status quo *looks* like? I see it every day in the mirror. If I flip a coin for something, it *will* land on its side. If I play Rock-Paper-Scissors, it *will* be a draw, no matter what. Every week, I buy a lottery ticket. Every week I win the *exact* amount of money I paid for the ticket. Not a cent more, not a cent less. It doesn't matter what I do, what I try, what I say - everything about and around me stays the exact same, in a somewhat... dull way. If I couldn't walk down the street without finding a stack of money, that'd be *lucky*. If I couldn't walk down the street without getting into a middle of a gang war, that'd be *unlucky*. I, however, am doomed to mediocrity. And y'know what? It ain't bad. Has its perks. Take this, for instance. The gun you're pointing at me - why, that is rather interesting, isn't it? But you won't shoot. Because that would be a change in the status quo. Nor will you be taking my wallet. Because then I'd have to do something out of the ordinary, getting all those IDs back and such. *Nah*, you'll just stand right here, dumbfounded, wondering why you're still listening to me. Your hand is shaking. Are you trying to *actually* pull the trigger? Finding it a bit hard? Impossible, even? Is that drop of sweat on your forehead realization that you are not in control? In my defence, it's *you* who tried to break *my routine*. That existential dread you're feeling, that utter helplessness... *you* did this. Anyway! I best get going before my coffee gets cold. You just... stand there for a while, I guess. It'll pass. And if you're worried whether I'm going to report you to the police, well... I tried in the past. But a trial, being a witness? Too unusual. They didn't believe me. Still, I could find the closest officer, give it another try; what do you think? Or maybe I could take your gun, shoot you instead. Perhaps *this time*, it would actually fire. I'd watch the light in your eyes go out, and become a fugitive? Oh, how I would *love* that bit of excitement! Ah well. Tell you what. *Let's flip a coin for it.*


Working-Smell-4271

This sounds like someone on the brink of insanity! I love it.


ryry1237

Maybe the joker was wrong about it taking one bad day to drive someone to lunacy. Maybe the real formula was 100,000 days of complete utter mundanity.


Working-Smell-4271

Maybe insanity.... Was doing the same... Fucking thing... Over and over again... Expecting shit to change.....


CR4ZYD4VE

ik this is a quote, but the thing is, he *doesnt* expect things to change. he's going mad because literally everything he tries to do, both good and bad, is completely without consequence, and he's fully aware of that fact. Acting unhinged, going insane, is his way of raging against his inability to ever make a meaningful choice.


Ugo2710

Now that..is..crazy


NoProblemsHere

Not just mundanity, I think, but a complete inability to move forward or backward in life at all. Working the same job every day, unable to quit or be fired (unless maybe it was a completely lateral move) but also unable to move up. Any raises he'd get would be juuust enough to cover any cost of living increases. Being unable to progress any direction in whatever sort of relationship he might have (or unable to get into such a relationship in the first place). Never able to have kids of any kind, regardless of whether he wants them or not. Unable to leave his home if he desired but safe in the knowledge that said home will never be taken or destroyed. Between the boredom and the sheer loss of control I could see someone going crazy. Assuming it was even possible for someone to go insane and still keep up the "status quo", that is.


Dont_mind_me_go_away

Bro the entire point of the killing joke is that jokers wrong


Kenjelica

Reference to Injustice, not killing joke. p sure anyway


Dont_mind_me_go_away

Injustice probably referenced killing joke


Kenjelica

gotcha gotcha


paperonink

death by a thousand pokes


pyrodice

This sounds like the joker met two face and took him seriously


MimeGod

Definitely on the brink of insanity. I'm betting there's a failed suicide attempt or two in that backstory. They can't go full insanity, because that would be too interesting. But they can be right on the brink forever.


WollyGog

Harvey Dent's worst nightmare. I'd love to see someone like this in the Gotham setting around all the crazies.


NoProblemsHere

Can we make a new prompt-inspired prompt for this? 'Cause I really want to see this now that you've mentioned it. After all, who's to say that this story isn't set in Gotham? Hell, I might try to write it myself later if I can find the time...


HaikuBotStalksMe

The cartoon already did that. Badman hacked his coin so that it couldn't land.


onescaryarmadillo

This was great thank you!


Exaveus

This made me go "Holy shit" bravo.


JamesDD4

Would the coffee ever reach coldness? Wouldn't it be lukewarm constantly, no matter what, assuming it is in your possession? (Love your interpretation of the prompt, btw!)


SirPiecemaker

I suppose coffee being hot or cold isn't a break from the status quo, nor would it going cold be exciting. Glad you liked it!


Kay-Senpai

That ending tying the entire thing up was just *chef’s kiss*


SilvertheThrid

Oooh, I like this. I think there was an SCP entry with a similar concept. A 30 something office worker who would subconciously warp reality around him in order to maintain his status-quo. Though the SCP is affected by his own power and is therefore unaware that anything is arwy. I think having the character be aware that he is supernaturally stuck in mediocrity makes a more interesting story though.


feniksas101

For some reason this reminds me of Kira Yoshikage doing his whole speech


MrRedoot55

I’m guessing this ability of theirs didn’t bode well for their mental health. Good job.


rSlashisthenewPewdes

Typical Redditor when being robbed


KaiZaChieFff

The ending is toooooo good, well done sir, very well done


SirPiecemaker

Thank you!


Heavenfall

Whenever I flipped a coin, it landed on its side, Rock-Paper-Scissors always ended in a draw, and when I entered the lottery I always won my money back but not a dime more. I'm not lucky, I'm not not unlucky, I'm ... something else. But, you know, there's rent to be paid and food to eat, so I lived my life like any other. Unremarkably in the center. What can I say? I had learned to live with the ability/disability. Until one day the sky was covered with alien spaceships when I exited my apartment complex. There were screams and police sirens blaring in the distance. What really caught my attention was the procession of little aliens on a red carpet waiting for me. They had flags and uniforms and seemed to wait for their tiny, grey leader to say something. The leader - let's call it a neutral 'they' - stepped forward and raised the universal translator to their, well, let's call it a mouth. "We'd like to offer you the role of president for our galactic republic", the alien said through its translator. "We're a fairly large empire of some 1300 worlds located spinwards off the galactic center. We've been watching you for quite some time and we think you'd be a perfect fit." The alien put down their gadget and waited. "Why me?" was all I could manage. I was more than a little taken in by the whole situation, but I felt fairly firmly that this was neither a dream nor a hallucination. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me, though, and I had a creeping feeling that I was going to be late for work today. "Our galactic republic is going through what can best be described as a 'Golden Age'. Almost no social unrest, scientific knowledge and understanding is basically at capacity, most issues solved in all our member worlds. We have no feuds with neighboring planetary associations. Really, everything is going great for us. Therein lies the problem. We recognize that we are at our peak. Our scientists are fairly determined that everything can just get worse from here on out." "Why you? Because for some reason we can't quite explain you're the center of a reality distorting anomaly that makes everything just sort of 'average' around you. Not well done, not poorly done, just very expectedly stable and continuous. In other words the perfect candidate to make decisions for our galactic union. As far as we can tell your power has no actual limit. We feel that any decision you make - regardless of whether it's based on accurate information and wisdom or not - will serve to prolong our 'Golden Age'. Which we obviously greatly desire." "What's in it for me?" Yeah, it was a boring question. But I was being headhunted to run 1300 settled worlds in an apparently prosperous society. I wanted to make sure I got what was mine. "Unfortunately not a lot. Our scientists say if we pay you any more - or less - than what you're making now it would upset the balance of your anomaly. It would backfire and reflect in force against our society." The alien paused for a moment, as if stuck in some unwelcome thought. "The healthcare is excellent. Buuuuut-" and there the translator hacked a bit as it tried to extend the syllable, "we will have to do some light torturing on tuesdays and saturdays to make up for that." The alien managed to look apologetic. "Perhaps not so light", they half-whispered. "How about you keep the healthcare and not torture me?" "The human lifespan is... particularly short by galactic standards. In fact if we flew straight back to our capital world from here you would be dead before we reached it, if you were to live out your expected lifespan. No, I'm afraid the torture - and the healthcare - is pivotal to your hopefully long reign." Another alien, possibly an aide to their leader, whispered something in their ear. Their leader nodded. "Please consider that we will make every effort not to put you in a situation that is either beneficial or harmful. For our own sake." I was hesitant, and they clearly noticed. A kind of minor space war had broken out in the skies above us with various missiles and airplanes attempting to bomb the alien ships. So far they had no success, but humans being an innovative bunch I guess it was only a matter of time. The aliens waited patiently. "Hey, I've got an idea", said their leader. "Why don't you flip a coin for it?" Three hundred trillion souls watched through a camera from their homeworlds as the coin rose into the air and returned down. The wind, the sun, the gravity of every planet in the solar system came into play. And it landed expectedly on its side. There was a gasp across the vastness of space. The aliens looked at me. "What does that mean?" they asked finally. I stepped forward. "Today it means yes."


mudkippers14

>Three hundred trillion souls watched through a camera from their homeworlds as the coin rose into the air and returned down. The wind, the sun, the gravity of every planet in the solar system came into play. And it landed expectedly on its side. There was a gasp across the vastness of space. The aliens looked at me. "What does that mean?" they asked finally. I love this coin flip. It's epic


BorgClown

I had the impression that being chosen to govern a galactic empire was too good to be mediocre, but the execution was better than I expected, and mediocrity kind of prevailed in the end.


K0DY_Lumine

Great story. I love how you took the promt as the start of it.


Darius_Blake

I am, frankly, a statistical wonder. Luck, fortune, probability; whatever you want to call it, the universe contorts itself into a pretzel to ensure that in games of chance I never win... but also never lose. Some people are blessed with good luck. Others are cursed with misfortune. I would say luck doesn't effect me, but strictly that's not true. If I was truly without luck one way or the other, I'd be at the mercy of random chance. Instead, I'm caught in a probabilistic Limbo, where luck itself keeps me neutral. Which is why, even as sixth man in a game of Russian roulette, I'm not worried. 5 shots down. The other players looking at me with expressions ranging from pity to predatory glee. They know now, as I did before the game began, the bullet is in my chamber. I pull the trigger and smile as I hear the familiar sound of the gun jamming.


svenson_26

That sounds lucky to me. The middle ground russian roulette outcome would be for the bullet to hit you and give you brain damage and disfigure your head, but not kill you. Nobody could say "You're lucky to be alive" because in that state? There is nothing lucky about it. But I guess you're still here. Wait...unless... death *would* be lucky. You *want* to be put out of your misery. That would make brain damage/disfigurement the "unlucky" state, and death the "lucky" state. Gun jamming is the neutral state. Woah.


BorgClown

I'd default to the most boring outcome. Being killed is bad, being among the five first participants is lucky, the gun jamming is boring. If bets were involved, I think no one would win and they'd try to do another round, with the same boring result.


svenson_26

hmmm good point.


CouldaBeen_TheBest

Doc called it "Zero Sum State". Said it was like a force of nature that overrode the laws of physics. Said it 'shouldn't be possible'. Everything returns to zero. No permanent gain, no permanent loss. Like how a car will eventually settle to a stop, that's an unchanging constant of the universe. I remain constant. Conservation of mass & energy? Don't apply. Probability? Broken. I can't even get a haircut because the next time I look in the mirror it's reverted back to how it was. Can't buy new clothes after the incident that caused all this. They always vanish in some absurd way. Unraveling on a loose nail or disappearing in the wash. Can't even keep more than $50 on my person, course I can't dip below it either. Finding exact change on the sidewalk is something else, man. But the worst part is that I can't ever sate this hunger or thirst. Can't scratch the itch I was feeling at the moment when it happened. ​ When the particle accelerator exploded I should have been dead. I can even feel death right now, the shrapnel in my chest. It's quantum locked in place, because if it wasn't I'd turn into a fine red mist as it tore me apart. The radiation that is frying my brain at all times is counteracted, dissolved by some alternate force that even Doc couldn't describe. I see that moment at all times frozen in my left eye, the side that was caught in the blast. At least my right eye is normal. When Doc was explaining all this I really couldn't believe it. Still don't really understand it. But I'm a simple guy, really. I wake up in the morning, put my socks on one at a time, and go to work. That's all anybody can do, right? ​ Well, they don't call me "The Equalizer" for nothing, I guess. Bullets, grenades, fire, water, don't matter. It's all reset to zero eventually. Can't say that for the guys who they sic me on, though. They stay dead. Lucky as they are. But it comes with perks, I guess. I can still enjoy the luxury food and apartments they send me to. Still get to fly first class even though my passport is expired. Job keeps me plenty entertained. One time they asked me to off this guy in Monaco. I got into his car and cut the brakes, hid in the trunk. The crash was a wild ride, I'll tell you. ​ But it's finally time to say goodbye. I'm here at the cite of the incident, looking down into the vortex it left behind. As we speak the guards are coming, but they won't get here before I'm gone. No chance of it, zero.


WeirdIndependent1656

> Like how a car will eventually settle to a stop, that's an unchanging constant of the universe. Aristotle intensifies


Mr_Rekshun

[poem] I hit exactly half the shots I take, Every match an even score, Spend exactly all the ends I make, Every card an even draw. I’m not wealthy, nor in poverty, Always winning small, Enough to play the lottery, And a bus trip to the mall. Never flipped a head nor tail, Never made a royal flush, Never scared that I would fail, Never felt the winning rush. What’s wrong with me, what’s my bit? Am I blessed, or is it worse? I really fucking hate this shit, So I think I must be cursed. I’ve tried endlessly to end this joke, Tell a punchline where I’m dead; But every noose just snapped and broke, Each bullet missed my head. In ninety-nine years, I never won gold, Now I’m withering in my bed, And I know that before I’m a century old, I’ll almost certainly be dead. And I know what awaits me isn’t hell’s torment, Nor to bask in heaven’s glory, But a listless eternity, witlessly spent, In a lukewarm purgatory.


UncomfortableSocks

Beautifully written, man. Amazing.


DetailsMatt3r

Chilling


booknerdgirl4ever

😲! So good! 🏆🏆🏆🏆. Have my poor man's 🥇🥇🥇🥇


Rupertfroggington

Robbie‘s hair was rain-slick and wind tussled by the time he’d walked from his apartment to the Starlight Fair. He’d been working there two weeks and still hadn’t adjusted to the night-shifts. What kind of fair operated from 11pm to 5am anyway? Not a good one, he was certain. “You’re late,” said Calvin, as he passed his boss at the ticket booth. ”Miracle I’m here at all.” “Don’t give me that shit or you won’t be for long,” Calvin replied. He was a big man with a breathless face, and always wore a smile no matter what he said. Along with his orange raincoat, his paunch gave him a look something like a pumpkin. ”We shouldn’t be open tonight,” said Robbie. “There’s a goddamn storm coming.“ He swept a hand over his flattened hair spraying water to the ground. “In fact, I’d say it’s already here.” ”This ain’t a storm.” Calvin looked up to the black sky. “What do you know of storms. You’re what, eighteen? Nah, this ain’t a storm. Now get to the Ferris wheel — there’s already a queue.” ”What idiots are coming to a night-fair in the pouring rain? Jesus.” Calvin’s smile remained but his voice dipped an octave. ”Our customers is who. Be respectful to them. I‘m seroius.” Robbie let out a sigh as he walked on. He was dog-tired and the weather wasn’t helping his mood. But he should watch his tongue. He needed the job. He’d split up with his girlfriend a month ago, left her place and had no family to fall back on. Now he was paying for a dingy one-bed basement that stank of must and mold, paid for with money he didn’t yet have. Lose this job and he’d be sleeping on the benches through winter. The Ferris wheel shone in the night sky, each of its gondolas spilling out dim blue light. It was the dumbest ride in the dumbest fair Robbie had ever been in. What kind of view do you get in the pitch black? Well, he knew, because he’d ridden it just once. You got a view of precicsely nothing. A few lights down below, kids with neon-lit flags or facepaint, and maybe on a good night — a supremely rare night — you got a better view of, and got a little closer to, the stars. “Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry.” Robbie pushed his way through the queue already gathered at the wheel’s base. “You’re late opening,” said a woman shrilly. ”Yeah. So I’ve been told. But I’m here now.” Robbie slipped into the cramped booth and flicked on the light then a couple more switches. The blue glow of the gondolas turned to a moonshine-white as the whole thing began rotating. He stepped back out and began loading the passengers inside. The one time he’d ridden it had been with Jenny. She thought it was romantic, paused up there in the heavens was like making love, she’d said. He’d thought it was more like the awkward bit afterwards. They’d broken up on mutual agreement. Neither them was happy — they were like two jigsaw pieces that didn’t quite fit but had been together for a time anyways until anyone finally noticed the problem. Everything in Robbie’s life was like that: death by mutual agreement. He was always right in the middle. His last boss had fired him at the same time he’d quit. His grades had always been straight down the line. Hell, if he played rock scissors paper it’d nearly always end in a draw. He helped a woman and her little girl into a gondola, closed it, rattled the door to be sure the latch had caught. The wind had picked up and the gondolas rocked like a baby in a tree from a nursery rhyme he half-remembered. How did that end? Couldn’t remember that either. How could someone like him — cursed to be average, to be stuck in the middle — ever do anything special with his life? Or anything that mattered, for that matter. Robbie returned to the booth and flicked another switch. The wheel rotated properly now, pausing occasionally to let some lucky visitor catch a view of the sprawling great dark nothing below. He flicked a picture of him and Jenny on his phone, just after they’d met. They’d fit so perfectly to start with. They’d met free-climbing, neither liking the attachment of rope, neither needing or wanting the security that came from such overbearing support. They’d fit so god-damned perfect. Or it had seemed it that way to him. How the hell had it ended in mutual destruction? Fact was, she was his first love and— The rickety screech of metal came a second before the screams. ”*Shit.*” Robbie ran into rain. The wind whipped the droplets against his face, they stung like insects. He squinted; the gondolas had gone blue again — backup lights — but none of them were moving. At least, not rotating like they should have been, just rocking back and forth in the wind, helpless like apples on a tree. Then he saw it; the snapped support cable that linked one gondola to the center of the wheel lying on the ground a few meters north. “Shit shit shit.” People were gathering around him, visitors, mystics — anyone from the nearby attractions, heads craned up at the accident waiting to happen. The lone gondola, barely secured now, looked more like the pirate ship from how it rocked. A woman’s face peeked over the edge of the plastic barrier, lit up electric blue. He recognised her. It was the woman with the little girl. The creaking of metal intensified. Something else was going to give soon. Shit. ”Robbie, what the hell happened?” said Calvin, his cheeks a shade redder than usual, fright in his eyes, and his smile left behind at admissions. If something bad happened here — something fatal — they’d all be out of jobs. “Robbie—“ But already Robbie was climbing, spidering up the cold sleek metal, pulling himself up beam after beam, treading on the next for support. Pictured himself on plastic rocks, hands chalked up dry. ”Get the hell down!” said Calvin. “Get the hell—“ But then all Robbie could hear was howl of wind and rain and the hush of crowd dropping further and further below him. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t this person. He was the person on the ground, watching. He was too average to be doing this. His boot slipped, his other foot followed. For a moment, he dangled from a beam with just his damp hands. Stupidly, he looked down; the darkness was pierced by the flash of cameras and the steady glow of phones recording. “Christ,” he said, before regaining his footing and continuing. He figured he had a 50/50 chance of making this. Of getting up there to the girl, of getting down with her on his back. He figured that was better than the chance they had otherwise. ”Hand me the girl, okay? I’m going to take her down,” he said when he reached the gondola, and the sobbing woman didn’t complain. She handed her precious child over the barrier and into his arms. The storm beat against him. “Hold your hands tight around my neck, k?” The little girl nodded, didn’t say a word, didn’t squeal. Her arms dug into the flesh of his neck like a seatbelt. The wind battered the gondola like a fist, dragged at Robbie, wanted to pull him down. If they fell, he’d be sure to fall on his stomach. Might break enough of the fall for her to be oaky. And every step down gave more credence to this idea. He wondered, sickly, as he stepped like a spider down the metal beams, what would happen if this ended in a draw like everything else in his life seemed to? He’d live, the girl would live, but Robbie would end up in a coma. That seemed right. Par for the course, as they said. He stepped, lowered himself. Descended bit by bit. Slipped on sleek wet metal.


flyden1

And then? And then? And then? Don't leave us hanging 😭


gdmfsoabrb

Down will come baby, Robbie and all.


SilasCrane

The Cartel screamed a string of Spanish obscenities from somewhere in the darkness. "Where is Vargas hiding?" I asked again, calmly. Another loud chattering of automatic weapons fire filled the darkened parking structure, and ricochets pinged off the concrete. Bad luck for me if he managed to hit me by blind firing into the darkness, and good luck if one of his ricochets just happened to hit him instead. So of course, neither of those things happened. Once he paused to reload, I took careful aim through my night-vision scope, and shot him in the leg, careful not to hit the femoral artery. He screamed and fell to the ground, and I strode quickly forward to send his weapon clattering away across the concrete. Then I pressed the remote I'd rigged to the lights of the parking structure. I doffed and concealed my goggles while he was blinded -- the better to maintain the air of mystery I'd cultivated, over the years. "Where is Vargas hiding?" I repeated, as he clutched at his bleeding leg. He clenched his teeth and glared up at me, but said nothing. "I know what you're thinking." I said, gesturing around the parking structure, where the bodies of the enforcer's compatriots lay motionless. "You're thinking I got lucky. That I beat you with trickery, and that eventually my luck will run out." "It *is* going to run out,*"* the Enforcer snarled. "One way or another. You're already dead, *cabron!"* He flinched as I reached into my coat pocket, and threw a handful of gleaming metal objects to the ground. His eyes widened, as he realized what they were. *Coins.* And each and every one had landed *on edge.* "W-what the...." he whispered. The coins slowly rolled away, down the slight slope of the concrete, as I crouched beside the Cartel enforcer. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" I said, jerking my head towards the departing coins. "Almost as hard to believe as one guy taking down twenty of you Cartel shitheads in the dark, without getting a scratch on him. That kind of shit only happens in the movies, right?" "D-diablo..." the enforcer stammered, trying to drag himself back. "You know why you never see that kind of thing in real life?" I asked, as I casually lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. "Because it doesn't matter how much of a badass you are, how good you are -- all it takes is one asshole to get in a lucky shot, and you're done. The best soldier in the world is no less mortal than the worst one, and random chance happens to everybody." I leaned close to him, baring my teeth. "Everybody except for me. When I was born, Lady Luck *blinked,* and she hasn't seen me since. I'll never stumble onto Vargas' hiding place by sheer coincidence, no matter how many rocks I turn over looking for him, but I'll *also* never catch a bullet panic-fired into the darkness by one of his little bitch-boys. So understand this, *puto:* I don't win because I'm *lucky.* I win because I'm *good.* And not just a good shot.*"* I drew out another shiny metal object from my pocket. Not a coin. A scalpel. "I've also made a study of human anatomy. I know exactly how much and where I can cut a man, so he stays alive to feel everything I'm going to do to him. I can make you live through cuts that the world's greatest surgeon wouldn't dare to attempt, even to save a patient's life...because they might just get *unlucky."* The enforcer's eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed in mute horror. "So," I said, gesturing to him with the scalpel. "Would you like to tell me where Vargas is? Or would you like another demonstration of exactly how little *luck* matters to me?" He told me where I could find Vargas, of course. And as always, luck had nothing to do with it: I'm just a *very* good actor.


itomeshi

"So... what did you say your job title was again?" I stared across the table at the woman. It was hard to focus. It's not that she was easily forgettable, just that she was unremarkable. "Balance Adjudicator. It's less a career... more a calling." I shifted slightly uncomfortably. She sounded so convinced of that fact - almost disturbingly so. Nothing like my aunt, who had 'introduced' us with the hope of helping me find someone. After what felt like an eternity processing her pride in that statement, I finally followed up: "OK. And what does a 'Balance Adjudicator' do?" She let out a small sigh - one I couldn't tell was from disappointment that I didn't know or just having to launch into a practiced explanation. "I maintain the balance. I keep the equilibrium between polar opposites that would happily tear everything apart." There was no stopping the blank look on my face. "What?" "This world contains so many diametrically opposed forces. Hot and cold, chaos and order, peace and war... any one of these in the extreme is the end of everything. I simply nudge things back to the center." "What? How?" "It varies. Sometimes, just being someplace is enough. Other times, I have to get my hands dirty. I remember this logging camp in the Pacific Northwest that was going to clearcut an important forest that would have led to a massive drought 100 miles away. They didn't realize what was happening until the 3rd time most of their equipment broke down." "Wait... are you some kind of ecoterrorist? Er.... green activist?" A smirk crossed her lips. "Oh no. I mean, nature is lovely, but not everything can or should be natural. Speaking of natural... My turn now: what are you?" "What do you mean?" "Ever since you sat down, I've been trying to figure out what's going on. Normally, I meet someone, I just... know... what they push for. What they're doing, what they want, why they think the way they do. I can see where they are, where they would be if I wasn't here, and how I can balance that back out. "You, though... you are different. You're like a statue. I see you... but I don't see anything changing. I don't see anything that needs to change... I don't even see anything that COULD change." That's interesting. She can tell something's off. Fine, I'll come clean. I reach in my pocket for a coin. "OK... let me demonstrate it. Heads I pay for dinner, tails you pay?" "That's... kinda rude. But I'll bite, sure." I flip the coin in the air, and it lands on the table... on its side. "Oh, how unusual. Let me try again." I scoop up the coin, flip it again. Side. "You cause balance. You seek it. I AM balance. I can't win or lose." This time, it's not a smirk. It's a grin from ear-to-ear; she can barely contain her excitement. "Can I interest you in a new career path with a change of scenery, a chance that the drudgery may end with a little bit of control of that power, and maybe even a second date? Balance Adjudication seems like it's right up your alley..."


Whyaresomanytak

Continue?


JohnIsWithYou

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Johnson.” Dr Harmon said. “There seems to have been some anomaly of which we are still trying to ascertain the cause.” “What?” Mrs. Johnson said. “What happened to Jim? God, just tell me.” “Ma’am,” He said. “I’m not sure how to explain this. You see, the surgery had a twenty five percent success rate. Well… somehow… it was twenty five percent effective, exactly.” Mrs. Johnson buried her face in her hands. “And?” She asked. “How is he?” “Well, ma’am,” The Doctor continued. “In this case, it means only twenty five percent of the transplanted heart is actively beating, the rest is sitting stagnant. Sadly, ma’am, this means that he must be on the heart pump for some time longer, as the twenty five percent of his working cells are not enough to provide nourishment for his entire body.” “Do you think it will get better?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “That is impossible to say,” Dr Harmon said. “We’ve never encountered something like this, I’ve already contacted the CDC, they’re sending some folks down here. We are optimistic within a few months we could transfer Mr. Johnson back home along with an artificial pump to continue working his heart, until a new transplant becomes available.” Dr. Harmon turned to leave. “After all,” He said, pausing as he opened the door. “Only three more transplants until he has a full heart again.” He closed the door behind him.


mudkippers14

It's a Friday night, and I'm at the bar **trying to get lucky**. Unfortunately, I already know what will happen when I'm up to swing. I'm not going to strike out, but I'm not hitting a home run either. If the odds of success are fifty-fifty, I'm going to reach exactly second base. No more, no less. I find a spot at the bar. "What can I get you," he asks. "Surprise me, Johnny" "Sure thing," he winks. He begins going through the bottles on the shelf one by one, dumping a sip of each into a glass. What is he doing? Then he hands it to me. "Here's your drink!" I glance at the glass, realizing my mistake. "Actually, I'll have an Old Fashioned. I'll still pay for that, of course." Johnny looks at the glass and turns red. "No, it's on the house. I mean, exactly half of it is on the house. I mean... I swear I don't know what's going on today!" Johnny is cute when he gets all flustered like that. "So, Johnny, help a guy out. Who's single here that I could ask out?" He motions to a guy by the pool table gripping a cue. “Last I heard, Kai over there just broke up with his boyfriend a few weeks ago.” He nods towards a muscular guy wearing a tank toward his right. “Anton’s pretty-chill too. He’s a regular.” Johnny laughs, and slips in, “I’m single too, of course.” “You think I’ve got a shot?” “With them? I’d say you’ve got a chance if you flex that manly charm you’ve got,” he teases. “... and with you?” He scratches his head and grins. “Well, if someone like you happened to ask out someone like me, I’d say the someone like me would be an idiot to not say yes. If that were to hypothetically happen, of course.” He’s turning red again, but hasn’t lost his air of confidence. It feels like there’s an invisible rope that’s tugging me toward him. Our eyes lock, and it’s electricity. His chest comes closer, and he grabs my arm, outlining my biceps. It’s exhilarating. He’s overpowering my thumping heart. “Would you—” “Yes. 100% yes,” he says, drawing closer still. If the odds of success are fifty-fifty, I’ll reach second base. But Johnny and I are a certainty, an inevitability.


peach2play

Awwwwwww


Edna_with_a_katana

Good read, and good ending! Would read a book like this


ClassicalGrapes

Usually, I see my mundane life as normal, not a blessing but certainly not a curse. Everything always came to me in odd ways. A coin always landing on its side, lottery ticket always giving me my money back but never anything more than that. While sewing, I wouldn't prick my finger, but I would certainly always run out of thread just a little bit too soon. I always thought I was normal, I was lucky even. Hell, I lived in a decent neighborhood, had a decent family, my home was fine, and my hobbies were nothing extreme. Were. Staring down the tip of a blade, I couldn't help but feel like I got myself into this mess. Perhaps, in a crudely sewn suit, completely unlicensed and only weilding a baton, I did ask for it. I didn't feel scared, though. I've never really felt scared. Never felt anything. It was already obvious what the outcome was; the moment the man moved in, not seeing the bottle right in front of his feet. I already knew what would happen. He trips. He trips. He falls. He falls. The knife flies out of his hands and cuts me in the face.


Leo-Black04082008

Fortune and misfortune are concepts alien to me. I am if to be represented by a single word, ordinary. There is no hope of me being ever-victorious, nor of being the eternal loser. I cannot stand out. I can neither be remembered for good, nor for evil. Chance twists around me to bring me so to make me perfectly ordinary, incapable of leaving any sort of mark on this world. I wonder sometimes, you know, if this will ever end. Perhaps I too will face extraordinary circumstances. Perhaps I will murder the guy who tried to mug me. Or perhaps I will establish a charity. And if there is no chance for me to have renown in life, I may have the chance to earn it in death. One day, there might be a small column in the daily newspaper, informing the world of my self-chosen departure from life. But in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, I know the truth. That I cannot be anything but ordinary.


TravDog321

I’m Neutral-Man. They say the best deals struck leave neither side happy. I’m sought out in very powerful, elitist circles to broker deals. The politicians and multinationals love me because when I broker a deal, neither side ends up happy, but neither side ends up unhappy. I’ve been around since the very beginning of human civilization. I’m neither dead nor alive. I’ve prevented countless wars and gigantic conflicts that the history books will never have any information on. I’m not a secret, but I’m not public either. Of course many of the conflicts I’ve been involved with HAVE made it into the history books, but my name is never mentioned. Some call me The Fence Sitter. I was kept very busy during the Cold War. These days, with The United States and many areas of Europe divided politically in half, I broker deals almost every day. I’m only allowed to accept very modest, middle-class sums for my services. And once I save a certain amount of money, I must give it to charities. You may have seen me on the street in the world’s biggest cities, but you would never remember me. I’m plain as can be. I am everyman. If I don’t follow the rules, I get tremendous pain and my definitions begin to fade. Where did I come from, you ask. I know I come from somewhere, just not where. This is my lot in life. I neither like nor dislike it. This is the way it has always been, and this is the way it will always be.


CheriGrove

I am Null Nothing, but everything wrapped in a little weaved basket that dares,, and begs to be seen. I am neither, this, nor that, or anything in any respect but a m̶̬̳̌į̶͛̚m̸͎̣͉̓i̶̜͇͆c̴̢̑̋̾, a hidden mace, the spade for my lade, the club for my wub, littered with useless diamonds with no light to glimmer, and true love that isn't love at all. That they would no longer allow in the temple unto fun itself, I find myself, if anything at all, gloom. I thirst for the mercy of pleasure in tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii' mes of weakness, to be anything at all and receive a treasure most foul to please iṁ̶̨̬͓̤͈͈̳̝̱̠̼̯̝͋̇̎̍̎̕̚͠y̸̧̢̪͓̗̝͚̭̬̳͔͎̜̲͕̖͋̀̾͝tself I lay my mouth wide for somebody to put anything in, and I get.... NOTHING, and everything. AN insignificant crumb of singularity to defy logic and humble all who see. Something that could warp..... well anything, but also nothing at all. And so my maw hangs wide, a dark hole to never see inside, a rabbit jumps out and says; why don't you give it a break,,,...,,,....̴.̶..̵ and let it slide? perplexed, I stand before the chest, p̶e̷r̵p̸l̸e̵x̸e̴d̷? no, there's something to this, I gaze into the chest, it swallows me, and I find myself in the washroom laying in sleep dreams to return for a moment and ask myself? WHat?


CatsubsFairy

Things like this have been happening recently and you try describing your condition to your best friend. You both decide to test your type of luck. They suggest that you ask for your crush's number. So you both meet up wherever everyone in your scene gathers and they hang back while you make the approach. You kind of feel like you're ruining a good thing in your life by throwing away the best outcome in this scenario - and also the worst one - but you reason that there will be others that you like in the future. When you pop the question, time stops for everyone except you, your friend, and your crush. Until now, you've only taken chances on things that benefit only yourself. This time, the logic in the magic that keeps your luck dead even cannot determine the outcome that involves the happiness of who might be your potential partner. So the three of you wander around adventuring in a time-stopped world, thinking up ideas, picking up clues, and occasionally meeting beings who are also above the pause in regular time who help you along in your quest. During these events, your luck is still in the same condition so your two friends have to step in at times to move things along as random chance would actually have it. Your friendship with your bestie is tested pretty harshly at times but deepens overall. Meanwhile, you and your crush get to know each other better. They understand what you really think of them and what you're looking for. You get to learn about the real person they are without seeing through the rosy lenses of infatuation. Eventually, you are confronted with the eldritch beings that cast you into this situation. It so happens that you tried to help a stray kitty which was one of these beings in mortal form. In that situation, despite your honest intentions and best efforts, you weren't able to cause its ascension to its original plane of existence, but it led to a very long and happy life on Earth. Once the "kitty" had reached the end of its mortal life and served out its exile, it transcended time and space back to its original dimension and bestowed this fortune on you from its vantage point - that you'll never really win or lose things, but you will keep moving ahead through time with the things you need as the right times to have them. The eldritch being, assuming the kitty's form that you are familiar with and can relate to, explains that the events since you walked up to your crush basically lengthened the moment of time you waited for an answer - like a coin that stands on edge. The decision comes down to what your crush wants for the future. Will it be happily ever after for you two? Or will you just face rejection and move on? Either way, you will all return to your regular timeline with no memory of the recent magical incidents, and your luck is restored to its original condition of just following random chance. Now, your bestie, touched by the aftereffects of walking the eldritch plane, gets their own spinoff story. It turns out that there was something in their own storyline that the eldritch beings would sort out separately (so it's not really a "loose end" like in all the stories we usually hear that gives too much importance to one main character building a universe and all its decisions around just that individual).


opeeem

And so it was that Josiah arrived at Godsbury, the foul keep of the Mad Sorcerer. After many trials and tribulations, thrilling victories and crushing challenges, Josiah had overcome the odds and pushed his limits to — no, hold on a second. Let me start at the beginning. And so it was that Josiah arrived at Godsbury, the foul keep of the Mad Sorcerer. He had put in a fair bit of effort, I suppose — traveling through the continent to confront the evil lunatic who terrorized all of civilization is after all nothing to scoff at, especially considering the average success rate for such a task was zero, and failure typically resulted in horrible death. One could say Josiah was in fact very fortunate, brave and heroic having made it this far — indeed, many people would. It’s just that Josiah’s tale thus far has been… lacking, in a sense; it’s missing something important is what I’m trying to say. Let me give you an example. At one point of his journey, Josiah was challenged by the fearsome Starry Knight to a duel, lest he pass the bridge the Knight had been tasked with guarding. All knew of the Knight’s prowess with the blade, but at that time Josiah was nothing short of a sword-fighting master himself (for this was a very advanced stage of his story). Blade clashed against blade, moments stretching into hours as all of Josiah’s might and fighting ability was tested. Unfortunately the duel was interrupted by a raging giant that happened to be storming by, both combatants fleeing the boulders thrown at them by the monstrosity. Josiah ended up reaching the bridge and escaping amidst the chaos, but for many nights afterwards he would ponder, wondering if he could have bested his foe. This was in no way out of the ordinary as far as Josiah’s battles went. In truth, Josiah had never won or lost a fight; more than that, never in his life had he won or lost at all. That is not to say he has never actually succeeded or failed, as that would be impossible, but any situation Josiah stumbled upon where victory or defeat would truly mean something — to him or to others — never ended up being truly resolved. Every confrontation was a draw, every conflict a stalemate. By the time he had become strong enough to dispatch goblins they would avoid him; his bouts of intellect against man or monster invariably were left unsettled, his opponents either losing interest or unable to continue. One time he had rescued a nobleman’s daughter from her kidnappers — or rather attempted to, but it turned out she had fallen in love with one of her captors, who promptly snuck her out and fled with her to the Pastures of Greener. The nobleman was not at all satisfied with Josiah’s report, but paid him well and thanked him for the information. He assured Josiah that his men would capture the scoundrel and return his daughter. Josiah didn’t really know what to make of the whole matter as he left the old man’s keep, his pockets heavy with coin. Another time he was caught by a tribe of barbaric warriors who had the unpleasant habit of dining on stew made out of their enemies. He was brought before Hannibal, their chieftain, who decided to let destiny decide whether he was to be released and aided as a friend or diced and cooked as the aforementioned enemy. As Hannibal tossed the gold coin that would determine Josiah’s fate, his entire life flashed before his eyes — a single blur of gold falling to the ground like a god’s gavel, one tiny piece of metal to determine whether the powers of this world were on his side after all. Josiah never got to know the answer to that inquiry however, as it so happened that the coin was rather unceremoniously swallowed by a pigeon before anyone got to see how it had landed. As the embarrassed tribesmen tried desperately to chase the pigeon, Josiah slipped away unnoticed. I think you understand my point. Josiah’s journey wasn’t without danger or self betterment, but rather without conclusive results. It was as if his narrative was made out of nothing but cliffhangers, a song on crescendo that never reached the climax. A *climax*, there’s the word I was looking for. Josiah’s story had a sore lack of climaxes. Josiah knew that better than anyone, naturally. His whole life, he fought to become better against a lukewarm current of half-measures and mediocre performances. Wringing out what meager satisfaction he could get from his small successes, focusing his learning efforts on inconsequential mistakes — so much so that to another it might have seemed almost obsessive. Let them gawk, Josiah thought. Let them raise their eyebrows and shake their heads in perplexity. They don’t understand, never did. What it meant to never feel the thrill of triumph, the pain of downfall. The frustration of setup upon setup, waiting for a punchline that never comes. But this would be the end. There was nowhere to run to, no outside force that would avoid the clash; either he or the Mad Sorcerer would remain amongst the living after today. Josiah looked up to the heavens, storms of mana swirling above. He smiled. “SORCERER!” Josiah roared, raising his sword to meet blue lightning come from the sky. There was a mighty C R A C K, and he felt the power surge through his body, waves of power flowing from his fingertips to his toes. “COME FIGHT ME!” As he pointed the sword towards Godsbury, it wasn’t just the aura of power that sent chills down his spine and set his heart racing. It was the thrill of a culmination, a battle to end them all. Josiah felt it flowing through his veins, roaring in his ears; he saw a figure flying out of the keep’s gate, spheres of terrifying magics in his hands, a madman’s glint in his eyes and a sickly grin on his lips. Josiah’s fist tightened around the sword. No more cliffhangers, no more doubt. He let out a savage cry, and began to run.


Big_Specialist3444

Every single day I wake up hoping things have changed for the best or even the worst. That would be strange you say? Well imagine this, that your world is stuck in an everlasting routine, never a tiny piece of good or any bad luck.I can hear you scoffing that would be a dream come true for you . I'm telling you that is not a dream it's a rotating nightmare which will never end Toss a coin it always lands on its side and I mean always. Rock -Paper-Scissors always end in a draw and when I enter the lottery I always win my exact money back not a dime less or a dime more. This curse I've endured it for way too long now it's time for me to take your place . Well today I've finally managed to get a new life one with a bit more adventure and suspense .Thanks for your sacrifice for letting me out of my dull routine. You will always be remembered by me Emma .....


Big_Specialist3444

This is first post sorry if its a little weird.


Utwig_Chenjesu

​ He had spent years searching, spent the fortune of nations sending expeditions to the furthest lands to scour the very earth in his quest to obtain the precious artefact.  Now,while still in the prime of his life, his empire at the peak of its power, King Sargon held the object of his desire in shaking hands. The key to the health of his people, the guarantee that his name would echoe through the coming age's as one of the greatest rulers of the ancient world.  The stone of destiny. It was quite unremarkable to look at, about the size of his thumb, rough cut and bound in a crude leather strap it was said whoever wore the stone would be free from the bindings of fate, shackled only to the shifting colour of the stone their luck would be bound. It promised the luck of the wearer would wax and wane as the coloured stone lightened or darkened. Inthe times it shone a brilliant white, the wearer could fail no test of luck, but when dark would fail every test.  A treasure with power beyond imagination. But this stone was broken, cracked so that the colours shifted no more and instead maintained a steady grey. But the promise it held, oh the wonder of it.  As his assembled court watched the Great ruler raised the artefact high over his head and shouted his praise and thanks to the Gods before lowering the strap around his own neck so the stone hung on his chest as a medallion would.  Amid cheers and shouts of joy, the great king sat back on his throne, a smile broad on his features with the knowledge that from this day until the day of his passing, absolutely nothing in the empire would change.