Writing Prompt:  
A genie gets increasingly annoyed and frustrated when his new master won’t wish for anything and instead just wants to talk.

Son of a bitch…

Mort heard the door of Lucy’s bedroom slam shut followed by the cacophonous skitter of a cell phone across a wooden veneer desktop.

God damn…here we go…just fucking make a…

He didn’t get to complete the thought before he was forcefully pulled from the metal prison that was his genie’s lamp. As he was dissembled molecule by molecule, and then reassembled in the exact reverse order, he inhaled deeply, and initiated the script that he was mandated to recite every time he was summoned from the lamp. Maybe this time he would actually be able to finish it before she interrupted him.

"…Behold, mortal. On this, the twenty-seventh day of the fourth month of the two-thousand and fourteenth year of the common era, I, Mort the genie have —" "Yeah, yeah, do you really have to say that garbage every time?" The left corner of Mort’s mouth crawled as far to the side as it could.

"Yes, Lucy. These are the rules. Don’t you want to know the rules to having a—"

"Yeah, but aren’t rules for people?”

"Do you not consider me a person?"

"You know what I mean!"

"No, rules are for those who are not in charge."

"Whatever. Anyway, guess what happened today!"

"Gosh. I don’t know. What." Mort patronized her. Thoughts were not sacred to genies. It had been this way since young Adolf found a lamp and wished for an increased affinity for persuasion. It became necessary for genies to be endowed with the ability to see inside their Holders’ heads, lest they inadvertently grant someone the power to exceed the power of Magic.

"Jeanine kissed Shirley!! ON. THE. LIPS." Lucy squealed.

"And?"

"THEY’RE BOTH GIRLS!" Lucy shouted, obviously taken aback by Mort’s lack of interest.

"…and?"

"That’s not how it’s supposed to work."

"Says who?"

"Says…well, everyone!" Lucy scoffed. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, taking a brief moment to survey Mort’s body from head to toe and then back again.

"Since when does a majority constitute a jurisdiction over two individuals’ feelings for each other?"

"You don’t think that’s weird?” Lucy’s brow furrowed. Her mouth hung agape as if she were having trouble swallowing the words that Mort was saying.

"It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what they think. I am not them."

"But it’s not natural!"

"Neither are clothes."

Lucy glanced at her closet. The door was squeezed shut, but there were a few coats hanging from the doorknob by means of several, very cleverly interlaced, hangers. She had so many clothes that they were bleeding out into her living space.

"I wish I could make you see how weird it is, though…"

Mort had to stop himself from exclaiming in joy. Your wish is my command, you obnoxious bitch, Mort thought. While she was still looking away, he snapped his fingers, his eyes glowed momentarily (as if it mattered, anyway), and Lucy’s wish was granted.

"Lucy, I see where you’re coming from. Really, I do. You don’t understand it because it’s not something you’re used to seeing. You don’t understand it because your parents never told you that it was a possibility. It feels wrong to you because you feel that way about a boy and could never feel that way about a girl. It feels uncomfortable to you because you don’t like the thought of another girl being attracted to you."

"Well… yeah… And it’s just… weird…”

"Do you like Teddy Bears?"

"I don’t understand…"

"I don’t need you to. Just answer me."

"Well, yeah, but like… What’s that got to do with—"

"I hate them. They’re a waste of space, money, and resources, and their uses are almost none."

"But they’re so cuddly and cute and they make me happy when I’m sad! How can you not love them?!” Lucy whined in protest.

"No genies like Teddy Bears."

"Well then all genies are dummies!"

"Is that so?"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"Are you serious right now?"

"Teddy Bears are the best!"

"Son of a… Okay, look, kid. In this instance, you’re Jeanine, and your bear is Shirley; I am people like you."

"I’m not going to kiss my Teddy Bear…"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

"Don’t yell at me!"

Mort closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he wanted to was to be free of this ignorant little child. He couldn’t stand day after day of this pointless chatter. His job was to grant wishes, and grant more wishes. It wasn’t in his contract to have to listen to spoiled little brats complain about things that didn’t affect them in any way.

"Lucy… What I was saying is that two girls kissing each other may not make sense to you, but it’s not you to whom it needs make sense."

"Well why not? It grosses me out! Doesn’t that count as affecting me?"

"Teddy Bears gross me out."

"I wish I understood why you were making that stupid point…"

Checkmate, you little shit! Mort snapped, and Lucy’s eyes glowed.

"Ohh… Oh my. Mort, I understand. Thank you."

Mort’s smirk deteriorated into a look of confusion. Thank you? Most people just ask for more wishes. I’ve never been thanked before…

"Mort, you’re right. It’s not my place to judge. They are human beings with their own set of emotions — likes, dislikes, desires, disgusts — just like me. Goodness, without you, I would have never realized my fault! Mort, you’re the best. I love you."

Lucy hugged Mort around his midsection. Mort blinked a few times, unsure of how to handle this sort of companionship. He rested his hand on top of Lucy’s head.

Genies normally bear witness to their Holders succumbing to their most primal desires. When given three wishes, most people seek only to benefit themselves in a tangible manner, or a manner that will lead to them benefitting in a tangible asset. Little Lucy accidentally bettered herself in a way that just bettered her as a person. Mort wondered if that’s why Genies were created to begin with, only to have their powers perverted and abused by the greed of mankind. Mort serviced many Holders in his several millennia on Earth, but not until Lucy had he found that he cared for one. He almost wished that she had three wishes again.

"I love you too, Lucy."

Lucy smiled and looked up at Mort, and then to his lamp on the desk next to them.

"Mort, I wish I had met you sooner."

Writing Prompt:
A traveling crew of space explorers discover the largest organism ever.

"Where is it?"

"I… I don’t know, sir. Sensors say that it’s right in front of us, but I don’t see anything, either."

"Are you sure that thing even works? What does it even do?"

"Well, I admit that everything is still technically based in theory, but I tested it in small-scale, and it worked perfectly every time! Point the handheld device at any inanimate object on this vessel, and it’ll yield null results; point it at either of us, and it tells you that it’s sensing life."

"So is the big one sensing us? Do you even have it calibrated correctly?"

"Well, yes, and yes, respectively: I can’t just have it filter out specific life forms, selectively. But I do have our biosignatures on record, so when I look through the output data, I just ignore the information that shows our signatures."

"So why can’t we see what the ship’s sensor is detecting?"

"I… I don’t know… But the weird thing about it is that it doesn’t only say that the organism is in front of us, but also behind us… and below us, and above us, and to our left and to our right…."

"The damn thing is broken. Fix it."

"It’s not broken!"

"So tell me why we’re looking at a giant nothing, huh?! How are we supposed to report back with, ‘hey guys, we went into space with the billions of dollars you spent on this expedition, looked for life, and found a big black nothing, but Anderson’s sensor was supposedly working’!"

"Just give me a second to think, damn it!"

"You had YEARS. We’ve been out here for YEARS. The last life we saw is tucked away in that crumpled piece of tissue paper you tossed in the trash compactor."

"Just give me a— wait… Hey, look at this for a second."

"I’m not looking at your fucking nerd equipment."

"Just humor me, then, will you?"

"What."

"Okay, when I look at the data small-scale, I get a lot more information than just ‘this thing is alive.’ I get pulse readings, heat levels, electrochemical activity, data that cells are dying and dividing every second… It’s a bunch of smaller things that the sensor detects, which I then interpret as life."

"God, SNOOZE, Anderson!"

"WELL. If you look at the large scale data…"

"…Are you saying—"

"Yeah, I’m saying…"

Jones stood up from the sensor control panel and walked to the cockpit where he had a full view of the void. Standing motionless with his hands behind his back, thumbs crossed, and palms overlapping, he breathed to the rhythm of his pulse.

"Do you think our blood is sentient?"

"I know that we are."

Writing Prompt:
A human commits suicide to find answers to life; he/she faces God in Heaven.

"Hello, Adam."

"Wh-what is this? My name isn't Adam! Where am I? Why did you save my life?!"

"Every male is Adam to me, son. And I didn't."

"Adam...? You mean like--"

"Yes, I mean like it's too much work to learn all of your names, so I'll call you Adam."

"But aren't you--"

"I am merely what you need me to be."

"But I'm an atheist..."

"Just because you don't believe in something, doesn't make it not real. Funny twist, huh? But then that's why you have words like 'irony,' I suppose."

"So are you going to send me to hell now?"

"God, no! Heh heh. There's no hell."

"How can there be a heaven without a hell?"

"How can there be a parking lot when there is no mall?"

"What? I don't understand..."

"That's because you're trying to. The notion that everything comes in opposites, or even couples, really, is an arbitrary concept that I didn't invent. You did."

"So where am I?"

"You aren't."

"What the fuck does that mean?!"

"You're dead, right? What happens to the consciousnesses of dead people?"

"Nothing, supposedly!"

"There you have it. Welcome to nothing."

"But this is something!"

"So are you saying you were wrong before?"

"I... I guess so..."

"I'm glad you understand that now."

"So... I'm nowhere. What happens here?"

"Oh, everything."

"I thought there would be clouds and golden halos and stuff..."

"Heh heh. That's cute."

"Well what happens now?"

"Now it's your turn."

"My turn to what?"

"Here."

"A video game controller?"

"Is that what you got? Huh. When it was my turn, I got chalk and a blackboard."

"Wait, so what do I do with this?"

"That's a good question. What do you normally do with those?"

"Well, I guess hit start, but I mean--"

"Go on."

"What happens then?"

"I dunno. I'm not God."

"But didn't you say you were?"

"Like I said, it's your turn, now."

Writing Prompt:
A history teacher tries to explain the civil war and the concept of racism to a student who has been blind since birth.

"I don't understand."

"What don't you get?"

"What's 'white'?"

"It's... Hmm... Listen to my voice."

"Okay."

"How does it sound? Describe it to me."

"Well... Masculine. I know you're a man. Deep. Raspy. As if you were a heavy smoker once ago."

"Very right on all accounts. Now imagine, if you will, that my voice is the standard for male voices. Mostly all other men sound just like me."

"Okay."

"Now imagine there is another type of male voice -- it is less raspy, higher pitched, and more boyish."

"Okay."

"I want you to imagine all the men who have voices like mine hating all other men who have voices that are different than ours. That is racism."

"But why would they do that?"

"That is a good question indeed."

"Sir, if I may?"

"Please."

"Why did people like that do what they did to people who weren't like them?"

"That's just the nature of prejudice and hate, pal."

"Are there people who hate me?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Do you hate me?"

"Son, if I hated you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Oh. Gotcha... What am I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I 'white'?"

"Yes, you are."

"What are you?"

"I am black."

"And people like us don't like each other? Just because of an arbitrary difference between their skin?"

"Unfortunately so. Doesn't it make you wish that all men were blind?"

"It sounds to me like too many of them are."

Writing Prompt:
A man is born without the need to sleep. What does he do with his spare time while the rest of the world is asleep?

Curious.

That is the nature of humanity. People are curious, and I am curious about them. How can they lay motionless for so many consecutive hours? There is so much to do in this life, but everyone chooses to pretend as if they're dead for eight hours a night, or day, or whenever, honestly. The time is irrelevant; sleep is inefficient. It is lazy.

But what about dreams? they ask me.

Dreams are where you can live out a life you wouldn't otherwise be able to live. Dreams are fascinating, terrifying, and inspiring. Dreams are where the confines of reality can no longer constrain our imaginations! -- they are where space and time are nonsensical, and you can have a banana for an uncle, but it would still make sense, because it's a dream!

I admit, this dreaming thing is the most curious of all things to me. Reality is all that I know. I have walked from shore to shore, and swam from beach to beach. In the night time, I have raced the yellows in my Maserati, which I was able to purchase after my insight into stock and option trading -- something I mastered over the course of a few nights. I have written sonnets to the sunset, and odes to the sunrise. I have been told that I am a true virtuoso at many musical crafts, but it is only because I do not waste time "sleeping."

But dream... That is something I've not done. To a man who has done everything, there is little mystery that I experience anymore. If sleep is the cousin of death, then is suicide the permanent form of a sleeping pill? I do wish to dream.

I do wish to dream...

Writing Prompt:
You live on a world full of immortal beings. For the first time in the history of the world’s existence, someone has died.

The smell was sickening. It was a putrid, lingering stench that permeated every floor of the apartment complex. Neighbors filed out of the building in mass hordes, clutching their noses while tears welled up in their eyes. The hazmat crew arrived with respirators and a wood ax — six of them in all. Each took a floor and went through, knocking on doors and evacuating any sleeping residents, trying to locate the cause of the rotten odor.

Guy was the first one to come across a locked door that yielded no response when he knocked.

"Hello? Is anyone in there? We seem to have a gas leak in the building, and we’re evacuating all tenants until we’ve found and corrected the issue."

Even through his respirator, Guy felt like he was choking down hunks of century-old, spoiled pork. After a dozen failed attempts at making contact with the resident in apartment number 665, Guy raised his ax and hacked down into the doorframe where the knob met the wall. After he skillfully cropped out the shape of the lockset, he drove a strong foot through the wood, allowing him to enter the room with only a graceful stumble. The odor was unbearable, now. He checked his respirator mask to see if the seal was broken; it wasn’t.

"Hello! Anybody here?!" Guy shouted. He put his hand to his face reflexively, realizing that he could not stifle the smell any better with his hand than his mask could by itself.

He rushed toward the single bedroom of the complex to find signs of the tenant that lived in the apartment. He opened the door, and his vision blurred because his sense of smelled was instantly overwhelmed; he tore off his mask to vomit on the floor, replacing it as soon as he stopped retching.

Guy looked at the bed, which was soaked in excrement, followed a blueish leg up towards an inert torso, and then settled on an empty face whose mouth was agape.

"Miss? I’m going to need you to… uhhhnnngg… w-wake u-up right n-n-now… Your apartment is no l-longer habitable…"

Guy inched towards the still body. He kept beckoning to her; no response.

"Miss?" Guy grabbed her by the shoulder. His fingers sank into her flesh and liquid ran down her shirt. Guy gasped; he retracted immediately. Her head bobbed to the side and rolled neatly off her pillow onto the carpet by Guy’s feet. Guy fell to the floor in panic, and immediately forced himself up and out of the apartment. He tore off his mask as soon as he exited the petri dish of an apartment, shouting incoherencies as he ran down the hall, looking for any living person to help him understand what he just saw. Just as Guy began fumbling down the stairs, the apartment door directly adjacent to apartment number 665 opened up. A man in a white suit stepped out, adjusted a furious red tie, smirked, and followed Guy down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the building.