Been a long time and I realized I miss this place. If anyone is still around say hello. I would like to see about getting this going again.

I played a joke, I thought they'd laugh. Hell, I thought they'd cry. I played a joke, to convince them anything can die...

My name is Thomas, though I've had many names over my many years on this plane. I'm from Earth, but I've been from many places in the past. You see, I'm not human, not exactly. I was born, grew up, and will someday die, but my consciousness does not end at that final point like yours does. It lives on, tethered to a realm I couldn't begin to describe in your tongue.

You see, before your universe existed there was another realm of existence, one of energy and creation, where all who existed were as gods by your standard. The true form of life itself, unencumbered by flesh and unbound from mortality. In your realm I am a humble man, I live my lives in harmony, I strive to be kind and compassionate to your peoples, and tend to keep to myself. But in the realm-now-gone I was jovial, a cosmic jester if you will, much unlike my kin. The beings that existed before you thought themselves a pantheon, gods above creation itself. They may have been right.

They began to take on the belief that we were of an eternal order, purity itself, and thus anything in creations vast horizon was subject to their immortal whim. I became disgusted with my people, they had lost their way. And so, in an attempt to help show them what they had become in the only way I knew how, I played a joke on them:

I bound them to a mortal shell, in an attempt to show them that even we, lifeforms of the highest order, were still just small, frail pieces of the infinity that is creation. I thought it would be funny, make them live an entire lifetime as a corporeal being, struggling to make their meaty frames work after an eternity of playing god. As you've probably assumed, things did not go as I had planned.

I never consorted with my brethren, having little in common with them, and thus had never tried my hand at creation. Sure, small things, a pocket dimension, a galaxy or two, but nothing "god-like". If I had I might have been better practiced at my attempted "joke". You see, I wanted to put some perspective back into their lives, show them how far they had strayed, but it didn't go as I planned. I wanted to teach them a lesson, instead I damned us all.

I'm sorry, I'm ranting, I know. Let me start again. My name is Thomas, we've never met, but you've heard of me before I'm sure. I've waited a billion lifetimes for someone like you to come along, someone with the exact genetic sequences, the exact field of energy, someone touched by destiny if you'll forgive the expression, who can help me to release my kind. Your mystics twisted my story so much to fit their motives, though, that you know almost nothing about me. The name you know me by is Yahweh, and I accidentally created the universe.

Is there any life, beep boop?

"How long do you recon we've been sitting here?" Asks a nasaly voice. "Long enough to know you're a twit." Replies a gruff voice.

"Just because we're stuck in this floating bubble here for the rest of this universes lifetime doesn't mean we can't be civil."

"We wouldn't even be in here if you hadn't gotten distracted by the 'pretty statue', had just walked out the door and blinked back to the hideout." The gruff voice replies with a snarl.

"How was I supposed to know the statue could move?" The first voice whined.

"We stole a Devine artifact. Why would you not assume everything in the room is out to get you? Gods are not in the business of being careless!"

"Well we're stuck here in deep space now, I'm sorry okay? Let's get along." The first voice replied. His tone implying he was used to apologizing.

"Besides," he started again but was cut off,

"Shut up, is that something coming toward us?"

"That's impossible. We're in the middle of nowhere, boss."

"Hush! It is. Bless my stars it's bloody massive..."

Drip... Drop...

"It's raining again," he thought to himself.

The rain itself would scarcely reach him, the canopy of tree branches and leaves blocked most of it, save for a few drops sprinkling around him.

He sat in front of an enormous tree in a wide grove which was housed in a forest frilled with trees taller than 50 men. The rain was a welcome friend, the tree liked to speak when it rained.

The man by himself had very little power, posing no real threat to anyone who would seek to do him harm, which was, at face value, very unfortunate during times like these. This man had something else, though. Something much more valuable ; he could speak to trees.

Most trees are silent, even among those that could speak even less could affect any change in their environment once a connection was made. With this tree, though, the oldest and largest in the forest, he could do more than simply speak and move branches. With this tree he could move mountains. With this tree he could redraw maps.

Drip Drip Drip... And at that, the tree spoke.

Buzz...

The small light dangling above his head flickered on reluctantly.

As his senses returned he scanned the small room he was trapped in:

The walls were concrete, stained with things he preferred not to think of. There were no windows and a single old wooden door was behind him, he could hear it creak every time someone entered. In front of him stood a portly man; balding with a thick mustache.

"Time to wake up my friend." The man said in a devilish tone.

"Do I at least get a cup of coffee before you go back to beating my face in?" He asked squinting in the now lit room.

'The Mustache' as he had come to calling him in his head, let out a hearty laugh as he adjusted the rings on his right hand.

"I'm sorry, my friend, I drank the last cup." The Mustache answered before delivering a blow to the side of his head.

His mind went fuzzy from the punch, but he was pulled back into reality by an ear shattering scream from behind him, from behind the door. It was the kind of scream a man makes when he's dying. Horribly.

He hadn't heard a noise like that since the war. He felt uneasy, not frightened, the marines had burned that emotion out of him with the hot-iron of the battlefield, but had he been in his younger years terror would surely have gripped him.

There was silence for what felt like an eternity until it was broken by a sound he did not want to hear:

Knock

Knock

Knock

The Mustache smiled.

"Now, mister Booth, I'll say it again,"

Booth noticed his hands were no longer tied.

When did that happen?

He looked down at his rope burned wrists only to find no wounds. He looked back up to find The Mustache gone as well.

From seemingly thin air his voice rang out;

"it's time to wake up."

"Ye know how yer heart works, lass?" His voice is coarse like a miners.

"Of course," replied an attractive female interviewer.

"Ye know what makes 'er beat?" He was broad shouldered and sported a thick beard, he face showed years of working in the heat of fire.

"My brain sends electrical signal to my hearts muscles to beat in the right rhythm to circulate blood through my body, we all learn this in development school." She replies with an air of forced-pleasantly and a smile.

He leaned in and looked the interviewer in the eyes;

"Then let me ask ya, love, do ye know what makes a planets heart beat?"

The smile is replaced with a look of confusion, "I'm sorry?"

"It's alright, I'll answer for ye." He leaned back, "That's why I've asked ye and all yer cameras here today, to tell everyone." His voice grew deep, with a hint of grief.

"It's me."

The words hung in the air

"I'm a planet driver, lass, and I'm the one who killed the earth."

The slaver's market on New Helios was an open sewer, snake pit and rat's nest al rolled into one. He hated coming here. Not that anything here frightened him, short of encountering a fully armored Zentos warrior, he could handle himself against anyone here. He was a warrior, pure and honed to perfection, genetically modified, artificially enhanced. It sullied him to walk amongst the greedy merchants and flesh peddlers. They were beneath him. He would need to bathe when he returned to his quarters. Still, he needed a servant, and this is where he could find one fresh enough mold into the kind he required. He saw examples of nearly every known race in this sector. There had been a large battle recently, dozens of planets had changed hands, he could see the spoils of war everywhere around. Defeat displayed in the flesh of the vanquished.

Then he saw her. It stopped him in his tracks. He turned and stared into the cage. Small, weak, beaten, but real nonetheless. He could not believe his eyes.

"Girl!," he called to her. Instead of looking up she buried her head more deeply into her arms. "Look at me girl." He ordered. She finally looked up. She had brown eyes, sad and deep, but there was no mistaking what she was.

"What are your modifications?"

She stared blankly at him for a moment then shook her head. Human. She was an original human. He did not know the Zantos had penetrated so far into that region. He had never actually seen one. She was so frail looking, he could crush her with one hand. Her frame was delicate, her face not perfectly proportioned but, something called to him, some ancestral memory stirred within him.

He turned away and called out in a language she did not understand. Soon the slaver, a reptilian of a race she had never seen before she was sold to him, came over and began to speak. After a few moments of what, was clearly haggling the lizard nodded it's head and held out a tablet.

The man waved his hand over it, the lizard glanced at it and nodded again. Then he took out the hated wand from his pocket. That wand, connected to the collar she wore, could make her do anything. Anything they wanted. They could control her body with it completely. No matter how hard she fought, her body would betray her. The wand could make her stand, walk, sit, even sleep. It was the worst form of control.

Another moment and the man nodded. He turned to the small helpless creature and waved his hand as if to tell her to rise. She could only stare, too frightened to move. Again, her body betrayed her and she slowly stood. Her eyes grew wide with fear. He wasn't inviting her to stand, he was controlling her, not caring whether she chose to accept or not. Somehow the power of that despised wand had been transferred into the man himself. She could no more resist than she could stop her heart from beating. He waved again and the cage opened and she stepped out.

"You will walk." He said in an even tone waving once more. It was not a request, it was not even an order. It was a simple statement of fact. She had no choice but to turn and walk down the street. His home was not huge, but large enough to indicate a status beyond a simple warrior. Perhaps, an officer, no doubt, and fairly high ranking. Simple, clean and orderly. A work station, a collection of war trophies, a holo projector.

He turned his head towards a hallway and her legs carried her in that direction of their own accord. Halfway down she stopped and a door opened before her. She stepped through into the washroom. This was larger than most, dominated by a huge shower. He liked to be clean. She stood before him, unable to speak, or move in any way. He stared at her with an interest she found unsettling, not the leers of the slaver's or their crude customers, but a deep searching state.

He nodded again and she found her hands moving towards her shoulders. They took hold of the straps holding up her filthy garment and pulled them down. In a moment she was standing naked in front of him. Something different flashed across his face but soon receded back to that searching stare.

He waved his hand and the shower burst to life, water flowing from several directions at once. Her legs turned and walked her into the streams of hot water.

"Wash." He said. This was a command and suddenly she was free. She could move her arms of her own accord. She quickly pulled the, up to cover her nakedness.

Then her freedom was gone. Her hands fell to her side. She stood exposed, vulnerable, she felt truly naked for the first time in her life. He stared at her for a moment, holding her like that.

"Wash." He repeated. And she was free again. Free to do as she was commanded.

I stepped up to the large ornate a wooden door. I did not know what lay on the other side, and yet here I was about to open it up....

Moments. It's all about the moments. Most people live most of their lives in a dull, half sleep. They are waiting for something they themselves can not name. They take their guilty pleasures where they can and too often these do not even look like pleasures. A heartbreak makes you feel alive, takes away the patina with which their life has been coated. A sudden win of any kind does the same. These things though are few and far between. Mostly, it is sleep.

Moments, with their edges sharply defined, that was the stuff of life. They polish the existence, they give light to dull twilight that is our slow march to death. He could taste such moments, like a rare wine, a succulent steak, a biting sauce that awakens the tastebuds. Each was unique, for each only ever came once, but they all shared a flavor palette. By definition you could never repeat a given moment, you could only savor it and then move on to the next bite.

Moments like this are what he lived for. He designed his life around finding them. He measured time as a helix of moments and the paths between them. His lips formed the faintest hint of a smile as he thought of his next moment.

It was coming soon. He had planned, and executed those plans, for months now. Everything was in place, everything prepared. This pathway on his imaginary helix was nearly complete. With the slightest of pushes, he took great pride in how light his touch could be, he had set things in motion. Things that, in a few seconds, would lead a particular man down this particular street at this exact time. He smiled again at how light his touch had been this time. No more than a feather on the wind, but it had been enough.

He heard footsteps to his right. He didn't need to look, he knew it was the man his actions had set in motion over a month before.

He awaited his next moment.

Listen mother fuckers! It's Anynot's birthday today and this man is a fucking legend. He's been a huge inspiration for me, and lord knows he's a power house in here.

We love you man, you really are my hero.

Zig

Zag

Step

Cross

Forward

Sideways

Wrong turn

Three lefts

Same street

"I'm lost," he thought

"Don't forget alone," a woman's voice chimes in, "you're always alone."

"You aren't helping." The man retorted.

"That isn't why I'm here, though, is it?" She replied. Her voice like that of an angel.

A vengeful, hateful angel.

"You're going to die alone. Cold and wet, on the streets that do nothing but fatigue and betray you."

"Glad to see you're in a good mood today." He said, standing alone in the street. "Now if you don't mind shutting up for a bit, I've got somewhere to be, and I've just found the street. Now shut up."

A gentle feline chuckle and her voice is gone.

He turns down the street and begins the day's journey.

I lay in bed, staring at the boring white ceiling above.

Outside I heard the drunken laughter of people going about their lives. Midnight had come and gone, and as people locked lips in celebration, I lay in bed thinking of her.

How can you love and hate one person so much simultaneously? She had just used me, and then chose another man. She told me she cared for me more than him, and she would be with me if she ever got the chance. But every time he left her, calling her out for what she was, and I'd help her feel better sparking feelings deep within, moments before I could say: "Shall we now begin?". She would take him back without question or thought as to how I would feel.

Can I blame her?

No. She did what she thought was best.

But after I constantly put her needs before mine, it hurts to see she never felt the same.

Sleep began to take me. Where would I go?

No man can ever know what the dream will show.

.......................................................................................................

"Dad...what's going on?" Said the boy in the backseat. The car accelerated faster with the sirens screaming to them to halt. The father looked back at the son "It's for the best son, I haven't been the greatest man and I doubt I have been a decent father...but just know that I will always love you."

The boy watched as the police officers dragged his father out of the car, slamming him against the pavement. He was about 6 at the time and it was a lot to process. This was the last time he saw his father.

"You've gotten quite tall, you know you look a lot like your mother." The father said before inhaling a cigarette. The son sat in front of him, 12 years older than he was, at a picnic table in front of the state penitentiary. "Life treating you well son? Don't tell me I have some grandchildren to look forward too, you're too young for that." The son sat speechless.

...

It poured softly forming rivulets which chased each other down the window. It was early, the sun just now breaking free of the horizon.

Time to go. She wouldn't understand, but then neither did he. He would leave her here in the room, snoring softly, and never see her again. That made him a little sad.

He checked his bag again, and glanced around the room one more time to make sure he had not forgotten anything. There was never enough time, and the irony of that statement was not lost on him.

It starts with a smell. A subtle sweet scent that seems to bypass the nostrils and access the brain directly. I don't know why the smell is there or where comes from but it always starts that way.

Next comes a strange electrical sensation. Like my nerve endings are extending beyond my skin and reacting with stray electrons in the air. It tingles.

Then the slow steady rythm begins. I don't actually hear so much as feel it. And see it. My focus seems to shift from one eye to the other in slow, relentless beat.

When these things happen, I know the change is coming. No, I'm not a werewolf, but I couldn't say if this change is more, or less dramatic.

Hey guys, so I'm trying to get some activity back in this sub, as seen by my two recents posts (that no one has responded too, thanks guys :P) but I thought another idea might get some other people active again. So here it is:

Post any story at all and I will finish it.

You read that write (seewutididthur), post any idea for the beginning of a story that you've had on your mind, no matter how good, bad or flat out disturbing you think it might be and I will respond to it within 24 hours with zero judgement concerning the content. Your story look like a three year old wrote it? Badass, I'll finish it. Weird idea that you don't think other people will be interested in completing? Betcha I am. Horror/Sci-Fi/Rom-Com with medieval characters wielding giant foam flamingos as weapons? Sweet man, that's my favorite post ever.

I encourage all others to join me in this open challenge to the visitors of the sub, but if I'm the only one then that's ok too.

So come on people, let's get writing!

edit You don't have to reply here. :P

My name is Charles. I'm 36 years old and I live in a 1900 sq ft house. I have a lawn, a garden, a porch with a rocking chair older than my grandfather, and a garden gnome. I like to wear bow ties and my favourite colour is blue. My life would seem utterly boring except for my strange occupation: My house is the last one on the road of life, and I'm what most of you would call The Grim Reaper.

I don't like that name, though, I don't actually reap anything, people simply come through and I check them out of one lane and into the next. It's not a bad job, not very eventful really. I spend my days on the deck waiting for travelers, easing them through the transition, and making sure the petunias don't overthrow life as my garden knows it. I enjoy classical music, with the occasional fore into jazz.

Most people who come my way are at peace with their situation, for the most part. Death has a funny way of mellowing a person out, and a slice of my homemade cherry pie certainly doesn't hurt. I take any baggage they have with them and then send them on their way on the other side. I know when all of my guests are arriving and one look at their face tells me their life story. It's a very odd business to be in, I suppose, but some one has to do it and I really do love my house, I just wish my rose bush would actually bloom instead of growing four feet tall and wilting on the spot.

Yes, this is my life, and I am perfectly happy with it. No surprises, but no day is the same. That is until I heard an impossible noise one morning while making myself some toast: My doorbell rang.

Hey kids, I'm back! I went overseas for the better part of two months but I'm back and ready to get things moving again! I'm catching myself up on all the posts I missed and will be replying and posting as much as I can. I'm in a different living situation now which is giving me a lot more free time than I had before so I'm going to make a point to dedicate more of it to you guys!

<3 Panda

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Damn it, Maria, turn off the alarm already."

BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Jesus, alright I'll get it if you won't get out of bed."

Gerald went to reach for the alarm in a sleep-like haze but his arm was met with empty air. He was weightless, as was the norm in a mining ship, but he realized he was also not in bed.

BEEP BEEP BE-BANG

The explosion shook him from his daze.

"Captain! Captain! Thank god, he's coming to."

His senses came back and the world around him formed: He was on the bridge, his ship looked to be a burning wreck and the center comm had just blown apart. His second-in-command, navigation officer and special systems officer were also on the bridge with him.

"Report!" He barked his orders almost automatically through his foggy state of mind.

"We're trapped in a gravity well, it isn't on the charts for this quadrant, it shouldn't even be here. Our engines are running at 105% output, they won't hold for more than 10 or so minutes. We've lost the onlook tower entirely. Jack is dead, Mike and Yoki are badly injured. And captain..." Her voice faltered as she hesitated to give him the next line of bad news in an ever increasing shit storm.

"What is it, Nina?" He didn't actually want the answer, he knew in the back of his head what she was about to say but he needed to hear it for himself.

"Maria was in the onlook tower... She's gone." She couldn't look him in the eyes for the last sentence.

The words shook him to his core, but now was not the time to fall apart.

"We can mourn later, right now we need to-"

"Captain!"

He was cut off by his navigation officer, who was staring at the view screen wide-eyed and slack-jawed. His next words should have been impossible.

"There's something coming OUT of the gravity well..."

David Benson was stuck in a rut.

Everyday seemed to go the same way. He'd wake up, have breakfast, head to work at Office Building 227.

There he'd sort files for transfer to the other offices. The files were always sealed in a brown envelope, and he was never allowed to look inside.

He'd stamp and send off between 90-100 files before having a lunch break. There he'd order the same thing he ordered everyday, pay, and head back to 227.

There he would return to the frustratingly mind-numbing job of stamping and sending.

When he'd finish he'd head home, have supper, watch a bit of news, then head to bed.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

On the weekends he'd usually stay at home watching TV or on the internet.

Then back to the same cycle.

David was getting sick of it.

He was tired of the same grey walls of 227. He was sick of the 5 different colors of stamp: red,green,blue,purple, and black. He was full of the same old news.

David was done.

So one day, for a little bit of excitement, he opened one of the brown envelopes.

He pulled out the thick stack of white papers, took a deep breath and looked through them.

That's when David saw the last thing he was expecting.

A blank page.

He turned to the next page.

Blank.

Turn.

Blank.

Turn.

Blank.

All the pages were blank. David opened another envelope only to find more blank pages.

He opened three more.

All contained blank, white pages.

"What the Hell?", was all David could say.

..................................................................................................

Guys I wrote t a rather scathing, message to the mods about contributing, asked for prompts, got them, then disappeared. Sorry.

Since my last post I have been in China, Chicago (well Indiana but I flew in and out of Chicago) New Mexico, and Michigan, and I am now prepping for another trip to San Diego.

It's been a little crazy. And in the midst of all of this I forgot the cardinal rule of writing. Write!

I will make every effort to keep up from now on, having basically recovered from my travels. I love this sub and will do what I can to keep it, and /r/andywrote going. I will soon meet up with the author friend of mine I have mentioned and I suspect he will thoroughly scold me, and rightly so, for my lack of discipline.

I am committed to this sub and my own so in the next few weeks I hope to get a lot of material out. Thank you for your patience.

1:30

I hit the snooze button on the alarm and moaned "I am getting to old for this."

2:00

I again snooze, as always it is more fun to snooze then to set the alarm to the appropriate time

2:07

Fuck it, I'm already ready for work. I turn off my alarm and go to the bathroom. I get ready for my day or what seems like Night. The early shift always kills me, I can't wait for my day to end so I can go back to sleep. I turn into my kitchen to grab something before work. The fridge and cupboard are bare, seems my roommates are either assholes or we didn't go shopping this week. I go outside to my car and proceed to my nearby Kwick Stop, a local convenient store with an a Indian clerk with a severe lack of English, he probably spelled the sign. I grab an energy drink and a candy bar, as you can tell I only eat the highest of cuisine. This is pretty much my life, I've been doing this for five going on six years, but today..today is different

I usually keep up to date with this sub, but if anyone hasn't noticed I have kind of been gone lately. I first and foremost would like to apologize for not being straight forward, but I believe you should know.

A few weeks back I wrote the beginning of a started writing a script on the sub. It was cool, but had little attention yet I was spending way too much time on it to just leave it. Well because of this we had started a little affair, making sweet metaphorical love plot mapping and first drafting. The sub (her current boyfriend in this weird personification) didn't love her like I did. So I spent time alone crafting her into what will be a goddess...or a pretty decent film.

I am planning on ripping my work of it from the sub, if that is good with you guys. If anyone wants to work with me, Here is the current meta link to all the things I have here and I am probably going to do an /r/Andywrote with it if you guys are interested. Updating it with what I already have. Again sorry for not being here so much, but with the script and work, I haven't had a lot of free time. I know the sub is in safe hands, I just don't like being a jerk.

In roughly 24 of your hours I will embark on a journey. And though I will arrive a few hours before I left, from my perspective it will take me nearly a day to complete.

So if you would care to throw out some titles, or even just ideas, I will try to write something during this trek. This form of travel can be very tiring so I am not promising anything but I will try.

Thanks in advance.

(Everything in this post is true, just saying)

The flames dance around my cell, as I try my best to break free of the bonds that keep me restrained.

The fire had started from the far right corner of my cell and had started to spread around me.

I tried yelling for the guards to come and save me, but no one could here me.

Not Like they'd care. I was a murder in there eyes. The man who killed their president. Shot him down one fateful morning.

But what they didn't know, what no body knew, was that I was innocent ad could prove it.

My court date was tomorrow and when I testified I would reveal the conspiracy and be declared innocent.

But now they were trying to kill me.

"Help!" I shouted.

Nothing...

They had not gathered in a very long time. It was incredibly rare for more than two of them to be in the same room, and generally even that did not happen.

They were, of course, linked to each other. At any moment any one of them could reach out and connect with another. But over the years, then over the centuries, that had happened less and less. Now they were all together for the first time in hundreds of years. A crisis, which had never happened before, called them to this unique meeting.

"Okay, since everyone is here, we'll get started," Maxwell, always a natural leader, proposed.

"We're one short," a voice from the small crowd called out.

"What? Who's missing?" Max asked, instinctively reaching out with his mind to all those in room. There were none who did not answer. Every one of the people he had known for lifetimes were accounted for.

"I counted. We are one short. We should be thirty. There are only twenty nine here." Thomas, was the voice that raised the objection, he realized.

"Of course we should be thirty, but everyone is accounted for." Max insisted. This was silly. They could no more separate themselves from one another than a hand could separate from a body.

"I know, but count heads. There's only twenty nine of us here." Thomas insisted.

There was a moment of silence as each of them counted the bodies in the room. They all came up with the same answer. Twenty nine people were gathered in the lavish conference room. There should be thirty. In the next instant he could feel all of the minds in the room reaching out to all of the other minds.

Quickly they were all satisfied that they were all, in fact here. Except they weren't. There was no question that there should be thirty of them. A physical count proved there were only twenty nine. A telepathic blending of them all found no one missing. And yet, they were one one short.

"It's Sarah," a voice from the crowd finally said.

"Nope, I'm here," came quick the reply.

"Oh, where's...." the voice tapered off, unable to remember the name they were about to say.

"Right. What is his name? He..." again, memory eluded the speaker.

"No, not his, her name. It's..." the voice trailed off, unable to recall the name they searched for.

"This is ridiculous," Maxwell said, exasperated, "how can we forget one of us? We were all here at the beginning. It is simply not possible."

Again he felt all of the minds reach out, and again they all confirmed that everyone was here.

But they were one short.

Here we go again fellow writers!

Before we start, a quick note regarding voting. You may upvote as many entrees as you like. But please, for the sake of common decency,

DO NOT DOWN VOTE ENTREES!

The reason for this, aside from good manners, is that that is essentially voting twice, and that violates inter-galactic law. We have already had complaints from the Arcturians, and that means a lot of paper work, so, please, be excellent and don't do it.

And the Winner is /u/Oceanman98 !

He will pick the title for next weeks competition. I want to thank /u/theWoosteerCode for his entry, it was truly a great piece of writing. Let's keep this going.
AND NOW, THIS WEEK'S TITLE

The Rains of Uldurian