#reality

When the Wind Blows. That was a title I hadn’t heard in a long time. It was just obviously a British animated film based on a graphic novel by Raymond Briggs. You know, the guy who did The Snowman? It centered around an elderly couple then one day, word came out that war would break out in three days. The graphic novel was written around the height of the Cold War. The threat of nuclear war was as high as it is now.

“Can I tell you a story Boss?”

The warnings first came through on social media. It was a fairly ordinary Sunday morning as I sat behind the intriguing screen of my computer. For some many hours I had been checking my feed on Facebook, when an article caught my eye. Now, I'm not some sucker who gets drawn to obviously fake messages spawned by trolls online, but hey, it was Sunday and I was bored. One of my friends had shared an article entitled 'The end', and if I had half my wits about me then I wouldn't have even…

I woke up like I would every other time I tried to sleep; Drenched in sweat, shivering, afraid to go back to sleep. I have this recurring dream about something to do with static. I can't quite remember exactly what happens though. I glance over at my clock, it read 3:00 am. I sigh attempting to release all my bad thoughts out of my mind. I hop out of bed as quickly as possible —too afraid to go back to that dream— and scurry over to the bathroom mirror. ‘My bags have gotten worse,’ I thought…

My fiancée, Robert, had gone to his best friend Lewis’ house for a night of gaming and movies. You know, Guy’s Night In. I personally imagine a lot of manly grunting and crude jokes. Anyway, at around 5 pm he kissed me and said goodbye. I spent most of the evening working on my art. Drawing commissions are a pain because usually, what inspires my client is usually one of the things that turns my creative wheels the least.

Sarah rolled over, glancing at the digital clock resting on her nightstand. She groaned when she saw the green numbers read 2:59 am. As she started to roll over again, a flash of lightning lit up her room and she froze. Her eyes darted to her bedroom window where she thought she had seen a dark figure climbing in, until another flash of lightning proves there’s nothing there. Sarah sighed and rolled over, mumbling to herself. She closed her eyes, drifting back into peaceful slumber.

The following text is from a topic I found in the "/r/deepdream" subreddit. The thread has since been deleted. I had the same thread open in two tabs, so luckily I was able to copy the text from the second tab after I'd refreshed the first and found that the link was now dead. Submitted 6 hours ago by AlMord0

I have a... peculiar hobby. I mean, I guess you could call it a hobby, though it’s probably more of a habit of mine. Before I tell you what it is, let me tell you a bit about myself.

I was awakened by the sound of screeching car tyres and muffled dance music playing in the distance, I climbed out of my warm, comfy bed and headed to my window, the glass had frosted over, as I wiped the frost away I was greeted by the blizzard just outside my window and the glare of the headlights as a car came speeding by my house and into the night, as the unmistakable sound of DFG's latest CD, faded away. As I looked out through the thick snow, I could see what looked like a person laying…

Centuries ago there was a Demon named Pequezbo. It was nasty thing, neither male nor female, hatched from a dead volcano in Pre-Inca South America. What was overwhelmingly known about this unholy creature was how it reveled in shock. It fed on it. The kind of shock that bypassed fear and dread and instead struck with an immediate and pure terror.

If you really believe in something, it can be yours. That's how we've been conditioned to think. Mostly, I suppose it's a coping mechanism to keep us from eating the rich. We all think we'll be rich someday if we just want it hard enough. How long has it been since there was a good, old-fashioned culling of the wealthy elite? That probably wasn't a good way to start this blog post… I'm more than a little tired, but fuck it. I'm leaving it. "Corruptus".

You just got off a long flight. After spending four hours in a cramped plane with 165 other people, baggage is delayed. After an hour's wait the carousel starts up and your bag is one of the first to come around. You grab it and get out of the airport as fast as you can.

Mike yawned. He wasn't use to the late nights yet. It was only his second night shift, as far as I'm aware, and by the time he had crossed the room to grab his sixth or seventh drink of coffee from the machine just outside the office door, I was started to get irritated by him. He was a lot younger than me, about 20 years old, and the age gap annoyed me since he acted like a child most of the time. My usual co-worker for the night shift was on a vacation with our boss, since the two knew each…

I’ve been thinking of him-er-her (it?) for the past week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve barely eaten anything. I quit my job. Or stopped going to work is more like it. I assume I’m no longer employed there. My eyes are sunken in. I sit at my computer day and night mindlessly trying to keep myself entertained… or awake, more importantly. For if I sleep I’m afraid I may never wake up. I’m afraid he - she - or, it will get me. I don’t know what I mean by “get”. I don’t believe it was out to…

“Come play with me.” That line… it’s a cliché for the horror genre, is it not? You all know what I mean, the unsettling apparition of a child, or maybe just the voice, beckoning to you. What is it about children that gives them the ability to be so damn creepy? Maybe… maybe it’s the fact that, generally speaking, children are helpless and anyone with a nurturing side to their personality wants to help them and care for them. I mean, if any one of us saw a child in trouble, I’m sure we’d rush to…

"I had a weird dream last night." "A really. Weird. Dream..." ------ My name is _______. I'm a good guy I think. And I like good people. That's pretty much my sole criteria for deciding if I want to hang out with someone. And I pride myself in my ability to tell good people. Once I decide you're good people, we’re good. Friends for life.

The Ilchester Tunnel is located near the historic town of Ellicott City, Maryland. This old B&O Railroad tunnel also has a little known urban legend attached to it: The Legend of The Blink Man.

I awoke to the sound of dripping water, it was coming from somewhere in the kitchen, the open door just a few feet away. The smell hit me, just as pungent as it was when I went to sleep. My eyes started to water at the pure concentration of the odor, and the nausea set in. How long had it been since I arrived here? A week? A month? It sure felt like forever, but time was useless for me, since I knew however long it had been wouldn’t affect how long it would be until I could leave.

When you hear of crime writers, you think of people like Michael Connelly, or Rick Castle. Those guys are schmucks compared to me. The same plotlines rehashed over and over and repackaged into new covers with slightly more entertaining titles each time. You see, with me, everything I put in the pages of my books are legitimate. Now, I don’t just look up old crimes on the Internet and try to make them more appealing to the modern reader. No, that’s too simple. I make the crimes.

I have to say one of the things I hate the most is to have somebody walking behind me, doesn't matter if it's a friend or a complete stranger, I don't like it. I feel insecure, watched and uncomfortable. You might call me paranoid but honestly, for me, it’s unbearable. Let me begin by saying that the reason I practically hate that is because of some occurrences during my childhood. All of the events that I will tell you actually happened so you probably will understand that for protection…