Skill Copier Free Write

How cool would it be if you could copy skills. I don't know about the rest of the world but I don't want to practice piano to become a Beethoven. I want to wash Beethoven play and from that be able to play the same as him. Imagine the amount of time you could save. If you could learn to play the drum set by going to see one concert. If you could learn to ride a bike by watching the X games. If you could learn archery by watching the hunger games. There's just so many applications for copying skills. I want to become a better driver. I'll just sit down and watch NASCAR! I want to play guitar. I'll just sit down and wants Carlos Santana for an hour. Instant information. I feel like copying skills would be on the same level as downloading your education. If you could copy skills and you sat down in front of youtube for a few hours, there's no telling what could come out of that. Now if you plugged in a USB to the back of your brain and uploaded the entire Webster's dictionary. Would that be is useful? Which do you think will come first? Being able to upload stuff to your brain? Or somehow genetically gaining the ability to copy skills. I don't know but I want to be part of it.

Stereotypical Teen Hero Short Story

He walked in with the 12gauge. He pointed it at me. I said, "no, please don't!" He said, "you stole her." "No I didn't, you lost her and this is pointless, the only one you can truly hurts now as yourself." "I'm the one with the gun" he says. "Yes, but when it's said and done you will lose. Give me the gun" "no" pow! The gun discharges. The BBs hit me all at once in the gut. I took a step closer. Pow! Another shot. All the while my classmates scream in the background. I hear my girl scream. I make eye contact with her for a split second. When I look back at him, her screams stopped. I took another step. Pow Pow! I fell to one knee. I knew he was out. Had to be. He aimed at my head, Pulled the trigger, "click" nothing. I see anguish cover his face. Strength fills my body, and in a swift motion I jump at him. I grabbed the barrel of his gun with my left hand. I grabbed his throat with my other hand. With almost superhuman strength I hold the gun stationary while I put his body, head first, through the wall behind him. Now the gun and man were separated. Once I realized he was out cold I was down in moments. I hit the floor the gun dropping next to me. I was cold and I was fading. I heard my girlfriend yell my name loudly. I saw her face and was gone. Next thing I see is the docs face. "Hey hero" he says. Then my girl latched around my neck. I was in the hospital. I made it.

Random Poem

I'm not sure what to think about this.
women are confusing.
Drama is stupid.
Dakota is my bro.
Dakota is my middle name.
My dog is dead
my vehicles trashed.
My dad is still there.
My mind is crazy.
Is military the answer?
Is it a sin?
My number one superpower?
Time?
Light?
Sound?
Flying?
Speed?
Direction?

Gang Life Short Story

All three of them men walks through the car lot innocent looking enough to fool the salesman. They had it all planned out. The three men coincidentally wanted to test drive the expensive vehicles at the same time. They all drove the vehicles off the lot. On their way to the Mexican border they were. They were to meet a group of men knew the border and pass off the vehicles. Their only job was to get it done and the three men were getting it done. Jose, he had a wife and son at home. His wife was a made at a local motel. His son was the star of the seventh grade soccer team. Ben, he was a single young man trying to make in ends meat. This was going to be his last job. He had saved enough money to go off to college. Issac was a grunt and had a history of violence. He was an important piece in the drug trade. All three of these men working on the same job. Sharing the same fate. They get to the assigned location. They park their cars. A few minutes later a black van pulls up. A man gets out with a bag. They assumed it was their payment. They were wrong. In three quick shots, the three men stopped breathing. They fell to the ground with bullets in the brains. The man opened up the bag and pulled out a jug of liquid. The the cartel knew better than to leave evidence. The man pour the liquid onto the lifeless bodies and watch them rapidly dissolve. The three men from different walks of life who were once a life were now memories.

Toy Plane Poem

I played with my toy plane.
The same one everyone plays with.
At certain times it's gone.
I lose my plane. I'm sad.
I feel no need for action.
Then my sadness is gone.
I can't really feel anything.
Happiness, sadness, fear, anger.
Nothing.
A few months pass.
Still nothing.
I asked everyone why.
They got all emotional for me.
Then one day I see corn.
On the floor.
Alone.
A rush of emotion!
Stupid corn.
This corn is stupid.
My plane is back.

Cereal Killer Short Story

It started when I was younger. I have always been a little stronger than normal. I figured it was just lucky but discovered later that I was supposed to use the strength. My father and mother were both fighting in the living room. I sat on the couch and watched them go back and forth at each other. I was probably 12 years old. In an instant the argument reached its climax. My father was that my mom grabbing her by the throat. I saw a red. My body moved on complete instinct. My fist met the side of my dad's head with tremendous force. He flew towards the ground only being stopped by the corner of the coffee table. Blood filled the floor giving me new red to focus on when the red I was seeing left me. My mother looked at me wide-eyed. We stood there in shock, her looking at me, me at him. A few moments passed. I said "mom, mom?" Stepping toward her. She flinched at me and I stopped, she was scared. "Mom, why are you scared of me? I'm still me" she responded without hesitation. "I have no son, murderer!" She snatched a pair of scissors that way on the fireplace mantle. She let out a bloodcurdling yell. She ran at me, scissors and hand, with the intention to do harm. In the seconds I had before her scissors met my heart, I decided to stop her. How can I stop her without hurting her. As she reached me, I made my way behind her and put my arm around her neck. The scissors were now on their way to my arm. At the last second I removed my arm from her neck to avoid pesky stab wound. It was too late though, the scissors buried themselves inside my mother's neck. A few moments later she lay dead next to my father, doubling the size of the red pool their bodies swam in. That's when I realized it. Sudden clarity, my calling was to kill, and I plan on being good at what I do.

Disrespect free write

I feel that respect is given. When people are disrespected and have done nothing to lose the respect that is ripped from them, I lose a little hope in humanity. I was raised in a place where respect was a very important thing. Yes ma'am, yes sir, were the literary Staples in my household. Sometimes I'll sit in class and just work on swallowing the anger that I have for the disrespectful people sitting behind me, talking during a lecture. My thought "are you freaking kidding me?! Do you think our teachers are in this for a paycheck?! This teacher is taking his time to teach us and you're just got him blow him off?" I've always been taught to not talk when your elder has the floor. Another thing that's frustrating is when you are disrespected by someone you have shown complete respect to and have done nothing to lose that respect. I tried to be the better person and continue to show that person respect especially if that person is above me. What's even worse, is someone you care about being disrespected. It is very frustrating when someone close to your heart is disrespected. You feel like they deserve the best. So you do your best to make it happen. Today was a good day.