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World Peace

by BP | Score: 5500

The message echoed from the speakers. "World Peace declared at United Humanity Conference." It echoed off the concrete gray walls, down the claustrophic corroders, and out toward the courtyard, where it suddenly crashed and died against a locked metal door.

"What the hell is that even supposed to me?"

Sammy stared at the speakers, his eyes boring into them as if at any moment a screen may appear and explain in further detail with glossy, high res charts, what, exactly, the headline meant. Sammy waited a long time.

"No such thing."


Sammy had to shake himself free of his self-imposed stupor.  Terry voice had a way of doing that. Reaching you just enough that it caught your attention, but failing just short of commanding it. Like a mosquito you don't notice until it's sunk in and drawing out blood.

"No such thing." Terry had been nailed five years ago on possession charges. Shrooms. The cannabis he'd been growing in the woods behind his house were doing well. Year after year of high yield. It got to the point where Terry had started giving it away. Unlike most, abundance had ignited Terry's charitable side. Though, in truth, it hadn't been the mason jars full of weed stacked shoulder high in his basement that accounted for the change. Well, it had accounted for some of the change. Saving money, free unlimited weed, friends stopping by for a sit and casual chat. Growing had it's fringe benefits, no doubt. But the act of growing. Constructing the beds, feeding the soil, trimming the plants. The patience, patience, steady patience. Terry had never really been great at anything. A fact that ate him up inside no matter how much he told himself it didn't. Which only served to instigate it more. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't consider himself terribly great at growing either. But he enjoyed it. He enjoyed going out back with his coffee every morning, checking on the leaves, investigating their color and the quality of the soil. Since starting his little operation he'd expanded to flowers, vegetables, ferns. He hadn't gone so far as to join the little old ladies in the local gardening society, but he'd managed to push past his [shyness] and general disdain for company and started picking their ears about what to grow and when. He was nativist! Well, not the flag waving, blood and soil type. He enjoyed growing species of plants that were native to his state. He'd grown up in the city. Bunnies and birds were exotic to him. Now every creatures of every color visited his fields.

Well, they did. Until the cops found out what he was doing and trampled the entire crop. Peonies and pot alike.

Were the shrooms his? Of course they were. He'd looked up how to grow them. Set up the indoor grow area himself. But his green thumb got the better of him. Wouldn't it be nicer to have them outside? Somewhere natural? It had been a stupid mistake. One that still burned him whenever he thought about it.


He'd never forget the cop saying that. Looking back at him and smiling as he dragged a boot across a crop of [flowers] on his way to the shrooms. They were looking good for that time of year. The [flowers]. He wasn't even sure about the shrooms.

On the day of his sentencing the judge made it clear he was not to be given a job in the prison garden. "Bad habits need to be broken off at the stem, not cultivated."

Probably the cleverest thing the son of a bitch ever said. In a previous life, Terry could see himself fighting against the [bailiff] as he hauled him out of the courtroom. Hell, he might have even spit a few words at the judge. But that day he just hung his head and fought with everything he had to keep from crying.

He missed the woods terribly.

"What you say Tee?"

 "I said, no such thing."

"Tell that to the speakers."

Sammy had no idea what that meant.  He continued to listen, hoping that subsequent reports would clarify what this news meant for him. Had they even been at war?

US soldiers were stationed all over the world. He knew that. But would this mean they'd all come home? And what about all the bombs they'd built, would they dismantle them or just sell them on the cheap to the police like the rest of the surplus gear the armed forces seemed to accumulate.

As if in response, the speakers blared. Two short honks then the sound of heavy doors opening and closing.

A new crop of inmates. Their shackles shook in rhythm with their s

Completed challenges

The following challenges were completed during the writing exercise:

Begin Start typing to begin
Letter Use the letter E
Words Reach 50 words
Location A prison
Event World peace is achieved
Words Reach 100 words
Words Reach 200 words
Words Reach 300 words
Words Reach 400 words
Words Reach 500 words
Sentence "Whoopsidaisies!"
Words Reach 600 words
Words Reach 700 words

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