[ WP ] A wrathful diety agrees to delay the apocalypse nightly in exchange for WP karma that you earned . It 's been a slow month , no prompts look inspiring , and the diety shows to taunt your inevitable failure . Tick Tock

Writingthullu stares down at you with desdain. 
 `` A lurker for life? Always here for amusement from other people's work?'' 
 
 You have no idea what to say. All the good ideas always seem to flourish after you turn off your computer. 
 And Writingthullu seems to be aware of this. 
 
 `` Do n't give me that sad look! If you have a good idea, right it down on a piece of paper! Waiting for the next day never works. 
 
 And what was that crap yesterday? You want to write but you cant even spell correctly! ITS DEITY, NOT DIETY! What was that supposed to be, a food god? 
 
 If you dont know how to spell a word, just use a synonym like the rest of us. 
 
 The word you were searching for is god.'' 
 
 That wasnt helping. After 30 minutes of soul crushing insults, you confidence is pretty much shattered. 
 
 `` I'm giving you one last chance. Ill return in 2 hours. Make them count'' 
 
 A wave of relief swept through you as the door closed shut behind Writingthullu. The deadline was still there, but the absence of his overwhelming presence made it easier to think. 
 
 Now you only needed to focus. 
 
 `` Hmm an army of horse sized ducks faces an army duck sized horses... 
 
 No, no, no. This is the same crap that shows up in WP everyday. I have to do something that doesnt sound like an Adam Sandler or Rob Schneider movie plot.'' 
 
 You suddenly feel a surge of adrenaline as an invisible hand gently touches your shoulder. 
 
 `` You are not alone. We will help you.'' 
 
 You let out a gasp and jump out of the chair as you begin to see a human shape take form before your eyes. 
 
 `` Who or what are you?'' 
 
 `` Ghosts from the past. My name is Tolkien. Im sure you are familiar with some of my work. I have brought some friends'' 
 
 Various shapes take form and introduce themselves. 
 
 Hello writer. Im Nabokov, nice to meet you. 
 
 Phillip Pullman at your service'' 
 
 Another voice that sounded angry was being appeased by a woman. 
 
 `` Why am i here? Im not even dead!'' 
 
 `` Oh quiet down, Murakami. This person needs our help. 
 
 Im Jane Austen, dont mind him, he was just upset we interrupted his jazz listening session.'' 
 
 One of them sounded confused. 
 
 `` Ok i dont think this is a dream, but it sure seems like one. 
 Well, ill help out anyway i can. Stephen King at your service.'' 
 
 You are still not sure what is happening, but an idea starts to form. Guided by some of the greatest storytellers, words pour violently from your brain into the paper. 
 
 The 2 hour deadline is near completion. The various ghostly forms begin to say their farewells. Stephen King is slightly annoyed. 
 
 `` What? Wake up? No, i dont wan na. I'm having fun here, i want to see Writingthullu's reaction.'' 
 
 All the forms slowly dissipate, with Murakami being the last. He lights a cigarrete, inhales deeply while staring at you. And then, after what seemed to be an eternity, exhales with a soft grin and whispers: 
 
 `` Good luck.'' 
 
 His form completely fades afterwards. 
 
 No more than 10 seconds after the forms fade out, Writingthullu burst through the door with a renewed evil smile on his face. 
 
 You feel the hard prickle of fear on the back of your head and instinctively look down. As look down you see what you are holding in your hands. 
 
 All thoughts of fear and doubt leave your mind, and that confidence is transmitted by the look in your eyes. 
 
 Writingthullu looks at you puzzled. 
 
 `` You seem diferent. Did you manage to produce something interesting?'' 
 
 Without blinking or averting your eyes, you hand him the pages you finished typing a few minutes ago. 
 
 `` Why dont you find out by yourself?'' 
 
 As he starts reading, his face changes. He seems mesmerized, completely absorbed. 
 
 When he finished reading his face turned to anger. 
 
 You begin to feel scared once again. 
 
 `` Whats the matter? Is the story not pleasing?'' 
 
 He looks at you, his eyes fireballs of azure anger. 
 
 `` You were supposed to be the last one i needed to consume. My invasion of this realm would be complete after this. Never in my dreams i tought you capable of such a story. THIS WAS MY TIME! 
 
 As he screams those words, a portal of some kind begins forming in the pages you handed to him. He fruitlessly tries to throw the pages on the ground, on the table, at you. Nothing seems to work. 
 
 The portal grows and as the churning maelstrom begins to pull Writingthullu inside, he vociferates a final warning. 
 
 `` You wont be able to keep me locked forever. I will return and you wont be here to stop me.'' 
 
 You smile and simply reply: 
 
 `` Probably not, but my work will endure. And i will inspire others. We will always be ready for you.''
