A 6-post collection

Challenge #02953-H030: Critical Devaluation Error

What if I told you I can see everything labeled with a numerical value? Like I can see the value of hardness when comparing granite and diamond. That’s obvious but what if I told you I know how much your left kidney sell in the black market, and how much power this ship have left to the billionth of a decimal. Everything in this universe have value, but even as we speak the value have been going down. Everywhere I go the value is decreasing. Once the value of an item hit zero it transforms into a black cube. This cube used to be a blue jay. I don’t know if something is draining everyone value or removing it altogether, I just don’t know, I’m scared. -- Anon Guest

Close examination of the cube in the right light revealed a lengthy serial number and an engraved representation of a bird in mid-flight. Specifically, a blue jay. It was a two-inch, or five centimeter cube. Beyond 'black', it was impossible to determine what the material was. Touching it revealed only what it was not. It was not glass. It was not plastic. It was not metal, nor mineral, nor any kind of fabric.

What it was, was: there, black, and a cube. No entity in the universe could want it. It could not be sold. It could not be traded. It was... a thing. It was valueless. Instantly, Valerie knew that she was out of her depth. She was a psychiatrist, not... whatever this needed. "How long has this been going on?"

"I noticed the cubes when I was cleaning out my wardrobe, about six months ago. There were lots of them, maybe this size," finger and thumb sketched a much smaller object. "I didn't even think about it until I saw a mouse dip to zero and... pop... one of these. I've always been able to see the value of stuff. It's been why I've been great at trades. This? This is alarming in more ways than one."

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Challenge #02739-G182: Do Not Pay Your Heart

This is from this prompt :-)

The medic known as Allie had gained quite the reputation. She had managed to save people that everyone else had said were not savable. She'd managed to cure those that were said to be incurable. More than one elite had made it a point to find the station she was working at to bring sick relatives and have her see to them.

But now a choice was being given to

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Challenge #02613-G056: Trash to Treasure

She lived in the United States circa 2020. Well, it was New Year's. The first day of that year. Deep in debt, stressed, tired, her entire body hurt, she laid back on her recliner to sleep praying for something to help her. She'd ended up in debt because she'd bent over backward to save family members and they'd left her with their bills. But, before that, she'd drained her bank accounts nearly dry saving other people who were homeless, taking them into

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Challenge #02338-F148: Words May Never

They meant to hurt you with words and bring you down by demeaning you. You became inspired to do something entirely different. -- Anon Guest

Say something long enough, it becomes true. Words like weirdo, freak, idiot, and so forth don't hurt in small doses, but if they are said often enough, by enough people, to one, that one can easily believe they are worthless. It happens so often, but it does not happen to all.

Consider Suz' Mayberry, iconoclast of Elderwine

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Challenge #01908-E084: Pearls and Male Chauvinist...

Reading Sir Terry Prachett's works and having it just passed of as 'light reading' at University. -- Anon Guest

She opened the book to read it and relax while she had her lunch and a coffee. Unfortunately, it was also dudebro o'clock, and a man-child had to come and comment on her material.

"You're reading that? I thought you were intelligent..."

Sue put the book by Sir Pterry down and glared at him. She had never met this man before, didn't know

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Challenge #01580-D119: Alto-nate Talent

Alto. Never to sing those high intricate vocal solos beloved of Opera fans. Altos get stuck in the choir. -- Knitnan

Keep the tune. Keep the rhythm. Let the sopranos, the tenors and the basso profundos drown you out. That's all the Altos are good for, they say. That and pop music, which is famously lacking in melody[1], and famously full of atonal yelling down the microphones. Which was all too bad, because Gail loved to sing, and she was an

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