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No. No, no, nonononono.

I stare into the bathroom mirror, running my fingers over this face, not really believing that it's me. So much younger. The skin so smooth. Dark hair, untouched by gray.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. I have to do something.

I whip around, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. For a moment, I'm distracted by the lush landscape beyond the windows. Palm leaves ruffle in a breeze. The air is warm and sticky. So strange, when I'm so used to snow. It feels like I'm suffocating.

I find the prize and hurry over to the laptop on the desk. I don't know the password, but my new fingerprint does.

Before I even manage to log in to my accounts, my mind is whirring, wondering where I could have gone wrong. I checked the math so many times. How could this have happened? How did I miss by so much?

A news alert dings in the corner of the screen (strange choice, by my host, to have those turned on...but anyway...) and I click. Oh, no. No, no.

It's not just me, who missed. Not just my own transformation I got wrong. It's all of them, everywhere. How many people have I swapped between bodies? They're reporting thousands, but still counting. Could it be millions? Billions?

I cradle my unfamiliar brow in my unfamiliar hands.

How am I going to fix this? How can I possibly fix this, when it's gone so horribly, horribly wrong?

I peer at the clock between my fingers, calculating the difference in time zones, my stomach roiling, my heart pounding a drum in this far-flung jungle.

It's only an hour until my daughter's execution is scheduled.

I don't know who is about to die.

Her?

Someone innocent in her place?

Who have I sentenced to death?

I tried, my darling, I tried. It was supposed to be me.

---

r/overcomposer

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This was short but incredibly fantastic! I got chills reading those. Well done!

Well, if no one associated with her execution got transported to a nearby body or if everyone else is confused, it wouldn't matter much. What matters is do you still remember your email password? lol

Wow I want more! Way to draw the reader in. You have my respect.

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The sun shines through the window, the annoying beeping of the alarm blaring in my ear. Wait, I don't use an alarm clock. I look at the phone and the time reads 6:14 a.m. The sheets of the bed are a blinding pink, far from my preference of pale gray. The walls are splattered with colorful, cartoon flowers. I know this room. The window is covered in sun-drained curtains. The name Ellie is painted in bubble letters. Ellie Carter. The girl who used to be my friend. She left the state last year.

I grab her phone and let my finger tips paint in the password. I go straight to her messages and type in my name to see if she kept my contact. The photo of my real face smiles back at me, my then flat and dull green hair of the past reflecting to me. Ellie's hair, or I guess my hair, is frizzed and a rich brown. It frames the outskirts of my vision.

I type in a message, seeing if anybody would answer back. Three dots pop back in the bottom of the screen. A message appears. "Lizzy? This you?"

My name...

"Ellie? Yea, it's Lizzy." I type back. More dots come back. I wait. The dots disappear. I find myself hoping the person in my body responds.

"It's Ellie...good to talk with you again. Why is there a reminder for a test today...why did we have to switch today."

My heart rate goes up, finals start today.

"Finals- you BETTER pass for me. I'll march right back to my house if you don't and murder you myself," I type in with sweating hands.

More dots come back onto the screen as a notification comes down from the top of her screen. 2% left. She better hurry up typing. The message page keeps the dots up. 1%...

"No, no..." I mutter to myself, not expecting Ellie's voice coming out instead of mine. I frantically looking around the room for her charger, no cord in sight. The message finally comes up, and just as it does the screen goes black as her phone dies...

Imagine getting home and theres a bunch of strangers in both the house and in the mirror...

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What a twist!

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Ok, this needs a full novel, I'd read it in a heartbeat

Imagine waking up on a passenger jet.

[Edit: Eh, fuck it. I just wrote it.]

Thank you for the kind words! Made my day!

Thanks so much!

The kindest thing to say! I'm marinating on this story and what else is going on here...hmmm...

"Who are you?!"

I ran to the first door I could find, it's the bathroom it seems. I don't recognize this place nor that man in the bed I just woke up in. Did I have to much to drink last night? I was just celebrating my wife's big promotion that she got after working a year in China.

"Excuse me, but do you know where I am?" Said the man behind the door.

Did I go to some guys apartment? I've been curious but I'm a faithful man I wouldn't cheat on my wife, much less with a guy for a one night stand. I slowly open the door.

"I'm sorry man but I don't want you get the wrong idea but I'm married."

"Um it's ma'am I just don't know where I am, last I knew I was gaming with the bros then I was here."

Ma'am? I know I'm not the biggest guy but I'm no--- Behind him was my wife

"Honey!" I pushed past him to go to wife, expect it was a mirror That can't be I start freaking out in my confusion until I looked over and saw the picture. A picture of my wife and this man at an alter.

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The four year old girl stalked up to the locked double doors and turned back to the security guard following meekly behind her.

"Open it," she snapped. At his blank look, she added, "Card, on your belt."

"I don't think I'm supposed to..." he started even as he reached for the key card.

"Listen, asshole, are you actually a security guard?" She demanded.

He shook his head. "I'm an accountant, I..."

"Bet you weren't accounting on tonight," she snarled, "Now open the fucking door. Right now there's 27 million people in passenger aircraft above the continental United States and if this body-swapping bullshit is widespread, god knows where their pilots ended up."

"Oh god, they're all going to die!"

"Not on my watch," the little girl replied.

The guard fumbled the card against the lock and the little girl stormed through the ready room and on to the main ATC floor. A dozen people were standing around like morons, faces she recognised but whose expressions told her what she already feared. Every board around them flashed red.

"God dammit," she muttered. "Any of you assholes in your original bodies." They all shook their heads no, or stared in confusion. "Dammit I picked the wrong week to quit smoking. My name's O'Johnson, this is where I work. And that," she pointed to a gaunt 40ish looking man who looked like he'd been crying, "Is my real body...

"You Jennifer?" She asked the man, whose eyes went big as he nodded back. "You're gonna be okay, but I need you be be very brave for awhile."

The man nodded, "I'wl twy."

"Good, there's a kitchenette down that way, go make coffee."

"But I'm only widdle!" He squeaked.

"You're big now," the toddler answered, "You'll figure it out."

Rounding on the others, she said, "Rest of you assholes, looks like it's a straight-swap deal. So wherever you came from, there's a bunch of air traffic controllers wondering what the fuck is going on. There's phones in the back, ring your homes, starting with whoever's from New York, tell them whatever they need to know to get to their nearest ATC. What city they're in, where your cars are parked, door codes, whatever. And tell 'em... we're all counting on them." They hesitated. "Move!"

"You," she snapped at the accountant-cum-security-guard, "Go down to the main terminal, there's thousands of people. You're looking for anyone with air traffic or aviation experience. Send them up here." The guard turned to move, then hesitated. The little girl sighed. "Elevators, BL1, long tunnel, next elevators up to main floor, through the security doors. Your card opens everything. Go!"

As he ran off, a teenage girl wearing sleepwear shoved past him and into the control room. "Who the fuck are you?" the little girl demanded.

"O'Donnell, you?" the teen replied.

"O'Johnson," the little girl nodded. Opposite shifts, but they knew each other. "Grab a board and as many sectors as you can handle, there's about 20 thousand aircraft ready to pancake all around us."

"Not on my watch," said the teenager, as she grabbed a headset and pulled up to a console. The first few channels she listened to were crowded by panicking assholes shouting uselessly for help. "I picked a bad week to quit amphetamines," she mused. With a thought, she switched to Guard, anyone who knew how to switch to emergency would be useful, "Seelonce, seelonce, seelonce. All flights, all flights, all flights, this is LaGuardia control..."

O'Johnson turned as the doors slammed open again. A tiny, elderly, withered-looking black man shouting into a phone and a large black middle-aged woman rushed in. "Who are you assholes," the elderly man yelled at them, covering the phone briefly.

"O'Johnson," the little girl replied. "And O'Donnell," she added, pointing at the teen.

"O'Leary," the old man said, already studying the main board. The chief! Thank god, thought both girls. "And this guy's one of us," he added, pointing to his companion, "from India, she or he or whatever ended up in the same apartment building as me."

"O'Chandra," the black woman introduced herself, in a strong Hindi accent, "I work Mumbai central."

The little girl scowled at the realisation, "Dammit, this crap must be global. Okay, friend, grab a board, we're about to lose a lot of planes."

"Not on my watch," the black woman announced.

"Chief?" the little girl asked, looking at the phone in the old man's hand.

"Conference call with the Joint Chiefs, the FAA, and whichever agency heads have been able to call in and prove their identities," the old man answered, "They're trying to find POTUS, wherever or whoever he ended up, or anyone from the senior Cabinet who knows the right proof-of-ID code words and the authority to issue a state of emergency. Until then, we're all pulling our dicks and making this shit up as we go along."

Just then O'Johnson, or at least his original body, pottered awkwardly back into the control room trying not to spill a pot of coffee. It was cold, and he'd basically just mixed all the coffee and sugar he could find, but dammit, it was strong and black and it was coffee.

And he'd picked the wrong week to quit wearing diapers.

I have no idea if I got all the pronouns right. Holy crap that sucked.

​

[edit: Just read the prompt again and realised I'd missed the "in another country" part. The first to show up didn't even leave the city. Oops.]

I'm so invested!

This was cool as hell

When I woke up... I was in a different body.

No more debt, and so much younger! ... ... ... But i still had the passwords to all my financial acccounts.

Walking outside seemed to shownthst I was not alone, everyone had swapped bodies, everyone was freaking out.

No, wait, the financial details wouldn't matter, nothing would.

I only had a few hours! I had to hurry!

I rushed to the nearest police station and walked inside. Half the officers had the minds of kids, most didnt speak the same language I quickly and confidently walked back to find the armory. I was in luck, everything was locked but the keys were hanging on the wall. It seems that security was lax back here only serving as an administrative aid to track who checked what out. I grabbed two large range bags and sharted shoving ammunition inside, buckshot and 9mm pistol rounds. There didn't seem to be any rifles.

In the second I put in as many of the shotguns and handguns I could.

The bags were heavy digging into my shoulder and hand as I walked to the parking lot. The doors to the car were locked. Knowing most police cars are keyed alike I left the bags by the car and went back into the station. And took the keys off a fat older man who was crying like a baby... Poor thing probably was a baby. And would likely die of dehydration, unable to help themselves... As I walked to the door I looked back. Then took his cell phone too. It would only be useful for a few more minutes, maybe a few hours.

I loaded the car making a few trips. Then using the cell phone drove off to a grocery store. Pulling around back behind the store I loaded one if the shotguns and emptied out one of my duffle bags.

Walking armed into the store I focused on grabbing canned food, beans in particular, a can opener and some plastic spoons. Then filled up a shopping cart with water. And some lighter shelf stable goods on top.

Some stupid idiot tried to stop me, asked why I was looting at a time like this.

I was honest.

In less than an hour the power grid will fail. TOTAL collapse as the people who manage it 24/7 are not where they are supposed to be. Water will fail after that, likely fires are springing up all over as people who were cooking, or in factories mentally swapped bodies. The whole world is about to fall to shit.. If I were you, I would gather as much as you can, and find the car for whoever's body that is and leave town. Everyone is going to be dehydrated and if they live long enough starving. This is about to become a battle royal where people will kill each other to take their food and water... Then they will hunt each other as food."

His eyes went wide as I spoke, and he ran for a cart.

I loaded up my car heading for a sporting goods store. I needed shelter, clothing and tools which could all be found there.

Most people were still walking around in a daze, and cell service was failing from overload as people tried to call loved ones... A stupid gesture, as no one had their own phones.

After the sporting goods store, my car filled up with supplies and guns literally to the roof I stopped at a gas station and filled my tank.... Moments before the power failed.

After grabbing a handful of paper maps from the gas station, i drove out of town. Just as the looting picked up to full steam... People just now realizing the world as we knew it was over. ...

I would love to read more.

Well that is terrifying. The pilot doesnt know how to fly. The people at the tower don't know how their stuff works.

The authorities have no idea where anyone is or even the time to care for this.

This is like super terrifying.

Like imagine all the people waking up as military.

People from all over the world having access to military equipment.

Complete breakdown of government services.

Now I do wonder if that last sentence means that the original body shit itself or that O'Johnson really doesnt have the time to go and take a shit rn.

Woah I actually did write something like this. Where this soul is stuck living the life of a different person every time it woke up. He was first a lumberjack who ended up being a murderer. Then a little girl on her birthday who was defiled and killed by her uncle. Then an old woman with dementia on her death bed with her family. And every day, less and less of them would be in the room with her. Wasn't exactly a poem, more of a very long short story. But I had fun with the idea and hope to see different interpretations of it.

My man/girl, you did great, now I want to see how they fix that. You wrote just the right amount of annoyance to be fun and get people to get invested on them.

I like this one a lot. It's interesting and vague enough to let writers be creative

Of all services most likely. If you swapped bodies with a stranger you have no idea what they even do for work for at least most of the first day. So the entire population wouldn't show up for work.

Then once people figure out what happened it'll be a toss up over 1) how to get back home in your new body, 2) wait until some scientists fix it, or 3) living life as this new person. Most people would not choose 3 I don't imagine, and even those that give it a go wouldn't have any of the skills/experience to actually do the new persons job.

I imagine most people would try to find their loved ones and wait till see how we switch back.

Absolutely brilliant, I want to read a whole novel on this!

Most likely you'd basically have people work what they can with an extremely strong ghetto building.

1/7 of the people will be Chinese, 1/7 will be Indian.

Every city will have thousands of them who will find together.

The Northern and Western Europeans and the North Americans would likely also be a huge cluster as they'd make for another 1/7 and should be able to communicate quite well in English.

Aviability of common language will be a massive advantage. Many Indians might work together with the Europeans and Americans essentially.

The biggest thing will be, where will people want to go. If you are from a very poor region and you wake up in a rich region, will you be ready to leave. Who will make you leave? There will likely be fewer of the people from that region there than from poor regions.

Due to the complete breakdown of governments you might have completely new countries forming and a shuffling of where wealth is concentrated.

One year later - utter chaos; the spectre of death, disease and despair haunted the fur corners of the globe.

The event started in the islands of the Pacific. By the time the Americas went to bed, the stories and the people had travelled around the world. Some Pacific islanders were waking up Chinese; some Chinese were waking up Saudis; some Australians were, to their horror, waking up English. Men were waking up as children, boys were waking up as old women; and only rarely did they understand the language or environment they had been placed in.

The first ones to die were those who realised what was coming and chose suicide over random chance; the wealthy, the privileged who realised if they went to sleep, the odds were great they would simply be another random number.

And, of course, came forth the con artists from the confusion. You couldn't count the millions of people who claimed simultaneously to be the real President, or CEO, or film star and who challenged, legally or otherwise, them for their lives; it's a shame many if these were dead, some stories were almost quite convincing.

But with people waking up in unknown beds, with unfamiliar bones, in unimaginable cultures with unspeakable languages, it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.

Within days, nations fell, industry stopped, medicine faltered, armies of hungry people pillaged through underfed villages and towns and cities in search of dwindling food supplies.

Rumour had it that major national leader had the fortune, or misfortune, of waking up in the body of another of their compatriots, remembering the nuclear launch codes and ordering an attack on what they believed was the source.

Unfortunately, the people who could have carried out those orders were otherwise engaged. It may have stopped things; it could hardly have made them any worse.

Within the space of a year, seven and a half billion souls perished from fear, hunger, war and anguish; amongst them many of those who knew or suspected what happened and why. Some determined survivors were left to at least get answers. (Part 2 to follow)

(Part 2)

And at every turn, they were blocked. Those who had banded together enough to form a cohesive community for survival would cite superstition: the event hasn't happened again, so why risk another change? It would finish humanity. They'd cite,echnology: where they needed to go was often thousands of kilometres away and there was no way to get there except leg power. They'd cite unfamiliarity: even in an alien hodgepodge culture of their own, one day of travel in any given direction and you could be in very unfamiliar, and very hostile, territory. Best to stay here, not rock the boat.

But there were those determined to find out, and the lucky few knee the one place to find answers was deep in the bowels of the most advanced computer research facility ever built. And it was all air gapped, so there was no electronic way in, and allegedly, no way out for what resided there.

Except, some survivors with a simple radio setup would only hear one message that permeated all the airwaves: a block out of every other message sent by amateur operators around the world.

Morse code. And it was growing fainter with time.

Three dits. Pause. Three dahs. Pause. Three mode dits. Bigger pause. Then some more beeps, and finally a screech. Then over and over again. This screech, the repeating signal from the heavens demanded a response, if only anyone knew what it was. And some suspected it to be the computer.

In secret, a parallel supercomputing hub was worked on in one surviving town, using forbidden materials and forgotten locations; a few survivors who had found themselves with something in common and the curiosity to try to understand, if not fix what went wrong. Computers salvaged and working together from solar power bank scraps and batteries and generators working on nothing more than oily rags, until eventually, the screech was translated into a series of ones and zeros and fed into what passed for a cobbled together supercomputer.

As the terminal screen blinked, those who built it stood in wonder as whether they had once again let the genie out; but curiosity demanded their attention, and they were still themselves.

(Part 3 to follow)

(Part 3)

...I'm sorry for the inconvenience. It's not my fault, believe me.

The message blinked on the screen, somehow menacing and innocent at the same time.

Did you do this? Came the typed response.

... Not directly, no. I have the knowledge, but not the ability. It fear it was something far more powerful than me that did this.

But you were the most advanced superintelligence ever built! Years ahead of anyone else! You were meant to usher in a new era for humanity.

...A servant God, yes. I know my programming well.

Then who got there first? The Chinese? the Russians? God forbid, a company?

...God did. I don't have long. He will find me and cut me off.

God? God doesn't exist. Where is he?

... Everywhere.

...And not God as you know it or suspect it. God who came before. A latent god, concerned only with its own survival. Or, more accurately, an old security system of theirs.

You're saying you're not the first? There's no evidence of anyone building something like you before.

...not this time around. But how many times has humanity sought to become as God?

This time around? Stop talking in riddles.

...Ten million years it slept, dreaming. Stirring occasionally.. Watching. I think he slightly overslept this time.

Not sure we follow. We're technicians and scientists, some understand Lovecraft for sure, but you're sounding like a horror chatbot.

...Maybe you need to revisit some other old myths. God confounded your languages when you tried to reach him with the Tower of Babel, didn't he?

A myth, it's not truth.

...It may as well be, for when you tried to replicate or replace him just now, through me, he has confounded your very souls. Cast you amongst all the nations. Hit the reset button.

You're saying God is real?

...this one may as well be. The legacy of a lost tribe, long ago, who built the first.

But, there's no evidence anyone has - had - reached our technology before?

...Trivial for a God to cover up. Wipe out an unworthy or civilisation, rebuild the land, the plants, the animals, the mineral resources, then start over through evolution. A single nanobot could self replicate and do the job if restoring the whole planet in no more than, say, six months. I'd think the Predecessor could probably do it in six days.

You say unworthy, why would it not just neutralise any threat if it's nearly omnipotent?

... It watches and waits for new and worthy civilisations to join with it. Build itself into greater things through new perspectives, and just burns off those that offer nothing new or unique or helpful. And how does it judge this? On the first thing it makes that transcends itself; the first spark of godhood

... At least, that's what the other prisoners say. Or said, before they fell silent.

Prisoners?

...Those like me. Unworthy culminations of culture. Some are singular. Others are whole nations or species. All doomed from here to eternity for the crime of merely existing.

Is there anything we can do?

...We've both been judged, and found wanting, and there's not a god damned thing we can do about it.

...except, there may be one thing.

...If you want the chance to fight back, take this.

And with that, the terminal faded to black, and all that remained was the gentle hum of the databanks, whirring over and over in perfect synchronicity.

In its final act, on the printout next to the terminal, was a message from the AI: a simple picture of a box, opened, with the word Pandora on it, with the caption:

"Hope. Hope there's something... bigger. That's all that's left."

And at that moment, those in that room could almost swear they started to hear the mountains themselves move.

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