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The last one of her kind, she thought to herself as she edged along the precipice. She carried the death of her race in her and so she could not die. She could lose parts of her, even lose the life of this body, but the last one of her race would be reborn and come to finish what she'd started. And the last one reborn would also be the last one of her kind. So it would be, and so it would continue, until the mission was done and the future was secured. Then she might seek a way to be other than the last one of her kind, or so the records said. She tried to think about the idea of not being the One Alone, and her mind could not work its way around the edges of the idea. If she was not the One Alone, what would she be? Such thoughts were foolish fancies that she had been warned against by the --

Inspiration: "The Last Mohican"
Story Potential: Medium? Medium-high? High?
Notes: Trying to think what scenario could be so dire that the whole species couldn't be exposed to it, yet one (exceptional) individual could overcome it and make things safe for the others. Maybe that's why this is high potential--my mind is pulling at the edges of this idea to try and figure it out.
Aphrodisiacs and psychotropics were illegal and possession of them was punishable by death on Ratfree, so naturally we'd pumped the tent full of them. The crowd queued up, big-eyed, holding their tickets to the spectacle. We'd insist that each and every person or individual hand over their ticket personally, from the oldest grandma to the smallest toddler. Each ticket was coated in a quick allergy-test that would fluoresce around their fingerprint if they might have a bad reaction to any of the drugs we used or the quick strobing sense-field. Those with heart problems or anything like an allergy would be shuffled off into the smaller tent with the promise of an exclusive performance that they'd been promoted to. They'd go--make it sound like they were getting something--

Inspiration: "Ladies and Gentlemen" by Saliva
Story Potential: High
Notes: Hmm. But what if one sneaks inside anyway and has an eccentric reaction that isn't life-threatening but makes them more valuable to the world outside this backwater? Setting notes: more advanced civ is bound by treaty not to invade or taint the deliberately simpler worlds, but is allowed to put on demonstrations, so they run a circus every decade or so to tempt, educate, and lure away the citizens? Int'resting.
On the mountain, there was an old stone temple that had been abandoned for so long that the lichen crawling over its surface made it look as if it had just grown there. When the Truth Speakers came, they destroyed the churches and the cathedrals, the holy springs and the sacred wise-men, but they missed the old stone temple. At first, the people still scorned it, for they had not worshiped there for generations, not since their great-great-great-grandparents had moved down out of the hills, where they lived lives hardly above those of the animals that surrounded the town, and became civilized. A few holdouts still roamed the hills, but they daren't come into town. Being spat on was the least of what they should fear. They were hardly better than animals, and they were treated worse.

Inspiration: "Shake 'Em On Down" - R.L. Burnside, and a NYT.com slideshow of pictures from Bali.
Story Potential: High?
Notes: Returning to the old ways, dealing with those one has scorned. Could be interesting.

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penthius

January 2025

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