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60 responses to “Writing Group: The Harvest”

1. 

   Domtron

   November 7, 2019

   The Scarecrow by Domtron

   Mark Cowl pulled up into the driveway of the Adam’s to check up on the matriarch Margret. he got out of his car smelling the cool autumn air. “Mrs Adam?” He calls out before hearing a familiar southern voice. “I’m over here Mr Cowl by the scarecrow!” Cowl followed the sound of the voice before meeting the kind old woman picking up food for the harvest “working hard? Or hardly working” Cowl chuckles as Margret giggles sweetly “working hard just like my Bobby” Margret responds as her eyes met the scarecrow. Cowl looks at the scarecrow seeing it was wearing Bobby’s clothes “interesting scarecrow you have there Margret, aren’t those Bobby’s clothes?” Cowl inquires as he inspects the scarecrow closely.
   “well Bobby likes wearing his blue button up and black pants” The doctor was taken aback by Margret’s response. “You named the scarecrow after your late husband?” Cowl questions. “Why that IS my husband Mr Cowl” Margret’s eyes opened wide as a smile grew on her face almost as if she was excited. Cowl was in disbelief that Margret would be in this huge state of denial “Margret…” he was lost for words as he tries to collect his thoughts “…not to be mean but you know that Bobby’s dead, I know you’re having a rough time right now but-“
   “Oh no Mr Cowl I’m not having a bad time at all, Bobby has been helping me with the harvest, speaking of which let me get you some food I picked out so you can’t take home” the old woman smiles before walking to her house. Cowl was alone with the scarecrow unsure what to think about the way Margret is going through this grief if she’s even going through it. He inspects the scarecrow closely wanting to know more about the scarecrow. He felt as if it was looking at him, staring at him. Cowl’s heart stops as saw a face behind a scarecrow mask, a decaying face that was probably a few weeks old, the same time Bobby has been dead.

   Reply
2. 

   William Maitland

   November 7, 2019

   “Another Great Year”
   By William Maitland

   His bony, shaky finger pointed at me. All eyes in the town fell upon me. I tried very hard to hide my frown. We all knew what was about to happen. I’d had a gut feeling about this for weeks. I knew my day was coming.

   The harvest festival’s myriad aromas still hung thick in the air. Fresh-cooked meats, the baker’s annual sweetcakes, even the stew in the shaman’s pot. That one stuck with me the most, in that day of revelry beneath the shadow of the Effigy.

   My father had pulled me aside, and tilted my head up by the chin. “What an honor it is,” he told me, “that you are chosen for this. The gods will be good to us, for your sake.” I nodded, but in my heart I wondered if that was true. My mother was sniffling. She didn’t want me to catch her wiping away her tears. I caught her, but decided not to ask about it.

   I had something to do. I was going to bring my people another bountiful year.

   I stepped forward and faced the crowd. When I raised my fist and shouted the mantra, morale soared. They picked it up quickly. A chant. A chant to cheer me on my ascent. My slow, splintery ascent up the left leg, and into the chest, of the Effigy.

   It never occurred to me that I might fall. Not once. I could’ve lost my grip and splattered on the ground. Would the gods even pick another? Or would they just consider this year a botched one, and turn all the gourds black, and give our cattle wasting-plague? None of these questions crossed my mind as I went up, took my seat, and dragged the wicker door shut in front of me.

   Once more I gave the cry, from my high perch. The torchbearer came through, and ignited the leg I’d climbed up on. He scurried back, then, to join the circle in their song.

   The last thing I took notice of, as sweat started to pour, was the shaman’s wolfish grin.

   Reply
   1. 

      ArkansanDragon

      November 7, 2019

      I’m reminded of a short story I read back in college called “The Lottery” with this piece. Very well written, and I had a pretty good idea of what was going on from the first paragraph. These types of stories aren’t usually told from the point of view of the sacrifice, and that they went along with it willingly made it more interesting. That shaman though… You leave things on a very ominous note (I mean being burned alive is bad enough, but still). What reason would he have to pick them out? It makes me want to find out more. 🙂 I hope this is one of the stories picked to be read. 🙂 Well done!

      Reply
   2. 

      Domtron

      November 7, 2019

      I liked the structure of the story and as Arkansan had mentioned it also reminded me of “The lottery” but to me it reminds me a lot more of the “I have no mouth and I must scream” video game in which one of the characters you play as is forced into a village that would do sacrifices for AM in order to receive food. The first person POV is very unique I love how we get to hear the main character’s thoughts as they get sacrificed. Overall great story I hope you get picked to be read

      Reply
3. 

   Lily/Spiderlily

   November 6, 2019

   “Sustenance”, by Lily
   I wish you could see it mother. The beautiful colors of another fall day decorate the world outside your kitchen window. Of course, though, you knew the end was near. I’m sure you soaked up as much of it as you could while you still had the chance.
   The baby is due any day now. If we were any other family, you’d be preparing her room, gathering decorative frames to show off your beautiful new granddaughter, but we are what we are. What could I have done to change things? What could I have possibly done to stop myself? My baby was hungry. The cravings were so strong. You understand. After all, you did the same thing to feed me, didn’t you mother? And Grandmother must have been so proud of you.
   The table is decorated just like you taught me. The perfect Thanksgiving display. Pumpkin and pecan pie, stuffing, casserole, yeast rolls, everything you could want, and all with the most wonderful centerpiece.
   You’ve never been so beautiful mother, and this year, I want you to know how thankful I am for your sacrifice. I know it must have hurt. I know it must have been scary, but you taught me that the things we do for our children are often scary and painful, and that it’ll all be worthwhile in the end. I’m providing sustenance for the next generation after all, and I’m taking careful measures.
   I want this to be beautiful. I want this to be respectful. I want this to be something you would have been proud to be a part of. I want to lead by example, like you did mother, so that one day my own daughter will grant me the same dignity when motherhood comes to her.
   I’ve seasoned you perfectly, and only stolen a small portion for myself and the baby, to satiate the cravings, you know. You’ll be the most delicious dish at the table this year.

   Reply
   1. 

      Matthew

      November 6, 2019

      It’s always so nice to have family for dinner, isn’t it. lol I love the reasoning/justification going on throughout the piece. I imagine this as a sort of allegory for tradition, specifically taboo ones of course.

      Reply
      1. 

         Lily/Spiderlily

         November 6, 2019

         That’s sort of what I was going for, an annual fall tradition where someone would having to talk their way through it because they know it’s wrong, but it’s tradition, and trying to convince themselves it was fine by repeating all the justifications she was told as a child, just turning it around to fit her. I’m not sure I was able to convey everything I wanted in just over 300 words, but I don’t know. I’m pretty satisfied with what it turned in to for a bit of flash fiction.

         Reply
   2. 

      Zendrelax

      November 8, 2019

      This story filled me with a deep feeling of unease. Good job.

      The degree of the perspective character’s slavish devotion to this particular tradition is unsettling. It kinda makes me wonder what her mother was thinking, at the end.

      Her absolute certainty that she’ll have a daughter is a nice touch. It makes the story feel like their’s a sort of magic creeping around in the background, but very subtly. Which is a nice touch.

      Reply
      1. 

         Lily/Spiderlily

         November 9, 2019

         Thank you!

         Reply
4. 

   Revisis

   November 5, 2019

   “Honest Work” by Exce

   Metal scraped over metal, a sharp noise that echoed in the wooden shed momentarily.

   The man turned the blade, the golden light of the morning reflecting off the sharp edge as it fell in through a window.
   At that, a smile split the man’s red beard and he rested the scythe over his shoulder as he stepped out of the shed.

   In front of him the mountaintop was basked in the early light, and one of the many partitions of his mountain farm was filled with ears of corn that looked as if of solid gold.

   Even if he nowadays had longer hair around his chin than on top of his head, having cut his hair shorter due to convenience, the air still found some longer hairs to tickle his neck with.
   In this moment of peace, he couldn’t suppress a twitch in his free hand. Fingers slowly curling into a fist.

   He gritted his teeth and forced his hand to open up again, taking a deep breath. His grip on the scythe’s handle tightened and the man sped up his pace, flipping up the latch and letting the gate swing open.
   Now that he stood surrounded by the golden ears he forced himself to breathe slowly, taking the scythe in a practiced grip.

   Sometimes it was easy to forget, but when there was nothing to do the instincts and memories began to creep up again.
   So time to work, the blade passed through the stalks in front of him.

   He had had many names over the years…The Red Scholar. The Red Beast. But he had always wanted to just be Excelsius.

   From side to side, tufts of golden wheat collected around Excelsius’ feet.

   Nowadays, when he went to the market or met people down in the foothills..they didn’t look at him in fear or awe. They nodded and went on their way.
   He wasn’t mourning the times in which they would whisper behind his back or cower in fear.

   Now he was just one of many Ranchers in this region. And he was, finally, at peace.

   Reply
   1. 

      Grey

      November 5, 2019

      A reaper once, now a farmer. The idea that this man tried to move on from another life. Collecting and harvesting the grains he has sown to get away from it. That all intrigues me, to say the least!
      I think you’ve got a curious character here that I personally would like to know more of. Though I don’t know if the story needs to mention his previous names. I think the underlining tones already suggest that he was something else before he became a farmer.
      Overall, great story! This would be a book I’d read.

      Reply
   2. 

      Zendrelax

      November 8, 2019

      This was nice. We get a taste of the perspective character’s old life, and for why they wanted to leave it behind. That he’d want to have a life where he’s able to build healthier relationships with people, and maybe even do more fulfilling work, makes a lot of sense.

      Reply
5. 

   MisterWorst

   November 5, 2019

   It began with the Harvest.
   (Fog of Obscruity Series)
   By MisterWorst

   “For an Age we have stood and watched here. In this village that once was part of what lies beyond the river, in the fog with its droning sounds. For this protection had been raised and never lowered.

   We watched as tall black ships left the sea harbor beyond the fog. Their holds laden with strange goods, only to return with riches untold, luxuries, curiosities and strange folks.

   We watched as our part of the riverbank fell into poverty and disrepair, our lives becoming the play things of lords far away, while our supposed sovereign sat behind the fog.
   Many searched for a way beyond the fog, none ever returned. Our small village prospered some in those times. But when the black ships stopped their trade, so too did the interest of the lords disappear.

   Now an Age has past since the fog appeared and the black ships never returned. The fog and this village have passed into obscurity and strange curiosity, but we have not forgotten.
   Beyond the fog still laid riches, still laid prosperity, still laid the promise of a better future and we, we have found a way in.”

   Coltons gaze flew over the remainder of the book in his hands. It told a tale of how the village had explored the lands beyond the fog.

   How they had found no inhabitants, only too few skeletons arranged like scarecrows.

   How it had prospered from the resources they obtained from beyond the fog.

   How new strangers came to profit from what they had waited generations for.

   With a stoic look on his face he closed the book. It was true, afterall he wasn’t the first one to come here seeking profit and he certainly would not be the last. But, looking around at the empty village, he might be the first to find a new way to find his fortune.

   With a nod at the corpses hanging limp from their stands in the marketplace, their arms outstretched, Colton turned.
   There was an opportunity to be sized.

   Reply
   1. 

      Revisis

      November 5, 2019

      Ohhh very ominous! A story inside a story! This feels like the prologue to a bigger book! I like it, but the last part of the story looks a bit squished after the first half had seperations between every few sentences.
      Id love to read more!

      Reply
      1. 

         MisterWorst

         November 5, 2019

         it actually is a first part. I plan to center all my future entrees into this writing group around this….
         There is even a Series title under the story title but I’m bad at nameing things.

         as for being squished … maybe a little editing work can do the trick

         Reply
         1. 

            revisis

            November 5, 2019

            Awesome! Looking forward to it!

            Reply
   2. 

      Grey

      November 5, 2019

      It seems like there is a world that has definitely formed around this “fog” that seems to exist. I like that there are people who began to find ways through the mist to the other side. Though I’m unsure about the exposition provided here. I think a lot of it could be relayed through Colton’s interactions with the world beyond the fog rather than from a book he read.
      That said, I do enjoy a good “story within a story” vibe. With this idea that Colton follows the trails of someone who came before him. I can’t wait to see where the rest of your story goes!

      Reply
6. 

   Alexander

   November 5, 2019

   “Harvest Day”
   Wind blew across his face as he stared across the field. This wind, that he had called ‘Harvest Wind’, was revitalizing to him, although late autumn wasn’t kind in any other way. The special kind of nostalgia this Harvest Wind gave was closely tied to memories of running through the pumpkins with friends in times long past.

   He knew that wind like nobody else. Now I know that wind, but it’s not the same. I only give a cruel mockery of the way he knew the Harvest Wind.

   On Harvest day, a day that nobody expected, he would look out and see the sprawling fields and smile fondly when he’d see the biggest, most plump pumpkin, and he’d almost always chuckle to himself at this. That was the one, he would have thought, the one that would represent his love.

   Harvest day again, but this time he’s not here. I’m here. I see the vast crowds and smile when I see the most corrupt, vile person there. That’s the one, I think to myself, the one that will represent my hatred. This isn’t what he wanted, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.

   Harvest day again. No longer a matter of how close to ripe the crops were. A day I set on the calendar with grim satisfaction. They loved him, the kind farmer. He gave happiness to any who would visit him. They fear me, the remorseless and silent reaper. I take lives from any who dare oppose me.

   They knew him.

   They don’t know me.

   They’ll never know me.

   They’ll never know.

   Reply
   1. 

      Revisis

      November 5, 2019

      An interesting approach, even if the change between third and first person is a bit confusing. I like the implication of bigger Worldbuilding at hand, the annual Harvest Wind bringing something unknown with it that affects the person in the story

      Reply
   2. 

      Grey

      November 5, 2019

      I get this feeling that the reaper here is just another man. But I entertain the view that they are actually the same person. That something happened between harvests that changed him in such a way. That’s why no one will ever know, the perfect disguise. Perspective shifts are hard to do right, I think the flow of this would have done better to have started with the “I” rather than a “he”. That way the transition would be more of a reflection of the “I” character and wouldn’t feel as out of place.
      Otherwise I like where the story is going, and it has the Grim Dark undertones which is always a plus to me!

      Reply
   3. 

      MisterWorst

      November 5, 2019

      hmmm the switch from He/Him to I was a bit jaring. In the end I aint sure if the person talking from theri persepctive is death, some being of vengence or simply a serial murderer.

      And that might be a good thing. It keeps up the mystery.

      Reply
7. 

   Grey

   November 5, 2019

   “Frost” by Grey

   Elizabeth frowned at the engine as it roared to life, the machine beginning to rumble as the hot steam was pumped around the system. She lowered the goggles over her face as steam rushed out of a connector pipe leading to the farm. Rolling out her tools, she began to work.

   As she tightened the bolts, a thin man stepped down into the room straightening his frock coat. Elizabeth sighed, “You know I don’t like to be interrupted while I’m working Mr. Simmons.”

   “I’m afraid you are incorrect, Ms. Evergarde.” The wispy voice caused Elizabeth to spin, her hair whipping her face in the process.
   “I… I didn’t realize…” Elizabeth quickly brushed off the dust from her woolen shirt and pants, “I thought the harvest wasn’t until next week, Mr. Cross”

   “The king has decreed an early tax,” Mr. Cross produced a clipboard, “What is your current produce?”

   Elizabeth shifted, her heart began beating rapidly, “I have a multitude of produce, I’m about to collect on some potatoes.”

   Mr. Cross raised his eyebrow, “From Mr. Simmons I presume?” Elizabeth nodded, “Then we may have an issue. See Mr. Simmons is unable to meet the quota for this harvest.”

   Elizabeth froze, her blood pounding against her skin. She hadn’t considered that Mr. Simmons wouldn’t be able to pay. As she stiffened, Mr. Cross lifted his hand and motioned for the guard to come in.

   Two guns pointed at Elizabeth, her voice shaken as she said, “You can’t take me, I keep most of the engines working in this community… I… They won’t be able to produce…”

   Mr. Cross clicked his tongue, “Either you produce, or we will have to acquire our produce another way. Seize her!”

   Reply
   1. 

      MisterWorst

      November 5, 2019

      Well that is a very draconic king right there. Collecting the Taxes early will lead to all kinds of problems and with the consequences of “not being able to pay” that can get out of bounds very fast.
      I would love to see a piece that explores the reason behind these practices, why the taxes are to be collectd early or the Consequences of collecting them early.

      Is there a war or famine going on in another part of the country? How were the rates set that fixed taxes would work? What brought about the other way of paying taxes?

      all things that can be explored in other pieces.

      Reply
      1. 

         Grey

         November 6, 2019

         I actually want to do future pieces going into some of those aspects as well! I had some idea of what the state of the world is, but I didn’t know how to organically introduce it into the story. If I could, I’m sure all of those questions would have been answered somewhat!

         Reply
8. 

   Samantha DeShong

   November 5, 2019

   “The Feast”
   by Samantha Realynn

   As soon as I stepped across the threshold a great warmth enveloped me, sinking down into my bones and my tremors ceased. The door behind me closed, shutting out the last of the bitter cold that had almost claimed my life. My savior draped a blanket over my shoulders and led me from the entrance.

   “There we go. Now, we’ll get you proper warm in no time.” She smiled at me, her eyes soft and kind. I smiled back. I already felt far better than I had before she found me, freezing just outside of her cottage. I didn’t remember seeing it before I collapsed, though how anyone could see in that terrible, cold darkness was beyond me. The cottage seemed simple, bathed in light and decorated in warm colors that reminded me of home. Home…where was home…? Where…

   I was led to the dining room and my jaw dropping at the sight of food already laid out, hot and fresh and ready to eat. There was enough for an army to feast and still have leftovers. The smells alone made me drool. I would have blushed at the noises my stomach made but I was too hungry to care. All I could think about was the food.

   My host laughed and led me to a chair. “Please, eat your fill. I know you must be starving. The harvest was excellent this year, as usual. Please, partake.”

   I lunged at an already prepared plate, marveling at how good the food tasted. All of it my favorites that I hadn’t tasted in years. Food was scarce, had been for ages. The cold destroyed so much. But not here. I paused, how could there have been a good harvest here? Where did all this food come from? All I remembered outside was the cold…

   A warm hand rested on my shoulder and a suffusion of warmth made me look up at my kindly host. Her warm smile banished any worries from me.

   “Now don’t you fret. Eat your fill. There will always be more. The cold will make sure of that.”

   Reply
   1. 

      Grey

      November 5, 2019

      I had a feeling the moment I started reading this. The host must harvest a lot from the fools who get lost in the cold. It gave me a very Hansel and Gretel fairy-tale feel. I think this story is expertly set up, you are never sure when the twist is coming, but you can tell that something is off. The POV character begins asking questions about the same time a reader does, but is interrupted by the host. I love this story and I hope it gets picked to be read!

      Reply
   2. 

      MisterWorst

      November 5, 2019

      Like Grey said in his comment. I too get a very Hansel and Gretel vibe from this with maybe a bit of Yuki-Ona thrown in.
      It makes me wonder how exactly the Cold provides the food but that is either to be left alone or explored at a later point.

      Reply
   3. 

      Zak

      November 6, 2019

      Amazing. I’m new to such short fiction and I think this story alone proves how much can be said in so few words.

      Reply
   4. 

      William Maitland

      November 7, 2019

      A swing and a hit again, Samantha! I appreciated the atmosphere of warm, kindly feelings throughout the tale, and foolishly let my guard down. While I’m not sure of what *exactly* is wrong in this picture, I feel like the ending there is enough to send my imagination racing into the realm of “Oh dear lord” implications. A stellar example of knowing where to end it, and leaving the reader wanting just the right amount of “more.”

      Reply
9. 

   Matthew

   November 4, 2019

   “Ritual” by Matthew
   Societies dependent on agriculture are fragile and depend on a delicate cycle of birth and regrowth. One bad harvest year means sleepless nights, empty bellies and frugal rationing. Two bad harvest years mean disease, starvation, and death.

   It is by these thoughts the village leaders feared the coming year. Winter had just arrived, and a dry spell had stunted the growth of the previous season. The Johnson’s had a two year old toddler, and the Jones’s had recently birthed a new baby boy of their own. The village depended on a good harvest, but no guarantee was provided.

   Motivated by fear, uncertainty, and love, the villagers consulted their elders who told of a mystic ritual preformed by their ancestors in times of peril. They told tale of Freya, the wife of Wotan, and goddess of fertility. Freya’s blessing was needed if next years harvest is to be successful

   On a cold, winter night, the men of the village gathered and made their way into a clearing in a nearby forest. A carpenter provided several recently carved ritualistic busts and began to place them in the center of the carved posts being erected by the other men.

   With a spark, the busts began to catch flame. The fires were reluctant at first, but the dry air and hastily added brush aided their cause. Flames began to leap from burning face to burning face as the men stared vigilantly at the bonfire.

   The loud cackling of timbers was interrupted by an aged voice begging forgiveness of Freya. The rest of the men then joined in and began to chant while walking counterclockwise.

   At the end of the procession, the carpenter cast the last remaining carving, a strong mare, into the fire. The largest offering presented, the men bowed their heads in silent prayer, begging for security, life, and health.

   But the feeble gods of Earth were unable to answer their call. The cold unfeeling planet continued, unaltered from its inevitable course, and unfazed by the desperate pleas of a vulnerable people.

   Reply
   1. 

      Grey

      November 5, 2019

      This feels like a story that almost has a brutal tale. Almost like a warning or reminder that the neither the gods nor the earth cares about the please of the mortal people. Though, I find it odd that it sounds as though they never worshiped this god before. I personally think that a small farming village would already be worshiping a god of the earth or grain. However, I do like that it is very grim and dark. Two things I like very much!

      Reply
      1. 

         Matthew

         November 5, 2019

         Good point! They definitely would be worshiping the god already. I guess a better way to portray the situation would be the revealing of a ritual that is perhaps unfamiliar to the younger worshipers. Thanks for the feedback!

         Reply
   2. 

      MisterWorst

      November 5, 2019

      Nice story over all with a kind of refreshing theme at the end for a story with a dark tone since it isnt ending with a Human Sacrifice.
      Dependent on your interpretation it also leaves open if it’s the gods not answering for the sacrifice wasnt great enough, them not careing or simply them not existing and the world carrying on.

      Reply
10. 

    puzzleddev

    November 4, 2019

    Green Silence, by Tim Zygor

    It had only been a year since I last visited my brother’s cottage on a green-filled cliff, overlooking the sea. When I stepped out of my carriage, I could tell something was off immediately, there was no noise. Not even the – usually omnipresent – crows made themselves known. I rushed through the fields with little interest for Thomas’s trade. All I could think about was what had happened. Had he been falsely imprisoned, like so many? Had some bandit gotten the better of him?

    Once at the cottage, I shouted into the yellow, evening air: “Thomas! Where are you?”. No answer. I was worried before, but now panic gripped my chest and squeezed it tightly, my lungs refused to work as I rushed off towards his house.

    Open doors everywhere I looked. No fires or flames, even if fall had taken the warmth of summer with it long ago. Yet, no signs of a fight or hurried escape, it looked as if everyone had just disappeared. No matter. “Maybe they’re working. That must be it.”, I told myself, trying to fight down the panic closing its hands around my throat.

    Finally, my search brought me to the barn, its door slightly ajar. As I stepped closer a terrible odor was in the air: Sweet and pungent, it hung around the barn like a black veil. Gingerly stepping inside I quickly found the source of the smell: A pile of… potatoes? Surely not. For one, potatoes are not black and slick and they certainly don’t smell like disease. “What were you harvesting Thomas?”

    I must have said it out loud because a voice answered me: “What we harvest? Doom.” The voice rattled with laughter, before exploding into a coughing fit. Even now I recognized my brother and ran towards him, a strange, malnourished form propped up against the wood. With no sign of recognition, he made one more belabored breath: “We even export it.”

    Reply
    1. 

       Matthew

       November 4, 2019

       I love the last line! I felt the black doom-laden potatoes beat didn’t hit as hard as it could. Maybe more evocative diction would’ve brought about the sense that something is very definitely wrong a bit better? There was a lot of intrigue in this one! I didn’t have a hard time staying engaged at all!

       Reply
    2. 

       Grey

       November 5, 2019

       I find the concept interesting. How does one harvest doom? Why does it look like potatoes? There’s a lot of questions that came out of this. I can feel the description, and that ending was a great beat to end on. I think the vocabulary used doesn’t maintain the air I think you were going for? Perhaps adding some more showing rather than telling in the story. Either way, I do like the concept and could see it “growing” some more!

       Reply
    3. 

       MisterWorst

       November 5, 2019

       In general the whole scenary of green cliff sides and spoiled potatos makes me think Irish Potato Famine.

       Which makes the end was certainly more humorus that I anticipated. If you had elaborated on the bandits or the falls imprisonment mentioned it might have hightened the gloom of the scene and increased the urgency of the main character. So that the last part might have had more of an impact to it.
       On the other hand this leaves behind good hooks to expand the story at a later date. The Harvest Doom alone is worhy of a second look.

       Reply
11. 

    ArkansanDragon

    November 4, 2019

    “Life Reaps Death; Death Reaps Life” by Magan (350 words)

    The witless vegetable-sheep bleated panic, straining against rooted umbilical stalks to flee, their cotton-wool blazing with autumn colors. Shepherds frantically sought to calm them with powdered balms, facing the monster despite their terror. The sheep were not ripe enough to risk fatal stalk breaks. The beastfolk village would starve if this crop-herd were lost.

    This mindless giant spider was new to this region of Dracora, harrying Mossglen for days. Their usual weapon and magic tactics failed. They were too small for a hunters’ guild, too poor to hire loners. Several villagers lay dead already, drained, or poisoned. This spider had no anti-venom yet.

    The hunter came on the 8th day, Mossglen despairing from grief. A battle-scarred, winged lion, armored and bladed, he took no payment but still fought. The battle lasted hours, the spider slain, but the demigod poisoned. Poultices and comfort were all they could offer their wounded savior. There was no mage-healer among them, too isolated to find one in time.

    He wouldn’t last the night.

    Priests traditionally came for the dead at dusk. Vulture, jackal, raven, clean scented and skull-masked, jeweled in bone and white tattoos. They and other carrion eaters took the bodies into seclusion to free their souls from flesh. This feast was their right, an exception to taboo. Beastfolk did not eat beastfolk. The bones were scorched to cleanse them and returned for burial. Where possible, the pelt was preserved to cloak the returned soul, should they choose to visit on sacred holidays. The fallen hunter received such honor as well.

    The villagers left small gifts and sang prayers to guide the souls to the Rainbow Dens, or rebirth if their cycle of three lives was incomplete. More so, they asked for loved ones’ safety from the Maw of Oblivion, which devoured lost dead who strayed from their psychopomp.

    When the rites of death were complete, life returned once more. The dead spider was butchered and made use of. Months passed. The ripe vegetable-sheep were reaped and prepared for winter, their cotton-wool warming homes. Mossglen celebrated Equinox Festival in thanks for a saving harvest.

    Reply
    1. 

       Matthew

       November 4, 2019

       Interesting bit of world building! I could see this event as a prologue to a wider novel: establishing the mechanics and culture of this world. Several details remain obfuscated to me. Was this the intent? For example, where the various animals mentioned anthropomorphic humans and to what degree, or where they true to earthly form? Where the villagers similarly animal or human? was the spider sentient with mal intent? Perhaps these are questions to be explored in future prose?

       Reply
       1. 

          ArkansanDragon

          November 4, 2019

          Made a couple of small edits to see if that helps clarify things a little. The animals are like what you would find on Earth, but smart and dexterious as humans.

          Reply
    2. 

       Samantha R DeShong

       November 5, 2019

       I really like your world building! This most definitely makes me want to read more in this universe. Also, the thought of vegetable sheep made me giggle like a loon. And spider killing will always endear a story to me.

       Reply
    3. 

       Grey

       November 5, 2019

       I find the concept of this story rather interesting. Worlds with animals as the main species has always been an interesting concept to me. Though it does feel like a lot of it is left out. While it does get ideas across of the world, it just feels like there could’ve been more. That said, you get a lot through with the limit of 350 words! So overall I think this is a great story.

       Reply
    4. 

       MisterWorst

       November 5, 2019

       A strange, if interessting world you have started building here.
       To me the religious aspect was especially interesting. Why is the rebirth cycle limited to 3? Why are the priest all carion eaters? Do other professions have similar preferences? Do the ghosts of the dead return to the world often?
       and these are just a few question this brings up.
       If you ever continue this I hope a few get answered if not they surely can function as inspiration for other works

       Reply
    5. 

       Lily/Spiderlily

       November 7, 2019

       I loved this! The world building especially, like every one else said. I could read a whole series about this world. The only thing I could say constructive wise is that the title didn’t grab by eye, but I’m terrible at titles so I have no room to talk there. The story is excellent though. Keep writing.

       Reply
12. 

    Connor/Dragoneye

    November 4, 2019

    “The Hand of the Saint” by Connor/Dragoneye
    Squeak went the cathedral doors as they opened slowly. The lone figure in sable garbs stepped onto the cracked stone floor, clacking his boots together and scraping the mud off them as he dragged rattling manacles behind himself. The wind and rain battered against the old structure, with small howls whispering in the cracks of the walls.

    The enterer stepped into the dimly lit sanctuary, where in the pews sat Hollows, donned in rags and hands clasped together. The chamber was silent, besides the wheezing gasps of those who were deep in prayer. Incense that smelled of charcoal and raspberries burned within the rusted gold censers that sat at the entrance of the doorway.

    He yanked the chain harder as its captive resisted. It let out a deep guttural growl.

    “Now, now, don’t be afraid. A goodly home, this place will be for you.” The captor caressed the monstrosity’s snout poking out of a tattered sackcloth draped on his head. He then reached behind his back and unveiled an ornate silver chime. Before the captive had a moment to unleash its rage, the bell’s soft ring soothed its boiling blood, and it followed him to the altar, docile and content.

    Standing on the apse was Saint Alexander. “Venan. Another of the clergy?”

    “A Cleric of Lucielle, in Carim. He was reading the prayer as soon as I got there,” Venan answered, gesturing to the shackled beast. Alexander responded, “Well done. This should be enough of them for now.” As they conversed, the saint raised his bishop’s staff towards the creature’s face. A deep purple sludge dripped from its crook as he uttered a prayer under his breath. From the sludge, a large writhing grub burst forth and flew into the maw of the captive beast. It remained still, the worm inching down its throat.

    “So, now what?” asked Venan as he leaned against the wall, staring at Alexander and the Miracle that he recited.

    “Find the Lords of Cinder. Remind them of the truth. Once you do so, it will all fall into place.”

    Reply
    1. 

       ArkansanDragon

       November 4, 2019

       Dark Souls! Nice! I’ve never played the games, but I have heard a good deal of their lore. At first, I thought it might have been Bloodborne, with the references to clergy and that chained monster. But I know less about that game, so you could have done a crossover of the two and I wouldn’t know it. Still, very well done and I’m interested to find out what’s going on there, this is part of the lore I don’t know!

       Reply
       1. 

          Connor/Dragoneye

          November 4, 2019

          Thank you! I know there wasn’t a lot to unpack here, and I wished I had made more of an effort to be semi-clear about what’s going on, namely with some lore elements that are essential to these characters and their goals. However, leaving it ambiguous is as fun, and letting others interpret it however they want can lead to interesting ideas.

          Reply
    2. 

       Grey

       November 5, 2019

       I caught the reference to Dark Souls! It definitely captures the feel that those games have. The writing leaves itself up to interpretations which I feel makes sense for something set in those worlds. While I personally don’t have an in-depth understanding of it’s lore or characters, I got a very eldritch theme with the idea that they may worship some sort of Old One.
       Another great story!

       Reply
    3. 

       MisterWorst

       November 5, 2019

       At first I thought this was a text inspired by or directly tied to Bloodborne, the whole creacking cathedral, silver chime and such, but the last mentioning of the Lords of Cinder clearly ties it to Dark Souls.
       Since I dont know enough about either lore I’m probably missing a lot of references that would clear up the whole piece for me.
       On the other hand missing those references transforms this piece into a juicy entry piece for what could be a larger story.

       I could see an interesting story develop from this, which is explored from both the view of the monster and the hunter.

       Reply
    4. 

       Lily/Spiderlily

       November 6, 2019

       I didn’t even know this was a reference to Dark Souls until I read the comments. I just really liked it on it’s own. The only two things that kinda rocked me a little out of the story was the Squeak in the opening, but I think that had more to do with the inability to add italics or another emphasis to the word to show it as a sound effect than it did with it being bad writing or anything. I also wasn’t sure about using the word enterer, but I’m not really sure of what else you could have used to give it the same feel. One thing I particularly liked was you describing the smell that the incense gave off. I felt like I could smell the fruity, spicy blend myself just from them being mentioned. Good job. I like it. Upvote.

       Reply
       1. 

          Connor/Dragoneye

          November 6, 2019

          Thank you Lily! I originally wrote this story in a Word doc, meaning I could italicize, but with the comments here, it’s not possible. Enterer is a real word, but I do agree that it is an awkward one. I’m glad that you found the story enjoyable, regardless of its ties to Dark Souls! Again, thank you!

          Reply
    5. 

       Domtron

       November 7, 2019

       Don’t know if the story was in reference to dark souls but I do like the tone the story sets out. I like how you captured the game’s atmosphere though I feel it was more close to Bloodborne the Dark Souls but overall great story

       Reply
       1. 

          Connor/Dragoneye

          November 7, 2019

          Thank you! There are elements that Dark Souls and Bloodborne share, and I went with those particular details, as they’re more fascinating to me. But yeah this takes place in the world of Dark Souls!

          Reply
13. 

    Zendrelax

    November 4, 2019

    Quarry, by Zendrelax

    His path was stymied. The mist obscured the track, as the underbrush clawed at his legs. He leaned down to get a closer look at the ground at his feet. A broken twig. An upturned rock. He peered around a stem– there. A hoofprint, fresh. They would feast, now. Gently, he slipped a bow down from his back, and he moved to stand, and jerked to a stop.

    The brush grasped his arm. He tried to pull away. The grip only tightened. His movements grew more frantic. They whispered in response, but would not let go. He straightened his legs, stooping. He jerked back–

    He fell backwards, crashing into the undergrowth. Even as it snapped underneath him, as a mass it writhed and curled around him, holding tight. He could hear something moving, now, slowly and gently.

    Ever so faint, a pale light danced through the mist. He strained against his bonds.

    A single hoof came down in front of his eyes, as if struck from gold. Slowly, he turned his head up, tracking a slender leg, the mist coiling around its coat of pale bronze. It ended abruptly in fire, a small sun wrapped around the chest, and rising up the back of the neck. The strong, sturdy neck, holding the head, the snout, the–

    The eyes were stars some god had plucked from the sky, yet still peering down at him from above. The eyes were not angry. They…

    It was sad. A breeze rolled through the underbrush, it almost sounded like someone asking “Why?”

    His breath shuddered. “The Rot, it took our harvest from us. My family, I–“

    It pulled its head back, and its horn dropped lower. He screwed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

    He heard the sound of hoofsteps again. The undergrowth loosened around him, and he opened his eyes to find the forest had opened. Its tail was tipped in fire. Its horn rose high above its head, washing the forest with silver light. For just a moment, he eyed where his bow had fallen.

    He followed, and left it where it lay.

    Reply
    1. 

       thetalefoundry

       November 4, 2019

       Oooooh, I knew I would love this when you mentioned it on the server. This is such a neat little story. A moment, plucked out of a fairy tale, and with fairy tale values to boot!

       I hope this is one of the pieces I get to read on Friday.

       —Benji

       Reply
    2. 

       Samantha R DeShong

       November 4, 2019

       I hope this one gets read! It feels like a fairy tale, with an ending I’d expect out of one! I really like this story. A really good take on the theme!

       Reply
    3. 

       Connor/Dragoneye

       November 4, 2019

       Very well done, Zen! I’m very curious about what the harvest actually is in this story, as in a literal harvest of wheat or if it’s something more metaphorical. I would love to delve more into this place and what has happened, meaning you did a great job of hooking me into it. Again, great job!

       Reply
    4. 

       ArkansanDragon

       November 4, 2019

       I hope this one gets read! Beautifully written, and I’m in agreement with the others about the fairy tale style of this piece. That man must have been desperate indeed to hunt a unicorn. But I’m glad he realized his mistake and the creature forgave him, and seems to be helping him now? I hope so. It’s rare to see unicorns described as you did, with such great, wild power. I loved it!

       Reply
    5. 

       Grey

       November 5, 2019

       I enjoy the idea that the character was hunting because the harvest wasn’t great. But I wonder if they knew they were hunting a unicorn, or similar creature? It definitely seems interested in helping the people with their shortage of food, and it definitely makes you wonder “What happens next?”

       Reply
    6. 

       William Maitland

       November 7, 2019

       I have to admit, I was a little confused toward the beginning. As I reached the end, though, I realized the intent, and it hit me with stunning impact!

       The ending had perfect resolution, I feel. At the same time the woodland spirit understands the huntsman, the huntsman understands the spirit right back, and forsakes his weapon! As others have said, it has a very fairy-tale feel, but I love how it does something deeper, particularly with that last sentence. Really nailed it on this one, Zen!

       Reply