“Sky” by Jack Lightfoot

Nelson lay next to Mary on the hill. The stared up at the clouds and the soft, sweet tendrils of grass embraced them and did their best to comfort them. It always had. But not this time. This time, not even the consoling utterances of old habits and the memories of better times could ease the pain. It could only slow it, so that the torrent of torment and agony was contorted into a deliberate, excruciating drip.

The clouds above them grew heavy and grey from the burden placed upon them. Nelson and Mary had always looked to the clouds for shapes, and shared their strange, silly visions with laughter and smiles. They couldn’t see the joy in the clouds now. They saw Andrew, their son, sprinting. They saw the ball he was sprinting towards, or the long, grey road he was running across. Couldn’t help but see the silver car, going to fast around a corner, or the driver in shock and terror and apologising endlessly.

The Sky blinked, but it could no longer blink away the tears, and it cried. Its tears turned to rain, cascading over the two sad people. Nelson let the rain soak into his clothes. He let it run over his face and pool beneath him, turning soil into mud that would stain his white, clean shirt. He his own tears mix with the Sky’s, until you could not tell whose was whose. Nelson let his hang open, and let the rain pour in. Maybe the rain could fill the hole that had ben wrenched open in his soul.

They went home. As they drove away from their hill, the Sky cleared, and dried it’s face with a rainbow. Crying didn’t fix anything, but it needed to be done. The tears would enrich the soil and the grass on that hill would be lusher and greener for it. The Sky’s eye was red from crying as twilight fell. Nelson and Mary never went back to that hill, but the hill always waited for them.

(word count: 340)

“Among the Dreaming Gods” by Magan (Legends of Dracora series) (350 words)

Skyrunner, the cheetah, held his telescope steady as the furless star-ape peered through it. The she-ape’s grasp of Beast Common was surprisingly quick, at least in written form. Spoken words were harder, and her accent was terrible. The cheetah and squirrel could only teach her Fur-beast dialect, but she picked up several other beast words, and even some demi-god High Common, just by eavesdropping.

They knew she was lonely, hidden away from the town, sole survivor of her crashed flying ship. Her fear-scent had faded at least, replaced by wary curiosity. But they needed to know if those other metal ships had survived falling into deadly Everstorm and Void beyond. Would her people come searching? Tonight was another language lesson.

Hazelnut, the flying squirrel, pushed a storybook from the shelf. She opened it and read aloud, while Skyrunner turned his telescope to the planets pictured in the book. It was a favorite story of how the gods created Dracora and the sky.

Amber listened carefully, reading along as best she could. The human was grateful for the watercolor images, allowing better understanding. What her hosts called demi-gods, she knew as fantasy creatures. To see them in flesh was more shocking than even the sentient animals, completely different from other known aliens.

The story claimed the bright Milkyway band as a dragoness. Dracora’s six sibling planets and two moons were her eggs. The dragon gods hatched from those eggs and created Dracora. They later battled a shadowy, ever-hungry monster called Nex to protect it. Nex slew the mother dragon, creating the lifeless desert Void and outer space beyond. Afterward, the gods ringed Dracora with Everstorm and made constellations to keep Void and Nex at bay. Victorious but weakened, the dragon gods created the sun as a heat lamp, then shed their scales as stars. They shrank into hatchlings, re-entering their planet-eggs to sleep and heal.

Amber pointed the telescope at her colony’s arkship in orbit, wondering if Dracorians could understand it came from beyond their system.

They stared in questioning wonder. Another god-egg?

She didn’t have the words to explain. Yet.

“Last Words of a Physicist”
By William Maitland

I was there for the tests. I bore witness with my own eyes. Worse still, I helped give that horrid thing life. As I recount this complete and utter crime against nature, I only hope that God will never forgive me, for making an unholy light that shone brighter than His countless others.

There was a crack team of us, down in that hidden lab. A literal and figurative think-tank, we were, with some of the greatest scientific and mathematical minds of our time at our disposal. Looking back, we… really should have had a few artists and poets among our numbers. Might be they could’ve stopped us. Then they could’ve earned rightful place as saviors of the world, instead of enemies of progress.

I won’t divulge the secrets here. I’ve already burnt every piece of the puzzle I’ve supplied. The last thing I want is for some would-be homebrew rocketeer to blow his entire neighborhood to smithereens, vaporizing every person in it.

Instead, I’ll tell the truth, in humble imitation of an Artist.

We waited at the windows and display screens with bated breath, simultaneously not knowing what would happen, and expecting the worst possible outcome. Sweat formed on our collective brows before the heat the bunker would shelter us from even came.

I was in the front row when I saw the light of Hell escape that blasted desert ground. The lights of the stars and moon were snuffed out. They’d come to be known as mushroom clouds, but God help me, I didn’t see a mushroom. I saw… teeth. I saw the teeth of a devil, backlit by the fire in his mouth… and he was laughing at us. Mocking us. Thanking us. Winking.

Oppenheimer would later conjure up images of Hindu myth to try and come to terms with it. My mind, instead, goes to the Greeks. Whatever pain Prometheus had, being chained to the rock, and gnawed apart by an eagle forever… that pain was too good for us.

Now, I send myself to Hell, in the hopes that it’s worse than we can imagine.

“The Oath” Submitted by Connor/Dragoneye

“My Jarl, we’ve captured the scouts.”

Kriegmeskar and his Thanes rushed out from their tent out into the chilly air of Faerjun, where a group of Dragonborn and Genasi sat within the mud, hands bound and kneeling. “Vorskan’s men,“ thought Kriegmeskar as he gripped his axe tightly, a faint pulse of green and violet energy arcing across its steel frame. They had been surveying the area for the past couple of weeks, assumedly to gain intel for their Jarl. But, they were unfortunately caught in a small skirmish.

Raising his weapon to the throat of the Black Dragonborn, he shouted, “The Winter’s Pact is a failure. Do you see that? You accept foreigners into our lands? What an atrocity.” The Jarl met eye to eye with his captive, his xanthous gaze oppressive on its own.

The Black Dragonborn stared into his enemy’s eyes, then spat a small glob of acid into his face. However, Kriegmeskar remained stalwart, only to deliver a backhanded strike in return. The captive, gasping for breath, spouted, “You’re a tyrant, Kriegmeskar.”

“I’m a lawbringer. All of you betrayed our way of life. Communing with southerners, allowing them into our home, and even breeding with them.” He forced his prisoner’s face into the dirt. Sparks jumped from Kriegmeskar’s axe as he honed its edge. “I hope Kymenos is kind to you.”

A swift overhand swing was joined with a flash of fae energy before the scout’s severed head rolled into the mud. The rest of the scouts were completely drained of life, their expressions flat and cold. “He was a traitor to our old oath. The words we once swore by. Do any of you wish to join him?”

A silence allowed the howling winds to overtake the dreadful aura. A shackled Fire Genasi shuffled towards the Jarl on her knees, frantically pleading with a shaky voice, “I’ve seen the error of my ways. I wish to swear to it again.”

“Do you now?” His emerald claw wrapped around her throat as he suspended her in the air. Her legs kicked and struggled, she gasped for air, but his grasp was too immense. Her eyes turned bloodshot, her body fell limp. The conflict began to die down with the growing silence in exchange before ending in a loud snap.

Kriegmeskar tossed her lifeless corpse to the side. The remaining scouts sat silent, passive with blank expressions. The attending Thanes were in pure shock, glaring at the bodies before them. Their Jarl, unfazed, turned away and headed into the tent before uttering, “Kill the rest.”