Writing Group: Heavy is the Crown

Sep 14, 2020

—

Hello, my liege.

What? Don’t look so exhausted. Most people would thrill to be addressed in such a way. But then, I suppose you know better by now, don’t you? This is what it means to be who you are. Set your jaw, sit tall on your throne, and bear it with grace, because…

This week’s writing group prompt is:

Heavy is the Crown

RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

Well, don’t we seem to have a taste for dissonance? Last week the prompt was “I shouldn’t be here”, this week it’s about being in a position of power and finding the surprising weight of it.

This is a little different, though; not so imminently cynical. The crown may be heavy, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want rid of it. It’s a trade. The prize, for the burden of bearing it. Whether that turns out to be a curse you’d do anything to be free from, or a just exchange—that’s up to you.

The simplest way to think of this is in component parts: something desirable or coveted, and the costs involved. Could be a king with an unpleasant duty to his people, such as choosing who gets to eat during a famine. Could be someone new to a relationship they’ve always wanted, only realizing now that they’ll have to learn to appreciate the difficult parts of their new lover as well. It could even be the cost on the way to the object of desire—a lich who gives away their humanity for eternal life, and is unhappy with the everlasting hollowness of their existence.

Make it tantalizing, make it beautiful, and then… make it cost a terrible price.

—

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Comments

160 responses to “Writing Group: Heavy is the Crown”

Brick

September 23, 2020

Heavy is the crown to one
And great the wielder’s might.
Rain gold on all beneath our sun
And then the burden’s light!

Concerning the Great Golden Crown Over All Our Land

Hark, fair people! Lend ear and eye to my words. I am here to restore power to all people of the Lands under the Crown. That great halo belongs to all of us, and it is my aim to show you your own right, that you may wrest it from the thieving powers above.

My plea may sound like strange and dissonant music to your ears. Most of us know nothing but this system, the temporary boon to our power as the Crown breaks itself into coins in our hands, only to be flung to some popular noble to use as they please. Many of you may think this exchange of power just and natural.

I am here to say it is not! If that magic was not for us, the crown would not fragment and scatter itself to us as it does.

It is wrong for any person to wield so much power over the rest. The present system benefits none but the few elites with hope of obtaining the Crown, which they will use only to further their own gain. You may one day aspire to become one of them, but you have much more in common with the lowliest peasant than you ever will with the lords and dukes of the land.

These nobles have used their wealth to secure power, to ensure that the Crown’s magic will always be theirs in this system.

But that power belongs to us! It is the duty of every person of this land to share in carrying the crown. And, in turn, it is our right to partake of its power.

See you not your destiny? Rise up, o ye hardworking subjects. Join together your coins into our own Crown, that together we may seize the magic that is our birthright! Rise as one, and return our power to us, the people!

Reply
G.J. H.

September 21, 2020

Shoes and a crown
By G.J. H.

Thomas was sitting in the warm sun in front of his house, the leather soft and familiar beneath his fingers as he sewed the little pieces together. When he was finished, he felt at peace. There was nothing quite like crafting a good pair of shoes. He loved his craft and it earned him enough to live the life he wanted, here in this little house with his family.
„Daddy! Daddy! Are you finished? “
„Yes, my darling. I am. Why don’t you try them on? “
Madlyn hopped onto a nearby stool and he carefully laced the shoes for her.
„How do they feel? “
She wiggled her feet in the air.
„ Great! “she said and jumped from the stool into his arms, hugging him fiercely.
„Thanks Daddy! I’ll go and see Paula. “
And before he could protest, she scuttled off toward the village.
„Be careful with your new shoes, you little rascal! “, he shouted after her, a fond smile on his lips. He followed her up the road with his eyes and then turned to this house to find an unfamiliar site. A lone Rider had come, clad in the splendid armour of a royal knight messenger, the man dismounted next to him.
„Are you Thomas Greenfield? “
Thomas nodded, „Yes, sir. I am. “
„ The King is dead and I bring you honour and duty. Your name has been drawn. I am at your Service my King. “
Thomas was struck with horror as the Knight kneeled before him and he stared in disbelief. This could not be happening. He saw his life fall to pieces before his eyes, crushed by the burden of unwanted kingship. His eyes were wet with tears as he thought of his home, his work, Sarah and his sweet little Madlyn. Those shoes he made for her would have been the last ones he’d ever made. He’d lived for love, now he had to life for duty.

Reply
Tale_Smith

September 18, 2020

A king’s Blessing

By Tale_Smith

Most days, Alder, First king of the city underground, stood tall with energy overflowing, as happy to raise a blade to defend his people as to raise a hammer to aid in their much-needed construction, always wearing a smile on his face no matter how hard the work seemed.
Today, however, he could not smile. He couldn’t even muster the strength to stand from his tired throne.

Today he was laid low by the final cries of Slayers echoing in his head as their lives were claimed by the sands of the surface, for no one was ever sent up without his Blessing behind them to resist the darkness that cloaked the land. These times, he was no king, merely a man. And these times, far from his subjects, the man could let himself doubt whether the reclamation could ever truly work, and if the cost would be worth it in the end. And he wondered how long they had before the Demons finally breached the protections of their tiny refugee camp-turned city, and extinguished the final true beacon of civilization.

Someone was humming one of the old songs, pulling Alder out of his reverie. He looked up into the equally lined face of one of the last true spell-signers, who had managed to push back the demons and keep the ground fertile through will alone, his wife. She put her hand on his, and, unthinking, he reached up to grab it. She flinched as the pain flowed into her, and he jerked his hand away. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for pulling you into this.”

Amber shook her head “Now, don’t forget that I signed up for this as much as you did, and my burden is still far lighter than yours.” She helped him to his feet, barely wincing as part of it settled onto her back. Slowly, Alder let himself sink onto her shoulder, exhausted.

Poets spoke of ‘the power of words’ or ‘a king’s duty to his people’, but they would never know it quite as literally as these two now did.

Reply
Tyler Desperado

September 18, 2020

Caring Too Much
By CosmicDesperado30

I took careful sips of my coffee as I looked over my e-mails, desperate to see some financial salvation. I took a sigh of relief as I saw the invoice with my cut of the book’s profits. I looked to my empty fridge and what little cans of soup I had left in the cabinet like I had just avoided a dragon’s wrath. Not today hunger, I actually got paid enough to live.

I got dressed with a spring in my step. I was halfway out the door when my phone rang. Not my smart phone, but my LAN line. I clenched my jaw; I already knew who it was.

I slumped into the cheap IKEA couch and plucked the phone from its receiver.

“Hey papa.” my brother groaned, his tone full of practiced anguish.

“Hey John,” I responded with a plastic smile.

“So uhhh…I see you made the New York Times’ bestseller list. That’s uhhh…. that’s pretty great.”

I recalled the stiff fee I had to pay to get that distinction and drew in a sharp breath, “Yeah, it’s exactly what I’ve wanted for years now.”

The line went silent for a while. Here it comes….

“Sooo promise not to be mad at me?” He finally spat out.
“John, what did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” He lied.

“I just…I dunno, need like two grand to get my car out of the impound lot and get my electricity back on, that’s all.”

“John, what happened to that job you said you got at the nursing home?

“They expected me to wash bed pans and memorize a bunch of medication schedules! Was stupid so I left.”

I took a deep breath… and took a stand. “John, you did this to yourself. I can’t help you.”

“Y’know what? Screw you! Sitting in your fancy house with your fancy book money! Don’t care about me at all you-”

I slammed the phone down and tried not to cry.

I never made it to the store.

Reply
1. Makokam
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Yeah, that sounds about right.
  I think the thing I like most about this is that the crown is dented, tarnished, missing gems, and probably only in the imagination of others.
  
  I hate how often I’ve seen these sort of things happen with my own friends. One member of a family actually takes responsibility for themselves and achieves some measure of self sufficiency , only for their family try and cling to them like a life raft and putting the “success” of the whole family on them. Maybe that’s not the case, here, maybe their parents cut John out long ago for this nonsense and our main character here has just been helping out anyway.
  
  Not that I’ve seen it happen often relatively speaking, but it’s more often than I should have.
  
  Reply
King_Nix

September 18, 2020

“The Envoy”
By King_Nix

The palace of the great king of Wal’Ashar stood before Revelus and his company. Here, protected by the mountains to the South and the vast forests of the North, had not been touched by the Daemon Wars which ravaged his own homeland. The guards at the gate were of such stature, that Revelus wondered if even an entire Century could overtake these few, though untroubled by battle as they were. For these were Shönai, taller than Men, and more fair, and legend spoke of their prowess in battle.

The guards led Revelus to the court of King Abendir. All about the golden chamber, there was dancing and merriment. Court bards of that splendid race played upon divers instruments in a harmonious tune of the old joys of lost age, when they reigned as mighty lords in the realm of Sun’Ashar, in the ancient West across the seas, when they held counsel with the Domvari, lords of the world, and fought beside the valiant dead. Yet, there sat one alone upon his amber-laden throne of gold, who had seen the fall. There sat the great king, youthfully eldest among eldest, unmoved.

Revelus approached the throne. The music softened, to ease conversation between him and their king. Instead, Revelus drew out his own lyre, and began to play, and the rest silenced as he did so. For the music he played poured out sorrow and death as he himself had beheld, and that his people now readied to suffer tenfold at the very Jaws of Nix; but the winter of his melody gave way to bitter-sweet spring, and though the joy of his tune was frail beside the eternal summer of the Shönai, the king’s solemn face softened, and he wept as the final notes of the song ended.

He rose, and spoke: “For not since the death of my father, and the loss of our home has my heart known hope! I have languished here, when I should have rallied to aid you! Heavy is my grief; may it be the hammer which breaks the evil of Nix for all time!”

Reply
1. Makokam
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I like the last line. It’s an interesting thought to turn a metaphorical burden on one’s conscience into a metaphorical weapon.
  
  Reply
2. G.J. H.
  
  September 21, 2020
  
  It took some time for me to find into your story. All the unfamiliar names made it difficult for me. This is probably very different for a reader to whom these places and people are familiar and carry meaning. But whithout such context the story only opened up to me in the last two paragraphs. The fact that there is only one peace of dialog makes it feel all the more important. Especially with that impactful double metaphore at the end, which I think is absolutly perfect.
  
  Reply
Makokam

September 18, 2020

Chronicles of The Dragon(The Bad End): Rules of Nature
By Makokam

His leap carried him for miles, the wind whipping through his hair and coat flapping behind him, as he crossed the Mojave desert. Leaping wasn’t as fast as flight, but it was easier, more freeing, and more scenic. He hesitated on his next leap, there was someone strong in that direction. He couldn’t tell who it was, but best to avoid them. The next leap had him changing course again to avoid another Top Tier. He landed with a scowl forming on his face. A third was in his way, the first two were closer, with other lower ones moving in too. He was being herded.

He stopped as Ultima flew in to land a few meters in front of him. Athena landed to his left and moved over to stand with Ultima, with Tempest coming in from the right and following suit. More came in, the most powerful ones coming within speaking distance, the rest hanging back.

“What’s this about?” he demanded.

Ultima spoke, “It’s been decided you’re too much of a risk to be left alive. We still don’t know what set you off before, and we can’t know it won’t happen again.”

“So who decided it was a lesser risk to try and kill me?”

“Majority vote.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Majority of who.”

“Why should I tell a dead man?”

Crow leapt out of his shadow, knife straight for the jugular.

* * *

The black scales fell from his body like ash as he walked away from the destruction. What had been a desert was now a wasteland; sand and soil blasted away to the bedrock, where it wasn’t glassed over. Out of the dozens of Heroes that came to take him down, only a few were strong enough in death for their bodies to have survived, scattered among the smoke and rock.

His hands shook, struggling to come down from the rush of combat and filled with rage and frustration. None of this had to happen. None of them had to die.

Reply
1. NocteVesania
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Ooh, very interesting piece! I love the worldbuilding aspect of this, with a coalition of superheroes watching over the world and making decisions by vote. Your take is quite fascinating, highlighting actual power rather than just having a position of power, like a king. Your execution is top-notch as well, portraying the narrator as carefree, then shifting his emotion to a more melancholic disposition out of regret for his outburst. Amazing job!
  
  Reply
  1. Makokam
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Johnathan Rose is a very simple character, I could describe him in 2.5 words and you’d have a good idea of what he’s about. But to give you a great idea, I’d need paragraphs. So I’m really happy to know I was able to get part of that across in this piece.
    
    Reply
2. Marx
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  This is a really cool take on the prompt. The crown is definitely heavy in this one. It does make you really want to know the specifics of the fight itself as well as what was done to make the superheroes take such a drastic, albeit futile, action. Even without knowing the specifics of who they all are, you get an idea of how powerful they are just because they were sent after him and the fact that it didn’t matter in the least.
  
  But my absolute favorite part of this was that he clearly just wanted to kill the ones who wanted him dead, but they didn’t give him that option so they all had to go(not that they gave him much choice, but maybe taking them out first would have proven the point). It’s kinda funny in a villainous way. Well done!
  
  Reply
  1. Makokam
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Thanks! I waffled a lot on saying he was now definitely the most powerful person on the planet or something…but it sounded forced and ruined the mood. Glad the point came across anyway.
    
    Reply
3. Lunabear
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Is this Mr. Rose? If it is, then I see why he hates the organization he’s fighting against. High action and high tension. It felt as though it is inspired by anime. I also like his code name of Crow, especially because it adds to the mystery of the person.
  
  There was some grammatical errors and punctuation issues, but nothing that took away from the story.
  
  This actually provides justification and gives a little sympathy towards him. He was being herded, and he wasn’t sure if they were going to attack him. he didn’t want to take that chance, so he took the offensive. it’s very complex character, and I really love the world building that you’ve got going on here, Makokam. Great story.
  
  Reply
  1. Makokam
    
    September 19, 2020
    
    This IS Mr. Jonathan Rose. This is close to the “end” of his story, with this event driving him down the darkest of two paths.
    Crow was introduced a little earlier, in the “Anything For A Smile” prompt. His appearance there isn’t important to this, other than recognizing the name for continuity. One of his abilities is to hide in and travel through shadows. The group was pinning a lot of weight on getting a critical hit from that sneak attack.
    The fight is truly epic in my head. Maybe someday I’ll write the whole thing.
    
    And I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some mistakes. I rewrote the entire story three times, in addition to dozens of smaller edits, before comming back what was basically the original.
    Though, I did intentionally put a period where you might have expected a question mark, since I wanted to imply it was NOT a question, but a demand. Don’t know if that came across or if it’s forgivable. Lol
    
    Reply
Preserves Roses

September 18, 2020

Folded Wings
By Perserves Roses

The ornate velvet and wool cloak fell onto Riksa’s shoulders with a solid thump. She felt her back muscles spasm as her wings tried in vain to move against the dragging weight. Riksa felt an over whelming wave of nausea and claustrophobia crawl its way up her throat as if something was trying to choke her.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t move my wings.”

The seamstress tsked at her as she continued her study of the newly finished royal garment.

“Princesses do not flutter around like common messengers,” the seamstress replied tartly. “Once you marry the prince you will be a member of the royal family. You must wear the appropriate cloak for your station, and not flaunt in the courts faces your … out-country origins.”

Riksa watched several fairy messengers buzz past her tower window as the seamstress finished the last of her inspection and left the room. As soon as she heard the door close she clawed desperately at the sliver clasp at her collar bone. She dropped the heavy cloak to the floor and bolted across the room. Throwing open the window, her slippered foot whispered against the stone as she set one foot on top of the window ledge, her other foot still on the floor inside the castle room. Her back muscles stretched as her wings fluttered madly after being so roughly encased in the heavy fabric.

She paused and looked back at the dark puddle of fabric lying on the floor. She turned her face again to the window, staring out at the brilliant blue sky, feeling the warm sun on her face. She placed her foot back on the floor, and gently closed the window. She returned to the centre of the room. She carefully picked up the dark cloak, a symbol that she was a member of the royal family. After carefully folding her wings she swirled the cloak around her shoulders. She studied her reflection carefully in the mirror as she fastened the clasp, making sure that each detail was arranged just right.

Reply
1. Michael Case
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  How sad that she was tossed away from her friends and a simpler life all due to being a member of the royal family. I like how you described the dropped cloak, as “the dark puddle of fabric lying on the floor”. It strips away any value of its importance and casts it as a wasteful burden. Good job in your story of Fairy Land.
  
  Reply
2. Lunabear
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Preserves, what a heavy burden Riska must carry. She can’t be carefree anymore, lest it embarrass her new family. I hate it when duty always clashes with a free spirit because it always manages to crush something within the person that they either don’t get back at or forget about it.
  
  Critiques:
  
  Riksa felt an over whelming (overwhelming) wave of nausea
  
  You must wear the appropriate cloak for your station, and not flaunt in the court(‘)s faces your … out-country origins.”
  
  I find it very interesting about the seamstress’s remarks. It gives me the impression that she is jealous and wishes she were the one marrying into the royal family. It also shows how distasteful the royal family finds Riska’s background and mannerisms. Should the wedding proceed, I hope she finds some form of happiness or moments of carefree tranquility. Very lovely piece.
  
  Reply
3. Makokam
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Just out of curious, would this be called “getting cold feet” or would they call it, “getting hot wings”? … “Restless wings”?
  
  I was expecting her to have some thoughts about the person she was supposed to marry, and the fact that she didn’t (where we could read them at least), leaves me guessing as to whether she went back for the cloak because she loves them that much or because of some obligation she feels.
  The other comments lead me to believe this is a recurring universe I’m not familiar with, so maybe that answer would be clear if I was.
  
  Reply
  1. Perserves Roses
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Oh the challenge of 350 words. In my head she goes back for several reasons. Obligations to her community is one certainly. Her feelings towards her betthrothed and his family would also be an important addition to the story if I expand on it.
    
    Reply
Michael Case

September 17, 2020

Decapitation
By Michael Case

“CRUNCH”

The guillotine blade ran through my neck breaking more bones, than it cut through. These usurpers didn’t even have the decency to sharpen their blade. From the other heads in the basket, it looks like these so-called revolutionaries are just going after anyone. At least I got to land face up and was able to see my body fight back. Sadly though, I also got to watch them hack it up into pieces and hold them individually over their heads like some kind of trophy.

In this basket I saw the baker, William Henry the little crippled kid that would always say a good word for people, the town prostitute who would use her finances to help feed some of the poor, and a very pretty young woman. What crimes did these people commit? I am their King, and because of that I was expecting to be done in, but these are people of the community. These people are the community. Without them, all there is… without these people at what sense do we have a community?

That night my head was left in the basket with the others, and I saw a rat chewing on the face of the pretty young woman. Without my stomach I had nothing to vomit up, but that didn’t stop me from painfully gagging because of it. Without my body I couldn’t even ask a passerby for help. I hoped that someone from my court would be left to piece my body back together and recover my head. It’s night fall and no one has returned for me. I was warned that choosing immortality had its drawbacks, but this waiting for reassembly is my own private Hell.

The next day I was awaken by being dumped into a hole. Then dirt was shoveled on top of me. It’s dark now and the weight of the Earth above has covered up any sounds one can hear. Aside from the occasional earthworm that takes shelter within my skull, I have nothing to even know that I’m still alive.

Reply
1. Lunabear
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Michael, this is a rough one, man. this is a very hard one to get through because of the nature of the context. Not sure if that was a point, but if it is, you succeeded. There are little touches of comedy, and I wonder what kind of deal the narrator went through to receive immortality.
  
  Critiques:
  
  and (I) saw a rat chewing on the face of one of the pretty young woman.
  
  but that didn’t stop me from painfully ga(g)ging because of it.
  
  Aside from the occasional Earthwork (earthworm?) that takes shelter within my skull,
  
  There are also a few tense changes, unless those are intentional.
  
  Overall, this piece is intriguing. There’s a lot happening in the background that’s not immediately displayed, and that leaves the readers wanting to know a little bit more about that. Very good job.
  
  Reply
  1. Michael Case
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Thank you, both for pointing out the errors ,which I hope got fixed in an edit, as well toughing it out through the story.
    
    I think that the issue of people wanting to be immortal is that they don’t understand that instead of death, they have to endure the pain of being injured to the point that a normal person would die. Using the severed head as the narrator I was hoping would give a different perspective on this thought.
    
    As to the background, it’s crazy isn’t it? I may go back to this environment in another story.
    
    Reply
    1. Lunabear
      
      September 18, 2020
      
      You’re most welcome. Oh! I see. Definitely felt a different perspective with this one, then. With that realization in mind, I wonder if the narrator has the ability to still smell? I see that the gag reflex works pretty well because of sight, but it mentions nothing about smell. Well, I guess since the other senses are intact, that one would be, as well. That wasn’t a gripe or a complaint; only a curiosity.
      
      I hope you do return to the background; it’s quite immersive and stirs up all kinds of fun imagery.
      
      Reply
    2. Perserves Roses
      
      September 18, 2020
      
      Immortality is often portrayed as a wonderful thing. I really enjoy when someone thinks of an interesting way to give it a down side. You gave this head a great character, I really find myself wondering what happens to that head in the future.
      
      Reply
2. Makokam
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I Have No Stomach But I Must Vomit.
  
  This guy sounds like he has a great backstory to be an plot important “item” in an RPG.
  “Find the lost head of the Immortal King.”
  
  (*Victory Chime* You found the Lost Head! “Hello.” Wow, he really is immortal!)
  
  Reply
RVMPLSTLSKN

September 17, 2020

þœnix
By RVMPLSTLSKN

Phoenix stared at his birthday present. It was as long as his–now big boy–arm. He wasn’t the biggest five year old in daycare, but size, like status, is just a matter of perspective. The wrapping came away with a satisfying, rending sound, but the tape on the thin white box was trickier. He tore the end off the box instead.
Inside was a crayon. If you’ve seen one, reader, you know what I mean by ‘a crayon.’ If you haven’t, well, you likely never paid much attention to the evershifting playgroup hierarchy. If size is synonymous with greatness, then the biggest crayon ruled them all.
“Oh!” Phoenix clapped.
“A big boy deserves a big crayon,” Dad said.
“M’I a big boy for real?”
“‘Course you are!”
Phoenix looked at his hands and the scepter of a crayon beneath them. “But I don’t feel any bigger.”
“One of life’s mysteries.” Dad said, “But you’re a big boy, make no mistake. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
Phoenix saw something else in the box, on the brown insides. He pulled it open and spread it out.
“Would you look at that?” Dad said.
An inked picture unfolded before him. A dinosaur walked across a flat horizon with fairies on flowers in fore. Phoenix was not such a big boy that he could resist the spell of the lines. He picked up the crayon and had to hold it in two hands to set it just so on one of the trees. The brachiosaur would be next. He drew, mostly in the lines, until he realised he would need his other crayons. He needed different colors. He started to write his name, a mark of his power over this small realm.
F.
No, he thought, my name has a P.
The F became a block of color and was followed by a thornic P. Next came an O that looked suspiciously like an E. The N, I, X.
“Here, I thought you might want these.”
Small crayons rolled on the table.
“Thanks.” He smiled up at Dad, hands shaking. The crayon was heavy.

Reply
1. Preserves Roses
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I really enjoyed this one. Children on the playground really can have a bit of a hierarchy of their own and you showed it nicely. You also really showed the child’s thoughts without the story feeling childish, which can be tricky, but appropriate for the audience of the writing group
  
  Reply
2. Lunabear
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  RVMPLSTLSKN, this is so fricking cute! I love how the crayon is a metaphor for him being able to grow up and handle more responsibility because he’s a big boy, now! I understand it so much because I have a five-year-old who’s about to turn six, and he wants to do everything by himself.
  
  I love how this keeps in line with the innocence and speech of a child, and I really love how supportive the dad is! I also really really love that he spells his name that way! It is too adorable!
  
  My only, only critique would be to space the paragraphs out so that it would be easier to read them. And that’s minuscule in comparison to the rest of the story.
  
  This is so precious and wonderful and amazing and darling and sweet and heartwarming and magnificent! I really love how you find a way to spin this so that it’s not so dark or as thematically heavy as the prompt would suggest. I also really adore the fact that he got the chance to set the big crayon down because sometimes, that’s exactly what you have to do with life: put your stresses aside so that you can have time for yourself. Bravo, man! Bravo!
  
  Reply
  1. RVMPLSTLSKN
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Thanks! The idea originally came from hearing my own son mispronounce–yet again–crayon as crown. Texas is a weird place, linguistically.
    
    I’ll make the paragraph shifts. I didn’t realise the style hadn’t transferred between my program and the site
    
    Reply
    1. Lunabear
      
      September 18, 2020
      
      AWWWWWWW!!! That is too precious! And it’s so wonderful that your baby inspires stories for you and you share them here! That’s a proud parent moment right there! 💗💗
      
      Reply
3. PixieWings
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I love the voice you used for this piece. It talks directly to the audience and reminds them they’re reading a story, and I have such a soft spot for that. And your word use is also very good. The crayon being called a scepter, like he’s being crowned a Big Boy, is super cute. Fantastic piece, RVMPL!
  
  (Also, typing the title out that way was a nice little touch. Super clever! Very fun.)
  
  Reply
PixieWings

September 17, 2020

(Reposted From Private)

And Anyway, The Fourth Wall Has A Window
By PixieWings

“You…gonna be writing something on this text document, boss?”

I’m working on it.

“Uh-huh.”

I am!

“I’m just saying, is all. You’ve opened and closed it six times.”

It’s a rough prompt. Responsibility, and the burden you take on with accepting it. It’s all very Shakespeare.

“The writer doth protest too much.”

I didn’t know you knew that was Shakespeare.

“You don’t think I read? I read.”

Sure.

“I live in your head! And stop changing the subject. We’re talking about you here. What’s your deal? No ideas?”

Well, no. I had a few.

“And?”

One was a whole Persephone thing. Make it about her agency. Call her the Iron Queen. Blah blah.

“You do have a thing for Greek myth, if, ah, I’m anything to go by. So what’s the problem?”

Couldn’t think of a decent scene to center it around. And anyway, how was I going to put an audience in her shoes? Make it lyrical?

“You know you can just…write a story, right? Without doing weird shit with the prose?”

I like doing weird shit with the prose.

“Alright, fine. So no pomegranates. Next?”

I tried writing about Codependency.

“Jesus Christ, why don’t you just smash your head through the screen? It’d be less painful for you.”

What I had was good! Magical realism. Putting on someone else’s skin, but like, in a not-horror way. It could have been solid.

“But?”

Couldn’t finish. It felt bad.

“So still on that journey.”

Guess so.

“Well, don’t feel too bad. You’re writing again! That’s something, right?”

Yeah.

“And you’re doing pretty good at it, yeah? Remember the old lady eating kids story? That kicked ass.”

It did.

“You don’t have to always work yourself into a lather doing something new or good. You’re allowed to have some stupid fun once in a while.”

Yeah. Thank you.

“Hey, what else am I here for? But, if you wanted to thank me properly, you could always write something about me.”

I’m working on it.

“You’ve been working on it since you were twelve, hun. Not getting any younger here.”

Reply
1. RVMPLSTLSKN
  
  September 17, 2020
  
  I started writing at 12. This hits hard, especially on the days where all my “accomplishments” feel like just having taken things in stride.
  
  I do like the dialoguesque aspect of this self-reflection. ‘Weird shit with prose’ is fun and I think you’ve made it work here. Good job! Can’t wait to see more from you.
  
  Reply
2. Tyler Desperado
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Oh dear god this dialogue hurts cuz haven’t we all been there!
  
  The inner perfectionist wanting to get it just right, and that imp on your shoulder saying “Just put something down on the page! Making the words less crap is the editor’s job!”
  
  I loved the title as well. The Fourth Wall Has a Window. Very cheeky way of setting the stage for this whole situation!
  
  Reply
NocteVesania

September 17, 2020

When Banners Turn To Ash
By NocteVesania [Public Group Repost]

Shouts and cries of anger and hatred filled the streets of the city as crowds gathered around our parade. The confetti they once threw turned into stones, and the medals and garlands that once hung from my neck were replaced with steel and chains.

The glory of the war has now faded, and peace has finally come. As the night finally ended, the people of the land wanted to forget the horror and the bloodshed. In the end, the accursed cross was mine to bear, the once-revered general, now painted as a bloodthirsty fool.

“Go to hell, monster!” A man cried out, raising the pitchfork in his hand.

“Warmongering wretch!” Another shouted, his fist raised in the air.

“You should’ve died on the battlefield, coward!”

Yes, I am a coward. As the battle raged, men and women gladly laid their lives for me, while I stood back and watched, throwing more and more lives into the violence and turmoil of the battlefront. I was like a king, my throne piled high with corpses.

Toward the end of our march, a woman threw herself to the center of the procession. The guards held her down, but with a gesture from the officer, the guards let her go. She rushed up to me. Clutching my tattered collar, she looked at me with eyes full of despair.

“My son,” she cried, “please tell me where my son is. Please tell me he’s just resting, tired from battle. Please tell me he’s coming home.”

Those brave young soldiers stood by my word, and they died by my word. My greatest shame was not for failing to bring victory. It was for taking those boys and girls away from their families, never to come home. Their blood stained my hands.

I turned my head away, not daring to look into the anguish in her eyes. She crumpled to the ground, overcome with grief. A guard pulled on my chains and we continued our walk.

The setting sun beamed a beautiful gold as we reached the gallows.

Reply
Lunabear

September 17, 2020

A Heartfelt Compromise (Cursed Brothers Universe)
by Lunabear (Reposted from Private)

Sephrina paced the long castle corridor outside of the detainee’s room. There was no satisfying way she could perform the ritual her older sister Helatia had demanded. Even if it WOULD free Helatia of the dragon’s curse.

“Stupid bitemark,” she grumbled. Helatia complained often about her noble serpentine blood being corrupted by Dracos’ poisonous fangs. Sephrina’s mind raced, but nothing else feasible presented itself. It appeared she had no choice. She heaved a great sigh before unlocking and opening the door.

Her keen eyes caught the swing of the blade before she dodged it. It sliced through mid-air, shredding a sizable portion of Sephrina’s cloak as she evaded.

Sephrina sussed out Cal’s whereabouts by gliding her forked tongue through her lips. He was atop the bed’s canopy, one hand fluently waving. Stepping on the empty food tray told her from where he got his strength. Noting a missing part of the fire grate showed where he forged the weapon.

“No, then. You WON’T help. I SO wanted you to cooperate willingly.”

Sephrina shed her human skin, her green-white scales backlit by the roaring fire. Even with the mage’s magic, the dagger couldn’t penetrate her armor.

Cal’s control and versatility were why Helatia needed his magic. Sephrina’s enormous tail knocked the weapon aside as she simultaneously yanked him from the canopy with her fangs.

She wrapped herself around him. Her vertical, amethyst eyes sized up her struggling captive. She applied slight pressure to get his attention.

Cal fought to breathe. Her eyes gleamed with desperation, and something more. His nod was jerky albeit reluctant.

She placed him on his feet. His pumping blood gave her a small relief. She shrank and wriggled back into her skin.

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried and scoured, but…” She covered her nakedness in her ruined cloak.
“My sister bears a curse.”

She heard his breath catch and watched as he uncovered his left arm. He stared intensely at something she couldn’t see. It strangely made her heart pound.

His gaze met hers. “I can better help if I know your name.”

Her eyes tearily swam. “Sephrina.”

Reply
1. Alex
  
  September 17, 2020
  
  This is a sweet story. Sephrina’s care for her sister is made clear here and we can see how unwilling she is to use violence against Cal. Her inner conflict comes across very well and paints her in a simultaneously unflattering and understandable light. What interests me is Cal. Does he help her because she threatened him or because she showed remorse and he’s ready to forgive?
  
  One small thing to point out is the phrase ‘a goodly portion’; I believe it should be ‘a good portion’.
  
  I like the nuance in this piece. Well done!
  
  Reply
  1. Lunabear
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Thank you so very much, Alex. I’m really glad that you liked the little nuances and small touches. I’m also very glad that you understood Sephrina’s character in the situation.
    
    Cal is quite interesting. He’s very gentle soul; he takes great pride and much fulfillment in helping people. It’s the fact that they both have a curse set upon them by proxy. This is why he helps her, as well as because he’s found common ground with her in a way.
    
    Goodly is correct. It’s an archaic form of the word “good”, and I feel it fits very well. Nobody has picked up on a particular fact about Sephrina, and I’m excited to see if anyone will.
    
    Thank you again very much, and I greatly appreciate your feedback. It is always welcome.
    
    Reply
Mary Rathana

September 16, 2020

My Purpose
By: Mary Rathana

Please give me your forgiveness when we finally meet. The remains of the One Before me were painful and suffocating; my skin tore from its jagged edges. The stars around me began to drift, shifting their colors to signal the new era. The planets that were passed down orbited around me, yet I felt no desire to begin my life when I felt unwelcome. I felt no pull, no desire, to maintain the equilibrium to watch over you and the millions of others that reside in my galaxy. I only felt pain and apathy as I watched each one carefully. As the natural landscape was paved to build more space for lives to grow, my eyes were drawn to your home. It was one of the first to drift towards me, yet the very last to unfurl with mechanical life. It was no surprise that the inhabitants of the other planets began to travel to lay their claim, yet the globe only grew more radiant. Lights that mimicked other galaxies began to blink out from the surface and tiny dots began to draw lines around from one spot to the next. As if in the next instant, the others began to change to similar, if not the same, design. How could I govern this galaxy when it has bloomed into this mesmerizing ring?
I hope that was sufficient to persuade you; I never meant to shirk my duties and become a mere observer. Even now when millions of lives return to me after perishing from the throes of war caused by the universe trying to balance itself, I can’t help but stare. With my torn skin and dwindling power, I etch this one message in the stars nearby with a heavy hope before I rest.

Please forgive me.

Reply
1. NocteVesania
  
  September 17, 2020
  
  Beautiful piece! I really felt the emotion the narrator showed throughout the piece. You’ve described the world, as well as how the narrator felt about it, with such grace. I feel separating the thoughts in the piece into paragraphs could help give readers some space to take it all in. Still, the cryptic nature of the piece adds a certain beauty to it, and I believe you’ve conveyed the emotions really well. Good job!
  
  Reply
  1. Mary Rathana
    
    September 19, 2020
    
    Thank you! I actually formatted it that way but I guess I didn’t take into account the submission format.
    
    Reply
2. Preserves Roses
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I love the emotion of this peace. Some fading god or creator watching his creation, even though he isn’t as involved in it as he used to be. Not sure if you mean the planet to be earth or not. You could really take it in either direction leaving the reader to wonder what planet we are gazing on.
  
  Reply
  1. Mary Rathana
    
    September 19, 2020
    
    EEE, I’m so glad the take is coming through. I was worried it wouldn’t be clear enough but I do need to expand on it more to show it.
    
    Reply
3. Tale_Smith
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  This is an interesting take, a dying apology from a god that has shirked whatever duty it was supposed to have due to an enormous fascination with (what I assume was) humanity and our earth.
  Query: was the god’s legacy and job to keep peace, or to keep order? Was the world that he was supposed to make meant to be one of mere rocks moving in perfect circles, or was something more complicated supposed to happen?
  Was the entities’ death hastened by the very imbalance that they were so fascinated by, or was it merely their time to go?
  
  Reply
  1. Mary Rathana
    
    September 19, 2020
    
    The God’s job was a responsibility to keep the galaxy in order since they emerged from the corpse of the previous one! The death was in fact hastened by neglecting to keep things in order and they were supposed to limit the life of anything to be mere puppets rather than their own beings.
    
    Fun fact: This god was actually an old tabletop rpg character of mine that didn’t get a proper ending!
    
    Reply
Gregory Hess

September 16, 2020

Firstborn[Aleph null sci fi]
By gregovin

In a corner of the Milky way galaxy, we saw the first ever extant alien life. We were quite disappointed to find it was simple bacteria, clinging to an otherwise desolate rock. It barely even qualified as “alive” under most biological definitions. Humanity had been voyaging for a thousand years to find this, already one hundred lightyears from their home.

Soon after, the Extraterrestrial Search Mega-Telescope cluster, a radio interferometry project with tens of thousands of extremely large telescopes spread around the Sol system, confirmed that the galactic supercluster contains no extant technologically advanced intelligent life.

Humanity is alone in the relevant portion of the universe. Humanity is the galactic firstborn. And that’s terrifying. We are the wise precursor race that is supposed to guide the new technologically advanced beings into space and/or protect them from the danger. The problem is that humanity is not particularly known for wisdom, protecting things, or being helpful.

We aren’t ready for this. We aren’t responsible enough to handle a whole freaking galactic supercluster. We can barely manage something resembling cohesion on earth! I guess it doesn’t much matter until we find an intelligent species that isn’t technologically advanced, but if we did we would probably either uplift them without a second thought, colonize them, accidentally kill them, or intentionally kill them. Each of those options seems unlikely to end well for the aliens. At least there is no galactic reapers or exterminators or anything, so we don’t have to deal with ones we didn’t accidentally cook up because someone didn’t think through the side effects of their artificially stupid paperclip maximisor.

At least we don’t know how to destroy a galaxy… yet. And at least all our civilizations are pretty resilient against themselves, so total extinction is unlikely. But yes, we’re totally screwed. Being the galactic precursors is way too much responsibility for it to go well.

Reply
1. Aaron Fleming
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  Your story is an interesting exploration of the Firstborn concept in the Fermi Paradox question. Opening with the first official discovery of simple alien life, followed with a shut down closure that there is no advanced technological life out there in our immediate super-cluster really lays out the point leading to the rest of the explanation of how unprepared humanity is to be the precursor race. My only criticism I suppose would be the old “show rather than tell” adage in that we might feel as readers more impact over the screwed up nature of humanity as precursor race if it played out as an interaction among characters exploring the discovery of the state of affairs instead of purely being told how screwed up we are as a precursor race. That said, I also get how limited things can be given our word limit too. All in all, though, a good tale, and a good introduction to the Firstborn answer to the Fermi Paradox for new readers to the idea. Oh, as one small side thought, so you by chance watch Isaac Arthur on YouTube? Your story reminded me of one of his videos.
  
  Reply
2. Mary Rathana
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  I really love the tone of your submission! I always have a soft spot for outer space and the idea that aliens have a high chance to be hostile is kinda worrying! It’s almost comforting to see the idea that humans have this belief of superiority yet we are constantly at war with ourselves, yet the hope of uniting against an alien force may still be there!
  
  Reply
Chengir

September 16, 2020

Heavy is the Crown
By Chengir

Bobby Sobe walked with a swagger bigger than all get out. It was an unusual stride for someone who’d been poor and oppressed all his life. He pushed the stud on the wall and the door opened with a hiss. Lights blinked everywhere. The captain of the interstellar freighter Tartarus gave him a look which could have burned through bulkheads. “You can’t take it,” he snarled. “You need to let us finish our journey so it can be locked away.”

Pressing a few buttons on the consoles, Sobe made the alarm klaxons stop. He released the cargo locks. “Of course, I can. But don’t worry, I’m going to leave the rest of your cargo alone.”

The captain spit in the ionized atmosphere. The air smelled of smoke and burnt-out circuits. “You shot out my engines. So you’re just going to fly off, leaving the airlock door open I suppose. Letting all the oxygen escape?”

“You think I’m a pirate?” Sobe didn’t wait for a response. He laughed. “Of course, I’m a pirate… and a damn good one too. With the Crown, I’ll be unstoppable.”

The Crown, as it was known, was a quantum gravity wave generator. It got its name because it was the crowning achievement of the now-extinct Maxar Empire’s technology. Declared illegal in every civilized star system. Once engaged, it sent out a dampening field. Nothing worked inside this field. Not engines, not weapons, no electronics of any kind. Caught in the field, a starship was helpless.

Jason poked his head into the cabin. He spoke directly to the pirate. “The Crown’s aboard, Captain Sobe. I have to tell you, she’s damn heavy. It took ten of us to move her.”

The Tartarus captain struggled, bound in his chair. “Well, captain, It’s been a pleasure robbing you.” Sobe gave the man a low bow with a flourish. “I’ll see about closing the airlock door behind me… but I make no promises. I’ll leave you then with the cask of amontillado. Give Mr. Poe my regards, would you?”

Reply
1. Mary Rathana
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  Ah, I love the idea of space pirates! Bobby’s personality comes straight though with the dialogue and the focus is spot on with the characters. Nice references to Edgar Allan Poe and the cut-off at the end is a perfect cliffhanger! This makes me want to read more since it begins in media res.
  
  Reply
The Assassin

September 16, 2020

Deathsworn
By TheAssassin

“To death!” They cried.

They died.

“For the kingdom!” They cheered.

It crumbled.

“For our king!” They chanted.

He shattered.

“So far have we fallen. So deep have we drowned. Where now is peace to be found? I cannot continue to lead. Let me wander and decay alongside their corpses. At least there I shall be of no harm. There I can lead none astray, for all in that place have already fallen to my failures.” The weathered king sighed.

Lives lost. His friends. They trusted him and their reward was damnation.

He arose in the dark dripping dungeon. His imprisonment was not of the enemy, for they had not yet arrived. It was of his own volition. Soon the broken stone of his cell would be traded for the rot of battles long lost. Their tomb his prison; The torment would still not be enough.

“For you, they fought, for you they died. For you…” the feminine voice paused, “for you, they would have died even against your word. The failure was theirs. The only sin to be yours is the loyalty you so easily earn.”

With eyes broken did the king see his wife. Beautiful… treacherous! How dare she dishonor the dead. They were wiser than to march upon that foe, wise enough to see the king for the fool he was.

“They marched upon my command; their deaths are my victory”

“You know such words are lies. Lies to escape the responsibility to lead. You are wise and bold, let not one failure collapse you. Should you fall so shall your people.”

The king bloomed with anger, “Do not dishonor the dead, witch! In them was found honor untold. In me alone was weakness… I shall bear this weight.”

“The dead are gone, and so shall we fall if you do not arise. Bury them and lead those who remain, else you dishonor them. Else their families shall burn.”

Families… perhaps… he could save them. For the dead. He would still find penitence, he would still suffer, but now, perhaps, he could lead.

One last time.

Reply
1. Alex
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  This feels a lot like an ancient saga to me. I love the progression of this story, from loss through deep despair to a trickle of hope. The language you use is wonderful and fits the piece incredibly well.
  
  I’m not entirely sure, whether the king’s wife was alive, a ghost or a hallucination at the end, but you’ve left enough hints to keep me guessing.
  
  Beautifully written!
  
  Reply
2. Chengir
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I liked the story, although visually I had trouble wrapping my head around the king shattering… it made the king sound like a piece of glass. (Which would have been cool if there had been a mirror or window metaphor going on.) But the other words were well chosen. Funny how a single word can throw you right out of a story.
  
  Reply
  1. Lunabear
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Shattered is used as a metaphor to describe his mentally broken state brought on by the guilt and trauma of his decision to send in his men to battle. Soldiers who were very loyal, and would not hesitate to lay their lives down for him. Not to mention he has the weight of the grief of the families of those soldiers on his shoulders, in his mind, and their blood on his hands.
    
    Reply
    1. The Assassin
      
      September 18, 2020
      
      This is exactly right, thank you Lunabear 🙂
      
      Reply
3. Tyler Desperado
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Now this is the kind of start to a dark fantasy book I would gladly read!
  
  The set-up, the mental torture, and the slow rationalization of his predicament leading to a growing obsession. All of it was really well handled!
  
  Now the big question remains as it pertains to his honor code. Will he find some sort of redemption in the battlefield, or will he simply continue to lose more than he thought in a mad scramble to recapture past glory?
  
  Ooooo good stuff!
  
  Reply
Aaron Fleming

September 15, 2020

“Fire!”

By Aaron Fleming

The tension on the bridge of the starship Ulysses was palpable. If their information was correct the ship that would soon arrive through the subspace corridor would be the heavily armed rogue vessel that had been attacking ships in the area and killing their crews.

The small and subtle fluctuations in the subspace jump point showed a ship was about to emerge from the corridor. It looked like all the information about the place and time had panned out after all.

“All ships prepare to fire,” said Captain Argus. The enemy would be heavily armored and armed to the teeth, easily capable of taking on all of their ships. They had one solid chance to act here. If they could concentrate their fire just as the ship emerged from the subspace corridor, they would have the element of surprise and overpower them.

A surge of energy showed on the sensors and a blooming of light appeared on the view screens. They had mere moments to act. The ship appeared in normal space. It was … a civilian ship … almost completely unarmored, but it was partially jamming their communications. Why? No time to think it through. “Hold your fire!” shouted the captain.

The other ships in the fleet could hear mostly only static due to the partial jamming, but a number of ships could only make out one word. “Fire!” A rain of missiles and laser fire tore open the civilian ship as if it were made of paper. So many innocent people dead in mere moments. Captain Argus fell back into his chair. “No…” he whispered. It was his crew. His command. The deaths his responsibility. The bridge crew fell silent in the realization of what had just happened.

Captain Argus barely had moments to think before another burst of light appeared on the view screen. This time the ship that appeared was heavily armored and came in guns blazing. Before the captain could even issue his orders two of his ships were torn into shrapnel.

Reply
1. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  Oh awesome! The classic moment where a dangerously smart villain predicts their enemy’s plan perfectly and counters with a move that completely turns the advantage. In this case, by basically sending a decoy bomb through first – not a literal bomb, but a psychological one, designed to emotionally cripple the captain of the fleet moments before the real fight begun.
  
  Everything seems good and well executed! The only thing I want that I didn’t get from this story is a name for this rogue vessal – the description at present is simple enough that it could look like almost anything, but giving the Rogue Ship a name would have also provided personality and a better mental image in my head of what it could look like. Still, that’s a minor detail of course, and this story was great! 😀
  
  Reply
Mr. Jingo

September 15, 2020

Reunion
By Mr. Jingo

Every year on The Night of Triboulet, Her Revered Grace Halina Zofia, Archduchess of Gelt, Keeper of Tomorrow, etcetera, exits the confines of her estate under the watchful eye of her trusted guard Boethe, her mage having doused her in a drought of illusion.

For one day, she metamorphoses into one of them, the inferiors – the less desirables her ilk often neglect, and meanders through the cobblestone streets amongst a throng of revelers, surrendering herself to a night of indulgence.

But as the festivities wear on, she tacitly exits the lamplit town square, walking to the sparsely populated city limits to find the glazier’s hut. She runs her fingers through the windchime next to the door loud enough to draw the attention of the hut’s sole occupant, an eight-year-old whose name she already knows.

“Can I help you?” Agata says, her shaky wings revealing how frightened she is. Mothfolk are notoriously wary around humans.

“Yes,” Halina Zofia says, “I’m an acquaintance of Lepido’s.”

Agata’s antennae twitch as she hurries Halina Zofia inside. They talk for nearly an hour, Agata listening intently as Halina Zofia spins a tale of her brother Lepido – an intrepid youth recruited by the archduchess to embark on a secret mission. That’s why he’s been missing for the past week, but tomorrow, he is to return.

She hugs Halina Zofia’s legs and weeps, thanking the kind woman for informing her.

“You love your brother?” she asks.

And without a hint of hesitation, Agata replies, “Yes!”

Agata relates a memory of when Lepido nursed an injury she received. She’d cut herself badly on a shard of glass. He saved her.

Halina Zofia rubs Agata’s head, then takes her leave.

It’s all a lie, of course. Her brother was a leading figure within The Feathermen, a squalid organization that attempted to overthrow Halina Zofia and failed miserably. Agata couldn’t be ignored. Violence begets violence; the child, if allowed to blossom, could foster within her a malevolent flame that could prove bothersome. Like brother, like sister.

At dawn, a smaller body joined the gallows.

Reply
1. RVMPLSTLSKN
  
  September 17, 2020
  
  Ouch. So many other options and yet the right choice, tactically. This piece feels very Italian to me; on the old masquerades, the blatant Machiavellianism and seemingly innocent yet intricate meeting. Great job! I think you made a fantastic call in setting the last line off to itself.
  
  Reply
T.E.

September 15, 2020

The Dance of the Seasons
By T.E.

The lake glittered in the early morning sun as Ragnvald steered his boat into its deep end. Snow no longer covered the trees around the lake, and they had begun sprouting their first leaves.

“How beautiful it is, the shift of seasons,” Ragnvald thought. A smile graced his furrowed face. “If one could see the ages pass, the shifting seasons must appear like such an intricate dance.”

He pulled nets from the freezing water with calloused hands. He plucked the fish one by one from the nets and uttered a prayer every time he ended a life. His catch consisted mostly of cod and whitefish, but soon enough he saw something sparkling and beautiful in the old nets. Upon closer inspection he found it to be a large fish with iridescent golden scales. The golden fish didn’t flop or fight against its destiny, it just stared at him with large green eyes. When Ragnvald freed the fish and held it in his arms, it spoke.

“What do you wish for, old man?” it said. “I can fulfill your deepest desires. In exchange, I wish only to swim freely in my lake.”

Ragnvald stared at the fish in disbelief. But it was unseemly for a mere human to question a wild spirit. “I wish,” he began, “that I could see the ages pass.” The moment the fish hit the gleaming surface, he saw…

Ragnvald saw the world’s conception in a fiery inferno. He saw humanity draw their first breath. He saw the birth of the gods. He saw his own life; birth, life, and death. All the while seasons danced. The world, the universe, time, all was his domain. But it came with a price. He saw civilization fall. Humanity drew their last breath. The gods themselves grew frail and died.

It never stopped. Void, void, void. If only there could be life again. If only he could see the seasons dance once again…

Reply
1. Mango Gravy
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  Wow, this is really good. I’m assuming he saw the ages pass in real time, so he practically lived through them, and watched existence slowly crumble, becoming unrecognizable and eventually fading into nothingness.
  
  Gosh, this hits different. I can’t say I’ve seen much of this take on immortality. It’s usually just on a very earthly scale, but Ragnvald living to see the heat death of the universe, and be unable to escape it. That’s not something I’ve seen before, and I love how cosmically grim it is (hate to see it, but I love it).
  
  Reply
  1. T.E.
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Thanks a ton. I’m glad you liked it!
    
    I find the most terrible implications of immortality to be the knowledge that you’d be doomed to watch the world and universe around you decay indefinitely while you yourself simply persist, powerless to stop what’s going on around you. I thought it was a common idea, but I’m pleasantly surprised that I managed to give you a new perspective.
    
    I’m glad that you dropped by, have a great day!
    
    Reply
2. Tale_Smith
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Well, that was a rather impolite thing for that fish to do to a fisherman who was willing to free him. Like, he didn’t even try to force it out of the fish, it offered him the deal itself!
  I suppose I probably shouldn’t try to question the morality of spirits, only madness down that road, I’m sure.
  
  Am I missing the actual point of this story? Almost certainly.
  My apologies for that.
  
  Reply
AvraKehdabra

September 15, 2020

A Rapture of Fire
By Nathan Dees

It’s either this or that.

No in-between.

No other options, loopholes, second chances, or papers to sweep under the desk. Not anymore.

A hauntingly cold chill clings to his entire body as his finger trembles over the button. It glares up at him daringly. He could press it, but could he live with the consequences?

An entire nation… No, the entire world, would be affected by this decision. They had threatened him and his country. All the ideology and morals that he stood for would be obliterated if he didn’t press that button. If he didn’t do it himself, then someone else would do it to him. This was war.

“Mr. President, two minutes,” says someone from behind.

He barely hears it, but understands what it means; the time is now.

Everything moves like molasses, dragging out the moment to become agonizingly long.

The button collapses as he lets his hand fall like a gavel, deciding the fate of millions.
And with that; a small fleet of nuclear submarines over a hundred miles away open their tops and unleash a fiery Hell upon the East. Once it detonates it will roll across the land like a hoard of locusts, swallowing souls, irradiating the Earth, and ringing the bell of Death so loudly that all may hear its mournful resonation, even those who have no say in the matter. Especially those who have no say.

“Any price for peace. Right, sir?” said the previous man, a web of regret now complicating his demeanor.

The President replies grimly, “I’m afraid you’re wrong. I’m afraid we’re all wrong.”

He had expected his heart to be in his shoes, but he couldn’t find it at all. Only a void. Nothing but a void.

Reply
1. Christian Gould
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Loved this story! You can really feel the impact of the presidents decision, how he’s done something that cannot be reversed, and has to live forever with the devastation it caused. You really feel the sacrifices that have to be made in a position of power, decisions, decisions that will be speculated over years, decades, centuries, and the power that this realisation had on the character. Great write!
  
  Reply
  1. AvraKehdabra
    
    September 15, 2020
    
    Thank you tons! I’ve been writing with Tale Foundry for a long time, but this is my first piece in a couple months. Glad I managed to pull it off.
    
    Reply
2. T.E.
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  This is an awesome piece of fiction! Your wording is excellent throughout, I especially enjoyed comparing the passing of time with the movement of molasses, that’s some really powerful wordplay right there.
  
  The subject in itself is scarier to me than most of what I’ve read in recent time. Nuclear annihilation is a very Lovecraftian threat in fact, and a topic that’s been on my mind many times in recent years. Nuclear warheads are uncaring, eliminating every life, innocent or not. But perhaps I should just Stop Worrying and Learn to Love the Bomb…
  
  Great job on this one and thanks for sharing!
  
  Reply
  1. AvraKehdabra
    
    September 15, 2020
    
    😀 I’m so glad that a fellow Lovecraftian is out there. I read horror avidly and I am very passionate about writing the scariest shit I can muster up. Thanks for the praise!
    
    Reply
3. Shane Frangi
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  That’s some heavy stuff! It’s cool to see the prompt taken to such an extreme, and one so close to reality at that. The paragraph about the final impact of the warheads brought such powerful imagery and was truly poetic. Keep up the great work.
  
  Reply
  1. AvraKehdabra
    
    September 17, 2020
    
    😀 Thanks so much for the praise. I tend to lead towards the somber side of literature, and it has always lead to great results.
    
    Reply
RedStein

September 15, 2020

Even Power Makes Men Hollow
by RedStein

Laurian outstretches his thin,black and lanky arm towards a woman in dirty robes, holding what seems to be a baby. The child’s features are sunken and devilishly pale. With Laurian touching the baby’s forehead, a golden glow appears on the infant, and the once corpse-like features are now full of life. All the color back on its face.

“How much further can I go doing this, my love?” He said in a raspy voice, looking to his right and attempting to grasp at something.

“Oh? How silly of me to forget. I forgot that you were already gone.” Laurian let out a chuckle, before coughing profusely, covering his mouth as blood splatters all over his palm.

“Dear me, am I already reaching my limit?”. His flaky skin started to shred, like a snake shedding its old skin. All the while, his brain started to hurt, as if a million swords were stabbing his insides.

As he sits upon his old rusty throne, Laurian sets his gaze upon a giant painting of him and his wife, back-dropped by a shining green star. His thoughts wander off from his current condition, thinking about his beloved wife. As he lays there, Laurian recalls back, before he bore the power of reviving the dead.

“If you were here, you would beg for me to stop…wouldn’t you Flora?” Clutching his staff, Laurian mustered all of his strength to stand up, limping towards the balcony that oversees his kingdom which was back-lit by the shining clusters of stars. His fingers wandered off, and traced the armrests of his rocking chair, before sitting down. “Even if it costs my life, I will continue my duty. I need time.” Laurian said, struggling to get the words out.

The king gazes upon one specific star, intoxicated by its shining emerald green glow. A bright smile formed from his face, as he thinks of his family, longing to reunite with their spirits.

Reply
1. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Oooh, the imagery is really strong here. I glanced at this story’s first paragraph while scrolling and before I knew it I had read the whole thing! Such was the compelling nature of this tale, and the miserable rotting king at its core.
  
  I wasn’t quite sure what he was doing at the very start – was he bringing his baby child back to life, or merely restoring and preserving their corpse? I suppose the latter could still be more than a futile gesture if he believes he can truly bring them back eventually. Or maybe he just can’t stand to see them rot?
  
  That’s something that he doesn’t mind seeing in himself though – his decrepit state is an everpresent aspect of the text, and ‘his flaky skin started to shred’ almost made me recoil from the mental image it gave me in particular. There’s something very sad about this character allowing himself to rot so badly for what seems to be such a forlorn hope.
  
  The Emerald Star seems to be the true villian here – or at least, the corrupting force that broke this person so badly. I’m sure that star is how he obtained his necromantic powers, and judging by the end of this piece, he’s very far from ever being able to free himself from the power it tempts him with.
  
  Great work! 😀
  
  Reply
Toyloli

September 15, 2020

I loved to make toys.
By Rinni the Doll

Standing in front my mirror, I find and put on my shirt.
When I started I had crafted in wood, trains mostly but dolls too. Each was carved on site and Children would drag parents into my shop to watch me work.
It was never the same child but always the same question, “Mister Mister, did you make it did you make it?” a custom doll or train, hand carved, sewn or painted.
One day a woman, the would be love of my life entered the shop. Holding a child who marveled at the trains she said something weird:
“Can’t you make them move themselves?”

I fetched the long black pants from my bed and put them on.
Her idea was simple, her father ran a Plastics store, dolls mostly.
“If you make the trains from plastic, you could put a motor in them to make them run.
I was doubtful but the trains had worked. The plastic was imprecise but easy to make and with Hikaru help we printed a batch. We stayed up for nights trying to learn electronics and build the prototypes but soon iTana toys became famous.
Gaggles of children wondered at the little machines and shortly, Hikaru’s father proposed a partnership between us. Not marriage, that would come later, Rather my company with his. Before long we sold toys by the dozen. The toys were cheaper, took less time, yet the children still loved them. Parents still bought them. The dream grew.
The world had changed around me, little things ignored so I could focus on the kids.

I put on my hat, looked out the window.
At some point I’d moved to the city, head of my own division, married. My toys were being sold all over japan. When was the last time I crafted my own toy?

I turned around.
Papers covered every surface. Bills. lawsuit. Choking, fire, trip. The train I was driving was in trouble, the factory I owned, a nightmare. I had only been so busy chasing the dream I had let the train burn behind me..

Reply
1. RedStein
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Overall, a pretty great piece to read! I really like how it starts as light and cheerful at first, until reality properly hits at the end, where all the responsibilities and burdens of being an adult lies. Even if it was short, those few sentences really impacted the message really well. It is nice to see something unique such as this. Again, amazing job!
  
  Reply
2. Christian Gould
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Great story! Interesting to watch the characters passion turn into such a nightmare, as when they get what they want, they also realize the bad parts of their dream job. “I loved to make toys” meaning they once loved making toys, had once been passionate. Interesting how too much success created that much more responsibility and complications for the character, which is great for business but can also draw the wrong kind of attention. Sometimes it’s better to do what you love just do it, without a need for all that recognition. Loved the reference to the train at the end as the characters dream job sped further and further away, and the dream job they envisioned, and the mission behind it, collapsed under the weight of maintaining its success. And how the characters feelings changed was interesting too.
  
  Reply
3. Michael Case
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  I watched a YouTube video on the rise and fall of Veggie tales. This story is very similar, but then again I wonder how many people have experienced this same exact thing. Started out with a dream, fallowed that dream, outgrew the dream, awoke to a nightmare. The way that you captured this from a personal perspective is saddening. Just the art of watching a person fail due to their own single-minded success is always a trip for me when done well. You did that here.
  
  Reply
  1. Lunabear
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Did this video happen to be by a guy named Saberspark?
    
    Reply
Christian Gould

September 15, 2020

The Dream Crown
by Christian Gould

The crown didn’t become a burden until Garth had intrusive thoughts.
In fact, the machines chose their leader well, given that Garth had a great mind. His vision, to their mechanical brains, was the equivalent of the ultimate truth. He was sharp and intelligent and dreamed big.
The crown was shaped like a metal helmet, with huge metal bolts on the sides, and connected to this crown were wires that hooked up to Jay, the dream computer.
Jay cast the vision of many participants from around the world, and to be selected was an honor, until the visions and the energy were all gone. Then, there was only a body, as the soul was consumed by Jay. It was a noble sacrifice.
All humans were hooked up to similar machines, all with metal helmets and wires. The only difference was they didn’t get to dream their own worlds. Garth’s mind became their reality, as everything in his head became their everyday life.
The machines selected the perfect mind: world peace was possible, everyone found their lover, every person found their purpose, and nobody had reason to want anymore. That is, if “everything” was satisfactory for everyone.
People complained. They became angry: everything wasn’t everything, for they had enemies. They wanted to hurt each other, they wanted to hurt themselves. They wanted to hurt the maker of reality: “I hate Garth’s vision,” they’d say, “his mind is weak, too soft, too quiet.”
Eventually, the words sank in, and so did imperfections. Garth’s anger took over, and his violent thoughts started.
Word spread throughout the virtual world like wildfire that a woman who gossiped about Garth died horrifically.
Garth, for a split second, imagined her head being cut from her body. Blood sprayed from the stump where a head had been.
It happened frequently since: girls talking in the market suddenly having their heads cut off, without probable cause.
Everyone was afraid: they knew his vision was lost, and in its place was a never-ending nightmare.
Blood puddles flooded the streets often, and mass graves were dug, bodies filled to the brim.

Reply
1. Toyloli
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Nice. Love how even before everything fell apart there was no actual peace on earth, just the promise that the crown would do it. Meaning the crown here is just a pointless symbol. Also nice to see a villain protag.
  
  Reply
2. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 20, 2020
  
  Ahhh, so basically the same issue the ‘first version’ of the Matrix from the titular movie had – the creation of a perfect world for imperfect beings end up going very poorly! Except in this universe, there is no ‘second draft’ option for this world – it just became a bloodsoaked nightmare instead as its director descended into madness.
  
  I do really like the use of intrusive thoughts here – the whole point of them normally is that they are harmless, if distressing. A human with intrusive thoughts virtually never acts on them normally – but in a world where thoughts can become actions, there is no barrier between thinking the intrusive thought, and acting on them. Though I’m suprised it was *just* beheading a lot at first – usually intrusive thoughts are a bit more varied and imaginative than just using one kind of violence on a person. 😛
  
  Really neat ideas and imagery here overall, great work!
  
  Reply
Erin Clare

September 15, 2020

Bitter King, Fallen Prince
by IrishPixie23 (E.C.)

King Adom placed his hand on the door, wings trembling. They always trembled on these visits. After several deep breaths, he pushed and entered.

Sunlight glistened throughout the glassy room. His eyes adjusted to see the chalk drawings across every surface, leading to a frail figure like currents. Ren was bent over the ground on his knees, thin hands tracing endless lines on the floor. The lines never formed words or pictures. Patterns, maybe. Perhaps they were all that was left of his mind, since…

Adom’s eyes cringed at the misshapen stumps that once held up wings. He remembered the blood and screams of that day when he held Ren broken in his arms. How long had it been?

“Brother…” he called quietly.

Prince Ren froze. Adom’s heart leaped in his throat. Alas, Ren quickly resumed scribbling. The elder swallowed and paced closer. “You’ve been eating more,” he said, noting a half-eaten meal. “That’s good.”

Silence.

“I’ll have the cooks make that dish next time if you like.”

The chalk scraped and tapped.

Adom blew out a long sigh and traced his fingers across the sketches. “I am tired, brother. Some days it seems like this war will never end. But our people are strong- sure-hearted. We are so close…” His fingers balled into a fist. “I’m leaving tomorrow, for a few weeks at least.” The chalk strokes grew short and fast. “We’re nearing the pinnacle of this war. I need to be ready. Their king will soon fall, and you and all of our people shall be avenged!”

The chalk broke. The prince paused, hands shaking briefly before folding in defeat. Adom knelt before him. For a moment, they were boys again. “Please, Ren…” He lifted his face. “Just one word…”

His eyes remained dull and fractured. Adom searched them again and again. Nothing. His hands dropped and he marched out of the room. “It’s his fault you’re like this,” his thoughts burned. “I will not let your cries be the last time I heard your voice. He will pay…”

Reply
1. RedStein
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Pretty well written short story. The whole war aspect, and the stress of having to take a major part in it is a neat and harrowing theme to explore here. Although, if I do have to point out something I don’t like, is that I sometimes get confused on who is speaking on the dialogue bits. However I think this is more of a minor nitpick then a glaring problem, so feel free to ignore it. Once again, good job on the amazing piece.
  
  Reply
2. WanderingMind (cansasdale)
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  It always amazes me how much emotion one can evoke with so little words, and this was no exception. You did a great job showing the dynamic between Ren and Adom and the state both brothers are in. The world also seems very interesting. I’m curious to hear more about these two characters. Very well done, my friend!
  
  Reply
Mango Gravy

September 14, 2020

Butterfingers
By Mango Gravy

“Of all the apprentices I could have been saddled with,” Ograbah yelled, “Why did I end up with the most imbecilic pillock this side of the celestial plain?”

As one might have guessed from the bombastic robes, deific beard, and gaudy vocabulary, Ograbah was a Wizard. A particularly fierce one, at that, with a reputation for bursting into paroxysms of verbal ferocity at the drop of a coin. Or in this case, a very precious and exceedingly delicate crown, the remains of which were littered across the dusty floor, serving as apparent justification for the old Wizard’s outburst.

Vimbly Crowbottom, as one could tell from his simple clothing and diminutive stance, was the apprentice in question. ‘Why did I end up with the loudest, most temperamental wizard on the planet?’ he thought, struggling to hold his tongue.

He had worked hard to secure an apprenticeship to the most competent wizard he could find. He had learned so much in his short time with Ograbah, but he never imagined his apprenticeship would involve quite so many verbal lashings and healing potions for burst eardrums. Difficult, certainly, but well worth it as Vimbly had far surpassed all his peers who had settled with less volatile teachers. Ograbah was a remarkable Wizard, and an excellent teacher, when he wasn’t… erupting.

“Months of toiling away to find that ancient masterpiece, and you drop it the instant I turn around! What spirit of buffoonery possessed you to do fail so spectacularly at simply holding the damn thing?”

“I-”

“Speak up, you smooth-brained lummox. Or have you, in this episode of idiocy, also lost your grip on the common tongue?”

“My-”

“SPEAK, DAMN YOU!”

Vimbly’s composure burst at the seams, “It was heavier than I expected!” he spat before he realised he was shouting.

Silence.

“It slipped out of my hands before I could react,” he continued, quieter.

Ograbah’s gaze was piercing, but it eventually softened, as did his voice when he spoke at last. “Well, it’s a good thing it’s easily repaired. Let me show you how.”

Vimbly blinked.

Reply
1. AvraKehdabra
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  Okay, this one has a couple layers to it, each one greater then the last. Your vocabulary is perfectly suited for the setting of the wizard and his apprentice. Love the way the wizard curses, it adds a very whimsical feel to your piece. As do the words in between. The ending is perfect. Despite it just being 2 paragraphs long, the change in the wizard is represented perfectly. Love this story and the characters, keep up your writing!
  
  Reply
  1. Mango Gravy
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thanks! I was worried about the ending here so I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’m just glad in general. Big thank.
    
    Reply
2. Fredrick Hoagland
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  So, Wizard Gordan Ramsey if I’m not mistaken. Now, the location of the crown could be in several different locations. First, the literal crown shattered on the ground. Second, Vimbly’s “crown” of being an apprentice to one of the top wizards only to find weight of that to be almost to much. Finally, it could be the “crown” of Ograbah’s prestige within the wizarding community causing him to try to have everything in control. Overall, a very nice piece.
  
  Reply
  1. Mango Gravy
    
    September 15, 2020
    
    The first two crowns were very much intentional, but it seems the third went over my head even as I wrote it. It makes sense, though, and the number three is a special one, isn’t it?
    Marvelous. Thank you very much.
    
    Reply
3. Toyloli
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Awww, sweet. Heavier than expected for certain, plain yet simple analogy. Like it. Not sure about the third person usage here, it confused me a little but well presented.
  
  Reply
  1. Mango Gravy
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    Thanks for the read.
    
    Reply
4. T.E.
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Loved this! I do have a soft spot for wizards and whimsical names and you’ve nailed both of these super well and accomplished a ton more. The way you provide little tidbits from the world, like how apprentices are paired up with wizards and how Vimbly uses healing potions to mend his broken eardrums, really pulled me into the narrative and made me curious about everything going on. And the story is awesome as well, showcasing the relationship between Vimbly and Ograbah in a great way.
  
  You’ve done a great job and I hope to see more in the future. Thanks for sharing this with us!
  
  Reply
  1. Mango Gravy
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    I also have a soft spot for whimsical wizards, though I can’t pinpoint where exactly it comes from. Writing about them is never my first idea, but whenever I settle on it I end up really enjoying the process.
    Glad you picked up on the smidgen of world building in this one. I’ve only submitted one other story in this world but I feel like I have it well fleshed out. I’ll be trying to fit more wizard antics into future prompts.
    
    Thanks for the read.
    
    Reply
5. WanderingMind (cansasdale)
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  I don’t have the fantastic vocabulary you possess, my friend but I will do my best to tell you how sensational this piece is! I love how you’ve got the literal crown and the metaphorical crown of Vimbly being the apprentice of “the loudest, most temperamental wizard on the planet.” I adore Vimbly and Ograbah and I adore this story! You are a very talented writer.
  
  P.S The title “Butterfingers” is absolutely amazing!
  
  Reply
  1. Mango Gravy
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    Thank you very much! And don’t worry, vocabulary improves with time and effort. Have a thesaurus ready whenever you write, and I’m sure it’ll get better. Also, I did put extra effort into making the language in this story more flowery than usual.
    But yeah, I appreciate the kind words.
    
    Reply
Isa Dragon

September 14, 2020

Excerpt From Talvanka’s Collection on Oral Bloodsword Lore
By IsaDragon (gerbilz337)

I tell this tale so you may know.

Once there was a Merfolk sword-smith, who forged a weapon of war. In the depths of the volcanic vents he twisted oyster shells into blue steel, as was practice at the time, and sang to the metal as it cooled. He sang tales of war and wanderlust, as his wife so loved.

He made the sword for his wife, the lovely Shardalande of Omawude, the fiercest warrior in all the seas.

Shardalande was eighteen feet long. Her toxic spines and sharp fangs were known to be as deadly as her skills with a blade. She was the greatest of the Lord of the Deep’s knights before he fell to his star-eating slumber. Her husband’s masterpiece, a nasty blade with spikes and hooks, became her chosen sword: Gorehewin.

She used him well, for they were at war.

With sword in hand, she led her band to glory. She fed her foes to the whales, and gained power and infamy. She was the greatest warrior in the seas, and most trembled in fear at her name.

Most, but not all.

A brazen thief cut her down from behind, and stole Gorehewin. Wielding the sword, he proclaimed himself the greatest fighter, another challenger rose to combat him; the cycle, established, continued.

Gorehewin grew irritated. He was made for war, born in the fiery vents at the bottom of the world and bathed in the blood of entire armies. He disliked the arena he was stuck in, and wanted to travel and stain the water red. He could wield himself far better than these amateurs.

Thus, like his elder sister Jormigera, he took control of his wielder; but unlike her, he slaughtered only those who were in his way.

And thus Gorehewin wandered, depopulating entire archipelagos overnight.

For a time, warriors would seek him out, for the hand that held him was the greatest warrior in all the seas, feared and respected. At the unknowing price of their freedom.

This was the birth of Gorehewin, the second bloodsword.

I tell this tale so you may remember.

Reply
1. Mango Gravy
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  That first and last lines really makes this story seem foreboding. “Yes, I’m telling you a story but it’s not just a bedtime story. I’m telling you this for your sake.” This telling isn’t for entertainment. This is functional. It’s a warning. And I love the mood that injects into this piece.
  
  I’m not sure if you’ve written other stories in this world, but it certainly seems like there’s larger lore at work here. The Lord of the Deep and his star-eating slumber. The other bloodsword, I assume to be Jormigera. This world has history, and I’m thoroughly intrigued.
  
  I like it.
  
  Reply
  1. Isa Dragon
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you! This is a part of a massive project I started years ago, the kind that you pick at now and then but never really gets anywhere. The whole idea is that the entire planet has a massive history, but no dominant culture- my excuse to write up folktales, myths and legends that may or may not be true through the lens of different cultures… There maaay be seven bloodswords out there.
    It’s honestly kinda hard to write in, because it’s all self-contained short stories and novellas within the world’s history, and keeping all the lore straight is challenging.
    
    Reply
2. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  Ooooh this is awesome! So this story is told from the perspective of the heavy crown itself – though this is no head ornament, but a powerful and blood-hungry weapon of war. A weapon that eventually grows tired of the small ambitions of the mortals that weilded it and chooses its own path of slaughter instead.
  
  And this is not an elegant sword either, despite its pretty-sounding origins – it is a monstrous blade with spikes and hooks for an owner equally as deadly with their own body, and I have this hooked image in my head that is already creepy enough without imagining how the living sentience inside must manifest.
  
  I also really, really liked how you almost wrong-foot the reader at first – you think that this is going to be a tale of Shardalande, or perhaps the smith who was her husband, but then the thief abruptly cuts Shardalande’s story unceremoniously short, and the only consistent character left is the sword itself. A super neat little twist, and one that makes logical sense once you realise the blade has a life of its own, one that is no longer fulfilling.
  
  Lovely job! I will have to keep an eye on your future stories too! ^w^
  
  Reply
  1. Isa Dragon
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Gorehewin is a beautiful mess of a sword, absolutely. I wanted something vaguely fishhook-related, and that led me down the tunnel to Roman gladiator combat… Anyways, I now know way to much about the various functions of hooked swords. Like bending or shattering the opponent’s blade, once you catch it in the grooves.
    Glad you liked it!
    
    Reply
3. Fredrick Hoagland
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  Fear the deep young one, because you never know what lurks. In general, this piece has a very Lord of the Rings-esque vibe. Mostly that comes from style in telling this as a sort of ancient legend that has simply been translated into English. Not to mention a few parallels between Gorehewin and the Ring to Rule Them All (Volcanic forge, great power, taking over its wielders, etc.) Overall, a great piece.
  
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  1. Isa Dragon
    
    September 15, 2020
    
    This is the part where I claim that those parallels were absolutely intentional and not at all a coincidence because I’ve definitely finished Lord of the Rings at some point…
    Nice catch on the ancient legend that’s been translated! In-universe, it’s a transcription of a story that’s been passed down through the generations orally, so what exactly happened to make Gorehewin is something that only he knows at this point.
    
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4. Mr. Jingo
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  What a brilliant take on the prompt! Not gonna lie, I’m very interested in reading a bit from the sword’s point of view. This whole thing feels like a cool item description you’d find in a video game, and it does an amazing job at building this world you’re creating. This is – excuse me – a damn fine piece of flash fiction.
  I guess for criticism, I’d say it could serve the story to be a little more self-contained, since some of the terminology is lost to me (e.g., “star-eating slumber”). Yeah, it’s a minor nitpick, and this is perfectly acceptable in larger works since it sparks the reader’s imagination. But in works this short, it might be best to keep things straightforward. But hey, that’s just my opinion, and I’m sure many would disagree:)
  
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  1. Isa Dragon
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    I wanted to see how much I could imply within the wordlimit and still have a story… I think I did pretty well, all considered. It’s an excerpt that hints to a much greater lore, but is still understandable out of context.
    At least that was the goal, maybe I was overly ambitious.
    Though I will say ‘star eating slumber’ was intended to be a metaphor… ‘was cursed to sleep until the end of the world’ just didn’t have the right impact for the words it took up.
    
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5. Marx
  
  September 17, 2020
  
  I absolutely adore the cadence of this story. Right from the beginning it just comes across as an epic tale and the fact that it’s pretty much a cautionary tale at that makes it even better. It very much makes you want to know more about this story and the other blades. The idea of a magic sword that takes over the weilder is really intriguing. Hoping to see more in this world!
  
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Fredrick Hoagland

September 14, 2020

Odd Interior Decorating
By Fredrick Hoagland (Challeng3r22)
A stack of documents marked URGENT sat on the desk in front of Mark. He sighed recalling his father’s disappearance over a year ago that left him in charge of the family’s company.
A knock came at the door, before Arianna’s voice sounded from the other side, “You’ve been in there a while. I’ve prepared you some tea if you want some.”
“Come in, Arianna.”
Through the door came an automaton that had appeared on his doorstep three months ago with a note that simply read, “Dear Mark, I often found that mansion gets awfully dusty. Here’s a maid to help keep things clean and you fed. Her name is Arianna and you can figure out the maintenance yourself. Sincerely, Dad.”
“You seem troubled,” she commented, breaking him from his revelry.
“Just thinking about my father. Are you sure you have no recollection of him?”
“You know as well as I do that my memory discs from that point of time where tampered with. Leaving me with no memories from that point of time.”
“I know, but the crown of madness is a powerful force.”
Drawing the top document from the stack, Mark revealed a letter sealed with wax in the form of a sword dangling from a thread.
Finding this more intriguing than a stack of papers on employee healthcare and marketing opportunities, he popped the seal and read the paper out loud, “Dear Mark, I hope you are well all things considered. You may have been warned about the heavy hat, the uncomfortable chair, and various other status indicators of entrapment. But they often overlook the odd interior decorating choice that symbolizes the fleetingness of this power. To assist on this front you will find an lie-detector modification for Arianna on your doorstep tomorrow to see if the board really has your best-interests in mind. Sincerely, Dad.”
Arianna’s faceplates shifted into a contemplative gaze as she declared, “I worry about that man’s intentions.”
“I know, especially considering we’re a pharmaceutical company.”

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1. Erin Clare
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  Interesting take on the prompt! There are a couple of typos I caught (a “where” that’s probably supposed to be “were”, and an “an” that should be an “a”), but nothing major. There’s a lot of intriguing questions that are raised for the reader, but not enough to break the flow or understanding of the story. Why did the dad leave? Are robots common in this world, or unique creations of him? Why are his messages so cryptic? It seems implied that something’s up with the company that caused the dad to leave and wipe the Arianna’s memory (unless the company did that and not him). Altogether, if this is for a book you’re planning to publish one day, this would be a great preview scene! 🙂
  
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2. Toyloli
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  wait? Why pharma? And when is this set? I have so many questions! The symbolism of the crown feels a little horned in here, his being the head of a company is more crown than the ‘condition’ mentioned. But there’s so many ways to read this!
  
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Shane Frangi

September 14, 2020

Heavy is the Crown
By Shane Frangi

Jasper sat tensely under a large crag which served as a backdrop to his group’s makeshift camp, his eyes scanning the slumbering forms of his comrades. He had found such rest difficult since Rodrick had passed, leaving the young mage to lead the band of heroes. “I wonder if you were like this,” he thought out loud, “too neurotic to even shut your eyes for a moment.”

A sudden thud snapped him out of his trance, prompting a reactive blast of ice in its general direction; his eyes widened as soon as he realized who he’d fired at. “Ember!” he shot to his feet, “I-I’m sorry. I-.” His words were cut short as the graceful form of the huntress fluttered through the air and settled next to him. “Jasp, I’m fine. You… really, it’s nothing.”

Struggling to form words for a moment, Jasper slumped back against the rocky cliff face before collecting his thoughts: “Are you sure you’re okay?” The fay woman knelt beside him, gently touching his arm. “You missed, it’s nothing to worry about. Honestly, I’m more concerned for you.”

He held up his hand. “Don’t be. Rodrick never needed anyone too…” his voice trailed off as he tried to hide his tears. “It’s just… he always made it look so easy: always keeping everyone safe despite everything; not to mention everyone admired him. He… he always knew what to do.”

A soft warmth began to envelop his hand, as he looked down to see Ember had taken it in her own. “He’d be proud of you: I know we all are.” He slowly brought his line of sight to meet hers, as tired blue eyes met caring violet; “You mean so much more to us… to me… than you could ever know.”

She huddled near him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Now get some sleep, you dork. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.” Jasper sat in silence for a moment, then after some deliberation, slowly set his head atop hers. He carried a heavy burden, but he may not have to carry it alone.

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1. Fredrick Hoagland
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  A crown upon two heads is not quite as heavy as upon one. And also this is really sweet and I want more of this, but I’ll wait to see what the future may hold. The pauses are executed really well, and these characters interact as though they’re actually friends and not just archetypes stuck in a room together. All in all, a great piece.
  
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2. AvraKehdabra
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  100% ship this jazz you have going on here. I myself am a humongous fantasy fan, and it’s always interesting to hear the author’s take on how the hero deals with being thrusted into a position of power, whether willingly or not. You are able to bring a problem, a solution, and all the emotions in between into just 350 words or less. The ending paragraph is the strongest part of this piece, love how it comes full circle. Keep up your writing!
  
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3. Joseph Kharms
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  This is a great story, and very sweet. The idea of two people working together to burden the weight is an interesting take on the prompt and a reminder to us all that we should be more open to our peers. Overall, well done! I thoroughly enjoyed.
  
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4. Marx
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  The responsibility and the stress to live up to said responsibility is displayed so well in this piece. It draws you into Jasper’s mindset and the dialogue with Ember added the right level sweetness to round everything out. This is a great take on the prompt and I love that it isn’t just demonstrating that the crown itself is heavy but also that the solution is to allow yourself to be helped when you need it. Great story!
  
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Arthur Moore

September 14, 2020

The tired sailor, lost at sea

I was lost in the voyage at sea, in search of a home I never found. It wasn’t like I was happy though, I was actually quite sad, and worn, and limp of all my strength in heart, mind, and limbs. I wanted to give up and give in to the sea, the salty waves to rip and tear and swallow me whole.
And it’s not like I had anyone with me, no. I was completely alone, no crew to mutiny, no involuntary captain of any massive group of castaways, lost and adrift at sea. I was actually alone, and I was tired; and wondrous of the silence.
I suspect that I must be in the eye of a storm somewhere, though it’s not where I had always been, sometimes I was out at the wall of the general swirl and pull, sometimes in a uniquely calm sea where the watery reflection is like a Mercurian mirror able to show you any and everything, in full. Others it was choppy and overcast. Never a singular day, always changing and morphing, the sea. As is my vacant mind, and lonely heart.
But now in the encompassing silence and the stillness, forced upon you like an unchanging void….I was done, I was done with it all and ready to give in, waiting for the storm to pass me above and pull me in crashing into its unforgiving wall. And days have passed since like that with nothing changing at all, that I now suspect I might be in some maritime hell of stillness, and silence, and hopeless drudgery repeating on and on and on. I just… I just one-day wish to see my shores again and call upon my home. But no. It is not that easy. Not at all. If you are lost in a never ending sea.
How could I bear this solitude any longer, I thought as I pray for the storm’s wall to take me to the silent shore and maybe there I might meet again my home.

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1. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  That poor sailor. No-one should be all alone on the sea for so long. I do not know if everything he sees is truly accurate, or if he is beginning to succumb to the madness of total isolation. Was the voyage to find his home always the goal, or did he start off from there only to become hopelessly lost?
  
  A slight critique: ‘It wasn’t like I was happy though’ was slightly suprising for me, because the previous line hadn’t given me much reason to assume happiness at all. It felt like stating an emotion that felt obvious in context – maybe if the initial line had sounded more stereotypically rose-tinted or jaunty the second line would have come across better?
  
  I find the presence of the storm very interesting as well – for me at least it feels like the aspect which may not be truly real, because of how it seems to have just manifested around the boat without a memory of entering the storm. A miserable scenario regardless. But great work on conveying the emotions and tone here! 😀
  
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  1. Arthur Moore
    
    September 15, 2020
    
    Thank you for your reply and critism. In regards to your questions I’m not so sure accept for maybe how you would view it, but the best I could say would be was he was searching from the wrong place in the start and in the wrong way.
    And I would have to agree with your criticism as it was an obvious oversight on my part and thank you for pointing it out. But a knee jerk defense I could come up for it would be to suggest hee might’ve been happy or still is, and was vehmently trying to deny it to himself? I wouldn’ylt know, but I would’ve to agree that it should’ve been more clearly stated thank you.
    
    Reply
Joseph Kharms

September 14, 2020

“Thus We Confess”
By Joseph Kharms

It is obvious to me now, as I scrawl lectures on paper, that humanities great escape from nature has been futile. It has been, and always been, humanities wish to escape it’s inferior surroundings. It is so that we clothe our animal bodies and claim to act out of conscience. Conscience is a masquerade, and it is now and only now, that I am able to rip this crown off humankind and reveal what lies beneath. Your crown of skyscrapers and conscience is invisible:

Despite all my explorations into romance (people who I never had intentions of rejecting) I have only been transfixed by one. Milly, who, in my eyes, escaped nature. She seemed controlled and civilised unlike the rest of humanity. However, she made one act which diminished her conscience, she was dating a man called Max.

He was charming, fit and cherished by society, although he undoubtedly beat her. While she suffered, Max’s friends looked the other way, despite owning supposed morals. I couldn’t stand it, knowing that she was suffering by his hand. Perhaps I secretly wanted it to be by my own hand.

Tonight, he hit her in public. She collapsed on the pavement outside the pub. Tonight, I was filled with rage; as I always was. Tonight, I listened to that rage and I let go of manufactured order.

I can barely remember what I did, but all I remember is the feeling of power and the sound of Max’s head cracking on the tarmac. I remember turning to Milly and seeing her scream in horror. To hell with her. My attraction to her has disappeared for she is but a dog, who always returns to her abusive owner.

I fled to my home covered in blood and swore to educate you by means of writing.

Behold humanity:
Sperm orientated.
Water fortified.
Blood bought.

My last wish is that instead of police, an angry mob find me bearing stones.
While they stone me to death, I shall laugh at their hypocrisy and howl truth above their anguish:

“I CONFESS. I confess to being an animal.”

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1. Shane Frangi
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  Such a chilling ending. I really like the method in which you presented the narrator’s story: almost like an educational paper or an essay of sorts. It really gives a feeling that he has completely shed his humanity and emotion, so there is nothing left but cold, calculating accusation and evaluation.
  
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  1. Joseph Kharms
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you for the feedback! I’m glad it was as chilling as intended.
    
    Reply
Alex

September 14, 2020

The Children of Mrs. Armitage (Armitage Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)

Daniel Armitage stood on the roof of a high rise building in Fisher’s Quarter, one of the city’s harbor districts. Although not as tall as the buildings further towards the town center, he could swear he could see the spot, where the Stainsholm Oil Rig once stood.

The memory still felt as fresh as it had all those weeks ago. The fire, the screams and his sister, Victoria. The charred remains of his sister, begging him for… what? Help? Salvation? Death? He couldn’t quite remember anymore. Only her screams.

Then there was Scott, his older brother. He’d been found dead in the streets one day, his neck twisted and the souls he’d tasked himself to protect gone. Daniel felt his fist clench. His arm shook. Raindrops hit his face, as the cold wind picked up. Water ran down his cheeks, his breath coming in shudders.

With a sudden pang, he realized that he was now the oldest living child of the Armitage Matron. He was the eldest. His position was higher than it had ever been before. But that couldn’t be. Daniel was too young. He was no leader.

He was a failure and a disappointment.

Victoria had been compassionate and kind. Scott had been brave and upstanding. He, Daniel, was just some coward, who let his own sister die. He couldn’t save her. More than that, he was responsible for her death. Stainsholm was his fault. The fire was his fault.

Everything was his fault.

He took a step closer to the edge of the roof. He squinted out into the ocean, trying to imagine the silhouette of Stainsholm in the distance.

“Her proudest creations,” he said, bitterly: “Yeah right. Some creation I turned out to be. The king of incompetence, that’s who I am. I’m sorry, mum.”

“Daniel?” a voice behind him said.

He turned and saw Mia.

“Everything alright? We’re worried, your siblings and me.”

“I can’t burden you with this. I’m sorry.”

She knelt next to him.

“You saved me from the burning hospital. Let me help you now.”

And Daniel let her.

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1. Connor A.
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  It’s nice seeing the effects of becoming the “important” kid in your parents’ eyes. Though Daniel’s situation has some unique circumstances, the idea of suddenly being the focus after hiding in the shadows for so long is suffocating and relatable to a lot of people. Keep up the good work.
  
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2. Marx
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  Oof! This story hits you right in the jellies! Seriously though, you can feel not only the survivors guilt along with feeling actually responsible for the situation, but just the general sense of self hatred and not being ready to be thrust into such prominence, especially when you feel you don’t deserve it. The ending was really sweet as well. Everyone needs help sometimes and it makes the ending a bit more hopeful in that he allowed himself that moment of weakness to be comforted. A very emotional piece. Well done!
  
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3. Lunabear
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  Poor Daniel. No emotional support from his mother, which severely crippled him emotionally. Unable to save his siblings from death, and now, he has the full weight of eldest child on his shoulders (a task he was always told he was never good enough for). Combine all of that with his suicidal thoughts, survivor’s guilt, and years of emotional isolation and doubts and it’s no wonder he hates himself.
  
  I’m really thankful he does have some support in the form of Mia. I would have love their interaction to be a bit more drawn out, but I totally understand the word count. Excellent job, Alex.
  
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Ouroboros

September 14, 2020

The Final Disaster of The Manticora
By Ouroboros

The grizzled captain looked out at the horizon. “Storm’s a-coming. You sure this is the right place?”

“The only place it could be,” replied Cortez, “It’s the only shallow water for miles and it matches the survivors’ accounts exactly. This one has to be the Manticora.” Two crewmen carried a dripping mass that glimmered the colour of ancient gold, he knew that this was what he had spent years searching for: The crown of Alarcón, it would secure his place in history.

He nodded to the captain who gave the order to set sail. Impatience got the better of him, taking his knife he removed a barnacle to reveal a royal crest, a lifetime of struggle finally vindicated. The twilight sky began to storm. Distant thunder could be heard over the sound of waves crashing against the ship’s hull. Recognising the oncoming tempest, he ordered the artefact to be secured in the hull. Without warning a colossal swell struck the side of the vessel carrying the loose cargo overboard, the open crate now visible on the water’s surface revealing the treasure within. The ship thrashed between the waves, the water now was over a mile deep. Cortez knew that if the crown were to sink here, it could never be recovered. Without hesitation, he grabbed a tether and hollered to the seaman “Two hard tugs. Pull me up!” He nodded, confirming he understood.

Leaping overboard, Cortez crawled to the sinking crate. The crown now almost within his grasp began to descend to the depths below. He dived after it with one hand grasped firmly onto the rope the other pulling himself to the sinking gold. With a final stroke, the tether now completely taught pulled him back. Leaving behind the rope, he kicked desperately until his grasp finally reached the crown of Alarcón. He could barely see the surface, desperately he tried to cling back to safety. His lungs cried out for air, his legs cramped with fatigue, and the weight of the gold was pulling him down into the infinite depths. The rope just inches away.

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1. Erin Clare
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  An ominous cliffhanger of an ending- nice! The pacing is very quick and intense but carries the main ideas well. I’d restructure a couple of sentences here and there, mainly in the first half. Swap a comma or two with a period or a dash, and you’re golden. I feel like it’s a short lesson on the dangers of greed, and the ending only hones in on that. Chase a fleeting treasure you’ve chosen to give your life to, or save your life for something else? Overall a good read and a solid vignette!
  
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2. Mr. Jingo
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  I really dig what you did with the “heavy” part of the prompt!
  Plus, the whole conquistador vibe this piece brings to the table is very original and engaging (the naming alone does a great job at making your piece stand out). Like Erin Clare mentioned, I think a bit of restructuring in regard to grammar could benefit the story. Just make sure to maintain that sweet sense of tension you’ve created:)
  
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Marx

September 14, 2020

The End is Nigh
By Marx

“Really?” Matt literally face-palmed. He should have known better than to ask.

“Yup.” Replied the being who insisted on calling himself ‘Bob’.

“So…nature…souls…planets…EXISTENCE…all of it…is just a lucid dream to you?” Matt asked incredulously.

Bob smirked as if Matt’s reaction was not only expected but rather entertaining. “At first, there was nothing but me. I went to sleep. I ‘woke up’ to a big bang. The rest is…quite literally…history.”

“You’re kidding…” Matt sighed.

“Not even slightly.” Bob chuckled.

“So none of this was on purpose?” Matt challenged. “None of this is real to you?”

“How do you feel about the reality in YOUR dreams?” Bob asked.

Matt could feel himself getting more frustrated but before he could answer, Bob continued,

“That’s just how I personally see ‘existence’, mind you.” He stated, making full use of finger quotes. “You guys get on just as fine when I’m heavy handed with you as you do when I couldn’t care less. It doesn’t really matter. So why fret over it?”

“Then…you really don’t care?” Matt asked. “Even about the people?”

Bob let out another chuckle. “You guys get tired of each other in a few decades. Sometimes less than that, but I’m supposed to keep my interest through the entirety of ‘existence’? Have you ever had a dream where the people in that dream don’t think you’re real? Do you have any idea how surreal that is? The questions it makes you ask? What is real? How do you define real?”

“What still exists when you stop believing in it.” Matt grumbled in reply.

“That’s a great quote!” Bob let out a loud, barking laugh before leaning in close, his smirk turning sinister. “Here’s the thing though. What if everything exists BECAUSE you believe in it?”

“But you said you exist even when people don’t believe in you.”

“Well…yeah.” Bob grinned wider. “But is the reverse true?”

Matt paused as a horrific idea took hold in his mind, “Then…what happens to reality itself when you’re so…apathetic about it?”

“I suppose…YOU happen, my friend.” Bob laughed loudly, contrasting with Matt’s terror-stricken face. “You happen.”

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1. Alex
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  This story is clever. I love the entity Bob and how he seemingly toys with the unfortunate Matt. I like the cosmic horror of this piece, merged with the twisted humor. If I had to guess, I’d say the one who wears the crown is Bob, but it doesn’t seem like it affects him at all. Bob’s apathy contrasts well with Matt’s righteous anger and the dialogue really brings out the conflict between the two. Great piece!
  
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  1. Marx
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    Thank you so much! I actually see Bob’s apathy as the price he pays for the crown. That much responsibility thrust onto someone who arguably never wanted it, could have that effect. I’m glad Bob and Matt’s opposing nature translated so well!
    
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2. Shane Frangi
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  This is so interesting! I love the characterization on Bob and the general concept of a sort of “accidental god.” The portrayal of such an insane yet all-knowing entity is really entertaining. Also, the idea that the whole universe is either a dream or a drug trip of some insane entity is rather hilarious in a dark way.
  
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  1. Marx
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    I’ve always thought that if you could literally restructure reality, that it would lose its meaning. Most people define real as something that doesn’t change. So throwing that in it’s head, I do think it would drive you a little insane and playing around with a character in that state of mind was definitely fun. Thank you for the review!
    
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3. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  This is simultainously a comedic and lovecraftian concept – a ‘idiot’ god that just showed up in a universe they didn’t intend to make or influence, and just has to stick around while “”existence”” goes its merry way around them for a while before everything becomes nothing again. (I did really like ‘making full use of finger quotes’ as a funny line btw. XD)
  
  And while Bob does not seem to care very much now, the issues he talks about do resonate. How *is* something so massive and old (in a relative scale) supposed to care about every individual life of an ant farm dustball he probably mostly made out of boredom in the first place? Especially when they question and doubt your own very existence?
  
  Finally, I really like the creeping reveal of what Matt probably is. After all, did he even exist before the start of the story itself? Maybe Bob decided to just skip to the good bit and created a character already with memories of being ‘told’ about what Bob is, and his real existence starts and ends with the story itself. Adds a real existential horror tone to the whole story, for me at least. Very well done! :3
  
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  1. Marx
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    Finger quotes are always funny to me lol and I figured it was a good way of demonstrating the way he sees the concept of reality. And I’m so glad that Bob’s point of view was so relatable. That was, in part, the point. A deity that does act the way I think your average person would if they were suddenly thrust into that level of responsibility.
    
    As for Matt, I’m really glad that ending packed the punch I’d intended. Though to answer your question, the title of this story is actually a callback to a previous one. Matt is the horseman of Death, hence how horrified he is at the end. One of the things I like most about these short kinds of stories is the multitude of ways they can be taken. It’s always so interesting to see the different interpretations. Thank you for your review!
    
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4. Makokam
  
  September 18, 2020
  
  The Legend of Bob: Matt’s Awakening
  …
  I spent a really long time trying to make that joke work and now I feel like it does on so many more levels than just sounding right.
  
  Anyway… I hate how so many of the comments I’ve left on the stories I like are just “I want to know more”. Because for some reason this really struck me as a “Neo meeting The Architect” moment. With the same dramatic setting and whatnot, but this could just as easily be taking place in a dive bar between Muse Rescue Missions.
  
  This does just bring up the whole question of what do you do in that position: “Yo, God is real but he believes in us even less than we believe in him.”
  …
  I guess if you’re Matt, the answer is, “Whatever you want.”
  
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  1. Marx
    
    September 18, 2020
    
    Oh my God, dude that title made me laugh so hard. As you said, it works on so many levels that I’m genuinely annoyed that I didn’t think of it lol. Your time was well spent.
    
    Lol also I’ve noticed how many of my reviews have also revolved around wanting to know more. I think it just comes with not really being able to tell a whole story within the limit. And you’re right, this does have a real Neo/Architect vibe. I do love that scene lol. The funny thing about the setting is this technically takes place in the garden of Eden, but there just isn’t enough time to get into all that.
    
    As for Matt’s answer pretty much being “Whatever you want.”, that is extremely accurate and probably the overall plot of the story lol. Thanks for the review!
    
    Reply
Connor A.

September 14, 2020

“Contemplation” (Novus Academia)
By Connor A.

“Tell me something, Father. Why do you believe in God?”

Father Lebedev looked up from his tea. The person in front of him was covered head to toe, yet he felt that they were staring right at him. “Are you a devil sent to tempt me?”

“Nah, just curious.”

He took a sip of his tea. “I have questions and worries about the world around me. Far too many for one man to bear. God eases my worries and answers some of my more pressing questions.”

“I take it the guy left you hanging after awhile?”

Father Lebedev furrowed his brow and tried to figure out what that question meant. “If you are wondering if I still have questions, the answer is yes.”

The person’s head turned to the window, though the priest still felt eyes on him. The person let out a halfhearted chuckle and muttered, “That’s probably for the best, then.”

“My child, what troubles you?”

The person did not turn to face him, but answered, “You know the saying, ‘Ignorance is bliss,’ right? It’s an oversimplification, but there’s truth to it. Sometimes you just gotta… not try to answer the big questions.”

“Such as?”

“‘How long is eternity?’ ‘What is the root of evil?’ ‘Can a soul be destroyed?’ Those are just the ones off the top of my head.”

Father Lebedev set his cup down and clasped his hands. “My child—”

“Faust.”

“Are you struggling with something?”

Faust paused. “I… I just know too much for my own good. That’s all.” He glanced at the clock over the door and stood up. “Before I forget, a couple of work acquaintances are gonna be here looking for the old journal you’re hiding. Could you give it to them?”

“How…?”

Father Lebedev’s question trailed off as Faust’s scarf fell away, revealing gold skin and more eyes than humanly possible.

One eye scrunched up in an attempt at a smile. “Trust me, Father. You don’t want to know.” Faust readjusted his scarf and left Father Lebedev alone in his office.

Reply
1. Marx
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  I really like this story. It just makes me want to know more about Faust. I just love the idea that people always search for knowledge but there are some things that you’re probably better off not knowing and finding these things out is almost a punishment in itself.
  
  This also painted a weird picture in my head of an eye trying to smile, which was delightfully unnerving lol. I also really liked Father Lebedev’s reasonings for his faith and just his general desire to help, though I doubt there is anything he could actually do to help Faust. It’s a story that makes you think. Well done!
  
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  1. Connor A.
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thanks! Faust is a being of pure knowledge, so the crown of knowledge is especially heavy on him. Since I grew up with the Southern Baptist faith, Father Lebedev’s reasoning and genuine desire to help are a nice break from the “because the Bible said so” mentality that I saw a lot as a kid.
    
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2. Alex
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  I’ve missed Faust. I like this story. It’s an interesting discussion on not only faith, but knowledge itself; knowledge being a sort of crown, if you will. It adds a lot of depth to Faust, which he didn’t really have in previous submissions. He really seems troubled and burdened by his knowledge. The story itself has a fairly somber tone, without compromising the clever and whimsical Faust. On the contrary, it adds to his character. Well written!
  
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  1. Connor A.
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you! I actually worried if this piece would seem contradictory to how Faust’s been seen so far, so it’s good to know that my intention of giving him depth shone through.
    
    I will admit that involving some religion was inspired by my sudden interest in Dostoevsky. Since I’m not a religious person myself, I tried my best to portray it in a way that didn’t lean too far in either extreme; the result was Father Lebedev, a character I might try to showcase later on once I figure out who he is in this world.
    
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3. Calliope Rannis
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  This is a simple but highly interesting work for me. It’s a story in two halves in a way – first Faustus is asking Lebedev questions, and we learn more about his faith and his quiet beliefs. Then the dynamic turns on its head, and now the Father is asking questions of Faust instead – and the answers, appropriately enough, are about the dangers of finding the answers to questions you really shouldn’t be asking at all.
  
  I liked the presentation and dialogue of both characters, and the brief gasp of detail we get of Faust’s face too. And the final line being ‘you don’t want to know’ is the perfect summary of this story’s thesis as well. Very good job! 😀
  
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  1. Connor A.
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you so much! Faust had a weird evolution as a character. Including this piece, I only featured him in five stories so far (that I recall), yet he already changed from an uncaring being to someone who actually regrets how detached from humanity he is. It’s a turn I like now that I have this piece out there.
    
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4. Isa Dragon
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  It’s always interesting to see a story that explorers the concept of knowing too much. Humans are curious by nature, and sometimes we dig too deep and find things we’re better off not knowing.
  It makes me wonder- if ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power, then just what can Faust do? He seems remarkably stable for a being that can apparently see the future, and know the answers to life’s great questions. Was he born this way? Just how much does he know? Did he need to ask the Father about his faith to know the answer?
  You left me wondering, and wanting to find out more… but not too much more, for fear of what I might find.
  Overall, fantastic story!
  
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  1. Connor A.
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you for the questions! For lack of a better description, Faust is the personification of knowledge, so he pretty much knows everything—even the parts that humanity forgot. This technically means that he didn’t need to ask Father Lebedev anything. However, as I tried to imply in this story, Faust is trying to form some meaningful connection with people despite knowing everything about them. It’s a slow process since he’s been detached for a long time, but he’s starting.
    
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5. Mango Gravy
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  “The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.”
  
  That Lovecraft quote is what comes to mind every time I read something about the dangers of human curiosity. It helps that Faust seems to be rather Lovecraftian in his appearance.
  I’ve gathered from the other comments that this is a recurring character, so I should probably go read your other stories featuring him to get a fuller understanding, but even with this small glimpse his character shines through clearly. Whimsical and somewhat cheeky but also deeply troubled.
  Me likey very much.
  
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  1. Connor A.
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you! As I mentioned before, Faust changed a lot since his initial debut despite being in so few stories. The only things established in those stories (besides his design) are that he knows everything, he likes to be a nuisance to everyone around him, and he doesn’t like Mephistopheles (a character I have yet to properly debut but mentioned in my story for the prompt “Ye Shall Be As Gods”). While he still retains those things, he’s gone from an uncaring being who just observes what people do to someone who wants to care again.
    
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Calliope Rannis

September 14, 2020

A Dream of Empty Thrones
By Calliope Rannis

Upon a cliff, she stood between the two emptied thrones, looking out at her majestic landscape. Above, the clouds of Kord’s storm had been burned away into clear orange sky. Below, the Raven Queen’s icy sea was shattered, melting under the glare of her swollen yellow sun.

Finally, it was done. No more would the people have to live in fear of the Storm Lord’s furious temper. No more would young, promising lives be snuffed out to feed the Queen’s insatiable desire for tragedy. She would be better. She would be a better god than either of them could EVER be.

She reached a hand out to touch one of the thrones, only to suddenly stop. Her hand…was hard, angular and translucent, coated in frost. Beneath the cloudy glass of the hand’s surface, sizzling plasma glowed where her bones used to be – and yet, she felt no pain, or heat, or cold. She felt nothing. At all.

She pulled her hand back to her face, petrified fingers touching a face more crystalline than flesh. She smelt blood, and tasted ash. Through her skull, she could hear her eyes hissing with electricity. She…she-she was-

She turned away, clutching her head, and behind her she saw destruction and death. The craters, the ruins, the wastes. The blasted, the mangled, the drowned, the burnt, the lost. The innocent, the undeserving, the unknowing-

She tried to close her eyes from the horrific sight, but she didn’t have eyelids anymore.

She forced her head downwards, seeing the path of blood and mud and bone end at her robes, soaked with dark fluid and dust. Below her feet were the splintered bodies of two gods that had once sat on nearby thrones. The gods that she had hated so much, and loved-

Nyssa woke up in an eruption of sparks, clawing at her face. Then, after the initial shock had passed – after she had felt the softness of her skin, breathed in the musty air, slowly blinking in the muffled moonlight – she curled up into a ball in her oversized tavern bed, and wept.

Reply
1. Arthur Moore
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  Though I don’t know what exactly happened, I really enjoyed this story, especially the part where she wakes up and it is all revealed to be a sort of dream or premonition, though that part is kind of foreshadowed the dreamlike manner in which the previous scenes are described, the singular word ‘wept’ describing her sad, lonesome act really hits hard. I don’t know why, but I guess I could relate to her and understand her feeling of wanting more and trying to achieve more and the subsequent fear of failing catastrophically because of that and of course of leading to the destruction of the people she loved, she had set out to protect and care for. Overall a nice job.
  
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  1. Calliope Rannis
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Thank you for this detailed review! I’m really happy that the dreamlike nature of the scenes came across, I wasn’t sure if the scenes would have that atmosphere or if they would feel too ‘real’ for a dream.
    
    I’m glad the final word was so effective too. In a sense, this story is a metaphorical fall from grace, even if only via a dream – from literal godhood at the moment of her victory, to a curled up crying girl in a bed too large for her. The gulf between (what’s left of) her ambitions and her reality is great indeed.
    
    One thing I will slightly clarify for you on though – this isn’t even a fear of ‘failing catastrophically’, this is a self-aware terror of what the cost of her *success* would be – though yes, the act of succeeding in her goal is perhaps mutually exclusive with her reasons for that goal in the first place.
    
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2. Connor A.
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  I feel bad for Nyssa. She has a power a lot of people might dream of having, but it comes with constantly worrying about losing her humanity. This is a great set up for an interesting study on how receiving supernatural powers would actually affect the humans involved. Good job.
  
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  1. Calliope Rannis
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Yup, that’s basically the crux of her character here – how the desire for incredible power can fight against her own instinctive horror at what she’s doing to both herself and others to achieve it.
    
    In reality, she’s much less transformed than this, but what she’s already done to herself has hurt her self image and mental stability really badly, and is already enough to make her greatly doubt the path she wants to take. And to become a god like part of her still wants, she’d effectively have to magically flay every scrap of her mortality from her body to do it.
    
    One correction though – she’s a Gnome! So she’s not really human, and as such is more losing gnome-ity than humanity. Still, emotionally and mentally speaking they aren’t super different so the feelings mostly still ring true in a human context. 🙂
    
    Thank you for your review!
    
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3. Isa Dragon
  
  September 14, 2020
  
  Can I just say awesome? Because that is awesome. You really got across the feeling of being physically incapable of something that you need, and the horror inherit in that.
  Tried to close eyes, but no eyelids, she felt no pain, in fact felt nothing… wow. There’s something about becoming both more and less than human that really picks at the psyche.
  Yes, you’re so great, but at what cost- that’s exactly the prompt, but somehow this piece still surprised me so much.
  It also explores the concept of ‘if you kill me, you become me’ and the whole idea that a hero either dies young or lives long enough to become a villain. There’s few things more horrifying than realizing that you have become exactly what you hated enough to dedicate your life to its demise.
  I haven’t gotten chills from a piece in a long time. Well done.
  
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  1. Calliope Rannis
    
    September 14, 2020
    
    Honestly I was really hoping that someone would have this exact kinda response. I was really proud of how I depicted the consequences of the magic twisting Nyssa’s form, and I was looking forward to seeing people’s reactions to the uncanny imagery. You have provided that with your review! ^w^
    
    Yeah, to step towards immortality and power beyond a natural form, you inherently have to step away from the simple protections and understandable instincts that mortal life provides. Nyssa in the dream is stuck inside the body of the thing she wants to become, but the mortal mind her current self has still recoils from every aspect of that existence the moment it becomes aware of the changes.
    
    I am very flattered that this work both suprised and chilled you from reading it. Inspiring such emotions (and others too!) in people is one of the best parts of writing. Thank you very much! <3
    
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4. Lunabear
  
  September 15, 2020
  
  A gut-wrenching story, for sure, Calliope. This feels like a horrific premonition. It makes me feel so sad for Nyssa. I actually cried on the second read through. I absolutely adore the detail and emotion you’ve been able to bring about. No critiques from me. Brava, milady!
  
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  1. Calliope Rannis
    
    September 15, 2020
    
    Thank you so much Luna! It could be a vision of a potential future yes, or just a manifestation of Nyssa’s desires and ambitions colliding with her self-awareness and guilt into a hideous tapestry of the mind. And I am always flattered when people say they cry at my story stuff. <3 <3 <3
    
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5. Aaron Fleming
  
  September 16, 2020
  
  The fine details of Nyssa’s body after her ascension into divinity really brings this story home. Details such as the angular hands, crystalline flesh, and plasma or electricity for bones. Especially disturbing was her discovery of her lack of eyelids when trying to shut her eyes. These details really carry the reality of inhumanity in her dream self. I do wonder if this will help change her direction away from her current destructive path, or if the premonition dream heralds what will amount to a kind of tragedy for Nyssa. Dark, but good writing. I was glad in the end that it was all a dream though, leaving room to grow as a character rather than racing or falling over the precipice of tragedy.
  
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  1. Calliope Rannis
    
    September 16, 2020
    
    This dream is a recurring nightmare Nyssa has had, ever since she finally took the first step in transforming herself (for rather uh, complicated reasons) by ripping the power out of a divine artefact of the Storm Lord and implanting that raw energy into her own body as a host. It succeded, but at the cost of both permanent alterations to her body and ah, much more collataral damage than she ever intended to unleash.
    
    Her transformation in reality was much less severe, but even that has severely messed with her self-image and confidence. The guilt for the extensive damage and destruction she caused weighs heavily on her too, and both manifest in their logical extremes in this nightmare!
    
    And the thing is, she is my dnd character of the current campaign I am in. So her story, or at least the current version of it anyway, has no written ending for it yet. Though I suspect I’ll be keeping her around beyond the bounds of that campaign too. 😉
    Thank you very much for your review! <3
    
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6. Christian Gould
  
  September 20, 2020
  
  Wow your writing is really amazing! This was so easy to read, the imagery was so vivid, and every word had me hooked, like I was being submerged in every single word until the very end. The nightmarish imagery, the horrific beauty of the chaos enveloping the scene, and the terror the character feels as she falls apart – there’s really no words honestly. It’s amazing
  
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  1. Calliope Rannis
    
    September 20, 2020
    
    Thank you very much for your review! I am super happy it was so easy to read – it actually was really easy to *write* too for me, in that I actually barely had to edit it at all once I had reached a natural stop in the story. It’s like this story knew exactly how it wanted to exist from the start. <3
    
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