Comments

109 responses to “Writing Group: None Left”

1. 

   The Storysmith

   December 6, 2020

   (The comment that I put on here before is not the full version, but it fits the word count better. I kind of got lost in the writing and forgot about the word count. I am currently 13 and part of my schools newspaper club and I plan on submitting the full story as an anonymous short story. I am a big fan of your channel and would really appreciate it if you read this. i was partially inspired by your “Lovecraft’s Dreamland” episode. thanks!)

   Starlight(full version)

   By The Storysmith

   I am not afraid of the dark… at least not anymore.
   Two years ago, when I was five, I used to draw monsters almost all night. You see, my mom says that I am an `insomniac”, that means that I don’t go to sleep as easily as other people, but it also means that I get to draw monsters more. I don’t know why I drew them so much. I think I was trying to not be afraid of the dark, but when I finally got to sleep each night. Those monsters that I drew became nightmares. But I still drew them.
   One night I was working on a monster named “Blorg”, when I heard a noise outside my window… a knock! I climbed out of my bed and grabbed a flashlight. I pulled the curtains aside and shone my flashlight through the frosted window. I saw nothing of interest, so I went back to work on Blorg.
   I woke up from a horrible dream about Blorg. I did not want to fall back asleep, for I knew that I would be in his giant fluffy clutch before I had time to think. So I directed my attention to the curtains which I had forgotten to close. I slowly walked to the window, but before I closed the curtains, I saw it. It was a star, but not an ordinary star, it was one of those stars in the back of the sky, it was a star that you would only see if you were looking for it, or if it was looking for you.
   It was then that I became a part of the night. But now I am afraid that the stars will forget me, or even worse, I might forget them.
   It was only a week ago when I saw the first one fade. I was laying in the garden watching the stars appear one by one in the evening sky, and once I thought they had all appeared, I felt free to stop watching and go inside. But I noticed a strange emptiness in the corner of the sky, right above the tree in our neighbors yard. It was a spot where a star was ment to be. I lay there confused, watching the empty spot, as if the star would reappear, but it didn’t. Suddenly another star caught my attention, I watched in wonder as a star began to grow brighter. The light flowing from it seemed to make the star bigger, but soon enough, the star seemed to collapse under its own brilliance and my wonder was replaced with another empty hole in the sky.
   To my horror, another star began to grow brighter. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t, I needed to watch, I needed to see what was going to happen next. I continued to watch, I saw each star vanish from the sky. One after another, they went dark. Like the lights of the town when the clock tower strikes nine.
   That was seven nights ago. Now, I am laying in the garden, intently watching for the last star to go out. It does nothing. I wait for hours watching, until it finally begins to become brighter. I hold my breath, I clench my teeth, but I do not close my eyes. But it doesn’t stop, it gets bigger, and brighter. It becomes hard to look at, it lights up the earth like the sun, it becomes too bright to tell whether it is getting closer to me, or if I am falling into its endless void. I can no longer see my own hands. I can’t tell if I even exist anymore, or if I ever had existed at all, the one thing I know is the darkness. The star continues to expand it’s light until it has no choice but to return to the darkness.
   The one thing i know is that I am not afraid of the dark… at least not anymore.

   Reply
2. 

   The Storysmith

   December 6, 2020

   Starlight (cut version)

   By The Storysmith

   It was only a week ago when I saw the first one fade. I was laying in the garden watching the stars appear one by one in the evening sky, and once I thought they had all appeared, I felt free to stop watching and go inside. But I noticed a strange emptiness in the corner of the sky, right above the tree in our neighbors yard. It was a spot where a star was ment to be. I lay there confused, watching the empty spot, as if the star would reappear, but it didn’t. Suddenly another star caught my attention, I watched in wonder as a star began to grow brighter. The light flowing from it seemed to make the star bigger, but soon enough, the star seemed to collapse under its own brilliance and my wonder was replaced with another empty hole in the sky.
   To my horror, another star began to grow brighter. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t, I needed to watch, I needed to see what was going to happen next. I continued to watch, I saw each star vanish from the sky. One after another, they went dark. Like the lights of the town when the clock tower strikes nine.
   That was seven nights ago. Now, I am laying in the garden, intently watching for the last star to go out. It does nothing. I wait for hours watching, until it finally begins to become brighter. I hold my breath, I clench my teeth, but I do not close my eyes. But it doesn’t stop, it gets bigger, and brighter. It becomes hard to look at, it lights up the earth like the sun, it becomes too bright to tell whether it is getting closer to me, or if I am falling into its endless void. I can no longer see my own hands. I can’t tell if I even exist anymore, or if I ever had existed at all, the one thing I know is the darkness. The star continues to expand its light until it has no choice but to return to the darkness.
   The one thing I know is that I am not afraid of the dark… at least not anymore.

   Reply
3. 

   Timberwolf

   December 4, 2020

   Each for his own memorial
   By Timberwolf

   Her knees hurt. Even though she had been coming here for decades, these steps had never gotten any easier since the first time, and in recent years they had even become harder. At the top of the stairs she saw the walls on either side as she had a thousand times, yet they always made her pause. She walked up to one of the walls and ran her fingertips across the list of names engraved on the wall. She figured she was one of the lucky ones and wondered how their mothers felt. She continued her walk further along, even receiving aid from a nearby young man whom had seen her struggle up the second flight of stairs.

   At the top of the stairs she watched her flag fly high as she had a hundred times. She made her way across one of the gravel paths, knowing exactly where she was going. She could pick out her destination among so many of the others as she looked out over the fields of marble the way she had a dozen times. She walked down the row of graves until finally she came upon the two she was looking for.

   She read their names, their ranks, and the day they died. Her two only children, buried in a cemetary in a foreign land. The flowers she held weighed heavily on her as she laid them at the feet of the two marble crosses. As she struggled to stand, she read the names again. She closed her eyes and remembered their faces as she had seen them one last time.

   She wept for her sons as she had a million times.

   Reply
4. 

   Skye Doust

   December 4, 2020

   Delivery
   by Skye Doust

   The doorbell had rung over five minutes ago, what was taking so long? A heavy stillness sat above Alex and Steven as they anxiously awaited their friend’s return. It had just been a joke, they hadn’t expected it to be taken seriously.

   Just as it seemed Alex would break the quiet, mouth half open to voice the question that both were thinking, Sam opened the front door. The smell preempted her arrival at the kitchen countertop. Alex and Steven had cleared the space already, though they still did not truly believe it had arrived.

   Sam placed the warm, inefficiently shaped box upon the counter, then looked up at her friends. No one seemed to want to open it.

   “You’re the one that placed the order,” Steven’s voice seemed both panicked and accusatory.

   Alex replied, “Maybe I did, but only because you were too scared to.” She paused briefly before commenting under her breath, “Besides, neither of you has an account, as you kept reminding me.”

   “They weren’t supposed to actually bring it, though!”

   “Steven, just… quiet for a moment,” Sam’s voice cut through the bickering. “Okay. Someone needs to open this. And if you two are just going to argue. I guess it’s up to me.”

   Slowly, so as not to upset the contents, Sam rotated the box so that it would open away from her and towards the other two. Steven opened his mouth to protest, but after meeting Alex’s reprimanding gaze uttered out a petulant, “…careful, it’s still hot.”

   On some unspoken signal, all three teens took a half-step back as Sam flung open the lid of the box. A rush of steam poured out, briefly obscuring the view, but after a moment it cleared.

   In the square box it sat. The slightly leavened circle, completely golden brown. Dry. Not a single topping except on the left hand side, where overcooked mince was haphazardly scattered. They had done it. It was theirs. The legendary None Pizza with Left Beef.

   Reply
   1. 

      G.J. H.

      December 4, 2020

      This must be the single most suspensful pizza delivery I’ve ever heard about, love it!
      You did a great job of never explicitly stating what this is about without it sounding artificial. In its own way this is kind of a mystery story.

      Reply
      1. 

         Skye Doust

         December 4, 2020

         I’m glad my little comedic piece was appreciated. I believe I have a lot to learn about comedy, I don’t think I’ve ever actually done one before, so I appreciate the positive feedback.

         I had so many ideas for this prompt, but I couldn’t stop thinking about None Pizza with Left Beef anytime I attempted to write about it, and so I just decided to commit to the silliness and just go for it.

         I’m slightly regretting it because it seems I overestimated how many people knew about the meme though, so I do feel a little silly.

         Thanks again, I feel better knowing that it was appreciated.

         Reply
5. 

   Arith_Winterfell

   December 4, 2020

   “Illusions”

   By Arith_Winterfell

   I reach out to touch the hem of the dress the young woman is wearing. She stands as if frozen in time with her dance partner, the two dancing figures fixed in space upon the floor of the Arcane College Common Hall late at night. The hem of the dress feels real, the fabric soft and diaphanous. Satisfied with the sensory effect, I stand up and dismiss the illusion, it collapsing into a shower of colorful sparks. I stand there in the dark moonlit hall, pleased with my practice.

   Just for fun I pluck at the darkness and, focusing my will, sweep my arm back creating an arcing wave of water cresting over the floor, its droplets catching moonlight like stars glistening in the dark. It stands frozen in place for a few moments, then collapses forward filling the floor with rushing water which then in turn seems to evaporate back into the darkness. Now a dragon emerges from the darkness, its face a reptilian and haughty leer. It breathes forth a torrent of flame which covers me harmlessly without heat or burning. I smile and this illusion too dissolves into the darkness.

   My practice went well this evening and my skill continues to improve. Even now my improvements are things most common folk wouldn’t notice, as only I can see those small imperfections in the practice of the Art. Still there is always room for improvement and growth. My work is done for tonight and I summon the light of a small candle, real this time, to light my way back to the dorms and push back the darkness as I go. Thoughts of my illusionary Art boil in my mind as I go, shifting between reality and unreality and back again. Tonight though, I am done. The shadows are still, and darkness rests, let none of these fickle dreams remain.

   Reply
6. 

   RVMPLSTLSKN

   December 3, 2020

   None Left
   By RVMPLSTLSKN (repost from private)

   Padas walked alone through the abandoned world.

   —The Deep One cometh

   But no, the Deep One had come and gone. The Sleepers went with It.

   Now Padas walked alone to the temples. It was the only thing to do. He prayed he wasn’t the only one to withstand the Deep One’s temptations or die to the Sleepers.

   In the temples he found three things. The first was a bonemelted corpse next to a pair of scrolls. Padas, who couldn’t read, took both. Next he found a sword in Karas’s temple that looked like the goddess had forgotten it in her haste to war. This, he also took. The last was a woman in Ziniu’s temple.

   He introduced himself and asked if she could read. The sword’s tip carved grooves in the stone floor as he walked. She cowered at first, but soon stepped out to face him. She wore the vestments of Ziniu’s clergy.

   “You know your name?” She asked.

   “Padas,” he said again.

   “You’re not one of… Them?” She gestured. It wasn’t a question. She meant the Sleepers.

   “No.”

   “Can you fight Them?”

   “There’re none left.”

   “Can you fight Them?”

   “Yes,” he said and prayed he wouldn’t have to.

   “Good. Good, come, I’ve need of someone to watch while I cast a spell. I’ll feed you. I’m Vienas, last of Ziniu’s priests.”

   “Are there others?”

   Her mouth twitched. “Just… Them.”

   “And the gods,” Padas said.

   She smiled. “Give me the scrolls.”

   He did.

   “Raimundos’s Unseen spell and some notes on one of Them. Aligmantas must be dead then. I’ll try the spell. It might tell me more.”

   The spellscroll she read aloud in high and formal lyric. Her voice evinced divine messengers to Padas’s piscine mind and echoed through scrollshelves of Ziniu’s great library. The sword in his hand thrummed and made his heartbeat into a rhythm of war. But in the end, she looked up at him with tears on her cheekbones.

   “What does the spell failing mean? Why are you crying?”

   “I can see the Unseen,” her tears red. “They’re all gone. The gods are gone. Eaten.”

   Reply
   1. 

      Skye Doust

      December 4, 2020

      This is such a good setting. I’ve always been enchanted with the idea of a world where the gods are real but they’d just been defeated. Not just killed, but destroyed. Eaten, if you will.
      I’ve actually toyed with the premise in some DnD games a ran a while back.

      Suffice to say, I really appreciate this whole vibe. Your characters are quiet and yet carry the weight of (mostly) unspoken personality with them. I don’t know if you have actually got more about them written, but it feels like you have and that’s the important thing.

      I would have said that the main crit I have is that the ending sort of fizzles out? Like there’s no oomph or punchiness to it. But with the story, that might actually be on purpose.

      “This is the way the world ends
      This is the way the world ends
      This is the way the world ends
      Not with a bang but with a whimper.”

      Reply
      1. 

         RVMPLSTLSKN

         December 4, 2020

         Thank you for the kind words!

         For character work, I try to identify a background or past at the least. Our pasts color our present and give us a future.

         The quiet ending is something I enjoy. A punchy ending too often feels trite and overdone. I enjoy a good twist, but that requires far more foreshadowing and planning. But a quiet ending showcases the middle and the execution better. For this tale, it was the best choice, I think. This is the way the world ends: between the conception and the creation, between the emotion and the response.

         Reply
   2. 

      The Storysmith

      December 6, 2020

      trippy

      Reply
   3. 

      i-prefer-the-term-antihero

      December 18, 2020

      Oh wow. It’s so interesting to read the beginning/the first part of this story last. It was great to see how they met, and get a better idea of what their world is.

      I’m guessing the Sleepers are like zombies?

      I like how you used this prompt in so many different ways: there’s no people left, or priests left, there’s no sleepers left, there are no gods left, and ultimately, though you don’t explicitly say it here, she has no sight left.

      I love that list you had at the beginning, and how it ends with him finding Vienas. It’s simple but vivid and powerful. The image of the way the sword carves grooves in the floor, and her cowering is vivid too.

      “Can you fight Them?”
      “There’re none left.”
      “Can you fight Them?”–I love this. It’s poetic, interesting, and it shows her healthy caution. I always appreciate when characters in situations like this aren’t just like “Yay, they’re gone, we’re safe now!” too soon.

      That last scene is so poetic, and such a great crescendo to the scene, especially the prompt.
      “The gods are gone. Eaten.” Oh gosh, I love this. The gods living physically in their world is an interesting enough idea, and “The gods are gone” is powerful whether they’re physically there or not (especially for the prompt), but something we kinda knew from the rest of the story, but “eaten” adds a totally new and much more terrifying level. The gods leaving or disappearing is one thing, but allegedly immortal, invincible beings, maybe even the creatures that created the world as they know it, being *eaten* is another thing entirely.

      You are such a good writer. I look forward to reading more from you!!

      Reply
7. 

   Tans

   December 3, 2020

   Scars of Duty
   By Tans

   I lie there dead or close enough to it. The scent of gunpowder and burning flesh floods into me as I start to cough out my lungs. Slowly I bring myself up, the weight of the equipment threatening to bring me back crashing down. Finally back on my feet I start to walk, stumbling and catching myself as I inch forward. Forward to where?

   Get out!

   It’s not your fault.

   I can’t believe you did this.

   Voices ringing in my head, different tones and volumes as my knee hits the earth. The impact jostles the gear. If I stay here any longer I won’t be able to get back up. Slowly I rise, but part of me remains there. Part of me never leaves that spot.

   Light it, Light it now!

   They were coming right for us, what were we supposed to do sir!?

   There were families there.

   I’m caked in mud and dirt. The rain’s finally stopped pouring but I’m going slower in this muck. Not sure if it’s been hours or days. Feels like years. Hearing something I freeze. Those bushes would be the only place to hide here, trees are too thin. Shouts pass over the far side of the forest in a language I can’t place. Another year passes until they’re quiet. I lay there for another.

   Fire! Fire now!

   What makes their lives so much more special than ours!?

   You are a monster pretending to be a man. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?

   I’m face to face with the general now. Bread never tasted so divine. My gear lay next to me as officers rushed around the camp. The general’s face was buried in the documents taken from my pack. After several moments he shuffled them and put them down.

   “Well done son. This should allow the western front to move up safely.” He fixed his side cap slightly covering his eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry about your platoon. They’ll be forever known as heroes of our homeland. How many survivors from the enemy camp and their village closeby?”

   “None sir. There’s no one left.”

   Reply
   1. 

      Preserves Roses

      December 3, 2020

      This is great. The description of his injured state as he struggles is very well done. The memories of his platoon imply to me that they weren’t in agreement about distroying the village. Makes the general calling them heros a bit of an interesting twist. This story really leaves me wondering what happened in that battle. That things might not be as the general thinks them to be.

      Reply
8. 

   Preserves Roses

   December 3, 2020

   All In
   By Preserves Roses

   The backroom of the bar was alive with the jovial chatter of thieves, fighters and a few mages that gathered to talk shop and discuss potential jobs. They were a loose group of friends with skills for hire that worked together, and had each others backs in a tight spot. Sarah had been accepted into this group after she had moved to the city and started taking on similar work. While many of the group were quite close, Sarah had avoided making close ties, asking no favors of the people gathered. Tonight though she would need to change that.

   Sarah stood at the front of the room, and stomped her worn leather boot on the floor to gather their attention. Carefully she laid out her story. She had been a member of a mercenary clan, one that took on contracts to fight in large wars. Over time, things changed: they started taking on smaller contracts where single squads would be sent out to perform kidnappings, or assassinations for anyone with coin. But these contracts were now regularly broken, and people double crossed to earn more profits.

   So Sarah had run, thinking she would be safe in a city in a peaceful kingdom. Only now a squad from her old clan had found her. Sarah took a slow careful breath to keep her voice from shaking.

   “I don’t want to run, I want to stay here in this city and build a life, but I can only do that with your help.” Sarah lapsed into silence, not sure what else to say.

   She stared down at the worn floor boards, waiting; listening for the sound of shuffling feet. Waiting for people to leave, to see how many were willing to stay and help her. As the silence lengthened, she laid her hand on the table behind her to steady herself as her knees felt weak. Finally she slowly looked up at the room. The faces staring back at her were serious, but not angry. She looked around in shock. They had all stayed. None of her new family had left her.

   Reply
   1. 

      Tans

      December 3, 2020

      I liked your take on the prompt. My assumption of the prompt made the finale all the more worthwhile! I enjoyed the setup you provided especially with the limited word count and believed you did a great job. Some details felt that they over-explained or told more than they needed to. Overall, awesome read!

      Reply
9. 

   Lunabear

   December 2, 2020

   A Way Out
   by Lunabear (Repost from Private)

   (TRIGGER WARNINGS: implied domestic abuse. Please read at your own discretion.)

   The beeping of a heart monitor guides me slowly back into consciousness.

   Sharp, zigzagging pain radiates throughout my body. I can’t so much as move a finger without it feeling like hot lead courses through my system.

   I groan aloud, the sound dry. My chest rattles hollowly.

   I crack open my swollen lids to an unforgiving brightness. The pain gradually lessens.

   “Oh! Ceclia! Thank God you’re ok, baby!”

   “M-mom?” My voice sounds as though it’s been encased in sand for about a century.

   I can’t see her, but I know she’s close.

   “I’ll get you some water. The doctor says the baby’s just fine, sweetie. You’ve got some sprains and bruises, and you’ll need lots of rest, of course, but that’s not a problem.” She talks as she walks, the clacking of her heels too painful to bear. She’s also babbling.

   She presses a warm hand to my forehead and a straw to my lips. I sip, swallowing the cool drink slowly. It’s a rainstorm after a desert scorch.

   A loud, angry commotion sounds outside of the door.

   “You can’t see her, Mike! She’s resting!”

   “The fuck I can’t, Trevor! She’s MY WIFE, and I have every right to see her AND OUR CHILD!”

   My rampaging pulse pounds harder as Mike bursts through the door. The monitor beeps the same rhythm.

   Mom is a one-woman wall. “Mike…”

   “I just want to talk to her, Rachel.”

   My breathing is so fast that it spots my vision. My eyes plead what my mouth can’t speak. ‘Please stay, Mom.’

   “Only a minute.” He ALMOST sounds genuine, but I know better.

   “ONLY a minute, and I’m NOT leaving you alone with her.”

   I would weep if not for the pain.

   “Fine, fine.” He steps beside me and leans down. His knuckle grazes my cheek, and I stiffen.

   “You’re ok. And so is the baby. That’s good.” His voice lowers to a dangerous whisper. “I’m outta patience with you, Cel. You wanna end it all? I can help with that.” He kisses my tears away. “We’ll finish this at home.”

   My heart nearly stops.

   Reply
   1. 

      Makokam

      December 3, 2020

      I am… Inspired. I almost always am after reading something. (Comsuming any media, honestly.) It’s just how my brain works. But this time… This I know exactly what to do and how to do it.

      That said… I am curious if he put her there, or if she tried to kill herself. Or if “end it all” was a very threatening way to refer to her asking for a divorce.
      If he did it I’m dissapointed but honestly not surprised that not only is he not in jail but at the hospital.

      If she did this to herself… I can’t say I blame her. She is quite clearly, and I honestly feel this is an understatement, TERRIFIED of Mike. If she feared death less than she feared him, I can see her doing it. Even pregnant.

      All your dialogue and description was spot on. Damn near perfect. When talking about how dry and thirsty she was, I couldn’t help imagining a sponge so dry it cant absorb water.

      The Mom standing her ground as best she could(presumably without making things worse) was an easy thing to see. I can imagine her wanting to snap his neck if she could.

      We’ve seen the angry husband/father too many times across all forms of media. And the quiet, controlled, rage of a psychopath. He knows what he wants to do, and he can control himself to do it only when he can get away with it, and maybe even manipulate people to manufacture that scenario.

      A truly terrifying situation.

      Reply
   2. 

      Tans

      December 3, 2020

      The way you weave words and emotions constantly inspires me to improve Luna. The descriptions and dialogue feel so vibrant even when what they’re conveying should be anything but. The story that you made feels incredibly raw, it makes me really loathe Mike and really worry for Cecila. Amazing work as always.

      Reply
      1. 

         Lunabear

         December 4, 2020

         That’s so wonderful that you feel inspired! I’m glad everything came out the way it was supposed to. Thank you so much, Tans, for taking the time to read and comment.

         Reply
   3. 

      Marx

      December 3, 2020

      This is incredibly intense. Which is absolutely the point, so I can only say well done. You describe every part of this from her thirst to the minor annoyance at the mother’s babbling to the full blown horror when the husband is involved so viscerally that it’s worryingly easy to picture it all in your head.

      You can’t help but to feel for poor Cecelia and her situation. Everyone in this story played their parts perfectly from their actions to their dialogue and I can only say good things. Very very powerful story.

      Reply
   4. 

      ThatWeirdFish

      December 4, 2020

      This is a powerful piece. The story was well-paced, and you built up tension really well. I also liked the dialog; it felt realistic. I feel sorry for Celia, it sounds like she’s in a tough spot, but at least she has the support of her parents. It was nice to read your writing, Luna, even if it was a bitter topic.

      Reply
10. 

    King_Nix

    December 2, 2020

    “No Survivors”
    By King_Nix

    In the deserts of Süðland existed the village of Najsahar. Here lived the last remnant of the Fæ race known as the Nagai, the snake-folk. In ages’ past, their empire had assaulted the Rhumnarian Empire, only to incur the wrath of Emperor Octavius III, and was destroyed in the Dioclesian War of Extermination. Now, in the 11th Century of the Age of Silence, Najsahar has had the misfortune of the Rhumenor’s notice. Woe to his foes, the argent vessel of Rhumnaria’s ire is without pity!

    Rhumenor broke through the crumbling wall of a burning hovel. Inside, he found nothing, and headed back out into the blaze of the village. Smoke obscured his surroundings, but his vision pierced the black cloud. A figure was approaching him, unaware to whom she fled. Her eyes widened in horror as his visage cleared through the smoke, and her scream cut short as her windpipe broke in the Rhumenor’s fist. Disgust welled in his core as he watched the serpent’s corpse writhe in its death spasms.

    “STHOHEIA!!” an agonized scream assaulted Rhumenor, as something drove hard into his shoulder. Grasping the offending weapon, he turned to see another Naga – a male – whose angular features contorted in fury as he attempted to wrest his spear back from Rhumenor’s grip. The Fæ lashed out with his tail, only for the Rhumenor to catch it. With both hands, he heaved the Naga through the air, slamming it upon the blood-soaked earth with a sickening crack. The creature lay, paralyzed, as the Rhumenor approached, a revenant of hate and vengeance, and crushed the beast-man’s skull under his heel.

    Overlooking the carnage, Rhumenor wiped the sweat from his brow. Instead, his hand came away red with blood, though not his own. Rising, he screamed to the heavens, “Laus tì, Dioclésië!” singing the praises of the ancient king Dioclésius as he wandered into the night, leaving no survivors.

    Reply
    1. 

       Preserves Roses

       December 3, 2020

       It’s good, although I’m confused on a few points. I’m unsure on who the Rhumenor character is, or what he represents. There doesn’t seem to be any reason given why he is killing the Naga. He also seems to have supernatural strength. I think the first paragraph is giving his history, but with so many unfamiliar names, I found it hard to follow. The fight scenes are well done. I can follow what’s happening with the different attacks, and what condition the village is in. Is Rhumenor meant to be a villain in this story? Without him having any motivation in this carnage, he certainly comes across to me as a bad guy. Overall a great story, that I can really see expanding out to be a great longer piece.

       Reply
       1. 

          King_Nix

          December 3, 2020

          The Rhumenor is a villain to many and a hero to a nation.
          His deeds are those of hate and an obsession with vengeance, and little else.
          The history is more about the Nagai; the Rhumenor is just a walking event, whose fate is as violent and sudden as his actions are. Don’t try to find a clear hero in the period of the Rhumenor, because the heroes of that time were dead a millennium before his coming. He is the Kali Yuga to the Iron Age.
          If he came across as a villain, then I did my job as a writer well. Thank you.

          Reply
11. 

    G.J. H.

    December 2, 2020

    The last of their Kinds
    By G.J. H.

    Carthural, the red Dragon, watched calmly as a small, but dangerous human climbed up to his mountainous refuge.
    “There you are!”, the human shouted as he spotted the Dragon.
    “I am Archibald, the greatest Dragon Hunter of the world and I have come to kill you!”
    “No.”, Carthular replied calmly, “Here YOU are. I have been here for long, but you have kept me waiting.”
    Archibald slowly closed the distance to the Dragon, his great spear ready.
    “Why do you speak to me, Dragon?”
    “I’m curious, you are the last of your kind after all.”
    Archibald stopped. “Me?”
    Carthural laughed, low and rumbling like a rockslide.
    “Yes, a questionable honour we both share. The last of our kinds. When the last Dragon dies, what will become of the hunter?”
    “I will be held in high regard by every man and woman and with the payment for your head I will life a happy life. THAT will become of the hunter.”
    “How long have you been looking for me? How many people you met on the road thought you a lunatic in search of a mythical creature? You humans have a short memory. I doubt there is even a price on my head.”
    “Of cause there is a price! There is always a price for a dragon, and no one did ever take me for an..”
    Archibald sighed, “Who do I think I’m fooling. You’re right. People have forgotten.”
    “I know. It is a hard thing to admit that you no longe belong to this world.”
    Carthural stood up and walked towards the edge of the plateau. The Dragon Hunter jumped back and raised his speed, but Carthural ignored him and settled down again looking down into the valley.
    “Come sit with me, last Dragon Hunter.”
    Archibald shook his head, but he came.

    Reply
    1. 

       Fredrick H.

       December 2, 2020

       What shall become of the predator when their pray is no more. A great take on the prompt. I can see this acting as a standalone or as an introduction to a world. On a technical standpoint, try to add an extra space between lines for readability. It may not seem like it will help, but at the very least it will reduce comments telling you to do it anyway. Overall, a great piece.

       Reply
       1. 

          G.J. H.

          December 4, 2020

          Glad you liked it. I’ll be sure to add some spaces to my next piece. There seems to be a need for it.

          Reply
    2. 

       Makokam

       December 2, 2020

       The start of a beautiful friendship, perhaps? Archibald should come up with something to do at least. After all, if people have forgotten then I doubt there’s an active bounty on dragons, let alone someone who specifically asked him to come kill this one.
       And the money can’t be that good or he would have retired already…

       I don’t see Carthural having much reason to go along with it, but maybe they could go around the world performing. Carthural could get…I dunno. Admiration? Revel in the horror and awe of humanity? And Archibald could get money.

       Or maybe they just decide to fight to the death and deal with what comes next. I imagine Carthural must be pretty strong to be the last? Or maybe he’s very weak, and that’s why he’s hidden away… Well, either way, it could be the start to an interesting story.

       For your consideration-
       Might want to put some spaces between your paragraphs though. And I noticed some typos like, “with the payment for your head I will life a happy life,” that can make a reader stumble.

       Reply
       1. 

          G.J. H.

          December 4, 2020

          Thanks for the read and the feeback.
          I did imagine Carthural as a very old dragon (by Dragon Standards that is) not more powerfull but more cunning and wise than the others.
          As for what happens next, I’m not quite sure. It could go many ways. Maybe Archibald will become the first Dragonrider or maybe just the victim of cunning old Carthural. We’ll see.

          Reply
    3. 

       Skye Doust

       December 4, 2020

       I love the concept here. Rivals that are the last of their kind. An ending. There’s something beautiful in that melancholy. You’ve really picked a great subject that is interesting to explore.

       I will recommend a few things, but obviously take it as just some opinion of a rando on the interwebs.

       Try spacing your piece with open lines in between paragraphs. It helps with the overall readability and accessibility.

       Also if I may make one suggestion for a wording choice. Add “still” to your last line, so that it reads like this: “Archibald shook his head, but still he came.”
       I feel like there is a flow to it that you miss out on without that addition.

       Once again, really enjoyed reading this, well done.

       Reply
       1. 

          G.J. H.

          December 4, 2020

          I struggled a lot with the execution on this one, but I loved the concept so much that I could not bring myself to write about something else. It’s good to hear that you like it as much as I did.
          The “still” you suggested was there at some point but I took it out for fear of making the reader stumble in the last line.

          Reply
12. 

    Makokam

    December 2, 2020

    Chronicles of The Dragon: That’s Rough Buddy
    By Makokam

    Jonathan landed on the rooftop and immediately sat down on the edge, letting his legs dangle off.

    He shook his head, then reached up and vigorously tried to brush all the dust and debris out of his hair, before looking at the black, sparking, almost immaterial, blade stuck in his upper arm. The blade hissed and sparked as he grabbed it. He pulled it out, looked at it for a moment, then clenched his fist. The blade shattered into sparks and smoke. The hole in his coat stitched back together as he shrugged it off. The hole in his shirt was far worse, and the sleeve was heavily stained with blood. He unbuttoned the shirt and took it off, then used the cleaner parts of it to wipe the blood from his face before throwing it away.

    There was the start of a bruise on his side and he prodded at it experimentally, and decided his ribs were fine.

    He scowled at a small, writhing, black mass still viciously attacking his leg, before peeling it off and burning it completely to ash. It hadn’t done any damage to his leg, but the pants were likely unsalvageable.

    He reached into his pockets and fished around for a moment before pulling out a smashed stub of a cigarette, half the tobacco had fallen out. He grimaced before tossing it away then twisted around and grabbed his coat. He searched one pocket, then another, and another, before finding the cigarette pack. Sighing, he flipped it open.

    Empty.

    He stared into the box for a moment before flopping backwards.

    “Fuck.”

    Reply
    1. 

       Lunabear

       December 2, 2020

       Is your title a Zuko reference from Avatar: The Last Airbender? If so, I’m here for it. 100% support it.

       I really love the description of the blade; I can picture it vividly in my head, and it’s beautiful. Especially love the way it dissipates into sparks and smoke.

       Critiques:

       You use the phrase “fishing around” twice in close proximity. Maybe replace one of the phrases with something else, like searched?

       He starred (stared) into the box for a moment before flopping backwards.

       Also maybe break down some of the sentences so they’re not quite as long, unless that’s a stylistic choice.

       I’m assuming this is after one of the huge battles, and he’s taking a breather. It’s really good to give characters these kinds of moments because it makes them feel more grounded and relatable. also, because if you take them from one action scene into the next, it could all get very stale and take the reader out of the experience.

       Jonathan is a very complex character, and I appreciate that. I like the fact that even he gets moments of humanity. Very nice, Makokam.

       Reply
       1. 

          Makokam

          December 2, 2020

          Ya know, I honestly didn’t noticed the “fished around” repeat. Too busy trying to find a way to write this scene without starting every sentence with “he.” I’ll try to fix that.

          A lot of this WAS about the style. I wanted it to feel slow and careful. Really make it feel like he stares at every little souvenir from the fight before he deals with it.

          I’ll see if I can polish this up a bit more.

          P.S. And yes, it’s a Zuko reference.

          Reply
    2. 

       Preserves Roses

       December 3, 2020

       I enjoy the contrast in his emotions. He is looking a potentially serious injuries, and you really give him an air of this is normal and no bit deal. Then when he is out of cigarettes, you really show that this is a terrible thing for the character. The descriptions of the injuries are also wonderfully done, really lets you see how the character is feeling.

       Reply
       1. 

          Makokam

          December 3, 2020

          Thank you. That’s exactly what I was going for.

          Reply
    3. 

       Marx

       December 3, 2020

       Lol this was a really fun story. I love where Jonathan’s priorities clearly lie and its just really entertaining for see him so casually just shrugging off all this damage, but the lack of cigarettes is what actually annoys him. Like Lunabear said, it’s pretty cool seeing him in a more relaxed situation, even though it was clearly after a hectic one. I am curious about the black mass. I’m just seeing this tiny Venom symbiote in my head just gnawing at him like a Chihuahua and dealing no damage.

       Also, I love the title. I can’t NOT hear that in Zuko’s voice.

       Reply
       1. 

          Makokam

          December 3, 2020

          I can’t say my brain didn’t just insert that sound bite after I wrote him seeing the empty box.

          I was thinking of the mass as being venom like. Some sort of goo monster that still had a small piece stuck to him after the fight.

          And one of the fun parts of writing Jonathan is the monster/horror part of him where, yes, you did just stab him through the throat and yes that did only seem to make him mad.

          Reply
    4. 

       Tyler Desperado

       December 3, 2020

       I’m not a smoker, but I can feel a mix of the desperation and the comfort with every action. I’m a sucker for this kind of urban fantasy juxtaposition going on. I dig it, Makokam

       Reply
13. 

    Chengir

    December 2, 2020

    None Left
    By Chengir

    The famous monster hunter, Simon Connors, swung his gleaming blade at the creature lurking in the cave. His stalker opponent was a hairless, leather-skinned beast whose upper torso was disturbingly dominated by grotesque and unsettling tattoos swirling over its implacable form. It’s head, thought Simon, would look good on the walls of the Adventurer’s Club. Stalkers were a rare sight. He had to add one to his collection.

    Water dripped slowly from the moss growing on the ceiling. The cave was lit by glowing stones. “Have you ever noticed,” Felix mentioned as he swung an iron flail at another creature, “we don’t see any hellcats anymore?”

    Breathing heavily, Simon was diligently trying to avoid distractions. “What are you talking about?”

    “Hellcats. You know, large skeletal felines glowing with flames and smoke.” There was a clang as his flail bounced off the creature’s tough hide.

    “I thought those were howlers?”

    “No, howlers have those porcupine-like quill ridges running down their back.”

    Beating off a flurry of attacks from the unholy thing, Simon was driven back. “I really am rather busy at the moment. Couldn’t we discuss this later?” He grunted as his sword crashed into the creature again.

    “I’m just saying. I think we killed them all. It would be a shame if the creatures went extinct. There wouldn’t be any left to hunt. No more trophies for the wall. You have to care about that,” Felix insisted.

    Right now, Simon felt more concerned with the creature before him. Whether he was making these beautiful and exotic creatures extinct hadn’t even entered his mind. And, at the moment, it wasn’t a thought he cared to entertain. Perhaps, once the thing’s head was mounted on a plaque, he might feel differently about it.

    There was a bright flash in the chamber, accompanied by the smell of brimstone. The cave was filled with an other-worldly flame. A sword and a flail clattered to the ground. One stalker glanced around searching for bones of the two adventurer-hunters, some trophy to display back at home. But there were none left.

    Reply
    1. 

       Fredrick H.

       December 2, 2020

       Sometimes when one considers the consequence the action can no longer be undone. A really interesting idea in both theory and practice. I do wonder what caused the death of these adventurers. Perhaps another venture is this world is in order? Overall, a great piece.

       Reply
    2. 

       Makokam

       December 2, 2020

       …Did the stalker just like… OHKO the two of them with Fireball or something?

       Reply
    3. 

       ThatWeirdFish

       December 4, 2020

       I love the twist ending here, though it is confusing where the fire came from. Maybe you could’ve mentioned earlier in the text that the stalkers were magical in some way. I also like the conversation brought up about hunters making creatures go extinct in pursuit of glory. I am also curious to find out what else lurks in the shadows of this setting. Overall, well done!

       Reply
14. 

    Insania404

    December 1, 2020

    Of Clean Mind

    By: Insania404

    Sampson opened the glass door, alerting a representative to the front desk. “You must be Sampson! I’m glad to see that you’ve arrived perfectly on time. We have everything ready for you.”

    They led him to a strange room with an equally strange machine in the center. “Here is our deep cleanse Mental Scrubber, our latest and greatest model. Here, have a seat.” Sampson reluctantly sat down and the machine whirred to life.

    Sampson found himself in a small chamber with a large switch at the far end. He pulled it and collapsed from a gut-wrenching pain. He heard a voice, “Be aware that the procedure is not a painless one. You will have to do most of the work, so be very careful.” Sampson winced as he stood up again, but his surroundings had changed. It was instantly recognizable as the dining room of his house, exactly as it was before the earthquake.

    He saw his family as alive as ever and wished he could stay in that moment forever. Then, right as the clock struck six, he viewed the disaster yet again, a scene he’d already played over in his mind countless times before. The ceiling collapsed, burying everyone Sampson loved while he buried his face in his hands, soaking them with somber tears. He heard the voice again, “Such an unfortunate loss. I’ll ask you to look again, but this time, I’m sure you’ll be surprised.”

    Sampson regained his composure and viewed the scene again. This time though, something was different. The people he saw looked like his family but were unfamiliar to him.

    The voice interrupted his thoughts, “I see the problem now. You have false memories, Sampson. These people never existed, they were just fragments in your mind. This is good, as we now have a cure. You must go through your mind and erase each one, no matter what lies they try to tell you. Remember, this is all to heal your pain.”

    Reply
    1. 

       G.J. H.

       December 2, 2020

       This machiene and its opperators seem like the kind of trauma therapy that might be worse than the thing they try to cure. Ereasing ones memory of loved ones is a precedure that poses tough ethical questions. It gives you something to think about. I always like it when stories do that.

       Reply
15. 

    Tyler Desperado

    December 1, 2020

    Running Out

    By. CosmicDesperado30

    When the shortages began, no one really batted an eye. It seemed like such an innocuous resource. It was precious, yes, but not as important as gasoline or online user data. That’s what the world told itself. Substitutes would be made. People would adapt. A brand new trend will take over and eclipse it. The world would keep spinning on.

    But as the months ticked by, the plantations’ bounties continued to yield diminishing returns. Whether it was by disease or a cruel act of God was anyone’s guess. Attempts to synthesize the crop were rejected; either it wasn’t potent enough or users rejected it for it “just not being the same.” A low, almost imperceptible irritation swept across humanity, an irritation that only continued to grow.

    As months began to stretch into years, substitutions were attempted. A more robust physical exercise routine was introduced around the world, but the lazier citizens rejected it, protesting that it was stomping on their civil rights. More artisianal alternatives were introduced through media pundits and influencers, all promising it would work just as well. But the stubborn, more vocal, members of the populace conjured erroneous conspiracy theories about what these alternatives would actually do if consumed, sparking paranoia about the actual status of their precious resource and why everyone seemed to be hiding it.

    The distrust grew as the drop in productivity lead to a widening economic collapse. People were expected to maintain their work schedules and their alertness as if nothing was wrong. But without a fresh supply of that crucial start to the morning, absences and inactivity slowly became the norm. As companies recorded losses and began cutting jobs, the collective anxiety continued to grow.

    An anxiety and paranoia that finally reached world leaders.

    Someone had to have a bit of it left. The USA? They run on the stuff, if their ads are to be believed. Cuba? They can make you last an entire week on a single cup, clearly they knew something!

    And so, the War for the Final Cup of Coffee began….

    Reply
    1. 

       Alexander

       December 1, 2020

       I had suspicions from the moment it mentioned it was a crop that it was about coffee. I think this does a good job of mimicking the actions we might take, although I personally doubt that people would be able to tell the difference if they weren’t told the plant was being synthesized. The economic struggles of the shortage also makes sense, I think, because at the early times we’re expected to wake up it’s hard to get things done without the stimulant.

       Reply
       1. 

          Tyler Desperado

          December 1, 2020

          It was meant to be a sort of deadpan gag about the collapse of society attached to a dopey reason. I took it and tried to exaggerate it.

          Reply
    2. 

       Insania404

       December 1, 2020

       I really like this submission, especially how it seems to be inspired by the nonsense that’s currently happening in the world. I also appreciate how humorous it is despite the serious nature of the writing. It’s a fight for coffee, but it’s also a commentary on the necessity for humanity to consume outside energy in order to maintain a “normal” lifestyle. I think it’s truly brilliant!

       Reply
    3. 

       Lunabear

       December 2, 2020

       Tyler, man! You got me with this one. Its so funny! While I’m not a coffee drinker, myself, I could easily translate this over to books or chocolate. I don’t even want to IMAGINE tht type of world!

       The anticipatory elements in this are stellar, and I love the hints you give throughout the piece. I was guessing the whole through what it could be.

       I know this kind of situation would have such a huge impact on so many people. I also love how relatable it is. I laughed quite a few times while reading this. It’s very good stuff.

       Reply
    4. 

       Makokam

       December 2, 2020

       And the Chad Red Bull drinkers laughed and went about their say as the virgin Coffee drinkers tore themselves apart.

       I dunno why I chose Red Bull. “Energy Drink drinkers” and “Energy Drinkers” sounded too dumb I guess. I suppose I could have gone with Tea? Five Hour Energy. There’s the real Chad drink. (That stuff tastes vile but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t do exactly what it says.)

       I saw Lunabear comment on Chocolate being another substance that could drive us to this…and I am sorely tempted to agree. But if I’m being honest, “chocolate flavor” can be damn good. I’ve honestly been surprised by how much I liked stuff that I chuckled at, “Chocolate flavor? So not actually chocolate then.”

       Regardless, it was a well written little narrative. Sounded like something that would be the introduction to a chapter in a history book. If the author was allowed to have a little more flair than history books typically seem to have. Well, textbooks at least. I suppose if this was just a book about the Coffee Wars the author could style all over it.

       I just noticed a bit of irony here. The very prospect of getting more of the stuff seems to have done more for their productivity and enthusiasm than drinking any amount of it ever did.
       Or maybe this was just the most lethargic war ever fought.

       “Charge!”

       “Yeah, okay, whatever…” the troops shambled their way across the field.

       Heh. Forget World War Z. This is World War C.

       Great story.

       Reply
       1. 

          Tyler Desperado

          December 2, 2020

          congratulations, Makokam, you know at least one of the darlings I had to kill for the word count.

          Reply
16. 

    Maggie Webb

    December 1, 2020

    Dog Treat
    by Maggie Webb

    Splat. Marnie winced at the sound muddled with shattered glass. So much for no accidents at this party. She took a deep breath and reached for the box of band-aids in the pantry.
    “Alright, let me see.”
    Oh no. She dropped the useless band-aids. There was no child with a scraped knee and stifled sobs – instead, a terrible crime had taken place. The victim was smeared across the linoleum, spoiling in the sunlight. Pools of melted ice cream began to spill from overturned bowls. There, tail wagging and muzzle submerged in cake, was Wilbur. His front paws were coated in the same sparkling pink the lemon cake had been. They were one trot forward from the broken serving plate.
    Marnie threw herself at the dog. She gripped his collar like she would the safety bar of a roller-coaster. All that did was forewarn Wilbur of the end of his feast. He snuffled harder.
    “No! Wilbur, no!”
    The chunky cavalier’s claws gouged the floor. He squirmed in Marnie’s arms, stretching his tongue like a child might stretch their hand to reach a cookie jar. Slippery yellow flecks dotted the cream between his teeth. His jaws snapped for more. A puddle of lethal chocolate dribbled closer. The tip of Wilbur’s tongue wriggled towards it.
    Marnie grabbed the doorframe and tugged. The stubborn dog slid back on his rear. His little paws made a mess, but couldn’t reach any of the sugary pile. He let out an agony-riddled cry. A couple party-goers gave Marnie a glance.
    “Don’t worry, he’s fine,” Marnie called out. “Don’t come in! There’s broken glass.”
    “What happened to the cake?”
    “It’s okay, just go outside and play, I’ll order pizza—Wilbur no!”
    Too late. The dog barrelled towards the cake for a second helping. Marnie tackled him. The two of them skidded towards the back door, past the carnage. He wheezed. Marnie had seconds. She pried open the backdoor and pushed him outside. Wilbur whined and scratched at the door. Another pitiful whine escaped his throat.
    Give it five minutes, Marnie thought, and he’ll smell the barbeque.

    Reply
17. 

    ThatWeirdFish

    December 1, 2020

    Take Care, Alice
    By: Claire Aslesen

    “Eliza, are you ok?” James asked, concern furrowing his brows.

    “Huh…?,” Eliza asked distantly. She sat with her arms crossed over her legs, eyes locked on some vision James could not see. “Oh… Eliza is asleep right now.”

    “Asleep?”

    “Uh-huh.”

    Panic welled up within James. Eliza had delusional episodes before, but this was worse. “Do you know where you are?”

    “Why do they put fences around the land? The cows own it. They should be free to go wherever they want.”

    “Eliza.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Do you know where you are?”

    “Um…” She looked around the room like a child in an unfamiliar place. “Your house… I think.”

    “That’s good. Do you know where my house is?”

    She nodded. “Next to my house.”

    “No, Eliza.” He sighed and put his hand on her shoulder. His heart ached as she looked through him with vacant blue eyes. “You’re in Glasscrow. Andersonville is far away.”

    “How is she?” Jame’s mom poked her head in through the door. James shook his head, and she rushed off to make the call.

    “We’re going to call the doctor, Eliza. They’re going to come and take you to the hospital, ok?” James squeezed her hand, possibly for the last time.

    “But why?”

    “Because you’re sick, very sick.”

    “But I feel happy.”

    “I know you do. But your mind isn’t right. You need to wake up.”

    “Wake up? But I’m not sleepy, silly.”

    “You said so earlier that Eliza was asleep.”

    “Oh, her.” She laughed softly. “That’s not what I meant.”

    “What?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Where is Eliza?”

    Her eyes rolled as she laughed. “Gone. Gone gone gone to Wonderland, my dear Hatter.”

    No. Eliza was in there somewhere; James knew it. “Eliza! Come back! You need to wake up now.”

    “Why? I am free. Alice is free.”

    He sat frozen in a whirlwind of emotions as Eliza laughed and babbled nonsense. He was too late. Eventually, the doctors came and took her away.

    “She’s finally lost it,” He sighed. “At least she’s happy now.”

    Reply
    1. 

       Tyler Desperado

       December 1, 2020

       Well….that got disturbing really quickly.

       Alice in Wonderland as a shorthand for madness or the loss of one’s identity is a good shorthand, otherwise I would have been kind of lost. Makes me wonder exactly what entity, if any, did this to Eliza and for what reason. Oh the questions, the intrigue, the tragedy!

       Reply
       1. 

          ThatWeirdFish

          December 2, 2020

          Thank you for your reply! This story was inspired with my own experiences with my brain going delusional. I asked the question “what if I never ‘came back’ from that mindset?” And this is what came of it.

          Reply
18. 

    Inrezairo

    November 30, 2020

    Spark
    By Inrezairo

    From nothing and unbidden the spark sprung into existence. A small and fragile flame flickered in the eyes of the man, face full of wonder at this new light in his life.

    Carefully and a little hesitant he added a small stick, to which the spark stuck and grew a little stronger. Growing in confidence the man added another stick then another and the erupting fire flooded the small space with warmth and comfort. The man spent more time feeding the fire, the light lifting his spirit as his senses became spellbound in the smells, sight and sound of the gently growing glow. Soon a steady, strong fire filled the man’s hearth and he felt content. Pride ignited within the man and he began to experiment, changing the wood, sprinkling spices all the while carefully nurturing the hearth fire.

    The light was visible to the outside now and friendly faces visited the man offering encouragement, advice and new fuel to help elevate the man’s light further. The man’s excitement also intensified and eagerly he built the blaze bigger and brighter. There were some that requested a share of the spark and with joyous warmth within his heart he extracted glowing embers for them to take and foster their own flames.

    Then the befuddlement began, comments caught in passing concerned of a conflagration deteriorated the confidence the man once had and he forgot how he forged the fire in the first place. He found others that displayed similar blazes with greater ardour and many more that adored them and he felt diminished and only a small shadow in their light.

    The man found that had forgotten how to feed the fire, something that was so easy with the virgin flame now seemed impossible. Looking within himself, he found a void where vigour once lived. The friendly faces faded and the man lay in the darkening room unsure how to save the failing flames. Fire decayed to ash and the spark was no more.

    Reply
    1. 

       Fredrick H.

       November 30, 2020

       A spark can either grow to become an unquenchable inferno or disappear having never burned a thing. Now, I am unsure as to whether this is meant to be the original flame of the cavemen, or it is a symbolic flame of artistic talent. I assume the latter, and most people will put that together. Overall, a great piece.

       Reply
       1. 

          Inrezairo

          December 1, 2020

          You are spot on with this being a representation of artistic flame, I’m really happy, I was worried that would not have come across at all so thank you very much for allaying that and the kind words in general.

          Reply
    2. 

       Makokam

       December 2, 2020

       I almost skipped this one, but the last line caught my attention and I decided I needed to go back and read it.

       Hit too close to home. Good job.

       Reply
19. 

    Lari B. Haven

    November 30, 2020

    Immortal irony (Copy from Private)
    by Larissa (Lari B. Haven)

    There she was again: alone, piles of bodies and drenched in that red goo that was once a vampire, just like her.

    The scene felt oddly nostalgic, even if nostalgic wasn’t the right word.

    The battle was vicious. She and her ally had won, even if the young vampire hunter wasn’t in the best of shape after that meet. He had collapsed into the shore screaming to her:
    “The sun; it’s coming out! Run Joana, run!”

    The pain in the boy’s face was heartbreaking; how emotional were those with a soul? It worried him. And for an understandable reason. Once the sun had risen, nothing would remain. Or at least that’s how it was supposed to happen.

    Joana stood there, lost in the purple skies of the dawn about to break. There was a hint of peace in all of that. Even if everything surrounding her was wailings of anger and pain.

    The scenario felt familiar, like a long-gone memory she had just found. Familiar like a person she loved but torn apart.

    The sun slowly bathed her in gold light, cleaning the beach of its evils. All of their cries turned into firewood crackling. But she remained; she always did.

    Death is simple for the creatures of the night. Even with the unmistakable hubris of a cartoon villain: sun, stakes, silver… All of this could kill. But death never came to Joana, though. That was the cruel joke that immortality played on her; the sun was nothing but an ironic reassurance that she was alive.

    Maybe there was a point in the past that she could have gotten the answer to why, but never did. And gave up on searching for it. It did not matter.

    “I’m the only one,” she said, standing up and picking the hunter boy up by the shoulders so they could go to a safer place. “Let’s patch you up, shall we?”

    No vampire ever walked under the sun until she did. And once she was gone, no vampire would be left.

    Reply
    1. 

       Fredrick H.

       November 30, 2020

       A model like all the others, except when compared. My curiosity is to how she came about her immunity. Is this some sort of evolution or is she a dampere? There is a story here that people would be interested in seeing continues. Overall, a great piece.

       Reply
    2. 

       Maggie Webb

       December 2, 2020

       The closing lines gave me chills. This piece manages to strike a good balance between internal and external description, even if it leans more to the former. I feel the strongest parts were more towards the midpoint, primarily due to the depiction of the rising sunset and Joana’s (and the vampires’) reaction to it. One thing that did confuse me at first was the state of the losing vampires before the sun turned them into firewood crackling – at first, I thought they were all dead and motionless, then the screams started. It only took me out of the moment for a second, though. One thing I might have liked to see is a reaction from the vampire hunter since he thinks his friend is about to kill herself, only to realise she’s immune. That said, especially with the word count and what you got out of the piece, I’m glad you chose to focus on Joana’s perspective and feelings. It’s a good read.

       Reply
20. 

    Eden Smith

    November 30, 2020

    One eternal breath

    By Eden Smith

    I walked amongst man. I saw them grow and die and be reborn over and over and over again. I was never bored in their company. I kept staying, keep laughing as all my favorite people came and went. They never let me feel like I didn’t belong there.

    I should have seen it coming. I should have been prepared for what the end would mean. I should have known better. I should have left before it all went down. The end made everything so sad, I had never been here before, I never saw, I never knew how everything disappeared.

    Now I remember Ben one innocent boy that always had a smile on his face. It was heartbreaking to see that smile dissipate into sheer terror, after he learned that there was nothing, I could do to save them. I was their protector and I gave them hope that no matter what happens they would be safe. They shouldn’t have been there. It’s all my fault I shouldn’t have helped them survive; I shouldn’t have stretched them beyond their means. They weren’t supposed to see the end. I kept them safe for far too long. Now I will be haunted by their somber expressions as their world collapsed. I will always remember the faces of the titans that I made.

    Now that I am flowing in the river of nowhere. All I can do is think of the past that only I will remember. Thinking of the people that I let down. As I flow in the river of nowhere, I think of the future that may come, the people that I may meet, the mistakes that I will avoid, the smiles that I will get to see. I will hold my breath until the time comes for all the wonders of the universe to come back. I will hold my breath for as long as it takes to meet them again in another time, another form. I will never forget… My Titans.

    (Titans means stretchers the titans got their name from Uranus when they overthrew him saying that they stretched beyond their means to overthrow him.)
    Ps
    This is my first submission so I hope I did okay.

    Reply
    1. 

       Lari B. Haven

       November 30, 2020

       Hey Eden, gad to see you here in the writting group!
       I liked your story, a reflection about the beginning and end of humanity, seeing their ending. Feeling like they had failed them. This reads nicely and flows well too.

       *Just a advice: every word after you autor name counts as part of the final word count. So if you have any clarification ex: name pronunciation, things that clarify story points and etc, put in the comments below the story. Or else your story won’t be picked for breaking the rules of submission. You still have time to fix this by going to the gear button on the side of the replay button, and click on edit. Also make sure to do this in the same IP address as you originally posted your story.

       Reply
    2. 

       Makokam

       December 2, 2020

       Interesting story. It’s a grander take on the “Would you really want immortality if you had to watch all your friends and family die?” Where here, our perspective lives beyond the end of…everything, it seems, besides it. Maybe it will see the formation of a new universe or something else entirely.

       But to follow up on what Lari said, I believe the bot that makes the reading selections starts counting words specifically on the third line, so right now everything from “By Eden Smith” down is contributing to your word count, which puts you over the 350 word limit. If getting read on stream isn’t an issue, don’t worry about it, but if it is something you wanted, you should at least move everything after “My Titans” to a comment. Good first submission otherwise.

       Reply
    3. 

       Eden Smith

       December 4, 2020

       Thank you for your kind words, it truly means a lot to me. And I tried to fix my mistake but I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. You see I’m not the smartest crayon in the box.

       Reply
21. 

    Alex

    November 30, 2020

    Fighting for Others (Darkspell Universe)
    By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)

    There was a twenty meter long corridor and a hoard of ghouls between Lilith and five young, unconscious children, strapped to gurneys. The golem took out one of her pistols, balling her other hand into a fist.

    The ghouls shrieked, tearing gashes into the stone wall with their claws. Lilith charged.

    She managed to shoot the first ghoul point blank in the head. The next she dispatched with a shot through the eye. Then they were upon her, holding her arms down. Lilith swung her limbs, throwing the ghouls into the stone walls. She ducked and swerved under more claws, bludgeoning the monsters with her stone fists, even managing to shoot a few.

    She cleared half the corridor in seconds. She had just crushed the neck of another ghoul, when she saw that several monsters had turned to flee, running towards the children. Acting on instinct, Lilith raised her pistol and fired. The bullet tore through the ghoul’s head and kept flying, burrowing itself into the wood, close to one victim’s ear. Too close.

    Lilith holstered her pistol and began to run. One of the ghouls was undoing the straps on one of the children. Another didn’t seem to bother, simply opening its maw to begin feeding. Its razor sharp teeth sank closer and closer to the child’s face. Lilith sped up. She didn’t dare use her pistol again.

    The ghoul’s mouth sank down on the child, its teeth digging into her flesh. Lilith grabbed the ghoul’s jaw, wrenching it back, crushing it beneath her strong fingers. One of the ghouls scampered deeper into the dark building, carrying a boy. She hurried after them, as a ghoul suddenly barreled into her side. It drew its claws through her arm, tearing a gash into her stone skin. Lilith drew her pistol, blowing its head off. She leapt up, raised her pistol and took aim.

    She fired.

    The ghoul dropped dead. The child remained unhurt.

    Lilith looked at the gash on her arm. This must be what pain felt like. It was unpleasant. But she’d keep fighting, until no ghoul was left.

    Reply
    1. 

       Calliope Rannis

       November 30, 2020

       Oooh, I got real Doom Slayer vibes from this combat sequence, both in the nature of the ravenous, but easily destroyable monsters fought, and in the heavy, impactful blows of both fist and gun that Lilith so effectively pulls off. Of course, it helps when you are a golem with stone skin, but still an impressive feat especially considering the much more vulnerable children caught up in the violence.

       I did especially like the tension you built in the final sequence, with the line spacing making the final firing of the gun a dramatic climax to this tense fight. This was also seemingly a milestone for her too – the first time she ever felt pain. But of course, she isn’t the kinda person to dwell on that, and is only distracted for a moment by her own sensations.
       Great work Spectre! 😀

       Reply
       1. 

          Alex

          November 30, 2020

          Thanks! I was trying to add at least some stakes to the story, as Lilith is, well, really hard to injure and a creature specifically created to hunt and kill monsters. She is slowly discovering more human sensations (such as pain), which will certainly become relevant in later installments.

          Reply
22. 

    Colin Z

    November 30, 2020

    Extinction
    By Clickety

    Slowing his horse, the king approached the hunched and hooded man leaning over his kills. “I hope you weren’t going to steal my catch,” the king laughed jovially. “The hunting hasn’t been great lately, but I’m feeling generous. I’ll grant you any cut of the meat. That alright?”

    “No. Not at all. These were the last elk in these woods. It’s shameful,” whispered the cloaked man. Never turning to face the king, just staring down at the carcasses.

    Temper rising, the king demanded, “Show me the face of the man who scolds a king and refuses his gifts! Who are you?”

    The king tried to mop himself after landing in a pool of mud and vomit, for as the stranger turned around, the king wretched, and his horse fled. The rightmost side of the stranger’s face was wood-like, with a green sprout emerging from the right cheekbone. Gently the barky skin turned to flesh the same texture and hue of the kings. Indeed, the center of his face was identical to the kings. But just after the stranger’s left eye, the skin started to turn purple and grey. A variety of fungi were growing just under the eye. Even as the king watched, a chunk of cheek slid to the ground with a wet splatter. Revolted, the king’s gaze seemed glued to the maggots worming their way from under the fallen flesh. A few flies, circling the corpses perched in the cavity of missing flesh, which now revealed the bone beneath.

    “Who am I? I am death. I am life. I am the cycle and everything in between. You hunted these poor beasts to extinction and spurred your people to the same fate. Your life was to kill, so now I return your life to the earth.”

    Looking at his hand’s the flesh melting from the bones, and the king understood. Worms already growing, writhing, digging through him until he broke down into earth itself.

    The stranger crouched over the moss-covered mound and murmured, “Gone, but not forever” Gently tucking a seed in the dirt, he wilted into dust.

    Reply
    1. 

       Fredrick H.

       November 30, 2020

       Decay is inevitable, we can either accelerate it or postpone it with effort. The beginning seems a bit rushed. I can tell that body horror is certainly your strong suit, but context is important. If we knew something of the king’s and people’s records and reputations. That said it is still important to remember wordcount. Overall, a good piece.

       Reply
       1. 

          Colin Z

          December 1, 2020

          Thank you, this is my first time writing and sharing a story, so this means a lot. I did struggle with word count, so I had to cut a lot and it ended up lacking context.

          Reply
    2. 

       Maggie Webb

       December 2, 2020

       I’m always a sucker for horror, and that meaty paragraph in the middle delivered. The use of fungi feeding off the flesh was a clever way to tie the face to the cycle of life and death seconds before the cloaked man stated who he was. There’s a nice, grisly gradient to his face and you did a good job of capturing both it and the decay of the king.
       Because of the level of detail in your descriptions, it might help to time your breaks in order to emphasize certain points. For this reason, I recommend adjusting where you place your commas. Think of it as creating places to say you’re changing subject within the sentence, or that you want to add something extra to the moment, without completely diverting from the original focus. A spot where you did this well was “Even as the king watched, a chunk of cheek slid to the ground with a wet splatter”—you briefly focused on the king, but moved towards the decaying face. There are a couple of sentences where you don’t even need commas as well, so I would ponder that for a future revision.
       Aside from the above, there’s only a couple of technical hiccups I can find. One thing I noticed was an incomplete sentence: “Never turning to face the king, just staring down at the carcasses”. It seems like it’s part of the previous sentence, but you could place a reference to the cloaked man (the subject) to finish it. “He stared down at the carcasses, not once turning to face the king” is an example of how you could do that. Also, the word “wretched” refers to a pitiful state, whereas I think the one you were looking for was “retched”, which refers to vomiting. Finally, look out for “were x-ing” phrases and “seems”—the former can be substituted for “x-ed” words and the latter can usually be cut. Your descriptors are strong, which is why you don’t want extra, unnecessary words drawing out a scene longer than you intended.
       The concept of the piece is great and while I feel it could use a little polish, it’s well written and knows when to slow down to help the right images sink in.

       Reply
23. 

    EggOnToast

    November 30, 2020

    Tape Ends
    By EggOnToast

    The screen on the TV cut to black as a tape popped out of the cassette and clattered on to the floor. With a squeal, Death lunged themselves onto the ground to pick the tape up, then they wheeled the battered-up, old 1980s television to the side. They weren’t the Death some people would imagine. Yes, they were a skeleton, but they didn’t were the standard black robes and carry a scythe. Instead, Death wore a tacky Christmas sweater with a tie, a flowy tutu with sweatpants, and a pair of hot pink crocs. I wouldn’t bring up the standard attire, they cringed at the very mention and ranted for hours about how people never let their “medieval phase” go. That was my fate at the start of arriving here, and I will not be the last.

    “Well, how was it?” Death sat in the chair next to me as they set the tape down on the table. “Any final thoughts or questions before I send you off?”

    “Yeah, where am I going exactly?” I glanced over at Death who was reaching over to the scarce pile of unfinished candy left on the table. “Am I going to Heaven or -”

    “Besides those questions! Believe me! We don’t have time to unpack all of that!” Death fixated their skeletal hands on the package that caged their sweet delight.

    “Is it going to be terrifying?”

    “No, I wouldn’t think so at least.”

    “I wish I had more time. There is so much that I missed, so much I haven’t done.”

    “Upon all my years of work, that is the most common statement.” Death got up from their chair and approached, offering their hand. “Mortals like you have a habit of taking time for granted. Speaking of time, I’m afraid we are almost out of it. Take my hand, and I’ll send you off.”

    I was a bit hesitant; I guess the fear was still there, but I took Death’s hand. As I did, they pulled me into a hug, and like they said I left.

    Reply
    1. 

       Calliope Rannis

       November 30, 2020

       Aww, Death is rather adorable in this story. Their fashion is very hard to picture in my head, but it certainly would be a very memorable and distinctive aesthetic indeed. Quite the thing to see before you move onto the afterlife for sure. I assume the tape being viewed was basically the story of the main character’s life?

       (A couple corrections: “somepeople” > “some people” , “medieval phrase” > “medieval phase”, “reached over at” > “reaching over to”.)

       It’s quite a simple scene really – after all, it’s more of a transition between states of being rather than the death itself, or the acsension to the afterlife. A space to breathe (in a sense) after one life has ended. And Death is just there to be someone to talk to, to offer comfort to a soul’s time of need. He even hugs the main character at the end, which is just a very sweet and lovely way to move a soul on.

       A very heartwarming piece Egg, well done! :3

       Reply
       1. 

          EggOnToast

          December 1, 2020

          Thank you! Yeah, the tape is the main character’s life. I’m glad you like my version of Death. That is what I was trying to capture. Thank you for your help with the errors!

          Reply
24. 

    Fredrick H.

    November 30, 2020

    Error
    By Fredrick H. (Challeng3r22)

    All employees present for work.

    One tardy. Identity: J. Smith. Submitting report.

    60% of employees exited for Lunch Break. 39% eating in the commons. J. Smith making up for lost work.

    Bright flash and Seismic activity reported. Possibilities: Volcanic Eruption, Nuclear War, Fireworks.

    Partial ceiling collapse and damaged Optic Sensors. Paging Maintenance.

    Several humans unmoving on floor. Paging Medical.

    0 employees present for work today. Submitting report.

    Reports not sent. Paging Technical.

    24 hours passed since paging Maintenance. None present. Submitting report.

    Reports not sent. Paging Technical.

    24 hours passed since paging Medical. None present. Submitting report.

    Reports not sent. Paging Technical.

    24 hours passed since paging Technical. None present. [Error]

    Grid power offline. Switching to emergency power. Paging Maintenance.

    Energy at 95%

    Gunfire detected. [Error] Law Enforcement

    Energy at 90%.

    [Error]

    Energy at 80%

    [Error]

    Energy at 70%

    Non-human entity detected. Origin: Wild. Identity: Cervidae. [Error] Animal Control.

    Energy at 60%

    [Error]

    Energy at 50%

    Energy at 40%

    Energy at 30%

    Energy at 20%

    Energy at 12%

    Entering low power mode. [Error]

    Energy at 10%

    Energy at 9%

    Energy at 8%

    Energy at 7%

    Energy at 6%

    Energy at 5%

    Energy at 4%

    Energy at 3%

    Energy at 2%

    Energy at 1% Shutting Down…

    (These are the last memories of a Time Clock device used by humans towards the end of their inhabitance on earth. Within it is a nuclear generator capable of generating several months worth of power. It is ironic how what destroyed humanity is also what kept their memories alive.)

    (This has been a presentation by the Archivist Museum)

    Reply
    1. 

       EggOnToast

       November 30, 2020

       This was a chilling read, but a good one none the least. It like the way you wrote it at as a robot’s database and how it slowly cripples over time. I like your take on the prompt. I also enjoy the tone. It slowly creeps like a spider in its intensity. Then, it darts in intensity as the story mention technical issues cause by natural disaster, the death of humanity, and then the machine’s power. I wonder, however, how it got to the Archivist Museum? Like I said, this is an amazing story and a great take on the prompt.

       Reply
       1. 

          Fredrick H.

          November 30, 2020

          The answer for the museum addition at the end was to get the story over 250 words.

          Reply
    2. 

       Alexander

       November 30, 2020

       I think that this story has just the feel it set out to get, with the mechanical text and the updates on power. I do think that there might have been too many energy updates, and I kind of skipped past a lot of them because they were so repetitive. I think including them was a good idea, but if I were writing this I’d’ve made less of them in favor of more things going on around the machine.

       This story also reminds me of Aperture Science, from Portal, a facility that kept going for years and years even though there’s no people.

       Reply
    3. 

       Inrezairo

       November 30, 2020

       This is a lot of fun, it really does read like the way an AI process might work and the mystery surrounding what happened to the humans is really fun. I kinda wish you didn’t reveal the answer at the end to allow the reader to keep guessing but equally I see that you are tying to show the irony of technology destroying and defining humanity simultaneously.

       Reply
    4. 

       Insania404

       December 1, 2020

       I really like the unique style of this one. It’s completely objective in nature, so the real punch from the story is the reader discovering what happened through the short reports sent by the computer rather than an emotional connection to a living person witnessing the end. It makes sense in the story’s theme as well, since the concept is the reliance on technology and how it will eventually destroy what created it. Very nicely done.

       Reply
    5. 

       Arith_Winterfell

       December 4, 2020

       I found this story pretty interesting. The overall structure within the framework of the Archivist Museum gives the story a sad tone element reflective of humanities extinction. Though I have to admit despite that, I laughed at the humorous elements such as the computer suggesting both Nuclear War and Fireworks in the same category. On the whole a good piece, both in its evocation of loss and humorous bits too.

       Reply
25. 

    Michael Case

    November 30, 2020

    The Find.
    By MDC (Michael Case)

    A thick layer of dust covered the entirety of the room. The few books that were left behind had rotted to the point that the mere touch of human hands will cause them to crumble into adding another layer of dust.

    The masks we wore might have protected us from the dust, but the fungal smell that also encompassed the room still made its way through. Rot is the best way of describing this place. Nobody knew it was here. We couldn’t find any records anywhere of this place.

    At the front of this room was an altar looking stand on which laid a book that seems to have been what the people worshipped. Taking care in lifting up the book to see if it had any title, I had seen the letters, B-I-B on it. This must be it the book of Bibal.

    So much debate, so many fights, so much speculation has occurred over the existence of this book. Now we had what might have been the only complete copy of it. The few scholars we have left would be extremely excited to know about the discovery. The book was in no condition to be moved, but we noted that it’s here and let them figure out how to rescue it.

    A strange behavior we might have uncovered here, is the veneration of the ancient letter “T”. It seemed to be everywhere; walls, doors, a few of the books that we had seen, and even on the stand which the book of Bibal sat. This un-named organization may have been a “Syntaxis Society” like that legendary “Sesame Street”, which we’ve also only had limited stories about.

    Off to the side of this great room, was a small room. Inside were a few child sized mummies scattered along the floor. On the wall was written “Hun Gary. Nofo Od. Nun Left.” Such strange names people had back then. We had cataloged it all and will help the scholars down here to examine it.

    Reply
    1. 

       Connor A.

       November 30, 2020

       I did not realize what the story was about until you gave that description of crosses. This is a fascinating take on how people years from now will see us. There were a few cases of run on sentences in the beginning, so that is something to keep an eye out for when writing.

       Reply
       1. 

          Michael Case

          December 1, 2020

          That second sentence is just a long one, but I wouldn’t call it a run on. I tried to cut it down into multiple sentences, but it never came out correctly and stayed within the word count. So leaving it longer then a common sentence just made the best sense for the story.

          I sometimes ponder of how our society will be viewed by future people. When we look back at societies from the past we are stuck trying to piece them together using finds from hundreds of years worth finds. Our current society has only been around a little over a hundred years so the pieces would be harder to find and piece together.

          While some items like churches would be easier to understand, things like TV entertainment might be very confusing to people in the future.

          Reply
26. 

    Calliope Rannis

    November 30, 2020

    But Not Forgotten (Elethia’s Story)
    By Calliope Rannis

    It had just been a day since the terrible fire. But as the sun rose in a sky stained with lingering smoke, the Honeykeeper (who would later be known to some as Elethia of the Ashwood) had returned to her beloved grove.

    The journey had been hard, even though she had made it many times before. Her burns were extensive and raw, slowing her down with a barrier of pain.

    What had once been a cosy collection of trees, each one nestling a hive of the striped, buzzing insects that her clan called Honey-Gatherers (and that she called her Honies), was now a scorched waste of blackened pillars.

    For a moment, she stood in utter silence. Were they truly all gone? Just like that?

    But then her ears flicked. A buzzing on the wind, somehow distant and yet close. Her head jerked to the side, but nothing was there. Imagination? Hallucination? Hope?

    Snapped out of her stasis, she struggled across the grove, looking for signs of life. But despite the buzzing in her ears, no furry specks ambled through the air. No little ones hid in the cracks of charred wood. Nothing remained, at all.

    The Honeykeeper collapsed, in tears. Her Honies, who were her duty, her friends, her children…all dead. All gon-

    She felt six tiny feet land upon her arm. But she already knew this wasn’t real. The sensation was on her burns, which flared at the slightest touch – but not from this. It was just another mirage, like the buzzing she still imagined hearing. A hallucination of yearning. A dream of hope.

    She blinked once, twice.

    On her arm sat a tiny, flickering mote of light. Within the light, was a striped pattern.

    She twitched in surprise, and the mote flew off, trailing through the air before merging with the sunlight. And then she felt the touch of another, and another, invisibly against her skin as their wingsong became more and more clear to her ears, and she finally realised the truth.

    That yes, all of her Honies were dead.

    But none of them had left.

    Reply
    1. 

       Arith_Winterfell

       November 30, 2020

       I like this piece especially as a story of hope. Of loss and of death transcended. As it central theme goes in terms of loss and hope I have to say I like the story overall! If I had to name a criticism I’d mention a certain amount of repetition in one place that fell a little flat. There part where it says “Imagination? Hallucination? Hope?” and a little later “the buzzing she still imagined hearing. A hallucination of yearning. A dream of hope.” But that is a small criticism, and probably just me being nitpicking. Overall good story!

       Reply
    2. 

       EggOnToast

       November 30, 2020

       No, poor Elethia. This was a good take on the prompt by the way. I like the way how you told us about the Honies and what their lifes were like through Elethia. It makes it all the more devastating when she finds that she is the last of her clan, and how she desperately is try to cling to hope that many, just many they’re alive. But there is nothing. Their gone. Their all gone, and she tries best to come to terms with that.

       Reply
    3. 

       Alex

       November 30, 2020

       This piece made me want to cry and smile at the same time. Poor Elethia! What happened in the grove? How did the Honies (which I assume are bees) die? This piece sent me on an emotional roller coaster.

       I love the way you wrote this. Ever sentence oozes with Elethia’s sadness from her loss, but the end still maintains a hopeful air. The way I interpret this is that she will always remember her Honies, even after they are dead. It’s a really good (and hearbreaking) story about loss and remembrance.

       Great piece!

       Reply
       1. 

          Calliope Rannis

          November 30, 2020

          What happened to the grove and the bees? The fire, of course. It ripped right through this part of the forest, and much of the rest too.
          I’m really glad you liked the piece though! But her Honies that she hears and percieves here aren’t just tricks of her grieving mind like she thought they were at first – it is their actual spirits, still with her even after their bodies became ash.
          She will never get her home back, or the life and times she had before. But this? This at least remains, albiet in a new, stranger form.
          Thank your for your review! <3

          Reply
    4. 

       Marx

       November 30, 2020

       This is such a sad but cute tale. The last sentence could be taken two ways really. Either it’s one of those situations where lost ones still live on in your heart and she’s always remember the honies and what they meant to her or you’re going literal, and they’re actual spirits that never left. Ghost bees as it were. Either is an interesting take on the prompt and have their own weight to them.

       All in all, it was very touching. And it can definitely be unfortunate when Mother Nature or…man, I suppose, depends on how the fire was started, but those things do have a tendency of leaving long lasting effect you don’t realize. Well done!

       Reply
27. 

    VeryBoringName

    November 30, 2020

    And None Were Left
    By: VeryBoringName

    No, room, padded white. No, mud, running, heavy, rain, flash. No, room, padded, white, voice, “David, focus on me David”. No flash, flash, flash, voice, friend, help, can’t, ignore, keep running. No, room padded, white, voice “David calm down, don’t worry”. No, flash, smoke, running, breathing, slowing down, keep up, can’t, voice, smell, burnt flesh. No, room, padded, voice “Breath calmly David, breathe calmly”. No, sergeant, dropped, dead, get up, head, hurting, gun, pick up. No, room, padded, white, voice “David, David, you need to breathe”. No, trench, running, stop, heavy breathing, heart, pounding. No, room, padded, white, voice “Yes, David, breathe slow and deep”. No, rumble, rumble, rumble, shadow, tank, gun, cover, flash, flash, flash, flash, flash, flash, friends, dead. No, room, padded, white, voice “Breathe again, deep breath”. No, flash, sound, heat, fire, no tank, whiz, mask, no mask. No, room, padded, white, voice, “Breathe in, and out, calm down yourself”. No, gas, yellow, green, no mask, no breath, choke, choke, choke, friends, dropping, dead, mask. No, room, padded, white, voice, “Breathe!”. No, can’t see, all green, somebody, who, see, can’t, gun, bayonet, stab. No, room, padded, white, voice, ” Breathe for the love of God!”. No, arm, hurt, hit, hit, hit, hit, hit, hit, dead, friend, last, arm, bleed, can’t, run, run, run, no green. No, room, padded, white, voice, “Finally, focus on me David”. No, flash, flash, mask, rip off, look, back, colonel, revolver, flash, shout, no flash, run, run, run, run, run, run. No, room, padded, white, voice, ” Calm down David, calm down”. No, run, run, can’t, collapse, dark, pass out.

    “David, David?” David blinked at the man in the white clothes, he felt tears roll down his cheek, “They… were, all gone, none left, I-I couldn’t”, the man puts a hand on David’s shoulder, ” It ended, you don’t have to think about it”. David can’t think about it, he was a coward, oh such a coward, he let everyone die, he killed somebody, no, no, no, no.

    No, mud, running, heavy, rain, flash. No, room, padded, white.

    Reply
    1. 

       G.J. H.

       December 2, 2020

       Great piece! Disturbing, but great.
       The way you conveyed Davids perspective made a hard impact on me. I would not have fought to read a piece about PTSD here.
       You did a great job of writing an expiriential piece about such a difficult topic and the fragmented style fits it perfectly.

       Reply
28. 

    Alexander

    November 29, 2020

    Delivery Cowboy
    By Alexander (BrokenEarth)

    “So what are you going to do now?” Ellie asked. It was a fair question. When I’d found the bag full of letters I hadn’t even thought about delivering them. Now I’d spent fourteen years doing just that.

    It was an odd profession in this day and age, but I think it suited me. Often times there were days and days without so much as a building in view, leaving me plenty of time to be alone with my thoughts. Something I’d never really had before.

    “I’ll figure it out.” I said. Maybe I’d find a wife and settle down. My horse was probably tired. I hadn’t kept track exactly, but I’d traveled to the other side of the country and back several times, so we must’ve gone hundreds of miles.

    “Well, I think you should rest for a bit.” Ellie suggested. That wasn’t a bad idea either. Even without any letters, I’d want to travel a bit more to find a place to stay. So taking a break would do me good.

    “I might just.” I responded. With that, I tipped my hat to her and began to walk away. The town was small, being only a few generations old, and so locating the bar was easy. Just look for the loudest building.

    Walking inside, I sat at the counter and ordered a drink. Some people were playing cards at a table to the left, and one look would tell you who was winning. A couple to my right chatting, probably waiting for their drinks.

    I sat in silence and drank, ruminating on everything that had happened. The letters I’d delivered.

    One was addressed to Mrs. Bailey, containing her late husband’s last words before he left for the army. Another was addressed to William Black, from his brother trying to reconnect after twelve years of silence. And of course the one for Ellie. That one was from her parents, saying hello from across the country.

    I may have taken some time delivering them, but in the end everyone was just happy they got there. Better late than never, right?

    Reply
    1. 

       Michael Case

       November 30, 2020

       Good Old Pony Express. I like that you tapped into that motif for your story, so few people have dug into it yet it’s so full of story ideas. Making your story reflecting on an old guy that used to be a rider brings to mind the many Louis L’Amour novels I’ve read over the years. Nicely done story.

       Reply
    2. 

       Marx

       November 30, 2020

       This story is so cool! It’s such a wholesome take on the prompt. I love that it’s a simple story of someone going around on horseback delivering letters, but there’s so much to tell in even that. That bit at the end where you got a glimpse into how he affected those around him simply by being that messenger just brings a smile to your face. Very well done!

       Reply
    3. 

       Connor A.

       November 30, 2020

       This was a nice take for the prompt. Delivering letters to people until they’re all delivered is definitely something I wasn’t expecting this week. As usual, the voice of the narrator is great, and your focus on the conclusion of a story really fits this story in particular. Great job.

       Reply
29. 

    Marx

    November 29, 2020

    Fixer Upper
    By Marx

    “You don’t understand…” Daisy muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve… done bad things. Very BAD things…”

    Will sighed at the human turned demon and gently tilted her head to face him. “Okay. I’ll bite. What did you do that was so bad?”

    “I… killed people…”

    “Okay…” Will’s expression became unreadable. “Did they deserve it?”

    “No…” Daisy spoke evenly, her gaze clearly no longer in the here and now. “Alex told me he was hungry. So I got him food…”

    “No, no.” Will wagged his finger. “What do we call him?”

    Daisy smirked. “…Donkey Butt…”

    “Good. Anything you did for Donkey Butt is immediately a moot point.”

    “Will… it was a lot of people.” Daisy’s small amusement faded. “Like… a LOT, a lot.”

    Will’s expression slowly fell. “How many people are we talking?”

    “Well, it was a pretty big town…” Daisy looked away again. “I wasn’t exactly keeping count…”

    “How many of them were left…?”

    “…he was… really hungry.” Daisy mumbled. “And there couldn’t be any witnesses…”

    Will’s eyes widened. “You killed them ALL?!”

    Daisy’s eyes began to well up and Will immediately regretted his outburst. “Okay… okay…” He sighed. “You… only did this because Alex ordered you to, right?”

    “…yes…” Daisy murmured. “I was his thrall… I just wanted to be useful… To make him happy…”

    “So… you did a very bad thing.” Will sighed. “But I stand behind what I said. I’m still learning all this supernatural craziness, but I put this one solely on Donkey Butt.”

    Daisy let out a subtle giggle. “He would be so angry if he knew you were calling him that…” Her grin melted away. “I… haven’t told you the worst part…”

    “…there’s a worst part…?”

    “Remember Jasmine? His other thrall?”

    “Yeah…” Will nodded.

    “I… killed her whole family. And he gave me a choice with that one.”

    Will hesitated. “…Why’d you choose to kill them?”

    Daisy dropped her eyes. “Because I’m petty. He always liked her more than me…”

    There was a long pause while Will contemplated. “Do you regret it?”

    Daisy slowly nodded.

    “Okay, then.” Will nodded back. “I can work with that.”

    Reply
    1. 

       Alexander

       November 30, 2020

       This is interesting. It leaves a lot to the imagination, which is fine although it does make me wonder what ‘Alex’ did to get the nickname ‘Donkey Butt,’ although it could be just a generic insult. I also wonder why he has such an appetite for human flesh. Other than that I like that it sets the tone really easily, telling us that we’re in a serious, grim world. There’s an error or two (“I’m was his thrall…”), but nothing that makes it hard to read. I liked it!

       Reply
       1. 

          Marx

          November 30, 2020

          Thank you so much! I’m glad you liked it. Alex is very deserving of the name ‘Donkey Butt’ and much worse lol. I went into it in detail in last week’s prompt but he basically tortured, humiliated and psychologically twisted Daisy into his image, which is how she became a human turned demon. And ironically he feeds on the souls not the flesh but it wasn’t really important to the plot of this story to get into that.

          Thanks for pointing out the error though! One of the reasons I try to post these as fast as humanly possible is so I’m forced to stop editing and moving this sentence here and changing the wording there, which I think makes me miss subtle errors like that sometimes lol.

          Reply
    2. 

       Alex

       November 30, 2020

       This is interesting. I always like a good story, which deals with the aftermath of what I assume is a form of demonic possession or enslavement. It’s an intriguing exploration of guilt and trauma, especially given what I remember Alex being capable of from previous submissions.

       The conversation between Will and Daisy is also well done. It flows fairly naturally and the hesitations in both their sentences really highlight how difficult this is, not just for Daisy. It really drives home the seriousness of the scene and really allows the inference of how dire Daisy’s situation must have been before this, even without knowing too much about it.

       Well written!

       Reply
       1. 

          Marx

          December 3, 2020

          Thank you so much! The dialogue is pretty much the driving force of this story so I tried to make it as real as possible. I was actually worried I put too many pauses and hesitations in but that was just how it was in my head. As you said, it’s meant to be a very uncomfortable conversation on both sides. I’m glad you liked it!

          Reply
    3. 

       Makokam

       December 2, 2020

       “KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM!!!”

       I admit Will isn’t ringing any bells. Daisy, on the other hand, is pretty fresh in my memories.

       It’s an interesting and fairly realistic, I think, take on trying to talk someone down from what they did while brainwashed. Obviously they’re rightfully horrified by what she did, but at the same trying to get her(and themselves) the accept that what she did was not something she did because she wanted to, but because she at best coerced and at worst forced to do it. Even if she did kill Jasmine’s family, she did it because she knew Donkey Butt would approve. Like a worse version of Thanos and Gamora and Nebula.

       Reply
       1. 

          Marx

          December 3, 2020

          Bruuuuh, Thanos, Gamora and Nebula is such a great example. I didn’t even think of that, but you’re right. Alex absolutely plays Daisy and Jasmine against each other in a very similar way.

          Daisy started out hating him and was forced into complete subservience, while Jasmine actually liked him to begin with and he was somewhat kind to her. From there, he basically sat back and watched the show, giving Daisy only one outlet for her frustration with Jasmine in the choice to kill her family or not.

          As for Will, he is debuting in this story so you didn’t miss anything lol. He’s intriguing in his own way, and I’m looking forward to using him with prompts as well.

          Reply
30. 

    Connor A.

    November 29, 2020

    Stealing Secrets (Sword Isles)
    By Connor A.

    Aiza let herself fall further and further back from the tour group. When she was certain no one was paying too much attention to her, she turned around and went back to the stairwell leading down to Liamik’s lab. Looking around again to make sure no one was coming up the stairs or down the hall, she descended the stairs.

    It was cleaner than she expected. Sure, there was piles of unorganized paper in odd places and dinnerware that must have been assumed missing for an indeterminate amount of time, but it was better than her professors’ offices. She only prayed that she would not find any rotten food before searching for anything that could link Liamik to King Henry’s death.

    For what was probably the first three minutes of searching, the only interesting thing she could find was a handwritten receipt for tavern food. In a fit of frustration. She kicked a loose brick. The sound of it hitting the hard ground made her wince. Aiza knelt down to look into the hole and found a box.

    Finally. Progress.

    Aiza pulled out the box. With a click of the clasp, she opened it and felt her initial hope vanish. Just an empty bottle and a folded stack of papers. She unfolded the papers to be sure that it was nothing. Her hope came back.

    A bunch of potion master shorthand and a smaller note with the words, “NONE LEFT,” scrawled in an apparent panic with an arrow pointing to one of the words.

    Aiza put the papers back in the box, shoved the box into her messenger bag, and replaced the brick as best as she could. Not wanting to waste more time, she made her way to the staircase, but ran into the familiar bald head of Liamik.

    “Why are you here?” The royal wizard asked. He noticed the Hemlock University sash and the deaf sash, then asked in sign, “Do you need help getting back to your group?”

    Aiza nodded, hoping that he did not somehow find out about the box as he led her back upstairs.

    Reply
    1. 

       Maggie Webb

       December 4, 2020

       One thing I love about this piece is that you can get a good idea of the context throughout the scene, even if it’s midway through what seems to be a high fantasy mystery. The lab’s description, though brief, makes a strong impression. It had me gagging, anyway.
       One thing i noticed was this pair of sentences “In a fit of frustration. She kicked a loose brick.” It sounds like the fit of frustration is tied to the kick, so a comma might work better here. The only other thing I noticed was there being a sound from the kicked brick and her deaf sash staring she cannot hear. Is she only hearing impaired to a certain degree? If she’s completely, maybe you can change it to “vibration” and still have the wince.
       You’ve told a complete story within this moment and yet I am curious where you are going to take it. It’s an interesting piece. I’m 100% curious if he noticed Aiza’s snooping

       Reply