Hello, mad inventors, genocidal maniacs, and reckless miscreants!
Excuse me?! No, you can’t have! That—That would change everything! That’s not even possible because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
You Did What?!
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
The versatility of this prompt is nigh endless. There are no shortage of fun and wacky situations you could use this prompt for.
In our ordinary lives we have moments like “You ate my sandwich?! I was saving that!” Or a parent saying to their child “You drew on the walls?!” It could even be something like a complex situation that is hard to explain.
Where magic is involved, situations like “You gave me a love potion?!” or “You turned me into a vampire?!” or “You ripped a hole in the space time continuum?!” are all fair game. Maybe it’s a bit of both “You ate the cookie?! Those were for my nemesis! They’re made out of poison and dog piss! Well…get used to your new life as a frog, for as long as it lasts…”
On the darker side of things, you could use this prompt for any number of crimes. Anything from theft, to mass murder. Maybe your character tortured a prisoner they weren’t supposed to. Maybe your character learns someone they love caused a disaster years ago that left them scarred mentally and physically.
Especially where the darker takes on this prompt are involved, the thing the character did doesn’t have to have happened in the immediate past. Maybe it’s a dark secret only just now being revealed.
Maybe one of the characters did something terrible and catastrophic, but it was an accident, or simply outside their control. Maybe the self-destruct button is too close to the party canon button. Sometimes relatives say “You grew up!” like it’s a shock. In recent weeks we’ve seen plenty of stories about the afterlife, it could be quite fun and funny to see one character questioning “You died?!”
Part of the versatility and intrigue of this prompt comes from the reactions inherent in it. The prompt isn’t just one character doing something crazy, it’s another character reacting to it. Maybe what happened isn’t all that interesting, but another character reacts like it is. Or maybe the character who “did it” expects the other to be proud…only to be met with anger. Maybe the character themselves is more horrified at their actions than anyone else.
What? All I did was write the prompt intro. Yeah, I’m gonna post it too. I don’t know why you’re freaking out about it!
—Kaylie
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Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
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- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
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Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
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Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
Spam
By Jesse Fisher
A brescia blue robot paced in his room. His humanoid body was broken up with navy blue neck, upper arms, and upper legs, even as his gray fingers tapped near his three circular arm lights his vizard face kept looking around. A triangle of yellow light seemed to be the only way of telling his mood at a glance, the pulsing seemed to be like a heartbeat.
His actions seemed like that of a child that broke an item that their parents did not know was broken. The twitchy movement and the consistent looking towards the door added to this, the question as to what was the cause of all this would confuse those not familiar with the friends.
There was an orange dragon that was known for shooting them out of a ban cannon for many reasons. Now this did not hurt, as the bot would just transfer to a new body but it was still not fun.
This was not why the bot was scared, no it was something far worse.
There was a can that no one was ever to open once it was sealed shut. This can was a prison, knowing what he knows now that can was just a joke waiting to be told.
The creature held in it was a monster of their own creation. A being made as a joke only for the joke to strike back.
A clattering of the door brought the bot out of his own thoughts and there he was the orange dragon. The dragon’s eyes narrowed but before he could speak a shrill pompous voice broke the tensions.
“Commander Servant, where are you? Your Princess demands you right now!”
The dragon mouthed the question they both knew, and the bot confessed.
The dragon’s rage was too great for this.
“You did what?”
The dragon’s voice was all the ‘princess’ needed as the smell of spam filled the air.
“Preying on Dreams”
By Hemming Sebastian Bane
Tobias stayed out of sight as the dream coalesced around the would-be victim. There were many possibilities of what realm they would be thrust into. He had to be ready. The victim, a young man named Jonas, watched as he found himself in a field of waist-high apricot reeds. Vorspes. The Realm of Anticipation.
Tobias readied himself. If they were right and the boo hag was targeting the young man, the oneironaut had little time to sever the tie before the monster consumed Jonas’s breath. Otherwise, he would suffocate in his sleep and possibly have his skin stolen. Tobias couldn’t let that happen.
“M-mister Tobias?” the young man shouted, his voice carrying.
“Yes, Jonas?”
“I-I’m sc-scared.”
Tobias nodded, looking down. He wanted to comfort Jonas, but that would only bring more danger. A boo hag was one thing. Tobias didn’t need any demons complicating the mission.
“It’s alright. I’ll keep you as safe as I can. That’s a promise.”
Suddenly, the apricot coloration saturated and blurred, shifting to a tangerine. Ornheit. The Realm of Confusion. Tobias braced, looking around for any sign of the boo hag.
“Jonas, keep your eyes peeled!”
Jonas locked his knees and pulled something from under his shirt.
Tobias’s blood ran cold.
“Jonas. Is that…?”
“A-a-a cudgel?”
In one quick motion, Tobias seized the stick and threw it as far as he could. Jonas’s jaw dropped, the silent question “why?” written all over his face.
“Jonas, did you forget what I told you?! Bringing an object into the dream is dangerous!”
“Th-that’s easy for y-you to say! Y-you’re a w-w-werewolf!”
Tobias groaned, burrows furrowed in frustration. “That has nothing to do with interobject safety. Every object in the dream has the possibility of becoming something else. That stick could have become a rattlesnake or something dangerous!”
Jonas didn’t respond. Tobias’s expression softened. “Look, Jonas. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
Jonas again didn’t respond. That’s when Tobias noticed the blue spreading across the young man’s face. All around the two, the colors shifted and blinked through every color. The boo hag was here.
One Year Later…
by Gerrit (Rattus)
“So let me get this straight,” Quentis began. “You joined a cult–”
“It’s not a cult,” the man interrupted.
“Is what a cultist would say.” Quentis pointed a finger at the man as he spoke. “And now you owe them a project every week?”
“Not every week. Sometimes we get an extra week to work on things.”
“And you have no idea what to do for this week’s project?”
“That’s correct.”
Quentis drew in a drag from his pipe. “Well what happens if you don’t turn one in?”
“I’m…not sure, actually. I’ve never missed one before. Not sure I want to find out, either.”
Quentis sighed. “How did you get tangled up in all this again?”
“I was invited in by a couple members,” the man explained. “It sounded fun, so I asked about it, and they brought me in.”
“Oh right.” Quentis stroked his moustache as the details slowly came back to him. “One was an imp that spins straw into gold–”
“Wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. He doesn’t seem like the type to take it too well.”
“–and the other is the master of rivers?”
“Master of streams, yes,” the man clarified.
“Is there a difference?”
The man shrugged. “I would assume so.”
“And they brought you into this cult—”
“Foundry.”
“Right, ‘Foundry’,” Quentis’ tone teetered on mockery the way a single child teetered on a seesaw. “They brought you in because you asked?”
“Well they would sometimes talk about it, and it sounded like fun.”
“Did you really think they were just casually chatting about it in front of you for no reason?”
“Well, I–”
“This was their plan all along!” Quentis shouted. “And now they’ve won! Before you know it you’ll be helping them rope people in!”
The man scratched the back of his head. “About that.”
Quentis shot him a look generally reserved for trust fund parents upon learning their child wants to be an artist.
The man turned to walk away. “Look, if you’re not gonna help me then I’ve gotta go.”
“Wait! I might have an idea…”
The New App
By MasaCur
Erykah burst into the room, waving her phone in the air. “I did it!”
Melissa didn’t even bother to look up from the book she was reading. “What did you do?”
“I made a new phone app! It will magically track down the number to the nearest phone to whoever you’re trying to reach!” She started dancing to the k-pop song playing on the laptop computer she had left running. “See, look!” She brought her phone to her mouth. “Melissa Jackson.”
Melissa’s phone started ringing. She reached down and declined the call. “That’s not impressive. You already have my phone number.”
Erykah’s dance came to a halt, and she looked at Melissa, frowning. “Okay, well, I just need to demonstrate I can call someone whose number I don’t have.”
“Good luck with that.” Melissa dryly turned the page, not lifting her eyes from her book.
Erykah’s eyes scanned around the room, finally alighting on the computer screen. “Perfect!” She tapped the screen on her phone again. “Jiahao Lee.”
“Who’s that?” Melissa asked, her tone seeming to indicate that she didn’t really care.
“This guy!” She pointed to her screen, as a young man was singing, his bangs sporting a bright shock of purple in his otherwise black hair. “He’s a huge influencer and pop star in Asia.”
The phone rang a few times, and then went to voice mail. The outgoing message was in a foreign language, but Erykah was pretty sure it was Korean.
“See?”
“Doesn’t prove anything.” Melissa’s eyes were peeking over the top of her book, so Erykah knew she had her attention.
“I’m going to try it again!” Erykah activated the app and said his name again. The phone rang again, and was picked up on the second ring. “Yeobosayo, Jiahao yeogi.”
Erykah let out a squeal. “Hi! Is this Jiahao Lee?”
There was a pause. The response came in English. “Ye-yes it is. Who is this?”
“Hi, I’m Erykah. I’m kind of a fan.”
Another pause. “How did you get my number?”
“Gotta go!” Erykah quickly hung up, and started giggling.
Aftermath
By RVMPLSTLTSKN
Tai rose from the dust, glass crunching under xir feet. Xir riders milled, calming horses after the blast of thunder and lightning that had engulfed xir. The sand around xir was blown and glazed, a treacherous place to stand.
The priest who had summoned the blast was down as well, his own followers carrying him back behind the city gates.
Tai coughed, filled with rage and desperation, then called, “Hope.”
The spirit, once a minor god, didn’t answer.
Another cough, another call, another silence.
Tai began to realize what had been done. Xir fears were reflected in the worried faces of xir riders. Hope hadn’t been killed by the lightning, xe had. Hope restored xir. An investment of souls.
“Shaman,” one of the riders said. “Time we were away. They are more than we.”
Tai knew he was right, but there was something wrong. The priest should not have been able to summon that. Something profane was happening in the city. A power was nearing ascendancy.
“Yes,” xe said. “They will come for us regardless. War, I think.”
Power always wants more. And now, xe was the foil, not just the final shaman of xir people, but their last hope against a new god. But was xe now ascended too? A person beyond that natural balance the shamans upheld as sacred.
Hope, xe prayed, what have you done to me?
But Hope was gone, etherized into that third place which exists unseen where mountains meet sky, and only Tai remained, as broken and angry as Hope had been when they had met.
Be Prepared for the Consequences
by Lunabear (Content Warning: blood)
“I–I can’t see! I can’t hear! MOMMY!” Victor was crouched on all fours, his gaze glossed over. Rivulets of blood streamed from his eyes and ears.
Fat, heavy drops leaked from Sam’s eyes. She hadn’t MEANT to hurt him.
Veronica dashed from the house, her pulse a snare drum. She released a frantic moan as she cradled Victor close. Veronica hurried Victor back inside, a frightened Sam at her heels.
“What happened?!” Veronica demanded. She assessed the extent of his wounds while her telekinesis started a warm bath.
Victor trembled violently. ‘Mommy’ was an unbroken chant.
“It was an accident! We were sparring and Victor was being mean, so I closed a musical bubble around his head–”
“WHAT?! Samantha, how could you do that? There might be irreversible damage!”
“I’m–I’m sorry!” Sam was small and helpless. Harsh breaths sawed through her.
Veronica bolted to the filled tub. Herbs and white liquid waited. The tap squeaked off.
Victor held fast to Veronica when she lowered him in. “Don’t leave me!”
“Mommy’s here, baby! You’re safe!”
The water covered him head to toe, and his screams quieted. His eyes closed, and his pulse slowed then leveled.
Veronica put a hand to his forehead, a silent spell falling from her lips. The white became translucent, then a pale blue.
Sam appeared in the doorway, swiping endless tears from her cheeks. “Mommy, I can–”
“You’ve done enough! Go to your room. I’ll deal with you afterwards,” Veronica snarled.
Sam scurried to her room like a wounded animal. She slammed the door and threw herself face down onto her bed. Sobbing into her pillow, she hoped that her brother would be okay.
***
Victor was resting, fidgeting every so often. Veronica gripped his hand.
Samantha needed to learn better control.
Veronica stood and marched into Sam’s room, startling her awake.
She placed one hand to Sam’s crown and the other to her stomach. Sam’s music faded, leaving her hollow.
Sam attempted to conjure a song, but nothing happened.
“Wh–what did you do?!”
“Sealed your magic. I’ll unseal it after Victor heals.”
Sam hyperventilated. “I… HATE… YOU!”
Sweet Ice Cream, Bright Fireworks
By Hario Tezawa
“What did you do?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Went to the store. Got some ice cream.” She holds up a bag. “Want some?”
“You serious right now? You really bought desert?”
“Nope: I just took it. Money’s meaningless when it’s all about to end.”
She’s right; it’s midnight, but the fires lit the horizon brighter than golden hour in July, and now we’re celebrating the apocalypse with nuclear fireworks because men with money decided they needed more.
I want to scream. To run. To hide. To see if there’s a secret bunker hidden beneath the carpet. But our apartment is on the third floor, and we bought the carpet a month ago.
I need to call people: Eric, Shanara, Denise, family—Uncle Henry’s wedding is next week; he’s so sure Mandy’s the one. I finally learned the recyclables schedule—
“Babe.”
She’s holding out an ice cream sandwich, half unwrapped. Her smile is warm, reassuring, but she’s squeezing my hand so hard her knuckles blanche.
I can’t remember the last time I had an ice cream sandwich. It’s been so long, and I can’t believe she remembered. People laugh when we tell them we met at a laundry mat. Usually my rampant disorganization rankles me, but I’ve never been more grateful to have forgotten to buy detergent.
First, I asked if she could spare a cup, then I asked for her name, and after some great conversation, I asked for her number. I normally finish in two hours tops; I was there for five.
I probably looked beyond silly, washing three shirts at a time, but, even now, she remembered my favorite ice cream.
“You never let us eat on the couch,” I say.
“It’s okay. Just for today.”
She nestles under my arm, and, even through salty tears, life is sweeter than it’s ever been.
“Don’t let go…” she says.
“Never.”
She closes her eyes; I don’t.
I keep mine on her.
I burn these final moments into my mind just before the first firework flashes, and the light of her beauty burns me blind.
[Dm me on discord for details!]
Anomalous Minuet
By MysteryElement
“Like I said,” Chris said after another impatient sigh “I divided the temporal plane with the ascribed equation, but I supplemented the allegorical rhythm with an off-beat algorithm to amplify the requisite data retrieval. However, I did not take the influx of additional arrhythmia into account which resulted in the divide collapsing without the cease of rhythm.” I nod knowingly, again not having a clue what Chris was saying. “The resulting cascade sent a persisting signal which accumulated into an anomalous amalgamation. Thus,” he gestured dramatically at the sentient ocarina, wagging the mouth piece like a tail in supposed glee.
“So, what do we do about it?” I ask.
Chris threw his hands in the air with an exasperated huff.
“This is why I called you!” he yelled “I am not equipped to deal with anomalies. Isn’t this your department?”
“I mean, technically yeah. But this usually means going through quantifiable anomalies found in lines of code or formula, not…” The little ocarina bounded over to me on spindly legs, cooing in lilting notes. “Whatever this is.”
“It’s an ocarina.”
“Thank you, I know what an ocarina is, Chris.” It was my turn to sound exasperated. “Can’t you, send it back or something?”
“Weren’t you listening, there is nowhere to send it back to! It did not travel, it manifested! I’ll show you my notes.” Chris stomped off, furiously digging through his chaotic piles of research.
I took a seat in a folding chair, the little ocarina hopping up to lay in my lap. I pet it like a cat, its gentle breath purring in pleased notes of music.
“You are pretty cute for an anomaly.” I consider whether or not I would be allowed to keep it. An office pet might not be so bad. “I think I’ll call you Minuet. Would you like that?”
The notes amplified into a gentle harmony, humming beneath my fingers with a gentle vibration. I suddenly hear Chris shout from beneath a pile of paper.
“Did you just NAME it?!”
Greatest Gift Ever (Lillthain, of the Shaded Realm)
By Mel
Mira’s face held an expression of pure innocence.
The dead body in her wheelbarrow suggested otherwise.
“Mira.”
“Yes, milady?”
“You said you had a birthday present for me?”
“Yes, milady. Happy birthday.” Mira pushed the wheelbarrow closer. Otelle backed away in equal measure.
“That’s a dead body.”
“As you say.”
“A dead body is not a birthday gift.”
Mira tilted her head slightly.
“Whyever not? Only you can make use of it.”
Otelle sighed. “How did you manage to obtain a dead body?”
“The usual way.”
She pressed her fingers between her brows, squeezing her eyes closed. Perhaps if she counted to five, she would wake up.
Otelle opened her eyes. Both body and maidservant were still there.
For a moment, Otelle wished Mira wasn’t so effective. She would’ve happily throttled her otherwise. But then, there would be two bodies in the wheelbarrow.
“Mira, I raise dead bodies every day. Why would I want another one?”
“This could be YOUR dead body.”
“Mira-”
The corners of Mira’s lips twitched slightly upward, betraying her mirth.
“Milady, you need a body—a NOT dead body—to be your eyes and ears.”
“And why this one?”
“We look enough alike. I could claim him as my long-lost twin brother.”
Otelle first looked at Mira’s mahogany-red hair, then at the body’s platinum blond. When she looked at Mira again, the maidservant shrugged. “He was lost for a reason.”
“Mira, how many days of bed rest are you allowed?”
She furrowed her brows. “Milady, you know I’m not allowed any while working for you.”
“How unfortunate. Since you convinced me of the necessity of this resurrection, you just volunteered yourself to power it.”
A petty part of herself enjoyed watching the panic and realization settle in Mira’s eyes as her fangs descended.
“Hold on, we could do this over several days-!”
“No no. Better to do this now. We have privacy.”
Otelle pulled Mira into an embrace and drank deeply. Serves her right. She’d be fine in a day. Maybe two.
Two days of bed rest. THAT would be the greatest gift ever.
After the Adventure
by vellichorian
“Another round!” Beldoth waved to the bartender as his voice echoed across the crowded pub. The large man stretched his legs, boots still caked in mud from the road. “So where were we?” he asked.
“Zelina first,” Kip Fiddleblossom answered. He had removed his damp cloak to reveal a bright purple tunic with red trim, lute strung across his back in case a potential benefactor requested an impromptu ballad.
Zelina’s dark hood hid her face, and the others leaned in to hear her. “It’s not really worth telling.”
“But that’s the agreement. We meet and share,” Beldoth shook a small pouch of coins. “Best reaction wins!” He swallowed the last of his ale.
Zelina sighed. “Typical job. Slip in through the servants’ entrance, pick a lock, grab the gem, and slip back out. Easy. A child could do it.”
“But…” Kip prompted.
“But… Just as I was about to leave, the count and a baroness snuck into the room. Giggling. Tickling. I hid behind the curtain, but they weren’t leaving anytime soon, so I had to escape.”
“How?” asked Kip.
Zelina rested her forehead on her hands. “Through the window.”
“Of the tower?”
She nodded. “Close to the top. Climbed until I found an open window. It happened to be the nursery. If those babies had woken…” she shuddered at the thought of screaming children. Beldoth chuckled.
“Me next!” Kip stood on his stool. “There I was, facing off against Sonora Silvertongue in the final round of the Bard Battle. We were trading eights in the Ballad of Androzen Smyth, and… My E string broke! I whipped out my pennywhistle and tweedled rings around Sonora!” He waggled his ample eyebrows. The others shrugged.
Beldoth grinned like he just caught the proverbial canary. “I did something I’ve never done before! I identified the ooze that attacked me in the catacombs.”
Zelina snorted. “How?” asked Kip, narrowing his eyes.
“I licked it. It tasted just like the one from that temple in Hasserton. Remember?”
Zelina choked on her drink. Kip spit his across the table. Beldoth took his prize.
Piercing Guilt (The Will) [CW: Allusions to Sexual Assault]
By Skeleton
He would have preferred being surrounded by one hundred enemies to this. He should have realized the mischievous look is Zaila’s eye when she asked him for a dance—the ever-shy girl wanting to dance at such a formal ball should have been evidence enough. Eymir had to give Zaila credit: she had always been gifted at ambushes.
And now the white claw in his hand, the C.R.E.S.T. upon her ivory arm, the dazzling dress swaying before him, and the blue eyes that bore down on his cornered form all terrified him.
“Is it really so terrible?” Remianna asked teasingly. “To dance with a pretty lady at an esteemed event? Or does it scare you to know most of the people in this room are actually here to kill us?”
No. Both facts were actually quite enjoyable—save for the crippling guilt ripping open his sternum and spewing forth over their feet.
“I haven’t seen you in two years, and you clam up as soon as you see me… It must be because you tried to kill me, right?” she pressed.
With one step, he flinched.
“Or was it because you forced yourself on me?” she continued.
With another, he bit his lip hard enough to draw his accursed blood. He knew there was a chance that she had been awake, pretending to be asleep so that he could believe she hadn’t seen his shame.
The dragoness shook her head in disapproval, but not disgust. “Do you really think it was the first time you did that to me?”
This wrenched the wretched man’s eyes to her, shock dilating them. Unbeknownst to Eymir, Remianna’s anxiety lessened a little at his revelation.
“You seem to forget that I knew what I was signing up for when I asked you to marry me. I knew what that thing inside you would try to do to me, and believe me; I know how to handle it. So never forget—” she swept his leg from under him and forced their dance to dip, leaning in and bringing her lips to his.
“I’ll always love you.”
An Anxious Decision from an Outside Perspective (Students of the DiamondBridge Academy)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
>Sam: help
>Sam: help plz
“Uh oh,” Jidz said to his phone screen.
“Huh?” his Uncle Ivar asked. They were walking home from the DiamondBridge Academy, the autumn’s afternoon sun on their shoulders.
“Sam’s texting me. She sounds stressed.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“I’ll ask, hold on.”
>Jidz: What’s up?
>Sam: Attachment: 1 Image
Jidz opened the image file. It was too blurry to understand.
>Sam: its roselyns pen
>Sam: i didnt give it back
>Sam: she let me borrow it and i didnt give it back
>Sam: what do i do
>Sam: its like a rlly nice pen
“Sam accidentally has one of Roselyn’s pens and is freaking out about it,” Jidz summarized for his uncle.
“It’s fall break!” Ivar said with a cocky shrug. “She can give it back in a week.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
>Jidz: Just give it back next Monday.
It was a few minutes before Sam texted again.
>Sam: but what if i gave it back like now
Jidz sighed. “What’s the nicest way to tell someone they’re freaking out and need to calm down?”
“You know her better than me. What’s worked for her before?”
“Good point.”
>Jidz: Deep breath check.
>Sam: fiiiiiine
>Sam: its still a reasonable concern tho
>Jidz: It’s not something worth working yourself up over. Just leave it in your backpack and give it back when break is over. Or, if you’re still worried, just text her. Brb.
He tagged the “Brb” on the end as an excuse to put his phone back in his pocket.
“Resolved it?” Ivar asked.
Jidz nodded. “She’ll figure it out.”
~~~
It was approaching midnight when Jidz’s phone went off like thunder, startling him awake. He grumbled and picked it up, squinting.
>Sam: hey so i know you said to wait
>Sam: but its a quarter moon so i just flew to her house with the new magic I can do
>Sam: and i gave back the pen and she let me stay and she wants me back in a month?
>Sam: now what do i do
Jidz groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”
Shiloh (Life of Madness)
by Lee Strangely
In that cold room the eyes weighed heavy upon him as he hid behind his notecards. It was currently Shiloh’s turn to deliver his report to the class, who were obliged to watch. The walls were plastered with colorful posters that had no purpose to the students (hostages) forced to be there, except to annoy them.
“L-l-little was known about,” Shiloh stammered, “about his life up until then. The gunslinger was only known as Grint, by the locals… He…”
In a fleeting moment of courage, he looked up at his audience. Some classmates hardly paid attention, others didn’t at all. He wasn’t looking at them. Unlike everyone else, he had one more audience member. In the back, the gentleman’s ethereal blue glow and rugged attire stuck out considerably. In front of the window, the sun’s rays burned through his thoroughly perforated chest. Even with the silver dollars over his eyes, Shiloh knew he was looking at him, the only person to notice him.
“Shiloh?” the old teacher asked.
“S-sorry,” he looked at his notecards, then to the man in the back, “He… He was brutally gunned down in Telluride after being hunted down by the corrupt sheriff-”
“Shiloh?” the teacher interrupted, “Did you do any research?”
Light giggles fluttered around the classroom.
“Yes I…”
“Then where’d you get this from? If you bothered reading your textbook, it says that Grint was wanted for killing a deputy and died in a fire.”
“He didn’t…”
The teacher grew more irritated, “There are confirmed firsthand accounts that state…”
“They’re wrong!”
“And how would you know that?” the old teacher snapped.
The air was empty as Shiloh glanced at the gentleman again before looking to the floor.
“Well?” the teacher asked.
Shiloh mumbled, “He t-…”
“What?”
“He told me!”
Most of the class started snickering before the teacher bellowed out, “Quiet!”
An enthusiastic girl from the back raised her hand, “What was he like? How did he look?”
“Maddy don’t encourage him,” he scowled, “Shiloh, go to the office.”
Tearful, Shiloh left.
The gentleman tipped his hat as he faded into the walls.
And Then He Starts Monologuing
By Marx (Overly Familiar: Apocalypse #4)
“W… what do you mean you killed Bob?” Shayna asked, watching Matt in horror as he continued to look up, seemingly lost in thought.
“I’m not sure of a clearer way to put it. Summoned my scythe. Cut off his head. He be dead.”
Shayna’s face contorted into a blend of confusion and betrayal. “Did he… attack you?”
“Nah, he was mid-monologue. For the creator of all existence, he really loved the sound of his own voice.”
Shayna took a deep breath. “Matt… why did you kill him?”
“It’s what I was always fated to do.”
“You’re Death’s horseman. You’re fated to destroy all of everything. Don’t you think killing the creator of our universe is an irreversible step in that direction?”
“Exactly,” Matt answered, before pausing as he realized Shayna was in the process of pointing her crossbow at him. He turned his black and white gaze towards her as the weapon faded to nothing. “Easy now… Death decreed that anyone who attempts to kill me will face her wrath. Attempt is the key word here. Take a seat.”
“I knew it…” Shayna grumbled, her eyes welling up as she begrudgingly sat down. “I fucking knew it. As soon as I saw those freaky Death eyes, I knew you’d snapped. This was too much power, even for you…”
Matt smiled warmly despite the attempted attack. “Shayna, hear me out.”
“Dude… you killed GOD! No matter what stupid name he wanted to go by, that’s what you did!”
“Fair point,” Matt began with a chuckle. “But here’s the thing. I’m not crazy.”
“As all sane people have to say…”
Matt continued to smile. “I just… see things clearly now. Everything I did to stop the apocalypse only lead us closer to it. Even when I stepped back and did nothing.”
“So, you’re giving up,” Shayna sobbed. “You’re just gonna kill us all and be done with it?”
“Not quite,” Matt’s eyes glowed ominously. “You see… I can’t stop the apocalypse. I never could. But now I get to choose what form it takes. And therein… lies a loophole.”