Hello Berserkers, Fanatics, and Water Molecules!
Oh, alright, alright. I know you all are excited for the prompt. There’s no need to push and shove…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Let’s Calm Down, Shall We?
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!
This prompt conjures the image of strong emotions, and a conversation. There are many feelings one might need to “calm down” from.
The first emotion that comes to mind for me is anger. Words like these, if spoken directly in a fight, would likely do anything but make someone calm. The quintessential “I AM CALM!” fight. You could write about someone who is angry, or otherwise upset, who won’t be calmed, no matter how much the other person tries. Or maybe, the person is indeed calm. Sometimes those who remain calm and collected are much more dangerous than those fuming and shouting.
Panic would be another emotion one would need to calm down from—whether that fear is an overreaction, or well founded. I could hear someone saying this phrase while handing their panicking friend a paper bag to breathe into. Or the words could be spoken gently, as a friend crouches beside another, wiping their tears and telling them to point out the things in the room they can see, and feel, and smell to ground them, and pull them out of their panic attack.
“Calm down” might not be the initial reaction to sorrow, but someone could react to sadness in a way that garners this reaction. It could be a relative blubbering too loudly at a funeral. Or a child wailing because they didn’t get the toy they wanted. Or perhaps a child is crying because of their nightmares and their parent sings them a lullaby. Someone could even be faking tears and told to calm down.
However, the emotions don’t have to be negative. I can think of several ways in which this prompt could refer to excitement. Teenage girls squealing because they got tickets to see their favorite band…or adult men squealing because they got tickets to see their favorite football team. Little kids running around at a birthday party, high on sugar. People at a church shouting “AMEN!” a little too loudly, distracting the preacher.
But the phrase doesn’t have to refer to a conversation in which one person is upset, and the other is not, either. It could refer to multiple people who are feeling emotional together. Maybe, in the middle of the fight, a couple realizes, in a healthy way, they both need to calm down before continuing. It could refer to two people grieving together. Perhaps your characters are spies who just watched someone they loved get hurt, or worse, and they have to calm down in order to do their job. It could even refer to two people being extremely excited together, like the kids under the blanket fort, realizing they should calm down before they wake up the rest of the house.
You could even be saying this to yourself. One of the most fascinating takes I can see on this prompt is to write about someone who’s upset trying to tell themselves to calm down. This too could be a good thing or a bad thing. You might be crying and telling yourself to bottle up your emotions and not feel. Or you might be angry, gently telling yourself breathe. As you’re panicking, it may even be a mantra repeated in your own head, over and over, against the rising tide of fear.
My challenge for you this week is to use this prompt to write about something wholesome. There are many ways in which you could do this—whether it be through hurt/comfort, or excitement, or humor.
I will add on to that, that due to my own emotional struggles over the personal tragedy I mentioned, my own emotions are on high at the moment. I am in a grieving process over the death of my friend. I set this as your challenge for the week, not just because I think it’d be a fun challenge—and not the first place one’s mind goes to—but because I may struggle with the more dark and intense stories this week. It’s up to you what you decide to write, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I’d appreciate it if you decided to provide some more positive stories to read.
Okay, don’t panic. You have plenty of time to….are you hyperventilating? No, it’s not worth getting worked up over. Just take a bit of time and clear your thoughts.
—Pearce, Kaylie, and Paul
—
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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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
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- 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.
The Bones on The Thames
by Dystop
A hopeless, swamp-filled fog rolled over the banks of the Thames.
Only two souls were brave, or stupid enough to be out there on a boat that night. Bone hunters. The ghosts of ghosts fetch a pretty price on the black market.
“You’re lousy with poetic irony, Jack”, smirked Hayley.
“Tell me something I don’t know. The bones around here should have energy we can capture, we could make a lotta money-“
“Jack, this isn’t worth it”.
Hayley could tell something was wrong. Jack was glimpsing the marrow, yes. But he was unusually enthralled, mesmerised.
She clicked her fingers three times in rapid succession.
“Jack!”
“….yeah, what?” he retorted with an air of pomposity; like he never needed help.
This was far from truth.
“What now?”, said Hayley
“I think it’s obvious – we plunder the damn thing, we haven’t come all this way just to glance at its splendor, we need it for research”.
“Jack, that’s the mesmerism talking” – interjected Hayley.
“Oh screw you! You just don’t wanna take any risks, I’m right?!
You don’t wanna get involved in anything precarious or hazardous. You, hah, YOU- Hayley, aren’t cut out for THIS”. He bitterly scorched.
“Jack, this is not you. Do you remember what I told you about zugzwang?”
“Yeah, any move is a bad move, it’s lose-lose”.
“That’s you right now Jack, throw it into the river, lose it to time– it is better than us in the present being lost to time itself”, implored Hayley.
“Your breath is acetic. Like vinegar.” He remarked, flummoxed by her fortuitous poker-face.
“Jack…”
“Shut the fuck up – you’re always like this, reluctant, noncommittal, avoidant, you’re a little-“
“JACK!”, Hayley cut-off his punchline.
“Do you really despise me? Hate me? Detest my very being? Disdain me up close and loathe me from afar?”
“I… no… I, I don’t know, I feel all muddled. I’m disjointed at the joints, I’m convoluted hodgepodge.”
“Then throw that damn thing in the river!”
As it sank and drifted to the depths of history, they both said in unison:
“I’m never doing this again”.
By Judd
Schüsse abgefeuert
The cold of night swept through the French countryside, for the past few months the French and German Armies had met in battles all across France which had eventually led to the siege of Paris. The night had fallen silent, the bombardments of Paris had ceased, the French still resisted, unwilling to give up. We all spoke quietly discussing home, the holidays we couldn’t enjoy, we watched the walls waiting. We smoked away the tense atmosphere. We kept our rifles by our side. Those cursed Frenchmen, still holding out in that fortress of a city. Surely they are as cold as we are. It can’t be that long. I hear they are eating zoo animals, they shot an elephant for food, they shot that marvel of God’s work all because they are too pompous to give in. We discuss recent victories, Metz, Sedan, where we wiped the French Professional army from the face of the earth. They have nothing to fight with, they are fighting with young boys and old men. We waited for hours until we saw them, 2 Frenchmen walking through the underbrush, our enemies, the reason we can’t be home with our family’s . But as we raised our rifles, I found myself not shooting. For I had realized that these boys could be no older than 16 “Shoot Him!” one of my comrades whispered. But I couldn’t find myself pulling the trigger. “What Are You Doing” my squadmate said now sounding more confused than anything. I stabbed my cigarette into the frozen ground and grabbed some snow forming into a sphere I crept behind my enemy, lurking through the underbrush. I tossed my snowball. I don’t know why I did it but as soon as I did the Frenchboys began to panic at the sight of a Prussian soldier but soon they began to return “Fire”. Quickly my entire division as well as Frenchman we’re trading blows with snowballs (This is a real story that took place in 1870 during the Franco Prussian War in December P.S the Prussians won)
Hot And Cold
By Taja DaLeen
She came back to a freezing cold apartment. She was used to it, to an extent, but it was worse this time.
Something was clearly wrong.
Just dropping her stuff, she immediately went to look for her girlfriend. And what she found only heightened this feeling of something being utterly wrong.
There was a huge cocoon of ice in the living room, right where their small couch was supposed to be. Whatever the hell happened to make her ice witch freak out like that, it was bad. Even in the beginning of their relationship the wall had never been this big.
Carefully she knocked at the ice.
“Leyla, can you hear me? Can we please talk? What happened?”
But there was no answer. She was only able to feel the despair and loneliness radiating off of the ice. Her love was probably drowning in her own head again and didn’t hear a thing.
Well, if soft didn’t work, she had other means to break through to her. She probably won’t like it at first, but dealing with the mental health problems of her little witch she learned that sometimes you have to be a bit rough so it can get better in the end.
Even if her heart broke a little each time she had to.
She focused on the power within her, felt the heat deep down, and guided it to her hands, concentrating the fire there to melt a part of the walls surrounding her other half. It took quite the toll on her, but eventually she broke through.
And saw that this darn wall was indeed several inches thick. What the hell happened?
She also saw her love curled up in a ball, sobbing and whispering that she was all alone over and over.
“Hey, Leyla? Honey? Please, calm down, I’m here now. Talk to me.”
She tried to touch her witch, caress her hair, but she slapped her hand away, curling in on herself even more.
“No! Stay away from me! You’ll eventually leave anyway, just like everyone else!”
Though her hand was slapped away a few more times, she eventually managed to embrace her, letting her cry into her shoulder. Anything to show her that the voices in her head were wrong, that she indeed intended to stay, until the end.
They could still talk once the witch calmed down.
The Rain (Elyn Chronicles) *sequel to Lost Forest*
By: MelancholicOtaku
“The rain is beautiful.” said Elyn. Ever since she was younger, watching the rain has been a favorite pastime. There was something special about watching the earth wash away its burdens. Elias joined her in seeing who could find the biggest puddle and, of course, who could make the biggest splash. Both of them were soaking wet and covered in mud, but even with their mother scowling at them, nothing could wipe the smiles off their faces.
“I suppose it does have a certain charm,” the tollkeeper answered, still wearing the same owl mask as before. Although this time he wasn’t as tall as Elyn remembered, it has been a full eight years since the two first met.
A smile appeared on Elyn’s face—a rare sight. It was the quiet moments like this that she loved the most—moments like these that brought her absolute joy. After all, life is too short to ignore the little things.
“Elias and I would spend hours playing in the rain.” Elyn said she was twiddling her thumbs; it was a new habit of hers. Ever since Elias was killed—no, not killed—something didn’t seem right about that night, and of course the grownups couldn’t tell her what happened.
Elyn’s body began to tremble. She formed her hands into fists, with tiny red droplets making an ever-growing puddle on the floor. Of course the tollkeeper took notice of this, but it wasn’t just him—the orbs themselves became agitated, their alluring blue nature now painted like a red tsunami. This wasn’t surprising; Elyn was rather special, being one of the few who had a special connection with the spirits.
“My brother wouldn’t have gotten himself killed so easily.” Elyn said she was now beginning to loosen her fists; her body was in aftershock mode, and the spirits were taking her lead. It was fascinating, but thanks to past experiences, the tollkeeper knew he had to put a stop to this. After all, it was way too early for the climax, and the Old Ones wouldn’t have much to look forward to.
“Elly, let’s take a deep breath.”
Parable of the Moonlit Lovers
By Alexandra (Alexlalpaca)
“Look!” –Said Altea, pointing at the glowing orb that floated above their heads, letting out a magnetic sound –“I stole the sun,” –She continued, “so we have all the time in the world.”
Teresa let out a chuckle before the weight of the situation settled once again. After nine long standard months, just as they had finally reunited, she could not bring herself to tell the bad news.
This did not go unnoticed. Altea spied the worry on her lover’s face, and so she asked, “What is the source of thy worries, my star?”
Teresa took a deep breath and finally spoke.
– “We must flee, take thy ship to the frontier and make a new life together in some forsaken moon. Is that still an option?”
– “Why thou doth ask that, love?”
– “I cannot remain here any longer,” –As it is, it was rare for the noble born to marry out of love, and in the same manner she was betrothed by her father to marry a man she loved not, Teresa explained.
Thus, that same night the lovers fled into the night, they would shatter the bonds of their peoples and build a new life. Unbothered, unburdened.
But they had been careless and alerted those they were fleeing from of their intentions. On this same hill in which we stand, there stood a man, clad in the clothes of the highborn. His cape he averted to exhibit two rapier blades one for him, one for Altea. He was in a debt of honour he was going to pay, as he explained.
The nomad lady fought valiantly, but she could not match a trained fencer, less one of such skill.
As Teresa wept over her dying lover, she cursed everything she knew, she wished they could have died together. And so, the Merciful Will acted once again. The two lovers would stand here forever, preserved in moonstone, in an eternal embrace. It was all calm then.
That is why we built this church here.
Dead End (That’s the Spirit)
by Lee Strangely
“Come on!” Mort shouted from over the hill, “we haven’t got all night!”
As Clay finally approached the top, his face became white as snow. The jagged collage of stone and metal vaguely resembled a castle, sitting on the ground as a crown of thorns upon the Earth.
“Do we really have to?” he whimpered, “you know, see ‘you-know-who?’”
“Yes,” Mort said, staring at the ground. Feathery carcasses littered the lawn, only increasing in volume the closer to the castle he got. “Uh Clay, mind the dead birds!”
Clay immediately looked up in response… Unfortunately, he did so in time to be hit by another such fleshy projectile. The impact sent him backward, nearly dropping the bag.
“CAREFUL!” Mort shouted.
“Oh dry up, it’s fine! It’s FINE!” Clay stammered, “I got it!”
During all the commotion the doors crept open, the sound of ticking filling the air. The brothers froze. Standing in the doorway, her pale skin lit the land like the moon. Mort’s eyes were locked with the two clocks that stood in place of her eyes, while Clay’s drifted closer to the thin black robe hugging her hourglass figure.
Another bird plummeted from above as she stepped outside, “Clayton, Mortimer, you’re early. Our appointment isn’t for at least another two decades.”
“Apologies, Lady Death, for interrupting your tight schedule…”
“It’s alright,” she sighed, “I have plenty of time these days. It feels like there’s less to reap every year. It’s hard you know… working in a dying profession.”
“Truly a tragedy, my lady… My brother and I are in desperate need of someone talented and wise in the ways of soul-taking such as yourself. It’s ab-so-lutely urgent!”
“Aw, you really mean that?” Death asked.
“I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t true.”
She smiled, “I would be delighted to help you with your predicament. Do come inside though, the geese will be flying over soon.”
“A Traitor Among Us” (Aethryn Setting)
By: Arith_Winterfell
Talin’s hand goes for his mace.
He swings in a wide arc and screams, “Get back! Lies! This necromancer just cast an illusion to get you to betray me!”
“I assure you, there is no deception from me,” I say sternly, “what you saw was Andorloth.”
Islin moves closer to me. “Talin. Before Andorloth died, you said you were going to ask him to finally share the password to the vault.”
Aralyn backs away from both Talin and Islin. She holds out her hands with her palms outward in a gesture of non-violence. “Hey! Hey!” Aralyn calls out to the group, “Let’s slow down here. This doesn’t have to come to blows.”
Islin continues, “Talin, you said he didn’t give you the password. You were the only other person on deck when he was swept overboard in the storm. We only have your word he was swept overboard by a wave.”
Talin looks stricken.
“He – He told you the password. Didn’t he? Didn’t he?!” says Islin, anger rising in his voice. “He told you the password, and you saw the opportunity to keep all the treasure in the vault to yourself. You pushed him overboard so you’d be the only one with the password.”
Talin bolts, charging at Aralyn. He knocks her down to one side as he flees.
With the flick of a wrist, I cast the spell. Talin tumbles face first into the sand, then begins writhing and screaming in agony. Islin looks at me for a moment, nods, and rushes to seize Talin.
Aralyn gets up from the sand and shouts, “He’s the only one with the password. We can’t kill him!”
I sigh, “She’s right. I can’t resummon Andorloth’s spirit for a very long time. If you want whatever is in that vault, you will need him.”
Islin finishes tying up Talin’s hands. Talin lies there shivering and drooling into the sand, still stunned from the Agonize spell. “Great!” Islin groans, “Now we have to drag this traitor with us to the vault and get him to use the password.”
I’m making 80 US dollars for every hr. to finish some internet providers from home. I absolutely never thought it would try and be reachable anyway. My comrade mate got $13k just in about a month effectively doing this best task and furthermore she persuaded me to profit. Look at additional subtleties going to
this site.. http://www.Payathome7.com
hi I would like tale foundry to collab with me in the story I am making I am not asking for money I just want you to be part of my book
Sketching in museums
By Pumpkin
My eyes flick from subject to paper then back again to check.
The train of the dress can be longer, the silhouette is not quite right.
Around me, people pass, talking, laughing and looking over my shoulder to see what I’m drawing.
I pretend not to notice.
If they have something to say they can open their mouths.
Sometimes a person lets out a quick “pretty” or nod awkwardly as they pass by as if they want to let me know they saw but don’t really have any words.
I nod back, not sure what to say either.
Some will talk about me as if I’m not there, joke that taking a picture would be a lot faster.
But I don’t want to take a picture.
I want to absorb the source material, get to know it, learn about it.
I take my time for that.
I try to be unobtrusive of course, step aside if I think people want to pass or see the thing I’ve been obscuring by standing there.
But I won’t leave until I’m satisfied.
I prefer museums that have seats, standing for hours tires out my legs.
But if not, there’s always the floor to sit on.
I find different things sitting on the museum floor as opposed to standing up.
I recommend you try it at least once.
The doll isn’t even part of the exhibition I came for, but she wears that same regional dress.
“Are you drawing?” the lady wears a badge of the museum.
I nod, show off my work.
“Oh, that’s gorgeous. Are you an artist?”
I shrug “Actually I’m a librarian. This is just a hobby.”
“You’re really good.”
“Thank you.”
“Also, the museum closes in about thirty minutes.”
I smile, “Thanks for the heads up.”
On the way back from the museum I wonder whether I should have told her I’m a writer instead of a librarian.
That I’m studying regional dress for a new project.
Not that I have much to show for it besides sketches and an unfinished script…
I shake my head.
This is fine.
Helping Helps (Continuing from my last story in the “Beneath the Waves” prompt: “Visiting Uncle James”)
By Strong Berry
“Uncle James…” I said to the left corner after he finished his lament. I walked closer to where his voice came from, trying to find my poor, invisible uncle. If I could just get him to think straight, I knew he could solve this problem. But first I had to calm down myself. I scanned the basement and listed what was in the room. Boxes, shelves, books, and loads of papers with formulas and equations, the majority of which I don’t understand.
Then I remembered the reason I came to visit him. “Uncle? I need help. With physics.” “Oh you do? Right, that’s why you came… Well, Rob, I wish I could help you, but as you can see, I’m in quite the predicament .” “U-Uncle, please! I… I need you, Uncle James. Help me.” For a few moments, neither of us said a word. “Alright. What are you studying now?” The corner broke the silence. “We just got to Newton’s Laws.” “Ah, Newton… A great scientist…”
As he explained Newton’s Laws with great clarity, his voice slowly changed it’s tone. By the end, the sadness and self-loathing have completely disappeared, and were replaced by a cool, collected confidence. When he finished, he asked if I understood. “Yes, I did. Thank you, Uncle.” An invisible, hesitant hand landed on my shoulder. “No problem, Rob. I’m glad I could help.” I could hear the smile when he spoke. A relief washed over me. Uncle James was and still is the most brilliant man I ever met, but sometimes he let his emotions get the better of him.
Though I didn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment, I knew the question had to be asked. “So… how do we make you visible again?” The hand retreated. “Hmm… I know! If I recall correctly, the cure to my invisibility should be in one of the boxes. The third from the right on the middle shelf. Get it, will you, Rob?”
When I saw the cure I couldn’t believe my eyes, the to cure invisibility…
…A single bucket of pink paint.
I’m making 80 US dollars for every hr. to finish some internet providers from home. I absolutely never thought it would try and be reachable anyway. My comrade mate got $13k just in about a month effectively doing this best task and furthermore she persuaded me to profit. Look at additional subtleties going to
this site.. http://www.Payathome7.com
Under Pressure (Chronicles of The Dragon)
by Makokam
“Jonathan?” The black scaled being lunged at him, and Sol telekinetically pushed it down again, cratering the ground around it even further. “Jonathan.” Snarling, it lunged again and he crushed it back into the ground. “Jonathan!”
“Stop- ugh,” Ultima winced as she got back to her feet. “Stop letting him up. Together we can-”
“You sit down!” he said, pushing her back, though far more gently. “I’m not LETTING him do anything.”
He turned back to The Dragon; eyes burning suns, obsidian scales, almost human teeth bared, claws flicking with flame, wings twitching. “I know you don’t want to do this. I can get you someone from death row. You just need to stop trying to kill Ultima.”
There was a “whomph” of displaced air and Runcaster stumbled, not quite sticking the landing of her teleportation. “I’m here! I’m- I’ve got her!”
Scribe looked almost as dizzy as Runcaster did, swaying lightly on her feet. “Heh. That was fun.”
The Dragon went still as its head snapped towards the two girls. Its claws dug deep into the ground, its muscles tensing .
Runecaster looked over at him. “Jonathan… Everything it going to be okay. Okay?”
Scribe’s eyes had gone wide when she saw him. “You’re beautiful.”
Runecaster nudged Scribe. “Go on. Do your thing.”
Scribe nodded and started moving forward, holding her hands out to him. “You’ve had a rough week. Want a hu-” She jumped back as he smashed his face into the earth. Claws tearing at the dirt and rock.
“Jonathan, stop!” Runcaster yelled.
He looked up at her. And after a moment, its wings flared and he leapt up. And immediately was crushed back to the ground. “You’re not going anywhere,” Sol said. Jonathan started to push up, but Sol kept increasing the pressure. “Scribe!”
“Right!” The girl ran over, reaching out with just the tip of her finger, touching him and passing the word “calm” into him. “You can let him go; he won’t fight it.”
Sol relaxed his power, and she wrapped her arms around Jonathan as the scales fell from him like ashes.
An exercise in exorcism
by Aracnarquista
This time he didn’t just appear behind me. He had to use the doorbell, and asked politely to be let in. Even though he looks different – the things that seemed mechanical are even more impossible now, the shadows more inscrutable, and the flames shine with a hue that should hurt normal vision – I know it is the same demon that visited me when I entertained the notion of selling my soul for better stories.
The suit is the same as last time, though. Sharp and stylish.
And now he is sitting by my table, with a cup of tea in his hands.
“So… what is the reason for this visit?”
I think he tries a comforting smile. His maw certainly is not capable of anything close to comforting, but I appreciate the effort.
“I don’t know how to tell you that in a way that will not make this seem somewhat wrong, but I read your stories. The ones you publish there. All of them.”
“So you are telling me I have a demon stalker?”
“More like a demon fan, really. I like what you write. It is touching. But even though I like it, I worry that sometimes you are taking a too deep dive in an ocean of despair.”
“Is that a stylistic criticism thing or what?”
“Not at all, not at all. In fact, as a reader, I love your darker pieces. But I can’t help but notice patterns, and I think you are in a bad place. Here.” That same claw that once held my soul was now pointing to the center of my forehead.
“You are worried about me?”
“I am. I am indeed. And I think you need a friend to talk to and help you deal with your own inner demons. Exorcising them through art is alright, when it works… but I think we both know it has not been working recently, right? So here I am, not as a fan, but as a potential friend. Don’t you want to talk about that inner turmoil? I know a thing or two about demons…”
Harsh Words
by: Masked Bard
No matter where they went, they could always figure out where some quiet, hidden, unused space that others seemed to forget about would be. Finding these spaces was almost instinctual to Jordan, allowing them to find some peace even in the most chaotic places. This is how they ended up with their back sliding down a wall in a closet space marked as a “Meditation room” down a hallway with mostly staff offices around past a set of theater classrooms.
As their butt met the ground, Jordan curled into themself as they took a shaky breath.
They could still hear the voices that demeaned them. Calling them a freak, a Daft Punk copycat, a fad-chasing fairy, a talentless wannabe, among a slew of mean slurs. Hot tears stung their eyes as they tried to control their breath. Despite this, their shuddering breaths gave way to quiet sobs. Their fingers dug into the arms they had wrapped around their knees.
“I n-need to calm d-down..” Jordan muttered to themself, uselessly.
The doorknob clicked, causing Jordan to gasp as the door opened.
“Oh! I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt.” A gentle voice apologized.
Looking up slightly, Jordan could see a figure in the doorway with a familiar matcha green cardigan on.
“G-Gaia?”
“Yes. Uh… mind if I join you?”
Jordan nodded and soon the well-lit room was crowded between the two of them as the door shut. They hid their face again but could feel Gaia sit next to them.
“Are you alright?”
Jordan nodded, holding their breath. After a few quiet moments, they could hear some shuffling and the crackling of a plastic bottle before something solid and cold touched their arm, causing them to look up again. Gaia was pressing a water bottle on their arm.
“Take it, it’ll help.”
Jordan looked at the bottle, then Gaia, before accepting it. It wasn’t until they finished the bottle that Gaia spoke again.
“Would you like to learn some breathing exercises to help you calm down?”
Jordan nodded, smiling weakly, feeling a sense of kinship in Gaia’s words. “Sure.”
Many Hands
by: Stardustfaire
The creek of the chair reignites the ache behind his eyes as Rin leans back to gaze at the woman on the floor next to him.
“I told you, Lilith, I have work to do.” Rin’s taunt statement cuts through the rustling of her readjustment.
She meets his gaze, earnest blue eyes pairing with her exclamation, “Yes! That’s why you canceled tonight.” Her bright red curls shift as she returns to her book.
Sighing, Rin hunches over his desk. Leafing through a stack of receipts, the soft sigh at his feet challenges his focus, tugging away at his patience.
Black, lacquered nails bite into palms and held breaths rapidly increase his pulse. The bubbling anger begins to seep from his chest down into his stomach.
I told her.
Not.
Tonight.
His disjointed recollection sends his anger spilling from his mind to his mouth.
Slamming his hand to the desk, Rin glares down at his girlfriend.
“Lilith,” his irate tone yanks her startled gaze to his, “I know canceling plans upsets you. However, that doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and pressure me into putting this off. I have a deadline!”
“I know.” Confusion slowly crosses her face as she responds, “That’s why I brought schoolwork. I three chapters to read…it will last until you break for dinner. We can eat here instead!”
Rin breathes deep, chest expanding and fists relaxing, bringing his heart rate down.
“What do you hope to accomplish? I can’t take dinner for another five hours.”
“Working together with someone helps me focus. I won’t talk because I need to focus as well.”
Her eyes flick from his face to the couch on the far wall behind them.
“It’s called parallel play. I want to be close to you and work on things together.” Her tone betrays her sadness.
“Parallel play, huh?”, his voice softens as a smile tickles at his lips.
Turning back to the paper in his hand. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Thank you for trying, Rin.”
His smile deepens as the feeling of closeness settles
CHEW!
By Matthew R. Wright
All was NOT calm at Burshall Farm, Somerset. More frustration, really. Marabelle – longstanding leader of the Burshall Bovine Belief – gave a long and exhausted sigh at the recently discovered body of Herschel; their farmer. Contorted – Twisted – Bent. His hideous form a byproduct of the Belief, of what they did one autumnal night, long ago.
They formed a hexagonal mud-circle around the remains of dear Herschel. Symbolic – Traditional – Cultural – Purposeful.
“What now?” questioned Dottie, the least amongst the cattle; tense and full of fears. “What we always do. Bring him back,” replied Marabelle “For it is the way.”
“Remember: Chew, Moo, Chew, ftaghu.”
Silence spread across the Burshall fields.
Each cow lowered their heads in-unison and took a bite of the earth; of grass and dirt. Six points dug into the hexagon that surround the ex-farmer. The Six points – a solemn meaning.
“Moooooooooooooooo,” chanted the Belief, the floor beneath vibrating with the low, guteral, droning pitch. “Chew.” Every member chewed HARD into their flesh, mixing blood and dirt and spit. Dottie glanced at the hexagon as their eyes glimmered with an anicent golden hue; she could not help but ask…
“What about the fabric? With each use, we bring IT closer into our plane. Haven’t we threatened our existence enough for this…man? She had NOT been told her place.
“This IS our way, Dottie. Fabric or not, Herschel must return. Now SPIT!” The mixture dropped from their mouths and onto the hexagonal points which now formed the shape of the Red Seal nessacary for the ritual to begin proper.
The skies screeched in-pain.
“Blood given, ftaghu, for a life taken, ph’nglui. We offer ourselves to the unsilent skies above and pray you protect our keeper on his path to provide us with our earthly pleasures.”
With that another extended “Moooooo,” Marabelle and the others watched as Dottie collapsed dead and Herschal’s twisted form retook its natural shape; unbroken, remade; given new life from old blood.
Herschal awoke and stared confused at his herd. They stared, silent, at the mud-soaked Somerset farmer.
Broken
By: Iskritt
It took several moments for Hywel to realize what he was seeing. He had expected to return to the same small town he had left only days before, but what he found was completely different. The buildings were dark and corrupted, sections suddenly breaking off, only reattaching themselves in an instant as if nothing had happened. The warm browns and whites that used to cover the town had been replaced by an all consuming black, with harsh blocks of red and blue being the only hints of color.
Hywel began hyperventilating as he rushed to the location of his tavern. He hoped it had somehow been spared whatever chaos had befallen his town, but he also knew it was in vain. Sure enough, where his tavern had once stood, there sat a corrupted copy, broken as much as the rest of the town.
Panic, anger, and confusion rushed through Hywel’s mind. Who had done this? Why? How? Orange mist began spiraling out of his hand as his anger begged to release destructive magic on anything it could. He shook his head and knelt to the ground, trying to calm down and block out the chaos around him.
“Calm down, calm down, calm down.” Hywel chanted to himself. He could feel his magic growing, surrounding him without his command.
“HYWEL!”
A voice shouted above the noise caused by Hywel’s magic. Hywel looked up, trying to find the source, only for his vision to be clouded by a tornado of orange mist.
“HYWEL, YOU ARE ONLY CAUSING MORE DESTRUCTION! YOU NEED TO STOP!”
The orange mist was split by purple, revealing his mentor, the one that had taught him magic.
“Hywel, stop this.”
Hywel took deep breaths, trying to regain control of his magic through the raw anger that filled him. Instead, he watched as the mist grew, overtaking the small section of purple and hiding his mentor from him once again.
“I can’t.”
The noise now overtook any other sound around him, isolating him. Hywel could only feel panic and anger as he watched the chaos he created.
Matthew 7:11
WriterOfThought
Haxxus was on his knees in the center of the hall. Blood was dripping into his eyes and he was surrounded by the faceless straw men of the arena.
How could his own father say he was too weak for the tournament? He let Haxxus’s sister enter, and she was just a caster!
Too weak? She was too weak! She couldn’t even hold a sword with TWO hands let alone one! The only reason that she ever won anyway was because she wasn’t afraid to hurt him…
or worse…
And today, his father and sister would be responsible for new scars on his body.
In anger, he slashed at the nearest straw dummy. Forgetting the new extreme range of the weapon, he nearly knocked himself off balance as the tip collided with the adjacent wall.
Suddenly, a lilting voice came from the doorway. “Having fun practicing?”
The captain had walked in while Haxxus was now losing a fight against a literal strawman. Curse his luck.
“Not particularly,” Haxxus said, trying his best to regain the dignity that was currently buried in the wall.
“Oh? And why that be?”
“Because…” Haxxus trailed off, not wanting to say the words. But they forced themselves free nonetheless.
“I’m too weak.”
The captain walked in front of him, carefully examining a torn apart training dummy.
“Well ye weren’t too weak against that dummy…” the captain trailed off, swiftly unsheathing his scimitars. “And all opponents just be moving dummies anyway, me boyo. So ye already be halfway there already!”
Haxxus couldn’t help but laugh at the simplicity of such a statement, but then the captain said something surprising.
“Tell ye what, me boyo, if ye can land a hit on me, and I be the strongest fighter here, that would mean ye can’t be weak, right?”
He was right. If Haxxus could hit the captain, he would be one of the strongest fighters there. Certainly stronger than his father.
And after a few minutes of trying, almost completely unexpectedly, Haxxus and his sword found their mark in the captains armor.
Trump Card
by Reinkarnitor
John was sitting on the floor.
How? How did it come to this? It should have been so simple, just a normal visit…and yet it became so much more.
“Nowhere left to run” Fiona’s voice sounded like she was enjoying herself immensely.
“Fiona please…I beg of you, stop this…” John tried to plead with her, but his vampire friend seemed to have no intention to stop.
Her eyes looked scary, her mouth almost drooling from the knowledge what she was about to do to him.
“Pleading will not do you any good! This is happening!” Fiona grinned and her tongue ran over her sharp fangs.
“Just…calm down, please! Don’t do it! You’ll only regret it later!”
“Oh, I don’t think so!” she laughed and rose her hand.
She brought it down on the ground and…
…placed a Plus-Four-Card.
“UNO!” she exclaimed excited. “Oh and I wish for red! How are you going to get out of this one, huh?” The vampire was clearly very happy with how the game was going.
“I told you, you should not have done that…but now you have unleashed my fury!” John said with an evil grin.
And with that he placed down his own Plus-Four-Card on top of hers.
“You’ll have to take eight. And I wish for blue!”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Fiona protested.
“Wanna bet? I warned you, but as usual you did not listen” he challenged her with a grin.
That did it. Fiona playfully tackled him to the ground.
“Not fair at all!” she said again, but this time it was calmer. In her eyes, he could see a sudden change, as she laid atop of him on the floor.
“Fiona…calm down…”, he said, gently this time, but she shook her head.
“No. I don’t think I will.”
And with that her lips were on his.
Accellerate
by the Cartographers Notebook
“Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths”. I adjust my posture. Straighten the spine. Eyes in neutral. Arms to the side.
“No room for mistakes this time. Not this time”, I say to myself as I walk through the door, and enter the accelerator. I freeze.
The corridor is bathed in an array of harsh red lights. The accelerator was made in our last attempt. To defy IT.
“For a man that has seen the end of the world in a thousand ways, you are surprisingly quiet.” Jeremy rolls up on my side, his glasses shimmering in the lights. The screeches from the rusty wheels resonate through the hallway. In the end, the door stands like a gateway to hell.
“I don’t want to do this. It should never have come to this Jeremy. We had a future…”
“Hey! This was not your fault. You know that. With everything that transpired, it’s remarkable, you’re still sane at all. With how many junctures we have tried…”
“Im not sane Jeremy. Im merely pretending, but any second my mind will break under the weight. God, I can’t do this. Not again.” I lean against the wall, quakes piercing through me. The door is right there, awaiting me. IT is waiting for me.
“Hey? Are you ok?”
“These warp jumps… Jeremy, I can’t take this much longer. How many times have you sent me back? How many times have you pulled me from that door, screaming, IT leaking from my eyes? I can’t…”
“Hey. I do… I do understand. To carry those memories of undergoing IT over and over again is not a fate that I would wish on anyone. But what alternative do we have? In this juncture, we have nothing left. But maybe, back there, we can find our way.”
“… Ok. Im ready.”
He grins at me.
“Remember. Deep breaths. In. Out.”, He activates the accelerator.
I walk down the walkway. Feel how my particles pass the barrier of entry. The door unlocks.
“For the future?”, I say, looking back at him as I start to dissipate.
“For the future.”
Silence in calm
By: Boople (TW suicide {I think I should put this here})
“You want me to calm myself?”
The host of the party had lost the jacket to his suit, with the button up under shirt split down the front lazily falling off of one shoulder.
“Now why in the blazes would I do that?! MY party deserves nothing but the best out of all of us!”
He knocked over cups and plates as he shuffled up to stand on the table he was laying on. Turning to the ballroom with full glass in hand his voice boomed.
“SO WHY SHOULD ANY OF US BE CALM! IS LIFE NOT A PARTY FOR US ALL TO PLAY OUT?! I SAY YES! SO COME! POUR YOUR HEARTS OUT WITH ME TO… to…”
The echoes of his voice trailed off into the empty halls of his mansion, and with it his drunken and delusional bravado. As his fantasy escaped him gravity made itself known first to the wine glass in his hand, and as it shattered on the floor the stain of its contents matched the growing puddle on his shirt. He crumpled onto the tabletop yet again, laying on the long shattered and empty dishware, letting his contents spill unto the floor.
The thud of his body was followed by the silence he had grown so familiar with now. It was not any more comforting now than any time before. And it wasn’t any less reflective either. Even as his life was fading he thought about what he always had. What had led him to his isolation, why he could never possibly feel like he was enough for even himself, how self destructive he was. How he wanted to stop. How he couldn’t stop.
The party of one ended almost as soon as it began. And the internal desire to calm down, step back and think things through was finally overthrown by the desire for everything to stop.
And it did.
No Stronger Mask Than Denial (A Song for: Kit)
by Lunabear (CW/TW: Scars, references to physical abuse and sexual assault) (Private Repost)
Sharine traced the scars etched into Kit’s back. His face darkened with each new one discovered.
“Did your Maker do this?” he seethed.
“Yes, but it was disciplinary. I NEED to be better.”
“That’s abuse! Plain and simple.”
Kit’s nostrils flared. She put the room in between them. “He has to! How else will I learn?”
“By him actually teaching you. The bond between Maker and Progeny is sacred. He’s an absolute monster. Making you a vampire without your consent AND scarring you! Who does that?”
“You don’t understand his methods. They’re for my betterment.”
Sharine appeared calm, but underneath was rage. “Repugnant. He’s almost worse than humans. THEY’RE only good when cattle or dead.”
That rhetoric never failed to sicken Kit. “He says that, too.”
“You’re comparing me to HIM?”
“In this regard, yes. I was human once.”
“You WERE, Nikita.”
Her stare hardened. “Supernaturals are capable of the same cruelties.” A memory of a silver-laced whip stung her back. She shoved it away.
Sharine sighed, defeated. He crossed the room and cupped her face. “I pray you can free yourself.”
Brief quietness reigned.
“Why do you hate humans, Sharine?”
“My older sister, Charlemagne. A group of humans took advantage of her kindness. And her body. They discovered she was Fae and used iron to carve horrible words into her skin.”
Kit’s lash line choked with tears. Fae couldn’t heal iron damage.
“They left her for dead. I’m hunting them all down.”
“How many have you…killed?”
“Four. I know where the last two reside.”
“Not all humans are the same. Some are kind, caring. Empathetic.”
“Show me what it was like for you as a human? Please?”
He’d shared his pain; it was only fair she returned the favor. She agreed.
They kissed, losing themselves to their own, special magic.
Breaking the kiss, they moved to the bed. He snuggled her back to his front, resting his chin against the crown of her head. “We won’t be disturbed here. Take as long as you need.”
Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she began, “For starters, my name wasn’t always Nikita…”
Mrs. Jones’s Lottery Prize
By Xavier Twentyone
A million dollars! A million dollars! Can you imagine that?!
Oh, it’s been so long since I got this excited from a bunch of strangers with suits. Oh! What am I gonna do about this situation?! About my kid’s college tuition! About my food! About everything else?! Oh! Don’t get me started with this one!
Ophidia medium tone, green leather… yas queeennn! Jackie 1961, medium GG supreme canvas… slaaayyyyy! But a couple of Uniqlo bags aren’t bad too ya know…
Oh! Where is my manners?! Of course come in come in. Ummm coffee or tea? Awesome!
*****
You watch me as you hand me pieces of paper that my husband has to sign. Adorable. If you want to watch me, then try this one on.
Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
“Yes honey… umm there are three guests in our house from Chase Bank who said that we won one million dollar lottery honey! One million DOLLARS!… ehem yeah, I have checked their IDs, all of them are legit! Yeah, yeah… so… which one of us will receive the money?”
You watch me again as I write my ban—I mean my husband’s bank account and his signature on a blank paper. I can only console you with my expertise on my husband’s signature as I tell you that my husband will come home “late,” as late as midnight.
I know that you guys must have a tight schedule that requires you to travel long distances just to make a meeting… I mean, I once was a yuppie at a bank like you guys too ya know. I can also see you guys bring some traveling bags….
So… which one do you guys pick? Your delayed schedule or my number?
*****
Mr. Jones arrives at his house and sees an ambulance at the doorstep. He run to the nurses carrying his unconscious wife on a stretcher.
“What happened here!?” asks Mr. Jones.
“Are you Tyrone Jones?” asks one of the nurses.
“Yeah…”
“Your wife got a heart attack this evening from getting too excited about her lottery. There’s no real way to sugarcoat it.”
All for some Peace and Quiet
by Shinigama
Open the apartment door, close it. Shoes off, bag placed down beside them. Straight to the kitchen, make tea, put a couple of biscuits on a plate. To my bedroom and strip! I leap into bed in just my underpants, tea in one hand, biscuit in the other, and breathe….
Ah, it’s so nice to have a moment for oneself. Now, to finish reading that book I’ve been-
BTSUM! BTSUM! BTSUM!
The grating sound of techno bursts through my bedroom wall, making me spill tea all over my crotch!
Cursing, I leap up and smack my fist against the wall, yelling at my moronic neighbour! But the electronic thundering continues to make my ears bleed.
Swearing to turn that brat’s skin into new sofa, I stomp out my door and over to his, slamming it with my palm and bellowing at him to it down.
The music stops. Through the door, I hear a muffled ‘sorry.’
I head back over to my door, reaching for my keys.
They’re not there.
I have a mini-heart attack, realizing I’m stuck outside my apartment in just my underwear unable to get back in!
Obscenities that would make a devil blush burst from my tongue. What do I do now?!
Wait, the bathroom window! I left it open this morning because it was so warm today! Thankfully, I live on the ground floor!
I run to the front entrance door and open it slowly. Look left, look right, no one coming! I hop as quickly as I can around the back to the narrow slit of my bathroom window, about two meters off the ground. I grab the sill, and heave myself up. Brilliant! I just have to slide through this gap, climb onto the toilet, then-
I’m stuck.
My legs dangle helplessly outside, as inside I twist and turn, trying to squeeze my considerable gut through the window frame! But I won’t budge.
And then I hear a camera click outside.
Followed by the sounds of children giggling!
I put my face in my hands. I just wanted some peace and quiet!
The Trouble Maker
By Skyler K
Emma gulped and got in between the two enemies, the last thing she wanted was to have James go in his werewolf form in public.
“Come on guys….let’s just try and calm down…” she chuckled as james deeply growled
Becky sighs and rolls her eyes. Honey laughed “Oh what is it james? To weak to actually defend yourself and have to depend on your friends to-”
James dangerously growled and Honey seemed to notice the werewolf scratch on james’s neck, still fresh, and smirked at the opportunity to embarrass her ex, pushing past the younger brunette
“Honey don’t you-” Emma started but Honey interrupted her
“Come on James…..have some honour at least ” the blond snapped, and at that point James snapped and punched Honey into the ground, his eyes getting thinner.
The problem causer By Skyler
Emma finally managed to get where the two of them were and grabbed
James from behind to prevent a fight happening as Becky dragged the problem causing blond. Emma sighed in relief and let James go and went in front. Who was huffing and puffing ready to fight, Emma gently put her hands on his shoulders, her grip being just firm enough to prevent him from moving.
“Hey Jamie, let’s head home, before honey comes back and causes more issues” She whispered softly as becky came back and nodded
“Yeah, I got us donuts on the way back here,” Becky replied, holding up a paper bag as proof.
James eventually nodded, his eyes looking slightly more human now.
The three headed back to their cabin in the middle of the woods, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go back into town until James learned to control the other side of him.
Anticipation
By: The Missing Link
Nathanial was sweating bullets. The last thing he could live with was to screw this up. He was on a date with the girl of his dreams, she actually laughed at his awkward jokes, and also… there was a bomb under their table.
“Nice uh… weather we’re having,” he started. Stupid.
Carol looked out the window at the rain and chuckled. Her smile made Nathaniel’s heart speed up a good 20 bpm. God he was nervous.
59
“You ok?” Carol’s auburn hair cascaded around her face, sending more sweat rolling across Nathaniel’s palms.
“No… yeah, just nervous, sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t walk out on you,” she joked.
45
Nathaniel could hear the fear in his own forced laugh. “R-right.”
Carol cocked her head to the side. Was the waiter always this slow?
30
“So Carol…”
“Hmm”
“You’re not gonna believe this, but,”
“Your drinks, sir, madam,” the waiter said, causing Nathaniel’s heart to leap out of his chest.
15
“Um… thanks. Can you get the manager over here?”
Carol frowned. The waiter barely hid a wave of worry behind his customer service smile.
10
“There’s uh… there’s a timer under the table.”
8
“I think it’s a bomb.”
6
The two simultaneously responded, “You’re kidding… right.”
4
Nathaniel swallowed stale air and shook his head, feeling as pale as the other two looked, or rather more.
2
1
The events that proceeded next were hard to describe, but to summarize, the table flipped, everyone ran, Nathaniel tackled Carol to shield her from the blast, and finally the bomb went off.
The resulting explosion could have been described as… artistic. The words, “Please Marry Me,” shot up in burning lights from the overturned table.
The waiter looked white as a sheet as he ran away shouting, “Sorry, wrong table.”
Stupid sexy Granite!
By Tamela Redfin
Sapphira knocked on the halfling door of her neighbor’s house. “Mica?” Where could he have gone?
“I’m over here, where are…” She paused, staring at him.
His long red hair was slicked back and he had on a black leather jacket and bright red leather pants. “Hey, hope it looks okay. My mom says this was my dad’s jacket, that’s why it doesn’t quite fit. Is that a new shirt?”
Sapphira stared down at her sapphire blue shirt. “Uh yeah. Totally didn’t steal this from my sister.”
“Awesome, ready to ride?” He asked.
“Let’s do it!” Sapphira replied. But suddenly her mind was blank. Gosh, did Mica look attractive in that leather jacket.
“You okay? Earth to Sapphira.”
“Uh, I forgot my reins. I’ll be right back.” She finally squeaked. She left, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She never saw Mica like that!
Then she bumped into her twin Zirconia. “Hey, is that my shirt?”
“Uh no. Listen, you go riding with Mica, okay? I think we have color contacts somewhere…”
“Whoa, whoa whoa, you don’t want to ride horses? What happened to you?”
“I saw Mica, and he had this really cute jacket and his hair was slicked back and…”
“Oh I didn’t know you liked him and he turned you on.” Zirconia winked.
“That’s not fair! Why can’t I be attracted to nobody, like you?” Sapphira stamped her foot. “Stupid sexy Granite.”
“First of all, you’ve heard of the Redhead Panic in our family. Second, oh my gosh, my little sister has a crush!”
“Shut up.” She covered Zirconia’s mouth.
“Nope, cause this is huge Sapph. You need to go out with him. Then tell me all the details, okay?”
“If it will shut you up, sure thing, Zurie.” Sapphira rolled her eyes.
She went out to Mica waiting for her and held some reins. Why did Mica slick his hair back?
Temporary Peace of Mind [A Devil’s Tale]
C. M. Weller
Of all the terrifying creatures wandering above and below the ground, there were few as terrifying as a Hellkin deep in rage. They were naturally magical creatures, and were prone to leaking magic in times of emotional duress.
THIS had to be one hell of a duress.
Earl Kormwind IX had taken his bodyguard’s sword and was screaming as he hacked the bed in his chamber into splinters. Foam was at the corners of his mouth. But that was just the centre of everything else going on.
Shadows squirmed and writhed in unnatural shapes. Water anywhere near him looked like blood, and any water closer to him had the appearance of a dark and foul ichor. Flames burned blood red and some of them seemed to be dripping. Eldritch voices whispered incomprehensible phrases and the air smelled like burning flesh.
Bishop Salvig Balaans spent a moment calming HERSELF before venturing forwards. “Please. Kindly restrain the Earl.” She summoned her love of Tyr and all creatures needing succour. “I know it’s frightening, but it is all illusion.”
“One fuck of an illusion,” muttered the bodyguard.
He was obviously so furious that he didn’t see or hear anyone else. It took two castle guards to still his sword arm, two more for each of his limbs. Including the tail. Salvig had to squeeze between them to reach the Earl’s brow.
A gentle palm to his head. Tip the scales away from rage and towards peace.
“Easy,” she said out loud. “It’s over, now.”
She could chase his anger from him, but that only left room for his grief.
Mourning his lost fiancee. Words escaped him but few were intelligible. “I saw her die,” was in the middle of it. He clung to her because she was one willing to soothe him.
Would that she could cure all of his pains. But there was no divine cure for this kind of madness.
Calm
By Emowolf10
Michael watched as Aoba threw his necklace at the wall. He knew that his friend was upset right now. While others would tell Aoba that he needed to calm down, Michael knew it was better to let him vent his anger.
He walked closer to his friend, his brother in everything in blood.
“She tricked me, she tricked all of us! I thought she was honest, that she actually wanted to be a family. For us to be a family! For us to be together! I did everything I could do to get here. I thought that for just one moment that we could be reunited, and everything would be just as it was before everything.”
Aboa was a volcano with his black hair that was normally straight now frazzled. His eyes leaking hot tears from his green eyes that now glowed a hot red. Like this the scar on his face made him appear almost animalistic to Michael.
“But it was just a test, and now I find out that she is willing to trade us all in for some information! We are just pawns… expendable tools for her to play with! And now-”
He cut himself off with a sob. It was just too much. He fell into Michael’s arms.
Michael comforted him as they both sat down to contemplate what just happened. He could only imagine the pain that Aoba was going through.
When the war had started, they had promised him to do their best to find his mother. That they would be ok when they found Pandora. They wouldn’t need to constantly watch their backs or being careful with who to trust. This place, their home, was supposed to be free from the pain of the war. Yet it had come slithering back into their lives. In the form of Aoba’s mother that was sending them back into the snake’s den.
But in this dire moment, they desperately needed to calm down and figure a way out.
“It’s ok Aoba… we are going to get through this buddy, just take it easy… relax…”. He said soothingly.
“We are going to be alright, okay? We’ve dealt with this before, and we can deal with this again… okay?”
Aoba looked at him with puffy eyes and nods, “Okay… Okay… We’ll be okay…” he smiled.
Sand Diggin.
By Galer.
This beach was one of the few earthlike planets outside the solar system, it was a tourist attraction once the P.S.U colonized it. To this day it keeps being researched and explored, for its rich ecosystem and geographical curiosities.
However, the calm atmosphere on the beach was interrupted. By the laughter of overly happy children.
“HAHAHA!”
The joy was palpable around the human and spider-like alien child, playing tag with each other.
The spider child, Rohuld, jumped in all directions with the intent of not being touched by Jonathan, the human child. If Jonathan wasn’t nanomachine augmented like almost all humans in his polity, he would have lost against the Soalian nine times out of ten.
Although Jonathan cheated a bit with some reaction-enhancing runes.
He managed to win some of the games he had with Rohuld. That being said, they might have a bit of too much excitement since they were becoming a blur leaving rifts in the sand.
More like almost digging a trench since they were going with such speed and force that it was marking the beach.
Until the two were stopped in their tracks.
“Woah, Woah, Woah, Little brood; you shouldn’t go that fast, calm down,” Kirug, mother of Rohuld said. Her alien tongue was translated by the implants. “No need to dig a hole on the beach with your friend.”
“Yeah, you both are full of too much energy sometimes,” Alberto said to his son. ” Come on, Jonathan, we are going to eat a turkey and you can play later. But please can you do it with more restraint next time? I doubt the beach could handle your game.”
“Ok,” said Rohuld cheerfully, with Jhonathan just nodded his head towards his father. Both children after eating and napping for a time were at the game of tag again, this time with less force.
The fathers could only smile at their little kids. Even with superpowers, magic, and augmentations, children will always find a way to play with them.
Something There That Wasn’t There Before
By Marx
I’ve known this Old One for only a few days as humans tell time and… I hadn’t realized that in that time I’d forgotten what he is.
He’s shown me nothing but compassion and kindness. More than I would have thought a demon like him capable of.
He brought me back from the brink when I was at my lowest and my most…
…self destructive…
I hadn’t even realized that he’s become my protector.
Me.
A warrior angel.
A perfect being created for combat being protected by a Hellborne engine of destruction.
I hate that I need the help, but I am no longer perfect. And ‘they’ know it.
‘They’ made me this way.
So I begrudgingly accept his protection even though he should be my enemy.
I can’t see him that way anymore if I’m being honest with myself.
Even now, as the jagged spikes on his massive fists are covered in the blood of his victims.
Even now, as those who didn’t suffer from that beating burn from the fire that spews from his mouth, lighting the whole area aflame.
Even now, as both those who fought him and those who fled die under the same umbrella of his brutality.
Even now, as he hunts every last one of them to extinction.
Because I know he’s doing it for me.
‘They’ were never a threat to him.
‘They’ just wanted to finish me off.
And now there is no more ‘they’.
As he roars at the sky, shaking the very ground we stand on, I should be terrified. I should be preparing to defend myself when he turns his eyes on me.
Instead, I approach him and wrap both my arms and my remaining wing around him as I say, “It’s okay. You got them. You got them all.”
I hear his ragged breathing slow as he finally realizes he’s out of targets and asks, “…are you okay?”
I instinctively look over to where my other wing should be. I can never return to Heaven like this.
But I don’t care anymore.
As long as he’s with me.
My Burden
By Kotold
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” She was right, of course, though she did nothing to resist as I pulled the shirt over her head. Her hair fell back down across her shoulders and chest bouncing playfully across bare skin. The bright red of the hair matched the burning fire in my blood. I had no intention of debating the issue.
She was always right. But our timing never worked out. What was I supposed to do? Decades of being there at an arm’s length. Childhood memories, school, weddings, and funerals. She was always there and always right. Now gods and stars alike aligned as she lay there for me. Were they wrong?
It was her bed. Her’s and her husband’s. He was a good guy, treated her well, and supported the family. He even treated me like a brother, never jealous of my relationship with her. Where he traveled to escaped me in the heat of the moment. Why she let me get this close tonight eluded me as well.
Decades of looking but never touching, one couldn’t lobby a charge of lustful impulse. The roots of our connection ran deep through joint nurturing. Had she thought about this moment as long as I have? She obviously knew its wrongness, but did she also know its rightness?
She raised a hand to me, inviting me to join her. What was I supposed to do?
***
The lighter sparked and hissed several times as I frantically tugged at it with my thumb. Finally! I sucked in a deep breath as the flame lit the cigarette. My hands shook. I pulled another drag. The warmth of the smoke was a welcome contrast to the chill of the night’s air.
“Breath damn it!” I commanded myself. The rush of the cigarette spread across me mixing with the hotness of my blood. As tension slipped away, a tear finally rolled down my face as it dawned on me the weight of my decision.
She was right of course: it was a bad idea.