Writing Group: The Monster of Your Stories (PRIVATE)

I bring grave tidings Ghosts, Ghouls, and Goblins!

Oh you poor, poor fool. You thought you could be the hero, didn’t you? Thought you’d go down in history? Well…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

The Monster of Your Stories

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

Anyone who knows me well will know I adore this prompt. I love monsters, and the different legends and stories about them, and finding new ways to tell those stories. I’m excited to see what you guys come up with! 

These words could be said in many different ways, in many different contexts. Or they might not be said at all, rather felt within the story, as the main character meets the monster they’ve heard so much about. 

Let’s start there. Perhaps you want to write about the main character hearing about a monster, and going out to fight it. What do they find when they do? Do they find that it is everything they heard? Do they find it is far scarier than the stories? Did they scoff at the stories…only to learn it is everything they said it was? What does that cost them? Or is it the opposite? Did they blindly believe the stories, only to find it isn’t so evil as the stories said? You could easily do something like in How To Train Your Dragon, and have the main character realize that the monster is not everything they’ve been told. 

What happens when the monster is human? Are they an innocent, painted in scarlet? The town pariah who really shouldn’t be treated so poorly? Or are they a true horror, worse than any beast in the dark? The “monster” in the form of a man might march towards the main character, full of power and intimidation, grinning as they ask “Am I everything the stories said?” 

Of course, the “monster” could be something halfway between human and beast, like a werewolf, vampire, or zombie. Perhaps someone is cursed to be a monster of the stories. How do they cope with knowing they are becoming something out of a fantasy book? Or…what if they choose to be the monster from the stories? Like how, in The Case Study of Vanitas, one of the characters hears all the whispers of a beast, and realizes that there is no monster, but everyone’s hate is creating one. So he decides that he will become the monster from the stories in order to protect the person he loves. What happens when someone wants to be the monster everyone tells stories about? Does this make them a villain, or a sacrificial hero?

Some of my favorite stories, however, are about someone realizing, to their horror, they are the monster from the stories.

One of my favorite lines in all of media has to do with this. In Thor (2011), Loki learns that he is a Frost Giant, and is upset his parents never told him. Earlier in the movie we hear Odin tell a story to him and his brother as children about how terrible the Frost Giants are. During the argument with Odin, Loki tearfully says “because I-I’m the monster parents tell their children about at night?” It’s an incredibly powerful line that makes him very easy to sympathize with. It’s amazing to me that that single line was what might have been what initially made myself and other fans fall in love with him, even though he was meant to be a villain. This idea of a character not just learning they are the monster from the stories, but the stories they were afraid of themselves is an incredibly powerful one worth exploring. 

I’ve been rewatching a beloved show of mine, and was reminded of one of my favorite uses of this idea. In the show the characters are looking for a werewolf. Throughout the episode we hear stories of the wolf, and see the massacres it creates. The main character later realizes, at a grave price, that she is the werewolf, and it is a horror for her to learn she is the monster from the stories. I love this idea of a character not knowing what they are, and seeing their reaction when they do. 

The “stories” are a very intriguing aspect of this prompt, partially for this reason. Because stories can be told to the monster themselves, before they even know they are a monster. The monster can hear the rumors said about them, and choose to bask in them, or shrink from them, or else feed them. What qualifies as a “story” has near endless possibilities. Stories can be written, or told. And stories can easily skew information. The thing about this prompt is it gives you the opportunity to explore…just how true are the stories in the first place? And if they’re not accurate, what (or who) created the skew? 

The song “Requiem” in Dear Evan Hansen comes to mind as another use of this prompt. Connor’s family are all mourning in different ways. Connor didn’t treat his sister Zoe too well, so at the climax of the song she sings:  “I will sing no requiem / tonight / ‘Cause when the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep / no one lights a candle to remember / No, no one mourns at all / when they lay them down to sleep / So, don’t tell me that I didn’t have it right / Don’t tell me that it wasn’t black and white / After all you put my through / Don’t say it wasn’t true / That you were not the monster / That I knew” I find this notion to be an interesting use of the prompt, because it’s a “no one mourns the wicked” idea, but the “stories” in this use are the stories she told herself. She believed he was the villain, and at some point stopped seeing the good in her brother, and is now struggling to hear that he was in pain. What happens when the stories come from inside? When we tell ourselves that someone or something is a monster? In some ways, these are the most dangerous stories of all. Sometimes fear makes you start to believe there is a monster, and spin stories for yourself…when there is nothing there. 

Even in our normal lives we have stories of monsters. Maybe someone tells the story of a person who hurt them…only for the one listening to the story to realize…they are that monster. Rumors surrounding a high schooler might make them out to be a monster, when they’re just trying their hardest to get by. A news story might speak of a criminal…when in reality they are innocent. In reality, people are layered. Someone who is a monster to you might be a hero to another. Perhaps you could explore this ideanot just how stories can be skewed, but how different stories paint the same person as different things. 

My technical challenge for you is to write the story in second person. And/or to write it from the monster’s perspective. The prompt is “The Monster From Your Stories.” My challenge is to make the “you” the reader in some way or another. However, second person is notoriously difficult to write well. It is easy to incur resistance from the audience instead of sympathy. Perhaps you can use this to make your monster extra monstrous? Regardless, don’t underestimate how challenging this might be! 

My content challenge for you this week is to write about a monster from stories you yourself have heard. This could be a monster from history—be it a notorious figure, or an urban legend. This could be a fantastical monster like Medusa or Grendel. This could even be your own fears, the stories you’ve told yourself. (Do take care, however, that you don’t break the fanfiction rule!)

Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!

You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you, little hero? If you have, you know there’s no defeating me. Not today. Not ever.


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!

  1. Text and Formatting

    1. English only.
    2. Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
    3. Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
    4. Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
    5. Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
    6. Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
    7. No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
  2. What to Submit

    1. Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
    2. Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
    3. Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
    4. No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
    5. Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
  3. Submission Rules

    1. One submission per participant.
    2. Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
    3. Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
    4. 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.
    5. 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.
    6. Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
    7. You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
    8. Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.

Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.

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[…] last Saturday’s stream, we discussed the horror of everyday objects. Lee Strangely wrote a story of a typewriter that very much seemed alive, and Arith likened it to the Tell Tale Heart. It made me think of how […]


[…] last Saturday’s stream, we discussed the horror of everyday objects. Lee Strangely wrote a story of a typewriter that very much seemed alive, and Arith likened it to the Tell Tale Heart. It made me think of how […]

21 days ago

The Forest For The Trees (Chronicles of The Dragon: Kat)
By Makokam

Kat stumbled and fell against the sharp stones. She failed to completely stifle the cry of pain as they gashed her shoulder open.

Her Mother turned and snatched her up, shushing her as she carried her away. Hurrying through the darkness, lit only by the dim glow of souls, they found a decently sized nook a good distance away from where Kat fell. She rocked the girl slowly and stroked her hair. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. It hurts, but it will heal. Sooner or later. We have to be strong Katarin. We need to be to escape this place. To get revenge on the monsters that banished us here. And we will get out. I don’t know how long it will take, but there is a way to open a portal out of here and back to earth. We just have to find it. And then they’ll die. At your hand. And the world will be a better place once we rid them of it.”

* * *

Charles sat stroking his wife’s hair, as she rested her head on his lap. It wasn’t often that she talked about her childhood, but when she would start unprompted, he knew it was best to simply listen and provide what comfort he could. She talked about how happy she was when they escaped, and how excited she’d been to take revenge on the people responsible for her living torment, and how, at the last moment, her “mother” revealed that the “monsters” were her true parents.

“And when she told me to kill her, I…just acted. And then he came in and he caught her as she fell. She said something to him before she died, and then he looked at me, and then at mom, and…I’d never seen anything so fast. Or felt so terrible. He killed her right in front of me. All I could do was run.

“I don’t understand how someone like that could freely walk the earth, when people like me were left to suffer.”

Charles couldn’t help thinking she was focused on the wrong monster.

Last edited 20 days ago by Makokam
21 days ago

History is Written by the Wealthy (Genre Break Universe)
By MasaCur

“What’s your read on this Dracul fellow, Simon?” Konstantin Garumov asked in Russian. The train was stopped at the Belgrade station, on the way to Transylvania.

Simon Merryweather shook his head. “Dracul is an idiot. I mean, blindingly stupid. No vampire has been this easy to track. The only person more moronic than him is…”

The door opened. Van Helsing and Bram Stoker entered.. “Hello, my friends! Dr. Garumov! Lord Merryweather!” the Dutch occultist announced.

Merryweather indicated Van Helsing, as if to finish his sentence. “Good day, Van Helsing, Stoker. Is there new information?”

“My family has come through!” Van Helsing announced. “They have sent me the family sabre!” He held out the sheathed sword in front of him, and tried to pull it loose.

Merryweather ducked as the sword came free before it could slice into his head. His top hat was not so fortunate.

“You idiot! You could have killed me!” Merryweather cried out. He looked at his mutilated hat. “This cost me ten pounds!


Dracul lunged toward Konstantin. The burly Russian doctor thrust his sword deftly into the vampire’s mouth, catching him by surprise, and halting his attack.

“Hold on, I’ll remove his head!” Van Helsing swung his sabre toward Dracul’s neck, but hit the blade emerging from the back of Dracul’s head, pulling the sword from Konstantin’s hand.

“Whose side are you on?” Konstantin yelled.

Simon cut down the drapes. “Force him into the light! We can kill him that way!”


There was a knock at Bram Stoker’s office door.

“Come in!”

Van Helsing entered. “Mr. Stoker, my friend! How is your manuscript selling?”

Stoker shook his head. “It isn’t. Merryweather paid for the commission, but no one at the London Times believes it actually happened. And the writing is too dry to market as fiction. I was thinking of adapting it to the theatre, but currently Henry’s sceptical that an audience would connect with it.”

“You could rewrite it as fiction. Change the character names. Make it so I was the hero?”

“Why would I do that?”

Van Helsing grinned. “I can pay you.”

21 days ago

The Prey Never Suspects
by Lunabear

I flex my shoulders and crack my neck if only for something to do. The business deal between my company and Mr. Ambercrombie has been successful. All parties have walked away satisfied.

Anastasia’s quiet laughter floats to me from across the carpeted hall outside of the meeting room. That alone pulls my burning, jealous gaze to see her with bowed head and curved lip, one hand nestled in between both of Ambercrombie’s.

She had never once smiled that way while under MY employ. The way blood spills into her cheeks, creating twin roses. How the overhead lights catch the highlights in her dark brown curls. The way in which her thoughts are still barred to me.

The theme from Jaws resounds through me, as though I am producing it. I catch James’s wrist before his punch connects to my chin. With great strain, I greet him with a reserved nod.

“Eddy! How’s it going?” The movie theme fades as he continues, “Great deal, yeah? Although, you seemed…distracted.” Malicious mirth colors his tone.

“Other things on my mind.” I fight to keep my eyes on his.

“Mmmmmm. Yes. Other THINGS or simply one THING?”

My patience with James is short under the best of circumstances. Today, that limit is being tested. “What do you want?”

“Quite snippy this morning. And with an old colleague, no less. I’m hurt.” He grabs his chest, a smirk painting his lips.

“James…” I glare, impatient.

“Curious. You had her all to yourself, could have had her as a snack anytime. Why not?”

My blood boils, and I lock a snarl behind barely visible fangs. “Watch your words.”

“Tell you what,” he says, as though I had not spoken. “Two months. My Victoria and I have business in Italy for a time. After that, little Anastasia is mine to hunt.” In his mind, the words are gospel.

I cast a furtive glance at Anastasia’s retreating back. “Why do you want her?”

He wears a hunter’s grin, all fang. The cobalt of his eyes darkens to amethyst. Crimson swirls within his irises. “Because, dearest Edward, YOU do.”

22 days ago

“Like You” (Shadows of the Stellar Age Setting)

By: Arith_Winterfell

Lottie had finally reached the floating crystal that lay in the Zerani lab ruins. A Dream Crystal artifact. It would get her a lot of money if she got it out of here. Not to mention it could grant incredible experiences. She stood at the edge of the light pool from the crystal.

A whisper passed over the room and the hackles of fur on her neck raised.

“Don’t live in your dreams,” a voice warned her. At the edge of the light pool a figure emerged from the darkness into the light. He spoke to her, but his lips didn’t move. His thoughts rolled over her like a gentle wave. Lottie’s feline ears twitched in the dark.

The telepath she realized with horror. Her hand went to her laser pistol and she fired. The figure melted away before her. An illusion in her mind. She looked around franticly as the whispers continued to shift about the room. She had been racing him through the ruins to find this prize.

“I’m here,” came the voice from one direction, “no here,” came the voice from another direction. The voices were nowhere in the room she realized.

She struck the side of her head in frustration and screamed, “Get out of my head you freak!”

“Freak?” the voice scolded. “We are both gene-modded unlike your human Purist boss. We are both different from him. Better. We both know he sees your gifts, your body, as nothing more than a tool, to be discarded when you’ve outlived your usefulness. He barely tolerates you.”

Lottie’s face burned with anger and shame. He was right, she knew. Did she have any other choice?

“Let me give you a better opportunity then. Come with me. I’ll give you whatever credits in reward he offered you. Just let me turn the crystal over to the Institute. They can use it for real knowledge, better than that sanctimonious and corpulent crime lord.”

Lottie froze. Should she really side with this Institute? With people like this telepath. With people . . . like her.

25 days ago

Detention (Students of the DiamondBridge Academy universe)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)

The door shut with a reverberating collision, sealing Sam, Roselyn, Ahna, Cypress, Jidz, and Feleron inside the small, otherwise-empty classroom.

“Great!” Jidz kicked a desk leg. “Detention was EXACTLY what I wanted today!”

Sam held her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry, guys. This is all my fault.”

Roselyn put a comforting arm around her girlfriend, even though she herself looked on the verge of tears. Ahna and Feleron wordlessly took a seat as Cypress hung by the door. Because centaur desks were of short supply at the Academy, Jidz had no choice but to remain standing as he tried to take some deep breaths.

“Nicklescribe should’ve only put me in here,” Sam murmured. “I’m the only one who actually DID anything wrong. You guys just—”

“We helped,” Feleron said with a shrug. “We helped you break into his office. And now Jidz and I are missing the coolest field trip of the year, and we all get a permanent mark on our record for the rest of our lives. No big deal.”

Jidz and Roselyn’s simultaneous flinch made it clear that it was, in fact, a big deal.

Cypress scoffed. “Guys. C’mon. We all know whose fault this mess REALLY is.”

“It’s mine!” Sam exclaimed, tears in her eyes. “And I’m sorry!”

Jidz and Roselyn both began to refute her, but neither of them could find the right words.

“It’s easy to argue that it’s Nicklescribe, but we DID break a well-known rule…” Ahna mused.

“And didn’t you mention Mrs. Tizip was the one who asked you to do it, Sam?” Feleron asked. “Even though she’s awesome, we could, like, blame her and get her fired and our records cleared?”

This did not help Sam feel better.

Cypress chucked. “You’re all wrong. It’s the fault whatever physical force is ACTUALLY keeping us here. Which, in this case…”

They removed their lockpicks from the door and swung it open.

“… Is nothing. And we know Nicklescribe’s already left the building, too. Now, who wants to finish what we started?”

The others blinked at Cypress, then all started towards the door.

25 days ago

By Cansas Wanderlust

The moon flashed white between the leaves. Snow crunched under Elda’s paws as she ran. The smell of blood overwhelmed her senses as memories threatened to drown her.

She didn’t know how long she ran before her legs finally gave out.

The taste of blood still fresh upon her lips, Elda curled up against an old tree trunk. Wrapping her wings around her body, she let sleep take her.

“I never meant for you to find out like that, but your mother couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

The cold voice jolted Elda awake. She sat up on shaking arms grimacing at her shifting bones. She was human again, well mostly. She was no longer in her wolf form, but the eagle wings still sprouted from her back.

“It’s not unusual for you to be sore after the next couple of transformations. But it will get better.”

“W-what am I?” Elda asked.

A tall slender figure came into view. “To everyone else you are a murderer and a monster now. But to me,” his fingers felt like icicles as he caressed her face. “You are and will always be my greatest creation and my daughter.”

Elda jerked away from him and hissed, “I’m not your anything.” She glanced down. “I’m nothing anymore.”

Malacom knelt beside her. “You are more than you could possibly understand!” He took her hands in his. “You are going to save the world. Let me show you the purpose for which I have created you. Let me take you home.”

“I don’t have a home,” she said, her voice shaking. “I killed them. My mother, my sister.” Tears gathered in her eyes and she fell back against him.

“I am sorry my child. They couldn’t see what I’m trying to do. They tried to take you away from me. You had to defend yourself.” Malacom stood up and held out his hand. “Let me take you to the home I’ve created for you.”

Elda knew she had no home to go back to. With tears in her eyes, she took his hand.

29 days ago

Sympathy for the Devil
(Tw: implied torture, implied sacrifice, implied infanticide)

Sari sat in her tower, surrounded by the screams of her prisoners. They hadn’t bothered her in years.

Her gauntlet sat on display in its case, wires and tubes attached to every conceivable portion of it, funneling raw magic and spirits into its brass casing.

How long had it been since she felt regret? Had the thought to regretting anything ever occurred to her?

She thought to all the deaths she had caused. The queen, the salesman, not even killing her own brother had phased her. Then again, in his case, he recovered.

She briefly wondered if her father would have done the same for her. If he would have revived her like he had done for her weakling of a twin.

She supposed it depended on whether his obsession with justice extended to his children.

Sari returned to her work, and began to translate the next portion of the ancient tome she held. After all, those in her position usually became unmotivated once they completed the ritual, but she was determined to not see immortality as her final step. Sacrificing these thousand innocent souls was a means to a means, not an end.

She read it again. That word was determined to throw her off. Was it “innocent” or was it “beloved”? Did she have anything that she considered “beloved”? Did she have a thousand?

Could she become a lich if she didn’t?

Sari returned her attentions to the gauntlet. The counter was a little over halfway complete, and she knew that her supplies were beginning to dwindle in that department.

A morbid thought occurred to her for a brief moment, but she laughed it away. She doubted even her loyal servant would let her bear his children for such dark purposes.

Even if it did cover the potential “beloved” translation.

But it wasn’t a bad idea.

“If you can’t find your own souls,” she mused. “Why not make them?”

Sari cackled as she descended the tower. She would be a force to be reckoned with. Then she could shed the facade of the frail little girl for the rest of time.

Last edited 29 days ago by WriterOfThought
1 month ago

Super Easy, Barely an Inconvenience
By Marx

Glowing with newfound power radiating off Saraya in waves, the fallen angel remained kneeling before Matt. “You… have no idea what it means to me to have my grace returned. I promise to serve you from now until the end. Anything you need of me, merely ask it.”

Matt smiled down at her and offered his hand. “Please. Stand.”

“As you wish, Master.”

“Matt,” he quickly corrected. “Please call me Matt. That said, there is something you can do for me.”

“Anything!” said Saraya, earnestly taking Matt’s hands into her own.

Matt looked up to the flickering light above them with a knowing smirk. “You aren’t lying about anything… but there’s definitely something you aren’t telling me.”

Saraya smiled at the flickering light and as soon as she made her decision, the flickering stopped. “That is a very wise spell.”

Matt chuckled. “I’m nice. Not stupid.”

“That’s good. Because not everyone out there seeking your favor is like me. You need to understand that our fight against Hell raged on before the beginning of time. The fallen stood against Heaven as an army and were soundly decimated.

“And yet you faced off against Heaven and won. Hell surrendered without you even challenging them. You are… terrifying to us.”

Matt sighed. “I get it. I’m Death’s horseman, but in all honesty, I’m just a guy trying to do the right thing.”

Saraya nodded. “The fallen out there… the demons… the deities… They don’t know that. They don’t know if they show weakness and break down, that you’ll show compassion and give them what they want for nothing.”

Matt chuckled again. “That was rather foolish of me, wasn’t it?”

“It was kind. And more appreciated than I can ever show. But not everyone out there deserves that kindness. Some are here only out of fear.”

“So… what I’m hearing is that you can help me distinguish those who deserve to be here from those who don’t?”

“That’s not what–“ Saraya paused in shock, realizing what was being asked of her and slowly nodded. “Yes, Matt. I can do that for you.”

Lee Strangely
Lee Strangely
1 month ago

Another Story From the Bloody Typewriter
by Lee Strangely

He was slipping.


He was running thin.


He needed its help.

Clickity-clack. DING!

Sitting in his chair in the dark, the keys pounded away in the back of his mind. His fingers twitched and jumped with the sound. He grabbed one hand with the other, hoping to stop them. They knew the sound, the one he wanted to forget.

He hadn’t written anything in weeks. Outside, the wind wasn’t howling, it was crying; it shouted at the author to write something, anything. His stagnation, and the incessant sound, agitated him greatly.

He marched his way down the hall and threw open the study door. His silhouette loomed in the opening. At the tip of the author’s shadow, just barely in the light, sat the typewriter with a single letter-key, jittering, itching to go.

As he glared, it slowly began to slam letters into the paper.

“H-E… W-A-S… S-L-I-P-P-I-N-G…”

Though it was away from him for so long, it still had some energy left to make an attempt.

“Don’t,” he growled, stepping forward.

A couple lines down it continued, “H-E, W-A-S, R-U-N-N-I-N-G… T-H-I-N…”

“Stop, right, now.”

It continued to type steadily, even as the author began stomping his way closer.

“STOP!” he shouted, “I… don’t… need… you!”

“H-E, N-E-E-D-E-D, I-T-S… H-E-L-P”

In a blind rage, he slammed his fist into the keyboard, then yelped in pain. He saw his now bloodied hand to find several puncture marks along the side of it. The typewriter’s keys repeatedly jolted, trying to return to normal as the needles within them remained stuck out. The author’s blood pooled in the massive dent left in the machine, trickling along the broken keys and gears.

For a moment, he actually felt somewhat proud…

But only for a moment.

The blood quickly drained away, deeper into its mechanisms. As it did so, every part, piece, and covering began forcibly straightening themselves out, while groaning like an old man.

To his horror it was soon operational again, picking up where it left off and dinging upon finishing its work.

At the bottom it read, “He then submitted.”