A Month of Prompts

[Lord Gregorio]

16 minutes ago, CalanoCorvus said:

That was pretty cool to read. Def intriguing.

Thanks. Took me about ten minutes.  

[Wittles]

That was a fun read

[Little_Dagger]

On 06/01/2023 at 0:41 AM, Aes Sedai said:

1/5/23: The Chickens got Their Way

  Hide contents

Chickens don’t get what they want. It’s in the rules every chicken gets when they choose to be a chicken, right between ‘lay eggs’ and ‘if your head gets cut off, you may continue to run around’.

But not all chickens follow those rules. See, some chickens don’t follow them at all! Some chickens die right away when you cut their heads off, and some chickens don’t ever lay any eggs at all!

And some chickens…some chickens get what they want. I think that’s pretty easy, seein’ as all they must want is not to be my dinner. But I think it’d be nice to be a chicken. Cause chickens, they don’t hafta worry about nothin’. But we can’t all be chickens. They have their way, and we got ours. And I don’t think I’d want to be a chicken anyway. I certainly wouldn’t wanna be someone’s dinner.

 

Is this a Wayne story? I get his vibe from it

Edited January 16, 2023 by Yuliya

[Edema Rue]

I didn’t even think of that but reading it again it totally could be!

[Little_Dagger]

14 hours ago, Aes Sedai said:

I didn’t even think of that but reading it again it totally could be!

I like that you tried a different style and I like your other stories. Do you often write?

[Edema Rue]

Thank you! I don't do anything official, but I like writing a lot. It's the next best thing to reading, and nothing is better than reading, as we know. 

Since I don't want to double post, there haven't been any prompts recently, and I'm feeling forlorn, so...

Today: I should have

Spoiler

There are so many things I could have done. If only I had known. But I did know; they warned me, they told me, and I didn't listen. I thought I was strong enough. I was such a fool.

People always talk about the things they should have done. It's ironic; if they're still talking, that means they're still alive. And if they're still alive, then they have a chance to change it, to fix it, to do something. To do better now, even if they can't fix what's lost. Lost. They don't know what lost means. They have no idea. They'll talk about things, people, times lost to them. But they talk. And people listen. People never recognize the value that comes with being heard. There was a time when I was one of them. When I had no idea how much it would hurt to lose something so simple. But then, it's not simple, is it. Because no matter how diluted, no matter how tainted, no matter how absurd and painful and foolish, it's still love. 

Oh, it may not seem like it. But it is. It comes with being human; you will be loved. A smile on the street, a bite of food...and then there's the deeper level. When life goes wrong, when everything falls apart, it isn't--it wasn't--half so bad, because she was there. She was there to hold me, there to love me. She lied to me. She told me that nothing I did would ever take away her love. But it did. I did. She's gone.  But it's been so long...so long...and I can hardly remember her eyes, her smile...I should have done more. There were a thousand little things I could have done, a thousand things to change it. Deep down, I know it would have done nothing. If I could go back in time and tell myself everything, it would change nothing. No words can take away naivety. No tears can bring someone back. A thousand tears change nothing. Screaming and kicking and wailing changes nothing. If I had told myself that she would die, that the pain of it would cost me my own life...even then I would not have listened. I would have ignored myself the same way I ignored the dozens of people who tried to help me. 

I was a poet once. I wrote these stories, these songs. I sang of love found and love lost. I knew nothing, only that it made for fine entertainment. Oh, Eurydice. I was a fool. You were there all along, weren't you. You were right behind me, calling me. How could I have let the doubts come? I thought he had tricked me. How could the god of the underworld let me win? I thought it was a trick, a cruel twist of fate to keep me from leaving with you. It was so dark...so could...thoughts come in the dark. Thoughts that would never dare to make themselves known in the light of day. I was so angry. We'd been married for a few scant hours, and he stole you away from me. How could I leave you, knowing that? I thought myself one of the heroes that I sang of. I should have known better. I followed you. I came for you, my muse, my love. You were my fire at night, my flower by day, my muse in the times between. 

And I did it. I beat Hades and softened his heart of coal. You've always said my words had power, more power than I could ever know. I saw what you meant, then. I realized what you had told me all along. I sang what I felt, and the world changed, just a little. Just enough to bring you home. Oh, but I was a fool. I was afraid, love. I didn't know one could fear so much. I thought that when I lost you the first time, I lost it all. My soul was as dead as you were. And then, like embers in a gust of wind, it lived again. I knew how much I loved you because I had already lost you once. I hadn't thought there was any worse pain than that. 

I was still so foolish. But in the dark and the cold, when I was hungry and alone...you couldn't hold me. Neither my words nor yours carried the power to sway gods, let alone our own minds. I was a prisoner to myself, and you died because of it. We could have lived. We should have lived. But now you are gone, and I am left to wither away, knowing I have failed. If I could see you one more time...if I could hold you...if I could tell you how sorry I was. But we both know the truth. I could cry a thousand tears, and they would change nothing. If I could change it, we both know I would. But there's no changing the past. When the fight comes, it's too late to train. 

When the fight came, I was a coward. 

When you needed me most, I turned traitor. 

If only, if only.

If you know the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, that became my inspiration. (If you do and you haven't listened to the musical Hadestown, please go do that.)

[Lord Gregorio]

Heck ya. Another prompt. I'll come back and do it tomorrow maybe.

[The Aspiring Archivist]

Don't worry everyone, I'm on time!

1/2/23 - An Old Relic

Spoiler

The twenty-sided die had been in Pine's family for centuries, apparently.

It wasn't anything much. Some people had heirlooms with extensive stories and meaning, and a list of the people who had passed it down. All Pine knew was that when his father had died, it was left to him in the will with the simple line, "The die is for Pine."

When asked about the strange piece of granite, now rough around the edges from wear, his father had only said that it had been left to him by his mother, Pine's grandmother. He had said that it had been with them for "more years than I have drinks in a year." For an alcoholic, that was a pretty big claim.

It had sat on a shelf Pine's whole childhood, and it was still there now as he moved into the house, also left to him in the will. Taking a close look at it, he could see breaks in the dust around it. Apparently, his father had moved it at some point, though he had never seen it out. Struck by a strange impulse, he took it off of the shelf and gave it a roll on the nearby counter. He had to squint to see the number that came up, as worn as it was. A seventeen. That's how old I was when I left the house. He remembered the night, rainy and bleak, like his future had seemed.

He rolled it again. Thirteen. That's how old I was when my mother died. He remembered walking in on her, bleeding on the kitchen floor.

He rolled it again. Seven. And that's how old I was when she taught me not to talk to dad after he'd had too many drinks. He remembered even then, watching as his father stumbled around, yelling in drunken rage.

With a surge of resentment, he threw the die out of the still open door. It clattered on the porch before rolling into the lawn, out of sight. Well, there goes centuries of family history.

The next morning...

Pine glanced at the shelf as he made breakfast. And there it was. The same rough stone die. He frowned, knowing for certain that he hadn't gone out to find it and put it back. His girlfriend, maybe? She had come by earlier today to set up some of her own things before moving in herself. Maybe she had found it in the lawn? He called, and she assured him that she had never seen the die, let alone brought it in.

Maybe I just dreamed that I had thrown it. It didn't really make sense, but he couldn't see any alternative. He decided he might as well leave it there for now.

Three months later...

Pine could feel the nervous pit in his stomach as he combed his hair. He was dressed nicely, but casually, as he usually did when he went out to the bridge with Julia after dinner. He had done it dozens of times now, and they always enjoyed talking on the bench overlooking the river channel and the many-colored lights of the city that reflected in its waters. This time was different, however. The ring case felt like an iron weight in his pocket.

As he waited for Julia to finish getting ready herself, his eyes fell on the die on the shelf. He took a deep breath and picked it up, examining it. Then he gave it a roll. Lucky twenty.

He couldn't help but smile to himself. I won't be like you, dad. It was a silly, meaningless thing, but it somehow made the weight of today's decision feel a little lighter.

Seven years later...

"Daddy, what's that?" 4-year old Ash asked from his perch atop Pine's shoulders. Julia was at work, so it was his solemn duty to entertain the young boy until she got back and they could have dinner. Though, he couldn't say it wasn't at all entertaining to him, either.

"What's what?"

The boy wobbled precariously as he let go of one hand to point at a shelf full of knickknacks and framed pictures. "That."

Pine carefully set his son down and looked at the shelf. "What about it?"

"There's a little rock."

A little rock... ah. Pine's smile dropped slightly as he saw the simple twenty-sided die that had been pushed behind all the family photos. He reached and picked it up. "This? It's a die."

"Like the thing in the game you and mommy play?" Ash jumped up and down in excitement, as he always did when he recognized a word.

"Yes, exactly! But that one has six sides. This one has twenty."

"I can count to twenty!" The child continued bouncing with ceaseless energy.

Pine laughed. "I know. I got this one from my dad. And I've kept it ever since." He gave it a roll. A two. For some reason this gave Pine a sense of foreboding. He quickly put the feeling aside, and he put the die back on the shelf.

One week later...

Sirens wailed. Waves of heat slammed into pine Pine as he watched the house burn, holding a sobbing, coughing Ash in his arms. He had woken up to the child's cries, and upon getting out of bed been greeted by smoke filling the house and a fire in the boy's room. The department had said it looked like an electrical fire of some sort. The family of three had been lucky to get out alive.

Later, as they were taken to the emergency room for minor burns and smoke inhalation, Pine felt something in his pocket. He reached in, and pulled out the die. He hadn't put it there.

Also, I would appreciate feedback!

Edited January 17, 2023 by The Aspiring Archivist

[Little_Dagger]

13 hours ago, Aes Sedai said:

Thank you! I don't do anything official, but I like writing a lot. It's the next best thing to reading, and nothing is better than reading, as we know. 

Since I don't want to double post, there haven't been any prompts recently, and I'm feeling forlorn, so...

Today: I should have

  Reveal hidden contents

There are so many things I could have done. If only I had known. But I did know; they warned me, they told me, and I didn't listen. I thought I was strong enough. I was such a fool.

People always talk about the things they should have done. It's ironic; if they're still talking, that means they're still alive. And if they're still alive, then they have a chance to change it, to fix it, to do something. To do better now, even if they can't fix what's lost. Lost. They don't know what lost means. They have no idea. They'll talk about things, people, times lost to them. But they talk. And people listen. People never recognize the value that comes with being heard. There was a time when I was one of them. When I had no idea how much it would hurt to lose something so simple. But then, it's not simple, is it. Because no matter how diluted, no matter how tainted, no matter how absurd and painful and foolish, it's still love. 

Oh, it may not seem like it. But it is. It comes with being human; you will be loved. A smile on the street, a bite of food...and then there's the deeper level. When life goes wrong, when everything falls apart, it isn't--it wasn't--half so bad, because she was there. She was there to hold me, there to love me. She lied to me. She told me that nothing I did would ever take away her love. But it did. I did. She's gone.  But it's been so long...so long...and I can hardly remember her eyes, her smile...I should have done more. There were a thousand little things I could have done, a thousand things to change it. Deep down, I know it would have done nothing. If I could go back in time and tell myself everything, it would change nothing. No words can take away naivety. No tears can bring someone back. A thousand tears change nothing. Screaming and kicking and wailing changes nothing. If I had told myself that she would die, that the pain of it would cost me my own life...even then I would not have listened. I would have ignored myself the same way I ignored the dozens of people who tried to help me. 

I was a poet once. I wrote these stories, these songs. I sang of love found and love lost. I knew nothing, only that it made for fine entertainment. Oh, Eurydice. I was a fool. You were there all along, weren't you. You were right behind me, calling me. How could I have let the doubts come? I thought he had tricked me. How could the god of the underworld let me win? I thought it was a trick, a cruel twist of fate to keep me from leaving with you. It was so dark...so could...thoughts come in the dark. Thoughts that would never dare to make themselves known in the light of day. I was so angry. We'd been married for a few scant hours, and he stole you away from me. How could I leave you, knowing that? I thought myself one of the heroes that I sang of. I should have known better. I followed you. I came for you, my muse, my love. You were my fire at night, my flower by day, my muse in the times between. 

And I did it. I beat Hades and softened his heart of coal. You've always said my words had power, more power than I could ever know. I saw what you meant, then. I realized what you had told me all along. I sang what I felt, and the world changed, just a little. Just enough to bring you home. Oh, but I was a fool. I was afraid, love. I didn't know one could fear so much. I thought that when I lost you the first time, I lost it all. My soul was as dead as you were. And then, like embers in a gust of wind, it lived again. I knew how much I loved you because I had already lost you once. I hadn't thought there was any worse pain than that. 

I was still so foolish. But in the dark and the cold, when I was hungry and alone...you couldn't hold me. Neither my words nor yours carried the power to sway gods, let alone our own minds. I was a prisoner to myself, and you died because of it. We could have lived. We should have lived. But now you are gone, and I am left to wither away, knowing I have failed. If I could see you one more time...if I could hold you...if I could tell you how sorry I was. But we both know the truth. I could cry a thousand tears, and they would change nothing. If I could change it, we both know I would. But there's no changing the past. When the fight comes, it's too late to train. 

When the fight came, I was a coward. 

When you needed me most, I turned traitor. 

If only, if only.

If you know the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, that became my inspiration. (If you do and you haven't listened to the musical Hadestown, go do that.)

I liked the feel of the story, and thanks for the musical recommendation! 

I know I am late to the party, but I liked the prompt so here is my not-so-short story (I am really bad at writing anything short, haha). Also, I wanted to add some light to the forlorn mood, so here you go

1/17/23 - I should have

Spoiler

I wiggled a finger in the hole in my cloak and sighed. I could put all five of my fingers through and still have space to fit my head in too. It was hopeless. My last good piece of clothing had finally caught up with its owner: a perfect outer reflection of the emptiness, wear and tear on the inside.

I pulled out a thread and needle anyway. Not that I knew what to do with the two but there was little else to occupy me in the gloomy so-far empty suite of this small inn. So far – because there was a second room adjacent to mine, and the little ‘kitchen’ – just a table and a hearth really - held somebody else’s mug and fork in it. Another woman, maybe a young one, judging by the hand-painted flowers dotting the lonely mug.

Her room was bare, empty of any signs of life. Perhaps, the owner had also moved in just that day, or perhaps, she preferred carrying her belongings with her when going out. I did. There were so few left, it was no trouble.

I threaded the needle on the third try and started poking at the fabric in what I hoped was a reasonable pattern, but, of course, the whole thing fell apart on the third stitch. I grumbled and started again, a steady drip-drip-drip of the rain behind the window - the only sound accompanying my muffled curses.

I started my third attempt at securing the thread when the door to the suite opened and a young woman, her clothes and hair dripping harder than the rain outside, walked in. I stopped my ‘work’ and studied her.

She was slender and dark-eyed, with hair that was probably puffy and hay-colored when not so drenched. She eyed me suspiciously from the doorstep, as if even the cold evening outside was more preferable to sharing a suite with a stranger.

I smiled at her tentatively.

“That’s horrible weather,” I said, commenting on the obvious to feel the room with something other than glares. “It is freezing even indoors these days”.

I got up and pulled a chair close to the hearth, where a few embers still glowed after the fire died out hours ago. “If you hang your cloak here, it may be dry by the morning.”

She only pulled her cloak closer, cupping her hands protectively over something hidden in its folds. A long leather case.

“You play the flute?” I asked curiously, recognizing the case. “My mother used to have one, though she never quite mastered it. Did it get wet in that downpour?”

The girl, she was a girl - no more than seventeen - only shook her head.

“That’s good,” I said, studying the hearth, “There is nothing worse than dampness for a good instrument. How about you settle in and I go get more firewood from downstairs? We will need more than these embers to dry you properly.” 

I wanted to give her time to hide that flute she seemed to treasure so much – a smart decision in an inn like this – and so left my ruined cloak at the table, needle still in, and walked down the narrow staircase to the common room. The place was large but empty, colder than our suite upstairs. I lingered a little anyway, piling the wood into my arms slowly to give my suitemate time to change, study my own scarce belongings, and shut herself in her room if she chose.

When I came back, however, she was still in the kitchen, dressed in simple pants and shirt, both dry; her cloak and boots on the chair I placed by the hearth. I nodded to her and added wood to the fireplace, stacking the rest nearby.

“Now the clothes will certainly be dry by the morning,” I said and moved the chair a little closer to the fire.

“Thank you,” the girl said, “You shouldn’t have troubled yourself”.

“Of course, I should have,” I said, returning to my place by the table. “It was getting colder here anyway”. Not quite true, but too harmless to be called a lie.

“I do play the flute,” the girl said, shrugging and lowering herself across the table from me. My battered badge of a city guard she had surely found among my things must have convinced her I was an unlikely thief. “For money, on the streets. On most days, it brings enough coin to buy some bread. Days like today, though… they make me hate rain, which I think is terribly unfair. It is not the rain’s fault that I can’t play outside, and everyone is too grumpy to appreciate it if I did, anyway.”

She thought for a little and said, “I remember enjoying the smell of the rain when I was younger”.

I nodded slowly, picking up my cloak again. “I remember enjoying many things when I was younger.” I said, “I suppose I lost them one by one on the way”.

Something in my tone made her look up at me. “That is not as bad as it sounds. I think… I think you will find them even more lovely when you find them again”.

I remembered a time when I believed that. I remembered the time when I stopped believing that too. The girl frowned at the shadow of the thought in my eyes, then got up and put a kettle on fire – just enough water in it to fill two cups.

“For example, I intend to rediscover how good a hot mug can feel in my hands. Outside today, all shivering and wet, I could not believe that anything warm had ever existed in the whole world. Ever,” she shuddered a little at the memory.

The kettle started sputtering and the girl poured the boiling water into her colorful mug with such care, it could as well have been the rarest of teas. She poured the rest into my mug and set it in front of me. I sipped the hot water and thought that it indeed tasted better than it had any right to.

The girl blew at the steam and took a sip too. Her stomach growled loudly at the deceit but she ignored it, tracing a finger along the mug’s flowers.

I got up and returned with a crust of bread and the remnants of cheese left from my dinner earlier. My intended breakfast.

“Here,” I said, placing them on the table, “It is nice to rediscover the taste of food now and then too.”

She looked up at me. “You shouldn’t have… I am fine, really”.

“I should have,” I said calmly. “It will go stale in the morning anyway”.

The girl stared at the food for a moment longer, then pulled it towards herself and dug in. “Thank you,” she said simply.

I just raised my hands in an ‘I don’t know what you are talking about’ gesture.

She sniffed. “I am Lina, by the way. I always stay in the city in the fall, though I move around quite a bit. I am going to the East side tomorrow morning.”

“Perhaps, I will hear you play your flute there someday,” I said, “I work…,” worked, “in that neighborhood”.

Lina nodded, washing the bread down with the hot water. “I don’t know if I am better than your mother, but you are always welcome to come.”

 

“I will be looking forward to it,” I said, then yawned and stood up. “I am going to bed; it has been a long day and I am only making more holes in this anyway”, I jerked my chin towards my cloak, still spread limply on the table. I felt frustrated enough to leave it there forever, the surface of the table mocking me silently through the tear. I would have… if only it wasn’t so damn cold outside.

“Make sure to rotate yours around before you go to bed, to dry the other side,” I added and turned to go.

“I will. Good night,” Lina said.

“Good night,” I echoed and closed the door behind me.

I fell asleep fast, warmed by the hearth still raging in the kitchen, and the sounds of my mother’s flute the dreams drudged up from my memory.

When I woke in the morning, Lina, her mug and the fork were already gone. I must have slept longer than I intended.

Another day. Another day of trying to pick up the pieces of my life, to glue them back together. And, by the sounds drifting through the cracks in the window, it was just as rainy as the one before.

I rubbed at my eyes and headed to the table to collect my cloak that was still spread on it like some mutilated butterfly. Even with a hole in it, it was still better than nothing. Anything was, in that rain.

I picked up the cloak without a glance but paused when my fingers grazed something soft and sturdy. I frowned and held the fabric out to find a neatly placed, smooth patch where the gaping rip should have been. Someone cut off an inner pocket and used the material to make the cloak whole again.

Lina, you shouldn’t have, I thought, a smile tugging on my lips as I stared and stared at the unexpected gift. She must have stayed up half the night to fix it!

Something small and white on the table snatched my attention. A note.

I picked it up and read the few words it held.

Yes, I should have.

 

Edited January 17, 2023 by Yuliya

[Lord Gregorio]

1/17/23 - I should have

Spoiler

 

Matt stumbled. This snow was so stinking hard to run through. His feet were soaked from hours of tracking. He'd only killed a few hares by the time he'd heard the beasts. The mad wolves.

"Matt!" Jared got off another two shots before Matt had enough voice to yell.

"Leave me!" Matt screamed back. It was so hard to breath now. The cold air. The wolves were so close. Matt reached Jared, but Jared didn't run with him. He stood there with the rifle, peering down the scope.

"Those things are nasty looking," Jared said. He chuckled.

"Let's get out of here Jared. Get inside!"

Jared shot again, the noise ringing through Matt's ears. A wolf fell. There were two left. Matt turned to see the beasts barreling toward them. He never could have lived if he hadn't been so far away. He'd been careless. "We need to get rid of as many as we can. Before the infection or whatever this is spreads."

Two wolves? "How many bullets do we have left?"

Jared pulled the bolt back, shoved it forward, and fired again. Wounding a wolf. "Seven."

The wolves were just over a hundred feet away. Matt drew his hatchet as the wolves got close. Jared shot twice before heaving the wood axe. One wolf remained. It leapt at Matt with a frothing mouth. Flesh tore away from it, fur unkempt. Jared swung and Matt screamed. The axe plunged into the wolf as it fell on Matt. Matt hacked at the side of the wolf's face as it bit his shoulder. He screamed. Thunk. Matt tried to roll away but the wolf grabbed his back with sharp teeth.

Curses and screams didn't keep the wolf from tearing into Matt. With a final yell Jared's axe dug deep into the wolf's neck. The wolf fell to the side, head hanging. Blood darkened the snow and Jared stumbled to Matt's side. "How much does it hurt?"

Matt chuckled as he coughed out blood, "A lot."

"Ah heck. You alright?"

"It only bit me three times. Tried to claw me a bit."

"We've got to get you back."

"We don't have a doctor. I'm dying here. Sorry Jared," said Matt. Jared scooped Matt up, and Matt winced. He'd probably be dead before Jared stumbled through the door. "It's not worth it Jared. I'm dead meat. I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

Ya. I continued the story. Not sure if I will there's another prompt. I felt like doing it though. Didn't have a lot of time though.

[Little_Dagger]

11 minutes ago, Gregorio said:

1/17/23 - I should have

  Hide contents

 

Matt stumbled. This snow was so stinking hard to run through. His feet were soaked from hours of tracking. He'd only killed a few hares by the time he'd heard the beasts. The mad wolves.

"Matt!" Jared got off another two shots before Matt had enough voice to yell.

"Leave me!" Matt screamed back. It was so hard to now. The cold air. The wolves were so close. Matt reached Jared, but Jared didn't run with him. He stood there with , peering down the scope.

"Those things are nasty looking," Jared said. He chuckled.

"Let's get out of here Jared. Get inside!"

Jared shot again, the noise ringing through Matt's ears. A wolf fell. There were two left. Matt turned to see the beasts barreling toward them. He never could have lived if he hadn't been so far away. He'd been careless. "We need to get rid of as many as we can. Before the infection or whatever this is spreads."

Two wolves? "How many bullets do we have left?"

Jared pulled the bolt back, shoved it forward, and fired again. Wounding a wolf. "Seven."

The wolves were just over a hundred feet away. Matt drew his hatchet as the wolves got close. Jared shot twice before heaving the wood axe. One wolf remained. It leapt at Matt with a frothing mouth. Flesh tore away from it, fur unkempt. Jared swung and Matt screamed. The axe plunged into the wolf as it fell on Matt. Matt hacked at the side of the wolf's face as it bit his shoulder. He screamed. Thunk. Matt tried to roll away but the wolf grabbed his back with sharp teeth.

Curses and screams didn't keep from tearing into Matt. With a final yell Jared's axe dug deep into the 's neck. The wolf fell to the side, head hanging. Blood darkened and Jared stumbled to Matt's side. "How much does it hurt?"

Matt chuckled as he coughed out blood, "A lot."

"Ah heck. You alright?"

"It only bit me three times. Tried to claw me a bit."

"We've got to get you back."

"We don't have a doctor. I'm dying here. Sorry Jared," said Matt. Jared scooped Matt up, and Matt winced. He'd probably be dead before Jared stumbled through the door. "It's not worth it Jared. I'm dead meat. I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

Ya. I continued . Not sure if I will there's another prompt. I felt like doing it though. Didn't have a lot of time though.

Keep continuing the story until we know what the hell is wrong with those wolves!

[Lord Gregorio]

3 minutes ago, Yuliya said:

Keep continuing the story until we know what the hell is wrong with those wolves!

I'll do my best.  Thanks for the praise.

[Edema Rue]

5 hours ago, Yuliya said:

I liked the feel of the story, and thanks for the musical recommendation! 

I know I am late to the party, but I liked the prompt so here is my not-so-short story (I am really bad at writing anything short, haha). Also, I wanted to add some light to the forlorn mood, so here you go

1/17/23 - I should have

  Reveal hidden contents

I wiggled a finger in the hole in my cloak and sighed. I could put all five of my fingers through and still have space to fit my head in too. It was hopeless. My last good piece of clothing had finally caught up with its owner: a perfect outer reflection of the emptiness, wear and tear on the inside.

I pulled out a thread and needle anyway. Not that I knew what to do with the two but there was little else to occupy me in the gloomy so-far empty suite of this small inn. So far – because there was a second room adjacent to mine, and the little ‘kitchen’ – just a table and a hearth really - held somebody else’s mug and fork in it. Another woman, maybe a young one, judging by the hand-painted flowers dotting the lonely mug.

Her room was bare, empty of any signs of life. Perhaps, the owner had also moved in just that day, or perhaps, she preferred carrying her belongings with her when going out. I did. There were so few left, it was no trouble.

I threaded the needle on the third try and started poking at the fabric in what I hoped was a reasonable pattern, but, of course, the whole thing fell apart on the third stitch. I grumbled and started again, a steady drip-drip-drip of the rain behind the window - the only sound accompanying my muffled curses.

I started my third attempt at securing the thread when the door to the suite opened and a young woman, her clothes and hair dripping harder than the rain outside, walked in. I stopped my ‘work’ and studied her.

She was slender and dark-eyed, with hair that was probably puffy and hay-colored when not so drenched. She eyed me suspiciously from the doorstep, as if even the cold evening outside was more preferable to sharing a suite with a stranger.

I smiled at her tentatively.

“That’s horrible weather,” I said, commenting on the obvious to feel the room with something other than glares. “It is freezing even indoors these days”.

I got up and pulled a chair close to the hearth, where a few embers still glowed after the fire died out hours ago. “If you hang your cloak here, it may be dry by the morning.”

She only pulled her cloak closer, cupping her hands protectively over something hidden in its folds. A long leather case.

“You play the flute?” I asked curiously, recognizing the case. “My mother used to have one, though she never quite mastered it. Did it get wet in that downpour?”

The girl, she was a girl - no more than seventeen - only shook her head.

“That’s good,” I said, studying the hearth, “There is nothing worse than dampness for a good instrument. How about you settle in and I go get more firewood from downstairs? We will need more than these embers to dry you properly.” 

I wanted to give her time to hide that flute she seemed to treasure so much – a smart decision in an inn like this – and so left my ruined cloak at the table, needle still in, and walked down the narrow staircase to the common room. The place was large but empty, colder than our suite upstairs. I lingered a little anyway, piling the wood into my arms slowly to give my suitemate time to change, study my own scarce belongings, and shut herself in her room if she chose.

When I came back, however, she was still in the kitchen, dressed in simple pants and shirt, both dry; her cloak and boots on the chair I placed by the hearth. I nodded to her and added wood to the fireplace, stacking the rest nearby.

“Now the clothes will certainly be dry by the morning,” I said and moved the chair a little closer to the fire.

“Thank you,” the girl said, “You shouldn’t have troubled yourself”.

“Of course, I should have,” I said, returning to my place by the table. “It was getting colder here anyway”. Not quite true, but too harmless to be called a lie.

“I do play the flute,” the girl said, shrugging and lowering herself across the table from me. My battered badge of a city guard she had surely found among my things must have convinced her I was an unlikely thief. “For money, on the streets. On most days, it brings enough coin to buy some bread. Days like today, though… they make me hate rain, which I think is terribly unfair. It is not the rain’s fault that I can’t play outside, and everyone is too grumpy to appreciate it if I did, anyway.”

She thought for a little and said, “I remember enjoying the smell of the rain when I was younger”.

I nodded slowly, picking up my cloak again. “I remember enjoying many things when I was younger.” I said, “I suppose I lost them one by one on the way”.

Something in my tone made her look up at me. “That is not as bad as it sounds. I think… I think you will find them even more lovely when you find them again”.

I remembered a time when I believed that. I remembered the time when I stopped believing that too. The girl frowned at the shadow of the thought in my eyes, then got up and put a kettle on fire – just enough water in it to fill two cups.

“For example, I intend to rediscover how good a hot mug can feel in my hands. Outside today, all shivering and wet, I could not believe that anything warm had ever existed in the whole world. Ever,” she shuddered a little at the memory.

The kettle started sputtering and the girl poured the boiling water into her colorful mug with such care, it could as well have been the rarest of teas. She poured the rest into my mug and set it in front of me. I sipped the hot water and thought that it indeed tasted better than it had any right to.

The girl blew at the steam and took a sip too. Her stomach growled loudly at the deceit but she ignored it, tracing a finger along the mug’s flowers.

I got up and returned with a crust of bread and the remnants of cheese left from my dinner earlier. My intended breakfast.

“Here,” I said, placing them on the table, “It is nice to rediscover the taste of food now and then too.”

She looked up at me. “You shouldn’t have… I am fine, really”.

“I should have,” I said calmly. “It will go stale in the morning anyway”.

The girl stared at the food for a moment longer, then pulled it towards herself and dug in. “Thank you,” she said simply.

I just raised my hands in an ‘I don’t know what you are talking about’ gesture.

She sniffed. “I am Lina, by the way. I always stay in the city in the fall, though I move around quite a bit. I am going to the East side tomorrow morning.”

“Perhaps, I will hear you play your flute there someday,” I said, “I work…,” worked, “in that neighborhood”.

Lina nodded, washing the bread down with the hot water. “I don’t know if I am better than your mother, but you are always welcome to come.”

 

“I will be looking forward to it,” I said, then yawned and stood up. “I am going to bed; it has been a long day and I am only making more holes in this anyway”, I jerked my chin towards my cloak, still spread limply on the table. I felt frustrated enough to leave it there forever, the surface of the table mocking me silently through the tear. I would have… if only it wasn’t so damn cold outside.

“Make sure to rotate yours around before you go to bed, to dry the other side,” I added and turned to go.

“I will. Good night,” Lina said.

“Good night,” I echoed and closed the door behind me.

I fell asleep fast, warmed by the hearth still raging in the kitchen, and the sounds of my mother’s flute the dreams drudged up from my memory.

When I woke in the morning, Lina, her mug and the fork were already gone. I must have slept longer than I intended.

Another day. Another day of trying to pick up the pieces of my life, to glue them back together. And, by the sounds drifting through the cracks in the window, it was just as rainy as the one before.

I rubbed at my eyes and headed to the table to collect my cloak that was still spread on it like some mutilated butterfly. Even with a hole in it, it was still better than nothing. Anything was, in that rain.

I picked up the cloak without a glance but paused when my fingers grazed something soft and sturdy. I frowned and held the fabric out to find a neatly placed, smooth patch where the gaping rip should have been. Someone cut off an inner pocket and used the material to make the cloak whole again.

Lina, you shouldn’t have, I thought, a smile tugging on my lips as I stared and stared at the unexpected gift. She must have stayed up half the night to fix it!

Something small and white on the table snatched my attention. A note.

I picked it up and read the few words it held.

Yes, I should have.

 

Of course, musicals are one of the great joys of life. I loved your twist on that prompt, it was awesome!

Well…it’s a new day…and no one’s said a prompt…and I have more words in my head…so…Far from home.

Spoiler

Sienna eyed the city around her. The buildings were so tall they seemed like mountains. The roads were wide as rivers, and even the parks were sterile and…wrong. The grass was too green, the trees were too…cultivated. It was all wrong! 

She was jolted out of her thoughts as a woman crashed into her. The woman glared over her phone and pulled out an AirPod just long enough to tell her to get a move on. Then it was back in, and she was oblivious to the world. Sienna shook her head, disapproving. At home…her brain flinched away from the word, and she walked into the hotel.

“Excuse me,” she said to the front desk. “I’m Sienna Brown, I have a reservation for room 318.”

The man nodded. “I have your name here.” He reached back to grab a key. “Where are you from, Shirley Temple?”

Sienna glared. She’d been called that before, and knew what he was implying. “Earth,” she said simply. She snatched the key and walked up the stairs, ignoring the elevator. 

“Say,” he called behind her. “You’re her, aren’t you? The other one who survived…?”

She didn’t turn back, partly because she didn’t want to answer that and partly to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She managed to keep them from overflowing until she’d unlocked the door and stepped into the room. Like the rest of this place, it was cold and sterile. Then her tears overflowed. She looked out the window. This city was huge, bigger than any that had been on earth. It would take hours to drive from one side to the other, even if there wasn’t traffic. It was too big to see the stars. The sky was a deep purple, likely due to excessive pollution, but it would have been gorgeous with stars. 

She opened her travel sack, eyeing her few belongings. She pulled out a map. Not a small one, the way she was used to, but one that showed galaxies. There was a noticeably empty patch where earth had been. Little red X’s covered the planets she’d visited in the last 2 years. She pulled out her red pencil and  crossed this one out too. She was growing increasingly confident that she wouldn’t find any other earthens. How could they all have…her thoughts trailed off, catching on what he’d said. Years of searching, and there was someone else who’d lived? Here? She scurried back down the stairs and pounded on his desk.

“What do you mean the other one?”

He looked at her, confused. “He’s almost as famous as you are. You’re the two who survived Earth.”

“If he’s so famous,” Sienna said viciously, “then why have I never heard of him?” She’d been watching every rumor of another survivor for 2 years now. Nothing.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t left Greanica since he got here. It’s half the reason we have so many tourists.”

Sienna groaned. “Of course he didn’t. What’s his name?”

“Um, it’s…it’s Robin, Robin Williams, but—”

“Are you kidding me?!” Sienna shouted, loud enough to make another patron look their way. Of course, of course it was him. All the people who died, and he lived. “Tell him Sienna is here, and she’s going to kill him if he doesn’t show up in the next day.” Then she walked back up the stairs, fuming.

Her mind wandered to home. Not just earth, but home. Where every hotel was small and friendly, where everyone knew everyone. That was home. Not these big cities that seemed to be all that existed. And of all the people to survive…Robin. That insolent, uncaring, arrogant—it could have been anyone. There were billions of people living there at the time. And now they were all gone, all but the two of them. Looking out at the empty sky, Sienna had never felt so alone. But hopefully Robin would be there soon. As much as she hated him, he would be a taste of the home that was gone now.

 

[Lord Gregorio]

1/18/23 - Far from Home

Spoiler

Jared stumbled into the cabin, grip slipping. Marks blasted blood was making it so hard to carry him. "Stay awake Mark. You aren't leaving me in this hell-hole," Jared said. He set Mark on the floor. In the closet Jared found a large wrap of bandaging. He used that to wrap the largest wounds Mark had. There were a couple scratches he wasn't able to bind up. He propped Mark's head up with a spare jacket. 

Eventually the puddle on the floor stopped growing. The wood stove's fuel had gone out. Jared filled it up with more wood and lit it. The cabin wasn't very big, but it was big enough. For two men who spent a lot of time outside during the day anyway. Living this far north without a lot of warm clothing would have been difficult, if it hadn't been for their HEATr thermals. Mark was pale. He'd lost so much blood. "You comfortable?" asked Jared.

Mark mumbled something. His eyes were nearly shut.

"All the wolves that came after you are dead now. Hopefully we'll be safe." Jared sat. What else could he do? He hadn't learned as much medical stuff as he'd wished. "Darn you Mark," he whispered, "Why'd you have to go and get hurt? We were doing well. We've nearly got that other cabin built. Why did you want to stay? We could have started nearly as quick if we'd waited. That way we would have been comfortable. In a city with girls, er, family I mean." Jared's thoughts drifted. Had Annie worried about him? Father? Mother?

A few hours later Jared was replacing Mark's bandages. He'd cleaned the wounds with hot water and some soap. He'd learned to sew cuts, and with Mark knocked cold he took the advantage. His insides churned as he tended to the wounds. Oh Mark, you've got to make it out of this. I couldn't have wasted those bullets for you to die on me.

Mark woke early the next day, mumbling for his mother. Jared chuckled as he sat near his friend. "All you've got is me for now. I may not be as pretty as your mom, but I'm better looking than you now."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Is it spring yet?" Mark mumbled.

"You weren't in a coma, Mark. You fell asleep for a day. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a train. Sore everywhere. Body parts hanging by a thread."

"Okay Drama-man. You're not quite that bad. Hang in there. Don't try to move, you've lost a lot of blood. I'll get you some soup."

"I dropped my bow in the woods, Jared."

"Why in the world are you worried about that? You're alive. That's what matters."

"Did you get my arrows?"

"There in the closet, why?"

"We don't have many bullets left. We're gonna need that bow."

"I have my bow. It may not be Mark's lucky bow, but it's a bow."

"Oh, right," Mark said, sighing.

"Do you mind sharing with me why after nearly getting killed by a wolf, you're worried about your hunting bow?"

"We're gonna need all the weapons we can get."

Jared's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" When Mark's head rolled to look at Jared, he felt a chill. 

"There's something wrong here, Jared. Something terrible. I think it's a necromancer."

Jared's brow furrowed, but then he began to laugh. "Oh come on. Those wolves were ugly, but I don't think they were zombies."

"My father disappeared up here years ago, investigating something strange. He never came back."

I was bored. Not sure if I'm early, but I did this anyway. I was bored. I'm hooked on this. Maybe I can actually finish a story for once this way.

[Wittles]

Yes! another prompt, I've been wanting to do this

1/17/2023

I should have

Spoiler

"No!" I thought. I was too late. I closed my eyes, blinking away tears. The fire kept burning, cruelly giving out heat, despite its act of cold cruelty.

I should have been there to warn him, I knew what was going to happen.

The fire burned still brighter. 

 I returned to my home, feeling broken inside. I had known the fire was going to start. Fire had been plaguing my dreams, and I had started to see the very same house he had died in burning. I had thought nothing of it, but I still felt I could have stopped what started it all, but I was just a coward, always a coward. 

A knock came from my door. I could barely gather the energy to get up, but I did it anyway.

I opened the door, expecting... I don't know what I was expecting. Standing there was a man dressed in black. I didn't know him, but he was most likely someone from the fire brigade. He held a charred scroll with my name on it. 

"I am so sorry to be the one bringing you the news, but there was a fire..."

"Stop," I said, "I already know." I didn't add that it was my fault, I could have prevented his death. If I had gone inside that house, if I hadn't just stayed, waiting for the house to catch fire as I knew it would. I could have run inside, and dragged him out. As soon as I had realized that it was the same house from my dream I had realized what was going to happen.

It took me a moment to realize what the man had in his hand.

I pointed to it, "What's that?"

"Oh this?" He held up the scroll. "This was a letter on his person that was found. We asked around and found your home here." He handed me the letter. "I am sorry for your loss," He said as he closed the door and walked away to his waiting horse.

I walked over to my bed and sat to read the scroll.

I opened the scroll. As I opened it, a small unadorned ring fell to the floor. I picked it up and inspected it. It just looked like a normal ring of iron or steel. I held it in my hand as I read the scroll.

"Dear Nara,

If you're reading this, I have been killed. I have no doubt you are blaming yourself for my death, but I want you to know that I was fully aware of what was going to happen. You don't need to worry yourself about me, I needed to continue with my plan. I knew all along, and I don't blame you one bit. I wish I could have given this ring to you in person. I went back in the house to grab it. I hope you don't resent me, and I hope you would've accepted my proposal. I love you.

Gal"

Tears streamed down my face as I read. 

"Oh, Gal," I said, staring at the ring in my hand. "Yes, I would have said yes a hundred times over."

I didn't know how to feel after reading the letter. Anger at Gal for not telling me what he was going to do, happiness for knowing that he had loved me as much as I had loved him. 

I fell back on the bed, clutching the ring to my chest. 

"Thank you Gal, Thank you." I said sobbing softly to myself. 

I was so thankful for him, so thankful that he had left me this reminder of him, and so thankful that he had let me think, even for a moment that it wasn't my fault he had died.

It's a bit late, but I hope you all enjoy. Criticism is welcome.

Edited January 18, 2023 by Witless of Shinovar

[Little_Dagger]

@Aes Sedai I liked the interpretation of home as Earth, as the entire planet. As someone who is interested in the issue of the climate crisis, it is a view I wish more people shared. 

@Gregorio I like the banter, the dynamic you have between the two characters, though I felt like the mentioning of girls in the middle of a "my friend is dying" scene might read a bit crude. I would have enjoyed it better if it were later in the conversation.

@Witless of Shinovar Bitter-sweet and raw, I liked it. Why was the ring iron and steel? I know it is common for iron to repel evil creatures, so was it also intended as an amulet of sorts?

1/18/23 - Far from Home

Spoiler

I stepped over a long moss-green log and froze, one foot still in the air, hands spread wide for balance. Not from fear. Not in an attempt to buy time for the rest of my crew members to realize that I had wandered alone into this ancient forest, thick with the smell of autumn leaves, late-blooming flowers, and dozens of other things my foreign nose could not identify. 

I paused because of curiosity.

I was not alone at this thicket-fringed clearing. My eyes, just as new to this place as my nose, scanned the area for the movement that had snatched their attention earlier. Not a single leaf stirred. There was no sound. Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath while I strained my senses to detect who was watching me from within that tangle of autumn-painted branches.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I lowered my upraised foot to the ground. A twig crunched slightly as I put my weight on it, but… there was so much one-legged balancing my muscles could sustain. 

Another twig snapped, this time a few feet to my left. I whirled my head just in time to catch the movement now. A branch. A long, russet branch, bifurcated in more places than I could count moved through the thicket in a circle, its long twisted ends somehow easily avoiding tangles with its fellows. In fact, it was not a branch at all, I realized with belated wonder. It was… those were antlers!

My eyes went wide as the antlers separated from the branches and a tall, long-necked creature stepped out into the clearing. I have seen deer back in the city, mostly in zoos or online, but this creature was to them what a sword was to a letter knife. An ideal, in imitation of which smaller, inferior copies were made.

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. The Deer’s beauty was so starkly alien, and yet so deeply familiar. All beauty is.

I extended a hand, surprised at how steady it was. This powerful magnificent beast could snap me in two as easily as it did with that twig, and yet, there was no threat in its posture. Appraisal, surprise, curiosity. No fear.

The Deer moved closer, head high, steps small, careful not to spook me. I smiled at it, and extended my hand further. It came. And as it stopped just a few feet away from me, I realized what must have made him come out to this clearing, to greet a two-legged inexperienced stranger in the forest. 

His eyes, large and ringed with thick black eyelashes, were pools of two different colors. One brilliant cyan blue, and one bottomless midnight purple. Just like… just like my own.

As the blue eye stared into blue, the purple of his other eye was mirrored in the glassy darkness of mine. I thought that if I looked long enough, I would see white clouds floating in the first, and cold distant stars reaching out to me from the depth of the second.

By the time the shouts of my name rang from behind, the clearing was striped with elongated shadows of the soft warmth-laced dusk. I was sitting on the log now, though I did not remember when I moved towards it, the Deer standing patiently by my side.

The yells of my companions - my crew, my friends - were getting closer. Worried. Anxious. Pleading. They were afraid for my safety in this alien heathen land. Their voices called for me to come out, to stop hiding, to return home. They did not know.

They did not know, just like I once did not, that the only thing that felt alien and heathen now was their voices in the calm of my forest. The quiet of my night. My dusk. 

I was home. I was just born far away from it.

 

Edited January 30, 2023 by Yuliya

[Wittles]

1 minute ago, Yuliya said:

 

@Witless of Shinovar Bitter-sweet and raw, I liked it. Why was the ring iron and steel? I know it is common for iron to repel evil creatures, so was it also intended as an amulet of sorts?

No, I didn't intend that, that was just the first kind of boring silvery metal I could think of. but I guess if I were ever to do a continuation I could do that. Thanks for the feedback!

[The Aspiring Archivist]

I'm still definitely not behind.

1/3/2023 - A Treasured Curse

Spoiler

The voices whispered in her head every hour of every day.

It had taken years for her to realize that this was not a normal occurrence. That the voices that accompanied her were not a typical phenomenon of the mind, but instead her own personal plague. They would not stop, not to let her focus on work, not for her sleep. She had learned to tune them out sometimes, but they always reemerged, never quite getting pushed back to the recesses of her mind. They surfaced without fail, like the boulder rolling down the hill in Hades.

If she stood on a balcony, they whispered, Jump! If she was holding a knife, they said Cut flesh! Sometimes she wanted to. If she went through with it, would it make the voices stop? Or would they follow her even into the afterlife, endlessly whispering of death and despair. She decided never to find out.

Then they disappeared the day she turned eighteen. There was no warning, no indication. They were just gone, the space in her mind once filled by the chattering of a hundred voices now a tangible, deafening silence.

The first thing she felt was relief. Elation, even. She cheered and jumped about. She held a rope without being told to make a noose. He held a lighter and heard no plea for her to light it under her chin. It was wonderful!

And yet somehow... when she went to bed at night, all she could feel was the emptiness in her mind, the silence pressing in on her, like her head had been pulled underwater. She found she couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat, couldn't even get out of bed once the sun rolled around. Why? Why now that the curse had been lifted, did she feel this way?

She realized now that she had long ago stopped paying heed to what the voices said. They had no longer been voices speaking to her, rather the voices of her mind, uncontrollable but constant. A part of her, as much as her own thoughts. And now they were gone. Once she finally got up, she imagined what the voices would be saying. It was all she could think about. Now that the voices had left, she found that they consumed her more than they ever did when they spoke without her thought.

The next day, she gave in.

That was darker than I had thought it would be.

@Yuliya I liked your story, and the idea of a strange new place that is somehow familiar resonates with me more than I would have thought.

Does anyone have feedback for any of mine? I would love to hear any. I only have three responses so far, one of which is this one, another is earlier on this page, and another is the first submission back on the first page.

[Wittles]

3 minutes ago, The Aspiring Archivist said:

I'm still definitely not behind.

1/3/2023 - A Treasured Curse

  Reveal hidden contents

The voices whispered in her head every hour of every day.

It had taken years for her to realize that this was not a normal occurrence. That the voices that accompanied her were not a typical phenomenon of the mind, but instead her own personal plague. They would not stop, not to let her focus on work, not for her sleep. She had learned to tune them out sometimes, but they always reemerged, never quite getting pushed back to the recesses of her mind. They surfaced without fail, like the boulder rolling down the hill in Hades.

If she stood on a balcony, they whispered, Jump! If she was holding a knife, they said Cut flesh! Sometimes she wanted to. If she went through with it, would it make the voices stop? Or would they follow her even into the afterlife, endlessly whispering of death and despair. She decided never to find out.

Then they disappeared the day she turned eighteen. There was no warning, no indication. They were just gone, the space in her mind once filled by the chattering of a hundred voices now a tangible, deafening silence.

The first thing she felt was relief. Elation, even. She cheered and jumped about. She held a rope without being told to make a noose. He held a lighter and heard no plea for her to light it under her chin. It was wonderful!

And yet somehow... when she went to bed at night, all she could feel was the emptiness in her mind, the silence pressing in on her, like her head had been pulled underwater. She found she couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat, couldn't even get out of bed once the sun rolled around. Why? Why now that the curse had been lifted, did she feel this way?

She realized now that she had long ago stopped paying heed to what the voices said. They had no longer been voices speaking to her, rather the voices of her mind, uncontrollable but constant. A part of her, as much as her own thoughts. And now they were gone. Once she finally got up, she imagined what the voices would be saying. It was all she could think about. Now that the voices had left, she found that they consumed her more than they ever did when they spoke without her thought.

The next day, she gave in.

That was darker than I had thought it would be.

@Yuliya I liked your story, and the idea of a strange new place that is somehow familiar resonates with me more than I would have thought.

Does anyone have feedback for any of mine? I would love to hear any. I only have three responses so far, one of which is this one, another is earlier on this page, and another is the first submission back on the first page.

Wow. that was really cool. It definitely made me think and some of the wording used was super cool and poetic. nice job

[The Aspiring Archivist]

2 minutes ago, Witless of Shinovar said:

Wow. that was really cool. It definitely made me think and some of the wording used was super cool and poetic. nice job

Thanks! Honestly, I do prefer my other two responses. The idea I had for this one didn't really come out how I wanted it to. I think my first one was pretty good, although I did write all of it a ways past midnight on New Year's day and I might be misremembering how good it was.

[Little_Dagger]

@Witless of Shinovar My pleasure! Thank you for the story!

@The Aspiring Archivist Thanks for the feedback! I am glad you found something to relate to in it

Here is my feedback for your stories:

The Cycle Resets: I liked the gradations of "dead" in the story - it was interesting to see how Johd though of himself as a dead man until he actually became one. There is a dark irony in that. I will admit I did not understand the purpose of the government project: why keep them on the island for a year, drop of food and supplies, but not extract any obvious service from the 'prisoners'? Why replace them with others? Perhaps, I just want to know more.

An Old Relic: I think you built the suspense in this one very well. Both with the time stamps, and with the die's continuous intervention. I think I expected his son to roll four in the end (instead of Pine rolling two) to mean "That is how old Ash was when his parents would die in the fire". It would lead to a very dark realization moment on Pine's part. You were not so blood-thirsty, haha.

A Treasured Curse: I couldn't help but think of Zane in Mistborn! (not going to say more in case you haven't read the series), but it was beautifully done. I liked the language and the flow the most here, despite the darkness that laced every word.

In general, thanks for sharing! I would be curious to see you writing something light and humorous, fun  

[The Aspiring Archivist]

1 minute ago, Yuliya said:

@Witless of Shinovar My pleasure! Thank you for the story!

@The Aspiring Archivist Thanks for the feedback! I am glad you found something to relate to in it

Here is my feedback for your stories:

The Cycle Resets: I liked the gradations of "dead" in the story - it was interesting to see how Johd though of himself as a dead man until he actually became one. There is a dark irony in that. I will admit I did not understand the purpose of the government project: why keep them on the island for a year, drop of food and supplies, but not extract any obvious service from the 'prisoners'? Why replace them with others? Perhaps, I just want to know more.

An Old Relic: I think you built the suspense in this one very well. Both with the time stamps, and with the die's continuous intervention. I think I expected his son to roll four in the end (instead of Pine rolling two) to mean "That is how old Ash was when his parents would die in the fire". It would lead to a very dark realization moment on Pine's part. You were not so blood-thirsty, haha.

A Treasured Curse: I couldn't help but think of Zane in Mistborn! (not going to say more in case you haven't read the series), but it was beautifully done. I liked the language and the flow the most here, despite the darkness that laced every word.

In general, thanks for sharing! I would be curious to see you writing something light and humorous, fun  

Thanks for the feedback! Yeah the first one didn't have great logic. From what I remember, my thought was that the extermination was to make sure they couldn't develop too far and try escaping or something. As for the second, I was going to kill Ash, but I couldn't find the heart. And the last one, yeah I did get some ideas from Zane although I tried to make it different.

Maybe I will, but these first three didn't lend themselves to it too much. Or maybe it's just me.

[The Wandering Wizard]

I have a new prompt!

Plant

[Lord Gregorio]

 

8 hours ago, Yuliya said:

@Gregorio I like the banter, the dynamic you have between the two characters, though I felt like the mentioning of girls in the middle of a "my friend is dying" scene might read a bit crude. I would have enjoyed it better if it were later in the conversation.

Lol ya. Makes sense. The prompt was Far from Home. So I tried to think of something that went along with that. I tried to make it happen at a time where Jared had done all he could, but I should've left it out. . Maybe I'll change that. Thanks.

[Medium]

1/18/23

Far From Home

Spoiler

I breathed out, my breath fogging in the air.

I looked up, up at the stars. The Far Off Raven constellation, with it's wings spread wide, stared down at me.

Watching. Waiting to see what I'll do.

I look down at the ground. Tohm, my raven, looks up at me, cocking his head. He caws up at me, and I hear him in my mind.

The Raven sees much, Alice. What will you do in its sight?

He flaps up onto my shoulder, and I look back up at the Far Off Raven.

"I'm not sure," I whisper, "I'm so far... so far from home."

Tohm caws again.

But you only have to ask The Raven. The Raven will help you.

"The Raven hasn't helped me before, Tohm," I say, "It has given me only pain."

Tohm looks at me. He caws.

The Raven must act without Bias, Alice. Bias is the way of the Lion.

"But so much has happened to me," I whisper, tears forming and freezing. I blink them away, and they fall into the snow, little crystals of pain.

Tohm caws.

And The Raven knows this. And knows you. Forgive him, and let him forgive you. And let him in. And let him help you.