creator games The Creator Games 2021

[WrathofaShardKitten]

4 hours ago, Zephrun's Imperium said:

I already finished mine.

How in the tenth name does anyone write that fast?! I'm kind of joking, but also really serious. If you know the secrets, please tell me. My normal bribes have been taken from me, but I can offer. . . uh. . .  The possibility that I'll vote for your thing?

[Channelknight Fadran]

How to write fast:

Spoiler

Spoiler

Spoiler

Git gud.

 

 

 

[Zephrun’s Imperium]

19 minutes ago, WrathofaShardKitten said:

How in the tenth name does anyone write that fast?! I'm kind of joking, but also really serious. If you know the secrets, please tell me. My normal bribes have been taken from me, but I can offer. . . uh. . .  The possibility that I'll vote for your thing?

It’s a short, but effective piece. I think you guys will like it. 

[Aspiring Writer]

On 10/11/2021 at 0:59 PM, xinoehp512 said:

Ah, yes. Please have your submissions in by the 16th!

 

On 10/11/2021 at 1:09 PM, Aspiring Writer said:

Wait, we don't even get a week? 

You haven't answered. Why aren't we getting a week? 

[xinoehp512]

18 minutes ago, Aspiring Writer said:

 

You haven't answered. Why aren't we getting a week? 

The normal time limit is six days... the seventh day is for voting. I've just been letting things go over, partially to let people get submissions in, partially because of personal life.

Speaking of which, I'm getting behind on my inspirations...

[The Unknown Ajah]

44 minutes ago, xinoehp512 said:

The normal time limit is six days... the seventh day is for voting. I've just been letting things go over, partially to let people get submissions in, partially because of personal life.

Speaking of which, I'm getting behind on my inspirations...

Wait, narrative art? Or is writing allowed?

[xinoehp512]

Writing is allowed. Any form of narrative is allowed.

[xinoehp512]

The Fog is dark and cold and empty...

Oh. Hello. I didn't see you there. Apologies for my soliloquizing. Not many conversational partners here on the Edge.

Certainly. But few drifting souls have any words to spare for one such as I.

Lonely? I suppose you could call it that. But I do not mind it so much as you might think.

An interesting question. I could ask the same of you. Why are you here? Are you one outcast by the Center? Are you an explorer, curious about what lies within the Fog? Are you a lost soul, seeking to find relief beyond the Reach?

None of these, you say. Fascinating. It would seem you have not yet decided. Well, perhaps I can offer assistance.

My purpose? That is my purpose. I stand here to tell of the Edge, and the Fog beyond, to any willing to listen.

You are willing?

Then sit down, and let me tell you a tale...

Edited October 14, 2021 by xinoehp512

[xinoehp512]

A continuation of this.

Cynthia watched closely as her father split in two. It happened in an instant: one moment, there was one of him; the next, there were two. Both copies opened their eyes and looked back at Cynthia with eerie synchronicity.

"Replication," they said in unity. "The power at the core of our essence."

Cynthia returned the gaze with curiosity. "What does that mean? We were created from that power?"

The Rekaerbs blinked, and one vanished out of existence. "I... well, I don't know. I don't remember how I was created. That was a long time ago, in a different world." He shrugged. "I've had the ability to replicate for as long as I could remember. It's the power I use the most, and the one I understand the best." He looked at Cynthia, then sighed. "Well. Thought I understood the best."

"I apologize for disturbing your own self-understanding," replied Cynthia solemnly. 

Rekaerb raised an eyebrow slightly. "...Don't mention it." He shook his head. "Anyways. We're not here for me, we're here for you. You have the ability to replicate, I take it?"

"Yes," replied Cynthia. "I am certain. It is my birthright."

"Do it, then."

Cynthia closed her eyes and reached within.

At first, the swirling threads of blue representing her energy to her mind's eye were unreadable. She moved her mental gaze from one thread to another, following the threads like one untying a knot. But the power shifted ever so slightly as she viewed it, frustrating her attempts at understanding it. Thoughts snuck into her mind. What if... she didn't have the ability her father had? Her heart rate quickened at the thought, her eyes twitching behind her tightly shut lids, and her hands clenching into fists.

"Don't think about it too hard," advised Rekaerb. "Like I said. Just... do it."

Cynthia hesitated. Perhaps...? She reached out to the tangled knot in her mind, but this time- instead of untangling it - she pulled.

Cynthia opened her eyes and saw herself.

[xinoehp512]

On the first day, the story began.
On the second day, the hero was introduced.
On the third day, the villain arose.
On the fourth day, the hero fled.
On the fifth day, the hero learned.
On the sixth day, the hero triumphed.
On the seventh day, the story ended.

[xinoehp512]

@Zephrun's Imperium, @Mystic Syn, @Frustration, @Mage, @WrathofaShardKitten, @The Unknown Order: Thank you for your submissions!

@Aspiring Writer, @Experience, @Channelknight Fadran, @Knight of Iron, @Isabelle6060, @Condensation: Please enter any submissions today, if you can!

 

Spoiler

The house in front of you beckons hauntingly.

You enter the house.

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The door slams shut behind you. You spin around, trying the door handle, but it refuses to turn. You are trapped.

You go up the stairs.

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You see a short hallway with four doors leading off of it.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You enter the first door.

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Across the room is a door.

(Close the spoiler to return to the hallway.)

On the floor is a card. It reads: Do not Enter until you are Ready.

You Enter the door.

 

You enter the second door.

Spoiler

The room contains a child's crib, empty saved for a single stuffed animal - a puppy. The room is silent.

(Close the spoiler to return to the hallway.)

You enter the third door.

Spoiler

The floor splits beneath your feet and you fall... and fall... and fall....

You have died. Refresh the page.

You enter the fourth door.

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The room is empty - and yet, you can hear a child's laugh as if though through a long tunnel.

(Close the spoiler to return to the hallway.)

 

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you. You realize that this hallway could not possibly fit in the confines of a standard house.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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The hallway stretches out before you. You consider the possibility that the hallway is infinite.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

Spoiler

The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

Spoiler

The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

Spoiler

The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

Spoiler

The hallway stretches out before you.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

You go down the hallway.

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You see a door at the end of the hall.

You enter the door.

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The room in front of you is empty save for a single table in the center. Upon it rests a small model car.

(Close the spoiler to return to the entryway.)

 

 

 

 

You ignore the house.

Spoiler

You shiver and turn away from the house, returning back to your home.

Within a week, you have entirely forgotten.

 

Edited October 16, 2021 by xinoehp512

[Aspiring Writer]

I'm going to presume that the lack of submissions means that the deadline was again extended?

[xinoehp512]

In general, submissions will be accepted until the vote is put up.

The author counted frantically. Five! He had made a grave error. Six tales had been requested, and he had only delivered five. He'd been in such a hurry to get them in on time he'd completely missed one!

Well, there was no help for it. He'd have to write one up quickly, and hope it wasn't too late. He snatched his pencil and paper, poised to write, and.... nothing.

Oh no, oh no, not now!!! he thought, mentally inserting three exclamation points into his dismay. Writer's block! The curse of narrative artists everywhere. Despite his commitments, he simply could not think of anything to write!

His eyes glanced frantically around the room, but no object sparked a thought. Blinds, nothing. Table, nothing. Concrete slab with a pillow on it, nothing.

Then he turned his eyes to the empty paper, and an idea suddenly blossomed. He picked up the pencil and began to write.

The author counted frantically...

[xinoehp512]

Submissions are in!

Spoiler

"Mistborn: The Final Empire - Trailer"

https://www.writerduet.com/read/HEkQl2dWsqSXWCi2bU0NAlwGMSS2/d34b0b76-84d8-413b-9c24-225767cd5b31

Spoiler

“An Act of Dying Justice,”

https://docs.google.com/document/d/12-cX-9O6Q2UMMxO3Rwlq759gXBej1pIVEmouTjjGxVY/edit

Spoiler

"The Guide."

I stood over the man lying on the misty ground, as he groaned softly.

“What happened?” he asked.

I looked down at him, clothed in simple grey, they always wore grey here, no matter what they wore before, it was always a simple grey.

“You died,” I responded.

He looked at me in horror, standing to run as he saw me for the first time, a tall figure robbed in an obscuring black. 

 I supose it was understandable, I had grown used to it over the ages.

“Who, who are you?” he asked.

I backed away, doing my best to apear non-threatening.

“I have no name, you can call me Death if you wish.”

“I died?” he asked, clutching his hand to his chest where he had been stabbed.

“Yes.”

“Maru, my wife, I have to go back!” he said looking around frantically.

“I am afraid there is no way back, Narrot you cannot return,” I said.

Narrot fell to his knees and wept, “Why? Why did you take me?”

I knelt down next to him and pulled him into an embrace.

“I have made very few choices of consequence since my creation, of them the most important, was opening the gates of Death, I didn’t take you, I allowed you to come.”

Narrot sobbed for a while before responding. “I didn’t want to come, I had so much to do, Maru, my friends, everything...” he trailed off as it all threatened to overwhelm him.

“I know it’s hard, but this way, you suffer less, the poor are not forever doomed to starve, unable to sate their hunger, and nothing to end it. The injured are not doomed to an eternity of pain, for wounds that will never heal. I do not want to bring you suffering, but an end to it.”

“Then why don’t you let us choose? Why force us to die?”

“I don’t kill you, or force you to pass on, I merely let you in. It’s all or nothing, it is cruel, to separate you, but I think it would be worse, to doom you to an eternity within a temporary world.”

“My parents, and some friends, they died, are they here?”

“Not anymore, they have moved on,” I said gesturing to a pathway of light behind me. “You each come to me separately, but I believe you all meet out there, past the realm of the dead.”

“You believe?”

“Well I don’t know,” I said. “I can no more move beyond death, than you can return to life.”

“So What hapens when we all die?” he asked.

“Then I will be alone.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” I said, pulling him gently to the light. “Do not waste your reunion to spend time with me.”

Narrot looked towards the light, his head slightly tilted, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear.

“How did you know my name?” he asked

I turned away from him, looking instead at the countless other beings I spoke with, in their own versions of death, and at the countless more, who still lived, all watched over by me.

“Because I have seen you from the day you were born, I watched everything you did. I wept with you at your failings, and cheered at your successes.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, I love all who live, I think you are the most beautiful things in all of creation, and I want nothing more than for you to be happy.”

By the time I turned around he was gone.

Spoiler

diagonal.docx

Teilah shoved open the door to her chambers and let out a long sigh. It had been an exhausting day. She was more than happy to meet with the common folk of Zarom. It was the duty of a queen to come to know her people and their plight, but her husband had insisted on meeting with every single one, hearing their story, and making arrangements to set them on a better course. Renoch was a good king. Too good. He was a political and economic genius, and knew that the king had to put the people before himself and check the power of the government in order for his nation to thrive. His reign had seen Zarom from the weakest nation in the highlands to the wealthiest and strongest. It was just exhausting. When Renoch sacrificed himself for his people, he dragged his wife along with.

So, she decided, he won’t mind if I take the remainder of the day off. I have earned it. Petition day came but once a month, and Teilah was willing to do her part for the kingdom, she just didn’t have to enjoy it. The question was, how to spend her few remaining hours in the day? She could read the latest publication from the storyteller Meijel, or walk the mountain trails behind the palace. Considering her weariness, the reading sounded like the more appealing option. Either way she had to get out of this cumbersome dress. Teilah walked behind her changing screen and began to disrobe.

She was pulling on a pair of loose trousers, when she was interrupted by rustling sound from the other side of the room. Snatching her dagger from where it sat on top of her folded gown, she peered around the side of the screen. It was only Renoch sitting up in bed. Teilah chuckled at her own jumpiness, and ducking back behind the screen, slipped on a comfortable shirt.

Wait. Renoch wouldn’t be in bed. She had arrived at their chambers before him, and he had been heading to his study to continue working. Despite all that, Renoch would never sleep when there was light by which to serve his people. This was not her husband. Something was extremely wrong. Teilah grabbed her dagger again and dashed to the bed. She had the point of the knife pointed at Renoch’s throat before he could react.

“Who are you,” Teilah hissed, trying to keep her hand steady as she continued to point the knife.

“Teilah. What is wrong? I am your husband, Renoch!” The imposter’s voice was identical to Renoch’s. His mannerisms too. Perhaps misheard Renoch earlier or had lost track of time, and Renoch had slipped into bed while she was dressing. A quick glance at the window told her that it was still light out. Perhaps he was ill.

Her hand wavered, but she kept the knife leveled. She had to know.

“Who are you?” She whispered, emphasizing each word. For a moment a look of anger flashed across this man’s face, presumably because she had not accepted his answer. A mix of relief and fear washed through her. This was not Renoch. Whoever this imposter was, he had the mannerisms, but not the same level of control. Renoch was so insufferably patient that he wouldn’t let someone else’s disbelief in his identity anger him, and he would never let that anger show.

“I…” The imposter’s voice faltered at the look in her face.

“One last time,” Teilah said, voice more confident, “Who are you?”

The man sighed and got up out of the bed. He crossed the room to the large balcony and looked up toward the sky, “I cannot ask you to believe me, though I think you will see the truth of what I say with time. I do however ask you to hear me through.”

Now that the imposter had dropped the act, his personality was very different from Renoch’s. The voice and appearance however remained the same.

“I will listen. But for your sake I hope you include an explanation of how you came to be identical to Renoch and where he is.” She slammed her dagger into its sheath, to make sure that he knew that if he had harmed the king, she would not let him escape justice.

“Your husband has taken my position, so I have taken his.” He turned back toward her and saw the look of confusion on her face, “Pardon my riddles, I am trying to deliver an explanation in the least shocking way possible, but I have never been good at speaking metaphorically or cryptically.

“A long time ago…A very long time ago, I was born as a man. It was so distant, and now that I am once again constrained by a mortal brain my memories are fading. But from what I can remember I was some sort of holy man, of a god who ended up not existing. My people were attacked by an enemy, and hid the people, and diverted the enemy. They left me mortally wounded, and as I lay dying, I had a vision, where beings in another realm, not a higher realm, or a parallel realm exactly, but more of a diagonal realm, these beings offered to make me one of them. They were beings of pure mind and energy. They were not constrained by physical limits. They could not make physical changes in our realm, but they existed for ideas. They considered me worthy to join them. They only had space for a limited number of souls, so they would place in my body one of their souls that had not lived up to their standards. His fresh soul would heal my body, and then he could spend the remainder of his days teaching the wisdom of these diagonal gods to humankind.

“For thousands of years I existed to think, solving all the problems that plagued humanity. But my ideas were not as good as the ideas of others. I was the lowest among them. So, when Renoch was selected to join our ranks, it was I who was penanced with becoming mortal again and giving my godly knowledge to these people.”

Teilah sat in stunned silence, attempting to process the imposter’s—or former god’s if he was to be believed—words. Renoch. A god. He had always been the most moral man she had ever known, but realms of ideas? Could all the years of strict honor finally just have snapped Renoch’s mind? No. Teilah did not think so. For a reason she couldn’t place she wanted to believe this man.

“What is your name, ex-god?” Teilah inquired.

The man’s lips tightened at that title, but after a moment he replied, “Paythes. That was my name when I was a mortal before.”

She no longer had a husband. Renoch had abandoned her for what he likely considered the greater good. Perhaps this Paythes could take Renoch’s place in her heart as well as the kingdom. He was far from perfect, unlike Renoch, but for some reason she felt that imperfection might be easier to love.

Spoiler

'Clink'

The chain strains, biting into the skin of my neck before it snaps, links flying under the force of the breaking chain. I’m left with the weight of my cross pendant lying in my hand, cold remnants of the chain slithering to drip emptily from my hand.

I stare blankly down at it, the metal glinting in the light and blurring as the tears begin to build in my eyes. Stupid, broken, useless thing.

I blink, and a single tear falls glittering to the floor.

A single turn of the hand, and the pendent falls as well. It twists in the air, hitting the floor with a soft ‘clink’.

I walk away. Tears fall with every step. I refuse to look back.

Spoiler

"The Fabric of Reality Itself"

 

 

The Fabric of Reality Itself

 

Silver Binds,

And Iron burns,

Mortar and pestle grind,

And clay makes urns. 

Swords draw ire,

Gold makes rings,

Wood makes fire,

So words are for kings.

 

     A poem as ancient as Arliandra itself, although much of it is lost to time. Most believe that it was originally five verses long, of which only two completely survive, with many variations on the second line. Simple lines have been taken from it, such as the metalworkers motto, "Gold makes rings, so this is what the Wiseman brings." Based on a variation on the second verse. The code of the knights also has part, "Silver binds, and Iron burns, Swords draw blood, and we stop the flood." It, as it was now, was also used at the coronation of every king, as a reminder of the importance of peace and diplomacy, as well as the role of every counselman. 

     The first councilmen, the Chief Justice, with a ring of silver, adorned with a circle, the Chief General of Warfare, with an iron ring with two crossing swords on it, High Herbalist, with a stone ring with a mortar and pestle on it, the Commoners Voice, who possessed a clay ring with a scythe on it, the Commander of Supply, with a steel ring with eight tools making a circle around the inside edge, the Chief of the Treasury, with a gold ring adorned by coins moving inwards in a tight spiral. Plus, of course, the king, who traditionally had the role of Head Diplomat until their chosen heir came of age.

     In fact, this was the first time that the king wasn't Head Diplomat since the new king's great-great-grandfather's uncle, who wasn't the Head Diplomat because the normal heir died just before the king back then died of the same illness. 

     Many things were weird about this coronation. The new king's father had been killed with dark magic, the likes of which hadn't been seen in years, and even decades within the High Court. The young king had only taken his Ceremony of Acceptance an hour earlier, pledging himself to his chosen profession, diplomacy. Rumor said that the soon-to-be king had killed his father, and that was certainly backed by how he looked. Prince Rhiuntan Veze had a dark complexion, with black hair unlike that of the rest of his family. He was tall, but hunched in the back. He had no beard, not even stubble. His eyes were black and speckled with purple. He carried a staff of dark wood that curled at the end to a point tipped with something resembling amethyst. His habits weren't an alibi either. He spent long hours in the tallest tower in the castle, which had a library that was as old as the kingdom itself. 

     Some thought he wasn't truly the son of the king, or at least not the queen, but Dursho remembered when the last king had been young, and the prince had once looked the spitting image of his father at that age, but around thirteen he had started changing, in behavior and looks. It was when he turned fifteen that he found the library tower, and Dursho rarely saw him after that, but when he did Dursho found him to be haughty and arrogant, more so than any man needed to be, even a king.

     Finally, the king was crowned and the High General of Warfare stepped forward and announced he wished to say something. "I would like to commemorate this occasion by saying a few things. The first-" 

     The general was interrupted by the king. "Before you go any farther, I myself will make several statements. Firstly, I hereby change the law that allows me to disband the council. That law declares that the maximum time I have to choose a new council is a week. It will now be exactly one hundred years. Secondly, I now disband the council. 

     "Now, out of respect for your previous position, General, I will allow you to make your statement."

     The general looked flabbergasted, but when he recovered from his state, he began where he left off. "The first thing I would like to say is that the new king is an evil, conspiring, and dangerous bastard, who should be put down." The king muttered something about that not being nice while the general continued, "Next, I tell you that he has been practicing dark magic for seven years now, and that he used it to kill his father, our king. Now the rest of the councilmen would like to make a statement."

    "Can we assume they were going to say the same thing? Yes? Good. The audience will note that the councilmen all agree with the general's statement. As for those allegations, let's deal with them. First, I practice magic of no particular shade, it is neither dark nor light. Second, my father wasn't killed by dark magic, or any magic at all, he was killed using a substance called porungisterium. General, do you know what porungisterium is?"

     The general appeared uncertain if the question was a trap, but he still said, "No."

     "I assumed so. You," the king said, pointing at a random man of simple dress who was watching, do you know what porungisterium is?" The man shook his head. "What about salted hoofdung?" The man nodded. "Do any of you know what porungsterium is?" This time he looked to the councilmen, who all shook their head, except the Commoner's Voice, Deeshun Kiffe. 

     "All expected responses. Salted hoofdung is a poison, although it takes a fairly large amount to actually kill a person. It consists of shaved pig hoof, grinded cow manure, and salt, all mixed in either water, for less potency, or milk, for more. It is traditionally used to kill diseased livestock, but when used on humans, it causes a variety of odd effects. One effect is the complete demoisturizing of the body. Another is partial loss of hair. Shaking and rapid contortion of the body as the poison takes hold is also an effect." The king looked at Dursho and asked a simple question. A leading question, yes, but a simple one nevertheless. 

     "Would you like to know who killed my father?" So many implications behind such a simple question. 

     "Yes. Of course I would."

     "I'll make it simple, then explain the full details. My father's murderer was none other than Deeshun Kiffe, the Commoner's Voice. Now for why I think that, he hasn't done anything for the commoners in a long time. When did he last listen to your opinions? When did he last vote in a way that favored you? When did he last do anything for anyone other than himself? All he wants now is power. He would of killed my father, let the general here dethrone and execute me, then graciously excepted the power the general wouldn't want. The general, every councilman in fact, was loyal to my father. None of them wished him dead. Except Deeshun." The king stopped, and in that space of time, the general dropped into a bow. The king was obviously startled, but before he could say anything, the general began to speak. 

     "You are correct. I was loyal to your father, I had no ill will for you, but no love either. I was quick to believe that you killed your father because of your track record. I now pledge myself and my loyalty to you." Each councilman kneeled and pledged themselves to the prince as well. 

     The only one left standing was the Commoner's Voice. "You can't believe what he's saying. Lies and treachery! He's poisoning your thoughts with the gilded tongue of darkness! You can't believe this!" The man continued shouting, but after a moment, the king's cold and piercing voice sliced through the man protesting. 

     "Would you like to feel magic? To have it burn you? Seritas ven mor kal kalakitor adan!" Grey tendrils emerged from his hands at those words. They seemed to both glow and absorb light at the same time. The tendrils spewed forward and wrapped themselves around his body. He screamed when it touched his flesh. Once it wrapped him tightly, it lifted him in the air. "This is magic! Magic isn't dark, it isn't light, it is grey. Magic doesn't burn, nor does it freeze, it does both. It cannot kill, nor can it take any life, but it can heal nearly any wound, and cause pain to make you wish you were never born. Seritas litan del mortre shen dorisan!" The tendrils lifted the man higher and higher before dropping him to the ground. When he hit the stone, bones cracked and flesh splattered. It was clear the man was dead. The king spoke once more into the stunned silence. "Magic lies inbetween the fabric of reality itself."

Spoiler

"Story"

Hello?

Can you hear me?

Yes. Can you hear me?

Good, I was worried for a moment.

Ah, forgive me, I’ve never done this before. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m the creator of all universes.

Definitely not.

Depends on your definition.

I just wanted to talk. You sought me, didn’t you?

No, no, no, you’re still confusing me with someone else. I’m merely the creator of all universes you will ever know, and more. You sought me, remember?

Let me help you to remember…

Yes! You had questions?

You’re going to waste your first question on that? Because I care about you. Plus, well, you do need a bit of assistance. Your Story depends on it.

Yeah. You had a question?

You’ll be guided to him. As the four-dimensional being I am, I help with that just a little bit.

Of course. After all, the only reason you can jump across universes in the first place is because I let you. Otherwise it’s impossible. Yet, the Story demands me to allow this ability fairly, as occasion permits, simply to see what will happen.

What word?

Oh, that word. But surely you had other questions? I’m more than a plot device, you know. I have quite a lot of knowledge about these universes.

Well, not all knowledge, but that doesn’t matter. Ask away!

Pardon?

A purpose?

Well, you had one at one point, right?

It changed the course of your life, and you were given a higher purpose.

Yes, you achieved the goal.

No, that’s not all. Did achieving the goal quench your drive?

Simply existing. No longer progressing. I understand how much it sorrows you that it’s finally come to this.

Excellent question. Because your Story is not yet complete.

There are countless Stories across this multiverse.

There are certain and unchangeable elements in everyone’s Story. I can help, but ultimately, you write it.

As the creation of a creator, you are quite literally a part of me.

You don’t always choose right, I admit, but it’s not my job to fix that, though I could. But… it’s a bit strange to say, but I still love you. Unconditionally.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t completely know. I don’t get to talk to my creations a lot. Eternity in the silent abyss wears on you. Besides, I’m not interfering too much, as you’ll only be left with vague impressions once you’ve woke up.

How do you find your purpose? Oh, my child. If only you knew what you will become. But if you did, you would not become, and therefore you need to figure it out for yourself.

I am sorry.

It’s hard enough to succeed in life as it is. But without a sense of purpose, you’re setting up to fail.

Take some parting advice.

You’re the Author of your own Story.

Now, go write it.

Spoiler

Submission #8    

Thunder crashed over the tops of the trees, following the bolt of lightning that had flashed across the sky moments before. The trees were blowing in the wind, creaking their trunks from side to side. Beneath the branches and oblivious to the storm were rows upon rows of dark gray headstones: RIP, Beloved Friend. Hundreds of these spanned the field, each in columns of varying states of decay.
    At the end of the graveyard was a mausoleum. Officially, it held the ashes of the town’s founder, a man whose name had been lost to all but the historians. But he didn’t matter now: his spirit had passed on centuries ago. Now the building wasn’t just a tomb; it was a gateway. The locals would tell stories to questioning outsiders about how it served as a crossroads to the afterlife, hence why the doors were always propped open and offerings--trinkets of a late relative or friend--were left there. Funerals were held here rather than the gravesite itself as a rite to the dead for them to pass on.
    For two hundred years, the cycle of life and death continued like this. The rituals were held in the dead’s honor to ensure them that the living would carry on in their absence. The spirits could pass on in peace, content with their life and ready for what came next.
    But not all spirits of the dead were like this.
    I dropped a stack of papers against the desk, holding the sides to align the tops and bottoms. Setting them down carefully, I reached for a pen sticking out of my mug, clicking it and looking over the top sheet of paper I’d just set down.
    “Your name’s Allen, right?” I asked.
    The ghost looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see: I’d made it that way intentionally. It was just the room before the ash chamber with a table and chair I’d propped up for myself. “Uhm… yeah.”
    “Great.” I scanned the papers again. “Says you used to be a carpenter and a pilot before you got shot down in Iraq. How long ago was that?”
    Allen shrugged. “A couple years, maybe?”
    I nodded. “Let’s cut to the chase, I guess. What did you do after you died?”
    “Uhm, well…” Allen looked down. “I tried to get back to my squad, but… they couldn’t see me. ‘Cause I was dead.”
    “Did you try to communicate with them anyways?”
    Allen chuckled quietly. “Yeah, but I just ended up scaring the crap out of them. I flickered the lights in morse code, wrote notes by haunting a pen--that one didn’t end up working very well. They never took notice. Maybe a year or so later they got attacked and my old wingmate got gunned down. I left after that.”
I scribbled some notes onto a pad while Allen looked around some more, then continued. “If there was any reason why you didn’t want to move on, Allen, then what would it be?”
    The ghost swallowed. “I… I let my squad down. I couldn’t make it back.”
    I nodded and wrote that down, then pulled out a sheet of paper from the pile: Allen’s KIA report. “The date of your mission was May seventeenth, two thousand and six. That was almost seven years ago.”
    Allen’s head shot up, his gaze meeting mine in a panic. “Seven?”
    “The Iraq War ended on December fifteenth of twenty-eleven: just over a year after you were shot down. As far as the government you were serving was concerned, the war was a success.” I reached through my files and brought out another piece of paper. “You were given an honorary funeral and the Distinguished Flying Cross award, as well as a post-mortem honorary discharge.”
    “So you mean…”
    “You were released from service with honor, the war’s been over for years, and frankly…” I leaned forwards, elbows on the desk, “the only person who seems to still be holding onto this is you.”
    Allen let out a breath. “So there really isn’t much left for me here, huh?”
    “Not really, no.” I agreed. “But that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel bad about this, just to feel better now that you can move on.”
    He nodded. “Right. Okay. Thanks, uhh…”
    “Briar Phields.” I replied. “You can call me doc or doctor if you want.”
    “Great. Thanks, doc.” Allen closed his eyes, then vanished.
    That had been my first official job as an undead therapist. Before then, I had spent years studying at the top colleges, learning everything I could to help the hopeless feel reasons to live. I worked with regular people at first; back then I didn’t think ghosts existed. I’d watch grown men cry, I’d heard horrible stories from children about abuse and neglect, I’d pulled people from the brink and helped them move on.
    It wasn’t until I took a wrong turn down an alleyway that I discovered my true purpose in life.
    After my meetings that day, I’d decided to hang out with some friends at the bar. I was a little tipsy when I stepped out for a breath of air, so when I stumbled behind a trash bin to lean against a wall, I thought that the transparent person was a hallucination.
    It was the form of a child: a young girl, probably not yet in double digits. She’d been wandering around the alleyway, mumbling quietly to herself. The strangers who came down here never noticed her, and after a while they started avoiding the place where a drunkard had killed a child.
    So she was just as surprised as I was when we realized I could actually see her.
    We both jumped back simultaneously. The ghost girl shrieked--I might’ve done the same; I don’t remember. The girl sank halfway into the other wall, pressing away from me. I did the same, just without ethereally sinking into the wall.
    “You--you--” She panted.
    I gulped. “But--”
    “You can see me?” The girl asked.
    I looked around frantically. How much had I been drinking? Not that much… right?
    “No one can see me.” She said. “No--no one can see me.”
    With a gulp, I pulled one arm off the wall. “Uhm… who are you?”
    “I’m Kylie. I… was Kylie.”
    “Hi.” I managed to say. “Are you… a ghost?”
    “Yeah.”
    Somehow, that wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. Also somehow, I managed not to run away screaming.
    “So what are you doing here?” I asked next.
    Kylie looked around. “I can’t leave.”
    “You can’t leave? Leave where? The city?”
    “This alleyway.”
    I pushed myself off the wall and stood up straight. “But… why not?”
    “Dunno.” Kylie stepped away from hers and onto the floor. “I think it’s because I died here.”
    “You…” I looked around, then stopped. “Hold up. Kylie… Kylie Wallace? The one who got murdered by that crazy serial killer guy?”
    Kylie sighed. She crossed her arms. “Yeah.”
    “That’s…” A million words went through my mind. Terrible. Unfair. Horrific. “Crappy.”
    She shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. But… my mommy and daddy… they haven’t found me yet.”
    Something clicked in my mind right then. Somehow--despite my mind befuddled by booze and hazy from the hour--a sixth sense, a developed instinct, kicked in. I’d heard words spoken like those before… by living children, of course. In my office just a few streets down from here.
    “Okay.” I replied, stepping forwards cautiously. I took deep breaths, both to calm myself and hopefully help clear my head. “So, um… you died… three weeks ago, right?” That was when the paper article was published. It felt weird to ask.
    “I don’t know. That seems right.”
    Nodding, I continued. “Do… all dead people stay as ghosts?”
    “Dunno.”
    “Have you seen any other ghosts before?”
    “No.”
    “What do you think? Do you think other dead people stay as ghosts?”
    Kylie sat down on the floor, hovering a couple centimeters above it. “Um… no. I probably would’ve seen some already if they did, right?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. Probably. So why do you think that you’re still a ghost and not everybody else?”
    She scrunched up her eyes as she thought about that. “Maybe… maybe because my mommy and daddy aren’t back yet?”
    A thought occurred to me. I’d read somewhere that in mythology, ghosts stay behind in the world of the living because of a regret. Maybe it was a textbook that my friend had lended me; maybe it was the D&D 5E Monster Manual. Either way, I could work with regrets; I could work with anything that connected people to something that they needed to disconnect from.
    “Do you think that your mommy and daddy are coming?” I asked.
    Kylie hesitated. “Yeah.”
    “But they haven’t come yet.”
    “‘Cause they don’t know where I am.”
    I looked around. “This is where the police found your… uhm, body. If there was any place to find you, it’d be here.”
    “But…” Kylie wrapped her arms around herself. “My mommy and daddy wouldn’t leave me.”
    “I don’t think they have.” I replied. I sat down across from her. “They probably just think that you’re… wherever people go when they die.” The afterlife. “The afterlife.”
    “What if they don’t?”
    I shrugged. “Listen… if nobody else can see you, then there’s no way that they would.”
    “But you can see me.”
    “I don’t know why that is. Really, I don’t. I’ve never seen a ghost before today and neither has anybody else I’ve ever met.” I looked her in the eyes. “I think that your parents are counting on you being safe and sound in the afterlife. They’d be a lot more worried if they knew that you were here instead.”
    Kylie put a hand to her eyes. “No. No… no. That’s…”
    “Do you want to leave this alleyway?” I sure did.
    She took in a breath. “Uhm… yeah.”
    “Then you need to let go of this place.” I replied. “Not just the alley, not just the city; all of it. Just… move on.”
    That didn’t seem to be working. Kylie seemed on the verge of tears; if ghosts could cry, that was.
    I tried a different strategy. “If… you’re scared about dying for real… Well, do you have any family who’ve died? Grandparents, maybe? Friends?”
    “Uhm… Uncle Peter.”
    “Then he’ll be there for you.” I said. “He’ll take care of you until your parents come there and find you. Okay?”
    Kylie pulled her hand away and wrapped it around her knees. “O--okay.”
    “Do you think you’re ready to go now?”
    She nodded tentatively. “Uhm… yeah.”
    I smiled. “Great. Now… let go.”
    Kylie took in a deep breath--somehow--and, just like that, she vanished.
    It didn’t occur to me until the next morning that any of that had actually happened. For about two hours I tried to deny it, but when I passed a graveyard on the way to work that morning I saw a ghost there too. I almost slammed the breaks when I saw it, but I stopped myself before I could; and a good thing, too. I was in an intersection.
    For the next three months I dropped in after my friend’s mythology class and asked the professor for everything he knew about ghosts. I learned about the Egyptians’ Book of the Dead and the journey all souls must take to the afterlife, the Roman superstition of laying a curse on enemies, the medieval European myth of purgatory for unfaithful souls. I pored over source materials from Plato and Wizards of the Coast alike.
    Before long I was heading off to a town not far from where I lived, which claimed to have been haunted by a number of spirits over the years. I gathered as much information about the spirit they said was yet to depart to the afterlife as I could, then headed off to the graveyard for my first official ethereal therapy session.
    Well… I already told you about that. But after then I became very dedicated to this side job. If there was a ghost there, I would go. Haunted houses, abandoned graveyards, ancient ruins. If the dead could be there, then so would I. When it rolled around, I would head south to Mexico for the Day of the Dead and speak with the visiting spirits, asking if any of their family members hadn’t made it over to their side. I also found that Halloween was a very good time to get research in: plenty of spirits from every culture wandering around.
    A lot of the ghosts took several sessions to let go of their earthly lives and move on. Others only needed a word of reassurance or encouragement to kickstart their journey over. I’d bring them offerings, check on their families, even occasionally settle debts. I was still working my day job as a full-time therapist, but my mindset had changed: instead of thinking about convincing the living to stay alive, I learned to convince the dead to accept their passing.
    So… I mean… I guess… Well, I’ll just say it. It’s downright ironic that I’m here right now, huh?
    My therapist scratched some notes on a pad. “Yep. It really is.”
    I chuckled, hoving just over the couch she’d set up. “That’s my story, I guess. I could’ve gone into all the other dead folks I helped, but that would’ve taken a long time.”
    “Yep.” The therapist set his pen down. “Ms. Phields, do you know how many souls you helped depart?”
    “Uhh… a few hundred, maybe?”
    “Over a thousand.”
    I blinked. “Wow.”
    “Without formal training… that’s a crap ton of souls.” He said. “Maybe it helps that you had a degree in regular therapy, but most people who have what kids these days are calling ‘the sixth sense’ just avoid the dead where possible.”
    “I almost did, but… I needed to help them.” I rested my head back on the pillow. “I still need to help them.”
    He nodded. “I understand that. But you can take a break now. Go say hello to all the people you’ve helped along.”
    I let out a breath, somehow. “Yeah. I mean… seeing as how there’s more of you…” I looked over at him. “That means that you guys can keep this kind of thing going, right? Help all the people I never got the chance to meet?”
    “Absolutely, sir.”
    “Then I’m good.” I replied, nodding. I looked up at the ceiling. “That’s… that’s great. That’s all I need.”
    With that, I passed on to the afterlife.

Spoiler

The Relation of Expectations.docx

 

Yulin stared up at the stars, trying to ignore the large bonfire in the distance, and the people gathered around it. When he closed his eyes, he could hear them; the mothers and fathers crying for their lost children, the groans of the injured soldiers saying farewell to their comrades, and the sniffles of the masters missing their students.

         Opening his eyes slowly, Yulin looked further up until he could see the pillar he was leaning on. Made of white marble, the marble pillars are what held the Dakon Grand School of Magic up, but they weren’t what kept it alive. What kept it alive were all the students and masters that walked its halls. The students and masters that were all dead or dying.

         Yulin noticed a light in the corner of his eye and turned his head. Someone was approaching with what looked like a candle. Who would be using a…

         He quickly stood up as the figure got closer. Looking like a young girl not even in her teens with short black hair and soft eyes, the Guardian’s appearance could be deceptive. He remembered when they’d first met and he’d made the mistake of disregarding her as a foolish youth. Just like on that day, she wore robes like his, with large sleeves and skirt, but hers was bright red with symbols decorating it rather than plain blue.

         The Guardian waved him down. “Sit. You’re not in trouble.” Despite looking so young, her voice sounded mature, if a tad high pitched.

         Slowly resting back down, he watched the Guardian cautiously as she took a seat next to him, the tip of her index finger yielding a small flame for light. Yulin shied away from it, afraid she would burn his robes.

         “What’s troubling you tonight?” the Guardian asked.

         Yulin frowned. “Tonight?”

         She nodded. “You always come to this pillar to look at the stars when you’re troubled. I’ve watched you on a few occasions.”

         Feeling his face turned red, he looked away. “I’m sorry.”

         The Guardian let out a small chuckle. “For what? You think you’re the only student who sneaks out of his room for a night? Even I sometimes come here to clear my mind.”

         “You’re the Guardian. It’s literally your job to guard these halls.”

         “And those halls are no more vulnerable whether you’re in them or out of them.” She turned to him, half of her face in shadow. Despite her young face, her serious expression, with eyes that seemed to stare into his soul, bespoke her actual age. A being centuries old, compared to his mere decades. “Now, what’s troubling you?”

         Yulin sighed, hugging his legs. “What isn’t? I’m looked at like this savior, this grand prodigy of magic that will do great things in an uncertain time.” He looked at his hand and willed it to glow, a small orb of light hovering above it. “Everyone tells me I will bring change to the world, that I have a part to play.” He looked to the gathering, able to see the silhouettes of those in front of  

 

the fire. “And yet, I couldn’t save those who died in that battle. I was here, doing nothing.”

         The Guardian put a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody blames you for what happened there. You understand? No one is expecting—” She paused, peering closer at his narrow face. “It’s not just what others are expecting, is it? It’s what you’re expecting of yourself.”

         His lips pressed together as he nodded. "At one point does everyone else’s expectations become your own? I am a magical prodigy, and I am capable of changing things. And yet, in a battle not far from here, I couldn’t even save one life. I couldn’t prevent that.” He stuck his hand toward the gathered mourners. “How am I supposed to reach their expectations when I can’t even fulfill my own?”

         The Guardian remained silent, watching the distant bonfire, her brow furrowed in deep thought. “Would it surprise you,” she said finally, speaking slowly as if carefully choosing each word, “that I am considered an eccentric god?”

         Yulin thought back to the many times he had seen the Guardian sneak food in her clothes. “Not entirely,” he said honestly.

         Her expression went flat. “You could at least try to deny it. But, yes, I am considered eccentric by the other gods, as well as immature.”

         That one surprised him. “Immature? You?”

         She nodded. “In comparison to the other gods, yes. I am the first god born in several centuries, and a child by their standards. Obviously, in your terms, I am fairly stoic, but remember that the other gods spend all their time away from civilization in solitude, rarely interacting with the rest of the world or each other.”

         “And you’re telling me this, why?”

         Raising an eyebrow slightly, she continued. “As the newest god to enter the fray, everyone, from the common man to the wisest of gods, had expectations for me. They expected me to act like a god, the highest beings of the land.” The Guardian said the end with some grandiose, but her expression didn’t change.

         “None of the gods seemed to remember that it took them millennia before they reached their full maturity. None remembered that I was – am – young and still finding my place. All expected great things, and when I failed to meet them, I replaced the previous god that served as Guardian.”

         Yulin frowned, sitting up straighter. “You were banished?”

         The Guardian gave him a thin smile. “I wouldn’t put it so harshly. They were hoping that the masters here would help temper my behavior. Little did they realize I was already more mature than the students they taught, and soon acted like I was a master.” She looked up at the stars, their light reflecting off her eyes. “In a way, we are both similar in that regard. We both have been given high expectations and are still working to meet them.”

 

         Yulin looked to the stars. “High indeed.” He turned back. “And I assume you have advice for me?”

         “What would make you say that?”

         He paused. “If you don’t, then why did you just tell me all of this?”

         “For you to realize you’re not alone; that you have someone to talk to.”

         “Oh.” He didn’t find much comfort in that.

         Looking at him, she sighed. “But I will try and impart some wisdom, if that makes you feel better. People say we are destined for greatness, and they aren’t wrong. We both have incredible magical potential and will both be forces of change in the future. But that’s the part you have to remember. That’s all in the future. Don’t be impatient to reach there, otherwise you may not live to see yourself grow to what you can become, or worse, end up disliking what you have become.”

         The Guardian pointed down to the gathering. “There are people who have lost loved ones. You feel bad that you couldn’t do anything, being here rather than miles away? Well, here is something you can do. Comfort them. Be with them. It’s what they expect from you, and what you expect from yourself. You can’t change the past, so stay in the present, and maybe you will like your future.”

         Yulin nodded, standing up. “You’re right. I… just needed to hear it.” He looked down at her. “Would you like to accompany me down?”

         After a moment of consideration, she shook her head. “It’s expected of you to be with them. It’s expected from me to keep my distance. There will be another time and place where I can speak with them.”

         Inclining his head, Yulin started down toward the gathering. When he next looked back at the pillar, the small flame was gone.

Spoiler

"Wait For It"

It always waits
Sitting there, waiting
As you spend your time
Frivolously, as all have done before.

Death - the eternal attendant.

Thank you so much to everyone who entered a submission!

As a reminder:

On 9/21/2021 at 7:32 AM, xinoehp512 said:

Each person can vote for three submissions. The submissions must all be different. You cannot vote for your own submission. Votes should be PM'd to me within a day.

@Aspiring Writer

@Experience

@The Unknown Order

@Zephrun's Imperium

@Frustration

@Mage

@Knight of Iron

@Isabelle6060

@Mystic Syn

@Condensation

@WrathofaShardKitten

@Channelknight Fadran

If anyone has trouble viewing any of the submissions, please let me know!

Edited October 18, 2021 by xinoehp512

[Mystic Syn]

Ima just give my general thoughts about this just like last time, because no one can stop me >:]

“Mistborn: The Final Empire - Trailer”: I love how easy you made it to have me visualize the scene! Like, as soon as I started to read, the trailer you wanted me to see came up and I could even hear some sort of score in the background. I guess the only thing holding you back is having actors to do this haha. I’m kidding, of course, but you did a wonderful job with this and it would be so amazing if, and maybe when, they make the Mistborn movies or TV show that they use that script/idea.

“An Act of Dying Justice”: *cough* this one was actually written by yours truly, and I don’t wanna go through it, because I know I’ll just bring it down, so I’ll refrain. is it good? eh. depends on your point of view. should you vote for it? i don’t care. we ain’t winning anything from this, so it’s literally just something I wanna share and see if people like what I do *cough*

“The Guide”: That was some deep crap, person who wrote this. I’ve always loved to play with the concept of a mortal meeting the embodiment of Death and what their reaction would be, and I can see that you do think about it in a deeper way than most authors I have read that have made millions off their books. I loved how you didn’t want to have the encounter long, because you knew that it didn’t need to be long and the fact that we had a word/page limit. It’s a really good piece of writing, hitting as hard as it needs to, making the reader think about what they’re reading.

“Diagonal”: First of all, I applaud you for the creative names! I always love a good name that’s different and can help me remember what character it is, besides having ten thousand Johns from different series. I also love the creative take with it, person who wrote this! It does have me questioning and kind of wanting more; although, I know how hard it can be to draft and write and all that crap. You did a great job explaining in the dialogue. Very well done, my good human.

“Clink”: It’s short, but it does have me wanting more and asking questions––in a good way, mind you. Like what happens when Brando Sando does/says anything about the Cosmere. I feel like the reader can put themselves into that character’s shoes, especially after you’ve written it in the first person, the human that wrote this. I feel like they can connect themselves to the character. This might be just a me thing and how I’m viewing it, but I think it’s very interesting how many different ways people can read this and perhaps relate to it.

“The Fabric of Reality Itself”: I love myself some worldbuilding, because it gives me a sneak peek into the author’s mind for a few paragraphs and what they’re imagining. I dunno if you were going for that, but I liked it very much. You also made it very easy for me to visualize what’s going on! You gave just enough, not too much or little, for me as a reader to visualize what’s going on. Also, yes, I will mention the amazingly creative names you gave us, and I love them! I also can tell the research you’ve done for this, and I have respect for you, because I know some people that would just fly by the seat of their pants––aka, me when I first started to write. In short, it’s a really good piece.

“Story?”: Ahhhh, I like how you were talking to the reader themselves, asking them what they’re looking for in their Story, whether to write or to read. You asked simple questions, but that what makes it amazing. It may be fun to write something complicated or something that really makes you think, but there is beauty in simplicity. You realized this, whether you know it or not, and you utilized this to the fullest, giving the most wonderful advice that some people might think are no brainers, but they never take it for granted and act on them.

“Submission #8”: I literally thought as I started to read: “Ooh, something spooky?” Don’t take it the wrong way lol, it’s meant with good intent. You explained everything at the right pace that wasn’t too slow I wanted to claw my eyes out or too fast that I had to read it fifty times to figure out what the frip frap you were trying to tell me. You have a great grasp of timing and how to work with it, and I have so much respect for you, because that crap slips me up at times, as you can see with any of the writing I make over the years and whatnot. Also liked the shameless advertising of D&D t’was a joke, but I did enjoy it lol.

“The Reality of Expectations”: Again, creative namessss I swear, it’s like my weakness or something lol. I also love the world you’re setting it in, even though I personally don’t know what it is and how it overall works in the grand scheme of your writing. The concept is amazing and very well-written and organically woven into the story you’re trying to tell. Organically weaving concepts and ideas into a story is difficult, because you don’t know how the reader is going to react to what you have written. Overall, I love how you wrote it, the concepts, and basically everything about it.

“Wait For It”: Short, but still hits hard and makes you think about life and all that. I do like how you still made me, as the reader, raise questions to myself, despite there being very few words. You know, whether you accept it or not, how to make things hit hard with just a few words. That is an amazing talent to have, and I hope that you understand and use that in your life, even if you think you don’t need it.

Edited October 18, 2021 by Mystic Syn

[Frustration]

3 hours ago, xinoehp512 said:

Submissions are in!

  Hide contents

"The Guide."

I stood over the man lying on the misty ground, as he groaned softly.

“What happened?” he asked.

I looked down at him, clothed in simple grey, they always wore grey here, no matter what they wore before, it was always a simple grey.

“You died,” I responded.

He looked at me in horror, standing to run as he saw me for the first time, a tall figure robbed in an obscuring black. 

 I supose it was understandable, I had grown used to it over the ages.

“Who, who are you?” he asked.

I backed away, doing my best to apear non-threatening.

“I have no name, you can call me Death if you wish.”

“I died?” he asked, clutching his hand to his chest where he had been stabbed.

“Yes.”

“Maru, my wife, I have to go back!” he said looking around frantically.

“I am afraid there is no way back, Narrot you cannot return,” I said.

Narrot fell to his knees and wept, “Why? Why did you take me?”

I knelt down next to him and pulled him into an embrace.

“I have made very few choices of consequence since my creation, of them the most important, was opening the gates of Death, I didn’t take you, I allowed you to come.”

Narrot sobbed for a while before responding. “I didn’t want to come, I had so much to do, Maru, my friends, everything...” he trailed off as it all threatened to overwhelm him.

“I know it’s hard, but this way, you suffer less, the poor are not forever doomed to starve, unable to sate their hunger, and nothing to end it. The injured are not doomed to an eternity of pain, for wounds that will never heal. I do not want to bring you suffering, but an end to it.”

“Then why don’t you let us choose? Why force us to die?”

“I don’t kill you, or force you to pass on, I merely let you in. It’s all or nothing, it is cruel, to separate you, but I think it would be worse, to doom you to an eternity within a temporary world.”

“My parents, and some friends, they died, are they here?”

“Not anymore, they have moved on,” I said gesturing to a pathway of light behind me. “You each come to me separately, but I believe you all meet out there, past the realm of the dead.”

“You believe?”

“Well I don’t know,” I said. “I can no more move beyond death, than you can return to life.”

“So What hapens when we all die?” he asked.

“Then I will be alone.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” I said, pulling him gently to the light. “Do not waste your reunion to spend time with me.”

Narrot looked towards the light, his head slightly tilted, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear.

“How did you know my name?” he asked

I turned away from him, looking instead at the countless other beings I spoke with, in their own versions of death, and at the countless more, who still lived, all watched over by me.

“Because I have seen you from the day you were born, I watched everything you did. I wept with you at your failings, and cheered at your successes.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, I love all who live, I think you are the most beautiful things in all of creation, and I want nothing more than for you to be happy.”

By the time I turned around he was gone.

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Submission #8    

Thunder crashed over the tops of the trees, following the bolt of lightning that had flashed across the sky moments before. The trees were blowing in the wind, creaking their trunks from side to side. Beneath the branches and oblivious to the storm were rows upon rows of dark gray headstones: RIP, Beloved Friend. Hundreds of these spanned the field, each in columns of varying states of decay.
    At the end of the graveyard was a mausoleum. Officially, it held the ashes of the town’s founder, a man whose name had been lost to all but the historians. But he didn’t matter now: his spirit had passed on centuries ago. Now the building wasn’t just a tomb; it was a gateway. The locals would tell stories to questioning outsiders about how it served as a crossroads to the afterlife, hence why the doors were always propped open and offerings--trinkets of a late relative or friend--were left there. Funerals were held here rather than the gravesite itself as a rite to the dead for them to pass on.
    For two hundred years, the cycle of life and death continued like this. The rituals were held in the dead’s honor to ensure them that the living would carry on in their absence. The spirits could pass on in peace, content with their life and ready for what came next.
    But not all spirits of the dead were like this.
    I dropped a stack of papers against the desk, holding the sides to align the tops and bottoms. Setting them down carefully, I reached for a pen sticking out of my mug, clicking it and looking over the top sheet of paper I’d just set down.
    “Your name’s Allen, right?” I asked.
    The ghost looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see: I’d made it that way intentionally. It was just the room before the ash chamber with a table and chair I’d propped up for myself. “Uhm… yeah.”
    “Great.” I scanned the papers again. “Says you used to be a carpenter and a pilot before you got shot down in Iraq. How long ago was that?”
    Allen shrugged. “A couple years, maybe?”
    I nodded. “Let’s cut to the chase, I guess. What did you do after you died?”
    “Uhm, well…” Allen looked down. “I tried to get back to my squad, but… they couldn’t see me. ‘Cause I was dead.”
    “Did you try to communicate with them anyways?”
    Allen chuckled quietly. “Yeah, but I just ended up scaring the crap out of them. I flickered the lights in morse code, wrote notes by haunting a pen--that one didn’t end up working very well. They never took notice. Maybe a year or so later they got attacked and my old wingmate got gunned down. I left after that.”
I scribbled some notes onto a pad while Allen looked around some more, then continued. “If there was any reason why you didn’t want to move on, Allen, then what would it be?”
    The ghost swallowed. “I… I let my squad down. I couldn’t make it back.”
    I nodded and wrote that down, then pulled out a sheet of paper from the pile: Allen’s KIA report. “The date of your mission was May seventeenth, two thousand and six. That was almost seven years ago.”
    Allen’s head shot up, his gaze meeting mine in a panic. “Seven?”
    “The Iraq War ended on December fifteenth of twenty-eleven: just over a year after you were shot down. As far as the government you were serving was concerned, the war was a success.” I reached through my files and brought out another piece of paper. “You were given an honorary funeral and the Distinguished Flying Cross award, as well as a post-mortem honorary discharge.”
    “So you mean…”
    “You were released from service with honor, the war’s been over for years, and frankly…” I leaned forwards, elbows on the desk, “the only person who seems to still be holding onto this is you.”
    Allen let out a breath. “So there really isn’t much left for me here, huh?”
    “Not really, no.” I agreed. “But that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel bad about this, just to feel better now that you can move on.”
    He nodded. “Right. Okay. Thanks, uhh…”
    “Briar Phields.” I replied. “You can call me doc or doctor if you want.”
    “Great. Thanks, doc.” Allen closed his eyes, then vanished.
    That had been my first official job as an undead therapist. Before then, I had spent years studying at the top colleges, learning everything I could to help the hopeless feel reasons to live. I worked with regular people at first; back then I didn’t think ghosts existed. I’d watch grown men cry, I’d heard horrible stories from children about abuse and neglect, I’d pulled people from the brink and helped them move on.
    It wasn’t until I took a wrong turn down an alleyway that I discovered my true purpose in life.
    After my meetings that day, I’d decided to hang out with some friends at the bar. I was a little tipsy when I stepped out for a breath of air, so when I stumbled behind a trash bin to lean against a wall, I thought that the transparent person was a hallucination.
    It was the form of a child: a young girl, probably not yet in double digits. She’d been wandering around the alleyway, mumbling quietly to herself. The strangers who came down here never noticed her, and after a while they started avoiding the place where a drunkard had killed a child.
    So she was just as surprised as I was when we realized I could actually see her.
    We both jumped back simultaneously. The ghost girl shrieked--I might’ve done the same; I don’t remember. The girl sank halfway into the other wall, pressing away from me. I did the same, just without ethereally sinking into the wall.
    “You--you--” She panted.
    I gulped. “But--”
    “You can see me?” The girl asked.
    I looked around frantically. How much had I been drinking? Not that much… right?
    “No one can see me.” She said. “No--no one can see me.”
    With a gulp, I pulled one arm off the wall. “Uhm… who are you?”
    “I’m Kylie. I… was Kylie.”
    “Hi.” I managed to say. “Are you… a ghost?”
    “Yeah.”
    Somehow, that wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. Also somehow, I managed not to run away screaming.
    “So what are you doing here?” I asked next.
    Kylie looked around. “I can’t leave.”
    “You can’t leave? Leave where? The city?”
    “This alleyway.”
    I pushed myself off the wall and stood up straight. “But… why not?”
    “Dunno.” Kylie stepped away from hers and onto the floor. “I think it’s because I died here.”
    “You…” I looked around, then stopped. “Hold up. Kylie… Kylie Wallace? The one who got murdered by that crazy serial killer guy?”
    Kylie sighed. She crossed her arms. “Yeah.”
    “That’s…” A million words went through my mind. Terrible. Unfair. Horrific. “Crappy.”
    She shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. But… my mommy and daddy… they haven’t found me yet.”
    Something clicked in my mind right then. Somehow--despite my mind befuddled by booze and hazy from the hour--a sixth sense, a developed instinct, kicked in. I’d heard words spoken like those before… by living children, of course. In my office just a few streets down from here.
    “Okay.” I replied, stepping forwards cautiously. I took deep breaths, both to calm myself and hopefully help clear my head. “So, um… you died… three weeks ago, right?” That was when the paper article was published. It felt weird to ask.
    “I don’t know. That seems right.”
    Nodding, I continued. “Do… all dead people stay as ghosts?”
    “Dunno.”
    “Have you seen any other ghosts before?”
    “No.”
    “What do you think? Do you think other dead people stay as ghosts?”
    Kylie sat down on the floor, hovering a couple centimeters above it. “Um… no. I probably would’ve seen some already if they did, right?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. Probably. So why do you think that you’re still a ghost and not everybody else?”
    She scrunched up her eyes as she thought about that. “Maybe… maybe because my mommy and daddy aren’t back yet?”
    A thought occurred to me. I’d read somewhere that in mythology, ghosts stay behind in the world of the living because of a regret. Maybe it was a textbook that my friend had lended me; maybe it was the D&D 5E Monster Manual. Either way, I could work with regrets; I could work with anything that connected people to something that they needed to disconnect from.
    “Do you think that your mommy and daddy are coming?” I asked.
    Kylie hesitated. “Yeah.”
    “But they haven’t come yet.”
    “‘Cause they don’t know where I am.”
    I looked around. “This is where the police found your… uhm, body. If there was any place to find you, it’d be here.”
    “But…” Kylie wrapped her arms around herself. “My mommy and daddy wouldn’t leave me.”
    “I don’t think they have.” I replied. I sat down across from her. “They probably just think that you’re… wherever people go when they die.” The afterlife. “The afterlife.”
    “What if they don’t?”
    I shrugged. “Listen… if nobody else can see you, then there’s no way that they would.”
    “But you can see me.”
    “I don’t know why that is. Really, I don’t. I’ve never seen a ghost before today and neither has anybody else I’ve ever met.” I looked her in the eyes. “I think that your parents are counting on you being safe and sound in the afterlife. They’d be a lot more worried if they knew that you were here instead.”
    Kylie put a hand to her eyes. “No. No… no. That’s…”
    “Do you want to leave this alleyway?” I sure did.
    She took in a breath. “Uhm… yeah.”
    “Then you need to let go of this place.” I replied. “Not just the alley, not just the city; all of it. Just… move on.”
    That didn’t seem to be working. Kylie seemed on the verge of tears; if ghosts could cry, that was.
    I tried a different strategy. “If… you’re scared about dying for real… Well, do you have any family who’ve died? Grandparents, maybe? Friends?”
    “Uhm… Uncle Peter.”
    “Then he’ll be there for you.” I said. “He’ll take care of you until your parents come there and find you. Okay?”
    Kylie pulled her hand away and wrapped it around her knees. “O--okay.”
    “Do you think you’re ready to go now?”
    She nodded tentatively. “Uhm… yeah.”
    I smiled. “Great. Now… let go.”
    Kylie took in a deep breath--somehow--and, just like that, she vanished.
    It didn’t occur to me until the next morning that any of that had actually happened. For about two hours I tried to deny it, but when I passed a graveyard on the way to work that morning I saw a ghost there too. I almost slammed the breaks when I saw it, but I stopped myself before I could; and a good thing, too. I was in an intersection.
    For the next three months I dropped in after my friend’s mythology class and asked the professor for everything he knew about ghosts. I learned about the Egyptians’ Book of the Dead and the journey all souls must take to the afterlife, the Roman superstition of laying a curse on enemies, the medieval European myth of purgatory for unfaithful souls. I pored over source materials from Plato and Wizards of the Coast alike.
    Before long I was heading off to a town not far from where I lived, which claimed to have been haunted by a number of spirits over the years. I gathered as much information about the spirit they said was yet to depart to the afterlife as I could, then headed off to the graveyard for my first official ethereal therapy session.
    Well… I already told you about that. But after then I became very dedicated to this side job. If there was a ghost there, I would go. Haunted houses, abandoned graveyards, ancient ruins. If the dead could be there, then so would I. When it rolled around, I would head south to Mexico for the Day of the Dead and speak with the visiting spirits, asking if any of their family members hadn’t made it over to their side. I also found that Halloween was a very good time to get research in: plenty of spirits from every culture wandering around.
    A lot of the ghosts took several sessions to let go of their earthly lives and move on. Others only needed a word of reassurance or encouragement to kickstart their journey over. I’d bring them offerings, check on their families, even occasionally settle debts. I was still working my day job as a full-time therapist, but my mindset had changed: instead of thinking about convincing the living to stay alive, I learned to convince the dead to accept their passing.
    So… I mean… I guess… Well, I’ll just say it. It’s downright ironic that I’m here right now, huh?
    My therapist scratched some notes on a pad. “Yep. It really is.”
    I chuckled, hoving just over the couch she’d set up. “That’s my story, I guess. I could’ve gone into all the other dead folks I helped, but that would’ve taken a long time.”
    “Yep.” The therapist set his pen down. “Ms. Phields, do you know how many souls you helped depart?”
    “Uhh… a few hundred, maybe?”
    “Over a thousand.”
    I blinked. “Wow.”
    “Without formal training… that’s a crap ton of souls.” He said. “Maybe it helps that you had a degree in regular therapy, but most people who have what kids these days are calling ‘the sixth sense’ just avoid the dead where possible.”
    “I almost did, but… I needed to help them.” I rested my head back on the pillow. “I still need to help them.”
    He nodded. “I understand that. But you can take a break now. Go say hello to all the people you’ve helped along.”
    I let out a breath, somehow. “Yeah. I mean… seeing as how there’s more of you…” I looked over at him. “That means that you guys can keep this kind of thing going, right? Help all the people I never got the chance to meet?”
    “Absolutely, sir.”
    “Then I’m good.” I replied, nodding. I looked up at the ceiling. “That’s… that’s great. That’s all I need.”
    With that, I passed on to the afterlife.

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"Wait For It"

It always waits
Sitting there, waiting
As you spend your time
Frivolously, as all have done before.

Death - the eternal attendant.

 

Well, I think I found the theme of this week

[The Unknown Ajah]

2 hours ago, Mystic Syn said:

The Fabric of Reality Itself”: I love myself some worldbuilding, because it gives me a sneak peek into the author’s mind for a few paragraphs and what they’re imagining. I dunno if you were going for that, but I liked it very much. You also made it very easy for me to visualize what’s going on! You gave just enough, not too much or little, for me as a reader to visualize what’s going on. Also, yes, I will mention the amazingly creative names you gave us, and I love them! I also can tell the research you’ve done for this, and I have respect for you, because I know some people that would just fly by the seat of their pants––aka, me when I first started to write. In short, it’s a really good piece.

Research? What research?

[Mystic Syn]

47 minutes ago, The Unknown Order said:

Research? What research?

It sounded like you knew what you were doing, is what I’m getting at >.>

[Channelknight Fadran]

Oh hey Synnie liked mine.

No, you guys don't get to know which one it was.

[Mystic Syn]

I liked them all, in their own ways, but okay.

[Knight of Iron]

If anyone wants to know which is mine, it's the worst one.

[Channelknight Fadran]

But what if I could tell which one was yours and did not, in fact, think it was the worst one?

[Knight of Iron]

Can you tell which is mine? It's possible, sure. But even if you did then you might simply be mistaken.

[Channelknight Fadran]

Shush. Just accept my compliment.

[Knight of Iron]

I'll accept it once it's revealed which is mine..