___ He/Him Posted January 17 Posted January 17 Where I put all my unfinished ideas! Mainly writing. 3
CoderDrag0n8 He/They Posted January 17 Posted January 17 59 minutes ago, mippo said: Where I put all my unfinished ideas! Mainly writing. I AM AN UNFINISHED IDEA
___ He/Him Posted January 17 Author Posted January 17 13 minutes ago, CoderDrag0n8 said: I AM AN UNFINISHED IDEA Perfect! You are now trapped here forever 1
___ He/Him Posted January 30 Author Posted January 30 Started this a bit back, never got around to finishing it Spoiler Faces. Four. Where? Footsteps, leading, gliding, pushing throu- A classroom. She raised her ha- Light. Wisps of, of- Darkness. Screams, cries of ra- … … … … Ellie raised her hand. And, of course, was ignored. The teacher kept on speaking, rattling off facts about WW2. She shook her hand in the air, but he just stared blankly at the class. She groaned, and her hand dropped. She should probably stop raising it practically every 5 minutes, then the teacher would pay attention. He would give a totally false fact, which frustrated her, and then she would raise her hand. The teacher had stopped caring. She put her head on her desk and looked out the window. It was just beginning to become too hot, and today was the last day of school before summer break. She wasn’t sure if she was looking forward to it or not. School would be over, which sucked, but she would get to hang out with her friends more, which didn’t. Oh, the problems of a teen in modern-day suburbia. She thought back to her knowledge of Ancient Sparta, when kids would train for war as soon as they could walk, or be drowned. Maybe summer wasn’t so bad. The bell rang, and she grabbed her backpack and pushed through the crowd of kids rushing out the door like salmon. The end of the day. She walked toward the exit, taking her time. She liked her school, even though it was the most generic one she’d ever seen, with the classrooms regularly spaced, the lockers lining the wall, and the disgusting bathrooms. But it was home. She pushed open the doors and weaved through kids until she reached her bike. Her best friend was already waiting for her, a boy named Tristan, whom she’d known her entire life. He stood beside his own bike, one much nicer than hers. “Hey, El,” he said. “Ready?” She sighed and nodded. “Yep, let’s go.” Tristan peered at her face closely, then smiled. “Teacher ignoring your smarts again?” She laughed. “You got it. Now come on, we have to get there before it closes.” She began to get on her bike when her vision seemed to narrow, as it did sometimes. Her attention was drawn to a specific point, and she noticed that the chain had slipped off the gear. She quickly fit it back on, and slid onto the seat. Tristan did likewise, then they rode down the street into town. Ellie pedaled hard, wanting to feel the wind on her face. Tristan easily kept pace with his annoyingly high-quality bike. “You know,” he shouted, “one day they’re gonna regret underestimating the one and only Ellie Easton!” She smiled wryly and pedaled even harder, pulling ahead. Tristan grinned, and a few seconds later, he blew past her. Now the race was on. Ellie determinedly exerted all of her strength, and they raced all the way to their destination. They soon pulled up to a faded blue and white building, both panting and exhausted from the race. It was the town's ice cream parlor, and it was very old. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and was, everyone knew, an important part of their community. Ellie and Tristan got their favorite flavors, mint chocolate chip and rocky road, respectively. The cool, creamy, wonderfulness from the ice cream soothed some of her exhaustion, and it was gone in an embarrassingly short time. Tristan didn't care, though, as he had finished his way before her. They parted ways, Tristan riding toward his house and Ellie to hers. The ice cream had given her a boost of energy, and she rode as fast as she could toward her home. She sped onto a shortcut through the forest in the town park, continuing at full speed. This turned out to be a bad idea, as when she rode over some gravel, the back tire skidded, and almost in comically slow motion, she began to fall. She yelped in surprise and panic, and her legs flailed out as she saw the hard ground approaching. One of her feet hit what felt like a large rock sticking out of the path, and she kicked against it, righting herself. She stopped, panting, then continued down the path, slower this time. Just as she rounded a bend, she looked back and saw something very strange. There was no large rock there, where she had almost fallen. She frowned, but kept riding toward home. … … … … Xander knelt before his father’s throne, shaking with resentment, anger, and a boiling, barely contained hatred. The man on the throne was wreathed in darkness; in fact, it seemed to rise off his body like smoke. “Son,” his voice boomed out. “Do you realize the magnitude of what you have done? Allowing foreigners into these lands is a crime of the highest degree.” Xander resisted the urge to lash out, and his eyes burned black in anger. “Well, father, if you would just let me leave, then I wouldn’t have to bring them here.” He practically spat the word “father". The man on the throne sighed. "I am unwilling to speak about this further. Guards! Lock him in his chambers.“ Two soldiers in dark, spiked suits of armor came and hauled Xander to his feet with gauntleted hands and dragged him down the halls of the castle. “Release me," Xander snarled at the guards, but they held firm. The rage inside swelled until he felt he was about to burst. They shoved him past a door, then locked it. He stumbled onto the bare stones and screamed. His chambers were large and luxurious, with a red velvet bed against one wall and tapestries on the wall. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the large room, sparkling. It was worth a small fortune in itself. Xander grabbed a knife from beside his bed (he always kept one there) and, in an uncontrollable fury, set to work tearing apart his room. In the process, he shattered a large mirror in the corner, shards of glass scattering across the floor. After a few minutes, he calmed down and tried using his knife to pick the lock. He failed and slumped onto his bed in defeat. He put his head into his hands. Stupid father, with his stupid rules. What was so wrong with bringing in foreigners? And then his father had made him kill them, which was a shame. He wished that everyone would just go away. He gritted his teeth. Why… can’t… everyone… JUST GO AWAY!!!! Xander screamed and felt a connection deep within him. He felt blazing pain in one eye, as the room around him flashed with blinding light. When he could see again, he stared dazedly around at his room, which was no longer there. In fact, there was no castle there at all. Almost like it had just been an illusion from the beginning. He saw that the pieces of the broken mirror remained on the ground. Slowly, he walked over and observed his reflection. What he saw made him gasp. He stared at himself, one eye burning black, and the other shining a bright white. Then he looked at his hands, and he began to laugh. … … … … Ellie had just gotten home and was walking up the stairs when she felt something. A shift, somewhere inside. Had she been looking in the mirror, she would’ve seen her eyes flicker and darken for a split second. She frowned and continued up the stairs. … … … … The girl stood in a wide grass field, the breeze blowing her long, golden hair around her. She was, by all appearances, a young woman with fair skin and a pretty face. She wore a long, flowing dress with intricate embroidered patterns reaching up its length. She sighed happily, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. That’s when an explosion decimated half of the field. The girl sighed. It couldn’t last forever, unfortunately. She waved her hand, and the illusion disintegrated into beams of light. Her dress morphed into a battle suit with a gas mask over her face, and a pair of long, wicked daggers appeared in each hand. Around her stretched a ruined city, choked with smoke and smog, and five heavily armored soldiers stood about 20 feet from her. One held a bulky grenade launcher, which he was reloading. She dropped into a fighting stance and dashed for them. They fanned out and unlimbered guns. Then they started shooting. In a split second, the girl became a beam of light, then rematerialized behind the man with the grenade launcher. Her impossibly sharp daggers easily sliced through his armor, and his shouts were cut short as he lost his head. Bullets began ripping through the air around her, and she dived for cover. Suddenly, everything went dark as an expandable sheet covered the sky across multiple blocks. She cursed and began to run for the light at the edge of the sheet. She could hear the soldiers racing toward her. Was there enough light to escape? She tried to dematerialize. Nothing. Then something strange happened. Her mind went calm, and she stopped running. She turned around. The soldiers were almost upon her. Then, her vision began to tunnel, and she saw a way. She used the slight amount of light around her to create a thin line, and her attention focused all on one path. She drew her arm back and threw one of her daggers. It flew, spinning, following the line of light, and took the heads off of the remaining soldiers. The dagger landed back into her hand. She panted with exertion. “What the hell just happened??” … … … … 3
Through The Living Ash he/him Posted January 30 Posted January 30 14 minutes ago, mippo said: Started this a bit back, never got around to finishing it Hide contents Faces. Four. Where? Footsteps, leading, gliding, pushing throu- A classroom. She raised her ha- Light. Wisps of, of- Darkness. Screams, cries of ra- … … … … Ellie raised her hand. And, of course, was ignored. The teacher kept on speaking, rattling off facts about WW2. She shook her hand in the air, but he just stared blankly at the class. She groaned, and her hand dropped. She should probably stop raising it practically every 5 minutes, then the teacher would pay attention. He would give a totally false fact, which frustrated her, and then she would raise her hand. The teacher had stopped caring. She put her head on her desk and looked out the window. It was just beginning to become too hot, and today was the last day of school before summer break. She wasn’t sure if she was looking forward to it or not. School would be over, which sucked, but she would get to hang out with her friends more, which didn’t. Oh, the problems of a teen in modern-day suburbia. She thought back to her knowledge of Ancient Sparta, when kids would train for war as soon as they could walk, or be drowned. Maybe summer wasn’t so bad. The bell rang, and she grabbed her backpack and pushed through the crowd of kids rushing out the door like salmon. The end of the day. She walked toward the exit, taking her time. She liked her school, even though it was the most generic one she’d ever seen, with the classrooms regularly spaced, the lockers lining the wall, and the disgusting bathrooms. But it was home. She pushed open the doors and weaved through kids until she reached her bike. Her best friend was already waiting for her, a boy named Tristan, whom she’d known her entire life. He stood beside his own bike, one much nicer than hers. “Hey, El,” he said. “Ready?” She sighed and nodded. “Yep, let’s go.” Tristan peered at her face closely, then smiled. “Teacher ignoring your smarts again?” She laughed. “You got it. Now come on, we have to get there before it closes.” She began to get on her bike when her vision seemed to narrow, as it did sometimes. Her attention was drawn to a specific point, and she noticed that the chain had slipped off the gear. She quickly fit it back on, and slid onto the seat. Tristan did likewise, then they rode down the street into town. Ellie pedaled hard, wanting to feel the wind on her face. Tristan easily kept pace with his annoyingly high-quality bike. “You know,” he shouted, “one day they’re gonna regret underestimating the one and only Ellie Easton!” She smiled wryly and pedaled even harder, pulling ahead. Tristan grinned, and a few seconds later, he blew past her. Now the race was on. Ellie determinedly exerted all of her strength, and they raced all the way to their destination. They soon pulled up to a faded blue and white building, both panting and exhausted from the race. It was the town's ice cream parlor, and it was very old. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and was, everyone knew, an important part of their community. Ellie and Tristan got their favorite flavors, mint chocolate chip and rocky road, respectively. The cool, creamy, wonderfulness from the ice cream soothed some of her exhaustion, and it was gone in an embarrassingly short time. Tristan didn't care, though, as he had finished his way before her. They parted ways, Tristan riding toward his house and Ellie to hers. The ice cream had given her a boost of energy, and she rode as fast as she could toward her home. She sped onto a shortcut through the forest in the town park, continuing at full speed. This turned out to be a bad idea, as when she rode over some gravel, the back tire skidded, and almost in comically slow motion, she began to fall. She yelped in surprise and panic, and her legs flailed out as she saw the hard ground approaching. One of her feet hit what felt like a large rock sticking out of the path, and she kicked against it, righting herself. She stopped, panting, then continued down the path, slower this time. Just as she rounded a bend, she looked back and saw something very strange. There was no large rock there, where she had almost fallen. She frowned, but kept riding toward home. … … … … Xander knelt before his father’s throne, shaking with resentment, anger, and a boiling, barely contained hatred. The man on the throne was wreathed in darkness; in fact, it seemed to rise off his body like smoke. “Son,” his voice boomed out. “Do you realize the magnitude of what you have done? Allowing foreigners into these lands is a crime of the highest degree.” Xander resisted the urge to lash out, and his eyes burned black in anger. “Well, father, if you would just let me leave, then I wouldn’t have to bring them here.” He practically spat the word “father". The man on the throne sighed. "I am unwilling to speak about this further. Guards! Lock him in his chambers.“ Two soldiers in dark, spiked suits of armor came and hauled Xander to his feet with gauntleted hands and dragged him down the halls of the castle. “Release me," Xander snarled at the guards, but they held firm. The rage inside swelled until he felt he was about to burst. They shoved him past a door, then locked it. He stumbled onto the bare stones and screamed. His chambers were large and luxurious, with a red velvet bed against one wall and tapestries on the wall. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the large room, sparkling. It was worth a small fortune in itself. Xander grabbed a knife from beside his bed (he always kept one there) and, in an uncontrollable fury, set to work tearing apart his room. In the process, he shattered a large mirror in the corner, shards of glass scattering across the floor. After a few minutes, he calmed down and tried using his knife to pick the lock. He failed and slumped onto his bed in defeat. He put his head into his hands. Stupid father, with his stupid rules. What was so wrong with bringing in foreigners? And then his father had made him kill them, which was a shame. He wished that everyone would just go away. He gritted his teeth. Why… can’t… everyone… JUST GO AWAY!!!! Xander screamed and felt a connection deep within him. He felt blazing pain in one eye, as the room around him flashed with blinding light. When he could see again, he stared dazedly around at his room, which was no longer there. In fact, there was no castle there at all. Almost like it had just been an illusion from the beginning. He saw that the pieces of the broken mirror remained on the ground. Slowly, he walked over and observed his reflection. What he saw made him gasp. He stared at himself, one eye burning black, and the other shining a bright white. Then he looked at his hands, and he began to laugh. … … … … Ellie had just gotten home and was walking up the stairs when she felt something. A shift, somewhere inside. Had she been looking in the mirror, she would’ve seen her eyes flicker and darken for a split second. She frowned and continued up the stairs. … … … … The girl stood in a wide grass field, the breeze blowing her long, golden hair around her. She was, by all appearances, a young woman with fair skin and a pretty face. She wore a long, flowing dress with intricate embroidered patterns reaching up its length. She sighed happily, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. That’s when an explosion decimated half of the field. The girl sighed. It couldn’t last forever, unfortunately. She waved her hand, and the illusion disintegrated into beams of light. Her dress morphed into a battle suit with a gas mask over her face, and a pair of long, wicked daggers appeared in each hand. Around her stretched a ruined city, choked with smoke and smog, and five heavily armored soldiers stood about 20 feet from her. One held a bulky grenade launcher, which he was reloading. She dropped into a fighting stance and dashed for them. They fanned out and unlimbered guns. Then they started shooting. In a split second, the girl became a beam of light, then rematerialized behind the man with the grenade launcher. Her impossibly sharp daggers easily sliced through his armor, and his shouts were cut short as he lost his head. Bullets began ripping through the air around her, and she dived for cover. Suddenly, everything went dark as an expandable sheet covered the sky across multiple blocks. She cursed and began to run for the light at the edge of the sheet. She could hear the soldiers racing toward her. Was there enough light to escape? She tried to dematerialize. Nothing. Then something strange happened. Her mind went calm, and she stopped running. She turned around. The soldiers were almost upon her. Then, her vision began to tunnel, and she saw a way. She used the slight amount of light around her to create a thin line, and her attention focused all on one path. She drew her arm back and threw one of her daggers. It flew, spinning, following the line of light, and took the heads off of the remaining soldiers. The dagger landed back into her hand. She panted with exertion. “What the hell just happened??” … … … … Wow. This is an impressive piece of writing so far; I hope you get around to finishing it. 1
pureintonation she/her Posted January 30 Posted January 30 32 minutes ago, mippo said: Started this a bit back, never got around to finishing it Hide contents Faces. Four. Where? Footsteps, leading, gliding, pushing throu- A classroom. She raised her ha- Light. Wisps of, of- Darkness. Screams, cries of ra- … … … … Ellie raised her hand. And, of course, was ignored. The teacher kept on speaking, rattling off facts about WW2. She shook her hand in the air, but he just stared blankly at the class. She groaned, and her hand dropped. She should probably stop raising it practically every 5 minutes, then the teacher would pay attention. He would give a totally false fact, which frustrated her, and then she would raise her hand. The teacher had stopped caring. She put her head on her desk and looked out the window. It was just beginning to become too hot, and today was the last day of school before summer break. She wasn’t sure if she was looking forward to it or not. School would be over, which sucked, but she would get to hang out with her friends more, which didn’t. Oh, the problems of a teen in modern-day suburbia. She thought back to her knowledge of Ancient Sparta, when kids would train for war as soon as they could walk, or be drowned. Maybe summer wasn’t so bad. The bell rang, and she grabbed her backpack and pushed through the crowd of kids rushing out the door like salmon. The end of the day. She walked toward the exit, taking her time. She liked her school, even though it was the most generic one she’d ever seen, with the classrooms regularly spaced, the lockers lining the wall, and the disgusting bathrooms. But it was home. She pushed open the doors and weaved through kids until she reached her bike. Her best friend was already waiting for her, a boy named Tristan, whom she’d known her entire life. He stood beside his own bike, one much nicer than hers. “Hey, El,” he said. “Ready?” She sighed and nodded. “Yep, let’s go.” Tristan peered at her face closely, then smiled. “Teacher ignoring your smarts again?” She laughed. “You got it. Now come on, we have to get there before it closes.” She began to get on her bike when her vision seemed to narrow, as it did sometimes. Her attention was drawn to a specific point, and she noticed that the chain had slipped off the gear. She quickly fit it back on, and slid onto the seat. Tristan did likewise, then they rode down the street into town. Ellie pedaled hard, wanting to feel the wind on her face. Tristan easily kept pace with his annoyingly high-quality bike. “You know,” he shouted, “one day they’re gonna regret underestimating the one and only Ellie Easton!” She smiled wryly and pedaled even harder, pulling ahead. Tristan grinned, and a few seconds later, he blew past her. Now the race was on. Ellie determinedly exerted all of her strength, and they raced all the way to their destination. They soon pulled up to a faded blue and white building, both panting and exhausted from the race. It was the town's ice cream parlor, and it was very old. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and was, everyone knew, an important part of their community. Ellie and Tristan got their favorite flavors, mint chocolate chip and rocky road, respectively. The cool, creamy, wonderfulness from the ice cream soothed some of her exhaustion, and it was gone in an embarrassingly short time. Tristan didn't care, though, as he had finished his way before her. They parted ways, Tristan riding toward his house and Ellie to hers. The ice cream had given her a boost of energy, and she rode as fast as she could toward her home. She sped onto a shortcut through the forest in the town park, continuing at full speed. This turned out to be a bad idea, as when she rode over some gravel, the back tire skidded, and almost in comically slow motion, she began to fall. She yelped in surprise and panic, and her legs flailed out as she saw the hard ground approaching. One of her feet hit what felt like a large rock sticking out of the path, and she kicked against it, righting herself. She stopped, panting, then continued down the path, slower this time. Just as she rounded a bend, she looked back and saw something very strange. There was no large rock there, where she had almost fallen. She frowned, but kept riding toward home. … … … … Xander knelt before his father’s throne, shaking with resentment, anger, and a boiling, barely contained hatred. The man on the throne was wreathed in darkness; in fact, it seemed to rise off his body like smoke. “Son,” his voice boomed out. “Do you realize the magnitude of what you have done? Allowing foreigners into these lands is a crime of the highest degree.” Xander resisted the urge to lash out, and his eyes burned black in anger. “Well, father, if you would just let me leave, then I wouldn’t have to bring them here.” He practically spat the word “father". The man on the throne sighed. "I am unwilling to speak about this further. Guards! Lock him in his chambers.“ Two soldiers in dark, spiked suits of armor came and hauled Xander to his feet with gauntleted hands and dragged him down the halls of the castle. “Release me," Xander snarled at the guards, but they held firm. The rage inside swelled until he felt he was about to burst. They shoved him past a door, then locked it. He stumbled onto the bare stones and screamed. His chambers were large and luxurious, with a red velvet bed against one wall and tapestries on the wall. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the large room, sparkling. It was worth a small fortune in itself. Xander grabbed a knife from beside his bed (he always kept one there) and, in an uncontrollable fury, set to work tearing apart his room. In the process, he shattered a large mirror in the corner, shards of glass scattering across the floor. After a few minutes, he calmed down and tried using his knife to pick the lock. He failed and slumped onto his bed in defeat. He put his head into his hands. Stupid father, with his stupid rules. What was so wrong with bringing in foreigners? And then his father had made him kill them, which was a shame. He wished that everyone would just go away. He gritted his teeth. Why… can’t… everyone… JUST GO AWAY!!!! Xander screamed and felt a connection deep within him. He felt blazing pain in one eye, as the room around him flashed with blinding light. When he could see again, he stared dazedly around at his room, which was no longer there. In fact, there was no castle there at all. Almost like it had just been an illusion from the beginning. He saw that the pieces of the broken mirror remained on the ground. Slowly, he walked over and observed his reflection. What he saw made him gasp. He stared at himself, one eye burning black, and the other shining a bright white. Then he looked at his hands, and he began to laugh. … … … … Ellie had just gotten home and was walking up the stairs when she felt something. A shift, somewhere inside. Had she been looking in the mirror, she would’ve seen her eyes flicker and darken for a split second. She frowned and continued up the stairs. … … … … The girl stood in a wide grass field, the breeze blowing her long, golden hair around her. She was, by all appearances, a young woman with fair skin and a pretty face. She wore a long, flowing dress with intricate embroidered patterns reaching up its length. She sighed happily, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. That’s when an explosion decimated half of the field. The girl sighed. It couldn’t last forever, unfortunately. She waved her hand, and the illusion disintegrated into beams of light. Her dress morphed into a battle suit with a gas mask over her face, and a pair of long, wicked daggers appeared in each hand. Around her stretched a ruined city, choked with smoke and smog, and five heavily armored soldiers stood about 20 feet from her. One held a bulky grenade launcher, which he was reloading. She dropped into a fighting stance and dashed for them. They fanned out and unlimbered guns. Then they started shooting. In a split second, the girl became a beam of light, then rematerialized behind the man with the grenade launcher. Her impossibly sharp daggers easily sliced through his armor, and his shouts were cut short as he lost his head. Bullets began ripping through the air around her, and she dived for cover. Suddenly, everything went dark as an expandable sheet covered the sky across multiple blocks. She cursed and began to run for the light at the edge of the sheet. She could hear the soldiers racing toward her. Was there enough light to escape? She tried to dematerialize. Nothing. Then something strange happened. Her mind went calm, and she stopped running. She turned around. The soldiers were almost upon her. Then, her vision began to tunnel, and she saw a way. She used the slight amount of light around her to create a thin line, and her attention focused all on one path. She drew her arm back and threw one of her daggers. It flew, spinning, following the line of light, and took the heads off of the remaining soldiers. The dagger landed back into her hand. She panted with exertion. “What the hell just happened??” … … … … Very cinematic! And I’m intrigued to see how the vignettes are connected 1
___ He/Him Posted March 12 Author Posted March 12 I have an unhealthy fondness for the surreal Spoiler In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. Hopefully I actually finish this one 3
Ink and Embers Any pronouns Posted March 13 Posted March 13 20 hours ago, Through the Living Mippo said: I have an unhealthy fondness for the surreal Hide contents In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. Hopefully I actually finish this one That is absolutely terrifying and I love it! It's very Gothic 1
SpartanBrigade He/Him Posted March 13 Posted March 13 20 hours ago, Through the Living Mippo said: I have an unhealthy fondness for the surreal Hide contents In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. Hopefully I actually finish this one *reps* Hell of an acid trip 1
Verdance he/him Posted March 13 Posted March 13 23 hours ago, Through the Living Mippo said: I have an unhealthy fondness for the surreal Hide contents In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. Hopefully I actually finish this one I want a dream like this Please 1
___ He/Him Posted March 17 Author Posted March 17 (edited) Up to date version: Spoiler What is sentience? The dictionary defines this word as “the ability to experience feelings and sensations”. To this I would add “awareness of one’s thoughts; being aware of being aware”. What if one were in such a state of disconnect, there were no thoughts, no subjective experience, only sensory details? What would happen were one to fade in and out of awareness of one's own awareness? Would one still be considered sentient? If our sentience is what makes us human, then what is left when one loses this quality? If only we knew. … … … … … In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … drip ... ... … drip … … You stand in a large, open room. Looking around, you see that every surface is covered —no, made of grass—floor, walls, and ceiling. You take a few steps forward, feeling the spring of the soil under your feet. The room is well-lit, with no discernible source. Something hits your head, and you look up. Water pools at the tips of the grass blades, dripping ever so often. You catch one on your tongue, then grimace at the flavor. It tastes like burnt rubber. You walk across the dewy grass and place your hand on the wall. It tickles as you run your hand across it. Staring across the length of the room, you feel a longing, a nostalgia that tugs at your gut and makes you want to go to a place far, far away yet so close. It seems that you could reach out and touch what once was, and what will be. The feeling passes. As you stare out over the verdant bristles, the ground shakes. You walk over to stand near the center of the room and look up at the ceiling. The water is coming faster now, and begins to pool in the middle of the ceiling. It begins to trickle down, landing on the ground. It comes more and more, until there is a cascade of water in the center of the room. You look at the ground where it is hitting, and can see that the water is eroding the soil, opening a gaping hole. You turn your attention to the water coming down and let it run over your hand, but soon pull it back. It had felt like your hand was falling asleep. You frown, and something just seems wrong. Why? Your mind drifts, and as you think, the ground beneath you breaks away into nothingness. And you fall. … down, … down, … down. … … … … … Is that a jar of marmalade? … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … A single table stands alone in the center of an endless gray plane. You walk over to it and put your hands on its surface, feeling the wood’s rough grain. It is a simple table, no ornamentation, purely practical. You look around, searching for a chair, but there is nothing else but the table in sight. You stare out into the emptiness, searching for an end, but find nothing. The sky matches the plane and seems to meld into the ground in such a way that you cannot tell where the ground ends and the sky starts. You turn your attention back to the table and hoist yourself up onto it. You sit there, swinging your legs off the side, and look out over the empty expanse. You notice the entire landscape seems to be darkening. It must almost be night. You hold your hands in front of your face, inspecting the lines and curves of your palms. You’re so tired, as if you had been walking this plane for… For… You look back up. It’s fully dark now, so dark that it seems you float in the middle of space, far away from everything. The darkness feels cold, as if it is a friend estranged. It feels far away and all around. And it’s just you and your table. You shift on top and lie down, staring up at the blackness above. The table moves slightly under you, as if it really is floating. You lie there, in the nothingness, and wait. Wait… for what? For day? But that’s not right; for some reason, you don't think it will ever be day again. It feels like you have to go somewhere, somewhere else. But there you lie. In the absolute silence, you can hear your own heartbeat, you can hear the blood racing through your veins, keeping you alive—preventing you from slipping into the internal darkness so similar to the one all around you. You suddenly recall a time so similar to this one, a long, long time ago. You had been in a darkness just like this one and then… And then… You strain to remember, but the memory fades away, seeming to turn to dust and scatter out into the nothingness. You hear your heart beating once more, slower now. You’re so tired. How long has it been since you last slept? You close your eyes, attempting to drift away into unconsciousness, but are unable to. You just stay there, lying still on your small wooden table. And the darkness is all around, smothering all, though not really extant. And there is nothing. And all is quiet. And all is still. … … … Edited March 19 by Through the Living Mippo Adding the next segment 4
Verdance he/him Posted March 17 Posted March 17 This is so cool! Im getting the same eerie vibes i used to get back when the backrooms was new 1
Ink and Embers Any pronouns Posted March 17 Posted March 17 17 minutes ago, Through the Living Mippo said: Thanks everyone! Here's the next scene Hide contents … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … drip ... ... … drip … … You stand in a large, open room. Looking around, you see that every surface is covered —no, made of grass—floor, walls, and ceiling. You take a few steps forward, feeling the spring of the soil under your feet. The room is well-lit, with no discernible source. Something hits your head, and you look up. Water pools at the tips of the grass blades, dripping ever so often. You catch one on your tongue, then grimace at the flavor. It tastes like burnt rubber. You walk across the dewy grass and place your hand on the wall. It tickles as you run your hand across it. Staring across the length of the room, you feel a longing, a nostalgia that tugs at your gut and makes you want to go to a place far, far away yet so close. It seems that you could reach out and touch what once was, and what will be. The feeling passes. As you stare out over the verdant bristles, the ground shakes. You walk over to stand near the center of the room and look up at the ceiling. The water is coming faster now, and begins to pool in the middle of the ceiling. It begins to trickle down, landing on the ground. It comes more and more, until there is a cascade of water in the center of the room. You look at the ground where it is hitting, and can see that the water is eroding the soil, opening a gaping hole. You turn your attention to the water coming down and let it run over your hand, but soon pull it back. It had felt like your hand was falling asleep. You frown, and something just seems wrong. Why? Your mind drifts, and as you think, the ground beneath you breaks away into nothingness. And you fall. … down, … down, … down. I repeat: absolutely terrifying and absolutely brilliant. Is this a dream or a nightmare? Either way, it's amazing
___ He/Him Posted March 17 Author Posted March 17 16 minutes ago, Through The Living Grass said: This is so cool! Im getting the same eerie vibes i used to get back when the backrooms was new Thanks, that's what I'm going for The name of the story also just came to me, "Sentience" It seems to fit. Just now, Through the Living Ink said: I repeat: absolutely terrifying and absolutely brilliant. Is this a dream or a nightmare? Either way, it's amazing Thank you! I'm gonna add a quick edit to the story cause I just wrote a little author's not to go along with it. Ok there we go 1
Ink and Embers Any pronouns Posted March 17 Posted March 17 5 minutes ago, Through the Living Mippo said: Thanks, that's what I'm going for The name of the story also just came to me, "Sentience" It seems to fit. Thank you! I'm gonna add a quick edit to the story cause I just wrote a little author's not to go along with it. Ok there we go Oooooo that's cool It makes more sense now 1
SpartanBrigade He/Him Posted March 17 Posted March 17 (edited) 2 hours ago, Through the Living Mippo said: Thanks everyone! Here's the next scene Hide contents What is sentience? The dictionary defines this word as “the ability to experience feelings and sensations”. To this I would add “awareness of one’s thoughts; being aware of being aware”. What if one were in such a state of disconnect, there were no thoughts, no subjective experience, only sensory details? What would happen were one to fade in and out of awareness of one's own awareness? Would one still be considered sentient? If our sentience is what makes us human, then what is left when one loses this quality? If only we knew. … … … … … In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … drip ... ... … drip … … You stand in a large, open room. Looking around, you see that every surface is covered —no, made of grass—floor, walls, and ceiling. You take a few steps forward, feeling the spring of the soil under your feet. The room is well-lit, with no discernible source. Something hits your head, and you look up. Water pools at the tips of the grass blades, dripping ever so often. You catch one on your tongue, then grimace at the flavor. It tastes like burnt rubber. You walk across the dewy grass and place your hand on the wall. It tickles as you run your hand across it. Staring across the length of the room, you feel a longing, a nostalgia that tugs at your gut and makes you want to go to a place far, far away yet so close. It seems that you could reach out and touch what once was, and what will be. The feeling passes. As you stare out over the verdant bristles, the ground shakes. You walk over to stand near the center of the room and look up at the ceiling. The water is coming faster now, and begins to pool in the middle of the ceiling. It begins to trickle down, landing on the ground. It comes more and more, until there is a cascade of water in the center of the room. You look at the ground where it is hitting, and can see that the water is eroding the soil, opening a gaping hole. You turn your attention to the water coming down and let it run over your hand, but soon pull it back. It had felt like your hand was falling asleep. You frown, and something just seems wrong. Why? Your mind drifts, and as you think, the ground beneath you breaks away into nothingness. And you fall. … down, … down, … down. That’s so sick This is incredible Edited March 17 by Through The Living Spartan 1
Vielence She/Her Posted March 18 Posted March 18 On 3/12/2026 at 4:25 PM, Through the Living Mippo said: I have an unhealthy fondness for the surreal Hide contents In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. Hopefully I actually finish this one On 3/17/2026 at 1:33 PM, Through the Living Mippo said: Thanks everyone! Here's the next scene Hide contents What is sentience? The dictionary defines this word as “the ability to experience feelings and sensations”. To this I would add “awareness of one’s thoughts; being aware of being aware”. What if one were in such a state of disconnect, there were no thoughts, no subjective experience, only sensory details? What would happen were one to fade in and out of awareness of one's own awareness? Would one still be considered sentient? If our sentience is what makes us human, then what is left when one loses this quality? If only we knew. … … … … … In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … drip ... ... … drip … … You stand in a large, open room. Looking around, you see that every surface is covered —no, made of grass—floor, walls, and ceiling. You take a few steps forward, feeling the spring of the soil under your feet. The room is well-lit, with no discernible source. Something hits your head, and you look up. Water pools at the tips of the grass blades, dripping ever so often. You catch one on your tongue, then grimace at the flavor. It tastes like burnt rubber. You walk across the dewy grass and place your hand on the wall. It tickles as you run your hand across it. Staring across the length of the room, you feel a longing, a nostalgia that tugs at your gut and makes you want to go to a place far, far away yet so close. It seems that you could reach out and touch what once was, and what will be. The feeling passes. As you stare out over the verdant bristles, the ground shakes. You walk over to stand near the center of the room and look up at the ceiling. The water is coming faster now, and begins to pool in the middle of the ceiling. It begins to trickle down, landing on the ground. It comes more and more, until there is a cascade of water in the center of the room. You look at the ground where it is hitting, and can see that the water is eroding the soil, opening a gaping hole. You turn your attention to the water coming down and let it run over your hand, but soon pull it back. It had felt like your hand was falling asleep. You frown, and something just seems wrong. Why? Your mind drifts, and as you think, the ground beneath you breaks away into nothingness. And you fall. … down, … down, … down. DANNNNNGGGGG thats good
___ He/Him Posted March 18 Author Posted March 18 2 minutes ago, VieB13 said: DANNNNNGGGGG thats good Thanks!!! Hoping I actually remember to finish this one 1
Vielence She/Her Posted March 18 Posted March 18 4 minutes ago, Through the Living Mippo said: Thanks!!! Hoping I actually remember to finish this one lol I do that too LUCKIES 1
___ He/Him Posted March 19 Author Posted March 19 (edited) On 3/17/2026 at 11:33 AM, Through the Living Mippo said: Up to date version: Reveal hidden contents What is sentience? The dictionary defines this word as “the ability to experience feelings and sensations”. To this I would add “awareness of one’s thoughts; being aware of being aware”. What if one were in such a state of disconnect, there were no thoughts, no subjective experience, only sensory details? What would happen were one to fade in and out of awareness of one's own awareness? Would one still be considered sentient? If our sentience is what makes us human, then what is left when one loses this quality? If only we knew. … … … … … In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … drip ... ... … drip … … You stand in a large, open room. Looking around, you see that every surface is covered —no, made of grass—floor, walls, and ceiling. You take a few steps forward, feeling the spring of the soil under your feet. The room is well-lit, with no discernible source. Something hits your head, and you look up. Water pools at the tips of the grass blades, dripping ever so often. You catch one on your tongue, then grimace at the flavor. It tastes like burnt rubber. You walk across the dewy grass and place your hand on the wall. It tickles as you run your hand across it. Staring across the length of the room, you feel a longing, a nostalgia that tugs at your gut and makes you want to go to a place far, far away yet so close. It seems that you could reach out and touch what once was, and what will be. The feeling passes. As you stare out over the verdant bristles, the ground shakes. You walk over to stand near the center of the room and look up at the ceiling. The water is coming faster now, and begins to pool in the middle of the ceiling. It begins to trickle down, landing on the ground. It comes more and more, until there is a cascade of water in the center of the room. You look at the ground where it is hitting, and can see that the water is eroding the soil, opening a gaping hole. You turn your attention to the water coming down and let it run over your hand, but soon pull it back. It had felt like your hand was falling asleep. You frown, and something just seems wrong. Why? Your mind drifts, and as you think, the ground beneath you breaks away into nothingness. And you fall. … down, … down, … down. … … … … … Is that a jar of marmalade? … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … A single table stands alone in the center of an endless gray plane. You walk over to it and put your hands on its surface, feeling the wood’s rough grain. It is a simple table, no ornamentation, purely practical. You look around, searching for a chair, but there is nothing else but the table in sight. You stare out into the emptiness, searching for an end, but find nothing. The sky matches the plane and seems to meld into the ground in such a way that you cannot tell where the ground ends and the sky starts. You turn your attention back to the table and hoist yourself up onto it. You sit there, swinging your legs off the side, and look out over the empty expanse. You notice the entire landscape seems to be darkening. It must almost be night. You hold your hands in front of your face, inspecting the lines and curves of your palms. You’re so tired, as if you had been walking this plane for… For… You look back up. It’s fully dark now, so dark that it seems you float in the middle of space, far away from everything. The darkness feels cold, as if it is a friend estranged. It feels far away and all around. And it’s just you and your table. You shift on top and lie down, staring up at the blackness above. The table moves slightly under you, as if it really is floating. You lie there, in the nothingness, and wait. Wait… for what? For day? But that’s not right; for some reason, you don't think it will ever be day again. It feels like you have to go somewhere, somewhere else. But there you lie. In the absolute silence, you can hear your own heartbeat, you can hear the blood racing through your veins, keeping you alive—preventing you from slipping into the internal darkness so similar to the one all around you. You suddenly recall a time so similar to this one, a long, long time ago. You had been in a darkness just like this one and then… And then… You strain to remember, but the memory fades away, seeming to turn to dust and scatter out into the nothingness. You hear your heart beating once more, slower now. You’re so tired. How long has it been since you last slept? You close your eyes, attempting to drift away into unconsciousness, but are unable to. You just stay there, lying still on your small wooden table. And the darkness is all around, smothering all, though not really extant. And there is nothing. And all is quiet. And all is still. … … … Here's the next segment Writing this is making me feel empty People I think might like this story: (It's not done btw) @Through The Living Girl@Through The Living Coder@Through the Living Hope@The Silverlight Historian@Through the Living Wrath Edited March 19 by Through the Living Mippo 2
Through the Living Wrath he/him Posted March 19 Posted March 19 11 minutes ago, Through the Living Mippo said: Here's the next segment Writing this is making me feel empty People I think might like this story: (It's not done btw) @Through The Living Girl@Through The Living Coder@Through the Living Hope@The Silverlight Historian@Through the Living Wrath Erm Actually, Sapience is the word you are looking for (anyways it’s good! Very good!)
___ He/Him Posted March 19 Author Posted March 19 2 minutes ago, Through the Living Wrath said: Erm Actually, Sapience is the word you are looking for (anyways it’s good! Very good!) That word would also fit, but I'ma stick with what it is Thanks!
Ink and Embers Any pronouns Posted March 20 Posted March 20 On 3/17/2026 at 6:33 PM, Through the Living Mippo said: Up to date version: Hide contents What is sentience? The dictionary defines this word as “the ability to experience feelings and sensations”. To this I would add “awareness of one’s thoughts; being aware of being aware”. What if one were in such a state of disconnect, there were no thoughts, no subjective experience, only sensory details? What would happen were one to fade in and out of awareness of one's own awareness? Would one still be considered sentient? If our sentience is what makes us human, then what is left when one loses this quality? If only we knew. … … … … … In front of you is a long, dark hallway. You stand in a pool of light, courtesy of a flickering ceiling light above your head. You rub your eyes and yawn. You’re exhausted. You really had better get some sleep. Gazing down the passageway, you are unable to find an end. Dim, flickering lights come from the ceiling about every fifteen yards, leaving patches of darkness between the lights. A soft scraping noise comes from behind you. You turn around. Behind, you can see the hall extends just as far as in front, with periodical spheres of light. One of the lights about three spheres away flickers and dies. You frown. When did you get here? It seems that you’ve been here for… how long? Something troubles you, but your mind seems to drift away. What were you just thinking about? The next closest light becomes dark. You glance at the wall beside you. The baseboard reaches halfway up, and the wall itself is a boring beige. You look the other way and notice a door. It’s locked, you discover when you try the handle. More scraping, closer, and another light is snuffed. You yawn again. You can feel yourself drifting, on the cusp of sleep. You hear more scraping, right beside you. Your light goes out, and you are smothered in black. The darkness seems to comfort you, encouraging you to succumb to the drowsiness. You can feel something, inches away, reaching for you. Your eyes close. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … drip ... ... … drip … … You stand in a large, open room. Looking around, you see that every surface is covered —no, made of grass—floor, walls, and ceiling. You take a few steps forward, feeling the spring of the soil under your feet. The room is well-lit, with no discernible source. Something hits your head, and you look up. Water pools at the tips of the grass blades, dripping ever so often. You catch one on your tongue, then grimace at the flavor. It tastes like burnt rubber. You walk across the dewy grass and place your hand on the wall. It tickles as you run your hand across it. Staring across the length of the room, you feel a longing, a nostalgia that tugs at your gut and makes you want to go to a place far, far away yet so close. It seems that you could reach out and touch what once was, and what will be. The feeling passes. As you stare out over the verdant bristles, the ground shakes. You walk over to stand near the center of the room and look up at the ceiling. The water is coming faster now, and begins to pool in the middle of the ceiling. It begins to trickle down, landing on the ground. It comes more and more, until there is a cascade of water in the center of the room. You look at the ground where it is hitting, and can see that the water is eroding the soil, opening a gaping hole. You turn your attention to the water coming down and let it run over your hand, but soon pull it back. It had felt like your hand was falling asleep. You frown, and something just seems wrong. Why? Your mind drifts, and as you think, the ground beneath you breaks away into nothingness. And you fall. … down, … down, … down. … … … … … Is that a jar of marmalade? … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … A single table stands alone in the center of an endless gray plane. You walk over to it and put your hands on its surface, feeling the wood’s rough grain. It is a simple table, no ornamentation, purely practical. You look around, searching for a chair, but there is nothing else but the table in sight. You stare out into the emptiness, searching for an end, but find nothing. The sky matches the plane and seems to meld into the ground in such a way that you cannot tell where the ground ends and the sky starts. You turn your attention back to the table and hoist yourself up onto it. You sit there, swinging your legs off the side, and look out over the empty expanse. You notice the entire landscape seems to be darkening. It must almost be night. You hold your hands in front of your face, inspecting the lines and curves of your palms. You’re so tired, as if you had been walking this plane for… For… You look back up. It’s fully dark now, so dark that it seems you float in the middle of space, far away from everything. The darkness feels cold, as if it is a friend estranged. It feels far away and all around. And it’s just you and your table. You shift on top and lie down, staring up at the blackness above. The table moves slightly under you, as if it really is floating. You lie there, in the nothingness, and wait. Wait… for what? For day? But that’s not right; for some reason, you don't think it will ever be day again. It feels like you have to go somewhere, somewhere else. But there you lie. In the absolute silence, you can hear your own heartbeat, you can hear the blood racing through your veins, keeping you alive—preventing you from slipping into the internal darkness so similar to the one all around you. You suddenly recall a time so similar to this one, a long, long time ago. You had been in a darkness just like this one and then… And then… You strain to remember, but the memory fades away, seeming to turn to dust and scatter out into the nothingness. You hear your heart beating once more, slower now. You’re so tired. How long has it been since you last slept? You close your eyes, attempting to drift away into unconsciousness, but are unable to. You just stay there, lying still on your small wooden table. And the darkness is all around, smothering all, though not really extant. And there is nothing. And all is quiet. And all is still. … … … "Is that a jar of marmalade?" made me laugh It continues to be absolutely terrifying It's awesome!!!!! And a total nightmare!!!! But a really interesting one!!!! 1
___ He/Him Posted March 20 Author Posted March 20 2 minutes ago, Through the Living Ink said: "Is that a jar of marmalade?" made me laugh It continues to be absolutely terrifying It's awesome!!!!! And a total nightmare!!!! But a really interesting one!!!! Thanks!!! Spoiler Do you get the reference?
Ink and Embers Any pronouns Posted March 20 Posted March 20 2 minutes ago, Through the Living Mippo said: Thanks!!! Hide contents Do you get the reference? Spoiler I do not! May I ask what the reference is to?
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