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THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEuNk4JMsUM
|
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard.
I look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small.
Reaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, "*Bubbles."* | soap bubble popped in my eye!
edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | "I like this brand better." she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest.
He pulled it away and checked the price tag. "Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?"
"While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes." The spirit is gone from her voice.
He snorts derisively. "Bubbles." | soap bubble popped in my eye!
edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | "What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever." | soap bubble popped in my eye!
edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | soap bubble popped in my eye!
edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | I didn't even feel the small tremors in my arms anymore. Somewhere after eight cups of coffee, your brain just says "fuck all" to its self-regulation and gives up on telling you what your body is up to. Which was probably a good thing, since I could see by the reflective glass on the far end of the lab that I was a pitiable sight. But while the drug-and-caffeine concoction was doing no great deeds for my looks, they kept me alert enough to notice not only my face in a small square across the room, but the development of the mixture that sat in a small petri dish in front of me.
The table looked like something out of a science documentary from the '70s - exactly the sort that got me interested in this type of work in the first place - with its offensively inoffensive shade of yellow that barely gave contrast to the liquids. Its waxy surface was host to a concoction of items I'd assembled through the wee hours of the night while most of the University staff slept. And the payoff was minutes away if I'd gotten my numbers right.
I opened up my journal and began to scrawl a few notes:
*4:01 a.m. mixed 12mg XK with 8mg CL in static environment regulated at 21C. Mix has been stable for ten minutes with no sign of reaction.*
I was going to win a fucking nobel prize. And even then, only because they wouldn't be able to think of something bigger and better-suited to the discovery. Or perhaps the drugs were helping me to mask the slow realization that somewhere in the past year of work, I'd forgotten to carry a one. Or perhaps worse, some hapless intern had ineffectively sealed one of three thousand different rare compounds. If it was the latter, I would find and utterly ruin the fucker. I looked down at the slight foam around the crust of the dish. There was no denying what was sitting plainly in front of me.
"Bubbles," I said as I stood, kicking the stool over as I rose. |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | "Of all the things you could have done," began the enraged landlady, "you decided to go with bubbles."
"Well, Mrs Donovan, I technically filled the downstairs flat with foam-"
"BUBBLES." |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | "What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever." | I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard.
I look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small.
Reaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, "*Bubbles."* |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard.
I look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small.
Reaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, "*Bubbles."* |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | "What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever." | "I like this brand better." she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest.
He pulled it away and checked the price tag. "Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?"
"While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes." The spirit is gone from her voice.
He snorts derisively. "Bubbles." |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | "I like this brand better." she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest.
He pulled it away and checked the price tag. "Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?"
"While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes." The spirit is gone from her voice.
He snorts derisively. "Bubbles." |
THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" | "What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever." |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | Those Were The Days
There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.
The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.
Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.
Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.
| This is his duty to the world, as a scientist. After all those years of loyalty, devotion to her work, she was not above reproach from his peers and her clients. He loved her for her willfulness, her desire to partake in his favored field of phrenology. Breaking his sacred trust, her insidious nature revealed to others their dreadful personalities.
He untangles the ribbons from her raven hair, the locks tumble down and kiss the crimson drops on her voluptuous bosom. An unnecessary gesture, he knows that what he must do ascends his will to do it. Her robust heart stands as a monument to her passion. A relief. There has to be a better way to go about this.
"You are more man than I can ever be," he chuckles in a jocular vein. His attempt at humor is rewarded with a glassy-eyed glare.
Knock.
Knock knock knock.
"Doctor, is it over yet?"
She stands up, and mutters, "Let's create our own saga."
|
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | This is his duty to the world, as a scientist. After all those years of loyalty, devotion to her work, she was not above reproach from his peers and her clients. He loved her for her willfulness, her desire to partake in his favored field of phrenology. Breaking his sacred trust, her insidious nature revealed to others their dreadful personalities.
He untangles the ribbons from her raven hair, the locks tumble down and kiss the crimson drops on her voluptuous bosom. An unnecessary gesture, he knows that what he must do ascends his will to do it. Her robust heart stands as a monument to her passion. A relief. There has to be a better way to go about this.
"You are more man than I can ever be," he chuckles in a jocular vein. His attempt at humor is rewarded with a glassy-eyed glare.
Knock.
Knock knock knock.
"Doctor, is it over yet?"
She stands up, and mutters, "Let's create our own saga."
|
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | Those Were The Days
There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.
The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.
Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.
Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.
| Geraldine said we need a ritual sacrifice to summon the demon. I don't know if that's true. From the stories they tell in church on Sundays you'd think the demon would want to leave really badly. All the fire and tearing the flesh off of people. Even if you liked torture and brimstone you'd get tired of it eventually. I thought maybe we could just send it an invitation. One of those fancy ones like you’d get for weddings.
When I told Geraldine that she rolled her eyes at me and said that was a stupid idea.
She's usually right, which is why I keep quiet. She was right about that blood belching worm we found in the field. She was right about the skull of an ancient man we found in the woods.
Though that could have been Mr. Popperling, who disappeared several years ago after stumbling drunk from his cabin. His wife waited three weeks to report him missing. I heard my ma say once that was because he'd called her a horseface before he left.
She was right about the insidious voice on those cartoons with people in brightly colored suits. When we turned the audio way down and pressed our ears to the carpet, it sounded like snakes hissing.
I don't know why she wants to summon a demon. I figure they're nasty things. I'd be nasty too if you left me underground so long. Demons don't even have moms to remind them to take baths and brush their teeth. I bet he'd smell horrible. But Geraldine is my best friend. She saved me from Marcus Yates who tried to stab me with his plastic fork on the playground because I wouldn't give him my new shoes that lit up when I jumped.
She told me she wanted something the demon could give her. Something she was too scared to do herself. I promised I'd help. She found this ritual on the internet on a page with these crimson drawings of upside down stars. A roar came out of the speakers. Geraldine had to turn it down before her father came in. He was always yelling at her while I pretended to be invisible. He called me Casper when he did notice me and told me to keep my hands off his little girl.
The website said to draw these symbols on the floor and make a monument of ancient bone and blood. Our monument was more of a pile of chicken bones and the skull we'd found. For the blood it said we had to "sacrifice upon the altar of bone".
We tried little things first. Geraldine smuggled a hamster out of the first grader's classroom. I had to look away when she hit it with a hammer. We didn't see much of anything come from that. Mostly a spark we thought might be the demon laughing.
Then I found a half dead turtle on the side of the road. It wasn't moving but I could see its eyes blinking. That one was harder because I'd convinced my parents I wanted to save it. They let me buy this kiddie pool to put him in. I fed him watermelon and strawberries and watched him in the water. He never did move much but his blinks became more regular.
Geraldine tried to crack his shell open but she couldn't. I pretended I'd injured my arm in a dreadful gardening accident. For a week I held my arm at this unnatural angle so she wouldn't know I'd wimped out. We settled for a couple of ladybugs but I could tell Geraldine's heart wasn't in it. Mr. Izzard lived on. I think he was grateful. I could sort of tell from his blinks.
Geraldine finally decided that we weren't going big enough. She said the demon wasn't going to ascend to our earthly plane for a couple of hamster souls, a half cracked turtle shell, and a raven she'd accidentally run over in the park. She said we needed a person.
I didn't think I could kill a person. The hamster was bad enough and I mostly just watched that. I thought maybe I could convince her that we didn't need to summon the imp of hell. She raised her arm and shoved her long sleeves up. There were ribbons of red scratched over the surface of her skin.
"I've already tried bleeding for it," she said. "It's never enough! I just want him to die, okay? He deserves to die."
"Your father?"
Geraldine didn't answer me. She sat on the ground until it grew cold and quiet. I waited with her. When it was too dark to see she got up with a sigh and walked home.
We never did summon the demon. I don't think Geraldine would have gone through with it anyway. A person is really hard to kill.
|
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | Geraldine said we need a ritual sacrifice to summon the demon. I don't know if that's true. From the stories they tell in church on Sundays you'd think the demon would want to leave really badly. All the fire and tearing the flesh off of people. Even if you liked torture and brimstone you'd get tired of it eventually. I thought maybe we could just send it an invitation. One of those fancy ones like you’d get for weddings.
When I told Geraldine that she rolled her eyes at me and said that was a stupid idea.
She's usually right, which is why I keep quiet. She was right about that blood belching worm we found in the field. She was right about the skull of an ancient man we found in the woods.
Though that could have been Mr. Popperling, who disappeared several years ago after stumbling drunk from his cabin. His wife waited three weeks to report him missing. I heard my ma say once that was because he'd called her a horseface before he left.
She was right about the insidious voice on those cartoons with people in brightly colored suits. When we turned the audio way down and pressed our ears to the carpet, it sounded like snakes hissing.
I don't know why she wants to summon a demon. I figure they're nasty things. I'd be nasty too if you left me underground so long. Demons don't even have moms to remind them to take baths and brush their teeth. I bet he'd smell horrible. But Geraldine is my best friend. She saved me from Marcus Yates who tried to stab me with his plastic fork on the playground because I wouldn't give him my new shoes that lit up when I jumped.
She told me she wanted something the demon could give her. Something she was too scared to do herself. I promised I'd help. She found this ritual on the internet on a page with these crimson drawings of upside down stars. A roar came out of the speakers. Geraldine had to turn it down before her father came in. He was always yelling at her while I pretended to be invisible. He called me Casper when he did notice me and told me to keep my hands off his little girl.
The website said to draw these symbols on the floor and make a monument of ancient bone and blood. Our monument was more of a pile of chicken bones and the skull we'd found. For the blood it said we had to "sacrifice upon the altar of bone".
We tried little things first. Geraldine smuggled a hamster out of the first grader's classroom. I had to look away when she hit it with a hammer. We didn't see much of anything come from that. Mostly a spark we thought might be the demon laughing.
Then I found a half dead turtle on the side of the road. It wasn't moving but I could see its eyes blinking. That one was harder because I'd convinced my parents I wanted to save it. They let me buy this kiddie pool to put him in. I fed him watermelon and strawberries and watched him in the water. He never did move much but his blinks became more regular.
Geraldine tried to crack his shell open but she couldn't. I pretended I'd injured my arm in a dreadful gardening accident. For a week I held my arm at this unnatural angle so she wouldn't know I'd wimped out. We settled for a couple of ladybugs but I could tell Geraldine's heart wasn't in it. Mr. Izzard lived on. I think he was grateful. I could sort of tell from his blinks.
Geraldine finally decided that we weren't going big enough. She said the demon wasn't going to ascend to our earthly plane for a couple of hamster souls, a half cracked turtle shell, and a raven she'd accidentally run over in the park. She said we needed a person.
I didn't think I could kill a person. The hamster was bad enough and I mostly just watched that. I thought maybe I could convince her that we didn't need to summon the imp of hell. She raised her arm and shoved her long sleeves up. There were ribbons of red scratched over the surface of her skin.
"I've already tried bleeding for it," she said. "It's never enough! I just want him to die, okay? He deserves to die."
"Your father?"
Geraldine didn't answer me. She sat on the ground until it grew cold and quiet. I waited with her. When it was too dark to see she got up with a sigh and walked home.
We never did summon the demon. I don't think Geraldine would have gone through with it anyway. A person is really hard to kill.
|
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | Those Were The Days
There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.
The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.
Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.
Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.
| The cold, robust wind struck my face as I ascended the final 500 meters of this prodigious glacier. Ahead was a rock formation that would be our campsite for the night. I was leading a rope team of me and three close friends, Mike, Jeff, and Cameron, in the farthest north area of British Columbia. I was slowly stepping over the snow-covered glacier and using my probe to determine whether or not my next step would be safe to make, or if an unforgiving crevasse would swallow me into the mysterious system of veins and tunnels that move through all of these monumental glaciers. I tried reading the white plane from a distance to see if any parts of the snow were sagging or close to giving away and it seemed that the route I had picked was perfectly safe, but one can never be too careful while traveling on unexposed ice. It had been nearly 10 hours since we left our last campsite and we were all exhausted and ready to set up camp for a good night sleep. The weariness felt at the end of a hike made complacency our biggest threat. As I was eying the rock formation and moving slowly forward I felt a tug on my rope from behind implying that I was moving a little too fast and needed to slow my pace. It was only a small tug at first, but then a second later came a dreadful pull that violently yanked me backwards about 3 full meters. My training and intuition immediately kicked in as I rolled onto my stomach and jabbed my ice axe into the snow as hard as I could, using the crampons on my feet to also support whatever weight was behind me, all the while being dragged further back. This was not good. I knew before I had a chance to look back that someone had fallen into a deep hole. We must have crossed a crevasse that was covered by a snow bridge that let out on someone after I had moved over it. When I finally stabilized myself I was able to look back to figure out exactly what had happened. It was worse than I expected. Cameron and Jeff were the two people at the back of the rope and neither of them were in sight, while Mike was only about two and a half meters from the point where the rope disappeared. My muscles were already giving out but the desire to save my friends overpowered any fatigue.
"Mike!" I shouted. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. I am stable but I'm not sure if I can take any steps to try and pull them out." He then called down to Cameron and Jeff to make sure they weren't stuck under a formation that would crush them if we tried to pull them out. They weren't.
At that point I decided to count down from three as loud as I could.
"Three! Two! One! Pull!" and with as much strength as I could possibly muster I took a step with my right foot and dug into the snow. Mike did the same and we moved about 20 centimeters.
"Three! Two! One! Pull!" Another 20 centimeters.
"Three! Two! ......" Suddenly Mike lost his footing and we slid back a full meter and were now in a worse position than when we started. It was becoming clear that this was physically impossible for us to do. Coming from the crevasse we could hear some sort of shouting. It was Cameron and Jeff yelling at each other. A few moments of silence and then I could hear only Cameron yelling "No! No! Don't do it, Jeff! No!" I was at first confused about what was happening until the weight pulling us into the crevasse got lighter by about 250 lbs. Jeff must have cut himself from the line to give us a chance at living. He was a hero. Without any time for emotion, we knew we still had to pull Cameron out so we dug in and continued this slow and exhausting march.
While I was crawling forward in the snow with an enormous weight on my back, something occurred to me that nearly paralyzed me.
I initially thought Cameron was yelling to convince Jeff to not give up but I suddenly remembered that Jeff was third on the rope, and Cameron was actually the one at the end. |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | The cold, robust wind struck my face as I ascended the final 500 meters of this prodigious glacier. Ahead was a rock formation that would be our campsite for the night. I was leading a rope team of me and three close friends, Mike, Jeff, and Cameron, in the farthest north area of British Columbia. I was slowly stepping over the snow-covered glacier and using my probe to determine whether or not my next step would be safe to make, or if an unforgiving crevasse would swallow me into the mysterious system of veins and tunnels that move through all of these monumental glaciers. I tried reading the white plane from a distance to see if any parts of the snow were sagging or close to giving away and it seemed that the route I had picked was perfectly safe, but one can never be too careful while traveling on unexposed ice. It had been nearly 10 hours since we left our last campsite and we were all exhausted and ready to set up camp for a good night sleep. The weariness felt at the end of a hike made complacency our biggest threat. As I was eying the rock formation and moving slowly forward I felt a tug on my rope from behind implying that I was moving a little too fast and needed to slow my pace. It was only a small tug at first, but then a second later came a dreadful pull that violently yanked me backwards about 3 full meters. My training and intuition immediately kicked in as I rolled onto my stomach and jabbed my ice axe into the snow as hard as I could, using the crampons on my feet to also support whatever weight was behind me, all the while being dragged further back. This was not good. I knew before I had a chance to look back that someone had fallen into a deep hole. We must have crossed a crevasse that was covered by a snow bridge that let out on someone after I had moved over it. When I finally stabilized myself I was able to look back to figure out exactly what had happened. It was worse than I expected. Cameron and Jeff were the two people at the back of the rope and neither of them were in sight, while Mike was only about two and a half meters from the point where the rope disappeared. My muscles were already giving out but the desire to save my friends overpowered any fatigue.
"Mike!" I shouted. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. I am stable but I'm not sure if I can take any steps to try and pull them out." He then called down to Cameron and Jeff to make sure they weren't stuck under a formation that would crush them if we tried to pull them out. They weren't.
At that point I decided to count down from three as loud as I could.
"Three! Two! One! Pull!" and with as much strength as I could possibly muster I took a step with my right foot and dug into the snow. Mike did the same and we moved about 20 centimeters.
"Three! Two! One! Pull!" Another 20 centimeters.
"Three! Two! ......" Suddenly Mike lost his footing and we slid back a full meter and were now in a worse position than when we started. It was becoming clear that this was physically impossible for us to do. Coming from the crevasse we could hear some sort of shouting. It was Cameron and Jeff yelling at each other. A few moments of silence and then I could hear only Cameron yelling "No! No! Don't do it, Jeff! No!" I was at first confused about what was happening until the weight pulling us into the crevasse got lighter by about 250 lbs. Jeff must have cut himself from the line to give us a chance at living. He was a hero. Without any time for emotion, we knew we still had to pull Cameron out so we dug in and continued this slow and exhausting march.
While I was crawling forward in the snow with an enormous weight on my back, something occurred to me that nearly paralyzed me.
I initially thought Cameron was yelling to convince Jeff to not give up but I suddenly remembered that Jeff was third on the rope, and Cameron was actually the one at the end. |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | Those Were The Days
There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.
The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.
Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.
Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.
| "Open your presents *now*" she whispered
As I unwrapped the ribbons off of this small box, I start thinking about this whole situation. It was my 13th birthday, and I was hating it. The whole family puts on huge smiles to put on a show for our other relatives. As if everything is good and dandy here.
When I open it, I see a picture. A picture of me, my parents and younger sister. We were posing next to a monument we saw when we visited North Dakota. Some type of stone structure with faces of old presidents. I remember in class, my teacher mentioned they fought for our rights we take for granted today. Did they fight for my rights ? Did they care about that kid in Texas who is constantly abused ? I try to pull myself together so I can put on my signature "I'm fine, nothing wrong here" smile.
"Thanks aunt Laura ! I love it!"
As the day went by, I started to tense up a lot. The dirty looks she'd shoot me from across the room, with her vein popping from her forehead every time I'd do something she didn't like. She always had that look. And she knew I knew what it meant. Another beating. Another punishment. Another night in that closet. When the party came to a close, my relatives wanted to take a picture with me. As I hugged my mother, she whispered in a barely audible tone "Mess this up for me and you will pay". That almost killed me right there. She didn't care about me. She just cared about the check she received every month. She was willing to do anything to make sure I looked happy. So the social workers wouldn't see how careless she was with me.
As the last person left the house, I started thinking about what was to come. She closed the door behind my grandmother, blowing kisses at her. Telling her to have a safe trip home. *Home*. Then it happened. As if she turned into a monster in that single minute. She pounced on me, beating nearly every part of me. She would never ascend above my shoulders though. She wanted to make sure nobody noticed the crimson marks from the belts, scissors, and whatever else that was within arms reach of hers when she was angry.
It went on. And on. And on. And on. Until when she was tired, she yelled at me to go into the closet. I hustled up the stairs, tripping over the fourth step. I jumped into the closet and she locked the door. This was my home. Hell. Home, where my mother hid secrets from me in her insidious ways. She never told me about me. Until that night, a night unlike this one. She refrained from beating me. She was in a good mood. She instead decided that the closet would be my home from then on. I went in, crying. In my anger, I started to smash everything in that closet. Until I hit a box. Inside contained my birth certificate, a picture of a woman, a death certificate and a necklace. A necklace, with a gold raven hanging from the chain. The birth certificate was mine, and it showed my fathers name, Derrick Thompson and in the mothers name, an unfamiliar name. Denise Porter. Porter was my mothers maiden name. So, was Denise her sister ? After further inspection of the box, I looked at the picture. My mother was posing with a woman. A woman who looked a lot like me. My *real* mother ? Possibly, she was posing with my other mother. I came to the conclusion that they were sisters. I looked at the death certificate. Denise Porter's. Cause of death was "Murder". Murder ? I had to find out more.
From that point on, I went to libraries investigating the name. Her name came up in many newspapers days after she died. No suspects were found. Just a dead body. It said she was strangled to death, with a chain. There was also gold residue all over her neck. And there was a branding on her back. A raven. At the time, I took it as a coincidence. My real mother had a necklace with a raven. And that necklace was in my other mothers box. My other mother. Her name was Flora. I figured Denise's murderer knew her, possibly an ex. Someone who was hurt. Someone who had dreadful things going on in his or her mind.
I brushed it off. I kept the necklace with me always. So Denise would always be with me.
A few days later, Flora fell ill. It was a godsend. It was days of hospital visits and crying for my father and sister. Me, I was silent. I had no attachment to this evil woman. Then, the doctors came with the news. She needed a transfusion. She had a type O blood type. One my father nor sister shared. But I did. It took days for me to consider this. Or at least it felt like days. I believe that life is sacred, and no one deserves to die. But this woman didn't deserve death. She deserved worse. She deserved torture. If what the religions preach about hell is true, I'd let her die. To suffer in hell where her kind belongs. To bad I had less than 2 seconds before my father jumped and said "He will do it".
Too bad they needed a more robust person to do it. I had a rare disease, a disease of the mind. Doctors have yet to give a diagnosis, they've never seen it. I've seen specialists in many fields. Urology. Phrenelogy. An orthopedic surgeon. They couldn't find the cause. Whether it was a problem in the nervous system, in my spine, or in my cranium. I couldn't do it. She wouldn't survive another day.
She died 4 hours later.
When the lawyers met with our family, they gave us her safety deposit box key. When my dad brought the contents home, he gave it out according to the will. I received nothing. My dad did, however, find an envelope signed by her for Denise. He gave it too me, as if instinctually. I ripped it open and saw the letter. I held the letter in my head and read it silently. *Wait* I decided to run upstairs and read the letter alone, in my closet. I grabbed the chain, held it tightly , like a child would grab his moms hand. It read:
Dear Denise,
You're dead. I killed you. You were my only friend. My only sister. And I killed you. Why? You know that I'm crazy. Schizophrenia is really a bitch. I saw crazy things. Things that weren't real. But one thing was. I saw when you were with my husband. Me and him were separated at the time. He came to your house in tears. You comforted him. He took your kindness for weakness and raped you. You bore a child. A child. A perfect child. A boy. You named him Riza. Meaning accepted, you accepted your fate as the mother of this bastard child. But I didn't. My husband loved you. My husband did ! And I couldn't take it. Remember that spot we would play in as little girls. I took you there. I grabbed your chain and strangled you. Your chain, which our mother gave you, cause you were healthy. And I? Crazy. so crazy our mother couldnt accept me. I then branded the raven on your back. A silent symbol of the darkness that clouded my judgement, and like Cain did Abel, murdered you. On front of god. I took your child, and abused him. He never did nothing wrong. He was a good child. But, he was the child of my husband. Every time I'd see him, I'd see you and him. You didn't mean it. What happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't help to be beautiful. Men called you voluptuous. They wanted you. Women called you a bitch. They hated you. I did too. I'm sorry. I another life, if we meet again, I will get to know you more. You were only 17 when I killed you. I'm sorry. I abuse your son cause of something you didn't do. I'm sorry.
Love, your sister, and best friend,
Flora.
I couldn't help but cry. For years on, I couldn't look at my father the same way. I visited Denise's grave. Made peace with what happened. She was buried next to Flora. I made peace with her too. Today that letter is in the box. The box where I found everything. The box, where the only things I know of my mother are. I promised myself I'd never do the same. I'd never repeat the mistakes my family made. I'd never hurt these kids of mine. My daughters and son. My daughter, Denise, my son, Kurt and my youngest... Flora.
I love you mom. |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | "Open your presents *now*" she whispered
As I unwrapped the ribbons off of this small box, I start thinking about this whole situation. It was my 13th birthday, and I was hating it. The whole family puts on huge smiles to put on a show for our other relatives. As if everything is good and dandy here.
When I open it, I see a picture. A picture of me, my parents and younger sister. We were posing next to a monument we saw when we visited North Dakota. Some type of stone structure with faces of old presidents. I remember in class, my teacher mentioned they fought for our rights we take for granted today. Did they fight for my rights ? Did they care about that kid in Texas who is constantly abused ? I try to pull myself together so I can put on my signature "I'm fine, nothing wrong here" smile.
"Thanks aunt Laura ! I love it!"
As the day went by, I started to tense up a lot. The dirty looks she'd shoot me from across the room, with her vein popping from her forehead every time I'd do something she didn't like. She always had that look. And she knew I knew what it meant. Another beating. Another punishment. Another night in that closet. When the party came to a close, my relatives wanted to take a picture with me. As I hugged my mother, she whispered in a barely audible tone "Mess this up for me and you will pay". That almost killed me right there. She didn't care about me. She just cared about the check she received every month. She was willing to do anything to make sure I looked happy. So the social workers wouldn't see how careless she was with me.
As the last person left the house, I started thinking about what was to come. She closed the door behind my grandmother, blowing kisses at her. Telling her to have a safe trip home. *Home*. Then it happened. As if she turned into a monster in that single minute. She pounced on me, beating nearly every part of me. She would never ascend above my shoulders though. She wanted to make sure nobody noticed the crimson marks from the belts, scissors, and whatever else that was within arms reach of hers when she was angry.
It went on. And on. And on. And on. Until when she was tired, she yelled at me to go into the closet. I hustled up the stairs, tripping over the fourth step. I jumped into the closet and she locked the door. This was my home. Hell. Home, where my mother hid secrets from me in her insidious ways. She never told me about me. Until that night, a night unlike this one. She refrained from beating me. She was in a good mood. She instead decided that the closet would be my home from then on. I went in, crying. In my anger, I started to smash everything in that closet. Until I hit a box. Inside contained my birth certificate, a picture of a woman, a death certificate and a necklace. A necklace, with a gold raven hanging from the chain. The birth certificate was mine, and it showed my fathers name, Derrick Thompson and in the mothers name, an unfamiliar name. Denise Porter. Porter was my mothers maiden name. So, was Denise her sister ? After further inspection of the box, I looked at the picture. My mother was posing with a woman. A woman who looked a lot like me. My *real* mother ? Possibly, she was posing with my other mother. I came to the conclusion that they were sisters. I looked at the death certificate. Denise Porter's. Cause of death was "Murder". Murder ? I had to find out more.
From that point on, I went to libraries investigating the name. Her name came up in many newspapers days after she died. No suspects were found. Just a dead body. It said she was strangled to death, with a chain. There was also gold residue all over her neck. And there was a branding on her back. A raven. At the time, I took it as a coincidence. My real mother had a necklace with a raven. And that necklace was in my other mothers box. My other mother. Her name was Flora. I figured Denise's murderer knew her, possibly an ex. Someone who was hurt. Someone who had dreadful things going on in his or her mind.
I brushed it off. I kept the necklace with me always. So Denise would always be with me.
A few days later, Flora fell ill. It was a godsend. It was days of hospital visits and crying for my father and sister. Me, I was silent. I had no attachment to this evil woman. Then, the doctors came with the news. She needed a transfusion. She had a type O blood type. One my father nor sister shared. But I did. It took days for me to consider this. Or at least it felt like days. I believe that life is sacred, and no one deserves to die. But this woman didn't deserve death. She deserved worse. She deserved torture. If what the religions preach about hell is true, I'd let her die. To suffer in hell where her kind belongs. To bad I had less than 2 seconds before my father jumped and said "He will do it".
Too bad they needed a more robust person to do it. I had a rare disease, a disease of the mind. Doctors have yet to give a diagnosis, they've never seen it. I've seen specialists in many fields. Urology. Phrenelogy. An orthopedic surgeon. They couldn't find the cause. Whether it was a problem in the nervous system, in my spine, or in my cranium. I couldn't do it. She wouldn't survive another day.
She died 4 hours later.
When the lawyers met with our family, they gave us her safety deposit box key. When my dad brought the contents home, he gave it out according to the will. I received nothing. My dad did, however, find an envelope signed by her for Denise. He gave it too me, as if instinctually. I ripped it open and saw the letter. I held the letter in my head and read it silently. *Wait* I decided to run upstairs and read the letter alone, in my closet. I grabbed the chain, held it tightly , like a child would grab his moms hand. It read:
Dear Denise,
You're dead. I killed you. You were my only friend. My only sister. And I killed you. Why? You know that I'm crazy. Schizophrenia is really a bitch. I saw crazy things. Things that weren't real. But one thing was. I saw when you were with my husband. Me and him were separated at the time. He came to your house in tears. You comforted him. He took your kindness for weakness and raped you. You bore a child. A child. A perfect child. A boy. You named him Riza. Meaning accepted, you accepted your fate as the mother of this bastard child. But I didn't. My husband loved you. My husband did ! And I couldn't take it. Remember that spot we would play in as little girls. I took you there. I grabbed your chain and strangled you. Your chain, which our mother gave you, cause you were healthy. And I? Crazy. so crazy our mother couldnt accept me. I then branded the raven on your back. A silent symbol of the darkness that clouded my judgement, and like Cain did Abel, murdered you. On front of god. I took your child, and abused him. He never did nothing wrong. He was a good child. But, he was the child of my husband. Every time I'd see him, I'd see you and him. You didn't mean it. What happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't help to be beautiful. Men called you voluptuous. They wanted you. Women called you a bitch. They hated you. I did too. I'm sorry. I another life, if we meet again, I will get to know you more. You were only 17 when I killed you. I'm sorry. I abuse your son cause of something you didn't do. I'm sorry.
Love, your sister, and best friend,
Flora.
I couldn't help but cry. For years on, I couldn't look at my father the same way. I visited Denise's grave. Made peace with what happened. She was buried next to Flora. I made peace with her too. Today that letter is in the box. The box where I found everything. The box, where the only things I know of my mother are. I promised myself I'd never do the same. I'd never repeat the mistakes my family made. I'd never hurt these kids of mine. My daughters and son. My daughter, Denise, my son, Kurt and my youngest... Flora.
I love you mom. |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | Crimson ribbons of sacred blood
splurt from a once robust vein
as I commence my insidious plan:
to ascend my mastery of phrenology.
I am a raven,
unraveling this voluptuous monument to mankind's saga,
one dreadful bite at a time.
| Is there a word limit? |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | The dreadful raven tossed a sacred crucifix at the robust man. Ascending into the air, the raven squawked. Phrenology. The man died, and we built a monument in his honor. Thus began the saga of Gloria Vanderbilt, the voluptuous woman whose crimson veins would insidiously cut people to ribbons. | Is there a word limit? |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | Is there a word limit? |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | An insidious moon rose in infinitesimal increments over the small country town of Hedgefield, Virginia. It was a particularly humid night in this still, quaint community, the kind where condensation formed on your pores after being outside for only a few minutes.
I wiped sweat from my brow and continued to ascend up a grassy hill within a wide enclosed area of surrounding forest. A raven flew down and perched itself high in one of the trees in front of me, silhouetted against the stadium lights from the local Friday night high school football game next to the field.
My intention was to meet up with Jay, my weed dealer, but he was late, or more specifically I was late, but he was even more late. Text after text and I realized he wasn't going to show up, so I began to make my way back to the street. Then, there was a shout from behind me, and I saw him running over.
"Hey man, sorry I'm late, all I got's an eighth for you, that cool?" He asked in his smooth southern drawl.
"Fine." I replied. I handed him the money and we parted ways.
After the exchange was over, I went to light up a joint in my beat up truck. Once I got a little high, I decided I would drive home. I could handle it, I thought, no big idea.
What I didn't realize was that this was no ordinary weed. Jay had laced it with something - I was sure of it. My body just didn't feel right, I felt abnormally slow and like I was about to pass out. Nevertheless, I drove on in a delirious daze.
Luckily, the gas gauge started blinking and I pulled over the car. I had almost forgotten by this point that my dealer had just given me laced marijuana, but after contemplating it for about a minute I realized that yes, that did happen.
I called him and he didn't pick up the phone so I left a message.
"Heeeyyy, mann. What's gooinggg onnn?.. Listen bro.. that stufff you gave meee.. I'm feeeling a little funnnny." I said to him in a mangled, drawn out voice, and then I collapsed in my seat.
At an indistinct point later, I jolted back awake. I couldn't tell how much time had gone by, but it was still night and there was still an occasional car driving down the street. A dreadful realization came over my now mostly sober mind. Jay had tried to kill me.
There was no way he could be negligent enough to accidentally slip me something that hardcore, I knew him better than that. The question then became, why did he do it? I tried to think back to anything I could have done to upset him.
That's when it hit me and made my skin crawl. He wasn't trying to murder me, he was just trying to put me to sleep for a while. I remembered taking Ambien a few times for sleep troubles and having a similar experience each time.
Like many, the answer to that question simply spiraled into more questions. What could he have gained from knocking me out for a few hours? My first thought went to the semi-automatic rifle I had stashed in the flatbed of my truck. He had asked me about it every time we had seen each other for weeks and the questions had started to get strange.
I got out and looked to see that it was gone. This was when I really started to panic. Besides my obvious concern for who he might be planning to kill, this gun was not registered. I could get years in prison for it.
Back into the truck I ran and sped off. Fuck, I thought, I still need gas. I made the pit stop in what had to be record time and parked back onto the side of the road to formulate a strategy. The first person I thought to call was a buddy, Rob.
He and Jay went way back and my best bet of finding Jay's location was through him.
"Hey, man, it's me," I hadn't bothered to check the time but he informed me it was almost 12 AM and he had been sleeping. "I know, I know, I'm sorry but this is an emergency. Listen, Jay stole my gun. He snuck me some sleeping pills and took it and I.. I don't know what he's planning to do with it but that gun is illegal and I could go down hard for it, so do you know anything about where he could be going? Check his Facebook, Twitter, all that shit."
"Jesus Christ, man. Slow down," He answered calmly. "Give me a second to get on the web here."
He scoured Jay's digital footprint for any signs of his plan and then remembered something, "You know, he did have a rough breakup with his girlfriend about.. I don't know.. four days ago. He wouldn't hang out with anyone after it happened. There's also a couple pretty dark Twitter posts from earlier today and yesterday. One says.. love is a lie. People are predetermined to hate each other and push each other down so that only the strongest of the species will survive. #naturalselection."
"Please tell me you know where she lives." I responded, my foot tapping uncontrollably with adrenaline.
He did another quick Google search, "Kayla Martin. She lives on 23 Lakewood Avenue, 30 minutes from school."
A chill went through my veins and my stomach curled up as the reality truly set in. The only positive was that the rifle in my flatbed was not my only gun, I also hid a pistol in the dashboard. This one was registered to me.
Although it pained me to wait, I had to briefly consider how I would explain it to cops if I shot him. I'll just say I was driving by and heard strange noises, I thought. But what if I was too late? What if the cops were already there? I could be walking into a trap.
Despite all these disastrous scenarios playing out in my head, I ultimately realized that if I did nothing, I would have to live with it for the rest of my life.
I sped off into the night, trying to keep a delicate balance between dangerous speeds and rambunctious teenage driving.
Rob guided my path over the phone like a clairvoyant, telling me the fastest route to take. Finally, I pulled up to the street Kayla's house was on, which was in the heart of upper middle class suburbia.
Her house was somewhat isolated from the others because it was at the end of a cul-de-sac and the area behind it was completely covered by trees.
I knew Jay, being the clever woodsman he is, would know how to navigate them with ease, so I looped around, pushing through the brush in hopes of catching him from behind.
These robust forests were difficult to navigate because the trees were so tall and densely packed, leaving no walking room that wasn't covered with thorns or branches. This made it impossible to not make any noise, which was why I had the false epiphany that maybe Jay wasn't here at all.
Then, I saw him. He was lying down and cowering behind some thickets with a pair of binoculars, trying to look through Kayla's window which had the light on.
I drew my pistol and crept slowly behind him, then made my presence known by speaking in a near whisper, "Don't move."
He was startled and hesitated at first but then dropped the binoculars and put his hands up, rolling over with an expression of shock at seeing me aiming down the barrel at him.
"You? I fucking tranquilized you." I said nothing back, "Look, you gotta let me go. I can't do this, man, I thought I could but I can't. When I got here, I just.. I love her. I'm so glad it was you and not a fucking cop."
He trembled with fright but his words seemed sincere enough, "How do I know if I let you go you won't do this again? How am I ever supposed to trust you again?"
There was a long silence and he stood himself up. He shook his head, "You're not." Jay then turned the rifle up towards his chin and pulled the trigger; a crimson pool gradually pouring out from his mutilated head. | Is there a word limit? |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | The dreadful raven tossed a sacred crucifix at the robust man. Ascending into the air, the raven squawked. Phrenology. The man died, and we built a monument in his honor. Thus began the saga of Gloria Vanderbilt, the voluptuous woman whose crimson veins would insidiously cut people to ribbons. | It was an dreadful feeling that Sara got in the pit of her stomach the day that Robert messaged her that they needed to talk. She glanced down at the text one more time before shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. October was nearing it's end and the wind had grown cold and robust. She pulled her coat closer around herself and headed towards the campus art building. It was where she and Robert normally hung out when they just wanted to have a quiet moment together. Kept open most evenings for students working on projects, she was always able to find a corner that no one else was occupying. No one ever gave her funny looks for just being there.
Leaves swirled around her feet, some of them still crimson with color. She hurried her pace. She didn't want to put this off for longer than necessary. She knew that her and Robert had only been seeing each other since the beginning of the semester, but she had never felt as comfortable with anyone as she did with him. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were too comfortable. Sara frowned. This was what she wanted, but maybe it wasn't what Robert wanted.
Reaching the building, she opened the door despite the wind trying to keep it closed. Right inside was a coat rack with scarves like ribbons. She abandoned her coat to the rack, remembering to remove her phone and pocket it. The inside of the hall was plain, yet the smells around her spoke of the saga of creativity that she knew was behind every door and in every studio.
She went down the left hallway passing the monument to the Hall's founder. His expression was one of sad resignation. She shook her head slightly, as always, wondering why he was immortalized in such a way.
Nearing the end of the hall she passed the pottery room and glanced inside. One of the students was working on a bust of a voluptuous woman. Sara had to admit, it was amazingly accurate. Opening the door at the end she began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, but when she got to the exit door she hesitated.
Why would Robert have wanted to see her, and ask her to go to their spot in the art hall if he wanted to break up with her. That was their special spot, their sacred place. Where they had shared more than a few moments of stolen romance. It was insidious to think that he would want to hurt her that much.
Taking a deep breath she opened the door and headed down the second floor hallway, passing a door decorated with black ravens, spiders, and roaches. Whomever had done the artwork was very talented. She could make out the veins in the roach wings and slid to the other side of the hall as she passed even though she knew they weren't real.
She finally reached her destination. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She still had 15 minutes until Robert got out of his phrenology class. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and moved to take a step in. Her eyes flew open wide. Her foot hovered in mid air, almost as if it was afraid to come down. Inside the room was a full life-sized copy of Robert. She couldn't even tell what it was made off. Some sort of plastic perhaps, but it didn't look like a mannequin. This was hand made, not produced in some factory. Shock was soon replaced with curiosity and she moved quickly into the room. It was all she could do to just stare at this thing in from of her. It seemed the watch her no matter where she moved in the room. Cautiously as she reached out to touch it, the door to the room slammed shut behind her.
The next morning the janitor found two life sized statues in one of the classes. He assumed they were someone's art project and just left them be. He did remark to himself how accurate they were. Everyone at this school were such good artists. |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | It was an dreadful feeling that Sara got in the pit of her stomach the day that Robert messaged her that they needed to talk. She glanced down at the text one more time before shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. October was nearing it's end and the wind had grown cold and robust. She pulled her coat closer around herself and headed towards the campus art building. It was where she and Robert normally hung out when they just wanted to have a quiet moment together. Kept open most evenings for students working on projects, she was always able to find a corner that no one else was occupying. No one ever gave her funny looks for just being there.
Leaves swirled around her feet, some of them still crimson with color. She hurried her pace. She didn't want to put this off for longer than necessary. She knew that her and Robert had only been seeing each other since the beginning of the semester, but she had never felt as comfortable with anyone as she did with him. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were too comfortable. Sara frowned. This was what she wanted, but maybe it wasn't what Robert wanted.
Reaching the building, she opened the door despite the wind trying to keep it closed. Right inside was a coat rack with scarves like ribbons. She abandoned her coat to the rack, remembering to remove her phone and pocket it. The inside of the hall was plain, yet the smells around her spoke of the saga of creativity that she knew was behind every door and in every studio.
She went down the left hallway passing the monument to the Hall's founder. His expression was one of sad resignation. She shook her head slightly, as always, wondering why he was immortalized in such a way.
Nearing the end of the hall she passed the pottery room and glanced inside. One of the students was working on a bust of a voluptuous woman. Sara had to admit, it was amazingly accurate. Opening the door at the end she began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, but when she got to the exit door she hesitated.
Why would Robert have wanted to see her, and ask her to go to their spot in the art hall if he wanted to break up with her. That was their special spot, their sacred place. Where they had shared more than a few moments of stolen romance. It was insidious to think that he would want to hurt her that much.
Taking a deep breath she opened the door and headed down the second floor hallway, passing a door decorated with black ravens, spiders, and roaches. Whomever had done the artwork was very talented. She could make out the veins in the roach wings and slid to the other side of the hall as she passed even though she knew they weren't real.
She finally reached her destination. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She still had 15 minutes until Robert got out of his phrenology class. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and moved to take a step in. Her eyes flew open wide. Her foot hovered in mid air, almost as if it was afraid to come down. Inside the room was a full life-sized copy of Robert. She couldn't even tell what it was made off. Some sort of plastic perhaps, but it didn't look like a mannequin. This was hand made, not produced in some factory. Shock was soon replaced with curiosity and she moved quickly into the room. It was all she could do to just stare at this thing in from of her. It seemed the watch her no matter where she moved in the room. Cautiously as she reached out to touch it, the door to the room slammed shut behind her.
The next morning the janitor found two life sized statues in one of the classes. He assumed they were someone's art project and just left them be. He did remark to himself how accurate they were. Everyone at this school were such good artists. |
Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”
He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.
“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.
He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”
“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”
“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for.
The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push.
“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”
The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.
“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise”
He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?”
She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”
“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”
“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”
“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”
“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.
He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?”
Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”
“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”
“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.
“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”
She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.”
“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.
“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”
Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else.
He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone.
No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.” | Those Were The Days
There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.
The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.
Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.
Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now.
I turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return.
A distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time.
I shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
| “Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder.
“Which knee?”
A short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.”
“Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.”
“Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…”
“Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted.
“Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.”
Joe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!”
I gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.”
“Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it.
I looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek.
“Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.”
We huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home.
A little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him.
It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames.
“Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut.
He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life.
Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her.
Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied.
He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision.
He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”
She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice.
“This isn’t the end.”
| “Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder.
“Which knee?”
A short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.”
“Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.”
“Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…”
“Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted.
“Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.”
Joe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!”
I gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.”
“Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it.
I looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek.
“Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.”
We huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home.
A little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.
I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.
I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?
Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.
I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast. | “Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder.
“Which knee?”
A short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.”
“Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.”
“Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…”
“Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted.
“Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.”
Joe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!”
I gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.”
“Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it.
I looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek.
“Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.”
We huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home.
A little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him.
It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames.
“Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut.
He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life.
Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her.
Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied.
He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision.
He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”
She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice.
“This isn’t the end.”
| Gary was a right cock aching for a cockfight, stumbling about the building bossing the neighbours. Rog, who once wanted to start a shop with Gary, now wouldn't tell him the time of day over a parking space; Ms Darling kept the light on all night should Gary start popping from the shadows.
To me, Gary said he would kill my dog. My first impulse was a left jab, right cross but then he'd have me for assault. I love that dog. One thing keeping me from dreaming about my former job was Jack curling up on my legs, softly snoring. Can you call the coppers over a dog?
So I punched myself, spat out a tooth and reported him for that.
Ms Darling came to tell me how very, very good it was someone finally stood up to him. “You could have knocked him out like Mary's husband when Gary scratched their car, but this is much cleverer!” Gary was an idiot at court and ended up owing me. Had to close his little cleaning shop.
Now Gary and I stare down each other when we meet, but there's no fight left in either. I wish I could invite him for a drink, and thank him for showing me what we are. Cornered rats. But I can't, so I drink alone.
"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things," I tell Jack. He looks at me with his sclerotic eyes and tries to wag.
**EDIT:** wrote this without looking at other entries, and now I see I inadvertently plagiarized kickingturkies' idea. I'd be sorry to delete it, but I accept the blame - and disqualification.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.
I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.
I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?
Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.
I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast. | Gary was a right cock aching for a cockfight, stumbling about the building bossing the neighbours. Rog, who once wanted to start a shop with Gary, now wouldn't tell him the time of day over a parking space; Ms Darling kept the light on all night should Gary start popping from the shadows.
To me, Gary said he would kill my dog. My first impulse was a left jab, right cross but then he'd have me for assault. I love that dog. One thing keeping me from dreaming about my former job was Jack curling up on my legs, softly snoring. Can you call the coppers over a dog?
So I punched myself, spat out a tooth and reported him for that.
Ms Darling came to tell me how very, very good it was someone finally stood up to him. “You could have knocked him out like Mary's husband when Gary scratched their car, but this is much cleverer!” Gary was an idiot at court and ended up owing me. Had to close his little cleaning shop.
Now Gary and I stare down each other when we meet, but there's no fight left in either. I wish I could invite him for a drink, and thank him for showing me what we are. Cornered rats. But I can't, so I drink alone.
"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things," I tell Jack. He looks at me with his sclerotic eyes and tries to wag.
**EDIT:** wrote this without looking at other entries, and now I see I inadvertently plagiarized kickingturkies' idea. I'd be sorry to delete it, but I accept the blame - and disqualification.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him.
It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames.
“Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut.
He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life.
Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her.
Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied.
He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision.
He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”
She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice.
“This isn’t the end.”
| In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now.
I turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return.
A distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time.
I shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.
I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.
I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?
Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.
I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast. | In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now.
I turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return.
A distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time.
I shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity.
Eight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong.
Eight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt.
Yes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
Eight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.
| "I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
"But that doesn't change things," she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well.
"Not at all. I still want to die." We're silent for a few minutes. "We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did."
"I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways."
"There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me."
She glares. "I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying.
"Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love."
She sniffles, the only sound she makes. "I just..I never wanted you to die."
I scoff harshly. "Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me.
She was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died. |
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to.
His lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. "You never were much help in the hard moments" he said. "Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it." He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. "I'm glad you came."
I looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. "Dad, you knew I'd be here." I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. "I wish I wasn't." I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man.
He continued to smile, "I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things." His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward.
I kissed his cheek and croaked out, "I love you, too." With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. "I love you, too." | "I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
"But that doesn't change things," she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well.
"Not at all. I still want to die." We're silent for a few minutes. "We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did."
"I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways."
"There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me."
She glares. "I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying.
"Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love."
She sniffles, the only sound she makes. "I just..I never wanted you to die."
I scoff harshly. "Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me.
She was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died. |
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.
I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.
I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?
Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.
I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast. | "I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
"But that doesn't change things," she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well.
"Not at all. I still want to die." We're silent for a few minutes. "We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did."
"I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways."
"There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me."
She glares. "I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying.
"Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love."
She sniffles, the only sound she makes. "I just..I never wanted you to die."
I scoff harshly. "Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me.
She was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died. |
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.
I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.
I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?
Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.
I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast. | He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him.
It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames.
“Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut.
He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life.
Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her.
Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied.
He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision.
He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”
She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice.
“This isn’t the end.”
|
Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity.
Eight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong.
Eight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt.
Yes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
Eight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.
| Thank you.
You’ve been with me through everything. You’ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn’t okay.
When I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed.
I know that you don’t always understand *why* I’m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you’re only a dog to most people. But to me, you’ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you’ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
And even though I don’t usually know much and I’m usually unsure, I do know that I love you. |
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