By : No One of Consequence I started my career as a run of the mill soldier, but I somehow managed to find myself stationed in a top-secret underground government facility. For security reasons I won’t go into too much detail, partly because most of what they do there is hard to follow. On a daily basis I have interactions with scientists that constantly refer to me as a layman. For the most part, I guard people who work with whiteboards, reference books, and complex mathematical equations that would give average scientists a headache. In order to even get into these offices, one has to adhere to a retinal scan. However, that’s just the upper floors of the facility. Teamwork isn’t a word these people are entirely comfortable with. They tend to work within their own minds, and alienate those around them, especially those they think of as inferior. Not so much because they’re assholes, their brains just function differently. Now, put a bunch of these people together, and the results can be disastrous. So far, over the last five years, there have only been minor dustups. Well, minor might not be entirely accurate. One incident did end with several scientists being taken to the infirmary. Nothing too serious, a few stitches here and there. I hadn’t wanted to break up the fight, it was too hilarious to watch. I’ve been confined to the facility for a few years now, getting leave isn’t the easiest thing. High security clearances come with some serious drawbacks, but the large paychecks are hard to pass up. Technically I still get paid as a Private First Class, but I also get a sizeable ‘hazard’ pay. Not that I’ve seen any real hazards, it’s more of a way to classify the additional pay to the bean counters. Government work is loaded with all kinds of double talk and misleading information like that. Honestly, I don’t understand why a particle accelerator needs to be this secret. They’re more common than people think, some thirty thousand exist throughout the world. Maybe it’s because this one is larger than the Large Hadron Collider. The work is largely complicated, and I can’t begin to comprehend it. The one bit of science I do know is the controversy behind the work they’re doing. Certain people in the science community think they’re going to open a black hole and destroy the planet. The likelihood of this happening is like fifty-million to one. With such long odds, you’d think there wouldn’t be death threats, but there are. After years of research and fine tuning the science, they’re ready to turn on the accelerator. I’m in one of the control rooms when they start the sequence. I have no idea what’s going on, but they say all the readouts are within the predicted ranges. That is until alarms start blaring. All the readouts begin to spike, and next thing I know, all hell breaks loose. Monitors begin flickering, the scientists start panicking, and literal sparks begin flying as electrical components are overloaded. The power spike surges even more, and suddenly everything goes dark, but not silent. If anything, there’s more conversation now than ever before. Emergency power comes online, but most of the equipment is fried. The smell of burnt wires and melting plastic fills the air, wisps of smoke drifting from all over. Engineers scramble around attempting to get things back online, but with this much damage there’s little hope. With all the computers down, my radio is the only means of communication. The scientists work to assess the damage when we hear it. Thanks to movies, TV shows, theme parks, and deployments to active combat zones, I have noticed there are different kinds of screams. Even though they generally sound the same, there are subtle differences that can be detected. What I hear over the radio isn’t anything like what you hear at theme parks from people riding roller coasters. The closest I’ve heard came from a secret mission when an insurgent was caught off guard before a knife went between his ribs. The man on the radio died painfully, but never saw it coming. Following it are the panicked ramblings of those in close proximity, trying to figure out what just happened. More of them start to die, and the remainders lose their shit. Three soldiers with automatic rifles come into our control room, and sweep the area. They ask me if I’ve seen anything non-human, and after the typical ‘are you kidding me’ reaction, I tell them I haven’t. On standard guard duty, a guard is armed with a pump action shotgun loaded with beanbag rounds, and a 9mm sidearm. These three having M-4s and a full basic load of ammo would be a cause for concern, but more so when they hand me boxes of buckshot shells. Panicked conversation over the radio punctuated by gunfire fills the silence as I load my shotgun with lethal rounds. No one knows what the hell is going on, and in a military run secret facility, that’s a really bad sign. Finally, news comes on over the radio. It’s the base commander, “There is a containment breach within the facility. A level five quarantine is about to go into effect. All personnel must evacuate the facility immediately. Once the blast doors close, they will not be opened again.” Basically, if we don’t get out of here in the next five minutes, we’re getting locked in with whatever is killing people. Even if there are four of us armed, I don’t want to find out what is loose in here. With those screams still fresh in my mind, I’m trying to keep my imagination from running wild. I bring up the rear as we escort the scientists to the exit. Rear guard is important so enemy combatants can’t move in behind you and catch you unaware. The corridors are normally so brightly lit that nothing can go unseen. However, with only emergency power running, the lighting is extremely sparse and flickering. I sweep the areas behind us as I walk backward, the flashlight on my shotgun shines on overturned and discarded equipment. It looks like a fucking hurricane blew through this place. Even if a hurricane hit, we wouldn’t have felt a thing. The facility is several hundred feet underground, and impervious to everything short of an earthquake. In this part of the country, earthquakes aren’t a concern. As we near the exit, bodies start littering the ground. The wounds that I see look to have been made by some kind of blade, or some kind of sharp implement. At one point, it looks like something had been gnawing on one of the bodies. I don’t know what kind of teeth make damage patterns like that, but the amount of clear liquid around the wound appears to be saliva. I have been all over the facility in my time as a guard. There isn’t a single room I haven’t inspected at one time or another. So, I know for a fact that there’s nothing in this facility that could be responsible for what did that kind of damage. We carry on in silence, or the closest we can for the amount of people in our group. For me and the other soldiers, it’s the silence of concentration while moving through hostile territory, keeping an eye out for the enemy. The scientists, it’s the silence of people scared shitless. None of them signed up for gunfights, and deadly situations, outside of an experiment going very wrong. Me, I had been in combat a number of times by this point, but even I’m a little scared. Seriously, I couldn’t think of a single thing on this planet that could chew on an arm like that. Predators tend to have sharp teeth so they can tear through flesh. What I saw looked more like blunt teeth that crushed the limb with such tremendous force that the flesh split apart. I catch sight of movement behind us, and fire off a shell before I get a good look. Traditionally, you identify a target before shooting so you don’t accidently hit a friendly. This wasn’t a concern at the moment. The movement I fired at wasn’t on the ground, but the ceiling behind us. Something small scurried out of a open vent, and I didn’t want to risk letting whatever it was to get close. No one could tell us what was killing people. In my book, this was a ‘if it’s not human, kill it’ kind of situation. By the time we made it to the exit, there was only seconds left before the lockdown would commence. We get all of the scientist through, and the first soldier. The other two were getting panicy at the sound of the alarm, and trip over each other trying to make it out. I’m forced to stand there and watch as they fall into the doorway, and are crushed by the blast doors closing down. Up to this point it was the worst thing I ever saw, but the day isn’t over yet, and I’m still inside the facility. A buddy of mine, Gordon, had been on the other side of the blast doors when they closed. He calls to me on the radio, letting me know I’m the only one still inside. The only way the top brass is going to open these doors is if I managed to close the containment breach. Since no one has told me what the breach was, I have no clue how to close it. There was so much confusion after the spike that I don’t even know where to find the breach. Gordon says he’s going to try to get me some information to work with. In the mean time, my best bet is the cooling system. It’s the first place he knew of that suffered any casualties. The cooling system is located on the other side of the facility. Having only emergency power is going to make it difficult to get to. The flashlight on my shotgun is only helping so much, what I would give to have full lighting. However, the spike blew out more than half the electrical systems in the facility. There is no way a grunt like me is going to figure out how to restore power. Tripping on the third body I hadn’t seen, I’m getting really tired of the subpar lighting. Just when I’m about to express my frustration with an ill advised scream, something moves in front of me. My shotgun speaks instead of my mouth, and a splatter of fluid paints the wall. With the light trained on whatever it had been, all I see is a small mass of flesh, completely unrecognizable from the buckshot enema. The only thing I can tell, it had been small. About the size of a infant, but the damn thing moved with the speed of a predator. The fluid on the wall is a dark blue, but there appears to be copious amounts of a clear substance. For something so small, it sure as hell does drool a lot. On my way to the cooling system, I duck into a security checkpoint. Normally there’s a rack of weapons, stacks of ammo, body armor, and other assorted supplies. Most of it is gone, but what I do find will help. I take an NBC mask bag, attach it to my thigh, and fill it with the flares that no one thought to take on their way out of the facility. In order to get to the cooling system, I have to get to the emergency stairwell. I’ve already seen these things crawling on the ceiling, so a narrow space like the stairwell is going to be a nightmare. If these things are intelligent in anyway, I could be walking straight into an ambush. Popping one of the flares, I open the door and immediately toss it in. The blinding light illuminates everything as I sweep the area with the 9mm. Nothing moves, so I proceed inside. The stairs continue on for several flights down, but thankfully I only need to go down one level. Not surprising, the door is locked, so I try my keycard. It doesn’t work, which isn’t that surprising. As a security guard I don’t have clearance to go into restricted areas, but I escort those that do. Calling on the radio, I ask Gordon if he can get the base commander to override access points for the entire facility. With the power issues there’s no guarantee it’ll work for everything, but he promises they’ll do what they can. As I stand in place, shotgun constantly searching for anything that needs to be shot, I hear something odd. It’s an echo of sorts, continuous and wet sounding. Not so much like water dripping from a leaking pipe, but like slick bodies squirming in the mud. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I do it anyway. Popping another flare, I drop it down the shaft. I watch it descend each floor, until it lands on the bottom. The flare doesn’t land on the floor, but the squirming mass covering the entire bottom level. I’ve snuck into this stairwell many a time over the years for a smoke break. At the end of each I would flick my still smoking butt down the shaft, and watch it’s descent to the bottom. I know there’s a floor missing under that mass, and I feel my chances for getting out of here diminish. It’s hard to pinpoint what each thing looks like, there are so many, and they’re swimming around each other. It's like a cross between a slug and shrimp, with varying sizes from a Chihuahua all the way to a Doberman. That mouth opens to let out thin tentacles that act as feelers, but there’s no teeth. Just a solid bridge of blunt bone designed to crush and grind. An electronic click sounds behind me, and I quickly open the door. In the span of thirty minutes, those things swarmed in from wherever the breach is, and flooded the entire bottom level. The room I end up in is only slightly better than the stairwell. Bodies litter the entire area, at least I think that’s what they are. Mangled and crushed all over, it’s hard to determine one body from the next. On the upside, the coolant tanks are intact. Liquid helium isn’t combustible, but the freezing capabilities still make it a hazard. Maybe there’s a way I can use that to my advantage. In my search for a source of the giant slugs, I find an open access panel to the center of the accelerator. Climbing up, I see a few of the slugs, and blast them into oblivion. As quick as I can, I fire shell after shell, stopping only to reload as the slugs just keep coming. There’s a break in the action where there appear to be no more slugs coming, and I survey the area as I reload my shotgun. In the center of the open space, I watch as a slug falls from a spot seven feet off the ground. Blasting the slug right away, I get as close as I dare, but there’s nothing to see. My flashlight shows nothing, but empty space were the slug fell from. Popping another flare, I toss it into the space they appear to be coming from. I watch as the stick of burning red light goes into the spot, and completely disappears. Seconds later, the flare reemerges in the mouth of another slug. Another blast from my shotgun, and the slug is nothing more than a mass of dead flesh. Standing directly underneath, I put the end of my shotgun to the spot. Extending my hand out completely, I see the front end of the shotgun with the flashlight completely disappear. Pulling it back, it comes back as if nothing happened. Aside from calling this the source of the breach, I don’t know where to begin explaining this. Gordon talks things out with me, trying to understand what I’m seeing, but I don’t just stand idly by. There are small, portable tanks of liquid helium in the cooling room. I drag one of these tanks through the access panel, along with a ladder. Opening the ladder up, I put it directly underneath the breach, and place the tank on the very top. Half the tank is on the other side of the breach, and I get as far away as I can while still being within firing range. With the 9mm, I pop off a few rounds. The bullets rupture the helium tank, sending the ladder crashing to the floor, and a cloud of frozen liquid explodes out. Watching with the shotgun at the ready, I hope my quick thinking pays off. For five long minutes I wait for a slug to drop down, but none do. Just as I key up the radio to tell Gordon the breach is closed, half a dozen slugs drop to the floor. Instead of the wet plop I’ve heard from previous slugs, they land with a loud shatter. The helium didn’t freeze the breach closed like I had hoped, but it did freeze the next slugs coming through that space. Before firing off at the next batch of slugs falling to the ground, I watch as they skid off. Following them with the flashlight’s beam, I see them disappear down an access shaft I hadn’t realized was open. At least now I know how they got to the bottom level. My choices are extremely limited at this point. I can either stay here and keep killing the slugs until they get the better of me, or I can use the ladder to go through the breach, and try to take them out at their source. Either way, I’m probably not going to see the light of day again.


A young man decides life is no longer worth living and climbs to the roof of the municipal hospital with a calm mind. This causes traffic. I, luckily, am not a car so traffic has little effect on my comings and goings. I tend to walk on two legs and, when this is impractical, I am carried by kind-hearted muscular men in the fashion of pallbearers sans coffin. I detest crowds but am magnetically drawn towards all things suicidal. I once spent six months in Barcelona following Joselito Montalbán, the renowned matador, until his death at the horns of an unnamed half blind bull. I sometimes convince myself it was the most important thing I have ever done. So, it will come as no surprise to you, dear reader, that at the sight of this young man on that horrible ledge I canceled my afternoon appointments and sat patiently at the Café Almirante across the street. A proper Café is a difficult thing to establish. There must be enough space to move about yet not so much so that it, even when empty, feels empty. The men amongst the patrons must be haggard and seated alone while the women are required to have a minimum of one (1) child at their hip or stored in carriage. Breastfeeding is, of course, permitted. The server’s gender is unimportant, yet it is imperative that they are unattractive and rude—to keep away the hobbyists and weekenders. Espresso is to be served at one hundred degrees centigrade and be entirely unpalatable. I believe one needs to earn the right to comfort. Back to the dying boy. Blonde hair stuck against his sweated brow. A true blue horror show. The police begin with their song and dance. Tourists crowd. Some are weeping into the breasts of their lovers while others take photographs with their telescopic lenses. I order a pastry and the server spits in my face. Perfect. I cross one leg over the other and breathe in the dead summer air. The blonde boy says something for some reason. He might as well have been God. And me, here watching, might as well have been nothing. A dog urinates on a police car and continues about his business; not even thinking to look up. I am sure this all serves a purpose. An old man sits at the table beside me and rolls a cigarette. The server lights his beard on fire. The old man and I share a laugh. He tells me he is one-hundred and sixteen years old and has seen it all. I ask him how the years have been. Hard. I ask him what he treasures most. Automobile accidents. The police play Sinatra over the bullhorn and the boy takes a step forward. My pastry arrives. Peach strudel burnt to a crisp with a saucer of crème fraiche. I crush it between my hands and feed it to the pigeons. The old man tells me someone ought to get a gun and shoot that damned fool up there. I disagree. We do not laugh. The ants take what the pigeons leave behind.


As she made her way down the staircase, Madeline started to wonder if she was making a terrible mistake. Leaving a child alone — even without so many Poiloogs around — felt wrong. It tied knots in her stomach that twisted and turned and tightened with every step she took. The only thing that kept her going was the memory of Liam’s resolve. Though he may be young in years, he certainly wasn’t in experience. She had to trust that with her gone, the Poiloogs would move on, making it safe for him. That he would manage by himself. That he would find her again. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she paused, taking a few deep breaths. Tears pricked at her eyes but she blinked them away, fighting off the rising flood. Before she could indulge in her emotions, she had to get as far away from here as possible. Otherwise, the Poiloogs would find them again all too easily. She wished she understood how it was they sensed humans, and what about being close to another person made that easier. She wished she knew the range of their abilities, and how sensitive they were. She wished she knew if Liam would be safe alone. But wishes would get her nowhere. They had a plan. Now, they just had to stick to it. She crept over to the door and surveyed the street outside. Though she could still hear the hum of multiple ships, everything in the immediate vicinity looked clear. For now at least. After a quick adjustment of her backpack and the book under her arm, she dashed outside, pausing only when she reached the shadows cast by the buildings on the far side of the road. Glancing back at where she’d come from to orient herself, she set off in the opposite direction to the meeting point they’d agreed upon. If the Poiloogs were still able to track them even once they’d separated, she didn’t want to lead them straight there. Keeping to the balls of her feet, she maintained a light jog while minimising the sound of her footsteps. At each side street and alleyway, she paused, peering around the corner before darting across the gap. It wasn’t long before she noticed a hum from up ahead, steadily increasing in volume. A jolt of terror ran down her spine. If they were still tracking her, converging on her position… She had no hope against that many of them. And worse still, it would mean that they could find Liam just as easily. She picked up the pace, heading towards the sound. She could only hear one frequency — one ship. But she had to know for certain. When she reached the end of the street she came to a halt and peeked around the corner. A single ship was hovering there, speeding straight towards her. She ducked back around, pressing her back flat against the wall just as the ship zoomed past the junction. And past her. A sigh of relief burst from her lips. It seemed the Poiloogs couldn't sense lone humans. Or at least not very well. That gave this plan a chance of actually working. And it meant that Liam should be safe. When the sound from the ship had faded to a distant hum, Madeline set off once again. A couple of blocks later, she started looking for somewhere to rest for the night. Though there were still a few hours of daylight left, she was more exhausted than she would like to admit — or than she’d have admitted to Liam. And now she knew they were far enough away from each other to avoid being detected, she wanted to be close enough to keep an eye on the building she’d left him in. At least for the first night. It didn’t take her long to find one. Another soulless office block with the same grey carpets and plastic plants. After a quick sweep of the building, she settled in on the top floor. Choosing a window with a good view of Liam’s location, she slumped down next to it, placing her book and bag beside her. As the sun sank below the horizon and the last vestiges of orange that hung in the sky faded to black, Madeline finally let the tears flow. It started slowly, the pinpricks in her eyes breaking free and rolling down her cheeks, the *drip, drip* as they hit the floor punctuating her loss. But simmering underneath her sadness was fear — not of the Poiloogs, but of losing Liam forever. Soon, sobs were wracking her body as she struggled to heave in shaky breaths. Calm only came when exhaustion overtook all else, dragging her down into a fitful sleep. \ She awoke with a start to a humming sound, strange surroundings setting her on edge. The sky outside the window was still dark, peppered with stars. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she hauled herself up to look out the window, seeking the source of the sound. In the street below, the bright white light of a Poiloog’s ship drifted past. *Only* one, thankfully. It looked to be going more slowly than the one she’d seen earlier in the day. Perhaps due to the dark. Perhaps because they were conducting a more thorough search after the last had failed. Madeline watched, heart racing, as it continued on around the corner. When it turned in the opposite direction to where she’d left Liam, tension seeped from her muscles. With a sigh, she sank back to the floor, wondering how many hours it was until morning. \ For the rest of the night, she drifted in and out of sleep. Every time she woke, she glanced around the office she was in, expecting to see Liam lying nearby. It tore at her heart when she remembered — she was alone. To ease the pain, she’d check the streets below, squinting through the darkness towards where she hoped Liam slept before attempting to return to slumber herself. As the hours wore on she grew more and more restless. An anger which burnt in her chest flared brighter and brighter. Every ship that went past fanned the flames. When she thought of what the Poiloogs had made her do — what they had turned her into — she couldn’t bear it. With no one there to complain, she hardly even realised her leg was bouncing up and down, an outlet for the pent-up frustrations. Eventually, morning was approaching. The first of the sun's rays crept over the horizon, tinging it with pale blue. After a few sips of water and a handful of nuts, it was time to move on. She had to get as far away from Liam as possible, or she knew that she would go back for him — endangering them both. Madeline hoisted her bag onto her back and tucked *A Study in Scarlett* under her arm. \ She made good progress as the sun rose, jogging through the streets painted gold by the early morning rays. But her journey was slowed by the frequent stops. Each time she paused to duck out of sight of a passing Poiloog ship, the fire in her chest burnt a little stronger. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering what had brought them all here. Not to the planet — she’d given up on that question long ago — but to this area, at this time. Was all this effort just for her and Liam? This many Poiloogs searching for just two humans. If that were the case, there really couldn’t be many people left at all. Madeline pushed the thought away. It didn’t do to dwell on that sort of thing. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it. Her focus had to be *her*. And Liam, of course. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. She turned the corner— And found herself facing an approaching Poiloog ship head-on! She cursed silently. This was why it was never a good idea to let these thoughts cloud your mind. She ducked back. But it was too late. The hum of the ship was winding down as it came to a stop. Madeline grabbed the book from under her arm, took a deep breath, and charged around the corner. Holding the novel aloft, she ran straight for the Poiloog climbing down from its ship. Before all eight of its legs were on the ground, she brought the book round in a wide arc, crunching into the creature's neck — or the section that joined its abdomen and its head. It shrank back from the blow, limbs flailing in panic. A claw grazed Madeline but she paid it no heed, leaping onto the floundering Poiloog to finish the job. Her breath became heavy as she hit the alien again and again, her rage at the creatures crescendoing to a frenzy. She landed blows with fists and feet and knees and elbows. Every ounce of strength that she had she poured into the violence, letting it all out. She kept going long after the body had stopped twitching — until the tang of copper burnt in her throat and sweat stung in her wounds. Finally, when her limbs had no strength left, she sagged into the purple goop, sobbing. But there was no time. She’d wasted too much already, caught up in the catharsis of the moment. Hauling herself to her feet, she wiped a hand across her face. Red from bloodied knuckles mingled with the purple of the Poiloog’s insides. As she ran, her eyes streamed, tracing tracks down her cheeks in the swirl of Poiloog and human blood.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion Give your writing its own spirit animal. Let’s take a mini vacation this week and step away from any serious discussions. I want you to think about your own personal writing style and explain (in any amount of detail) what animal you think it embodies. That’s it! I can’t wait to see everyone’s answers. *New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? *You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


Blum was a duck. He lived in a small pond in Salem. Blum loved this pond, and he loved the town, but Blum did not like the people in the town. Blum only liked one human in that town, Sabrina. Sabrina was a young woman, maybe early twenties, that lived in a small hut near the pond. Oftentimes, she would come outside, and toss some seed into the pond for Blum. She had been the one to name him. Blum never particularly disliked the people of Salem, until February. In February, there were many hoards of people who would show up to Blum’s pond, and toss a defenseless young woman into it, and yell “Witch!” whenever she would resurface. Blum did not like it when they did this. It would ripple the water, and awaken Blum when he tried to rest. They would drag the kicking and screaming woman back to shore with a rope, and pull them to a large elevated wooden post, with a rope necklace hanging from it. They would put the necklace around their neck, and drop them. This was when Blum had developed his hatred towards the people of Salem. They would ripple his water often, keeping him from sleeping, and it was annoying to Blum. One day, Blum had reached his breaking point. Blum was sitting in his pond, trying to get the rest that the people of Salem would intrude on. He was sitting, hidden in the weeds and moss, when he heard the approach of a mob. He sat and braced for the splash in the water, when he heard a voice that he recognized. He peeked through his patch of weeds, and saw none other than Sabrina. Arms and legs bound with a rope, about to be thrown into the pond. Blum shouted, and begged for the villagers to stop, but they didn’t understand him. Or they just didn’t care. They threw Sabrina into the pond, and waited. She resurfaced moments later, just like all the others did, and just like every other time, they cried,”Witch!”. They dragged Sabrina away with the ropes. There was nothing Blum could’ve possibly done to stop it. As it tends to do, life continued for Blum. The water continued to ripple with every “Trial”, and the only thing he cared about was gone. A day or two later, Blum noticed the window to Sabrina’s house had been left open all this time. Being curious, Blum waddled his way up to the side of the house, and climbed a pile of rocks stacked by the window. Once he got to the windowsill and looked inside, Blum saw the whole house was ransacked, and torn apart. All except one thing. A large book, lying open on the floor. Still rather curious, Blum hopped down from the windowsill, and made his way over to the book, and looked at the page that was open. Blum didn’t fully understand all the symbols and words on the page, but he understood enough. At the top of the page, read one word, in big bold letters. “NECROMANCY” Blum chuckled to himself, this was a grimoire. He could get his friend back. The villagers wouldn’t be rippling his water anymore.


###A Few Notes from Bay - Late submissions are **not acceptable**. Repeated late entries will result in your **serial entries being removed**. If something comes up and you can’t make the deadline for some reason, please DM me. - Authors are **required** to post at least **2 feedback comments** on the thread **every** week they submit, by the deadline. Feedback should include something the author has done well, and something that could be improved. If for some reason your entry is late, you are still expected to meet this requirement. - If you cannot meet the **weekly time and feedback expectations**, you may be asked to move your serial to the subreddit. Give back what you get! #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Heartbreak! | *(And have a this week, a little darker, but I just love it!)* This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘heartbreak’. We all experience a bit of heartbreak in our lives, in different ways. A broken heart is one of the worst kinds of pain because it’s emotional, and it usually feels like it will go on forever. When a person is hurt in this way, whether by a romantic partner, a friend, a job, or circumstance, they often cannot think clearly and rationally. And they often want to act *now*. How does this affect their decisions? The people around them? Everyone's experience with heartache is unique, as is their coping mechanism. How does your character(s) deal with such pain? What happens when those that are hurt seek vengeance? Or when someone takes their suffering out on another? These are just a few things to get you started. This week, please keep in mind the subreddit rules, and treat the topic of mental health with respect. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure.   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I post the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - September 4 - Heartbreak (this week) - September 11 - Innocence - September 18 - Jealousy   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track each installment and add them to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. **(Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you must use the exact same title each week.** Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you should wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one active serial per author at a time.** This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s one comment on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one thing the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our crit sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** Our bot will not be able to log these. - **On Saturdays, I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. **We now start at 1pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord to check out more on that! - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server!** Be sure to grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including new posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points (but its interpretation is entirely up to you)! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Thread feedback (at least 2 required) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) **Nominating Other Stories:** - Voting for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to receive feedback points, your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well (i.e. “I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit).* **Looking for more on what actionable feedback is?** Check out or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings - **First place:** - by u/katherine_c   - **Second place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Third place:** - by u/MeganBessel   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/OneSidedDice   - **Crit Star:** u/rainbow\-\-penguin *Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques on the thread and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC or have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .*   *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and a few other fun events! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“All is fair in Love and War” I may or may not have several mental issues that originated from my Middle school and High school times of which I am highly ashamed of. I was a very dumb kid, like impressively naive and hopeful. Many of my friends would say they were the same way and that it’s not worth thinking about, but I just can’t stop thinking back on my younger self with nothing but harsh judgement toward him. My first kinda real relationship I had was… not successful to say the least. It was back in Middle school so it was bound to fail, but it’s easy to be blind to imminent failure when your hormones are off the charts and you believe you’re on the brink of striking gold. Her name is Murphy. Murphy was kind of “the hoe of Pendleton”, which is a sad and concerning title to have at 13. I didn’t know that though, and it probably wouldn’t change what I thought about her very much if I did, it’s just food for thought and a little important to mention. Most of that relationship isn’t really worth talking about. We met, she had a crush on me, nobody liked me so knowing someone liked me like that won me over, blah blah blah, dating. You couldn’t even really call it dating though, we never went out together other than to smoke weed. No parks, or dinners together, we just ate frozen food, junk food, laid around in my room smoking weed and constantly having sex. After 2 months of “dating” she told me she had cheated on me but it was when she was drunk and that she loves me. I kind of shoulda seen that coming because she cheated on a different guy to get with me, but I was also 13 and very romantically influenced by whatever dumb HollyWood movies I was watching at the time, so it felt like we were vigilantes of romance, or at least I felt like a vigilante. Instead of breaking off the relationship after that violation of trust, I believed she still loved me and shrugged off the emotional damage that caused. She proceeded to cheat on me two more times in our one year relationship, one of those times being with my bestfriend at the time. After that bad experience dating and smoking a brain damaging amount of weed during that, I found myself paranoid and untrusting of everyone unless given an unhealthy amount of reassurance. I still need it to this day, less now than before, but I still find myself uncomfortable even in rock solid relationships if I’m not given a weird amount of reassurance. I’m not very bothered by that though, what I’m more bothered about is the ending of that relationship. Toward the end she told me for the third time that she had cheated on me again and that she was sorry. I was seething with a full range of negative feelings, some really vile, toxic shit, but instead of breaking up with her and distancing myself from that mess, I told her it was fine. The very next day I cheated on her, then a week later I broke up with her after I told her what I did in the most unapologetic way possible. The first and only time I really took pride in being an asshole. I turned into the thing I hated most, something that to me was unredeemable in any scenario, I had done out of spite. Some hear it and say “All is fair in Love and War” then tell me what I did was bad but justifiable, but to me there is no justifying that. She didn’t sink me down to her level, I got there all by myself, she just showed me how easy it is to fight fire with fire. That’s Pendleton for ya though. Everyone wants to leave this place and it’s obvious why. Pendleton is just a sad hole in the ground that turns everyone rotten, maybe not as rotten as Murphy, or maybe more. You can’t really predict how negatively this place will affect someone, all you can really know is that this place is cursed, and just being here for even a moment will guarantee that you lose a bit of your niceness. Or if you don’t have any of that, you’ll just become like the main majority of Pendleton. Mad, untrusting, and mentally feral. This is the first thing I’ve written in a while so it’s not very great, but I’m proud of it. I’ve used a fake name to protect the person I wrote about, but they know who they are.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Song: ** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.)** - Someone or something transforms in a meaningful way. This week’s challenge is to use **the above song as inspiration** for your story. You can use the song itself, the video, or . The bonus constraint is not required. You may interpret the media prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you **follow all sub and post rules**. *** #How It Works - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them a comment on the thread with some feedback.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.** Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown. (A few adjustments have been made; note that upvotes will no longer count for points). - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback on the thread:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) **Note on feedback:** - Points will only be awarded for **actionable** feedback. So what is actionable feedback? It is feedback that is constructive, something that the author can use to improve. An actionable critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. Check out as an example.   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Third:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/markdyoung02 - **Crit Star** - u/ANDR01Dwrites - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/katherine_c *Note: Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


It started at around 11pm; I was aimlessly looking through BBC iplayer contently browsing top gear, Sherlock etc looking for something to fill the volatile silence which consumed my bedroom. I bought my TV 4 months ago ish, off an ad on eBay, it was cheap for a smart tv. The remote isn’t the most amazing and the tv sometimes crashes which, as expected, comes with an older tv- but I don’t think this thing has come from the previous owner. It was a quiet night, the best way I can describe it as the quiet before a thunder storm, the gut wrenching quiet in which you know something is coming but you don’t know when, a foreboding sensation. All of a sudden my tv crashes, not exactly unheard of, I start to reboot it as usual and all comes as expected however I hear a tapping at the window, a patterned tapping which almost makes me jump out of bed- I am the sceptical type so my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. I turn the light on and wait for it to go, it did after maybe 20 seconds and I assured myself it was rain coming, the weather did say scattered showers and my window was shut, along with my blackout curtains. I shook it off and returned to my tv, turning on BBC iplayer when all of a sudden the screen becomes distorted, the suggestions all scattered in disfiguring pattern with the words taken from the top suggestion spotted amongst the random colouration of different shows, the words “seeing is deceiving” in red moving In an unusual way, almost as if the words were trying to escape whatever was holding them capture. As you can imagine, I was horrified and immediately tried turning off my tv, it wouldn’t budge, trying and trying again for a good minute, hearing my heartbeat course through my eardrums, until finally the tv turned off- I again, trying to reassure myself and keep that part of my mind from overthinking at bay I turned the tv on again, holding back my stomach from turning itself outwards it turns on as normal and I was happy again. I switched on an episode of top gear and it played as normal. Now I am an insomniac and I really struggle to go to sleep at night, I try to drown myself with boring stuff to help me sleep as part of my routine and at this point, maybe 11:30/11:45pm I was not tired, like, at all. Sitting bolt upright in bed I get the urge to go to sleep, which is unfamiliar, and if this happens I would usually thank the lord and try go to sleep but for some reason, my gut kept telling me not too, this time I listened to that but I just couldn’t help it and I shouldn’t have fallen asleep but I did, still completely upright in bed I passed out I don’t remember what time but god, god I shouldn’t have fallen asleep with the tv still playing. When I woke up, it was maybe 4am, still that quiet, still, humid darkness outside my bedroom that I had grown familiar with, I was confused and out of it and realised was still sitting upright (absolutely unheard of, I never sleep upright- not on planes, cars, chairs, anything) the glaze over my eyes started to fade and a horrible realisation came over my body and I started to tremble, my organs in my body swilling around in there like they were in a rollercoaster, instead of top gear still playing, there in my tv, was a face, staring at me. A face I can best describe as human, however the features were pervert and warped in a way a child would draw a human, not quite right but with the intention of looking like a human, it’s smile was too wide, blonde hair sprouting out like a scientist, glaring black eyes that were not level nor the same shape staring into mine, I knew it was looking at me, analysing me; with the same red words bouncing around the screen “seeing is deceiving” I leapt up and scrambled looking for the remote, bedsheets flying through the air, clothes going every way possible until I spotted it, underneath that window which made the tapping noise. All while that thing, that creature, analysing and evaluating me through the screen. I grabbed the remote, breathless and exhausted frantically turning the tv off. It is now 5:30am while I wright this, I haven’t turned my tv back on and I want to burn it. I don’t know what to do, that gut curdling feeling hasn’t left my system and my parents will look at me like my last brain cell has left if I try to explain to them what’s just happened. But for some reason, deep down, that thing wants me, I don’t know what for, but it wants me, and I feel like it’s already advanced; I just don’t know what into yet.


David walked into the pub, looking around in search of his mates. Not seeing them, he sat down at the bar to order a pint while he waited for them to turn up. “Lager please” he said as the barman came round. “Where the hell are they…” he thought to himself. He pulls his mobil out to see if any of them had rang him. They hadn’t. He sent a text to the group “You said meet up at 4 it’s nearly 5. Where are you?” *Send* An expression of confusion came across his brow. The message says sent, but not delivered. “odd..” he thought to himself again. Finishing his pint, he thought might as well have another as I wait. The pub was eerily dead for a Saturday so the second pint came quick, the glass glistening under the soft warm lights above the bar. He drank hastily as he sat there miffed that no one has shown up yet, Or at least responded to him. He looks again, still says sent, but not delivered. “Where are they?” He thinks, as he takes another large swallow. He calls Michael, but it goes straight to voicemail. He looks at the clock behind the bar… nearing 7:30 now, and he realizes he’s completely sloshed. On 2 pints? Oh wait there was a third…and a fourth? Shit… how many had he drank? six? He’s groggy, and a little disoriented as he stands up for a wee, and for the first to really looks around. “Where…where am I?” He half mumbles to himself. He doesn’t recognize anything. Nothing seems right. It’s all familiar, but not in a recognizable way. He grabs his mobile from his pocket, but right as he’s about to try Jon’s phone, he hears someone calling his name. They sound far away, almost as if they were calling from up the stairs. He starts to look around and again he hears it, “Daavid. Daaaaavid” almost a whisper, but somehow incredibly loud at the same time. His head starts to pound. “FUCK!” he yells, someone turned on all of the bright florescent overheads. He looks up, shielding his eyes a bit from the harsh white light “Now who would bloody do that!?” He says, again mostly to himself. “David. DAVID” He hears again. More stern this time. “I know that voice” he thinks. “Dad?” He mutters out as he looks around still blinded. Suddenly he hears sobbing, again it sounds almost as if it’s coming from up the stairs. He looks around the room again, when he sees a figure moving towards him … he can’t make out who it is, still partially blinded with this light… he closes his eyes for a second to try to readjust “David. Oh my god David. We thought we lost you” he hears, his eyes still closed. Suddenly, like a deer right before impact, his eyes open wide, looking up into the increasingly bright light. His dad looming over him, his mum draped across him, in the best embrace you can give in a hospital bed. He looks down, he’s in a hospital gown. Suddenly the world comes alive in his head. The buzzes and beeps from the machines he’s hooked up to, hospital staff outside the room rushing around, his own nurse checking something on a monitor nearby. He’s in hospital, this much he can gather but what happened? “Where am I? What happened? Why am I in hospital?” He can hardly get the words out, his mouth dry, his lips tight and cracked. “You’re in hospital David, there’s been an accident” his dad says, trailing off at the end. He notices his mum starts sobbing again. Suddenly like every bad teen movie cliche he’s transported back as he remembers, they were coming home from a football match, Chelsea had just won 2 nil against Brighton. Michael was driving his mates and him home after the match. They were just passing through Hammersmith and the last thing he remembers is screaming as huge lights from a Lorry were seconds away from making contact with the side of Michaels car. “How’s everyone else?! Are they okay? Are they at Charing Cross too?” Michael asks frantically as he tries to sit up. His mum, who was already barely holding it together loses it. His dad who until this point had stood their stoically, turns away to try to hide the tears as he says, “they… they didn’t make it David.


The Buffalo wondered through the glade. It lapped from the fresh spring. It saw it’s herd moving. It followed. The Buffalo did not smell anything strange that concerned it. The Buffalo walked until he, like the others, stopped. They stood in a field underneath a large cliff and waited until sleep overtook them. When it awoke, it returned to the stream, further up now, as the herd had moved north. The Buffalo felt a release of pleasure as he drank. He heard a bird’s warning, no doubt sung because of him. He did not stop. He saw the water carry a pile of leaves down stream. He did not stop. He heard the sound of a branches breaking. He did not stop. It did not consider the position it had placed himself in. It had, like every other of his fifteen years, followed the Herd. It was older and felt more comfortable venturing further from the herd, in search of his preferred morsels. It did not smell anything strange on this day that concerned it. It returned to his herd. Nothing seemed to get his attention. Something should have gotten his attention. The Bison grazed along the path. It wondered to a small bush, away from the herd. It nibbled from the delicate ends of the branches. It grazed for some time. It watched the birds fly and fight over a tree. It returned to the herd. It slept by a snake den, around a mossy log. The Snakes did not disturb it. In the morning, it returned to the patch of bushes, determined to refine them of their delicious points. The sensation of chewing was pleasant. The food was good. The Buffalo suddenly felt pain. Immense stabbing pain. The Bison ran from the pain. Instinctual, and unknowable in source, the pain could be outrun. Of this it was sure. He noticed the pain was spreading as he ran. He stopped running, exhausted and feeling immense terror. This terror was new to him. He had not been injured since he was a baby. He could barely recall the pain felt then. This was too consuming. He was breathing too fast to lay down. He panted and paced in place. The pain subsided temporarily. He saw the source of the pain. He did not understand it. There was a long, hard branch inside of his skin, just below the hind leg muscle. He sniffed the branch. He sniffed too close. The branch once again drove into his flesh, causing him to flare with pain again. He began to run again. He ran through the foreign forest he had wondered into, howling and calling to the herd. He grew even more exhausted. He eventually was overtaken with sleep, it called to him more than even the pain did. He drifted through a world of fear and pain. He dreamed of his herd. He dreamed of his favorite berries. He dreamed of the mysterious pain, caused by the mysterious painful branch. The fear jolted him awake. The pain was reduced to a dull throb as he didn’t move. So he did not move. A timeless interval marked only by stabs of pain occurred. The hunger pain became stronger than the pain from the leg. He dragged himself upright. The pain dragged him back down. He limply pulled himself to the sound of distant water. He feebly lapped from the stream. He tried to eat the vibrant grass growing near him. He could not keep it down. He slumped over, and returned to his slumber. He awoke after another timeless interval. He had a thought of his herd. He could not remain here. This instinct was as ancient as the pain itself, and he aimed to follow the sensation. He tried to stand up. He heard a strange noise. The direction where The Buffalo had come running from was down hill. It was a random path, steered by pain and desperation, not safety. He could see movement coming from that way. The Buffalo, eyes wide in panic, felt a pang of adrenaline, piercing through his pain and attuning his eyes to crystal clarirty. He could see something that had terrified him to his core. He had seen a pack of predators. The slightly furry creatures, still presumably too far to see him, were strange and completely unfamiliar specimens of the wild to The Buffalo. He could make out they had long hair on their heads, inconsistent dark patches of skin hanging from their shoulders and backs, and large branches in their hands. Branches that the Buffalo feared immensely, though he could not reason why. The adrenaline tore him to his feet. He must run, he knew this. The strange creatures began to shout, hooting with strange noises The Buffalo had not heard before. The Buffalo began to run away from them, as branches flew through the air around him. He had yet another powerful strike of fear as he realized they had put the branch in him. This was the catalyst for his energy. He could not allow them to cause the pain again. He ran through the bushes. He ran along the stream. He bayed as loud as he could to his herd. He feared nothing except stopping. He had ran until he felt the heat of the sun inside his very muscles. He, without any plan or meaning, had returned miraculously to the place he had slept before the pain. He searched for his herd. He fell asleep on the ground. The pain had once again reduced to a dull throb. The branch was no longer in him. He longed for this terror to be over. He awoke to the calls of his herd. He felt a wave of pleasure unlike any of his life. He meandered toward the sounds of his herd. He saw them in the distance, not far from the forest he had run from. He brayed, louder than ever, expanding the last of his energy on the alert. He began, now safe, to eat as much as he could, then lay by the river, sleeping, When The Buffalo came back into consciousness, he was surrounded by his herd. The many strong bodies made him feel as he had since birth once again. Warm. Complacent. Safe. He limped along in the back of the herd. He could not know he was not safe. He could not know he was still in just as much danger as before. The Buffalo walked until he could not. The herd was patient. They sat down among the grass, or stood around the same area as he had. They watched for predators as The Buffalo slept. They spent the night patrolling the river tributary. The Buffalo awoke, feeling weak but not panicked. The pain was now a distant memory, only brought back into full on stumbles or when stepping on hard stone. The Buffalo followed the herd along the river. He saw them stop up ahead. He was further back then any of the rest. When he arrived to the stopping place, he saw what they had seen. The River split into two here. The few larger Bison were seen in the front, testing the speed of the water. The water was flowing strong. The herd watched for predators and food as the first few bison waded the river. The herd moved one at a time, waiting for The Buffalo in the back to approach. When he arrived, he noticed they had all been across. He followed. He slipped. The river overtook him, filling his nostrils with cold water. He felt the pain in his leg arc through his entire body. He felt the waves push him down to the river bank and below. He planted his hooves deep into the mud on the edge. He pulled himself, straining his legs in pain and howling to the herd. The herd howled back. They still remained motionless on the other side. Most were watching this desperate struggle, a few were pacing the front of the herd, clearly as worried as The Buffalo was. He pushed as hard as possible to remain above the water. He eventually pulled himself to the shore. He remained panting on the shore until the sun had gone down. He saw the herd sleep across the river. He slept on the bank he had crawled to. When he awoke, they were still there. He noticed no birds were chirping. The herd was not baying. The only sounds were of the river. He could not cross the river. He looked for another way over. He did not see where the river ended or was less wide. He howled to the herd. They sniffed and shook their heads in confusion. Another day of grazing and staring passed. The Buffalo could not risk the river again. He wondered along up the north the side of the river. He saw the herd in the distance. They had grown further away in the night. He knew he would return to them. He did not know it was impossible to return to them. He stood in a flower patch. His leg ached and felt hot again. He ate here, again noticing the lack of bird song. He moved on. He could no longer see the herd. This brought an immense feeling of longing. He was also struck with an indomitable urge to reunite with them. He continued to follow the river. When the sun went down, he stood by a fallen tree and rested under the protection. He woke a mere hour later. He smelled something strange downwind. He could not know the smell was ash and smoke, but he felt unsettled by it regardless. He heard something that set his hair on edge. He heard the same noises as before, in the forest. He heard the predators. He was, this time, frozen in fear. He had no the energy to run, and was unfamiliar with travel in the dark. He looked toward the dim woods in the distance. He scanned the forest, laying as flat as he could, still under the fallen tree. He saw nothing at first, then The Buffalo spotted the strange predators once again. One had come out of the forest, holding a pain branch. The predator crouched down on two knees, and looked below himself. The predator moved his hands on the ground, and then sharply looked upward. The predator stood up and looked far off. The predator ran to the edge of the river, not far from where The Buffalo had hidden. He could see him clearer now. The creature seemed to have skin similar to The Buffalo already on it. This confused The Buffalo. The creature did not smell as his kin in the herd did. The Predator scanned the horizon for some time. He then returned his gaze to the ground, and casually walked in the direction of The Buffalo. Still frozen with fear, The Buffalo’s eyes were wide with terror. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He felt weak in the legs. He felt he would never be able to move again. The predator was nearing closer and closer to him. The predator stopped. He had heard a shout from somewhere behind him. He revealed his teeth, baring them in a strange manner. He turned around and waved his arms. Another predator of his species was doing the same motion. The Buffalo saw them embrace. He heard loud noises, as they walked away from the location of The Buffalo. The Buffalos heart began to subside. He felt energized by surviving the event, and knew he could not remain so close to the predators. He walked for the remainder of the night through the mud along the banks. He could not know that the mud would not lead him away from the predators. He could not know that the marks left in the mud were the very method these predators continued to find him. He awoke, this time unaware of when and where he had returned to sleep, along the edge of the forest. The Buffalo stumbled to the river. He submerged his face entirely on accident, and swalloed in large gulps as much as he could of the liquid. He looked around for the creatures that repeatedly had found him. He did not see them. He had forgotten the herd. He only considered food, water and an end to the pain. He wondered to a slope containing growing grains he enjoyed. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the leg that had been in so much pain. There was no longer a branch there, but there seemed to be a large rock that had somehow found it’s way inside the wound. He did not feel the pain as intensely as before. He did not feel anything as intensely as before. He seemed to not even be as hungry as usual. After his short, meager meal of grains was done, he wondered in an aimless direction. He wondered without purpose. At some point, without any intent or thought, he found himself standing still. He could no longer walk. The pain had become a full body numbing sensation, far beyond anything he had felt before. He realized he was standing still, no longer moving. He turned around. He paced the clearing he had found himself in. He noticed he had been bleeding for some time. This did not strike him as a sign of good, and he felt a brief feeling of fear once again. This motivated him to continue on. He had no concept of time anymore, no intent or purpose in the heading. He simply walked onward. He was aware of the trail of blood behind him, and it did not occur to him that this, similar to the tracks in the mud, would be his downfall. He lost consciousness that day along a pond. While frogs protested his interference in their mating rituals, he dreamt of the sky. He did not feel the second branch enter his body. He was awoken purely by the familiar sensation of adrenaline empowering his nervous system to flair back into consciousness. He thought he had run. He had barely moved. The second branch was in his back. He felt where it entered him. He felt where it was inside him. This did not hurt, but it told every atom of his body he was in danger. He knew not what to struggle against, but knew he must. The strange predators were now around him, holding their branches of pain high, shouting to eachother, and baring their teeth towards him. The Buffalo felt darkness come over the sky, even in the morning he knew he was in. He fell to the ground, this time because he felt his body punctured by many more branches. His thoughts and even his vision itself became a formless, primordial mix of color and concept. The Buffalo felt infinitely larger. He felt his mind expand to the size of the great plains he had roamed since birth. He could picture every forest, every stream, every familiar Buffalo. He felt he could see his own herd, and the many herds they had passed before, visualized in front of him. He thought of these strange predators. He finally understood they had wielded these very branches for the explicit intent of harming him. His eyes jolted open at the thought of it. As he barely watched them, he noticed more about these creatures, now close enough that they were touching his skin. The predators had many skins of animals wrapped around themselves. They must have done this before. The Buffalo felt his mind empowered like never before. The world began to have order. The stream raced downward not as a creature like himself running, as he had momentarily thought once in his infancy, but as a natural object of nature, the same as a tree or cliff. He felt a brief sensation of hurt as he was flipped to his back. Another realization occurred, as his eyes bulged and the sun beat down on him. The birds did not understand his thoughts and wants, as much as he could not understand theirs. This explained why he could not ask them with braying to help him find a warmer sun spot to sleep, or a tastier breakfast in the early morning. His mind raced with an overwhelming rush of every sensation he had ever felt. He remembered the strange predators that were feeling his body and removing their branches. He remembered that these were not new creatures of the same species, but the very same he had seen leagues away, when he had first been injured. Somehow, these beings had found a way to him over and over. A single second had passed in the interim between these realizations and the last ones. Another second passed, and a new wave of insights on the world flowed. He felt one of the creatures pull their branch from his belly. He felt his viscera spill. His lunch and bowels alike, draining out of him as fast as the thoughts drained in to his mind. The Buffalo began to connect the timeline of his life. Specifically, his death. The sharp branch had been made to hurt him, by these creatures. He had been stabbed intentionally by them. They had not been dissuaded by the long march ahead of them to get to him. In fact, they must have simply *walked* toward him, as he had seen that night. Unlike the predators he had encountered before, these had known it was but a game of waiting and following. But how could they have followed. He thought to himself?! As he felt pulled forward by the horns by several predators, he had a few more seconds spent pondering. He watched his body reveal a stream of gore as he was dragged. This revealed the answer. They had found him because they had known to look at the ground. This sent a feeling of pure terror, followed by cold numbness along The Buffalo’s primitive spine. The grooves his feet carved into the soft mud, and presumably all surfaces, were followable. This was beyond any sort of cause and effect on the world his brain was possible of understanding until this life event had granted him understanding. He felt like his past self, a noble fifteen years of age, was simply a baby Bison, who had to still be taught to lick from rivers and chew their food for the first time. He felt he knew nothing of the world until these very instances. His mind was ever expanding in these few last seconds, even through the terror, and perhaps empowered by the terror itself. He considered the lights in the sky at night, thinking them to be creatures as well, perhaps also with plans to puncture his body and cause him pain. He considered if the large cats he had seen in the mountains at night would ever learn to make branches of pain to better hunt as well. The Buffalo saw one of the creatures pulling him by the horns stop and take a piece of animal skin out he had been carrying. The creature began to eat the tough food inside. The Buffalo was blasted with a strong scent of minerals and flesh. The scent reminded him of the strange scents from the night before, when he was almost found. He still could not fully process the act of fire making and preserving, but he intimately knew the smell of the meat as that of his own kind. He felt a dull throbbing numbness take over his entire mind, at the thought of being wrapped in his own skin and eaten leisurely later. With his mind racing ever stronger, he had the urge to reason with these predators. Perhaps this was not a fruitless endeavor of running, escape would not have to be the answer. He let out, with the full intent of explaining he understood their mission, a braying yelp. No sound escaped him however. He could no longer inflate his lungs. The Buffalo had only a few miniscule seconds of life left. The creatures brought him to their camp. They congratulated themselves on the successful hunt. They roasted the meat that night, prepared it and wrapped it for return to the tribe, and placed it all on their large sled. They rested well, they had been hunting for The Buffalo for two weeks. They had recounted it’s patterns of straying from the herd every day, learned where it ran and how far usually, and planned this execution expertly. They would feast for months off this harvest, and were struck with an immense sensation of pleasure that they no longer were hunted, but were the hunters. They all talked long into the night. They did not notice anything creeping in the dark. They slept around the fire. They did not smell anything strange that concerned them.


He was so cold. He was sitting on the bed that was the only furniture in the tiny room. He was wearing several layers of clothing, two pairs of pants, two sweaters and an overcoat but he still was freezing. He grabbed a blanket and covered himself with it and sat against the wall, as tiny as he could. He looked around the room, he noticed that the floor was dusty, sometimes he should sweep it. He looked up to the low ceiling, he saw spiders in every corner, going about their businesses in their webs. He won't clean that up; he didn't have anything against spiders. Recorrió la habitación con la vista, el piso estaba sucio, pensó que al día siguiente iba a tener que barrer. He fell asleep still leaning against the wall. He woke up shivering,his teeth bouncing against each other outside of his control. He realized it was the middle of the night and he was still in his room. He couldn't go on like this. The wind and snow welcomed him when he walked outside to the street. The cold was worst but at least he was moving. He walked a few minutes to the open 24 hr supermarket. He wandered through the isles searching for a few things he needed. Candles, a steak, a knife, some chalk. Once he had all those things he went to the self service checkout and pretended to check the items. He didn't have money to pay for them. He concealed the items in his clothes and calmly walked out. No one followed him. He walked back, he stared at the building from outside, it was falling apart. It was an old abandoned building. It was walled up but that wasn't an issue for him. He squeezed through a little gap in the wood and he was in. Inside most of the rooms were useless too broken, bits of the walls and ceiling everywhere. But he found a room that was ok with a bed and moved in a couple of months before. At the time he wasn't expecting the cold that he was suffering from. Back in his room he searched in the pile that were all his belongings and got a book, very old and warned out. He went through the pages until he found what he was looking for. With the chalk he drew a pentagram on the floor and placed all the lighted candles around it. He put the steak in the middle of the pentagram. With the knife he cut himself in his hand and let the blood soak the meat. He repeated the enchantment that was written in the book. A couple of seconds later the pentagram caught on fire and the flames from hell illuminated the room. A demonic shadow stood up over the flames and spoke in a language impossible to translate “Easy demon, you are trapped by my spell, you can't fight it. But i don't need much for you, just stay there until sunrise” He said and lay on the bed warm from the flames of hell and at last he slept .


A lone planet circled around its star, silent in space it followed its course. The calm of its rotation was only a front though, down on the surface chaos reigned. The surface of the planet is unstable, large deposits of charged crystals defy the gravity of the planet, lifting large chunks of it into the sky, while some rose to safe heights before stabilizing, others sailed far beyond, falling apart the dirt and stones came raining back down to the surface, destroying anything it landed upon. It did not matter if it was a hundred-foot tree, or a boulder, they were crushed under the immense weight of that which fell. Beneath the chunks of land were great craters which over the years filled with water and became lakes. The creator of the planet, Anodyne the mad god of chaos, spent their time in the pursuit of creating life, they started by making plants and single celled creations, they found themselves moving up the evolutionary ladder at a rapid pace, but when it came to creating a creature with sentience similar to a human, they achieved nothing. The already scarred surface of the planet was struck repeatedly as the deity let out their frustration. They created deep crevices, and reduced most of the mountains on the planet to a sliver of their original height. Their screams could be heard across every planet in his universe, vibrating through space and resonating on every planet. Anodyne continued to feel the crushing pressures of loneliness, they thought that by now they would be able to create life they could interact with, something that they could talk to as to stave off some of their crippling isolation. They cried and laughed at the same time, their hands shook with rage, as they giggled to themselves. “All alone, finally, everything we wanted as a mortal. To explore a universe, and here we lay in the dirt, weeping, laughing, incapable of dying.” Anodyne slammed their head into the ground, over and over again, screaming louder with each collision, then they stopped just shy of the ground. “I don’t need to create life, I just need to find developed life, I am an idiot. This universe must be covered in developed planets.” Anodyne seemingly vanished as they started to fly around their universe in search of sentient life. They darted between planets like a wayward pinball in the largest machine ever built. It reached a point when they started to give up on everything, they slowed down, and soon they were nothing more than adrift, staring blankly with their mouth slightly ajar. Their eye twitched as a small portion of drool fell from them, freezing in the cold of space as it drifted away, eventually finding itself falling to a nearby planet, evaporating upon entry it released a new biome of bacteria, and a new branch of life to develop. Meanwhile Anodyne was approached by another, there was a flash of light and a soft click that appeared behind them, they turned to see a shining individual, their ambient light fading slowly they stood before Anodyne upon a small chunk of earth with lush grass and flowers they sprouted instantly. Anodyne squinted, turning their head to one side, then slowly back to the other. “Are you real, or just one of my usual hallucinations?” Anodyne asked, as he covered each of his own eyes one at a time. The other deities mouth opened, but instead of words, came the sounds of crashing waves, cracking rocks, and morning bird calls. Anodyne stared blankly, but before he could say anything the other deity spoke again. “Strange, do you use language?” “What else would I use?” The other deity looked around them, squinting periodically before turning back to Anodyne. “With a universe this old, I assumed you would know other forms of communication.” “What, is the sound of nature supposed to be faster than just talking?” The other deity pinched dust that was floating past, look intently. “This is rare,” the deity brought their finger closer to their eye. “Oh, this is very rare, this place might be a good spot for mining.” “What are you on about?” Anodyne looked at the small pile of dust “It is dust how is that rare? It is everywhere.” The other seemed to stop momentarily before grinning. They then started to walk forward, and the small island beneath their feet grew to accommodate the new deities’ movements. They walked straight past Anodyne, Anodyne turned to watch him, but another light caught their attention, they turned back to see two other deities wander in. They both looked to one another and the sounds of nature came out, the first deity to intrude replied in kind. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my universe?” Anodyne yelled. The other three looked to one another with furrowed brows. “Listen kid,” the first deity said, laying a hand on Anodyne. “This place has some rare materials, we are going to take it, then we will leave. We will only be here like a million factorial years, then we will leave.” Anodyne raised his hands and proceeded to count on his fingers for a moment before looking back to the newcomers with the same hatred in his eyes that he used to stare at the frozen being. “You will leave now, or I will kill you.” The three newcomers laughed at Anodyne before turning away and continuing their plan. Anodyne felt the rage boiling inside of him, he turned and struck the closest one, just to have his fist stopped by some kind of invisible force. “Okay, listen here child. We find you amusing, but if you try and get in our way, we will kill you, and we will continue what we were going to do anyway. So, know when you have no chance of fighting, and back off.” Anodyne waited for them to finish before he slammed his fist at the other deity a second time. “This is my domain, you will leave.” Anodyne proclaimed as he continued to stare. “Stupid, fucking child gods.” The invading deity said as he turned to Anodyne. He let a sigh out just before he struck Anodyne, sending him flying back to a nearby planet, like a stray asteroid landing upon a planet. Anodyne coughed blood, and struggled to breath through his injuries, his vision started to wobble, and then he fell still. The other deities did as they pleased, bringing strange machines into the universe they begun bagging the dust that was circling around the universe. Anodyne’s blood flowed out onto the planet, around his unconscious body was a small any colony that tasted his blood, returning it to their nest they began improving themselves in ways they were not prepared for. The followed the stream of blood, and moved their colony into Anodynes body, crawling in every orifice they could find they built their colony in his body. The more blood they drank, the stronger they became, until they were able to finally chew through Anodyne’s internals, carving their own caverns, not having to rely on his natural cavities. They dug deeper, ate more, grew in strength, and number, but it did not matter how far they dug, his body never seemed to end, even when they had burrowed further than Anodyne’s slim frame should have been able to hold. Anodyne awoke suddenly after only a few months with an intense ringing in his ears. His body had healed, and he stood to his feet, nearly falling as he went. “Odd, why is my body off balance?” He asked himself. Rolling his eyes backwards he looked inside, to see the sprawling nest of ants that now lived in him. “Pests. If it wasn’t my body you were in I would crush your home suffocating you, until, you, died…” Anodyne began to trail off, then looked to the sky. “I know what I have to do.” Anodyne started to amass every piece of matter he could lay his hands on, pushing it all together they soon collapsed under the immense pressure, creating a black hole in their place. He could feel the pull of his creation, but could still move freely around it, he knew he would have to do better. So he made another one, and another, until they started to chain react, sucking each other in, until there was one that ate everything that came near. Meanwhile the invaders were working on collecting all the dust from space still, but they stopped when they noticed that everything around them seemed to be drifting in one direction, then stop again. “That, was, weird. It was almost like there was an intense pull then it balanced.” They looked to one another before getting back to work, they made no attempt to look for the disturbance, and soon had forgotten that it had even happened. But after a while it happened again, pulling in another direction for a short moment before stopping. Then again in another direction. “Okay what is happening?” One said frustrated. “That is simple, I am going to kill you all.” Anodyne said, appearing in-between the three other deities. “What are you on about?” “I am bringing death to your door, this is your last warning, leave or suffer.” “Kid, you don’t know what you are talking about, you have never even left this universe, how do you expect to stop us? We have visited hundreds of other deities’ universes; you can’t hope to defeat us.” “I won’t defeat you; I even intend on dying with you.” The other three looked to one another, before noticing what was happening. Around them the universe was being consumed by a collection of black holes that were slowly encroaching on them. “Damn, take what we got and move out.” With that, all the strange machines disappeared, and two of the three deities reached out, grabbing door handles that were not there but a moment before, and walking through the appearing doors, for them to just vanish once they closed. “Smart move, but you can’t jump universes, good luck getting out of this. Out there in the Eterna-verse, they call getting caught in a black hole that is stronger than you as god hell. Have fun with that.” The last deity went to leave, reaching for a door handle that started to appear, but then faded, and Anodyne began to laugh. “Oh thank the stars, I thought I was going to die alone, at least you can join me.” The intruding deity began to panic as he started grasping for the handle, trying again and again. “What have you done?” He screamed as he looked at Anodyne. “I made black holes to destroy all your precious dust, turns out that somehow disrupts your little door thing which is a nice bonus. I actually had forgot you could jump universes, so I nearly completely fucked up. But hey, one out of three aint too bad for a kid.” The surrounding black holes all spiralled around another, encroaching on the two remaining deities, they could feel their bodies being dragged by the immense force of a nearly universe sized black hole. While the intruding deity screamed in horror, and tried to summon his door he could not help but see Anodyne allowing the pull of the black holes drag him around as he laughed. “You have no idea what fresh hell awaits us, you won’t be laughing then!” “I spent my first several billion, trillion, whatever years of existence suffocating in space, being burnt to dust, and dissolving in acids, I then had part of another being’s mind forced into mine. I don’t see things getting worse. I have done hard yards; this is just the next hurdle. Welcome to the life of the suffering friend. Let’s visit hell together.” Anodyne reached out, grabbing hold of the other deity, laughs and screams twisted, and wound around one another, spiralling into the immense mass of the black hole which was in its final moments before becoming whole. The other deity broke down into tears while Anodyne cheered the two of them into the pit of the black hole as it consumed the final pieces of matter from their universe.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week we will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Discussion Deadlines; they’re everywhere in the writing community, whether writing professionally or as a hobby. Some authors find they write better under the pressure of a looming deadline, or with constraints like a wordcount or required themes and phrases. But everyone is different. - How do you feel about writing under deadlines? Do you prefer having a timeline or goal to reach when you’re working on a project? Why/why not? - Do you prefer to have constraints to guide your writing? What about a wordcount to write under? - New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? **Introduce yourself in the comments!** What do you like to write? #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News - Practice your micro-fic skills on or serialize your story on .


Hi, sorry if this is in the wrong place, but I really need some help. I am a Drama teacher and I want my students to engage more with stories, books, plays, scripts etc… I like using very short stories for them to create from. By very short stories I’m talking at the most 4/5 paragraphs. Something that isn’t going to take them too long to read. I am looking for anything that isn’t too childish really. I’m looking for anything from drama, horror, suspense, thriller, anything that will allow them to engage their creative brains into thinking about storytelling. Would anyone be able to recommend a book, site, some part of this sub or even their own work for me to use with my students? Any help would be greatly appreciated.