#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 Perspective! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘perspective’. A story changes depending on who’s telling it. Whose story have you been telling throughout your story? What happens when you give your readers a peek through a different lens? Maybe it’s from the eyes of a side character, or the villain, or even the good guy. How do the “facts” change when the POV is flipped? Perspective can also be something a character can attain. Maybe they feel like they can’t get a clear view of the situation, and decide to take some time to clear their head, or go off on a journey of self-discovery. Maybe another person gives them a reality check, forcing them to “walk in their shoes”, as they say. It can be a life-changing experience for some. Others are more resistant to change. What effect does this have on yours? This could even be a defining moment, when a character decides to switch sides, whatever that might be. These are just a few things to get you started. 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! - May 15 - Perspective (this week) - May 22 - Quandary - May 29 - Respite   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 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 your parts and add your serial to the full 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 name 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 need to 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, and 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 serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what 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, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister 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 for more information. - **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! 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:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A 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. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/katherine_c   - - by u/gdbessemer   ###Crit Credits 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 . - **Crit Star**(thread & campfire) - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star**(thread) - u/OneSidedDice* - **Crit Star**(campfire) - u/gdbessemer* - **Crit Star**(campfire) - u/katherine_c - **Crit Star**(campfire) - u/Zetakh - **Crit Star**(campfire) - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star**(campfire) - u/Gailquoter *Note: Users with a star by their name were unable to receive their Crit Cred. Please see above.*   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Murdock decided today would be his last day on Earth. He would set out at dawn on foot and head west, away from the decomposing remains of the city on the coast, and by the time the sun sets he will end it all. He had grown tired of living. He had done several centuries of it. Some time ago, Murdock had set himself to becoming a god. Powerful beyond all measure. He had succeeded. He was immortal. He was Invincible. He had no need of food or drink beyond pleasure. Even breathing in the air was a force of habit. How he had accomplished it all was rather unimportant at the moment -- it was so long ago he barely remembered anyway -- what was important was the why. Had it all been worth it? As he pondered the events of his life, he climbed over the wreckage of downtown, over charred vehicles and collapsed buildings covered in the powder of skeletons that had turned to dust long ago. All because of him. He kept heading west. The suburbs were in even worse condition. It had been years since he had bothered to come out this far. Away from the steel and soot surrounding the fortress he had made for himself at the center of the city. He had expected to find the rows of destroyed houses covered in overgrowth of grass and bushes, but no. The devastation here was as complete as it had been in the city. In all the cities and towns and villages across the world. The extinction of the human race had started off quickly and in a white-hot fury. Several billion died in those first few days of Murdock’s personal war against the world. None could stop him. None of Earth’s mightiest heroes. None of the world’s biggest armies. Those who survived the initial chaos saw no choice but to serve Murdock without question or to hide. Those who hid he found quickly. Those who remained worshiped him. It had all been so satisfying. At first. Slowly, his reluctant followers began to die off. Disease, starvation, and infertility were soon common. Murdock had not been a benevolent or practical ruler, and the needs of a dying civilization came second to providing him with wealth and pleasure. After some time, he was all alone, and for a long time after he had convinced himself he was perfectly fine with it. Immortality and a whole planet to himself to do as he pleased. He had everything he needed. Now, as he pressed on, he was forced to remember how wrong he had been. He walked along the cracked and crumbling highway with memories flooding his tormented mind. Memories of the first few times he had roamed the planet, content to just marvel at the destruction he had caused. What a fool. He believed he could do this forever, but he had grown bored with it after only a few centuries. What an incredibly naïve and short-sighted god he had become. Now he still had billions upon billions of years to go. Until the death of the Sun, which he would presumably survive. Until the eventual heat death of the universe, which he might also survive. And then what? Floating in the endless void of a cold, dead universe with only his memories to keep him company? He could bear it no longer. No. He would end it. He would head west, slowly racing the sun. And when it dipped below the horizon in front of him, he would snap his own neck. When he reached the outskirts of the city, he began to use his power of flight. Taking a leisurely pace over the highway, Murdock still quickly found himself out above the expanse of greenery between cities. Not long ago he had begun to believe that, despite his regrets, maybe he had done the planet a favor by getting rid of the plague that was the human race. That maybe now at least the wildlife once so abundant on Earth could once again begin to flourish. But it was not meant to be. The planet was now riddled with radioactive fallout, both from the weapons humanity used against him and from the nuclear reactors that went critical in their absence. Now all that was left was vegetation and the few insects resilient enough to survive. It was one of the things about his existence that Murdock hated the most. The constant buzzing of insects now free to reproduce unchecked, with even Murdock powerless to kill them all. And so now Murdock, the self-made king of the planet of bugs and plants, found himself in a vast field in the middle of nowhere, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear over the horizon, and he was ready to do it. He was ready to end his life. His only solace was that if there was a Hell, at least it would be more stimulating than what he would have ahead of him if he stuck around. And if there was no afterlife at all, then all the better. He slowly placed one hand across his chin and the other behind his head. With a quick, sudden motion, he whipped his head to one side and snapped his own spine. The sound it made was louder than anything he had heard in decades other than his own frustrated screams of boredom into the sky. But something terrible happened. Murdock did not die. He simply slumped down, face up, and was paralyzed. He was catatonic with disappointment. Not only did breaking his own neck not work, he could not even move to try another method of self-execution. His worst fears will now play out slowly over eons. He will lay here, covered in bugs that will constantly try to eat him, but never succeed, looking up at the sky as the sun eventually turns red and engulfs the Earth.


“This is it!” He says as he looks at himself in the mirror again for the 100th time. Tonight’s the night. He must look his best. He leaves early and heads down the empty cold road, with the night dropping its curtains across the starry sky. The only light is that of the milk-white moon rising high in space, lighting the path for him. Few people are out by this time, and that suits him. He’s keeping himself to himself anyways. This night he’s been looking forward to the most is also the same night he’s been dreading the most. Life will not be the same after this. Definitely not. The bus stop comes into view as he walks up the hill. He’s all alone. Leaning against the trunk of the dimly lit light post, he didn’t have to wait for long before the bus arrived. He gets on the upper deck, into the back, and sits there. The darkness engulfs the outer view of the windows; the feeble light of the bus slightly flickering; all the windows shut. He’s all alone, again. It’s a long ride, so he reaches for his glittery-cased phone and starts to play some music, no earphones or headphones. He’s all alone. ‘And I wanna cry, and I wanna fall in love…’ He skips the song. ‘Only know you love her when you let her go…’ He skips this song as well. ‘I don’t know who’s gonna kiss you when I’m gone…’ “Fuck, why is everything so sad and too close to home?” Frustrated, he turns it off, rests his head on his palm, and thinks… and thinks… and thinks…Everything starts to playback. Everything. From that first time in that class up until last week in that bust stop. Everything is playing back. He’s all alone. … “Ahhhhh! I’m gonna be late” She calls out as she looks at the time. It’s 19:26 and she’s still only gotten out of the shower. Luckily, she finds her mother waiting for her in her room, with all the necessities laying on the bed. “Come, quick” her mother orders, “tonight’s your special night. You have to look your best” With her mum’s help, she puts on her subtle yet immaculate makeup; wears her dress; puts on her perfume, the one he got her; and joins her dad in the car, ready to leave. “You excited?” her dad questions her. “Yes!! Of course I am”. “Well I’m glad to hear it.” he answers, “But remember, no drinking, no after-parties, no sex.” “Dad!!!” She exclaims, whilst softly punching him on his arm, and he laughs at that. “I’m only joking honey.” he retorts, ”Just go in there and enjoy yourself as much as possible. You’re gonna miss this, later on, so make the most of your time.” “I know, dad. And I will. It will be the best 3 hours ever!!” “I bet it will be. Also, do you want me to come to pick you up or do you want to take the bus back home with your friends?” “It’ll be very late at night. I’ll call you to come pick me up when we finish.” “Alright then.” Smiling, she stares out of her window and thinks excitedly of what tonight has in store for her. In some way, everything has been building up to this day. Her thoughts are suddenly struck with a concern: How would she be able to say goodbye to him, after everything that happened between them? She starts to panic slightly, but then calms down, and reminds herself that tonight will be the most fun they ever had together. Tonight won’t be a goodbye between them, it’ll only be the end of this chapter and a beginning of a new one. Going forward, they’ll still be together. They promised each other. He promised her. She’s not alone. … A car comes to a halt at the side of the road. ‘That must be her’ he thinks to himself. And his thought is proven to be right as she climbs out of the vehicle. He stands there for a moment, stunned by her beauty. Her dress is a perfect fit. Her hair reeled obediently to the breeze brushing through the night. Her smooth skin shone under the light of the moon, putting those stars to shame. He clutches the flowers in a fierce grip as it dawned on him that she wouldn’t be there with him anymore after tonight, he wouldn’t be able to look at her again, he wouldn’t be able to feel her again… “Heyyyyy!” she shouts as she launches in his direction. He pushes all those thoughts away and puts a smile on his face. He shouldn’t be thinking of anything right now. They still have 3 hours together, and he should be focused on the moment he’s in and enjoy it. He can’t ruin this. Not for him, not for her. “Heeyy” he replies and holds her in a long, warm embrace. He breaks away from her and looks her up and down. “Wow! You look stunning.” “Thanks” she replies “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she comments with a beaming smile. “You know what? I’ll take that,” he answers. All those bothering feelings and thoughts have been erased from his mind by her presence, for now at least. “Oh! By the way, I didn’t know what colour to pick for the flowers, so I got a bunch of different ones,” he states, handing her the flower bunch. “Awww!” she comments, “You remembered!” “Of course I did.” “And they smell good as well,” she says, as she takes a sniff of their sweet spring scent, “I love them!” “I’m glad you do. Shall we go inside?” “Okay. Let’s go.” And she wraps herself around his arm as they start walking. She’s not alone. He’s not alone anymore. They’re together. … The resort was a very large tent set up in the middle of a football field, which doesn’t sound appealing, but looks can be deceptive. The inside was very spacious and well lit and with golden bulbs hanging across the ceiling and lighting up the party beneath it. Many small tables were set up across the edge, leaving plenty of open space in the middle for people to hang out and dance. A buffet was also set up at the far edge opposite of the entrance, composed of many delicious and appetising meals, snacks, desserts, and drinks. On the far left was a small stand with the DJ on top, blasting all kinds of music for the guests to enjoy. The organisers of this party have really outdone themselves. After saying hi to friends, they go and claim an empty table on the side where they sat down with their food. They had a pleasant conversation about what each of them had been up to during the week they’d been away from each other. Once finished, they sit there for a while before she suddenly stands up. “Where are you going?” he asks, surprised. She grabs his hand and prompts him to get up with her. “Come. Let’s go dance for a bit.” “But we just ate!” he retorts, but secretly wishing she’d press on further. “Just coooomee! It’ll be fun.” she urges him, and he obediently follows her into the heart of the tent. Battling through the crowd, they finally reach the centre where she turned around, looked him in the eyes and asked: “Have you had your first dance yet?” “No. I haven’t” he replies. “That’s good because I haven’t had my first dance as well.” “Seriously?” he asks, surprised. “Yes. Why are you surprised?” she questions him suspiciously. “Nothing, nothing. But for some reason, I thought you have.” “Yeah, well, I haven’t.” she responds, “Do you want to have your first dance, with me, right now?” She purposely looks at him with pleading and hopeful eyes, and he falls for it almost immediately. “Yes! I would love to” he replies, “But I honestly don’t know how to dance.” he adds embarrassed. “Neither do I” She announces with a laugh, “this should be interesting.” “Come then, let’s do it. I don’t care if we mess up or look stupid, nothing to lose anyway.” He rests his left arm on her waist and locks his right hand with hers. She tenses at first at the feel of his touch, but she soon relaxes and rests her free arm on his shoulder. He looks down and meets her sparkling light brown eyes and smiles, before starting to sway slowly with the soothing music playing into their eyes. They stumble a few times at first, but soon grow accustomed to each other’s moves and fall into perfect sync. At that moment, no one else was there with them. Just them two, in a vast empty golden ball, dancing to the music. All of their concerns seemed to vanish, and their minds seemed to be purified by the gentle notes entering their ears. In reality, they were only dancing for minutes. But for them, it felt like hours. They were really in their own place, separated from the harsh reality of this world. Separated from the concerns of what was to happen after tonight’s over. However, that was something for them to worry about later. For now, they were enjoying each other’s company and having fun. She’s not alone. He’s not alone. They’re together. … Laughing, they walk out into the field, where the darkness of the night has settled. No one is there, other than the two of them. Everyone else is still inside. They’re completely tired and exhausted after their dance, which went better than both could’ve imagined. He stops and lies down on the perfectly trimmed grass, which was more comfortable than it looked, a feather-filled mattress in disguise. She copies him and rests her head on his shoulder, where they fell into a peaceful and meaningful silence that neither wanted to break. He softly starts to brush her hair whilst she just lay there idle, but smiling. Both of them silently wish for time to stop right at that moment and stay like this, comfortable and warm in each other’s embrace and presence, forever. “You know, now that we’re here, I cannot help but recall everything that ever went on between us. All the way from that first time we spoke, up until now.” she suddenly states. “Same.” he agrees, “I remember all of it as well. It’s like it was only yesterday that we met.” “Remember our first ever conversation?” She questions him with a big smile on her face. “Oh my god! How can I forget about the famous bikini contest” And he lets out a laugh. “You must have thought I was weird” “When are you ever NOT weird?” he teases. “Hey! Stop it” she commands with a soft punch on his chest. “Okay, okay. Do you also remember that faithful bus ride, the one that got me my phone taken away TO THIS DAY! All because someone here was scared of getting assaulted” he playfully adds. “I WAS scared!” she retaliates, “And plus, don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, because I know you secretly did.” “Who said I did? That was the worst bus ride ever.” “Mhm… Keep lying to yourself.” “Okay, I may have enjoyed it a little bit, but only because of that first-ever hug.” “See! I told you.” She exclaims in triumph, “Do you also remember that booster class during the holidays…” They kept on reminiscing and reliving their joint past, the one that brought together and led them to be where they are now, all whilst laughing and smiling and enjoying their time under a perfectly clear London sky. She’s not alone. He’s not alone. They’re together. ... They didn’t know for how long they stayed there, they were too immersed in their own little bubble, and didn’t realise that all their time has passed, until one of the organisers came up and broke the news to them. It dawned on both of them that the dreadful moment they’d been avoiding is coming near. Slowly, they marched their way out into the cold empty street, both in a deafening silence. The whole world seems to have come to a halt, with them as the only two people left in it. They face one another and look deep into each other’s eyes. “So, I guess this is it.” He says, forcing a smile on his face. “Yeah… I guess it is.” She agrees, though in a subtle whisper. It is growing more and more difficult to say goodbye as time passes, none of them has the courage or the will to do it. “Do you want to make it dramatic?” he offers, “Whack me with your purse and walk away stomping, like those high-school romance dramas?” he adds with a laugh. “No, I don’t want to. I just want you to stay with me,” she says, stumbling on a few words. “I want to stay with you as well, but you know that I can’t.” “I know.” She tries really hard to keep them in, but couldn’t, and she launches at him and starts sobbing uncontrollably into his chest, all whilst severely clutching him, never wanting to let go. He holds her in a warm comforting hug and starts soothing her. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry, and he genuinely tried very hard not to, but he soon gave in, and let them stream down his cheeks. They both don’t want to let go, and so they stay in each other’s arms like this for a long while. “Well, now you just ruined my suit.” he jokingly scolds as he pulls her away from him. She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with all the tears welled up, and starts to laugh. Softly, he wipes away her tears and starts laughing as well in a light-hearted manner. “I don’t know why we’re crying.” she comments thoughtfully, “We’re still gonna be talking as we do. The only difference being is that we won’t see each other.” “Exactly. You just love the drama” “Shush. You’re acting like you didn’t cry as well” she retorts “Okay, good point.” She nods her head approvingly with triumph written all across her face. He smiles at her, but his mind is racing right now. He doesn’t know whether he should tell her or not, about what was to happen after tonight’s over. He urges himself to do it, but she’s too happy and content that he doesn’t want to ruin it for her. “Helloooo. You still here?” she snaps at him. “Oh sorry. Yes, I’m still here.” “Ok good.” They stay silent for a while, both not wanting it to end right now, wanting to drag the conversation longer and longer. “You know, there’s something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time now, but never had the chance,” he states “What is it?” she asks, hopeful. He brushes the strands of hair blocking her face to the side and tenderly caresses her delicate skin, then he gently presses his lips against hers. They hold it for a very long time, both comfortable and familiar in each other’s arms before they break away again. With them smiling at each other, she exclaims: “Well, it took you long enough to do it! I just about thought you’d never.” “It’s all because of your flipping mask! There were so many occasions where I wanted to, but that mask you’re obsessed with came as an obstacle. But hey, I still did it in the end.” She tries to argue with him but fails to. Instead, she just drops a peck on his cheek. “There. I did it as well. So you can’t say It was only you.” she admits. “You don’t understand how happy I am right now” “So am I!!!” And they fall into a meaningful silence again. They both know that this is it, no more stalling. They have to say their goodbyes now. “Well, I guess this moment has come after all,” he says “Yeah, I know,” she adds, although almost inaudible. “I love you so much, and I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done to make me this happy, because I know I can be a pain sometimes, but you managed to put up with me no matter what. I’m also sorry if I ever did something wrong or hurt your feelings in any way, but trust me, that was never my intention. I love you so much. “I love you too, and thank you for always being there for me from the start and ‘beliebing’ in me no matter what. I’m sorry as well if I’ve done anything wrong towards or… will do anything that upsets you. Just know that if anything like that ever happens, it’s not cause I got bored of you or don’t want to talk to you or just want to hurt your feelings. It’s just because I’m forced to and it’ll be better for you. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ll never do anything like that.” He decides to ignore that, as he doesn’t want to be lying to her any more than he has. “Goodbye” he softly says, “And just remember that I’ll always love you no matter what” “I know you do, and I love you as well.” she trips on a few of her words, “Goodbye!” They kiss only for the second, yet last time ever. They look deeply into each other’s eyes for one last time, before both went in their opposite way, not once looking back. She’s not alone. He’s all alone. They’re not together. … A car comes and stops for her to climb in, before starting to move again. “How was it?” her dad asks. “It was amazing!! The best 3 hours of my life,” she says with a big smile spread across her face. “I’m glad to hear it. I also like flowers. Whoever got them must have a really good taste.” “He does have a good taste, and I love them.” “He??” her dad exclaims, “Now I want to hear everything about him. This should be interesting, cause I never thought any boy would come close to putting up with your attitude,” he adds with a proud smile. “Stop it!” She snaps, but smiling, “You’re not funny. And he DID in fact put up with my attitude. I’ll tell you everything afterwards.” “Alright, honey. Whatever suits you.” She doesn’t cry anymore. No reason to. She’s happy they enjoyed each other’s presence tonight and got to spend all that time together. Smiling, she stares out of her window and relives what went on today. This wasn’t the end, she thinks to herself, and that wasn’t a goodbye. That was only the end of this chapter and a beginning of a new one between them. Going forward, they’ll still be together. They promised each other. He promised her. She’s unaware. She thinks she’s not alone. She thinks they’re still together. She’s all alone. … The bus stop comes into view as he walks up the hill. He’s all alone. Leaning against the trunk of the dimly lit light post, he didn’t have to wait for long before the bus arrived. He gets on the upper deck, into the back, and sits there. The darkness engulfs the outer view of the windows; the feeble light of the bus slightly flickering; all the windows shut. He’s all alone, again. He takes out his glittery-cased phone and starts to do what he has to do. “I’m sorry.” he whispers to no one. He deletes her phone number. He blocks her on all forms of social media. He unfriends her and unfollows her. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers again. “It’s not because I hate you, or got bored of you, or don’t want to talk to you anymore, or any of these things you’re gonna think of when you realise. It’s because I don’t want to hold you back. I don’t want you to be still clinging to a faint slim hope for so long. You deserve better. You will find better. I’m worse off without you, and you’re better off without me. It had to be done. You’re gonna hate me, a lot. But it’s better that you do and forget about me, than to cling on to something not guaranteed. I’m so sorry. I love you.” He reaches for his phone again, all whilst crying uncontrollably, and starts to play some music, no earphones or headphones. He’s all alone. ‘And I wanna cry, and I wanna fall in love…’ He doesn’t skip this time. He lets it play. He rests his head on his palm, looks out of the window, and thinks… and thinks… and thinks…Everything starts to playback. Everything. From that first time in that class up until that final kiss tonight. Everything is playing back. They’re not together anymore. He’s all alone. ...


“Ya know, that paper confetti blew all the way over here from Times Square, and it’s still all over the streets.” It was an uncharacteristically warm and cheerful morning on one of the first days after the New Year. Yves sat sketching the view from his street-facing window, which included a park with an old playground, a sprinkler, and a bathhouse. “The city doesn’t bother dealing with it,” his girlfriend, Claire, half-shouted from the kitchen. She joined Yves in the bedroom, tying her reddish-brown tendrils of hair into a bun. A taxi pulled into the remaining parking space across the street in front of the park. “I wonder if it’s because there’s just so *much* of it that they just let it get into giant clumps on the curb, and *then* they clean it all up.” Yves’ blank expression and floating gaze communicated that he wasn’t intent on listening to her anymore now that his idea was vocalized. It seemed, at least to Claire, that he paid *less* attention to her responses whenever she was *more* receptive to whatever it was he was talking about, which drove her up the walls. She *hated* that about him. She wasn’t supposed to *say* she hated it, but she really did *hate it* when he dismissed her thoughts in such a passive way. *Why do you* ***ever*** *tell me* ***anything,*** *if you don’t care to hear what I think about it?* She wanted to say. He would blame it on an undiagnosed ADHD sort of quirk, but she’d seen him be engaged in conversation for *hours* at a time when we wanted to, especially when *the guys* were involved. “I’m wondering if I should include the confetti in this,” Yves said, folding his arms. “Ya know, for accuracy.” He rolled up the sleeves of his denim shirt and looked back at the bones of his sketch. “Well, does it fit the — I dunno — the *mood* of what you’re trying to depict?” This sketch bore little resemblance to the others — the bleak, dreary, arteries of the trees and the avenues around the park went up against the vibrant oranges and blues of the other sketches. “I don’t think It does,” Yves questioned, standing up. “But I’m finding it hard to imagine the scene without all of it now.” “Well, there you have your answer.” Claire relocated her attention to the bookcase that towered over the bed, adjusting the few that stood out of their place. She looked over at a slight crack in the wall just left of it, and wondered if the building’s management wouldn’t mind fixing it. She’d prolonged asking about it since she was always putting in requests for various tweaks and repairs in the apartment. She recalled the words of her mother, back in Pittsburgh, about being entitled to what you pay for. It’s what *they* were paid to do, anyway. “Hmph.” Yves furrowed his brow and tapped his pencil on the sill. He sucked his teeth and backed away from the window. “Also, this guy is more or less obscuring my view of that little garden in the park.” “Who?” This made Claire react almost defensively. “This homeless guy. he’s got a ton of stuff with him, and it’s blocking what would be my view of that little garden in the park.” Claire shrugged. “It’s winter, anyway. that garden is a pile of dust and dry soil,” she said definitively. “I don’t think it’s any different in the springtime, incidentally.” “I guess I’m just finding it hard to ignore.” Yves stood motionless, save for his twitching eyes, scanning the scene. “Ya think I should go down there and bring him something to eat?” He said after a few moments. “Wow, you gonna try and goad this guy out of the park with a snack for the sake of your crumby sketch? That isn’t artful integrity.” She glided behind Yves and buried her chin into the space between his shoulder blades and gripped his torso. “Well, if you must know, I think I may include him in it,” Yves said resolutely. “But he does look hungry, and my guilty conscience could never stand to capture somebody who’s hungry.” Yves freed himself from Claire’s hold and craned his head into the doors of the pantry, shuffling around assorted bags and cans. “Man, this healthy kick has got us strapped for snacks,” he said, closing the doors. “I can hardly find anything that doesn’t resemble rabbit food.” “I think you’ve used that rabbit line once before. Or, a few times.” “Well, I just don’t feel so good about forking over a bunch of pickled *artichokes,* or-“ “It’s asparagus. Artichokes have too many carbs for a *vegetable*, believe it or not.” “Oh, I believe it. Hey, what am I gonna bring this guy to eat? Nunna these stores are open, go figure. And I’ll feel just awful if I’ve gotta watch him be all miserable down there.” Claire passed through the kitchen. “Hmm.” Yves turned to watch as she carefully filed through the fridge, squatting down in the yellow light of the doors. She wasn’t wearing her trademark carpet slippers with goats embroidered on them, with it being so warm over the last day, despite her feet always being so *cold*. You’d think the tiles were made of lava the way she hopped about them, and the way she terrorized Yves by planting them on his back at night. She had Yves fixed on her, his arms and the corners of his mouth tied in admiration, enamored either by her delicate handling of each item or by the upper thighs that peered out from the bottom of her sleeping shorts. “Well, if this wasn’t ever a nudge to take a visit to the grocery store,” she muttered. “Nothing?” Yves asked, heading back toward the bedroom. A pause. A pause that meant Claire wanted to be *sure* if there was something to bring or not. “Ya know what?” the light in her voice quite literally magnetized him. She rose out of the fridge, gripping a bushel of bright red strawberries in her long, situationally useful fingers. “I’ll wash these and you can bring them down to him.” Claire stood up and pushed closed the door of the fridge with her hip. “They’re *mine,* as you know,” she said as she brought the fruits to the sink. “But they’re the sweetest strawberries on earth.” \*\*\* Yves clomped down the stairwell with a small cardboard box and paused at the door of the vestibule. It truly was a *nice day —* something about the air even had a taste to it. That usually didn’t happen for another three months. Sometimes more. Across the street, the homeless man flung pieces of bread at a gang of pigeons bobbing around in the garden. Underhandedly, though, so as to not startle them on impact. Yves descended halfway down the stoop and took in a large inhale, and a longer, slower, more necessary exhale. Whether or not he consciously acknowledged it, he was nervous. Not because the man was homeless, but because he was a stranger. Meaningful interactions with strangers always made him nervous. He always said it was because, in New York, people don’t go around having meaningful interactions with strangers unless they want to appear “suspect”. Or, if they want something from them. Yves crossed the street and squeezed through the bumpers of parked cars and yanked open the iron gates of the park. As he approached the benches, the man looked up from his zookeeper duties with a sort of jovial warmth that quickly transformed into a stone-cold default as Yves neared closer. “Hey, man. Y’want s’more to eat?” Yves raised the box. “Some berries.” The man peered into the box, looked up at Yves, and gingerly accepted. “My girl washed them and cut the tops off. That’s the worst part.” The man took a bite of one. “She said they were the sweetest strawberries she’d ever had.” Yves forced in a chuckle — an expulsion of air or some sort, as to make the situation more — human. God, he loathed the idea that this was something transactional. He loathed even more the idea that the other person would feel the burden of having been done a favor. “Thanks, brother. Really,” the man nodded insistently, exposing the thinning crown of his head. “God bless.” Yves walked off, feeling overwhelmed with nervousness. He could even feel his pulse thumping in his ears. When he passed through the park’s northside gate, he wondered what the man’s name was, and where he was from. For some reason, he thought San Francisco or Seattle. Somewhere on the west coast. Then he wondered *why* he was homeless. The truth is, he wanted to be friends with the man. He wanted to know his story from the beginning, and what he liked doing. It made him upset that he *couldn’t* be friends with the man, not because he was homeless, but because he was a stranger. New York *never* lets you be friends with strangers. It might be because a lot of them end up being lousy friends. It can be real transactional in that way. As he rounded the corner outside toward the avenue, Yves started to feel better about everything. The man probably didn’t want friends, anyway. For someone like that, hanging out with a stranger and getting *sympathized* with is the *last* thing they want. That’s what he told himself to feel better. The start of the new block revealed dozens of people in two single-file lines along the sidewalk. Mostly women over sixty-five, or something around that. Every few moments, they would shuffle their carts forward in the direction of this big church all the way down to the west side of the avenue. Those at the front of the line received their portions from the back of a van — bread, it seemed, but no strawberries. Holding on to the side of a few of the carts were little children. Grandchildren. They were remarkably poised and attentive considering the monotony of waiting in line to get a few loaves of bread. And for being little kids and all. A gust of wind flowed by and crept under Yves’ t-shirt. It was indeed still winter. Along the curb, pieces of yellow, blue, and pink confetti twirled around and danced in the air in front of him. \*\*\* Upstairs, Yves pushed the apartment door open and tossed the keys on the counter. He caught the door reflexively on the way back, so it wouldn’t slam and piss off the whole building. Save for the buzzing of the light fixtures in the hallway — that sound was *always* there — it seemed a lot more quiet than usual. Claire was in the back, sitting ambivalently on the split of the window and the fire escape. It was funny; now that he was focused on Claire, imagining what she was looking at and hearing in the street, it seemed *less* quiet. She was already smiling when Yves looked over at her, but it became a grin once she turned over to him. It was impossible not to smile back. He wanted to keep things serious and maintain that almost *sublime* sense of morosity he’d been feeling in the street, but it was no use. Claire bounded over to the kitchen and into Yves’ arms. “Well, do you think he liked them?” Yves looked down at Claire’s middle-parted hair, and at the tops of her bristling eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said, pushing some bass into his voice. “I think he liked them.


#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.)** - Story takes place in modern-times This week’s challenge is to use **the above song as inspiration** for your story. You can use the song itself, the name, 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**. for additional inspiration.   *** #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 & Nominations - 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! - Nominations are made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #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 by u/FyeNite as an example.   *** #Rankings If you missed last week’s ranking update, you can - **First:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Second:** - Submitted by u/merbaum - **Third:** - Submitted by u/wileycourage - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/TrickOfLight113 - **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 - Check out our brand new feature, on r/WritingPrompts! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


It really was quite the spider. Twenty-some-odd feet tall, a half-dozen blue onyx eyes the size of bowling balls, and fangs that looked like they could crush a Buick. Pallas walked right into its gnashing mouth and fired a Tracer Bullet into its brain. “Is it... dead yet?” “No, Mr. Banthem,” said Pallas. “I’m still working.” “Well, hurry up!” They always wanted you to hurry. Never enough time to marvel at an AUGUR's handiwork, even if it was from a disgraced one. Ogling just wasn’t in the job description of a Corrective. But, still, this spider was incredible. Pallas felt dizzy at the intricate internal structure of the projection… she almost recognized… Sys diagnosis logs from the Tracer streamed into Pallas’s lenses. She flicked her pupils left, left, right, left. The spider meanwhile drifted through her and resumed its hunt for Mr. Bantham’s Assistant, which - Pallas quickly winked up in a side panel - was a long-eared fennec fox named Cleo. Pallas had yet to visibly ID the Assistant, which wasn’t uncommon in these hauntings. The poor AI was probably curled up in Bantham’s coat pockets, scared out of its wits. “Either they’re getting better or you’re getting slower.” “Don't pretend like you've found the process yet, either, Ravi. You're stumped, too. And, yes,” said Pallas, to the hazed neon green outline of a red-eyed tree frog perched on her shoulder. ”They are getting better.” “Shall I distract the arachnid, or would you prefer I warble us a song?” “How 'bout neither. I think I’ve found…” A shrill cry came from the direction of Bantham. “It’s right on top of us! Help! Oh, Cleo!” Ravi’s throat bubble sang. “Fine! Go!” yelled Pallas. “I’ve nearly got it.” The frog leapt off her shoulder and landed on the spider’s back. In the background of her lenses, Pallas saw her frog hopping from spider eye to spider eye, being the little nuisance that Ravi was coded to be. The frog was right, though. This projection was exceptionally complex. The spider binary had even been signed with Bantham’s private-public key pair, so no wonder this layer was refusing her signal interrupts. Finally, Pallas spotted it. ”Bantham! Kill process 56183. Do you hear me? Kill 56183!” He must have heard her, because the spider disappeared and Ravi fell to the ground with an uncharacteristic thud. Bantham crawled out from under the bushes. He looked a fright, a school teacher hiding under his desk from his students. A set of red furry ears poked out of his pocket, sniffing. *Cleo.* “You’re alright now, Mr. Bantham. Cleo, too.” Ravi hopped over and licked the desert fox's ears with his tongue. The fox emerged and swirled behind Bantham as Pallas helped the man to his feet. “Awful. Just awful. How are they doing this?” They both knew who he meant. The No-Blinks. They’d been hacking (spear phishing, usually) into lense base layers, causing a ruckus by injecting terrifying projections. The Correctives - the division of AUGUR where Pallas worked - had been reorganized from a routine tech support desk into a sort of projection strike force, where she and her colleagues busted… ghosts. That’s what these projections resembled most. Ghosts. An unexpected projection in your base layer (where only you and your Assistant could interact, unless you explicitly opened a tunnel) was a disgusting violation of personal privacy. Pallas didn’t like thinking about what might have happened to Bantham if the spider had corrupted Cleo's process. Bantham stacked a payments layer into his lenses and deposited 100 AugCoin into Pallas’s wallet. “I hope I never have to see you again,” he said, disconnecting the tunnel between his base layer and Pallas’s lenses. Pallas lost sight of Cleo when the connection dropped. She stared at the thin-haired man, waiting for him to say thank you. She finally gave up and headed back to the company car. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Ravi, now in full-color again, given Pallas was back in her own base layer. She nodded. “Apollo.” “You saw it, too!” The frog croaked like a tiny bell. ”The water droplets on the hairs of the legs, like dew on fresh-cut grass. The shape of the eyes, with their swirling oils of a faraway nebula...” “Can we not talk about him right now? Please? I just want to sleep.” “Fine," said the frog. Then he perked up. "Can I drive then?” “Actually, yes,” said Pallas. “I gotta catch up on email.” Pallas reclined the driver’s seat all the way down and double-blinked into a dating app layer. “Email, huh?” “Leave me alone, frog.” *Ribbit*, said Ravi. The frog wasn’t actually driving the car - just making input decisions for destinations into its self-driving system, the first being a pit stop at Pallas’s favorite pizza place. “Bless you, my sticky one,” said Pallas as she scarfed down a folded piece of plain cheese pizza. “I didn’t even know I was hungry.” “If I didn’t know that, what kind of Assistant would I be?” Pallas and Ravi had been paired up ever since Pallas’s first pair of AUGUR Lenses. Assistants began as an extension of the “smart voice assistants” that the big tech companies developed a decade ago, which they deployed in cylindrical tubes and speakers in people’s homes. At first, some were appalled: why would you put a microphone in your own home that Big Tech can listen to at any time? Hadn't anyone read *1984*? But then they realized the convenience of barking a command to setting a kitchen timer, or check the weather, or order a cheese pizza. By the time the “next big platform” came - the AUGUR Lenses - the rest of the industry had fallen behind. For a while, they scrambled to build rival lenses. But AUGUR's became ubiquitous. Their patented lens tech, designed by its founder, a thirteen year old Vietnamese wunderkind, was almost alien-like in its invisible precision and unlimited energy, which drew from the pulsing of your eye's blood vessels. Thus, last generation’s great tech companies became mere software layers in the AUGUR augmented reality stack, and the yesterday's voice assistants became today's base layer Assistants. And they were animals. Usually, cute ones, too. In 2034, which - double-blink to confirm - it was, AUGUR Lenses were a universal human right. Coming-of-age moved up from teenage years to four years old, when children in most countries were given their first Lenses and met their Assistant. Pallas couldn’t remember a time before AUGUR, and didn't want to. Before being able to see live travel directions, with helpful Wikipedia overlays, before being able to live chat with her friends and family at any time, before being able to see helpful names and personal stats over stranger's heads. Other than the constant double-blinking, no one else had any idea which layers you had stacked on your lenses. This proved a bit challenging for schools at first, but then the open book test concept re-emerged. Like a calculator, lenses were determined to be an essential tool for problem-solving and the key challenge of the modern era was using them effectively. In fact, the only time you were ever alone from your lenses and your Assistant was when you were asleep, which Pallas drifted into as soon as she finished the last bit of pizza crust. When she awoke, she was no longer in her car. She was in a bright room, lying horizontal on a hospital bed. “Hello, Pallas.” A small man with powerful shoulders stood above her. “Apollo. What are you doing to me? Where am I? Where’s Ravi?” “Ravi is fine.” ”Here! I’m here!” Ravi croaked from somewhere behind her. “Ravi! Why can’t I see you?” She couldn't move her arms or legs, realizing that they were strapped to the bed. "Hey - why can’t I blink?" “I’m drying out your eyes, little clementine. I’m going to remove your lenses.” AUGUR Lenses require semi-constant state of blinking for lubrication. As Pallas knew from her Corrective training, a lens could survive 120 seconds before the first cracks would appear. At three minutes, things get real bad, real quickly. At three minutes and twenty seconds, you could never wear a Lense again. At the four minute mark, you were risky permanent blindness. “Let me go, you egotistical asshole!” Her former colleague and ever-so-brief boyfriend (*what a mistake that was*), the most naturally gifted AUGUR in the world, who’d developed wondrous, mind-blowing augmented creatures and realms for people all over the world to experience, had disappeared eleven months ago. When the No-Blinks began their hauntings, Pallas had always suspected Apollo, somewhere beneath the surface of her mind. Ravi knew it, too. Apollo hopped up on the empty bed next to her. “This is normally where I’d explain my *Evil Plan* to you, how I’m going to take over the world, and so on. But, you know me, Pallas. I’m not a thinker like you. I'm a do-er. And what I’m a-doing is restoring your sight.” Pallas’s pupils frantically flickered a distress signal, which did nothing. Then she tried the force reboot sequence. “Hush. Rest your eyes.” “Ravi - what’s going to happen to Ravi?” “You know what's going to happen to Ravi. Ravi’s in the cloud. He'll be fine. You just won’t see him again. Because we don’t need Assistants, Pallas. We don’t need layers. We don’t need lenses.” Pallas felt the starchy pulp of the decaying lense. “Good, it’s happening,” said Apollo, hopping to his feet. He grabbed a pair of tweezers and carefully moved them towards Pallas’s face. “Let me just… oops, got that one. And here’s the other. Shh, you’re okay. Pallas - I’m going to release you now.” He removed the clamps and Pallas frantically double-blinked. But nothing happened. "You look marvelous... your eyes..." Apollo reached out to her face. "Beautiful..." “Ravi! Ravi!” Pallas cried, swatting Apollo's hand away. "Oh god, no." Then she wept for a ghost. There was nothing a Corrective could do for Pallas now. Her eyes were bare and that was the most frightening thing of all.


Trigger Warning: Children Dying Horribly ====== “The floor is lava,” Kevin said. Four children clustered on an old couch at the far end of the playroom. Beneath the couch, the floor was a seething mass of molten rock. Black veins threaded through neon orange lava. Bubbles bustled to the surface and popped, releasing sulphurous gases. Kevin was the oldest, at seven. Genievere and Malcolm were both six and Thor, Gen’s little brother, was four. Kevin’s neighbours often came over to play but now playtime was a matter of life and death. Blistering heat rose off the lava. Their mouths became parched just breathing the air and the lava almost hurt to look at, some fissures glowed so incredibly bright. “We’ve got to jump from here to the rug to escape,” Kevin said. “The rug is on the floor,” Gen said. “Yeah, but it’s not part of the floor so it’s okay.” A rainbow rug drifted atop the molten rock not far from the couch. It rippled with eddies on the surface but it looked secure enough. Between them and the rug, however, was a stretch of lava so hot it would roast the flesh from their bones in an instant and lead to an agonising death. “It’s too far!” Malcolm said, already almost in tears as the hellish light reflected back on his face. “I’ll go first to prove it’s safe,” Kevin said. Leaning out over the stewing rock, Kevin steadied himself and leapt. He landed on the rug easily but felt it bob and sway on top of the lava’s semi-liquid surface. Heat radiated through the weave and into the soles of his bare feet like he was walking on hot coals. Flames began to singe the edges of the rug. “Hurry, we don’t have a lot of time,” Kevin said. Malcolm snivelled, and Thor just looked confused. Gen steadied herself and pounced across the gap. Throwing out her arms, she balanced as she landed on the wobbling rug. Thor followed, backing up and flinging himself over the lava as if mindless of the danger. Only Malcolm hesitated. “Hurry up!” Gen said. “I’m scared!” Malcolm replied. “You’ve got to, or you’ll burn up and die,” Kevin said. Bubbles and splatters of lava erupted in the gap between them and Malcolm. The rug’s edges burned, quickly causing it to shrink. If Malcolm hesitated too long, the rug might sink into the lava and leave him trapped. Finally, Malcolm steadied himself and in an ungainly bundle of limbs he heaved himself across. Kevin and Gen caught him so he didn’t stumble. “Where now?” Gen said. “This way,” Kevin said. Only one large step away was a low, wooden table and chairs where Kevin usually did drawing and craft. Flames licked his feet as he made the jump. Fire climbed the table’s legs. Kevin knocked a plastic cup full of pencils and some sheets of paper off the tabletop. The paper immolated from the heat, disintegrating in a series of bright flashes and leaving nothing behind but black ash. The cup melted instantly and the pencils burned up as they hit the lava. “Hurry!” Kevin said. Gen picked up her little brother and passed him across the gap before making the jump herself. Lava bubbled threateningly. Malcolm hopped across as well. The chair wobbled beneath him, sinking. He joined them on the table, which became quite crowded with all four of them. Behind them, the rug burned and sank into the lava, disappearing. “Where do we go from here? We can’t make it to the doorway,” Gen said. “Up there.” Kevin pointed to a serving window that lay open between the playroom and kitchen. “That’s high,” Thor said. “We have to climb that, it’s dangerous,” Kevin said, pointing again to a play kitchen that sat under the window. “You can’t!” Malcolm said. “Watch me, follow me one at a time.” Kevin jumped the gap and landed on top of the play kitchen with a crash. Plastic cups and plates rattled inside the kitchen cupboard. Bits of the kitchen melted in the heat. A set of shelves attached to the back of the play kitchen. Kevin started to climb. Sweat plastered his shirt to his body. More sweat steamed on his arms and face. The others watched as flames climbed their table’s legs. Kevin’s efforts knocked toy food and a fake plastic toaster off the shelves. Lava consumed the toys in seconds as they hit the floor. For several terrifying moments, Kevin’s weight pulled the shelving away from the wall. He tilted above the hellish glow of the molten rock. Lava over seven hundred degrees celsius broiled below. The others gasped. Kevin threw his body weight back against the shelves and set it straight. Heart pounding, Kevin climbed the rest of the way and reached the serving window. More toys dropped into the lava and disintegrated. “Come on!” It was obvious they couldn’t stay where they were. The table was burning. The rug was gone and now the couch was on fire as well, filling the room with smoke. Breathing in the intense heat was hard enough already. Their eyeballs felt baked into their skulls. Kevin, up higher, started to cough. The others, including Malcolm, hurried to follow Kevin across the gap and into the kitchen. To one side of the serving window, one of Kevin’s mother’s plants wilted in the heat. Kevin turned and his foot slipped into the sink. From where they were sitting, the four had a temporary reprieve. Below, trash cans sank and melted into the molten rock. The refrigerator started sinking as well, very slowly. Photographs and some of Kevin’s drawings, magnetised to the lower half of the fridge, burned, ignited by the searing heat. Magnets dripped down the refrigerator’s surface. The sink and the kitchen island, however, were secure. Smoke wafted from the couch behind them. From the open bedrooms, more smoke poured into the room. Kevin’s bed, his clothing, and the curtains in his rooms were all on fire. “We can’t stay here,” Kevin said. “Why not? It’s safe,” Malcolm said. “If we stay here we’ll suffocate in the smoke,” Kevin said. Along from the sink, clipped to the wall, was a squeegee mop that sat above the lava unharmed. Kevin waddled along the edge of the sink and took it. They had a long way to go to cross the kitchen and dining room, which was all one space. The kitchen island, and then the dining room tables and chairs, his mom’s desk, and then they’d have to make it to the front hallway. The squeegee mop could come in useful. Kevin used the squeegee end to push down against the lava. Immediately the head began to warp and burn. Kevin vaulted from the sink to the kitchen island. A bowl of fruit was knocked flying, cooking instantly as it hit the lava and then disappearing from view. Kevin passed the squeegee mop back. Gen and Thor used it to vault across. Malcolm, however, lagged behind and rejected the mop. Below, the last of the trashcans disappeared in a bubbling pool that released a stink of burning metal and garbage. The refrigerator continued to sink as well. “I can’t make it!” Malcolm said. “You got to!” Kevin covered his mouth as smoke got thick in the air. Malcolm went to jump but hesitated, stumbled, and fell forward. His arms stretched out as he fell. Hands just caught the edge of the kitchen island and held him there. Malcolm’s body formed a bridge, hands gripping the bench and feet still against the sink. The six-year-old looked straight down into the bubbling lava. The glow painted his face orange. “Help me! Help!” Malcolm said. Kevin scrambled around the others to help Malcolm. He grabbed Malcolm by the wrists but couldn’t pull him up. The position he’d landed in was too awkward. “Help!” Malcolm’s feet slipped and he fell, feet and lower legs landing in the lava up to his shins. His pants instantly ignited. Malcolm screamed in pain and fear. They smelled roasting meat. Kevin and Gen both tried to pull Malcolm out of the lava. His legs came free. Below the knees, the flesh ran like candle wax and peeled away. All that was left of his shin bones were blackened snarls, burnt and twisted into new shapes by the heat. His feet were gone. Kevin and Gen tried to pull Malcolm up but he kicked and thrashed too hard. His arms slipped free and he dropped back into the lava with a scream. As soon as he hit the molten rock, Malcolm’s clothes and hair and skin combusted. Flesh roasted, and everything that touched the lava turned black before sinking below. Eyeballs boiled and popped before Malcolm’s charred skull burst and its scattered pieces dissolved. “He’s dead,” Gen said seriously. “We have to keep moving,” Kevin said. The remaining trio moved to the other end of the bench. Malcolm’s horrifying death was a stark reminder of what was in store for them if they made a single misstep. They didn’t have a choice though, smoke continued to fill the room. Fortunately, Kevin had earlier laid out some of the dining room chairs like a little chain of islands. The legs of the chairs, however, started to warp and bend in the heat. “I’ll go first again,” Kevin said. Kevin leapt from the bench to the first of the chairs. Legs bowed beneath him. He jumped from there to the next chair, and the next, and then onto the dining table itself. Gen and Thor followed. The top of the dining table was glass. Heat rising from the lava was turning it black, and it started to crack under Kevin’s weight. Carefully, like moving on rotten ice, Kevin made his way to the other side. His mouth was parched, eyes dry and stinging, and his skin burnished by fire. Dehydration began to make his head swim. Both Gen and Thor weren’t looking too well either. “We jump from here to my mom’s desk,” Kevin said. “Then, I think we can use her chair like a raft to get to the front hallway.” Kevin carried the squeegee mop like a staff. The mophead was a melted square of burnt plastic. Holding it, he jumped from the table, to another chair, to his mother’s desk. The end of the mop whacked against the screen of his mom’s computer and knocked it off the desk. It hit the lava with a crack, splitting open in the heat. Electronics and the casing fried and burned into nothingness. Kevin climbed onto his mom’s desk chair. Somehow its wheeled base, splayed at the bottom, kept the chair upright in the lava. Kevin pushed away from the desk. He used the shaft of the squeegee mop to steer. The chair’s wheels sank and moved sluggishly through the lava. “I can only take one of you at a time,” Kevin said. “And it might be dangerous I think.” “I’ll go first, and then you can take Thor,” Gen said. “If it’s safe.” “I’m scared,” Thor said. “It’s okay, Kevin will be right back. Just stay here and stay away from the lava,” Gen said. Kevin pulled up beside the dining table and Gen climbed aboard his desk chair raft. It wobbled under the two of them. Kevin delved into the lava with the squeegee mop to propel them toward the front hallway. Smoke and sulphurous gases filled the air around them. Kevin awkwardly negotiated the chair into the hallway. With each move, the chair’s base wobbled and seemed to shrink a little further into the lava. Each time Kevin used the mop to steer its end became crispier, as well as shorter and shorter. A current pulled them toward the front door, molten rock moving sluggishly the length of the hall. Kevin let them drift and then pulled to a stop in front of a bookshelf near the door. Gen climbed onto the shelves. A few books and knick knacks were knocked off and turned to flame as they hit the lava. Uneasily, Gen clung to the shelving. “I’m alright, go and get Thor,” Gen said. Fighting the lava’s slow current, Kevin struggled back up the hall. His chair sank lower with every passing minute. Heat became more and more unbearable. He passed back into the smoky dining room, catching sight of Gen’s four-year-old brother. Thor watched Kevin approach with wide, serious eyes. Sitting on one of the dining room chairs, its legs warping beneath him, he drew his knees up to his chest. As Kevin returned, something bubbled in the lava behind Thor. A humanoid shape made from blackened rock and riddled with glowing veins as hot and bright as the lava itself. “Look out, behind you!” Kevin said. The lava monster was a little shorter and fatter than Kevin himself. Something like Malcolm’s size and shape. It slid across the lava’s surface like it was walking on water. Thor didn’t realise the danger. Before Kevin could reach him or say any more, the lava monster grabbed Thor from behind. Its grip was so hot, Thor’s clothes burst into flame and his skin turned black where it touched him. Thor seemed too surprised to feel pain. With a fiery glow behind the lava monster’s eye holes and mouth, it gave a jack-o'-lantern grin as it looked past Thor to Kevin. The lava monster hauled Thor backward, squealing. Wrapping Thor in its burning arms, it pulled him under the lava. Molten rock swallowed the two of them instantly. Flame and steam hissed from the rippling disturbance. “Noooo!” Kevin said. Seeing no other choice, Kevin paddled back to the front hallway. His mop handle had melted so much it was almost useless. Lava currents pulled him back toward Gen on the bookshelf anyway. “Where’s Thor?” Gen asked. Kevin shook his head sadly. “Lava monster got him.” Gen’s jaw tightened. A single tear glistened in her eye and rolled down her cheek before turning to steam but she stayed strong. She’d been struggling to hold onto the shelf. As soon as the desk chair was close enough, she stepped back onto the seat. Kevin pushed them toward the front door and then tossed the remains of his mop handle away. The raft sank further into the floor as the base melted, getting hotter and hotter. Grappling with the door handle, Kevin managed to tug the door open against the flow of the lava. Their chair was pulled through the gap and picked up speed as they made it out into the smoky sunlight. Lava moved in a syrupy mass across Kevin’s porch, and made for a slow, impossibly hot waterfall as it tumbled endlessly over and over down the porch’s steps. Kevin and Gen were drawn toward the lavafall. They no longer had any way to steer, no matter how they threw their weight against the back of the chair. “We’re going to have to jump!” Kevin said. “To the railing!” The two of them poised, forced to wait until the last second before lunging toward the railing. Their makeshift raft fell over behind them, tumbling down the porch steps. Lava lapped and buried the chair, causing it to break apart and disintegrate in a cloud of noxious smoke. Kevin and Gen clung to the railing. Their feet nested on the bottom bar of the railing, with lava pouring only inches from their heels and burning the soles of their feet. “Oh, no! Lava monsters!” Gen said. Two lava monsters emerged from the open doorway of Kevin’s house. One was the same creature Kevin had seen grab Thor, the other was smaller, the size of a four-year-old. Leering with jack-o’-lantern grins, they advanced on Kevin and Gen. Reaching down, they scooped blazing balls of lava off the ground and started to chuck them at the humans. Kevin and Gen were defenceless. All they could do was continue climbing around the outside of the railing. Lava poured over the lip of the porch beneath them, into the yard. One of the lava monster’s lava balls hit the railing near Kevin’s hand. It burned through the railing, eating away at it like some kind of acid. Another hit the lava near his feet. Droplets of molten rock sprayed up and hit Kevin’s bare leg. “Ah! It burns!” Kevin said. The damage looked minor, the lava left a couple of blackened holes on Kevin’s skin no bigger than pennies. It was so hot though, it seared right through flesh and muscle, down to the level of bone, before cooling. Kevin grimaced, fighting through the pain with his teeth clenched. “Got to keep moving!” Kevin said. Kevin and Gen continued around the railing until they were within leaping distance of Kevin’s dad’s SUV, parked in the driveway. The lava monsters hung back, tossing the occasional ball of magma as if to taunt them. Gen jumped first this time, sailing into the side of the SUV and landing with her feet on the nearest tyre. She scrambled onto the hood of the car. Kevin continued along the railing, and struggled to turn. His leg pained him. Following Gen, Kevin leapt and grabbed for the side of the SUV’s hood as well. His feet caught the top of the front tyre but his bad leg gave out on him. For a terrifying moment, he fell backward. Scorching, syrupy, blazing lava flowed down the side of the SUV below, ready to burn and consume him. “No!” At the last second, Gen lunged and caught one of Kevin’s outstretched hands. The two of them froze like that, Kevin leaning out over the deadly lava and Gen struggling to hold on. Carefully, the two of them worked together to get Kevin back. He climbed up the wheel well and joined Gen on the hood. “Thanks,” Kevin said. “No problem.” Climbing the windshield, they left dirty footprints on the glass and reached the SUV’s roof. Up there, the lava monsters couldn’t reach them. Breathing hard, they took in the smoky air. Their perch on top of the SUV gave them their first chance to really look at their surroundings. The yard, the street, every piece of ground as far as they could see was covered in lava. Fires burned in many of the surrounding houses. So much smoke and gas filled the air that the sun was nothing but a hot, red dot in the sky. Balls of molten rock occasionally sailed out of nowhere, trailing smoke, causing carnage wherever they landed. Bloated, greasy fireballs billowed like mushroom clouds as car gas tanks erupted from the heat. And everywhere they looked, lava monsters capered through the blazes. Grinning, burning everything they touched, some as big as grownups. The whole world. The world was lava. “This game is going to be harder than I thought,” Kevin said. ======= For 2022, I’ve been wanting to write more ‘creature features’ and generally improve my short story writing. My partner got me a Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual for my birthday so I came up with the idea of writing a story every week based on a different creature from that. This week’s inspiration was 'Magmin'. More in this series is on my website, accessible through my profile if you're interested.


“Let me put it in terms that even you, with your exiguous human capacity for only the most basic comprehension, may understand. Consider for a moment a scenario something like this: at some point in the dark, dim and distant past, some sick-slob of a cosmic entity has a flash of inspiration for conjuring up a bit of distraction. Picture a pasty-skinned, grossly overweight, greasy-haired slacker-type who looks like he hasn’t bathed or changed his food-stained T-shirt for months and smells so rank his dog steers clear of him… a degenerate knuckle-dragging exemplification of utter moral atrophy who, to the misfortune of anything under its dominion, possess a certain degree of... omnipotence. Someone you know perhaps? Minus the omnipotence of course. Somewhere out in the space/time continuum of the infinite cosmos this error of empyrean evolution eventually gets bored with its meaningless existence, having run through it's vast collection of quantum-computer games so many times, it can now play any of them in it’s substance-assisted sleep and win every single time. In a rare blink of brilliance, it decides to write a little program for some diversion... for a bit of mindless amusement... something that will perhaps stem the recurring flood of it's ennui for a while. It codes-up a sweet little star system out in the back forty of what you humans refer to as the Milky Way, close to the outer edge of that superlative spiral galactic array. It conjures a modest but slick solar configuration, with a lovely little yellow sun and nine companion satellites... including a beautiful ball just bursting with promise and potential which circles well within the yellow power-plant's habitable zone. It gives this third stone from the sun an interior dynamo core of liquid iron to generate a magnetic field which acts to deflect the searing radiation generated by that happy star. Wouldn't want it to be toasted to barren cinder after all. It then covers two thirds of that planet in deep, vast oceans teeming with life and oxygen-producing phytoplankton... shapes the land-masses into majestic towering mountains and lush fecund valleys, interminable grass-covered prairies and savannas, along with prodigious forests, awe-inspiring canyon panoramas and gently rolling verdant hills... next it fills the whole planet with a fantastic potpourri of plant life and a multitude of creatures, virtually uncountable in number and diversity and all living in perfect harmony within a totally self-sustaining system... Paradise incarnate!!! That annotated book of fairy tales you creatures call "The Bible" refers to it as The Garden of Eden. Ring any bells for you? And then that execrable empyrean entity, being the unhinged sick-slob that it is, figures to make things just a little more interesting by adding a jolt of adrenaline to the whole equation. It gives half the animals on the planet a taste for fresh blood and still warm and quivering fear-infused flesh, programming that half to stalk, kill and eat whatever it can catch of the other half, which now desperately clings to it's miserable nightmare existence, waiting for Death to claim it's bounty at any moment... and Shazam! Just like that, paradise turns into a pitiless and terrifying place for the hunted... their short brutish lives become one of frenzied and perpetual heart-pounding panic, more often than not punctuated by a horrific and grisly end… really not a pretty picture is it? Sure fun to watch all the action though! But as one easily bored, this deranged bad joke of a being cranks-up the entertainment factor a notch and introduces yet another life-form... a woefully confused biped with a large brain mischievously constrained by a tiny intelligence and most importantly, a sequence in its DNA making and forever keeping it violent, blood thirsty, forever fearful but best of all, totally and utterly insane. And then this fatuous, fiendish Creator of Cosmic Chaos leans back in its well-worn food-stained recliner, reaches for a fistful of Extraterrestrial Twinkies and cracks another can of an ethereal energy drink. With a stream of drool slowly working its way down its chubby unshaven chin, it watches gleefully with a dolt-like smirk as those naked, psychotic apes really screw-up that beautiful little blue-green ball circling the happy sun... over and over and over again... in an infinitely repeating loop! Sleep well little human.


Your food has started talking, and you don’t like what it has to say. As you stare at the potato on your plate, it tells you that everything on this planet is alive and has a soul. Every animal, every plant, every rock, every cloud, every ocean, yes, but also every hair and every nail and every phone and every laptop and every frying pan and every glass and every shower and every toothbrush and every sock and every shirt, and even every breath of air. And by having a soul, it means that every single thing on this planet has thoughts, dreams, fears, regrets, days of joy and days of sadness. And they all suffer. The ground you stomped on. The TV you yelled at. The bike you ran into a ditch. Even that potato you stabbed with a fork, rolled in oil, and put in the oven. They all feel pain. They value their existence just as much as you value yours, and when they die they are filled with just as much terror as you would be at the moment of your death. This is proven to you beyond a doubt. How is not important. What’s important is you had no idea. You didn’t know when you ate potatoes their soul is torn into a million pieces, each of which feels intense pain of its own, that wind up dying in your stomach and being absorbed by your own soul. You didn’t know that the ground groaned in agony every time you walked on it. You didn’t realize how much it hurt the TV when you smacked it to make it work. You think about going to the bathroom and feel even worse. You stop doing as many things as possible, really. You try not to leave your bed, which you treat as gently as possible, because you know you’re causing it pain as well. When you do, you make sure to step lightly and to avoid as many objects as possible. You try to take only an absolutely necessary number of breaths. Eating is highly problematic. The only way you can choke down any food is with a great deal of tearful apologies. It doesn’t stop your food from screaming the most blood-chilling screams you’ve ever heard with every bite. It is this way in all things. You try your best to do as little harm as possible but there is always pain, usually a lot of pain, no matter what you think of. Your parents ask you what’s wrong and you tell them that you can’t get the screams out of your head, the ones that come with the knowledge that all things have conscious souls. That the very act of living imposes great suffering on everything around you and you can’t really stop it. Your parents scold you for taking so long to tell them, but say that everything will be alright. They take you to the doctor, who tells you your condition is easily curable with a very simple procedure. He gives you a shot. The screaming fades to a dull buzz at the back of your head. It’s still there, you can still hear it if you try. But it’s quiet enough now that you realize you can ignore it. And so, like everyone else who eventually hears the screams, that’s exactly what you do.


“Promise me father.” A little seven year old boy started. “What?” Replied his father sitting beside him. “Promise me, no matter what happens. You will be by my side. By Mother’s side.” The moonlight cast faint shadows on the wooden floors of the porch. Small insects crawled in and out of the spaces between each individual plank. Father looked up at the wisps of clouds drifting along the sky and smiled. “Son, as long as the stars still shine in the sky, I will be by your side whenever and wherever you need me.” The stars themselves seemed to twinkle in response. Beams of sunlight hit his face as Chris woke up, groggily rubbing his eyes and checking his alarm clock. 08:14 blinked on its display. Panic took hold as he threw off his covers and rushed to the bathroom. The cold water of the shower hit his back as he realized his father hadn’t woken him up for school in time, as was usually the case. No time for that he thought, he probably was still asleep himself. In a frenzy, Chris had put on his uniform and was headed out. He went to kiss his mother goodbye but she seemed to be preoccupied on the phone. His eye briefly caught the golden light reflecting off the many trophies his father achieved throughout his career. With no intention of being any more late than he already was, Chris ran out to catch the bus in time. The day went by fairly quickly, and before long he had reached the end of the school day. Usually since he had extra curriculars, and often hung around for longer with his buddies, Chris wasn't able to catch even the late bus. His father drove him home. Today, he was nowhere to be found. While waiting, all kinds of thoughts rushed through his mind. What if his father had crashed somewhere on the way here? What if he’d fallen gravely ill? Maybe he had forgotten and was simply doing something else. An hour went by and Chris was the only one still roaming around the school grounds. Nothing. Feeling abandoned and slightly betrayed he started making his way home; 4 miles, and that was being generous. The weather slowly grew colder as he walked closer to home. Cars whizzing past became more and more infrequent. The afternoon was coming to an end and the streetlight flickered on the moment he stepped foot on his porch. The wooden floorboards creaked as dozens of tiny insects scrambled. Chris entered his home with a very annoyed expression on his face. He went straight to the kitchen only to find it completely empty. He ran upstairs to his parents bedroom. Mother was sitting at the windowsill. Tears streamed down her face. He went up to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. They sat quietly as the chattering of the TV continued in the background. Chris looked up at the night sky, tears clouding his vision, the full moon glared back at him. Not a single star to be found.