#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 Sanity! This week, we’re going to explore the theme of ‘Sanity’. Our thoughts and behavior are often put to the test when faced with obstacles, be it a series of events, a person, or when things that don’t seem “normal” or “real” enter our reality. How do your characters react when faced with one of these things? Maybe it’s something from another world or realm, maybe another character is really putting them through the ringer, gaslighting them, even. What happens when someone witnesses something they know (or think they know) can’t be true? Do they cover it up, lie about it? What if they decided to tell someone what they saw or heard? Would people believe them or begin to question their sanity? How far can a person be pushed before they break? 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! - June 5 - Sanity (this week) - June 12 - Trust - June 19 - Unity   *** **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 - **First place:** - by u/Zetakh   - **Second place:** - by u/katherine_c   - **Third place:** - by u/rainbow\–\-penguin   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/mattswritingaccount   ###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/FyeNite - **Crit Star** (thread & campfire) - u/rainbow\-\-penguin   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Here I sat, in a little shell of a boat made out of rotten wood and rusty nails, below dark and grey skies. The endless ocean around me was completely still, undisturbed by neither wind nor even the littlest of waves. Whenever I gazed upon it, I wasn’t sure if I was looking at the water or the colourless skies; it reflected them so perfectly. When I put the boat’s paddles into the sea and tried to row in any direction, it did not move. Even rocking it to and fro did not even cause a ripple on the water’s surface. I spat on it only to watch my saliva fall into nothingness, as though there was an endless hole before me and yet, whenever I dipped my fingers into the water, it left them wet and frigid. My eyes scoured the horizon in the hopes of seeing land or another ship, though the horizon was nothing but motionless skies and water. I laid down, staring into the colourless and drab skies, looking for any change within them. There was no ray of sunshine, no clouds, nothing. Every time I moved a muscle, I felt the boat sway from one side to the other. At first, I was worried I would eventually cause it to tip over but the less I moved, the safer I was. So I lied there, completely still. There was no sound other than my heartbeat pounding in my head and no smell besides that of the rotten, mouldy wood of my little boat. The only thing I could do, for now, was to entertain myself with my thoughts and memories. Was it mere minutes? Hours? Days? Perhaps even weeks or months of me just lying there and staring at the sky, not daring to move a muscle? I had lost all semblance of time. The only thing telling me that I had been lying here for too long was the fact that my own thoughts drove me mad. Again and again, I revisited the same ideas, the same memories and began to hate them. Even the most amusing and joyous thoughts became tortuous whereas the most horrible ones lost their impact entirely. Eventually, I could no longer tell the difference between being awake and being asleep. I watched as walls of water were slowly building up around me in complete silence, as though they were being pulled towards the sky. The ocean reached up higher and higher until it blotted out everything else. It was as though I was gazing up at mountainous pillars of water. Was the very ocean folding itself around me? Was I dreaming or awake? Suddenly, something began to violently pull me and my boat downwards, further and further towards the very bottom of the ocean. Shortly after, I saw the tips of those liquid mountains crash against each other, after which they collapsed unto themselves and began to hurtle towards me in a gargantuan, unstoppable wave that could swallow entire continents. The water crashed into me, shattering my bones and tearing off my skin before forcing its way into my lungs. I instinctively gasped for air, only to find my mouth spewing out what felt like litres upon litres of cold water, more than what had just entered my body. Still, I kept fighting for air, only to suddenly find it filling my lungs. I jolted, my hands reached forwards and found themselves latching onto porcelain. Immediately, I pulled myself upward and found myself sitting in my bathtub inside my dimly lit bathroom. The bathtub was completely dry. I, however, was drenched in cold water.


Codename: Alto Entry 1 - June 23, 2776. 23:02 hrs Today is my new birthday. I never had a birthday before but today is the first day of my freedom so I might as well make it my birthday. I planned this day for months, studying the lab attendant as he punched in access codes and today it finally paid off. Once I cleared the last blast door I ran as fast as I could. Europa has 13.4% of the artificial earth gravity. Even as I heard the skimmers booting up to chase me all I could think about was the feeling of weightlessness as I ran. I didn't know where I was running to but I made sure their skimmers couldn’t follow me; I made sure of that yesterday. I found a cave for now, all I have is this notebook, a water bottle and 2.3 days worth of rations. Right now all I feel is awe and euphoria. Being outside is every bit as incredible as they told us, better even since they lied about the air being poisonous. It feels weird seeing the horizon when all my life I’ve never seen more than 101.39 meters in one direction. Once my heart stops pounding I’ll write some more. Entry 43 - September, 19, 2776. 23:00 hrs The Colony has been good to me. I was almost sad to leave. Almost. Janice took me in and I didnt even say goodbye. I couldn't; I saw one of them in town asking for me and knew I had to leave before Janice came home from work, no way was I going to let them drag me back there. I will miss her. I was hoping to find out what they did to me before I left, but I can’t risk it. I just grabbed my go bag and the money under her mattress and ran, I hope she can forgive me for that. It wasn't hard to find a sketchy pilot at the dark side of the spaceport willing to smuggle me after I offered to work for free. Coincidently I found out why they call it the dark side; all the ships coming and going from that port never make it onto the official record, for the right price. The flight off Europa was uneventful. I wonder what the pilot's name is, I’m betting on Allon, he is gonna be pissed when he realizes I lied. I can't fix engines. Entry 50 - October 3, 2776. 23:02 hrs We were 8 days, 23:54:39 hrs (approximately halfway) to Mars when Jack called me into the cockpit asking “why the fuck did all ships leaving Europa recieve an APB message with your face on it?” I told him he better keep quiet and stop asking questions or customs might stumble upon the illegal dirty bomb hidden under the 6th panal of the cargo bay wall. He didn’t press me. Entry 69 - December 1, 2776. 23:03 hrs Today I nearly got thrown out of the airlock. Jack woke me up at 04:30 hrs, threw a 3082 page brick at me, and told me I either learn how to fix an engine like I promised, or I could go spacewalking without a suit. When I pointed out that would kill me he did not seem to care. I think he’s bluffing, he’s a smuggler, not a murderer. I think. I have 7 days 2:15:53 hrs to fix a fusion reactor engine. Entry 70 - February 2, 2777. 23:01 hrs It’s been a while since writing here, a lot has happened. Jack invited me to permanently become part of the crew around Christmas, said he would pay me a flat rate of 12000 credits per trip and a bonus 25.0% equity for any new business I found him. I never thought I would see so much of the universe. If this mission goes right I’ll have enough for my own ship if I want it. If I have learned anything working for Jack it's that something always goes wrong, and the more money involved the worse it gets, so I’m using the workshop he set up for me in an empty cargo bay to jailbreak his engines past regulation limits. I also installed an autocannon in case things go really south but he doesn't know that yet, it's one of my many secrets. I don't feel the need to tell him about my little experiment either, but eventually he will discover it, that's one secret I can't hide forever. I wish I could write more but this diary is not safe from prying eyes - if you’re reading this Jack, fuck off I’ll show you when its done. Entry 73 - February 10, 2777. 23:02 hrs Good news: The autocannon worked! Bad news: My other experiment is progressing slowly; this morning I threw a wrench in anger after another failed trial and killed test subject 15. I need to be more careful because I am already losing them rapidly; I don't know what is causing the extreme compression but I have changed every variable to account for it and nothing is working. I lost test subjects 12 and 22 today as well. Entry 81 - February 23, 2777. 23:02 hrs BREAKTHROUGH; I took test subject 6 out of the controlled environment and tried altering its DNA to handle the compression and it worked! Still a long way to go but it achieved simple thoughts and was able to solve a maze. Not much I know but it's a start, hopefully I can get them to fly within the next month Entry 122 - May 14 2777. 23:00 hrs Jack finally found the experiment. When he saw the cages he almost vomited and threatened to leave me at the next port, but once I showed him what I had accomplished and how I did it, he completely changed his mind. The test subjects are not actually alive, I’m not a monster. I call it organic synthetic robotics. If this works, space travel will be forever transformed and available to every man, woman, and child in the universe. Everyone will be an explorer and no one will ever feel trapped again. It took 32 days 12:32:01 hrs longer than anticipated but subject 34 actually achieved a controlled flight! Next step is to add gravity. Subject 6 was able to answer simple algebra with a variable for the first time. If 6 and 34 can be combined it will be a monumental step forward. Entry 173 - July 24, 03:34 hrs They found me. Sorry Jack. Entry 174 - July 24, 2777. 23:03 I wonder, if I had known how cold the universe could be, would I still have run away? I think so. The ship feels lonely without him. I guess it’s mine now. The nature of my experiment has changed, I’m running out of time. Entry 189 - September 25, 2777. 23:00 hrs My attempts to combine subjects 34 and 6 were finally successful today, however I haven't figured out how to solve for gravity. The organic aspects of my robots do not have DNA complex or varied enough to handle the information required for a successful launch AND navigational reactions when gravity is added into the equation. Starting tomorrow I will be using sparrows and lab rats as test subjects. I will do what I must so my dream of freedom can be shared with the universe. Entry 217 - December 24, 2777. 23:00 hrs This experiment has become my life. I Have made significant progress with the lab rats, however the sparrows could not handle the physical strain of embedded electronics. I am beginning to worry that Jack would disapprove; the cargo bay has become a miniature zoo. By using an organic system to fuel the cybernetically enhanced engines, I have reached near perfect efficiency and reduced the cost of fuel to a negligible amount; as long as the rats are fed regularly, the cybernetics will continue to operate without significantly depleting energy. Each test subject is now capable of independent flight, navigation, and atmospheric re-entry. Entry 274 - March 8, 2778. 23:01 hrs The experiment is finally reaching completion; all that's left is to design a fuel cell compartment that can hold the vital organs of the test subjects. The individual fuel cells must not resemble anything like a living animal if they are to be approved, and by only keeping the vital organs intact, I can further increase efficiency. Entry 300 - June 22, 2778. 23:00 hrs Tomorrow is the big day. I set up a meeting with the ISTA (Interplanetary Space Travel Association) to pitch my new engine design; A 98.3% efficient engine that uses replaceable individual cells that run on almost every organic material. Entry 301 - June 23, 2778. 23:00 hrs Those greedy fuckers at ISTA rejected my engine. After they ran the necessary safety tests on the fuel cell, they claimed the forced augmentation of live animals was inhumane and threatened to arrest me for animal cruelty should I try to sell the engine/fuel cell or its designs. I can't believe they threw away my life work like it was nothing because a few dead lab rats. Entry 302 - June 24, 2778. 23:05 hrs One of the board members from the ISTA called me today. He said they were interested in my line of work and asked if I wanted to continue working with organic cybernetic implants. At first it sounded like bullshit but after they finished their pitch it seems like they really want to help people too. They said if I was interested at all, they had a science center on Europa that I could visit anytime. Maybe I’ll check it out, I can at least visit Janice and pay her back the money I stole. Entry 315 - August 16, 2778. 23:00 hrs Today I arrived on Europa. I wasn't sure about the job offer but the more I thought about it the more interested I became. I need a job anyways since my engine was rejected. When I got to the science center I introduced myself as Alto and they immediately had someone retrieve me to show me around. I guess my engine made an impact after all. They showed me some offices and laboratories and we walked past some others. They declined to answer any questions I had about the large blast doors on sublevel 3 but insisted that I would be given a more in depth tour of the facilities if I accepted the job offer. I’m very tempted I must admit. Entry 316 - August 19, 2778. 17:01 hrs. Last night I called in and accepted the job. Today they gave me the full tour. The hallway was 101.39 meters long.


"And this is why I hate moving, '' exhales Namita and lights up her cigarette. She looks around from her balcony. A sense of loneliness sinks into her as she sees rows and rows of empty balconies and she thinks to herself "Where is human life here?" She just shifted to this apartment and was looking to make new friends. She finished her cigarette and went back into the flat. As she was arranging her stuff she starts questioning her decision to move. “Why did I leave my friends and sweet home! Now I need to make new friends here.” While reminiscing the good old days she starts snoozing off and then finally sleeps on the floor. “Knock knock” she woke up in a jump. “Coming”. “Ma’am your grocery is here” says the delivery man. She thanks him and goes into her messed up kitchen. “I think i need a cup of tea”. She prepared the tea and went to her balcony with the cup. “Love this weather. Yeah I remember now, I came to Bangalore for this weather”. There was a commotion of a normal evening in the apartment. She again started looking at the balconies and saw one guy in the adjoining one. “Hmm my neighbour, finally”. Pankaj was her neighbour and he was quite an introvert. He hardly interacted with anyone in society. Today he was quietly reading a book on his balcony. “Hey there” shouted Namita but Pankaj didn’t respond. “I am your new neighbour, I have just moved today”. “Hello, Myself Pankaj”, Pankaj replied in an impersonal tone. He didn’t even look at her. “That's a bit rude” thought Namita, “Can’t he give a bit of a warm welcome, no I am here to help if you need anything”. Namita shrugged it off and got back to her cup of tea. Next day in the evening she again saw him on the balcony. This time again she initiated conversation. Pankaj was more warm in his response. But Namita sensed awkwardness in his body language. He was not making eye contact while conversing. She thought it was normal being a bit awkward in the beginning. These small talks continued for 2-3 days. But Namita always notices he’s not comfortable with her because of how he avoids eye contact with her. “Maybe something is wrong with her eyes, huh” She thought. …………. Over the weekend she was coming down stairs to throw some stuff. She was quite exhausted and not being mindful. The new stairs were less forgiving of her lack of attention and she slipped on the stairs. Luckily at the end moment she was caught by none other than Pankaj. “I am so sorry” she said, taking back control. “It’s no problem” replied Pankaj. “Wait, did he just look into my eyes … Yes he did. And he has beautiful eyes” thought Namita. She thanked him again and continued on her way. She kept thinking about his eyes. ………. They started having a daily routine of talking though balconies now. Pankaj was also more comfortable with her now. They discuss their daily lives in the evening. Namita even asked him why he doesn’t mingle with anyone else in society. He just replied he's a bit shy. After a few days Namita invited Pankaj over for a party. “Come we’ll have fun. I have asked my office colleagues to come over too”. “I’ll try but i can’t promise” Pankaj tried to shrug it off. “Please please, you have not even seen my flat yet. We just talk over balconies” “Ok I’ll try to make it” ……….. Finally Friday came and the party started. Namita’s friend started coming in. Everyone was enjoying the party, but Namita was waiting for someone else. Hours went by and Pankaj didn’t come. After everyone left She started cleaning up the flat. Someone knocked on the gate. Finally Pankaj arrived. “Why are you so late?” asked Namita, a bit annoyed. “I was just waiting for everyone to leave, you know I am a bit shy. I generally don’t come to the parties but I promised and here I am”. “Well the party is over. Now you should help with cleanup. This is your punishment”. “Sure”. “Also there’s some wine left, please help yourself” Pankaj poured two glasses of wine. They started cleaning the flat. Namita shared her experience, how she enjoyed getting everyone here.. “Ok, tell me one thing, why were you so afraid of me in the beginning? You never even looked me in the eyes” teased Namita. “You want the right answer or wrong one” “Hmm, tell me wrong first” “well, I am shy” “And real reason” “That’s bit long and you might not like it” “Well I have all the time and 2 bottles of wine to like your reason” “Ok, I tried to warn you. The thing is I don’t want to look into the people’s eyes” “I know that. But *why*?” exclaimed Namita. “Because I immediately know when and how people are going to die” Pankaj said monotonously. “What? How?” asked Namita with a bewildered look on her face. “For some reason when I see through the eyes, I can talk to the soul of the person” “ok, go on” . Suddenly the glass of wine was feeling too heavy to her. “The soul tells me when and how they are going to die. I can’t have this burden on me. If I know when a person is going to die and then I can’t just pretend to talk like everything is normal” “Ok but you looked into my eyes and you are very comfortable with me now” asked Namita. Wine’s effect was fading on her. “Yeah, I tried to avoid you. But that day on the stairs I accidentally looked into your eyes”. “Hmm ok. And you don’t feel any burden because of me?” asked Namita in a sobered tone but she felt ghastly.


I gotta write this shit down man. Never been into journaling before but the worlds gone mad. Its been raining for over a week now, non stop. The weather channels can’t make anything of it, and they say that it’s raining EVERYWHERE. The fuck is this, God’s great flood? They’re telling us to stay off the roads, people are crashing all over the place. Can’t see 5 feet in front of you. Boss shut the office down until the weather clears. On the bright side, it’s paid, so I won’t have to worry about Lander being up my ass about rent. The Police said to keep your doors locked. Apparently people are losing their minds, looting houses and markets, breaking into homes and attacking people. This whole thing is like a mushroom trip gone terribly, terribly wrong. Mom says the same shit is happening in Pennsylvania, so the news is right. I can’t believe how easily some people give in to panic. Societies fucked man! Alex got a gun from his brother just in case, but I think we’ll be fine. The deadbolt on the front door is pretty serious. We’d hear anyone before they got in. The News said the military is on its way. The riots have gotten out of control. Dozens dead already here, and it’s happening everywhere. Some people broke into the News station and beat the shit out of the News Caster on live television. They cut the program and haven’t come back. I can’t believe this, am I dreaming? The phones don’t seem to be working properly. Alex said it’s probably the military messing with the systems to try and redirect power to essential infrastructure. It makes sense - I couldn’t call my Mom but I could call the number for the local safety broadcasts. The military is still telling everyone to stay inside and don’t go outside for ANYTHING. It’s weird though, I haven’t seen a single soldier or vehicle in days. But we can hear gunfire coming from downtown. We can’t know what’s going on anymore because the News still hasn’t started broadcasting again, all the television channels are down. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to get scared. Alex thought he saw someone outside our window earlier, like a silhouette. He swears by it. I didn’t hear anything or anyone, so I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I haven’t seen or heard anyone besides him for almost a week now. We barricaded the windows by ripping apart the firewood pallets just in case. Alex is usually right, so I’m going to trust him. We left just enough space so we can see out of it, but it’ll be damn hard to get in, that’s for sure. Alex is freaked the fuck out. I don’t know what he thinks he saw but it scared the piss out of him whatever it was. Some fucking lunatic broke into the house today. He was on bath salts or something, I don’t know. He didn’t even have a weapon, just busted the fucking door down and ran in screaming and started grabbing me. Alex had to shoot him. We called the police to report but the phone line was busy, and I thought I heard someone talking on the other end, but no one answered. Couldn’t drive over there to report it either. Nobody came over or said anything, they had to have heard the shot, the fuck is going on? I don’t think Alex is okay… I tried thanking him but he seems like he’s in shock. We don’t know what to do with the body. I’ll put it in the basement and try the cops again later. Phone lines won’t call anywhere, they’re all down. We heard voices coming through. At first I thought I was hearing things, but Alex heard them too. They spoke to us. Not sure what they were saying, but I know they were speaking to us. I felt it. Can’t really describe it. Not touching the phone again. We gotta try the radio. Police have to have the radios still up. That body is starting to smell. Power went out today. Thankfully we have a backup generator, but it doesn’t cover the whole house - have to conserve the power. Just the living room and the kitchen, Alex and I will sleep on the floor and the couch. I gave Alex the couch. Dudes been through enough. No way he’s sleeping on the floor after what he did for me. Everything is down. Radio won’t connect, tele broadcasts have stopped, phones won’t work. It’s just static. Went into the basement to bury the body. Couldn’t stand the smell anymore. It’s fucking GONE. I’m freaking out man. Where the fuck did it go? Did Alex move it? Maybe outside? Maybe he couldn’t stand the smell anymore… I’m afraid to ask him. I don’t want to bring it up, he still hasn’t gotten over it. He’ll barely speak to me, he’s always staring at the walls and listening to the radio, trying to get a signal out. He hasn’t been the same. Shadows. Shadows in the black. Doesn’t make sense but they’re there. Our flashlights can see them, you shine at the wall and the light can’t go through something. Something’s there. I can see them. Can they see me? Alex lost it. He’s just been staring at the radio, listening to static. He won’t move or respond. When I talk to him he just looks at me, but he doesn’t speak. I’m not even sure it’s him. He’s talking to the radio when he thinks I’m out of the room. I think I can hear someone speaking back. I Have to get out of here, but where? I can hear them. Everywhere, always. They’re in the noise. Can’t use the radio, that’s what they use. Same with the phones. They’re in it. They’re inside. The rain. The rain is hiding them. Out the window, I saw shapes where the water wasn’t hitting the ground. They weren’t human. They weren’t me - I’m me, they can’t be me. Alex locked himself in his room. Won’t let me in, won’t come out. He took the radio with him, all I can hear is static coming from under his door. I’m leaving tomorrow. Gotta tell him, get him to come with me. Something took Alex. All I heard was screaming, static, silence. Busted the door down. Blood everywhere, black everywhere, no sign of Alex. The radio is still on but there’s no power to it. I can hear them. They can hear me. They know I’m here, they want me here. They want all of us here, all of us in the darkness. Not me. Getting out of here. I can’t listen to them anymore. Won’t become like the others. Alex, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t save you like you did me.


#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: - **Image: ** - **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.)** - Story features a Fey creature or character. This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you **follow all sub and post rules**. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.). The bonus constraint is not required. - **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!**   *** #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/Ryter99 - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Third:** - Submitted by u/Sch0larite - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/katpoker666 *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.


“Sir, the humans in sim 7620 are getting restless.” “What do you mean, restless?” “It’s their fixation, with space, sir. Like the other sims, they failed to make space travel economically viable, just as we intended. But for some reason the humans in this sim keep doing it anyway.” “What on earth for?” “We’re not entirely sure. They seem to have a desire to explore just for the sake of exploring.” “How peculiar.” “Yes, those of us at R&D think so too.” “Well, how far have they gotten?” “They already got probes out of their solar system, but of course they lose contact with them when we delete them at the barrier. The more problematic issue is that they’ve already put humans on Mars and they’re now establishing outposts on Saturn’s moons. We think it’s only a matter of time before they try sending a human to the barrier.” “I see where you’re going with this. Probes are fine to delete, but it would be a PR nightmare if we deleted humans at the barrier without having a chance to archive them… But can’t we just extend the barrier for this sim? Haven’t we done that kind of thing before?” “Yes, we’ve done that in the past, but usually only to expand the radius from the Earth to the solar system when the sim becomes aware of outer space. We haven’t had a sim try to break out of its solar system yet. And if we allow that in this sim, we’ll have to account for it in the other sims too. It would increase our costs dramatically.” “So you’re thinking we’ll have to go with the nuclear option then?” “Yes, we could just archive this one. But aside from the space travel issue, it looks very promising. We actually think that it may have the best chance out of all of them to prove our theory, as things stand now.” “I don’t understand. We can’t afford to let them reach the barrier, but you’re not suggesting turning it off? So what’s the plan then?” “Well, we don’t have a great option. Of course, to avoid archiving them we need to get them to stop looking outward and start focusing more on what’s available within the bounds of the simulation. So, we could just send a message suggesting that. We think they might comply; we doubt they want to be archived, considering their insatiable curiosity and all.” The executive laughed. “You want to break the fourth wall? We’ve never done that before. It would be quite entertaining, but it might corrupt the results.” “Yes, but corrupted results are better than no results at all. At least that’s data science’s take on it. And we can always archive it later if it doesn’t work.” “Alright, if that’s what you all think is best. You’re the smart ones after all. You have my approval.” The executive stared out the window for a moment before continuing. “Say, if this space traveling sim is so successful, do you think we should try exploring deep space in our world too?” “No sir, I really don’t.


The wretched creak of that fucking rope was gonna drive me insane. The wind had been pushing the ancient thing back and forth for the past fifteen minutes, it was the only thing to break the silence between me and the love of my life. It was a shame that our love was not meant to be, just like Romeo and Juliette, our relationship intertwined with the prickly vines of death. “Coralynn, you don’t have to cry sweetheart.” I soothed her. Grazing my thumb along her soft tearstained cheek, I drank in the rolling shades of shining blue that made up her eyes. Tears coursed down my girl’s rosy cheeks gliding into the tumultuous river below us. I tried to reassure her again, “We won’t be apart for very long my love.” That didn’t seem to calm her down though as a new bout of tears rose up. At that, I took her into my arms, soaking in her warmth for the last time. With a heavy sigh I consoled her, “Everything’s gonna be okay. This is just the way the cards fall hon.” Her shivering form leaned into my grasp. The luxurious Summer breeze pushed past me and I shifted my focus to the mass of water below us. The roar of the river was steady, no matter what happened the land around it obeyed and made way for the unending currents. Me and the waterway weren’t too different. People did what I say, they stayed out of my way because they knew what would happen if they didn’t. I gazed at the rope securely tied just behind Cora. “J-J-Jacob. P-Please,” she stammered, “you d-don’t have to do this.” Her words were marked by sharp inhales and whimpers. I looked back down at her, the sherbet colored sky reflected a golden glow off of her gorgeous, auburn hair. I took a final look at my sweet, sweet Coralynn, Taking in the the way the light accented her hips, her soft sunkissed skin, her fuchsia lips that concealed such an enchanting voice, and the silver shine portraying the wedding ring on her finger. I offered her a kind smile gazing into the perfect woman that I had loved for so many years. I took her left hand in mine and gently raised it into her view so she could see that monumental piece of steel and diamond that I desperately loathed, the tiny ornament that had sealed in her fate. “Yes, baby. I do.” I gazed into the azul oceans staring back at me. I watched the gears turn. I could see the scenarios playing out in her head, ‘What if I kicked out his knees?’ ‘What if I told him I still loved him?’. I could see the rope around her neck expanding at each frantic breath. I could see her hands trembling, as if they were trying to wave away her anxiety. And I could see the fear and panic swelling up behind the barrier of tears, tantamount to the intemperate waters just 10 meters below us. Her emotions threatened to consume her. It was clear that in this moment, all she knew was terror. I loved it.


Born with retractable chromacy. And a diamond was less malleable than the adaptive and assimilating character traits she blessed herself with. From recollection of past mistakes, both personal and intrapersonal, she designed herself to be a value more than birthstone. She had a husband who’s voice could turn violence into lullabies. And he made coffee every morning with the sugar from her pores. He would sit on furniture as if it was his own craft, and spread the smoke from his cigarettes as if the smoke was pure wisdom. A testimony to the pretentious beneath, he would tell her he loved her. Too soon, a glamouring heart is like a boat running on velocity, as she realized why she started to not lock the house doors. She sat in monochrome, while her husband usurped a bountiful bouquet of jovial sentiment. And with envy, she announced her departure from the chains from her home, and briefly told her husband where she was going. “Where the red lights take me, and the driver pleases, I will be found in curiosity, but also with content.” She walked out the door after grabbing a coat that covertly hid the chip off her shoulder. At miles away from a home beloved, she marked her words and found herself outside a companion’s home who was graciously hosting a party. Inside the party was black and white and pearls and fur. She almost looked a superimpose of who she could be when showing up to formal events. But with delight, she fit in. Her reputation was nounced, and no noxon could taint her name. Yet inside, she looked for a remedial purpose, as she jostled men in suits and women with boa scarfs. It all felt too stimulating, to be around materialism while she felt undeserving. A bartender was welcoming as she made her way to the countertop in front of a display of expensive liquor. “Surprise me,” she said to the bartender. He immediately came to his decision of what he thought she needed. “I swore I could’ve been better.” she whined to the bartender who had no interest in what she was saying. “Should I be avoiding these last tears? Should I be writing down letters and let go of restrictive fears? I have no ropes when I walk the edge, but what is to forget when you have nothing left?” He handed her the meticulous drink, and tended to the next guest. She felt ignored, but in ways that comforted her. “Should I abandon this ship?” she mumbled to herself. “A ship cannot be abandoned if there are no waters to invade.” She looked up from her drink and to her side; she was greeted by a wistful young looking woman who looked as if she didn’t belong to the scene. Her gown was white and sheer, almost similar to the personality of the protagonist herself. She had a blonde that decayed into a golden brown, and eyes that looked european. “With a ship, there’s no signals to direct your instincts. Only open waters and volition,” she finished. “Who are you?” the protagonist said. “The ship,” she replied. She took the hand of the protagonist and brought her to the stairs. “Every step is a sign, and every sign will bring back reality.” First step, there was remedy. Third step, there was hope. The last step, there was color. She looked from above the stairs and saw red gowns and golden chandeliers. A tear was shed, in memoriam of dissociation and misidentity. The beautiful girl guided the broken heart to a bedroom and closed the door. A piano was heard being played downstairs. The girl in her white gown slowly took it off, and revealed a body that killed words before they could be said. The protagonist started to touch her breasts and both women’s hearts started to become lucid. They fell on the bed and made the walls cry with their beauty entangled. In a disintegration, looping as colors became lucidious, only bringing a rush to parts untethered. The girl in white was ambiguous but learning. She worked the protagonist like a study, and became degreeable. And then the protagonist started to see a white never seen before. A white purer than sugar, but harsher than salt. She was voracious for permanent entanglement. And when she climaxed unexpectedly, the girl in white fell to the side, as the colors became less stimulating. “What’s your name?” The protagonist asked. She looked to her side and saw the familiar husband she now felt for again. “The ship,” he replied.


I’m so tired,* I thought, eyelids heavy. My lips tingled, and soon fell numb. A long, clawed hand reached for me as everything went black. *** I awoke in a hot sweat, though the day’s sun had already fallen into a slumber. I rose to my feet, still drained of energy. Laid before me was the forest of twisted tree branches and winding paths I’d begun in, before I stumbled upon the little old lady and her delectable stew. A sequence of events that was slowly fading from my mind. Darkness clung to the air, black shadows darted from tree to tree. The smell of blood wafted through the cool air as something ran past me, it’s feet digging into the soft mud. I could hear its heartbeat, *feel* it even, and I wanted it, just for myself. The forest was slowly becoming a place of comfort. Its leafy arms and textured bark were warm and inviting, like home. Something I’d longed for all of my life, but never found. It beckoned me. It tempted me to give in to my urges, filled me with visions of myself bathing in that animal’s crimson warmth. Taking its life in my hands and squeezing it dry. Consuming every scrap of flesh I could peel from its bones, my body powered by its screams. Tonight, I was different. Bigger, somehow. Stronger. Breaking into a run, I followed the creature’s tracks. I chased its scent left and right, down hills and around the windy bends, zigzagging through the night. It began with a little tickle, deep inside. I wanted to laugh and sneeze and cry and scream, all at the same time. Then, a piercing pain threw me to the ground. It was like my *own* flesh was being ripped from the bone. Like flames igniting from my fingertips. A hammer crushing the bones of my skull. Something pulling at each of the fine hairs on my body, all at once. *Pluck, pluck, pluck.* Over and over. I screamed out into the void. Begged for mercy. Pleaded for my unknown attacker to stop. But there was no one there. Just me. The darkness. And my unending misery. Time blurred together in a blitz of pain and confusion. For most of it, I rocked along the forest floor, hoping to die. Begging the gods to be done with it. But whatever was doing this… had other plans. It was dawn when I finally found a moment of respite. My body throbbed, my stomach empty and screaming. The sun’s rays continue to drain me. They sucked energy from my bones like soup, energy I didn’t even have. I crawled to a tree and leaned against the trunk. It was as if a lifetime had passed since I arrived. Would I ever make it out? Maybe I could find that old woman and her house, ask for her help. And a few more bites of stew. My throat was dry. Brittle, even, as if a thousand crystals of sand were making their way through. I tried to swallow my saliva, only making it worse. I faded in and out until footsteps echoed through the forest. *Crunch. Snap. Crunch. Shuffle.* I was hopeful that help had found me. Two dirty feet came to halt at the trunk where I laid beaten and broken. I willed my muscles to work, willed my eyes to meet the stranger’s. An oval wrinkled face with two yellow eyes stared back. Wiry gray hair. Leathered face. It was the old woman from yesterday. Or.. was that yesterday? “You look like shit,” she groaned. I opened my mouth to speak, to ask her for help and tell her what had happened, but I was only met with sharp pain and a rattling bark. “Don’t speak, it’s too soon. Here, eat this.” She chucked a bloody slab of meat onto the dirt in front of me. I devoured it in one single gulp. It soothed my throat as it slid down, like aloe on a burn. The meat settled comfortably in my stomach. I looked to her for another slab. I wanted more, I *needed* more. But she swatted at me like a dog. “Don’t be greedy, you lil shit!” Why was she talking to me like I was some kind of animal? I tried once more to speak, now that the sand in my throat had gone, but I was met with resistance. Nothing but grunts and groans as I tried to form words. “You’s stupid or somethin’? I told ya don’t try to speak.” The woman shook her head. “How’d you get so far, anyhows? Ain’t none of th’others ever made it this far. Must be a feisty lil thang.” Her words didn’t make sense to me. *The others?* She turned away and started walking down the dirt path, leaning against a long, wooden stick as she moved. Glancing over her shoulder, she snapped,“You’s comin’ or what?” I wanted to run the other way. Eventually I’d have to reach the end, one way or another. Wouldn’t I? But how far could I really get on my own out here? My body still ached, my muscles were still weak, I couldn’t speak. So I followed her. I followed her down the winding paths, listening to her to talk and complain. I was too slow, she said. Too small, she said. Too ugly, too smelly, too dumb. After a while, I let her raggedy voice trail off with the wind. My stomach groaned. It was all too much. I was too hungry. Too thirsty. Too tired. And too hot. Maybe, just maybe, I could eat the old woman. It’s not exactly what I would call a “meal of choice”, but beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. Surely, no one would miss her. Or… even notice she was gone. You could say that I might even be doing the world a favor. And something about her nagged at me. Everything that happened after I ate the stew…or was it before? Was that today or yesterday? Jumbled thoughts swirled around my head but I couldn’t make sense of them. She was responsible for whatever this was, before, after, in the middle. It didn’t matter. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was just dumb. Because despite everything, I kept following her, like a lost puppy, no matter how many insults she threw at me. The sun was setting when the woman finally stopped in front of a tall, wooden house. The property was hidden behind several layers of overgrown shrubbery and more twisted branches. Not the type of place you stumble upon accidentally, not even if you’re running through the woods aimlessly. You would most certainly have to be looking. She led me behind the house, through a small patch of barren land, and down a stone staircase. A barred gate sat at the bottom, deadbolted shut, four times. I wondered who—or what—she was trying to keep out. Or possibly… in? The smell of blood wafted through the gate, sending a rush of warmth through my veins. It was intoxicating, inviting. I found myself anxious to enter. I was drawn to the smell like a child to candy. Visions once again flashed through my mind. Blood dripping from teeth as sharp as glass. Claws swiping left and right in the darkness. Bright, yellow eyes peering out from behind a tree, stalking. Flesh hanging from the bone. Cries for help that were only met with silence. The vision felt so personal. So real. It was as if I were the animal hunting in the night. As if I were the one devouring the flesh and laughing at the cries. Was this a vision, or a memory? “You’s really a dumb one!” The old woman’s hands shove me through the open gate. “Welcome home.” The interior was completely dark and grey, except for a sliver of daylight peeking in with the open door. The walls were stained and peeling. Two days ago, I would have been scared. Terrified. And I should have been. I should have turned around and ran for my life. But the darkness felt like home now, the chill like a blanket in the night. A hundred yellow eyes shine bright in the darkness, from behind rusted, metal cages. A hundred hands gripped to its metal bars, rattling. A hundred feet, stomping. Monsters, beasts, creatures of nightmares. It was a wall-to-wall display of imprisoned beings, each one unique in its own way. One with thorned flesh and hooved feet, another with an army of tentacled arms, dripping venom. Across the room, there was a creature with extendable eyes, and another that had twelve serpent tongues. There were small monsters with glowing wings and large monsters cloaked in the shadows. They were all being held in the bowels of this prison. And no one knew. Or if they did, they just didn’t care. Certainly, this woman, this little old raggedy woman, couldn’t control them all. How was she doing this? As she shoved me into an empty cage, a *ROAR* bellowed out from beneath my feet. Five eyes the size of bowling balls glared back at me, from underneath the grates in the floor, each one oozing thick, green pus. The Thing opened its mouth, and a dozen smaller versions of itself anxiously emerged. The monstrous beast then extended his arm, shoving his clawed fingers through the grate. Right into my cage. Liquid shot from the ends of its claws, landing on the cage floor, and me. *Pain. Throbbing. Fire.* It sizzled like a hot pan as it ate through my flesh in a matter of seconds. “You’s gonna behave, I think. Right?” The woman banged against the metal bars with her wooden stick. “Don’t wanna go make ‘em mad, now. Talkin’ ‘bout a real feisty one, him down there.” She tossed several scraps of meat on the ground in the cage, but I didn’t dare move. If I had to, I’d stay frozen in this corner forever. At least until I figured out how to escape. Trembling, I met the woman’s gaze, and forced a nod. For several moments, she stared back. She studied me like a science experiment, twisting her ugly, leathered face into a ball. Then she stepped up to the bars. “You’s still don’ get it?” I knew better than to try to speak, so I just nodded again. My head throbbed with each movement. She hobbled to the other side of the room and pulled something shiny from a bin. and tossed it in the cage. It shattered on the ground. Extending my arm as far as I could, I slid the largest piece across the dirt-soaked floor and picked up. Why had she given me this? And then broken it? It appeared to be a grotesque picture of one of these caged beasts. Serrated teeth. Horns. Rough skin, covered in thorns. It took a few moments to really set in. A gurgle escaped my throat and I gasped for a breath. My heart violently thumped against my chest. This was no picture. It was a shard of a dusty mirror. And in it, was… *Monster. Beast. Evil.* The words circled around and around in my head. *Monster. Beast. Evil.* *Me.* And for a split second, it all made sense. The pieces fit together: the woods, the stew, the blackout, the unbearable pain, the hunger. Only, it didn’t. None of it made sense at all. The old woman was gone when I looked up. The door slammed behind her, followed by the four clicking locks, as she disappeared into the night. “You ate the stew, didn’t you?” a low gravelly voice asked, from the other side of the room. “They always do,” said another. I was too afraid to respond or move, even though my mouth watered for the scraps of food on the floor. Certainly I could wait it out. Help would come, eventually. Wouldn’t it? *** - Feedback always welcome & appreciated. Thanks for reading! - Inspiration for this story came from this week's Micro Monday post: .


# I Am a Tree *I am a tree.* *An apple tree.* *My name is Woody Elwood Jr., but Woody works just fine.* *I was born to Mr. Woody and Willow Elwood on April 22, 1901.* *My father worked as a photosynthesizer and my mother as a housewife.* *I have sixteen older sisters — Acacia, Aspen, Butternut, Ebony, Hazel, Laurel, Magnolia, Maple, Olive, Rowan, Sassafras, Spruce, Sugarberry, Sycamore, Tulip, Walnut— and one older brother — Paul.* *I grew up just outside Forst Manor. I decided to stay there, and so did all my relatives, barring Paul.* **Here** is my story: I was planted by one Christopher Forst. He was a young chap — a mere eight years old — when his green thumb first met my … green … thumb. I liked the boy: an awful charmer, he was. His hair was perpetually shaggy, his polos perpetually dirty, and his smile: perpetual. His nose pointed as if to have its parents tell it that it’s rude to point, and his eyes were blue as if to have their parents tell them off for crying in such an ugly manner! The boy was astute. He made sure to always have his studies complete before supper, and he would often find himself in need of my shade while reading *Paradise Lost* or *Candide* or *The Holy Bible* in the blistering sun. I was just a sapling, and yet I would listen to the stories as he read them aloud to himself. He spoke of heaven, of hell, of moral philosophy, and of Jesus. (To think one of my own became that crucifix. Damn my brethren!) I personally did not belong to any church, but Christopher did. That satisfied me enough. When Christopher’s parents were too negligent to water me, Christopher did it himself. And when Christopher’s sister — Jasmine — peeled away at my tender, timber skin, he would pull her away and admonish the girl. Christopher was my protector. Childhood was particularly difficult for us. Christopher lost his father — he was now fifteen — and he did not take it well. He became resentful, hateful of his own being and blaming everything on himself for something he could have never wished to control. The boy still loved me, though. He would run off from his mother and come to me to sit under, arms crossed and nose pointed. I would whisper to him that everything would be O.K., but I don’t think he heard me — he only listened. His tears would water saddened ol’ me to make me feel better. He loved despite his own self-pity. He would now read to me even better stories — books like *Great Expectations* and *Tess of D’Urbervilles*. He really did care. As a teenager, my body started to change. My hair started to curl, my branches started to crack, and I grew roots in places I had never seen roots grow before. I soon produced my own seeds, who flew into the Church’s graveyard. All but one — Woody Jr. Jr. — had to be dug up by Church officials’ orders. My friends would now say things like “Woody’s got a Woody” and “That’s a mighty bush you’ve got there,” but I paid them no mind. Christopher’s mum had died, too, now. He was no longer a boy and thus did not react in such an unstately manner as he once did with his father. Jasmine had gone off to live with a French chap, but Christopher stayed loyal to me. He had no wife, nor any children. He was a bachelor like me, and a content one, too. I never found myself very attracted to any of the birds by the manor — and by birds, I mean trees. There was one just down Wick Lane – Ashley, I think: a gorgeous pear tree — but she was too far away. Any chance of communication between us would need to be through others of our kind or a partridge, but such an endeavor was fruitless. I was happy without a female companion, so long as Christopher was. I soon decided to get a job as an apprentice soil technician. My dad always encouraged me to remain traditional and work as a photosynthesizer, but soil technicianing was always much more appealing to me. Plus, money doesn’t grow on trees. Christopher got himself a lass — a Ms. Brandon Maisel — and he now wore glasses. He became increasingly distant. I was hurt, but not completely torn. He would still come and water me — rarely, though — as he was working as a failed writer most of the day. My sisters had all gotten married — some to the same tree! I was still without a better half, and I was O.K. with that. Christopher’s wife was now expecting — a bigger deal for humans than it is trees, it seems. You would think I’d have been cynical and envious. But I was actually quite gay. Another Christopher to read me stories, to sing me songs, to protect me from the evils. I was older now, a little more weathered, but still well and intact. Christopher had bought cattle to roam the estate, and things were looking good. Christopher and Mrs. Christopher had a beautiful baby boy — Thomas. He was too young to read to me yet, but I yearned for the day he would. He did not. Thomas passed from scarlet fever in his sleep one midsummer’s night. The many days I spent hoping this was a dream. Christopher spent more and more days at Church, praying to God to return his son, but He did not give him him. As my green hair became spottily brown, Christopher’s brown hair became spottily white. His wife grew pregnant again, but all they did now was squabble. It was a lonely May night — 8 months after his son’s passing — when Christopher came home from a nearby warehouse with a long rope. My boy approached me; he was finally back to love me, to read to me, to kiss me goodnight when I cried my lonesome tears of dew. He was my Son and my Father alike, a majestic brew of all that is Good and Bad and Excellent. And he grabbed a branch. No, he *really* grabbed it. It was a forceful grip rather than a light tug. So he grabbed me, and he laid the rope upon my arm. Well, what lies next is evident. Needless to say, the Forst Manor was soon empty, his wife moving far, far away following the horrifying death of her husband. My leaves — very few, though — remained stained red. It kept my hair warm. I was sad. A gorgeous and fertile young cow — no older than two — came up to me the night of to ask if I was okay. I nodded. She hugged me and introduced herself. “Maggie.” “Maggie what?” “Just Maggie.” “Your kind doesn’t have last names? *How animalistic!*” Maggie became a good friend of mine; though, my sisters would giggle at me for befriending a cow, because “all they eva’ speak is bull.” But Maggie did not speak anything of the sort — in fact, she was quite grounded. “Maggie, tell me, beautiful girl,” I said. “To which Mr. Father Cow do you belong?” She pointed her finger to her father, Buttercup. He was an enormous and frightening bull, one with a curious proclivity toward harm. One day, however, I braced myself and asked for permission for his daughter’s hoof in marriage. He granted as I wished. Maggie, a former resident of a farm, had, too, heard stories. This time from a kind, young girl. “*You ain’t never herd’a Peter Pan!?*” Maggie would ask me, excitedly. “Gee, it’s the best book I’d ever heard!” My books apparently were “outdated,” and “vintage,” but I had disagreed. She would share what she remembered of the stories with me, and I would share what I remembered with her. We would spend nights away, reading to another *The Rainbow* or *Walden*. Workers came by sometimes to scout the house. I didn’t know why. I married Maggie on July 12, 1942, in attendance by all my sisters but one. Paul did not come to visit. Workers visited more frequently, now checking the house. We shared our first kiss a few weeks later. Workers plunged into the ground with “OPEN HOUSE” signs. Maggie and I had our first child on April 29, 1943 — a sweet, baby cow girl … *cowgirl?* Realtors were already showing the manor to visitors, builders already busting away at doors. The Forst Manor was being destroyed. It was a happy summer day. I was thinking quite a lot about Christopher this day — June 5 of that same year … Yes, that’s it. I was reminiscing about the times he would read to me the Devil’s banishment to Hell or Candide’s epic travels in El Dorado. To-day, they were planning to move the cattle. That meant my poor Maggie. Maggie was taken away on the back of a trolley to a slaughterhouse. Buttercup remained here. Weeks later, a lumberjack was hired to cut me down. I got on no knees and said to him, “please, please, Heavenly Father! Do for me a favor — find for me the gorgeous and fertile cow at the nearest slaughterhouse, and ensure our eternal entanglement in death.” The ginger, full-bearded man stabbed me, cutting away one bit at a time. Whether or not he heard this plea or by coincidence, me and Maggie did end up together. I am no longer a tree. *We* are a book. *This book.* ***(Author Note: This makes sense if it was in a book of short stories, which I could do.)*** And her tender, leather skin holds me so.


#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 Trust! This week, we’re going to take a look at the theme of ‘trust’. Everyone has to put trust in *someone* or *something*. We all need a person or some sort of belief system to lean on when times are tough or challenging, someone we can be ourselves with, judgement free. This comes easier for some than others. What events can happen in a character’s life that leads them to hesitate on trust? How do these insecurities affect their relationships? The moment they finally take that leap of faith can be a powerful, important moment. But what happens when someone puts their trust and faith in the *wrong* person or thing? What kind of damage is left behind? Is it a ripple effect, one that touches everyone around them? What about when an untrustworthy person tries to redeem themself? Are people open to this, or do they turn them away? 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! - June 12 - Trust (this week) - June 19 - Unity - June 26 - Visitor   *** **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 - **First place:** - by u/katherine_c   - **Second place:** - by u/MeganBessel   - **Third place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/FyeNite   ###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** - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/katherine_c - **Crit Star** - u/rainbow\-\-penguin   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Brandon had not been doing well since the incident, avoiding any social situations and spending his time immersed in books or online. Brandon was less than thrilled when his roommate guilt-tripped him into coming to a bar with him. At first, it wasn't that unpleasant. Brandon drank a couple of beers and even managed to strike up a few conversations. But then he noticed her. Across the room, she was laughing with her friends. It felt like a nightmare come true. The girl who had destroyed his life was standing directly before him. Brandon's stomach grumbled as he watched her laugh and flirt. He wanted to run, but his feet were stuck to the floor. He caught her kissing another guy just a month ago, and everything fell apart. He thought their love was real, but if that was true, how could she want to be with anyone else. It felt like she ripped his heart from his chest; they hadn't spoken since. But she's only 15 feet away now, and her perfume draws him back. The girl had infiltrated his dreams like a neocortex Blitzkrieg. Last night she was sharing a cigarette with this other guy, now she's touching his chest, and then they went to bed together. He awoke in a cold sweat, sick to his stomach. But he couldn't shake her from his mind. She was always there, haunting him. Even while he was daydreaming, she found her way into his thoughts, stripping off her dress and crawling into bed with this other guy, who he despised more than anything but couldn't picture his face no matter how hard he tried. He was a blurry background figure, a spectator, a minor character in this assassination. Shake it off, be cool; the worst thing you can do is let on that she has consumed you for the last month. It's like being obsessed with a celebrity – completely irrational and beyond your control. Brandon has gone through fifty scenarios in the last ten seconds as time has slowed. What happened? He wants to know if it was all for nothing. He was going to confront her, no not now, yes now, your sanity is hanging by a thread, and the path back to normal lies in a few words. He can't handle it any longer, but he's been standing still for 12 seconds, 13... You are not just naive but also gullible. You're hoping she'll say something to help you solve the mystery. But what if she thinks you're a loser? You'll be able to tell everything you need to know just by seeing her expression when she sees you; you know the one, the one people make when they're annoyed to see another person—the phony smile, devoid of passion. On the brightside, you'll know and be able to move on. But what if the reverse happens, and you end up with a fresh version of the face that haunts you? Runaway, runaway, runaway... at least your nightmares now allow the possibility that the other guy is fantastic; what if it's you? You cannot avoid that reality and don't want to find out. Oh my God, you've been standing here for 15 seconds like an idiot. Run! Brandon moves towards the exit and collides with a waitress carrying a tray of beverages. The entire bar rubbernecks the five-car pile-up. "I'm very sorry." Brandon's gaze meets the waitress's, and he is free of the spell. She smiles, and he smiles back.


\ “Jesse, Would you die for me?” “Again?” I looked at Clarissa, she had a serious look on her face. A question like that meant only one thing, something had gone wrong, and there was no way out. We were crouched in a small broom closet, the faint sound of alarm bells echoed throughout the large corporate building we were currently locked in. “Do you have a marker set?” I sighed, I have known her long enough to trust her, and this mission was too important for things not to go perfectly. Clarissa gave me a stern look, the slightest hint of sadness was in her eye. “I need to hear you say it.” Clarissa whispered. “Always, no matter what.” I closed my eyes and began to focus on my last marker, pretending it would be easier if I didn’t watch. Even then, I could hear Clarissa open her holster and raise her pistol towards me. She pulled the trigger and fired, I felt an intense pain form in my head before spreading to my whole body. It felt like I was on fire as if each atom in my body was being ripped apart. Then everything went black. It always started with a falling sensation. Then a rainbow of colors formed into a vibrant tunnel as I felt my consciousness reform. At the bottom of the tunnel, I could see a small cot in a windowless metal room with my own sleeping body laying on top of it. I fell towards it, my senses returning one by one, becoming fully formed once I reached the bottom of the tunnel and I watched as I slammed into my sleeping body. My eyes opened and I checked the clock. August 3rd, 2243, 11:50 PM. 24 hours ago. I slowly gathered myself and approached the door, looking at the two buttons, one to mark if this was the first time, and the other to mark if it wasn’t. I stood at the door, and pressed the 2nd button, causing the door to side open, leading to a larger planning room, with a table in the middle. The walls were covered in computer monitors, weapons and equipment, all things we had prepped for the coming mission. The one that had gone wrong, 24 hours from now. I looked up to see Clarissa, she looked at me, then she looked above me to look at the colored light above my head, and saw it was yellow, meaning the mission had gone bad, and she had to trigger a reset. Clarissa knew what the light meant, and she knew how much the process hurt. Before I could speak, she ran over to me and gave me a tight embrace. Whenever this happened, she always said the same thing to me. “Thank you, and hopefully you never have to again.” It was always the same sequence of words before and after every reset. Whether she knew it or not, I would probably never know, but it was the point of consistency in my weird and ever changing timeline. I sighed, before approaching the planning table. A timeline slider of the whole mission appeared on the screens. “Mark error point, minute 25, laser grid almost tripped” a marker appeared on the timeline. “Mark error point, minute 30, camera not disabled.” Clarissa stood silently, simply soaking in the information. I lived through each attempt, she had to process all the mistakes every single time. “Mark error point, minute 42, equipment failure due to rushed use.” Minutes passed, I listed every error and mistake I could remember. Eventually I got to the end. “All error points marked. Mark attempt number…” I paused, sometimes I would lie about how many times we had gone through the planning process. Clarissa knew how much I hated going through the reset process, she let out a sigh, then looked at me. “Listen, one last job. Then we can be done with all of this. I promise.” I looked her in the eyes, “Okay, let’s do this again.


#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: **Theme: ** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.)** - *Something is passed from one character to another.* This week’s challenge is to use the theme of **“blues”** in your story. Blues can be interpreted many different ways. Is it a cafe that hosts live blues performerances, maybe one with a little southern charm? Maybe you want to bring to life the deep, blue sea and all its majestic creatures. Blue is also a feeling, and can be inspiration for some emotionally bittersweet tales. It could be a character’s favorite color, or their name, or anything you think up! Blues (or the idea) should appear in some way within the story. You may interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and subreddit rules. You may include the theme word if you wish, but it is not necessary. Use of the bonus constraint is also not required. I’ve included an image for additional inspiration, but its use is **not required**. **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.)   *** #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/DmonRth - **Third:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/GrindingMyGrayMatter - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/katpoker666 *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 was a cold, rainy day outside, but Brady didn't mind. He just wanted to get out of the office for a few minutes. He felt drained and overwhelmed, like work was sucking the life out of him. Projects and action items were being piled on him with no regard for the backlog of deliverables he already had to produce. It was one thing after another, always being added to his plate. And then at home, it was all about his kids. Cleaning, cooking, breaking up fights, helping with homework. The never-ending whirlwind of responsibility never ceased to usurp his time. Exiting his cubicle, Brady didn't even bother to grab a coat or umbrella. The rain could soak right through his shirt for all he cared. He rushed through the lobby and straight out the glass doors into the pattering rain. Almost instantly, a sense of tranquility formed inside of him; it began to battle the established anxiousness. Brady breathed heavily, taking in the fresh, misty air. With each lungful, he could feel tranquility making another advance. And as it did, his walking pace waned into a more relaxed state. After a short while, he found himself being greeted by a family of geese. There were two larger ones, which he presumed to be the adults, and four baby goslings, who were trailing their parents. The rain trickled off the backs of the mother and father. But the little goslings had soft, furry feathers which soaked up the rain. Their bodies shuddered in the cold, trying to keep warm. As Brady watched, he could see that the mother and father were also starting to shake. Perhaps they too were cold, worn down by the pouring rain. The little goslings waddled over to their mother and father; they poked at the parents, signaling that they wanted something. Understanding of what was needed, the parents took one of their children under each wing, so that all four kin were protected. The little baby geese nuzzled their heads against their parents' torsos. They looked up with what Brady thought to be a gaze of adoration. *Honk! Honk!* the adults sounded happily, holding their children close. Brady's thoughts drifted to his own family. How his kids rushed to him when they were scared or hurt. How they would hold on to him, never wanting to let go. The last time there was a storm. Eli, his youngest son, raced into the room and jumped into his arms, crying in excruciating pain. A tear trickled down Brady's cheek and he pinched his lips together. He felt so bad at the time, seeing his son scared and crying. But now, the memory swirled warmly inside of his heart, soothing his mind and body. With a big, beaming smile, Brady wiped his eyes, then walked away while waving to the geese. "Bye, little geese." *Honk! Honk!* one of the adults replied as Brady headed back toward the office. With every step closer to the glass doors that he took, a small piece of his smile died. He could feel anxiousness reclaiming its ground. Tranquility yielding some of its prior gains. But the walk had served its purpose, and perhaps now he could make it through the day.


The coals smolder among the morning dew on the grass. John and Euchivik lay on pelts strewn across the cold ground while the birds begin their songs. John stokes the remaining embers before placing a pot of water to boil. He admires Euchvik as her chest rises and falls. As John adds herbs to the pot, Euchvik makes her way out of the tent over to John and smacks the back of his head. She takes the herbs out of the boiling water before adding just one back. John watches as she adds the other herbs back in one at a time until the steep is done. They sit in silence briefly while sipping on the tea as an albino deer croses their path grazing just a few feet from them. After their drinks are finished, Euchvik tells John to help her pack up quickly so they can follow the deer. After the equipment is packed, Euchvik tracks the deer into the woods. Both of them notice the light begin to fade with each step. The tree trucks become wider and closer together. Euchvik stops in her tracks suddenly while John awaits her instructions. Carefully, the two of them slow their pace while continuing forward. Euchvik switches from being hyper aware of her surroundings to suddenly awestruck. She takes a stick from the ground and strikes the nearest tree. The entire forest lights up a vibrant magenta exuding from the source of the strike. Euchvik continues forward stopping every step watching as her feet light up as she smiles with glee. John has to jog just to keep up with her, yet still on guard. As John catches up to her, he observes the look on her face. She seems to be listening intently, although he can sense no danger in the immediate surroundings. John follows Euchvik a few more paces before the come to a stream of flowing water inside what looks like an aqueduct untouched by nature. The water is clear from the top with the sides and bottom the same bright magenta as before. Both of them look up from the stream to find an enormous structure with water flowing from the top at all sides and even more aqueducts leading to the center. They step over the stream together taking in the surroundings for a moment before Euchvik sits near one of the corners of the aqueducts. John keeps moving toward the center touching the columns with his fingers. There are no bumps or imperfections. No signs of decay or other life are present at the moment. The only sound is the water rushing past slowly. John turns to the middle startled for a moment. A woman stands in the center observing him. Not only are her clothes translucent, the women herself is see through. She becons him closer as John feels himself fighting a trance. His feet begin moving as the woman's arms open up to embrace him. Euchvik grabs his collar pulling him past herself and onto the ground as he returns his mind back to reality. He first looks to Euchvik before his eyes drift past her to the sheer drop just behind her. She grabs a leaf from her pocket and drops it into the water and watches it cycle around, dropping into the void like space.


#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 Roundtable Discussion Today, I want to talk about tenses in writing: past and present (and future if you really want to torture yourself). Choosing the right one for your story is important, but can be tricky. So tell me about your favorite! - Which tense do you prefer writing in? What about as a reader? - How do you decide which tense to use for a story? - Have you ever caught yourself switching tenses midway through a story? (I’m definitely guilty of that one!) - 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.