\*\*An Interest in Waterboarding\*\*  “I’m interested in waterboarding. And not in any sort of masochistic way. At least as far as I’m aware. I had already sort of been fascinated by it, but I’ve sort of been taken by the notion that you can never really know someone, you can just have images of them. I think that illuminated the path to that, admittedly, rather strange desire.  “Before, I thought that I thought it was interesting because a lot of the time I feel like I’m drowning while also being fully aware that I’m not. And I figured there was some deeper need to experience a real, physical manifestation of that feeling. Like if I could experience real drowning, it would put my daily miseries into the proper context. If I’m experiencing drowning at like a 6 because I’m tired of my job but have specialized myself into a corner where I won’t be able to pay back the money to achieve that specialization unless I continue. And my baseline of drowning is like a 3, I feel like I’m drowning twice as much as normal. But if I got waterboarded which would be like a 30 or whatever, that would sort of make it feel small in comparison, right?  “But now I’m thinking that if we only have images of other people, isn’t that true of ourselves too? We have really a very small range of experiences most of the time so we have some reasonable expectation of how we’ll react. But how many people will really, actually be tortured in their life? And it’s depicted in movies all the time isn’t it? I think people have some idea of whether they’d give in and reveal the location of the secret base or whatever. But you can’t know, can you? And waterboarding is supposed to be torture without the damage. At least physical anyway, I’m not trying to minimize what I’m sure can have a lasting psychic trauma associated with it, especially when repeated I’d imagine. But my feeling is that because mine would be a voluntary ordeal I could do it if someone I know was trained to do it.  “I read about this terrorist who would laugh and count down the seconds that they were legally allowed to waterboard him for. I think secretly we all think we’re that guy, you know? It’s really sort of a masculine thought. Like I kind of understand now why guys drink themselves into the ER thinking they’re Andre the Giant or something. We feel like we can take it, you know? I used to think of all the biological variables that go into alcohol tolerance and just pity these ordinary looking people for thinking they could possibly be extraordinary in that totally useless way. Isn’t it better to have a low tolerance anyway? Like it’s cheaper and doesn’t take as long.  “But anyway, now I think my fascination with waterboarding is more about revealing that dark corner of my self portrait. And now that I’m explaining it this way, I’m kind of realizing that the way we know ourselves isn’t actually different to the way we know others, it’s really just different in degree, and so maybe you can really know people? Or does it mean you’re just a stranger to yourself?”  The man across the table blinked and said “I meant interests as in like… podcasts.


Our load was from Carson CA to Chicago. Picked up in CA on Monday and load due in IL Wednesday morning. We knew we were going to be driving into some bad weather, but we've spent whole winters in the NE and been in lots of snow and ice. Six years experience, each. My co-driver, Preston and I were well prepared, extra water, extra food, warm clothes, truck just fully serviced. We're good to go. We thought we'd beat the worst of it and make it to Chicago. Worst case we'd lay over in a hotel once we got there and wait for conditions to improve. I drive days and Preston drives nights. We switched shifts in St Robert MO. It had been raining since about Tulsa and the temperature had been steadily dropping, but still in the 40's. Watching the radar closely and saw the snow bands coming but still thought we could make it to Chicago before the worst of the storm hit. Just north of Bloomington IL, things go from meh to terrible in just a few miles. Preston started seeing jackknifed trucks everywhere. He's driving about 15-20 mph and it's still really sketchy. He decided he needed to get off the road. The Limestone Rest Area is 30 miles ahead and he decides that's where he's going to stop. Even that distance, took several hours, but he made it safely and parks on the shoulder at the rest area entrance. We're good. I hadn't slept very well even though I trust Preston's driving ability 100%, I knew what was ahead and how things can go south in a second, so I was up at about 0630 (normally 0800). I get up and come out of the sleeper and it's bad. Really bad. Really windy, blowing snow, truck is covered in ice. Preston is telling me how bad it was and I thank him for getting us safely off the road. What little traffic is still on I-55 is crawling. Shortly after, the state police close the interstate. We're good though, more than a quarter tank of fuel, plenty of food and water, safely off the road. That quarter tank will easily last 50-60 hours at idle. It is what it is, but we're safe and warm. These trucks at idle will build up soot in the diesel exhaust filter. After about 6-8 hours of idling they will run an automatic "re-gen" where the diesel engine runs up the idle and burns off the soot. So it starts it's re-gen, which is no big deal. Normally. About 15 minutes into the re-gen, alarms start going off. WTF? Low coolant alarm, overheat warning, engine shutdown warning. This isn't good. I think, eh, the grill probably has snow and ice blocking the airflow, probably not that bad. I get out to look and I see the bright red all over what snow hadn't been melted by the hot coolant, there's coolant all over the ground. This is bad. I take a look under the truck and under the hood, trying to determine where the leak is. Hoping maybe because it overheated, it just blew off some coolant. We'll add some and perhaps we'll be good. So we add coolant and start the truck back up. All the alarms are cleared, maybe we're okay. I get out to look and there's a steady stream of coolant coming out from right below the radiator. Maybe it is just a hose. By the time I get back in the truck all the alarms are going off again. Now we keep tons of stuff in the truck to make at least temporary repairs so we can get back on the road. If it's just a hose or a broken clamp or something, we can fix it. Then I think, if it's not something simple and I get down in the snow and get wet and colder and I can't fix it, at least temporarily, now I'm colder and wetter and we have no heat in the truck. Probably better not risk it. That turns out to be a great decision. We start calling for roadside assistance and or a tow. We also call back to our shop in CA, hoping they can find someone to assist as our prospects are pretty bleak. Best case was 24 hours, mostly I'm told we can't even put you on a waiting list. Starting to look serious rather than just inconvenient. California calls back, "got a wrecker coming for you, ETA 90 minutes". That's amazing, thanks for the help, I owe you a twelve pack! Several hours go by, it's down to about 45 degrees in the truck. I call the wrecker company for an update. State Police are commandeering wreckers to try to clear the road. We're working our way towards you but still over 20 miles away and there's trucks crashed and jackknifed everywhere. Currently no ETA. This sucks. The wrecker company dispatch tells me that we're at the worst rest area in the state and that there's no facilities. We're parked too far away to even see if there's a building or not. Google Maps shows there's a building. But the dispatcher is local, surely he would know. What if we walk the nearly ½ mile to the building and it's closed? Or not heated? If we expend all the energy, get colder and wetter walking over there and have to walk back, we're screwed. We'll wait. A couple more hours go by, down to 35 degrees in the truck. We're bundled up but still cold. Can't run the truck even briefly. This is really bad. About another hour goes by and we both, within about 5 minutes of each other, start uncontrollably shivering. We have to do something. We're about 5 miles south of Pontiac IL. Out of extreme positive thinking, I try Uber and Lyft both, yeah, that's not going to happen. I Google taxi's, yeah, no. I trythe. I try the CB radio for 20 minutes. No one even answers. I call the Pontiac police department and explain our situation. No, we're overwhelmed, try the State Police. I do, "sorry, nothing we can do, you're at a rest area, shelter inside the building." We gather up some supplies, I put plastic bags over my shoes to keep them dry, Preston has waterproof hiking shoes on. We're good. We set out for the rest area building and warm shelter. We hope. I don't want to sound overly dramatic, but this is my recollection... Now Preston is 30 years old and in decent shape. I'm 63, sadly a smoker and have put on far too much weight in 6 years of being on the road. But it's less than half a mile. I didn't even think about it, other than it's going to be cold. I might add here we live in Arizona, other than getting out to fuel or drop a trailer or the few other things we have to do when we're in cold weather, we don't really do cold. We're acclimated to the desert. About half way to the building, I realize I may be in trouble. The snow is shin deep, it's like 10 degrees. I'm already having trouble taking deep breaths because of the cold air. I ask Preston to slow down some, which he doesn't want to do, but thankfully he does. We keep walking, my chest starts hurting, I think to myself, not like heart attack pain, it's just because of the cold air. The building, shelter, is about another 100 yards. I got this. That last 100 yards was surreal, I don't want to say I saw my life flash before my eyes, but it was terrifying. I had to stop, I told him, "I don't think I'm going to make it". He was like whatever dude, it's right there. I felt like I was going to collapse. There's only a few times in my 63 years I can remember real fear. This was the top one. I prayed over the last 50 yards. Finally, inside, a coffee vending machine, something hot to drink. The best coffee I ever had in my life! It took me an hour to recover. I was embarrassed, how could I almost not be able to walk a ½ mile? I made a commitment to lose weight, excercise more and quit smoking. It took about 8 hours more for the wrecker to reach us. We got up to Batavia IL and a hotel finally at 0400. I passed out. Turns out it was the radiator, it had developed a leak. The next day we were back on the road.


A prince was once auditioning with his subjects when a frail beggar approached his throne. "What do you ask of me, beggar?" the prince asked. "Only a penny for the penniless," the destitute man answered. "A small expense for one such as you." The prince replied, "I will not spend money on you today." "Then you will be set upon by a curse. While now you sit content with your riches, no longer will you feel satisfied. Unease will be your life." And the beggar left the prince's hall. The prince was since becursed. The beggar was truthful; the prince could no longer feel at rest, content. Every moment was spent on the faint sense of wrongness. The prince felt haunted by something he couldn't understand, a strange feeling he never felt before. It felt similar to remorse, but the prince was sure he did nothing wrong. The next day, the prince summoned the beggar. "Lift this foul curse," he demanded. "Only for a penny," the scoundrel replied. The prince granted his wish reluctantly, and felt immense relief. The beggar came again the next morning. "I ask only for a penny," he repeated. "I already granted your wish once, fiend," the prince answered. "I will not again." "Then I curse you l once more. Never shall you have a restful sleep, and your nights will be full of worry." Twice, the beggar was correct. The prince awoke in the night feeling scared, and what sleep he did find granted no rest. He was tired and afraid, and once again haunted by something he couldn't place. In a week, he summoned the beggar. "Lift this curse, please!" he pleaded. "I will give you your penny in return." But the strange mam shook his head. "I have cursed you twice, and I demand two things. One, a single penny, and two, the title of lord." The prince may have refused, but he'd been a week without rest, suspicious and confused. Regretfully, he agreed, and the beggar was now lord. The next morning, the beggar lord came again. "I ask again for a penny. Surely a small price for a prince." "No," the prince said. "You are now lord and two pennies richer. Curse me again, devil, but I will not give in to your pleas." "And indeed, you will be cursed," the beggar lord ensured. "But by what, I will not say." For the next three months, the prince was paranoid. He knew something was wrong, but not what. Every shadow seemed to hold a knife, and he heard whispers when all was silent. Whispers that spoke of his misdeeds, silences that dripped sith regrets. Over three months, the prince was sent into madness. After three months, the beggar, using his lordship, had amassed great wealth and power. He came to the hall of the prince robed and bejeweled, surrounded by guards and courtiers. "I will lift your curse, prince," the now powerful lord said. "But I demand all the gold in your hoard, save for a single penny, for you to keep." The prince saw the guards and jewels and knew the beggar's wealth and influence surpassed his own. He feared for his life, for his sanity, and so, under great duress, he agreed. The prince was left with only a penny. After several years now, the prince has become destitute and beggared and ventures to the hall of the mighty lord who cursed him long ago. "I greet you warmly, sorcerer," he begand. The lord laughed in great delight. "I am no sorcerer, dear prince." "Then how did you curse me and rob me of my wealth?" "The only curse I ever gave you was the remorse of your own actions. You were restless, sleepless, mad, and poor because you were guilty of dismissing a penniless man. I performed no magic, only let you see the fault of your actions." The prince finally realised that the haunting feeling he had was simply that of a guilty man. He swallowed what pride he had left and made one request. "A penny for the penniless, please." The lord laughed again and tossed the empty-pocketed prince his penny without a second thought, a small expense for one such as him. The beggared prince left the lord's hall one penny richer that day, and one lesson wiser.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Please note: This feature has feedback requirements for participation. Please read the entire post before submitting.** 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.   *** #This week's theme is ‘Keepsakes! This week, let’s explore the theme of ‘keepsakes’. Think about the little things we hold onto over time and the memories these items hold. Grandma’s favorite knitting needle and her cookie jar, Mom’s necklace that she wore everyday, Dad’s baseball that he caught for his son at their first game, your best friends cherished CD of ridiculous music. Keepsakes come in all shapes and sizes. What do your characters feel when they hold them in their hands? Are the memories happy? What meaning do they hold for them? Maybe it represents a lesson they learned, a trip they took, the last moment with a loved one, or just a memory of a smile that warmed the room every time that person walked in. Let’s dive deep this week, show me your characters’ past, their fears, their pains, and how these things have guided them over time and helped them grow into the person they are now. These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. | |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * February 6 - Keepsakes (this week) * February 13 - Wrath * February 20 - Underdog   *** **Previous 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 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **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/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **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 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **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 (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **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 catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** *** #Announcing a Brand New Feature for Completed Serials on Serial Sunday! I can’t express how delighted and honored I am to watch each of you grow and meet the challenges every week. Let’s face it, it’s quite a feat to create a world from scratch and write a serial! And finishing a serial is an amazing accomplishment. Over the last year, we’ve had quite a few writers cross that finish line. It’s something that the writers should be incredibly proud of—those still working on them and those who have already completed them. I started thinking about those finished serials and all the ones to come; I realized that a congratulatory post just wasn’t enough. I want to give you the chance to show off your hard work! And so I present to you...SerialWorm! ###What is a SerialWorm? Writers who finish their serials (with at least 12 installments) will be allowed to read their *edited* serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s Voice Chat. This is to celebrate your accomplishments, see how it reads once it’s altogether, as well as provide some additional motivation to cross the finish line. After the final chapter is read, there will be a Q & A with the author. Questions can be submitted/asked at this time. ###Serial Worm Rules: **A minimum of 12 installments will be required to read.** Serials will need to be broken up into multiple sessions, as with any Discord Bookworm. **Only one bookworm event will be held at a time (including non-serial Bookworms).** You may still submit your finished serial to get on the list. **You need to be available to read your own serial.** Readers will not be provided. **Your serial must have gone through significant, final edits after its completion. All ‘SerialWorms’ must be approved.** SerialWorm is not for live feedback or edits, but to share your accomplishment with others and read your finished product aloud. **Completed and edited serials may have a maximum word count of 1150 per installment, with no more than 2 additional installments (not posted to Serial Sunday weekly threads).** **Serials must comply with r/ShortStories content rules. No exceptions.** **Authors must have met the rules of the weekly post.** This includes two feedback comments every week, as well as meeting the deadline. Those who miss more than 2 weeks of feedback in a 12-installment period will be ineligible for SerialWorm. This is a privilege, not a right. **SerialWorm authors must be Certified on the discord.** You must be given final approval by Bay. You can request the ‘SerialWorm’ role at any time on the Discord to be notified of upcoming SerialWorm events. ###SerialWorm Q & A To add a little something extra to make it different from the weekly campfire readings, there will be a discussion portion. *This is not for feedback on the writing*, but more an elaboration/extension on the basic questions I pose to every author in the Completed Serial Modpost, with a few extras. This is the time to ask about their writing journey, challenges they faced during their Serial, etc. The discussion portion of the SerialWorm will be after the final chapter is read. Questions can be submitted to Bay over the course of the SerialWorm or asked on the day-of. ***If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on our Discord!***   *** *** #Last Week’s Rankings As I recover from the flu, rankings will be postponed. Thank you for your patience.   *** #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) *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” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#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 via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: “Her destiny was calling.”** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - A written letter plays a role in the story.* This week’s challenge is to use one of the above sentences in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, or change the tense/pronoun if necessary, but the original sentence should stay intact. **Stories without one of the above sentences will be disqualified** from rankings. The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, 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. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - 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 and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that 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. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 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) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings As I recover from the flu, rankings are postponed. Thank you for your patience. *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


I sit quietly in my chair, headphones on as another mindless meeting drones on, my eyes are on the screen, but my mind is not focused. Days like these make me question what I’m doing with my life. My headphones are on, but the words coming through have no meaning. My mind drifts, as it often does, to the various items around my small apartment. Day’s like today, I retreat to a younger version of myself. I stand up and walk away from my computer. Despite being right at my ears, the meeting might as well be miles away. I walk over to my sofa, and examine the small vacuum cleaner still sitting out from the last time I cleaned. Carefully I unsnap the extended arm, and place the vacuum itself back onto the sofa. It’s only a few feet long, but it’s lightweight and balanced, easy to spin around. I look over and notice one of the foam dart guns sitting upon my bookshelf, a monument to simpler times, of great battles and lost darts scattered across friends' basements. With the vacuum arm in one hand, and the dart gun in the other, I hold them up and close my eyes.  I open my eyes and examine my surroundings. I am on a small freighter ship, delivering valuable goods across the andromeda galaxy. Alarms are blaring as pirates have attacked my ship and are about to board. I examine my equipment, press the small button at the base of my shield baton, with a whirr it powers up, a transparent grid of hexagons materialized forming a clear shield, a soft blue glow emanates from its exteriors. On my other hand is my trusty blaster, a M-23 plasma cartridge revolver. I press the button to release the drum, and with a stylish spin, the weapon rotates around my finger, the barrel now facing up towards me, with a quick glance, I confirm each of the 9 slots are ready and loaded. I spin the weapon back, and flick it to the side, allowing the cylinder to slide back into place with a satisfying click.  Quickly I move to the cargo control panel, and ensure the cargo is locked down and secure. The loudspeaker echoes in my head, a reminder of the impending threat. I can hear the pirates chattering in their alien tongue on the other side of my airlock, no doubt preparing to breach my small ship in an attempt to steal my precious cargo. I ready myself in front of the door, weapon drawn, shield at the ready, and wait patiently.  The control panel begins to flash as the pirates hack the door, it flashes red, faster and faster, until it suddenly turns green, and the door rapidly slides open. I raise my shield and quickly open fire with three quick shots, each hitting one of the pirates straight in the head, as they fall quickly to the ground. Their chatter continues as I fall back, they may have numbers, but I know my own ship, and quickly hide at the end of the small corridor, weapon drawn as they move towards me. When I know they are close, I swing my shield and bash the closest pirate straight in the face, stunning him and surprising those behind him, this moment of panic gives me the opening to fire off five more shots with quick precision, all while blocking each incoming shot with my shield, the bursts of plasma absorbing into my shield and dissipating the energy harmlessly outwards. Once the smoke clears, only one pirate remains, I stand tall and face him, as we silently stare at each other, he draws his sword, and begins to march forward. I aim my weapon and fire off the last shot from my pistol, as it harmlessly bounces off his plated armor. I take a few steps back, and set my blaster down on a nearby crate. I place my other hand on my shield and press a button, with a click the shield retracts then reorients into narrow cylinders out from either end of the baton, creating a makeshift staff. I grip the staff nervously as I take my stance, watching as the pirate walks slowly towards me, step by step. My grip tightens, and I plan my first strike.  “Mike? Are you still here?”  In an instant, the world around me shifts again, and I am back in my small apartment, holding the arm of a vacuum cleaner in a battle stance staring in the empty room that is my office. A wave of nostalgia passes over me as I gently place the arm down, being thankful that I'm on the 12th floor of a Highrise building, and it's very unlikely anyone saw me running around like a crazy person. The adult version of me quickly has to retake control, as the imaginative child that lives inside and escapes the fantastic worlds retreats back into my subconscious. I sit back on my computer, and try my best to figure out what was going on in the meeting, before my hand approaches my mouse and clicks the unmute button on the meeting.


#Hello r/ShortStories! Back in December we announced our , and you nominated and voted on all your favorite content from the past year. There were so many *great* stories submitted over the course of the year. All the votes have been counted and it’s time to check out the results! There are 15 categories with **one** winner each. Winners will receive our Community ‘Best Of’ Award, which will gift them with one month of Reddit Premium and ! Congrats to all the winners! #Results ###Best Serial Sunday Submission - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/ReverendWrites ###Best Micro Monday Submission - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c ###Best Science Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/NormanCrane ###Best Fantasy Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/WitchofKorcariWild ###Best Horror Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Zetakh ###Best Mystery & Suspense Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/hungryroses ###Best Realistic Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/LunarSault ###Best Historical Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Dmjhale ###Best Action & Adventure Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Red_Wolfheart ###Best Humor Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/JoshuaBarbeau ###Best Romance Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/ItsMeAmy88 ###Best Speculative Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/ArchipelagoMind ###Best Thriller Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Arkulite ###Best Urban Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/antihashcist ###Best Miscellaneous Fiction Story - **WINNER:** - Submitted by u/Futurefied   *** All winners should receive their awards shortly, which will be placed on the winning submission. Congrats to all of you and a special thank you to everyone on the Discord who helped out with last minute votes! Alright folks, that’s a wrap for 2021! Great job this past year, readers and writers! I hope this new year brings great things for you each and I look forward to meeting back here in December.


I am not as crazy as everyone thinks I am. In fact, I’m not crazy at all, but what was I to do? Growing up in a big family makes it hard to feel distinguished. Everybody is always running around, screaming, getting better grades than you, getting more spoiled than you, it’s only natural that I started to act, let’s say, *special*. And since I went to school with my siblings, well, it was only natural to keep up the act at school too. It was all fun and games at first, it didn’t take much to make people think something was wrong, jumping more than was needed when my brother touched my shoulder, getting defensive faster than usual with my sisters, it was almost *too* easy. The thing is, people get used to it, you become known as the “stressed kid” at school, but no one thinks you’re *crazy*, so they stopped paying attention to me, my siblings were doing way more interesting things than me, of course, so I had to become crazier. I started rocking back and forth when watching tv, started mumbling to myself, I started replying to my brothers when they hadn’t asked a question and got offended by things my sisters hadn’t said, it didn’t take long before the attention was on me again. And god was it blissful to have that attention again. My parents eventually got me a psychiatrist, which was the epitome of being interesting. You *must* be pretty interesting for a psychiatrist to keep seeing you, right? I mean, those guys study for *years* to get where they are, if I can fool them, I can fool anyone. The day my psychiatrist told my parents I would need to be hospitalised I was ecstatic. What could be better than to be *constantly watched*? I was finally the star of the show. It all started crumbling though when I really did start to hear my siblings when they weren’t there, and I *knew* they weren’t there because I had been sent into isolation for getting into a fight, again. I heard my brother call my name in the left corner, I heard my sister ask if she could braid my hair in front of the door, I *felt* them near me. That was the first time it happened, but since then it has happened again, and again, and again, always at times when I know I’m alone. They’re always saying the same thing now. “Look at your file.” There’s a law or something that says that hospitals are legally obligated to show you your file if you ask for it, and after sleepless nights of my siblings telling me I need to look at it, I finally cracked. I wish I hadn’t. You see, the thing is I’m not *really crazy*, it’s all an act, and it wasn’t supposed to go this far. I just wanted attention and with what’s in my file, I think they might’ve mistaken me for someone *extremely* similar to me. Yes, that must be what happened.  You see, my file says I’m an only child.


The Dark Lord Helshep was in a council meeting as they were laying out the plans for the next phases of his subjugation of the Stolen Hills region. “My Lord, I suggest we launch a full-force strike here and here,” he said, pointing to points on the map. “Yuu, will this work?” Helshep asked, turning to his oldest friend. She shook her head. “No, the Hills are a veritable fortress. Even Alex will have issues taking them by sheer force,” she explained. Vestari, however, looked offended. “You will refer to Master as My Lord or Lord Helshep. None of this given name stuff,” he snarled. “Oh yeah, tell me who has known him longer? Huh, you big dork,” she said as she squared up against him. “ENOUGH YOU ARE BEING DISRESPECTFUL TO THE BOSS!!” a voice boomed from Silvers Greyback. Both looked suitably admonished. “We can shelve the strategy for later. No need to rush this. I’ve got an idea brewing I think could help regardless, and a bit of time to smooth things out could help,” Helshep said before turning to Serena. “Tell me, Serena, what news on the Heroes party?” he asked. The entire chamber went silent. Few knew what he really was asking about. “Our scouts that we have keeping an eye on them report they have defeated a troll mountain,” she answered. “Just a mountain troll?” one of the officers scoffed. “No General, a Troll Mountain. As in a troll that has grown to the size of a mountain,” she clarified. The General went very pale at the idea. “Where was it?” another asked. “The Dune Sea, apparently it was hidden under a massive set of dunes and recently awoke. The Heroes party swooped in and won the fight by blowing it to dust,” she explained. “What of their Mage… Alice, I believe her name was? She seems like someone who could become a serious threat. Should we not have her eliminated?” another general asked. The room’s temperature dropped by a few degrees as those who knew could only watch the man walking on ice that was creaking. “No, I find her rather entertaining. She shall be left alone,” Helsheps voice echoed around the chamber. A voice that was devoid of all emotion. “I think we should take a break. We sinful lords and close confidants of Lord Helshep can have a friendly chat in private,” Yuu suggested trying to save the general from himself. The room gave a few nods, and the majority left. Leaving only Yuu, the Sinful Lords, Helshep himself with only Heek, the beastling servant, as the only other one present. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop a few rooms over. Yuu looked around and just sighed. “Looks like I’ve got to be the one,” she said, turning to Helshep. “Go on, Alex, get it out your system,” she said, giving a vague gesture in his direction. Helshep looked around the room. His face that was a mask of stern stone reflecting a harsh and brutal life he had lived since he first rose to the throne. At Yuu’s prompting, this mask vanished and was replaced by a man beaming with pride. “Oh, my Gods Yuu!!! She fought a Troll Mountain!!!!!” he yelled with unrestrained joy as he picked up his best friend in a mammoth bearhug before spinning her around. “Bet she’s gotten even stronger,” he was now bouncing like a child the night before Winters Gifting. Putting Yuu down, he rushed over to a wall and moved the curtain against it out the way. It was a map of the world with notes on each of the Heroes party’s exploits. If anyone else saw this, they’d just think he was keeping track of a genuine threat. But the people in this room all knew he was just a dumb doting dad. “That makes this her seventh disaster class monster to date!” he said, pinning a new note to the map. “Actually, boss, that'll be her eighth. They apparently fought an elder dragon as they were sailing over to the Dune Sea,” Heek said. “Why wasn’t this reported?!” he boomed, turning to face the room. “Well, sir, it was a private sailing ship they bought themselves. Also, I only received word of it this morning through our messenger system. I was going to pass it to you later,” Heek explained. “Even better!!” he beamed, adding an extra pin into the Straight of Balthazar. “Master, I hope when the day comes where you will stand on opposite sides, you will take the good of the nation into consideration,” Vestari said. “Huh?” Helshep uttered, confused. “Sorry I wasn’t listening. What was that Vestari?” he said, turning and actually paying attention to his Vizier. “I said will you fight her if you have to?” he asked. “Of course, I will. She is my pride and joy. But she still needs to learn which opponents she should face. I won’t kill her, just a friendly parental beat down,” he said. The crowd were visibly reassured. They often worried about him when it came to his family. As in regards to both his adopted children and his children by blood, he often lost all sense of logic and became an uncontrollable storm. “You know, looking back when I first met her, I knew she had to be your kid Boss,” Silvers said. “Oh?” Helshep said, turning suspiciously towards him. “Yes, Boss, I didn’t think meeting a fifteen-year-old would make me near wet my breeches. Let alone the daft girl turned a useless pebble into pure gold,” he explained. “She did what?!” Helshep beamed as he rushed to stick a pin into Port Staine. “Hopefully, that party will get some common sense drummed into her head,” Yuu muttered. “Doubtful, I’m sorry to say she and Sir Victor are more than likely corrupting the Heroes common sense,” Heek said knowingly. “Well, those that can rise to the top of this world are often those who never really understood that normal crap,” Yuu said, sidling up to Helshep. “Indeed, we blew ourselves up quite a bit back then,” Helshep said, reminiscing with her. While they were lost in their revelry, a knock came at the door. The officers had returned from their break and were ready to resume. “Hey Alex, get your face back on,” Yuu said, jabbing his ribs with her elbow. His face returned to his stern political stone-faced shape with a few slaps. “Enter!” his voice boomed, returning to its emotionless state. The generals shuffled in and around the table. “Ok, I have a plan, and it is inspired by how the heroes beat the Troll Mountain,” he said, letting a sinister grin show.  for more my nonsense go to r/Random3X  extra note: this was originally a response to a WP that was removed thought let people here enjoy it.


Quinn dozed off in front of her brother’s grave. Her seated posture swayed closer and closer until her helmet bumped into the headstone with a clatter. She jerked awake, looking around the forest glade with a frantic expression, before slumping her shoulders with relief. “Sorry, Caleb,” she said, wiping imaginary dirt off the stone. “The council’s been running me ragged. Everyone’s pushing their limits to catch Sylas and his mages.” Her body felt slow when she got up, like the caked mud on her legs was concrete and gravel ground her joints. She could feel the roots and stones under her boots, the soles weathered flimsy thin from her nonstop marching through the hinterlands of northern Demacia. By the distance Valor was sitting, she didn’t smell the best either. She pointed a finger up the sky, twirling it clockwise, and watched as a giant eagle, perched atop the tallest tree, stretched its large blue wings and flew up in the air. While Valor scouted the vicinity, Quinn limbered up her body for the last march. She’d been combing west to east of the hinterlands in search of the mages’ whereabouts but nothing crucial had been discovered. She’d found nobles and their aides dead on the roads but when it came to magic she wasn’t sure what clues she could rely on. Some of the dead had their throats cut, others seemed to have been executed by suffocation with no rope marks around their necks. There were no trails of footprints on the grounds to track, no broken twigs or blood on leaves. The whole thing was more of a ghost hunt than chasing rebels. The villagers weren’t any help either. Each settlement had been tight-lipped and too scared to share anything. The worst was that Quinn didn’t know whether it was the mages or the mageseekers the villagers feared. There were quite a few mage-sympathizers, oblivious to how terrifying magic was. Quinn adjusted her leather tunic, tightened her greaves and spaulders. Her last spot to check was a remote farm town bordering the foreign nations of Freljord and Skaggornland. A place she hadn’t visited in almost a decade, her hometown Uwendale. Her gaze lingered over the dirt and cracks on her repeating crossbow as she refilled it with bolts. Her father’s handcrafted weapon had been through a lot. She wasn’t sure how to meet her parents without feeling guilty for not writing enough over the years. There was also the difficulty of her position as a ranger-knight of Demacia. Would the town welcome her as a returning daughter or greet her like an official knight on duty? The screech of Valor snapped her back to the present. Her partner had found something and was circling near the towering mountain walls separating Demacia and the snow-covered region of Freljord. “Talk to you later, Caleb,” she said to the headstone and jogged towards the mountain base. The greens of the forest faded as the elevation rose. Dark tree trunks paled to white as linden and oak transitioned to birch and aspen. Quinn trudged on, glancing up at the foothills and following the shadow of Valor. Leaves rustled and a faint wind brushed past. Quinn stopped in her tracks. During spring, the wind normally carried with it scents of budding pomes and fresh sprouts, not the sickening-sweet odor of death. She raised a hand and clenched her fist, signaling Valor the change of plans. The scent had been close, brushing up the slopes towards the mountains due to the warm noon air. A movement lumbered through the line of trees, crossing her left periphery. Quinn sensed the growl more than heard it. She pulled out her crossbow, finger ready at the trigger when a large wolf stumbled into vision. Nasty gashes covered its body, open wounds festered and putrid. The wolf must’ve been in intense pain, yet it growled and raised its hackles at Quinn. Its glare had a wild look and froth dripped out of its bared fangs. Two bolts pierced its skull and the wolf dropped to the ground. When only the hushed wind replied, Quinn stepped closer. She’d done her best to make it a quick death for the rabid wolf and the bolts had struck true, killing the beast in an instant. The wounds in the body were the opposite of swift, deep gouges by talons bigger than any bird Quinn knew of. Valor plunged from the sky, a blue blur diving towards a bush. The bush shrieked and hissed. A boy jumped out, waving his hands in an attempt to fend off the bird. A raccoon scuttled away, its striped tail brushing past Quinn’s ankles. “Get’ im off! Get’ im off!” the boy shouted. “It’s killing me!” Quinn shook her head in disbelief. The lack of sleep must’ve really taken its toll on her if she couldn’t even detect a kid. “Valor would’ve already cut your throat if he deemed you a threat,” she said and held out her right arm. “He’s just messing with you.” The azurite eagle flew to Quinn, landing on the horn-adorned bracer covering the arm. The boy was a mess on the ground, struggling against his cloak. On a closer look, the emblem of a hawk was sewn on the hood. “You’re a ranger-in-training?” Quinn asked. “Huh? Yes, how do you…” His gaze flickered between the giant eagle, Quinn’s helmet, back to the eagle, the repeating crossbow. “You’re Quinn!” he burst out. “Wow, can I shake —” Quinn aimed the crossbow at the boy. “What’s the first rule of survival?” Color disappeared from the boy’s face. “Wha…?” “The first rule of survival. Three seconds.” “I don’t…” “Three. Two.” “*Always assume someone’s after you!*” The boy shouted, hands over his head, eyes pinched shut. Quinn gave a nod and put the safety on her crossbow and latched it to her belt. She caught the glare of Valor. “Of course, I trust your judgment,” she said to her partner, “but it’s always good to double-check.” She then turned her attention back to the boy. “What’s your name? “Adam.” The boy slowly stumbled out of his cloak and stood up, his gaze locked warily on Quinn. He seemed to have had his growth spurt, matching Quinn in height, although his face had yet to catch up. Hair like tumbleweed framed round cheeks and bombardment of freckles. “And your companion?” Quinn nodded towards a tree root where a striped tail could be seen. “Dash,” the boy said gloomily. Hearing its name, the raccoon crawled out of its hiding place and ran up the boy’s cloak, nestling itself by the scruff of his neck. “What a good partner you are,” Adam muttered. “Aren’t you a little bit far from Uwendale for a trainee?” Quinn asked, “And why are you alone?” “I’m watching the western perimeter alone because warden Mealla trusts in my abilities.” Adam jutted out his chest. “Was tracking the rabid wolf when I heard it growl and decided to hide.” That was strange, Quinn had sent the majority of Uwendale’s rangers east, to watch the borders by the Greenfang Mountains, but there should still be a handful left in the town. At least enough to not need to send a single rookie to scout. “Do all knights scowl?” Adam asked. He flinched by Quinn’s expression and quickly added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it.” “What about the town watch?” she asked, “Two guards could’ve been stationed with you.” “Busy with the festival,” Adam said. He walked to the dead wolf, grimacing over the wounds. “This is horrible.” Dash, the raccoon, peeked out from under the cowl and ran down to the wolf’s head. Its small fingers grabbed one of the bolts and waggled it free. “What festival?” Quinn asked. “The Slayer’s festival, what else?” Her head throbbed under the helmet. Her feet ached and the rotten smell made Quinn nauseous. There were so many things she needed answered, then there was the thing Valor had spotted. “Adam and Dash, was it?” she asked, “You’ll have to come with me. There’s something I need to check on. I’ll also need you to update me on the current situation of Uwendale and this festival.” She let Valor fly again and began to ascend the foothills. When no sounds of steps trailed behind, she turned around with a questioning look. “Why up the Rocky Mountains?” he asked with an unsure voice, “Are the Freljordians going to attack us?” “Hardly,” Quinn said, “climbing straight through the mountains is suicidal. We’re just going to the base to check on something.” “I think I’ll stay here,” Adam insisted, “The warden told me to keep watch of the western forest and the mountain is not included.” “You know my name,” Quinn said, raising her voice, “then you must know that I’m a ranger-knight of Demacia and the highest ranked out of all the rangers. My order overrules the warden of Uwendale. I’m ordering you to follow.” The boy looked like he was caught between a boar and a bull. His eyes flickered between Quinn and to the east, where the town of Uwendale would appear after two hours of marching. Finally, he seemed to prioritize the closest threat and joined next to the ranger-knight. A bitter taste spread over Quinn’s tongue. She hated using her rank to bully people into submission but the exhaustion dragged out her ugly side. She thought about apologizing but dismissed the idea. She had pulled the rank-card, might as well stick with her draw. A small noise made her look down. Dash extended a bloody bolt towards her as an offering.  \*\*\*\*\*  The hinterlands of Demacia had been Quinn and Caleb’s playground when they were young. While they had explored the foothills and the forests, they had seldom climbed up the mountains. Past the craggy walls lay nests of wyverns and those beasts were not something the siblings had wanted to encounter. The flying reptiles were troublesome enough for Uwendale when they attacked the village during harvest season. What Valor had found was a dead wyvern, splayed on a rocky surface. They were at an overhang, made of mostly rock and some stubborn patches of grass. thirty feet above ground. The wyvern’s wings dangled over the mountainside, the membrane torn. Its talons were bent, neck and belly punctured and maimed. The wounds on the neck indicated fanged beasts, and the smudges of dried blood on the stones had a few paw marks. Most likely a pack of wolves. Quinn knelt next to the corpse, pressing her fingers against the wyvern’s soft neck and belly. “Have the wyverns moved their territories down the mountains?” Adam, standing a distance away and holding his nose, shook his head. “They might’ve even retreated further up ever since the Slayer killed four of them a few weeks ago.” “Did anyone see this ‘Slayer’ kill them?” Quinn prodded the wyvern’s leg, feeling stiffness. “It would seem a bit silly to have a festival in his honor, if he hadn’t done anything.” “No, but the wyverns’ heads were caved in, like the dead bandits on the road and the rabid wolves, so it’s probably made by the same person.” “So this one wasn’t done by the Slayer?” Quinn plucked out a dagger and pried away a few scales on the wyvern. “I guess not. What are you doing?” She sank her dagger into the wyvern’s thigh, carving a line through skin and flesh. She made a fist with her gloved hand and dug into the new wound, breathing through her mouth to lessen the foul stench. She pushed her hand upwards, feeling rock-hard muscles, sinews like steel wire, and mushed jelly. A dark, watery liquid trickled out of the cut. “Blood is thick and separated,” she concluded, retracting her arm and wiping it on the grass. “Corpse-stiffness had not yet disappeared from its legs. So between half a day to two days old, I would say.” Adam looked as if he wanted to vomit. “Was that really necessary?” “Rule number two,” Quinn said, “Survival never takes second place to dignity. Seen anything interesting over the past two days?” “Not much except for people on the roads heading towards Uwendale for the festival.” “Right, a festival celebrating an unknown hunter for presumably killing a few beasts, how does that make sense?” Adam cleared his throat and said in an exaggerated low voice, “These are trying times, so we should find reasons to celebrate, however small.” The imitation softened Quinn’s expression and the end of her lips pinched slightly upwards. “Was that Samuel?” she asked, “Is he still the mayor?” “And still selling his lamb pies. Been saying how grateful he is to the Slayer because of all the potential cattle saved.” That did sound like the mayor of Uwendale. The hefty man had a thing for finding the stars in the darkest nights. “Could it have been wolves?” Adam asked, inching closer to the wyvern’s carcass. That had been Quinn’s guess too but things didn’t add up. “So a pack of wolves climbed up the mountains, found a wyvern and decided to attack it and won with no casualties, then climbed down without leaving any footprints on the way down?” Adam had no reply, instead he squatted down next to the wyvern and stared into its dead eyes. “A corpse torn to death by jaws and claws,” he murmured, “and a swift kill by arrows. It’s like an omen isn’t it?” “What omen?” Quinn asked while walking around the rocky surface, her eyes scouring the cracks on the wall. Water trickled out from a hole and dribbled in a thin downstream no wider than a hand. “Kindred’s omen.” She turned around with a blank expression. The boy shrugged. “You know, Lamb with her bow bringing a swift death and Wolf with his crushing jaws for a violent ending. Don't these two kills remind you of the Eternal Hunters?” A memory emerged from the depths of Quinn’s mind, of her and mother, clothed in gray, watching her father shovel dirt onto Caleb’s coffin. She remembered her father stopping halfway, unable to hold the shovel steady. There was the village elder, in a mask half white and half black, comforting her father, saying in a raspy voice that Caleb had been blessed with Lamb’s arrow, a quick death. She hadn’t understood what the village elder had meant with the arrows then as she had seen with her own eyes how the tuskvore had gored her brother to death with horns. Lamb and Wolf, together they were Kindred, the Eternal Hunters. The gods of death. She had forgotten about them, the stories of Kindred had been left behind when she traveled to the Great City to become a knight. While Kindred were known among the citizens, The Winged Protector had been the more revered deity in Demacia’s capital. “Is Kindred’s omen a bad thing?” Quinn asked. “Can omens be a good thing?” Adam countered. A small bark grabbed their attention. Dash had followed the stream of water further down. He held up a wet wyvern scale. “Maybe the wolves cleaned themselves in the water,” Adam suggested. “The stream is too small for a whole pack of wolves,” Quinn said. “And there would’ve been blood on the way. Maybe if they rubbed…” Quinn paused. She took a closer look at the patch of grass she had wiped her hands on. The watery blood trickled down the blades and into the soil. The dirt was loose, not from mountain winds but as if someone had scraped claws and paws against it. Straws of grass lay crumbled and flattened. She checked the other patches and found them to be the same. “No,” she said, “I guess omens can’t be a good thing.”   \ ***DISCLAIMER*** ***‘The Tales We Tell’ is a non-profit work of fan fiction, based on the game League of Legends.*** ***I do not own League of Legends or any of its material. League of Legends is created and owned by Riot Games Inc. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of League of Legends belong to Riot Games Inc.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Please note: This feature has feedback requirements for participation. Please read the entire post before submitting.** 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.   *** #This week's theme is ‘Wrath’! This week, we’re going to explore ‘wrath’. I’d like you to dig deep, again. Let’s think about each of your characters, and once again look back on what their motivations and desires are. Dig down to their core. What would truly anger them, really bring out their unbridled anger? How will this play out; how would they react? Is it a rational reaction or do their feelings cause them to blow the situation out of proportion? Everyone has that one trigger. Why does it invoke such a feeling within them? Will they be able to cope with the obstacles you’ve thrown in their path? Will this change their journey or path? How does this affect their goals? And what about those around them? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * February 13 - Wrath (this week) * February 20 - Underdog * February 27 - Optimism   *** **Previous 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 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **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/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **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 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **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 (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **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 catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** *** #Announcing a Brand New Feature for Completed Serials on Serial Sunday! I can’t express how delighted and honored I am to watch each of you grow and meet the challenges every week. Let’s face it, it’s quite a feat to create a world from scratch and write a serial! And finishing a serial is an amazing accomplishment. Over the last year, we’ve had quite a few writers cross that finish line. It’s something that the writers should be incredibly proud of—those still working on them and those who have already completed them. I started thinking about those finished serials and all the ones to come; I realized that a congratulatory post just wasn’t enough. I want to give you the chance to show off your hard work! And so I present to you...SerialWorm! ###What is a SerialWorm? Writers who finish their serials (with at least 12 installments) will be allowed to read their *edited* serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s Voice Chat. This is to celebrate your accomplishments, see how it reads once it’s altogether, as well as provide some additional motivation to cross the finish line. After the final chapter is read, there will be a Q & A with the author. Questions can be submitted/asked at this time. ###Serial Worm Rules: **A minimum of 12 installments will be required to read.** Serials will need to be broken up into multiple sessions, as with any Discord Bookworm. **Only one bookworm event will be held at a time (including non-serial Bookworms).** You may still submit your finished serial to get on the list. **You need to be available to read your own serial.** Readers will not be provided. **Your serial must have gone through significant, final edits after its completion. All ‘SerialWorms’ must be approved.** SerialWorm is not for live feedback or edits, but to share your accomplishment with others and read your finished product aloud. **Completed and edited serials may have a maximum word count of 1150 per installment, with no more than 2 additional installments (not posted to Serial Sunday weekly threads).** **Serials must comply with r/ShortStories content rules. No exceptions.** **Authors must have met the rules of the weekly post.** This includes two feedback comments every week, as well as meeting the deadline. Those who miss more than 2 weeks of feedback in a 12-installment period will be ineligible for SerialWorm. This is a privilege, not a right. **SerialWorm authors must be Certified on the discord.** You must be given final approval by Bay. You can request the ‘SerialWorm’ role at any time on the Discord to be notified of upcoming SerialWorm events. ###SerialWorm Q & A To add a little something extra to make it different from the weekly campfire readings, there will be a discussion portion. *This is not for feedback on the writing*, but more an elaboration/extension on the basic questions I pose to every author in the Completed Serial Modpost, with a few extras. This is the time to ask about their writing journey, challenges they faced during their Serial, etc. The discussion portion of the SerialWorm will be after the final chapter is read. Questions can be submitted to Bay over the course of the SerialWorm or asked on the day-of. ***If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on our Discord!***   *** *** #Rankings ###Two Week’s Ago - - by u/stickfist   - - by u/WorldOrphan   - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/ispotts ###This Past Week - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/bantamnerd   - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/FyeNite   *** #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) *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” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#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 via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Image: ** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - Use at least **three** of the following words: wilted, starstruck, bucket, gastly, whirlwind, Corpse Lily.* 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.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, 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. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - 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 and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that 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. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 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) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings ###Two Weeks Ago: The day began like any other - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/FyeNite   - - Submitted by u/gurgilewis   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666 *** ###This Past Week: Destiny was calling - - Submitted by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - Submitted by u/AliciaWrites   - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/FyeNite *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


The original Monkey’s Paw. That was truly a classic, and Azimut was a freaking genius. Also, you know, right place/right time. 1523 was a great year. No Monkey’s Paws today though. We’re necessarily more subtle now, but that doesn’t mean we’re not effective. I like to think it’s no coincidence that our department awards come out the week after Mother’s Day. Second highest rate of suicide attempts of the year! Go team! The awards really should be coming out today, and to be totally honest, I feel like my chances are better this year than ever. I almost had it last year, but *of course* Thalimeth that giant kiss ass took it home. Was *a step stool that causes you to lose half a centimeter in height every time you use it* really award-worthy? Grow up. I’m in early, just like I have been every day for the last month, and I’ve got a feeling that in the current more politicized environment that carries a lot of weight. Not even Thalimeth is here yet. Minute after minute, the rest of them trickle in. I’m just sitting here, sipping my coffee. I wonder idly if they already have the award email written? Are they waiting for the day to officially start to send it? I have two nominations this year. The *glove that flawlessly grips a hammer but that causes every seventh nail to bend,* and, my personal favorite, the *glasses that grant perfect vision but that subtly change the meaning of the text*. So many arguments! So much anxiety! Ah. Phezizael lumbers in last, and while I love the guy, he is just not cut out for this. He’s built like a fourth circle demon, and the cubicles here are clearly made for second circles. But he’s in, every day, cramming his wings and hilariously thick tail into his chair, and coming up with, let’s be honest, pretty pedestrian cursed objects by today’s standards. Trying to be something he just isn't. Nice guy, but wouldn’t want to piss him off. Look at those shoulders! That’s everybody now. Well, almost everybody. A few minutes later, I hear hoofsteps in the hallway, and there he is. “Hail, everybody,” he says. “Hail, Megalesius.” Phezizael’s giant knuckles barely scrape the ceiling when he raises his hand. Honestly, his heart just isn’t in it. I try to put some extra pep into it today, just in case. It can’t hurt. Here’s the trajectory. If I can pull the department award today, next quarter it’s promotion season, and maybe instead of Hailing Megalesius from the floor like the rest of these chumps, I end up with a private Hail in the manager’s lounge. First step into manager territory doesn’t get you the sweet sweet office overlooking the Pools of Tyranny like Megalesius, but you *do* get a window, and if you open it on a good day after lunch you can sometimes hear the screams of the damned wafting over the sulfur flats. Megalesius takes his time settling into his office and eventually closes the door. I have emails stacking up, but I’m not reading them. I’m just watching the subject lines and waiting for the announcement. It has to be today. It has to be me. Twenty minutes tick by, and I’m starting to get nervous. I have a meeting with Production in ten, and I really don’t want to be out of the loop for the next two hours, and especially not with those losers. *We're* the designers here. The creatives. They just follow orders. Four more minutes, and then *bing*. **Subject: An update on the Office of Cursed Objects** Okay, that’s not the way they usually announce it. *Effective immediately, upper management has decided to close the Office of Cursed Objects. It was a hard decision, and we value the input of all of you over the last four millenia. You are like family to us. Rest assured that this has nothing to do with your personal performance, and is part of a larger re-organization. In order to focus more closely on our mission we have decided to put “more thrust behind fewer pitchforks.”* *This action has been cleared with Demons Local 533. Please consult with your union representative for retraining and/or reassignment.* *Thank you, and Hail Satan* “Those sons of bitches!” shouts Phezizael, and his cubicle erupts. He grabs his monitor, throws it right through the wall, and makes a beeline for Megalesius’ office. He’s met by two seventh levels who materialize to block the way, their gray smokey hands wrapping around his arms. “Hey hey ladies,” says Phezizael. “I was just kidding. Just… yeah.” His wings slump, and he casts a baleful look into Megalesius’ window. Nobody wants to mess with the seventh levels. They lead him back to his desk. No award. There will be no award. No promotion. No eventual second promotion when Megalesius gets bored and moves on, leaving the view of the Pools of Tyranny to me. *I* want to throw my monitor too, but I’m not stupid. I’m also not strong enough. Fine. Fine, if this is how they want to play it. One of the seventh levels is gliding around, handing out boxes, one at each desk. “Fill and leave,” she hisses. No use fighting it. I start to pack my things. My hands stop a moment at the little picture frame. It’s me and a bunch of the guys out after last year’s awards, and Megalesius is right next to me. I kept it here, thinking that maybe it would have some subtle effect on him when he would walk by my desk every day. That’s right. We’re friends. Pals. A wild whim takes me, and I pick up the picture. I was never that great at Production, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t whip something up on a moment’s notice if I have to. Kid’s stuff, really. I say a brief prayer and trace the correct symbols on the back of the picture with my finger. A pulse of power flows into it. I take the picture and walk slowly toward Megalesius’ office door. One of the sevens slides into my way. “Hey,” I say. “I, uh, just want to give the big guy something. You know…” She hisses in response, and I blanch. “It’s okay,” says Megalesius, and the door opens. “Let him in.” I look around, and it seems that his office is already bare. He knew. And he doesn’t look upset. I play a hunch. “You moving… down?” I say, suggestively. “So may it be,” he says. “The new Director of Sacrileges and Defilements.” Damn. “How long have you known?” I say. It would have been nice to have been given a friend a heads up. To have let your top performer know so he wouldn’t have to go getting in line in the union shop with the likes of Phezizael. What will Bekorith think? Oh sure, she said she was in it for the long haul, but if I get reassigned to something like cinder duty, or worse, Bone Removal… that wasn’t going to support her lifestyle. “Long enough,” he says. I waited. This was his chance to invite me along. I’d spent my entire post-pupal life in Cursed Objects, but I felt like my skills were more generalized. I’d grown. Surely he could see that. There had to be a place for me in Defilements. “Is there something you wanted,” he says. I feel something inside of me snap. “This is *bullshit*,” I say, and as soon as it's out of my mouth I regret it. But maybe he’s been looking for a show of strength and aggression from me all along, and *that’s* what has kept me in that cubicle for the last four thousand years. I hear the hiss of the seventh level behind me, but see Megalesius shoo her away with a subtle move of his finger. Maybe I *am* on the right track. “Four thousand years!” I say. “We’ve been stealing souls for you for four thousand years, and this is how you tell us? How you tell *me!* Come on, Meg. This is a chump move.” He appears to be slightly smiling. Yes. This is what he’s been waiting for me to do. I let a little smoke seep from behind my ears, to show that I know how the game is played. “We both know that I deserve a shot on your new team. Think about it! You’ve seen me work! I’m a damned genius!” And here his face falls a little. “Yes,” he says. “About that.” He strides the four steps between us, and puts his face right up against mine. “Ideas are a shilling a filling,” he says. “Production is where the real artistry lies.” “Production?” I say. “They’re just a bunch of hacks! Anybody can do it! You don’t even need a fourth degree horn to get on that team.” “And yet,” says Megalesius, “they are the ones who are following me to Sacrileges and Defilements.” Ah ha. Ah hahaha. He backs away and strikes a pose that is both effortlessly evil and nonchalant at the same time. That was rich. Well, that settles it then. He gets the picture. His very own personally cursed object, courtesy of the guy who apparently isn't good enough to come along on his trip to sulfur town. “Hail, Megalesius,” I say. “Hail.” “I get it,” I say. “Makes sense. You gotta do what you gotta do, right? Hey, before I go, I wanted to give you this…” I hold the picture toward him. “It’s, you know, us…” “Ah,” says Megalsius, and he reaches toward it. His hand stops inches away. “Why, Uriolanus,” he says, “there appears to be a charm on that gift.” Shit. I feel the presence of the seventh level right behind me. “And…” -- he squints -- “it appears that you were going to give me an object that made the bearer have uncontrollable… what is it?" He sniffs at the picture. "Ah, diarrhea.” Megalesius shakes his head slowly. I want to run, but that’s not an option now. What was I thinking? A thousand things blaze through my head, not the least of which is the actual skill that the Production demons have when it comes to concealing the charms on the things that we design. “Put that away before you hurt yourself,” he says. “Feces? Please. You need to grow up. A thousand years in Bone Removal seems like it would be just the thing for you. Correct those airs you always put on.” I feel the fingers of the seventh level start to wrap around my shoulders. “Hail,” I say. It was all about to be gone. Bekorith. The nice cave down in Hazimath. The two weeks every year on the Styx. “Hail *what*?” says Megalesius. “Hail, Megalesius,” I say. I know when I’m beaten. The seventh level pulls me back through the door, and I don’t bother resisting. She guides me back toward my desk. “Oh!” says Megalsius. “Just a second. Please.” He walks from his office, and is swiftly by my side. “You weren’t without talent,” he says. “Thank you, sir.” Was it maybe not too late? “Before all of this happened,” he says, waving his arm broadly about, “we *had* decided on the department awards. Felt it was tacky to deliver them, then, pull this on you all.” “That’s kind of you, sir.” “Anyway, you won.” I won. “Yes,” says Megalesius. “It was the glasses. That was truly inspired. I know it won’t mean much in Bone Removal, but I feel like you should have this. It belongs to you.” He holds out the award. Its coal black, faceted surface reflects only eyes and fire, no matter where you look. It’s beautiful. “Hail, Megalesius,” I say. Despite what has just happened, what was about to happen, I am truly grateful. I know that I’m talented. I’ll go to Bone Removal, and start over, and soon I’ll be supervising instead of actually pulling bones, and then I’ll be noticed, and eventually… “Hail,” he says. I take the award. It is cold and beautiful in my hands. Cleaning up my desk won’t be quite so bad now. “Oh, and Uriolanus,” he says. I try to put the award in the box, but it won’t leave my hand. There is a pulse of power from it, and I feel a deep rumbling in my bowels, like flaming eels at war. Megalesius laughs, as only a senior Director of Sacrileges and Defilements can laugh. “The bathroom is on the left.


*Note: I transcribed this from an audio recording someone made on their phone. Video doesn't exist on the website.* //transcript// Good afternoon. My name is Roland Myr. I’m an aerospace engineer, soon-to-be former employee of NASA, and welcome to my TED Talk, *Success in Science: Space Careers*. Except— I'm not gonna talk about that. What I’m about to do instead is turn off my phone [garbled] *so they can’t explode my fucking brain*, and talk to you about aliens. [whispers] And not just aliens. Alien invasion. [gasps] No, don’t worry. It’s not going to happen... There’s one simple reason— (No, that’s OK. You can walk out. We’ll see who’s “fucking crazy”.) —for that: It’s already happened. They’re already fucking here. (Go ahead. Record me. That’s the way this message gets out. What, you think they’ll keep this on the TEd Talks List?) Tell me: you ever notice, sometimes, subtle movements—out of the corner of your eye? Movements *where nothing is*. That's them. That's the peripherals. They exist on the edge of our sensations. Not just sight, but hearing—that ringing in your ears in dead silence; and touch—the chill on your skin when the air is still and warm, and the windows are all closed; and smell—that hideous burning scent clinging to your nostrils… We all sense them. They hide, but imperfectly. (How am I not real? *I'm right here!* You can't Google me because they're scrubbing me off the internet.) I don't know how long they've been here. Twenty years. Thirty. They're what's raising the Earth's temperature. They emit heat. Multiply. Do you smell the burning now? The trick is not to focus on it. [commotion] They exist on the periphery of knowledge too, of consciousness. (I *am* awake. Are you?) Question: Do you have trouble concentrating? Lose interest quickly? Does your attention drift? We used to read books. *As a species, we read fucking books.* Now we can barely follow a headline. You came here to listen to a lecture— No! You came to consume a fucking soundbite. Wanna blame social media? Think YouTube has somehow gutted your mind? It's—them! They're siphoning off your concentration, your attention span. Distributed-goddamn-cognition. *You're thinking for them.* (None of us have a future. That's the point!) Your focus is shrinking. Your peripheries are expanding. They feast. Humans used to have a wider range. ("Of what?") Of everything! Sight, hearing. (What do *you* see? Your fucking phone screen.) All you hear is bass. *Thump-thump-thump.* They're remaking you to colonise you. They want you to specialise—to narrow your focus so they can expand their environment. You're letting them. (You think this is funny? It amuses you, you cockroach?) You're letting them take us over! [music] The invasion isn't happening! It's already happened! They're already here! ["We are experiencing technical difficulties. The presentation is temporarily suspended—"] (Suspended? You wanna suspend something—) Get your dirty hands off me! (—suspend your fucking disbelief!) ["—and will resume shortly. We thank you for your patience.