The Captain slid into the seat behind the control panel. He glanced over at his partner/co-pilot/wife seated next to him. She was busy running scans on the planet below. They had found this planet worthy of a great deal of time, unlike most of the worlds they had explored on this voyage. Many of the systems they had traveled through on this journey were of little interest. Huge gas giant planets circling huge, extremely hot stars, no chance of life. The last system had been some small, frozen rocky planets orbiting a burned-out brown dwarf star. If life had ever graced this system, it had died out eons ago. Some worlds they encountered had very basic life forms, single-cell plants, and animals. Some worlds had more advanced creatures capable of communication, rudimentary forms of civilization, and mechanization. But this planet, this one was very different. Even before they had approached the planet they were receiving electromagnetic impulses radiating from it. The impulses were far stronger than anything that could have been occurring naturally. The Captain plotted a course to slip in behind a moon that was orbiting this planet. He was going to approach the planet very cautiously. His ship was of the most advanced series available when he and his partner left on their voyage of discovery. It had the ability to deflect energy around it, and thus be invisible to most scanning or tracking attempts. He engaged the machinery to ensure their presence was not noticed if by some unthinkable chance the planet was inhabited by an advanced species of beings. The Captain and his partner spent some time as they hid behind the planet’s moon analyzing the data they had collected as they approached the planet. The planet seemed to be an excellent habitat for carbon-based lifeforms. The planet enjoyed a very stable orbit around its star. The presence of the sizable moon they were hiding behind caused tidal forces on the planet’s surface to circulate the sizable collection of water present on the surface. Analysis of the surface and sub-surface data collected showed an abundant supply of minerals necessary for any advanced civilization. The Captain and his partner finished their work with all the data they had. The Captain decided it was time to swing into an orbit around the planet and continue their studies. As they settled into an orbit just above the planet’s atmosphere, they began to collect and analyze the enormous amount of electromagnetic radiation being generated on the planet’s surface. As the Captain looked through the analyses of the data, a strange thought began to form in his mind. “Is this their form of communication,” he wondered. He had read of ancient uses of electromagnetic communications, but that technology had died out long ago. As he studied the data he saw patterns emerging. Some of the EMC was scattered in all directions from single points. Apparently, the message was intended to be received by anyone with an appropriate device. Some EMC was directed from point to point, apparently in an attempt to control access to the message. His analysis led him to understand that the beings on this planet had multiple modes of communication. Decoding some of the signals his machinery intercepted enabled him to see that the transmission of images was a big part of their communications. The transmissions had images of the beings interacting with each other, some images of what appeared to be their written languages, and also some images of lesser creatures these beings appeared to enjoy interacting with. The Captain was troubled by one aspect of the analysis. After allocating some of the signal to the images, some of it to simply being the medium by which the message flowed, and allowing for other technical matters, there was one channel of data being transmitted he could not crack. He broadened his search and expanded the signals the machinery would intercept. He soon found not only streams with image channels and the mystery channel, but he also found points of transmission of nothing but the mystery material. These transmissions had no images, just the data stream he could not crack. Perplexed, he brought his partner into the work of understanding this mystery. With a fresh perspective on the matter, she asked herself if there was any correlation between the image data and the mystery data. She watched the images produced by the data streams. The beings took many forms, engaged in a huge variety of activities, and she began to notice patterns between their movements and the mystery data stream. Sometimes the mystery data signal would generate a reaction that caused great excitement. Sometimes the mystery data signal generated what appeared to be a state of peace in the beings. As she worked with the machinery interpreting the EMC received from the surface she pondered the conversions her machines were making. The very high frequency signals created the images. The ultra-high frequency signals created other styles of communications. Hidden in the mystery stream were very low frequency signals. Signal frequencies too low to be played on the imaging machines. She isolated the very low frequency signals and watched the reactions of the beings when exposed to the signals. Some seemed happy, some sad. She found some visual image streams where large numbers of the beings would gather, and soon the mystery data stream would show huge patterns of activity. She had to devise a way to convert the the mystery data signal to something she could experience. She and the Captain had watched huge amounts of images. The machinery was very adept at transforming the signals into a format their eyes could process. She needed to convert the mystery data signal into something she could feel. She ran the problem through the computer, and it presented an answer. She routed the mystery data signal through the power supply of a small vibrator used to process samples of soil and other solid material. The varying frequencies of the signal would cause the vibrator to change its vibratory pattern to match the signal. She could touch the machine and feel the patterns as the signals went through it. She turned the little machine on and put the signal through it. As she laid her hand on the machine, she felt a soothing pattern of vibrations. Falling and rising in intensity and strength, it seemed to communicate something. She had never felt something like this before. The vibrations seemed to touch her deeply. She began to understand how this phenomenon could have such an impact on the beings of this planet. As she sat there enjoying the vibrations, speculating what they could be communicating to the beings of the planet, she put two more of her hands on the vibrating machine. The Captain walked into the room, surprised to see the blissful look on her face. He walked over and touched the machine, surprised to feel the vibrations. He could understand why she seemed to be enjoying whatever she was experiencing. The vibrator was a poor loud speaker, but it was a very suitable device for the Captain and his partner to experience the phenomenon. As they stood there transfixed by this new strange phenomenon, the mystery signal filled the room, “O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant………..


#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 Judgement! This week we’re going to look at ‘judgement’. Everyone falls victim to the judgement of others. Many times, this judgement is formed by stereotypes and false assumptions, and from fear and ignorance. In what recent situations has this happened in your world? How do the characters’ judgements of one another affect how they behave? Maybe ‘judgement’ is more literal. A punishment for a crime, or some sort of slight. It’s not always an easy decision to make, regardless of right or wrong. Is it a court/government decision, or one done by the people? How do the characters feel about the decision? What are the consequences?Is it just? What happens when someone casts judgement without all the facts? Will an innocent pay the price, a family, maybe an entire community? 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!) * December 26 - Judgement (this week) * January 2 - Nightmare * January 9 - Patience   *** **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 - - by u/OneSidedDice   - - by u/rainbow–penguin   - - by u/stickfist   - - by u/Zetakh   *** #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 - Don’t forget to show appreciation to your fellow writers and from 2021! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


This is a spin-off (if thats what its called?) of a friend of mine's story. I took some liberties with the rules of magic a tad, but I hope it holds up to what he had originally imagined. Also, because I enjoy having stories read to me, I decided to read this one aloud: And lastly, anyone familiar with Chapter 1 of The Princess Bride might recognize a few familiar lines. I hope they seem more in homage to Goldman's (\*ahem\* I mean, S. Morgenster's) work than ripping it off. \ “IT WORKED!” I shouted with such force, my body was shot upright in the bed, my hands raised above me in fists of triumph and awe. Immediately after the minor celebration, a new, haunting realization came over me. “It …worked.” My arms lowered to my side and my eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness. There was a window in front of me, covered by horizontal slats that let in different hues and strengths of light. They didn’t flicker like candles, but they did grow and shrink. Sometimes moving from left to right, quickly, sometimes flashing and disappearing. Each one illuminating the small space I was now occupying. Strange sounds I had never heard creeping in along with the lights. I slowly became aware of the two eyes staring at me, high up in the corner of the room. I was almost shocked at how long it had taken me to notice. Familiar in their shape and meaning, the creature was sat atop a solid structure with drawers and openings. *Of course, she would have a cat.* *But are you… are you* ***my*** *cat?* *One way to find out…* I slowly tried to exit myself from the bed, noting how immensely soft and delicate the fabrics and coverings and cushioning were. *Was she royalty?* *Surely not royal to have sleeping quarters so small…* I made a clicking noise with my tongue. “Here… little kitty.” I whispered slowly. “I’m sorry you’re confused.” The cat’s ears twitch backwards and its head lowered, slightly. *Amazing creatures, to recognize me as someone unknown so immediately.* “You probably miss her, don’t you? It’ll be ok, Kitty.” I spoke softly as I lowered my head toward the cat. *You’ll get your answers in time.* *In the meanwhile, you’ll discover I’m just as patient as you.* I could tell dawn was breaking as a familiar, slow-moving glow began to fill the room. And then, I saw it. I saw… me. A mirror from floor to ceiling was affixed to the wall adjacent to the bed, and my body gasped. She was… frail. Her hair, mashed to one side, most likely due to the softness of her pillows. Her chest was sunken in somewhat and her arms, weak. She had markings of different colors all over the tops of both shoulders that ran down her back and sides; drawings of woodland critters and flora. I ran my hands across her collarbone and I could feel how thin her skin was. *This…is me?* *How is this…pathetic creature …me?* Up until this point, I had assumed the spell had worked perfectly. The transportation of all higher lifeforms from my word to this one was supposed to be a …parallel move, of sorts. Technically, this body belonged to me. Just, not the me that grew up in *my* world. But how could any version of me seem so absolutely underwhelming? She looked tired. The type of tired that builds over time, as if she hasn’t known a normal routine of health and sleep for months on end. And she felt just the same - used up and worn out, empty, and short of breath on most inhales. Worse than physically inept, she felt powerless. I flexed her fingertips and felt nothing. No spark, no flash of ability, no electricity at all. This woman was wholly and utterly inadequate. Untethered to any strong form of elemental or etherial magic, I wondered if I had gotten something wrong. *Surely, there is no universe in which I am so disturbingly pathetic?* *This is not the body of Ardnaxela, Witch of the Wildes, Unchalleneged Sorceress of the Bloodmoon Mages, The Midnight Feline, The Last Dragontamer, Rider of -* I gasped as my eyes met hers, still ice-blue and yet somehow less alive. “Petrix.” His name left my lips as a whisper, but it fell so heavy, it brought me to my knees. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t…I didn’t want to…” I kept repeating single syllable words and simple phrases. My mind hadn’t decided if I should keep crying or start yelling and somehow, I ended up doing both. *Would any goodbye have been enough?* *What would you have wanted to say, witch?* *Nothing could have changed how it was going to end, you knew that.* “I know…I know…I just… ” Her body convulsed as I sobbed, broken and alone, truly alone. Magic was gone. My own body was changed. The world I loved, lost, perhaps forever. And yet somehow, I knew I could live without those things. But I wasn’t sure how to hold up my own head knowing Petrix was out there, in *this* world, living a completely different life than the one he shared with me. “My Petrix, **my** dragon.” I felt my shoulders get hot saying those words. *Mine*. I was angry. I was possessive. But why should I have been? Are dragons ever owned? Certainly not by bewitched witches and the longings of my innermost parts. The secret things. The neediness. I had to let go. “Forgive me…forgive me, my Favourite.” I had told him to look for me. That was the last thing I had said to him. And yet I wasn’t even sure he would be capable of remembering. “Would my Petrix ever forget?” It isn’t a fair question to ask. I had no idea how this spell would work. I don’t know if it is possible for him to remember the old world, let alone the short years he spent with me. I buried my face in my hands and let myself feel the weight of his absence. I was unlinked. I couldn’t feel the wind under his wings, the heat of his breath, the strength in his scales. I couldn’t feel anything. When my tears began to run dry, I lifted my head and stared at my gaunt reflection, eyelids swollen with sorrow. *That’s enough.* *Let go.* It began to dawn on me just how little I understood this spell. If it was capable of sending me to this world, this undesired version of myself, what else went wrong? I knew others had made the jump with me, and I had tried to ensure that only the people in liege with the General had transferred, but now I wasn’t so sure. And suddenly, hope. “Is it wrong to be excited that the war might not be over? That someone…unwelcome may have tagged along?” Life without a dragon wouldn’t be worth it. But if I unknowingly placed an entire world at risk by bringing such a destructive force with me, then I had no choice but to set it right. My reflection smirked and I realized that as soon as I figured out how to pull magic in this world, I would fix her hideous snaggletooth. And then, of course, save everyone. Again.


The deer carcass on the edge of town was found lying next to an old tree by Heather on her morning walks. Her screams woke the tiny town of Hawthorne from its slumber. Dead animals were a common sight in the village. Hunting was a way of life, and if humans didn't kill it, a larger animal surely did. This deer's killer was clearly neither human nor animal. It had chunks of flesh torn in a symmetrical fashion, and a purple substance in the wounds. A few yards into the woods from the deer; two piles of the purple substance mixed with meat was found. Alien invasion hysteria gripped Hawthorne. Heather was briefly accused of killing the deer herself and being a traitor to humanity. Heather responded by slapping her accuser, and the matter was resolved. Three lone hunters took it upon themselves to hunt the beast themselves. One got lost and returned at sunset. One was found dead the next morning. The last survived and was traumatized by what he saw through his binoculars. Six long scale covered legs climbed through the trees like a car. Four tentacles vibrated around it. Two faced in the direction it traveled while the other two were constantly changing directions. The body was oblong and covered in fur. A fur pouch on the side covered a small slug with a mouthful of teeth drooling purple slime. He assumed another slug was on the other side. The town was divided on how to handle this alien threat. One group wanted to carry on its life as normal. This creature was no different than a bear or a puma. If it got in their way, they would shoot it and hope that it had enough meat for dinner. Another group wanted to leave town and start a new life. They were reminded that the world outside of Hawthorne was a wasteland, and the creature could follow them. The group decided to stay, but they would be sure to propose moving at every opportunity. A third group wanted the glory of the hunt; the surviving hunter reminded them that another hunter had died hunting the beast. The last group wanted to do a combination of setting up a watch around the town for security and send out parties to gather information on the creature but not confront it. In a shocking twist of events, reason prevailed, and the last group won. The watchers observed the creature never went near the town. When small parties of six were sent to the forest, they found a variety of animal carcasses and purple slime near the bodies. The creature was sighted running past the information parties, but it never confronted them. With this information, it was hypothesized that the creature was intelligent enough to not attack large groups, and it needed nutrients that were lacking in Earth creatures. This information changed group dynamics at the next meeting. The group that wanted to live life as normal proposed to continue living life as normal. The group that wanted to leave, proposed leaving again. This time, they proposed moving somewhere with nicer weather. The cautious group desired to continue studying the creature. The hunters had already left the meeting to kill it. Chip and Ken were two of those hunters. Their heads crouched and scanned the perimeter for signs of the creature. Their shotguns were close to their chests prepared to fire. When a deer ran behind them, Chip turned and shot it. Ken castigated Chip for wasting ammo especially since he missed the deer which was now running away from them. Fortune favored the stupid, and the creature dropped from the canopy to consume the deer. Ken stopped criticizing Chip and began running towards the creature shooting at it. Chip followed and fired his gun as well. Chip continued to be a poor shot as every pellet misses the creature. He did manage to hit a bird fleeing the fight. The creature did not move from its meal. Several of its tentacles were struck by bullets and drop to the ground. Its legs went limp crushing the carcass beneath it. The two slugs drooled purple slime. Chip and Ken stood over the body and fired several rounds into it until they were certain its dead. The town had no research facilities to study the creature so they buried it. A minor cult formed around the creature in the weeks after its death. The location of its burial was forgotten causing the cult to disappear quickly. Chip and Ken were briefly treated as town heroes until Chip crashed his car into Gayle's farm. They were then regarded as idiots again. Some long for the chance to study the creature further. The presence of an alien briefly made life exciting, and the existence of life in the stars posed engaging philosophical questions. If only Hawthorne could be graced by another alien creature, one that would not be murdered by local hunters. Until then, it was luck and stupidity that killed the beast.


#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: **Simple Prompt: It was now a world ruled by machines.** *Additional Bonus Constraints (worth 5 pts): There is a secret message hidden within the story.* This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as inspiration for your story. You may interpret the prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. You can use for additional inspiration if you need it—it was too fitting not to share. The sentence does not need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to, if you like). *The bonus constraint can be interpreted any way you like, but it is not required.*   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **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: This Past Week I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday and weekend. And happy new year! - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/wandering_cirrus   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/TheLettre7   *** ###Subreddit News - Nominate your favorite content from this sub on our ! - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


They sat opposite each other at a table outside a Spanish bar. The man watched the girl watching the sun near the faraway hills. A clock ticked. The hills were long and gray. Trains passed nearby. Every once in a while the man took a drag of his cigarette. The girl did not smoke. "You sure you don't want to eat?" the man asked. "I'm sure." The man took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke the color of the hills. "They look like gray mastodons," the girl said, the setting sun reflected in her eyes. "I've never seen one." "No, you wouldn't have. You're too young." "I might have. I could be older than you think. Just because you say I'm too young doesn't prove anything." "Just wait," the girl said. "We've been waiting for millenia," the man said. "Be patient. I can start to taste the darkness and it tastes of licorice. That's how it tasted last time." "I don't taste anything." "You're too young," the girl said, and the man said nothing and took a drag of his cigarette. A train stopped. An older couple exited one of the cars and sat down at the table outside the bar on the same chairs in which the man and girl were sitting. They blended together. "Once more for old time's sake?" the man said. The girl said nothing. The man sighed. The couple ordered beers and talked about Madrid. The man lit another cigarette. "It doesn't have to happen. I can stop it," the girl said. The sun was almost touching the horizon. "I'm bored," the man said. "It's not so bad." "It's dull. I miss seeing new universes and trying new physics." The girl looked at the hills. "I just don't care for it anymore," the man said. "It's ours." "We'll make another." The sun touched the edge of the world, bathing it in pink light. The older couple went silent. "Anyway, it's too late now," the girl said. Somebody screamed. The sun had cracked, and its light poured out onto the landscape in globules like flesh colored mercury which seeped into the hills. The older couple stood up. The man took a drag of his cigarette. The girl watched as the gray hills infused with light rose from the landscape as luminous mastodons. "You know I'd do anything for you," the man said. "I know." The mastodons began feasting on the future. The present slowed. The older couple sat down and began talking about Madrid backwards. "It's really a simple annihilation," the girl said. Having consumed the future, the mastodons turned to the present. "It's for the best." The older couple got up and walked to the train in reverse. The train un-arrived, then trains hadn't been invented, Spain and civilization disappeared, and for a while brown mastodons walked among the gray ones. Then they were gone. Existence condensed to a single point. "We'll be happy," the man said. "Yes," the girl said. The point—.


The days grew short this time, like usual. A harsh, cold wind sleekly gliding down the cold concrete stairwell and into J's home. His first awareness was of freezing chill, then of dark sky's beyond his barred window. God it was cold, like a bucket of water in Winter, making him shiver in every stinging breath. "Fuck-" He said through chattering teeth, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Goodmorning." He spoke to himself, internally noting the irony. It was neither good, nor morning, it was around 5PM, the grey sun already on the horizon, kissing the sky dark with cloud and rain. Leaning his bare chest against the wall beneath the window, he could just about see the ground below, barren and lifeless for what seemed to be miles. Nothing's changed. With a euphoric stretch, J drudged out of the dark room and into the hall. A voice spoke from the opposite room. "Morning, Big J." It was a friend. Turning to look, J saw his face between the bars on his door. A strong jaw complimented by grey stubble and grassy eyes softened by a pair of round glasses, slightly crooked on his button-like nose. Despite having white hair, he was not evidently any older than J, maybe Twentyish, possibly Thirty. His name was Simon, though a family name eluded both of them. "Morning, Simon." The routine was simple, wake up, greet Simon, eat food, die of boredom, go to sleep. That's what made it so brain numbingly tedious. Simon was the only other person J had talked to in what seemed like years, and an exit always seemed so close. That door at the other end of the hallway leading to the stairs down, but forever remaining locked. J experienced what he referred to as a "Blue Demon", wherein he would be subject to cry-laughter and mania, screaming and bellowing and maddening throes. At once he fell to his knees, eyes beset by hot tears. He screamed like an unoiled gate until his voice grew hoarse. He punched the hard ground until his fists painted the floor, and he called to the sky as if to challenge all who listened. He cried out in pain and anguish, not quite knowing why. Eventually, the Blue Demon left him, and he clutched his sore hands to his naked chest in regret. "Fuck." Was all he knew to say. Following his episode, J entered to totally empty Kitchen, a room with high windows and open spaces, decorated by cracks in the concrete and stains of blood from previous Blue Demons. Easily dozens of them lined the wals and floors, along the counter where he prepared the food, on the tables where he ate it, in the sinks where he left his dishes, on the floors where he laid and cried. Just a single clay cup of cold water and a stick of lentils, which he consumed within the minute and returned to his room, just as barren as the kitchen, with just as much blood. "Remember anything yet?" Simon asked across the hall. "Still nothing, you?" "Fuck-all, it's like a blackbox in here." "Mmm." J leaned against the wall, the light from the setting sun just vanishing from his room. "How long has it been now?" J asked. "Since what?" "Since the Ice Box." Simon understood at once, and let out a cheek-flapping breath. "Like, four months? I dunno, man, it gets real foggy after a while." "Tell me about it, I'm half tempted to join him." Simon fell quiet for a moment, and J felt that those words were best for himself alone. "I'm sorry-" He said, letting his eyes shift to a corner. "You can't leave me, J." "I know, I'm sorry." The two settled into an uncomfortable silence. Until J was fairly certain Simon had passed asleep. Once again rising, J returned to the kitchen, where he ventured to the very back of the room, to a windowless door. Pressing one hand against it, J felt a rush of white chill bleed from the gap as it opened. With a final heave, J pushed the door fully open, but stood away from the threshold. At the end of the cold, bright room, the say the emaciated form of Dás, sitting with hairs clung together by ice, and features made heavy with thick frost. His pale blue skin had sunk to his bones, and his limp figure had slumped back against the wall. For whatever reason, J kept thinking about him, about the young boy laying in the Ice Box. The last he had seen him move was the aforementioned four months prior, when Dás had occupied the third room on the hall. Now that room stood remote, and the Ice Box stood hauntingly close. An escape, but an end. J wondered how alone they truly were in this building, if he and Simon were the last ones, or if this tower on the edge of nowhere housed more just like him, willing to fight for a while, not remembering why, until eventually... ...they would step into the Ice.


The roaring of the crowd filled the stadium as the tall oak doors, worn and torn by hundreds of centuries of battle. The Trials were starting. A new Commandment was needed. The doors open to a large stadium with barbed wire at the top where the edge meets the stands. The smell of blood and rust filled the air. My father stood in the stands at the top in a large suite with almost unlimited wine and mead. "Welcome all to The Trials," my father stood up and announced, his voice was booming, "As you may know, we are in need of a new member of the Ten Commandments. These Trials will determine who will fill that role. The first Trial is trial by combat. The first round is my daughter, Lauren," the crowd roared and cheered as I raised my fist, " Against the most dangerous foe in all of Hell and The Demon Realm, The Brooded Wendigo King." The door on the other side of the stadium opened slowly as a loud guttural roar resonated in my very soul. A large beast came out from the door. It was very tall, with lanky arms that reached the waist of its twenty feet frame. Its antlers were very dark, almost black in color and they were really thin. It had pale skin that was bone white with no lips but a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. They were perfect hunting machines. "Let the Trials begin," my father announced before sitting down. It charged unnaturally fast. I was armed with my Demon powers and a small knife. I knew I had to take this thing out quickly. I rolled to the side as it stopped a few feet behind me. I threw a ball of hellfire at the back of its neck. It screamed and turned to face me, I smiled as I released my Demon Mark, letting my emotions take over. It charged again and tried to swipe at my head, a whirlwind of darkness encompassed it as I clenched my fist. It got an arm out and swiped at my face, hitting me. It sent me into a wall maybe thirty feet away from the center. I slammed into the wall, hearing bones snap and crack, blood came from the back of my head and my nose. It broke out of the whirlwind of darkness, sniffing the air for its victim. When it smelled me, I got up. "Damn it, it's strong," I thought as I got started to black out, feeling an ancient power come out. I looked at the thing and focused on it as I dashed up to it, hitting it hard in its ribs. It screamed and tried to scratch at my head, but I dodged out of pure instinct. I was shocked at what I just did, my body acted on its own. A fire engulfed my hand and set his entire right side on fire. It roared in pain as I took advantage of it, taking my knife into its throat. I slit its throat, kicking off its body to land in front of it. It was screaming and roaring in agony as I threw one last fireball at its left side. It roared one last time as it went to its knees, falling over dead with a thud. I was panting and came to, realizing what I did. The crowd was roaring and cheering as my father was in awe at my power. "Lauren goes onto the next round." I went back to the preparation area where the other Demons were waiting to fight. A royal guard came down and smiled, "Your father requested your presence." I smile and follow the royal guard as my wounds slowly heal. It took a few minutes to get to my father's suite. It had gold and maroon everywhere. Next to him was a bottle of wine half empty. He was sitting at his throne with a hooded figure next to him, whispering to him. He had dark robes black in color and he had a large sword on his hip, it was maybe seven feet long compared to his tall frame. His skin was light but tanned as the tip of his nose and the tip of his lips were visible under his hood. His eyes were one thing that stood out, they were dark red like congealed blood. They were also slightly silver as well as his eyes switched color. I couldn't hear what they were talking about as I bowed in front of the throne silently. It took a second as my father looked towards me and smiled. "Lauren, thank you for joining me," he gestured towards the man, "This is a friend of mine, Mael.” The man smiled and bowed, "It is my pleasure to serve you," his voice had a lot of bass. "It's nice to meet you. Now father, what did you need?" I asked as I stood up. "You did a really good job. I'm proud of you." "Thank you, father," I say, knowing that he doesn't mean it. "Rest easy, your next Trial will be harder," he stood up and smiled, going to my left side and putting his right hand on my left shoulder. I slapped it off and went to the preparation area, a little pissed that he would have the audacity to say he was proud. He's only proud if I do well in battle. "Come on, you pathetic waste of space! Get your ass up!" he often told me during training, "You know you will never be like your brothers." I clenched my fist with wrath as my Demon Mark was showing brightly, the unholy mark pulsed on my forehead in tandem with my heartbeat. "I will become the next Queen," I thought to myself. The next match was about to start. Another Demon against a Seven Deadly Sin member, a clear winner. The match began with the Demon charging at the Seven Deadly Sin, Wrath, as she smiled. Wrath stood there and waited as the Demon charged. She was armed with nothing and the Demon was armed with a spear. She activated her Demon Mark, sending a pressure wave to the Demon's chest. It left a hole six inches wide. The Demon gasped, grabbing his chest. "Damn you!" the Demon yelled and charged. Wrath smiled bigger, waiting for them to get close before slapping their head clean off. She used the spear to disembowel them. Black blood was pouring out as their organs started to fall out. Their small intestine was the first one to fall on the sandy arena floor, his large intestine not long after. The crowd roared in excitement. She bowed and went to her side of the arena. A day passed since the first set of The Trials. Out of the nearly fifty participants, only a handful remain. My father stood up from his throne and smiled, putting his goblet down on a silver platter, "Ladies and gentlemen of The Demon Realm, this is the second Trial. The Trial of Endurance. This will test your endurance and your ability to think on your feet. You will be finding sets of daggers with a dragon handle in less than fifteen minutes in the Blood Forest of The Demon Realm. While you're searching, you will be hunted by each other, monsters, and Wendigos. There will be only two sets of three daggers, so only two can come back. Now, you will be armed with nothing but your powers." While my father was explaining the Trial, Wrath came up to me and she smiled at me. It was unusual for her to smile. She almost never smiled in a sweet way like she did. "Lauren, you know that you will never be as powerful as your brothers. You're a disgrace to the Demon race. Your fight with the Wendigo King was lucky. Your entire existence was luck," She bluntly told me I said nothing as searing anger rose just below the surface. "You are nothing but a disappointment to your parents. They only kept you around to kill you off in The Trials." I stayed silent, sighing a little as the anger rose. A member of the Commandments fired a pillar of lightning in the air to signal the start. We start running to the forest, the smell of blood overpowering our enhanced senses. As we left, the sound of distant roars came out as the Wendigos were released. Our blood ran cold, motivating us to run faster. The forest was filled with trees with red leaves, the smell of iron and death filled the forest. I looked around frantically, but determined to prove her wrong. "Dad, you will see that I deserve the spot," I thought to myself, "I will prove him wrong." When the smell of iron was the strongest, it clouded my mind like I was in a fog. My body moved on its own to a dagger nearby. I created wings from darkness and flapped up in the air as squawk heard. They were Brooded Demons, a flying Demon who is guided by the desire to kill all who the summoner told it to. "Shit," I whisper to myself as I start to fly faster towards somewhere. One of the Demons caught me by the leg, grabbing it and biting deep into my calf. I screamed and turned around, using a fireball and throwing it at its shoulder area, expecting it to move. It stayed in its current position and caught up. I had to use a Hell Strom, clutching my fist and trapping the pursuer in a whirlwind of Hell energy. I took advantage of its idleness to gain distance on it, going down to the thick canopy of red leaves and blood rivers. I perched myself on a branch in the canopy to address the bite. I looked down at it and winced, the outer parts of the outline were black. It looked like the skin was rotting. I took off my shirt and tied it up like a tourniquet. While I was tying my bite, I heard screams and cries for help in the background. Not everyone is fit for The Trials. The screams of the other Demons filled the air as the skin near my calf began to rot away. I had to move fast. I let my instincts take over to find the next dagger. The next dagger was about 300 meters away on the banks of a blood river, a Demon was dead clutching it. I smiled as I took it. The smell of iron was overpowering. I quickly covered my nose. While I was flying away to the next dagger. I passed another Demon with a dagger. I stopped dead in my tracks as the Demon did. They turned to me and looked at me in absolute fear. "Hand it over. You're weak anyway," I tell them They nodded and handed me the dagger. I sliced off their head quickly, smiling a little. When the time was up, it was just me and Wrath. We were given rudimentary weapons, swords and spears and shields. I was given a large spear and shield. She was given nothing. She grinned ear to ear, "Surprising you survived. I assumed you died. That was just out of luck." My father stood up and cleared his throat, "Well, this is the final Trial. The Final Trial of Combat. In this fight, you aren't allowed to use your powers. Only the weapons provided and fists. This will decide who is worthy of the Commandment of Love. Let the battle begin!" At that moment, she dashed towards me and almost immediately knocked me off balance. I let the ancient power take over, dodging out of instinct. She didn't react and tried to end the fight immediately by snapping my neck. He put me into a headlock. I struggled as much as I could until I let my anger take over, I breathed in and took a chunk from her arm. She screamed, letting me go. I took advantage of it and knocked her off her feat. I let rage and hatred take over, pinning her to the ground. I unleashed a fury of blows on her face, laughing a little to myself. "I'm a disgrace?! You are nothing more than shit on my boot! You know nothing of my power! I am the daughter of the Demon King and heir to the throne. You're nothing!" I yelled and screamed as she begged for mercy. "Please! Stop!" she begged as she was pounded into paste. I stopped and smiled a little, standing tall, "Those who ask for mercy are too weak to deserve it," I finally slammed my foot into her head, splitting it into multiple pieces. I panted as my arms burned and felt like they weighed a ton. The crowd roared in applause. "The winner is Lauren," My father smiled as I spit on her body. Several hours later in my father's quarters He smiled as he held an orb the size of his palm. It had his crest on its surface. "With your win, you will be the leader of the Ten Commandments. Do you swear that you will lead the Commandments as best as you can and be loyal to me?" I nodded, "I do," I bowed a little. "Ten they are in good hands," he pushed the orb into my chest. The orb absorbed into my body and immediately felt the power. It made me feel worthy, powerful, and able.


The words echoed through Bav’s memory as he descended the rough-hewn steps, deeper and deeper into the earth. The woman at the gate had spoken them to him, a last warning as he crossed the threshold, two days prior. Maybe three days; the only light he had was what he brought with him, and that was now much reduced. He spent more time without a candle or torch than with one, now. Without knowing how much further he would have to go, he wanted to make sure he had some light when he reached the bottom. That he never considered what he would need for the climb back up was not something he wanted to dwell on. Bav’s journey to this place had started three years earlier, on a farm near the coast. He had been travelling long before that, making his way by the strength of his arm and the steel of his sword. Mostly caravan work, some mercenary fighting. Occasionally some less reputable tasks. Bav cared little for the morals - a fight was a fight, and he won far more of them than he lost. He had stopped at the farm to rest, trading manual labour for a berth in the hayloft and a meal or two before moving on. The work was hard, and boring, but nobody was trying to drive a foot of steel into his belly, so he managed to enjoy himself for two days. Hot food, a daughter that was pleasant to the eye, and a warm spot to sleep was enough for the moment. On the third day, things soured slightly, and Bav made up his mind to move on in the morning. The farmer, an old man named Sil with eight fingers, advised bav that it was a Festday, and that he would be required to make his way with the family to the temple or be turned out as a heretic. Not one for religion of any sort, but also wary of the ferocity of a town full of zealots - it would not have been his first, and he would be more than happy to scrape and bow before a beshitted altar for a day than have to deal with one again - Bav agreed. It was an hour walk into the nearest town, and Bav spent most of it trying - and failing - to make the farmer’s daughter laugh. The girl’s mother noticed, and gave Bav her evilest look whenever the opportunity arose. Bav would grace her with his most charming smile in return, and moved the time of his departure in the morning up a few minutes when she looked away. At this rate, he’d be leaving before nightfall. The temple was what he expected, little more than a mud shack at the end of a rutted and narrow track in the town. Small fires burned on each side of the door, piling oily black smoke into the air and forcing Bav to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He glanced in the pyres as he passed, and quickly looked away. It looked like they were burning cats in the fires, and he shook his head. Inside was little better. There were no pews, just a mud floor with a clear circle in the middle of some three dozen farmers and peasants. Sil moved forward, leaving his wife and daughter with Bav, though they quickly moved away from him as well. The three family members sat at opposite sides, Sil to the left and the women to the right side of the circle. Nobody looked at Bav, nor advised him what to do, so he simply moved to one side of the entrance and folded his arms to wait. After a few minutes, Bav stifled a yawn and tried to shift his weight to get more comfortable, and when he looked back at the circle he was surprised to see an old woman in the middle of it. He glanced around to see if he could see where she came from, but there were no gaps in the circle, and no entrance that he could see aside from the one he was standing next to. Suddenly aware that his weapons were back at the farm, Bav adjusted his stance. It was something every fighter learned to do instinctively, to shift their weight to the front of their feet to be ready to leap, to lower their posture to make themselves harder to move against their will. Bav felt his instincts reaching out, mentally assessing the threats in the room. Despite her size and apparent fragility, the old woman dominated his mind. She was short, not quite five feet tall, though Bav suspected if her back was straight she might be a little over that five feet. She was draped in some sort of skin, poorly tanned and with a hole for her head. Rough stitching along the edges gave it a hem of sorts, and it dragged in the dirt around her feet. Her hair was filthy, shaggy, and wild, obscuring her face. Woven into it were the bones and fetishes typical of every country shaman Bav had ever encountered. As he watched, she raised her arms, lifting the skin up over her head, and Bav was shocked to see that she was naked underneath. He was equally shocked that as she lifted the skin from her shoulders he could see that she wasn’t old at all. Like lifting a veil, as her body was revealed Bav was pleased to see a healthy, attractive young woman before him, barely in her thirtieth year. As he watched, her face came free of her garb, and he was shocked to see that her hair, filthy and bedraggled only a moment before, was blond and held back from her face in a thick braid. Bav was barely aware of the chanting when it started, fascinated as he was by the young shaman in front of him. He was mesmerised by her eyes, and found himself relaxing his stance as he leaned toward her. It was as she began to dance that he noticed the people in the circle around her, swaying in time to their own chanting, in a language he didn’t recognise. Despite her obvious beauty, Bav was instantly afraid, and wanted out of that room. Village fanatics be damned, he determined to leave, and turned to the door. It was gone, and he patted the wall with his hands, confused, looking for it. When he had come in, it was just a deerskin draped across the hole cut in the wall. Now, as he ran his hands along the wood and glanced around the room, he could find no break anywhere. Panic seized him, then, and he spun to face the woman in the circle. She was staring at him, her face tilted down so she was looking at him through the hair that fell in front of her face. Smoke filled the room, making her look more and more like a predator. As he watched, the air in the room darkened, and he found himself locked in place by her eyes. They glowed in the shadows, and soon his vision was filled with nothing but her eyes. The chanting reached a crescendo pitch, and stopped suddenly. The immediacy of the silence struck Bav like a hammer blow, and he felt himself falling unconscious, the woman’s eyes following him into the abyss. When he awoke, he had found himself back at the farm, with no memory of how he had gotten there. Sil’s daughter was sitting in the hay next to his bedroll, and he started up when he saw her. “By the Moons!” he cried, scrabbling back from her. She tilted her head, seemingly puzzled. “The Moons?” she asked. “You’re one of those, then?” “What in the pit happened back there? Who was that woman?” The girl leaned forward, looking around as if to make sure nobody else was there. “You mustn’t ask that,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous. Nobody speaks of her.” Bav, confused, looked for a weapon. His knife was closest, and he reached for it. “What?” “You have to help us,” she said, without a hint of concern over the blade in his hand. “I have to what?” “Help us. She’s taking us, one by one. She’ll take you, if you stay. She’ll take me soon, if you don’t help.” She said this so calmly, with no sign of fear in her face, that Bav wasn’t sure how to react. “Taking you?” he asked, finally. She nodded, still expressionless. “She takes people into her. To her world. They don’t come back,” she said. “Into her? To her world?” Bav asked. He still held the knife, but his resolve was weakening, and he found himself lowering it. “What do you mean?” “She’s not from here. She’s something else. She looks human, but she’s not,” the girl said. “Not human? She didn’t look like a Treechild,” Bav said. The girl shook her head. “Not a Treechild, either. Not from here at all. From somewhere else.” As she said this, she looked up, and waved her hand above her. Bav knew she was indicating the sky overhead, but didn’t understand what that meant. “She came two years ago, and she’s been taking us ever since.” “I don’t understand,” Bav said. “Where does she take you? Why don’t you just leave?” She shook her head, looking down at her hands in her lap. “We can’t leave. She doesn’t let us,” she said. She looked up, and Bav fell back at her eyes, now as black as pitch. “You must go to the Bann Faew, and descend into the blackness you find there. At the bottom, you will see the Heart of Ogel. Consume the Heart, and set us free.” As she finished speaking, her head dropped again, and Bav was certain that whoever had spoken the words was not this young girl he had spent three days trying to flirt with. She looked up at him again, and her eyes were normal again. “My name is Abra,” she said. “Please remember me.” Before he could say anything in response, she was gone. Bav didn’t bother saying anything to the farmer or his wife, he simply gathered his things and left. He had tried to forget the farm, and the shaman in the temple, but for the next year his dreams were haunted by nightmares of her eyes as she danced in the smoke. Eventually, he started asking people he met about what the girl had said to him. About the Bann Faew and the Heart of Ogel. Most didn’t know what he was talking about, but were more than willing to listen as long as he bought the ale. It was three months later before he found somebody who knew something. At a campsite on the edge of the Scouring Sands, he met a trio of monks who were making pilgrimage to some holy relic or another, and when he was sufficiently deep in his cups Bav asked them if they knew of the Bann Faew. The three monks all snapped their eyes to him at once as he uttered the words, and Bav froze in place. “I take that as a ‘yes’,” he said. The eldest of the three monks ushered the other two away, and sat cross-legged in front of Bav. “Where did you hear of the Bann Faew?” the man asked. Despite his drunkenness, Bav could hear the threat in the man’s voice. And despite his advantage in size and weaponry, Bav knew the threat was real. He set his cup down and leaned forward. In a hushed voice, he related the tale of the farmer’s Festday, and of the shaman in the temple. When he came to the part of the girl’s words, and how he was convinced that it had not been the girl at all, the monk made him slow down and repeat the tale again. He dug for details, pulling more and more out of Bav’s memory. After he had gone over it half a dozen times, the monk seemed satisfied, and relaxed. Bav was certain that his life had just been spared. When the monk spoke, it was with a voice of authority. “Why you have been chosen for this task, I do not know, but I am not one to question these things. You must travel to the east, deep into the lands beyond the great Hareun River. There you will encounter the homelands of the Berren Toch, the race of giants of legend. Seek out their city, a city without a name, and find Yorok, the sage. Tell him this tale just as you have told it to me, and he will guide you to the Bann Faew. May the heavens guide your path, my friend. And may the gods protect you.” The monk stood at that, and walked away. Bav tried to follow, but the three of them melted into the shadows beyond the firelight, and Bav never saw them again. The next morning, he started east, as he had been directed, and walked for months. When he reached the Hareun River, he hired a fisherman to ferry him across. The fisherman would not come close to the far shore, so Bav had to swim about half a mile to reach the rocky riverside. He walked again, always east, and eventually came to the lands of the Berren Toch. A pair of the giants set upon him as he camped one night, and he begged directions to their unnamed city. They seemed reluctant, but when he described the monk that had sent him here they acquiesced, and accompanied him to his destination. They explained that these lands were dangerous when travelled alone, and they would see him safely to Yorok to repay a debt to the monk. Yorok was ancient, older than anything Bav had ever seen. Bav felt the weight of ages in the giant’s presence, and was convinced that this being had seen the foundation stones of the world laid in the Beginning, and that he would see them pulled at the End. Yorok guided him to a great stone well in the forest, where a woman stood guard. Yorok and the woman didn’t speak to each other - indeed, they didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence - and Bav was left with her as Yorok simply turned and left without speaking. “Why have you come here, Man?” a voice asked. Bav looked around to see who had spoken, for the woman’s lips had not moved. Finally, he decided she must have been the one to ask, and addressed her. “I was sent by a girl on a farm, who’s family and neighbours were being taken by a being not of this world.” There was silence in the cool air for some time, and Bav was about to say something else when the voice rang in his ears again. “What was her name?” Bav hesitated. He had never spoken the girl’s name aloud, though he remembered it as she had asked. He was afraid that speaking it would set it free, and he would forget her when that happened. He drew breath, and answered, “Abra. Her name is Abra.” “Was. She is gone, though you have remembered her and that is enough.” Bav was shaken by the revelation. He had known, of course, that she would be. It had been three years, after all. But hearing it confirmed filled his chest with stones. “You must descend. Are you prepared?” He checked his belongings, and felt that he had enough supplies. He nodded, and stepped forward. “I am ready, yes,” he said. “Mind the stairs. Take only one at a time, no matter your stride. To stray from this is to beg devastation. If you pray, do so now. There are no gods, here.” She stepped aside, and he peered into the well. Stairs spiralled down into the dark, and he lit a torch before climbing in. Mindful of the woman’s warning, and made sure to take each step in turn, even though they were close enough to make it awkward to do so. Soon enough they evened out and became more comfortable for him. Now, two (three?) days later, Bav was still careful to take them one at a time. When his light was out, he would slide his foot forward to the edge of the step before moving down to the next one, making sure he didn’t skip any in the dark. When he slept, he tucked himself in his bedroll against the riser behind him, and made a barricade between him and the next stair down so he wouldn’t fall. He ate sparingly, drank even less. He tried not to think of how far below the earth he was. When his mind turned to it, he was overcome with dread. Surely he was somewhere else, now. Surely he had passed through some barrier, and was no longer descending into the soil of his own world. When he awoke, he continued moving down, down, always down. The stairs no longer spiralled, and he cared not to remember how long ago they had stopped. Now it was a straight descent into the blackness. His food ran out after three more rest breaks, and his water ran out two rests after that. When he emptied his waterskin, he tossed it into the dark beside the stairs, listening for when it hit the bottom. He felt nothing when no sound came. It was three rests later, his lips parched and his tongue raw against them, when his foot, sliding forward to find the next stair, found nothing. He paused, unsure, and shuffled forward, seeking for the next stair. His toe bumped against something solid, and he held his breath. He reached his fingers ahead of him, gently, carefully, until they met a hard wooden surface. He slung his pack off his shoulder, and felt inside for his last candle. He lit it with a strike of his flint, and blinked against the brightness of light he hadn’t seen in days. As his eyes cleared, he looked up at a wooden door before him. He looked behind to see the stairs he had descended, climbing back up into the abyss above him, seemingly into forever. “By the Moons,” he muttered, and the woman’s voice echoed in his memory again. “There are no gods, here.” The door had a handle, and he reached for it with a trembling hand. It opened easily, and the door swung away from him on silent hinges. The room beyond was brightly lit, and he squinted against the glare. It was a many-sided room, and he quickly scanned it for dangers. Fourteen walls, and a small pedestal in middle were the only things he saw. The light came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and he dropped his candle to the floor as he stepped inside. Fourteen walls, and no doors in any of them. As he circled the room, he saw that the door he had entered through was gone, as well. Before, that would have worried him, but he was beyond such cares, now. The pedestal in the center of the room was waist-high, and had - he counted - seventeen sides. The juxtaposition of the pedestal versus the walls was jarring, somehow, and he felt his eyes grow itchy as he looked from one to the other. On the pedestal sat a small leather sac with no opening. Bav looked at it, and took another look around the room. Still nothing. Just fourteen walls, and a seventeen-sided pedestal, and the headache that came from looking at the two. And the bag. This must be the Heart of Ogel, there was no other explanation. He reached his hand for it, slowly, and froze when it shifted away from him. Like a small shapeless animal, it . . . *flexed*, somehow, and Bav was reminded of nothing so much as a baby pressing against a pregnant woman’s belly. He reached for it again, and it pulled away from his hand slightly before he grasped it. It was warm in his palm, and he felt it stretching and pushing against his fingers. He found he had to grip it tightly for fear of dropping it. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the feeling that if he let it go now, it would not go well for him. Keeping the bag firmly gripped in his left hand, he pulled his knife with his right. Guided more by instinct than anything else, he pressed the tip of the knife against the skin of the bag, pressing slightly. He felt the tip enter the skin, and it felt exactly like slowly stabbing a man in the belly. Blood welled up from the entry wound, and Bav pressed the knife in further. Blood came faster now, spilling out over his palm and falling to the floor. It was dark and thick, heart blood, and Bav twisted the knife slightly to open the wound. The bag in his hand was writhing now, and he gripped it tightly in his left hand as he pulled the knife free. He dropped the knife, and pushed his finger into the wound, hooking it under the skin to tear it open. As it ripped, he felt more than heard the screams of agony that arose from the wound. Agony and fury, bellowing out from the void that was the other side of the wound he had made. The blood that poured forth was warm, but the finger he had placed inside was cold beyond imagining. He pulled, tearing the bag open and spraying his face with the blood from inside, and there, in front of him, was a gaping void where the fourteen-walled room had been. Cold blasted him, and he heard screams beyond anything he had ever imagined. The screams of the mountains, of the stars, of the very world, filled his ears and his mind. And there, hanging before him in the void, was a stone. Black and ragged, it pulsed in the void - in-out, in-out - like a heartbeat. Bav reached a hand out to it, into the cold - so *cold!* \- and wrapped his frost-rimed fingers around it. The beating of the stone heart grew faster in his hand, and he pulled it toward him. It resisted - or something in the void resisted - and Bav had to brace his feet to get leverage. He pulled with all of his might, yelling with the effort, and fell backward when he felt the stone heart tear loose of the endless void and into his hand. The screaming grew louder, more furious, and the weight of the stone in his hand was immense. His arms screamed with the effort of holding it, and even more so for the effort of lifting it to his mouth. As he opened his jaws as wide as they would go to fit the stone heart between his teeth, the shaman’s eyes flashed in the void, staring at him with a fury unmatched. Beside her and behind her and all around her was the girl from the farm, staring at him through and around the shaman woman, pleading with him and pitying him all at once. He laughed into the void, then. “Abra!” he yelled, the howling of the void snatching the sound from him as soon as he made it. “I remember you!” Bav thought he saw her smile, then, but the shaman’s eyes grew wild as he said it, and he pushed the stone heart into his mouth, using his fingers to push it into his throat, and he swallowed reflexively, gagging the monstrous thing down. He heard the shaman’s shriek as he did so, and he fell to the floor as the tear he had opened seemed to reverse itself, sealing her fury and rage on the other side. As it did, the light in the room faded, and Bav fell to the floor, desiccated and cold.


There's a hunger that starts as desire, evolves into a sharp pain, then descends into nausea. No, This was not that sort of hunger. This was far, far worse. I had a dog once that had eaten four large rocks. Not pebbles. These were landscaping stones. I didn't know until she threw them up one by one. Each was three to four inches long, roughly an inch in diameter, and not at all smooth. According to the vet, she had a gastro-intestinal disorder that caused her brain to believe she was starving no matter how much food she had eaten. "In that state," she said, "she will eat anything just to feel satisfied." Even rocks. I'm at least that hungry. Fortunately, I understand a bit more about the risk versus reward of consuming my home's curb appeal than Xena, my warrior princess doggo. But, the feeling is still the same. I rummage loudly through the fridge. It's early, or late. I haven't slept, so I'm unsure what to call it. Whichever it is, I know my timing and volume are matched inappropriately because my boyfriend calls out to me through a sleepy fog to ask if everything is alright. A nearly incoherent worry paints his voice at first, but it quickly shifts to irritation when the obnoxious "beep" of the oven being set to 425º reveals my intentions. I've decided on a frozen pizza. The oven takes too long to preheat, so I begin snacking on handfuls of peanuts, pouring myself a glass of milk while crushing the nuts to butter between my teeth. \ I don't know how long I've been lying here in my own milk-soured vomit, but Steven is shaking me awake. He is worried. I hear repetitious beeping. I smell smoke. I smell everything. Has the oven timer always been this loud? No, that's the smoke detector. It is screaming into the thickening air in our house. Steven slaps me. He yells. Then again, harder this time. I taste blood in my mouth. Warm iron, but sweeter than I remember. My senses are screaming. The smoke. The alarm. The city lights throw pillars of illumination at one angle and noir at the other. Steven slaps me again. Softer this time. No, not slaps. Scratches? Yes. His fingernails dig into the flesh of my shoulder blades. It doesn't hurt. \ My hunger fades. I am fully satiated now. My lips and jaw and throat and chest are warm and wet. Steven moans weakly, lying limp in my arms. Blood pours steadily from two small holes in his neck. I remember now, it wasn't the vet, it was the woman from the bar. She was talking about me and my new feeding requirements. I don't even have a dog. "In that state," she said, "you will eat anything just to feel satisfied.


In a bar, there was a lone patron sitting at a table with a small black book with symbols written with thin black ink and a half full glass of whisky. His beard was sticking out from the hood, black with long grey strands here and there. The bartender was cleaning glasses with a rag as the patron was writing in his black book. A small group of people in robes came into the bar, pushing past the doors. The oldest looking one looked around the bar, seemingly looking for someone, "Hey barkeep, you seen him?" he asked as two other people came to his sides. The barkeep looked up at him and smirked, "I haven't. Hasn't been here in a few days," He lied. The oldest, glared and narrowed his eyes, "You're lying." The lone patron stood up, finishing his drink in a gulp, "Leave that man alone," his voice was raspy and labored as he grabbed his things. The group turned to face him. The oldest scoffed and laughed until the patron looked up at him. The patron had a missing left eye and a long scar going across his face to the left side of his face. His skin was old and wrinkled, showing his age. In his left hand, he had a walking stick that went to his shoulder. The oldest looked at his face and smiled, confident. "Who the hell are you old man?" He asked as he tried to grab the walking stick. The patron had a very firm grip on it. "Just someone that doesn't like bullies," he tapped the floor with the stick. A large bolt of lightning came down and struck him. He screamed in agony as the others froze in place. The oldest one let go of the stick and his hand was charred and burnt. "What the hell is this?" He was scared and in shock. The old man smirked and tapped the floor again, making another bolt of lightning come down and strike the others. They screamed in pain and the oldest ran out of the bar scared. The other two followed soon after. The bartender was shocked, his mouth agape at this old man, "What the hell are you?" The old man sighed a little as he readjusted his stance, "You can call me Wotan. I am just a scholar," he smirked a little. The bartender was silent as Wotan walked out, his gait was labored. The market outside the bar was bustling with stands selling everything from clothes to food to toys. The air was filled with the smell of smoked meats and cooked vegetables. Wotan started to weave through the crowd to an alleyway, going into a door on the left-hand side. The room was messy with books, newspapers, and feathers of his raven, Artur. He removed his robes and cowl, showing a toned body. His torso was covered in multiple scars that crisscrossed. Artur was perched on his perch, he cawed as Wotan showed his face. He was wrinkled and old, showing his age of maybe seventy. "Artur, old friend. My eyes and ears. What did you see?" His eyes changed to a pale orange. Artur was flying around the main city, bustling and loud. On one roof was a large figure. It was about seven feet tall with dark clothing, his eyes were glowing softly. He cawed and perched on a chimney a few houses down from where the figure stood. "Ah, Mael. It's been so long," Wotan smiled a little as the figure looked at Artur, his eyes were like red spotlights. "Artur, is that you?" His voice was deeper, "Old friend Wotan, it's been a while," he pet Artur on the back of his head.


Young and cold, the night slowly approached a room, filled with comfy air. Behind the blanket, surfaced a tiny little lump of hand, slowly unclenched as it crawl towards a man's arm. The man tried to close his eyes. His mind began to wander peacefully, like a solemn prayer. As the tiny fist tightly gripped his arm, he steadily detached his hand from the child's fistful grip. He hushed the little soul and said, "good night, young one." His old and crummy bones began to move. Touched the hard cold surface of the floor at last, he gently escaped the room, which in truth felt comfy, unlike the ground he stood at. Man's eyes gazed towards an area before him, which laid a logbook and a feathery ink. As steadfast as he walked across the murky and dark aisle, he felt sudden violent shake. Ceiling began to fell, and objects around him collapsed. He swiftly galloped, tried to reach his son's bedroom. But what his eyes saw, gave him hard and bitter truth, as the yet warm and pleasant room, is now in shambles. The man stood tall, stared upon the now ruined space. Wickedly shivered, the house he was in abruptly flickered. Like a hasty cut to the throat, all of a sudden he stood in an empty yet dreadful nothingness. Hours upon hours, perhaps days or months, the man won't budge and still gazed to the pitch black space. He had tried to end his miserable life but alas, the floor wouldn't let him. The lack of hard surface to collide his head, conveyed that his presence in this wretched place was all but a mere fate. He began to muttered, wailed, and yelled at what he knew as 'The Higher Power', but no one replied. The mind behind his tall appearance promptly wander, made him mad in the process. His fate dwindled down, worst and worst, as he tried to walked unbending. Could not fathom how long had he crawled towards the vast nothingness, as the time and space became irrelevant. His mind could not comprehend where he had strolled. An array of light had passed, left and right, there were woman and children, husband and father, a crowded place he was in. One man in the mob yelled at him, but he still won't budge, not even a slight head turn. Steadfast he advanced, more and more weary, the man once known to appear as human, now wickedly crawled with both hands, on the lively street. Another array of lights surfaced beneath the earth people stood on. This phenomenon occurred throughout the kingdom, even a whole continent witnessed this once in a lifetime event. Bewildered as they may, the people of this vast continent did not know what came. The age of darkness had begun and they must prepare... ================================================================================= Hi, if you would gave feedback for my sentences or writing, im not a native english speaker and this is my first attempt on making story fully worded in english. I often made my story in my mother language but if you somewhat have difficulty to understand the sentences, feel free to give me feedback.


#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 Nightmare! This week we’re going to take a look at the theme of ‘nightmare’. This can be a literal nightmare, with your characters’ deepest fears creeping up in their dreams, or something more metaphorical, like a moment or event that is so scary and/or so unbelievable, it feels like something right out of their nightmares. Maybe it’s a mix of both. What are your characters most afraid of? Think about the things that eat them up inside and change the way they interact with the world around them; the worst thing they could imagine happening. What happens when this comes to life? What does that look like? Bring this world to life on the page, transport your readers there. What is this character’s next step? Do they stand tall and face it, like a warrior, or do they cower and run? 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!) * January 2 - Nightmare (this week) * January 9 - Patience * January 16 - Meddling   *** **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 - - by u/Sonic_Guy97   - - by u/rainbow–penguin   - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/Dewa1195     *** #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 - Don’t forget to show appreciation to your fellow writers and from 2021! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.