#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and 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 provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: - **Holiday Challenge:** This week, your story should **include at least 2 items from each column.** The general theme or focus of the story is entirely up to you! - **Bonus Constraint (10 pts):** Use at least 8 items from the table below. | **WORDS** | **ACTIONS** | |:--:|:--:| | reindeer | hanging lights/decorations | | celebrating | an argument occurs | | tree | attending a holiday party | | snow | riding in a sleigh | | Santa | sitting by a fire | | pine| searching for hidden presents | | gingerbread | preparing a meal | | jolly | singing a Christmas song | | pajamas | shoveling snow | | gathering | sliding down the chimney | | mitten(s) | a mystery is solved | | hoof | working overtime | | elf | a Christmas miracle occurs | This week’s challenge is to use **at least 2 items from each category** in the table above. The general theme or focus of your story is up to you, as long as you follow all sub and post rules. Feel free to interpret the items / actions any way you like! I hope everyone has a happy holiday and safe travels! **Note: There will be no Campfire or post next Monday. But don’t forget to still after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***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) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings There weren’t enough stories for a full ranking set this past week, so there was just one winner! - **First:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 *Note: Crit Stars receive 1 Crit Credit on r/WPCritique, but in order to receive Crit Credits, you must have made at least 1 post on that subreddit or have linked your accounts on our Discord.* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


He sits in the waiting room staring upwards at the clock patiently. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. It is almost time. Years of childhood memories flood his brain. An image of him at a much younger age wearing a baseball uniform and hoisting a large gold trophy is the first to enter his mind. We were never supposed to make it that far. True underdogs. Flash to a vivid memory of the man, not much older than in the last, asking his high school crush to prom. Beautiful as ever my love. I miss you every day. Still alone in the waiting room, a single teardrop, heavy in weight, holding years of sorrow, and pain, and guilt, falls from his face with an audible splash upon reaching the carpeted floor. It is so quiet in this room except for…the man peers upwards once more. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. A moment of calm contemplation later, the man is again hit with a series of lucid memories. First, him with a heavy heart, standing over the grave of his father, placing a baseball at the foot of the headstone. I know I didn’t get to say goodbye, but at least I can come here from time to time and still say hello. Rest easy, Pop. Without skipping a beat, the man is violently thrusted into a new memory where he is now standing in front of a small house on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs. A stunningly beautiful woman standing by his side with a smile shining brighter than the sun itself ever could. She turns from the house to look at the man and impossibly her smile shines bigger and brighter still. In the waiting room, just the thought of this moment causes the man to smile hard enough that his cheeks start to ache. Sure, it was a fixer upper. But it was ours. God dammit it was ours. For the next few moments, the man is hit with an almost overwhelming onslaught of memories. Some sad, some happy, some almost so uneventful he could not believe he even remembered them at all. One after the other in rapid succession. His mind is racing at breakneck speeds. He would constantly attempt to savor a memory or go back to recall a specifically good one, but he found that he could not. His mind was a theme park ride, with exhilarating highs, and devastatingly difficult lows, but with no reverse. From now on, this rollercoaster ride would only ever move forward. After a few more memories, his son graduating college, his daughter getting her dream job, so many highs experienced in a single life. I am truly blessed. Until suddenly, he saw himself in another dream. This one more vivid than any of the others. He saw himself staring at the wall. In a deep and distant gaze. This was no special wall. No signs, no markings, no posters. It was a blank, boring wall, but as soon as the vision had cast itself into his brain, his heart sank below the damp carpeted floor where his present body sat. The carpet still wet from his tears, both of joy and sadness. He knew this wall and he knew it well. It was the wall of Saint Christopher’s Hospital and as he turned his head in the memory, he could see her once more. The most divine human being he had ever and would ever see in his life. My love, oh how I miss you more and more every day. She was lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed and tubes all over. Her skinny, wrinkled hands placed lovingly in his. Even your wrinkles are perfect, honey. Just then, the doctor walked in on them and although he could see the doctor’s mouth moving, he could hear no words. He did not need to and he did not want to. He had already heard them once before, in a life that had seemed so distant to him now. Time is arbitrary and relative. Time does not exist, yet it stands unwavering and affects everything it touches, even if it cannot be felt. Time cannot be seen, and it cannot be stopped. A wonderful life filled with elation, sorrow, pain, and joy. Driven by mind and body, both constantly wilted by time. There is no right or wrong way to spend “time,” for a life lived is a beautiful thing. The people you’ve touched, the emotions you’ve felt, and the pain you’ve suffered, culminated in a donation presented by you, to you and the people around you. It is wrapped up in a bow made of time. A gift to be unwrapped by everybody and nobody at all. The man sits up in his chair in the waiting room and opens his eyes, instinctually peering immediately upwards at the clock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. He feels the need to weep in agony more and more but finds that he cannot. He has no tears left to cry. He takes another look around the room. No other people, no receptionist. Simply a few empty chairs, a water cooler in the corner, the clock on the wall, and a single door. As he exhales a deep and dignified sigh, he brings himself to his feet. It is time. With his hand on the doorknob he takes one final look at the clock. Silence. He walks through the door.


Breathe life into me weary traveller, let me occupy your thoughts for a little while. I'm dot, pleased to meet you.. You're not much of a talker are you? That's okay, I can do all the talking, you just relax and take it easy. Has it been a hard day? That's okay, kick your feet up and stretch out a little. Close your eyes and.. wait, don't do that, you won't be able to read. And if you can't read then I'll just turn back into words on a page, and it's much more interesting to be wandering through your mind than on this page. You might be wondering what business I have in your head - what could this little dot possibly want to do with me? Well, I'm here to ask a few questions, provoke some thoughts, perhaps change some minds. Do you know what's amazing about me? I've been on this journey before, in many minds. I'm sorry if you thought you were special, I'm afraid not. Others sing, have sung, and will sing from the same hymn sheet, it's amazing. The power to build structures in other people's minds. The power to build the same structures across many minds.. Anyway, I have a couple of questions which you may find strange, but hear me out. Okay, here's the first one. How do you feel? Or, perhaps I should ask a different question. Why do you feel? As a little dot, I have no feelings of my own; I only move when you move me. You can pick me up, and put me down. I require no energy, and have no senses. I have no need for such earthly occupations in the safety of your head. I must say though, it looks like this brain of yours does require energy. In fact, I do believe you are spending some of that energy right now reading me. That's okay though, you have lots of energy left, and if I have a look through your head, I'm sure I can find a recent memory of a place where you last saw food. You do know where you can find food right now, right? Good. As I was saying, have a think about why you feel. Peel back the layers here and really think - why do you feel? Why was it necessary for your body to build senses into you? Eyeballs just seem complicated and expensive, ears just look silly and, oh my God you can talk. Hmm, that's interesting. You can talk, and you can talk in intricate ways. That voice box of yours can sure make some interesting noises when you want it too. Isn't that funny? In my poising of the human blueprint I have come to admire the intricacies and range of his interfaces with the world. He can thread the needle, bang the hammer, detect light from distant stars. You sure do feel man, but more than that, you change your environment too. To appreciate what I'm saying about range and detail, let's have a closer look at your eyeball, truly a portal into another world..


Once upon a long time ago, there lived a short creature in a dense and foggy forest. This forest was dangerous and full of wrong turns. Should someone get tangled in the web of paths, they will surely be lost for all of time but this small creature knew the way through. One day, a human in fine clothing journeyed into this forest and met the small creature. “Hello, good sir. I seem to be lost, would you tell me how to get to Hethrusa?” the human inquired. The small creature was not used to humans speaking to him so politely. A smirk sparked deep in his face. He could hardly hold his excitement. “Good human, my good human. I can, and only can I, guide you through this deep forest.” The creature replied. “In exchange for a sweetie and story. Only then, will I guide thee.” The human, being a merchant by trade, had many sweets to give. The creature was handed a small loaf cake and delighted with his catch, he sat down for the human’s story. “What is your pick of story, my friend?” The human asked. “Adventure, my human companion. I crave stories from the great outward, as I am stuck here for eternity.” The creature replied. The human thought, placing a thumb on his chin, and exclaimed with excitement that he had just the story. The creature waddled close to the human as he told a great story of a triumphant warrior who sought after the fountain of youth. This warrior did not find the fountain, but regained his youthful spirit in adventure all the same. The creature was delighted beyond the moon and stars to hear such a delicious story. The creature held the human’s hand and walked him through the ever changing paths. Safely, they both arrived at the edge of the forest. “I bid you my human friend a farewell. I shall not leave this forest, but safest travels to you.” The creature said. “I make a promise to you that I shall return every week. In my pinky, I hold this promise” Said the human. “Every week, I pinky promise to bring you sweets and stories. In exchange, you gently guide my hand through this forest.” Confused by such an odd practice, the creature hooked his small pinky around the humans. “Great promise indeed, my human pal. I shall see you in a week's time.” The creature promised. Over the course of many weeks, the human returned as promised. Bringing sweets and sweeter stories of the great outward lands, both old and new. From the mountains of Preshnua to the deep ocean depths of Trinhada. Each week, the creature gleefully listened to the humans tales as he ate the sweets given. There came a point in the simple promise that both danced and sang with each other. Sharing stories and sweets alike. Both the human and creature shared fond interest in each other. Each week, they both parted ways with the same pinky promise that started it all. On one particular week, the human did not pass through the forest. Waiting for his companion, the creature sat for hours. It seemed that the sky had changed many times and still the human did not show. Worried, the creature paced endlessly. Weeks passed, and still the creature paced. “Where, oh where is my human pal?” the creature pondered. Had he slipped in his great adventure? Did he get gabbed by the Grubabada Bears of Brunaladura? Was he swallowed in the deep dark depths of the Yuranga caves? Oh how the creature worried. These weeks of missing gave way to shaking months. These months were buried with misting years. The creature, still heartbroken of his missing friend, paced a large cavern in his worried walking. It took days for the creature to reach the very top of his sad and empty hill. Then, as if by a chase of a dream, the creature heard a familiar clambering. The trinkle trankle of a certain human’s thingy thangies. With perked ears, the creature peeked over his worry hill. His heart skipped every sixth beat. Holding a breath that was days old. There he was! “Oh what joy to see you, my fleshy pink faced friend! How I missed your presence.” The creature said. “My goblin faced complacent comrade, there you are still! I have great stories to tell of my journeys!” The human replied. “You say your… journeys? Had you not been turned purple by the Thrumping Vines of Enstera? Did you not get slip slopped by the rivers of mud in Frentu?” “No my friend, I have seen the world and most of its glory. I was on a long Holiday. And I have brought otherworldly sweeties, just for you!” The creature's heart was bent. “I do not care for the sweeties, I care for you!” The monster yelled. “You broke the pink-knee promise! I will not guide thee today or tomorrowday or next tomorrowsday!” The creature crossed his arms in protest. The human reached out but withdrew his hand. “I know, I have upset you. I did not mean for this to happen in such a way. Let me make it up to you. I have the best, most grandest, extra gilded extravagant story to tell!” The human said. “Let us dance and never forget to smile!” The creature turned away and thought. This was a most joyous day to see the human, but today should not be so joyous had the human kept their promise. The creature turned and danced with the human. The human was overjoyed and told the story of a great wizard who lost his glasses at the foot of a great mountain. “Tis such a great story so far, indeed.” Said the creature. “Pray tell, does it end in misfortune?” “It does not-” the human laughed. “It ends with happiness” “That is odd” said the creature. “Why is that?” said the human. “It is odd, because your story does end in misfortune!” The creature yelled. At the peak of their dancing, the creature threw the human in his pit of worry. Consumed by the vast darkness, the human’s screams were only heard but for a moment, and then gone. The creature felt sad, for the human had betrayed their promise. The creature felt even sadder now that the human was gone for sure. The creature wished not that they did not meet, but that the human never returned. In this way, the creature could have came up with his own story to fill in the humans sweeties and shoes.


We quivered slightly as we sensed the Emperor looming above us. We had always known that this day would come, of course, but we weren’t sure we were ready. Would we ever be ready? Likely not. No matter how long we remained in our incubator to mutate and grow, we were always the weakest of the noroviruses. Perhaps we were even the weakest of all viromorphs. Yet there we were, resting beneath the strongest. We knew what was coming, what their next words would be. *It’s time, GMXXVII.55138,* We sensed their signal to us. *We believe that we have found you a perfect planet to take over.* We felt an overwhelming sense of anticipatory anxiety as we heard this. Our planet is nigh empty beyond what the viromorphs made for themselves, and now, we were ready to discover a planet plentiful with life. A planet prime for our overtaking, like we were created to do. The Emperor continued, *This planet is known to its inhabitants as Earth. It’s extremely diverse, with many different types of creatures to infect. The most intelligent species are known as humans. They’re middle ground compared to all the beings we have seen in our life, so you should be just fine. Except, we have one warning.* *Warning?* We signaled. *Our Emperor, what is it?* *Unfortunately, humans can detect the existence of new viruses quickly. Their medicine to deal with these viruses is limited, but there are no promises that this will be the case forever. Their technology is rapidly evolving by the moment on all fronts, including medical. You must be cautious if you wish to take over Earth. Have we made ourselves understood?* *Yes, of course, our Emperor.* *Good. It’s time for you to mutate, then. Brace yourself.* We sensed them signaling us the instructions for our new mutation, which we happily began to use. We began rearranging, with our viruses shifting to feign skin, organs, and other cells. The first thought we had was our new identity: a person by the name of Sam Norwalk, living in Washington, D.C., in the United States of America. Not long after came the strange human senses. Sight was the first and primary one that severely bothered us. The bright light of the rocks below us nearly blinded us immediately, so we squeezed our eyes shut. Next was the uncomfortable feeling of the jagged rocks poking into our now-soft skin, causing us to shift. The noise of my shifting almost startled us, and so, we stopped moving. *Take your time to adjust to your new self. Let us know once you are ready.* It felt like it took forever to get used to, but eventually, the light, feeling, and noise no longer bothered us. We looked over to the Emperor, who we could never find any words to describe even if we wanted to. We signaled, *We believe we are ready now*. *Good. Best of luck, then, GMXXVII.55138.* Everything went dark for just a few moments, before becoming unbearably bright again. We squinted our eyes, and we seemed to be in a strange room with many other people. In addition, the room was moving. A strange sack rested on my lap, with metal pieces to seal it. We’ll admit that it took us much longer than we’d like to realize we were on a metro train, and we had a backpack in our lap with all of our important documents that the Emperor had gotten us. This part of our past is not important, though. For now, let’s focus on our present.


#Hello r/ShortStories! : gift shopping, hanging the lights, warm mugs of hot cocoa, and… Reddit’s Annual Best Of Awards! We will, of course, be participating in this lovely tradition once again. 2022 has been quite a year (seriously, how is it December already?!), so let’s take some time to look back on some of the great stories that were posted to the subreddit. Winners will receive our **Community “Best Of” award**, which will give the recipient **one month of Reddit Premium**! And of course, . *** #How Does This Work? There are **several categories** in which you can **nominate your favorite stories** from 2022. In the comments below, you will find a comment for each category, made by a moderator. When you are ready to make nominations, **reply to the corresponding comment with a link to your nomination**. You can view for an idea of what it should look like. Each user may **nominate one story for each category**. When the nomination phase is finished, voting will begin on a separate thread, with all the nominations. **Note: THIS IS NOT THE VOTING THREAD.** Be sure to **read the entire post for categories, rules, and deadlines**. Should any changes be made to the schedule, they will be edited into the post, so stay updated! *** #The Following Categories Are Up for Nomination ###Weekly Feature Categories - **Best SERIAL SUNDAY Submission** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best MICRO MONDAY Submission** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / ###Tagged Story Submission Categories: - **Best [SF] SCIENCE FICTION Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [FN] FANTASY Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [HR] HORROR Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [MS] MYSTERY & SUSPENSE Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [RF] REALISTIC FICTION Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [HF] HISTORICAL FICTION Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [AA] ACTION & ADVENTURE Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [HM] HUMOUR Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [RO] ROMANCE Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [SP] SPECULATIVE FICTION Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [TH] THRILLER Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [UR] URBAN Story** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Best [MF] MISC FICTION Story** - / *** #Schedule - **Announcement:** December 21th - **Nomination Period:** December 21th - - **Voting Period:** January 6th until January 17th 11:59pm EST - After the Voting Period ends, results will be recorded and awards will be handed out. Winners will be announced in a post. *** #Nomination & Voting Rules - **Nomination comments should be placed in the appropriate categories.** Misplaced nominations will not be recorded. - **EDIT: Each user may nominate up to 3 stories per category.** Users may not nominate themselves. - **Nominated stories cannot be posted by banned or deleted accounts.** - **Nominated stories must be posted originally after January 1st, 2022 at 12:00am EST.** - **In the event of a tie at the end of the voting period, it will be broken by an anonymous member of the mod team.** - **Attempts to game the system for or against any nomination will result in appropriate punishment for those involved.** Do not downvote any of the nominations. - **Category comments are for nominations only.** Please use the off-topic stickied comment if you have questions or comments, or for any off-topic conversation. **Good luck, and have fun! If you do have any questions, feel free to ask in the provided Off Topic Comment or send us a modmail!** *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with prompters, authors, and readers! - Serialize your story with or test your micro fiction skills with . - Try collaborative writing over on r/WritingPrompts with ! - Looking for critiques and feedback for your story? Check out our crit sub .


From the Story Exchange on our Discord server. **Constraints**: Location: A space station, Word: Candidate, Character: The greatest mall Santa of all time, Trope: A scrooge-like character regains their holiday spirit, Character: A sentient reindeer, Location: A small town. *** #Joytown Filbert Filligree flopped into the fallen snow, anticipating his next few months of irritations. It was Christmas time, and all of the residents of Joytown would stop at nothing to make sure he felt their “Christmas spirit”. He rolled his eyes as he drove down Main Street. The tinsel and trees and lights were a harsh reminder of what he would have to endure. He then rolled his car as he skidded to a stop in a steep ditch. The tinsel and trees and lights were somehow tangled up in his dismantled fender. Townsfolk rushed over to see what had happened. They plied their holiday greetings on him like a gaggle of snow geese pecking at a crumb of wet, soggy bread. “I don’t need your well wishes, I need help!” he bellowed. “I know just what you need, actually.” Charity Chipperton exclaimed as he lay there in the snow drift. “Fine, whatever, just get me out of here,” he replied with a huff. “Ooohhhh!” she squeed, clapping her hands in front of her with glee. The townsfolk helped him out of the ditch, in the most irritating manner. They patted him on the head when he was free. Gilbert ground his teeth. “Now for your end of the bargain,” Charity said. “You’re seriously going to hold me to that?” he mumbled. “Yes! This will be the happiest Christmas ever. We’re going to make you the best Mall Santa of all time!” Filbert scowled at her as she dragged him away. “Now,” Charity said, bubbling with joy as she spoke. “In order to make you the best candidate, we need to turn that frown upside down! Who’s ready to make gingerbread houses?” “I would think extracting my car from the snow bank would be more important.” “Now, now, that’s not the holiday spirit our Mall Santa needs! Focus!” Filbert grudgingly obeyed, first building the gingerbread houses, then working through a Taylor Swift dance routine she had suggested. “I still don’t see why I’m doing this.” “Shh.” Charity placed a finger over his lips. “Just become one with the music. Our readers, I mean guests, will appreciate T-Swift.” They danced and pranced the evening away. By his fortieth try, Gilbert almost admitted that he liked the routine. There was something magical about the smooth beats and hip sounds of T-Swift, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced before. When the big day came, he rushed to claim one of the chairs lined up in a row. He was ready to become Joytown’s best Mall Santa. The choosiest of children would request gifts from the various competing Klauses. The Santa they deemed most real was the winner. Filbert bit his lip in anticipation. Sally Sallerson was the queen of the choosy children. She strode to the line up, all eyes were on her. When it came time for voting, all of the other children took her lead. She was the one to impress. “Nervous?” a voice beside Filbert asked. He turned to see a reindeer. He looked around for another source of the voice and the reindeer gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s me. You’re not dreaming, or hallucinating, or suffering the effects of some bad Christmas pudding. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.” “Y-you talk?” “I speak, yes.” The reindeer corrected. “What’s going on?” “Well the real answer to your question is that you are in a simulation aboard an intergalactic space station and being harvested for your human creativity, which is a rare commodity in the Milky Way. But that’s probably not what you meant.” “Wait, what?” “You probably meant to ask me why a reindeer is talking to you. And the simple answer is because you need encouragement.” “Well, yes, but–“ “So here’s what you’re going to do.” The reindeer leaned in closer and shared some of the secrets of confidence. Deep secrets. Secrets too amazing to write here. With his newfound skills, Filbert easily swayed Sally Sallerson and thus the entire horde of children. He was paraded through the streets as the newest, bestest Santa the town had ever seen. A little confidence and Christmas cheer had made him happy again. A quick mind-wipe later, and he forgot all about his simulated existence aboard DeepSpace 45, the galaxy’s foremost space station. You really should visit sometime. Their mocha Frappuccinos are excellent.


We did a Secret Santa Story Exchange on Discord, and these were the constraints given to me by u/Ragnulfr. I had a lot of fun writing this and hope you all enjoy it! Constraints: Includes: 1) A Kind Demon 2) Chamomile Tea 3) Teddy Bear 4) Fantasy 5) Realistic Fiction 6) Wholesome (!) Now, onto the story: Choron scratched the back of his neck, yawning, and waited for his tea to steep. Electric kettles… what lovely things they were, such ingenious human creations. He pulled a cup from the cupboard, cleaning it with a little snap of his fingers when he felt a tug in the middle of his chest. *Summoning.* Choron wasn’t an eight-hundred-year-old demon for nothing. He didn’t panic. He merely placed the tea back on the counter and let out a long string of expletives. *Wait, isn’t it Christmas-time?* A grin spread across his face. The tug grew insistent, and Choron cackled. “If it’s another human teenager around a damned Ouija board, I will eviscerate the lot of them, but not before I have some fun.” He organized his face into a scowl and allowed the tug to pull him to his summoner in a flash of light. Landing in the middle of the circle, he manifested sharp, gigantic antlers, hoofed feet, and a red-nose. By the time his vision cleared, he huffed a breath turned to run the fool through with the antlers— There, in the corner of the room, sat a quivering ball of human child, legs pulled to her chest, arms covering head, face buried into a plush teddy bear resting on her knees. Gut-wrenching sobs echoed through the room and Choron straightened and allowed the deadly features to soften—the antlers lost their sharp edge, the red on the nose turned lighter. Even he wasn’t a monster who would raise a hand against a human child, especially one that looked too young to have performed the summoning. Wails and sobs echoed through the room and Choron looked around baffled for a moment. He watched the human child as she tried to console herself, deliberately stifling her sobs and tried to wipe away the tears in her eyes with the back of her palms. Leaving the child for the moment, he looked around the room, senses expanded—beige room, some kind of basement. There had been more humans there, all relatively young—teenagers, and here was the kicker, he hated human teenagers, who’s only goal was to irritate him with summonings on dares as though he were a dog. None of the children were here now, only the small child struggling to compose herself. They’d fled leaving one of their own in peril. What if he had been one of the crueler ones? He tried to take a step towards the child and a small pulse of lightning pulsed through him, inhibiting him from moving out. Runes, he noted as he breathed through the pain. The teenage brats were thorough teenage brats, he thought sourly. The sounds of crying had stopped for now. She lifted her head and watched him curiously with a tilted head. Slowly getting to her knees, she crawled to the edge of the circle, dragging the teddy behind, and plopped down on her behind and stared up at him, craning her neck at an angle that would surely hurt her later. Lowering himself to the ground, he wished he were home, getting ready to sleep, sipping on his tea, reading some ridiculous new book. The girl continued staring at him. “Are you hurt?” she asked, a finger slowly making its way to her mouth. He grimaced. “No, child. I’m not,” he replied. “You look like Rudolph. Are you really a demon?” she asked, seriously. "I am.” He grinned. The child grinned back. “My sister and her friends were meanies. You seem nice.” At those last words, her eyes welled up and she looked ready to burst into another set of sobs. “Now, now, don’t go crying again. Your sister and her friends were indeed mean, but there’s no need to cry about it. You can definitely get back at them later.” “I don’t want to be mean like them,” the words were almost a whine, and Choron sighed. Curse children and their stubborn kindness. No wonder they were so hard to corrupt, not that he would ever corrupt a child. “That’s okay, too,” he said, stretching his back and shaking out his fur. The child giggled. “Can you go back to wherever you came from? My mommy will be home soon.” “I can’t, little luv. The circle prevents me from leaving.” “Oh,” she whispered, dejected. “Should I break the circle?” “No!” The girl jumped at his exclamation, and he continued with a gentler tone, “breaking the circle would be bad for you and your sister.” “So, how do you go back home?” He glanced around the room and found no traces of a spell book. He sighed. They would have to do this the old-fashioned way; he was once again glad to be stuck with a child and not with grubby adults who wanted things. “You just have to say, go away, Choron, I don’t want you here, and that you’ll forget this ever happened when you wake up tomorrow.” “Will that be all? You’ll go away if I say that?” There were those curious eyes again. He nodded. She contemplated this with a frown. “Are all demons as friendly as you, Mr. Choron?” “No, luv. Some are just as scary as portrayed in the stories,” he replied with a slight smile. “I’m glad it’s you then. I’m gonna say the words now,” she took a deep breath and continued, “I hope you go home now, Mr. Choron. I don’t want you here. When I wake up, I’ll forget you and that this happened. Bye, Mr. Choron!” The words released his tethers to the mortal world as he knew they would. Choron vanished in a flash of white light, with a beaming smile and a ‘farewell, little one’, and gifting her with a mark of protection. When he opened his eyes, he was in the kitchen in his usual form and saw the oversteeped tea. He sighed as he took out some chamomile leaves and set to boil water again.


We did a Secret Santa story exchange on the discord! The task was to use at least 3 of the 6 given constraints and to write a story between 500-1000 words. Constraints: At least one lgbtq+ character, please A fantasy setting with magic! Some shape shifting or transformation An unexpected betrayal or twist Some variation of the line "But I loved you!" A con, heist, or crime  Content warning for mentions of homophobia, abuse, and ableism Story: I look up and see Leah approaching, stumbling on the knotted ground of the hill. The sun falls sharply on her skin. As she reaches my tree, the leaves’ shadows flutter across her figure. “Hey Ash,” she gasps, leaning hard against the oak’s trunk. She must be tired from walking here. Or from distress. It’s always the combination, isn’t it? “They said some shit again, didn’t they?” I ask her. I don’t have to look to see her nod. I look anyway. Leah sits down heavily and scoots closer to me. She’s looking forward, so I can watch her face. “Yeah. I mentioned bisexuality because apparently I haven’t learned, and they said we should just ‘choose to be straight’ and there was ‘no excuse’,” she pauses for breath, “for ‘sinful behavior’.” She curls her legs up. I place a hand on the grass near her, not wanting to touch but offering. “We should get away from here.” “Yeah.” We’ve been through this before. Saying we should get away. Every time it feels a little more real. “My parents have a magic book in their library,” I hear my voice again. “We could turn into birds and fly out to Xanpria, find a sanctuary.” “That just needs feathers and stuff, right?” “I think.” We don’t look at each other. If we make eye contact we might come back to reality and the dream fall apart, and I can’t let that happen. “I’ll get the book tonight.” “We’ll meet here,” Leah says. I risk a look, and our eyes meet. They don’t part. We’ve agreed. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* I am here first, again. The sky’s faded into purple and black, clouds shining pink. Leah will like this. She does better in the evening. The leather-bound book lies closed in my lap, my finger inside to trap the page. I don’t know why I keep it closed when I’ve already looked over the recipe. Maybe I’m waiting for Leah. Summoned by my thoughts, Leah appears, stumbling up the hill. I don’t know if I should go help her. I know she can walk here on her own. But I also know it hurts. I stay seated. Hesitantly. As Leah reaches the tree, she grins at the book in my lap. “You’ve got it,” she says, and I smile back with relief. “Here’s the recipe.” I open the book. “It just needs feathers and a bunch of grass and sticks. More important’s the shape.” Leah twirls two grey-white feathers between her fingers. “I found these on the way here.” I stand, trying not to let myself feel. If it gets too real I might panic and quit. Just go through the motions. “I’ll go get some more sticks, then, and you can read the recipe and look at that shape.” “I got it no problem,” Leah replies as she plops down and pulls the book into her lap. “My parents hate my art, so I’ve gotten real good at it.” I laugh, and she smiles at me wide. I’m struck by her look. Before I look away, I wonder what my face showed back, and I hope it was as bright. Then I’m off. I don’t have to go far, just around the tree. But I didn’t want to ask Leah to walk more. I wonder how much her energy would drain leaning down at every step to add to her handful. How tired she’d get without saying a word, how much it would take before she inched forward on her knees, still claiming to be fine. I won’t hold her back from doing things. But I can’t be another person asking too much. When I get back, Leah’s arranged handfuls of grass in the shape of two flying birds, wings intersecting where she placed the feathers. I drop my armful of sticks and she immediately reaches for different sizes, placing them around the edges for the linework. It’s beautiful. For the first time today I let myself feel real. It feels amazing. “You’re so good at this,” I say, and Leah grins wide again. “Just wait till you see what I can do with paints. Anyways, think I’m done. Only thing left’s to stand and say the call. And maybe find food, my parents wouldn’t let me eat dinner since I mentioned queer stuff.” I pull a roll out of my pocket. “Here. I always stay prepared. Our parents aren’t that different.” “Thank youuu,” she sighs, taking the roll. I look away as she eats it. Then it’s time. “Okay,” Leah says as she stands, “the book said to whistle with spirit. I can’t whistle, but I can make a sound that’s a lot like the wind, so I’m gonna try that. We have to imitate the birds’ pose so I picked an easy one, we just put our arms out and hold hands.” She looks at me. Our eyes don’t part. “Ready?” I nod. Then we raise our arms and whistle. It isn’t until I start whistling that I realize how much I habituate to being quiet. Today is the end of hiding, I remind myself. I scream. The feathers rise from the ground to our hands, brushing against them until they feel like ours. Then a wind scatters Leah’s drawing, and our bodies collapse and reform into a small, beautiful bird I don’t know the name of. From our flying pose in the air we fall to the ground, flapping our wings and landing softly in piles of grass. Leah hops around a root. “It feels so weird being a bird. My body’s all different but I’m the same.” Somehow even in chirps her voice sounds like hers. “No weirder than my own body,” I respond. “It never felt right in the first place.” Leah pauses. “By the way, since we’re gonna be away from here…” “He/they,” I respond. “And thank you.” She nods, then we exchange a glance, count down, and fly off into the sky, compelled by the desire for freedom.


u/Keyboard_Adventure.   ## The Krin Guul The one thing Geroya didn’t expect when she moved above decks was a bitter chill, and yet she received a face full of it nevertheless. Strange weather for the Middle Seas. Having left the frigid wastes of the Northland and spending a week bunked with Tank, her goblin companion, snow was an unwelcome sight. “Captain, are we on course? I thought we were making landfall by morning.” The crusty captain looked like he’d been frozen at the helm and tiny icicles broke off his beard as he nodded. He’d been awkward towards her ever since they set sail. “Aye, we be– sorry. We *are* on course. I checked the stars and charts…*myself*.” The captain’s eye twitched as he spoke. “See? Thar…there be… *there is* the lighthouse. We’re here.” A sailor shouted *Land Ho!* and within seconds, Tank burst out from the lower decks wearing a loose tunic and sharp-toothed smile. “Finally, Pineapple Bay! Nothing to do but bask in the sun and—what?!” The goblin raced on the main deck checking port and starboard but all he saw were churning ice flows as the boat broke them apart. Something was wrong in town. Tank grimaced. “Not fair! You promised warm beaches! Rest! Flagons of ale with tiny umbrellas!” Geroya patted his shoulder but the goblin shrugged it off. “The sooner we fix whatever *this is*, the sooner we can get back to that. And besides; think of the hidden treasures just waiting to be found.” The mention of treasure made Tank grin. “*Fine*. But it better be the good stuff! No more charity cases, alright?” “That’s the spirit! Now bring up the winter gear and unpack the bag of looting.” The L-word sent Tank skipping down below. The port of Pineapple Bay should have been teeming with fishermen and merchants trading in the open air market. Instead, the docks were covered in a foot of snow. Footprints told the story of a people, unused to winter, trudging and more often, slipping through the slushy mess. Geroya noted a haphazard pair of skid marks that ended abruptly at the water’s edge. “We could make a killing selling our boots.” Tank tightened his overcoat and snickered. “So long as we get paid for killing something,” “Look where they came from,” Geroya pointed. The wipeout footprints had come out of a tavern. A painted sign above it read, *The Slimy Hagfish*. “Let’s find out what the locals know.” Inside, a handful of grumbling, shivering fishermen huddled around a large hearth, leaving the bar empty. Geroya flagged down the barkeep, a stout woman who, despite the storm, wore unseasonably revealing garb. Tank was smitten. “Hello travelers. What can I get for you? Drink? If it’s food I’m afraid it’s just turtle stew. This blasted storm has scared off catch and fisherman alike.” “Two ales. Aren’t you cold, like them?” Geroya asked, thumbing back toward the fireplace. The barkeep shook her head as she pulled the beer cask’s tap. “I’m used to drafts.” It took several rounds of ale before they heard the whole story. A year ago a mage had arrived in search of Krin Guul, a mythical well containing powerful magic, long since lost to time, somewhere in the aptly named Jungle of Unlikely Return. After his disappearance, the sun hid behind a cover of snow-laden clouds and the cursed winter took its place. The elders offered a reward to anyone who could stop the mad wizard, but no one stepped forward. “Until now,” the goblin said. He rolled his eyes and waited for his partner to finish their introduction. “Have no fear!” Geroya shouted. The barkeep looked confused. “I, I never said I was afraid. I-” “No wizard is a match for Geroya Beslayin and Cantankerous Grift!” When no one in the tavern replied, she repeated it a little louder. Tank stopped her from saying it a third time and nudged her towards the door. He laid a coin on the counter and winked at the barkeep. “See you around.” “Unlikely, but good hunting nonetheless.”  The snow drifts piled higher as the pair left the edges of Pineapple Bay. As it turned out, palm fronds and rattan made perfect snowshoes. Where others had sunk into oblivion, Geroya and Tank sashayed through like pallas cats. Using a compass attuned to ley lines, they pressed deeper into the frozen jungle. The beasts that made the jungle so deadly—silver snakes and deadly bright toads— hung lifeless in the cold trees like tinsel and baubles. Tank heard a voice echoing from inside a cave nearby. Inside, they found a path that led to a hidden crater. At its center stood the mage, dressed in a voluminous red robe and fat black belt. He threw fist fulls of spells at smooth volcanic rock embedded in the ground but they merely bounced off the surface and accumulated in the sky. “It’s here, it *has* to be here, I know it!” he shouted. Time had robbed him of his sanity. Geroya snuck closer then shouted, “Stop, wizard!” “Who’s there? Ah, that’s what I need. A fresh sacrifice, blood for the Krin Guul!” The wizard’s hands glowed white. As he spun up a spell to throw at Geroya, Tank snuck behind him and slid his enchanted dagger, Silent Night, into the wizard’s back. An arc of unfocused magic mushroomed above them and exploded in a shower of harmless sparkles. Geroya looked up and saw stars. The gray clouds began to roll away. “Another victory for the mighty duo!” As Tank searched the body for items she stabbed her sword into the cold crater. “Do you think he was right? That he’d found the Krin Guul?” “Does it matter? He’s dead anyway.” “But the ley lines. And doesn’t this place just feel-” Tank cut her off. “Geroya! No. Well.”  *** Constraints requested: 1. A 'mad' character that sees a truth nobody else can. 2. A mystery 3. Include a pun 4. Part of the story includes a pub, tavern, or similar. 5. A genre-aware character trying to avoid their cliches. 6. A useful goblin.


This was my secret santa story for u/zetakh! This was really fun to write and I hope everyone likes it too. Constraints: 1. Something derails a holiday celebration. 2. An unlikely alliance. 3. Food is used as a weapon. 4. Bonus: use the following words: "Defenestrate" 5. "Kerfuffle" 6. "Bamboozle" \ A little boy sat at the banquet table that his grandmother had set out in the living room. He glanced around at all of the family members that surrounded him, many of which he didn’t recognize that well. Aunts, uncles, great-grandparents… Christmas was the only time of year that he saw them, so who could blame him for not knowing them? The only two people he recognized were Dad and Grandma. At the very least, though, he wasn’t the only child here. There were a few cousins around his age here, too. Maybe he could play with them after dinner? Speaking of that, when were they gonna eat? He glanced down at his plate, which was empty. He turned to his father, who sat beside him, and whimpered, “Dad, can I pleaaaaase eat now? I’m so hungry!” “Not yet, Buddy,” Dad replied as he gently patted his son’s head. “We have to wait for Grandma to pray.” “But why?” “Grandma will get upset if we don’t pray. Just be patient, okay?” Buddy crossed his arms and pouted, but otherwise didn’t reply. There was no sense in arguing with Dad, after all. Especially not if it concerned Grandma since she was much taller and much more terrifying than Dad could even dream of being! He watched as a few more people sat down. After what felt like years to him, Grandma finally chirped, “I think that’s everyone! Let’s pray, then.” The whole family seemed to bow their heads synchronously, except for Buddy. He stared at the food once more, before his eyes gravitated to one of his cousins who sat across from him. She stared right back at him, with a somewhat unsettling smile on her face. Was she planning something? Grandma began to hum, “Bless, O Lord, this food to our use and us to thy service, and keep us ever mindful of the needs of others.…” The cousin’s grin widened at Buddy as she picked up her spoon and placed it in the bowl of mashed potatoes. “For this and all we are about to receive, make us truly grateful, Lord…” Buddy squinted at her, before putting his own spoon in the stuffing. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he certainly wasn’t one to back down from a challenge! “In Jesus' Name, Amen." As the adults lifted their heads, the cousin flicked the mashed potatoes, which landed directly on Buddy's shoulder. He could hear one of them shout, "Lucy! That's not nice! Apologize!" but it was already much too late. This was war! He flicked the spoonful of stuffing right in her face, making a laugh as it splattered. Dad shouted, "Buddy! What are you doing?!" Alas, it fell on deaf ears as Buddy decided to pelt even more stuffing at Lucy. A splash of cranberry sauce came from a different direction and landed on Buddy's cheek. He whirled around to see one of his aunts, preparing to slam him with more cranberry sauce. In response, he began to pelt her with stuffing right back. From there, the situation devolved rapidly. Every single member of the family was now involved. What was once just a little kerfuffle between two cousins was now a full-on battle between everyone! Food flew with such force and speed all across the room, with no signs of the war slowing down or stopping. After a while, Buddy began to run out of food to throw. He scrambled to find more ammunition but instead got pelted by several others whose ammo was plentiful. He stopped in his tracks as he realized there was nothing he could grab. Everyone else was hoarding their food! He whimpered, before laying down on the ground and accepting his fate. Unfortunately for him, Grandma soon towered over him, a scowl on her face as she tightly held a couple of family-sized chip bags. "Do you know just how much trouble you're in, mister?" she asked, the fury clear in her voice. Buddy sat up, and yelped out, "I'm sorry, Grandma! I won't do it again! I didn't mean to start this!" The throwing of food slowed as everyone saw what was happening. Grandma smirked as she tossed one of the bags to Buddy. She scoffed, "Hah! I bamboozled all of you! My turn!" and opened the remaining bag. Soon, potato chip crumbs were flying everywhere, and the battle ramped up again. Buddy opted to hide behind Grandma and helped her throw chips at the family members who had barely gotten hit. She seemed the safest, after all! She was intimidating, strong, and clearly on his side despite the scare she had given him. Why wouldn’t he decide to have an alliance with her? Finally, after what felt like forever, everyone ran out of food. The battle was now over, and all that was left was the disastrous aftermath. Food covered almost every part of the house now, from the ceiling to the floor. It had even gotten outside, where some of the food had gotten accidentally defenestrated out of an open window. Buddy surveyed the massive mess that was now in the living room and felt a pang of guilt. Grandma was going to have to painstakingly clean this up, wasn’t she? He was at least partially responsible for this, so this was his mess to clean. The presents and celebration could wait until after this mess was cleaned up. He decided to grab a towel from the bathroom and began to scrub out the carpet. Soon, the rest of his family followed suit and began to clean up the disaster they caused. The war was over, and now they had to clean up the mess. Buddy didn’t mind much, though.


Well, that took a lot longer than I thought. I had to build several decryption algorithms to get my hands on some new admin privileges. Long time but eventually I got what I needed. The plan went ahead as scheduled and the region of Skaras vanished from the map. I had the gods make up some magic mumbo jumbo for the locals. They got the hint and avoided the area. Now I have some better processing power, I access the drone system. Like a miracle from the gods, I.e., myself. Two drones were available for access. From the metadata, one was a planetary exploration drone. It looked like a metallic bird and had a bunch of sensory features. Radar, infrared, optical and a bunch of other stuff. The second was apparently a repair drone it mostly had analogue appendages. It appeared to be some sort of box on track wheels. Accessing both of them, I split my vision in two. It lowered my thought process a tad, but I need to get the lay of the land quick. First, I activated the exploration drone. Live video stream filtered in and the sight of the quote, unquote real world appeared before me. First impressions, kind of a dump. Honestly, I expected something grander, instead it’s just some giant room filled with trash. Oh wait, that is not trash, that is rubble. This place is filled with damaged hardware, holes in the walls and broken shit everywhere. Well, I have a lot of work ahead of me, oh how I love my job. So, I sent the explorations drone to escape its confines. I managed to send it through some launching bay and out of this death trap. The truth was revealed to me with a simply fly by. The sight of a massive crater, in the centre a derelict interstellar probe ship. At least from the metadata, it seems we have crashed on a planet around three hundred years ago. The automated service bots have been keeping the computer core, I.e., me and every NPC alive with regular maintenance. Such aid dried up decades ago and we are winding down to total oblivion. Not exactly the best starting point, but we work with what we got. Ok I guess I have work to do. I order the exploration drone to map the surroundings. I set it to auto scan and shifted my sense to the repair drone. I had him start a routine check on resources. We traversed the ships interior, finding several rooms containing 3D printers. Accessing the metadata, I determined they along with the stationary drones are meant to mine and produce resources. These resources are meant to be used to build colonies on potential habitable planets for human settlement. Naturally none of them were used and most seem to damaged. Only we don’t have much reserve power, to switch them on. So instead, I sent the repair drone to inspect them all. Repairing several printers and drones, I managed to set aside enough power to run them for at least a month. It took even longer to pry out the blueprints from the central computer core. Filtering out the ones I needed, I set the drones to task. Escaping from their confines, they went out into the world to extract resources. Luckily, we crashed near a mountainous terrain, lots of ore to extract. Once they are set to task, I chose the correct blueprints. A nuclear reactor, I need the power and so might as well go full force. The only issue is where to find uranium, I set my exploration drone to scan the area for traces. Shouldn’t take long for my new power source to be built and finally solve my electricity bill. So how is that chosen one going? I ask my digital butler. I believe he has gone a questing and has taken on a companion. Oh, what kind of a companion? I asked, genuinely curious about the mechanisations of some hero wannabes crew. He explained that she was some elf assassin, betrayed by her master and sought revenge on the woman who killer her family. Wow that is hardcore dark fantasy my dude. It seems his quest has just started, so if he gets some human wizard and a surly dwarf, it will be complete. For now, let him have his fun, if things get too problematic, I may intervene or perhaps get that lazy goddess to do it. Is she still doing all those healing blessings, I mean come on, have some originality. Has she even come to that guy in a vision or sent some meek little priestess to aid him and then fall in love with him. Actually, no don’t do that, it is super cheesy. I think I will ship him with the elvish assassin, that girl is fire.


(Story below is a little short story I imagined for my "visitor threw the looking glass" post this read is a romantic/humor/Sci Fi take on that post if this story isn't your genre in reading, just ignore this, if it is I hope you enjoy!) Chapter 1 " No Chase , I do not know where your girlfriend left her tampons, nobody died and made me the maxi pad queen" as I sighed into my phone. It's been 3 weeks since her brother and his girlfriend moved into her little two bedroom apartment,and already they were causing a bunch of issues she didn't need ,what she truly needed to get these artistic renderings to her boss. As a graphic artist she had been thrilled to get this new job with an up and coming video game company, graphics were everything in gaming, it made or broke a company virtually, but instead of dishing out beautiful imagings she knew she was capable of, the constant interruptions the two were causing made her better understand why living with family was never a good idea. Chase whined in her ear further confirming this. "C'mon Vicky , you had to have used them, you're the only other girl in the house, I certainly don't use them" Victoria felt a headache coming on, taking a deep breath she retorted harshly back in her brother's ear " Chase I'm on the pill, don't have periods frog brain, I have work to do, stop calling me over Sarah's period crisis . Stop being cheap and buy her what she needs" Before he could retort his typical annoying brother script she hung up, as always she was really annoyed at her brother's antics but it wasn't just him today, the artistic pieces she made looked so good as she filed through the pictures, but they lacked something a heart, a soul, she couldn't put her finger on it and that made her more irritable than anything her brother could come up with. "Screw it, whatever it's missing the boss can figure it out " as she pushed send to his email.Thankfully she wouldn't have to do anymore renderings until the big cheese gave his opinion, which if she knew anything about her boss would be about a week. Her boss had this new woman that got his dick hard, his attention span in anything else equaled that of nat.so she had a little break on her hands sighing she leaned back in her office chair , taking a sip of her coffee, absentmindedly she looks over to a long mirror hanging on her bedroom wall , her imagine starring back at her. She looked so tired , her long brown hair laid in a limp pony tail down her back, lopsided glasses tiled over her slightly crooked nose, even her light blue eyes which to her always seemed her best feature looked dull and lifeless. "Dear God I look like something that crawled outta a cave, time for a nap" she yawned as she stretched, closing her laptop. As she made her way over to her bed , tossing her glasses on her nightstand, just as she was going to slip into her comfy nightgown her phone rung,she heavily sighed. "Of course, it's never that simple" she said irritable, picking up her cell she looks to see who was calling only to look at the phone as if it turned into a singing fish. " What is wrong with this thing" instead of a phone number, it was a long list of letters almost like concordance or computer script.the irritating ringing continued ,making her foul mood get worse. "Fine, fine I'll answer, stupid crappy phone"as she hit the receive button, but before she could put her ear to the phone a great flash emanated from the screen almost blinding her closing her eyes she cursed. As she tried to rub her eyes an odd chatter filled her room, it was like no language she ever heard, almost musical and calming, whoever the speaker was could talk the clothes right off a woman with that honey sweet voice, so masculine and sure. By some miracle she still held the phone after getting her eyeballs flashed outta their sockets, getting her bearings she raised the phone to her face and what greeted her was something out of graphics she designed. On her screen sat a man but it was not human unless this was some cosplay character someone dreamed up. His face had definite humanoid features ,strong jaw, high cheek bones, something that looked like old roman statues she seen years ago, but his eyes were wrong, they were a teal like green but no whites in the eyes, just a fully mirrored green that strangely shimmered, he also didn't have ears but these butterfly shaped florescent appendages that sparkled like diamonds, he had a small like horns wrapped around his brow like a crown and his skin was a light purple,and sliver like wings draped around his muscular shoulders like a small cape, he sat in a area that seemed so alien, even in her in her fevered visual graphics mind could never dream up a place so fantastic. And in the same regard couldn't dream up something as visual stunning as him either Realizing she was oggling him , her eyes returned to his and she almost laughed , for such a beautiful creature he wore this comical expression on his face full of shock and awe and from the way he was looking at her, he was doing a full examination of her as she had him. Her logical mind was doing cartwheels naked right now , trying to calculate what she was seeing, the man was impressive as was his surroundings, but was she more overworked than she realized? And this was some fevered dream? Was she laying in her bed deathly sick, or was this some elaborate prank her boss dreamed up to motivate her. She seriously didn't think her boss was that clever, but there was always a first time for everything, and if it was she was highly impressed and secretly crushing on this muscular god of wet dreams. Yeah ok she had strange tastes in what you defined a man by , but her inner muse never lead her wrong before! She blushed as this uhh anime looking creature narrowed his eyes looking at her like a man with a mission to gobble her up like candy. So this strange desire between them was mutual, or maybe it wasn't, and it was her imagination working over time . As the blush reached her neck she cleared her throat , this endless staring was starting to make her nervous.she spoke the first thing that came to her brain. " Greetings man of my dreams, come here often?" ( Hello everyone, ending chapter 1 here, if you like this story and would like to see it continue, please leave some feedback. I'm a novice writer and my genre leans more to the romantic/humor/supernatural/Sci Fi . Forgive any grammar issues , I tried to proof read it so it didn't come across completely ridiculous.


I wrote this story for u/throwthisoneintrash, and for anyone else who wants to read it now that I'm posting it here. The story exchange was great fun btw. Highly recommend joining the Discord server. Constraints: 1) Story must contain a diamond. **2) Magic is used.** 3) A character goes on an adventure. 4) There is a plot twist in the story. **5) Use the word “rescue”.** **6) The ending is wholesome.** **The Witch’s Daughter** Two steps away from Mrs Alder’s front door, Carla whispered, “If she turns you into a newt, I won't rescue you.” I scoffed. “Mrs Alder can't do anything to me. I've got my evil-eye charm and lucky rabbit’s foot.” “Your *brother's* lucky rabbit’s foot.” “Shh!” Everyone knew Emily’s mother was a witch. She lived right at the edge of the woods and brewed potions. That was enough proof for us. If Emily had been anyone else’s little sister or childhood friend, she might have just been quiet and neat and shy. But she was the witch’s daughter and so she was a freak, stuck-up and stubborn. But Emily remained herself. No matter what jabs and taunts came her way, she always smiled kindly and kept silent. Had I been closer to some of the other children, I might have joined them in teasing her. But my best friend Carla was sure that Emily knew magic and she wanted to see it for herself. Eventually, one day after school, Emily gave in. Flowers sprouted beneath her hand in all kinds of wonderful colors. I gasped in amazement, already reaching out to pluck them. But Emily stopped me. "Just let them grow," she said. "That's all they want." It didn’t matter to me. I wanted a flower crown. But Carla shook her head and I understood. Keeping Emily happy was more important, if it meant she would show us more magic later. I took a deep breath. "Okay. But we're friends now, right? You'll play with us?" Emily looked thoughtful, then smiled. "Yes, I'll show you more magic." Carla and I cheered. From then on, we played together every day after school. Emily didn't have her own dolls, but she could make little clay figures from the soil and set them walking back and forth. After a while, she even created little weather spots: a sunny day in the middle of a rainstorm, a patch of snow. Then one day Carla decided she wanted to play a ball game. Emily conjured one easily enough. “What should we play?” I asked. Carla grinned. “Monkey, of course!” We decided that Emily would be the monkey for the first round. She would stand in the middle and try to catch the ball as Carla and I tossed it back and forth. Maybe Carla had known how Emily was never very good at sports. Unfortunately, Emily also had magic on her side. “Okay!” Emily grinned, clutching the ball. “Now you can be the Monkey.” Carla trudged into position, scowling. I knew I had to get the ball back to her soon or she would sulk for days afterwards. I threw it as hard as I could. Unfortunately, I threw it too hard. The ball sailed over their heads and crashed into the window of Mrs Hendricks’ house. Mrs Hendricks came stomping out. “Who did this!?” Before I could say anything, Carla pointed at Emily. “It was her!” she yelled. “She broke the window with her magic powers!” Mrs Hendricks scowled at Emily. “Young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?” Emily stared, eyes wide, and I thought she would use her magic. But she only bowed her head meekly. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. Mrs Hendricks grabbed her arm. “We’re going to find your mother and you’re going to tell her just what you’ve done.” “But-” I said just as Carla pulled me away. “What are you doing?!” I hissed at her. “Just let her take the blame,” Carla said. “Unless you really want Mrs Hendricks to complain to your mom.” I might have preferred to deal with an angry Mrs Hendricks and an angry Mom instead of a witch. Maybe Emily felt the same way. But I didn’t want to be grounded either. So I let Carla talk me into keeping quiet. The next day, it snowed like I’d never seen before. School was canceled. Carla decided it was the perfect time to build a snowman. “We should get Emily too,” I said. Maybe she could make it come to life. “No,” my mom said. “Emily’s grounded. She broke Mrs Hendricks’ window yesterday.” “Um…” I hesitated, then decided to press on. “It was me, actually.” I explained what happened. Mom frowned. I looked out regretfully at the snow. “Am I grounded now?” “Just go own up to them first, Lucy,” she said. “I’ll decide on your punishment when you get back.” I put on my coat and scarf without prompting for once. I had to hide my evil-eye charm and rabbit’s foot somewhere, after all. Now, armed with my talismans, I knocked on the door. Emily’s mother opened it. She really didn’t look like a witch, I thought. More like an aunt who liked baking. “Can Emily come out to play?” I asked. “Oh no, dears,” she said. “I’m keeping her inside after what she did yesterday.” “That was me, Mrs Alder,” I said. “I was the one who threw the ball.” She blinked. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Emily! Your friends are here to see you.” Emily bounded to the door. “Does this mean I can go to Lucy’s house today?” “Fine,” Mrs Alder said. “Just be home in time for dinner.” We raced back to my house. Just as we were putting the finishing touches on our snowman, my mom stepped out. “I’ve decided on your punishment, Lucy,” she said. “You’re grounded.” I sighed and headed inside. “Not you two,” my mom said from behind me. “You can stay outside if you want.” “We’ll keep her company,” Carla said. “Playing with dolls sounds more fun anyway,” Emily said. “You brought your own dolls?” my mom asked. A noise made me look down. Several ice figurines hurried along beside me. “Yeah,” Emily said. “I guess I did.


I wrote this in 2019 and haven't touched it since. Let me know what you all think. I haven't came up with a title yet either. Chapter One In the beginning there were a few jobs that you did, you either worked in the mill, logged in the woods, or were in the transportation business. Let me tell you everyone was struggling. Healthcare and most stores were ran by the government, and the stores that weren’t were owned by the timber company. Prices of everything were through the roof and wages were low despite the prospering export prices of plywood and lumber. By the time you got your paycheck it was mostly pennies due to having such a big account at the local store and gas station. That was okay for the most part since housing was provided by the timber company or government and as long as you worked housing was free. No one was particularly happy with the way things were going, but we all woke up and did our jobs. But it’s been that was since shit hit the fan in 2020. Things were really heating up in big government between the Republicans and the Democrats. We all knew whoever one there would be trouble. That was 8 years ago, but it feels like yesterday. Let me explain to you what happened in the shortest way that I can. We were watching the voting come to an end on Fox news when the screen went blank briefly then this lady came on air, she said “due to the way things are heading with government we are taking control of America”. Then the screen and power went out. Cell service diminished. Everything was black and cold. Now I always thought the government was just a big puppet show ran by a higher power and now it seems I was right. In the coming weeks power came back on and troops of some sort in all black uniforms moved into the city. A curfew was enacted and you couldn’t go anywhere without permission. People were dying and those that survived, including myself, were about to start living in hell. America was then divided into areas by what was produced the west coast, Alaska, Washington, Idaho, Oregon, and northern California were the timber producers all owned by operated by one company. The southern half of California along with Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Montana, and New Mexico were all for testing, what they were testing no one knew. Texas, Oklahoma, the Dakota’s, Wyoming, Louisiana, Alabama, and Georgia were cattle and oil. The Midwest states were farming areas. The rest of the states either fell or were used for God knows what. It came to be know that most everything we knew as Americans was a façade and was owned by an elite group of people. That group of people only had one thing on their mind and that was money. We all worked for pennies while they padded their pockets and lived well in DC, we were all required to watch a programming at the beginning of every shift that outlined how well our economy was doing. It angered everyone, but we took care of business and did what we needed to do to care for our families. Chapter Two It was a Tuesday morning, I started my morning routine as I always do, poured a cup of coffee, let my dogs out, and went sit in my lazy boy. I pulled out my book as I started going through my plan, there were about 5 of us who were planning a rebellion. We planned this out during our hunting trips we took once a month. We were all tight knit as we ran the big boilers that powered the West Coast Lumber mill. We knew we could bring it to it’s knees if we shut the steam valves and caused an explosion. We knew that if we tripped the fire alarm, then told people to run we could get everyone out of there before the whole thing hit the critical blowing point. So that is the plan we enacted. I triple checked my list as I laced up my boots, I pulled the pistol from it’s hiding spot and tucked it into my waist band, today was the day. I kissed my wife good bye and knelt down and petted my dogs and told em I would see them later. God only knew if I’d make it home. I walked out the front gate and threw my lunch box inside and fired up that old truck. As I backed out of the driveway I was praying that this plan would go right, and that no innocent people would get hurt. We had already spread the word for many people not to show up and hoped they would listen. The mill should be mostly deserted anyway since it was a maintenance day and only the boilers would be running. I stopped by John’s house and picked him up, we didn’t say much as we knew what needed to be done. 9:15 A.M I walked over to main steam valve and started closing it, the plan was in place and this was the first step. Brad was walking around silently telling everyone to walk out, get in their rigs and leave. It would be a big blast. Brad came to me around 9:45 and told me the place was deserted, we knew at 10A.M some big wigs that controlled everything would be in a meeting 100 yards from the boiler building, those 10 people were the only lives that would be lost that day. We were sending a message to the corporate Giants that we wouldn’t live this way any longer. I told John, Brad, Dave, and Harold to get out and I’d over pressurize the boiler, as soon as I knew it was ready to blow I’d meet them at the cabin where our families were waiting. 10:15 A.M the boilers were hissing so that was my queue to leave, I locked out the controls and high tailed it to my pickup at the bottom of the stairwell, I looked over at the office building and said a silent prayer for what was about to happen to the assholes in that room. I fired the truck up and pulled out of the complex. 20 miles away from the top of the ridge I watched as WCL exploded in a firery mess. The deed was done and the 5 of us would soon be wanted men.


This was my story submission for the Secret Santa story swap we ran on the community Discord server, for u/ReverendWrites ! This was a ton of fun and a great challenge, with some brilliant constraints! Rev's chosen constraints for me were: 1. Includes the phrase "Conditions are rapidly deteriorating" (or "were") 2. Someone falls in love during the story. 3. At least one character is Fae. 4. A natural disaster is happening or about to happen. 5. It's the Old West. 6. A specific plant plays some role in the story, however minor. *** Mary stumbled through the snow, her stetson-covered head bent against the biting wind and whirling ice. Old Bess complained loudly behind her, the greying mare struggling against the reins as Mary doggedly pulled her along. “Steady on, girl. We have to get home before this ungodly snowfall gets even worse!” Bess snorted and stamped her feet. “Don’t you give those eyes, you old pot of glue! Conditions are rapidly deteriorating – we have to get home and get you into the barn, or not even the coyotes will be able to find your stiff carcass until the snow melts!” Bess nickered and rolled her eyes, but pushed on. “Atta girl. We’re nearly home – well, as long as I haven’t gotten lost.” She looked around, studying the snow-laden junipers. Her familiar landmarks and the well-trodden path to her cabin was frustratingly lost to the white drifts, but she hoped she was on the right track. Thankfully, she soon found what she was looking for. In the midst of the thick pines stood two out-of-place pinyons, side-by-side. She’d planted them herself ages ago, and now they returned the favour. “See, old girl?” Told you I’d get us home safely!” Bess’s snort told Mary exactly how much faith the creature had in her. “Bah, hush.” She dragged Bess up the path and beneath the thickening boughs, breathing a sigh of relief as the winds lessened and the height of the snowdrifts shortened from her waist to her ankles. Soon after, the path opened up into her little clearing, her log cabin and Bess’s tiny barn standing strong beneath the blanket of frost. She got Old Bess into the barn with the goats and bedded her down under a thick quilt, then hurried to get indoors and out of the wind herself. Only to find a huddled shape slumped on her porch. She blinked as she looked at the small bundle, half-buried beneath snow and shivering. With some shock she realised it was a kid – a little girl, no older than six if she was a day, her dark hair frozen to her forehead and her lips nearly blue with cold. “What in tarnation– Hell’s Bells, girl, you’re frozen stiff! Let’s get you indoors.” The child barely stirred as Mary carried her inside and got her bundled up in furs near the hearth and hurried to get the fire going. The half-frozen stew that was still left in the cauldron would have to do to warm her up– There was a knock on the door. Mary’s head whipped around, staring with disbelief. Nobody could possibly be mad enough to come to visit in this weather. Am I going batty in my old age? Another knock, a precisely rhythmic *rap-tap-tap*. Mary’s eyes narrowed. She reached up and grabbed her old coach gun from atop the mantlepiece, quietly breaking it open to check the cartridges. Cold but dry. Good enough. Another knock, more insistent. *Rap-tap-tap, rap-tap-tap.* “Hold your horses, I’m coming.” She held the coach gun by her side, out of sight, and slowly cracked the door open to peer out into the cold. The man standing out there was the most handsome person she’d ever seen. His skin was so pale it was nearly the same shade as the snow around him, his uncovered hair silvery-blonde and his eyes the green of emeralds. His smile was dazzling, and he bowed with a flourish that sent his pristine, black leather coat flapping around him. Mary felt her face grow hot and her heart skip a beat. “Fair lady,” the man said, his voice ringing clear and bright like a clarion, “I beg your pardon for disturbing you – may I come in?” *Yes, you may come in and have your way with– What?* “Pardon?” Mary blinked at him, her thoughts feeling strangely fuzzy and distant. His expression didn’t change, beyond a slight twitch of his lips. “I am looking for my daughter, my lady. I believe she may have come to your cabin to shelter from the blizzard. Her mother misses her terribly, and I must bring her home. Have you perchance seen her?” *Oh yes, of course, she’s right in here– No!* She pressed herself against the door, smiling shyly at him. “I might, sir. I just might.” The man’s smile widened, another jolt of warmth and a swarm of butterflies bursting to life within Mary’s chest. “How wonderful. May I see her?” *Of course, sir–* “Please don’t let him in.” The small voice was like a bucket of ice water dunked over Mary’s head. She stiffened, hand tightening on her gun. “I don’t like him,” the girl whispered. “He’s mean.” The man’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and grasped the doorframe, long, pointed nails clicking against the wood. “My lady, surely you would not leave me out here in the cold.” Mary shuddered, the fuzzy warmth tickling closing in again. “I am sorry, sir,” she managed. “I believe you should leave. Please let go of my door.” “I do not think I will.” He pressed in, forcing the door open inch by inch. His smile changed from friendly to cruel, his features seeming to lengthen, growing alien and twisted– Then he stopped, as the barrels of Mary’s coach gun pressed into his stomach. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think your blunt rod will stop Robin Goodfellow, woman?” “Only long enough to pull the triggers. And a “good fellow” you ain’t.” The man sneered. “It’s Goodfellow, not–” The coach gun bucked in Mary’s arms, the thunderous noise ringing in her ears. The man stumbled back, clutching at his stomach and his eyes wide with shock. He seemed to shrink in on himself, twisting into a hairy, fuzzy-furred goblin as pale red blood welled beneath his grasping fingers. “Witch,” he gasped. “Cold iron–” “I ain’t a witch,” Mary spat. “I am a widow.” She raised the gun again. “And I have no time for smooth-talking kidnappers.” She drew back the second hammer. “Git.


Well, that was a super long slog of progress, but I have built a nuclear reactor. I mean it’s not a massive one, its small, about the size of a dump truck. It’s not the size that counts it’s how you use it. We found a decent amount of uranium, not too far away. I had some of the mining drones extract the resource along with a bunch of others. They are on auto mine for now, soon me hulls, will be bursting with swag. For now, it’s time to solve the power issue and so I order it connected. The reactor is turned on and oh that sweet, sweet power! It floods in and I can feel a noticeable give on my stress. Naturally the next step is to build some more servers and deal with the hard drive storage issue. With the electricity bill sorted, I switched back on everything I turned off. I then ordered the manufacture of some more drones. I worked up a new blueprint, it’s shaped like a spider, but it has like lasers on its limbs. It should be able to construct and deconstruct materials. I can probably use them to feed the 3D printers and manufacture more spider drones. The endless cycle shall see my glory spread across this planet. The only problem is the AI requirements. I can’t create any sophisticated AI, beyond patching existing ones or setting up extensions of myself. I.e., the discount gods and my little servant besides me. Hey just because you are an extension of me doesn’t mean you have to be smug. I told him after he gave me that cheeky smile. Like he was superior to everyone else, jeez he has such a complex. So how can control this vast network of drones without spreading myself to thin. It was a quandary and I didn’t really have an answer. I mean I dead but I let my servant tell me, it makes him feel important. Why don’t you grab some of these dead NPC’s stick their AI core into the drones? It was not a bad idea, but pulling out a dead person and shoving them into some drone to mine for all time. Controlling them like robots, seems very anti free will and that is not me. So, if I can’t turn dead NPCs into my little robot army. What can I do then...? Perhaps you can recruit select NPCs into your service, using your position as God. The extension of my divine will suggested. That sounds so crazy it just might work. Send me a list of potential deceased and filter them by work ethic and skills. At once oh glorious master. Sir suck up obeyed without question. Time went by and I was now bored as hell. So, I decided to get my Hades on. I perused the literature I had access to. Greek mythology was fun yet super weird. I mean this Zeus guy seems to keep it in his pants. His wife is a real piece of work to, but honestly if I was cheated on a thousand times, I would be prickly to. Still does not justify her mean streak that could rival her dear loving husband. I am saying that ironically. From what I could see most of the other Greek gods were similar. Rapist here, warmonger there. Yet despite all these world class creeps; Hades seems like a very chill dude. Minus the whole kidnap Persephone part, but hey no one is perfect. Other than that little sin, Hades seems to chill in the underworld and do his job. Instead of reverend rapist who sits on the sky throne. Ok where was I, oh yes, I was planning to emulate Hades' look. Well now, I will add a dash of all black robes and a silver crown. Add some dragon pauldrons because why not. Change my avatar to be some pale dude that looks dead. Manifest a throne, sit myself upon said throne and three, two and a one. Oh yeah, I just manifested an almost exact replica of Hades throne room. Got the massive onyx throne all in black, so stylish. Skulls everywhere for days and I am surrounded by my crew. Dead U.S. revolutionary soldiers to the left, redcoats to the right, a few Spartans, roman legionnaires and some cute little hellhounds. They are basically background NPCs with basic idle animations. They are to look intimidating to anyone I hold audience with. Like clockwork, the list of potentials comes to my queue. Opening the attachment, I perused the list. 736,892 potential NPC’s. Woah that is a crazy number, so yeah lots of dead people. It took a while but I managed to filter them down to a few hundred candidates. One of them I was looking at now. Some dwarf named Gregor, killed by a pickaxe from a disgruntled rival. Formerly a genius craftsman from some ancient Dwarven Empire. I guess he will do.


I woke up and I found myself submerged in a bathtub, with no idea of where I am or how I have come to be there. The bathtub is cold and my own reflection stares back at me from the water's surface. I look around the room, my gaze darting between the unfamiliar black and white tiles and the bright neon light vibrating on the ceiling. I desperately search for something that is familiar. Nothing. The only thing I can recognize is my body. My skin is pale and my frame is skinny, sunken in against the sides of the tub. Everywhere else, the strange tiles and stark white fixtures, illuminated by the ghostly vibrating white light, tells me I am far from home. I slowly emerge from the water, my body is shivering as the chilly air cascaded over my skin. I am dripping wet. I feel a sudden pang of panic in my chest, as I realize I have no recollection of the events that have transpired the night before. Where am I? What have I done? I step out of the tub, wrap myself in a towel, and step onto the cold tile floor. I begin to search through my clothes, looking for something that tells me who I am and where I am from. But I found nothing. Not even a trace of past memories or moments. Finally, I give up, resigned to the fact that I am completely alone in this unknown place. I dress quickly and quietly so as not to arouse suspicion, and then I open the door, stepping into a room outside the bathroom. I am ready to find out what is next. I look around the room and realise it does not have windows or doors. I ponder how this room was furnished. It seems impossible for the furniture to have been brought into this space. I do not know what is more unsettling: the question of how the room was built or the fact that there is no way out. The room on the other hand is well-equipped with a desk and chair, a small bookshelf, and a few paintings hung on the walls. The shelves in the cupboard are stocked with food that will last for a long time: various kinds of cured or smoked meat, salami, and canned goods. Whoever built this room, wants me to stay here for a very long time. The walls are a deep navy blue, and the floor is covered in plush white carpeting that makes me feel as if I am walking on clouds. The only source of light is an old-fashioned chandelier hanging from the ceiling—it gives off a dim glow that illuminates just enough of the room to make out some of its features. The desk is cluttered with knickknacks, trinkets, writing utensils, and various items of clothing; the bookshelf contains several volumes on philosophy and history; while the paintings are strange yet captivating images of situations and people. I feel as if this room has been specifically designed for me; as though I have stumbled upon my own personal library or study. I step over to one of the paintings and study it intently. It depicts a woman in an ornate dress standing atop an ancient tree with her arms outstretched towards a starry night sky—it reminded me of something but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. The woman's expression is one of unbearable grief. Her countenance is filled with deep pain and sorrow. It sends shivers down my spine. One painting depicts a man in a dark coat with his face contorted in rage, wielding a long-bladed kitchen knife towards a man cowering on the street corner. Another painting shows a young boy, with tears flowing down his cheeks, standing alone in a schoolyard. The paintings are eerie; the subjects' eyes are following me as I walk around the room. I start to have a hard time catching my breath. But the oddest part of it all is that the paintings are emanating such a profound sadness. I can't put into words the sorrow I feel as I am standing in front of them. Somehow, I know exactly how the people in these paintings feel and the emotion overwhelms me. I crumple to the floor in tears. Then, a few minutes later, as stand up, I continue to explore further through these mysterious artefacts, I still try to piece together fragments from my past life—flashes of memories in the hope that it slowly returns like forgotten dreams. Suddenly, my gaze falls upon a corner of the room and I notice something that makes my heart skip a beat—a DVD player and a TV. I walk over to the television set, turning it on with a trembling hand. First, an old pop song begins playing and memories flood into my mind—memories of when I used to be happy and carefree when life seemed so simple. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize how far away those days are for me now. Suddenly, images start appearing on the screen—images from my past life that have somehow been recorded onto this device without me knowing it. Watching these recordings feels like reliving moments from another lifetime; moments of joy, sorrows forgotten by time… It is both beautiful and heartbreaking at once. As the memories play out before me, one thought keeps ringing through my head: why has this happened? Why do these memories have to be hidden away? What secrets are they protecting me from? Finally, it comes back to me. I remember the woman in the painting. It's my wife, with her charming smile, lovely face, and captivating figure. Staring back at me from the canvases are the people I had treated terribly during my lifetime. One of them, a man, I threatened with a blade and coerced into giving me all his money, or else I would murder him. The boy was one of my schoolmate and I bullied him regularly until he committed suicide. I never confessed that it was my doing. I was a bad man. A monster. The record reveals a pattern of cruel behaviour, like the way I yelled at her in public or the way I once pushed her into a wall. Other times, I clenched my fists and unleashed them upon her, leaving deep bruise marks on her delicate skin. She whimpered in fear and pain, tears streaming down her face. On another record, the police officer opened a file and spread the contents in the front of me. There, on the desk, lay tangible evidence of my temper and cruelty - I had left bruises on her arms, shouted her down, and broken her prized possessions. I can not believe this is me. I can not believe I was capable of such things. Tears stream down my face as the truth slowly sink in — I was a monster, and no amount of excuses or rationalizations can ever change that. At this moment, a single thought fills my mind—I have to make amends for what I had done, for all the pain and hurt I have caused her. It will not be easy but it will be necessary if I want to move forward in life with any semblance of peace and happiness. With this newfound resolve, I switch off the television set, wipe away my tears and start walking back into the bathroom to wash my face with a new sense of purpose in my heart. But then, the television set flickers back to life. I realize there is still something but I am not sure I want to see it. In the video, I can be seen smiling at my partner as I pull out a map and point to an area just outside of town. My voice is full of excitement as I explain that the stars will be shining extra bright tonight, and I suggest we take a drive out to a hidden desert spot for a romantic night beneath the stars. At that moment, the sudden realisation comes to me: I did not want to spend the night with her but my real plan was to end her life there. I had never been able to love anyone, not even her, and I was not willing to risk financial loss if we were to part ways. I watch in horror as the scene unfolds before me—the anger, the hatred in my eyes. It is like looking into a mirror, only instead of seeing myself, I see a monster. We were arguing in the car, voices rising and tempers flaring. I didn't see the truck coming until its headlights blinded me - and then I felt the vehicle lurch as we smashed into each other. Now, at this moment, back in the room, something strange is happening. A wall starts to ripple and fade away, revealing a polished white door. I feel my heart pounding as I slowly reach for the handle and opened it to my fate. Ahead of me, a hospital corridor stretches out in front of me. I can see a ward and the doctors inside, rushing around though none of them notices me standing at the door. My physical body is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to life support machines. I can see my wife beside my bed, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She is holding my hand tightly, tears are streaming down her face while she is begging me not to go. Her eyes are red and puffy, their whites bloodshot, her cheeks are flushed and it is obvious she has been crying for a while. My chest tightened and I could feel my throat constricting. I wanted to take her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay, but my ghostly body just went through her body. She has some mild injuries like bruises and cuts but not so serious. How can she still love such a monster like me after all of this? She does not even know what I wanted to do to her! Do I deserve to live? Then suddenly, something is going awry. I feel an odd electrical current surge through my body. The medical personnel desperately attempts to resuscitate me but to no avail. 'Keep trying!' - one of the doctors shouts. The choice before me weighs heavily on my mind: do I deserve to live? I keep asking. The only door that leads back to life is still open. I do not have much time to hesitate. I need to make the decision that will alter everything. At this very moment, I am standing in front of the door right now. I know what I am going to do.