@Gula I don't want to be that guy, but it looks like you forgot the deadline!
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Share your own art and stories, or ask for critique.
TOPIC | Write Away
(2nd one here!) Edited to include the ping @Gula
There was ash, like always. The smell of smoke forever stained the darkened city. The people scurried over the cobble streets, wrapped in winter robes, hurrying to some unknown destination. No one knew when the overlords came, just that they took a small, peaceful city and twisted it until the bright place it once was had been warped into a brew of misery and suffering for everyone except for them. Smokestacks rose from the factories, pumping out the smog that soured the hearts of the people, and soon the city as a whole became corrupt. The day to day life of any average citizen is horrid by any standards. Get up, go to work, work, go home at undeityly times, maybe eat with what little you get, sleep for a few short hours, start again, dealing with disease along the way. The overlords live rich, and the rest of the people go hungry every day for the rest of their lives. There is no hope here.
At least, that’s the story my mother tells me, that the city can’t be saved. I know the truth, the reality that she doesn’t, that there is only one Overlord left. Granted, not everyone in the city can be trusted, so i’m not one hundred percent sure, but it’s the only hope we’ve got left. The city I mean, no one else is willing to help me assassinate him. The final Overlord. Once he’s gone, the city will finally be free! My sisters and my brothers here in this place will be free. I’ve been climbing up the side of this one building for the past hour, the cobble has been smoothed recently, making the grips harder to find, and I keep slipping. The city below is lit up at night by the yellow lights shining behind frosted windows, illuminating many silhouetted figures, each and every one thinking that tomorrow will be another cold and unfriendly day. I will save them all. The wind blows by, causing me to shiver in the frigid night air, and although every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop, I will not. I’ve made it, the window just above me, the knife strapped in the leather sheath tapping against my hip, each beat telling me I can do this, my conviction has not weakened. My hand grips the rough, unforgiving stone of the sill above, and lifting with every ounce of strength I heave myself onto the small platform, pausing to look at the city. You are my people, I will not fail you. The smell of smoke and ash is still there, as I ease the window away from its hinges, sticking the small knife in between the crack, opening it quitely, dropping as silent as I can onto the carpet. The carpet is a lush, red color, soft enough to absorb even an anvil strike's ringing cry. This makes my job easier. I tread lightly, every step calculated, every movement bringing me closer to my goal, the bed across the room. There he is. The one man responsible for the pain and suffering of everyone and everything i’ve ever known. The knife is in my hand. And then, without anyone seeing me, the final Overlord is gone. I run back out of the room, onto the sill just as the sun rises on the city, I scream at the people coming out of their houses. “You are free!” And then, a pain, a burning pain in a concentrated area, and I look back to see a soldier, and then falling forward, I make peace. I need not regret, they, my people, are free. They see me fall, unaware of the truth, they are free. There will no longer be ash.
There was ash, like always. The smell of smoke forever stained the darkened city. The people scurried over the cobble streets, wrapped in winter robes, hurrying to some unknown destination. No one knew when the overlords came, just that they took a small, peaceful city and twisted it until the bright place it once was had been warped into a brew of misery and suffering for everyone except for them. Smokestacks rose from the factories, pumping out the smog that soured the hearts of the people, and soon the city as a whole became corrupt. The day to day life of any average citizen is horrid by any standards. Get up, go to work, work, go home at undeityly times, maybe eat with what little you get, sleep for a few short hours, start again, dealing with disease along the way. The overlords live rich, and the rest of the people go hungry every day for the rest of their lives. There is no hope here.
At least, that’s the story my mother tells me, that the city can’t be saved. I know the truth, the reality that she doesn’t, that there is only one Overlord left. Granted, not everyone in the city can be trusted, so i’m not one hundred percent sure, but it’s the only hope we’ve got left. The city I mean, no one else is willing to help me assassinate him. The final Overlord. Once he’s gone, the city will finally be free! My sisters and my brothers here in this place will be free. I’ve been climbing up the side of this one building for the past hour, the cobble has been smoothed recently, making the grips harder to find, and I keep slipping. The city below is lit up at night by the yellow lights shining behind frosted windows, illuminating many silhouetted figures, each and every one thinking that tomorrow will be another cold and unfriendly day. I will save them all. The wind blows by, causing me to shiver in the frigid night air, and although every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop, I will not. I’ve made it, the window just above me, the knife strapped in the leather sheath tapping against my hip, each beat telling me I can do this, my conviction has not weakened. My hand grips the rough, unforgiving stone of the sill above, and lifting with every ounce of strength I heave myself onto the small platform, pausing to look at the city. You are my people, I will not fail you. The smell of smoke and ash is still there, as I ease the window away from its hinges, sticking the small knife in between the crack, opening it quitely, dropping as silent as I can onto the carpet. The carpet is a lush, red color, soft enough to absorb even an anvil strike's ringing cry. This makes my job easier. I tread lightly, every step calculated, every movement bringing me closer to my goal, the bed across the room. There he is. The one man responsible for the pain and suffering of everyone and everything i’ve ever known. The knife is in my hand. And then, without anyone seeing me, the final Overlord is gone. I run back out of the room, onto the sill just as the sun rises on the city, I scream at the people coming out of their houses. “You are free!” And then, a pain, a burning pain in a concentrated area, and I look back to see a soldier, and then falling forward, I make peace. I need not regret, they, my people, are free. They see me fall, unaware of the truth, they are free. There will no longer be ash.
(2nd one here!) Edited to include the ping @Gula
There was ash, like always. The smell of smoke forever stained the darkened city. The people scurried over the cobble streets, wrapped in winter robes, hurrying to some unknown destination. No one knew when the overlords came, just that they took a small, peaceful city and twisted it until the bright place it once was had been warped into a brew of misery and suffering for everyone except for them. Smokestacks rose from the factories, pumping out the smog that soured the hearts of the people, and soon the city as a whole became corrupt. The day to day life of any average citizen is horrid by any standards. Get up, go to work, work, go home at undeityly times, maybe eat with what little you get, sleep for a few short hours, start again, dealing with disease along the way. The overlords live rich, and the rest of the people go hungry every day for the rest of their lives. There is no hope here.
At least, that’s the story my mother tells me, that the city can’t be saved. I know the truth, the reality that she doesn’t, that there is only one Overlord left. Granted, not everyone in the city can be trusted, so i’m not one hundred percent sure, but it’s the only hope we’ve got left. The city I mean, no one else is willing to help me assassinate him. The final Overlord. Once he’s gone, the city will finally be free! My sisters and my brothers here in this place will be free. I’ve been climbing up the side of this one building for the past hour, the cobble has been smoothed recently, making the grips harder to find, and I keep slipping. The city below is lit up at night by the yellow lights shining behind frosted windows, illuminating many silhouetted figures, each and every one thinking that tomorrow will be another cold and unfriendly day. I will save them all. The wind blows by, causing me to shiver in the frigid night air, and although every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop, I will not. I’ve made it, the window just above me, the knife strapped in the leather sheath tapping against my hip, each beat telling me I can do this, my conviction has not weakened. My hand grips the rough, unforgiving stone of the sill above, and lifting with every ounce of strength I heave myself onto the small platform, pausing to look at the city. You are my people, I will not fail you. The smell of smoke and ash is still there, as I ease the window away from its hinges, sticking the small knife in between the crack, opening it quitely, dropping as silent as I can onto the carpet. The carpet is a lush, red color, soft enough to absorb even an anvil strike's ringing cry. This makes my job easier. I tread lightly, every step calculated, every movement bringing me closer to my goal, the bed across the room. There he is. The one man responsible for the pain and suffering of everyone and everything i’ve ever known. The knife is in my hand. And then, without anyone seeing me, the final Overlord is gone. I run back out of the room, onto the sill just as the sun rises on the city, I scream at the people coming out of their houses. “You are free!” And then, a pain, a burning pain in a concentrated area, and I look back to see a soldier, and then falling forward, I make peace. I need not regret, they, my people, are free. They see me fall, unaware of the truth, they are free. There will no longer be ash.
There was ash, like always. The smell of smoke forever stained the darkened city. The people scurried over the cobble streets, wrapped in winter robes, hurrying to some unknown destination. No one knew when the overlords came, just that they took a small, peaceful city and twisted it until the bright place it once was had been warped into a brew of misery and suffering for everyone except for them. Smokestacks rose from the factories, pumping out the smog that soured the hearts of the people, and soon the city as a whole became corrupt. The day to day life of any average citizen is horrid by any standards. Get up, go to work, work, go home at undeityly times, maybe eat with what little you get, sleep for a few short hours, start again, dealing with disease along the way. The overlords live rich, and the rest of the people go hungry every day for the rest of their lives. There is no hope here.
At least, that’s the story my mother tells me, that the city can’t be saved. I know the truth, the reality that she doesn’t, that there is only one Overlord left. Granted, not everyone in the city can be trusted, so i’m not one hundred percent sure, but it’s the only hope we’ve got left. The city I mean, no one else is willing to help me assassinate him. The final Overlord. Once he’s gone, the city will finally be free! My sisters and my brothers here in this place will be free. I’ve been climbing up the side of this one building for the past hour, the cobble has been smoothed recently, making the grips harder to find, and I keep slipping. The city below is lit up at night by the yellow lights shining behind frosted windows, illuminating many silhouetted figures, each and every one thinking that tomorrow will be another cold and unfriendly day. I will save them all. The wind blows by, causing me to shiver in the frigid night air, and although every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop, I will not. I’ve made it, the window just above me, the knife strapped in the leather sheath tapping against my hip, each beat telling me I can do this, my conviction has not weakened. My hand grips the rough, unforgiving stone of the sill above, and lifting with every ounce of strength I heave myself onto the small platform, pausing to look at the city. You are my people, I will not fail you. The smell of smoke and ash is still there, as I ease the window away from its hinges, sticking the small knife in between the crack, opening it quitely, dropping as silent as I can onto the carpet. The carpet is a lush, red color, soft enough to absorb even an anvil strike's ringing cry. This makes my job easier. I tread lightly, every step calculated, every movement bringing me closer to my goal, the bed across the room. There he is. The one man responsible for the pain and suffering of everyone and everything i’ve ever known. The knife is in my hand. And then, without anyone seeing me, the final Overlord is gone. I run back out of the room, onto the sill just as the sun rises on the city, I scream at the people coming out of their houses. “You are free!” And then, a pain, a burning pain in a concentrated area, and I look back to see a soldier, and then falling forward, I make peace. I need not regret, they, my people, are free. They see me fall, unaware of the truth, they are free. There will no longer be ash.
((Not gonna lie. First thing that came to mind when I read that prompt was “Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good...” made myself very sad.
Anyway! I’m gonna hopefully get something in for this one! Fingers crossed!))
Anyway! I’m gonna hopefully get something in for this one! Fingers crossed!))
((Not gonna lie. First thing that came to mind when I read that prompt was “Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good...” made myself very sad.
Anyway! I’m gonna hopefully get something in for this one! Fingers crossed!))
Anyway! I’m gonna hopefully get something in for this one! Fingers crossed!))
"So uhh... what do we do with the body? Do we bury it? Cremate it?"
"I don't know. She never really thought about dying. Can't exactly tell us now that she's dead." He chuckles, voice just a tad gritty, tapping the ash off of his cigarette butt.
I watched him draw in a deep breath, his eyes following the embers that flickered out and tumbled over the edge of the bridge, down, down, swallowed by the raging waters.
"It's almost like she never considered it a possibility."
---
also Can We Not i'm cryin' in the club
"I don't know. She never really thought about dying. Can't exactly tell us now that she's dead." He chuckles, voice just a tad gritty, tapping the ash off of his cigarette butt.
I watched him draw in a deep breath, his eyes following the embers that flickered out and tumbled over the edge of the bridge, down, down, swallowed by the raging waters.
"It's almost like she never considered it a possibility."
---
also Can We Not i'm cryin' in the club
"So uhh... what do we do with the body? Do we bury it? Cremate it?"
"I don't know. She never really thought about dying. Can't exactly tell us now that she's dead." He chuckles, voice just a tad gritty, tapping the ash off of his cigarette butt.
I watched him draw in a deep breath, his eyes following the embers that flickered out and tumbled over the edge of the bridge, down, down, swallowed by the raging waters.
"It's almost like she never considered it a possibility."
---
also Can We Not i'm cryin' in the club
"I don't know. She never really thought about dying. Can't exactly tell us now that she's dead." He chuckles, voice just a tad gritty, tapping the ash off of his cigarette butt.
I watched him draw in a deep breath, his eyes following the embers that flickered out and tumbled over the edge of the bridge, down, down, swallowed by the raging waters.
"It's almost like she never considered it a possibility."
---
also Can We Not i'm cryin' in the club
Can anyone join on a prompt?
@Gula
@Gula
Can anyone join on a prompt?
@Gula
@Gula
Yes, my name is strangely spelled.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am not a hoarder. I am, in fact, the caretaker of an exquisitely curated collection of Level 25 Dragons. Yes, there is so a difference.
I am not a hoarder. I am, in fact, the caretaker of an exquisitely curated collection of Level 25 Dragons. Yes, there is so a difference.
@seige i aint gula but yes!! anyone can join ^o^ you can add yourself to the pinglist here:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit?usp=sharing
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit?usp=sharing
@seige i aint gula but yes!! anyone can join ^o^ you can add yourself to the pinglist here:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit?usp=sharing
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit?usp=sharing
@Macchi
Thank you. I'll do that. And then start scribbling the story that jumped into my head with the Ash prompt.
Thank you. I'll do that. And then start scribbling the story that jumped into my head with the Ash prompt.
@Macchi
Thank you. I'll do that. And then start scribbling the story that jumped into my head with the Ash prompt.
Thank you. I'll do that. And then start scribbling the story that jumped into my head with the Ash prompt.
Yes, my name is strangely spelled.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am not a hoarder. I am, in fact, the caretaker of an exquisitely curated collection of Level 25 Dragons. Yes, there is so a difference.
I am not a hoarder. I am, in fact, the caretaker of an exquisitely curated collection of Level 25 Dragons. Yes, there is so a difference.
"There was ash..."
"And...?"
"Well," the spade slices soil, "bugs."
A beat. Avery blinks. "Ohhhh!" Realization dawns. "Sorry, I thought you meant - "
"Grace Hopper bugs." Sage's left cheek dimples; crow's feet bloom. "Kids these days. You and your technology. Corrupting culture since the dawn of civilization." Her silver braid sways.
"Culture? Civilization?" Avery fakes a grimace, then grins. "Well, no. I thought you meant 'bugs' as a minced oath or something. But yeah, bugs? Insects?"
"Critters from the old country." A grunt as a chunk of earth dislodges. "Guess what didn't come with them?"
Avery groans. "I don't like the sound of this story, but I'll guess anyway: the bugs that eat them?"
Sage considers the answer. "Sure." She hefts the earth into a red wheelbarrow. "Close enough. Birds eat 'em, wasp feed 'em to larvae, some trees're resistant." She ticks them off on her fingers. "Fungi had already killed a lot of trees. The ash didn't stand a chance." Soil scrapes spade as Sage slides it into the dirt.
Avery lets the steady rhyme of Sage's digging expand into the silence. They swallow. "Timing's awfully convenient..."
Sage replies with a look.
"I mean." Avery tugs at their shirt collar. "The extinction of ash trees here, leaving the only extant population in the far east and the islands looks like an undeniable economic boon for them - "
"When you hear hooves," Sage says, "think horses, not zebras."
"Ah."
Sage thwaps a mound with the flat side of the shovel. "I doubt geopolitics plays a major role in this." She shakes her head, then at her handiwork. "That's enough digging for a day, yes? Put the saplings in and see."
For the first time in a long time, in the forest, there was ash.
"And...?"
"Well," the spade slices soil, "bugs."
A beat. Avery blinks. "Ohhhh!" Realization dawns. "Sorry, I thought you meant - "
"Grace Hopper bugs." Sage's left cheek dimples; crow's feet bloom. "Kids these days. You and your technology. Corrupting culture since the dawn of civilization." Her silver braid sways.
"Culture? Civilization?" Avery fakes a grimace, then grins. "Well, no. I thought you meant 'bugs' as a minced oath or something. But yeah, bugs? Insects?"
"Critters from the old country." A grunt as a chunk of earth dislodges. "Guess what didn't come with them?"
Avery groans. "I don't like the sound of this story, but I'll guess anyway: the bugs that eat them?"
Sage considers the answer. "Sure." She hefts the earth into a red wheelbarrow. "Close enough. Birds eat 'em, wasp feed 'em to larvae, some trees're resistant." She ticks them off on her fingers. "Fungi had already killed a lot of trees. The ash didn't stand a chance." Soil scrapes spade as Sage slides it into the dirt.
Avery lets the steady rhyme of Sage's digging expand into the silence. They swallow. "Timing's awfully convenient..."
Sage replies with a look.
"I mean." Avery tugs at their shirt collar. "The extinction of ash trees here, leaving the only extant population in the far east and the islands looks like an undeniable economic boon for them - "
"When you hear hooves," Sage says, "think horses, not zebras."
"Ah."
Sage thwaps a mound with the flat side of the shovel. "I doubt geopolitics plays a major role in this." She shakes her head, then at her handiwork. "That's enough digging for a day, yes? Put the saplings in and see."
For the first time in a long time, in the forest, there was ash.
"There was ash..."
"And...?"
"Well," the spade slices soil, "bugs."
A beat. Avery blinks. "Ohhhh!" Realization dawns. "Sorry, I thought you meant - "
"Grace Hopper bugs." Sage's left cheek dimples; crow's feet bloom. "Kids these days. You and your technology. Corrupting culture since the dawn of civilization." Her silver braid sways.
"Culture? Civilization?" Avery fakes a grimace, then grins. "Well, no. I thought you meant 'bugs' as a minced oath or something. But yeah, bugs? Insects?"
"Critters from the old country." A grunt as a chunk of earth dislodges. "Guess what didn't come with them?"
Avery groans. "I don't like the sound of this story, but I'll guess anyway: the bugs that eat them?"
Sage considers the answer. "Sure." She hefts the earth into a red wheelbarrow. "Close enough. Birds eat 'em, wasp feed 'em to larvae, some trees're resistant." She ticks them off on her fingers. "Fungi had already killed a lot of trees. The ash didn't stand a chance." Soil scrapes spade as Sage slides it into the dirt.
Avery lets the steady rhyme of Sage's digging expand into the silence. They swallow. "Timing's awfully convenient..."
Sage replies with a look.
"I mean." Avery tugs at their shirt collar. "The extinction of ash trees here, leaving the only extant population in the far east and the islands looks like an undeniable economic boon for them - "
"When you hear hooves," Sage says, "think horses, not zebras."
"Ah."
Sage thwaps a mound with the flat side of the shovel. "I doubt geopolitics plays a major role in this." She shakes her head, then at her handiwork. "That's enough digging for a day, yes? Put the saplings in and see."
For the first time in a long time, in the forest, there was ash.
"And...?"
"Well," the spade slices soil, "bugs."
A beat. Avery blinks. "Ohhhh!" Realization dawns. "Sorry, I thought you meant - "
"Grace Hopper bugs." Sage's left cheek dimples; crow's feet bloom. "Kids these days. You and your technology. Corrupting culture since the dawn of civilization." Her silver braid sways.
"Culture? Civilization?" Avery fakes a grimace, then grins. "Well, no. I thought you meant 'bugs' as a minced oath or something. But yeah, bugs? Insects?"
"Critters from the old country." A grunt as a chunk of earth dislodges. "Guess what didn't come with them?"
Avery groans. "I don't like the sound of this story, but I'll guess anyway: the bugs that eat them?"
Sage considers the answer. "Sure." She hefts the earth into a red wheelbarrow. "Close enough. Birds eat 'em, wasp feed 'em to larvae, some trees're resistant." She ticks them off on her fingers. "Fungi had already killed a lot of trees. The ash didn't stand a chance." Soil scrapes spade as Sage slides it into the dirt.
Avery lets the steady rhyme of Sage's digging expand into the silence. They swallow. "Timing's awfully convenient..."
Sage replies with a look.
"I mean." Avery tugs at their shirt collar. "The extinction of ash trees here, leaving the only extant population in the far east and the islands looks like an undeniable economic boon for them - "
"When you hear hooves," Sage says, "think horses, not zebras."
"Ah."
Sage thwaps a mound with the flat side of the shovel. "I doubt geopolitics plays a major role in this." She shakes her head, then at her handiwork. "That's enough digging for a day, yes? Put the saplings in and see."
For the first time in a long time, in the forest, there was ash.
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When people draw up a warm bath and put in flower petals,
Writing Prompts
are they bathing in flower tea? |