Creative Corner

@Gula

“What have we become?” The thought crosses my mind occasionally, but I brush it away. That question leads down paths I don’t want to follow. I don’t need to know where they go or what their destination is. I know that already. They go to Sadness, their destination is Guilt and Regret.
And I cannot bear Sadness, I cannot visit the Land of Guilt and Regret. I have work to be done. An empire to rule, a land to care for, a people to guide.
But in the night, even when my body is at rest, my mind is restless still.
I suppose I should make some record of our hopes and trials. Maybe in the future, when I and my ill-fated friends are long gone, maybe a new group of young spirited revolutionaries will rise up. Maybe they will know where we went wrong. Maybe they can carry out our dreams to fruition.
Maybe fate will be kinder to them.
And so it is for them, the unknown hopefuls of the future, that I am writing this. They should know our story. They should know that revolution is not so easy as it seems, and the aftermath is even harder.
They should know that the tyrants who created the empire that spans the world were, once, just like them.


There were twelve of us originally. Twelve spirited youth in a desolate world full of clashing peoples. There was no such thing as peace back then, and the only occupation was war. Children were snatched away from their homes to be raised as soldiers. Oftentimes the ones who did the snatching were those of their own tribe, but it was not uncommon for children to be stolen away by enemy tribes and only see their families again as enemies on the battlefield.
Of our group, seven had been stolen from their homes to bolster my tribe’s ranks. They remembered little of their families, of their tribes, but even so, they knew they didn’t want it to happen to anyone else.
Us twelve were lucky. Trained well, lived in prosperous enough homes with caring families, with the will and drive to succeed. We had enough to eat, finely crafted weapons and armor. We did not die, when so many others did.
And if our lot was not to die, then we must have had some purpose. We decided our purpose was to end the blood feuds, end the continual warring. Maybe, we said, our only reason for surviving through drought and famine and in bloodsoaked battlefields was to ensure no one else had to.
So we did what we had to. We insinuated our way into the other tribes, aiming to strike directly at the top. A few of our group seized opportunities to marry to an elderly leader’s child or niece or nephew, but as for the rest of us… well, we had practically been raised on the battlefield. Death and blood was what we knew.
One leader toppled, dead in the middle of the night. No one was particularly worried--becoming leader of a tribe that was always at war meant putting a target on one’s back. But then another leader fell, someone who had used wits and cunning to avoid that very target. His reputation was renowned, but they still found him, mysteriously, dead.
Our influence spread outwards like a spiral, leaving behind scores of dead leaders and panicked leaders’ families in our wake. And when we came to the insurmountable mountains in the northwest and the seas in the east and the desert in the south, we returned home.
Every tribe was in chaos. Never before had such a mass targeted spree occured. Never before had every single leader died in such a short amount of time that coincidence wasn’t even a joke to be spoken of.
Messenger falcons were sent out, bearing words of darkest ink. In just a few short weeks the entire continent knew just what had happened, and why. Surprisingly enough, many flocked to our cause. Mothers who had lost children, husbands who had lost wives, children who had lost their entire families. Twelve spirited youth with a dream of what things could be were now making that dream a reality with thousands amassing behind them. With that kind of power, it was easy enough to force everyone else to our will. Warmongers and blood-loving soldiers were dealt with quickly, before they could do any real damage.
In less than a year we had conquered the realm, united the numerous tribes under a single banner of peace. Finally, no more children would be stolen from their homes, nor sent to die before they could truly live. No more.
We twelve made an Inner Council, and held seats on an Outer Council along with representatives of the former tribes. But we had no idea how to govern. Our only thought had been to stop the endless needless bloodshed, and we had succeeded. Yet our work was not done.
The Outer Council was… inefficient, to say the least. Arguing and fighting day in and day out, whenever we met. No one--even previous high ranks in the former tribes--knew how best to govern such a wide array of land, with so many peoples. Nor could they agree on a simple plan of action. I grew weary of it, and persuaded my friends to agree in disbanding the Outer Council. It was doing nothing, but…. Even so inefficient and useless, the people still liked the idea of their own leaders, their own representatives.
Needless to say, they rebelled. Twelve youth had easily taken down tens or hundreds of people, but those had only been leaders, a concentrated strike. Against thousands we were nothing, and even those who had backed us from the very beginning were starting to turn on us.
What else were we supposed to do? We were all rulers of a new empire. We had no desire to lose that power, to once again feel helpless. What if the people overthrew us and returned once again to anarchy and war?
We weren’t willing to let that happen. Anyone caught leading rebellions was hanged publicly, and those suspected of rebellious behavior… well, they were hanged not-so-publicly. To maintain peace we became violent. What good would democracy be if the people would all die in battle before their time?
We had done what we had to before. We did what we had to again.


I don’t know, now, if that choice was good. If peace holds a higher value over freedom and free will, or if it’s the other way around. But our empire did remain strong, and relatively peaceful. We united the tribes, and now it’s as if they had never craved each other’s deaths only a generation ago. Was it all worth becoming tyrants and dictators? Is what we did really so bad? Is it bad enough to warrant the mobs beating down the castle doors even at this very moment? I am a tyrant, it is true, but I’d like to think it was--is--for a good reason. When they overthrow me at last, I hope they will read this, and remember what we set out to be, instead of what we became.

@Gula

The first time they’d met, they were fifteen. It had been a warm summer, and the heat lingered even as the months passed. It was the only summer they would enjoy together in their youths, and later they would both agree that they were too quick to be rid of it. It’s too easy to despise the sun when it beats down against skin, and to loathe the academy when they were forced to learn in it. But later? When they were made to return to their lonely homes? How much of it, truly, could they hope to find again?

Eliza’s memories of wanting to leave the academy were the strongest, her heart longing for the freedom that doing so would offer her. Her family had known poverty, however, and she was not keen on returning to it. When she first met Madeline in the summer-sticky gardens, the air thick with the perfume of the flowers, they both laughed over their want to leave the confines of the school for a moment or two. Madeline was a nobleman’s daughter, and she was weary of the days spent abiding by rules not of her own making. For many days, they dreamed of freedom. For many days, they spent their time dreaming of such things together. Too quick did the school season end.

When next the two met, they were grown women. Eliza had reached out to Madeline, now married to an aristocrat, and asked for a chance to meet again. They’d been best friends that one year, and even though they were both older and changed, it hadn’t been easy for either to forget that summer. Madeline agreed, and a date was set.

Madeline had always been wealthy. She knew that at times she wore it too obviously, and when they’d first met she had gone through great pains to dampen it. She feared her own riches, feared that it would drive the less wealthy Eliza away. And yet, when they met at the coffeehouse, Eliza was very much a changed woman. She wore beauty like it was an old friend, her once-frizzing hair now smoothed down and done up in intricate braids. Even her eyes seemed to glow with something beautiful, and Madeline—who had never considered herself an unattractive woman—felt she blossomed when she neared her friend.

“Have you been well?” Madeline had asked, scrutinizing every inch of her old friend. Eliza was pale, thin, elegant and alluring. Her smile was infectious, and Madeline found herself matching it even before her friend replied.

“All too well.” Her voice was honeyed and sweet. “It has been too long a time since we’ve last met, though, and I’d nearly forgotten your face. Let me have a look at you.” Madeline could have laughed; as if she were the most changed between the two.

The pair spoke for some time, and then parted ways. Eliza promised to stay in touch, and Madeline found her heart warmed at the idea.

The third time they met was a year later. Eliza had, true to her word, written Madeline frequently. She traveled often, and thus didn’t get to visit her friend in person. They spoke over a great deal many things, and Madeline found that their relationship was not lacking because of distance. If anything, she found herself waiting in anticipation of each letter. Imagine her surprise when, late in December, Eliza herself came instead.

Madeline’s delight was fierce. She found, when face-to-face with Eliza, that her heart beat rather fast. Eliza stood for a moment in Madeline’s doorway, patient, with the late-night snow falling around her in soft clumps.

“Would you come in?” Madeline asked. Immediately, her friend abided. For a moment they stood in that too-small hallway, and then Madeline surprised herself by leaning over and kissing her friend on the lips. Eliza surprised her by returning it.

By morning, the two had grown achingly familiar with each other, and Madeline found she did not mind this change. They lay in bed, embraced in each other’s arms, and then Eliza spoke.
“I must confess something, Madeline.”

Madeline could not help the hiccup in her heart, with the way Eliza said it. “What is it?”

“I have not been entirely honest with you since we became reacquainted.” Eliza pulled away from Madeline, heir long oaky curls trailing after as she sat up. Madeline, chasing after the warmth, rose with her. There was a beat of silence before Eliza continued. “Would you accept me even after I’ve hid things from you?”

Madeline paused, peering at Eliza searchingly. “I have never known love—oh, don’t look at me like that, you know I did not marry out of affection—but I think I would recognize its face in a crowd.” A pause. “I recognize it in you, Eliza.”

And so Eliza told her everything. She showed her so much more.
Another year had come and gone, but Madeline found she hardly noticed the time. She was aware of only a handful of things in those twelve months. The most notable was that Eliza was utterly hers, even if it was only in their hearts. Her body, also, had changed greatly in that first week, skin turning pale and eyes seeming to glow. She found she now looked like she properly belonged next to her lover, and did so proudly. The last thing she became aware of was how vast the world was, and she suddenly knew why Eliza traveled so often. She enjoyed it almost as much as she enjoyed their love.

Twelve months since their bodies first became acquitted. Twelve months since Madeline acquired the two dotted scars on her neck. Now, so far from that cramped place she had once called home, Madeline could watch Eliza as she lay sprawled in the grass of a meadow and not worry about the time that passed as she did so.

Carefully, Madeline reached over and brushed a brown curl away from Eliza’s face. “What have we become, my love?”

Eliza smiled, and in this place where no one could see, she let the pointed ends of her teeth show. “Why, I have become yours, my dear Madeline, and you have become mine. What else is there?”

A cure. That was the rumour I was following, the reason I was standing in an alleyway in the middle of the night, rain pelting down my back and soaking into my trousers. I was cold and miserable and I wanted to be anywhere but here. I didn’t like trusting nonsensical rumours and seedy strangers who led me to suspicious places. But the woman I loved was dying and I had chased down every other lead with no luck. This was all that was left to me, and I could only pray that I would not regret my decision to come to this place tonight.

I looked at my watch, my impatience growing. Every minute I spent here was one that I should be at her bedside, savouring every last moment I had left with her. And yet, some part of me still held onto the hope, no matter how small, that I would find an answer tonight.

The sound of boots on cobblestone had me looking further into the shadows. There, a portly man was waving a stubby hand at me, gesturing me closer. I hesitated only an instant before I approached. There was no sense backing out now. I drew even with him and he wiped his hands on his trousers, squinting up at the rain as if it greatly displeased him. We had that much in common, at least. He looked me up and down, nodded, and then scurried over to a door that I had not noticed. He opened it and waited, clearly wanting me to enter before him.

“Is this the place?” I asked. “Will I find the cure for my wife inside?”
“That’s what you were told, is it not? Come now, time is running short and he is not a patient man.”

Forming a picture in my mind of the woman I loved, I gripped my determination hard and entered through the door, stepping aside immediately so that the portly man could enter behind me. He shook himself, ridding the rain from his coat, and I took a moment to glance around the interior. I was surprised to find myself in a well-kept pub. The surfaces were clean and untainted, and a thick cloud of tobacco smoke hung in the air.

“This way, this way.”

He did not wait for me as he moved, dodging past tables and leading me deeper inside the building. I followed him down a hallway until we reached the door to one of the more private rooms, often used for gambling or other, less savoury matters. I raised my eyebrow as the man knocked, noticing the sweat beginning to form on his brow. He was nervous, but why?

The door opened a crack and he whispered hurriedly to whoever waited within, his voice low and casting furtive glances as me the whole while. I could not catch what was being said but finally he nodded once and scurried away, leaving me standing there agape. Before I could move to protest, the door swung open more fully to reveal a tall man who wore the bearing and appearance of a butler.

“The master will see you now.” He said, his voice a dry rasp, as if age had already claimed all vigour.

He ushered me inside and then left, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone with the man he called his master.

I had expected to find a card table, perhaps a circular booth where a man could be entertained by the fairer gender. Instead my eyes saw nothing but a fainting couch tucked among rich red drapes that hung from the ceiling, and the man who rested upon it. As soon as my eyes locked with his I was captured, their piercing blue colour singing out to me and drawing me closer. Before I knew it, I had taken several steps closer until I was standing over him. He reached one pale hand up to me and I took it in my own; the strength in his grip surprised me as he pulled himself up to stand beside me with hardly any effort at all.

“I am told you seek a cure?” His voice was utter seduction, the kind that would make you rich if only you could bottle it. My breath caught as I listened to his words, afraid to make a sound lest he stop talking. He stalked around me, his fingers trailing across my neck. My heart began to pound harder, faster. I wasn’t sure I could remember why I had come to this place. I felt his breath on my neck even as his next words whispered through my mind. “I can offer you everything, if only you are willing to accept it.”
“Please.” I managed, my voice barely more than a croak. “I need-” I could not remember what I needed, but I knew there was something.
“A cure for the one you love. I know. Hush now, I will help you.”

I exhaled, my breath shaky. I could feel nothing but his hands on my body, one wrapping around my front in a gentle caress, the other reaching to tip my head to one side. I let myself fall into his embrace, gasping as a sharp pain shot through my neck. I was lost.

---

I crouched beside the bed of the woman I loved, my weight balanced easily on my haunches. I had not yet adjusted to the strength that coursed through me, the intensity of the smells and sights around me, the insatiable hunger that clenched me tightly. And yet, as she opened her eyes and looked at me with her emerald gaze, the very vision of beauty she had been when we first met many years ago, I forgot that I was no longer what I once was. All that mattered was that she was still with me.

She gasped and sat up all of a sudden, her hand flying to her mouth as she looked upon me. Her look of surprise turned to confusion, and then horror as she felt the fangs that were now a part of her. I took her hands gently in mine, drawing her towards me as I hushed her. I wanted only to soothe her. She was different now, but everything would be okay, because we were together.

“What have we become?” Her voice was like a melody on the wind.

@Gula

I know it doesn't meet the word count but I didn't want to sacrifice quality for quantity.

What have we become?
Children of light, the far-flung dreamers,
cast out like stars into a cold universe, falling away from each other,
endlessly,
yet burning until we burn ourselves out,
some brilliantly, and some into black holes.

What have we become?
Once-artists, poets and dreamers,
now locked in a dreamless haze, not awakened yet
unable to find sleep, the river of words that we floated
in that cooled our feverish skin
drying in the parched heat of a relentless sun.

I was once an angel, with a crooked halo and molted wings,
I have only fallen so far as humanity,
as every one of us does, shedding our wings
under our own weight as we grow.
Some choose to fall even more. Falling still feels like flying,
for that little bit longer. Is it worth the cost? What would we become?

So it comes to this: we have lost much to time and sorrow,
grace sucked from our souls, begging for warmth of any kind.
The question is not, ‘What have we become?’ It is ‘What will we?’.

Hello everybody! Thank you for your submissions and I have to say! Lots of vampires this time around!

@Redtiger7736

Sorry that you didn't quite get it done in time!

@MistressMagpie

I remember I commented on your page about how I really liked this. The whole world idea you created is very strange, but in a really interesting way! It gives me a feeling of the scope of everything, like seeing a brave new world and how it works.

@humanityxpeople

A vampire love story, but not exactly something I am a great fan of to be honest! There are quite a few stories of this nature I have found. Not that it is a bad theme, but it is just not my cup of tea.

@Dragonartist24

An interesting and funny story I have to say. I don't think I've quite ever seen anything like it! A little sad that Harold and his wife died though. They seemed like decent people! Their neighbors are just mean.

@Chrisondra

Vampires! An interesting turn this one! It is interesting to see regret in spur of the moment decisions in characters. Bad tattoos, marriages, vampirism, the works!

@Skyeset

I really like the premise for this one. It seems familiar to me like I've read something similar before. Or perhaps I have written something like it. That or I read it and it just seems familiar. In all my time of writing and gaming, I have come to the conclusion that of all those who value the greater good, few realize the differences in what people believe is good. Few who fight for their ideals recognize their failings and the terror they might be causing. Peace and Freedom are challenging things to hold individually, but balancing them is nigh impossible. They tend to invite their own antitheses often enough.

I really like reading and writing about a world that has moved on from what it once was, to be in the hands of others or in one's own hands. The longing and pain are easily felt to me at least!

@Mypilot

Vampires! Oh, the scandal! Sometimes, what one has is not quite what one wants, and sometimes what is wanted is not what is needed.

@Egwu

Vampires! The lengths people will go to save those they love astounds sometimes. The effect of Mr. Master reminds me of the depiction of the Vampire Lord from Salem's Lot, written by Stephen King! Unnaturally alluring to any who stray to near and with great abilities able to be procured by others at a whim.

@lessthan3

This one intrigues me! I have seen many writings about humans become more than themselves, for better or for worse, but if I have understood this correctly, it is about Angels becoming human. Losing the wings that keep them aloft. Fallen angels have always intrigued me story wise. Like anyone, they could go dark side, or they could make something of themselves, to better themselves.

---

I have chosen Skyeset as 1st place and MistressMagpie as 2nd!

Aaah thank you @Gula !

Le new prompt:

"A gamble. A game against Death for your life."

Deadline: Monday, August 20th, 22:00 FR time

@Chrisondra @TidalMoonrise @Mypilot @PixieKnight3264 @SamIamLuvDov @Lightshadow101 @humanityxpeople @coyearth @Avanari @demonslayr62 @Auraelia @Endernil @Arithelia @Sillywinter @inthestars @Annalynn @meddlesomedragon @SocialBookWorm @SolusPrime379 @Kattata @Reiyn @Skyeset @lessthan3 @AwkwardAngel @Draxia @Solstices @0Musicheart0 @Aphelium @AloneTogether @CelestialNarwhal @Kapara @Slayborn @pharmakraken @Elroth @After @Moonwater @Adaris @LapisDragon17718 @saltyy @Dragonartist24 @MysticalScribe @TwoSwordsClash @Redtiger7736 @AnacondaMiracle @/Gula @PuddleStars @GalazyBunny @MistressMacchika @MistressMagpie

Based on this story written by one of my friends a while back, I wanted to write it in my own hand. It will have the same theme and characters, but I will essentially be rewriting it. I hope that is okay! (I asked them if I could and they said sure!)

I changed it up considerably, so I hope @Zuron doesn't mind!

---

Some say that I am fair and unbiased, that I am a "good" judge and jury to those that need it. I see many things in this world, I have gone many places and will meet everyone in their due time. A soothing lullaby, a caress for the broken, a warm embrace for the dying. That is my function. Sometimes, however, it is a drag for me to wake up, to face this world. My work is so sorely understood, and even I sometimes wonder why I do it.

I have a story to share here. It happened many years ago, when the daisies were blooming in this field I particularly enjoyed, but I was drawn from it as usual. I watched from far above as the woman and her child shambled through the woodlands. The mother, I figured, appeared nearly within my grasp already, but the child was nearly falling into my arms. Pulled behind the exhausted woman was a cart, old and worn as if it were made from scrap lumber. I sat myself at the end of the little wagon next to the little one. Her wheezing cries repeated this word, "Mama, mama," as if there was something to be done. It would not be long, but my own mind wandered. I presume that the mother knew I was present, despite her inability to view me. That seems to be something common to them all, they know I am there without ever knowing I even exist at all.

I lingered there for a time, watching the pressed duff behind the cart, the ants climbing through the trees, the birds flitting through the hollows and canopies of trees, and most importantly, the little one. Her soul bobbed in and out of her form. I had reached for it at her time, but I recoiled ever so gently. She was pushing me away. That is little surprise, for it happens often, but what surprised me was what she continued to say to me. "I won't leave mama alone!" I sat upon the derelict wagon with my hand outstretched to the little one and thought. I drew my hand back from the little one and reasoned that she may still have some time.

It was a long cart ride. I weighed nothing, but the mother seemed to be pulling a half dozen balls and chains and not a emaciated child. Yet she continued. She would cough and trip on her own feet, but then she would drag herself back to her duty. A lot like me I suppose, but unlike me, she might kill herself working like this. "Mama, Mama, I won't leave her!" The words rang inside my head. Curious thing children are. Most have not been tormented by their decisions, done great wrongs, or gained their vices yet. Most don't beg for their lives like their guardians do. Fewer still are those that plead for the lives of others instead of themselves. Ever rarer, though, are those that fight me so that they may protect others.

I had work to do everywhere, but I remained at the little one's dirty feet. I reached once more for her, but I had not gotten very far. I looked into her eyes. It was one of two rules I had made for myself, to not look them in the eyes. I had drawn my own dim eyes from hers as I sat, arm outreached once more. She was still alive yet, I had thought. The sun was beginning to fall through the trees. It would not be too long. I turned my head to the little one once more and our eyes met. Those two little faded orbs in a shrunken face burned with determination despite the death that crawled out of them. The little one's soul was barely within her now, connected by a few fragile threads. Each little string of life would crush me, I had felt. I wiped my eye slowly, the girl's whimpers barely audible even to me now. Her words slurred and the mother consoled, though I listened not as I soared once more.

It was not long before I had reached my destination, nowhere really takes long. I had been there many times. A man and his love parting in the surgery forever, the child wandering the dark tunnels for his mother but never finding a way out, the woman who had hanged from a tree because of her skin and who she shared a life with, all of it I had been present to watch. Why had this particular day been any different I had wondered. I stood beside the doctor I knew best. He sat upon a bench facing a monument to his god. Which one, however, I did not know. I sat next to the doctor and the chantry became a little cooler. I had but whispered to the doctor, breaking my second rule in the process. I stood and I was sitting beside the little one once more. I watched as her soul bounced in and out of her body. She would grasp for it, pulling it back for it to float away once more. The little one was different somehow. She didn't want her mother to be alone.

I turned my gaze to the path ahead as it thinned. At the end waited the doctor, pacing uncomfortably in the evening chill. On either side of him were two nurses who were wondering if their patron had gone mad. The fellow on the left was undiagnosed himself, however, which I found unusually amusing. I smiled as the doctor and the underlings rushed to the mother. She had fallen to her knees with a sob as the little one released what amounted to a weak wail.

Some time later, when I cam for the little one once more, she had looked upon me as a friend. Or, as much as she could. She had written me letters, of which I have read every one. I had read them to her once more as I carried her frail body away and she smiled. She thanked me. Few thank me for their deaths or the demise of their loved ones. Who could, I wonder. It is not my work to be loved and respected, it is not something I should accept. It feels pleasant to be appreciated despite it all. I did break my own rules, though, and I do not know if I can reaffirm them now.

Rule number one; do not look them in the eyes. This rule of mine is oft broken by mistake, but I gazed into the little one's eyes twice. Once out of pity, another out of a strange love. A love of those living. They give me purpose, and I give them reason to live to their fullest, I suppose.

Rule number two; don't gamble. I wonder if the doctor's god will fire me now.

Oooooh yes reserves

Popping in to write some stuff.
So, This is coming out of a late-night mind filled with caffeine (or however you spell it) on the spot because I felt like writing. Hope you like!(Novice writer, BTW. don't expect too much.)
Warning: Heavy theme. Not actually too sure, but still.
_____________________________________________________________________________
A whisper. A metallic ringing. I sense my playmates around me, I know I lay upon the playground's cement, but why can't I get up? My sister keeps calling my name, Andrea, she's saying. But, it's muffled. Why is it muffled? It's cold, and I can see the people gathered around me, there are two, no, three adults here. Two I know, they are my teachers. The third is a man in a black suit, like the one my father wears to work, but darker. He's calling my name, but, his voice is so much clearer then the others. It's getting colder, now. I'm shivering, but my body isn't moving. The man is asking me a question. Do I want to play? I don't answer, as I am confused and he simply disappears behind the men in the blue uniforms who have lifted me onto this thing, a table with wheels? I sense that time is passing, that they are trying to keep from doing something. The man appears again, but this time when i'm on a strange bed, with a needle in my arm. He sits before me, and I think the men in blue are there too, wearing something different now. The man asks me again, do I want to play? I say yes, and although my body stays, I feel as if I am being torn away, it's frigid, where we land, the man and I. Snow is falling, and we stand in between mountains. We play a card game, for sometime, the man and I. Then he asks another question, Andrea, are you ready to finish the game? I am tired of the game, I keep losing. So, I say yes. And although I feel I shouldn't, but I also should, I let him lead me, through the mountains. At first it is freezing, then, it is nothing. The last thing I can remember is being taken here, to this never-ending galaxy of wonder, but as I left the frozen wastes with the man, I hear behind me, a soft and never-ending beep, and my family, crying. Why are they crying? I am safe here, in this world of wonder. I am safe here, with this man. I am safe here, with Death.

@Skyeset

"...Scrabble?"

Death shook its head impatiently and gestured to the deck of cards once more.

"I told you, man, I don't know poker. How about Twister?"

Its skeletal gaze oozed an aura of dread mixed with annoyance into the darkened chamber. It shook its head. The ground rumbled.

"Uno? Monopoly? Pictionary? C'mon, there has to be a whiteboard somewhere around here."

There was no whiteboard. Moreover, there was no pen, pencil, or even a bit of charcoal to mark the empty gray walls. In fact, the tunnel was entirely bereft of writing implements. This ruled out Yahtzee and Clue as well, since those require either careful note-taking or a photographic memory (something that Death itself does not possess).

"You don't even have checkers?"

Death looked at its watch.

The light at the end of the tunnel was growing closer by the minute. In the eternity that the pair had stood in stalemate, it had made significant progress towards enveloping them. Death took a nervous step away from the brightness and glared at its opponent as best as something with no eyes can glare.

"No checkers. Okay. Fine. Gimme."

Death's opponent reached out towards the waiting deck. Death hid a smile (successfully, since it had no lips) as the human took the cards out of their box. It studied them for a moment, and before Death could react, threw them into the awaiting light.

If it could have let out a cry of despair, it would have; as it were, Death could only lunge ineffectively for the cards as they sailed over its head. The instant its bony fingers touched the beam of light, it jerked them back and cradled its arm as if burned. Dropping to its knees, Death fixed its most murderous glare upon the insolent creature who dared to defy it in its own realm.

The human held out a hand.

"Look, man. Here's the deal. You let me go, and when I get back here in forty, fifty years, I'll bring my Exploding Kittens deck and teach you how to play. How's that sound?"

Death looked back on the encroaching light, made some quick mental calculations, and grudgingly accepted the offered hand. The human pulled Death up to its feet and clapped it on the shoulderblade. "Sweet. Oh, do you know Apples to Apples? I bet you'd like that one; I'll see if I can find a funeral director who'll stick a couple cards in the coffin with me. Or Magic the Gathering, maybe? Ooh, how about DnD? My roommate has a Ouija board, maybe he can DM for us..."

Together, they began the long, long trek home.