10 Words | Creative Corner

All right. :D That prompt was obviously not a good one. Or at least not inspirational.

So I'll go down a different track

Next Prompt: The story line that keeps us alive

Words: Beautiful, Lost, Shining, Facade, Home, Wind, Matter, Dust, Withstand, Comprehend

Deadline: 9/22 23:59 FR Time

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Karika @Annalynn @Zodiac753 @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @MintyDragon @Kiradog234

Chrisondra

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September 19, 2017 18:29:43

All right. :D That prompt was obviously not a good one. Or at least not inspirational.

So I'll go down a different track

Next Prompt: The story line that keeps us alive

Words: Beautiful, Lost, Shining, Facade, Home, Wind, Matter, Dust, Withstand, Comprehend

Deadline: 9/22 23:59 FR Time

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Karika @Annalynn @Zodiac753 @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @MintyDragon @Kiradog234

_________

Now we have to write for both prompts..... Chi why....

FeralFaeborn

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September 20, 2017 16:37:44

Now we have to write for both prompts..... Chi why....

@Chrisondra Warning for mentions of natural disasters.

Between the four of us, we have a story. Multiple stories. The ones we’ll write down when all of this is over, and when we don’t remember the details quite right anymore so we argue for hours and never write a word. We’ll have a home by then, instead of leading nomadic lives with no end in sight, but it’s simply not safe to stay in one place.

The world was beautiful once.

It offered us everything we could have ever wanted as long as we worked ourselves to the bone. Now, we don’t have a thing we want, and we spend our lives searching for the things we need. The one thing good that came out of this was I’m not working that boring office job anymore,, and I never will.

My boss is dead. So are many of my friends. The three people I’m surviving with? We need each other, and perhaps offer some emotional support, but we would have never given each other the time of day before the end of the world.

Anything that matters to us is gone.

It’s us against the world, and the world hasn’t taken us yet, but it’s tried. We experienced the strongest winds during our time surviving in the Tornado Belt and were almost swept away if not for the power of an indestructible storm cellar. The dust remained in the air for days, and our food and water supply was drained, but we carried on. It’s all we can do.

On the east coasts, we dealt with tropical storms and were almost swallowed by the pure strength of the current. On the west coasts, we dealt with earthquakes that shook our bones, leaving us rattled for days.

We could withstand anything. All the thunderstorms and the scorching days and the frigid days. Almost starving to death because we couldn’t find any food. We could understand all of these natural phenomenon, but we had difficulty comprehending the monsters.

It was in their nature to be predators. We would spend weeks hunted down by vicious creatures out for our blood, but eventually we’d have to fight, and we’d inevitably earn more scars and become more exhausted. Beneath our survival facade, we all just wanted to drop dead and die.

We wanted to be lost to the Earth, but we also wanted to live on, to prove that humanity will not bow down to these creatures. Slowly, we are learning to recognize them and fight them with efficiency. We spend our time training and actively searching out these creatures. When we can, we write these things down to make a survival guide.

We will bring back the humans, and they will live with an understanding. They will not let our story die out.

As long as we know the sun is shining, we know it’s not over.

hume

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September 21, 2017 21:52:36

@Chrisondra Warning for mentions of natural disasters.

Between the four of us, we have a story. Multiple stories. The ones we’ll write down when all of this is over, and when we don’t remember the details quite right anymore so we argue for hours and never write a word. We’ll have a home by then, instead of leading nomadic lives with no end in sight, but it’s simply not safe to stay in one place.

The world was beautiful once.

It offered us everything we could have ever wanted as long as we worked ourselves to the bone. Now, we don’t have a thing we want, and we spend our lives searching for the things we need. The one thing good that came out of this was I’m not working that boring office job anymore,, and I never will.

My boss is dead. So are many of my friends. The three people I’m surviving with? We need each other, and perhaps offer some emotional support, but we would have never given each other the time of day before the end of the world.

Anything that matters to us is gone.

It’s us against the world, and the world hasn’t taken us yet, but it’s tried. We experienced the strongest winds during our time surviving in the Tornado Belt and were almost swept away if not for the power of an indestructible storm cellar. The dust remained in the air for days, and our food and water supply was drained, but we carried on. It’s all we can do.

On the east coasts, we dealt with tropical storms and were almost swallowed by the pure strength of the current. On the west coasts, we dealt with earthquakes that shook our bones, leaving us rattled for days.

We could withstand anything. All the thunderstorms and the scorching days and the frigid days. Almost starving to death because we couldn’t find any food. We could understand all of these natural phenomenon, but we had difficulty comprehending the monsters.

It was in their nature to be predators. We would spend weeks hunted down by vicious creatures out for our blood, but eventually we’d have to fight, and we’d inevitably earn more scars and become more exhausted. Beneath our survival facade, we all just wanted to drop dead and die.

We wanted to be lost to the Earth, but we also wanted to live on, to prove that humanity will not bow down to these creatures. Slowly, we are learning to recognize them and fight them with efficiency. We spend our time training and actively searching out these creatures. When we can, we write these things down to make a survival guide.

We will bring back the humans, and they will live with an understanding. They will not let our story die out.

As long as we know the sun is shining, we know it’s not over.

Last edited on Sep 21, 2017 21:53:39 by hume

@Chrisondra

Books are funny things. Though they tell a complete story in their own right, they don’t tell the whole story. They don’t tell you what happens before, nor do they tell you what happens after. You are left feeling complete after finishing the story, but there is always that sense of longing that something, somehow, has ended. Something that, you think, extends past the story.

Orena Cannon lived alone, and there was nothing the matter with that. She was an average woman, ordinary in many ways, but extraordinary in others. She lived alone, and her oak walls had stood for many years longer than she’d been alive. The house itself had its own story, she supposed, and it likely involved a great many other people. Those who had lived there before did often leave traces of their existence, buried in the dust, and Orena sometimes found these traces despite having lived in the house for years and years. Such was the way of things, she knew.

Although Orena was a self-sufficient woman—she hadn’t worked for another human since her mother’s passing eight years ago—she was not a solitary woman. Frequently she took out the mule and visited the nearby town, a small quaint thing that’s only real draw was the market. The people there knew her well (this was always the case with small towns), and they had a mutual respect for one another.

However, for the most part, Orena spent her time alone and in her own home. She tended her small farm and gardens, she tidied her house every afternoon, and she ate simple meals of soup and meat. She was never at a loss for activities, despite how small her life seemed.

Of course, like most others, Orena did have a secret. Not quite a façade, like those kids who pretend they’re going down by the stream but really find their way out into the fields to drink whatever ale they got their hands on. No, Orena’s secret was much bigger than that. And it came in the form of a story.

It isn’t easy for someone to comprehend just what Orena goes about doing every night. Perhaps this is why she lived alone (or perhaps she just liked the company of herself), but Orena had grown quite familiar with the book.

It was a beautiful thing, ornately covered, with shining pages and carefully written words. The cover was brown, the title gilded, and each page was a creamy colour with golden edges. The words themselves were black ink, and they were hand written. Each page in the massive book, designed painstakingly in what must have been a lifelong process.

The book was indeed beautiful, but it was more than that. It was special, and not just in the way Orena’s prized cabbages were special. This seemed to transcend that, as if any other ‘special’ thing had lost a contest it didn’t know it was playing in. You see, this book was magic. Orena knew that not many things in her world could say the same.

The book told a story, as all books do, but this story never seemed to end. Endlessly it spiraled on, telling the tale of the world. Sometimes Orena liked to spend her mornings sifting through the pages, looking at history as it was told in simple, neat lines. Sometimes she liked to flip to the back of the book, to see the world’s most recent event.

It was a neat trick, and a very interesting book to own, but Orena suspected this book was a little more than that. She’d begun to think so after reading one line, the same line that appeared at the end of every day. Simple, short, and concise.

Humanity lives on.

And every time she read those words she’d get a shiver, right down her spine, like some imaginary wind had traced its way against her flesh. She considered this line, more than once, and always came to the same conclusion: this book was more valuable than any human had any right to own. She didn’t know, no, but she felt it, the same kind of feeling you got when you looked at a man you were certain did bad things when the sun went down, and the same feeling you’d get when you knew you left the door unlocked. It was intuition, plain and simple, and it was strong.

It was for this reason that Orena kept very good care of the book. It seemed cable of withstanding any damage—there wasn’t a single mark on any of the pages, and the spine was always unmarred no matter how many times Orena opened it—but she wasn’t about to let it get in the hands of anyone she didn’t trust. And Orena only trusted herself.

Some nights, when the book had long since been tucked away into her that hidden space beneath her floor, and the animals were all in their pens, and every door and window had been locked shut, Orena dreamt of dark things. She dreamt of the world running itself raw, and of a sky painted red, and flipping open that book to see three simple, short, and concise words.

Humanity will fall.

Mypilot

375

460

1068

10402

September 22, 2017 07:46:36

@Chrisondra

Books are funny things. Though they tell a complete story in their own right, they don’t tell the whole story. They don’t tell you what happens before, nor do they tell you what happens after. You are left feeling complete after finishing the story, but there is always that sense of longing that something, somehow, has ended. Something that, you think, extends past the story.

Orena Cannon lived alone, and there was nothing the matter with that. She was an average woman, ordinary in many ways, but extraordinary in others. She lived alone, and her oak walls had stood for many years longer than she’d been alive. The house itself had its own story, she supposed, and it likely involved a great many other people. Those who had lived there before did often leave traces of their existence, buried in the dust, and Orena sometimes found these traces despite having lived in the house for years and years. Such was the way of things, she knew.

Although Orena was a self-sufficient woman—she hadn’t worked for another human since her mother’s passing eight years ago—she was not a solitary woman. Frequently she took out the mule and visited the nearby town, a small quaint thing that’s only real draw was the market. The people there knew her well (this was always the case with small towns), and they had a mutual respect for one another.

However, for the most part, Orena spent her time alone and in her own home. She tended her small farm and gardens, she tidied her house every afternoon, and she ate simple meals of soup and meat. She was never at a loss for activities, despite how small her life seemed.

Of course, like most others, Orena did have a secret. Not quite a façade, like those kids who pretend they’re going down by the stream but really find their way out into the fields to drink whatever ale they got their hands on. No, Orena’s secret was much bigger than that. And it came in the form of a story.

It isn’t easy for someone to comprehend just what Orena goes about doing every night. Perhaps this is why she lived alone (or perhaps she just liked the company of herself), but Orena had grown quite familiar with the book.

It was a beautiful thing, ornately covered, with shining pages and carefully written words. The cover was brown, the title gilded, and each page was a creamy colour with golden edges. The words themselves were black ink, and they were hand written. Each page in the massive book, designed painstakingly in what must have been a lifelong process.

The book was indeed beautiful, but it was more than that. It was special, and not just in the way Orena’s prized cabbages were special. This seemed to transcend that, as if any other ‘special’ thing had lost a contest it didn’t know it was playing in. You see, this book was magic. Orena knew that not many things in her world could say the same.

The book told a story, as all books do, but this story never seemed to end. Endlessly it spiraled on, telling the tale of the world. Sometimes Orena liked to spend her mornings sifting through the pages, looking at history as it was told in simple, neat lines. Sometimes she liked to flip to the back of the book, to see the world’s most recent event.

It was a neat trick, and a very interesting book to own, but Orena suspected this book was a little more than that. She’d begun to think so after reading one line, the same line that appeared at the end of every day. Simple, short, and concise.

Humanity lives on.

And every time she read those words she’d get a shiver, right down her spine, like some imaginary wind had traced its way against her flesh. She considered this line, more than once, and always came to the same conclusion: this book was more valuable than any human had any right to own. She didn’t know, no, but she felt it, the same kind of feeling you got when you looked at a man you were certain did bad things when the sun went down, and the same feeling you’d get when you knew you left the door unlocked. It was intuition, plain and simple, and it was strong.

It was for this reason that Orena kept very good care of the book. It seemed cable of withstanding any damage—there wasn’t a single mark on any of the pages, and the spine was always unmarred no matter how many times Orena opened it—but she wasn’t about to let it get in the hands of anyone she didn’t trust. And Orena only trusted herself.

Some nights, when the book had long since been tucked away into her that hidden space beneath her floor, and the animals were all in their pens, and every door and window had been locked shut, Orena dreamt of dark things. She dreamt of the world running itself raw, and of a sky painted red, and flipping open that book to see three simple, short, and concise words.

Humanity will fall.

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Last edited on Sep 22, 2017 07:46:57 by Mypilot

@Chrisondra

I was never able to speak. Sure, with signs, I eventually learned to make my meaning heard, but not many listened. Fewer cared.

I tried. I shouted with my hands. I screamed with my heart. But as that did no good, I started to wonder if maybe I'd be better off completely silent. That's why I came here, to the mountain from which no one returns. I did. It was, by all accounts, a miracle. Almost all.

It was a beautiful sunset that day. I had made friends. I had Hope, and love. I didn't have hope, or Love. The last of the day was shining in my friend's tearstruck eyes. Maybe, though few of these people listened, it would be enough. Maybe I could get by.

I could not comprehend what followed. The utter volume of noise, everyone shouting at everyone. I had forgotten what a gratuitous cacophony humans could produce in my time underground. I did not know that monsters could do the same.

Ambassador was the role I had taken upon myself. I loathed it. Without a voice, no one would listen to me. Had I had one, no one would have cared.

In the end, things started to settle. I saw people step up and suggest the solutions I had conjured, taking the credit that was rightfully mine. I should not have cared; after all, the end result was harmony, was it not? Not in my heart. Oh, and they did listen - in my worst moments, the moments when my monstrosity in the human sense and my humanity in the monstrous sense shone through, then they noticed. They loathed me. Perhaps it was not so bad - a misplaced word here, a carelessly thought-out statement there - often not in any all-important context. It didn't matter whether it was related to my position as ambassador. Those who did not know me as such still despised me for the little voice I had.

I wondered if I mattered.

Regardless, I could not withstand the pain of their perceived judgment, so I fled.

I climbed back up the reverse of that mountain, back to the cavern we had clambered out of so many years ago. I was robust and limber, not like my child self who had stumbled into a future she had not wanted. I stood near the peak, feeling the immensity of the open space before me, feeling the slight welcome chill of the wind on my upturned face.

A familiar flower greeted me. He begged me to let them (myself?) be. I did not listen. Within a few seconds, I knew, I could return Home.

Back to the beginning. I traced my path again, and again, trying to make myself heard. What would it take? I was kind, I was cruel. I did not Love, but slowly I lost my ability to love as well. I grew weary, and bitter.

I would make them listen to me.

I looked down in horror at the dust on my hands. It seemed at first like stardust, clear and pure, but somehow my hands - my voice - seemed to taint it, making it dull and deathly.

It didn't matter. I could reverse my choices. There were no consequences to my actions. I could undo them. I didn't matter.

He warned me.

I didn't listen.

It was only once I met Chara that I understood the true horror of being listened to.

She could hear everything I said. The meaning was not unclear. After all, it was only us. The world was gone. She could hear, and she could understand. She was listening.

She just. Didn't. Care.

And somehow, knowing that even though my voice could be the only one heard, knowing that I could say exactly what I meant and it could still be denied - it broke me.

I remembered love. I did not want my Love. I gave my soul up, my everything, to bring the world back.

It was not enough.

*****

And that's where her part of the story ends. Sans here. Sans the skeleton. Funny enough, what I'm about to say is not a joke. Far from it.

You've seen the storyline where everyone lives. Sure, we all know the tale of the pacifist. That storyline doesn't exist anymore. That timeline ended with the death of Flowey, the cherry on top of the ... genocide?

Anyways, point is. Chara has control. At least after Frisk releases us. She does it again and again, trying to atone for her mistakes. Sometimes she kills now, in her effort to make things right. Yeah, she's a bit misguided.

She's trying really hard, ya know? I don't know how much the others know. I know some of them would forgive her. Me? I can't. Not when I remember what she did to everybody. Not that I can't relate. All that power - it's not an easy thing for anyone to handle. Still. What she did - it can't be undone. That's the worst part. I love her, man, but I can't forgive her.

("Sans?" Frisk says, slumping to the ground in front of me.

"Yeah, Frisk?" I respond, cautiously. We are on the surface. I don't know what to expect.

"I give up," she says. My eye flashes blue, jerking her to the ground, but nothing happens. I see hairline cracks snaking through her soul, and release her immediately. She's not giving in. She's giving up.

"No, Frisk, stay determined.)

Maybe I can forgive her after all.

("There's nothing I can do," she murmurs. Her Hope is 1, and falling. "I can't fix it." Her determination is fading away, and maybe it's my imagination, but is reality starting to flicker?

"That's ok," I say quickly. "You don't have to. We can." My heart aches as I realize that it's not just her fault. We let her do this, before she ever started that genocide run. We didn't listen. We never have. It wasn't just her that did this, and it couldn't be just her to fix it. We could have, together. Now it might be too late.

"It's ok," she repeats faintly. "I don't - matter - anyway."

I see the facade of Chara, flickering, trying to break through. I see their hope and determination rise as she does.

"No," she snarls, and I ready an attack. It disappears a moment later.

"You do," Chara says. "You're the only one. You're the only way there can be a storyline that keeps us alive."

"No," Frisk breathes. "You're dead. Asriel is dead. I am -"

"No," Chara shrieks. "You're not dead yet. And we lived. If you die, we won't have. If you die, nothing will have mattered. If you -"

A skeletal presence starts to come into view.

"G-" I start to say, but the words choke in my throat.

"G-" Frisk starts to say, but Chara seizes control.

"Do not say his name," she hisses. "He is no longer what anyone knows - not scientist, not skeleton, not family, nor enemy. He belongs to the void, and he reaps the timelines. He stood behind you when you denied me to erase this world, and it was with him I had to bargain to bring it back for you."

Frisk's eyes weakly flicker. "What did you bargain, Chara?")

We know Save, Reload, Reset. We know Erase. The answer is worse than that.

("A power inextricably linked to his fate, but beyond even what he has become. He was not simply Erased. Such a thing would not occur inevitably in almost every timeline, the ones where it does not being strange and removed. He was Deleted. He was overwritten. He was never there.")

A "gast-ly" fate.

(Chara glares at me, though I don't say this out loud.

"These are true consequences," I say hastily, "beyond Reset or Erase. You can bring back what you Erase. It's not gone. You can't Rewrite what is Deleted, though. Maybe you can create an exact facsimile, but it won't be the same. Even inserted back into the timeline - well, the exact details involve some complicated quantum theory, but you get the point."

"So how do we - Save? How do we get the storyline that keeps us alive?" Frisk gasps, breathing coming painfully to her in this flickering, diminishing timeline.

I hear an echo of a voice from all around us.

"More powerful than love, mercy, determination. Much more than bravery, justice, kindness, patience, integrity, perseverance - a whole that entirely eclipses the sum of its parts. Something that can undo Deletion, undo death."

The echo fades, and the timeline returns.)

I am as confused as everyone else. Do we have this quality? Apparently, because Frisk is taking heaving breaths of air, crying, and everything is clear again. I guess it's up to us to find out what it was that -Saved? - us. I hope we can figure it out.

FeralFaeborn

106

95

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September 22, 2017 20:52:53

@Chrisondra

I was never able to speak. Sure, with signs, I eventually learned to make my meaning heard, but not many listened. Fewer cared.

I tried. I shouted with my hands. I screamed with my heart. But as that did no good, I started to wonder if maybe I'd be better off completely silent. That's why I came here, to the mountain from which no one returns. I did. It was, by all accounts, a miracle. Almost all.

It was a beautiful sunset that day. I had made friends. I had Hope, and love. I didn't have hope, or Love. The last of the day was shining in my friend's tearstruck eyes. Maybe, though few of these people listened, it would be enough. Maybe I could get by.

I could not comprehend what followed. The utter volume of noise, everyone shouting at everyone. I had forgotten what a gratuitous cacophony humans could produce in my time underground. I did not know that monsters could do the same.

Ambassador was the role I had taken upon myself. I loathed it. Without a voice, no one would listen to me. Had I had one, no one would have cared.

In the end, things started to settle. I saw people step up and suggest the solutions I had conjured, taking the credit that was rightfully mine. I should not have cared; after all, the end result was harmony, was it not? Not in my heart. Oh, and they did listen - in my worst moments, the moments when my monstrosity in the human sense and my humanity in the monstrous sense shone through, then they noticed. They loathed me. Perhaps it was not so bad - a misplaced word here, a carelessly thought-out statement there - often not in any all-important context. It didn't matter whether it was related to my position as ambassador. Those who did not know me as such still despised me for the little voice I had.

I wondered if I mattered.

Regardless, I could not withstand the pain of their perceived judgment, so I fled.

I climbed back up the reverse of that mountain, back to the cavern we had clambered out of so many years ago. I was robust and limber, not like my child self who had stumbled into a future she had not wanted. I stood near the peak, feeling the immensity of the open space before me, feeling the slight welcome chill of the wind on my upturned face.

A familiar flower greeted me. He begged me to let them (myself?) be. I did not listen. Within a few seconds, I knew, I could return Home.

Back to the beginning. I traced my path again, and again, trying to make myself heard. What would it take? I was kind, I was cruel. I did not Love, but slowly I lost my ability to love as well. I grew weary, and bitter.

I would make them listen to me.

I looked down in horror at the dust on my hands. It seemed at first like stardust, clear and pure, but somehow my hands - my voice - seemed to taint it, making it dull and deathly.

It didn't matter. I could reverse my choices. There were no consequences to my actions. I could undo them. I didn't matter.

He warned me.

I didn't listen.

It was only once I met Chara that I understood the true horror of being listened to.

She could hear everything I said. The meaning was not unclear. After all, it was only us. The world was gone. She could hear, and she could understand. She was listening.

She just. Didn't. Care.

And somehow, knowing that even though my voice could be the only one heard, knowing that I could say exactly what I meant and it could still be denied - it broke me.

I remembered love. I did not want my Love. I gave my soul up, my everything, to bring the world back.

It was not enough.

*****

And that's where her part of the story ends. Sans here. Sans the skeleton. Funny enough, what I'm about to say is not a joke. Far from it.

You've seen the storyline where everyone lives. Sure, we all know the tale of the pacifist. That storyline doesn't exist anymore. That timeline ended with the death of Flowey, the cherry on top of the ... genocide?

Anyways, point is. Chara has control. At least after Frisk releases us. She does it again and again, trying to atone for her mistakes. Sometimes she kills now, in her effort to make things right. Yeah, she's a bit misguided.

She's trying really hard, ya know? I don't know how much the others know. I know some of them would forgive her. Me? I can't. Not when I remember what she did to everybody. Not that I can't relate. All that power - it's not an easy thing for anyone to handle. Still. What she did - it can't be undone. That's the worst part. I love her, man, but I can't forgive her.

("Sans?" Frisk says, slumping to the ground in front of me.

"Yeah, Frisk?" I respond, cautiously. We are on the surface. I don't know what to expect.

"I give up," she says. My eye flashes blue, jerking her to the ground, but nothing happens. I see hairline cracks snaking through her soul, and release her immediately. She's not giving in. She's giving up.

"No, Frisk, stay determined.)

Maybe I can forgive her after all.

("There's nothing I can do," she murmurs. Her Hope is 1, and falling. "I can't fix it." Her determination is fading away, and maybe it's my imagination, but is reality starting to flicker?

"That's ok," I say quickly. "You don't have to. We can." My heart aches as I realize that it's not just her fault. We let her do this, before she ever started that genocide run. We didn't listen. We never have. It wasn't just her that did this, and it couldn't be just her to fix it. We could have, together. Now it might be too late.

"It's ok," she repeats faintly. "I don't - matter - anyway."

I see the facade of Chara, flickering, trying to break through. I see their hope and determination rise as she does.

"No," she snarls, and I ready an attack. It disappears a moment later.

"You do," Chara says. "You're the only one. You're the only way there can be a storyline that keeps us alive."

"No," Frisk breathes. "You're dead. Asriel is dead. I am -"

"No," Chara shrieks. "You're not dead yet. And we lived. If you die, we won't have. If you die, nothing will have mattered. If you -"

A skeletal presence starts to come into view.

"G-" I start to say, but the words choke in my throat.

"G-" Frisk starts to say, but Chara seizes control.

"Do not say his name," she hisses. "He is no longer what anyone knows - not scientist, not skeleton, not family, nor enemy. He belongs to the void, and he reaps the timelines. He stood behind you when you denied me to erase this world, and it was with him I had to bargain to bring it back for you."

Frisk's eyes weakly flicker. "What did you bargain, Chara?")

We know Save, Reload, Reset. We know Erase. The answer is worse than that.

("A power inextricably linked to his fate, but beyond even what he has become. He was not simply Erased. Such a thing would not occur inevitably in almost every timeline, the ones where it does not being strange and removed. He was Deleted. He was overwritten. He was never there.")

A "gast-ly" fate.

(Chara glares at me, though I don't say this out loud.

"These are true consequences," I say hastily, "beyond Reset or Erase. You can bring back what you Erase. It's not gone. You can't Rewrite what is Deleted, though. Maybe you can create an exact facsimile, but it won't be the same. Even inserted back into the timeline - well, the exact details involve some complicated quantum theory, but you get the point."

"So how do we - Save? How do we get the storyline that keeps us alive?" Frisk gasps, breathing coming painfully to her in this flickering, diminishing timeline.

I hear an echo of a voice from all around us.

"More powerful than love, mercy, determination. Much more than bravery, justice, kindness, patience, integrity, perseverance - a whole that entirely eclipses the sum of its parts. Something that can undo Deletion, undo death."

The echo fades, and the timeline returns.)

I am as confused as everyone else. Do we have this quality? Apparently, because Frisk is taking heaving breaths of air, crying, and everything is clear again. I guess it's up to us to find out what it was that -Saved? - us. I hope we can figure it out.

Last edited on Sep 22, 2017 20:53:42 by FeralFaeborn

@Chrisondra

I am growing tired of putting up a fake act of bravery. In a world that’s turned to a living hell, where everything you love is turned to dust- bravery is what you need to survive. The thing is,survival is getting to be more of a burden than a blessing. This “life” I am living really isn’t worth fighting for.

The name’s Cali Thaliana, and I was done with the world throwing crap at me and expecting me to keep a shining, smiling facade with a wave as soon as I turned eighteen. The thing is, my group depends on me. Me! A girl who just turned 20 before the world took a horrid turn. I was hardly able to support myself before, and now the lives of twelve people all rely on me? I’m sure I’ll get them all killed.

This is it, post-apocalypse; The Infection destroying people's souls and driving them to insanity. Lives being lost every second and I am sitting in a shed with six kids, two older men, and some college kids. What could possibly go wrong?

- Cali , September 13th,2025 (Scrap paper)

‘Why me’ seemed to be the only thing that was uttered from lips those days. Whether it was a whisper so hushed no one could hear it, or a scream so loud everybody including the danger is put on alert, it was always there. Even if it wasn’t expressed verbally, it was hidden away. A chant in the back of your mind like an ancient spell, cursing your life with self pity.

I admit it was there in me too, the constant whisper of demons trying to persuade me that I didn’t deserve it, that the people around may, but I did not. I tried to shut it out, shift my gaze to the innocent children and remind myself that they are so pure compared to me, but it always seemed to hurt and not help.

Being a leader was harder than I could have ever previously comprehend it to be, but it’s not as if I had much of a choice on whether or not I was elected. It all happened so fast, the Infection taking its hosts and leaving most dead or dying. I collected as many people as I could from houses in an attempt to focus my mind on something, and next thing I know, I’m viewed as a hero.

I am not a hero, nor a savior. I’m some stupid girl who just so happened to need a distraction, and helping others had been the only thing available. Now their lives were on me, and if so much as one of them were lost, I didn’t know how I could live with myself.

That’s why we were currently locked in a small room, some children sitting silently and others weeping with the elders attempting to calm them down, and everyone’s eyes were on me. Thea Laserna, my only surviving friend from when the world was a much kinder place,was shifting from one foot to the other and locking her eyes with mine, the silent question of what we were going to do reflecting in them.

Of our group there were four college students: Ezekiel Crosier, Bryce Howlter, Thea, and me. We were the only students that had made it from the college without either going insane or becoming one of Them. Zeke wasn’t much of a fighter, unlike Thea and me, and was better at handling the kids. Bryce was our guy for supply runs, and often would go to the Outside for what we needed.

There was also a few senior men, wise from their years but not educated in any way with what we were dealing with, one was named Robert Sutter and the other was Daryl Nash. The six kids were Earl and Kayla Maloley,Elwin Lanzit, Mia Gloucester, June Silverstein, and Glenn Glover.

Sighing and placing my head in my hands, I stared at the ground, trying to hide my quaking. With strands of my brown hair falling from my face and seeming to tangle together even more than before. I began to wish that I had chosen a better route than the one we were currently on.

Outside, the inhuman guttural growls and other various noises of the Infected humans that resided just outside the shed could be heard, along with the whipping of the wind. There was a few slams against the door as a few of the smarter Sick hurtled themselves at the door, attempting to bring it down with force (and failing due to their weak body frames),

Lifting my head I looked back up at Thea and, in defeat, mouthed to her ‘I don’t know’. The look on her face was one of, at first, confusion and then one of disapproval, crushing my heart with her simple scrutinizing stare.

I shifted my gaze toward Zeke in an attempt to escape Thea’s stare, and watched as he cradled the four year old Mia to his chest she wept. I couldn’t clearly make out all of his words, but I knew they must have been quite soothing for Mia’s crying had calmed quite a bit from when I had last noticed.

Guilt had reclaimed its place in my heart as I watched the children and my friends sitting in this dangerous predicament, knowing that it was me and my poor leadership that had lead us here.

We used to have a beautiful little camp in which we all stayed at, within the schoolyards. For the most part it had been safe, despite the occasional Infected running through and attempting to rip out our eyes.
We had a few more people back then, a few older kids in the middle and highschool range, and we were doing as good as possible in an apocalyptic situation. By that I mean we were surviving.

It had been at least a month, possibly more, since the Infected started attacking. We had began to settle and get comfortable in our camp,feeling as if we would be safe there and possibly even survive there until this mess was sorted out, if it ever was.
It was almost like normal living, the kids had chores and since we were camped within the school we were even able to somewhat continue their studies. Due to the gates outside, we were provided a little more protection than normal.

On this particular dark evening, me and one of the high school students, Izaak,were on “guard duty” to stand and watch the gates. Izaak was, technically, an adult due to him being 18 years old, but even so it was foolish to ask someone who wasn’t even out of grade school to go on a dangerous watch, even if I did believe the gates could withstand almost anything.

Even if I regret it, he was there when possibly one of the worst events of my entire life happened. I won’t go into detail on this one, I’m afraid I would have to stop writing if I did,but while we were out there a hoard of Sick had began to appear.

At first, it just seemed normal. There were a few Sick walked toward us screaming nonsense and attempting to break the fence down with their sheer body weight. Since we didn’t have many weapons, we would save bullets by taking them out melee-style.

A few Sick were smart enough to leave after watching their comrades die, they must have been newly Infected,but while we were focusing on the Sick close-by, a hoard of massive proportions had began to formulate in the distance.

I never did learn why all of the Sick in the area decided it was a good idea to combine forces and close in on the schoolyards, whether it be fate or simply bad luck. Either way, before we could react the crowd converged on the fences.

There was nothing we could do about the fence coming down, or the fact that Izaak was so close by when it happened. Before I could even scream his name, the fence was down and some of the Sick were enjoying ripping him to bloody shreds, laughing their joy as the blood seeped into the ground.

I did the only logical thing possible in that situation- I ran. I ran all the way to the camp and explained to everyone what had happened in short bursts of words, but by the commotion they had already guessed.

Everything happened so quickly that it is hard to remember exact details of what had happened. There was a sudden burst of intelligent Sick who found an entrance to the room and took hold of a few of our campmates,though I do not remember most of their names.

I somehow managed to herd some of the people out of the room, as I said before most of the details were lost in the gory mess of my life,and we ran. I left behind so many people, anyone who couldn’t run fast enough was dead without question.

My poor leadership let those kids get killed, and that’s why even now as I write this I can feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and dripping onto the paper. We lost our home, we lost many of our supplies, and we overall were in very bad shape.

Around twelve people, one older woman and the rest were teens, were gone from our group. I can’t remember if it was more or less, if I was to be truthful I must say I wasn’t paying attention.If I had I cannot guarantee I would be here writing today.

And that’s why I am here. In honor of them, I write. In honor of everyone I know, everyone I spoke of, I will continue to write. My thoughts are all I have left, this pen their last voice.

This isn't just a story.

This is a life. A life that is in your hands to continue, to carry on. If I die with this pen in my hand, I am happy.

They are known, and people know they matter.

And so, I'll keep writing.

Cali, October 14th, 2048

((I likely want to continue this for my own enjoyment))

TheTrueMothman

296

129

98

1680

September 22, 2017 22:38:11

@Chrisondra

I am growing tired of putting up a fake act of bravery. In a world that’s turned to a living hell, where everything you love is turned to dust- bravery is what you need to survive. The thing is,survival is getting to be more of a burden than a blessing. This “life” I am living really isn’t worth fighting for.

The name’s Cali Thaliana, and I was done with the world throwing crap at me and expecting me to keep a shining, smiling facade with a wave as soon as I turned eighteen. The thing is, my group depends on me. Me! A girl who just turned 20 before the world took a horrid turn. I was hardly able to support myself before, and now the lives of twelve people all rely on me? I’m sure I’ll get them all killed.

This is it, post-apocalypse; The Infection destroying people's souls and driving them to insanity. Lives being lost every second and I am sitting in a shed with six kids, two older men, and some college kids. What could possibly go wrong?

- Cali , September 13th,2025 (Scrap paper)

‘Why me’ seemed to be the only thing that was uttered from lips those days. Whether it was a whisper so hushed no one could hear it, or a scream so loud everybody including the danger is put on alert, it was always there. Even if it wasn’t expressed verbally, it was hidden away. A chant in the back of your mind like an ancient spell, cursing your life with self pity.

I admit it was there in me too, the constant whisper of demons trying to persuade me that I didn’t deserve it, that the people around may, but I did not. I tried to shut it out, shift my gaze to the innocent children and remind myself that they are so pure compared to me, but it always seemed to hurt and not help.

Being a leader was harder than I could have ever previously comprehend it to be, but it’s not as if I had much of a choice on whether or not I was elected. It all happened so fast, the Infection taking its hosts and leaving most dead or dying. I collected as many people as I could from houses in an attempt to focus my mind on something, and next thing I know, I’m viewed as a hero.

I am not a hero, nor a savior. I’m some stupid girl who just so happened to need a distraction, and helping others had been the only thing available. Now their lives were on me, and if so much as one of them were lost, I didn’t know how I could live with myself.

That’s why we were currently locked in a small room, some children sitting silently and others weeping with the elders attempting to calm them down, and everyone’s eyes were on me. Thea Laserna, my only surviving friend from when the world was a much kinder place,was shifting from one foot to the other and locking her eyes with mine, the silent question of what we were going to do reflecting in them.

Of our group there were four college students: Ezekiel Crosier, Bryce Howlter, Thea, and me. We were the only students that had made it from the college without either going insane or becoming one of Them. Zeke wasn’t much of a fighter, unlike Thea and me, and was better at handling the kids. Bryce was our guy for supply runs, and often would go to the Outside for what we needed.

There was also a few senior men, wise from their years but not educated in any way with what we were dealing with, one was named Robert Sutter and the other was Daryl Nash. The six kids were Earl and Kayla Maloley,Elwin Lanzit, Mia Gloucester, June Silverstein, and Glenn Glover.

Sighing and placing my head in my hands, I stared at the ground, trying to hide my quaking. With strands of my brown hair falling from my face and seeming to tangle together even more than before. I began to wish that I had chosen a better route than the one we were currently on.

Outside, the inhuman guttural growls and other various noises of the Infected humans that resided just outside the shed could be heard, along with the whipping of the wind. There was a few slams against the door as a few of the smarter Sick hurtled themselves at the door, attempting to bring it down with force (and failing due to their weak body frames),

Lifting my head I looked back up at Thea and, in defeat, mouthed to her ‘I don’t know’. The look on her face was one of, at first, confusion and then one of disapproval, crushing my heart with her simple scrutinizing stare.

I shifted my gaze toward Zeke in an attempt to escape Thea’s stare, and watched as he cradled the four year old Mia to his chest she wept. I couldn’t clearly make out all of his words, but I knew they must have been quite soothing for Mia’s crying had calmed quite a bit from when I had last noticed.

Guilt had reclaimed its place in my heart as I watched the children and my friends sitting in this dangerous predicament, knowing that it was me and my poor leadership that had lead us here.

We used to have a beautiful little camp in which we all stayed at, within the schoolyards. For the most part it had been safe, despite the occasional Infected running through and attempting to rip out our eyes.
We had a few more people back then, a few older kids in the middle and highschool range, and we were doing as good as possible in an apocalyptic situation. By that I mean we were surviving.

It had been at least a month, possibly more, since the Infected started attacking. We had began to settle and get comfortable in our camp,feeling as if we would be safe there and possibly even survive there until this mess was sorted out, if it ever was.
It was almost like normal living, the kids had chores and since we were camped within the school we were even able to somewhat continue their studies. Due to the gates outside, we were provided a little more protection than normal.

On this particular dark evening, me and one of the high school students, Izaak,were on “guard duty” to stand and watch the gates. Izaak was, technically, an adult due to him being 18 years old, but even so it was foolish to ask someone who wasn’t even out of grade school to go on a dangerous watch, even if I did believe the gates could withstand almost anything.

Even if I regret it, he was there when possibly one of the worst events of my entire life happened. I won’t go into detail on this one, I’m afraid I would have to stop writing if I did,but while we were out there a hoard of Sick had began to appear.

At first, it just seemed normal. There were a few Sick walked toward us screaming nonsense and attempting to break the fence down with their sheer body weight. Since we didn’t have many weapons, we would save bullets by taking them out melee-style.

A few Sick were smart enough to leave after watching their comrades die, they must have been newly Infected,but while we were focusing on the Sick close-by, a hoard of massive proportions had began to formulate in the distance.

I never did learn why all of the Sick in the area decided it was a good idea to combine forces and close in on the schoolyards, whether it be fate or simply bad luck. Either way, before we could react the crowd converged on the fences.

There was nothing we could do about the fence coming down, or the fact that Izaak was so close by when it happened. Before I could even scream his name, the fence was down and some of the Sick were enjoying ripping him to bloody shreds, laughing their joy as the blood seeped into the ground.

I did the only logical thing possible in that situation- I ran. I ran all the way to the camp and explained to everyone what had happened in short bursts of words, but by the commotion they had already guessed.

Everything happened so quickly that it is hard to remember exact details of what had happened. There was a sudden burst of intelligent Sick who found an entrance to the room and took hold of a few of our campmates,though I do not remember most of their names.

I somehow managed to herd some of the people out of the room, as I said before most of the details were lost in the gory mess of my life,and we ran. I left behind so many people, anyone who couldn’t run fast enough was dead without question.

My poor leadership let those kids get killed, and that’s why even now as I write this I can feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and dripping onto the paper. We lost our home, we lost many of our supplies, and we overall were in very bad shape.

Around twelve people, one older woman and the rest were teens, were gone from our group. I can’t remember if it was more or less, if I was to be truthful I must say I wasn’t paying attention.If I had I cannot guarantee I would be here writing today.

And that’s why I am here. In honor of them, I write. In honor of everyone I know, everyone I spoke of, I will continue to write. My thoughts are all I have left, this pen their last voice.

This isn't just a story.

This is a life. A life that is in your hands to continue, to carry on. If I die with this pen in my hand, I am happy.

They are known, and people know they matter.

And so, I'll keep writing.

Cali, October 14th, 2048

((I likely want to continue this for my own enjoyment))

@humanityxpeople

I like the take on the natural disasters and how you describe them have to survive against the threats for nature's greatest fury in addition to the beasts that have come to be. Your quick, concise descriptions of the disasters are wonderful.

There are a few editing flaws... maybe a couple. "The ones we’ll write down when all of this is over, and when we don’t remember the details quite right anymore so we argue for hours and never write a word." You switched tenses in that line and it caught me off guard and I had to read it a few times before I realized what happened. :D

But over all, I enjoyed it.

@Mypilot

Gosh darn it Pilot. I love this. I love how peaceful the entire story is. This simple woman with a simple life near a simple town, and she has this obviously not simple book. I was *not* prepared for the last three lines of the story to be "Humanity will fall." And I love how I can't tell what the purpose of the book is. I know it writes out history, but who created it. "Humanity lives on" being at the end of each page almost reads like whoever created the book created it with the hopes that, eventually, "Humanity will fall" will be the final three words on a page.

Love it.

@lessthan3

This was an interesting little piece. I did enjoy it, but I do feel like I didn't quite understand it as well as I could have. That, of course, is probably because it's a fanfic. :D However, overall I did find it quite intriguing. I've always liked different timelines, and I love your take on the prompt. Find the story line that keeps us alive turns to find the time line that keeps us alive. I really do *love* that.

There were a few editing issues in there too, but nothing recurring enough to jump out at me.

@AloneTogether

First off, welcome to Flight Rising!

I rally enjoyed this piece too. It kept me on the edge of my seat, and your descriptions of the horrors that Cali witnessed are great. You did a great job of expression her emotions through the written word, and I especially liked the part about "Why me?".

You do have a few places where you repeat yourself within a sentence and it's distracting.

Example: "Outside, the inhuman guttural growls and other various noises of the Infected humans that resided just outside the shed could be heard"

Outside being used twice there is redundant. But it is nothing a little editing wouldn't clear up. Overall, great job.

Thank you everyone for writing! I really did enjoy all of these stories!

Winner: @MyPilot for the book that is beautiful, terrifying, and enigmatic, and then the brilliant end. I love it.

Runnerup: @AloneTogether

Thank you again!

Chrisondra

788

243

1221

2721

September 23, 2017 10:01:12

@humanityxpeople

I like the take on the natural disasters and how you describe them have to survive against the threats for nature's greatest fury in addition to the beasts that have come to be. Your quick, concise descriptions of the disasters are wonderful.

There are a few editing flaws... maybe a couple. "The ones we’ll write down when all of this is over, and when we don’t remember the details quite right anymore so we argue for hours and never write a word." You switched tenses in that line and it caught me off guard and I had to read it a few times before I realized what happened. :D

But over all, I enjoyed it.

@Mypilot

Gosh darn it Pilot. I love this. I love how peaceful the entire story is. This simple woman with a simple life near a simple town, and she has this obviously not simple book. I was *not* prepared for the last three lines of the story to be "Humanity will fall." And I love how I can't tell what the purpose of the book is. I know it writes out history, but who created it. "Humanity lives on" being at the end of each page almost reads like whoever created the book created it with the hopes that, eventually, "Humanity will fall" will be the final three words on a page.

Love it.

@lessthan3

This was an interesting little piece. I did enjoy it, but I do feel like I didn't quite understand it as well as I could have. That, of course, is probably because it's a fanfic. :D However, overall I did find it quite intriguing. I've always liked different timelines, and I love your take on the prompt. Find the story line that keeps us alive turns to find the time line that keeps us alive. I really do *love* that.

There were a few editing issues in there too, but nothing recurring enough to jump out at me.

@AloneTogether

First off, welcome to Flight Rising!

I rally enjoyed this piece too. It kept me on the edge of my seat, and your descriptions of the horrors that Cali witnessed are great. You did a great job of expression her emotions through the written word, and I especially liked the part about "Why me?".

You do have a few places where you repeat yourself within a sentence and it's distracting.

Example: "Outside, the inhuman guttural growls and other various noises of the Infected humans that resided just outside the shed could be heard"

Outside being used twice there is redundant. But it is nothing a little editing wouldn't clear up. Overall, great job.

Thank you everyone for writing! I really did enjoy all of these stories!

Winner: @MyPilot for the book that is beautiful, terrifying, and enigmatic, and then the brilliant end. I love it.

Runnerup: @AloneTogether

Thank you again!

_________

Ahh, glad you liked it! ^.^

Judging might be a bit short this round as I'm fairly busy this week, but I'll try to give you guys the critiques you deserve! =D

Next prompt: He heard whispers

Required words: Abstract, dirt, eye, right, several, short, tunnel, water, wild, wind

Deadline: The 26th, 23:59 FR time

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Karika @Annalynn @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @MintyDragon @Kiradog234 @Skyeset @AloneTogether

[Pinglist]

Mypilot

375

460

1068

10402

September 23, 2017 10:19:56

Ahh, glad you liked it! ^.^

Judging might be a bit short this round as I'm fairly busy this week, but I'll try to give you guys the critiques you deserve! =D

Next prompt: He heard whispers

Required words: Abstract, dirt, eye, right, several, short, tunnel, water, wild, wind

Deadline: The 26th, 23:59 FR time

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Karika @Annalynn @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @MintyDragon @Kiradog234 @Skyeset @AloneTogether

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Pilot
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@Mypilot

The night was filled with hushed moments of life; the lost hopes and murmurings, the secret embrace of lovers, the tears of those who didn't want anyone to see them cry, wishes that were thrown to the heavens, and the soft snores of sleeping children. The night was when the world slept, but it was as full of life as any day.

Tonight, it was full of whispers, but they didn't come from anyone the man new. Still, they reached out to him forcefully, as demanding as the wind on his face. At first the words were muffled, as whispers often are, but as his curiosity led him forwards, they began to become clearer, until he had no uncertainty they were calling to him, though their tone remained hushed.

It was ten paces before he understood that the voices he heard were not sounding outside of his head as he had first thought, for even when he turned his face into the wind and covered his ears, he could still hear them clearly. It was that abstract thought that chilled him, the knowledge that he was witness to something unnatural that beckoned him. And yet, he felt no malice in the whispered voice that pleaded with him, that summoned him forward to wherever it originated.

As he walked on he saw several others move to join him, all walking to the same destination with the same confused look on their faces that he was sure he wore. Their footsteps led them to a tunnel, it's usually compact dirt floor filled with muddied water from the recent rains. The stagmentation of it made him wrinkle his nose, the smell temporarily freeing him from the subtle persuasion of the whispers in his mind. He paused, and saw the people around him do the same.

Why had the strong smell stopped their collective momentum? Was it perhaps that the whispered voices had some driving force to them? Was he being manipulated with the summoning? What sort of creature had the power to control the minds of men? If he continued forward, he was sure to find out. But the question was, what waited at the end of the summons? Death, or salvation? And was he brave enough to find out?

A man near to him clutched at his head and cried out, as if coming to the same conclusion. He looked at him with wild eyes, a crazed look full of fear, before the man began to run back the way they had come, fleeing from whatever creature had stolen his mind from him, along with his will. Many of the others seemed to wake up with the actions of that one man, and they followed, fleeing from the unknown. They did not want to see what was at the end of the summons.

The creature did not seize control of their minds again, even once they had left the tunnel with its stagnant water. The others that had remained gained confidence from watching that realisation, and began to follow. Soon, he was the only one left standing in the tunnel, debating his choices even as the filthy water soaked into his pants.

He knew then that he couldn't leave this question unanswered, even if everyone else seemed content to, even if it did mean his death. It was the right thing to do, he was sure. You had to take risks, if you ever wanted to find the answer, the meaning. He was just an ordinary man, but in one short night that could change, the whole world could change. He just needed the courage to take the plunge, to take that one step forward.

His destiny was calling to him, and he planned to stare it in the eye.

He took a step forward, and the whispers greeted him happily.

Mythantos

0

48

376

2962

September 26, 2017 16:30:52

@Mypilot

The night was filled with hushed moments of life; the lost hopes and murmurings, the secret embrace of lovers, the tears of those who didn't want anyone to see them cry, wishes that were thrown to the heavens, and the soft snores of sleeping children. The night was when the world slept, but it was as full of life as any day.

Tonight, it was full of whispers, but they didn't come from anyone the man new. Still, they reached out to him forcefully, as demanding as the wind on his face. At first the words were muffled, as whispers often are, but as his curiosity led him forwards, they began to become clearer, until he had no uncertainty they were calling to him, though their tone remained hushed.

It was ten paces before he understood that the voices he heard were not sounding outside of his head as he had first thought, for even when he turned his face into the wind and covered his ears, he could still hear them clearly. It was that abstract thought that chilled him, the knowledge that he was witness to something unnatural that beckoned him. And yet, he felt no malice in the whispered voice that pleaded with him, that summoned him forward to wherever it originated.

As he walked on he saw several others move to join him, all walking to the same destination with the same confused look on their faces that he was sure he wore. Their footsteps led them to a tunnel, it's usually compact dirt floor filled with muddied water from the recent rains. The stagmentation of it made him wrinkle his nose, the smell temporarily freeing him from the subtle persuasion of the whispers in his mind. He paused, and saw the people around him do the same.

Why had the strong smell stopped their collective momentum? Was it perhaps that the whispered voices had some driving force to them? Was he being manipulated with the summoning? What sort of creature had the power to control the minds of men? If he continued forward, he was sure to find out. But the question was, what waited at the end of the summons? Death, or salvation? And was he brave enough to find out?

A man near to him clutched at his head and cried out, as if coming to the same conclusion. He looked at him with wild eyes, a crazed look full of fear, before the man began to run back the way they had come, fleeing from whatever creature had stolen his mind from him, along with his will. Many of the others seemed to wake up with the actions of that one man, and they followed, fleeing from the unknown. They did not want to see what was at the end of the summons.

The creature did not seize control of their minds again, even once they had left the tunnel with its stagnant water. The others that had remained gained confidence from watching that realisation, and began to follow. Soon, he was the only one left standing in the tunnel, debating his choices even as the filthy water soaked into his pants.

He knew then that he couldn't leave this question unanswered, even if everyone else seemed content to, even if it did mean his death. It was the right thing to do, he was sure. You had to take risks, if you ever wanted to find the answer, the meaning. He was just an ordinary man, but in one short night that could change, the whole world could change. He just needed the courage to take the plunge, to take that one step forward.

His destiny was calling to him, and he planned to stare it in the eye.

He took a step forward, and the whispers greeted him happily.

you should maybe just possibly extend this deadline if you can if its not too much trouble... *whimpers*

UUUUGHHHHH what fluttershy is TRYING to say is we can respond to this TOMORROW so it would be SUPER COOL of you to give us extra time

YEAH! Then we'll have time to party!!!

What in tarnation are y'all doin'? It's nearly bedtahm!

Awwwww, but I was just about to throw a party!

Darlings, we'll have plenty of time to enjoy our soiree tomorrow!

*yawn* Oh my goodness! I can't believe I fell asleep while reading the eighth unabridged compendium of Starspiral the bearded! Even if dragons are different here, it's their Starswirl - wait what's everybody doing? What are you looking at!"

My mane just wiggled! I think the user is about to post this comment!

User? Comment? That's not in any of my books. What are you talking about, Pi-

FeralFaeborn

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September 26, 2017 19:55:56

you should maybe just possibly extend this deadline if you can if its not too much trouble... *whimpers*

UUUUGHHHHH what fluttershy is TRYING to say is we can respond to this TOMORROW so it would be SUPER COOL of you to give us extra time

YEAH! Then we'll have time to party!!!

What in tarnation are y'all doin'? It's nearly bedtahm!

Awwwww, but I was just about to throw a party!

Darlings, we'll have plenty of time to enjoy our soiree tomorrow!

*yawn* Oh my goodness! I can't believe I fell asleep while reading the eighth unabridged compendium of Starspiral the bearded! Even if dragons are different here, it's their Starswirl - wait what's everybody doing? What are you looking at!"

My mane just wiggled! I think the user is about to post this comment!

User? Comment? That's not in any of my books. What are you talking about, Pi-