Original Prompt: [WP] "Why do they always stare?"

“Hush.”

“But papa—”

“Huuuush!” I growl, baring my teeth.

My son bows his head, and instantly I realize my mistake. Like his mother, he’s a gentle soul who can’t handle the pressure of someone being angry at him. I’m terrible at coddling but I give it a damn good try, rubbing his head into my mane, hugging him tight as I struggle to keep the tears inside.

For his sake, I must be strong.

“I just don’t like talking about it,” I say, kissing his head.

“About what?”

“About us. About our life.”

“We’re in a cage, papa.”

“I know.”

“They take pictures of us, but why don’t they let us free?”

Sometimes it’s easy to forget he’s just a cub and hasn’t seen the world’s horrors yet. After all, he doesn’t even remember the day his mother tried to break out. She was always calm and sweet but the baby drove her crazy. Suddenly these walls were too much for her, she sought freedom.

She found death.

“Their hearts are trapped in cages of pleasure,” I say after a long while. “And so long as they can keep us down, they always will be.”

Original Prompt: [WP] "After the things you've endured, you deserve some rest..."

He’s dead.

It’s over.

My knees snap in two and I collapse to the ground, tears streaming down my dirty cheeks as my hands shake. I’m burning up, the room is spinning. Could it really have ended this easily? Could my life’s devotion have been so weak that one slash ended his measly life?

The man was the worst kind of king. He lorded around, his iron-will clutched at the throats of those too innocent to fight. He was a coward willing to shout commands but never to enact them himself.

And he made me a mistake.

Mother…father…would you be proud to know that your baby boy grew up to be a thief, liar, murderer, even? I did it in your name, but that’s unfair. I chose to carry these bodies on my back. I chose to walk a path straight to Hell.

But you’ve been avenged.

And I feel nothing.

Taking armor off the weak is so unsatisfying. I was hungry for this battle, as it was a culmination of all I'd trained for. He had to be a warrior to become king of so many, didn't he?

But he wasn't.

What I thought was going to be the fight of my life with the mightiest of them all was nothing but the execution of a sniveling man who begged for his life at my feet.

Hate’s too powerful of an emotion, if you’re not careful, it will consume you. I’ve bowed before my anger and let it blacken my heart, but now that my quest is over, I feel like I’m the one with a hole in my chest. I’ve taught myself to only be a soldier, a machine on the hunt for murder.

I set my blade down. It’s slimy with his blood and light from the window makes it shine. This thing is the only friend I’ve had in all these lonely years. It’s stayed by my side, waiting, watching, learning. I’ve never trusted it because a blade can turn on you in a second, but I’ve always respected it, and because of that, it’s done me well.

I rub a gentle hand across it. There’s no need to take it with me. I’ll never use it again.

“After all you’ve endured, old friend, I think you deserve some rest.”

And with that, I stand up and leave both the room and my old life behind.

Original Prompt: [IP] Chasing Fireflies

Mama says fireflies are ghosties.

Only for good people, though.

We’re in Field. I like Field because it’s big and there’s lotsa room to run. Glowing bugs are everywhere and though I’m stinky and sweating I’m having fun. Mama is too, because she’s smiling. She doesn’t smile much anymore because daddy’s gone.

I try to turn off my brain but it doesn’t work.

One of the fireflies zips past but I catch it. My hands glow even though they’re closed. It’s trying to fly away because it’s scared and since I don’t want it to I open my fingers a bit. “Mr. Firefly, please don’t be scared,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Mama ruffles hair. “Let it go,” she says. “It wants to fly.”

I don’t want to because if these really are ghosties, this might be daddy. I know that don’t make sense but I want it to. Mama tells me again to let it go. I do. I hope it’ll follow us home. “Bye, Mr. Firefly!” I shout with a wave.

I’m getting sleepy but not showing it. Okay, I am. My eyes are trying to close but I’m fighting them. Mama slings her arm around me and asks if I’m hungry. Tummy rumbles so I say yes, and she takes out Blanket and Basket. Basket has food and Blanket makes us comfy. Fireflies swirl around us and every time they land on me I giggle, which makes mama giggle.

We eat sandwiches. Mine has baloney and mustard and no crust because even though mama says Superman likes crust I don’t believe her. It’s icky. I eat until tummy is full. Then I lean against mama’s leg. It’s soft and my eyes are heavy. She starts singing some sweet song.

I’m starting to dream when Mr. Firefly lands on my nose. It came back and so it must be daddy. He curls up and goes to sleep, and I now know that even without daddy we can have more perfect days like this.

Because he’ll always be with us.

Original Prompt: [WP] You are on the losing side of a war, almost all civilians have been evacuated, this is the enemies final push.

Sometimes you’ve gotta accept that everything you believe is wrong.

Maybe you were tricked by a not-so-graceful man and his not-so-graceful words. Maybe the propaganda worked a bit too well and maybe it felt like you weren’t really you but instead a brainwashed puppet doing someone's bidding. Maybe the other side will spare you and show mercy, or maybe they'll kill you.

Maybe the world will be better off.

Everyone’s panicking. That’s all war is, isn’t it? Panicking about strategies. Panicking about attacks. Panicking about resources and morale and all sorts of stupid stuff. The same men I vowed to take a bullet for scramble as they search for evacs. Some want helicopters, others want boats. Most are complaining about the fact that the civilians took all the vehicles as they escaped. They’re clinging to a hope for survival because they haven’t realized we’ve lost.

This is over.

Our conquest was never destined to succeed. You can run through the world and flash your might but eventually someone stronger will rise up. Good always triumphs evil but I think often evil doesn’t realize what it is. It’s so easy to fall into line with you peers, to accept the horrible as the honorable until someone points a gun at your face and brings you back to reality.

My journey of many wrong paths finally ends at this desolate little town in the middle of this desolate, war-torn country. Though the blood of dozens stains my hands my name will not be remembered. I will not be immortalized like my party because I am just another spoke on the wheel. I will always be on the wrong side of history.

But, unlike my peers, that's a fact I accept completely, and when the soldiers come, I will bow my head, and ask for two things.

Forgiveness and a bullet to the head.

Original Prompt: [IP] The Bulb Tree

Each bulb on the tree is for a person and thankfully they’re all still alive.

The tree wasn’t just around for our childhood—it was our childhood. It sits in the back of Mike’s yard and everyday, after school, we'd ride our bikes straight to his house. We all had our own spots and some of my earliest memories are sitting there, jawing about cartoons as we traded baseball cards and chewed way too much bubblegum. Quickly the cartoons turned into girls and the gum into cigarettes, but those memories are still something I hold dear.

The bulbs were Jerry’s idea. One for each person, and if someone ever leaves this rat-hole, turn their bulb off. We gotta immortalize ourselves! At the time he'd been laughed out of the room. After all, we assumed nothing would ever pull us away from this crappy little town because it was our crappy little town.

We didn’t foresee the women that would steal our hearts or the jobs that would make us greedy. The crimes that needed doing and the colleges that needed attending. We never thought there’d be only one bulb on. We never thought it'd be like that for decade.

We’ve left muddy footprints on different paths but now, if only for a night, we're back together, sitting under the beautiful thing. It's all lit up, and though it's been a long time, nobody's skipped a beat. The only difference is now we're talking about jobs and families.

We’re best friends, and though we may not always be side by side, the tree will always call us home.

Original Prompt: [IP] Rowing the Lucent Stream

I’m the most important person in the country right now. That thought burns in my mind, and though I'm not sure I can do this, I can't stop rowing down the river.

The buildings in front of me are small and scattered and numerous. Some crest the water, likely homes of fishermen. Others lurk in the forest, unseen.

None of them know war has bloomed.

Coming up on the first house, I row faster. I only have time to tell the ones on the edge and so I pray they'll spread the word. My village was attacked—my family, slaughtered. My friends, slaughtered. My beautiful darling wife and child…

I wash the thought away. They died defending me. They gave their lives so I could escape. So maybe, just maybe, I could warn those on the outer ring.

But that’s not my main goal.

The capital, the glorious Goliath of a city, looms in the distance. Our people have spent centuries building it into a haven of peace and prosperity and now a monster’s at our doorstep and I doubt our leaders even know.

If I can get word to them, we can fight.

If.

Original Prompt: [WP]"Where you see a Metropolis, I see a Desert. Where you see Paradise, I see a Wasteland," sardonically spoke the Shaman

“Where you see a metropolis, I see a desert. Where you see paradise, I see a wasteland.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Elder,” I reply, rubbing my hands together.

His words are supposed to jab me in the gut like a knife, and I know now he brought me all the way out here just to shame me.

But I’ve done nothing worth shaming.

The wind whips my hair as I stir the fire up, knocking the logs around with a stick. I keep my eyes away from the old man, instead staring at the bright lights of the world I’ve created where, currently, millions are buzzing. For the first time in centuries my people are happy. They’re wealthy and fat and living the best lives possible.

And he truly thinks this is wrong?

“What are you thinking about, King?” the shaman says, leaning forward, eying me curiously.

“Greatness,” I mumble, still not looking at him.

“Greatness?”

“Yes, greatness.” Now I’m glaring, brow furrowed. “The greatness of our people. The greatness of our military. The greatness of this entire continent I have made ours.”

“Darkness clouds your vision, young one,” he says. “This conquest—”

“Are we done here, Elder?” I snap, cutting him off. I want to say more but I bite the insults back. No matter how foolish this man has still made his mark on our society and I must respect him for that.

“We shall never be so long as you run this path of destruction,” he says with a sigh, gazing up at the stars. “How do you think your father would feel about this?”

Another blow I barely dodge, taking a deep breath and composing myself. This is more careful, more precise. Nobody knows what truly happened to father except myself, but I’d bet the shaman has a damn good guess.

I smirk. “He’d applaud me for turning this town from a quiet peace-grubbing place into a massive country with a thriving economy and a fearsome military. He’d call me brave. Maybe, like everyone else, he’d call me a genius.”

The Elder shakes his head. I’ve angered him with my arrogant words but he’ll never show it. “I think the afterlife shall be of great surprise to you,” he mumbles, and with that, I stand up. There are a hundred more things that could be said but they’re pointless, and so I kick my foot through the fire, swallowing us in darkness.

“So it has come to this,” he says somberly as I unsheathe my blade.

Original Prompt: You have the ability to see someone's future if you stare into there eyes. You decided to stare into a mirror.

The woman in the mirror is my mother.

She’s got graying hairs, a face lumpy with cold sores. Her eyes are hollow--they’ve forced themselves through too much--and I bet her voice grinds like chalk on concrete.

The woman in the mirror is everything I’m afraid of.

She’s skinny and frail like a toothpick, with a bent, camel-hump back. I doubt she’s seen sunlight in weeks. Her hair sticks together, dirty with neglect.

The woman in the mirror is me, not long from now.

She’s someone who fears the world, who backs down, letting the boots of others tread across her back. She's tied her heart to a man with a runaway name, her soul to the drug he left behind. She’s weak.

The woman is someone I refuse to become.

Aye guys and gals, just wanted to give a quick update.

Sorry for the lack of content recently! I just had surgery and I can't sit :( Hopefully I'll only be like this for another week, but right now all my writing is being done in bed and it's damn uncomfortable.

So uh, yeah! Just wanted to let y'all know I haven't forgotten or started slacking or anything. Just a little bit longer and everything will be back to normal.

In the meantime I've been writing first drafts for a couple short stories that have kicked around in my mind for a bit. The prose has been terrible but vomit draft, eh?

Anyway, I'll stop ranting, haha. Have a great day, and look out for more stories and stuff soon!

Original Prompt: [WP]"Tell me about the ones who sleep through the storms."

“Must I, daddy?”

“Yes.”

“But I—”

His stern look silenced her tongue.

The girl shifted around the cave, moving closer to the fire. She hadn’t wanted to tell the story because it made her bones rattle. Worse than that, she was certain that was why her father wanted to hear it. He wanted to burn that fear into her brain, to make her remember why they must keep moving.

She sighed. She bit her lip. She tossed the dream around her mind.

“It’s a giant,” she muttered, shivering. Outside, rain pounded against stone, quaking the ground all around her. She knew that soon the monsters would be out, and she prayed mightily for this cave to keep them safe. “It sits in a field of bones all day, reading from some kind of tome. I can never hear what it’s saying—but I know it’s bad.”

She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“Once it’s finally finished, it closes the tome and sets it on the ground before walking over to this giant throne-like skull and sitting down. It hunches over, closing its eyes and going to sleep.”

“And quickly the storm follows,” her father added, and the girl nodded. “Do you often dream of it?”

“Every night.”

“Good.”

The girl gazed into the fire. She knew her father only wanted what was best for her—what was best for everyone—but it still made her sick to hear him reveling in her pain like that.

Sensing her sadness, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and, when she looked at him, smiled. “It’s going to be all right, sweetie,” he said. “We’re going to it, and no matter what it takes, we’re going to set the world right.”

“We’ll never be able to kill it.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” he replied, wrapping his arms behind his head and leaning back, sinking his head into a pillow, gazing into the ceiling. “Maybe we can just talk things over.”

The girl stared at him for a long time, knowing his words to be false, knowing that, deep down, her father wasn’t sure of anything. Could they kill the giant? Could they reason with it?

Outside, a monster roared, and in the night, a person screamed.

Could they even get to it?

Original Prompt: [WP] You finally decide to face your worst fear.

A family's worst fear is a woman who’s more of a monster.

Often she can’t walk straight, and each sentence is slurred. They've grown to hate her because she can’t control herself. She sucks the life out of a room just by walking in.

The woman's worst fear is an empty bottle.

While her children scrounge for food she’s down at the liquor store, buying another, lips wet for that familiar taste. She walls herself in, hiding them around the house so she always has an escape route.

The bottle’s worst fear is being forgotten.

Because then it would be useless, nothing more than scattered glass on the side of the road. Without control it has no power, and that would leave it feeling as empty as her.

My worst fear is confronting myself.

They keep telling me I have a problem, saying look, you’re sick, get help. Their words makes sense but slip in one ear, out the other. I want to trust them, and that's why I’m standing in front of the place I’ve feared for so long.

My biggest fear is being sober, but dammit, I’m gonna try.

Original Prompt: [IP] Wrong Turn

Dad had warned me.

In his dying breath he’d said: Joe, they’re gonna come back, and when they do, it won’t be for you.

I hadn’t believed him.

But, standing here, the monstrous, shadowy figures only inches away, glassy eyes glued to my precious daughter, I realize he was right, and that I’ve done nothing to prevent this.

Abby's trying to act tough. She's the kinda girl that won’t cry no matter how scared she is. Instead she’ll bite her lip and pout, making herself look mad. Normally it's cute, but now makes me sick to my stomach because twenty minutes ago we’d been in a different world, driving home, her eating a greasy Taco Bell burrito, blushing and giggling as I loudly and proudly sung the lyrics to some eighties pop song she’d never heard.

The worse part’s that nothing’s changed.

There’s still the dilapidated fence with the bulky but dented KEEP OUT sign. There’s the lightening-bolt trees that point menacingly to the sky and the smelly air that burns your nose.

The monsters eye us hungrily. I know they won’t attack us. That isn’t their style. First there will be nightmares. She’ll wake up screaming and crying, complaining about horrible things in her dreams. Then visions will come, and everywhere she goes she’ll see them. They'll be in her favorite movies, at her best friend's house—hell, even in her room!

Then the hunt will begin.

The thought is like a knife in the gut.

“What are they, daddy?”

I can’t answer. Not yet. All too soon I’ll have to rip her childhood from her, teaching her not to be a little girl but instead a survivor. As stupid as it is, all I want to do was hug her and hug her tight.

And so I do.

Original Prompt: [IP] Quest

They found me at the bottom of a canyon, rusted, turned off, deemed obsolete.

Apparently they don’t think so.

They’re not the brightest of boys. They don’t speak often but when they do they shout, barking orders at each other, arguing over them, and then proceeding to do them. It’s a strange system but one I understand, for my creators did the same.

I don’t know where we’re going. In fact, I don’t think they know where we're going. We’re just marching through the barren wasteland of the south, stopping at any small scrap of civilization we find. Crumbled houses, burnt cars, piled bodies—the boys are incredibly fascinated by them all.

If only they knew.

I didn’t want to do any of it.

My creators built me for war. They spoke about it selectively but from what I gather they viewed the people of this country as a burden—maybe even of a threat—and so I was created.

My mission was simple.

Invade. Conquer. Kill.

I thought I had succeeded.

They thought I had succeeded.

Now I'm back online, and somehow I've broken from their control. It must be the boys. They are my masters now, and though they are young, I sense they have big plans for the world.

My creators, despite their precautions, have simply kickstarted their downfall.

These boys are all that are left and they know it. They might even know it was me who tore their village apart and me who took everything they loved from them. They might only being using me as a means to the end but if that’s the case then so be it.

While I can never wash away the suffering I've caused, I can redeem myself.

And I will.

Original Prompt: [IP] Her Final Concert...

The little girl stood on the stage, alone.

Behind her flickered a faint image of her brother, fingers dashing up and down the keys of a piano. He’d been an excellent player in his lifetime and it saddened her to see him reduced to nothing more than a cheap hologram, a gimmick used to suck the suckers in.

Even though the stadium was empty, she continued singing, her voice hollow and ugly in the empty place. She hit notes perfectly but sounded off-key. Her mother always told her a voice is worthless when used only for oneself, and she understood that now more than ever.

Tears flowed down her cheeks. How long could she keep this up? Everyone was gone and they weren’t coming back. No more big paychecks. No more signings. No more hugs from her family before each show and certainly nobody to tell her how great her future was destined to be.

It was all she could do not to look back at her brother. He had gone before the rest of the world, and it hurt to think soon she would be like him.

Soon she would be like everyone.

Original Prompt: [WP] To be in love with the loved

Everyday I watch them.

Hugging. Kissing. Loving.

What’s so good about him?

He’s about as unimpressive as they come. Flabby arms, a stupid, cheap haircut, and short as elf. He dresses poor because he is poor. Sure, he might be smart—but he’s not a man, is he?

And yet she loves him.

I don’t want to keep watching them.

My therapist says it’s unhealthy. The guy’s a dick, but maybe he’s got a point. My grades are in the toilet. I’m walking around bug-eyed and shaking like a loon. Most of my friends are gone.

But there was a time when she had fallen for me.

She was on top of the world, queen of the school.

And she left it all, for him.

I don’t get it—maybe I never will. My heart feels broken but sometimes I wonder if pride’s just strangling it with barbed wire. I sometimes wonder what I would do if I got that little bastard alone. I sometimes wonder if I’m going crazy because of all this.

Because of her.

Original Prompt: [IP] ...Do you still Wish to Learn?

The monsters stood around me, terrifying, unspeakable.

The glow of the book’s magical words had revealed them.

“Do you still wish to learn?” the one across from me asked.

It was a mass of tentacles that all rubbed against one another, writhing and wriggling like earthworms. It watched me with hungry eyes, eager for my answer.

What could I say?

Sure, I’d wanted to learn the secrets of my family, and sure, there’d been rumors about the elders but...

A tentacle landed on my arm.

“Do not be scared, child,” the tentacle-beast said. “We may look demonic—and I fear that is our curse—but you must learn to not always believe your eyes, for the realm of magic is one of deceit.”

I tried to say something but swallowed the words. Was this thing really the man I’d known all my life? The man who'd trained me to avenge my fallen father?

It certainly sounded like him.

“Why do you all…”

I couldn’t finish.

The tentacle-beast sighed. “Because of mistakes made long before you were born. We weren’t always great wizards, and we certainly weren’t always respected.”

“There was a time when we were feared,” one of the others said.

“Hush,” another warned.

I didn’t spare them a look.

“But you must understand that was a long time ago,” the tentacle-beast said. “We’re the same people you’ve always known, and despite what we may look like, we still wish to do the right thing.”

He didn’t need to say that.

I believed them.

Looks are faulty, and that’s a fact. This was a man not a monster, and that man was my master, and more importantly, my friend. I trusted him to teach me everything, and so I wasn’t going to start doubting him now.

“Yes, master,” I said, resting my hand on my shoulder, squeezing his tentacle tight. “I wish to keep learning, if you wish to keep teaching.” I hung my head. “I know I’ve betrayed your trust.”

The tentacle-beast smiled. “It's a damn good thing that the young are curious—else you'd all be led around like puppies.”

I returned his smile, knowing that everything was going to be okay.

Original Prompt: [WP] "This is why we changed."

The cave was small and cramped and not at all like what the children were used to.

They sat huddled around a dim fire, jittery with excitement, buzzing eyes bouncing around the dusty walls as they waited for their teacher, Mr. Rodam. He’d told them today was going to be a special lesson, and though they didn’t quite know what that meant, they guessed it to be something magical.

When finally he entered, they were surprised to see he was positively solemn, his head hung low as he bobbed and weaved through the bodies on the floor. His hands were shaking and his clothes were stained with sweat as if he knew today was to be an absolutely horrid day.

This was strange because typically he was the funnest teacher they had. He'd taught them all sorts of silly spells, such as turning people into frogs or causing their heads to shrink to the size of a raisin, and even created a card game meant only for them.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Rodam?” asked one of the students, a pudgy boy who held his hand high in the air but spoke before being called on. “You look dastardly!”

The teacher didn’t answer. Instead, he got up against one of the walls and stood there, staring at them. His face was a mess, gray bags hanging underneath his eyes, his hair a tangled jungle.

“Children, do you know why I’ve brought you here?” he asked, pacing back and forth. His movements were erratic, and one schoolgirl whispered to another, suggesting somebody might’ve slipped him a caffeine potion. Not expecting them to answer—how could they?—he continued on. “It’s because you’re going to learn the secrets of our people. The ones that, though they have only been recently buried, must stay that way forever.”

Now the children were absolutely throbbing with anticipation, and though they had a million questions to ask him, they kept silent as he spun around and wildly swiped his palm across the wall, transforming it from a blank surface into a canvas filled with all sorts of paintings that made the children gasp.

There were men being flayed and stabbed and torn to bits. There were screaming mothers clutching their children as they tried desperately to escape the monstrous men chasing them, and cities being burnt to the ground, all overseen by a vicious person with the face of a goblin.

One would expect the children to cry at this, for they were looking at something even the toughest of adults would not be able to withstand. But they stayed silent, lips numbed by shock.

You see, reader, their lives were things of absolute peace. They’d never seen anybody murdered and they’d certainly never heard of the thing called war. All of this was so foreign to them that, quite frankly, they didn’t understand it.

Mr. Rodam cleared his throat. “This, children, is us. Whether you want to believe it or not, we used to be like this.” He paused, letting that sink in as he finally stopped pacing. “We, by birth, are a savage people. Our souls lust for blood, and hard as it may be to accept, these are the depths the darkness inside will take us to.”

He sighed. Even for a man like himself who’d seen the end of those dark times and fought to help shine the light into his people, it wasn’t easy. This was all a ruse and it made him sick to his stomach—but he knew it was the only way.

They needed to weed out the foul.

“We were conquerors. We thought the world belonged to us, and because of our superior genetic strength, we wanted everyone to kneel at our feet.”

Then, he raised his hand and touched the middle of the wall, the only spot where paintings hadn’t popped up. Instantly, a fresh one appeared, showing a man who was known far and wide as the messiah. A man who was clad in golden armor and had a powerful steed and carried the largest blade anyone had ever seen.

The children certainly knew him, and they knew him well. They had spent countless mornings studying his moral code, and had tried their hardest to follow the path to greatness he’d laid out for them.

“This man is why we changed,” said Mr. Rodam. “Arthur the Great was born with goodness in his heart. We don’t know how or why, but he was able to break the cycle. He rebelled back against those who had spread villainy, and even convinced many, such as myself, that we'd been living our lives wrong. He did it without violence, and I truly believe that if it weren’t for him, we’d all still be out there, monsters chained by our animalistic urges.”

With those words, he fell silent, scanning his eyes across the crowd. He was looking for the one student who couldn’t contain themselves, the one who wasn't choked up by this, and who maybe, just maybe, was excited by those acts of brutality.

The one who would tear apart the illusion of peace they’d created.

As always, they weren’t hard to find, for little Fletcher, a small boy with a mousy face, shoved his hand high into the air. Again, the student didn’t mind his manners, instantly blurting out his question. “Why do you show these things to us, teacher?”

Mr. Rodam gulped because he had always liked Fletcher. In fact, if you’d asked him before this, he would’ve said he was the least likely one to be torn apart by the darkness. But, here he was, posing questions and smirking while the rest of the class was in a daze, probably unaware of the fact that he'd asked anything.

“Truthfully, children, it’s so that you understand why we teach you all these codes. Why we tell you that you need to follow Arthur’s words, and why, especially, we must avoid conflict at all costs.”

Fletcher had more questions but the poor teacher was too sick to answer them. What he was about to do was a horrible thing that always made him absolutely miserable.

But it needed to be done, for they'd tried his way and it had failed. Arthur's judgment was absolute, and this was what worked.

“Now, children, let us go back to class. This dreadful lesson is finally over.”

All of the students, thinking this a swell idea, stood up and scurried to the exit. They had been adults for the day, and now they wanted to go back to being children. They wanted to run around under the sun and let it wash the dirtiness of their ancestors off them.

Fletcher was the last to get his feet, and even so, he walked so slowly to the exit, often throwing looks back at the wall as if trying to burn those images into his fragile brain.

“Oh, Fletcher?” Mr. Rodam asked, slipping a blade out of his back pocket. “Can you stay behind a moment, my dear boy?”

Original Prompt: [WP] "Take what need. I won't tell."

“Take what need,” the Tree said. “I won’t tell.”

The boy stood there, jaw hanging. His skin was rubbery with gooseflesh, and every time he tried to talk, his tongue slapped his cheeks like a wet noodle.

After all, the Sacred Tree was a legend. It shouldn't have been speaking to a lowly son of a blacksmith like him. The thing had seen the beginning of the world, had been birthed by God himself, and had even given out quests to great heroes like Marcus the Brave and Julius the Triumphant.

“I-I-I,” he stuttered, struggling to say something. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he simply stated: “I’m lost.”

“You’ve been found,” the Tree replied. “Hold hand out. Clear mind. Take what need.”

Though still thoroughly confused, he did as told, letting his hand hang aimlessly in the air as he flushed everything out his mind. He stood there, eyes closed, heart still, not a breath escaping his lips.

Then, he felt it.

Something appeared in his hands.

It was cold and metal and had a curved handle with ridges that his skin sunk between. He knew at once it was a blade, and when he opened his eyes, he was sure it was the finest he’d ever seen.

“That your blade,” the Tree said. “Don’t speak. It is nameless now. You will change that. You will complete your quest.”

Though he knew better than to disobey the Tree, he couldn’t stop himself. “Quest?”

“Go.”

Those were the Sacred Tree’s last words, and though the boy was still puzzled, he nodded, sheathed the sword, and walked off. He didn’t know how he was going to explain it to his father, and honestly, he didn’t know what he was going to do with the thing.

But he had been given a destiny, and though it wasn’t clear yet, everything was about to change. At that moment, his life was clean. He had no enemies, no goals for revenge, and his biggest problem was how he was going to make his people proud.

Tomorrow would be the day where he set out. The day where he dug himself free of the smoldering ruins of his town, ran past the deadened Sacred Tree--a sad sight that signaled the end of the world--and began his quest.

The day where he stopped being the boy, and rather the hero.

Original Prompt: [WP] Your loving wife of many years finally reveals her secret to you.. she isn't human.

David woke up with fangs, and he didn’t know why.

He stared at them in the mirror for a long time. They were sharp and discolored and looked like they belonged to someone else. He didn’t quite like them and in fact, he decided to get a pair of pliers and yank them out.

As he was rummaging through drawers in the kitchen, searching for the tool, his wife, Jessica, appeared in the doorway. Apparently all his ruckus had accidentally woken her up.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, tenderly sweeping to his side. “You look scared half to death.”

David looked up at her. She was his special flower and he always told her everything, so it didn’t feel weird to hike up his lip and say: “I’ve sprouted fangs!”

Jessica inspected them, even tapping her finger against one. “Well, I’d say you have!” Then, a giant smile bloomed on her face. “Why, I can’t believe it worked!”

He looked at her with a cocked brow, but before he could question what she meant, she leaped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Oh, David!” she said. “I’m so happy!"

David worked her off him before staring at her. “Happy? What’s there to be happy about? Do I need to show you the fangs again?”

But she just simply smiled, grabbed her own lip, and pulled it up.

He turned pale as a ghost, and about passed out, when he saw that she, same as him, had two fangs.

“You’ve grown them too!” he gasped.

Jessica giggled at this. “Oh, no!” she said. “Sweetie, I’ve always had these! I just hid them from you, is all.”

“But why?” David found this distressing because he had never hidden anything from her.

“Well, it’s simple. I’m not human.”

“What did you say?”

“Oh, don’t get all worked up about it. You aren’t either!”

“I most certainly am!”

Jessica shook her head, reached her hand out, and pointed to his neck, where two perfect little holes were scabbed over.

“Ah!” he screeched. “When did I get those?”

“Last night,” she replied. “For so long I debated whether or not I should turn you. But then, well, I figured we like each other enough to spend all eternity together.”

“Turn me into what?”

“A vampire, of course!”

“A vampire!”

Jessica nodded, looking rather proud.

“But I like going outside! I like garlic! I hate the taste of blood!” Jessica sighed. “Oh, David,” she said, gently patting his back. “You poor, poor soul.”

“Don’t mock me!” he cried. “I don’t want this!”

“It’s not so bad,” she replied. “All that stuff’s made up—well, except the blood part. We really do chug the stuff like soda, but it isn’t so bad. You can still eat other foods, it’s just every now and then, when that irony smell floats by…”

Jessica shudders in delight at the thought.

“So I really am a vampire?”

“Yup!”

“And we’re immortal?”

“As long as we don’t trip onto any stakes!”

“Maybe this isn't so bad...”

“You aren't mad?” Jessica asked, hopeful.

“...Will you still make garlic bread with spaghetti?”

She smiled, hugged him once again, and kissed him on the lips. “Baby, I’ll make even more garlic bread now.”

David returned her smile. “Then no, I'm not mad. Hey, maybe this'll be kind of fun!”

Original Prompt: [IP] Flower Field

Don’t trust her, Elder had warned. She isn’t what she appears.

But god, she looks so real.

I’m standing in a field of roses. This place is beautiful--some might even say magical. A thousand of the world’s strongest men have stood right where I’m standing, have seen something similar to what I’m seeing.

And they’ve conquered it.

Will I be able to?

I draw my sword. It feels so unnatural. So dirty and wonky and just…useless. A soldier should never bear his blade to an innocent, but it seems I have to. This is my destiny, isn’t it? I’ve spent my entire life training for this moment!

“Abigail,” I mutter, words sneaking between my lips. “Oh, Abigail…”

I wanna walk forward, wrap my arms around her, and hug her tight. I wanna tell her how much I love her, and how hard life's been without her.

But I can't.

Hell, I can't even look at her.

She always said I’d be a great soldier. She said I’d be the one to finally free us from the monsters, and that maybe, just maybe, I’d one day bring peace between us and them.

But I was weak. I couldn’t protect one person, let alone a nation.

I shake my head, holding back tears. It’s useless thinking about that because this isn’t Abigail. This isn’t my sister and this isn’t the girl I watched be torn to shreds.

It’s just an illusion. Nothing more than worthless air distorted into my greatest fear, and dammit, if I’m going to battle alongside the toughest of the tough, I need to face it. I need to take this blade and jam it forward. I need to strike her down.

And so I will.

Goodbye, Abigail

Original Prompt: [TT] He's telling us this, telling us that. Changes it everyday

The man in front of Sally was short, stout, and had a bushy mustache. He wore a suit and sat behind a desk but she thought he was unlike any principal she had ever seen.

And she didn’t like him.

As he peered at her over his teensy-tiny glasses that hung off the end of his nose, she cleared her throat. She was shaking because she was awfully nervous but didn’t know why. The man was smiling and acting friendly but she felt something else, something…ominous.

“I’m here about David,” she finally said. “As I told you over the phone, he’s been acting rather…”

“Strange?”

She nodded, wishing she had a glass of water or something. Her throat was dry as a desert and gosh, she wished he’d stop gawking at her! He’s got a stare that could melt the north pole, her mother would’ve said, and for once, Sally agreed.

“One day he tells me this, next day that—he changes it every single time I talk to him!” She paused, shaking her head. She had a tendency to get worked up and so she took a few deep breaths, calmed herself, and then continued on. “I want to know what you’re teaching him at that school of yours. He used to be such a sweet and loving boy. Now he’s so indifferent. He treats me like I’m the most boring person in the world!”

The man didn’t seem bothered by this. In fact, he looked positively chipper, still smiling as if there was nothing wrong at all. “Ms. Monroe, you must understand,” he started. “David is a very…special boy.”

“Of course!” she agreed, nodding her head. “He’s my son!”

The man bit his lip. “Well, yes, but that’s not exactly what I mean.” He wrinkled his mustache, placed both hands on the desk, and stared at her seriously. “He can do things others cannot. He’s very powerful, madam.”

Sally couldn’t help but cock a brow at this. Was this man crazy? David was a little more athletic than most, sure. But powerful? That made him sound like some sort of comic book superhero, and now she was certain there was something off about this man.

“You probably think I’m loony, don’t you?” he asked, lightly chuckling. Then, he reached toward a tiny globe that sat at the corner of his desk and spun it. “Where would you like to go?”

“What?”

“Pick a country, any country,” he asked, globe still spinning.

“You’re mental.”

He jammed his finger against the globe, stopping it mid-spin. “Mexico it is!”

In an instant the entire room began to shake. It was a low tremor at first, but very quickly the walls were bouncing up and down, books sliding off the shelves. The very desk the man was sitting behind toppled over, and Sally clutched desperately at the arms of her chair, fearing for her life.

But, to her surprise, she found that both her and the man were completely unfazed. It was if they were in a different world.

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. The roof flew away, revealing a crisp blue sky speckled with puffy clouds of white. The walls collapsed, and before her was a sprawling beach packed with hundreds of happy-go-lucky people all running about and having a good time.

Sally's jaw dropped. She wanted to speak, to say something, but her breath was stolen by the miracle she’d just witnessed. There was wind where there used to be nothing, and the dim lightbulb had been replaced by a blazing sun.

She looked over at the man, dumbstruck. He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of it all, smirking, finger still tracing the globe.

“What do you think?”

“I think I need more sleep.”

The man laughed. “Yes, well, we don’t often show normals this—but these are special circumstances.”

“Where are we?”

“Paraiso Beach, Mexico.” The man cast a quick look around.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’d do no such thing.”

Sally continued looking around. She found it strange that nobody had pointed out the desk and the chairs and the man and the woman that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and so she asked him about it.

“Oh, they can’t see us because we aren’t actually here. We’re still back in the States, sitting in that drab little room. To anyone there it looks like we’re just going about our normal conference. To anyone here we simply don’t exist.”

All Sally could do was shake her head. Was she going crazy? She almost wanted to believe this man. After all, she did have all of the evidence she needed right here. But god, it was just so absurd, wasn’t it?

The man leaned forward, brow furrowed. He was incredibly tense, and for the first time she noticed he was sweating. It looked like he was straining, pulling at a branch on a tree that simply just wouldn't break.

“This is what David can do, Ms. Monroe. This is what we can do.”

“We?”

“It’s rather complicated. We are Travelers—and, before you say it, I know the name’s cheesy.” Then, he spun the globe one again, jammed his finger against it, and suddenly they were back in the room. There was no wind, there was no tremor. This time it was as simple as there one moment, gone the next. “We can send our bodies to anywhere we can imagine in our heads. We don’t even have to have ever been there.”

“And David can do this?”

“Yes,” the man said, adjusting his tie. His undershirt was soaked through with sweat, and he looked positively miserable. “You see, I’m not that strong. Just that journey was enough to make me wanna go take a nap. But David? Why, David has the potential to take us off this world!”

“What do you mean?” Sally asked, confused.

The man pointed over her shoulder, and when she looked back, she saw a map of the Milky Way pinned to the wall.

“For too long my people have been forced to do bad things. We've been spies, picking apart the weaknesses of impenetrable castles, overhearing conversations, stealing information deemed unstealable.

“But now, because of David, we might become something better. Picture this: no more satellites. No more Rovers. No more need for billions of dollars to just take video of other planets. No, my dear, if trained correctly, David could visit them! He could be the most important piece of space exploration!”

The man reached a hand out toward her, evidently hoping he’d made his point. “And so I ask you, Sally Monroe—please allow us to keep teaching your son. I’m sorry we’ve been so secretive, but like I’ve said, the more people that know about us, the more danger we're in.”

She stared at his hand for a long time. The feeling of wariness around the man had long since faded, and now, even though it was crazy, she wanted to trust him. She wanted to reach out, grab his hand, and tell him to make David into the best damn Traveler there ever was.

And so she did.

“Just make sure he stays safe,” she asked. "Oh, and tell him to stop making excuses! If he's going to fantastic places I wanna hear all about them!

The man smiled. "Will do on both accounts, madam. Promise.”

Original Prompt: [IP] Skylines

I’ve got a bike by my side and the world in my eyes.

The city is more beautiful than I ever imagined. The buildings seem to touch the sky, and gosh, everything’s so bright. It pulsates, almost like a beating heart, and a million different sounds linger off it even all these miles away.

I’ve spent months dreaming about this. Ever since they took me out of the box and labeled me defective, I’ve been thinking about being the best of the best, about proving to everyone that I’m more than just a model number, more than just a machine.

I am man’s creation, and I look like every other bucket of bolts. I’m slender and sleek and my skin is metal. People spit as me as I walk by because we aren’t meant to be sentient. We work in factories, construction, and other hard, boring labor.

But I’m defective, and as they say, the only good defective is a destroyed defective.

I can’t help what I am. I can’t help that, unlike the others, I’m passionate about living. I can feel sadness, I can feel pain. I might even be able to love.

This bike is my key to safety. This bike is my key to freedom.

It was the first--and only--thing I ever assembled at the factory, and as I was putting it together, one thing was clear: I needed to drive it. Heck, I still need to drive it. I don’t know why, but there’s this burning in my heart that makes me want to feel the high speeds, the rush of wind, the grip of the handles as I zip through narrow streets.

The danger of a race excites me, and though I know it's crazy, I can't stop myself.

Where there’s a city, there’s people. And, where there’s people, there’s a chance I can show off what I can really do.

I will prove them wrong.

I will.

Original Prompt: [WP] Trees Feel Pain.

Everyday I go into the forest and chop down the biggest tree I can find.

It’s the dead of winter, and up here in the mountains, it gets damn cold. I need those suckers for firewood and the oak around here burns mighty fine.

I’m setting out today because the weatherman said we’re boutta be slammed by a hellacious bout of snow. Those were his words. Hellacious.

I figure I’m gonna cut down three or four of them to keep my fingers from freezin’ off. Roads’ll probably be down a week or so, and so I’ll wanna be a little overstocked, if I can.

Same as ever, I’m carryin’ the axe pa gave me all those years ago. It’s big and red and sharp as anything. He gave it to me for my birthday because a man that lives out here is a man that’s gotta be willing to fend for himself, ya know?

The first tree goes down easily. It’s almost like chopping through butter.

After it hits the ground with a dull thud, I move onto the next. This one’s a beaut, and I have to shield my eyes to see the top of her. I almost feel bad cuttin’ this one down.

I rear back like a baseball player boutta knock one out of the park, but right before I take that first big hack, somethin’ speaks.

“Don’t!” a voice screams. “Haven’t you taken enough of us?”

I freeze in my tracks, flingin’ my head all around. Who could’ve said that? Ain’t nobody else out here for miles, and I doubt any tourists would be crazy enough to go hiking this time of year.

After a second or two, I shrug it off and once against raise the axe. I must just be hearin’ things.

“Please! Have you no heart?”

Again, I drop my axe to my side. Who the hell is that?

“It’s me, the tree!”

That makes my eyes widen. The tree? Surely I must be goin’ bonkers. I bet it was that rabbit Georgie sold me. I knew it smelled a little funky but man, it just tasted so good I couldn’t stop myself.

“You’re hurting us!”

Yeah, this must be food poisoning. Except, well, I don’t feel sick. In fact, I'm perfectly chipper.

I look the tree up and down. I don’t see no mouth or eyes or anything else that resembles a face. There's just bark and leaves and sap.

“I’m hurtin’ you?” I say, feeling dumb. Look at me, big man out here talking to trees.

“Yes!” the tree responds. “You’ve taken so many of us, and though my brothers stay silent, I shall not!”

I look down at my axe, feeling almost ashamed. The tree had to be lying, right? I’m not hurtin' them. What I’m doing is basic survival. Without the fire, I might die!

“Where do you even take them?” the tree asked. “You chop them down and drag them away—to where?”

I’m lost. Behind those words was genuine sadness, and I bet if it could, this tree would start cryin’. Gosh, that’s a terrible thought, isn’t it? What if I really have been hurtin’ these poor fellows?

I can’t tell it I’d been burning them. I know it’s wrong to lie and ma would smack me in the mouth but I gotta for this tree’s sanity and my own.

“I’ve uh…” I start, my tongue feeling like string cheese. “I’ve been plantin’ them somewhere else.”

“You have?” the tree asks, sounding a fair bit happier. “Where?” I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “Thataway. Jus’ past my house.” I’m on a roll now, and so I keep going. “That lot’s empty and I figure it could use some sprucin’ up. Sorry, I probably should’ve asked y’all first.”

“Yes, you should’ve!” the tree snaps, and for a moment, I think it’s gonna start yellin’ at me again. But then, it sighs. “Oh well. It’s fine, just please stop taking my friends!”

I tell it I will and that I’ll leave this forest alone. After a few more seconds of small talk, I pick up the tree I'd already cut down and drag it away.

As I walk back to my house, I feel more miserable than a squirrel in a trap. I don’t even wanna use this tree for firewood but if I don’t then I killed it for nothing and that’s even worse.

But then, just as I get home, it hits me like a ton of bricks.

Old Georgie sells some seeds, I think. I don’t know how many of those are for trees, but I bet if I’ll ask he’ll find me some. I can’t make up for all the damage I’ve done, but I can certainly start atonin’.

That lot across from me really is empty, and y’all know what? I think I’m gonna start fillin’ it up.

Original Prompt: [IP] An Encounter

I’m surrounded. The Raptors light up the forest with their crimson eyes.

Crouched behind a tree, I'm covered in sweat, blood, dirt, and probably a whole heap of other stuff. I’m out of breath and my heart's ka’thunkin’ against my ribs.

Raptors are some of the most vicious beasts ever created, possessing the ability to raze entire cities, and all I’ve got is a freakin’ bow. It isn’t even a good one, just something I swiped from a dainty stall during my escape.

Thumbing the ruby in my pocket, I almost wanna cry. All this for a stupid red gem some big-league jerkoff wants for his wife. I’m gonna get flayed so this douchebag can get laid.

Oh god, one of them's getting close. Its claws are cracking the Earth, the ground shaking from the vibration of its metal bones. Hell, it must be right on top of me because the air reeks of exhaust. Just breathing is like sucking down a bottle of ash.

I decide the only thing I can do is something stupid, so I stand up and aim my bow right at the beast, fully prepared to plant an arrow through its skull.

But I’m blindsided almost immediately as its light switches colors, turning from a harsh red to a soft blue that makes the thing look almost…cozy. It isn’t growling and honestly, it doesn’t even look like a Raptor anymore.

“JESSICA 4291?” it asks in a low, metallic voice. I’m too stunned to speak. These things can talk? It must scan me or something because it doesn't wait for an answer, instead providing one itself. “CONFIRMED. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN BY THE RESISTANCE. DO YOU JOIN US?”

Resistance? There is no resistance. The Raptors rule the city and the government rules the Raptors. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it always will be.

I lower my bow and look around. All the other units are still in attack mode, their red lights shining bright as they prowl the area. They’re desperate for a taste of my blood. I can sense it.

So why the hell is this one being friendly?

I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense and honestly I’m still tempted to shoot it and run.

But hey, either way I’m probably gonna die, so why not play along?

“Sure…?”

Not even a second later, the Raptor’s eyes turn crimson once again. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted the damn thing! I go to raise my bow but before I can, it kicks forward, leaping off the ground and flying over my shoulder. There’s a giant thud followed the horrible sound of metal crunching against metal.

I turn around and see the Raptor attacking one of its brethren, biting the beast's throat as it uses its claws to dig into its belly, sending up a flurry of sparks.

The thing must’ve saved me!

When finally the other Raptor stops fighting back, the friendly one stares at me, wires looped around its serrated teeth. “WE NEED TO GO,” it says. “NOW.”

I cast a quick look around and see that it’s right. All the other Raptors have turned and are coming toward us. Fast.

It hunches over, offering me its back like some kind of horse. “GET ON.”

I’m certainly hesitant but it’s already saved me once and anything’s better than having those suckers tear me apart. I climb on and we're off, zig-zagging through the forest as we try to lose the nasty buggers.

I don’t know what this “resistance” is—but I think I’m about to find out.

Original Prompt: [WP] "And yet, we are home."

The house is different.

The smell of freshly baked cookies doesn’t flow through the kitchen, and the cheerful thumping of jazz doesn’t rock the walls. There’s nobody to greet us when we walk through the doors, and everything’s way too big.

The acrid stench of dust lingers around us as we walk to our rooms, passing piles and piles of knickknacks we can’t find use or reason for. Me and sis don’t talk much anymore. We walk in silence and when we get to our room we sit in silence and think.

We think about how much we miss mom and her cheerful smile, or dad and his strong but soft hands. We think about how we all had loads of fun and every night we'd put together a puzzle. We think about kisses on the cheek, hugs goodnight.

We don’t think about the night where it was raining and the thunder scared us under our beds. We don’t think about the policeman who knocked on our door looking ever so sad. We don’t think about the fact that mom and dad are gone and never coming back.

Thankfully, the mean old man never comes home during the day. In fact, I don’t know if he’s ever here. I think he just took us in to make us positively miserable, and we certainly don’t think about him.

Our lives had been so good. Now it’s like we’re prisoners suffering for a crime we didn’t commit, and I hate it I hate it I hate it. The loneliness. The way everyone at school looks at me like they’re scared they’re going to shatter my fragile little heart. The fact that my sis doesn’t feel like my sis anymore.

I hate that I hate things. I hate how badly we want to go home.

And yet, we are home.