seeking_brilliance

?Stories by the Fire?-- a short story mega-thread

93 posts in this topic

Share your favorite short stories here. Fill this vessel with wonder. (Make sure to credit the author if it is not yours, or link to website. )

(@SirVladimir

@JosephKnecht

Plus anyone else who writes or have been affected by a short story and would like to share) 

This is a judgement free thread. Anything you post here is safe. Nothing is wrong. 

Nothing is true, everything is permitted. - A. C. 

All critiques should be constructive and only at the request of the author. I openly accept any for mine. Just don't be crude. 

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Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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(Please look at picture before reading. This was a writing exercise where the story is inspired by the picture.)


What Lies Beyond

On my twelfth birthday, papa took me to the Window of Light.  It was a huge squared opening at the end of our dwelling's cavern, and all of us Po'pi must go and peer into the light before starting work in the fields. So we carried our small canoe to the edge of the grassy meadow, and launched it into the dark lake separating the land from the gigantic window at the end of the cavern.

     It was early morning and a golden glow had just begun to flood the squared stone walls; and as we jumped into the canoe, a young doe which had been drinking from the cool water raised her head in alert and then pranced away--- back toward home as we rowed our way to the edge of our world. The light sparkled in the dark ripples the canoe made during its slow passage;  and had a particular warmth to it that reminded me of fire, but didn't burn.

     The closer we got, the window grew ever larger. We were but ants in the massive golden frame as our canoe landed against a rocky shore on the other side. Papa tied the canoe to an old weathered post; and directed me toward a steep set of winding stairs which ascended the cliffside, etched out of the  cragged boulders. He said I must go alone, and that he would be here for me when I returned. With a deep breath and a comforting squeeze on my shoulder from a loving father, I climbed the stairs toward the great window until it encompassed all of my view and I could see no else, save the winding path of steps leading ever closer.

     My heart was pounding as I reached the summit, and all tiredness in my legs dissolved in the full blast of the warm, golden light. I don't know how long I stood there, as time seemed to slip away and became a distant memory. I just looked and looked, not really sure what I was looking for; yet I looked on, enthralled by the hypnotic glow of the great Window.

     As I peered deeper, it seemed as if an image was forming. Slowly, it materialized, until I could clearly see a young boy similar to my age, and he was nearly as tall as the massive golden frame. He was in some sort of room and was hunched over, holding a black rectangular box in his hands.

     "Is this thing working?" I heard him say. His voice was strange, like coming through a sheet of water in the midst of an echoing cave-- the voice of God as the elders typically described, although I never understood where they had heard it until now.  "Come on, I just turned this thing on… MOM!"

     "Hello?" I called out, though in a bout of bravery or fear, I can never tell you.

     "Oh, there it goes," the Boy said, "took you long enough. Can we start playing yet?"

      "What?" I called out, not understanding his meaning. The Boy's thumb flicked a small grayish pike extending from the  box in his hands, and I decided to walk left along the screen, perhaps to get a better view of his surroundings. Heaven was a strange place, with many unrecognizable things- though I could clearly see what was meant to be a bed, a place to hang his clothes, and a wooden door which closed off what must have been a bedroom. I was looking into God's bedroom. Amazing.

     "I said I want to play now," the Boy replied in a supreme whine, and I felt the sudden urge to run along the screen in the other direction, jumping and skipping and kicking rocks. Odd behavior sure, but we all do strange things when nervous. The Boy rolled his eyes-- "If this doesn't load in five seconds I'm getting a refund. Hey avatar! Did you hear me? I... will... DELETE you!"

     "I hear you, God!" I cried out, crawling along the jagged cliff on my belly-- which hurt quite a lot, I recall. "Anything you ask I will do."

      "Of course you will," he replied with a snort. "That's what this thing is for" He flicked the small pike again while I ran around in a small circle. "I swear I don't know why they gave them A.I. in this one... its just a farming simulator. And its so dumb, too, like it was born yesterday."

     "I was born twelve years ago, my Lord," I called in correction, finally feeling myself again and standing still in the middle of the window.

     "No, dummy, I made you like six minutes ago… seriously I will delete you if this game does not pick up quick…"

    
       I never quite understood everything the divine Boy told me that morning in the Window of Light, but I worked hard for Him in the fields and deep mines for the rest of my life; even until it was time to take my own child across the morning-kissed lake and up the steep winding steps to peer into the void of our mighty creator. Unlike my father, I told him what to expect; and the clever child went prepared with a full list of detailed and intriguing questions. I still await his return as I write this, but I couldn't be any more proud.
 

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Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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(Another writing prompt exercise. please see the picture first)

 Sophia's Search

   When Sophia was a little girl, she lived in a world quite similar to our own. It was the type of world which took any appearance it desired, or emoted; and our world and all others existed within hers. There, the planets were like beach balls dangling in a twinkling ocean of infinity.

     Her parents were king and queen to this strange realm, and little Sophia inherited their abilities to oversee all of the worlds and realms. It was they who guided the hands of Earth's cavemen in conquering their fear of fire; and brandishing the ever-evolving wheel which propelled industrialism. They who turned the tides of the Americans against their English masters; and who guided that young country through each and every time it repeated the mistakes of its forefathers.   

     Queen Clara particularly enjoyed her involvement in the romance entertainment industry,  with her guiltiest pleasure being the scandalous but addicting Outlander series. But that's a long story for another day, and this correspondence can only hold a thousand words. I do hope it reaches you, young one, in a timely  manner.   

     Anyway, the king and queen became so enthralled with their incessant gardening, that they began to forget poor Sophia and ignore her into the nanny's care. The child continuously vied for her parent's attention; but they soon began to ignore her completely, not even looking away from their many worlds over which they ruled with a green and mighty thumb.   

     One morning, little Sophia awoke to find her parents quite fixated on their masterpieces in such a depth that they had become frozen; eyes open and faces blank, trapped in a  prison of their own dreams. Not even the smell of sun-roasted dragon wing, another guilty pleasure shared by both, could lure them from their zombic slumber. Plus, the servants were too afraid to poke their majesties, or to yell loudly in their presence.    

     Alone and broken, Sophia embarked on a half-baked quest to find someone, or something-- anything that could bring her parents back. She longed for the days when mother and father bounced her joyfully on their knees, back when it was easy to take a needed break from tireless creation. She tied a long piece of twine to each of her favorite worlds and carried them like balloons in one hand;  a lightly packed suitcase in the other.  Princess Sophia traveled the shifting lands of Whithernary, in search of a power great enough to break the spell.

   You must find her.

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Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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Flash fiction based on the picture:

 

The Mistake

 

Grief stricken, I roamed the brick-lined corridor, under the domed archways of Mcgowan's School of Magicks. The arches stretched on forever, until curving away and out of sight. Ah it was such a lively place when I attended. Mcgowan's was the most prestigious school of the arts in all of Avonli. Now it was indefinitely closed, and it was all my fault.

The memories flooding in were overwhelming: Under these arches was where I learned my first spell; had my first kiss with Margeritte, and my second with Kian. I remembered playing magicka under the arch with the yellow star graffitied on the side. This was where my group of friends congregated to groan about professors, practice spells, or invent wildly creative pranks against the Black Vipers-- an unruly gang of mostly fifth years who thought they owned the place. We had decided it was time to even the odds.

I had just learned to open a portal in advanced physicks, and was certain I could pop them over to the Artic for an hour or two, just when we knew they were planning a rather devastating raid on the school's supply pantry. One of our friends was sister to a Black Viper who had a loose mouth-- well, loose everything if you ask me...

I had the measurements ready, the perfect icicle wand to celebrate the occasion and the memorized incantation to open the portal. However, old-alchemic language was not my strong suit and who could have known the word for 'everyone' was so similar to the one for Viper?

Months later, I roamed the desolate halls of the school, searching for any incantation to correct my mistake. Except I couldn't read the more powerful spells written in old-alchemic.

I left for the city of Carpendale to find an interpreter.

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My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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This is such a great topic idea. I'll get back to in later today or tomorrow. Leaving the bookmark saved.

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Cherry tree

There was a garden, which belonged to the house where my mother has grown up. In the middle of the garden was a cherry tree. Normally the cherry trees are rather small and slim. But this one was an enormous tree bearing enormous cherries. They were not red but black. As black as a night. They were not sour but sweet. As sweet as a dream with a light note of sourness. I spent a lot of time sitting on the top of the tree, eating cherries and looking around. And what a view it was: behind the row of houses a field of red poppies extended to the very horizon meeting a high blue sky. Once it stormed madly, thunders and lightnings exchanged every now and then, my tree swayed from side to side with me on the top. I was so high by all the crazy things happening around me, holding to the tree and flying with it in the wind.

My next memory of the tree is when my step grandpa died. I entered the house and he was lying on the table (probably it was more convenient to clean and dress him up on the table). It was hot but he had heavy boots and a black suit on. He looked heavy and soooo rigid, his face was white and swollen. I wondered how is it possible that somebody looks so rigid, I even haven´t touched him to know. Somebody from adults noticed me and pushed me hurriedly out of house. My multiple cousins were already playing in the garden and eating cherries from a cherry tree. I joined them. I was eating sweet black cherries and thinking that a dead man was lying on the table so close to us. A sweetish smell of a corpse was beginning to escape a house and was hanging around in the hot air.

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@Hulia nice one ? I'm curious, is this a memory or a fictional short story? 


My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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4 hours ago, seeking_brilliance said:

@Hulia nice one ? I'm curious, is this a memory or a fictional short story? 

A memory. I am not as good in fictions as you  :) 

It was my 1st experience of the death. And I can tell you, it was quite a mess. Firstly my step grandpa unluckily died on Friday evening. Everything was closed on weekend, it was not that easy to get all the necessary documents and organize a funeral. My poor aunt in the middle of bureaucratic chaos. Secondly we all were waiting for my uncle who was coming from a place 8.000 km away. And he did it! He came in the last moment just before the cover was closed. He kissed his father on a cheek and everybody gasped, I heard a word "cadaveric poison". A grandpa didn´t look good at this point. A skin on his face cracked partially and at the corners of his mouth appeared blood.

Edited by Hulia

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Oh I see. Thanks for sharing. Those cherries sound huge and delicious. And yes you are, I read your lucid daydreaming report. Keep practising with that, and I think something will unlock. 

Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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@SirVladimir @Hulia@

@abrakamowse

Anyone interested in a writing prompt exercise? I'll post a picture, and it inspires the story. I typically like a word limit of 1000 words or less.  I'll at least try one for fun. 

I'll post the first prompt. 

(If you post a new promt, make sure to find pictures on a royalty free website like pixabay. ) 

Deadline : Sunday Jan 24th

 

 

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Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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@seeking_brilliance I'm going to crack open your heart a little, as I realized I have too much work on top of my head already... And I don't wanna write a half-baked prompt. So we'll have to wait until Volume Two preview kicks in, I gotta stay on track. I do love reading your work, though. :ph34r:

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@SirVladimir no problem! Just stop in from time to time and pay with love. I'm rather cheap.  

Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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On 17/01/2021 at 7:04 AM, Hulia said:

It was my 1st experience of the death. And I can tell you, it was quite a mess. Firstly my step grandpa unluckily died on Friday evening. Everything was closed on weekend, it was not that easy to get all the necessary documents and organize a funeral. My poor aunt in the middle of bureaucratic chaos. Secondly we all were waiting for my uncle who was coming from a place 8.000 km away. And he did it! He came in the last moment just before the cover was closed. He kissed his father on a cheek and everybody gasped, I heard a word "cadaveric poison". A grandpa didn´t look good at this point. A skin on his face cracked partially and at the corners of his mouth appeared blood.

Wow that's pretty deep. I have an idea to finish your cherry tree story. Why don't you have your little self fall asleep up there in the tree and meet with grandpa somewhere for one last goodbye?  Maybe he has some healthy wisdom to share ? 


My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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45 minutes ago, seeking_brilliance said:

Wow that's pretty deep. I have an idea to finish your cherry tree story. Why don't you have your little self fall asleep up there in the tree and meet with grandpa somewhere for one last goodbye?  Maybe he has some healthy wisdom to share ? 

I don´t know if it´s a good idea. He was too scary when I saw him last time :) Luckily I didn´t know anything about zombies and such things at the age :) 

But I really dreamt a lot of him and my other relatives did either. And in all our dreams he was in the house asking not to leave him alone. After he died nobody wanted to live in this house. Actually it was only my aunt with the family who had lived there before he died. But she refused to live there afterwards. We rented the house out. The 1st couple was a good family - friendly and nice, but somehow a husband was something like criminal businessman and was killed. His wife moved out. The 2nd renter hung himself up. After that we´ve sold a house. 

But I like this house and the garden, though I didn´t spend a lot of time there - sometimes my summer holidays. I dream very often being inside or outside of this house with or without grandpa. My mother and aunt have this dream too. I can recall many details. Though it´s eternity that I´ve been in the house last time. Was it at funeral? I think so. 

Edited by Hulia

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@seeking_brilliance a brilliant topic idea!

I'm being lazy, but this a micro-story reposted from my journal:

 

"I woke up. I think.

I couldn't quite work out what I had woken up from. What had been razor sharp and solid just then, had diffused into the husk of a sensation. The serenity had been broken and I began to feel agitated that I had been let go of without my consent. What was it? Where had I been? It was nowhere now.

Out of the husk grew something that I could remember.

Yes, yesterday I had celebrated my birthday. I thought about this. There had been the usual cohort of friends. Jez the joker in the pack, quick to make light of a heavy situation, his disposition rock solid; he was never outwardly melancholy. Cassy was forever warmhearted and would always get me quirky gifts - why is it I never returned the gestures? I couldn't remember just now. Franco idolised himself as some sort of Adonis, but I always found him to be harmless, and he threw a great party, it helped that he was in catering. The rest I couldn't bring to the fore, but boyfriends and wives and friends of my friends, there must have been twenty or so.

Come to think of it, had there been family there? No. Karen was on holiday in France with girlfriends. Mum had died only last year, what a god awful time that had been. Dad? I couldn't recall yet.

My temples began to throb. Ah yes. The Mojitos Franco had mixed one after the other. I was sure I could still smell the mint on my breath. I breathed in sharply. Of course Cassy had told him to stop and offered to show me to bed when I had started to say absurd things. Jez thought I was hilarious. Bed! I reached out and felt if there was a body next to mine. No. I felt a wave of relief and nausea come over me at the same time. I took another deep breath.

Suddenly, an alarm buzzed.

I opened my eyes for the first time. 10:20 am. "Shut the fuck up!" I shouted and the alarm stopped. It felt good to shout, but it also somehow felt like the first thing I had ever said, my voice was rough and raspy and unexpectedly deep. It was at that point that my bodily functions kicked in, and I knew that I had to get up.

I showered and dressed and ventured cautiously downstairs. 

The place had been immaculately cleared of the debris of the night before. In middle of the round oak table in the kitchen sat a small white box with an overly large red bow on it. It had to be. I opened it. 

Inside was a snow Globe, with the motto "Cassy" in red letters underneath. Once the snow slowly drifted down, I began to make out the words "Welcome to Heaven". I half smiled. I sat down and shook the snow globe again.


Consiousness is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is.

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26 minutes ago, LastThursday said:

@seeking_brilliance 

 

"I woke up. I think.

 

I love it!! Thank you! So mysterious. 

Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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This is a great journal idea! I loved reading all of your guys's stories. 

What lies beyond: Oh noo, I feel bad for the boy in that story. Makes me want to treat my own inanimate objects with more kindness. I liked the pacing of your story.

Sophias search: I loved this story, it had a great childrens book story feel to it as well as being magical, mysterious, not overly complicated. I liked the plot twist of her parents turning to stone and of the added description of 'sun-roasted dragon wings'. I also laughed at the part about the Outlander books, I read the beginning of the first book a few years back but never got into it. I was also reminded of the Dr. Who episode where the Dr meets Clara, when I read the name 'Queen Clara' because it has an overlapping feel to it. That particular episode stood out to me, where the Dr. lived in the clouds and they defeated evil snowmen together. :P 

The mistake: I love stories about magic schools. I am a little confused though, that could just be me. Especially with this paragraph:

"I had just learned to open a portal in advanced physicks, and was certain I could pop them over to the Artic for an hour or two, just when we knew they were planning a rather devastating raid on the school's supply pantry. One of our friends was sister to a Black Viper who had a loose mouth-- well, loose everything if you ask me..."

But the 'Black Vipers', that sounds like a suiting name for a dark magic kids gang. 

Cherry tree: The black, sweet cherry tree description is particularly suitable and sharp feeling that ties in to end of the story memory. Also, the feeling of sitting in a tree, eating fruit and looking what lays beyond is very reminiscent of childhood...(For me, I had a huge fear of lighting striking fears, but a fascination of storms, so I would have never dared sit in a tree during a storm!)

LastThursday: I like your use of words, and your style of writing has a very relatable/real feel to it. (and yelling at an alarm clock - something I do internally in my head all the time)

 

Edited by Myioko

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I wrote a story that is just under 1,000 words, I'm more used to drawing than using words so I'm guessing my writing is clumsy/unrefined and flowery. I've been meaning to write short stories for a while, it's just something I have a hard time getting myself to do. *Thinks back to 10th grade creative writing class...*

This turned out a bit darker than I initially planned, so excuse that, probably inspired by my post apocalyptic dreams from the last few nights

 

The Warrior

 

The roar of the crowd is muffled as the heavy iron doors shut behind me.

I’m so alone. 

All the euphoria that I felt earlier from defeating my component is rapidly draining away from me...my head echoes with clashes of metal, the sun blazed skin, spears splintered across the arena.  I collapse to the damp floor in a heap of muscles, tendons, and bones. I smell of sweat and blood. I know I’m in a stone tunnel of sorts, as I had the foresight to take a hard stare before all light was shut behind me, my last gaze of light before a harsh goodbye to all that I know. I know I should get up, and I will...but just one rest, just for a little while...and I think about the situation that brought me here.

I was born of humble upbringing, and my life started out with youthful optimism, distanced from my parents suffering and back-breaking work. We lived on the outskirts of the Capitol, the City of Gold. Because I lived on the edge of the city, my siblings and I were within a 5 minute walk to the wasteland, which was a vast flat landscape of grey slate stone, with pockets of wide holes. My mother told us it was dangerous, that we could fall into the depths of the earth and get swallowed up by fire. But here my siblings and I felt the safest and free. No soldiers could yell at us here, and we knew the landscape by heart. We had our own ‘secret garden’, a cave in the ground in which light shone down, containing trees and wildflowers, strangely shaped fungus, salamanders that hung around the pond which sustained its life. The pond water was clear, fresh, uncontaminated, and we brought our ceramic jars to fill them and take them back home. 

Where my family lived was all soot and shambles. But in the center of the city, its name ‘City of Gold’ lived up to itself: Pillars of copper, white marble, and azure blue rose to the sky, triple stories high. Intertwined around each pillar was the proud history of the past, and its accomplishment in human achievement. Never before had a foreign city dared break this city's breaches. 

Until I was 11 years old.  Nomads from the west broke through, chaos ensued. When they took control, every oldest son was sent to the fighting school slums, even the previous Emperor's son. And if they survived that, then they were sent to the fighting arena. It was cruel, it was an inevitable death. I was sent there a couple of years after the invasion, and we hung on to the hope that we would make it into the top #1, the finalists. But for everybody else, the chances were 50% death, 50% an immediate send off to ‘The Unknown’. 

The arena was built against a cliffside, and once the winner defeated the other, they were sent to a mysterious tunnel into seemingly the heart of the mountain. The Unknown. It was there for as long as history memory...a door covered it, surely from the fear it emanated. The new Emperor was obsessed and captivated by the disappearance of those who entered it. His rule was simple: Wait 5 minutes, and if the door guards heard knocking, open it, and welcome the survivor. Once, the guards heard pounding and screaming from the other side, and they froze, fearful. After the Emperor threatened them with the same fate, they opened the door only to be met with a skeleton, bare and dry.

And now I’m here. I slowly rise up, my mind is empty all for one thought: Move. Get going, walk as far as I can, face my end. My hand trails the rough and wavy sides of the tunnel...I shiver. I get the overwhelming sense that these walls are neither natural nor man-made. I wonder if the ground will disappear from under my feet at any moment. As I move along, the texture of the wall changes. I feel softness, slight squishiness...and fur! I sharply pull my hand back with a gasp, and for an instant, I swore I felt the wall take a deep inhale in.

“I seee youuu.”

A voice as thick as honey and the oldest sound imaginable penetrates my ears, all around me. Is this in my head? All around me?

“I seeek yourre spirrrit. Givve it tooo me.” 

I reply, and my voice comes out clearer than I could have hoped for: “No. I accept my fate, whatever it may be, but I will not give you my spirit or my fear. Take it yourself, if you wish, but I myself will not give it to you. I have nothing more to lose.”

“GIVE IT TO ME.”

I stand there, eyes scrunched closed, to be met with silence. After a minute, I say:

“I’m going to walk back. But why do you not attack me?”

The voice that replies is exhaustive, vaporous, a tilted edge of exasperation. 

“II cannot...Your life is in yourr handss. You meet my two requirementsss: true courage, and the blessing of the clear water ssspring. I will tell you this, brave soldier: You have two choicess. Movee forwarrrd, and youu will meet a new lifffe. Move back, and youuu willl be met with extraordinary richessss.”

My mind is stuck on the words ‘Blessing of the clear water spring’, until I remember the pond water I drank as a child. I nod. This could be a trick...or this could be a moment in time to choose one of two lives. I step forward, and I see a small window of light ahead of me. As I get closer, I’m met with a blazing light that my eyes are not used to seeing, and lush foliage and green plants that are unfamiliar to me. I hear pleasantly high pitched whistling, of creatures or melodies. I smile and walk into the light.


 

Edited by Myioko
typos and switching back from first to third person

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@Myioko thank you so much for the critiques!! my heart blazens with your words. I love the scene of Matt Smith Doctor descending the victorian staircase from the Tardis up in the clouds. 

In The Mistake-- yeah its confusing haha :P what happened was, it was MUCH longer, but the challenge was like 300 words so i had to really get creative -- the narrator was part of a group who rivaled with the black Vipers, mostly just practical jokes to bring necessary justice. One of their friends has a sister who is in the Black Vipers, and her loose tongue spilled the beans on a raid the Vipers planned on the supply pantry. (potions, crystals, etc.) So the protagonist had recently learned to open portals so he looked up an incantation to send the Black Vipers to the Artic for a practical joke.  But he's not good at ancient alchemic language and accidently ends up sending everyone -the whole school- to the artic, except for himself (because in ancient alchemic language, the word for "black" just happens to be a very similar word phonetically to "everyone". Now he's roaming the empty halls searching for a spell to reverse it, but he's not good at the old language. So then he heads to a bigger city to find a scholar to help.   

 

Edited by seeking_brilliance

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk- John Keats

 Join me and SirVladimir for a collection of short stories, guided visualizations, and other forms of lucid/immersive daydreaming. MindVenture Facebook group  (this is not a meetup, merely a mutual interest in lucid daydreaming) 

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