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Should I submit my story today/right now?
"You're more boppable."
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)Yay!
Sure! I won’t be reading through them until Tuesday morning when I’ll probably compile them into a temporary doc so I don’t lose anybody. Y’all can submit anytime
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the GorkOkay here it is! (formatting is off a little bit)
Rax
Fire. It’s a beast that controls the strongest, destroys the feats of nature, crumbles human ingenuity, and kills the lives of many. It brings pain almost everywhere it goes. Not just pain, but death. It can consume millions of lives, even the toughest, strongest of warriors. Never relents, never holds back, always wanting to consume more. It is difficult to control, even for the Pyromancer.
I, the Pyromancer, have the task to bring the world at peace with something that is the opposite of peace. I have to avoid the danger of hurting the people I love every minute of every day. Even with the help of Fortier, Protector, and Spellguard, it is still difficult to control the flame. I have hurt everyone I know at least once, especially Zyla.
Why do I hurt these people? Why do I have to be the cause of their suffering? Is it possible to change? To escape? Can I escape this? Or should I… just… give up?
No.
No. I am the only hope that this world has to free it from the lord. I may be unable to control myself at times, but the ones I love are willing to help me, to grow into a better warrior, a better man, a better friend. So help me God, I will conquer this beast and tame it. I will defeat this world enemy, the lord, Lord Quackers. I am the Pyromancer.
I am Rax.
"You're more boppable."
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)Trying to write something for this! Doing it in between school reading, so who knows when I will post it.
#ProtectAdolinKholin
Okay, here’s mine based on your prompt. I don’t have a name for it, anyone can name it.
I couldn’t believe Sophie-Leto was allowed to hold the candle this year.
Sophie-Leto was the baby of the family, so I should have expected it. But she got to hold it last time!
Besides, she wasn’t the cute little Nativitas angel everyone thought she was. I should know, I was her brother.
Her little wispy bangs curled around her face like frost, and she bounced so much, the flame in her hand made a sputtering sound. “Pretty, pretty!”
“You’re going to catch something on fire…” I muttered, at a volume only I heard.
“What was that, my little magician?” Mater asked.
“Nothing.” I grumbled, picking at the buttons on my vest.
We walked down the cobblestone path, which led to the cozy town hall. Tonight was a silent affair, with smiles and letters of friendship. It was my parents’ favorite way to remember love.
Mater had sliced carvings into the candle, of fish and butterflies. Someone had caught their fingernail against it, and some of the wax curled. I wanted to fix it at home, but no one else thought it was important.
“It’s alive tonight,” my sister cooed to me. “Just like you!”
The candle bounced and flickered. It never stood upright, but always at an angle. Sometimes it brushed against her jacket and made a scraping noise.
My temper began to boil. She doesn’t know how to hold it right. She holds it all wrong.
Sophie-Leto waved the candle to the side, and a drop of wax pooled over the carvings.
I pulled her hand, centering the candle with her body. “Hold it still.”
“Children…” Pater murmured.
“No!” Sophie-Leto stuck out her bottom lip. “It needs to see everything!”
She waved it at the bell tower, and at the cold winter sky. Then she waved it under her own nose. “It can see up my nose holes.”
My mind began to smolder.
Suddenly the world around me turned a brilliant white as my head transformed into a ball of fire.
I tried to push Sophie-Leto away, to protect her. Quickly, my father picked me up and threw me into the nearest snow bank.
I sat up. The flame on my head spurted and went out. Steam hissed on my cheeks, as I crossed my arms, blinking back tears.
My family stood in silence.
“I want to be quiet, like everyone else!” I blurted. “But I just blow up! I can’t! I can’t, I…”
The candle would never be mine. I would never stop obsessing over it. Nothing about me could remain quiet.
Pater pulled me out of the snow. His long indigo cloak cascaded over my shoulders. The stars and moons, stitched into his cloak, each had a space. A territory of velvet, each alone and untouched by another. Mater joined us.
My anxiety lessened. We stood there until I felt a little better.
“It is alright, Ignatius.” Sophie-Leto put a hand on my shoulder, her robin-like voice low and serious. “You can have all my Nativitas cookies.”
#ProtectAdolinKholin
@liberty @stephie @whalekeeper @theducktator @raxforge @theshadow @hybridlore @elishavet-pidyon @rae @grcr
Hey y’all! Just wanted to check in and say thanks to those who have submitted a story, and to let the rest of shall know that you have until tomorrow morning to get one submitted.
And to those who weren’t able to join this round, I hope you’ll be able to join in the next one! =)
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the GorkIn Which I Permanently Damage Our Microwave
As everyone knows, anything can be justified as long as it is for science. Or so I tried to tell my parents that fateful November morning. I was eleven years old, and I was bored. My parents, in perhaps one of their more stupid decisions, had left me at home by myself for two hours. Two glorious hours, with no one to stop me from doing what I wanted.
“If you get hungry, there are grapes in the fridge,” they had told me. It was that word, “grapes”, that gave me my splendid idea. Now most people, when they think of grapes, picture a still life painting, or a duck at a lemonade stand. Dull people think about fruit. I thought of something quite different, something that I had learned several weeks prior from the neighborhood delinquent: If you put a grape in the microwave, it would create plasma. Naturally, the intelligent thing to do would have been to ignore her, but I have never been known for taking the intelligent course of action. Disregarding all rationality, I opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a grape, a brave green volunteer sacrificing his life for the cause of science. His name was Wilfred. After drawing my best attempt at a noble yet slightly fearful expression on him, he was placed on a plastic plate, the ugliest one in case something went wrong. I gently shut the microwave door, set the timer, and pushed start.
“Farewell, O Valiant One. Know that thy death was not in vain.” Wilfred slowly spun, and began to catch fire. The sight was incredible. Later, I would write a ballad about Wilfred. As I began to brainstorm rhymes for Wilfred, he exploded. Flames flickered against the side of the microwave. I stepped back. Regardless of the noble speech I had made to Wilfred, death by microwave fire suddenly seemed like a stupid way to go. I dashed to the garage and grabbed the fire extinguisher. I may have made poor decisions, but at least I wasn’t going to let the house burn down. That counted for something, right? Back in the kitchen, I flung open the microwave door, only to be blasted with a wave of heat, and the smell of burnt plastic. Lifting the extinguisher, I sprayed foam all over the inside of what remained of our microwave. The house was safe; the microwave was ruined. I couldn’t even see the remains of Wilfred, may he rest in pieces, and our ugly plate was a pile of charred plastic.
Then, my family arrived. My father swore, my mother threatened all manner of punishment, and my brother yelled at me for daring to blow something up without him.
“It was for science, ” I protested. “It was educational!” My pleas fell upon deaf ears, and I was spanked. Hard. Unfortunately, as later events would testify, I didn’t learn anything from this mistake. But those are other stories for other days.
I, for one, really like Roman numerals.
Ayla is such a weird kid.
I, for one, really like Roman numerals.
@theducktator
That story was so good, I read to my mom. She laughed and said “sounds like its from half-experience” (excuse the grammar).and my brother yelled at me for daring to blow something up without him.
I like this statement lol!
Why do I think that Andrew would say this if I blew something up without him… @raxforge
Every time you smile, a flower blooms somewhere in the world.
#AnduthForever (hopefullyđź’•)@whalekeeper
the ending…I like it.Every time you smile, a flower blooms somewhere in the world.
#AnduthForever (hopefullyđź’•)Sorry for replying late, if this is too late to submit then I understand.
A Duel
Swords flashed, and Percival and Damien pressed into a deadlock, one’s blue eyes boring into the others.
“Strange, your brother fights better.” Damien smirked, and a deep fire of rage blazed within Percival’s heart.
He was the first to relent, of course, leaping back and raising his sword to parry Damien’s offence just as fast.
“Almost had you on that one.” Damien taunted, drawing his sword back and slashing down.
Percival raised his shield as Damien’s blade crashed down. Percival grit his teeth, taking care to keep his footing and pressing against the crushing force.
He pushed upwards, face red hot, with his anger bursting forth new strength.
Damien stumbled back a step in his surprise, quickly replacing his surprise with laughter.
“The more defense you put up, the more you wear yourself out.” Damien lunged forward, Percival positioned himself and knocked the blade to the side.
“You waste your breath on talk.” Percival retorted, eyes gleaming. The two stared each other down, watching the other. The world around them seemed to stop. A smile appeared at the corner of Damien’s mouth, Percival glowered at him, and neither spoke.
Damien charged forward, the two fell into close combat as their swords struck again and again. Percival’s heart pounded with each clang, slowly he lost ground.
“I was hoping you would have improved. I suppose some people never change.”
“The only person who has never changed is you.” Percival gripped his sword’s handle tight. Semper Fidelius glinted in the sunlight as Damien’s blade met it.
On the fight wore, until at last the rivals, short of breath, reached a mutual consensus.
“Our duel shall continue tomorrow. Then I will prove to you I was always the better of us two.” Damien wiped his blade on the grass, grinning as he left.
Percival bit his tongue, the rage still blazing within. One day, he promised, it would be Damien playing defense, backed against a wall. One day.
“Our house is full of ducks!!!!”
I don’t want to sound rude or anything (really sorry if I do), but are you going to judge?
"You're more boppable."
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)You’re fine. I hope to get to this today, but I’m afraid I mildly forgot about this, so I’m sorry about the wait.
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the Gork
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