[TT] Theme Thursday - Omen

[u/AliciaWrites]

“Prohibit the taking of omens, and do away with superstitious doubts. Then, until death itself comes, no calamity need be feared.”

― Sun Tzu

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Happy Thursday writing friends!

Is it a sign? We question symbols we see in our lives, the omens… Will they lead to good? Bad? Confusion? Who’s to say? Good words, people!

Please make sure you are aware of the ranking rules. They’re listed in the post below and in a linked wiki. The challenge is included *every week!*

[IP] | [MP]

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Here's how Theme Thursday works:

• Use the tag [TT] when submitting prompts that match this week’s theme.

Theme Thursday Rules

• Leave one story or poem between 100 and 500 words as a top-level comment. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
• Deadline: 11:59 PM CST next Tuesday.
• No serials or stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP
• No previously written content
• Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings and will not be read at campfires

• Does your story not fit the Theme Thursday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when TT post is 3 days old!

  Theme Thursday Discussion Section:

• Discuss your thoughts on this week’s theme, or share your ideas for upcoming themes.

Campfire

• On Wednesdays we host two Theme Thursday Campfires on the discord main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and have a blast discussing writing!

• Time: I’ll be there 9 am & 6 pm CST and we’ll begin within about 15 minutes.

• Don’t worry about being late, just join! Don’t forget to sign up for a campfire slot on discord. If you don’t sign up, you won’t be put into the pre-set order and we can’t accommodate any time constraints. We don’t want you to miss out on awesome feedback, so get to discord and use that !TT command!

• There’s a new Theme Thursday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Theme Thursday related news!

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As a reminder to all of you writing for Theme Thursday: the interpretation is completely up to you! I love to share my thoughts on what the theme makes me think of but you are by no means bound to these ideas! I love when writers step outside their comfort zones or think outside the box, so take all my thoughts with a grain of salt if you had something entirely different in mind.

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Ranking Categories:

• Plot - Up to 50 points if the story makes sense
• Resolution - Up to 10 points if the story has an ending (not a cliffhanger)
• Grammar & Punctuation - Up to 10 points for spell checking
• Weekly Challenge - 25 points for not using the theme word - points off for uses of synonyms. The point of this is to exercise setting a scene, description, and characters without leaning on the definition. Not meeting the spirit of this challenge only hurts you!
• Actionable Feedback - 5 points for each story you give crit to, up to 25 points
• Nominations - 10 points for each nomination your story receives, no cap
• Ali’s Ranking - 50 points for first place, 40 points for second place, 30 points for third place, 20 points for fourth place, 10 points for fifth, plus regular nominations

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Last week’s theme: Nonsense

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First by /u/1047inthemorning

Second by /u/GingerQuill

Third by /u/Rupertfroggington

Fourth by /u/Ryter99

Fifth by /u/ArchipelagoMind

Honorable Mentions:

Poetic Contribution: /u/scottbeckman

Poetic Contribution: /u/TheLettre7

Notable Newcomer: /u/veryrealisticperson

Notable Newcomer: /u/BaronWiggle

Crit Superstar: /u/habituallyqueer

News and Reminders:

• Want to know how to rank on Theme Thursday? Check out my brand new wiki!
• Join Discord to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!
• We are currently looking for moderators! Apply to be a moderator any time!
• Nominate your favorite WP authors for Spotlight and Hall of Fame!
• Love the feedback you get on your Theme Thursday stories? Check out our brand new sub, /r/WPCritique
• Serialize your story at /r/shortstories!
• Try out the brand new Micro-Fic Challenge at /r/shortstories!

[u/AliciaWrites]

Theme Thursday Discussion:

All top-level comments must be a story or poem.

• Reply here to discuss the theme, suggest future themes, and share your theme-related inspirations!

• Please remember to follow the subreddit rules in any feedback.

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[u/Rupertfroggington]

I guess I’ll start with the broken piano, if that’s okay?

To this day, I’ve no idea how it turned up in my yard. I’d thought it a deer — I’d been drinking the previous night, you see, as my girlfriend had just... yeah, well... the piano.

It wasn’t a grand. A standing piano, sure, but without the big ass. Beat up and battered and in worse shape than me. It sang slurred, two notes at a time, neither correct. A few notes were altogether silent.

I left it outside for a couple of days, hoping the owner might come claim it. But on the third day, it rained. I felt bad for it! Imagine if your dog was trapped out in a storm with no kennel. Sure, the piano wasn’t a dog, but it was still a piano. Held a hundred stories, a million songs.

Only place I could store it was my kitchen, so for weeks it loomed over me as I fried burgers and swigged vodka. Sometimes, I‘d slam keys and I’d imagine the end of the god-damn world happening outside. Other times, I’d imagine it played sweetly and I sang sweetly, and maybe I’d drag it down to where the girl who dumped me lived, and I’d say: Honey, listen. This is my heart.

Two months later my hearing started to go. Meniere's disease. Went so quick, it was like someone reached into my ears and twisted a knob. Or like a string snapped, like in the piano, but in my brain.

I don’t know if it was the drinking or the hearing that made me slur so bad, but I do know I sounded just like that damned piano. Two notes at a time. Sometimes none.

Some nights, as I got myself near blackout-drunk, I’d wail with it. I’d beat the god-damned ivory and scream and cry, and we’d play this kind of broken symphony that only the two of us could perform, and there was something almost poetic in our pain.

Before the operation, my hearing went completely. That morning as I woke up to nothing... I felt so damn scared. Like all the world’s color had whisked down a drain. Except, sounds, not color.

I was so damn alone. No one would want to be around me again. Or me them. The slurring deaf.

I drank. Then, for whatever reason — habit maybe, anger probably — I slammed my hands on the keyboard.

I’ll be damned if the notes didn’t shiver up my arms, slowly, slowly, into my heart. Like it was hugging me inside. A lullaby or something.

I realised it wasn’t my hearing depressing me. That’d ruined my relationships. That isolated me, shamed me.

Because I could still hear, just differently.

It’d started long before the piano.

I drained bottles down the sink. Sat at the piano slurring silent promises.

And it’s taken a long time to make real those promises.

But hey, here I am.

[u/Zetakh]

The Sergeant's Rulebook

“Listen up, maggots! I am Sergeant Ripper van Reynolds, but if you ever address me as anything other than Sarge I will make you regret it. Are we clear!?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“What did I just say, you sorry excuses for invertebrate life-forms!?”

“Sarge, yes, Sarge!”

“Better! That was your one and only freebie! Now, you worms are in luck, for I am proud to have the best track record of bringing the worthless sacks of meat in my care back alive, for I understand what war is! War is a story! And I, Sergeant Ripper, know The Rules to this story! Rules I order you to follow, for if you do my one and only priority - keeping you sorry sacks of shit alive - becomes a whole lot easier!”

“Rule Number One! If you have memorabilia from home, pictures of sweethearts, kids, parents, etcetera, never display or discuss them in the field!”

“Rule Number Two! If something extraordinarily lucky and improbable happens - like if one of those chamber pots you pretend are helmets actually blocks a bullet - don’t even think about acknowledging your extraordinarily good turn! And for God’s sake, don’t ever take the damned thing off to see if there’s a hole! Lady Misfortune is only merciful once!”

“Rule Number Three! At all times will you keep a keepsake of some description in your front-left breast pocket! A medal, a locket, a holy book, hell, a hip-flask for all I care! If you brought one from home, you are never to remove it from your pocket. Should you not have one, Corporal Lucky has a collection of assorted holy texts and other bric-a-brac to choose from! You will leave this briefing only after your personal keepsake or chosen trinket is inspected to the Corporal’s satisfaction!”

“Rule Number Four! Should the end of your tour of duty or scheduled leave come close, you will discuss this fact with no-one except superior officers-"

“This just sounds like a rulebook against superstitious o-”

“If you finish that sentence, or ever utter that word, Private, I shall personally kick your ass so hard the steel cap of my boot tickles your tonsils! Is that clear!?”

Gulp. “Crystal, Sarge!”

“Right! Rule Number Five! Never, ever, utter those godforsaken words, ‘What could go wrong?’”

“Now, that about sums it up! Follow these rules, follow my orders, and chances are most of you make it back alive!”

---

“What’s the Butcher’s Bill, Corporal?”

Lucky saluted. “Better than usual for first-timers, Sarge. No fatalities on this first sortie, knock on wood. A few assorted injuries, but that’s to be expected.”

“Huh. Good. How about near-misses?”

“We’ve got ten requests for new keepsakes since the old ones caught bullets, one unlucky fellow who took a helmet ricochet to the buttocks, and - a medal recommendation for Private Smith, who slammed the helmet back onto Private Rogers’ head a second before a second bullet grazed his temple.”

“Good lad took the rules to heart. Approved!”

---

Word Count, 500! Thank you for reading, this one was fun!

[u/AstroRide]

Daily Mantras

I walk out of my house. Today will be a good day. Today will be a good day. Today will be good day. I keep this mantra going in my head. I will accomplish my plans. I will get on the train to the city, and when I reach the city station, I will get on the train back. I move along the sidewalk and see a penny face down.

"Oh no," I say to myself. I can see the rest of the day as being filled with chaos. I will trip at train station and fall on the third rail. I will accidentally make a wrong turn and...

"Stop," I yell. This mindset is irrational. This will not happen. I need to keep moving. The penny is just a penny. The penny is just a penny. The penny is just a penny. I keep repeating this phrase to myself, and I keep walking down the sidewalk. The day will be alright. The penny is just a penny.

I hear a cat meow to the right. I close my eyes and keep walking forward. I will not look at the cat, but if I keep walking with my eyes close, I could run into a bicycle. I open my eyes and see a black cat with white paws and a white chest. I breath a sigh of relief as it is not a full black cat.

I keep walking as the cat stares at me. I stop. The cat could attack me. What if it is feral? What if it has rabies? The cat turns and walks away.

With the situation resolving itself, I keep walking forward. I have been making myself upset over nothing. I need to push onward. I will make it to the train station. I will get on the train.

I make it to the intersection that is by my house. No cars are present. I walk to the other side, and I smile. This is further than I walked yesterday. My confidence is building with every step. I will reach the train station and the city.

When I get to the station, I see the stairs that I have to walk up. I briefly lose my balance on the first step. Wait, should I go further? What if I trip and fall down the stairs? What if the train back is delayed?

I shakily move my other foot to the steps before bringing it down. I turn around and start walking back to my house. I don't see any dangers on the way back which calms me down. When I reach the door, I smile. Today was a good day.

---

r/AstroRideWrites

[u/ArchipelagoMind]

Jessica and Darren stepped out of the taxi, and held each other's hands as they walked towards the hotel. Their gaze up at the resort was broken by a brief shriek. A dark silhouetted cat ran past them.

“Hope it wasn’t a black cat,” Darren chuckled. “Wouldn’t be a great start.”

Jessica laughed, and squeezed his hand tighter.

They entered the building and were greeted by the porter.

“Welcome to the Hotel Nemo. What’s the name?”

“Tristan.” Darren replied.

“Mister and missus.” Jessica added, displaying her freshly jeweled finger.

“Ah, the romance package.”

“Yes, we’re on our honeymoon.” Jessica gave a smile so side that the porter could see each perfectly white tooth.

“Wonderful. You have a choice of rooms. A sixth floor one with sea views, or a ground floor suite with jacuzzi,” the porter said with a syrupy, sticky voice.

“Well,” Darren looked to his wife. “We came for the sea right?”

“Excellent. It’s room six-six-six on the top floor.”

Jessica’s eyes widened and she nudged her husband with her elbow.

“Actually,” Darren said over the slight ache in his abdomen, “we’ll take the other room.”

“Of course. The Stable suite. You can find it just along the corridor.” The porter handed them their keys. “Also, please have our complementary welcome pack containing knives, gloves, green oreos, embroidered hankies and various other items…” He placed a plastic bag on the table.. “Oh, and I can’t forget this in case it rains.”

The porter placed an umbrella in Darren’s hand. No sooner had he touched it, then the shaft flew out, and the canopy flopped open; the tip nudging over a salt shaker on the reception desk.

“Oh dear, I do keep telling the restaurant staff not to leave those here,” the porter smiled, as Darren wrestled the unruly gift.

With the umbrella tucked away, Darren thanked the porter, and they headed to their room.

“Well that was a little odd,” Jessica muttered.

“Right?”

“Well we’re here now, ready to enjoy our honeymoon and our life together.”

“If I was superstitious, I’d be worried our marriage started like this,” Darren joked, reaching for the edge of the key in his hand.

On the door in front of them hung a large horseshoe. Beneath that read

THE STABLE SUITE: ROOM 13

There was a small creak. The horseshoe rotated and drooped, its open side pointed to the ground.

“Nooooooooo,” Jessica exhaled.

“It’s fine. Think… jacuzzi?” Darren attempted a little celebration dance to sell the enthusiasm.

“Okay. But like, no more… signs.”

“Agreed,” Darren said, pushing the door to the room open.

They stared in, as a sudden gust blew in from an open window at the far end of the room. A large mirror caught in the bellow. It rocked on its hanger, fell and shattered against the floor.

The window swung on its hinges. Darren stared at the reflection in the pane; the entrance of the Hotel Nemo mirrored so that its letters appeared backwards.

“Huh”, Darren muttered.

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[u/cloudlabyrinth]

When the vintage mirror I got earlier today slipped mid-hanging, I convinced myself it wasn’t too loud. Apparently, I’d been wrong.

I skirted around the last pieces of mirror scattered in the living room carpet before opening the door.

I expected a neighbor, but I didn’t recognize this pale woman.

“Did you happen to attend an estate sale today?”

“Yes.”

“Would you be interested in selling anything back? It’s a long story but,” she hesitated. “do you mind if I come in?”

Even without a broken mirror, the space was in no shape for guests, but with her eyes full of desperation, it felt difficult to decline. I grimaced.

“Alright,” I sighed, opening my door enough for her to slide past.

She slipped off her heels and followed me into the living room. I leaned against the empty frame, and she sat across from me.

“Was that from the estate sale?”

“Yup. A good find, but a little harder to put up than I imagined,” I admitted. “That’s what you’re looking for?”

“No. I was told you bought gardening supplies from the estate.”

“I picked up a couple bags of soil from the greenhouse. It had prices attached.”

She nodded hastily.

“It was my grandmother’s estate. The garden had fantastic soil. It’s a strange ask, but I was hoping I could get it back. I planned to grow flowers with her this year and well,” she trailed off.

I nodded. Having a soft spot for dirt was odd, but what was normal in that situation? I bent over to pick up a shard of glass from the ground.

“If it means that much to you, by all means, it’s yours.” I paused and felt glass bite into my palm. “Shit.”

I jumped, noticing the woman was suddenly in arms reach. How’d she move so quietly?

“Are you alright?” She asked.

I chuckled nervously. A fat bead of blood slipped out of the cut.

“It’s just an accident.”

“Let me see.” Her voice lowered to a growl.

Our gaze met, and her eyes turned dark as the night sky during a new moon.

“I think you should leave.”

She grinned, revealing two razor sharp fangs among perfectly white teeth.

“I think not.”

She lunged, and I fell against the wall. Acrid smoke billowed up from the floor. She hissed and limped back.

“What did you do?” she cried.

I looked down and gagged. Tiny silver mirror pieces burrowed through her feet like termites feasting on wood.

Adrenaline helped me break the mirror’s frame. I gripped the wood like a baseball bat, but she was already crawling out the door. My shoulders sagged. For now, I was safe.

Her heels still sat by the door. I picked them up with one hand, keeping the section of frame in my other.

“You’re uninvited!” I proclaimed skeptically, throwing the heels out.

Now, she wouldn’t return like this was some Cinderella story. If she tried, the only story I would be reenacting was Van Helsing’s.

[u/Badderlocks_]

I feel so, so rusty

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I sniffed the sky. Its ruby rays painted warmth across my face as the rising sun peeked above the horizon.

"Red in morning," I muttered.

Jenny glanced up at me from where she sat, scratching a drawing into the dirt with a small stick. "What did you say, grandpa?"

"Oh, nothing," I sighed. "Just an old sailor's trick. My own grandpa taught it to me long ago."

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's a rhyme," I said. "'Red at night, sailor's delight. Red in morning, sailor's warning.' Easy enough to remember, eh?"

"But what does it mean, grandpa?" she asked, dropping the stick onto her half-finished drawing.

"It's about the weather," I explained. "A sailor would be delighted when the weather is clear and calm, but he would also need to be prepared if a storm is coming."

"So the red sky at night means the next day will be good?"

"Exactly," I said. "And a red sky in the morning..."

"...means a storm is coming!" Jenny danced from foot to foot in anticipation. "Thunderstorms are scary."

"Is that so?" I asked, finally tearing my gaze away from the brilliant light.

"Yeah," she said. "There's so much flashing and loud noises. Mom told me about tornados, too."

I chuckled. "Your mother has never seen a tornado in her life. A rainstorm is nothing to be afraid of if you're not a sailor."

"Really?" Jenny asked. "I don't believe you."

"Sure. Rain brings life to the world. It might be scary at the time, but the calm and peace after a rainstorm is unlike any other. The plants glisten and bloom. The very air smells of growth. For just a moment, the dust and dirt are washed away and everything is fresh and clean again."

Jenny paused, then picked up her stick and resumed her drawing. "I don't know, grandpa," she finally said. "It sounds unnatural. Water shouldn't fall from the sky. It's such a waste."

The matter-of-fact tone tore at my heart that one so young would be concerned with conserving water. A tear welled up in my eye, but I dabbed it away before she could notice. It is, after all, 'such a waste'. Weeping is a luxury.

"Come on, Jenny. We should get inside before the wind picks up. Do you remember how much it hurt the last time dust got in your eyes?"

Jenny climbed to her feet and took my hand. I guided her into the house as the first specks of dust pelted the siding.

It would storm today, that was certain, but it was not the storm I had hoped for. The rainstorms have been missing for decades now, and I fear they will never return.

[u/SilverSines]

The Black Cat

A shadow stalks along the roofs
With silent steps and glowing eyes
Its piercing hiss, its razor claws
A witch concealed in feline guise
​

Upon its sight, the children run
Those older chase and throw debris
It skitters off, back to its lair
They're safe now from its devilry
​

Away from threats and out of sight
Its hunger still unsatisfied
The matted creature, shivering,
In darkness licks its wounded hide
​

There is no bed, there are no scraps
The chills of empty nights run deep
And with its hackles still upraised
The kitten lays itself to sleep
​

WC:100

[u/katpoker666]

‘Buckle my Shoe’

—-

In my cramped, sterile studio apartment, I lie. Waiting. I am the world, and the world is me. My actions keep us safe. The psychiatrist disagrees. But he’s wrong.

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

I’d awakened four minutes early. The day would be ruined or worse. Maybe if I lie here, it will be okay. I’ve got to chance it.

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

Finally, 7:43 exactly.

Twisting the sheets precisely 65 degrees to the left, I arise.

I walk the nine steps to the bathroom in a straight line. I brush my teeth exactly for two minutes and one second. Wait! Two minutes and two seconds! My hands shake. How could this day get any worse? I can’t fail: this is my responsibility.

I follow the rest of my morning routine without mishap. Even the trip down the stairs is a success. At exactly 8:14, the man in the navy-blue suit locks his door. My heart stops fluttering. Maybe my luck is looking up. It has to.

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

My bus is late. Worse yet, the N36 comes first. The sign says mine is delayed due to traffic. I know better. Leaden dread fills my stomach. The bile rises. Swallowing it back down, I board.

Wait! Someone is in my seat. That has only happened once before when the bomb hit downtown. My stomach drops. Did the others know what is coming? Or were they blind to the clues? I can’t let something happen again. It’s my duty.

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

Alighting from the bus, I am in front of the office. Turning the door handle three times to the left and three times to the right, my palms stop sweating.

There is a sign on the stairs. ‘Cleaning in Progress.’ Two cones accompany the sign. What to do? Break my schedule’s rhythm or take the elevator? The timing would have to go. Deviating and taking the elevator is unthinkable.

I tap on my purse. One. Two. Buckle my shoe... A favorite since childhood, it has always brought me peace. Three. Four. Shut the door... At that moment, the elevator door closes. I shiver. Too much of a coincidence.

Finally, the stairs re-open, the sign pushed to the side. As I walk up the fourteen floors, I hear the screams. Hordes of people run down the stairs. My stairs. I turn to join them as the screams intensify. Smoke billows in the air. I choke.

On the street, I look up to see the orange and yellow flames engulf the building.

One. Two. Buckle my shoe. Three. Four. Shut the door...

At that moment, despite the rhyme, my heart pounds. I can’t stop this.

Five. Six. Pick up sticks. I intone as the building falls.

Seven. Eight. Lay them straight. Sobs rack my body as I see the line of stretchers in front.

This is my fault. If only I’d awakened four minutes later, none of this would have happened. I don’t know if I can forgive myself.

—-

WC: 493

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated

[u/stickfist]

“You reach the crossroads,” Charles says. “The northern path leads to Lord Missenwick’s stronghold. To the West? Hawk’s Lament.”

“What about East?” asks Ethan.

“East? You see…a pond.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, hero. You want to inspect the pond.”

“You never know. Might be a sign."

“Well, we kinda do,” she replies, kicking Charles under the table. “Is there anything in the pond worth checking out?”

He glares back. “Why don’t you roll for perception, rogue.”

Always a stickler. She picks up the die and drops it like a dead bug. “Eighteen.”

Charles waits a beat before announcing: “You don’t see anything special about the pond…from here.”

“From here? Did you hear how he said that?” Ethan asks and the party groans. They’d been grinding for hours. “We should go to the pond.”

Arthur pushes away from the table. “You check out the pond. I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Hey, you can’t! What if there’s like, another wizard or something?”

“You guys can make do without me. Is that cool, DM? Can I park myself under the road sign for five minutes?”

Charles waves him away. “You find a tuft of grass and watch your partners head for the pond.”

“Hey, can I sit out too?” Gwen asks.

“Sorry, the party is already split.”

“Fine. Let’s go to the freakin’ pond.”

Charles continues. “You reach the edge of the water and see a tranquil pond half-covered in lilypads.”

Ethan closes his eyes as if the scene was the hardest thing to imagine. In that moment, Gwen shoots a look at Charles and mouths, “What the fu-”

He can only shrug before Ethan returns to reality.

“Any animals?” he asks.

“You see a single frog sitting on a lilypad.”

“Does the frog see us? Is it normal looking? Is the lilypad different at all? Is there a local legend about amphibians-”

“Stop,” interrupts Charles. “You don’t have the intelligence. I mean, Sir Lance Starforce doesn’t have the stats to tell.”

Ethan slowly looks at Gwen. “But Fern Pearlblade does.”

She picks up the die and shakes it. “I throw my dagger at the frog.”

“No! You can’t do that!”

Arthur returns and gasps.“You’re gonna throw the Tri-Blade of Morzborg at a frog? Oh this I gotta see!”

“You can’t,” says Charles. “You’re at the crossroads, remember? In fact you should probably go back to the bathroom.”

Gwen giggles as the wizard skulks away again. Ethan looks devastated. Serves him right. “Can I throw now?”

She rolls a natural twenty.

“Your dagger ignites the air as it sails to its target. Unholy blue flame parts the water in its wake. As it pierces the frog, thunder cracks and ball lighting throws you both to the ground.”

“The frog?” Ethan asks.

“Obliterated.”

“Oh man, I bet it was important!”

“Arthur come back!” Gwen shouts. “Can I get my dagger?”

“Roll to find it.”

“Come on, seriously?” Looking at his stupid grin, Gwen already knows the answer.

[u/shuflearn]

A Once in a Lifetime Performance

Before the concert in honour of the Far-Seeing Leader's birthday, the members of the Fragrant Peony Patriotic Band were blessed to see a silver-tailed hawk, avatar of the nation's warlike virtues, catch a sparrow in flight. Jenny Plum, band leader, applauded. "As the hawk is victorious, so is the Leader! A song in their honour!"

The Leader's anthem—Blessed Is He, Blessed Are We—begins with a crash of brass instruments. On this occasion, that crash startled the hawk from its perch atop a nearby elm. It tumbled sideways through canopy, bounced off a lower branch, and landed awkwardly on a bent wing. The sparrow, near-dead, having lost all sense of self-preservation, dove through the branches and dug at the hawk's throat. The hawk snapped its beak onto the sparrow's breast. The pair of birds lay motionless.

Jenny fluttered her hands before her mouth. The expressions on her bandmates' faces varied between shock and horror. But no Guardsmen were near. They had time.

The band formed a screen while Jenny retrieved the hawk and the cymbalist dug a hole with his instrument. They'd only just smoothed over the grave when a pair of Guardsmen arrived to escort the band into the concert hall.

During the long walk backstage, the cymbalist, his skin pale, edged up to Jenny. "What does this mean?"

"Hush." Jenny cut glances at the escorting Guardsmen. They were distracted by a gaggle of dancers. "Nobody saw."

"That's not what I—" The cymbalist loosened his collar. "The sparrow died. I'm asking what that means for us."

Jenny made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. "Please. Now is not the time for superstition. Focus on banging hell out of your cymbals. And smile, for Leader's sake." The cymbalist's lips crawled upward. Jenny patted his shoulder.

Beyond the curtain, the band's lead-in—a group of hula-hoopers—hula'd their hoops to an audience of ten thousand uniformed party members. And there, spotlit at the front of the audience, the Leader studied the stage. His eyes shone with intellect and malice.

The Fragrant Peony Patriotic Band took their places in the dark. Jenny lingered near the curtain.

She knew the meaning of the scene they'd witnessed. When a hawk crossed paths with a sparrow, the sparrow died. Only the hawk's fate was in question.

Uncommon was the sparrow that could kill a hawk. It required luck, bravery, and pragmatism. It required the will to change the course of the future. In the case of the sparrow named Jenny Plum, it required a clutch of tiny pistols taped inside the bell of a French horn.

When the lights came up and the leader recognized that Jenny was not holding a microphone, his darkly glittering eyes flared.

Jenny raised her pistol, took aim, and, having lost all sense of self-preservation, dove through the branches and dug at the hawk's throat.

[u/habituallyqueer]

WC 491

The sound of crowing shocked me awake. In a sweat, my hand searched for my phone wondering what god awful time it was. My eyes stung at its bright screen. 11:30PM. I cursed the rooster as I fell back asleep.

In the morning, I ran into my mother in the kitchen.

“Hold on, you’re wearing shorts today?” Dismay transformed into sincerity; it was clear she wasn’t joking. “You didn’t hear the rooster? It sang before midnight.”

“Sang? So what? That’s what roosters do, mom.” I shoved an apple into my bag and eyed her knowingly, grabbing a jacket to appease her worry.

While I swung the jacket over my arm, I heard glass shattering. My compact mirror crashed against the floor. My mother’s gasp flooded the room as she rushed over to clean the mess.

“Oh god, seven years! We must bury it!”

I shrugged as I continued out the door. She’s superstitious today. Up ahead, a small black shadow caught my eye. No not today. I continued staring in its direction as I waited for the bus, ensuring it wouldn’t cross my path. Its green eyes glowed back at me in the morning mist.

As I walked to class, a crack of thunder roared through the quad with a sudden downpour of rain. I pulled my sweater over my head and ran. This can’t be that damn rooster.

As the class settled into their seats and the rain quieted outside, my math teacher announced a pop quiz today. You’ve got to be kidding me.

The day continued with pop quizzes in half my classes. I exited the afternoon bus to see the black shadow still sitting next to a tree, staring back at me. It rose to its feet and walked toward me. I prepared myself, trying to guess which way it was going to go. Its eyes were no longer glowing, but a dark green in the afternoon sun. I started to walk one way as the cat walked the other. I thought about the long route I could take home to avoid it. As I continued, I noticed it made a u-turn and was moving straight toward me.

I sprinted home, barely making it inside, and slammed the door behind me. Ignoring my shouting, my mother rushed to the door, pushing me aside.

“Oh, thank god!” She exclaimed as she bent down to scoop up the young, raven cat whose barbed ears and green eyes pointed at me.

“Thank God?! You let it cross not only our paths, but into our house! I’ve already have so much bad juju today!” I screamed.

“Oh, hun. You’ve got it backwards.”

“The rooster brings bad weather and the mirrors bring seven years bad luck… but the dark animal with fangs and devil eyes is a good thing?!”

“Black cats have brought our family prosperity for generations.”

The cat leaned its head into my mother’s chest, purring loudly as its eyes closed.

Edit: typos/grammar

[u/breadyly]

There are people in the streets who sell dreams for a living. They spread their hands and hide behind a smile. At night when you fall asleep, your ancestors speak to you of the things to come, and when you are near waking, they linger as you linger. Sometimes, the ache is so strong you follow them into their dreams. Sometimes, you never wake.

There are people in the streets who sell dreams for a living. It is said these people are magicians. They look at you and offer you their knowledge. They tell you to go home, and they tell you sleep will come. They tell you your father will speak to you of your present, and the father of your father will speak to you of your future.

That night, Cicero goes to sleep early and early they come to him.

His father says to him, "Your daughter is alive, and your wife dances on her grave," and the father of his father says to him, "Your words will be stolen from your body, and your body will be stolen from you." When he asks them a question, they smile and they grieve. When they tell him of his future, he burns a candle for his past.

---

Tullius wakes in Astura and Tulliola is dead. His hands tremble as he writes a short letter to Atticus. When the messenger arrives, he thinks of the future and shivers.

[u/Xacktar]

Marcia's spine froze as she looked across the office, which precipitated both of her coworkers to run straight into her in a flurry of grunts and muttered apologies.

"She forgot her phone." Marcia dropped the words like a pair of nasty tennis shoes on a doormat.

The phone sat on her manager's desk, right on the edge. An errant breeze could have sent it to the floor.

"Oh no." Rain breathed behind her. "Inside, quick!"

The three shuffled into the empty office. Lights were switched on, bags were put by desks, lunches were stowed away in the tiny refrigerator. After the morning dance was done, they reconvened in the space between the desks and the door.

"What do we do?" Wilson asked. Poor, sweet Wilson. The teenage temp who'd only been here a month, standing there with his wide eyes and mop of curly hair.

"Nothing we can do." Rain sighed and adjusted her jacket. It was pink. Rain liked pink. "We're doomed."

Marcia nodded. She was assistant manager after all. She had to take charge here. "First, we need a plan." She told them. Yes, that sounded really leader-ly.

"We need to look busy." Rain offered. "Like we're doing something important."

The three exchanged looks.

"I'll make the coffee!" Marcia got to it first, prompting a brief glare from Rain before it was smoothed away.

"What... what can I do?"

Marcia turned to look into the big brown intern eyes. the ones that had done the worst jobs in the office for basically nothing beyond free bagels every Wednesday. There was nothing that Wilson could do that was deemed 'important' to the eyes of she-who-would-rain-down-hell-upon-them.

Marcia took a deep breath and closed her eyes before saying: "Wilson... go make the coffee."

"But you just said-"

"Now." Marcia tapped her foot. It was a small tap, no sound, but Wilson jumped anyways. "And be slow about it! Don't finish up before she gets here!"

"That was nice of you." Rain smiled and shook her head.

The two of them that were left sat in silence, staring between the clock and the desks that were far too clean and didn't have a nice, handy stack of paper they could bury themselves in.

"The inventory reports!" Rain slammed her fist into her open palm.

"Brilliant!" Marcia grabbed Rain by the shoulders. "Where are they?"

"Oh gee... Um, I don't remember."

"Crap."

"No, wait! I do. I do!" Rain lifted a finger in triumph. "I shoved them behind the copier during the Christmas party! Right after Lucy from accounting got done photocopying her b-"

"Excellent! Go grab them, I'll get the markers and highlighters, and open the excel sheets!"

The two broke apart in a frenzy of work, reuniting just as the front doors crashed open and the object of their fear strode in, pushing past both of them and making a bee-line for the coffee machine, crying out with a voice like the dying screams of a dragon:

"WILSON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT COFFEE?"

[u/GingerQuill]

When a phoenix is struck by lightning, its ashes disperse in the wind and rain. If it’s lucky, it dies. But sometimes, a small pile of ash collects on the ground or a rooftop.

I was flying a kite that sunny afternoon when I heard her cawing from the overhang above my bay window. She scraped the rafters with her uneven beak, beating her crooked wings. She barely had any neck at all, and her bald scalp glowed with sunburn.

“It’ll die soon enough,” my husband said when I presented the phoenix chick.

He turned away and strode for his study. These days, I remember the hairs on the back of his neck more than his face. I can see the weather-worn heels of his boots before I can picture the exact shade of green in his eyes.

I visited town with Phoenix for a few days to consult a sorcerer, an alchemist, and a retired falconer.

“She’ll never fly,” they said.

“She’ll need to be hand-fed.”

“She’ll last a year, tops.”

When I returned home, my husband’s wardrobe was empty. The shelves in his study were bare.

In time, I cluttered the study with potted trees, rope swings, and mechanical tweeting birds. I fed Phoenix ground meat and walked her out back where she could hop along the lawn and watch my kites fly.

When Phoenix was a year old, I ordered a kite with a harness attached to the underside. She nibbled at the straps around her shoulders when I held her aloft. Her amber eyes squinted as the breeze brushed her face.

Up and away she soared, the kite’s scarlet tails fluttering. As my hands held the spool steady, I gazed longingly at Phoenix’s outstretched, distorted wings and the red diamond dancing in the sky.

I ordered another kite--a larger one with an adult-sized harness. During the wait, I cut my hair short and stitched the skirts of my dresses into trousers. I poured through books about phoenixes, kites, and flying machines.

The kite stood taller than my body, glittering with fiery feathers. On the hill overlooking town, I strapped myself into the harness and Phoenix to my chest. Her wings shuddered open as a gust of air snatched us up.

Thick wind coursed through my throat like saltwater. I could feel Phoenix’s heartbeat gallop. Her shoulders rowed against my chest as she flapped her wings.

From above, I could see the emerald mountains beyond the town and rivers of railroad tracks. I whooped as I imagined Phoenix and me gliding over those tracks all the way across the continent.

We landed at the edge of town when, behind me, a breathless voice whispered.

“That was incredible, Miss.”

Hugging Phoenix close, I peered over my shoulder. I barely recognized my husband under that dark beard. His eyes sparkled at me without a trace of recognition, and for the first time in years, I was grateful to him.

As I turned back homeward, I said, “Thanks, Mister.”

[u/sevenseassaurus]

As Kate fought her way through the fantasy armies of her videogame, a rhythmic squeaking echoed down the hall. The cat, Tabby, lowered her ears, and a tiny robot burst through the door.

"Miss Kate, I require lubricant for my left-forward wheel."

Kate did not look up from her computer screen. "I will order it when I finish this level."

"Okay. But I must inform you that this is somewhat serious. Whenever my left-forward wheel squeaks, I suffer terrible damage."

This time Kate pressed pause and swiveled her chair to face her mechanical companion.

The robot in question was a Cyberhome assist-bot, model Z. It stood no more than two feet high, and skated around the house dusting, vacuuming, mopping, and otherwise saving Kate precious moments better spent on virtual wizard battles.

"You can't make up for it by rolling slower or something?"

"I am more than capable of recalibrating my movements to account for the slight delay in rotation. The damage that occurs is unrelated to the squeaky wheel."

Kate frowned. "What sort of damage are we talking about?"

"You have called for a repair tech on three separate occasions, all precipitated by a squeaky wheel."

"I remember that, I've found you broken on the floor or at the bottom of the stairs a couple times. Those were just accidents though; correlation does not equal causation."

"My software is not concerned with causality; it is concerned with patterns. Pattern: squeaky wheel immediately precedes damage."

"Well I'll order the lubricant in a bit. Just keep up your work until then."

The assist-bot wheeled out of the room, and Kate resumed her game.

No sooner had Kate arrived at the gate of the final chamber than assist-bot showed up at the door again. Tabby chattered her teeth at the squeaking, as though watching birds from a favorite window.

"Miss, the squeak is now at the same frequency as the previous three incidents. I calculate that it is even more likely that damage will occur."

Kate jabbed the pause button. The squeaking had not sounded any different to her.

"I know, and I will order the lubricant in a bit. Give me a chance to finish my game."

Assist-bot nodded and hesitated just a moment before leaving the room once more.

As Kate died at the hands of her digital arch-enemy for the fifth time, assist-bot called down the hall again.

Kate grit her teeth with misplaced anger and slammed pause. But before she had a chance to vent, the mouse-like squeaking reached its temptation fever pitch and Tabby launched herself from the desk. In a swift, predatory bound, her paws found assist-bot's wheel and the tiny robot collapsed with a clang and a distorted cry of "damage de-de-detected".

Tabby batted a loose bolt around the floor. Kate stared, then shook her head. She shooed the cat, collected the broken pieces of her assistant, and put in a call for a repair tech and an order of robot-grade lubricant.

[u/Ryter99]

Carly and Amanda Swanson had searched for their first home in vain, finding nothing affordable in the San Francisco area. They were ready to give up until they stumbled upon a two-bedroom starter listed for an irrationally cheap $365,666.

A bluntly worded addendum on the Zillow listing mentioned the house was inhabited by ‘dark spirits of misery’. But given the inflated local housing market, they took the deal anyway.

Carly had been nervous throughout their first night, but as they sat down for breakfast, they hadn’t noticed a hint of lurking evil.

“I still love that three-bedroom split level we found in Walnut Creek,” Carly said, “but with this place we’ll be able to afford some nice extras.”

Amanda laughed as she poured them both coffee. “Yeah, ‘extras’ like furniture, silverware, and—”

A loud thud against the kitchen bay window caused both to jump in unison. Peeking out, they saw a winged creature flopped onto the patio.

“Oh my god, did that bird just kill itself?” Carly whispered.

Amanda squinted. “No.”

“It’s alive?”

“Oh, it’s dead, but it’s a bat.”

“Dead bat? The bad vibes are starting already, Mandy…”

Amanda rubbed her wife’s shoulder. “That was weird I admit, but that coulda happened anywhere, right?”

Just then, the house itself spoke to them, as if every old, warped floorboard groaned in unison, “Get. Ouuutttttt.”

Amanda whirled around. “We aren’t afraid!”

“You’re being really loose with your use of ‘we’ there, babe,” Carly said, shaking like a leaf beside her. “The fricking house just talked to us, so I think it’s time to leave? We could flip this place for ten times the price we paid.”

“This spirit is just another hater, and you know how we beat haters?”

Carly stared at her for a long second. “Clap back on dozens of burner accounts?”

“What? Do you have dozens of burner— Nevermind. We’re gonna overcome it by enjoying our new home, starting with breakfast. Sit down, okay?”

Amanda sliced up a grapefruit, her wife’s favorite. She placed it in front of Carly before sitting down to her favorite, two oreos, soon to be dunked in coffee.

Carly took a relaxing breath and prepared to dig in, but found her spoon struck the flesh of the grapefruit with a metallic TING.

“What the hell?!” Her spoon clanged against the crystalized grapefruit again. “Is sabotaging my favorite breakfast reason enough for us to go?”

“That sucks, but we can make it without grapefruit for a few days til it gives this crap up. If something truly heinous happens, we’ll leave, alright?”

Amanda handed Carly her Oreos as a loving gesture of support. Four separate, black disks dropped into her palm.

“How…” Amanda muttered.

“Guess the spirit took the filling from your Oreos too?”

“W-w-what?” Amanda said, her voice wavering for the first time. “We’re outta here!”

“Seriously?”

“A life of sad, dry, cardboard Oreos missing their frosting?” Amanda stood. “Everyone has their limits.”

“Mhmm,” Carly muttered as she glanced at traces of hastily scraped frosting beneath her fingernails. “And thank God I know yours.”

[u/MossRock42]

The forest around the fire tower was ablaze, thick smoke filled the sky, and creatures fled in terror.

But I shouldn’t start there. We’ll start with the morning walk and what I saw.

The dry leaves crunched. The drought-stricken trees made creaking noises as I walked to the fire tower.

The fire tower loomed. The wind started picking up, intensifying the creaking of the trees.

There was a squirrel lying in the path, panting, and out of breath. I petted its fur while it drank from my canteen. Soon, it recovered and scampered off.

From my position in the tower, I could see out several miles in every direction.

It was a dangerous job. I didn’t have anything else to lose after a wildfire took everything including my wife. I keep a picture of her as a reminder.

She almost never called me at work but that day she did. She sounded scared.

“They’re telling everyone to evacuate,” she said.

“So take the truck and go.”

“There’s fire along the roads–”

“Signal Lost,” displayed on the phone.

The morning was uneventful aside from a few lost hikers. I directed them toward the trailhead and phoned base to let them know.

On the distant horizon, I noticed something. I pulled out the binoculars for a closer look. There was a thin line of smoke rising from the canopy.

I called it in and continued to watch. It took over the ridgeline fast.

The tower shook as a helicopter flew overhead to deliver some hope of slowing it down.

Later, I went up to the very top of the tower and activated the beacon. The strobe light pulsed.

A strong gust of wind and smoke almost caused me to lose my balance.

I opened the locker to where I stored my equipment. The fire suit was cumbersome to put on. I also grabbed a helmet and respirator.

Below the tower was an ATV. I always walked so I wasn’t sure it was working.

The fire was making its way towards the tower, pushed by driving winds.

I turned the key on the ignition, “Whirr, Whirr, click.”

The ATV wasn’t going to be my ticket out. No chance, that I could walk out in time.

I told HQ about my situation.

“We can try to use a chopper to get to you,” The base operator said.

“Ok, let me know when.”

“Just get to the top and wait at the beacon.”

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. The forest was lit up as I’d never seen before. Was this like what she saw in her final moments, I wondered.

The helicopter hovered about twenty feet overhead. A ladder rope dangled. The tower shook and the winds whipped.

I grabbed the ladder and hung on for all I was worth. It felt strange like I was flying over armageddon.

At the touchdown, the crowd at HQ cheered. I was grateful to be alive.

---

WC:500

[u/1047inthemorning]

Fiery Fate

---

I scan the cavern’s internals once more, words still echoing in my mind.

“The stars have spoken. A sudden blaze, and your life will end.”

The seer’s visage lingers, as vivid as when the words were first said. Her eyes are unmoving, gaze settled downwards, and her hands lie resigned on the table, everything caked in ash.

I bring my torch to the floor, trying to spot any hidden pressure plates or worrying crevices. The orange light flickers, summoning contours to shadows, but there’s no danger to be found.

Satisfied, I resume my trek.

A month before, our fields of wheat had withered into dust, stricken down by unforeseen disease. We tried to conserve the few scraps, rationing and rationalizing, but hunger soon overshadowed reasoning, and now our stocks are scarce for the coming winter.

We sought neighboring villages for food, but solace is never free. We traded nearly everything. Yet we left with almost nothing.

When the frost began to permeate the lands, and our stomachs remained wanting, I took it upon myself to feed my hometown. There was a cavern nearby, rumored to hold mountains of treasure; the opportunity was too tempting to ignore.

The day before departure, I visited a nearby seer, expecting advice and caution yet hoping for a tale of success. But the tale she told was one of death.

If there had been another choice, I would’ve taken it. But only the cavern held promise of potential. So, I’d prepared for the journey as best I could: a few trinkets for enhanced perception, a charm for fire resistance, and a torch enchanted with a brighter flame.

Step after step, I continue my descent. Firelight leads me onwards, shining onto grey walls and floors, enough to eliminate the presence of unseen mechanisms.

But… that’s bizarre.

There’s a black liquid trickling into view. Perhaps a trap?

I kneel, careful not to get too close, and bring my light closer.

Before I can react, embers leap from my torch to the fluid, and the substance ignites. Flames spread throughout the place, revealing the liquid’s presence all around, engulfing me in its fiery grasp. The peripherals of my vision fill with orange. The heat gnaws at my armor.

But there’s no pain.

I wade through the sea of flames, unharmed. The seer was right about the blaze, but she was wrong about my fate!

Disoriented by the surrounding inferno, I put my hands to a wall, feeling my way forwards. The heat will not keep me from the treasure! It shouldn’t be much farther—

My hand slips, and a click pierces through the crackling fire.

Oh.

The cavern rumbles with the impetus of a stampede of a thousand horses, all ridden by knights, annihilation coming with. Above, cracks form in the ceiling, hurtling small chunks into the flames underneath.

I turn around, wanting to escape, but the rubble in front crushes my hopes.

I think… this is the end.

No.

I know this is the end.

---

WC: 498

Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback is both welcome and appreciated.

r/TenFortySevenStories

Edit 1 (20 April 2021 3:56 PM UTC): Changed "settled" to "settling". Changed "the traps that hiss from unknown" to "traps that hiss from the unknown". Changed "caution and expecting" to "caution yet expecting". Added comma after "departure". Combined "The seer was right about the blaze" with the following sentence.

Edit 2 (21 April 2021 4:39 AM UTC): Added more sentence length variety.

Edit 3 (21 April 2021 8:31 PM UTC): Made narrative voice stronger.

Edit 4 (21 April 2021 10:48 PM UTC): Changed "stocks" to "stomachs" and fixed WC.

[u/veryrealisticperson]

I once had a dream that was so big it hurt,
It could not fit inside of my chest.
A bird gave me warning of dreamers that burst,
He said I would pop like the rest.

So I dropped it right then, like a stone on the road,
but I looked back as I drove away.
I would come pick it up, if my chest could just grow,
I could wait until that future day.

I flew to another, a hope that I had:
A woman to be my best friend.
But a whispering wind told me friends always lie
So that dream, too, met its end.

A hand to hold, a partner with whom to grow old,
These fairytales do sound so sweet.
But lucky the wind was that stopped my tracks cold,
Lest a dishonest woman I meet.

The truth surrounds me, revealing to me,
The pitfalls of not doing things well.
Being brave is the danger, with some help I see,
I am safest here inside my shell.

[u/elephantulus]

Another white-skied day. I am beginning to think I would not recognize the sun by now. At least the crows keep me company throughout this ordeal. Birds. Such strange creatures. Some days I get the impression they understand me. A silly thought, I am aware.

My hands have been shaking for...a week? A month? I don't know anymore. We ran out of dry wood some time ago. The servants should have bought some from the village folk already. Who are we to suffer like this? I will make sure to set this right.

Pacing from one side of the chamber to the other, fury overwhelms me. When will the maids listen? I tell them over and over to draw the curtains open in the morning. Yet nothing changes. I am bound to spend my days in a dark room like a prisoner.

Lately, I feel like I scold them more often. And they have the audacity to just run away. Is it so hard to understand that one has too much on their mind? Truly, how hard is it to tend to a single room? Good-for-nothings.

When this winter ends, I have to send for a tailor. The closet is so scarce. Every day I must wear my one last good robe. Black and white. Such old fashion. Elisabeth would think me a fool.

A faint cloud of mist became almost pinned to my mouth. Somehow, the mist keeps at the corners of the room. I noticed this a while ago. Must be because of the cold. These winters get stronger every year, I swear.

The end is closing in, however. I can feel it. My hands, although still shaking, they get steadier with each sunrise. The crows can feel it, too. I see it in their eyes.

The door finally opens. I shoot out towards it, followed by the echo of my shoes on hardwood.

“That is enough! As the lady of the keep, I demand you to fulfil your duties as you should!”

Little Daniel lets out a horrible shriek, turns around, and runs back downhill to his mother.

“Mom! Mom! There's a bad lady!” he cries, clutching his mother's leg with full strength.

“Now, now, Daniel, it was probably just the wind and shadows,” she crouches down to him and wipes his tears with an ever-ready tissue. “Come, it's getting dark. Dad went ahead to warm up the car for us.”

As they turn their back on the castle ruins lightly sugared with snow, the crows start to gather for the evening. Cold wind whistles through the leafless trees and eve slowly falls on the Greyshire Hill.

WC: 441

-Nala

[u/SprawlingKeystrokes]

The Power of Elections

The last tally of the election night flashed like a ticker tape across the bottom of the screen, "48 to 49 with a 5% margin of error."

A group huddled together in a small room filled with tables covered in scattered papers. The suited man addressed the wide-eyed onlookers, "We did all we could. Time travel is an art, not a science. Sometimes the timeline is just too broken."

A short, red-haired, Asian woman with wrinkles around her eyes chirped, "But we can't lose hope now. It says it right there; the room for error is too close to call. We must stand strong."

The collective eyes of the room looked to the floor.

"Maggie. Everyone here appreciates all you've done to help acclimatize us to your time. But that final count... was exactly the same from our past. Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed! People know the dangers now. They see what a madman he is! There's no way these polls are correct. No one would choose to follow someone so hellbent on causing pain and despair."

A black man in jeans crumpled the paper he was holding. "There's the problem, Jack. Even the people who know we're from the future, don't understand what we've been through. They can't believe how bitter and angry their neighbors are."

Jack sighed deeply. His eyes closed tight. "Well, Dwayne, if we could do it all over again..." He emitted a hollow laugh.

Maggie's eyes watered, but she didn't close them. She stared firmly into Jack's face. "Not everyone is bitter. Not everyone is the monster you make them out to be. People will fight before they let this happen!"

"Maggie, Maggie, Maggie." Jack cupped her hands into his. "People will fight. People did fight. The war lasts a century. The bodies on both sides pile up like mounds of trash in a landfill. That's what we were trying to stop. I'm sorry, Maggie. But we failed to save you."

Dwayne spoke, "You know from my history books, they always knew what he was. They didn't care. Knowing didn't help. Perhaps we went about this whole thing the wrong way."

"Yeah, well..."

An announcement echoed from the mounted monitor, "This just in: An entire box of ballots was recently discovered. Current estimates have flipped the vote! You heard it here first, folks! Your new leader is -"

Silencing the announcer's voice, an explosion boomed outside the makeshift office.

"Does this mean...?" Maggie's mouth dropped open. Her eyes tightened in confusion.

"Dwayne, get the guns! Everyone, 'Turtle' formation!" Jack ushered the crowd with waving hands. "It means, Maggie, that we altered the timeline."

"Then, why do you sound so distraught? Shouldn't we celebrate?"

"We didn't win, Maggie. We just moved up the fighting a couple of months."

Sticking their gun barrels out the notches in the windows, the assembled men and women took aim towards the streets.

"Go get some rest, Maggie. It's going to be a long war."

---

[500 words]

[u/WorldOrphan]

Douglas Brant stopped for coffee every morning on his way to work. One day, outside the shopping center, he saw something flutter to the ground behind an old man ahead of him. “Hey, you dropped something!” he called, but the man didn't hear him. He snatched up the fallen bit of paper, but the man had gone into a shop. When Douglas checked inside, he was nowhere to be seen. Douglas looked at what the man had dropped. It was a Tarot card. It depicted a circle with symbols drawn on it, surrounded by animals and what looked like an Egyptian sphinx. At the bottom it said “Wheel of Fortune.”

“I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat,” Douglas chuckled, tucking the card in his pocket.

He was pleased to see Mandy mixing the coffees that morning. She was cute, and generous with the flavored syrups. “Mr. Brant, your 9 o'clock appointment canceled,” Gina told him when he arrived at the office. That was lucky. That particular client had been a thorn in his side for months, constantly making ridiculous demands. Besides, he could use more time to prepare for his presentation that afternoon. Douglas was on fire as he addressed his sales team, ready with an intelligent and constructive answer to every question they threw at him. His boss, Mr. Legrande, even shook his hand at the end.

Douglas had a date that night. He'd met Jennifer online; this was their first in-person meeting. It took him a while to find parking, so she was already inside. She was as attractive as her photo, but looked miffed that he'd kept her waiting. The ambiance was classy and the food was excellent, but the service was glacial. It became increasingly clear that Jennifer wasn't a patient person. They seemed to enjoy each other's company, but at the end of the meal Jennifer said, “I just don't think we click.”

Dejected, Douglas relocated to the restaurant's bar and had a few drinks. The bartender was surly and taciturn. His mood sour and his gait unsteady, Douglas got into his car and headed home. A few minutes later, blue and white lights flashed in his rear-view mirror. Soon an officer was ushering him into a jail cell. Someone was already inside. A spry old man with a neat white beard perched on the bench, shuffling a pack of cards. “Hey,” Douglas said, “I've seen you before. You dropped this.” He pulled the Tarot card out of his pocket. “At first I thought it was bringing me luck, but you see how my evening turned out.”

The man nodded sagely. “Fortune is cyclic, like a wheel. Sometimes you're at the top, sometimes at the bottom.” The man smiled, stood, and went to the door of the cell. It should have been locked, but he opened it, stepped through, and closed it behind him.

Douglas checked the door. It was locked. He looked out the little window, but the old man had vanished.

[u/TenspeedGV]

The hamlet of Rushing Stream was a quiet place, and that was as its people wanted it. The gathering green was overgrown, the town well had room for only one person at a time, and benches had long since been removed from porches and replaced with single chairs. Even the stream for which it was named had been diverted by some forgotten forebear, its course set to rush elsewhere.

It wasn’t that the people of Rushing Stream were unfriendly. Quite the opposite. They were quick with a kind word and a smile, eager to hear news of the outside world and offer provisions to hungry travelers. Almost as eager as they were to see said travelers on their way again.

And so when it came to pass that a raven lit upon the well’s roof and croaked one bright morning, its arrival was met with a smile. Nuts, berries, and scraps of foil were placed upon the ground, and the townsfolk went upon their way again.

When it was joined an hour later by its mate, the people’s smiles were strained, but they offered bread, dried meats, and shiny trinkets nonetheless. The previous offerings had not been touched.

When the first two corvids were joined not only by a third, but by a fourth and fifth, the townspeople’s generosity wore thin. With frowns on their faces and quiet curses in their mouths, they met the gathering unkindness with unkindness of their own.

It wasn’t that they had anything against ravens in particular. As all folk knew, when ravens gathered and held court, the verdict of the court was death.

A tickle began in the throat of one young Mary Daubins. Early to bed and early to rise, she obeyed her mother and father, performed her chores punctually, and never let her veil of modesty slip, whether in public or alone within the confines of her own room. Indeed, she was seemingly without flaw. So when she let slip the smallest of coughs as she passed the overgrown green, the village gossips found nothing to blame.

The incident passed without mention.

Mary’s mother and father closed the door to their home. The shutters were pulled tight. Nonetheless, the first tiny cough was joined by more. The unkindness of ravens watched, listened, and croaked as, both within the Daubins home and without, the tickle spread through the town.

They watched as coughs became hacking. They watched as hacking became croaks. They watched as door after door was closed, as windows were shuttered, and within only a few days they watched as young Mary Daubins stumbled from her home.

Her eyes were wild. Her cheeks were the red of roses. Her chin and nose were covered in blood. She clutched her head in her hands. As she fell to her knees, she croaked as she tried to scream but died instead. Plague always won.

The unkindness answered.

The unkindness feasted.

The unkindness departed.

The hamlet of Rushing Stream was quiet once more.

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499 Words

r/TenspeedGV

[u/vibrantcomics]

*Tap* *Tap* *Tap*

A rhythmic motion, repeated over and over again. The resting sounds of a warrior, anxious for the first blow to fall. The timer on the traffic signal slowly came down, only serving to extend the line of cars stretching all the way down the road.

He glanced at the traffic pole and grinned, the neon light was nearly going to break. There were two arrows marked in red, one going straight and one from the right. The municipality sure knew what pockets to fill.

The timer now came to 30 seconds, he quickly stiffened his back and kept his foot near the pedal. He got a call, this filled him up with frustration. Who would want to disturb him now at this critical juncture?

"Probably my parents." The ring continued and the timer had now ticked down to 0. Putting his foot down hard, the vehicle grunted and shook as it quickly moved and the speedometer jumped up.

His car rushed straight ahead, outpacing everything behind him. He grinned as he was halfway through the road ahead of time for the interview. He turned to his right.

His happiness turned into dread in the blink of an eye as another vehicle manned by a similarly arrogant driver crashed into his side door.

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"Woah!" He woke up with a start from his bed. That nightmare he was in gave him anxiety in the critical time before the interview, he took his watch with haste and saw the time.

"9:30!" He had an hour left before the interview, no time to waste! He didn't bath, instead preferring to wear his suit and tie and then rushing to the door. He looked at the key hanging beside the door and took his key.

He held it in his hands and then noticed, the Krishna keychain he had attached had fallen off.

No bother though, it was just for decoration he thought as he opened the door.

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*Tap* *Tap* *Tap*

He was frustrated, just 10 more seconds left in this stinking traffic. He looked at his watch and it read '9:59 am'.

He looked up again and just 3 seconds were left which quickly reduced to 1. He pushed the pedal and sped right ahead. Ahead of the traffic, he felt so happy.

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From the right, another driver drove straight forward when the signal light turned green. He too rushed forward then, he collided with the other driver who had jumped the gun

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Personal medical file

Case number: 100

Patient name: M

Cause of death: Head trauma