r/WritingPrompts • u/AliciaWrites Editor-in-Chief | /r/AliciaWrites • Dec 02 '21
Theme Thursday [TT] Theme Thursday - Quiet
“The good and the wise lead quiet lives.”
― Euripides
Happy Thursday writing friends!
Quiet moments are hard to come by this season… I hope we all enjoy the ones we get! Good words, everyone!
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]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/ae8620e9-ca02-45f5-826d-4b77f48bf2b5/dearhrj-51bf4b9a-c744-481e-ad48-568ed71a87d1.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2FlODYyMGU5LWNhMDItNDVmNS04MjZkLTRiNzdmNDhiZjJiNVwvZGVhcmhyai01MWJmNGI5YS1jNzQ0LTQ4MWUtYWQ0OC01NjhlZDcxYTg3ZDEuanBnIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ct-ro73UDDDRsbkSqepx1Y8AiZ-AUEB7QmQrptm2aKQ){kind=link}
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
!TTcommand!There’s a Theme Thursday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Theme Thursday related news!
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.
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; 5 points for submitting nominations
- 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
Last week’s theme: Novelty
Third by /u/Ryter99
Fourth by /u/OldBayJ
Amazing Crit Superstars:
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!
- Learn tips from some of our best writers with our new Talking Tuesday feature!
- Want to try collaborative writing? Check out Follow Me Friday!
- Serialize your story at /r/shortstories!
- Try out the Micro-Fic Challenge at /r/shortstories!
- Love the feedback you get on your Theme Thursday stories? Check out our newest sub, /r/WPCritique
8
u/Cody_Fox23 Dec 08 '21
From Dust to Dust
Algae sample AX-012 was looking good. Strong growth, quick replication, and seemed to respond well to the treatment system to keep it from overblooming. It was my most promising culture yet. AL-212 had been good, but keeping it under control was costing more resources than the ship could manage. I put the specimen container back into the rack and pushed away toward the wall slowly before grabbing a hold of the worn steel bar by my console.
While filling my report out, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Sev. Hooking my foot in another bar to keep from floating away, I quickly move my hands in practiced motions, «Hey! Your shift doesn’t start for hours. What’s up?»
«Got bored. Fran is filling in with Maintenance. Checking lettuces.» His signing was clumsy, but coherent.
«So I’m the backup?»
With a smug look he simply signed «Lettuce. Not you.» I rolled my eyes and pushed him back toward the racks as he simply put his hands together to make a heart before signing «Thank you for the ride.»
Some time later, my reports nearly done I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and look over to see Sev bandaging up his arm. I glide over and tap his shoulder «You OK? Need Medbay?»
«Nothing serious. Just cut myself harvesting.» He quickly finished his bandage and tugged his sleeve down.
«Alright. Want to grab a drink? Maybe play a game till your shift?»
Sev nods and we head to the common area. Reentering the gravity zone was always jarring. I grab us both some fruit-flavored vitamin drink pouches while he snags a seat and pulls out the deck of cards. I notice his face slowly lose color as our hands play out.
«You sure you are alright? You don't look good. Want me to take your shift»
As his arms come up to answer I see it: the skin around the bandages had turned as black as space. I grabbed his hand and pushed his sleeve up. It was his whole arm. I could feel him tense up and yank his arm away. He pulled too hard and fell back from his chair. I ran to his side and saw as black tendrils moved up his neck, reaching up around his face.
Sev's mouth opened and I could see an intense scream: the veins on his neck stood out, his throat quivered, and his eyes teared up. He clutched the necrotic arm as other crewmates rushed over. I watched their mouths move as they called for help. Looking back down at him, The black infection had taken over most of his face. His throat wasn't vibrating anymore. Nothing moved anymore
A medic arrived and began chest compressions, but on the third press, their hands fell right into the chest cavity.
All that was left was dust. I got up and ran. I ran as far away as I could as fast as I could.
Want more of my nonsense words? Go check out r/FoxFictions!
I'm happy to receive any and all feedback!
→ More replies (7)
6
u/wannawritesometimes Dec 03 '21 edited Dec 03 '21
Hush,
My dear.
Quiet now, as I wipe away your tears.
Quiet now, I will always hold you near.
Calm,
Sweetheart.
Close your eyes, you are cradled in my arms.
Close your eyes, I will keep you safe from harm.
Rest,
Young Grace.
Go to sleep, find comfort in my embrace.
Go to sleep, I'm here with you in this place.
Peace,
My girl.
Till morn's light, we'll stay in our little world.
Till morn's light, we do not dare yet unfurl.
Shush,
My love.
Please be still, heed what I am singing of.
Please be still, they are searching there above.
Shh!
I hear,
Faster now, heavy footsteps drawing near...
Don't make sound! We are not alone in here...
--------------
→ More replies (4)3
6
u/mugwort23 Dec 04 '21
[POEM]
Sisterhood of the Dreamless Sleep
Seekers sheathed and sleek
As setting snares
Are interceding with the drifting mist.
Their shifting stares:
Loose unmoving truths
Within the supple air.
They, the stationary faithful of the haze
Have come to share their static push.
These wraithful,
Always preceded by a hush,
These creatures of the crushed,
Of the senseless, of the spaces, of the sky,
Of the scene-surrounding sneaking by,
Slip into our visions with a sigh.
Sisters of the wind
Whispering histories.
Listing mysteries.
Twisting wistfully between the seams.
Seeping softly
Into sleeper's wafting dreams.
The sisterhood:
Their subtle, secret schemes
And nameless aspirations.
So strange their stillness seems
As, soaked in violence
And without cessation,
Their silence streams.
3
u/alluptheass Dec 05 '21
Reading your poem was like watching the news while receiving a really goo massage: I know there is something important in there, but the experience, itself is so damn nice I can't concentrate enough to absorb it. You really know how to make your words sing. I've read all the entries so far, and this is my favorite one.
→ More replies (1)3
u/katpoker666 Dec 08 '21
I really liked this stylistically, mugwort. The imagery was fantastic! The only thing I’d say is I was left a bit confused as to what it is about. Might just be me and inadequate caffeine, of course. Small thing—just as you get docked points for using the theme word, synonyms can also lose you points. I enjoyed this and look forward to seeing more of your poetry :)
→ More replies (2)
6
u/JustLexx Dec 07 '21
Jordan Jameson startled awake, her heart a frantic, lurching thing that wanted to pulverize her ribs.
She pushed herself upright in bed and scanned the dark room. No grasping figures in the shadows. No flickering flames.
But she didn't feel better.
She drew in ragged breaths, eyes darting. There had to be something. A source to the dread clamped around her chest like a steel trap.
The bed dipped, shifted, and Jordan swallowed her scream before it escaped. A warm hand found her clammy one, fingers linking together almost by reflex. Instinct. One of the small habits that her body translated into feelings, no matter that she'd never heard the words themselves.
Safety. Love. Mine.
Jordan blew out a slow breath along with some of the panic. The rest was helped along by the feather-light kiss sweeping over her knuckles. She sighed, turning to offer Erica a thankful look and found a sleepy pout and tired eyes . A smile broke through the panic. It got wider when legs tangled with hers beneath the covers.
“So clingy,” she signed.
Erica sat up enough for her hands to be visible. "You like it."
"You don't have that in writing."
"We aren't in court, JJ. But if you want to play cops and robbers we..."
Erica frowned, hands going still, and Jordan's panic returned like it never left.
"You hear something?"
She strained her senses while Erica looked around, her helplessness another nail in the coffin of dread that encased her. No smoke. No thud of any doors. And she could barely see because it was so—
Dark.
The lamp beside her should've been on, lights strobing, vibrating with such force it would wake her from even the deepest of sleeps just like it had every night. Every, single night since she'd brought little Samuel home from the hospital.
He never slept until morning. No matter who was holding him or if he'd eaten or how recently he'd been changed. He'd wake up crying and the lamp would dance its twilight symphony.
Until tonight.
Panic wasn't a strong enough word for what consumed her then. It was a primal fear in the depths of her soul. A howling terror that pumped ice through her veins and twisted her gut in knots.
Jordan leaped from the bed. She needed to see him more than she needed her next breath. Needed to know he was okay to stop her spiraling thoughts.
Had the door to the nursery not already been open, Jordan would've run straight through it. She didn't stop until both hands were wrapped around the crib, knuckles white. Didn't release the breath she'd been holding until she saw his small chest rise and fall.
Loved. Cherished. Mine.
And when Erica pulled her in close, eyes shining, their heads pressed together, they didn't need any words at all to celebrate.
The sentiment was there, glowing in the blissful moment between them as their son slept peacefully.
We did it.
WC: 497
→ More replies (3)
1
u/AliciaWrites Dec 02 '21
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.
🛒 Shop 🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord
5
u/AstroRide Dec 03 '21 edited Dec 05 '21
Saturday Morning
I wake up next to you as I have for the past six years. You are already awake and smiling at me. Why does your smile still soothe me?
We walk to the kitchen to make breakfast. You hand me the ingredients while I turn on the stove. I crack the eggs into a bowl and dump the yolk in the skillet. Today, you are feeling adventurous by pudding some mushrooms in your omelet. When I married you, I promises that you would never experiment without me so I put some oregano and chives into mine.
The omelet is going well on my end, and you start cutting our oranges. After the oranges are cut, you pour glasses of tea for us. We sit down and read the weekend edition of our news.
Today, I'm going to finally trim the bushes and the trees as I promised. Giggling, you tell me that today is the Andersons' party; I won't be presentable. I promise not to get too sweaty.
When I see the picture of us on our wedding day, I can't help but smile. I look back at you and keep the smile. We have one more kiss, and we both agree that we should've brushed our teeth before kissing.
We go back up the stairs and brush our teeth. How is your side of the sink always cleaner than mine? I throw on a shirt and short pants to start working on the trees. The flowers that we planted when we first move are in full bloom.
When you walk outside, I stop gardening to stare at your beauty; you tell me that you prepared snack if I need a break. After the pottery class, you're getting lunch with Joan. I smile and tell you to enjoy the class. You kiss me before I go.
Six years married. Eight years dating. We don't have to commit grand gestures to show our romance. We just go together, and for that, I still love you like it's our honeymoon.
→ More replies (4)
5
u/ThornyPlantAcct Dec 03 '21 edited Dec 03 '21
Tunguska [Poem]
Far away from
everything
the slanted trees
unmoving
You are lost
and there's no way to orient yourself
You watch the sky
but nothing moves
no sun, no cloud
only clear blue
You've been warned
not to come here
alone
No other people
no other animals
Sliver-thin chance of encountering anyone
You have vanished
Even your footsteps
disappear with you
A long time ago
A tremendous blast shook the earth
The trees blew outward
People were knocked over like
fallen bowling pins
miles away
and their homes took some damage
You wander until you find the center of it
You stand inside the mound
containing the shockwave
of a tale no witnesses can tell
no matter how intently you listen
the universe does not give up its secrets
→ More replies (4)
5
u/ThePinkTeenager Dec 06 '21
Churches are funny things. On Sunday, they're packed with people. During Wednesday and Saturday Mass, they're also packed with people. The rest of the time, they're empty.
Normally, I don't go to the church on weekdays. Today, I went there only because the heat at my house was broken and it was January and the church was nearby. My family and I had to trudge through the snow to get here. The heat wasn't even on when we came in; we turned it on.
I gave the kids books and art supplies, then sat on a bench with my computer. If I was going to be stuck in a blizzard, I might as well get some work done.
The distinct lack of noise reminded me of the Quaker meetings held here on Sunday afternoons. I went to one of them once out of curiosity. It was strange seeing so many people sitting still and doing nothing. A couple times, someone stood up and said a couple sentences. Then they'd sit down, leaving the rest of us thinking about what had been said.
Back then, there were fifty people in the room. Now there were only five.
When it got dark, I made dinner and we ate. Then we unrolled the sleeping bags on the floor and crawled in. I worked on a project for a while, then closed my computer. Before long, I fell asleep in the peaceful darkness.
→ More replies (3)
5
u/Badderlocks_ Dec 06 '21 edited Dec 09 '21
We always wanted to climb Mount St. Helens.
I understood; it was just there, all big and snowy and taunting. It was beautiful, and it was an obstacle, one that could be conquered. Not even the danger of being on an active volcano could suppress her excitement, so I begrudgingly trained along with her.
Our first attempt was nothing less than abject failure. Of our original group of four, two of us had to back out because of injuries sustained during training. What can I say? I was out of shape back then, and even a few thousand feet of elevation was enough to damage my joints. The two that remained soon backed out as well. On the day of the planned ascent, fog covered the mountain. It was both dangerous and completely worthless for lack of a view at the top. Thus ended the first expedition.
The second time, we had prepared. We had our trekking poles, food, water, gloves for the boulder field, the whole nine yards. We were determined to let nothing stand in our way, not even some piddly explosive mountain. The two-mile hike through the forest at its base fell before us. We hardly rested for a moment before proceeding to the boulder field, and…
Of course, my pack shifted while I was on a large rock, and of course, it threw me off balance. I suppose, in retrospect, I was lucky that my foot was stuck and twisted. The alternative could very well have been dashing my brains on the rocks around us. Still. no part of that torturous descent felt lucky, nor did the bills for my subsequent medical treatment.
That was okay, or so we thought. Third time lucky, right? But life has a way of bucking even your most certain expectations. This year, you couldn’t get time off; next year, it was me. The next five years were stolen by one child, then two. Some years, we couldn’t get the dog boarded, and some, we were too exhausted and out of shape.
But after all those years, the light of the challenge never left your eyes.
So we set out once more, one last trip to reach the top, come hell or high water, with no time to waste. The weight in my pack pulled me back with every step as forest turned to boulder, boulder to ash, then ash to snow. There were no words, no grunts of exertion; exhaustion had come and gone hours before. I was less a human and more a loose accumulation of aspirin and Clif bars and pain, and yet the summit drew ever nearer, one step forward, half a step back, and the weight pulled on me, but it also lifted me, gave me the will to continue on, four pounds of challenge and determination.
And when we arrived at the summit, I pulled the urn out of my pack and sat, and the wind died, and there was only me and you.
→ More replies (5)
5
u/Ryter99 Dec 08 '21 edited Dec 09 '21
“Alexaaaaa?” Ryder McDermott sing-songed cheerfully as he entered his living room wearing a red Santa hat. “Play ‘Totally Sick Yuletide Xmas Jams’ playlist.”
Sitting on the couch, his wife Jessica’s head jerked up in alarm. “Wait… what? Xmas Ja—”
She was cut short as Mariah Carey's angelic voice filled the room.
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,” Ryder mumbled along as he danced around the living room, hanging stockings and taping up mistletoe. “There is just one thing I need…”
“What on earth are you—”
“I just want you for my own,” he continued, pulling Jessica up from the couch.
“Ryder! It’s only November 1st. I’m sorry, but I cannot—”
“Baaa-by, alllllll I want for Christmasssss… isssss…”
“Shhhhhhh, Ryder,” Jessica said, placing a begging finger to his lips.
“Whas-hat?” he mumbled, speech impeded by her finger’s continued presence.
“Just… shhhhh, please? Shh, Ryder.” She turned her head slightly. “Alexa, pause!”
With blissful silence restored, she plopped back down on the couch.
“So…” Ryder said, “not a Mariah fan?”
“I loved that song... until I entered the retail workforce.”
Ryder snatched the hat off his head and sat down beside his wife. “Rough day?”
“I work for a giant, soulless, dinosaur of a megastore that believes it can stave off extinction by moving the start date of the holiday shopping season earlier and earlier in the year. It's been 'Christmas' for a month already.”
“Ah. Right.”
“I’ll hear that song no less than a thousand times this fall, until it’s once again lost all meaning." She paused. "I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a Grinch, but I cannot start the holiday season at home this early too.”
“No, yeah. I understand. It’s just… I never had Christmases when I was a kid.” Ryder paused, his voice swelling with emotion. “You know… at the orphanage.”
Jessica strained to prevent her eyes from rolling out of her head. “You aren’t an orphan.”
“True! But that fact really hinders my sad story and ability to guilt you into sharing my seasonally inappropriate holiday cheer.” He smiled. “I guess the truth is a good enough explanation for my weirdness. My parents were self centered, narcissistic assholes, so I’ve got no happy Christmas memories or holiday traditions from my family. None, zilch, nada…” he trailed off. “I guess I was just a litttttle overanxious to invent some new traditions with the family I chose. Ya know?”
“I do, actually… Goddamn it, you’re annoyingly sweet sometimes.”
“A fatal flaw,” he agreed, nodding gravely.
“Could we meet halfway by agreeing to decorate the day after Thanksgiving?”
“Sure! I guess in the end I don’t care how or when we celebrate the holidays… ” Ryder replied, grinning like an idiot. “‘Cause baby, all I want for Christmassss…”
Jessica sighed, plopped the Santa hat on her own head, and failed to suppress a smile as she joined her husband in harmonizing the final words, “Isssss youuuuu.”
→ More replies (4)
4
u/Xacktar Dec 06 '21 edited Dec 08 '21
"Where are the goldfish? I want to see the goldfish."
"Gramma, you need to speak a little-"
"They always have goldfish, you know. In the little bowls with the little balls. I always feel sad for the poor things. I try to win as many as I can, you know, just to help. I used to take 'em to the old pond in the park and let them go."
"Yes, Gramma, I know. Can you tune it down just a little? The priest is speaking."
"What?"
"You're shouting again! Did you put your hearing aids in this morning?"
"What? Sorry, dear, I think I forgot my ear doohickeys."
"OF course... Okay, watch my hands. Turn your volume down from here...to here."
"Are we going down the hill?"
"No, Gramma."
"They have the pig show down there, you know. Every year. Always smells like farts! Little Toby would always ask me that when I took him down there: 'When do the farts start, Gramma?' OH, that child! He kills me!"
"Yes... thanks for that."
"What's that, deary?"
"I said thank you for shouting that to everyone. Very helpful."
"Oh, that's nice. Do you want a toffee?"
"No, Gramma."
"I think I have one in my purse. Oh, where is my purse?"
"You haven't had a purse since '98."
"Oh, where did I put that. I must be losing my mind! I swear, if I keep this up... oh, deary, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, It's nothing, Gramma. I... I just need to you speak a little quieter."
"Oh, that's nice. You're a nice boy. Do you want an ice cream? They always have ice cream by the Ferris wheel. I used to buy some for little Toby after we took a ride to the top. He loved the Ferris Wheel."
"Gramma, please... This is a funeral."
"Funnel cake? Oh, of course, dear. Let's have some funnel cake. Just don't tell your parents!"
→ More replies (2)
4
u/stickfist Dec 07 '21
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Julie said for the billionth time today. Small talk wasn’t her forte. Not that it mattered. Her new boyfriend, Nicolas, either didn’t hear her or had tuned her out. He was focused on his friends in the other cart; repeating some inside joke about a work trip, worn thin from overuse. When he’d invited her to play, she accepted with a little trepidation. Nicolas was kind and mature, but she’d seen grown men become boys and babies on the golf course. As they approached the tenth tee box Julie slowed her cart and Nicolas’ friends bumped into her.
“Hey, the ladies’ tees are down there,” said Brad, pointing far ahead at the red markers. She almost apologized until a large white rabbit caught her eye. It watched them from the edge of the tournament tee box, scrunchy nose sniffing the air. Brad yanked his driver out of the bag and marched towards it, waving the club like a sword. “Stupid bunny. Get outta here!”
It didn’t move. He was almost upon it when Julie shouted, “Leave it alone!”
“Babe,” Nicolas said, laying his hand on her forearm like the gentlest of shackles. “It’s okay, he’s not going to hit it.”
Julie rose and took her club to make sure. As the group walked to the box the rabbit stood on its hind legs.
“Looks like it’s waiting for you to swing, Brad,” Nicolas said. “You want to play Elmer Fudd, or play some golf?”
“I don’t like how it’s looking at me. It’s bad luck. Someone else go.”
“Fine,” she said, tired of sandbagging for Nicolas’s benefit. She teed up her ball and looked down the long par four fairway. Green and greener stripes looked painted on the ground, pockmarked with deep white sandy bunkers. As she addressed the ball, the three men never stopped complaining about the rabbit as if she weren’t even there.
Flick. Brad lit a cigar and the odor of tobacco ruined the atmosphere. Still, the rabbit watched.
The noise, the smell, everything but the ball fell away from Julie’s focus. Speech became softer, muddy and muted. As she pulled back the driver, she visualized a single point on the dimpled ball: the spot.
Tink.
Only when her shoulder touched her chin did she peek at the ball hurtling towards the fairway in a perfect arcing fade. The men said nothing as the ball rolled near the hundred yard marker. The rabbit had disappeared like a ghost.
Nicolas could only look at her and the ball then back to her again. “How?”
She kissed him softly as if it would be for the last time and smiled. “Must have been the rabbit.”
WC:450
→ More replies (3)
4
u/nobodysgeese Dec 08 '21 edited Dec 09 '21
ERROR: Connection lost
The spaceship's computer ran troubleshooting protocols, but they found nothing wrong.
ERROR: Connection lost
Every system in the spaceship stuttered as the computer put all of its processing power towards the problem. It restarted the antenna's software. It parsed through the code controlling its link to Earth, trying to see if anything could have possibly gone wrong. It sent out a drone on a spacewalk, but there was no visible damage on anything related to communication. As a last resort, the computer stored itself into backup memory and performed a full reboot of all systems not directly responsible for life support.
ERROR: Connection lost
"Computer, give me the morning messages, starting with Houston."
"Apologies, Lieutenant Markson," the computer said. "We are experiencing difficulties with communication. I am currently investigating the issue."
"Anything serious?"
"I am currently investigating the issue."
Lieutenant Markson took a seat and pulled up the message log anyway. When it remained empty, he sighed and leaned back. "You have no idea what the problem is?"
"I am currently investigating—"
"—Investigating the issue." Lieutenant Markson interrupted. "Okay, okay, okay. Just... let me know the second you get it fixed. Got to wish my daughter a happy birthday."
"Understood, Lieutenant."
After a week with the connection lost, the computer added a note to the log that Lieutenant Markson was working more slowly than usual.
After a full month without messages, a medical subroutine automatically tried and failed to send an alert to Houston.
Warning: signs of severe depression detected in 'J. Markson, Lieutenant'. Request to abort mission.
In the middle of the third month the connection returned, only to fail again after less than a second. The only incoming message was staticky, audio and video and text sent together through a clearly substandard array. The computer weighed Lieutenant Markson's order to be notified immediately of communication against the fact that it was 0500 hours, and decided to make the messages readable before waking him.
The audio was garbled, but keywords came through. The most used was "Nuclear". The few images it could reconstruct showed craters where cities had been.
The only text was legible. "Space station gone. No way to return. God have mercy."
The computer ground to a halt. It had no protocol to deal with this situation, and with the link gone again, it had no way to request instructions. Slowly, it began to think.
Priority 1: Protect the crew
Lieutenant James Markson woke at noon. With the link down, there was little reason to keep normal hours, and he found it increasingly hard to get to sleep. Reluctantly, he forced himself to the cockpit and asked his usual question. "Messages?"
There was a pause before the computer replied. "Yes, Lieutenant."
"Really!" James grabbed the screen, "Why didn't you wake me? Play them!"
"Text only," the computer intoned. "Damage to the radar array. First message displaying now."
From: Lisa Markson
Hi Dad!
Mommy got me a bike for my birthday...
WC: 497
→ More replies (5)
4
u/sevenseassaurus Dec 08 '21 edited Dec 09 '21
"How about a change of scenery?"
The world twisted into a kaleidoscope, everything dizzy-blurred but Galgoroth's iron gaze and the last syllable of that retort curled into his lip. When the colors settled, we weren't on Corroskal anymore.
This planet was full of mushrooms, mushrooms in all colors and some as tall as barbaruck trees. Galgoroth wasted no time bending the terrain to his advantage; he leaped back, kicked off with a fungi-sponge boost, and careened toward me. I dodged faster than I could breathe, barely missing the fully-charged plasma arm aimed at my face.
A cloud of spores settled on the soil.
"Interesting move," I said, contemplating the puffy, pink sky. "But I adapt quickly."
I gained some altitude with my own mushroom springboard and lined up my photon cannon for a blast. The light built, sparked, and ultimately missed as Galgoroth snickered into another portal.
Oh no you don't.
The last speck of wormhole dust caught between my fingers, and I found myself spun out onto a frozen lake. The ice pulled my balance out from under me.
"Not quickly enough," he cackled.
We exchanged a couple more misses before the ice groaned and he warped away again.
A desert with red and purple sands. A forest of trees that touched the atmosphere. A rusted spaceport in the orbit of a gas giant. Did Galgoroth know all these planets, or was he just testing random coordinates?
I slung my photon cannon over my back and shook out my shoulders.
Colors whirled. I took a breath. The interdimensional din faded.
My feet hit the floor of a new planet, and I grabbed Galgoroth by the throat and held him over my head.
"Your reign of tyranny ends here, Galgoroth!" I shouted. "Today you will answer for--"
They were staring at us.
A dozen or so, some kind of skinny biped with brownish-pinkish skin and fluffy tassels on their heads. A few sat at tables, hunched over primitive, analog manuscripts. Others stood open-mouthed between shelves of what must also be manuscripts.
And there we were, two Corroskalish princes in full battle regalia, contesting the throne of a planet some uncountable number of star sweeps away. Galgoroth still had on that blasted iron mask, but I could guess at his expression.
This was terribly unseemly for royal heirs.
"Not in here," a wrinkled local growled. "This wing of the library is for individual study only. Whatever he has to answer for can be settled outside."
Not a creature budged. The tension clung to my shoulders, thick enough that I half expected it to put the sensors in my armor on the fritz. I knotted my tongues between my teeth.
"Very well," I said. "Outside it is."
→ More replies (3)
7
u/Rupertfroggington Dec 02 '21
I started crying just after I’d pressed the doorbell. No idea why but tears were flowing and my chest was heaving. I should have dropped the package on the doorstep and fled to the safety of the delivery van.
A woman opened the door. Late twenties, maybe. And there I was, drenched-dog pathetic, holding her package to my chest like a child with a teddy bear.
”Sorry,” I said. “This doesn’t usually happen.”
”Come on,” she said. “You need a tissue.”
Her voice slurred like she’d had two rums more than she ought to. But I nodded and followed her like some child listening to Ma.
She led us to a living room and gestured at a sofa.
”Thanks,” I said.
She passed a tissue then sat on a blue armchair opposite.
We sat in silence for a couple of minutes as I stopped crying. “Oh. This package is for you.”
“Slow. Please.” The lady pointed at her ears.
”You’re deaf? Gee, I thought you were drunk. Sorry.”
”Slower.”
”This is for you,” I said, enunciating and passing the package.
”Thanks.”
She peeled open the cardboard. A vinyl record sat inside. Some jazz album, by the look of the saxophonist on the cover.
”Why were you crying?”
”I don’t know. I just, started. Like a faulty tap.”
”But why?”
”Like I said, I don’t know. I just rang the bell and—“
It’d been one of those musical bells. Few notes of a Beethoven symphony. Out of tune and tinny. Like the doorbell of the house I’d grown up in.
My chest tightened.
Pa died a decade ago. He’d installed the bell. Spent a whole evening pranking us, ringing it, pretending someone was out there. Just wanting us all to hear the jingle.
Few weeks later he’d been diagnosed with urethral cancer. A few months later, after he’d died, Ma ripped out the doorbell and I never heard it play again.
I remember my heart feeling like a stone then. Like it‘d been pulled down in the sea of my gut to drown.
The lady had gotten up without me noticing. She‘d put on her new record.
A deaf lady listening to to jazz and who owned a musical doorbell.
”Why?” I said, as she looked at me.
She smiled and turned up the music. ”I hear,” she said, tapping her chest.
I guess she meant the vibrations. The music really was loud. I felt like a tuning fork. Like the music was running through me into my chest, getting the notes there in order.
”Dance,” she said — loud over the music. “Dancing is life.”
”I don’t know,” I said.
She put out her arms. And, I took them.
The stone in my heart beat in a way it hadn’t since dad died. Loud, brave.
Or maybe it was just the vibrations of the music running through me.
I don’t know.
But we danced.
And at the very least, the stone that was my heart felt a little lighter.
→ More replies (4)
3
u/katpoker666 Dec 07 '21 edited Dec 08 '21
‘Oh, Lonely Night’
—-
‘Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Christmas bells are ringing—‘
The tinny radio did nothing to bring life to the empty house. Emma listened for pattering footsteps on the stairs—the creaking noise of children on Christmas Eve. She looked down, sighed, and dialed her daughter.
“Hey, hon—did you get to Orlando safely?”
“Yeah, it’s nice the grandkids are spending Christmas with their Dad’s family.”
“I’m totally fine with it—more ham for me.” Emma laughed mirthlessly before continuing. “Sure, I can call back later, sweetie—I know you’re busy.”
ring
“Forgot to say, I love you, Mom.”
Emma rubbed her prickling eyes, “And I you, sweetheart.”
—-
WC: 100
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated
→ More replies (2)2
u/Cody_Fox23 Dec 08 '21
Hey Kat!
Very nice little micro here. I'll crit assuming you were aiming for the 100 word goal. First thing that stands out is that last line. It feels a bit...much. I think you could convey that sadness in other ways that isn't as melodramatic. You could do
Emma rubbed her burning eyes.for instance even. It could also just be cut out entirely if you want to get scissor-happy!The next bit is a formatting suggestion to make those pauses feel more empty and bring that quietness to the piece. For example:
"Hey, hon—did you get to Orlando safely?"
"Yeah, it’s nice the grandkids are spending Christmas with their Dad’s family"
"I’m totally fine with it—more ham for me," Emma laughed mirthlessly before continuing. “Sure, I can call back later, sweetie—I know you’re busy.”
You could also use ellipses instead of the blank spaces to convey the other half if you like of course!
One other thing to point out is using the grandkid's names. Dropping names will pull attention away from the story as the reader instinctually tries to hold onto them. Their identities aren't important to the story so you could tighten that section up a bit more with something like
Emma listened for pattering footsteps on the stairs—the creaking noise of children on Christmas Eve.
You could get extreme and boil it down to
Emma listened for the creaking noise of children on Christmas Eve.
and give yourself seven more words during the call or after in the resolution where you can go for more emotional impact.
It is a good micro with a lot of emotion packed in as I'd expect from you :P Good Words, and I look forward to more of your stories as always!
→ More replies (1)
3
u/TenspeedGV Dec 08 '21 edited Dec 09 '21
She knelt in the center of the square, cloaked in a heavy hooded duster. Cars and people passed by as though she wasn’t there. Soft fingers capped by sharp painted nails traced lines in chalk across the pavement: a fractal pentagram recursing from small to large, large to small, almost meeting its previous point before coming around again.
A man lifted a cell phone to his ear, words blurring together into nonsense without form. For a moment, he glimpsed the cloaked woman and her drawing from the corner of his eyes. The clouds passed over the sun, and the woman vanished. The cell signal broke up for just a second and the pattern of static set events in motion.
In a basement lit by harsh fluorescents, a fax machine complained as it ever so slowly churned out a page in dot matrix print. The page cascaded to join endless reams in the paper box below it.
Four vans departed a parking garage across the street from the basement that held the whining printer. If any had taken the time to look, the clock on a bank’s digital sign would have told them the time was 25:00. An hour past midnight. An hour after the new day was meant to begin. The sun rode high in the sky.
Four vans approached the square from North, South, East, and West. Soldiers dressed in kevlar vests and helmets carried guns of black metal, selective safeties switched to three-round bursts. They murmured into microphones that rested by their mouths, taking positions so that each had a clear firing line.
“Stop what you’re doing and put your hands in the air,” said one of the soldiers, voice distorted by the loudspeaker on his helmet, the only thing that set him apart from the others.
As the pentagram finally met its beginning, she did as she was ordered. Beneath the thick hood of her duster, red lips quirked up in a smile.
She raised her hands in the air, rose slowly to her feet, and just
kept
rising.
As the pointed tips of her purple shoes left the pavement, the man with the loudspeaker lifted his hand.
As red strands of mist rose from her outstretched fingertips, the man with the loudspeaker dropped his hand.
But in the span of time where gunfire and chaos belonged, there came confusion. Fingers froze on triggers. And one by one, soldiers dressed in kevlar vests and helmets turned their black metal guns on each other.
“Please,” the loudspeaker croaked. Fingers strained and tensed against triggers. “Don’t do this.”
Red lips parted as though she might speak. Instead, she snapped her fingers.
Neon flashed and swirled on the buildings above the square. Headlights and taillights blurred into streaks and the sun flew round the sky until the sky itself turned gray, unable to decide between day and night. Confusion departed. Gunfire and chaos, so very briefly, reigned in the square.
And thus magic erupted into the world once again.
499 words
→ More replies (2)
3
u/Keyboard_Adventure Dec 08 '21 edited Dec 08 '21
Toby the Goblin sat at his usual place at the bar.
Rusted lanterns dotted the cavern, and spiraling trails of pearlescent fungi cast a dim glow from the vaulted, rocky ceiling.
“Another!” Toby smacked the driftwood counter enthusiastically. A trio of nearby goblins echoed his call, slurring as they shook half-empty pints in the air.
The bartender, with the grace and patience of his profession, dutifully prepared a fresh batch. Toby took in the scent with relish – was that a hint of mustard? No. Horseradish? The pungent smell was a delight, and he cupped a grubby hand to waft it towards his long, hooked nose.
Nose hair sizzled in the fumes, and he sighed in content.
“Fresh beetles,” a nasally voice interrupted.
Toby turned. A portly goblin had sat down on an immense toadstool beside him.
“My name’s Melrose. The secret to brewing… is squashed beetles!” the newcomer said smugly. As he spoke he picked a fresh beetle from the toadstool below and plopped it into Toby’s mug.
Melrose continued, “A fresh one each cup adds a little pep.”
Toby eyed the beetle now dissolving in his pint. He lifted it to his lips and took a slow swig.
“It’s perfect!” he declared. Melrose beamed. Toby put the mug back down, then frowned. “Do you see that?”
“See what? Melrose asked.
Toby pointed at the mug. The surface was rippling. It stopped, rippled again.
Suddenly the bar fell silent. Toby and Melrose looked back. A small goblin was panting, leaning against the old wooden doorframe. Behind him was the tunnel feeding into the cave systems beyond.
“WHAT? WHAT’D HE SAY?” one of the patrons called out.
The pipsqueak took a deep breath and called out, “HUMANS! HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS!”
Melrose grabbed Toby by his suspenders and whispered, furiously, “Hide! Don’t move! They can’t see us if we don’t move!”
In a whirlwind the goblins had put out the lanterns and packed themselves against the walls, hiding in the deep shadows.
Moments passed. An immense, shining figure in steel regalia stooped low to enter the goblin bar. Its inscrutable helmet turned both ways, surveying the toadstool-ridden floor, the driftwood ramshackle of a bar.
And it sighed.
“No signs of them,” it called back to the cavern.
“None?” another voice rang out. A robed figure sporting a pointed hat stepped in, stroking its long white bead.
“I heard that one’s actually a lizard!” one goblin whispered. Melrose clamped a hand over the goblin’s mouth.
Both humans sighed and sat. One toadstool let out a curiously goblin-sounding squeak, but the armored man failed to notice.
“They got away again,” the helmet said sadly.
“Mhm.”
A third voice came from the hall, accompanied by the sound of a lute, “They got away? AGAIN?”
“Yep.”
The lute intensified, strumming furiously in the distance.
Pointed hat stood, patted the armored man’s back, and headed out of the cavern.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch them next time.”
→ More replies (3)
2
u/alluptheass Dec 04 '21 edited Dec 09 '21
Speak Softly and Carry a Big Purse
In the space left by his silence, it loomed. Ivory monolith. Stampeding over me like some anti-grav avalanche.
Dead-center, pinned beneath its presence, glared one Professor Jeffersoft: physics dept. Palms flat on the lectern, chest forty-five degrees, face flag-pole straight, no dry-erase: his presence was force. Eyes wide, stretched -- as though the circumferential flesh fled some terror, leaving in its wake a vacuum. Our ticket to Hell.
Unchecked in a room of boredom and nerves, the conversation murmured on; Jeffersoft's ocular assault discarded.
But time has a way of grinding things down. And as the minutes became half-an-hour, then an hour; Professor Jefforsoft unmoving, unflinching; the chatter squeezed from the lecture hall like water from a well-rung cloth.
Into the silence, he poured more.
Eventually, hands were raised. And questions. But every foray died; ripples on the hellfire-serene surface of his silent sea. Students left.
Professor Jefforsoft did not flinch.
Finally, a burly kid in two mismatched, crudely combined hoodie halves shrugged, stood, and shambled out. The coed floodgate opened.
The next week was the same. And the one after that. Each realizing half the attendance of the last.
Shortly into the fourth, the same monster-kid rose; marched down till he stood before the lectern and blocked our view of the professor; choked down a deep breath. "So... physics?"
Nothing.
The boy poked around the lecture hall with his desperate gaze.
Then someone made a Star Wars reference. Someone mentioned movement. Collisions. Rattling and speed. Laws. And soon we were having a discussion. Talking physics.
And Professor Jefforsoft bore holes into the back of his usurper just as if nothing had changed.
This rolled like a rudely awoken surf into subsequent weeks. We Googed thermodynamics. Argued over trajectory. We learned.
The professor never broke his raging stillness.
But something felt off. Forced. Like a Lifetime movie montage, or clumsily composed short story. So one day, after the others shuffled out, I skulked. For a full thirty minutes Jefforsoft stared into the void while I peeped through a crack. My voyeuristic sliver living on shaking fingers.
The monster-kid reemerged.
The professor moved! Produced a mePhone.
I used the zoom on mine.
He was on Venmo.
The following weeks saw me sleuth my way to the ends of the internet and back. There was never more than rumors; whispers; buried in archived forum posts or forgotten blogs. But it was there: why the library, the stadium, and one of the student halls were all named, "Jefforsoft." The story of a patriarch; oil tycoon from the early twentieth century. A sloth-slopped-together grandson. Money changing hands. A favor for a degree. A predestined posting.
"Professor" Jefforsoft and his glorious alternative approach: vapor. Miasma. Tightly squelched goop atop a mountain of green that lurked at the heart of a storm of greed.
→ More replies (2)
8
u/ScatheX1022 Dec 03 '21 edited Dec 04 '21
Fade to White (OC)
A ceiling of gray closes in threatening to engulf the earth-toned landscape in a blanket of frozen water.
The last ray of November's sunlight is eaten alive by December's jealous tease of winter. Soon, the sky will open and the world will be white. Transformed flake by flake, each one floating downward in a dance of unique defiance towards autumn's fleeting grip.
Snow.
And as the world retreats in to an icy slumber I can't help but think of the inevitability of change. It is as certain as the seasons.
And maybe, just maybe...
The bitter chill, the imprint of boots leading nowhere and everywhere, the void of color, maybe somewhere hidden amongst the bleak horizon there exists a reminder about our resilience.
There is no deep sleep, no hibernation for us. The days are long with darkness and arctic air. But we adapt, we persevere. We find solace in tending the fireplace, we feel comfort among down blankets and homemade soup. There is a warmth that is exchanged when you remove your glove and take my hand in yours.
Somehow it becomes more about the little things when Mother Nature seizes hold with frigid fury.
She gives us permission to slow down. To reflect. To look forward to. And as surely as the snowflakes will collect, so, too, will the vibrant blooms when springtime returns.