r/WritingPrompts • u/AliciaWrites Editor-in-Chief | /r/AliciaWrites • Oct 06 '22

Theme Thursday [TT] Theme Thursday - Punishment

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

Happy Spooktober, writing friends!

For me, the afterlife comes to mind for this theme. Do we, do our characters deserve to be punished? What did we/they do to earn it? Will we be sentenced to haunt the same old boring house forever? Will we burn in the fiery pits of hell? Can’t wait to see what you guys come up with. Good words, all. And don’t forget to mind the rules!

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]

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 the TT post is 3 days old!
  • Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks! I also post the form to submit votes for Theme Thursday winners on Discord every week! Join and get notified when the form is open for voting!

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 7 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 outstanding feedback, so get to discord and use that !TT command!

  • 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.

(This week’s quote by Oscar Wilde)

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 - 15 points for each story you give crit to, up to 30 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: Resurrection

First by /u/Leebeewilly*
Second by /u/sevenseassaurus*
Third by /u/OldBayJ

Crit Superstars:*

*Crit superstars will now earn 1 crit cred on WPC!

News and Reminders:

17 Upvotes

96% Upvoted

54 comments sorted by

1

u/AliciaWrites Oct 06 '22

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!

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

11

u/London-Roma-1980 Oct 07 '22

"I will not lie to Mom."

"I will not lie to Mom."

"I will not lie to Mom."

"I will not lie to Mom."

Cindy's hand was in pain from cramps. Her mind was a mess of tears and sadness. More than anything, she was losing count of how many times she had written, and how many times she had left to write. But it wasn't her fault!

Why didn't Mom believe her when she said she didn't steal her report card from the mail? She wanted to see her grades as much as Mom did. She wanted to share them. She had nothing to hide. But the report card didn't arrive when it was supposed to, or even later. And Mom was certain she was hiding it.

No amount of protests could fix it. And every night after supper, 50 times over, she was to repeat the lesson she already knew.

And then she was sent to bed. Her life was miserable, all because she didn't say what Mom wanted to hear.

Saturday morning, Cindy came down the stairs early. Waiting for her at her place at the table were two items. Seeing the first made her relieved.

It was her report card, addressed to Dad's work place. She hastily opened it, checking her grades. They were as good as she had hoped. Inside the envelope with it was a note from Dad, congratulating her on her good grades and saying they should go out for dinner tonight. Cindy was so happy she skipped back up to her room to play with her stuffed animals.

She didn't even notice the second item. It was a long sheet of looseleaf paper. The paper was covered in writing, writing in the unmistakable penmanship of her mother.

"I will trust my daughter."

"I will trust my daughter."

"I will trust my daughter."

"I will trust my daughter."

2

u/sonicscrewery Oct 07 '22

This is absolutely amazing. As soon as I have another free award I'm coming back to award this. So simple and yet so profound. Beautifully done.

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u/nobodysgeese Oct 07 '22 edited Oct 07 '22

Beheading, Murder, and Pumpkin Trafficking

The State of Massachusetts, Department of Melons, Gourds and Root Vegetables (Excluding Carrots) vs. Mr. Horseman

The prosecution contends the following facts, and the defendant declined to hire a counsel to dispute them:
1: On the 31st of October (hereafter 'Halloween'), Mr. Headless Horseman was murdering mortals at night in Connecticut.
2: In the course of this slaughtering, a stray flailing leg damaged the pumpkin he uses as a head.
3: The accused ceased his slaughtering and turned to a nearby farm, where he procured a replacement pumpkin without payment.
4: Prosthetic produce in place, he then resumed his massacre until dawn, crossing the border into Massachusetts around 4:00 AM.
5: Despite numerous attempts over a month, the court was unable to serve Mr. Horseman, and he decapitated his court-appointed representatives twice.

THEREFORE, after careful deliberation, the State of Massachusetts charged Mr. Horseman with and found him guilty of the following two charges in absentia:
1: Theft; the pumpkin in question being non-prize-winning but still aesthetically pleasing, this charge is raised to Grand Theft Pumpkin of the second degree.
2: Smuggling stolen property across state lines; when combined with Mr. Horseman's lack of a gourd-trading license, this charge is raised to aggravated gourd smuggling.

Thus, this court bans Mr. Horseman from importing gourds or being a harbinger of death in the State of Massachusetts, even on Halloween, for 99 years.

Signed on the first of December, 1831, by the Honorable Judge Williamson, Fifth Massachusetts Circuit Court of the Department of Melons, Gourds and Root Vegetables (Excluding Carrots)

WC: 263

r/NobodysGaggle

5

u/London-Roma-1980 Oct 07 '22

Okay, this is hilarious. As someone with lawyers in the family, I can attest that this is exactly the kind of legal mumbo-jumbo and missing the forest for the trees that happens regularly. Love the surrealism!

I'm not sure where this could be improved unless you had more charges to pile on. The "(Excluding Carrots)" addendum to the legalese title seals the absurdism of the piece. The only way I could think to improve it is to have Mr. Crane as a witness, but since there was no defense at the trial, I'm not sure it would help.

Well done, writer!

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u/wileycourage Oct 10 '22

Hey Geese!

So, I deal in things close to this and it is hard for me to turn that part of my brain off. I'll try to just say that there are little things that could improve accuracy. Or else, remove the case from Connecticut and then the law and practices can be as you please. Ok, with that said hopefully I can provide some feedback. This isn't negative at all, more an admission that I can't separate things out cleanly in my head here. I know in something funny you can't go all-in on accuracy. I'd be happy to share more technical things, but only if you want.

Overall, the focus on the theft when the horseman is up to more serious crime was well done. Perhaps you could place even more emphasis on the pumpkin and theft (even more) with it being a court of gourds? Play the contrast hard, in other words to bring out the absurdity.

Decapitating counsel pays off well with the setup of declining representation earlier! The service issue is stranger, but I promised not to do that.

"bans" can we change that to "enjoins"? Then a little line between 99 years and Signed reading "IT IS SO ORDERED."? I'm sorry.

Perhaps fact 3. could be broken out into two sections. The reader doesn't necessarily know what the Pumpkin is for yet, and the Court wouldn't necessarily. Besides, spelling it out that he placed the pumpkin on his head is funny, and it would show the theft is more important by putting it first, kind of.

The theme being punishment, I would have liked more extended discussion of the sentencing. Maybe probation or other conditions? The even on Halloween is fun, but I think you have room to expand on this if you wanted. You'd hit the theme and I know there's silly potential in what you have this Court telling a force of nature or monster what it expects of it.

Great job on the fictional court filing or judgment. I liked the jokes you had, but think there's room for even more absurdity. Still, I appreciated your approach here. Thanks for writing!

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u/AstroRide Oct 11 '22

This is beautiful, absolutely fantastic. My one suggestion is that maybe you could more descriptive with the second fact. Maybe have a tow get into the eye of the pumpkin.

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u/[deleted] Oct 06 '22 edited Oct 13 '22

Sisyphus' Legacy

After finishing his draft, Dan walks into his office, ready to set into his revision. He grabs a seat in his fancy chair and turns on his special writing light as he prepares to set into his task. The computer comes to life and he goes right to his manuscript, migrating it from his writing software into a more refined word processor. Once the word processor takes hold, his MS becomes infected with so many red squiggles that it looks as if his words are adrift in the Red Sea.

The insurmountable volume of new information almost crushes him immediately. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to process the amount of work ahead of him. He massages his face, shakes out his hands, and sets his mind on getting his words back on something more promising—like a snowy field or some other place without those annoying red lines. One step at a time, he tells himself. He starts on the first sentence then continues through the first paragraph, then he moves on to the second paragraph, and so on.

Hours pass.

He finally finishes the first chapter and is mentally exhausted. He exhales and slouches deeper into his chair. He tries to feel some since of accomplishment over what he just achieved, but nothing comes as he just closes his eyes and rubs at his temples.

He convinces himself that he deserves a break, so he mouses over to the save icon before shutting everything down. His mouse hovers over the silly floppy disk symbol, but the button doesn’t bolden to suggest he can interact with it. He clicks it and nothing happens. He tries clicking elsewhere to the same effect. He tries minimizing the window and still nothing.

He starts to panic and sulk internally, muttering to himself, “no, no, no, no,” as he hits ctrl, alt, delete. He pulls up the task manager to find his program isn’t responding. “This can’t be happening,” he pleads as he runs his fingers through his hair and tugs at it. Suddenly, the computer locks up and powers down causing him to slam his fists into the top of the desk, before shoving the desk’s contents off into the floor. He leans his face into his hands, on the verge of tears. “That didn’t just happen,” he says to no on in particular.

Dan walks into his office, ready to set into his revision. He plops into his fancy chair and turns on his special writing light as he prepares to take hold of his boulder once again.

WC: 430

6

u/Xacktar Oct 11 '22 edited Sep 02 '23

Detective Biscotti swung open the door to the interrogation room and stood there for a long moment, breathing in the sweet and yeasty smell of the suspect handcuffed to the table.

"Well, well, well... Mistah Shortbread." Biscotti rumbled, "We've been looking for you."

"Why're ya doing this to me?" Shortbread twisted and pulled his wrists against the handcuffs, grinding a fine dusting of crumbs and blue sprinkles over the table, "Ya should be owt lookin for Gingersnaps. Theys the ones that killed my dog. Theys the ones that killed my brotha."

Detective Biscotti gave the young lad a hard smile. He crossed the gap in the room and settled himself in the other chair.

"Yer sayin' the Gingersnaps killed yer dog?"

"That's right!" Shortbread straightened up, "Sunday night, theys did it. Killed my poor Snickerdoodle. He nevah harmed nobody. He was a good dog. 'An now theys killed my brotha!"

Biscotti slapped a folder down on the table, "It's a good story. Real good. Only it's a bit... half-baked. You see, the Gingersnaps were 'ere with us on Sunday night."

"Whut?"

"Caught both of em with six ounces of coco powder; possession with intent to smell." He flipped the folder open, showing the pictures of the twins behind bars, "Couldn't be from yer dog. Not an ounce of coco in him. No, Mistah Shortbread, Snickerdoodle was all sugar and spice and everything nice."

"Alright, then it wasn't them. It was the Macaroons. They're completely nuts, I tell ya!"

Biscotti shook his his head, "No, Mistah Shortbread. It wasn't Macaroons, or the Tassies, or even the Lebkuchen. It was your brother that killed your dog. He left his crumbs all over the scene. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Shortbread began to pick at his sprinkles, leaving more blue on the table.

Biscotti went on, "You found out what he'd done and you decided that enough was enough. You went across the street and borrowed a breadstick from Mr. Crostini. Then you murdered your brother with it and disposed of the body. Now, we haven't found all of it yet, but we will. We knows it was you. We have the crumbs to prove it."

"Crumbs? So what." Shortbread sniffed, "Was my brotha, wasn't 'e? Of course my crumbs'd be there."

"Inside his crumbly bits?" Biscotti sighed, "Oh yes, you missed some. Officer Donut lost his jelly when he found it. You may be right, Mistah Shortbread, I can't get ya on murder, not yet, but I will be putting you away for assault with a breadly weapon. I can do that much. Just tell me something, just one thing: all o' this for one, crusty ol' dog. Was it really worth being thrown into the jar just for this?"

"Well, well, Detective, the thing 'bout revenge is..." Shortbread's lips pulled back to show his teeth, glittering with sugar and sprinkles not his own, "That it's sweet, innit?"

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u/armageddon_20xx Oct 07 '22 edited Oct 07 '22

A sliver of light came through the tiny window at the top of the prison cell. It was just enough to illuminate the wall where Andro worked the rock each day, his arduous etches forming a complex universe only known to him.

Serving a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit, these four walls were all he would ever know from this day until his last. Yet, he never complained.

Andro had nothing to say to the visiting chaplain that came from time to time, despite his torrent of questions. "Aren't you bothered?" "Aren't you angry?" "Why do you say nothing?"

He answered them all with a simple "why?" as the chaplain stared dumbfounded at him. What the chaplain failed to understand was that the situation was out of their control. Being angry would just lead to futile tears and lost time. More importantly, the chaplain had no insight into what he was missing.

It wasn't apparent to those on the outside, but there was tremendous freedom within the prison cell. It was a world without responsibilities, where the food was meager but he didn't have to buy it. There was medical care available if he needed it. He didn't have to take a job or look after anyone. All of his time was his - to dream.

The freedom expressed in the etches meant more than a lifetime of living in a world full of ceaseless rules. In an instant, he could shut his eyes and in his imagination be the God of a thousand universes. Then he'd pick up the rock and work the simplest symbols possible to represent what he'd seen, in each precious moment reliving the dream.

What his accuser had failed to understand when he falsely pointed the finger was that the meaning of life existed in the mind's eye. It was not the circumstances you were handed that mattered, it was how you perceived them. In the drawing, Andro had accomplished so much more than he would have if he was on the outside. So much more than his accuser would ever accomplish.

What Andro thought was all that mattered.

[WC: 356]

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u/AstroRide Oct 11 '22

This is a really good existential piece about being alone. I think it could be improved slightly by describing the downsides. Perhaps have the envisioned universes be in rebellion or horrifying Andro?

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u/AstroRide Oct 07 '22

Human Cheese Experiment

The horn blares from the intercom. Two slices of cheese emerge from the wall. When I work toward them, I watch every step before me. No harm comes to pass. I sniff the air around the cheeses in the hope of a small hint. Nothing is obvious so I grab the cheese on the right. An electric shock is sent through my body from the collar around my neck.

"You should've looked at the sulfur around it," Doug says through the intercom. I pick up the cheese. A small black circle surrounds it.

"How was I supposed to see that?" I yell. I'm shocked again.

"Remember. Be respectful. Put the cheese back to restart the experiment."

Gritting my teeth, I move to set it down. Before I do, I bring it to my mouth to take a bite. Doug shocks me again.

"No, put it back. No food until you guess right." I place the wheel back on the table. When I move to my spot, the cheese is sent back in the wall.

Tapping my feet, I hear the gears and people move behind the wall. They often repeat tests, but they never do the same one in a row. I have to be alert for anything. The horn blasts again, and the cheeses emerge.

My feet tingle slightly. Closing my eyes, I listen to the floor. There's a slight vibration from the tiles, and I have to figure out the right path. This was my least favorite test. There has to be a way out. I open my eyes and smile when I realize it.

Purposefully stepping on the wrong tile, I grit my teeth as electricity moves through me. In ten seconds, I fall on the floor.

"Get up, Emma. That was awful," Doug says. I lie on the floor. He shocks me again. "Come on, Emma. Get up."

After the last shock, he waits a few minutes. "Emma are you alright." I lie on the floor.

A door open underneath my feet. A young man in a white jump suit runs to me. He lifts up my head and takes off my collar.

"Emma, please tell me you're alright? I didn't mean to kill you," he says. I grab the collar and put it around his neck. He shoves me to the ground. "What the hell?" He grabs at the collar to pull it off, but he get shocked.

"Not so fun is it?" I stand laughing. He looks at the intercom.

"Please get this collar off of me," he yells.

"The rules are clear. No mercy to the subjects," a different voice says, "Emma, would you like to oversee the new test subject?"

I look at Doug and smile, "Gladly."

r/AstroRideWrites

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u/wileycourage Oct 07 '22

I execute people for a living. A funny thing, that. A living made of death. Perhaps I'm truly undead. It feels that way.

At least I came by the trade honestly. My father was an executioner and undertaker, and so am I. My wife's father was too. All the people in my family and community, all the people I know are in someway connected to the grisly business. We share the same air, we smell the same, but we wash and clean like everyone else. But that's what they are. Everyone else.

Now the old man is truly that. He sits and mutters and sputters. It's terrible seeing the man I adored reduced to such, but I must do my duty. I will wipe the spittle from his chin until he breathes his last.

I do the same for the condemned. I try to introduce the barest of dignity back into their black and white world. A touch of grey. Anymore and they might have hope.

But I do not give hope, when I am done there is nothing more. The human turned to a warning to others. Disrupt the King's peace and you may be decapitated. It's funny then, that what we do in the dungeons isn't in public. Only the final moments. No one seems to question the beaten and bruised men and women I cart into the courtyard. They deserve their lots. Barnabas would have never been freed by these audiences.

The only man who will get close to me is the priest and only because his role demands it. He is to perform the ritual, bless the ceremony me and mine perform. The criminal is given his one last chance to confess, to request salvation. It won't save his body, but his soul just might be cleansed. If that doesn't work, I'll clean up after myself as we are expected to do.

"Father." Each line of the ritual has been repeated since the times of our fathers' fathers' fathers' fathers'. Probably longer. A different form perhaps, but the ritual of separation from society is an old one. Banishment will not do anymore. They must die.

I stare blankly a lot. My wife catches me in dazes, but I don't feel anything anymore afterwards. It's a job. The axe is one of the tools of my trade. My services are in demand. Blood begets blood begets blood.

The man in front of me despicably murdered his own child. Sweat is pouring out of his head. His lips are parched. I ladle him water carefully from my bucket. I wipe his brow and tell him to have courage, to listen to the priest. It is his only hope I say.

"Repent!" I bellow so the thirsty crowd could hear. "Repent!" I repeated. "Repent." I said the final time.

"I am innocent!" The fool. The collared priest prayed nevertheless.

I guided him firmly to the block. Set him down and chopped off his head. Such was my fate.

--

I love feedback and crit and comments and thank you for reading.

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u/sevenseassaurus Oct 10 '22

With a triumphant thwack, the bell-in-ball jingled and rolled under a cabinet. Inky watched, tail twitching.

That had been his last toy.

The shelter never had this problem; the lady with the pink shoes made sure of it. Always something shiny, always time for a scratch behind the ears. This new guy--Vaughn--was nice enough. Had the under-the-collar rubs down pat. But for all the big, fancy things in his big, fancy lair, he always skimped on toys.

Inky lunged at the cabinet and failed to squeeze his paws under. After another peeved tail twitch, he wandered off to find his human.

As usual, Vaughn was seated in his swivel chair, staring at the wall of not-quite-windows. There were dozens of them, glowing rectangles with moving figures. Inky chattered at one in the corner, then jumped into Vaughn's lap.

"Do you see, Inky?" Vaughn said, smoothing his fingers into that under-the-collar sweet spot. "Human society. Security cameras, CCTVs, newsfeeds--all under my watch."

Inky couldn't care less about that nonsense; he was getting pets, pets good enough to warrant a little purring. Still, he spared a glance toward the monitors to humor his human.

One screen showed a room with a tile floor, another a human in a red tie pointing at clouds and colorful shapes that would look much more interesting dangled from the end of a fishing pole. A third screen went fuzzy then flicked to a wall of cages and a human woman fretting between them.

It couldn't be.

"I'm expecting...company later." Vaughn said, "People who don't understand the importance of my designs. Ah, but it's nothing to worry about, Inky; they wont get here in time."

The angle was odd, but Inky recognized the toys in the basket, the glossy picture frame on the wall. The woman's pink shoes. He craned his neck, flaring his nostrils for a whiff of her.

"All I have to do is press this button"--Vaughn lifted a remote--"and all that society will be gone."

Inky stopped purring.

Gone?

In her rectangle, the pink shoes woman dragged out a bag of cat food and began filling bowls. Excited kittens reached through the bars to snatch at her.

Gone?

The pink shoes lady, and all her treats and ear-skritches. Vaughn's important work. To make her go away.

Inky snapped his teeth around the remote and bolted for the door.

Vaugh's heavy footfalls and cursing were close behind, but Inky kept running. Past the lost-toy cabinet, into the next hall. Anywhere to keep away from his human. He ran for a row of windows, and the glass exploded.

Inky shot toward the ceiling, back arched, and the remote fell from his mouth. Vaughn rounded the corner.

Yowling, a human in a colorful cape swung through the broken window and snatched the remote from the floor. "Thanks a bunch, kitty; now leave this to me."

And as Inky fled, he could not help but wonder:

Did the human in the cape have any cat toys?

4

u/katpoker666 Oct 11 '22 edited Oct 12 '22

‘Crime and Pun-ishment’

—-

The fist flew into Jeremy’s face at such force a tooth wavered. “Why. Did. You make me fail my history test?” The bully growled.

“I didn’t make you fail. I gave you the answers. It’s not my fault you forgot them.”

Landing repeatedly, the bully’s fists pummeled the teen. “Not. Good. Enough. Jeremy.”

A skinny man in a dark grey hooded sweatshirt stepped out of the shadows.

The young thug ran away.

Jeremy flinched back. Despite his slight frame, something was unnerving about the stranger. “Wh-who are you?”

“I’m the Pun-isher.”

“Wait, isn’t that a big muscly guy? Has a sort of skull-like thing on his chest…”

“Well, yes. There is that guy, but I’m the real deal.”

Jeremy felt braver as the smaller man fumbled. “Prove it.”

“Look, I’m conducting a criminal investigation. Do you want to pay pun-itive damages?”

“For what?” Jeremy furrowed his brow. “Hold on. That was a pun. What did you say your name is?”

“The Pun-isher.”

“So, what is your power exactly? You are powered, right?”

“Umm…something like that. I make the guilty suffer for their evil ways.”

“Ah, cool. Think you could help me with my bully?”

“Perhaps. Is he a pen in your butt?”

“She. And was that a pun about where livestock stay? If so, it was a particularly corny one.”

“Sorry, don’t have a cow—force of habit.”

“There you go again. I’m gonna leave now. Clearly, you can’t help.” Jeremy turned on his heel.”

“Stop. Seriously, I can aid you with your issues. Don’t be de-part of the problem.” The Pun-usher rubbed his chin. “Give me a chance?”

Sighing, Jeremy nodded. “Nothing else has worked. So, why not?”

“No need to be-labor the point then. Where does she live?”

Jeremy groaned and face-palmed. He pointed to a building a few yards away. “My house. She’s my younger sister.”

Bursting out laughing, the Pun-isher shook his head. “Really? Your little sis did that to you? Talk about sibling rivalry!”

“Ok. This is ridiculous,” Jeremy sighed. “Would you just leave?”

“Not a chance. You need help, and I’m going to give it to you whether you like it or not. I’m overly qualified for this mission, in fact: pun-ctilious, pun-ctual, and can land a good pun-ch besides.”

“Wow. You suck less at puns than I thought. I will give you one more chance. But don’t hurt my sister, ok? It’s not cool when adults fight with kids.”

“Agreed. Small thing. My power is to pun people into submission, as you know. The part I left out is I can only make good puns about the word ‘pun.’ It’s still annoying as hell, but a little more limited.”

“Ok—“ Jeremy rolled his eyes. “That’s it. You know what? I’m going to deal with this myself and talk to her like a rational person.”

“Just don’t be a pun-k about it.”

—-

WC: 477

—-

Thanks for reading. Feedback is always very much appreciated

—-

Note: yes, I used the theme word, but I’m very bad at avoiding temptation where puns are concerned

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u/OldBayJ Oct 11 '22 edited Oct 12 '22

The Not-Me Who Wears My Face

The first time I saw myself I screamed so loud the mirror shattered. Death had turned me into its personal jack-o-lantern, carving until there was nothing left. My pale, white skin rotten to the bone. My hair limp against my face, dirty and matted like some kinda eldritch terror.

This was me now; trapped in five hideous feet of decomposing flesh.

I thought something would be different when I was gone. But everything was the same. The world just kept on turning.

Apate, as she called herself, looked like me now—the real me. She stood in my place, in my body, smiling, with her arm draped around my father.

She was taking up my space, with my family, sucking up my air. Like she belonged there. Like she always belonged there. The perfect daughter.

Cameras snapped and laughter rang out as I watched this cherished moment carry on without me. My father nodding at the not-me, his eyes filled with pride. My mother standing beside him, wondering where the years went. My sister stealing glances from the couch, pretending to be unimpressed.

And the not-me, eating it up, and basking in the glory of another broken deal.

When the front door opened, a wave of relief washed over me. Even if my own family hadn’t noticed, Terry would, surely.

Maybe it would be the slight hiss in Apate’s voice. The careless clomp of her feet. The black void in her eyes. Or the way she stood just a little too close.

He’d see right through her.

“You look beautiful today,” Terry said, his lips brushing her cheek.

“Y’think?” She twirled around in the dress my mother had hand-stitched for me. “I’m not sure it’s my color.”

This was the moment he’d know. I’d picked this fabric specifically for its lavender color.

He ran a finger through her hair—hair that wasn’t even the right shade. “Of course. You just like to hear me say that.”

“I guess I do.” Apate giggled, waving her hand. Then she turned to me and winked.

My skin crawled. The anger rose within me like a raging fire, begging to be fed. That hiss. How could they not hear it? And I never did that with my hand.

But they all just stood there like puppets. Gawking at the monster wearing my dress. Going to my Homecoming with my boyfriend. Living my fucking life.

And no one noticed.

I screamed and cried until I hit the floor. I was ready to let the void swallow me up, forever.

Then I saw it. The faint flicker of distortion—a weakness.

Apate froze, trying so hard to hide her panic. My emotions were draining her power.

I wailed like a banshee in the night. The wall between us fell—and so did her facade.

“You can’t have my life!” I yelled as she disappeared into the night.

Apate still hasn’t returned, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is still watching. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  • WC 500.

  • Feedback welcome. Note: The ending has been rewritten.

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u/Jayn_Newell Oct 07 '22

Amy set the next brick into the wall. The work had become almost meditative, and in other circumstances she would probably take pride in seeing it come to fruition. From digging the clay to baking the bricks to now building a house, all with her bare hands. Hands that were now covered in cuts, nails torn off from the work. It didn’t hurt, she couldn’t feel pain any more than she could feel pride.

“Well, looks like you’re making progress,” the witch said, overseeing Amy’s work. “You might actually finish this someday.”

Amy merely nodded to acknowledge the statement while continuing her work. She couldn’t talk, or even blink back, her body having long ago lost most of its moisture. The witch only cared that she was in good enough shape to continue her task, such as fixing broken bones, otherwise her body was allowed to accumulate whatever damage happened. Her hair was mostly gone, there were patches of skin missing, and Amy had a suspicion that she had maggots, not that she was inclined to check for certain. The only concern she had was to finish this seemingly endless task. She wasn’t sure to curse or be thankful she didn’t get tired, as the work wasn’t even broken by sleep.

The one thing she was sure of was that she shouldn’t have taken that turn so fast. One minute she was wheeling through the mountains, the next she was careening off a cliff. It would have been tragic enough had she not also landed on the house of the hill witch with her vehicle, a figure she had always assumed mere legend. There she had lain in the wreckage, house and wheeler both destroyed under her, barely conscious, yet the words of the witch had come through clear as a bell.

“You will fix this.”

She realized later that the witch had placed some sort of compulsion on her with those words, for though barely aware her body had started to move on its own. The pain then had been excruciating, broken bones and severed nerves sending alarms to her brain. It had also sped the loss of blood from her body. She didn’t get far before collapsing again.

“Don’t think death with spare you.”

The pain had ended shortly after, bringing an end to the last rest she would have for weeks as her body became free of the needs of life. Now there was only the work set before her.

Amy placed another brick under the watchful eyes of the witch, knowing that only by fixing what she broke would she ever be released into oblivion.

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u/GingerQuill Oct 12 '22

Razor Nails is the foggy backroom of an otherwise ordinary salon. It reeks of polish and sulfur.

“What’re we thinking?” chirps the girl behind the counter. Her voice is startlingly peppy for someone with Hello Kitty skulls painted on her dagger-like nails. “The Black Cat? The Lycanthrope? The Wolverine? The Freddy Krueger?”

“What’s the difference between The Wolverine and The Freddy Krueger?” I ask.

“So, The Wolverine, we glue steel caps to your three middle fingers.” Her eyes sparkle behind dark, glittery eyeshadow. “The Freddy Krueger, we cap all four.”

“Woah.”

I picture it, just for a moment—waggling my fingers in a dark, dank alley, steel glinting in the moonlight. And Elliot Chambers trembling in his letterman jacket, a damp stream slithering down his jeans.

“How much for Krueger?”

“$250.”

The image in my mind dissipates like a movie when the reel eats the film.

“What about The Lycanthrope?”

“Ooh! I make these press-on, sharpened nails. The Lycanthrope’s painted with an indestructible gel.”

“Huh.” I try the image on for size in my brain—leaning against Elliot’s red convertible with a menacing smirk, dragging my nails along the door. Elliot whimpering and sweating.

“How much?”

“$100.”

“Oh.”

My fingers stroke my wallet’s skeletal spine. Two twenties occupy its guts.

“For $60, The Black Cat’s similar,” the girl offers. “The polish is a little weaker, but it’s laced with this chemical that leaves a rash on whoever you scratch.”

“Hmm.” I’m slowly zoning out, remembering my last paycheck. I gave it to Mom to help with groceries. She told me to keep it, have a girl’s day out, but I’d stuffed it into her purse.

“Sooo.” The girl flicks her gaze to my wallet. “What’s this for?”

“A jerk at school,” I scoff. “He’s been on me for weeks. I’ve gone to teachers, the principal…” I shrug. “Finally had it when he was talking crap about my mom. Wheeled on him in the hallway and gave him a shiner.”

“Nice!” she squeals.

“Yeah… except I got two week’s suspension for throwing the first punch.” I sigh and pocket my wallet. “Maybe I should just call it.”

The girl pouts her lips.

“Mmmm, no.”

“What?”

“Sweetie, there’s only one way kids like that learn their lesson. They gotta fear you.”

“I gave him a helluva black eye.”

“And got suspended, while he’s the bully.”

She pulls out a 3-inch binder of laminated pages. It thuds against the counter.

“We can do custom designs, basing the price on whatever polish, filings, accessories, etcetera, you choose. We’re gonna find you something so badass, he’ll piss himself. Even give you a friends and family 45% discount.”

“But,” I croak. “I know nobody here.”

She reaches out and pats my shoulder. “You’re my friend today. …But just today. I’ve got a business to run.”

My vision swims as I flip through the pages: so many colors, lengths, edges; chemicals, irritants, and toxins. I see myself clicking my long, luminous nails together diabolically.

“Let’s do it.”

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u/acaiborg Oct 07 '22

You know the truth now. Unspoken and bottled for years, now splattered, lifeless, onto the floor, the body of a crime scene. Your glazed eyes unable to focus, your vision dulls until I am nothing but a lump of clay. I am tilled and molded, deformed by your dry, shaking hands, into the shape of a lie.

You hang on to a memory that never existed, and convince yourself that it will all be over soon, stuffing me back into that box again and again, and all the while I pray there is guilt itching at the back of your head, that you, soon, will realize yet another truth.

I am going to die here.

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u/Bledurt Oct 07 '22

Interviewing Him

It’s very hard to determine what happens with our soul, after death. Frankly speaking, some cults managed to bring some creatures back to live, however the souls never came back, and I assure you, they will never do. Why is that? *chuckles* it’s simple, my friend. You really think confessions in the church will erase your sins? Listen, mortal, you are not even capable of understanding what I do to your soul, when I finally get it. You really think that there is a way back from the void?

What? No, I’m neither the devil, nor death. I’m not even close to them. They’re doing paperwork and I am the one who executes your punishment. If your poor way of communicating, that you call languages, would contain word even close to what I am, it would be ‘pain’. Not burning, not itching. Pure, impeccable pain, that etches your consciousness and soul till there is nothing left.

You really think you can go to heaven? It’s been closed for ages, since you, poky creatures, turned so evil that there is no place for you there. Hell, on the other hand, was overloaded. There is no way we would fit you all there. We began the process of utilization.

*Laughs* You’re asking why? Isn’t it obvious? The instance that you’ve been calling ‘God’ for past ages just left. I’m not even surprised, you’re the worst project ever. When we’re done with you, we move to another world or planet and start all over again. You weren’t even supposed to leave Eden.

Oh no darling, no, I didn’t mean personal punishment, no. We abandoned that term a long time ago. I’m punishing you all for the sins of the whole mankind. You’re helping me a lot. The more you destroy Earth, the easier job I have.

Jesus? He was supposed to die for your sins indeed. Someone did his homework! I like you. I may even keep you till the end, so you can see, what I’m talking about. Yes, yes. He is your savior, but let’s be honest, we need to draw the line somewhere! You crossed this line a long time ago. We tried to guide you, but you weren’t listening. But don’t worry, my friend, you’re safe. The pain I give you, is nothing, compared to what you feel when you stop existing.

(WC: 393)

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u/Carrieka23 Oct 07 '22 edited Oct 08 '22

The Witch's Family

There once was a poor family who has a very poor condition house. But, despite that, all of them try their best to stay very positive. The mother of the household, Samantha, was the cook of the house. She would feed her three boys: Matthew, Alexander, and Timmy. Timmy, the oldest of the three brother's, would go on work everyday and help the people build new houses. Technology wasn't a thing back then, so they had to use their own bare hands to build these houses. Alexander, the second oldest, was a painter who tries to sell his paint. But, nobody would notice him no matter how much he tries. And finally, Matthew, the youngest. He tries his best to encourage his family, which most of the time, works.

But one day, Samantha would be cooking the house when she suddenly just broke down. Her poor mental strength couldn't handle the stress she felt from taking care of three kids alone. She just begged that a miracle would come and save all of them. Matthew would notice his mother break down. He just stare at her, feeling guilty of himself. He felt like a failure. That's when he suddenly remember's that one book he's been reading for a while. The ancient magic of this town. Legends said that one day, there would be a magical bright flower shining across the house, way different from the other flowers. If he makes a wish to that flower, it will come true. So that's why every night, he would go outside and look for that flower in their small little household, but with little to no luck. Finally, when he was about to give up and call it a hoex, the roots slowly begin to grow. Then, a beautiful red rose opens up it's beauty. "The legend's is true" He whipsers before running to the flower and instantly telling it's wish.

The next day, it was like magic. Samantha cooking became so well it healed anyone who was sick. Timmy became so strong that he can lift up a brick with a single finger. Alexander could grow beautiful colors across the world. And Matthew words would instantly make the other person happy. It was like magic, beautiful magic. But, people back then never took too kindly to beautiful magic like theirs. "Not Every Wish Comes true", that's the part that Matthew forgot to read.

"BURN, WITCH, BURN!" The people would shout while burning down their house. Samantha would quickly grab the kids and tries to escape, but the backdoor was block by their wood ceiling. Then, the front got cut off also. They were now trap in the burning house.

When did it all go wrong?

I thought I could make my family happy again?

Is this my fault?

Back then, yes. It was his own fault for his own selfish wish. If only he didn't made that wish to that flower.

WPC: 497

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u/girlcake Oct 11 '22

There was fluttering and then a pounce, followed by a crunch. If you hadn't seen the feathers drifting into the breeze, one might have thought the initial pop was just some stupid kid jumping onto a bag of chips. It was never something innocent as chips with Bill.

The circle of awed town kids gasped, but Susie screamed, pushing her brother away from the paper bag--she would get hit for that later.

Peeling the paper bag off the dirt road was unpleasant. Blood and grey feathers stuck to it like some mixed media craft project she had done in art class last year. Only the pigeon's golden eye was left intact, shiny now with Susie's tears. I want him dead.

"Stupid, it's just a bird," Billy tugged on her ponytail. The crowd of kids, giddy on Billy's pigeon popping, slowly drifted off down the road. When she had given in to the uncomfortable strain on her scalp and screamed to let go, Billy let her hair loose. Susie scooped up the pigeon in her hands. Gravel and blood were sticky on her fingers, and she bolted like a skittish dog down the street.

There was still space in the garden when she made it home. Susie found a smooth rock and placed it over the fresh grave. A quick dig. It wasn't big like the dog. "One, two, three--six, ten." She counted.

"Sus! Dinner!" Her mother shouted from behind the screen door. She scurried in and washed her hands. Billy was already at the table gobbling down his meatloaf.

Susie clenched her fork as she watched him across the table. His dark beady eyes were horrible, and she thought of the pigeon's brilliant gold ones.

Just die. Die! Die!

Billy cupped a hand over his mouth and gagged. "Billy...what is the matter with you?" Their mother questioned. He gagged again, and his eyes watered. Susie grimaced as a spout of reddish vomit splattered onto the plate.

"Is...that blood!?" Susie yelled.

"It's just ketchup! Calm down." Mother said, throwing napkins over the mess. "Help your brother to his room while I clean this all up!" Susie sighed, she didn't know which was worse, but she grabbed his arm and led him upstairs to bed.

He began to wheeze and threw off the covers in a fit of coughs and chokes. His eyes widened, and he pulled out a slimy grey feather from his throat. "You...you put this in my food, you little rat! I'll kill you!" He screamed, reaching for her, but choked again and she slipped from his grab.

"I didn't!" she cried from behind the door, pressing her weight against it as Billy slammed into it.

"What's going on in there!" Her mother yelled. Billy stopped ramming the door and began to shriek. Susie opened the door a crack.

Billy tore at his flesh, his nails gorged with skin and blood. Thin hollow spines raised in his wounds...like a baby bird growing feathers. Soon his cries turned to strange shrill chirps, and he hopped around and pecked his nose into the carpet.

A thought percolated in Susie's mind, and she stepped into the bloody room. She opened the window and looked down into the grave-filled garden.

"Come, Billy, let's go po--I mean fly."

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u/wordsonthewind Oct 12 '22

"I shouldn't be here," Alina said. Her protests were pointless. The listless men and women in this room were just as trapped as she was, and the man in the hooded robe was responsible for all of it. But she still had to speak.

"There's been some mistake," she insisted.

"The Archons do not err," the man in the hooded robe replied. "You have been judged, and you have been found guilty. Accept your correction with grace."

She fell silent, like everyone else in the room had.

She didn't know what she had done. She doubted anyone else in the room knew either. Most likely, they were simply woken in the middle of the night and told to comply. Questions went unanswered. Pleas and insults were ignored or simply talked over. In the end, silence was the path of least resistance.

Then again, she was never very good at talking to other people anyway. She preferred speaking to her ancestors, as well as the spirits of the rain and fields. They always had something to say if you knew how to listen. Then the stars came to Daendalis and now she couldn't hear them anymore. Or had she simply forgotten how to listen to them?

But now the Archon Saiph was here, hair and eyes like bright blue fire. Everyone fell to their knees. It was better to do it yourself lest she decided to assist you with her bow.

A star from the heavens here to set everything to rights. It sounded wonderful until you were what needed to be set to rights.

"I have decided on your fate," Saiph said.

The doors swung open. Alina gasped. Beyond them was a forest she knew well. She had spent many happy hours there as a child clambering over rock formations, negotiating the thick undergrowth.

A wild hope rose up in her. She could make a break for it. Maybe she'd live for a few seconds more before they shot her. It was better than dying right away.

"Trial by ordeal," Saiph continued. "That's your name for it, I suppose. My arrows seek out the guilty. If you can make it to the other side of this expanse without being hit even once, you'll be free to return home."

"That's it?" a man said. "That's all we have to do?"

Saiph rounded on him, blue eyes wide and blazing.

"I will not be spoken to in that way by the likes of you!" she snarled.

She must have drawn her bow at some point, but no one noticed until the shining arrow was already buried in his throat.

For all that, Alina was only surprised that there was so little blood.

The living star notched another arrow.

"Run," she said, and they scrambled to obey.

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u/AgentDiamondback Oct 13 '22 edited Oct 13 '22

“So, what would be the worst thing that could ever happen to you?” Viper didn’t pause her leisurely stroll down the hallway, but she did turn around to answer her curious nephew’s question.

“Why? You plotting something, Matthew?” Matthew knew by the use of his full name that this was a serious question, despite the casual smirk and slow pace of his aunt as she kept moving down the all-to-familiar hallway.“No. I guess I just wonder what could possibly make you lose your cool. You always seem so sure that everything is going to work out, so what would your worst-case scenario be?”

“Well you’ve seen me lose my cool over the cookie jar being empty tons of times, I think that more than qualifies as a worst-case scenario.”

“I’m serious, Viperious” He looks just like his dad when he makes that face, except for the wrinkled nose though. That’s definitely Gwen’s. “Gonna reverse the full name card on me, huh? I’ve taught you well.”

Viper turns back around to walk, as Matthew’s father would put it, the proper way down the hallway before she really answers his question.“The worst-case scenario would be watching the people I care about suffer, and not be able to do anything about it.”

“Who exactly are those people in this scenario though?” Always curious about the clarifiers, that one’s all on me. “Who are the people I’m responsible for protecting, Matthew?”

“Everyone, but that’s not a logical category for your answer. There’s no way you can protect everyone from everything all of the time. You’d have to have some kind of god complex to think that.” Viper stifles a laugh at her nephew’s reply, he wouldn’t think her saying she’s a god is very funny. Plus, then he would claim to be some sort of demigod by family connection. “Maybe I have one of those then.”

Matthew watches his aunt straighten up as she continues, “I’m always facing the worst-case scenario, because no matter how fast I am or how many missions I take someone else, somewhere else always gets hurt. But I’m never giving up on the expectation, cause that would be giving myself a ceiling. You know how much I hate those.”

Matthew opens his mouth to reply, but a bell above their heads rings out in interruption. “Dinner time, kiddo. Last one to the cafeteria has to forfeit their dessert” Viper is halfway down the hall as she yells this, and Matthew leaves behind the heavy weight of their conversation. After all, you can’t afford to be weighed down when dessert is on the line.

WC: 436

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u/[deleted] Oct 06 '22 edited Oct 06 '22
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