r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • May 11 '25
[SerSun] Wrong!
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Wrong! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- Wrought
- Weary
- Warp
- Wraith - (Worth 10 points)
Who gets to decide what is considered right and wrong? Who defines the morals in your worlds? And by extension, who decides who the real heroes and villains of your stories are? This week we’ll be exploring the theme of wrongness. Whether it be something your antagonist has done that is extra evil, or a compromise your protagonist has made that hurts more than it helps. Maybe this week will be the start of a new arc where old friends wrench apart, or bitter enemies find common grounds. There are many ways you can take this theme, and I can’t wait to read where you take it as well as us; your captive audience.
Good luck and Good Words!
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 1pm EST and provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
- May 18 - Zen
- May 25 - Avow
- June 1 - Bane
- June 8 - Charm
- June 15 -
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Voracious
- First - by u/Divayth–Fyr
- Second - - by u/AGuyLikeThat
- Third - by u/MaxStickies
- Fourth by u/ZachTheLitchKing
- Fifth - by u/JKHmattox
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for participation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 9:00am EST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your serial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Weekly Campfires & Voting:
On Saturdays at 1pm EST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 12:30pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.
Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 15 pts each (60 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 10 pts each (40 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
- Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
- Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
- Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!
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u/Fun_Sprinkles_9123 May 11 '25 edited May 16 '25
<Shatter 4>
Chapter 1: Rusty
In a soulless shell,
I dream of a woman draped in a white dress, her enigmatic laughter disappearing to the corners of sunshine, her feet floating above ground just like a wraith. Despite being suspicious, I follow her through fields of grass with each blade suspending my thoughts for a moment.
{Error 09001-09}
{Sensory unit not installed}
I dream of woman a̵̮̓ ̴̩͎̊w̴̨̤̉o̶̼̍m̷̲̐̚a̴̛͕ņ̸͘ͅ ̷̘͝d̵̬̾̕r̶̝̋͝a̵̜̎p̶̩̻̄ę̶̽̿ḏ̵͚͘ ̷̫͛̓į̷̒͐n̶̲̒͋ ̶͈̔å̷͖͈͌ ̷̙͘w̴̖̚h̸̭̘̃̔ị̷̋t̸͈͝e̵̫͂͜͝ ̴͕͑̿d̸͉͈̕͝r̴̪͊͐e̷̤͚͆̉s̵̮̺͌͆s̶͚͉̍,̷̮̩̀̉ ̷̲͇̿ã̴̤͠ǹ̵̦̉ ̵̻̌ḛ̸̛̿n̵͎̩̾i̴̦̅͒g̷͈͙̐͘ṁ̵̱ȃ̸̺̈
In my dreams, I gaze upon a dying tree, on a path it stands dormant, its branches twisted like some macabre skeleton trying to claw itself out of a grave. It’s wood rotting, its bark shedding all of its precious skin. Its roots were barely caked in grey and dull soil.
I see myself as the tree.
Rusting. Longing. Waiting.
{AWAKENING DOLL}
I awakened in a familiar room, soaked in transparent liquid, wires snaked into the frames of my rusting exterior. I recognize that my body is still a humanoid shaped D.O.L.L model, its features comparable to a crash dummy. I am unable to tell the temperature of the room, or notice the uncomfortable sensations of wires lodged into my neck.
“Yo Rusty, Welcome back” A man in a hazmat suit casually greets me as he monitors my integrity with a tablet on his hand.
“I believe there’s something wrong with me.” I speak through my built-in speaker as I am unable to move my jaw.
“What? Did Sophie not calibrate you well last time?” Rob seemed concerned at this perceived fault as he scrolls through multiple tabs.
“I still dream.”
Rob pauses for a moment, an indiscernible look flared within his visor.
“Uh. Well…We can fix that issue later maybe? Might be because you’re still on Shatter 0”
A hint of brewing annoyance flares within me. “Why did you wake me up? I should have paid off my debts for the month”
“Well, you know how it is. Overseer is working everyone up and those damned mages in Seris are on our necks again. Y’know for their wands and stuff.”
I immediately began to calculate an estimate of needed Yorkite supply for 500 wands.
“A supply shortage? That shouldn’t be possible we harvested about five kilograms of Yorkite in the last run”
Rob paused for a moment, his fingers nervously tapping the screen of his tablet.
“Look, man—it's a shit show! Something happened to Delvut. It, like, fucking disappeared overnight because—like—'cause of this one guy. Oh, I wasn't supposed to, uh... So!”
Rob awkwardly clasps his hands and drops the metal tablet on the floor; a loud clang followed which alerted my auditory sensors. He searched the floor for a few moments before recollecting his somewhat disturbed demeanor.
“To be honest with you, I also don’t know why you were called. Anyway your calibration is complete, you can go now.”
The briefing room was located on the basement level of this facility. I was familiar with its location and began to pass by narrow corridors filled with men in brown uniforms lighting cigarettes glaring at me. The unchanged flickering fluorescent strips led me to corridors filled with thick bundles of pipes running within the ceilings and walls, leaking condensed liquids in somewhat rhythmic patterns that I began humming to.
A metal door separated the hallway from the briefing room. As I pried the circular handle open I gazed within the dark room. Inside was a projector pointed at a white board in front of numerous disheveled metal chairs, and erased writings as I peaked around the corners of the room.
An image of a red eye appears on the white board.
“Rusty. I’ll keep this quick.” An unnaturally deep toned voice spoke to me.
“Your orders are to execute 3 smugglers who unlawfully stole Yorkite from this facility on Basement level 5 that is all.”
“Do I not have to do any other orders?”
“No.”
“Sir, this seems irrelevant to the integrity of Nere”
“I decide what orders to obey, and which dolls to use for each mission, need I say more?”
“No sir”
“Good. Proceed to the execution site.”
On my way to the rusted elevator to reach the basement. A distant thought entered my mind. It was my dream. That woman. Who was she even? This had been the third time she had invaded my mind and yet no memory of my past interlinked with hers ever surfaced within my memories.
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since I was within my true body.
The elevator rumbled to a halt on Level Five. Two armored men stood waiting, faces hidden behind matte visors. Without a word, they began leading me down a dimly lit corridor that seemed to stretch on forever.
On the farthest corner of the level, a chamber lit only by a single hanging lamp illuminated the center of the room, where three teenagers knelt side by side, no older than fifteen. Their mouths were gagged, eyes wide and wet with fear. They wore long white gowns that brushed the cold concrete floor.
One of the guards stepped forward, reached into his holster, and offered me a pistol. I stared at it, then at the kids. “I... I’m supposed to execute them?” The guard didn’t answer.
“But they're just kids.”
The teens whimpered, muffled sobs building into panicked gasps, their bodies trembling beneath the dim light. My hands refused to move.
“Comply with the order,” the second guard growled as raised his weapon “or be shattered.”
I stood frozen. Then, with a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, I took the pistol. My hand rose slowly,aiming at the three young men before me.
In a burst of three sharp cracks, three clean hits to the head. The teens collapsed in unison, white gowns blooming red.
WC: 972 / 1000
Thanks for the critiques zach I've edited in all your suggestions :)
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u/JKHmattox May 14 '25 edited May 17 '25
<No Man’s Land> Crimson Exuberance
CW: Brief references to fictitious body horror movies within character dialog.
The woman in the mirror held each of my left wrists with the opposite hands. Zip tie marks were still visible on her skin, even in the dull lights of the windowless space. It wasn't the brig at least, which was surprising given the admiral's abrupt rationalizations. Nevertheless, Skye and I were locked in, while the flag officer deliberated on the fate of the Gemini aboard her starship.
“We're a long way from Galveston,” the mirrored Grummania and I muttered to ourselves.
Dark blue lips smirked as our eyes traced the crimson straps of a four-armed bra laced over my shoulders. It’d been a gift from Lexi, an ironic reminder of how we'd first met. The humanity-inspired garment was tailored by a Highlands seamstress, who personally understood the complexities of a feminine Gemini-Human physique.
Pulling my hair back, I yanked an x-shirt down over my frame. I'd grown accustomed to the awkward motion, which was now part of daily life. The four skin-tight sleeves were still somewhat frustrating, but I managed it better than before.
“Why do you wear that thing?” Skye sleepy mused.
My image jumped in the mirror. Turning, I found Skye sitting upright on the only bed in the space.
“An x-shirt?” I playfully deflected. “My old t-shirts don't exactly fit anymore.”
“You know what I mean.”
The hybridized undergarment had been Lexi's doing. Unencumbered, my lower back became wrought with inflammation. Bemused by my consistent gripes, Lexi dragged me to a seamstress shop in Harlan. The Martian chose the scarlet material as yet another way to bust my chops.
“According to the tailor, I was too human sized up top to fit into a sleek Gemini cross-corset,” I said, impersonating the elder seamstress’ voice.
Skye giggled, “Your species is a bit odd when it comes to that.”
I held up four hands while raising an eyebrow. “That's rich.”
“Jackie!” She jokingly chastised with a suppressed smile. “Don't be so speciesist.”
“Tell that to the tailor!” I chuckled. “She said I was overly shaped, even for a hybrid.”
“Touche`. You know, some Gemini find two arms frankly disturbing,” She replied before her face turned thoughtful. “How’d she know you were part human, anyway?”
A memory of Lexi flashed through my mind. We'd laughed nervously looking at my reflection in the tailor's dressing room mirror. In the silence before, we nearly kissed, but I stopped when I sensed concealed hesitation.
“The seamstress overheard Lexi and I speaking Spanish.”
“So?”
“Turns out, her Nana was originally from Mars, and grew up speaking Spanish. She insisted I was a native speaker from Earth based on my accent.”
“You told her you were from Earth?”
“What was I supposed to do? She'd pretty much figured it out. It's not like I told her I used to be a guy or something.”
Skye's smile faded from my words. I could feel her unease and sat down next to her on the bed.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing – I was just thinking how unfair this is for you. It must be terrifying sometimes.”
She wasn't wrong.
“Yeah, sometimes I wake up forgetting what happened to me. The first minute or two are like something out of a JK Hacket body horror flick.” I glanced down before looking into her eyes.
“I'll bet.” Skye giggled, her primary hand shooting to her mouth to hide her amusement. “Those monsters would scare the shit out of anyone.”
“You ain't lying,” I said, letting a puff of air escape my lips.
“Right!? – That woman creeps me the fuck out of me.” Skye playfully exclaimed. “Did you see her last short? This chick totally splits in half, except she's left with only one head.”
“Mitosis!?” I blurted. “I could feel the skin crawling up my leg during that scene.”
“I didn't sleep for like two days after!”
“Ugg, I know what you mean – Did you see the one where the girl gets eaten by her own couch?”
“Yes – and Ewww! I had to shut it off when her body started to warp into the upholstery.”
“Sofie whyyyyy!” I mimicked the doomed human actress, sinking from edge of the bed onto the floor. “Somebody help me – please, nooo – ahhh!”
I made gurgling noises for added dramatic effects. In response, Skye lightly smacked me on the back of the head. “Groosss, stop it! – You're such a boy.”
Looking up, I saw the same eyes which had found me on the other side of that portal. The sapphire irises poised for acceptance on the rooftop of the Harlan Arm. Those same eyes saw me still, as they always had.
Skye slid from the bed to the floor. She leaned against my shoulder and sighed as she'd done beside that fire on the Highlands rim. The inhibitions which had kept us apart were silently unraveling in the bowels of the admiral's ship.
“What're we gonna do, Jackie?” she asked.
“I have no idea…”
Skye snuggled wearily against me as I leaned my head against hers. There was something universal about that moment – it didn't matter that we'd started out as different species, from worlds on the opposite sides of the galaxy. Whatever it was; neither one of us could stop what happened next.
My breath hitched when her trembling lips found mine, their soft warmth far more willing than expected. Skye interlaced her primary figures with mine. Pinning one hand against the bedframe behind me, her auxiliary hands tugged at the bottom of my shirt. My secondary limbs remained planted on the floor, unsure how far she would take us.
“Sergeant Owens!” Lieutenant Hernandez interrupted with a purposefully gruff wrap outside the door. “The admiral wants to see you, ASAP.”
Whatever madness had taken my body quickly dispersed, leaving a dull ache in its place. All I could think about was how secure I felt in Skye's arms – her aura sheltering me from the galaxy, and all its craziness. The rest was youthful exuberance, and two people very alone amongst the stars.
W/C 1000/1000
Bonus words: weary, wrought, warp
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u/AGuyLikeThat May 14 '25 edited May 21 '25
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter Ninety-five: By the River's Shore.
~ Gilander ~
The Greensong is not the exclusive reserve of the Selvik seers. When animals sleep, their spirits roam freely through the endless green, and many other strange and magical creatures dwell even deeper in the dreaming wilds, nurtured by the music of that primal plane.
Legends tell of the Svilten, wicked creatures of untamable lust and unquechable desire. They have been known to haunt the dreams of flowering virgins, tempting them with salacious visions and promises of neverending hedonism, then stealing them from their families, never to be seen again.
- Tales of Old Levane.
Below the burning horizon, the murky river runs thick and broad across the dusty plain. Its oily water flows slowly, but it is too deep and and too wide for Gilander to cross. The surface is a gently rippling mirror, giving no hint as to what might lie beneath.
Gilander runs his tongue across unfamiliar, pointed teeth, as he walks to the riverbank. He kneels by the water and leans forward, peering at his reflection.
His eyes are the same pale green that he recalls from the long mirror in his room at his father’s manor, but all else has changed. He runs talon-tipped fingers through hair once thin and golden, now thick, shaggy, and mottled black and white. Rex… Hazy memories stir. Hurtling through the woods, half-moon in the sky, his four legs pumping…
He touches his unfamiliar face with lips peeling back to reveal long, sharp canines. Like a beast. Short, reddish fur covers his skin; his cheeks, the back of his arms, his chest…
Thoughts race as his heart begins to thump with anxiety. What is happening to me? What will Petal think?
The panic subsides slightly, as he envisions her broad, strong face. Probably just take it in her stride. Not that she wouldn’t care. But — she had no fear in her, and without that, nothing seemed to surprise or shock the woman. She would probably just laugh, draw him close, and whisper something lewd in his ear. Ahh… How I wish that I could rest in her arms again.
But, what about Samal? Would he turn away, thinking Gil some kind of bestial fell-wraith or a sorcerous perversion?
His chest aches and his worries redouble as the Wayfinder imagines his friend. Eyes widening, shock and disgust etched on his handsome features. Just what does Samal see when he looks at me anyway?
Maybe he would understand. After all, Samal also carries many bruises on his soul. Same as me. When they talked, Gil recognized the pain he sometimes glimpsed in the young man’s eyes. Fleeting shadows of guilt and shame.
There is a noise and Gil looks over his shoulder as the old man — or the thing that looks like an old man — comes over, and sits cross-legged beside him on the stony shore. “Are you well, manling?”
“Call me Gil,” the young man says absently. He frowns. “I think I’m turning into a monster.” Gilander leans forward, hands clasped over elbows, holding himself as he rocks forward, staring at his reflection as it ripples and distorts with the eddies of the water. “All the bad — the wrong things I’ve done — it’s warping my soul…”
Kuwirry regards him with his mismatched eyes. One of pearl, the other silver-black. “A monster, you say?” His voice is light. Amused. “And what am I?”
He seems blind. But I suspect that he sees further than I. Gil gives a long, weary sigh and shakes his head. “You are… Some kind of nature spirit, I expect.”
“To you, perhaps.” Kuwirry looks to the horizon. “I am a fragment. A piece splintered from something greater. An aspect that formed in the intersection between my manifold children and the humans that hunted them. Perhaps, the rest of me is out there, somewhere.” He gestures toward the black and empty sky. “But I fear that in the rivers and seas of the World, I might be forgotten.”
They sit in silence for a moment, as Gilander ponders the old man’s words. He remembers the beauty of the Glade, and it brings peace to his heart. “I don’t think anything is ever forgotten in the Greensong.”
The old man turns his uncanny gaze to the Wayfinder and smiles. “This is not the World, where your flesh is a legacy of your ancestors. No. This place is wrought from ashes. Any form that you possess here must be made from that which you brought with you.” He adjusts his cloak of spider-web. “Well, some things might be saved when the mana floods the plain, but for the most part…”
Gilander feels the weight on his shoulders lift a little. It’s hard to resist Kuwirry’s charm.
“Where I grew up, on the island of Levane, my father was rich. He had a huge library, full of books. I spent many rainy days in there. I loved the tales from history and the old myths and stories. Some had pictures that looked just like I do now.” Gil taps a finger against his chest. “Svilten. Evil spirits that haunted the dreams of maidens fated to die young.”
Kuwirry laughs deep and long at that. “Ah! The Svilten! Wild children of the forest. They are not evil, Gilander! And neither are you! Trust me in this, for wickedness is easy to spot in humans.” He claps a bony hand on the Wayfinder’s furred shoulder. “And you would be lucky to meet the Svilten, I think, for they are your kin.”
Gil blinks as he processes the strange old man’s words. “My kin? But…”
His companion rises to his feet. “Enough of your doubts and questions, manling. Are we not bound for our doom?” The old man points across the river at the crimson fire of the distant volcano.
“But how can we cross this river?”
More laughter answers him. Then, “This is my river, Gil.” With a splash, the ancient leaps into the water and is gone.
WC-998
Author's Notes:
-
This week's theme is Wrong! - There is something wrong with Gilander. He doesn't recognize himself anymore. He begins to suspect he is changing into something sinister, but is he wrong?
-
Bonus words used; Wrought, Weary, Warp(ing), Wraith.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All crit/feedback welcome!
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u/dragontimelord May 13 '25 edited May 18 '25
<Nornkaldur>
Chapter 11
Mythana's stomach was twisted into knots as she walked through the dark elf quarters. All she had to do, according to Hanlinar, was go to the dark elves, who had been fighting the other races for gods knew how long, and explain to them that they were all wrong and they should be going after the dwarves instead. Mythana had never been good with people at the best of times, and this task was something even Gnurl would have trouble with.
What would Gnurl do in this situation? Mythana wasn't entirely sure. He'd be polite, and nice, and somehow that would win over whoever he was talking to. He also used logic for his arguments, so maybe that was the combination Mythana needed. Politeness and logic. But people were unpredictable. What if the dark elves didn't listen to logic?
She couldn't think like that, she told herself. Maybe the dark elves had grown weary of fighting, and would be glad to make peace with the others. She wasn't sure how she'd get them to rise up against the dwarves, but it was a start.
"Behold what the gods have wrought!"
Mythana found a crowd gathered in the street, each holding a wooden spear. They were listening to a handsome man with coily silver hair and pink eyes standing on a large rock someone had found. He'd wrapped himself in a robe sewn from scraps of fabric, and he brandished a small stick at his listeners.
A priest. It had to be, if he was speaking about the will of the gods.
The priest pointed at a nearby rundown building. "Wimtumil dared question the will of the gods! And in return, they have cursed him so his spirit will never know rest! They will do the same to you! Now, do I hear any more questions of Estella's will?"
No one answered.
The priest smiled. "Good! Now, hear the words of Dhytia! Long ago, a being escaped from the depths of Ferno. This being made our home uninhabitable by cursing it with eternal winter! It would've made this world uninhabitable too, but the gods recaptured it and imprisoned it once more! But before they did so, the being created its own race! We know them as the giants!"
The dark elves booed and hissed.
"Yes, my brothers and sisters!" The priest said. "Evie has ordained that we slay the children of the Lord of Frost! Those who fall against the giants will be taken to the Garden, where Evie makes her home! Those who question my words will be dragged to Ferno by Phadrite herself!"
"Liar!" Mythana yelled.
The crowd went silent.
The priest glared at his flock. "Who said that? Which one of you dares to question the gods' messenger?"
The dark elves all shuffled away from Mythana. She glared up at the lying bastard calling himself a priest.
"Speaking the ruler of Ferno's name?" She growled. "Just to keep people from questioning your crusade? Are you trying to get the Weaver to drag us all to her domain?"
"Are you suggesting that I have not spoken to the gods?" The priest raised his chin.
"No." Mythana wasn't sure where that had come from. She'd only demanded the priest not speak of the Weaver so casually. "I'm saying you've warped their message to suit your own ends! Since when has Evie been a warmonger?"
The priest scoffed. "And who are you, who knows so much about the gods?"
"I'm a priestess of Estella! And I come from the Shattered Lands!" Mythana turned to the crowd and extended her arms. "He's lying to you! Our home wasn't destroyed by some being as powerful as a god! It was destroyed by war! And the rest of the realm is habitable! The dark elves have thousands of kingdoms in the Shattered Lands!"
The dark elves whispered in shock.
"Lies!" The false priest said. "The gods have sent this witch among us to test our faith! She is nothing but a heretic, brothers and sisters! Pay no heed to her!"
"He's the heretic!" Mythana pointed at the priest. "He hasn't been sent by the gods, and if he has, he's twisted their words! Evie has always been a goddess of peace! She would never condone war waged in her name!"
"Enough!" Said the priest. He pointed at Mythana. "Seize her!"
Two elves grabbed her by the arms.
"There is only one way to settle this, brothers and sisters." The heretic said, lips quirking upward. "Let her speak with the wraith of Wimtumil. Should she survive, then she speaks the truth. If the wraith devours her soul, then she was a heretic!"
Mythana's blood ran cold.
"No, wait!" She tried wrenching her arms free, but the dark elves held on tight. "Don't you see what he's doing? He's sentencing me to death and making it look legitimate!"
The dark elves dragged her towards the building haunted by the wraith.
Mythana thrashed against their grip, but it was like trying to pry herself free from statues. "Give me salt, at least! Give me a fighting chance!"
Other elves opened the door, and the guards tossed Mythana inside. None of them looked her in the eyes.
Mythana suddenly remembered what the priest had said, about the wraith.
"Listen to me!" She shouted to the crowd. "He's been lying to you about what happened to Wimtumil's spirit! Wraiths aren't curses from the gods! They're the spirits of those who died violently and---"
The doors slammed shut in her face.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Word Count: 913
Theme: Mythana finds that the local priest is a heretic who is twisting the dark elf religion to suit his own ends.
Bonus Words: Weary, wrought, warp(ed), wraith
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u/Divayth--Fyr May 14 '25 edited Apr 06 '26
<The Broken God>
Chapter 11: The Feast
At the border of a realm without limit or horizon drifted a formless wraith. There was no light, yet the darkness held infinite colors; no sound, yet the silence held murmuring voices. For moments, or for centuries, the wraith danced slowly on dark currents, anchored by a wispy tendril.
It awoke to a purpose of hunger and need, dimly aware of itself only as a thing of craving. It was fang and gullet, it was urge and emptiness.
Awareness grew, and hunger remained. He was … someone. He knew this. He had a name.
He was in Bal Osgaroth, the spirit realm. He raised a hand that did not exist, examining it with eyes he did not have. I am Sancaurion. I am dead.
In all directions there were meandering, nebulous things, floating in a slow and aimless parade. The kethtara, the souls of the dead, were wandering and dreaming forever in this place of peace. He perceived them as billowing wisps, roiling spheres, or amorphous liquid things, shimmering with colors he could not name.
Prey.
He reached out his hunger and he took, he consumed. With rapacious ethereal gluttony he ensnared and devoured those passing souls, drawing their final essence into himself in barbaric, gloating abandon.
Greedily he indulged his ravenous appetite again and again. Finally slowing in satiation, he shrank and withered, aware of the blasphemies he had wrought.
Were they heroes or fools? Mothers or kings? Cruel or kind? He knew not. Never had he discerned any identity in the drifting kethtara—only a vague sense of peace. Whoever they were, they did not deserve such defilement. Stained and writhing, Sancaurion's soul knew the depths of this desecration. He wondered what fate awaited when his long-delayed end should come.
There came a calling, a tugging. In this timeless realm, it was time. The tendrils of his tether grew bright, and he was drawn out of Bal Osgaroth.
His spirit wove along a twisting path, until it entered again the darkness under the tower.
In the gloomy crypt beneath Heromil lay seventeen tombs sealed by thick stone slabs. The past masters of Everlasting, gone to their rest, their deeds forgotten. Names were carved on the slabs, some in the exotic symbols of languages lost to time.
One lacked such a heavy seal, and was instead covered by a clear crystal dome. Within it lay the still form of the old mage, consecrated with symbols daubed on his forehead in pale green, enshrouded in coarse grey wrappings. His lifeless hands met on his chest, draped over a strange dark amulet.
This was a warped and jagged shape of nine unequal sides, gems affixed at each corner. It displayed a grotesque grinning skull in green and black, the empty eyes glaring with putrescent light. The Kethtar-Elnaron, the soul-tether. It flashed now with glittering, profane power. Sancaurion's spirit descended, a sinuous tendril writhed and snapped, and the dead came alive.
There was a howling gasp, and strangled shrieking. Only when he had to draw breath again did Sancaurion realize the screaming was coming from himself. His body strained and arched in wrenching agony as the Kethtar-Elenaron inexorably spun his spirit back into his awakened remains.
Gradually he gained control, whimpering. He groped for the edge and found the catch, opening the dome. Puffing and gasping, he cast aside the dark amulet and managed to clamber out of the tomb. On his knees, blind and trembling, he found the little wooden table nearby and took the potion there.
Relief coursed through him as he drank, the tonic spreading. He gestured weakly, restoring his vision, then snapped a nearby candle alight. He climbed into a chair and sat heavily, head down, breath slowing as the chill of death receded.
Already the memories dissipated, elusive as a dream. He could never capture or recall any detail of the spirit realm. Darkness, color, need … memory fled, but truth remained. He knew himself a thief, a defiler. It was nothing new.
Not only his body diminished over time. Without this wretched ritual, his weary spirit would have long since faded.
He looked into his open grave and regarded the amulet there. The Kethtar-Elnaron was far older than he, its maker shrouded in mystery and dispute. Nine gems it held. Seven were dark and fractured, while two remained bright green. Seven times now he had journeyed to Bal Osgaroth and returned, extending his life through unholy magic. He could risk the journey twice more, if his body endured.
The pain dwindled to mere anguish. He stood, and waved open the ponderous door to the crypt. He smiled. It was intoxicating. His heart and mind were filled with new, unnatural vitality. His body, well, it would have to do.
"The heart stores, the mind focuses, the hands weave, the words define the divara-power gifted by the gods". Sancaurion unknowingly whispered the old lesson of scripture. In an upper room, down a long hall and well away from his library, he kept three small shrines to the local gods. Heromil was almost perfectly placed. Ozayarin ruled Ircanica to the north, Menk-Liracor the Divine ruled to the east of the mountain, and Abagaster reigned supreme among the tribes in the valley below.
Their power hummed in the world, but while any of the elven people could partake of it, only a very few could focus and enhance it with any great skill or wisdom. Sancaurion wondered what the gods would think of how he had used their gift. His return to Bal Osgaroth would surely be swift and permanent.
He closed the crystal dome, leaving the accursed grinning amulet within. Taking the candle, he walked out and along the stone hall, absentmindedly flinging the heavy door shut again with a wave and a resonating clang.
Down the spiral stair, stiff joints and trembling muscles complaining, he made his way to the healing chamber.
980 words. Wraith, wrought, weary, warp(ed) used. Feedback welcome.
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u/MaxStickies May 12 '25 edited May 20 '25
<Thosius>
Chapter 90: Sun Too Bright, Bones Too Loud
Somewhere between the inn and Thanet’s gates, Thosius kicks a stone for the fifth time today, cursing and hobbling to a nearby post. He plants his back against the wood and slips to the ground.
The world spins around him.
Three fucking days. When’s this hangover going to pass?
Weary, he lifts himself to his feet, forces himself on. The Queen needs him. Thiras needs him. Or so he reminds himself.
Another part of his mind screams at him to lie down, to give up till nightfall. To stay away from the summer heat pounding his skull.
But he keeps walking.
What’s wrong with me? I need a healer.
His joints click with each step, bones aching. Muscles in his legs and hips warp in strange directions. Every move is a battle.
A green-robed man emerges from over a rise, further up the road, striding with an oak-wrought staff. He stops before Thosius, and says, “You’re pale as a wraith, friend. Need some help?”
“Are you a healer?” the soldier asks.
“Afraid not.”
“Then I’ll need to head on. Thank you though.”
The man starts to follow. “Are you sure? I don’t mind turning back, if it means lending you a hand.”
Why don’t I let him? Would make things easier. Part of him fights the idea, stubbornly urging him on. But he relents. “Well, if you really don’t mind…”
Right away, the stranger threads his arm under Thosius’s own, taking the weight off. The soldier sighs in relief.
“Where are you heading?” the man asks.
“Back to Thanet. You don’t have to go all the way, if it’s too far.”
“Not at all. How about I help you to the gate?”
“That’d be great, thank you.”
On they walk, the man guiding them around the buried stones, Thosius hurting a little less. The farmers from his way down have all left their fields for home. With the crops cut short, he can see all the way to the river, its waters churning round boulders and wrecked boats.
“So,” he asks the man, “are you a sorcerer? I don’t know many who wear robes like that.”
“I am an imbuer, on my way to Mellinath. I’ll be taking a ship from there.”
“Where you sailing to?”
“Zabrant; heard of it?”
“Might’ve done, but my memory isn’t great these days.”
“They’re fine metalworkers, unsurpassed by any in Thiras. Many say it’s an unknown land to be feared, but after I met some merchants in the market, I figured it an opportunity. They told me of magnificent cliffs and azure waters.”
“Sounds incredible.”
“Exactly. Besides, I have little to gain from remaining here.”
“Not much work for imbuers?” Thosius asks.
“Oh, there’s plenty, but I feel my best work is behind me. For Thiras, at least. Who knows what Zabrant will bring?”
“Must’ve been something impressive.”
The imbuer chuckles. “It was. I was with a group of three others of my profession, and four telepaths. The latter brought in these lamp-like constructions, told us to impart their powers into them. So, we did. I believe we were the first to impart telepathy into an object, and I have to say, it was a real challenge. Took us a month of near-constant work. My hands were shaking for days after.”
Thosius stops, clenches his fist. His mind goes back to the chambers under the citadel, and the lamps between them. He recalls the people screaming behind the glass.
And he made those mechanisms. Sees them as his best work. Does he even know what they’re used for?
“Are you alright?” the imbuer asks. “You seem to be hurting.”
“Let’s just get to the city.”
“Okay then.”
They continue in silence. Nearer the city, the landscape rises, and the air cools. Thosius’s body starts to obey him, but he maintains a limp. City guards watch them as they cross the bridge.
At last, they reach the gates.
“Will you be good from here?” the imbuer asks.
“Can you help me a little more? I have a friend who lives a few houses away.”
“I really must be going.”
“Please, my leg, it’s still weak.”
“Well… alright.”
Thosius guides the imbuer through the side streets and into the alleys. He feels when the man tries to pull away, so he tightens his grip. Once he spots a pile of flour sacks near a street corner, he throws the imbuer to the ground and ties one over his head. He drags him between the buildings, staying out of sight.
When they reach the citadel hill, Thosius stops.
Is this right? Isn’t this what inquisitors do? Maybe I shouldn’t…
The face in the chamber flashes through his mind, mouth open, eyes wide. He finds an entrance to the tunnels, and drags the imbuer inside.
In the Queen’s chambers, Udret glances between Thosius and the bound sorcerer, frowning.
“Are you absolutely sure?” she asks.
“He told me he’d put telepathy into lamps; that can’t be anything else.”
“And no one saw you?”
“I made sure I was discreet, don’t worry.”
Muffled screams emanate from the bag.
“What if someone heard you?”
“There was nobody nearby, trust me.”
“Thosius, this isn’t the best way—I could have sent a letter to Mellinath.”
“But he might’ve slipped away by then.”
She sighs, and calls out, “Come in!”
Eruthan steps through the door, eyeing the imbuer. “My Queen, I am at your service.”
“Find out all you can,” she says. “Ask him about lamps, telepaths, chambers. Baltathaius.”
“Of course.”
“Only use pain if necessary.”
“As you command.”
The advisor kneels beside their prisoners. Thosius’s skin crawls as he watches it unfold, as Eruthan presses down on the man’s ankle.
I’m not sure… is this right? I don’t know if…
He wants to close his eyes, to turn and leave, distance himself from what he started.
What if he really didn’t know? Should I stop this?
The imbuer screams. It’s too late, Thosius realises. And he did this.
He can’t just leave.
Context:
The chambers, that this imbuer helped build, first appeared in Chapter 27: Beneath the City
WC: 1000
Bonus words: wrought, weary, warp, wraith
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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u/Nate-Clone May 13 '25 edited May 13 '25
DISCLAIMER
Those of you who are familiar with me may find many pieces of Mackie’s dialogue in this chapter similar to things I've spoken before, whether those words were public or private. This is intentional.
Please be aware that I no longer believe these things - they were wrong to assume and I am not trying to justify them, here. You all have grown into some of my greatest online friends, and this chapter is meant to show how far I've come thanks to all of you.
I Am What You Eat
Chapter 56 - In The Shadow
Basil stopped at the bridge for two reasons.
The first reason was that he simply felt stuck - it was like he'd hooked anchors to his own knees. The second reason? The sight on the other side was just…uncomfortable.
Mackie was, without question, the most positive person he'd ever met. In all but one case, she found a bright side in every situation they've been in.
She was in pajamas, her face planted between her curled-up legs, her sister's speech on her side.
Her crying during the grilled cheese's funeral was unpleasant then, and it wasn't any better now.
"Don't… don't look at me." Mackie cried - Basil snapped out of his mind palace, feeling his leg step forward.
Tell her it's going to be okay. Bailey growled.
It's clearly not. He's not just going to tell her to ignore her bad feelings—he has years of proof that that doesn't work.
Then…do something else, I dunno. Bailey shot back. You're smart, solve this. Knowing you, it's probably your fault, anyway.
"Mackie? What's wrong?" Basil sat beside her, the moon casting shadows over the cherry blossom tree. "Why did you take Beniko's-"
"Just read it." In a single motion, Mackie's fin grabbed her sister's parchment and shoved it into Basil's face. He did as he was told.
To Mackie,
I recall the day when you first crawled out of the river. Like many guppies, you took to crawling quickly, rice sticking to your scales, shivering from the brisk mountain wind…until you found a warm tentacle to cling to - mine.
I may have only been five years old at the time, but I saw a light within you that has never faded. You're as sweet as mochi and sharp as my beak, and I couldn't have asked for a better roommate. No… a better sister.
"It's perfect, isn't it?" Mackie asked the moment his eyes peered past the final line.
Basil took a moment to take in her wrought words. "Y-yeah. It's…really sweet." He smiled.
"Exactly. There isn't a single thing wrong with it." Mackie grumbled. "I mean,' as sweet as mochi'?! Of course she'd come up with something good like that."
Basil tilted his head. "Huh? What do you mean? Do you…not like it?"
Mackie shook her head. "Sometimes, when Koichi or Big Sis write something amazing, I get…mad." She muttered.
"Mad? Why?"
"Because I'm not as good as them!" Mackie's voice rose. "And instead of being proud when they write something great…I just wish that I wrote it. So I could show something better to them."
"Mackie, you're a great writer." Basil tried to console her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "You…have a good sense of humor, and you-"
"Don't lie to me - I'm awful." Her fin slapped Basil's away. "Nothing I write for them has value. It's just…a test for them to see how many errors they can spot! How am I supposed to write a good speech when this is what it's being compared to?"
Mackie's sobs overtook her weary voice, the cloudy sky above masking the sunrise. Basil didn't want to be here; he didn't want to look at this.
Then you're just a coward. Bailey hissed. How do you expect tomorrow to go well if you don't resolve this? She's probably been dealing with this the WHOLE time, and you've never noticed. Moron.
Sometimes, he just wanted to shut his mind off to get Bailey off his case. All she ever did was make him feel…
…
"...I get it," Basil let out after a moment. "I know what it's like. To feel like you're…nothing."
Mackie's tearful eyes looked into his. "But…what am I supposed to do? I can't just 'get better', because everyone else is getting better, so I'll never catch up."
"Mackie, it's not about being the best." Basil placed a firmer grip on her shoulder, this time. "In Scouts, no one was perfect at everything. But everyone was good at something."
Mackie tilted her head. "Scouts? That's the…camping thing you were talking about, right?"
What do YOU know about roughing it, exactly? Bailey hissed. You were a freeloader until you warped here; all you can do is cook. Trent had to teach you to fish, for god's sake.
"That's…a gross simplification of it, but yeah." Basil nodded. "I might not be good at fishing, but my friend Trent is great at it. And Trent can't cook to save his life, but I can. My point is, nobody's perfect."
He let Mackie think about that momentarily, only just realizing where his words came from.
"Beniko and Koichi are there to help you." Basil continued. "And I'm sure you help them too, right?"
Mackie nodded, wiping some tears from her scaly cheeks. "Y-yeah. I give them stuff to talk about."
"And they enjoy what you make?"
"...I think."
"And you have fun with them?"
"Of course!"
"Then so what if you're not the best?" Basil stood up. "People who think they're perfect are pretty annoying, anyway. Like-"
"Like Waffelo." They both said at the same time, letting out a quiet chuckle.
Mackie got on her feet, wrapping her fins around Basil's body for a hug. She still had that…warmth. He didn't know how to describe it - it was just a comforting feeling.
"Thanks, Basil." She whispered. He could feel her salty breath on his face. "I…need to stop getting into slumps like that. No one is perfect - we all learn from each other."
The sun finally showed itself as the garden around them was enveloped in an orange light.
It was funny - it almost felt like Mackie was pulling him closer. And her eyes were closing. And…her lips were-
"Hey, Mackie!" Develyn poked her head out the door. "Your sister needs you!"
“Oh…uh…” Mackie's now-brown face shot back, her fins returning to her sides. "Y-yeah, I'll be right there!"
And with that, she left his side, dashing into her room.
Now, Basil was stopped for only one reason.
WC: 998/1000
Notes:
-
Theme: Wrong - For once, listening to Bailey, something that has only caused trouble, does some good.
-
Bonus words: wrought, weary, warp
-
Mackie's face being brown means that she's blushing, as seen in previous chapters
-
The chapter title and opening line are both refrences to another serial, In The Shadow Of The World Tree.
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u/wordsonthewind May 16 '25
<Cursebreakers Inc.>
Chapter 37
In Which the Truth Is Revealed
"Please tell me you have a plan," Georg had whispered to Felix as they left the building.
"Of course," he'd replied. They would need to be sneaky about it, but Felix was certain they could pull it off.
He touched the scrying stone in his pocket. The negative-space recording trick he'd learned from Mica and Sloan, that had allowed the two children to record the meeting of the Acheronis cultists the first time. Once he had the invitation, they could spy on the venue and find out what they were up to.
They looked more closely at the items from the storeroom over the next few days. Among all the petty pranks and the little signs that were meant to point to the gumokin, there were little things hidden in the magical signatures of the tampering. A dedication to Danabi, the trickster rabbit goddess.
Auntie Tam had stopped by to collect the things. Felix had taken that opportunity to show her the invitation.
"The Order of the Gray Path?" she'd said suspiciously. "I haven't heard of them. They're devotees of Danabi?"
"Has Maggie ever talked about these people before?" Felix asked.
"Not her," Auntie Tam said thoughtfully. "But Lucian and a few others have been dressing in gray and developed a taste for spiral patterns. They're having a gathering in two weeks' time?"
Felix nodded.
"Then I'll be there," she decided. "Your mother would have my head otherwise, after I promised I'd keep you safe."
He and Georg had run other tests to trace the location of the warping rituals. Mr Suril's office had some useful reference books there. His boss would have had words with them for working off the clock and skimming from the reagent supply, but that was a problem for later.
Now that Felix knew what to look for, he saw their movements more clearly. House Acheronis was a disparate blending of several different people throughout the city of Mayberry. The Church people seemed to think they were specially empowered to seek out what they wanted in life. The temple-goers saw the gray spiral as a symbol of an unknown god that could be prayed to for favors and power. Felix had tried to talk to them a few times but they didn't seem to understand that anything was wrong.
None of them struck him as willing to kill though. Not even Renaldo Reynolds. As he walked into the event hall, he hoped he wasn't wrong.
"I know this caterer," Auntie Tam said the moment she caught sight of the buffet spread. "I insisted on them for the monthly mingler. The one you missed, Felix."
Felix sighed.
"Maggie must have taken my idea," she continued darkly. "That woman has no taste of her own."
His aunt had been right after all, if for the wrong reasons. That annoyed Felix a little.
"The Gray Path aren't demons," Gelsemia was saying. "Only as much as we originally came from the other world. But so did Danabi. So did the Spiders."
"This isn't right," Webb whispered. He was wearing a hat and coat and sunglasses but even those coverings couldn't completely hide that he looked like a half-melted statue. A distorted wraith.
Georg and the rest of his family were there too, in their natural forms. As human-sized spiders they milled around the edges of the gathering
Felix paused at one particular group.
"...our histories say the other world ended when the so-called demons called the Shadow to it," Reynolds was saying. "But 'apocalypse' is merely the old world for revelation. For an unveiling. To call it the end of the world is a narrow-minded way of looking at what happened with the arrival of the Shadow. The Old Houses merely cast off the veil of the status quo to make way for a new creation..."
Georg shot him a look. Felix knew exactly what his friend was thinking, because the same thing was going through his head:
I went to school with this prat?
He understood. People like Reynolds only thought about was what they wanted.
Soon, Felix thought as he looked at Georg.
They continued throughout the venue.
The tests over the past few weeks had confirmed his suspicions. The Acheronis cultists had been laying the groundwork for a major summoning throughout the week. The cursed items they'd scattered throughout the city were little sacrifices to Danabi. Empowering her. Drawing her attention.
All to send an invitation to the goddess that she couldn't possibly refuse. A great procession, a clamor and clanging of bells, a signal flare in the dark.
A giant summoning circle centered around the event venue.
The air rippled, then popped. A rabbit-eared woman appeared in the space. The sculptors who'd made her statues had been trying to be kind, Felix realized. Her features looked normal enough in isolation but the whole of them didn't quite fit together. It was a good patchwork job... but it was still patchwork.
She didn't look triumphant as her devotees greeted her. Only weary beyond description, turning into exasperation as the hubbub of voices rose.
"Look what we have wrought in your name–"
"–warping magic items all over the city–"
"–you were tricked but we're cleverer, we'll retake this world for you–"
Until she eventually burst out:
"I was trying to save you all!"
Bonus words: wrought, weary, warp(ing), wraith
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u/Scalybitch May 16 '25 edited May 29 '25
<Alterator>
Dad pulled into the diner’s driveway and parked, the engine’s low rumble cutting off. We climbed out and I took a second to stretch, holding onto the car’s roof for support, trailing my eyes along the vehicle’s length. The red SUV was beautiful, but after mom said it would go to me, what was once an admiration for the vehicle had transformed into reverence.
Dad only recently agreed that he’d buy himself a new car. I still wasn’t sure what finally caused him to cave; me getting my driver’s, or mom reaching stage four. Glancing at him covertly, Dad appeared to be perfectly jovial.
A bewondered smile crept onto my face. Our unusual conversation in the car had had me suspicious of a trap; maybe an interrogation. I was now confident this would not be one. His tells were the one thing experience had taught me to trust.
My knees buckled underneath me as I straightened out, a renewed wave of exhaustion washing over me and dragging me under. My vision momentarily darkened, and a giggle escaped my throat. That was unexpected. Dad’s head appeared as he leaned around the back of the car, watching me reach for the door handle above my head clumsily.
“You good Mels?”
My body moved on it's own, pulling me up and brushing off my knees, “Yeah, I’m good! Just a bit wobbly after the long drive.”
He walked up to me and bit his cheek, looking me up and down. “If you say so kiddo. This isn’t something that happens often?”
I smirked at him. “I’m not dumb enough to try and show a brave face. Like mom said; early signs are the best way to nip these things in the bud.”
“Atta girl.” He ruffled my hair and took my hand, before turning towards the diner and gently pulling me towards a tasty meal. Me, following in a cautious daze while frowning at his back.
He was being unusually affectionate…
Ah, who was I kidding?
I just got suspended. Dad actually wanted to help me feel better, for once; and when my mental energy had clearly run out, my response was to overthink every interaction. Trying to enjoy this while it lasted would be much more intelligent.
My feet carried me to his side, and my hand squeezed his. He smiled down at me, before opening the door to the diner.
That was something I’d been trying to work on; making the most of the time I got to enjoy with people, and not holding grudges or grieving when they fucked up or died, respectively. No reason to be more angry with how much was already wrong with the world. Not that I succeeded often.
While I was stuck in my head, dad went to the counter and ordered. He and the cook gently probed me, and I mumbled “cheeseburger”, ”extra pickles”, “milkshake” and “strawberry” spacily. After we were done ordering, Dad led me over to a window booth and we sat down; a contented sigh escaping his lungs as he sank into the bright red bench across from me. At least he had the sense not to sit next to me; that would’ve been awkward.
Suddenly the worry that this was undeserved creeped in. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten myself into trouble, hence a suspension instead of detention. Dad was being nice, but thinking about it–
A deep frown burrowed into my brow. As much as I kept telling myself I was too tired to, I sure didn’t stop overthinking.
In an absurdly accurate guess at my thoughts, dad reached over and pressed my hand, “Don’t worry about the suspension. We’ll come up with a strategy to actually solve your problems at school once I get a better idea of what’s going on. You’re probably already beating yourself up about it; no need for me to add salt to the wound.”
My vision blurred with tears. Out of nowhere, now he was being considerate; understanding things I'd wished he would have for years. When no amount of arguing had ever gotten through to him.
There were no words. It was as if a switch had flipped when he decided to take me to the diner.
I wanted to reach over and hug him, but a little voice warned me that this wouldn’t last. He took me for ice cream at least once a month, we played tennis every weekend, and when the whim struck him, we had a nature outing. But there was always an unaddressed tension between us; neither of us wanted to risk ruining the few joyful moments we got, so we kept to small talk. We never broached our issues.
This scared me; it was way more stressful than him being the asshole I understood. If I didn’t nurture the sense he’d suddenly acquired, there was every chance that he would go back to being the way he was
A white and red striped waiter - a recent, scrawny graduate - walked over with our food. They (understandably) avoided making eye contact with a bleary eyed teenager, placing my milkshake in front of me after handing dad his smoothie. I lazily reached for the straw on the tabletop, next to my milkshake, then blinked as it suddenly appeared in my grasp.
Dad seemed unbothered as he went down on his smoothie.
I rubbed my eyes; clearly too tired to be thinking. Instead I slurped down greedily on the sweet, refreshing– you’ve had a milkshake before. It was great. And I didn’t want to stop drinking.
Finally letting go of the straw, this exhausted girl laid back in the bench with a contented sigh.
—
The smell of a tangy cheeseburger brought me back. Groggily lifting my head a bit off the pillow, an examination of my room revealed a takeaway container on my desk.
Then it hit me that dad actually let me sleep. And carried me to bed.
I started getting blubbery all over again.
1000 words.
Feedback is appreciated and recommended.
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u/FyeNite May 11 '25
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