PavellumPendulum
honey believe me, ill have your heart on a platter
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Welcome one and all to the second TFI!
I'm so happy to get this going and show off all the talent that Iwaku members have to offer. The submission period has ended and we have multiple cool reads for you to peruse and decide on as the best written and best interpretations of one or more of this event's theme. The three winners will choose between our selection of prizes, including copies of Baba is You and Celeste, a 20$ gift card, a digital commission and a watercolour/acrylic commision!
As a reminder, this TFI's themes were:
- found family
- stolen identity
- heroism
Please vote in the poll up top for your favourite piece and don't forget to join the Iwaku Discord server in order to attend the live reading and discussion of these pieces on Sunday, March 20th at 2 PM CST. The winners will also be announced during the call.
Before you start reading and giving feedback, please remember that this is not meant to be a thread where we viciously attack people's writing. Criticism is allowed as long as it is constructive and not an attack on the writer themselves. Let people know what they did right (they were brave enough to share their writing with us, after all!) and if there's anything that you think they could improve on, but do so in a respectful way! Here are some possible questions you can answer with your reflections on each submission:
- Are the themes apparent in the piece? Do they fit well?
- What struck you about the writing style?
- Did it surprise you at any point? Is the interpretation original or unique?
Please avoid assigning number or letter grades to submissions, since they are not only completely subjective, but they don't really add anything to your critique of anyone's work.
Without further ado, here are the submissions!
By: @TerraBooma
Title of Piece: Last Laugh
Word Count: 1255
Chosen Theme: Stolen Identity
Chosen Format: Short Story
"Alex. Don't do this. He had nothing to do with your abduction!"
The dim crackle of his handler's gruff voice was only barely audible through his earpiece. The sound of an ancient beater of a car's cluttering engine screamed in protest as he sped down the highway. It was the dead of night, and the streets were abandoned. All the better, Alex figured. That nothing was going to stop him from annihilating that abomination where it stood.
After all, it had taken everything from him.
"It's standard procedure. Agents aren't supposed to find out, but it's how its always done. The job's too important. That Other too strong. We recognize viable candidates when they're born and perform the switch. It let's us keep the Agency strong without compromising the inte-"
The Handler's pleading fell on deaf ears and iron hands. Alex ripped the earpiece off of him and crushed it with his hand like he was squishing some playdough. The Agency had done some twisted things in their pursuit of the perfect weapon, but God if it didn't feel good to turn that strength against them. The crumbled electronic let out one last fizzle as wires surged attempting to find their current, but it was discarded to the passenger seat with a dismissive and resentful wave. He'd be doing this alone. From now on, everything would be alone.
He'd always wanted to known where he came from.
He'd believed their lies, their tales. That the Agents were all orphans from families that didn't want them. It had seemed believable enough at the time. But he had had a family that loved him, wanted him. And they'd ripped it all out from under his nose. Rage filled his heart and seared his mind with a thin red gaze. A lead foot jammed the pedal to the floor. It was simple. He'd find the double that had lived the life he should have lead, and then the lead it.
The city passed in a blur of neon. Reds and oranges flew by him painting the city with a dull amber color. He didn't care about the details, about anything anymore. All that mattered was making this copy pay. Instead of going to school, playing ball. Having a normal childhood, this copy had given him a history of pain and blood. Endless bootcamps, drills. Friends that only sought to drive a knife into his back, and an endless war against an eldritch enemy that could not be stopped. He had accepted that his life was ruined, that he'd never know peace. But knowing that some Other thing was living the life that he deserved? That was taken away from him for the crime of simply being born with potential? That was a crime he refused to let go unpunished. The Agency was powerful, untouchable. But these Other...this Other was very, very human.
And he could work with that.
As he drove down the streets he should have known. Passing the school that should have been his, he parked across the street to the home that he should have had. Gazing out of his broken and battered car, he stared in silent, seething rage at the functional vehicles parked outside. He escaped his car, and stalked up to the townhouse with the only thing he had that was in any good condition- a handgun he'd maintained and cleaned since he was ten.
The porch lights were on, but given that he was used to creeping around abominations from another plane, the basic home security system wasn't much of a challenge. He effortlessly pressed himself against the siding of the home, peering in through the window. It was...nice. A quiet home, if a bit messy. A family sat in a living room, looking so alien and unfamiliar. This was supposed to be his right? But he still felt like a stranger. Sandy crops of curly hair. Emerald Green eyes that pierced the night and that laugh. The man- his father? Let out a heavy guffaw. Something one of the teens had said seemed to amuse him. But the laugh resonated with Alex far heavier than any sound he could have heard. It was...heavy, but not in a bad way. It was like there was so much joy, that even his large frame couldn't contain it. A bellowing, rolling laugh that was both goofy and endlessly endearing. It was...nothing like Alex had ever heard in his life. The hardest he'd ever laughed had been a quiet, reserved snicker. Maybe a chuckle at best. But this was...different. This man. His...father? Had so much laughter that he just had to share it with the world. A full on uncontrollable guffaw. The man wiped a tear from his eye, before he cracked some kind of joke that Alex couldn't hear through the glass. And the family laughed in turn. And the things he heard chilled his blood to his core.
At first, it was just the laughter of the group. But one by one they faded away. The mother fading out first, adding on some witty comment or charming remark that seemed to just incite laughter further in the others. The daughter faded away next, seemingly just not as interested in the joke. But with their silence came a crescendo from the remaining member. A deafening wail to Alex's furious ears. Something that shattered his being and left him standing helpless on the edge of the house, gun loosely held in one hand like a useless plastic toy.
A laugh. His laughter.
No, not just his laugh. Not just his laughter. A guffaw of joy and amusement that was somehow even greater than the bellowing laugh of their father. The Double's laugh was one of pureness and innocence. A life unmarred by pain and sorrow and suffering. All the things that Alex had been through had ripped him away from this joyful crescendo. This Double was laughing with more enthusiasm and gratitude than Alex himself had ever felt in his life. Hands shaking, Alex raised his handgun, pressing it against the glass that seperated him from the family that should have been his.
The family that could have been his.
The family that needed to have been his.
Something was wet.
He pressed a hand to his face. Pulling it away to reveal damp tears. Was he crying? How hadn't he noticed? The truth had struck him like the bullet he meant for his imposter, and now the chill was spreading through his system like shock from a gunshot wound.
This family that would never, be his.
Killing his double. It wouldn't change his own past. It wouldn't replace his future. They'd scream and mourn the Alex-that-should-have-been-him. Even if he explained himself, they'd never believe him. He'd be the Imposter, killing the original and wrecking this perfect family life.
The gun clattered to the ground, the numb feeling completely overtaking him. There wasn't a feeling in his body that he could explain. All the rage and indignation. All the resentment and hate. All of it was...gone, dispelled by a twin set of generous chuckles. He couldn't kill them. They didn't deserve it. It wouldn't...do anything. Because to them, there was no copies, no doubles. There was just...them. It was perfect, ignorant bliss, and he wasn't going to shatter that. He turned;
The Double walked away, back not to the car, but down the street below. No agency, no home.
It was time to go anywhere else but here.
That family didn't want an imposter.
Title of Piece: Last Laugh
Word Count: 1255
Chosen Theme: Stolen Identity
Chosen Format: Short Story
"Alex. Don't do this. He had nothing to do with your abduction!"
The dim crackle of his handler's gruff voice was only barely audible through his earpiece. The sound of an ancient beater of a car's cluttering engine screamed in protest as he sped down the highway. It was the dead of night, and the streets were abandoned. All the better, Alex figured. That nothing was going to stop him from annihilating that abomination where it stood.
After all, it had taken everything from him.
"It's standard procedure. Agents aren't supposed to find out, but it's how its always done. The job's too important. That Other too strong. We recognize viable candidates when they're born and perform the switch. It let's us keep the Agency strong without compromising the inte-"
The Handler's pleading fell on deaf ears and iron hands. Alex ripped the earpiece off of him and crushed it with his hand like he was squishing some playdough. The Agency had done some twisted things in their pursuit of the perfect weapon, but God if it didn't feel good to turn that strength against them. The crumbled electronic let out one last fizzle as wires surged attempting to find their current, but it was discarded to the passenger seat with a dismissive and resentful wave. He'd be doing this alone. From now on, everything would be alone.
He'd always wanted to known where he came from.
He'd believed their lies, their tales. That the Agents were all orphans from families that didn't want them. It had seemed believable enough at the time. But he had had a family that loved him, wanted him. And they'd ripped it all out from under his nose. Rage filled his heart and seared his mind with a thin red gaze. A lead foot jammed the pedal to the floor. It was simple. He'd find the double that had lived the life he should have lead, and then the lead it.
The city passed in a blur of neon. Reds and oranges flew by him painting the city with a dull amber color. He didn't care about the details, about anything anymore. All that mattered was making this copy pay. Instead of going to school, playing ball. Having a normal childhood, this copy had given him a history of pain and blood. Endless bootcamps, drills. Friends that only sought to drive a knife into his back, and an endless war against an eldritch enemy that could not be stopped. He had accepted that his life was ruined, that he'd never know peace. But knowing that some Other thing was living the life that he deserved? That was taken away from him for the crime of simply being born with potential? That was a crime he refused to let go unpunished. The Agency was powerful, untouchable. But these Other...this Other was very, very human.
And he could work with that.
As he drove down the streets he should have known. Passing the school that should have been his, he parked across the street to the home that he should have had. Gazing out of his broken and battered car, he stared in silent, seething rage at the functional vehicles parked outside. He escaped his car, and stalked up to the townhouse with the only thing he had that was in any good condition- a handgun he'd maintained and cleaned since he was ten.
The porch lights were on, but given that he was used to creeping around abominations from another plane, the basic home security system wasn't much of a challenge. He effortlessly pressed himself against the siding of the home, peering in through the window. It was...nice. A quiet home, if a bit messy. A family sat in a living room, looking so alien and unfamiliar. This was supposed to be his right? But he still felt like a stranger. Sandy crops of curly hair. Emerald Green eyes that pierced the night and that laugh. The man- his father? Let out a heavy guffaw. Something one of the teens had said seemed to amuse him. But the laugh resonated with Alex far heavier than any sound he could have heard. It was...heavy, but not in a bad way. It was like there was so much joy, that even his large frame couldn't contain it. A bellowing, rolling laugh that was both goofy and endlessly endearing. It was...nothing like Alex had ever heard in his life. The hardest he'd ever laughed had been a quiet, reserved snicker. Maybe a chuckle at best. But this was...different. This man. His...father? Had so much laughter that he just had to share it with the world. A full on uncontrollable guffaw. The man wiped a tear from his eye, before he cracked some kind of joke that Alex couldn't hear through the glass. And the family laughed in turn. And the things he heard chilled his blood to his core.
At first, it was just the laughter of the group. But one by one they faded away. The mother fading out first, adding on some witty comment or charming remark that seemed to just incite laughter further in the others. The daughter faded away next, seemingly just not as interested in the joke. But with their silence came a crescendo from the remaining member. A deafening wail to Alex's furious ears. Something that shattered his being and left him standing helpless on the edge of the house, gun loosely held in one hand like a useless plastic toy.
A laugh. His laughter.
No, not just his laugh. Not just his laughter. A guffaw of joy and amusement that was somehow even greater than the bellowing laugh of their father. The Double's laugh was one of pureness and innocence. A life unmarred by pain and sorrow and suffering. All the things that Alex had been through had ripped him away from this joyful crescendo. This Double was laughing with more enthusiasm and gratitude than Alex himself had ever felt in his life. Hands shaking, Alex raised his handgun, pressing it against the glass that seperated him from the family that should have been his.
The family that could have been his.
The family that needed to have been his.
Something was wet.
He pressed a hand to his face. Pulling it away to reveal damp tears. Was he crying? How hadn't he noticed? The truth had struck him like the bullet he meant for his imposter, and now the chill was spreading through his system like shock from a gunshot wound.
This family that would never, be his.
Killing his double. It wouldn't change his own past. It wouldn't replace his future. They'd scream and mourn the Alex-that-should-have-been-him. Even if he explained himself, they'd never believe him. He'd be the Imposter, killing the original and wrecking this perfect family life.
The gun clattered to the ground, the numb feeling completely overtaking him. There wasn't a feeling in his body that he could explain. All the rage and indignation. All the resentment and hate. All of it was...gone, dispelled by a twin set of generous chuckles. He couldn't kill them. They didn't deserve it. It wouldn't...do anything. Because to them, there was no copies, no doubles. There was just...them. It was perfect, ignorant bliss, and he wasn't going to shatter that. He turned;
The Double walked away, back not to the car, but down the street below. No agency, no home.
It was time to go anywhere else but here.
That family didn't want an imposter.
By: @Noctis the Devious
Title of the piece: The Many Wanderer
Word Count: 490
Chosen theme(s): Stolen Identity
Chosen format: Short Story
It was a cold that pierced through even the thickest of skin and fur and frosted over bone. White stretched far into the horizon, hazy with snowfall, and drained any all life from what may have been. Still, Cale dared not move a muscle. Even with zero visibly, he knew something was there and it brought with it this unnatural cold that bit through his warming charms and ate away at his heat, draining it from his very core. The flame of his lantern was putting on a valiant effort at staying lit, but the more the fragile light caught - because yes, it was moving closer - the more Cale wished it would go out.
He couldn't move to extinguish it.
First it was the bastardized form of a human hand that broke through the soft glow. The skin of it was blackened and took on the appearance of frostbite and decay. With the way it was curled into a fist, every tendon and bone protruded outward as if threatening to rip the thin flesh to shreds. It walked on its knuckles. The second came forward, and with it the arm that had far too many joints; causing it to take on an uncanny gait. What would be considered elbows on a human, bent and buckled. Then the other arm again, dragging across undisturbed snow.
But it's head. No, rather, it's face. Twisting and distorting from one look of horror to the next; eyes bulged before shrinking, noses broke and crunched, mouth gaped and lips pulled taught. Teeth sometimes bared. From the grim imitation of a smile to a silent scream it morphed, and it morphed, and it morphed. From one victim to another. Whether it was unfortunate souls that merely died of exposure or fell victim to the unnatural cold it carried, Cale couldn't say, but their last moments were captured and put on displayed.
He held his breath as it dragged it's amalgamation of a body through the snow, covered only by robes made up of a material Cale really didn't want to place, but the way hair and teeth still stuck to it made it impossible not to. It was not an upright creature, with too many limbs with too many joints that creeped and crawled and flopped and twisted and creaked and crunched and snapped. Something dragged behind it. Cale couldn't turn his head to look even if he wanted to, and he kept his eyes firmly locked straight ahead. He couldn't feel his arms or his legs.
He could still hear it behind him; could still feel it behind him. The unnatural cold. But just as thoughts of frostbite and becoming another identity for it started to creep up on him, he could feel his warming charms once more. He released his breath.
The night closed in on him, silent and full of terrors. Still, he took a step forward, and then another.
Title of the piece: The Many Wanderer
Word Count: 490
Chosen theme(s): Stolen Identity
Chosen format: Short Story
It was a cold that pierced through even the thickest of skin and fur and frosted over bone. White stretched far into the horizon, hazy with snowfall, and drained any all life from what may have been. Still, Cale dared not move a muscle. Even with zero visibly, he knew something was there and it brought with it this unnatural cold that bit through his warming charms and ate away at his heat, draining it from his very core. The flame of his lantern was putting on a valiant effort at staying lit, but the more the fragile light caught - because yes, it was moving closer - the more Cale wished it would go out.
He couldn't move to extinguish it.
First it was the bastardized form of a human hand that broke through the soft glow. The skin of it was blackened and took on the appearance of frostbite and decay. With the way it was curled into a fist, every tendon and bone protruded outward as if threatening to rip the thin flesh to shreds. It walked on its knuckles. The second came forward, and with it the arm that had far too many joints; causing it to take on an uncanny gait. What would be considered elbows on a human, bent and buckled. Then the other arm again, dragging across undisturbed snow.
But it's head. No, rather, it's face. Twisting and distorting from one look of horror to the next; eyes bulged before shrinking, noses broke and crunched, mouth gaped and lips pulled taught. Teeth sometimes bared. From the grim imitation of a smile to a silent scream it morphed, and it morphed, and it morphed. From one victim to another. Whether it was unfortunate souls that merely died of exposure or fell victim to the unnatural cold it carried, Cale couldn't say, but their last moments were captured and put on displayed.
He held his breath as it dragged it's amalgamation of a body through the snow, covered only by robes made up of a material Cale really didn't want to place, but the way hair and teeth still stuck to it made it impossible not to. It was not an upright creature, with too many limbs with too many joints that creeped and crawled and flopped and twisted and creaked and crunched and snapped. Something dragged behind it. Cale couldn't turn his head to look even if he wanted to, and he kept his eyes firmly locked straight ahead. He couldn't feel his arms or his legs.
He could still hear it behind him; could still feel it behind him. The unnatural cold. But just as thoughts of frostbite and becoming another identity for it started to creep up on him, he could feel his warming charms once more. He released his breath.
The night closed in on him, silent and full of terrors. Still, he took a step forward, and then another.
By: Anonymous
Title of the piece: Oh gallant man!
Word Count: 531 words
Chosen Theme: Heroism
Chosen Format: Poetry
Oh gallant man, how feart of the world you seemed
When you first treaded out from that fleeting thresh
Your eyes a hollow pit, nothing good it deemed
Your face, fraught with fear, and wounds so fresh
Oh gallant man, how you did tremble so terribly,
When faced with the beasts opened maw, fear
Not fight, but flight, is what you had felt unbearably
And yet, still, you held your feet and shed only a tear
Oh gallant man, how did you come across this end
From that sweltering heat of a town, not a title
Not a coin, not a single thing for you to send;
To anyone, not a soul, only the thing so vital
Oh gallant man, how you moved, oh so quickly, not to pick up battle
But to run from frantic whispers of a tale that threatened to claim you
Lies on the tip of your tongue, your mouth only moving to prattle
And your feet carried you far away from destiny, into a waters blue
Oh gallant man, how you foolishly stumbled hither and thither
To get away from the calling for a hero, a gallant man, not you
Even as war brewed on, and what little you loved whither
Alas! How did your heart breathe as chaos grew?
Oh affrighted man, how the waters tipped the bow of the boat
When you watched, from afar, the brittleness of fear;
The one holding you so tightly, grew so you could float
As water ran, and a heartache too, your hand cuddled a spear
Oh affrighted man, how your heart did beat with the wind
The winds that carried you away and then back at the same
This war, meant for a hero, would deal with all you could lend
The world picked up again, and with a fury spread a flame
Oh affrighted man, how that fierce fear that ate away at everything
Even you, once and always chained to it, could see the way it regales
It did not come in one form, nor two, but with many of terrible offspring
With its open jaws, a row of teeth shone, and in the moonlight so did its scales
Oh affrighted man, how you never did see a beast so quite as terrifying
It seemed to loom in every corner, and your eyes never could stray
And you set your feet at an edge, accepted the consuming fear of dying
A hero, you had thought to it, 'Not I', but why were you there if not to slay
Oh affrighted man, how you did move again, a breath between a stride
And your feet set the space between you and the beast to vacuity
Your newly acquired spear, chipped and broken like you, did seem to guide
You danced to death with the beast, and you shed every past fatuity
Oh gallant man, Oh affrighted man, the beast was slain not by a knight
You'd never be a hero, but destiny had chosen you as a worldly savior
Oh gallant man, Oh affrighted man, that which you chose isn't your birthright
Yet now you, a savior, and the healing world owed each other, a mighty favor
Title of the piece: Oh gallant man!
Word Count: 531 words
Chosen Theme: Heroism
Chosen Format: Poetry
Oh gallant man, how feart of the world you seemed
When you first treaded out from that fleeting thresh
Your eyes a hollow pit, nothing good it deemed
Your face, fraught with fear, and wounds so fresh
Oh gallant man, how you did tremble so terribly,
When faced with the beasts opened maw, fear
Not fight, but flight, is what you had felt unbearably
And yet, still, you held your feet and shed only a tear
Oh gallant man, how did you come across this end
From that sweltering heat of a town, not a title
Not a coin, not a single thing for you to send;
To anyone, not a soul, only the thing so vital
Oh gallant man, how you moved, oh so quickly, not to pick up battle
But to run from frantic whispers of a tale that threatened to claim you
Lies on the tip of your tongue, your mouth only moving to prattle
And your feet carried you far away from destiny, into a waters blue
Oh gallant man, how you foolishly stumbled hither and thither
To get away from the calling for a hero, a gallant man, not you
Even as war brewed on, and what little you loved whither
Alas! How did your heart breathe as chaos grew?
Oh affrighted man, how the waters tipped the bow of the boat
When you watched, from afar, the brittleness of fear;
The one holding you so tightly, grew so you could float
As water ran, and a heartache too, your hand cuddled a spear
Oh affrighted man, how your heart did beat with the wind
The winds that carried you away and then back at the same
This war, meant for a hero, would deal with all you could lend
The world picked up again, and with a fury spread a flame
Oh affrighted man, how that fierce fear that ate away at everything
Even you, once and always chained to it, could see the way it regales
It did not come in one form, nor two, but with many of terrible offspring
With its open jaws, a row of teeth shone, and in the moonlight so did its scales
Oh affrighted man, how you never did see a beast so quite as terrifying
It seemed to loom in every corner, and your eyes never could stray
And you set your feet at an edge, accepted the consuming fear of dying
A hero, you had thought to it, 'Not I', but why were you there if not to slay
Oh affrighted man, how you did move again, a breath between a stride
And your feet set the space between you and the beast to vacuity
Your newly acquired spear, chipped and broken like you, did seem to guide
You danced to death with the beast, and you shed every past fatuity
Oh gallant man, Oh affrighted man, the beast was slain not by a knight
You'd never be a hero, but destiny had chosen you as a worldly savior
Oh gallant man, Oh affrighted man, that which you chose isn't your birthright
Yet now you, a savior, and the healing world owed each other, a mighty favor
By: @Constellations
Title of the piece: Dead or Alive.
Word Count: 752
Chosen theme: Stolen Identity
Chosen format: Short story
Another piece of unfamiliar mail came to her home, which caused her to raise yet another brow out of curiosity because she had absolutely no idea what was happening to her or what is happening to anyone else. She walked delicately to her neighbors home, raising her small fist up to knock on the door, where she waited until someone opened it. ❝Hey.❞ She spoke in a greeting tone and with a very bright smile. ❝I was wondering if you were getting anything suspicious in your mail or anything?❞ The recipient behind the door shook his head that signaled no then she softly to herself that her eyes fell to the ground behind her. ❝Well, thanks anyway.❞
She left the porch then went to her own home, where she found her seat and eyes peered at the piece of mail on the table. Her phone rang, which caused her to jump with a little sigh then she grabbed it to answer it. It was her friend, Sarah, who called to remind her of their lunch date. Savannah didn't forget but did have a lot on her mind currently. Maybe a lunch date with a friend is something that she needed right about now.
After hanging up the call, she got ready with a shower, a dab of makeup, and a dress with a pair of flats. She scurried out of the door and got inside of her vehicle, driving towards the destination of where she was meeting her friend, Sarah, who was on the sidewalk to await her arrival. Savannah got out with a small smile and hugged her friend close and tight. ❝Hey, how are you?❞ Savannah asked her while they were directed to sit at a patio table outside. Sarah said that she was doing well then returned the question to Savannah, who looked down at the pavement beneath them while Sarah suddenly interjected herself. ❝Uh-oh, what's wrong?❞ Sarah finally asked with a concerned look and tone.
Savannah didn't respond immediately because so many scenarios ran rampant through her mind on how to tell her best friend that her identity has been stolen. She looked really uneasy while her hand rubbed her arm and her eyes shifted to the waiter bringing them their drinks. With a soft smile, Savannah thanked him then looked at Sarah, who was getting really, really upset with her friend that sat directly across from her.
❝Spit it out!❞ Sarah basically scolded Savannah, who jumped at the sudden raising of the voice from the person she called her friend. ❝My identity has been compromised.❞ She stated while Sarah looked very confused, shaking her head at the words that just spewed from her lips as she tried her best to come up with the right words to say right now. Sarah didn't even have any if she was being honest but then again, she did just have to say something. ❝So, what are you going to do?❞ She asked sincerely then looked at the waiter, who brought them their food.
Savannah shrugged her shoulders while she sighed softly to herself. She didn't know what she was going but hell, what was there to do? She could go to the police station although they laughed in her face the first time but now, it was getting serious. Mail was showing up at her home, credit card bills that she couldn't explain to anyone, and just even more bills that are coming up the abyss. ❝Do you want to know the weird thing?❞ Sarah leaned in, somewhat intrigued by what Savannah was going to say next.
❝I want to know who this person is, dead or alive.❞ Savannah had a certain glimmer in her eye, one that meant that she was definitely going to get whatever she wanted and she was out for this person's blood. Sarah raised her finger to signal the waiter to bring the check on over to where they were, only so Savannah could go and handle her business. ❝Well, girl, do what you have to do.❞ Sarah said goodbye after she hugged her friend then kissed each of her cheeks before they waved goodbye to each other and parted ways.
Savannah got inside of her own vehicle, behind the wheel that she grasped tightly with a smirk. She knew exactly what she needed to do now and now was definitely the time to do so.
Title of the piece: Dead or Alive.
Word Count: 752
Chosen theme: Stolen Identity
Chosen format: Short story
Another piece of unfamiliar mail came to her home, which caused her to raise yet another brow out of curiosity because she had absolutely no idea what was happening to her or what is happening to anyone else. She walked delicately to her neighbors home, raising her small fist up to knock on the door, where she waited until someone opened it. ❝Hey.❞ She spoke in a greeting tone and with a very bright smile. ❝I was wondering if you were getting anything suspicious in your mail or anything?❞ The recipient behind the door shook his head that signaled no then she softly to herself that her eyes fell to the ground behind her. ❝Well, thanks anyway.❞
She left the porch then went to her own home, where she found her seat and eyes peered at the piece of mail on the table. Her phone rang, which caused her to jump with a little sigh then she grabbed it to answer it. It was her friend, Sarah, who called to remind her of their lunch date. Savannah didn't forget but did have a lot on her mind currently. Maybe a lunch date with a friend is something that she needed right about now.
After hanging up the call, she got ready with a shower, a dab of makeup, and a dress with a pair of flats. She scurried out of the door and got inside of her vehicle, driving towards the destination of where she was meeting her friend, Sarah, who was on the sidewalk to await her arrival. Savannah got out with a small smile and hugged her friend close and tight. ❝Hey, how are you?❞ Savannah asked her while they were directed to sit at a patio table outside. Sarah said that she was doing well then returned the question to Savannah, who looked down at the pavement beneath them while Sarah suddenly interjected herself. ❝Uh-oh, what's wrong?❞ Sarah finally asked with a concerned look and tone.
Savannah didn't respond immediately because so many scenarios ran rampant through her mind on how to tell her best friend that her identity has been stolen. She looked really uneasy while her hand rubbed her arm and her eyes shifted to the waiter bringing them their drinks. With a soft smile, Savannah thanked him then looked at Sarah, who was getting really, really upset with her friend that sat directly across from her.
❝Spit it out!❞ Sarah basically scolded Savannah, who jumped at the sudden raising of the voice from the person she called her friend. ❝My identity has been compromised.❞ She stated while Sarah looked very confused, shaking her head at the words that just spewed from her lips as she tried her best to come up with the right words to say right now. Sarah didn't even have any if she was being honest but then again, she did just have to say something. ❝So, what are you going to do?❞ She asked sincerely then looked at the waiter, who brought them their food.
Savannah shrugged her shoulders while she sighed softly to herself. She didn't know what she was going but hell, what was there to do? She could go to the police station although they laughed in her face the first time but now, it was getting serious. Mail was showing up at her home, credit card bills that she couldn't explain to anyone, and just even more bills that are coming up the abyss. ❝Do you want to know the weird thing?❞ Sarah leaned in, somewhat intrigued by what Savannah was going to say next.
❝I want to know who this person is, dead or alive.❞ Savannah had a certain glimmer in her eye, one that meant that she was definitely going to get whatever she wanted and she was out for this person's blood. Sarah raised her finger to signal the waiter to bring the check on over to where they were, only so Savannah could go and handle her business. ❝Well, girl, do what you have to do.❞ Sarah said goodbye after she hugged her friend then kissed each of her cheeks before they waved goodbye to each other and parted ways.
Savannah got inside of her own vehicle, behind the wheel that she grasped tightly with a smirk. She knew exactly what she needed to do now and now was definitely the time to do so.
By: @Nemopedia
Title of the piece: Two sides of a coin
Word Count: 1202
Chosen theme(s): Found family, heroism
Chosen format: Short story
There had been no plan to perform a good deed first thing in the morning. Noah had long passed the point of cultivating good karma and hoping for fortune to strike. Knowing that she had wanted to ignore, passing by the daily wiles contained within a city.
The glassy round eyes of a child abandoned on the side of the road, crying for parents that were never to reappear. Crying for the empty stomach they had to endure. It was easy to offer the child a bun. A quick feed to still the stomach and quench the crying. A simple solution for a problem that was inevitably to reoccur. It would have been enough for the moment, and a less guilty person would have counted that cruel kindness as their good deed of the day.
Less guilty. More ignorant. Both of which Noah was not who recognised the child as the son of another, the son of a friend, or a maybe-friend. The familiar form of their eye, that shape of the face that just contained a little bit more baby fat. Noah realised that she had never confirmed said friendship. Never cherished it.
"Stop crying," Noah had said, voice flat and awkward just as much as her hands were cold and harsh when wiping the tears away. "Eat this," she told the boy, pressing a bun in his hands before standing up, preparing to leave.
That was the extent Noah wanted to go in regards to a good deed performed.
Glassy wide eyes look up at the stranger that had given him the bun. The boy recognised the first bit of kindness that he had been given. Perhaps he even recognises a familiarity in Noah as he suddenly grasps her hand, startling the woman who planned on disappearing from his life.
"Call me aunty," Noah says later. By then he had called her a variety of things, amongst them 'mother' when he sleeps and she comes to check. By now he has been following her everywhere since the bun, and Noah doesn't have the heart to abandon the son of a maybe-friend.
"Aunty," he repeats after her, eyes still as wide and familiar set in a face-shape that contains too much fat to be the same.
"And you will be Jan," Noah deems before the boy could say anything more.
Now they were committed, Noah knew. By naming the boy she had taken him in, made him her responsibility. The price being a lonesome bun she had meant to keep for herself.
Jan didn't question it. He never did in the next decade that passed. Travelling with aunty, eating and filling his tummy as he sold the goods displayed to the crowd. In time Jan knew no better than the nomadic life aunty and he lived, going from place to place to trade and to sell, taking one peculiarity and seeking out another.
"Your mother liked that the best," Noah told him once, when Jan held up a charm, a bundle of herbs tied together. It was the only time he had heard her speak of his parents.
"A youth elixir," Jan told the lady that was scoring down the goods, "and that is meant for fertility, the one next meant to prevent…"
A bump to his shoulder told the boy, now almost a man, to fall silent, the wary look of a potential customer settling into one of understanding before getting up and leaving with a sneer.
"Not all are as welcoming," Noah says as she rearranges their goods and quickly clears out their stand, "we will have to sleep on the road. I don't think it will be long," she says and Jan can only release a deep sigh at the thought of the cold hard ground. Such was their existence, wanted and scorned, praised and cursed at every turn of the back.
It wasn't long indeed. With fire in their breath, a group had come rushing at them before they had left proper. The woman from earlier in the lead as she pointed at the pair. A usual repetition, Jan thought, believing that they would just chase them out.
"That mother and son over there. The witch and her kin!"
Noah stepped forward, Jan was faster, slipping in front of her. The accusation was loud, falling heavy for the times now.
"Aunty is a healer!" he exclaims, arms wide but it falls on deaf man's ears as Noah pulls at him, pulling him behind her. She tries, but Jan doesn't budge, knowing that he has grown larger than Noah over the years. Nimbler and stronger. Jan knew he wasn't the child anymore that followed her so long ago.
They are with more, however and Jan feels how his arms are wrenched behind him, and he watches Noah being detained as well, the treatment harsh and filled with fear feeding into displaced hatred.
"Take them away," the command comes and soon enough they are put on trial.
"The boy is no relation of mine," Jan hears the confession, a pang running through his chest at the realisation of what happened. "I killed his parents and took him in. It was a vile trick," Noah continues, her chin held up high as she faces the cajoling crowd.
By now Jan has been pardoned at large, though unable to leave or move around freely until the trial is over. The reason why and how, he hears now while seated in that hard wooden bench of the church where the trial takes place.
"I gave them a potion, for I had been instructed to do so and took their breaths, and their child with me."
Jan knows that there is a truth in these words, for Noah is looking at him straight from the tribune. From the crowd she had found him, harsh eyes with that cold look that reminded him of the rough hands that used to wipe his tears.
When they ask him for the truth Jan only says; "I don't know."
"He is young enough, still," a woman whispers, but they fall quiet when he passes by. He knows what they mean, however.
"The poor child, stuck with the murderer of his parents," he overheard in another alley. Jan was the talk of the day, and he didn't question why.
"By the order of the devil, she claimed." The whispers never stopped, even if they quietened when Jan came around.
He had sold potions, mixed a few as well. To grow hair, to stimulate growth. For fertility, or to bleed. Jan knew the assortment they had kept, what the coin weighed when the intent was to harm rather than to help, and how easy it was. The gnarly outcome to something that seemed too good to be true.
He was sure that it was such a coin that had been exchanged to change his life. Just as Noah had used a coin to buy the bun that had changed hers.
"Won't you stay?" the priest asks, eyes sympathetic now that everything is over. "Where will you go?" he pleads, and Jan decides not to fall into that trap.
"I don't know," he repeats, but sets off all the same.
Title of the piece: Two sides of a coin
Word Count: 1202
Chosen theme(s): Found family, heroism
Chosen format: Short story
There had been no plan to perform a good deed first thing in the morning. Noah had long passed the point of cultivating good karma and hoping for fortune to strike. Knowing that she had wanted to ignore, passing by the daily wiles contained within a city.
The glassy round eyes of a child abandoned on the side of the road, crying for parents that were never to reappear. Crying for the empty stomach they had to endure. It was easy to offer the child a bun. A quick feed to still the stomach and quench the crying. A simple solution for a problem that was inevitably to reoccur. It would have been enough for the moment, and a less guilty person would have counted that cruel kindness as their good deed of the day.
Less guilty. More ignorant. Both of which Noah was not who recognised the child as the son of another, the son of a friend, or a maybe-friend. The familiar form of their eye, that shape of the face that just contained a little bit more baby fat. Noah realised that she had never confirmed said friendship. Never cherished it.
"Stop crying," Noah had said, voice flat and awkward just as much as her hands were cold and harsh when wiping the tears away. "Eat this," she told the boy, pressing a bun in his hands before standing up, preparing to leave.
That was the extent Noah wanted to go in regards to a good deed performed.
Glassy wide eyes look up at the stranger that had given him the bun. The boy recognised the first bit of kindness that he had been given. Perhaps he even recognises a familiarity in Noah as he suddenly grasps her hand, startling the woman who planned on disappearing from his life.
"Call me aunty," Noah says later. By then he had called her a variety of things, amongst them 'mother' when he sleeps and she comes to check. By now he has been following her everywhere since the bun, and Noah doesn't have the heart to abandon the son of a maybe-friend.
"Aunty," he repeats after her, eyes still as wide and familiar set in a face-shape that contains too much fat to be the same.
"And you will be Jan," Noah deems before the boy could say anything more.
Now they were committed, Noah knew. By naming the boy she had taken him in, made him her responsibility. The price being a lonesome bun she had meant to keep for herself.
Jan didn't question it. He never did in the next decade that passed. Travelling with aunty, eating and filling his tummy as he sold the goods displayed to the crowd. In time Jan knew no better than the nomadic life aunty and he lived, going from place to place to trade and to sell, taking one peculiarity and seeking out another.
"Your mother liked that the best," Noah told him once, when Jan held up a charm, a bundle of herbs tied together. It was the only time he had heard her speak of his parents.
"A youth elixir," Jan told the lady that was scoring down the goods, "and that is meant for fertility, the one next meant to prevent…"
A bump to his shoulder told the boy, now almost a man, to fall silent, the wary look of a potential customer settling into one of understanding before getting up and leaving with a sneer.
"Not all are as welcoming," Noah says as she rearranges their goods and quickly clears out their stand, "we will have to sleep on the road. I don't think it will be long," she says and Jan can only release a deep sigh at the thought of the cold hard ground. Such was their existence, wanted and scorned, praised and cursed at every turn of the back.
It wasn't long indeed. With fire in their breath, a group had come rushing at them before they had left proper. The woman from earlier in the lead as she pointed at the pair. A usual repetition, Jan thought, believing that they would just chase them out.
"That mother and son over there. The witch and her kin!"
Noah stepped forward, Jan was faster, slipping in front of her. The accusation was loud, falling heavy for the times now.
"Aunty is a healer!" he exclaims, arms wide but it falls on deaf man's ears as Noah pulls at him, pulling him behind her. She tries, but Jan doesn't budge, knowing that he has grown larger than Noah over the years. Nimbler and stronger. Jan knew he wasn't the child anymore that followed her so long ago.
They are with more, however and Jan feels how his arms are wrenched behind him, and he watches Noah being detained as well, the treatment harsh and filled with fear feeding into displaced hatred.
"Take them away," the command comes and soon enough they are put on trial.
"The boy is no relation of mine," Jan hears the confession, a pang running through his chest at the realisation of what happened. "I killed his parents and took him in. It was a vile trick," Noah continues, her chin held up high as she faces the cajoling crowd.
By now Jan has been pardoned at large, though unable to leave or move around freely until the trial is over. The reason why and how, he hears now while seated in that hard wooden bench of the church where the trial takes place.
"I gave them a potion, for I had been instructed to do so and took their breaths, and their child with me."
Jan knows that there is a truth in these words, for Noah is looking at him straight from the tribune. From the crowd she had found him, harsh eyes with that cold look that reminded him of the rough hands that used to wipe his tears.
When they ask him for the truth Jan only says; "I don't know."
"He is young enough, still," a woman whispers, but they fall quiet when he passes by. He knows what they mean, however.
"The poor child, stuck with the murderer of his parents," he overheard in another alley. Jan was the talk of the day, and he didn't question why.
"By the order of the devil, she claimed." The whispers never stopped, even if they quietened when Jan came around.
He had sold potions, mixed a few as well. To grow hair, to stimulate growth. For fertility, or to bleed. Jan knew the assortment they had kept, what the coin weighed when the intent was to harm rather than to help, and how easy it was. The gnarly outcome to something that seemed too good to be true.
He was sure that it was such a coin that had been exchanged to change his life. Just as Noah had used a coin to buy the bun that had changed hers.
"Won't you stay?" the priest asks, eyes sympathetic now that everything is over. "Where will you go?" he pleads, and Jan decides not to fall into that trap.
"I don't know," he repeats, but sets off all the same.
By: @dark
Title of the piece: Alaska Tales
Word Count: 521
Chosen theme(s): Found Family
Chosen format: Short Story
Alaska, the land of the midnight sun sparkled with all its glory. Today was the day they were going to see the Aurora Borealis or the Northern Lights in the winter snow. It would take them a few days to round up the sled dogs and prepare enough supplies for the frozen winter outside and enough to feed the dogs.
The breeze whirled and began to pick up as the snow began to blow harder outdoors. The dogs were barking to be let inside for a quick food run before the journey was to begin. Picking up the fur lined coat was a common occurrence in this weather but a rugged outdoors person had to prepare.
After slinging the pack full and feeding the dogs, I packed up the snowshoes and enough supplies to get to my stop. Perhaps after i was done, I'd find a hot spring to relax in. Stepping out into the crisp, cold snow with my cold black boots was a chore as i slung the bag on my shoulder.
I threw the pack into the sled and prepped the sled dogs for the adventure that lied ahead.
"Come on, Arctic, Come on Alpine… we need to go, we can't be late if we are going to catch the show tonight if you catch my drift."
The dogs were finally ready after fighting the cold to get things ready. I stood ahead and started to go as the dogs began to run pulling me along.
It was the dead of winter and only tonight could I watch the greatest show on Earth in the skies overhead.
I just hoped what I mapped out tonight would lead me right toward the strange occurrences in the skies.
There were no lights to guide us but we moved anyway. After hours of countless searching, we were about to give up when we looked up into the sky.
There was a beautiful, starry version of the Northern Lights right in front of our eyes, just like we had always dreamed of seeing. A awe-inspiring version of greenish-blue, waves moving slowly in front of my eyes.
Good thing I had packed up supplies for the long journey home. I quickly pulled out a camera with the flash function on it before it froze and took a few breathtaking pictures of the sight, hoping I could get a few more pictures before we returned home.
After I got all I wanted, I packed up as the dogs were lying by the makeshift campfire that had still been blowing in the snow packed wonderland. It was time to go home and perhaps I might be back before the three hours of daylight rolled around to be honest.
"Dear Journal,
Today I saw the mystical Northern Lights. There is nothing like it in the world and it's beauty is breathtaking once you see it for yourself.
I'll never forget this sight, plus I got a few good pictures after all that to prove I was there.
I chucked, perhaps another day when the dogs didn't need their beauty sleep. We will head back home after.
Title of the piece: Alaska Tales
Word Count: 521
Chosen theme(s): Found Family
Chosen format: Short Story
Alaska, the land of the midnight sun sparkled with all its glory. Today was the day they were going to see the Aurora Borealis or the Northern Lights in the winter snow. It would take them a few days to round up the sled dogs and prepare enough supplies for the frozen winter outside and enough to feed the dogs.
The breeze whirled and began to pick up as the snow began to blow harder outdoors. The dogs were barking to be let inside for a quick food run before the journey was to begin. Picking up the fur lined coat was a common occurrence in this weather but a rugged outdoors person had to prepare.
After slinging the pack full and feeding the dogs, I packed up the snowshoes and enough supplies to get to my stop. Perhaps after i was done, I'd find a hot spring to relax in. Stepping out into the crisp, cold snow with my cold black boots was a chore as i slung the bag on my shoulder.
I threw the pack into the sled and prepped the sled dogs for the adventure that lied ahead.
"Come on, Arctic, Come on Alpine… we need to go, we can't be late if we are going to catch the show tonight if you catch my drift."
The dogs were finally ready after fighting the cold to get things ready. I stood ahead and started to go as the dogs began to run pulling me along.
It was the dead of winter and only tonight could I watch the greatest show on Earth in the skies overhead.
I just hoped what I mapped out tonight would lead me right toward the strange occurrences in the skies.
There were no lights to guide us but we moved anyway. After hours of countless searching, we were about to give up when we looked up into the sky.
There was a beautiful, starry version of the Northern Lights right in front of our eyes, just like we had always dreamed of seeing. A awe-inspiring version of greenish-blue, waves moving slowly in front of my eyes.
Good thing I had packed up supplies for the long journey home. I quickly pulled out a camera with the flash function on it before it froze and took a few breathtaking pictures of the sight, hoping I could get a few more pictures before we returned home.
After I got all I wanted, I packed up as the dogs were lying by the makeshift campfire that had still been blowing in the snow packed wonderland. It was time to go home and perhaps I might be back before the three hours of daylight rolled around to be honest.
"Dear Journal,
Today I saw the mystical Northern Lights. There is nothing like it in the world and it's beauty is breathtaking once you see it for yourself.
I'll never forget this sight, plus I got a few good pictures after all that to prove I was there.
I chucked, perhaps another day when the dogs didn't need their beauty sleep. We will head back home after.
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Iwaku is this weird place to me where lots of people know me from when I was still a teen going into young adulthood and the me now after absence.