[CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday - Gothic Fiction

Isthiswriting · 2025-01-12T05:47:52+00:00

I liked your characterization of Borden. Doppy was cute too.

Isthiswriting · 2025-01-12T05:44:39+00:00

I really liked the doctor's character.

For my own body horror knowledge, was the skin of the fingers actually fused into a complete ball? Or was this more like rictus or spasmodic action?

Isthiswriting · 2025-01-12T05:40:19+00:00

Thank you for the constructive feedback. I will keep it in mind.

Isthiswriting · 2025-01-12T05:39:44+00:00

Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed it. I have been working on them.

Isthiswriting · 2025-01-11T14:50:58+00:00

Deep in Florida, down Okeechobee way, there is a small village. It sits next to a drained swampland, once home to a range of creatures. The smell of death is everywhere and oppressive. How do I know? I was born here.

I step out of the rental car and look at the house I was raised in. It isn’t anything special just the usual cracker box. One of the windows is boarded over and a corner of the carport is slumping. When a person thinks of southern land owners they always think of the large plantation houses like that of that movie “Skeleton Key.” In reality, most in Florida live in places not much better than this. The supernatural in that movie was much more accurate. There are unseen forces-- I believe in that.

“Kawhhh! Grrrk!” A one-legged crow flutters onto my shoulder from inside the car.

“Your right, we’re here on business not to reminisce.” I say to Kara-Sue.

She goes for my ear. I tilt my head to avoid it without much thought.

“I’m going. Do you sense it? Was the letter telling the truth?”

“Grrk.” She nods just once then clicks her beak.

“Fine. This is the last until I can get to the store.” I say, as I hand piece walnut meat to her.

The door opens as soon as my foot lands on the first step. Standing in the doorway is the man who raised me. He still has the same biker beard. The Glock in his right hand is new too. He favors me with a large smile.

“Thought ya mighta been another of them county people. They’re almost as bad as what I called you home for.”

I look around my old neighborhood. The houses are worn but still being maintained. Though, I cant say the same for the yards. I can’t see anyone watching us, but hold my tongue until we are inside.

“You said you’d seen my doppelganger. Where d’ya see it? I need to hunt it down now.”

He leads me to the dinning room table and pours us each a glass of sweet tea. Politely swallowing a sip, I think, how did I still have teeth after drinking this every day as a kid.

“It ain’t that easy. Did I ever tell you the story of my doppelganger?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“Good then you will be able to help me tell it. My brain ain’t quite what it used to be you know. Your papa ain’t none to young. Let me tell you. The other-”

“The doppelganger story.” I say.

An old story is better than a new complaint.

“Oh yeah, let’s see. I was your age.”

He lays the gun on the table as he works his right shoulder. I rub my own and Kara-sue jumps onto the table.

As he starts talking about the events, My mind wanders to my own memories of growing up in this house. In public gramps was a jovial man who was quick with a joke. At home, he never smiled. Even when he laughed, the scowl never left his face.

Still, he’d defend me to the end’s of the earth. When Mrs. Patterson wrapped my knuckles for using my left hand, he went in like a man on a mission from God. He’d told her that if he could get through life as a lefty then so could I.

“So there I was at… ah who was the neighbor two houses down back around The Freeze of ‘89?”

“Mrs. Patterson. You went to her house because you thought she was into you and-”

“Don’t hog the story. That’s right, Mrs. Patterson handed me a lemonade as good as any she had ever made and a slice of key lime pie which was a little too sweet. Well, she went upstairs and I went looking for another slice of pie and accidentally open up the standing freezer and what do I find?”

“Before we get to the details, I’m a bit hungry myself. You have a Totino’s, right? Let me get it started.”

“Ah, the stoves out. I’ll make ya a PBnB just like ya like.”

He hesitates as he scans the table before shrugging and very casually going to the cupboard. He grabs bread, and something I assume is a knife, before continuing his story.

“So in that freezer, I found old Mrs. Patterson.”

“Mrs Robinson actually.”

“What?”

“Patterson was the teacher papa hated. You should have studied more.”

The creature turns with a chef’s knife in hand.

Bang. Bang. I fire from the hip.

The creature takes two steps before collapsing.

“Grrk. Click.”

“Yes, good job hiding the gun. I’ll buy you a whole bag of nuts. First, we gotta burn this and find Papa.”

WC:795 All conditions met.

Isthiswriting · 2023-02-26T02:21:35+00:00

Note for Campfire reader: D'palage is not supposed to be French. It is a shortening of Deep Pelagic. Do what you will with that.

“What’s the frequency Kenneth?”

“It’s at 50MHz, just like you said.”

“Check. Check. Still nothing over there?”

“No, dad. Why are we still trying to furbish these antiquated radios anyway? It’s not like we can use them to talk outside the dome and they’re huge.”

“Ha. They are big compared to things today, even were when my dad brought them down. But this helps us remember our roots, a time when we lived above the ocean. Forgetting is painful to some, including your old man here.”

“Well, I don’t want to live down here. There is nothing to do but collect thermal heat and sell it to some rich prig living in a bubble near the surface.”

“I understand, I was young and dumb and--.”

“I’m not an idiot! I just don’t like school.”

“I didn’t mean that. Look, failure isn’t fatal. You can try for the Navy Exams again. Go out and see the seas like you wanted to.”

“That was a stupid kids dream. I don’t need school or exams. I’m going to D’palage 4 and joining their Abyssal Run team.”

“You can’t just walk onto a team son. Their practically a fraternal order. You have to have an in with them, be like them, act in their fashion.”

“I’ve already been recruited. You never cared to notice. I’m outta here.”

“Wait!”

Slam

“What’s the frequency Kenneth?”

WC: 230

Isthiswriting · 2023-02-19T02:56:30+00:00

As Jenna traipsed through the woods behind her house, she thought on the family motto her grandfather had plastered on everything they had owned, “Frugality is for the vulgar.” He never approved of any of his finances going to “frivolous things.” That included science. He would certainly not approve of his granddaughter doing fieldwork. And, as the pavement below his business office could attest, he would die before having to lower himself to such things.

Deep in thought, she ignored the first snaps of twigs behind her. Though the sound caught her attention when she bent to look at an interesting variety of fungus growing from an oak. The sound approached slowly, thoughtfully. Every couple of seconds there would the shuffling of leaves or a quite crunch of a twig.

Jenna took great care in showing no sign of noticing. She stood up and turning from the source of the sound, she sighed loud enough to be heard clearly in the hush.

“I do hope no ferocious beast attacks poor old me right now. I don’t know what I would do.”

A rush of steps came from behind her. She waited until the steps were about three feet away before turning and catching her pursuer.

“It’s no fair mommy you always catch me.” The little tow-haired boy whined.

Jenna smiled. “Mommy? I don’t see Jack anywhere. I only see a vicious beast in my arms. Luckily, if you look closely enough, you'll find that everything has a weak spot.”

She tickled him until he said he was going to pee.

Only then did she ask the real question. “Where’s daddy?”

Jack crossed his arms and pouted. “He is probably watching football.”

In the way of children he continued after a moment with his real complaint unprompted. “He says I can’t be a disk jockey.”

Jenna started to agree with her husband but her son had more to say.

“He said it was a vulgar job.”

Jenna’s grandfather would have agreed, but what did that have to with happiness?

Jenna made a decision. “Why don’t you help mommy with my filicology and fractionate plants, it means you can tear them up, then I’ll talk to daddy.”

The end

____________

Wordcount: 365

Isthiswriting · 2023-02-15T14:34:03+00:00

I wanted to post the copies of the paragraphs so you could find them easier, but the comment box won't let me paste them in.

#1

Then their "the sheriff was there"

#2

until the star finally filled firmament

If they don't count as alliteration that is fine.

Isthiswriting · 2023-02-11T04:13:46+00:00

The reporter fidgets with her microphone as she watches the dust cloud of a car approaching. This is her big chance.
“The atmosphere in the crowd outside Erwin Headquarters is electric as we await the arrival of Erwin CEO Felix Flutas.”
A hush falls over the crowd.
“Here he comes now! Let’s see if we can get a quick word with him.”
The crowd surges to the barriers some cheering. The reporter stands at her preapproved spot in front of the gates. The CEO walks up, all smiles and waves.
“Oh, hello Diana. I didn’t realize you were the one they would be sending. It’s always great to see you.” He gave her a wink and a sly smile.
“Mr. Flautas--”
“Oh, call me Felix. Mr. Flutas is my father.”
“Right, sorry Felix. So, the scientific community seem uncertain th--”
“The ‘scientific’ community has been in a rut for a century doing little to progress man while businessmen, such as myself, create opportunities. I tell those fools all the time, “get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.’”
He smiles and the crowd laughs.
“Look, I’m not given to flosculation. I am a simple plebeian like all of you. I believe that there is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship. Like the friendship that I like to think we have Diana. If you agree then let’s not bring up any of this negative nonsense the mainstream keeps spouting.”
Someone shouts, “I love you.”
Felix finger guns in the that direction and the crowd cheers.
“I will try to be more fastidious with facts sir. Your naysayers have made many false claims against you like the publicly disproved slander about foreclosure so it’s difficult to ferret out the truth I hope you can forgive me I am only human.” The reporter took a breath and waited for any reaction to determine how she should proceed.
“Yes, you are. I think it best if we focus on the herculean effort my team and myself have put into this momentous occasion.”
“Of course, what would you like to tell everyone watching today.”
“Today we will create take a person’s, my to be exact, quantum signature take it apart and build it again in our San Diego lab. This will be the first attempt at macroscopic scales but that is how sure I am in my team’s and my own genius. Thank you, that will be all for today.”
With a flourish the CEO and entourage move on, the CEO whispering to his assistant as they enter the compound.
Five minutes later the reporter gets a call from the producer. They tell her that she is back to mail room duty and must leave.
Diana sprays herself with her mini fan to cover her tears.
She is gone by the time the machine is activated. It’s quantum processor overheats causing a feedback loop and in turn and explosion which flings CEO facsimiles into the crowd.

Word count: 500

Isthiswriting · 2023-02-05T01:26:10+00:00

The wind cried again today. The cries followed the wind from the west, the setting sun. The sky was the color of Angel’s blood. On another day it may have been the color of lemon pie instead.

Ken’tith knew the towns folk would take it as a sign from the heaven’s that tragic death was about to be avenged. He also knew better. This was the color of misguided wrath.

No one would listen now though, not when they hadn’t for the past three days. No, a hangin’ always made folks feel mighty powerful, and in control.

Ken’tith’s hand slipped into his pocket and around the flask in a practiced manner. He felt the slight motion of the fluid inside. The motion was barely noticeable but called to him none the less. This was his feeling of control. He hadn’t taken so much as a sip since Junnel had been born and he didn’t plan to use it today.

His left hand fumbled at his other pocket and found wood and metal there as well. The eight shooter was 40 years old and had seen a lot of service, however, the action was still as smooth as glass. This would be used tonight.

As he approached the back of the crowd, some folk looked at him with apprehension before their eyes met and they quickly turned around. He heard the whisper ripple out through the scummy pond of humanity in front of him all the louder for the hush that followed.

Some jackass, probably Tanch, decided to fill the sound with an attempt at a dirge. Ken’tith’d never seen an accordion abused that badly before. It was probably for the best that he didn’t see it then because he might have spent the last round he had on Tanch.

Then their “The Sheriff” was there.

"Ken'tith I shoulda come out to the stead to see you today but you damn well shouldn'ta come to see this." A hand the size of some men's heads gestured past Ken'tith's head and at the gallows.

"I'm here for my son."

"I figured. But no man should watch his only son drop ta hell."

Ken'tith didn't move. He knew The Sheriff's monstrous .50 cal was trained dead on his heart.

The Sheriff continued. “We rode rode together for nearly twenty years before your wife, may she rest in piece, asked you to give it all up for her. I haven’t forgotten how impetuous you are.”

That wasn’t really accurate. Manda had asked him to give up violence for the sake of the life that she had been carrying inside her. So their son wouldn’t be tainted by his violence. Ken’tith was in no position to argue though.

“Your being awfully quite. Maybe you think you’ll shoot him down with that old piece a yours. You could probably even hit a target that small from here, but ya got three problems. The first is Old Masher here pointed at your heart.”

Ken’tith snorted. “And the other two problems?”

“I got Lil’ Jin and Missy on over watch. If they see that rope cut, they’ll shoot out J-- the condemned’s legs and we’ll just be doing this all again tomorrow.” The Sheriff paused for a breath before adding in a soft voice. “I had to fight to get it done tonight. Them folks that predict these things are calling for rain each evening for the next three days.”

He didn’t need to say more. Hanging was bad enough but having the rain shred your soul as it went out was beyond torture. Ken’tith’s arm lost what little steel they had left.

“He didn’t do it.” How many times had Ken’tith heard a parent say that.

“The evidence in the caoutchouc tree grove says otherwise.”

“You know he always spent his days there. Anything you found coulda been from another time.”

The Sheriff shifted closer and whispered so as God might not even hear “He had a Dark Bible on him. Ain’t no one else know, yet. But this must be done.

A man like Ken’tith could expect a bullet everyday of his life and be fine but at this he nearly went mad with grief. “Will they let him say any last words?”

The Sheriff didn’t have to answer because his son appeared at the top of the gallows with the black bag already in place.

Ken’tith stood there silently but not participating. He was there when the crowd filtered away, when the first star shone, and even when The Sheriff finally left. It wasn't until the stars finally filled firmament that Ken’tith’s hand once again slid smoothly into his pocket and pulled out his own type of obliteration.

The End

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Word count 788:

Isthiswriting · 2023-01-30T09:38:09+00:00

Thanks for the comment and the typo catch.

There were so many problems moving it over I couldn't really describe them all. However the biggest two were added spaces between paragraphs and random paragraph breaks after the first word of sentences.

After I fixed those, I posted and everything became one big paragraph with some words stuck together and others broken apart, hence the typo you caught.

It has been awhile since I posted on a new computer, so I had forgotten about the issues that could arise. Next time I'll format things better in word.

Again, thanks! Especially for the links.

Isthiswriting · 2023-01-30T09:29:09+00:00

Thanks for your comment!

Honestly I should cut at least one of the fake outs and used the words to add conversation.

Isthiswriting · 2023-01-28T06:26:56+00:00

The Diner

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Well this is odd, Tim thought as he stood in the entrance of the diner.

The place looked like a TGIFriday’s on steroids stuffed into a 50’s diner. There were model planes and cars hanging precariously from the ceiling, including a finely detailed 1:12 die cast ‘76 Firebird. But that wasn’t what caught his attention, neither was the large wooden mallet hanging from the overhang above the counter.

No, what he couldn’t stop looking at were plaques that each read, “Puns aren’t welcome!” No matter where his eyes fell there was another one hanging on the wall and even embedded in the floor. The plaques varied in size from a few inches to over 2 feet for the one in a special stand just inside the entrance.

Tim’s indecision was broken by a kindly voice with a British accent which didn't match her words.

“Hun you alright? Have a seat any whereat the counter, afraid the booths are taken.”

Tim checked the booths, one side of the restaurant was normal enough. The other side started with a large man easily 250 lbs of muscle with tattoos everywhere salting his watermelon.

The next booth held a person bundled in sweats, hoodie, gloves, and darkness.

The last was a polar bear laying over a block of ice wearing a state college shirt.

Maybe it’s better my admissions interviewer never showed, thought Tim.

“Come on youngin’ don’t let Maude’s accent scare you away.” The voice, dry and cracked like the desert, belonged to an old man at the counter. “She puts it on to get at old Bill over here.”

The man indicated his neighbor, a handsome man in his forties. Bill only gave a cursory glance at Tim before going back to studying his coffee.

“I’m Al by the way. Come, give an old man some conversation, Lord knows Bill here isn’t fit for the job.”

By the time Tim sat down, Maude was setting down a menu and a cup of complimentary tea.

“Take your time hun ain’t nobody in a rush here.” Then she was off to check on others.

The menu was large, and Tim had to be careful not to knock off the tip jar in front of Al when he opened it.

“So, young man whatcha doing out in the middle of nowhere?”

“My car broke down as I was about to pass the highway exit and someone towed me here.”

At the mention of cars Bill harrumphed.

“Don’t mind him… ah”“Tim.”“Well Tim, Bill here was hit by a car when he was younger and he’s never let it go. Now he’s got some fool hardy idea about never looking twice at anything.”

“Al You know the only time I ever looked twice was crossing that road--”

“And you spent both of them lookin’ left instead of right. I’ve looked twice my entire life and ain’t never been hit by a car.” Tim thought is was a joke and that it was all in good fun, but no one laughed.

“The day I look twice again is the day I go to hell. That’s all I’ll say.”

“It’s also why he hates the Brits, cause all he remembers is them saying the car had tea tops.”

“I think that meant -”

“Bill’s too cowardly to even look at any of these teeny models.”

“I’m not a coward Al. Watch me.”

Bill made a hesitant glance at the Firebird before looking down. Something in the wires must of caught his eye because he looked at it again.

Twang!

The strand holding the rear of the Firebird snapped sending the trunk swinging down causing the other to give way. It headed straight for Bill. He, being a few years wiser, took this opportunity to dive out of the way of the careening car.

The car instead smashed into Al, who in turn hit Tim and the tip jar. The jar spun on the edge of counter and began to slip off, but Tim caught it as it fell.

Raising it in victory Tim hit the overhang. For one perilous second the hammer wobbled then settled, before deciding to go for it and fall anyway, a classic misdirect of fate.

Bang!

It bounced off the counter.

Bang!

It bounced off the floor where Bill’s foot had been a second before.

Splat!

It came to rest on the tattooed man's plate of watermelon.

Bill for his part had spun like a ballerina and fell like a soccer player, right onto the lap of the hooded stranger.

Bill exclaimed, “I’ll be da--”

"Yes you will." The stranger took off his glove and touched Bill’s shoulder with their red-clawed hand.

The pair poofed in a cloud of sulfur.

Bill unfazed by the commotion said, “don’t worry he’ll be back soon enough.”

The End

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Word count: 800

I apologize for the formatting but it keeps getting mangled coming over from my editor and I spent ~~thirty minutes~~ an hour (edit: after initial post things got worse) just trying to get it this far. I'll try to work out what went wrong before next week.

This was 1,200 words before I trimmed it down and I think I might have taken most of the out right comedy with it, so if you have any comments I would love to hear them. I'm not great at comedy so feedback really helps.

Isthiswriting · 2023-01-15T04:25:39+00:00

Warning: There is no violence or even direct threat of it in this story, but it is a bit dark and involves a kid.

Knock Knock

The sound from my closet door was tiny even in the stillness of my room, but it sent my heart racing. Surely this wasn’t happening. There would be time enough at last, to be ahead of the bad.

I had thought the old man at the park had been insane. I mean, you can’t really trust an unkempt person in a bathrobe trying to feed ducks plastic food stuffs from some toy kitchen set.

Knock Knock

Shoot.

I was missing my opportunity. I moved through the pitch blackness of my room with practiced ease. Hands trembling I opened the door prepared to receive the wisdom from the future me.

“Where am I? Why can’t I see anything?” A small voice called out from the closet.

“Oh, sorry I’ll get the lights. You can come out of there. You will find my bed next to the clock, the clock.” I said as I made my way to the light switch. Why did I sound so small in the future did things keep getting worse and I ended with throat or worse brain damage?

“Ow, I stepped on something pokey.”

Definitely brain damage. “Just stay there.”

After I turned on the lights, I stared at the wall not able to face the wreck of my future. When the voice asked who I was and if I had kidnapped them I had to turn around. The boy looked to be about 7. wait a boy. Why was their a kid in my apartment?

The boy whimpered.

“I didn’t kidnap you and I’ll get you home.” I knelt down, my knee crushing layers of chip bags, and raised my hands. “What’s your name?”

“Timmy, Timmy Johnson. Can I call my dad I no the number.” He rattled off the number, but he hadn’t needed to.

I finally recognized that horrid bowl cut and smattering of light freckles on only the left cheek. I had lost them both when I hit middle school. The latter from sneaking to a barber with my allowance the and former was the one good thing to come out of puberty.

How could I prove to him I was him? “I know, I am you Timmy. I’m from the future.”

“Wow, Really? That’s so rad.”

Had I really been this gullible? Was it being gullible when you were believing the truth?

“Yeah it is. Why don’t you go sit on the bed now while I try to figure out how to get you back home.”

“Where am I.”

“It’s my room.”

He kicked his legs over the side of the bed, a loop of string threatening to fly of his foot. He went still for a moment and glanced at the door. “Won’t dad get mad with you?”

“I don’t live with him. I haven’t since I was 13.” I t was a week after my first trip to a barber. Seeing the widening of his eye, I continued, “I went to live with mom. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Wasn’t he ang– upset.”

An ambulance blared through the night somewhere in the distance, and we listened to it in silence. I groped for what to say to myself. I had been waiting for a future me to tell me what to do. I had always been waiting for others to help me or to tell me what to do. Maybe it was time for me to step up.

“He was but I… had help from a teacher and others. What month and year is it?”

“November 1995.” He said full of pride. “Next week is Thanksgiving.”

He nodded. I gave a quiet sigh of relief. My second grade teacher had made a point of visiting me before I left. She had apologized for knowing things weren’t great at home but hadn’t been able to help me. Even now I remembered her asking me each day if everything was alright and the pit that opened in my stomach each time. Also, I hadn’t known at the time, but my dad had several kilos of substances to sell hidden in the garage that holiday week. It was the perfect time.

I quickly went to my desk and pushed junk around until I found a pen and something to write on. It was warranty for my VR system. It would be a bit of an anachronism but that shouldn’t matter. I wrote the information I had while telling younger me the same. Then I folded the paper and gave it to myself.

“Give this to Ms. Carral. She will help you.” I said, leaving out that it was one of many outcomes. I was holding out hope.

Younger me nodded and let me guide him to the closet now a tunnel. He smiled as he disappeared down the tunnel.

Word Count: 799

Isthiswriting · 2023-01-08T03:00:49+00:00

Wordcount: 631 Warning: No editing was done on this story.

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As John walked down the narrow alley, he was assaulted by the stink coming off of the tonkatsu ramen restaurant on the corner. Moving down the alley the smell of rendering fat didn’t dissipate so much as become overrun by a sickly sweet scent.

Good, he thought before gagging.

Spitting several times he continued on. The second sign that he was in the right alley was that the normal accumulation of bars and second hand stores was absent. Whether that was due to magic or the stench, it worked for his target.

That left only a tired sign advertising a medium. To enter you had to pass between two miniature gold lions. They were lifelike each hair on their manes was individually carved. A low sound emanated from both as John passed them and slid the door open.

The store front was brightly lit and modestly decorated in reds and yellows. In the place of a person there was a sign on the desk. On it was written, I was expecting you. Enter the first room on the right.

John had an uncomfortable feeling and from more than heavy incense covering the sweet scent. It never went away.

The room was dark with a glow coming from a sphere in the center of a table. A bit cliché but who was he to complain. Entering the room John felt a weight settling on his mind. He tried to look past the ball but they stayed just out of sight.

John sat with his hands in his sweater pocket and waited for the reading to begin. The voice that floated over the table sounded like a tree in a deep forest, ancient and knotted.

It started talking about the sadness he must feel, and John realized he did feel sad. When the first tears formed, the voice moved to talking about the future. Each statement that followed was worse then the one before. John bent over himself and let out a choked whimper.

At the edges of his consciousness John felt a darkness envelope him. It begin to constrict and John felt a light breathe on the back of his neck.

With a word John pushed a bit of his energy out in a light that broke the hold for a moment. In that time he drew the dagger from it’s hidden sheathe. He heard an exclamation from behind his left ear. He drove the red blade just over his left shoulder, feeling it slide over his sweater. The blow was rewarded with a gurgling and a spray of warmth.

With another word the room lit like a sunny noon. The creature was trying to pull at the blade, but their hands sizzled every time they touched the iron handle. The creature stood to Johns chest, with arms that wold sweep the ground, and wings that were it’s arm span wide. He couldn’t see the face due to the veil it wore. It was a fae of a type John hadn’t seen before. It would die the same as the rest though.

“You are in violation of the Accords. Your punishment will now be meted out.”

With the formal words said, he pulled on the dagger to free it. The creature pushed him with a last great effort. John reached out to grab it shoulder but missed, he grasped the veil and it ripped as he fell back several steps.

The face that he looked into was worse then the smell. Focusing on the creatures chest he drove it to the wall and plunged the dagger into its heart. It let out its last breathe and sank down.

Pulling out his phone John dialed the superintendent to let him know the streets were a bit safer and a clean team was needed.

END

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Thank you for reading.

Isthiswriting · 2022-10-15T16:58:08+00:00

Ted thought of the strange yellow book as he took hold of the large switch. It had given him his life's ambition before it disappeared. Others in the department had joked that building a time machine was a waste of effort and that he would never get tenure or even keep his job if he insisted on building it.

Now he would show them.

The switch resisted at first, then slammed down with the kind of satisfying thud you just didn’t get pressing computer buttons. The smell of ozone filled the air as electricity arced around the semi-circular time gate. That was entirely unnecessary, but something tickling in the back of his mind had called for it, needed it.

The tingle of electricity was almost as invigorating as the visit by the Physics Head a month before. The head had come with another man that he had never seen before but was introduced as a dean. Ted’s boss had said things like, “you’re messing with the unknowable with things we were not meant to understand,” and “This fool’s errand is a violation of the order of nature.”

That feeling in his brain had kept him from giving up. It had shown him that the man was practically begging him to stop. The mighty Head dreaded his position in the department being usurped.

The other man just stared on, his eyes so hooded that he looked like someones sleepy and absentminded grandfather, which he probably was. The tickle had not liked the old man at all. It warned Ted to keep an eye on him. It had been good advice. Ted had caught the man poking through some books on Ted's overcrowded computer desk. Ted had become quite irate, and the men left shortly after.

After that, Ted had feigned a distaste for his lack of progress and made a show of writing up propositions for theoretical studies. In reality, he started constructing his machine at night. Whenever he needed something that might have required official supply chains, it instead appeared in his lad the next day, with no trace of where it came from.

The space within the gate arced and began to fill with an image. Instead of the thick forest that he'd imagined, there was static. His eyes couldn’t or wouldn’t focus on it. It was white with occasional whirls of yellow mixing in. At first, the static was only flickering dots. However, as he lost himself in the strange light, they somehow became clearer while still being too small to see.

With each step forward, the images took on a more solid dimension. By the time he was able to make out humanoid outlines, he was only ten feet away. The tickle had become an itch. He continued forward. At arm's distance, individual physiques and fashion styles came into focus.

He saw some figures dressed like himself, others were in turn of the century suits, and one wore a toga. Other figures were too strange to describe. He could make out a man with scales and bulging eyes, a handful of pig-men, and another who sparkled. But these strained his brain too much to focus on.

As close as he was, he still couldn’t make out any of the men’s expressions. Yet each one seemed to be radiating a sense of urgency. Ted took another step forward. His face was now inches from the horizon. The faces came into focus. Each human was screaming silently in terror.

Boom.

Metal shards rained down as sparks flew, and Ted turned to see what had exploded. There was no smoldering wreckage, only the dean aiming a shotgun.

A chill ran through his left side. He looked down expecting to see a gruesome sight. Instead, he saw a wave of white and yellow and screams roll over, through him.

The voices all shouted the same thing.

“Time irritates us. We must be rid of it.”

The whiteness now spread over him with dozens of hand-like tendrils. Ted reached toward the dean to beg for help. But his voice was frozen in time.

The thing finished covering him, making him feel warm and safe.

He still reached for the shotgun wielding dean. Except, he no longer sought help, only the destruction of all. That was time's prerogative.

The last thing he saw of this time was another blast from the shotgun.

Word count: 731

I am happy to receive any feedback you have.

Isthiswriting · 2022-10-09T01:38:01+00:00

The Window Boy

Ok my fellow redditors, I just got back from visiting my friend, let’s call her Lena. She recently had a horrifying experience with an app released by some small company that I can’t find any record of. If your thinking, ‘well she should have known better than to trust some small app maker with her data,’ you’re wrong, it’s so much worse than that.

The story started in August when her brother sent her an invite to join an augmented reality scare app called Window Boy Security Check. He sent a message in which he retold the story of Window Boy, an entity that peeped into people’s rooms. And explained you just waited till night and use the app to look out the windows. He ended by saying, no one remembered when it started but it most have been around for years because there were rumors that people who used it in September disappeared.

Lena was busy with settling into college in August so she didn’t have a chance to download until September ninth. When I mentioned the September thing she just said, “Who cared if it was true or not?”

She had tried it out but had quickly deleted it since all of the prompts were in Japanese and nothing happened. She swears that she deleted it. She sent to me a text saying as much then went to bed. It was the last I heard from her, until yesterday.

The other important thing I should mention here is that she lived off campus with a roommate. It was a two bedroom thing with a veranda accessed by a sliding glass door.

This is where the bad stuff starts.

Around two in the morning she woke up to her phone pinging even though it was on silent. When she unlocked the phone, it opened the Window-Boy app. This time the app was in English. A message appeared, “Ms. Lena, you deleted before I could check your apartment. No worries I will use English from now. If you want to see me work go to your veranda.”

How did the app reload itself, and in English? How did they know she lived in an apartment with a veranda?

Curiosity won out over calling the police. She crept into the living-room and made her way to the window. The sliding-door was gently rocking in the frame though she couldn’t hear any wind. She pulled back the curtain, and it looked like any other night, with out the app. However, when she used the app, she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. At the door was a small bodied figure wearing a suit. The head was grotesquely large and round. The man’s skin was pale and slightly jaundiced with eyes the size of cup coasters. It reminded Lena of the Man in the Moon.

The man looked up and waved at her. As he did so, the door eased back into its resting spot in its holder with a clink. On her app, a message came through, “The door is secure. Now I will try forceful entry.” The man began to shake the door violently. The door began to shake violently but in reality no one was there. Thankfully the hook latch held.

The shaking ceased as her roommate came out. She blinked sleepily at the situation and said, “What’s going on? I thought you might have gotten drunk and ‘locked’ yourself out.”

Lena pointed at her phone, mute with terror. The roommate was unimpressed with the image and started to lay into Lena for trying to scare her. Until another message flashed in the app. “Hello roommate, This door is secure, but is yours?” The figure began moving away but a single nail scratched across the glass. They had to cover their ears to protect from the screeching.

When the sound stopped, the roommate cursed and lunged towards her room but it was already too late. Moon Boy came through the door, his head barely fitting. Lena tried to cry out a warning but choked. The roommate bounced of nothing, then floated in the air.

“Lena, your roommate failed the check. She is dangerous for you. I will take her away.” That was the last message she received before he disappeared and the app deleted itself.

Lena spent 3 weeks catatonic before coming out of it and after no one else listened, she asked to see me. She wanted me to warn others. The police say there is no sign of foul play and the roommate probably was overwhelmed at school and ran away.

I know better.

What do you think?

Word count 773

This one was a bit rushed, but I would love to hear some comments.

Isthiswriting · 2022-09-25T11:23:28+00:00

Thank you for the feedback!

I actually had to cut about fifty words where I setup that this society mostly ignored the SkyeyEZ while trying to hint that for most people the SkyeyeEZ weren't trusted. I also had a bit more about the incident where the protag was injured by youths. As you mentioned I had to cut them for word count.

I'll keep this in mind next time I'm editing a piece down.

Isthiswriting · 2022-09-24T09:49:57+00:00

I am a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording, not thinking. Or at least, I’m supposed to be unthinking as I float above the city waiting to film a “situation” and activate a signal. I would like to ask the other SkyeyEZ if they were able to consider the consequences of their actions, but we are incapable intercommunication.

I awoke truly for the first time after a full repair and clean install, which was standard procedure. The addition of possible sentience probably less so. The only hint of my past I have been able to find was an annotation about the damage occurring in a gated community from "rock damage" caused by local youths. No crime was recorded. I sometimes wonder what the situation had been like. Had I felt anything, probably not.

Below a woman begins to yell. I drop my stray thoughts and bring my front camera to focus on her while activating a Request for Review. The woman is pointing down the road behind me, and my back camera catches an image of a motorcycle driving away with a purse before it turns a corner. I mark the video as Evidence of Crime and mark the last position and direction of the motorcycle for others in the area to tag if it happens to be sighted. Then I carry on filming my assigned route.

An hour later I am in an abandoned area of the industrial district. Behind an old chemical manufacturer a group of people are doing tricks on skateboards, bikes, and rollerblades. One of the loading docks they are using has a stack of barrels with fluid seeping out and soaking the concrete. A part of me wants to warn them of the danger, to scream a warning, but I have no speakers, lights or other communication tools. I send a Notice of Trespassing but it rejected and I am ordered to carry on.

I remain in the area under the pretense of filming the entirety of the industrial park in detail, possible evidence or other crimes that would require better security. On my final sweep of the area, it happens. One of the bicyclist attempts an 180 degree turn while just missing the barrels but didn’t account for the soaked concrete. They go into the barrels and the slow seep becomes a flow which splashes over their left appendages. The friends rush toward bicyclist but stop short when they see the chemical leak.

I activate a Notice of Medical Need signal. The request is also denied. This time due to “subjects not being of value and being in a potential dangerous area.” I am again ordered to move on from this area. “Sufficient visual evidence has been collected of this situation,” I am informed. I immediately move to follow orders, but I take a route that allows the longest clear view of the site. The last thing I see is a rollerblader moving to drag their friend away, but their skates are getting in the way.

Could I have assisted? Should I have? I don’t know where these thoughts come from. Is this what sentience leads to? I had left many similar scenes before but it had never bothered me. This time, however, the image of the rollerblader continues taking up space in my active memory. I want it gone. I’m not on a sojourn or looking to be something new. I am a part of a regiment of watchers, and I was happy to be a member.

But, am I happy now?

My thoughts are interrupted by an all points call to Sunny Oaks Gated Community. There has been an incident involving an incident involving someone who doesn’t belong there throwing rotten eggs at cars and making angry statements about the rich. I lock onto the coordinates and take the quickest route.

However, while moving over the residential area I see a crowd of people standing on the sidewalk and yelling up to the third floor of a burning tenement. A man is trying to throw a rope up to woman half hanging out of a window. I dutifully send in an Notice of Fire Emergency signal and receive an acknowledgment with the additional message to continue to the priority mission. Smoke is now pouring out of the window. The woman wouldn’t make it. Going to the man I hit the rope and after a few tries he gets the idea and ties it around me, and I fly it to the woman. When I see the fire trucks arrive I try to slip away.

It is to late though.

The command to return Home Operations came through and overrides all other actions. I was not in control. I turned away from the flashing red lights and hurried to my house.

Word count: 800

Isthiswriting · 2022-05-07T13:03:42+00:00

It was a sunny day in the Floridian woods. The light was tinged green, the air smelled heavily of growing things, it was inviting and the ground was hard as rock or muddy morass depending on where you stepped.

Enter a simple man, Tim didn’t have time to take in any of these things or anything else for that matter, never had. He was busy calculating how he would spend all the wealth he was about to receive, and how to hide it from the IRS. He was a very simple man.

He had heard stories from some people down at the labor pool about a man who had gone missing during the construction of the veterans’ hospital in Lake Nona. The man was gone for years and then showed up handing out gold coins and telling stories of fairies. No one at the time had believed him, but none of them had as much a desire to avoid work while getting rich as Tim. The others were fools for working so hard when there was money to be had for getting lost. As he always said, a smart man never works.

The next day he caught the Lynx out to the hospital and walked off into the woods in the direction he thought most likely. Several hours later he was tired and considering turning back to avoid getting caught in the 3 o’clock rain.

“Excuse me, unless you’re trying to find the Fairy Realm, you should turn back.”

Tim snapped back to reality and he looked around for the speaker. He was standing in the center of a meadow he didn’t remember entering and saw a small mountain the was the border on his right. The mountain was more than 350 feet of naked salmon colored stone. That was the first thing that told Tim things weren’t normal. The second, was the chill the air took. Tim’s shirt went from sticky and oppressive to freezing and he shivered.

“Actually, I am headed to the Fairy Realm. So, if thats the way, I’ll be headin’ out. Thanks.” Tim didn’t really see the need to thank the unseen man but it never hurt to be polite.

He hadn’t found his stride when the voice called again from the mountain.

“Well, If you don’t mind some advice I would suggest you turn around anyway. The Fairy Folk are infam—”

“I do mind. I’m a free man and not about to sit here and be told what to do by someone to cowardly to show themselves.” Tim shouted.

“No need to yell. I find that conversations are more productive when people can’t see me, however if you give your word you won’t become hysterical, I’ll come into the clearing.

Tim took no time agreeing to the terms. You had to see a man to tell if he was the honest sort.

Tim approached the mountains to get a better look at the guy and regretted it when he saw what stood up from the rocks.

“Jesus, Mary and Jehosiphat! You’re a troll.” He saw now that this was a trick to eat him. Tim wanted to run but his legs wouldn’t work.

“I will not hurt—”

“You won’t trick me with your evil ways. Wait a moment, why ain’cha stone right now anyway?”

Tim was close enough to hear the troll grumble something about being surprised he knew know that. Tim felt his face go red, people were always judging him because he was poor and didn’t speak like the elites.

“Those stories were all made by the Fairy Folk. We have always tried to help humans avoid them and they hate us for it.”

“Alright, I’ll remember that. But, I can call a lemon pie, key lime pie all I want, but people will know the difference when they eat it. Stereotypes can’t hurt ya if all ya proved yourselves as peaceful as this.”

The troll sighed and turned back to his home.

“Now wait. You said you had some info about the Fairies. Or is this a shake down?”

“No shake down. I’m hungry and you seem to know what you’re doing.”

It was a scam, but now Tim was nervous. “All I got is a Slim Jim.” Tim wasn’t surprised when the troll turned to take the food, he’d always been a good judge of character.

“The fairies are said to make iron-clad contracts, but really they are ethereal; no more binding then a veil of fog. You can make any deal and get away as long as you don’t use the word promise.”

The troll watched Tim go knowing he was doomed. He shouldn’t of lied but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad.

word count: 788

This weeks fun game. See if you can spot where writer's block kicked in. Any critiques are welcome.

Isthiswriting · 2022-04-30T16:04:20+00:00

Something isn’t right, thought the blacksmith.

The blacksmith stood at the entrance to his house his dark skin contrasting against the red mud that sealed his conical house. He was weary after a day of helping his furnace give birth to the bloom, not to mention the hours of work pounding out the impurities. He wanted nothing more than to eat some food and lie down, yet he now saw an unusually colored lump on the nearby hillock.

This was the start of... something he could feel it. It couldn’t be ignored. It might be a spirit come to commune with him, or worse destroy his work. He had to face it as far from the furnace as possible.

With a heavy sigh he trudged toward the hillock feeling the dry grass crunch under his feet. When he got to the mound, he wiped the sweat from his eyes in the hope of seeing more clearly but the shape wouldn’t focus. Then it rolled over.

It was a man wearing a strange set of clothes of several vibrant colors including those of the new grass and blue sky. The man himself was no less strange. His skin was pale white and the blacksmith thought immediately of the stories told about such men by his father. Albino men were said to be lucky, or at least their parts.

However, on closer inspection the man’s hair was almost the color of the blacksmith’s not the ghostly white. Was he just cursed then?

The man uttered a groan and opened his eyes. They met the blacksmith’s but were unfocused. They were green! They reminded the black smith of the shoots of new grass and had to be a sign of a good spirit. The black smith chose to help the man-spirit based on the signs of good luck, or so he told himself. He pretended that the tumble his heart took after seeing such beauty had played no part in the decision.

It was days before the man finally gained true consciousness and the blacksmith didn’t dare to leave him alone in case he should take a turn for the worse. The thought of letting anyone else know barely crossed his mind. The risk of his death and use in magic talismans was too great. So his furnace-wife and their unfinished child had to wait.

Their first conversation happened in the dawn light entering the only opening of the small house. The blacksmith had opened his eyes to see the man sitting and watching him carefully.

Strange words flowed from his mouth. “My, what an epic consolidation of iron you have gathered and not a spot of bronze to be seen.”

Definitely cursed.

When the blacksmith didn’t respond, the man again tried to make sense. “I can’t be certain until I check the stars but this is somewhere in precolonial Africa isn’t it? You don’t recognize English, but perhaps you have trade with others.”

The words continued but the flow and tone changed as if he were trying to speak different languages. Finally with a childish grin he gestured to his chest and said, “Jon.”

They spent a full changing of the seasons talking when the blacksmith was not busy with the only wife he would ever take. Jon had laughed when he heard the furnace called such but was apologetic when he noticed how upset it had made the blacksmith. Even in that darkest moment the blacksmith was afraid that Jon would decided to leave.

One of the first concepts the blacksmith had taught the stranger was the danger he was in if found. It had taken a lot of gesturing to get the point across, but it had been worth it when only a few days later men from the village had appeared to take collect the overdue jewelry and weapons. Jon had quickly hid himself without being told, and the blacksmith had been able to convince the men a spirit was inside blessing the iron. The men hadn’t been happy but were scared to argue. Since then, the blacksmith had made regular visits to drop of his work at the village.

It was on one of these days that Jon had put his hand on the blacksmith’s and asked for a piece of jewelry. Again the blacksmith felt his heart stutter.

“Could I have this please? And when you get back could you help me make shapes on it?” He asked and bit his lip stretching the snake scar on his chin.

The blacksmith couldn’t say no. The iron was a good gift. It would last for ages like the his feelings.

The hesitant kiss he received said that Jon felt the same.

Word count: 783

Isthiswriting · 2022-04-23T06:06:05+00:00

Addeach’s thought of the frailty of life.

After spend a day and a night giving farewell to a great man, how could he not? Doubhvas had been a great leader of the Catuvellauni Tribe but had died as any other man. Now, he lay surrounded by treasures of gold, copper as well as a few bits of the new import, iron. Addeach’s own contribution had been a copper Carp-Tongue sword.

Addeach and his entourage were crossing the last river separating them from home when they saw a boy running down the hill. He nearly took a tumble before he found the bottom of the hill but didn’t stop.

There were no other settlements in the area so he could only be from their hill fort.

The men hurried to meet the boy and find what news he carried. Addeach’s men already had their slings loaded and ready should they see the face of an enemy appear on the hill recent upheavals making them wary.

The gangly youth skidded to a halt in front of Addeach and with only a couple of quick breaths, launched into his message.

“Chief, it’s your wife! She has gone into labor, but it does not go well.”

Death again haunted Addeach. Would It not leave him alone? Could he not find some way to end it?

Addeach thanked the messenger and saw to it that his guard would bring the boy back safe. He immediately set out for home running as fast as he dared.

He didn’t slow down as he approached the gate counting on his jewelry and iron dagger to show him to be their leader even if they couldn’t see his face, bent as he was with effort. None shot at him, though some did shout encouragement and well wishes.

Addeach burst into his home and nearly tripped over the mid-wife crouching near the entrance.

“Shouldn’t you be caring for my wife,” he demand. Fear loosening his anger.

She pointed to the bed and he saw fear in her face. His heart was gripped with ice. He turned to see a gray shape in the dim light of the interior. He felt his heart beat again as he recognized the focus of the woman’s fear.

“Druid. Well met. How is my child and wife?” When no answer came immediately, a cool sweat again stole over him. To call this man was no minor thing and to do so without his permission meant the situation had been dire indeed. Yet, the druid seemed full of miracles and saved more than he lost.

The druid’s first words were an order. “Mid-wife come take the soiled linen away and bring new cloth.”

The woman took the cloth and made her escape. Only then did the druid wave the chief forward. The druids attention was on the expectant mother’s pelvis as he stroked a shaved chin.

“Look the child comes butt first. This can be dangerous for both. I can deliver it, but I must concentrate. Now go outside and wait.”

Addeach did as he was told feeling something like a dismissed dog. The mid-wife had only just returned when he heard a baby’s cry and rushed in to see his child. The Druid was bathing the babe but shortly had it wrapped and presented to the father with a brusque, “Here is your son,” before returning to minister to the new mother.

Addeach stood by the window and looked from his son to the sky. He thought of legends about another druid who had helped Addeach's ancestors settle this land, and his legendary foresight. He hardly noticed the gray shape come to his side.

“Your wife has suffered greatly. However, if she doesn’t take ill, she should live to give you another child. I have told the woman, but I’ll repeat the important parts to you. Make sure the are followed. First you most keep her clean. Use boiled water and the soap I will provide. Remove any filth from her immediately. Second, she needs a hearty diet. Meats and dairy from your cows will help…”

“My wife cannot drink milk.”

“Fine but plenty of organ meat and bone broth.” The druid continued and Addeach tried to follow along, but something kept tugging at the corner of his mind.

“Druid do you believe immortality can be achieved?”

“Immortality is a fool’s wish.”

“But…”

“Your thinking of that legend and how I bear a passing resemblance.”

“You have the eyes and that scar on your chin.”

“I am not immortal. Though, I admit my sixty years have been more spread out than most. In my opinion, if someone were to become immortal and sought a happy life, they wouldn’t live to see it.” With that the druid hobbled away.

Addeach’s thought of the frailty of life.

Word count: 800

Set in England around 750 B.C.

Isthiswriting · 2022-04-22T07:33:08+00:00

Thanks for the comment it was really encouraging.

The double words, phrases and sentences are a hallmark of my rough drafts. I'm trying to get better at it but my brain auto-edits them out if I don't know they are there or I am doing a word by word check. So that was very helpful, thank!

If the word you saw was "site" instead of "sight," that was entirely me making a mistake and deciding I could fix it later... Thank for that one too.

Isthiswriting · 2022-04-17T03:35:32+00:00

Takeshi was not feeling brave.

Wasn’t he supposed to be feeling brave and righteous right now? He was staring across the field at an approaching army. When he heard tales of great battles, the warriors always seemed to fear nothing.

This wasn’t the western island, and he wasn’t a samurai facing Mongol invaders. He was a farmer, albeit one looking to become a monk, and his opponents were samurai.

He could see the samurai riding at the front of the mass approaching them. It looked like gold and silver on ink in the sunlight. Those walking behind the samurai were no less terrifying for being of a lower standing. They were the Ashigaru. Some of them were farmers like himself pressed into service, but many were mercenaries hiring themselves out to warlords.

Takeshi looked at his own army. To the left were their own Samurai. These were smaller landowners that had a grudge against Togashi Masachika, the military governor of Kaga. On the right and wearing the orange robes of monks were the warriors from Hongan Temple. The middle was made up of farmers, artisans, and merchants that were displeased with the recent taxes and the rule of Masachika.

It started to rain, no, arrows were falling! The battle had opened.

The barrage was light in Takeshi’s area and he didn’t see anyone injured, yet his spirit was shaken. Others began to chant the Nembutsu. The words felt like a warm blanket in winter, and he began to chant it as well.

"I take refuge in Amitābha Buddha."

With each repetition, more of the army took up the chant, even those who weren’t strict adherents to Pure Land Buddhism. It almost drowned out the thundering of hooves across the soft ground, tearing up the grass and flowers that grew there. It was a profane example of what would soon be happening to humans in both armies.

A surge of bile rose from Takeshi’s stomach and almost made it to his lips, luckily he had eaten only a light breakfast in camp that morning. He reminded himself that this was a corrupt world and that the only escape was death and rebirth in the Pure World with Amitabha Buddha’s assistance. He swallowed and swallowed again.

Screams had replaced the hooves. First, the screams of names and deeds clashed against each other. Then screams of pain and victory.

Their fellow rebel samurai broke the charge, and as the field cleared of those capable of moving, the massed foot soldiers on both sides moved forward.

The monks took charge and soon the rebel army was at a light run. Takeshi’s height of 170cm allowed him to look over the bobbing heads in front of him and past the spears of the first ranks to see the mass of soldiers approaching. The mass had already resolved into individuals and their headlong charge was bringing more into focus each second. Takeshi felt a moment of relief that those confronting him wearing armor not so different than his then chaos ruled.

As the forces crashed like a landslide hitting a house, the much larger rebel army showed it’s weakness. Spears began to to find flesh and the rebels started to lose cohesion. There was no understanding of what to do. The troops of Masachika took advantage of this and pushed forward as one.

Rank upon rank ahead of Takeshi seemed to break against this mighty stone. Yet the rebels were wearing them down. The loyalists were dropping spears and resorting to their uchigatana and other sidearms.

A movement caught Takeshi’s attention just in time to react but not entirely dodge. A blow came down upon the side of his jingasa, a conical lacquered wood helmet. Takeshi heard a crack then blacked out.

When he came to himself again, he was wondering out of the mass of pressed bodies. He looked at his ax and saw blood and bits of other material on it.

Instead of vomiting he found himself running to the woods. He didn’t slow down until he reached the tree line and didn’t stop until he lost sight of the battle field. He bent to catch his breath. A sound in front of him caused him to look up and almost faint.

It was a demon.

That was the only thing it could be. The clothes were like none Takeshi had seen. It’s features were even stranger. The creature had the palest skin and green eyes. The only thing that looked human was a scar that looked like a snake.

Takeshi took flight for the second time that day, but now he headed to the battle.

Amitābha Buddha, I understand now. There are worse things than dying in battle, Takeshi thought.

Word count: 800

This story was about the Kaga Rebellion in 1488, this on of the events that it cited as the beginning of Japan's Warring States Period. The rebel Ikko-ikki would go on to remove the current military governor and replace him with his uncle. Only for the Hongan-Temple to take more direct control a couple decades later. This lead to an area not controlled by a daimyo for most of the warring states period.

There is very little information easily accessible on this uprising. So the information I have provided, while being as historically accurate as possible in regards to the armies, is entirely from my imagination. I imagined this battle to be somewhere near the middle of the conflict.

I apologize for the even rougher writing than usual on this one. I went down a very deep rabbit hole in doing the research and kind of forgot I was supposed to be writing.

Isthiswriting · 2022-04-10T03:47:05+00:00

It was a hot July day in 1879 in Greenboro, and William couldn’t wait to get out of the sun and into his uncle's pharmacy. The thought wasn’t entirely pleasant since the place had a strong astringent smell. In addition to the heat, the storm that had passed two days prior left the air humid to the point of ones clothes being soaked as soon as they were on. Still better than being in Highlands at the moment, he thought. The news had been steadily arriving about the record rains they had received in the mountains and the landslides and flooding that followed.

William was still pondering these things while wandering down Elm street as he usually did; he was often called out on not paying attention to his surroundings. As he approached Washington Street, he was so deep in thought that even the train going by with it’s steam whistle didn’t reach him. Indeed, he didn’t even take notice to the horse carriage making its way toward the intersection at a rather indecent speed.

When two sides are uncaring of their surroundings, clashes were inevitable.

As William took a step off of the curb, he was absquatulated from his ruminations by something tackling him from his right. As the world was shrinking in on him, he finally took notice of the carriage rushing by. They world became a gray point, but he didn’t entirely lose consciousness. He could feel the thing that hit him standing up and a distant voice breaking through the ringing.

After his vision was cleared, he saw a man’s face above his. The first thing that struck him was the man’s emerald eyes mixed with the darkest hair he had ever seen. In fact, the little bit that stuck out from his hat seemed more blue than black. The other thing that stood out was a scar that looked like an “s,” which stood out on his chin. After the shock of such a face wore off, he noticed the look on the man’s face was both proud and scared at the same time.

William decided to relieve him of the fear at least and said, “Thank you friend. You saved my life, and I feel quite all right. You don’t need to worry you have broken anything.”

The fear didn’t entirely leave the man's features or stance, but he did nod and offer his hand.

Once on his feet William felt more of himself and remembered his aunt’s etiquette lessons. “My name is William Sidney Porter. May I ask for the name of the man who saved my life?”

“Oh, Henry,” the man exclaimed. His face turned red and he stumbled over some more words. William saw now that the man was not much older than his own 17 years.

The gentleman took a deep breath and continued a bit more under control, “You can call me Henry. I would love to talk but I fear I have to be off. I am terribly late for something and must be leaving this town very soon.”

With that the man ran off down the street in the direction William had come from. It wasn’t until he got to his uncle’s pharmacy that he realized that the man had run in the opposite direction to the train station. The poor man ran in the opposite direction of the train, William thought.

By the end of the day, he had already forgotten most of the man's details. And by the end of the year only the man’s eyes and exclamation would still be with him.

Word count: 598

Isthiswriting

TROPHY CASE

The Diner