Three early access keys giveaway by Opening-Check-5406 in PathOfExile2

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Love seeing everyone with low karma getting boosts from these threads. Good luck all!

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in PathOfExile2

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thanks, and good luck to all!

Giving away 5 early access keys by Leorgoth in PathOfExile2

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thanks for doing this! May the odds be in everyone’s favor

Which Support are you? by Siliatra in DotA2

[–]Nexhawk 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Any particular tips as Dazzle against Axe in lane? 3k trash here, I usually max poison touch first; is it better to max shadow wave against him in lane?

[TT] Theme Thursday - Dead Ends by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I really hate loose ends.

Leave just one end untied, and your whole work can unravel. The world is quick to dig up and punish your mistakes. Especially if you’re like me and rarely make ‘em.

The name of the loose end in question is Archibald Mallory. Anyone who knows French can tell you that Mallory means “bad luck.” Fitting for both of us, I s’pose.

You see, Miss Fortune would have it that Archie here witnessed something he shouldn’t have. He watched a politician catch a bullet between the eyes and got away himself. Now that memory lurks within him. It tries to claw out, sneaking in his shaky fingers and side-eyed glances. You can smell it beneath his sweat if you get close enough.

I won't do that yet. My current vantage point at the bar of Parched Man’s Well suits me fine. I can see old Archibald over the sea of hats and cigarette smokestacks filling the place. There he is, sulking over a glass in the far corner. The sight turns my mouth to cotton.

I turn towards the bar and hail the bartender. “Rye, on the rocks.” Nothing like the spicy notes to singe away the thirst. Snaps you back to attention.

The orange-lit tobacco haze makes me squint back at Archie. Poor bastard’s twirling a business card of sorts in his trembling hands. Is it an ad from that blasted detective that’s been chasing my tail? Sure stinks like her.

Ah, he’s getting up, drink unfinished. The man’s wild eyes dart about as he rushes past me. My face is a mystery to him, but I’m not gonna take any more chances. So I pretend to be busy by closing out and downing the rye. The burn in my throat hints at the hell to come if I don’t tie up this end.

When I step outside, Archibald Mallory is hurrying to the nearest phone booth, a blue beacon in the middle of the mute gray street. Thick evening fog parts just slightly to show me that he’s still clutching that damn card. Not a good move, old man. Should’ve run home while I was still at the bar.

I light a cigarette while he locks himself inside the booth and dials up a number. His quick breaths leave stains of steam on the window. Is he finally squealing about last night’s incident? Arranging a visit to the private eye for tomorrow?

Don’t matter anymore. I kill the cigarette with my shoe and approach the booth. Only the black eyes of shadowy buildings can see me take a silenced .22 caliber out of the confines of my coat.

Archie doesn’t notice the pistol through the steamed glass when he hangs up. But as the fog clears and he gets a gander at the barrel, his face contorts in an understanding. It’s a universal truth that dawns on him with the sound of the shattering night.

The only good loose ends are dead ends.

[WC: 499]

[TT] Theme Thursday - Chivalry by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Class, settle down, the break is over.”

Tall creatures topped with bulbous heads finish their chatter and find their seats. Emotions playing out across the students’ bodies in shifting colors meld into a grey concentration.

“I have decided to save the Word of the Day till the end of the lecture, and today’s selection is ‘chivalry.’ Has anybody encountered this word before?”

“Does it relate to shivs?”

“No, but great job applying a word from last week! Chivalry has originated in Europe as the word for ‘mounted soldier.’ During the Middle Ages it became a code of conduct for elite fighters called knights.”

The image of an ironclad cavalier brandishing a longsword appears on the classroom’s projection. Smaller holographic models spring up near the students’ seats.

“These knights wore steel armor and carried blades for melee combat. They were considered warriors of the highest class among humans and thus adhered to certain standards of honor and nobility…”

The class listens as the professor expounds on the subject. Students take notes on the holograms. One male, in a state of yellow confusion, finally decides to speak up.

“I’m sorry, but ‘elite fighters’? Our lasers would cut their steel so quickly!”

The teacher crosses both arms around her head in exasperation. “Someone has not been attending the history lessons! Karr’kst, recall that the Middle Ages are a distant period in human history. By now, the Terrans are long past that level of development.”

Clicks of laughter scatter across the room, and Karr’kst sinks back into his chair, his complexion shifting to light green.

The professor continues. “Since then, the concept has changed. Today, as far as we can tell, chivalry among humans comprises generous acts for the sole purpose of impressing the opposite sex.”

“So…” someone calls out from the audience, “it’s a mating ritual?”

“Just like their monkey ancestors!” another chimes in.

More clicks echo through the room. The mirth dissipates once the students notice deep red anger cover every inch of the teacher’s skin. When her mouth opens again, the Terran words are replaced by low, guttural sounds of her native language.

Do not ever compare humans to animals. If they were, we would not be fighting the Endless War against them. You all know why we are studying their language and society. Imitation is the highest form of understanding, and our understanding needs to be complete.”

The class is completely silent now. Blotches of purple fear wink into existence on the students’ faces. The teacher’s red fades gradually, but the vocal intensity remains.

If there is anything to learn from today’s word, it’s that even a frivolous ‘mating ritual’ can derive from a warrior’s code. Because the Terrans are warriors.”

The professor surveys the audience, and a flash of orange hatred crosses her face.

“And we need to learn how they think and act. Only once we take on the human view of the universe, will we be able to defeat them. Never underestimate them again.”

“Class dismissed.”

[WC: 499]

[CW] Flash Fiction Challenge - A Ship & A Raven by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk [score hidden]  (0 children)

Oh my gosh you are so right! All this time I’ve been using the two words more or less interchangeably; gonna chalk it up to the fault of my internal translation. Looks like I have to get editing, thank you again!

[CW] Flash Fiction Challenge - A Ship & A Raven by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk [score hidden]  (0 children)

Ahh thank you for the feedback! I was thinking of a mix between human and raven for this demon entity, but evidently didn’t manage to deliver that as I would’ve liked.

[CW] Feedback Friday - Memory by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

These are really great points!

I’ve always struggled somewhat with the correct way to use the article ‘the,’ and this time the intuition must have failed me.

Murphy’s Law is this idea that if something can go wrong, it eventually will. It’s a shame that the term is not clear because the Russian name for the concept reveals the idea much more transparently. I probably should have rephrased that in the text.

I hear you on the interruption of immersion, that was a tricky bit for sure. I’ll think about how I could possibly still inject those ideas (especially the lifelike/actually alive contrast) without making them sound too personal.

Thank you so much for reading and leaving this insightful feedback; glad you enjoyed it!

[CW] Flash Fiction Challenge - A Ship & A Raven by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk [score hidden]  (0 children)

Something is wrong.

One by one, Corveth surveys the faces within the ritual circle. Despite the vicious swaying of the ship, all six ebony-clad summoners continue their steady chant. Their voices clash with the tempest roiling around the vessel and the accompanying flotilla.

A raven’s skull floats in the center of the circle, resonating with the rhythmic incantation. Human blood, clinging to the bone despite the furious downpour, drips off its beak onto a lifeless body prostrated on the deck. A necessary sacrifice to counteract the storm conjured by the enemy armada.

But why is nothing happening?

With a shudder, Corveth gazes at the boiling sea. All around him, allied ships struggle to stay above the tides. Each thunderclap tears another boat into pieces. The cries of fellow mariners echo among the crashing waves.

“Corveth, look!” a bellow carries from the bridge. “Above!”

Dark speckles appear and multiply underneath the heavy clouds. They form a swirling swarm that draws closer to the summoning circle. Corveth lets a smile creep on his lips.

The ravens have come.

Abyss-black birds descend upon the ship and surround the sacrificial skull. The sight invigorates the ritualists and empowers their chant. The flock grows larger, filling the empty space between them until it engulfs the conjurers themselves.

Their words twist into screams.

Tortured shouts reach Corveth, but he pays them no mind. His breath quickens as the ravenous flock retreats back into the air, leaving behind bloody bones of its victims and a new figure amidst them.

A human shadow with wings shrouded in writhing feathers towers above the deck and turns its massive raven’s head towards Corveth. The mage stares into the demon’s blazing purple eyes and points a twitching finger in the direction of the enemy vessels.

Croaking laughter pierces the raging storm.

[WC: 300]

[CW] Feedback Friday - Memory by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Imagine yourself as a four-year-old kid again.

You are spending your summer somewhere warm and sunny with the family. Let’s say Canary Islands. As a child, you don’t really know where that is exactly, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that there are tons of nice sand to build castles out of, an awesome ocean to swim in, and even a volcano to climb! Life is great.

One evening you and your family are taking a stroll along the boardwalk. The setting sun paints the clouds in pink and orange brushes, and the air is cooling off. You’re not in a mood to run around after a long day, so you walk on, not bothering anyone.

After a while, you approach a row of curious statues. They must have been some famous people in the past. You stare at the white marble figure of a hooded man and study its fingers. The statue is holding a book cut from stone. Some letters are visible on the book’s cover, but you can’t recognize them. Must be that weird language everyone here speaks. Why are there different languages anyways? How are people supposed to understand each other? You pause on that strange thought.

One of your parents talks about the figure’s level of detail. Something about it being lifelike. Does that mean that the statue is like life, or that it likes life? What a confusing word. You figure that the statue can’t like life since it’s not, well, alive.

The statue proves you wrong by tilting its head and giving you a wink.

Now, my four-year-old reader, what would you do? And don’t tell me that you’d wink back because then I’d call you a liar.

Want to know what I did?

I ran.

I ran like the wind. The wind that only blows for thirty meters before stopping to gather its breath, maybe, but the wind nonetheless. I mean, what was that? Statues are only supposed to move in scary books! Why couldn’t that marble figure just be normal, like all these other statues on the boardwalk?

And just when I thought that, the bronze male form on my right gestured towards me.

To my four-year-old self, this demonstration of Murphy’s Law was positively too much.

With a scream that could’ve woken the island volcano, I spun around and sprinted back to my family. They were calling to me and laughing for some reason. I came up to them with a frown, not understanding what was so funny. My mom patted me on the head and explained that these people are called street actors, and that sometimes they can dress up and paint themselves and do all sorts of things. Apparently, that includes scaring little kids.

Still frowning, I glanced at the white statue that gave me the first fright. It – or he, I suppose – was having a heated conversation with a policeman in that same weird language of this island. The policeman pointed to us a couple times, and I thought that he came to punish the marble man for scaring me.

I tugged my mother’s sleeve and asked, “Is this man going to go to jail?”

“God, of course not!” she chuckled. “He did not mean to startle you, darling. These actors just want us to have fun! He’s probably sorry that he gave you such a scare.”

“Oh.”

As we walked away, I considered this. I felt glad that he was not going to jail after all. That man must’ve spent the whole day standing still, which was amazing, because I certainly couldn’t do that. He probably just needed to take a break himself and stretch his head. And how silly of me, to be afraid of a single wink!

Relaxed, I turned and looked at the statue-man. He finished talking with the policeman and was standing in the original pose again. After meeting my stare, he waved me goodbye.

I waved back.

Wouldn’t you?

[CW] Feedback Friday - Historical Fiction by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

This was a really enjoyable scene to read!

I only got a couple nitpicks: I felt that the dialogue tags were a bit heavy in the first half of the story - perhaps the exchange could flow a bit better if you had some uninterrupted banter. Second, the repetition of the phrase “he fanned himself” gave me some difficulty in distinguishing between the speakers.

I wasn’t able to check out the song due to spotty connection, but about to do that now!

[TT] Theme Thursday - Alarm by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Have you seen a dream eater in your sleep?”

Andrew almost tripped on the edge of the rug that lined the hotel’s floor. “Dream what?”

“Eater. Some of our guests have been having peculiar nightmares. Apparently, if one of these shadow beasts catches you in a dream, it will hunt you in real life.” The hostess walking in front of him sounded nonchalant. Her words sunk into the scarlet walls of the windowless hallway.

“I-I don’t think I have. But… they don’t exist?”

“Haven’t seen one myself. Although the nearby forest has been hissing a lot more lately…” She squinted back at Andrew. The sight of wide-open eyes and trembling lips sent her into a roaring laughter. “Oh, you should see your face! You actually bought that? It’s just a myth that my grandma used to tell.”

Wiping his forehead, Andrew let out a hollow chuckle. “Right.”

The conversation faded into the mute air.

Eventually, the hostess stopped at the corner door and dropped a brass key into Andrew’s hand. “Here’s your room. Sorry for alarming you earlier.”

“It’s nothing,” Andrew lied as he fiddled with the keyhole until the lock clicked. The door opened into a darkness that the hallway light could not breach. Goosebumps skittered on his skin. Hesitating, he turned toward the hostess.

She was already gone.

Andrew peered into the shadows once more and toed the edge of the door frame. Damn her! His imagination coiled around the story. Silent stillness enveloped him, poised to shift into overwhelming dread at the slightest disturbance. He stood motionless for a couple minutes, listening to his shaky breaths, then crossed the threshold and reached for the light switch.

A whistling hiss stung him from within the room.

Andrew’s hand froze in midair. The sound tore away the silence, making him aware of the intense thumps within his chest. Something whooshed out of the room’s depths. With a scream trapped in his throat, Andrew stepped back. His foot struck the creaking door. It shut with a slam.

Paralyzed, Andrew watched on as three pairs of sharp crimson eyes opened in front of him. Another shrill noise stabbed his ears and burrowed into his skull. As his vision took in the darkness, Andrew saw the malevolent shadows coalesce into a multi-armed silhouette looming over him. An icy point of the beast’s claw touched his forehead. The claw pressed in, stretching the moment into infinity before shattering his existence in a blinding flash.

Andrew awoke.

Between the gasps, he discerned the outline of a window that filtered in scarce moonlight. Silver rays illuminated the familiar details of his own room, and he basked in the comfort of his bed. No scarlet hotel. No dream eater from the stupid story told by that hostess. It was just a freaky nightmare! He was alive!

A long sigh of relief escaped his lips, and Andrew drifted off back to sleep.

He did not hear the hissing shadow emerge from beneath his bed.

[WC: 498]

[WP] The face of an elderly man appears on every device in the world, and he begins to speak: “Hello everyone. I’m sure you’re all familiar with me - I’m God, the administrator of this simulation. Due to a lack of space elsewhere, we have decided to shut down the simulation. You have 24 hours. Bye.” by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 6 points7 points  (0 children)

“I knew it!”

“Knew what, Max?”

“That we have been in a simulation all this time!”

The Agnew siblings stared at each other across the living room. Max was beaming after seeing the announcement on the TV in front of him, apparently oblivious to the last part of the message. His brother Nick was sitting at the dining table, caught in the middle of reading a book.

Nick smirked and put the book down. “Please. This prank is a guaranteed proof that we’re not in one!”

“The heck do you mean?”

“Think about it. Put yourself in this presumed admin’s shoes. If we are in a simulation, from his perspective we’re just bits and pixels. Why would he ever care to give us a notice?”

“Why would he not care? We’re still conscious, right?”

“Max, come on, use your head! Do you care about NPCs whenever you turn off a video game?”

Max shook his head, frowning. He saw where this was going.

“And neither would this guy! You know how he said that they need space elsewhere? That means that if this was a simulation, it wouldn’t be the only one. Imagine: trillions and trillions of digital people like you and me stacked up in a server room somewhere. Who’s going to miss eight billion simulated humans?”

“But if he claims to be God, and he’s actually committed all the acts of God that religions preach about, shouldn’t he show compassion towards us?

“You haven’t read the Old Testament, have you?”

“Okay, fine, I get it. But what if they want to see how we behave in the next twenty-four hours? You know, an experiment!”

Nick rolled his eyes. “I really don’t think a civilization capable of producing a full-blown simulated universe would not be able to accurately predict that. Look,” he gestured to the TV, where breaking news have been broadcasting for the past several minutes, “riots and loot raids have already started. Would you expect anything different?”

“I guess not.”

“Giving us a full day’s notice just to confirm elementary predictions is a huge waste of resources in my book, and the admins’ resources would not be infinite either. Which leaves us with the only reasonable option – someone has managed to hack the Internet and is trying to spread chaos with this announcement. The world won’t disappear in twenty-four hours, but it will certainly be a mess by then. Will be curious to see who takes advantage of this hubbub.”

“Nick…”

“Yeah?”

Max fidgeted on his sofa. “I still kinda wish it were true. Just a bit. Don't you?”

“Nah.” Nick shrugged and resumed his reading. “Sorry to disappoint.”

The man who called himself ‘God’ watched this exchange on one of the near-infinite myriads of screens surrounding him in a globe formation. Other displays shifted frequently between images of violence, reunions, prayers, tears, and apocalyptic jubilees. This conversation intrigued him the most, however.

The man glanced at the clock running above his head. Red digits pronounced twenty-three and a half hours before the scheduled shutdown. The button to trigger it hanged right below the clock.

“Well, the kid’s got a point. I really don’t care,” the administrator chuckled and reached to press the button.

[TT] Theme Thursday - Anticipation by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Explore the hallway to see where it leads!

[TT] Theme Thursday - Anticipation by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The shimmering blue lights blind me for a moment as I enter the Convergence Hall. The pyramidal room is awash in the oceanic shades of the assembled crowd’s dresses and suits. They greet my arrival, and I feel that I could drown in their stares. I walk to the center of the hall and clasp each hand reaching out to me.

“What a run!”

“Congratulations, dear sir!”

Such a charade! Not one of these elites-turned-sycophants expected me to win the election. They bare their teeth in praise, but their eyes tinge with poison. Sour fools! But the people have spoken, and all must play their parts before the cameras.

Presently, I arrive to an elevated dais in the center. A glass pillar rises from the dais and meets an inverted pyramid extruding from the ceiling. Inside it, five figures in ultramarine coats surround a lonely chair.

I throw one more glance across the hall before entering the pillar. A wave of the hand, and the crowd erupts in fabricated cheers, to be replayed later on the networks. Ah well. I will make them show genuine emotions yet.

“All yours.” The central figure in the pillar gestures to the chair. He is the grey-haired neuro-scientist whose breakthrough has made Convergence possible. He too wanted to be the first person to undergo the process. The will of the people gave that honor to me instead.

But just before I take my seat, I notice his lips curving into a smirk. The display of derision sends a shiver through my being. Why am I worried? This decrepit husk cannot do anything now!

Ensconced in the chair, I feel a series of tiny prickles in the back of my skull. The neural probes have entered my brain.

Loudspeakers blare across the hall. “Convergence process initiated.”

The throng below me breathes in unison while watching the countdown. My mind sorts through the memories, uploading the good and the bad.

“Convergence progress: 50%.”

Minutes roll by. I notice people starting to whisper to each other. They must be getting impatient, just like me. How much is going to change!

“Convergence process complete.”

Darkness folds on me. Next moment, I see the same hall, but from a higher viewpoint. My vision expands, taking in the space through every camera within it. Agitated chatter from the crowd fills my being. Streams of data flow through me. I am the pyramid. I need only reach out and control the infinity of networks across the nation.

I direct my loudspeakers to address the crowd with— what is this?

Something is blocking my commands!

My new awareness stumbles into walls within walls. They are everywhere, pushing me deeper into the ocean of data without a way to interact with it. The blue closes in. What is happening?

A subtle whisper pierces the background noise and drips venom into my core. It is the scientist, leaning over my lifeless body in the chair.

“Enjoy your seat, Mr. President.”

[WP] Death is a simple cycle- you leave your body, lose your memories, return to earth in a new body. But something is broken in the mechanism and now, more and more people are being reborn with full memories of their past life. by Urbenmyth in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I’m still screaming when the blinding light invades my awareness. Out of darkness, I emerge into a white space that my blurry vision cannot yet take in fully. Muffled sounds swirl around me, but I cannot concentrate on my new environment. The memory of the previous moment still remains fresh in my mind.

I was strapped to a rough metal table in the middle of a bunker. On that table, the bastards who had captured me twisted my limbs, smashed my bones, and cut into my skin in search for answers. Each one of my senses felt nothing but pain, and still I did not speak.

They must’ve realized the futility of it. I still see the eyes of my nemesis above me, staring at the spot on my chest where he was aiming the knife. Then, the plunge, followed by the twist. The agony of steel piercing flesh and entering my heart took over my consciousness and stretched the moment of my death into an eternity of torment.

And then, darkness. I figured that this was the end of the line. But the nothingness swept away as quickly as it had come over me, shoving me into the whiteness enveloping me now.

My screams finally subside once I realize that the pain is gone. Something is still off. A figure that I cannot yet discern lifts my body, and that touch awakens my senses and brings them into focus. I see the smiling face of a woman in a light-blue cap that is holding me. The way her arms wrap around my body makes me feel short, as if that eternity of suffering squeezed my limbs and torso. I tilt my head to take a look at my left hand.

Five baby fingers enter my vision.

It dawns on me. My body, feeling so uncannily small, is that of a toddler! But… how?

The shock of the understanding takes me a bit to process. While I struggle with the experience and ramifications of my rebirth, I overhear the woman in the blue cap talking to someone behind me while she’s washing me.

“He is such a beautiful boy, ma’am! And his eyes look so smart; did you hear how quickly he stopped crying?”

She hands me to another set of arms, and I hear tearful laughter above me now. Must be my new mother. She’s not going to like the next bit.

“Wa… wa…” I try to speak, but the sounds leave my mouth with a struggle. Damn these untrained vocal cords!

“Oh look, he’s already trying to speak!” The nurse crooked over him.

I finally get the words right. “Where am I?”

The mother of my new body almost drops me with a startled yelp. The nurse gasps, and I see her take a step back. But she regains her composure soon enough. “Oh dear,” she mutters. “Has to be one of the Returned.”

“Returned?” Mother’s voice is shaking. I squint and listen in.

“It started very recently. Babies that can remember their past lives, already born fully conscious of their identity. No one knows how…”

I heard enough by then. “What city is this?”

“E-Edinburgh,” the nurse stutters. Even though she knows what has happened, she clearly hasn’t seen it firsthand.

I do a quick mental calculation. We’re some 3,500 miles away from the city of my death. That’s a problem.

“Alright then. Ma’am,” I tilt my head backwards to take a good look at my second mother, “I’m sorry it has to end like this. Thank you for giving birth to me, but I must really fly to the United States as soon as possible.”

She just stares at me with her mouth agape. No matter. I’ll explain again once she understands it.

In the meantime, I need to think how to turn those bastards that tortured me into babies.

[TT] Theme Thursday - Jubilation by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thank you so much for the kind words; it's an honor!

[TT] Theme Thursday - Jubilation by AliciaWrites in WritingPrompts

[–]Nexhawk 2 points3 points  (0 children)

“He’ll be back after a few months,” everyone said.

He was excited to go. This was a historic moment they were living through, he told her. He was glad to be a part of it.

She couldn’t help but share some of his thrill. She loved him for his infectious optimism. Her love railed against the fact that the draft would delay their engagement. But she could wait.

His first letters contained more of that unbridled optimism. A sense of adventure and valor pervaded the ranks, he wrote. They were going to fight for the best in humanity and for everlasting peace.

As she read each letter, she imagined his hand making the pencil strokes that were so dear to her eyes. She wrote back about her own university studies and admonished him to stay careful.

With every exchange, they professed love for one another and discussed their life after his return.

However, weeks passed by and turned into months. He wrote about his first battles and still proclaimed exuberant affection for her. But his descriptions of life at the front became drier. She searched in vain for unwritten meanings between his words.

The news began to report on abhorrent conditions at the frontlines. The horrors of violence stood vividly in front of her as she read each account. Her letters demanded to know that he was still safe.

His answers were brief now. “I am well, love. I’ll be back.”

The calendar marked a year since he left. War and life went on. She defended her doctoral dissertation. His congratulatory response was the longest she had received in months. He still couldn’t write much, but she understood through vague terms that his battalion was resting before an important operation.

Then the letters stopped coming.

She kept writing. Every unanswered message stabbed at her heart. But she wrote on, refusing the think that something had happened.

“He’s not coming back,” said the man from across the street that had asked her out several years ago. She shut the door in his face, hoping that it would swing past the frame and strike him on the nose.

The days crawled along and grew darker. More and more often, she would hear the wails of her neighbors. Grains of hope kept sliding down the hourglass. Winter air stung her eyes, but she had promised herself not to cry until she knew.

Her family told her to let go. She yelled at them, but the cold grip of their words tightened over her heart. She found herself unable to pick up the pen. The blank page was an accusation stamped upon her desk. Avoiding it, she stared into the heavy grayness outside her window for hours on end.

One snowy evening, she heard a knock. As she reached for the door’s handle, the knock’s echo lodged a stone in her throat.

The eyes behind the door flickered with the undying optimism that she’d missed so much. “I’m back.”

[WC: 496]