r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • Feb 10 '24
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday, Writing with Tropes: Dueling POVs & Free-Choice Genre(s)!
Hello r/WritingPrompts!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope in a 750-word max (vs 600) story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up…
For the next two weeks, we have a two-part story with dueling points of view! Plus each half can be up to 750 words. Please note that these stories can also be treated as two separate short stories and don’t need a bridge between them.
Why you ask? Well, because it’s fun! And you never need a reason for FUN, right? But this time we actually have one! We are coming up on the one-year anniversary of Fun Trope Friday next week! So why not have exciting weeks 51 and 52?
Tropes: Dueling POVs (1) First perspective & (2) Second perspective
Genres: ANY genre whether used by FTF or not in the last year
Skill (mandatory): Write a story from two different perspectives over the next two weeks. Can be anything from two countries in history, lovers, or football teams. Use your imagination
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top three stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit in campfire and on the post! Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, February 15th from 6-8pm EST. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 600 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EST next Thursday
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
5
u/Dependent-Engine6882 Feb 15 '24 edited Feb 16 '24
[Bonus story. Ineligible for voting]
Please, not again
<Romance>
----
Dressed in a dark gray hoodie twice my size, I sat near the window. Watching the snowflakes battle against the raging wind outside, I buried my face in the fabric, breathing in your lingering scent.
With my head resting against the cold, foggy glass, I could hear you interact with your friends. After we started living together, evenings like this one became a part of our routine. Me, sitting on the window seat you built me, reading, crocheting, or simply watching the snow or the rain. While you played Dark Souls or Lethal Company with your friends. A brief chuckle escaped from me when I remembered when you tried to teach me how to play, saying it’d be fun if I joined your group. Sadly, I couldn’t get the hang of those two games.
“Did you die again?” I asked, hardly able to contain my laughter when I heard you groan.
The loud grumble that preceded the constant click sounds let me know that you started a new game.
Fresh baked goods, dancing in the middle of the night, and constant traveling became a part of our day-to-day lives as well. And for the first time, I felt like I belonged. I felt happy.
Happiness had forever been a foreign land for me. Throughout the years, I was convinced it wasn’t for me. That I never deserved it. I was never one to trust good things coming my way. And whenever that occurred, my first response was to prepare for life’s next hit. For the next battle. Because those brief, stolen moments I experienced were just a break life took before it struck back. Before destroying everything I managed to rebuild.
For me, love was something made for others. Not for me. So, in order to protect myself, I built massive walls around me.
Over the years, I learned some rules. To not expect anything, to not let anyone in, and to trust no one. Over the years, I learned to wear a mask and hide behind it.
But sadly, my strategy didn’t always work. As cautious as I was, I’d let my guard down a few times. And those times served as a lesson, a harsh reminder of why I locked myself up in the first place.
It was what happened with the one before.
I gave myself entirely to him and invested every inch of my tired, broken soul in that relationship. With him, I thought I was safe. That I could be who I really was. That nothing could hurt me. But I ended up left behind, alone, crying in an empty parking lot.
But then you came, with your lovely Dutch accent, silly jokes, and endearing names that never failed to make me feel giddy and blush. You came into my life and painted my sky a new shade of blue. You came into my life and made me question my beliefs and boundaries.
The promises you made were simple, believable. You promised to gladly listen to me rumble about history and art. To take care of me, and let me take care of you as well. To always draw a smile on my face and chase away my darkest nightmares.
And I wanted to trust you and let myself get lost in your deep blue eyes. I wanted to believe that you were the one for me. That after all the hardships I endured, I’d finally found my safe haven.
There were times when I wanted to open up and tell you about everything. My dream and deepest fears. My scares and the things that made me smile. But the voices inside my head and the monsters under my bed kept reminding me of where I came from.
He’s gonna hurt you like the others. The voices spoke in rage whenever you looped your arms around me.
He’s gonna leave when he discovers how messed up you are. They hissed whenever you complimented me.
Don’t trust him; you’ll end up crying once again. They whispered whenever you made me smile.
Don’t give him the chance to break you, ‘cause you’ll find yourself picking up the pieces alone. They warned whenever our lips met.
And each time, I found myself stuck between the endless what-ifs. Between now and then, them and you.
Each time, I found myself too scared to move forward.
Therefore, every night, I closed my eyes, let you hold me against your body, and prayed you’d never break my heart like they said.
—
Word count: 750
5
u/wileycourage Feb 15 '24
Rescue
“Sher’ff done got himself took!” I shouted frantically while knocking up a frenzy on the Lancasters’ farmhouse door. “We ain’t got no time!” Meet at the church at noon!” Ole Sheriff was counting on me, his trusty Wyatt, to bring ‘im back. If we could.
My mind kept on going back to the men who took him. They was big and fierce enough all right, but they wasn’t like any others I had seen. Long, braided hair like womens’ they had, red and blond and brown, and axes and shields too. Ain’t seen nothing like it ‘cept in the stories.
Sheriff’d be hollerin’ at me if he caught me daydreaming like a coffee boiler like this. I got to keep my mind on straight now more than ever. Gosh darn if I ain’t afeared though.
“Hyah!” I spurred on my horse to get on going faster to the next ranch.
Back at the church, bouts twenty men had gathered, I’d wager. They seen me hesitate. I couldn’t let ‘em think I’m weak or nothing. I brushed dust off my vest and made sure they could all see my badge by sticking my chest out. Can’t say I wasn’t nervous climbing up the stairs to the big church doors.
“All right men.” I announced officiously like a justice of the peace. “Wurr gonna be outnumbered two to one here, I’d wager.”
What would be my posse started grumbling and were fixing to pitch a fit. It probably wasn’t best to start out with how many there were.
“They ain’t go no lead pushers on ‘em but the one they took from Sheriff!”
“Who in their right mind would come out here without guns? What are they gonna do? Poke us with sticks?” Mr. Lancaster, I mean Bert, spoke up. The other men chuckled in amusement. “You sure you needed to drag us all out here? You might dawdle all damn day, but we have chores to do.”
“But they got axes and they’re mean as hornets, and they’re gonna be some big nuts to crack. I swear.” This got met with more laughs. “And, and. They got the Sheriff!” That ought to get the point across these stubborn asses.
It did shut them up, except for Lancaster. “You have a plan, boy?”
“I sure do. We’re gonna ride to where they’re at and get our Sheriff back!”
Lancaster stared blankly at me like he was thinking hard. “Do you know where they are?”
“I sure do! Down south by the river. We thought they were traders. They came in a strange looking boat with a dragon’s head.” Bert didn’t think I knew anything. He apparently forgot who was the deputy here, but he didn’t ask anymore dumb questions and instead chatted with a few of the men briefly.
“Round on up! We ride!” I called, doing my best imitation of the Sheriff.
Our gang left to the sounds of hooves beating the ground under the high noon Sun. Off down to the river we rode, fast and hard. A couple of the men had carbines, the rest of us six shooters. Plenty of firepower.
The strange men seen us coming, or else they heard us. By the time we got to the river, the men were all lined up with their shields and axes ready.
“Woah!” I cried as the command to halt. I kept us all about fifty yards out. “Where’s the Sheriff?” I yelled out. The strange, bearded men stood still. Two of the line of shields parted and a single, smiling, bald man strode forward a few paces in front.
“That’s the one that grabbed the Sheriff!” I told my men.
“Gold!” The man called out in a foreign accented voice.
“They want ransom, Wyatt. How are we going to do this?” Lancaster was at my side bothering me while I was trying to stay vigilant.
“You gots a stash of gold you’re sitting on Bert?” That’ll show him who’s boss. “We’re gonna fight. Get everyone ready, and wait for me to shoot first.” That’s what the Sheriff always said. He didn’t want no one going rogue or nothing.
“Now Mister, don’t give us no trouble. We just want the Sheriff back.” He seemed to understand who the Sheriff was at least, because he signaled and the bound and gagged lawman was displayed before being dragged back.
“We can’t fight them, you dolt. They’ll kill him.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
--
WC: 743
3
u/Tregonial Feb 16 '24
I knew I saw this somewhere! Cowboys versus Vikings!
The western cowboy tone is well-done and consistent, and great use of dialect and old west intonations.
It feels a little inconsistent with the way Wyatt says "Sheriff". There's plain old "Sheriff", there's "Sher'ff".
There is a little too much repetition of "out", in this short story with "called out", "yelled out" etc.
This particular line seemed to notably lack the cowboy twang to it : "Down south by the river. We thought they were traders. They came in a strange looking boat with a dragon’s head.”
Overall, its a good story that stands on its own, and feels like a nice bonus callback to your past cowboy vs vikings FTF entry. Look forward to part 2!
2
u/wileycourage Feb 16 '24
Thanks much for the notes! And yes, I had a lack of inspiration for something new, so I went back to an older story I had a lot of fun with.
The balancing on Wyatt's voice was indeed a struggle. Thanks for the feedback on the "outs" or extra words, and thank you for reading.
17
u/Tregonial Feb 15 '24 edited Feb 16 '24
“That house is bleeding! It’s crying rivers of blood from the windows!” Mrs. Smith sobbed as she slumped into her chair. “You must help me!”
She swallowed her tears and sipped the hot chocolate I provided. Wove tales of murdered tenants in haunted houses. Fables of ghostly apparitions draining homeowners of their vitality and sanity. I tapped her hand and requested she get back on track.
“Maybe there’s evil magic on the hill it was built,” she shuddered as she rambled on. “I heard rumours a murderer butchered the whole family there. Maybe it’s the weird new owner who just moved in. Nothing is right with that place.”
Except nothing looked wrong with the place when I began my investigation.
Okay, the house was a rather garish red. With anatomically accurate hearts painted on the walls. In the wrong colors. But it was most definitely a new paint job and not blood. A quick cast of a magic detection spell revealed nothing. No malevolent monsters. No evil entities. Just a quirky homeowner.
Nobody responded to the doorbell when I rang it. I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and twisted it quietly. My gun still trained on whatever that could possibly lurk behind the carelessly unlocked door.
The inside was eerily silent and dark. No lights save for a crimson glow upon black candles arranged in an esoteric formation. Somewhere, romantic classical music started playing once I entered the house. Even though there wasn’t a radio or music player that I could see.
I shined my torchlight when a sudden flash of movement flitted past me but nothing was there.
All around me, the interior walls were crimson too, marked with elaborate arcane symbols not of this earth. A swift check revealed its ordinary paint as well. No trace or smell of blood as Mrs. Smith claimed. After a cursory examination of my surroundings, and confident the house wasn’t booby-trapped, I flicked the lights on.
In the middle of the dining room, a table was set up for two. Flames flickered on fragrant rose candles that encircled a vase of roses. A bottle of exquisite red wine sat at the table, still cool to the touch. Along with the cold salad appetizer on each plate. The participants of this interrupted candlelight dinner couldn’t have been gone for long.
Having cleared the first floor, I made my way up a flight of stairs, where the dreamy music grew louder the further I climbed. Confirming the source was behind the master bedroom door, I rested my hand around the handle when—
“Surprise! Happy Valentine’s Day Katrina!” Elvari greeted me in a tuxedo and a red heart-shaped box with pink ribbons in hand. “How’s the lovely Valentine's spirit of this new holiday home? My new decor already growing on me, even if it isn’t my usual bread and butter.”
“You mean your usual flesh and blood so your living room is literally living,” I frowned, holstering my gun and putting my torchlight away. “This is still too much! Your neighbours thought you murdered a whole family and smeared their blood on your walls!”
“Oh.”
“You have plenty of explaining to do!” I threw up my arms in exasperation. “What is with those candles? The dining room— ”
He interrupted me with a passionate kiss on the lips. I was too stunned to stop his tentacles curling around my waist, reeling me in for a warm hug. The soft thud of my coat falling to the ground brought me back to reality. But I wasn’t keen on returning. It was getting hot in the room, and my mind and fingers wandered into unbuttoning his dress shirt. While his appendages were playfully batting my hands away from his now dishevelled attire.
Disrupted by his heart-shaped box spilling its contents onto the floor, we bent down to pick up the scattered chocolate. A ring box amongst the mess caught my attention. Both our hands shot out to grab it, but Elvari beat me to it.
He presented to me the open ring box, a diamond ring nestled within. He lowered himself, tentacles splayed backward as he went down in an eldritch god’s closest approximation to an earnest kneel. Asking that question I was afraid to tackle. Awaiting my response with an expectant smile on his face. Gleeful eyes lit up in giddy anticipation. Looking up at me.
I pressed my palm against my thumping heart. With an answer in mind, I opened my mouth and spoke.
Word Count: 750 words.
What did he ask pretty obvious I think? What does she reply? Stay tuned next week for Part 2 to find out!
3
u/Usual_Message8900 Jun 18 '24
I knew what it was when the music started playing
HOW DARE YOU MAKE THIS A CLIFHANGER!!!
3
u/MaxStickies Feb 15 '24
Battle-Axe
Logrun buries his axe in the goblin’s skull. The green-skinned creature shrieks, its black nails clacking against the steel in its forehead. With a laugh, Logrun yanks it out and hooks the blade into the goblin’s pants; with a spin, he flings the screaming thing into a chasm. The path clear, Logrun rushes to his fellow dwarves.
He spots Udrus wielding a pick. “Brother!” he bellows.
Udrus narrows his eyes, his immense blond beard swinging as he asks, “Where the hells have you been?! Action’s this way!”
“Oi, I’ve been defending the south route. Looks like they’ve given up though.”
Udrus grins and holds forth his leathery hand. Logrun grabs his brother’s forearm, and they shake. “Fine job indeed! But there’re more arriving from the east!”
They sprint through the caverns, climbing upwards. Others soon join them on their way to the entrance hall.
Screams and scrapes echo off the gargantuan pillars of the hall. Tapestries flutter, fanned by the upwelling of flames. The brothers stride into the fray, passing burning barrels, the flames turning their beards gold. A large goblin rushes them, whirling a boneforged mace; Logrun shifts left, Udrus right, and together they slash the enemy’s stomach. Blood and guts spill to stone, and the goblin gurgles.
They carve their way to the centre. Three Royal Guards in black armour battle a pair of trolls, their strikes landing on the beasts’ bellies and chests, bringing forth great bellows of rage. A stony fist pummels the ground near Logrun, forcing him to leap away; immediately, a Guard chops into the troll’s arm, his axe clanging against bone. The troll shrieks, bringing its arm up, taking axe and dwarf with it. While airborne, the Guard grabs hold of the beast’s head and lands on its back. Axe in both hands, he rains blows upon the troll’s skull until it audibly cracks. He jumps down, and the beast tumbles back, squishing several goblins. The Guards turn to the brothers.
“Oi, you two! Help us take this last one, he’s gone berserk!”
The live troll rampages about the battlefield, lobbing both dwarf and goblin high into the air. It knocks one of the Guards into a pillar.
Logrun turns to Udrus. “You ready?”
His brother shrugs. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
They frown at each other before turning to the carnage.
“I’ve never fought one that size,” Udrus says. “What d’we even do?”
“Follow their lead.” Logrun points to the Guards. “Or, aim for the legs.”
Udrus nods at him. They race after the Guards, dodging blades and bodies. Goblins try to block their path, but they barge on through, the enemy screeching in their ears. The brothers rush blindly forward, unable to see past the heads and helmets.
A shadow smothers them. Logrun glances up to see a massive foot bearing down. Only just in time do they manage to weave to either side, the foot cracking the stone where they’d stood. The troll roars and stumbles away, a bolt piercing its eye.
Now, the Guards close in. They take swipes at it, drawing blood. Its movements slow, roars become groans, and it stops swinging its fists. Logrun sees his chance.
“Brother?” he asks.
Udrus gives him a knowing smile. “Let’s do it.”
Logrun lobs his axe at the troll’s skull, burying it deep in flesh and bone. The troll turns, staggers towards him, only for Udrus to lodge his pick in the beast’s temple. They move as fast as they can, using their momentum to clamber up its sides. Together, they grab the handles and hang from them. With a sickening crack, the skull splits in two. The brothers drop to the ground as the troll falls, kicking up a cloud of dust as it lands.
Logrun clasps his brother’s hand. “We did it, brother!”
“That we did!”
A Guard taps Logrun’s shoulder. “We must find our way back to our king! Your help would be most welcome!”
The ground shudders underfoot. Small rocks fall from the ceiling, flames dance with the vibrations. The entire hall goes silent as a deep growl emanates from the Royal Chambers. A shadow stretches along the wall, growing ever larger. And then a hand as large as a catapult grips the doorway.
“Oh hells…” Logrun gasps.
A bearded giant emerges from the passage, its head scraping the high lintel. As it holds up its hand, Logrun sees the white-haired king squirming in its grasp. From the giant’s mouth, there comes a low, grunting laugh.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WC: 750
Crit and feedback are welcome.
2
u/wordsonthewind Feb 15 '24 edited Feb 16 '24
If Laura and I had gone to high school ten years earlier, we might have simply drifted apart after graduation. But Facebook hit the scene soon after we graduated and as far as I was concerned, nothing really changed. I sent her a friend request, she accepted, and we moved all our interactions online.
But our talks had no reciprocity. She went from strength to strength, while I did the same thing day after day. It was a routine I was numb to, but I was starting to feel like a robot whenever I chatted with her. She always had some new project going, some new success to report, a vacation on the horizon or just concluded.I had nothing worth sharing. And she seemed to know it too, because we just stopped talking. I remained friends with her, congratulated her when she had happy announcements to share. But that was all.
Until today, that is.
Her profile has been memorialized. That's the first thing I see today when I visit it for my daily dose of digital self-flagellation. Her family certainly acted quickly.
I scroll through her profile. Everyone has said everything I might have thought of writing. "Such a tragedy." "Gone too soon."
They talk around and around the only thing I want to know. What happened? What tragedy has struck her out of nowhere? I imagine aneurysms, secret battles with cancer, drunk drivers and bus collisions until I come to a message that states it plainly.
It knocks the air out of me. She had everything I ever wanted. A rich and loving family, a devoted boyfriend, straight A's all the way from high school to graduation. Honor roll in college, every internship she applied for, a high-paying job with generous bonuses and ample time off. All her life she landed on her feet.
And it still wasn't enough.
That message remains on the screen, taunting me. Died by suicide.
I blink back tears even as disgust surges from the dark and ugly areas of my psyche I try not to think about.
Of course they'd say that. They want to believe some magical force made her do it, a puppeteer driving her to take that final step. Some people fall under its influence, others don't. They have to believe that or they'd never be able to live with themselves.
Maybe they're right. No one would walk away from what Laura had. No one in their right mind, anyway.
But if they're right, what's keeping me here is nothing but inertia. Objects at rest remain at rest, objects in motion remain in motion unless acted upon by an external force. I am the object in motion and that will never change. If I could have done anything else, I would have by now.
So I'm strong. I can't be anything else.
4
u/MaxStickies Feb 15 '24
Hi Words. Quite a deep story here, exploring the theme you've chosen in a very realistic, believable way. You show the character's conflicting thoughts very well, which I feel aids the exploration of the theme. She obviously cares that Laura died, and it upsets her, but she also feels the need to apply what happened to her own life too. That's what feels most believable about this.
I also think you've done the blocking very well. The progression feels very natural, and makes for a good story to read.
Far as crit goes:
"I come to a message that says a bit more than most." - I feel that the message says a lot more than most, rather than a bit. Perhaps you could instead have: "I come to a message that states it plainly, clearer than the rest." or something like that.
"straight As" - I think "A's" would read better, as it is right now I thought it was the start of a new sentence, with the full stop missing.
"I blink back tears even as disgust surges from the dark and ugly areas of my psyche I try not to think about." - This feels like it should be two sentence, with the second after "psyche".
Anyway, that's all the crit I have. Great story, I feel like it tackles a difficult theme well.
3
4
u/katpoker666 Feb 15 '24
[Ineligible for voting]
—-
PT 1: ‘Cheater’ PT 2: ‘Cheated’ (coming soon)
—-
Dead people are funny-looking. Ain’t no denying it. Life-size waxen candles of beings we once knew—all weird angles, makeup, and over-starched collars. Spark a match and they’d go up like gas on a rag. That’s what Max said and he’d never lie. Not that I’d try it, mind.
We O’Malleys love us some funerals. Weddings too. It’s when we get together and set the world to rights.
How else could you learn that Jimmy had gotten Maddie up the duff again? Twenty-three and six kids? Ain’t gonna be me, I tells ya!
Or that Nina didn’t get into ‘Harvard’ after all, but ‘Havrad.’ Way funnier to see that smug look wiped off her face in person than hear my Mom breathlessly recount it as part of the International Network of Amateur Gossiping moms.
Then there were the funerals themselves. Always talk of the town they were! Grand affairs where everyone who was anyone and indeed many who were not showed up to pay their respects and celebrate the deceased's life. Sure, you had to endure a quick prayer for Mr. Or Mrs. WaxyFace, but then all-you-can-eat buffets and top-drawer chat.
People would gather by the hundreds to say their goodbyes face-to-face. And even those ol’ caskets were fancy: lined with blue satin, of course. And made of solid walnut and fitted with genuine brass. Nope, no pine boxes for us or cheaping out on the dead, not for us ‘Knob Hill’ O’Malleys!
Uncle Joe’s was no exception. In fact, it may have been grander. He was a state senator, after all! Not many of those toffs in our ol’ workin’ class family tree. Seemed to me his casket’s satin shone that bit brighter.
Which was a funny thing really cuz folks despised ‘im. Like full-on proper burn-in-hell hated. Even us kids. Especially us kids. All those years of stealin’ our Easter Candy at Nan’s egg hunt and cheatin’ at checkers . . . stuff adds up. And since Uncle Joe couldn’t pay the piper in life, this would hafta do. So we bided our time next to the body.
“Yes’m. Terrible loss,” I nodded, crocodile tears at the ready in case Mrs. Whichever Aunty this was felt inclined to slip me a few dollars to ‘cheer up’ my already bulging suit pockets.
The Priest signaled for the eulogies to begin.
Three ladies with steely grins and a polite amount of tears in their eyes assembled. Even us kids knew you saved any genuine waterworks for home. Wouldn’t do for others to see an O’Malley being all weak-like, now would it? Besides getting all gussied up with full makeup and hair at the hairdressers wasn’t cheap. Couldn’t waste all that work, ya know.
A lone man followed in a crisp, charcoal suit. Looked like an out-of-towner and we O’Malleys never had much time for those who left.
The ladies knew the drill and things went off without a hitch. Then it was Mr. Solemn Stranger’s turn.
Legs wobbling slightly, he walked up to the lectern. The Priest grabbed his arm to steady him and whispered something. The man smiled thinly as he steadied himself before speaking. “My Father, Joseph O’Malley, was many things. Strong. Tough. Determined. A good provider for our family—“
“Amen!” A couple folks shouted seeming anxious to tuck into the buffet.
Clearing his throat, the man continued, “Look, I won’t keep you long. Hell, I’d be surprised if half of you here even knew ol’ Joe.” He surveyed the room and saw more than a few sheepish glances reflected back. “Dad wasn’t a good man in many ways. Never went to church. Hated funerals more than masses.”
Some folks shifted in their seats and nodded in empathy.
“He was also a liar. Cheated at cards. Hell, even at checkers with the kids—“
Mr. Suit turned and it was as if his eyes bore into mine and he knew what I was up to. My finger let up on the bottle rocket’s trigger in my pocket. I shook my head ‘no’ in my brothers’ direction.
“But most of all, he cheated on my sainted Mother. And you all knew!” He pointed at the audience in an accusatory arc as they failed to meet his gaze.
As he lunged at the coffin, the lid slammed shut. His rapidly bloodying fist hammered at the box. He screamed and wailed with a fury I’d never seen before. Real tears. Real pain. Even we kids knew this wasn’t what funerals were for.
—-
WC: 749
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated
2
u/AnAdvancedBot Feb 27 '24
Love this!
I just finished reading 'Anansi Boys' by Neil Gaiman and this totally gives me the same vibes, funeral and all.
2
5
u/Dependent-Engine6882 Feb 15 '24 edited Feb 23 '24
A friend or a foe
<Historical fiction>
It was a beautiful spring day.
Sitting by the piano, Laura, Felix’s wife was playing Trois Gympnopédies, one of his favorite ballads.
Closing the book he was reading; he watched his partner’s delicate fingers dance across the piano keys. The golden sun rays filtering through the peach-colored, lacey curtains surrounded her with a halo. It felt as if Felix was attending a private concert played straight from heaven.
Idly floating and dancing in the air, the soothing melody perfectly blended with May’s soft breeze and the floral perfume his woman wore.
The peaceful moment was occasionally disturbed by a faint, distant call. Someone, a familiar voice was repeatedly calling his name. Not wanting to trouble Laura and put an end to this magical instant they were sharing, he chose to ignore it.
“Herr von Krüger,” the voice called again the second he pressed his lips against his woman’s temple. Only this time, the tone was urgent and carried a hint of panic.
Sitting next to his wife and resting his head against hers, Felix focused on the gentle music the piano produced. However, to his regret, the waltz slowly gave way to the less pleasant sounds of bombs exploding, rifles firing, and cries of wounded men from the battlefield. Laura's fragrance was replaced by the overwhelming smell of blood, infected injuries, and gunpowder.
“Herr von Krüger.” The voice came back again, but this time it was clearer and louder. The man said something else, but other than noticing the strong, sing-songy accent stretching the syllables of his name, Felix couldn’t comprehend what the man was saying.
Although it took him a while to understand, Felix knew he was far from home. Far from the woman he loved. He knew it was just a dream. One of those he had whenever he felt homesick and missed his wife’s warm embrace.
“Can you hear me?” The man with the foreign accent asked as he pressed a hand against Felix’s body.
What’s an Italian doing here? And what does he want? He wondered, feeling small rocks scratching his raw face.
A barely audible groan left his chest when the man’s fingers grazed his injury. He tried to protest. To ask the man to slow down, and to move his hand away. But the pain radiating from his side paralyzed him and made it impossible to utter a single intelligible word.
“Forgive me, Signore von Krüger,” the man apologized, gently settling him on his back.
Who’s this? And how come he knows my name? The injured man asked himself as the fog surrounding his brain faded a little.
Hoping to get a glimpse of this guy, Felix slowly opened his dry, heavy lids and blinked several times. But the translucent veil coating his vision was thicker than he expected. Blurry contours, a grayish green-colored uniform, and a mix of orange and red invading the night sky in the background were all he managed to see.
Felix gulped before attempting to vocalize his questions, but his voice died in his throat.
“Please, don’t force yourself, Signore,” the soldier replied as he inspected Felix’s wound. “You’ve received a... Uhm... bomb debris on your side. I’ll—” The rest of the sentence got lost amongst the echoes of the battle still raging and the persistent ringing in his ear.
His gut was telling him he could trust this man, so when all his efforts to understand what the Italian was saying were met with failure, Felix closed his eyes and let the soldier help him.
“I’ve managed to stop the bleeding, Signore von Krüger,” the Italian reassured him, but all Felix could hear was the melody his beloved Laura was playing earlier.
“Meine Leibe, stay with me, Bitte,” Felix whispered as a lazy smile made its way across his quivering lips.
Slowly, Felix drifted away from the battlefield and the pain devouring his body. His wife’s laugh endlessly echoed in the air as she asked him to come with her. To leave that desolate place he was trapped in and to follow her. To kiss her and dance with her till the break of dawn.
“Es ist Hauptmann von Krüger.” Felix heard someone say with an Austrian accent when he regained consciousness. “He’s still alive, and the bleeding has stopped. Go get me a stretcher. Mach es schnell!” the same voice ordered.
Thank you for saving me, kind man. Was the last thought that crossed Felix’s mind before he lost consciousness again.
—
Word count: 747
Notes:
Trois gymnopédies, also known as Les Gymnopédies is a series of three variants of slow, impressionist waltz composed by the French composer Erik Satie for piano solos. The waltz was published on 1888 in Paris.
The relationship between Austria and Italy was tense during the late Middle Ages and up until the beginning of the XXth century. Austria had invaded Italian territories on many occasions which led to raging wars between the two countries.
However, this tumultuous relationship knew peaceful times and the two countries fought together as allies. The war the Austrians fought against the Ottoman empire alongside different Italian states is an example.
At the end of the XIXth century, Italy signed a triple alliance with the Austro-Hungarian and the German empires. At the beginning of WWI, Italy decided to remain neutral and not join the war at first. But a strong nationalist urge to get back territories taken from them by their sworn enemy made the public opinion put pressure on the government.
Encouraged by the secret pact of London with Britain and France (the allied power), and the promise of the two forces made to support and help Italy annex the territories that originally belong to them, Italy joined the allied power.
On May 3th, Italy resigned from the triple alliance and declared war on the Austro-Hungarian Empire on May 23th. This led to unsatisfied results for Italy in addition to about half a million of fallen men and about a million injured in the global conflict.
Glossary
Es ist Hauptmann von Krüger: It’s Captain von Krüger.
Mach es schnell: Make it quick.
Thank you for reading my story, crits and feedback are always appreciated
2
u/oliverjsn8 Feb 15 '24
Like always you have a beautiful way of portraying a scene, and it is always a treat to visualize your settings in my mind's eye. All I can give you for criticism is specifics as the story overall is solid.
I don't think flirt is the correct word in the following sentence. When I think of flirting with an inanimate object, it is more the act of coming close to but not interacting with it. As she is actually touching the keys maybe 'dance across' or 'dexterously play' etc would work better. Maybe ask the bigger-brained people on the discord for a better verb.
Closing the book he was reading; he watched his partner’s delicate fingers flirt with the piano keys.
You have multiple sentences starting with 'The' in a row starting with the sentence 'The golden sun rays filtering through the peach-colored, lacey curtains surrounded her with a halo...' It wouldn't be hard to break it up a bit. The 'thes' also continue into the next few blocks in a row.
Following is just a wordy sentence that provides key details that Felix is severely injured. I feel some shorter sentences may slow the reader down, giving it more weight. : 'He tried to protest, to ask the man to slow down, and to move his hand away, but the pain radiating from his side paralyzed him and made it impossible to utter a single intelligible word.'
The word you are looking for in shrapnel. “You’ve received [bomb debris] on your side. I’ll—” If you want to have the Italian struggling to know the German word for shrapnel, then introduce some pauses or additional words like 'how you say -- bomb debris'.
Want to praise this portion as it is a beautiful way of letting us know Felix is fading: “I’ve managed to stop the bleeding, Signore von Krüger,” the Italian reassured him, but all Felix could hear was the melody his beloved wife was playing earlier.
Caution on using foreign words here, stating the person has an Austrian accent lets us know it is another person from another country than the Italian. As we are in Felix's mind he knows what the Austrian is saying.
“Es ist Hauptmann von Krüger.” Felix heard someone say with an Austrian accent when he regained consciousness.
Again, you're very good at setting a scene. I cannot wait to see what you bring to us next week.
2
u/Dependent-Engine6882 Feb 15 '24
Hi oliver! thank you so much for the feedback and the praises!
I've edited the story following your suggestions. as for the Austrian soldier who found Felix at the end. I did precise where he was from because the austrian accent differes from the german one and also to show the readers that Felix's allies found him where the Italian soldier left him after patching him up and stopping the bleeding.
Thank you once more for reading my story and for your kind words!
5
u/Alex_gold123 Feb 15 '24
Liam and Maria
Maria took some deep breaths. She wouldn't be stressed out. Everything will turn out just fine. But then her mind started wandering again, "Would Liam even like her gift ? What if he doesn't like his cake ? She hadn't thought of a subtle way to find out which cake flavor he liked best but he did like to eat chocolates from time to time so she had ordered a chocolate cake.
She looked at Liam who was staring at his phone. What was going on in his head ? He hadn't acknowledged anything was weird when she hadn't wished him happy birthday today. That meant that Liam didn't mind right ?
Maria had wanted to get out the cake right after lunch and surprise him. She had also gotten a present for him. She really wanted this birthday to feel special.
Liam had gotten up and was looking at her in a confused manner. Liam walked over to the kitchen and asked her, “Aren’t you forgetting something ?” Maria was startled. Maybe Liam really was mad because she hadn’t wished him a happy birthday. She knew her plan was stupid. Why did she even go with the plan ? What was she thinking ?
Liam said, “I don’t want to tell you how to cook, but there’s no bread on a pan. I thought we were having sandwiches. “ He adjusted his glasses a bit. “But maybe you were going to do that later.”
Maria exclaimed, “Ah, of course. I totally forgot. Bread.” She hurriedly got the bread out of the fridge and started frying it on the pan. She had been making Liam’s favorite sauce to put on the sandwich and had totally forgotten about the bread.
Very soon the meal was ready and both of them dug in. Maria kept glancing at Liam nervously, wondering if he actually liked her meal or not. The least she could do for him is to make his favorite meal on his birthday but it didn’t matter if it wasn’t good.
Liam smacked his lips and said, “Yum, that was delicious. “ He smiled at her. “You make the best meals Maria. “
Maria calmed down a bit inwardly. So he liked his meal. Now he just had to like his cake and his present and all would be right in the world.
Maria got up and went to the cabinet where she had hidden the cake. She took a deep breath and took it out. “Surprise ! Happy birthday ! “ She said as she put the chocolate cake in front of Liam.
She looked at Liam, desperate to see if he liked it.
3
u/Tregonial Feb 16 '24
Hi Alex,
It is as words said, you have a good cliffhanger here for Part 2.
Overall, if maria was very anxious and stressed, I would have liked to see more mulling, hemming and hawing on her part. Maybe she'll bite her lips or clench her sweaty fists when gripping the plate to serve Liam's meal. Pace back and forth. You have about 300 more words to be more descriptive with her anxiety and what she interprets to be Liam barely reacting to her actions.
You used "looked" and "looking" quite a fair bit. Perhaps you could change things up with "staring", "gawking" etc to add to the variety of expressions both Maria and Liam are going thru.
Look forward to see your Part 2 for this!
2
u/wordsonthewind Feb 15 '24
Great buildup to the cliffhanger! I’m all but certain Liam hates chocolate now; Maria dwelling on the cake throughout her thought process basically seals the deal on its importance (at least to the plot).
Liam had gotten up and was looking at her in a confused manner. Liam walked over to the kitchen
I feel like the bare-bones description of his actions in this part is kind of at odds with her anxiety in the rest of the piece though. I’d have liked to see more of her interpretations here, or at least some fretting about how she can’t read him. Just my two cents.
Good words!
3
u/AnAdvancedBot Feb 15 '24
Maria is a Queen, Liam doesn’t deserve her.
I wish Maria luck on her journey with anxiety.
1
4
Feb 14 '24 edited Feb 21 '24
Vex Effect
A full moon loomed, illuminating a rural landscape like the sun through an overcast filter. Vex streaked across the sky, the wind eliciting a deafening howl as she glanced back, her blond bangs plastering across her face. Blue slivers of light peeled away from her wings like embers drifting from a fire. A timer was nearing zero and her brief time flying was about to become a brief time falling.
Not the party crashing I had in mind, she thought. But at least they’ll know I arrived. Her speed insisted she close her eyes, but she squinted instead. Doing what she was told was never something she was any good at. Besides, there was still plenty of glaring to do.
A contingent of the king’s army was arrayed in an open field below. They stood in three columns arranged in a wedge. The forward formation held aloft a banner of black and red but may as well have been concentric circles of black and white, such was her hate for flags.
Vex fixated as the ground rushed to greet her. She reached back, blue pearls of magic coalescing in her grasp to become a shaft. Rod, meet lightning. A bearded axehead finished the weapon and she yanked it down, the overhead chop converging on the formation like a falling star.
Boom!
An eruption of magic buffeted her landing, jagged talons of ice curling up from the ground and cascading outward. Bodies rent, their components splaying from various directions. Helmets tumbled free, some still occupied by the desiccated heads inside them. Those undead remaining untouched remained unphased and simply trained their gaze on her as she stood.
Rod, meet ice? Nah, that doesn’t work. She shrugged. Well, this is awkward. I wasn’t expecting to survive that, so I don’t really have a step two.
Vex cast the axe aside, the magic around her already dissipating. She reached to her back and retrieved a weapon, its short staff elongating to become a glaive.
Have you found strength enough yet?” asked a helmeted soldier.
She lunged, launching a sweeping attack that swatted the speaker and those nearest. The blade continued around and bit into the ground as her bangs settled around her eyes. The back of her hair was roughly shorn at an upward angle, her front laced black bodice likewise severed, both attachments and their memories discarded.
“You are stronger,” said another, who immediately collapsed under an overhead chop.
“Do you think of them still, Rap—”
Vex drove the staff-end through the speaker’s face with a growl. “That’s not my name.”
The soldiers moved, swords sheening in unison as they left their scabbard, the column remnants moving to encircle her. “If you can’t even accept—”
Swat!
“...who you are,” continued another, “how can you make progress?”
Wham!
“After all, it is your birth name.”
Vex roared, her slashes sequencing from multiple directions as she arced her way through those around her. She spit on her last kill, the puppet’s strings cut away, then looked to see the other two formations closing with drawn swords. “Just give me what you said you would!”
“The silk? You have no more need for a ladder.”
“It’s not for a ladder. The man in the moon,” she said, glancing at the smug face shining down on them all. “He took them from me. And I’ll hunt down every last strand of silk.” She sprinted for the nearest column, her teeth bared. “Until I have rope enough.” Wham! “To lasso the moon.” Swat! “And yank his ass from the sky!”
“If you truly believe that, I don’t doubt you’ll ever stop chasing that dream. But it’s not the world we live in. You know—” Thwak! “You weren’t strong enough—” Crash!
Vex’s shoulders rounded, her back arching as her weapon sagged to the ground, her breath coming in gasps. “I’ll never stop. Not until I have them back.”
“Go, then.”
She glanced back as a portal expanded like a yawning mouth. “Wait!” she protested, the undead soldiers encroaching from all sides. “The silk!” The mouth leaned over her and closed, the new place swallowing her whole and marooning her in a knee-high hayfield, a place she didn’t recognize.
Vex’s weapon was suddenly unbearably heavy. Wait, she thought as it rolled from her fingertips. She collapsed to her knees. You didn’t give me the silk. She covered her mouth, then her stomach as she sobbed. Please? I need it.
Constraints
WC: 740/750
Trope: Dueling POVs
Genre: Any
POV 1 of 2
-
Vex Effect
See what I did there? XD
→ More replies (2)
5
u/InquisitiveBallbag Feb 16 '24
Reunion
Tip, tap. Tip, tap. Rain danced softly off he steel blade as Valens tread softly through the deserted street, the soles of his boots producing footsteps that reverberated quietly. As he rounded to the forum, the sight that greeted made him grit his teeth. Clusters of people lay motionless, clearly run through by a bladed weapon. Their shrunken eyes and features betraying their affliction, black spiderwebbed veins covering their grey skin. Stigma, there was no question about it. As more bodies came into view, he focused on a solitary figure, corpses piled around them like a macabre flowering blooming from the ground.
Grey eyes, a mole below the lips, shoulder length auburn hair that reminded one of a warm autumn day. The spitting image of her mother. It was her, of course it was.
“Maia,” He started, his hand reaching up towards her as he closed the distance. “What-“
“Stop,” she whispered, levelling her sword at his chest, his breath catching in the back of his throat.
“Dad, I told you what the Church had been doing. You didn’t listen. Is this enough to convince you now?” She gestured towards the floor of the forum.
“I-can’t, I won’t. The Church is the protector of the faithful, none of this makes sense.
"Why do you continue defending them?”
“I swore a vow to the Church, and to the Transcendental One. I am a Paladin, you know this. Besides, it doesn’t make sense. Why would they release the Marked and Stigma upon Oscania?”
“For control. For-“ His daughter paused, her face contorting into a grimace as she looked down, resting her gaze on his hand.
“Huh?” Valens looked downwards, suddenly becoming aware of the rattling of his sword made as his entire arm trembled. Black lines cascaded down his forearm. “Ah…I see.”
“D-dad, I can’t do it.” He could see tears well in his daughter’s eyes, her voice breaking as her sword shook with her sobs. He took a deep breath, sighing. This was the end of the road for him, but despite that, he was still in control. He would not let her see him change, to become one of those things.
He raised his sword, bringing the blade up to his neck, the cold steel biting into the soft skin. Determination and an odd sense of peace washed over him as he offered her a weak but reassuring smile.
“Maia, turn around. I don’t want your last memory to be…this.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks and he could see her body wracked by sobs, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. He would not let the disease take over his mind, he would choose his own end. As he closed his eyes, willing his sword arm to move, he found that suddenly he could not.
What?! One above, no! NO!
His eyelids opened and to his horror, he felt his body lurch forwards, sword poised overhead for a downward slash. He shouted and tried with all his might to will his body to stop, but it was futile. It felt as if he were outside of his own body, observing and with no agency over his movements and actions.
Swish, clang. The blade sliced through the air, arrested by Maia’s as she blocked the blow.
Please, stop. I don’t want to hurt her. I CAN'T! I WON'T!
Again and again, he was forced to watch as his body launched blow after blow at his daughter, her own sword parrying his over and over.
As he swung again, she pirouetted, sidestepping him. The momentum of his attack carried him forwards, and he a sharp pain bloomed from his neck as the slender tip of her blade pierced through him and out the front. His body fell to his knees, feeling blood flow from the wounds. The sword clattered to the ground, and he was suddenly aware of a sense of warmth as something pressed against him. It was Maia, her face buried into the crook of his neck as she sobbed uncontrollably. As his eyes dimmed, and his hearing faltered, a strange feeling of peace washed over him as a memory surfaced.
He smiled at the thought, seeing how widely she beamed as he had knighted her a paladin of the order. Warmth came over him, the dark emptiness of the void lulling him to sleep.
She was all grown up now and would be able to take care of herself.
Ah, little pumpkin, dad is so proud of you.
---
W/C: 750/750