r/WritingPrompts • u/Cody_Fox23 Skulking Mod | r/FoxFictions • May 24 '20
Constrained Writing [CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Winter
Welcome back to Smash ‘Em Up Sunday!
Last Week
28 stories again! 3 weeks in a row now! Y’all are making me blush with how excited you seem to be to play this little game! As tones wound down we saw the end of summer and looking toward the future. Some also saw that future end. Plenty of yas took on the 2nd POV challenge and that was absolutely delightful. It is underutilized in my opinion and I hope you might try it out elsewhere every so often!
On to the spotlights! Choosing was hard this week. It is hard every week but so many of you evoked emotion and feeling from me which was one thing I was really looking for this week. That made it even harder.. I even considered a Top 5 >.>
That would be madness though.
Community Choice:
/u/-Anyar- decimated the voting field this week. I hate to title it this, but it absolutely embodied “Winter is Coming”. Beautiful story though!
Remember, if you read through the stories and have a favorite DM me! You don’t even need to write to vote. This award is from the readers!
Cody’s Choices:
This Week’s Challenge
For May since we are changing seasons, I am thinking we’ll look at that. Each week will be the transition into a new season! This week we’ll explore the themes of Winter.
Winter has arrived. Temperatures have dropped and snow and ice may be on the horizon. What does Winter mean to you?
Good Luck!
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE!
There seems to be a lot of people that come by and read everyone’s stories and talk back and forth. I would love for those people to have a voice in picking a story. So I encourage you to come back on Saturday and read the stories that are here. Send me a DM either here or on Discord to let me know which story is your favorite!
The one with the most votes will get a special mention.
How to Contribute
Write a story or poem, no more than 800 words in the comments using at least two things from the three categories below. The more you use, the more points you get. Because yes! There are points! You have until 11:59 PM EDT 30 May 2020 20 to submit a response.
| Category | Points |
|---|---|
| Word List | 1 Point |
| Sentence Block | 2 Points |
| Defining Feature | 6 Points |
Word List
Ice
Warmth
Bitter
Silent
Sentence Block
Life persists even in these conditions.
The world slept.
Defining Features
Narrative Structure: Circular - When a story ends the way it starts.
POV: 3rd Person Omniscient
What’s happening at /r/WritingPrompts?
20/20 Contest has ended. Check out the final standings!
Nominate your favourite WP authors or commenters for Spotlight and Hall of Fame! We count on your nominations to make our selections.
Come hang out at The Writing Prompts Discord! I apologize in advance if I kinda fanboy when you join. I love my SEUS participants <3
Want to help the community run smoothly? Try applying for a mod position. Someone has to keep the immortal snail locked up after all!
I hope to see you all again next week!
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u/aadamjoyce May 30 '20 edited May 30 '20
Eleven days until sunrise.
I stood on the surface, nervous, holding my breath as I looked at the sunlit landscape fading into the shadows. I watched the sunset, apprehensive of what was coming; the darkness, the bitter cold, the unknown. The last sliver of golden light was just quenched by the horizon and for a brief moment, time stopped. This was it. I had my training, I studied the mission data, I passed the psyche evals, but I couldn’t shake this unsettling feeling.
"Temp's dropping," said Solveig, slapping me on the back. "Turn your insulator on."
Name: Solveig Sonal Ealair.
Gender: Female.
Age: 7.
Origin: Proxima b.
Boot-date: 3155760000.
I exhaled slowly and said, "here we go." Solveig and I had an hour and a half until it was completely dark. Without a moon in orbit, there was only the starlight to light up the night, but when cloudy, like today, it would be very dark.
"Eleven days and counting," she said with an undertone not unlike my exact feelings. No one liked the long nights here. Half of us now were born here on Proxima or on the way, like me. But the 11 Earth-days it takes to orbit its star makes for a long night. It's easier to not notice when down in the city, but out here on top, the surface, it's unnerving.
"Daniel. Daniel!" Solveig stood, looking at me. "You seem far away. Where are you?"
Name: Daniel Jeffson.
Gender: Male.
Age: 33.
Birthplace: In transit.
Birthdate: 10/10/2044.
"You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m having a hard time focusing," I half-confessed to Solveig. This is my fourth surface mission but it felt like both my first and my thousandth. The implications of the exploratory mission were exciting; scan Proxima for bio-signatures in hopes of finding life. Real alien life. But the actual work is boring. Scanning, sampling, testing, reviewing; not exactly riveting work. We’re the guinea pigs testing if life persists even in these conditions.
“You better get it together or you’re gonna fuck something up.” I could feel her look of worry boring into me, but I kept from making eye-contact. “I shouldn’t have to tell you to not freeze to death. Sun down, insulators on. Follow protocol or go home.”
“Right again, Solveig. I’m sorry. Something just doesn’t feel right, and hasn’t since I woke up this morning. My anxiety is through the roof.” I finally confessed what I was really feeling.
“Something hasn’t been right up there for a long time,” she smirked.
“Oh you’re comedian now?” I turned to make a face at her, but I saw it in the distance. “Is that a storm? Looks like it’s right over the station.”
Solveig turned to look as a faint echo of thunder made its way to us. “Looks like it. I’ll check the com for any messages about it. Hmm, offline. Is yours working?” asked Solveig, not yet revealing any worry.
I checked mine. “Nope, offline, maybe there’s some atmospheric interference?” I pretended to have a good idea.
“Perhaps. Let’s get our equipment and scan for data on that storm.” Solveig turned, with meter in hand, back towards the direction of the storm. “Hey, seems like it’s moving fast… Let me just get some readings…” She held out the meter, while it made a sequence of beeps and tones. “That storm is going to be on top of us in about two minutes. Thunder, lightening, and of course with the low temp, snow. A lot of it. I don’t like this, we should get to the trans-pod.”
Equipment packed, we quickly headed back down the hill. I felt a wave of cool air as the first winds of the storm reached us, ice already forming on the ground. Lightening flashed overhead and the wind was picking up.
“There’s the pod.” We ran up to the cargo door, wind now howling. Solveig pressed the latch release. “It’s not working,” she shouted, “I’ll use the manual release.” She struggled with the release and finally opened the hatch. “Here, quick, get in!” She all but threw me and jumped in after, letting it slam shut behind her. The chaos of the storm was immediately silent. It was dark and quiet in the cargo hold. No lights.
“We’ll drive back to the station, it’ll be safer in here.” I could barely hear her over the ringing in my ears as we shuffled into the cockpit and sat down. “No power,” Solveig tapped buttons while I, less sophisticated, chose to hit the dash.
“What happened? Are we stuck out here?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.
Ten days until sunrise.
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edits: formatting
WC: 799
any critique welcome
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u/TheLettre7 May 31 '20
I really like the feel of this story. great to read something set on our closets (relatively) neighbor :)
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u/izzywake May 30 '20
The Earth has become silent. Humankind is gone.
The humans were once the most prevalent species on this planet. They changed the world to suit their needs, and the world gave freely. They built beautiful civilizations that towered over the ground and brought awe to all who viewed them.
But the humans became too greedy. They took more and more from the world, hungry to become rich and powerful, scampering over the rest to see who could take the most from the earth.
Soon, the humans took too much from the world. The world decayed, bringing ice to destroy the towering civilizations, to scold the humans for their greed. Humans were killed by the millions, their cities unequipped to handle the bitter, unrelenting cold. The humans died, and the world slept.
Still, life persists even in these conditions. A lone man sets off across the harsh landscape, across the glaciers that cover the ground. He has one goal in his mind as the warmth of his body leeches into the air. He has a message to send.
The man treks through the lifeless cities, scavenging together the parts he needs from the ruins of once great machines. He knows he doesn’t have much longer to live. The cold seeps into his bones, the same way it did for his family, no matter how many layers they wore. The world took them all. The only thing the man has now is his mission.
The man writes a message to be sent into the stars, so that any other species that look upon the Earth can see what led to the humans’ downfall. He hopes that the story of the human race will be spread across the galaxy as a warning of what can happen to those that take too much and give too little.
The man writes a message and sends it to the stars.
The message says: The Earth has become silent. Humankind is gone…
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u/4HandsMinus2 May 30 '20
A squeak escaped the sleeping vole. His eyes snapped open. He’d been excited by the scent of a mate, but it was gone along with the dream of Spring.
He wondered as well as a vole wonders if he had voiced the sound that woke him or imagined it. He tensed, scared that even his blinking sounded like the river in the Spring torrents.
Spring. He longed for it, for the snow to melt, for the bitter taste of roots to be pushed aside by sweet berry bellyaches. Spring.
All was quiet. The world slept. He nuzzled a little deeper into the warmth of his frozen burrow.
Was that a crunch? And another? His head twitched somatically, the sound grating and loud like a river rock rolling, eroding, in the Spring torrents. He squirmed. Tried to nose a little deeper. Another crunch and he was still and all was silent. He hoped the storm had buried him in an impenetrable blanket of snow, tucked him in nice and safe.
Up and up and up through less of a layer than a vole could hope, a bus ambled through the frozen tundra. A sleepy young man looked out across it on his way to work. Nestled into his down coat he watched the whitening of the world.
That’s all it does now, he thought. The white gets brighter and brighter, taunting the existence of the Sun, before it dims, never capable of full darkness in the endless white.
The bus shuddered against a gust of wind rushing down from the mountains that he imagined still stood magnificent and jagged against the flat lands, but that had gone unseen for weeks. He watched the gust move across the country, scouring the land down to an endless plain of ice.
A shock of fire met his eyes. A fox. So small, yet so striking against the barren scene beyond the window.
Life persists even in these conditions. He shook his head, chuckled softly in amazement.
The fox stood still. Her head jerked about by her ears. Her eyes squinted against the winter winds, her fur blown about.
His bated breath was fogging the glass. He’d seen mousing before. She would launch, her front paws tucked and cute, her body pivoting like a horse over a wall, turning those paws into spears, her sniffing snout into jaws of death. Her tail would dance like a flame upon a white screen as she rooted out her prey.
She leaned back into her haunches. She was certain. She had heard the squeak.
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u/OldBayJ May 30 '20
A Christmas Break
Cecilia stood at the end of the drive, the snow and ice crunching beneath her feet. She smiled as she watched the red-orange flames dance on the rooftop of her and her husband’s home. As the rest of the world slept, the crackling fire brought warmth to the bitter winter air, as it destroyed everything they both had worked so hard for.
She hadn’t meant for things to get so heated. But, now that it was all said and done, she felt...relief. This could be her chance; her only chance. One swift and clean break. Be done with mortgage payments that cost almost more than they made. Be done with the stress of trying to get pregnant. Be done trying to keep up appearances, day in and day out. Most importantly, it could be a clean break from Drake. Of course, nothing was ever “clean.”
---
Two hours ago, Drake had been listening to Cecilia drone on while they stood in the kitchen. Why didn’t she understand? She was always yelling and complaining about this and that. He wondered if maybe she just couldn’t see how much he loved her. He made mistakes, just like she did. Why were his mistakes unforgivable while hers were not even worth mentioning?
He must have been thinking out loud, because it was in this moment he realized nothing would ever be the same again. Cecilia flew in a rage. Her face was as red as the Christmas lights on the tree.
“Really?! You think bugging you about the trash and forgetting to change the oil in the car really measures up to sleeping with your intern?”
“Cecilia, I told you, we aren’t sleeping together.”
“Anymore. What does that prove anyway?”
“Ever! We were never sleeping together! Cecilia, I love you. Only you. I’ve told you a thousand times what happened, and what didn’t.” Drake wondered how many more times he’d have to have this same argument, plead this same case. He was tempted to tell her. To just finally yell it at her, so he could enjoy the silence, if only for two minutes. But in the end, it would only make things worse.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you? Like you can just charm your way out of anythi—”
“What*?* When do I get out of anything with you?” Drake slammed his glass on the counter, shattering it.
Cecilia didn’t even flinch. She knew he was lying, “Oh don’t you even! I saw the pictures! On your phone! Yes, Drake, I went through your phone. And I saw every last one of them.”
“Did you? Did you see everything? Because if you did, you saw that I didn’t send anything back to her! I can’t control what she does anymore than I can control what you do.”
He hoped to God he had remembered to delete his sent messages.
“You bastard! You inconsiderate piece of crap! How dare you compare me to her!”
“That’s not what I meant. I work so hard for all of this Cecilia,” he waved both arms in the air. “And I do it for you, for us.”
“Oh and I don’t?” What does he think I do all day, she wondered.
“Again, not what I meant! I didn’t even say that.” He closed his eyes, and put his head in his hands. Drake had to choose his next words carefully. He could see Cecilia was just getting angrier. He took a deep breath and looked at Cecilia, whose eyes were filled with tears. “I just meant—”
“I know what you meant! You work so hard. Harder than me. So I should just gloss over your indiscretions and...whatever and be thankful that a big, strong man like you takes care of me. That’s what you meant, right?”
“You know that’s—you know, you are insufferable!” Drake stormed off, towards the bedroom.
He was more angry than he had been in a long time, Cecilia knew how to push all the right buttons. Sometimes he just wished… no, no he didn’t. He took several deep breaths. He loved her, he told himself. He paced back to the kitchen to apologize.
“Cecilia, what the fuck are you doing?! No!”
She grinned and pursed her lips. “If you’re gonna set fire to our marriage, so will I!”
He watched a lit match drop to the gasoline-soaked floor.
Twenty minutes later, Drake stood in the street, the snow and ice crunching beneath his feet. He watched the red-orange flames engulf their home. As the rest of the world slept, the roaring blaze fed the anger coursing through his veins, as it destroyed everything he had worked so hard for.
He watched a swarm of emergency personnel frantically work. “I guess life persists, even in these conditions. Merry fuckin’ Christmas.”
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WC: 796
If you would like to read more stories by me, come check out My sub r/ItsMeBay!
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u/TheLettre7 May 31 '20
Such contrast! Such drama!
the dialogue in this is really spot on, and helps show the inner struggle between them. well done :)
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u/mobaisle_writing May 30 '20
The world slept.
It had to, after what had been done. Rime ice climbed the shattered husks of trees. Permafrost settled across the land under clouds that would not clear for an age.
The remaining cities, at first great bastions of warmth against the now perpetual night, fast devolved. Perhaps at first the leaders in their bunkers and their situation rooms claimed some providence against the poisoned fruits of their labours.
But supplies couldn’t last.
The bitter chill and the toxic air reaped crops before harvest, and the heart of the people fell with them. Cruel fighting split the survivors, vicious and internecine. Before hungry mouths, no bond of kith nor kin could stand for long.
Soon the cities fell silent. Dark like the lands they destroyed.
And yet life persists even in these conditions. Across the wastes, caravans crept, and reavers roved. Clinging to whatever narrow purchase could be found, and not afraid to cut off hands that grabbed for it. Around them the wildlife twisted under the fell energies on the winds, bearing fresh horrors, and unwelcome challenges.
Perhaps the nascent tribes might pass down their legacy. Perhaps a new order would rise from the ashes. Perhaps someday the wreckage would be spun to new cities, their cancerous arteries bridging the Earth once more.
But they could not yet.
For now, the world slept.
[226 words]
Any and all feedback welcomed.
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u/the_wand_is_mightier May 30 '20
The Final Ice Moon
When Lüva fully revolves around its third star, an act occurring every 955 human years, its typically temperate pine-like forests experience a formidable winter of sleet and wind. This cycle is known as the Era of the Ice Moon, and it brings 112 years of bitter cold.
For aeons, ice moon eras have pushed the many species of Lüva to the brink of extinction. But life persists even in these conditions, and during each cycle the rival groups are forced to look past their differences and come together for the chance of survival. They set down their spears to gather food and form shelter, finding new families among those who persevere.
With the advent of the ice moon comes the induction of the Ice Moon Queen. She’s revered not for her warmth or charity, but for her silent resilience. She is the defender. From her outcropping above the desolate landscape, her presence is the single point of hope against the cold planet’s harsh punishment.
In a tradition as old as the first people on Lüva, the queen claims her crown of ibex horns on the fifth night of winter. It is not known what happens in the dead of this night, only that with the moon rise of the sixth day she emerges above the desolate valley on her stone outcrop. The silhouette of twisting antlers standing starkly against the rise of the full white moon is an image born into all Lüvians. It ignites a spark of hope for the long winter.
It was this day, on the sixth morning of the 58th Era of the Ice Moon, that Kikan walked out onto the outcropping, her sturdy steps supporting a body thick with muscles. She reached the stone’s edge without hesitation and stood straight, lifting her chin to the heavens. Two mighty antlers held sturdy against the hard wind and the light of the rising moon, claiming her destiny.
And so it began, the dawn of Kikan, Lüva’s final Ice Moon Queen.
WC 333
Not really sure where this one is going... will happily take any suggestions & feedback!
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u/TheLettre7 May 31 '20
Ooo I like the concept.
I could see you writing a lot about what goes during the long winter, and how the moon queen fits in.
anyway good job.
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u/TheLettre7 May 29 '20 edited May 30 '20
Hesitantly, Tom stooped out into the waning light, sinking up to his shins in a blanket of snow. He gasped as any residual warmth from prior seasons was extinguished, replaced by the icy sting of dread.
The seed had bloomed.
But he couldn't stop now, so with a shaky resolve he grasped his camera with gloved hands. His breath coalescing into a dissipating mist.
A opaque fog held taut over everything, even the air felt heavy. With shivering muscles he began, the light straining to make it through. Ahead a streetlight flickered, illuminating an untouched canvas of stark white.
His mind stormed. Grandpa had been a bitter man during winter. Always this and that, the slips and crashes, retelling the same old stories. But he loved the man, as only family can.
He missed him.
His shuffling thumps were muted to an almost complete silence, like the world was asleep, and had no intention of being disturbed.
Hugging himself tightly, he went on, his teeth chattering through the haze. He blinked back tears, which were crystallizing at the corners of his eyes. Ahead, through the sifting swirls were the shadowy outlines of buildings.
A proper city, all veiled in a colorless hue.
But like the car, the surroundings were in a state of disrepair. A looming tower had buckled near the middle, the upper half leaning precariously against an adjacent building. Shatters, and sharp skewers of glass, and tangles of riven metal littered the canvas. Electrical wires, and insulation spooling out like frozen vines. With shaky hands he captured the destruction.
Under the shadow of the two ruined structures, was a unintended entrance to a dilapidated junction of the city. Mass produced architecture built short and reaching. Built for function rather than form, but as lifeless as the absence of color. Cracked reflections mirroring themselves and the now fading fog.
Before him, dusted with less inches, was an intersection with fragmented debris and detritus scattered throughout. Stoplights, erected at each avenue, glowed dimly on red. As he came despondently, he felt compelled to stop.
He breathed out, his breath willowing, and waited.
The temperature decreased further, but he stayed as still as he could. Thankfully, it didn't take long. Distantly the clouds had not yet dispersed. Within this fog a figure emerged, then another, and two smaller ones.
Quite quickly, they came into view, tramping along.
Wolves.
A pair of silver beasts and their pups, kicking up billows as they ran toward him with golden fireworks exploding in their eyes. He tensed, muscles twitching. Without so much as acknowledging him, he froze the moment as they ran past, heading under the shadow and vanishing into nothing. Only after this, did he realize all that he'd been missing.
A couplet of ashen squirrels scurried up a streetlight, slinking into a nest of sticks and garbage. A family of ducks flew overhead, quacking absentmindedly.
With a blink, the lights turned green.
Even as things seemed dead, and deserted, and the city appeared abandoned of activity, there was still a constant. Here, the life had not left, it was always here, persisting regardless of the conditions.
That was no truer than what he walked up to. Sagging frozenly at a brick wall, with clothes torn to shreds, was a skeleton. The caved in skull, was now a huddled home of a burly white mouse, blending well with the ever present blankness. He sadly documented.
It was hard to know exactly what he should feel, even so he made up stories. A banker, turned to the streets after a crash. A desperate widow, caught in a whirlwind. A riot. A growing rage at something unacceptable, the individual forgotten to the mass of unfocused anger.
As he wandered, it was clear he was reaching the end. He passed mounds, and ropes hanging down from broken fixtures, gutted store fronts, and charred restaurants, everything covered in a deathly white. He hugged himself, many little animals scurrying away as he walked, presumably startled by his presence. He snapped another.
Hurrying now, the chills becoming more frequent, any positive realizations dashed.
He ran.
Snow inching upwards, back to his shins. A yellow door was ahead, sentried by a pair of snowmen, completely out of place; the door was familiar.
The wind picked up torrentially, buildings fading away in rapid flurries of wintry powder. Panting heavily he moved toward the door, the snowmen dotted with smiles.
The door swung open before him, the snow rising all around as green gleamed through the door.
Stumbling over the finale point, Tom fell in a heap as the stone arch way collapsed behind him. With his camera held, the dread washed away, replaced by the promise of spring.
His car was still where he'd left it.
And now he had a story.
(Part 4 of 4)
(800 words, whoo boy this was fun to write, I hope you enjoy your "Cereal" also sidenote I finally finished a project so that's one down all future ones to go, the seasons are Glorious.)
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u/ArchipelagoMind May 29 '20
The phone buzzed against the table. John tapped the screen and read the message, before pushing forward his empty glass. “Your round I think, Ben.”
Ben sighed, stood up and left with the empty glasses.
“Whose the text from?” Liam asked.
“Rachel,” John replied. “I said I’d be home straight after work tonight.”
“Then why are you here?” Liam scrunched his face.
“You invited me for a drink… besides, it’s been a long day at work. I needed a break.”
“And yesterday?”
“Long day too…”
There was a silent moment as Liam let the answer hang, before Ben returned with three more drinks.
“How’s the kiddo anyway?” Liam asked, trying to turn to lighter conversation.
“Like one of those nature documentaries.” John put on a mock accent. “Life persists, even in these conditions… I swear, it’s like having a constant tornado in your house. She’s now at that stage where she’s smart enough to move around but not smart enough to realize the cat’s litter isn’t edible. It’s amazing anything survives”
The others laughed. “She’s still cute though,” Liam added.
“Definitely,” John smiled, taking a sip. “I’d do anything for her. Even if it does mean my DVR is now nothing but child development documentaries and In the Night Garden.”
“Documentaries?” Ben asked.
“Yeah. Since the sprog, Rachel’s been obsessed with them. Recorded over Match of the Day for one last night.”
“Bitter much?” Ben prodded.
“A tad,” John laughed, taking another large gulp of his drink.”Though some of them are kinda interesting. You ever heard of the marshmallow test?”
He stared at their vacant expressions before he began
“So they shove a child in a room with a marshmallow, right, and tell the kid that if they don’t eat the marshmallow for twenty minutes, when they come back, they get a reward, say… two marshmallows”, John waved his hands in mock excitement. “Twenty minutes later, low and behold, most kids have eaten the marshmallow because it turns out, kids are fucking stupid.”
John took another gulp of the pint, leaving only a couple of sips in the bottom. As he put it back on the table, the phone vibrated again. He looked over, saw the text was from Rachel, and turned the screen off again.
“They couldn’t help themselves,” Ben laughed, “not even for that long?”.
“Nope. How dumb do you have to be to just give in right there and then instead of holding off for the bigger reward. Like, zero impulse control, no long-term thinking.”
John finished off the last few dregs of the drink.
Looking out the window in front of him, the frosty air nipped at those who walked by, and he thought of the ice-drenched walk home, and the warmth the beer was leaving in his gut.
The phone vibrated again. He saw the screen light up with a message in all caps.
He pushed the empty glass forward across the table. “Your round I think, Liam.”'
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I rarely enter SEUS, but when I do, I skirt around the theme as much as possible...
More words at r/ArchipelagoFictions
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u/OldBayJ May 31 '20
Hey I recognize this! Another double submission (SEUS and Theme Thursday!) Nice! So glad to see you on the SEUS story list :D
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u/GammaGames May 29 '20 edited May 30 '20
Mayak
Warmth was no longer welcome in the coastal village of Petrovsk. The world normally sleeps as snow covers it in thick blankets, but nobody in Petrovsk slept; not because of cold, but from fear. A fear that was amplified as the lighthouse beam cut through the dark.
The area surrounding Petrovsk was prone to bitter winters. Getting more than a two shipments in the winter months was rare. The small number of families and recluses relied on hunting and farming to gather enough supplies to survive the colder months.
A group arrived to the town in the Summer, The Communion of the Hearth, their self-proclaimed aim was to help the town stockpile supplies and prepare for the winter. "Even in the darkest of nights, the lighthouse shines on. And so shall the Communion of the Hearth!" They put posters with the phrase in windows and held local meetings in front of the lighthouse to gain awareness and support. They gradually earned the community's trust.
In the late fall, just weeks before the cold weather was expected, the group started distancing themselves from the community. Distribution of supplies trickled and social functions slowly ceased. Doubters theorized that The Communion would move on to a warmer area and leave the town to fend for themselves. When the lighthouse keeper, a man who had maintained the building for more than 30 years, passed The Communion claimed the structure as their own and any doubts about the group wilted.
As the icy winter began its occupation of the area the townsfolk noted that the lighthouse was no longer lit every night, as had been tradition with the old keeper. Townsfolk began to see shadows creeping through the eternal blizzard. The figures appeared out of nothing, stood still and watched as the villagers huddled in their homes, before melting back into the storm. The howling winds created deep drifts that ensured the town would remain isolated for the remainder of the winter.
It was several days into the deep freeze before the lighthouse's beacon burned again. On that same night the Petrov family was taken from their homes and dragged, screaming and pleading, through the dark blizzard to the illuminated candle. As neighbors ventured out into the world they uncovered red stains in the snow. Nobody talked about what had happened that night, but everyone knew.
The Petrov family was only the first to go missing. Every few weeks the lighthouse would send its floodlight out in search of new victims; each time another family would vanish and leave trails to that cursed beacon. By the new year only two families remained.
Alexis sat huddled in his small home, a fire blazing in the hearth. In the past few days Alexis had seen the shadows past home's windows. They were closer than they had been before. They watched for much longer.
The lighthouse shone again tonight. The beam lit the curtains of the home with every rotation. Every rotation, Alexis peered out the window praying there would be no watching shadows.
The beam from the tower rotated slowly and covered the outside world with darkness. How long could he watch like this? The light returned. No shadow.
The light withdrew. How long before he would go mad? These conditions were unforgiving, he could feel the fabric of his mind stretching. The light advanced. No shadow.
The light fell back. What would he do if The Communtion came for him? No other victim had yet escaped the lighthouse. The light drew forward, and Alexis felt his throat constrict. A shadow stood on the road, watching him. His eyes just playing tricks on him, he told himself. He rubbed them and shook his head.
When he opened his eyes the beam had retreated once again. He stared into the darkness anxiously. The light returned, and the shadow stood just feet from the window. There were at least five others this time. All coming from the street. Alexi's blood ran cold.
Warmth was no longer welcome in Petrovsk. Nobody in Petrovsk slept; not because of cold, but from a primal fear of the hunting beam of light in the dark.
Mayak (Маяк) means lighthouse in Russian. I had the idea while listening to the Helter Skelter audio book, and there was probably some Chernobyl behind the scenes as well. I’ve had a two sentence summary in my notes for months! I did manage to get the overall feeling within the length limit, though I do think it might make an okay short story if I expanded it a bit.
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u/Aquapig May 28 '20 edited May 29 '20
Wrong
The wind changed. The stag caught it in its nostrils, and stopped mid-step, stiff with alarm. Its frozen breath billowed into a celestial cloud among the trees. It had known fear its whole life; every moment was spent straining for the scent of a wolf, or the snap of a twig beneath a cougar’s paw. But this was different; more fundamental. This fear was deep, and ancient, and sickening. A human might have recognised a fear of evil, but to the deer it was simply an overwhelming sense of wrong. It bolted through the brush, catching its fur painfully on the bare branches in its haste to get away.
The next creature to notice was a raven. It soared high above the ice field, and gurgled excitedly when it spotted the patchwork of dark red and purple on the snow. It descended in a lazy circle to alight gently on the ground. In an instant, it had taken off again in frantic flight, as though the ice were burning hot. It cawed wildly as it flew. Wrong! It cried.
Nearby, at the edge of the tree line, a hunter sat in his hide like a bright-orange winter berry. He had been fiddling restlessly with the bow across his lap, and sighed in unconscious relief when he heard the raven; they said that the world slept in winter, but these last few hours in undisturbed quiet had felt more like waking death. A branch snapped somewhere in the trees behind him. “This place gives me the creeps.” He murmured, feeling a little braver for naming his fear. He flexed his fingers and stamped his feet against the bitter cold, then retrieved a little flask of whisky from his jacket. He took a sip and felt braver still. The winter light was pale and thin, but the day still had plenty to give. “Guess one more hour can’t hurt…” He said to himself. Another branch snapped behind him, closer now. Wrong! The silent forest screamed at him.
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u/QuiscoverFontaine May 27 '20
The watery twilight in the southern sky was underscored by a thin line of burning red light chasing along the horizon. Captain Langlois stood watching, despite the all-consuming cold that seeped unbidden through her clothes and into her bones. She’d been up on deck since before the first anaemic glow of the sun brightened the sky when the blackness of night still smothered the arctic wastes.
It had been one-hundred and twenty-four days since the frozen sea trapped their ship. The pack ice had appeared without warning, surrounding them before they could out-manoeuvre its advances, leaving the crew with no choice other than to wait through the harsh, dark winter for the mercy of spring.
Everything was silent but for the low creaking moans of the ice sheets shifting with the movements of the buried sea. For a moment, Langlois was sure she was the last creature left awake while all the world slept, everything lost to the ever-deepening polar winter.
Quartermaster Rossignol emerged from below deck, bracing himself against the piercing cold, wincing as the freezing air filled his lungs. He carefully picked his way across the uneven surface of the deck, the planks warped and bowed by weeks of the unrelenting pressure of the ice against the hull.
The Captain half turned to look at him, acknowledging his presence, before returning her gaze to the view before her. “Is everything made ready?” she asked, her words rising in a sunlit mist as she spoke.
“Yes. We’ve stowed all the camping supplies and a good portion of the rations on the main deck - all within easy reach. Though I pray we won’t have to use them. If the ship fails, we won’t last long on the bare ice.”
Langlois nodded but didn’t turn around. “No, indeed. But if I could prevent that from happening, I would. The ice will overcome us, or it won’t. All we can do is prepare for the worst.”
Ahead of them, the sun skimmed lazily along the horizon. It’s fiery light coloured the ice sheet with a blazing orange glow, sending sharp-edged shadows lancing towards the ship.
Rossignol followed her line of sight to where the midday sun was setting before it had truly risen, then looked away in distaste. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when a sudden skittering movement in the distance caught his eye. An animal. Black against the low sunlight, it stalked across the buckled ice on long bandy legs, its stretched shadow rippling over the pale jagged landscape as it went. It wandered between the spears of shattered ice before disappearing from view behind the bulk of an iceberg.
He stared in rigid horror. “There’s something out there,” he muttered, clutching at his coat.
“Yes. I’ve seen it before,” Langlois said as its loping form reappeared once more. “I thought we’d be the only souls out here, but it appears life persists even in these conditions.” There was almost a warmth to her tone, a fondness for this unknown hulking creature.
“What is it?” Rossignol asked, his voice constricted to a panicked whisper. “Surely not a wolf? Not alone and this far north?”
“No, I don’t think so; it’s too large. Whatever it is, it’s getting bolder. It’s ventured closer today than the last few times I’ve seen it. I can’t say if it’s hunting us or if it’s simply curious. We may find out before the winter is yet over.”
Rossignol took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Captain, how can you talk about it so calmly? Such a creature - its approach - must surely be an ill-omen.”
Langlois turned to face her crewmate for the first time, her expression even and unconcerned. “You find meaning in the world around you too readily, Rossignol. I’ve seen how you flinch at the waning daylight as though it were a portent of our deaths. That creature bears us no malice; it only aims to survive, as do we. Our lives are in the hands of the gods now. Have faith.”
Beneath their feet, the ship groaned and shuddered as the crushing ice tightened its grip around them.
Rossignol shivered and turned to leave. “Won’t you come below, Captain? You shouldn’t stay out for so long in these temperatures.”
She waved him away. “I will, in a little. This may be the last time I see the sun for some months. Let me enjoy it while I still can.”
To the south, the final glowing sliver of the sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving the land coated in thick velvety shadows. The sickly blue-green sky was embroidered in thin sweeps of clouds dyed a bitter ruby-red with the last of the light. All the while, the heavy curtain of indigo night swept back in from the north.
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797 words. I'd realised I'd set all my season-based SEUSs during transitional times of day. Spring and Autumn were at dawn, Summer was evening and this one is sort of both (while also being midday).
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u/4HandsMinus2 May 30 '20
Love a good sea story. Captured the essence of the well-pondered captain.
Appreciating those ski company names too!
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u/QuiscoverFontaine Jun 02 '20
Thanks! And the skiing thing was totally accidental! I don't know the first thing about skiing. It's nice when the references create themselves.
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u/the_wand_is_mightier May 30 '20
Enjoyed this! The "sickly blue-green sky" really struck me -- great image. And awesome to have a badass female captain :D
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u/quill_dipper May 27 '20
getaway (605 words)
He touched her cheek softly and smiled, content.
They had become preppers after the last hurricane had caught them unprepared, so when the announcement had come that the Sun might go out, they'd only needed about 15 minutes to pack their gear and leave. Two hours after that, they'd pulled off the rapidly-congesting interstate and driven the eight miles to their redoubt, a wooded tract on a gravel back road.
A year before, they had spent a sizable chunk of their retirement money to build a shelter there, using two shipping containers buried under ten feet of soil and gravel. A lot of good it'll do now, he thought bitterly. They'd missed all the rioting and the chaos, but before long they would be going where everyone else had gone. They had sealed off all but this one tiny space, and they only had enough fuel to keep it warm for another hour or so.
They had been there for three days and had even started wondering if they'd been played, when it hit. They ran back into the shelter and stayed there while a wildfire passed over them, destroying their old Jeep Cherokee and the outside caches of firewood. When they went back out that afternoon the stars were already out, and there was a fading streamer of red in the western sky where the Sun should have been.
It got progressively colder after that--but where could they go? Early on, there had been rumors on a couple forums of National Guard activity around Hutchinson, Kansas, and that the government was going to shelter a few thousand people in the salt mines there. Those forums went dark soon after. He imagined that anyone crazy enought to try to force their way in hadn't gotten within ten miles of the gate.
Maybe some folks are safe there, he thought. He hoped so, but he wondered if it would really matter in the long run. The Sun had gone out, after all.
His weather sensors had all burned up in the fire but the antenna still worked, and the last AM radio broadcast he'd picked up said the temperature in Orlando was 120 below zero. 120 below. Ten feet above them, the world was sleeping under a blanket of snow and ice topped with frozen carbon dioxide.
She looked up at him, and the warmth in her eyes made him forget the frostbite in his toes. "You know, I wouldn't want to be anywhere in the world but here, with you," she said, and he knew she meant it.
He looked at her and was silent for a moment as he willed the love and gratitude he felt for her to drive the fear and bitterness from his face. "Sweetheart," he finally said, "I'm so grateful for the time we've had together. Thank you for sharing my life, and for letting me share yours."
She kissed him then, and though he'd never been fond of long kisses, he willed this one to go on and on.
Life persists even in these conditions, he thought. Just look at us, sucking the marrow out of the very last bit.
Finally he heard the hiss and sputter of the little heater as it used up the last of their fuel.
She heard it too, but ignored it.
"Hey, I know," she said, her eyes shining, "Let's just stay bundled up and sleep in here tonight, and tomorrow we'll go out and take a nice hike."
"That sounds great," he said. "I'm too comfy to move. Let's just stay put for now."
He touched her cheek softly and smiled, content.
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u/Ryter99 May 31 '20 edited May 31 '20
“I am S-s-sir Jamsen F-farnsworth,” the knight said through chattering teeth. “I have never failed a quest.”
His apprentice, Drann, felt his eyes roll back in his head. “This is not a choice between fighting or surrender, Sir Jamsen. If you haven’t noticed, we face no living enemy!” His words reverberated throughout the silent forest.
“I’m afraid I must concur with Drann here,” Balinda said as she turned toward Jamsen. “Our only ‘foes’ are frostbite, hypothermia, and your own stupendous stubbornness.”
Their complaints were harsh, but well earned. The bitter, relentless chill of winter had long since sapped the joy from the merry trio of adventurers who first entered the Splintervale forest three days ago.
Jamsen had assured them again and again that they were on the right path, but as their bones chilled solid and food ran short, those assurances became less reassuring.
Now, the trio huddled around a meager fire, desperately absorbing the last hints of warmth provided by its dying embers.
“I must remind y-you both, we chose to accept this quest. A quest to rescue an innocent life from this godforsaken forest, no less. That is a solemn oath,” Jamsen said. As the fire died out entirely, crystals of ice appeared throughout his eyebrows. “And now that w-we’ve warmed up, we can continue onward!”
Balinda blinked. “Deeper into the forest? We’re almost out of supplies.”
“Our target is near. I know it in my bones.” With that, Jamsen set off.
Drann followed, having learned over the course of years that Jamsen’s bizarre intuition was often proven correct.
Only Balinda wavered. This was the first ‘adventure’ Jamsen had convinced her to join, away from the comforts of her tavern. When she finally chose to follow, it was out of pragmatism, rather than belief.
After a few minutes, Jamsen stopped at a remarkably lively looking bush poking up through the snow. “Aha! Life persists even in these conditions, how wonderfully poetic!”
Displaying a contradictory lack of emotion, he snapped a dozen branches from it and tossed them into his pack.
Balinda arched an eyebrow. “That robs a bit of the poetry and symbolism from the discovery doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps, but I suspect these will prove vital to our efforts!”
“Yes, what if we have to fight off a fearsome worg by flogging it with twigs?” Drann mocked.
As ever, Jamsen was undeterred by his companion’s verbal sniping. In his mind, he was now on a clear path toward success.
To his companions, he appeared to be wandering aimlessly, collecting useless ‘supplies’. From an outcropping he snagged a bare rock, and from a frozen goblin’s pack, he looted a sausage of unknown origin, type, and safety.
“I need a moment to review our instructions,” Jamsen said. The knight’s frozen fingers fumbled and dropped the parchment he’d pulled out of his pocket.
As Drann picked it up, his eyes went wide. “Wait, this ‘R’ is backwards. ‘Save my doggy’? Oh gods... Jamsen, the grand ‘quest’ for which we risk frozen death is the locating of a child’s lost pet?!”
Balinda stopped dead in her tracks. “Pardon?”
“It is a vitally important quest!” the knight replied with conviction. “Have you ever lost a pet? Dreadful business! No child shall feel that pain on my watch.”
“You said the job paid three hundred silver pieces. How exactly?” Balinda asked. “Did that wee child recently rob a damned bank?”
“Ah, well... On that one detail I did mislead you so that you would agree to follow me into the desolate woods of Splintervale.” Jamsen did not stop moving as he admitted to ‘misleading’ them. “Oho, this spot will be perfect to make camp!”
“That’s our firepit! You’ve led us in a circle you fool,” she yelled. “We’re no closer to finishing our bloody ‘quest’.”
“Is that right?” Jamsen asked with a wink.
He set to work rebuilding a fire out of his collection of fresh branches, lighting them with flint struck upon the dry rock he’d taken. Finally, he used the last of his twigs to impale the sausage and extend it over the flames.
As the mystery meat warmed, the trio were soothed by the smell of cooked food for the first time that day. But a hearty meal was not Jamsen’s goal.
After a few minutes cooking, a dog emerged from the trees, sauntered right up to the adventurers and sat at Jamsen’s feet, licking its lips as it stared at the delicious sausage.
Jamsen smiled as he pet the pup. “And thus, our noble mission is complete!”
“Impossible,” Balinda muttered, wide eyed. “How- how could you possibly have known-”
“Spread the word far and wide, my chilly friends! I am Sir Jamsen Farnsworth,” the knight said with a grin. “And I have never failed a quest.”
WC: 798
If anyone happens to read this very late SEUS, feedback is welcome 🙂 While you may have seen these recurring characters in my stories elsewhere, the 3rd omniscient POV and circular narrative structure are pretty new to me.