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The Goblin Supplicant 1741 words "persistent goblin" During the third year of the siege of Kav’len, the supplicants arrived at the base of the mountain of Saint Esperanza. There were thirty-eight this year. They came from the many nations of humanity, each with their own reasons and requests for the holy saint to fulfill. As was customary, they had shed any signifying gestures of their own lands and donned the ceremonial robes that the saint had worn in life: a white tunic, a red belt, and a brown cloak covering all of it. In this way, the supplicants were all anonymous. That is, except one. For no matter how uniform and non-descript the ceremonial garb might be, it was impossible to conceal that one of the supplicants was three heads shorter than anyone else, her green, furry feet peeking out beneath the hem of her cloak. The other supplicants gossiped about her. One dared to walk up to her and ask, “Is it true? Did you really slip past Lord Brossley’s siege army, just to come here?” She turned to him, her face covered by the far-too-large robe hanging loosely over her, and said, “I am only a fellow supplicant to the saint. That is all I will say on the matter.” There were murmurs among the crowd. Some said, “She is far too small.” Others, “It is defilement!” At this, she spoke again. “The monks disagree.” This was not enough to shake the discontent, but they no longer hurled insults at her—or at least, not as loudly. The goblin sighed and turned again to the gate. Let them talk. There was only one person who mattered, and she was at the top of the mountain. A brace of monks walked through the crowd; one carried a brazier wafting incense in every direction (it reminded the goblin woman of the smell of the hearth back at home, when Kav’len had still had kerosene or firewood to keep the flames alight) and the other a great book, which he held in both hands high above his head. They stood on either side of the gate, and the second monk opened the book and recited a prayer or invocation of some kind in a language she did not recognize. He closed the book shut with a *thump!* that echoed through the silent space around them, then touched his hand to the gate. Rather than open, it vanished in a brown-gold sparkle; some of the supplicants gasped despite themselves. Then, the two monks stepped to the side and gestured towards the mountain path, as though inviting all thirty-eight of them to tea. Slowly, haltingly, the supplicants nearest the path began to walk forward. The rest of the group followed afterwards in fits and starts, like a train-car catching up to its engine. At this point, there was no need to rush. Time was not the limiting factor, here. The goblin woman kept to herself, towards the back of the pack, and used the moment to look at her surroundings. Kav’len was built on volcanic mountains, so the stones were familiar to her, but she had never seen such a thing as a forest until she had fled the city to come here. Here on the mountain of Saint Esperanza, the land was covered in fertile soil, which meant grass, trees, and groves of bamboo spotted the blue-gray rock with vibrant green. For now, the path was carefully trimmed, so that the barefoot supplicants could walk on soft, safe grass. At least until they arrived at the checkpoint. After about an hour, the checkpoint revealed itself. It was an opportunity to stop and mingle, but more importantly, any supplicants who had lost their nerve and were ready to abandon their quest could do so easily here. The monks would escort them back, no harm no foul. Two did so. The goblin woman looked at them with a pitying disgust. Had they really come to this sacred mountain, only to be frightened off by a nature hike? Or perhaps they had been forewarned of the trials to come, and knew their stamina had brought them as far as they could go. She would keep going, no matter what, though. Stamina be damned. The monks at the checkpoint caused the next gate to vanish. Where before, one could be forgiven for thinking they were walking through untamed nature, the next portion of their journey was clearly manmade. (Or perhaps divinely carved.) It was a tunnel climbing higher up towards the top of the mountain, its path impossible to see beyond where the outer light could reveal. No grass in there, nor charming view—it would be rough going, in the dark, for who knew how long. Goblins had no fear of the dark. They were as much of darkness as the obsidian and pumice that littered their home. She soldiered on, and the humans followed behind her. But she found, as the path ascended, that the ceiling was not rising at the same rate. Eventually, even she was forced to crawl on her hands and knees through the cave’s twists and turns. The darkness was looming, omnipresent, overwhelming. The cave walls amplified the sounds of fabric scuffing against stone, of skin planting against the rocks, and of the belabored breathing of her fellow supplicants. She had used a tunnel just like this one to slip past the human forces besieging her city. Suddenly, a hand clasped her ankle, and she cried out in surprise. But it was only one of the other supplicants, a man, crawling faster than she’d ever seen a non-goblin move—she could feel him using his elbows and knees like shovels to drag himself through the dark. She grimaced; it was a technique she had never considered before, and apparently effective. She raised her cracked and abraded hands and tried the movement she’d felt from him as he’d come by. It was, in fact, much faster than her baby-like method had been going for her. Maybe this way, she thought ruefully to herself, she could catch up to him. Eventually, after perhaps two hours of combined walking and crawling, the cave suddenly expanded, and before long light beckoned to the goblin woman from afar. She staggered up onto her feet and saw the supplicant who’d passed her waiting by the checkpoint. She hurried ahead and caught her breath as the monks offered her water. “Ah, so that was you,” the man said. “I figured you would have given up by now.” She shook her head. “I can’t, and I won’t.” “Good,” the man said. Then he turned away, accepted his own cup of water, and sipped thoughtfully on it as he looked up towards the summit. It was not far now; she wondered what the last phase of travel would be behind the gate. In the end, only about twenty of the supplicants made it through the tunnel, and even then more than half of them chose to take the monks’ path back down to the summit. But when the monks removed the final gate, the goblin woman gasped in dismay. Steps. All that was left was a spiraling staircase to the top. But the steps had been designed to appear huge even to humans. To her, a creature half their size, it was like the Great Cliff of Kav’dar, repeated one hundred times over. Where the humans could walk up the steps with long, deliberate strides, she would have to climb every single one of them. It was impossible. The first was agony. She had to jump, grab the lip of the stair, and pull herself to the top, while the supplicants around her simply took one big step. Then, as they took the next step, she had to wrangle the lip of the next stair, too. By the time she’d climbed up five or six of them, the humans were far past her. But she kept going. Stamina be damned. And as she kept going, the supplicants that had passed her began to trickle back down in defeat. Through the haze of exertion, she kept a mental list of how many had left at the checkpoint and how many had returned. Nine had gone up, including herself. Eventually, seven had gone down. When the seventh human passed her, she felt a surge of energy renew her. She could do it! There was only one left to challenge her. But even that energy dissipated, and the stairs kept going and going high above her. At some point, she reached for a step, and pulled, and her body did not go up an inch. She let go, sat with her back against the step, and wept. She had failed, and she could not save her people. As she cried, she heard steps coming down the stair. Perhaps one of the monks—but no, it was the last supplicant, the one who’d passed her in the tunnel. He said brusquely, “I thought you said you wouldn’t give up.” She wanted to come up with some lie—she wasn’t giving up, she was merely resting for a moment—but her sobbing betrayed her. He stamped his foot against the stone step. “If you’re giving up, go back down! But if you’re really here to petition the saint, then come!” She sniffled. He was right. She had to keep trying. But the steps-- Wait! The mountain beside the steps was craggy and difficult, and it would be an arduous crawl, but she wouldn’t have to pull herself up anymore! It was a very goblin-y way to climb the rest of the mountain, she thought with a funny sense of pride. The man nodded approvingly and walked up the steps, and she followed behind. She made it. It was even harder than she had expected, but she made it. The two of them stood before the sacred shrine where the body of Saint Esperanza rested, unsure of what to do. The man nudged her, and said, “You first.” She walked up to the coffin, removed her hood, and said, “My name is Maia of Kav’len. My wish is that you drive away the humans who are besieging my city. Save my people.” The man stepped up behind her and removed his hood. “My name is Lord Adovar Brossley, captain of the human forces at Kav’len. My wish is that you grant my army success and crush the goblin people.” And then they waited.
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Jul 2, 2023 22:08
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The Best Goblin flerp fucked around with this message at 17:35 on Jan 2, 2024 |
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Jul 3, 2023 01:35
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Market Goblin 1133 words prompt : "lonely goblin" The Goblin woke up almost at noon, in no hurry. In the last two days he had made no sale, but today, he felt, would be a good day, and he would certainly make one. He put on his long tattered socks and one of his dirty long-nailed toes slipped through a hole in the fabric. He put on his shabby tunic and muddy boots, and his red cap with a frayed feather in it. And he left his hovel with his wares in a big bag, whistling and bouncing through the forest. He found a great spot almost at once, a place where he’d never been, by an overgrown path. Not that the exact place mattered ; the forest would bring any customer to him. Someone would come, a lost orphan or an errant knight. The forest always brought them to him. He displayed his wares on a huge stump, making sure they were all visible : potions of every kind, warm like flesh to the touch ; gloves your loved one would covet ; dizzying fruits, enormous garish mushrooms ; a glass sword to kill everything and yourself ; drums made of strange skin, flutes made of cat bones ; perfumes as sweet as deliverance ; rings lined like rows of teeth on a piece of stained felt. Anything could be yours, or anyone’s, for a small and cruel price. He giggled and rubbed his gnarled hands at the thought, and not just because he had to make a sale that day, but for the pleasure it would give him. For now the lights through the branches covered the world, heavy and punishing; he retreated beneath the roots of a giant dead oak, keeping an eye on the path and on his wares. He feasted on grubs and worms and slugs, burping with delight in the warm shade. Soon, just as he had expected, someone came. He was a merchant too, a human merchant on a horse, with a heavy coat and a large bag that must have held his own wares. He asked for directions; the goblin could not sell that, but he could sell the other merchant a map of roads never trodden before, and a traveling cloak under which he would never feel cold again. He showed him those and every other article of his, but the man was confused and then afraid. He asked many questions and then questioned their answers and then left. “You’ll be back!” the goblin cried, more forcefully than he would have the day before. Not that he should worry: the day was still long. He’d make his sale. As afternoon progressed and the light dimmed, he climbed the dead oak with graceless agility, then watched from the fronds if anyone else was coming. A magpie set on the branch by him. “Is that your third day without a sale?” it asked. “Go away!” the goblin shouted. He scuttled down and the bird followed. “Three days without a sale and the third one is almost over!” “It’s not!” “Just so you know, there are hunters right downhill, by the green oxbow.” “Who cares?” The goblin threw stones at the bird, which flew away in a luminous cackle. The goblin was not worried, but unsettled a little, and he crept beneath the roots again, in the shade that was full of bones and hair and dead people’s laughs. He gorged on that too and felt better. Afternoon progressed, and still no one came. Even when the air grew fresh, no traveler hurried by an overgrown shortcut, no shepherd boy came looking for a stray, no squire’s daughter strolled by the fragrant woods’ edge. The normal way of things was that buyers came to him, brought by the twisting paths of the forest. But when the shadows grew long, the goblin skulked toward the hunters. There were three of them, two men and a small woman, setting camp by the oxbow. They had dressed and hung a deer, and the smell of blood made him slobber as he entreated them to come and see his sweet and powerful wares. The men would not listen ; they cursed him and threw stones at him, as he had at the bird. But the woman looked silently whither he retreated, and later the forest brought her to him, eager, hesitant. He showed her all his wares, and glanced at the sun that now grazed the treetops. That might be his last chance to make a sale. “You can have any two trinkets for the price of one,” he offered; and that one would be her! But she hesitated still, bit her lips and scratched her hair. “I just want something else,” she said. “What?” the goblin cried out in anguish, running his gnarled hands all over his wares displayed on the stump. “Nothing here you like?” His loud voice had startled her. She looked about to cry. “No,” she said, ”I want something else than…” she gestured at the world around them. “Than it all.” He smiled and of course he had what she wanted. From among the vials he took a tiny one with a large wax seal over the stopper. She knew what it was already, he did not need to lie. “It tastes sweet,” he promised. She held it for a moment and almost took it. “I just need a little courage,” she whimpered. But goblins don’t have courage, for sale or otherwise. They were both sorry; she put it back on the stump, very fast, and ran away. He shouted impotently after her. She could take it for later, or for one of her friends! He beat his ugly head in despair. Now the sun was red and low, so low the shadows spread and threatened to swallow him. He could hear the magpie mocking him, close and invisible among the dark swaying branches. It was the end of the third day and he had made no sale. As the last of the red light faded, he called for anyone, anyone to come buy his wonders and poisons. His ugly entreaties resounded all through the forest, and the colliers in their cabins covered their children’s ears and their own. But it was all in vain; the goblin was alone when the forest took him. Then there were no more goblins, as he had been the lonely last of them. In the days before he was forgotten, some still thought they saw him dancing through the undergrowth, always silent, but they were wrong. He had become the shadow beneath the roots and the funk of late summer nights, and the whispered laugh of the wind the branches that scares the little children. Which goes to show you must always apply yourself, and not waste time, or you will die like the goblin.
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Jul 3, 2023 01:43
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The Goblin's Tale 1750 w - cowardly goblin Kobold found the cave at the end of the gorge at the break of dawn, darting silently through the emerald ferns from tree to tree, watching and listening for any sign of the troll. He sat and waited an hour til the sun was properly risen and the thing would be asleep. What did the horrid witch want with it? She shouldn't have it, whatever it did, the Bone of Lugh belonged to the Light, not a dark queen of the Fomori. Oh the shame, them having Balor's eye was bad enough. His mind flew back to Talulla, how she'd wandered and the Witch Queen had trapped her inside one of the dead trees in her horrible glade with that awful undead oak she lived in - and her warning. The Crystal Bone for your daughter, little goblin! Do not fail her! Ye have two days til the moon is dark, and my lasses feed upon ye little one's soul, best ye hurry, best ye hurry... He winced at the memory, the dread thing's voice had hurt his head, filled his mind with terrible sights and loathing. And those eyes.. I should have told the Feller and the Elves, should have grown some balls for once. The Tuatha Dé would demand me pledge to fight in return for their help, to be sure. But this is worse, oh yes, there's no way back now, stupid coward! Oh, Talulla! Talulla was his only child, the first born of her kind in many years and he wanted her back more than anyone could want anything. Even more then his beloved Cadhla, now gone to the Otherworld. Talulla's birth had been too much for they were old. I've let you down, my love Kobold shuddered, fighting back tears without avail, his long ears drooped down as he held his leathery green face in his hands. Kobold was no warrior, far from it. He was a gatherer and a watcher, doing nice safe boring things. The pain from certain banishment by the Feller he'd deal with later. They would take her in, he knew, she were special to the woods - the Feller said so himself. Knowing that reassured him, and he dried his eyes with a fresh determination. The sun was now risen and he started towards the mouth of the cave, fighting back his fear and trying to calm his nerves. As he crouched low at the entrance listening to the loud snoring within, Kobold closed his eyes and willed his hearts to stop their pounding, and with a deep breath tiptoed inside. He sighed, seeing how far down it went. As he crept down the floor became covered with old bones from all manner of creatures, including goblin he noticed, having to stop and still his heartbeats again. He slowly picked his way through the mess of bones, when he saw the troll. Asleep with it's back against the wall, fat, enormous, with bulging muscles and thick blue hide. Wide shoulders rising and falling as it snored. He looked around. Piles of bones, none of them crystal he could see. Creeping past the sleeping troll he went towards the water he could sense beyond, his pointed ears moving about listening as he sniffed the air. Nothing alive down there. None of the other sort either. Where is it? Then he felt the air. It was moving from below to the entrance above. Oh deary, the bugger will smell us, let's find this water quick. He tiptoed faster til he saw the pool of water, and reaching it he stood motionless in the darkness, noticing with alarm the troll's snores had stopped. He quickly looked around, knowing the air had a source as did the water, and maybe... But he saw nothing, and hearing heavy footsteps approach he stepped into the water and held his breath, sinking down to the bottom. His keen eyes saw through the watery darkness as the troll loomed above, peering about, sniffing and grunting. Kobold's terror threatened that he would lose his breath, when the image of his daughter came and he once again fought back his fear. Steadying himself he watched the troll, relieved that it could not see him but knowing he had only another few minutes til he had to breathe again. He looked around, seeing a crack in the wall far away, he swam towards it when he noticed something gleam below. The bone! Perhaps the troll knows nothing of it? He swam down and reached out for the Crystal Bone of Lugh. As he picked it up in both long hands he felt the power of the ancient warrior king as it vibrated almost imperceptibly. Then he realised the troll had noticed him and had jumped into the water. Kobold tucked the bone into his tunic and pushed hard towards the crack, hoping to all gods great and small that it led out. He reached it and swam in as the troll slammed into the rock, too big to fit. A massive arm shot out and grabbed Kobold's foot, and as he thrashed the bone came loose. Ignoring the pain and terror he felt, he grabbed it just before it slipped away, and found himself face to face with the enraged troll now holding him upside down by his leg. Talulla! My darling girl forgive me! That was all it took. The memory of her in that split second, as the troll's teeth came down at him and he struck out hard with the bone and found himself falling. He came up splashing in the water gasping for air, and saw the troll. It was frozen, unmoving. I've turned the beast to stone? He reached out and touched it. He had. Gripping the bone as it vibrated, he felt it filling him with a feeling he had never felt til this day. A fearlessness, a determination, a strength alien to his timid nature. ***** Night had fallen in the dark woods as Kobold jumped from tree to tree, landing on branches and boughs with practiced silence. He paused upon seeing the glade of the Witch Queen's tree, knowing if he got any closer she would sense him and appear. He peered through the ghostly trees and mist, seeing the dead stump Talulla was trapped in. It was less than twenty yards from the large blackened oak of the half dead thing he knew he could never trust. With a final deep breath he lept fast as he could so that he reached the enchanted stump before the Witch Queen could appear. A whirl of blackness spewed forth from the tree and the the undead witch took her dreadful form, wavering black and sickly green. He looked into her eyes. Her eye's don't hurt me head now. Horrid bitch. He held the bone above his head with both hands, as if to offer the witch her prize. "Bring me back my daughter now, I've done my job, you keep that promise.." "Give it to me, little goblin... then... we will see! We will see!" "No, no! Talulla first, or I'll bust this on the ground, see if I don't!" Her eyes blazed into his skull but he just stared back, unafraid for the first time in his 426 years. "Bah! Bring her forth then I shall, if ye swear to give it to me when she appears! Break the oath I dare ye." Insane laughter rang through the glade but Kobold ignored her attempts to unsettle him, to confuse him with the horrors she could make one see. "I swear, I shall give it to ye hand, upon me daughter's safe return." The Witch Queen screamed in triumph, raising herself high, she rushed around the stump in a whirl of black as the small goblin girl floated out and landed softly on the ground between Kobold and the Witch Queen. Talulla appeared to be asleep. "Talulla! Talulla! Wake up girl... is she alright?" Kobold saw his daughter awaken and sit up, blinking at him. "Daddy!" The Witch Queen dashed forward at Kobold, still holding the bone standing with legs wide and long clawed toes gripping the ground. She stopped inches from him, the overpowering smell of dead things. "MINE!" She reached down to take the bone, but Kobold dashed to the side, swinging it at the hand and hitting her filthy palm, the dark implosion knocking him to the ground as the Witch Queen crumbled to a rubble of black stone. Kobold ran and lifted his daughter, crying and hugging her as she looked around in amazement. "Daddy, did you kill the witch?" "I surely did, and oh, look at that!" The tree had began to split with awful cracking noises that had them running back away to watch, as it fell in two with a groan. They approached the ruined tree as it shriveled away slowly and saw the round crystal, gleaming black, sitting upon the darkened ground. "Mine." said Kobold. ********* The Old Faerie Feller lit his pipe and lay back in his elm, looking down sternly at Kobold and Talulla. "That is quite the story, and it has ended well," he scratched his long beard blowing rings of smoke, "but if it had not.." "I know, I know. I was a... coward, but I'd do anything for her, she's all I has! Send me away so I can find the woods no longer, I'll become hobgoblin... a poor thing to wander alone... tis' what I deserve... but care for Talulla, she's done nay wrong but wander off a bit." "Stop yer blubberin', you can stay. Of course you can stay! What's all to think if I banish the hero that slayed a troll and the Witch Queen? Not only that but brought back the Eye of Balor and the Crystal Bone of Lugh, and balance restored?" "You mean...oh!" Kobold cried even harder as he held Talulla close. "Ye went to the dark, but found Light, and it weren't the bone alone that killed em, it were yerself and yer love of yer girly," the Feller stood up and adjusted his vest, smiling at the odd green pair hugging and crying. " At least that is how I see it, only a brave and courageous soul could harness such power." he said, winking at them. The Feller laughed, flying down in a shower of sparks from his pipe, landing on Talulla's shoulder and leading them to the party lights in the hills.
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Jul 3, 2023 03:07
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Entry for Week 569 Checkpoint 1215 Words The familiar tepid coffee coated Nick's lips as it had hundreds of mornings before. The familiar scent memory of burning fiber and char teased him. He placed his coffee on the coaster he knew was three inches to the right of his hand, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and tapped the accept call button the moment it appeared under his thumb. "I know," he said into the phone. "I'll be right there." Nick's mouth dried out. He gulped as he grabbed some smelling salts and a hammer from his emergency bag, swept out of his penthouse apartment, and hustled to the stairs. He descended one flight of stairs, burst out of the doorway, and caught the elevator just in time as it arrived on the 28th floor. "Morning, Nick!" His neighbor Henry barked. On his way through the threshold, Henry dropped his coffee, which fell straight into Nick's hand below it. Nick snagged it, placed it back into Henry's hands, pushed the first-floor button, and nodded at the befuddled Henry as the doors closed. ***** Nick peeled out of the garage from his building in Checker, his signature car, adorned with black and white squares and a green checkmark atop the roof. "Greetings, Checkpoint." His onboard voice assistant chimed in. "No disguise today?" It asked. "Not today," he choked. "I won't be needing it." "This is most unusual, Sir." "Yeah, I know." Nick grimaced. "Very well, and where are we going today?" "The Smith building, it's a clean shot today, no need for your attention. Sleep mode." "Understood, Sir, may the past be your guide!" Nick turned his radio to 93.7 just in time for the solo in Iron Maiden's Aces High. It had pushed him forward before, but the music wasn't working today. He switched it back off, slammed his foot on the gas, and tore off down the road. ***** Nick pulled up to The Smith skyscraper to a crowded scene of firefighters and police officers. There were several ways to bypass these people, each with various consequences regarding time and harm to others. Time was the only concern today. Nick marched forward until a firefighter placed his hand on his shoulder. He grabbed the firefighter's hand, twisted it, and punched the firefighter square in the jaw. The timing was perfect. Nobody saw a thing as the firefighter crumpled to the ground, and Nick was already off to a side entrance he knew to be open. The familiar char smell dared Nick forward as he dashed to the stairs. "I loving hate this part," Nick said to nobody. He climbed nine flights, exited the corridor, and towards the end of the other hall, where he climbed the rest of the way, twenty-one more flights up. ***** Nick threw open the door to Red Shoulder Financial to the familiar scene of an office abandoned in panic. He hopped over fallen desk chairs and skated over papers strewn about the floor until he arrived at an office with the nameplate. "Millie Sanderson" on it. He hammered the locked doorknob of the door and rushed to the corner where Millie lay unconscious. The smelling salts worked instantly, and Millie came to. "Nick!" She shouted as she threw her arms around him. "What are you doing here?" He placed his hands under her arms and hoisted her up. "Trust me; it's easier this way." She listened as he carried her to her desk chair and placed her onto it. "Trust you?" Mille asked. "Does that mean…" "Yeah, this isn't the first time," Nick said, as his eyes focused on a triangle in the carpet's pattern. "How many times, Nick?" "Lost count." He replied. "OK, well, you're here now, so what's the plan? The building is on fire, right?" "Yeah." "So what do we do?" Nick looked up at her and held back a tear as he shrugged. "You've tried…" "Everything, Millie." He looked back down at the floor. "I've tried everything." "Let's just go!" She stood up and quickly fell back down. "Yeah," Nick said, looking up at her. "Right down the stairs. If we hurry, we can probably make it, right?" "But then, what if we…" "Go up to the roof. Maybe a helicopter will find us." "I see. We've tried everything, then?" "My loving coworkers, they just…." "Left you? No, they didn't. You locked your door and must have knocked yourself out on this filing cabinet with some blood on the corner drawer. They didn't know you were in here." Clarity washed over Millie's face, the same dreadful expression Nick had to watch hundreds of times before. "What am I going to do?" "I don't know, Millie. But I know what I have to do. I've tried to do it hundreds of times, and it keeps not working." "Nick?" "I have to let you go." "But you can't. There has to be…" Nick shook his head. "I love you, Millie. I always will. If there were a way, if there were any way, you know I'd have found it. But, Millie?" Tears streamed down Millie's face as she looked at Nick's. "I just can't watch you die anymore. And Millie, I'll look after her." Millie nodded as she chewed on her bottom lip. "How long do we have?" Nick's watch chimed for the top of the hour. Several floors below them, an explosion belched fire and gas and rended through the framework of the building. "Kiss me." She said. But he was already on her, knowing she'd ask for it. And, for the first time, their lips met for a moment. ***** The familiar tepid coffee coated Nick's lips as it had hundreds of mornings before. He sipped it calmly and ignored his cell phone as it vibrated in his pocket. When he finished his coffee, he went to the fridge, gathered his things, and casually walked out of his apartment. He found his civilian car, an assuming silver sedan, parked in his usual spot. He got in just in time for the solo of Ace's High but opted for easy listening on 98.6 instead. He drove for fifteen minutes until he arrived at an assuming detached house at the end of a cul-de-sac. As he parked, a familiar bark filled the air. "Easy, Vanillie!" He called out, only to invite intense scratching at the door. Nick grabbed Millie's spare key off his ring and opened the door. Vanillie pounced on him immediately. ***** Vanillie rode shotgun as Nick finally pulled up to a nearby beach. He looked over at Vanillie's clueless happy pit mix face and scratched the top of her head. He hooked his leash onto her collar and walked with her to a bench with a view overlooking the coast. Nick and Vanille sat together and stared off into the horizon. A new calm. A new checkpoint. His watch chimed at the top of the hour, and though it was too far away to hear, inside his mind, he knew. "It's OK, girl," Nick said as he scratched Vanillie's back. "I've got you." But he hadn't. He had forgotten to hold onto her leash, and when she realized it, she took off. Nick jumped in surprise. ***** Nick and Vanillie sat together and stared off into the horizon.
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Jul 3, 2023 03:46
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The Goblin Queen Word count: 1314 I was never the best drag queen in our little kingdom. I wasn’t even particularly good. But I’ve been lurking around the catwalks for a long time now, longer than some of these skinny dryad bitches have been alive, and I’ve seen first-hand what star power looks like. It’s the power to command a room with your walk alone; the power to enchant a crowd with your eyes. It looks like witchcraft, except it isn’t, because I’ve seen witches and they’ve got nothing on a good queen. I don’t, either. But Beryline does. She just doesn’t believe it. “I can’t do it,” she stammers, pacing back and forth behind Club Megalixer’s sequined curtain. Teal hairs fly out of the twin buns on the sides of her wig as she shakes her head. “I can’t go out there like this!” “Like what?” I ask, though I already know the answer. It’s the same one she gives whenever she gets nervous, which is all the Seraph-damned time. “Like this!” She gestures up and down the length of her little body, which doesn’t take her long. “Like a goblin!” It’s a good thing the wizards in the front room are going so hard on the strobe-spells, because otherwise Beryline might see me roll my eyes. “Nobody cares about that.” “Yes they do! You know the history of these clubs—no goblin has ever won a walk-off at Megalixer, not once in seventy years. It’s all people like you!” She’s stressed and scared, so I know she doesn’t mean it to sting, but it absolutely loving does. I’m a rich, star-white high elf with legs as long as my lifespan, and this broken system is built to reward me for that. Yet despite sixty years of strutting my way through a scene stacked in my favor, I never managed to win a walk-off at Megalixer, either. I never even placed. So even though I know the system is gryphon-poo poo, and I want to see it torn for Beryline and every amazing queen, it still hurts to know I couldn’t win a hand when I was dealt the best cards. But that’s not what matters right now. What matters is the queen who needs me. With a long, dramatic sigh, I drop to one knee to look Beryl dead in the eye. “Now, listen, girl, because I am only gonna say this once. Okay?” She wipes away a tear with such effortless grace that it doesn’t even smudge her eye-liner. “Yeah…” “I’ve been at this drag poo poo so long that my first heels were made of mastodon tusks, so I’ve seen a lot of girls come and go. High elves, drow elves, dryads, demons—I’ve even seen a giant queen, and you know her fat rear end could not fit in the club.” That gets a laugh out of Beryl. “Shut up.” “Girl, I swear to the Seraph, her rear end was so big she had dragons nesting between those cheeks. But she still slayed the competition at Club Ultima every year until she retired.” “She did?” “You’re drat right.” At least, I think that’s how it happened. It’s honestly hard to remember; I was snorting a lot of pixie dust in those days. Thankfully, I’ve never been one to let the truth get in a way of a good story, so it doesn’t really matter. “She won every year because her drag was max level, and so is yours. I mean, come on, just look at this.” I flick the lines of beads dangling from the shoulders of Beryl’s sleeveless tunic. “You sewed this poo poo yourself, and you beaded it. That’s crazy!” “Yeah, but you picked the colors…” “Because I loving love a split complementary color scheme, and you’re the only girl in this place who’s got the guts to pair green skin with teal and magenta.” She tugs on one of her sleeve covers with a half-smile. “I’m the only girl in here with green skin.” “Exactly. Nobody else in here looks like you, which means nobody else can do what you do. And when you can own that and beat the other bitches at their own game? I mean, look at this tiny little waist!” I circle my hands around her corset, thumbs and fingers touching with room to spare. “Snatched so tight, even a lamia couldn’t wriggle through it. And your face?” I raise a finger like I’m going to touch her make-up and she throws up a defensive hand. “Don’t, it’s perfect!” she says. “Exactly! A face beat for the gods, and you didn’t even have to beat a god to get it.” Which proves she isn’t stupid, thank the Seraph, because I have known some queens who thought they literally had to beat the gods to level up their makeup. I love all my sisters, I swear I do, but some of these bitches are too stupid for idioms. “Now turn around, look at yourself in that mirror over there, and tell me you see what I see.” “Do I have to?” I stand up to my full height, which makes me twice as tall as Beryl even with her towering heels. “Miss Beryline, if you do not stand in front of that mirror and acknowledge your own greatness, I will take this long leg of mine and put it in your rear end throat-first.” She winces with an exaggerated clench. “That sounds like something you’re into.” “You’re a hundred years too young to know what I’m into. Now move.” I put my knee between her shoulder blades and nudge her forward. She stumbles, but she catches herself in front of the mirror like the professional I know she is. “See the girl in that mirror?” I say, pointing in the mirror. “The one who’s cute, funny, and fierce as a harpy in heels? Do you want to be the one to tell her she’s not good enough to compete?” “I…” “That girl in there needs you, Beryl. I’ve known her a long time and I know she wants to go out there and slay like the true queen she is. Are you gonna tell her that she can’t do it?” “No, but—” “Are you gonna tell her she shouldn’t even try?” She gnaws her lip, then turns and meets my eye with the saddest look I’ve ever seen in my life. “Do you still want to try?” “Me?” I bite back a pained laugh. “I’m too old to be judged by children.” “I’m serious, Juniper.” “So am I.” My head feels heavy, even without a wig weighing it down. “I’ve had my try. A lot of tries. And they didn’t work out.” It’s so hard not to throw myself a full-blown pity party here, but pity will help me even less than it helps her. I did a lot of thinking before I gave away my dresses and put away my make-up, and I know I made the right decision for me. Losing hurt, but more than that, it stole the strength I needed to succeed at other things—like being there for people I believe in. “My drag days are over, Beryl. I shot my shot, and I don’t regret missing.” I pat her on the wig, taking extra care to straighten her buns on the way up. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here to see you hit.” Big, sloppy tears well in her eyes. “You really mean that?” “I really do,” I say, and it’s the honest truth. “Now go out there and slay.” The announcers call her name. She draws in a halting breath, smiles at me, and heads for the stage. Some tiny part of me still wants to follow her, if only to feel the lights on my skin one last time, but it’s not my time anymore. It’s hers, and she’s gonna win, because she is a motherfucking queen. 
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Jul 3, 2023 06:08
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Runt Ball 1499 words “Those guards have been playing catch for six hours now!” Anders complained. James Spaceman smirked as he adjusted a connector on his suit. “It is keeping them from doing patrols, otherwise we wouldn’t have gotten so close to the treasure cave.” “I guess. The faster we can get the power cells back and get off of this rock, the better.” “What’s the matter, Anders?” Talamar scoffed. “Those ugly things giving you nightmares? When I commanded the legions on the Blood Plains…” “Monster-faced goblin guards I can handle. The problem with this dimension is the beer sucks!” Talamar and James laughed as Anders kept complaining. “I’m nursing a mega hangover from whatever that fire ale Sam and I drunk was, everything is out of focus and screaming.” “Something is screaming,” James said. “I hear it too.” “Friends!” broadcast 54Rah, “I have analyzed the sound patterns in the vicinity. The screams are coming from the ball!” “Screaming balls? This place feels more like home every minute,” Talamar grinned. “Quiet, that’s not a ball!” James pointed. It had been dropped by the big guard near the stump that functioned as an entry checkpoint. The ball quivered as its arms tried to pull it towards a bush. Another of the guards ran to scoop it up and the game continued. “It’s a tiny goblin!” “A child?” asked Talamar. “Negative,” broadcast 54Rah, “looks like a small adult, perhaps a teen. No clan paint. The game is called runt ball.” An argument broke out on the field and soon two of the guards were viciously fighting as the others cheered. The ball was forgotten as the focus switched, James didn’t even notice it slipping closer to their group until the ball was right upon them. He nudged Talamar, who lifted the creature up. “Hello, ball!” James put his hand over the ball goblin’s mouth to keep it from screaming. “Hey, hey, calm down. We aren’t going to hurt you, just keep quiet!” The goblin stared at him for a second through teary eyes, then nodded. James withdrew his hand from its mouth. “Who are you? Do you need any help?” The goblin’s eyes widened. “Help? No, no help! Marbles is okay, Marbles is used to being runt ball. Marbles is always runt.” “Your used to those idiots kicking you around?” Anders asked. “Marbles is always thrown around! Marbles is runt, bigger goblins always hurt Marbles! But Marbles is okay, goblins heal real good!” Marbles held up his left arm and swung it. “No more brokens!” “Of all the bad places to have our gear stolen…” Anders complained. James gave him a signal to be quiet. “Marbles. How would you like to not be the weak goblin for once?” Marbles gave him a curious look. *** That night the whole group was ready to steal their gear back. 54Rah arrived with Cavewoman Sam, finally awake from her hangover. Talamar and Anders stood watch, and James Spaceman held out a glove for Marbles. “This is a Power Glove. With it you will be able to punch very hard.” The goblin took the glove in his tiny hands, staring at it in awe. “I’ve adjusted the feedback so you won’t break your arm each time you punch, but it might sting a bit the first few times.” “This…this is the best gift Marbles has ever gotten! Marbles always wanted friends!” Marbles was crying. 54Rah was leaking wiper fluid. Even Anders was crying. “It’s just a dusty night,” he said. “Okay, Marbles, go up to the checkpoint and just start punching everyone who was mean to you. We will sneak in and get back our equipment this clan stole from us.” “Marbles is ready to punch! Punch for friends!” The little goblins strolled into the night. “You think this guy isn’t going to just become a clan tyrant himself?” asked Talamar. “It’s what I would do. It’s what I used to do!” “I think he’ll be okay,” James replied. “And the battery will run out after a few dozen punches. No new warlords here.” “We should have went in during the fight!” Anders complained. “You just gave away the only other chance to get home.” “It wasn’t dark yet, and the fight was right in front of the entryway!” James countered. “And that battery barely powers a flashlight. Now let’s get ready, the chaos will begin soon.” Just as he spoke a goblin guard flew past them, a fist-sized dent in its chest. The guard crashed into the wall near the entrance. Suddenly the post was alive with shouts and screams. “Go go go!” James yelled. “I think he means we should go!” Anders quipped. James would have zapped him if Anders wasn’t also running while he talked. “Sam SMASH!” Cavewoman Sam swung her club at the iron door and it shattered off its hinges. “Ha!” “The door was already open, Sam!” Talamar sighed. “Now door more open!” “Everyone find the missing items, priority is the power cells,” James started tossing around piles of coins, jewels, and odd statues. Soon Sam had found her other club, Anders his lucky jeweled stein, and 54Rah her cool sunglasses. But no power cells! “They have to be here somewhere!” James exclaimed. “Oh they are here, human. We traded for them fair and square!” In walked in Goblin King Whammy and twenty goblin guards. Two held Marbles, who was punching ineffectively at them with his now depowered Power Glove. They tossed him at James. “What do you mean, traded?” James asked as he helped Marbles to his feet. “Ask the Strong One!” King Whammy replied. The team looked at Cavewoman Sam, who stared back with a confused expression. “He means me!” Talamar said. “Oooh, right, Talamar the Strong!” James said. “More like Talamar the Jerk!” Anders added. “Of course I traded them, you do-gooding dullards!” Talamar laughed. “I have worlds to conquer, and while being friends has been different, you just get in the way, stopping my destiny! King Whammy will let me lead his armies to conquer other realms, I’ll be able to command and plunder again. I think I’ll burn Anders’s planet to a cinder first, just for fun! As for you all… you will be dead!” James and the team braced, but nothing happened. Talamar looked at the Goblin guards. “Kill them, you idiots!” The guards looked at King Whammy, who nodded, then they charged. A barrage of lasers blasting from 54Rah forced them back, the goblins laughing as they withdrew. “My stun rays only tickle them, someone figure out a way to stop them!” she yelled. “Anders, get the power cells from the King. Marbles and I will cover you. 54Rah, keep firing. And Cavewoman Sam…you know what to do!” Sam grinned and suddenly her twin clubs were like helicopter blades, sending goblins flying left and right. “Me good but not this good, is too many!” Cavewoman Sam yelled, still smashing every goblin foolish enough to get near her. “Marbles’s glove is broken, Marbles can’t help you!” Marbles said. “Just stick with me, kid, I got a plan. Spaceman Shield!” A barrier appeared around James and Marbles, when goblin guards tried to touch it they were shocked and writhed in pain. Anders threw his lucky stein at the King’s head, it hit with a crunch, and the king dropped the power cells in pain. Anders rolled beneath the King and scooped them up, running back to James as Sam swung two clubs to the face of a guard who got too close. James dropped his shield and grabbed the power cells. He plugged one into Marbles’s glove. “It should work for years now, punch away!” Marbles did, and goblins screamed. The other power cells James plugged into the Transpo Device and activated it. A reddish portal to another realm appeared. “Let’s go, team!” James yelled. “Marbles,it looks like we got you into big trouble. You can stay or come with us, but you might never return here.” Marbles stopped punching and looked at James, tears in his eyes. “Marbles just wants to go with friends. Marbles never had friends before.” James smiled. “Get him in the portal!” he told 54Rah, who scooped Marbles up in her robot arms and flew into the portal. “No!” yelled Talamar, but he was using a goblin as a shield dodging Cavewoman Sam’s blows. “You’re off the team, Talamar!” Anders laughed, jumping into the portal. He remembered too late he forgot his lucky stein. Cavewoman Sam smashed one last goblin and jumped in. James Spaceman glared at Talamar. “We better not see you again!” James jumped in and the portal closed. Talamar fell to the floor. King Whammy stomped over. “You better have a good reason why I shouldn’t murder you right here!” the King roared. Talamar stared at the floor, then suddenly grinned. He picked up the lucky jeweled stein. Inside was one last power cell. Talamar held it and grinned an evil grin as its glow lit the treasure cavern.
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Jul 3, 2023 07:15
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The Book of Sweat 1029 words flash:an artistic goblin 1:1 Jezri was apprenticed in her youth as a canvasgoblin for Artisan Davoud of the summer court. 2 The contract her parents signed with a thumbprint was not as any of them had understood it, and did not actually include terms covering education or an end to the service. 3 Davoud worked frantically and without anesthetic, only a paralytic that prevented her from twitching or flinching at the needle. 4 Jezri soon became immune to that agent but mastered self-control, knowing that the pain was the cost of art. 5 This did not mean that she did not hate Davoud. 2:1 When there was no space left on her body, Davoud took Jezri to the skinning troll. 2 The troll was far kinder than the Artisan, and used potent numbing potions for his work. 3 The troll had no name, but if you spoke of the skinning troll you could be speaking of no other. No one else had the knack of removing the entire skin, turning it on itself through a few tiny holes. 4 It took a month for the new skin to come in, to toughen up enough to take ink. These were the good months. 3:1 Davoud took each skin to a Chintz the Necromancer, who in turn took it to the local gallows. 2 Chintz waited for a truly hellbound criminal to take up the hempen dance, then snatched their dying soul out of the devil's grasp. 3 The spirit filled the empty skin, and the wax of bees raised on holy water and sunflowers was used to fill the holes, both those made by the Skinner and those all are born with. 4 Chintz bade them to follow Davoud to his gallery and then be still forever, or at least until he moved to a larger space. 5 Davoud and Chintz convinced themselves that this was a kindness, for how, they would ask, can this not be better than Hell? 4:1 With each flaying Jezri's skin grew weaker at the point of those holes. 2 Davoud's ink seeped through those weak spots into her flesh and organs and permeated them over time. 3 During her short months of raw skin she learned how to draw it out again, how to sweat paint. 4 On her thirtieth nameday, as they are reckoned in Queen Mariah's court, she decided she had had enough. 5:1 Davoud poured his paralyzing potion down her sky-facing mouth, which might as well been tenfold watered moonwine to her. 2 She lolled her head forward and brow-sweat dripped and streaked into her mouth. 3 As Davoud leaned in with the needle she spat the squid-black ink into his eyes. 4 She grabbed the needle and turned it on him, stabbing and tearing his throat open. 5 The Artisan lay gasping for breath as she began her work. At first she etched vile runes and cartoons into his skin, painting only with red. 6 After that she worked as a sculptor, hewing away all that was not needed from the marble of his body. 7 The work of art she found inside was a bare skeletal torso, connected to undamaged arms and legs and a half-skinned skull. 8 She considered it a suitable journeyman piece, and the only ones around to gainsay were the mute damned ghosts within her old skins. 9. These she burned, except for one, which is lost to us and would fetch a mighty price, should it ever reappear. 6:1 For her next decade Jezri wanted nothing to do with art. 2 She found her parents, living inside the bloated flesh of a mortal couple. 3 She learned she would not be welcome with them unless she did the same, she left, not before unchaining her brother Calyx from the basement. The iron burned her flesh when she touched the bolt to unshackle it, but she had long since stopped listening to pain when she disagreed with its messages. 4 Calyx was grateful for the rescue, and went on to do many a mischief throughout the sunshine lands before returning to the court. 5 Jezri learned in her travels that her lovers would wake tattooed, with images detailed and personal. She considered celibacy for almost three hours before concluding that art was not done with her. 7:1 She did not ever attempt to make a living on these tattoos. Not because she had anything against the idea of sex for hire, but because the art was subconscious and involuntary. It felt like cheating to consider it anything but a pleasant memento. 2 Instead she learned to spray and spit and smear her inky sweat, to learn which colors came from where, from the deep black of her brow to the bright primary colors from the sweat of, as she often said, her "pits, tits, and bits." 3 She painted murals, scenes from her life, from her brother's, from the legendary goblin troublemakers of centuries past, graffiti tags marking mortal lands the property of herself and her queen. 4 She very nearly started a war. 5 Instead she landed at Mariah's royal Court. 8:1 She entered an apprenticeship, a real apprenticeship, with Zimina, Mariah's court wizard. 2 She did not take to learning most magics, but did learn the talent she had set out to master, the creation of painted portals. 3 After less than a year she abandoned her position after a drunken orgy that left Mariah and Zimina with tattoos that cause them wistful shame each time they look at them. 9:1 There are murals forming a wandering line through the Sunshine region of the mortal realm bearing her mark. 2 Those looking at them feel drawn inwards, feel danger and longing. 3 Disappearances are frequent in those neighborhoods. Some of them come back, in a month or a year, with no memory of the time between, often having left a piece of their personality or experiences in some goblin market on the other side. 4 Some never return at all. 5 The line of murals comes to an end within sight of a beach of sparkling sand.
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Jul 3, 2023 08:08
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Chairchucker posted:Your power is BRAIN related. best bánh mì: goblin approved 2000 words Dylan had a knack for finding places. Not things. He was terrible with things, always losing scarves and keys and library books, but at least he was losing them in strange and wonderful places. He’d come home from school without the milk his mum had asked for, which he knew he’d bought because he remembered the corner store (Bollywood movie playing on a laptop by the counter, cartons of hotsauce beside racks of magazines splashed with unrecognisable celebrities), but she’d just shake her head and said there was no corner shop anywhere near his route home, and why hadn’t he just gone to Coles? And dropped off his resume like he’d said he would, three weeks ago? Except he wasn’t sure how to tell her his resume was probably still in the printer tray at a coffee-slash-internet cafe he’d found, where everyone dressed like they were in a sci-fi novel and every laptop was loaded with unreleased anime. It wasn’t that he went looking for these places; but when he was walking and got hungry, there’d be a sandwich shop that wasn’t on any map. Or, if he’d forgotten a textbook on the rush to school, there’d be a secondhand bookshop where an old man puffing on a pipe would happily loan him one for the day. And so on, and so forth: he just found these places exactly when and where he needed them, somehow. His favourite place, by far, was a tiny hole-in-the-wall bánh mì joint. This was partly because they made the most delicious rolls he’d ever found, and partly because he was harbouring a crush on a girl working there. He’d never seen her at school—possibly she went to the nearby all-girl’s—and had no way of knowing if feelings were mutual beyond the way she’d smile at him, and that she’d memorised his order (vegan pork, extra chili, no nuts, iced coffee on Fridays). And so, as he ambled back from school via the plaza, unwilling to face his parents with a disastrous report card, Dylan made sure nobody was watching and then ducked into the service corridor near the vape shop. He needed a pick-me-up, and knew just where to find it. From there, it was a quick jaunt through towards the bathrooms; the first left; then a tiny gap between warring two-dollar shops opened into another thoroughfare, a warren of discount clothing shops, dingy jewellers, recordshops frequented by punks and beatniks, camera stores selling bellows and black-glass plates, a cafe where pixies nursed steaming mugs of tea, a haberdashery selling horn-concealing … Dylan stopped. Turned around. Had he gone too far? Nearby, a gramophone scratched out some jazzy number, and he sidestepped away from a conga line of dwarves, thick beards shaking with song. He’d definitely gone too far. Retracing his steps didn’t help: the stores behind looked unfamiliar as those ahead, the now-cobblestone flooring barely visible beneath throngs of robed wizards, emerald-cloaked elves haggling over quivers, fauns fluting for crowds of hovering fairies. Above, washing hung on lines strung from window to window, baskets of food and carafes of overflowing wine winching back-and-forth on wires. An enormous airship passed by overhead, where the dizzying heights of bluestone finally gave way to unbroken sky. As he stood, dumbly wondering if he hadn’t walked into a wall and concussed himself, a centaur shouldered its way past, snarling invective with a backwards glare; and then he had to quickly sidestep a stream of armoured goslings, their mother honking angrily as he pushed himself against the nearest door. Taking a moment, he wiped his brow, before the door fell open behind him and he tumbled to the floor. A bell chimed. ‘Yes?’ Dylan screwed his eyes shut, willing himself awake. ‘Oh, for—you’re letting all the cold air in! Get up and close the bleeding door.’ Dylan staggered upright, then dutifully closed the door. The bell at its top jingled merrily as it clicked shut, and all the sounds from outside hushed to nothing. ‘Thank you,’ the voice said, and Dylan turned to see its owner. He stood in a shop: on the shelves sat all manner of machinations, some recognisable as clocks and coffeemakers, others outlandish combinations of gears and pulleys; yet more completely incomprehensible, shimmering marvels that hurt the eye to look at. Behind a glass-topped counter, perched atop a leather stool with hands steepled before them, sat— ‘You’re a goblin!’ Dylan exclaimed, before he could stop himself. The goblin—it was almost certainly a goblin, from its pale green skin to its long pointed ears to its beady black eyes that narrowed above a thin nose—said only, ‘What’s your problem?’ ‘I’m sorry,’ Dylan hurried, backing away toward the door. ‘I’m—that was rude of me.’ The door wouldn’t open. The goblin just sighed. ‘If you came here,’ they said, ‘it means you have a problem. Didn’t you read the door?’ Dylan turned, squinted, but couldn’t make out the reversed script. ‘I didn’t mean to come here,’ Dylan said. ‘Fact is, I’m a bit lost.’ ‘Well!’ the goblin cried, clapping their hands together. ‘That’s your problem, then!’ ‘Can you help me?’ Dylan asked. ‘Is there, like, a map? Of—wherever I am?’ ‘Better!’ the goblin exclaimed, and pushed their stool away from the counter. At its base, four gnarled hands skittered across the tiles, and Dylan slunk away from its approach as the goblin levered the stool up to a shelf near the distant ceiling. ‘This will do!’ they called out, and plummeted back down with a pneumatic hiss. When they were level again, the goblin handed Dylan something close to a compass, a bony finger suspended in a bowl of ink. ‘If you’re lost, that means there’s somewhere you ought to be,’ the goblin said. ‘Name your destination and follow its direction!’ ‘Um,’ Dylan said. ‘I don’t know its name, but there’s this bánh mì place…’ Immediately, the skeletal finger spun in circles, before quivering to an abrupt stop and pointing somewhere beyond the goblin’s right shoulder. ‘And so!’ the goblin announced. ‘Thank you,’ Dylan said. ‘But … well, I don’t think I can pay … I’m not even sure what to pay with.’ ‘No need!’ the goblin said, moving back behind the counter. ‘You pay with your problems! Another problem, please!’ ‘I’m … sorry?’ ‘It’s really quite simple,’ the goblin said. ‘I’m an inventor, you see. Or, you would have seen, had you bothered reading the sign. And inventors need problems! Without problems to solve, what am I to do? And so! You give me problems, and I solve the problems, and once all your problems are solved, your debt is paid!’ ‘Oh,’ Dylan said. ‘I don’t think I have any other problems.’ ‘Nonsense! You must have many other problems!’ ‘Well … I can’t think of any you could solve. Maybe I should just—’ ‘I can’t solve problems you keep to yourself,’ the goblin said. ‘And I think you’re keeping a lot of problems to yourself.’ ‘Well,’ Dylan said. ‘Sometimes I … lose things.’ ‘Perfect!’ The goblin disappeared behind the counter, rummaging through boxes of wires and crystals. Dylan tried the door; it wouldn’t budge. He swore quietly to himself—he should’ve known better than to engage in commerce with some fantasy trickster, but to be fair, it wasn’t something that had come up before now. ‘Here!’ the goblin announced, handing Dylan a hexagonal amulet humming with energy. ‘Tie this to whatever you lose—before you lose it—and it will never be lost again!’ ‘Oh,’ Dylan said, turning it over. ‘We have things like this back home. I got some last Christmas. Only I, uh…’ The goblin smiled, showing all their pointy teeth. ‘Oh,’ they said. ‘You won’t lose this. I promise you.’ ‘Okay,’ Dylan said, pocketing the device. ‘Um. How about—I don’t know what I’m doing with my life?’ he asked, and smiled. ‘Bet you can’t solve that.’ ‘Pfff!’ the goblin said, rolling their eyes. ‘That’s not a problem!’ ‘It’s not?’ ‘No!’ the goblin cried. ‘Now, worrying about that is a problem, and if that’s the problem you want solved, I have several elixirs to do the trick. But not knowing is a sign you’re on the right path, because once you know what you’re doing, then you have the problem of wondering if you’re doing the right thing, and that starts a whole spiral, believe me. No, that’s not a problem to be solved. If I told you what you should be doing, you’d forever wonder what else you could be doing.’ ‘Huh,’ Dylan said. ‘I guess that—’ ‘Next!’ the goblin exclaimed, clapping their hands together. ‘Uh. Um,’ Dylan wondered. ‘Well, see, there’s this girl I like—’ ‘Again!’ the goblin admonished. ‘Not a problem!’ ‘—but I don’t know how to tell her,’ Dylan finished. The goblin eyeballed Dylan. ‘Well,’ they started. ‘I’m not giving you any elixirs for that, if that’s what you’re thinking. Now, jewellery! Jewellery I can do. Oh, I shouldn’t presume … is she human?’ Dylan paused. He’d never wondered, but after this afternoon’s events … The goblin sighed. ‘Her name, then. Names can help predict what paramours may appreciate.’ ‘Um,’ Dylan said. ‘“Um”? Sounds Orcish. Like them mean, do you?’ they asked, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. ‘I don’t know!’ Dylan exclaimed. ‘I don’t know her name, her school, her favourite song, what she’d tell her parents if she’d failed half her classes and would have to work at Coles forever, if Coles would even hire somebody who was fired from their paper-round for losing fifty newspapers … I don’t even know if she’s human anymore!’ Sobbing, Dylan sunk to the floor. The goblin’s stool moved away from the counter, clawed feet tip-tapping to where he leaned against the door. ‘Okay,’ they said. ‘Maybe you could … ask her? About … most of those things. I don’t know what “Coles” is. Some mercenary company?’ Dylan sniffed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. ‘Kind of,’ he shrugged. ‘Well,’ the goblin said. ‘Join their ranks, slaughter your foes, and impress her with severed heads or stories of your heroics. Easy. Any other problems?’ Dylan thought for a moment. ‘My printer keeps jamming?’ The goblin shook their head, and straightened up before moving back behind the counter. ‘That,’ they said, ‘I can’t help you with. Find a dark wizard.’ The doorbell chimed, and Dylan leapt up with a start as the door creaked open. ‘Go on, then,’ the goblin said, waving their hand toward the door. ‘Before you let more bleeding cold air in!’ Dylan glanced down at the compass, the finger now pointing out through the open door. He plunged through, eyes only on the finger as he weaved his way through the thoroughfares, not daring look up at what he hurried past; until it finally curved closed, rippling the ink as it sunk underneath. He looked up. The girl behind the counter smiled at him, head tilted. ‘Vegan pork bánh mì, extra chilli, no nuts?’ ‘Um,’ he managed. ‘Sure, but—’ She raised an eyebrow. He swallowed, hard. ‘So, um. I don’t want this to sound weird, but—’ ‘Oh my dragon,’ a familiar voice piped up beside him. ‘You weren’t kidding. This is bleeding fantastic.’ Dylan glanced down at the goblin perched on their stool, halfway through their baguette, sauce dribbling down their chin. ‘I am stealing this recipe,’ they said. ‘No wonder you wanted to come here. And no wonder you like her so much.’ Dylan blushed. The girl just laughed. ‘I like your friend,’ she smiled. ‘They don’t waste time, do they?’ ‘I—’ ‘I’m Thùy,’ she said, reaching a hand over the counter to shake Dylan’s. ‘I’m … mostly human.’ ‘Half-elf,’ the goblin murmured, between bites. ‘Dylan,’ Dylan said. ‘I’m … all human. I think.’ ‘So,’ Thùy said, leaning against the counter. ‘You’re my last customer for the day. And I don’t really fancy telling my dad I came last at archery. So. Where are you taking me?’ Dylan smiled. ‘I’ll find somewhere nice,’ he said. ‘I always do.’ 
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Jul 3, 2023 08:19
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Schemes on Schemes 1223 words Scrote the goblin was not big, or tough, or bloodthirsty, so to get ahead in goblin society, he had to be a schemer. His current scheme was, in his opinion, a real doozy. Or it would be, once he figured out how to get through that guarded door. As he skulked outside it, his git Nobz whined, “That’s the Big Cheese’s tunnels, they not gonna let us in there.” “Shut up,” said Scrote. Little goblins weren’t allowed to say Warboss Korrok’s name, the guards would give him a beating if they heard. But Nobz’s words made a new idea pop into his mind. He scampered off through the tunnels, Nobz bounding after him. They reached an unguarded door and Scrote tried the handle hopefully. It was locked. Scrote hissed. “This the laundry,” said Nobz, tensing as if Scrote had threatened to give them a bath. Scrote schemed for a second, staring at the agitated Nobz, then climbed the stairs up to the den level. Nobz followed warily, still fearing the bath. Finally Scrote stopped. “I not gonna bath you, Nobz," he said. Nobz relaxed, giving Scrote the opportunity to lift up a trapdoor and shove Nobz into it. They wailed as they fell down the laundry chute, then thudded into the pile of goblin rags at the bottom. “Open the door for me, will ya!” Scrote shouted down. Nobz sulked but unlocked the door. Scrote rifled through the clean pile of laundry, which was distinguishable from the dirty pile by smell alone. “‘Ere, get this lot to the den,” Scrote ordered. “Where you going, boss?” “Acksessories!” Once Nobz got the pile of clothes back to their den, Scrote pulled on a pair of coveralls, then shoved the rest of the clothes in a sack. Nobz, who wasn’t yet big enough for clothes, said, “That’s not your rags?” “Nope.” Scrote put on a helmet he’d gotten from somewhere. “Is the rags of a enginer, and you’re my pack git.” Nobz complained that they were no such thing as Scrote strapped the sack to his back, until Scrote gave them a kick in the shins. The pair made their way back to the guarded door, Nobz staggering under the load. Scrote stepped up, projecting all his scheming confidence. “I’s a tunnel inspector, here to inspect the tunnel.” “Tunnel’s not gonna collapse,” one guard grunted. The other grunted in agreement. Scrote frowned, then tapped his helmet. “How you know? You enginer? Looks bad if tunnel collapse on your watch.” The guards scowled, confused by a little goblin talking back to them. Nobz quaked with worry, but the guards interpreted this as concern for the tunnel’s integrity. “It might collapse?” one asked. Scrote nodded. The guards grunted again and opened the door. The second it closed behind them, Scrote stripped off the coveralls and pulled out the long robe of a wizard. The hood nearly covered his face. Nobz said, “What if somun want you to do a magic, boss?” “Is rude to ask, so I’ve been told.” Scrote started walking as mystically as he could. This corridor was smoother, brighter, and warmer than the other one, as the Warboss and his boys lived here. They made their way through the warren, Scrote doing his best to look like he knew where he was going. Nobz cowered each time they passed a bigger goblin, but they in turn avoided Scrote. Every goblin knew tangling with a wizard was dangerous, as they could pop out your eyeballs or turn your hands to fish. Finally, they reached the iron door that protected Warboss Korrok’s treasure vault. Scrote shuffled into a nearby closet and changed into his fanciest outfit yet, complete with a collared shirt and real buttons. Nobz quivered in excitement as Scrote walked up to the large armored vault guards. “I’s a accountant, here to count the treasure,” he said, brandishing a pencil as proof. “The treasure was accounted last month, why’s you doing it again?” one guard said suspiciously. “New treasure in, so it needs counting again.” When the guards still looked skeptical, Scrote took a risk. “Boss Korrok wants to know how much he has, ecksactly.” At his casual use of the boss’s name, the guards jumped to attention and hastily cracked open the vault door, just enough for Scrote and Nobz to squeeze through. The pair had to stifle squeals of excitement. The room was full, floor to ceiling, of coins, metal bars, weapons, and jewels. They dug through the piles, shoveling gold and trying on crowns, until Scrote triumphantly held up a red gem the size of his fist. Its sparkle in the torchlight made it the most beautiful thing either goblin had ever seen. “Why dat one, boss?” Scrote waved at the massed treasure. “Ya think the Warboss will notice one gem missing out of all this? It’s, ah,” he struggled to recall the accounting phrase, “a round error. But we’ll be set for life with this beauty, no more dirt floor for us! We’ll have rocks!” Scrote placed the gem in a sock, put the sock in the sack, and left the vault, head held high. The guards nodded in respect. Scrote and Nobz barely restrained themselves from skipping all the way back to their own goblin tunnels. However, once there, they encountered two angry guards. “Is them!” one shouted. “They onto our scheme!” Scrote shrieked. Nobz shrieked too. They ran, but the guards had longer legs. Nobz was struggling with the bag of clothes, so, in one last scheme, Scrote took the sack and thrust the sock with the gem at Nobz. The handover took too much time and the guards tackled them, laundry flying everywhere. Nobz was small enough to wiggle free and scamper away. The guards ignored them; gits weren’t worth worrying about. “I did noffin,” Scrote protested as the guards lifted him by his skinny arms. “What’s all this then?” said a guard, kicking the scattered clothes. “Youse a filthy thief!” said the other. They dragged him all the way to the Warboss, who was the biggest goblin of all. Scrote, feeling like a git in his presence, managed to squeak, “I thiefed noffin! Just borrowed the rags, that it, no harm done.” Warboss Korrok growled. “I seen this before. You thiefed these clothes and done somfin with ‘em … somefin sneaky.” Scrote broke out in a sweat. “No, not sneaky! Just … just …” “Not saying?” The warboss squinted at him. “Boys, I think we got a pervy one!” “What?” Scrote tried to decide if pervy was better than thiefy, but a punch from one of the guards stopped him from thinking any more. The guards kicked him around until the warboss got bored, then shoved him out the door. Muttering, Scrote limped back to his den. At least Nobz had gotten away with the gem. But Nobz was not in the den. Or in the foodhall. Or any of the git holes. Finally, he found a goblin who’d seen him: “Lost them marbles, that one. Ran out the gate, cackling and swinging an old sock.” Scrote gnashed his teeth as he realized that he’d lost both his hard-won gem and his best mate. He allowed himself one angry gut punch to the messenger before he composed himself. The situation was nothing a good scheme couldn’t fix.
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Jul 3, 2023 10:05
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Vocational Independence 786 words Tony was the sneakiest goblin ever, just absolutely nightmare sneaky. His mates would sometimes take him up on it, like one morning at the goblin cafe, Snivelling Sal said over eggs: "Tony you're ok, but like, you take it too far? There are limits even for us goblins." Tony just smirked with his long yellow teeth showing because while that was true he'd just stolen Sal's wallet and now he would be unable to pay for his eggs. Anyway a few years later there was a bit of a crisis in Goblinland (the technical name was Goblania and the national anthem was called Advance Goblania Green, but only nerds actually called it that). The scepter of the Goblin King, who was a goblin called Murph, had been stolen! Naturally suspicion fell heavily on Tony. "Oy," said Tony's mum when he came down to lunch at midnight (goblins have lunch at midnight and breakfast in the afternoon, it's just tradition). "What's that in your bag?" Tony's goblin sack that he carried over his shoulder was full of something long and pointy. Tony looked innocent. "It's a weasel." His mum wasn't convinced and explained that no son of hers was going to steal a royal artifact, while wrestling the sack off her son and looking inside. To her shock, horror and dismay it was in fact a weasel, that had somehow been frozen stiff with its little legs outstretched like it was doing a high dive. "Why is it frozen," she asked, suspiciously. "It got cold," Tony said. "I think it's really unfair that everyone suspects me of crimes, it happens at work, at home, down the pub, when I'm on the bus. It's really hurtful, mum." His squinty little goblin eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Tony," said his mum, whose name was Ethel Rose Marie. "It's just because you're so sneaky. Any mum should be proud as punch to have a sneaky son, but somehow you just always go that extra step and it makes people mad and then they come round with their smash hammers and mess the place up." Tony nodded sadly. It was true. They had had their house smashed up by an enraged mob more times than he could count. "Still, mum, I swear I didn't do it. Must have been some one else or one of those gross humans, you know what they're like." The mother and son shared a moment of nodded agreement that they did know what humans were like. "Anyway I'd better get off to work at the foundry, see you later!" A minute later he was trotting down the road to the bus, but instead of catching the number 33 to the goblin foundry (where they found things, mainly stuff other people didn't realise they'd lost) he turned into a dark alley way. There at the end of the alley, lurking in the shadow of the wall, was a tall human man, the head ambassador from the humans. "Yar," he said, through his big bushy black fake beard. "Do you have it for me?" Tony looked around then pulled the frozen weasel out from his sack. "I sure do. You got my payment?" The human, whose name was Oliver Spank for some reason, frowned. "That's a weasel, not the scepter of the current King of Goblania." Tony rolled his eyes. "Literally no-one calls it that, nerd. Anyway look:" and with that he pulled the weasel off and there was the scepter, all gleaming and only a little bit goopy. "Wow! That's a sneaky trick alright. Here's your payment:" and with that he pulled out a pistol and pointed it right in Tony's face. Tony blinked. "This is just proving what everyone says about humans, you know." Oliver laughed, in a sinister human sort of way. "What's that?" "That they think they're sneaky, but they're actually just dumb." And he blew a loud shrieking goblin whistle and wow what do you know, the goblin cops came sweeping in and arrested the ambassador for stealing and Tony got a medal because that was the plan all along, how sneaky was that. Murph, the King of Goblinland chuckled as he pinned the medal on. "Well done Tony, they never would have approached you if you weren't known to all and sundry as the sneakiest goblin around, so I guess your defining negative character trait turned out to be a positive thing after all! Funny the way that happens, sometimes. I'm presuming you're going to turn over a new leaf now and be a bit less sneaky?" "Yes," said Tony, who had just stolen the King's crown and shoved it under his coat.
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Jul 3, 2023 10:15
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You Give Love a Bad Name 1235 words When she told me she loved me, it was like a grenade went off inside my chest. The next thing I remember, I was chained to the floor, with a blindfold on and a gun pointed at my head. Over the next few hours all I could hear were disembodied voices shouting and threatening me. I was being jostled around from place to place until finally being placed in a featureless room. I was there for a while, panicking out of my mind until the door to the room finally opened and in came The Champion. The same The Champion that I’ve seen countless times on TV and YouTube, the same The Champion whose face was on my second-grade backpack. “Hey kid,” he said with a grin. “I’m The Champion”. “H-Hey,” I stammered “I’m told you have a very special gift,” he said, his voice reassuring. “Special enough for them to call The Champion just for you,” he added with a wink. “I do? Honestly I don’t remember anything - one moment I was in school with Amy and the next I was here.” “Well, kid. You showed us a very special power, maybe even more special than mine. And I think that if we– if you learn to control your power you might be able to do a lot of good. You want that, don’t you? To do some good in the world? To be just like me, like The Champion?” Even in that state of shock, hearing those words every kid dreams of hearing, I answered automatically. I spent the next weeks in a government compound, completely sealed off from the world. I was told my parents and school are aware and I will be able to go back to my regular life eventually. Most of the time I was just reading comics and watching old DVDs in my boring room, or trying to sleep while ignoring the constant scratching sounds which sounded like rats in the walls. Once a day or so when The Champion and the doctors came in, I’d get needles poked into me, chucked inside weird buzzing machines or simply questioned incessantly. “You have to try to remember EXACTLY everything about that day. Try again.” said one of the compound doctors. “I told you a million times- it was a normal day. I woke up, went to school, took a history test and afterwards I talked to Amy, my girlfriend.” “Try to remember what you felt. Were you stressed? Angry? Did you have a headache?” “I dunno, a bit stressed, I guess.I didn’t really study for the test, you know. But I was happy. I had a good talk with Amy and all.” “The conversation where she told you she loves you?” I blushed. It took a while until I managed to mention that to these annoying doctors. “Yep, that’s the one.” The doctor scribbled another note on his clipboard, sighed and turned to leave, signalling the other doctors to exit. The Champion turned away from the doctors and came over. “You know, kid,” he said in an unusual demeanour, taking fitful looks at the door. “I had someone just like Amy when I was in the eighth grade.” “You did?” “Yes, I did. But, you know, these things.. They don’t last long. One day she’s into you, the next she’s not. That’s the way middle school is.” “Nah,” I said with an uneasy chuckle, “not Amy. She’s awesome, and we’re really great together.” “Yeah. Yeah, she sounds great.” he said with a low voice. A couple of uneventful days later The Champion entered the room. “I have a little surprise for you, kid,” he said with his trademark grin, “your phone!” I almost yelled from joy. My phone! I haven’t used it in so long! I immediately grabbed it from The Champion only to notice that it wasn’t, in fact, my phone. “We couldn’t actually give you your phone, for security reasons. So you’ll have to use this dumb phone for a while, but you can text whomever you like whenever you like!” He gave a small chuckle and said, “anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Have fun!” and left the room. I checked the list of contacts. Amy. Dad. Mom. The Champion. “Well, I guess that’s something,” I said to no one in particular. The phone buzzed, a text from Amy! “I heard we can finally text! I’ve missed you so much, I hope you’re doing alright.”. My heart felt like it skipped a beat. I even felt like I could hear a squeaking sound as it started beating again. “I miss u too! I can’t believe we haven’t talked in so long. I can’t wait to c u again.” Almost as soon as I sent the text a reply arrived. “I know! I want to c u so much, but it sounds like it will take a while, it sux!! I luv you sooo much!” I inhaled and a grin spread across my face. A couple of minutes later and in came the doctors. “Oh man, I liked that one,” one of them said to another as they walked in, looking back. The other one gave him a stern look and he looked embarrassed. They ran a few more tests on me. This time I didn’t mind so much, I was still happy and had something to look forward to on the other side of it. The next few days were spent mostly texting with Amy. Luckily, she texted me when the docs were away. There wasn’t much to talk about, since I didn’t have much to do in here and on her end it looked like school drama calmed down in my absence. “what are u up 2?” she asked me one day. “Same old same old.. u?” “just sitting here thinking of what we’ll do when u come back. got any ideas?” I felt like we’ve had this conversation three times in the past couple of days. “Oh you know, we can have that picnic we talked about..” “i can’t wait” she texted back quickly. After a minute or two she texted again, “g2g, talk soon, love you xoxo”. I put the phone away and went back to the TV. A few days later I awoke suddenly when the door burst open and in came The Champion. “We have to go,” he said sternly and grabbed the phone from my hand and led me away from the room and immediately onto another room as I heard the doctors shuffle back into mine. “What’s going on?” I asked. I was almost used to being dragged around at this point, but I’ve never seen The Champion quite so serious. “We’re moving you. Just relax, this will take a while. Here, this will help you sleep,” he said, handing me a pill. When I came to, I was in a different vehicle. It wasn’t moving and everything was quiet. The phone was next to me, but The Champion was gone. “Hello? Anyone here?” I called out in vain. I took the phone and saw that I had two incoming texts. One from The Champion: “Had to leave for a mission. See you soon.” and the other from Amy. “I can’t sleep.. Thinking bout u. Love you so much.” I sighed and put the phone back in my pocket. Man, I guess I’m just not that into her.
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Jul 3, 2023 12:05
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Subs are closed, I will try to get these read tomorrow, I hope you have all written great tales of power and/or goblins.
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Jul 3, 2023 16:42
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Hello it is time for Judging Win was Sebmojo with Vocational Independence. PROMPT HMs go to Mr Shark Waifuu, rohan and Thranguy. DMs go to Chili and kiminewt. Loss goes to Mrenda. Crits soonish.
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Jul 4, 2023 12:47
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Unsolicited Interpromptingment of 448 words Drinkin' Again "How's that shoulder?" Charlie asked, feigning concern through his sad clown greasepaint. "I'm good." "Still wearin's that hat? You older boys gonna lose what little brains you got, they makin' ya'll use helmets soon I hear." "You hear a lot of poo poo, don't you Charlie?" Both men raised their heads as the crowd inside roared, listening to the announcer. Kody Gamble. 8 seconds, 242 points. They looked at each other, waiting for the name to come over the P.A. - Kelsey Hall, 260 to win. "Better luck with that monster this time, son." Kelsey got up slinging his bullrope over and putting on his trademark white stetson, and walked through the gates of the pens towards the shute, pulling his vest tight. Bit of applause. Some ooh's. Not boo's yet at least. Heard about the wife he guessed. He climbed up over giving the hands the rope to fix, as he summed up his enemy - Chainsaw, the thing that had nearly killed him back in Arlington the year before, slamming him at the seven second mark. And nobody had come close to eight since. He jumped over and mounted the grey and black bull as it bucked with a rare fury, the men taking a bit extra care as one pulled the rope tight while Kelsey wrapped his hand down. "Good n tight!" one man shouted. "No poo poo." was the reply. The last ride was in his memory clear as day, watch the bastards dip, he'll sunfish like a mother, keep her tight and think of pussy. He reached out and slapped Chainsaw hard on a horn and told the boys to let her rip, and the shute flung open. The bull flew hard from the gate in a spin as Kelsey pulled with all his might to keep his legs down and arm up. It spun three times fast then dipped. Here it comes. We gonna fly. Chainsaw dipped mid-spin and reared up suddenly, all four legs way clear of the ground as he bucked midair, and Kelsey felt all the pains of hell in his shoulder as the crowd and scoreboard flashed past. 6.55. "I'm comin' babe!" he cried as Chainsaw bucked harder and he felt the rope loosen as the siren went, He went through the air a little and landed hard, scurrying away as the clowns took over. **** The F-150 was running hot since KC but Kelsey kept pushing, sore but rich for awhile, seeing the lights of home. His ears filled the entire way with ballads of men who's wife left them, car wouldn't start, dog died, lost their job, and other songs that needed whiskey. He pulled up in front to his house beyond the horses and went inside to find some of those songs were about him. She was gone, and so was all her poo poo. Heard about, what's her name? Peaches Delight? Hard to keep track. Where's that bottle?
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Jul 4, 2023 13:12
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Week 569 Powerful Goblin Dome crits done while reading and in judgemode Checkpoint The first and third paragraphs are a little jarring, the first has this comfortable rhythm, then the third seems suddenly panicked. By the fourth paragraph I get that there’s some ability to perceive the very near future. Why does he choke out “Not today”? Is his mouth full of coffee? Does he just have a gravely voice? Without that bit of detail the verb seems misused and “said” would have been neater. Tho I had just been admiring the use of descriptive verbs in other places in the story, so this may be a “me” thing. Okay, now having finished the story I’m actually quite confused. The smelling salts make a bit more sense now. But unfortunately I’m not sure the story itself does. It’s a neat little time loop, and the idea of him returning back and back and back to the same place of trauma makes sense. But because we never see him with Millie, because we don’t really know the relationship between them, and because we get very little of Nick’s internality or sense of dread about what’s about to happen today it doesn’t quite land. I’m seeing that a lot of the bits and pieces that felt off, the sudden panic, the choked voice, make sense for describing a man about to do something horrible. But this piece needs a little bit of Telling in order to give me context for the things that it Shows. Low The Goblin Queen That’s an incredible flash image my god. And a wonderful first paragraph, too: You introduce the main characters, the setting, and what the story cares about in a few very neat lines. Well done. This story blends the sorrow of aging out of or realizing you can’t quite compete in your favorite hobbies with some incisive language and humor. It could easily have become saccharine or maudlin, but I feel that it manages that balance well. Medium high to high Runt Ball Oh good a James Spaceman story love one of these Wait is this using the prompt from last week in this week? Madness! Genuinely loving the insane adventuring party vibes and the cinematic style. Ultimately though I feel like this style always wants just a bit more space than it can get in flash fiction. An extra hundred, or even an extra fifty words to just drive home the shenanigans. In this story, I think subtracting words from the scene where Marbles is given the Power Glove and adding a touch more foreshadowing to Talamar’s inevitable betrayal would have given this story more oomph. Solid ending though. Cliffhangery without being “...and then the real adventure begins!” Medium The Book of Sweat Interesting formatting that doesn’t quite land. The tone drifts too much into the informal for the chapter and verse setup to feel relevant, I think playing up the religious form that describes the profoundly debased concepts could be very, very cool. But stripping that form away, I’m left with a high level D&D wizard’s backstory as directed by Guillermo del Toro, and I’ll be damned if I’m not extremely into it. It starts to lose its fire as it leans away from body horror and starts to just be sentences about her life. You could fully cut Chapter 7 and blend 8:2 into Chapter 9 and the story would wind up the same. Personally, I’d recommend investing those words in what was going on with Jezri’s parents, because that’s a kind of meaty bit that gets elided, and this story revels in meaty bits. Medium high. best banh mi: goblin approved Oh my god I love this power, what a lovely opening. Also, now I really want banh mi. Seamless transition into the goblin market, very well done and described in the same loving, familiar-yet-ethereal detail you’d see in a James Gurney painting. And we transition into a neat little meet-cute facilitated by a goblin inventor. Very nice! This is a simple, cute story elevated by the quality of your descriptive prose. There’s not a lot to say about it, it does exactly what it says on the tin. Medium high Schemes on Schemes Back to the classics of the goblin genre: the nasty, lovely little guys. Love a nasty, lovely little goblin. So this story I had some problems with, mostly I think in the dialogue. This is absolutely a personal stylistic thing but I found the transcribed accent of your goblins to be kind of distracting. I did, however, love the quick changes and Scrote walking mystically. Also, the littlest and nastiest of guys won, which is very positive. Medium Vocational Independence Excellent. More Nasty Little Guys. This does a lot of things that ordinarily would annoy me, but this, for whatever reason, feels more intentional to me. Possibly because it’s told in the manner of a rambling barroom story rather than an epic. It’s silly, it’s simple, it’s got a weasel with a scepter stuck up it. What more could you ask for? Medium You Give Love a Bad Name Good first line, I’m invested. By the next paragraph I’m left confused. Are we going to see the kid’s power? Or the Champion’s power? Or any powers? I get that it’s probably the doctors texting him and not Amy, but I really can’t figure out what happened to Amy or the Champion or this kid. Honestly I’ve got two theories: either this kid’s power winds up killing the people he loves and he killed both Amy and the Champion, or they got the wrong guy and actually Amy has powers. But I don’t know, because nothing is actually shown to us. Which is unfortunate Low Market Goblin Hooboy what’s going on with these semicolons? Is that an archive thing? I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that’s an archive thing initially. But the list is too long, pick like three or four things. We get it: my guy is a magic salesman. And not a very good one, apparently. I’m not entirely sure about this one, possibly because I can’t tell what the story itself is interested in. The goblin himself wants to make a sale, but appears to be fighting a more existential threat, being forgotten, by the end of it. The people approaching the goblin don’t really get much more characterization either. They’re either confused or cruel, and the poor girl he offers poison to is sad. But that’s kind of it. Your prose quality is fine, your formatting a little off, and the story is kind of dull but nothing to be mad at. Mid Low The Goblin’s Tale You could have started with the same first two paragraphs and then skipped 90% of the backstory and dove straight in to “Talulla was his only child…” The major problem here is grammar though. You use “ye” a lot, which is fine, but you never use “yer” when it really should be used until the very end. Otherwise it’s a simple little fetch quest with some celtic window dressing. So that’s nice. It has a happy ending, which I like. Mid Low The Night-Shift Goblin I loved this concept and kept waiting for the heel turn where the goblin stole from him or ran away and it was a silly little caper, but it didn’t happen. That’s okay. I’m not sure about the knowing wink at the end. But sometimes we all just write words to make sure the words are written and that’s fine. There’s nothing here to be mad at, and I know “well I would have written it differently!” is a poo poo critique. I think maybe leaning into the servitude of the goblin would be better, since that’s kind of what the story really seems to care about, would help it along. Medium The Goblin Supplicant I like this. I think it needs more history behind it, maybe less focus on the present challenges and more focus on why Maia is doing this. What atrocities are Brossley’s men committing? What damage are they doing? That would make his reveal at the end, that he’d been helping her along, have more of a moral weight to it I think. Medium high The Best Goblin A sweet story of goblin friends doing goblin things. It’s very nice and would honestly make a very cute children’s story. My son would love the ugly little goblins. Other than that, I think I’d like to have seen a little more Goblinitude from these guys. Like the nature of being a goblin doesn’t really come into play, this could be any competitive group of entities. Medium The Day He Arrived This story takes a careful read. It’s unpleasant, it’s muddy, it veers on vitriolic. It’s hard to understand, but that appears to be the point. The primary problem here might just be that it’s too real in a week for fantasy. This is a profoundly unsettling piece, and it has a home somewhere, but it may not be in a week for nasty little guys who revel in their nasty littleness. There’s regret here, anger here, real human emotion and processing here. But there’s no joy. Even the moment of seeing the cashier of unknown gender doesn’t feel joyful, it feels like an existential threat. I honestly wouldn’t recommend adding joy into it though. The backbone of the piece is suffering and suspicion. It’s just out of place here, to the point where I struggle to rank it.
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Jul 4, 2023 14:11
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CRITS These will not be in order because I activated JUDGEMODE which apparently randomises them. I will also be rating goblin stories on a separate scale, largely irrelevant to their overall performance in the week, of how goblinesque I felt the goblin was. A lot of these thoughts were written kinda as I was reading them, so if you're wondering why parts of the crits seem to be written from the perspective of someone who has not yet read the full story, and then the later sentences are written from the perspective of someone who has... that's why. Checkpoint - Chili Full disclosure, timeloops are probably my favourite narrative gimmick, so it is with a heavy heart that I must report that, for me, this did not work at all. First, to get it out of the way: there are a number of dialogue attribution screw ups which really hurt you near the start. Also, a bunch of stuff that I now see made sense in the context of this being a timeloop, but on a first read through just sounded like irrelevant nonsense. For me I think the biggest problem is that I don't care about what's happening between Nick and Millie. We only just introduced her into the story, it isn't really explained very well who they are to each other (like, I thought maybe significant others but then they kiss for the first time?) so basically the only thing she does in the story is wake up and then die so Nick can be sad about her, and assure us the reader that he really did try everything, honest. (Which is where it suddenly becomes clear that his ability is timeloops and if enough had been done to invest me in the characters perhaps I would've gone back and gone ah yes this all makes sense now which I guess I am doing now to help facilitate the crits but unfortunately that doesn't matter to my overall experience when actually reading it) And then hang out with her dog in an ending that didn't really land for me either. Market Goblin - Kuiperdolin You keep putting spaces before colons and semi colons, that's weird. Hmmm I kinda like how you're writing this goblin. Burping with delight is fun. 'He asked many questions and then questioned their answers and then left' is an awkward sentence for a couple reasons and one of those reasons is the double 'and'. Graceless agility is a weird term, IDGI. Hmmm I mostly liked this, but the ending didn't seem to really fit the rest of it in tone. Goblin was quite goblinesque I thought. The Best Goblin - flerp OK really enjoying this early on. OK I know what you mean here: 'But Gobbie’s legs didn’t grow as long as Hejs, then he got outpaced, then ultimately eclipsed him.' But I think you've missed a word and it should read 'eclipsed by him', otherwise it seems like it means the opposite. Hmmm this was kinda cute, I liked it. Could be a bit more goblinesque maybe idk. Like, the goblins were just kinda cute, which I'm not overall opposed to I guess, but the fact that they were goblins didn't seem to matter too much. The Goblin Queen - Nae Excellent goblin art, first of all. Hmmm ok this is all dialogue and the goblin doesn't act all that goblinesque but it's still great and emotional or whatever, IDK it's really nice IMO. I guess a little bit conflicted because I didn't really feel the goblinness and there wasn't a huge amount of story, but it made me feel things a little bit so it is still good I guess. The Night-Shift Goblin - MockingQuantum Feels like you broke out the thesaurus here. Not entirely mad about it though, feels like maybe it gives the narrator some kind of a voice. Hmmm gonna make a prediction here, narrator is gonna get cursed to be a goblin or something, let's see how my prediction pans out. Hmmm. Nope, no comeuppance. It's weird because the narrator is openly acknowledging his own shortcomings in a way that implies he should feel bad about it, and wonders if he'll ever improve, so at one point I thought it might have been a case of reflecting on past self and going 'oh I was so awful, not like now where I've learned my lesson on account of having been cursed or whatever.' Also I thought something might be done with the somewhat pompous voice but not really? Somewhat goblinesque I suppose. IDK is there like, an opposite to an unreliable narrator? Like, he's reliably recounting his own failings as if he's a separate person. Bit meta for me, including the ending. The Goblin Supplicant - ActingPower Oh no you had an apostrophe in a name, I guess goblins are somewhat fantasy but still… Oh lol that ending. Didn't see that happening. It's not incredibly goblinesque but it's mostly good I suppose. Sometimes bounced off the long paragraphs a bit because there wasn't enough variation to what was going on. Yeah I kinda mentioned it a little here, but for me the largest criticism is that it's mostly just a lot of walking. There's a trial, and our goblin hero doesn't give up and a bunch of other people do, and that's the story until the somewhat amusing twist at the end. The Book of Sweat - Thranguy Oh no what are you doing this is a list. OK it was not a list, or it kinda was, idk it worked, it was pretty good, but it also felt like it removed us a bit from what was happening idk. Chernobyl Princess liked this a bit more than me. It didn't land with me as well as it did with her, but since it was executed really well and told a compelling narrative arc - even if I felt a little detached from the arc due to the narrative style - I was totally happy with an HM for it. Quite goblinesque I think. best bánh mì: goblin approved - Rohan OK yeah this is kinda cute but it's maybe a bit too neat idk. Good goblin logo tho. Yeah I guess my main problem is that it felt like the protagonist just kinda stumbled onto a genie who completely solved all of his problems, including his inability to talk to a person. I think if this other character hadn't been presented as a person who could just give you things that would solve your problems, it wouldn't feel as cheap. Still very cute and somewhat goblinesque, though. Chernobyl liked it more than me and I liked it enough to be happy with an HM. The Day He Arrived I got about six paragraphs in and was like 'these six paragraphs feel like the bit you cut before you get to the story.' Except worse than that, because it just didn't make any sense to me and I didn't know how to read it. The problem was largely that the story could be summarised to 'I went to the shops, saw a (possibly?) trans person, then went home.' The voice wasn't able to carry it, and was generally unpleasant. Unfortunately I don't know if I can offer a crit that would be relevant to what is written here; it feels very experimental, and to me just didn't land at all. Also, I had some serious misgivings about some of the content, but then when I ducked out of judgemode and peeked at who it was written by, was confident that there was no malice or whatever, but again, it just really didn't land for me and came off unpleasant and mean spirited. The Goblin's Tale - Fat Jesus Pretty cute, I didn't mind it. Sorry I don't have a great deal to add, I don't think it really did anything explicitly wrong, just didn't have that little bit extra to put it over the top. Felt pretty goblinesque. Schemes on Schemes - My Shark Waifuu Is this a 40K think? It seems like it might be a 40K thing. OK I liked this one. Good voice, very goblinesque. 'Scrote started walking as mystically as he could' is an extremely good line, and Scrote continually pulling new costumes out of his proverbial hat did not at any point get old for me. Vocational Independence - Sebmojo Very strong and goblinesque start. OK this is excellent and my favourite so far. Many very good lines but I'll highlight these two that bookend it somewhat: "Tony just smirked with his long yellow teeth showing because while that was true he'd just stolen Sal's wallet and now he would be unable to pay for his eggs." ... ""Yes," said Tony, who had just stolen the King's crown and shoved it under his coat." Very enjoyable to read which is why you're now the winner so congrats. You Give Love a Bad Name - kiminewt The biggest problem I have with this story is that it doesn't give me enough info. It seemed a little bit like maybe Amy got fridged in the first sentence, and while I wouldn't have liked that very much, it turns out that what I like even less is having it be very unclear what actually happened. Did he literally blow up and kill Amy? Did he just black out? Was that even her texting him? What even happened at the end? I don't know any of these things. And to an extent I get it, I personally tend to avoid explicit exposition, but you've still got to try to give your reader some kind of idea of what's going on, because if your reader doesn't know what the story is, for all intents and purposes you don't have one. Also the ending of 'maybe he just wasn't that into her' is simultaneously unsatisfying and annoyingly confusing. Runt Ball Anders and James Spaceman? Whatcha playing at? OK so it's last week's prompt plus a goblin, I get it. It was all right. It was pretty goblinesque. I feel like, to an extent, I would've appreciated this more if I was already familiar with all these characters; nonetheless it was a somewhat entertaining pulpy romp.
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Jul 4, 2023 15:20
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Thunderdome Week 570 - An Uncanny Instinct for the Regrettable hello thunderdome. a simple one this week: someone tries to do something right, but it goes wrong. it can end up ok, but there's gotta be a clear point of oh gently caress sinking stomach what are we gonna do nowwww 1000 words, and take another 500 if you ask for a flashrule which I will provide and will be a random object with a random adjective, stuck to it as though by sellotape, which you'll have to incorporate into your story somehow.. sign up deadline: midnight friday pdt, submission deadline: midnight sunday pdt Judges: mojo ... ... Entrants: Ouzo Making Green wing Derp Copernic
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Jul 4, 2023 16:09
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I will participate
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Jul 4, 2023 16:22
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In, flash me
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Jul 4, 2023 18:37
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I'm in, time to dome
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Jul 4, 2023 20:11
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in
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Jul 4, 2023 22:43
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crossposting from the sidebar thread:Sitting Here posted:I wanted to bring a discussion from Discord to this thread since not everyone does Discord. head on over there if you wanna talk about it
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Jul 4, 2023 23:31
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derp posted:In, flash me Your story must contain EARSPLITTING HOMEWORK
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Jul 5, 2023 00:29
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in, flash please
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Jul 5, 2023 04:38
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In like Flynn
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Jul 5, 2023 04:49
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rohan posted:in, flash please your words are MANIACAL DISASTER
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Jul 5, 2023 04:56
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In, flash please!
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Jul 5, 2023 19:45
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in
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Jul 5, 2023 22:13
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My Shark Waifuu posted:In, flash please! Your words are PECULIAR RAGE
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Jul 5, 2023 22:34
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In with a flash, please!
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Jul 6, 2023 18:45
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FlippinPageman posted:In with a flash, please! Your words are PARSIMONIOUS ORCHESTRA
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Jul 6, 2023 23:21
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In
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Jul 7, 2023 06:13
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In
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Jul 7, 2023 23:47
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In
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Jul 8, 2023 00:57
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entries are closed, write good words
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Jul 8, 2023 13:27
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Waking Up 1,000 Words I woke in a land of hobbits one day. They’d met taller people before. They invited me to tea and a smoke and I sat down at a table. They were perfectly sized tables, for a hobbit. Whether the hobbit was tall or small—and there is a height difference even among hobbits—the tables were mostly suited to them. I had to splay my legs to fit in with these very generous fantasy people so I could drink their carefully set out tea and smoke golden tobacco with them. They began with stories. They talked about good humans, and bad humans, along with all the other species, at least once they got going. I didn’t like the bad humans. They were particularly vicious even if the hobbits all treated them like a game and a laugh. Telling stories is their way. They’d pour me another cup of tea—fine bone china—and have a new pipe ready to go once I was finished with my first, honestly, very small bowl of tobacco. There was one hobbit who kept looking at me, Gertrude. Now, I’m attracted to women, and Gertrude was obviously a female hobbit, but I’m not attracted to hobbits. Never was. Although if the right hobbit comes along... Maybe..? I guess that won’t be happening. Gertrude said she admired my dress, my tall legs. She tugged on the hem of it from her low-down position. “It stretches for so long!” she said, wide eyed. Then... “I wish I was tall,” she whispered. I knew. She said she liked my shoes. Which I appreciated. I’d gone to bed with my slippers on and was suddenly wearing a pair of sporty trainers from some 90s line from my youth. I knew. “Text me when you get a chance,” I said. And we exchanged numbers, quietly. Gertrude, keeping it up, said, “Oh! Your feet must be so large to fill out shoes like that. And your toes so long and delicate. And your toenails. Oh what colours! Blue, and pink. Red! Orange!” “Rainbow...” she whispered, conspiratorially. “Not like my drab brown tobacco, or drab brown tea, or drab ochre tobacco-flake. Sometimes we get green tea, from travellers beyond. The tall folk who bring us things, but the green tea fades, and rots, and ends up with no colour.” I nodded, and smiled. And understood. And I knew her. I woke the next morning so refreshed. I was ready for anything and I didn’t know why. I walked into the office, delighted, and checked my emails fearing it would all come to an end. It didn’t. There was an email congratulating me on my presentation last Tuesday, and another from the boss saying, “Keep pulling it out like on Friday and you’ll be going places.” I was in a high mood. It was all going well until I settled in for the mid-morning break. A cup of brown tea, although I didn’t know why I thought of it as, ‘brown tea.’ I got a text, “Thinking of your shoes, love. Work shoes must be so different. Different feet almost. A different world, haha. lyl <3” I got another text a few seconds later, while I was reading the first. “This is gertrude by the way. The tiny hobbit.” And she said ‘tiny’ in italics. The entry it came under didn’t make sense to me. It didn’t appear like any name, or number, or symbol I’d seen before. I texted back, “Who is this? What number is this?” “Oh, this is Gertrude. We met in your dreams last night. I thought I said I was the tiny hobbit. Remember... Your Reeboks. Or were they Pumas? Sporty... haha... don’t worry.” I put my phone down on the work kitchen table. Then picked it up. Then walked back to my desk. I had another email. It was my manager calling me in for a chat. He offered nothing more. “Come in for a chat. 2pm. We need to talk.” It sounded ominous. So, instead, I texted back this Gertrude person. “You’re a dream.” I tried to get down to work, to type up the report on the Sinkin’s account but you better believe 30 minutes later I nearly jumped on my phone when it bleeped. “I know, girl. haha. I’d never met a tall person before, but you’re everything I dreamed of. Your shoes, and feet, and toes. I bet they’re not even hairy.” Some absolute weirdo, I thought. Some fucken weirdo texting me. The clock ticked down until lunch. I was getting more and more worried about my meeting with my manager. My phone bleeped again. “I’m sorry. That’s weird. I know we’re not supposed to talk about tall people not having hairy feet. I just... I just wish I was tall. And I think we got along... There’s no need to respond until tonight. If you don’t want.” “Until tonight!?” What the gently caress did this weirdo have planned? Who the gently caress was this? Could I really go to the police about some nutbag in my texts? In my dreams? Did I write about this in my journal? Did someone read my dream journal? “gently caress off and stop texting me,” I messaged them back. “I bet you’re some weird 5 foot 2 loser who thinks if they had more testosterone they’d be able to move out of their mother’s basement. My toenails have a fungal infection. Suck on that. #blocked” Then I went to lunch. Then I met with my boss, who told me I was doing well and getting noticed by the higher ups. They’d tentatively scheduled a meeting to talk about promotion, in three months, if I kept going as I was. Then I went home. Then I ate. With a few drinks. Then I had a few more. Then I went to bed. And fell asleep. Then I woke up. With no dreams. And no little hobbit asking me about my shoes, or telling me she wanted to be like me.
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Jul 8, 2023 16:00
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I'd love to judge, if I may.
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Jul 8, 2023 22:37
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Of Bears,Wolves and Foxes 996 words Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face, but I wasn’t worried. I had multiple plans. Don Orsino wiped my blood off of his knuckles and said, “if you aren’t here to rob me, what are you here for?” “To see your nephew,” I said. “Funny man,” Orsino said. “I tie you down to a chair and feed you knuckle sandwiches all night, and you entertain me with jokes.” “I’m serious,” I said. “Your nephew wants out of the family biz, but you can’t figure out how to get him out safely. I’m his ticket to freedom.” Granted, his ticket wasn’t looking too good. While Orsino might be a bear of a man, I was a fox of a man, with a straight fade cut and thrift shop jeans. “I’ve got a plan,” I said, “But figured I’d ask the nearest thing to a father Fredrick has before absconding with the groom.” I gave him my best smile, the one which made his nephew smile in return. The Don folded his arms and stared. “If you are worried about his safety, don’t. I can take a punch. And this,” I struggled against the ropes. “This was part of the plan.” It wasn’t. The plan was for me to sneak Fredrick out, but a curious security guard put a stop to that. Orsino growled, “I know you. I don’t like your kind.” I had a plan for this as well. “Word on the street is, you value family more than morals.” The Don laughed out loud, but the merriness didn’t reach his eyes. “Two men don’t make a family.” The statement hung in the air and made a foul stench. “Well, at least I tried.” I said, as I tensed my arms, finding slack in my bonds. Just a few more minutes, and I could escape. “What are you going to tell Fredrick when you whack me?” “It won’t be me. And I’ll tell him the truth.” Orsino turned towards the door and said, “Come in, Fredrick.” And there was my knight in shining, designer clothing armor. He took my breath away more than one of Don’s punches to my stomach. Fredrick looked magnificent, ginger hair flowing around him. It was his eyes that I liked the best. Those eyes that had seen an addict convulsing on the ground, and shown nothing but kindness. I remember the way his t-shirt hugged his taut muscled as he injected the shot of Naloxone into my arm. Or maybe I liked his mouth the best, the way it curved into a smile after I had awkwardly met him at the clinic. Or the way he looked at me when we had woken up on a rainy morning and went back to bed. Or… I just liked all of him. “Hey Red,” I said. “You’ve looked worse,” Fredrick said. He stepped into the room until he was between me and The Don. Fredrick looked at the bruises across my face and tensed. He whirled on his uncle. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, then decked Orsino in the face. I would have cheered, but Orsino didn’t even flinch. And Red wasn’t a slouch like me. He was a wolf, lithe and muscular. But if Orsino took offence at Red’s reaction, he didn’t show it. “It’s about protecting you.” “You’re taking your disappointment out on him!” Red‘s presence filled the room, but I could see that he was nervous. He wanted to be in control of a situation that was quickly turning into anything but controlled. As the two bickered, I worked on my restraints. Just a little more and I could escape, run through the door and take Red with me. All according to the plan I had just made up. Orsino yelled. “At your father’s deathbed, I promised I would protect you from scum like him.” “I’m scum like him.” Red said. Then he revealed the gun in his hand. “We are leaving.” “Really. Even after he cheated on you?” The pit of my stomach fell when I heard those words. Red looked at me, confusion on his face. The Don produced an envelope from a desk and threw it at Fredrick. Photos spilled out. Compromising photos of me and... Fredrick looked down at the photos, and then coldly stared at me. His face twisted, his eyes bore into me, while a forlorn laugh echoed out of his mouth. The Don wore a poo poo-eating grin as hearts cracked and lovers broke. That’s when I knew one of us wasn’t getting out of here alive. “It was one last fix, and I was just following the high,” I pleaded. “A single mistake.” “This is what you get when you lie with men,” The Don paused, letting his contempt stain the air for a second, “of dubious nature.” Red stood there, hands trembling as he pointed the gun at me. “Our golden rule,” The Don said. “Cheaters get dealt with. Teach him son.” Orsino was so busy wearing his poo poo-eating grin he didn’t even notice that Red turned the gun on him. If Red murdered the Don, he would never escape. And that’s all that mattered. Red. Endings. Freedom. I lunged at Red, wrapped my arms around him one last time. I kept my hands on his wrists, trying to angle the gun. I heard a bang. Then pain. The gun felt hot in my hand, the barrel sizzling against my palm. Red took a step back, hands dropping to his sides, face in shock. It was only then I noticed the blood trickling down my shirt. I staggered, smiled as I saw tears form on Red’s face. Looks like he still had tears for me. I knew Red would be fine. He’s strong. This was just a regular tragedy in the city, a Tuesday like any other night. He would overcome this, escape. Be Free. But maybe that’s just a dying man’s dream.
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Jul 9, 2023 00:18
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HELP! I’M TRYING TO DATE IN A WORLD WHERE MY FUTURE SELF CAN TIME TRAVEL TO RUIN MY RELATIONSHIP! By Copernic 899 Words My future self died on the first date, while I was trying to think of bands I like. I could already tell that Emma had too much personality to be into someone like me. Her dating profile was a word cloud of interests, a glittering cloud of personality facets, and I’d figured her a liar. She was displaying a shiny rainbow of hobbies in case any color caught an eye. I’d thought it was desperation, which meant we had something in common. “The problem is,” Emma said. Her forearms were wrapped in tattoos. An anchor on her wrist. “I hate Coachella. I hate it. I thought less of Infected Mushroom for playing it. I know thats unfair. But what I realized is this. If you show up with a Red Cross jacket on. Carrying enough water bottles. They think you’re rendering essential aid. They offer to help you carry them in.” “Incredible,” I said. My bare skin rested on the restaurant table, unmarked by ink. I needed an anecdote she would laugh at. Anything. My Dad had taken me to see Dave Matthews Band when I was seventeen. I had no idea how that would play with her. And she’d dressed up, in a green dress with pockets, and a filigree of silver around her neck. I looked around the restaurant, to attempt thinking, and my future self caught my eye. Of course, everyone was vaguely on the lookout, in case their later version came back down. Mine stood behind the host table, near a set of velvet drapes. He had my eyes, and wore a suit, for the occasion. As soon as he had my attention, and gave me the head shake, a severe one, with a frown, he started to dissolve. That’s what happened after they gave the warning, their timeline went away. Wisps of yellow light passed up into the HVAC. My older self was soon just that. Beams of lemonade. “That was me,” I said, without thinking. I pointed, at the last few skeins of goldenrod. “That– it was me. He gave me – myself – the head shake. The shake. The– I got the head shake.” I turned back. For the first time I really locked eyes with Emma. I’d been too nervous, before. She had green-blue eyes, and had outlined them in emerald. It wasn’t a small thing, to come back to the past. First of all, when the mission was accomplished, you died. Your timeline blew up. Plus they sent you back years too soon, so you could pay off the debt, before you had earned it. Working for the company, arranging doomed travelers like yourself, living in the separated, liminal space of the time traveler’s dorm. All to give yourself – what? A warning. A warning you’d die to give. I had just been bequeathed a great gift. Emma was upset. She stood up, opened her mouth, and didn’t find any words to say to me. She pushed her way out, and I saw, for the first time, her discomfort in her heels. I ran after her. “Hey, hey,” I said, outside. One less of me walked the Earth. “Wait. We can still talk, right? I think–” “Oh– come on,” Emma said. She hid her face, turned away and away. Anywhere but towards me. “You just avoided a car crash. Don’t chase the other vehicle. Don’t do that.” “It’s not–” my mouth kept working. Already, tears were carving a line through her eyeshadow. The two of us had destroyed this woman’s night. “It’s not– look, you should go get checked out. I’ve heard… sometimes it’s… like, sometimes its cancer. In the other person. Sometimes its tragic. I’ve read about this. Sometimes it’s a hurt so bad you can’t let it happen.” I reached out and held her hand. My nemesis, Emma. The future knew we were bad for each other. I was scared of her, of her blue-green eyes. “You think we fall in love, so bad, that when I die in a blimp accident, it tears you up inside,” Emma said. She laughed, and gently pulled her hands free. “That’s your first thought, huh? Maybe you’ll fall in love too much.” She’d shut off. A mask clicked into place. Maybe she’d learned a lot about being hurt, too. Probably some of the tattoos addressed that. I’d never know. “I think its possible. At least – I mean– tell your doctor,” I babbled. I needed to run. I had been given a second chance. I had never made a decision about the Dave Matthews Band story. It probably would’ve made her laugh. “Well, good news, sort of. For you. I don’t think that is it,” Emma said. “I think I’m physically healthy. Thanks for the date.” “You don’t need to thank me. I ruined it. All of me,” I said. I meant it sincerely. I default to earnest. It had never helped me. “I think its nice. I’m glad it happened,” Emma said. She picked up everything she was, every devastated part, and figured out how to smile. It was very impressive. “Now we both get a brighter future.” She turned and walked off. I kept noticing things – she was thinner than she should be. She had on a thin belt I hadn’t even noticed before. She’d worn earrings. I felt it was my responsibility to pay attention. I had died for this woman. I would never know why.
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Jul 9, 2023 04:16
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