/lit/ - Literature

bump I'm starting to write this now

>>17429492
Save it in case this thread is archived. I'll make a new one in 12 hrs or so.

>>17429901
I actually just finished, do you want me to drop it now or wait?

>>17429939
Anytime you want

Bobbing, bubbling, bouncing, the white circle with no outline floated just on top of the almost still lake while the white circle above it stood frozen in space. The breeze soughed quietly and the leaves of the cottonwood swished just behind the short wooden dock; the foldable metal chair squeaked below the weight of its occupant, and the water below the pier was broken by a single line almost imperceptible in the failing light. Today was the 715th day Bill had spent in that chair since he and his wife retired two years ago. Bill was a terrible fisher, and every few days after the seven hours he was able to spend alone on the water, he would stop by the grocery store on his way home to pick fresh carp. The freezer in Bill’s garage was full of carp that neither he nor his wife had any interest in eating, and it seemed to Bill that more carp left the house in trash bags than came into the house in grocery bags. Old grocery bags that Bill took out with him every day, never new grocery bags. In 715 days Bill had never gotten a single bite, and this was something Bill was immensely proud of, so proud in fact that Bill knew today was his 715th day out on the water. He often wondered if there was a world record, and perhaps he had broken it, but he had no idea where to begin finding this information and was content with telling himself that once he had fished for a thousand days without so much as a nibble, he would be an internationally accomplished fisherman. Bill stopped putting bait on his hooks on day 60. He stopped putting hooks on his lines after day 500. For the last seven months Bill had been sitting in his foldable metal chair holding the weights tied to the line with his rod with one hand and reading a book, sipping a beer, eating a sandwich with the other. At times he set the rod down on the dock while used both hands with fingers intertwined to rest upon his gut and leaned back, closed his eyes and took a nap. Bill really tried to catch fish for a while, and the long forgotten reason that he started coming out to the dock in the first place was to learn the skill he had been lacking his whole life. It was the reason he retired out here, the reason Bill saved 20% of every single paycheck. It didn’t take long before Bill realized he would never be a fisherman. His wife pestered him every time he came home empty handed. She wasn’t nagging him per se, but Bill couldn’t admit to his failure at the one thing he had dreamed of becoming for years. After Bill picked up the groceries on his way home one day and did not correct the false assumption that the fish he brought home alongside did not originate in the same place, his wife stopped bothering him. She was excited because she had written down several ways to prepare the local fish, but once they had exhausted the recipes they had little interest in continuing their diet. Two weeks later the freezer in the garage was overfull.
(1/2)

>>17429964
Bill thought about all of this as he watched the sun drop at terminal velocity, noting how much faster it seemed to move now more than any other time of day. He looked down at his watch to find out how much time he had left before he would make his pilgrimage home when in his peripheral view he saw large bubbles come to the surface as his line went taut.

It's 621 words, hope it tickles your fancy. For the next prompt I would like to suggest: A man wakes up in the morning for the last time

>>17429964
>>17429985
Hah, this is good! Well done. I'll start the next thread with your prompt, if no one picks it up in here. Tinkering with formatting, what do you think?

>>17429964
>>17429985
Pretty nice. Definitely an unexpected way to use my prompt.

>>17430029
looks great
>>17430041
I was considering doing a white elephant sort of situation where he makes a great catch and everyone is proud of him, except it ruins him financially, but the 'wife-bad, going fishing for some piece and quiet' angle turned out a lot better I think

I'm disappointed this isn't getting very much attention. Writing a couple hundred words isn't that hard, especially with a prompt

I’ll try contributing one tomorrow, if we coincidentally end up using the same prompt as someone else because we were writing at the same time will it still be included?

>>17430066
Reminds me of boomer memes about fishing. Or at least the memes an anon made on /a/ in teibou threads.

>>17430356
Yes, I don't mind duplicates but generally variety is more interesting for the reader.

OP drop several prompts for people to choose from
>>17431475
In a good way or bad way?

>>17428010
ill probably write one today or tomorrow

>>17432752
More prompts. Feel free to add more if you think of a good one.
>An ice cream truck driver encounters the local cannibal
>An OCD wedding photographer goes too far with their demands
>A museum opens with a special exhibit
>A teaching assistant is pestered by an entitled undergraduate student

>>17432835
Don't feel that you have to follow a prompt precisely. The point is to help someone get started, not to dictate what they write.

>>17429985
Ill have a go at this prompt.

>>17432835
a gang of gentlemen robbed a train
a movie actress just killed her unfaithful husband and must hide the body
an ape farted loudly in the human's ears
a spooky scary ghost doesn't know who killed him
pirates opened up a food ship (like a food truck but its a ship)

>>17433121
>pirates opened up a food ship (like a food truck but its a ship)
I’m calling dibs on this one, will be ready for posting later

>>17429964
>down on the dock while used both hands
Should say "and used both hands," sorry about that

>>17432752
Good way.

>>17433794
Fixed, no worries at all. Write something fun and don't sweat it!

>>17433424
Do you know that actually came from my dreams? they were also a rock band too

>>17428010
It was a fish with legs. It scrambled around slipping like a deer on ice before falling onto the wooden pier. There was a pulsating. There was a writhing. In the end, it fell into a queer rigidity. It was dead. One eye remained open. The other was shut. Fish cannot wink. Here was a winking fish. It was a winking fish with human legs.

No one questioned it.

When Steve Kentsworth brought it into the pub, he couldn't get anyone to pay attention to him. He kept bringing it up in conversations. They carried on talking about the football interspersed with stale farts and racist jokes. He thought the legs were the selling point of this strange anecdote. A man catching a fish isn't interesting, perhaps they misunderstood or didn't see the legs. There was still no reaction from them even when pushing the legs against their faces. Four long black legs, the fish had the legs of Usain Bolt and no one cared. Human legs, human-sized legs. They were ignored. He'd hoped the blackness of the legs might inspire some bigoted joke. Sadly, not even black legs were a novelty to the pub. Black people, naturally, were a novelty to the pub. He thought if he'd brought a black man in here he'd suddenly gain a lot of attention. It'd be negative attention in this place, sure. This wasn't a town known for its progressive values

Steve propped the fish up against the wall giving up on his quest for attention and decided to just drink. The fish retained its rigidity. The thought that fish can't experience rigour mortis briefly crossed Steve's mind but he just as quickly came to the view that a fish with legs doesn't make sense anyway, so why shouldn't it have rigour mortis?

"What's that?" The bartender asked.

For a brief moment, Steve felt hope that finally, someone else would recognise that there was a fish with human legs in the pub.

"You're gonna have to take that back home. I'm sorry. We don't let pets in here"

His hopes were dashed.

The bartender refused to accept that this was a fish with legs. He kept calling it a pet. He didn't say what kind of pet. When questioned by Steve, he said that he didn't care what kind of pet it was, he just wanted it out of his pub.

It was early hours yet but Steve couldn't take being ignored at the pub. So, he took his fish home. There was no doubt in his mind that his wife wouldn't care. It'd been the same when he won £250 on a scratchcard. She didn't say a damn thing. At least there'd been more excitement from the pub crowd at that time. Of course, they just wanted a drink from his winnings. Steve knew that. Still, it was nice.

1/2

>>17434641

"Did you go to Co-Op like I asked?" was the first thing his wife said after an obligatory loveless peck on the lips.

"I caught a fish with legs today." he replied

"Oh, that's nice dear. But you bought the shopping, yeah?"

"It winked as well. Can fish wink?"

"So, I'll take that as a no then. You always do this. You always forget the basic things."

She huffed and went into the kitchen. Steve followed and begrudgingly apologised before promising to make it up to her by being the one to make dinner tonight.

The strangest thing about the fish was how good it tasted.

2/2

583 words. I hope that isn't too much.

>>17434641
>>17434655
Creepy story. Gave me goosebumps! Nice work.

>>17433121
Dibs on the ape farting loudly, I'll start writing it now

>>17435752
>>17433121
>an ape farted loudly in the human's ears

'Mommy look at the monkey,' little Timmy squealed as he ran toward the enclosure.
'Those aren't monkeys dear, they're apes. See? They have no tails.'
'Look at the monkey mommy,' Timmy called back, unfazed.
His mother sighed as she sauntered over to the Orangutan exhibit watching Tim grab on to the thick bars and squeeze his face through in order to get closer to the great apes.
'Don't get your head stuck between the bars Timmy-,' his mother cautioned just a moment too late and the final syllable was interrupted with screams coming from the boy who somehow managed to get his head between the bars, but was unable to remove them. A nearby mother took notice of the boy and wandered over to him which pleased Timmy and corked his tears.
'Monkey, mommy,' the little boy happily turned his head that was past the bars to be able to look at his mother as she ran up to him, 'See?'
While Timmy's head was turned his mother froze two paces away from the boy as she watched the Orangutan turn around, lean over, and fart directly into the boy's ear, deafening flatulence. The Orangutan calmly turned back around, gave Tim a wet kiss on his cheek, and aimlessly returned deeper into the enclosure as if nothing of any significance had just happened. Timmy popped his head free from the bars just as his mother finally approached him.
'Are you all right sweetie?' she asked as she picked him up in a hug.
'Uh huh,' he replied, 'monkey is my favorite animal.'

New prompt will be: The mailman refuses to deliver my my mail, and he won't tell me why

>>17435878
just realized the word "a nearby mother" is very unclear. Change it to "a nearby Orangutan"

>>17435878
Made me laugh.

>>17435878
lmao the mother waits and watches while it happens

this one is in, and nice prompt

bump

>>17435878
>The mailman refuses to deliver me my mail, and he won't tell me why

The Mailman

For seven days the mailman has prohibit me my mail. I stand all day behind the curtains watching him deliver letters full of love to all the mortals of this Earth, to all but me. And though I've never sent a single letter (since I've none who might receive it), if I did, then I presume he would refuse to bear my words. O why has he forsake me so?
Today I watch him passing by my house. This act enrages me and fills me with a choler I have never felt before, I fling my door and run to him, and scream,
"You whoreson, senseless villain! Why do you refuse to bring me my affected letters? Where is all the love that I deserve?"
These words I spit upon his face, the bastard flees without a word. His secret I shall never know.

Prompt: Ad executives discuss how to market a product. The product is never mentioned.

>>17434534
sounds like a fun dream, I'm afraid mine won't live to the excitement of it
>>17433424
>>17433121
We had been at last port for a week when during a noontide rush I was accosted by one o’ the customers. He were a strange sort, by dress an’ accent some well-born official from the home country, by his pallor clearly a new arrival, “I’m sure it’s not improper of me to inquire into your occupation, and given how novel this occupation is, how did this all begin?” “Aye I’ll tell ye the tale, but I’ve a busy afternoon before me, if ye return tonight, we can dine together and I’ll tell all ye need hear on it”, he smiled pulling a book from his pocket, in which made a note before quickly stowing it “wonderful, I look forward to it.” He returned to his meal, and I went about the decks for my orders. I went below, where tables and chairs stood in place of guns, with air once filled with smoke and shouts of orders now seeming hardly with the clatter of cutlery and friendly conversation, a different kind of orders holding sway, the only shouting of orders now was in the once quiet galley.

The moon was shining bright and pale yellow over the dark water when he returned, we sat down to a meal above deck, right by the taffrail, an enchanting view over the waters. As we ate I asked him of his life, I shan’t relate it fully, a vigorous and bright lad of a wealthy merchant, his head full of naïve notions of adventure found through work off in the empire. “I didn’t come back just to eat and tell of my own life, tell me, how did this business come about, have you been on the staff a long time?”

(1/3)

>>17436833
“Most ‘o the ‘staff’ were part o’ the crew before this life began; we were free men back when yer navy weren’t so strong in these waters, captain then were a good man, though cruel in anger he treated us fair” “We never grew too rich, but well enough whilst remainin’ free of yer sort, meanin no offence.” “Oh, I don’t take it.”, he seemed too content with the state of his world to ever be offended, outsiders were an amusement to him, I resumed “as the imperial grip tightened and the seas grew less wild we struggled on in spite o’ the lessenin’ pickings. Alas, a fateful day came across us when we were caught by a ship o’ the line, damaged though we were, we limped off, most of us lived but the first mate was lost, cut in half by a cannonball, and the captain lay dying ruined on the inside by splintered planks and metal”. I paused for a while, I gazed out over the calm waves; the siren call of adventure still rang in my ears. “Pox swept through us next, the masters and half the men were taken, none o’ the old command was left, those remainin’ were too tired to fight for control.” “This seems a typical story of your kind, I don’t see how it led you to your current rather more unusual occupation”, “don’t interrupt me lad, I’ll tell ye all.” “My apologies.” I returned to the tale, “the cook took us over, good fighter he had been, but aged, he wanted us to settle, and right he was.” “I suppose you all knew that much longer as pirates you would all be killed or captured?” “Aye, none o’ the crew left were known enough to warrant bounties or recognition by any imperial navy, the cook wanted to sell the ship, set down an eatery or store in port, but we didn’t much want to abandon our home. We came to an idea of this moving eatery, moving away after a few weeks in a port” “before the novelty could wear off for your customers I presume” “aye but moreso before the monotony could set in fer us, that were the plan at least. Most took to the new life well enough, enjoyed the safety and reliable money, without the risk o’ battle we only need so many men as can sail us, ain’t hard fer ‘em to work sellin’ food.” “It seems like you aren’t too certain of it” “aye, I miss the rush of risk and battle, but after half a decade o’ this I feel tied here, tis a good enough life.” We finished our drinks and he made to leave, before stepping off he said, “I hope you find your life’s joy again my friend, it can’t be so bad, I’ve heard of some other ships that’ve caught onto this idea.” I’d not heard o’ them yet.

(2/3)

>>17436855
I waved farewell, saw him eating with us a few more times as the weeks in port passed by, as we stowed the furniture and moved onto the next stop I remembered his hope for me, I doubted the chances. As we approached the waters of the next island, another ship accosted us, looked to be lightly crewed, no guns in the holes. One of their men yelled out across to us “AVAST, this port is our sailing galley’s home, ye best not think of setting down to serve food here!” The cook shouted back “We’ve served here before and ye won’t stop us serving here now, we’ll fight ye for it if needs be!” “A fight ye shall have then!” Our two ships pulled alongsides, they jumped to ours and we pushed back to theirs, the fighting weren’t deadly and no weapon more hurtful than a chair were used but the rush was as close as I needed.

(3/3)

938 words, not great and a little close to the maximum but i thought I'd try something

>>17436868
It's a bit rough around the edges but you've got a fun and intriguing story here bro

>>17436632
The always-smiling-except-when-he's-not CEO looked around the legendary conference room at the faces in attendance. He wanted some, hard, unadulterated opinions from the people in the room.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, I want you to focus on that five-stakeholder pyramid." His pen glided very lightly over the curved base of the pyramid that contained five equally spaced circles that represented the five stakeholders of the company. "Note that you can target any of the five with any and all of the products in your portfolio."

There was a murmuring coming from around the room.

"I know we have all been led to believe that our main focus is the customer." His voice was crisp, and immediate. He glanced around the room, hoping to see any reaction in the wall of bored faces. “Well, this pyramid makes it very clear that our customer is not our customer at all. The product is the true customer of the business, and the customer is the true product.”
“So we’re supposed to sell customers to our product?" This was a new voice from behind.

“Obviously!” He exclaimed theatrically. “There are millions of customers out there, how can we possibly know what they all want? The only thing we can do is tell them what we, or our products, want … and then sit back and wait while they come to us!”

Nervous Laughs rang out around the room, this was not going the way the CEO had wanted...but he didn’t get where he was without knowing how to control a room.

He quickly went on to place a heavy emphasis on the phrases ‘customer is the product,’ and ‘the customer is not the customer.’

“So team,” he prompted, raising his eyebrows “what are we going to do?”

A single hand went up in the front row of the room. The CEO squinted his eyes angrily at the young employee who had been brave enough to put up his hand. “Go ahead”

“We sell...ourselves?”

After a pregnant pause a nervous chuckle started rolling around the room. The CEO’s severe expression gave way to a broad grin. “You got it, my boy!”

The discussion that followed was wild and enthusiastic, and the team agreed after 90 minutes that they had a grasp of what the ways of the customer were. The CEO was so happy with their progress he ran into the hallway and grabbed coffee for everyone!

While he was in the hallway, the decision was quickly made to invert the pyramid. That way instead of selling to the product, the product would be using the customers.

>>17436913
I don't think I understand the last sentence

>>17436949
I guess it would have been better if I left it out.

>>17436996
I think if just the CEO leaves and the employees invert the pyramid without giving a reason it would be humorous because it shows the incompetence and the sycophancy prevalent in the corporate world

>>17437039
Agree.

Btw, a few new prompts:

An alien looking at the crash site of its spaceship finds something very surprising.

A knight's armor comes to life and attempts to seek glory unencumbered by its charge.

A young girl on the way to her first day of school finds something that she just can’t leave behind.

Two incompetent would-be criminals plan a bank heist

A storm opens itself onto the land in a fuzz that breathes out but does not breathe in. The mountain and its mouth hang from the clouds to the anthem of rainfall and the wash sprays and soaks and covers the range. A body cuts a course across the brush. The girl cannot see the forest for the trees but she leans into herself notwithstanding the nap and litter of pitchpine, notwithstanding the water. She wears bucksuede wet and bound around unspun wool. Beneath her cloth is her skin and beneath her skin is the skin of her unborn. One in many steps each past the last the girl makes herself forward. Nobody has asked to what exists of its own significance out there in the wild that one might endeavor so. Nothing of mind is reflected among the wood but for the division of labor between the faculties of her body.

No identity fugue.

No memory hole.

The girl knows exactly who she is. On her course seldom in sight is anything but for wood and earth and stone and sky. In this thick she will deliver her child and dispatch the last of herself into that against which there are no defenses nor alternatives to speak of. She does not speak. The girl walks up and on and does little else for two days before raising a tent of whitebark switches atop a sheltered brae. Her body is fatigued though the hunger helps to whet. Her eyes blaze over the land finally revealed by the journey’s advance. Nobody asks where she has come from and she will not know until she returns.

also
magazine editor here.
if you guys would like a free advertisement, or would like to host your material on the magazine's website, hit me up, i'm at your service.

>>17437080
>A knight's armour comes to life

Ah, I felt this sodden spasme, that for yeeres many have I been aslepe, betwixt these shattered bone and flesh, that from Engelond to Agincourt I had left. A knightes possesion have I been, till a swordes hilt came to blow, and raptured my masters head in gore. Like that many tradition that Celtes left, to bury a lord with their flesh. Alas! my masteres bones are gone to deep oblivione. For dayes, I wept, for twice times hath I my master disappoint. But hath I not remembered the word of Lord, abyssus abyssum invocat, Hellfire would engulf and melt my unshined body. So then came I to this dreary place, that hath one name of a hero of oulde, who brought faire Helen to Lydia. The starry night did be covered, ashen and besmoken, ten million peoples had I seen, from vile Saracens to dirty Ethiopes. When, then I saw one damsel, captured I say, by Saracen looking fiends, and when I took her away, she begged to stay and be with her many lovers. And so, for God, I had enough, I drew my sword and slain many a nigger, until mine sheen is seen nomore, and had been painted with the blood of invaders. Screams in brutish French, I heard as the bodies piled on, no matter swart nor hwite, they ran as though from agonie-

>>17437344
He woke up in modern Paris.

>>17436632
>>17436833
>>17436855
>>17436868
>>17436913
>>17437127
Will read these before bed and add them. Working title for the anthology is Pandora (like the box, you don't know what you will get). What do you guys think?

>>17437143
Any advertisement would be amazing. The current plan is to publish it free on gumroad, amazon, or somewhere similar (free except cost of printing and shipping for physical copies). No plan yet for the cover. Could hire an artist (I would cover a small cost) or use a commons image.

>>17437344
And this one!

>>17437511
What kind of cover are you thinking of?

>>17437511
Isn't Pandora more of "bad things inside the box" rather than "unknown things inside the box"?
I think something else would be better, but I can't think of anything at the moment.

>>17437599
Good point. I'll try to come up with something else, happy to take suggestions.

>>17437597
I think I'll have a better sense for it when all the stories are in. I can coordinate it but it should be something the writers want (same as the title). Not that they could all agree on one thing, but at least something with a reasonable consensus.

>>17437625
Well, I'm not exactly great at drawing yet but I'd be willing to try drawing a cover. I'm not great at drawing people though.

>>17437511
Not OP, couple of title ideas I came up with:
Prompted Thoughts
Much Ado
/lit/'s Collected Musings
King Author's Tales
Things to Read
Mystery Box
XX Flashes (however many pieces there end up being)
Anthology of Contemporary Folk Stories and Fairy Tales
an ape farted loudly in the human's ears and Other Stories
Selected Works of an Armenian Goat Cheese Maker's Imageboard

>>17437656
Not OP but I like Prompted Thoughts, Things to Read, Mystery Box, and XX Flashes. My favorite is probably Mystery Box.

>>17436868
Super comfy ending, I like it a lot.

>>17437511
checked.
love Pandora.
email the mag when you get settled and we'll hook it up.

>>17437632
By the way, I mean free if I did it.

>>17437736
Sounds good! Anons will probably want to see art samples. But we are probably a month or two at least until we need art.

>>17437080
Will not include last sentence then, but tell me if you want it in.

>>17432835
>An ice cream truck driver encounters the local cannibal
I will take a stab at this one tomorrow

>>17433121

Didn’t quite go full ‘cannibal’ but I hope it’s true enough to the prompt...

Cherry Bomb

So way back when, I use to drive this ice cream truck...real beater. Probably spent more time cooling the engine than the merchandise. Only had one speed: Dead stop. Anyhow...rust bucket that it was, the kids would still come running when I rounded the bend blarin’ ‘la cucaracha’ or some other such nonsense to let the other kiddies know I was comin’.

I had worked out a pretty good routine that summer. I’d go over to the lake around noon and kinda do these slow loops around the edge for a few hours. Come 3:00, I’d zip over to the City Park...there was some summer camp thing that let out then, and all these guilty parents would pay me to cheer their kid up. See, these children just spent all day in that hot classroom knowing damn well most their friends were at the lake, screamin’ and swimmin’ and havin’ themselves a real summer. So when mom comes, she tries to bring a bit of the beach to them.

To be fair, by the time they’re half way through their pop, they looked just like the beach kids. A mess of color all over their face and hands. All the blue-faced ones just ate the Sonic pop, the yellow-faced ones had the Tweety Bird (yeah, this was years before Sponge Bob)...but most of the kids looked like they came right out of some horror movie, just a mess of red all over themselves. That was the Cherry Bomb Pop, and it was the hot shit that summer. I was always running out.

Anyhow, this one day I’d been circling the lake, spreading disappointment with my “Cherry Bomb Sold Out” sign. I was just as put-out, ‘cause these kid took forever coming up with their second pick. I’d be sitting there for a good ten minutes waiting for ‘em to either give up and go back to playin’, or settle with some other flavor. It was already, like, 3:15 and I needed to get out if I wanted to catch the rich brats at the Park.

(1/2)

>>17437974

(2/2)

I gave little Tommy a Tweety Bird or some shit, switched the chime off and high-tailed it out of there! My rust bucket groaned as we snaked through one of those rural back-roads. As I was making the final turn this deer is just standing there in the road. It finally came to its senses and started to jump away. I had the brake pressed all the way to the floor But that damn ice cream truck was whipped with a lot of miles on it. Old bastard just don’t have much grip in these dusty back-roads.

Three of the deer’s legs, and part of its torso ‘bout a foot or so in width, got through clear to the back of the truck. A hoof clipped my arm, and it felt like someone had hit it with a hammer.

I don’t even know how I kept on the road, it was all just adrenaline and muscle memory, I guess. I hopped out of the cab, brushed the glass and deer hair off me and assessed the situation. The truck was done. My shoulder was sore as hell and I had a pretty good gash on my arm...but I was damn lucky just to be alive after all that.

I was probably standing there like an idiot for 5 minutes, tryin’ to figure out what to do. (Remember if this was before Sponge Bob, it was also before cell phones.) After a while this truck comes up from the opposite direction. I can only imagine what was going through his mind seeing an ice cream truck covered in gore. But he pulled over and I gave him the full story. He had a couple wide-eyed kiddos the back seat. I was thinkin’ this’ll give them nightmares for days.

He offered to give me a ride to the hospital and hooked me up with a buddy of his with a tow truck. I guess as a way of thanking him, I told him he was free to grab whatever he wanted from the truck. With the engine off, the inventory was only going to keep for a few hours anyway. At this point his kids were running around and we were trying to keep them from seeing the crime scene on the hood of the truck, so I opened the door to the back so they could take their pick of the ice cream.

The drive to the hospital was surreal. We drove in silence for 15 minutes, dad in front with his Sonic pop, me with Tweety, and those two faces in the rear-view mirror covered in that familiar cherry red...

>>17437968
>>17437982
Kek you beat me to it. This is better than what I probably would have written too

>>17437982
Wait a second... the kids ate the deer? Weird ending. I like it.

>>17438023

There’s room for two, here.

I kinda side-stepped the cannibal thing.... How’s this: your new challenge is a taco-truck and a legit cannibal.

>>17438118
No one better steal this from me
>>17438110
Yeah it was pretty creative, have you had this idea for a while or did you come up with it on the spot?

>>17437974

By the way, I wrote this with the help of an AI program. I’d say it’s about 50% me and 50% AI.

The fun thing about writing with AI is you can interview the fictional characters for more detail. I wanted to see if the AI understood the ending (it didn’t):

Interviewer: what is the music your truck played?
Ice cream driver: La cucaracha
Interviewer: which was the yellow pop?
Ice cream driver: Tweety
Interviewer: where did you get the paper the sign was printed on?
Ice cream driver: from the little store near the lake
Interviewer: so what were those kids eating?
Ice cream driver: Cherry bomb Pop
Interviewer: I thought the truck was out of Cherry Bomb Pop.
Ice cream driver: Yea i sold out earlier that day.
Interviewer: so what were they eating that was red?
Ice cream driver: Um.... Strawberry swirl?
Interviewer: could it have been the deer?
Ice cream driver: No, why would they eat a deer?
Interviewer: What do you call the thing that keeps the ice cream cold?
Ice cream driver: oh it's called the freezer
Interviewer: it doesn’t have a more technical name?
Ice cream driver: its just a freezer
Interviewer: do you recall the brand?
Ice cream driver: Electrolux
Interviewer: What happened to the truck?
Ice cream driver: The insurance company sent a towing team to scrap it
Interviewer: how long were you in the hospital?
Ice cream driver: only a few days. I was pretty shook up by the whole thing.

>>17438207
That's pretty neat.

Can we have a /lit/ serial?

>>17439565
One story written continuously by multiple anons? Sounds like a fun project. It's not quite the same, but I'd organize this anthology every quarter, if there was enough interest to sustain it.

>>17440294

Proposed title “Anon and On”

>>17432835
Done with the museum one. 271 words long.

The museum had a new exhibit, and it was the talk of the town. Everyone had either seen it or heard about it and anyone who hadn't seen it was making plans to go to the museum as soon as possible. Talk of the exhibit was everywhere! It was discussed in family living rooms and coffee shops and schools and city hall and everywhere else you can imagine. Some people knew someone who had been to see the exhibit, and they had a reliable account. However, the vast majority of the town's population had only heard second-hand, misremembered, and embellished tales of the museum exhibit.

Reactions to the exhibit were mixed. Many people despised it and spent a good deal of time telling everyone they knew about how terrible it was and how its mere presence was a disgrace to the town. Others thought that the exhibit was fascinating or beautiful or sad or any other emotion you can imagine.

The museum seemed to share the town’s belief that this exhibit was important. A large banner advertising the new exhibit was right over the entrance of the museum. Within the museum, bright signs pointed to the exhibit’s location to ensure that everyone knew where it was. The exhibit itself was in a spot of prominence within the museum, sitting right in the front just a few quick steps from the entrance. The rest of the museum seemed empty compared to that one section, and whenever someone entered the museum, they rushed right over. Finally, the exhibit itself was within a large glass box, and everyone was looking into it at the...

>>17440582
Make a new prompt bro

Here are prompts no one has used:
>An OCD wedding photographer goes too far with their demands
>A teaching assistant is pestered by an undergraduate student
>A gang of gentlemen rob a train
>A movie actress kills her unfaithful husband and must hide the body
>An alien finds something surprising at the crash site of its spaceship
>A young girl on the way to her first day of school finds something that she can’t leave behind
>Two incompetent would-be criminals plan a bank heist
>A man wakes up in the morning for the last time

>>17440786
Oops, sorry. Two new prompts:
>Someone plans a perfect crime
>A citizen in a utopian society is having a really really bad day

So do we have to use the same prompt for everything or what?

is this the microfiction thread too? i wrote this the other day.

The soda was warm, but that was okay. He was warm too.

>>17441490
I recommend using a different prompt for each flash. It's more interesting for the reader that way.

>>17441512
This is the flash fiction thread. Microfiction is a bit shorter than what the anthology is aiming for.

>>17440582
I feel blue balled.

>>17440814
>A teaching assistant is pestered by an undergraduate student
>took some liberties

Raymond first saw her at freshman night where he stood in the corner away from strangers already familiar with each other. There she was in the center, talking with people whose faces didn’t matter, glowing brighter with every laugh and smile under the classroom fluorescent light. As the night went on and his paper cup grew warm in his hands, she only seemed more beautiful and unattainable and he kept thinking of the pathetic reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Then, when she was at her most impossible, her eyes met his in passing. She took her leave and a pity and a few graceful steps towards his direction, closer, closer, only to stop to talk to another faceless individual a mere arm’s reach away. Her voice melted in his ears. Her name was Renata and she would be lecturing a module while finishing her PhD. Raymond quickly left the party, trembling with fear and excitement, and locked himself in his room. He knew which elective to take.

Raymond’s rendezvous with Renata every Tuesday 10 AM made his first year heaven. He watched her from the farthest seat in the back, feeling himself unworthy of the pleasure of proximity, where he could safely appreciate the curves of her arm, the honey in her voice, and the memory of the scent of her flowing black hair. He was the first to sit and the last to stand, having to adjust his pants as he cursed the tower bell that marked the end of class.

Soon his desire outweighed guilt. In the second year, Raymond began taking seats closer to the podium. If she were truly immaculate, her radiance would simply burn off the filth of his presence before it could ever soil her skin. He began coming in late to bask in her sweet scent before taking a bold seat, so close that the contours of the straps that held her holy figure were burned into his eyes until night, where he would lock the door twice and claw at his sheets.

(1/2)

>>17442513
He was brave enough in the third year to begin leaving gifts and tributes in her office, sometimes a poem, a snack, a weed mistaken for a flower, or a faux silver earring. From the library across the faculty building Raymond would stare into her window and see Renata opening his gifts, imagining her glowing smile like on that freshman night. He had spent the night sleepless composing his finest work yet, three stanzas of four lines, each line an obscure reference of her features to the constellations, and every twelfth letter spelled out her name twice. He spent the following night also sleepless, anxious to see that glowing smile in person the next day.

Renata came to class late and slammed the door behind her. Her face was straight as stone, chiseled like a Greek goddess but devoid of any glow. She took out Raymond’s magnum opus, crumpled and beaten, and held it up as she launched a merciless tirade damning practical jokes and borderline bribery. The razor sharp words coated with honey slashed at Raymond’s chest and nicked his ribs as she tore the paper apart and kicked the pieces off the podium. People behind him laughed at the comparison to a dog bringing dead things to its owner. It burned.

Raymond disappeared from the lecture hall minutes later, went to his room, and locked the door twice, leaving his bag and pencils on the desk where they were left untouched and unnoticed for three weeks, until a janitor took them to lost-and-found.

(2/2)

>will think of a new prompt tomorrow if this one is worthy

>>17442521
>>17442513
It's good anon. It has impact and lots of emotion. Of course it's going in.

>>17442521
If he killed himself why would his stuff go to lost and found?

>>17441559
im almost done with a story that used the first prompt is it ok to still post her?

>>17442674
I think he left his stuff in the lecture hall, so they didn't know that it was from the guy who killed himself.

>>17442674
I read it as he never returned to that class, not that he killed himself.

>>17442677
Yes, no problem at all.

>>17442688
>>17442697
Oh his desk in the lecture hall got it, I read it as his desk in his dorm room

>>17442760
Also, I don't think his backpack would be left for 3 weeks, maybe 3 hours. I like what you're going for but I think there may be a better way to portray it

Current table of contents

Current formatting style (open to change)

>>17443106
Looks great mate

>>17443106
>>17443092
I like it. The prompt as a title seems a bit odd but it does seem to be the best solution.

>>17443218
Thanks! I think the interior formatting will be clean and work very well. We'll need a good wrap around image for the cover (front, spine, and back) with typography to complete the package.

>>17443309
It's possible to have the prompt show up on the page where the story begins, almost exactly as it is now in the "format" image, and only have the number in the table of contents. But then the table of contents looks bare and doesn't help much with navigation. As you say, it's the best solution and practical for navigating the stories. I suppose we could come up with titles for each story, but it's fun to see the prompt the authors worked with. Anyway, that's the thought process behind it.

>>17443487
I think having the prompts as the titles of the pieces is a good idea. I think it gives the potential reader a good insight into the story

>>17443577
plus we are patricians who don't give a shit about gimmicky things like "spoilers" and "plot"

>>17443487
Do you have dimensions on the size of the cover?

>>17440814
This one was for the young girl, but I went off prompt a bit. My bad.

"Have you ever smoked a cigarette, or a cigar?" asked the cat to the girl. A paper bag blew down the alley and landed underneath a dumpster. The girl did not answer with any urgency. Her eyes glazed over.
"Uh." said the girl without finishing any thought. She looked at the flower patches on her denim jacket, then back to the cat.
"Would you like to?" asked the cat, gesturing his little head towards the dumpster.
"Uh." said the girl again. Remembering then what her father had said about smoking, and about strangers.
As she was thinking, the cat dove into the green receptacle and came out with a cigarette in his mouth. It didn't matter to the girl, but it was an American Spirit. This cigarette was one of many in a pack thrown away by a manic college student earlier that day.
The girl took the cigarette from the cat. There was no lighter. A dog down the alleyway barked through a fence. Other dogs joined in for a minute, and then stopped. All that remained was the sound of rattling metal.
"Bunch of goddamn cretins," said the cat.
"Are you a Cheshire cat?" asked the girl. She had read Alice in Wonderland once before. An abridged copy, reprinted for children. It had hit all the marks, but wasn't as wordy. She'd also read books like Tom Sawyer and Oliver Twist, also children's editions.
The cat jumped into the receptacle again without responding. This time, he emerged with a knife in his mouth. "You pompous bitch." The cat, now indignant, lunged at the girl.
A split second reaction sent the girl's foot into the cat's stomach. She ruptured his spleen in an instant.
"I am dying." the cat realized, out loud. It was more of a question than a declaration. Sort of like how a question can be more of a comment, except the reverse.
"No," said the girl. She took a lighter from between the crayons and protractor in her backpack. "you've definitely got a few lives left." She lit the cigarette and placed it between the cat's teeth.
As he lay dying, the cat closed his eyes. He heard the sound of footsteps, which he recognized as the girl leaving. With his last bit of strength, he opened his eyelids. He saw the girl's feet disappear behind a telephone light, and crows circling overhead.

>>17442760
>>17442778
>>17443106
good point, thanks. here's the edit for the final paragraph if you're still open

Raymond disappeared from the lecture hall minutes later, went to his room and locked the door twice, leaving his pencils and notebooks on the desk where the quiet guy that nobody knew always sat, until a janitor moved them to the back of the room to clear the seat, where they remained until the end of the semester.

>>17442584
thanks. new prompt:
>They built a town around where the tree fell.

>>17443092
i suggest some minor copy edits for the prompts just to make them a bit more proper

>>17437974
>>17437982
>>17436913
love the twist

>>17434641
what do you call this kind of surreal fiction?

>>17437127
good prose

>>17444812
Not yet, it probably depends on the publishing platform and one hasn't been chosen.

>>17437127
Was this unprompted? Want to make sure.

>>17444870
Damn, I like this. Good job.

>>17445183
Lulu looks like the best option.

>>17444922
>more proper
I was thinking of this but I don't like the visual clutter of each one starting with "A" or "An" (assuming that's what you mean). Hmm what to do.

>>17440814
I also took the young girl one. Hopefully this isn't too bad, feel free to offer any ideas for improvements.

Sophia was seven years old, and this was the first time she had been allowed to walk to school on her own. Her parents had conferred and decided that since this was her first day of second grade, she was old enough to go without anyone else.

Excited to finally make the trip on her own, Sophia grabbed her bag and skipped out the door. As she ran down the steps, she took a quick look around. Her destination was the small trail winding through the woods to the schoolhouse. She immediately set off in that direction. Once Sophia had reached the forest, she began walking down the trail, enjoying her new freedom. However, she suddenly felt an immense presence surrounding her.

It was the essence of all things that were missing. It held what had passed out of the reach of even memory. It was infinite objects and places and sights and sounds and people and ideas, all forever gone. It was every moment that had ever been forgotten. The embodiment of all that would never be known again. And it wordlessly offered her a choice. To stay and wander on and forget what she had seen, or to become one of the lost. Sophia knew at that moment that it was no choice at all. For better or for worse, she could never leave this behind.

And so the young girl made her choice and the young girl was lost forever.

>>17445548
Forgot prompt. Here:
>A child finds something that was never meant to be seen

>>17445548
This is strangely and unexpectedly unsettling. Well done. So many good stories and we just hit number 15.

Hey, are we using pastebin for this, or is dumping the story in the thread the right thing to do?

>>17446136
I think the OP is collecting them, so just dump it in the thread.

Could I get some more prompts?

>>17446652
A soldier gets mixed up and forgets where to point.
The world is ending but everyone forgot why.
Physics stop working for an astronaut.
A great tree watches the people around it.

>>17445510
shit, in that case might as well go all in and give them proper titles with the prompts as subtitles. but i really like the idea of using the prompts themselves as titles. sorry bro can't help ya there

>>17445510
What about at least making it proper for each story's actual page? So your first image would be as is but the second image would have "A" in front of the title.

>>17446862
Done with the tree one.

The tree was born! It sent roots down into the ground and gradually thrust up from the deep soil over many months. Sending out small sprouts of leaves, it sought the sun! It grew slowly but steadily. The tree made its way through every season. It fought through torrential rain and freezing ice and howling gusts of wind in its quest to grow! As the years passed, the tree grew by inches and feet up towards the sun. It spread its layers of leaves and caught the light as best it could. And while this tree aged and grew, it began to watch.

Animals were always a part of the tree’s life. From the squirrels that hid in its growing branches to the insects that scarred its bark, it knew the animals of the forest well. A far more interesting sight was humans. The tree sat on the edge of a field, and people would often come to sit and eat or play or wander the forest. The tree watched them. It even grew to know them in a way. The tree loved seeing the humans and waited impatiently through each winter, waiting for the spring that it knew would bring people to the field.

As the tree sat and slowly grew, the decades passed. Hundreds of different people visited the field, and the tree saw every one of them. It watched as the same humans visited the meadow again and again. The tree saw them grow old and bring their children to the grassy field. The tree watched as the humans grew old and finally died. And it remembered them. While they did not know it, they had always had a friend in the old tree, and it would carry their memory through the centuries until it finally found its own rest.

>>17447656
I'll try this and see how it looks.

>>17448809
Cozy

Prompts List
>An OCD wedding photographer goes too far with their demands
>A gang of gentlemen rob a train
>A movie actress kills her unfaithful husband and must hide the body
>An alien finds something surprising at the crash site of its spaceship
>They built a town around where the tree fell
>Two incompetent would-be criminals plan a bank heist
>A man wakes up in the morning for the last time
>Someone plans a perfect crime
>A citizen in a utopian society is having a really, really bad day
>A child finds something that was never meant to be seen
>A soldier gets mixed up and forgets where to point
>The world is ending but everyone forgot why
>Physics stop working for an astronaut

>>17449177
>a child finds something that was never meant to be seen
I have a good idea for this one that I will write tonight

>>17449177
>>An OCD wedding photographer goes too far with their demands
I have a funny idea for this one. I'll be back.

>>17436868
I forgot to give a prompt, I guess there’s plenty so it doesn’t matter but I’ll try something vague:
>a remnant washes ashore
>>17449177
>They built a town around where the tree fell
I’ll have a try at this one next

>A soldier gets mixed up and forgets where to point

Crown Prince Haakon of Norway wasn’t much of a historian. He bought expensive tomes from across the world and hoarded them in his Hammerfest palace. The library, it was said, was the greatest the world had seen since the Alexandrian fire. The prince allowed international reporters inside his vaunted halls for the first time to gaze with jealousy on his construction. Red-faced Nordmenn, hardened by blasting arctic winds, worked their fingers to the bone; rosewood and mahogany came by ship from Brazil, silk book binding from Bhutan; and piece by piece the library was built. And then, suddenly, the palace was closed, and no one was ever again allowed inside. In fact, all of Troms og Finnmark was placed under Emergency Protocol and denied outside visitation.

It was really the head archivist’s fault. He designed the library with only books in mind and failed to account for the building storing them. Although it was a palace in name, anyone passing by would comment, ‘my, what a grand castle!’ and continue on their way. Behind the gilded bookshelves and painted wood panel walls lay ancient grey stone that focused the arctic winds more than it obstructed them. It was in essence a palace as cold and brutish as Haakon, which may account for why he took no particular notice of the cold, sandpaper air.

The prince had no knowledge of the outside world, and because of that he feared it. Because he feared it, he wished to conquer it. And so he planned to read day and night and devise his plan—all while his secret dreadnought navy grew in Hammerfest’s half-frozen waters.

Haakon entered his library alone. He grabbed a book at random to start reading, but the book would not come. It was frozen in place as sure as concrete, along with every other book in his enormous library. One book was in time removed by hammer and chisel, but when the prince opened it—the archivist breathing fearfully behind his shoulder—the pages shattered like glass and fell to the floor. Each piece was carefully collected and fit together like a puzzle. When it was done, one faint, broken line appeared: “Norway and its allies made war with the Axis… Japan a significant threat.” He regarded it as an oracle of the highest order. His library had not been in vain; the shattered book was fate directing him to Japan. It was an island, he had been told, and soon it would be his.

The archivist was executed the following morning and dumped into the Norwegian Sea. The prince lived in isolation for many years, and when his dreadnoughts were complete, he jumped aboard the flagship and set sail through secret Arctic corridors, where icebergs loomed mountain-tall and the ships remained undetected through their journey to Wakkanai.

(1)

>>17450195
Prince Haakon’s attack began an hour before dawn. Concentrated artillery fire blasted the entire city to rubble in a quarter of an hour. But when the Japanese military arrived, the dreadnoughts were gone. They spread out to search for the prince’s fleet and left behind a small contingent of sailors in case he returned. It was the coldest night on record when the dreadnoughts emerged from beneath the waves and blasted Wakkanai with a second round of artillery fire. The sailors left behind were wiped out—except for a young man named Ishirō, who ran for twenty-seven miles to report the attack.

“Stop running, you’ve made it!” the officer told him. Ishirō looked around madly, as if expecting the dreadnoughts to emerge at any moment. His ears bled from a severe concussion and he kept walking into walls. “Tell us which way they went. Have they gone to Teshio? Rishiri?” Ishirō had indeed watched the fleet move out from Wakkanai. It was all clear in his head. But the second he opened his mouth, he became confused and stopped with a terrified expression.

“He’s shellshocked,” the officer concluded. “Tenshio is that way,” he said, pointing across the room, “and Rishiri is that way. Which way did they go?”

Ishirō raised a trembling hand and extended his finger straight at the officer, who shook his head. “No, that can’t be right… Are you certain?” He swore as Ishirō collapsed to the floor and was taken to the infirmary. Left with no choice, he called it in and prayed the shellshocked soldier was correct.

As it turned out, Ishirō had no idea what he was doing. A descendant would reveal decades later that Japan’s national hero had no memory of meeting the officer. But in the days following the attack, Ishirō woke in the infirmary to a gaggle of reporters and the Marshal Admiral, who told him that he saved Japan. He was given The Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum and from that day on lived as an international celebrity. Business magnates sought his direction, and after a string of good luck he became BlackRock’s chief financial advisor. The theory, supported by breakthrough medical science, was that concussive blasts from the artillery fire had scrambled Ishirō’s brain in just the right way for him to detect micro movements in the electromagnetic field. He was most sensitive to the movements in the first ten minutes after waking. A Pointing Room was built in a wing off his bedroom, where he lived on the top floor of BlackRock’s New York headquarters. Each morning he stumbled inside to a panoply of aggressive bar charts and company logos. His aides sat in complete silence while Ishirō sipped his coffee, and when he pointed, it was always straight forward.

(2)

>>17450242
Kek I was not expecting that ending

>>17450242
That was an interesting read and unexpected in a good way.

>>17450195
>>17450242
What's the next prompt, faggot?

>>17450447
There's a list here >>17449177 but I'll add another
>A stray dog wants to become a samurai

>>17450371
Thanks, it was fun to write.

Here's a partial cover idea: a suit of armor sitting against a tree with a fishing pole or something.

>>17450195
>>17450242
Smoothed it out.

Crown Prince Haakon of Norway knew nothing of the world, so he bought every tome he could find and commissioned a grand library to house them. Red-faced Nordmenn, hardened by blasting arctic winds, worked their fingers to the bone; rosewood and mahogany came by ship from Brazil, silk book binding from Bhutan; and piece by piece the library was built. And then, suddenly, the palace was closed, and no one was ever again allowed inside. In fact, all of Troms og Finnmark was placed under Emergency Protocol and denied outside visitation.

It was really the head archivist’s fault. He designed the library with only books in mind and failed to account for the building storing them. Although it was a palace in name, anyone passing by would comment, ‘my, what a grand castle!’ and continue on their way. Behind the gilded bookshelves and painted wood panel walls lay ancient grey stone that focused the arctic winds more than it obstructed them. It was in essence a palace as cold and brutish as Haakon, which may account for why he took no notice of the harsh, sandpaper air.

One day he entered the library alone and grabbed a book to start reading, only the book wouldn’t come. It was frozen in place as sure as concrete, along with every other book in his collection. A single volume was eventually removed by hammer and chisel, but when the prince opened it—the archivist breathing fearfully behind his shoulder—the pages shattered like glass and fell to the floor. Each piece was carefully collected and fit together like a puzzle. When it was done, one faint, broken line appeared: “Norway and its allies made war with the Axis… Japan a significant threat.” He regarded it as an oracle of the highest order. His library had not been in vain; the shattered book was fate directing him to Japan. It was an island, he had been told, and soon it would be his.

The archivist was executed the following morning and dumped into the Norwegian Sea. The prince lived in isolation for many years, and when his dreadnought navy was complete, he jumped aboard the flagship and set sail through secret Arctic corridors, where icebergs loomed mountain-tall and the ships remained undetected through their journey to Wakkanai.
(1)

>>17452055
The fleet began its attack an hour before dawn. Concentrated artillery fire blasted the entire city to rubble in minutes. But when the Japanese military arrived, the dreadnoughts were gone. They spread out to search for the prince’s fleet and left behind a small contingent of sailors in case he returned. It was the coldest night on record when the dreadnoughts emerged from beneath the waves and bombarded Wakkanai for the second time. The sailors left behind were wiped out—except for a young man named Ishirō, who ran for twenty-seven miles to report the attack.

“Stop running, you’ve made it!” the officer told him. Ishirō looked around madly, as if expecting the dreadnoughts to emerge at any moment. His ears bled from a severe concussion and he kept walking into walls. “Tell us which way they went. Have they gone to Teshio? Rishiri?” Ishirō had indeed watched the fleet move out from Wakkanai. It was all clear in his head. But the second he opened his mouth, he became confused and stopped with a terrified expression.

“He’s shellshocked,” the officer concluded. “Tenshio is that way,” he said, pointing across the room, “and Rishiri is that way. Which way did they go?”

Ishirō raised a trembling hand and extended his finger straight at the officer, who shook his head. “No, that can’t be right… Are you certain?” He swore as Ishirō collapsed to the floor and was taken to the infirmary. Left with no choice, he called it in and prayed the shellshocked soldier was correct.

As it turned out, Ishirō had no idea what he was doing. A descendant would reveal decades later that Japan’s national hero had no memory of meeting the officer. But in the days following the attack, Ishirō woke in the infirmary to a gaggle of reporters and the Marshal Admiral, who told him that he saved Japan. He was given The Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum and from that day on lived as an international celebrity. Business magnates sought his direction, and after a string of good luck he became BlackRock’s chief financial advisor. The theory, supported by breakthrough medical science, was that concussive blasts from the artillery fire had scrambled Ishirō’s brain in just the right way for him to detect micro-movements in the electromagnetic field. He was most sensitive to the movements in the first ten minutes after waking. A Pointing Room was built in a wing off his bedroom, where he lived on the top floor of BlackRock’s New York headquarters. Each morning he stumbled inside to a panoply of aggressive bar charts and company logos. His aides sat in complete silence while Ishirō sipped his coffee, and when he pointed, it was always straight forward.

>>17450242
>>17450195
nice and creative

>>17449505
>A child finds something that was never meant to be seen

There wasn’t a single babysitter available that night, so Davis’s parents decided that being nearly six years old would have to be old enough to stay home alone, just this once. After all, tonight was date night, and they hadn’t slept together in over a week and desperately needed this. Davis knew how to use the telephone, and his mother had taught him a song to remember her cell phone number. He was a nice boy that his father knew could handle himself at home for the night.
“You better behave yourself tonight,” his father winked, “and don’t be throwing any parties.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy beamed back at him, feeling very grown up to be left at home all alone and especially excited to stay up past his bedtime, “what time will you be back?”
“Now, wouldn’t you like to know,” his father replied, “just be in bed by 9.”
His mother teased, “We’ll be home after your bedtime… probably around 9:10.”
With a kiss on the forehead and one last I love you, Davis’s parents drove off leaving Davis all alone in the house, free to roam. He sat himself happily down on the couch and turned on the television. After an hour of uninterrupted screen time, his jaw was slack and his eyes glazed over as the bright colors danced and flashed around the room, all until a loud thump ripped the glue from Davis’s gaze. He turned the volume down on the television and heard the thump again, coming from upstairs. Davis tiptoed up the stairs and towards his parent’s bedroom. Thump once more coming from the closet. He inched closer, careful not to make a sound, and eventually his hand rested on the knob. The closet door creaked as it opened and Davis walked in. He turned on the light to the expansive closet but didn’t see anything that could have caused the noise. As he took another step into the closet the door closed behind him, and Davis was about to turn around when something out of place caught his eye; he dropped to his seat as his hand reached toward it.

Davis’s parents returned, each holding a slight buzz and well after 9:10 pm. The lights were still on, but that wasn’t especially strange until Davis’s mother noticed that the TV was on too. She sobered up instantly and ran to the boy’s bedroom.
To her husband as she returned, “He isn’t- he’s not in bed,” then to the whole house, “DAAAVIS!”
They split up and searched the house for the boy, checking every corner. His mother was reaching for the telephone to dial 911 when his father shouted that he found him. She rushed up the stairs, ran through the master bedroom to the now open closet door and gasped as she clapped her hands to her face in shock, having a hard time processing what she was looking at.
“His birthday surprise is ruined,” she muttered to her husband and watched the little boy playing with his present.

>>17453631
Couple new prompts:
>A soldier returns home from the front lines and discovers that no one knew there was a war going on
>Seeds from a wild chili pepper plant found in South America, after being eaten and passed through the digestive tract of small-billed Elaenias, emerge
>Weekend BBQ at the Miller's house
>Struggling local business devises a unique way to draw in customers

>>17453631
>>17453631
I love it. I genuinely thought that Davis was a goner when he went into the closet.

Just to make sure I understand the ending, he was going to get a dog for his birthday and found it in the closet?

>>17453819
Because of the thump? That was just to get him upstairs I didn't have an explanation for it, same with the door closing behind him, and I didn't have anything in mind for what his present actually was. Could be a dog if you want

>>17453866
Because of the tone, I think. It's kind of bland and presented in a way where everything is going too well, so something bad must happen at the end

>>17453961
>>17453819
Yeah, also the thump and the kid being nervous, tip toeing up the stairs and drawing out the reveal

>>17453961
>>17453969
The question I meant to ask was, you thought it was a dog because of the thump?

>>17453994
Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else that'd be spontaneously making a thump.

>>17454006
Right. A dog makes sense, but I didn't concern myself with what actually made the thump if there really was one. Obviously I left it open to interpretation