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SF's "Write Your Butt Off!" Writing Competition XIV


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A contest were the reward is a copy of Fates...like, I'm going to be honest, I wasn't going to buy Fates, so that's not really motivating me, and that contest requires a Fire Emblem related story while this one is a bit more flexible. I suppose the Anthology book is kinda nice, and some badges would be harmless, but...eh, I don't even really have an idea...well...I do kind of have an idea now, actually, and I hate when that happens, but that aside, I think, if no one objects, having this still open wouldn't hurt.

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it's clear visual arts and drawings will count more than pieces of written work, anyway. I know the point is to have fun, but I prefer this contest's flexibility instead, and it is a fair competition.

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You'd be surprised what you can pull with a well-written piece.

That being said, I don't mind having an extra-long contest with "anything goes". Whether I enter or not depends on how my entry into the creative contest pans out. I really want the participation badge!

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You'd be surprised what you can pull with a well-written piece.

That being said, I don't mind having an extra-long contest with "anything goes". Whether I enter or not depends on how my entry into the creative contest pans out. I really want the participation badge!

I myself would kind of like a 'not anything goes' prompt...

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Okay, so it looks like no one stepped up to claim the next prompt. As the person who started this thing, I'm taking over for this week.

For this week's prompt, write something that is winter holiday-themed.

This cycle will end on December 24 at 11:59:59 PM PST.

Entries:

Glaceon Mage

Oceanbourne

eclipse

Jotari

Edited by eclipse
Mod abusing to edit the stories in
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Title: Sketched Language

Fandom: Pokémon Adventures/Pocket Monsters SPECIAL

Main characters: Faitsu and Yellow

Words: 1174

Sketched Language

Faitsu quietly huddled herself upon a small chair in corner of the large living room in the Berlitz family’s private vacation home, her Foongus quietly perched on her hair.

She was originally planning on not coming. Most of the attendants spoke little English, not really enough to hold conversation. She only came because Rakutsu had more or less dragged her along (“I need someone to talk to in case my low-level Japanese makes things too awkward.”)

Fortunately for Rakutsu, his poor Japanese seemed to be enough for him to help Black and Red have a (very) simple conversation about Pokémon. Looker (who Rakutsu had been ordered to bring as a guest by his superiors to help the French speakers communicate, they seemed to realize it would be for the best) seemed to be doing a fine job of helping White recite her sales pitch to X and Y.

With all the other fluent English speakers at the party occupied, Faitsu was left by herself. And honestly, she preferred it that way. Even though Rakutsu had already figured out her past as a former member of Team Plasma, attention was still uncomfortable. It made her feel like the odd one in this group of people known for taking out organizations like them.

Faitsu sighed comfortably. Yes, this was probably the best way for someone like her to spend a party. Quietly, on her own, nobody bothering her…

A light tap on her shoulder snapped Faitsu out of her thoughts. She glanced up to see a blonde woman, her hair tied in a ponytail and her amber eyes gleaming kindly. Faitsu recognized her as Yellow, one of the Pokédex holders of Kanto, the one who stopped an “Elite Four” from wiping out humanity. Faitsu knew they had similar goals to Team Plasma, freedom for Pokémon, but she also knew that her Lord N wouldn’t stoop to such means as human genocide.

Yellow’s eyes were flitting from Faitsu to the seat next to her, as if asking “Is it alright if I sit with you?” Faitsu nodded, and Yellow gave her a grateful smile as she sat down.

They sat in silence for a minute, before Yellow took out her sketchbook. She quickly doodled something, before handing it to Faitsu.

The drawing was simple, a sort of style one might expect out of a girl around eleven, not a twenty-three-year-old such as Yellow. It showed a happy, smiling Faitsu and her Foongus, alongside a decorated evergreen tree.

“Merry Christmas?” She wondered, before looking at Yellow for confirmation. Yellow simply nodded, and Faitsu remembered that Yellow didn’t speak English, her skill limited to understanding of small phases.

Knowing she got the message right, Faitsu quickly drew a similar image of Yellow, Red, and their Pikachu, handing the sketchbook back to Yellow. Her senior beamed happily, before quickly scribbling something else down and handing the sketchbook back to Faitsu.

The new drawing was of Rakutsu. He seemed to be saying something (Faitsu couldn’t actually read what was in the speech balloon) and there was a cartoony thumbs-up sign with an arrow pointing at Rakutsu’s speech balloon. At the same time, there was a thought balloon that showed a rather dejected looking Rakutsu, seemingly unsatisfied with his effort.

“He speaks better Japanese than he seems to think.” Faitsu glanced over at Rakutsu, who was still serving as a translator for Black and Red. Though he spoke quickly and fluently to Black in English, his words to Red were slow and carefully pronounced, as if it was difficult for him to remember what he was supposed to say. It was honestly a different sort of Rakutsu than what Faitsu was used to, as the Rakutsu she knew was serious and self-confident, at least after he dropped that annoying, womanizing false persona of his.

Faitsu paused a moment as she thought of what to draw in response to Yellow’s drawn comment on the officer’s Japanese skills. Her hand seemed to move on its own as she thought of what to convey, the confident, composed Rakutsu she was used to, the one Yellow wouldn’t be able to see due to her lack of skill in English. After finishing her drawing of the serious investigator, Faitsu handed Yellow’s sketchbook back. Yellow gazed at Faitsu’s sketch, then at Rakutsu, then nodded in understanding.

She began drawing again, glancing at Faitsu several times as she did so. When she finished the sketch, she once again handed it to Faitsu.

Faitsu studied the drawing Yellow handed her. The Rakutsu in the drawing seemed serious, with a rather curious looking Faitsu next to him, with a confused Yellow surrounded by question marks a little way away.

“Is she wondering what happened?” Faitsu muttered. “After all, Rakutsu isn’t acting very serious right now. He has no reason to, this party is a break his superiors told him to take…”

Assuming that was what had piqued her senior’s curiosity, Faitsu began drawing out the events that had happened in Aspertia City Trainer School and the Giant Chasm. Her past with Team Plasma. Lord N’s disappearance and the collapse of the castle she called home. Rakutsu’s fake personality, the one who endlessly charmed girls in the hope that one of them was the former Team Plasma member with the data he needed. Hugh’s vow of revenge on Team Plasma and the guilt she felt over her involvement with his despair. Black’s imprisonment and release. Faitsu let every single thing that happened that school year flow into the sketchbook, not caring about the tears stinging her cheeks. And she handed the pile of wet, bounded paper back to her senior.

Yellow processed the drawings silently, occasionally glancing worriedly at Faitsu, which made the younger girl slightly unnerved, not that she would admit it to the blonde. After a while, Yellow set down her sketchbook and reached out to pat her junior, a kind smile glowing on her face.

Faitsu remembered the descriptions of Yellow she had received prior to attending the party. Sweet, innocent, and one of the most unconditionally kind people to exist, all of those words she had previously been told rushed back to her as the woman pulled her in for a hug.

“It… Okay.” Yellow mumbled, startling Faitsu. Yellow sounded unsure of herself as she said that, but the fact Yellow had tried to comfort her in the younger’s native language was a sweet thing of her to do.

Yellow handed the sketchbook back to Faitsu, who took it quietly. Faitsu gazed in surprise as she noted the confused Yellow had been scribbled out with a messily doodled clock next to it.

“You knew all along… And you just thought I needed to let some emotion out.” Yellow’s expression still showed that she had no idea what Faitsu said, so the brunette drew a picture of Yellow patting a crying Faitsu’s head in understanding. Yellow beamed and nodded.

“Thank you…” Faitsu muttered. The simple message was understood, and Yellow and Faitsu drew a conversation late into the night.

[spoiler=Stuff]I like Yellow. She's cute. :3

I don't know whether the language barrier that applies in the games applies in Special and Green is just French/Japanese bilingual or something, or if Special has a sorta universal language everybody speaks, but I obviously assumed the former (despite Green not getting mentioned... at all, he's totally irrelevant here).

I tried to focus on a sort of inter-generational friendship here, and I think of all non-Unova DexHolders, Yellow would be the one Faitsu would most easily get along with. Well, the question of who wouldn't get along with someone like Yellow is one reason, but Yellow's similar powers to N and caring for Pokémon as much as she does would make Faitsu come to trust her. So yeah, they have a cute sort of friendship forming here and I hope it came across well.

And yes, I realize it's weird that the characters named Rakutsu and Faitsu are among the fluent English speakers while the ones with names like Yellow and Red (read: English words) are speaking Japanese. The rationale being what it is (Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh = Japan; Unova = primarily NYC and NJ with other bits of the US thrown in; Kalos = France) made this oddity what it is. I don't like the names Lack-two and Whi-two very much, so they stayed Rakutsu and Faitsu (even though those are also kinda dumb sounding).

...It also occurs to me that the fact the party Platinum's throwing is for Christmas (and probably Silver's birthday but Silver's kinda irrelevant here) came up once. ...Oops... Oh well. Not much to do about it now.

Edited by Glaceon Mage
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  • 2 weeks later...

it feels weird writing happy endings

Title: Equivalence

Fandom: Fire Emblem

Main Characters: Lon'qu, Olivia

Word Count: 2212

The winter storms ordinarily did not interfere with the practice of the Feroxi military. The soldiers grew into their tough, resilient natures not simply by the disciplined sparring that they engaged in with each other, but also by the harsh weather that enveloped them in chilling white snow. Veteran soldiers proved their seniority not by the number of years they spent in the army, but by how stained white their black armor had become as they trained through howling blizzards and marched through giant snowdrifts.


As a result, the Feroxi always took to the battlefield with soldiers wearing enough armor to protect them from the cold, favoring typical infantry and heavily armored knights. One would rarely find a pegasus knight in their ranks, and although many wandering sellswords would eventually hack and slash their way towards an audience with the khans, few held the skill to differentiate themselves from the common soldiers. Even fewer had the stubbornness to keep their loose fighting styles which quickly proved disadvantageous during blustery snowstorms.


Those that did stay chose to practice in the dungeons in the lower levels of the khan’s fortresses, in damp cellars made aglow by torchlight where Basilio’s personal champion devoted himself to mastering the elements of the blade, his strikes mechanically slashing through the air with frightening speed and deadly precision. The wooden dummies before him all split in clean halves, the upper ends flying against the limestone walls behind them. Lon’qu reached for a glass of water, surveying his work as he took a few short sips. His sword had cleanly bisected the stumps at the area he had envisioned, but one look at the uneven splinters made him grimace as he reached for his scabbard and prepared to exit. Slight improvement from the day before, but still a long way towards his goal. It was a start.


He blinked a few times in question seeing the pink-haired dancer in the doorway, who uttered a faint interjection when she realized that he had discovered her. Half her body stuck out from behind the door and appeared to be frozen in place, a blush stuck on her cheeks. Normally Lon’qu felt the presence of observers as soon as they entered the room, but Olivia had managed to sneak in to catch a glimpse of his practice session unnoticed. Gritting his teeth, the Chon’sin swordswoman quickly passed her by and grunted as he felt his body tense into a stiff arrangement of muscles like it always did when he got within a certain distance of women. He had to get out of there. His pace only slackened when he had rounded the corner and had ascended the entire flight of stairs.


Another unsatisfactory day.


---


Lon’qu knew something had come up when he looked over and saw the flask of water on the stool without remembering the servant boy enter. Someone was standing in the room with him, however, and instead of the traditional bland brown and grey robes that the Feroxi servants wore, Lon’qu spotted the flowing clothes of the dancer, her hands raised up over her mouth as she distanced herself from the jug as if she had just committed a crime.


“What are you doing here?”


Olivia seemed much more interested in the tiles at his feet than looking at him. “I-I was just passing by in the area, and I thought… you might want a drink, with how hard you usually practice, so…”


He wondered if her cheeks even had a normal skin tone.

Lifting the long changdao with both hands, he took a fighting stance, facing the stool and the flask of water as if they had become his next opponent, readying his sword for its next strike. Lon’qu rushed forward, the arc of his arm gracefully shooting forward as the blade extended.


Olivia gave a shriek as the glass shattered, water and shards flying all over the earthen floor. Hmph. Not quite. He saw the dancer quickly backup from the center of the explosion, although he noticed that she continued to stand there, shaking in fear. Given her fragile disposition, he had expected her to take off at the first sound of breaking glass.


“W-why did you do that?” she stammered.


“I’m not quite thirsty today, and I was just about to cut this session short,” he said. “So instead of wasting this jar, I might as well put it to use.”


“You call breaking a jar full of water training?”


“I suppose its purpose isn’t apparent to those who haven’t seen the maneuver performed correctly. The West-Khan is able to cut through the flask so precisely that he does not spill a single drop of water,” Lon’qu explained. “The task requires perfect execution and demands the highest level of physical ability. Strength, accuracy, agility.”


“It sounds very difficult,” Olivia agreed.


Lon’qu nearly began to give another vocalized answer when he realized how naturally his last reply came to him. He didn’t quite understand why he didn’t seize up upon having the dancer in the same room as him in such proximity. Not that he would complain. Still, he figured some other party was interfering here, and it would serve his interests well if he found out. Slightly nodding to her, he gathered his things and quietly slipped past her once more.


---


Since his flight from Chon’sin, Lon’qu had to use the resources of the world around him if he hadn’t found a place to stay for the night. More often than not, he would shiver under the elements without a roof above his head to grace him as he tried to catch that illusive beast he called sleep. Not knowing what the next day would bring certainly didn’t help his troubled thoughts.


He rarely had anything to consider a constant in his life, but Lon’qu took pride in the fact that he could count his sword as one. Chi’xin, or the Sword of Seven Stars, always remained by his side, enduring everything from the long passage by sea that the boy took over the ocean to the rocky mountain trails that he crossed, mostly on wagons, sometimes on foot. He had taken meticulous care of the blade itself, although he couldn’t say the same for the scabbard, which had suffered a century’s worth of inclement weather bearing down upon it. Still, it served his purposes, and Lon’qu didn’t feel any need to separate the two.


But when he went to temporarily sheath Chi’xin, he found that Olivia had once again found her way into the room past his vigilant eyes, the scabbard in her hands as she curiously looked over it. When she saw Lon’qu walk towards her to reclaim his possession, she yelped and threw it at him as if the scabbard had spontaneously caught flames. Fortunately Lon’qu had quick reflexes, but a clumsier, less together man might’ve incurred some serious injuries, especially with a sharp sword in their hands.


“What were you doing with my scabbard?” he wanted to know.


“Oh! Uh, well, I… nothing, really,” Olivia struggled to reply. “You seemed to get used to me coming in here to, well, watch you practice. And you didn’t act scared like you usually did with other women. So I guess I started getting comfortable, too, and somehow I… I ended up looking at the scabbard when you just threw it over in my direction.” She took a step back after she finished her explanation, anticipating some kind of violent lashing out.


“The second flask of water, did you bring that too?”


Olivia nodded. “I figure it, uh, didn’t matter too much if you wanted to drink it or not, since you could use it as practice.”


Lon’qu pondered the situation. She wasn’t wrong, admittedly…


Crash! He sent his sword in a horizontal arc towards one of the flasks, again seeing if he could cut through it without breaking it, but the glass instantly shattered upon impact. Olivia jumped a full yard back in surprise as he predicted, but at least this time she had kept her scream in.


“Another failure. How long must I keep at this...” he muttered.


“Er… hey, Lon’qu?” Olivia caught his attention.


He arched an eyebrow.


“I don’t know anything about swinging swords, or the techniques of myrmidons, but I don’t think I’ve seen another soldier in this army work as hard as you,” she offered. “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult that motion is, but I’m sure that if you keep at it you’ll eventually succeed!” The dancer seemed intimidated by her very own confidence, as her voice dropped before speaking again. “...At least, that’s what I think.”


Lon’qu couldn’t quite put down the uneasy twitching in his hands that the dancer made him feel. Where did her kindness come from? He had done his best to interact with her no more than necessary, thinking that if anything, his indirect hostility might drive her off, but she had somehow become more comfortable around him instead. And she didn’t exactly agitate him either. Perhaps her knack for invisibility had something to do with it. “W-well, that’s…” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your encouragement.”


The Chon’sin warrior walked over to the extra jug of water, raising it to his mouth and taking a good long drink from it. “You weren’t going to use that one for practice?” Olivia asked.


“No, not this one,” Lon’qu replied, setting it back down. “It would be rude to shatter the object of your thoughtfulness.”


---


The metallic sound of the door opening seemed much louder to Lon’qu, and he turned towards the entrance expectantly. His lithe pink-haired shadow entered, carrying a long object in her hands.


“Usually I fail to notice you until my practice is nearly completed,” Lon’qu said, the corners of his mouth curling up as he managed a small smile. Her presence had begun to relax him, knowing that her safety couldn’t get much more guaranteed so long as Khan Basilio kept her around.


Olivia smiled back. “Well, this is a little heavy, so my feet might have dragged a little as I entered.” She presented a beautiful scabbard, made almost completely out of leather with a steel tip at the end in which Lon’qu spied two small jewels, ruby and emerald. “This is for you.”


“It’s certainly a product of high quality,” he marveled, refusing to take it from her hands. “But I don’t understand what sort of occasion would prompt you to go out of your way to do this for me. It must have cost you a good deal of money.”


The dancer grinned even further. “Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t much trouble. When I told the khan that you were in need of a new scabbard, he said that he would get the court artisans on the job right away! Not to mention, this is the season for gifts. The Christmas spirit, you know?”


Lon’qu paled as he realized that he had not paid attention to the calendar as the days went by. “R-right. I got so caught up in my training, I hadn’t noticed that Christmas had already come.”


He took the scabbard from Olivia, marveling at the exquisite content of the leather. “Back in Chon’sin, I didn’t have a proper place to call home. The winter didn’t make me think of the holidays, of spending my time amongst friends and family…. all I thought of was finding some shelter warm enough where I could sleep without freezing over.”


Olivia’s happiness quickly evaporated. “Oh dear, that must have been horrible…”


He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter now, although I regret that I have no way of paying you back. Your gift is beyond any value I can place on it. But you need only give a request and I will begin working towards it.”


The dancer giggled. “Lon’qu, you don’t have to do that for me. I was already fortunate enough that you let me in to watch your practice sessions. Seeing the way your blade danced and wove through the air was just like one of my troupe’s dances… it was truly captivating.


“But I suppose, well, there is one little thing you can do for me. When we next perform, I would very much like you to attend. You wouldn’t believe it, but I can get the worst cases of stage fright, especially performing for people I don’t know. If I can find your face in the crowd, it would be reassuring to know that there’s somewhere out there that I can consider… a friend,” she said.


Her words came blanketed in kindness, yet based in a strong inner conviction that surprised Lon’qu. And despite his ill-fated history with women usually giving him misgivings, the demons of his past did not haunt him whenever he spoke with Olivia. “It is the least I could do,” he agreed. “Consider it a favor.”


Olivia pulled her hands close to her chest, her familiar blush coming up again. “Oh… t-thank you, Lon’qu.”


But it had been her doing everything for him. Once again, he found the weight of responsibility squarely on his shoulders. Yet if any path might bring him atonement, Lon’qu supposed he might find it trailing in the steps of this dancer.

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Hooray for being so busy that I forgot about everything. Let's see how fast I can crank a story out. . .

Title: Silent Hill

Universe: Original? Sort of?

Words: ~1770

Soft orange light flooded the sky. Pink clouds wandered towards the sea, guided by a gentle breeze. Five years ago, she stood by me, her tangled auburn hair dancing with the wind. Today, the only company I had was my phone. I absent-mindedly opened my music app, and it obediently played a random song.

Lights on the avenue, all seem so far away

"Oh my GOSH, Nikki, that's the lamest song I've heard!" Of course she ignored me, because her taste in music was OH SO SUPERIOR. Instead, she let the musical abomination ring through the house.

"TURN IT DOWN!" my father's coarse voice echoed from downstairs. Figures that he'd be mad if something was loud enough to disturb his football game.

The city lights blinked to life, one by one, as day slowly yielded to night.

I'm up here drinking a toast to you. On such a special day.

"You drink this stuff? GROSS!" Nikki exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Are you TRYING to get me in trouble?!" I hissed back.

"It's better than you drinking that awful slop!" she countered.

"L-look, don't tell Mom and Dad about this, and I'll let you use my stereo for the rest of the year," I begged. The corners of her mouth turned up and nearly curled back around, as her eyes danced, no doubt with glee.

"It's a deal!" she replied with a giggle. "Now move, I wanna play my stuff!"

As Nikki violated my precious stereo with her sugary music, I quietly shoved the vodka bottle behind my dresser.

She swore she'd never drink after she'd gotten a mouthful of vodka. I couldn't help but smile bitterly at those words she'd uttered, all those years ago.

Tonight is the night for I love you's

"You're really going to give him a CD?" I asked, arms across my chest.

"I'm sure he'll love it!" she responded, her professionally made-up face brightening even further.

"Don't do anything stupid tonight, okay? I gotta drive you home afterwards." She stuck her tongue out at me, while somehow keeping her lipstick pristine.

"Of course I won't! You're the one that's responsible for stupid things!" I stuck my tongue out back at her.

"C'mon Greg, she'll be late for prom!" my mother chided, walking up behind Nikki. Nikki twirled around, the light playing over her sleek turquoise dress.

"Love ya, mom!" Nikki said with a giggle.

"Love you too, honey. Remember that you're supposed to be home by 10 PM." Nikki nodded, before gingerly stepping out of the front door and into my car.

I brought Nikki home at 10 PM sharp. When she stepped out of the car, she immediately gave Dad a big hug. He barely had time to put the old shotgun down before he wrapped his burly arms around her slender frame. Once she'd gone to bed, he quietly called me over and gave me $50 for "gas money".

Wish we could have this feeling throughout the year, Christmas is here

"Nikki, your jacket. . .it's all wet. . ." I exclaimed, as she collapsed in the doorway.

"I--I had to. . ." she sobbed out. In her hands, she clutched a box. Much to my surprise, something in the box made a sound.

"My goodness, Nikki, your hands are blue! You need to warm them right now!" my mother said frantically.

"Not until they're taken care of!" Nikki shot back.

"I'll take the box, now go warm up!" I snapped at her. She nodded numbly and followed Mom to the kitchen. The box opened easily enough, to reveal several small, furry, unmoving lumps.

"Oh my God. . ." I muttered under my breath, as a small orange lump in the middle shifted. I gingerly picked up the lump, which protested weakly. All the other lumps were silent and immobile, almost like a small furry rock garden.

"MOM! Do we have any milk?" I yelled. The faster I got to the kitchen, the better.

"YEAH! WHY?" came the response.

"One of 'em survived." A familiar high-pitched squeal rang through the house.

"I made it in time!" Nikki shouted.

"You wanna tell dad that we've got a new kitten? You know how he is about animals," my mom said firmly.

"He said he didn't know what to give me for Christmas, so he'll just have to accept it!" Nikki replied sharply. I rolled my eyes.

My father was a lot more upset about digging a mass grave for the five kittens that didn't make it.

Tonight is the night for I love you's. And if you hold me near, you'll hear my heart beating for two.

"I-it's an honor to meet you, sir," the boy stammered out to my father.

"There's no need for that, Billy. My dad's a total sweetheart! See?" Rather than stand next to her boyfriend, she ran up to Dad and wrapped her arms around him.

"Nikki, what are you doing," I snapped. She broke her hold on Dad and stuck her tongue out at me.

"You're such a downer, Greg. Billy's a nice boy, and all of you are nice, so that's why everyone's gonna get along!" Billy and I exchanged a knowing look. His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

"And here I thought your prom date was a dare, not an actual relationship," I grumbled.

"YOU'RE THE WORST BIG BROTHER EVER!" At the exclamation, Gingerbread Frostingtop III (or "Ginger" for short) ambled out of the house, tail straight up. She took one look at Billy, and ran towards him, burying her face in his leg.

"Hey, no fair, I saw him first," Nikki told Ginger. Ginger looked up at my sister with her amber eyes, meowed, and wrapped herself around Billy's leg, leaving bits of orange fur on his black pants.

"That's the first one of your friends that Ginger likes," my dad commented.

"That's the first stranger I've ever seen Ginger take a liking to," I added.

Though Billy was more than welcome after that, he tried not to come over too often, since Ginger paid more attention to him than anyone else in the family.

Tonight is the night for I love you's

"Why'd you bring me all the way up here?" Nikki asked lightly. I handed her the car keys.

"You just got your license, right? It's time for you to show me what you can do," I said lightly.

"You chose the worst mountain road just to see me drive?" she demanded.

"Well, of course. You're going to have to drive on this mountain when you come home from college, pipsqueak," I teased.

"Then maybe I'll stay at college!" she said petulantly.

"And break dear Billy's heart? I know he misses you, but he can't drive over to your college every weekend!" She sighed and buried her face in my chest.

"I know but. . .I'm scared. I can do the flat roads, but stuff like this terrifies me." I smiled warmly as I patted her over the head, much like how I used to ten years ago. Instead of being annoyed, she looked up at me and smiled.

"You'll be fine. The Nikki I know never runs from a challenge."

Every semester, I wondered how many scratches my former car would have. And every time, Nikki would bring it back in pristine shape. Except the oil, which she refused to change herself.

Up above the snow is falling

"She'll be here any minute," my mom said quietly.

"She's got one more semester of college, and then she'll come back for good," Billy replied.

"You guys were mostly restricted to weekends and phone calls, yet you worked it out." Billy shot me a small smile.

"She's something special. I'd wait until the end of time for her," he said softly.

I looked at the clock. It was 9:00 PM. Nikki should've been home four hours ago.

Or she could've called and said that the roads were icy, and that she'd be home the next day.

And stars disappear

Everyone jumped as we heard a car pull into the driveway. My parents exchanged a horrified look when they heard a firm knock at the door. It was 11:25 PM.

My heart is calling, Christmas is here

It was the first time I've ever seen my parents cry. Billy and I stood dumbfounded, unable to fully comprehend what the police officers had told my parents. Ginger walked up to the officer, looked at him, and lay down at his feet. Though the lights on the Christmas tree blinked, and my mother's special turkey sat on the table, I felt completely alone.

Do we want to press charges? Of course we do! But it didn't matter, because the drunk driver that rammed Nikki's car off of the mountain succumbed to his injuries a few days later. Amidst the Christmas decorations, we made arrangements for another kind of gathering - one that none of us had expected.

It was exactly three years ago, on December 20, that Nikki lost her life on this mountain. Mom and Dad kept a tighter leash on me, despite the fact that I lived fifteen minutes away from them. I saw Billy around town, with dark circles under his eyes and hair more unkempt than it had been all those years ago. As the last notes of the song faded away, I looked down at the two white roses that I'd left on the side of the road, next to the bouquet of carnations that someone else had placed. Carnations had been Nikki's favorite flower.

"Merry Christmas, Nikki," I said to no one. I climbed back into my car and finished the journey Nikki had started that fateful night.

---

Lyrics shamelessly stolen from this song:

EDIT: Time span of something, so it makes sense.

Edited by eclipse
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I wasn't planning to write anything for this, and I didn't. Fortunately though I remembered I did write a story set on Christmas day years ago. It was meant to be an opening to a further story that I never ended up revisiting set in a universe I have long abandoned. Might finish this particular story some day though since I think it has potential. Anyway all that backstory isn't relevant. Read and enjoy.

Title:Christmas By The Grave

Universe: Original

Words: 1200

Donald Clarksan got out of the taxi. The sky was dark but the forecast had not predicted rain. It was cold but long way off snowing. It rarely snowed in this part of the world. The climate did not care that it was Christmas. He told the taxi driver not to wait. As he walked into the graveyard, he pulled the trench coat closer to his body and shivered. Not cold enough to snow yet still, his body was beginning to grow old. He would be fifty next year. He reflected upon this fact as he climbed the hill. Of course fifty wasn't nearly as old as it use to be. Modern medicine could extend a person's life much longer than it used too. His prime may have passed but he was still only half way through his life. He was even considering having another child.

He took the long path to avoid getting wet on the grass. The graveyard was huge but it was deserted. Most people spend Christmas day visiting living relatives. Not Donald though. It had been six years since James had died. He had only ever visited the grave once a year. Always on Christmas day. The attack had happened early in the year but James had always loved Christmas day. He used to say it was the one day he felt alive. Besides, the place would be crowded on his anniversary. James knew a lot of people. Many others had died that day too. They were all buried in the same area. James could have afforded a much better grave but he never made arrangements. Perhaps he thought he'd never need to.

At last he reached the grave. A long time ago graves had contained full bodies. Overpopulation had forced the government to increase the tax on burial space. People were only allowed to bury their ashes in graveyards now. They never could identify James’ body. Not even his ashes were in this plot of land. Still a head stone had been erected. On it read

James Sherd 2016-2058

Igne Natura Renovatur Integra

Through fire, nature is reborn whole. Donald wondered who had asked for the inscription. If it was something James himself planned before hand then the irony was almost laughable.

Donald heard something behind him. He reached into the pocket of his coat and placed his hand around the gun he had there. It was a foolish place for someone to put a gun but Donald had been expecting trouble and he wanted to be able to grab his weapon without drawing attention to it.

"Did you come here to see me or him?" Donald asked, half a smile on his face. He turned to be sure who he was talking to was the boy he expected to see. He was standing under a tree. Tall with untidy brown hair and dark grey eyes. Wearing a ruffled jacket that he likely slept in. He looked like a wreck but sure enough it was Dacarus Sherd. The son of the man in the ground. The boy just stared intently at Donald without saying a word. "I find it unlikely that this is a coincidence. I brought you here before. On this day, six years ago."

"I remember" Dacarus growled. His voice was stern and angry. Donald tightened his grip on the gun. The boy was not here to play around.

"Have you come to turn yourself in?" Donald asked.

"You intend to send me to prison?"

Donald shook his head and smiled. "No. I don't. That was bad phrasing. You won't go to prison. I will explain to the others. You were undercover. Risks had to be taken."

"You think things can just go back to the way they were after what happened?" Dacarus' eyes narrowed. "You tried to kill me."

The accusation hit Donald more than he had been expecting it to. "Never for a second did I think you would come to any harm. You aren't like other people. It'd take more than a bullet to kill you." Donald hoped that if it came to it, he was wrong.

"I wasn't the only one there" Dacarus whispered.

"You mean the girl?" Donald asked. "What was her name? Sarah something or other. I have a file on her back at the station. You shouldn't care about her. She was associating with criminals. Whatever happens to her is her own fault."

"If you say anything like that again, then I will kill you" Dacarus warned. He spoke slowly, as if trying to contain an anger that could erupt with any of his words.

Donald shook his head. "You can't mean that Dacarus. We're practically family. I was the one who looked after you when your father died. You've been to my house. You've had dinner with my family."

"You think of me as a son? You're no better than the others. You all want to use me. You probably cared for me the most out of all of them. Yet still you were willing to kill me to protect yourself."

"I told you before, never for a second did I believe you would be hurt. And I was right. You're not injured." Donald walked over a placed his left hand on the boys shoulder. His right hand remained firmly in his pocket, holding tightly on to the gun. "Come home. Have dinner with me. Its Christmas after all. I may have over acted but I wasn't alone. You took it upon yourself to work outside the law. If it was anyone but me then you would be going to jail now. But it is me. We have a history together. And this is the season of forgiveness." It was working. Dacarus was relaxing. Donald also relaxed the grip on his weapon. He had overestimated the boy's recklessness.

"And what about Sara?" Dacarus asked. "Will you still be looking for her?"

"We can't just absolve every girl you meet while undercover" Donald told him. "You need to put all of this behind you if we're to do it again."

Dacarus looked right into Donald's eyes. They were standing very close together. "No" he whispered. "We will never do this again."

The boy grabbed Donald's arm and threw him against the tree. Dacarus was fast. Donald had no opportunity to prevent the attack. In less than a second the old man found himself pinned against the tree, the youths hand firmly clasped around his neck. An ungodly strength coursed through the boy's fingers. Donald's oxygen supply was cut off immediately. He clawed at Dacarus' hand but it was no good. It took him a few precious seconds to remember the gun. He reached into his right hand pocket and to his relief found it still there. He grabbed it and tried to raise it against Dacarus' head but already the world was beginning to fade. He wasn't being strangled. He was being crushed. He lost all focus. The weapon had fallen out of his hand. He made a gurgling sound as everything in his eyesight lost focus. The last thing he saw was the face of the child he had cared for all those years ago.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Taking my first swing at prompter. Seems pretty simple but I'm incredibly good and messing things up so forgive me if I do.

So for this weeks prompt, write me a story in a single scene.

No time skips or location changing unless the character(s) is specifically waiting or walking. You have two weeks from tomorrow so deadline is January 18th. Good luck everyone.

Entries:

Kotovii

jank

Edited by Balcerzak
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  • 2 weeks later...

Can you put a deadline time as well? Otherwise, I'm going to take some serious liberties with my time zone~! :P:

This is a post I just havn't seen till now. For some reason Serenes is only sometimes emailing me about my watch threads. Anyway I work by GMT so I'll probably call a close when I wake up Monday morning. Though I imagine something a few hours late would be accepted.

Edited by Jotari
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^ We were actually having an issue with the email servers. Our email service provider added new servers and started routing through those, but we didn't realize it right away so they weren't white listed for a little while. That should all be fixed now though!

Edited by Tangerine
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^ We were actually having an issue with the email servers. Our email service provider added new servers and started routing through those, but we didn't realize it right away so they weren't white listed for a little while. That should all be fixed now though!

Well I got an email mentioning this comment so that's a good sign.

Edited by Jotari
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I'll throw something down. Gimme a couple of days (just saw this and I'm working on my own private thing with a final goal of publication).

EDIT: Can I play it as a flashback? It's simply for context so I know how to start. Otherwise, I'm stumped on how to get the ball rolling (have my idea already).

Edited by Jim Moriarty
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