Garo
Boy Wonder
The New Zelda Dungeon Writing Community Competition
Round 1 - May 2013
Round 1 - May 2013
Welcome to the second stage of the first round of the New Zelda Dungeon Writing Community Competition! Earlier this month, contestants were given a list of ten parameters and tasked with crafting a short story that used at least three of them. They had three weeks to write and edit and refine their stories before submission, and now we have five great entries to share with everybody this month! Thank you and congratulations to everybody who entered.
Though we have five entries this month, only one can take home the prize: that's where you, the spectators, come in. Below the list of parameters you will find all five stories in a spoiler tag. Once you've read all five entries, vote for your favorite one in the poll at the top of this thread. At the end of May, the poll will close and we will announce the winner of Round 1 at the start of the Round 2 thread in June. Good luck, contestants!
But that's not all that you spectators can do: we need parameters for round 2! If you would like to suggest a parameter to be included in the second round, toss your suggestion(s) - you can have more than one! - in a reply to the thread below, along with comments and criticisms of the stories submitted for round 1! Let's get some good parameters for round 2, so we can get some really interesting stories once again!
Make sure you read the voting round guidelines immediately below this intro before you vote or post in the thread. Below those guidelines, you'll find the list of parameters for round 1. Below that, you will find all five entries for round 1. Happy voting!
Guidelines for the Voting Round:
1. Before voting, you must read every single entry. Give everybody a chance, don't just vote for your friends! Also, contestants may not vote for themselves - feel free to vote for others, however. Spread the love!
2. It is highly encouraged that you leave comments and criticisms of the works submitted into the competition - the goal of this is to give everybody a chance to practice and show off their writing ability - but if you do so, make sure that you're being constructive and not rude.
3. All parameter suggestions MUST meet the same content guidelines as the stories themselves. As a rule of thumb, if it's allowed on the forum, it'll be allowed here.
4. Additionally, parameters must be GENERAL rather than SPECIFIC. "A character must be named Robert Kane" is more general than "The main character must be named Robert Kane". The more freedom your parameter allows, the more likely it is to be chosen.
5. No vulgar language, even if censored, is allowed in parameter suggestions.
6. Parameters cannot reference other members of Zelda Dungeon.
2. It is highly encouraged that you leave comments and criticisms of the works submitted into the competition - the goal of this is to give everybody a chance to practice and show off their writing ability - but if you do so, make sure that you're being constructive and not rude.
3. All parameter suggestions MUST meet the same content guidelines as the stories themselves. As a rule of thumb, if it's allowed on the forum, it'll be allowed here.
4. Additionally, parameters must be GENERAL rather than SPECIFIC. "A character must be named Robert Kane" is more general than "The main character must be named Robert Kane". The more freedom your parameter allows, the more likely it is to be chosen.
5. No vulgar language, even if censored, is allowed in parameter suggestions.
6. Parameters cannot reference other members of Zelda Dungeon.
Parameters for Round 1:
1. Include a character named Robert Kane in your story.
2. A character must find a rattlesnake in their mailbox.
3. A character, realizing the edges of their sword have grown dull, must sharpen it.
4. A character must fall into a pit.
5. A character must find a mysterious chest in the woods.
6. A building of some significance must catch fire.
7. A group of characters, major or minor, must fear the end of the world will arrive in three days.
8. An inanimate object must speak.
9. Someone (or something) must say the line: "I have a bad feeling about this."
10. A character must win a contest.
2. A character must find a rattlesnake in their mailbox.
3. A character, realizing the edges of their sword have grown dull, must sharpen it.
4. A character must fall into a pit.
5. A character must find a mysterious chest in the woods.
6. A building of some significance must catch fire.
7. A group of characters, major or minor, must fear the end of the world will arrive in three days.
8. An inanimate object must speak.
9. Someone (or something) must say the line: "I have a bad feeling about this."
10. A character must win a contest.
Round 1 Entries:
A Link in Time
A light breeze swept the African landscape spreading dust particles to and fro. Struggling to see, Momo rapidly blinked several times in order to get the nuisance out of her eyes. It was unusually humid for this time of March and the village elders predicted a drought later that summer. The young girl entered the chief elder’s hut, her wrinkled orange-brown dress rubbing against the decorations hanging from the ceiling.
The chief elder was revered throughout the village for his wisdom and perseverance. Momo remembered her mother’s tales about the man. During his younger days, he was the tribe’s general and a master tactician. Anticipating an enemy siege of the village, he ordered two month’s supplies procured and stored. Then, he led groups of men in building enormous wooden palisades, impervious to swords and arrows alike. The opposing soldiers struggled for weeks trying to break the village’s defenses to no avail. Without adequate supplies, they died of disease and starvation; the remainder capitulated without a fight.
In his older days, the elder remained confined in his hut. He had grown increasingly detached since the death of his wife three years earlier. But his intelligence never failed him. He emerged from his abode on important occasions such as ceremonies or inter-village disputes to confer with the other elders.
Momo placed the jug of water she had been carrying in front of the elder, bowing her head as a sign of respect. After a few moments of silence, the elder called in his son asking him to transport the jug to the hut’s backroom storage. The young man did as he was told.
The chief elder then turned his eyes to Momo. He had always been fond of her mother-her practicality, precision, persistence, and this fondness carried over to Momo. The elder took another huff from his tobacco pipe and then proceeded to speak.
“Daughter of the village of Mbanta, we are grateful for your services. May the gods reward you tenfold for your thoughtfulness in preparing for forthcoming hardships.”
Momo’s lips formed a nervous smile. While she had been aware of the elder’s fondness for a while, this was the first time he had directly praised her.
“Thank you, father,” she replied. “I must get going now. The day is still young and there are berries to pick.”
The elder gave her an understanding look and with a curtsy she exited his hut.
The harsh heat of the sun cut through the forest canopy striking the berry pickers below. Soaring temperatures curtailed the amount of time they would be able to work that day. Soaking the sun’s rays was nearly unbearable.
Momo’s friends waved to her, indicating they were going home. She would stay for another fifteen minutes to finish picking a ripe patch she had stumbled upon moments ago. A glimmer of reflected light caught her eye. Stepping forward cautiously, she approached to see its source. The ground gave way underneath her feet. Her back collided with something hard and metallic. Turning around, she observed the edges of a chest poking up from beneath the dirt. It had several words etched in a foreign tongue. Momo thought about unburying the chest and presenting it to the elder but reservations tugged at the back of her mind, recalling the story of the fox and the lion her mother frequently told her.
“Once upon a time,” Momo’s mother began, “all the animals were invited to an enormous festival to celebrate the coming of spring. Fox observed these preparations and discovered what they all meant. He overhead Lion, the King of Beasts, proclaim tender, juicy loins would be stored for the main course. Knowing Lion, Fox suspected the meal would be well guarded.”
“Hello, old friend. Can you do me a favor?” Fox asked his ex-colleague Rodent the next day. Rodent and his species were looked down upon in animal society. They were accused of deceit, debauchery, and drunkenness. Well aware that Fox always had a solid plan, Rodent agreed to do his bidding-bypass Lion’s guards and steal the loins. In exchange, his species would receive half the spoils.
But Fox had miscalculated. Lion was cleverer than he took him for. Traps were scattered across the room housing the loins and Rodent was caught in his plot. With Lion distracted, Fox sneaked in to claim the prize for himself but he had overestimated his cunning. In one ferocious swipe, Lion cut down the subversive thief.
Observing the size and ornateness of the chest, Momo reasoned it belonged to someone of affluence. The ground it was buried in had recently been dug up so whoever had left it there was probably close by. The chest was too heavy for her to carry alone anyhow. There was no point in abducting it from its current location. She would inform the chief elder of her discovery first thing in the morning.
As she made her way home, Momo heard the wind blow the canopy leaves. They appeared to be reciting a cryptic verse.
End today, come tomorrow
Journey, journey, journey
Into the place where land is red and snow black
Welcome to the Howling Abyss.
Quickening her pace, Momo traveled into the blood red rays of the setting sun.
Atticus
Cfrock:
LittleGumball
Xyphon
Robert Kane grunted and moaned as the bright light of the morning shined through his window and woke him up. Robert sat up out of his bed and embraced the day. It was a warm winter morning in Canada, abnormally warm for this time of year. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and the sun was hot. But the trees looked like winter. The trees were as barren as ever, all of their leaves had fallen in months past.
Robert decided to start his day, and quickly got out of bed and darted toward his bathroom. He couldn’t stay out in the hallway for too long; it wasn’t safe. Using the buckets of water he would have to use for the next few days, he cleaned himself. He was one of the few people who still cleaned themselves in the morning, most people just walked around covered in filth, but Robert couldn’t start his day without bathing.
As soon as Robert left the bathroom, he ran back to his bedroom. He made sure to close the doors tightly behind him; if too much gas were to leak in to one of the rooms, he would only be down to one room that was uncontaminated.
It had been months since the disaster started. Four billion dead on the first day. They say a gas was released from a lab, one that practically melted anyone it touched if it was in high enough quantities. The gas could somehow increase in volume on its own, too. Eventually, it had filled the Earth. No one really knows what happened, but that’s the story. For some reason, it only affected humans and other animals. As long as the doors were closed, it would take weeks before you had to move to a new location, and you could feel it coming, too. But the four billion people who went outside before the news started that morning were unfortunately not able to escape the disaster. By now, after 90 days, the number of people alive was probably closer to 10,000.
Robert thought back to the first day of the disaster. His wife had gone out that morning to go to work, and when he opened the door to say goodbye, all he saw was a corpse melted into the ground. After only minutes, the governments of the wealthier nations provided suits for the 3 billion remaining people. These suits allowed people to walk around and survive the gas, but they wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, after enough exposure to the gas, the suits would become useless, which is why Robert tried to wear his suit as little as possible. He only wore it if he had to leave his house. Although there weren’t many people left on the planet, most of them had congregated in a few cities around the world. Robert lived in one of them, in New York City. There were about 1,000 people still alive where he lived.
Robert recalled having to leave the house for the first time after the disaster started, about a week into the disaster. He had to leave to get food from a shelter provided by the government. The government is still trying to find a way to remove the gas, or at least find a way to counteract it, but there was no answer yet. It shows though, that in a time of crisis, people really do come together. People really do care about the future of society.
When Robert left the house on that day, he remembered to tell his daughter all of the safety precautions. Don’t open the windows. Don’t open the door. Don’t open anything to the outside, and wait quietly until I return. His daughter did just that.
At the shelter, all anyone could hear was worrying talk. At this time the population had been cut down to less than one billion and people were scared for their inevitable doom. “Why is this happening to us?” one lady asked. “What did we do to deserve this?” asked another. “I don’t want to die!” one person said through their tears. Robert ignored it all, and took what he could from the shelter. He had a daughter to feed; he didn’t have time for complaining.
On the way back, Robert noticed he was feeling a bit hotter. After only one trip to the shelter and back, his suit was already deteriorating. He knew he couldn’t use it for very long before it became useless. When he arrived at his house, he saw a rather frightening sight. The door was open just a crack. When he walked inside, his biggest fears came true: his daughter was dead. Her entire body had become nothing but slush. He realized what must have happened; he realized it had to be his fault. That door always had trouble closing, and he never even thought to check twice. He had essentially killed his own daughter.
Now, in the present, was there really any reason why he was still living? It had been months, and no word of removing the gas. He checked the news every day, and there was never anything new. He was low on food, too, as a man had lost his mind and burned the shelter down just a few weeks ago. His daughter was dead, his wife was dead, and his suit had almost seen its last day. It was just a matter of time before he would die, and he knew his death would be painful. He looked over at the pistol he kept next to his bedside; it was almost as if it was talking to him.
“Do it,” it said. “You killed her,” it taunted. “Just do it,” it said again. He looked at the pistol and smiled. It was right, he should just do it. Was there really any reason to still be alive? Was there really any reason to live in this wretched world? He decided to end it.
He lifted the pistol up to his head, and put his hand on the trigger. As he was pulling the trigger, all he could hear were the words coming from the TV.
“We have finally found a way to remove the gas. Sit tight folks, it should be okay to go outside again in a number of days,” said the man on the TV. But it was too late; his finger had already begun its motion. And soon enough, it did its job. Bang. Blood sprayed on the wall, and all that remained was his cold, dead body.
He was as dead as dead can be.
A New Beginning
A light breeze swept the African landscape spreading dust particles to and fro. Struggling to see, Momo rapidly blinked several times in order to get the nuisance out of her eyes. It was unusually humid for this time of March and the village elders predicted a drought later that summer. The young girl entered the chief elder’s hut, her wrinkled orange-brown dress rubbing against the decorations hanging from the ceiling.
The chief elder was revered throughout the village for his wisdom and perseverance. Momo remembered her mother’s tales about the man. During his younger days, he was the tribe’s general and a master tactician. Anticipating an enemy siege of the village, he ordered two month’s supplies procured and stored. Then, he led groups of men in building enormous wooden palisades, impervious to swords and arrows alike. The opposing soldiers struggled for weeks trying to break the village’s defenses to no avail. Without adequate supplies, they died of disease and starvation; the remainder capitulated without a fight.
In his older days, the elder remained confined in his hut. He had grown increasingly detached since the death of his wife three years earlier. But his intelligence never failed him. He emerged from his abode on important occasions such as ceremonies or inter-village disputes to confer with the other elders.
Momo placed the jug of water she had been carrying in front of the elder, bowing her head as a sign of respect. After a few moments of silence, the elder called in his son asking him to transport the jug to the hut’s backroom storage. The young man did as he was told.
The chief elder then turned his eyes to Momo. He had always been fond of her mother-her practicality, precision, persistence, and this fondness carried over to Momo. The elder took another huff from his tobacco pipe and then proceeded to speak.
“Daughter of the village of Mbanta, we are grateful for your services. May the gods reward you tenfold for your thoughtfulness in preparing for forthcoming hardships.”
Momo’s lips formed a nervous smile. While she had been aware of the elder’s fondness for a while, this was the first time he had directly praised her.
“Thank you, father,” she replied. “I must get going now. The day is still young and there are berries to pick.”
The elder gave her an understanding look and with a curtsy she exited his hut.
The harsh heat of the sun cut through the forest canopy striking the berry pickers below. Soaring temperatures curtailed the amount of time they would be able to work that day. Soaking the sun’s rays was nearly unbearable.
Momo’s friends waved to her, indicating they were going home. She would stay for another fifteen minutes to finish picking a ripe patch she had stumbled upon moments ago. A glimmer of reflected light caught her eye. Stepping forward cautiously, she approached to see its source. The ground gave way underneath her feet. Her back collided with something hard and metallic. Turning around, she observed the edges of a chest poking up from beneath the dirt. It had several words etched in a foreign tongue. Momo thought about unburying the chest and presenting it to the elder but reservations tugged at the back of her mind, recalling the story of the fox and the lion her mother frequently told her.
“Once upon a time,” Momo’s mother began, “all the animals were invited to an enormous festival to celebrate the coming of spring. Fox observed these preparations and discovered what they all meant. He overhead Lion, the King of Beasts, proclaim tender, juicy loins would be stored for the main course. Knowing Lion, Fox suspected the meal would be well guarded.”
“Hello, old friend. Can you do me a favor?” Fox asked his ex-colleague Rodent the next day. Rodent and his species were looked down upon in animal society. They were accused of deceit, debauchery, and drunkenness. Well aware that Fox always had a solid plan, Rodent agreed to do his bidding-bypass Lion’s guards and steal the loins. In exchange, his species would receive half the spoils.
But Fox had miscalculated. Lion was cleverer than he took him for. Traps were scattered across the room housing the loins and Rodent was caught in his plot. With Lion distracted, Fox sneaked in to claim the prize for himself but he had overestimated his cunning. In one ferocious swipe, Lion cut down the subversive thief.
Observing the size and ornateness of the chest, Momo reasoned it belonged to someone of affluence. The ground it was buried in had recently been dug up so whoever had left it there was probably close by. The chest was too heavy for her to carry alone anyhow. There was no point in abducting it from its current location. She would inform the chief elder of her discovery first thing in the morning.
As she made her way home, Momo heard the wind blow the canopy leaves. They appeared to be reciting a cryptic verse.
End today, come tomorrow
Journey, journey, journey
Into the place where land is red and snow black
Welcome to the Howling Abyss.
Quickening her pace, Momo traveled into the blood red rays of the setting sun.
Atticus
The room was dim, and the scent of musk fillied the air. A man, no older than thirty-five sat alone on a dark steel chair accompanied by another chair, and a table of similar pigment. He had short, brown hair and stubble covered his squared face. He was at least six feet tall, and his attire consisted of rugged, old jeans underneath a stained t-shirt. He slouched in the chair and heaved a sigh, not wanting to bear another moment in such a dreaded room. The silence was broken when a man walked into the room. He was of equal height to that of the man who sat nearby. His sleek, black hair and somewhat more formal clothes made him appear intimidating. He glanced over to the man sitting by himself, and joined him by sitting down directly in front of him. He didn't speak a word; instead, he placed a manilla folder in front of himself and opened it. He scanned the page, and then looked at the man of whom he sat in front of.
"Mr. Robert Kane -- can I call you Rob," he asked.
"N-"
"Well, Rob, you have quite the record. You've been charged multiple times with," the man squinted at the page while attempting to finish his sentence. "With, well, the list goes on and on with multiple claims from the same woman of you committing--"
"Pranks," Robert interrupted.
"Pranks," the man questioned while taking a closer look at the overwhelming list of charges and complaints.
"No one has a sense of humor anymore."
"Really, is that so? You see, if I was Ms. Rodgers, I don't think I'd appreciate finding a rattlesnake in my mailbox either," he said with a smirk on his face. Robert rolled his eyes.
"Please, the woman's insane. She thought the world was gonna end in just three days! I might as well make her 'demise' a little more thrilling," he chuckled.
"Hmm, yeah, uh-huh, what about that time she 'magically' fell down a pit," the man tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, eagerly anticipating this man's response.
"Well, you see, Detective...." Robert said, struggling to remember if he caught this man's name or not.
"Rhymer, Detective Rhymer," he corrected the felon.
"Right, anyways, like I was saying, that one was all her fault."
"Is that so? Is that what you're really going with," the Detective laughed at such a notion. "Or how about the time when she thought her toaster was haunted because it talked to her, only later to find a recording device attached to it," he kept asking. Robert cracked a smile.
"I'm telling you, the woman's insane," he exclaimed. Detective Rhymer rest his hand on his chin and stared at the table.
"You know, Rob, as much as I find this amusing, you did something that truly crossed the line. Looking at your rap sheet, I never expected you to steep so low," he said, flipping through pages within the folder. Robert gave a puzzled look, and the Detective continued. "You did something that will most likely never be forgiven. Do you remember the house you burned down a few days ago? Do you remember hearing the children screaming, do you remember the woman crying? Do you remember the pungent stench of smoke? Could you hear them heaving with smoke building in their chests? Do you remember, Rob," he asked with a serious, demanding demeanor. Rob looked flabbergasted. He held up his hands above the table as if he were being held at gun point.
"L-Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted with a sincere look across his face. Rhymer's face grew consistently more red the angrier he became.
"The hell you don't know what I'm talking about! You were there, we have your prints at the scene. We know you don't have an alibi. We know you did this, the question is why? Why did you burn that house down? Why did you let innocent people burn to death," he pleaded. A concerned look swept his face as he tried to look Robert in the eyes, but he looked down. The interrogated man soon grinned a devilish grin.
"You know, Detective, I do remember now. I remember humming to the sound of their screams, to their cries of agony."
"You--"
"It was such a pleasant sound, it was so beautiful, peaceful, tranquil. The embers from the flames were so stunning to watch dance in the shadows of the dark smoke. Watching the flames engulf those people -- consuming them -- it was a spectacular sight."
"Y-You--"
"I wish I could do it, all. Over. Again," he said as he moved closer towards the Detective's face. Rhymer's expression was a mixture of both fear and uncontrollable rage. He clenched his fists, and as his knuckles turned ivory, he leaped across the table. He tightly grabbed Robert's raggedy shirt and used all of his force to slam him onto the table. Rhymer continuously slammed the man onto the table, each time knocking the wind out of Robert. Without wasting any more time than he already has, the Detective pulled out his service weapon and held it against the man's neck.
"YOU THINK THIS IS ONE OF YOUR PRANKS," he screamed at the top of his lungs. Several other nearby detectives and police officers soon flooded the room, weapons raised, and quickly grabbed Rhymer. Tears streamed down his red, raw cheeks. "THAT WAS MY FAMILY YOU KILLED! I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS," he exclaimed through intense sobbing. Robert Kane stood there, catching his breath. As the angered man left the room, he muttered final regards under his breath.
"Just... another.... one of... my... pranks," he said with an evil, whispy voice as he was escorted out of the room, the arena, the battlefield.
"Mr. Robert Kane -- can I call you Rob," he asked.
"N-"
"Well, Rob, you have quite the record. You've been charged multiple times with," the man squinted at the page while attempting to finish his sentence. "With, well, the list goes on and on with multiple claims from the same woman of you committing--"
"Pranks," Robert interrupted.
"Pranks," the man questioned while taking a closer look at the overwhelming list of charges and complaints.
"No one has a sense of humor anymore."
"Really, is that so? You see, if I was Ms. Rodgers, I don't think I'd appreciate finding a rattlesnake in my mailbox either," he said with a smirk on his face. Robert rolled his eyes.
"Please, the woman's insane. She thought the world was gonna end in just three days! I might as well make her 'demise' a little more thrilling," he chuckled.
"Hmm, yeah, uh-huh, what about that time she 'magically' fell down a pit," the man tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, eagerly anticipating this man's response.
"Well, you see, Detective...." Robert said, struggling to remember if he caught this man's name or not.
"Rhymer, Detective Rhymer," he corrected the felon.
"Right, anyways, like I was saying, that one was all her fault."
"Is that so? Is that what you're really going with," the Detective laughed at such a notion. "Or how about the time when she thought her toaster was haunted because it talked to her, only later to find a recording device attached to it," he kept asking. Robert cracked a smile.
"I'm telling you, the woman's insane," he exclaimed. Detective Rhymer rest his hand on his chin and stared at the table.
"You know, Rob, as much as I find this amusing, you did something that truly crossed the line. Looking at your rap sheet, I never expected you to steep so low," he said, flipping through pages within the folder. Robert gave a puzzled look, and the Detective continued. "You did something that will most likely never be forgiven. Do you remember the house you burned down a few days ago? Do you remember hearing the children screaming, do you remember the woman crying? Do you remember the pungent stench of smoke? Could you hear them heaving with smoke building in their chests? Do you remember, Rob," he asked with a serious, demanding demeanor. Rob looked flabbergasted. He held up his hands above the table as if he were being held at gun point.
"L-Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted with a sincere look across his face. Rhymer's face grew consistently more red the angrier he became.
"The hell you don't know what I'm talking about! You were there, we have your prints at the scene. We know you don't have an alibi. We know you did this, the question is why? Why did you burn that house down? Why did you let innocent people burn to death," he pleaded. A concerned look swept his face as he tried to look Robert in the eyes, but he looked down. The interrogated man soon grinned a devilish grin.
"You know, Detective, I do remember now. I remember humming to the sound of their screams, to their cries of agony."
"You--"
"It was such a pleasant sound, it was so beautiful, peaceful, tranquil. The embers from the flames were so stunning to watch dance in the shadows of the dark smoke. Watching the flames engulf those people -- consuming them -- it was a spectacular sight."
"Y-You--"
"I wish I could do it, all. Over. Again," he said as he moved closer towards the Detective's face. Rhymer's expression was a mixture of both fear and uncontrollable rage. He clenched his fists, and as his knuckles turned ivory, he leaped across the table. He tightly grabbed Robert's raggedy shirt and used all of his force to slam him onto the table. Rhymer continuously slammed the man onto the table, each time knocking the wind out of Robert. Without wasting any more time than he already has, the Detective pulled out his service weapon and held it against the man's neck.
"YOU THINK THIS IS ONE OF YOUR PRANKS," he screamed at the top of his lungs. Several other nearby detectives and police officers soon flooded the room, weapons raised, and quickly grabbed Rhymer. Tears streamed down his red, raw cheeks. "THAT WAS MY FAMILY YOU KILLED! I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS," he exclaimed through intense sobbing. Robert Kane stood there, catching his breath. As the angered man left the room, he muttered final regards under his breath.
"Just... another.... one of... my... pranks," he said with an evil, whispy voice as he was escorted out of the room, the arena, the battlefield.
Cfrock:
Unhappy Landings
The fall wasn’t bad. In all honesty the fall was quite pleasant. It was good to get the weight off of one’s feet, for however brief a time. Relaxing, in a way, and the rush of air provided a pleasant cooling breeze.
No, the fall itself wasn’t bad. It was the landing that was bad. Landing is the part of falling that no one likes. If we didn’t have to deal with landing then everyone would enjoy a good fall from time to time.
Robert Kane landed at the bottom of the pit with a very loud ‘Buggerit!’ He landed on his back, causing a cloud of dust and stale air to whip around him. His head snapped back and was spared from being split open on the stone floor by something soft. A pillow? In a pit like this?
Robert lay on his back for a few minutes while he waited for the pain to subside and had a good think about his new surroundings. Smooth, high walls, a nice cosy beige colour to everything, obligatory rat bones along the edges; he’d been in better places.
He’d been in better pits, as a matter of fact. This one didn’t have any spikes along the bottom nor did it have a ravenous beast of eldritch origins. There wasn’t even a steady drip for sending people mad. These Dark Lords you got today, honestly.
Robert sat up slowly and gave his back a rub. He’d live. He might bruise a bit but there’d be nothing worth worrying about as a result of his fall. He stood up and ran his hand over the wall of the circular pit. As he thought, it was completely smooth. Perfectly so, actually. Was this… marble? In a Dread Pit of Doom?! Surely this was some kind of joke. The floor must be about to open up again and drop him into the real pit. No one uses marble in these things.
Robert let out a sigh. That was the way of the world these days. That bloody fool Hero, Nanoc the Mighty, was to blame for it all. He’d swooped in one day, all tall and golden haired and rippled with muscles, declared a one-man War on Evil and then rushed off to go win it.
One by one the most famous Dark Lords in the world had been cleaved in two by a bronze battle-axe three times as big as a normal man. Nanoc wasn’t, what you’d call, a traditionalist. You were never actually supposed to kill the Villain. If every Hero went around killing Villains then there’d be no Villains left to cause trouble. And if there were no more Villains how did you know you were a Hero?
A Hero without any Villains was like… like… a sandwich with no bread. It just didn’t make any sense! Nanoc had gone and gotten rid of all of the Villains and so put every Hero out of a job. Well, after that the other Hero’s had agreed that “forcing hard-working men and women out of work” was an act of supreme Villainy and had joined together to vanquish such Evil.
After Nanoc had been killed, the Hero’s, like poor Robert, had sat back and waited for new Villains to pop up and start wreaking havoc. The problem was that none of these new Villains had been apprentices to the old ones, so they had no clue what they were doing.
That’s what led to things like spike-less and monster-less pits made out of sodding marble. With pillows! Robert had just remembered his head landing on something soft.
He whipped around and looked for the pillow. There it was, right on the floor, exactly where he expected it to be. Good.
He walked over and picked it up and gave it a good stern look. It was square and very well stuffed. It was a deep red and was adorned with a golden trim around the edges. Besides being in a pit like this there was nothing remarkable about it at all.
‘You’re welcome. Honestly, bloody cheek of some people.’
Nothing remarkable except that it could
talk.
This was new. The lack of all the usual nastiness could possibly be excused in light of this development. A talking pillow, how queer. Robert was eager to know more.
‘I’m Daniel,’ said the pillow. ‘Indifferent to meet you.’
‘Yo—, Ind— What?’ Robert was perplexed to say the least.
‘Well, to say it’d be a pleasure would be a lie and I’m not one who thinks relationships should be built on lies.’
Robert was lost for words. He desperately searched for some in his addled mind.
‘What are you?!’ he shouted, perhaps louder than was strictly necessary.
‘I’m a pillow,’ answered Daniel in a level tone. He was used to people responding to him like this.
‘Where is your voice coming from?’
‘Inside me. You don’t need a mouth to talk, you know.’
‘Yes you do! You’re not talking to me because… because… because pillows can’t talk, that’s why.’
‘Sorry to upset you mate, but the proof that you’re wrong is, well, it’s telling you you’re wrong.’
‘But how? Why?’
If Daniel had lips he’d be smiling. ‘Now you’re asking a real question. Funny story as it happens. I was one of your magic-wielding Heroes, you might have heard of me, Nilrem the Wise?’
Robert thought for a moment. ‘But you just said your name was Daniel.’
‘Well, after becoming a pillow I couldn’t exactly keep using my real name. That’d just be embarrassing. I only tell you ‘cause you’re a fellow Hero. Anyway, I came here to fight the Villain and all that and got dropped in here. I was never one for a rough landing so, as I fell, I used my magic to turn myself into a pillow. Soft, you know. Very clever it was. Only then it turns out that there’s a kind of magical drain or something down at the bottom here so I couldn’t change back.’
It was the classic tale, mused Robert. Man seeks Villain, Villain drops Man in pit, Man turns into pillow. He wiped a tear from his eye.
‘That’s awful,’ he said with a sniff. He patted Daniel on what he hoped had once been his back. ‘Don’t worry mate, I’ll get you out of here.’
‘I’d say thank you but I don’t really see how that’ll be accomplished.’
Neither did Robert, really. But there would be a way, he was sure of it.
‘You said you transformed as you fell?’
‘That I did.’
‘So it’s only at the bottom that you can’t use magic?’
‘Glad to be in the company of such a keen listener.’
‘Well then, if I throw you up in the air, you should get high enough to be out of this anti-magic field or whatever it is, right?’
‘Hey now, don’t you be getting any funny ideaAaargghhh!’
Robert, champion pillow tosser, tossed the pillow as high as he could. Daniel screamed on the way up and screamed on the way down as well. Robert caught him.
‘You’ve got to use your magic to change back, you fool!’ He tossed Daniel back into the air before there was a reply. The screaming started again but this time it was punctuated with a hearty POP! The red pillow with gold trim disappeared in a purple cloud and was replaced by a grown man in a red robe with gold trim. Funny that.
Robert tried to catch the falling Hero but misjudged things and Daniel hit the floor with his backside.
‘I guess that was a long time coming,’ he said in a strained voice. He stood up, nursing his sore rump. ‘So… What now then?’
That was a good question. Robert hated good question, there never seemed to be a good answer for them. The best he could manage was ‘Er…’
‘Well,’ said Daniel, clapping his hands together, ‘looks like we’re still trapped down here and now you don’t have anything comfortable to sit on.’
Maybe this Villain was better at Evil than Robert had first given him credit for. He really hated that.
The fall wasn’t bad. In all honesty the fall was quite pleasant. It was good to get the weight off of one’s feet, for however brief a time. Relaxing, in a way, and the rush of air provided a pleasant cooling breeze.
No, the fall itself wasn’t bad. It was the landing that was bad. Landing is the part of falling that no one likes. If we didn’t have to deal with landing then everyone would enjoy a good fall from time to time.
Robert Kane landed at the bottom of the pit with a very loud ‘Buggerit!’ He landed on his back, causing a cloud of dust and stale air to whip around him. His head snapped back and was spared from being split open on the stone floor by something soft. A pillow? In a pit like this?
Robert lay on his back for a few minutes while he waited for the pain to subside and had a good think about his new surroundings. Smooth, high walls, a nice cosy beige colour to everything, obligatory rat bones along the edges; he’d been in better places.
He’d been in better pits, as a matter of fact. This one didn’t have any spikes along the bottom nor did it have a ravenous beast of eldritch origins. There wasn’t even a steady drip for sending people mad. These Dark Lords you got today, honestly.
Robert sat up slowly and gave his back a rub. He’d live. He might bruise a bit but there’d be nothing worth worrying about as a result of his fall. He stood up and ran his hand over the wall of the circular pit. As he thought, it was completely smooth. Perfectly so, actually. Was this… marble? In a Dread Pit of Doom?! Surely this was some kind of joke. The floor must be about to open up again and drop him into the real pit. No one uses marble in these things.
Robert let out a sigh. That was the way of the world these days. That bloody fool Hero, Nanoc the Mighty, was to blame for it all. He’d swooped in one day, all tall and golden haired and rippled with muscles, declared a one-man War on Evil and then rushed off to go win it.
One by one the most famous Dark Lords in the world had been cleaved in two by a bronze battle-axe three times as big as a normal man. Nanoc wasn’t, what you’d call, a traditionalist. You were never actually supposed to kill the Villain. If every Hero went around killing Villains then there’d be no Villains left to cause trouble. And if there were no more Villains how did you know you were a Hero?
A Hero without any Villains was like… like… a sandwich with no bread. It just didn’t make any sense! Nanoc had gone and gotten rid of all of the Villains and so put every Hero out of a job. Well, after that the other Hero’s had agreed that “forcing hard-working men and women out of work” was an act of supreme Villainy and had joined together to vanquish such Evil.
After Nanoc had been killed, the Hero’s, like poor Robert, had sat back and waited for new Villains to pop up and start wreaking havoc. The problem was that none of these new Villains had been apprentices to the old ones, so they had no clue what they were doing.
That’s what led to things like spike-less and monster-less pits made out of sodding marble. With pillows! Robert had just remembered his head landing on something soft.
He whipped around and looked for the pillow. There it was, right on the floor, exactly where he expected it to be. Good.
He walked over and picked it up and gave it a good stern look. It was square and very well stuffed. It was a deep red and was adorned with a golden trim around the edges. Besides being in a pit like this there was nothing remarkable about it at all.
‘You’re welcome. Honestly, bloody cheek of some people.’
Nothing remarkable except that it could
talk.
This was new. The lack of all the usual nastiness could possibly be excused in light of this development. A talking pillow, how queer. Robert was eager to know more.
‘I’m Daniel,’ said the pillow. ‘Indifferent to meet you.’
‘Yo—, Ind— What?’ Robert was perplexed to say the least.
‘Well, to say it’d be a pleasure would be a lie and I’m not one who thinks relationships should be built on lies.’
Robert was lost for words. He desperately searched for some in his addled mind.
‘What are you?!’ he shouted, perhaps louder than was strictly necessary.
‘I’m a pillow,’ answered Daniel in a level tone. He was used to people responding to him like this.
‘Where is your voice coming from?’
‘Inside me. You don’t need a mouth to talk, you know.’
‘Yes you do! You’re not talking to me because… because… because pillows can’t talk, that’s why.’
‘Sorry to upset you mate, but the proof that you’re wrong is, well, it’s telling you you’re wrong.’
‘But how? Why?’
If Daniel had lips he’d be smiling. ‘Now you’re asking a real question. Funny story as it happens. I was one of your magic-wielding Heroes, you might have heard of me, Nilrem the Wise?’
Robert thought for a moment. ‘But you just said your name was Daniel.’
‘Well, after becoming a pillow I couldn’t exactly keep using my real name. That’d just be embarrassing. I only tell you ‘cause you’re a fellow Hero. Anyway, I came here to fight the Villain and all that and got dropped in here. I was never one for a rough landing so, as I fell, I used my magic to turn myself into a pillow. Soft, you know. Very clever it was. Only then it turns out that there’s a kind of magical drain or something down at the bottom here so I couldn’t change back.’
It was the classic tale, mused Robert. Man seeks Villain, Villain drops Man in pit, Man turns into pillow. He wiped a tear from his eye.
‘That’s awful,’ he said with a sniff. He patted Daniel on what he hoped had once been his back. ‘Don’t worry mate, I’ll get you out of here.’
‘I’d say thank you but I don’t really see how that’ll be accomplished.’
Neither did Robert, really. But there would be a way, he was sure of it.
‘You said you transformed as you fell?’
‘That I did.’
‘So it’s only at the bottom that you can’t use magic?’
‘Glad to be in the company of such a keen listener.’
‘Well then, if I throw you up in the air, you should get high enough to be out of this anti-magic field or whatever it is, right?’
‘Hey now, don’t you be getting any funny ideaAaargghhh!’
Robert, champion pillow tosser, tossed the pillow as high as he could. Daniel screamed on the way up and screamed on the way down as well. Robert caught him.
‘You’ve got to use your magic to change back, you fool!’ He tossed Daniel back into the air before there was a reply. The screaming started again but this time it was punctuated with a hearty POP! The red pillow with gold trim disappeared in a purple cloud and was replaced by a grown man in a red robe with gold trim. Funny that.
Robert tried to catch the falling Hero but misjudged things and Daniel hit the floor with his backside.
‘I guess that was a long time coming,’ he said in a strained voice. He stood up, nursing his sore rump. ‘So… What now then?’
That was a good question. Robert hated good question, there never seemed to be a good answer for them. The best he could manage was ‘Er…’
‘Well,’ said Daniel, clapping his hands together, ‘looks like we’re still trapped down here and now you don’t have anything comfortable to sit on.’
Maybe this Villain was better at Evil than Robert had first given him credit for. He really hated that.
LittleGumball
When I looked in the mirror on that hot, summer day, all I saw was messy hair and sweat. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t want to leave my dog at home all alone, and I most certainly didn’t want to be kidnapped.
I didn’t remember tying my hair back, but I know I did. I did for sure. Was it before blood splatter or after? Because I had blood all over my tanktop from when the guy dressed up as a chef stabbed one of my fellow prisoners.
At first we were in a room, then they moved us into another room, which was a mile long journey, and then another room across the street from that one. I had no idea where we were. It looked like an abandoned city of sorts. A ghost town, I suppose. And there was trash everywhere. What did they want from us? We could only speculate, though none of us really wanted to.
Originally there were seven of us. Now there’s only three left.
Gary was provoked into attacking one of our captors, resulting in another three of them surrounding him. When they stepped back, we couldn’t even recognize him. His face was completely destroyed in countless places, and whatever wasn’t bloody was already bruising. Most of his bones were broken. One of his fingers had been bitten off, but by whom we couldn’t tell.
So ended Gary.
Jim was struggling to keep up with us as we walked to our destination. The combination of his weight and the lack of food forced him to lag behind. We tried to get him to keep pace, but it was too much. He stumbled. Instinctively, he put his hand out and latched on to the nearest person to steady himself. Unfortunately, he grabbed the wrong person for support. The “chef” drove a knife into Jim’s flesh again and again and again and didn’t stop until even his buddies were getting uncomfortable. They had to step forward and practically beg him to stop.
So ended Jim.
Alana should have survived. She was doing perfectly fine – wasn’t even that dirty, either – until her costly mistake. If it wasn’t for her under-the-breath comment… She had put her hair up either to keep it out of her way or to make herself look better, which, to be honest, it sort of did. Either way, she was needlessly flipping it around and watching one of our guards. He noticed she was staring at him, so he stepped over to her. This one was dressed in a tuxedo. He looked quite nice, actually. For a monster. She smiled, and asked how he was doing. He told her to shut up. She muttered something that apparently set him off, because he suddenly pulled two flasks of some sort of liquid and poured it all over her. Everyone stared openmouthed… until we realized it was kerosene. We tried to look away, but some of us weren’t quick enough. Alana’s entire body erupted into flames, and we could hear her frantic screams of utter agony for quite a long time. She was doused in water before she could completely burn, and she moaned and groaned until the very end.
So ended Alana.
Little Seth just didn’t want to move. Shortly after Alana finally quieted down, the remaining four prisoners were forced to move to yet another location. But he was too tired. None of us were allowed to sleep, and he was exhausted from the previous trek and hearing/seeing Alana suffer to death. So when we were all prodded upward, he sat back down. Big mistake, little Seth. Before anyone could move, the man next to him, dressed as a farmer, reached down and snapped his neck. There was a silence before he motioned us forward.
So ended young Seth.
The remaining three of us were moved into the aforementioned new location. When we all sat down, they closed the door and locked it tight. Immediately one of my fellow prisoners started spouting words about how great he was. I think he said his name was Robert Kane. He kept going on about what he was going to do when he “got out of here.” I highly doubted any of us were leaving this place anytime soon, but I just nodded every once in a while, not really listening to what he was saying. The other man in the room with us said only his name when Robert asked about him. “Sean.” He seemed committed to one-word answers, because Robert kept asking him questions.
“Did you live around here?”
“Eh.”
“That’s not a very good answer… Are you married?”
“No.”
“What do you do when you’re not cooped up like this?”
“Manage.”
“You’re a CEO?”
“Yeah.”
“So you must be really rich, huh?”
At this particular question Sean raised his head to stare Robert down. “Yeah.”
The look was so strange and unnerving that Robert decided to move on to me. “What about you, hon? What do they call you back home?”
“Mary.”
We didn’t get any farther than that in our conversation because the door opened. “You will see the Overseer now,” said a man dressed like a clown in a gravelly voice. “Each of you gets a room to yourself to prepare.”
We were each led to a room. Mine was the farthest away, but not by much. I was roughly shoved in, without a word, by the well-dressed man and a drag queen. Inside the room were a mirror and a sink. Next to the mirror was a shelf with makeup items on it. I didn’t know how to use most of them, so I left the shelf alone. I leaned on the sink and stared at my reflection.
This is where I am now. Standing here, looking into my own soul through a dirty mirror. I stare at my plain brown eyes and my plain face and my plain brown hair and think about my plain name. “Why can’t I be anything other than plain?” I ask my reflection. “I have such a boring name. Mary. I wish I had a prettier name. Like… Alana for example. That’s so cute. I want a name that makes you smile when you say it, not this… thing that usually follows the word ‘virgin.’ And look at me… I am so average. Brown eyes. Dark hair. Light skin. Even my blood type is common. It’s like I was made to be unnoticeable… I wish I was anyone but me. I wish I could be more like Alana or some other popular, pretty-looking girl.”
“I have a bad feeling about this…” comes a voice from the mirror.
“Yeah, me too, mirror,” I reply. Wait, what?
And then a pit opens up below me, and I’m falling to my death. What a way to go. Whining about how I wish I could have been different, and then my punishment comes swiftly.
And so ends myself.
I didn’t remember tying my hair back, but I know I did. I did for sure. Was it before blood splatter or after? Because I had blood all over my tanktop from when the guy dressed up as a chef stabbed one of my fellow prisoners.
At first we were in a room, then they moved us into another room, which was a mile long journey, and then another room across the street from that one. I had no idea where we were. It looked like an abandoned city of sorts. A ghost town, I suppose. And there was trash everywhere. What did they want from us? We could only speculate, though none of us really wanted to.
Originally there were seven of us. Now there’s only three left.
Gary was provoked into attacking one of our captors, resulting in another three of them surrounding him. When they stepped back, we couldn’t even recognize him. His face was completely destroyed in countless places, and whatever wasn’t bloody was already bruising. Most of his bones were broken. One of his fingers had been bitten off, but by whom we couldn’t tell.
So ended Gary.
Jim was struggling to keep up with us as we walked to our destination. The combination of his weight and the lack of food forced him to lag behind. We tried to get him to keep pace, but it was too much. He stumbled. Instinctively, he put his hand out and latched on to the nearest person to steady himself. Unfortunately, he grabbed the wrong person for support. The “chef” drove a knife into Jim’s flesh again and again and again and didn’t stop until even his buddies were getting uncomfortable. They had to step forward and practically beg him to stop.
So ended Jim.
Alana should have survived. She was doing perfectly fine – wasn’t even that dirty, either – until her costly mistake. If it wasn’t for her under-the-breath comment… She had put her hair up either to keep it out of her way or to make herself look better, which, to be honest, it sort of did. Either way, she was needlessly flipping it around and watching one of our guards. He noticed she was staring at him, so he stepped over to her. This one was dressed in a tuxedo. He looked quite nice, actually. For a monster. She smiled, and asked how he was doing. He told her to shut up. She muttered something that apparently set him off, because he suddenly pulled two flasks of some sort of liquid and poured it all over her. Everyone stared openmouthed… until we realized it was kerosene. We tried to look away, but some of us weren’t quick enough. Alana’s entire body erupted into flames, and we could hear her frantic screams of utter agony for quite a long time. She was doused in water before she could completely burn, and she moaned and groaned until the very end.
So ended Alana.
Little Seth just didn’t want to move. Shortly after Alana finally quieted down, the remaining four prisoners were forced to move to yet another location. But he was too tired. None of us were allowed to sleep, and he was exhausted from the previous trek and hearing/seeing Alana suffer to death. So when we were all prodded upward, he sat back down. Big mistake, little Seth. Before anyone could move, the man next to him, dressed as a farmer, reached down and snapped his neck. There was a silence before he motioned us forward.
So ended young Seth.
The remaining three of us were moved into the aforementioned new location. When we all sat down, they closed the door and locked it tight. Immediately one of my fellow prisoners started spouting words about how great he was. I think he said his name was Robert Kane. He kept going on about what he was going to do when he “got out of here.” I highly doubted any of us were leaving this place anytime soon, but I just nodded every once in a while, not really listening to what he was saying. The other man in the room with us said only his name when Robert asked about him. “Sean.” He seemed committed to one-word answers, because Robert kept asking him questions.
“Did you live around here?”
“Eh.”
“That’s not a very good answer… Are you married?”
“No.”
“What do you do when you’re not cooped up like this?”
“Manage.”
“You’re a CEO?”
“Yeah.”
“So you must be really rich, huh?”
At this particular question Sean raised his head to stare Robert down. “Yeah.”
The look was so strange and unnerving that Robert decided to move on to me. “What about you, hon? What do they call you back home?”
“Mary.”
We didn’t get any farther than that in our conversation because the door opened. “You will see the Overseer now,” said a man dressed like a clown in a gravelly voice. “Each of you gets a room to yourself to prepare.”
We were each led to a room. Mine was the farthest away, but not by much. I was roughly shoved in, without a word, by the well-dressed man and a drag queen. Inside the room were a mirror and a sink. Next to the mirror was a shelf with makeup items on it. I didn’t know how to use most of them, so I left the shelf alone. I leaned on the sink and stared at my reflection.
This is where I am now. Standing here, looking into my own soul through a dirty mirror. I stare at my plain brown eyes and my plain face and my plain brown hair and think about my plain name. “Why can’t I be anything other than plain?” I ask my reflection. “I have such a boring name. Mary. I wish I had a prettier name. Like… Alana for example. That’s so cute. I want a name that makes you smile when you say it, not this… thing that usually follows the word ‘virgin.’ And look at me… I am so average. Brown eyes. Dark hair. Light skin. Even my blood type is common. It’s like I was made to be unnoticeable… I wish I was anyone but me. I wish I could be more like Alana or some other popular, pretty-looking girl.”
“I have a bad feeling about this…” comes a voice from the mirror.
“Yeah, me too, mirror,” I reply. Wait, what?
And then a pit opens up below me, and I’m falling to my death. What a way to go. Whining about how I wish I could have been different, and then my punishment comes swiftly.
And so ends myself.
Xyphon
As Dead as Dead Can Be
Robert Kane grunted and moaned as the bright light of the morning shined through his window and woke him up. Robert sat up out of his bed and embraced the day. It was a warm winter morning in Canada, abnormally warm for this time of year. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and the sun was hot. But the trees looked like winter. The trees were as barren as ever, all of their leaves had fallen in months past.
Robert decided to start his day, and quickly got out of bed and darted toward his bathroom. He couldn’t stay out in the hallway for too long; it wasn’t safe. Using the buckets of water he would have to use for the next few days, he cleaned himself. He was one of the few people who still cleaned themselves in the morning, most people just walked around covered in filth, but Robert couldn’t start his day without bathing.
As soon as Robert left the bathroom, he ran back to his bedroom. He made sure to close the doors tightly behind him; if too much gas were to leak in to one of the rooms, he would only be down to one room that was uncontaminated.
It had been months since the disaster started. Four billion dead on the first day. They say a gas was released from a lab, one that practically melted anyone it touched if it was in high enough quantities. The gas could somehow increase in volume on its own, too. Eventually, it had filled the Earth. No one really knows what happened, but that’s the story. For some reason, it only affected humans and other animals. As long as the doors were closed, it would take weeks before you had to move to a new location, and you could feel it coming, too. But the four billion people who went outside before the news started that morning were unfortunately not able to escape the disaster. By now, after 90 days, the number of people alive was probably closer to 10,000.
Robert thought back to the first day of the disaster. His wife had gone out that morning to go to work, and when he opened the door to say goodbye, all he saw was a corpse melted into the ground. After only minutes, the governments of the wealthier nations provided suits for the 3 billion remaining people. These suits allowed people to walk around and survive the gas, but they wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, after enough exposure to the gas, the suits would become useless, which is why Robert tried to wear his suit as little as possible. He only wore it if he had to leave his house. Although there weren’t many people left on the planet, most of them had congregated in a few cities around the world. Robert lived in one of them, in New York City. There were about 1,000 people still alive where he lived.
Robert recalled having to leave the house for the first time after the disaster started, about a week into the disaster. He had to leave to get food from a shelter provided by the government. The government is still trying to find a way to remove the gas, or at least find a way to counteract it, but there was no answer yet. It shows though, that in a time of crisis, people really do come together. People really do care about the future of society.
When Robert left the house on that day, he remembered to tell his daughter all of the safety precautions. Don’t open the windows. Don’t open the door. Don’t open anything to the outside, and wait quietly until I return. His daughter did just that.
At the shelter, all anyone could hear was worrying talk. At this time the population had been cut down to less than one billion and people were scared for their inevitable doom. “Why is this happening to us?” one lady asked. “What did we do to deserve this?” asked another. “I don’t want to die!” one person said through their tears. Robert ignored it all, and took what he could from the shelter. He had a daughter to feed; he didn’t have time for complaining.
On the way back, Robert noticed he was feeling a bit hotter. After only one trip to the shelter and back, his suit was already deteriorating. He knew he couldn’t use it for very long before it became useless. When he arrived at his house, he saw a rather frightening sight. The door was open just a crack. When he walked inside, his biggest fears came true: his daughter was dead. Her entire body had become nothing but slush. He realized what must have happened; he realized it had to be his fault. That door always had trouble closing, and he never even thought to check twice. He had essentially killed his own daughter.
Now, in the present, was there really any reason why he was still living? It had been months, and no word of removing the gas. He checked the news every day, and there was never anything new. He was low on food, too, as a man had lost his mind and burned the shelter down just a few weeks ago. His daughter was dead, his wife was dead, and his suit had almost seen its last day. It was just a matter of time before he would die, and he knew his death would be painful. He looked over at the pistol he kept next to his bedside; it was almost as if it was talking to him.
“Do it,” it said. “You killed her,” it taunted. “Just do it,” it said again. He looked at the pistol and smiled. It was right, he should just do it. Was there really any reason to still be alive? Was there really any reason to live in this wretched world? He decided to end it.
He lifted the pistol up to his head, and put his hand on the trigger. As he was pulling the trigger, all he could hear were the words coming from the TV.
“We have finally found a way to remove the gas. Sit tight folks, it should be okay to go outside again in a number of days,” said the man on the TV. But it was too late; his finger had already begun its motion. And soon enough, it did its job. Bang. Blood sprayed on the wall, and all that remained was his cold, dead body.
He was as dead as dead can be.
