You write beautifully. Thank you for this.

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"Here is where we always meet, this was the last time we ever met... It's been so long, where are you now?"

Delilah used to meet up with a mysterious, childish boy who used to hang out by the cliff under a tree. One day, the boy wasn't there, he was nowhere to be seen... The day after that, he never came... Recollecting back to past conversations with the boy, Delilah tries to figure out where he went and what happened to him.

Price: ₱199

I have no words for this but its great

Wanderer's tales

A melesare flower will bloom only once in sixty years. I planted this bush when Wynn and I first moved into this cabin all those years ago. I planted them for her, something I hoped would remind her of me long after I was gone. I didn’t think I would live long enough to see it bloom myself.

Melesare flowers were part of an ancient elven ritual, men would give a melesare flower to a woman they loved by trying to place it in her hair. If she accepted the flower, the two would be married. I had to learn a lot of elven customs after I met Wynn.

“After all these years! I’ve never seen an actual melesare flower before!” Sasha said.

'With a little luck, you might be seeing one again soon', I thought to myself. I looked over at Mae and she gave me a wink, thinking exactly as I did.

I gave both the girls a hug and sent them on their way. They tried to protest, but I knew they were busy and couldn’t stay long, besides, I told them I was about to leave and visit their mother, and that I’d like to be alone this time.

It was hard to walk up the path to the little clearing these days. My hips burn in pain as they were put under the stress of simple walking. The cane helped, but made it difficult to hold the melesare flower I had plucked. Such a delicate thing, and so easy to crush, but I made it there with the flower in pristine condition.

In the center of the clearing was an oak tree, almost fifty years old at this point. I made my way to the tree and I placed the melesara flower in its leaves, just as I had put one in Wynn’s hair all those years ago.

I slid down and rested my back against the tree, feeling a warm comfort that I only felt here. Wynn had been brave and courageous back in our adventuring days. I know it’s wrong, but when I think back on all the lives that she saved when she sacrificed herself, I can’t help but feel cheated.

Some people can come back from the dead, and some can’t. Wynn couldn’t be brought back, no matter how much I spent or what magic I tried. So I put her to rest here, at the home we made. From her grave sprouted this tree, and I’ve cared for it ever since.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, daydreaming, as I often did here. I don’t know if there is anything after life. Those we bring back say they can’t remember anything after death. But the fact that they return must mean they go somewhere.

Maybe I will see her again some day, or maybe this life is all we get. I don’t know the answer. All I know is that I promised not to leave her alone.

I took a few liberties with the prompt, hope that's okay:

******************************************************

A knock at the door roused me from my slumber.

“Wynn?” I called, reached across the bed for her, but she was nowhere to be found. I grumbled to myself, throwing off the fur blankets and wincing at the morning cold. Our simple cabin didn’t have much in the way of glamor, nor of heating, but she wanted to be closer to nature. In a heartbeat, I sold the manor and moved out here.

I dressed myself while sitting in bed, a slow and clumsy process. In my youth, I would have strapped my sword to my hip, but these days, all I clutched was a cane.

The knocking continued all the while. When I reached the door, I threw it open and saw them standing there, my two lovely daughters. Sasha took her looks from me, being tall and slender, but she had her mother's awkward and overly formal way of speaking. Mae was the spitting image of her mother physically, short and plump, but she had a mischievous streak in her that she got from me.

“You have your mother’s patience,” I muttered at the two of them.

“Nice to see you too, old man,” Mae smiled and threw herself against me, wrapping me in a hug. Sasha came after her, giving me an awkward hug of her own.

“Father,” Sasha said, quietly and curtly. “Did you find what we needed?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure I have it, just take a seat, I’ll dig it up,” I said.

Mae sat down on the bed, Sasha walked over to the small table and pulled out one of the two chairs, sitting down and watching me.

I made my way over to a large wooden and metal chest. I popped the lid open, no reason to keep it locked these days, no one comes down these roads all that often any more, and started to root around inside, being perhaps less cautious then I should as I pushed around old vials and dusty amulets.

“So, how have you both been? Keeping out of trouble?” I asked.

“Of course, father,” Sasha said.

“Well, that’s not completely true,” Mae said with a smile.

“Will you shut up!” Sasha’s formal demeanor broke, as often it did under Mae’s teasing.

I stopped looking in the chest and turned to Sasha. “What is she talking about?” I asked.

“Nothing, it’s nothing at all,”

“She’s been talking to a b-o-o-o-o-y,” Mae sang sweetly.

I laughed as Sasha’s face turned bright red. “Is that all? You scared me, I thought it was something horrible! So, is it serious?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.It’s complicated. I...well, it’s just that.... he’s....human,” Sasha said.

“I’m human,” I reminded her.

“I know, I don’t care that he’s human except for...” Sasha gave me a look, as if she was conflicted about something. Then she asked me, “Father, was the age difference ever an issue for you and mother?”

“Oh, of course it was. Every time I talked to her, she was so cold to me, I figured she hated me!’ I laughed. “Turns out she had feelings for me like I did for her, but she was trying to save herself from the heartache, she said. ‘How am I going to just move on in ninety years and forget about you?’. And it never really goes away, it’s always there,”

I could never tell Sasha this, but it was the worst after she was born. Wynn was watching me as I cradled Sasha in my arms. I looked up at her and I saw into those bright green eyes, clear as crystal, and I saw them fill with tears. I put Sasha back into her crib and rushed to Wynn’s side to ask her what was wrong.

“I’m so scared I’m going to be alone again some day. How can I ever be alone again? You and Sasha, you’re both going to leave me, no matter what I do to make you stay, and we won’t be together again until I die a thousand years later.”

I held her in my arms and promised her she would never be alone, I would find a way to be with her always. A lie, we both knew, but a comforting one.

The memory faded as I looked at my daughter, now a grown woman. Sasha was in her fifties now, she would still be a child if she were a full elf, but as a half-elf, she was just starting a life on her own as an adult.

“Do you love him, Sasha?” I asked.

“I do,” she said without hesitation.

“Then don’t worry about decades in the future. Enjoy being in love while you can. Besides, any plans you make, life will change without consulting you. Trust me, that’s one thing your foolish old man knows for sure,” I said.

I pulled a vial from the chest and dusted it off, then handed it to Mae. “That should help you with your dragon problem, just apply the oil, then wait five minutes, the dragon won’t be able to hunt you by smell. Just be aware that you will smell like slimy fish oil for a few days.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Mae said. “Sasha, go get the flour and meat we brought for dad, we have to get going. Sorry we can’t stay long, people to save and all,” Mae said as she wiggled the vial.

Sasha left the cabin, and Mae took a look around. The firewood needed to be restocked, dirty clothes littered the floor, and the only food I had out was a stale half-loaf of bread still sitting on the stove.

“Dad...do you ever think about moving back into the city, like we talked about last time?” Mae asked.

I smiled. She was worried about me, wanted me to be closer so she could take care of me, but she knew what my answer would be. “Not going to happen, Mae”

She shrugged, trying to hide her concern with mock disdain. “Fine then, rot away out here, old man, see if I care.”

Sasha returned with a heavy sack of flour over her shoulder and a bag held to her hip. “Father, I think it’s finally in bloom!”

With my cane I made my way outside, Sasha and Mae in tow. Outside, there was a small garden, the fence was falling apart and weeds were growing thick, but not around a small flower bush.

The flower bush had a single large bulb inside of it that had finally bloomed, revealing petals of alternating streaks of red and yellow that were so straight and angular that it almost looked like a stained glass window. The flower released a smell, saturating the garden with a sweet cinnamon scent.

I’m personally leaning towards u/ricecake’s interpretation. But there are more if you look through this thread.

The demon stared into my eyes, and it felt like empathy. “How could you possibly think this was heaven?” They asked.

“Well” I said, “I used to work in a nonprofit.”

“Oh!” They said, interrupting me. “That makes perfect sense. You must have gotten through the screening” Then they spoke into their lapel in a language I couldn’t comprehend.

Within minutes I was surrounded by demons in hazmat suits, armed with cattle prods chanting “TO THE PIT, TO THE PIT!” and I thought to myself, this pit sounds like the kind of place where I can really thrive.

Is the Death here derived from Death in Sandman?

Superman fighting bad guys isn’t interesting

But Superman trying to persuade people to be better? That’s interesting. How does he win people over? How does he change society without resorting to violence or autocracy?

Even if Supes isn’t trying to fix systemic problems, he can change people just by being himself. He can inspire people.

There’s a lot of stories you can tell. For example, what happens when Superman’s heroics inspire a young boy, and that boy then tries to stop a robbery at a local store and gets shot? That would wound Superman like no bullet can. And while Superman is trying to figure out what he could have, should have done, life doesn’t wait.

There’s another boy to inspire with inspiring words. There’s another villain to put a stop to without allowing any harm to come to anyone. Louis asked for a favor, Clark Kent has a report coming up, a politician wants a photo op, and all Superman wants to do is fly back to his fortress of solitude. He wants, just for one second, for this responsibility to be lifted from his shoulders. He wants, just once, to take the quick and easy way.

But he can’t. He can’t let go of the responsibility, he can’t use violence to solve problems, he can’t order people around, and he must continue to inspire people.

And it’s all worth it, because he does inspire people. He does save people. The henchman he spared, looked in the eye like the faceless mook was a real human now has a productive job. There are countless children happier and more optimistic about life because Superman is there.

Superman is a simple character. He’s as close to perfect as you can get (and he has to be, any abuse of power or laziness would be catastrophic), and he doesn’t change, doesn’t have a normal character arc.

Because Superman works as hard as he can to change the hearts and minds of other people. He is a beacon of hope. He is the catalyst for their character arcs.

Plot twist: the staff actually rewired his brain.

I was always kinda banking on there NOT being an afterlife. That we just cease to exist and we're worm food or whatever, which means I could do whatever I damn well please without fretting over my potential eternal reward or damnation. And that's exactly what I did for most of my life: whatever I damn well pleased, screw everyone else.

And I guess I figured, on the incredibly slim chance there is an afterlife, well, that's Future Me's problem, not mine — and I am constantly screwing stuff up for that bitch anyway.

Except now I am Future Me, having discovered upon my (in my opinion extremely untimely) death that the buck doesn't stop there. And now there's hell to pay.

Literally.

Because yeah, I always knew where my assigned seat would be in the post-mortem classroom. I have no delusions of goodness. I lied, cheated, screwed people over for my benefit, I had fun. And I guess it's about to catch up with me like it never quite does on Earth.

So I'm immediately plotting how I can best turn this scenario to my advantage. Presumably there'll be some torture, but maybe I can convince them to let me torture some poor unfortunate soul instead? How do demons get created anyway? They gotta start somewhere, right?

Except the torture never quite starts... I'm wondering if maybe they forgot about me. Or maybe what makes it Hell is the anticipation, waiting and thinking of all the terrible things that are about to befall you, like your imagination is worse than anything they could even do.

Because so far, things have been... well, they've been downright pleasant. Unless you call delicious food, unlimited massages, and a general warm sense of comfort and wellbeing "torture"? I certainly wouldn't. If I didn't know better, I'd call it "heaven"... I've even met several demons and they've been surprisingly helpful and accommodating. Seriously no complaints about this place so far, but that's got to be a weird thing to say about Hell, right?

Part of me wonders if they're trying to pull some "Good Place" crap on me, but I figure once that idea has been broadcast on national television, Hell can't very well try to coopt it themselves. Regardless, I loudly proclaim "you know I've seen The Good Place, right?" just in case.

A demon eventually appears, seemingly in response to my confusion about the ongoing situation. "Yes, we're aware of everything you've ever watched. We have it all available for you to re-watch on demand, as well as every other piece of entertainment in existence. Do you need set-up help or something?"

A little exasperated and a little impatient to just get on with the torture already, I figure this is as good a time as any to get some answers. "No, no, I just... Like what is the deal here? Has there been some kind of mix-up?"

Now it's the demon's turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's just that, well, I know what I was like as a person. I was, to put it kindly, an asshole. So I'm a little perplexed as to why it feels like I somehow ended up in Heaven..."

The demon smiles. "Oh, I assure you this is not Heaven. This is certainly Hell."

"Right so then why is everything so great here? Why do I feel like I'm being rewarded? I mean, not that I'm complaining, I feel like an idiot for even bringing this up... But I was led to believe I'd be punished for all the bad stuff I did in life, and trust me, there were some doozies —"

"Oh but of course!" the demon excitedly interrupts. "Big fan of your work! We could already tell how evil you'd be after that stunt you pulled at Molly's sixth birthday party — you showed promise from such a young age. I guess you wouldn't know this but would you believe she needed therapy for years after that? Oh, and I actually have a framed print-out of the breakup text you sent Michael after he told you he was finally leaving your best friend, Shari. That was gold."

I push the fond memories from my mind to concentrate on the matter at hand: "Exactly! So then why doesn't this feel like the eternal retribution that I supposedly deserve?"

The demon scoffs. "That you deserve?!" He shakes his head gently, then speaks slowly as if I'm just not getting it, which, to be fair, I'm not. "Is the Devil not evil incarnate?"

"I guess?"

"Then why in the Hell would he punish you for being evil? He LOVES evil! And you did a great job of it while you were alive, so why wouldn't you get a red carpet welcome for doing exactly what he most loves?"

"So I'm being rewarded? For being a selfish bitch for like pretty much my entire life?" As the idea leaves my lips, I have to admit it feels good.

He smiles, a now-you're-gettin'-it smile. "Welcome to Hell, baby."

This is basically the same type of world as in Ted Chiang's Hell is the Absence of God story (PDF), right? Except with a protagonist that never fell into the light.

A collection of short stories about the pains, struggles and other hurdles in a relationship, whether that'll be platonic or intimate. How does one deal with the other's flaws?

Stories include:

• You and I
• Missing You
• Siblings
• Rivals' Reunion
• Amelia
• It's Just Him...
• What Happened to Perfect?
• And many more...

These stories were written by writers who once experienced being in a relationship and a few therapists who helped us in fact-checking these works.

Price: $20

(Note: Also, good to see you again u/jardanovic!)

I felt my body freeze and space around me contort, my body's sensations simultaneously ceasing and perpetuating themselves. Like when you sit in hot water until it feels lukewarm, the same stimulus causes your body to go numb quite quickly.

The chill breeze in the night air now still, every leaf and particle of dust motionless, suspended in the air. My sense of balance had left me long ago. I had been here for what felt both like 5 seconds and 5 hours; though, here, time is effectively meaningless. The ground beneath me at a slight angle, with me having attempted to throw myself to the ground to avoid what was so close to the bridge of my nose I had a hard time focusing on it with both eyes.

This little piece of copper, smaller than the end of my pinky, would be what removed me from this world.

Of course I decided to go for a walk tonight, and of course I had to run into a trigger-happy mugger. My wallet was already in his hand, what did killing me even do for him?

Well, I have all the time in the world, at least. I have to be able to find some way out of this, surely? I've gotten out of predicaments in the past.

In the 5th grade, I was playing soccer and slammed into another kid. In the tumble, I paused out of panic and saw that, if I continued to fall, my arm would be snapped like a twig under the other one, who easily had 50 pounds on me. I was always scrawny. I got ready to contort myself, and as soon as time unpaused, I managed to avoid the broken arm, settling instead for a sprained wrist.

In my freshman year of college I was at a party and flirting up a girl. Little did I know she had a boyfriend - and little did she know he was also there. I saw him coming in the reflection of a window, and dodged his suckerpunch, tripping him and getting the hell out of there.

My first day headed to work some day drunk ran a stop sign going 80 miles an hour down residential streets; I'd never been an exceptional driver, but I'm sure to everyone who witnessed it I looked I belonged in a Formula 1 race.

All these thoughts and memories slammed into me one by one. The saved conversations, avoided stutters, managed anger, and passed exams. I felt them come quickly, and leave just as fast. If tears could well in my eyes they would; I settled for that tightening in your throat before a sob.

There was no way out of this, I thought. Absolutely no way out. I could do a lot with time, but not everything.

Something in the depth of my soul shuttered. For a fraction of a second - a fraction of a fraction - I felt something new.

It came again. And again. Each time growing in intensity and longevity. Eventually it felt like a pulse firing so rapidly it became sustained, and I figured out exactly what it was. I was fall-

OW.

I felt my tailbone slam into the concrete sidewalk, and a spike of pain ran up my spine, and I reflexively shot a hand to the site of the impact. Not a second later though, confusion ran through me. I should've been dead before I hit the ground.

I looked up to see that bastard's face contorted in the same smug, nast grin. I saw the bullet suspended judt where it had been. The same leaves in the same places, the same specks of dust, the same car headlights off in the distance.

But, I found myself having moved. I was actively moving. Something in my body felt different, like getting a massage and that tight muscle you didn't even know was tight finally being loose.

I stood up, still wincing from the pain, but in good spirits considering the alternative. I clenched and unclenched my fists, feeling the air resist my hands in a new way. I felt the concrete push back against my steps differently; the cushioning in my shoes reacting to my steps.

Slamming my fist into the criminal's gut, I took back my wallet, threw his gun into the bushes, and gave one last finishing touch before ducking around a corner and unpausing time.

His yelp and clear fall onto the concrete was like music to my ears, complimented by his struggling to remove his underwear pulled over his head before he ran off the other direction.

With this new development in my abilities, things were about to get very interesting.

A place of one’s own? That we don’t have to worry about losing? That means I don’t have to get stuck living with an abuser until I find someone to let me escape and inevitably end up abused again? Healthy bodies? Like could I work a normal job and do my hobbies? Security? Stability? A place I could just be myself and heal? Could I make my art and decorate the place with it? I see a notebook and pen mentioned so I’d probably be able to write poetry and maybe even stories, could even practice my drawing skills. This is beautiful to me, I’m actually starting to cry now just thinking of it

It's a kind of pain those of us that struggle to fit in can inflict upon ourselves. To sit somewhere 'normal' as a self-perceived outsider, and watch everybody else go about a life you can never have. I'd almost call it wistful, yet melancholy.

Enjoying coffee with a friend, perhaps going on a lunch date with someone you're getting to know, these things are very rare or simply don't happen for some people, for a variety of reasons.

I think that's what makes this story so well-written: it's open-ended as to why the protagonist feels this way, and so a greater variety of readers can connect and self-insert. For me it's Aspergers.

Ouch, this one hit me right in my autism. One of the better stories I've read for a while.

I haven't seen her for a while. Though sometimes I can feel her presence - almost as if I were standing right next to her but unable to perceive her.

Sometimes I think I can hear her voice but, it's muffled as though she were underwater. I catch glimpses here and there and feel a pain where my heart is; our souls bonded by the need for a friend.

I lay in peaceful slumber when suddenly I am roused by a deafening sound. The beeping and whirring of mechanical objects, driven by their need to do....something

I feel a tugging at the edges of my mind and feel her presence once again. Opening my eyes to see a figure dressed in a white coat. They want to know how I'm feeling but - I've never seen them before.

I look down at my hands and notice the scars on my arms. Those....weren't there before. The figure clears their throat in an attempt to get my attention. I look back, fear flooding my body and hear the blood rush through my ears.

"I'm ok." I stammer. (Why does my voice echo?) They furrow their brow and I can tell they are unconvinced. My fists clench around my knees and it is only when I look down that I realise I am also wearing a gown.

The figure scrawls some notes on a clipboard and shoves a paper cup towards me and gestures for me to take it. I look inside and see a couple of small pills. I down it without hesitation then stick out my tongue for inspection.

They seem pleased and comment on checking back in a few hours. When I am finally alone I spit the pills into my hand and make a break for the bathroom.

Looking into the mirror I see her face. The little girl I once knew, turned an adult. Her face was gaunt, her hair thinning, her skin white like snow. I watched in fascination as she spoke for the first time. That melodic voice trickled through my brain.

"Kai, I know you're there. I don't have time to explain but I need your help." The fear returned me to my senses. I try to speak but no voice was to be heard. Instead, I saw the words flash before my eyes like a teleprompt.

[I am here, my darling. What is it you ask of me?]

"The pills they gave me - they blind me to you. That is why you have not seen me for a while. I am sick, and there is no one left to take care of me. I know I have no right to ask - but I had hoped that in my dying moments, you would keep me company."

My heart broke for her. My sweet Catarina, facing the eternal rest...alone?

[I will not leave your side, my friend.]

I see her smile. She makes her way back to the bed and lays down. Soon closing her eyes. Visions of adventures long past appear before me - family holidays, a birthday party no friends would ever come to, the day her fiancee left her at the altar...

Soon I felt my chest constrict, trying to wake her. The machines that beeped and whirred fell into a distressed rhythm growing louder and louder until suddenly - the tones become monotone.

I felt myself start to disintegrate into nothingness. There was no pain, no light just....emptiness. My legs began working on their own, a tiny pinprick of light way in the distance. A hand gripped my arm suddenly as I heard the second set of footsteps fall into time with my own.

The light grew brighter as the face of my companion became more and more visible. Finally, we stepped into the light - finding ourselves in a field of sunflowers. We smiled in tandem at the sight. Turning to see who the unlucky soul was I gasped. It was my own lovely Catarina!

We embraced each other tightly, tears streaming down both our faces. "At last." She said, "I can see your face again."

Under the Canyon Moon.

This was great.

I really enjoyed your characterization of hell. To be honest, the “if we are to be alone together forever” line made me think it was going to turn into a romance there for a second lol

[removed]

I’m thinking the person was wired so differently that he could never understand or feel joy. But he likes to sit at the coffeeshop sometimes to see how people around him could do normal things and feel joy.

In his personal hell, he has to sit at the coffeeshop and be constantly reminded he’s not normal.

And this is a super dark thought, but he might have done something to the barista who was kind to him. And now he has to live with it