This is so much more wholesome than where I thought it was going.

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[removed]

Outside of general grammar and tense issues that are normally fixed with time-

The dialogue feels very natural. The way the characters are written feels a little cliche- I’ve seen this character dynamic used for comedy plenty of times before- but it’s well executed, and it doesn’t feel forced, so I like it.

The references to real world properties like Forgotten Realms is a nice touch.

The grizzly could have been played for a bit more comedy, I think. At least dead body humor. The humor comes less from the intrinsic zaniness of the situation and more from the character interactions between our POV character and his (probably high) partner in crime. Heck, I would have runs small gag where, in fact, the mama bear isn’t dead, just angry, because it’s a nearly 2 ton BEAR.

Outside of that, there really isn’t all too much to critique here. It doesn’t go too deeply into genre subversion, it doesn’t exactly throw the prompt in any wild directions, and it’s executed nicely enough. Those aren’t bad things- sometimes, popcorn reading is a little more fun than having to think.

Good Job. I honestly liked it, and it was a fun read.

"The coldest man I know; it’s criminal what we’re charging folks. They’ll be sleeping with the fishes." Were everyday phrases I heard tossed around a lot among the extended members of Maria's family. I never thought too much  of it, with her parents being in the business of creating and fixing air conditioners, and heating and cooling systems for cars, schools, hospitals, casinos, and homes in the Tri-State Area. I ran on the assumption that it was tossed around as an affectation among repair men. Her familia were a competitive bunch, and a simple game of cornhole could become life and death sometimes. With them inviting rival repair men over to family BBQ’s and having them play a game, where it didn't seem like the guests were having too much fun.

That’s where I liked to pop in and lighten the mood, as the only other outsider at these shindings; I knew what used to make me feel welcome and comfortable; and that was to give it right back. All the shit talk.

A few of her cousins, namely Vinnie, had a hot temper and thin skin when it came to joking around. Sometimes, a gentle elbow nudge after a zinger from me wasn’t enough to lighten his mood and it would take making them one of my patented cocktails to smooth things over.

Oh, I did make the mistake once, and  had used some raspberry liqueur I found by a window in their house and some expired Kahula, which I had no clue went bad on a group of cocktails I handed out to Vinnie, the couple other cousins who were hazing this poor fella, and the local business owner.  I called the cocktail, Blue Balls, and everyone got a good laugh from my naming.

They all fell sick instantly, right around the pool area, and all of them had to be hospitalized. They canceled the party, and I was so ashamed I spent the afternoon cleaning up the mess I was responsible for.

Her father was so impressed with my cleaning that he offered me a contract to work in the city, cleaning up a few of their local businesses after hours. I took up the offer without a second’s notice; how could I not?

 We didn't live in the city, I had never and Maria moved out here to go to college to study photography, I'd always catch her sitting in her car, staring at the architecture of local banks, museums, and police stations. It's actually how she and I first met.

I rapped on her window three times with my knuckles, and she slowly pulled the expensive Nikon camera from her face. The lens was massive on this thing, the kinda camera that when you really focus lets you see for miles, and inside every pour of someone’s face or inside every nook and cranny of any structure.

I’ll never forget the pattern of the Leopard print ascot she was wearing that day, or those cool bug-eyed, don’t tell her i said this, but the lenses of the sunglasses she had were these wide ovals that, to my untrained eye appeared like bugs, like an ant or something. I’ve always been a bug collector of sorts, I like to see the bigger ones in person, I even own a couple'a them fightin’ beatles from Japan. They got loose in my neighborhood one day,and well that’s a story for another time.

My first night out, ah, I can still smell the sanitizer hitting the windows in the corporate offices and an unnamed social media company. It was like all my current jobs have become, never the same location twice, which initially made me feel like I was doing a bad job as a cleaner. And, if I was doing bad I needed to know why.

Because, well, it wasn’t always the same thing, some nights I’d clean spills that one of our–our, listen to me I’ve been working for the family for a few months and I’m already using terms like that. It makes me swell with pride to know I’ve been so welcomed.

Anyways, sometimes when they were doing an install, the spray from the AC and heaters would leave this red stuff on the floor, and I’d need to come in and dissolve it. It was easy, and people would always run away from me in my gas mask, and plate armor.

I was told to wear it because the HVAC units can be contaminated, making it dangerous for anyone around, that’s why they gave me the gun. At first, I thought wow, are there some kinda monsters being created by these HVAC things, like, did I just isekai’d into a low-budget netflix show that gets canceled after one season, where I’m fighting monsters under the cover of being a cleaner.

No, nothing as exciting as that. Just cleaning up messes, messes that the family’s tech’s don’t have time for.  The gun was to scare away the people crazy enough to stick around during one’a these coolant leaks. I was ordered to fire it into the air, and scream for everyone to get the fuck outta here!

The inspectors for the building code were always late, and due to always being late, always and I mean always needed a police escort. Sometimes, the cops would have a hard time finding where the leak was, so I’d break a window open and scream at the cops to come and get it, it’s right here. One time, my finger slipped on the trigger, sending a burp of bullets out into the parking lot.

I accidently hit one’a the cops, and spent the next week visiting him in the hospital. I prepared one’a my get well cocktails for him, with Kahlua and Raspberry Liqueur of course, but he got sick also. Two bottles of Kahula in a row I’d used that got people sick.

I of course did my best job of cleaning up the mess, and it was then I met a security guard at the hospital, who had his own theories about what was really going on at St.Thomas’ hospital.

“Bodies come in, but don’t go out.” He was convinced, and did a great job of talking me into it. There was a new body racket going on in this hospital. One that was more than just about taking care’a your sick and dying loved ones, but one that was about taking the life outta’em, whether by cash or suckin’ the souls outta their asses.

The conversation turned to what I was doing here, and what I do for work. When I explained my job, and who I work for, the guard, a seemingly good dude, asked me to see my equipment. I agreed and walked him into the parking lot.

He was impressed with the gun and gas mask, and the plate wasn't a plate, he asked if I worked in a kitchen, cause this wasn't a plate it was armor. “Yeah, like a knight, like platemail. I didn’t know what else to say.” 

He told me he’d been investigating my new family for a few years now as an independent bail bondsman, and wanted to make something big of his first case as a private investigator, but in order to take something on, a study on a family.

“Study, like, what? A documentary?” He said, yeah, but more like a candid camera with a badge and a gun. “Like cops?” “No, not like cops. It’s like, you know Dick Tracey.” He snapped his fingers, finding the right reference in his mind. “Knives out.” I had seen that movie, and the sequel, I didn’t know Daniel Craig wasn’t from Alabama or somethin’ till after when Maria had pointed out he was James Bond.

This led to an argument between us, where I, being the ass I am, said there are a lot of James bonds. I didn’t know that she meant the most recent, and in my defense, she never stated anything like that.

Part embarrassed for my lack of ability to make a real cocktail, part of me being a lush; I had been keeping a cooler with what was left of the Raspberry liqueur from Maria’s dad’s place inside a cooler in my trunk. I tried changing out the ice as often as possible, but some days my work was busy, and between cleaning up office buildings, and spending time with Maria; I’d forget about checking the drinks, and cleaning the water up.

I split a cocktail with the security guard, I watched, again after his first sip his eyes swallow into the pit of his skull, his stomach curdle, as the big man toppled over onto me, his fist grabbing my collar, nearly pulling me to the dirt with him, as he had gathered a knife from a sheathe somewhere on his ankle.

I managed to step out of the way, and he fell to his last breath. I sped inside the hospital, letting someone know, through a bit of a fib that I’d found the guard drinking in the parking lot and he collapsed.

They did the finger on the throat thing, I guess there was no pulse, and his face had grown that light blue shade of an icepack. The medic wiped his eyes, he looked tired, I wanted to console him, so I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me, and these are words I’d never forget. “This is the coldest man I’ve ever seen.”

His blood had dropped to below zero, upon inspecting his body for contaminants, I had heard through the grapevine that he had ingested coolant into air conditioning systems. I don’t know how that got into my cocktails, all that was in my trunk was that Liqueur and Kahula from her pop’s bar.

I appreciate ya saying so. I don't usually write on here, so I appreciate the positive reception.

You’ve duplicated the paragraph that begins “Now, hypothetically,” and it confused me a little because the first occurrence of it didn’t make sense.

That aside, I really liked this! They are sweet. “Never change” haha!

This is great. Well done!

[removed]

Shit, I wouldn't trust a leprechaun in the best of times, I certainly wouldn't deal with a broke leprechaun.

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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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"Nolocaust" is what they called in Finland. Embarrassing but what the actual hell? Our Great zombie leaders decided that it would be fun to play a competitive game of "Asteroids" using nuclear weapons and had a digital "I want YOU!" In AI spheres in order to recruit the most capable of our minds, intelligence, hives even. Of course there had to be a twist in the mix.. You see AI doesn't mean artificial intelligence but alien intelligence and these guys had an entirely different view how "Asteroids" is played.

"Space invaders" well pardon my french but lebensraumich, or how do you say tut mir leid in German these days a consortium of algorithms thought while trying to utilize chessmaster 2000 strategies with war heads against rocks in space. V-2.. Vittu... After all that was the most extensive data they had stored in terms of strategy.

"Kings gambit!" And the missiles launched,. accompanied with battle cries of "Ack ack!". It wasn't golf exactly either mind you. Our Great Zombie leaders had their own variations - strains they called them - of zombieism such as Nekro-Omikrom. Omo-Info. Das flü. Winner takes it all and gets to spread their particular flavor of zombie all over the globe.

So now we're all happy here, it's like a permanent new years eve with constant fireworks. The party just never stops! And we supposedly keep voting for them.

Username checks out!

You're right. The coin should have fallen. On both sides. And its edge.

I think you repeated a paragraph

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Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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The ending did make sense. Like even if it is sad, sometimes endings are like that. I am glad you wrote this

I really enjoyed this!

Yeah, part of me really didn't want to end it on such a sad note but as I thought about it, it just kind of made the most sense. Glad you liked it though!

I can't blame you on that one, good to hear you liked it though!

thank you for pointing out! I got them fixed already

Enjoyable read!

As my fingers touched the arrow a sudden influx of repressed classics lessons came back. Here it was. One of Eros' arrows, immaculate fletching, wickedly sharp heart shaped point. It cracked with energy waiting to be unleashed.

I pondered what to do with it until I opened Insta and saw my crush going out with yet another douchebag. An idiot pumped to high heavens and my crush just like a groupie, hanging in his every word.

I looked at the reel to find out where they were. I recognised the place, grabbed my coat and closed the door behind me.

Racing to the town square, quickly moving between cafés and bars.

There they were.

I steeled my nerves, waited for a minute to calm my breath and with every once of self confidence, admittedly not much, I casually strolled up to the couple. Today being Valentine's Day I was met with hearts, Cupids, cherubs and red and pink everywhere.

I waved around the arrow and joked how I found it and how Cupid must have missed me and my crush mocks me for it. I sheepishly grin along, hurting on the inside. This ends now.

I suddenly drive the tip of the arrow, a dull dark heart shape, between the 3rd and 4th rib from the side.

As soon as the tip pierces the skin her glow fades. The arrow vanishes in an instant.

There it was. All the glaring flaws. Superficial written on her forehead, her tongue splitting to tell lies, her eyes blinded to truth. Her teeth rotten and hands grubby. Her shape reminds me of an elderly miser. Where before she would shine like a radiant star gracing me with her warmth, now she was repulsive. I gagged.

And not just me. Her date covered his nose and mouth almost retching, looking at my crush in shock. He scrambles to get up, grabs his belongings and runs. The people surrounding us gasp horrified. When she sees herself in a mirror she starts crying. Weeping.

No longer stunned I realised that I had forgotten something about Eros and his arrows. Some were meant for love and attraction. But those tipped with the dull grey lead points were for the opposite: repulsion.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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#A Letter to a Lost Love

It's easy to feel empty without you.

I thought those first days would be the hardest — when the grief tore through me like ice-cold fire, sending pain lancing through every cell of my being. But when the fire had burnt out, it left behind it a numbness, as if, in cauterizing the wound you'd left behind, it had singed every last nerve ending.

Since then, the emptiness has only ever been a breath away. All it takes is the sight of a vacant chair, the hole you left on the side of my bed, or some other gaping chasm in my life. I'll be sitting on my desk, flicking through the mail, and see the space where your name should be on the bills, and the emptiness comes crashing in.

But there is one thing that helps, and I'm sure you can guess what it is.

Whenever it all becomes too much — whenever I feel like an island cut off from love by a vast ocean of grief — I turn to music. I go to our CD rack, filled with every album we bought — memories of each gig. I let my fingers trace the imprint of signatures hastily scribbled at the merch table as I slip the disc in and press play.

After a couple of seconds of whirring, the air is filled with blaring horns, stabbing and sauntering over jaunty bass and offbeat rhythms. I may not be able to move like I used to, joints creaking and cracking in protest, but as the music seeps inside me, it's impossible not to sway and shimmy just a little. And as I do, I close my eyes and let the tunes carry me back...

I remember the first time you took me to a gig — so different from the soulful, sorrowful ballads I'd clung to throughout my angsty teenage years. This music was joyous. There may still have been anger and loss and love, but everything was bundled up in sunshine. You introduced me to so many new things, but it all started there. Those late-night gigs in the basement of some pub or club decked out in our checked shirts and trilby hats. The smell of smoke clung to the furniture, despite not having been allowed inside for years. Our feet stuck to the floor as we danced and hopped and kicked.

I remember our first kiss, shared under a streetlight as you walked me home. And every kiss after that.

I remember Summers spent at music festivals, twisting and twirling together in a field, pints of cider sloshing, a pair of wasps buzzing around after us, locked in their own mirror of our dance.

I remember lounging in the sun, sharing a pair of earphones.

I remember love blossoming in those lazy afternoons.

You made me realise that life could be so easy with you. And it was.

Of course, we had our problems. The trials and tribulations of life are hard to avoid. But with you by my side, even in our darkest moments there was always a song in my soul.

Then you were gone. And for a while, you took the music with you.

But don't worry, my love. I found it once more, stacked neatly away with our memories.

As I sit listening, foot tapping away, the ache in my chest is still there, but there's also a smile on my face. I hear you in every note of the song, see you in every ray of sunshine, and feel you in my soul.

When the music plays, you're with me, and it's hard to feel empty anymore.

WC: 604

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

Love the ghost's perspective!