A child who tells their mundane day as if it were an epic tale.

The clouds have eyes. And they're watching.

There never was a good time to admit to all the lies. And now they're starting to pile up, creaking and groaning under their own accumulated weight.

Life as a sentient EV car in a world build for gas engine vehicles

The ocean gives many things. Life, death, storms, sun. But no one quite expected it to give this.

[PT] Someone narrating how your life is going detail by detail. But slowly, you realize the life path you going for isn't what you want deep down. So you stop listening to the narrator. Then, the world slowly begins to change.

That's a common misconception, but that phrasing is relatively recent, first showing up in 1994

https://english.stackexchange.com/questions/147902/original-meaning-of-blood-is-thicker-than-water-is-it-real

/This isn't happening./

"Stun him!" A rough voice yelled out, the desperation breaking past any of the former bravado shown by said warrior. Sparks flew as another wave of slashes and cuts slammed against his shield, pushing even one with suck a hulking frame like him backwards. Feet scraping against the soil he persevered, kicking up dirt and pebbles at each step, staining it all in a deep crimson as blood poured from the cut on his side. Against all logic an axe stuck out of the iron plated armor donned by the fighter, or what remained of it. The weapon's head slammed into it like a blacksmith's hammer did during the forging process, shattering it apart akin to any other poorly heat treated hunk of metal- sending splinters and entire chunks sprawling into the wind.

Blood gushed out endlessly, it was far too late for anything to do even if he was able to reach the man.

"Hng… A-aeron" The young healer's sapphire orbs moved back onto his current patient's wound, a stab into the trachea courtesy of a jagged dagger, dragged downwards for good measure. The elf's hands desperately clutched at his, trying to aid in applying pressure while the miracle was cast. The telltale feeling of ice pouring through Aeron's veins had never been stronger, power surged from his fingertips like a flood trying to fill the wound as if it was an emptied out lake. Her beautiful sun kissed hair stuck out at odd angles, no smile graced her tender lips, only wine like blood, a shade so light he hoped it wasn't real.

Limelight shone brightly between them, but to no avail. Every nerve, every cell he tried to work felt haggard, faded, unwilling to wake up and cooperate with him. But that was impossible, there wasn't any way he couldn't heal a stab… How many times had he closed up cuts from swords, alleviated burn from miracle fires? Hundreds, thousands.

So why couldn't he heal this one damned cut?!

"...Hold on." His voice called out to the mage, oblivious to the screams of his other companion. Tears brimmed to the surface, his light growing tenfold in strength, filling the clearing akin to a burning fire. "Hold on! I need but a moment, just a little more!"

There was no answer. Aeron cursed and pushed his cheek up against the elf's lips, awaiting for a scream to pull away. For a cutting remark or tease about how easily he believed her to be killed. One moment stretched into eternity as he felt none of those.

Not even a breath.

/No…/

Sapphire orbs stared into magenta ones once Aeron pulled his head back. They looked skyward, perceiving something he could not.

"GHNNNN!" Aeron's head remained bowed. There was no mistaking that sound, nor the whine like sound the sword made as it was drawn out of the warrior's body. He didn't need to look up to know the silver blade was painted a deep red. Just like his companions' bodies, sprawled out across the clearing, just like the color which he long grew to dread.

Just like his stained hands.

/T-this is but a dream… a nightmare…/

"Guess that leaves one more." A feminine voice spoke in the silence, her blade whipping through the air before resting its frosty edge against the blonde's neck. Red. It too was that fucking color. "Makes sense it'd be the miracle worker, never saw the point of having your kind around. I'll promise to make this quick, like that you shall not be feeling useless for so long."

"Useless?"

"Oh, still have the spirit to talk? How about healing my wounds instead of sulking in the dirt, little boy." A rambunctious laughter shook Aeron to the core, breaking him out his catatonic stupor. She was tall, built akin to a tree stump with skin the shade of oak bark, lacking any wounds or sweat on her brow, only a smile graced her face. The armor donned was nothing but a iron breastplate hidden underneath a fur coat, it together with the accent made her out to be nordic. "I'll pay you more than these little adventurers ever held in their hands."

Red hair fell on either side of her head.

/…Pardon me, father. For I am about to sully your teachings in a way that'd make mother jealous./

With a long sigh to steady his heart Aeron looked at the woman dead on, weathering the smile with a deadpan look. Her mouth moved to speak, to gloat once more, but in that moment that dreaded color lit up in the miracle worker's eyes, and a cough shook the entirety of the nord's frame forward. Glancing around in confusion, her attention settled on the open palm she used to cover her mouth, blue orbs widening at the sight of blood- it did not stop at one cough however. Another, and then another that would've made one think someone scraped the insides of her throat with sandpaper took the woman backwards. Each step followed by more pained groans in between breaths, until her knees hit the dirt.

"W-wh-"

"Have you ever considered what happens when an artery connected to the lungs gets affected?" Aeron pushed off the forest floor, slipping another orefruit inside his mouth to regain the mana lost so far. It tasted bitter, like dried metal. The woman's answer came as a long rasp and clumsy swing, one easily kicked away, her weak hand sending the blade aside. All of a sudden she grabbed her throat, hammering at it, the skin around the lips growing a faded shade of blue.

"It leads to a lack of oxygen, fatal as I imagine even your northern taught mind understands. But so is a sword through the 6th and 7th rib, as you've impaired onto Awelyn." Aeron grabbed her by the chin, allowing for his red eyes to stare directly into hers. The terror in them was blatant, yet it felt so warranted, so right to be present. "Sore throat, very negligible, if it isn't caused by muscle stress which I'm told hurts like a whoreson… So did it hurt Camille when you stabbed her and cut into the jugular."

Sitting up he let go of her chin. Harald had fought bravely, his body was run through with both an axe and greatsword, pinning it into a rock. Mouth open, eyes frosted over… he looked oddly at peace. Could it have been different they all would have deserved to walk away, return to those they held close, of which Aeron has none. Or rather, not anymore, since it was a mistake to believe this group would be any different.

"Two stabs to the stomach… Many are the causes for pain in that area." He grabbed the axe's wooden handle, glancing back at the nord with a bored expression even as she pathetically attempted to scurry away. Neither her arms or legs could carry all that weight, not when her entire body worked purely off adrenaline at this point.

"I'll need to use a scalpel and make sure I get the right one."

[deleted]

I enjoyed the world this prompt inspired. I'll probably write more when I have time.

If this were the start of a book, I would definitely read it!

#The Perfect Coffee Order

My first reset of the day happens when I fluff up my coffee order. Too flustered to decide on a drink, I accidentally string them together and ask for a "hazelbread latte". I stammer to correct myself but it's too late. The regret has already taken root. I just have time to feel the flush of heat to my face as I cringe before a familiar hiss of static fills my ears, and the past couple of minutes whirr by until I'm back waiting in line.

This time, I rehearse my order in my head. Gingerbread latte. Gingerbread latte.

When I reach the front, I practically shout it at the poor girl behind the counter. My face flushes. I cringe. Static hisses in my ears, and the minutes whirr back again.

On my next go, I get past the order. But when it comes to paying, I send a handful of change scattering. Face flushes. Cringe. Static hisses. Minutes whirr back.

The next few loops pass similarly, but with frustration and impatience building inside me, time starts slipping away, the seconds speeding by. I can hardly figure out the source of my regret before it's taken me back to the start. Flush, cringe, hiss, whirr. Flush, cringe, hiss, whirr.

With a deep breath, inhaling the rich nutty aroma of freshly ground coffee, I force the frustration away. What sense is there in being impatient when time isn't actually passing?

Gradually, the seconds start slowing, giving me long enough to think. I'd learnt from past experience that there was always more than one solution. Whichever path I take, it will be one of many outcomes. I've been fixating on the coffee order, but maybe it's time to tunnel out an alternate exit. After all, I don't really need a coffee. Do I?

I make it all the way to my desk before I reach for a cup that isn't there. The hiss of static fills my ears as the minutes whirr past, leaving me back in line.

Certain that my only way out is through, my resolve strengthens. Learning from my past errors, I manage to politely order my drink and pay by card before stepping to the side to allow the next person forward. I press my back to the wall so that when a man walks past with mugs balanced precariously on his wobbling tray, there's at least an inch clearance between his feet and mine. Of course, he doesn't notice, his eyes fixed on his drinks.

After exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds, I step forward just as the barista calls out, "Gingerbread latte!"

"Thanks," I say with a smile and a nod, taking the cup from their hand ever so gently to set down on the counter and press on the loose lid. Though the skin on my hand was never technically scolded by spilt coffee, the memory of it still smarts.

With my drink secure I head for the door. I did it. The perfect coffee run. Nothing to cringe over later. No injuries to nurse. I have the exact drink I want to fuel me through my day.

Sometimes, I curse my strange affliction, making me feel like an anachronism in my own life, but then moments like these make me wonder: how does everyone else cope without it? How can they be satisfied with such an imperfect existence?

Chest puffed up, I reach for the door—

—as it swings into me, sending my cup flying, coating me in hot liquid. Resigning myself to one final attempt, I wait for the hiss of static to drown out the stranger's apologies. But before it can, a gentle touch on my arm draws my attention, and I meet her gaze. I lose myself in deep brown eyes and a stare as endless as time itself.

"Are you alright?" The words reach my ears eventually, but it's as if they travel through treacle to get there.

"Oh... yes. I'm fine." My own voice sounds strange too, each syllable extended. "I'm sorry—"

"Nonsense. It's me who should be sorry." Those brown eyes flash as lashes flutter in a blink, the corner of her mouth twitching up. "Though if it wasn't for my clumsiness, we might never have met."

My lip twitches up in a mirror of hers. Despite the coffee seeping into my clothes, I can't help but agree. There isn't an ounce of regret in me. In fact, I wish I had time to drink in every last detail of this moment.

As I stare into her eyes, I can feel my heart pounding inside, as if it's racing. But it seems as if the time between beats is growing and growing. Everything is moving slower and slower.

Until it stops.

And there is time enough at last.

WC: 800

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

Great story. I’m seeing Rock Lee when he fought Gaara

More my favourite game, World of Warcraft, where, technically you can't even equip an axe as a priest, hence the "afterthought" post.

person who is basically a stalker who is very convinced another person is in love with them and what they're doing is normal/sweet

You're experiencing life as a square

More please

Going Sherlock on them! Brilliant

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[removed]

I think I have that one added, but haven't read it yet. I shall remedy that.

Please make a Part 2 of this, I need to know what happens

Doctor, surgeon, hair stylist. I wore many hats, but today I needed to Don a new one. It had been quiet at our camp, as day had given way to night. We had heard some wolves howling in the distance when we noticed a shadow of a man creeping towards our camp. Though bold on his part, he approached with nothing more than a sword drawn and the clothes on his back.

It only took a minute in total for my entire team to be completely overwhelmed. Dormit lay with a neck Injury so severe he'd be lucky to be in any working order, Shana lay in a pool of crimson so large she woild be lucky to still be breathing,, and dirk was currently holding his severed leg as life left his eyes. It was just me and our attacker, and although I was definitely not a fighter, I had one distinct advantage.

He leveled his sword at me with a malevolent smile. I reached behind me, pulling out a kukri. It's not my usual tool but a little leverage if I can get close enough.

I took a deep breath as he began to lunge at me. I was not swift as he was, nor nearly as experienced, but I made do by making sure if he was going to hit, it was only a glancing blow. I had to strike his elbow just once, and he would never grip a blade again. Throughout our flight, I never swung, only reacted defensively. Our fighter, dormit, had taught me to wait for an opening, then plunge.

Time seemed to slow down, and I felt a sharp pain in my side as he managed to stab his sword into my stomach. Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist and yanked him as hard as I could, stretching his arm and laying down a swift blow on the tendons on his elbow, severing them. As his grip failed him, I chuckled and left his sword embedded in my side. Judging by the amount of pain we both are experiencing, I must have broken his elbow, too. He did embed the sword in me, but it didn't hit anything vital.

He is holding his elbow as I level my kukri at him. "You can still walk away from here. I suggest you do so with haste. Judging by the stain on that lovely shirt, you're going to need to find a doctor. Quickly or become Carrion for the bottom feeders." The man growled at me, as if a one armed unarmed swordsman who's bleeding like that could somehow be intimidating. I smirked, and I put my kukri away. "Last chance. Bloods got you on the clock. If you pass out here, you ain't waking up."

He took one step towards me, balling his remaining fist and swinging it.

The next morning, there were three graves dug. All in memoriam for each of the fallen. I smiled as I bid farewell. I'd come to retrieve them and give them a more proper burial in their home cities.

The bounty for this man was quite high, and the courts were shocked to hear a meager healer had managed to bring him in without much help. I had patched him up, sure, but he was never going to use his hands ever again.

Pt.2

Vithrys pushed away his terror and embraced pure hatred, a burning destruction that he had dedicated his life to. A life he had promised to the sole purpose of Demon genocide.

Vithrys charged forward both hands on his blade. The demon twitched towards Vithrys sensing his movement.

A bone spear tendril shot towards him but Vithrys dodged to the side and then parried a second with his sword getting ever closer to the monstrosity.

He needed to plunge the sword into the demon’s body, once within the flesh his enchanted sword would destroy the demon from the inside out.

A third bone spear speared him through his side but it was too late, he was close enough to thrust the sword into the demon.

He spun the sword in his hand and brought it down with all his might towards the demon’s body.

An odd sensation hit Vithrys like wave of cold water. His sword fell from his arm uselessly and then to Vithrys’ horror his arm fell out of his sleeve completely severed from his torso.

He felt no pain, there was no blood, what was happening!

“I can’t have you destroying something I have worked so hard on” came a voice from behind Vithrys.

Vithrys turned his head and stared as Patches slowly walked up beside him a smirk upon his face.

“Amazing what one can learn when they spend several lifetimes studying the art of healing” Patches casually said as he sat upon the tendrilled tail the demon had brought over for him.

Vithrys could only stare at Patches, his mind barely comprehending what was happening. He slowly realized he couldn’t move his body.

“Ah yes I severed your spinal cord, no use trying to move at this point I can feel the feeble attempts of your brain” Patches said as he cleaned some dirt from his fingernail.

“Listen, as much as I would love to monologue you with my discoveries, as impressive as they are, I need to continue my journey” he said.

“Before you are ingested and consequently melded with my creation I feel obligated to tell you that I was the monster you’ve been tracking this whole, keep your friends close and your enemies closer kind of a deal”.

With a sigh Patches slipped off of the tail and walked back to the camp gathering his things, the demon remained motionless as blood dripped down Vithrys’ side.

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken the liberty of removing your bodies ability to feel pain, so as you are also torn limb from limb you wont be able to feel a thing, however and regretfully there’s nothing I can do about a quick death, it’s out of my hand at this point.”

Vithrys suddenly realized his head was moving, he watched as he began to levitate except that wasn’t quite right his body remained in front of the demon, headless his neck ending in a stump. He watched as he was brought down into the demon’s mouth.

Vithrys had one final look at Patches as a pressure began to build around his head. He felt something crack then all became black.

Pt.1

Vithrys polished his blade slowly by the soft light emitting from their dying campfire. His mind solely focused on the most recent massacre he and his party had recently stumbled upon.

His group of bounty hunters had been tracking what they had assumed to be some form of demon for the past two months.

The demon had been killing groups of creatures. They had tracked the demon back to what they believed to be its first kill of a pile of squirrels found by a group of hunters, generally something that would not have sparked interest except for the fact that there was twenty squirrels striped of their bones and insides, their eyes and skin, still perfectly intact.

From there Vithrys had tracked the demon based on similar scenes of mutilation. When he arrived at a town who’s entire population of farm animals were slain overnight he decided he was going to need to employ extra help.

He arrived at a local tavern and was able to enlist the help of Annalise and Derivard a pair of hunters, both skilled with bow, familiar with animal tracking and knowledgeable in the anatomy of the creatures they killed and sold.

The final member of their party was a Healer they had nicknamed “Patches”. A youthful member of a traveling priesthood, he had overheard Vithrys discussing the numerous scenes of brutality that he had witnessed to Annalise and Derivard and had just about demanded to come with them. He insisted that a healer could be the difference between life and death and while Vithrys had his reservations about the usefulness of “healers” some who could barely mend a wound let alone save a life, he admired the boys enthusiasm and had allowed him to come along.

This morning they had arrived at a small village to discover all of its inhabitants had been slaughtered, but in an unmistakable way. Piles of human flesh lay within tattered clothing. The occasional limb could be seen amidst broken houses and destroyed goods. Vithrys kneeled down and confirmed what he already knew to be true. The pile of flesh was without bone or muscle. He shifted the flesh enough to see a gaping mouth and empty eye sockets and stood up and looked at his companions.

Derivard held Annalise consoling her a look of rage and determination on his face. Patches simply stared, his mouth open. Vithrys couldn’t blame him, if he hadn’t witnessed the destruction a demon could cause firsthand, he would probably would be in a similar state.

“Come on” he said as he began to move through the town “Let’s see if there’s anyone left”.

Their search ended up fruitless and they decided to make camp further down the road for the evening. Emotional strain could be exhausting.

Vithrys finished polishing his blade and admired the rune imbedded in the hilt. Forged by a mage in the far north Vithrys had endured a lifetime of pain to gather what was needed to create the blade. Imbued with spells the blade was made to destroy demons. Vithrys had wielded it to destroy the demon that had ruined his life.

“Memories for another time” he thought “I should probably get some sleep before my watch begins”.

Just as he was about to lie down and close his eyes a scream pierced the the night.

Vithrys was on his feet in seconds, sword drawn and quickly moved over to Patches and gave him a soft kick as he peered through the trees trying to locate the source of the scream.

“Get up and get that fire burning I need light” Vithrys whispered as Patches slowly got to his feet confused.

Motion caught Vithrys’ eye and Annalise came bounding out of the bushes on the other side of the camp.

“Derivard’s dead” she barely managed to get out between breaths.

Vithrys noticed that she was shaking violently, her face pale and terrified. She was in shock, whatever had killed Derivard had inspired terror.

“I….I… it’s” Annalise said stumbling over her words when suddenly she was cut off as a thin spear of bone erupted from her throat.

Patches stepped back in horror as blood spilled from Annalise’s mouth and neck.

Vithrys moved towards her when four more spikes pierced through her dangling arms and legs and lifted her into the air.

Vithrys was now able to see that each bone spike was connected by tendrils to what could only be described as a tail. Vithrys stared in horror as his brain processed what could only be described as exposed muscle brought Annalise into the sky.

Out of the dark came a multi limbed monstrosity. The demon’s figure was composed of muscle and bones jutting out at odd angles, gaping mouths covered its body connected by limbs of humans and animals alike all thread together by pulsing red tendons.

Even by the light of the fire that Patches had barely been able to stoke Vithrys could see maggots squirming all over the demon.

Annalise let out a gurgling scream as the demon simultaneously ripped her apart, each bone spear pulling her body a different direction.

Bones snapping, flesh ripping Annalise’s torso dropped down into an eagerly awaiting mouth with a sickening wet splash. Each of the five spikes then delivered the severed limbs to a different mouth as the whole demon began to digest her, the mouths slowly crunching down on each limb.

With horror Vithrys watched Annalise’s head roll around the demon’s mouth until it could find a solid angle to crack her head in half as if the demon was trying to free a nut from its shell.

Flashbacks of a past repressed flooded Vithrys’ mind. His wife’s hand held in his as a demon ripped her from his grasp. His family obliterated as he ran away in terror.

Not again, not this time.

[deleted]