[SunnyStreets]

username: Ravenwhisper's Wish
name: Skittles
gender: demi-girl
story: (500 word limit)

Skittles yawned and lay in the soft grass. It really was a beautiful day. Cold, yet beautiful and sunny. She swished her tail gently, rustling the long grasses and gazed up at the sky. A cloud drifted across her vision as she popped another colourless skittle in her mouth.

She rolled over onto her side and, sucking her white skittle, the flavour she noted was lime, she closed her eyes, yawning quietly. Slowly she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Drip. Drip. Water dripped from the stalks of grass around her head and landed on her eye. She blinked it out and then looked at the sky. It must have started raining as she had slept. It drizzled down from the sky and Skittles grabbed her skittle packet and hurried inside her small, brightly painted house.

She watched the rain until eventually, slowly, the sun crept out. She watched from her window as a rainbow floated in the sky. How peaceful she felt.

[Emberwhisker]

mark

[theexileofkiem]

username: theexileofkiem
name: Kodo
gender: Female
story: (500 words limit)

The sound of strings filled the crisp fall air. Notes, carried on a gentle breeze. The forest accompanied the lone string instrument player in a most beautiful way. Tree rustled and ravens cawed occasionally. wip

might as well~

[sun struck]

username: Sun Struck
name: Aspen
gender: Male
story:

The lifeless eyes of the ancient Kalon lingered on a warrior as if considering something. The air was musky and there was a reek of decaying matter. There were many warriors gathered around the Ancient Kalon. All of them, blindly staring at the ground, as it was considered to be disrespectful to make eye contact with the lord without being addressed. They have been gathered there for quite a long time. The younger warriors were starting to get impatient and restless.
“You”
The Ancient one rasped in a bone chilling voice.
“You should be the one”
They extended a claw and pointed at a young warrior. The warrior looked up. Their pupil widened and shaking from the mixture of anticipation and a hint of fear. Their eyes now fixed on the Kalon. They twitched their ear in confusion.
“With all due respect my lord, t-there are more experienced warriors who are more suitable and worthy for this task than I am. Currently I am unworthy of such a task. Master”
The Ancient Kalon waved his hand in the air in dismissal.
“Take this Scroll”
The young warrior drew themselves up, with shaking hands. Trying to steady themselves, trying to present themselves to be worthy. Their knees hurt from kneeling on the cold stone floor for such a long time. As they approached, their master carelessly thrusted the delicate scroll on to their shaking hands. The Scroll was truly delicate. Surprisingly soft to touch. It almost seemed to be emitting a subtle glow, the only thing perhaps, in this cavern full of warm bodies, that seemed to have life. It was something rather familiar.. at least it felt so. It stirred up something nostalgic in the young warrior.. what was it? what was it that made it feel so familiar, when everything he knew growing up was cold and rough?
“You better be hope you don’t fail.”
The Ancient one rasped in the same chilling voice, interrupting the warrior’s thoughts. Locking eyes with them, they exposed their ragged teeth in to the closest thing to a smile they could muster up
“You must have heard all the absolutely horrifying stories of those miserable excuses for a warrior who failed pathetically? Well, I would be glad to end your misery if you fail to succeed in this quest”
After pausing to examine the warrior they continued
“But of course, if you do succeed, I might have mercy on you, and perhaps more”
“I understand Master.”
the young kalon nodded eagerly, hiding a gulp.
“Good, leave at once then”
At that, the younger kalon bowed and scurried out of the cavern. The warmth of the gentle Scroll he held reminded him of his earlier thoughts. It almost felt as if it had its own heartbeat, gently drumming against the palm of the warrior’s tightly closed hand.
Grabbing his traveling bag the young warrior glanced at the scroll once more, wondering what secrets were about to be unfolded.

Word Count: 494/500

[eli ayase]

username: eli ayase
name: circe
gender: agender (she/her)
story:
they say that loving someone fills your heart and suppresses even the most evil of ideologies on your conscience. that loving someone heals you and shapes you and makes you whole. this was told to her, over and over, since a very young age; barely old enough to do her homely duties and care for the people of the house, let alone herself. who knew if these sayings were to be true. circe, for one, was destined to never find out.

it was one melancholy day, long ago, when circe's paternal grandfather slew her maternal grandfather, a priest of apollo, by the rhyvern river, now deemed the blood river. devastated (and fearful of the gods), circe's parents fled the village. however, circe's mother, seven moons pregnant by then, received an omen that night that the child born unto her would never learn to love, for she was destined to live alone on an island surrounded by pigs. these pigs were all men at one point, but the island she lived upon would turn the men to pigs when they decided they did not want to be with her anymore. this began to frighten the men that came to see her for her beauty, causing them to be trapped eternally on the island as hog-nosed beasts.


wip!

[Thani]

username: Thani
name: Mystique
gender: Female
story:

Dear Journal,
People Always say to write about the things that you know.
But what do I Really know that others do not?
Iv'e been through pain, and heartbreak...but then again who hasn't?
I just want to impact the world, Leave my mark here for others to remember me long after iv'e passed.
Gem says I shouldn't worry about it too much. That eventually someone will see my stories and they will be inspired.
It's been 4 years. How long is Eventually?

Imagine a city, taken and controlled by a higher power. A perfect place, always in sync, always the same. Day after day you receive more news of more outposts getting taken over and merging with the city. No one know what it is, or where it came from. If you did know anything, you most likely got too close and lost your mind to it. Only a small few of people were still free, but there was talks of robotic type creatures starting to emerge from the city...possibly in looks of the people not yet under the control.

There used to be three different kinds of outposts, The Travellers, always moving around day after day. trying to stay further from the spread. The smaller groups, that would just hide within broken down buildings, they usually stayed solo but not all of them.
Then there were the fighters, the ones willing to stay closer to the city and try to find out more about what was happening...They didn't last long. Things were slowly getting more and more dangerous, and more of the smaller groups were being taken causing them to branch out further into the desert surrounding the safer zones. It was either try your luck at the hands of the spread, or try and survive the elements.

Back in the city,something strange was going on. Every day was the same, it had been for years. Not this day, this day something new was going on. Suddenly one person, in a sea of many, stops their everyday movement. She looks around, confused for a moment before realizing where she was. Libra Julius was her name, and she used to be apart of the fighters. The last thing she remembered was her group sneaking around the outer walls and then everything after that was a blank. She looked around cautiously for a moment before looking down at the cart she was pushing. It was full of food and other necessities. She slowly started to push the cart again, moving her eyes around to see if she could find a way to get out.

The journal containing the writing was closed with a sigh, pen dropped down on top. Mystique looked over at her roommate who was glancing up at her from a book she was reading. "Hows the writing going?" she placed her book open down on the bed so she was at full attention. Mystique groaned loudly and slammed her head on the desk. "That well huh?"

499/500
Other kalon used is my girl, Gemini.

[carotid]

username: carotid xxxx name: antoinette de la fontaine - goes by annie in the modern world xxxx gender: cis female [she/her]

the scene is set- a middle-aged man and a young woman venture through an art museum, walking arm-in-arm, stopping briefly at each piece to muse, remark, laugh. pleasant concertos play over the speakers throughout the open halls. the woman is smiling. she seems to be encapsulated in the thrum of gentle conversation throughout the other bystanders, the ebb and flow of chopin's delicate composure of orchestration joined with piano. she's humming along, too. it's like she knows its movements by heart.

the couple stop in front of an intricate painting- one of delight, elegance, and true beauty. "the bathers," the woman murmurs, her voice almost as melodic as the song of string instruments throughout the museum. "fragonard was truly the best artist of the rococo." she smiles thoughtfully. she has an air about her, emulating fondness towards the early artist- by the purse of her lips and the twinkle in her eye, it's almost like she knows him personally.

the man interrupts curtly. "i beg to differ." the wrinkles on his face gather around his eyes and lips as he grins, laughing heartily. "boucher's depictions of women are far more personal- more endearing." she gives him a look, disapproving. the man doesn't notice- he's pointing at the rear of one of the figures in fragonard's piece and naively chortling to himself.

the next piece is a portrait. it's a woman. she's familiar, almost overly so. the woman pales, while the man inquisitively strokes his scruff as he examines it. "portrait of antoinette de la fontaine," he murmurs under his breath, then turns to the wide-eyed woman, concealing her panic with a demure mask. "that's awfully similar to your name, annie. and she looks just like you, too."

annie bats her lashes and slips her arm from the hold between them. "i'll be right back. powder room."

the man doesn't seem suspicious. thank god. "alright, dear. i'll be here."

a past life haunts the woman as she locks the bathroom door behind her and turns to the mirror, all color having left from her face. the portrait was her. is her. she's forgotten that fragonard's pieces were so highly sought after in the louvre. "i thought the musée d'orsay was holding onto it?" she thought, furious, clutching the porcelain of the sink as if it were a lifeline. "i'm finally happy with a damn husband and now i have to start all over again?" she meets her own gaze in the mirror, the sounds of concerto overhead growing furious, stormy, choleric- she can't think. she must go. she's already imagining where her most valuable items are in her villa- she recalls her suitcases, hidden away, and calculates what she'll be able to pack and what she must leave behind.

it will be a long time before she can attend the louvre again. it will be a long time until she can return to paris.

remind her to never have a fling with a 16th-century painter again.

[ 495 words - the painting mentioned, for context ]

[whim]

rip lost inspiration, good luck to everyone else!!

[skywishes01]

username: skywishes01
name: salem
gender: female
story: 493 words

It is not a special grave. Plain and grey and utterly indistinguishable in this forest of stone. But I know it is the right one.

The engraving is faded, but it doesn’t matter; I know it by heart. A name: Salem Jones. And the dates: 1974 to 1990. There was a quote, too, picked out by her mother. In another language, Latin, I think. Qui amantur numquam moriuntur. Those who are loved never die.

I should’ve brought some flowers. Bright and alive; to remember how she once was. Roses, lilies. Or jasmine - her favorite. Tiny and white, they were. But it was the scent she loved; sweet like spring days and laughter. I haven’t seen one in a while. Since she died.

It’s quiet here. Too quiet. Peaceful, some would say- but not for me. The wind doesn’t blow here, as if scared, frightened. Of what? No one will ever know. Sunshine fills the sky and yet I am cold, so, so cold. Everything stops here. It is a place of endings, not beginnings. And it does not need to be dark for you to feel it.

Thousands of bodies lie under your feet. Thousands of lives. Thousands of loves. Graves dotted over the hills like pustules, infected boils; this is a place of rot and death and sorrow.

She was no different. It was an accident, they said. A tragic folly. She was alone, at home, in the place where she should’ve been the safest. But who can protect against a mistake? A random error? An electrical fault, that’s what it was. A flaw in the code. A tiny spark, and that was enough.

That’s what the police said, anyway. No one but her knew the truth. No one but her heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway, and looked out her bedroom window to see the dark figure running, running, running away.

Then the world exploded.

It started with the smoke. A smell, like the jasmine, but a smell of caution. She’d been reading, probably; she always was. Beloved, that was her latest obsession. Abandoned on her bed as she moved to open the door.

Another mistake.

Heat and light and pain crashed through her senses. The blaze was a ravenous beast, and it rushed and roared into the room, destroying everything it touched. Maybe she screamed. Maybe she didn’t. It doesn’t matter, because no one could’ve heard. The fire was too quick, too quick, rushing over her skin, she was ashflamewhitehotburning-

Then, nothing.

The people came soon after. The firefighters, who couldn’t save the building or her. The neighbors, watching in horror - this wasn’t something that happened to them, near them. A scene from a movie gone wrong. And her parents, coming home from a night out.

Except, there was no home anymore. Only this stone, this dead grey stone; a pitiful replacement for what once was.

It is not a special grave.

But it is mine.

[Wolfycat101]

username:
Wolfycat101
name:
Dutchess
gender:
Female
story:
The storm was closing in, it was not too late though. There was still time.
There was time to bring it all back, there was still time.
The world might be collapsing around them, but the story would still have time to be told.
The tale would live on.

-

The land lay silently, waiting.
Someone would need to pass by.
Over the lilac petals.
And into the roaring skies.

There was no movement,
No breeze that would be blown high.
Until a new person came over,
And then, opened up the sky.

There were no objections,
No if, ands, or buts.
Only the trees and the flowers,
To bend over and wave "good luck".

The breeze blew,
The little figure shivered.
All that was left,
Was for them to be considered.

A new friend,
For the leaves on the ground.
Someone new,
That would take on the crown.

How they'd rejoice,
How they'd be glad.
If it wasn't for the dragon,
Who had slayed a lad.

The fight was on,
The figure knew.
Exactly what,
They had to do.

All caught up,
The story ends,
A tale for the little people,
A tale for the grand, and tall friends.

The End.
[201]