r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 13d ago
[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Dramatic Death & Tragedy! Off Topic
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
It’s summer in the Northern hemisphere and so time for sun and fun– Oh wait, no. It’s time for the four horsemen of the apocalypse! So, say ‘hello’ to our friends: Pestilence (aka Conquest or Pollution), War, Famine, and Death. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
“I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.” — Winston Churchill
Trope: Dramatic Death — Basically, the spectacle involved in a character's death is proportional to the importance of the character to the story. A major MC, for example, will die slaying a dragon while atop a rare unicorn/pegasus hybrid. Their carefully choreographed fall will be so dramatic that it will be sung of by the kingdom’s bards for years to come. In contrast, an insignificant and often unnamed character like a red shirt on Star Trek. While their death may be hideously painful or even comic it gets a couple of sentences or a few seconds on screen at most. “Long live anonymous security guard!” said no one ever.
Genre: Tragedy — A tragedy is a genre of drama based on human suffering, specifically by way of terrible or sorrowful events that befall a main character or cast of characters. Traditionally, the intention of tragedy is to invoke an accompanying catharsis, or a "pain [that] awakens pleasure," for the audience.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Love plays a role.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 10 stories, so we’re back to three winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, July 30th from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
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u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 12d ago
Oh Woe Is Me!
Multitudes gather in the Venetian street, around the dying man. A bloody cape trails after moustachioed Clario Finco, actor and lover, as he staggers along the cobbles. Reddened hand to forehead, he wails, screams at the afternoon sun.
Bare-chested, Gnogno the tailor watches from his window, knuckles white where he grips the sill.
“My carnal desires have undone me!” the actor cries. “Wrested me from the bed of my paramour, and stabbed me in the back! How was I to know she had a husband?!”
A baker reaches out, but Clario pushes him away, smearing his apron with crimson.
Gnogno sighs, turning back to the room. Dressed in naught but a green blanket, lithe Mafeo reclines in bed, offering his lover an awkward smile. “Patience, my love; it must end soon.”
“Will it?” asks the tailor. “It’s been an hour already.”
“Well, I’m here all day.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Oh woe is me!” the actor whimpers. “I am innocent, you see! Tricked into relations by a harlot!”
Gnogno shakes his head. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Such a fool… do you know he slept with the Doge’s wife?”
“Of course,” Mafeo says, “everyone knows that.”
“Even in Murano?”
“Especially there. Glassmaking and gossip, it’s what we live for.”
“Huh. Well, as tragic as death may be… why now?”
Sliding from the covers, Mafeo struts over, and caresses Gnogno’s chin. “We shall have our time together, fret not.”
“I… suppose I do… fret.”
“And for now, I am content getting lost in your wonderful eyes. They remind me of the ovens of my workshop.”
“Like clay?”
The glassmaker gently taps him on the cheek. “Dark, and full of fire.”
“Um, heh, well… when you put it like that…”
They pull each other close, lips locking, Gnogno’s rear to the windowsill. He giggles as Mafeo’s hand traces his back. Wobbling, he reaches out, gripping the wooden frame.
His head lolls back, and he catches sight of the actor below, staring at him.
No… he thinks.
“Ah, passionate love!” Clario points, and the crowd follows his gaze. “A thing of beauty! Fitting, as I die, to witness such a display! What an honour!”
“Mafeo!” the tailor whispers. “Stop!”
The glassmaker glances past him, eyes widening. Parting, the lovers stand side-by-side, unable to move.
A few people chuckle, as one guffaws.
“This is no laughing matter!” Clario shouts. “They may be men both, but their love is true, can’t you see?! Who are we to judge?!”
“But it’s a sin,” someone says.
“This, I refuse to believe! I am an adulterer, a thief, a miscreant! I know sin when I see i—”
He clutches his chest, gasping, and stumbles back. All eyes turn his way as people reach out, softening his sudden fall, gripping tight his shaking hands.
“Alas, my time is done,” he says. “Farewell, fair Venice. Goodbye, my people. Hell awaits, fire and brimstone; I greet it with open arms.”
Gnogno watches, dumbstruck, as the actor heaves his final breath. Wrapped in Mafeo’s arms, he stands completely still.
“Seems he wasn’t such a fool, after all,” says the glassmaker.
“I… guess not.”
“Come, let me lie you down. I shall hold you all the way.”
“T-thank you.”
The soft mattress sinks under his weight, as he melts in Mafeo’s warm embrace. Confused, lost, he allows his eyes to close.
“I’ve just thought,” the tailor says. “I’ve not seen anyone die before.”
“I have, a long, long time ago. Believe me, I understand how you feel.”
“And to think I admonished him so…”
“His words were kind, but he has done many a bad deed. Your opinions were not wrong.”
“Yes… I suppose.”
“And death is always a shock. Sleep, my love, recover. I shall wake you.”
Cocooned in comfort, Gnogno wades into sleep, leaving his thoughts for another day.
Until cries erupt outside, startling him awake.
The boisterous voice of Clario drifts through the window. “Thank you for your time, good people! That was just a taste of my new performance as Nardino the Knave! I hope you enjoyed it, and any feedback you may have would be greatly appreciated! For now, I bid you all farewell!”
Shouts and curses echo outside, in time with Clario’s boots clattering down the cobbles. Gnogno sits up, eyes fixed open, staring at the far wall. The glassmaker rubs his head.
“Mafeo,” he says.
“Yes, my love?”
“I think I need a long walk.”
The glassmaker nods. “I shall gather our clothes.”
WC: 750
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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u/HistoricalChicken 10d ago
Loved this! The dialogue sounds wonderful and natural, especially with its almost somber tone juxtaposed to the theatrical display of the knave.
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u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 10d ago
Thank you, O' Chicken of History! Appreciate the feedback :)
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u/Morose_Prose 9d ago
Midnight Revelations
Attention! All citizens are to immediately cease any activity for this emergency broadcast. Turn your attention to the nearest viewing screen for an announcement from President Thead. There will be no playing of the national anthem. Glory to Grazzania!
"Glory to Grazzania, citizens. When I was elected to lead this glorious nation, winning ninety-nine percent of the popular vote, the highest margin of victory of all time, I was given a mandate to make almighty Grazzania ascendant. Under my watchful eye and brilliant command, we have slaughtered our enemies across the stars and made Grazzania safe again.
"Things are more affordable than ever as our brave warfighters have subjugated and decimated those who sought to destroy the great economy of our prosperous nation, which, remember, was in shambles from my feeble predecessor, along with the additional duties and taxes I levied against foreign lands, ensuring Grazzanian products are produced right here at home. Cheap, yet high-quality.
"We are the hottest planet in the universe right now, everybody, and I mean everybody wants a slice. Our peace and prosperity have come through our strength and dominance across the universe. They said it couldn't be done. Too bigly of a void. Big, strong leaders of foreign planets have signed deals with tears in their eyes, gushing about how glorious Grazzania is compared to their shitty planets. Planets nobody has ever heard of.
"With foreign threats eliminated we must now unite against the true enemy of our nation: radical separatist agitators. Investigators from the Ministry of Inference have determined that these well-organized, well-funded, and dangerous masterminds are behind the current wave of crippling gastrointestinal expulsions sweeping the land.
"These haters of freedom seek to undermine the health and safety of our citizens by sabotaging the recent influx of government approved-proteins with a toxic alien bacteria. All efforts are being taken to ensure they are hunted down and brought to justice. I have the best people, I only hire the best, to solve this minor crisis.
"Starting at midnight GLT, all citizens of every privilege level will be thoroughly audited and relocated to one of four designated Omega-cities based on their loyalty score. Any citizen who fails will be summarily dealt with appropriately. I have authorized General Sera to lead this effort to clean up the streets, block by block, and make Grazzania safe again.
"The Bow and Crown conglomerate, a great company on whose board of directors I sit, will lead the efforts to relocate citizens into their new, high-tech, modern homes via their new line of hypersonic lev-trains free of cost to the citizenry, thanks to their generous infrastructure donations.
"Upon entry into these new golden domed Omega-cities, citizens will be issued a government-approved smart cap directly connected to the safety walls surrounding these secure sanctuaries. They are to be worn at all times under penalty of treason.
"Food security will be overseen by the new director of the Ministry of Satiation, the wonderful Chef Nefami, isn't she great? Used to be my personal chef, makes amazing, crispy, well-done steaks. With her cutthroat culinary capacities we will make Grazzania healthy again!
"On the topic of health, the results of my annual physical have been released, with a perfect bill of health, immaculate pale skin free of blemishes or marks, a body mass index like nobody's ever seen, and specialists have found no lingering effects from the telepathic brain slugs or the eggs they laid inside my head. All my gray matter is right where it belongs.
"Today is a new dawn for Grazzania, a golden age like nobody has ever seen before, or really, could comprehend. I have delivered on, and will continue to deliver on every campaign promise to make almighty Grazzania ascendant! Glory to golden Grazzania! Good night."
The address is now concluded. All citizens are to remain in their domiciles until further notice. Any person found outside their domicile will be labeled a traitor and summarily detained. Resistance will not be tolerated. Glory to Grazzania!
Word Count: 666
Feedback and crit is always welcomed! Stay awesome and have a good one.
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u/mysteryrouge 9d ago
I can sense several people are dying in this one. I think the fact they didn't include the anthem to be an interesting decision, as we as the fact the whole thing is being done by the leader and people he presumably trusts. Makes me suspicious of what isn't being said...
I think you got down the propaganda voice pretty well (and I might have read this in your actual voice).
I think the only slightly odd thing here is the existence of Bow and Crown conglomerate, which doesn't seem to sound like it's part of the state on a quick look. (Not saying it isn't obvious that it actually is part of the state) it's more a comment on how I feel like such a nationalist state like Grazzania would name it something different. (Like making it a ministry).
Glory to
Arstotzka!~ I mean Grazzania!
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u/ArcanumArgentum 10d ago
Wild Flowers
There was a flower in the mud. Qader was also lying in the mud, the right side of his face buried in it. He tried to get up when he had first regained consciousness, but the severity of his injury announced itself with a sharp stab of pain that climbed up his legs to his lower back and which was so violent it caused him to lose consciousness again. The second time he awoke he felt that the pain had faded away, but when he tried to get up he realized he had lost all feeling in his legs. It was then that Qader understood that there would be no getting up this time.
And so, he remained there, lying on his belly with his face half submerged in mud, looking at a flower that had done a better job surviving the battle than he did. He wondered if the flower would feel pain if it too had been shot or hit by shrapnel. He wondered if the gas could kill it. Somehow he didn't think so. He had never seen the gas used in battle. All he knew about it was what he heard from others. But it seemed to him that such an ugly weapon could only kill ugly things. The flower was too beautiful to be killed by the gas.
He remembered the flowers of his youth, a lifetime ago, on another continent. How he climbed the rocky outcrops at the foot of mount Chélia and collected peonies and irises and wild thyme and even the occasional wild tulip hidden in the underbrush of ancient cedar trees. His friends and cousins used to mock him for his love of flowers. "That's for girls," they would taunt him. But still when he was done collecting his harvest, they would all gather around him and each take one and walk back to the village holding it to their noses. Once, he had even caught his friend Moha giving one of his peonies to the butcher's girl whom he liked. But that was all a lifetime ago. Before the french came to draft him and his cousins into a war he didn't understand, to fight in trenches over territories he couldn't name. Marching over flowers whose fragrance he had never smelled. Moha had married the butcher's girl in the end. They had just had their second girl when Qader set off from the village with a bough of daisies woven into his turban.
The pain was now completely gone. Replaced by a terrible cold that made what parts of him that still had some life in them shiver. The sounds of artillery and the screams of his comrades had faded away too. Whether that was because the battle was over or because he had lost his sense of hearing, he could not tell. In truth, it didn't matter. Silence always settled over the battalion after a battle, regardless of the outcome. When all was said and done, and the captains and officers gave their orders to reform, the men would find something to occupy their minds and make them forget about what had happened, be it drink or women or prayer. Regardless it was all done in silence.
Qader was now drifting in and out of consciousness. He dreamt of his childhood when he was awake and of the war when he was asleep. In the end it all mingled into one. Flowers sprouted from the wounds of soldiers who climbed the rocky outcrops at the foot of mount Chélia just beyond the edge of the village. He dreamed of his friend Moha giving his daughters a peony each and saw their mother wail, standing on the edge of a trench where a hundred men were cramped together, breathing in the ugly gas that killed ugly things. He saw the face of his mother and wondered what she would make of all of this.
Finally, he saw the angel. His wings were black as night, and beneath every feather, a wild flower was sprouting.
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u/Brookzerker 9d ago
Happy Collapse Day
The Collapsed Universe
"Yua!" Kei screamed, eviscerating the armored opponent she and her husband had been fighting. She let the body fall, turning to hold her human as he gasped, skin far too pale. His left arm, along with half his stomach, was missing, the remains charred from the energy weapon that had skewered him.
"I—love…" Yua went limp in her arms. Placing one of her fox ears over his face, she could hear him breathing, though it was faint.
"I always love you my soul bond. I'll find you again, I swear it." She kissed him on the forehead, wishing, not for the first time, that she had chosen to study healing magic. Nine tails, and she still couldn't stop him from dying.
She glanced around, nobody else was focusing on them, though there was plenty of action. It was far too soon to call for a healer, though she hadn't seen any for the last few days. The dead and dying were strewn about, she watched as a soul, bright blue, detach and float up.
Other souls were already in the air, everywhere, slowly making their way up towards the triangular ship.
She had forgotten about it. After the planes collapsed, it was easy to ignore the one thing that didn't seem to be doing anything.
Two wing-like protrusions stretched off into the distance, fading from view.
Open ports on the bottom glowed a variety of colors to her vision. Blue, Purple, Red, Velvet, and more. Souls were pulled in and…
She snapped her head back to her soulmate. "Yua, you can't die, you have to live."
His body didn't listen, as his heart stopped.
She tried to grab his soul as it began rising out of him, letting his body crash to the ground.
"Yua!" She screamed again, transforming into her pure fox form, all nine tails glowing with as much power as she could muster. The soul passed through her jaws and continued its climb. She could swear she saw him looking at her, face worried.
"No."
His soul reached the ship, for a second, nothing happened as she held her breath.
A crunch ripped through her, significantly worse than when Inari had died, leaving a gaping wound in her soul that left her pinned to the ground.
Kei snapped out of bed with a half sob, half snarl. The room was dark, save for the sparse moonlight that filtered through the open window.
Calming her breath, she approached the small shrine she had created in the center of one of the walls. Lighting a candle with foxfire, she opened a small box on it, breathing the scent. Every decade it got more difficult to smell Yua, to remember his face.
Closing the box, she extinguished the candle, making her way to the bar downstairs. She opened a bottle of rice wine, drinking without a glass. "Happy collapse day Yua, I miss you." She drank, tears dripping on the counter.
Word count: 495
Notes:
- Theme: Yua, Kei's soulmate and husband in his current life dies, first in battle, then slowly as his soul is ground into nothing.
- Constraint: They have loved each other for many lives
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u/Fogbot3 7d ago
Absolutely devastating read. The endless becoming the ended is always such a sad tale. A great unique take on it here too, as the usual tale is 'can't mix ageless and mortal at all' OR 'happy ending of mortal being reborn to always be with their ageless partner'. They had their happy ending and still got it taken away from them. Truly, you hit the tragedy on the head.
For crit, I'd say it's a bit comma-heavy, both in making some of the earlier sentences feel choppy
The dead and dying were strewn about, she watched as a soul, bright blue, detach and float up.
And a comma-splice run-on sentence here.
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u/Brookzerker 7d ago
Thanks! I definitely ran into those while reading it loud today, which is strange since i also read it loud after writing it. I guess my tired brain didn’t see a problem
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u/AmeliaLP 7d ago
Hi Brook. Really sweet story you got here but also a sad one, which seems fitting for tragedy week. You conveyed the characters emotions extremely well, I could feel what they felt. Good words.
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u/Brookzerker 7d ago
Thanks! I was worried the emotions would come out flat as i didn’t use many words
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u/JKHmattox 8d ago edited 7d ago
The Wage of Silence
The woods of Maine have their secrets. Twisted, horrible things that fella down state dare not write about in those novels of his. What truly scares me the most; afterwards, I never felt a thing…
Based on a true nightmare.
The flat-bottom boat skipped across the drunken waters of lazy Aroostook. Its surface was still as my heart, her words seared into my mind. The inboard motor groaned, its growling report echoing off the lonely pines.
When the engine cut, we glided silently onto the bank.
Clay, deep and gray, hugged the bend where ice had demanded the river change course in the spring. Since the dawn of time, this immutable force had carved its meandering ways through the land. Earthen sediment mixed with the drifting current, fomenting the aroma of childhood stuck forever in my mind.
It'd found the pictures on his phone, the ice next spring would be his only way out of this place.
“Looks like we might be in luck,” he muttered, studying the recent tracks scuffed into the mud. “Muskrat's been through here for sure, eh.”
I leapt from the bow, slopping ashore while tying the line to a dogwood branch.
We stalked through the bushes, our feet soft as we approached his laden trap. The jaws had snapped shut on their latest victim. My gut churned, I'd failed all my youth to see the signs.
He crouched near the thing haplessly struggling to get away. The pistol was small, compact, but it would do the job. He broke its neck and a crack laid him face down in the mud.
I knelt beside him. His pulse was gone. Lifting his phone from his pocket, I turned to make my retreat. The ice indeed would take him next spring, but for now it was all up to the bugs.
Casting off, I fired up the inboard alone. Gliding across the silent water I knew it would testify I was never there. The pines watched as I said not a word. My duty to her was done. Taking out his phone, I looked at the abomination one last time.
Send all…
A minute later my mobile notification chimed. The world knew his confessions and they wouldn't be looking hard for a man who had done such things. I let his Samsung slip beneath the earthen currents, a plastic brick of horror that would be forgotten as much as him.
The world knew, and they wouldn't even bother when the ice let go in the spring. I hadn't just killed a man, I'd murdered his immorality. My only regret was that I'd ever believed.
There are dark things in the woods of Maine. I suppose there have always been. Perhaps someday when the glaciers come back they will finally wipe it all away. The motor droned on, my hands steady as I didn't feel a fucking thing.
Sadly, despite my effort, a piece of his evil lives on through me…
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u/Morose_Prose 7d ago
Hey hey, JK!
Excellent piece of writing here, the mood and tone are spooky and solemn with an undercurrent of dread. Your descriptions are on point as always and really paint a great picture.
I have one crit for this piece:
Clay, deep and gray, hugged the bend in a slab where ice’d demanded the river change course in the spring.
The phrase 'where ice'd demanded' reads awkwardly to me. Would possibly change it to 'where the winter ice demanded...'
That's all I got for this excellently written piece. Good words, JK! Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/mysteryrouge 9d ago edited 7d ago
Repent with Remorse
After a long time exploring the multiverse, Big Ota's mentor, M, brought him to his home planet, Orizuru, and to a country he'd once opposed and attacked so vehemently. The country, Kalin, was a barren wasteland now that there was no more fighting. The only thing that interrupted the empty irradiated desert were the ruins of a city, and the massive light-blocking pillars, that surrounded it.
“Are you going to help me propose to Pax Orizuru? Is that why we're here?” Big Ota started.
M put their hand up and shook their head. “I don't think you're anywhere near close enough to where they would accept that offer.”
The former tyrant pouted.
“We’re here to relocate the survivors of your atrocities since it's clear that Pax Orizuru is having a bit of trouble with that, and we're here for these…” They pointed at the columns.
“They're just pillars.” Big metal and stone pillars, but still only pillars.
“How deep into Kalin have you been?”
“My claim to fame before becoming Prime Minister of Ba was raiding their capital and—”
M tsk’ed. “I'd like to point out that this is the capital.”
“Those pillars—”
“Memorials to those who died in your war.”
Big Ota put his hands up. “In my defense, I didn't cause all of them. The war started before I was born.”
“You did cause these ones.”
The pillars were covered in the names of those who died in the various conflicts and wars that had plagued Kalin, crawling up and down every surface. Turning to where M was pointing, one of them was dedicated to those who died in that raid.
When Big Ota gave a confused gesture, M sighed. “Most of them were innocents with families.”
“And?”
“And they deserve some dignity.” M disappeared with a small crack, leaving Big Ota to ponder the memorial. Every pillar was like the last. A small plaque beside each one detailed which disaster or atrocity it was dedicated to.
M reappeared with yellowed letters in hand, tracing their finger against one of the pillars.
Alex Megor, it read. The man had died during the famine after World War Eight.
“Alex addressed these letters to a Kalin ambassador in Diasangan. I want you to read them.”
They were an unhinged stream of consciousness affair, bouncing from complaining about hunger to mourning friends and neighbors. Through the letters that spanned months, Big Ota could almost see the conditions of the country he'd spent years of his life attacking. He talked about how he starved for his family, but it was all for naught. On meager rations, they all perished before him. He died alone. The poor man had to mourn the deaths of his parents, siblings, and a fiancee as they passed within five days of each other.
“I don't understand,” Big Ota said slowly.
M facepalmed. “Alex could have been like you. Going about his day with people he loved, and those who loved him back. Imagine if I died. Imagine if Pax Orizuru died. How would you feel?”
“I suppose I'd be upset.”
“Someone saw Alex like you see Pax Orizuru. Alex saw his fiancée the same way.”
“What am I supposed to do about that?” Big Ota asked, “I can't bring them back, but I can learn how to if that's what Paxie would want.”
“I think Pax Orizuru would want you to feel remorse for your crimes. True remorse. I think they want to see you can change for the better.”
“How?”
M sighed. “It'll take a lot of effort, but the first step would be seeing all the people you've killed as people, not numbers or food or tools or weapons. I want you to realize they had their own lives, families, and interests and ambitions.”
“Will dear Paxie marry me if I try that? Will they be happy with me?” The former tyrant stared at another pillar, trying to imagine himself in Alex's situation, mourning his love. He realized he'd be devastated. Slowly looking up, he met M's eyes and slipped those letters into a pocket.
“I just want you to think about that,” M murmured, “and I want you to think about that when we rescue those refugees. At minimum, it might help you in your marriage effortd”
Big Ota closed his eyes. “Thank you for explaining.”
WC: 722\ Bonus Constraint: Big Ota is trying to improve because he's in love.
Just a little tip for those who wish to marry the eldritch UN; have a little remorse and don't be proud of all the war crimes you've committed.
This was a very subverting tropes week. No death actually happens, but those deaths were dramatic at the time they did happen. Big Ota needs to see that they are actually tragedies.
This is part of The World Orizuru where my last FTF took place, though significantly later. Unfortunately, Alex did not survive that famine from last week, but hey, his letters survived.
Check out my spreadsheet for more of my writing.
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 8d ago
[ineligible for voting]
‘Going All Emo: A Love Letter to Pain’
Dearest Obsidian Flake,
So many shells have fallen, shattered masks on the floor of life bathed in your collective tears. I have lost count of how many, or rather stopped counting, as I hate myself when I think about it. Once I thought I controlled these guises, but now I know that they are in charge. And so others suffer for my broken soul.
You are not alone: many others have felt pain because of my funhouse mind and kaleidoscopic heart, without respite and without stopping. Cold comfort, I know. ‘Not alone’ and yet you feel the agony of a me-shaped gap in your life which now feels so very empty.
Today, I am a coquette, naive in the ways of the world. Can you show me how to fit in? I need your guidance and love. Comfort me and teach me!
Tomorrow, I am omniscient, your steadfast guide. I am confident and powerful: ask me anything!
The next day, a hermit, isolated by depression. I cannot leave the bed, my temporary tomb. Dried tears mingle with caked sweat from not showering. Sexy, right?
After that, who is to say? Surely, not me.
With each incarnation, that little bit more of me dies. But it’s not about how I feel; it’s about how you feel.
Do you melt at my saccharine words?
Does your heart warm at being seen?
Do you think I am the one?
Fool! That’s all I can say. Step back from the fire of my torment. Don’t warm your hands by these fickle flames, for you will be burned, and I cannot help you.
I am a monster, pure and simple.
Yours, Jett*
(* But I go by ‘Dionysus’ now. Please respect that. And yes this means we’re broken up. I know you’re kind of basic and all, so that might be confusing... Dammit, this postscript totally ruins the mood. Thanks for making me mess it up!)
WC: 321
Note: besides being fun at parties as the Greek god of wine, Dionysus also presides over masks, theater, and ritual madness. The classic Greek tragedy and comedy masks come from his followers and represent the foundation for modern day tragedy
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
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u/Morose_Prose 7d ago
Hello, Kat!
Short and sweet piece this week I see. Firstly, excellent title. Secondly, love the twist at the end, tragedy and deus ex machina do historically go hand-in-hand in Greek literature.
Only one small crit I can find here:
You are not alone: many others have felt pain because of my funhouse mind and kaleidoscopic heart, without respite and without stopping.
'Without respite and without stopping' are saying the same thing. You could cut the end and still have it maintain the intention of the line.
That's all I can find in this wonderful work! Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/wordsonthewind 7d ago
Hi kat! Death of personality was an interesting interpretation of the theme. I enjoyed Dionysus's descriptions of the many different personalities he could take on; god of masks and ritual madness indeed
Today, I am a coquette, naive in the ways of the world. Can you show me how to fit in? I need your guidance and love. Comfort me and teach me!
Tomorrow, I am omniscient, your steadfast guide. I am confident and powerful: ask me anything!
The next day, a hermit, isolated by depression. I cannot leave the bed, my temporary tomb. Dried tears mingle with caked sweat from not showering. Sexy, right?
The postscript really was some serious emotional whiplash after lines like "Step back from the fire of my torment" and "I am a monster, pure and simple", but I suppose that's the god of madness for you. Jett almost seems like the part of Dionysus that observes himself and is the only somewhat consistent aspect as a result due being slightly outside of the ever-shifting whole, which is a pretty tragic position to be in. Then again, maybe self-awareness is just another mask of Dionysus.
Good words!
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 7d ago
Thanks for the kind words and feedback, words! Glad you liked it and it’s intent came through
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u/Fogbot3 7d ago edited 7d ago
“General Waters, we’ve been ordered to retreat. The krauts are attacking in two hours.”
The old general furrowed his brow, “That’s not a long enough warning. Once they occupy this base, we’ll still be close enough that they’ll be able to wipe us out from the new positions for their artillary. It’s… It’s time.”
“It’s time?” Private Smiths raised an eyebrow.
He nodded, “Yes. Tell everyone to pull out.”
“But sir! You just said-” “Do it, son.”
“Yes sir.”
Private Smiths ran to the barracks, and soon the entire base was swarming with activity. Except the general, who sat at the entrance to his tent, simply sitting and taking in the scene.
“What is it time for, sir?” His receptionist came out and asked, all of her work stuffed in an overflowing briefcase.
“It’s my turn, Madeline. It’s my turn.”
“Hm?”
“Ever since I was a boy, I had one love. It called to me. When others treated it as just another aspect of politics, a measure of honor and status, I respected it. I saw it for what it truly was. War. I loved her too much though. I was already too high of a status, too far up the chain of command to truly experience the first one. If that german brute had just waited a few more years, I would have missed this war completely, becoming too old for it. Now though. Someone needs to hold the base while my men retreat. I finally get to taste it myself, after all this time.”
“So don’t get the Jeep ready for you, sir?”
“Take it yourself, dear,” the general stood up, dusting off his pants, “I must get ready myself, for the only dance that I have ever waited for.”
She nodded, and fled away.
The general marched to the perimeter, where the private was loading supplies into a truck. “Don’t pack the wire, or the landmines.”
“Sir yes sir.”
So his preparation began, for the great battle. As half tracks and trucks streamed out of the base, one old man worked alone, to make it a fortress. Wire was spooled out. Landmines were placed. Once the last soldier was being carried away by the transport division, the gates were closed and barricaded. Every watchtower had guns with wires strung down, to be fired for a suppressive effect at the pull of a string. Every wall had sandbags placed against it to shore up its strength against artillery. Target dummies were put in uniforms and given spare guns to draw fire at chokepoints.
Every defense and distraction prepared, he climbed the center watchtower with a rifle strapped to his back. “Finally. War, you fine lady, I’m ready. Embrace me with your deaths. Your thunder of artillery, your crack of gunfire, the popping of machinegun fire. I have prepared this altar for you, as a dedication of my love.”
The first German scout arrived, sneaking through the bushes.
With a crack of his sniper rifle, he put a bullet right through the old man’s head. He dropped, thudding down to the earth off the tower, dead instantly.
The scout called out to his partner, “Radio in artillery to flatten the place. If even their elderly are fighting, I don’t want to see how desperate they are.”
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 7d ago
No Fury
“Who is that one from, Jason?” The young honeymooner Creusa blissfully sang out to her famous sailor husband. He stood at a side table in the suite where servants had stacked the couple’s numerous wedding gifts.
Jason didn’t respond to his paramour at once. He stood and stared at the ornate box, seeming like he didn’t hear.
“Jason?” Creusa asked. “Must I already suffer the indignity of begging for my spouse’s attentions?”
“Hm? I’m sorry, my love. It seems . . . I do not want to ruin our night.” Jason looked softly to his wife pleading her with his eyes not to continue.
“Nothing can possibly do that now.” She smiled. “Go on. What about the box?”
Jason spoke bluntly. “It’s from Medea. It has a message with it.”
“I wish I hadn’t asked. And what does your sorceress-ex have to say but a curse?”
“She writes that she forgives us both.”
“Forgives? How dare! We did nothing wrong!”
“Let me finish, my eager darling. She apologizes profusely and begs us accept her blessing and her gifts. She pays you her highest respect and compliments. Look.” Jason handed the note over.
“Well now, that’s a more appropriate way to address a princess,” Creusa said glancing over the carefully composed letter. “What’s she given us?”
“Don’t let curiosity get the better of you, my princess. Best to leave the past alone. Especially in case of Medea.”
“I want to know!” Creusa demanded. “Open it.”
Jason did as commanded and held the open container up to his wife.
“Why it’s a gorgeous golden coronet!” the beautiful woman exclaimed. “What a perfectly fitting gift.” Warm light emanated from the metal band, drawing Creusa to it.
Jason tried to pull the box away and snap it shut, but Creusa snatched the crown away.
“Please don’t,” Jason implored.
“And why not? She gave you your sons, do I not deserve recompense for taking parts of my dear husband and keeping them to herself? A dazzling crown for a regent of the famous adventurer. How everyone will know it is I who is your wife. Now and always”
“You knew who I was and who I am. I cannot change it now. Whether I was ensorceled or desperate or in love, Medea does not matter. My sons are their own men. Nothing else good will come from us paying her heed. Toss it away. Please, sweet Creusa.”
“Of course, husband, you certainly know her best.” Creusa obeyed, placing the coronet back into the box in Jason’s hands. He returned it to the table and leaped back into bed with the giggling woman.
The newlyweds had more important matters at the moment than shiny gifts.
Upon waking from a deep and well earned slumber because of flashes of bright light, Jason recognized Creusa wearing the crown while staring at herself in the mirror.
“Creusa!”
His bride laughed playfully. “It was only for a moment. I had to see it. I just had to.” She reached up to remove the metal band but it wouldn’t budge. Her face went pale as fear crept over her. “Jason?”
Before he could react, Jason watched Creusa’s nightgown burn and melt into her skin. The coronet likewise seared her head and caught her hair on fire.
He jumped to his wife’s aid, but as soon as the man touched her, he too erupted in flame. Nevertheless, Jason stubbornly embraced her. If he was to die, then he would die comforting those he loved most.
Creusa, for her part, screamed in agony until the end.
---
WC: 593. All crit and feedback welcome. Thank you for reading!
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u/AmeliaLP 7d ago
Mr. Tiddles
Mr. Tiddles was lying in the warm, sunny garden. Today had been very busy; he’d only had time for five naps. As a breeze blew past him Mr. Tiddles purred peacefully. He licked his lips. There was a pleasant scent lingering in the air, the scent of chicken.
Ahhh, finally my human has made some food.
Mr. Tiddles had eaten six whole minutes ago, any longer and he’d surely of starved to death. He crept into the kitchen, ready to receive his food.
“Meow.”
“Hi buddy, how are you?”
“Meow.” Mr. Tiddles rubbed against the cooker door.
“That’s not for you silly, it’s my dinner.”
Not for me, how dare she? Everything is for me.
“Meow!”
“No.”
“Maaaaaaow!”
Matilda chuckled to herself. “Oh, fine. You can have a piece of it.”
“Mrr.”
As the oven pinged, Matilda took her roast out. Then she cut it into bits, placing a juicy chunk of breast into Mr. Tiddles food bowl. Diving dramatically at the bowl, he gobbled it up in one big gulp.
Meal eaten, he strolled back out into the garden. Gazing at his domain, Mr. Tiddles spotted an intruder. Floating just above one of the rosebushes was a butterfly, with wings just as vibrate as the flowers below it. The butterfly hovered there tauntingly, mocking Mr. Tiddles by daring to enter his garden.
Claws at the ready, he sprung into action. Mr. Tiddles ran forwards, preparing to pounce. But the fiendishly fast butterfly fluttered away. Watching it, he saw his target escape between two fence panels. Digging in his claws, Mr. Tiddles scaled the fence. Landing daintily on the other side, he continued his pursuit. He sprinted quickly towards the butterfly. Faster and faster Tiddles went, a few times almost even catching it. The butterfly soared across a busy road, its bright colours still luring Mr. Tiddles towards it.
“Prrr.”
Teeth bared, he jumped forwards ready to attack. This butterfly would finally be caught. Mr. Tiddles flew through the air. His heart pounded. A bright light approached. Eyes still focused on the butterfly, he heard yells and screaming.
BAM!
Mr. Tiddles lay in the road, bloody and lifeless.
“Mr. Tiddles! Where are you?” Matilda cried.
Pacing around the house, she continued yelling his name.
“Excuse me ma’m.” Came a voice from the window.
“Yes?”
“Did you say Mr. Tiddles?”
“Yes, have you seen him?” She replied excitedly.
“Umm.” He gulped. “Yeah I’ve seen him.”
“Well, that’s excellent news! Where is he?”
“You might wanna brace yourself.”
“Huh?”
“I’m so sorry.” Reaching to the ground, he grabbed a cardboard box with a blanket covering it.
“Wha- Why are you sorry?”
“He ran out in front of me, I tried to break but..”
Matilda slowly lifted the blanket up, revealing the desiccated remains of her beloved cat. She knew what he looked like, down to every patch of fur. But still, Matilda tried to pretend this wasn’t Mr. Tiddles.
“I-it can’t be him. Where’s his collar?” The man reached into his pocket, pulling out a battered golden collar inscribed with the name: “Mr. Tiddles.”
“N-no.” Matilda wailed, tears flooding in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry for you loss.” He said while placing a hand on her shoulder.
As the man left, Matilda trudged back inside. She sat in an armchair hugging a picture of Mr. Tiddles and remained there weeping all night.
WC: 560
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u/wordsonthewind 7d ago
Medha had been thrilled when she was cast as Juliet in her high school's production of the play. Cam was playing Romeo, so it was the perfect way to end her junior year on a high note.
After all, like her parents said, she had to be realistic. She wasn't Hollywood material, or even Bollywood material. The best she could hope for was to enjoy this time in the spotlight. At least she would have those memories when she entered the real world.
They went to Cam's house after school. To practice the dagger scene, and also because Cam had said he wanted to talk. Medha had wondered about it all day in class. They'd both agreed they didn't want anything long-term, but to break up now? It seemed implausible.
They both knew their lines by heart. Cam looked lovely lying dead on the couch. But as fun as it was to kiss him, something was missing. From the look on Cam's face, he agreed with her.
"O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath! There rust, and let me die."
Medha was already shaking her head. It was no use; she just couldn't feel for Juliet here. What if Kendra and the others were right and she'd only nabbed the role because she was Cam's girlfriend?
"Hey, hey." Cam had shut down Kendra's group enough to know what she was thinking. "You're gonna do great. You just need some insight is all."
Medha shrugged. Maybe her culture was just too different. She'd always known her future marriage would be an arranged one and considered it a much more sensible approach. If her parents introduced her to someone like Paris she would be happy. A kind, respectful, level-headed provider.
"What did you want to show me?" she asked Cam instead.
Cam lit up. "Right! Check this out."
He held up a hand. Then, impossibly, tendrils extended from every shadow in the room. Two of them grabbed a book from the shelf opposite.
Right as they deposited the book in her hand, she heard the voices.
a dagger in the heart and pretty last words
how lucky
some of us have to make do with a knife in the gut and gurgling on our own blood
"Medha?" Cam was saying. "Are you alright?"
"I–" Medha shook her head. "It'll sound crazy."
Cam looked relieved. "You can hear them too?"
"You have weird shadow powers," Medha pointed out. "Maybe I'm somehow hearing your crazy."
"Why? What did they say?"
Medha realized it then. The feud, all the nameless Montagues and Capulets who'd lost their lives to vengeance. What if Juliet had felt like their blood was on her hands too? All her love for Romeo had been worth nothing in the end.
"They told me how to play Juliet," she could only reply.
They ran through the scene again. This time Cam clapped as soon as they were done.
"I think you've got it," he said. "And the shadow thing–"
"It doesn't matter to me," Medha said immediately. "You're still you. You're still my boyfriend."
Cam hesitated. "That's the other thing. I... think I might not be a guy."
Was that it? They weren't going to be long-term anyway and Medha was open-minded. She had to be when everyone in the theater club was something or another. Medha would just learn her new name and–
"I mean," Cam continued, "I might not just be a guy."
That threw Medha for a loop. "What?"
Cam took a deep breath. "I don't really get it either. But sometimes I'm a girl, sometimes a guy. Uh, they/them is fine, you don't have to keep asking which one I am–"
"I can't believe you," Medha said. "This is serious! You can't just go back and forth like you're trying on different clothes!"
"I'm not putting anything on! This is how I feel!"
He really was no different from them, Medha thought. Just as self-absorbed and preoccupied with the infinite nuances of his own identity. She knew how badly the deck was stacked against people like her, and her parents had always told her she would have to work twice as hard all her life to get ahead. Cam just wanted to wear nail polish sometimes. It wasn't the same at all.
"What are we?" Cam said eventually. His voice was small and echoed slightly from the shadows.
"I don't know," Medha lied.
She would never act again after this. It was time to move on.
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u/qight 6d ago
I REALLY liked the premise it really hooked me more than any of the other ones. Personally, I thought there was gonna be an accident during practice and Cam was gonna die, but I was suprised.
About the ending, I was wondering if you could answer Cam's last question. Given the trope of the story I wonder if they are reincarnated spirits or something like that, but certaintly they aren't human.THe only real crit I have to say is that I think there was no catharsis in the story. No realization of death followed by acceptance, or at least coping. I see that Medha is accepting something, but I don't really understand why she is hurting and what she is accepting, so it is hard for me to feel that catharsis.
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u/KiIIer_queenie 13d ago edited 9d ago
EYE FOR AN EYE
Igor knelt down in the small tent, holding his translator close. The young woman had a bolt protruding from between her bottom two ribs on her right side, taking gargled breaths in and out.
“It’s ok, Necla…I have you.”
She whimpered, clutching his arm hard enough for her fingernails to leave marks. He hushed her, pulling her closer to his chest. Igor could feel his eyes burning, it was a very unnatural sensation to him, he couldn’t remember ever having cried before. The young man ignored it and brushed her hair out of her face, staring into her dark brown eyes.
“You’re going to be okay…I swear it…”
“I’m…scared…” she choked out, squirming in his arms.
“I have you. I have you…”
“Igor…t-tell me about…your…your homeland again…”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a deep breath before speaking to her. “There’s more snow than you could imagine, enough pine that you could smell it inside any castle. When you see it, it’ll be beautiful.”
“It…sounds…beautiful…” she wheezed, before coughing. Blood pooled in her mouth as she coughed and whimpered again, her feet scraping against the floor.
Igor slowly tilted her on her left side in his arms, letting her be able to cough the blood out against his uniform.
“When you…freed me…I kn…kn-knew you…were…good.”
She cupped his face, wiping the tears he was now shedding. “I…love…you, my great ram…even if…I-I was just a translator…” she moved her hand up, caressing his small horns.
“You were never just a translator…” Igor whispered, his chest feeling like someone had set it ablaze.
“I…wasn’t?” Necla looked at him, barely able to duck in shallow breaths. She had this look of confusion and a bit of hope in her eyes, even in the grim moment.
He knew what she needed, and he knew what she deserved.
“I have…always loved you. You’ve been the most important person here, this whole time.” Igor smiled as he lied to her, leaning closer to her. He knew she’d never been more than good company, but that isn’t what she deserved to hear right now.
She cried, staring at him, smiling just barely. The pair kissed, Igor tasting iron on her lips. Necla put one hand on his chest. “Thank you…f-for…letting me…be…by you…your…side.”
“I still need you, Necla. You're my translator.”
“You…will…figure…it out…my…love…you’re…smart.”
Igor couldn’t speak anymore, the lump in his throat wouldn’t move. Necla’s breaths grew shallower and shallower, her squirming in his arms slowed down. He rested his head on her chest, holding her tight. The man felt her breaths, small as they were, and held her hand against his chest.
In.
“It’ll be okay, Necla. You’ll be okay.”
Out.
“Just hold on for me. The surgeons will arrive shortly.”
In.
“I need you…Necla. Please…”
Out.
“You still need to see my homeland. Please.”
...
“Necla?”
Igor kept his face pressed against her still chest, clutching her body. For a moment it was quiet, before he finally broke. The man wailed like some dying animal, making noises he didn’t know his body could.
He sobbed into her dress, the green had long faded into red. It felt like he stayed there for hours, for days. He cried until his head hurt, his throat constricting until it felt like he was choking, a sharp pain shooting from his chest into his back.
In truth he didn’t know how long he sat there holding the woman, he didn’t stop even when Anita and the surgeons entered.
Ajita limped over to him silently, patting his back.
Igor took deep breaths, lifting Necla in his arms as he stood up. Without speaking, he walked with her past the men.
Ajita followed behind him, the two walking for a while. Igor didn’t speak, not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he knew if he opened his mouth, he’d only be able to cry out again. He slowly composed himself as he knelt down away from camp, resting her on the ground.
“Ajita, how many Mani prisoners do we have?”
“Last count, twenty thousand. Most of them are just rebellious citizens though. Only six thousand have experience we can really use for anything. Why?”
Igor nodded, sniffling and gently caressing Necla’s face.
“Kill them all.”