Ordinary day suddenly changed; a rift has opened, altering the land.
You beseech the king; a powerful relic is granted.
Soon, threshold guardian found to be no match for the relic's blade.
Border is crossed.
Outsider met; they aid you in traversal and teach how to close the rift.
Night. Assailed in dreams; promises of power are refused.
Finally, the rift. Futile attack, you fall.
Clasped by death.
Suddenly, rift's magic breathes new life into you.
Yet still it must be closed; the new power grants you strength to prevail.
Return is rejoiceful, they know not you are forever tainted.
Edit - This is the 100 word story thread right? (Also your story is good, really like the prose, but figured trying to 'contribute' would work as a better bump).
You did not. We definitely had one, but it didn't do as well as the 50-word thread.
TvTropes hero's journey image was totally not a huge inspiration. Anyhow, it'd need choices to work as a storygame. Luckily, deadline for intent to enter is April 1st, so I've got heaps of time!
Also, I too recall something about a 100 word story thread from a while back, so either your memory didn't fail, or you've successfully began implanting said fake memory into the minds of readers.
It was still on the first page of this forum.
What about the 21 word stories?
I liked this one a lot.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
If only I could remember.
She stands, anxious, convinced she's innocent. The blade from the body speaks otherwise.
My best friend, my love, my everything. Why did she do this?
The memories, like rain into barren soil, seep their way back into my mind.
Impatient, the crowd awaits my verdict.
I mustn't lose her. I mustn't. She's the only one that understands me.
Nobody else would.
The pieces, like those of broken glass, come together once again.
I remember the truth.
I must lose her, but it's for the better.
Nervous, I open my mouth, muttering a single word.
EndMaster. A tyrant. At CYStia
Thara. A young girl that followed EndMaster from IS entered CYStia.
They trolled in the Lounge.
She worshipped in the Workshop.
EndMaster was happy with Thara.
They became father and daughter.
EndMaster and Thara at CYStia.
But daughters grow up.
Thara eventually disappeared from CYStia.
EndMaster said “She who was my daughter through worship and trolling, is gone forever.”
Thara, her enthusiasm missed.
However, in time a familiar sound was heard.
EndMaster investigated the noise and was pleased by his discovery.
Different, yet the same.
Thara, a new form arrived.
EndMaster and Cricket at CYStia.
Gosh darn, this story was sweet. RIP OG Thara.
He fits right in. I also liked his other one on the novel and the 50 word story on the plane crash by Daza.
Lol, this purified my soul from all those episodes of medical dramas. You also divided the paragraphs well, you've become good at dosing the right amount of words at the right time.
I guess it speaks volumes about my permanence on CYS that I immediately classified it as black humor and found it funny. After all these short stories with dark twists I might have become a little inured to it.
A single moment can alter the rest of your life. You woke up early to swing by the café before work. Jenny always worked the morning shift and you rarely needed to vocalize your order.
She knew your usual drink and your fingers softly touched as you took the cup from her. Shyly smiling, Jenny turned to help another customer. Glancing down, you saw that she wrote her number. One coffee led to a first date, marriage, and a lifetime of bliss.
You kneel at her gravestone, wrinkled hand unsteadily clasping a lukewarm Americano. Soon, you’d join her.
Sitting still, dreams whirring.
Thoughts are slurring, the ceiling is gay.
The happiest ceiling, in dismay.
Dark clouds form upon the horizon, stark fears give way to everlasting wonders.
A man in his folly, either jolly fool or witness to his blunders.
Ripe, prime, fresh, primordial soup. Fresh for the taking, mold to their desires, his ordinal coup.
Master stroke now finished, faster it is broke.
Harold, only typo and autocorrects prophecy.
Far old are times of greatness, now lies shallow odyssey.
Something something, something rhymes. Strange crimes.
In the veil one peeps, now retired, my dick goes in a blender.