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Shuffling. Scraping. Frantic scratching and clawing. A pause. Light shines through a hole, and a bloodshot eye peeks through, searching. It retreats. Chipping. Cracking. Wood shatters, and golden sap spews. Cursing. Clutching. Stumbling. Darkness. Silence. Harsh, rasping voices, whispering.

“Is it finished?”
“I think so.”
“Who’s going to check?”
“I sure an’t going, I almost got consumed last time.”
“And now you know how to avoid it.”
“Not happenin’. Next time, sure, but not this one.”
“Karpen, you’re the most-”
“I said no. Do you want me to leave?”

A sigh. Silence. Waiting.

“Fine then. Jonard, you go.”
“Why me? I just joined!”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“You're new. Expendable.”
“I have my uses!”
“Then show us them”

A groan, and a hacking, wheezing cough.

“Fine.”

The light turns back on, revealing a group of cloaked figures huddled together. One of them separates from the rest and steps towards the drying pool of sap. They start poking at the walls, probing empty tunnels that still contained vestiges of the golden liquid. After a few minutes of examination, they turn to the rest of the group.

“It cleared itself out with that burst. We should be fine.”

One of the figures picks up the lantern and makes their way over to the gap in the wall, steps over the new patch of salt, and looks around the newly revealed cavern.

This is pretty good. It feels unfinished, though, are you planning on continuing it?

Thank you! I am working on it off and on when I have the time.

Not a whole lot to go on with less than 300 words here, but as an intro to whatever this is going to be I think it's pretty successful. I see you're doing some interesting experimentation with style with the sentence fragments in the beginning, you establish a dynamic between characters, and raise some questions about the nature of the tree creature or whatever it was that would probably keep people reading.

Shuffling and scraping. Scratching and clawing. A momentary pause. Light shines through a hole, and a bloodshot eye peeks through, searching. It retreats. Chipping. Cracking. Wood shatters, and golden sap spews. Cursing. Clutching. Stumbling. Darkness. Silence. Harsh, rasping voices, whispering.

“Is it finished?”
“I… I think so.”
“Who’s going to check?”
“I sure an’t going, I almost got consumed last time. Again”
“And now you know how to avoid it better.”
“Not happenin’. Next time, sure, but not this one.”
“Karpen, you’re the most-”
“I said no, Rynon. Do you want me to leave?”

A sigh. Silence. Waiting.

“Fine then. Jonard, you go.”
“Why me? I just joined!”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“You're new. Expendable.”
“I have my uses!”
“Then show them to us.”

A groan, and a hacking, wheezing cough.

“Fine.”

The lamp flickers to life again, revealing a group of cloaked figures huddled together. A small, scrawny silhouette, thinner than almost all the rest, peels away from the rest and steps towards the drying pool of sap. They break off a piece of bark and start poking at the walls, probing empty tunnels that still contain vestiges of the golden liquid. After a few minutes of examination, they turn to the rest of the group.

“It cleared itself out with that burst. We should be fine.”

One of the figures picks up the lantern and makes their way over to the gap in the wall, steps over the new patch of salt, and looks around. The light illuminates a vast cavern, filled with interwoven branches as large as tables. Golden sap drips from the cracks that mar most of them and flows from the gaping holes that populate others, all of it being drained through the numerous gashes in the floor. The figure pushes back his cloak, revealing a gaunt, bony face, the skin seeming to cling to his skeleton. His voice is a wheezing gasp that sounds like a whisper, yet is clearly heard by the others.

“We are close, I can feel it. The seed’s song grows louder.”

Another figure makes their way into the cavern. Their hood seemed to contain an empty void that consumes all light, giving no glimpses of who they could be. Their voice is a harsh, grating sound, clawing at the ears of those who hear it, though no one flinches.

“Are you sure it’s not just the acoustics of this place? Even you, with your meager voice, could be heard from ‘cross the room.”
“The seed’s voice is not a physical thing, Karpen. If you were more willing to receive its gifts, then you would know this.”
“Gifts? Do you mean those curses you foolishly accepted with open arms?”
“The blessings it has bestowed upon us may be hard for your simple mind to grasp, but they are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened.”

They continue bickering, their voices filling the space. The group shows no interest in their argument, spreading out to investigate the new place they discovered. One of them hangs back, staying near the jagged gap that marks the entrance. Their hood falls, showing a small, almost childish face. They glance at the two arguing periodically, flinching whenever one of them raises their voice. Eventually, one of them breaks off, throwing their hands up in the air.

“If you want to live in ignorance, so be it! The seed will determine whether or not you are worthy when we find it.”
“Ignorance is bliss, or so I’m told. I do not intend to shatter my mind into pieces trying to comprehend the secrets of the universe.”

They separate, and the gaunt man heads toward the timid figure huddling by the wall. They speak, their voice a timid squeak, sounding small compared to the harshness of Karpen.

“I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, Rynon. He just hasn’t seen the miracles the seed can do yet.”
“He’s set in his ways, Jonard. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“One can hope.”

Rynon chuckles.

    “All we have is hope. Come now, let’s help set up camp.”

This one is cool too! I like the imagery, the way you paint the picture with language, and the overall scene you create. I can clearly see this story in my mind's eye, and I love the slow and gradual build up you have going on here. The sap is a very interesting concept. I can't wait for the entire thing to come out, and just from this excerpt, I'd say you have a really good idea of where to go with the story.

The cavern was a hub of activity, cloaked figures bustling from place to place to carry out tasks. Some were putting barriers up around the sap coming down from the branches, others were setting up tents, and even more were starting to create campfire pits using salt from the sap. Groups of people would periodically step through the hole in the wall, all of them quickly being given something to do. In the center of it all was Rynon, directing the work being done like a conductor at an orchestra. He wandered around the camp, occasionally pulling people from one task to put them to another one for which they were more suited.

In the midst of all the noise, a sphere of silence surrounds Karpen, the sound of stone against steel a steady rhythm, clashing with the organized chaos around him. The crowd steers around him like fish trying to avoid a sleeping shark, forming a wall of fabric and flesh, and the rare few who try to approach him are met with a sharp gaze that rends their confidence apart as effectively as the hatchets he sharpens would rive their flesh. The crowd thins over time, before almost disappearing entirely, leaving a few figures sitting around the campfire, their silhouettes outlined with a red glow as they tend to some meat roasting over the fire. Karpen pushes himself up from his position against the wall, making his way toward them. Rynon stands up from his seat, moving to greet Karpen.

“Karpen. I didn’t see you help set up camp. Or anywhere.”
“Good. I might have accidentally cut your head off while sharpenin’ my hatchets.”
“I know you don’t like working with our members, but please learn to tolerate them.”
“I work with you, not for you. I choose when and where I help.”
“So long as you help with the important things.”
“You know I will.”
“That’s all I ask. Do you want a seat?”

He offers up his own, one of the last remaining ones in the circle.

“I have my own food, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”

Karpen disappears into his own tent, and the conversations start up again.

The cavern was a hub of activity, cloaked figures bustling from place to place to carry out tasks. Some were putting barriers up around the sap coming down from the branches, others were setting up tents, and even more were starting to create campfire pits using salt from the sap. Groups of people would periodically step through the hole in the wall, all of them quickly being given something to do. In the center of it all was Rynon, directing the work being done like a conductor at an orchestra. He wandered around the camp, occasionally pulling people from one task to put them to another one for which they were more suited.

In the midst of all the noise, a sphere of silence surrounds Karpen, the sound of stone against steel a steady rhythm, clashing with the organized chaos around him. The crowd steers around him like fish trying to avoid a sleeping shark, forming a wall of fabric and flesh, and the rare few who try to approach him are met with a sharp gaze that rends their confidence apart as effectively as the hatchets he sharpens would rive their flesh. The crowd thins over time, before almost disappearing entirely, leaving a few figures sitting around the campfire, their silhouettes outlined with a red glow as they tend to some meat roasting over the fire. Karpen pushes himself up from his position against the wall, making his way toward them. Rynon stands up from his seat, moving to greet Karpen.

“Karpen. I didn’t see you help set up camp. Or anywhere.”
“Good. I might have accidentally cut your head off while sharpenin’ my hatchets.”
“I know you don’t like working with our members, but please learn to tolerate them.”
“I work with you, not for you. I choose when and where I help.”
“So long as you help with the important things.”
“You know I will.”
“That’s all I ask. Do you want a seat?”

He offers up his own, one of the last remaining ones in the circle.

“I have my own food, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”

Karpen disappears into his own tent, and the conversations start up again. Rynon sits back down and pulls out a book from the folds within his cloak. Its cover is worn and beaten, spotted with dried watermarks and yellowed from the sun; the pages torn in places, and splashes of ink-scrawled salt patches dotting its contents. He becomes engrossed in the text, the sound of a page being delicately turned occasionally cutting through the hushed talk that surrounds him. A shadow cast across his book breaks his concentration, and he looks up. Jonard sits next to him, ragged and slumped. Putting away the book, Rynon reaches toward what remains of the Sothmyr, breaking off some and offering a piece to Jonard.

“Everyone is accounted for?”
“Everyone except Xander and Arlen. The two knuckleheads were finally lost to the sap.”

He tears into the meat with the ferocity of a starving man, juices quickly joining the stains in his cloak. He mumbles around the food in his mouth, an impish grin on his face.

”I can’t tell if I’m happy that I’ll never hear them bickering again, or disappointed that I’ll never know who won the debate.”
Rynon chuckles, “It was only a matter of time with those two constantly fighting. They were always at each other's necks. Have you heard of the time they dared Karpen to stick an arm into the sap when he first joined us?”
“Is that why he has the wooden arm? He always told me he lost it fighting a Turstha.”
“You really believed that! Boy, you are more gullible than Tobias was!”

He chortles, nearly falling off the stump he was sitting on, and a few others who overheard chuckle with him. Jonard blushes, stammering something about Rynon being too good at acting, trying to hide behind the remains of the Sothmyr he had yet to eat. Soon, people were sharing their own stories of the two misfits and other tall tales they had heard from Karpen. The fire cracked and popped, its dying embers shooting out like fireworks in the night sky. Alone or in groups, walking or swaying, people slowly left the circle until only Rynon was left. He stares into the ashes, his eyes remembering a time when sap rained down like hail, turning people into silent sculptures and the land into a desert. Eventually, he enters his own tent, turning off the lamp that sat next to his bedroll, and closes his eyes.

I haven't read an Unescapable story yet, so this is my first time. But after reading this story, I realized how much I've been missing out over the last few months.

You have a great way with words, but at the same time, some of the metaphors could be trimmed down with an extensive edit pass. I feel like I have the same problem too, with over emphasizing and repeating metaphors/figurative language, but I think you do it better than me, because your metaphors still work and make the story feel alive. But the story could be even better with a tighter edit that will improve flow.

This is a really interesting glimpse into a fantasy society. I love the way you characterize the sap, and the world feels lived in. The story is fleshed out with lots of details, sometimes to its detriment since there's more details than plot, which could be fixed to increase entertainment. But you're a great writer, and I like what I'm seeing so far.

I can't wait to see this as a full short story, because as it is, it's still in the excerpt stage. But once you add a little more plot to it, and trim down some of the flowery language/worldbuilding details(but not too many, since I love the way you make the world feel alive with all these details!) I think it would be really good!

I think you also improved a lot from the first edit. Because you added some more detail, and you reinforce the sap concept more this time, which is cool.

Thank you for the feedback! I personally wouldn't expect a full short story for a long time (if ever), but I am planning on making at least a few more chapters before getting distracted by another project.

Also, I just now realize that you're posting short excerpts not short stories. In that case, you're successful in your goal. Keep doing what you're doing man!