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Literature Text
I was cooking myself some dinner when the world ended. The pork chops sizzled on the stove, slowly turning from hot pink to golden, and nightfall was fast approaching. Through the kitchen window, I watched the sun sink lower and lower, closer and closer to the horizon.
Scraps sat by the door, barking occasionally as if trying to talk to me. He watched me cook, his head cocked to the side, silently begging me for a taste--I did name him Scraps for a reason. When the pork chops were done, I removed them from the stove and inhaled their delicious scent.
"Oh, all right, boy," I said and tossed him one.
My stomach began to growl angrily with hunger. I quickly devoured two pork chops and stored the rest in my fridge. Scraps had begun barking again, but his barks took on a different tone; he thought something was out there.
I approached the window and peered through it. Nothing looked out of place; birch trees dotted the yard, a light placed under each.
Suddenly, I heard it: low, hissing sounds, mixed with soft moans and the clacking of bones. They were coming.
As quickly as I could, I grabbed my steel sword and my bow and a quiver of arrows, put on my leather armor, and carefully kicked the door open. The horde was approaching; I drew my bow, said a prayer, and began launching arrows at the approaching mobs. Zombies and skeletons were knocked back. The battle raged on a long time--I must have killed a thousand of my foes.
As I plunged my sword into the last enemy I could see, the sun started to rise. I looked over the battlefield, satisfied that I once again managed to defend my home--and Scraps.
Suddenly, I heard a hissing sound. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I turned around and raised my sword. But it was too late. With a big KABLAM! the monster exploded, sending me--and my possessions--flying. The text flashed across the screen: Game Over.
"NOOOOOOOO!" I shouted, throwing my head back as I closed the game. Scraps was gone. My house was gone. The world as I knew it was no more. "Dang it, this is the last time I play Minecraft on Hardcore mode!"
Scraps sat by the door, barking occasionally as if trying to talk to me. He watched me cook, his head cocked to the side, silently begging me for a taste--I did name him Scraps for a reason. When the pork chops were done, I removed them from the stove and inhaled their delicious scent.
"Oh, all right, boy," I said and tossed him one.
My stomach began to growl angrily with hunger. I quickly devoured two pork chops and stored the rest in my fridge. Scraps had begun barking again, but his barks took on a different tone; he thought something was out there.
I approached the window and peered through it. Nothing looked out of place; birch trees dotted the yard, a light placed under each.
Suddenly, I heard it: low, hissing sounds, mixed with soft moans and the clacking of bones. They were coming.
As quickly as I could, I grabbed my steel sword and my bow and a quiver of arrows, put on my leather armor, and carefully kicked the door open. The horde was approaching; I drew my bow, said a prayer, and began launching arrows at the approaching mobs. Zombies and skeletons were knocked back. The battle raged on a long time--I must have killed a thousand of my foes.
As I plunged my sword into the last enemy I could see, the sun started to rise. I looked over the battlefield, satisfied that I once again managed to defend my home--and Scraps.
Suddenly, I heard a hissing sound. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I turned around and raised my sword. But it was too late. With a big KABLAM! the monster exploded, sending me--and my possessions--flying. The text flashed across the screen: Game Over.
"NOOOOOOOO!" I shouted, throwing my head back as I closed the game. Scraps was gone. My house was gone. The world as I knew it was no more. "Dang it, this is the last time I play Minecraft on Hardcore mode!"
Literature
Does it even matter now ?
"Say, does it really matter now?" A voice that always haunt me,
"I don't know...Why do you always ask?" I questioned back like always.
"Don't you think, you should just give up on trying? Isn't it just hurting you?" That voice continues,
"It is, but I don't want to be alone." I answered hesitantly.
"Isn't being alone better than letting them treat you as a tool than as a friend?" The voice argued back.
I remained silent and became more and more hesitant on my choices.
"Does it really matter, why not just throw away your care?" The voice said sadly,
"Why not just throw it all away, so it won't hurt. Why not just give it up and be yoursel
Literature
if i could invent words
i would like to create a word
for what one feels
when they realize:
if we were birds, the only cage
we would be in
are the ones
we create ourselves. how many times
have our wings
been clipped
by our own hands
alone. christ, i'm sorry.
dear past self:
i apologize
for trying to define you;
for definition
is the metaphorical cage
to change. the only limit
the sky has
is how far
we can see.
Literature
I Keep Hiting the same Red Lights
light-blue stars, in a green-colored grass
christmas is coming late
floors that reflect the ceilings
ceilings that reflect the infinite
holding hands, gripped in to the wall
running through the halls
it's a still image
while mine is stopping,
I felt my soul leave
to set a beach net
between two pillars of a comercial building
for she to rest
until i decide to live again
until i decide to ramble my roots
in the cement ground
like a miracolous tree that burns out of the disks
scamble tightly along the digitalized sky,
colours vivid
voices like the mermaids that breath toxic seas
and at the top stand the mannequins,
showing their transexual freed
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FFM Day 8
Word Count: 384
Total FFM Word Count: 6,635
FFM Body Count: 4
Challenge: The character witnesses what they think is the end of the world. Must be in first person.
I'm posting this one a day late because I had NOTHING yesterday. I didn't feel like doing a post-apocalyptic thing. I was thinking of having a character drinking himself silly in a bar while the world ended, but it sounded cliche in my head even before I could get a full paragraph down. So I decided to sleep on it and try again today. This is what I came up with.
This piece is dedicated to my nephew, who is quite possibly the biggest Minecraft fan on the planet.
Word Count: 384
Total FFM Word Count: 6,635
FFM Body Count: 4
Challenge: The character witnesses what they think is the end of the world. Must be in first person.
I'm posting this one a day late because I had NOTHING yesterday. I didn't feel like doing a post-apocalyptic thing. I was thinking of having a character drinking himself silly in a bar while the world ended, but it sounded cliche in my head even before I could get a full paragraph down. So I decided to sleep on it and try again today. This is what I came up with.
This piece is dedicated to my nephew, who is quite possibly the biggest Minecraft fan on the planet.
© 2014 - 2024 SurrealCachinnation
Comments10
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Hardcore mode is always brutal. Good stuff here!