MICRO FICTION CONTEST - OHR GAMING

RAVENOUS: BY WANDER

They're right behind me. I can hear their howls, hunting, chasing me. Relentless and horrifying, the glow of their torches burning against the dark like the cold air as it struggles to fill my lungs. The ice and snow crunch beneath my feet, burning at my toes, and slicing into my legs as I try to escape. They can undoubtedly follow the trail that I cleave, weaving through the woods in an attempt to reach safety, if not the streaks of crimson left behind. So utterly relentless, for such a minor crime. Their tables were full, and I was so desperately hungry. They had more than enough to spare. The sweet, savory taste still lingers on my lips, was it worth it? Now I question the decision... It was only a child, why are they so angry? They had more.

THE SACRIFICE: BY SIDNEY FOOSHEE

Seven men in robes sway around an altar to an invisible rhythm. A man stared intently at her loins, grinning wickedly. “Scream all you want; it likes it when they scream.”

Omnak, Shakra, Crama, Omen -the chanting began. Power thrummed behind her head and the man made the mistake of looking up from her loins.  Stupefied, his gaze dropped back towards her, but she caught it with a smile.  Silently she mouthed the words of the chant as he swayed, hypnotized by her soothing expression.
​
Omnak, Shakra, Omen, Crama, she mouthed, and he followed her lead.  Vibrations filled the room that could not be described as a sound.  One by one, the men burst apart.  She winked at the last man, “Scream all you want; it likes it when they scream.” The man screamed long and loud before his turn came, delayed by the deliciousness of his fear.

OTHERS' ENTERTAINMENT: BY TYPICALMITO

Often in the past, I was complimented on how graceful I dance. To me, however, it’s the greatest blessing and the most wicked curse. This dance I portray for others’ entertainment, flowing, passionate, and sometimes intimate. All of it is for the entertainment of those watching me.

As they applaud and cheer and leer from their plush seats, it often fills me with equal parts irony, mirth, and dread. For in my eyes, the only ones I desire to enjoy my performances are the silhouettes in the fog visible only to me just behind the people cheering for an encore.

And so I dance, as the creatures hidden to all but me demand that the show go on. These horrid beings whispering to me of the fall of man, that view the lives of all as mere playthings to sate an eternal and apathetic boredom, that crave for the flesh of my own people. As they grow restless and grow closer and closer to stepping past the boundary of the fog, I rise and begin to dance once more to the joy of the audience.

For this dance I portray, is for others’ entertainment.

THE KNIFE: BY TYLER

The obsidian dagger hung high in the black moonless night. Torch light flickered off the smooth surface just hinting at its existence. Within the leathery thin fingers that curled around it, the blade seemed to call out. Chanting echoed, crescendoing just as the dagger fell. Silently slicing through the air towards the pale surface below. The two opposites collide and the knife wins out. Vanishing deep into the pale flesh, releasing a torrent of red out and onto the altar. And at that moment it was done. The knife's master released upon the world to rein eternal.

OLD ONES DOES AS OLD ONES DO: BY EMILY

“Old Ones does as Old Ones do,” Fizzpot chanted over the pungent cauldron. The swirls and scars along his limbs lit up in response. Hurriedly he mixed, now hopping happily from one foot to the other. A flash of violet light, a puff of noxious smoke, then nothing. “Stupid fleshfoots!” he clawed at the stone walls where the crude drawings lived. Bits and pieces of ancient clay peeled off, revealing more lines, more sigils. Suddenly, his feet left the ground. Flying above the world, breathless, a lilting voice sang back, “Old Ones does as Old Ones do.”

THE PRICE OF POWER: BY ROK

Emmett stepped carefully, having found the secret door in a dilapidated tenement. The room was black, with only an ethereal purple glow emanating from a book on the dais.

“Welcome. Do you seek power?” an ethereal voice asked. The book’s runes glowed with every syllable.

“Yes…” Emmett replied warily. “I was told to come.”

“Read my runes, then. Feel my power.” It teased.

Emmett read.

“You are mine now!”

Mist rose and swirled around Emmett, pulling him into the book as his scream faded away.
​
Moments later the doorknob rattled, and the door swung open. “Welcome. Do you seek power?”

RAIN: BY EISEN

The rain, that is what I miss the most in this hell. I can't see, the darkness stretches out beyond my sight and the air tastes of bitter death. I have lost track of time in this place, its purpose no longer needed in this labyrinth. I realise now that my decision to come down into this sulphur mine was a mistake, I should have turned back long ago. But now, with my food gone and the way back blocked I have no choice but to push forward. If anyone is reading this let it be known that my name is…