Fantasy - The Writing Forge https://www.thewritingforge.com/category/fantasy/ Wonder at the Possibility of a Blank Page... Thu, 19 Oct 2023 01:17:18 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.1.3 https://i0.wp.com/www.thewritingforge.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/writing-forge.png?fit=32%2C32&ssl=1 Fantasy - The Writing Forge https://www.thewritingforge.com/category/fantasy/ 32 32 224670173 A Boy and A Tree https://www.thewritingforge.com/elementor-1722/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=elementor-1722 Sat, 07 Oct 2023 05:07:22 +0000 https://www.thewritingforge.com/?p=1722 The world has seen the likes of many great men. Sam was not one of them. Sam was neither great nor was she a man. Well, technically she wasn’t a “she” either. Sam was a tree.           You see, Sam was a kind tree. The kindest, if you asked her. She let Nymphs nuzzle on her soft, red, velvety bark. She allowed Centaurs to graze upon her delicious huckleberries that bloomed from her leaves in the winter. She even allowed the Ogres to sleep by her trunk. No tree in the forest let the Ogres so close to their precious sap. But Sam did. Because Sam was a kind tree.           But, remember, she wasn’t a great tree. Great trees grew tall and spread wide. Great trees protected little critters from the many suns. Great trees sheltered Fairies from the violent winds.           Sam couldn’t be a great tree. Sure, she was nuzzled by Nymphs and grazed by Centaurs. Sure, even the Ogres were thankful for her shade while the other trees denied them. But that didn’t make Sam great. That made her kind. A great tree could be nuzzled by hundreds, grazed by thousands, and have enough Ogres underneath their canopy to fill a lake. All trees were that large. But Sam was not.           Sam was a pebble surrounded by mountains. Those mountains grew tall with trunks the width of cities and leaves the length of elephants. But Sam? She was different. Sure, she could fit a Nymph or two. A Centaur or four. Maybe a pair of Ogres. But her trunk? It was the size of a pond. Her leaves? Barely the size of a head.           If it weren’t for her parents whose trunks stood miles beside her and canopies completely covered her, she would be dead. But her lovely parents kept the area where she stood lit by sun. An endless forest of darkness, but she was the light.           So, no, Sam was not great. She could never be great.           But then, Billy arrived.           Sam had heard of these “humans” before. She thought it to be rumor, but no. There he was. Billy.           She knew it was his name because of her magical connection to the world. Or, maybe it was the fact that the kid said, “Hi, my name’s Billy,” when he arrived. Regardless, she was aghast to see one of these humans in real life.           Billy had the beauty of a Nymph, the dexterity of a Centaur, and the rotten stench of an Ogre. Though, she didn’t mention that to Billy.           “What’s your name?” Billy asked.           Sam shook her leaves in response, a sign of caution. Sam would not be swayed by this majestic human. She had heard all the rumors. Including the ones of these humans burning the land, torching her kin, and…worst of all…stealing their precious sap.           “It’s okay,” Billy said. “I don’t bite.”           A trickster, he was. That must be it. After all, Sam was small and not so great. That’s why the human must’ve come to her.           Sam caused her roots to ripple, knocking the little boy onto his back. Billy giggled.           Curses.           “Hah! That was fun!” Billy stood up and brushed the dirt off of his little, blue jeans. “Again, again!”           Curses. Billy taunted her majestic-ness. She needed to show him her true power.           Sam shook her branches, causing several of her leaves to fall onto Billy. Including her special leaves.           Billy, of course, pranced around the leaves as if they were harmless snowflakes.           How did that fail? Sam thought. When her special leaves fell to the ground, an awful aroma plagued the forest for miles. No Nymph or Centaur, Ogre or Fairy could survive such a stench. But Billy. He thrived in it.           Billy nudged up to her trunk and hugged her. Sam reverberated the ground in response.           “Oooo! Ahhhh.” Billy smiled.           Billy even survived her greatest defense. It was useless. No wonder the humans were able to terrorize her kin. Sam was hopeless. Defeated.           She surrendered.           “Mr. Billy,” Sam spoke. “Please don’t take my sap. I’m a kind tree, I swear it.”           Billy, still hugging her, looked baffled. “Miss tree, I don’t want your sap.”           “You don’t’?”           “No, silly!”           “Then…why have you come?”           Billy sat down onto the grass. He looked up, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, for a magical forest this sure hasn’t been all too fun.” He twirled around in the grass as he spoke. “The trees are so large, the branches so high and mighty. There’s nowhere to play!” Billy looked down and frowned, but quickly looked back up with a grin. “But that was until I found you! You’re awesome!”           A few of Sam’s leaves dropped uncontrollably. Her trunk shuddered. “You think I’m Awesome?”           Billy started climbing Sam, using all of her branches. All of her perfect branches, perfectly within reach.           “Yah,” Billy giggled as he finally made it to the top. He rested on a nook between branches. “I think you’re great!” This

The post A Boy and A Tree first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post A Boy and A Tree appeared first on The Writing Forge.

]]> The world has seen the likes of many great men. Sam was not one of them. Sam was neither great nor was she a man. Well, technically she wasn’t a “she” either.

Sam was a tree.

          You see, Sam was a kind tree. The kindest, if you asked her. She let Nymphs nuzzle on her soft, red, velvety bark. She allowed Centaurs to graze upon her delicious huckleberries that bloomed from her leaves in the winter. She even allowed the Ogres to sleep by her trunk. No tree in the forest let the Ogres so close to their precious sap. But Sam did. Because Sam was a kind tree.

          But, remember, she wasn’t a great tree. Great trees grew tall and spread wide. Great trees protected little critters from the many suns. Great trees sheltered Fairies from the violent winds.

          Sam couldn’t be a great tree. Sure, she was nuzzled by Nymphs and grazed by Centaurs. Sure, even the Ogres were thankful for her shade while the other trees denied them. But that didn’t make Sam great. That made her kind. A great tree could be nuzzled by hundreds, grazed by thousands, and have enough Ogres underneath their canopy to fill a lake. All trees were that large. But Sam was not.

          Sam was a pebble surrounded by mountains. Those mountains grew tall with trunks the width of cities and leaves the length of elephants. But Sam? She was different. Sure, she could fit a Nymph or two. A Centaur or four. Maybe a pair of Ogres. But her trunk? It was the size of a pond. Her leaves? Barely the size of a head.

          If it weren’t for her parents whose trunks stood miles beside her and canopies completely covered her, she would be dead. But her lovely parents kept the area where she stood lit by sun. An endless forest of darkness, but she was the light.

          So, no, Sam was not great. She could never be great.

          But then, Billy arrived.

          Sam had heard of these “humans” before. She thought it to be rumor, but no. There he was. Billy.

          She knew it was his name because of her magical connection to the world. Or, maybe it was the fact that the kid said, “Hi, my name’s Billy,” when he arrived. Regardless, she was aghast to see one of these humans in real life.

          Billy had the beauty of a Nymph, the dexterity of a Centaur, and the rotten stench of an Ogre. Though, she didn’t mention that to Billy.

          “What’s your name?” Billy asked.

          Sam shook her leaves in response, a sign of caution. Sam would not be swayed by this majestic human. She had heard all the rumors. Including the ones of these humans burning the land, torching her kin, and…worst of all…stealing their precious sap.

          “It’s okay,” Billy said. “I don’t bite.”

          A trickster, he was. That must be it. After all, Sam was small and not so great. That’s why the human must’ve come to her.

          Sam caused her roots to ripple, knocking the little boy onto his back. Billy giggled.

          Curses.

          “Hah! That was fun!” Billy stood up and brushed the dirt off of his little, blue jeans. “Again, again!”

          Curses. Billy taunted her majestic-ness. She needed to show him her true power.

          Sam shook her branches, causing several of her leaves to fall onto Billy. Including her special leaves.

          Billy, of course, pranced around the leaves as if they were harmless snowflakes.

          How did that fail? Sam thought. When her special leaves fell to the ground, an awful aroma plagued the forest for miles. No Nymph or Centaur, Ogre or Fairy could survive such a stench. But Billy. He thrived in it.

          Billy nudged up to her trunk and hugged her. Sam reverberated the ground in response.

          “Oooo! Ahhhh.” Billy smiled.

          Billy even survived her greatest defense. It was useless. No wonder the humans were able to terrorize her kin. Sam was hopeless. Defeated.

          She surrendered.

          “Mr. Billy,” Sam spoke. “Please don’t take my sap. I’m a kind tree, I swear it.”

          Billy, still hugging her, looked baffled. “Miss tree, I don’t want your sap.”

          “You don’t’?”

          “No, silly!”

          “Then…why have you come?”

          Billy sat down onto the grass. He looked up, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, for a magical forest this sure hasn’t been all too fun.” He twirled around in the grass as he spoke. “The trees are so large, the branches so high and mighty. There’s nowhere to play!” Billy looked down and frowned, but quickly looked back up with a grin. “But that was until I found you! You’re awesome!”

          A few of Sam’s leaves dropped uncontrollably. Her trunk shuddered. “You think I’m Awesome?”

          Billy started climbing Sam, using all of her branches. All of her perfect branches, perfectly within reach.

          “Yah,” Billy giggled as he finally made it to the top. He rested on a nook between branches. “I think you’re great!”

This story was a writing exercise based on the following prompt: Your character has to walk into a magical forest

The post A Boy and A Tree first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post A Boy and A Tree appeared first on The Writing Forge.

]]> 1722 The Jungle https://www.thewritingforge.com/the-jungle/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-jungle Sat, 07 Oct 2023 04:14:31 +0000 https://www.thewritingforge.com/?p=1686 April 10th, 3240..
Depression, in its truest form, is never loud. It is silent. Poisonous. Deadly. Much like carbon monoxide.

“No one saw it coming”, your friends will say. That’s because you were too depressed to tell them.

“I don’t understand,” your mother will cry. That’s because she’s never lived it.

The post The Jungle first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post The Jungle appeared first on The Writing Forge.

]]>

April 10th, 3240

 

Depression, in its truest form, is never loud. It is silent. Poisonous. Deadly. Much like carbon monoxide.

“No one saw it coming”, your friends will say. That’s because you were too depressed to tell them.

“I don’t understand,” your mother will cry. That’s because she’s never lived it.

“He was being selfish. Look at all the people he hurt,” a stranger will scream. 

That stranger is right. But who am I to correct them? Their opinions won’t matter when I’m dead.

But surely I’m not depressed. Like I said, in its truest form, it is silent. Unspoken. So, isn’t this entire thing you’re reading a contradiction? Why do I write to you, dearest reader, before I kill myself? If nothing matters after I die, that includes you…right? What sense does this make? What sense does anything make?

No matter. 

Nothing matters. You included, reader. Hate me all you want, just spare me your life philosophy on meaning and purpose and all that blubbery. 

I used to have those things. But no longer. 

And that’s why I’m going to kill myself. 

         

April 11th, 3240

 

          I killed myself yesterday. Again. For the 230,567th time. I decided to go with a hanging this time, because I’d always wondered what it would feel like.

          Here’s a shock. It didn’t feel good.

          But I woke up again this morning, in this ungodly Jungle. Ah, but, then again, nothing can be ungodly if god doesn’t exist in the first place.

          What god would kill a fifteen-year-old boy 230,567 times?

 

April 12th, 3240

         

Make that 230,568.

I jumped off a tree to kill myself yesterday. I’ve found it to be the most painless option thus far. 

The hardest part is climbing these giant trees. The fall is easy. Fun, even. For a few seconds, I feel like I’m flying. For a few seconds, life is wonderful.

But then the Jungle brings me back.

 

June 22nd, 3240

 

          I haven’t written in a few months. My apologies, reader. (Remember, though, you don’t matter.)

          I decided to kill myself, quickly, these last many of times. I jumped off a tree backwards, forwards, sideways, and so forth.

          But one day I jumped off a tree naked. It was freeing, in an odd way. Freeing, because I wasn’t embarrassed. And why should I have been?

          I’m depressed. Their opinions don’t matter. So why do I wear clothes when the they watch me kill myself every day?

          Oh, I didn’t mention them yet, did I?

 

June 23rd, 3240

 

          They’re always watching me. The Watchers. They watch. And watch. And watch.

Always a different group of them. Usually fifty. Enough to fill out the seats.

          Ugh. Those damned seats.

          I’m boring myself again. Going to jump off a tree.

 

September 15th, 3240

 

          You know why those seats bother me? Because they remind me of the outside. Before I went on this god-forsaken vacation into the Jungle.

          Damnit. There I go using the ‘god’ word again.

          Over 600 years and I still can’t get that out of my vocabulary, can I?

 

January 5th, 3390

 

          It’s been a while. I’ve done some thinking. Nothing has changed. The days are endless. Nothing matters.

 

March 13th, 3574

 

          When I entered this Jungle, there was a group of vacationers with me.  One of their names was Rosemary.

          I hate Rosemary.

 

Date…Unknown?

 

          That was stupid of me. Why did I keep track of time? Time doesn’t matter. Not here.

          Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

Another Day

 

          An odd thing happened to me yesterday. One of the Watchers entered the Jungle. He then took a sword, and stabbed me through the chest. I heard the Watchers cheer for the first time.

 

Another

 

          I lied. I love Rosemary. I just hate that the Watchers made me kill her. And everyone else too. I had no choice.

          They gave me no choice.

          Unlike me, Rosemary died for good. So did the rest of them.

          I consider that a blessing.

 

Another

 

          It’s important to distinguish the sun doesn’t watch over me. It’s only the Watchers.

          When Rosemary, me, and the rest of the no-names entered this Jungle, the ancient temple enveloped us. All of us. And it stretched past the trees, underneath the ground, in every direction.

          And now the Watchers look through glass panels from above.

          Like I said. There is no sun.

          Only the Watchers.

 

June 18th, 4037

 

          I lied again. I was keeping track of time.

          No matter how many times I write it, say it, or scream it to the Watchers above, I still care enough to keep track of the time.

          But, why? Why keep track of time when time doesn’t matter? It shouldn’t matter to me. Not here.

          Ah. A Watcher is entering the Jungle to kill me. They do this quite often now.

 

June 20th, 4037

 

          Rosemary gave me this notebook and pen. Before I killed her.

          The Watcher let me keep it for some reason. I think they read this between my deaths.

          Why?

 

June 25th, 4037

 

          I cried.

          I cried!

          Do you UNDERSTAND?

          I cried!

          I felt something. I cried yesterday. Tears rolled down my face. I FELT something.

          Why did I cry? I’ll tell you right after this Watcher kills m………

 

June 26th, 4037

 

          I couldn’t remember the name of my mother. That’s why I cried. I couldn’t remember her face, either. Not her voice, not her touch, not one string of memory. Nor my father. Or a friend. Or even those vacationers I went to this Jungle with.

          Except Rosemary. I remember her.

 

June 27th , 4037

 

          Do I feel…guilty? For a crime I was forced to do? Why? Nothing matters. Remember? 

You don’t matter.

 

June 28th, 4037

 

          I was forced to kill her. I had to. The Watchers told me to. The Watchers told me to.

          The Watchers TOLD ME TO!

 

June 29th, 4037

 

          The Watchers are gone. Why are they gone?

          WHERE ARE THE WATCHERS?

          GOD-I mean…UGH.

 

June 30th, 4037

 

          SHE DOESN’T MATTER. I HAD TO KILL HER. I HAD TO KILL HER. SHE WAS GOING TO TELL EVERYBODY.

          JUST STOP! MAKE IT STOP!

 

July 1, 4037

 

          I TOLD MYSELF TO. I DID IT. THE WATCHERS DIDN’T. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY ROSEMARY!

 

July 2, 4037

 

          I’m sorry.

Case #827903

 

Subject: Male

Name: Classified

Crime: Rape & Murder of 13-year-old girl, Rosemary, and her family.

Punishment: The Jungle

This story was a writing exercise based on the following prompt: Your exploration into the jungle has come upon an ancient temple, where an unknown magic stirs ancient metal structures to move and come to life.

The post The Jungle first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post The Jungle appeared first on The Writing Forge.

]]> 1686