Tag: Fantasy

Alcoholic Elfling

There was only one thing left that needed to be done. The more I thought about it, about the pain and ache it would bring me afterwards, the more my heart would try and convince me that this was the wrong thing to do. I looked down at the half empty whiskey bottle, waiting for its mind-numbing effects to kick in. It’s been more than an hour since my last drink and still I remember everything clear as day.

As I leaned forward to pick up the bottle by its thin neck, I smacked away the flimsy, glass shot glasses I used to portion out my drinks, “You’re useless to me,” I said to nobody in particular.

I looked at the remaining half-bottle of whiskey, its powerful fumes reaching the sensitive walls of my nose; just from the smell alone I could feel the burning stream of dark alcohol traveling down my throat. I shuttered. After a deep breath to help relax, I took a swig straight from the bottle, going back for two more before my gag reflexes kicked in forcing me to put the bottle back down on the coffee table. A chain of coughs followed the hot, burning string of fresh whiskey traveling through my body.

Repulsed, I looked at what remained in the bottle: less than a quarter of it was left. It was surprising to me how big of swigs I took. I sat on the couch and let some time pass, allowing the affects of the alcohol to kick in. Minutes came and went, nearly thirty minutes went by, and still no effect on me. I could still remember the events of yesterday in clear detail, from the very first words that were exchanged, all the way down to who was the last person leaving the dump sight and what they were wearing. I was able to even recall how many crows I saw flying overhead as we put or plan into action.

Anger took over as I picked up the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey and threw it in a random direction. There was a crash sound of thick glass shattering, but it was rather far way. Regardless of where it landed I was angry that its effects were not happening to me.

“Why the hell do humans purposely poison their bodies with this garbage? It doesn’t even work as it should!” I reached for the laptop hidden under the couch cushion and promptly turned it on. Finally understanding the general basics of these newfound devices, I managed to navigate the internet and researched for various videos of humans embarrassing themselves from too much alcohol. They all end up stumbling around, tripping over their own feet and somehow ending up with the face inside a toilet hurling away their insides. In a handful of them the person took one fall and didn’t get back up, magically falling asleep right on the spot. And the very next day, they all awoke with no memory of the night before.

They all had no memory of the night before. And they surely managed to suppress any memories while they were drinking.

Then why the hell wasn’t it happening to me? I acquired much of the strongest alcoholic drinks available for human consumption, and yet I feel not a damn thing. Why?


Copyright © 2019 by Luka Tatsujo

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100 Word Story – Quick Snack

Jeffrey cautiously backed away as I casually walked closer. He kept his hands along the walls to help keep balance as he tried to walk over the boxes behind him.

I tilted my head, showing off one of my blood-stained fanged teeth, “What’s wrong, Little Jeffy? Why are you backing away? You can’t be afraid of me, are you?”

“You… K-Keep away! I know w-what you are!”

Tripping just like his words, Jeffrey took a wrong step and came tumbling down on a case of wine. I took my chance and pounced on him.

I grinned, “Your blood will do.”


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Cobblestone Captive

“How do you plea?”

Hervea spat on the ground in front of the judge’s feet, “You’ll go to hell before I plea guilty on a charge I never committed. If I die, you and your people will suffer.”

The judge gazed down at the captive Hervea, her neck exposed on a cold block of cobblestone and hands tied behind her back as she was forced to her knees. Every time Hervea tried to upright herself the executioner would kick her in the side, forcing her to cry out in agony. The judge took a few steps around and crouched down to look at the bruising around Hervea’s rib cage.

She caressed the black and blue spotted area with the tips of her fingers, making sure to put barely any pressure on it, “You’ve taken quite a beating from my personal executioner today, haven’t you? Almost makes me feel the pity for you.”

The judge backed away and snapped her fingers, the telltale sign of issuing an order. The executioner reached down and grabbed Hervea by the hair, clutching at the small ponytail on the side of her head. She screamed more, feeling some of her hair rip straight out of her head as her body weight tried to force her down. Once she reached eye level with the executioner, a flurry of punches came over her, all of them striking right in the bruised area; the last few punches managed to break the skin, causing blood to start rushing from her midsection.

“Almost.”

Hervea’s pain came out in her screams, “You fucking piece of orc shit!”

“That’s enough, Talius,” the judge spoke coldly. “You can put her down now.”

The executioner nodded, slamming Hervea back onto the cobblestone block head first.

The judge watched Hervea as she lied motionless and her face buried in the block. The judge crouched down and gently tapped Hervea on her head to get her attention, “I’ll give you one last chance. How do you plea?”

Muffled from a stone in her mouth, Hervea chuckled happily through her pain. Confusion over took the judge’s mind as she saw her prisoner’s body twitching with laughter.

“What the hell is so funny?”

Bare-handed, the judge grabbed a clump of Hervea’s hair and forced her to look up. Their eyes meet one another. Hervea continued laughing, closing her eyes for a moment. When they opened again, the whites of her left eye were covered in a dark red web-like pattern and her iris was growing a bright yellow. Her laughter came to a halt, spitting out the rock, and took in a deep breath as she spoke her next words.

“Finis appropinquavit.”


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Necrotic (Part One)

The leaves crunched and crackled as footsteps continued to walk across them. The light at the end of the darkened forest grew brighter, a flame dancing in the breeze. Through the small hole in the damaged hood, the walking stranger glanced up at the forest brush overhead blocking off the night sky. The thick leaves on the trees even seemed to be guiding the stranger towards the flame.

What awaits our stranger at the orange flame?

Clanking glasses and cheers all around as the tavern opened up for the night. One patron has a crowd of people around him as he exaggerated a tale from one of his many triumphant hunts for bandits. Although many of the listeners know the truth behind the tales, they can’t help but cheer on in a drunken daze as he described his “dates with death” and how he compiled such a large amount of gold.

At the end of his current story the crowd cried out, “What be your greatest bout with bandits, ye ol’ Hagar?”

Stroking the greying beard longer than his neck and ordering another round of ale for the entire tavern Hagar began yet another tale, this one not needing any exaggeration. Getting down from standing up on the table, he

“Ay, so listen to this tale. This be one of great intrigue, and the true meaning of ‘staring Death in the face.’ So there be I, wanderin’ through Sublime Caverns just on the other end of Mount Dreatha. I be on my way back to turn in the finger of me latest bounty for Grethian Naklak, that lisardman who was caught stealing in town. The bounty called for his ring finger as proof of his death.”

One of the listeners question, “Did he still have the ring he stole from the shop?”

Bluffing compassion and honesty Hagar let out a deep sigh and shook his head, “Sad to say, but no. I think he traded it off before being found. Nonetheless, that finger was coming with me. As I navigated the road back down the mountainside, another person approached me. At glance, it be some hag covered in rags and tattered clothes. I paid no mind, until said person stopped in my path. The hag whispered, ‘Your actions will not go unseen. I am always watching.’”

“Maybe it was somebody you saved before, wanting to thank you.”

“It be weird for Death to be thankin’ ye.” Hagar gulped down half of his pitcher of ale before continuing with his tale. “I caught a glimpse of the hag’s face through the hole in her hood. Eyes red as freshly spewed blood and skin whiter than the snow from the first days of winter. That day, I saw Death face-to-face.”

The listeners did a collective gasp, whispering to one another. Everybody kept their eyes on Hagar and was stunned when they saw the large grin on his scarred face. With a slam of his fist on the table and kicking back his seat to stand up, Hagar roared in the tavern, “Death be afraid to confront me!”

Everybody fell silent, the words of a drunk man ringing in their ears. It didn’t stop them from bursting into cheers along with him.

It’s a shame none of them noticed Death was nearby.