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The Confrontation by Musicman30141

A very beautiful manipulation you got going on here =D The model is gorgeous, her dressing I like. (Is it Gothic, not sure?) Anyhow, to ...


The trio – an archer and two swordsmen – stagger through the door, panting and wheezing. They made it. Goodness. They made it.

“Close that door, Soren,” orders the leader, his voice shaky.

They can hear ghostly shrieks from beyond the door. They get closer. Somehow the trio outran them. They don’t question their feat, just accept. Soren musters whatever strength he can from his oxygen-deprived muscles and closes the colossal door. Thud – echo-echo-echo.

Soren keeps his back to the door, gasping. He looks at Ander, a beefy guy clad in steel and a mammoth of a blade in his shuddering hand, and nods his head at a stack of thick boxes. There’re no words. Ander shuffles, leans his blade against the wall and drives the stack toward the door. As Ander positions them in front, he backs off and breathes in deeply through his nose.

His nose picks up a smell. Not his sweat, though there is that, but something else. Iron. It’s profound, nose-curling, suffocating. Ander breathes out hard, clearing his throat, hacking wildly as if the smell were sending him to throw up. He feels his morning toast crawl up his neck. An acidic substance sits at the back of his neck.

“Oh my goodness,” Ander coughs. “What is that smell?”

“No idea—forget it, just… just catch your breath.” Advises Finnur, the leader.

He looks about, gets his bearings. They’re in a room, he discovers. Obviously. A dark room. There’s only one light source and that’s a dim lantern above the door they had just entered. The light doesn’t reach far. Probably twenty steps worth of it. After that – darkness. Jet. Black. Darkness. Finnur can’t even make out the ceiling. Because of this, Finnur concludes that they’re in some kind of hall. A huge one. Massive.

Besides the darkness, it’s cold. An ever-present draft seeps through the gaps in his leather armour. A blanket of goose bumps comes over him. Finnur regrets wearing it now. He wishes he could swap for fur, but its weight would only slow him down. And as an archer, Finnur needs mobility. Neither of his friends have fur on them anyway. Both of them are clad in steel. Though cold steel isn’t exactly ideal if not worse than leather.


Thud, crack, splinter. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Scream.

“Think the boxes will hold the door?” Asks Ander, his breathing regulating.

“They better.” Soren hopes.

Ander turns around and stares at Finnur. Finnur stares back. Both know they need to move soon. But where to? Look at this place. It’s dark. Darker than dark. Neither of them have ever seen such impenetrable blackness before. Maybe they could follow the wall? Finnur considers this, but then decides against it. He’d need light to guide him and his friends. No telling how far this hall goes. And what if he finds another room without any light?

Finnur has an idea.

“Um…” his eyes bounce off Soren and Ander. “Ander. Get that lantern. On top of the door.”


“Wh—the boxes, Ander, climb them.”

“No, no way, that smell is coming from them.”

“Be a man, Ander, for the love of my beard. Hold your breath or something.”

Ander doesn’t protest this time. Instead, he examines the boxes with blue eyes. His brows furrow. Wrinkles form on his forehead. Lips scrunch together. Soren steps back, giving room.

Ander lays his sword on the floor and surmounts the boxes. He hides his coughs behind a clenched fist. Cough. Ugh. Cough-cough. Hmm. Ander wrinkles his nose. Right. Okay. He takes a brief look at the lantern. It’s fixed to the wall. The metal seamlessly blends into the cold stone. This both confuses and annoys Ander.

He coughs, waving his hand.

“N—” cough-cough. “No. It’s, uh, uhm. I don’t know, the thing is glued to the wall.” Ander explains.

“Glued to the wa—you serious? Just unhook the thing, Ander.” Finnur moans.

“Come and look for yourse—” cough-cough. “Yourself. Ugh. No. I’m coming down.”

And he’s down in an instant.

Finnur shakes his head. “You got muscles. Use ‘em.”

Ander didn’t consider this. Well, he couldn’t. With that stench, and the confusion, and the annoyance, and the constant moaning and nagging from Finnur, nothing rational or complete went through his head.

Finnur opens his mouth, ready to rain more grief over Ander, but Soren steps in, his brows knitting at something in the pitch black; he holds a finger up.

“Listen.” He whispers.

They hear nothing. Nothing! Just their breaths. At first, Finnur and Ander don’t pick up what Soren is getting at. But then it clicks – to both of them. Silence. From beyond the door. Those things have gone. Or have they? None of them could tell.

Ander shoots a long look at Finnur. He throws one back. Their minds sync. Finnur nods. Ander places his ear next to the door. Nothing. No banging, no shuffling of the feet. They just vanished. A smile comes across Ander’s face, he glances up, sees his friends. My goodness.

“If they’re gone, might as well move the boxes,” Finnur suggests, staring at them. His eyes then move left. An agape Ander stands statue-like.

Soren has already turned around, retreating away from Finnur.

The leader swerves about.


A deformed white figure stands before them. With the shape of a straight finger for a body, this creature has five stick-like legs and two stick-like arms, an ear-less and nose-less head, a cluster of beady eyes and an open mouth bearing several sets of serrated teeth. Most bizarre of all, a plethora of string-like tendrils hang out of its ‘back’ and scatter off into the abyss behind it. Its skin is flaky as well as wrinkly.

The creature makes an odd sound, the sound of someone who would choke on their food. Then shrieks.

Finnur freaks out; his stomach falls through his backside. Nothing rational goes through his mind. His hands just go for his bow. Where is it? He had it on his back. Wait. He feels the string. That’s it. Guiding his hand down, he finds the grip. He takes it out and backs off. Slowly. No – sudden – movements. Finnur’s eyes don’t falter—not even blink.

“Ander…” he whispers. “Move the boxes…”

A series of coughs and hacks and gasps respond to his command. That smell again? Finnur isn’t amused. Not one bit. In fact, amusement doesn’t pass his mind. He’s terrified.

“Ander! Grow a pair and—” he sees Ander. Inserted in his neck, chest and temple are white tendrils. The colour from Ander’s face drains completely. He’s stuck, shaking uncontrollably, foam and spittle dripping out of his mouth. The tendrils get bigger. Ander gets smaller. The chokes silence themselves. Ander falls. Dead. Life literally sucked out of him.

“Soren…” Finnur calls very, very quietly.

He looks for him.

He’s on the floor. Dead. The tendrils leave his body, blood dripping from the holes at the end.

Finnur’s bottom lip quivers wildly.

He gains his composure and focuses forward, seeing the creature advance awkwardly, with a limp. And the tendrils behind his back follow. Slither.

One creeps close.

Simply, and calmly, Finnur gets an arrow.

He draws it.

And lets go.
The Transmundane Anomaly
What they were running from, where they are, what they are doing there - that's for your imagination. What happens at the end - well - more imagination. :lol:
Today is an average day for Alfie Moonshine. The self-proclaimed owner of an average house called ‘Catbells’, situated in an average cul-de-sac – which is situated in an average town – trots about, head high. Alfie is a cocker spaniel, a blue roan, with beautiful markings about his body, a huge snout, big floppy ears, and an ego the size of six post codes. An ego which is increasingly expanding by the day.

Alfie knows no different. He’s the alpha male of the house, the pack leader. If any of his family members were to place authority over Alfie, he would protest. Hard. He protests daily. He makes a habit of it. His mother, for whatever reason, leaves him every day for prolonged amounts of time. This upsets the dog. He doesn’t like his subjects leaving him without permission. However, his mother returns with these huge white balls that rustle at the slightest movement. Alfie can’t comprehend this magic, and from this confusion, and anger for leaving without permission, he spits a series of dog-like profanities at his mother. His mother has none of it – ignores it entirely – and instead just gives him a fuse, which calms Alfie.

To an extent.

His dominance isn’t just limited to his house, though.

The garden is his playground, the street outside is his land, the fields behind the house and to the left of the house are his catch-the-ball training grounds, and the muddy paths that interlink the fields are his contemplation paths – though little goes through his head.

One day, Alfie goes about planting his scent on the bushes and flowers and logs where other dogs have attempted to capture his land. He doesn’t like this. As dictator, as pack leader, as alpha male of his land, Alfie sees this as a provocation. He makes this apparent to his guards, the father – and sometimes the brother – who walk with him daily between five and seven. Neither of them acknowledges this. Ever. And while Alfie feels defeated that his own subjects do not understand him, he feels content that they don’t mark their scent. Ever.

This worries Alfie, though. He has never seen them mark their scent. Ever. Why is this? Alfie understands that he is pack leader so only he can mark his scent because it’s his lands, but he never sees them release anything. Does he exert so much dominance that they were afraid to pee? Maybe. But Alfie draws the conclusion that their stomachs will explode from the build-up of pee inside their bodies. When this inevitable day comes, Alfie will need new subjects to protect him while he caters to his land. He has his mother in mind. And maybe his rarely-seen sister.

Once he has placed his scent back on his lands, Alfie contemplates down the dirt paths, head low, occasionally drinking from the muddy water when he can. His subjects throw disgusting remarks at him for doing so. His ego deflects them and he moves on.

His contemplation on life quickly results in assassination scenarios of the deformed dog that his family keeps. This creature eats different food – from which Alfie steals in hopes of starving the thing – hisses at him when he draws near to inspect the creature, and thwacks him with great power, usually with its claws extended to inflict greater pain. Alfie yelps, both in pain and in an attempt to bring his subjects to him. This succeeds and most times his subjects pet him. Rarely, the creature is banished from his realm only for it to come back later. His subjects feed the creature straight away.

As he comes home, this exact scenario plays out, the thing hitting him, him yelping, the thing getting banished only for it to come back and whatnot. All in the space of an hour.

Alfie considers this an act of treason; he also sees this as an attempt to overthrow his position as alpha male. He can’t have this. So he protests. He goes to his throne, a wide pillow with numerous fresh-grass-smelling balls, tasty white sticks – of which Alfie defends with his life – an inanimate, out-of-proportion, fluffy human and a bowl with his food that he left this morning.

His subjects regularly check on him, talking in high pitch voices and baring wide smiles. They’re plotting his downfall, he thinks, and are mocking him from a distance. Today might be the day where that deformed dog becomes the alpha male. To be honest, every other day, the creature could become the alpha male, but Alfie, through rigorous protesting, denies it this chance. The thing needs to get his throne in order to become the alpha male.

And today it does.

Alfie left his throne to see if the creature had left its food bowl. It did. It manoeuvred around him and went straight for his throne. Alfie whimpers. He gives brief pursuit. And there it lies. Two green eyes give a thousand yard stare from the throne. Alfie, knowing the prowess of the creature, retreats.

He has an idea, though.

He knows where the creature lies at night. He grabs the scent of the creature, his snout smacked against the ground. Round a few corners, up some wide boxes, across a long hall, he enters the throne room of the creature. There isn’t much for him to do. Except sit down. In its throne. And wait. Quietly.

For effect, Alfie marks his scent in a red box that has hundreds of little white balls.

Hours pass and his subjects finally find him. High pitch voices welcome him. In the arms of his mother is the deformed creature. It looks down on him evilly.

His subjects call him. He runs up to them. They put the creature on its throne. This means, to Alfie, that he has his throne back! He sprints down, heart racing, tongue out, panting, and he finds his throne. The smell of the creature lingers. No matter, thinks Alfie.

He collapses on his pillow, sighs in great relief, and goes to sleep.

Another average day for the alpha male Alfie Moonshine.
Alfie Moonshine, the Alpha Male Cocker Spaniel
While at University, we had a small free writing task and this is what was born. My dog and his (possible) perspective on life.


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Matthew Peter Wilcox
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Howdy-do folks,

Matty is the name and using Photoshop and writing books is my game!

:nod:Follow me on Twitter: Matsudarias
:happybounce:Chat to me on Skype: Matsudaria


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Jordddyn Featured By Owner May 27, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the :llama: :hug:
Mattchewbackaar Featured By Owner May 27, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You too =) love llamas :hug:
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(: :hug:
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Thanks for the watch. Much appreciated. :)
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You too =D
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Thanks for the +fav 
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You're welcome!! =D
Tina579 Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2014  Professional Writer
Hey there Mattchewbackaar I was wandering if you could take a look at another short writing of mine to critique the grammar on it. I would so very much appreciate it.
Mattchewbackaar Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Of course! =) I'll get around to it as soon as. Is it the note you sent me?
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Thank you for the fave and Happy New Year!!
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No problemo! =) And thank you very much. Happy new year to you too, hope it's a good year for you =D
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Happy new year ! :party:
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Thank you very much! Happy new year to you too! =)
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Hey dear, happy birthday!! :party: :cake:
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Thank you very glad!! =D Had a great day!
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You're welcome, dear! :dummy: I'm glad you did! :)
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Happy Bday! :heart:

happy DA B-day :3  KimRaiFan's Bday Cake 
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Heyyyyyyyy hey!!

Thank you =)!! :heart:

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hahahah you're welcome friend!
I hope your day was wonderful, all good!
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Happy Birthday!
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Many thanks! =D
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Happy birthday ! Fun cake 
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Thank ya very glad for the cake ^^!!
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