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Better Devils
She likes it when he beats her. Treats her like a used, cheap, degraded thing. Like a slave to an unrepentant master. It makes her feel so good inside.
Her wolf tells me so.
“Good morning, Helen,” I say. She smiles at me but says nothing as she steps into the elevator. Her eyes carry dark circles barely covered by her makeup. Her pale skin against the cheap, fluorescent light gives off a kind of dull glow. Her blouse is slightly disheveled, like she tried to fix it last minute. I can just barely make out a dark splotch on her upper arm before she quickly stretches her sleeve to cover it.
Her wolf follows her in—a large, dark, hungry thing. The manic look in its eyes and the bared fangs, stretching from ear to ear in a twisted smile, are familiar. A black mist pours from its form, shedding its truth in faint, indiscriminate whispers.
She probably thinks I’m staring off into the distance. Better that than knowing what’s there. I doubt her wolf can see me, either. They never seem to acknowledge me, even as they tell me all the things I can’t help but hear. They don’t faze me all that much anymore.
The elevator chimes, and the sterile metal doors slide open. “Have a good day, Roger,” says Helen, with a quick wave of her hand as she scurries out into the lobby. I sigh.
Keeping a brisk pace, I step out of the elevator, give a short nod to the desk clerk—his wolf lying beside him, whispering of the boxes of tonic and gin hidden underneath the counter—and soon greet the biting air outside with a grimace.
People and their wolves stalk the street together, some beside, others dragged. No one makes a scene, not even when the beasts tower over their masters.
A short-haired girl passes in front of me, and her wolf—almost up to her shoulders—speaks of the cigarettes in a tiny corner of her purse, her mother unaware while the two women walk hand in hand.
I head eastward, checking my watch. Wind blows past me and I tighten my coat against the cold.
My eyes wander to the far side of the street. There’s a suited man standing over another in rags. The ragged one cowers, and the suited one yells, but their wolves howl mightily in unison, speaking of greed and power. I whisper to the rich man’s wolf, and the man grabs the poor man’s cardboard sign and tears it in half. The poor man runs. I smile.
The library door flies open, and I quickly shut it behind me to keep the heat from escaping. As I set my coat on the nearby hanger, I take in the musty stench of old books and the low grumble—almost like a light snoring—that permeates the place. The lights are already on, thankfully, but I frown nonetheless.
“Wind’s pretty fierce today, huh?”
A man about my age stands at the foot of the stairs, a smirk on his face and several thick tomes in his hands. “Indeed, Drake,” I reply. “The forecast said Hickory would be coming in earlier than usual this year. I suppose they weren’t lying.”
“They usually don’t,” Drake says, chuckling. “Well, at least you’re inside now, Roger. Can’t imagine staying out in that weather for too long. It’d probably make you more grumpy than you usually are.”
I grunt an affirmative.
“Welp, back to organizing.” He turns towards the stairs and begins ascending. I glance down at the dog beside him, its neck kept on a short chain—the shortest I’ve seen. He drags it up with him, but it makes no fuss.
It doesn’t whisper. It never has.
“Remember, we have that class coming in today to look around. Everything needs to be spick and span!”
I scowl. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Just making sure!”
The two vanish. I feel the sickness start to ebb away, but only just.
I place my satchel on my desk and turn to the main collection. My wolf rests against the far wall, its form reaching from floor to ceiling. Its whispers are howls, proud and unhindered. A beautiful monster.
I sometimes wonder if keeping these secrets is a vice, if hoarding all this knowledge will someday destroy me.
I shake my head. It hasn’t yet, so I doubt it ever will.
Her wolf tells me so.
“Good morning, Helen,” I say. She smiles at me but says nothing as she steps into the elevator. Her eyes carry dark circles barely covered by her makeup. Her pale skin against the cheap, fluorescent light gives off a kind of dull glow. Her blouse is slightly disheveled, like she tried to fix it last minute. I can just barely make out a dark splotch on her upper arm before she quickly stretches her sleeve to cover it.
Her wolf follows her in—a large, dark, hungry thing. The manic look in its eyes and the bared fangs, stretching from ear to ear in a twisted smile, are familiar. A black mist pours from its form, shedding its truth in faint, indiscriminate whispers.
She probably thinks I’m staring off into the distance. Better that than knowing what’s there. I doubt her wolf can see me, either. They never seem to acknowledge me, even as they tell me all the things I can’t help but hear. They don’t faze me all that much anymore.
The elevator chimes, and the sterile metal doors slide open. “Have a good day, Roger,” says Helen, with a quick wave of her hand as she scurries out into the lobby. I sigh.
Keeping a brisk pace, I step out of the elevator, give a short nod to the desk clerk—his wolf lying beside him, whispering of the boxes of tonic and gin hidden underneath the counter—and soon greet the biting air outside with a grimace.
People and their wolves stalk the street together, some beside, others dragged. No one makes a scene, not even when the beasts tower over their masters.
A short-haired girl passes in front of me, and her wolf—almost up to her shoulders—speaks of the cigarettes in a tiny corner of her purse, her mother unaware while the two women walk hand in hand.
I head eastward, checking my watch. Wind blows past me and I tighten my coat against the cold.
My eyes wander to the far side of the street. There’s a suited man standing over another in rags. The ragged one cowers, and the suited one yells, but their wolves howl mightily in unison, speaking of greed and power. I whisper to the rich man’s wolf, and the man grabs the poor man’s cardboard sign and tears it in half. The poor man runs. I smile.
The library door flies open, and I quickly shut it behind me to keep the heat from escaping. As I set my coat on the nearby hanger, I take in the musty stench of old books and the low grumble—almost like a light snoring—that permeates the place. The lights are already on, thankfully, but I frown nonetheless.
“Wind’s pretty fierce today, huh?”
A man about my age stands at the foot of the stairs, a smirk on his face and several thick tomes in his hands. “Indeed, Drake,” I reply. “The forecast said Hickory would be coming in earlier than usual this year. I suppose they weren’t lying.”
“They usually don’t,” Drake says, chuckling. “Well, at least you’re inside now, Roger. Can’t imagine staying out in that weather for too long. It’d probably make you more grumpy than you usually are.”
I grunt an affirmative.
“Welp, back to organizing.” He turns towards the stairs and begins ascending. I glance down at the dog beside him, its neck kept on a short chain—the shortest I’ve seen. He drags it up with him, but it makes no fuss.
It doesn’t whisper. It never has.
“Remember, we have that class coming in today to look around. Everything needs to be spick and span!”
I scowl. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Just making sure!”
The two vanish. I feel the sickness start to ebb away, but only just.
I place my satchel on my desk and turn to the main collection. My wolf rests against the far wall, its form reaching from floor to ceiling. Its whispers are howls, proud and unhindered. A beautiful monster.
I sometimes wonder if keeping these secrets is a vice, if hoarding all this knowledge will someday destroy me.
I shake my head. It hasn’t yet, so I doubt it ever will.
You got everybody talking about your story on the Discord server, Author, but I guess we're all shy or something because nobody's talking to you. Big fat shame there.
This one isn't in my ballot, but I read it anyway, because see above.
It's a nice story! I would be surprised if it didn't make it to finals, especially because everybody is placing you at #1. The story's imaginative, but where it shines is in the way the sparse space you have -- 750 words max -- there's a clear, evocative idea of what exactly you want to convey.
That's no small feat; it's a mixture between originality in the idea (which makes it more memorable) and pacing. I appreciate how the examples we see cover the whole range: nornal wolf, small one, gigantic.
It gives it a sense of conclusiveness and a sense of variance, of wholeness, so as to speak. It feels like we've seen everything the main character will ever see, which is exactly what you want in a story like this, where the focus is less the narrative of a story and more a glimpse of a character's situation.
I've heard complains that this is less a story and more just like an idea or a prompt in 700ish words; fair, but I think that's entirely understandable in minifics. Genres, structures... There's value in compressing a whole three-arc-story in a small space (another almost-ignored seemingly-favorite in this round, 17 pics, does something like that) but there's also value in doing stuff like this, where you simply flash the reader with something memorable, and then leave. Literature's weird sometimes, so what.
So yeah! Y'all legit, Author, and this one's good. Here's to both of us making it to finals, where we can fight each other under the rain, nothing but fists and fury and blood and glory. It is foretold one of us may die. Pick a God, and pray He shows you mercy.
Kickass story tho. Weeee.
This one isn't in my ballot, but I read it anyway, because see above.
It's a nice story! I would be surprised if it didn't make it to finals, especially because everybody is placing you at #1. The story's imaginative, but where it shines is in the way the sparse space you have -- 750 words max -- there's a clear, evocative idea of what exactly you want to convey.
That's no small feat; it's a mixture between originality in the idea (which makes it more memorable) and pacing. I appreciate how the examples we see cover the whole range: nornal wolf, small one, gigantic.
It gives it a sense of conclusiveness and a sense of variance, of wholeness, so as to speak. It feels like we've seen everything the main character will ever see, which is exactly what you want in a story like this, where the focus is less the narrative of a story and more a glimpse of a character's situation.
I've heard complains that this is less a story and more just like an idea or a prompt in 700ish words; fair, but I think that's entirely understandable in minifics. Genres, structures... There's value in compressing a whole three-arc-story in a small space (another almost-ignored seemingly-favorite in this round, 17 pics, does something like that) but there's also value in doing stuff like this, where you simply flash the reader with something memorable, and then leave. Literature's weird sometimes, so what.
So yeah! Y'all legit, Author, and this one's good. Here's to both of us making it to finals, where we can fight each other under the rain, nothing but fists and fury and blood and glory. It is foretold one of us may die. Pick a God, and pray He shows you mercy.
Kickass story tho. Weeee.
Alternate Title: A Boy and His Big Bad Wolf
One of the most obvious finalists of this round, and there's a good reason for that. I'll get my praise out of the way and say this is a pretty great premise. The choice of these creatures being wolves is basically just there because wolves howl, and so it has a connection to the prompt, but what the wolves represent is pretty novel.
Everyone has a shadowy wolf that follows them around, and the bigger the wolf the more vices the person has. The wolf also tells the owner's vices to the protagonist, for a reason I'm not sure of (No, bad Raisin, nothing but praise for now!), and it turns out he can see everyone else's wolves (IE their vices) while they can't even see their own.
Bravo, author, that's pretty original. Easily one of a handful of entries this round that strikes me as striving for something that really feels unique. If I had to judge this only on its originality it'd be in my top three for sure.
There's just one problem, though, and it's kind of a big one: I don't really care for the story being presented here.
That probably sounds harsh, but let me explain.
There are a few characters in this story, and none of whom are given much in the way of personality. Some don't even have names, and are instead boiled down to their looks or archetypes (the businessman and the guy in rags for instance), and Roger, the protagonist, is kind of a sadistic prick, but there's honestly not much else I can say about him. I don't even know where or how he got this wolf-seeing power, or why he's seemingly the only person who has it. There's nothing even implied about where he got this power from, and that kind of bugs me.
As a result I don't particularly care for any of these characters. I had to re-read it again just because I forgot the protagonist's name, and also because I swore to myself I missed something that would've made this story feel more like a proper story, or maybe something that would've given this dark urban fantasy world more of a three-dimensional identity.
But that never happened. Instead I'm stuck with an asshole of a main character who has a special power for no reason, and that means I can only admire this story at arm's length. I can't get into it as much as others have.
But regardless, I do think the premise of this story is worthy of praise.
I just feel like the story itself, what little there is of it, is not.
One of the most obvious finalists of this round, and there's a good reason for that. I'll get my praise out of the way and say this is a pretty great premise. The choice of these creatures being wolves is basically just there because wolves howl, and so it has a connection to the prompt, but what the wolves represent is pretty novel.
Everyone has a shadowy wolf that follows them around, and the bigger the wolf the more vices the person has. The wolf also tells the owner's vices to the protagonist, for a reason I'm not sure of (No, bad Raisin, nothing but praise for now!), and it turns out he can see everyone else's wolves (IE their vices) while they can't even see their own.
Bravo, author, that's pretty original. Easily one of a handful of entries this round that strikes me as striving for something that really feels unique. If I had to judge this only on its originality it'd be in my top three for sure.
There's just one problem, though, and it's kind of a big one: I don't really care for the story being presented here.
That probably sounds harsh, but let me explain.
There are a few characters in this story, and none of whom are given much in the way of personality. Some don't even have names, and are instead boiled down to their looks or archetypes (the businessman and the guy in rags for instance), and Roger, the protagonist, is kind of a sadistic prick, but there's honestly not much else I can say about him. I don't even know where or how he got this wolf-seeing power, or why he's seemingly the only person who has it. There's nothing even implied about where he got this power from, and that kind of bugs me.
As a result I don't particularly care for any of these characters. I had to re-read it again just because I forgot the protagonist's name, and also because I swore to myself I missed something that would've made this story feel more like a proper story, or maybe something that would've given this dark urban fantasy world more of a three-dimensional identity.
But that never happened. Instead I'm stuck with an asshole of a main character who has a special power for no reason, and that means I can only admire this story at arm's length. I can't get into it as much as others have.
But regardless, I do think the premise of this story is worthy of praise.
I just feel like the story itself, what little there is of it, is not.
If this is a first person narrative, do we really need to hear all these names given in dialogue?
"Good morning, Helen."
"Have a good day, Roger."
"Indeed, Drake."
People don't really address each other like this. Just give us the names in narration.
"Good morning, Helen."
"Have a good day, Roger."
"Indeed, Drake."
People don't really address each other like this. Just give us the names in narration.
