TurtleGameMaste r

Sean King

Jay Knowles

Phil Harwell

Benjamin Chandler

Jacob Sherman

Robin Devereaux-Nelson

Natasha GO

Raj Chaklashiya

Emily J

Sam Becker

English

Do you know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane? Well I do and boy do I have a story about how I met him. It was a fairly boring day, as Mondays usually are, and I was driving to work when suddenly a Muffin delivery truck ran a red light in front of me and crashed into a wall

of red gelatin. The truck bounced backwards 10 feet, and the driver got out, visibly shaken. “Where did this aspic wall come from?” he asked aloud. “I know”, said a small voice.

Well if it isn’t the gingerbread man, made by the legendary muffin man! Truly a creation to rival Pinocchio and Frankenstein’s monster! Yes, Frankenstein’s monster. Not Frankenstein. He’s the mad scientist. “I know where that jelly wall came from!” the gingerbread man said, “that

is definitely residue from a gelatinous cube that was seen here sometime last week.” “Nonsense,” said Mr. Mushroom. “I know for a fact that it’s the

rust monster that's been stalking these parts." Muffin Man scrambled to his feet. "I'm putting my gold in a tree!" he cried. As Muffs scrambled up a nearby elm, Q'iwi the hot half-elf tracker ran her fingers over the marks on the ground. "Displacer beast," she whispered. "Close."

With light filtering through her luscious hair, Q’iwi munched on a kiwi. “No time to waste now,” the female half-elf spoke with a silky smooth voice, “We need to find that beast.” Let’s just say the Muffin Man’s loaf has risen in the oven and turned into a firm baguette. He said,

And, well, who can turn down a good piece of French bread, elf or beast? Food would unite them and -

- abruptly, the firm baguette transformed into a gelatinous cube, the creatures sat at the table jumped back in their fright. Who could be at fault, for such a treacherous, offensive action?

It was none other than Larry the Noodle, that dude popped out of nowhere and stabbed the gelatinous cube and all the other pastry people with his noodle hair. Larry backstabbed everybody. Could anyone stop this whole wheat horror show?

But just as Larry twirled triumphantly in his marinara slick, a single breadstick snapped—crack!—and the rebellion began. Croissants lunged, éclairs struck from the shadows, & by sundown, the pastry people had risen, flaky & victorious—dusted in powdered glory and finally free.

War and Pâtisserie

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Damaskox

The rocky floor was moving under their feet. The big, dark and empty room was quickly filled with loud noises created by the contraption one of them set off. Was this a trap? No visible signs of danger was seen yet...there were no regular patterns of the floor's changing either.

That was when I realised I was in the middle of an earthquake, and if I wanted to survive, I’d better find a desk quick. But there were no desks in this large empty room. I braced for impact. Dust fell from the ceiling, soon turning into larger chunks. The sky opened up.

It happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that my brain simply could not process. It was much later, once I had re-ordered my memories, that I understood it was a hand: as white as the sky and as large as a whale, that reached between the rubble and picked me up, took me away.

The giant hand, to my shock, was not connected to an arm. It was just a huge hand. It lumbered along on its five fingers like some gargantuan spider, with me balanced on its wrist. We headed away from the ruins & towards the Cobalt Mountains my mother had always told me to avoid.

I didn’t really have a say in the matter. The giant green hand was going where he wanted to go, and I was just along for the ride. I perched on that wrist for hours before it stopped for a rest.

“Hulk tired,” he finally said. He gently laid me down on the green grass as he drifted off to a cozy deep sleep. His snore was so loud it shook the whole place up. But he was finally happy. “That was a good smash, right Hulk?” I got up and left for home.

Fully Visible Hand of the Cobalt Place

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TACO CAT

The air was crisp, the cold pungent, and yet the sun shone: bright and warm and entirely at odds with the situation.

The man should not be able to see his front lawn from his living room couch; however, the SUV that crashed into his wall begged to differ.

He should have been concerned, perhaps, for the occupants of the vehicle, or the state of his wall, or maybe even the rather strange situation he found himself in, but instead he devised the broken gnome now lying in pieces on the grass, and cursed.

That had been his aunt's.

The man had been having a great evening, watching his favorite movie about love, mortality, and the world's existence at stake: The Bee Movie. He was at the part where Barry B. Benson suggested a suicide pact to his love interest: a human woman who left her boyfriend for a bee.

He watched that film every Tuesday, it was a bit of a routine. He loved the nuance of the plot, the drama. Loved forgetting himself as he became the characters on screen. 

But he would not be so lucky today, it seemed.

"Help!" A woman's voice jostled him out of his thoughts.

She was an ugly thing, the man thought to himself. She looked so unkempt with her broken glasses, dirtied clothes, and with the blood caked into her hair. If she really wanted to make an impression on him, she should have dressed to impress. Truly, society was going downhill.

"Sir, please, I need your help!" The woman said - no, growled. Huh. She was not only in disarray, but also rather rude. He remained in his spot on the sofa, reaching a hand down for another beer, his eyebrow raised as the woman flailed inside her vehicle. "Sir!"

"What." And the woman reeled back in response. He realized his error: he might have thrown his bottle in frustration. In fairness, she had ducked in time. Unfortunately, the dog was not so lucky. Nobody likes Yorkies anyway - unless you're a bit of a snob that is.

Great. Now the woman was crying and screaming. Did she not notice that it was her car that rammed into his wall? Or that she had interrupted his tranquil Tuesday plans? The nerve. "Did your mother never teach you that it is rude to interrupt people?" He tsked.

"You threw a beer bottle at Sparky!" The man rolled his eyes. "And you clearly don't know how to parallel park." A loud crash could be heard from inside the car. Apparently, there were other passengers. For the first time, the man felt fear wash over him as he saw who came out.

He abruptly rose from the sofa, taking stumbling steps back, his mouth agape as he tried to formulate words. "You never change," the biblically-accurate angel said, the voice sharp and alien as it rang through the air. "We warned you this would happen, why are you surprised?"

"I thought what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas! Why bring an ugly woman into this?" The woman gasped as she gripped Sparky with a strange fervor. He had no idea why, Sparky's face looked as if he was a stuffed animal that was shoved into a blender on the highest setting.

"Yahweh cares not for human laws, or Vegas weddings," the angel explained. "And the woman is merely a tool-" the woman and the dog suddenly disappeared in a white mist, "-to reach the depths of your subconscious. Have you any idea how long you have been in a coma?"

The man took the time to reflect upon life up until this very moment. He truly had no idea. His life was filled with meaningful friendships, cheap alcohol, and good television. He even knew when his life became great: a few months ago... That must have been when the coma started.

He got an overwhelming feeling of loss, and betrayal. Could it be, that everything that made him content, was but a mere lie woven by his subconscious? A dream that he could not escape? Perhaps a dream he did not wish to escape... He sighed. It was so sad. "Alexa, play despacito"

His Alexa lit up from his order: the man was excited to hear the first key notes as a distraction from his impending doom. "There will be none of that." The angel commanded. His Alexa exploded into a fiery disarray. "It is time for you to pay for your crimes against humanity."

"What crimes?" The man rebuffed in exasperated bewilderment. "Being in a coma? Wanting to listen to trashy mus-" The angel suddenly charged at him, and the man recoiled in fright. "Be silent!" The angel said, his voice echoing eerily around them. "You forget your place, Lucifer."

The man blinked. "Me?" The man gestured at his lanky body for emphasis. "You must have the wrong guy! I pay my taxes sometimes! I was born in Florida, for god's sake!" The man decided it wasn't wise to mention his lack of aging and his penchant for causing house fires.

Silence stretched between them as the angel observed him, menacing and sombre. The man coughed awkwardly. "So... What d'ya say, you want a beer?" he offered, and the moment his gaze left the other, the scene wiped away in a whirlwind, his entire body flinging through the dark.

Lucifer woke with a start. The angel, the horrific looking thing, was glaring at him with all of its beady, judgy eyes. "You have disgraced Him by your unwillingness to perform." The memories rushed back to him; Lucifer remembered exactly why he became a human in the first place.

The urge he had felt to touch that rich ebony skin, the urge he had felt to consume the sounds coming from her lips. The human that had been forbidden to him, and yet the one he could not continue without tasting first. Lucifer looked back at the angel, his heart thumping loudly.

"You will continue your duties or you will be vanquished once and for all," The angel intoned. Lucifer was surprised he was being let off so easily. Especially since he was in charge of punishing all of humanity. Maybe he could chase after a new fling in a millennia or two?

“Listen buddy, I’ll continue my duties, sure,” he said. “I’ll go back to hell, torture the souls and all that biz-“ he rolled his eyes, “-but can you please give me a sec to put my clothes back on? And none of that watching my butt when I turn, keep them eyes away, alright?”

The angel did not look away - the bastard! Lucifer would miss being human, but he could entertain himself in the meantime. Maybe he could give Seinfeld a visit... And the angel could even crash that party. After all, if you seduce the executioner, you can do anything right?

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Zoe Becker

Jerry glanced down at the photograph in his hand, then back up again at the woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.

Her hair was the same shade of red, and her face a similar shape, but something seemed off, something he could not quite pinpoint.

All at once a blinding light coursed through the space. Jerry and the woman froze. And then a creature appeared, seemingly from the air itself.

It was a biblically-accurate angel, flying over the now destroyed cafe they had been standing in a moment prior.

Natasha GO
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