Get Tickets to Natural Selection

Prisoners vs. Poison Dart Frogs

In the days leading up to Natural Selection, the prisoners went quiet. The heretics did not sing their antihymns. The thieves and murderers did not rattle their iron doors or spit on passing guards. Even the mad ones stopped their bellowing and head-bashing. All but one, that is.

In the Solitary Chamber, the possessed terrorist, Corpus, screamed and brawled and convulsed in his night terrors. He did not know night from day. He did not know that a year had passed since he’d been locked in complete darkness. He could not remember the brightest shades of sky or grass or blood. And he did not know that Natural Selection was only hours away.

Though he could not hear beyond the walls, the prisoners could hear him. And his outbursts terrified them. How could any one of them survive the Game when Corpus had never lost? There could only be one. That was the only rule.

“It’s showtime, Corpse,” Magnus shouted from the other side of the door. He rapped on it with his club. “Don’t try anything!”

Corpus crawled to the back corner of his cot. He pressed his palms over his ears and squinted his eyes shut too. He knew what came next.

The door swung open and slammed against stone. Light detonated over the chamber. Though Corpus was crouched in a ball with his eyes squeezed shut and his knees pressed into his sockets, the light found a way in. It pierced the soft place beneath his brows and split his head in two like a blade into butter.

“He’s sick, I reckon,” one guard said. His voice trembled. “No shot in the Terrarium this time.”

Someone nudged Corpus with his club. It was cold. Corpus’s heart thundered in his chest.

“Stand up. Face the wall, Corpse,” Magnus ordered.

How many guards were there? Four or five, maybe, from the sounds of shuffling feet and labored breaths. But Corpus did not dare open his eyes. He would be thrown into the Terrarium at any moment, he had to adjust little by little or he’d go in blind.

“Look at him,” another guard chimed in, amused. “He can hardly lift his head, can he? He’s a dead man. Won’t last an hour, I’d bet money on it.” This one had a high voice. A new guard, maybe.

“C’mon Corpse, stand up or I’ll pike your hands to your own skull,” Magnus ordered, louder this time.

The others got to bickering.

“Let’s bet on it then. I say he lasts a week. Last year he caught a scorpion tail in the chest and still came out on top.”

“And I heard it’s Poison Dart Frogs this ti—”

“Silence, fool!” Magnus shouted.

The guards went quiet. Corpus lifted his head. He groaned as the light raked over his lids.

Poison dart frogs. Good.

He stood and let them drag him from the chamber.

A freewrite inspired by Fantasy Prompt #11
Time: 90 minutes
Song of the day: Nature Boy, Aurora

Okay, let’s write together.

• Find a comfortable space

• Set your timer for 20 minutes

• Sink into your imagination

• Remember: It is safe to write from the depths of your soul

• Share your creations in the comments or DMs, if it pleases you

Optional: light a candle or put a little totem beside you.

Fantasy Prompt #12

It’s time we spoke about love. Write about two lovers who are star-crossed. No matter how much they yearn to be together, forces beyond their control are keeping them apart. What makes their love so profound? To what lengths will they go to protect it?

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Hello Campers!

I am so glad you’re here. And to my shock and delight, there are more and more of you with each passing day. Don’t worry, there’s always room at Fantasy Camp™. Every week, we tell stories, talk about iconic fantasy worlds, and make Twilight memes. (The last one is just a me thing I think.)

Last week, we talked about Choose Your Own Adventure books. I also wrote a note (my favorite past-time) about how no one ever gets to the end of The Artist’s Way. Apparently it was relatable.

For some reason I thought it would be a good use of my time to design and order bumper stickers and prop up an unprofitable Etsy store around this concept. Every time one of you JOKERS orders one, I experience a dopamine hit I could only compare to using meth (which I haven’t done but now I need to).

This week, I did a silly little thing I call “overcommitting myself to design projects”. I’m currently creating a fantasy world around a delightful tortilla brand. The lore is that the first tortilla actually originated from a greedy baker trying to capture the moon. Does that make sense? I don’t know. I haven’t slept in a week due to a new drug called EtsyStore.

I love you!
Keep creating, it keeps us alive.
Madeleine

p.s. I went to Substack HQ last week. I don’t want to be melodramatic but I will never be the same. I’m in love with Substack. We are star-crossed. We cannot be together because Substack is in a love obsessional stalking relationship with a girlhood essayist in Fort Greene. Who’s stalking who? You decide.