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WEEKLY WRITING CONTEST! First Place wins 6 Tokens. Second Place wins 4 Token. Third Place Wins 2 Token Rules: Write a microfiction or flashfiction story (around 500 words) that: Has an MC or POV that is NOT human and has NEVER been human. The story can be any genre, fiction or non-fiction. The MC can be an animal, monster (not a formerly human one), alien, AI, etc. Generally the more imaginative the better, but a well written and edited story is most important. When completed post it on Minds. MAKE SURE you Tag me in, so I will see it. Also you should use the tag #WeeklyWritingContest it will help others find your work, including me if you forgot the tag. You may add a picture if you like. Every genre is welcome. The winner and runner ups will be picked by me on Wednesday around noon (Eastern standard time). You'll get your token, and I'll remind your story with a congratulations. If you would like to help out, feel free to remind this message, along with any entries you like. If you wish to donate tokens, send them to me with a message, or comment here, that they are for the contest. I will use them to increase the prizes, for this and future contests, and do some more boosts. Good Luck And a special thanks to these fine people who donated tokens to the contest. @SkylerBearGunn
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More from Daniel and Angel

Our 1st place story for the #WeeklyWritingContest, is Sylvester, by @molly_b. It features our favourite vampire mall security guard as he has to deal with a unique threat. Seriously, I've read a lot of things about Were creatures, and I have NEVER even imagined something like this one. Be sure to subscribe to Molly_b, she's going to post a blog soon with all of her Vampire Mall Guard stories, which are well worth a read. She also has several other funny stories on her channel. So check them out.
repeat
#weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel Sylvester Seeing as I’m a pretty difficult fellow to kill, and the only non-human security guard in the mall, it’s not uncommon that I find myself serving the position of ‘meat shield’ for a variety of issues. Someone with a gun robbing the tech store? Send in Damien. Damien’s a vampire. Damien can take a few dozen bullets, no problem. Gas leak? Have Damien find it and patch it up. Fire? The only burn Damien can get is sunburn. However, looking at the several hundred-foot abomination shambling slowly and destructively toward my place of work, and by extension, me and a large number of my friends, I start to doubt just how much punishment I can take. “So this is Sylvester,” I say. “Yep.” Ben’s shoulders are hunched in a display of guilt. Tonight’s a full moon, which means werebeasts galore. Ben forgot to feed ‘Sylvester’, so the thing he’s calling ‘Sylvester’ is on the hunt for its daddy. It’s scooping up dirt and trees as it trawls along the ground, heading in a slow beeline toward the mall. I watch a lot of forest disappear into its loading-bay mouths. They snap open and closed and grind hungrily. Sylvester is a sentient building. A warehouse, to be precise. A werewarehouse. I stare flatly at the ten cement legs hoisting the mass of brick and metal above the ground. It leaves a cleared rut behind it. If that thing reaches the mall...hoo boy, that would be bad. Sylvester lets out a roar that sounds like the grinding of tectonic plates. “Don’t worry, he’s tame,” Ben says, avoiding my eyes. Tame. Right. And garlic is my favorite food. “What do you feed this thing?” “Cardboard boxes, usually. They’re his favorite. But we’d need a lot of them to fill him up.” “He already seems to be gorging himself. I don’t think feeding him more will solve our problem.” I take a breath and release it through my nose. “As a paranormal specialist, I’d expect you to know that owning any werebeast heavier than a hundred pounds is illegal. They get too dangerous when they’re big.” “He’s a building, not a beast. And I don’t own him. I don’t know who has the deed but it’s not me. He was abandoned. What could I do?” “Get him demolished like all other werebuildings before he goes on a hungry rampage. Can you send him away or something? I don’t doubt you’ve taught him tricks.” “I trained him to sit and that’s about it. You might have to put him down, if that’s what it takes.” “How do you expect me to kill a building?” “Same way you kill any werebeast, silver bullets. Make sure you get his vital organs so it’s quick. Don’t let Sylvester suffer.” “I’m sorry, Ben. Vital organs? In a building?” “Yeah. The furnace, the boiler, circuit breaker. Those kinds of things.” “Uh-huh.” I stare at the werewarehouse, approaching closer. Luckily, being so big, it’s very slow. I’ll have to go inside to dispatch it. Hooray. I climb onto the wall around the mall roof and survey the grounds. Sylvester is far enough away that I have a decent chunk of time before he reaches the mall. I think I can make it. “You owe me for this,” I say, and step off the roof, phasing into bat form in midair. I clear the distance in a dozen flaps and dart in through one of the loading bay mouths. I fly up to a hanging light fixture and phase back, clinging to it. I draw my gun. It’s full of silver bullets. When I get an opening I leap to the floor. Time to find some building organs.
1.17k views · Jun 9th
repeat
334 views
#weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel Sylvester Seeing as I’m a pretty difficult fellow to kill, and the only non-human security guard in the mall, it’s not uncommon that I find myself serving the position of ‘meat shield’ for a variety of issues. Someone with a gun robbing the tech store? Send in Damien. Damien’s a vampire. Damien can take a few dozen bullets, no problem. Gas leak? Have Damien find it and patch it up. Fire? The only burn Damien can get is sunburn. However, looking at the several hundred-foot abomination shambling slowly and destructively toward my place of work, and by extension, me and a large number of my friends, I start to doubt just how much punishment I can take. “So this is Sylvester,” I say. “Yep.” Ben’s shoulders are hunched in a display of guilt. Tonight’s a full moon, which means werebeasts galore. Ben forgot to feed ‘Sylvester’, so the thing he’s calling ‘Sylvester’ is on the hunt for its daddy. It’s scooping up dirt and trees as it trawls along the ground, heading in a slow beeline toward the mall. I watch a lot of forest disappear into its loading-bay mouths. They snap open and closed and grind hungrily. Sylvester is a sentient building. A warehouse, to be precise. A werewarehouse. I stare flatly at the ten cement legs hoisting the mass of brick and metal above the ground. It leaves a cleared rut behind it. If that thing reaches the mall...hoo boy, that would be bad. Sylvester lets out a roar that sounds like the grinding of tectonic plates. “Don’t worry, he’s tame,” Ben says, avoiding my eyes. Tame. Right. And garlic is my favorite food. “What do you feed this thing?” “Cardboard boxes, usually. They’re his favorite. But we’d need a lot of them to fill him up.” “He already seems to be gorging himself. I don’t think feeding him more will solve our problem.” I take a breath and release it through my nose. “As a paranormal specialist, I’d expect you to know that owning any werebeast heavier than a hundred pounds is illegal. They get too dangerous when they’re big.” “He’s a building, not a beast. And I don’t own him. I don’t know who has the deed but it’s not me. He was abandoned. What could I do?” “Get him demolished like all other werebuildings before he goes on a hungry rampage. Can you send him away or something? I don’t doubt you’ve taught him tricks.” “I trained him to sit and that’s about it. You might have to put him down, if that’s what it takes.” “How do you expect me to kill a building?” “Same way you kill any werebeast, silver bullets. Make sure you get his vital organs so it’s quick. Don’t let Sylvester suffer.” “I’m sorry, Ben. Vital organs? In a building?” “Yeah. The furnace, the boiler, circuit breaker. Those kinds of things.” “Uh-huh.” I stare at the werewarehouse, approaching closer. Luckily, being so big, it’s very slow. I’ll have to go inside to dispatch it. Hooray. I climb onto the wall around the mall roof and survey the grounds. Sylvester is far enough away that I have a decent chunk of time before he reaches the mall. I think I can make it. “You owe me for this,” I say, and step off the roof, phasing into bat form in midair. I clear the distance in a dozen flaps and dart in through one of the loading bay mouths. I fly up to a hanging light fixture and phase back, clinging to it. I draw my gun. It’s full of silver bullets. When I get an opening I leap to the floor. Time to find some building organs.
334 views · Jun 3rd
Our 2nd place winner for the #WeeklyWritingContest is a creepy nameless bit of flash fiction by @marvaden. It's easy to guess what the device is, and for existential dread as you find your life taken over and devoted to a machine, it works. Good story and it's good to see Wells back in the contest.
repeat
#weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel It's been a while, but I am attempting to get more involved again in these contests. I am, admittedly, bending the rules a little bit in that I am leaving it a bit vague as to what specific technology I am referring (computer, phone, or internet). ---------------------- There it sits. It mocks me. It knows I am weak. It knows that I cannot resist. It knows... it knows... that I cannot avoid it. Such an important piece of my life has become a stumbling block. This tool... just a tool... it seems to take hold of my soul. It's as though simply turning it on is opening the gates of hell themselves, but, at the same time, life cannot go on without it. I have become dependent upon my demon, and it knows it. My enemy, my Satan, owns me; I do not own it. No longer can a person exist without it. Its tentacles grope our entire existence. It has taken hold of our finances... our food... our shelter... our love. And here I sit, in need of love, always out of reach, but promised within. The warm glow feels so inviting, and what has started out as work tasks quickly drifts beyond. I begin quickly drifting and tossing around the waves of my insidious desires. I fling myself into the forbidden realms, while all I wanted was contact. Words. Just words, but I find myself deep in the bowels of lust and desire. My breath, my spirit, it is consumed. I am consumed.
1.1k views · Jun 9th

More from Daniel and Angel

Our 1st place story for the #WeeklyWritingContest, is Sylvester, by @molly_b. It features our favourite vampire mall security guard as he has to deal with a unique threat. Seriously, I've read a lot of things about Were creatures, and I have NEVER even imagined something like this one. Be sure to subscribe to Molly_b, she's going to post a blog soon with all of her Vampire Mall Guard stories, which are well worth a read. She also has several other funny stories on her channel. So check them out.
repeat
#weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel Sylvester Seeing as I’m a pretty difficult fellow to kill, and the only non-human security guard in the mall, it’s not uncommon that I find myself serving the position of ‘meat shield’ for a variety of issues. Someone with a gun robbing the tech store? Send in Damien. Damien’s a vampire. Damien can take a few dozen bullets, no problem. Gas leak? Have Damien find it and patch it up. Fire? The only burn Damien can get is sunburn. However, looking at the several hundred-foot abomination shambling slowly and destructively toward my place of work, and by extension, me and a large number of my friends, I start to doubt just how much punishment I can take. “So this is Sylvester,” I say. “Yep.” Ben’s shoulders are hunched in a display of guilt. Tonight’s a full moon, which means werebeasts galore. Ben forgot to feed ‘Sylvester’, so the thing he’s calling ‘Sylvester’ is on the hunt for its daddy. It’s scooping up dirt and trees as it trawls along the ground, heading in a slow beeline toward the mall. I watch a lot of forest disappear into its loading-bay mouths. They snap open and closed and grind hungrily. Sylvester is a sentient building. A warehouse, to be precise. A werewarehouse. I stare flatly at the ten cement legs hoisting the mass of brick and metal above the ground. It leaves a cleared rut behind it. If that thing reaches the mall...hoo boy, that would be bad. Sylvester lets out a roar that sounds like the grinding of tectonic plates. “Don’t worry, he’s tame,” Ben says, avoiding my eyes. Tame. Right. And garlic is my favorite food. “What do you feed this thing?” “Cardboard boxes, usually. They’re his favorite. But we’d need a lot of them to fill him up.” “He already seems to be gorging himself. I don’t think feeding him more will solve our problem.” I take a breath and release it through my nose. “As a paranormal specialist, I’d expect you to know that owning any werebeast heavier than a hundred pounds is illegal. They get too dangerous when they’re big.” “He’s a building, not a beast. And I don’t own him. I don’t know who has the deed but it’s not me. He was abandoned. What could I do?” “Get him demolished like all other werebuildings before he goes on a hungry rampage. Can you send him away or something? I don’t doubt you’ve taught him tricks.” “I trained him to sit and that’s about it. You might have to put him down, if that’s what it takes.” “How do you expect me to kill a building?” “Same way you kill any werebeast, silver bullets. Make sure you get his vital organs so it’s quick. Don’t let Sylvester suffer.” “I’m sorry, Ben. Vital organs? In a building?” “Yeah. The furnace, the boiler, circuit breaker. Those kinds of things.” “Uh-huh.” I stare at the werewarehouse, approaching closer. Luckily, being so big, it’s very slow. I’ll have to go inside to dispatch it. Hooray. I climb onto the wall around the mall roof and survey the grounds. Sylvester is far enough away that I have a decent chunk of time before he reaches the mall. I think I can make it. “You owe me for this,” I say, and step off the roof, phasing into bat form in midair. I clear the distance in a dozen flaps and dart in through one of the loading bay mouths. I fly up to a hanging light fixture and phase back, clinging to it. I draw my gun. It’s full of silver bullets. When I get an opening I leap to the floor. Time to find some building organs.
1.17k views · Jun 9th
repeat
334 views
#weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel Sylvester Seeing as I’m a pretty difficult fellow to kill, and the only non-human security guard in the mall, it’s not uncommon that I find myself serving the position of ‘meat shield’ for a variety of issues. Someone with a gun robbing the tech store? Send in Damien. Damien’s a vampire. Damien can take a few dozen bullets, no problem. Gas leak? Have Damien find it and patch it up. Fire? The only burn Damien can get is sunburn. However, looking at the several hundred-foot abomination shambling slowly and destructively toward my place of work, and by extension, me and a large number of my friends, I start to doubt just how much punishment I can take. “So this is Sylvester,” I say. “Yep.” Ben’s shoulders are hunched in a display of guilt. Tonight’s a full moon, which means werebeasts galore. Ben forgot to feed ‘Sylvester’, so the thing he’s calling ‘Sylvester’ is on the hunt for its daddy. It’s scooping up dirt and trees as it trawls along the ground, heading in a slow beeline toward the mall. I watch a lot of forest disappear into its loading-bay mouths. They snap open and closed and grind hungrily. Sylvester is a sentient building. A warehouse, to be precise. A werewarehouse. I stare flatly at the ten cement legs hoisting the mass of brick and metal above the ground. It leaves a cleared rut behind it. If that thing reaches the mall...hoo boy, that would be bad. Sylvester lets out a roar that sounds like the grinding of tectonic plates. “Don’t worry, he’s tame,” Ben says, avoiding my eyes. Tame. Right. And garlic is my favorite food. “What do you feed this thing?” “Cardboard boxes, usually. They’re his favorite. But we’d need a lot of them to fill him up.” “He already seems to be gorging himself. I don’t think feeding him more will solve our problem.” I take a breath and release it through my nose. “As a paranormal specialist, I’d expect you to know that owning any werebeast heavier than a hundred pounds is illegal. They get too dangerous when they’re big.” “He’s a building, not a beast. And I don’t own him. I don’t know who has the deed but it’s not me. He was abandoned. What could I do?” “Get him demolished like all other werebuildings before he goes on a hungry rampage. Can you send him away or something? I don’t doubt you’ve taught him tricks.” “I trained him to sit and that’s about it. You might have to put him down, if that’s what it takes.” “How do you expect me to kill a building?” “Same way you kill any werebeast, silver bullets. Make sure you get his vital organs so it’s quick. Don’t let Sylvester suffer.” “I’m sorry, Ben. Vital organs? In a building?” “Yeah. The furnace, the boiler, circuit breaker. Those kinds of things.” “Uh-huh.” I stare at the werewarehouse, approaching closer. Luckily, being so big, it’s very slow. I’ll have to go inside to dispatch it. Hooray. I climb onto the wall around the mall roof and survey the grounds. Sylvester is far enough away that I have a decent chunk of time before he reaches the mall. I think I can make it. “You owe me for this,” I say, and step off the roof, phasing into bat form in midair. I clear the distance in a dozen flaps and dart in through one of the loading bay mouths. I fly up to a hanging light fixture and phase back, clinging to it. I draw my gun. It’s full of silver bullets. When I get an opening I leap to the floor. Time to find some building organs.
334 views · Jun 3rd
Our 2nd place winner for the #WeeklyWritingContest is a creepy nameless bit of flash fiction by @marvaden. It's easy to guess what the device is, and for existential dread as you find your life taken over and devoted to a machine, it works. Good story and it's good to see Wells back in the contest.
repeat
#weeklywritingcontest @danielandangel It's been a while, but I am attempting to get more involved again in these contests. I am, admittedly, bending the rules a little bit in that I am leaving it a bit vague as to what specific technology I am referring (computer, phone, or internet). ---------------------- There it sits. It mocks me. It knows I am weak. It knows that I cannot resist. It knows... it knows... that I cannot avoid it. Such an important piece of my life has become a stumbling block. This tool... just a tool... it seems to take hold of my soul. It's as though simply turning it on is opening the gates of hell themselves, but, at the same time, life cannot go on without it. I have become dependent upon my demon, and it knows it. My enemy, my Satan, owns me; I do not own it. No longer can a person exist without it. Its tentacles grope our entire existence. It has taken hold of our finances... our food... our shelter... our love. And here I sit, in need of love, always out of reach, but promised within. The warm glow feels so inviting, and what has started out as work tasks quickly drifts beyond. I begin quickly drifting and tossing around the waves of my insidious desires. I fling myself into the forbidden realms, while all I wanted was contact. Words. Just words, but I find myself deep in the bowels of lust and desire. My breath, my spirit, it is consumed. I am consumed.
1.1k views · Jun 9th