Chat-your-own-Adventure #24: Gibbon Hands

Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience bidding tokens (earned while watching) to determine the path of the story.  The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways.  Stop by if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.

Straight Razors                        Boxing Gloves                      Novelty Finger Traps

There was one spot designated as the place for fights. They didn’t used to need such a thing. Fights were for the other creatures of the forest: those with tusks and claws. They were a species of hands. That was how Een always thought of himself anyway. Sometimes he would watch the humans stare at their reflections in the surface of the lake. They always looked at their eyes, as if their own heads held secrets they weren’t aware of. Continue reading

Twitch Stream Story: An Armadillo on the Stairs

Prompt: Three allies on a cliché journey to save the world from an evil god and all three can turn into animals.

Gwen, Rupert, and Odric were dispensed from the tiny township they’d always called home in order to be heroes. They weren’t the only ones of course. Opportunities for heroism didn’t come up very often, and when they did every village with a population housing more than one family offered up at least one candidate for the quest. Continue reading

Twitch Stream Story: Recognizable Scratches

Six little pairs of shoes hovered a foot off the old wooden floor of the schoolhouse. The seventh pair belonged to an adult and shuddered up and down where the others were deathly still. Four button noses were pressed against the peeling paint, flakes falling faster than ever thanks to their giggling. One of the girls tapped on the wood and waited for a response.

Clop clop clop, the wall responded, exactly like the hoof stamps of a pony. Their giggles answered it back. The girl tapped on the wall twice more. Clop clop. Continue reading

The Tree’s Shadow

The tree of life is not a metaphor; it’s where Salticid the jumping spider lives!  Her branch, populated by all the other spiders, is minding its own business when giant chains appear and try to force the tree to grow in different directions.  The intrepid arachnid sets out to find the cause, and runs afoul of a bipedal king..

(reading time: 1 hour, 5 minutes)

The Tree’s Shadow

As buds give rise by growth to fresh buds, and these, if vigorous, branch out and overtop on all sides many a feebler branch, so by generation I believe it has been with the great Tree of Life, which fills with its dead and broken branches the crust of the earth, and covers the surface with its ever-branching and beautiful ramifications.

                                                                                         – Charles Darwin Continue reading

Panic in the Mumgrass

Modified animals with human minds roam the jungles and savannas, each kind generally keeping to their own, but the trailcutter of the mighty water buffalo-like brohoov must explore other options when he learns there’s a traitor in their midst, causing fatal stampedes at every turn…

(reading time: 1 hour, 12 minutes)

Panic in the Mumgrass

“Stampede!” a voice shouted.  Hundreds of others joined in calling out the word and took off running.  The herd’s countless hooves pounded the mumgrass they were grazing on moments before into a thick choppy pulp.  Calves called to their mothers in the confusion, unsure where to run.  One of the older beasts tripped and rolled onto its side; a second later it was trampled to death by its distracted kin.

The calls to flee took a moment to reach the back of the herd, since this group of Brohoov was over six hundred strong.  When it did, the herd’s leader, Dodarka, growled to himself, Not again!  He was forced to join in as the horns of those behind him pushed and shoved forward.  It didn’t matter how much authority he carried as TrailCutter, it would take an act of god to stop a stampede before it ran its course.  That meant an hour of running until everyone’s legs burned and their breath came in great gasps of mist that shot from their wide nostrils like jets of volcanic gas.  It meant everyone would need a little more food to recover their strength.  It meant innocent dead, crushed in the storm surge of stupid fear. Continue reading