Writing Championships #4

Pink Procrastinators

Prompt: Sand stung their skin

Warnings: Temporary Character Death

The mycelium resistance had won.

It wasn't the greatest feeling for a Hep member like Cub. The pharaoh's clothes were stained with the purple fungi as he left his portal in a tired huff. He dropped his near-broken shovel into a chest, letting his shoulders drop and relax. Despite losing the war, he could focus on bigger projects, mainly his pyramid. The pharaoh began to look through his chests as his mind drifted, Cub beginning to think of new ideas for his base.

He wasn't paying close attention to the cracking from above, the faint sounds of the ceiling beginning to break wasn't something Cub could hear over his own thoughts. The pharaoh opened a chest, when something suddenly hit Cub on his head, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Sandstone? What?" He asked before looking up, his eyes going wide in fear.

He felt sand surround him, and any place where the air had been was replaced with crushed rocks, soon blocking in from any oxygen completely. His arms and legs were restricted, trapped under piles of sand, stopping him from escaping the collapsing pyramid.

Finally, he felt more sand trickle onto his head, likely from the incoming block of sandstone directly above his head.

Bonk

----

Cub felt his body slouch as his eyes shut tightly, his lungs gasping for air as sand invaded his insides and killed him from the inside.

Oh no, no, no, no, this can't be, this can't be happening

Cub sat up from the bed that marked his spawn, it was back at the shopping district, at the turf war mini-game section. His base, the one project he worked on for the entire season, has been destroyed. He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

He felt like he still couldn't breath, it still felt like he still was trapped in the sandstorm of the blocks collapsing. What was a pharaoh without his pyramid?

The ocean slowly waved as he sat in disbelief, a sharp buzz from his communicator brought him back to caution. A few messages glowed up as he checked it.

---

<Xisuma> Cub? What happened?

<Grian> It happens

<Insert hermit because I don't know who> What in the world?

With a deep breath, reassuring that he is in where there is oxygen. He typed out his message.

<Cubfan135> My base collapsed on me.

---

A sudden burst of messages started popping out, consisting of worry, confusion, and the will to help. After all, when a hermit is in trouble, everyone helps. No matter what turf you like, no matter what's your side, and no matter who you are.

One by one the nearby hermits came rushing over to where Cub was, reassuring him that everything would be ok. Some bringing supplies, others offering for him to stay at their bases while they rebuilt his own. Some people even went back to retrieve potions to help him after hearing his panicked cries in voice calls with other hermits.

Cub had asked them why they helped, despite secretly knowing the answer to it himself.

Because they were Hermits they would do what they do best. Recover, rebuild, and come out of it alive. Because that was what their makeshift family filled with the broken and the scarred did, and would continue to do for many years to come, no matter what.

Score: 10.5 (Spectator Favourite)