Silvanis
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At first, I thought about creating a top for "literary creation of Heroes fans," but then I decided it wasn't worth setting unnecessary boundaries. So, we welcome everyone who writes something, draws, or composes music! And if anyone has made a cool computer game themselves — we welcome that too, because a good computer game is also a work of art! By the way, particularly successful maps can be posted as well.
So please, post links to your creations or the creations themselves here. And, of course, discussion is also necessary:)... An author cannot do without criticism!;)
P.S. - if the story is short, you can post it directly in the post... but it would be better to avoid it if possible
Added after 14 minutes
And so, to start with, here is my little story
A Dream Missed the Mark.
An unusual case happened about a month ago to Nikolai Ivanovich. Nikolai Ivanovich himself, a man of solid, no longer youthful age — fifty-something, I cannot say more precisely — raised according to all communist canons, could in no way explain this incident. And it's no surprise, as the story is... Well, anyway, I keep rambling and rambling for nothing: it's better to just read it and decide for yourselves.
It happened like this. Nikolai Ivanovich had a strange dream: that he had supposedly returned home with his salary, sat on the bed and began counting the money (and I must tell you that Nikolai Ivanovich loved this activity very much). Moreover, the apartment in this dream was exactly as it was in reality, and not at all as it usually is in dreams, where room sizes change, or the furniture in them is wrong, or something else. Suddenly, one banknote fell from his hand, slid across the fabric and fell exactly into the gap between the wall and the side of the bed. The banknote was small — worth only ten rubles — but it was still a shame. Nikolai Ivanovich felt the annoyance... and woke up. That is, on one hand, he woke up: Nikolai Ivanovich was perfectly aware of and weighed his actions; on the other hand, he seemed not to have woken up — the events were far too fantastic. Well, here I am again, intervening with my assessment at the wrong time. So anyway.
Upon waking, Nikolai Ivanovich — would you believe it? — crawled under the bed to look for the ten. He could never quite justify this inappropriate action: he told me that, well, the dream had been too realistic; that, well, some kind of cloud had come over him. But it seems to me... oh, this cursed talkativeness again. So, Nikolai Ivanovich is standing, excuse me, on all fours — and this is a respectable man! At his age! What can one expect from others? — so he's there, rummaging with his hand under the bed. And suddenly he hears:
- What are you groping for here?
And the voice was unfriendly, and seemed to come from under the bed. At this, Nikolai Ivanovich naturally froze. His eyes darted around the room — who had spoken to him? And the voice spoke again:
- I'm under the bed, under the bed.
At this point, Nikolai Ivanovich, excuse my expression, nearly wet his pants. What was happening — you're sleeping, just sleeping, and some guy has crawled under your bed.
- And w-w-what are you, e-excuse me, doing under m-my b-bed? - asked Nikolai Ivanovich, stuttering from fear.
- I live here. For a long time now, by the way. And what are you poking around for?
- Well, you see, I dreamed that a ten-ruble note fell behind the bed; I'm looking for it. The dream was just so plausible, - replied Nikolai Ivanovich. A foolish answer, no doubt. But, Lord, how would you answer someone who has lived under your bed for a long time and about whom you have never heard a single word? Probably even more foolishly.
Then the one under the bed wheezed somehow beastly — Nikolai Ivanovich actually shuddered — and replied:
- A ten, is it, what you want? Well then, you'll have your ten!
Suddenly Nikolai Ivanovich found himself by the opposite wall of his room. Before he could come to his senses, or somehow comprehend what had happened to him, a jar of peas spilled on his head (it should be mentioned that on that wall, Nikolai Ivanovich has a shelf, and on the shelf are peas, sugar, salt and other bulk products). The peas fell, and abnormally hard: well, naturally, as if it weren't peas at all, but just some kind of horseshoes; true, they fell for a very short time.
As soon as Nikolai Ivanovich recovered, he stood up on legs shaking like a weeping willow (or is it an aspen that shakes? Why did I even get into these fancy descriptions? They never, kill me if I'm lying, worked out for me) and approached the mirror. Since there is, excuse me, no hair on his head at all, only a large bald spot, his entire head is clearly visible. And Nikolai Ivanovich saw that bumps had sprung up on his bald head. Counting them, he discovered with amazement that there were exactly ten bumps.
Well, what do you say to that? Yes, of course, it looks like a dream; if only it weren't for the bumps. They adorned Nikolai Ivanovich's head for a week until they subsided, like all normal bumps.
And finally, it must be said that Nikolai Ivanovich never again not only rummaged under the bed, but didn't even mop the floor there.
So please, post links to your creations or the creations themselves here. And, of course, discussion is also necessary:)... An author cannot do without criticism!;)
P.S. - if the story is short, you can post it directly in the post... but it would be better to avoid it if possible
Added after 14 minutes
And so, to start with, here is my little story
A Dream Missed the Mark.
An unusual case happened about a month ago to Nikolai Ivanovich. Nikolai Ivanovich himself, a man of solid, no longer youthful age — fifty-something, I cannot say more precisely — raised according to all communist canons, could in no way explain this incident. And it's no surprise, as the story is... Well, anyway, I keep rambling and rambling for nothing: it's better to just read it and decide for yourselves.
It happened like this. Nikolai Ivanovich had a strange dream: that he had supposedly returned home with his salary, sat on the bed and began counting the money (and I must tell you that Nikolai Ivanovich loved this activity very much). Moreover, the apartment in this dream was exactly as it was in reality, and not at all as it usually is in dreams, where room sizes change, or the furniture in them is wrong, or something else. Suddenly, one banknote fell from his hand, slid across the fabric and fell exactly into the gap between the wall and the side of the bed. The banknote was small — worth only ten rubles — but it was still a shame. Nikolai Ivanovich felt the annoyance... and woke up. That is, on one hand, he woke up: Nikolai Ivanovich was perfectly aware of and weighed his actions; on the other hand, he seemed not to have woken up — the events were far too fantastic. Well, here I am again, intervening with my assessment at the wrong time. So anyway.
Upon waking, Nikolai Ivanovich — would you believe it? — crawled under the bed to look for the ten. He could never quite justify this inappropriate action: he told me that, well, the dream had been too realistic; that, well, some kind of cloud had come over him. But it seems to me... oh, this cursed talkativeness again. So, Nikolai Ivanovich is standing, excuse me, on all fours — and this is a respectable man! At his age! What can one expect from others? — so he's there, rummaging with his hand under the bed. And suddenly he hears:
- What are you groping for here?
And the voice was unfriendly, and seemed to come from under the bed. At this, Nikolai Ivanovich naturally froze. His eyes darted around the room — who had spoken to him? And the voice spoke again:
- I'm under the bed, under the bed.
At this point, Nikolai Ivanovich, excuse my expression, nearly wet his pants. What was happening — you're sleeping, just sleeping, and some guy has crawled under your bed.
- And w-w-what are you, e-excuse me, doing under m-my b-bed? - asked Nikolai Ivanovich, stuttering from fear.
- I live here. For a long time now, by the way. And what are you poking around for?
- Well, you see, I dreamed that a ten-ruble note fell behind the bed; I'm looking for it. The dream was just so plausible, - replied Nikolai Ivanovich. A foolish answer, no doubt. But, Lord, how would you answer someone who has lived under your bed for a long time and about whom you have never heard a single word? Probably even more foolishly.
Then the one under the bed wheezed somehow beastly — Nikolai Ivanovich actually shuddered — and replied:
- A ten, is it, what you want? Well then, you'll have your ten!
Suddenly Nikolai Ivanovich found himself by the opposite wall of his room. Before he could come to his senses, or somehow comprehend what had happened to him, a jar of peas spilled on his head (it should be mentioned that on that wall, Nikolai Ivanovich has a shelf, and on the shelf are peas, sugar, salt and other bulk products). The peas fell, and abnormally hard: well, naturally, as if it weren't peas at all, but just some kind of horseshoes; true, they fell for a very short time.
As soon as Nikolai Ivanovich recovered, he stood up on legs shaking like a weeping willow (or is it an aspen that shakes? Why did I even get into these fancy descriptions? They never, kill me if I'm lying, worked out for me) and approached the mirror. Since there is, excuse me, no hair on his head at all, only a large bald spot, his entire head is clearly visible. And Nikolai Ivanovich saw that bumps had sprung up on his bald head. Counting them, he discovered with amazement that there were exactly ten bumps.
Well, what do you say to that? Yes, of course, it looks like a dream; if only it weren't for the bumps. They adorned Nikolai Ivanovich's head for a week until they subsided, like all normal bumps.
And finally, it must be said that Nikolai Ivanovich never again not only rummaged under the bed, but didn't even mop the floor there.