Our Exquisite Corpse started as an experiment — we wanted to recreate the game surrealists invented over 100 years ago, bringing it into a virtual format.

We had a great response, and we're grateful for that — talent was never in short supply, every edition proved it — but we also had stumbles, and criticism, even when the causes were technical, platform-related, the kind of thing that happens to others too but somehow gets a pass.

But if criticism is good for anything, it's for evolving and improving, and that's what we're trying to do. That's why we're launching the Reloaded edition of the Exquisite Corpse, trying to stay as faithful as possible to the game that brings us together.

Time zone differences and real-world responsibilities and shortfalls mean the game may move slower than this fast-paced world has us used to — but trust me, the extra effort is worth it.

And since anything being built can change as it's being built, in this fifth edition of the Exquisite Corpse we have not one, but two versions that started from the same point of origin — which makes it even more exciting, because it means participation is growing and evolving along with the game.

But since nothing is perfect, one version was left barely started, stuck in limbo due to a delay in the handoff — we know real life sometimes brings unexpected obligations — and it will become the starting point for the next Exquisite Corpse.

With all that said, let's get to this week's Exquisite Corpses, which have already generated more anticipation than we expected. You know what they say: good things come to those who wait. And if you still doubt it's worth it, read what eleven — or twelve, or who knows how many hands — built without knowing what they were building.

A dense darkness, wrapped in its black mantle, covered everything. The silence was all-enveloping, broken only by the barely audible beat of what had to be my heart. I suspect it was mine, though I couldn't swear to it, for I had no idea where I was, and the utter gloom kept me from seeing even my own hand stretched out before my eyes. @ladyaryastark

I caught it in the space of a heartbeat or rather a thousandth part thereof. Her painted skin. The very instant it betrayed a millisecond's fissure, just when she thought she had my gaze averted.

But she was wrong. Oh, terribly wrong.

I have ever been a watcher, taking notes in the dark.

Though the true nature of her wickedness was unknown to me then, those tiny, fluttering micro-expressions were branded upon my mind's eye. I could never unseen this grotesqueness even should I pluck my own eyes out.

It can never, never be un-seen.

She stabbed me with the spike in her eyes. I saw the smirk she was too ecstatic to keep down when she gloated in her dark trumps.

She is the festering thing of rot and ruin, walking to and fro upon the land in the flesh that she robbed. She studied the ways of mortals only to toy with them, like puppets in a life-size diorama of her own vile design.

Wide and guileless she casts herself in every gullible heart, pretending she was untainted by sin. She enchanted the world with her Pied Piper flute.

Those deliberate timings and practiced reactions are her supreme mastery. For when any wretched soul dared peer behind the curtain and pierce her game, she turned her venom swift and wide.

Twisting their truth until it sounded like utter treason. Instantly fashioning them into decoy villains, cast out for the mindless crowd to tear to a million pieces.

Wretches swing from the gallows-tree while she gives herself to endless mirth, dancing merrily upon their cold bodies. The sickening squelch of flesh and the sharp, wet crack of breaking bone played the orchestra to her polka.

I cried out! I warned them, one and all! But no ear would heed me.

And now - ah, now, I am forever doomed to sit as a silent witness to their undoing from my own crypt.

For she had devoured my tongue long before she wrenched my heart from its chamber.

Yet I am far from solitary, for I am not patient zero of her ruin. This is the purgatory thronged with the ghosts of the unheeded truth where no tongue can speak and no ear shall hear. @emmabritt

The stubborn fly follows the corpse to the grave only if it refuses to listen.

He was blinded by love. She broke up with him, blocked him, moved to another city, and literally faked her own funeral to get some peace.

He showed up late with a shovel and dead flowers and shouted, "It's okay baby, I'll dig you back out — our love is stronger than death."

It wasn't even her funeral. It was a stranger's burial. He didn't care. He kept arguing with the priest about true love, soulmates, and destiny.

He ended up marrying the widow wearing scuba gear @beckymia

I fell into that turbulent sea. The storm swirled my fears and thoughts. Once again, I was certain that my diving suit would withstand the situation.

The raging sea calmed, and I saw a new day dawn. There were no more fears or troubling thoughts, only peace. My heart settled into the healing frequency that voice in the middle had spoken to me about. @lunasilver

“What??” “I said, don't talk to me about it.” “You did not say that.” “I was implying it.” “You were asleep!”

He opened one eye. “That,” he said, “doesn't mean I wasn't making an excellent point.” She looked at him. He looked back at her.

“You were snoring.” “I don't snore.” “You were.” “I breathe with conviction.” “You were snoring with conviction.” He closed his eye again. “Fine.”

There was a brief silence.

Then she said, “What exactly did you think I was talking to you about?” He opened his eye again. “The thing.” “What thing?” “The thing you weren't supposed to talk to me about.” “That is remarkably circular.” “I've always been good with geometry.”

She sighed and turned back to the computer. On the screen was a photograph of the garden. Nothing remarkable. A lawn, three trees, the old stone wall, the shed at the far end.

And, standing beside the shed, a man in a dark coat. She zoomed in. The man disappeared. She zoomed out. He was there again.

She looked over her shoulder. “Are you awake?” “No.” “Do you see anyone in the garden?” “No.” “You didn't even look.” “I don't need to.” “Why not?” He pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder. “Because,” he said, “if there is someone in the garden at three in the morning, I don't want to know.”

She stared at him. “That seems irresponsible.” “It is extremely responsible. If I don't know, I can't panic.” “You are impossible.” “Yes.”

She turned back to the screen. The man was still there. Only now he was standing closer to the house. She swallowed. “There's someone outside.” Her husband opened both eyes. “Oh.” “You believe me now?” “No. But that's not the same thing.”

The figure had moved again. It was standing directly beneath their bedroom window. She slowly reached for the curtains. “Don't!” She stopped. “Why?” He was no longer smiling. “Because,” he said quietly, “that's where I saw him last time.”

She turned toward him. “Last time?” He nodded. “When?” @weisser-rabe

And although he hadn't expected to hear those harsh words, he remained silent, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

Life had swept him into a situation where he was to live with a woman he didn't love—solely due to a family arrangement.
In reality, he was in love with Terry, his childhood friend, and the feeling was mutual.
Since they were children, they had played "cops and robbers." Terry would catch him in his strong arms, enveloping him in his warm breath and fresh scent, then whisper in his ear: "You're under arrest."

And there they would stay for minutes, feeling as though they belonged entirely to one another, until another child's voice pulled them out of that fragile universe of imagined carnal passions.

When his parents announced his wedding date, he couldn't believe it; it was too soon to take on the commitments of a husband—especially with a woman he didn't even know.

He rushed to find Terry. Terry was taking a shower, and his mother invited him into her son's room:
"Come in; Terry will love the visit."
He entered Terry's room; the scent of lavender soap filled the air.

Terry stepped out of the shower, his body still dripping wet; droplets slid down the strands of his hair, falling onto his face and mouth, and Terry licked them up as if they were peach nectar.

"What a surprise! You didn't tell me you were coming."
He threw himself into Terry's arms and said, "I'm getting married in a week."
"When?"
"In a week."
"But that can't be. We love each other." "Yes, but my family won't understand our relationship." Besides, Dad gave his word to the Agostini family.
—What? You’re going to marry Ligia Agostini?
—Yes. Do you know her?
—Of course. We did some theater together a while back. She’s an intelligent, sensitive, and pretty girl.
—Yes. But I love you, Terry. I don’t know what to do.
—Don’t worry; we’ll think of something. Honor your family’s wishes. Get married. I’ll be there, and then we’ll make a plan to go on just as we have been—loving each other without anyone finding out.
—Do you think no one notices what’s going on between us? You’re wrong, Terry. Yesterday Mom said to me, "Let’s see if the marriage to Ligia Agostini keeps you away from that pervert Terry." I feel like I won’t be able to keep hiding my feelings for you.
Terry hugged and kissed him—first on the forehead, then on the tip of his nose, on his chin, and finally on his lips:
—We’ll get through this—she whispered in his ear.
—No matter what happens, we’ll stay together. @solperez

We'll stay together;
Those were the words I said when the lights went out. It had been raining earlier, and the whole neighbourhood was unusually quiet. My sister and I had been watching a movie at a neighbour’s place before deciding to head home. Unfortunately, the movie we watched was a horror film, and I was already regretting pretending that I wasn't scared.

The walk home wasn't helping either. Every little sound made us turn around. A branch moved in the wind and my sister grabbed my hand. I laughed at her, but honestly, I was just as scared. Then we got home. The moment we opened the door, the power went off. We both froze. The house was completely dark. I could see the outline of the furniture, but the corners of the rooms disappeared into the darkness. Suddenly, the horror movie didn't feel like a movie anymore. Don't go anywhere, my sister whispered. Ofcourse I wasn't planning to.

Eventually We found our way to the living room and sat close together. Neither of us wanted to admit how frightened we were. Every sound outside made us look at each other. Eventually, she leaned against me. We stayed there, quietly waiting for either the electricity to return or the sound of our mother's key turning in the door. At that moment, I honestly didn't care which one came first, i just wanted any and as a matter of fact..i wished for both. @leorichies

Be careful what you wish for, she had said: John had rubbed the magic lamp twice two months ago. I wish to understand was the first thing, after the wish of Solomon, son of David, King of Israel. Then in the next moment, wisdom. Satan appeared in the air while he worked in the backyard the afternoon before he made those two desires. Yes, it was fright to the very center of John's soul, when it had talked. @jeff-kubitz

Version B

A dense darkness, wrapped in its black mantle, covered everything. The silence was all-enveloping, broken only by the barely audible beat of what had to be my heart. I suspect it was mine, though I couldn't swear to it, for I had no idea where I was, and the utter gloom kept me from seeing even my own hand stretched out before my eyes. @ladyaryastark

Before my eyes and yours
There is a silent gap
And ev’ry turn of sun and moon
I find out step by step
How friendship dies
When words don’t rise

He tore his gaze away from the picture he’d been looking at and glanced round the room. The poetry group’s gathering in the cosy bar was drawing to a close, and in my view this final contribution was the best of all those recited that evening. I clapped as loudly as I could without hurting my hands, and a few others seemed to be doing the same. Marty took a bow, sat back down in his seat and reached for his glass.

At that very moment, there was a pop like a champagne cork; Marty fell forwards onto the table, and before he slid off it, I saw out of the corner of my eye someone in a dark hoodie disappear out the door. @ty-ty

The person behind slammed it shut, just as quickly as Lucas was shooed out.

Lucas was stunned. He came to find out his sister’s whereabouts and certainly did not expect to be led out so fast. This made him even more suspicious.

He knew Lilla spent a lot of time here. She said so herself because her supposed best friend stayed here.

A best friend he has never met.

Almost everyday after school, she would ask their mother permission to come over. Lucas fetched her here a few times even.

Lilla had not been home yesterday. When they tried to call her, it went straight to voicemail.

Lilla had never been unreachable.

A few days ago, Lucas did notice Lilla was quiet, quieter than usual. His sister had never been a talkative person but if asked, she would tell. When Lucas asked that day, she kept shaking her head. She said everything was okay and that she was just tired. Lucas didn’t press further, decided to give her the space she clearly needed at that time.

Lucas looked around the area. Thinking what to do next, he decided to walk to the backyard and see if there was any clue.

But with just a few steps, he felt someone was watching from the window above. He looked up and saw a shadow, quickly hiding from his view. @marblely

The way he approached even the most trivial problem surprised anyone who didn't know him. Practicality played no part in his life, yet his brilliant reasoning and incisive logic were undeniable. That's how he decided to pack light for his trip to the countryside. The landscape, seen through the train window, was transformed into an element of abstraction and revelation. As he sped away from the urban bustle, the scent of damp grass transported him back to the pain of a childhood that was miserable yet happy.

"How can one be happy in such deplorable conditions?" he wondered, his head bowed. The answer came quickly: happiness was not a choice but a degree of ignorance—the less complex one's thoughts, the happier one could be. That is why children are happy, and that is why I was happy, he concluded.

Three stations had already passed, and he would be getting off at the next one. Going in person wasn't common in these times of mobile phones, but it was the most convenient option. @marcybetancourt

She stopped. I still wondered.

Never, I thought by myself, never will THIS be the most convenient option! But I answered, politely smiling: ‚Okay.‘ She smiled back at me and let loose her hair. Then she opened her lips and gave me a smack on my left cheek. Her scent gave me some whirlings in my head.

Then we both took off our shoes. We took off our trousers. We put on fishing trousers and wellies. We went off the corridor and entered the stable. We took some tools and walked to the horse pasture, where we started collecting horse droppings. ‚...most convenient option‘, I thought, whilst we stumbled back and forth.

Half an hour later, the paddock seemed clean enough, and we returned to the house. ‚Within three days, Ugly Joe will be back, and up to that time, we should be prepared,‘ she said. I nodded. She took five leaves of foxglove, threw them into a vessel and poured some water over it. ‚This will do.‘ I nodded again.

The night fell suddenly, I became very tired, my eyes closed by themselves. I heard some kind of wheezing. This were the first signs of Ugly Joe's arrival, but as she’d mentioned, the whole process would need about three days, counted from full moon’s night. @ty-ty

Full moon’s night was the only time the old cemetery had visitors who didn’t bring flowers. And nobody ever stayed long enough to explain what they had come for.

Except for the little girl in the red coat. She came every month, carrying a paper bag and talking to the graves as though she were visiting old friends. The caretaker had tried to stop her once, but she had looked at him with such genuine surprise that he’d forgotten what he meant to say.

Last night, he finally followed her. She stopped at a grave without a name, sat down in the wet grass, and took two sandwiches out of her bag. “One for me,” she whispered. “One for you.”

Then she turned towards the caretaker. “Would you like to meet my brother?” He had been dead for forty years.

The caretaker looked at the empty space beside her. @weisser-rabe

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Important Note: @dannyben39's participation will kick off the sixth edition, so thank you! You will also receive a delegation from me.
Source language: Spanish | Translation: Claude (Anthropic)
Cover image and dividers created with Meta AI and Ideogram

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