Microdosing Fiction - Let's write a character!
A promptless special... sort of.
Hey!
Microdosing today is a bit different, because we’ll all write about the same character. It is a change that I would like to apply from time to time, to shift the writing prompts from vibes to an actual writing exercise. Next time we could write about a place and so on.
Please let me know your thoughts, getting feedback when experimenting is important so the Fiction Dealer can cook the best drugs stories for you :)
Now! Who’s this character we’re writing about?
A long time ago I came up with Kevin the God of Death, a whimsical fella who does the typical Grim Reaper duties with a smile. Not because he enjoys people dying, but because with every soul that crosses over, he’s got more people to party with in the afterlife. I have a soft spot for personifications of Death and Kevin is my very own.
Last week we had a prompt Chosen One and
introduced Kev the Mildly Helpful… and his stories sort of lead to a place where he just seems like a perfect prequel to Kevin the God of Death (went from Kev to Kevin because being a god is a serious job, obviously)So our writing exercise today folks—write about Kev/Kevin. The setting, character situation, everything is up to you — keep the stories under 300 words!
This is canonically the Microdosing character so let your imagination run wild and let’s make this dude go through different stories!
A bit of a description:
In my mind Kevin is a bronze-skinned dude, with wild hair. Who does his godly duties running around in shorts, flip-flops and a neon tank-top that says: Grave. He’s funny and kind toward the spirits. He accepts them as new friends joining him in the
Here are two of my Kevin stories, and Kev stories from Jon for inspiration!
Graveyard - Miguel S.
The blood moon bathed the graveyard in crimson, coloring the swirling mist into burgundy.
The god of Death, also known as Kevin, spread his arms. "Tonight. We party my friends!"
The dead shook, awoken from their slumber.
Kevin set the stage, turned the knob, and the music blasted until the G fell off the graveyard sign.
Deadline - Miguel S.
The party ended, and it was time for Kevin, the god of Death, to do his least favorite part of his job. Since he was slowly running out of time to deliver the dead to the afterlife.
With a sour face, he sat by, watching the party people—well, their souls—walking in line into the afterlife.
Out of boredom, he checked his phone.
Beerpong, now? 🍻 came a notification.
Kevin scuffed. Can't. You know I'm on the deadline.
Kev the Mildly helpful —
Kev had the hair for it—windswept, heroic.
He’d practiced sword poses in the mirror and once narrated his own montage while jogging (badly).
When villagers cried, “We need a hero!” Kev arrived dramatically late, usually tripping.
Prophecies ignored him.
Magic swords stayed stuck.
Even the wise old wizard called him “Kev the Mildly Helpful.”
He saved a cat once. It bit him.
Still, he wore a cape.
Because someday—maybe—a very low-stakes apocalypse might need him.
Until then, Kev trained.
Mostly in dramatic entrances.
Just in case.
Hope, after all, was his real superpower.
That and hair gel.
Kev and the undead —
Kev wandered under the moon, shoulders slumped, cape dragging in the dirt, the glow of the moon reflecting in the tear tracks that glistened on his cheeks.
Squirrels: 1, Kev: 0.
The townsfolk’s laughter still echoed in his ears.
Lost in thought, Kev didn’t notice where his feet led until he stumbled into an old cemetery.
The ground trembled. Bony fingers clawed from graves. Zombies rose, groaning and stretching.
Kev’s eyes lit up. “Finally! A real quest!”
He drew his magic sword, swinging it from side to side as he charged forward with all the determination of a man who desperately needed a win.
But just as he raised his blade, a tall zombie with a tattered top hat barked, “STOP! What are you doing? That's no way to treat an expensive weapon magical weapon!”
Kev froze, mid-swing.
“Uh… cleansing the undead?”
The top-hatted zombie sighed.
“We’re just out for a moonlit picnic, lad, it's the moonglow that pulls us from our slumber.”
"I'm so sorry, I..." Kev stammered, blushing furiously.
"Don't just stand there. Make yourself useful, Mavis could do with a brush off and Bert has lost his right arm again."
Kev sheathed his sword and jumped to it, helping to get the party started. The zombies cheered, laughing, clinking mugs.
Kev joined them, swapping stories under the stars, glowing with pride.
Finally, he thought as a zombie patted his back,
I’ve found something I can be mildly helpful at.
He raised his mug.
“To new friends… and no more squirrels.”
Looking forward to seeing you bringing Kevin to life! I feel that
crossover here is needed 👀Book sale!
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The woman’s mouth fell open. “You must be joking.”
“No,” said War, his voice grim. “That’s the new guy.”
“The man is wearing flip-flips,” the woman said, shaking in anger. “The God of Death should not wear flip-flips!”
“Hey, I think they’re called flip-flops,” the man called over the noise of the music. “I don’t think we’ve met? My name’s Kevin! I’m-“
“I know,” the woman said coolly. “I’m Famine. This is War. Conquest is on his way. It’s almost go time, everything’s ready, we’ve been waiting millennia for this, and you’re… throwing a party?” She stared at the table laden with snacks and all sorts of alcoholic beverages; everything on it promptly molded, evaporated, or otherwise withered away into dust.
“Well,” Kevin said, “We’re expecting a lot of people, yeah? I just thought I’d make ‘em feel welcome; I mean, an apocalypse is kinda heavy stuff and I thought …” he shrugged. “People might want a snack.”
Famine started to say something. Then she paused. ”Well…”
With a wave of her hand the food table rematerialized, everything on it restored. Kevin lit up. “Oh, you’re the best, Fammie dude!”
“Famine, please,” she said. “And I get first dibs on the martinis.”
Kevin entered the world with a bellow of laughter and a swirl of hilarity. His mother had refused to identify his father, but the midwife was pretty sure that he wasn't mortal - the baby boy's beautiful bronze skin and glowing golden eyes kind of gave his ancestry away, not to mention the explosion of long, wild, black hair already crowning his infantile scalp. She couldn't help chuckling as she handed the continuously giggling bundle of joy to his mother - his enthusiasm for life was infectious!
Kevin's childhood was as happy as his birth. As an infant and toddler, he never cried, and greeted each day with howls of glee. Every second was a celebration, every day a tornado of merriment. He hated getting tucked in at night, it was if he felt that life was a party that should go on and on, and he bopped around until he dropped in exhaustion.
He knew that there was something special about himself. As he grew older, he consulted with the old wizard, who dubbed him "Kev the Mildly Helpful," and sent him out to perform good deeds... but they never really seemed to turn out the way he'd hoped. And the happiness began to leak out of his soul.
So he fumbled along until one moonlit night, he finally found his father. He'd met some undead folks in the cemetery and discovered that they weren't so bad... in fact they were a lot of fun. After he'd raised his mug to toast his new friends, the gentleman zombie in the top hat took him aside.
"Kevin, I have something to tell you. I am not a mere zombie. I am the God of Death. And I am your father. You have passed my test, and I am very proud of you."
It took Kev a second to settle down, but the zombie's ale was excellent so it didn't take him long to adjust to his new reality. "So I'm not Kev the Mildly Helpful?"
The God of Death beamed down proudly at him. "No, son. You are Kev the Future God of Death... that is, if you would like to become apprentice to your old Dad. I'm thinking of retiring someday."
"Oh, awesome, Dad! Party on!" And so Kev began his training for his future profession.