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University's done and dusted, time for my triumphant (???) return! In with a 
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Aug 3, 2017 14:31
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What's Behind Door Number One? 1499 Words Every thief worth their salt dreamed of stealing from the Domerci Manor, and none of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of doing so. There had been plenty of attempts in the past. ‘One last job,’ they had all said, ‘one last job before I go straight, so let’s make it a big one.’ Technically, they weren’t wrong; it was hard to do another job when you disappeared without a trace. Some rumours said that there was a pack of wolves roaming the grounds for intruders. Others said that Lord Domerci had a room filled with the stuffed bodies of anyone who’d trespassed onto his property. Whatever the truth was, the only people who seriously planned on breaking into the Domerci Manor were generally referred to as ‘total loving idiots.’ As Malcolm pushed past a guffawing couple and made his way down the corridor to the left of the grand staircase, he wondered what people would call him now. He had no clue what could have prompted Thaddeus Domerci to have sent him of all people a wax sealed invitation, but he wasn’t about to pass the opportunity up. That invite was a skeleton key to the innermost workings of the Domerci Manor. Malcolm took a sip from his tall glass of prosecco, and smiled to himself as he turned the corner. He could spend hours in this place without anybody finding him. Every wall in the building was practically made of doors, with only a few gaps for a priceless Ming vase here, a full-scale portrait of Lord Domerci there. He padded around another corner, before coming to a halt. The door closest to him had piqued his interest; it hung slightly ajar, a soft orange light coming from within the room, and right in the centre of the door was a small square of paper, miniscule words scrawled on to it. ‘REMINDER: PLEASE LEAVE THIS DOOR OPEN AT ALL TIMES WHEN CLEANING THE CONTENTS OF THIS ROOM. THAT MEANS YOU, HAROLD – THADDEUS’ Malcolm squinted at the neon pink post-it note, trying to read Lord Domerci’s near-illegible handwriting. The thing looked so tiny and lost, stuck to a hulking great oak door, as wide as Malcolm was tall. A note for the servants, he supposed. He pushed the door open with his free hand and stepped into the room, closing it behind him. One glance around the room was all it took for the smile on Malcolm’s face to upgrade to an enormous grin. There were no lamps or bulbs to light up the room. Instead, there were fireplaces set at even intervals along the walls, the flickering flames illuminating row upon row of display cases and cabinets, each one filled with so many jewel-encrusted objects and ancient works of art that it brought a tear to Malcolm’s eye. The two griffin statues flanking the doorway looked like they were made of solid gold; sell one of those things and you’d be set for life. Malcolm downed his glass, rolled his neck, and stepped towards the nearest display case. The second his hand touched the glass, the sound of rumbling stone obliterated the silence. He spun around, looking for the source of the noise, turning around to face the entrance of the room just in time to see the door slowly sliding up the wall, grinding to a halt a meter above Malcolm’s head. He stood stock still, mouth hanging open, and before he could regain his senses and utter a single expletive, the door vanished with a pop. Silence fell upon the room again. Where the door had sat a moment ago, there was now just a bare patch of deep purple wallpaper. With hesitant movements, Malcolm began to move towards it, but another sound stopped him in his tracks, a booming voice this time, echoing around the room. “For Christ’s sake, Harold, how many times is this gonna happen?” The griffin on the right seemed to shimmer, before it turned its head towards Malcolm, who screwed his eyes up and waited for this stupid dream to finish. “Well, you’re new. You another one of Thaddy’s servants, or just someone snooping around way out of his depth?” Malcolm opened his eyes, and looked at the statue. The statue stared right back at him, unblinking and unmoving. This impromptu staring contest lasted for several seconds longer before Malcolm spoke. “All right, where’s the microphone? Whoever’s controlling this thing, ha ha, very funny, very nice animatronic, now show me what you did to that door!” “That’ll be the latter, then,” the griffin said, before stretching its wings, sending Malcolm stumbling backwards, desperately trying to avoid decapitation. With a grunt, it leapt down from its pedestal, then sat on its hind legs, looking at Malcolm. “That’s a, uh…” Malcolm mumbled, clinging to his knowledge that statues didn’t and couldn’t move. “That’s a pretty impressive bit of technology you’ve got there.” “Wow,” replied the griffin. “And you’re pretty thick, aren’t you?” Malcolm frowned, resisting the urge to try and kick this stupid statue’s dumb head off. “Listen, just let me out of here, okay? Lord Domerci invited me here, I’m a guest, I just got lost looking for the bathroom.” The griffin raised its claw up in front of its face, and began to check its impeccable gold talons. “Gonna need a door for that, pal.” “Yeah, great, thanks, so where is the door?” “Prob’ly in here somewhere, hiding.” “Really? That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna tell me, it’s ‘somewhere’ in here?” The griffin let out a sharp bark of a laugh, and began to walk a slow circle around Malcolm, tail bumping against his legs. “You’re not a servant, so my hunch is the reason you’re in here is for less than moral purposes. If I’m wrong, and you’re a guest, then I can just tell Thaddy I was being over-vigilant. If I’m right, then that’s another thief to add to the taxidermy room. It’s a win-win for me, really. Either way, if you wanna find the door, you’re gonna have to do that yourself.” The griffin stopped walking, and returned to its previous sitting position, tail swishing behind it. Malcolm glared at it, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, before sighing, and walking off into the rows of cabinets. Each aisle went on for what felt like miles before culminating in a small area with two leather armchairs nestled around a larger fireplace, with no door anywhere to be seen. Whenever Malcolm trudged back along the next row to return to where the griffin was, it would always chime in with a “Ooooh, maybe in this row?” or a “Sorry pal, I thought for sure you’d find it this time!” Three hours had passed before Malcolm made his way along the final row of trophies and gems and paintings. He was coated in sweat, prosecco glass threatening to slip from his fingers at any moment, and he was certain the blisters on his feet were growing blisters. His head drooped, barely looking up any more, knowing that he was almost at the end of this row, and the only thing he was gonna find would be – “Need a refill, friend?” Malcolm’s head snapped up. Sitting in front of him, bottle in one hand and full glass in the other, was the unmistakable host of the night’s festivities. He smiled at Malcolm, before raising his glass. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Malcolm!” Malcolm’s mouth flapped open, stammering and tripping over his own words, before he finally managed to spit something out. “How the hell did you get in here?” “Through the door. That’s generally how most people get anywhere, is it not?” “But… But the door…” “Is right down there,” Lord Domerci said, standing up and pointing back down to the other end of the room. Malcolm said nothing, mouth hanging open again, so Lord Domerci took the opportunity to pluck the prosecco glass from his hand and fill it to the brim, before pressing it back towards him. “Now, Malcolm,” Lord Domerci said, giving the still stunned thief a firm pat on the back. “I’d suggest you get back out there and relax for the rest of the night. Oh, and please don’t touch anything. I’d really rather not ruin this good mood of mine.” Lord Domerci waved him off, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Malcolm walked back up the aisle. Twenty minutes later, Malcolm was standing in front of the two griffins again. Just like Lord Domerci had said, the door was back in between them, once more hanging slightly ajar. The griffin on the right cocked its head and looked at Malcolm. “Just count yourself lucky you didn’t choose the next door along. Pretty sure you wouldn’t have wanted to mess with Thaddy’s black hole generator.” Malcolm stared at the griffin, tipped his head back, and finished off his glass, before pushing open the door and heading back to the entrance hall.
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Aug 7, 2017 01:54
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In, I'll take two places, an animal and a Fleta's Mystery Meat.
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Aug 7, 2017 18:58
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Dirty Tricks 1385 words Prompt: New Mexico, Boston, badger, geophagy The first time Rebeca met Jorge was on a warm summer’s day, when he was crouched next to a bench in a distant corner of the park with dirt in his mouth. There was a badger curled up on the bench itself, fast asleep, looking perfectly content. Rebeca stared at the man for a while, watching him dismantle a molehill. Occasionally, he would raise a handful of earth to his mouth, sniff it, lick it, then put it in a little pouch tied to his belt with string. Eventually, Rebeca’s curiosity got the better of her, and she asked the man a very important question. “Do you know my friend Mikey?” The man craned his head round to glare at Rebeca, wiping soil from his lips and dropping the rest of his handful into his pouch. “What?” “My friend Mikey from school eats dirt during lunch. He just goes out onto the field and sits down and stuffs dirt in his mouth.” “Uh, no, I… No, I don’t know your friend Mikey, kiddo.” “Why are you eating dirt, then? Does it taste good?” A small smile crept on to the man’s face, one stray speck of dirty falling from the corner of his mouth. “Can’t say it does.” “Have you ever eaten a worm? Mikey says he did once, but I think it was just a gummy one.” The man stood up, made a futile attempt to dust off his moth-eaten coat, and nodded his head towards the badger. “I find any worms, then I give ‘em to Sebby here. Listen, kiddo, what’s with the Spanish Inquisition?” Rebeca didn’t know what that was, but she kinda understood what he meant, because he used the same tone that her mom did whenever she asked questions at the dinner table. She sat down on the bench, and gently scratched behind Sebby’s ears. Sebby opened one eye, lazily looked up at Rebeca, then fell back to sleep again. “You looked lonely here by yourself,” Rebeca said. “And people don’t like being lonely, so I decided to talk to you.” “Your mom never told you not to talk to strangers?” “Mom spends most of her time telling Pepper not to chase joggers.” A loud series of barks from the other side of the park suggested that her mom’s words had, once again, had little effect. The man chuckled to himself as he watched a streak of gold fur chase two joggers off the path. Rebeca looked down into her lap before speaking again. “Mom gets lonely sometimes. Some days she just sits in the kitchen and drinks coffee and looks out the window and doesn’t smile.” Rebeca paused. “I don’t like those days.” The man looked down at Rebeca, but said nothing. A moment passed, then Rebeca looked up from her lap. “You never told me why you were eating dirt.” The man chuckled again, and went to sit down next to her, stroking the stubble on his chin. “You good at keeping secrets?” Rebeca nodded. “My mom says I’m not, but I haven’t told anybody that Mikey peed himself at the zoo, so she’s wrong. So why do you eat dirt?” “I’m a wizard, kiddo.” “Really?” “Yep. But I can’t use my powers unless I swallow some soil, so- “ “Do you live in a castle?” Rebeca looked up at the man, eyes wide and fists clenched in excitement, and he chuckled again. He had a nice laugh, she thought. It sounded like how hot cocoa felt. “Fraid not, kiddo. You ever seen a castle in Albuquerque before?” Rebeca frowned and hmphed and screwed her face up in concentration. “I don’t think you’re a wizard, then.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah, you don’t live in a castle, and you don’t have a proper wizard beard, either.” A pause. “Well shoot,” the man said. “I guess you got me there.” Another pause, the sound of barking in the distance and the gentle chirping of birds breaking the silence. “So what’s your name, kiddo?” “Rebeca, with one C.” “Nice to meet you, Rebeca with one C. I’m Jorge.” * * * “Is… this your card?” Rebeca looked at the three of diamonds in Jorge’s outstretched hand, and shook her head. Jorge frowned, and slipped the card back into the deck. “Darn. Thought for sure I’d got it,” he muttered. “Ah well. Hold on a sec, kiddo, you’ve got something in your hair.” With a deft grab, Jorge reached out, and grabbed a card from the general vicinity of Rebeca’s hair, flipping it round to show the Queen of Spades. She looked at it for a moment, stunned, before she started giggling, nodding her head. Jorge tucked it away into the deck, joining in with her laughter. Sebby looked up from his nap, a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face. “I still don’t think you’re a wizard, though,” Rebeca said, once the laughter had died down. “Oh, yeah? Guess I’d better up my game, then.” The two fell into a pleasant silence, watching the clouds drift along and the people in the park milling about. It was Jorge who broke the silence after a while. “You always come up here with your mom and dog. Don’t any of your friends ever wanna hang out?” “I don’t really have any.” Jorge’s head snapped round to look at Rebeca. She didn’t look upset, or like it had hurt her to say that. She just looked straight ahead, idly stroking Sebby, still talking. “Mom doesn’t like me going places where she can’t keep track of me. Whenever I get out of school she’s always the first one there to pick me up and take me straight home. She’s always keeping an eye on me when we go to the park. Oh, see, she’s coming this way right now!” Rebeca hopped off the bench, and smiled and waved at her mom, whose expression refused to change from one of cold frustration. “Honey, could you take Pepper and head to the car? I’ll be there in a second.” Rebeca nodded, took hold of Pepper’s leash, and with a few words of encouragement, made her way towards the park entrance. The two adults watched her go. “She’s a good kid,” Jorge said. “Yes. She is.” Rebeca’s mom flashed a scowl at Jorge, before following her daughter’s footsteps. “Don’t talk to her ever again.” * * * “You’re leaving?” Rebeca glared up at Jorge, who said nothing, instead choosing to pull a worm from the pouch on his belt and feed it to Sebby. “Why?” Rebeca persisted. Jorge let out a low sigh before replying. “People don’t like me here, kiddo. Pretty sure the only people who talked to me were police officers ‘til you turned up.” “I like you!” “Yeah, but your mom doesn’t.” Jorge scratched his chin, then the back of his neck, as Rebeca fell silent. “You said there’s days where your mom doesn’t smile, right? If I stay here, that’s just gonna make things worse. That’ll just make you sad, and neither me nor Sebby wants that.” Rebeca sniffled, and pawed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Where are you gonna go?” she said in a quiet, strained voice. “I’m thinking Boston. Last I heard of my old buddy Merl he was living there, figured I’d catch up with him.” “Boston? But that’s… that’s, um…” Rebeca faltered as she realised she didn’t know exactly where Boston was. “Other side of the country,” Jorge finished her sentence for her. The two stood there, looking at each other, wind rustling the autumn leaves around their feet. “So I’m never gonna see you again, am I?” Rebeca finally managed to say, barely making herself heard above the breeze. Jorge grinned, and let out his warm cocoa laugh, as he reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a pinch of soil. “Nah, we’ll meet again. You can trust me. Hey, I can guarantee I’ll see you two days from now if you’re here at the park again.” “How?” Jorge popped the dirt into his mouth and swallowed, face locked into a disgusted grimace as he did so. “I told you, kiddo. I’m a wizard.” Jorge grinned, and snapped his fingers. His figure began to blur, and then, next to a bench in a distant corner of the park, he vanished.
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Aug 14, 2017 15:59
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In with Dryden Diamondback.
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Aug 29, 2017 18:02
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Slither 1250 words There’s a gun pointed at my chest. Again. I’ve almost gotten used to the sensation by now. It’s happened a hell of a lot since I stole that pendant from Don Danil. You can’t blame me for it. We get paid just enough to scrape by, working underneath him. The guy’s got an absolute mountain of trinkets and jewellery; I figured he wouldn’t miss just one little thing. Wasn’t any way for me to know it belonged to his late mother, was there? I can hear the gentle sound of pool water lapping against tiles behind me. The Hotel Nuvola wouldn’t be a bad place to die. Quiet, attractive, out of the way. Could at least say I got one of Danil’s fancy properties all dirty before I kicked the bucket. Maybe some other day, though. Right now, I'm planning on seeing at least one more sunrise. I can’t tell who the guy holding me at gunpoint is under his balaclava, but he obviously hasn’t attempted to kill me before. Otherwise he wouldn’t have made a big song and dance of it, wanting to show off about being the one to finally take me down, luring me out here alone to leave my body floating in the water. “All right, Diamondback, time’s up. Do me a favour and die gracefully.” I just about manage to avoid rolling my eyes at that, and instead shut them tightly, focusing on nothing but the pair of dull green eyes peeking out from the balaclava, until I hear the click of the safety. Then I open my eyes to see nothing but piercing white. A second passes, and then I see myself staggering backwards, blood dripping between my fingers as I clutch at my chest. drat it. I thought I’d timed that better. I hate watching myself die. I look away until I hear the splash of the body hitting the water, then I stride over to the edge of the pool. The corpse bobs back up to the surface, the body now that of the 45-year-old receptionist who I’d stolen it from in the first place. I can just about make out the name ‘Linda’ on her name tag. Sorry, Linda. I needed somebody to jump into, yesterday, and you were the first person I laid eyes on. There’s a pistol in my right hand, now, but aside from that, I’m exactly how I looked a moment ago. All one-hundred-percent of Dryden Diamondback, in the flesh, no bullet holes or anything. I daren’t stick around here any longer. No doubt Danil’s expecting a phone call right about now to let him know whether I’m finally dead or not. I walk out of the pool, down along the silent corridors, shadows dancing in the evening sun, out through reception and back to my car. As I’m driving along the winding, gravel road that leads away from the Hotel Nuvola, my mind starts thinking about the assassin whose body I stole. Not for the first time, not by a long shot. I wonder where he is right now. Is he just drifting around in the air, pissed off about someone stealing his body and waiting for them to give it back? Maybe it’s more like sleeping until your body’s new host jumps out of it. After a few more moments thought, I decide it doesn’t matter. It’s saved my hide more times than I can count. That’s the most important thing. As soon as I’ve parked my car outside my apartment, I head downtown to find someone else’s body to steal. It’s too risky to stay in this one for too long. If another of Danil’s lackeys come for my head, then I’ll just be switching one assassin for another. There’s a cinema on the corner of Honeydew Street, and as I pass by it, I see a bored looking teenager sweeping the floors inside. Alone. I walk down the rest of the block, duck into a side alley, clamber into a dumpster, and shut the lid. I squeeze my eyes shut, think of him, and one burst of bright light later, I’m inside the cinema lobby, a cheap wooden broom in my hands, scrawny teenager nowhere to be seen, and a no-doubt baffled assassin sitting in a pile of Styrofoam boxes and apple cores. Simple. I’ve got this down like clockwork. Time for the final part of what is now my daily routine. I push the double doors of the cinema open, and take a stroll towards the underground parking lot on Cradle Road, breathing in the crisp night air. The moon shines down upon me like a lucky quarter, and I check my watch as I head down the ramp into the lot. Seven minutes late. Damien’s there already, standing in space 54E, arms folded, foot tapping impatiently. “It happen again?” he asks, before I can even get out a ‘hey’ or a ‘hi’. I can only nod, and watch as his brow furrows and he chews his lip. “Knew it. This isn’t gonna end any time soon, is it? He’s just gonna throw more and more assassins at you until you… until you…” “Yeah. You know what he’s like. He’ll turn the whole city against me if he has to.” Damien looks down at the ground, and runs a hand through his hair. Then, of all things, a smile appears on his face. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two folded up pieces of paper. “Guess we’d better leave before that happens, then, huh?” “What are those?” “Flight bookings.” I stare at the two little slips of paper in his hand, mouth hanging ajar. “Damien, how the hell did you afford those?” He lets out his warm, soft chuckle. “I’ve been saving up ever since I started this job. Figured I’d be able to afford a nice long vacation in Vienna like I’ve always wanted, but I guess your safety is kinda important as well.” Now it’s my turn to grin at him. “You’re way too loving good for me, y’know that, right?” “None of that, now. Come on, let’s get a move on.” We make it to the base of the ramp leading up to the street before a shadow falls upon us. Don Danil looks down at us, bathed in moonlight, expressionless and still. “I guess the old saying is true,” he says, voice like a falling oak tree. “If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and I quickly close my eyes. “Ah, I wouldn’t do that, Diamondback.” There’s an edge to his voice that forces me to listen. I wipe Danil’s face from my mind, and slowly open my eyes. The gun’s in his hand, finger on the trigger, safety off. It’s pointed straight at Damien. “I know about your little trick, Dryden,” Danil says. “And I know about your little meetup with Mako here as well. Try and jump to me, and I will pull the trigger.” There’s a pause. The air is still. No-one moves. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do I don’t know what to do, I don’t want Damien to die but I’m so scared of what will happen to me and oh god he’s moving the gun towards me and I don’t know what to do and I look at Damien but think of Danil. “I’m sorry,” I mouth, as I screw my eyes shut.
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Sep 4, 2017 02:20
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Thanks for the crit, Tyrano, as well as everyone else who's crit me over the past few weeks! I'll be trying my hand at writing with this beauty, this week. 
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Sep 16, 2017 01:18
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Not gonna be able to finish this. Will enter with a next time.
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Sep 18, 2017 01:09
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dude i love hearthstone, put me in with a
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Sep 20, 2017 00:19
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sebmojo posted:you are all horrible monsters that need to be punished Speak up if you agree and want a savage yeah why not
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Sep 21, 2017 18:14
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flash rule
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Appley Every After 1735 words Jared scampered through the woods, shoving branches out of his path, chest tightening with each lungful of cold autumn air. He stumbled over rocks and tree trunks and his own untangling shoelaces, inches away from breaking his neck each time, dirt kicking up behind him as he carried on running. Every second or so, he felt a droplet of blood squirm free from his right palm and catch in the air, dropping down to the leaf coated floor as he raced forwards. A scrap of bright blue fabric wrapped around the limb of a tree flashed past him, and Jared knew he could stop running soon. The path forked in front of him, and he slipped as he veered to the left, flinging his arms out in front of him to break his fall. The second his hands hit the ground, his mind conjured up the image of his mum, storming up behind him, holding bits of shattered ceramic in her fists, and his breath caught in his throat. He scrambled to his feet, leaves and dirt sticking to the sweat and blood on his palms, and ran deeper into the woods. Another breakneck minute passed, and then Jared’s run slowed to a jog, then a walk, then a feet-dragging shuffle as he reached the small clearing. He managed to shamble over to the Grandfather Tree, before slumping against one of the thick roots and resting his head against what remained of the trunk. Jared and a couple of his friends had discovered the Grandfather Tree a few years back, playing cops and robbers in the woods behind his house. It was pretty easy to find, so long as you stayed off the beaten track. Calling it a tree was generous; it was short and stumpy, and the top was all scorched and jagged. Jared’s dad said it had probably been struck by lightning at some point. There were a couple of thick limbs jutting from either side of the trunk, each with spindly branches that looked like withered fingers. One of Jared’s friends had drawn a face on the trunk. Every autumn, ivy and mushrooms grew around the base of the tree, looking like the world’s most disgusting beard. Jared had offhandedly called it the Grandfather Tree, and just like that, the name had stuck. Letting out a sigh in-between deep, shaky breaths, Jared reached into his hoody pocket and dug out a white and blue ceramic shard. It had been part of a pretty ugly vase, in Jared’s opinion, but his mum had said it was super old, a gift from some guy called Ming or something, and super valuable. And he just had to have bumped into it, hadn’t he? He tossed the shard down in front of him and stared at the cut on his palm, wiping it clear of dirt and mud. “Wish we’d never gotten that stupid vase…” A second passed, then a gentle popping sound cut through the silence of the clearing. Jared felt his heart slam into the roof of his head, and he jumped up, stitch in his side shooting daggers through his body. He froze, waiting for the noise to repeat. When it never did, he looked around for the source of it, muscles loosening just a little. There, nestled in the clutch of the Grandfather’s left hand, was a shiny green apple. Instinctively, Jared reached out and grabbed it. It didn’t look like any of the windfall apples from the orchard. It was large and clean, almost perfectly spherical, like it had been plucked from a bag at the supermarket. For a moment, Jared considered putting the apple back, but his innate curiosity squashed that thought flat and left it for dead. He bit into it. It tasted okay. Not too sour, a little too soft. Kinda disappointing. He hurled it off into the undergrowth and rubbed his eyes. He slumped back down against the trunk of the Grandfather Tree. His whole body ached and his mind felt like it was covered in fog. Running the whole way here must have really taken it out of him. He needed to get back home, or his mum would be mad at him for vanishing on top of everything else. Maybe if he just rested his eyes first… Jared woke with a start. He blinked, yawned, then dug around in his pockets for his phone. His heart sank as it confirmed exactly what he’d feared. He’d been out here for over two hours now. He clambered to his feet, rolled his shoulders, then set off back home at a brisk trot. Whatever. It didn’t matter anyway. The first thing Jared saw as he walked through the front door was the empty plinth that had once contained Ming’s vase. The second thing he saw was his mum, standing next to it, arms folded, and he felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. He braced himself, ready for the bollocking he was about to receive. “How many times have I told you, Jared? If you’re wandering about in the woods, head home before dinner’s ready!” Jared’s brow furrowed and his mouth jutted open in confusion. “Don’t give me that look, young man. Go upstairs and wash your hands. I’ll reheat your food for you.” She turned, and strode off towards the kitchen. Jared stared at her retreating figure, then stared down at the plinth. His mum dusted it religiously every morning. So how come there was a fine layer of dust on it? The question plagued his mind as he headed upstairs, and no explanation he could think of made any sense. That night, as Jared lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he heard the muffled sound of his parents talking downstairs. “We really need to put something on that old plinth, dear...” ----- A week passed, and the autumn chill had turned into gentle sunshine as Jared walked up to the Grandfather Tree again. He looked down at the crumpled paper clenched in his hands. The column of letters down the right-hand side told a sorry tale. D-. C. C. C-. D. He made a noise of disgust, then looked up at the Grandfather’s face, the lines of his eyes and broad smile faded after so many years. “I, uh, wish that this report card never existed, and that none of the grades did either.” Jared’s eyes brightened as he heard the popping noise again. He scampered over to the left hand, and grabbed the apple without even looking at it. Red, this time, but just as average tasting as before. He swallowed, then wound up to sling the rest of it into the bushes again. He reared his arm back, then froze, as he noticed the report card out of the corner of his eye. It was glowing, a bright golden light enveloping it. He straightened up, holding the paper at arm’s reach, just in case it burst into flames or something, as the glow grew brighter and brighter. Then, with another gentle pop, it vanished. Jared stared at his empty hand. He blinked twice. A bird twittered overhead. Slowly, a huge grin spread across his face. Oh, this was going to be useful. ----- Autumn drifted into winter, and warm sunshine turned into biting rain. Jared pulled his hood up over his head and wrapped his arms around himself. “Is this gonna take long, Jared? Mum said I had to be home by eight.” Jared could barely hear his friend over the roaring wind, as they walked into the Grandfather Tree’s clearing. “Better than my mum. She doesn’t let me stay out past six, then whines about me spending ‘too long on that Nintendo’ when I’m home.” “Wow, seriously? That sucks.” “Yep,” Jared said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Sometimes I wish she’d just go away and stop having a go at me.” The two stopped in front of the Grandfather Tree, and Jared gestured grandly towards it like a stage magician. “Now, David,” he said. “Is there anything in your life bothering you? Anything you wish could just disappear?” David thought for a moment, rain dripping off the tip of his nose. “Uh… there’s a pebble in my shoe, I guess?” “A serious problem indeed! Now, tell the Grandfather Tree that you wish it would disappear!” “Um… I wish this pebble in my shoe would disapper? Uh, great Grandfather Tree?” Jared was smiling from ear to ear as he grabbed the apple and handed it to David. “Now take a bite!” David did so. Jared’s hands were balled into excitedfists, staring at his friend, ignoring the rain soaking through him. “Has it gone yet?” he asked. David looked at Jared for a moment, then shook his head. “Uh, nope. And this apple tastes like crap.” Jared’s face fell. “What?” David tossed the apple behind him and peered at his watch. “Well, this was dumb,” he muttered, turning and heading out of the clearing. “And my mum’ll crucify me if I stay out here any longer. See you tomorrow, Jared.” “Wait, David-“ David didn’t halt in his stride, quickly disappearing into the woods. Jared scowled down at the apple, before kicking it against the Grandfather Tree. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began the long, soggy walk home. “Mum, I’m back!” Jared wiped his feet on the welcome mat, and shook his head, raindrops spraying every which way. He slid his shoes off, knowing that his mum would yell at him if he tracked mud into the house. “What’s for dinner?” He waited for a response. None came. The house smelled of old books and floor polish when it should have smelled of sizzling meat and vegetables. “Mum?” Jared walked into the dining room and peered into the kitchen. There was nobody there. There were no chopping boards coated in diced carrot, no jars of seasoning, not even any pots or pans on the hobs. “Muuuuuum?” Jared turned round. His vision swept across the row of photographs on the mantelpiece. Photos of him at school photo day, a photo of him at the beach, a photo of him and his mum at the fair. He frowned, and looked closer at the last photo. He was sure it had always been of him and mum standing in front of a merry-go-round. So how come it was just him there now?
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Sep 25, 2017 03:59
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oh yeah here's some important stuff I guess Prompt:  Flashrule: an apple a day leaves the whole world blind
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Sep 25, 2017 04:03
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This funfair is unfair! *laugh track* Oh and also in and stuff.
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Oct 16, 2017 23:56
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Necks Door Down 749 words One of the vampires is missing from the haunted house. I run my hand through my hair as I stare into the coffin, filled with cobwebs and spiders, but no vampire in sight. Istvan. That’s the name of the missing vampire. I mumble one single word, and, not for the first time, weigh up the pros and cons of working at an amusement park that hires actual monsters for one of their attractions. “gently caress.” The park reviews were great, and the pay was even better, but this was the moment that could make all that irrelevant. Each monster needs their own, individual accommodation. Some are easier than others. Gustav, another of the vampires, just wants a cashmere sleep mask and a copy of the paper each morning, whereas Alan, our newest mummy recruit, had asked for as close a replica of an ancient tomb as possible to sleep in, decorated with three solid stone statues of ancient Egyptian gods and goddesses, with each of these statues changed weekly, before he eventually signed on. It’s a job in and of itself catering to their needs, because if just one of them decides that they’re sick of this place and want to go out there and do monstery things, that’d be the death of the park. As well as a whole lot of people. Worst-case scenarios buzz through my head, as my footsteps thud against the wooden floor of the haunted house, every last one of them ending with my throat being ripped out in a shower of blood. I ask the other residents of the house if they’ve seen him, but each of them reply in the negative. Well, Stephanie the swamp monster might know where he is, but everything she says sounds like ‘Mggrrgoorgllf,’ so I simply nod, say ‘Okay, thanks,’ and wave her goodbye, breaking into a sprint as soon as I round the corner, heart pounding a steel drum rhythm with every passing second. I quickly glance to one side as I fly down the corridor, checking to see if Henry the creepy statue is still there, when something cannons into my chest and all the wind gets knocked out of me as I crumple to the floor with a thump. I gather myself up, resting on one knee, and look up to see Tessa, the other park worker stationed to the morning shift at the haunted house, in a similarly sprawled out pose. We both stare at each other for a moment, before opening our mouths and yelling simultaneously. “Istvan’s missing from his coffin!” “Greta’s missing from her hut!” We pause. Stare. Yell again. “gently caress!” We both scramble to our feet and run to the exit, bursting out into the bright morning sun, blinking rapidly until our eyes adjust from the gloom of the haunted house. We both glance at each other again once more, before splitting up to cover the rest of the park. There aren’t many other workers here yet; it’s only those on the haunted house shift that have to be here this early before the park opens. It should be pretty easy to find a vampire and a witch out here, I tell myself. Just so long as they haven’t left the park. Okay, best not to think about that possibility. I run past the ferris wheel and one of the rollercoasters, their giant steel monolithic forms casting thin shadows over me. I peer into food stands, look into the gift shops, brace myself to venture into the public toilets, even cast an eye over that stand where you hook the little rubber duckies to get prizes. Nothing. Not a single slicked back hair, nor fine trim of cape to be seen. I’m inches away from pulling my radio from my pocket and telling the boss we’ve got a Code 15, when I hear the distinctive sounds of laughter coming from the shooting gallery a few stalls across. I peer over the head of one of the rubber ducks, and see Istvan walking towards it. He’s holding a stuffed bear in one hand, and Greta’s hand in the other. They laugh again, and Istvan lets go of her hand so she can grab one of the stall’s rifles. I stand up straight, and he catches my eye, giving me a sheepish look and an apologetic shrug, before he turns back to watch Greta. I let out a relieved sigh, and grab my radio to let Tessa know about the new happy couple.
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Oct 23, 2017 03:41
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| # ¿ Feb 11, 2026 18:51 |
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curlingiron posted:INTERPROMPT: Man Agonizes over Tomatoes You say to-mah-toe, i say to-may-toe, we both agree that tomatoes are garbage and should be eradicated "Here, Greg, try this cherry tomato. It's juicy and sweet and tasty." Greg bit into the tomato. "God," he said. "This tastes awful." And it did. Because tomatoes taste awful. All of them.
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Oct 23, 2017 18:51
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