After The Third Peeling

It's X meets Y this week; and Chuck has us using a d20 generator or just picking out what we'd like to use... me? I picked out two I thought would mix well: Inception and Teen Wolf.

enjoy

Cold night air.

My senses reeling.

The moon… oh my god… that moon which fuels my energies!

Wait!... what’s that?

A heart beating not too far away – two blocks maybe? Three? Who cares – I’m after it!

Ears back, tail twitching… I don’t see or know anything else but this next delicious morsel – and all I need from them is… oh there they are!

Yes, run you bipod… I’ll catch you in one, two… three leaps!

‘Good morning, San Fransisco! And what a beautiful morning it would be if we didn’t have to report another murder in our parks district late last night!’  the radio woke me from a deep slumber but I didn’t miss that report from him.

Murder, what murder?

Pulling back the covers, I find I’m naked – again!

How does this keep on happening? I go to bed dressed and wake up in my birthday suit! Seriously, I just don’t want to know. And so, I get ready for school.

For a good part of the day, I just can’t keep my eyes open, every perfume anyone is wearing drives me nuts (and I start sneezing) and I feel as though everyone is staring at me for some unknown reason.

I feel like I’m losing my mind – but I’m not sure why.

In the beginning of the lunch hour, I head off to the toilets to see if anything shows that I’ve missed anything.  Looking in the mirror, I see my hair is okay, my hormones are playing up with my skin (what’s new?) and my make-up is as good as it’s ever going to look.  I just feel so … so… charged.

Something is wrong with me, but I’m not sure what.

The rest of the day passes and I keep to myself; which the teachers find weird, as they try to call on me unsuccessfully. They catch me staring out the window or my eyes are glued to my pen – looking as though I’m really not interested in anything.

I am.

I’m wondering why I was so interested in everything only two days ago, and now I’m not interested in anything at all.

I don’t look different – but I feel different.

I walk the seven kilometers home from school, vouching to miss the bus because the stench of them all makes me want to puke.

Mum makes a roast and I go back for thirds – something my Dad just can’t believe because he struggles through his second-helpings.  I also devour dessert as though it’s nothing, whereas he skipped it and had a cup of tea.

They’re wondering what’s wrong with me; watching me carefully as I head up to bed by 10pm, after all my homework is done. From my bedroom door, I hear them make a phone call:

“Yes, I think it’s happened… we had hoped it would have skipped a generation – but I’m afraid to say it hasn’t.” My Dad’s voice is clearly picked up from a part of the hallway where I normally can’t hear anything – not even the television.

I knew it… they know there’s something going on.

Turning, I find my pajamas I thought I had lost the night before neatly folded on my bed, “I found them outside.” His voice whispers from the door.

Spinning, I stare at my Dad, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, shoulda knocked – you’re all grown up now.” A blush heats his cheeks, but he doesn’t leave, “And sweetie, we know what’s been happening, why you walked home from school today… the kids at school smell, different now.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” I start looking for a way out but find he’s blocking the door, “I had a weird dream.”

“You tracked down somebody by their scent and attacked them?” he asked sitting down at my desk, clearing the way to the hall, letting me know I could leave if I wanted, “Am I right?”

I didn’t know what to say, so stay silent as I sink onto my bed, touching my pajamas, “Exactly where were these?”

“Below your window in the back yard.” He replies waiting for me to figure out what he already knew.

“What… who… wha…?” I didn’t know how to ask my own father about my screwed up identity, “Do I go to school tomorrow?”

“No. We have placed you into a private school for teens who are just like you – well almost. They are kids who don’t fit into society because of their genetic make-up; and you’re one of them.” He said, “I was wondering if you had to be enlisted into the place or not.”

“Were you?”

He grimaced, “I only wish this place was around when I was kid.” He slowly moved next to me and put his arm around my shoulder, “Lisey, you are special in more ways than one… you are from a pedigree family of werewolf. This means, you don’t have to get bitten to be turned, you have it all in your genes. But you can turn people; which I don’t think you should do.”

“So, what happens if I meet somebody I want to be with?” I wasn’t sure if I want to believe my Dad.

“It doesn’t work that way… you’ll sense another pedigree around you and you will both know if you’re meant to be together.” He says, “It’s not all that complex.”

Suddenly, I can’t handle it anymore, all this information I had only thought was crap supernatural shit I’d seen on television and read in books. I burst into tears, “Oh God, Dad, I think I … no, I couldn’t have… please don’t tell me I’m the one who…”

Dad holds me close as his silence confirms what I asked was true: I had killed those poor people in the parks in the city over the last three nights.

“Oh sweetie, we tried to lock you in, but you broke out every night.” Mum says from the door, “Now, the authorities want you … um…” she couldn’t tell me that the police wanted to kill me. Instead, she looks to the floor as she pulls a tissue from her pocket and dabs her eyes.

“When do we leave?” I ask.

“Tonight.” Dad says, “We pack up all you gear after you go with me to the place and you’ll be safe there.”

It looked more like a prison than anything else. We drove along the road outside it as the sun set behind us, but Dad didn’t stop the car; instead he kept on going.

“What’s wrong?”

“They were supposed to meet us at the gate – there’s nobody there.”  He said, “We’ll go further around the see if there’s more instructions to wait for.”

The top spun and wobbled on the table as she slept on in the hospital with her folks watching on.

“How’s she going, doc?” I hear Dad’s voice warble through my sleep.

“Good, good.” He says in a low voice, “The top is wobbling… she might be coming out of her third level of dreaming yet.” He checks off a chart he holds in his hands, “Your daughter is the best candidate we’ve had so far… but she has a ways go yet.”

The car pulls up and Dad looks at me, “Now, you have to run.”

“What?” I ask.

“Lisey, you have been sleeping… this isn’t real.” He leans in closer to me, whispering, “Make the top fall over and wake up.”

The wooden top suddenly falls off onto its side as my eyes snap open and I find myself in a hospital bed, “What the hell.” The top to my right is swinging on its side as it stops and I reach over and pick it up, sit up and look around. The spun rosewood is pretty and old… and… the door opens and the doctor is standing there looking at me, shock on his face, “No.”

The first thing I smell is his scent as his heartbeat fills my head, “You… smell… so good.”

He turns away from me, thumps a red button with his fist as I break the restraints on the bed with an inhuman strength I feel as though I always had and jumped on his body, “Please… don’t hurt me.”

I just love it when they beg… 

The Soul-Sucker

This week, we didn't get a prompt from Chuck. But that's okay. I've had a story idea rattling around in my melon for a few days - and here it is now.

Enjoy!

It’s an addiction, you know… sucking souls that is.

I’ve been tracking him for years and have yet to catch him; and yet I’m always too late to the party when I do get close – finding his leftovers in the empty warehousese where rages have been held, or worse still, huge gatherings of people where he’s just shown up and ‘snacked’ on around fifty people and left their corpses laying around.

Real nice for the police to have to let the families know of their loved one death, when all they did was innocently go out to a rock concert.

I’m often left with a lot of paperwork in the end – and it’s getting too much. My boss isn’t pleased and he’s thinking of replacing me with somebody better, more efficient and less likely to be left behind.

But really, it’s not like that… he doesn’t understand how it all works. It’s not as though I’m letting him go on purpose, he’s always just out of my grasp.

“I don’t want to hear it, Raphael, do your job or I’ll get Michael to do it.” His thunderous voice pounded above me as I prayed in the church.

“Yes, Father.” I’d whispered, feeling guilty and horrible that I had disappointed him yet again for letting the Soul-Sucker escape me yet again this week; rising from my knees, crossing myself as I turned to leave the lines of pews.

I was just another parishioner to them; not a vessel being used by an Angel on a mission to save their souls.

There were others out there who didn’t have any souls – I could spot them – but they weren’t on my most-wanted list at this time. I wasn’t allowed near them right now.

The Soul Sucker was enemy number one and he was stealing and devouring as many souls in a day, as a vampire was turning humans in a month – and that’s a lot.

But now, I was getting closer to him than anyone ever did. I was attending parties, concerts and music festivals where I knew he’s take up his position to devour human souls. And I had to be there to make sure he was stopped for good.

The music pounded through the warm night air as everyone was enjoying themselves. Food smells wafted through the air, and I walked around in a pair of jeans, concert t-shirt and a denim vest without shoes on; my feet dirty with mud and grass. It felt good to be connected with the Earth so much. But I was there to work.

A scent cut the air and I knew it was him… and I followed it around the place to where he was.  He didn’t know it was me until I looked straight at him, “Hello, Lucifer.”

“Raphael…” he grinned casting an eye over the sixty or so people he had chosen to suck dry, “I knew Dad would send you… his Healer… but you can’t heal this, can you?”

“Smart-ass.” I muttered, “You know what you’re doing is against the Natural Order.”

“Yes… but I love the high it gives me.” He grinned as the Humans turned to him, one by one. They all seem to be attracted to him in some way, “And they love me.”

“So, you drugged the air with something addictive – something they can’t say no to.” I said.

Leaning in close to my right ear, his voice filled my head, “Yes, and neither can you, because you’ve taken over a Human vessel.”

“But you have a soul.” I looked at him.

“No, I don’t … Dad took that away from me on the way out of Heaven.” He said, “So, the more souls I grab, the stronger my hold over this puny little planet.”

“You’re a disappointment.”

“So are you.” He took a deep breath as he opened his mouth and took in all the souls one by one and I watched helplessly as all the humans dropped to the ground, dead like flies. Before he was finished, I had handcuffed myself to Lucifer and he found himself stuck as the cops showed up, “What are you doing?”

“Being the disappointment.” I smiled at him, “You see, I may not be able to heal any of this … but,” I laced the fingers of my hand with his and we traveled quickly to the holding cells of Heaven, “…I was sent to pull you in.”

The guards quickly grabbed Lucifer and escorted him inside the cell as Father stood by my side, “I am proud of you, Raphael” his voice whispered, “Go about your duties on Earth as required.”

“Yes, Father.” I nodded and returned to Earth where I positioned myself outside a frat house where a party was just starting up. Lucifer was right about one thing: soul-sucking was addictive. And just standing next to him at that concert got me hooked from one sitting… I had suckered in three souls while I was there – without knowing it until we were in Heaven – and now?

Now… I want more.

It's A Kinda Magic

Cast the circle and come with me into the world of my magicks, of my stories, poetry, flash fiction… my wistful and wild characters from within my mind of imagination where I have often gotten lost in the forest of one world only to get twisted around without a compass in the whirlwind of another and spat out the other side somehow fully intact and wishing it had never ended.

Yes… I love writing worlds, wishes, poetry of my life and how much I have lived and yet painting these worlds hither or thither and have you – the reader – come along for the ride, no matter which time it’s set in.

It’s been a great learning experience for me – being a writer; and I’ve loved every minute of it.

You see, to write the things I’ve written, I’ve found I have had to live a few horror stories in the real world, enjoyed the fantasies of seeing my world from a completely different point of view, daydreamed at the most inappropriate times and wished my afternoons away when I should have been paying attention to where I was, who I was with and the situation of life.

Sure I’ve lost out on quite a few relationships – but then, you gotta realise something, sometimes it’s them who have lost out on being around a writer and seeing how we operate. When in a relationship, we are very selfish and do need that space to be on our own for long periods of time… something which is of an acquired taste; and isn’t for everyone.

I live alone, enjoy horror shows, hate reality shows and have the entire series of ‘Supernatural’ on dvd just so I can watch it over and over to see if my Muse can pick up on anything it may have missed out on in the background of the creator’s imagery or ideas… after all, there’s always loopholes in everything in movies and television shows; that’s how they all keep on going.

And that’s how I write my stories and books – loopholes. I used to go to see movies on the big screen just to see if I could pick up on the loopholes the screenwriters missed out on. When I did, I’d sit down after the movie – while it was fresh in my head – and start writing down in longhand a story about what happened after the movie, or a spin-off from that particular part of the movie that nobody thought of. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

My writing was something I never really though much of until I was in high school, though. This was when I seriously took on some major study at the State Library and looked into working on a book – my first titled ‘Angie’. It never went anywhere and has never been published, but sometimes I do look at it from time to time just to see where I’ve come from – and to remind myself to never slip back into those bad habits.

And I don’t.

Now, when I write, I don’t just jump in and write. I research my subject fully, while I jot down my ideas on the computer in little bits and pieces… I watch as many related movies and television shows as I can and see what information I can pull from those shows and the books I have about the subject – then I start seriously writing.

Last year, I wrote an Angelic Romance… this was difficult to do, seeing that I’m not a religious person (in the way that I don’t believe in God) and that I don’t normally write romantic novels. However, it worked out pretty well… there was just enough violence, sex and the biggest pissing match between Heaven and Hell to keep my proof-readers interested and laughing as well. They couldn’t believe that I usually wrote horror and sci-fi… and some of them had read my sci-fi and found that this romantic side of me quite nice.

But then, one of my friends read some of my Flash Fiction and she said that she loved how good it was; and all that was wrong was the grammar, some spelling mistakes and a little more tightening here and there, and that was it… she loved it more than my Angelic Romance.

But for me, writing is writing. It doesn’t matter what you write, so long you’re happy with what you do with it.

I enjoy the written word – reading it, writing it, collecting it – and yet I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t or wasn’t allowed to have it in my life in some way. The written word is like oxygen – without it, I’d suffocate in some way and my world of colour, of adventure, of fantasy, sex, fun and joy would turn grey and stand still… I would stop and the world within me would seize to exist… and the world surrounding me would leave me behind. 

The Bereaved Sneaker

Chuck's back with our Flash Fictions!  And the prompts this week to go onto a site and look up a phrase generator and use it in our most current Flash Fiction... mine is in the title... 'Bereaved Sneaker'. 

Enjoy!


It’s time…

It’s time for her to go running!

Yay!

Riley’s home and it’s time we went running! I heard her come through the front door, have something to eat, text on the phone to her friends – her fingers moving at lightning speed across that screen – and then, it’s time to go running.

Riley loves to run around the streets with us on her feet.

But there is a slight problem… Right isn’t around.

You see I’m Left… and Right is usually where I am – as we’re together in this. We came in our box at the store together… we were made side by side at the factory, our eyelets never leaving each other on the conveyer belt.

But today, I’ve lost sight of Right, and she’s going to be upset because we need Right to go running – because you Humans needs pairs on your feet to go anywhere, or you’ll look weird with odd ones on your feet and it’ll feel weird too.

Anyway, Riley’s come into the room, dumped her school port next to her desk and has pulled out her running gear.

Oh dear!

She’s going to be looking for Right really soon.

She’s pulled on her sweats and attached her mobile to her arm in another band (with her music ready to go). Now, she’s pulled on her socks, grabbed me and pulled me over her foot.

It smells like leather – her school shoes are made of that – and bi-carb powder. Yep, she’s got really bad food odour.

Ties me up and then… she starts looking around, moving things around near the wardrobe.

Right isn’t there… I’d know. We’re always together; I’d tell her, but I can’t do that, she’d freak out that her shoes are talking to her.

“Dad! Have you seen my right sneaker?” she screams with her head still inside the wardrobe, my God, she’s loud!

“What’s that?” he pokes his head inside her bedroom door, “Jeez, Riley, it’s a wonder you find anything in this room… let alone your left sneaker… you did find that one, right?”

She shakes me in front of him, “Yeah… I’m asking if you’ve seen my right one.”

“Oh… um… clean up, you’re sure to find it.”

“But my run… I’ll miss it.”

“Hey, we’ve been tellin’ ya to clean up your room for weeks, and now this has happened.” He turns around and walks out, “Hey, honey! Have you seen Riley’s right sneaker?”

“Last I saw it was in her rubbish bin.” We both hear her step-Mum answer faintly from the kitchen, and she races to it, only to find it empty, “But I emptied that this morning… and the rubbish truck’s been.”

“What!?” Riley’s voice breaks as we both realise we’ve lost something and someone really important to us, “I need that sneaker!”

Kat walks into her room holding up Right by the laces, “But I thought you might need it, so I pulled it out before tossing it out…” she smiles, “How it got out into the lounge is beyond me… but it does have dog slobber all over it.”

Riley takes Right off Kat as she grabs a handful of tissues and begins to wipes the slobber off it, “Yesh, wish the dog would stop eating my shoes. Well, at least I run through worse things than what his mouth slobber does to my shoes.” She pulls it onto her right foot, ties it up and we’re ready.

Three weeks later, Riley comes home to go on her run, pulls on Right and me and finds her toes are too tight in us. The next day, she goes out with her Dad and step-Mum to the store, returning with a new bag with a box inside it big enough for a shoe box…

Our time with Riley is done.

My laces are worn through, as my tread isn’t as good as it used to be… and we’re too small for her anymore – yep, Riley is a growing teenager.

Right and me… we weren’t a permanent thing in her life; and she probably won’t remember us in years to come, just that her shoes for running were comfortable… nothing to write home about; and that she lost a few pairs once in a while.

And oh yes, that I nearly lost my partner in crime… I nearly lost Right to the horrible Rubbish Truck.  Now, she’s happily packing us away in the shoe box where her new running shoes came from. It smells nice, new and fresh inside here. The paper is pushed in all around the sides of our oldness and we’re made as comfortable as possible to be put into the wheelie bin.

The lid is closed and we’re carried out to the place where we will end our lives…

…the sun shines through the holes in the sides for a stark moments as the birds sing their lost and lonely songs to us…

…as we hear the lid of the large plastic bin open...

...and …

…darkness engulfs our world …

The Ride

This week, Chuck isn't going to be around... so I thought to do my own flash fiction.  This one is a weird and wonderful one I'm making from a strange dream I had last night.

Enjoy!

The markets were closing and people were packing up their gear just as the sun was setting. This is a noisy thing to do – almost as noisy as setting up. I should know as I am a retailer at the weekend markets.

But not today – at least not this time.

This time, I’m just here to watch it all close up as the lights have been turned down a little and everyone is packing up their gear, folding their table cloths and putting away their tables into their cars and vans to drive home.

Being a retailer at the markets is exhausting… especially if you don’t make any money… but I love doing what I do. However today, as I said, I’m not a retailer.

Looking at one lady, she sees me as I watch her put her table cloth away and leans on her table, then looks up at me: “He’s coming for you.” Her whisper reaches my ears.

“No he’s not.” I don’t know who ‘he’ is and don’t wish to as I turned and walk away, through the maze of collapsing marquees and market tables, of the beauty of the weekend markets closing up shop for the night.

There’s a certain beauty about it I can’t explain.

I almost get out of the park when I find myself back at the lady’s table and she’s just folded her table cloth and put it away, leaned on the table, looked up at me, exhausted, “He’s looking for you.” Her voice is louder – closer – to me now.

“Who?” I ask, but she goes about her work putting away her things ignoring me.

I walk away again. This time, I start looking around to see who it is. Off in the distance, I see a man in a cloak talking to people, looking around, asking for somebody.

He turns. 

He sees me… my gut turns cool!

He’s dressed like Dracula!

It’s time to leave… I turn to run and find people in my way. They’re packing up and walking across the aisle to go to their cars as I dodge around them and still I can’t get away from him!

Suddenly, I’m out of the park, away from the market and running, when a hand touches my shoulder and turns me around.

A young man with long shaggy hair has stopped me, “Hey, where you going in such a hurry?”

“Away from him.” I say to him backing away from him – I don’t know this guy. I don’t owe him any explanation, “Leave me alone.”

“He’s looking for you… and he’ll find you.” The shaggy-haired guy said, “He always does.”

Turning, I ignore him. I know my way through the park. I’ve been here before and know my way back to the caravan park as this is a place I know well.

The lady at the market place is packing up her table. She’s just folded up her table cloth and put it away and leaned on the table, exhausted, looking at me, “He’ll find you soon.”

“We’ve been here before.” I whisper.

“Yes, and you keep on running.” She answered me, “He’s not far now.”

I turned and run. But it feels as though I can’t get anywhere as the aisle chocks up with so many people moving things and walking in my way – more than before!

Then a hand grabs my shoulder.

I know it’s him!

I shout as I turn and I’m confronted by him – the Dracula man in the cloak! – and he stands there smiling at me, “Hi. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What do you want?” My voice is shaking.

“Now, you should know me… we’re friends.” A friendly smile spreads across his face as the shaggy-haired man shows at his shoulder, “We know each other so well – inside out.”

“No, I don’t know you.”

“We go for rides, you and me… through the imagination. We write stories and scared the crap out of people and enjoy it.” He grins, “And I’ve been here the whole time with you, in that room where you type on the computer, the typewriter, making sure you get it right!”

“My muse?”

He laughs, “Oh Lordy no! I’m your imagination!”

“Well, what’s with the get-up?”

“You write horror… I wanted to impress you.” He smiles as he steps forward, “And…” he put out and open-palmed hand towards me, “I want to take a little ride.”

Before I could protest, his hand connected with my chest, electrifying me with all kinds of charges, making me almost stop breathing, causing me to feel as though my life was coming to an end.

Just as quickly, he let go. He seemed unimpressed, “Oh… I see.”

I stepped back, catching my breath, “What?”

“You’re walking your true path.” He said.

“Which is?”

“It doesn’t matter…” he said.

“It does if you’re not impressed.” I said.

He produced a mirror and showed it to me. As I looked into the reflection of myself, I saw me inside it with him behind me, “What is my true path?” I looked up at him, but he was no longer there. Instead, he was next to me.

“Your true path is already being written. We’re going on the ride now.” He put out his hand, offering it to me, “Shall we go on the best ride possible?”

“Which ride is that?”

“The ride inside the imagination – of course!” 

The Seventh Stone

This week, Chuck had us going to a link where we clicked on a title generator. It gave us a choice of 6 titles, but we got pick only one.  I chose 'The Seventh Stone'.

Enjoy!

Thunder grumbled in the distance, and yet she felt it through the ground as she ran across the decimated city centre where the nuclear blast had almost leveled the place over a century ago.

This was the place Star had lived… the place she had played as a child… the only place she knew.

She had heard stories of how the big cities ran the world, how big industry made big money and wars were run by the big industries. She was also told it was all political bullshit and handed a rifle and a Beretta with an extra clip and told never to trust anyone.

Yep, this was how the post-apocalyptic world was like when your whole family was dead and you lived with people you weren’t related to.

Then the dreams started… at first Star thought they were nothing but some bad tacos (because she had found some tins of refried beans in a store and they were a few weeks over their used-by date) besides, everyone got food poisoning that week from those beans… it was a really bad time.

Then, the dreams didn’t stop, so she started writing them down to see if they formed a pattern – and they did. Tas – her camp brother – told her to keep that shit to herself or people would start looking at her funny or they’d think she was the next Oracle (the last one was shot for giving out the wrong information by the leader of their group). And so, Star did. In her pack, she had her A5 two-inch thick journal which she kept at the bottom and wrote in a few notes about each day. She wrote what she remembered from her lessons, poetry and how she’d like the world to be.

And each night the dream would be the same: a huge thunderstorm approaching, looking like a new apocalypse, shaking the ground like an earthquake as she ran through the middle of an abandoned city alone with her pack on, her Berretta in one hand, a smooth, large, oval stone in the other with a Moon Stone imbedded in one end and a flat base. Her rifle strapped across her right shoulder, fully loaded and ready to be used.  Her footsteps would echo as she raced up a large set of steps and found herself at a place called ‘The Rockafeller Centre’ where six others had gathered with similar stones in their hands.

She had never seen them before, but she knew they weren’t there to hurt her. They all stood at the edge of the empty fountain which she’d only seen pictures of frozen and people ice skating on it. Right in the middle – at the fountain – they all walked up to the mound, finding the places to fit their particular stones. As each one fitted in, a loud click echoed and a humming started up – as though something was switched on. As she knelt down to place her stone in its holder – to click it into place - the rain began to pour from the darkened skies and she felt herself smile, because she knew this was a good thing, Star knew this was…

Her eyes snapped open and daylight streamed through the muddy windows of the bus she called home. But today, it was humid… today, there was a storm brewing – a big one – and she knew today was the day she’d find that stone and start her journey into the city.

“I don’t understand what this thing is.” Tas said, turning it over in his hand, “But I found it in the Hudson.” He handed it to her smiling, “You have described that dream to me so many times to me, sister, I thought you’d be the one to hand it to.”

The moment the stone weighed into her hands, Star knew immediately what to do, “Thank you Tas. I appreciate what you’ve done for me… and …” she looked at it intensely, spotting the Moon Stone, the flat bottom, “I ready to take my leave now… it’s time to take it to its place.”

He handed her a new clip for her gun, “Here, you’ll need this. And I’ll take care of your home.”

Smiling, she touched his grimy cheek as she took the clip, “You can have it… I have a feeling I won’t be coming back.”

He had walked her as far as he dared to see her off before hugging her, kissing her, telling her he loved her… and knowing that what she had said was most probably true. Life here wasn’t valuable, it was what you made it.

Star jogged along the empty city street nervously looking around as the storm clouds gathered around the sentinel buildings, making the shadows surrounding her seem more imposing than they already were. Then she saw it… the large set of stairs. They were broken and chipped, but they were there.

She quickly picked her way up them to the top where she stopped and looked up at the Rockafeller Centre and its empty fountain where the people ice skated at Christmas…

Lightning flashed and she noticed a movement to her right, spinning, raising her gun to see who it was, only to be greeted with another pointing a gun at her holding a stone as well, “Oh… hi… you as well.”

“Yeah.” The boy’s voice shook, “I keep having these weird-ass dreams about this place but…”

“There’s gotta be others.” She said looking around.

“But there are…” he said lowering his weapon as she did.

“Okay… let’s see if this works out.” She smiled at him.

They all – as one – climbed into the large fountain, walked to the centre and found the placements for their individual stones.

As each one was placed, a humming commenced…

…the storm started overhead.

As Star’s last one clicked into place, they all stepped back as far as they could and watched as lightning lit up the fountain and the world renewed itself once more.

Somebody That I Used To Know

Chuck's got us doing it again!  We're using song titles to write a story... and I love it.  This time, I went onto Youtube and clicked a random song arrangement from 2014... and I got 'Somebody That I Used To Know' by Pentatonix (covered)... very cool... I like their better than the original.

Enjoy!

I’m not sure what it was that caused this problem, but every time I get a visitor here, they tell me they know me.

They tell me who they are.

They’re armed with photographs and wide, fake smiles.

I’m in those photographs with them standing next to me… and it seems as though I knew them at one stage, but …

…I don’t anymore.

After an hour, I’m exhausted by their eternal babbling about what we used to do, what we were together as friends and how we used to be as lovers… as family… as whoever we were to each other… and they leave wondering if they got through to me at all.

But really, who I am is somebody I can’t tell you anything about; mainly because I don’t know who I am.

I woke up here in the hospital and have absolutely no memory of my name, where I was born or who I was to this world.

The doctors have told me that my name is Emily Parstons, but I’m not sure if that’s a name they got out of a baby book or if that was something they found out through my ‘family’ who keep on coming here to see me.

But I’m sure they’re going to give up on me pretty soon as it’s not looking promising. The last time the two older ones came and visited, they left with the woman crying against the man’s shoulder. I heard her as I listened at the door of my room; it hurt me a little inside to know that they’re trying so hard and yet I still don’t know them.

I really wish I did because they’re such nice folks.

I didn’t hear what the doctor said to them, but they didn’t leave; instead a nurse came into my room and caught me out listening.  She stood there smiling in the middle of my room, “What did you hear?”

“Nothing… it was all mumbling.” I replied.

She pulled out a suitcase which looked like it was from the 1960’s and opened the drawers near my bed, “They’re taking you home.”

“I don’t know them.” I sat down on my bed looking at my hands, “Why would I want to go anywhere with them?”

She sighed, her kind hazel eyes rested on my face, “It’s because this place isn’t doing you any good. Each time your visitors leave, you forget them… you need to remember them.”

“But I’m fine…”

“No, you’re not, Emily.” The doctor’s voice said from the door. I hadn’t heard him come in and I turned to see his tall form standing there, “Now, you’re being discharged and you’re folks are taking you home. Now they can help you and be in more control than they can here.”

“This is so unfair.” I muttered as the suitcase was closed and I heard the finality of clips snap shut.

I was going home with two strangers.

Two weeks past slowly and I sat in my bedroom of unusual clothes… of skirts made from denim… jeans and Doc Martens (both of which were far too tight and weird), but they felt good to wear, so I did.

Something about them made me feel like a rebel, so I put them on, looked around my make-up and found the bright pink eye shadow and black lipstick.

As I looked in the wardrobe, I found I was pulling out things at random and matching them to wear every day…

…this felt so familiar…

“Emily, how are you… oh you found your things.” The woman said at the door, “We left your room just as is, you know, to see if you’d remember anything when you came home.”

I turned from the outfit on the bed, “Who was I?”

She smiled walking up to me, “Honey… you were in punk rock band. And Emily is your birth name; it’s my mother’s name.” Looking at the clothes and how I had put on the make-up, she touched my hair, “The main thing is: how do you feel?”

“I still feel like I’m a stranger to you, and you’re a stranger to me.” I said, “But these clothes are familiar.”

Nodding, she turned and walked out of the room. I heard her sniffing as she descended the stairs. Looking around the room, I spotted a Glory Box I hadn’t been through since I returned ‘home’, so opening the lid, I looked at all the pillows and sheets inside it and found a tiny purple box stuffed in the corner of it. Picking it up, I saw a symbol on it of an Eye of some sort on it… this looked out of place in a room such as this; a room which was so wholesome and ordinary.

As I ran my fingers over its velveteen purpleness, I almost heard something from within it: ‘Open Me!’ and without a moment’s thought, I did!

“We’re going to lose her if you do that again!” she said.

“The purple box worked last time.” The doctor snarled at her, “Hold her down!”

My eyes snapped open and I look around me as I pulled against the restraints.

Tears blurred my vision.

What’s happened to me?

“Emily. It’s okay. You’re safe. You opened the purple box, and you’ll remember who you are now.” The doctor on the right of me said, his face hopeful.

“No, I’m not Emily. She is somebody I used to know; but now, you’ve awoken another… who has stayed quiet all this time… her more rebellious side.” I felt a grin grow on my face.

“Where’s Emily? Where have you put her?” the nurse asked.

Snapping a glare at her, I pulled on hard on the bars – so hard they shook, “Put her? I killed her… she’s not around anymore, now the eye on the box has set me free.”

Staggering back, the doctor and nurse exchanged frightened glances, as he asked, “What eye on the box? I didn’t put one on there for you to look for.”

“Pity… I saw it there…it said, ‘Open me’ and I did.”

I was the last thing he saw as I ripped through the restraints… 

...the nurse bashed the button for security… 

...as the demon within me transformed me into what they had feared all along!

Revenge Is Best Served Crazy

This week, Chuck gave a dead body... and not just any old dead carcass; no siree, bob! He asked us to write about a dead body, putting it into the first paragraph and taking it from there! 

Enjoy.

It happened so fast that I really didn’t know I was dead until I turned around and found my dead friend from school standing next to me grinning. He stopped grinning when he knew that I didn’t know what happened, “You’re dead.” He moved and I saw my mutilated body on the floor.

“Holy shit.” My hand covered my mouth quickly, “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, “You were sitting at home here watching your favourite television show, when that dickhead in the truck outside thought to text to his girlfriend.”

Looking up, I saw huge grill of a MACK truck where my front window should be, “That’s not fair.”

He looked to his feet where the remains of my vintage teapot collection sat in a shattered pile of glass, porcelain and pottery, “I know. You were supposed to live for another thirty-five years, Thea. And I wasn’t supposed to see you upstairs until you were almost ninety.”

Fury welled in my gut as I felt … well, I didn’t know how to feel in this situation.

I was dead and it wasn’t my fault.

A moan emanated from the cab of the truck and we both looked, “He should be dead too.” I said.

“He soon will be.” He nodded, “He has some pretty bad injuries.”

“Injuries my arse.” I snapped, “He ran over me… look at my body! I can’t have an open casket with my head crushed like that!”

He looked at me, “You were planning on having a casket?”

“Well, yeah… but I didn’t want to have people know I was going to be deader than dead.” I walked over to my body, “Just look at me… it’s going to absolutely destroy my folks.”

“What the hell…?” a voice asked from above me.

I looked up through the shattered windscreen, “What the hell indeed! What the fuckin’ hell were you thinking, texting your slut girlfriend while you drove this shit thing through my front fence, into my living room and straight into me!” I stormed up to the front of the truck as the light bulbs in my kitchen exploded behind me.

Bobby flinched, “Holy crap, you have some power… forgot you were a witch.”

I ignored him, concentrating on the bastard driver who killed me, “Answer me, you shit!” I punched the front grill and it caved in as my fist came in contact with it, crunching – crumpling – under my super-energised anger of me.

The driver was more awake now, noticing the few strange things going on around him, “Oh my god…”

“God’s got nothing on you… nothing… you killed me!”

“Thea… let’s go… you can’t do anything now except scare the shit out of him.” Bobby reached out to touch me.

“Touch me Bobby and you’ll find yourself in another dimension.” I muttered.

He pulled his hand back as he swallowed thickly, “Okay, let’s go with the anger thing.”

The driver opened his door, and in turn I threw my hand open-palmed at it, making it slam shut, “No, I want you to stay there.”

“What’s going on?” he called out, “I want to go home.”

Climbing up onto the scratched and destroyed step of the cab, I looked straight at him, at his face lacking understanding of what he had just done, of how much he really didn’t want to be here, “You stay here, you dick.” I whispered softly.

“Who said that?” he shouted tears blurring his vision as he shook, “I want to go home.”

I shoved him and he jumped in his seat, “What the fuck…” he looked around, searching for who just touched him, not finding anyone around, “Who just shoved me?”

My anger became so strong, I wanted him to see me, and for a moment I made sure he did. As he turned and looked out the window of his cab, I was right there in his face, screaming at him, “You killed me!” before disappearing from the door and appearing next to Bobby.

“You finished?” he asked.

Tears filled my eyes as I felt the loss of my own life now.

I wasn’t going to come back.

The doctors weren’t going to be able to help me at the hospital this time…

The ambulance and coroner showed up and removed my body as the police peeled the driver out of the cab of truck.  He kept on muttering that he saw a ghost, that her voice was screaming at him all the time now… it was all he heard, all he saw.

He was going to be useless to society.

Bobby asked me again after all the guys and girls of the emergency services and the news crews had gone home for the day, “Okay, can we go now?”

I looked at him, “Yeah, we can now.”

“Why did you do that to him?”

“Bobby, I was a useful person to society until he killed me. Now, he can’t be useful to anyone because of me.” I said walking into the light with him, “It’s not my fault I’m dead, but it’s my fault he’s crazy.”

Taking my hand, he smiled, “Remind me to never piss you off.”