I Am Not Alice

Last Week, Chuck got us to make up a title each... and we posted it on his site in the comments section. This week, we get to pick out somebody else's title and use it. I had my pick of three I really liked...but I loved Tabitha Beth's title. The first few lines started up in my head and the story just led me along from there!

Enjoy!

They keep on calling me that name.

Alice…

But that’s not who I am.

I woke up in this cell this morning looking around not knowing how I got here, or why, and now some people came and bailed me out.

They were so disappointed in me, wondering what the hell had gotten into me to make me do what I did.

The problem is: I don’t know what I did either.

So, I’ve kept quiet. Stayed this way until they took me home – and what a home it is!

A mansion set back from a quiet street with a long winding driveway. A lot of land surrounds it and it seems that Alice is from a privileged background.

Looking down at my hands, I see I’m dressed in Chanel and my shoes are Prada – only brands I had wished I could afford – and I start trying to remember what happened the night before.

‘Alice! We’re talking to you!’

It’s dinner time, and the mealtime talk has been boring so I’ve taken a great interest in what we’re eating – lobster. For some reason, I know I can’t eat this as I’m allergic to it, so I pick at it.

‘Oh, um… sorry.’

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ my Mother asks.

‘Yes, but I’m allergic to lobster.’ I answer honestly.

‘No you’re not.’ Dad says, ‘Eat.’

I take a bite and almost immediately I can feel the hives start up all over. Just before I pass out, I hear them screaming for an ambulance.

‘I’m not sure what happened.’ The doctor’s muffled voice says from the corner of the room, ‘Alice seems like your daughter, but for some reason, she’s also not your daughter.’

‘She’s been acting strange since we picked her up from the police station two days ago.’ Dad says, ‘She’s been wandering around the house as though she’s never been there before.’

‘There is a scam going around at the clubs lately; and it’s not pretty.’ The doctor’s voice fades as I fall asleep again.

I wake up again to a nurse by my bed. She notices me and smiled, ‘Hi. What’s your name?’

‘They call me Alice.’ I say, ‘But I am not Alice.’

‘Okay… what’s the name you know yourself by?’ she asks.

I feel a smile creep onto my face, ‘I go by many names… you can pick one if you want.’

She shuffled in her seat, ‘Okay… I don’t know what you’re talking about, but give me a name to call you by.’

I look straight into her eyes and see her depression, feel it eating away at her being masked by anti-depressants. Leaning over, I take her hand gently, ‘I am the dragon you’ve locked out of your mind.’

Her demeanor falters and she rises quickly, leaving the room. I hear a sob escape her throat just before the door closes.

That felt good… I make myself comfortable as the door opens and the doctor walks in. I spot behind him the nurse on the floor with blood pooling at her feet and a pencil protruding from her neck as people scream… the door closes… shutting out the sound.

He looks at me, wondering who the hell I am, ‘What is your name?’

‘They call me Alice.’

‘You caused my best nurse to kill herself by just talking to her.’ He said, ‘What is your name?’

‘I have no one given name…’ I said, ‘And I didn’t cause her to do anything she wasn’t going to do in a week or two. I just got her to cut to the chase. You do know she was popping anti-depressants, right?’

Frowning, he takes a seat by my bed where the nurse sat, ‘No I don’t.’

‘She was right on the edge… so she prescribed herself…’

‘We’re talking about you, not her.’

I smile, ‘Right, because you want to know all about me.’

Like the nurse, he shuffles in the seat, feeling uncomfortable in my presence, ‘Who are you?’

‘I am the dragon, the keeper…’

‘…of souls.’ He finished.

‘You are not a doctor.’ I grin, ‘I shoulda smelled you right away.’

He stood, removed the lab coat that told me he was playing the doctor’s roll and revealed who he was, ‘Now, we can help you.’

‘There’s more than just you I have to kill?’ I slide off the other side of the bed, pulling out the IV’s as I go, ‘I’m happy in this body, she strong, she won’t die easy – not like the other one.’

‘Other one?’ he asks.

‘Why do you think I jumped bodies?’

‘Oh man, she was dying.’

‘Stupid Hunters. All you think of is killing things… you don’t think we want to live on.’

‘But she’s got a family.’

‘Yeah, and they’re loaded… wait until my family hears; and they’ll be jumping bodies just to inherit their fortunes.’ I smile at him, ‘That’s how we survive.’

‘But I’m not a Hunter.’ He says.

‘Says you.’

‘I’m not.’ He walks towards me, ‘I’m your cousin, a Firedrake.’  He quickly reaches out to me and I hear and feel the difference between a Human and my Dragon family, ‘Now, I can get you out of here, but it’s going to be hard with your family standing by, Alice.’

‘My name isn’t Alice.’

‘Well, you’ll just have to play her for a while.’ He says, ‘And stay away from the seafood.’

‘I tried to, they made me eat it.’

‘Trust me, I’ll get your true family working with this one… you’ll all be together again.’ He says.

It’s been three weeks and one by one, the Human family I chose have all be switched into my Dragon kin. It didn’t take much; just a night out here and there and my family slowly showed up in the mansion.

First it was my brother, Daniel, who was swapped over. I first noticed him at breakfast one morning. He looked up over the pile of croissants in between us and smiled at me. It was so good to see him again! It wasn’t until afterwards that we met up at the stables and talked.

‘How long until the rest of the family join us?’ I ask.

‘Another week or two.’ He says, ‘Our cousin at the hospital is working on it.’

‘Good.’ I smiled, ‘Soon our kin will take over all the rich Human families throughout the world, turning them into Dragon-kind. We will live again.’

This Is The End...

This week, Chuck has us doing a Space Opera.  I'm not sure what that is exactly. So, I looked it up. I still didn't quite get it (damned comprehension problems kicking in at the wrong time!). Anyhoo, I have had this story kicking around in my head all afternoon - thought it would be a fun Space Opera-type story to upload. 

Enjoy.


This is the end… beautiful friend.

How ironic those words were when Jim Morrison wrote them into that brilliantly sung song ‘The End’ in the early 1970’s. This song’s words couldn’t have become more true than now at the untimely end of our home, our planet…

… our beautiful friend.

Today is the last day of my life on planet Earth. I woke this morning to my triple glazed bedroom, which overlooks the Brisbane River (or what’s left of it) and the melting city of where I used to roam quite freely. I have fond memories of the lovely green grass under my feet and the fresh, breezes cooling my skin.

The officials told me that I could pack as much into my module as I wanted – so long I had enough room to move around, make food, have proper sleeping quarters and the place didn’t look messy for inspections.

I really don’t think I did too badly.

I dressed in the NASA suit they let me have (we no longer have to pay for them) and looked at myself in the mirror, ‘Well, Grandma did say I’d be goin’ places…’  I thought to myself as my emotions got the better of me and I started to cry again – just like I did last night.

I cried over the wasted crap of my home planet. She no longer has any resources to support her huge population. The oceans are now dead – so much so that their flat blueness is just a sign of how little life there is below the surface; let alone the abandoned fishing industry. The stark, lonely cries of birds screaming from tree to tree, searching desperately for food is heartbreaking. And those trees’ branches reach up to the bleach blue sky of nothingness – of no clouds overhead – as our world is coming to an apocalyptic wasteland of an ending.

The only thing which keeps going on this place are wars. I can hear the distant gunfire getting closer as the last few gates are destroyed around my safe haven of where I’ve lived in the CBD of Brisbane.

Yes, it’s time to pack the last of my things which I’ll be taking with me, to take off from this godforsaken place and leave this planet for a much richer planet of…

“Billy!” Mum’s voice calls from downstairs, “Billy! It’s time for lunch!”

I sit back on my heels as I look at the world I’ve created in my bedroom. The bed fort is huge, and utter perfection. I had three pillows off my bed, two off my brother’s bed and both our blankets smooshed around them to make it look like the destroyed world of Brisbane… and then, I pulled out a huge blue sheet from the linen closet to show the empty ocean (I’m sure Mum won’t mind her good silk sheet being on the floor of my bedroom with my Play Doh creatures on it!).

The Lego Millennium Falcon I got for Christmas is sitting on the end of the bed, ready and waiting for take-off as I posed my little Lego dude to be about to climb into the driver’s seat with this NASA outfit painted onto him and his helmet shoved onto his yellow pointy head.

“Billy!” Mum’s voice is closer now, showing she’s just down the hall, “Do you need an engraved invitation!”

Maybe I shouldn’t have used her good silk sheet for this… the one of mine would be have been much better… man, I’m gonna get into so much sh…

“Billy!” the door of my room opens and she stands there, “What are you doing?”

“Um… this is the end of the world as we know it.” I smile presenting my idea of what the world would look like to her, hoping she’d understand it.

Sighing she looks around my bedroom, “Space travel again?” then she spots her silk sheet…

… it really is the end, my friend.

Wanted UnDead or Alive

Coreal enjoyed the darkness and loneliness of the night. There was something about it which made her feel right at home amongst the shadows while she patrolled and worked until almost dawn.

She didn’t mind walking along the streets of her home town – but the cops did. They often stopped her asking if she was okay, if she needed a lift home; if she was running away from something or somebody.

But she always said she was fine.

The one thing nobody knew about her most times was that she couldn’t hear them. Sound came to her in a certain way; kind of like a sixth sense way; she felt sound, more than anything else. She knew how voices sounded and knew more than anything that yes, that was a human across the road walking in from the cab which had just dropped her off… and there was a vampire following her about twenty metres behind her.

He was keeping to the shadows, thinking she couldn’t hear him.

Technically he was right – she couldn’t.

But Coreal knew he was there and ignored him until he was almost right upon her!

Turning, she was prepared for a fight!

She was prepared to put her life on the line to kill him – to watch him go ‘poof!’ … nah, not really. But she’d love to see that happen one day.

But as she did turn, she found nobody there.

Home wasn’t anything flash.

Home was a place for her to live, for her to crash when she had finished hunting for the undead, for her to hide her knives, guns, stakes and other tools of torture and yet never get caught with any of it.

Closing the front door, Coreal turned on the living room light and found him there waiting for her – her own little chew toy – the vampire she had caught two days ago. He hadn’t given up his nest’s location yet and so she was going to give it another try.

“You will never get it out of me.” He said.

“I know I will.” She smiled.

“How is it that you can’t hear me, but you know what I’m saying?” he asked.

Pulling on the long blood-spattered boots again, she walked slowly to the table just out of his reach as he hung from the ceiling with his toes dragging on a floor of pure silver shavings, “I think you’re forgetting your place here.” She tugged another fresh pair of gloves on from the container on the table and wrapped the long apron around her body, “I ask you the questions… you answer me correctly.” Picking up an ancient blade she had found in her father’s belongings, she turned smiling, “Now, tell me, you blood-sucking shit, where is your nest?”

She hated going underground.

It meant no easy way out if she had to get out.

It also meant if there were ghouls also playing games, she had to contend with them too… and they’re never fun.

The crypt looked ordinary from the outside, but it was anything but – and she knew it.

Crows and vultures hung around the place like mouldy streamers after Halloween. Their caws and cries littered the dusk sky as the sun disappeared below the horizon and street lights flickered on, casting more shadows than needs be.

Coreal still waited until it was fully dark.

She had needed help to crack this nest, as it was bigger than any other she had invaded – so she called her old hunting crew up and asked them to come on this hunt with her; and they jumped straight in eager to be on her team.

“Hey, anything to help you, Core.” Teal’s voice said over the phone, “We’ll be there with you in on this.”

But from her perspective, she couldn’t see them… it had been an hour after the time they were supposed to meet, and they didn’t show. Still, she’d do this alone – after all her life meant nothing to her – not without her family around.

A sound filtered through the darkness surrounding her and she turned as is penetrated her mind; and she could just make out Teal standing next to a tree across from her.

She wasn’t alone.

This was good… but then if she was there, why didn’t she come over and tell her where she was?  And where’s the rest of the gang?

This didn’t feel right.  But there was no time for hesitation now, as the door of the crypt began to open and the first of them stepped outside… she almost moved but stopped as Teal walked right up to this person and spoke to them!

Opening her bag, she pulled out her flask, opened it and quickly drank down the liquid inside it – finishing it. She knew she’d need it one day, as she pulled out the ancient knife and turned to find Teal walking up to her.

“It’s not a nest.” She said.

“Who just came out of there?”

“A mourner.” She said handing her phone to her, a photo of a human – as vampires don’t photograph well – and she groaned, “Since when do vamps ever tell us the truth?”

“Even under torture?” she asked.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Teal offered her hand.

Before she even turned on the light inside the darkened home, both she and Teal knew they weren’t alone.

It was time to fight…

Her eyes snapped open as the sirens’ wail sounded closer. Her house was a mess of blood, bodies and looked like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre was just filmed in her living room; and the crew forgot to tell her to go home.

Problem was that she was home!

Looking around, she found Teal not far away, and she rose, slipped and scrambled over to her, shaking her awake, “Hey… we have to get the fuck outa here… before they come in and find… all this.”

Her eyes open slowly, take in the sight around herself, and suddenly, she was alert: “Fuck… Coreal, let’s get the fuck outa here.”

Grabbing what they could, they shagged ass out the back door of the place and run – fear replacing bravery, tears of horror and shock replacing what they had just done to those vampires; and the blood bath the police have to walk in on.  

Where do they go now to hunt vampires, to save the Human Race? She wished she only knew. With Teal by her side, she only hoped that he would be there to help her.

Jumping onto the next train out of town, they find their way to the back of an empty cargo carriage to huddle together, hoping the police don’t stop the train to search it before the next town.

“Teal.” She said.

“Yes?” her arm slid around her shoulders.

“What happens now?”

She hesitated, “I don’t know, but I wish I did.”

“Some vampire hunter I am… I fucked up.”

Teal sat back, looking at Coreal, “No, you didn’t… they found out what you were doing and found you.” She grimaced, “Coulda happened to anyone.”

“We’re fucked.”

“We’re Hunters… we’re fucked anyway.” Teal snorted.

“True… but that hunt should have been a quickie in-and-out kind of deal… and it wasn’t.” Coreal said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them next time.”

“I don’t think there will be a next time.” The Hunter muttered.

“You’ll be okay.”

Coreal started to cry as she sat in the darkened train carriage, “You don’t get it… you just don’t…”

Teal turned her around to face her, “What don’t I get? Come on, we’re in this together now.”

She looked up at the dark-haired woman sitting next to her, “I just killed my family… they were turned into vampires and I hunted them all down and killed them. I’ll be wanted for murder, not for killing a nest of vampires.”

Celine

Chuck has us writing about a character this week... only 250 word this time. I made it to that number - or there abouts.

Enjoy!

Celine isn’t the kind of name you’d think of when you came into the Bounty Hunter circles.

No.

Celine. A lithe redhead with skills of any kind from Karate, Kung-fu to Ballet to Ballroom Dancing; and yet she’d be packing heat under that tutu or hot little number of a dress during her undercover work. All the while, she’d be outsmarting the guy she’s been assigned to work with.

Celine is an artist.

She can show up in a city, do her work and leave in a somewhat seamless way that by the time the authorities have shown up, she’s vanished from their radar and signed back in at Headquarters.

Yes, she is a very well-qualified Bounty Hunter.

The question you have on your lips right now is: do you want to dance with her, work with her, or have a hot night of sex with her?  Either way, you’d wake up alone, surrounded by cops and government agents asking you what you know about her…

… and you’d know almost nothing because of who she is.

And she is… Celine.   

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!”