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Title: What Lies BeneathBy: Skyril
Prompt: #8
Word Count: 3,419 [so close to 3.5! Ah, well :P]
Key Item: Include a scene from your criminal's point of view: Check!
Part one
“I know you want revenge,” Steven says. “But you know what will happen if you kill him, Lilac.” His entire face puckers with concern, those blond eyebrows scrunching over crystal blue eyes. “Please,” he says, glancing around to make sure no one is within earshot in the little street café we’re eating at. “Think better of this. . . You know I’ve been risking my job by even letting you help with this investigation.”
He’s so sweet. Like a little puppy dog at a pet shop searching for a loving master. I am more than happy to stick a leash round his neck and lead him on his way. It doesn’t take much—the smallest nudges, the slightest blushes, a few tiny words of encouragement—to make him my own devoted little detective.
I notice his hand set on the table between us, placed there mid-plea no doubt, so I cover it with my own and squeeze gently. “I know, Steve,” I reply, twisting my face into a heartfelt smile. “And I thank you for it. You know I would never have made it this far without you.”
“Then if you value my advice, if—if you value me at all—“ he twists his fingers with mine, and I wish I could roll my eyes skyward—“then don’t do this. Your sister is at peace in heaven. Would she want you to kill in the name of her memory?”
Her memory. Oh, I remember well the sounds of her screams. They fill my mind with deliciousness. The incredible liberating, intoxicating feeling of stenciling the inches of her flesh with Liar Liar Liar crawls up my stomach and plants itself, warm and addicting, in my chest. I cover my face with a hand to hide the secret little smile curling there.
Lauren got what she deserved. Oh yes, she got what she deserved. They all have. Liars. All of them. All of them liars. Dirty, freakish, disgusting. . .
“She’s past caring, Steve,” I whisper, my voice just a little hoarse to melt his heart.
My sweet big sister, for instance, lied to me so many times, ever since we were children. I remember every single one too. No, I don’t know what happened to your homework, little sis. I’m so sorry, Li, someone… ran over Rover. Of course this isn’t your sweater. This has always been my sweater! Little things, big things, things that shouldn’t even matter. It was disgusting.
“I know. I know. I’m so sorry…”
He touches my arm, and I peak at him through my fingers, seeing apology and regret in his eyes. Shoving the smile off my face, I remove my hand and take hold of his again, giving him a grateful look. “What would I do without you?”
A pained sort of smile rises on his face, and he wraps both hands around mine, the food we were meant to be eating apparently forgotten. “I just—“ he starts. “I just wish we could find this monster and be done with it!”
“Me too, Steve,” I moan sorrowfully.
“At least we have a lead,” he says, as if to encourage me.
“The man?”
“The man in the trenchcoat,” he confirms. “So many witnesses have seen him leaving the crime scenes. He has to be the killer or at least know him.”
“Mm,” I agree. “If only we could find him!”
“We will,” Steven asserts. “I know it. I can feel it. We’ll find him, Li.”
Swirling my cold coffee in its mug and nodding silently, I pull back from Steven’s grip and think of the trenchcoat man. Curse the trenchcoat man.
I’m a killer, yes. I kill the ones who lie. I’ve hated liars ever since my mother said she’d be right back, and I never saw her again. My sister Lauren was taking after her; I could tell, so I stopped her before she could go too far. Since then I’ve purged seven more liars from the planet. They call me Veritas. Once upon a time she was a goddess of truth, so I rather like the name. The trenchcoat man has been following me, Veritas. He nearly caught me the last couple times. I don’t know how he’s tracking me, but clearly, he’s a better detective than the one across the table.
In any case, I won’t let him stop me. Either of them.
***
The killer is a woman, Carson thinks, pulling on his trenchcoat and exiting the shabby motel he had been staying in. That perfumey scent is still hanging the air every time I find her victims a little too late. He opens the driver-side door to his car and slides in, not bothering with the seatbelt. He twists the key in the ignition and listens with a grimace as the motor turns and turns yet fails to ignite. Cursing, he tries again, and, grumbling like an old man, it comes to life this time. Exhaling with equal parts annoyance and relief, Carson backs out of the parking spot, pulls out of the motel, and drives onto the road, heading towards downtown and the rows of empty warehouses Veritas prefers to kill her victims. But what is it? he thinks, still contemplating the feminine scent. Some kind of flower like… like… like what? He switches into the right lane, accelerating as the light turns green. Rose is too strong. Maybe… orchid? Or lilac? He blinks at the thought, something about the name of that flower sparking in his memory. Lilac. Where had he heard that name before? It seems… relevant somehow. Something to do with the case. Lilac, Lilac. He scrunches his forehead with thought.
Lilac Evans!
With a gasp, he slams his foot on the brake, and his car shudders to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. Horns blare behind him, other wheels squealing and, miraculously, stopping just in time. Angry drivers shake their fists and zoom around him, but Carson doesn’t even notice the swearing driver in his rearview mirror.
Lilac Evans, he thinks. The sister of the first victim. He interviewed her right when he started investigating Veritas after she killed his little sister. Of course. Could it. . . Could she—? Surely not… but…?
Distractedly pulling to the side of the road, Carson grabs his phone and calls a friend in the PD to ask a favor, some little bit of information just for follow up. That is, the address of the sister of victim number one. Scribbling down the details, he thanks him, ends call, and turns his car around.
And a fire begins surging through his veins. Cassie… I’m close. I can feel it.
He arrives at Lilac’s house ten minutes later and parks to watch for a while. Twice, a figure passes before a window, but that’s all he sees. Then, as the sun begins to set, a taxi pulls up, and Carson slides down in his seat as Lilac leaves her house and hops into the car.
The taxi drives off, and Carson follows.
. . . All the way downtown.
His hands tightening on the steering wheel, he swallows thickly and follows very carefully.
On a side street, the taxi stops in front of a salon, and Lilac pays the driver, waits until he’s turned the corner, and begins to walk. Walk towards a section of downtown Carson has, of late, familiarized himself rather well.
The section known as the warehouse district.
Even more cautious now, he continues to follow her, making sure he is not spotted. Eventually reaching what he assumes is her destination, Lilac glances around with a smile on her face, then enters her building.
And Carson stares. Goosebumps prickle down his arms as he thinks. . . It’s her. Saints and angels, it’s her!
Veritas.
A little breathless and hot as anger coats his skin, Carson parks on the other side of the street and takes his gun from the glove department. With relative familiarity, he checks the magazine, then snaps it back into place and stares at the warehouse across the street. He’s got to do this. He has to stop her.
But even his determination doesn’t stop the nerves from roiling in his belly. This moment. . . He had been waiting for it, for revenge for his little sister, Cassie… the lawyer. But now…
Swallowing, Carson makes himself a compromise, takes his phone out again, and dials another number.
***
“Sir,” Jerry says. “Call for you on line six. Guy says he knows where Veritas is gonna be.”
“What?” Dropping papers on his desk, Steven yanks the phone from its set and hits six. “This is Agent Steven McWilliams. Who is this?
“That doesn’t matter right now,” answers a man’s voice. “I know who Veritas is and where she is right now.”
Leaning over his desk, Steven grabs a pen and sets it to paper, then starts questioning. “She? Sir, I need you to tell me who you are, what you know, and how you came by this information.”
“I don’t have time for that,” the man snaps. “I’m going in in a minute, and I need you to send backup.”
“No, Sir, you must not go in—“
“Listen to me! She’s at the fishing warehouse near the dock, the blue one on Montgomery. You got that?”
Scribbling down notes, Steven mutters, “Yes, but you cannot go in there. You must—“ Even as he speaks, the line goes dead, and he bites back a curse. Slamming down the phone, he yanks on his jacket and calls, “Jerry, get SWAT to meet me at this location,” passing him the note and heading for the exit, his cell already in hand. Jabbing “Lilac,” he presses the phone to his ear and listens as it rings and rings and rings. She doesn’t pick up, and, at the last minute, Steven decides not to leave a voicemail.
Let him catch Veritas and lock him up where she can’t get to him first. Then tell her.
***
What Lies BeneathPart Two
***
The girl on the table is crying. “I swear—I—I swear I’m a good girl! I never—I n-n-never cheated!”
Rolling my eyes, I glance at her. “You’re ly-ing!” I singsong.
“N-no, no, no, no. . .” mutters the girl. Endless, constant. Lies, all lies.
Taking a thin, curved blade from my rack of little tools, I turn, ignoring the dripping blood from the other carved words on the body of shivering, skinny little Abbie stretched out in her underthings on the table, and begin to carve another rendition of LIAR right across her stomach. Her belly button prettily marks the triangle of A.
The girl screams, shrieks really, and usually I wouldn’t mind; tonight, however, I feel a headache coming on, and I think about gagging her to muffle the sounds.
“Stop!” A voice yells behind me. I freeze, startled. And then a bullet ricochets off something, and I can’t stop myself from flinching, the curve of the R on Abbie’s stomach going haywire. Snarling with annoyance, I whip around, my left hand curling around the warm metal of my gun in the back waistband of my pants.
A man, mid-thirties, with dark brown hair; a large, slightly crooked nose; a gun gripped in both hands; and… and… a trenchcoat… is standing in the doorway, feet apart and eyes wide, halfway between fear and horror.
“You!” I growl, bringing my gun to bear before he can react. Surprise lights his eyes, and he stands very still. “What?” I ask. “Didn’t expect me to have one of these?” I hold it with ease, loosely, comfortably. I’ve emptied so much emotional stress along with magazines over the years that the Glock is like a familiar friend in my palm these days. “Sure, I might prefer the knives, but a girl’s gotta be able to protect herself near and far.” I smile one-sided, carefully setting down the knife as Abbie wheezes with fear (or possibly pain) behind me.
“Veritas,” he breathes.
“Oh!” I almost clap my hands before remembering the gun. “You know my name! That’s just… Oh, that’s just wonderful.”
His face shifts into something like confusion.
“But I’m at a disadvantage.” I cock my head to one side, and he stares at me like a gaping fish. “Your name?” I clarify.
“Carson,” he growls. “Carson West.”
“West…” The name strikes a chord in my memory.
“You killed my sister… Cassandra.”
“Cassie West! The lawyer. Yes!” I recall, the sound of Abbie’s whimpers melding with those in my memories. “I killed my sister too.”
His expression contorts. “You’re a monster!”
“I am Veritas!” I shout, standing tall. Carson stares at me—glares at me—and I find myself disliking him, his nose, his hair, that trenchcoat. “I remember Cassie,” I say, suddenly. “She was a liar.”
“She was a lawyer! She sought justice!” Carson contradicts, halfway to tears.
“No,” I snarl. “She sought money! And she lied to the court to get it.” Returning his glare, I step down from the slight platform Abbie and I resided. “She was a liar,” I hiss. “And you know it.”
“You’re crazy!”
Anger flares in my chest and I squeeze the trigger, but Carson leaps to one side even as I do, and the bullet meant for his heart hits his side instead. Grunting, he fires back but his aim is off, and the best he gets is a scrape across my arm. My second bullet misses him entirely, but my third hits his shoulder and the gun drops from his useless hand as he cries out. He tries to run, turning tail and fleeing, but I shoot again, and my aim is true. The bullet pierces his thigh, and he collapses in a heap to the floor, grunting and moaning and growling and bleeding.
“Ha!” I laugh, just the once, with triumph, dropping my hand to my side. I watch him for a moment, writhing there, and then stroll across the dusty floor in my red high-heels. Carson whimpers, rolling over and watching me as I kick his gun far away and come to stand so very high above him. “I win.” I smile.
“You can’t hide forever! You will be executed for this!” he spits.
Flashing my teeth with hatred, I reply, “Your sister deserved what she got,” and raise my gun. “And so do you.”
The same door Carson came through bursts open a second time, and Steven appears, gun in hand. Shock ripples through my gut, and I stumble back a step even as he stumbles to a halt, gun half-raised. His face morphs into a mask of confusion, flicking between me, Carson, and Abbie crying on the table. “S-Steve!” I stutter.
“Help,” Carson whispers.
“Lilac! How did—How did you get here?”
“I—uh—“ tears spring to my eyes, and I clutch the gun to my chest. “Oh Steve!” I exclaim. “I-I found him—f-followed him here.” I wave the gun at Carson. “It’s him! He’s the killer.”
“No!” Carson growls, attempting to push himself across the floor away from me. A shudder of pain jerks through him, and he stops, sweat coating his face disgustingly. “Don’t listen to her,” he grunts. “I’m the one who called you!”
Steve’s gun wavers between us, uncertain, confused.
“’W-warehouse,’” Carson mutters, “’near the dock, the blue one on Montgomery.’ I was the one who called you!” he repeats. “She’s Veritas!”
Steve looks stricken, his blue eyes great big wells of denial. “Li?” he whispers, searching for some plausible explanation.
“I—No! I—“ I glance at Carson, then back at Steve and realize his gaze has dropped to my right hand and the blood of Abbie still drying on it.
“Li,” he says, and this time it’s a command.
I stare at him, realizing the game is over. I drop the tears. Steven stares at me, and suddenly, some great, bubbly deliciousness starts rising in my gullet, and I curl in on myself to contain it. But I can’t, I simply can’t, and I start laughing. Low at first, then rising in volume, until I can’t muffle it, and I throw my head back, an entirely different kind of tear beginning to leak from the corners of my eyes as Steven stares on with horror. “Your—Your expression!” I exclaim, overcome. “Oh it’s too good! It’s too good!” Oh my gosh, he’s turning green! Waves of laughter batter me.
“Li!” Steven yells in a quivery, strangled sort of voice.
“Yes, yes,” I chortle, waving my gun at him and failing to hold back the giggles. “I am Veritas.” I grin. “I am Veritas, and I am Lilac Evans, and I had a lot of fun with you.” He stares; I giggle. “Unfortunately, it’s time for you to die.” I raise my Glock. The explosive sound of gunfire fills the air, echoing in the warehouse, but… it wasn’t from mine. My face twists with confusion. I tilt my head at Stevie’s gun before me and wonder… Is it actually smoking? Then… I feel something in my stomach, warm and hot and burning, and…
I glance down, noticing the red spreading across my blouse, dripping onto the cold, dusty stone floor. I pick at the fabric. “That’s going to be ruined!”
A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I stumble a step before collapsing to the floor, the great big ceiling rising above me. I stare at it blearily. Vaguely, I feel the gun being removed from my hand, and I hear Steven’s voice on the phone, calling for an ambulance. And then his face fills my vision, and I realize that it’s streaked with tears. My eyebrows lift in amusement even as he crouches beside me and lifts my head into his lap.
“Steve,” I whisper. My blood-soaked hand lifts to his cheek, and I smile. “My little puppy.”
Overwhelming numbness washes over me, and my hand drops. I stare at the ceiling and at Stevie and I can’t even keep my eyes open anymore so I let them fall shut, and I’m in some shifty, shimmery state of unconsciousness.
And then that slips too. . .
***
Steven stares down at lifeless Lilac Evans in his arms, and he shakes, tears building in in his stomach and his throat and cascading down his face. She was a monster, a killer, but… those facts haven’t sunk in yet, and he just shot the woman he loved. Clenching his teeth and groaning with pain and trying to make himself believe she was anything but a nice girl, he lets her go, setting her down on the floor and rushing to the platform to unbind the poor girl strapped there. When she’s released and slowly sitting up, covering her body with his jacket, he returns to the trenchcoat man on the floor near the entrance and tends to his bleeding wounds, glancing back once or twice at the girl lying in a pool of blood a few feet away, and waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
***
Conclusion
In the end, poor scrawny Abigail Nelson was somewhat traumatized from the events of the night. It took her a long time to feel like she could live again, and in the meantime, she burned the liar’s from her skin, leaving lumpy scars on her torso, but cleansing her from the labels of Lilac Evans.
Even though the truth was… she had cheated on her husband once. She felt horrible about it and knew it was unacceptable and unforgiveable, yet… her husband did forgive her. He loved her and cared for her, and, actually, it was he who eventually healed her soul.
Carson West recovered from his wounds. Mostly. The shoulder that had taken a bullet was never completely functional again, but otherwise… he was alright. He did change jobs, though, and became a bookshop owner because… murder mysteries in books were just more romantic than those in reality.
Steven. . . Steven buried Lilac and, even after everything she did, he put some flowers on her grave once in a while. For the idea of the woman he loved, if not for the woman herself.
Frankly, those tormented green eyes of hers, peering up at him with a spark of amusement just before she died, would stay with him forever. Haunt him, even, just a little. But he would move on, and eventually, he would even be ok again.
Title: Hey, You Would Do It TooBy: Skyril
Prompt: #1
Word Count: 3,846
Key Item: Write descriptively: I did my best!
Part One
The musky scent of old paper and the tang of melting butter waft together with the aroma of freshly baking croissants, and my mouths waters. Not just for the edibles, either, but the paper, the books to which the paper belongs.
This. This spot. This little downtown café with its two outside tables and four chairs with heart-shaped backs is my favorite spot in the entire city. Even in this weather.
My feet crunch in the snow as I exit the shop with a bag of croissants in one gloved hand and a coffee in the other. Brushing the white, slushy mess from a chair, I sit, there, in the cold, feeling the weak sun on my face and smelling the books from the store next door and the butter from the café. And smile.
I don’t care the time of year—I hardly even care if it’s raining, so long as I have an umbrella to hold above me with one hand and a flaky croissant in the other. They might, possibly, be my weakness, these… these golden beauties, I think as I stare at the trio in the bottom of my brown paper bag. Just possibly.
Taking one and brushing my frozen nose with a finger to warm it by a touch, I inhale its delicious scent. Then take a bite. Mm! Softness. Warmth. Layers of perfection.
This is what Heaven looks like. Cold and icy and filled with used bookshops and soft croissants.
I’m sure of it.
A bundled-up, freezing cold passerby shakes his head at me as he goes, a look of amusement on his face, but I only smile. And take another bite as I watch him walk to the corner and cross the street, probably heading to work somewhere. Possibly one of those… firm things. He looks like he could be a lawyer. He continues down the horizontal block, and I lose sight of him around the building. Before I look away another movement catches my eye, however, and I do a slight double-take, realizing after a moment of scrutiny that the little gray shadow is a cat dropping down from a trash can in the alley and stepping gingerly out onto the snowy sidewalk. I smile—I love cats—and take a sip of coffee (hot, hot, and bitter, but rich and just a little mellowed by a bit of cream. There’s nothing as strangely satisfying as coffee of you ask me.) There, on the sidewalk, the cat stops, sitting in the ice and… I could swear, looking right at me.
“Hello, Kitty,” I murmur, smiling at the reference.
I don’t expect the feline to actually hear me at this distance, but his ears perk up. Even from here I can see his yellow eyes, practically glowing in his gray-furred face. They’re startling in their vibrancy. Hypnotic… almost…
The cat looks away. I blink, and then chuckle to myself—ignoring how it almost sounds like a nervous titter—and smooth a hand over my cap and the braid that comes from beneath it and tell myself I’m being silly.
I finish my first croissant, distinctly not looking at the weird cat, and sip my coffee. Taking the brown bag, I peer down it at the other two heavenly breads, but suddenly, I don’t really feel like eating them anymore.
Goosebumps prickle down my coat-sleeve-wrapped arms, and I have the strangest sense I’m being watched.
Don’t look up Katherine. You’re being silly. Just go. Stand up and walk away. Just go. Don’t look up.
But the thoughts in my head don’t mean anything because I know I’m going to look up, to see. I just can’t help myself.
I lift my head. I look at the alley, at the place the cat had been sitting.
And he’s not there.
Sighing with undo relief I shake my head. Then notice something in my peripheral vision and jerk left. It’s the cat, now directly across the salted-two-lane street. Staring at me.
My heart pounds in my ears, and the brown bag slips from my fingers.
The cat stares with his yellow eyes, and I can tell he’s smiling. Then he meows, turns, taking a step, and glances back at me.
He wants me to follow. I don’t even know how I know, but I know.
Eyes widening, I stand. He meows again and starts off down the street, and without a word, I leave my bag and half-drunk coffee there in the snow, and I follow, parallel to his route. He prances down the sidewalk, hopping over icy chunks and wet, white drifts of snow, and I hurry along, ignoring the patches of white as my water-resistant boots crush them beneath my feet—not knowing what I’m doing, why I’m following—behind him, on the other side of the street. We go just a little more than a block when he stops, right before an alley and looks over at me, his yellow eyes alight. Then he turns, his tail swishing in the air and heads straight down the passage. “Hey!” I yell, quickly glancing left and right and totally jaywalking right across the street to catch up. The cat’s tail curls in the air, and I swear it’s like he’s amused.
But he’s so fast for such a little cat, and he weaves between the trashcans, leaping over spilled garbage, and I scrunch my nose, following behind and trying very hard not to step in anything squishy. We pass through the alley, and he turns down another, gray tail waving, and lithe paws stepping. Ahead of me he stops before a dumpster, hindquarters bunched and leaps atop, then up again before I even have a chance reach him, up on a fire escape, then to a window ledge, and once more, onto the roof of a building, and I stumble in front of the dumpster, staring up. “Not fair!” It doesn’t even occur to me that I must sound like a lunatic.
The cat peers over and mewls. “What do you expect me to do?” I demand, gesturing helplessly. He meows again then turns and continues on the edge of the building, just in sight, and I follow hurriedly, my head tilted up to keep sight. We reach an intersection of alleyways, and the soaring shadow of puss passes overhead as he leaps from one building to the next, and I turn right when he does.
Deeper, he leads me, up above on rooftops as I chase along far below, sweat breaking out on my neck beneath my scarf. I gasp open-mouthed now, almost running to keep pace. My neck begins to hurt from the strain of staring up just when the cat leaps from the rooftop, his body rippling and absorbing the impact as he lands, right in front of me, as I bend over, hands on knees, wheezing.
“W-Why—“ I heave “—did you—bring me—here?”
I face the horizontal path of a T in front of me, the cat standing in its center, licking a paw. I have no idea where I am—I’ve never journeyed this deep into the downtown of the city—I didn’t even know downtown went on so far!
The cat goes to move, and I raise a hand, “Wait a minute!” I plead, swallowing and heaving and still totally breathless, my throat cold from the dryness of the air. The paw goes down again, and the kitty tilts his head, waiting and twitching his tail left and right with impatience. When my breath is finally manageable I stand straight again and gesture. “Proceed.”
The cat’s eyes flicker, and he saunters to the right, out of my line of sight, and, shaking my head, I follow him around the corner, expecting another trek through the city. But there, just around the bend, the cat stands, tail in the air, not racing off but just… looking at… at… I blink and shake my head, but the image is still blurry, so I screw up my eyes and rub them, tears forming in their corners. I look away, at the brick wall to one side, and it’s clear, then look back at this shimmery space before me, and my eyes well, trying to see, to understand, but not fully able to. It’s this… space, about three feet wide and seven or eight feet tall right here in the middle of this alley between brick walls, and it’s… different. It glows around the corners, and it looks thicker than air, deeper, like, if I tried to step through it I wouldn’t end up on the other side but… somewhere else.
Like… a gateway.
Gray turns back to me, sits down and meows.
“What is this?” I demand.
He meows.
“Why did you bring me here?”
Meow.
“What do you expect me to do?”
He remains silent, and I arch an eyebrow. Then he turns and walks right through the ethereal space, and I gasp with surprise. I can still see him inside, and he stops and looks at me and flicks his tail as if to say, come on.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” I mutter. “This is where I get off, little fella.”
I back a step, and the cat comes through to this side again and meows irritably at me, then goes back through the space, and I can just tell he’s saying Stop being a scaredy-cat and come on!
I stare. Little yellow eyes stare back, and I puff out a breath of annoyance. He wants me to come, and I find that my curiosity is getting the better of me. Straightening my cap on my head, I step forward, not knowing why I’m doing this and yet doing it anyway. Wincing, slightly, I move through the Strange Space, and it does feel a little like thick air, thick air dividing the alley from whatever this is. When I’m through I stop, my eyes remaining shut, and I inhale. Inhale the scent of crisp, cool air and sun-warmed leaves and dirt and grass. Nothing like the chalky scent of bricks and faint odors of alley garbage trash in the city behind me.
My eyes open slowly, and I blink once or twice to clear them and to adjust to the brightness. I’m in… I’m in a clearing in a forest, an autumn forest. Green grass beneath my feet, and orange, red, and yellow trees surrounding me. My lips part in awe at the vibrant beauty, so different, so unexpected after the cold, wet, slushy iciness of the chill winter day behind me.
There’s also a—a shrine of sorts, but I glance back at the shimmery wall behind me before I study it in any detail. The gateway is still there, still open, with a fuzzy, dimly-lit alley on the other side. I take a deep breath.
“You need not worry; it will not close,” says a calm little voice, and I jump sideways, my hands up and my heart thundering through my entire body. The gray kitty sits to one side, the shrine still and silent in the middle of the clearing.
“Who said that!” I demand, looking left and right.
“I did.” I look at the cat just as he stands and walks towards me, staring at my face, and I think, I’m going crazy, I’m going totally completely insane, even as I backpedal.
“Did you just speak?”
“I already told you I did,” he replies, his voice definitely male but a little high, a little whiny.
I stare. His pink nose twitches, and he sits again. His tail switches, and he tucks it around his side. I stare. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. His mouth opens wide, yawning. And I stare. “This is the part where you react,” he informs me.
“I am reacting,” I say. “I am reacting,” I repeat.
“Oh, pardon me. I did not intend to interrupt.” His eyes sparkle, and I can just tell he’s smirking.
“What is this? What are you? Where am I?”
“This?” he mutters. “’What is this?’ This is another realm apart from yours. This is a world of princes and monsters and magic from which most of your world’s fantasy stories arise. I am not a what by a who. My name is Bon Aldor. I am the guardian of the prince. And as for where you are specifically, that is not really important right now.” He looks at me and licks his chops slightly.
“Guardian of… of the prince?” I ask slowly.
“Mm, you might have noticed the sleeping fellow in the shrine over there?” he mutters.
Hey, You Would Do It TooPart Two
“W-What?” I stutter, turning to the shrine in the middle of the clearing. Amidst the flowers and woven vines I realize there’s a person laying on the earthen platform. I step hesitantly forward, just a step or two, just enough to make out his golden hair and handsome face, his rich clothes in blue and red, and his… his stillness. Frozenness. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing, though he’s not pale so I don’t think he’s dead. “What’s wrong with him?” I whisper, for I’m certain something is.
“He was cursed by a witch,” Bon replies in a melancholy sort of voice.
“I thought. . .” I mutter distractedly, looking at the prince. “I thought you were his guardian.”
“I am his guardian,” Bon Aldor replies irritably.
He passes me and leaps atop the shrine, walking up the prince’s leg and sitting on his chest, looking down upon his face. “He was meant to die,” he says. I take a hesitant step forward to see the prince’s face a little better. “I saved him from that,” Bon continues. “But this—this coma of sorts was the best I could replace it with.”
“So you did save him,” I murmur.
“I do not know,” he replies in a bitter tone. “He sleeps and sleeps and I search and search and still he sleeps. Is that saved?”
“How… How long has been like this?”
“Like this? Oh, several decades now.
“Decades?” I breathe.
“Mm,” answers the small gray feline. “So you see? I saved him from death so he could sleep away eternity instead. Is that better? I can’t decide.”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Bon’s ears twitch towards me, and he turns his head to look at me. “You think so?”
“I do… I do. I know so. You did do your duty, Bon Aldor. You’ve saved his life even if he does sleep.”
His ears twitch again, and he looks back down at the prince. “I appreciate your sentiment,” he purrs. “But I do not know if I feel the same way. Not unless I can find the right person, the person to wake him.”
“He can awaken?”
“Oh, yes, did I not mention that?” the cat inquires, turning and hopping down from his prince once more and standing on the orange-red-and-yellow-leaf-strewn grass before me.
“No—uh—no, you didn’t mention that.” A thought comes to me, and my heartrate, which had at least slowed to a survivable rate, picks up again. “Did you—I mean—Is—Is that why you... brought me… here?”
“It is,” nods the cat.
“And… uh… what—exactly—do you expect me… to do?”
Bon shifts his stance slightly and looks up at me. “Kiss him.”
“You want me to kiss him.”
“Yes.”
“A cursed prince in a fantasy realm.”
“Yes.”
“Like Sleeping Beauty?”
“Well… yes. Though somebody got the specifics swapped in your realm.”
“You mean—you mean. . .”
“I mean that the story of Sleeping Beauty was created by someone I brought here to kiss the prince.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Are you saying that you’ve brought hundreds of girls here to kiss him? Those—those lips have been kissed by hundreds of girls?”
“Ahem,” Bon Aldor mutters. “Technically, that is true. You need not worry of disease, however, for the prince, in his state, cannot get infections of any sort.”
“How do you know!”
“I know,” he replies.
I huff out a breath, and a stray thought in my mind finds it amusing that I’ve so quickly become accustomed to chatting with cats. “Why me?” I ask. “What about me makes me a viable candidate?”
“You have royal blood,” he answers. “It’s thin, admittedly, but it’s there. The prince can only be woken by a royal from your world, a very specific royal. His true love.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I go to run a hand through my hair before I remember it’s braided and end up snagging a piece instead.
“Before you ask,” Bon continues, “I can smell your royal blood. And no, most cats can’t. I’m not most cats.”
I open my mouth.
“Also, yes, true love exists. I realize it sounds silly to you, but it’s real. Somewhere in your universe is Arthur’s soulmate. Unless you are his soulmate, in which case you’re in this universe. . .” He shakes his head slightly and sort of shrugs a catlike shrug.
I stare, and he stares, and this feels like it’s becoming a bad habit, so I look away, I look at the prince, instead. As if I can’t help myself, my body moves just a step closer, and I study him. He’s just my age, or possibly a little older and… My heart’s doing something silly like flipping in my chest, and my lungs feel a little breathless. I’m going crazy. I can’t do this, and then aloud, “I can’t do this.”
“It is your choice; you do not have to do this. . . But if you consider the situation carefully, you are in another realm, a beautiful realm, a realm with magic; you are standing in front of an actual handsome prince; and I, the cat, am asking you to kiss him.” Bon blinks at me, just the once. “At the very least, it is a story to tell the grandchildren, is it not? Or perhaps you can write another book about it. Anyway, what is the harm in trying?”
That question makes way too much sense to me, and my heart pumps blood. My gaze going to the strong jaw, the dark eyelashes, the lips. . . But still, I have some sense left. The logical side of my brain is screaming at me, and I can’t give myself to the fantasy just yet. “What if it doesn’t work?” I ask.
“If it does not work I will lead you home again, and everything will be as it was,” he answers immediately, as if familiar with the question.
“Well,” I say, “what if it does?”
“If it does. . .” Bon pauses slightly. “Then you will have a choice. Stay or go. Either way, you will still have your freedom. The door will remain open, and you can leave whenever you wish.”
“Really?”
“It is simple—“ he stops. “I did not catch your name.”
“Kathryn.”
“Lovely name. As I was saying, it is simple, Kat. The only question you need to answer is whether you are willing to kiss the handsome prince or not.”
“That’s… that’s all? There will be no consequences either way?”
“That is all. No consequences.”
“You swear?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
I bite my lip and step closer to the shrine. Stand over it. “What if… What if I’m his soulmate and I don’t kiss him?”
“… Then that would be a very sad story,” Bon answers, his tone a little low, a little depressed.
“… I agree…” I whisper, studying the prince lying still and silent in the midst of the vines and flowers. For some reason my hands are tingling, and my lips are prickling, and I find myself leaning closer, just a bit. I breathe deeply. This is too mad to be anything but real… And even if it is a dream or some crazed delusion caused by sitting in the cold too long eating a croissant, then… Why not enjoy it? My heart flutters at the thought, and my face flushes with embarrassment, but even so, I mean it.
I want to kiss him. Why else did I follow the cat? My heart is beating against my chest so hard I feel like I’ll have a bruise in the morning, but I lean closer anyway. Something inside of me is ringing, droning in my soul and in my head, ringing, ringing, ringing, and if I don’t kiss him I don’t think it will ever stop. I have to kiss him. I have to try.
I lean so close I can see the freckle under one eye, and I can smell the woodsy scent of this the prince’s skin, and I close my eyes. And touch my lips to his. The ringing instantly quietens. I press a little closer—just to be sure—and notice his lips are soft, which seems odd on a man, and my cheeks burn with realization that mine are chapped from the cold. But I don’t pull back, not just yet. I press just a little closer, holding my breath and shoving away all coherent thought and living in sensation and giving this Prince Arthur every ounce of hope and strength and courage I feel bursting in my chest. Somehow I manage to give him everything I have in just one small kiss.
And then… I pull back. An inch or two, and open my eyes. I can taste his lips on my own, and they taste like, like fresh air and cool, trickling water. My face feels hot and the silence of his unearthly stillness seems somehow heavy, and I realize my lungs are aching because I have not breathed since I touched my lips to his.
I stare at his face, wondering, hoping, daring him to breathe, to move…
But nothing happens.
Nothing.
And disappointment crushes my chest. I wither, breathing again and straightening and studying his face, wishing for any small sign, small flicker of movement. Nothing. Nothing. I feel like I could cry, and I don’t even know him. I hardly even know his face—I’ve only seen it these few short moments—and yet it feels like it’s imprinted in my mind somehow. Shaking my head and feeling angry, I turn around and face Bon Aldor on the forest floor, my glove-wrapped hands bunched up tight.
“Don’t worry,” Bon says, his disappointment carefully controlled. “I’m used to this. Shall I take you back?”
“I’m sorry, Bon,” I whisper, my voice weak.
“No matter.” He shakes his head and turns tail, but I can’t go just yet, not just yet. I face the prince again. I take off a glove and touch a finger to his cheek and whisper, “Please wake up. Please.” I think, This is pointless. This is futile. You’re not his soulmate. Clearly, you’re not his soulmate. Go home, Kat. Turn around and forget this insanity and go home.
Exhaling, I turn.
And then Arthur gasps a breath behind me.
Title: The Cat
By: Trey
Prompt: #1
Word Count: 685
Key Item: Be sure to write descriptively as this will allow your entry to earn more points.
It was a terribly lit Sunday evening when mother forced me out the entrance rather rudely to relocate the trash bag’s. Mumbling incoherently, the bag was hefty as I grunted slightly, my arm’s straining under the intense pressure. Within seconds I felt ashamed as I had buckled; at the moment, I was heaving, breathing in large gustful’s of air in the middle of the gravel driveway. Fortunately, I wasn’t able to sense a presence until seconds later, lifted my head to scan the neighborhood. A bit dazed, I swayed momentarily on my feet until noticing a cat creeping opposite of my side of the street. Frozen, I could only catch sight of the glint of whiteness scattered across its fur. Oddly enough, the cat was unmoving, surveying my face. No doubt.
Within seconds, the cat left the sidewalk, only to began sprinting. The cat ran as if it had a destination in mind, determined to locate it. Quickly forgetting of the bag’s, I dashed out onto the street but faltered. What was the purpose of following the cat? Biting my lip, I stood a moment longer, desperate for action but eventually surrendered, dismissing the cat altogether. Sighing in exasperation, I glanced at the sky, thinking of the cat’s mission.
Without warning, I heard a soft meow and turned expectantly to my satisfaction, see the same unwavering cat. Forget it, rushing onto the street as the cat purred in delight, I smiled at the thought of mother screaming in alarm. The cat zig-zagged through the parked car’s playfully, sprinting through the bushes. It seemed to be enjoying itself, glad for the company. Suddenly, a car honked its horn, some passenger likely angered by the fact that a teen had interrupted their drive rather than questioning why a teen was alone and running.
Unexpectedly, the cat lunged from its position, springing onto a window before jumping once more, clawing desperately, thrashing, until it calmly climbed over the roof. Fear turned to amusement as I smirked, this cat was strange but nonetheless entertaining. Eventually, I found myself in a bricked off alleyway. Confused, I glanced at the unusually quiet cat. I was taken aback, the cat was no longer watching from the rooftop, in fact, it had disappeared completely from view. Moaning in distress, I wiped my forehead before having to support myself against the wall. I was alone. Nausea flew through my head but I swiftly dismissed the thought, shaking my head. I began brushing my hand against the brick’s, feeling for an outline.
If the cat had led me here, it must have been on purpose, significant somehow. In a blur, as I peeked to my right and noticed a faint outline of an animal, I stumbled over an object, unprepared and a bit aghast. Seconds later, the figure charged towards me unwarned before I fell over and tripped myself. I felt strongly as if the brick’s were closing in, the space tighter by the moment. Memories. Brightness consumed me as the darkness receded, shadow’s disappearing from view.
All in all, it was a mesmerizing experience, eye-boggling. I was levitating, my arm’s elevated near my chest, legs residing in the air. Shielding my eyes, I groaned in frustration and wonder, was I possibly imagining this all? A spectrum of colors then surrounded me as I bristled at the sight. Just then, a magnificent creature, grand in size was the length of my view. Covered in rough patches of fur, I reached out for the creature before I began screaming in alarm. My hand had been cut off, cleanly, as no blood was spurting or painting the air dark-red. The scream was cut rather abruptly as I stared in mute disbelief, I was reaching for a gateway of some sort. Surprisingly, I inched forward but held myself back simultaneously. Not yet. Much to my dismay, I pulled back and fully observed this alternate and strange world.
When it was all said and done, the cat stood alone, tilting it’s head in wonder. Patiently, awaiting it’s companion, curious if it’s friend would ever return from the other world.
By: Trey
Prompt: #1
Word Count: 685
Key Item: Be sure to write descriptively as this will allow your entry to earn more points.
It was a terribly lit Sunday evening when mother forced me out the entrance rather rudely to relocate the trash bag’s. Mumbling incoherently, the bag was hefty as I grunted slightly, my arm’s straining under the intense pressure. Within seconds I felt ashamed as I had buckled; at the moment, I was heaving, breathing in large gustful’s of air in the middle of the gravel driveway. Fortunately, I wasn’t able to sense a presence until seconds later, lifted my head to scan the neighborhood. A bit dazed, I swayed momentarily on my feet until noticing a cat creeping opposite of my side of the street. Frozen, I could only catch sight of the glint of whiteness scattered across its fur. Oddly enough, the cat was unmoving, surveying my face. No doubt.
Within seconds, the cat left the sidewalk, only to began sprinting. The cat ran as if it had a destination in mind, determined to locate it. Quickly forgetting of the bag’s, I dashed out onto the street but faltered. What was the purpose of following the cat? Biting my lip, I stood a moment longer, desperate for action but eventually surrendered, dismissing the cat altogether. Sighing in exasperation, I glanced at the sky, thinking of the cat’s mission.
Without warning, I heard a soft meow and turned expectantly to my satisfaction, see the same unwavering cat. Forget it, rushing onto the street as the cat purred in delight, I smiled at the thought of mother screaming in alarm. The cat zig-zagged through the parked car’s playfully, sprinting through the bushes. It seemed to be enjoying itself, glad for the company. Suddenly, a car honked its horn, some passenger likely angered by the fact that a teen had interrupted their drive rather than questioning why a teen was alone and running.
Unexpectedly, the cat lunged from its position, springing onto a window before jumping once more, clawing desperately, thrashing, until it calmly climbed over the roof. Fear turned to amusement as I smirked, this cat was strange but nonetheless entertaining. Eventually, I found myself in a bricked off alleyway. Confused, I glanced at the unusually quiet cat. I was taken aback, the cat was no longer watching from the rooftop, in fact, it had disappeared completely from view. Moaning in distress, I wiped my forehead before having to support myself against the wall. I was alone. Nausea flew through my head but I swiftly dismissed the thought, shaking my head. I began brushing my hand against the brick’s, feeling for an outline.
If the cat had led me here, it must have been on purpose, significant somehow. In a blur, as I peeked to my right and noticed a faint outline of an animal, I stumbled over an object, unprepared and a bit aghast. Seconds later, the figure charged towards me unwarned before I fell over and tripped myself. I felt strongly as if the brick’s were closing in, the space tighter by the moment. Memories. Brightness consumed me as the darkness receded, shadow’s disappearing from view.
All in all, it was a mesmerizing experience, eye-boggling. I was levitating, my arm’s elevated near my chest, legs residing in the air. Shielding my eyes, I groaned in frustration and wonder, was I possibly imagining this all? A spectrum of colors then surrounded me as I bristled at the sight. Just then, a magnificent creature, grand in size was the length of my view. Covered in rough patches of fur, I reached out for the creature before I began screaming in alarm. My hand had been cut off, cleanly, as no blood was spurting or painting the air dark-red. The scream was cut rather abruptly as I stared in mute disbelief, I was reaching for a gateway of some sort. Surprisingly, I inched forward but held myself back simultaneously. Not yet. Much to my dismay, I pulled back and fully observed this alternate and strange world.
When it was all said and done, the cat stood alone, tilting it’s head in wonder. Patiently, awaiting it’s companion, curious if it’s friend would ever return from the other world.
Title: Personality Interview of CastielBy: Skyril
Prompt: #6
Word Count: 783
Key Item: N/A -- didn’t use
Interviewer: Hello, everyone, and welcome to this inside look at the personality of Castiel, Angel of the Lord! Today we’re going to ask him some little questions to get to know him better, who he is and how he thinks.
Now, Cas, I’d just like to thank you for sitting in with me today for this interview, and I’d like to reiterate before we begin that we’re going to try to do this without giving away any spoilers from the Supernatural books, ok?
Cas: I understand.
Inter.: Excellent! Well then, we’ll just jump right in. Let’s start with something simple: What is your favorite color?
Cas: … Favorite… color? This a relevant question?
Inter.: Uh, well, it is a common question to ask when getting to know someone, yes…
Cas: … Then, I can’t say I’ve thought about it before. I don’t have a favorite. I don’t see colors the same as humans do, and therefore I have much less of an emotional response. I see the construct of all colors, and each has its own values.
Inter.: Oh, ok—
Cas: Except, of course, for white which isn’t actually a color at all but a reflection of all colors.
Inter.: Ah-huh—
Cas: And I can’t say I “like” black because absorption of all colors is chaotic for one who can see them as I can.
Inter.: I see… That’s interesting. I’d never thought of it in that way before.
Cas: Now that you’ve brought it up I suppose I do carry a slight preference for shades of yellow. Perhaps because it is the color of bees, and I do like bees.
Inter.: But aren’t bees half black?
Cas: Actually the dark coloring on bees is not black but dark brown which is basically yellow except… darker.
Inter.: …
Cas: I also like green.
Inter.: Ok! Next question—Why the suit and tie, why the trenchcoat? Surely you’d be more comfortable in other clothes.
Cas: *looking down at himself* I like my trenchcoat. Though—really—it’s an overcoat.
Inter.: Is it?
Cas: …
Inter.: Um, anything else to add?
Cas: No.
Inter.: Ok... Who is your favorite Winchester?
Cas: Why does my opinion on the Winchester brothers have such import to you?
Inter.: W-Well, I just—*cough* What is your favorite place on earth?
Cas: My favorite place is with Sam and Dean, wherever they happen to be.
Inter.: Awwww….
Cas: Biggerson’s is also nice.
Inter.: That’s… um. Ok. What is your favorite type of pie?
Cas: I don’t eat food. Food does not taste good to angels. You KNOW I don’t eat. Do you realize that asking the same question repeatedly and expecting a different answer is akin to the definition of insanity?
Inter.: *blushing* I just thought—because you and Dean share a “profound bond” and he LOVES pie you might—
Cas: I don’t.
Inter.: Alright then, let’s move on. What is your favorite animal?
Cas: *giving a look* Bees.
Inter.: Of course! S-Sorry. Uh… *frantically rifling through notecards of questions* Wh-Who is—N-No—um. How about: What is your favorite era of time?
Cas: … *thinking* I’m not sure. I liked the Beginning. I think, however, I prefer now. Even with—
Inter.: No spoilers! Remember?
Cas: For this… *making airquotes* “Supernatural fandom.”
Inter.: That’s correct.
Cas: Then I cannot fully satisfy the question.
Inter.: That’s ok. Just answer it to the best of your ability without giving away any spoilers.
Cas: I don’t understand. I did, already, do that.
Inter.: Oh, ok, we’re going with that? Ok then… Last question: Favorite book or series?
Cas: Harry Potter was surprisingly good. I also appreciated the story of Ben-Hur and the friendship between Judah and Messala, some aspects of which reminded me of myself and Dean.
Inter.: Ooh, interesting. Can you elaborate?
Cas: I can say very little without spoilers for Supernatural. Let’s just say that Judah and Messala were two different people from two different worlds, and despite that, they were as brothers. Various trials and mistakes on both sides nearly tore them apart on more than one occasion, and yet somehow they found a way to remain friends and become closer than before. This is very similar to many circumstances with myself and Dean.
Inter.: Lovely… That’s just… really lovely. Thank you so much Cas for sharing a little of yourself with us today.
Mod
by Coralie
Prompt 10: A girl is looking through old family albums with her mom and finds a picture of her as a child, sitting on the lap of man she doesn’t remember. She decides to find out who the man is.
Key Item: Add a scene where the girl confronts the man.
The breeze blew gently through her hair. A shiver chased the goosebumps up her arms. She didn’t really have the energy to feel…anything. She felt cold, inside and out. Maybe it was just the autumn chill and the setting sun.
She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the headstone before her. The grave was marked simply: a name, two dates. No inscription or well-thought out quote, no plethora of curly cues or decorative embellishments, not even a few dead petals to attest to someone who had once cared. It was as if he’d been buried as discreetly and unceremoniously as possible.
Questions assaulted her in lieu of the tears she didn’t feel the urge to shed. Had anyone mourned for him when he died? Who had gone through the steps it took to process his will and plan the funeral? Had there even been a funeral? She knew he hadn’t had any family, not other than her.
The grave looked abandoned. Did she have the right to feel abandoned by him? Could she be angry with a man she didn’t even remember? A man she might has well have never met? No, she couldn’t even muster sorrow let alone anger. She felt completely indifferent toward him. She hadn’t known him.
“I wish Mother had told me about you sooner,” she whispered to the passing wind. It carried her words somewhere off to her right, but she imagined he’d hear them anyway if he could. She tucked a flying wisp of her tawny brown hair behind her ear. The air seemed to shift, keenly aware of her emptiness. As if to make up for the lack of emotion, electricity churned, charging the atmosphere with an urgency she didn’t feel inside.
She stared numbly at the cracked stone. The few letters and numbers that were there were smoothed over with time. The dreary gray faded from what she once imagined had been a beautiful, deep gray stone. Or perhaps it had always been this bleak.
She pulled an old photo from her denim jacket pocket. The edges were curled and the color was just as faded as the gray headstone. She stared at the strange man who held her as a child in his lap. Funny how she didn’t even have a memory of him to hold, only this tattered photograph from her mother’s long-forgotten album.
Sighing, she tucked the picture back into her pocket. She hugged herself tightly to ward off the deepening chill. Glancing at the sky, she noted that the stars would be out soon. She almost hated to say goodbye, but then…she hadn’t really said much of anything. She hadn’t known what to say.
She’d asked her mother about the man, so he wasn’t so much of a mystery to her as he had been when she’d found the picture in the attic. Her mother had shrugged, just as indifferent as she now felt. Apparently she hadn’t thought he was worth mentioning in the last twenty-three years.
She shook her head. Her thoughts twisted inside and she couldn’t seem to sort them out. She wasn’t really sure what she thought she’d gain by coming here. She didn’t need peace. She didn’t need closure. And she didn’t need answers. She didn’t feel entitled to talk to him or fill him in on her childhood. She’d just...wanted to see that he had been real?
With one final glance down at the worn stone, she nodded, content. Just as the first raindrop fell, she turned her back on him, fishing her keys from her pocket. She tried to burrow into the collar of her jacket as she headed for the gate, but the rain fell hard fast, soaking into her skin and washing away any evidence of his only visitor.
Title: Through the fourthBy: Melissa
Prompt:102) The characters in one of your actual works-in-progress discover that they're fictional. Worse, they discover your planned ending--and some of them hate it! They try to change fate by any means possible. On the other hand, some are okay with your ideas, and try to stop the others from interfering.
Key item: The character who will get the worst ending in your book (death, loss, etc.) is the one who accepts. The character who gets a relatively happy ending is the one who wants to change it.
I got a little carried away, so it doesn't fit exactly, but it's fun. 665 words.
~~~~~
Dear Cora,
Don’t read if you do not wish to have more spoilers than I have already given you.
Love,
Melissa
Dear R.S.,
I hope you don't mind starring in my piece. Zach really wanted to talk to you directly. XD
Your fellow writer,
Melissa
Dearest R.S.
My name is Zach, and I am thoroughly disappointed with your prompt. Here I was, thinking I, the most magnificent character in Melissa’s Trilogy, would finally get the chance to star in my own piece of fiction. You see, I die, most tragically and heroically, I might add, in the same story where I was introduced. It was not a bad death, but rather untimely, and after I had made a rather large fool of myself. I thought this might be a chance to finally get back at my author. But alas, I am stuck here writing this obnoxious fourth-wall-breaking missive. On your head be the consequences of this lack luster piece, where one of the heroes gets to try and change fate, whereas I do not make an appearance… At all… Because I am dead. Sooooo… Thanks for that.
Your disappointed and dead pen pal,
Lord Zachary of Irel, Arcerene
Judi looked at the letter, confused beyond reason. Who was this Melissa? And Characters… was Zachary suggesting…
She laughed nervously. Ben had always joked that their lives were like a fairy tale, and that someone should write a book, but there was no way it was true.
...Or was it.
Judi continued sifting through the papers on Ben’s desk. What had been a trip to look for evidence of moles in the castle had turned into a stupefying discovery of a manuscript, untouched by Arcerenian hands. She lifted it carefully and flipped through the oddly uniform pages, when she spotted her name. Sitting by the fire, she read through the events carefully.
The entire past two years, including her event recent engagement, was recorded with obnoxiously perfect detail. Even worse, today’s events still hadn’t finished the book. Judi found herself flipping ahead, skimming through the pages. “Okay, Wedding, ewww, no… okay, that sounds like Ophelia, probably won’t get out of that… spies… intrigue… Nothing new… Awwww, how sweet! Ben’s first date! That I’ve got to save…. Hmmm… Of course…. Mmmhmmm… ...What?”
Judi stopped on a page, her face paling. “Um… NO.” She slammed the book closed and ran to the balcony, holding the book up to the sky. “Goddess help me, tell me this isn’t true!”
*giggle* Of course it is all true. It’s how I wrote you to be.
“I refuse. There is no way I will go through all this! It’s demeaning!”
It’s not demeaning. It’s cute, glorious, and a great gift.
Judi shook her head. “I will break up with him. Won’t that mess with your plans?”
*sigh* You won’t. You know that. You love him too much.
Judi frowned. “But why would you do this? Put me in dresses, incapacitate me… No! I refuse!”
Judi…
“I am… Not getting pregnant! WITH-”
Spoilers, Judith Marie. Don’t give away the best part. ...Honestly, I thought you’d have a bigger fit over who the bad guys are...
Judi threw the book down in disgust, and the omniscient voice sighed again.
The good thing is, you won’t remember this. So you won’t be able to fix it. I don’t know how you got through the fourth wall, but I will make sure it stays firmly in place.
“Don’t you dare-!”
That's awesome. Thanks for using my prompt! :D
I love prompt writing! I believe this is Prompt 103, Character sheet
Key item: Short reflection of what you learned, if anything.
692 Words
Character's Full Name: _Judith Marie Corbett_ Date: _July 3rd, 2017_
Name origin:
Judith: “She will be praised”, but more importantly inspired by the woman Judith, from the Book of Judith and the Poem by it’s name. Judith is depicted as a beautiful, exemplar woman, grounded by ideal morale, probity, courage, and religious conviction. Her character is rendered blameless and virtuous, and her beauty is praised persistently throughout the poem.
Marie: Rebellion; Beloved, Love
Corbett: raven, Dark hair
Nickname, if any (if so, explain its origin – e.g. who created it?):
Judi, and she did, when she got teased by boys on the training field for having an old woman’s name. Heh, 8 year olds…
Bug by Soren, like snug as a bug in a rug. Judi used it once in snarky conversation, and it stuck.
Cappy, by lower dungeon guards and those who do not respect her in their ranks.
Does s/he like the nickname?
Yes to Judi and Bug! Nooooo to Cappy.
Birth date:
November 12th
Place of birth:
Kent
Ethnic background:
Kentanese? ...From Kent. Although, just learned it used to be called Kern in my prior drafts… huh… Kernian? *Shudder*
Religion:
She worships the Goddess. Tends to avoid the Albion Gods.
Degree of religious practice (e.g. orthodox, casual, lapsed):
She is faithful at heart, but hides it.
Current address:
Arcerene: The Palace in the capital
Does s/he rent or own?
She uh… Lives at the pleasure of the King and Queen.
Brief description of home (apartment, house, etc.):
Her room is rarely used anymore, and she takes great pains to hide where in the palace it is. She has a large suite fit for a princess very near the Royal wing. Some remnants from her childhood still linger on the walls and hidden in drawers, but mostly, the room is barren. There is a small, simple writing desk, a rather well used couch by the fireplace, a large shelf of books, a large bed with a trunk at the foot of it, and a window with a rather large balcony overlooking the entrance of the castle. A thin layer of dust can be seen coating some of the furniture, as when she sleeps, if she sleeps, it’s in the barracks with the other men on duty, or cat napping while watching Ben’s window as he sleeps.
Does s/he live with anyone?
Only everybody who lives in the palace. If you mean does she room with anyone, she and Trent share a bunk in the shack with Thomas and Jeffries.
Is this his/her ideal home and location? If not, what would s/he prefer?
Loaded question. She loves it here, but some part of her still misses Kent.
Home decor: ☐ Expensive ☐ Inexpensive ☐ Carefully planned ☐ Comfortable ☐ Neat ☐ Cluttered
X none of the above
Pets? (If so, what kind/how many/names?)
She has a horse, named Chelsea.
If so, how important are they? How well are they treated?
Oh she loves that horse dearly, and the horse loves her back just as much. They are very close, to the point that Chelsea is very loyal to Judi, and the stable hands have a hard time getting close to her to do their jobs. Judi tries to alleviate the pressure by caring for the mare as much as she can on her own.
Current occupation (include length of time, location, job title):
Captain of the Guard, Knight Protector to the Prince. Has been a Knight Protector since she was knighted at 18, Captain of the Guard since she was 20.
Job satisfaction (happy, discontent, ambivalent, ambitious...):
Very Content, Okay if she never changes careers. EVER.
...Ha! I had forgotten that I had actually searched for a name before giving it to her. As she grew into an actual character, that name has never been more fitting! Also.... I didn't know she actually had her own bedroom! I thought she lived in Ben's room... or the infirmary... or on the training field... She's a workaholic, so I never write her... not... working... Ever. So... this makes her a lot more human, knowing she has a real bedroom somewhere in the palace.
((Oops, the full chart can be found here http://www.epiguide.com/ep101/writing...))
descension
By Raevyn
Prompt 23
Key item: I tried, at least.
964 words
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shri Acharya woke up at precisely eight-thirty AM, as she usually did; dressed in her favorite traditional sari, as she usually did; and went downstairs to meet the day, as she usually did.
The first sign of change was that the calendar that hung from the wall in the living room was missing. Shri was confused for a moment, but continued out to the kitchen, deciding that her little brother Artur had probably taken it. Ever since Mr. and Mrs. Acharya had told him the date they'd adopted him on, August 29th, he had become obsessed with that day, even asking to change his birthday to correspond with it.
The kitchen was empty. “Ma?” Shri called. “Papa? Artur?”
No answers. Checking first the refrigerator door, and then the table in the dining room, Shri didn't find any notes explaining where her family had gone.
Speaking of the dining room table...hadn't the tablecloth been simple white linen? It was now purple plastic, with garish green stars emblazoned on it.
This couldn't be explained away easily. Her family wouldn't choose such an ugly design. It didn't make a good impression on her mother’s business partners.
Footsteps sounded behind Shri. Turning around quickly, she saw her brother.
“Artur! I'm so glad you're here. What exactly is going on?”
He stared at her blankly. “My name is Albert, not Artur. You know that.” Brightening, he changed the subject. “Anyway, wasn't the festival fun?”
Confusion washed over Shri. “What festival?” she asked.
“The one that lasted all week. Now you're just being silly.”
Shri tried to remember the festival--and found that she had no memory of the past week at all. The last thing she remembered was holding a pencil, writing something down in her journal last Monday evening. She had felt an unnatural sense of excitement over whatever she'd been writing. Even now, she got the impression that great things were coming.
But how could anything remotely good happen when her parents were missing, her brother had changed his name, and she had a black hole in her memory?
“Art--I mean, Albert. Listen to me. I truly don't remember this. Tell me what happened.”
He looked at his sister, scrutinizing her face for any sign of mischief. Finding none, he told her, “Nothing really happened. There was a lot of dancing and food. Some tourists showed up; they were dressed weird.”
Shri’s eyes widened. This could be a clue. "What do you mean ‘weird’?”
Artur, or Albert, shrugged. “Everyone else had t-shirts and jeans, or dresses for some of the girls.” He wrinkled his nose slightly, still at that age where “girl” was a dirty word. “But the tourists had business suits and bowler hats. It's nothing, I guess. They probably were just passing through and didn't get the memo about what to wear.”
“You’re right,” Shri said, trying to calm herself down. “Where are Ma and Papa?”
Her brother looked confused for a moment. “Oh, you mean our parents,” he finally said. “They’re gone.”
Shri’s calmness evaporated. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “Where did they go?”
“Albert” made a vague gesture with his hands. “They're gone,” he repeated, his face and voice devoid of emotion.
Shri shook her head and stormed out the front door, only to find--
What looked like a surrealistic painting, or maybe a deranged alien’s idea of Earth.
That was a valid theory. Alien invasion. Shri had never believed in the supernatural, but it seemed all too possible now.
Because yesterday, the sun hadn't been blue, and the sky hadn't been purple with green clouds.
“Man, these aliens sure like green and purple,” Shri muttered, smiling in spite of herself.
The sidewalk in front of her house had a veritable field of sunflowers growing out of it. A faint humming came from them, and they whipped around to face her when she stepped closer, revealing faint impressions of humanlike faces in their centers. Okay, these definitely weren't the species Shri knew of...
She wasn't smiling anymore.
A shimmer on the ground caught her eye. When it faded, her journal was lying there, open to the page she'd left off at. Trembling, she picked it up and read her forgotten words. Surprisingly, there wasn't much text, just four words:
It's time to descend!
What did that even mean? Had she been drugged at the festival? That wouldn't explain her brother’s name change.
Shri thought she heard computer keys clacking loudly, somewhere behind the house. She went to investigate, but there was nothing out of the ordinary there...except the coloration, of course.
For a moment, the world flickered out of focus, becoming a blur that almost seemed pixelated. Then it all faded out.
*
“Good thing we’re going to reset the programming,” the first technician said, adjusting his bowler hat and brushing a speck of dust off his suit. “Our simulations are becoming self-aware.”
“We knew that was a risk,” his coworker replied. “‘The Sims taken up to eleven’,” he quoted from an advertisement. “Intelligent people, but virtual.”
On the screen, an Indian-American girl crouched on the technicolor lawn.
One of the technicians pressed another button, and she disappeared. With a few clicks, the display toggled to her bedroom, where she slept peacefully.
“Change her ethnicity to German,” the second technician ordered. “And remove the bit about her brother being adopted. I'd rather have them be biological siblings.”
Her hair turned blonde, her skin pale.
“Can I keep the green and purple color scheme?”
“Sure, if you want. Now wake her up.”
*
Sabine Albrecht woke up at precisely eight-thirty AM, as she usually did; dressed in her favorite traditional dirndl, as she usually did; and went downstairs to meet the day, as she usually did.
By Raevyn
Prompt 23
Key item: I tried, at least.
964 words
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shri Acharya woke up at precisely eight-thirty AM, as she usually did; dressed in her favorite traditional sari, as she usually did; and went downstairs to meet the day, as she usually did.
The first sign of change was that the calendar that hung from the wall in the living room was missing. Shri was confused for a moment, but continued out to the kitchen, deciding that her little brother Artur had probably taken it. Ever since Mr. and Mrs. Acharya had told him the date they'd adopted him on, August 29th, he had become obsessed with that day, even asking to change his birthday to correspond with it.
The kitchen was empty. “Ma?” Shri called. “Papa? Artur?”
No answers. Checking first the refrigerator door, and then the table in the dining room, Shri didn't find any notes explaining where her family had gone.
Speaking of the dining room table...hadn't the tablecloth been simple white linen? It was now purple plastic, with garish green stars emblazoned on it.
This couldn't be explained away easily. Her family wouldn't choose such an ugly design. It didn't make a good impression on her mother’s business partners.
Footsteps sounded behind Shri. Turning around quickly, she saw her brother.
“Artur! I'm so glad you're here. What exactly is going on?”
He stared at her blankly. “My name is Albert, not Artur. You know that.” Brightening, he changed the subject. “Anyway, wasn't the festival fun?”
Confusion washed over Shri. “What festival?” she asked.
“The one that lasted all week. Now you're just being silly.”
Shri tried to remember the festival--and found that she had no memory of the past week at all. The last thing she remembered was holding a pencil, writing something down in her journal last Monday evening. She had felt an unnatural sense of excitement over whatever she'd been writing. Even now, she got the impression that great things were coming.
But how could anything remotely good happen when her parents were missing, her brother had changed his name, and she had a black hole in her memory?
“Art--I mean, Albert. Listen to me. I truly don't remember this. Tell me what happened.”
He looked at his sister, scrutinizing her face for any sign of mischief. Finding none, he told her, “Nothing really happened. There was a lot of dancing and food. Some tourists showed up; they were dressed weird.”
Shri’s eyes widened. This could be a clue. "What do you mean ‘weird’?”
Artur, or Albert, shrugged. “Everyone else had t-shirts and jeans, or dresses for some of the girls.” He wrinkled his nose slightly, still at that age where “girl” was a dirty word. “But the tourists had business suits and bowler hats. It's nothing, I guess. They probably were just passing through and didn't get the memo about what to wear.”
“You’re right,” Shri said, trying to calm herself down. “Where are Ma and Papa?”
Her brother looked confused for a moment. “Oh, you mean our parents,” he finally said. “They’re gone.”
Shri’s calmness evaporated. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “Where did they go?”
“Albert” made a vague gesture with his hands. “They're gone,” he repeated, his face and voice devoid of emotion.
Shri shook her head and stormed out the front door, only to find--
What looked like a surrealistic painting, or maybe a deranged alien’s idea of Earth.
That was a valid theory. Alien invasion. Shri had never believed in the supernatural, but it seemed all too possible now.
Because yesterday, the sun hadn't been blue, and the sky hadn't been purple with green clouds.
“Man, these aliens sure like green and purple,” Shri muttered, smiling in spite of herself.
The sidewalk in front of her house had a veritable field of sunflowers growing out of it. A faint humming came from them, and they whipped around to face her when she stepped closer, revealing faint impressions of humanlike faces in their centers. Okay, these definitely weren't the species Shri knew of...
She wasn't smiling anymore.
A shimmer on the ground caught her eye. When it faded, her journal was lying there, open to the page she'd left off at. Trembling, she picked it up and read her forgotten words. Surprisingly, there wasn't much text, just four words:
It's time to descend!
What did that even mean? Had she been drugged at the festival? That wouldn't explain her brother’s name change.
Shri thought she heard computer keys clacking loudly, somewhere behind the house. She went to investigate, but there was nothing out of the ordinary there...except the coloration, of course.
For a moment, the world flickered out of focus, becoming a blur that almost seemed pixelated. Then it all faded out.
*
“Good thing we’re going to reset the programming,” the first technician said, adjusting his bowler hat and brushing a speck of dust off his suit. “Our simulations are becoming self-aware.”
“We knew that was a risk,” his coworker replied. “‘The Sims taken up to eleven’,” he quoted from an advertisement. “Intelligent people, but virtual.”
On the screen, an Indian-American girl crouched on the technicolor lawn.
One of the technicians pressed another button, and she disappeared. With a few clicks, the display toggled to her bedroom, where she slept peacefully.
“Change her ethnicity to German,” the second technician ordered. “And remove the bit about her brother being adopted. I'd rather have them be biological siblings.”
Her hair turned blonde, her skin pale.
“Can I keep the green and purple color scheme?”
“Sure, if you want. Now wake her up.”
*
Sabine Albrecht woke up at precisely eight-thirty AM, as she usually did; dressed in her favorite traditional dirndl, as she usually did; and went downstairs to meet the day, as she usually did.
Prompt 103. (365 questions) I only did February here because it's super longKey Item: reflection
My character is Anna from a fantasy story I am writing.
1. What is your character's favorite beverage?
Anna drinks mainly water, but enjoys the occasional apple cider.
2. What is your character's least favorite food?
Her least favorite food is bread, it brings back painful memories of her time in prison.
3. What does the color blue make your character think of? How does it make her feel?
Anna thinks of the first time she saw the blue sky after the grey of the prison. It makes her feel happy.
4. How does your character feel when he visits someone in the hospital (or other major medical facility)? She doesn't like the hospital, it's too dull.
5. Has your character ever had surgery (or other major medical treatment)? No, but she did have her arm stitched back together in the castle's infirmary.
6. Does your character gamble? Is she good at it?
Anna does not gamble, her uncle did, and he lost his money on it, so she stays far away from gambling.
7. Does your character know how to swim?
Anna does not know how to swim.
8. How does your character feel about large bodies of water?
Anna has never seen one, she lived in the city, and Evercrest doesn't have any large bodies of water.
9. Does your character have any phobias? What are they and how intense are they? How have they impacted her life?
After the incident in the prison, she has a phobia of tight spaces. They are very intense, and she hasn't gone to crowded events since then.
10. What does the color purple make your character think of? How does it make her feel?
Purple reminds Anna of royalty. She has mixed feelings.
11. Your character lies on her back on a summer day and looks up at the clouds. What images does she see in their shapes?
She sees animals in their shapes.
12. A terrible crime has been committed, and evidence points to your character's guilt. She didn't commit the crime, but she doesn't have an immediate way to prove it. What does she do?
She takes the punishment, and if the evidence turns up, she takes it.
13. Your character witnesses a terrible crime being committed, and she sees the perpetrator's face. She also knows that the perpetrator has friends in high places. What does she do?• The perpetrator is someone she trusts and respects. How does she handle this?
Anna would know something was up, because she doesn't trusts just anyone. She would confront the person, but also report it.
14. Your character sees someone get hit by a car; they're still alive but obviously badly injured. No one else is nearby to help. What does she do? Anna would stop and help the person. If she wasn't strong enough she would call Dew, Ember and Helena for help.
15. What is your character's favorite piece of clothing?
Anna loves her multicolored infinity scarf
16. How does your character dress on a typical day?
Anna always makes a statement. Whatever day it is, you know she will dress in vibrant colors.
17. What is your character's earliest clear memory?
Going to kindergarten.
18. How well can your character defend herself in a fight? Has she ever had to?
Anna can put up a good fight. She might not win by muscle alone, but she can pull some tricks. She has had to defend herself, she came out alive, but not in good condition.
19. Is your character introspective?
She does meditate on what she has done, but doesn't dwell too much on it.
20. How opinionated is your character? Does she like to share those opinions with others or keep them to herself?
Anna is very outspoken. She has an opinion for everything. She shares what she thinks, and is not afraid to speak against the norm.
21. Is your character confident or overconfident? Does she lack confidence?
Anna is confident, but sometimes forgets her confidence, she cracks under extreme pressure.
22. What hobby or side interest is most important to your character?
Anna loves art, especially pottery.
23. Open your character's wallet, purse, or briefcase. What do you find?
You would find a library card, a book to read, lots of pens and pencils, a small notebook, tissues, a small amount of money, and maybe even a brick or two...
24. Open up your character's drawers or wardrobe and describe what you find inside.
Folded neat shorts and tops. Everything folded. The bottom drawer is full of unsorted junk.
25. What does your character's bedroom typically look like?
Very organized, minimalist, colorful, color coded.
26. What style of furniture does your character prefer?
Colorful vibrant furniture that doubles as artwork.
27. What style of furniture would your character never purchase?
Anything metal, or grey.
28. Your character moves into a new home. What's the first thing she buys for it?
Food.
Find the whole questionnaire at:
http://www.errantdreams.com/files/365...
Reflection: I never thought about many of these, it gives me some ideas. I didn't realize just how much I didn't know about my character.
Mod
Title: Killing the Mirror
By: Catherine
Prompt: 109) It's the largest battle of the century! It's you versus.... YOU! Is it a mirror copy of you? Or are you fighting an internal battle? Who will win? Which side is really you?
Key Item: If the other you are fighting is a tangible being, try to reason with them before fighting. If it's intangible, like a tough choice, then personify it! Give each idea boxing gloves and lets see them in the ring!
Arina stood at the top of the tower.
It hadn't been easy getting this far, and it certainly wouldn't be to finish, but the tyrant ruling the town had to be stopped. Empress Adira, formerly Dame Elina, had taken over when President Priya mysteriously disappeared.
It wasn't much of a mystery to Arina. Dame Elina was power-hungry, and somehow ended up a dictator instead of a fairly-elected president.
She had to be stopped.
Arina pulled a thin ID card out of her pocket and slid it along the side the lock, testing it. She then lightly jiggled the doorknob, hoping that the lock would open. It did. She stepped inside.
She stood in a large, white room, empty except for a small table and... bleachers? What were they doing there?
Tentatively, she walked toward the other side of the room, where there was a tan door. If she remembered correctly, that was the Empress's private quarters.
Suddenly, she came to a stop, watching as something slowly materialized-- coming from the table!
The teenage girl that stood in front of her was tall and thin. She had pretty olive skin and wavy gold-blonde hair to her waist. Hazel eyes stared at Arina menacingly, and she clutched a small knife in her hand.
In other words, she looked exactly like Arina.
Arina stared at the girl. Who was she and how did she look so similar to her? When she was finished gawking, Arina took a slow step forward.
The girl copied her.
Reaching slowly forward, Arina tapped the girl on the nose and jumped backwards as the girl started to do the same. The girl felt..hard. Almost metallic. Like she was a robot that somehow looked exactly like her.
An evil laugh sounded behind her and as she whipped around, she saw Empress Adira standing on top of the bleachers.
“Welcome, dearie,” the Empress intoned, moving to a sitting position. “I assume you’re here to try to kill me? Well, good luck with that.”
Arina started toward her, but her copy started forward in front of Arina, stopping her from continuing. Adira tried to dart by her, but her copy blocked her with an arm as hard as diamonds. Arina let out a cry of pain as her copy moved back to a standing position. The girl was doing exactly what Arina would do in the situation.. Which meant she had to outsmart herself.
How was that possible? As she realized it really wasn’t, the Empress laughed again, seeing her dismay.
“Of course it’s impossible to outsmart yourself,” the Empress said as though she had read Arina’s mind. “That’s why I designed that table, that quickly builds robots programmed exactly like the attacker.”
If the robot was programmed exactly like her.. “Please let me by,” Arina pleaded with the robot. “I need to get to her.” She lowered her voice, “Don’t you see how horrible she is to everyone?” The robot tilted its head for a moment before raising its arms in a fighting stance. Arina sighed. It didn’t seem like the robot was going to let her by.
Arina raised her arms in a fighting stance as well. If the robot was her in a way, it would know all her moves. She shoved the thought of her head. She had to believe she could win.
Arina started by dropping to the ground and attempting to slide by the robot, but she was quickly blocked by the robot, who seemed to have been anticipating the move. Next, Arina tried a quick uppercut, but the robot dodged it neatly.
What was different between her and the robot? Arina was trying to attack the Empress, the robot to defend. Arina was doing this out of need, the robot out of duty. The robot couldn’t be nearly as emotional as Arina, even if it thought the same way as her.
Or as willing to kill another.
Arina took her knife, and as the robot ducked, anticipating another overblow as Arina would usually do, she stabbed it in the head, looking away at the last second. She heard fizzling and popping and then silence.
She turned her head to see the robot lying on the ground. Pulling her knife out, Arina advanced toward the Empress, whose eyes were widening as she tried to run away.
Arina crept toward the door and stood there, waiting. The Empress, too afraid to be thinking correctly, continued her mad dash to the safety of her quarters, where Arina stood.
The knife went straight through Empress Adira’s cold heart.
90) Write an entire story using nothing but dialogue. No descriptions, no narration. Just two people having a conversation. Tell the entire thing using their reactions to the environment tell the tale.
Key Item: Have something other than the weather come through in your descriptions. Be creative about it. Think about sounds and sight, not just temperature and breezes.
Rhymes with This
This was a prompt I had found on another writing competition site, and I found it was the most difficult prompt I ever faced. I suggest everyone tries it at least once. ...Maybe only once. It's very difficult. And doesn't sound natural at all. Anyways, You've been warned XD))
"Hey, Karen! Nice backpack."
"Oh, shut up, Frank! Just leave me alone."
"I mean it! ... Okay, what did I do this time?"
"This time? What did you do? How can you ask such a thing? You expect me to forget that little scene from the Rotunda earlier?"
"... Oh... that... Listen, it was just a little fun-"
"A little fun. Right. Well then, Go have your little fun with someone else's girlfriend."
"Oh come on, you know I was only joking. I would totally ask Brian for permission before doing anything too rash, even if it was just on stage."
"Frank, I'm trying really hard not to break your nose right now, I would suggest you stop following me before I lose my self control. Thanks to that stunt, I'm not sure Brian is still in the picture."
"...I'm sorry. Really, I am.... If there is anything I can do-"
"Yes, please stop following me."
"I'm not following you. I live in the apartments right across the street from you and happen to be heading home."
"Stupid college housing."
"..."
"..."
"... Hey... I'd really hate to be the bearer of bad news, but isn't that Brian over there behind the communications building?"
"Where? No! I can't believe this! Is that...?"
"Alicia Kay. They seem kind of... Friendly?"
"I can't watch this."
"Hey! Wait up, Karen!"
"I'm sorry, I just... I just..."
"Shhhh... Calm down. You'll make yourself sick, and we need that lovely voice for the show. ...Here, come in for a second and sit down."
"..."
"...There's something more beyond this than just today's rehearsal, isn't there?"
"He said they were Lab partners... Ha! ...In chemistry no doubt."
"Ouch. That's a lot of bitterness coming from a sweet girl like you."
"..."
"Yes, you're quite right. Probably well deserved bitterness-"
"Probably?"
"Definitely... but to see-"
"Don't you dare make some "Beautiful flower spout poison" Analogy."
"...Every Rose has it's thorn?"
"Hmp! ..."
"Made you laugh! ...Listen, I'd hate to take advantage of the situation, but would you like to grab lunch? I've been meaning to ask you since Freshman orientation two years ago, but you always seemed to be with someone."
"Sad, you should have asked me then. I really liked you... ...But how is this taking advantage of the situation?"
"..."
"...And you do realize it's still breakfast hours, right?"
"Well, an early lunch doesn't sound too bad, but if you would prefer breakfast... Oh... sigh... What will I ever do? She said no to lunch..."
"Okay! Okay! I got it! Yes, I'll go to lunch with you, as long as you save some dramatics for the stage."
"Just some?"
"Well, a bit more than some."
"Then there is one more thing I want to do first."
"And what is that?"
"This."
Mod
Title: A Dinner of Disaster
By: Catherine
Prompt: 91) You played a trick on the wrong neighbor, and they cursed you. You didn't believe them and went back home. The next morning you woke up, and you can only speak in Rhyme. As the day progresses, more crazy things start happening to you, but the old curse is never replaced, rather, they just get added on top.
Key item: Add a confrontation with the neighbor.
Leah laughed softly to herself as she balanced three full water balloons on top of her neighbor’s white front door, ready to fall and splash on whoever walked out next. The person that would definitely be Mr. Rief, a true witch.
She didn’t care if he found out what she had done. It wasn’t not like he was an actual witch and could “curse” her or whatever. He just acted like a witch, and witches melted when hit with water, did they not?
She scampered home before he could come out and see her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leah groaned to herself as her alarm went off the next morning. She was not looking forward to dinner tonight. Her mom wanted to go a fancy ballet performance, and she was being dragged along.
She got slowly out of bed, easing herself into the day. She got dressed in her usual T-Shirt and old jeans, glaring at her reflection.
With abundant blonde curls, light brown skin, and gray eyes, Leah was pretty, but didn’t really care. She was told about it all the time, but it more annoyed her then flattered her.
She pulled on her white sneakers and trotted down the stairs toward the kitchen, where her mother was drinking coffee and writing something on a pad of paper.
“Good morning,” her mother trilled. “Exciting day today!”
“Morning,” Leah grumbled. “And not really, it’ll be boring.” Confusion worked its way into her facial expressions. Why had she rhymed? That was weird. It was probably just a coincidence.
“It’ll be fun!” her mother insisted. “And you are wearing a dress whether you like it or not.”
Leah groaned as she pulled cereal and milk out of the cupboard. She was not looking forward to today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey,” Leah called to Jake, a friend of hers nearby. “How are you today?” She wanted to bang her head against the wall. ‘How are you?’ That was not something cool to say to a guy. Why was she rhyming today?
Luckily, Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Doin’ good,” he replied with a nod. Leah quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
“So, got anything interesting today?” Leah asked, hoping he did so she didn’t have to say hers. “My dad is dragging me to a ballet.” She cursed herself again. What was going on? Why couldn’t she control her speech? Why was she rhyming?
Jake laughed, “Have fun, I guess.”
Leah walked away briskly, hoping she hadn’t blown her chances of being cool in his eyes. Something was up…
Maybe Mr. Rief had done something to her.
That was crazy! He wasn’t a real witch. But how else could it be explained? She had to talk to him. Walking down the street, she reached his house, and noted the absence of water balloons. There also wasn’t a stain of any kind on the ground. If he was a witch, maybe he stopped them before they hit him? She was going crazy…
It couldn’t hurt to talk to him.
She was standing by the door, debating whether to knock when she heard a call from the backyard. “Oh, Leah, I’m back here,” she heard in the rough voice of Mr. Rief.
Leah strolled to the backyard and peeked her head in. Mr. Rief was planting flowers, and he grinned at her. “Having a good day?” he asked with a maniacal laugh, as though he knew something was up.
Maybe he did.
“No,” Leah grumbled to him. “You seem to be, though.”
Mr. Rief laughed again. “I see you’re in a rhyming mood, eh?”
Leah glowered at him. It must be his fault then. “I hate you,” she spat. “It’s your fault, too.”
“Oh dear, hate is such a strong word,” Mr. Rief commented. “I prefer ‘strongly dislike.’ By the way, you seem to be getting taller.” Leah dashed over to a small fish pond nearby and saw in her reflection that she had grown about five inches in the time she had been talking to him.
Angrily, she stomped off, not wanting to talk because of the stupid rhymes. What was next? Would she grow a tail? Burp after every sentence? And the fancy dinner being tonight!
So this work is interesting. Honestly it's a it more like a monologue. It needs to be preformed, but I'll give it too you guys anyway. I hope you get something out of it, even if I can't exactly convey the convection. Also it's not very good, and hardly edited, I just wrote it as a quick thing to do to help the ideas floating. I am expecting a lot of criticism. So without further ado,Title:Dust to dust
Author:TMEB
Prompt:72) Write about the moment when somebody turned into the villain.
Key Item:pain, suffering, blood, bone, and ashes. And a lot of dust (I know I didn't exactly follow this, so I understand if you don't think it counts, but they are all mentioned, though there certainly isn't a lot of dust or even literal dust at all, oh well.)
(view spoiler)
79) Write a parody on one of your own stories, or a gag fanfiction involving your characters being out of character. Pair together the most unlikely characters, and add lots and lots of randomness, as in the first things you think of.Key item: Make everything OOC, and humiliating, both for you and your characters.
You Weren’t Even There (900 words)
"Oh, dear boy! What have they done to you?!" Trent ran to Thomas’s side, pulling the man across his lap.
"I... I see... I see an angel. Is this… is this Heaven?"
"Oh by the Goddess... I'm going to kill you two if you even finish this scene..." Judi rubbed her brow, trying to hide her humiliation, behind a look of displeasure. “If the children saw this…”
Thomas looked up from the floor where he was pretending to die. “Judi, they are in class. Besides, we worked really hard on this.”
“Somehow I doubt that…” she muttered under her breath.
“Hold on, I want to see who plays me!” Ben waved, trying to shush her.
Basil giggled. “I’m curious if I’m in this too.”
“Of course you two are in here,” Trent said with a grin. I couldn’t leave you out.”
“Just hurry up so Soren can start breathing again,” Judi exclaimed, exasperated. “It didn’t happen like that…”
Soren hadn’t looked up during the entire exchange, turning an unusual shade of purple.
“Man, no we’re going to have to start over. You made us break character.” Thomas sat up and crawled back over into position. “From the top Trent!”
Trent obliged, making his entrance even more over the top.
"Oh, dear boy! What have they done to you?!"
"I... I see... I see an angel. Is this Heaven?"
Trent cradled Thomas to him carefully, brushing back the short bangs from his forehead. “Please, tell me what it is I can do for you to ease your pain.”
“Come… closer… Angel…” Thomas whispered, beckoning.
Trent leaned in closer, and Thomas whispered, “Closer…”
Judi hid her face. “I can’t watch this.”
“Did they forget the part where you threatened to kill me for making Ben cry?” Soren muttered.
“SHHHH!” Basil and Ben chorused.
Trent leaned in, and Thomas reached up and planted what could only be described as a smack straight on Trent’s lips. Trent pulled back and made a face.
“Ugh, Thomas!”
“Shhhh, no, I’m Soren, you’re Judi. Stay in character!”
“Right, right.”
Basil had fallen out of her chair and proceeded to laugh until she was crying. Ben held his sides, trying to regain his breath.
“So the brave and gentle knight-lady rode off into the night and storms to find the assassins favorite treasure! Gallop, gallop, gallop, etc…” Trent ran around the staged area, pretending to search. “But she was surprised by what she found!” He cleared his throat and stopped. “For purposes of protecting the innocent, all minors’ names and likenesses have been removed from this piece.”
“Aw, man, I was waiting to see which guard got roped into playing the kids…” Ben sighed.
“When she got back, she ran straight into the arms of her Assassin, much to the displeasure of-”
“Thomas! I thought we struck that section!” Trent protested, just as Jeffries walked in with a blonde wig and an obnoxious swagger.
“Did somebody just say “Trent is the god of good looks?”
Basil screamed and fell out of her chair again, the one she just barely had been able to right. “It’s spot on!” She cried, unable to catch her breath.
Even Judi had managed to crack a smile. “Now that... that is absolutely in character.”
Trent grumbled something under his breath, then turned to his counterpart. “Oh, Trent,” he said in a high voice. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“Judi, my love, how could you betray me-”
Judi snorted. “No. No… you are not serious-”
“Trent, you don’t understand…”
“Is it because he’s a bad boy? AM I TOO GOOD FOR YOU?!” Jeffries dramatically dropped to his knees. “Please, tell me what I can do to make this right.”
“Jeffries, Judi and I kissed once. This is ridiculous. She’s like my sister-” Trent interjected.
“You kissed Judi?! Why haven’t I heard about this! I thought we had no secrets from each other,” Lilly walked in, hands on her hips.
“I was fifteen! No one is serious when they are fifteen!” Trent exclaimed.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” Jeffries said, sidling up to Lilly. “My name is Trent. Did it hurt?”
“...What?” Lilly asked, point blank.
“When you fell from heaven?”
Lilly snorted. “Look, it is you!” She laced her arms through Jeffries. Without further warning, she grabbed his head in both her hands and smooched him!
“JEFFRIES! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
“Wait, what?!” Jeffries looked shocked at Lilly’s smug expression. “She kissed me!” he pointed at her and then at himself.
Trent started running menacingly towards him, and Jeffries’ eyes widened. Without thinking, he scooped Lilly up, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran for the door. “You’ve done it now.” Jeffries said through Lily’s astonished shrieks.
Judi sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Well,” she muttered to the fourth wall, “I hope you don’t get in trouble, because there is absolutely nothing you can make me do to make me out of character unless you replace me with a goat.”
…
“Don’t get any ideas….”
3) You heard a shrill call in the woods. Something huge and something dangerous. There have been stories of such a cry and the beast that it belongs to has never been tamed. Some say it's a large wolf, bigger than the "normal" one. Some say it's a creature controlled by evil magic. But others believe it's a tale meant to scare children from climbing out of bed. But one day, you decide to venture out with a hunting party of friends to check out what the noise was and if it really is a terrifying creature. After an hour has gone by, you notice some unusually soft fur lying on the ground. Are you able to identify the fur? If so, what does it mean and is it the beast everyone's talking about? Then you feel a blob of spit roll down your shoulder. . .Key Item: Create an action seen with the beast.
Taking a little bit of artistic licence with the prompt, but I’m in a fan fiction mood with this idea.
“Come on! Keep up, lethallan! ” The tall, lanky elf turned around to run backwards, taunting the straggling girl behind him. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Mana, Falon!” she called back. “Please wait! These… boots….” she cried out in frustration and sat down on a tree root. She tore off the boot that was too small for her and stared at the small pebble inside. “The merchant better come back soon. These don’t have a lot of life left in them.”
The man, Falon, jogged back leisurely to the girl’s side, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure someone has a pair you could borrow until then…”
“I’m not going back to the Aravels for a pair of boots. The Keeper is mad at me already. I’d rather not get caught, if you don’t mind.” She dislodged the stone and rushed to put the shoe back on.
“I think you are still being unreasonable, Sulahna,” Falon said with a shake of his head. “Hunting down a wolf that’s been stalking our camp is one thing. Saying you’re hunting down Fen’Harel-”
“I didn’t say that,” Sulahna sighed. “I merely said that if this wolf creature outside of our camp is really so terrifying… and we are this close to Arlathan…”
“ ‘I’m just curious to find out if it could be him,’” Falon mocked. “You do realize that I see you buying Andrastian books from the merchants when the keeper isn’t looking, right? I know you don’t believe in the Elven gods. That includes Fen’Harel.”
Sulahna rolled her eyes and stood, setting off at a brisk pace again. “What I buy is none of your concern. I happen to think there is enough room for The Maker and the Elven Pantheon. It doesn’t matter, I’m merely concerned with what I saw last night.”
It was Falon’s turn to sigh as he followed. “You were asleep-”
“I’m a mage, moron,” she muttered. “I see things in my dreams.”
“Yeah, I still don’t believe it.”
“Then go home.” She stopped and whirled on him. “I didn’t ask you to come with me, and I know the only reason you are still here is because the Keeper still thinks I’m a child. I have my vallaslin. I’m 18, what else does she want from me? To become keeper? Because by that point, it will be too late.”
“She’s just worried-”
“Go home, Falon. I promise I will call for backup before I go hunting big, bad wolves.”
Sulahna turned and walked off, leaving Falon staring after her. She wasn’t really angry at him, but the dream she had last night was so strange, it shook her to her very core.
Everyone had heard the sudden cry in the middle of the night, but what Sulahna had seen in her dream was like no wolf she’d ever seen.
Even the statues of Fen’Harel didn’t seem to do this creature any justice.
And the cry everyone had heard? She hadn’t heard a cry, but a yawn as the beast stretched and stood after a long rest.
And it had seen her.
~End part one~ Words=532, no KI yet
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