Almost Drabbles

Janus stops in front of the mess.
The look he gives Remus is scathing.
“MmmMMM.”
Janus sighs, and reaches forward, Remus starting to shake violently.
“What’s up with you? Stay still–” Janus tries to wipe off the slime on Remus’s mouth, but then finds the material isn’t what he thought it was at all. It’s something much… stickier. He tries to tug his hand off, then giving up, slips his hand out of the glove as he steps back. Remus, besides being twisted in impossible angles in a mess of semi-solid blue slime, now also has a yellow glove stuck to his face.
“Let me just–” Virgil bumps into Janus.
Janus glances over, and there’s the flash of a camera. Janus leans to see the picture Virgil took. “I think you should get his expression more.”
“MmmmM!”
“Yes, dear, I can see you’re stuck.” Janus says, taking the phone from Virgil’s hands to crouch down, and taking another photo. “Maybe if we ever get you out of this, I’ll ask you how you got yourself into this mess.”
“MMM.”
Virgil walks around the sticky puddle, covering a growing grin with his hand. “Wow. It truly takes skill to be this stupid. I should get Ro.”
At the mention of his brother, Remus groans.


next!
September rain

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Last month, I walked in the rain and got soaked, the cold never bothering me.
Now it soaks me to the bone and I shiver as though I were still mortal. My clothing drapes over me, reminding me of the time that it mattered, when I was so scared my life would end as the last of the warmth was sapped out of my skin.
The September rain lashes harder, stinging my skin, becoming tears as it runs down my face, as I’m transported back to that time.
Alone, rejected by everyone I knew, cast out into the rain and worried I might die with nobody remembering me.
I speak the words out loud,
“I can’t die, there’s no more danger. Even if I’m alone, it’s okay. The cold isn’t really hurting me, the rain doesn’t really sting, it’s just a memory.”
But the memories inside me hurt even if the conditions themself don’t.
I stumble and fall, landing with a huge splash in a deep, thick mud puddle in a dip in the road. The tall, sparse trees on either side of me, grey behind layers of mist and rain, just make me feel more isolated. Like the forest I sought shelter in at that time, where I spent the coldest night of my life.
The mud quickly creeps up my robe, staining the white fabric brown. My tears wash acidic bitterness into the waters, potent and dangerous.
A presence makes me look up and I see the flowing grey cloak of Dream, his posture relaxed in the storm, the rain shattering into white droplets around him like a cold cascading waterfall.
“Are you okay?” he asks, landing on the ground, seeming to belong in the rain washed landscape without absorbing the mud.
I get up, admiring the untouchable, ancient creature before me. I wonder how many rainstorms he’s seen?
“Where were you heading?” I ask.
“I’m just flying around. I’ll never tire of storms,” he says, radiating the comfort of being in complete harmony with his enviorment.
I have no control of the magic that makes up my body. Every bit of me hates the air around me, turning the magic I’m made of in opposition with it.
In seeing someone happier with the storm than I, though, my robes are no longer muddy.
Dream steps closer to me and offers me a hand. The mud ripples under his feet, thick and perfect. I wonder if his presence changes the enviorment around him, or if the beauty is just an illusion.
We’re magic, but the mud and rain is just mud and rain, isn’t it?
I take Dream’s cloaked hand and follow him as he silently guides me toward the town, accurately guessing where I was going. I don’t know anyone there too well, but I want to get out of the rain and see someone friendly.
I can’t believe how nice everyone is. It makes my past life seem like a bad dream, until I’m alone in a storm and transported back to that time.


Next: clouded water

There is a face in the clouded water. Her closed eyes show no sign of the constant awareness in her mind, her hands folded over a sharp sword, her body not breathing yet ready to move at the drop of a hat.
The door opens, and she springs to awareness, bringing her sword down with a giant clash on what was supposed to be the intruder’s head.
The intruder blocks just in time, gasping in shock at the drenched, ageless figure before them.
A woman in a white dress relentlessly attacks the intruder with a sharp sword. Water drips from her clothes as she moves, the same clouded water as from the ancient container behind her.
Further up, atop ancient tall pillars meant to be accessed by flight, is the treasure the guardian protects.
The intruder breaks through the guardian’s guard and strikes her neck, but the sword bounces off as though the guardian is made of stone.
This makes the guardian pause, putting a hand to her neck.
The intruder takes the chance to plunge their sword toward her eye, but the guardian drops her own and catches it in her bare hands.
Unable to be cut, she pulls the sword out of the intruder’s grasp.
The intruder gasps, pauses, and stares defiantly into the cold blue eyes of the woman in front of them.
“I won’t spend my final moments running. Do with me as you will.”
The guardian considers her enemy’s sword, then abandons that thought, throwing the sword behind her. She puts a hand to the intruder’s still warm face.
The intruder shudders at the cold of the hand, but in the space of a moment the hand takes on their heat and even their life, becoming softer.
The intruder’s forest green eyes study the creature with new curiousity, wanting to ask who she is, what she is, and what life was like in her time, but they know she can’t speak any language they’d understand.


Next: Fired

confusingly written story set in my daydream world

I couldn’t help but get fired up. To see this creepy stranger walking away with Viva, I had to follow.

He came to our town two days ago, this oily, ragged lone messenger bird. I wondered why he wasn’t with a flock- perhaps he’s not from the flock of this region, but there are others farther away, right? What would have possessed him to leave?
Red also left his flock, but with the aura of a bright traveler. He came back here with a group of performers, happy with the new friends he made and his new place in life.
There have been others, over the generations, but for the most part only messenger birds with a strong dream or drive leave their flocks.

This bird has certain way of holding his feathers. I’m sure they’d be fluffed out in lethergy or anger if they weren’t covered in his strange oil.
I’ve been following him around for the past two days, even after the villagers realized he wasn’t too interesting and left him alone.
Now something races through my veins that is the exact opposite of the fairy I used to be. I care about this bright, yellow child, and I won’t let anything happen to her.
I peer around the corner at the relatively small messenger bird facing the child.
“There’s a favor I’d like to ask of you, if you don’t mind,” the stranger says.
Viva blinks innocently, and I can tell she’s jumping at the chance to help someone.
“Sure, no problem!” she says brightly.
“There’s a place I’d like you to go, to retrieve something I’ve lost. I’m unable to walk in those lands, but you would be perfect.”
“Show me the way! Do we have to fly?” Viva asks.
“I can carry you. I’m a dark messenger bird, which means I’ve changed my feathers several times. I can fly far and am strong. I’m sure it will surprise you.”
I can’t let them fly. But what am I supposed to do? While Viva is extremely young and naive, she’s not so young that it’s out of the question for this bird to ask her for help. My gut says that this is bad, and I’m inclined to trust my gut after countless generations of experience.
But I can’t stop this before I know what’s going on.
Viva climbs between the bird’s wings, awkwardly gathering her tail up onto his back and wrapping her paws firmly around his neck.
He angles himself so she’s firmly on, then makes a running jump into the sky.
I can’t go after them as I am now.
Despite all the time I’ve had to learn, I never learned Dream’s trick of flying without wings. I just feel like I should have them in order to fly, it makes sense to me like that.
I glance around to make sure nobody’s watching, then burst into the first form that comes to mind and shoot after the retreating black shape in the sky.

Despite the bird’s oily appearance, he flies well. Still, being an immortal who is far superior than most mortals at flying, I have to intentionally lag behind.
I’m in a familiar form, but everything else about my body is unfamiliar. Instead of being filled with icy calm, I’m filled with a firey drive. I will protect this member of my town. I will keep the peace.

The bird eventually lands at the edge of a familiar forest. A magical spell was cast on this forest, so that only an inner form could enter.
As the bird and Viva talk, I agonize over what to do. The cat used to be my inner form, but it’s grown into simply being me. I can either abandon so much of my power and leave my body behind, or keep it and follow the bird.
The bird turns around, and a small fairy radiating goodwill, but also cunning, a selfish side, and the barest hint of something far darker steps out of Viva’s outer form.
She flies into the forest and I hide myself under a tree, then leap out of my body and bound after her, again a small cat.
It doesn’t matter to me what the black bird does. What matters to me is that Viva is kept safe.

It’s been so many years since I’ve been in this forest. Giant mushrooms and green winding trees and vines tower above me, and I thread my way between thick, wiry roots, avoiding snakes.
The last time I was here was when we decided on the last guardian of the Item. I guess they must still be in charge of it, if I haven’t been called back here. Unless it happened in the last few years, but that’s unlikely.
Viva flies quickly, warily eyeing the snakes that seem to have no interest in her.
She’s scared of this place, radiating uncertainly and the wish that someone could be here with her, but is also fascinated by the strange, ancient place.
Did the bird send her in here for the Item? Does he know it’s guarded?
Viva comes to the clearing, where the item is barely visible undeneath thick brown roots and leaves.
She can tell there’s something different about these vines, even if she’s not sure what it is. She hesitantly comes closer, reaching a hand toward the item to try to pry it from under the root.
I’m about to stop her, the fire inside me roaring, when the root closes over the Item. It rises up, tearing and breaking, and, with reluctant violence to itself, breaks the natural plant parts to become a face.
“Why do you come?” The guardian says with the annoyance of one woken from a deep sleep.
“I- I- I’m sorry,” Viva says, shrinking back, “I just wanted that blue flat swirly thing you’re holding.”
The face blinks, slowly. Viva readies herself to dart away.
“I would give it to you.”
What? You’re the protector! You can’t let a child become immortal without knowing what they’re getting into, let alone carry off an Item so powerful!
“But you’re not immortal, so you cannot keep it,” the plant says regretfully, sinking down in a sigh.
Viva’s eyes narrow as she starts to grasp her situation. I can’t tell what she’s going to do with this understanding yet. Has her father taught her not to mess with Immortal business?
“I’m afraid I don’t know what it is I’ve come to find. I’ve been misled,” Viva explains.
Is this problem going to so easily resolve itself? But what is the bird doing now? Is my outer form okay? Is Viva’s outer form okay?
“This will give you immortality,” the plant says, looking around with his new eyes, “I will allow you to touch it if you desire.”
No! That’s not what we told you to say, you idiot! You’re supposed to ask questions, you’re supposed to test their resolve!
We definitely need to get a new guardian in here.
“Immortality…” Viva says, fluttering closer, “I feel that I’ve wanted it for longer than I can remember. I have no idea why, though!” she laughs brightly, in contrast to her contemplative tone.
“Are you here to take over my role?” the plant asks, their eyes landing on me.
Viva turns to me, surprised.
I look a little different from my regular cat form. Flowing with fire and patterned with darker fur, I wonder if she recognizes me. I hope not.
“I’m not here to take your role, but trust me, someone will. You’ve forgotten how to do what you were assigned to do.”
The plant sighs.
“The questions. Yes. Living forever, do you understand that it will be hard? All your friends and family will die around you, and you’ll be left alone.”
Viva blinks, taken aback. She radiates an internal conflict. I don’t know why a child like her would want to become immortal, but I can understand why she’d want to live the same life as the creatures she knows and loves. Even if Dream is around and she sees other immortals sometimes, she’s not close to one of them. They would seem distant and grand to a mortal like her.
“How do the immortals deal with it?” she asks.
She’s smart, I’ll give her that. Maybe she does understand a bit of what it means to be immortal.
“We change form. We meet new mortals and we keep up with other immortals. If you get really bored, you can even take over watching the Item.”
“I don’t think so,” Viva says, dissappointing the plant.
I don’t understand what’s driving her. Her form is flickering, showing a shining, immensely cold light as though there’s another hidden force driving her on.
“You don’t want to become immortal. Not now. You can do it when you’re older if you’re so inclined, but even in a short mortal lifespan, there’s so much more time to consider this,” I tell her.
“You’re immortal, aren’t you? Why shouldn’t I have that?” she asks.
I blink, trying to figuring out if I see a glowing ball of sheer light or a small fairy before me.
“Besides, it won’t change anything between me and everyone. They don’t even have to know! And I won’t have to face it until I’m alive longer than I would have been,” Viva says, stepping in front of the now exposed Item, its shining blue light playing patterns on her face, merging with her white light.
“She can die anytime she wants to,” the plant groans, pulling their roots out of the ground sluggishly.
They’re slowly shrinking, taking another form.
That’s true. Magic is intention after all, and with enough intention, it can even scatter its consciousness into nothing.
“I don’t like you doing this without telling Mar or Rain,” I say, shaking my head.
“How do you know about them?” Viva asks.
“I talk to Dream. That’s besides the point,” I snap.
She can see I’m hiding something. With the sense of familiarity and protectiveness I’m radiating toward her, she might be guessing my true identity even now.
“You’re right,” Viva says, “I don’t like the idea of keeping a big secret like this from them. And distancing myself from them by becoming something they’re not.”
The fairy stands looking at the Item before her, something inside her tearing apart.
“I… I know that, and yet, I’ve always been fascinated by this. When I heard of it, I knew I wanted it. I didn’t want to be mortal. I didn’t want to be like them! I wanted to know what it was like to be pure magic. The immortals would never let a person like me take it, but I knew if I got the chance…”
The ball of white light flares up, cloaking the fairy in a bright dress, illuminating her skin, reflecting off her hair.
She’s not the Viva I’ve known. Bitter instead of sweet, jaded and closed off instead of open and naive.
Yet somehow she still radiates that famliar aura. I’m stuck in place with confusion as though the earth has flipped beneath me and up is down, something I haven’t felt for thousands of years.
The bright fairy touches the Item and the wave of powerful converting magic sweeps through her in an instant.
Viva smiles, but there’s a bitterness and unresolved anger in it.
“Who are you?” I ask, wanting some information, to know what to do next.
Viva shakes her head.
“I haven’t decided that yet,” she says, turning away from the plant, which is now a tangle of vines struggling to become a dragon.
“Don’t let that bird become immortal,” I snap at the dragon as I rush back to my body.

I creep close to Viva in time to hear the tail end of her conversation with the bird.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get the Item for you,” she says, putting a big yellow paw on the bird’s wing, “but you’ve done me a great service. How about we become friends?”
What does that mean to her? Her tone is so different from what it would have been before this, but now that she’s in her outer form, I can’t tell what she really means by friends.
The bird studies her for nearly a minute. She looks back evenly, and finally he nods.
“That’s okay. There’s time left for me. If we’re friends for a while, maybe you’ll be able to help me?” a note of pleading sounds in his voice.
Viva nods,
“We shall see. For now, I’d better get to town before someone is wondering where I am.”


Next: Cold Fire

Cold Fire

The girl twisted her hands round, marvelling at the flames which surrounded them. Lowering one hand, she looked over to her left, where an elderly figure was silently watching her. “Why doesn’t it hurt?” the girl asked.

The elder poked at the fire in front of them, the blue glow of the flames hypnotising in the otherwise dark cave. “It’s cold fire,” the elder replied. She reached into the flames and ran her hands through them in seemingly random motions. “Our people have always had the gift of cold fire manipulation.” The elder cupped her hands and withdrew them from the fire; a small cold fire bird was nestled within them.

The girl’s eyes widened, as she marvelled at the elder’s control. “Can you teach me?” she asked, almost bouncing up and down in excitement. The side of the elder’s mouth moved upwards as she nodded. The girl almost fell off the log she was sitting on, as joy overcame her. She was going to become a cold fire mage.

Next: Sea Charm

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A special charm. A sea charm. I could sit on the shore all day and watch it.
I run my fingers down the ridged edges of the shell necklace, taken back to the day you gave me this charm, capturing some of the mysterious things I was already feeling about the vast, crashing waves.
You reprimanded me after I was nearly washed out by the pull of the waves, then gave me this. You told me to focus on it when the pull of the sea was too strong.
Now, hundreds of miles from the shore, I’m further from the shore than ever, and further from you.
But I still have the charm of the sea.


Next: warm and fuzzy

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A warm and fuzzy brown dog sits down by the fire, resting their head in a human’s lap.
The human is wrapped in a thick knitted sweater and fuzzy pants. They draw their hand slowly down the dog’s back, staring into the fire. The warm light bounces off their hands, just enough to feel cozy but not searing.
Presents are piled to the side for tommorrow, all beautifully wrapped in colorful patterned paper and silky ribbon. The room is well cleaned, no extra junk by the corners, no dust by the sides of the room.
The peace is more satisfying because of the rush and energy the humans spent cleaning yesterday.
The human is going to go to bed, but not yet. They’re going to enjoy the quiet living room for a few more hours.


filibuster

alright this prompt is too hard

snow


Powdery snow drifted towards the ground, making it impossible to walk barefoot. This was a problem, because joe wanted to. Reluctantly, he put on boots and stompted outside, pulling a bag of trash with him.
The trash was heavy, and he tripped.
The sky split above his head, shining a ray of sunlight down on him. It clashed weirdly with the nightitme, and as he stared further he saw a place inside the sky, a perfectly mundane building from a weird angle, during the daytime.
The ground sank away from him as the place in the sky came closer.
A piece of cement fell away, cracking sharply, and he looked down at the white place beneath it.
What could he do?
He jumped toward the place in the sky, because at least it looked normal, and found himself hanging in the air as all the forces pulling and pushing him leveled out.
Up became up again and down became down in a heavy swinging motion, and he found himself lying on a warm bed with his leg bandaged.


Next: Easy

Everything was easier before the entire country found out about his wings.
The cloud seemed like an ideal society, with shimmering buildings and courtyards on top of dreamlike soft, white, solid cloud. All the perfectly arranged societal structures, jobs, patrols, food workers, parents, law enforcement, governing powers, was like a warm hand holding yours. You were one of them and they valued and loved you unconditionally, they were always there to catch you.
Unless you weren’t one of them.
Thousands of eyes burned Emery as he was led back toward the prisons. He wished they had just decided to kill him, rather than watching him like this until he proved himself too dangerous to keep alive.
Even with half of his lifeforce gone, his limbs dead and heavy with the effort of continuing to move, there was an enormous pressure inside him, the booming weight of emotions he buried under a still face.
He focused on his breathing, a technique for calming down he’d been taught for preparing to use light magic against criminals or demons. A technique for any stressful situation in his work.
He had no light magic left to use, but he focused on his breathing because it was the only safe thing left to focus on.
Each moment seemed like an eternity, but he had no space in his mind to consider what was happening to him. To feel anger, to question what was true or what wasn’t, who was right or wrong, what would happen to him in the future.


Next: And

“… And that’s what happened, Dad, honest!”

The boy’s father rubbed his temples. “If you weren’t on Mr. Nelson’s property, how come he has you by the hair?”

“Cuz he’s mean, Dad, honest, I didn’t do nothin’!”

The man gave a tired chucked and put a hand on his son’s shoulder, pulling him inside a bit. “Did he cause any problems, Mr. Nelson?”

The older man shook his head. “Caught him before it could come to that.”

The man nodded. “That’s good, then. I’ll deal with this in a bit. Mr. Nelson, thank you for bringing this to my attention.”


And now I’m bored of writing that.


Next: Oar

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I’ve never been to sea. I barely even know what an oar looks like.

Why did I decide to write this?

Sure, my favorite book series is about people who lived in an old fashioned world and sailed on ships, but why should I have thought I could write fanfiction of that?

I lift my hands off my keyboard and sigh, closing my laptop. Maybe in another lifetime.


Next: End

“Who said it had to be the end?”
The tiny black haired boy looked up, the existential dread in his stomach fizzling at the sound of his creator’s voice.
He knew he’d been created for fun, to see things play out between fictional characters until the conflict was dealt with.
When Saira had died, he’d reassured himself that none of it was real anyway, even though it was as real as anything he’d ever experienced. But he wasn’t real, and she hadn’t been either.
At some point he’d zoned out. Stopped himself from becoming invested in the drama of people who didn’t realize they were playing out a story by a sadistic creator who just wanted to make them suffer.
At the moment he’d finished the villain who had killed so many, he was just thinking this would end the awful universe he was a part of. And regretted it immediately afterward, realizing he desperately wanted to keep existing anyway.
“I like you. I’ll keep you around, don’t worry.”
He looked up at the sky, where the echoing voice seemed to come from.
“Even though you said it was a mistake to make me aware of you?”
“I can make you forget.”
The black haired boy’s heart raced. He didn’t want to forget everything he’d ever known.
“Then I won’t be me. You might as well get rid of me.”
The voice laughed creepily, a shadow falling over the sky as a massive, glowing white hands split the clouds and reached for the tiny human.
“You’ll be you. You’ll have the same consciousness, act the same… but maybe you’ll care a little more.”
The boy opened his eyes, finding himself in an unfamiliar field, something massive and bright touching his forehead.
“It’s the beginning, not the end,” said a strange voice, then the thing in front of him vanished into the clouds in a flash of light.


Next: Listen

She hushed her companion softly, resting a hand on his mouth. “Can you hear that?”

He looked at her with a soft smile.

“Silence,” she said, looking at him with a similarly soft smile. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A peaceful, perfect silence.”

It was a lovely kind of silence. The kind one never heard where other people were, where the only sound was that of their own breath in the still air. Intently, they listened to the nothingness around them, enjoying a simple peacefulness.


Next: wake

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It was hard. Some nights she could not sleep and there were other nights where dreaming felt like an impossibility. Ali stared at the moonless night sky hoping that a goodnight’s rest will keep her feeling satisfied. Still, she doesn’t want to sleep in fear that she’ll will never wake again. There was no time to think such things. Ali closed her eyes then laid in a more comfortable position in the bed. She was able to doze off finally. Morning came and Ali was still asleep in her bed. She would not awake as if she was dead to the world.

Next: Immortality.

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There used to be someone else.
Mier swept a bucket through the stream of water, glancing into the void the water flowed into, a dark hole hanging in midair. Supposedly that went to another dimension, perhaps the one they all came from. Maybe the one who was missing would have known more. Mier tried to imagine their words, a perfectly calculated phrase about forgetting the past, perhaps.
It was hard to be immortal and lose a part of yourself. Mier barely remembered what the grandparent had been like at this point, but she missed them.

Vaarka didn’t go well. The rest had patience for all sorts of nonsense, he wasn’t going to put up with backtalk or people who meant to harm them. The others wanted to keep him combined with someone else, but after moving here they were seeing if it was okay to let him out.
He didn’t like being watched like this, like he was broken and dangerous.
In some way, it seemed like they had all lost harmony with themselves. He struggled to be passive enough, Dune Asaia kept wandering off and trusting strangers, Talia was grating to be around, and Mier ran herself ragged trying to keep everything together not just with the family, but with the community.
She told Vaarka that a delicate hand was required here. They had all told him that if he ever defended them at the expense of others again, he’d never be given a third chance.
He understood it was important to them, but inside he was angry at the neighbors, he was worried about Asaia and Dune, and if anyone hurt any of them he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do.
Immortality. It was better sometimes, and worse sometimes. If they knew the ideal combination to put themselves in, they would have done it, but no matter who they combined, something was always off. They had decided it was safest and most desired by all to keep themselves apart as much as possible. More of them meant more strength, seperation meant more freedom, more experiences for all of them.

Every so often they moved to a new place. Talia rather liked this one. When she craned her head back to take in the faded tones of wooden houses vanishing into the distance above her, she felt as if she were a fly on an ancient dusty bookshelf.
She wished she could fly, because it would be pretty cool to explore the outsides of the buildings.
Still, the insides were pretty interesting too, and people here didn’t mind community members using their staircases to get to the houses above them. Talia just liked walking around and seeing all the beautiful shades of carpet, ancient wood and decoration intricately detailing the houses. She liked talking to the neighbors, she liked seeing the various shades of their interesting lives in this dimension.
Basically she was happy.

Dune couldn’t figure out how the portals worked, and it was frustrating. Mier had repeatedly pulled him back from the mysterious in portals, yelling at him about how getting sucked in would seperate him from them at best, and at worst kill him and Asaia. Her voice when she’d mentioned that, rattled and shaky, scared him.
He knew they couldn’t afford to lose to more of themselves, and he didn’t want to die either.
It was easy, however, to get sucked into his mind when he was examining the portals. He ended up asking Vaarka to help him.
Dune wanted to see the sky again. It had been too long, with only the faint sight of the distant ceiling above them and the empty white void through the Doors.
He was going to make a way out. It seemed hopeless, but he had forever. He could make a way not only for him to see the sky, but for all his friends in The Indoors to see it too, and come back afterward.
He only had to figure out whatever trick or magic the creature who had created this place had used.


Next: Gravity

Gravity drips off my shoulders like rain,
Time falls like sudden pain
Laughter is telling but I have no pain
for life was arriving with a new name

Meaning was worthless in the space that it fell
Nobody’s worthless let everyone tell
voiceless and told that it’s mine as well
So wait and then stop with a new joking hell

Gravity messes up weight with my mind
a song of perserverence to find
Gravity singing its songs with my mind
with weight I can only try


Next: Scatter

His own will scattered. Crushed inside his mind as though the forces of gravity were forcing him inside it, he was forced to watch as his mouth spouted nonsense, his hands typing out a text message that wasn’t his own words, meant to sound childish with no pretense at not being what it was.
A meaningless distraction with a dose of petty revenge.
The customer, in the meantime, slipped away.
His hold broke as he left the area, and Wynn sighed at the release of pressure, rubbing his aching head.
They couldn’t prove that he hadn’t been acting under his own power, but it was pretty clear what had happened. His superviser sent him home for the day with a free cake.

The cake was good. The creamy, sweet layers of icing went well with the firm, soft cake parts, and the delicate chocolate strawberry flavor made his mouth water.
He was surprised when the guy from earlier showed up, asking who he was. And taking a slice of his cake. Wynn resigned himself to sharing the cake. He was annoyed at the guy for what he’d done, but he understood why he’d reacted that way.


based off a dream I had- the main character seemed awfully chill about being mind controlled tbh


Next: Home

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The last place I called home was a deserted house in the middle of Dessert Island. The empty sugar distracted my mind from the place outside. I told myself there was no place outside.
Even the sugary island has been crumbling into the void, though. I’m afraid that my new home on Last Place Mountain won’t be my home for long.
The mountain is windy and cold as I draw further and further from the happy places in my mind. I think soon it will all fade into that void and I’ll be forced outside, but I don’t want to go.
It’s cold here, but it’s not dark. I’m lonely here, but at least I’m alone. It’s windy, but at least there’s open air.
The gaping, immensely uneasy mouth of the darkness approaches me, far down the mountain but rising like an unfriendly ocean.
This is the last place I can escape to. After this…


Next: Unfriendly fire

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The sky rumbled ominously, the gnawing weight of heat in the air making the city feel like a pressure cooker getting ready to burst.
The yellow-orange raincoat she was following dipped and bobbed through alleyways, Sylvia heard voices and the scrape of doors, but kept her distance. The group she was trailing behind finally disappeared into a darkened doorway, and for a while, Sylvia heard nothing.
She peeked around the wall.
She approached the door, with some hesitation, fingering her sleeves.
Then there’s the sound of gunshots ricochetting around the alleyway walls. There were shouts, a scream, footsteps. Syl dug her nails into the brick walls, and found unlikely purchase for her feet. Scaling was an easy job, and she was up and hidden on a ledge by the time the party came through. Pressing herself against the wall at her back, she listened.
“That damn Psyche, hoarding resources, pretending to be all high-and mighty–”
“Ronald, please, you’re drunk.”
There was a round of laughter, and Sylvia could smell the iron in the air, the scent of blood.
This place was insane.
There’s banging at the door below, shouting.
The next thing she knew, BANG, there was the sound of a gun going off, something exploding by where she was hiding, blowing debris into her face. She was under unfriendly fire–
Sylvia scrambled to her feet, ignoring the wail of a sob from the gaggle of people below. Something shone from the corner of her eye, and looking over, she saw the abandoned window directly across from her wasn’t so abandoned after all. She saw a dark shadow, light spilling over a gun being loaded again.
Sylvia gave them her friendliest smile. “Whoopsies, didn’t see you there. Oh, those idiots down there? I have nothing to do with them, I swear on my mother’s grave.”
Granted, her mom wasn’t in a grave at the moment, probably getting her sister ready for school, or something equally mundane. Certainly not perching on a widow ledge, bargaining for time from someone who had a gun. There was hesitation in the person across from her, and Sylvia took it, she scrambled for the bricks, and climbed for her life to get away.


next!
billowing

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The billowing wind carried its scarf away. The human child reached its hand after the scarf, distress rising through it as the spot of green melted into the distance, flapping down into the distant forest below.
The lion person behind it gave it a hard push and it fell, scraping its tiny hands on the mountain rock.
It understood. The scarf was gone. If one of the lions had lost their scarf, the group might go back for it. For the human, there was no way.

The human could still hold the scarf in its minds eye. A dull, comforting green like a tree that didn’t call attention to itself. Spots of blood from the mice people the scarf had originally belonged to. The human had taken the scarf from a dead mouse person the lions hadn’t cut up to cook, along with the blood soaked shirt, which it had later discarded in favor of a greyer shirt from another of the lion’s victims. The duller colors meant they noticed it less.

That night, the human shivered, curling up into a ball at the foot of a tree. It wondered how the lions felt, huddled around their fire, loud and lazy, their eyes sparking dangerously.
It would be years before the creature followed up on this thought, though.


Next: Left over

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