Almost Drabbles

Roleplaying and Games
161

Actaeon had spent forever in a mindless haze before he found the green eyed man at the party–he had an otherworldly scholarly look to him. The man was a fascinating philosopher, and the old Greek knew knew his philosophers. Now he spent his time in a mindful haze that felt like it slipped on into oblivion.

That is, until the green eyed man asked him a question. “What do you think of Souls?”

“Well, souls go to Hades and dwell in the realm of the dead. Other than that, they don’t mean much to flesh and blood, especially as flesh strains after pleasure. Why? You have any ideas about them?”

"Yes, quite a few, but most are unimportant, Actaeon. You have paid for your crimes, your soul has taken years to cleanse, but you are free to roam the world again, if you so choose.

“I don’t…” He paused.

“I want…” He paused again.

“What is there for me? There is no past life, there’s only the endless now, and I know nothing of what I am or have done to get here.”

“It doesn’t matter. You will be free to choose a life for yourself. All you have to do is walk out the door.”

In a flash, the green eyed man was gone.

Actaeon didn’t even know he had found the door until he was outside, in a cold grey alleyway, the sound of cars passing by, in the night. All of it was disorienting–but he knew what they were. The gods had not forgotten to gift him.

Suddenly he knew who he had been talking to. Appollo. Actaeon had done…something to Artemis–he couldn’t remember what. It had cost him his life, and they cleansed his soul to place him…where?

New York 1985?

What was a New York 1985?

…

Burl

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162

Sunlight falls across her skin as she twists and twists the kerchief into a burl.
It was strange, waking up in a different body.
At first, she hadn’t known why or what had happened. One second, she’d closed her eyes to the oncoming truck. The next…
“My lady, please do not sigh as if the weight of the world rests on your shoulders.”
“How can I not?”
“We’re discussing the flowers for our marriage, not your funeral.”
“I guess you think there’s a difference.”
The man across from her keeps swirling his tea, and when Adella glances up, she sees the hint of a smile almost shielded from her view. Adella knows enough to know a snake when she sees one. This man was dangerous, with pretty words always ready for disposal at the tip of his tongue. It suited his face, his mannerisms, his title.
“I wanna call the wedding off.” Adella says.
Prince Sien sets down the cup, smiling blandly. “What’s the matter? Have you run out of love for me?”
“I’ve run out of patience. I told you. I’m not her. Now are you gonna tell the saintess to return me to my world or not?”
The prince’s gaze flicker to the maids standing a few paces from them, and he tilts his head. Out of the corner of her eye, Adella sees them scatter like ants.
“Marina.”
“I’m not her.”
“Wonderful. I don’t care. You’ve spent seven years hounding me for marriage, chasing away any potential suitors, and many of my own lovers. I don’t have the patience for your insanity anymore.”
“Then divorce me.”
“We’re not even married-”
“That makes it easier.”
His smile slowly fades. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even know you until two days ago.”
“Marina.”
“I’m not her.”
Prince Sien flicks his cup, and the hot liquid spills across the table, pooling around the platters of sweets, and Adella jumps to her feet by instinct to avoid the spill.
“You should be more careful,” Sien says, unbothered, still seated as he dabs a handkerchief to his face. “Whatever your problem is, you don’t pull me, or our marriage into it. Are we clear?”
Anger twists Adella’s gut, as she casts her gaze around for a maid.

next
tribute

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163

TW: this is a public execution–

It’s easy to forget.
Roman watched, though he can’t.
His father looks much worse for wear, his father is dragging his feet and is barely being held up by the guards carrying him, his father looks like a thing broken and old.
Roman can’t take his eyes off.
The crowds roar their displeasure at seeing the old King’s face, as Roman feels his senses slowly slip away from it all as he sits high on his throne, watching the display happen before his eyes.
Romulus is dropped onto the wooden platform, someone steps forward to take the noose that was to be around his neck.
Romulus sways, and suddenly stands.
“One word.” His father says. “Let me have one word with him.”
His father is looking at him, face bruised and bloody, and Roman stares back, until he realizes the king is waiting on his permission.
“…Yes.” Roman says, wondering when on earth their roles had reversed, and reeling at how quickly it had all happened.
Romulus smiles, as if he knows something, and turns away, looking into the crowd. Roman doesn’t know what to think, the scene happening in front of him feels so far away, like a thing he was recalling after a long while, the distant memory slipping rapidly through his fingers.
It’s not until Janus slithers onto the stage that Roman draws a long breath, watching his father turn to the snake-man, holding his hand out to the latter to help him up the stairs.
The words they speak are too low for Roman to hear, and Romulus is turned away anyway so Roman can’t see his face. But Janus, stone-cold Janus who hisses words that bite at everyone around him, has tears dripping down his face, eyes fixated on Romulus in such a soft expression, Roman feels his world reeling again.
His father reaches up to kiss the man, and Roman closes his eyes.
Last week, father had ordered for Janus to be executed. Oh, how the tables had turned.
Roman’s not sure how long it was, but he opens his eyes again, the pair holding each other like forgotten lovers.
“Enough.” Roman rasps, and the guards on either side of him bark orders, probably repeating his direction. Janus looks up to the new king, looking betrayed, as if Janus wasn’t the one hugging the man who’d ordered for his death.
“Take him away.” Roman says, and they drag the snake-man off, struggling and screaming.
They drag his father to his feet, readying the noose.
His father starts laughing.
Roman has no idea why.
The executioner looks to the new king, waiting on Roman’s word.
Roman nods.

His father’s body hangs limp, swaying with the breeze, as the crowds whip into a new frenzy. Roman watches him, feeling very much like the one who’d offered a starving monster a temporary tribute.
When he can’t take it any longer, he stands, snapping orders at his guards as he slips down the stage, pulling his cloak on as he fights out of the crowd, heading towards the castle.

next
crumble

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164

The land around me crumbles as I walk on it, unable to exist around a being from my reality.
I got here by crawling through a hole in the back wall of the plastic play area in my lucid dream. I don’t think i was ever supposed to see that wall or come here, but I like this place.
The sky over my head is rippling with purple lightening over soft white and blue clouds that run like water, coming down in waterfalls in the far distance, running down golden mountains that extend far beyond what I can see.
Underneath me, the ground crumbles into waterfalls of white pieces like piano keys, and I walk along the keys momens before they disappear, floating higher so I can see the land without destroying it, even as the ripples of wrongness from my existence here crush the air, send ripples of destruction to the nearest objects.
I like this place. Why would I ever want to leave?

Next: World

165

The curtains flutter somewhere above his head as he stacks the colorful blocks.
The toddler has jam splattered across one cheek, his dark hair sticking up in odd directions, brows scrunched in concentration, his whole world reduced to the soft, colorful blocks he had in front of him.
The air is roasted a faint, golden-brown, the sweet smell of pancakes drifting through the open door.
“Remus.”
“I got it-- wait, no, nevermind–”
There’s a sudden CRASH, startling the child, who starts to wail.
There’s a minute’s delay, and then Patton darts into the room towards the child, picking him up to cradle him in his arms, murmuring faint consolations. “Shh, honey, it’s okay. Remy just dropped his coffeemaker. You’re okay.”
The toddler calms almost immediately, pulling at Patton’s hair and reaching for his glasses, giggling.
Patton smiles, leaning his head away, his voice sterner. “Not the glasses, kiddo.”
The toddler’s little fingers loop through the glasses frame immediately, ripping it off his face with a bubbling laugh.
There are footsteps, and someone else at the door. “Is he okay?”
“Yes–” Patton says distractedly, trying to grab his glasses, which were being waved every which way amongst bell-like giggles.

next
line

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166

I draw a line in the sand and step over, glaring at my 5 year old sister Katie on the other side.
“This is my side, and that’s your side. Don’t come over.”

“I came over to see if you were doing alright!” my 35 year old sister Katie yells at me, her fist drawing back from where she’d punched me hard in the face.
I should have stayed on my side of that line.

Next: Train

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167

The country side wizzed past at dizzying speeds. Adrien glanced out the window for just a moment, but then- He looked back in. Moving this quickly only made him sick when he actually looked at the passing scenery. Looking around the train car, though, was just as sickening today. The watchful eyes of the woman across from him, he noted, had finally shifted from him. It took him a moment to realize she was just staring at Jamie, his wife, instead. After a few minutes, her gaze shifted back toward Adrien. “Does she always sleep like this?” she asked.

He nodded. “Every time she’s in a moving vehicle, and…” He sighed. “And she don’t sleep anywhere else, so I guess it’s good for her.”

“Why not?”

Adrien fell silent, pulling Jamie just a little closer to himself. He looked away, mindlessly studying the other passengers. “She’s had a hard life,” he said after a moment, still not looking back at the woman. He knew who she was; everybody who’d seen her did. It was… Shocking, however, that she couldn’t figure out on her own what kept Jamie up at night. If Adrien was honest, some of it kept him up at night, too, but… Not quite so often as it did Jamie.

The woman finally looked away. She was perhaps in her late twenties, hair cropped up by her ears, maintaining a professional air, even on an eighteen hour train ride. “I suppose you probably have,” she said softly. “I guess I just… Didn’t think about it.” People whispered under their breath when the saw her, looking at her with nervous excitement or hatred. This woman, though young among her peers, was the mastermind behind a recent slur of technological advancements, both military and civilian.

Adrien took a moment to study her, too. There was something about her, almost a naivety, that dominated her presence. When Jamie was awake, she usually commanded every interaction, controlled every conversation, whether she participated or not. It was intimidating, but it was also what he was used to from women. All of the women in his life were like that, if not to the same extreme as Jamie. It made it odd to see this woman, she looked so… Easy to manipulate, susceptible to… Just about anything. She reminded him of Liberty, his six year old daughter, more than anything.

Or- Perhaps- She may have reminded him of Persephone.

Next: Meatball

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168
TW this is dark

Emma looked at the mounds of fat and flesh, brown and glistening, cooked to tenderness, in the spaghetti in front of her.
Bile rose in her throat and she fought it down, stabbing a fork through one of the things.
Taffy’s death would have been for nothing if she didn’t eat now.
“Eat it. We’re higher on the food chain than animals, it’s not for us to befriend them,” her mother said, appearing as a large shadow on the edge of Emma’s vision.
Gulping down her tears, Emma lifted her fork and put the piece of what had been Taffy’s body into her mouth.
Images of Taffy’s struggling, terrified body, the whites of her eyes showing as Emma’s mother tore Taffy away from Taffy’s distressed family and slit her throat as Emma struggled against her father’s arms, flashed through Emma’s head.
She put the loathsome thing in her mouth, tears streaming down her face, knowing she’d never come home to her eager, happy friend again, bury her face in her warm skin, know that someone had chosen to love her and be kind to her even though they had their own loving family.

Next: Gradient

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169

The ground was a simple blue gradient. Many dogs chatted with each other, glad to finally meet more dogs after being stuck inside all their lives.
Nobody seemed impatient that the angels were still filing paperwork- with their telikineses, since they still appeared as dogs.
But Fido was eager to get out of here. He’d always hated other dogs.
A fluffy pomeranian approached him, her tan tail wagging wildly.
Fido growled and barked at the friendly thing, backing away.
“What’s your name?” she said, grinning and unphased.
Fido barked at her louder, then trailed off as she didn’t stop grinning and wagging her tail.
“I’m Fido,” he finally said.
“I’m Angelica! I wonder what heaven will be like? Do you think there will be big stretches of grass? What about forests? Lots of things to sniff?”
“I hope so,” he said, suddenly wondering why he’d hated other dogs for so long.

Next: Soft

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170

“I hope so,” he said, suddenly wondering why he’d hated other dogs for so long.

warm!

The winds were warm on their backs as they trekked through the hills.
With the guilt of losing the horses and the terror of the forest they’d just escaped, Nisa felt very drained. And not to mention-- hungry.
When her stomach growled for the ninth time (she’s been counting), Neil broke.
“Can you just… shut up for a bit?” He snapped. “How am I supposed to think with you making so much noise!”
“It’s not like you have a lot to think about in the middle of nowhere,” Nisa muttered, offended. Louder, she adds, “I can’t control my stomach!”
He was digging through something in his bag, and finally shoves something into her hands as he walks. “You’re the most useless partner I’ve ever had.”
“Right back at you,” she snaps, though she’s a little distracted by the pouch in her hands. Neil and her have traded worse words, easily exchanging meaningless insults that don’t mean much, but still sting. “What’s this?”
“Food.”
At this, there’s a little hope in Nisa, though the rough little burlack pouch had her skeptical. It was too light in her hands, though there was a small weight she could still feel inside it. Oh, well, even if there was nothing more than an apple in it, it’d still be better than nothing. She pulls open the drawstrings, and immediately, something wet soaks her skin.
She holds her hand away from her clothes, making a face as vibrant orange liquid seeps through her fingers.
Neil snatches the pouch away. “Idiot! You can’t wish for liquids!”
“You didn’t tell me that!”

next!
a little lucky

1 Like
171

Don’t look me up, don’t look me up, Force prayed as the timer counted down to the virtual interview he was attending.
The interviewer took the first few minutes trying to figure out how to unmute himself, then, finally audible, sighed and apoligized.
“Nice to see you, now I’m going to ask you a few questions,” the dark haired man said proffessionally.
“Of course.”
“How many years of experience do you have?”
How many should he have? If the interviewer had looked him up, he’d know that Force was completely new to this.
“Ten,” Force said, trying to sound sure of himself.
“Ten?” the interviewer asked, eyes narrowing at Force’s tone.
“Yes.”
“I see. I haven’t looked you up, but you sound qualified.”
Well that a little lucky.
The interviewer looked down at his computer and typing sounds emanated from his side.
Oh no.
“You’re known for violent activism and have been arrested four times for it?”

Next: blank face

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172

“Let it go, Martha!”
“No, you don’t seem to understand where I am coming from,” Martha yelled while fighting back her tears. “How could you do this to me? I thought you cared about me, about us!”
Liam did care but his ego wouldn’t let him show it nor his pride either. It bothered him to see Martha like this but what can he ever hope to do now. As for Martha, she begin to cry in front of her lover who had a blank face. It was like there was not a single ounce of emotion there on Liam’s face.

Bridal Gown.

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173

Jora spins in her bridal gown, her young, combative eyes smirking at me.
I want to be the one in the gown, rather than this stiff suit. I’m not attracted to my young wife at all, but after what happened to Glenn it seemed there was nowhere else to go but down the grey path the Sestars have planned for me.
I have a duty to my family.
An incredibly heavy weight settles on my chest as I walk up to her amidst the pleased eyes of my family members.
Crima’s are tinged with pity, and Carrow and Celeste seem to at least understand that I’m not happy, but none of them understand how much the demon meant to me.
Jora and I offer each other our arms in the traditional ceremony, and I bite down, sucking her bright blood. It’s bitter in my mouth, tasteless beneath the weight of my sadness.
I wake up with the crushing weight of the dream, a possible future, sitting on my chest. I stare at the sleeping demon to make sure he’s still there, knowing I have to protect him at any cost.

Next: Faceless Clock

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174

Massey eyed her bridal gown as she slashed the knife through the torso.

“I’m going to need some more wine,” a thought muttered out loud. Not like anyone was there to hear her–Derrik’s cheating ass certainly wasn’t. Took her too long to see what he was.

The kitchen was off to her right so she didn’t see the mass of hatred clinging to the left corner of the room, hair creeping out in rage, her own dress in rags.

Massey’s rage fed it, but this drunken slash fest wasn’t the end goal.

Ghoul

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175

Two for One, lmao.

She stopped as the cuckoo rang again. The maze had her running in circles for damn near 3 hours, and she was done being lost.

This time, she took out her sword and hacked at the bushes as each slow chime allowed her to part her way through the walls, a step closer to the demented tones.

Until she appeared to break free from the maze at the base of a tower of indeterminable height: it’s faceless clock haunting, as the 13th chime rang. She made it out in time…

Until she realized that she only found the heart of the maze, the hedges stretched into the distance.

The young warrior had lost, owned the Erlkoneg her life: body and soul to the Wild Hunt.

Still Ghoul

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176

I stand up, the white emptiness surrounding me keeping the deep dread away, keeping me safe here in this space.
I start walking, coming upon the simple shape of my childhood bunk bed, a safe place.
I sit down on the bottom bunk, the pencil lines of the memory sketchy and vague beneath me.
I lay back, letting time pass without feeling anything, holding the blankness in my head.
The bed doesn’t feel like anything.
Time passes without a clock, without a measure, skipping invisibly.
I get up and keep walking, the bed dissolving behind me.
The emptiness beneath my socks feels like glass, but not slippery. Neither warm nor cold, passing unmeasurably beneath me.
The ground beneath my feet shifts subtly like a spill of white paint with a hint of unmixed black.
I look up.
A ghoul face, bony and hollowed, tells me I shouldn’t be here.
I turn around and walk back toward the bed, where I lay down to rest some more.

Next: Lucid dream

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177

The world is made of paper, and I have complete control.
My teacher is going on about something or other. I walk up to them and with a flick of my finger, knock them over. They crumble into a mass of paper fortune tellers and I pick one up, flicking it open.
“Jim is the best student,” I read to the class, puffing up my chest.
They gasp, and I strut over to the window and fly out, heading home to my house.
I don’t feel like dealing with it, so I toss a bomb onto it and soar away from the explosion like a superhero, pushing my sunglasses up.
I guess all that’s left to do is become the president.
I strut into a room full of men in black suits and declare that I’m the president now.
They stare at me and start to yell at me, but I toss a small bomb at one of them and he turns into a mass of paper fortune tellers.
I pick one and read out,
“Jim is the president now.”
They grumble among themselves, but if the guy I just killed said so it has to be right, so they end up bowing to me and start teaching me about how to do whatever I want and make it legal.
“I appreciate the thought, but I don’t to learn anything. I do have superpowers, you know.”

Next: Wasted Time

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178

He looks at his watch, counting down the seconds as he frowns at me, his thick, dark eyebrows drawing down over his eyebrows.
“You need to pay for the trip! You’re the one with the money! You’re the one who has no time to watch her!” I say emphatically, shaking my hands up and down, my pitch rising even as I try to stay calm.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the extra today.”
“So what, we can’t go? Eliza has been waiting for this for weeks and you’re expecting me to just go tell her we’re not doing it because dad couldn’t scrape together a few hundred dollars despite months to save?”
“Dear, I really must catch this train.”
“At least be the one to break the news to her! You can’t do anything right, can you?”
“We’re wasting time talking about it. You and Eliza are on your own and that’s it.”
“Wasted time? Talking to me is wasted time? Taking care of your daughter is wasted time? That’s-”
I pull off my shoe and hurl it at him.
He ducks, but it bounces off the side of the train and hits him on the head.
He ducks into a door and is out of sight.

Next: Storm cloud

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179

I nose the storm cloud in front of me, expanding my presence to fill the sky as far as I can see.
I need to take this somewhere safe, where it won’t destroy any small villages.
This is one of the more mundane parts of my job- simple large storms, rather than interplanetary threats to the nature of magic itself.
I need to hurry, I left a mass of strange magic in the sky and I need to check up on it, make sure it wasn’t doing anything strange.

Next: Choices

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180

Choices, choices, oh so many choices.
Mariam clicks her tongue as she surveys the tall wall of knick-knacks in front of her.
She pries out a neon green water gun, causing the wall to shift, a few objects dangerously close to tipping over and causing an avalanche.
“Mari! Mari!”
Mariam ignores the other voice, something glinting red having caught her eye. She sticks her hand through the mess-- Something budges, right before someone slams into her back.
Mariam lets out a belated “Ow,” as Leo clings to her shoulders, chattering energetically. “I saw a little dragonfly and said hi, but it just flew off! Do you think I offended it? It’s wings were so-- what’s that?”
Before Mari has the chance to respond, Leo is gone again, as if he were never there, and the mountain of things in front of her start cascading, shifting.

next!
stones

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