Flash Fiction Friday - Tumblr Posts
A Pink Sunrise
Finally an actual flash fiction! With 431 words, I don't even need a readmore. Please enjoy ^-^ (And pst @flashfictionfridayofficial , tell me what you think)
They threw wood at first. Sticks and branches and things too small to be used for a fire. Of course, they didn’t hurt as much but the tears came out just the same. It can be painful, knowing that you aren’t wanted. You wished that you could have been as clear as the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Just invisible, sparing their glances and sparing the pain. Gray to match that gray world.
Color came soon, however. When pieces of rocks are thrown at you, they leave purple bruises. Deep red spots that hurt for weeks afterwards. Jeers carried on sound, not light, but they were just another color in that rainbow of reminders that you didn’t belong. Dark colors matched the night sky that twinkled as it happened.
Red and yellow and white lit up that sky. The wood the fire was based on had charred to black burning hatred by the time they dragged you to the pyre. There was no moon in the sky, nothing to protect you. Just the deep color of the flames, getting ever so closer. Flickering light illuminated to make the people’s faces monstrous. Sticks were thrown no more, only placed on the pyre with prayers for a prolonged death.
And then, you were racing through the night and the day and back to night again. Away from the pyre, away from the village. Dogs barking behind you under a pure blue sky. It didn’t fit your exhaustion, it didn’t fit your desperation. The sky laughed as you ran. Blue dominated the forest you ran into, but the color was dark enough that the sky couldn’t touch you within those navy trees. They couldn’t follow you into the cursed forest, but they said it was fitting. What else was a better place for witches? What else was a better place away from them?
Night came again, only this time the black sky was a blanket. The moon returned as yellow and deep as an infinite field of wheat. Its rays illuminated your path, telling you where to step and where it was dangerous, like a helpful guiding mother. It was quiet, in the forest at night, only the stray bat stopped to be pet.
In the morning, you reached where the rays of the moon were guiding you. A golden sunrise gave birth to a house perfect for one, perfect for magic. Your little pink cottage in the big blue woods. You’re refuge in the darkness. With a white smile and a glance to the peachy sunrise, you went inside to start cleaning.
For this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt
I’ve been waiting for an excuse to write something like this even though I don’t know how it’ll fit into my wip
Daron, who was normally very punctual, had completely lost track of time. She felt as though she had been in the dressing room for ages, sitting still as the maids brush glitter over her eyelids and cheeks. As they braided the hair she grew down to her knees to display the white streak—the mark of her clan—so it couldn’t be seen. As they did their best to make her look like a human.
Daron held back a sigh. She had always given everything she could for her clan, but now she was responsible for more than them. Going through with this ball—and further down the line, marriage—would end the centuries-long silence between humans and witches.
Just as the maid finished tucking away the last strand of her hair, someone rapped at the door.
“The prince ordered these be delivered to Lady Daron,” said the servant on the other side.
Daron saw her glimpse into the room, then quickly skirt away as their eyes met. Daron turned her gaze back to the chest being brought into the room, unaffected. It made perfect sense to her that the humans in the palace were eager to catch a glimpse of their soon-to-be witch princess before her introduction ball. It was simpler to judge if she was a threat to their kingdom or not when she was nearly alone and not yet done up in jewels and smiles.
Speaking of jewels, that was what was in the chest her betrothed sent to her. Necklaces, bracelets, and brooches, all stacked on one another. They glittered and glinted and were completely useless.
Daron rolled her eyes. She had told Prince James months ago when he first gave her a chest of jewels that she didn’t want nor need them. She disliked the way they had no real purpose other than to obscure a person’s beauty, unlike the jewels witches created to work magic. But she did not want to come off as ungrateful, so she sorted through them.
“Take any you want,” one of the maids said. “They’re all for you.”
As Daron trifled through the box, she figured that Prince James must have picked these jewels out with her in mind. They were much more toned down than his first gift, and came in colors she was more likely to wear. At least there was one light in this situation. Against her will, Daron had ended up adoring her human prince.
Daron’s gloved hands came upon a single sapphire, as large as her thumb, hanging on a chain. This one. She always wore some sort of blue on her as it was one of her clan colors, but she had no say when the maids dressed her in white—James had told her it was tradition. Daron clasped the accessory around her neck, admiring in a mirror how it stood out so much against the white.
If the humans needed comfort, then fine, she would let them tie her hair up in a way that hid her heritage and flaunt her around in “pure” colors. She would do what it took to unite humans and witches, but that didn’t mean she would completely forsake her clan. They would always come first.
Daron shut the lid to the chest and stood. She had been pampered in this room for far too long.
“Nothing else?” the maid asked, eyebrows raised.
“No, nothing else.”
Daron picked up her skirts and left the room. She was going to make a grand entrance, charm the courtiers, and dance waltz after waltz with her betrothed the way the queen taught her. And she was going to do it all perfectly.
Reunion
For this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt. This has been so helpful again in coming up with scenes I’ve been imagining.
“The headmistress wants to see you. You have a guest.”
Daron excused herself from her friends at once to head to the office. After spending months away from home, a piece of it had finally come to her. And after everything that happened in those months, she needed it. Even if her brother, Lukas, was rarely a part of her life at home.
As soon as he saw her he folded himself into a deep bow. “Lady Daron, I arrive at your request.”
“It is good to see you. Come walk with me.”
Silence spread out between them. Daron had spent months writing to her younger brother, but had no idea how to talk to him face to face.
“How are you?” she tried.
“Well.”
She attempted a broader approach. “How are things back home?”
“Everything is running smoothly.” Lukas’s eyes cut to his sister. “I have new information for you.”
Daron glanced at the other students traversing the hall. “Not here.”
Lukas raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything out of respect for her authority. Daron understood why he was confused. It took her months to appreciate a conversation for more than just the main point. She answered what he didn’t dare ask.
“I ask you these questions because you are my brother. I am curious about your life.”
“Since when?”
The words stung. There was no way Lukas knew how much he wounded Daron. He wasn’t there to see when her apathy had cost her a dear friend. But Daron didn’t blame him. In fact, she was a little impressed that he would speak to her like that. The spy work she put him to must have improved his confidence. At least her attempts to make things right were working. If only a little.
“We’re changing things,” she said, smiling at her brother.
He allowed himself a small smile too. “Yes, my lady.”
Paintings and Peace
For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #251
This was actually originally part of my wip's first draft but I rewrote the whole thing. It's from Daron's pov. She's trying to help a spirit.
“How was your trip?”
Though her words sounded light, her eyes were heavy. Sweet Irene, she suffered so much yet still was more concerned with everyone else’s feelings. My hands twitched with anticipation of showing her what I found.
“I brought something for you.”
Irene immediately brightened up. “Really? For me?”
I opened my bag and pulled out the painting of the Nightbeam Palace since I knew it was somewhat familiar to her. She scampered so close to it that if she had skin, I was sure her nose would touch it.
Irene greedily studied every detail, and I could see why. The paint looked much more vibrant illuminated by more than just moonlight. I saw now that the shadows on the palace spires and on the full moon that I before thought were black were actually blue, and the ocean had shades of frothy green in it.
Irene tore her eyes from the painting to look at me. “This is what it really looks like?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just like you described.”
“That is not all.”
I pulled out the next painting. The one with the mansion made of black bricks, imposing in the misty grounds. The dark, roiling sea in the distance a completely different view from the serene waters in the first painting.
“This is where I grew up.”
“You taught yourself to read here,” Irene mused.
“Right.”
I showed her picture after picture of all the different landmarks in our country. Irene covered her mouth. I thought if she could cry she would have.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ve known for a while now that I’ll never leave this room. You tried so hard, but sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do right? I’m so glad you gave me the chance to see a bit of the world.”
His Favourite: Fragments
Written once again for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF260 fear is a sickness as prompt. There could be spoilers if you haven’t seen the 13th episode.
—
Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master
Characters: Wakamiya/Nazukihiko/Crown Prince/Golden Raven/Kin’u, Yukiya, Hamayu/Sakura-hime/Sakura, mentions of Sumio, Lady Azusa, Lord Genya
Word count: 1090
—
“IF you want to die, then you can do that all by yourself. I will not stand here idle for your assassins to kill you.”
Yukiya then poised to leave the courtyard, nudged his horse, and flew away.
“We will meet again. I know it,” Wakamiya said shortly before the boy’s departure feeling so sure of himself.
“In your dreams, maybe. I am not planning to come back here at all,” the boy faced his master as if forgetting something. “Of course, everything will be different if you decide to give up your claim to the throne. Let your brother Lord Natsuka rule for they want him. Then I promise I will be yours forever… to serve you.”
Wakamiya’s breath hitched for a second.
Yukiya never thought of it much: the longer he stayed with his young master, the easier it was to love him.
But when he thought of the downside of serving Wakamiya, he never longed to be a part of a farce they called the imperial court with so many schemers wanting to get ahead of each other by stomping everyone’s feet.
Yet, deep inside, the Crown Prince only had to say the word and Yukiya would fold at once.
“I know it because I am a kin’u. One day I will ask for you and you will come back to me.”
Yukiya gaped at Wakamiya as if he grew horns over his head. He stood there not moving but focused his eyes on the prince. The whole time Sumio was only waiting for his cue after His Highness stopped him earlier from interrupting the boy’s tirade.
“I am saying this because I worry about you. I do not want you to die.” Pain etched on Yukiya’s face.
A kumquat flew in the air. Yukiya caught the candied fruit with his right hand and looked grumpily at his now former young master. Wakamiya in turn fixed his gaze on the boy longer than he had intended to do until he vanished from his sight. A final goodbye at the moment.
~~
“Sit down, Your Highness! You make me more than scared than I should be,” Hamayu poured sake on her cup and downed it at once eyeing at her husband.
Wakamiya circled the open hearth in the middle of the vast room of the study, unmoored, confused, and agitated. He should not have given his permission in the first place. Guards were watching the Sunrise Palace preventing him to leave. Even Sumio threatened to break his leg if he tried to escape from his chamber. There was a coup happening in the Northern Territory and His Serene Lord Genya and his entire family were in the middle of it. The rebels took hostage of his grandson, Lord Kiei, and his wife and their two children ages 4 and 7. Yukiya was rumoured to be imprisoned somewhere outside of the city when he, despite Wakamiya’s protestations, returned to visit his family in Taruhi then decided to join his grandfather’s force to quell the uprising. When Sumio came back to report what happened, he was devastated. He knew that it would come to this. Years ago, he had a premonition. Yukiya graduated at the top of the class from Keisoin Academy and there were plans to celebrate it at the palace, a special ceremony only for him. But as days and hours went by the idea of postponing it was imminent. The young man’s hardships began now.
“Would you let me suffer here too, Hamayu?” The Crown Prince asked his spouse, his face and no doubt, his heart, was in anguish as well. The Golden Raven was supposed to be above it all, but fear was a sickness of the heart.
She stared at him with her huge blue eyes that reminded him of the young man he should have welcomed in a few days but would not be able to. Sighing, she touched his thin, yet strong, shoulders. The Sakura-hime had not seen her husband so down that it broke her heart seeing him like this. He claimed that he did not have feelings, or that his love for all Yatagarasu was equal, but it was clear that as the soul of the youngest son of the head family, he had. And it was clear who his favourite was.
“Go ahead, Nazukihiko, I will manage it from here,” Hamayu squeezed his hands and kissed his lips signalling her assent.
That afternoon a handsome young lady was seen leaving the Sunrise Palace with her dainty feet as if she were floating then vanished into thin air.
~~
When Wakamiya found Yukiya, he was unconscious. The face bloodied and swollen from the beatings, the young man’s long reddish-brown hair laid out on the dirty ground was sticky both from trickles of blood and dust that accumulated from days of torture and non-washing. The prison was long abandoned, but the smell of fear and deprivation lingered in the air.
No doubt the Yamauchi army’s higher-ups interfering with the negotiations between the rebels and the camp from Lord Genya helped. It was a dispute that should not happen in the first place. Fate had it that the families from Taruhi Village were spared. Thank the mountain god.
In a separate building of the governor’s mansion Yukiya recuperated. Lady Azusa, his mother, was overjoyed and thanked the prince for the young man’s salvation.
~~
“Am I not disturbing you?” A familiar voice, albeit fuller, addressed Wakamiya catching him by surprise. “The Sakura and Sumio let me enter without fanfare. I hope it is all right. How long has it been? Three years?” There was still bandage on his head, but his body, now fully grown, remained intact. The young man’s crooked smile always got the prince every time, the mischief and the cunning when Yukiya first entered the service under him.
Nostalgia be damned.
“Yukiya!” Wakamiya stood there as if frozen, but his happiness was palpable.
Yukiya stepped toward him. Without saying a word, he went down to his knees, half-closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to speak.
“Please welcome me again as your servant. I promise to serve you and Yamauchi with loyalty, respect, and love for all eternity until the day I breathe my last. I am ready.”
At the end of Yukiya’s speech, Wakamiya’s right hand hovered on the young man’s head then exhaled.
“I accept.”
And the course of the history of Yamauchi had changed forever with the Prince and his favourite vassal.
tbc
His Favourite: Fragments
Written once again for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF260 fear is a sickness as prompt. There could be spoilers if you haven’t seen the 13th episode.
—
Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master
Characters: Wakamiya/Nazukihiko/Crown Prince/Golden Raven/Kin’u, Yukiya, Hamayu/Sakura-hime/Sakura, mentions of Sumio, Lady Azusa, Lord Genya
Word count: 1090
—
“IF you want to die, then you can do that all by yourself. I will not stand here idle for your assassins to kill you.”
Yukiya then poised to leave the courtyard, nudged his horse, and flew away.
“We will meet again. I know it,” Wakamiya said shortly before the boy’s departure feeling so sure of himself.
“In your dreams, maybe. I am not planning to come back here at all,” the boy faced his master as if forgetting something. “Of course, everything will be different if you decide to give up your claim to the throne. Let your brother Lord Natsuka rule for they want him. Then I promise I will be yours forever… to serve you.”
Wakamiya’s breath hitched for a second.
Yukiya never thought of it much: the longer he stayed with his young master, the easier it was to love him.
But when he thought of the downside of serving Wakamiya, he never longed to be a part of a farce they called the imperial court with so many schemers wanting to get ahead of each other by stomping everyone’s feet.
Yet, deep inside, the Crown Prince only had to say the word and Yukiya would fold at once.
“I know it because I am a kin’u. One day I will ask for you and you will come back to me.”
Yukiya gaped at Wakamiya as if he grew horns over his head. He stood there not moving but focused his eyes on the prince. The whole time Sumio was only waiting for his cue after His Highness stopped him earlier from interrupting the boy’s tirade.
“I am saying this because I worry about you. I do not want you to die.” Pain etched on Yukiya’s face.
A kumquat flew in the air. Yukiya caught the candied fruit with his right hand and looked grumpily at his now former young master. Wakamiya in turn fixed his gaze on the boy longer than he had intended to do until he vanished from his sight. A final goodbye at the moment.
~~
“Sit down, Your Highness! You make me more than scared than I should be,” Hamayu poured sake on her cup and downed it at once eyeing at her husband.
Wakamiya circled the open hearth in the middle of the vast room of the study, unmoored, confused, and agitated. He should not have given his permission in the first place. Guards were watching the Sunrise Palace preventing him to leave. Even Sumio threatened to break his leg if he tried to escape from his chamber. There was a coup happening in the Northern Territory and His Serene Lord Genya and his entire family were in the middle of it. The rebels took hostage of his grandson, Lord Kiei, and his wife and their two children ages 4 and 7. Yukiya was rumoured to be imprisoned somewhere outside of the city when he, despite Wakamiya’s protestations, returned to visit his family in Taruhi then decided to join his grandfather’s force to quell the uprising. When Sumio came back to report what happened, he was devastated. He knew that it would come to this. Years ago, he had a premonition. Yukiya graduated at the top of the class from Keisoin Academy and there were plans to celebrate it at the palace, a special ceremony only for him. But as days and hours went by the idea of postponing it was imminent. The young man’s hardships began now.
“Would you let me suffer here too, Hamayu?” The Crown Prince asked his spouse, his face and no doubt, his heart, was in anguish as well. The Golden Raven was supposed to be above it all, but fear was a sickness of the heart.
She stared at him with her huge blue eyes that reminded him of the young man he should have welcomed in a few days but would not be able to. Sighing, she touched his thin, yet strong, shoulders. The Sakura-hime had not seen her husband so down that it broke her heart seeing him like this. He claimed that he did not have feelings, or that his love for all Yatagarasu was equal, but it was clear that as the soul of the youngest son of the head family, he had. And it was clear who his favourite was.
“Go ahead, Nazukihiko, I will manage it from here,” Hamayu squeezed his hands and kissed his lips signalling her assent.
That afternoon a handsome young lady was seen leaving the Sunrise Palace with her dainty feet as if she were floating then vanished into thin air.
~~
When Wakamiya found Yukiya, he was unconscious. The face bloodied and swollen from the beatings, the young man’s long reddish-brown hair laid out on the dirty ground was sticky both from trickles of blood and dust that accumulated from days of torture and non-washing. The prison was long abandoned, but the smell of fear and deprivation lingered in the air.
No doubt the Yamauchi army’s higher-ups interfering with the negotiations between the rebels and the camp from Lord Genya helped. It was a dispute that should not happen in the first place. Fate had it that the families from Taruhi Village were spared. Thank the mountain god.
In a separate building of the governor’s mansion Yukiya recuperated. Lady Azusa, his mother, was overjoyed and thanked the prince for the young man’s salvation.
~~
“Am I not disturbing you?” A familiar voice, albeit fuller, addressed Wakamiya catching him by surprise. “The Sakura and Sumio let me enter without fanfare. I hope it is all right. How long has it been? Three years?” There was still bandage on his head, but his body, now fully grown, remained intact. The young man’s crooked smile always got the prince every time, the mischief and the cunning when Yukiya first entered the service under him.
Nostalgia be damned.
“Yukiya!” Wakamiya stood there as if frozen, but his happiness was palpable.
Yukiya stepped toward him. Without saying a word, he went down to his knees, half-closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to speak.
“Please welcome me again as your servant. I promise to serve you and Yamauchi with loyalty, respect, and love for all eternity until the day I breathe my last. I am ready.”
At the end of Yukiya’s speech, Wakamiya’s right hand hovered on the young man’s head then exhaled.
“I accept.”
And the course of the history of Yamauchi had changed forever with the Prince and his favourite vassal.
tbc
I love the flower talk. And Aspen's sweet reassurances
Flash Fiction Friday #94: Riveting Revival
Thanks for the prompt, @flashfictionfridayofficial!
I couldn’t not write about Aspen for this prompt, so have a Stray Spirit post-climax snippet, where Aspen is hanging out at the Karic house. I also somehow wound up in Tessa’s POV (Emry’s mother) for this, and it was a lot of fun.
Winter Garden
Word Count: 488
TW/CW: snow
Tessa Karic chewed on her thumbnail as she stood on the back stoop of her house, squinting out at the withered remains of her winter garden. She supposed it was a blessing that last night’s snowfall hid most of the desolation from view, but the sun glaring against the white banks still made it difficult, almost painful, to look at.
“I never thought a forest spirit would ever be looking at it,” she admitted aloud. “It’s shameful, is what it is.”
Aspen shook their head.
“It’s winter, is what it is,” they said, looking at the garden without even a hint of disgust or anger. In fact, they were smiling. “My grove looks just like it this time of year.”
“Really?” If it were anyone else, she would have assumed it was a polite lie- but this spirit didn’t seem the lying type. “I was hoping at least the pieris would be blooming at this point…”
Keep reading
Don't worry Aspen, although I am human and have been for my entire life, I too, like sitting on the place where you put the food.
Flash Fiction Friday #95: Dance the Night Away
Thanks, @flashfictionfridayofficial! I could have gone longer on this one, but kept it short & sweet for today.
First Steps
Word Count: 359
Synopsis: Aspen needs to fill in some human-tradition knowledge gaps before attending a wedding.
TW/CW: none
Emry wandered into the dining room to find Aspen sitting cross-legged on the table, poring over a card.
“Aspen-“
“Yes, I know, no sitting on the place where you put the food.” Aspen waved a hand and made a half-hearted effort to uncross their legs- but the missive had claimed too much of their attention, and they never quite got off the table.
“What is it?” Emry looked over their shoulder at the card. It was Marko and Stef’s wedding invitation, which had arrived last week. Aspen had been fascinated with the delicate gold lettering and the sheer number of spirals the artist had been able to fit on the little paper. “Still admiring the calligraphy?”
“No. I mean, yes, but…” Aspen scratched their chin. “This invitation doesn’t explain what actually, you know…happens at a wedding.”
“Oh.” Emry blinked. “Yeah, I suppose you’ve never been to one. But no worries, Aspen, you’ll love it.”
“So what will we be doing?”
“Fun things, mostly. The ceremony can get a bit boring, depending on how long the families talk. But then there’s drinking, and eating, and dancing-“
“Dancing?” Aspen hopped off the table, green eyes sparkling. “Can you teach me?”
Emry grinned.
“I’ll do you one better.” He turned towards the doorway. “Hey, Cal?”
“Yes?” Her voice floated from down the staircase in the hall.
“Aspen wants to learn how to dance.”
A pause.
Then footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Cal burst into the room, beaming and breathless.
“Which dance? What sort of function are we talking about? How many would you like to learn today?”
Aspen held up the invitation.
“I’d like to-“
“The wedding, of course! Yes, absolutely, we’ll start right away. I can think of at least four basic dances you’ll need to know.” Cal grabbed Aspen’s hand and shooed Emry out of the room. “Em, go get your lute, we’ll need something to dance to.”
Emry pretended to look offended, one dramatic hand flying to his collarbone.
“Excuse me, love, am I nothing but a music box to you?”
“No.” Cal kissed his cheek. “You’re a handsome music box. Now go get your lute.”
Taglist under the cut:
Keep reading
The Library
Goodness it's been a long time since I've written anything. Thank you @flashfictionfridayofficial for inspiring me with this week's prompt. I hope you enjoy the angst!
Warnings: brief mention of fire and explosions, numbness
"No. No, it can't be like this. It shouldn't-" Bella cut off with a silent sob. She sunk to the ground, the now gravel-like main road pressing tiny rocks unnoticed into her knees.
The once proud two storey library was now a mound of rubble that barely reached the top windowsills of nearby houses. Marble, romanesque pillars were tiny hills of white by the front, only their waist high foundations remaining. Charred tapestries were buried under broken bricks. Ash stirred in a gentle breeze. Stray, crumbling, unbound pages rustled, trapped under the wreckage, the only remains of the thousands of books, list in the freak explosion the remaining blaze. Another casualty lost to the chaos of the first few hours of the apocalypse.
Bella still sat, destroyed by grief, in front of the library's ruins. She gave herself two more minutes to mourn and reminisce. She couldn't afford any more, for the boys not to be let down, and for all their safety. The library had stolen hours of loneliness when she was young, silent, and friendless. It has satiated her ever burning curiosity, afternoon afternoon, week after week, month after month. It had given her so much: purpose, peace, companionship. Now it was destroyed, taking her with it. A lone tear traced a clean path down her ashy cheek.
A hand rested on her shoulder. "Come on." Zach's voice was gentle. "It's not safe to stay out in the open."
"Right." The word was hollow. She felt only empty as she rose, aided by Zach's calloused hand. Turning, she left her hopes and their sanctuary broken behind her.
@flashfictionfridayofficial This weeks prompt was fun! It reminded me of the beginning of A New Infection, so enjoy this not so creepy, angst with a fluffy ending, exposition type piece
WC: 988
---
Freddie emerged alone. He’d hidden in the storage closet as the world changed irreparably outside. He’d come out of the bunker to save the world, to finally get the credit his intellect deserved. It may have been a selfish act, but he still left safety to help. Those studying the gases before they were released were surely missing something he could add to the conversation. But his plans fell through as he ran out of time.
Now he had to survive alone. He didn’t have the first clue as to how to do so. His expertise lay in the lab, in the classroom; he could master any equation, concoct any solution, solve any mathematical or scientific problem - within reason, of course. After all, he was only nine years old.
Since he was young, Freddie didn’t have the first clue as to how to survive. He couldn’t build a reliable shelter. He couldn’t even find more food, let alone make it edible.
By some miracle, he found shelter within the first two days. An abandoned bunker underneath a vacated home of some likely sickly sweet and domestic family. There were, unfortunately, no can openers that Freddie could find, though he didn’t look very hard in the trashed kitchen. His supply of granola bars was running low, and, though he wasn’t as actively fighting for survival anymore, he was now likely going to die a slow death of starvation.
Hope was not found in the bunker but was instead found elsewhere.
The spark of hope lit tentatively when he heard movement echoing upstairs. From his own brief, half-hearted surveillance, Freddie knew the doors upstairs were closed. Though not much sound reached the underground bunker, he’d heard crashes at the front door that sent his heart racing with panic before. A person was upstairs. He was not alone anymore.
---
Bella left people behind. She made a lonely figure as she walked away toward a city she didn’t know the situation of. Lying to her sisters made her feel bad - she’d told them she was going to look for their mother, though she didn’t think she’d be successful. The twins had food to last them, a place to stay, a door to lock.
They would be okay. They had to be.
When she returned, Bella could bring them help, or a solution, or more supplies. If she returned.
But any hopes of finding survivors or of finding a livable city were dashed as soon as she walked past the suburban areas. The city was in shambles, buildings crumbling, streets cracked, lamp posts knocked over. Her parents told her it would be bad, but it was worse than Bella could ever imagine.
She was alone on these streets, in this city. The flashes of news she had caught over her mother’s shoulder left little room for hope of many surviving beyond her sisters.
Bella crisscrossed the city, going from dilapidated shops to closets in highly populated buildings, trying in vain to find any good shelter. She was lucky to find what she could.
But luck didn’t begin to cover what happened next. Against logic, she held onto some hope that there were survivors. And then she found a bunker, and a small boy who had survived somehow. She was not alone.
---
Zach found himself alone when he burst out of the cupboard. His father was gone. On some level, he knew that was how it would turn out, but it didn’t make the confirmation any less devastating. He began wandering the streets, searching desperately for company.
Minutes turned into hours, and those hours turned to days. Zach’s legs were covered in scratches and bruises, the cut in his hand not improving. He wasn’t a good judge of wounds, but it didn’t look infected, although it sure wasn’t healthy. Knowing he could last longer didn’t make him feel any better. He picked up basic skills at boy scouts, though they were hard to apply in the city. He could even pick locks, a skill his father found questionable but useful.
He hid from the people he passed, slipping into nooks and crannies of the city. It hurt to see them hurting; they were driven out of their minds by the gases. Zach was helpless to watch, out of his depth, lost in the world. Physically, he had very few limits, but when it came to what seemed to be biology, it was far beyond his expertise.
Zach did so much alone, for so long. Running alone, hiding alone, hurting alone, fixing himself back up alone. He began talking to himself, just to hear another voice. It had been ages since he heard someone else talk. Sometimes displays in shops flashed enticingly, a somehow intact recording promising company. Somehow, it felt like cheating. He knew he’d cave at some point, but he’d hold out for now, his waxing candle of hope flickering.
On a particularly dire evening, as his thoughts took a turn for the worse, Zach bleakly wondered what it would be like if he had help. In his experience, beyond a select few individuals, people were selfish and coldhearted. They shunned those they perceived as weak, cutting them down, ridiculing softer individuals until they were nothing or they grew a tough outer shell. So it was probably better that he was alone, not having to morally curb anyone else into staying focused on a goal that was more achievable with help. It was better to just survive, leaving the responsibility to find or make normalcy in the world to someone else.
Zach never learned to stop sticking his hands in places, whether accidental or on purpose, despite the advice and many hard lessons learned. He’d gotten stuck bending down and panicked. Movement echoed upstairs and around the kitchen, as it had before when no-longer-people stormed the school. This time it was different. This time he was freed. This time, Zach was not alone.
broken unbroken promises
finally inspired to write! so i make my grand return (for however short i stay) with @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt for this week! very fun to write all this angst
The wind whips angrily through the scrubby leaves on the tree. It tosses Ben’s curls around his face, breaking up his vision. If Cuckoo’s scarlet bandana had been tied any looser over her hair, it would have flown off. Working with Cuckoo’s boots, it kicks up dust swirls that sting legs as Cuckoo stomps back to meet up with the rest of the group.
“What the hell was that?” Ben half-shouts over the wind. They grab Cuckoo’s shoulder but she shakes them off. He tries again, and this time Cuckoo stops dead to whirl around and glare at him. He asks again, “What was that? We almost died out there.”
Faster than a whip, Cuckoo grabs his fingers where they rest on her collar and twists, making Ben yelp and pull back. She spits onto the ground, clearing her mouth of dust. “Yeah, well,” she challenges, “we didn’t die. We’re fine. Stop making such a big deal about it.”
“‘A big deal,’” Ben says incredulously. He jogs to catch up to Cuckoo. The fire that marks their campsite is only embers, but it is growing closer. Whether the pair made it before the wind snuffed out the last of the sparks was yet to be seen.
Petulantly, Cuckoo stops walking and pulls out a mud-stained bag. Ben slides to a stop, thrown off by the abrupt stop and the buffeting wind. The bag dangles from Cuckoo’s fingers, illuminated red by the setting sun. “Yes,” Cuckoo insists, shaking the bag. “We got what we needed! Supplies and favors for the road.”
“At what cost?”
“None!” she fires back. “Nothing happened! Everyone lived, no one was arrested this time. No scrapes, no bruises, no blood, no broken bones. You’re being dramatic.”
The fire snuffs out. Ben and Cuckoo don’t notice.
Ben snatches the bag from Cuckoo’s hand and puts it in the inside pocket of his coat. They grab Cuckoo’s collar and start dragging her with them. They hiss back at her, “I’m not being dramatic. I was trying to be optimistic.”
“The world’s too bleak for that,” Cuckoo shoots back half-heartedly. She’s stumbling after him, pretending to be struggling to find her footing again
“No!” Ben drags her around to stand in front of him, face to face, chin to chest. His composure crumbles. “You don’t get it. I was hoping you had changed. After last time you promised to do better. You had been doing better. But then today happened. You pulled that- that- pickpocketing again on the wrong person, and we all had to scatter. What happened? What changed? What about your promise?”
The wind stole the sound from his lips. Cuckoo’s throat bobbed up and down, but her upward gaze remained steely.
“I didn’t mean it.”
Cuckoo turned on her heel and strode towards where she thought camp was. The stolen emerald bracelet dances between her fingers, hidden in her pocket. Slowly, Ben faded where he stood, motionless, in the setting sun and wind-whipped dust, from sight, but not from Cuckoo’s concerns.
What were promises if you didn’t break them? She did mean it. Cuckoo simply didn’t mean to break it.
Do It For Her
I was drafting ideas for this and was inspired by steven universe (that one devastating episode). it came out angstier than i expected oops. i think the parallels got to it
“Most everything begins with your stance,” Envy said, pacing at the edge of the room. “Keep your stance wide, focus on your proprioception. You need full awareness of your physical body before you tap into any greater power.”
Gabe exhaled shallowly, almost whistling. He kept his arms by his side, feet a little wider than shoulder width apart. His shorts rested against the outside of his thighs. Wind blew through a gap in the room, ruffling them and the tank he wore; the cloth brushing his knees and top surgery scars was distracting. Flexing his fingers, he tried to bring his attention to his body instead of what was happening to him.
“Remember, everything you do is for them,” Envy said. “You are responsible for protecting the world, just like she was.”
Although he resisted wrinkling his nose at the expectation, Gabe couldn’t stop the annoyance flashing through him. Why was everything about her? Pride this, pride that, he was his own person.
“Focus! You must give everything you have to this,” bit Envy. Of course she saw him losing his cool. “You cannot afford to do anything else.”
Gabe thought about his life before being thrust into this war. It was so much simpler, finishing his studies, contemplating his future in academia. But when he saw the lights, was burned by a battle between Virtues and Sins, there was no going back. Not to see Kodi, not to his library, not to any sense of normalcy.
Furrowing his brow, Gabe cast his thoughts back to his physical being. Peace washed over him as he let go of tethers to the conscious world. Energy pulsed around him, faint from his isolated position. He focused in on his own arrogance, confidence, instead. Light concentrated around his hands, visible through his eyelids. Opening his eyes, he caught the last of the weapon fading into the air.
“Good, but not good enough. If you want to live, you must do better than this. You’re not just a human, you are Pride.” Envy’s words gutted any sense of accomplishment at his progress.
“Envy,” Gabe finally snapped. “I’m not just a weapon. I’m tired, I–”
Envy shot him down immediately. “No. You cannot afford a break. We cannot afford to falter. With your kind of power we finally have hope of reclaiming the balance we once had. You keep training.”
“But I can’t–”
“You rest when you can no longer stand. Keep moving.”
Flash Fiction Friday:
Prompt: The Devil You Forgot.
@flashfictionfridayofficial, @lassiesandiego, @writernopal, @lyutenw, @rickie-the-storyteller, @writeblrcafe
Snippet from my Gothic Victorian Fantasy WIP - Enchanted Illusions.
“The Devil You Forgot:”
The trio was surrounded, in that decrepit old mansion’s library, there was little place to hide, much less, from this man. Silas Holloway, the most powerful vampire lord currently living - the first to strike down his Maker in order to ascend into power, and he was out for blood of the heir to the Van Sterlling family.
The night was eerily silent, almost artificially cold. Silently, Clarence looked for a way out, though from chosen every path, a new vampire seemed to emerge from the shadows just before they could walk any further. Behind him, Evangeline grabbed a book from a shelf, as if it would be any good against a mob of vampires, and Thaddeus reached for his gun, knowing the lead bullets would just bounce off of any of his targets. They crouched together behind a sturdy bookshelf, careful not to make a sound as they watched shadows flicker on the faint moonlight from across the other aisles, and the creaking floors gave away their enemies approach. There was no way out.
“You know, your father tried to do this too, a few centuries ago” A sharp, male voice echoed throughout the vast room, as if all around them. A strangled noise of fear left Clarence’s throat, but he quickly silenced himself with a hand over his mouth. Evangeline placed an arm around his shoulder as the man continued. “Thought he could escape me. He was smart, very smart. Quite a lot like you - even managed to betray me and escape unharmed.” A chuckle echoed across the dark room, and Clarence struggled not to hyperventilate, knowing it would only give away their compromised hiding spot. Thaddeus all but growled, gripping his pistol harder as he tried to see where the older vampire was talking from. “Of course, I found him, eventually. But I couldn’t catch him, and he slipped right through my fingers once more.” The man’s voice reeked with hatred behind his sarcastic facade “I would have tore this earth apart to bring that traitor to justice, but then I realized how kind the Makers can be, as he left me something far more valuable than his life, the one thing that he loved more than spiting my line of work” Silas paused, and the trio realized, with a pang, where the vampire had been standing. “A son.”
That word cut like a thousand blades as the other vampire towered over them.
At the same moment, all of the other vampires emerged from the shadows, forming a circle behind Silas and crushing any hopes of escape under the soles of their boots. In the darkness of the library, Silas’ cruel smile shone a sickly white glow. Clarence stands on shaky feet, trying to stare down the vampire and defend the last bit of honor his House has. But all that he can do is look fearfully ahead, his eyes not nearly as unmoved as he would’ve liked. He notices Thaddeus moving his pistol upwards from the corner of his eyes, and swiftly catches his friend’s arm with one hand. That’s just going to make things worse, he shakes his head quickly, never once looking away from Silas. With less confidence than he would have liked, he steps forward, placing himself so that the weight of the Vampire Lord’s wrath falls solely on him, and not in his human friends.
“What do you want with me?” Clarence asks, voice far shakier than he would have liked. He stiffles a wince when Silas chuckles, a cruel sound. To his terror, Clarence suddenly becomes aware of the distinct, horrid smell of silver.
“To collect what I am owed” Silas says through gritted teeth, and before any of the three can say anything, he has a hand to the young vampire’s throat, keeping him from running and lifting him off the ground. A silver ring sizzles his way into the younger vampire’s skin in an agonizing burn, but the Vampire Lord just laughs, unmoved even though the silver ring is upon his own skin. Behind them, his allies move to restrain the two humans, who had tried to defend their friend valiantly. Silas smirks as Clarence uselessly tries to thrash his way out of his grip, bringing him closer and lowering his voice. “After all, your father seems to have well forgotten that the price of treason is blood.”
Flash Fiction Friday:
Prompt: Yes, Sir!
@flashfictionfridayofficiall
Flash Fiction Friday: Prompt - Yes, Sir!
Snippet from my Medieval Dark Fantasy WIP - The Last Wrath
“Zephyr felt bile rise up in his throat as he looked around Councilor Viltarin’s study. He had a strange feeling about the man ever since the foreigner noble arrived a few months back, but this, oh it was so much worse than anything he could ever have imagined. Now, he understood why this place was kept so tightly locked, and why not even cleaning staff had been allowed in - he had to steal a key using his magic, something that left him dizzy, sick and in pain due to his curse, and just entering this study had taken at least ten minutes of trial and error in the puzzle like locks of the door. Zephyr didn’t trust this man one bit, much less his sudden interest in Jamie's achievements as a knight-in-training. He prayed that his suspicions were wrong, but he would never have expected them to be so horrifyingly right.
All around him, scattered around the vast room, were testaments to this man’s insanity. Shrunken specimens in jars, elven fangs and horns meticulously arranged into a categories in shelves - some even still had blood on them, strange instruments he dared not imagine what uses they could have, and carelessly scribbled notes on yellowed out parchment were all around. There were strange skeletons of unfamiliar magical creatures he had never seen before, bloodstained iron manacles on one of the tables and even Fae wings were proudly rolled into a crystal cylinder that adorned the middle of the study. And by Gods, the smell of the room…. that was something he would not soon forget, the young man thought, forcing himself not to gag at the acrid scent of rotten blood and death assailing him from every direction. Zephyr walked to a wooden table, and took a look at the pages and pages upon it, his heart hammering in his chest making his curse pulse painfully through him.
A strangely familiar symbol, scribbled in pitch black ink, was recurring on every single one of these pages, surrounded by strange words not even his vast knowledge of ancient language could seem to translate. It was barely readable, until it was. And his blood ran as cold as a stream in the winter when realization hit him. He knew this symbol, had seen it before - in fact, he saw it every night when he went to sleep, like a ghost that never ceased to haunt him. Memories flashed through his mind but he shook them away, firmly grasping the newest of the papers on the top of the stack, analyzing its contents with strengthened horror. But before he could begin any attempts to translate it, a noise shook him back to reality. He froze. Not as distant as he would have liked, he heard loud footsteps coming closer.
He had to get out of here.
Quickly, he pocketed the strange page into his robe, and turned around, looking for a way out, or at least, somewhere to hide. He panickedly walked around the room, but his options were very limited, there were only two doors, one towards the hallway - the one to which he had the key in his possession, though which Councilor Viltarin was likely going to walk out from at any moment - and another one that he did not have any clue as to where it led to, which was ever slightly ajar. The footsteps came to a halt, and Zephyr knew that the man was at the door by the sound of a twisting doorknob.
With no other option, and no time to lose, Zephyr raced towards the second door in an instant. Just as he carefully closed it behind him, he heard the man walk into the room. Behind him, he noticed a long winding stone staircase that spiraled downwards. From the space between the wooden boards, he watched as the grizzled man, carrying a strange package, paused, and for a moment, Zephyr thought that he had been seen. But soon, Viltarin kept walking, and the young man almost let out a sigh of relief, thankfully catching himself before he could make this mistake. Zephyr knew that, if he didn’t do something to distract him, he wouldn’t have the strength to run all the way down the stairs before the man caught him. So he waited patiently for the man to make his way to the table across the room, and then he acted. Moving one hand upwards, he willed the magic he’d spent months learning towards his fingertips, biting his lip to stiffle a cry as as his entire body seemed to burn in fresh agony, ebony tendrils of his curse twisting beneath his skin, and with a small flash of green light, he brought all the shelves around Viltarin crashing down at once, creating a pile between him and the door.
The noise was so loud, it made for the distraction he sorely needed. Before the man could recover, he dashed as quickly as he could down the staircase, even though his vision blurred and doubled a few times from his pain as he made his way out of this very much acursed place. He felt sorry for all the lives of those creatures and people that man had ruined and turned into twisted items for his collection, which he brought crashing down onto him. But he had no time to dwell on that matter. They were already dead, and if he was not fast enough, so would be him and his brother.
Finally, after moments that felt like an eternity, he reached the bottom of the stairs. A stone and oak door met him, and he cursed his luck when he found it locked, especially since the key he had didn’t seem to even budge the lock when he tried it. Upstairs, he could already hear the man rummaging through the fallen pile, and it wouldn’t be long until he carved his way to the door he’d run into. With a long suffering sigh, he momentarily rested his head against the cold stone, bracing himself once more, and twisted the inner workings of the lock with his magic.
This time, he couldn’t hold back a small cry as his curse burned through him, almost falling to his knees when the door unlocked. Not wasting any time, he opened it. For a moment, everything was spinning - he knew he wasn’t supposed to use his magic like this more than once a day - as he found himself outside of the suffocating tower. Zephyr took a moment to weakly recompose himself, leaning against the grey brick wall as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. Gods, he was in so much pain. His hand clawed at the wall shakily as he took a deep breath, well aware of the fact that there were people watching even with his eyes tightly close to keep the world from spinning, and that the Councilor could be here in just a matter of seconds. It took everything he had to rip himself away from the only thing keeping him standing, as he straightened up and all but wobbled away from the tower.
Zephyr soon was able to mix with the small crowd of passersby ahead, masking his struggle the best he could, and didn’t even care for the fact that he knew his face was ashen pale and he felt like he’d just fallen that set of stairs, as he put as much distance as he could between him and the door. Swiftly, Zephyr made the decision to take a sharp turn around one of the enormous marble statues around the building, pressing himself against the stone as he looked back over his shoulders. He saw Viltarin throw open the tower door, and quickly compose himself after receiving strange looks from the passerbys, a ravenous look in his eyes as he mercilessly searched the surroundings. Zephyr knew his options were very limited, and it wouldn’t take long for the man to discover his involvement in the invasion of his study, especially if he took notice of the missing page. So he had to make a choice, and fast. Jamie! His eyes went wide as he remembered that his brother was still alone in the training hall. If this bastard knew he was the one he was looking for, Jamie would be collateral damage in the wake of the Councilor’s wrath. Without a second to waste, he took off as fast as he could across the stone carved buildings, faster than he could ever consider possible, especially with the pain he was in. But he didn’t care.
Pushing through the crowd with considerable speed, he made it through the series of sharp turns and vast courtyards, nearly toppling quite a few people and even some small statues in his way. He felt like he was going to drop dead at any wrong step but it didn’t matter. And so, with considerable effort, he covered the large distance between the tower and the Training Halls in less than a few minutes.
Zephyr all but jumped the last steps that led to the arena, the sandy colored stone floor raking against the soles of his boots as he skid to a halt. And he was too late. Whatever feeling of terror he felt in that crooked study did not even compare to what he felt right now. Viltarin was already here, in the arena, talking to Jamie - who seemed completely oblivious as to the horrible danger he was in, a carefree smile on his lips as he talked to the politician. Zephyr wanted to wring that Councilor’s hand from where it was resting on his little brother’s shoulders, but, with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, he quickly suppressed the urges. All that he could do was stand there, frozen in place, trapped in a situation that could destroy his life in a second. Even panting and ashen as a stone, his eyes did not betray his fear - only his fury.
Viltarin’s eyes met his own, and it was like a patch of frozen ice just slid down his spine.
“Well, look who is here, Jamie!” The man said, gesturing towards Zephyr with his free hand, while his other rested on Jamie’s shoulders, in a seemingly friendly, but horrendous, gesture. Zephyr bit his tongue to stifle the reply he truly wanted to give this man, refusing to look in his younger brother’s direction. He got him into this, now he had to at least get him out. If he could. “Because, I was getting worried… Someone just broke into my study room, and they are still out and about. Why, I just left the place my self, seeing them leave with my own eyes, fearing for my life. My first thought was to check on our dear, sweet apprentices.” His voice held a fake, dangerous lilt to it as he continued, moving Jamie to stand closer to him. Jamie, now having clearly noticed the discomfort in his older brother’s face and the strange behavior of the Councilor, was as still as a statue. “You wouldn’t happen to know who did it, now, would you my boy?”
Viltarin said it, his fingers digging with far too strongly into Jamie’s shoulder, and action that made Zephyr startle forward, only for the man to stop him in his tracks with a dangerous tilt of his head.
Zephyr swallowed, once he realized that the man expected an answer. His legs shook from the effort it took to run all the way here after using his magic, but he stood strong as he stared down the man. Steading his voice, he shook his head, carefully maneuvering his hands behind his back, to hide the tell tale marks of his curse that had yet to fade out.
“No, sir, I do not.” He kept his voice even, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from flitting between the madenned Councilor and Jamie, who was getting more confused by the second, trying to squirm out of the claw like grasp of the nobleman. When that didn’t work, Zephyr caught how Jamie was about to move to hit the man, but stopped him with a terrified, warning glance. Viltarin noticed, and his eyes went cold, but instead of saying anything, he smirked. Zephyr desperately wished he hadn’t, because it was a sharp, ivory like smile that did not reach his eyes, and looked more like a threatening growl than anything remotely close to a smile. A lie.
“Really? because, it would be an absolute shame if that person were to, Gods forbid, make his next target someone younger, more defenseless” He punctuated his words by tightening his hold on Jamie, who looked just a second away from sucker punching the bastard at the defenseless jab. Zephyr would have been proud, if he wasn’t so mortified at the implications of what the man was saying. “But I guess unfortunate accidents can happen, and in the end, lives are just that, symbols on a page, waiting to be erased with a flick of a pen or the right amount of red ink.”
Zephyr knew the man could see in his eyes that he knew exactly what each of those words meant, and that this was a thinly veiled way of letting him know that he knew it was him, and that he had seen him leave with that page.
Viltarin swiftly let go of Jamie, with such strength that the boy would have plummeted to the floor, had he not been a training knight. Ignoring the younger’s protests, Viltarin stalked towards were Zephyr was all but swaying in place. He placed a threatening hand on the older boy’s arm with a wounding grip, pulling him slightly upwards. His voice was low, dangerously calm. Zephyr did not look at him, opting to stare blankly ahead.
“Do you understand what I am saying, my boy?”
Zephyr nodded, answering swiftly, though his voice shook.
“Yes, sir.”
Viltarin nodded back, realizing his death grip on the younger man’s arm. Zephyr just knew it would have been strong enough to bruise, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that at the moment. Jamie watched in utter shock and confusion on from where he had been standing. The Councilor stopped in his tracks for a moment where he was already far behind them.
“I hope that, when this thief is caught, there isn’t any reason for anyone else to get hurt, over something so trivial. Maybe what happened in my study can serve as a warning for those unsuspecting to learn... caution. But I guess I prefer when things are left up to fate.”
With that, he finished, striding victoriously out of the arena.”
@lassiesandiego @writernopal @elshells @clairelsonao3 @lyutenw @rickie-the-storyteller