Mim

Hello! Back in October a writing community I am in created a spin off challenge for inktober. These are a few of my entries from that challenge. I hope you enjoy them!

The Bell Jar

My face reflected in the glass of the med counter and I knew what they saw. Hair limp and greasy as aged lettuce, clothes wrinkled and dingy from days of continuous wear, eyes sunken and dark from weeks without sleep, skin pulled taunt over my bones. I knew I looked terrible, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. What was the point? If I showered, I’d only have to do it again. If I changed, I’d have to do it again for bed and again the next day. Sleep and appetite were elusive beasts I couldn’t track down. At night, I sat and watched the hands move their way around the clock and waited for the attendants to come get us.

They shuffled us in lines down the halls, filed us into bench tables, and watched us as we picked at the grey slop they placed in front of us. Their beady analytic eyes judging our every movement, or lack of movement, adding it to their little clip boards files. Then, when they deemed our behaviour satisfactory, they moved us to a new room; the same pale faded blue and white tile floor, the same fishbowl glass that they all stood behind. I felt their eyes on me, could heard their thoughts following. “Look at her, so degraded from the society princess”, “ugh these things disgust me”, “Should just put them out of their misery”, “She doesn’t even classify as human anymore”. But they can watch me all they want; I don’t care about them. I was above them; I had found the ultimate human efficiency. I don’t waste any energy, time, or emotion.

I may be just the fly in their bell jar, but little do they know I choose the jar. I’m not just some exhibition, I am an artifact. I teach them what the true level of humanity is.

Bitter Potions

Alice looked at the bottle the doctor placed in front of her. Its metallic green liquid swished and twirled within the glass. She swallowed thickly, images of uncontrollable growth and shrinkage flashing across her mind. Her hands stayed in her lap; the doctor’s eyes stayed locked on her.

They are just delusions, the blonde patient told herself, attempting to push away the chains that weighed her hands down. Just delusions.

But she couldn’t make her body co-operate. She saw the swirling green medication and saw the drink me tag from her childhood. Horrible images of talking animals, gigantic beasts, fighting knights, and evil Queens took over. She could taste the bitterness of that first bottle. The way it slouched down her throat and dripped like acid in her hands. The liquid infecting her veins, fire burning through her bloodstream as she stretched.

The blonde screamed, feeling her skin tear under the sudden growth. Her tears fell in gigantic raindrops on the floor. She screamed through the tears, begging for it to stop. Her feet were wet, the water level rising around her.

Not again,

she sobbed.

Please, someone save me!

The ceiling closed in around her, pressing her down like hands pinning her to its rough surface. Her throat gave out around her screams.

I didn’t drink it;

she tried to cry.

I didn’t drink it this time.

The pressure in her veins increased the bitter liquid, filling her up and pushing blackness into her vision. She tried to hold on to consciousness, but the darkness overwhelmed her.

Alice collapsed in the chair, the injection finally calming the schizophrenic. The doctor sighed, signing something on his desk and waving the attendants to take the girl away. They’d try again once she stabilized.

The Screeching Forest

The path winded and faded in front of him. The cobbled path disappearing under fog and twisted thorns. The Screaming Forest lay ahead of him, its intimating fortress weighing down on him as he gathered his courage. On the other side of this wood, his future awaited him. With a final deep breath, the traveller puffed up his pea-coat's collar and stepped into the mist. The fog swirled around him, its tentacles swallowing him up as he entered The Screaming Forest.

Gnarled, black twisting trees rose around him, their bases covered in moss and mud. The path had fallen apart, roots and thorny bushes pushing stones out of the way. They fell sideways, sticking up from the mud like tombstones. Each step threatened to trip and trap him in the forest. Skulls of the dead littered the forest floor. Plant and trees tangled their branches up in the bones, dangling the fleshless heads like a reaper’s fruit. Their eyeless sockets watching him as he marched forward.

The feeling of being watched grew with every step. He glanced around him paranoid, trying to find the eyes on him. But only the darkness greeted him. Deep in the forest, a spot of white and grey sat high above the mist. Its body camouflaged from the traveller below. Spreading its wings, the watcher opened its lungs and let out a blood curing screech. The sound echoed in the silence of the dead forest. The sound bouncing off the hollow dead trees, amplifying and multiplying. The sound grew around the traveller like a crowd of humans, their screams calling out at him to run, to flee, to escape. The dying yells a warning of what was coming.

The man ran, his feet slipping and twisting on the wet, uneven ground. He fell a few times, his pant legs coated in thick sludge, his hands scraped, leaving trails of blood on the tombstone steps. The eyes followed him as he deviated from the path, entering further into the forest and away from the exit. He became lost in the endless woods, and with a final fall twisting and breaking his ankle, he became trapped. The watcher settled in the branches above the injured traveller, watching him squirm and writhe on the ground in pain.

The white-winged body expanded once more, letting out another screech. The sound mirrored by the man in the mud. The fear in his voice clawing out of his throat, killing his voice box, and ending in a gargled choking.

The Cavern

The mouth of the cave opened before the party, its stalagmite teeth dripping from the ceiling and rising, sharp and jagged, from the floor. In the back, the light from the fading sun reflected off a pool of steaming liquid. The cavern pool bubbled and boiled. Its thick globing liquid letting off a sour stench as gas popped and burst on the surface.

One of the younger party members wretched and coughed at the smell. Another gripped his cape to his mouth and nose. The leader of the group tightened his grip on his shield and readjusted the sword on his hip.

“C’mon soldiers. We all read the debrief package. We knew what to expect. Time to move forward. Our mission lies in the bowels of this mountain.” His voice was hoarse. It shook with age and lisped slightly around where a split lip had healed poorly.

Everything about the party’s commander was average; six feet, 200 lbs, mediocre parents of high class but little power. What catapulted the male through the ranks was his fast feet and sharp mind. He bided his time in fights, watching his opponents for openings and weaknesses, before striking one fatal blow. In the war rooms, he was just as methodical in his strategies. The Leader’s name was Reginald Cather Cooper, but everyone called him Captain R.C. Cooper. Only his bestfriend and right-hand soldier knew his actual name; the giant of a man teasing him about his name when the two were in private.

The second in command was a beefy person towering 7 feet. The muscled soldier had soft long blonde hair, tied in a bun of braids atop their head. Born as Ankur to the royal blacksmith, their peers knew them as Bloom. They had never wanted to join the royal army, had planned to injure themselves in their first battle so they could retire to their mother’s plant shop. But that first battle was more than Bloom had expected. It took everything they had to survive. On the third day of fighting, not even that was enough. Two melting monsters pinned them to a wall, ready to deliver the killing blow, when out of the mist and dust came the commander. The young spry R.C. Cooper was another recruit. He saved Bloom’s life. Cutting down the two monsters and staying by the gentle giant's side for the rest of the war. Bloom promised to follow the shining soldier wherever he went, even if it meant giving up their plans.

The rest of the party comprised red-haired twins that never spoke out loud – the two seeming to run on their own wavelength – and two new recruits: the son of the army’s head strategist – Johnathan - and the academy’s top student – Cecily.

Cecily and Johnathan had grown up together. The two were inseparable since birth. Normally they would have assigned Cecily to a recon and assignation unit, her slight frame and quiet movements making her perfect for the sneakier units, but Johnathan’s father pulled strings to keep the two friends together.

The six soldiers moved into the cave as a unit, their feet marching in time, all their training keeping them on guard. Anywhere in these dark tunnels could lay monsters, deadly animals, and cursed objects.

The sounds of their clanking armour and metallic marching echoing back at them. The rounded carved walls amplifying and multiplying the sound. It’s never-ending clinking masking the sound of the following footsteps and drawing the giant spiders to them. But the group, unaware, continued on, following the labyrinth of tunnels deeper into the mountain.

After a skirmish with the spiders, and hours of walking, the party finally reached the middle of the mountain. The cavern opening around them, a man-made carved space alit with thousands of bioluminescent crystals. The sides of the cavern dropped off into an a ten-thousand-foot abyss. A single walkway connected the grand center to the hallway the party stood on. In the centre of the room was a giant nest, made of crystal, stone, and tree trunks. Skeletons and bodies hung about the cavern and dripped over the sides of the nest. The place was a flood of carnage, but what made the party hesitate was the emptiness of the nest. Where was the great beast?

The ground shook with a deafening roar. The party turned, backing up to the nest, watching as as a callosal beast slinked out of the cavern tunnel and stretched out in front of them. It roared at them, bits of saliva splashing through their armour. Its sulphur breath filled the air.

Johnathan was regretting the life paths that brought him to this place. His knees shook and threatened to fall out from under him. Beside him, Cecily grabbed his arm. Her posture was tall and stoic, ready for battle. Her confidence and physical comfort helped strengthen his bravery. He would be okay; he was surrounded by lots of strong warriors. He looked away from his best friend and back at the beast: They could do this… he could do this.

Dinner Delights

The fork bit into the slab, its prongs digging into the tender flesh easily. The knife slide down next to it, slicing through the meat and leaving a trail of blood between. A groan of anticipation escaped the diner. It was cooked to perfection, slight pinking still on the inside, but the outside a nice, toasted brown. Pulling the cut piece from the plate, he lifted the slice to his mouth and groaned again. The delicious sweet and savoury steak melted in his mouth, letting loose an attack of flavour on his tastebuds. He washed back the bite with a sip of red wine and grinned with satisfaction.

The candle on the table melted and dripped on to the metal holder. Its soft light settling on the table with a romantic glow. A bowl of salad sat in a crystal bowl next to a wheel of cheese. It was the perfect fancy dinner. Soft and warm, melting candles and melt in your mouth meat. All tension left his body as he settled into the chair, swirling the wine in his glass.

He finished the last few pieces of streak on his plate and moved to clean up the table. Blowing out the candle, chugging the end of his wine and stacking his now empty plates. In the kitchen he deposited the dishes in the sink, covered the cheese and salad, and opened the fridge. Containers of different body parts filled the shelves, next to other condiments, and half-finished dinners. He mused over his choice meats settling on a selection of thigh from his most recent victim – it would make a good grind for spaghetti sauce for tomorrow’s dinner.

Taking one last look at his inventory, the cannibal closed the fridge door and retreated to his study. He was in the perfect mood for some music and a good book before bed.

The Rot

The skin peeled off, falling away in offence. Buzzing insects rose and filtered. They landed on the mass, vomiting, and spitting as their legs rubbed against one another. Below them, the ground shook, moving up and down with the swarming of larva. Their pale white bodies withering around as they feasted on the decay. Each time they surfaced; the pocket of their digging let loose a foul smell. Like a million breathing orifices, it exhaled, filling the air with death, warning each person who closed in on the scene of the promising future they too would experience.

This was the rot, a disease that was overtaking the city. It got into you like a bug, borrowing beneath your skin and killing you from the inside out. It gets into your bloodstream and infects each cell of your body. Mutating your DNA as it replicates itself. And slowly, you die. You rot and decay away, a walking zombie till you don’t have enough flesh to walk around with. Then you crumble, like a marionette with cut strings. Left to fade away, forgotten and alone in some alley. Just another victim to the plague.

The disease terrified everyone. No one knew what caused the rot, nor how to fight it. For anyone who touched by its dark tentacles—the rot was a death sentence. So, everyone feared it. They avoided those affected, and they religiously checked themselves for signs. They checked for wounds, growing black pustules that rose out of the gland zones. Green at the top, red and orange around the edges, with purple steaming spots that grew black veins. They checked themselves, and they checked others. They analyzed each person.

Drones and doorways checked each person, lighting up in angry reds, blaring alarms when they detected someone with the rot. Then, like a swarm of wasps, people in yellow and black quarantine suits flew out of the walls. They cascaded down the ceilings on ropes, and they took the infected away. No one knew where the people ended up. Some speculated it was to be killed. A merciful death compared to the ravaging that was the disease. Others thought perhaps they became experiments, scientists using them to find a cure. Whatever truly happened to them, no one knew. What people knew was once they took you, no one heard from you again.

This was the era of the rot, and it was the world I was born into. And like so many others, I had gotten sick. But unlike anyone else, I had survived. Now, I was immune to the rot, and on the run. Everyone wants a cure, even if they have to kill me to get it.

Ancestral Concoctions

Outside the fall wind beat against the windows, its skeleton trees scratching their boney fingers against the side of the building while tornados of orange, red and yellow, swirled in the yard. The mini twisters whipped cold frost at people's cheeks and stole their scarfs. The sounds of children screaming in delight echoed through the glass panes. Inside the house all was quiet, only the soft crackling of a fire and the flipping of paper could be heard. Warmth filled the space, as scents of raisin, cinnamon, and nutmeg played in the air. In the kitchen the old wood stove was burning hot, as it had been all day. In its stomach rose the season yeast mixture. A load of love, warmth, and protection.

The young woman sat in a chair nearby. Her soft brown curling locks tucked safely up in a messy bun. She was wrapped in an oversize sweater, handknitted and half buried under a heap of quits. Next to her, on a carver antique table sat a steaming mug of cinnamon spice tea and in her hands a well-worn, and obviously loved book – bound in leather with stained and yellowing pages.

Brown eyes, the colour of warmth, of strong oak, and endless depths glanced up at from the pages of her book as a small owl shaped timer went off next to the stove. It’s jingling alarm and vibrating dance telling her that the dough in the oven was ready to be removed. She slipped out of the blankets, soft, thick socks protecting her feet from the cold wooden floors of the cottage as she padded her way over to the oven. Grabbing a worn and slightly singed glove covered in images of orange and green leaves, she leaned into the mouth of the oven and pulled out the iron backing tray. The rough blackened metal was covered in baked on grease and remnants of a thousand out meals that had become part of its surface – imperviable to the young women's attempts at scrubbing it clean. The pan had been in her family's possession for generations, always used for the same purpose, always holding the same recipe.

A soft smile graced the girl's full lips, pulling up the corners and melting the cold edges of her features. She inhaled deeply, allowing the aroma to fill her and connect her to all the women who had made this recipe before her. She felt her ancestors within her as she held the pan, placing it on the stove top. With practiced ease, the womans hands peeled the loaf from the pan, placing it on an ivory plate, decorated with the careful hand painted flowers her grandmother had gifted her before she’d passed. As she picked up the plate, she felt her grandmother with her. The soft love, and bigger than life personality that wrapped you in its embrace and promised you love and protection, wrapped around her. It puffed out the bread with the steam, and as she placed it in the window to cool, the young woman knew she was loved, protected, and never alone.

This was why fall was her favourite season, why Samhain held such a sacred place in her heart. In the mist of all the death and cold that the season brought, in all the darkness that came with the ending of the year, a light and warmth shown all around. The warmth of a stove running all day, the warmth of a recipe handed down for generations, the warmth of bread cooling on a windowsill while the laughter of children and hope of life ran wild beyond the pane.

Tears in the Dust

The air was thick with the scent of dust. It flew up Alex’s nose with every inhale, its sandy soft particles tickling the soft skin and causing them to sneeze. If ever there was a reason to hate old houses and moving it was the dust. Not that Alex was allergic to dust, but it was a pain in their butt: the constant sneezing.

With a sigh Alex grabbed the last box off the back of his truck. The torn carboard bending under his grasp, a smoke yellow lamp threatening to topple over the side as its plug dragged in the grass behind them. With the last box placed precariously on top of an already too tall stack in the Livingroom, Alex stopped to stanch the river of sweat running down their brow and blow some of the dust from their nose.

Moving was not for the faint of heart, or the less than fit. Alex decided collapsing onto the cushion-less sofa. Perhaps they should have listened when their mother insisted, they take a spin class or join their diet group. But they didn’t so now they were regretting every choice that led them to every slice of pie over the last decade – but gosh darn it, pie was good! They couldn’t give up pie! Maybe they should have hired movers?

Another sigh was heaved while exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them. If they fell asleep on this couch, they would no doubt wake up shivering in sticky dry sweat stuck completely to the softa and very upset with themselves.

“Alright, up we go. Time to see if that shower is working.” It should have been, none of the services were cut to the building, only the name on the bills and deed changed. To Alex’s relief the water was hooked up, and better yet was perfectly warm. Their old apartment had shared water heater and was always out of hot water. Over the last year, they had gotten used to lukewarm, and often freezing cold, showers; but that didn’t mean they enjoyed them. No, stepping up the rainfall spray and having the warm water cascade over their sore muscles, rinsing away the dust and grime of moving was a godsend.

They stood under the shower until it began to run cold, the steam so thick in the air Alex couldn’t see through the glass door, nor their reflection in the glass. The humidity filled their lungs, the thick air soothing and relaxing. Easing away the last of their tension. Now they could have a nap before starting on the unpacking part of this adventure.

They walked back down the hall toward the stairs, making their way to the main level and the sofa – aka the only available soft surface to nap on – and let their surrounds fill their senses. It was their childhood home, a beautiful old Victorian house full of soft carved wood and tread worn velvet carpet. Along the walls hung picture frames, their contents obscured by the thick layer of dust covering them. On top of the stairs sat a chairlift, its mechanisms shiny and white, a stark contrast to the warm tones of mahogany and velvet. Looking at it sent a spike of pain through Alex’s chest, the jolt pushing water against the backs of their eyes. They turned away from it quickly, bouncing down the stairs with a noise their mother would have yelled at them for – but there was no one to yell now. The only sound that followed them was the sound of their own footfalls echoing off the walls back at them.

Melancholy emotions threaten to overtake them, as they pushed into the Livingroom. Perhaps sleep could wait, they needed something to distract them from their grief. “No time like the present to get unpacked.” They muttered to themselves grabbing a box knife and slicing into the first box.

Evidently, they must have been more tired than they’d thought, as not even halfway through one box they found themselves draped over the cardboard unconsciousness taking over. The sun began to set while they laid slumped over the box, head resting against one arm with the other clenched onto a random object within the container. They woke with a start to a hand on their shoulder. The gentle, yet firm, shake startling them out of a dream of pie, ghost, and dust bunnies. Alex’s pale blue eyes jolted up, wide and shocked, meeting a pair of concerned green ones.

The green eyes stranger gave a soft smile, as they straightened up. A tanned hand moved into Alex’s space, a silent offer of help that they gladly accepted. Their entire body ached, half from the terrible sleeping position and time spent on the floor, half from the day’s strenuous activity.

“I’m sorry I startled you. The sun was going down and the door was left open. I’m Jared, I live across the street. I brought pie, your mother said pumpkin was your favourite – sorry if that was presumptuous, I can tend to act before I think. Like coming into your house uninvited. But I really like to bake, I’m trying to open a store in town, but you didn’t ask about that sorry. I just don’t want you to think I’m a creep or strange, which your probably already do seeing as I stormed into your house and woke you up. But I was concerned, I knew your mother well. She tried all my new recipes, talked about you a lot so I feel like I already know you, but you don’t know me and I’m rambling, I’m sorry. Yeah, sorry. I’m Jared, I live across the street – I think I said that already sorry.” Alex sat stunned as the stranger – Jared – word vomited in front of them. They couldn’t really follow what they were saying but something about them, and the way they spoke eased the fear that had bunched up in Alex’s gut.

“Hi Jared, I’m Alex.”

Jared smiled sheepishly at Alex, right hand holding out a wrapped backing tray. “I brought a welcome-to-the-neighbourhood-pie for you.” The stranger bite their tongue, Alex could tell they wanted to say more. Another stream of word vomit held back by a simple worrying of the lip.

“Thank you,” Alex paused, feeling awkward taking the pie from Jared. “Um… I haven’t unpacked yet, but if you don’t mind waiting a moment, I think I know where the cutlery and plates are.”

Jared smiled at his new neighbour “Sure, can I help?”

Alex gave a small nod moving toward the kitchen, Jared trailing behind them. The kitchen was a quaint country style kitchen – the only part of the house that had been upgraded since it’s construction. Alex’s mother had loved to cook and wanted a kitchen conducive to her frantic style of food preparation. They almost felt like they could see her ghost spinning around the island, her soft curves swaying to some pop country song on the radio as she cut vegetables, fried meat and bake her famous vegetable pot pie. The image faded in the dust as Jared entered asking where to begin.

“You said my mother mentioned me,” Alex answered in reply. Stopping a moment to take a deep breath unsure if they wanted to ask the next question. “What… um… what did she say? About me?”

Was she angry still? Disappointed? They hadn’t parted on good terms and hadn’t talked for the better part of a decade. When Alex had been contacted by their mother’s attorney saying she had passed and they were required for the reading of the will, well, they’d been shocked. They had no idea she had been sick and would have thought she’d taken them out of the will. Instead, she had left them everything. Alex had missed his mother, missed the way they would sing together on road trips, the way they would dance together in the kitchen, the way they could talk to each other about anything – or, well, almost everything.

Jared’s green eyes took in the stressed features of Alex’s face, hating the pain that stained their plump features. “She said you were a successful writer, bought every book you published; She told me that you were strong and passionate; Fearless, something she said she envied.” Jared paused, knowing his words were important to his new neighbour. “She said she wished she could have been there for you when you needed her, that she had been more open to what you were saying.”

Alex spun around; blue eyes filled with tears. Jared smiled softly back, “She said she loved you.”

Alex broke down. Falling to their knees as their neighbour clambered to hold on to them. The last time Alex saw his mom ran through his mind.

They had been in this kitchen, Alex was 18, newly graduated. Their mother had been all smiles, hanging their diploma up in the small eating cove next to the kitchen. Alex had stopped her, grabbing onto her arm hand shaking with fear. They had a whole speech prepared, had talked it out in front of the mirror, had envisioned how this would go. The relationship with their mother had always been warm, loving, and open.

“I’ll always love you muffin, no matter what.” She had said that to them so many times, and it was that one phrase that they held onto now as they tried to take up their courage.

“I’m gay,” The words came out, no build up no long speech, just two words filled with so much fear, pain, and hope. I’ll love you, no matter what. Alex clamped their eyes shut, holding their breath as they waited for the phrase they longed to hear. I’ll love you, no matter –

“What?” Their mother’s voice was not full of love, nor was it full of warmth, and understanding. It was flat, jagged, and bordering on disdainful. “That’s not a funny joke,” She had said. Voice dripping was venom, the words piercing into Alex. They tried to bring up the speech they practiced, but it was shot down their mother shooting angry words back at them. Each new word a dagger in Alex’s heart, cutting down the phrase they’d been holding on to …. No matter what…

She said she was sorry…. She said she loved you…

Alex broke down in Jared’s arms, their heart shattered around them. The past swirling like phantoms in the dust. So many years of pain, of loneliness, all ending in his tears washing away the dust.

The Annual Frankville Fall Festival

The crisp evening air was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and chatter. The sound of it drifting on the breeze collecting between patrons. Wind whipped at the hoods of fluffy parkas and pulled at the ends of colourful scarves. The cold of it held at bay by hardy laughter, warm fall music and the proximity of neighbours. Stands selling all manner of hot beverages, sweet treats and festive merchandise boarded the walkway. Beyond their warm glow and steaming kitchens, in the frost leaf piles children plays games of tag while parents huddled together in gossiping bands. At the end of the walkway a live band played in the wooden bandstand, the area lit up with a mixture of tea lights, fairy lights, and carved pumpkins. A mystical glow surrounded the whole square.

Jared and Alex entered the block under a hand painted banner that read Annual Frankville Fall Festival. Behind them trailed a wagon full of pumpkin pies, apple pies, all spice pies, rhubarb pies, walnut pies, hazel-nut pies, sweet potato pies and whatever else Jared had spent the last three days baking. He was lucky Alex liked pie as much as they did, otherwise he’d have had to find another person to try his recipes on. He was donating the pies to the bandstand, trying to get a fan base for the new bakery the two were opening. Well, the bakery Jared was opening – Alex was just supporting their partner, they were hopeless in a kitchen; something Jared had learned a month ago when they’d nearly burned down the house trying to make dinner for their boyfriend.

The duo walked down the glowing walkway, stopping every now and then to talk to neighbours, answer questions and hand out tester pies. Alex thought they looked like tarts, but Jared insisted they were mini pies (they thought their boyfriend looked adorable puffing about the difference in pastries). About halfway down the giggling shrieks of teenage girls caught Jared’s attention. To the left, a festival game stood surrounded by teenagers. They were standing around a table with several buckets, taking their turn dunking into them, trying to pull out apples with their teeth. Back at the game stand a fountain of caramel bubbled next to sticks and premade caramel apples.

The young baker grabbed his partners hand, pulling them to a stop and pointing toward the group. “Want to dunk for apples?”

Alex looked at their boyfriend, memories of past festivals and times with his mother playing the same game ran through their head. The sweet taste of fresh caramel melting on the tongue around the crisp sharp taste of apple. It had been decades since they had gone dunking for apples, they had tried in college and almost drown when someone decided to hold his head down. The pain of old memories and the fear of almost drowning combined in their gut as a definite no-way. But, looking down at their boyfriend, whose green eyes were wide, hopeful, and excited… the no died on their tongue.

“Sure,”

They were turning over a new leaf, learning how to be themselves again without the trauma of their past. This festival was about making new memories and Alex wouldn’t let their fear stop them. Jared was the sweetest thing to happen to them and if he wanted to go dunking for apples then Alex would get him an apple.

A Dream in the Dark

The bitter cold air blew through her cotton shawl. The younger girl curled further in on herself, fading into the background of the snow-covered alley way. A shiver wracked through her, threatening to tear her apart. She was homeless, she was an orphan, and as she shuttered against the winter cold it was the loneliness that truly froze her.

Through tangled brown hair, the girl watched as the people walked past her alley. They walked hand in hand, children skipping ahead of parents laughing, gift bags and store bags dangling from their arms. Lovers wrapped in each other arms as they strolled down the festive streets. Grandparents rushed past, running after their grandchildren. They were all warm, blushes high on their cheeks, steaming cups in their thickly gloved hands. She looked down at her own bare hands, the thin boney fingers. They were pale white, and shivering, the skin pulled taunt around the joints. She could barely feel the tips anymore. Blowing on them she looked back up toward the lively street.

The street was surround in a warm glow. The soft Sofía light of the streetlamps bathing all of happy people in its embrace. The light died at the mouth of the alley, its reach pulling away from the dark snow drift hellscape. In its place, a dark blanket of blue moonlight gave little room for sight. The young girl looked desperately forward, away from the darkness and toward the warm glow. How she wished to be away from the cold, to no longer feel the deadly wind.

Oh, to feel the warmth of a parents embrace, to hold a steaming mug of coco, to have a grandparent smiling down at her. She dreamed herself away from the cold, envisioning herself dressed in soft velvet dresses with faux fur collars pulled soft against her neck. She was spinning in front of a fireplace, siblings dancing with her in the fires flickering light. Nearby their father played on a guitar, while their mothers angelic voice sang a folk song. In her minds eye, the girl giggled and ran toward an old lady sitting next to a pile of presents and a glowing Christmas tree. The woman grabbed her, holding her close in an embrace that filled her heart with warmth.

She shivered again, the snow had begun to settle on her, building up and steeling the feeling from her extremities. The burning itch pulled her from her imagination. It was so cold. She was no longer shivering, limbs too frozen to quake. The girl struggled to breathe, the air burning her lungs, her chest reluctant to expand. She closed her eyes, pushing her mind back into the dream. Back into the place where she was loved and warm. She pushed herself away from her body, letting the elements take over while she remained safe in the dream. As her breathing shuttered to a stop, her lips and limbs a deadly blue, the girl was safe and warm in the embrace of her grandmother.

Escaping the Siders Web

JD had spun a web, one that shown like a crystal latus. It promised a life of fun and freedom. So, it was no doubt that she waltzed right into it. From that moment she saw him standup to Ram and Kurt, leather overcoat flapping as he bolted up from the cafeteria chair; she was done for. Little did she know then who he truly was.

JD was a spider, a vicious carnivore. And she was trapped in his viscous web. If she didn’t find a way to release herself, he would devour her like he had Ram, Kurt, and Heather. She could feel him closing in, could feel the vibrations of the web as he climbed down toward her. Coming home to her parents, to see the book in their hands and know what he had planned for her. She steeled her nerve. If she was to get free, she would first have to fall pray to his plot.

The charismatic sociopath climbed through her window. The voice she had fallen in love with calling to her. He held her, the arms holding the same strength and warmth that had drawn her in. The look in his eyes as he detailed his plan for the school – the suicide notes in his hands, signed with the help of Heather, of every student. She had to stop him, but oh how she wished to crumble to join him. To be the Bonnie to his Claude. But she couldn’t, she had to get free.

Veronica pushed herself away from him, running to her closet, to the place she had rigged her freedom. She pushed herself up into the rope, praying the door would hold long enough; JD pounded on it, calling for her, calling out his love, and devotion. The door broke open moments after she kicked the chair out of the way.

JD opened the door and crumbled. Hanging from the closet, rope thick and tight around her neck was Veronica. His knees hit the floor, his mother last wave before the building collapse flashed before his eyes; a broken sound escaped his lips, tears welling up behind his eyes. He pleaded with her, denounced his prank. But she stayed in the air. Body limp, eyes closed, breath stilled. She was gone, she had left him, he was alone. His blood stilled, his grief turning hard. He rose swiftly and pushed back toward the window. With a final look a this dead lover, his black eyes holding no hint of the pain that stormed on, he slipped into the night.

With the window closed Veronica’s head snapped up. The spider was gone, she was free. She lifted her shirt untying the second loop that held her up and fell to the ground. Now she had to destroy him complete, dismantle the web so that no one else would fall pray to him.

Sun, Beach, and Popsicle Mishaps

Evelyn stretched out on her stomach after laying on her favorite purple towel, enjoying the sunshine on her body. As a natural pale skinned ginger, she wasn't a fan of tanning, but with a full bottle of SPF50 on, she felt comfortable relaxing beneath the cloudless sky in her dark red bikini. Swiveling her head to the side, Evelyn glanced at her best friend, Qiyana, who was already lying on her back with her sunglasses on, as if to welcome the rays. A pout formed on Evelyn's lips at the sight.

"You're so lucky you don't need to use as much sunscreen to enjoy the beach," Evelyn whined to her friend, who unlike the glaringly pale ginger, had beautiful dark skin that shone warmly in the sun, especially when wearing a bright orange and yellow bikini. Qiyana smirked up at her before sitting up on her elbows.

"You've said that every day we've come out, and yet nothing changes. Insanity at its finest," Qiyana shook her head, letting her dark kinky afro bounce with her movements. Evelyn opened her mouth to fire a fiesty retort to her friend like usual, but suddenly a volleyball landed directly between them, making both girls shriek in surprise. Qiyana sat up fully now, already scanning the people around as if to find the culprit, and Evelyn grabbed the offending ball from where it landed on their bags. A voice rang out from the left of the girls, making them both turn to look.

"Sorry ladies, I swear I tried to stop it from flying away from me!"

Evelyn looked up to find the most stunningly beautiful girl jogging over to their little duo. Perfectly tanned skin, tall with beautiful defined muscles under her black and green bikini top, and thick dark hair tied back in a ponytail that swung while she moved, Evelyn couldn't help but watch with her jaw on the ground as the girl made her way to them on the beach. Qiyana shot a knowing look at her, but Evelyn couldn't shake her gaze from the approaching figure. In a moment, the girl was at the edge of their towels, smiling sheepishly. Now that she was closer, Evelyn could see her dimples when she smiled, and it made her tummy do slow somersaults. Qiyana stood up, dragging Evelyn up with her. Even standing a few feet away, Evelyn could tell this girl was seriously tall.

"I take it this is yours then?" Qiyana motioned to the ball Evelyn was still holding. The new girl nodded and scratched at the back of her head, which gave Evelyn a beautiful view of her arm muscles flexing, making her drool internally.

"Yes and let me just say I am so sorry to disrupt you beautiful ladies like this, I know this wasn't exactly the most relaxing way to enjoy a day on the beach," said the girl with a truly embarrassed smile. Evelyn took a step so that they were within arms reach now, and held out the ball.

"It's ok, you honestly probably saved my friend from me insulting her for making fun of my whining," Evelyn giggled a little, flushing red when the girl met her eyes as she took her ball back. Their fingers overlapped for a split second, and Evelyn swears she felt heat pool in her tummy from the touch.

"No really, I feel bad. Let me make it up to you guys; they have an ice cream stand a little ways away from where I'm playing my game. Let me treat you?" The girl propped the volleyball under her arm and held out her hand in greeting, smiling with her dimples again.

"I'm Taliyah, but you can call my Tali." Evelyn smiled at the proper introduction, and joined her hand in the middle for a singular shake.

"I'm Evelyn, and this is Qiyana. You can call me Eve if you'd like," Evelyn spoke calmly while inside she felt tingly from the quick touch again. She felt Qiyana come up beside her, and although she expected the hand to be offered to her friend, she didn't expect Taliyah to keep her gaze trained on her while giving the same singular shake to Qiyana. Evelyn felt a gentle nudge from her friend, and disappointingly broke the eye contact to look at her friend while she spoke.

"While it is nice to meet you Tali, I'm gonna have to pass on that ice cream. I'm lactose intolerant, and I don't feel like having tummy issues today. Eve, however, loves ice cream!"

Evelyn narrowed her brows quizzically at her friend; she didn't have any dietary restrictions like lactose. Qiyana met her eyes an gave a quick wink. Evelyn felt her mouth go dry and quickly turned back to look at Taliyah, who still had her gaze fixed on Evelyn. If even Qiyana had caught on to Evelyn thirsting for this girl, there's no way it went unnoticed by her too. She felt her face heating up, but she still nodded in agreement to what Qiyana had said.

"Well lucky me then," Taliyah's dimples came back with her smile, and Eve felt herself smiling in return, even if her face felt warm still.

"You two have fun, I'm gonna be here," Qiyana spoke over her shoulder, already lying down again to catch some sun. Taliyah nodded her head in the direction she came from, and Evelyn realized it was an invite to follow her.

She tried keeping pace beside Taliyah, but it was hard to keep up with the tall girl. Evelyn reached out on instinct and grabbed Taliyah's arm.

"I'm sorry but I can't keep up very well," Evelyn explained when Taliyah turned around to face her. After a moments pause, Taliyah held out her hand again.

"Would it be easier if you held my hand? I won't pull you along I promise," Talliyah offered. Eve blushed furiously, but nodded and took the hand in front of her.

Evelyn let herself be gently lead across the beach a little ways more before coming upon the group that must have been playing volleyball with Taliyah. There was a mix of guys and girls, all athletic looking and friendly with eachother. Evelyn felt watched Taliyah wind up and throw the volleyball at one of the guys, and jumped in surprise when it sailed in a short arc and smacked into the back of his head. The guy made a sound half in pain and half surprise and whipped his head around to find Taliyah with Evelyn still holding onto her other hand. The rest of the group started laughing as the guy walked over.

"Tali, what the actual fuck was that?" The guy asked, and Evelyn signed in relief when he didn't sound angry, just confused. Taliyah smiled at him in faux innocence.

"Well, Jax, I was returning your ball to you."

Evelyn couldn't stop a giggle from coming out, and Taliyah turned her head to meet her gaze again, smiling softly at her.

"You're lucky Ashe is here to stop me from kicking your ass," Jax groaned before walking away to another girl with a bleach blonde pixie cut. Taliyah leaned closer to Evelyn, who blushed furiously at the sudden proximity.

"That's a lie, he couldn't kick my ass even if Ashe let him try," Taliyah said under her breath. Evelyn felt the breath hit her neck and managed to give a small laugh as she felt goosebumps on her skin. Taliyah straightened up and winked at Evelyn, before dropping the hand she was holding and pointing to a small shack a few meters from the group.

"That's the ice cream place, if you wanna go up and look at what they have, I have to grab my wallet really quick."

Evelyn nodded and watched Taliyah walk away a few moments before snapping out of it and hurrying to the stand. There was no line, so Evelyn didn't didn't guilty about walking right up to lean on the counter to read what was for sale. The man behind the counter told her to take her time and then stepped into the back. She pondered for a few moments, focused on the options before her, and suddenly jumped when she felt someone press into her from behind. She quickly looked up to find pretty dimples smiling down at her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I seem to keep doing that today."

Evelyn flushed deeply realizing it was indeed Taliyah pressed so solidly against her. Heat was spinning in Evelyn's tummy as a nervous giggle bubbled out of her mouth.

"That's ok, I'm not the type to complain," Evelyn said, hoping the Taliyah wouldn't move away. She'd never felt so small next to another girl before, and she had to admit the feeling was a little addicting. She was suddenly pulled from her thoughts as she felt Taliyah shaking against her from gentle laugher.

"But didn't you say you were just whining to your friend? I saved her from your verbal whiplash apparently."

Evelyn froze, feeling caught in her small lie. She flushed a deeper red than she had all day and lowered her head, unsure of what to say now. She felt the laughing subside, and suddenly she felt Taliyah's breath on her neck again.

"I was just teasing you Eve. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

Eve felt the goosebumps return and tried to hold in a small shiver. She turned her head to get a look at the tall girl again, only to find a face inches away from her own. Taliyah seemed to be searching her face with her eyes, as if unsure of what reaction to expect. Eve felt her heart pounding at the proximity, but swallowed down her embarrassment to offer a shy smile.

"You don't make me feel uncomfortable Tali," she spoke honestly. Taliyah held Evelyn's gaze, and looked as if to say something else, but then the man came back out to the counter and asked if a decision had been made. Evelyn's head snapped forward, and she spoke about the first thing her eyes landed on from the menu.

"Popsicle!"

Evelyn felt Taliyahs body shake hers with a small laugh again before there was suddenly space again. Evelyn felt so disappointed at the loss she almost didn't catch the second question from the man behind the counter.

"Is there a flavor you wanted or are you not picky?"

Evelyn shrugged at the man, more focused on the body now pressed into her side.

"I think a surprise flavor would be fun today," Taliyah piped up, holding out a fiver for the man to take. After a quick transaction, the man disappeared to the back again and the two were left alone again.

"Popsicle was a great idea Eve. Nice call," Taliyah complimented, making Evelyn's face once again heat up in the cheeks. She simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and unwrapped her treat. A quick taste told her she had received cherry flavor, and she unconsciously leaned into Taliyah's side while enjoying herself. She let herself sigh happily around the Popsicle, and felt Taliyah tense up beside her. She looked up to find eyes trained on her face. No... on her lips. Was Taliyah enjoying this? Eve gave a quick test and just rolled the Popsicle in her mouth. Taliyah's gaze didn't falter, but her pupils were getting bigger. Evelyn, suddenly feeling brave, decided to make a show out of sucking on the Popsicle. She rolled her tongue around the head of the treat before licking up the side from bottom to top a few times. The whole time, Taliyah seemed to be unable to look away. Evelyn felt herself get braver, pushing further into the space of the tall girl next to her, manipulating their bodies until Evelyn had herself trapped between the counter and Taliyah again. But this time, Eve was facing Tali, continuing her little show. She let a little of the cherry juice drip from her mouth. She felt the drip hit her chest, and watched Taliyah's eyes follow the juice before slowly making tbeir way back to her mouth, pupils now totally blown. She gave a few more licks before one more suck that she let out of her mouth with a small pop. She smiled up sweetly and was surprised to find a dark heady gaze locked on her in an instant. Evelyn had never felt more aware of her actions than in that moment.

"You want some?" She asked, innocently cocking her head. Taliyah raised a brow before smiling again.

"I wouldn't mind a taste."

That was the only warning Evelyn got before a hand snaked into her hair and gently pulled at the roots, causing her head to fall back. Eve felt her breath catch, very aware of the sudden change in atmosphere and her exposed position. Suddenly, Taliyah leaned down until she was at level with the spilt drops from earlier. Then, painstakingly slow, she dragged her tongue across the spot. Eve gasped and felt her eyes roll back in her head; the hottest stranger she's ever seen was licking across her chest and it felt AMAZING.

When Taliyah was done, she slowly let go of Evelyn's hair so they could look at each other properly and grinned like a cat who caught a canary.

"Sticky. But delicious," Taliyah said simply. Evelyn blinked in disbelief before smirking and taking the rest of her Popsicle and tracing it down her chest, leaving red swirls and causing more dripping.

"Sticky. Better than comfortable as a way to describe how you make me feel," Evelyn said, almost challenging the other to back down. Taliyah raked her eyes down Evelyn's body and chuckled before suddenly scooping up the other smaller girl bridal style.

Evelyn let out a squeak in exclamation and clung to Taliyah's shoulders. Taliyah simply started walking towards the parking lot, sending a confusing thrill down Evelyn's spine.

"Not that I'm complaining, but where are we going?" She questioned the tall girl. She received a dimpled smile for her troubles.

"The way I'm going to lick you I feel would be better suited in the privacy of my car than a crowded beach. I grabbed my keys when I grabbed my wallet out of habit, and now I'm glad I did," Taliyah explained. Evelyn felt her body respond to the implication of the words and decided to use that to her advantage. Leaning into Taliyah's ear, she teased quietly so as not to let passersbyers hear her.

"Now I'm sticky in two places. Better lick me up good."

The Nogitsune

Stiles could feel his mind slipping. The exhaustion from weeks of sleepless nights building up on him. They caused him to blackout while driving Roscoe, they caused him to fall asleep during class, but more they caused him to hallucinate.

Some mornings after a particularly rough night, he’d stumble his way to the bathroom only to find the person in the mirror staring back at him wasn’t him.

Stiles was smart, in fact he was the smartest person in their grade – save for Lydia Martin, but she was perfect so it’d quite count – so he knew that sleep deprivation was dangerous and that he should seek help. But he also knew that if he admitted anything his father would worry, the man had enough stress without worrying about his son slipping into insanity.

He looked at the phantom reflection. The features were all his; the messy, sleep mused black hair was his; the long thin jaw line was his; the moles dotting the skin were the same ones he was born with; the eyes were the chestnut-brown ones he’d inherited from his mother. But the expression, the curved sadistic smirk, the pale stretched taunt skin, and deep purple under eyes outlining a sadistic sparkle in the brown depths – that was not his. Stiles didn’t think he’d seen a more chilling image. Not even on Gerard’s face, and that man was evil incarnate. No, this face wasn’t his – it was someone else, someone stealing his face.

He looked down at the sink, hands poised to grab the tap, but it was gone. In its place was a desk. The hard plywood pine surface scratched and covered in writing.

He’s not me

The teen jerked back, the chair shrieking under the sudden movement. His eyes jumped up to see everyone in his economic class starting at him. Couch Flinstock stood at the front of the class, his wild features twisted in an expression of shock, fear, and concern. The expression was mirrored on his classmates faces.

A hand came down on Stiles’ arm. He jumped, jerking away only to feel guilt as he recognised the tanned hand. Scott, his best friend, pulled away hurt flashing for a moment before disappearing under concern. His big brown eyes scrolled over Stiles features, and for a moment Stiles felt like a bug under a magnified glass.

“Are you okay, dude?” Stiles looked back down at the desk, a chill going down his spine. What was happening to him?

He shook his head at his friend, grabbed his bag, and bolted from the room. He was losing himself to whatever darkness this was. He didn’t want to lose his identity. He didn’t want to be the face he saw in the mirror.

The Curiosity of Words

Door: the capital d a gapping is a portal ushering through the following letters: the word an entry for itself. Words, their shape, and their sound are embedded with the power to create and destroy realities. Words are a mere symbol of communication, a conversation between reality, the mind, and society. Infinite in meaning, infinite in possibilities. Words are the expansion of everything, yet the essence of nothing. I’ve always been curious about words. They are so simple and taken for granted, but powerful and vital. I’ve always been simple, invisible, and ignored. Like a word, I am there, critical to the flow but invisible to the user. Perhaps that’s why I am enamoured with words because I am one.

We are all made up of words. Some are given to us and, some we’ve created. Words like; human, gay, blonde, short, chubby, nerdy, annoying, loud, energetic, blind, expressive, young, sporty, lonely, anxious, likeable, entertaining, distractable, immature, impossible, etc. How many words, how many possibilities? Which ones are true? Which ones aggravate, isolate, or protect? How many influence others? How many recreate themselves?

Words are curious. They shift, liquidating as you try to pin them down. Like the word “stand,” see how it’s bracketed by two proud letters, the st and d, like a storefront with a tabletop between them. Or do the lift of the lines, their aggressive sound pushing the reader off their seat? Does the “s” stand aside to let the “t” lead the word? What gave this Candance of sounds their meaning? Who chose to provide the action of “standing” its word? Who’s the mastermind between a store being labelled a “stand”? How many other meanings are hidden with those words? How many words give this one its context? Words are slippery snakes slithering away from our grasp. Words are curious creatures.

Before the Portal

The rock formation opened in front of the teens, its gaping maw a portal to the gods realm. The leader –a boy no older then 14 with a fluffy mop of un-styled blonde hair and lanky limbs– stepped forward. He clutched at the Greek styled sword at his side before turning to his friends.

He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by his best friend. “Prophecies are bullshit!” he called out. His ebony eyebrows bunched over his flaming amber eyes. “If we can help you get here, we are going all the way!” The two had been friends since they were three, having met at preschool and deciding they were one soul in two bodies. The leader took in his friend’s dark complexion, splattered with flaking marks of white; he new the expression that marred his friends face – there was no talking him down.

“We can’t come with him! Even if the portal let us through, our presence could jeopardize the whole mission. We could get him killed Kai!” A young girl with curly hair said. She was the voice of reason of the group, the only one who paid attention to their teachers, and thus the only one who knew the full picture.

“Or we could save his life Val!” The vitiligo male bit back. The two were always at each others’ throats, especially when it came to Justin, their leader. The blonde sighed, moving to stand between the two, one hand out to rest against the chest of each of his friends.

“Whether we are going or staying we must decide soon, the portal only stays open for a few minutes, and then we are going to have to wait another 50 years for the alignment to happen again. And I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want to still be questing as a 60-year-old person. I plan to be retired by that point.” To push the fourth member’s (Jordyn) point, the shinning clouds between the outline of the rocks flickered and a section of rocks fell. They lifted a pale eyebrow at their friends, hands crossed over they chest as their hooved feet patted nervously on the ground.

Kai looked back at Val; eyes narrowed for a moment as he evaluated her. Suddenly he jutted out a hand, “best two outta three.” Val looked at his closed fist for a moment before a look of determination overtook her sharp features.

“You’re on.”

An intense game of rock, paper, scissors ensued. Justin yelling out the timings and winners of each round, while Jordyn stood to the side rolling their eyes. As the third game ended, Kai’s hand wrapped over Val’s fist, a decision was made: All of them would be crossing into Olympus.

On the Edge of a Merciless Sea

The wind blew, a soft chill cutting through the soft fleece of my coat. It carried the sweet scent of salt on its chilly breath. I liked it out here, the sound of the roaring sea, as it battered against the calcified rocks. The seagulls chattering away as they dived and fought for fish. The same fish that boats of all sizes and colours sought for. That they threw nets in the water for, that they spent months away from their family for. And those boats were why I sat up here for. Why, I this little outcropping of rocks, at the edge of a merciless sea, called to me.

I was the light keeper; I lived by the turning of the tides. I lived under the light of the moon and sat by a buzzing radio listening to the rise and fall of its static. As boats passed, their communications lighting up in my tiny tower, their vessels’ little blinks of lights on the horizon of an endless mirror of sky.

Looking out at the sea at night, you can’t tell sky for sea. It blends in an endless blanket of stars, a galaxy on earth. And my view, all night long. Blinking lights of burning gas shimmering and floating before me. A magic feast for my viewing pleasure.

I loved being a light keeper, living in a lighthouse. I couldn’t imagine a better life, then one on the edge of a merciless sea.

Clouds in my Brain (and my mouth)

I looked at the person in front of me, not able to truly see them. I knew what they looked like, could see the colourful scarf, silky and worn as it wrapped around their throat. I could see the way they were worrying their hair, wrapping the blonde highlighted strand around their pointer finger. I could make out the way their mouth moved around each word they said, face lighting up with a range of expressions. But as much as I could make out each individual feature, I couldn’t see them as a whole – just a mix of single moments floating around then gone again as my eyes wandered.

Words and sounds floated over my ears, their sounds racketing around in my brain without meaning or connection. Each tinkling of glass, as the people in the restaurant toasted their lives, a disembodied sound invading my mind. Each boisterous laugh, a bomb without substance. I tried to focus in on what the person in front of me was saying, catching each individual word as it was spoken, but the cloud in my mind gambled them, obscuring the meaning and leaving me dazed and confused, watching as their lips continued to move.

Perhaps I should leave. But where would I go? Did I drive here? Did they drive me? Could I call someone? Did I have a phone? Would the host have a phone? Who would they call? Where would I go?

My head bobbed, trying to latch onto a thought, complete a plan but each one slipped through my grasp like water through a fork.

Was I drunk? Was I drugged? Who was this person? I knew them, didn’t I? Was I having a stroke? Maybe an aneurysm? That was a brain thing, right?

I took a deep breath and shook my head. The world spun with me, sliding off kilter, my mouth tasted puffy and dry like cotton.

Was I eating a cloud? I didn’t remember ordering one. It sure tastes like a cloud.

I slumped forward on the table.

Maybe if I just rest a minute, put my head down the world will stop spinning and things will make sense again.

“You’ll be fine baby, I’ve got you.” A voice said at my ear, the sticky sweetness of its tone sent shiver up my spin and dread filled my gut. Before I could do anything, blackness overwhelmed my senses, sending me spiraling into abyss.