Day 165 Writing Short Stories

Rise

Like a wave, it rose inside her, bubbling out like rotten meat marinated in the sun. The words spewed out, took a form of their own, sluggishly stalking their target, making its heart bleed. She clasped her hands over her mouth, but there was another croak, and another thing came to life, searching their target to tear into and rip apart. The hate and anger, the pettiness, the jealousy, the fear all nestled inside her, stifling out any hope, any love. Just wants and needs morphed into nasty little creatures.

Secretary

The doomed castle moaned around her. The walls had seen terror. The walls were made of horrors. And it was her job to keep it all running. Her master was torturing yet another victim of hers. It was her job. She was to play the villain so that the world knew what good meant. And it was her job to be the secretary of that evil. To book appointments with her next victims. To fetch the coffee. Take notes of the interactions. To file them alphabetically. She had done that for years without complaints, without a kind word or a thank you. But this was the last straw. Her master wanted her to nurse the voracious demon back to life. The little kitten of horror was curled on her lap, and it had sunk its needle-sharp claws into her skin. It was toying with the pain, pushing the nails in and out of her skin.

The master came out of the chamber terrors. She jumped up, pushing the kitten into the master’s hands.

“I have had it. I’m not a babysitter for your terrors. I draw my line there.”

The kitten blinked its eyes open and closed and yawned. The master holding the terror blinked her eyes too, bewildered. Then the face turned into a snarl. “You do as I tell you. You make this one the most terrifying demon there is.”

When she didn’t budge, the master blinked.

“Thank you,” the master tried.

“And I want dinner out and ten books.”

The snarl was back, but then it melted. “Okay,” she said and handed back the kitten. “We have a mess to clean up.” The master indicated the room.

“Are they okay?”

“They will be once I send them back to the village.”

“Good.”

A Race Of Humans

He was trying to recuperate from the troopers storming into his office. He was trying to make sense of what the man in a suit was telling him. He had arrived with the troopers and seemed to command them. There was a request for him to go with them. Go without a word about what this was about. He knew the times were tough, and in other countries, they made the academics and the reporters disappear for speaking out of turn. He was an anthropologist specializing in genetics and biology, and he had been outspoken about the dark turn modern societies had taken.

The man was insisting that he was to accompany them, again.

“Why?” he insisted.

The man looked at the troopers. The commanding one nodded, letting them know that the corridor past the office was clear and would be kept clear.

“We have found another human species. And we need you to figure out what they are.”

He looked at the man in the suit, stupefied, not understanding the words uttered. “You want me to do what?”

“To figure out how another human species has stayed alive and hidden from us so long. And what they actually are.”

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

Oh, I found it fun to write today’s prompts. I just wish I had more time to play with them, but I have to go soon. I have my last physical therapy today, and I should be able to go climbing today. I’m not sure what to think. I’m slightly scared, but happy at the same time.

See you tomorrow. Have a good one, full of furry little demons of your choice. Thank you for reading ❤