Day 169 Writing Short Things

Shore

The darker the rocks, the deeper the ocean, most likely it lies there. So the stories went. The moon shone bright against the black water, rocking gently against the shore. She stepped back from the cold water rolling in.

The night was unnaturally quiet. There were no hoots. No, nothing to tell her that the world around her existed. There was only one purpose. Only the spell on her lips.

She knelt on the dark rocky shoreline, taking a chalk out of her satchel. She began drawing the symbols of the summoning around her, shielding herself from the world beyond the boundary. When she had drawn the symbols, she lit the candles around her. One by one, they illuminated the ritual circle. There was only one thing left, and that was a sacrifice. Rituals demanded pain and blood. Personal sacrifice. That was what the novices got wrong. There had to be a payment. Real payment.

She took the pruning shears she had taken with her out. She laid them in front of her, wishing that she could drink one of her tonics to take the edge off, but rituals needed actual pain.

She began her liturgy to summon it from the deep. When her words found a crescendo, she took the shears, put the blades around her ring finger, and pressed hard. The pain was hot, unyielding. It shot through her body, making her double over. She wanted to stop, but the sacrifice had to be real. She pressed on, hearing the bone crack.

She let go. The shears dropped onto the rock, letting out a clang. She screamed, holding on to her hand. The finger hung from the strips of her skin on her hand. The pain was dull and compelling. It wanted to consume her. But she couldn’t let it. She started her litany again, yanking her finger off and throwing it into the ocean.

She spoke her words again and again, letting out sounds that made no sense. She felt her feet rise off the ground and her body hang in the air. The words became stronger and more commanding. She demanded that it come.

It came. The ancient god rose from the water, taking her into its grasp, holding her body as if it were a toy. She relinquished her soul to it, and it took it, dropping her body on the rocks. She watched the useless flesh crack from the sheer force. The dark waters rolled over her body, consuming it. The rock underneath her was empty. The flesh was gone.

She was there, in the god’s hands, and she felt the power pouring in. She felt as she were reborn anew with powers beyond this world. She was to become its acolyte.

Third Eye

I didn’t mean to let the first story consume me, but it did. I can’t seem to shake off the mood and switch my thoughts to writing the other prompts.

This was a prompt about a woman getting an actual third eye on her forehead.

Dragon

The same applies here. This was about a world where dinosaurs were dragons.

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

I feel disappointed in myself, letting the first prompt run so long and take everything out of me, but sometimes I get stuck in a thought, and it is hard to come back. I have noticed that lately, my prompts have been darker and more prone to the Lovecraft ethos. I’m not sure why I hunger for stories about witches, ghosts, and other despicable creatures. Maybe it is the time of the year when the days are becoming darker and the light is vanishing. Who knows?

Have a day full of stories. Thank you for reading ❤