Day 186 Writing Short Stories

Lure

The fog rolled over the town, bringing in the thick, cold, moist air that wet every cloth worn. It colored everything black and white, muffling all the sounds into a haunting dream barely remembered. The day was shifting into night, and it would be there as it had been every night, preying on the innocent.

He stood in the middle of the town under the great clock tower. Every other living soul tucked in, holding their breaths. The absence of life had taken over every inch of the city a fortnight ago. One by one, the monster had picked its prey, leaving behind skin and bones. No mortal gun, no prayer, no curse, or steel worked on its thick hide.

The cold seeped in through his thick woolen overcoat. Shivers ran through him, and all he could do was stand there and wait. He had drawn the short straw. This was to be their Hail Mary, their salvation. He had said his goodbyes to his family. He had hugged them, and they had held him in their embrace. He could still hear their sobs, their stifled breaths. His breathing rasped inside his throat. Death would come for all. If this were his, it was for his family, not for selfish reasons.

The red paint beneath him glistened with moisture in the air. The symbols trapped him in. The symbols trapped the droplets in. It would trap the monster in. He was to be its lure. Its prey.

Every breath he took came with a thundering of his heart. It was like a drumbeat of doom, counting the seconds until it would burst. The thunder turned into an echo around the town square. The cobblestones screeched. There was an extra breath, not his. It was thick and suffocating. It was loud and commanding. It told him to run. He would, but his legs didn’t work. They were broken. They were nailed to the wooden planks, holding him in place. They were masked with the pant legs. He was weak, and they had known it.

Then it came. The beast that was bigger than a bear. It hunched back, poked out, showing every bone. His teeth were bigger than its claws. The gray skin tone reminded of a rotten corpse. Its hungry eyes looked at him as if death were coming. He wailed. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to die. This was not how his life was supposed to end.

The beast agreed. It let out a similar wail, high and desperate. Its eyes pierced him, meeting his eyes as if they were equal. It wailed again and turned around, disappearing into the city. Whomever it would take, they would blame it on him.

He slumped down, letting the wooden planks prop him up. He didn’t mind the pain. He didn’t mind anything. He would live.

Poor Education

A boy gets a fully paid scholarship to an elite school. Everyone knows who and what he is.

Abuse

A man interrupts a father abusing his boy.

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

It took me a whole day to be able to write. My day started slowly. I spent most of it with my cat on the couch, cuddling him. He curled underneath my chin and against my chest, and he let out the softest purr there is. He purred for an hour. I think that is his personal best. It was hard to turn into a functional human being after that. My brain was mushy. Though I managed to do what humans do: make lunch, head out into the moist air, and hike in the local nature reserve. I got home after it got dark. Then I don’t know what happened. Hours just disappeared. I think I watched a video of a man trying to teach an octopus to play piano, and here I am writing this now. I couldn’t muster the interest to write the last two prompts, but I’m happy that I wrote the first one. Poor prey, he was an unlucky hero.

Here’s a picture I took while taking my stroll.

Have a spooky day! Thank you for reading ❤