Day 14 Writing Short Stories

Berserker

To kill, that was to exist. I was made for nothing else than to rip off people’s spines and crush them in front of their comrades, blood dripping between my massive fingers. I was a thing of fear and hate, a berserker, a baptized in death. Now, there was no enemy left; there was no spine to be snapped in half. All that was left was me, my massive forearms and shoulder muscles, the determination, and the ghosts who would never leave me alone. They screamed into my ear even now, demanding justice, demanding life.

The only enemy to kill was myself. I could see it in the villagers’ eyes. Those I was said to have saved. They feared me and the rage fueling my soul.

I roared, not from pain. I felt nothing of the sort. The evil empire was gone.

I collapsed on the ruins, waiting for someone to command me. The villagers dared not approach. They looked from afar, wishing me to leave, circling me, repairing the city anew around me. I could not move. That was no more in my bones. They were hollow and empty.

I watched a little boy approach me. There was something in his eyes—something I didn’t recognize. I haven’t seen it in years. It was not fear. It was something else. I snarled and licked my lips.

He stopped moving over the rubble, mirroring my movements. I cocked my head towards the little kiosks and the flags that had risen in the Square of Victory. There were sugar apples, minced meat pies, wooden horses, smiles, laughter, hands being held, colorful clothes, and heads dressed with flowers. I returned my gaze to the boy. He was there, waiting for permission to approach.

I did nothing.

I watched him crawl closer to me. He stopped just out of my reach, standing up. The boy reached for the satchel at his hip and pulled out a red apple. He offered it to me. I reached for it, and he took a step closer to me. I snatched his wrist, and he let out no scream, just his eyes going wide.

“Here,” he soothed me.

I groaned and let go of his wrist, taking the apple. I bit into the flesh; the juice ran down my chin. I ravaged the apple, expecting the boy to be gone.

He stood there steadier than before. “I have more, if you want.” He produced another apple from the satchel. This was as red as the one before.

I stood up and snatched it from him, biting into the thing. This time, I savored the sweetness in my mouth, and when the core was gone, I reached for the boy’s hand. He let me have it. I pressed the king’s coin I had been carrying around all these years into his hand.

“No,” the boy pushed my hand away, shaking his head.

“Sami!” the boy’s mother shouted.

I followed his gaze. I followed him running down the rubble. I followed him to his mother. The woman looked terrified, but she let me follow them to their home. I sat outside their white adobe house. I sat there for a day, a week, following the boy around, helping him reach the heights he wanted to reach, and in return, I got their food and a blanket to call my own.

—

I want a giant of my own. Someone to follow me around and help me reach high. A giant that takes all fears away. Today’s prompt was comic, character-driven, fantasy, rebirth, and written from first-person POV. The comical effect was left out. Again, I struggled to write it there. It’s hard to write, at least with the prompts. I think it demands the right kind of mood. But why no horror? I have been raffling the perimeters, and horror never comes up! I want my horror. It is fun to write—especially horror-lite.

That’s all the insight I have for today. I feel restlessness seeping out of me. I need to move to be balanced and get the buzzing pressure inside my head out.

One more thing before I go: I started watching Anne Lamott’s interview, and it has been wonderful. She speaks about editing, using stronger verbs, being more observant, and being more present, and how these things can transform the writer and the text. It’s on David Perell’s YouTube channel. I highly recommend it.

Thank you for reading! Have a slow day of observations ❤