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[ArtisticVicu]

He was standing on stage singing a lame karaoke song his coworkers had picked. It was surprisingly fitting as he sung it for the dark haired man sitting alone near their table. Those blue eyes held his own gaze for the entire song and he ignored the catcalls and chatter when he walked passed his table to talk with the blue eyed stranger.





 





He finds himself going on a date with the blue eyed stranger a week later after they end up chatting through karaoke night. He finds out the man’s filthy rich and is the owner of the building he and his coworkers are constructing. He finds that he doesn’t care.





 





Somewhere along the way, six months pass without him being aware of it. He and the blue eyed man are hanging out as regularly as their schedules permit. He gets a phone call that sends ice through his veins and he rushes to the hospital. The blue eyed man is there and all he can do is wrap the other man up in his arms and hold on tight as they wait for news. It’s not good and he’s silently impressed when the blue eyed man doesn’t break down till they’re in the blue eyed man’s car.





 





They fought the following day. The blue eyed man broke it off.





 





He didn’t see the blue eyed man for two months.





 





They run into each other out of happenstance and he finds it easy to break the ice between them, getting the blue eyed man to laugh and smile.





 





They go out the following evening and agree to start dating again. Three months later, he moves in.





 





Somehow a year and a half passes and he’s finding it really hard to hide his growing symptoms from his lover. The stress of the symptoms and his looming death date that he had been trying to hide from his lover were causing him to be short.





 





His lover confronts him about it.





 





He doesn’t remember the words he had said but he knew they had been blows beneath the belt.





 





He went to a hotel for a week.





 





His lover took him on a surprise trip when he returned and they had the conversation he had been dreading with ease.





 





He said yes when his lover proposed three months later.





 





He woke up in a body that no longer worked as it once had five years later. His husband was there, always caring and ready to help him. He loved his husband and felt it was inadequate to how much his husband loved him.





 





He died that day in a freak accident with his husband. But, yet, he woke up in a space he didn’t recognize and a body that reacted in a way he had forgotten was possible. He found himself pressed up against a cabinet as he tried to grasp the fact that his husband was a blue eyed stranger ten years younger and without the memories he now had.

 

[Demon]

The man looked to the uninvited guest of his dormitory. He pushed his glasses up, calmly getting off of his chair and heading towards the door. With a push of his arm, the door was sealed shut and the man leaned his back to it, sliding down onto the floor. A large breath escaped his lips and he brought a hand up, clasping either side of his cheek. His mouth clamped shut, he stared to his knees and released a heavy breath through his nostrils. The guest he met wasn't exactly a welcome one for many but unfortunately, it was required to respond to their every call. 


Like everyone else, it was time that everyone would meet the guest. He shook his head, ignoring the request they gave and head to his desk. There were some notes scribbled to the top-right of the front of his paper, each denoting some class he was studying for today. They weren't the best notes but they got the job done to the best he could. He scanned his eyes down along the rest of his text he wrote, paragraphs dedicated to the one-hour segments of his life. A modern day scribe doing his best performance. Many would repeat this quest to success but only few would pass. "You're gonna be one of those failures"


"No, I will not be like them. Damn it!" He slammed his fists to the wooden surface and surged up to his feet. "I did not get this far only to flunk... do you not get that?!"


"But what if... You can't deny the possibility. You and I know you're both smarter than that.~ Let's talk for a bit, why don't we?" The unidentified person spoke once more


The student sighed aggressively.


"Why must you always come back, fear?"

 

[jinkx]

Yes. No. This is fine. You're okay. You take a deep breath and push your hands through your hair and then drag your fingers down your face. It doesn't make you feel any better. Of course not. You take another deep breath but it hurts your chest. Your palms are sweating. Would it be gross to wipe them on your jeans? You're not sure. Breathing is hard. You're not sure you're okay at all. This is not fine. Repeat: this is not fine! Every part of you is crying out. Your hands have grabbed handfuls of the fabric of your jeans and is twisting it tightly. No. No. No. Sound the alarms, find the panic room! How are you going to explain this? You don't know. You can't find words right now, let alone sentences. Your hair is falling in your face again. You breathe, sharply, and the oxygen feels heavy in your lungs. You slump forward and your body curls inwards, desperately trying to protect itself. From what? Your mind, your brain, the panic that screams inside of it. Your hands are clenched so tightly that they're starting to hurt. You are not safe, you are not okay. Your body is sending you all the signals to run. Yes. No. Maybe? You don't know what people would say. Would they stop you running? You press your hands together to stop them forming into fists again. Your sweaty fingers intertwine. You breathe. You're okay. It feels like you're drowning every time you breathe. You're underwater and slipping further from the surface. It hurts. This is fine. You hear somebody calling your name. Have they noticed? You hope so. You hope they look you in the eyes and know. You're not okay; they'll see that. Your hunched position, body crying out helplessly, your need for air, they'll see it all. They say your name again and your head snaps up. You look at them. They can see, they can help me. Your eyes meet theirs. You wait, hands pushed together and sweating excessively. You wait for them to ask you what's wrong. They don't. They ask you the way to office. And you smile at them and point the way. Another person who couldn't see. People are blind to it. They don't see you drowning on dry land. They don't see your body crying about desperately, hopelessly, needing. You don't understand how. 

 

[SepiaInk]

Title: The Other
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Word Count: 500 
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The sun was about to set and there Melissa was, sitting on the stairs of her porch, cleaning a gun that didn’t need any cleaning while mosquitos prepared to make a feast out of her bare legs. All because that woman was still out there in her front yard, tinkering with the motor of the old pickup truck in a pointless attempt to bring it back to life. And Melissa couldn’t let herself sleep while that woman still breathed.


She could do it though.


It’d be so easy.


Little sis was fast asleep inside the house, by the time she woke up it’d be too late. Melissa would explain everything. That the nice lady they’d saved had lied about being bitten and hidden the marks from them. There was no choice, no time to think, just a split second to fire the gun or get bitten herself. Had to do it to protect them both. 


For some reason little sis had gotten attached to that woman, so she’d cry and sulk for weeks, sure. It’d be like when their last dog died. After a couple of days she’d start talking to her older sister again, first a few words, then full sentences, a shy smile here and there. Soon she’d go back to laughing at her big sis' lame jokes, running around and grinning from ear to ear like the sweet and goofy child she was. Everything would go back to normal, like the good old days when it was just the two of them and the rest of the decaying world. 


Her little sister would be safe. And Melissa wouldn’t have to feel afraid every time she looked at that woman. 


That strange woman who was nothing like them. That woman with the broken glasses that were too big on her face, that ugly nest sitting atop her head that she insisted was hair, that dark and ashen skin that reminded Melissa of charred trees. That woman who didn’t eat meat and refused to undress in front of others, who spoke of things she couldn’t understand, had a scowl for a face and walked barefoot inside the house. That woman with the dainty hands that had never cut a tree to keep a house warm, fired a gun or gutted a fish to get food on the table, gotten burnt while cooking for family and friends or punched someone’s face to defend a loved one. 


This woman was no different from those crawlers, alien things that only looked human, standing on the other side of the abyss, the chasm between the us and them. Unfamiliar, unpredictable, dangerous. A threat. And Melissa knew how to deal with threats.  


She’d killed thousands of crawlers before, she could kill one more. 


So she held her breath and slowly picked up the clean riffle from her lap. With a soft click, she turned the safety off and aimed at the back of the other's head, trembling finger on the trigger, ready to pull. 

 

[IctoraPost]

He sat at the table, readjusting his blood red bowtie. The air had the lukewarm glow of the sweet melodies sprouting and flowing from the band of music with the singing angel. He felt the full brunt of the sounds caressing him in their harmonies as he was there, right in front of them. Nervously glancing at his gleaming pocket watch, he subtly slipped a small mirror from beneath his jacket and looked. Rather dashing, he thought. No, in fact, he was sprinting at full speed. On a train. Also moving at full speed. Yes, no need to be worried. Everything would go smoothly. As smooth as butter. As smooth as the music. As smooth as the smoothest thing in the world. As smooth as the very essence of smoothness smoothed over with the smoothest of all smooth smooths. He wiped his hands on his trousers.


Then there she was. As radiant as the setting sun, and as beautiful as the most beautiful of… beauties. She smiled warmly at the compliments, and even warmer when the seat was drawn back to accommodate her. When the wine came, she was positively toasty. You’re looking very fine today. Y-yes, so are you. You’re looking very fine. As fine as a speeding ti- I mean, you look absolutely sprintin- good. You look good. Suppressing a giggle, she sampled some of the beverage, taking a long sip of the redness, sensations of sound tickling her fingers. Then some toast, leisurely smoothing the butter onto the steaming bread, eyes sparkling in the gloom of the lights. He fiddled with his half-full glass, half-listening to the song, half-looking at her face.


As the night wore on, the crimson colour had been drained from the bottle and had invaded her cheeks. He was not unaffected, either. When this one was finished, another came. Then another. Soon, empty bottles were surrounding them, closing them off to the world. There was only him and her. Her smile was on fire, and his tie had been loosened. He felt hot, whether from the drinks, the atmosphere, the music, or her, he could not tell. All he knew was that he was enjoying this, and so was she.


Fumbling for something smart to say, he turned his head and for the first time that night looked at the band. The singer speaking with that beautiful voice. Straining through the haze, he heard an invitation to the pretty lady here at the front to sing something for them! Yes, you should sing! I want to hear your lovely voice. No, no, I’m terrible at these. I can’t sing at all. Yes you can! Go on, I’ll be cheering for you! Maybe I’ll even have something nice prepared after this. Oh, all right, if you insist.


She walked onto the stage.


She took her position.


She swayed a little.


She was toasted to by everyone.


She smiled.


And she sang.


This was the first time he had ever felt such fear.

 

[Borkus Lazorus]

So, I come back sometime later and now, I'm like....


It's ultimately a tie-up between IctoraPost and Jinkx. If there's one thing I'm a sucker for, it's variation of sentence structure and both of you execute it perfectly in this piece. 


But, ultimately...., I'm gonna have to go with @jinkx. Now, it's your time to choose the next theme!

 

[jinkx]

Oh!! Oh, thank you so much. I guess writing mid-panic attack paid off for me. Um... Let's do a twenty four challenge, anything under five hundred words, and let's make the prompt: a song prompt. Good luck to everybody! ☆

 

[Borkus Lazorus]

Routine
​

How's my life now? Well, I think I'll start with one word. 
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​

Moths. That what they remind me of. Drawn to the flame. Some big, some damaged, some small but they're all the same. They say after a while in this joint, you start to notice one or two regulars. I remember all of them. It's the same everyday when I enter that door and put on the big peaked employee hat. Boss says to keep smiling and waving behind the counter. I receive the usual banter. Things like-
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" Uh, sir? I'm pretty sure this coupon isn't expired." 
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" Uh, could I have a couple of that. Couple of thatsits. Couple of those."
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" Whaddya mean this place doesn't sell this brand for 4.50? Straight highway robbery over here!"
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" Hey, uh, I only have small change. So, this might take a whi-"
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More and more and more and more blathering is what it seems like. In and out, everyday. Nothing changes. You expect something new everyday but you never get it. It's a revolving door, in and out. In and out. In and out. And yet, nothing changes. Is it just me? Does the next guy doing the late night shifts get something out of it? Something new that I've never experienced? Mopping the floor and counting the cash in the register is threaupractic at this point. Ten years of college, just to get a undergraduate degree in neurology and this is what I get? A job in a convenience store that barely pays? 
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" No. Eric. Don't touch that. Don't touch that. ERIC!"
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" Uh, can I see your manager? I have a problem with the product I've boug-"
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" Uh, man. I don't have small change so.....how's about-"
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" Uhh....do you know where.....the convenience store is, so-"
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IT'S RIGHT HERE, YOU OLD GERIATRIC SH- Calm down, calm down, just calm down. 
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Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh right, in and out. Not the burger place, mind you. Damn, I like their curly fries....but I digress. These patterns, speeches, sentences, it's all on one revolving loop. It's become burnt into my mind. In and out everyday, there's no end in sight in a big joint like this. It's like this. The clock ticks by agonizingly slow as the sun sets. There. 8:00 PM. The door automatically slides open as I walk out to receive a welcome from the cold brunt of the breeze. Open the door. Slide it close. Microwave a pre-packaged lasagna. Eat alone. Go to sleep. Wish my alarm clock wasn't there. The sun too. Dress in my clothes. The door opens again. It's always with the door. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close. Rinse...and repeat. There's a beauty to it. Even thought I detest it. Ta da. My life in a nutshell. 
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Yeah. I'm bored. Pizza? At 6? Fine with me. 
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[jinkx]

I was just looking through my threads and found I'd never responded to this because I went on vacation. Borkus Lazorus would you care to reboot the thread by posting your prompt? You're the winner!!

 

[Borkus Lazorus]

YAAAAAAAYyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Prompt: Cooking.

Word Count: 100-500 words.

Time Limit: 72 hours.

 

[S n o w]

“Why do we always have to do this?”

She stared down into her pot, watching chunks of dark meat poke through the surface of the boiling liquid for a second before sinking down so a carrot slice could take its place. She chose to stir instead of acknowledging him.

“Common,” she heard a sharp clang that made someone behind her gasp, and guessed that he had dropped his ladle on the table. “The way they treat us doesn’t bother you? Not even a little?”

She sighed, removed the wooden spoon and put a metal lid in its place. Only then did she turn and face him. He, of course, was without a care in the world. He leaned against the counter next to her, grinning even as sweat dripped into his eyes. “That’s unsanitary.” She eyed the steaming ladle half-hidden behind him. She could smell the burning meat from his own pot.

He waved her words away with a scoff. “As if they’d notice. Or care.”

She glanced the opposite way, at the basement door at the top of the stairs. “You shouldn’t be so careless,” she lowered her voice, pinning him with a serious look. “If they saw that you were slacking off-”

“Whose gonna tell?” He spread his arms out, and she followed his gaze to the boy with his shoulders hunched over the sink, scrubbing dirty dishes like his life depended on it. Then to the two girls squeezing the juice out of lemons and oranges in the corner. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The door squeaked as it started to open and she immediately shoved him back towards his work area without thinking. Her hands were shaking as she yanked the lid off her own pot and kept her eyes on the potato lump spinning lazily in the broth as she heard someone thumping down the stairs. She heard the click of the door shutting, and then something heavy was dropped next to her feet. She barely breathed as she looked down at the red-stained sack.

“You didn’t add enough meat last time. They want more.”

She looked up just as the messenger fell to his knees, panting. He looked a little older than her, but somehow frailer. She wondered what he’d done to get stuck with the job of delivering supplies.

“They should have more people like him doing this,” her friend said loudly enough for the dishwasher to gasp. “At least he’s tall enough not to need a damn step-stool to do anything.” The spoon slipped out of her grasp when she heard a choked sound, and she jerked her head towards him just as he pulled something long and sharp out of his neck. He stared at it for a second in bewilderment, before his eyes rolled up and he tipped backwards.

“Save him for tomorrow.”

She flinched, looking up at the shadowed figure in the doorway. She hadn’t even heard it open. Her eyes shifted back to the growing pool of blood.

 

[ArtisticVicu]

(Since this hasn't closed yet...)

"Here."

He fumbled with the curved metal object, staring at her as if she had grown two heads. "And what am I supposed to do with this?" he asked incredulously.

She gave him a flat look. "Fill it with water. Make sure nothing ends up in it."

Grumbling about this being servant work, he got up and walked over to the river. He tried scooping up water in the shallow area but it came back silty and with plant life in it. Making a face, he shucked off his shoes and socks, rolling up his pant legs as best he could before stepping into the icy river. He whined, looking back at her. But, before he could even get the words out, she was glaring at him, hand slowly moving towards her bow. He clamped his mouth shut and plowed farther it, not at all willing to tempt another arrow in the butt.

He sank the curved metal beneath the water's surface and pulled it back out. Partway to the middle, the current flowed clear and the pot came back with clean water. He trudged back, wincing at every rock and twig he stepped on as he approached her side. He still would never understand how she could walk around barefoot. "Here." He thrust the pot forward, water sloshing over the sides to turn the dirt into mud.

She glared at him again as she grabbed the curved metal, stilling the water. "Thank you for not putting out the fire," she snarled, yanking the pot away but not spilling a drop. He was flabbergasted on how she managed to do that. She tucked the curved metal against her hip and pointed at the two dead rabbits laying out next to her gear. "Dress those."

He blinked. "Like, with clothing?" She arched an eyebrow at him and he threw his hands out to the side. "Never done this before, remember?"

She rolled her eyes and settled the curved metal into the center of the fire where she had made a place for it. "Fine. At least go fetch more wood. Grab branches off the ground. The larger the better but twigs will work while I prep dinner."

He nodded. He could do that. That was easy. He pulled his shoes and socks back on before going over to the trees. He started collecting sticks, gaze on the ground so that he didn't miss any. When he thought he had a suitable arm load, he turned around. And froze.

He couldn't see her. He couldn't even see a flicker of light in the darkening trees. He gripped his bundle to his chest as his body shook in fear. No, he couldn't be lost. Not when he didn't know how to cook or hunt or even how to survive out here on his own. The noises of the forest were not helping as he blindly wandered, trying to find her.

Something touched his shoulder.

His scream was cut off by a rather familiar hand and he looked back to see her glaring at him before her gaze snapped around as she hissed, "Are you trying to inform the beasts to an easy meal?" She stepped away. "Quit being such a coward and come on." She started towards camp with sure feet and he quickly followed, hearing her mutter, "Can't believe the bloody coward got himself lost."

"It's not my fault that I got lost," he tried defending himself.

She gave a bark of a laugh that made him jump and whip his head about. Hadn't she just spoke about alerting beasts?! "Oh, it is quite your fault, Your Highness." She gave him a rather humorless grin. "You could have at least learned what a pot it."

He blinked at her. "A what?"

She made a vague gesture. "My point." She looked at him again. "The curved metal I had you fill with water. You were holding it upside down when I handed it to you. Most people right things placed in their hands, especially if they know how it's used." She sighed. "Can't believe you don't even know what a pot is."

He bristled. "I never had to need to know what a pot was. Servants always took care of the cooking."

She gave him a look that he was sure spelled doom for him. "Well, my dear, clueless prince, welcome to the real world. You're about to get a lesson in cooking."

Yep, he'd been right. He was doomed.

 

[S n o w]

Borkus Lazorus

 

[BDark]

[[Since this is practically dead, am I allowed to toss in an entry for the last prompt?]]

 

[S n o w]

[[Since this is practically dead, am I allowed to toss in an entry for the last prompt?]]

I don't see why not

 

[ArtisticVicu]

I am totally game for ya starting us off again, if you want BDark

 

[Borkus Lazorus]

Oops, shit, sorry, everyone. I was busy on Iwaku doing writing muses.

Um, S n o w , would you like to do the prompt?

 

[BDark]

That moment when you're over twelve hours late.
x'D

 

[S n o w]

Prompt:
C O L O R L E S S

Word Count:
199-499

Time Limit:
4̶8̶ H̶o̶u̶r̶s̶ 72 Hours​

 

[WolfSol]

S n o w
You still up for this? Because in about 24 hours I may throw something your way to fit the prompt!

 

[WolfSol]

Word Count: 244

It's the added weight on your back, the touch of cold to your spine, and the splash of dread in your gut. There's just something about rain... the eerie gray it brings, the cold and unforgiving touch it gives, and the feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. It's depressing as well as calming... something akin to suffocation, sweet and painful. Yet today, there's nothing sweet. The street is drowned in despair, the colors milked of their vibrancy, and the rain is so loud that it's hard to even think. It's a heavy blanket on a back, icy needles that cut to the bone. It's a rain that resembles a waterfall. You're drenched right when you step into it, umbrella or not. What's more, it's the kind of rain that brings on the numbness, lifelessness. It's so cold and harsh that it's soul-crushing. If anything, this rain is painful. It's harsh and unforgiving.

"I think we should... break up..."

If only it would rain a little harder, a little faster. Maybe you could drown in it. Drink up all the gray, all the despair, all the cold and rotten water.

"It's not you, it's me. I can't... I just can't do this anymore."

But no matter how much you drink, there's no end. Instead you're suffocating in the cold, choking on broken sobs that are ripped away with the fall of rain.

"No, I love you, I do, but... I-"

 

[S n o w]

Winner: WolfSol​

 

[WolfSol]

Prompt:
Safety First

Word Count:
Minimum 250

Time Limit:
72 hours