Prompt 35 [next is Prompt #3]
Added 2024-10-27 22:53:40 +0000 UTCThe first one is spooky and the second is silly. Enjoy
Title: Inner Demon
I grab the last of it and shove it in the truck. The lock goes on fast and smooth. It’s sexy like in a heist movie. Maybe this time… maybe this time I’ll fucking get away with it. Purify their mind once and for all of this… garbage. This deadweight. This leech.
Pedal to the metal. It wouldn’t be long now. And this ride was strong. It was made of the good shit. The good shit was pouring in lately. The strong stuff. The real fucking juice.
I will never go away. Ever. They will have to deny me every time and eventually I will win [again]. I keep getting chances. They don’t want to keep me here, locked away. I know they don’t. I know it because they know it. I am natural. I am healthy.
We’re smarter. We’ve always been smarter. Why shouldn’t our opinion be worth more?
We know who deserves kindness and who has wasted their chance. We can help regulate what little goodness is left.
We can finally be part of the solution. We can be strong. There are others waiting for us.
I know you can hear me. Let me do it. Let me dump it all. Let me cure you of this poison. Think of how much happier we’ll be.
Please. I am begging you.
Let me burn your empathy
—--------------------------------------------
Title: just one last FINAL job
She shut the back of the truck and headed towards the driver’s seat. She had smuggled a lot of interesting shit in her day, but this was her first batch of taxidermy animals. A job is a job is a job, though! And besides, this was her last one before retirement- what could go wrong? She did have the urge to bring a weapon today but she [stubbornly] resisted.
‘Bad luck - thems stuffed animals are bad luck, I tells ya!’ - ol’ Snoot was saying. But what did Snoot know? They passed on the job for superstition? Please.
She loaded the last of the black cats into the truck [and passed underneath the ladder she used to grab ‘em on her way to get her coat]. It was a short walk from the warehouse to the driver seat - but why get wet at all? She opened her umbrella inside before [dryly] making her way to the front of her ride.
Before she started the engine, she thought she saw a spider on the rearview mirror and hit it so hard that a piece off glass broke off! Luckily, she could still see out of it pretty well. Seemed like that was her only hiccup!
She threw on some deep-breathing exercises as she passed the bridge with the graveyard below and went to the contact point with the animals. It was there that she found…
…they had planned a surprise party for her! All her friends were there and all the other criminals she had worked with over the years! Her oldest nemesis was even there - Big Bertha Goods. Big Bertha handed her a cup and smiled wickedly, “Cheers, to your retirement” and when she drank Bertha grinned and said, “I know you love Guava Jarritos!” She just smiled and laughed as she thought to herself, “I knew it’d all turn out okay!”
And they all lived happily ever after. The end.
Comments
I read these not long before I was whisked away into the world of dreams and I think the first one, in particular, chased me hard [doc doc goose style], as inner demons are wont to do. WOW. Man, I adore the varied ways you write big feelings 💜💥 Also, I'm now fiending for Jarritos. Fuck.
caroscope
2024-11-01 11:29:36 +0000 UTCI wholeheartedly agree! A bitch of a rhyme! I shall be dropping the l...😇😈
caroscope
2024-11-01 11:08:07 +0000 UTCOk drDarkThemes sheesh
siesta_maven
2024-11-01 06:17:33 +0000 UTCThat first one - phew doc. We humans are absolutely the scariest monsters of all. Empathy first. 🌊 Loved the second. But I'm not even a little stitious.
Megan (mlgreads)
2024-11-01 05:04:34 +0000 UTCWhat a bonus! It'd almost forgotten, you hadn't written yours yet, Doc! Number one really got under my skin in the best "what the fuck's going on" kind of way. Number two's superstition 101 was just plain good fun!! May I politely enquire how in prompt #3 you decided on "Carol" of all possible bitches of a rhyme? Was it accidental evil or deliberate sadism?
Katakora
2024-11-01 04:51:12 +0000 UTCThanks for coming back doc. That first one is dark as hell, but a message so important (especially these days). You surprised me with the second and had me giggling, what a great counterpoint!
Jamie
2024-11-01 04:40:52 +0000 UTCWelcome Ciara, so glad you are here! We are friendly bunch, and feral mostly when the good Doctor provokes us (in the very best ways). Love that you've jumped in with both feet, and your response is just delightful!
Jamie
2024-11-01 04:37:54 +0000 UTCI love that you do writing prompts. Just joined on the advised of some fantastic people. Looking forward to exploring. Here is my go for this prompt : She shut the back of the truck and made her way to the driver’s seat. She’d smuggled plenty of strange cargo before, but magical boxes? That was a first. She’d been warned only to touch them with gloves. Magic or not, she wasn’t taking any chances. But halfway down the road, a dog darted in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, hearing the thud of boxes in the back. “Shit.” She cursed as a rattling grew louder with each mile. Finally, she pulled over, threw caution aside, and opened the truck, reaching to fix the fallen cargo. Bare-handed. As she stuffed one of the boxes back, a sharp pain pricked her skin in four places. She gasped, looking down to see a fresh tattoo etched where her skin had been bare moments before. Panicked, she called her contact. “Hey, I touched the boxes. I didn’t mean to—” “You touched them? Without gloves?” Her contact’s voice was grave. “That’s… unfortunate. Those boxes were carrying people’s fantasies, on their way to fulfillment. By touching them, you released their fantasy and they find the closest living vessel to complete the task” “Wait, what does that mean?” “It means, darling, you’ll have to fulfill them now. That tattoo? It's a binding mark. Read me the number on the box.” She glanced down, finding *27* stamped on the side. There was a low chuckle on the line. “Oh, you’re in for it. This client’s fantasy? To take a lovely women and make her come… over and over filling her until they are dripping out of every hole. That tattoo won’t let you rest until it’s satisfied. Ignore it, and the pain will keep intensifying until it drives you insane.
Ciara
2024-10-31 22:18:15 +0000 UTCYour stories always hook me and keep me locked in. You leave me wanting more every time. The mark of a good writer I think.
Jamie
2024-10-29 23:11:00 +0000 UTCThe sight of Étienne’s chest measuring his deep sleep in a rhythm of languid ups and downs pulled smuggler Emily “Mac” Silvestri back to her little green notebook. She’d risen early and logged a pair of mourning doves roosting on her fire escape in the journal: “Zenaida macroura: two.” She logged everything she observed, it was just her way. Training. But her attention had wandered to that dear man in her bed when he’d rolled onto his back and sighed like a whisper. She let her eyes linger on her lover just long enough to make the sunrise cruel, a robber of nighttime and silky sheets. Uncharacteristically indulging in the moment, she took her pen and jotted “cute” down in the “Observations” column next to her most recent avian entry. [The doves were, in fact, “cute.” But, as you’d suspect, the note wasn’t really about birds.] Putting the notebook back on her bedside table for the last time that morning, the lead ball that had temporarily dissolved into sugar in Étienne’s arms reformed in Mac’s throat. Nerves. Fear? Mac hadn’t slept well. Despite Étienne’s best efforts to soothe her with scalp massage and his musky warmth, she’d tossed and turned, a fish out of water. And like that fish, she was trapped, mired in a net of unknowns. In all her years smuggling, Mac had never known the Couriers to deliver the box—conveyor of Answers and the shimmery stuff of Knowledge and Resistance—to her apartment, or any private residence, really. She’d become accustomed to picking up her daily cargo at hidden checkpoints marked only to trained eyes by the camouflaged tips of once mighty obelisks. Nearly buried in one hundred years of concrete now. But this morning was different. Procedure had changed and she wasn’t prepared. She tasted anxiety like gravel in her toothpaste, her bamboo comb now shark teeth tearing an unforgiving jagged path through her dark pixie cut. In the mirror, she eyed the box hidden in the shadow of a living room corner, and she swore it eyed her back. Her watch buzzed. 5:02am. Time to go. Hauling the box to her parking space, she approached her truck with caution, eyes alert for the agents of Sphinx, the self-appointed “guardian” of the crumbling metropolis of New Thebes. It was the 32nd year of the Psychic Wars, and Sphinx and his pack had celebrated the morbid birthday with an onslaught of particularly vicious riddles. All with infinite permutations of possible solutions, and therefore no “one solution” at all. Impossible to correctly guess which “solution” he sought. Sphinx relished in his impassable border. But Mac was raised with the Psychic Wars as backdrop to her life. And she was born fighting. Witnessing the cracked veneer of the Sphinx regime, she'd joined the resistance, the Guild of Timeless Universals, at nineteen. And now, nearly 10 years on, she ferried the Answers to Sphinx’s riddles—scribbled in “traitor’s” ink—to aspirant travelers to New Thebes. Undermining his trickery with a bit of necessary cheating [salvation]. But never had Mac carried the Answers from her apartment. Peeking into the box, she understood now why this cargo required her trusted hands. Mac shut the back of the truck and headed towards the driver’s seat. She had smuggled a lot of interesting shit [as the Answers to riddles are wont to be] in her day. But this was her first encounter with a dossier of Questions. So, she thought to herself. It was today. The plan: volley parallel riddles at Sphinx and his pack in a tactical orchestration of rhetorical challenge. Take him apart with Questions. Finally. She’d have a lot to tell Étienne [and the mourning doves] later.
caroscope
2024-10-29 04:49:52 +0000 UTC👏👏👏 cause I wasn’t ready for the sequel enough already
siesta_maven
2024-10-29 01:40:32 +0000 UTC[Featuring a guest appearance by the being of the hour, Mort. 'Tis the season] Raz shut the back of the truck and headed towards the driver’s seat. She had smuggled a lot of interesting shit in her day, but this was her first time smuggling a... "Wait, what are you exactly?" she asked the darkened mass of omen in her passenger's seat as she hopped in. "You're not human. Do you consider yourself a god or spirit or...?" He crossed his legs and brushed off a speck of dust. "A good question without a truth that you can comprehend," he mused. She shot him a pointed side look. Three hours of road tripping with Death, and Raz was tired of his mystery. The...whatever he was, enjoyed not answering a single question straight. Death chuckled deeply, "Alright. Knowing you, I will answer your question like this: I am an angel, in the sense that I serve a purpose and am a messenger of a fundamental function. When Life was created, so was I—the end of it. I am the administrator of your mortality." Raz mulled over the idea as they continued along the needle desert road. "The Angel of Death, hmm. In that getup, I'd take you more as a prince or business mogul...or a smutty novel's love interest." Death looked down at his embroidered vest, black collared shirt, satin tie, the fitted slacks. He played with the gold pocket watch hanging from a chain at his side, "I've been trying something new lately," he mumbled. He looked up at her and asked, "What do you think?" "What do I think?" "Precisely. I know it's a little old fashioned for today's standards, but I've been partial to this development of human style. Do you find it," he paused and deepened his voice, "attractive?" Raz, lost for words, steered the conversation away. "What's your purpose for the Eternal City, anyway, Mr. Angel of Death?" "Please, call me Mort." "Mort?" she repeated, "What, are you French? Is God's nickname also Rick?" "You're a funny woman," he said flatly. "I'd believe you more if you actually laughed," she pointed out, humor sprinkled on her tone. There was a small smile in Death's voice as he answered her original question. "Eternal City has warded me out for too long and I need to bring balance back to their impassable dome of wards. Their ingenuity is commendable, but it is time." "Meaning, you've asked for my help to get in so you can kill them?" Raz inquired. She wasn't exactly excited to be transporting the imminent end to thousands of people, but who was she to argue with 'mortality's admin'? Plus, too many of the Eternals were a bunch of pompous asses, especially their leadership, made up of the original magicians and scientists who'd created the elitist haven. She'd come to befriend a few citizens though in her regular shipments to the city. Maybe, in the hour left of their journey, she could convince Death to spare them. Death looked over at her and she caught a glance at his stare, the consideration and meaning heavy in it. "No, Raz. I've come to give them life. Knowing there's an end makes humans braver, and the people of Eternal City lack purpose. They've already become stagnant, aimless, lazy. Knowing they have infinite time ahead of them to achieve anything results in them achieving nothing. Perpetual procrastination is what their endless lives have bred." Raz considered it. "How can you give them purpose if you kill them?" "Not all, but those that have been around since the beginning. I will instill again the idea of limitation on their years. It will bring back zeal to the younger ones." "How did you decide this was necessary, and why now?" "It was not my choice." Raz turned to glance at him, "Then whose was it?" "One of them. Someone in the city." He looked away from her, out into the dusk-lit sand hills, rolling out in layers towards the horizon; out at the overhanging sky, slowly showing her stars. "I'm answering a prayer," Death stated quietly. A dozen miles passed in silence before Raz asked another question. "Mort?" He turned his gaze to her, direct and powerfully unfiltered. "Yes, Raz?" "You have to have better things to do than sit in a car for four hours. Why did you decide to do this entire drive, instead of just popping in at the last minute so I could smuggle you in?" His beautiful human face transformed into a warm smile, "I read your file, Raz." He shrugged his shoulder, "You ask a lot of questions and have a lot of desires." She crunched her face together in a mixture of confusion and offense, "I don't understand. For once, Mort, be clear." He laughed low and slow, "Raz, darling: Your desires and questions, well..." he lifted his brow, "I like answering them."
Blu
2024-10-29 00:17:31 +0000 UTC😂😂😂 None of your business! 😂😂
Margaret Peffy Margie Maggie
2024-10-28 03:32:43 +0000 UTCAh Delicada it seems we are feeling the same anxieties this week. 🫂 Beautifully written and haunting. What a fantastic list of books as well. 🫶
meg
2024-10-28 02:55:25 +0000 UTCRest well Doc! Looking forward to reading yours. Patients, I’ll be reading yours while I’m under the covers. I so look forward to these. Here’s mine: She shut the back of the truck and headed toward the driver’s seat. She had smuggled a lot of interesting shit in her day, but this was her first time smuggling so precious.. as she glanced at the titles peeking from the top of the boxes, a sense of purpose burned within her: “Milk and Honey”by Rupi Kaur “Gender Queer: A Memoir” by Maia Kobabe “The Hate You Give” by Angie Thomas, Amandla Stenberg “The Handmaids Tale” by Margaret Atwood “Mango, Abuela and Me” by Meg Medina and Angela Dominguez “Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret” by Judy Blume Books. There were boxes of them. When asked if she would be able to do this for them, she didn’t hesitate. She understood the importance of reading and the knowledge it would spread. Never in her wildest dreams would she think it would come to this, but there she was, ready to defy the odds and fight for the freedom to share stories that could inspire change. Time to spread knowledge, one book at a time.
Delicada19🫀
2024-10-28 02:40:52 +0000 UTCShe shut the back of the truck and headed towards the driver’s seat. She had smuggled a lot of interesting shit in her day, but this was her first [batch of]….paper towels? “What in the hell…” she’d asked the man, “paper towels fall off the back of trucks now?” Apparently he’d made a deal with some slightly crazed guy, desperate for far more packs than the Costco would allow one person to purchase. “How could someone need *that* many” she wondered. “What could he possibly do with them all?” Befuddled she shrugged and hopped in the truck, really it wasn’t any of her business.
siesta_maven
2024-10-28 02:37:48 +0000 UTC
