dommeister

[dommeister]

@wermyblogus​ @bestseller1​ @deepaabp-blog​ @mcorvisiero​ @ad-dex-blog​ @writerscorner-blog1​ @joshuajadon​ @illustraris​ @softspokenmemories​ @ten-word-tales​ @christinewrites​ @tobias-ichiroy​ @priyankakarnavat​ @roycedarhk​ @georgelthomas​ @vict0riaaaaaaaa​ @irratemuffin​ @theshaolion​ @giveittimeangel-blog​ @niggers-smell-666-blog​ @ramenfanatico​ @thejalencole​ @gooddaygreg​ @thnkmassi-blog​ @mruberdriver216​ @karenterrywrites​ @forman-corinna72817k-blog​ @muns1298​ @strangeyouthtriumph​ @lifelearninaudi-blog​ @lifeasawolf103​ @obviousdust​ @writerbmmonge​ @fitmariblog​ @allsportsdeal-blog​ @sosnitskaya-sveta5waapwq-blog​ @writebruh​ @riafritz​ @mcfrankauthor​ @laurabwrites​ @holycollectorofbooks-blog​ @joyceapp101​ @brokenwinged-butterfly​ @bliss-with-peace​ @gamecinematic​ @belladonnanights​ @mrpenumbra​

[dommeister]

@wermyblogus​ @bestseller1​ @deepaabp-blog​ @mcorvisiero​ @ad-dex-blog​ @writerscorner-blog1​ @joshuajadon​ @illustraris​ @softspokenmemories​ @ten-word-tales​ @christinewrites​ @tobias-ichiroy​ @priyankakarnavat​ @roycedarhk​ @georgelthomas​ @vict0riaaaaaaaa​ @irratemuffin​ @theshaolion​ @giveittimeangel-blog​ @niggers-smell-666-blog​ @ramenfanatico​ @thejalencole​ @gooddaygreg​ @thnkmassi-blog​ @mruberdriver216​ @karenterrywrites​ @forman-corinna72817k-blog​ @muns1298​ @strangeyouthtriumph​ @lifelearninaudi-blog​ @lifeasawolf103​ @obviousdust​ @writerbmmonge​ @fitmariblog​ @allsportsdeal-blog​ @sosnitskaya-sveta5waapwq-blog​ @writebruh​ @riafritz​ @mcfrankauthor​ @laurabwrites​ @holycollectorofbooks-blog​ @joyceapp101​ @brokenwinged-butterfly​ @bliss-with-peace​ @gamecinematic​ @belladonnanights​ @mrpenumbra​

[dommeister]

@wermyblogus​ @bestseller1​ @deepaabp-blog​ @mcorvisiero​ @ad-dex-blog​ @writerscorner-blog1​ @joshuajadon​ @illustraris​ @softspokenmemories​ @ten-word-tales​ @christinewrites​ @tobias-ichiroy​ @priyankakarnavat​ @roycedarhk​ @georgelthomas​ @vict0riaaaaaaaa​ @irratemuffin​ @theshaolion​ @giveittimeangel-blog​ @niggers-smell-666-blog​ @ramenfanatico​ @thejalencole​ @gooddaygreg​ @thnkmassi-blog​ @mruberdriver216​ @karenterrywrites​ @forman-corinna72817k-blog​ @muns1298​ @strangeyouthtriumph​ @lifelearninaudi-blog​ @lifeasawolf103​ @obviousdust​ @writerbmmonge​ @fitmariblog​ @allsportsdeal-blog​ @sosnitskaya-sveta5waapwq-blog​ @writebruh​ @riafritz​ @mcfrankauthor​ @laurabwrites​ @holycollectorofbooks-blog​ @joyceapp101​ @brokenwinged-butterfly​ @bliss-with-peace​ @gamecinematic​ @belladonnanights​ @mrpenumbra​

[dommeister]

Pure Imagination

I’ve realised I probably should have mentioned this a few months ago, but I didn’t, so I’m mentioning it now. Hopefully it reaches a few more people who might be interested.

Anyway, I wrote a book. And you can buy it now.

You can’t read it, but you can listen to it, because it’s an audiobook.  And here’s the cover, just to prove that I’m not making this up (I’m really not).

It’s technically for kids, but I’m sure that anyone of any age would enjoy it (not that I’m biased or anything).

It’s about a boy and his imaginary friend, who happens to be a bright green talking beaver. That’s him on the cover up there. I’d try and explain the plot, but it’s got a blurb, which already does that quite well, so I’ll post that below.

Fantastically funny and full of heart, Pure Imagination is perfect for fans of Nevermoor, A Place Called Perfect and Monsters, Inc.

Reggie doesn’t want a new friend, especially not a highlighter green, three-foot-tall beaver.

Oswald doesn’t want a new friend either, especially not a book-loving, bed-making, broccoli-eating boy. But when an imaginary friend gets a new assignment, they’re stuck there until the kid no longer needs them. And with Oswald’s home world of Imagination mysteriously crumbling away into nothing, befriending Reggie seems like a safer bet than disappearing with it.

But when Oswald forgets Reggie’s birthday, Reggie runs away to Imagination. A world where a kid’s wildest dreams can come true...and their worst nightmares. A world where bugbears lurk in the forest, where sabre-toothed hamsters might be waiting behind a bush and where you can never be sure if the new friend you’ve made can be trusted.

Now Oswald needs to find and rescue Reggie and fast. Reggie could be the thing everyone’s been looking for to save Imagination - but if they’re not careful, he could be the one to destroy it.

And there we go. Listen to it you like. You might like it. If any of this has piqued your curiosity, you can get it wherever you can find audiobooks - or at the very least, listen to a sample of it.

[dommeister]

The Chosen One?

Here’s another (very) short story that I wrote, inspired by a writing prompt I saw on Reddit. The prompt for this one was “It wasn’t until near the end of your journey that you found out that you are, in fact, not the chosen one.” And it’s a nice happy story. Well, maybe not that happy.

I was tired, hungry, covered in bruises, and hadn’t washed in what felt like months. But it didn’t matter – it was over. I’d finally made it.  

The prophecy, handed down through the generations, had said that one day, when the moon was a fiery red, a baby would be born – the Chosen One. That baby would grow up to become a hero, the only one strong enough to defeat the Dread Lord K’vynne. That hero would have a birthmark on his back, in the shape of a sword.

And that hero, apparently, was me.  

I’d been told the tattoo was the right shape, but I’d never really had a close look at it. Personally, I thought it looked like a duck, but I trusted all my friends and family.

The moon had deefinitely been fiery red when I’d been born, though. Or at least orange. Not that I remembered it, obviously, but still.  

When I came of age, my father had given me his prized sword, which had been his father’s before him, and so on and so forth. It had been locked in the attic for decades, and looked a little rusty, but I wasn’t going to turn it down, so I thanked my father, shook his hand, and set off to fulfil the prophecy.  

It was quite a detailed prophecy, with a lot of things I had to do before I even contemplated going after the Dread Lord. But with a band of trusted friends and hired warriors, I’d done most of what I was destined to do.  

I’d explored the Forest of Shivers. I’d made my way through the Wailing Caverns. I’d tamed a wild hippocampus. I’d battled the fearsome Gorgon of Lockberg. I’d very nearly gotten lost in the Endless Desert of Barsheirah.  

The last thing on my checklist (apart from slaying the bad guy, of course) was to cross the vast Wasteland of Dspayre, an empty landscape of ash and bones. On the other side of it, or so the prophecy had foretold, was a mountain, reaching into the sky like the arm of a drowning swimmer. At the top of that mountain was a temple, where I would find the Blade of Light, a fabled sword made from the remnants of a burning star, thousands of centuries ago. It was the only weapon capable of killing the Dread Lord K’vynne, and only the Chosen One was powerful enough to wield it.  

And, as I mentioned earlier, I’d made it to the temple. I was standing in the temple’s doorway, panting heavily, and surprising myself by managing to stay upright.

It hadn’t been an easy journey.  

Well, that’s a bit of an understatement.  

It had been a horrific, traumatising, almost-impossible journey.  

I’d made it, but that band of warriors I’d mentioned earlier? They hadn’t.  

The first to go had been my childhood friend Todd, who stepped in quicksand, and sunk without a trace.  

Others, sadly, hadn’t gone quite so quickly or painlessly.  

First we were attacked by a dragon, then a troupe of walking skeletons, then a pack of spiders, each of them bigger than a horse. One by one, my band had lost their lives as they threw themselves in front of me. They’d protected me until their dying breath, eager to do their bit to help me, the Chosen One.  

I wouldn’t have been able to do it without them, and part of me wished they were still with me. I had no idea how I was going to walk back across that wasteland on my own.  

But I could cross that bridge when I came to it, I told myself, as I trudged across the dusty floor of the long-abandoned temple. Squinting in the gloom, I could just make out a slab of granite in the centre of the room, which looked even older than the temple itself. I wondered for a second if this temple had been built around it. There were ancient runes and sigils carved all over the rock, but I wasn’t interested in them. All I cared about was the sword, the Blade of Light, which jutted out of the top. It looked as though someone had angrily stabbed the sword into the rock and then, unable to free it, had simply abandoned it.  

There was, supposedly, an enchantment on the sword. Only the Chosen One could free it from the rock. As I got made my way towards it, I noticed the charred bones and weapons lying on the floor all around the rock. I tried to ignore them, but I was forced to wade through them as I got closer. The skeletons were piled up high, with some blackened bones still reaching for the sword.  

I brushed them aside, kicking the remains of these would-be heroes away, and leaned against the rock, still trying to catch my breath.  

Eventually, I straightened up, ran my hand through my hair, and looked at the sword. Only the hilt, and a few inches of the blade, were visible, and they didn’t look like anything special. I’d been expecting it to be made of gold, studded with jewels, and sparkling in the sunlight. Instead, the metal looked dull, and the hilt was wrapped in leather, with a single blood-red ruby in the pommel.  

“Well,” I muttered to myself, my eyes fixed on the sword, “it’s now or never.” I took a deep breath and reached out for it.  

For a second, time stood still, and then my hand was gripping the hilt. I smiled – it just felt right in my hand. With gritted teeth, I pulled hard on the sword, not knowing whether it would come out easily or not.  

To my shock, it didn’t move. I put one foot against the rock as I pulled on it even harder, but I couldn’t make it budge an inch.  

Frowning, I made to move my hand and get a better grip – maybe that was the problem – but I couldn’t let go.  

“What the…” I muttered, before the sword started glowing.  

The light shone so brightly that I had to cover my eyes, and that was when my hand started to heat up. Still shielding my eyes against the glare, I watched as my hand burst into flames, bright blue flames that started racing up my arm.  

“Oh, sh…” I began, but I didn’t get any further than that.    

[dommeister]

Demons 101

I haven’t posted a story on here in a while, I don’t know if anyone noticed or not. But anyway, I’ve tried to write something else - I need to write something other than the social media posts I have to write at work, or I’ll go crazy - so here we go It’s inspired by a writing prompt on Reddit again - if you’re curious, the prompt for this one was “While doodling one day, you accidentally draw the summoning symbol of an ancient demon.” If you read this, enjoy. If you don’t, then enjoy it anyway.

It was the end of a long, boring day, and the beginning of the last lesson, when it happened. It was Geography, if you must know, and I’d zoned out while Mr Crowley droned on about meanders and oxbow lakes. Occasionally, my eyes would flick up to the clock above the blackboard, as I checked if it was nearly home time yet, but all I was really interested in was the notebook on the desk in front of me.  

The pages had been blank when the lesson had started, but since I had nothing better to do, they were now covered in absent-minded doodles. I’d already drawn everything from random shapes and swirls to stars and smiling faces, when I remembered that cool pointy ‘S’ shape everyone used to draw when I was little. You know what I mean – like I said, it’s a pointy ‘S,’ made up of fourteen straight lines. Anyway, that’s what I did. Or tried to do, at least.   

It’s been a while since I’ve drawn one of them, after all, and I must have done something wrong. Because I drew the last line, and as soon as my pen left the paper, the shape started glowing. It was bright red, as though I’d pressed a burning brand on my notebook, but to my confusion, the paper didn’t burst into flame. There wasn’t any smoke, or even any heat, but still – the glowing light was difficult to miss.  

Everyone sitting around me had noticed, and had turned in their chairs to see what was going on. The teacher had finally stopped talking to glare at me, presumably thinking it was my phone that was letting out this eldritch light, and wondering what I was looking at that could be more interesting than rivers.  

Mr Crowley opened his mouth to say something, and that’s when there was a loud bang. The people sat in front of me suddenly leapt to their feet and jumped to the side, getting as far away from the middle of the room as they possibly could.   

Curiosity somehow got the better of me and, resisting the urge to run for the door, I slowly stood up and peered over my desk. There was a jagged crack in the centre of the room, the linoleum curling up at the edges. As I watched, the crack grew wider and wider, and I could just make out a faint pulsing glow, the same colour as the symbol on my notebook.  

Smoke started billowing out of the crack. It didn’t spread out, like I’d thought it would – the black cloud stretched up to the ceiling, and then whirling around. There was another loud bang and the smoke disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, revealing something out of a nightmare.  

I thought it was a man at first, until I noticed the tail, which writhed around behind him, and the horns, which curled up above his head and brushed the ceiling. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, and what I thought was a pair of trousers was actually thick, matted fur, covering his legs (legs that, I should add, bent the wrong way, and had hooves instead of feet). His chest and arms were bare, and it was difficult to tell, because they were crisscrossed with jagged scars and burn marks, but I think his skin was a dark shade of red.  

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, my gaze reached his face. He was easily as twice as tall as me, and he was staring right at me, with yellow twinkling eyes.  

When I made eye contact with him I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. It was as though my eyes were magnetised, and drawn to his.   

He smiled, his mouth opening wide to reveal rows of serrated teeth. “Yes, master?” he asked, in a voice that somehow sounded like hissing and roaring at the same time. “What is your desire?”  

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. My mouth had dried up, and my tongue had stuck to the roof of my mouth. I gulped, cleared my throat, and managed to stammer, “Wh-wh-what?”  

The demon – because that’s obviously what he was – frowned, and looked at me with his head tilted to one side.  

“You summoned me, master.”  

“I d-did?” I glanced down at the glowing symbol on my notebook, and realisation dawned. “I mean, erm, yes,” I quickly added, and cleared my throat. “I did.”  

“So?” the demon asked, as his tail thumped the floor. “You summoned me, Ashmodeth, the most powerful demon, second only to Lucifer himself. I can do whatever your heart desires, fulfil your wildest fantasies, make your dreams come true. What would you have me do first?”  

“Erm…” I replied, and scratched my head. My mind was blank. There were so many possibilities. There were loads of things I’d love to do, but now that I had an all-powerful demon at my service, I couldn’t think of any.  

I managed to tear my eyes away from him, and looked around the room. My teacher and all my classmates were pressed up against the walls, cowering and sobbing, hugging each other. Some of them looked back at me with pale faces and wide eyes, but must of them were staring at the demon in horror.  

The demon coughed. “Master?”    

“Yes, hi. So, what kind of things do you normally get up to?”  

Now it was the demon’s turn to scratch his head. “What do you mean, master? For fun?”  

“No – like, what do other people get you to do? I’m sure something will come to me, but right now I can’t think of anything. You know how it is,” I said with a shrug.  

“Of course, master.” The demon stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Well, in the past I’ve flattened cities. I’ve created armies out of nothing but sand. I’ve parted oceans. I mean, the possibilities are endless.”  

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sure they’re endless. The thing is, I…” I stopped as, suddenly, a thought struck me. If he could make anything happen, then there was something I wanted more than anything. “I know what I want!” I cried, pointing at the demon. “I want you to…”  

Before I could finish, the classroom door burst open.   

Well, it didn’t exactly open. One minute it had been there, and the next it was gone, replaced by a cloud of dust and splinters.  

Standing in the doorway was that cheerleader from my History class, the one who never noticed me, the girl I’d been trying to summon up the courage to talk to for months. Behind her were those geeky friends she hung out with and, for some reason, the librarian.  

The cheerleader sprinted in and, before the demon had even noticed her, she stabbed him in the chest with a wooden stake. The demon let out an unearthly scream before crumbling into dust.  

The librarian, meanwhile, had snatched my notebook from my desk, and he tore it in two, destroying the glowing symbol with a flash of blinding light.  

“Hi there,” I said, giving a little wave because I didn’t know what else to do.   

The cheerleader just looked at me and rolled her eyes before marching out of the room. Her entourage, meanwhile, followed her, telling her how amazing she’d been.    

Everyone else in the class, including Mr Crowley, sprinted after them, eager to get away, while I slumped back into my chair.   

She’d noticed me.   

The demon hadn’t needed to grant any wishes after all.  

[dommeister]

The Sound of Stars

I haven’t posted any stories for a while, so here’s a new one. The prompt for this one was: “You've been talking to the stars for most of your life, about your successes and troubles. One night, the stars answer back.” Enjoy. Or don’t enjoy. I’m not the boss of you.

I sat back, making myself comfortable in the camping chair, took a sip of ice-cold beer, licked my lips, and began.

“Well, it happened again,” I said, looking up into the night sky. “I’d make up my mind – I was going to ask Cheryl out today. So I marched over to her desk this morning, she looked up at me, and I… well, guess what? I chickened out. I couldn’t do it.”

My eyes still fixed on the heavens, I gulped down some more beer. I’d been doing this for years now – dragging a chair out into the back garden and just talking to the stars, unloading all my fears and worries on them. It had been something my dad had once suggested. He’d said it had made him feel better. And weirdly, it did the same for me, too. I guess it was kind of like having a psychiatrist. Only it was one who never talked back. Or charged me.

I took a deep breath. “I worry sometimes that I’ll be alone forever. And to add to that, I’m stuck in a dead-end job, and…”

“Oh, get over yourself,” a voice boomed out, interrupting me.

Nearly dropping my beer, I spun round. I thought someone had wandered into my garden and overheard everything, but there was no one there.

“And stop whining,” called out another voice, which sounded slightly further away.

“Wh-who’s there?” I yelled, trying and failing to stop my voice rising to a shrill squeal. I stood up and slowly turned on the spot, eyes straining into the darkness.

“Up here, kid,” the first voice said, and I looked up in time to see a star twinkling in time with the words.

The stars were finally answering back.

I opened my mouth to reply, but for once I was lost for words. My jaw flapped about uselessly.

“This is Sirius, by the way. Or it’s what you humans call me. Not that you’d know that. Have you ever bothered to learn our names? All you do is drone on and on about yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, as I collapsed back into my chair.

“Yeah, well, you’d better be,” Sirius replied, flaring brighter than ever as he berated me.

“We’ve been talking,” said another star, a bright orange spark in the night sky. “This is Betelgeuse, by the way.”

“Hi, Betelgeuse,” I said.

“Be quiet,” Sirius snapped, “and let him talk.”

“All of us stars have been talking,” Betelgeuse said again, “and we’re fed up with you ranting at us every night.”

“Yeah,” another star yelled, flickering in the middle of Orion’s Belt. “We’ve had enough.”

Suddenly, the sky was filled with twinkling stars, and my ears were filled with their yells as they shouted at me and complained about me in equal measure.

“Come on, now,” Sirius shouted over them, but they ignored him. “Everyone be quiet!” he roared, blazing brighter than ever.

Finally, the din died down. I looked up at Sirius, unsure what to say.

“I think you’ve got the gist of it,” he said.

I just nodded.

“Good. Because this has to stop. We’ve had it up to here. And we’re quite high up. The only one of us who isn’t fed up of you is Sun, and that’s just because they’re lucky enough not to be here when you’re holding forth. All you do is complain about how hard done by you are, and how horrible your life is. And it really isn’t.”

“But it is!” I shouted, spilling some of my beer over my lap. “Haven’t you been listening?”

“Of course we have,” Betelgeuse replied. “That’s how we know how wrong you are. Your life’s not that bad. We’re looking down on the whole planet, and we can see thousands – no, millions of people whose lives are much worse. You have your own house, for one thing. A house with a back garden. Think of the people who are sleeping out on the streets tonight.”

“Alright, alright. But just because I have a house doesn’t mean everything’s amazing.”

“You’re always saying your job is horrible,” Betelgeuse replied, ignoring me. “At least you have a job.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“And your job doesn’t even sound that bad,” Sirius added. “You’re just a little bored with it, that’s all. It never sounds that stressful – you always manage to complete your tasks on time, and you never get any complaints about them. Your salary’s good. Higher than average, for some reason. From what you’ve told us, it sounds like all of your colleagues loves you. Even your boss likes you.”

“Really?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Sirius replied, twinkling. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a promotion is coming your way soon.”

“Besides,” Betelgeuse said, “even if all of this wasn’t true – if you didn’t have a house or a job – you’re still living at a great time. We’ve been up here for thousands and thousands of years. We’ve been watching you humans this whole time. And trust us – things used to be a lot worse.”

“I guess,” I replied sullenly.

“No, don’t guess,” the star snapped. “That’s not my opinion. It’s a fact. You’ve got a lot to be thankful for, so start being grateful.”

“You’ve got a job, you’ve got money, you’ve got your health,” Sirius added. “And all your family are perfectly healthy too. So please, please, stop whining. Because we’re done listening to you.”

“Alright,” I replied. “I’ll try.”

“No, don’t try!” yelled another star, a star who didn’t bother to introduce themselves. “Next time you thinking of coming out here and telling us about your day – don’t. Just shut the hell up.”

“Okay, okay. This is the last time I ever do this,” I said, holding up my hands up. “Although if I’m really that annoying,” I muttered, “I don’t know why you didn’t say something earlier.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Sirius, and I jumped, thinking I was about to be told off again. “This Cheryl girl you’re madly in love with?”

I nodded.

“Just ask her out already. It sounds like she actually likes you. Although from what you’ve told us about Dave from HR, he’s probably going to ask her out before you. And he’s quite the catch. So hurry up and get over yourself. Ask her out.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, and then something the star had said registered. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘it sounds like she likes me?’ Do you really think that?”

There was no answer. I looked up at the sky, waiting for the stars to twinkle as they yelled at me, but they looked the same as they said every other night I’d sat out there.

I stared down at the now-empty bottle of beer, and then at the other eight that were scattered on the grass around me.

Maybe I’d had enough. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

[dommeister]

The Red Dragon

So here’s another piece I’ve written, this time inspired by an image. Someone just posted it on Reddit, in the Writing Prompts subreddit - the image is below, so you can see what inspired me, or you can look at it here - http://88grzes.deviantart.com/art/Glorybringer-680208169. Anyway, here we go. Enjoy.

It was an interesting end to the Olympics opening ceremony, everyone agreed on that. This was the first time that Cardiff had ever hosted the games, and the rest of the ceremony had been something spectacular, watched by millions around the globe. There had been musical performances, fireworks, and even a giant robot Dylan Thomas. Still, after all of that was done, things had begun to calm down a little. The athlete Iwan Thomas had been chosen as the lucky person to light the Olympic Cauldron and kick off the games. He’d lowered the torch into a wide, spiked metal bowl, and the flames roared into life, jumping up and almost burning off his eyebrows. With that done, he ascended a series of stone steps. Once at the top, he unrolled a scroll of tattered, ancient-looking parchment and proceeded to say a few words in Welsh. He’d only said a few words, though, when the sky began to darken. Iwan looked up in time to see a monstrous dragon fall out of the sky, its mouth open wide to show a row of razor-sharp scorched fangs. Before anyone knew what was happening, the dragon’s jaws snapped shut around Iwan Thomas and he disappeared from view. The crowd promptly burst into applause, assuming that this was just another part of the ceremony. Wales had long been associated with dragons, after all – there was even one on their flag. Everyone watching was too busy marvelling over the very lifelike special effects, to notice the officials and staff running around on the ground below, panicking. As the applause and the cheers echoed around and around the stadium, slowly fading away, the dragon just perched there, wings unfurled. It stared at the crowds with glistening eyes, licking its lips with a forked tongue, as it waited for silence. Eventually, when it was so quiet you could have heard a javelin drop, the dragon threw its head back, opened its mouth, and let out a torrent of white-hot flames. Those sat in the stands nearby had to stand back – they could already feel their skin blistering – but couldn’t stop grinning at what they were seeing. It was like Game of Thrones come to life, and they couldn’t believe how real it looked. Suddenly its jaws snapped shut and it gazed out at its audience, a hungry look in its eyes. All over the stadium, camera lenses stared hungrily back. “It is I,” the dragon growled, in a low voice that sounded like boulders crashing against each other. “Glorybringer. Who summoned me from my slumber?” No one said anything. By this point, people in the crowd were starting to wonder what exactly this had to do with sports. A small crowd was gathering at the foot of the steps. The head of the International Olympic Committee was there, along with a number of athletes, officials, and other suitably important people. The rest of the audience, meanwhile, were watching them intently, waiting to see what happened next. A dance? Some kind of acrobatic performance? The head of the IOC, a tall woman with bushy black hair, had got her hands on a microphone. “Erm… Hello there. Greetings… erm… Glorybringer. On behalf of all humankind, I would like to welcome you…” Glorybringer flapped its leathery wings, which were wider than the wingspan of a jumbo jet. It flapped its wings just once, and unleashed gale-force winds that surged down the steps towards the head of the IOC. She, along with everyone else standing around her, was sent tumbling backwards, somersaulting over and over. Throughout the stadium, people ducked down and took shelter behind anything that looked sturdy enough. Those who were clutching their country’s flag weren’t so lucky – the flags ballooned and snatched them away, carrying them high into the air. As soon as the winds had died down, black-clad security forces and police raced towards the dragon. They were all clutching rifles and machine guns, and they were all pointing them up at Glorybringer. When the dragon noticed these weapons, it smiled – at least, as much as dragon can be said to smile. Its lips curled back, showing its fangs once again. It opened its mouth again, ready to unleash another torrent of flames, but before it could let loose, the people below started firing. For the second time that day, the place was filled with bangs and flashes of light. This time, though, there were no fireworks to be seen. There were hundreds of bullets fired, but all of them bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s scaly hide. As the last bullet was shot, and ricocheted off Glorybringer’s chest, the dragon seemed to smile again. It craned its neck, looking down at the rows of police, who dropped their now-useless weapons to the ground. Some of them realised what was about to happen and started to run, but none of them were fast enough. With a roar, the dragon opened its mouth and fire burst out, incinerating anyone that was unlucky enough to be at the foot of the steps. The people could be seen in the flames for a few brief moments, until they were vaporised, turned into ash. The ground went black and, in places, started to bubble. The stands emptied as people finally cottoned on and realised what had happened. They raced for the exits, but only those on the opposite side of the stadium stood a chance. Still breathing an inferno, the dragon turned round and set fire to the nearest people, who were too busy pushing and shoving each other to see the danger they were in. They noticed it was getting warmer, but before their minds could register anything else, they went up in smoke. “Foolish mortals,” Glorybringer rumbled, as pillars of smoke and ash billowed around it. “This is my world now.”

[dommeister]

The Rain

The writing prompt for this little story was just ‘It's raining cats and dogs. Literally. This is the apocalypse.’ It’s quite a gory apocalypse - I mean, there are dogs falling from the sky, after all.

They’d said on the weather that morning that we’d get a bit of heavy rain, and then joked that it might even rain cats or dogs. At least, I’d assumed it was a joke. If they’d known what was really going to happen, I’m sure they would have sounded a lot more panicked. When I opened the front door, I’d been confused – there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I paused for a second, just to check my wallet was in my pocket, and that brief hesitation saved my life. A moment later, a Great Dane fell out of the sky and landed right on my doorstep, with a sickening splat. It sent up a spray of blood of chunks of fur and flesh, ruining my new suit, but all I could think was ‘If I’d been standing there, I’d be dead.’ Part of me wondered whether I should check if the dog was alright, but I knew there was no point. There was no way it could have survived that fall. I had no idea where it had fallen from. I couldn’t explain this away by telling myself it had jumped out of my upstairs neighbour’s window – I lived in a bungalow. As I was standing there in my open doorway, I saw another dog fall from the sky. This time, it was a bulldog, and it landed in the middle of the road, right in front of a car. With a screech of brakes, the car swerved to avoid the dog and crashed into a parked car. I watched as the driver jumped out, presumably to check on the bulldog, when he was flattened by a poodle. I thought about going outside to check on him when there was a series of dull thuds – the parked cars had been hit by some cats and what looked like a Shih Tzu (it was difficult to tell). I slammed the door, mainly so I didn’t have to look at the squished Great Dane any more, and ran over to the television. I put it on and started flicking through the channels, searching for news. When I found it, I had to sit there impatiently for a few minutes, waiting for them to stop talking about the latest sports headlines. Eventually I saw the news anchor looking grave, while the words ‘ANIMALS FALL FROM THE HEAVENS. SCIENTISTS BAFFLED’ scrolled across the screen below him. “The Prime Minister has declared a state of emergency,” the newsreader was saying, “and is urging people to stay indoors, or, of possible, get underground. Other world leaders are saying the same.” The man disappeared, replaced by shaky footage of a busy street. Suddenly, it got darker, and cats and dogs began plummeting from the sky. Whoever was holding the phone started to run, until the world somersaulted as they fell to the ground. The video froze on a close-up image of a paw. “So far it seems to be only cats and dogs falling from the sky, and there seem to be more and more by the minute,” the newsreader continued, “but experts are warning people not to go out and check on the animals. As of now, no one seems sure where they’re coming from, but they all seem to be dead before they hit the ground. Now, we’re going live to Alison Sinclair from PETA, who claims that…” There was a loud thud on the roof, directly above me, making me jump and look up. When I looked back at the TV, there was nothing but static. From the looks of it, a cat or a dog had managed to take out my aerial. I rummaged in my pocket for my phone and tried to call my parents. I wanted to check they were alright, and make sure they stayed indoors, but when I put my phone to my ear there was nothing. It was dead. The internet wouldn’t work either. I was hoping to go on Twitter or Reddit, and look at some funny cat photos. I thought that might cheer me up a little – but no luck. Instead I sat on the sofa, staring outside, hoping that the fluffy deluge stopped, and trying not to jump every time one of them landed on my roof. I had no luck there either. As I watched, it only seemed to be getting worse and worse. It’s been a few days now, and I haven’t seen another living thing. I’ve had to draw the curtains, because every time I look outside there’s nothing but a sea of blood and fur, covering everything. I don’t want to, but I’m going to have to leave. I can’t stay in here any longer. The roof is covered in the corpses of cats and dogs now. Not that I can see it – I haven’t been outside to have a look. I can hear them, though – ah, there’s another one. The roof keeps creaking, and I’m worried that sooner or later, the roof is just going to collapse and cave in. I don’t want to spend my last few moments on Earth being buried by a wave of lifeless cats and dogs. I’ve spent the last few hours taking the door off the oven, and I’m going to run out there holding it over my head, like a metal umbrella. It seems sturdy enough. It should work, unless I run into another Great Dane. Well, here goes.

[dommeister]

Abra Cat-dabra

I’ve written a new short story thing. The prompt for this one was ‘You are the most powerful wizard to ever live. Only problem is you can only cast cat related spells.’ Hopefully you’ll like it - I mean, everyone on the internet loves anything to do with cats, so obviously you’re going to love it.

They call me Marvin the Magnificent, Master of the Cosmos. Well, technically they don’t call me that yet, but I’m trying to get it to catch on. Eventually, people will see how powerful I am. I’ve been studied and tested by some of the wisest mages, sorcerers, witches, and so on and so forth. And they all agree – I’m the most powerful wizard to ever live. Another thing they agree on is that most of my spells are, by and large, useless. It’s not my fault, though. You see, when you’re young, when your magical powers start flourishing and all that, you get to choose something to specialise in. That’s why you get weather wizards, or warlocks who can read minds, or witches who can predict the future. For most people, this happens after they’ve already studied magic for a few years. They know what to expect, and what would be the most useful kind of magic. What with me being so powerful, though, my magic powers emerged much earlier. When I was about five years old, to be exact. Back then, I loved cats more than anything. I had a pet cat, Whiskers, who I’d take everywhere with me. So, of course, I decided that my powers would be cat-based, and there was nothing that anyone could do to convince me otherwise. Nowadays I’m kind of indifferent about cats, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m stuck with them now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the only spells I can do have to be about cats. I mean, if you go and look through the Grand Encyclopaedia of Spells, there are only three cat-related spells in there (one to summon cats, one to turn someone into a cat, and one to read a cat’s mind). Thankfully, I can still do other spells. It’s just that they all end up involving a cat somehow. Take the unlocking spell, for example. It’s a simple enough incantation. Just point your wand at a locked door, say the magic word (it’s ‘reserare,’ by the way), and ta-dah – the door’s unlocked! If I do exactly that, then the door doesn’t unlock. Instead, it turns into a small cat. Technically, the spell does the same thing - if I’m locked out of my house because I forgot my keys again, then this helps me get in. Still, a brand new door is a lot more expensive than you might think. I got in real trouble once, when someone tried to mug me. I was wandering home, late at night, when I felt a knife pressed against my back, and someone growled, “Give me your wallet.” I panicked and, without thinking, muttered a spell that should have made my attacker fall unconscious. I hadn’t wanted to hurt him, after all – I’d only wanted to escape. If the spell had worked properly, he would have woken up a few hours later with a sore head, wondering what had happened. Instead, the knife fell to the pavement with a clatter, and I turned round to find a kitten looking up at me, a confused expression on its fluffy face. I didn’t want to leave this guy as a cat for the rest of his life, even if he had tried to rob me, so I tried to reverse the spell. Each time I tried, though, he turned into a different kind of cat. There was a brief terrifying moment when there was suddenly a full-grown lion standing in front of me, but before it could do so much as roar, I said the magic words again and he turned into a tabby cat. I gave up and scooped up the mugger-cat, hoping that the magical authorities might be better equipped to reverse the spell. Last I heard, no one’s managed to turn him back. Apparently my spell was so powerful that the poor guy is trapped in a cat’s body for the rest of his life. I didn’t mean to do it, honest. Now, you might be thinking, ‘Wait a minute, you have power over all cats – couldn’t you use that to your advantage? Take over the world with an army of cats, all doing your bidding?’ Alright, alright, you might not have been thinking that exact thing, but other people have suggested it in the past. And it sounds like a solid idea, I’ll give them that. But it’s bloody difficult. Have you ever heard someone say something is like herding cats? Well, herding cats is like herding cats. I can control a few at a time, but that’s difficult enough. They always prefer to kill small animals, or chase a ball of wool, or just lie there. It’s easier to control them with some catnip than it is to use a magic spell. Some day I’ll find some kind of use for my powers. I’ll find a way of making everybody see me in a different light, see me for the powerful sorcerer that I am. Until then, I’m stuck here. Now, how can I help you again? I’m so sorry, I’ve completely forgotten what you asked me. Ah, yes, the cat food. That’s on the third aisle on the left – you can’t miss it. And we’ve got a two-for-one offer on everything in the shop today, so knock yourself out.

[dommeister]

Once Upon An Uber

Here’s another story - the prompt for this one was ‘You are an Uber driver. For the fictional, the folklore, the fairy tales, and the likes. You just ended your first shift.’

I’d thought the job advert had been a hoax at first. It had been at the bottom of the jobs section in the newspaper – ‘Driver wanted – must believe in fairies.’ Obviously, I’d thought it was some kind of incredibly late April Fools prank. Until, that is, I went for the job interview and found myself being grilled by a fairy called Darren. I don’t mean it in that way, don’t get me wrong. What I mean is he was about three inches tall and kept hovering around the room. Anyway, I got the job. It turns out it was for Uber, and I’d be driving around some of their more… unusual clients. Today was my first shift, and I was given a welcome pack, which I’ve got in my glove compartment. It’s full of stuff that I was told might be useful if the customers get a little rowdy – some garlic, silver bullets, things like that. There’s even some earplugs. Apparently the banshees and sirens love singing along to the radio. I’d thought about putting some snacks or bottles of water in the car for the customers – it was what other people did – but in the end I decided against it. There were so many beings that could potentially come my way, and I’d have to stock different options for every single one. Besides, I just didn’t like the idea of stocking bottles of blood for the vampires. Apparently there were a lot of them in the neighbourhood. I was nervous, as you might expect, and last night I could barely sleep. Before I started my shift, at 10pm, I had to down two cups of coffee. When my first customer got in the car, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d pulled up outside a chip shop, and at first I’d thought there was no one there. I was about to call them when a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows and opened the door. They got in and sat down without even saying hello, and took off their hood. I started when I realised I’d just picked up a Cyclops, but I don’t think he noticed my surprise. He didn’t look at me for the rest of the journey, keeping his one eye fixed on his iPhone as I drove him across town. When I pulled up outside a rough-looking bar, he just got up and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Still, I got a five star rating, so I’m not complaining. My next customers were a party of dwarves. There were only three seats in the back, but seven of them managed to squeeze in back there, their boots not even reaching the end of the seat. One of them plugged my AUX cable into their phone, and they spent the whole time singing along to a dubstep remix of Heigh-Ho. You know the one. It’s quite catchy, I’ve had it stuck in my head all night. After that, everything went swimmingly. I drove all over town, mostly picking people up at bars and taking them to other bars. Most of the customers weren’t very chatty. They asked the usual questions – things like ‘how are you?’, ‘where are you from?’, ‘has it been a busy night?’ – and then talked amongst themselves or became very interested in their phones. I amused myself by trying to figure out what exactly I was ferrying around the city. Some were obvious, like the genie, or the group of leprechauns (who were all dressed like they were celebrating St Patrick’s Day in the middle of September). Others were more difficult. There was one man who I thought was just incredibly hairy. He kept nervously glancing up at the clouds, but I couldn’t see anything particularly scary out there. It was only when he was on the phone to someone, and started laughing a loud, barking laugh, that it clicked. He was a werewolf. Once I’d realised that I kept looking out the window, keeping an eye out for a full moon. Once I’d dropped him off outside a kebab shop, I headed off to pick up my last client of the night. She was standing outside a nightclub, and was soaking wet. She looked as though she’d been stood in the pouring rain for hours, even though it hadn’t rained all night. I nearly didn’t stop for her, but she looked so forlorn that I had to. With a squelching noise, she walked up to my car and got in. She immediately started apologising for how wet she was making everything, even though I insisted it was fine. I told her the car needed a clean anyway, and she eventually stopped worrying. After I’d been driving for a few minutes, the back seat was sodden. The water sprite – because that’s what she told me she was – was sat in a small puddle by that point, and every time I went round a corner I could hear water sloshing against the doors. We got to chatting after that. She told me about her night, and then started asking me about how I’d gotten this job. As I was talking I kept glancing at her in the rear view mirror, and it was disconcerting. There was water continually streaming down her face and dripping off her hair, as though she was having a shower. She told me I was taking her home, but I was confused at first when I stopped in the middle of nowhere, next to a small stream. “Thanks!” she’d said as she squelched out of the car. I was about to ask her if she was sure this was the right place, but at that moment she disappeared. There was no sign that she’d ever been there. Well, apart from the slightly flooded car. And the five-star review.

[dommeister]

Billy the Pretty Pink Pony

Well, here’s another short story I wrote, inspired by another writing prompt from Reddit. I’ll tell you what the prompt was afterwards. For now, you can just sit back and enjoy the story.

Billy the pretty pink pony skipped down Rosemary Lane, stopping only to sniff the brightly coloured flowers in the hedges, or watch the butterflies fluttering through the air. It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the birds were singing in the trees – and Billy was on his way to town. It was market day, and he was going to see what he could trade the vegetables from his vegetable garden for. He was getting close to town when he heard someone call out his name. “Billy!” the voice was saying from the side of the road. Billy stopped in his tracks and peered at the hedge. Perched there on a branch was Mr Fluffkin, the red squirrel. “Hello there, Mr Fluffkin,” Billy said with a smile. “How are you?” “I’m absolutely terrific,” the squirrel replied. “And where are you off to on this fine day?” “I’m off to the market,” Billy replied, nodding towards the basket balanced on his back, which was piled high with potatoes, carrots, aubergines, and more. “How about you?” “Why, I’m heading there too,” Mr Fluffkin replied. “I don’t suppose you’d like a lift?” asked Billy. “It’s always better to travel together, after all.” Mr Fluffkin beamed. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.” “Not at all. Hop on,” Billy said. The squirrel scampered up Billy’s leg and, once he’d made himself comfortable on Billy’s head, they set off. It didn’t take long for them to reach town, and the place was bustling – it was market day, after all, and creatures had come here from far and wide. Billy trotted along the streets, heading for the square in the middle of town, saying hello to all the creatures he knew as he passed them by. Every kind of creature imaginable was there – foxes and badgers, elephants and voles, leopards and rabbits. Just no humans, of course. The town square was lined with stalls, selling everything from freshly-baked pies to toys for the little ones. Billy and Mr Fluffkin parted ways soon after they arrived – Mr Fluffkin said he was looking to buy a new jacket for himself, while Billy was hoping to get some ribbons for his glittery mane. Billy was bartering with Barbara the ocelot, trying to swap some of his vegetables for a slice of her apple pie, when he heard a loud, high-pitched scream. “The humans are coming!” someone yelled from the other side of the square. Panic ensued. Everywhere Billy looked, animals were wailing and running back and forth, knocking over stalls and pushing each other to the floor. Billy sighed. It had been hundreds of years since humans had been the dominant species, but somehow they were still clinging on. And they always insisted on doing what they’d always done – attacking the other animals, ruining things for everyone else. Billy reached back to grab his basket, and put it down on the cobbles. It was time to do something. He charged across the square, darting through the crowd and jumping over the wreckage of stalls when he had to. Eventually, he saw a crowd of humans gathered around some dead animals and cheering. Billy gasped when he saw Mr Fluffkin sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood. There was a sound behind him, and Billy spun round. He saw a man there, dressed in rags and holding a rusty knife in one hand. The man smiled and raised the knife above his head, but Billy acted fast. With a snarl, he bared his teeth and sank his teeth into the man’s neck, tasting the warm, coppery blood. The man collapsed in a heap, a chunk of flesh still in Billy’s mouth. He gulped it down, licked his lips, and turned to the rest of the humans. He had a taste for blood - they were next.

The prompt, by the way, was “Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence.” I ended up trying to destroy the atmosphere in the last few paragraphs, but still. I tried my best.

[dommeister]

Love Is A Many-Angled Thing

The writing prompt for this story was “You're a demon, the spawn of hell. Things start to go awry when you start to love an angle.” I think whoever wrote the prompt accidentally spelt ‘angel’ wrong, but never mind. I went with it anyway.

Ever since I first laid eyes on her, I was in love. I know it sounds clichéd, but it felt like being struck by a lightning bolt. And I know what that’s like, having done just that to torment souls over the millennia. The only problem was, I knew it was wrong. Plain wrong. After a few days of wrestling with my guilt, I had to come clean. I thought that if I got this off my chest, I’d feel a lot better, so I went confess everything to the boss. I knocked on his office door, more tentatively than I’d meant to, and wasn’t sure if he’d heard me. Before I could knock again, he boomed, “Come in!” A cloud of sulphuric smoke wafted out when I opened the door, and I walked in to find Lucifer sat with his hooves up on the desk. “Ah! Samael!” he roared, sliding his hooves to the floor and sitting up straight. “What can I do for you?” Standing in front of him, my hands clasped behind my back, my mouth suddenly went dry. I’d rehearsed this dozens of times, but now I forgot what I’d meant to say. “A-actually, s-s-sir, I…” “What are you doing standing there?” he cried. “Sit down!” He clicked his fingers and, with a burst of acrid smoke, a chair appeared right behind me. “Now,” Lucifer said, once I’d made myself comfortable. “What were you trying to tell me?” “I’ve got a c-confession to m-m-make,” I stammered. “Oh? I see,” he said, frowning and leaning forward in his chair. When he didn’t say anything else, I nodded and ploughed on. “That’s right, sir. You see, I’m… well, I’m…” I gulped. “I’m in love.” He stared blankly at me for a moment, and then a grin spread across his scarlet face. He thumped his fist on the desk with such force that it split in two. “You’re in love? That’s excellent new. You can’t spend eternity alone, that’s what I always say. So, spill the beans – who is it? Lilith from HR?” he asked with a wink. “Erm… no.” “Who, then?” “That’s the thing, sir. It’s not… well… it’s not another demon.” The smile disappeared. “What are you saying? You’re not in love with…” He paused here to spit on the floor. “You’re not in love with an angel, are you?” “Not exactly, sir. You see…” He interrupted me with a loud sigh. “Come on, Sam. You know the rules. It’s forbidden for you to be romantically involved with an angel. Why, just last week I found out that Abaddon had been seeing Gabriel from upstairs. I’ve had to sentence both of them to 1000 years of walking barefoot over Lego bricks. Am I going to have to send you to join them?” “Well, no, sir. I’ve actually fallen for an angle.” “That’s exactly what I was talking about!” he bellowed. “The rules are very strict on this. Who’s ‘the one,’ then? Azrael? Metatron?” “No, sir. You misheard me. It’s not an angel at all, sir. It’s an angle. I’m in love with an angle.” I watched as several emotions flickered across Lucifer’s face, fighting for superiority. It looked like confusion won out. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I don’t understand. An angle?” “That’s right, sir.” “But… but how does that even work? Isn’t an angle just two lines?” “Yes,” I replied with a smile. “Two beautiful lines.” “Okay,” Lucifer eventually said, drawing out the last syllable. “I don’t really know what to say. Erm… what kind of angle is it? Or is it rude for me to ask?” “She’s acute, sir.” “Interesting. And how do you… how exactly do you two… Actually,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t want to know.” “Alright, sir.” “So, why are you telling me this?” “I thought you needed to know, sir. I thought relationships like this were forbidden.” “I don’t think there’s ever been a relationship like this before. So I’m pretty positive it isn’t forbidden.” “Are you sure, sir?” “I’ll have to check the guidelines, and I’ll get back to you. While I’m doing that, why don’t you get back to work? Those souls won’t torture themselves. And say hello to your… angle for me, won’t you?” I left the office smiling, and feeling a lot lighter. And I wasn’t the only one feeling happy. As I skipped down the corridor, I could hear laughter coming from the other side of the office door.

[dommeister]

The Gameshow

The prompt for this one was ‘You're watching a game show on TV. The host says "Don't go anywhere, we'll be right back!" before going to advertisements, but you change channels anyway to watch the news. 5 mins later, the news are reporting that you are wanted by the police.’ A bit of a long one, but anyway - here’s what I wrote.

“Don’t go anywhere,” the host said, winking at the camera. “We’ll be right back!” Not wanting to sit through another ten minutes of adverts, I snatched up the remote and changed channels, flicking through them until I eventually settled on the news. There was nothing important on – no breaking news whatsoever – but I put the remote down and slumped back, sitting through segments on everything from football to the latest political scandal. After talking for a few minutes about a water-skiing squirrel, though, the newsreader put her hand to her ear and looked grave.  “And now, some breaking news. Police are on the lookout for a young man called…” Suddenly my face appeared, up in the top left corner of the screen, and I stopped listening to whatever she was saying. I didn’t know where they’d got the photo from, and I wasn’t sure where they’d got it from. I looked confused, squinting against the flash from the camera. I realised the newsreader was still talking, and I tried to focus on her words. “We’re being told that he ignored a direct order from the host of a popular gameshow, and decided to change channels.” The newsreader shook her hand and sighed. “We advise you to be on the lookout for him, as he’s proved he can be both dangerous and unpredictable. More updates as we have them.” While the news ended and the weather came on. I just sat there, staring blankly at the TV, the remote still in my hand. I must have imagined that, I told myself. Right? It was some kind of hallucination. But there was my name, scrolling along the bottom of the screen, along with the words ‘wanted by the police.’ He’d told me not to go anywhere and I’d changed the channel. That’s all that had happened. How could I be wanted? I needed to go back, start watching that show again. If my big crime was not watching it, then it would all be fine once I put it on. What channel had I even been watching? As I started rapidly changing channels, I realised I couldn’t even remember the name of the show. I could remember what the host looked like, though, with his dazzling white teeth, perfectly coiffed hair, and bright purple jacket, and I kept my eye out for him. The only problem was that he was nowhere to be found. I started changing the channel faster and faster. Different programmes flashed past on the screen, but he was in none of them. Nature documentary. Powerpuff Girls. Chatshow. The news again, with my face in the corner. Rugby. A flash of purple and a dazzling white smile. A cookery competition. An old episode of Friends. Wait a minute. Had that been him? I went back two channels, and there he was, stood behind a podium. “Welcome back!” the host boomed, grinning maniacally. “You took your time.” I stared, dumbfounded. Was he talking to me? “You’ve missed a bit of the show,” the man continued, “but thanks for finally showing up.” “I… I… I don’t understand,” I stammered. “Are you talking to me?” He winked, and his smile grew even wider. “Of course I am.” “But why are the police after me? What did I do?” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly, they’re not really after you. We just needed you to be watching this, and that was the easiest way to make you watch this again. I don’t understand why you changed the channel in the first place.” Behind him, the two contestants were nodding. “Wait. What?” I asked. The host walked off to the left now, the camera following him as he headed towards a large board covered in squares. A few of them were lit up, in groups, and there were letters in some of them. Then I remembered what the contestants had been trying to do earlier – figure out the phrase that was on the board, by guessing the letters. While the contestants started yelling out letters, the host stood next to the board, and it looked as though he was looking me right in the eyes. As I watched, edging closer to the screen the whole time, words began to form as they guessed the correct letters. I figured out what the phrase was before they finished, and my mind was reeling. The last few letters appeared, but I wasn’t looking at them. I was staring at the host. “You’re in danger. Run. Now,” I said, reading the phrase. “What does that even mean?” “It means exactly what it says!” the host screamed, his smile finally disappearing, the mask slipping. “Now run! You don’t have much time. They’ll be there any minute.” “Who’ll be here?” “I can’t explain now. It’s your own fault for not listening to simple orders. You need to get out of there, otherwise they’ll…” Suddenly, the TV screen was filled with a close-up on the host, eyes wide and face pale. Then the screen went dark. Behind me, there was a splintering crash as my front door exploded inwards.

[dommeister]

The Shamal That Never Stopped

This one’s not from a writing prompt - it’s part of a longer story. It’s the beginning of a story I’ve been working on, about an apocalyptic sandstorm in Dubai. So yeah, enjoy. Hopefully.

I was there the day it all began. Here, I mean. Although so was everyone else who’s still stuck in Dubai. I’m not special. They’re either trapped here, like me, or they’re… well… dead. But I saw it happening. Not that there was anything anyone could have done to stop it. I had to sit there watching it, helplessly, from the back of the school bus, stuck in traffic in the middle of the twelve-lane Sheikh Zayed Road. It was gridlock on all sides. Nothing was moving, and nobody knew why. I could hear the bus driver yelling, mostly to himself, but also to the younger students on board, who were getting restless. They were bouncing around, running up and down the middle of the bus. I was starting to get annoyed. It was Thursday, the last day of the week, and (by some happy coincidence) both of my parents were out of the country for the weekend. I was only fourteen at the time, so obviously they hadn’t left me on my own. However, I’d come to an arrangement with our maid, Tash; she could have the night off to visit her boyfriend, while I hosted a party for everyone in my year. That’s why I was stressed. I still had plenty to do before the party, and we were wasting valuable time. We’d been stuck in traffic for forty-five minutes, and were still less than a mile from school. Gradually, I realised everyone on the bus had fallen silent. They were crowded by the windows, hands and faces pressed up against the grimy glass. Normally Johnson, the driver, would be yelling at them to sit back down, but just like them, he was staring at something on the far side of the road. If you’ve never been to Dubai – and you probably never will, after all that’s happened – you won’t know where Sheikh Zayed Road is (or was). Apart from in Dubai, obviously. It’s the main road here, and it cuts right through the city, with glittering skyscrapers lined up along it. At least, there used to be skyscrapers. And the ones that are left standing aren’t glittering any more. On one side of the road, you’ll finds streets upon streets of villas and, eventually, the beach. On the other, if you drive on past the malls and hotels, you’ll find nothing but desert, for miles and miles. Sounds like a lot of sand, right? Well, there’s a lot more on its way, trust me. Anyway, where was I? The bus. Everyone was transfixed, hypnotised by something outside. They were all staring towards the desert. I shuffled closer to the window. I’d closed the curtain earlier, trying to shelter from the sun, so pulled it aside now. When I saw what was out there, I froze. This might sound clichéd, and I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t help it - my mouth dropped open, and my eyes widened. The tallest thing around was the Burj Khalifa, the building that looks like a syringe from your worst nightmare. It’s about 800 metres tall (maybe more – I’m not an expert), so pretty big, and was usually the tallest thing in Dubai. At this particular moment, it was dwarfed by a wall of sand, billowing as it raced towards us. It looked at least twice as tall as the Burj Khalifa, and nearly blotted out the sun. The sandstorm stretched across the horizon, as far as the eye could see. Buildings vanished one by one, winking out of existence as they were swallowed up. Looking at it, I felt like it should be roaring and howling, but there was no sound. Even after I cracked the window open a few inches, I couldn’t hear anything. The world sounded oddly muffled. “Close that!’ someone hissed, right by my ear. I spun round to find Johnson standing there, glaring down at me. “What?” “Close it! Before that gets here,” he said, pointing a stubby finger at the storm. “You want to be buried alive?” “Alright,” I muttered, slamming the window. I looked out again, and the sand was a lot closer. By now, it had reached the side of the road. As I watched, the cars all around us started to disappear. A few seconds later, so had everything else. By this point, I could hear the storm – a low howling, and a creaking noise, as the bus rocked from side to side. Every now and then, there was a bang as something knocked against the side of the bus. It was dark inside. Even with the curtains drawn back, barely any sunlight made it through the sand. It was the kind of light that you get not long before the sun goes down, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. We sat there in silence, waiting for it to stop, or at least calm down. I’d seen sandstorms before, of course – I’d lived in the Middle East for years, but nothing as bad as this. Ever. After an hour, the novelty was wearing off. I’ll admit it was kind of fun at first. Like I said, this was the worst sandstorm any of us had ever seen, and I was looking forward to telling my friends back in England about this, and laughing at their reactions. But an hour of waiting patiently for the storm to stop, and having no idea what was going on in the outside world, was enough to test anyone’s patience. I could hear the others whispering to each other. They were plotting to leave, to try and find shelter. As much as I wanted out of the bus, I knew that it would be pointless, if not dangerous. Looking out the window, it was as though there was nothing else other than sand. I knew there were cars and vans parked all around us (some just a few feet away, full of people as trapped as we were), but it felt like we were the only people left in the world. I didn’t want to test it, but I had a feeling that if I took more than two steps away from the bus, I’d never be able to find it again. And then there were the gale-force winds. I mean, I can’t say for sure how strong they were, but if they were strong enough to rock the bus, I don’t think we’d be able to walk too well. At one point, two of the bus’ wheels had been lifted up into the air. We’d fallen back down with a crash, and I narrowly avoided being smacked in the face by someone’s P.E. kit. The air was full of sand, too. Even if I could walk out there, any bare skin would feel like it was being attacked with sandpaper. I didn’t fancy that, to be honest. Up at the front of the bus, Johnson had jumped to his feet, and was clearly psyching himself up to go outside. He was pacing around, going down the few steps to the door, putting his hand on the handle, then shaking his head and walking away. I felt like I should say something. I know I was only fourteen back then, but apart from Johnson, I was the oldest person on the bus. There were normally a couple of older kids, but, annoyingly, none of them had turned up that day. It was up to me, I told myself, getting up and walking down the aisle. “Don’t do it, Johnson,” I called out. His eyes flickered over to me, and he shook his head. “Don’t start giving me orders. Who do you think you are?” “I’m just trying to help! You’re not going to do yourself any good by going out.” “I’m going to have a look around. See if someone needs help.” I gestured to the nearest window. “Look at that storm, Johnson. You won’t be able to do anything until it’s stopped, so sit down and wait like the rest of us. It’ll be over soon.” “Oh really? What makes you so sure, little man?” I shrugged. Like everyone else, I had no idea when it would finish. But something told me it would be a bad idea if he went out that door. And I was right. Unfortunately. “Exactly.” He walked up to me, stooping down, so his face was a couple of centimetres from mine. “I’ve lived here for thirty years, and there’s never been a storm like this. People might be in trouble, so I’m going to go see. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” Johnson shoved me, and I fell back into a seat, nearly landing on a Year 7 kid. Johnson stormed over to the door, wrenched it open, and stepped out into the whirling sand. Or rather, he tried to step out. He never actually got that far. As soon as the door was opened a crack, the wind came rushing in, bringing the sand with it. Johnson was quickly covered in a fine layer of sand, from head to toe. I was wondering what he was doing, just standing there in the doorway, when he started screaming. We could barely hear him over the sound of the wind, but he let out a long, high-pitched scream, which got louder and louder. Until it was suddenly cut off. His mouth stayed hanging open, though, and he just stood there, swaying from side to side, a confused look on his face. He raised his hand in front of his face, staring at it, turning it round. As he did so, his hand… Well, his hand disintegrated. I thought I was going mad at first. But I looked round at the others, and they were all staring in horror at Johnson. I hadn’t imagined it, and I felt a little relieved until I remembered what was happening. Somehow, Johnson was turning into sand. When I looked back, his fingers had vanished. A trail of sand was being whisked away from him, and out of the bus. He tried to lift up his other hand, but most of that had already been blown away. He turned around and started to make his way back up the steps, but collapsed. I jumped up and found him lying on a pile of sand on the floor, his lower legs gone. Somehow he managed to get up on his knees. He looked up at me with wide eyes that looked like sandy puddles, and tried to say something. The sand had torn apart his throat. All I could hear was a rasping sound. I leaned a little closer – I didn’t want to get too close, in case whatever was happening to him started happening to me. Eventually, I made out a word. “Help,” he croaked, and then he completely disappeared, collapsing into sand and streaming out the open door. I couldn’t move – I just didn’t know what to do, and didn’t understand what I’d just seen. Someone darted past me to shut the door. When I stood up, all the others were in their seats, staring at me and waiting for me to take charge. I cleared my throat. “I… I don’t know what that was, but we’re not leaving this bus. Everyone stay where you are, and keep the windows closed. I promise you, the storm will be over soon, and then we can go home. We’ll be fine.” I was completely wrong. It wasn’t over soon, for a start. The storm lasted another couple of hours – I forget exactly how many. But when it finally finished, it was the middle of the night. We all had to clamber out the sunroof, since the bus was almost buried by sand dunes on all sides. None of us made it home, either. And as for me telling everyone ‘we’ll all be fine’? That was four years ago. Things haven’t gotten better at all. If anything, things are much, much worse.

[dommeister]

No Strangers To Love

Here’s another little story thing. The prompt for this one was just ‘Turn the lyrics of a song into a story.’ So I went for Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley. Obviously.

Michelle woke up in darkness, with no idea where she was. There was a coppery taste in her mouth, and her head ached. The last thing she remembered was walking home from her shift at the supermarket, and now she was lying on the floor somewhere, her arms tied behind her. When she tried to sit up, she hit her head on metal bars, and it was only then that she realised she was in a cage. Slowly, and taking care not to hit her head again, she manoeuvred herself in to a half-sitting, half-crouching position. “Hello?” she yelled, her voice rasping out of her dry throat. “Is anyone there?” There was no answer. Instead, a light bulb flickered on above her, and she could get a better look at where she was. Michelle was in the corner of a dank and empty basement. There was nothing else in there, other than her cage. There was a wooden staircase at the far end, but from where she was sitting, she couldn’t make out the top of the stairs. She was about to cry for help again when she heard a door creaking open, followed by heavy footsteps. The feet appeared first, followed by dark blue jeans, a plaid shirt and a leather jacket, as slowly, the rest of her captor came into view. She gasped when she saw his face. It was Derek, from work. He’d been working there longer than anyone else, for as long as anyone could remember, but she’d never even had a conversation with him. Michelle often turned round to find him peering around a display of baked beans, staring at her. Whenever she tried talking to him, though, he just grunted and ran away, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Derek?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Why am I here? Why have you done this?” “We’re no strangers to love,” he said, shuffling across the damp basement floor, as though that answered her questions. “Okay,” Michelle replied, frowning. “I guess we’re not. But what’s going on here?” He licked his lips and grinned at her. “You know the rules, Michelle. And so do I.” “The rules?” Michelle asked, trying to resist the urge to scream. “The rules of what? What do you want from me?” Derek hadn’t come down empty-handed. In one hand he had a bulging plastic bag, which he dropped in a puddle. In the other, he had a camping chair, and as he unfolded it, he carried on. “What do I want from you? That’s obvious. A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy. Trust me – I’ve watched you after work. I’ve seen the kind of guys you hang out with. That you fraternise with. And they’re not right for you. I am,” he said, sitting down and sinking into the chair. Keeping her eyes on Derek, Michelle shuffled to the back of the cage, trying to get as far away from him as she could. “Are you trying to say you love me? Why couldn’t you just have told me this at work? Why did you have to do it like this?” Derek licked his lips again and shrugged. “I just want to tell you how I’m feeling. I…” he paused, staring up at the ceiling as though searching for the perfect words, “I gotta make you understand.” “Have you now?” Michelle asked, her eyes darting around the room, hoping that this time she’d see something she could use as a weapon, something she could use to get out. But the room was still empty, other than her cage and Derek on his chair. “What have I got to understand, then?” “We’ve known each other for so long,” Derek said. “Not that long,” Michelle replied, and she was right. She’d only been working at the supermarket for the past six months, after all. Derek ignored her interruption. “All this time, though, I could tell. Just by looking at you,” he said, a hungry look in his eyes. “Your heart’s been aching, but you’re too shy to say it. Deep down inside, we both know what’s been going on. Don’t lie to me, Michelle. We know the game, and we’re going to play it.” “You think I love you? I’m sorry, Derek. If I’ve led you on in any way, I didn’t mean to. I’m sure you’re nice, that you’re a lovely person, but I don’t even know you! You’ve never talked to me!” She screamed this last sentence, and while the echoes died away, Derek sat there patiently, beaming at her. It didn’t look like he’d listened to anything she’d said, and when he spoke up again, she knew he hadn’t. “If you ask me how I’m feeling, don’t tell me you’re too blind to see it. Don’t deny it, Michelle. I know you love me. And I love you too.” With his eyes fixed on hers, his hand slowly crept inside his jacket. Michelle gulped, positive that his hand was going to come back out holding a gun. This was it. She was going to die. What had she done to deserve any of this? His hand still in his jacket, Derek leaned forward and lowered himself off his chair. He knelt down on one knee and licked his lips again. Finally, he pulled his hand out of his jacket and held it out towards her. Resting there, in the palm of his hand, was a diamond ring. Confused, Michelle’s gaze flicked from the ring to Derek’s plain, smiling face, and back to the ring again. “Wh-what?” she asked, unable to form any other words. “Marry me, Michelle. Please. We can be together forever. And I promise you, I’m never going to give you up. I’m never going to let you down. I’m never going to run around and desert you. I’m never going to make you cry, and never going to say goodbye. I’m never going to tell a lie and hurt you.” Michelle just stared at him, open-mouthed. “So?” Derek asked, smiling. “What do you say, my love?” Michelle took a deep breath, threw her head back, and screamed as loud as she possibly could.

[dommeister]

The Court of Gordiima

Here’s another bit of writing inspired by a writing prompt on Reddit. The prompt for this one was “A chapter of a book so High Fantasy it barely makes sense anymore.” And it’s a very short chapter, I know. But it doesn’t make much sense, so I think I succeeded.

The Grand High Drakahgor stormed into the hall, their cloak trailing along the floor behind them. “By the beard of Artangha!” they bellowed. “Stop this at once!” Everyone fell silent, and turned to watch Grand High Drakahgor. “Stop?” asked Wallimo, a look of anger flashing across his face. “Never!” “But we must,” snapped the Chief Phibolt, flicking through a battered copy of the Guide to Ish-T’abre. Eventually, they stopped and pointed a gnarled finger at a page covered in scrawled writing. “It says right here! What the most honourable Clayma suggested earlier is too dangerous.” On the other side of the room, Clayma barked with laughter. “Cowards. This is the only way to defeat the Grazkajh.” “There has to be another way,” Irox said, finally piping up. Either side of her, the twin priestesses of K’a’Bru looked down with identical looks of disdain. “I don’t think there is,” replied Bledeer. “We have to do it. And we carry on sitting in here for much longer, debating the pros and cons, then it will be too late. I’ve already heard from my men that the Frugak warriors have reached the Wall of Lootrorm. In a few hours they’ll have broken through. We won’t be able to hold them off much longer.” “So we need to make a decision now,” said the Head of the Yurmac Guard. She was wearing a suit of gold armour, a crest of a dragon and a heetrox carved into the breastplate, and was pacing back and forth restlessly. “Shall we take a vote?” asked Dewtral, sat at the head of the table. “It seems like the only sensible course of action.” “This is madness,” muttered Treadcup, shaking her heads from side to side. “I still can’t believe we’re even considering this.” Everyone chose to ignore her. “Well, everyone in favour of enacting the Rite of Ash’Ke-Vhin, raise your hand,” said the Earl of Sloeton, raising both their hands for good measure. All around the table, hands shot up into the air. Human hands, scaly hands, hands made of stone, hands that were slightly transparent. Even the Grand High Drakahgor raised their hand. Even the Lord and Lady Reemahuk raised their hands, to everyone’s surprise. Looking round the room, Nopkise realised that everyone in the room had raised their hand. “Everyone’s in agreement, then? We’re doing it?” Around the table, people nodded. “May the Lord Qasstup have mercy on our souls,” whispered Freej. Outside, the sky was lit up with a flash of lightning.