#2mss

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #20: Limbo

From @alexprompts‘ post:  “Of course I don’t fear death - she raised me.”

Day 20 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1450

Constructive criticism welcome!

I embraced the wind as I ran across rooftops. From gap to gap, I leapt. Traversing the town from so high above placed a smile on my face. People milled about below me, some shooting confused or alarmed looks at me. It had been three hours since I left my house and it was time for a break. Crossing my legs and peering over the edge of a building, I made eye contact with a friend. She signalled at me to come down. I grimaced, knowing what she would say. Containers lining the side of the building paved my way to the ground.

Abby studied me with her arms folded and her brows furrowed. “You don’t fear death, do you? You’re always doing parkour in your free time. Can’t believe you haven’t had a bad fall yet.”

I smirked. “Of course I don’t fear death — she raised me.”

“Haha, funny. Come along — I’m grabbing lunch at your favourite place.”

“No, really. Let me tell you about it,” I insisted. “I’ve never gotten to tell my story.”

——————-

My birth name had been Ana Mitrović. My new name was Anna Miler. I still remember the phlegm clogging my itchy throat. Simultaneous hot and cold as I lay swaddled in the blankets of my cot, the raging fever waging a war with my body. Breathing was laborious. My mother’s face — worried, anxious, stressed — looking down at me, wondering how she could make me healthy.

A burning sensation overtook everything. I shivered, an infant clueless of everything but the pain I was feeling. And then it went dark: replaced by chilly water on my back and the kiss of a passing breeze. Someone was wading towards me. I broke out in tears and called for the reassurance of my parents. The only person that came was a lanky woman, clothed in white. Her hair was silk, her skin as pale as milk. Her eyes, however, seemed darker than the deepest night. 

She cradled me, placing a hand on my forehead. The warmth came back as she did that. This time, I was unscathed. It was pleasant, like a loving mother’s kiss. An orange glow shone on her palm as she drew it away. A smile turned into an “O” of surprise as she carried me away.

I must have fallen asleep, for I remembered waking up in a room full of cots. My clothes had been changed. I knew I was safe there. The pale woman came in and stood by my cot.

“This is your home now, Ana. Welcome to Limbo. You can call me Mother Death.”

Turning to a woman at her side, she whispered something. The only things I could pick out were, “the fire we’ve been looking for.” Many years had to pass before those words uncovered their meaning.

———————-

The schoolyard was packed with other kids — all having died very young — rushing to their class. Although the dorms were close to the campus, everyone left it to the last minute. A television anchored to the roof of the main corridor blared news from the world of the living. It was like a pair of binoculars to the chaos that Death had saved us from.

In class, the Soul Harvesting teacher pulled out a huge leather-bound journal. It was inked with the haphazard inscriptions of Mother Death herself. We were Mother Death’s helpers in the making. Souls were finicky: sometimes they fled the body too fast, while some refused to join the Underworld. We were taught about the different depths of Hell and where to place the souls of the sinners (in the flames for the malicious, deep in icy water for the deceitful).

At times, we would get a teacher from ten centuries ago. Everyone in Limbo did not age past twenty, but there were girls in 1920s flapper fashion and men in Roman robes. Despite barely having seen anything  but the dark cave walls of Limbo, nothing was missing.

———————-

“Ana. Mother Death has asked to see you,” my professor told me. “Now. It’s urgent.”

I nodded, shoving my notebooks into my bag. Faint blue light led my way out of the university campus. I swerved through crowds and inched my way through the Central Market. As I passed by a stall hawking mushrooms, the vendor grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in.

“You can feel it in the air, can’t you?��� she whispered, looking around with wary eyes.

“Feel what?”

“Hell is stirring beneath us. It’s been grumbling for years — but recently it’s been getting worse. I thought you’d know. You seem like one of them.”

“I don’t get it. Sorry, but I have to meet Mother Death now.”

“Hold on. Let me check whether my instincts were right.”

Her grasp on my hand tightened and became warmer. The fire. The heat tingled and intensified. A flame rose from my palm. I yelped and jumped back, knocking over a container of wares.

“When you died, did it feel like a flame burning you up?”

“Yeah. I died of a fever.”

She smiled at me and said, “That wasn’t the fever. It was Hell trying to get to you.”

———————-

Mother Death sat at her dining table in her cottage. Even though she headed the city, she loved the seclusion of the corners of Limbo. She poured two cups of tea with nimble fingers and invited me to sit across her.

“I’ve heard that you’re doing exceptionally well in university. You’ll be amazing in the soul research field, my dear.”

My cheeks glowed with her approval. She had returned me the life that was snatched from me. She provided for all.

“It’s all thanks to you, Mother,” I paused before continuing, “There’s something very odd that I heard today from a vendor at the Central Market.”

She motioned for me to continue. I poured out every detail of the encounter, my hands trembling as I held the cup for its comforting warmth. Midway through my recollection, she extracted a notepad from her tremendous desk drawers. With a quill and a bottle of ink, she wrote with a deft hand. Her eyes were keen, concentrated on my every word. Encouraged, I retold the day’s affairs with a fairytale-like flourish.

“That is what I wanted to discuss today. From what you told me, you were speaking to Marie. She sees people’s fates. A wonderful talent that hasn’t grown obsolete.”

“Why does she have that power?” I played with my belt buckle, agitated by what Mother may say.

“The souls in Hell don’t like being in Hell. Every few centuries, they try to break out into the world of the living. She helped me piece together a team for the last attempt.”

The fire we’ve been looking for. I was part of the team. My hands… Their flames! Dancing balls of light that emerged in my moments of vivid emotion. When I failed my Soul Harvesting final… The textbook that burned. My head bobbed up and down in slow acceptance.

“Something’s different now. They’ve been speaking to me in my dreams. I don’t know what they’re saying — the connection’s somewhat garbled,” Mother Death said.

“What do I do? I don’t know anything…”

“You’ll have to return to the Overworld. Use a new name — Anna Miller?”

“And then?”

“Spend some time on Earth. Soon, I’ll come for you again. You’ll have to experience me a second time, I’m afraid.”

“And that’s how I infiltrate Hell? Death under a new identity?”

“Smart girl. I’ll accompany you to the Gate of Rebirth and no further.”

———————-

Abby was dumbfounded, struck by silence. Patting her back, I looked on as she struggled to process it all. Her eyes were locked onto the ground. She drew in her lips and nibbled on them as she delivered her viewpoint, “Damn, Anna. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Let’s go to the restaurant. Pretend nothing happened.”

I helped her up to her feet and we walked to the nearby Italian restaurant. The aroma of food took a load off our shoulders as we pored over the menu. Service was quick; my plate of carbonara arrived seven minutes after ordering. I dug into it, revelling in the rich creaminess of it. 

A few minutes into the meal, a headache crept in. I should’ve slept more last night. My chest was fluttering. Too fast. Way too fast. And then it slowed down. A pale woman came to our table and took my wrist. Abby’s eyes darted to her, alarmed, confused. 

“Are you ready?” the woman murmured.

MOTHER.

My body shook and then stiffened, everything fading to black.

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting

[toomanystoryideas]

2MSS #3: Masquerade pt. 2

Part 3 of my 2-month short story challenge with @kiraawrites !!

The night is nearly pitch-black as I sprint down the streets, holding up my long skirts as I dart through the empty plaza, devoid of all life except for the small children and their nannies, soundly asleep by now, just after the stroke of midnight.

One of my heels snaps off, and I kick off my shoe and watch it fall into some bushes. Running with only one shoe proves to be more difficult, so I tuck the other into the satchel pinned under my skirt.

Ducking behind a house, I lean on the wall and pause to catch my breath. I use my knife to slice off the bottom of my skirts. I tie the rest around my waist and tuck the blade into one of the knots.

My satchel falls from a cut portion of my skirt, and I quickly open it to make sure my treasure hasn’t been lost. It hasn’t. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Repinning my hair, I knot my new tiara into my dark curls. I tie the ends of my silken white mask to the golden bands of the crown to ensure I’ll notice if it falls off, and hoist my satchel back up onto my shoulder.

A girl on the run after midnight, with a missing shoe, a torn-up dress, and a crown that isn’t hers. How fitting for my costume. What a piece of irony.

“HEY! Stop that girl!”

It’s time to go.

Shoving the pieces of my skirt into a bush, I sprint down a back alley. There are roars and curses from soldiers running behind me, but they’re so far away it’s almost laughable for me to be scared.

Someone skids out in front of me. It’s a blond, freckled teenage boy, shivering in thin regal robes and baring a long sword that looks nearly too heavy for him to carry.

I groan. It’s the Prince.

“Get away,” I say flippantly, pulling my knife out of my skirt. “I won’t hesitate to kill you too.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” I step closer, and he shivers. “I thought so. Now leave or you’ll be lying dead in a heap like your father. I’ve got no qualms about killing the whole damn palace if that’s what it takes to get the money for this crown.”

“I’m not leaving,” he hisses. “I’m coming with you.”

I wasn’t expecting this, and I don’t know what to say. “You…” I laugh. “You think you’re some kind of heroic spy, trying to infiltrate my quarters or whatever gibberish those writer hillbillies come up with these days? No. You leave on the count of three or you’re dead. One.”

The boy lunges with the sword, and before I can think the knife flies out of my hand into the grass. He grins triumphantly at my shocked expression. “I can help you,” the Prince declares. “I don’t want any of the money; I just need someone to show me out of here. My father was a bastard, and now that you killed him I get to escape this sorry excuse for a country and let it burn itself to the ground. I can help you,” he reiterates, “and I’m coming with. Or I’m following you anyway, and then telling the guards I know where you’re going.”

“I’ll kill you,” I say again, but he picks up on the hitch in my voice and his grin widens. I don’t look away from him for a moment while I bend down to pick up my knife, and I know he could run me through right here but he doesn’t.

I sigh.

“Fine.”

The boy pulls back his sword. “Let’s go, then.”

As he follows me diligently through the back alleys, the soldiers having been long gone by the time the clock struck one, I try to wrap my head around what I’ve just done.

A girl on the run after midnight, with a missing shoe, a torn-up dress, a crown that isn’t hers, and a stupid young Prince at her heels.

I suppose I really am a sort of Cinderella.

Taglist: @autumnwolf126

[jokotten]

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[terelucas]

#instacollage #2mss #msm #teamo #teampliada #tuyyo #felices

[onedayonemileatatime-blog]

holyshit so close i can taste it. This is crazy what what.

[realidadistorcionada]

#10mss #9mss #2mss

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #23: Quality of Life (?)

From @writingprompts post.

Day 23 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1978

Constructive criticism welcome!

I want money, a mansion and a pretty girl. That day was Life-Switching day. The day our souls would switch in a manner so unpredictable that it was nicknamed The Great Casino. We would enter new bodies, with different genders, ages and wealth levels. This system was supposed to address inequality. But I was not sure how, as it seemed to boil down to how well-off one was. 365 days to make it big, or bust.

It was my first time in America. Over the past few years, I had a streak of Eastern European lives, followed by four years of being in China. I was a James Luther, living in a small apartment in a city full of people adjusting to their new lives. There were many smiles but twice as many sad faces. Guess I'm really not alone in this struggle. The apartment was outfitted with furniture that seemed older than the apartment itself. In the cracked bedroom mirror, I studied my new self. Last year's Luther definitely didn't make it.

Judging by the poor furniture, unemptied wastebasket and an emerging beer belly, I had a lot of things to do. To my luck, there was a gym next door. With the few dollar bills in my wallet, I got a membership card and started on the machines. Did I really deserve this life? I've never liked anything I got — except when I was an attractive Chinese guy. Well, I suppose I did flunk my college final exams last year... Sweat was dripping off me as if I had walked through a thunderstorm. My arms were shaking. Flexing my biceps turned into a fit of agonising pain. I gave up and returned home.

"I hate this new life," muttered the man behind the counter.

"I hate my new life too."

Slumped behind my wooden desk, I thought of what to do next. Eventually, I logged onto the Citizen Database to check my occupation and credentials. It took a while, scrolling through hundreds of Jameses. Most of them were my level (judging wealth-wise) and that made me smile, albeit somewhat bitterly. When clicking my name, I held my breath and wished for the best.

I worked at a MacDonald's and skimmed through high school.

God forbid. I failed one test and now they're giving me someone who has failed a hundred. I groaned and pummelled the table with my fists. Y'know what? I'll give this guy one good year. No matter how far down I am on the social ladder, at least I can have an office job next year.

---------------------

The switch is all about your quality of life. What is that? I was manning the counter, taking orders in the high-speed lunch hour.  The faces before me were dulled down with drowsiness, their lips forming a flat line. Monotone voices said orders. Echoes of their souls. No one was living in the moment. Our thoughts were occupied by the next year; its blessings and damnations tantalising as always.

I'm stuck in this trap. Just like everyone else. Well, time to break out of it. I attempted a smile on the next customer. Her face remained grim, preoccupied with something else.

Another one at the counter. The same unchanged expression. Stiff hands enclosing credit cards. As the crowds thinned, my heart sank. People were taking their last bites of their Big Macs. The restaurant was silent except for the footsteps in the kitchen. We were all unhappy. Dissatisfied. It's a hopeless vicious cycle, ain't it?

An old woman pulled the door open. Eyes landed on her as she hobbled over to the counter, her walking stick dragging across the floor. Her eyes were downturned and watery. Every step she took looked as if it hurt.

"Good afternoon, madam. What can I get you?" I asked in my most cheerful tone. It was the best I could do for a stranger having a bad day.

"Dear lord, you are the first person I've seen with a smile today!" she croaked. "People like you give me hope for this world."

In her eyes was the warmth of genuine fondness. The corners of her lips crept upwards as she looked over me. Something in my head prompted me to grin, and she did too. It was a fragment of joy in the often-upsetting world. From then on, I greeted every customer with the same geniality.

---------------------

Stacked books glinted under my desk lamp. My hand tightened and loosened around a ballpoint pen as my eyes scanned over the question a few more times. It was nearing midnight and I was only on the second problem sum. Everything was tedious, much slower than it had been in any other year. The gears would not click.

The business course was carried out every weekday evening, just thirty minutes after my shift at a nearby community college. It was a small class with a subpar teacher that was barely warming up to his new profession. As I stumbled through lesson material, I kept a goal in my mind. I wanted a better job, something that would elevate me to a much higher position. An office job. Yes, that's what I want.

Ten minutes had passed. I threw down the pen, heaved a sigh of pent-up frustration and flung myself onto the creaking bed.

---------------------

Back at the gym. My arms felt like falling off. But I'm not as weak as before. I held my breath and pushed for the fifteenth rep on the machine. My chin reached the top of the bar and I dropped down; a dead stone.

"Good to see you, James. How long have you been coming here?" asked another man. "I remember when you couldn't even do five reps on that thing."

"Ten and a half months. Ever since the switch. Every other day, I'm here."

I clenched my fists and looked from one arm to another. I definitely had more muscle — they bulged as my arms tensed up. But that's not the main thing. Not at all. I felt so much better. It was the small things; being able to walk from A to B without exhausting myself or lifting a box without ever wanting to collapse.

With my towel, I wiped sweat from my forehead and waved the man goodbye. My thoughts flickered back to home. When are those interview results coming back? I need that job for next year, goddamnit.

---------------------

I flicked the lights on and surveyed the living room. The furniture was still the same: a second-hand sofa, a tiny table barely fitting two. An absolutely ugly home. But I love it, I thought as I sunk onto the sofa.

Most years were filled with a sense of impermanence. Time passing by, nothing mattering in the end. This year was different. I had changed my life; I had gripped it like a steering wheel and turned it around. I felt reborn. But it won’t matter in the end. This world is all about the money, and I need that job for it.

Rows upon rows of emails illuminated my face in the dark. They were all titled “Job Application for [Position Name]”. They didn’t even tell me whether I got in. Is that a bad sign? I shivered —  felt like puking. Rumbling deep in my stomach reminded me of the dinner I had yet to eat. I should get on with opening all five of them.

Number one. Rejected. Alright, not my favourite of them all anyway. Kinda underpaid too. I forced a smile. I’ll be alright.

Number two. Not my favourite, but the pay is good. That’s what matters. I opened it with trembling hands. Rejected. Biting my lips, I groaned. Guess I was a tiny bit unqualified.

Number three. If all these attempts have failed, is there even any time to settle into a new job? Rejected. I suck. My eyes were watering as breathing became difficult. The back of my throat was salty with suppressed tears.

Number four. Rejected. As expected. How stupid was I to think they would accept me? I rank so low compared to everyone else. I’ll never, never be able to escape this trap. The underside of my jaw was wet and cold. I gasped for air as I choked on my tears.

Number five. I was shaking head to toe. All my effort... Doesn’t it mean something? Rejected. My voice sounded throughout the whole house as I cried out in my confusion and pain, a knot forming in my chest.

Clenching my fists, I punched the wall. The plaster gave way beneath my fist, falling to the floor. I staggered back in shock. My foot caught on the legs of the nearby mirror. As it fell, I stretched my arms out. It slipped from my grasp and crashed on the floor. Small shards of glass were scattered across the floor like crystalline tears.

As I vacuumed the floor, I steadied my breathing and calmed down. There is a chance still. But I’m happier now than I was before, no matter what. No matter what.

---------------------

It was the night before Life-Switching day. I was rolling around in my bed, counting the seconds till midnight. The city was lively. Conversations droned on in bars and restaurants as people paid their last goodbyes to friends and fantasised about the future. Billboards were ready to switch to their “New Year, New Me” displays, attracting the few people fortunate enough to enter a life of wealth.

I still had no new job. At the back of my mind, it worried me. Yet, I had this sense that it was alright. A sense of contentedness passed over me for the first time in a while. Maybe it’s the finality of it all.

23:50. Ten minutes remaining. I found myself wishing to stay in this run-down apartment; remain as a man with a job at MacDonald’s. It was the newness of the drive to improve that made me want to stay, I knew. There was a potential to grow as James Luther, as I had witnessed.

23:59. One minute left. I gripped the edges of my bed and shut my eyes for the switch. It was coming, whether I liked it or not. I counted the seconds in my head. The last minute passed too fast. I snapped my eyes open, ready for the worst. However, I was there in that bed, staring at the plain white ceiling.

00:01, the bedside clock displayed. My phone showed the same as well. I peeked out of the window to see that the billboards had begun their campaigns. Something’s probably wrong. I’m so tired — might as well sleep.

09:00. Rubbing my eyes open, I looked around and expected a brand new apartment. But there it was: the mirror without glass and the desk beside it. The roof was pale white, as always. I must be dreaming. I pinched myself too hard and yowled.

At the front door, I grabbed the morning’s papers and scanned them for any anomalies. No. None! People were walking about as usual in the city. I pressed a palm against my forehead and thought hard. In the editor’s column was the yearly cheer up/congratulations nonsense. Having nothing else to calm my mind, I read it.

A few sentences caught my eye. “It’s all about the quality of life, they say. Nowhere does it mention material wealth or possessions. Does that mean a common man can break the trend?”

Nowhere. I spun around and gaped in realisation. I’ve been searching for the wrong thing this whole time! I found the key out of the trap! Someone was knocking my door. I opened it with a smile to find two black men in suits, their shoulders broad and imposing.

“We’d like your presence for an important government study.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #21: a shadow of my former self

From @creativepromptsforwriting‘s post:

“I will always love you. Even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

“Thank you. But I probably won’t last that long.”

Day 21 of the 2 Month Short Story Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 262

Constructive criticism welcome! (also this isn’t meant to really be in poetic form, more like prose with line breaks)

“I will always love you.

Even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

An age-old promise.

My heart fluttered.

I squeezed your hand

and wished to never let go.

Our breathing slowed

as we dragged each other in,

our lips,

then tongues,

touching as we kissed.

Harsh dryness of winter

fled from memory

as we remained 

in the tight embrace:

our love like rope

that binds us together.

Your heart thumped against my chest:

like falling in love

for the first time

(but better).

--------------------

Yet there were some things

I did not dare tell.

Like how your love may

fade completely away

in a day, week, month.

One day, I may

wake up next to you

and scream.

Because every instance of you

has been erased,

rubbed away,

forcefully removed,

GONE.

--------------------

Once Mother broke into my room,

heaving with melodramatic delirium.

“You told me your forgot

the day Father died.

Correct?”

A strange feeling

tightened round my chest,

begging me to say no.

But I told the truth.

She dropped on her knees

and apologies dropped from her mouth

like heavy rocks in an avalanche;

tears pooling on the ground.

The story: an ex-lover

whom she pretended to forget

— a mistake in itself.

Accompanied by a dreadful curse

(irreversible):

her first born child, from birth,

loses their memories

faster and faster as they age.

Eventually

everything

disappears.

“I thought he lied,

but now it hurts

more than it ever did.”

--------------------

You do not deserve

the agony of knowing.

So I said, “Thank you.

But I probably won’t

last that long.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #19: Inferior

TW: Violence

Day 19 of the 2 Month Short Story Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 875

Constructive criticism welcome!

My husband and I were watching the television in complete silence. He had not noticed me yet, so I stood there in a rare break from my housework. Skin peeled from around my cuticles. My hands were leathery; the results of constant washing. Adam ran through at least three outfits a day and stained a shirt every other day at the cocktail parties of his colleagues. Hand creams were the hottest topics among the wives — if our husbands permitted us to meet — and we loved to buy them — if our husbands allowed us to buy anything. 

After checking the time, I decided to continue my work in the dining room. Guests were visiting the next day. Upon stepping backwards, my shoe caught on the nearby coat rack. I plummeted to the floor, masking a scream. Adam’s head swivelled back and he glared, his eyes like accusatory daggers. His face was taut with disapproval, his brows curving into the early stages of rage.

“Why are you not tidying up? Television is not for women — all of you are full of silly gossip,” he roared. “You won’t go out for the next month.”

He was a rich man with a rotten heart. He had selected me to be his wife as the “best of the worst” in the Choosing ceremony. It had been five years since then.

--------------------

The bejewelled mirror glimmered as I powdered my face. Adam’s “grounding” had expired two days prior, much to my benefit. I twirled my dress around to see the satisfying glint of embedded precious stones. Can’t wait to show the girls tonight. 

Wives from the entire city would be chattering, about nothing and everything, in a cramped meeting room. The party was paid for by the Women’s Rights Association, a group of fortunate women with well-paid husbands. From the name, it would appear that there were rights to fight for. There were none. The association was just a rich woman’s tea party; a demonstration of high society.

Men trapped us with their condescending looks, their money, and their sheer physical strength that had led to too many injuries to defiant wives — which they remained unpunished for. For our nation operated on a single creed, which would remain unchanged as the nation continued to prosper. Unrolling the scroll containing these selfish laws would reveal the first paragraph in elegant lettering, which contained unrighteous poison for all women.

To establish the social order of the nation, it must be accepted and enforced that men take precedence over women in every respectable aspect of life. Only chores and other laborious work are to be delegated to women. Men will command the family and women are obligated to carry out their every whim.

That’s the damned passage. My door shook with the rapid pounding of a fist. I opened it to find Adam’s stormy face.

“Evgenia!” he blustered. “Are you so stupid that you fail to realise it’s pouring outside?”

He was right. Terribly right. In my enthusiasm, I had brushed aside the patter of raindrops on the roof.

“But why are you angry, Adam?”

“You left the laundry out! Idiot! My new suit is now drenched.”

Oh crap. The jet black suit costing a fifth of his salary, disgracefully wet. As I ran outside to check its condition he stepped on the tail of my dress. Rip. A smack across the cheek. While his hand was trailing downwards, it caught on a necklace which it snapped. Pearls were lost in the carpeted floor, like the tears which I lacked the courage to shed. He grabbed me and yanked me closer.

“No party tonight.”

“It’s once a year!”

“No exceptions. You’ll make a fool of me.”

I gripped his hands and tried to free myself from his deathly grasp. Instead, I trembled as his grasp became even stronger. He reached for the cane, always by the door of my room. He bent me over and lifted my dress of shame. Thwack.

The lashes came as a torrent of pain, stinging when it hit and aching after the rod left my skin. His laughter taunted my tears as he abandoned me to cry by the door frame. I’ve had enough. It was time to do something.

--------------------

I slipped on the surgical gloves. “I can’t touch raw meat with my bare hands,” I remembered complaining to Adam. It was a lie for my little operation. Adam had nodded sympathetically for once, his spoiled mannerisms working against him.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a knife and began chopping the beef for the night. The portions were smaller: my celebratory dinner. I called Adam over, trying to hide the excitement that almost burst out of my throat.

“What do you think of today’s steak?”

“You used half the budget to buy this tiny steak? It’s fit for one person. No dinner for...”

His voice rose in the familiar beginnings of a rant. It’s time. I plunged my knife into his chest. Blood gushed out onto my apron. The sickening stench of iron and the wetness of blood permeated the room as I pulled the knife out. Adam collapsed before me, his face frozen in shock.

“No one’s going to miss you. Bye-bye, Adam.”

Tag list:

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #16: come home to my heart

this is my first time writing the 2nd person POV. so uhhhhhh yeaH

Day 16 of the 2 Month Short Story Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 274

Constructive criticism welcome!

An empty car in an empty neighbourhood parking lot. It is devoid of human presence, but not of memories. You lay here once, sobbing because you were afraid; you needed a place to hide but doors were locked by the hostile glares of the neighbours. They had heard the rumours about you. Your body was pressed against that damp spot on the backseat with the cracked leather cover, a cold spot amidst the sweltering heat and humidity. There you sat till the sun peeked over the horizon, as if timidly asking, “Are you okay? Are you alright?”

That was the day you moved out.

That’s not it. You may remember the pastel clouds whirring past, the wind kissing your cheeks as it carried the faint floral scent of the valleys that hugged the road. Sounds of soft pattering rain on the roof, which you believed were the tears of a wounded soul from a bygone era. Then, you pulled over with heavy reluctance bearing down on your heart. The motel owner blushed at the shameful state of your room, and you sighed as you told yourself to make do.

That was your first solo road trip, fresh from your university graduation day.

Now you’re tired. Still warm from a shower, you crawl into their arms. It is your heaven after an arduous day that spanned a thousand hours. Behind you, their chest rises and falls like the undulating waves of a gentle tide creeping into the shore. The curtain has been pried open by the wind, offering a glimpse of the empty car in the empty parking lot. Thank you for bringing me home.

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #24: Fleeing the Present

From @writingprompts365‘s post: A character refuses to tell their name to someone.

Day 24 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 382

Constructive criticism welcome!

Henry slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed off to the park. There was too much time in his hands and he needed a break from studying for the next academic year. Math equations and classic texts were fun to study but not for the whole day. Mum had waved him off with a smile, thinking he was going to the library.

University is so soon. Mum wanted him to go into something profitable. Something people could get a PhD in. Henry would rather paint. Flowers, people, places — anything that captured his interest. Recently, nothing had. People were predictable. The city never had anything new. It was like living in a black-and-white film.

The park was quiet for a Friday afternoon. An old couple sat at a bench, conversing. Beneath a tree sat a girl reading a book. Her waist-length hair was as dark as a raven’s feather. Its thick mass wrapped itself around her, curls forming by her chin. Like she’s covered in a protective blanket.

Something about her expression pulled him in. I wonder what she’s thinking about — she obviously doesn’t care about the book. The girl glanced upwards and locked eyes with him. A look of surprise swiftly faded into an expression of boredom. No point not talking, now that she’s seen me.

“Hey. You look bored. What’s your name?”

“What if I don’t want to tell you It’s for your own good, trust me.”

“And why is that? I’m Henry. I like painting.”

“‘Cuz I’ll be gone real soon. Don’t bother with me — I’m no muse.”

“You’re moving? Wish I could too. This place is boring.”

She’s got spunk. Haven’t seen that in a while. Henry hoped she was joking. The girl went silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

“That’s exactly why I’m moving. I’ve been searching for something interesting for centuries. Literal centuries,” she replied, resting her icy gaze on him.

“Literal centuries? Are you joking, immortal or a time-traveller?”

“Two out of the three things you’ve just said are true.”

Henry had been scouring the city for someone different. And there she was: the time-traveller. His pulse pounding in his throat, he pleaded, “Take me with you.”

“Damn, it’s been 400 years and I’ve never had a pal. It’s Helene.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #22: IVARA

this is a warframe fanfic (which isnt 100% accurate)!! hope u like it

From @creativepromptsforwriting‘s post:  The most dangerous human being is the one who’s in love.

Day 20 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 882

Constructive criticism welcome!

My bow shone under the light of my spaceship. The Artemis Bow had a metal middle piece with rope wound round it for better grip. I imagined myself firing away on the battlefield, a mighty Tenno against the rest of the world. Past the middle piece, pale wood curved into ebony tips connected by a supple bowstring. In the middle of admiring my weapon, a pair of muscular arms hugged me from behind. Tender lips kissed my neck as I spun around to see Luke.

“Dumbass. What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to talk to you before going to Mars for the whole day. Needed to get some salvage for new ship parts,” he said, playing with the curls behind my ears. “Tell my ship Cephalon if you need me.”

I nodded and gave him a tight squeeze. Waving at me, he entered his ship and started off for Mars. I wanted to go resource gathering on Earth with him today. What a bummer.

-------------------

The next day, paws shook me awake. My dog paced about my room, panting. Something had to be irritating him.

“What’s wrong, old boy?” I reached out to pet his head.

Dodging my touch, he bounded out of the room. I followed him into the bright light of the hallway. That was when my ship Cephalon, Ordis, started playing a transmission from Luke’s Cephalon. What are they up to? He could’ve just come here.

“Luke has not returned from his last mission on Mars. He may have been captured by the Grineer. Please help to find him — he has a Frost warframe equipped.”

He got himself into a real mess this time. I strapped my bow, sword and gun onto my back. I was Ivara, the huntress and thief. About to steal my boyfriend away from Grineer clones. The stars raced past like rips in the galactic fabric as I went full speed to Mars.

“Ordis, make a quiet landing. Nobody should know I’m here.”

As my feet touched the floor, I got into my usual prowl. My body became invisible, save for the faint edges of my figure that sometimes shone in the burning sun. Creatures plated with layers of heavy armour decked the site. They were milling about, mumbling. I crept behind them as they opened the doors that lead to my lover. The dust in the air crept into my throat. It itched, and I gagged while suppressing a cough. 

After passing through a series of passages laden with the Grineer’s resources, I arrived at the holding room. There were lights on the top of each circular door, showing red or green for the presence of prisoners. Three lights flickered green with troops stationed nearby. There’s so many of them. Footsteps echoed behind me. They grew closer. And closer. No, no... Don’t tell me you’ve seen me.

“You will pay for your sins.”

The black mask with red carvings. No — why are you here again? I don’t even know what I’ve done. He swung his scythe at me. I ducked, striking his legs with my sword. He was quick, stabbing my legs which lay under him. Blood gushed out like a fountain. Running with a limp, I hid in the storage crate area. His all-too-familiar murmuring. He had teleported behind me. I stuck out my sword without looking, only for his scythe to swing towards my neck.

Not today. I grasped its handle and twisted it from his hands. He snarled as I thrust my sword into his torso. He followed up with a cut on the forehead — I was literally seeing red. Scarlet tears dripped onto my body. Swinging my sword around, I finally hit him hard. That was good luck. Cries of pain as he fell to the floor. I finished him off with a stab in the chest. He squirmed on the floor as I dragged him behind a few barrels.

The guards were my main obstacle now, pacing about with wary eyes. I took out the ones at the corners with a steady aim. The ones near the doors remained there; no choice but to try all three doors. One minute after the guards spot me, the execution of the prisoners would be carried out. Execution. Death. There was a stirring in my belly; the thought of losing Luke made me sick.

I dashed to the two occupied cells that lay side by side. At the corner of my eye was the third cell. I slunk behind the guards and started breaking into the console. They spun around upon hearing the beeping, seeing my shimmering figure and activating the alarm. One minute. A whine of frustration escaped from my mouth as the first cell revealed a crawler smelling of rot. I impaled it and the guards, who had been shooting me with weak firearms. 45 seconds left.

The second cell was hard. Keys would not fit into their slots. Thirty seconds left. He was not inside: another enemy slain. I cannot witness his execution. 150 metres to run to him. My legs propelled me forward, wobbling as they went. Yelling guards. A blaring alarm. Flashing lights. Fifteen seconds left. Calm down, you got this. I hacked it and leapt into his arms.

“Darling, I missed you.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #25: Fleeing the Present (Part 2)

i didn’t end up following the prompt, but here is the post that inspired me!

this is the post for part 1.

Day 25 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 833

Constructive criticism welcome!

"Henry. You have any flowers?" asked Helene, leaning against a brick wall.

They were on the outskirts of Henry's school compound. She snuck in easily — Henry had loaned her a set of uniform clothing to wear. Someone that's 400 years old yet acts and speaks like my age. After a fortnight of hanging out daily, she still bewildered Henry. 

"No. Are you asking for a bouquet?" 

Helene ran a hand through her dark hair and rolled her eyes at him. Henry wondered what secrets and stories those brown eyes held. She had probably witnessed everything from the Protestant Reformation to the Industrial Revolution, or even the reign of Cleopatra given her ability to manipulate time. He had struck gold upon meeting her. 

"Don't try me."

"You could just tell me. I'll get them."

"Do it, then. We'll need it to travel through time." 

Henry frowned. Flowers? Time travel? What? He rummaged through his memory for a place to pick them. There was no money for a professionally arranged bouquet, nor was there a place to hide fancy flowers. His mother would rage if she thought he was dating someone. "No girls before you graduate university." She never lets me live. 

"There's a group of flowering trees deeper in the park where I met you. Let's go there today — a nice outing for both of us."

--------------------  

The cobbled path was comprised of irregularly-shaped stones, smoothened at the edges for safety. Soft clicking of people's shoes echoed all around Helene and Henry as they made their way into the depths of the park. Henry was looking at Helene, who had her eyes set on the sky. A temptation rose up in his heart to pull her aside to tell her how much she intrigued him. She was unforgettable; he savoured every second with her. I want to know what she knows.

Helene was short, at the height of his shoulder. Her face was broad and her expression was one of enduring patience. She seemed to study the world with eyes of caution, but because of experience instead of paranoia. 

They were approaching the trees heavy with scarlet flowers. Their branches pointed to the ground like welcoming arms. Henry reached up and plucked five from a tree, giving them to Helene as he picked five more. 

"Ten flowers is more than enough. Eight's the minimum." 

Henry took a flower and stuck it behind Helene's ear. She cocked her head to the side, not sure of what he was doing. Filled with nervous energy, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her in for a hug. Barely a second passed before she pushed him away, snarling. 

"What do you think you're doing? I told you to not try anything with me. You barely know me." 

"You — you're just like nothing I've ever seen before. I'm sorry... I really just — just want to know more about you." 

He put a hand out, hoping for reconciliation. Seeing that she remained stoic, he withdrew it and let out a sigh. 

"I don't get close to just anyone. You know why? Because way back, I was dating this wizard. About to propose and all that," she spat, shaking her head. Her body had stiffened as she tensed her limbs. 

"Helene, calm down. You look so angry. Really won't do it again, I promise." 

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at him. I came home with a bouquet of roses, only to find that he had hooked up with a bar girl. Oh boy, he didn't say sorry. I dropped the flowers because I was goddamn furious." 

"I'm sorry. I wish I knew... Gosh, I really shouldn't have done that— " 

"That fool cast a disappear-and-forget spell on me! But it didn't work. If it did... Wouldn’t be here today." 

Helene held her breath and then dragged out a sigh. Red had blossomed on her cheeks as sweat ran down from her temples to her jaw. As calmly as possible, she told Henry how she had blacked out and woken up in an Ancient Roman street. The countless hours that ticked by as she figured out how to replicate the spell with the bit of magical knowledge she had obtained from her ex-boyfriend.

A circle of intact flowers, freshly picked and vividly coloured. A cup of tea using the petals of two flowers — as well as a bit of belladonna — made in an enchanted pot. Helene recounted how she burst with ecstasy upon discovering the spell inscribed on a wall. 

“It’s so that everything the pot cooks fills the eaters with extreme agony,” she said with a proud smile. “I wish you knew how hard it was.”

“Honestly, I’m scared now. But I can’t wait for you to show me.” Henry put his hand out again and Helene took it, her soft palm pressing against his cold hands.

“You’re the first person I’ve told about this. I really do feel better now.”

“Well, friends?”

“Friends.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[toomanystoryideas]

2MSS #11: Please Do Not Feed the Sharks

Part 11 of my 2 month short story challenge with @kiraawrites !!

PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE SHARKS

~

The field is empty. I kick up dust from the ground, annoyed. I know I’m new to the town, but did the other kids really think daring me to stand in a wheat field alone was scary? I don’t have agoraphobia or anything; they must’ve thought that because I used to live in a tiny apartment.

I sigh, kicking the ground again and spinning until I’m dizzy. I fall down onto my bottom, still bored, when I see a knocked-over sign on the ground by the entrance to the field.

“PLEASE Do Not FEED THe SHARks,” it reads. I scoff. They must think I’m an idiot.

Pushing myself up, I accidentally scrape my hand on a rock on the ground. It doesn’t hurt, but a few drops of blood fall onto the grass. I wipe off the rest onto my jeans and continue waiting.

There’s a loud rustling coming from behind me, and I spin, and scream.

There’s a huge black shark levitating a few inches off the ground.

And it’s lunging right at me.

“AAH!” I leap out of the way, landing on my side and wincing in pain. The shark spins, leaping at me again, its jaws open wide to display the rows of sharp teeth.

I don’t get away fast enough, and blood spills from the huge gash in my left arm. I shout, trying to push myself up to run away, but it’s too late.

More sharks circle around me, their beady eyes fixed on mine.

I let out a cry.

~

PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE SHARKS

Taglist: @autumnwolf126 @platypus4life pls ask to be added or removed!! 💕

[toomanystoryideas]

2MSS #6: Other Side pt. 2

Part 6 of my 2-month short story challenge with @kiraawrites !!

The Crown Princess of Kosteyle has been missing for four years.

Today is her younger sister’s sixteenth birthday and the acceptance of her as the new Crown Princess. The entire palace army, including me, have been staffed with guarding the proceedings--nobody is coming near Princess Zemira.

“Eric!” barks my station leader, snapping me out of my thoughts. “The Princess wishes to speak with you—though I don’t know why you, of all people, should have the honor.”

“Thank you, sir; the same to you,” I respond, grinning and making a mock salute. He rolls his eyes as I leave, laughing at my own bad joke.

The hallways of the palace are silent but heavily staffed with guards in full uniform. I grin at a few of my friends and stick my tongue out at a few of my foes. When I reach the Princess’ bedroom door, I must be given clearance by the two stationed guards before I enter.

The Princess opens the door. “Oh, Sir Eric!” she says. “Please, do come in.”

The door closes behind me, and my younger sister wraps her arms around my waist.

“I’ve missed you, dear Erika,” she whispers, hugging me tightly.

“Me too, Zem.” I smile. “Why today? You know you can’t do this often—did you wish me to give you my congratulations?”

Zemira stays silent, as if thinking about whether she should answer.

“Promise you won’t resent me?” she asks softly, and I squeeze her hand.

“Never, dear sister.”

“I’m running away.”

I don’t have time to answer before she barrels on.

“You know how cruel Mother and Father are, and I know you told me not to be like you and pretend to be someone I’m not but you also told me to follow my heart and I—“

“I know.”

Zemira looks up at me with wide eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m going with Eli,” she says softly.

“Elianna? The serving-girl?”

Zemira nods, blushing a little. I smile.

“I understand. Mother and Father aren’t… well, you need not go through the struggles of being Crown Princess with them monitoring your every move. It was hell.”

Zemira chews on her lower lip. “I’m leaving tonight. With Eli.”

I reach into my bag. “Then I have something for you. I was saving it for after the ceremonies, but I guess I can’t wait.” I pull out a silver crown and place it in Zemira’s hands. Flipping open one side of the crown, I slowly remove a long, flexible rapier.

Zemira’s jaw drops.

“To keep you safe,” I say, kissing her forehead.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I hug her again. “Have a wonderful journey.”

Taglist: @autumnwolf126

[toomanystoryideas]

2MSS #4: Other Side

Part 4 of my 2 month short story challenge with @kiraawrites !!

The kitchens are silent by this time of night.

Clutching my satchel tightly to my chest, I make a low, soft whistle, and a head of blonde curls pop out from inside the corner cabinet. Elianna tumbles to the ground, her own bag rolling across the floor. I stop it with my foot, the sharp heel of my boot clicking against the tile floor.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

She looks up at me, her green eyes wide. “Yes.”

I sit down at the little rickety table, pulling out my map. “Here’s the main palace exit,” I say, pointing to the circle I’d drawn over the gate. “We need to leave at separate times from the back, where there’s an opening in the bars. Mother never got around to fixing it. Then we can go down these streets--there are nearly no guards stationed here--and we split up once again there.”

“Then we rejoin once we leave down the river. I know, Zem, I know. We’ve gone over this a million times.”

“Sorry.” I blush. “I just need to know I’ll see you again.”

Elianna folds her hands over mine, smiling. “I know.” Leaning in, she presses her lips to mine. “I love you, Zemira.”

“I love you too, Eli. But please, I told you—“

“—to call you Zem. I know, I know; I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” I lean in and kiss her again. “I love you. I’ll see you on the other side.”

She grins. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Taglist: @autumnwolf126