#Realistic Fiction

[aloof-cold-hands]

Angelo "Hitman" Ramsey (short story- Gene)

A short story from Gene's childhood in which a trip with his father becomes more difficult than expected

Just behind the house, during the summer, Gene had decided to fell the ponderosa pine tree that had developed wood rot. It once held up the hammock, but after the bark where the rope was tied turned from red to black, Gene decided to chop it down. 

With each thunk of Gene’s axe the tree would sway and needles would speckle the ground. Cicadas buzzed and the chug of a kid’s scooter echoed from the front of the house. Gene was sick with a fever, and had been since he woke up two hours ago.

The back of Gene’s neck was glossy with sweat. There was a pinch behind his temples that would sting briefly, then mellow, the sting again. He could feel it pressing against the back of his eyes and against the top of his skull. 

He breathed deep and heavy through his nose, pulling his axe back behind his head then sinking it into the bark again. He kept the axe head in the wood and let go of the handle. He then swayed, then placed his calloused palm against the tree to steady himself with a hand on his hip. He spit on the ground, grunted, then ran a hand through his hair.

And as he stood there, sick, he pictured his father sinking a chainsaw into the body of a spruce tree.

Sometime in the morning, during the early fall- if Gene remembered correctly- his father brought him into the garage to prepare for tree felling. The garage was always hot and thick, and smelt like corn chips. On one wall, the wooden bones of the house were exposed with black construction paper stabled between the planks. On another wall hung small framed newspapers in black and white. They read; “Angelo Hitman Ramsey” or “The Big Bull in Chicago”.

Cardboard boxes stacked atop one another crowded a corner, and dumbbells laid abandoned beside a bench. Below a hanging lightbulb was Ramsey’s work table which was powdered with wood shavings. 

The steps beneath Ramsey creaked as he stepped down to the concrete garage flooring. He breathed very slowly and heavily through his nose, and he grunted to clear his throat. 

He motioned to the garage door.

“Open,” he said.

Gene hopped down the steps and jogged to the front of the garage. Robin’s paws clicked against the ground as she followed him. Gene squatted, took hold of the metal knob attached to the garage door, and began to lift. It chugged as it began to raise, running on a track in the ceiling.

Gene paused halfway through, adjusted the heel of his palms against the knob, then pushed to send the rest of the door up. The outside air was cool against his face and the tall pine trees outside were swaying from a calm wind. Their dirt driveway was scattered with needles and pine cones.

Across the road Aiden was outside with his mom and brother pulling weeds. Aiden looked up and waved with a gloved hand, and Gene waved back. 

Robin trotted out from the garage to Ramsey’s light blue truck, which had rusted at each corners. She stared at the door, then looked back at Gene with round black eyes. Her tail began to wag.

“Can Robin come?” Gene asked.

Ramsey walked past Gene, holding two brown paper bags. Ramsey moved Robin aside with his boot, then opened the truck door to toss the bags into the front seat. 

“Dad,” Gene said.

“Mmh?”

“Can Robin come?”

Ramsey scratched his stubbled jaw and walked past Gene back into the garage. He knelt down and reached under his workbench, and when he stood he was holding the orange handle of a chainsaw.

“No,” Ramsey said.

“Alright,” Gene said, and followed Ramsey to the car.

While Ramsey loaded the chainsaw into the back, Gene scooped an arm under Robin’s white belly and lifted her. Her legs flailed while he maneuvered her to hold her in a cradle then looked down at her face. He blew a small puff at her, and she bit the air. He blew again, she bit again, then she sneezed.

“M’alright, cmon.” Ramsey said, and Gene put Robin down

“Inside,” Gene said to her, pointing to the house.

She stared at him and wagged her tail.

“Inside,” he said again.

Robin hesitated, then trotted away to the back of the house where the dog door was.

It was a forty minute drive from home to get to land available for lumberjacking. The trees grew dense and tall, and even when Gene leaned forward to look out of the front window he could not see their tops. Beside him, Ramsey was smoking a big cigar which made the hairs of his thick mustache bristle.

Ramsey slowed the truck and pulled it off the road, and the car wheels began to crackle over gravel and twigs. The car stopped, the hum of the engine shut off, and Ramsey pressed the grayed end of his cigar into the ashtray on the dashboard. Gene watched him.

“M’alright,” he said, cranking back the emergency break.

He opened his door, and so did Gene.

As they walked Ramsey held his chain saw in one hand with his other sunk into his back jean pocket. And when Ramsey looked up at the trees, so did Gene. 

Ramsey placed his palm against the wood of a thin but tall pine tree. Gene could fully wrap his arms around it if he wanted.

“M’okay,” Ramsey said, placing the chainsaw down. He knelt then looked at Gene. “We’re gonna cut here,” he motioned a horizontal chop across the wood, then raised his hand and angled it. “Then here.” And he motioned another chop. He then began to stand and his left knee popped. 

“Okay,” Gene said, but he didn’t understand.

Ramsey picked up the chainsaw and pinched the pull cord between his thumb and pointer knuckle. The cord chugged when he yanked it back once, then twice, and on the third pull the engine inside the chainsaw kicked and began to rumble. Ramsey motioned Gene to step back.

Gloveless, and without ear muffs, Ramsey turned the saw blade and sunk it into the tree. The razors began to catch and rip into the wood, and birds in the trees above them took flight. Gene reached up and plugged his ears. 

Shavings spewed from the base of the saw and dusted the forest floor in white. And after coming nearly to the center of the tree, Ramsey pulled the blade back.

Ramsey made three cuts into the tree, a horizontal, an angled, and another horizontal on the opposite end of the tree. This left uncut wood in the very middle, and when he pressed his palm into the bark the center began to snap. The tree came free, tipped, then hit the ground with a cloud of dust. 

“Alright,” Ramsey said, and rolled his shoulders back.

With the engine still humming, he held out the handle of the chainsaw for Gene.

Gene looked at his father, and his father looked back down at him. Ramsey shook the chainsaw once, then Gene reached for the handle with both hands. When Ramsey let go Gene’s arms dropped from the weight.

Ramsey moved Gene to another tree with a clear line to fall, then stood back and crossed his arms. Gene raised the chainsaw with a grunt and turned it sideways. He stood with his legs generously far apart and his knees bent. After turning the saw to see where the switch was, he clamped his hand on it and the blades began to race. He immediately unclamped.

“Hold it firm or it’ll kick back on the bark” Ramsey said. 

“Okay,” Gene said.

He pictured the chainsaw hitting the bark, rebounding off, then ripping into his stomach. His arms felt light under the skin, and his palms made a layer of sweat between the handle and his hands. But, like his father, he rolled his shoulders back and clamped the switch again.

The chainsaw sunk into the wood, stopped, sunk again, then stopped.

Ramsey said nothing.

Gene shimmied the blade out of the crack, then raised it with shaky arms for the next cut.

He followed the steps his father took, slicing three jagged cuts into the tree. When he finished and pressed his hand against the bark, it did not fall. He looked at Ramsey, who motioned to the wedge Gene sawed.

“Too shallow,” he said.

Gene had only cut the wedge a quarter into the tree rather than half way. Ramsey crossed his arms and stepped back, and Gene ran the blades again.

It took Gene twenty minutes to fell his tree, and even when it began to snap and fall, the base broke off and kicked back at Gene. Ramsey took him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

Ramsey then placed a hand on the back of Gene’s head. Gene looked up at him.

“Good,” Ramsey said.

Ramsey cut down the last tree while Gene stood on a big flat-topped rock and watched. Ramsey then showed Gene how to run the saw across the tree to slice the branches off, then how to turn the tree, then slice again. After that, they stopped to sit down on the back of the truck and eat lunch, and neither of them said a word to one another.

After lunch, Ramsey began to slice the trunks into sections. Gene would pick up the thick round chunks and walk them back to the truck, then stack them in the back.

And on the very last tree- which still had its branches- Ramsey had begun to slow. Gene watched his flannel come off, his white wife beater go transparent around the collar from sweat, and his breathing become labored. Despite this, Ramsey continued to press the blade against the branches of the tree.

Gene watched how Ramsey held the saw and how he planted his feet. His arms had veins running from his biceps to his wrists. His knuckles were rounded and defined, and his fingers were thick. Gene pictured his father with a brown leather hat and a lasso, riding atop a stallion. He then looked down at his own arms which hung loose.

The razors on the blade glided across the tree as Ramsey sliced the branches off. The saw hooked and ripped the wood, outlining the tree with white shavings.

And when the saw hit a thick knot at the base of a branch, it kicked back and tapped against Ramsey’s right thigh.

Gene stilled. The blades of the saw stopped and Ramsey raised the machine to look down at his thigh. There was an open split in the fabric of his jeans, and it began to blossom with dark red. A weight dropped in Gene’s chest, and he looked up at his father’s face.

Ramsey wiped his glossy forehead with the back of his wrist. Then, the chainsaw started again, and Ramsey continued cutting the trunk into sections. Gene stood very still and watched him. He felt a balloon expanding in his chest, pressing against his heart and ribs, and welling up into his throat. He felt like he should cry, but he didn’t.

As Ramsey continued, so did Gene. He picked up the next round chunk of wood, then he walked back to the truck.

When he returned, Ramsey had finished sectioning the trunk and the continuous hum of the chainsaw’s engine finally died. The forest was very quiet. Without limping, Ramsey walked to a nearby rock and sat down, then began to undo his belt.

Gene bent over and wrapped his arms around the next piece of wood. He stared down at the forest floor as he adjusted his arms. It was scattered with thin twigs and yellowed pine needles, which were speckled with red dots. He looked up at Ramsey.

Ramsey’s jeans now pooled at his ankles, revealing a baggy pair of plaid boxers. From where Gene watched -with his chest resting atop the wood- he couldn’t see the top of Ramsey’s thigh. But as Ramsey studied it, a line of red slid down the side of his calf down to his ankle. Gene looked away.

Gene finished loading the truck, and Ramsey tossed the saw into the back before walking away to the treeline.

Gene opened the car door and stepped up into the cream colored seat. He leaned over to watch his dad through the driver’s seat window. Ramsey had one hand placed against a tree and each foot planted apart. His shoulders raised and lowered with big breaths, and beads of sweat dripped from his chin. He was taking a leak while Gene was in the car waiting, and the balloon in Gene’s chest swelled again. The stream was black.

Gene laid his head against the chilled window and watched the towering trees glide past the car. The sky had gone from amber to black, and the weather turned frigid. Gene watched a fog spread against the window each time he exhaled through his nose, forming a rounded shape.

Then, just as Gene laid his head back against the headrest, something outside popped. The truck jerked, and then swayed as it balanced itself. Gene looked at the road, then at his father, who stared straight ahead and rolled the truck to a stop at the side of the dirt road.

“What was that?” Gene asked.

Ramsey pulled the gear into park and opened the door, leaving the key in the ignition. Gene turned around in his seat and watched him walk behind the truck, then squat out of eyesight. Gene then looked down at Ramsey’s seat cushion where red blood had followed the cracks in the white leather.

Gene wondered if Ramsey had cried when he was a kid. Gene recalled that just a month ago Aiden fell off his bike and busted his cheekbone into the curb which split the skin open. When Gene’s mom took him to get stitches, he cried the entire time. He wondered if his father had ever gotten stitches, and if he cried.

Ramsey’s boots neared the car, and his long arm reached in to take the key. The headlights that stretched into the woods shut off.

“Nail on the road,” he said. “Popped tire.”

“Alright,” Gene said.

Ramsey leaned in and opened the glove box in front of Gene, and he blindly felt for a flashlight. 

Gene’s brows furrowed as he opened his own door, and he wondered if they were going to walk the rest of the way home. He then wondered when the last time was that he saw another car come down the road. 

“Get your coat,” Ramsey said to him.

“Don’t have it,” Gene said, walking to meet his dad in front of the car. “I didn’t bring it.”

“Alright,” Ramsey said, and he turned on the flashlight.

It shot down the road into the darkness with no defined circle.

Without limping, Ramsey began to walk down the side of the road. Gene followed behind him, and their boots crackled against gravel and twigs. Warm fog wafted from their noses, and after ten minutes Gene’s jaw began to shiver. His walking slowed.

Gene looked up at the moon that was only a curved slit, then looked at the back of his father’s head. Ramsey was breathing heavy, and he too had slowed. He did not shiver, and he did not roll the sleeves of his flannel down. Gene pictured a rotund bull with forward pointed horns pressing against a boulder. He imagined the boulder moving bit by bit, and the bull’s hooves digging into the ground.

Gene clenched his jaw and pretended that he wasn’t cold either.

After twenty minutes of walking, Ramsey stopped and dropped the arm holding the flashlight up. He placed his hand on his hip and let his head tip back. Gene saw in his father’s black silhouette that he was shaking. He stood there, panting, and Gene watched him. Then, Ramsey’s body swayed, he tipped back, and he caught himself then straightened again.

“Dad?” Gene said.

Ramsey did not reply. He stood, panting, and for a very long time Gene watched him. And then, two yellow headlights came around a curve in the road.

Both boys stood and stared as the two dim lights came closer. The wheels crackled as they slowed to a stop, and the drive cranked down the window. A thin older man with a fishing hat and sun spots on his cheeks smiled at them. He had white whiskers around his jaw, and smile lines beside the corners of his eyes.

“It's a real cold night for a walk, aint it?” he asked. Ramsey said nothing, and the old man leaned forward to look at Gene. “You fellas get lost?”

“Popped tired,” Ramsey said.

“Ah, that's too bad,”

Gene eyed the red truck the old man drove. In the trunk had a wooden dining table and three chairs. They were strapped down with rope.

“I’m about four miles from my place, we’ll have you phone someone,” said the old man.

“Alright,” said Ramsey.

Ramsey reached back and placed his hand on the back of Gene’s head, and they went around the front of the truck to the passengers side. 

Ramsey sat in the middle, and Gene sat beside him. Then, the man began to drive again, and trees glided past them in the opposite direction they had been going before.

The cream colored bench they sat on had no cracks or tears like Ramsey’s truck, and the ashtray on the dashboard was empty.

“You fellas out chopping wood?” he asked.

“Mhm,” Ramsey said, gripping his thigh.

“Yea, me and my boys used to come out here too. I’m Donald,” Donald said.

“I’m Angelo,” Ramsey said.

Donald looked at Ramsey, then at the road. Then, he reached up for the ceiling light and pressed it on. It flickered a dim yellow, and he leaned forward to look at Ramsey’s face. Gene watched them.

“Well shoot. Shoot, you’re Angelo Ramsey, aren't you.”

Ramsey said nothing.

“Hitman Ramsey, I used to watch you with my kids. Haha, what are the chances- You really have six fingers on your left hand?”

Ramsey raised his left hand, palm up, and showed Donald.

“Wow, look at that,” Donald said. “When you took that man out in the ring, I mean wow. I was sitting with my wife and uh, I think she was holding our youngest. Well, I woke the boys to bring em down so they could see it, and I mean, it's all we talked about the rest of that day. Hah, what else can you talk about?”

Gene’s brows raised, and he looked at his father’s face. Ramsey’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing deep through his nose.

“One hit, and wham- gone. Completely gone, that's a hell of an arm you’ve gotta have. Not even a chance. The hell are you doing in Twin Falls?” Donald asked.

“Retiring,” Ramsey replied.

Donald chuckled, then, for a while, no one said anything.

Gene looked back out of the front window.

“You like dogs?” Donald asked, leaning forward to look at Gene.

Gene nodded.

Donald’s home was a part of a small neighborhood in an open, flat, green field. The porch lights were lit and the front door was propped open with a chunk of wood. On the first step laid a very fat chocolate lab who’s stiff tail began to wag when the car drove into the driveway.

When they first came into the home, Ramsey asked for antiseptic. He soon sat at the kitchen table and tipped the bottle carefully over the split on his thigh. Gene did not watch, and instead scratched under the chin of the lab named Big Bertha. And as he watched her face, he heard sizzling, and a low grunt.

While Ramsey phoned Abigail in the kitchen, Gene sat on the living room couch and stared at the television, but he didn’t watch.

Instead, he pictured his father in red boxer shorts and round gloves. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead from the lights in the indoor stadium. He imagined an announcer’s voice crackling through speakers, booming over an audience. He saw a swing of his father’s left arm, then a man’s head turning from the hit. The man went completely still, tipped, and fell on the mat. His father stood tall- face sore- and he put a fist in the air.

Angelo hitman Ramsey. 

“How old were you when you started boxing?” Gene asked.

He and Ramsey drove back down the road in Ramsey’s blue rusted truck. Donald and Ramsey used a spare from Donalds garage to change the tire. Ramsey held the steering wheel tight with one hand, and gripped his thigh with the other. Gene sat curled up against the door with his forehead against the cold window.

“Huh?” Ramsey replied.

“When did you start boxing?”

“Don’t know,” Ramsey said. “Seventeen.”

Gene thought about that for a while, then he said;

“I wanna be a boxer.”

Ramsey said nothing. 

“Did you always win in one hit?” Gene asked.

“No,” Ramsey said.

“Oh. Did you knock that one man out with one hit?” he asked.

“I killed him,” Ramsey said.

Gene raised his head and stared at his father. Ramsey took a deep inhale of his cigar, and the glow of the butt lit his aged face with orange.

Gene pictured his father hitting the man, the man’s head turning, his body going still, then tipping and hitting the boxing cage floor. He pictured his father staring down at him.

He laid his head back against the window.

I put this story together a few months ago for my patron members! If you're interested in more writing, consider supporting me through patreon :)

[promantis]

How Autistic are you?

I'm "Create a fictional nation with multiple languages, cultures, architecture, and companies" Autistic.

[xxrrisxx]

Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.

Leo Tolstoy

[ak-harper-loves-fiction]

"After he cooled down from his fit of rage, he acted like my best friend. I forgave him. Somehow, I forgave him."

-A.K. Harper

[chronicfatalist]

yall know about that novel im writing?

if not: im writing a novel! its very much still in the works but ive been working on it for a while now. i realized i have free will to draw what i think the characters look like so; here they are

Meg Vasques

Soren Harbor(not based off me.)

Charlie Tsuma

if you have questions please send me an ask! im willing to answer any questions about my novel ❤️

[odysseywritings]

Out of curiosity, would readers here be interested in me talking about Appalachian life? Either a very amateur memoir or a fictional story (of any tone but leaning towards a dramedy).

[captainkathi394]

Airforce aircraft

Aircraft for my fictional country Kobocha

Fun fact Kobocha is real is is a type of pumpkin 🎃

bullets go pew and uh uhm bombs are awesome because i uhm big firework uhm erm

Make peace not war !!!!!! Make fanfics not war !!1!!1

[17ghostsinatrenchcoat]

Here’s a story I made, it’s quite long, hope ya like it

Title : the one that got away

“So what are you doing for dinner?” I asked my friend as we walked down the street. “I don’t know, mac and cheese maybe?” We proceeded to walk down the street, the shops soon ended and the neighborhood began. As we walked further Jack's house came into view “see you later” he blurted as he jogged back to his house, my hand slowly raised and slightly waved “bye” I said quietly. As I walk a little longer to my house the sun starts to go down and the yellowish lamp posts flicker on, one by one illuminating the streets, when I get to my house the sun has already gone down, I pull out my copper and silver keys attached to a silver ring, they make clunking sounds as I lift them to the door. I hear the door unlock as the keys rotate, I twist the handle and pull the door toward me, my dirt embedded shoes stepped through the door frame, I kicked off my shoes, one landed upside down, and the other hit the wall leaving a light brown scuff.

I walk to my room, it has a large bed, a dark blue blanket and pillow, fake vines draped across the ceiling twined with string lights, and at the corner of my bed there is a small mountain of stuffed animals. I walk to the edge of my bed and face plant into the pile of toys, I roll off them and into the open part of my bed, I pull out my phone and go to texts “whatcha doin” I text to Jack, a small buffering symbol popped up on his side “eating mac and cheese” he texted, “what are you doing” he asked back “nothin much, just laying in bed” I replied. “Noice” he replied, I chuckled “wanna hang out tomorrow” I asked “sure” he replied, I put my phone on my light stand and went to bed.

In the morning I slid on my dirt embedded shoes under the scuff on the wall “I’ll clean that up later” I said as I slid on my sweatshirt, I pulled out my keys and I fumbled them but caught them before they fell, I exited my house and locked the door. I was in an upbeat mood as I went to Jack’s house, once I got there I knocked on the door, there was no reply, so I knocked again, but still no reply. I walked to the side of the house and looked through the window, the lights were on, there was half eaten food on the table “where was he” I thought impatiently. I slid the unlocked window up and hoisted myself through the window, I walked along the wall and turned on the lights, I wandered around the unfamiliar place looking for Jack, I opened one of the doors along the hallway, I’m pretty sure it was Jack’s bedroom so I went inside “Jack? Jack, are you here?” I loudly whispered. I walked around the small bed, my eyes widened as I let out a sharp gasp, I started to get light headed, I stumbled back in fear and fell to the ground, I pulled myself slightly back away from what I saw. I covered my mouth with my hand as I let out sharp breaths, tears gathered in my eyes, my vision went blurry as tears poured down my face and puddles on the floor.

What I saw was horrific, it was Jack, lying lifeless on the floor, a puddle of blood gathered beneath him, and a kukri point knife dripping with blood stabbed deep into the wooden floorboards next to him, the shiny silver was being suffocated by the thick, dark red blood. I pulled myself farther back as my face turned pale and covered with tears, and my hand grasping at my mouth as I gasped for air, I choked on my tears as I pulled myself up on Jack’s bed and stumbled out the door, my legs started to feel weak when I tried to get out of the room, I gagged and felt like I was gonna throw up, I went to the trash can and started to throw up brownish yellow chunk filled slop into the plastic trash can.

I stood up and wiped my mouth of the remaining throw up and then I heard a siren, slowly getting louder, I looked out the window next to the door and saw a flashing red and blue light getting brighter and the siren getting louder, I flailed to the open window that I opened earlier and lowered myself out of the window, I stayed as still as I could as I watched the police bust down the door from the window “we know your in here, come out with your hands behind your head” they shouted as they wandered through the house, I watched them go into Jack’s bedroom “in here” one shouted as the others ran into the room to see, one slipped on the floor and fell onto the others and pulled them down with him “marshal watch where you're going” one of them shouted while punching the shoulder of the one that slipped.

I slowly lowered myself all the way out the window and ran to the back of the house and ran across the many backyards of the neighborhood to get to my house, I slipped on one of the freshly watered lawns and let out a loud wheeze “I heard something over here” one of the police officers said as a flashlight flew behind me, I ran faster to get away from them, then I heard the sirens again, I turned my head to the street and saw the cop car speeding after me. I turned to the left and I run as fast as I possibly can, I glance back and I see flashing red and blue lights as the siren got quieter, I look forward and I trip over a giant log, I tumble down a hill “AAAAAAAAHHHHH” I scream as I am unable to stop myself as my arms reach out and flail around.

I roll down the hill as sticks and thorns claw at my shirt and pants, I can barely see the world spinning by me as I tumble down the hill, suddenly I hear a loud thud then darkness, I lay on the moss and pine needle covered ground. A little while later I sat up “what happened” I asked myself as I rubbed my head, I winced as I rubbed my forehead, I pulled my hand away quickly, I touched my forehead again, and I winced once again. I grabbed the tree that I hit and propped myself up, I felt light headed for a moment but then it stopped, I looked around, this place was unfamiliar and dark, the sun was starting to rise to my right, the light was a golden yellow as it seeped through the trees and resting on the mossy ground.

I looked around for anything familiar but nothing looked recognizable, I must of gotten mixed up when I fell down the hill, I wandered around toward the sun because I remember the sun rises in front of my house so I kept walking and walking, soon I stumbled into someone’s backyard, a loud deep barking came from the yard, I looked up and saw a large bulky, short haired dog, with dark gray fur and brown paws, I backed away from the dog and went to the front yard, I looked to the left then to the right, I jogged across the street to the local coffee shop and ordered a medium coffee with milk and two sugars. I sat down at one of the tables and took a sip from the steaming hot coffee, I sighed as I put the coffee down.

Someone came over and sat down across from me. I looked up, she had very short hair, it was sorta messy and flowed back, she had lovely hazel eyes and had wire rimmed glasses. She was looking down at a news paper, I saw my face on the back, I tried to hide my gasp as I read the headline “brook is wanted for murder and is still at large” with my picture below, the girl turned the newspaper over to read the back, her eyes widened and she slowly looked up, she raised her hand and pointed at me “y-y-you… YOU'RE A MURDERER!!” She shouted, and other people in the coffee shop looked at me “I’M NOT A MURDERER, I DIDN'T DO IT, I WAS FRAMED!!” I blurted as I ran into the glass door, I pushed on the door again but it didn’t budge, I tried again but it still didn’t open, then I looked at the knob, it was a pull door so I pulled it open, I felt ridiculous as I ran out the door.

I ran to an abandoned warehouse to hide from the police if the people in the shop called any, I went to a low window with a large crack draped across it and I elbowed it until the crack got bigger and more cracks appeared, then I slammed my elbow once more into the window and it shattered, broken glass blanketed the floor. The sun glistened on the shattered glass as I jumped up through the window, I walked across the floor and the glass crunched and cracked under my feet. I walked around the abandoned warehouse for a while, I looked in a large room with boarded up windows on the opposite wall, I walked in and found a desk, lined with paper and dust, I went to the back of the desk and found a partially open drawer, I wrapped three of my long slender fingers onto the dusty handle and pulled it open to find a piece of paper with pictures of kids with their names listed below, one was a girl named Isabella Johnson with pigtails and a crooked tooth, and on the picture a big red X covered the girls face. I looked along the page, more kids, and more X’s, then I looked to the left of the page and I saw Jack's face with a large X covering it and under it it said Jack Aklinn, lucky I wasn’t on the list but I had to stop whoever was doing this.

Suddenly I heard a sound, the tapping of shoes slowly walking down the hallway, I bolted to the closet across the room and hid inside, from inside I could sort of see the person but I couldn’t see their face. They walked toward the desk then stopped and slowly walked to the back of the desk, they looked at the still open drawer then looked up and looked around “Hey!” They blurted “I know someone is there, come out now” they looked around as they slammed the drawer. I could barely move in the cramped closet, I looked around for anything I could use to escape, then I saw it, a cold small black handgun, with a fully loaded chamber and some extra bullets next to the gun. I picked it up, my hands wrapped around the cold metal of the gun, my finger slid over the trigger, I examine the small gun, then I lift it up to the door right where I could see the other person, my finger slowly puts weight upon the trigger “I couldn’t possibly do this, I’m a good person,” I thought as I started to sweat “but if I kill this one person they will stop killing people” I closed my eyes and looked away as I pulled the trigger, BANG, I heard the person collapse to the ground in a loud thud.

I opened the closet door to find the person laying on the ground, with a bullet hole spewing blood right near their collarbone, he started to tremble as they looked up at me, their pupils shrunk as their eyes widened, they coughed and blood poured out of their mouth and they coughed again and it splattered across the floor, they sat up and leaned against the desk “why—“ they coughed again “—why did you do this, who are you”. My hand trembled and I dropped the gun, the cold metal of the gun collided with the stone floor as it made a loud clattering sound, I started to tremble as I stumbled backward toward the closet door, I leaned against the wooden door, it creaked as I put pressure on the door. I looked at my trembling hands, still cold from the cold gun, I glanced up toward the person I shot, I started to feel lightheaded and I collapsed to the floor into my knees, I grasped my hands around my head as tears poured from my eyes, the tears patterned quietly on the floor below me as I choked on my tears.

“Are you okay” a soft voice groaned, I looked up to the person I shot, I sniffled “what do you care” I said in a raspy voice “you seem troubled” they said as they coughed again “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” I whispered “don’t be” they said “by the way what’s your name, mines Jasmin” I sat up and wiped the tears off my face “mines Brook”. “I don’t feel so good” said Jasmin as they coughed and fell to the floor, I rushed over to them and grabbed their hand “No no no no no” I said “please don’t go, I didn’t mean to” I pulled their hand to my head and rested my head on their hand, tears started to pour from my eyes again. Their hand got cold and went limp, I let go of their hand and slowly put it down next to Jasmin. I looked at their face, a smile was draped upon their face, a smile slipped onto my face choking back tears.

I stood up, my legs felt weak as I tried to walk, I slowly went out the door, I turned around and looked at Jasmin’s lifeless body, I felt as if someone punched me in the gut, it felt like I was gonna throw up. I exited the abandoned warehouse and walked around with my hood over my head, I kept my head low as I walked around the street, I took a deep shaky breath trying to hold back tears. I started to head back to my street where my house is, but suddenly rain starts pouring down and the sky went dark, as I got closer to my street I felt hands wrap around my eyes and mouth, then I started to feel drowsy and I realized the hand around my mouth held a scrap of fabric doused with chloroform, I started to panic so I lashed around trying to break free but soon I felt drowsy and passed out. When I woke up, I was in a dark room on the floor, my hands and feet were tied together with a thick itchy rope, digging into my skin. I wiggled my hands trying to loosen it but it stayed tight “Help!!” I shouted but I didn’t hear anyone “Help!!” I shouted again hoping for a reply, but it was only followed by silence.

Tap, tap, tap, I heard tapping coming down what I think are stairs, the light from the top of the stairs illuminated in front of me and shined ever so slightly on me, a tall slender figure stepped slowly down the stairs casting a shadow over me, their long arm reached to the wall and flipped a switch and a fluorescent light illuminated above me, I squinted from the bright light and waited for my eyes to adjust, after a minute or so my eyes adjusted and I could nearly see the tall figure. The figure walked into the light, it was a man, he had dirty blonde hair, and green eyes. “Well well well, isn’t it our murderer” he said while kneeling down in front of me “I’m not a murderer” I said gritting my teeth, “of course you are, you can’t trick me” they said while lifting my head upward so I made eye contact with him, I pulled my face away and snarled at him “wow, a fierce one you are” commented the man while standing back up, he raised his hand and put it below his chin, he paced around, then looked at me “so who else are you planning to kill” he asked “like I said, I’m not a murderer” I replied, he started to get on my nerves for not believing me. He looked at me again but he looked disappointed “so, we can do this the easy way or the hard way” he started “the easy was is you confess your crime and go to jail, the hard way is you don’t say anything and we force you to confess” I sighed leaned against the wall, I started to chuckle “what’s so funny?” He asked “well no one knows where I am, or even cares I exist, and people who did care are gone now” my chuckle transitioned into sobbing, tears fell down my face as I slid down the wall to lay on the floor, a puddle of tears grew under my head.

“Oh dear” he muttered “what am I gonna do with you” he put his hand to his head and rubbed it, I still laid on the floor and my tears stopped but the small puddle of tears remained. He walked over to me and pulled me up by the collar of my shirt “HEY” I shouted as he lifted me up then pushed me against the wall while releasing my shirt. My legs laid out in front of me, he kneeled down and started untying my ankles, once he was done he threw the scratchy brown rope to the side “Stand up” he said in a stern voice, I stood up and he grabbed my shoulder and turned me around, he started to untie my wrists “there” he said as he took the rope off my sore wrists.

I rubbed my wrists as a small red ring remained on them, I glared at the guy “woah” he exclaimed and took a step back, my clothes still wet from the rain, sticking to my skin, I walked past the man and out the exit, I bolted out the building to appear in a damp dark alleyway and it was night, I elbowed into the wall and pushed myself forward off the wall and ran forward into the street. I looked around and saw two bright yellowish white lights speedily getting closer, I reached my arms in front of my face and flinched back, I heard a loud honk and a screech of the tires, I lowered my arms and opened my eyes to see the dirty white car in front of me honking their horn. I trotted to the sidewalk and out of the road, this was an unfamiliar road as my eyes darted around but all I saw was a local drug store and a restaurant ‘dine in and out’ was in red fluorescent lights. I walked around town looking for anything familiar, then I saw it, the abandoned warehouse where I shot Jasmin, I started to feel sick and almost threw up, I entered the warehouse, it was still dark and silent. I went to the room that Jasmin was in, the heavy metal door creaked as I shoved it open, I look in and see the lifeless body laying in a puddle of blood, it was so dark the blood looked black, I walked into the silent room and looked around then I heard something, I don’t know what it was but I heard something my eyes darted around.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I found the source of the sound, it was a rat underneath the desk, it scurried to the door as my eyes followed it. My eyes started to water as I remembered what I did to Jasmin, I wiped my eyes and looked around for the gun, I sweeped my hands across the cold stone floor. My hand bumps into the cold gun and I wrap my hand around it, I pick it up away from the floor, my warm hands wrap around the cold trigger and muzzle of the gun. I looked for a gun holder in closet that I previously hid in, I couldn’t see what was in the closet because it was very dark so I reached in and glided my hands across the items wishing the closet until I came across a small fabric pouch, I grabbed it and took it out and slid the gun in, it fit like a glove, I clipped it onto my belt and left the premises. The sun started to rise from the horizon, as I walked around the corner of the building “if they think I’m a villain might as well be one” I muttered quietly to myself.

I walked the dark streets of the town as the light from the sunrise seeped through the cracks of the buildings and trees, the sun started to pull across the sky and lit up the town as I walked to the park. I came across a few people early in the morning, going for jogs and stuff like that. I walked over to the pond, free from ripples and untouched. I looked down into the water to find myself, dark bags underneath my eyes from lack of sleep, my eyes were also droopy and slightly sore as well. I splashed some water from the pond into my face and wiped it off, it felt very refreshing and cold, my slightly wet hair stuck to my forehead as I stood up and headed to a breakfast restaurant. I went to the door of the restaurant and slightly pushed it but it was locked, next to the door was a schedule of when it was open, I believe it was wednesday and it didn’t open until 7:00 AM, I had no idea what time it was because I lost my phone, I haven’t realized I lost it before and frantically checked all my pockets but no sign of it.

I went over to one of the few people awake. “Do you know what time it is?” I asked a runner. He stopped and took out his phone “it’s 6:53” he told me and then proceeded to jog around the park. I went back to the restaurant and sat down at a wooden bench, it was white but the paint started to peel to reveal tan wood, I started to doze off at the bench then I fell asleep, the sound of people walking by woke me up. I headed into the restaurant and ordered some pancakes, it was a couple minutes and the food still hadn't arrived and I could hear my stomach rumbling. Then the waiter came by my table and carefully set down the large plate with golden pancakes layered in thick brownish-gold syrup. I slid my fork and knife into the fluffy pancakes and cut them into small squares and started to eat them. They were so delicious I finished them very quickly, and the waiter came back to my table “so how was your meal?” She asked “it was really good” I answered “so how will you be paying? Cash or card?” She suggested “oh, umm” I stuttered, I bolted up from my seat and ran to the door “sorry, gotta dine n’ dash” I blurted as I ran out the door “HEY YOU GOT TO PAY FOR YOUR MEAL” the waitress shouted.

I ran out of the building, I didn't know where to go other than my home, I made my way around town toward my house, the sun was directly above the town now and I was almost at my house. My neighborhood started to come into view and I could see my house, and jacks house, but jacks house had the lights on and I saw someone inside, I ran to jacks house and saw Jack, he was fine “fucking asshole” I mumbled to myself “he faked his death and I got blamed for it” I thought. My face naturally went into a scowl. I went to the front door and raised my hand to knock on the door but I stopped myself. "Should I confront him?” I questioned myself in my head, suddenly I started to feel light headed and the world started to black out and I collapsed onto the door. Well that’s what I get for skipping sleep for a couple days. My body started to feel cold, numb, and stiff and I was nearly able to move. I sat in front of a small open closet but inside the closet was nothing but the abyss, I looked into the darkness wondering what was inside, then something bolted out of the darkness, a hand. The pitch dark hand came out and wrapped around my arm as I still couldn’t move, more hands bolted out of the abyss slowly suffocating me in the inky darkness, some wrapped around my mouth and I was unable to shout for help. I bolted up, a cold chill went down my spine and I was covered with a cold sweat, it was just a dream. I thought while relaxing, I looked around and I was on Jack's doorstep, the lights were off in his house. How long was I out for, I thought as I rubbed my head and sat down on the doorstep.

I felt marcid and drained, I stood up but my legs refused to hold me up, I’m way too exhausted to walk. I pulled myself up on his door and twisted the copper handle, I fell inward as the door swung open, I looked around for Jack but I realized the house was completely empty except for me. I pulled myself up on the dining table and I heard the wooden floor creak ever so slightly, I could barely stand let alone walk, my eyes were so tired they could barely stay open and my eyes were burning and started to tear up and I could barely see. I patted down the walls in search of a light switch, then I heard a click and the lights flashed on, I rubbed my sore eyes until they cleared “Jake?” I questioned as it echoed through the empty house “Jake?” I said again but slightly louder, I stumbled around the house in search of him but had no luck. I collapsed back onto the untouched couch and put my palm to my head and groaned in pain, I think I was having a migraine but I don’t know because I never had one before, I slumped across the couch a and laid across it, I was extremely tired and I think I fell asleep for who knows how long, but when I woke up it was dark.

When I got up I was sore, like really sore, I walked out the door that I forgot to close, when I got outside it wasn’t cold or hot, it was kind of humid out but I proceeded to go back to my house, I could nearly walk on account of how tired I was, i stumbled my way back to my house down the street, i almost toppled over a couple times but managed to keep steady. But then everything went dark, and a high-pitched ringing was in my ears, and I felt myself hit the ground hard, then I heard a faint siren and red and blue lights. My eyelids were too heavy to keep open so I shut them. It's been awhile and i was still unconscious but I could hear everything that was happening, I heard people talking to one another on radios, with a static sound when they finished their conversions, I heard a heart monitor, beeping every so often. Where it smelled weird but good, like medicine and sanitizer. I opened my eyes and took a quick look around was wearing a strange thing blue gown, and there were two nurses beside me holding a clipboard with a paper on it and talking to each other, then one of them pointed back to me without turning around “this patient was found a couple nights ago passed out on the sidewalk, they didn't have any licenses on them when we found them, but they did have a gun. When we found them passed out we did a drug test to see if they were drunk, but they were clean. Were not sure the reason for the pass out” she continued to talk and talk about me, and if i was ok, then they started to turn around and i quickly closed my eyes to pretend I was still passed out, my heart started to pound faster with fear, the heart monitor started to beep faster which made my anxiety spike and my heart beat even faster, the two nurses rushed around my bed to check on the monitor, one tapped the glass and i tried to slow down my heart rate, very quickly it went back to normal “must have been a malfunction” one of the nurses said “yeah probably” agreed the other nurse, they walked back around the bed and left the room.

Soon later the lights in my room turned off and the hallway lights dimmed, a pale yellow fluorescent color. I waited a bit to make sure no one was in the hallway so I could make my escape. I sat up slowly and craned my head to the door then to my arm, it had four different needles in it, fastened on with a fabric like tape, all of them were attached to different thin tubes, i peeled the tape off and pulled out the needles one by one, it stung a little bit but once they were out, small drops of blood started to form at the hole in my skin where the needles once pierced, i wiped the blood away and stood up out of the bed, i felt dizzy and i had to grab the metal bar on the side of the bed for support, my head started to spin and i almost passed out, i felt winded and exhausted “how long was i out” i muttered to myself not expecting a response “you've been out for a couple days” said a soft calm voice from behind me, it was an young girl, it looks like she got her left forearm amputated, i nodded and stumbled my way out of the dark room and clung to the wall so i wouldn't collapse to the ground, the hospital seemed empty, no nurses in the hallways, or patients. My head slowly started to stop spinning and I could walk without the wall. I tried to be as quiet as possible so no one would know I was leaving. Soon after I got to the door and left, I had no idea where I was, who knows how far away I am from my house, how I would get home, I have no money, no friends, or family. “I'm a murderer” i whispered to myself, i sat down on the cold pavement, the sun has been down for a while, the cold wind bit at my skin through the cheap gown, i curled up and dug my face into my knees to hide the tears “what will i do now” i said while tearchoked “what do i do, i have nothing, i killed people, and for what” i could feel my eyes starting to burn as more tears flooded down my face and as i started to hyperventilate.

I felt a warm hand lay on my shoulder, i got startled and jerked away, i could barely see them through the tears, my shaky breath started to calm, and my tears started to stop “c’mon lets get you back inside” said the person, it was a female voice, it must have been one of the nurses that were in my room, she grabbed my hand and pulled me up. I wiped my tears from my eyes, then wiped my wet hand onto the gown and it left a salty tear stain, she lightly pulled my hand wanting me to follow her so i did, we went back through the sliding doors at the front and passed the main desk, there was still no one there, probably out for lunch or changing shifts. My tears fully stopped but my eyes still burned. She brought me back to the room i was in before with the girl, The nurse hooked up the the needles and tubes back into my arm where a red crusting smudge mark lay, a bubble emerged from the semi-clear bag attached to a tube that attaches to my arm “hmm” i hummed as i looked at the bag. “Whatcha thinkin bout” the nurse asked “what” i said because i was not paying attention to her “what-” “oh me” i said before she asked me again “just thinking” i fully answered, “about what exactly” she asked as she sat down at the foot of the bed “nothing important” i lied and looked in the other direction away from her but she was still in my peripheral vision, i could see she was worried about me, she stood up and the bed creaked ever so slightly without turning around. I watched her as she flipped the lights of and turned left down the dim lit hallway, soon the clock in front of me that was hanging on the wall turned its hands to 11 pm, it was starting to get late, when can i go home r if i ever go home, i began to get even more worried, my breaths became shallow and my eyes jumped around the room looking for an object that doesn’t exist, my heart beat slightly faster and my breaths got shallower and shallower to the point i couldn't breathe, my heart beat faster and faster, the beeping from the machine sped up, ‘what was happening’ i yelled to myself in my head, i couldn't speak, my throat became dry and scratchy from the breathing soon becoming raspy. The two nurses busted through the door in a rush to get to me but then everything faded to black, I heard yelling, and alarms, and people barking orders to one another ‘was I dead’ I thought to myself, I don't feel my heartbeat, i am calm, finally at peace. Then a flash of light blinded my eyes, soon later adjusted back to the hospital room as i bolted up from the bed, a cold sweat running down my back, “thank god, just a nightmare” i muttered as i wiped the sweat off my face and lay back down ‘but what if… nah it's stupid’ i thought ‘but what if it wasn't a dream, and i could have died’ i lay there staring at the off white ceiling… thinking.

The next day the nurses came in with my clothes “you are free to go” one of them spoke while the other came over and detached the needles and tubes from my arm, the other nurse put the neatly folded clothes at the middle of the bed near the edge “you can change, then sign the paperwork” she set down a clipboard with a piece of paper on it with a pen on top of the folded clothes “and then you're free to go” she finished, they both left the room and shut the door “it's nice you're getting out early” the voice startled me then i remembered the the girl next to me was there, her grayish maroon curtain made a wall around her bed, i stood up and started to get my clothes on, they smelled clean without a particular sent, but they also felt clean, they felt nice, still warm from the dryer. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled over the clipboard but as ii did the pen fell on the ground with a light click and rolled partially under the bed, i bent down while still sitting on the bed reaching under the bed for the pen, but then i felt something it didn't feel like the pen, it felt like wood, i grabbed the wood object and pulled it out, it was a small antique wooden box. i held it in front of me on my lap and observed it, it was a mostly gray box but still had tints of brown from the aged wood, i turned the box around and found a tiny flip lock keeping it closed, i wedged my finger under the thin piece of metal trying to open it, whoever put it here must have put this here a long time ago, then my finger with a lot of force slammed the small lock onto the top piece of the box. I opened the box, it had a small note on it, the outside of it written on it said ‘for my love’, i folded the note open, it was frail and old, it was crumpled and ripped but was filled with love ‘dear my love, by the time you find this it will be too late, and i would have disappeared forever, it's not you it’s me, i've done many wrong things i'm not proud about, i hope you will still love me, because i still love you. Someday I hope we will find eachother again whether the earth crumbles or we bump into each other at the mall. I sure hope you can understand I will never stop loving you. Your dearest, jasmin’ tears swelled up in my eyes, jasmin can never find the one she loves ever again because of me, it's all my fault, my throat swelled and i began to choke on my tears, he will never know that she loved him. I signed the paperwork and grabbed the box then left. I sat at the empty bus stop waiting for the bus to arrive, tears still streamed down my face as the bus arrived, I wiped the tears and sniffled a bit, the doors of the bus swung open waning me to step inside. ‘Maybe I can start anew, be a different person, live a better life’ I thought, but then I realized that won't stop me from being a wanted criminal, that won't bring Jack back, it won't solve anything.

I sulked on the busses itchy fabric seat, alone, no one here but me and the driver, but it was nice to look out the window and look at all the good things in life, but maybe, just maybe i could be a new person, but i also didn't want to change i liked being wanted, you don't have to listen to anyone, you can just be free, but it fills me with dread when i think about the people i hurt like jasmin, but thinking about jack makes my stomach tie into a knot and i feel like i need to throw up, i remember his lifeless body draped across the floor as a bed of blood lies beneath him, and the knife, brutally stabbed into the floor. I wish that it never happened, i wish that jack never died so i wouldnt be a murderer, a fucking wanted criminal. This was the worst couple weeks of my life, everyone who cares about me is fucking dead, i wish i never existed. I stood up and pressed the button to let me off the bus and the bus halted to a stop, it was near the cliff of the town, the most popular attraction to go to, its where our founder founded the town, no one really visits it anymore, it's become gray, dull, and depressing, i walked for a couple minutes to get to the cliff, i stood atop and placed the wooden box beneath a nearby tree, the town draped across the valley like a pond “i can't do this anymore” i whispered to myself “I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS ANY MORE” i shouted, i stepped closer to the edge, single tear fell from my eye, my stomach tied into a knot, i looked across the town one last time, gazing as the sun set, pulling the dark night sky over the town. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, i stretched out my foot over the cliff side “at least i saw the sunset one last time” i said to the darkness, i leaned forward over the cliff, waiting to fall, but then i felt two tender hands grasping the back of my shirt, and pulled me away from the cliff, i was choking on my tears “just let me do this” i push them away and i walk back to the edge, they wrap their arms tightly around me, and i kneel to the ground and they follow “please don't do this, you don't deserve it” they told me “NO I DO DESERVE IT” i yelled at them trying to squirm my way out of the hug but they only tightened their grip, i felt tears drip through the back of my shirt, they were crying, i stopped trying to get out and just accepted the hug. I started to cry more, i haven't had any love in so long i forgot what it feels like to receive it “th-than-nk y-y-you” i said tearchoked, “t-th-thank you” i muttered quieter to them. I started to quietly laugh, oh boy how i missed this, how i missed affection, i never want this to stop “i never want this to stop, i wanna stay like this forever” i croakaly said “dont worry im not going anywhere” said the voice calmly “its ok” they reassured me, i turned around and hugged them back, i never wanted to let go. They hugged me and i hugged them for awhile, this is the best i have felt in years, i wiped the tears from my eyes but they just kept coming, after my tears started to clear up i got a clear view of the persons face, it was the bus driver, they saw what i was gonna do, and they cared enough for a stranger to save their life, i have never met anyone like this… except jack, he would always care for others, and always helped people, the busdriver loosened their hug but i kept mine tight and firm “thank you jack” i whispered, i don't think the driver minded that i called them jack, just as long as i was safe “thank you” i said one final time.

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

A bit of one of my stories! I wrote this a while ago, so I’m sure it’s got flaws, but alas! Nothing’s perfect :)

-

The purplish scars were surely still there, matching her namesake, the blueberry. But in the darkness, she couldn’t see them, and it was oddly comforting.

“Deep breaths, Miinan.” She whispered aloud, her voice startling even herself, like an arrow puncturing through the deafening silence. “You’re safe here. Just sleep.”

A shaky sigh escaped her lips, breaths hitching in her throat. She fixed her eyes on the soft beam of light that shone through the crack underneath the door. Nobody was going to come into the room, anyways. She was okay.

“Ahhhhh!”

Miinan jolted awake to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream. She had finally managed to drift into an uneasy sleep, but that comfort was gone, slipping through her fingers like a stream of clean water disappearing down the cracked drain of her uncle’s shoddy house where she’d been ‘raised’.

“What in the name of–?!” Amara’s voice yelped, jarring in the total darkness. Multiple thudding sounds followed in quick succession, although Miinan couldn’t guess what they were caused by– each came from a different direction.

“No, please, don’t leave her, take her too! No, I don’t want to leave! Please–! I can’t lose her too–” These words were spoken, rather unexpectedly, by Chi’un; Miinan realized that she must have been the one who’d screamed, too. The girl’s voice was unhinged– not at all the cold and collected tone she adopted during the daytime. It sounded as if some terrible being was stretching her vocal cords, forcing her voice to create the unnatural shrieking sounds.

“Someone turn on the lights!” Another voice screamed, although Miinan couldn’t tell who it belonged to. She leapt to her feet, flipping the light switch on the wall next to her bunk.

Harsh fluorescent lighting illuminated the scene: Miinan stood, shell-shocked, not having realized how frantic her breaths were from the sounds of screaming. Her nightshirt stuck to her skin, brown eyes wide with panic.

Sitting up cross-legged on her own bed was Chi’un, tear tracks staining her cheeks. Her onyx eyes were open but unseeing, lips parted in a silent sob. Halfway down the ladder from the top bunk was Isabella, who clutched her left leg to her chest, grimacing in pain. Presumably, one of the banging sounds Miinan had heard must’ve been Isabella bumping her knee on the wooden ladder in the darkness.

Amara, who looked the calmest out of all of them, had hopped down from her own bed, dark curls ringing her face. Penny stood next to Amara, tears in her own eyes, although Miinan wasn’t sure from what.

“What. The actual hell. Just happened.” Amara hissed, moving to stand next to Chi’un’s bunk. Her eyes were steely, not at all empathetic.

“I’m sorry.” Chi’un hiccuped. She wasn’t looking at Amara, eyes fixed instead on a knot in the wood of her bedframe. “Let’s all just go back to sleep. What t-time is it?”

Miinan glanced at the clock again. “Five-twelve AM,” she breathed disappointedly. A measly two hours of sleep, in her case. Sighing, she sat back down on her bed, resigned to another sleepless night.

The door creaked jarringly, causing Miinan to jump. Chi’un stared, bleary-eyed, at Layla Sajjadi, who had just entered their dorm, long brown hair slightly ruffled.

“What are you all doing awake?” The older girl yawned, sounding a bit annoyed, but mostly concerned.

Chi’un swallowed dryly. “It was my fault. I had a nightmare.”

The prefect frowned. “Lights out was a long time ago, but I think I’ll allow for special circumstances, in this case. Is there anything you need?”

Shaking her head mutely, Chi’un wished she could crawl out of her own skin, she was so embarrassed. She heard Amara sigh loudly and felt a twinge of irritation; what did that girl know about—

“Alright, then.” Layla spoke once more, interrupting Chi’un’s train of thought. “Breakfast is at six-thirty. I expect you all to be in the dining hall for roll-call. Then, just go ahead and follow your schedules for the rest of the day.” With that, she left the room, closing the door with a light thud.

-

Thanks for reading!! Any thoughts?

[hauntedraggedyanne]

Underused weapons in fiction

(I am not an expert in case you couldn’t tell)

1️⃣ Baton:

These work for pretty much any genre. For realistic fiction they’re just normal bats, but it’ll still hurt a LOT. In fantasy, you can give them some kind of magical property (ex: whatever it hits turns to ice). If you can’t think of anything, just put something sharp on it like nails. Nobody’s walking that off.

2️⃣ lasso:

This might be more of a fantasy thing, but if you can make it work in realistic fiction, great job! If you make one that grows and retracts, its use would be immeasurable for your characters. Think of how easy it would be to just throw the lasso up to the top of a building and boom!💥They get away.

3️⃣ Halberd

Some might say that it’s just a cooler looking spear. They’d be pretty right. BUT if you want a character to get into an argument with someone over the differences between a Halberd and a spear, you get a free scene!

[meimeiherokitten]

I really want to write a dramedy story about an older genderfluid person and a younger genderfluid person going thru their coming of age self-discovery story at the same time and having very similar yet very different experiences. They both have bad attitudes and trauma and drama and hate each other and have nothing in common but this ONE thing and it's a big thing so they go thru it together because community is important. I just don't know how to write such a thing and make it readable because I write fantasy and haven't written anything like this before.

I would also want to write it into a movie and be in it and I know exactly who I would want to cast as the younger gfp. But thats neither here nor there because I don't know how to write realistic fiction!!!

It would be called Drink Me Up because yeah.

Omfg just whack me in the face, muse Thalia.

[pluralprompts]

Prompt #1,562

When System A moves into a new house and finds a dusty, old book in their attic, they're not surprised to find it belongs to a previous owner of the house from many decades ago. But finding recorded conversations between headmates, speculations on why no one else seems to have "[...] as many souls as I do.", and journal entries about the owner's system? Well, that was certainly a surprise!

[lunchmeater]

AUGUST HONEY: CHAPTER ONE : STRANGERS - PREVIEW

Ghost x Reader -- Firefighter/Civilian AU -- Word Count 1.8k

Description: A dead-end artist, bookstore owner, and front woman in a band, from the outside everything looks like it’s coming together for you. But within, your life feels like it’s repeating the same day over and over again. You’re sleeping with your bass guitarist, you live in the apartment above your bookstore, and your art all looks the same. You miss the danger of youth, the thrill of freedom. You miss change.

And right when that feeling hits, right when you’re grasping for straws, a couple of the new local firefighters decide to go out for drinks.

TWs for Entire Fic: Depictions of unhealthy relationships (not with Ghost), mentions and depictions of alcoholism, smut

TWs for Chapter: Very small reference to alcoholism

AN: I'm very new to Tumblr y'all please excuse the horrendous formatting

Seven in the afternoon. Time to close up. With a satisfying click of the shop's front door locking, you rubbed the back of your neck, turning your head slightly to the side to see the scenery outside.

You've owned this shop for so long that the view from the window was more familiar than the layout of the lines of your palm. Your attention traced the road first, noting the way the concrete was still wet from the early morning rain. The sidewalks were a shade darker for the same reason and covered in the muddy footprints of passersby. Windows from other shops and buildings stood tall, some of the buildings they belonged to were twice as tall as your own. Then your eyes traveled along the rolling mountains in the background behind the buildings and the still-lit houses lolling up and down its curves. This was a small city.

The sun was beginning its journey behind the distant mountains. It's beams were reaching hands across that of the thresh hold of your little bookstore, stroking the hardwood floors and illuminating them golden. Following the line of the sunlight, your eyes landed on your dog, a Rhodesian Ridge-Back named Sylvie. Despite being a big-game hunting breed, she was beyond lazy and sleeping soundly in the light of the sun.

God. You wished it was normal for humans to do that too.

It was warm in here, beginning to get quite cold out there. Your head turned back to the window and saw the clouds that were rolling in from the West. Likely more rain. Maybe there would be a nice thunderstorm tonight, or maybe even some snow.

The entire day you were waiting for this. Just being alone in the place. The place creaked with age, the floorboards despite having been replaced since the buying of the home whining as you stepped on them. You reached your record player sitting in the corner of the room on its own personal table, surrounded by shelves you built yourself. They held numerous vinyl records that you collected yourself over the course of the years, ever since you were thirteen.

The sleeves, despite their various colors, were painted with a gold glaze in the light of the evening sun. Your finger traced each individual spine, feeling the grooves in between the sleeves of the records, before you finally landed on one titled Pink Magic.

You grabbed it, slipping it out from in between Citrona and Subliming. The cover held a gradient that eased from pastel pink on the right to pastel blue on the left. In the center stood a man holding a disco ball covered in paint in front of his face. It was an album you bought on a whim and hadn't heard in a while, so you put it on. Easing the needle down onto the grooves of the record disc where you knew the specific song was nearly by muscle memory. You read the lines on the record like a language few understood.

The song started, fading into earshot before a guitar part layered over the tones. Then a drum beat and bass guitar came in afterwards, then finally the lyrics.

"Picture this, a swing and a miss."

You interlocked your fingers together and stretched upwards, slightly arching your back in the motion and leaning back before letting out a long sigh and turning to check all of the tables in the entrance area. The welcome mat was muddy and could use washing, the tables had coasters, drops of various drinks, and crumbs scattering their surfaces. A quick turn and a glance into the reading areas on the other side of the shop, connected by a large arch doorway, showed the large area was in only a small amount of disarray. Books, the order of which you had memorized, were out of place, some abandoned on the tables near the windows. The rug was wrinkled, and there was some mud tracked on the floors, but nothing major.

"Never exchanging a name."

When you turned around, you noticed your head was starting to hurt from the stress of the day. Saturdays were always crowded with not only the typical adult customers but also lovesick rowdy teenagers looking for a cup of coffee and loud conversation with one another in the large table by the window.

You opened your eyes after rubbing your temple with your fingers and jumped near six inches off of the ground when a figure was seen standing close to the window.

He laughed immediately, his hand in the pockets of his black slacks and a tux jacket slung over his shoulder. The hand removed itself from the place in your old friend's pocket to wave and you relaxed, slightly annoyed by his sudden appearance. A white dress shirt covered his torso loosely, unbuttoned far in the front showing the floral tattoo covering his collarbone. From a mixture of White and Hispanic heritage, as you knew, he had tan skin with dark, long hair that swung around in curls and waves. He had dark brown eyes with thick brows and an unshaven five o'clock shadow. Upon his face was a smile. His name was Bailey.

"Infatuated, I contemplated your lips."

You walked over to the front door and opened it, to which you discovered him standing in front of you. Your friend from high school, your ex boyfriend, and your bassist. Couldn't say you weren't expecting him, you just weren't thinking right. You wouldn't have locked the door behind him if you were.

"But my infatuation was strange."

He smiled a little wider and you frowned.

"Don't do that," you said bluntly. "Scared the shit out of me."

Bailey laughed. "Sorry."

"Black, purple and cream."

You invited him in silently by stepping aside and opening the door; he stepped inside willingly. Curt, and with the intention of both teasing and genuine thanks, he nodded his head silently. His black boots, as you saw, made muffled footsteps as his well-used footwear made contact with the welcome mat. Bailey wiped his feet, shifting the mat with the movement, and didn't need to reach far to hang his coat on the rack.

Your eyes followed the way his shoulder blades pressed against the cloth of his white dress shirt and you averted your eyes, feeling your chest swell gently knowing what was likely coming tonight.

Suddenly noticing a rising ache of stiffness in your shoulders from standing and trying to play off the staring in case Bailey noticed, you shifted, brushing aside the drifting cloth of your over-sized lavender dress shirt and placing your hands in your cream khaki pockets.

"These are the colors of your nightmares, and colors of my dreams."

"Fizzy Blood?" Bailey asked in reference to the song playing on the record player. He huffed a laugh. "I forgot about them."

"Me too," you responded, walking briskly past him to get to the counter and fetch the hand towel you used to wipe down tables. You noticed the table to your left, a table for two occupied earlier by a particularly noisy tween couple that met briskly before departing. Despite them being rather annoying upon presence, the thought of them was sweet. Reminding you of you and Bailey in high school sneaking out to see movies and get garbage gas station food.

In fact, this song played once or twice during those adventures, pushing you into a sudden state of nostalgia.

The song was moving into the chorus as Bailey leaned against the corner of the counter and watched you wipe down the table. His steady hands, painted with tattoos of vines dancing around his fingers that moved with him, was planted sternly on the side of the counter. You knew how rough his fingertips were from pressing down thick strings and how easily they drew ink freehand sketches of various animals, mostly foxes.

"So what's the set for tonight?" he asked. His voice, tainted raw and gravely with cigarette smoke, always reminded you of his hard history. He moved out of his mom's house recently, improving his mental state, but he still had yet to overcome his nasty habit of smoking and drinking.

You shrugged in response. "Haven't thought of anything yet. Busy day."

"Need suggestions?"

"Yeah."

"Well with it being Friday night and all, the bar's going to be packed," Bailey responded, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting the bulk of his weight from his hands to his waist which pressed into the corner of the counter as became more relaxed. He was always relaxed, smooth, and always wickedly smart. "I suggest Reignwolf."

Not a bad idea. Not too heavy, not too slow.

"Alright," you responded, finishing up with the table and briefly looking over all of the others. They were clean enough. You'd get whatever you missed eventually. "Your bass is still in my room. Get my guitar while you're at it; I'll get the amps."

Bailey smiled before removing himself from the counter and crossing the threshold of the counter, his strides so smooth and even his head barely bobbed from the distribution of weight as he walked. The footsteps created from the click of his shoes against the ground faded as he went further up the stairs.

You sighed as you watched him walk away and the shop faded back into quiet. You heard the sound of Bailey opening your bedroom door before the silence returned again like a wave that had faded off into sea and slammed back onto the sand. The sound of your dog Sylvie's breathing returning into the ambiance; she wasn't even affected by the entrance of Bailey.

Your eyes landed on the honey brown dog laying on the floor and you dropped briefly to stroke her flank and scratch behind her ears. She was snoring loudly, her eyes doing that gross scent-hound thing where the lids flipped and she slept with, essentially, her eyes open.

Not the weirdest dog you've ever owned, but certainly up there.

You moved back to your feet and crossed your arms, thinking. End of the day at the shop, then packing up instrument stuff, then going to the bar and performing, then back home again. Wake up and repeat. Day after day, week after week.

Until what? What was waiting for you? What was going to happen?

You leaned against the counter and stared out the window with your arms crossed, when your eyes landed on a figure on the other side of the street that stared back.

Tall, extremely tall. Easily six foot or more. Broad shoulders and a neck gaiter with a skull on it that covered his face from the nose down. Blond hair peaked out from underneath the hood of the black hoodie he had on with the fire department emblem on the breast. Jeans covered his long legs and a leash hung from his arm, connecting to a German Shepherd that seemed really intent on continuing his walk.

Your shoulders dropped when your eyes met, but it only lasted a second before he turned his head and continued walking, but you kept staring as he walked away. How long had he been standing there?

You cocked a brow, confused, before discarding the thought and turning around to see what was taking Bailey so long.

Inspired by the Firefighter!Ghost AU by @thelaisydazy

[ak-harper-loves-fiction]

"But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like no matter what I do, I have no one. I can’t tell anyone anything. They’ll leave me one day, right? Everyone always does."

-A.K. Harper

[odysseywritings]

What Do I Have To Lose?

@flashfictionfridayofficial

I know it will never happen. I've been exhausted by life, wondering what to look forward to as my choices dwindle, as my brain gets frayed by cruelty and clutter.

But when I talk to her, my heart warms and my head cools. She has grown more compassionate and thoughtful compared to my first meetings with her. She's always been beautiful but now I understand what it means to have weakness for her.

But I stop myself from the most intense daydreams. The ones that run rivers into the future and wild instinct. We are worlds apart in the end. Even if we can connect, how can she see me as anything romantic or sexual, knowing how I look compared to her or my station in life?

I try to move on to the reality I know and expect to avoid the heartache. Yet she's in my mind when I'd just be a ghost incapable of touch and connection. The more we're away the stronger the desire stirs in my brain kicking and screaming to break free.

Something clicked in my brain, unshackling my restraint, and I met her again if we could spend time together for a meal. She smiled gently and said she was busy and had something to do for several days. My heart dropped and I felt foolish exposing myself.

She paused and said there may be another time to talk, however, especially about a game we both happened to love. It was small but just knowing what she wanted even a bit about us was a weight off my neck. The relief made me think and breathe in order to live more normally.