#writewithzo

[pastelpomwrites]

It’s Upon Us

It's peaceful up here, at the very least.

Watching networks of stars drift past an infinite void, finding new solar systems and new star formations never before charted with each thousand-mile stretch this old clunker of a ship passes. At the very least, it's relaxing.

I can't say much else about it.

It almost drives me crazy, sometimes, the silence of it all. I'll knock some equipment over or slam the doors or start talking to nobody just to hear something. Otherwise, I'll start to feel this pressure building in my head, it feels like all of space is closing in on me, the tiny hull of the ship starts to feel more like a casket than humanity's last hope. There are cameras in here, somewhere, used to monitor my progress. Before, I used to wonder what the people back home would think of me, knocking things around, talking to myself - but it's hard to think that any of them are real anymore.

Three years I've been stuck in this trashcan. Three years - by all accounts, that's nothing compared to voyages from the past - and I can't take it anymore.

There's a pipe that cuts through my broom closet bedroom and it always whistles. I've tried to fix it, seven times at least, but each time the whistling comes back. The worst part is, if I concentrate, I can hear it from every part of the ship.

Sometimes, I'll come to and I'll be standing, facing a wall, muttering words I don't remember. I'll check the clock embedded on the ship's dash, just past the autopilot-locked controls, and hours have passed. I won't remember what I was doing before I lost track of time. I don't know if I should be concerned.

It's not the weirdest thing to happen, all things considered. Lapses of memory can be common in those who have endured space travel for an extended period of time, but - this feels different, somehow. That pressure in my head comes back, when it happens. It almost feels like my head's going to fold in, like an aluminum can in an airtight vacuum. Just when it feels like it's too much, it'll dissipate all at once.

It just happened again today.

I came to, facing the wall, holding a wrench flaked with rust and covered in... blood, that was definitely blood. This time, I caught the words coming out of my mouth.

"It's upon us."

I didn't know what it meant - didn't want to know what it meant, but... I walked slowly to the windshield in front of the controls, gazing out at the massive expanse of space.

It's peaceful up here, at the very least.

Until the massive silhouette of something unknowable slowly crawls up from underneath the ship, blotting out all the stars until the only thing left around me was a pitch black void. Slowly, slowly, two massive eyes pull themselves open, focusing on me.

I was never an astronaut, I was a sacrifice.

"It's upon us," my mind whispers.

[mellowartisaneggswombat-blog]

Last Kiss. (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/C9y2CkmnmR Marley is a shy student who is quick to laugh at her self for simple everyday mistakes. But maybe what could've been a mistake could be the best decision of her life when he gets locked in the school library overnight with the most popular kid at school.

[thegraceofebonee]

Here is another story I wrote for the Write With Zo writing contest. Prompt by Zo the AI. Hope you like it.

[yvesdot]

The alpha female in the cool kids crew enters the super secret teacher's lounge.

Written for the #writewithzo contest on Wattpad, based on the Zo's prompt! Read here, or scroll down to read the 500 word story below the cut.

[𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺! 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 + 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴!]

"Hey, Will! Good luck in there!" They laugh, jostling her, and half-shove her into the teacher's lounge. She laughs softly in response; ten minutes? Easy. Mess around, cause trouble, get out.

The room's empty; one big table, twelve empty chairs, one whiteboard and a fridge. Staff bathrooms are outside, too, so it's just her and the space.

She takes a marker and draws a fairly inappropriate shape on the whiteboard. It comes out looking kind of like a cow's head. She snorts and draws another one, and another. Should've brought a permanent marker, if that's what she was here to do.

Actually, she's not sure what she's here to do, other than chill in the super secret teacher's lounge and maybe get caught. Ten minutes is a long time.

She steals a can of sweet tea from the lounge fridge and feels suitably rebellious. Maybe she should've stolen some soda, but she hates it. Only good for chugging, or for the rush. She scratches her short hair and puts the can down on the table.

Alone. Nobody to see her. For ten minutes, she can do-- be-- whatever, whoever she wants.

She grips the marker and writes hurriedly, messily on the board. No. Her handwriting comes out big and blocky. Again. Smaller, using cursive she doesn't really remember. No guy writes in cursive, right? This time it looks good.

Miss Broderick.

Her heart beats. She considers writing a first name in between, and raises the pen, but stops.

She can't come up with a new first name this fast. Willette sounds dumb. Willia? There are literally no female names that sound like Will. And she's not sure what she'd call herself other than that. Besides, she doesn't even really dislike the name Will, it's just male.

And, either way, she doesn't need another name here. Miss Broderick. That's all. Honorific, last name. She looks at it for a moment. Turns. Imagines a very small class looking at her. She has long hair, in this fantasy. Is probably in a dress. Does not play football, or talk to guys that do. Doesn't have trophies, maybe isn't well-known at all. She's sylph-like, dainty. Miss Broderick.

"Hey, it's been ten minutes!" someone yells from outside, and she jumps. The voice sounds like Jack. Has it been ten minutes? It feels like five.

"Yeah, we want our alpha male back!" Laughter; somebody says something else. She takes an eraser; sweeps it over the entire board. Cow's head and all. Her sneakers squeak.

"Hey," she says, coming out of the lounge. Her voice feels so low. Wrong. She shuts the door behind her and holds up the can, and Ben snickers.

"Should've got me one, man," he says.

Bryan hits her on the shoulder. "That was so close. Spellman almost went in, man."

She shrugs; grins lopsidedly. The ladies love that smile; love that all-star quarterback guy they think it belongs to.

"It was easy," she says, looking back. "Nobody saw me."

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[thegraceofebonee]

I have written a short story for a writing contest with the help of Zo the AI. Hope you check it out and enjoy.