whistlewritesforfun

[whistlewritesforfun]

Writing prompt responses!

Rat God

[whistlewritesforfun]

I had been (sorta) (kinda) (maybeeeeee) running a cult out of my ranch for years now. It was going pretty well I’d say! It was small but that made it inconspicuous. It was generating plenty of money for me and nobody cared enough about the run down ranch a few miles outside of town that the stranger individuals would visit frequently.

We had just finished up the usual “sacrifice” of a rat, a stringy thing I decided to put out of its misery after seeing it in a pathetic little tank in the store, when a blinding light emerged from its carcass. It was this odd grayish green color. Reminiscent of a rather painful turd or some especially stinky vomit.

Of course every religion needs a figurehead. I’d found some random God in an old history textbook from my mythology class. I’d just so happened to choose one that had a rodent schtick.

You could imagine my surprise when the little rat I’d just speared through exploded with that ugly green light, then warped and twisted. Convulsing about as it changed shape into what could best be described as a star made out of flesh, bone, and rat fur. It was hands down, the GROSSEST thing I’d ever seen.

And THEN the thing had the audacity to start speaking. Every utterance from its tongue caused another convulsion in the warped rat, a faint glow of that green emitting from the eyes. Which were much too far apart by this point. It really was horrible to look it, there were little bones sticking out and puncturing the flesh everywhere. Eugh. I should’ve picked a less gross god, maybe then I would’ve be in this horrendous predicament.

The warped rat body spoke to the congregation for about 30 minutes. For 25 of that I wasn’t paying attention because I didn’t want to barf all over my supposed deity. (There were little droplets of that disgusting rat blood on my ceremonial carpet. That particularly irked me.) For the last 5, I do not think I shall soon forget it.

“This my dear congregation!” (The rat… thingy… hovered a little bit closer to me.) “is a true servant! A true leader! And a true follower. He has blessed you with the gift of my existence. He has shepherded you along the way and through adversity to create my return! This man! He is now my high priest, henceforth until his death!”

“I’m what?” I couldn’t stop the blunt words from falling out of my mouth.

“You’re my high priest!”

“… riiiiiiiiiiiiight.”

“Do you… have doubts?” The rat-jumble asked, its scratchy voice reminded me of someone who was talking right after waking up, but very deep and highly unsettling.

“Am I really quite… priestly enough?” I asked, cringing slightly. It was evident I had made a very very grave mistake by this point.

“You’ve been preaching g for months. You brought me back from my slumber. I was sure I’d never be worshipped again. You are most certainly my high priest.” He… it… the rat thingy assured. I just nodded. I had entirely screwed myself. I was gonna be stuck with this cult the rest of my life…

“To go with your title high-priest, I will bestow on you a gift of my choosing.” Oh goody. Please don’t be dead rats. Please don’t be dead rats.

The rat sphere drifted nearer, the dripping of blood still grating on my nerves. Keeping the abject terror off my face was difficult beyond imagination. The orb then rotated so wherever the tail went in the warped carcass could tap me gently. As it did, I felt the most exhilarating burst of what I can only describe as rat magic.

“You shall be able to heal even the most sick and miserable. With your words, your touch, your compassion. The spread of sound and healthfulness shant be stopped but by your own limitation.”

I wasn’t sure what was appropriate at that moment so I kneeled. A particularly bad idea, as it now bug me in the rat-blood splash zone. I mean SERIOUSLY! This is the grossest vessel that he could’ve possibly picked! My carpet is entirely ruined!

With that final statement however, the pen fell to the ground with the most hideous mush noise, a few crackles, and what can best be written as a “Skrrrrrrsht.”

Now what on earth was I to do with this information… or ability. I certainly couldn’t heal my mind from what I’d just witnessed transpire. Believe me, I was trying. The divine are disgusting. So I wordlessly lead my congregation out of the doors of my makeshift chapel, and to the Waffle House half a mile away.

As is usual for Saturdays, we all ate at the Waffle House in our congregation robes. Today though. The viscous syrup warming my throat brought to mind the mental imagery of the rat blood. I shoved it aside and decided maybe to forgo the waffles… just for today.

You started a scam religion for a quick buck. You begin to panic when your fake god was actually a real forgotten one awakened from new worshippers, declared you it's high priest, and granted you the power of healing.

[whistlewritesforfun]

It’s posted on this account!

I’m about to write sad poetry 👌

I’m eating spicy ramen (LET ME READ IT)

[whistlewritesforfun]

Poetry Masterlist

[whistlewritesforfun]

Would she see me?

Tw: Allusions to sh and depression

I’ve seen the question posed frequently on the internet.

What do you think your younger self would do if they met you today?

I don’t know.

I haven’t known that girl in a very long time.

You have to at least know someone a little to guess at their reaction to even the most mundane things.

I look at her photograph and I don’t recognize the same person whose holding the old piece of paper.

A memento from a trip, printed out and never framed.

She is still the same blue-eyed child. The same mother I’ll always love peers at me from the background with a smile.

My sister grins. A much more youthful and round face than what I see today.

Though I still don’t see me. I see what would become me.

She is very different. She wouldn’t have taken up a pair of scissors and laid emptily on the floor.

Cursing herself for what foolish thing she had to punish herself for.

She wouldn’t have failed a test and given in with such little resistance.

She wouldn’t have stopped reading books until midnight.

I cannot even remember anything about her that wasn’t an action.

How did she think? What did her voice sound like? Did she have nightmares every night?

I simply can’t remember. The inner monologue that once belonged to me is entirely changed.

Morphed beyond recognition to create someone new.

I don’t know her. I cannot think of her fondly. Whatever pieces of her left in me are likely melancholic fractures now.

Fueled by nostalgia and burning in the back of my aching mind.

Though I have to wonder. If she looked at me today, would her eyes meet mine? Would she lock gazes and see the spark of her own soul in me?

It’s been a very long time. Would she see a “me” or an us?

[whistlewritesforfun]

Historical Fiction Masterlist

Signed Songbird 🕊️

Chapter 1

[whistlewritesforfun]

Signed Songbird

Chapter 1

The greatest mysteries a man can be saddled with are oft related to the world of romance. The man's inner workings that power his mind work best when faced with problems with only one answer. When faced with the possibility of many interpretations, it's enough to overwhelm them, yet despite it all, they try anyway. None of this was false for one Benjamin Thomas. A plain man of high station, always seen in a wrinkled little suit that seemed just a bit too large on him. Almost as if he was still a teenage boy dressing up as his father. He lacked any hardness or sharp edges in his appearance and was thin and tall. With contradictory deep black hair that spiked up messily, and a pair of brown eyes to match.

While he was still baby-faced and only twenty-three, he had all the responsibilities of a fully-fledged businessman who had been in the trade for 30 years. Benjamin had once resolutely stated that if the overwhelming stress of his new workplace was all he would know for the rest of his career, that he should have gray hairs by 25. His once ever-present aspiration to have a wife and children was forcibly placed in the back seat of his mind. The once empty and unkempt space is now filled with schedules, contracts, and paperwork of varying degrees of importance, all kept tightly organized. The wild dreams of a young man now fully suppressed for the organization of adulthood. Of responsibility.

Despite all of this, Benjamin remained hopeful in the one wild garden left in his mind that eventually, he’d be able to clear a bit more space for love. He kept a singular flower of the once boundless garden well watered and cared for, in hopes the vines could spread over the meetings and paperwork in a harmonious mess. That was not to say his life lacked color, however, sometimes he would find the time to visit the speakeasy down the street in secret with his compatriots. Though no matter how hard they tried to get him to go to other places for entertainment and jovial revelry, Benjamin always refused.

“Go on without me if you wish to, this is where I will remain. What little time I retain for myself will be spent here. Do not mistake this for a closed mind of course my friends,” He’d always give a friendly smile at this part, and wave his hand with closed eyes. “This is the mind of a man with a goal that can only be achieved here.” His work friends would concede and typically stick around with their boss. Even if he was stubborn and a creature of habit, the conversations had with him were enough to make up for the lack of scenery changes.

The speakeasy that Benjamin frequented was not one of large size, the bar in the back corner had just shy of 20 stools. About 10 wooden tables and chairs from various origins dotted the room. The lights were always a dim orange that evoked a cozy and personal atmosphere. There were a few couches pushed up against the wall and the place was always well filled. Though Benjamin's favorite place was the stage where music was played. There were a few tables right next to it where every Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday night, at 8 o’clock, the object of Benjamin's fixation would sing until midnight.

Benjamin's friends could never sway him from his work unless it was one of those nights. They were only beginning to understand why when it was too late, for Benjamin had discovered the target of his affections in a woman he had never even spoken to. A woman whose station was far too low for Benjamin, and whose very job was illegal. He had fallen completely in love with the songbird on the stage, whom he only knew by an alias, and now it was far too late for him to change that.

Perhaps the most scandalous piece of this was that Benjamin did not care, and had no desire to change her. He loved what he saw on that stage far too much to want her to change. A fool's infatuation rarely leads to a good ending, however. The songbird on the stage had her very own cage that kept her line. One invisible to Benjamin and his adoration.

While Benjamin knew his darling as merely “The Angelic Songbird of New York,” her real name was that of Viviana Allegro. Yet in his mind, Benjamin always referred to her as “songbird.” When Benjamin had a respite from work but his darling was not on the stage that night, he would find comfort in imagining their future together.

It almost always would be roughly the same picture in his head. Far away from the dreary New York City he was accustomed to since birth. A quaint cabin in the woods of some lovely place with lots of whitetail deer for him to hunt, and wildflowers everywhere. Bees constantly buzz around the small vegetable and fruit garden, and the scent of their honey is not too far away, floating delicately on the wind. The cabin would stand out in a small clearing, a stone chimney rising from one side that always had smoke pouring from it.

Benjamin craved nothing more than a quiet and peaceful home very far from the city he so despised. Except perhaps his songbird. In his daydreams, he would imagine that every day when he would return home from whatever he was doing that day, his gorgeous wife would be waiting for him. A smile on her face and a baby on her hip, a dog weaving its way toward him, yipping with adoration.

His mental picture was perfect in every aspect, it was the idyllic world he would fight tooth and nail to attain. He was willing to sacrifice all that his father had built and passed down to him if only she would be his.

If Benjamin's father could see what he was doing now he would die all over again. While the two had never been quite close, they still had the sort of father-son bond you can imagine. One of mutual understanding and sometimes even respect. Though Benjamin entirely lacked the familial love aspect of it all from his father, his mother was quick to give it out.

Madam Thomas, Benjamin's doting mother, had the awful habit of sneaking around her husband to aid her son when he was being insubordinate. When Benjamin was sent to bed without supper for fighting a boy in the schoolyard, Madam Thomas would bring him some bread. It was in this manner that Benjamin would learn that he should not fear his father's wrath.

In the end, this would prove to be good for Benjamin. His father was often too inflamed with anger to properly parent whenever it was needed. Having never been one to spare the rod, Mr. Thomas would deal out what he misguidedly believed was fair. Madam Thomas would pick up the pieces and sigh as she went along. Without having had to fear anything more than his father's fist at the end of the day, Benjamin would grow to be a relatively bold child. Much to the chagrin of his school teachers who only seemed to want docile children in their classes.

Though many years later, Benjamin would still foster his boldness, he had become much more restrained. His dreams were heavily trodden on; the more meetings he attended, the more paperwork he filed, the more employees he had to hire and fire, and the longer he had to wait until he would finally find love.

However, his rotten luck seemed to change the day he was left a note at the speakeasy. Sealed with just a kiss mark in red lipstick. The bartender handed the cream envelope to him without a word.

Benjamin eagerly opened it…

[whistlewritesforfun]

Ok I feel safe now

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

Human or dog years? I’m not making the same mistake twice

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

Sorgy

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

How lovely for me, I’m no longer in danger of being watched!

Probably.

wait does this arrangement expire…??? HOW LONG DO I HAVE??

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

Excellent choice!!!

So no more stalking?? :DD

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

EXCELLENT!!

Options:

Rôdeur

Timothy

Reed

Wilson

Quinn

Redmond

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

… if I name him will he grant me some mercy?

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

I’m too beautiful to die by stalker 😤😤😤

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

NO!!! NO INVISIBLE CREEPY STALKER MAN!!!

KEEP HIM AWAY FROM ME AND MY GHOST ANTS!!!

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.

[whistlewritesforfun]

My eyes cannot perceive them, they must not exist in the mortal realm.

Tis the ghosts of ants I hath murdered 😔

mreow

you should

follow my writing blogss

and look at my wip

I can FEEL the sensory issues that lip gloss would be giving me.