Midnight Bus

Prompt: Your bus driver is a burly man with a mechanical leg plugged into the vehicle. The bus roars at each shift of the transmission. A vulture the size of a building is picking at freshly dismantled cars in the middle of the road. You hear the bus driver shout, “Time for battle!”

Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/h09sdw/wp_your_bus_driver_is_a_burly_man_with_a/


Casey shivered as a chill breeze rolled by. A few cars rolled through the sleepy street, their metallic bodies reflecting the orange tint of the street lights that lined up and down the road. He checked his watch, half past midnight, the bus driver sure as hell had been taking their time. Down the road a pair of bright headlights turned into the gas station he had left half an hour ago. He watched as the driver’s little silhouette materialized from the car. The driver went through the usual motions one does at the pumps: open door, close door, slide card into machine. Before the driver could grab the pump his bus drifted to a stop. The doors opened, Casey entered.

Casey didn’t recognize the driver. Six nights a week Casey took the same bus from the station to his stop four blocks away from his apartment, he didn’t usually see the same face every trip, but it had been a rotating set. The elderly frail man who had no chill with annoying passengers, and the plump middle aged woman with the silver hooped earrings, were his usual public transit chauffeurs for the past two years. Of course there were the occasional substitutes. Casey reckoned this man was one.

The substitute driver reminded Casey of an old pirate. He bore a bushy gray beard on his face, his hands were worn and calloused. He even wore a red do-rag and a matching tattered red shirt. Fortunately for him the substitute driver wore glasses instead of a eye patch. The driver’s lower half was absent of a right leg. In its place a mechanical prosthetic descended from the driver’s hip towards the gas peddle.

“I didn’t realize it was Halloween,” Casey said to the driver. “What took you so long?”

“Been busy,” the driver answered.

The usual crowd had been absent in the passenger section of the vehicle. What day was it? Oh yeah, it’s Sunday, Sundays were hit or miss with the witching hour crowd. A few times a month the bus would be empty for the half hour journey back home. He cherished those nights as they came. Now to hope no one boarded between his work and his home.

Casey walked to the back of the bus and popped in his headphones and opened up Overcast. He loaded up the latest 99 Percent Invisible and began listening to Roman Mars explain how things work. To be honest he couldn’t hold all his attention to show, half his brain still fixated on the substitute driver.

Ten minutes into the show the driver came to a stop. Casey looked out the window, they had arrived at a vacant bus stop. The engine idled for a good minute before his patience could take it no more.

“Common man,” he shouted, “nobody’s here.”

The driver remained silent, the bus answered with the revving of it’s engine.

“Hey!” Casey stood up. “I said nobody’s here.”

He crossed the empty cabin, his reflections in either windows marched in time with him. The substitute’s body leaned over the steering wheel. For a half second Casey thought the old man had keeled over, his concern alleviated when he noticed the man drummed his fingers in the wheel. The engine revved again.

“Some of us need to be home before sunrise,” Casey said approaching the driver. The substitute paid no attention to him, he kept his torso forward and his fingers drummed to the beat of the pulsing engine. “What is your problem?”

“Shhh…” the substitute finally answered. He pointed his calloused index finger forward. Casey squinted his eyes. On the road a few hundred feet from him beneath the orange rays of a streetlamp sat an empty car. A small sedan, perhaps a Toyota Corolla based its grill and size. Orange specs glistened off the hood, the windshield had been smashed.

“It’s just a busted window,” Casey said the engine’s roar grew louder and louder, Casey had never heard a bus so loud. “If you’re worried about crime just call the cops and let’s get out of here. You know I can report you for th- Holy shit, what the fuck was that?”

Gravity pulled the man towards the dirty bud floor. His heart raced from zero to sixty in a millisecond. The engine grew louder and louder, drowning out his obscenities his mouth shouted for him. His mind raced to put everything he had witness together. A giant claw descended from the abyss above, took hold of the top of the little sedan and in one swoop the car glided down the street and into the air. Sparks jumped out of the streetlights as whatever carried the car away struggled to gain altitude knocked them over.

The engine reached a deafening pitch, it had reached beyond just noise anymore, it became everything. Through the wall of wall of sound that consumed Casey he heard with clarity the voice of the bus driver. Full and boastful, like a viking ready to die for Valhalla Casey heard the bus driver say, “Time for battle!”

The world turned ninety degrees, Casey’s body fell towards the rear of the bus, tumbling all the way like a ball in a pachinko machine. His decent came to a sudden stop when his body made contact with the back wall of the bus. Empty soda cans, bags, lost keys and wallets all descended upon him.

A battle cry came from the front of the bus. Casey stabilized himself on the rear seat he had left moments ago. The orange lamps dashed by outside like fireflies in a wind tunnel. A knot grew in his stomach. With uncanny timing a small brown trashcan slid from the front of the bus towards him. He lurched at the little bucket and emptied his dinner into the white bag.

He took hold of the standing rail, pulled himself up on his feet and grabbed the ceiling straps. Casey swung himself against the backwards force and caught the next strap. The familiar bus had become a jungle gym. His feeble forearms burned, beneath his weight. He hadn’t done a pull up since grade school nearly ten years ago, and it showed. Finally he reached the bow of the bus. The driver roared and yelped with excitement. Casey pulled himself up behind the driver.

He looked out the window, the claw hung in the air, the silhouette of the Corolla danced across the horizon firmly grasped in the claw.

“Lad,” the driver said, “about time you showed up. We got ourselves a biggun tonight. How’s your aim?”

Casey blinked. “What?”

“How’s your aim?”

“What?” Casey reiterated.

“Here, take this,” the driver passed him a long tube with an arrow shaped object pointing out and a handle and trigger on the rear. A harpoon gun! “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Dude,” Casey lifted his hands up and shook his head, “I just want to get home.” He looked at the substitute driver and noticed his right leg again. It was not a prosthetic like Casey assumed. From this angle he had a better view of the strange mechanism. The leg had no joints except at the hip, a long cylinder rod descended into the floor of the bus. The white florescent of the bus rippled off the rod. The rod was spinning like a transmission shaft. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be real.

Alright Casey, just take a deep breath, you’re having a bad dream. It was an unusually long and stressful day at work, you nodded off in the back of the bus and this is some strange stress dream. Roman Mars was probably explaining how cars work in his earbuds right now and that’s why the driver’s leg appeared to be made of metal and was spinning.

“Suit yourself,” the driver holstered the harpoon gun away. He cranked the shifter, mechanical whirling came from beneath the floor. Outside the front windshield a series of four glistening tubes rose from base of the machine. Inside the cabin a mechanism unfolded itself from the ceiling, stopping at eye level with the driver, like a periscope. The driver looked into the mechanism with one eye, grunted. The bus swayed, Casey felt another knot.

“You’re lookin’ a little green,” the driver said without looking at him.” Gravity shifted again, this time forward, like a car slowing down on a highway when the car in the lane right next to you cuts you off.

The brown trashcan slid from the back of the bus and stopped right at Casey’s feet.

“Don’t you go hulin’ over my floors,” the driver said, “I just got them cleaned last month.”

Casey picked up the trashcan and hurled into it. “I think I’m going to die,” he said.

“A little road-sickness never hurt anyone,” the driver looked back into the periscope, the bus continued to accelerate like a rocket. “Steady… Steady… Fire!”

A loud bang shot from the front of the bus. Casey jumped, he caught himself with the railing before he lost his balance. He looked towards the back of the bus, it looked so far away. He did not want to make the climb again.

“Dagnabit,” the driver grunted. “Steady… Steady…. Steady… Fire!”

Casey looked out the windshield. A streak of orange left the front of the bus, a puff of white gas trailed behind it. The streak traveled through the air towards the dangling car and the claw that carried it.

“Gettin’ a little rusty. Haven’t seen a Booster this big in a looonngg while. It’s been nothin’ but Cleaners for the past few months here, I tell ya,” he looked at Casey like he knew what he was talking about. “You sure you don’t wanna help?”

Casey shook his head and hugged the little brown can.

The driver looked back into the periscope, he readied himself again. Another loud boom pierced through the windshield.

“Whew,” the driver said, “nearly blew it.”

“Is it over?” Casey moaned.

“Just gotta reel her in,” the driver pulled back on a lever. The periscope ascended towards the ceiling.

The driver pulled another lever, this time to his left. The bus rattled, grime and dust on the floor hoped and skipped around like little fleas. Casey held the hand rest tightly. He looked out the window, the little Toyota had grown larger in size, along with the enormous talons that held it above the roadway. Streetlamps continued to pass them at speeds well above the limit.

A screech yelped from the front of the cabin. The dust and grim halted their little dance, and the rattling stopped.

“Dangit,” the driver said.

“Oh god, are you telling me this nightmare isn’t over yet?” Casey pressed his fingers against his temples.

“No sir,” the driver answered. He produced the harpoon gun again and extended it to Casey.

“No,” Casey shook his head, “I am not indulging this nightmare anymore.”

The driver answered with a nudge of the weapon.

“Fine,” Casey said snatching the gun out of the driver’s hand. “What do you want me to do?”

“My bow’s wench is jammed,” the driver said, “I got a back up on up top, but no harpoons to go with it. I’m gonna need you to tie this here harpoon to it and give it a shot.”

“By give it a shot you mean?”

“Shoot the little vehicle up there,” the driver pointed towards the Corolla.

“Can’t you just cut the line?”

“And have some poor sap wake up with his craft gone? No sir,” the driver shook his head. “I haven’t lost a craft since seventy-six. I ain’t gonna lose one tonight. How good’s your aim?”

Casey shrugged. “I was in Boy Scouts, I shot a bit back then, but it’s been over ten years.”

“Better than nothin’. You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” Casey asked.

The driver pulled a lever to his right, the front door of the bus opened. A gust of wind blew in, the trash on the ground began dancing in little eddies. Casey shivered.

“There’s a ladder right out there on your port side,” the driver said, “climb it and screw that little nub end to the wench.” Casey looked at the harpoon, a strand dangled from the front of the barrel, at the end of the strand hung a threaded base. It reminded Casey of the base of a light bulb. “Once the little bugger is secured, shoot at the car. You don’t want to nick the booster, unless you’re lookin for a fight you ain’t gonna win. You got it?”

Casey nodded.

“Once you got the vehicle just stick your hand down over the ledge and give me a signal. You got it?”

He nodded, faced the open door and gulped. This was just a dream, he thought, just go with it. The worst that can happen is you’ll wake up, maybe screaming and covered in sweat in the back of the bus, but nevertheless you’ll be awake. With the harpoon gun in one hand and the handrail in the other he inched himself outside.

His teeth clenched as he entered the blistering cold wind. He felt his jaw begin grinding them instinctively. The ladder strobed from the rapidly passing streetlamps. He gripped the ladder with one hand and slowly shimmied his feet over to the bottom rung. With one hand and two feet the young man began to slowly climb the ladder like a sloth.

Finally he made it to the roof of the bus. Knelt over crawling Casey dragged himself towards the outline of the wench. When he had enough range he took the threaded segment of the harpoon and twisted it into the socket in the main axle of the device.

The talons, the booster, were much larger out here. The hung from the sky like the claws of a dragon. The void above him obscured the form of the beat, but Casey swore it looked like an bird larger than the bus itself. Like a sniper perched atop of roof, he laid prone on the bus’ roof and readied his shot. The roof of the car sat directly in his site. He clenched his teeth and fired.

The harpoon departed the cylinder and flickered in the air, the steel cabling trailed behind it like a bolt of lightning. Beneath the whooshing of the wind he heard a dull thud. The cable stopped moving and hung in the air like a power line. Holy shit, he got it!

He dragged himself over to the ledge and stuck his hand down in a thumbs up. The bus driver honked his horn three times and the wench line grew taut. Casey pulled himself over to the top of the ladder and climbed down, this time was much easier with all of his limbs in use. He entered the bus and the door closed behind him.

“I knew I picked ya for a reason,” the driver smiled and stuck one arm up in the air.

Casey collapsed on the first seat he could find and laid down. “Is it over? Can I leave this crazy ride?”

“You kids these days are so impatient,” the drive said. “Alright, she’s in.”

The bus decelerated at nearly the same rate it had accelerated. Casey had no time to react, instead his body tumbled off the seat’s cushion’s and onto the grimy floor.

“Ow!” He shouted. “Would it hurt you to give me a little warning?”

“Come ‘er lad,” the driver said. Casey pushed himself off the floor and wobbled up. He walked to the front of the bus to join the driver. The street lamps no longer passed by. The driver pointed out the windshield, Casey looked.

The Toyota sat beneath the orange glow of a streetlamp. Everything had been returned back to normal, except the windshield of the little sedan had been magically restored.

The driver patted Casey on his back. “That’s all thanks to your hard work,” he said. “You know, you remind me when I was young man like you. I didn’t think I had it in me for this line of work, but I gave it a shot like you and loved it. So what do you say?”

“To what?” Casey asked.

“We got a few job openin’s available, I want you to apply.”

Casey shook his head. “I think I had enough for a lifetime tonight. Can I just go home?”

“You impressed me so much I’m gonna take a shortcut.”

“A short cut?” Casey asked.

The driver sat himself up and shifted the bus into gear. The orange lights of the lamps shot pass the bus again, the sudden change in momentum sent Casey tumbling down the asile all the way to the back of the bus.

“We’re here,” the driver said. Casey got to his feet and looked outside. Yep, this was his spot.

“Please,” Casey panted, “please give me a warning.”

“Ar, you’ll get used to it in no time,” the driver said. He opened the front door. Casey walked to the front.

“I don’t know who you are or what we just did, but I want nothing to do with it,” he said.

The driver reached into his pocked and pulled out a business card. “I said the same thing when I was your age. Here, take one.”

Casey took it, if only to make the nightmare end.

“Later,” he said walking down the stairs onto the sweet solid stationary ground.

“Look at your time keeper,” the driver said.

“What?”

“You’re phone or whatever you kids call it.”

Casey looked at his phone, the time read fifteen minutes past twelve. “How did you?”

“Like I said, shot cut,” the driver said. “Give me a shout when you’re ready.” He pulled the a lever, the door closed and the bus drove down the road and rounded the corner.

Community Meeting

Prompt: You live in a world with a giant angry ball of energy that floats around in the sky. If you look at it, you go blind. If you have exposed skin, it burns. Everyone, except you, just accepts this as “normal”

Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gqanv2/wp_you_live_in_a_world_with_a_giant_angry_ball_of/


The community center smelled of dust and cheap pizza, residents shuffled through the double glass doors and began forming a line around the flimsy plastic tables that held an assortment of pizzas from cheese to meat lovers to Hawaiian. The sun outside had began to set, turning the sky to a warm red.

“The community action meeting will be beginning in five minutes,” a woman’s voice said into a mic on a small stage opposite of the glass doors. “Feel free to hang your coats on the coat rack, we just installed adaptive glass.”

The people who still wore their thick fire retardant jackets formed a line besides the coat. A few more cautious people kept theirs on.

The residents began seating themselves, chatting casually about their days or neighborhood gossip.

Dorris and Emmy talked about Emmy’s new job at an upstart marketing firm. The firm’s major client had developed a fashionable fire proof jacket that seemed very promising.

Michael and Nathan discussed how the pool schedule had changed this summer after the giant fireball in the sky had adopted a new route this year for its first time in three years. No swimming between the hours of 3pm to 7pm now, which had taken an unfortunate blow on pool attendance and subsequently ice cream sales.

“If everyone will take your seats we will begin momentarily,” the woman at the stage said.

The rest of the stragglers moved towards the plastic folding chairs and took their seats.

“Thank you all for coming to the July Marigold Neighborhood community meeting,” the woman resumed once the room had settled, “for those of you who don’t know I am Becky Kiev, acting president of the board. For those of you who don’t know, elections are in August, so if like what I’m doing be sure to put my name down. If not, then that date doesn’t matter to you.”

A few mild chuckles came from the audience.

“I see a lot of new faces,” Becky continued, “well welcome I hope you enjoyed the pizza. I mean who doesn’t enjoy free pizza?”

Nobody reacted.

“Anyways, tonight is out annual open floor night. Instead of the usual structure we’ll be opening the floor to you all for questions, comments, or suggestions. Myself and the board will be taking note and answer your questions. Of course anyone in the audience is allowed to chime in too if they’d like. For you new folks the board is myself along with Daniel Smith, our vice president of community engagement, would you please stand up Daniel?”

A man in the front row dressed in a white and blue striped golf shirt stood up and waved.

“Thank you Daniel. Next is Julia Frederick, she is our vice president of education, she works directly with our schools, would you stand up Julia?”

An elderly woman wearing a turquoise necklace stood up and waved.

“And last but especially not least is our vice president of protection, Anthony James. Would you please stand up Anthony?”

A man still wearing his jacket stood up and waved towards the crowd.

“Do you still have to wear that Anthony?” Becky said. “I mean it was you who installed the new adaptive glass. You’re not really inspiring the most confidence in us.”

Anthony shrugged, “I’m a cautious man.”

“And that caution is why we love you, but I think it would be best to let that caution aside for this evening to help our fellow neighbors relaxed. Is that took much to ask for?”

Anthony sighed, unzipped his coat and hung it on the back of his chair.

“Thank you Anthony,” Becky continued. “Now before we begin I’d like to go over a few community updates.” Becky pulled out her phone and reviewed her notes. “As you all know, the pool hours have changed due to an unexpected change in the fireball’s route, and unfortunately pools will now have to be closed during peak hours. Any questions?”

The room remained silent, a few members shook their heads.

“Because of that our annual luau has been postponed until further notice. Any questions on that?”

A woman raised her hand.

“Yes Hilary?” Becky pointed towards her. The woman stood up.

“Could we do it earlier in the day? My kids look forward to it every year and it’s a shame to have to cancel it. I mean the late mornings are good pool temps, we can have it from ten to two.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, could you make not of that Daniel?”

“You got it,” Daniel said.

“Next on the list are the bus stops. As y’all probably know we’ve been fundraising all school year for new protective waiting pods and I am proud to announce that we reached our fundraising goal.” Becky clapped, the rest of the room joined. “The new bus stops will no longer be those eye sores of lead and steel doomsday bunkers on every street corner and will be changed out with adaptive glass much like the windows of this building. Any questions on concerns?”

“I have one,” another woman stood up. She still bore her coat.

“I don’t recognize you, could you introduce yourself?”

“I’m Regina, I just moved here last April with my husband and my two daughters. They’ll be starting kindergarten this school year, so as you might expect their safety has been on my mind a lot lately. Are we sure this new adaptive glass is safe? I mean where I come from we’re still using the lead line walls and port holes.”

“Anthony?” Becky asked.

“Yeah,” Anthony stood up. “I understand your concern Regina, but I assure you that this is the top of the line stuff. We don’t squander on investments in this neighborhood. I work professionally in the fireball protection industry and trust me this stuff is the top of the line.”

“Then why did you wear your coat? Didn’t you say you were being cautious?” Regina asked.

Anthony smiled, “I like to give Becky here a hard time, I’m sorry if I caused you to fret. Plus the AC in here gets a little chilly for my liking so I like to keep it on during meetings. If you want more information we can talk after the meeting. How does that sound?”

“Sure,” Regina said.

“Anthony, can you please try to mess with me outside of meetings?” Becky said. “Thank you for your question Regina. That is all for our updates this meeting, before we begin does anyone have any more questions on comments?”

A man in the back raised his hand.

“Yes?” Becky asked.

The man stood up, he wore a white button down and khakis. “Is anyone as sick of the fireball as I am?”

“What do you mean?” Becky asked.

“Every fucking day we have to put up with its chaos as it flies around the sky setting fire to anything within a three hundred meter radius of it, and to be honest I’m getting pretty tired of this shit.”

“Could you watch your language sir?” Becky asked. “And could we have your name?”

“Yeah,” the man continued, “I’m Calvin Harrison, just moved here a month ago because I heard this little community had the fireball under control and I’m not getting that vibe. Why can’t we get rid of that goddamn nuisance? I mean we can build bombs that can level cities, why can’t we shoot one up into the sky and blow it to hell and back?”

“Calvin,” Becky said, “this is a neighborhood community meeting. We only focus on the things we have control of, if you want to discuss nuclear warfare I’d advise you to call your local congressperson or join the army. And if it is any condolences we do have it under control here, our neighborhood’s blind rate is only at 2%, that’s better than any community in the southern states, and we’ve only had three major fires in the past year. If you’re concerned about your safety I can assure you that you can relax here in Marigold. Do you have anything constructive to say or are you done?”

“I’m just so fed up with everything,” Calvin sat back down.

“Are you done?” Becky asked.

Calvin nodded.

“Alright, well that concludes our opening portion of the meeting now let’s move on to community feedback. Daniel, would you mind taking the mic?”

Daniel stood up and walked towards the stage, Becky sat down on the audience. Calvin sat in the back the whole meeting sulking.

Bo’ub

Prompt: You meet a monster straight out of a Lovecraftian horror novel. Except it isn’t Cthulu or any of the more well-known ones. Instead, you meet Bob! The happy-go-lucky tentacled horror that loves going on adventures and havong a nice cup of tea! (source)

Behold a floating obelisk, and its spirit, dread! The vantablack pillar descended from the heavens towards the frozen wasteland beneath it. Miranda held her breath, her fingers grasping the locket around her neck. The obelisk continued its decent towards the icy ground.

She closed her eyes and clutched the locket firmly, had it all come to this? Not two hours ago she had lost her entire team within the frozen ruins, she had only been so lucky to have outlived them. Anthony, Migan, and Henry, they had met swift deaths, or so she hoped.

Anthony had been the first to go after opening the chamber door to the frozen cathedral, a formless abomination of what she could only describe as a whirlwind of teeth, tusk, and eyeballs charged him. The team did not stick around long enough to see what had become of Anthony.

Migan went next, after the formless beast had bested them they had been pushed into the unexplored depths of the ruins, into the catacombs. With only a flashlight among the three remaining crew members, the catacombs were far from the ideal place to be. Henry had taken the lead, Miranda held onto his shoulders and Migan onto Miranda’s. It had happened so swiftly. Migan’s grasp left Miranda’s shoulders, she heard a loud thudding sound right behind her. Reflexively Miranda turned around towards the void behind her. Migan’s voice shrieked from the darkness, it grew deeper and further in tone, until her voice was no more. By the time Henry had pointed the light towards the void Migan was no more.

Miranda and Henry ventured deep into the catacombs for what felt like hours before they had seen any natural light. With miraculous luck, the tunnel had ended at a wooden ladder, illuminated by the sunlight above. Henry went up first, once she had been given the okay she followed suit. When Miranda surfaced Henry was nowhere to be found.

The ladder had brought her to a frozen wasteland, behind her stood the impossibly tall mountains that had housed the frozen city. The sky above her was whited out, without the sun she had no way of telling which way was north. Would it even matter at this point?

She closed her eyes and sat in the snow, and began to cry, grasping the locket of her mother she had worn for protection.

A low rumble came from above. Had the research center sent out scouts? She opened her eyes and looked towards the sky. Instead of a helicopter a giant pitch black pillar slowly descended from above. She clutched the locket tighter, accepting her fate that her expedition was no more than another mysterious antarctic disappearance.

The obelisk ceased it decent a meter above the ground. Miranda sat still with the pillar, her anxieties were no more, she had accepted her fate. She stood up and touched the dark pile. As terrified as she was her first and foremost mission was that of a scientist, and with that she had an an obligation to understand what had descended before her.

Visions had shot into her mind’s eye. She saw an enormous beast like an octopus, except it had no body, its entire mass had been composed of nothing but tentacles. She saw herself with the creature across space and time. In one the beast chased her across the barren wasteland, but instead of terror she saw herself laughing and smiling as the monster pursued her. In another vision she and the tentacles beast had strolled the streets of Manhattan together, laughing and smiling as she showed it memorable sights like the Empire State Building, and The Statue of Liberty. In another vision she and the beast enjoyed a nice quaint cup of tea on the English country side.

The visions ceased, and the pillar was no more. In its place the giant tentacles beast stood. Its tendrils twisted and turned, a low purring noise came from within its tangled mess.

“What do you want?” She asked.

~Hey there!~ The beast, answered? She wasn’t sure, the response appeared to have both come from within the abomination, and within her own head at once. ~I’m so sorry about your friends, I wanted to save them but my vessel has been banned from the city limits for a millennia. My name’s Bo’ub, and you are?~

“M-M-Miranda,” Miranda answered.

~Happy to meet you M-M-Miranda,~ the thing called Bo’ub said.

“What do you want?”

~It’s been a while since I’ve been to Earth, last time I was here humans had just invented the wheel.~ the tangled mess called Bob rolled towards her ~As you could tell from the visions I presented to you I’m looking for an easy going human to be my tour guide. Can you be that guide for me M-M-Miranda?~

A harsh wind picked up, Miranda shivered, her teeth clenched.

~You look cold, let me help you.~

Miranda blinked, when she opened her eyes she was back at base camp, in her hands she held a warm cup of hot chocolate.

“Welcome back Miranda,” she heard a voice behind her. She turned around, it was Victor her commanding officer. “Did the rest of the crew make it?”

She shook her head, and looked at the steam as it drifted upwards gently from the hot cup of coco. She took a sip. A wave of warm pulsed through her body, she took a sigh of relief.

“That’s a shame,” Victor said. He sat next to her. “Well good news for you, you’re tour here is over. We’ve already packed your things and loaded it on the helicopter, you’ll be back on the mainland in no time.”

“Thank you sir,” she said taking another sip of the coffee. The warmth flowed through her again, this time stronger and heavier, like a weighted blanket.

“You’ll be joining Bob back to the mainland, he’s already at the helipad,” Victor said, “common, let’s go.” He stood up and gestured towards Miranda. She followed him, hugging the cup of hot chocolate like a precious gem.

They rounded the base camp and arrived at the helipad.

“Who’s Bob?” She asked, she did not recall any fellow researchers with that name.

“The intern,” he said, “he’s been helping you with your research since you arrived. Are you okay Miranda?”

She took one final sip of the hot chocolate embracing the warmth as it filled her once more. Sitting on a chair besides the helicopter sat a young man she did not recognize. She approached the man.

“How do you do M-M-Miranda?” He asked, extending his hand towards her. She shook it. Despite his hand being covered with a glove, she swore she felt something limp and slimy on contact. “I am very excited about our adventures to come.”

Let the World Hurry By

Writing Prompt: As long as you are inside your house, time doesn’t pass in the outside world. As long as you are in the outside world, time doesn’t pass in your house. (source)

 

It had been three months before she returned to the outside world. She checked her her pocketbook which sat on the counter besides the front door, and flipped to the latest entry. “You left the party to ‘check on Philip’ everybody knows why you really left, but they’ll play along with you anyways.” She placed her hand on the doorknob, closed her eyes and filled her lungs with air.

She forced herself to remember what had happened, the gap between her exit and now had been filled with books and movies, with a few stories of her own she had created herself, but never written more than a page or two before she returned to the couch to watch another Harry Potter movie for the thousandth time. She liked staying indoor and she loved her house.

The house had been her grandmother’s, it had been a place that no matter how much she and the outside world changed it had remained the same. The sleepy country town became consumed with the urban sprawl. The farmers cut their last harvest of corn and planted a new crop of cement and rebar. The old water tower dismantlement and in its place a beaming new twelve floor building. Her childhood school razed and replaced with a brand new shopping mall. The town had moved on, and yet her grandmother refused to.

Stephanie would spend her summers at the house, she would swing on the tire swing in the day, at night she’d read by the fireplace with Philip in her lap. When she felt adventurous she’d play in the farmer’s field just down the road until the farmer had noticed and chased her off. She even had her first kiss on the porch swing, to Anthony, the son to the farmer who had chased her away many times. She would not see Anthony again when she returned to her grandmother’s the next summer. The crops all had been reaped and in their places sat strange raised lumps of dirt with wooden frames and white pipes sticking through them.

When it was time for her grandmother to move on, the house had been bequeath to Stephanie. “May you enjoy the timeless treasure of the house,” the note read, “and may it comfort you in times of need.”

The house had become a safe haven for her whenever she felt her lungs grow tight and needed a break from it all. Awkward dates, parties with too many people she didn’t know, a hard day at work, no matter what it was she knew she could always come home and take as much time as she needed before returning to the outside world. She didn’t have to work about food, the pantry and fridge were always well stocked. She’d return home, watch a movie or two, sleep through the night, write in her journal. She’d stay as long as she needed before she returned back to the outside world, sometimes it was minutes, other times it was years. Once she felt the time was right she’d return to the restaurant, bar, movie, theater, office, or wherever she was last, and they’d always ask her the same question, “How’s Phillip?”

She made she to keep her pocketbook with her at all times, and jot down the last thing that happened before she left. A habit she had learned after she had returned to a meeting that had go awry. Her boss had blown up at a client and she had felt the same tight sensation within her chest, she had asked to leave, and when she returned four months later her boss was still yelling at the client. Her boss had blown up at her that evening for going home and changing clothes. She never wanted that to happen again so she bought a little magenta pocketbook that she kept notes of what she had worn the day she had left, and later filled it with details of the moments before leaving. She returned home that night and didn’t leave for a whole year.

This time she had returned home because the party had grown too big, too many people she didn’t know. It was supposed to be a friend’s surprise party, but Stephanie had been the one most surprised with the shear number of new faces. The crowd had grown overwhelming, so she told her friend that she had to go check on Philip. And so she left.

Stephanie exhaled and opened her eyes, a soft soothing sensation of delicate fur rubbed against her feet. She leaned down and gave Philip a nice pet behind his ears, the cat purred. “I’ll be back,” she said and opened the door, and returned to the party.

The Subtle Silhouette

Writing Prompt: Working for an up-and-coming tyrannical overlord is hard, thankless, morally troubling work, but at least you get dental. (source)

 

It ain’t easy being a henchman, especially a being a henchman for a start up super villain. The world of villainy isn’t an easy one to get into either, with so many established villains having everything from death rays to super computers available to them all the while we gotta make due with a handful of puny stun shockers and a twenty sixteen MacBook as our most powerful computer.

But being a top tier villain isn’t about how many fancy shooters you have, nor how quickly you can computer the best way to pull a meteor into the Earth’s gravitational pull in order to hold the world ransom. No sir. Being a villain is all about being clever, having finesse, and a drive to work day in and day out to make sure that the world is bent a little closer to your making than it was the day before.

I’m what you could call a professional henchman. I’ve worked with many villains, some you’ve heard of like The Savage Beast or Dr Hammer, others not so well known. The problem with folks like Dr Hammer is yeah, they’re pretty damn good at what they do, it takes a lot a lot of grit to build an army in secret and unleash terror upon a small Scandinavian nation with subliminal hypnosis so that way once you march your highly trained and well outfitted army in they would rather raise the white flag than fight you. That sir takes a lot of work and I admire it. Hell, I was there when it happened, I marched straight into the front lines, my armor brandishing the big ol’ DH on front, my lighting spear armed and ready to strike the first solider to look me in the eyes. I didn’t get half a mile in before I had been informed that the invasion had ended with a swift surrender.

Now every villain wants their own little nation for their own, and it’s annoying. I’m like guys, can you stop being such copy cats? What Dr Hammer did was an enormous feat that was accomplished after decades of planning and hard work, you can’t just walk into a capital and demand to be the ruler of their nation. You’ll be laughed out by the parliament and promptly punched in the face by a local hero or two. Pfft, I hate trendy villains. I like the new things, the new kids on the block with the fresh ideas. After my invasion with Dr Hammer I’ve been on the prowl for that kid on the block, somebody with earth shattering ideas that have never been done before.

I delved into a few other small time villains since that invasion, but none of them stuck. Most either got crushed by heroes, or eventually got absorbed into larger operations. Nobody had the grit and tenacity that Dr Hammer had. Not until I joined forces with her.

She calls herself the Subtle Silhouette, now not the most original name, but don’t let that fool ya. She’s got a bright mind. The Silhouette’s is a genius in nanotech that’s light years beyond Dr Hammer’s military might. You’ve probably never seen her before because she doesn’t like the spotlight that much. The real villains in my opinion are not about the flair. Flair looks good on TV but you’ll never get past ruling a city block if all what you focus is on flair.

She’s got this grand idea, she sees a future of where all she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants. How you ask? Through them nanobots. You see, with the right bots planted into somebody’s bloodstream they can silently influence somebody to behave however she want them to by adjusting their hormone levels and whatnot. No hypnosis needed!

She doesn’t want to take over the world like good ol’ DH, at least not in the classical sense. If you get these nanomachines in enough folks bloodstreams you can have complete control of the world any nobody would be none the wiser.

The tech’s still in its early phases, and we’re in a dire need of more resources, so the lady’s got me running b&e missions to steal more materials and better equipment. But we got a grand plan ahead of us, and with her drive I believe, nae, I know she’ll make Dr Hammer look like a first grader compared to her genius.

D’heet Z’hin

Writing Prompt: You were the chosen one as your parents only child. You have trained for years, sacrificed your childhood and accepted your fate to destroy the evil of the land. One day your brother is born and it is discovered he is the true chosen one not you. (source)

 

My birth had been rather eventful for a small village like ours. The planets had aligned themselves with our tiny minuscule village the day I was born, nay the hour I was born. It was foretold that the child born when the planets aligned in such a way that he shall be granted the power of the D’heet Z’hin, and he shall finally free our little fishing hamlet of the Carnot Empire.

The night had been festive, full of prayer, love, and booze. Or so I had been told. My life had been far from joyful and festive. Czendra, the village patriarch prescribed my mother and father with a strict developmental plan, for the powers of the D’heet Z’hin was merely one piece of the prophecy, in order for it to flourish the person born with the gift must undergo many trials and tribulations. So my parents, reluctant as they were, began forcing me down a life of discipline.

Before I could even crawl my parents taught me how to swing to sword. With a stick in one hand, Nimon, the village sword smith, would be over every night drilling me with how to properly wield it. By the time I could speak I had a firm grasp of the basics of sword fighting.

Once I could walk my father began teaching me how to run, and from there climbing. From climbing sneaking and breaking and entering.

Tenimen, who served as our village ambassador to the Carnots taught me their language, their culture, and their tactics. In essence, it had been as if I were born into two cultures at once as I understood both my own and the Carnots with an uncanny ability to shift between our languages with ease.

I trained with Hinzor, the best hunter in the village on how to lay traps and capture food at age six. Thanks to him I had become an expert at the bow in just a few short months. I could snipe a hawk a hundred meters in the air with ease. Hinzor himself had begun calling me the best hunter in the village.

Because of my unusual status I had become well versed in anything and everything they wanted me to do. But I had enough of it. The sleepless nights, the aches and pains from my strength training. No child should have gone through that. I wanted to just be a kid. When I other children my age ran past Nimon’s training ground all I could imagine was running around with such freedom. And when I did have a chance to play with the other kids I could outrun them easily, or hide in the toughest of places that I could never be found during hide-n-seek.

After I turned seven my mom became pregnant with my brother-to-be. By that time I had mastered the Carnotian language and could even imitate their accents, my palms were as calloused as a horse’s hoof from the countless hours I spent sword training and climbing. None of this I wanted for myself. I was an expert in nothing I wanted to be.

The day before my brother was born my parents had been visited by Czendra. It wasn’t unusual for her to come by and check in on my progress, but the air had been different this time. She spoke with them in private, and when they returned my parents came to me with a look of sorrow. After Czendra left my father told me to sit down at the table. I did so, he sat down next to me, my mother stood by his side.

In most stories being the chosen one is what everyone wants to be. When you’re the chosen one you’re special, nobody else is like you, you get to call the shots. So you could believe how I felt when my father told me that the prophecy had been wrong, it was not I who would eventually overthrow the Carnots’ imperialist forces, but my brother-to-be.

My brother was born the next day with no unusual fan fair, probably to save the elders of any further embarrassment. But they did tell the village, and he had been crowned the D’heet Z’hin while my training had been sidelines.

At first it had been hard. I didn’t want to train in sword fighting from sunrise to sunset, but I did like how being the D’hett Z’hin felt. Over time the villagers began changing their behaviors. No longer did they smile at me the way the used to, strangers stopped pointing and waving at me, and despite my time with Hinzor, Tenimen, and Nimon they no longer wanted to train me. My brother had become their pet project, and thanks to their years with me they had grown as teachers. My brother had become a better swordsman than me by the time he could walk.

I took up painting instead. It reminded me a lot of swordplay, but instead of destroying I could create. My works became renowned throughout my village and further into our region. The Carnotian governor who presided over our region had taken notice and invited me to the capital city.

Despite the pleas of my fellow villagers, the ones who had abandoned their belief in me over a decade ago, I had taken the governor’s invitation and traveled to the capitol. There I had been treated well, the governor himself granted me a scholarship to the best art academy in the entire empire. I took the offer immediately and left without ever saying goodbye to my village. I had already broke their hearts by taking the offer, I could not break them again if they had heard the news.

I graduated with honors and moved back to the regional capitol. I had missed the beauty of the ocean, the mountainous region in which the academy resided had not been inspiring enough for my works.

Every once in a while I considered going back to my home, for all I know they had thought me to have been killed at the capitol. My brother planning his march against to the capitol city. By now he would have been the same age I had been when I left for the capitol. But I refused to go, what had happened to me would be far worse than death, I had come to love the Carnotians and even asked one for her hand in marriage.

Every morning I would begin my day sitting on our ocean side patio, sketching the sunrise over the coast, wondering if this will be the day I will finally see the D’heet Z’hin march towards the capitol.

Rain

Writing Prompt: (character) has telepathic abilities. Trouble is they can’t turn it off so have to hear people’s thoughts all the time. Good detective though.  (source)

 

…. this coffee’s a little bitter, I should add some cream….

…. I’m getting tired of my beat; I need to speak to the captain… . …the psycho’s back I see…

…where did I leave my keys….

Thoughts echoed across the precinct, coming and going, phasing in and out of third ear shot. By this point I had become a mainstay at the forty-sixth, I had been given my own special little badge as well.

Another day, another case as a consulting mentalist. Mentalist being a very loose term for my gift, but it was more believable than what I really was.

“Hey Rain,” Sargent Holzer said walking up to me. * I should really ask her out today. No, no, that’s not professional, keep the case.* Sargent Holzer thought. Every time I was near him, he thought that, and to this date he hadn’t offered me anything more than a cup of coffee.

“Norman called me in today,” I asked the Sargent.

He scratched his neck, professional, he thought. “Could I get you some coffee?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I already had a cup before I arrived. Can you point me to where I can find Norman?”

“He’s in integration room B,” he pointed down the hall towards where the carpet turned to dark lifeless concrete. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Water’s fine. Will you be joining us today?” I asked.

She asked if I was joining her today. She wants me with her! Sometimes he could be so naive.

“I will be. The Detective asked for me to be your escort. Do you want to wait here, or should I meet you at the gate?”

“I’ll meet you at the gate,” I said.

“One water coming right up, I’ll see you at the gate,” he said. Damn he thought.

The Sargent took off towards the breakroom, his thoughts fading into the distance like an an ambulance passing by. You did the right thing Cooper, you kept it pro-.

I continued down the hallways towards the holding interrogation rooms, the usual spot for my summons. In the dozens of times I had been at the precinct I think I’ve only sat in Norman’s office no more than three times. Thoughts of the officers faded into an out of my head while I strolled through the office.

Thoughts were thoughts in my head, there were no voices associated with them like you’d hear in TV shows or movies where the psychic character heard people’s inner monologues as if they were their own narrators. Some people don’t even have an inner narrator, but I could still read their minds loud and clear. Instead thoughts were always like intuitions, feelings of those around me. They echoed in and out of existence depending on the thinker’s proximity and the emotional strength behind them.

…was it at 7745 Chattanooga, or 7747 Chattanooga….

…gotta go take a piss…

…Rain’s hair looks nice today….

…man, my back hurts like a bitch… A thought faded into my head. Must be Charlie, the poor soul had been having back issues since he had gotten himself into a shoot out a few years before I started consulting. He had been ridden to desk work. That I knew because he had told me. I also knew that he had a dependency on prescription pain medication, that he kept silent about. That he did not tell me. “Hey Charlie,” I said when I rounded the corner.

“Rain!” Charlie said, he stood up off the metal chair, behind Charlie and the chair iron bars hung down from the ceiling all the way to the floor. He waddled over to me; his arms outstretched. I reciprocated with a hug. Charlie, ever the hugger. “Detective Sherwood told me you’d be in today. He says he finally got his guy. Needed you to help with the clean up.”

…. fuck this hurts …. Charlie thought. Another thing about Charlie, if he wasn’t on meds, he liked to hide is pain.

“How about you take a seat,” I said.

“Nonsense, I’m fine,” Charlie retaliated.

“Charlie…”

She’s right, I’m gonna keel over if I don’t get some support. Charlie thought.

I guided the wounded man back to the chair he had been at.

“There, that’s better,” I said as he took a seat. “They got you on guard duty today?”

“Yes mam,” Charlie said. “I needed the break; my eyes were getting tired of looking at the screens all day. Do you have an escort today?”

“Yeah, Sargent Holzer is my escort. He’ll be here soon.”

“While we wait how about we play one of your games?” Charlie asked. He loved doing this.

“Sure, what’s the challenge today?”

I should ask her to pick a number I’m thinking about. Nah, I did that last week. I’ll ask he if she can name the last three things I ate. Now let’s see, I had a turkey burger for lunch, a ham and cheese croissant for breakfast, and what was for dinner last night? Lasagna? No that was earlier this week. Oh yeah, Chicken Parmesan.

“Oh right, I got it!” Charlie snapped his fingers. “Here’s a challenge for you. I want you to name the last three things I ate.” I lightly snorted. You get used to pretending to be surprised when you’ve lived like this as long as you could remember. “Well that’s a new one. Alright,” I said squatting down to Charlie’s level.

“Should I exhale for you?” he asked.

“No,” I shook my head, “you can breathe normally. I don’t want your stinky breath on me.”

“Hey, I brushed my teeth after lunch,” he said.

“Did you really?” I looked him in the eyes.

No, I didn’t. He thought.

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted. “Alright, do your best.”

I sat in silence for a moment. I didn’t search for answers, I searched for explanations. The hardest part of this job was looking for visible clues to explain away everything I had already known. Retro-mentalism I called it. Charlie’s amusement over my gift had become a routine exercise to sharpen my observation skills.

Charlie wore a white button down tucked into black khakis. The creases of his collar were stained a light yellow. He must have worn that shirt yesterday as well. I spotted a small red stain sitting on the flap of his collar. Alright that’s the chicken parmesan I thought, or a fry with his burger. It didn’t matter, I had an explanation. I continued looking around his torso for other clues.

I must have really stumped her, Charlie thought. She never takes this long.

Report, check. Coffee. Check Water bottle. Check. A thought faded into my head, distracting me for a moment.

“Hey Charlie, hey Rain,” Sargent Holzer’s voice said. “What’s going on here?”

I held out a finger in the direction of the Sargent’s voice.

“Is this one of your games Charlie?” The Sargent asked.

“Shhh….” Charlie said.

Here I am trying to be all professional, and Charlie’s off lollygagging again with Rain, again. the Sargent thought.

I kept looking for other clues, crumbs or flakes or something. I shifted my gaze to his face. He had a little stubble today, might find some clues in there. Nothing. I carried on, shifting my gaze lower to his khakis.

Within the fibers of his khakis sat a few flecks of something, could be anything, but it was enough for me to go with. Two out of three down.

“You know the detective doesn’t like it when you two this,” Sargent Holzer said.

I sighed and stood up.

“Man, you really got me this time,” I said.

“Take a guess,” Charlie said.

“Let’s see,” I closed my eyes pretending to think. “You had a croissant for breakfast, a hamburger for lunch, and I’m stumped on last night’s dinner. Am I right?”

Wow she’s good, Charlie thought.

The detective is going to murder me, the Sargent thought.

“Common guess, I’ll tell you once you guess.”

I opened my eyes and sighed. “I don’t know, Lasagna.” I lied.

“Oh, so close!” Charlie snapped. “It was chicken parmesan.”

“Hey, you gotta give me points for guessing Italian!” I said.

“Alright, how did you know?”

“You have a small red stain near your collar, typical of eating fries with ketchup, so you had to have had a burger. And your pants have small croissant flakes on them. Making me guess three was unfair, I can’t guess your dinner last night if there aren’t any stains your clothes,” I said.

“Ready to go?” Holzer asked.

“I am,” I faced the Sargent. He held out the bottle of water, I took it. “Would you do us the honor and let us through?” I asked Charlie.

“Sure, thing mam,” he produced a key from his pocket and opened the gates. The chair and him were close enough to the gate so that the poor man wouldn’t have to stand up. The Sargent went through first, I followed behind.

“Rain,” Charlie said through the bars. “I had lasagna earlier this week.”

“I know,” I winked at him. I followed the Sargent down the hallway towards the interrogation rooms.

How does she do it? I heard Charlie think to himself.

Perfectly Reasonable

Writing Prompt: You are a ghost, who’ve been haunting a house for years. Most people left after a few days, some can last few weeks. You’ve been a mighty ghost, until a scientist moved in. He had stayed for 2 years and keeps coming up with scientific explanations for all your tricks. (source)

 

The Haunting. Demon. Poltergeist. Beelzebub. These were names given to me decades by the guests who so dare trespass on the resting place of an old soul like myself. This had been my home long before the country side had been consumed by what folks these days called “the suburbs.” As the world changed, I stayed within the confines of my house, working tirelessly to shoo out the unwanted guests like chasing rats out of the pantry with a broom. Why didn’t anyone let me just rest in peace?

I had spent many such decades perfecting the craft of a good scare. It helped that in part that the story of my untimely demise had become a local legend. A good beheading is bound to make people terrified of what still remains within the walls. For the first few years that story was all I needed, only to disturbed by a flying rock through the window or two teenagers sneaking into my house to make out or get high. But that all changed once an eager young woman and her husband decided to “flip” my house. I wanted nothing to do with that, so I did a little work of my own.

Tape measures would extend on their own. Saws would turn on by themselves. Hammers banged on the walls when nobody was in the room. But despite this the construction still persisted. I thought I had lost until the night the young couple moved in. The woman was different this time, a baby bump sat upon her belly a few months from delivery I suspected.

They dressed up a room with a cradle with mobile dangling delicately above it, stuffed bunnies and bears, a paint bucket and nails sat upon a blue tarp in the corner for the final touch ups of the house. I decided to give the room a make over.

The next morning the young trespassers minded their own business for most of the day. I patiently waited within the nursery, eager to see the look on their faces at my art. It was the early afternoon when the soon to be mother ventured into the nursery. Her face morphed from the cool and calmness to a mouth gaping eyes wide open scream. Loud footsteps banged across the floor as the husband dashed down the hallway. He stopped at the doorway and let out a loud “what the fuck?”

Inside the room was my first masterpiece. The bodies of the stuffed animals were nailed to the walls without order. Hanging by the pull string of the light fixture was the body of one stuffed rabbit, the light strobed, a little flair I added at last minute. On the wall across from the door I had written in blue paint “get out.”

The couple left that night to never return. But people kept trespassing.

I got pretty good at my hauntings over the years. From the obvious tricks such as floating knives and rooms being completely rearranged after a family had returned for their Sunday church, to the more subtle nightmares I would project into people’s dreams. Most people wouldn’t last a whole month in my house before they hightailed it out of there, leaving me with a few weeks of peace and quiet until another family moved in. But then she came.

At first I thought she would be easy. You see, she moved into my house all alone, and I’ve had my share of single people throughout the years and single people were easy. Their loneliness only amplified the effects of my hauntings. Whereas couples and families would lean on each other for a while before things got too weird, single people had nobody to share their experience with and often times worried about going mad. But she was different.

No matter what I did, from shadows moving on their own, to flipping tables she always had an explanation for everything happening. When I banged on the walls at night she’d say it was the pipes. If she watched TV alone late at night and I started interfering with the signals she called it interference. Whenever I gave her a few nightmares she’s call it anxiety and take pills that made my tricks futile. If the furniture seemed out of place after she had returned from work it was because the wooden floors were too slippery. Everything had an explanation, and you know what? For the first two months it was kinda cute, but two years later it’s tiring.

No longer was I the demon, I was a pipe banging against the wall. Long were the days of being called a poltergeist, now I was just slippery floors. Beelzebub was no more, instead I was just another broken light bulb. It was no longer a haunting, just “perfectly reasonable” things happening around the house.