alternative D.P. with changed POV, bc I suck & wrote myself into a corner. So here you go.
Parent text: here
The call saved me from kennel cleaning. Thank God to whoever rang.
I sat in my mock-ffice, in the nook between a dresser that was a stand-in for a kitchen counter, the wall, and a bunk-bed. Across the half breakroom, half guestroom was a real office, and it belonged to Ranger Mark Smith. I tried to listen to the call he just received in the most casual way I could manage without falling over. To be honest, all I had to lean on, was a white plastic folding table behind a cardboard stand with an assortment of fliers and educational pamphlets about the fauna and flora, as well as general information about campgrounds, and some new pencils. Yay. Continue reading “Devil’s Peak (alt 1)”
Trigger warning; abandonment, suicidal thoughts
character background: Sheriff, Carter Johnson
belongs to: Devil's Peak / alt. D.P.
Coming home to an empty house wasn’t worth the effort. The silence and emptiness joined their forces and sat on my chest, as soon as I opened the entrance door. I had to fight the urge to turn around and run. To. Just. Sigh. To give up everything and vanish from the face of the earth.
What could I do? Saddle up and go back to the office? I already worked my way through all the left-over paperwork my deputies couldn’t be bothered to submit. I bought supplies for the kitchen and the office. Cleaned up my desk, the fridge, the kitchen, the coffee machine, the cells, the archive. Ordered ammo, made this year’s inventory. Maybe I should start the cold cases. Continue reading “Wounds Shall Hurt”
Part 1 Superstition / Part 2 Names for Blades / Part 3 Sin-eater / Part 4 Threshold
triggerwarning: injury, cruelty, mortal terror, predatory behavior
“Mark, is this really necessary?” I’d be nervous too. “I doubt you need me tied down.” It was a bad position, yes. Frank scuttled and tried to keep his balance. But it was important to leave no doubts. I bowed down and tied his ankles and knees together. The Sin-eater was an old being, almost as old as I was, which meant it wasn’t defenseless. It wasn’t dumb. If it suspected a trap, it would do a lot more than just kill the child. Continue reading “Devil’s Peak (5a)”
Part 1 Superstition
Part 2 Names for Blades
Part 3 Sin-eater
Each breath of cold black air cleared my mind. I held onto Frank’s arm, supporting his weight, marching him forward. Frank’s white hair gleamed like ash falling into the rich darkness. One step -or drag- at the time, we made our way up the trail towards the boulder field. He was heavier than anticipated. I had to thank myself for that, cause I had been the one to knock him out. It was for a good cause though: safety. Continue reading “Devil’s Peak (4)”
Part 1 Superstition
Part 2 Names for Blades
– SIN-EATER –
The dirt and the leaves on the trail showed no signs of disturbance. It smelled of balmy firs and two-day-old game trails. The patches of grass and plants stood straight. The path we took was virginal. No wind, no movements, no sounds, besides Frank’s and mine. I almost expected the cicadas to sing, but the forest remained silent. The day lost its fierce heat and power. Even the fir trees froze in the semitransparent shadow of ominous size, stretching above the canopy. It was something heavy and dangerous. Blue, violet, and brown saturated in the shadows but I was the only one to recognize. Light withered faster than I had anticipated. Continue reading “DEVIL’S PEAK (3)”
I fell asleep in front of the TV
Stuck in a nightmare, pain janked me free
It reached in my chest ‘n tore at my heart
My life, my end? I couldn’t tell them apart
On screen the white noise blinked,
Pulsed’n watched. Who’d care if I went extinct?
“I do,” said the noise.
Continue reading “white noise”
1&2, 3, 4, 5,
A soft sob escaped Peter. Defeated, he shook and crumbled, barely able to lift his head. The nurse sat silently watching him, tears streaming down her face. He looked so vulnerable, so tired, so helpless… I reached over the table to touch his shoulder. I wanted him to stop hurting.
My fingertips hovered over his collar, barely brushing his clothes. I felt the warmth of his skin… I felt – something missing. It didn’t add up. There was no rush of galloping pulse around his neck and shoulder muscles. He wasn’t upset…
Son of a-!
Continue reading “Black Door”