may, 31st

the perfectly normal and mediocre, writing exercise

The downpour surprised me just ten minutes away from home. It came down in sheets and I was soaked to the bones in less than two minutes. That was that with the relaxed grocery shopping. Thank God I didn’t buy fresh bread or croissants. Soggy backed goods were bad juju, I hated that. Nothing could spoil green onions, zucchinis, two pound of tomatoes, and black cherries. The cardboard package for the eggs could be a problem though. It could have been worse. Luckily, this wasn’t a hail storm.

may, 28th

writing exercise, the perfectly normal and mediocre

The toaster threw my toast at me. No. It just made the hot piece of bread pop out and that jumpscared me. This was how my morning started. I sent my cup flying from the counter. Of course, it was filled to the brim with coffee as it exploded on the floor tiles. I yelped cause it burnt my foot and didn’t catch the toast, which promptly landed in the dark puddle. This was going to be a weird day.

may, 26th

writing exercise: free association
the perfectly normal and mediocre

As soon as I opened my eyes, they burned and I closed them again. The alarm wasn’t going off, so I still had time. Just five more minutes. “Hello? I need help!” A male voice sounded muffled from under the bed. “I’m kinda stuck halfway through the vortex. Can’t get my legs out.” My eyes popped open. The room was dark, but my sight adjusted to the darkness. It must be still before sunrise. This wasn’t the first time I heard his pleas. He tried to get my attention before today. My phone was somewhere under the sheets, I tried to find it, moving very carefully. “Hello? Are you awake?”

may, 25th

the perfectly normal and mediocre: a writing exercise

It’s happening again. The air that filled the kitchen smelled of scrambled eggs, as soon as I closed the door. It smelled so delicious, that I instantly yearned for a good hearty meal. I searched for eggs in the fridge, to prepare the dish. Surprisingly, there were none. I had bought a cardboard pack of eight eggs. That had been yesterday. No matter where I looked, there were no eggs left in the fridge, or in the other cupboards. I retraced my steps, in an attempt to force myself to remember. Nothing. I couldn’t think of a place I could have misplaced them.

threshold voids & useless gods

Part 1:  kind of emergency drill

kind of character study: Frank Edwards, Mark Smith
worldbuilding thingy

“Suit yourself.” I smiled at Frank and his innocent curiosity. Meme barked and almost gave away his secret. That bark suspiciously sounded like ‘pity’. He didn’t like Frank much, although I had found him in the very same state of despair. Of course, Meme had chosen his animal appearance to match his not-so-human instincts. Maybe they were too similar. Where Frank was hurting himself, Meme was trying to hurt others. Still, they were consumed by the same brand of anger and hate.

Frank looked funny at Meme. He must’ve noticed. Meme smiled sheepishly at me in the hopes of salvation. “Can you imagine, how I found you?” I started down the rabbit hole. After a pause, I decided not to wait for any answers. “I followed the spreading bow wave of death that accompanied you.” Frank spat the sip of beer he just took into the fire. It hissed.

kind of emergency drill

Storycluster: Devil's Peak; 
character studies: Mark Smith, Frank Edwards

Mark couldn’t hold up his enigmatic misanthrope act. Today, he let me see his friendly side. The scotch made him chatty and I was nice and cozy in a beer-fog. Perfect match. The late afternoon droned with the noises of the forest’s edge.

The bugs screeched. Meme, the dog, barked from the shore at us. Some campers shouted and scream-laughed somewhere on the side of the lake. Chainsaw noises faded into the distance, and the dark waters of the lake whispered to the purplish hue of the fading daylight. Bah! Took a swig from the bottle. Looked like a nauseating postcard picture. A big cheesy blown kiss from Mother Nature that smacked me right where my heart was. A kiss, like poison ivy rash; itchy, blistering feeling, where I just couldn’t reach. Swollen. Red. A raw spot. My hands shook and with them the fishing pole.

Devil’s Peak (alt 1)

alternative D.P. with changed POV, bc I suck & wrote myself into a corner. So here you go.
Parent text: here

PART 1

-SUPERSTITION-

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.

Wounds Shall Hurt

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.

Going Hemingway with a Line, the Atlantic Ocean, and Heartache (1)

Sooo late for this one. 
This is a Chuck Wendig Prompt, in honour of Anthony Bourdain.
RIP.

You ever been to the Island of Flowers? No? You shouldn’t miss out on this one. Portuguese Madeira is a hungry but beautiful place. The mild climate and the rich soil gives it the most precious gifts Mother Nature can give an island.

Okay, I’m done with the touristic daisy-incrusted crap. Pull your fingers out of your ears and stop with the ‘la-la-la-la’.

We’re free for the real stuff, the naked appreciation of food, nature, life.

Black Door

1&2, 3, 4, 5,

6 a

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-!