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.
Continue reading “may, 31st”
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. Continue reading “may, 28th”
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?”
Continue reading “may, 26th”
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 HQ Part 2 Biwako-Ohashi-Bridge Part 3 Rustling in the Dark
Part 4 Moonlight Market
Part 5 Giant Magic Spider
The pub was dark and silent, except for the lit candle sitting between two whiskey glasses shimmering with golden liquid and ice cubes. The counter was dividing the darkness and the mirrored shelves packed with gleaming liquor bottles, jars with herbs and other potions. “Aunty made us welcome drinks?” Lou whispered. I shook my head.
I breathed in the rich scented atmosphere. I recognized honey, beeswax, cold tobacco, leather, lemony and herbal notes, and polished wood. Home! I closed my eyes. This all meant home to me. Home. I opened my eyes. I wasn’t alone. Lou was here with me.”Remember! Nothing is for free. Ever! That’s a test.”
“But. You’re family! Aren’t yo-” I harrumphed, and Lou shut up.
Continue reading “Fox, Wolf and Dragon (5)”
Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department,
Kuro (BLACK, han'yo),
Lou Rouxgaroux (Lou Wolfwolf, werewolf),
Felix Kanagawa (HAPPY Kanagawa river, river spirit)
Part 1 HQ
Lou sat on the office couch reading his book.
Well… No, he didn’t. He was pretending to read, and he was pretending to sit. Being a werewolf seemingly gave him cat-like abilities to turn into liquid in and on any surface or furniture.
Lou was focused on Felix’s lunch.
How could I tell?
I was eying that lunch too. Continue reading “Fox, Wolf and Dragon (1)”
Sooo late for this one.
This is a Chuck Wendig Prompt, in honour of Anthony Bourdain.
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. Continue reading “Going Hemingway with a Line, the Atlantic Ocean, and Heartache (1)”
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”