Chapter 4: desperate

Chapter 1: (Part 1/ Part 2) Chapter 2: (Part 3 / Part 4) Chapter 3: (Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7) Chapter 4: Part 8 / Part 9

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If there were any crucial lessons the instructors managed to drill into my head when I was a wee private, it’d be these three evergreens:

One. Never lose your weapon. Duh, obviously. Forming a finger-gun and screaming pew-pew at the enemy was a lot less fun than one might imagine.

Two. There were no glory-holes worth the hustle! Trust me on this one. I won’t disclose what -uh- embarrassing mistake I made and why all rookies needed a medical check-up afterward. I planned to take that to my grave.

Three. Never take off the fucking helmet of your spacesuit if the atmosphere wasn’t safe. And when did you know that the atmosphere was safe? When the Sergeant told you so.

Chapter 4: not a helping hand

Chapter 1: (Part 1 / Part 2) Chapter 2: (Part 3 / Part 4) Chapter 3: (Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 ) Chapter 4: Part 8

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“NO!”
“KODA!”
“Koda! Are you alright?” Hands grabbed me and turned me sideways. “Did you let the switch go?” Something smelled burnt. My ears rang. First thing, I thrust my left fist up the dead-man-switch securely in my hand, then I opened my eye. “Thank God, I thought I; you’re – here.” We locked eyes. Mother Goose kneeled in front of me, face pale, eyes shining as I’ve never seen before.

Huh, there were a lot of things I experienced for the first time today. Might be my newest hobby. I grabbed his arm, and he pulled me up and into a bear hug. Okay, unexpected, another first. Well, uh, I surprised myself by blushing hard, and you guessed it. Definitively a new hobby to show off. The heat in my chest and cheeks made my heart forget how to kick my head into gear. I drew a blank. “Attaboy,” Sam Spade waved from afar. I wasn’t sure he meant me or Mother. Awkward, but nothing to be ashamed of, just sayin’.

Chapter 3: Mutiny Shuffle

Chapter 1: Part 1/ part 2 Chapter 2: part 3/ part 4 Chapter 3: part 5/ part 6/

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We went for a little walk on the scrap metal ball, aka the not-fancy mining satellite. The scans showed, there were nominal pressure and a thin atmosphere in several chambers, but not in the center. The heart of the structure was occupied by a heat source with strong magnetic fluctuations. Whatever was causing it, it could most likely produce a devastating explosion.

If Bayard was caught in it, the fuel onboard would start a chain reaction with all the methane and hydrogen clouds around that particular area. Even a fart could ignite it… So no farting on the job! It occurred to me, it could also be a high-energy weapon the size of a glider, or just scrap metal holding an unstable reactor together. Still no farts. Anyway, we shouldn’t stick around for longer than necessary. Holding in farts wasn’t healthy, so there was that.

Devil’s Peak (5b)

Part 1 Superstition / Part 2 Names for Blades/ Part 3 Sin-eater / Part 4 Threshold / Part 5a Tainted blood

Triggerwarning: cruelty, injury, predatory behavior

Part 5 b

-TAINTED BLOOD-

“He was searching for a human child. Your handiwork?” I growled at its gaping mouth and its pulsing tongues. Its tiny eyes fixed on the glowing markings on my flanks. If it had brows or a forehead, it would have looked suspiciously.

“Yes, intruder,” it sizzled with a hollow thrumming in its throat flaps.

Chapter 1: scenario green

part 1

“Let’s deal with one catastrophe at a time, shall we?” I had the feeling Mother Goose rubbed his forehead after a face-palm I didn’t hear. “Is the sample secured?”

“Uh-huh.” I answered the best I could.

Distant typing came over the comms. “Poe is fifty yards to your left, pacing up and down a corridor. And… I see, darling.” I felt his annoyance ooze out of my ear piece. “Shep, it’s a Kong Green. I owe you fifty. You stay put, I’m sending Shepherd to collect you.” Great! One-woman-army was coming to save me, like a damsel in distress.

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?”

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.