PROMPT 04 - DUTY
Another dream.
This one was stranger than the last one.
It wasn’t as if you wanted it to go down like this. Really, you never had the intention of becoming a sprite yourself. You had thought — just maybe there was something else on the roof besides Cal’s remains and the two of you.
Turns out, there’s nothing. Nada. Barren as fuck in terms of suitable candidates for a sprite prototyping. Your plans are in ruins, to be excavated in the future by archaeologists as they find out what a total idiot you were. Didn’t come here with a back up plan. Briefly, Bro’s words flash into your mind: If you want something done, you’re better off doing it yourself.
.. Right.
You don’t sigh as you empty your sweet inventory out in front of the other Dave — the one who’s going to take over for you, and turn to face the feather brained sprite next to you both. The unfinished sprite is almost daunting, a big orange feathery asshole staring down at you impassively, but there’s no time to waste. You flip up, and back towards the unfinished sprite. Your ass makes contact with the prototyper first, and your world is nothing but a bright hot, painful fire, and despite yourself, you scream and you scream until your throat is raw.
Feathers push out out of your skin, around your neck, around your elbows, around your waist; they break through your flesh carelessly, like dozens of needles shooting out of your skin. Even your hands aren’t safe. Your fingernails fall off with bits of flesh only for talons, sharp and clawed, to push through your fingers. You want to curl up away from the overwhelming pain, but you can’t. You can’t get away and it won’t end. Feathered wings don’t politely push out of your shoulder blades like you had hoped, they slam through as painfully as they can; tearing through bone and muscle and skin. Your legs meld together as they stretch slowly to a fine point, and then you can’t feel them at all. They’re nothing but a wispy ghost tail swaying calmly beneath you. It should of robbed you of your hold on the ground, but you remain steadfast in the air.
No one had ever told you that becoming a sprite would hurt this much.
The worst comes last; a slit forms in your chest, and you can feel the sword as it forms, piercing you through the chest, through the heart. For a moment, you black out, and the dream cuts to black there.
In the real world, blood begins to well up from a mysterious incision on his chest, staining his sheets red. He doesn’t wake up this time.
OBTAINED: one minute of becoming a sprite.
