The Griffin's Quill

A place to put my writing prompts

[griffinquill]

A Dove among Eagles

The shroud covered up the blank eyes last, before the body was pulled up onto the handcart to be burned with the others just outside the smouldering village. The knight who had done the wrapping stood upright and lifted his visor and his head tilted skyward.

"May the breeze under your wings raise our fallen brothers above the clouds. May they enter your kingdom of endless sun and blue. And May those of us who have yet to fly, be safe under your unblinking gaze." He crossed his thumbs and pressed his palms to his chest in a salute.

The clatter and thud brought the knight's attention to his armoured companion who had just failed at getting up onto the Prince's horse for the last half an hour. Then watched him clumsily get up, flailing in the armour until he was upright again, looking at the knight, until the visor dropped down of it's own accord. "Sorry I-"

"Your Highness must not apologise...It has not been done before."

"I'm So- Right...Could you" The man patted the horse's neck.

The knight, Sir Kestrel, knelt beside the horse, and instructed the man to put his left leg on his thigh and get the other over the saddle and into the stirrups. On the second try the man was saddled and gingerly took the reigns.

The Knight watched him, then followed his gaze down the dirt path where the wagoner was growing smaller with every step, and to the body on top before he turned and mounted up on his own grey dappled steed and raised the Royal eagle banner. "Let us return to the castle Your highness. Your 'father' must know of the fort's loss, and the tragic loss of the mill village."

"But I'm-" The man started but the sharp turn of the helmet towards him demanded silence.

"You are A changed man. Your first taste of the world was more than enough of a wake up call." The knight held out his hand, and the Prince handed over the reigns and let himself be led South on the King's road.

A few hours ago the miller's Son Callum had run home to alert the village of approaching horsemen not wearing the King's colours. Word had spread and only a few stayed behind with pitchforks and hay hooks. He had tried to do the same but his father shut him in the mill and told him to watch from the top window to signal any Knights approaching from the South.

Only one on a white horse had arrived, looking franticly around. Callum waved an empty sack out of the mill window and the knight rode up the hill to it. Callum ran down finding the knight removing his armour just inside the door and for a moment was stunned to stillness. It was like looking at a mirror.

Only his reflection went from wide eyed terror to a jaw clenched, to rigid authority. "Give me your clothes peasant. Then get into this."

The armour clattered in bits and pieces, and when Callum could only stare in strange bemusement the sudden flash of a sword and a tense jaw was more than an order. The tunic came off, and once the Prince had removed everything he peeked out of the door. "I'll send someone to collect all this once those barbarians are gone. Just try not to bleed on it or roll around with the pigs for a few days that suit's worth more than this whole village. Oh..." He pulled a Ring off of his finger and handed it over. "This too, otherwise they'll know. Not a word to anyone or may the eagles rip you to ribbons."

Callum took the ring, examined the fine carved feathers of gold that wrapped around the band from the proud eagle with sapphire eyes. He put it on and couldn't decide if he was happy or concerned that it fit perfectly. Though the calluses on his fingers made him worry for a second.

He had no issue pulling on the surcoat, he was used to heavy bags of grain. But the other pieces were like trying to saddle a horse while riding it backwards.

The door opened and closed again. But he was too busy fighting a buckle under his armpit to say anything.

Then the hoofbeats arrived with shouts and baying. He ran up to the top of the mill to peek out seeing a dozen or so horsemen riding North, and bodies near the road littered with arrows. He ran to the South facing side and saw the banners. He waved the sack again and the riders turned towards the mill.

"Prince Gavin."

Callum looked up at Sir Kestrel who got his attention. The knight sat beside him, upright and looked ahead of them to several more banner knights who were waiting, mounted up and looking expectantly at Callum.

Callum tried to will Sir Kestrel into becoming a mind reader but when the still helm remained unmoved he looked at the knights.

"Fort Eyre has f-fallen. As has the village of Oakmill." He tightened his grip on the saddle, and sat up straighter catching a small gesture from Sir Kestrel.

"Count Tyrell's men have taken the fort and more riders have fled North for more reinforcements. So I believe. It is best we return and come back when we have the numbers and...and the King should be informed."

"Yes your highness. At once." The knights all turned and waited for him to take the lead.

Callum's shoulders dropped, thankful they couldn't see his face right now with the visor down.

Kestrel led him up front and further South along the road, and the silence drummed so hard at his mind that in order to keep his mouth shut he pulled himself back to the mill this morning.

Callum stepped out and almost fell with all the awkward straps and buckles and plates that clattered like a bull in the smith's shop. He passed the fence and almost wretched into his helmet. His father and the Prince wearing his tunic were speckled with arrows, face down in wet mud. His father's hand on the boy's shoulder.

Callum had to grab the fence as his knees gave out. The helmet was too close, too hot. He tossed it aside, and put his head in his hands trying to keep the snot from dripping onto the tabard, even if it wouldn't matter now.

The knights arrived and saw him, a few scattered looking for survivors or signs of the invaders. One approached him with a second horse, and knelt in front of him. Looked right at his face for a long while before he lifted his own visor. "Your highness."

Callum shook his head and pointed to the Prince's body.

The knight looked, reached out to turn the boy's shoulder and saw the face. He paused for a long moment, and looked around, seeing the others nowhere near and he pulled the body onto the grass, then the body of Callum's father. When Callum got up to try and help he was given a stern look and an outstretched palm.

"Please your highness. Sit. I can handle this."

Callum sat back down, his legs refused to straighten out anyway. He just watched his life where it should have ended be taken away in shrouds.

Now at dusk he could see the smoke from the pyre in the distance, numb and silent. A skin of wine was put in his hand and almost untouched. His eyes had not left his home while it was within view.

Sir Kestrel knelt beside him, slightly turning to check they were out of earshot before speaking. "Perhaps. Your Highness. By your say, that such a frighteningly close encounter that some perspective has taken form in your mind. That perhaps your attitude towards training and countenance has been re-evaluated?"

Callum looked towards the Knight, face streaked, and pale hair stuck to his cheeks. "Sir Kestrel I'm no-" "Shh." The knight checked over his shoulder again. Callum stared at the man, who looked at him with a moment's frustration but that melted seeing an innocent boy looking up from under a familiar face. "Damnit all." He whispered harshly though it was not directed at Callum. "I will be at your side the whole time. I will teach you everything I know for as long as I can. I wont let you do this alone boy. But The King would not survive the loss of Prince Gavin. There is too many whispers of banners changing colours. The Kingdom should not be put at risk."

Callum pushed his hair our of his face and wanted to argue, to scream who he was and be done with it all if it meant he could catch up to his father.

Sir Kestrel patted his shoulder and stood, heading back to the small fire and the other knights.

As the light faded he almost decided to tell the other Knights what happened when Callum approached.

The laughing and whispering stopped and they all stood at attention when he came into the light.

He looked over them all and tried to stand as straight as he could, and met every eye he could manage and paused on Kestrel. "The boy from the Mill. Died trying to get help, for me. Could you...could we say something. For him. For them?"

The knights couldn't hide the shared looks of surprise, even when Sir Kestrel stared them down.

A larger man with a rough ruddy beard stepped a little more into the light. "Of course your highness. Bravery should not go un noted."

The knights parted to let Callum join them in a circle around the flames. They all held their hands, crossed thumbs and placed palms to their chests. They spoke as one. "May the breeze under your wings raise our fallen brothers above the clouds. May they enter your kingdom of endless sun and blue. And May those of us who have yet to fly, be safe under your unblinking gaze."

Callum swallowed the stone in his throat and pushed it down deep until it's cold unyielding presence dropped into his chest. "And may our fears, flee from the shadows, of the brave ones who soar behind you."

Sir Kestrel nodded to him and approached the ruddy bearded man. "Sir Adler will take first watch. Your tent is ready your highness."

Callum nodded and looked at the knights again, hesitating before he left. Not quite sure what to say or how to say it. Then followed Sir Kestrel to the small but well made tent. Kestrel helped him remove the metal plates but kindly suggested he keep the coat on or at least close by so if they were set upon he'd be protected. Then promised to help him put everything back on properly in the morning before the continued the long ride home.

[griffinquill]

Weather Permitting used to mean,

Days at the beach,

An outing, a stroll,

Or hiding inside

While dull thunder rolled

Weather permitting

Events outside, or in

Driving careful or carefree

Schools out, we’re snowed in

Weather permitting

How quick laundry dries

How much sunscreen we wear

How high the kites fly

Weather permitting

Means something else today.

Throw down the sandbags

Keep out of the rain.

Weather permitting

Means the beaches are baked

The bitumen's melted

Across all four lanes

Weather permitting

The rescue teams can arrive

To pull from the debris and the water

The ones who survived.

The weather permits

Though it now asks a toll

When you meddle with climate

Prepare for the storms.

[griffinquill]

No refunds

“The frog was supposed to turn into a handsome prince, not whatever this is.” 

Hazel winced at the shrill voice grating at her ears. She picked up the receipt that was slammed on the counter and read while running her wand down over the parchment. 

“Ma’am that is not what the spell you ordered does.”

The irate woman’s eyes  burned like hellish coals. “How does the Frog into Prince spell not turn Frogs into Princes!” 

Hazel tapped the parchment, enlarging it and pointed to the item description. “The spell on our Frogs is a heart's desire manifestation spell, the spell will transform the frog permanently and cannot be reversed. It is advised you know this desire before kissing the frog and wait an hour before the change takes place.”

Hazel also gestured to the large no refund at the bottom of the receipt. 

“Well this one must be broken because it changed only a minute after I kissed it.”

Hazel furrowed her brows and leaned over the counter to look down, not seeing any partially changed frogs, and looked up at the customer. “Where is it exactly?”

The woman pointed outside, and Hazel nodded, and swished her wand to summon a small monkey to watch the counter as she stepped around to see this failed spell for herself. 

Outside she didn’t see anything at first, then the woman followed and grabbed at the air, when a massive silver gorilla with a unicorn’s horn, a dragon’s tail and massive colourful wings appeared, and yawned loud, swatting the woman’s hand away with a hairy hand. The back legs ended in what looked like massive horse hooves. 

Hazel walked around it and lifted the feathers, examined the tail and looked at the woman who was huffing the whole time. 

“This is not what I wanted that spell for.”

Hazel looked at the creature who looked back at her and smiled, making panting motions like a dog. 

“Ah, Ma’am do you have children?”

The woman looked at Hazel, then the creature, then Hazel, for a moment looking furious then like she wanted to laugh and back to fury. “A daughter. She would never…She wouldn’t…how would…”

“OK Ma’am I suggest talking to your daughter and asking if she kissed the frog you bought and then I suggest you head to…” She summoned a little square of parchment and scribbled onto it. “This address to get an appropriate leash for your new pet and the gentleman warlock there will figure out what its diet is. I’m afraid as a magical creation it will be loyal to you and your daughter so there’s no getting rid of it. But if you are still looking for a Prince I can give you a coupon for 25% off your next purchase from us.”

The woman was grinding her teeth hard but took the offered parchments and held out a hand, the beast took the hand like a fifteen foot toddler and followed her down the road, tail excitedly smacking the bushes on either side. 

Hazel waited for them to get out of sight before returning to the counter, relieving the monkey to go back to stocking the potion shelves. 

Then the door opened again and she looked up to see a man pulling back a hood showing a large frog like head. “Hey uh… about your frog spells.” 

Hazel sighed but put on a smile and held up her wand.

[johnnycrass]

faeries are not real but i wish thwy were so i could spray one with raid

[helloitsbees]

harry houdini to his wife after a long exhausting dinner with arthur conan doyle

[griffinquill]

[griffinquill]

Prompt: Teenage dreams

Title: Escape

The airbrakes hissed and the doors squeaked open. Adrian had kept his head down at the back of the bus, guarding his rucksack with both arms around it until the driver called back. “Last stop, Huntleigh fields.” 

Adrian stepped down and shouldered the pack, almost tipping sideways with the weight. He didn’t look back at the driver who was watching on with some concern. Instead his eyes darted left and right looking for a gate or climbable fence, and started walking towards a break in the black hedgerows. 

Another hiss and the loudest roar in the still night air made the boy tense up before he heard it fade into the distance. He reached back and found the large work torch he’d tied to his pack and turned it on looking for the narrow path between the fields. Everything outside the murky smudged light was a wash of deep inky black and blues against the dark iron sky, with only a sliver of waning moonlight. 

Cold crept up his legs as his baggy jeans seemed to pull the water out of the grass he moved through, and though it was unpleasant it was soothing the bruises and kept him awake enough to keep going. 

At every other noise he flicked the old torch off and waited before he calmed his breathing and continued. He pointed the light at the boughs of trees looking for signs his friend had been here already. Nothing. Just leaves, maybe a plastic bag, and at one point the rope left from a tyre swing. He hoped. 

Hearing the trickle of a small stream he stepped off the path to find it and followed it upstream. Finding a spot he could jump across, he took a small runup, and misjudged in the dark just how slippery the other side would be and his foot slipped straight down. The landing sent a shock up his leg and jarred his back, and his palm stung from a patch of thistles. After holding his breath he whimpered, not allowing himself to make any more noise. An all too familiar technique. 

He climbed up to the other side and held out his torch and smacked it a few times to get the beam to stop flickering. “No no no no…” It flickered once more and a soft pop meant the bulb had finally given out after all these years.  “Fuck.” 

He let it drop and dangle from his pack as he tried to squint through the dark to see where he was now. 

Something pale popped up from the sea of abyssal blue grasses and vanished again. He help his breath yet again, and when the pale thing popped up again, much larger or much closer he bolted. 

Adrian whipped through the grass, uphill, downhill, not wanting to dare check behind him. He barrelled through a narrow gap in a hedge, a small style catching his midriff, winding him. He wheezed for breath and grabbed it, pulling himself up and over as a low rumble followed him. As he dropped he almost threw up what little he had in his stomach when he saw a dozen or so sheep stopped a few feet from the gate, looking at him. One stomped and let out a loud “BAAA” and he stumbled away from them. 

As he trudged through more waist high grass, or wheat or whatever was in this field, the sky darkened further, and he felt little white hot pricks against his head and neck. No, not hot, freezing. He pulled his bag off his shoulders to swing it to his front and tried to hurry without running, still sore at his ribs. 

The rain started coming down harder, bouncing off his Pac a Mac and sending rivulets running down the back of his neck and dripping onto his jeans. He almost ran into an old drystone wall, and followed it along, almost  groaning with relief when he found a squat and long building with a corrugated steel roof. 

He tried the door and though it stuck a little, the old wood gave, and opened up. He swung himself inside and closed it again, leaving only a thin seam of only slightly lighter grey around the frame. 

The inside stank of straw, dust and diesel. He weighed his next action carefully before reaching around into his rucksack and pulling out an old decaying Tesco carrier bag, and took out one of the tealights and a box of matches from it. It took a couple of tries but he got it lit and tried to take a look around to see what was in this building. He could just make out the bonnet of a fairly beat up looking ride-on mower. Too small to be a tractor. 

Slowly he moved, shivering around what he now thought of as a shed, seeing some shelves with unlabelled bottles and cans with handles of tools in. There was a lot of chords hung up on another wall, a counter top with a few vices and a lot of sawdust and mouse droppings. 

He put the tealight on top of a rusty paint tin and lit a couple more to try and tried his best to heat up some pre-cooked sausages he’d wrapped in foil, pinching the ends to make handles and slowly moving it around before giving up when it got a little too hot to hold and just ate them semi-warm. 

In one corner he found a few old burlap sacks that stank like dirt and potatoes. He nudged them into a pile, scaring away a mouse from the heap, and made a small sleeping pad for himself. He hung his coat over the mower and pulled out a thin patchy blanket from his rucksack and wrapped it around himself. 

Trying to settle on the sacks, despite them being scratchy, and him still being wet and cold. Watching the light from the candles dance on the walls and ceiling, looking to see if there were any holes where the rain could drip through. 

As he began to drift the seam at the door grew steadily lighter, and the tremendous drumming of rain slowly faded, Adrian took the crumpled receipt from his pocket that his friend Dale had scribbled on and passed to him only a few days ago. “Meet at last stop Friday night? Bring food and light, I got sleeping bag and tent.”

Adrian prayed his friend hadn’t gotten caught and hadn’t grassed on him. If he never woke up in his own bed at home ever again, he’d be more than happy. Even if it meant more nights like this. 

[griffinquill]

Distracted

The thud on the sparring mat echoed through the hall, followed by polite applause and the final score called. Twyla took her bow, then shook her sparring partner’s hand when they got back up. 

“Great match. Thought I had you there for a second.” 

Twyla smiled. “You almost did. Next time then?” 

The woman nodded, caught herself and spoke. “You bet.”

Twyla’s coach brought her back to the lockers, already going into coach mode.

“Your balance is a little off, something wrong?” The older woman asked. 

Twyla felt across the lockers till she found the raised numbers of hers, and opened it. “Just a little sleep deprived there was…a disturbance not too far from our dorms.”

She grunted. “You’re still holding back with your punches and kicks, I’ve told you to stop that, it’s disrespectful to your partner if you’re not giving your best. 

It’d be more disrespectful to explain grievous injuries, smashed walls, floors or worse, because she could punch and kick a lot harder than she had any right to do as of a few months ago. 

She could feel the grin curling on the unseen face inside her head. 

You have actual threats to test your new gifts on. 

Gifts that doesn’t make me a hero, Nyxia. She thought back. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, coach.” She grabbed out a towel, dabbing around her face and neck, then reaching for her shower bag and running a hand back along the lockers to the showers.

“See that you do.”

“Easier said than done.” Twyla grinned. 

“You know what I mean. Good form overall, one more year like this and you could probably start teaching your own classes.”

Twyla paused, tossing her gi onto the benches outside the shower. “Don’t I need to go up a few belts first?”

“I said what I said.”  

Twyla could hear Coach Ryleigh smile so she just giggled and cleaned up and dried as quickly as she could manage. “If this is you trying to rush my training so you can retire early-”

“I would never.” A few beeps cut the sound of the running water. “I need to head out, are you going to be alright getting home?”

“If you see me in the newspaper tomorrow you’ll find out.” Twyla called, cutting off the water and drying off in haste.

“Alright badass, stay safe though yeah?” The door opened. “All your things are on the bench for ya, oh and next week I’m taking the juniors next town over so you’re free of my tyranny.”

“Thanks Rye.” 

The door closed and Twyla listened carefully for anyone else in the room, once convinced she was alone she stepped out to dress quickly to cover the glowing markings over her back, and torso. 

Her own phone beeped and the AI voice read aloud the message. 

“Twyla Dathens of Silvergate city! I would like to make a request! On your way back from your gladiatorial match that I am sure you have conquered! A Pizza of the Hut! With the pepperonis and the halo penos!” 

She sighed, happy her roommate had got the hang of texting instead of screaming down the phone to make sure she heard him. 

Two months ago at the Silvergate Historical Arcades, at 11:22pm. 

Twyla was slowly moving through the galleries recording the audio guide for their newest exhibition. Naming the various statues, paintings and taxidermied animals that had been loaned from a small island off the coast of Greece. However, she found one of the displays had not been put up just yet, feeling an empty plinth. She finished the recording anyway before switching off the dictaphone to read the plaque 

Once she had the item number she headed to the staff elevator to head down to the storage rooms. Figuring it was too late to disturb any of the curators to ask for the whereabouts of the display pieces. 

As the elevator doors opened to the warehouse level she felt a shiver ride up her spine. She couldn’t hear the old halogen bulbs buzzing overhead, and the doors,s he felt had only opened most of the way. 

She stepped out carefully and put a hand out to find the first row of shelves. Counted them as she passed and found the phone bolted to the wall for emergencies. Picking it up it was dead, no power. 

She huffed, hoping she could have been halfway home by now. She held up her cellphone but the small text to voice program declared there was no signal. 

So she moved back to the shelves and felt her way along, at least happy she knew her way around already and didn’t need the lights. 

Soon she felt the dust cloth over the new shipments, it felt cold, colder than it should be. Thinking little more of it she pulled the cloth aside and tried to feel for a plaque carefully. Her fingers found the small wire bars of a cage. She moved around to the side and found the door to the cage was open. She closed it slowly with a quiet but echoing ringing. 

The plaque she found had not been given a brail section yet but she could feel the indentations of the name. Nyxia. 

She picked up the cage, and almost fell back feeling how light it was, and only stopped when her back hit something stone. She moved the cage to one hand and felt behind her, a stone statue, though she could not guess what kind of stone,  she found the plaque on it’s base, reading the braille. “Unknown spartan, Wielding a spear and faded round shield. Origin-” 

Footsteps had her standing before she could read where he came from. She called out.  “Jason? Is that you? Mary? Sasha?” 

No one answered. 

Almost. 

Guard the cage, on your right.

She spun as though towards this sourceless voice and her hand moved palm first at speed, striking a solid, leather clad chest. The pained grunt brought her awareness into sharp focus as she shifted her weight, listening, hearing rough breathing and heavy steps. 

“You really shouldn’t be down here.”  She spoke, hoping there was no give away that she was afraid. 

The man stood upright, neck cracking. “Nor should you, Guards got paid more than enough to clear this place for the night. Now you can hand that over, or they’ll have to find their little charity project at the bottom of the stairs.”

Kick low.

She heeded the voice quickly, and swept low, her leg snapping forward, faster than either of them had anticipated. Something snapped and the man roared as he crumpled. A caw echoed from somewhere in the room and Twyla for a brief moment saw a red light form the shape of the man in front of her, reaching for a gun but trembling due to the lack of light in his right leg. 

Grab the spear and hold your hand to your attacker.

The cage dropped, as Twyla obeyed, grabbing the hand of the statue that held his spear and held a hand out in front of her. The red light began to pulse and then surged towards her, crushing the cage. A flicker of dark green soared somewhere above in her mind’s eye. 

“What is this! No NOOO!” 

The man’s screams were cut short, the red light surged up through her arms, burning, pulsing and raging. The statue’s hand grew hot to the touch and snapped open to take her arm to keep her from falling when the burning red light began to hurt like hell. 

When it all stopped Twyla was gasping for breath and shaking. A pair of arms lifted her off the ground and she grabbed against a very real, very warm, very muscular neck. “Uh..”

“NYXIA. YOUR CAGE IS BROKEN.”The voice bellowed. Twyla flinched. The man either did not notice or could not control his volume. “THEIR EYES WILL BE UPON YOU.”

Calm yourself. If there is one willing, I will  have my sanctuary. 

Twyla could sense the red light again, coming from the man holding her, spartan helmet turning towards her. Above them a small green light swoops down and perches on his shoulders. Also looking at her, two small bright white lights where the eyes should be. 

“What is happening right now?” Twyla asked. The green light solidified into a raven, and dipped her head low. 

All will be explained child. In time. But time we do not have now. Would you provide sanctuary for myself and my guardian?”

She nodded, trying to think of a way for her to explain why she suddenly has a roommate, and pet. 

The raven hopped, and became shapeless light which dove directly into Twyla’s chest. The pain grew so much she gripped the man tight, then felt nothing. Heard nothing. 

She came to, and jolted upright, hands gripping a familiar plush second hand sofa of her own apartment. 

Then a bellowing had her darting across the room and grabbing her white cane from it’s stand near the window, pointing in its direction.

“TWYLA DATHENS, YOU ARE UNHARMED! THIS IS-”

“Shhhh you’re going to wake everyone.”

Silence. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

I brought us here. But I fear if I do much more it will attract unwanted attention. 

The next few weeks were going to be fraught with distractions. 

[griffinquill]

New Moon mates

We just stared at each other. We’d gone one whole month without much incident, and now everything was being weighed in these few single seconds. I slowly closed the fridge, and he pulled the blood pack away from his mouth, his eyes flicking from me to my wounds and the kit on the counter containing everything I’d need to hunt people like him.

Living in the city meant there was never really silence of any kind, but damn if the tension right now wasn’t the best soundproofing we could ask for. Too risky to fight, a bigger risk if I did nothing.

“I’m guessing those are not props for some leather movie?” He moved and I grabbed a small bottle of the holy water and he froze again, holding his hands up. 

“No, and that isn’t cherry flavoured corn syrup.” I nodded to the bag in his hand still, reading the B- on the side facing me. I met his eyes again, and shifted onto my good leg, and got a sturdy grip on the bottle.

“No.Maybe we should talk.” He tried to step back but froze again when I raised the bottle and pulled on the cork with my teeth. “Think this all the way through shall we?”

I paused but made sure he could see the cork was loose. “Go on.”

A muscle twitched on his brow. “If I had wanted to harm you I would have done so by now. If I was feral your scent would have sent me into a frenzy. The look on your face tells me it wouldn’t be your first.”

“A fair few, ferals mostly, and some sickos. Tonight’s one liked going after younger teenagers.”

I glanced sidelong to the window, checking it was still a little open. 

“I hope you put him down like a rabid dog.” 

I flinched at the snarl. “Chased him through the rooftops, fell through a skylight into a church with a baptising pool. Staked him and held him under until there was just goo.”

 He put the blood bag on the counter, propped up against the paper towel roll. “Let me get to the point you are clearly in a hurry to hear. I am tired of finding new places to hide because of what my people do. You are barely making enough to afford your double lifestyle and certainly cannot afford to move anywhere else in this city anytime soon.”

“I don’t make deals with vampires.” I grumbled, and couldn’t stand much longer, and with a little effort hoisted my 5ft self up onto the counter to sit, the bottle of holy water resting on my thigh as I re corked it. 

“For your survival you will.” I shot him a glare, and was met with a glint of his fangs. Cocky bastard. “I propose a simple, in theory, solution to our little predicament.” He picked up the bag again and I looked away while he drained it, only looking back when the crinkle of the bag hit the trash can. “While we’re both contributing to rent here, we don’t try to kill each other. Neither of us can afford relocation. You’re too injured and…suffering non insignificant blood loss. I’m simply tired of fleeing every decade or so.”

I made my own little growl of frustration. “Fine. I’m not happy about it but, fine.”

That had been six months ago now.

At first things were tense to say the least. We both jumped at every little surprising sound or movement. We stayed as far apart as 200 square feet of apartment would allow. It helped that we only really had to endure one another at dawn and dusk. The routine made things easier for a while.

Then one Monday morning he hadn’t come back. Odd but not out of the question. However by Wednesday it was now a concern and his half of the rent was due by Friday and our particular landlord showed as much flexibility as the pavement.

I checked the coffee place on our street, the dingy old music shop he said he was working at and the owner looked disinterested at best and unreliable at worst. I never inquired where he usually went, didn’t want to know while we had the truce up. 

I waited. Then I kitted out, took everything I could reasonably carry and threw on my overcoat. Time to hunt again.

The music shop’s security system was decades out of date, and simple enough to bypass. The grate lifted slowly but allowed me to slip under and pick the door’s lock. I could just about reach the bell to keep it from chiming, mostly out of habit. There were no cameras inside, only a mirrored disc in one corner so the clerk could see down the end aisle. 

The shop was so tucked away I doubt it ever saw natural daylight. Then again if Light barely got in it was just as unlikely to get out right? I’d never noticed much traffic going by the place, even at peak hours. 

I used a small torch, checking behind the counter, feeling near the register and around the shelves. A few more dusty vinyls, a mostly empty lunchbox with a crushed beer can inside. Nothing of interest and no secret alarm. 

I slipped under the beaded curtain leading into the back, not wanting any additional movement or noise. It was much quieter back here, the traffic sounded distant and muffled. Creepy at this time of night, but the quieter it was the easier it was to pick up on unusual sounds. Once I got accustomed to my own breathing and blood thumping my eardrums.

The back looked more or less as I imagined it was, Floor to ceiling shelves of vinyls, cassettes, some old and colossal looking hi fi system from a previous generation. A beat up couch that looked like it was saved and patched up from a dumpster. Though the stench of full ashtrays and stale beer, and for certain some lingering scent of pot covered up by some cheap body spray. 

I paced around the couch, shining the little beam of light over the shelves looking for any hint of my roommate’s presence. I could feel a headache starting as I tried to recall details from our few interactions. Given both our penchants for deception it was difficult to recall anything significant. 

I almost missed it while my mind was elsewhere but a passing police car and siren had me ducking behind the sofa with the light out and waiting to see if they were stopping. When the sirens quieted down and left, I spotted something under the sofa near the brick supporting the back right  corner. 

I reached for it and shone the torch on the bit of metal. Broken keyring, and a small clubcard for the coffee shop just barely hanging onto it. I turned the card over, his name printed on the back. The whole thing was well worn, unsurprising he was usually there twice a day.

I pocketed it, and searched under the sofa some more, leaving a pair of socks well alone since they looked glued to the floor. I hope from cleaning up a beer spill. Under the shelves, some broken bits of CD cases or CD’s. Aha! 

I pulled out his house key, recognising the little scratched in D he put on it. Must have been flung over here when the ring snapped. But why would it have snapped? The place didn’t look like a fight had broken out, as far as I could tell. It seemed the organised chaos was untouched. 

The only other exit was a slim fire door that led into the back alley, which was a dead end one way, and the other was gated off from the street. The top of the fence looked bent, and the barbed wire was swinging over the gate itself. 

I backed up to the wall as an old man pushing a trolley full of cans and bottles ambled by, muttering to himself and grumbling into a bottle. I waited another minute after I couldn’t hear him anymore to shine my light on the wire to inspect it. Mud had clumped to some parts, and the dried flakey residue was definitely blood. 

I turned to shine the light at the wall, brownish red stained some of the grimey bricks, and went up unreasonably high. 

I bounced the light back and forth, then looked at the gate again, then at where I was standing. The gravel had been kicked about quite a bit near here. 

Let’s hope my leg was up to the task, I’d only been back on ‘duty’ for a few weeks, and was sticking to ground level as much as possible to get back into things. The doctors were always annoyed with the sort of physical strain I keep putting myself under, but to keep up with undead bastards with decades of experience I couldn’t afford to slow down.

It took a few tries and a running start to jump to the ladder and pull it down, trying not to let it clang too loudly. I moved up as quickly as I could, examining every floor. I could see some blood flecks on the railings, and worrying dents in some of them. 

Once upon the roof I could see where the actual fight took place. Someone’s long abandoned greenhouse was shattered, potted plants were rolling around in the wind if not broken. Glass was everywhere and sparkled in a mockery of the night sky veiled by the city lights. 

Blood was splattered in a few places, and footprints in the blood and soil and roof grit. I followed them, trying not to disturb anything, and following the fight, trying to imagine who the attacker could be. I didn’t have to imagine for long, as I nearly tripped over what I can only describe as an exploded boot. 

It was a large, steel capped work boot. The steel toe cap was several feet away inside the greenhouse, and next to the torn sole of the remaining boot was a massive, bloody paw print. Larger than a bears, but the arrangement was canine. 

“Bloody hell.” I hissed. Looking for the trail again. Another print on the ledge of the building, and as I shined my light over it I could see a smear on the next building. There was no way I was clearing the gap. 

The signs suggested the building was some telecommunications office. Their security looked a little better than the music shops. I began reaching for my lockpicks when a voice made me jump and grab for one of my knives.

“S’no good. Doorway faces the wind.”  The old man with the trolley was ambling back, smiling up at me.  “Freezin’ even in summer. Go round back there’s plenty o’ doorways to pick.”

I nodded, not really sure what to say, but he wasn’t moving away. I reached into my pocket, not finding much on me, a few coins. I held them out. “Sorry, maybe it can get you some coffee?”

He held out his hand, looked at the coins and shifted them about. “Ha, Coffee! Aye I’ll get some Coffee!”  He chuckled, ambling down the street again. 

I walked the opposite way looking for a way to the back of the building, an alley or a gate. 

I was too busy looking for a way in and I forgot to check the opposite side of the street. This led to being tackled into a deep set doorway with my arm being twisted up to my shoulder blade and my face being pressed into the glass on the door. 

“Awful night isn’t it? Dull, quiet. How about a little scream for me eh?” Blood and alcohol made for disgusting breath. 

“If you can actually hurt me I might give it a go!” I stomped hard, grinding the heel of my boot right where the vampire’s toes were. Supernatural or not, the smaller extremities still broke easiest, and hurt like a motherfucker. 

“FUCK! YOU little BI-” I put both feet on the door and shoved hard to force him out into the street. He let go at some point, and now I could reach my knife and a bottle of holy water. 

He slammed me, attempting to remove the knife first, his mistake. I smashed the bottle over his face and listened to him scream as it burned and melted the flesh down to the bone. 

I kicked him off of me and got my knife back, kicking him onto his back and pressing the blade against his chest right at perfect staking height. “Answer my questions and I’ll end your misery.”

“Fuck I aint telling you shit!” 

I pulled out another bottle and bit the cork to show him, I wouldn’t admit it out loud and I am loath to admit it here. I did like seeing the fear in their eyes when they realised I was not fucking around and could actually kill them. 

“Darren McHallow. Know him?” I asked, pressing the blade through his shirt into skin, feeling him twitch.

“Crazy fucking bitch!” I pressed harder and removed the cork. “Fuck! Yes I know him. Freak.”

“Listen, you only live while you are useful to me, the second that changes. You’re done, is that understood?”  I spilled a drop on his chest and it hissed like a lit fuse. “Where is he?”

 He tried to squirm but the blade only bit deeper. “Some MoonBiter got loose, wanted to get out of the city. Went to your man there for help, and well fucking, full moon innit? Or was.”

“Got loose? From where?”

“No no no no he’ll kill me if I-”

He watched the holy water move precariously over his head again and I could see the flinch. “Careful I might drop it.”

“You’re insane. Fuck, if I wasn’t melting right now I’d ask if you wanted to f-OW OW Bitch!” He snarled at the drops of holy water in the eye. “Saint Anders wanted the wolf man back and McDumbass got in the way, Anders been after his neck for centuries, has him under one of his nightclubs in the pit!” 

There were hundreds in this city alone. Fuck. 

“You just earned yourself a very short leash. I’m going to need you to take me to this club. His rent’s due and he’s not skipping out just because one of you fuckers has him chained up somewhere.”

He tilted his head up to look at me with his good eye. “You’re goddamn insane you know that lady?”

“Have to be to deal with six foot mosquitos.”

“You got a name short stack?”

“It’s Boss to you.”

[griffinquill]

Jupiter

My brothers and I have gone on the same walk for a very long time. It’s a very long walk, and sometimes dangerous. My biggest brother thinks he’s my bodyguard. He’ll make sure he passes the rough neighbourhoods before I do so I wont catch stray bullets. 

I see him now and again, in his faded orange coat with the hole in the side. He thinks I don’t see the red but I do. Sitting below his belt. I want to ask him if it hurts. But I still see him on our walks, even if he is across the street where I’m not allowed to go. So I sent him paper planes so he can send them back and tell me what he sees over there, and if he can see our other brothers further away. 

Sometimes he sends the planes onward so they can see them too. 

He’s such a gentle giant, the biggest that I know. He doesn’t have a fancy belt, or carry water like myself.

 I see him with his children sometimes, now that I got myself a camera drone. It flies longer than my little planes but I can’t send it too far. I wonder how he got so many, does he know I have one too?  

I’ll keep making little gadgets, until I make the best one ever, that can fly across the road, and say hi to my big brother. 

[griffinquill]

Minotaur

Pappa never looked at me. But that was fine, I had Momma with me. She held my hands and showed me how to walk quietly, even on stone floors. 

She told me stories and names of strong and brave men, of beautiful and wise women, and spiteful and petty gods.

 I don’t think I much like the gods. 

We played and we sang. Momma brought me a little white rock, it tasted awful. She showed me that it made marks on the stone.

 She let me draw pictures. I drew her pretty dress and her crown, I didn’t know what pappa looked like, so I drew me but bigger. She didn’t like that and the picture went away with a scrubbing brush. 

I didn’t mind, I still had my rock and more floor to draw on. 

She marked how much I grew on the wall behind the shelves, and she taught me the numbers by the years I had grown. I asked why Pappa doesn’t see me and she told me not to mind him when she left for the day.

I could hear Pappa and Momma shouting through the floor one night, I couldn’t sleep and wanted to hear them. The little rush lighting a small circle by head. I pressed an ear to the floor and I heard a scream. Angry voices rose from below. Then steps coming up the stairs.

I peeked out of the door, and momma saw me. She took my hand, and took me back to bed. She told me not to mind, but she looked very sad and her face was very red. I picked up the wooden sword she brought me and came back to her. “I want to help momma, are there bad guys? Will Pappa come see me if I defend you?” 

She put the sword away and kissed my head goodnight. Told me she loved me. That Pappa was a busy man, but he may come and see us another time. Then she left with the light and locked the door. 

When I was taller than the shelves the shouting got worse. Louder, longer, and clearer. My Pappa called me “That thing.” 

Momma called me Asterion. I got angry when Pappa called Momma names. I broke the door once trying to go to help her when I heard smashing. But the guards put their spears in me and pushed me back. 

Momma was quiet when cleaning my wounds, and told me to never leave my room. She didn’t like it when I got angry. We once lost five guards, one time I got very angry.

I asked so much to go out one day that she left and didn’t come back for many sunrises. I didn’t want to be that hungry ever again. 

One day, when I was almost tall enough to touch the ceiling she came, but with many guards, all holding chains. She wouldn’t look at me. I saw Pappa, and he did look at me, and I didn’t look like him at all. 

I fought off two guards who were trying to put the chains around me until Momma started crying and Papa ordered them to draw swords.

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked. “What is happening Momma? Where am I going?”

Pappa answered. “You were born wrong.”

It was dark out, and they had wrapped cloth over my head and horns so I couldn’t see where they were taking me, or perhaps to stop others seeing me?

 I stood in a box and the chains were bolted to the sides. Something lifted it and I held onto the chains, trying not to move. “Momma, I  don’t like this room, it’s too small and it moves too much. Momma. Momma!” 

The box fell.

I was cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Everything hurt. It was so dark, and every corridor looked the same. I called out louder and louder, words stopped making sense until it was just noise echoing back at me. 

I’d fall asleep when I couldn’t walk anymore, then wake up and walk more. 

 People came sometimes. With swords and spears. Some in pretty dresses. If they didn’t attack me then they died trying to run and not looking where they were going. I hated how hungry I got. But nothing grew down here. Blood, flesh and bone was all there was. 

I walked forever, but there was no light, no way out. Momma never came for me. 

I sat and tried to recall her face, until I couldn't even remember that. So I got up and walked again.

 Until I walked into a thread hanging across a tunnel, and heard the fading sound of footsteps. 

If someone got in with the thread then maybe they would be my way out. Quietly I followed.  

[griffinquill]

The thing that follows thunder

[griffinquill]

A superior Grave

She does not give up her dead.

Even the spirits remain still in the deep. 

Standing, sprawled, reaching toward a shore 

They will never see again. 

Unblinking, unthinking. 

Tethered to the hulls, the sails, the rocky bed. 

Two hundred fathoms

Ten thousand fallen

They all fall in line

And join

the halted march

She will not give up her dead.

One breathless kiss

Then downward list

Her arms hold hard and fast.

I realise now that too late

Was when we cast off 

from the shore

And silence, her Siren’s call

She cannot not give up her dead

Her tended garden of statues

Free of moss and age and wear

Her museum armada

A cold and deep harbour

The only way in

Is Dispair

[griffinquill]

Redundant umbrella

It rained for the last time on April the 14th of the year 3035. Now the great lakes, reservoirs and water towers are protected 24/7 by armed guards, dogs, electrified fences and weaponized drones and robots. 

By 3048 water rationing had been in effect for six years, sea water treatment plants were designed and planned to be built but have yet to even be started due to the ongoing debate on power supply and logistics.

Water bars began cropping up in high streets. Mobile water tanks visited rural areas where wells and reservoirs have begun to fail.

In 3050 a unique water bar owner found a novel solution for unused umbrellas inside his converted greenhouse turned pub. Suspending the opened brollies provided adequate shade for the hangar-sized greenhouse’s patrons. But they also provided the unique simulated experience of rain, as condensation from the hot water boilers and filters collected on the fabric and began to drip onto the customers. 

When asked if he had experienced rain before Mister Foster replied:

“I was only a child when it last rained. My first and last come to think of it. M’mam would sit in her garden with a small spritz bottle, and cry when the water weren’t enough for everything she was trying to grow. Da would tip his ration into the bottle to try and cheer her up but it led to health problems.”

At first people complained but after a video was shared on social media many flocked to the bar to experience the rain, many for the first time in their lives. Mister Foster, the bar’s owner, has been delighted by the turnout for what he thought may have been his biggest mistake. 

“I’m very pleased with this happy accident, very pleased. I’ve had a few engineers come in asking to take a look at the building and looking at the set up trying to figure out how to make it themselves. A few copycat rain-bars have cropped up but don’t quite give the same effect.”

It hasn't always been smooth sailing for Mister Foster and his staff. Several break-ins have occurred every month for the last two years, thankfully no one’s gotten hurt, and the ever upgrading security system has kept the Redundant Umbrella from becoming the bankrupt Umbrella.

“We’ve had people breaking through the old glass panes, so we’ve had them replaced with reinforced ones. We’ve had people drilling to our water pipes so we’ve got volunteers walking the property every night to deter saboteurs. One gentleman tried to pull down the umbrellas from the ceiling, but I’d had em welded to keep them up there on the support beams. He ended up falling the two stories down, thankfully not hurting anyone but hisself. I sent him a couple of water bottles at the hospital but haven’t heard back from him.” 

We left the Redundant Umbrella which was packed wall to wall and we hope it remains that way for the foreseeable future. Hopefully returning when rain becomes an outdoor occurrence once again.

[griffinquill]

Minotaur

Pappa never looked at me. But that was fine, I had Momma with me. She held my hands and showed me how to walk quietly, even on stone floors. 

She told me stories and names of strong and brave men, of beautiful and wise women, and spiteful and petty gods.

 I don’t think I much like the gods. 

We played and we sang. Momma brought me a little white rock, it tasted awful. She showed me that it made marks on the stone.

 She let me draw pictures. I drew her pretty dress and her crown, I didn’t know what pappa looked like, so I drew me but bigger. She didn’t like that and the picture went away with a scrubbing brush. 

I didn’t mind, I still had my rock and more floor to draw on. 

She marked how much I grew on the wall behind the shelves, and she taught me the numbers by the years I had grown. I asked why Pappa doesn’t see me and she told me not to mind him when she left for the day.

I could hear Pappa and Momma shouting through the floor one night, I couldn’t sleep and wanted to hear them. The little rush lighting a small circle by head. I pressed an ear to the floor and I heard a scream. Angry voices rose from below. Then steps coming up the stairs.

I peeked out of the door, and momma saw me. She took my hand, and took me back to bed. She told me not to mind, but she looked very sad and her face was very red. I picked up the wooden sword she brought me and came back to her. “I want to help momma, are there bad guys? Will Pappa come see me if I defend you?” 

She put the sword away and kissed my head goodnight. Told me she loved me. That Pappa was a busy man, but he may come and see us another time. Then she left with the light and locked the door. 

When I was taller than the shelves the shouting got worse. Louder, longer, and clearer. My Pappa called me “That thing.” 

Momma called me Asterion. I got angry when Pappa called Momma names. I broke the door once trying to go to help her when I heard smashing. But the guards put their spears in me and pushed me back. 

Momma was quiet when cleaning my wounds, and told me to never leave my room. She didn’t like it when I got angry. We once lost five guards, one time I got very angry.

I asked so much to go out one day that she left and didn’t come back for many sunrises. I didn’t want to be that hungry ever again. 

One day, when I was almost tall enough to touch the ceiling she came, but with many guards, all holding chains. She wouldn’t look at me. I saw Pappa, and he did look at me, and I didn’t look like him at all. 

I fought off two guards who were trying to put the chains around me until Momma started crying and Papa ordered them to draw swords.

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked. “What is happening Momma? Where am I going?”

Pappa answered. “You were born wrong.”

It was dark out, and they had wrapped cloth over my head and horns so I couldn’t see where they were taking me, or perhaps to stop others seeing me?

 I stood in a box and the chains were bolted to the sides. Something lifted it and I held onto the chains, trying not to move. “Momma, I  don’t like this room, it’s too small and it moves too much. Momma. Momma!” 

The box fell.

I was cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Everything hurt. It was so dark, and every corridor looked the same. I called out louder and louder, words stopped making sense until it was just noise echoing back at me. 

I’d fall asleep when I couldn’t walk anymore, then wake up and walk more. 

 People came sometimes. With swords and spears. Some in pretty dresses. If they didn’t attack me then they died trying to run and not looking where they were going. I hated how hungry I got. But nothing grew down here. Blood, flesh and bone was all there was. 

I walked forever, but there was no light, no way out. Momma never came for me. 

I sat and tried to recall her face, until I couldn't even remember that. So I got up and walked again.

 Until I walked into a thread hanging across a tunnel, and heard the fading sound of footsteps. 

If someone got in with the thread then maybe they would be my way out. Quietly I followed.  

[griffinquill]

Distraction

Time slowed. My son’s phone in one hand, the other on the steering wheel. 

I never will get to see the message he’d sent. 

A deep horn is stretched into a roar. 

I’ll never get to apologise for assuming his intentions. For being paranoid. For not waiting just a five more minutes. 

There’s cracks in the glass behind him. Tears in his eyes.

I won't get to see him win his first rugby game with his team.

The glass sparkles like hail. The door and the roof snap shut like metal jaws. 

Time stopped. 

I shouldn’t have looked at his phone.

[griffinquill]

Burning wrath

Have I not earned every ounce of wrath

The tinder I carried was meant to gently warm all that my love touched

You force the gasoline down my throat, 

And recoil when I combust

How can I reach out and be gentle when all I am is flames and agony

You tell me to be careful like this isn’t your fault

You’re still holding the gas can and the match

You watch while I fail to douse the embers with tears

Watch me choke on the fumes on my last cries for help

Then tell me to clean up the mess 

While I try to save the last piece of me yet to burn.

You tell me I burned you

And here

I pause

To decide

To render us both to Ashes

Or

Just the bridge

[griffinquill]

Distraction

Time slowed. My son’s phone in one hand, the other on the steering wheel. 

I never will get to see the message he’d sent. 

A deep horn is stretched into a roar. 

I’ll never get to apologise for assuming his intentions. For being paranoid. For not waiting just a five more minutes. 

There’s cracks in the glass behind him. Tears in his eyes.

I won't get to see him win his first rugby game with his team.

The glass sparkles like hail. The door and the roof snap shut like metal jaws. 

Time stopped. 

I shouldn’t have looked at his phone. 

[griffinquill]

Minotaur

Pappa never looked at me. But that was fine, I had Momma with me. She held my hands and showed me how to walk quietly, even on stone floors. 

She told me stories and names of strong and brave men, of beautiful and wise women, and spiteful and petty gods.

 I don’t think I much like the gods. 

We played and we sang. Momma brought me a little white rock, it tasted awful. She showed me that it made marks on the stone.

 She let me draw pictures. I drew her pretty dress and her crown, I didn’t know what pappa looked like, so I drew me but bigger. She didn’t like that and the picture went away with a scrubbing brush. 

I didn’t mind, I still had my rock and more floor to draw on. 

She marked how much I grew on the wall behind the shelves, and she taught me the numbers by the years I had grown. I asked why Pappa doesn’t see me and she told me not to mind him when she left for the day.

I could hear Pappa and Momma shouting through the floor one night, I couldn’t sleep and wanted to hear them. The little rush lighting a small circle by head. I pressed an ear to the floor and I heard a scream. Angry voices rose from below. Then steps coming up the stairs.

I peeked out of the door, and momma saw me. She took my hand, and took me back to bed. She told me not to mind, but she looked very sad and her face was very red. I picked up the wooden sword she brought me and came back to her. “I want to help momma, are there bad guys? Will Pappa come see me if I defend you?” 

She put the sword away and kissed my head goodnight. Told me she loved me. That Pappa was a busy man, but he may come and see us another time. Then she left with the light and locked the door. 

When I was taller than the shelves the shouting got worse. Louder, longer, and clearer. My Pappa called me “That thing.” 

Momma called me Asterion. I got angry when Pappa called Momma names. I broke the door once trying to go to help her when I heard smashing. But the guards put their spears in me and pushed me back. 

Momma was quiet when cleaning my wounds, and told me to never leave my room. She didn’t like it when I got angry. We once lost five guards, one time I got very angry.

I asked so much to go out one day that she left and didn’t come back for many sunrises. I didn’t want to be that hungry ever again. 

One day, when I was almost tall enough to touch the ceiling she came, but with many guards, all holding chains. She wouldn’t look at me. I saw Pappa, and he did look at me, and I didn’t look like him at all. 

I fought off two guards who were trying to put the chains around me until Momma started crying and Papa ordered them to draw swords.

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked. “What is happening Momma? Where am I going?”

Pappa answered. “You were born wrong.”

It was dark out, and they had wrapped cloth over my head and horns so I couldn’t see where they were taking me, or perhaps to stop others seeing me?

 I stood in a box and the chains were bolted to the sides. Something lifted it and I held onto the chains, trying not to move. “Momma, I  don’t like this room, it’s too small and it moves too much. Momma. Momma!” 

The box fell.

I was cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Everything hurt. It was so dark, and every corridor looked the same. I called out louder and louder, words stopped making sense until it was just noise echoing back at me. 

I’d fall asleep when I couldn’t walk anymore, then wake up and walk more. 

 People came sometimes. With swords and spears. Some in pretty dresses. If they didn’t attack me then they died trying to run and not looking where they were going. I hated how hungry I got. But nothing grew down here. Blood, flesh and bone was all there was. 

I walked forever, but there was no light, no way out. Momma never came for me. 

I sat and tried to recall her face, until I couldn't even remember that. So I got up and walked again.

 Until I walked into a thread hanging across a tunnel, and heard the fading sound of footsteps. 

If someone got in with the thread then maybe they would be my way out. Quietly I followed.