[writing-prompt-s]

When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.

[originalexcerpts]

“I think I am going to enjoy this more than the last of your kind I burned to the ground.” He combs his fingers through the dark brown curls atop his head before crouching down closer to me.

I can no longer feel my fingers as they press into inches of snow and ice. How did it come to this? A fleck of sleet caresses my cheek as I dare to look into his violet eyes.

“Now. What will it be?” My chest feels tight at his words. They come out so calm and direct. But I know this is the way it has to be. I cannot imagine going another day without Eric. He was my soulmate. My best friend. And two months ago, some drunk driver took him away forever. The worst part is that this is not the first time I have tried to find my way to him. This is just the only time someone has responded.

I look to the Ouiji board burning in the metal bin to our right. Some friends had told me it was great for making connections to the lost. Only, instead of finding Eric…

“Well?” The man before me straightens and fastens a button against his deep blue suit jacket.

I think about what he offered when he first appeared from thin air. I was setting fire to the last bit of hope I had, when poof. Tall, dark, and handsome came into view so quickly, I was knocked flat on my ass. He growled slightly then smiled before offering me certain death.

Well, actually… he asked if I was willing to submit to his will or be destroyed. For one, I will submit to no man. And two, this might be my chance to be together with Eric again.

I do not flinch as I simply shrug my shoulders and tilt my head down awaiting what comes next.

“Fuck.”

But death does not come. I startle at his curse and stare back at him. His brows furrow in what I would guess is frustration, maybe?

“You would rather I burn you in the same way you have burned my connection to this world, versus doing my bidding?”

I cannot help the chuckle I let out. I am so miserable. So miserable that… he is right. I would. I am ready to leave this world. There is nothing left in it for me.

“What? Like I am supposed to want to continue living? Much less living for you?”

The sun has set on the horizon, and the only light illuminating us now comes from flickers of the dying flame. I glance at the board again, and it is still there. I cannot even see any scorch marks against its sturdy wooden frame.

Who is he?

“This is so fucking sad.” I look back at him, but he is gone.

Within seconds his breath is warm against my ear. I quickly whirl my face to my right, only inches away from his lips. How is he so fast?

“How about this, Little Birdy.” I shuffle backwards to put space between us as a smile forms on his lips. “I won’t subject you to torture or damnation just yet. First,” he pulls a small card from his suit pocket and extends it out in front of me, “take this card. His name is Freid and he works wonders on the human and non-human mind.”

Out of curiosity, I take the card and read the bold red print:

              Nocturnal Psychology

              Dr. Freid Ryor and Associates

              111 Winston C. Boulevard

              Seattle, WA

Psychology?

“Next, I want you to come with me and stay at my place until your thoughts on death shift. It’s not some magical playground where all of your Earthly worries can be free from. You humans… I swear.”

I do not even try to hide the shock on my face as I slowly rise from the ground. The wind whips a few strands of my untamed golden hair across my forehead as I steady myself.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself.

[originalexcerpts]

Sunlight slips in through the growing cracks in the wall. What year is it?

I used to leave marks or ask the guards, but it stopped mattering the moment they abandoned me. They feared what they didn’t understand and as time passed, they forgot me completely.

The rain brings me peace of mind during the summer seasons when the heat is almost too much to bare. But nothing stops the nawimg hunger from reminding me how fragile my body truly is.

If they had continued their “experiments” would they have somehow found the cure for my curse? What was it that made them decide to never return?

I press a palm to the cold stone wall and feel the stickiness of the growing moss. Is this edible?

I take a pinch and slowly bring it to my meet my tongue.

Gross. I spit it out immediately and take a mental note never to eat slime again.

“Hello?!” A female voice calls from the deep within the prison. I’m supposed to be alone.

My heart starts racing. Is this it? Will I finally be freed?

“Ha ha! I told you the spirits wouldn’t answer you.” A male voice.

“Shut up, Mac. You’ve heard the stories, too. There’s something down here. I just know it.” She sounds young, but it’s been a while since I’ve heard another person’s voice. Maybe they’re not even here. Maybe my mind has finally started to break down.

“Here, hold the camera.” Camera? What is a camera?

“Listen, June. I think we should head back. It gets pretty dark up there and I don’t think I can navigate a maze like this without more light.” He sounds almost nervous.

“I am not giving up! This is exactly what happened with the Caty Mines when you chickened out. If you want to leave, then go. But I’m staying.”

“Fine! But I’m keeping the camera. We haven’t finished paying it off, and if you die I don’t want to be without my source of income.” I hear clicking sounds like heavy objects hitting the ground and moving.

“Whatever. Just go. Maybe I won’t see you in my next life.” If only she knew there was only one life. It’s the only reason I became what I am today.

Heavy footsteps retreat in the other directions. But lighter steps make their way towards me.

Should I hide? Or should I try making contact? I don’t know if this cell is better or worse than the old “experiments”. But what I do know is I have to choose soon.

[originalexcerpts]

Note: Thank you so much for reading! I would love to continue this ♥

Continued…

The footsteps move closer. 

I can hear that the girl is muttering, but I can only make out a few words: stupid…arrogant…spirits. 

She believes in spirits? What sort of religion does she follow, I wonder. A few centuries ago she would have been burnt at the stake for trying to communicate with spirits.

I know little of the world’s changes, and only thanks to the occasional new prisoner. They never last long down here, with the sicknesses and mind problems. 

I once witnessed a man slam his head into the steel bars enough times to never open his eyes again. For some, death is the better choice. But for me… 

“Please, if you’re in here…” the girl’s voice is almost to my cell. “I just want to talk. I’ve heard stories.” 

I wonder what kind of stories she could have possibly heard. Before I was sentenced here they called me a murderer, a liar, and a thief. The lengths people will go to in order to rid the world of something they do not understand. 

I dip further into the shadows of my cell. The light streaming in through the cracks was barely enough to create shadows in the first place. 

“I promise to give you a good rap!” What does she mean? Is that a beating of some sort? 

A light shines past the outer bars and I almost rush to greet it. Strangely, it doesn’t flicker in the same way a torch does. I’ve heard the stories of electricity from the other prisoner’s, but the guards never bothered to upgrade this atrocious place. 

Would it burn me if I touched it? I never thought to ask before, but now that I face the threat, I should have. 

I watch the darkness pull away beneath the light, and soon enough a figure moves past the outer cell. 

“Here.” I barely whisper the words before I can cup a hand over my mouth. My throat is parched and my voice is shake-y, but there word must have been clear enough.

The figure whirls to face the outer bars, shining her light deep within my cell. I hide just out of reach. 

“Who’s there?” The light shifts rapidly. She’s shaking. 

I try to clear my throat, but it only makes it burn. “Am I not…” I reach a hand towards the light, barely touching it with the tip of my finger. We both gasp at the same time. It doesn’t burn. “…the one you seek?” 

I fully step into the light, averting my eyes as best I can until they adjust. 

The light drops to the floor and rolls against the bars, illuminating the figure. 

Her hair is a deep brown with a matching shade in her eyes. She’s much older than I imagined. Possibly in her later twenties. She won’t have much longer to live with the diseases of this world. 

Her body is thin, almost as small as my own. It is impossible to say if she, too, has not eaten for a long time. 

“I–I,” her eyes swell with tears as she fumbles towards the flashlight. “I thought the prison was empty. I didn’t know–” she grabs the light and nearly blinds me when she stands back up. 

“You are mistaken, then.” I straighten as best I can, but the soreness in my shoulders from centuries of malnutrition and little exercise weighs me down. 

“I can see that.” Her voice is soothing. It has been so long since I’ve heard another’s voice. I must keep her talking. 

“Have you come to see me or not, Madame?” I make a move towards the inner bars, but she steps back, so I halt. 

“Don’t come any closer.” There is fear and anger intertwined in her words. Am I that horrific? Or maybe she has heard too much of my past. 

“I am Varren. Surely you must know that.” 

She closes the space between her and the outer bars, her hand nearly touching the lock. I can now see that there is a rusted key pressed in. I don’t recall anyone ever trying to free me. Where could it have come from?

“The Varren?” She doesn’t try to move the key. “As in the serial killer? The one that everyone says can’t be killed?” 

I nod my head. 

“Very funny, pal. I know a misguided Spirit when I see one.” She tucks her hand into a bag that I hadn’t seen her holding until now. She pulls out some strange square contraption. “Wait until the world catches a glimpse of June the Spirit Ward at it again.” 

“I am not a Spirit, Madame.” An ache starts to form in my chest as I remember the very woman who cursed me centuries ago. She was a Spirit. She was also deceitful. A vial woman, or demon, or Spirit… or whatever it is that people call them. It burns me to think this woman compares me to that. 

“Whatever, dude.” She points another light towards me from the small contraptions. “Whoa…” she studies the thing, then looks to me. Then back at it again. “You’re not here.” 

I am not sure what she means, but I continue arguing anyways, “I am not a Spirit, and you should release me at once. I have been imprisoned wrongfully. I do not belong here.” 

“What are you?” She continues to hold the thing up while point the light at me. I inch closer. This time she doesn’t back away. 

“I am Varren. The last of my name. And the first of my name.” I decide that some information should not be reveled on (the Demon woman), and make the information more digestible. “I was born into this world four centuries past. Until my will and the will of others is done, I cannot leave this world.” 

“So… you’re like, what? A Djinn?” A Djinn? What is that? 

She presses the key and wiggles it until I hear the latch unlock. The metals scrapes against the stone floors. 

“If your will needs to be done, meaning you need someone to do it for you… and you need to do the will of others… then that makes you a Genie.” I know not what a Genie is, but her words hold some truth. 

[originalexcerpts]

A Genie? A Djinn?

Strange how many things I am accused of being in this moment but none of them hold truth. I am simply a man who was cursed to forever live for others as punishment for trying to survive myself.

Did the Demon woman know what fates were awaiting me when she denied me forgiveness? Would it have been simpler to let that man live when he refused to share bread with me? I needed food, then. But now...

"Helloooo?" The woman clicks against the metal bars with what look like pink claws at her finger tips. Has mankind evolved? "Stop staring at me like you want to eat me. I just need to ask a few more questions then we can cut this interview short. I'm sure my boyfriend will be looking for me soon."

"I do not wish to eat you." My voice cracks, and I move forward slightly. She hesitates again, taking a step back. "What is your will, Madame?"

I must keep her talking to me. I cannot go another day in this place.

The woman grips the small box tighter, glancing behind it then back at me. Over and over. She presses a small button and a bright light flashes but is gone just as quickly as it appeared.

"My Will? Well for one thing, I would like for you to be visible on my dang camera. I can't create content and show the world what I've discovered if you're invisible." Her frustration grows with each new flash and click of the button.

At her request my body stiffens, then a rush of relief courses through my veins. My limbs become lighter allowing me to fully stand.

"Thy Will be done." The words escape my lips before I can stop them.

Her eyes focus solely on the little box, her eyebrows lowering in unison.

[writing-prompt-s]

Coming back to your apartment you prepare for a good night’s sleep. Upon laying on your bed you suddenly hear noises coming from underneath it. Carefully looking under you’re surprised to see the monster that lurked under your bed as a kid staring back at you. “Look man, I need a favor.”

[originalexcerpts]

“How much is it worth to you?” I grip the sheet a little tighter as my body threatens to fall forward. I should not have skipped arm day at the gym last week. 

Slowly, I push one hand to the ground to shift my weight, while keeping eye contact with the very thing that caused me the most trauma as a child. 

“I do not give out favors to just anyone.” The only light in the room beams from the $600 backlit headboard I just had installed. My therapist suggested having a night light to make the shadows on my walls go away. Since I like to shop and never do anything half-assed, the headboard felt right. But she never mentioned how to rid the darkness from under the bed. 

My heart thumps lazily against my chest as I try to convince myself it is just the new medicine playing tricks on me. I refuse to be scared. It is all in my head. 

“You’re talkin’ to me?” His voice was little more than a whisper, but I could make out a familiar accent. He was... country? The eyes of a cat, golden and feral, widened with his next breath. 

I freeze. He should not be responding to me. He should not be talking. Things in my head do not usually talk. What the actual fuck?

Memories flood through me, as I watch the thing creep closer. Hands--no, claws press down against my old yearbooks, leaving small incisions. 

“Stop!” The demand escapes before I can think. But he does; he stops. “You are not real. You are a figment of my imagin--” 

“I’m real. I’m absolutely real.” 

“You are a figment of my imagination. You are not here. I am dreaming. No, I am having a nightmare--”

“Real. I’m real.”

“And my therapist is going to be hearing about this next week. Maybe I should call her--”

“Listen, I need a favor. Yay or nay?” 

I stop talking with his last interruption. How am I to convince myself he is not real if me acknowledging it does not make it go away? That has been the only helpful thing all of these years. 

“Uhm, nay?” With that, I fall forward, face-first onto my hard wood floors. I hear his laughter before the pain hits me. 

“That’s whatcha get.” I want to strangle him. Maybe I will. 

I roll over, reaching out beneath the bed, but he is gone. 

“Up here!” A sudden weight against the mattress pushes it down, and the springs grunt with the shock. 

I shove myself from the floor and look up into those cat-eyes again. Now the blacks of the irises form slits. What is it he wants?

[the-noxxi]

Some writers will understand

[writing-prompt-s]

Relatable

[writing-prompt-s]

Mages are classified based on the material which they can control for magic. Stone wizards are often builders and brutes, wood wizards are guardians of the forests and libraries, fire wizards are cooks and smiths and glassmakers. You are the first blood wizard ever born.

[originalexcerpts]

I blink slowly, trying to keep a grip on whatever few moments I have left. The sky fades, and an ocean rushes violently in the distance.

No. There is no ocean. It's the blood pouring through my veins crushing every inch until I'm a deep violet. I barely have the strength to move my limbs as I try to grasp onto the hard gravel.

Is this what Mother meant when she said to draw power from within and not from others?

I try to remember her kind smile, but nothing but darkness fills my thoughts.

My world is ending for the fourth time today, and the pain finds me with each labored breath.

What is it that makes a blood wizard so special? The ability to manipulate outside and inside sources to extremes.

A fire wizard might grow tired quickly when they first start learning to use their breath for heat. And a stone wizard can lose strength from overextended muscles. But a blood wizard...

My source of power relies on the very essence of life. The one thing that does not heal in the same ways as taking a deep breath or icing an arm.

I begged the king to consider my abilities for healing long ago, but he insisted I be put on the battle field. At the front.

I killed two men earlier. I watched the blood pool from their lips and the panic fill their eyes before they could even cry out.

I fell with them. Every time I use my blood magic, I lose my own circulation. The cells freeze in my veins until I am nothing more than a blind and tired lump on the ground barely able to catch a breath. And anytime my power is used to take a life, I die. It's how the universe balances and justifies my existence. But so far I have come back each time.

And here i am once again fighting for my own life after just taking someone else's. They were a general. A leader to the neighboring forces. Not an enemy... yet. But the king gave his orders and in an attempt to save my brother from his wrath, I did what I do best. I died.

[writing-prompt-s]

Job hunts are literally that: You seek out the job you desire and kill the one who has it, or even engage them in ritual combat to claim the job as your own. You have just turned of age and desire your first minimum wage job.

[wonderlustbastard]

is writetober a thing? if not i’ll do inktober but is it?

[writing-prompt-s]

A serial killer who only kills organ donors, because her wife needs a new heart

[originalexcerpts]

Her hands tremble with each thin line marked into another victim’s flesh. Thin. Just small enough to leave a scar. Something to make it look intentional. But not by her. 

She carefully folds the bloodied weapon into a light pink cloth that was meant as a gift for her child that was never born. The child that was pulled from her in the same way that her wife soon will be if she doesn’t find a heart. 

She tucks the cloth into the pocket of her burgundy scrubs just as a call rings out over the hospital speakers: Code red. Code red in room 305. 

The young boy lay on the bed with a small blade in one hand and a flat line across his monitor. It hadn’t taken long at all for the blood to pool at the bedside. Or for Mika to press the nurse’s call button. She waited though. She waited longer than she needed to, because she was afraid what would happen if he was revived before she could take his heart. 

Each kill is more painful than the last. The fears of being alone forever shadowing her every thought. If she were caught, she’d be imprisoned and helpless. If she couldn’t find a match, her wife would leave her behind. 

The world was a cruel place, but sometimes it leads us to be things that it knows we need. Mika became a nurse at a young age, because she wanted to save lives. Little did she know the life she would be saving would cost several others theirs. 

[originalexcerpts]

I made a short ACOTAR fanfiction of Rhys and Y/N. It takes place several centuries after Feyre dies in a war. You purchase her human home in a town near an ocean and find Rhys sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean from your backyard.

I couldn't sleep so here you go:

I slid the pale pink robe tighter across my chest as the wind rustled by. The night was colder than any I had experienced since moving here a few weeks ago.

I knew I would need a new coat for winter with how close to the ocean the property was.

It was almost a dream the day the house went on the market. I had been scouring local ads for months, just praying something would be available. My new writing job required plenty of time at home and in a city like Vickzens, it was difficult to find something that wasnt a 2-story walk up in the city center. I didnt need any distractions. Which is why the moment this place went on the market I called immediately.

It didnt take much convincing for the seller to turn over the keys. She said the place had been in her family for years, but no one lived there. It wasnt until her grandmother passed a three months ago that she was even allowed to list it. She said her family had some weird attachment to it, and that I was more than welcome to take it off her hands. It was only her and her children left anyways, and they had spent too much time in this city, at her grandmother's nursing home, to be good for their mental health.

I felt bad for her, and gave my condolences, but a part of me was really thankful to her as well.

I moved in a few days later, and barely cared to notice the chipped wood floors or broken chandelier in the main entryway. The walls were dusty, but still held a magnificent glow from the gold flecked paint. There were murals along the stairwell of stars and the moon. Little crevices threatened to peel away at the paint, where the stairs had expanded over the years. That only meant the wood was real.

Small drawings done in what I believe was crayon and pencils swirled throughout three of the bedrooms. Maybe there were children here once.

Each room had it's own fireplace, and each fireplace had it's own story to tell. From flames and glittering silvers that almost formed blades, to flowers and autumn leaves.

The kitchen exploded with gold in the sink, the cabinetry, and the thin lines throughout the marbled countertops. How was I able to afford this place?

You could barely see the aging of the bathroom tiles beneath what I believe were hand stitched rugs. The thread pulled in places, but shared images of sunset intertwined with nightfall.

An artist. The original owner, or those who followed, had to have been an artist.

I made my way through the cobblestone trail leading from the back door towards the cliff's edge. My hair whipped against my cheek, but the ocean's waves lulled me closer.

The garden behind me now must have once been amazing. Hedges, withered from the seasons, line the stone path way and lead out on both sides to stone statues and tall old trees. I remember gasping when I saw it for the first time in daylight. But then the fireflies and lanterns glowed that first night and I fell in love. I decided then and there that I would try to find any bit of green my thumb could offer. I wanted to remake it. I wanted to see it for what it originally was.

It's been a few weeks now, and it definitely has a long way to go, but I almost dont want to go back inside at the end of each day. Anytime I take a break from writing, i am right back in the garden plowing away the weeds and planting fresh life.

I close my eyes and listen for a moment as the wind rocks the sea and little insects hum. This is my life, now. I get to be free from the bustling outside world and forget the heartbreak that led me to running away in the first place.

When I opened my eyes the moon was half hidden behind the clouds. I turned to go back inside, but then I saw him. A dark shadow of a man resting against a stone bench less than twenty feet away.

I was supposed to be alone here. I owned the land for miles.

Fear raked through me as I debated confronting him. What if he was dangerous? Should I call the police? What would the police even do?

Just as I stepped back to hurry inside, he swiftly moved from bench. His frame faced me, but I couldnt make out any features other than his impressive height.

"Who-who are you?" My words were choked, and I wasnt sure he could even hear me.

He didnt say a word, but I saw his shoulders straighten.

Then he was moving forward. He was walking towards me in the most graceful and demanding way I had ever seen.

I wanted to run. I wanted to cry. But I couldnt. I just stayed completely still while trying to convince myself I wasnt insane and that this man wasnt a murderer.

"Hello, dear," he stopped just far enough in front of me to half-bow and take my hand. His lips brush my knuckles before he released it. "Why is it that you're here?"

Why am I here?? This is my house. Why is he here??

The words werent forming, but he nodded his head anyways.

"I use to know someone that lived here once. A long time ago." The clouds released the moonlight just enough for me to glimpse sadness in those deep violet eyes. "Forgive me for intruding. I was unaware that Janna relinquished the deed."

So, he knows the woman who sold me the house? I wonder what relation they had. She looks much older than him, from what I can tell. But it's almost hard to determine his age. Part of him screams ancient and deadly, but his features are so beautiful and delicate that he couldnt be more than mid-twenties.

"I'm flattered you think so." He chuckled and looked away. "I have known Janna all her life. This home belonged to a distant ancestor of hers. But was abandoned some time after her death." He walked towards the cliff. "War is a cruel cruel thing." His inflections were playful. Dangerous. But his words were heartbreaking.

I wanted to reach out to him. To touch him. Comfort him. But I couldnt move. My feet were almost glued to the spot.

"Why do you come back here if it reminds you of something sad," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He turned back to me, and was now fully drench I'm the light of the moon. It seemed to almost glow from within him. His dark hair was riddled with loose curls, and his purple suit was nearly the shade of dusk.

"A dear family member's funeral brought me to town not too long ago, and I havent wanted to leave, since."

The wind picked up with his last word and my robe parted slightly. I watched his eyes trail below my chin and immediately wrapped myself up again. Pervert.

"There is blood across the base of your neck." It was almost a reply, but couldnt have been, because the word never left my lips.

Before I could lift a finger, he already had my chin in his hands and was wiping away the cut with a silk white cloth. How had he moved so quickly?

"You should be more careful, dear." With that, he slipped the cloth into a pocket and disappeared. There were specks of glittering dust and shadows where he once was.

Was it just a dream? Had he been an illusion?

Who was that man?

[originalexcerpts]

Here’s the beginning to Part 2 of this FanFic: 

In the following days, I realized that it was, in fact, just a dream. Someone that beautiful and quick would only be possible in my imagination. The stress from the move and from writing for hours on end each day must have gotten to me.

I spent the next few afternoons avoiding the outdoors, keeping busy with my writing and cleaning up some of the rooms. Winter nights tore through my garden, taking anything with a new life away. A strong sense begged me to leave them be. I couldn't explain what the sensation was, but it was enough to keep me cooped up inside for longer than I would have liked to admit. 

The home must have been abandoned long ago, because the Ocean winds were vicious and unforgiving. I tried to let the fear and darkness inspire me.

For more of this story, and more like this please consider following my Patreon page ♥ 

https://www.patreon.com/RuthieV 

[originalexcerpts]

Writing Exercise

Describing a tree:

The dawn brought with it an angry autumn breeze, shedding golden leaves until bare branches twirled broken and dark against gray-green skies. Their tendrils grasping for something just out of reach. 

Near the roots, sat May. A broken porcelain doll whose agenda in life was to frighten away crows, and occasionally myself. Those empty, motionless yellow eyes send a shiver down my spine. I wish I could say she felt sadness for the coming season, but she is just a broken thing, protecting another broken thing.

The moss spreading from the tree’s trunk threatens to consume her blonde hair. 

Birds call out, reminding me that this isn’t a social visit. There was work to be done in harvesting branches for the winter months. I was instructed to never cut more than a few branches. For with its final pleas to the skies above, it will be reborn anew. 

Another gust of wind pushes hair across my face as it retrieves the final leaf from its branch just a few feet above May’s head. 

[originalexcerpts]

Hi Everyone!

Times have been crazy tough since COVID, which I’m sure a lot of you are experiencing as well. I’m trying to cover some bills while applying for like a million jobs, but until I get one I’m doing a Patreon account. 

My Patreon will consist of original short stories and requested fanfiction. If you want me to write you into a story or just create one for you, please donate to my Patreon and let me know what you’d like! 

I’ll keep it updated weekly (if not more) and am more than willing to continue stories on there that I start on here if that’s something you would be interested in. 

I’ll be continuing my ACOTAR Fanfiction on there. 

Here’s the link to my page https://www.patreon.com/RuthieV

Your support is truly appreciated ♥

[writing-prompt-s]

A long time ago, the gods made a bet as to who would be summoned first by a random string of words. Millennia later, out of all the incoherent nonsense that’s been spouted in your lifetime, you accidentally summon one.

[originalexcerpts]

"Hades's dick, it's hot out here." I rub the sweat from my chin and watch the Sun pass behind the smallest cloud.

"You rang?" A meak voice caresses my ear. I quickly spin around and smash noses with...

"What the fuck? Who are you?" He casually wipes at his deep blue nose with a matching deep blue hand.

The sunlight twinkled against his skin, forming a glow that resembles a flame.

"I am Hades. God of the Underworld." His voice came out louder and more playful this time. Fuck fuck fuck. How do I get rid of this psycho without him murdering me?

"So... that's cool. But I've really got to get back to work. Those horses won't milk themselves." I move to run before I even realize what I just said.

The farm is only a couple of yards away. Surely, I could outrun him.

I take a step and run smack into something hard. My hand roams the rock-like wall as my eyes adjust from the impact. There is a silk fabric and a deep warmth. This isn't a wall.

He clears his throat and I can feel the rumble from where my head rests on his chest.

"And where do you think you're off to, love?" I don't dare make eye contact. How am I supposed to get away from him?

[writing-prompt-s]

I asked you to “sign me the fuck up”, not “assign me the fuck-up,”

[originalexcerpts]

Maron stumbled across the room in shoes that were a half size too big.

"Sir, can't we talk about this?" Jack pressed a palm to his forehead, then mumbled, "She's going to take out all of the other employees before even reaching us.

As if on cue, Maron tripped into the arms of a security guard. He caught his footing, keeping them from pummeling to the ground.

"Thank you! I'm so sorry!" Her cheeks were flushed and she squinted up at her savior. "I--I can't see without my glasses."

"Sir, she didn't even come to her first day with her glasses!" Jack threw his hands up in defeat. He and his boss watched the security guard straighten with his grasp still on Maron's shoulders.

Small curls had come loose from her top-knot, and the strap of her shirt was sliding off one shoulder.

Jack moved quickly to the guard and Maron. "Look, if we're going to work together Ms. Hail, then you should at least put some effort into your appearance." Once the guard released her, Jack pushed her strap back onto her shoulder then led her away by the elbow.

"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" Maron stared up at him with sapphire eyes. "Wait--" she blinked a few times and squinted, "Jack, is that you?"

Jack sighed and stopped walking. "Yes, Maron. I'm your supervisor for the time being. Terra had a family emergency so she'll be out of commission for a few months."

"So you volunteered to take her position? Or were you assigned?" Jack released Maron's elbow. And looked down at her. She had that same frazzled look about her that he knew so well. It'd been years since they last spoke. They'd gone their separate ways after college.

"Both. I knew the department needed extra hands in the field so I took the opportunity given. But I had no idea we would be working together." Maron smiled at that. Part of her wanted to believe in fate. She never wanted to say goodbye all those years ago. But she could feel Jack slipping away, and knew their friendship wouldn't last much longer if she didn't give him space.

Jack started walking again, and Maron dutifullied followed. Until she tripped on her shoe again and knocked Jack face first into the copy machine on her way down.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself.

[originalexcerpts]

Sunlight slips in through the growing cracks in the wall. What year is it?

I used to leave marks or ask the guards, but it stopped mattering the moment they abandoned me. They feared what they didn’t understand and as time passed, they forgot me completely.

The rain brings me peace of mind during the summer seasons when the heat is almost too much to bare. But nothing stops the nawimg hunger from reminding me how fragile my body truly is.

If they had continued their “experiments” would they have somehow found the cure for my curse? What was it that made them decide to never return?

I press a palm to the cold stone wall and feel the stickiness of the growing moss. Is this edible?

I take a pinch and slowly bring it to my meet my tongue.

Gross. I spit it out immediately and take a mental note never to eat slime again.

“Hello?!” A female voice calls from the deep within the prison. I’m supposed to be alone.

My heart starts racing. Is this it? Will I finally be freed?

“Ha ha! I told you the spirits wouldn’t answer you.” A male voice.

“Shut up, Mac. You’ve heard the stories, too. There’s something down here. I just know it.” She sounds young, but it’s been a while since I’ve heard another person’s voice. Maybe they’re not even here. Maybe my mind has finally started to break down.

“Here, hold the camera.” Camera? What is a camera?

“Listen, June. I think we should head back. It gets pretty dark up there and I don’t think I can navigate a maze like this without more light.” He sounds almost nervous.

“I am not giving up! This is exactly what happened with the Caty Mines when you chickened out. If you want to leave, then go. But I’m staying.”

“Fine! But I’m keeping the camera. We haven’t finished paying it off, and if you die I don’t want to be without my source of income.” I hear clicking sounds like heavy objects hitting the ground and moving.

“Whatever. Just go. Maybe I won’t see you in my next life.” If only she knew there was only one life. It’s the only reason I became what I am today.

Heavy footsteps retreat in the other directions. But lighter steps make their way towards me.

Should I hide? Or should I try making contact? I don’t know if this cell is better or worse than the old “experiments”. But what I do know is I have to choose soon.

[originalexcerpts]

Note: Thank you so much for reading! I would love to continue this ♥

Continued...

The footsteps move closer. 

I can hear that the girl is muttering, but I can only make out a few words: stupid...arrogant...spirits. 

She believes in spirits? What sort of religion does she follow, I wonder. A few centuries ago she would have been burnt at the stake for trying to communicate with spirits.

I know little of the world’s changes, and only thanks to the occasional new prisoner. They never last long down here, with the sicknesses and mind problems. 

I once witnessed a man slam his head into the steel bars enough times to never open his eyes again. For some, death is the better choice. But for me... 

“Please, if you’re in here...” the girl’s voice is almost to my cell. “I just want to talk. I’ve heard stories.” 

I wonder what kind of stories she could have possibly heard. Before I was sentenced here they called me a murderer, a liar, and a thief. The lengths people will go to in order to rid the world of something they do not understand. 

I dip further into the shadows of my cell. The light streaming in through the cracks was barely enough to create shadows in the first place. 

“I promise to give you a good rap!” What does she mean? Is that a beating of some sort? 

A light shines past the outer bars and I almost rush to greet it. Strangely, it doesn’t flicker in the same way a torch does. I’ve heard the stories of electricity from the other prisoner’s, but the guards never bothered to upgrade this atrocious place. 

Would it burn me if I touched it? I never thought to ask before, but now that I face the threat, I should have. 

I watch the darkness pull away beneath the light, and soon enough a figure moves past the outer cell. 

“Here.” I barely whisper the words before I can cup a hand over my mouth. My throat is parched and my voice is shake-y, but there word must have been clear enough.

The figure whirls to face the outer bars, shining her light deep within my cell. I hide just out of reach. 

“Who’s there?” The light shifts rapidly. She’s shaking. 

I try to clear my throat, but it only makes it burn. “Am I not...” I reach a hand towards the light, barely touching it with the tip of my finger. We both gasp at the same time. It doesn’t burn. “...the one you seek?” 

I fully step into the light, averting my eyes as best I can until they adjust. 

The light drops to the floor and rolls against the bars, illuminating the figure. 

Her hair is a deep brown with a matching shade in her eyes. She’s much older than I imagined. Possibly in her later twenties. She won’t have much longer to live with the diseases of this world. 

Her body is thin, almost as small as my own. It is impossible to say if she, too, has not eaten for a long time. 

“I--I,” her eyes swell with tears as she fumbles towards the flashlight. “I thought the prison was empty. I didn’t know--” she grabs the light and nearly blinds me when she stands back up. 

“You are mistaken, then.” I straighten as best I can, but the soreness in my shoulders from centuries of malnutrition and little exercise weighs me down. 

“I can see that.” Her voice is soothing. It has been so long since I’ve heard another’s voice. I must keep her talking. 

“Have you come to see me or not, Madame?” I make a move towards the inner bars, but she steps back, so I halt. 

“Don’t come any closer.” There is fear and anger intertwined in her words. Am I that horrific? Or maybe she has heard too much of my past. 

“I am Varren. Surely you must know that.” 

She closes the space between her and the outer bars, her hand nearly touching the lock. I can now see that there is a rusted key pressed in. I don’t recall anyone ever trying to free me. Where could it have come from?

“The Varren?” She doesn’t try to move the key. “As in the serial killer? The one that everyone says can’t be killed?” 

I nod my head. 

“Very funny, pal. I know a misguided Spirit when I see one.” She tucks her hand into a bag that I hadn’t seen her holding until now. She pulls out some strange square contraption. “Wait until the world catches a glimpse of June the Spirit Ward at it again.” 

“I am not a Spirit, Madame.” An ache starts to form in my chest as I remember the very woman who cursed me centuries ago. She was a Spirit. She was also deceitful. A vial woman, or demon, or Spirit... or whatever it is that people call them. It burns me to think this woman compares me to that. 

“Whatever, dude.” She points another light towards me from the small contraptions. “Whoa...” she studies the thing, then looks to me. Then back at it again. “You’re not here.” 

I am not sure what she means, but I continue arguing anyways, “I am not a Spirit, and you should release me at once. I have been imprisoned wrongfully. I do not belong here.” 

“What are you?” She continues to hold the thing up while point the light at me. I inch closer. This time she doesn’t back away. 

“I am Varren. The last of my name. And the first of my name.” I decide that some information should not be reveled on (the Demon woman), and make the information more digestible. “I was born into this world four centuries past. Until my will and the will of others is done, I cannot leave this world.” 

“So... you’re like, what? A Djinn?” A Djinn? What is that? 

She presses the key and wiggles it until I hear the latch unlock. The metals scrapes against the stone floors. 

“If your will needs to be done, meaning you need someone to do it for you... and you need to do the will of others... then that makes you a Genie.” I know not what a Genie is, but her words hold some truth. 

[writing-prompt-s]

You’ve lived on Grandpa’s humble farm your whole life. But Grandpa’s on his last days now and you’re expecting a few people to come say their last goodbyes. 12 kings, 8 dragons, 4 emperors, some minor deities, and many others later, you got more than a few questions for Grandpa.

[originalexcerpts]

Turns out your Grandpa was God and your dad was Jesus.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself.

[originalexcerpts]

Sunlight slips in through the growing cracks in the wall. What year is it?

I used to leave marks or ask the guards, but it stopped mattering the moment they abandoned me. They feared what they didn't understand and as time passed, they forgot me completely.

The rain brings me peace of mind during the summer seasons when the heat is almost too much to bare. But nothing stops the nawimg hunger from reminding me how fragile my body truly is.

If they had continued their "experiments" would they have somehow found the cure for my curse? What was it that made them decide to never return?

I press a palm to the cold stone wall and feel the stickiness of the growing moss. Is this edible?

I take a pinch and slowly bring it to my meet my tongue.

Gross. I spit it out immediately and take a mental note never to eat slime again.

"Hello?!" A female voice calls from the deep within the prison. I'm supposed to be alone.

My heart starts racing. Is this it? Will I finally be freed?

"Ha ha! I told you the spirits wouldn't answer you." A male voice.

"Shut up, Mac. You've heard the stories, too. There's something down here. I just know it." She sounds young, but it's been a while since I've heard another person's voice. Maybe they're not even here. Maybe my mind has finally started to break down.

"Here, hold the camera." Camera? What is a camera?

"Listen, June. I think we should head back. It gets pretty dark up there and I don't think I can navigate a maze like this without more light." He sounds almost nervous.

"I am not giving up! This is exactly what happened with the Caty Mines when you chickened out. If you want to leave, then go. But I'm staying."

"Fine! But I'm keeping the camera. We haven't finished paying it off, and if you die I don't want to be without my source of income." I hear clicking sounds like heavy objects hitting the ground and moving.

"Whatever. Just go. Maybe I won't see you in my next life." If only she knew there was only one life. It's the only reason I became what I am today.

Heavy footsteps retreat in the other directions. But lighter steps make their way towards me.

Should I hide? Or should I try making contact? I don't know if this cell is better or worse than the old "experiments". But what I do know is I have to choose soon.

[writing-prompt-s]

In the world you grew up in, telepaths are an accepted reality, but are not common. A friend of yours introduces you to a cousin,who is a telepath. Having been intrigued all your life, you ask if they will do a scan on you. Moments after connecting, they recoil in terror asking, “what are you?”

[originalexcerpts]

Pain radiates through my temples with each step he takes back.

“What do you mean?” The world starts shifting and I glimpse his right hand making a fist.

“What are you doing? Make it STOP!” My hands push in against the pain, but it’s far too deep to reach. My mouth was still moving, trying to form words, but everything inside of me started to burn.

My friend was mimicking his cousin’s screams, but no sound came.

Then there was blood. My hands drenched in the sticky red liquid.

I tried to focus on where the blood was coming from, but I couldn’t see past my palms.

Calm down. It’ll be alright. The words were like a caress against my mind. But they weren’t my own.

Take a deep breath and relax. I tried imagining the voice that formed the words, but it didn’t exist. It was my own, but not my own.

I concentrated on my palms, watching as the blood disappeared.

The world shifted back into place slowly, and my friend’s screams echoed throughout the bedroom.

I could see his cousin huddled in the corner staring at me.

“You’re–” he moved to stand so quickly that I questioned if he had other powers beyond telepathy. “You’re a Nightmare!”

“I–i don’t know what happened. I’m sorry,” the words little more than a whisper. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and back away until I meet a wall.

“I thought your kind were a myth,” the cousin walked towards me. “But there’s no other way to explain what you just did!”

He was getting too close. Was he still reading my mind?

“I don’t know what I just did. What are you talking about?” He was now inches away from me.

“You–” his hand found mine and he lifted towards my face. “Look, what do you see?”

It was just my palm. The blood was gone. Was that my imagination? Surely blood didn’t just disappear.

“I’m not following.”

He squeezed my hand once before letting it fall back to my side. There was something charming in the way he was getting frustrated. He pushed the dark locks covering his face backwards and left his hand resting in there.

“You can make people see things. Things that often come from their past.” I watched the muscle in his jaw flex as he looked to his cousin. “Thats why what you’re is called a Nightmare.”

A Nightmare. What a lovely thing to be called when your life basically revolves around people pleasing.

[originalexcerpts]

Note: Thank you so much for reading this and liking it ♥♥ / Also, I realize that I didn’t edit the last piece before posting and there is a shift in tense. I’ll try to keep this in the same tense!

continued... 

“But if that’s true, then--” I thought back to the blood. If what I saw was part of his past, what does that mean? I tucked a hand in my pocket and searched for my cellphone. Google must have the answers. 

“Zeek,” My friend’s voice was low and almost unrecognizable. Had they seen what we just saw, too? I caught her gaping at me when I finally retrieved my phone. “Zeek, how did she?” The question wasn’t for me, but she didn’t dare look away. 

I pressed into my phone, typing away the first question that came to mind: What are Nightmares? 

I didn’t even realize how silly that was until the results popped up with links to health blogs about the science behind dreams. 

Zeek’s hand calmly rested on mine as he lowered my phone. I looked up into his deep brown eyes, seeing the concern for the first time. It wasn’t the same terror or frustration from a few moments ago. 

“I can’t let you do that, Rin.” Do what? Had he known I was Googling something? Of course! He’s a telepath... “Yes, I am. And as a long as you’re calm, we won’t have a repeat of what just happened.” 

My friend moved closer, but stayed behind Zeek. What I showed her must have been so horrific. I saw the blood, but was that what they both saw, too? Zeek could have easily read my mind to know the blood was there, and that’s why he pointed it out when it disappeared. What did they see? 

“We saw the same things you did.” Zeek removed the phone from my hand, gently. “But with it being our past, we have a deeper emotional connection to it than you. It can be jarring to relive past traumas.” I started to somewhat understand. But why did it happen? Had I truly never been around a Telepath before for this to not have happened? Surely, I would have realized what I was sooner. Maybe they really are as rare as the media claims. 

“While it is true that we’re rare, it is highly unlikely that you’ve never come across one before. Just as I’m able to read your mind now, they would have been able to, as well.” Zeek handed the phone to my friend and she tucked it into the back pocket of her ripped jeans. 

“I’m going to need you both to speak normally.” Her words came out in that familiar pushy tone. She must be calming down. Even with her growing temper, she remained half-hidden behind Zeek. It must be frustrating with all of my questions being voiced in my head rather than aloud. 

I sighed. “I’m just confused. That’s all.” 

Zeek half smiled and patted my head. 

“What did you both see? And--” I saw the outline of my phone in my friend’s pocket. “Why did you take my phone?” 

My friend started biting her nails. Which is something she only does when she’s hiding something. 

“You anxiety is what caused the Nightmare.” He moved his hand away from my head and looked back at his cousin. “You both knew I was going to be reading your mind, so you got nervous. That nervous energy must be what triggered the episode.” He looked back at me. Those chocolatey eyes studied my face. “If you hadn’t calmed down when you did, things would have gotten much worse.”

Why did I calm down? Oh, right. The voice. Well, not a voice, really, but the words that strung through my mind. 

“Voice?” Zeek’s eyebrows dipped and I couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or confusion. 

“Yeah, there were words in my head that told me everything was going to be alright. But they weren’t really my own. At least, I don’t think they were.” 

Zeek turned his back to me. “Are you a Telepath, Lea?” My friend paused and stopped biting at her nails. 

“Wouldn’t I have told you something like that a long time ago?” She placed a hand to her hip and waved a finger towards me. “I’m not a freak like the both of you. Leave me out of whatever blame game you’re about to start.”

I watched his shoulders tense and his breathing slow. “Someone else is here,” he whispered.