#acewriter

[acewriter]

Short story

I created this in December 2024 and promptly forgot about it. So I figured I'd share.

[acewriter]

Just wanted to document this. Not sure if I'll ever see this post after tonight. But I was given the link to a literary magazine. The deadline is December 21st (I was given this on the 15th, so that would mean 6 days to get something out of my head).

I spent a good chunk of today just figuring out WHAT the heck I was going to write.

I left my apartment and got to a cafe to write for about an hour. Then I got home and kept typing until I got to the special scene I was building up to. And I stopped at 2,142 words for my initial draft. Which is pretty wild.

If I were a stats gal, I would've written down when I wrote 3,600 words in a day. That was like two years ago. Today I wrote 2,142 in two hours. That's 1,072/hr.

I think I'm gonna sleep on it before I rewrite it tomorrow, send it to a Good Friend™️ whomst is the best writer friend in the world, and spruce up this short story before the deadline.

[acewriter]

Fae Area Rapid Transit, part 1

Word count: 1,401

Notes:

I'm trying to have more stories than the witchy one I've created through the Flash Fiction Friday prompts. This one came to me while on a ride back from the first ever BART Anime Festival.

There's a mention of a panic attack as the character realizes he's not where he should be; he is brought to another world throughout the story. I don't believe it's all around that intense, but wanted to warn sensitive readers to this fact. Thank you.

Substack video - I have a video where I read my story aloud. But otherwise it's all here.

***

Isaac tapped his Clipper Card to enter the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART for short). He was in San Francisco (the city for short) and he had to get out. It was the Embarcadero entrance and he ignored the smells around him. These smells were a deterrence that kept him from staying in this part of the city. The sun had gone down and was in bed with Karl the Fog. It made him jealous that he wasn’t with Richard right now. But no! He had to stay late today at the office.

It was a long day. He hated today. It needed to burn. Or at least talk it out to his boyfriend of several years. It was Tuesday, the only day that could beat Monday.

He huffed as he sat down. Pausing, Isaac looked at his surroundings to make sure there weren’t any puddles or streams on the seats or floor of what he usually hoped was water. Nothing, not even any pungent smells. There wasn’t even anyone on this train. He looked at his watch. It was well after Fuck This World O'Clock. He couldn't focus with this aching back, and couldn't wait to get home to Richard and talk things through with him. Generally he loved being in his mid-thirties, but today he regretted everything except his choice in men.

Take me down to the Paradise City

Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.

Take me home (I want you, please, take me home)

He loved the old rock'n'roll songs of his youth. Richard always poked fun at his preference in music. He needed updated playlists from recent artists. Isaac didn't think too hard about it. Oldie rock stations were his favorite. It's how he unwound after work. Since he was now dating a fine distinguished gentleman, though, he found himself mentally correcting some of the language in his favorite 80s songs. Paradise City, for example, became "where the grass is green and the BOYS are pretty." It was simple but effective. Plus it helped with his own mental music video with Richard in a Speedo... That was his first smile that day since leaving home.

He coughed and looked out the window. He expected to see the street lamps swooshing by like fireflies by now. They had been in the Transbay Tube that went into East Bay for a while. It was hella noisy. He still had a few stops left until Berkeley. At least, that’s what he thought.

There was a chime and a voice came on. It was a voice he'd heard before; the person manning the subway car. It was always muffled, and it always came on at transfer points. Only, the next stop was supposed to be West Oakland. There wouldn't be a transfer point for several stops. He started listening to the voice.

"...once again we apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you and we wish you a well night."

Isaac looked up toward the ceiling. That was the strangest wording ever. Usually they said “have a good night.” He sighed and put his headphones back in his ear.

I'll pay you at another time/take it to the end of the line

A pang hit his stomach. Then some light nausea. He looked over toward the end of the subway car, at the LED sign that announced where the next stop was.

Oh, won't you please take me home? Yeah-yeah

came out of his earbuds. The music was ramping up and getting faster. Just like the subway, he noticed. The screeching largely stopped, but the white noise created from the movement on the tracks didn’t let up at all.

The LED sign was acting very strange. "Welcome to the Fae Area."

He shook his head. He thought it was the BAY Area. What... what was the Fae?

Why I'm here, I can't quite remember

the song was skipping around. Or did he have it on repeat? Fuck, he just wanted to be home already and talk to Richard. He'd quit smoking a year ago, but now he wanted one to calm this anxiety sneaking up on him. His hands started shaking. Listening to the intense part of the song probably didn't help, either.

Oh, won't you please take me home?

kept ringing in his ears. The song became too intense. He looked outside and it was a kaleidoscope of color. This made him even more nauseous. He took out his headphones and looked down at the floor.

A pair of muddy boots now appeared before him. He didn’t look up as a hand came into his line of site. Isaac was now in a full blown panic attack.

"I don't have anything," he said, a little too loudly. He looked up when the hand didn’t budge. It was an old man with a long pale face and even longer beard. The guy looked like a magician and was smiling. It was very off-putting.

"No change? No name or anything?" the man asked.

"Why are you asking for a name?" Isaac asked. He was sure he was going to throw up now. Paradise City seemed to be playing on the speakers of the subway now. The screech of the rails caught both of their attention. The old man looked away first. Isaac looked over toward the window opposite him. There were street lamps again, but it looked like they were flying all over the place. Like actual fireflies. Many lights seemed to stay within the confines of the windows, as if they were screensavers.

"Now arriving at the FART Station, City Central," came the sultry voice of the... FART?

"What the hell is fart?" he looked ahead, fully expecting the man to still be in front of him, laughing. As if Isaac would realize this was some elaborate prank being played on him. But he was now gone.

The sultry voice of BART answered his question instead.

"This is the Fae Area Rapid Transit. Your subway between the mortal realm and the Fae World. And this is your stop, Isaac.” How did this voice know to talk to him? And why did she know his name?

The subway now screeched to a halt, the doors opened. He slowly stood up and looked out the door. He was in an enclosed hallway, like most underground BART stations. Except most of the tiles were a shiny black. There was a line of white tiles that came toward the doors to a guiding (and glowing?) line toward the exit.

"The doors are closing," came the voice. "Please stand clear of the door."

He stepped off out of instinct and self preservation. The doors did indeed close, and aggressively. The... FART subway quickly made its way to the next station. It disappeared into the night sky. Which, looking up, seemed strangely different from the pin pricks of light he usually saw on clear nights in the Bay Area. Instead there were even more stars. Everywhere.

He looked behind him for a sign; a glowing one or a tiled one. SOMEthing. But all he found was a sign saying Welcome to the Fae World.

The smells were the next thing he noticed. They were completely alien to him. But his mind attempted to make sense of them anyway. Instead of the earthy ones that mingled in with the human smells, there was a mix of earth with sweetness. It almost tasted like chocolate, his favorite candy. Almost like something was trying to lure him somewhere.

I wanna go / I wanna know /

I want you / please take me home

And as Paradise City came to a close, the only words he could muster mimicked the last stanza of the song. He started crying out of exhaustion and frustration that such a stupid thing could happen. He fell to his knees in front of the sign.

"I want you, Richard. Please just fucking take me home," he screamed, hoping someone would help. He screamed again, and only then did he notice his phone was buzzing. He allowed his shaking hands a moment before reaching into his pockets to produce his phone. On the lock screen the song finally changed to a different one: I Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany.

Amazingly it still had cell coverage. And there was a text from Richard.

"You almost home? I wanna cuddle tonight."

Which made him cry even harder.

[acewriter]

This is one of those "life" things that I'll be talking about for a little while.

I'm in a creative writing class. The semester is nearly done. And one of the last assignments is to go to a literary event and review it.

Reviewing the chosen event is going to be very interesting.

I went to a poetry slam. Tonight happened to be the last night in a months-long competition. Twas a poetry competition. And the hostess needed some volunteer judges. After the first round of asking, they said " I WILL peer pressure you" in that jokey way that many a host does to create energy for the evening. And it was repeated naught 5 minutes later. There were only two volunteers thus far.

I found myself saying "fuck it" and raising my hand. What the hell am I doing, I asked my Self. Truly, I think this was a people-pleaser move going on. (Side note: I've been working to NOT be a people-pleaser, and then THIS shit happens...)

I become the third judge. Then two more people swiftly volunteer afterward.

The rest of the night is a blur of rules and numbers and yelling and screaming for the crowd's favorite poet on stage. It's three rounds, eight poets, and a singular Final round. No pressure. Also (ALSO!) there are some of the best outfits rocked by fellow non-binary people I've seen in a minute.

When I come home, I start a voice memo and do my best to recount certain details. I'll need that for my review. Hell, I'll need this post for my review. It's after midnight, and I have to get ready for class tomorrow.

I hope to go back at least one more time before summer classes start. Because I need to read some poetry on that stage.

[acewriter]

Emotional Plumber

This is a poem I wrote for my creative writing class. We were encouraged to write about our writers block or frustrations in a journal of some sort. And one day I did exactly that.

Emotional Plumber

I am an emotional plumber Words often get stuck in all of us and hurts the most when I myself cannot unstick these thoughts

We form groups to learn the tools of the trade keyboards and language dictionary and thesaurus notebooks bringing order out of chaos

But there’s plenty of psychology that can wrench us back into better shape

Ever writer needs to become an emotional plumber Learn how to diagnose a clog and get those pesky loose letters out of the way

Water and words flow exactly the same we have found ways to guide them in pipes But need regular maintenance in order to regulate water emotions properly

Systems that purify and cleanse Editors that support and strengthen manuscripts No matter the format the possibilities are endless

But the water —no, tears —no, emotions block memories and clog the sinks of my mind

My Inner Editor rants and raves about not having the perfect draft out NOW I put on my hat that simply says EP

I push the Editor aside and stare at the room filling up with words and letters

Some bump into each other malodorous sucks terrible and stinks up the room

See there’s your problem I say to my Inner Editor You’re so critical the emotional tap is always on overwhelming the Writer

They scoff and look at me their face shifting between every judgemental person from mom to terrible managers

The brain smells rotten from this clog I work to clean up the awful words then the sink and eventually the emotions drain normally again

I switch hats again EP to Writer and tell the Editor how to take care of the sink

[acewriter]

I am about to start a new semester of school, and I didn't know how happy that would make me. It's been roughly 13 years since I got my first degree. I'm applying for grad school in Europe (which is less exciting, but I have a lot of motivation to gtfo of the US and learn stuff).

I'm also about to get an eye exam, get tested for autism (maybe some other things), and have found a love for fountain pens and notebooks never seen before. Today feels like the breath you take before you make a leap of faith in, like, an Indiana Jones movie or something.

Things have been shit in a lot of ways, but suddenly they're looking great. Or at least they will once I get my prescription updated.

[acewriter]

There are times when people start posting or talking about when they were younger. I grew up being forced to accept gender roles. So anytime the Lore™️ gets dropped my mind thinks of two songs simultaneously.

When I was a Young Warthog from The Lion King and the Black Parade, especially the first line “when I was a young man.” They both play on their own whilst I listen to the lore being presented to me. And I’m happy.

Because both songs are trans as far as I’m concerned. And the lore? I feel trusted enough to be given someone’s history, even if it’s a quick summary.

Sometimes people see me and are confused when I make the MCR reference. And there is much rejoicing. For I add to the Great Gender Confusion.

May all your lore drops be sufficiently weird.

[aroacephotographer]

I’ve checked out several books from the library in an effort to become more fluent auf Deutsche.

I took a fluency test for A1 yesterday. I didn’t know this but that’s the low levels for competency. Where you can get by with simple phrases and understand others well enough for everyday conversations or travel.

I got a 54%. Considering I haven’t really utilized German since college a lifetime ago, I’d say this is a decent start. And now I have something to compare myself to.

So I’m gonna hit the books.

But that’s not all! I mentioned in another post that I’m applying for college. Thats for an art class. And I may sign up for a short semester that begins October 20th. Which changes some plans but not my wedding plans.

I have a writing blog, but it feels fine to post on main since I’m sharing photos and attaching the story to them.