#fff52

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

It’s Sunny! It’s Shinny! It’s Flashfiction Friday, honey!✨✨✨✨

Never heard of Flash Fiction Friday before? No problem, stranger. The collective is here to help you with everything you need to know to participate

So what is FlashFictionFriday on our blog all about?✨✨✨ It’s a fun writer-event that’s meant to inspire, share and connect writings of all genres and writers of all ages. It’s designed to make people want to write, especially if they’re feeling blocked. Everyone and everything is welcome!

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Write between 100-1000 words. It also can be a fan fiction or poetry entry. Just tag fan fiction and 18+ stories accordingly.

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Here come the wonderful, stormy and lovely fics of last week. ✨✨✨

A Flash Encounter – by @fields-of-ink​

Summer Storms – by @aubade-things​

The Hands of Destruction – by @charles-joseph-writes​

Summer Gala – by @writingamongthecoloredroses​

Chosen Wrong – by @stories-by-rie​

Summer Storms – by @miriamandvictoria​

Cold Storm and Warm Tears – by @soul-write​

Rain makes Mud – by @phantom-does-a-thing​

The Overwhelming Capability – by @enchanted-lightning-aes​

Storms – by @im-a-oddball​

Summer Storms – by @snow-rosie​

Summer Storms – by  @the-great-teller-of-tales​

Summer Storms – by  @linariouswrites​

A Shard of Ice in the Rain – by  @wolfishwrites​

Summer Storms – by @atbwrites​

Raindrops like Snowflakes – by @booksnotbookies​

Wind and Lightning – by @pheita​

A Case of Awful, Rotten Bad Luck – by  @pamsdrabbles​

Rebirth Day – by @llshoefacedll​

That's How I Dissapear – by @imsorry-idontcare​

Thunder and Lightning – by @renee-writer​

Summer Storms – by @mothsandmammothfigures​

Summer Storms – by @pen-of-roses​

Weather the Storm – by @mariawickenden​

Summer Promises Adventure – by @meteor-writes​

Just Like That – by @inexorableblob​

Summer Storms – by @innocentreticent​

Summer Storms – by @borealwrites​

Red Storms – by @starklyscifi​

Blink – by @starculler​

Mountain Thunder – by @starlightswitch​

Summer Storms – by @bookish-actor​

Summer Storms – by @peggydreadful​

Summer Storms – by @houser-of-stories​

A Dream is but a Forgotten Memory – by @onceuponanaromantic​

Chasing – by @shortlittlestorythings​

Summer Storms – by @kryskakikomi

Thank you everybody for participating !!!

If we missed any entry last week let us know and send us a message.

Ready for the new prompt? Here it comes, friends of the written word. The 52th Prompt is: CHILD’S PLAY

So what kind of play are they playing? Or does someone watch their child in a play? Or is someone so overconfident they see something as a child’s play?

Now have fun with this little game and as always let us know what you wrote.

The Collective✨✨✨

THE FFF TAGLIST

 @purpleshadows1989 @cirianne @shadowlostinacrowdofpeople @kainablue @mushwrites @pen-for-sword @writingwordsanddrawingpictures @goblin-writer @writingonesdreams @jojoscoffeeandwriting @every-book-has-a-secret @jess---writes @hipster-merchant-of-death @scripturientworld @morganwriteblr @bookenders @livvywrites @inexorableblob @books-andbiscuits @thewordsinthesky-andstars @bookish-actor @anthonylora @eluari @alexwillow @anaestheticdisaster @procrastinatingwriter05 @socialmediasocrates @innocentreticent @chaos-writing @smudged-glasses-writing @sunlight-and-starskies @anthonylora @rhikasa​ @phantom-does-a-thing​ @offbrandlacroix​

[onceuponanaromantic]

Descending

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​‘s FFF52: Child’s Play! Set in the same universe as one of my other FFF pieces  and can either be read as a continuation or on its own. Enjoy!)

Their footsteps echo as the group walks down the stopped escalators.

             There’s a silence that alights on the group as they climb down the basement. There’s no whir of aircon but the cold air flows around them anyway. Yixin pokes at her watch as it begins to smoke slightly. There’s a sour, almost burning smell that begins to hurt her wrist where the watch is wrapped around it.

             She eventually gives up and takes off the watch. The last thing that’s on the watch is the warping 00:00.

             There’s a loud crash and everyone jumps. The noise scrapes across their already raw nerves and they turn to look at where the sound originated from. Axel is trapped at the previous escalator, surrounded by broken glass where the light above him had just shattered.

             Axel tries to move forward, picking his way around the glass, only for the glass to start moving.

             Mervyn hesitantly reaches out, transferring Kenneth’s bag to his other arm, only for one of the shards to shoot forward and jab him in the leg. Axel nods once and turns away.

             “It’s okay. You go on, I’ll go find Kenneth and Ming Rong.” Axel holds out his arm and takes Kenneth’s bag from Mervyn. “They should still be in the toilet.”

             Mervyn’s hands are large and shaky as he passes the bag over. The class watches, holding their breath, but the glass doesn’t move. Axel grabs the bag and slings it over his arm. He waves once, before heading back up the escalator, climbing it two steps at a time. The class watches until Axel climbs high enough that they can’t see him anymore.

             “Has anyone tried calling them?” Steven asks.

           “Ming Rong went inside to call Ethan to check on him but Ethan didn’t bring his phone.”

             There’s a roar of thunder and the sound of rain starts to drown them out. “DID ANYONE TRY CALLING MING RONG?”

           The escalator starts to move with a loud groan, nearly jerking all off balance, depositing them all at the bottom of the escalator before stopping again.

             “I think there’s something up.” Someone whispers.

           “No shit.”

           “Who isn’t here?”

           “Ethan, Xin Yee, Dora-“

             “Xin Yee and Dora have their phones with them right? So does Ming Rong right?”

           “There’s no signal in the building.”

           “That’s… that’s not good.”

           “There’s no wifi signals at all. Nothing.”

           “Should we try going to the MRT?”

             “OKAY GUYS. EVERYONE PAUSE.” Mervyn calls. “CAN WE TRY AND FIGURE OUT WHAT WE KNOW OF WHAT’S GOING ON HERE FIRST BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING?”

           Everyone quietens. Mervyn looks proud of himself for a moment before sobering.

             “There’s a storm going on outside.”

           “There’s no signal in the building. Or outside the building.”

           “No one who has left has responded to calls or anything in the group chats.”

             “Okay guys, if we’re stuck in a horror story, do y’all want to write down what we’ve tried already and what we’ve seen?” Alyssa suggests.

             “I think I have paper.” Madhu says, pulling out a crumpled receipt. The light above them goes out with a startling crack, and for a moment the only sound is their beating hearts running away from them. The class shivers before pulling out their phones and turning on the flashlights.

             “Okay. Okay so, we start making the list.” Someone passes over a pen and Madhu clicks it.

             “So Ethan first when missing right when he went to get bubble tea for Xin Yee. Then, Kenneth went missing after he went to the toilet and never came back-“

           “No, that was because there was purple fire and the balcony got set on fire.”

           “Right so storm. Then what next? Oh, then Dora and Xin Yee went down to check on Ethan and get everyone else bubble tea. Then, Ming Rong called Ethan? Uh, then, Kenneth never came back right. And then the light exploded, and-“

           “Axel got trapped and went back, yes.”

           “Okay, so we know that the lights are a thing that’s being affected. So uh, keep your phone flashlights on? Go in pairs too. And uh, shall we stay together? It seems safer?”

             “RIP Axel.” Someone mutters.

           “We should go to the basement.” Kylie suggests. “Ethan, Dora and Xin Yee went there and the MRT’s there too, so there might be clues on how to get out of this.”

           There’s murmured agreement and they start moving again. There’s a low howling above their heads, almost mournful and resonating throughout the building. The class starts moving faster down the escalators.

             “Wait, should we even be using the escalators?”

           “What do you suggest?”

           “Stairs.”

           “We’re already on the escalators so we just do that until we run into something else.”

             (The black cat licks its paws, curious and idly malicious. What a fun group to play with! It stretches, cleans the remaining blood off its fur and then hops off the body. It considers the bag the boy is holding for a while but dismisses it. It’ll be there when the cat gets back anyway.)

             The group doesn’t say anything else until they reach the open level of the ground floor. Someone pushes on the automatic door when it fails to open. Steven runs his hands over it, only to jerk back when a sharp shock comes his way.

             “So we’re locked in. What a surprise.”

           “Basement, it is then.”

           “Do you want to try calling again?”

             They sort out who is to call who: Adele agreeing to call Xin Yee, Pearlyn calling Dorathea, Raeanne calling Ming Rong and Mervyn calling Axel.

             They allocate someone to call Kenneth, only for Mervyn to hold up Kenneth’s phone.

             They stay there for ten minutes with the background noise of ringtones going to silent.

             “No answer.”

           As one, they turn towards the basement.

             “This is where we decide that we have no choice but to play this game.” Alyssa says, quietly.

             “You would say this is a game?” Yixin asks, making sure no one else could hear them.

             “It always is.”

[phantom-does-a-thing]

I saw this prompt and I was going to write fanfiction (because I didn’t want to write children) but I got this out of it instead. I kinda like this but kinda not. Once again it’s from A Matter of Time and roses (I love Veo)

@flashfictionfridayofficial

301 words:

“Are you sure that you know what you’re doing?” I asked, pursing my lips.

“I am not a child Ry!” Veo insisted, “I know what I am doing.”

“Are you sure that you don’t want any help?” I glanced apprehensively at the woods that Veo was glaring at.

“I don’t need your help, I can do it myself,” Veo crossed his arms in front of his chest stubbornly, “kids can lead through the woods, kids Ry.”

“I thought you couldn’t see…”

“I can see!” He furrowed his eyebrows, “shapes… and colors… mostly… kinda.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I raised one eyebrow.

Veo blushed, “it means I am perfectly capable of leading you through the woods.”

“Okay,” I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring up at the setting sun, “fine, you can lead.”

Veo snorted proudly and started towards the trees, he wore his confidence on his shirt.

For him being so stubborn, he had a lot more bark than bite. As soon as he entered past the tree line, he collided with a large tree.

“I thought you could lead!”

Veo spun around on his heel and tried to point at me, he missed by a few feet, “you did not see that! It is dark out. I don’t know where the trees are!”

“The sun hasn’t even completely gone down yet,” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

Veo blushed darker, “shut up!”

“Do you have a boo boo?” I asked in a sweet high pitched voice.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I thought you said even children could lead through the woods?”

Veo crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I am way older than you, respect your elders!”

I rolled my eyes, “come on.”

Veo grumbled under his breath but came with me through the woods.

[small-carbon-lifeform]

At Its Core

My offering for @flashfictionfridayofficial​ latest prompt! Apologies for any typos and also for running alightly over 1000 words... I honestly thought I woudn’t get round to this today but about 10pm an ideal formulated and then fell out of me so here you go!

This forms another part of what I’ve come to call the Ironlands Series - an urban fantasy centred around my charatcters from last weeks Flash Fiction Friday; Deira and Alia. WIP page coming soon!

At Its Core

Alia came to, her head throbbing and her vision swimming. There was something warm and wet on her forehead. She tried to reach up to it but her wrists were bound together behind her back. A tremor of fear shook her lucid. She took stock of her situation.

Her hands and ankles were tied with that horrible blue nylon rope that scratches your skin raw. She was sat on a freezing concrete floor and, judging by her numbness, had been sat for a long time. The room was lit by a single bulb near the end of its life and by its dying light she could make out shelving units filled with rusted old tool boxes and a pile of plastic sacks filled with coarse sand. She had no idea where she was.

Ignoring the aches and the unnerving sensation of whatever was oozing out of her forehead getting dangerously close to her eye, Alia desperately tried to recall what she was doing before she blacked out.

There were investigating the Sect of Alb…they were…THEY! Oh no…

“Deira! Deira!”

Something groaned behind her.

“Deira? Is that you?”

“Ugh, I think so,” came the gruff response, “my head is killing me.”

“How’s your vision? Do you feel nauseous? Any auditory symptoms?”

Deira recoiled from the quick fire questions, “Gah, shut it for a mo will you?” She gave herself a quick once over,  “I’m fine, wrists are stinging though.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s the rope.”

“Crappy blue stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Deira huffed, “Cheap berks can’t even afford the nice stuff.”

“Can’t believe we got jumped by them.”

“There were a lot of them. But I take your point. Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped out on training.”

There was a wallowing silence.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Deira.

“Excuse me?” asked Alia.

“I said, I’m sorry. I should have told you where I was going. I’m sorry I flaked on training. I’m sorry I’m the reason we’ve been caught by people we should have run rings around. I’m sorry I’ve been a crap friend and I’m sorry I’m the reason you’re hurt.”

The silence redoubled. Alia was stunned. She had known something was going on with Deira but she wasn’t expecting her to reveal so much so soon. This wasn’t time to deal with all of this. Alia very nearly just brushed it away to focus on getting themselves free and back on track but something stopped her. It would have to be the time, this had been a long time coming and she deserved to heard too.

“You made me feel unimportant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you? I thought we were friends. You don’t have to tell me everything but you could have told me something. I knew something was going on but instead of asking for some privacy, which I would have given you by the way, you pretended everything was fine and now everything is definitely NOT fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah you said,” Alia sighed, “Just talk to me next time.”

“I will. I’m-“

“Don’t say it again, just do it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now, do you have a spell or something that can get us out of these ropes? They must have taken my vials while we were unconscious.”

“I could try and conjure fire but the rope wouldn’t burn. It’s nylon so it’d melt and wreck our hands.”

“What about ice?” asked Alia.

“Eh?” the question seemed totally incongruous to Deira.

“You create fire by pumping more energy into the molecular movement of the material until it combusts, isn’t that right?”

“You listened!” Deira was momentarily stunned, she realised how she sounded when she gushed about magic but she couldn’t help herself. She had no idea Alia was taking it in.

“I always listen,” Alia said pointedly.

“Sorry.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Ice?” Alia was getting very close to being done with this whole day, “Could you take all the energy out of a material and freeze it? Then it’d be brittle enough to pull apart.”

Deira thought about this. The theory made sense, magic at its core was all about the manipulation and transformation of energy. Heat was an energy, and cold was an absence of that energy. She’d played around with cryomagic when she was a kid but she’d become too reliant in pyromancy when she discovered she could control it. The only problem was the BDT ratio. If she didn’t pull enough energy out of the rope they’d still be stuck, but pull too much and she’d destroy her own flesh. Hopefully she’d remember enough of her childhood experiments to give her enough control. She really shouldn’t have missed training.

“Right, sit tight. I’ll give it a go.”

Deira closed her eyes and concentrated of where she could feel the rope digging into her wrists. She could feel the frayed slivers of plastic scratching her skin and the irritated patches rising underneath. She focused on the artificial material, all other things fell away, there was just the blue twine. She pushed further in. She felt it hum. It was slight but the vibration was there. The molecules moved with the rhythm of all things. Deira reached out and touched it. She felt the minuscule warmth generated from this movement and pulled. The rope lurched in response, seemingly contracting as its heat started to dissipate. By degrees she drew more and more of the molecular movement into herself. On the macro level she could feel the rope starting to cool against her writs. She tried the snap the rope but it was nowhere near brittle enough to break. She had further to go, much further. She did not know how cold she would have to make it. She would be risking frostbite for sure but if she didn’t they would be at the mercy of the Sect and it would be all her fault. Pushing her focus as far as she could she pulled the energy out of the rope. She felt the particles slow their vibration. She felt the heat pooling in her hands and the rope beginning to freeze. She sucked in through her teeth sharply, the rope was burning her flesh now. Just a bit more, she told herself, just a bit more…

Alia had been sat impeccably still trying not to disturb Deira in her work. When Deira stretched out her now free arms, she jumped, “That was quick.”

“Child’s play mate,” smirked Deira, rubbing her wrists, “Let’s get you sorted.”

[miriamandvictoria]

Another @flashfictionfridayofficial short piece. This one about Lydia specifically. Enjoy!

"Lydia, your scene is up next"

Looking up from the script to the producer, Lydia nodded wordlessly. She felt beoynd terrified, but she followed his instructions. Shakily, she grabbed her guitar and moved towards the stage. 

It wasn't that being filmed scared her. Lydi was movie star, acting for the camera was something she'd been doing since she was a teenager. It was easier than breathing, and she could do it in her sleep if necessary. No, what really upset her was the heavy instrument that bounced against her leg as she went across the room.

She was an actress, not a musician. Last time she had played music for a crowd she'd been ten years old and at a school recital. She'd been so excited then, so filled with every ounce of the musical love her talented parents instilled in her.

"Miss Wilson?" 

It's a stage hand that calls, now, but Lydia is so far gone in thought that she doesn't react. Instead, she stops walking all together. Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath, overwhelming panic suddenly imminent.

She couldn’t do this. This wasn't child play, she wasn't ten and imitating the grown ups around her anymore. 

If she fucked up, no one would laughing.

"I'm sorry, I just…" She begins to speak, trying to explain herself to the bewildered stage hand, but she doesn't finish. It doesn't make sense, and so she just turn around and run straight in the other direction. 

Once she is running, nothing can stop her. The doors she meet are slammed open with her hands and suddenly, she's on the concrete streets of the city. The studio is behind her and she has no want to ever go back.

Exhausted, she fall down on the edge of the sidewalk, ved hung low as she contemplated what would happen next.

"I can not sing in front of an audience as though I'm an actual musician! I just can't"

"Why not? It's what you always wanted when you were little."

Lydia hear her mother's voice, whispering softly in her ear - disagreeing, in her typical fashion. Whether real or just in Lydia's head, she was always a positive force, telling Lydia she can do things, after all.

But she shakes against the brain ghosts this time. Her mother's voice is comforting, but it's not right, and this time logic win. "Yes, and I didn't. I'm an actress, that's the work I picked. I can't go back to being a ten year old with a jumbo Gibson at show and tell. That's not how it works."

"It can be" Her mother sigh softly, and Lydia feels a cold hand against her cheek. "Will you pldease look at me, sweetheart?"

This is new. Hearing your mother's voice in your head is one thing, but being asked to look at her is another. That's the kind of thing, that should make you worried.

Still, she obey. She turn around, and her mother is actually there. 

"Mom!" She throw herself at the older woman, wrapping her hands around her neck like a small child would do. "What are doing here?!"

"You forgot your guitar" Vicky smiled, holding up a guitar case for Lydia to see. It's a standard black case, but covered in stickers and colourful designs. Most clearly, a big, yellow rose is painted in the right corner. The colour is faded and the paint is crackling, but one can see that it had once been an intricate, vibrant design.

Lydia gaped. "That's your guitar!" She says, pushing the case back towards her mother. "I can't take it, mum!"

Vicky sighed. "It's a show guitar, sweetheart. It's meant for performing. And you know I don't" She explained it softly, grabbing one of her daughter's fire red curls and tucking it behind her ear. "You wanted use it when you were ten, but I told you you were too little. Why not now?" 

"You taught how to play guitar with that thing…" Lydia said wistfully, her hand tracing over the yellow rose. "It was too big, I couldn't even reach around it, but I loved it so much…"

Vicky smiled, nodding. "I know. I know! That's why I think you should take it. You can return it, if that feels best, but I can tell you need it right now." She push the case forward again.

"I need you" Lydia answered meekly, leaning against her mum as she cradled the guitar case against her chest. "I don't feel like I should be up there singing. This is not child's play and I'm not ten years old anymore."

"You'll always be ten to me" Vicky countered. She patted her daughter's shoulder, before standing up and pulling them both up. "You got a show to do and I know you can do it. I can be there, off-stage, if that's what you want?"

"Please" Lydia smiled softly. "Please come watch me?"

Vicky nodded. "Always"

---

She hold the guitar in hand, and takes a deep breath.

"Ready this time?" The producer asks, one eyebrow raised to show his scepticism. 

Lydia smile, craddling the huge guitar like a toy. "Don't worry, I am" She assure him.

He laugh. "Go on ahead, then" He take a sarcastic bow, inviting her up on the stage.

Lydia ignores the comment. Instead, she walk up up on the wooden platform, and she sit down.

In the middle of the crowd full of extras and side characters, sits her mum. She smile at Lydia, their eyes meeting for but a second, and it is all she need.

She strum the first chord, and she begin to sing.

"Her hair was black and she was bending down, picking something from off of the ground…"

[starklyscifi]

Stars for Yours

It wasn’t the first time. Or the second. Or the third. Or even the fifth.

“It’s child’s play,” they always say, walking away.

Leaving her alone. Stealing her breath.

Because the thing is, it’s not child’s play. It’s hard. It’s difficult. It’s only easy for them because they have a lifetime of training, lifetime of experience behind their backs that makes it easy. The last time this task was difficult for them was so far back in their memories it’d receded into the mist, tricking them all into thinking it had never had been hard.

Not for them.

On the one hand, she wanted to edge to the side of the room, keep out of sight. And on the other, she wanted to march right up to Harold and demand the task. Push herself, go for the gold, all that shit that Harold likes to spout while he’s sloshing coffee out of his mug during morning meetings.

“Thiel!”

Indecision had made the decision for her.

“Got it.”

She punches in the code to slid out of the command deck, mulling over the process on her way down to the belly of the ship, all while doing her level-best to maintain a practiced neutral face.

The only thing worse than struggling with the scheduled maintenance on the auto-log system was other people knowing that she struggle with the auto-log system. She’d been through this before with the nav system. And the inter-ship comms. And everything else that these jackasses who’d been raised for this thought was as easy as breathing.

“Hey, Thiel, where you headed?”

Chittenden was a bit of an oblivious idiot, but on this ship that made him the closest thing to a friend she was going to get.

“Resetting the auto-log system.”

“Have fun!” He winked and sauntered her off with an utter lack of interest.

It made sense. The stakes were higher for her. Just punishment for deviating from the preset life path. What did she expect.

She punched in the code to the secure room wrong. In return, she got a red warning about two tries left before it logged a security concern. Thiel knocked her head against the bulkhead a few times, trying to ensure she had the right code the next time around.

She didn’t.

The third time around her hands were shaking and sweat was pouring into her eyes—it was a minor miracle that she got the code right. She leaned against door after it clicked shut, getting her breath back under control. Her nemesis loomed across the room, nestled among the various restricted systems on the ship.

Red button, green switch, log into the system with a password she had a shaky grasp of (twelve characters, special character, no words, nothing that’s been used in any other system with her username. Her brain was sixty percent passwords at this point), and then…..

Maybe if she hit her head a little harder on the bulkhead it would knock some of that sense in that her mother kept bemoaning her lack of. Suspiciously, only after she announced her intention to train for a slot on an interstellar hauler. Everyone was always so happy to encourage her stubbornness and tenacity, until she did something actually unconventional.

…Menu on the left, second submenu after that, third option down. Reset, wait five minutes, and hope the system doesn’t fuck you.

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

Child’s Play

A/N: @flashfictionfridayofficial​, this is what I’m presenting for today’s prompt!

A big thanks goes to the Flarrowverse Shipyard for giving me pointers for this fella! Also to AllisWonders for beta-ing this, and for pointing out minor errors.

This is my first time tackling horror, this specific character, and writing stories like this, and I needed help for it.

So, this is a ficlet featuring John Constantine from DC Comics and the Arrowverse. And with him, I basically went spooky on this prompt.

If you want to check out my previous prompts, click this tag!

Word Count: 560

TW: Exorcism and Decapitation

***

Wind carries a set of swings high and low, lifting children towards above while they hold onto those ropes for their dear lives.

In the center of a packed playground, a child screams with glee as they bounce on a trampoline. They carry a teddy bear with a harmless face. As if it might be hiding a sinister motive behind it's friendly expression.

The child laughs again as a figure languidly approaches them.

"What a nice toy, you got there," a man comments, strolling into view.

When the child lands on the ground, he disposes his thrashed cigar into a trash can. They look at him with their eyes wide. Those beady eyes of their teddy bear follows him with an odd fascination.

"My sister gave it to me," the child explains in a lively voice. "Isn't it the cutest and best toy ever?!"

Yeah, and she sent me to do this job. John scans it, squinting his eyes over it's pale brown, ancient, and dusty form. It's limbs hand loosely on each side as if it never moved at all.

The sister informed him on how it left a mysterious message carved onto a mirror glass. And that she witnessed the entire thing.

John saw tons of bonkers in his line of work, so this is as close as to getting there.

He walks towards it then pulls to a halt, once the thing twists it's head around.

Bloody hell, it reminds him of those owls in a forest, who show their disdain towards him.

As the bear turns it's plush head upwards, it's beady eyes turn red. A whiff of smokey air slips out of it's stitched mouth and it's arm stretched, wrapping around the kid's waist.

They let out a frantic scream as they squirmed, wriggling in an attempt to escape. John steadies his position. Even if he bites down a sour taste in his mouth. He raises both of his hands at the toy.

Reciting a string of chants that he memorized, it sinks underneath his bones. Fire courses through his veins, flow of a spell capturing him as he summons concentration.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanic potestas, omnis infernalis adversarii, in nomine et virtute Domini/Domine."

At those words, a spell creates a path towards the teddy bear. It trembles, unleashing a pure demon in it's wake. It slips out of the stitched mouth, exposing it's actual self. It floats high and shoves the kid on the ground, who tumbles and runs off.

More people join them, leaving their respective areas. On a normal day, most people would leave a playground at evening or night. Not morning.

The demon vanquishes into thin air and the teddy bear's size reverts back to it's regular form. It falls in a splat, it's head snapping, and rolls towards a corner of a sandbox. He searches for the child, only to find none. He wants to console them about their precious toy. It mustn't be good to discover how a demon kept it hostage, after all.

Walking towards the demised object, John picks it's head up. He winces while tossing it onto a dumpster to spare living souls.

Through it all, he knows it's his job to send those demons back to hell. Even those, who possess fluffy bloody teddy bears.

Ah, well, the poor thing, though.

***

[renee-writer]

The Work of Children

Is play.

So says Fred Rogers

And your grandparents.

But what if the work of children

Play

Is interrupted?

By abuse.

By neglect.

By having to take care of your siblings.

By having to work( on a farm, a store, a factory)?

What if you are to stressed to play?

Since play is the work of childhood,

If I child can't play,

What then?

Will he or she become an adult that

Lacks compassion, empathy, kindness?

Or, will he or she become an adult that plays

With their child, grandchild, inner child?

An adult that knows the value of play.

Maybe.