#fff69

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

The Arduous Task

A/N: just a tale of Tegan Mahar in her uni years, where she’s dealing with something to complete. and how she decides to think about her emotions for more than 0.3 seconds. :3

Word Count: 558

TW: mentions of blood

***

A pen lands on a notebook page with a hard thud, spilling ink across it. A student clasps her hands together, trying to wrack her mind for ideas. She refuses to look at the clock, knowing it won't help her with this situation.

Tegan throws her hands up, glaring at a wall.

If only she can search for words, it would be swell.

This assignment has put her in a funk, which she wants to get out of. If only it's about writing a script, she'd ace it. But a poem? Not her strongest suit.

Great. Now she's stuck with this poem due by two days, and she almost has written two stanzas in total. It is so not cool. It's. . . it's pathetic. The professor's going to be disappointed about it.

Yeah, she'd be checking for books on how to help her out with it. The library's got to have some of those available. However, it probably isn't a solution. Ideally, she'd want it to be.

It's supposed to be about a revolution, whose leader has been wronged by an injustice. Whose cause is about how authority never followed their word. How they tend to be corrupted. No matter what they do, they refuse to be admit to causing problems. They tend to cause more pain towards their citizens than anything else.

Sure, she has a great concept. But translating a story to a poem is a complete different challenge. However, she still wants to keep on trying to figure it out, so she can learn how to.

The thing is Tegan has never been good at expressing anger. Sure, she can feel annoyed, irritated even. But anger? Pure rage running through her veins? She hasn't felt it at all. If she has, she might know what it's like.  There were times when a classmate disregarded her for ideas. And when her cousins mocked her for what sort of stories that she wrote. Or when a total stranger provided unsolicited commentary on a Halloween costume that she bought.

And this assignment's sure close to pushing her over the edge.

Okay. . . maybe she did experience anger except she didn't find a name for that feeling. It sure. . . it sure can get intense if she thought of it enough. Of things that frustrated her to the point of yelling. Or being passive aggressive on purpose, so people would get a hint of how she's fed up of their nonsense.

Yeah, there's such a thin line between annoyance, anger, irritation, and frustration, that's for sure.

Wait. . . that's it. She can channel her frustration onto the poem, using it as way to express her feelings. It might not be the same but it's all she's got.

Taking a seat again, she picks up her pen. She writes the words floating through her mind on a blank space below the second stanza.

People find a way Putting the blame with Blood on my name To strike me down

When she examines it, she rubs her hands together.

Yes! That makes sense and looks decent enough to be in the middle. All she has to do is complete the remaining verses. Awesome. Small victories to be considered as an actual success for her. What a win!

First, maybe she can take a small break. Then get back to completing this assignment with more verses.

***

[procrastinatingwriter05]

Blood on my Name

My goal, a simple endeavor

Yet one not many would partake.

Peace across my hate-torn world

To fix it before more it can break.

Daughter dearest, son of mine,

They shall rule when I cannot.

They will take this path so fine,

And they shall continue the master plot.

And yet, he protests it with his claim

That I'm the monster they should fight.

Who cares if I have blood on my name?

I know my goal is the one that's right.

Twice forsaken, once forgotten,

Once a killer, thrice a fool.

I shall not remain downtrodden,

For now I am the one who will rule.

Oh Gods above, hear my plea,

Let the world be fixed tonight.

For when the sun shines black, you see,

It will be the end of my fight.

Forsaken again, but it matters not.

The ending will always be the same.

Peace will come when their free will rots.

And I'll succeed, even with blood on my name.

They shout and scream and struggle and cry,

But they don't see the truth hidden.

To all of time, they had been blind,

And now the course of life shall be rewritten.

With no free will, peace can reign.

With no free will, we're all the same.

With no free will, there's no more pain.

They don't have to know of the blood on my name.

As long as they see me as in the right,

And the past shall remain concealed.

I control the new world tonight...

...Right?

...

"But we who fight you shall not yield."

((@flashfictionfridayofficial))

[au-ideas-and-inspiration]

Flash fic Friday

My piece for @flashfictionfridayofficial​! I’ve been thinking about this character ever since the concept popped into my head the other day, so it’s only appropriate this free-writing turned into an exploration piece of him. 

"Does it bother you?" It's unfair to ask, but Ael does anyway. The temple is clean, orderly, and there's nothing left for him to do but sit and brood until the flowers wilt and need replacing. 

Silence - all the thoughts his own.

"All those sacrifices made in your name," he baits, "you've saved one of them, but it's just going to keep happening. Aren't you going to stop them?" 

They'll see you if they ever come here again, won't they? 

Her voice is expected, familiar. But it's a voice in his head that isn't his, so he can never quite suppress his flinch at the intrusion of that first word. His heart pounds, but that might just be at the mention of- of them. The memory of blood dripping onto these pristine floors.

"Ohh. So that's the plan,” he drawls, “making me do it.” 

It'll end, one way or another.

"Because they cared so much about my opinion before?" 

You're an emissary now. They'll listen. You'll make it stop even if they won't. 

Ael's eyes drop to his sword. For all his practice, he's never used it against someone He's likely more adapt at fencing than he is at - well. "I've never killed anyone before. I don't know if I can." 

I will assist you, if need be. You are not on your own in this. 

He lifts his chin, angry again. "But I am. I am alone. Every day I sit here, in silence. I can't- I can't leave/.” 

Where would you go? 

"I don't know. Nowhere. Everywhere. But I... I could do more good than just waiting here, don't you think? All this power used to sustain me, to bring me back from the grave, and it's just being wasted. I could.. I could go out there. Help people. For the greater good." This is beyond bold, but Ael won't back down. He steels himself, and puts a hand to his god's alter. "There's blood on your name. Don't you want to balance the scales?"

[madfox89]

Written in Scarlet

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

The hunter lures in her most promising victim yet, and craves the familiar power he has.  Part of my WIP the Champion, this takes place later on in the story. 

word count: 658

---

Her name is scarlet.

Blood drips from it like a fresh wound, ever overflowing and warm on the skin.  If her name was any other colour before, she doesn’t remember.  Scarlet is all she knows, and all she ever will know.

Her name gets more drenched and slicker with blood every time her hand curls around a vulnerable mortal throat.  There’s a certain thrill of feeling the life drain from them, the magic of their very being becoming hers.  But most of them barely have a drip of magic in them, making them worthless.  But the few she encounters that does have magic- it is euphoric when their magic becomes her own.

And now, she can practically taste his magic on her tongue- that’s how strong it is.  It comes to her in waves, tasting of the sweetest things she can’t imagine.  It’s sweeter than her own blood dripped name on a brief lover’s tongue, than blood itself. Her fellow Elites can barely contain themselves, fidgeting whenever he strays too close to them as he enters their city.  But she stays still, using all her control to not lunge for him and take his magic.

It’s amusing how he doesn’t even suspect what they really are- that’s how well their glamour holds against him despite the sweet magic radiating off him.  He doesn’t see their skeleton like bodies or the crumbling environment, only what they want him to see.  Only their golden eyes remain unaffected by their glamour, no matter how hard they tried to cover it.  It’s the only mark of their unworldliness, and yet he doesn’t seem to even pay much notice to it.

“Please,” One of the others lean to her in a whisper, “Let us just siphon him now.”

“We can’t,” She says with a cold smile, “I must see how he can channel the power of the Helios.”

She has lost the ability to dream the moment she let the Helios change her, but it still haunts her in her waking hours, whispering her name in the silent moments.  It is the one thing she truly desires; to wield its raw power for herself.  The Helios is pure power capable of change beyond measure.  It is also their saving grace; without the magic of others they will crumble to dust but with the Helios they will be unstoppable.  Her name will be known once more, and all will tremble when they hear it.

“Does that truly matter?” He questions her.  “The Helios is here!”

“In the form of a human,” she muses.  “I wish to know how.”

The Human is escorted to their home, the glamour on it making it seem like a fairy tale.  It was once.  It was a grand castle under the earth that was whispered about among those of the surface, and they told tales of the castle’s mistress, and would whisper her name in the dark in fear of summoning her.  But those stories were erased from existence.  No one knows about them anymore, their names forgotten and worn away.  Which makes the hunt much easier, but she misses a time when she could taste the fear coming off them as she approached for the kill.

She looks over to the garden of twisted vines and dead roses that cover most of her estate, spotting a flash of white among the sea of brown and black.  She frowns, and states, “If you need to keep yourself occupied until the time is right, you can always go rabbit hunting.”

The Elite nods, stalking off to the garden glamoured to house scarlet roses, sparing one last glance at their newest victim.  The human enters their home, still unaware of what he’s just done, and she smiles as the trap is set.  

Her name is scarlet, and she’s written it in blood.

And when she’s done with this mortal who wields the Helios, the whole world will know it once more.

[inexorableblob]

The fear

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​ I couldn’t get going on last week, but this one works for the week.  So I’ve got this ready to go, and I think it’s suitable enough for a short piece of fiction. 

Word count:  248

Trigger warning:  SPIDERS!

There’s more elsewhere if you want to see it.

This was the moment, my enemy was defeated.  Yet my victory was hollow, empty.  Worthless.

I felt no sense of triumph.  I could not cheer in celebration.

I had done murder for nothing.

The hammer slipped from my hands, my fingers losing their grip on the shaft, letting it fall to the floor with a clang.  The noise rang in my ears, I was afraid I had broken a tile.  Or worse, woken somebody up.  That would be bad.  Trouble.  

I sat down, the only place I could, counting my breaths.

In and out.  

Exhale and inhale.  

Control the system.  Master the body.  Rule the self.

The mind is above the flesh.  

The words did not stop the fear running through my body.  My heart raced.  Blood pounded.

Something had to happen.  I knew there was danger here.

I waited.  Nothing.  Just silence.  

I looked at myself in the mirror.  Focused on my eyes, I could see the pupils were open with excitement, signs of agitation.  

Despite my efforts, what I kept telling myself, my fears were running rampant.

I had killed the spider, it was dead, body crushed, smashed, broken.

But what if there was another one?

In this house, somewhere, lurking, spinning its web.  Even in this very bathroom, looking at me with its eyes, thinking of how it could catch me, trap me, suck away my vitals.

I needed help.  I couldn’t handle this alone.  I wasn’t strong enough.

I knew where to get it. 

[starklyscifi]

Historic

There’s blood on my name.

Well, not my name specifically. My family’s name more....generally. I have a lot of feelings about my family history. But that’s another story for another time. This particular October afternoon was perfect, chilly fall weather hiding leaves around every corner. No space for regrets that floated as free as the aspen leaves, carpeting the forest floor in molted gold.

An afternoon I was doing my best to enjoy, sipping a latte and ignoring the death omen stalking me through the trees.

Death spreads like dry rot.

The words weren’t said by the raven perching above my head, but it’d been the source all the same. I sighed and took another stubborn sip of my coffee. Not today, fate, not today.

Ancient family lines, drenched in blood.

It’s not like your grandmother hands you a cookies and says, “It’s fresh from the oven, don’t burn your tongue, also our family’s got a bit of a curse.”

I never knew my grandmother. People in my family don’t live that long.

There are those who rain judgement down.

And there’s leaves on the trees, birds in the sky, and half a pumpkin latte in my hand. Fate can mind its own affairs for a day.

The unlucky who exist to enforce the laws of fate.

I heaved another sigh, this one petulant as fuck.

“Someone must right the wrongs and balance the scales,” I said, glaring at the raven, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

It cocked its head and gave me that caw that ravens can’t do. They just sound like they’re dying. The bird flapped its wings and took off, darkness spreading behind its wings.

Blood dripping from the trees, pooling on the ground. A forest of guilt. And then I blinked and it was sunlight  through the leaves and crisp fall day shit again.

I resisted the urge to sigh or throw things at the trees and flipped open the fucking compass.

The bar was like every other small town dive bar. A cinder-block box with sticky floors. I sat down and ordered a beer from a bland looking bartender who clearly thought different. Why do people have to wink? Can’t they just hand you a cold one like a normal person?

“You,” someone hissed, behind my back.

About bloody time. I set my beer down, counting to five before I turned around.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, eyes darting back and forth. Scared.

I got up, unsnapping the leather safety strap on my knife. “Actions have consequences.”

“I made a deal!” he shouted, stumbling back into a table.

I laughed. Demons needed to learn to mind their lane. Even the forces of hell were no match for the slow grind of fate.

There’s a thing about guilt in the bloodstream. It’s a hell of a paralytic. He didn’t move, even as I grabbed his hair and tilted his throat up.

Arterial spray never ceased to amaze me.

I whistled to myself, wiping the blood off my knife and tapping it to my brow in some form of demented salute to the now-traumatized bartender.

Trying to explain fate to humans isn’t worth it. I’ve tried. It always ends the same. Because it’s true what they say about history. No man can outrun the winds of fate.

There’s blood on my hands.

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

[random-chaos-thoughts]

If I counted right this is my tenth @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt! Introducing a new character in this universe (I'll try to tell this story only through flash fiction prompt and see how it goes)

Word count : 709

Trigger Warning: blood, surgery, implants

There was a smudge on the paper.

Actually there were 27 smudges on the front page of the report, the smallest were two square milimeters and the biggest was three centimeters long and 50 centimeters wide. The main concern for J45 Prototype number 3 of serie R was that it was covering the answer box labeled "name" on the front page. J45-P-3R tried to focus on the brownish stain, blurred letters were visible through it, maybe readable…

Analyse required. Processing...

J45-P-3R blinked repeatedly and the interface disapeared from its field of vision. The retinal implant was so sensitive it activated even when it wasn't required. It was an inconvenience. J45-3R (Mary was calling J45-P-3R "Jasper", even using "him"... It was still getting used to this. It was a strange feeling, but a good one, it almost felt familiar) sighed as deep as he could without making the exoskeleton think it was making a physical effort - it didn't needed the surge of energy. They would have to fix this issue at the next electronico-medical check up.

Interrogating the program...

Answer found. Next check up scheduled in 7 days and 18 hours.

The familiar tickle of the microprocessor running stopped as soon as the answer made its way to Jasper's conscience. It lasted a tenth of a second but J45-P-3R let the report - his medical report - slip through its hand. This was why he was still here in the laboratory when his security patrol should already have been over. Jasper had to know what happened when he was here, and who he was before it. 

Founding the folder with its date of initial operation hadn't been too hard since the storage system was computerized but inside there only were paper documents. Some information were readable: he had been male, he had been 35 at the time, 78 kilograms and 190 centimeters.

BMI Calculation requested. Processing...

Jasper tapped with irritation on the titanium plate behind its right ear. That wasn't enough. Nothing on a family, not even an address! And he could not read his name. He tried again.

Analyse required. Processing...

Again.

Processing...

Again.

Proce… Proce… Proceeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…

No way. The stained medical folder was useless, his sensor kept on trying to analyse the spots. The rest of it was only graphs and charts of everything they implanted. J45-P-3R put the document back in the electronical drawer and ordered it to lock down. It looked around the poorly lit room.

Scan requested. Processing… Processing… Scan completed.

There was nothing much to look at. 6 rows of 7 file drawers, and 2 cupboards, all electronically locked, covering one wall. Surgical material and device properly stored in sterile cabinet along the others. An operating table put aside in the back of the room. It must have been in the centre the first time he came.

Sudden shots of memory flooded Jasper's brain. The lab was an operating room and the researchers were surgeons. Everything was ready. But for what? He tried to walk back but the anaesthesist was just behind him, pushing him toward the table. It wasn't what was advertised! He was there to participate in a research study on the compared capacities of humans and robots! The first check up d't mention this at all! Today was supposed to be a test on the possible collaboration of anatomy and electronic, it never mentioned that! It never…

The microprocessor hissed. An Emergency: Overheating message flashed in red all other his field of vision, but Jasper was too distressed to care. What happened to him? Who was he? Who were they? Deep down he knew, and he knew that he knew. The answer laid just a few layers of memory away, he could almost reach it!

Program shutting down in 3… 2… 1… 

Restart.

J45 Prototype number 3 of serie R scanned the laboratory in a glance. Nothing to report, except one stained medical fold. Why was it out of its drawer? Anyway it was 15 minutes and 41 seconds late on its average security patrol time. The laboratory door closed with a satisfying beep and J45-P-3R headed down the silent corridor.

There was a smudge on the paper, but J45-P-3R didn't knew what it was.

[katastrosxd]

Blood on my name

Written for the @flashfictionfridayofficial challenge. I thought I wasn't going to write, but here I am. 995 words

 I walked aimlessly through a small village. I was already many meters from home and my mind couldn't stop remembering the sadness I felt when I was expelled from my own house. I had shed many tears in my departure and although I was still very sad by the situation, all this sadness was being replaced by extreme anger.

 "I don't think they could do that to me." - I thought frustrated

 Tired of walking, I decided to stop by a fountain and try to plan where I would rest that night that was almost here. However, I was not able to calm down so much because my heart was still agitated thanks to what happened today and because of the uproar that settled in the square. He could see in the distance a woman who was crying and was ignored by everyone who passed by.

"Could someone help me find my son? Please!” - Shouted the woman.

“How is your son?”- A man asked.

"He's seven, with red hair, brown eyes, freckles all over his face; he always wears a brown cap ..."

"A cap like that?"

“That!. It's exactly like this one. There is even the little hole in my boy's cap. Where did you find this one?”

"I arrived on the path that leads to the village of the giants."

Everyone who listened to the conversation was amazed, including me.

"No, it can't be true! He didn't go there! - The woman whined

"I'm very sorry, lady, but if that cap is really your son's, there's nothing I can do."

 The man left her on the floor still in tears. I couldn't help imagining that woman's pain when she thought that her son was probably dead. I went over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you want help getting up?" - I asked

"Yes, I do, thank you."

I gave the woman my arm so she could support herself. I returned to the subject.

"Do you think your son went to the village of the giants?"

"I didn't want that to be true, but I believe it is. The cap you left is the same as his.”

"Can I examine the cap?"

The woman, without answering me, gave me the cap and I started to smell it, which caused strangeness that was noticeable on her face. I didn't care about it and continued the process until I was sure what the boy smelled like. In that I started to smell a little of his odor in the distance, only weak. It looked like he had been through that place a long time ago.

"Look, I can help you go to the village of the giants and rescue your son ...

-Really? - She interrupted me, surprised. - Can you take me there?

"True, but this is very dangerous. Do you really want to go?

"I will do anything to rescue my son."

“It's all right.” - Sighed – “Let's go together then. I will follow his trail through the nose. Stay right by my side when we're close to the village, right?”

"It's okay with me, but I still don't know who you are, girl."

“Ah yes. My name is Joan. What is yours?”

“Judith.”

   We greeted each other and started that journey, not without first getting some flashlights and other useful things from Judith's house, who wanted us to go as quickly as possible to save her son. Therefore, when we arrived at the path you mentioned, the sky was already dark. With every step we took, the boy's scent became.

We passed the way to the village of the giants and I, even though I was tense of being there, continued to sniff the boy's trail. I was also very concerned if they smelled Judith, so I asked her to rub herself in the middle of the earth and the grass, which was done after I assured her that it was the safest even though I got the woman's disgusted look. .

   We hid ourselves from the sight of the creatures a few times and arrived at the place where the odor was strongest. However, I did not expect this adventure to take me to a place now extremely unpleasant. It was my old home and just thinking about having to go in to rescue the boy gave me the creeps.

"You look very nervous." - Judith said.

"Sure, we're going to break into a giant's house."

"Are you sure my son is there?"

“I’m sure!”

 I encouraged Judith to accompany me around the house and hide always and of course, to be close to me at all time.

 We started to hear screams coming from the kitchen and we headed there as quickly as possible. However, there was only time to watch my father devour the boy right in front of us.

“No!”- Exclaimed Judith.  I put my hand over his mouth so that no one would hear him, but that just didn't help, because my father and my other relatives who were also in the living room started looking for us and sniffing around.

  We both tense and sneak out of the way of the giants. I guided her through the hiding places of the house until we managed to get out of there.

All the way, I was thinking about something that I had never thought about. My family, no, all the giants were fed on innocent blood and that is revolting. Many of its customs are based on outdated traditions and this is one more of them. My revolt against my parents grew because of that. It was not enough to have me thrown out of the house for being the size of a human, as now a mother is without her child also because of them.

  A familiar voice ended up interrupting my thoughts while we were at the gate.

"So did you really dare to go back to the house, Joan?"