An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Original Work
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Original Characters
Additional Tags: Horror, Psychological Horror, Murder, Blood, Blood and Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murderers, Kidnapping, Original Fiction, Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Graphic Description, Serial Killers, POV Second Person, Reader-Interactive, I Wrote This While Listening to Ethel Cain's Music, Inspired by an Ethel Cain Song, Song: Ptolemaea (Ethel Cain), Song: August Underground (Ethel Cain), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Summary:
A walk through a serial killer's house after he's been arrested.
Happy 50th @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thank you for running this great event and for your wonderful prompts. Here is my offering. I honestly didn’t think I’d get one in on time. I’ve been trying desperately to catch up on some video editing (thanks to the source material being late) and my eyes itch from sleepiness. But! you can’t ignore the call the write no matter what time of day it is. So here it is, kind of inspired by Mouth to Mouth but I’ll let you have fun figuring out how it applies to what I came up with! And I’m sorry in advance; I think I needed to get some things out!
Pod #49 Personal Log
—Day 72—
***Journal start***
Alarm 8am; water, dental, ablutions, cardiovascular and pulmonary stimulation, standard uniform.
Bio-cycle check; hydro levels good, luminaire 6000K, healthy growth exhibited on all species.
Personal: I saw 24 other pods today. It’s a shame the solar shield layer of the view ports don’t allow you to see the others inside their pods. I waved anyway. I like to think they waved back. I can’t believe it’s been that long. I can’t believe it’s only been 72 days. The daily reports still don’t offer any clue as to when we can return to the surface. I hope it’s soon, but at the same time I’ve gotten accustomed to my space and my little routine. I’m good at it and there is no pressure but to remain as l am. It was nice to see the pack at games night today. I miss them. I’ve put in a request, the minimum period is over soon. Hopefully I’ll be approved.
Bio-cycle check; hydro levels below optimal - possible indication of issue with grey water reclamation, luminaire 6500K, healthy growth exhibited generally, yellow tinge to leaves of Nasturtium microphyllum - possibly caused by hydro issues.
Morning meal.
4 hours couch; 4 gigabytes of vid-media consumed, 5 issues of physical comic books consumed, 900ml of caffeine imbibed, longer morning than expected.
Afternoon meal; eaten while setting up work station.
2 hours work station; 2 terabytes of information parsed, communications link interrupted, inbox clearance postponed for 24 hours, work suspended until link restored.
3 hours creation station; 1,000 words.
Evening meal; high in carbohydrates, eaten late.
1 hour repair work: grey water reclamation system diagnostics, issue isolated and rectified.
0.5 hours cleansing; utensils postponed for 24 hours, stations sanctified, bio-cycle in hibernation mode.
Core level; low.
Personal: Things seemed okay yesterday, but it’s funny how a few small things can throw things out of sync. I write down everything in the pod’s log but it doesn’t record all the details, it doesn’t record how I feel and it doesn’t record how hard this is sometimes. This morning was okay and normally I can deal with little issues not problem but I wasn’t expecting to be so upset by the wilting flowers. Those little plants were put in my pod to keep me alive and in return it is my responsibility to keep them alive. I thought I was doing well, but those yellow leaves made me feel like I was letting them down. Normally this would be fine! A bit of water and patience and everything would be healthy again. I keep forgetting this isn’t normal. This whole situation isn’t normal. We weren’t meant to live in isolation. I miss seeing other people in the flesh, hearing their breath, smelling their unique scents, feeling the gentle buzz of their energy in a space. I never thought I’d say that. I didn’t surround myself with others when I was on the planet surface, but I guess this is enough to strain even the most introverted of us. Today turned into an exercise in survival; ice cream for dinner, I read my comic books one after the other, an extra cup of coffee, tried to write but managed nothing more than a stream of consciousness exercise. I tried not to get too frustrated when the net went down. After I finished my chores I stared out of my view port at the planet for an hour or so. I didn’t bother logging it. I ended up going to bed later than I should have but I just had to watch the surface for a bit. Spinning slowly, passing its time, looking like nothing had happened over the past two and a half months. If anything the colours have gotten more vivid since I’ve been up here. It’s so beautiful.
Personal: Sleeping is restorative. I mean, obviously. That’s what it is there for, but I think people don’t appreciate the importance of and benefits of frequent napping. They are like little resets during the day. Small opportunities to defrag your brain, let it sort itself out while you conserve your energy. There is no shame in just getting through the day.
****Urgent Communication Incoming***
I’ve been approved! It just came through! I’ve been approved, she’s been approved, we’ve been approved! I can’t wait, I cannot wait! We can meet up whenever we want. I just got off the commlink to her and we’ve arranged to dock tomorrow evening. There’s so much to do. I’ll have to spruce up my stations, make sure to brush up on my docking procedures. I can’t settle now, my fingers are itching. I need to do something. I think I’ll make her something. What do you make for your partner after nearly three months apart. If she hadn’t been on tour when this all started we would have been sharing a pod. What shall I make her? I can’t think! I’m too excited to see her face-to-face!
A short drabble inspired by the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody.
“I’m...” He can see her eyes - they glisten with tears threatening to spill, but she is strong and holds them back. He says the word with a soft sigh.
“Sorry.”
The word hangs in the air. Then she starts to weep. It starts with a silent sob, and then more uncontrollable sobs spilling with her tears. Her hunched figure - her shoulders are shaking and his heart has never hurt this much. In that moment, he felt that he’d do anything for her - anything to lessen her sorrow.
He never meant to make her cry.
Seeing the misery he causes her breaks him inside, and he is filled with a deep regret. They both know that she has to carry on without him. She should forget him.
What meaning has life then, if people are to forget you? If this is life - if his life is to bring people around him misery, he’d rather not be born.
I....I love this? Sometimes I write like a pretentious asshole and come up with some fucking gold. This is one of those times. Easily can be turned into a fic.
Warnings: TW: Allusions to torture. Harm against a woman.
Tagging: @novumlibellum
In the end, they say she burned with dignity. It’s the official story. I stand by it...officially. Unofficially....
I met her once. Like most, one meeting was all I needed to be convinced of her divine nature. She was beautiful in the way nature is. Quiet, yet formidable. Her skin as black as onyx, her eyes very much the same. Her hair was always decorated with flowers, beads, and gems. Soft spoken though she was, everyone listened to what she had to say.
In every other aspect, she was unremarkable. Her people considered her an average member of society. She grew medicinal herbs for the village healer, fruits and vegetables for herself, and kept a white cat named Figaro as her companion. What a girl who had no contact with Westerners until her twenty-seventh birthday knew about opera, I could never guess.
By the time I had my own meeting with her, she’d become famous the world over. “The Witch of Africa” was the favorite name of the media, never-mind that she was a girl from Mexico. Her friends called her Camila.
She was a gracious host, greeting me warmly, offering food and drink. We talked about nothing in particular. I learned her favorite color was grey, and that she was fond of sweet things. She had a school girl crush on Idris Elba, and was very fond of piano music.
It was very easy for me, and countless others I’m sure, to fall in love with her in that little hut. Her politeness, her eagerness to please, her curiosity about the words outside of her village. In the end, it was what got her burnt up in the first place...officially speaking.
It’s very easy for rejected narcissists to fall prey to the superstitions of their childhood, so long as the twisted logic fits their wounded egos. I won’t go into that night, there’s no need, the media already turned covered every vile angle of the story. She was burnt up, that’s all anyone needed to know.
Besides, I was there, I know what happened. I know what I saw. It was a ghastly sight, and I sat there, and I watched everything happen. She begged us to stop, but her please fell on deaf ears. We were merciless in our revenge.
She’s dead, anyhow. It’s what I tell myself in order to live with the things I’ve done. It’s easier to live with the belief that she’s dead, rather than facing the truth. She’s alive, and unwell, carrying what we did to her through the rest of her life now. In the end, she didn’t burn with dignity, in the end, she didn’t burn at all.
“So whose party are we going to?” I ask Abigail, walking down the street on our way to the art gallery where the event is being held.
“Jeff Azoff is throwing a birthday party for a musician.” Abigail explains. I’ve never met Jeff in person but know that he and Abigail have been friends for ages. “He sings the song Madeline you were dancing to earlier.”
“Oh I know who you are talking about. I heard that song for the first time last week. It’s a good one.” I comment as we approach the front doors where a man is standing with a list, verifying each guest as they enter the building. “It was nice of Jeff to allow you to bring me.”
“He didn’t mind! I figured you would enjoy the art as well as a night out.” She says, taking a few steps as the line moves up.
“I do enjoy art. I’ve heard this gallery is amazing!” I look up at the sign hanging above the building. Culture Trip is a brand new gallery that is a collaboration between three different artists. I’m excited to explore and experience the art with my own eyes, having heard about it already.
“Name?” A guy in a black suit asks Abigail and I as we step to the front of the line.
“Abigail Rogers and guest.” She says. I watch as the man skims down his list looking for Abigail’s name. Putting a check when he finds it, he unlatches the ropes and nods his head towards the door in a signal for us to go inside.
I follow Abigail as we enter the Gallery. Taking a deep breath, I explore the room with my eyes, breathing in the atmosphere. I haven’t been to any parties like this in my life, and I’m a bit nervous. The gallery is gorgeous as I can see the walls full of paintings; sculptures are placed around the room and candles light the tables.
“Are you okay?” Abigail grabs my arm, yanking me from my reverie and admiration of the art around the room.. I look up at Abigail, giving her my full attention. I nod my head in an effort to ease her worry. “Should we get a drink? Would that help calm ya down?” She chuckles slightly at the amount of anxiety that is pouring from my body.
“Yeah, a drink would be good.” I say. She grabs my hand, pulling me towards the bar that is placed at the opposite side of the room. We weave our way through people, squeezing onto each other so we can stay together. Abigail comes to a sudden stop and I run into her back, making me whisper a quiet apology to my friend.
“Abigail Rogers!” A male voice exclaims. “You came!”
“Jeffrey!” Abigail squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “How are you?” She asks as she pulls away from the dark haired boy. My eyes dart to the floor as they have their conversation.
“I’m well. Glenne is around here somewhere. She was hoping you would come.” Jeff looks around the room in an effort to spot Glenne but he doesn’t appear to find her. “She’ll be happy to see you.”
“Oh for sure! I’ll keep an eye out!” Abigail says with smile. I stand next to my friend, quietly feeling a little awkward as I have yet to be introduced. I’m not a big fan of large social gatherings I would much rather wander the gallery by myself instead of making small talk with people I don’t know.
“Abigail, this is Harry.” Jeff points towards a tall boy who is standing next to him, sipping silently on his tequila.
“Hi Abigail, nice to meet you.” Harry holds out his hand, grasping Abigail’s and giving it a shake. “And your name is….?” He moves his hand towards me as I pause, the British accent throwing me off a little bit. It’s smooth and deep; I think I could listen to him talk all day.
“Elizabeth!” I say, grabbing his warm hand in mine, the metal of his rings sending a small electric shock through my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Harry smirks, winking in my direction. I can’t help but smile back. I watch as he takes another sip of his tequila, and my mouth goes dry, taking in his appearance. The sunglasses placed upon his head hold back the soft brown curls from dipping into his eyesight. The shirt he is wearing has me confused. On any other person, this shirt would look absolutely ridiculous, but this man seems to pull it off with ease. His jeans are tight against his thighs and the boots he is wearing are almost as beautiful as he is.I can see tattoos scattered across his arms and chest, and it makes me curious as to their meanings. He is gorgeous, and I want to know everything about him.
“Making your way to the bar?” Jeff asks, pulling me back into the conversation.
“Yes!! Come find me later?” Abigail says towards Jeffrey who throws a nod her way. “Nice to meet you, Harry!”
“Thank you, ladies. Enjoy the evening. Hopefully we can chat soon.” Harry throws a glance in my direction that causes my stomach to erupt in butterflies. Man, this guy is charming.
“I need a drink.” I say to Abigail, compelling her to grab my hand and pull me towards the bar. I turn my head back as I watch the tall boy walk away with Jeff, hoping I may have a moment to talk to Harry again later.
“What do you want?” Abigail asks, after ordering herself a gin martini with an olive.
“White wine please.” I say towards the bartender who nods and begins to pour the liquid into a wine glass. Lifting the glass off the counter, I lift it to my lips, taking a slow small sip, tasting the liquid against my tongue. “I think I’m going to go explore the art.” I say to Abigail over the music that is being played. I know if I can step away from the group of people and immerse myself into the art, my anxiety will wash away. Taking me to another world, a world I understand, unlike the one I am in at the moment.
“Then go explore.” She says with a chuckle, not understanding my need to spend the night with a bunch of paintings instead of talking with Hollywood’s elite. “Would you be okay if I go talk with people?” She looks slightly worried to leave me on my own.
“I’ll be just fine.” I smile at my friend. “Go have fun! I’ve got my phone if you need me.”
“I love you! Have fun exploring!” Abigail says, taking her martini, walking towards the crowd ready to mingle.
I take another sip of wine and make my way through the gallery, starting with a painting of children playing in a field. I feel the anxiety leave as I look closely at the canvas, taking myself to that world.
-------
I walk around the room, greeting my guests who have come to celebrate my 25th birthday. The location is unusual and I really want to explore, but I feel the need to welcome everyone; make them feel comfortable. The gallery is filled with a lot of people I know, or have met throughout my years in the business, as well as close friends, but there are also people in the room I don’t know.
My mind travels to the girl I just met, Elizabeth. I’ve never seen her before, and she seemed to have no idea who I was. I search the room for her as I lift my glass to my lips for another taste of tequila. I continue to search until I feel a hand on my elbow.
“Harry! Happy Birthday!” Cindy Crawford brings her arms around me in a big hug. We spend a few moments talking about the kids and life when I spot her again - Elizabeth. I watch as she admires a painting, completely lost in her own world. She sips her wine slowly, taking in the piece that is full of color and emotion. I want to know what she’s thinking. How does the painting make her feel? Does she like it? I want to get inside her mind.
A group of my friends pull my attention away from Elizabeth. The conversation is nice, but I would rather be home, away from the chaos, maybe with her, Elizabeth, as she admires a sculpture of a bird. I struggle keeping my head in the conversation my friends are having about an event they attended last week. My eyes can’t help but dart over to the other side of the gallery where Elizabeth is standing quietly, pondering the art piece in front of her. Her outfit is simple, a white tank top that shows off her smooth peach shoulders, and her high waisted suede pink skirt stops mid thigh, showing off her silky smooth calves. Her hips sway slightly to the beat of the music as she walks to the next sculpture, a beautiful piece about a peach.
I watch as a man approaches her, Elizabeth. I want to pull her away, spend time with just her. Get to know her before this man can take her home. I feel my eyes being covered by someone’s hands as they ask for me to ‘guess who?’ I know by the voice who it is, and I’m slightly annoyed he is blocking my view of the breathtaking girl, who doesn’t care about anything except the art placed around the room. I turn around, pasting a massive smile on my face. I have a conversation with James, sneaking glances in an effort to search the gallery for the beautiful girl while attempting to listen to what James has to say.
When James walks away to say hello to Adele, I throw the rest of my tequila back and make my way to the bar to get another drink. I notice the guy who was talking with her before has moved on to the next girl, who is clearly giving him more attention than Elizabeth was.
“Tequila, and a white wine please.” I ask the bartender for two drinks. One for myself, and one for Elizabeth. Picking up both glasses, I take in a deep breath as I approach the alluring woman.
-------
I stare at the painting in front of me, examining the elegant brush strokes that grace the canvas with their presence. The colors make me feel warm, happy, and calm. I hear someone clearing their throat and it causes me to jump, pulling me out of the world I was in.
“I’m sorry to startle yeh.” Harry chuckles, watching as I press my hand to my chest, attempting to calm my heartbeat. “Brought yeh some more wine. Thought yeh might need a refill.” He moves the wine towards me and I take it, handing my empty glass to a waiter who is passing by.
“Thank you… uh Harry. Is that right?” I ask, genuinely unsure if I remember his name correctly. I take a sip of my wine as I watch a smirk climb across his face, creating a dimple that brightens the room. His eyes are a beautiful shade of green, and I want to just gaze into them for the rest of the night.
“Uh yeh! Harry.” He chuckles slightly. “Elizabeth right?” I nod slightly, liking the way my name sounds rolling off his tongue. “Nice to meet you… again.” His cheeky tone makes me smile. The smile on his face creates little crinkles by his eyes, making me feel warm and fuzzy.
“Did you come to the party with Jeff?” I ask, curious to know if he is Jeff’s plus one.
“As his date?” He asks, the look on his face is one of surprise and like he is holding back a laugh. I’m curious as to why he is so shocked.
“Yes! As his plus one, to celebrate whoever this big party is for!” I am honest. I have no idea who the person could be and to be frank, I don’t really care. I am happy Abigail drug me along to look at art for the night. She is a very good friend. I bite my lip and see his eyes move, watching as my teeth softly scrape across my bottom lip.
“Somethin’ like that.” He lets out a small laugh as he looks down at his feet, pulling his eyes away from my face. “The party is for me. It’s my birthday.” He says quietly. Shy. This seems to be a different side of him, at least from what I witnessed when we came into the party.
“Oh my goodness!” My hand comes up to my mouth, as I am slightly embarrassed I had no idea who he was. “Happy Birthday!” I smile widely, trying to hide the shock that I’m sure is spreading across my face. I watch as his cheeks begin to blush. I find it extremely adorable. “Why are ya over here? You should be out having fun.” I point towards the rest of the room, filled with people who obviously love him dearly, and I’m confused as to why he wants to spend HIS birthday with me, examining art.
“Eh, big parties aren’t really my thing.” He shrugs, and I find it extremely endearing that, like me, he would rather be alone, especially on his birthday. “I was hoping you would tell me about this painting.”
We spend the next twenty minutes talking about how the painting makes the two of us feel, our likes and dislikes about the different techniques used. The conversation is easy and has a natural flow. His jokes are awful but make me laugh, probably because they are so bad, but I don’t want him to stop. He is cheeky, but sweet and thoughtful.
I find myself wanting to know more about him, but I know the night is coming to an end soon and it makes me sad inside.
“Now this one is just bloody weird.” Harry points to the next painting that is a picture of a bunch of potatoes dressed in clothing.
“I actually don’t mind it.” I throw out, taking another sip of my wine. “I think they are kinda cute.”
“Cute? They are potatoes, dressed in plain clothing.” He chuckles to himself, swallowing the final sip of tequila down his throat. “Now if they were dressed in the latest Gucci, it would be a different story. But this is just weird.”
“I think…” I’m interrupted.
“Harry!! We need to sing to you! Come join the party mate!” James grabs his arm. I can see a slight eye roll from Harry, and I bite my lip so I can hold back the giggles; he is adorable.
“I’m coming!” He says, pulling back towards me. “Give me just a moment.” James pats his hand on Harry’s shoulder and walks back towards the party. “Can I.. uh.. Get yeh number? So I can call yeh some other time? Without hundreds of people present?”
He looks nervous and it warms my heart. Harry is anxious to ask me for my number. I like him and I want to know more about this complex man who seems to have lots of layers. I feel the butterflies in my stomach swarm as I consider giving this beautiful man my digits.
“I would really like that.” I can’t help but grin back at him when his smile spreads so wide across his face I think it might reach his ears. I give Harry my number and he says he will send me a text with his number.
“It was really nice meeting you, Elizabeth. Can’t wait to talk to you soon.” He says. I can hear his friends trying to get his attention from across the room.
“Happy Birthday Harry.” I smile, as he nods in a way of saying thank you. I watch him make his way back to his friends as he types on his phone. I feel my phone vibrate in my hand, looking down at the screen my heart melts into a puddle.
Thank you for making my birthday one I will never forget. -Harry x.
Slightly running in place, I attempt to contain my happiness, because tonight is a night I will never forget. The night I met Harry and he met me.
A/N: A big massive thank you to @whoopsharrystyles. She has to be the most genuine, giving, loving, supportive, and beautiful person in the world. I am thankful she is my friend. Please check out my Masterlist and Wattpad page. Thank you all for the support you give! Love you all!!
I’m terrified.
But not for me.
I’m terrified for my black friends
Who constantly have their guard up
Hoping they don’t do anything to make someone fear them.
I’m terrified for my Hispanic friends
Who are worried they may never see their family ever again
As a wall is being planned between their new home and the homeland.
I’m terrified for my LGBT+ friends
Who now have a Vice President that thinks they can be shocked straight
And a Supreme Court who may retract their right to marry.
I’m terrified for my Muslim friends
Who are being forced to answer for an extremist group that doesn’t represent them
And can’t even find a safe place away from war and bloodshed.
I’m terrified for the children of this country
Who may not get the education they deserve
Because the possible secretary of education wants to privatize it.
I’m terrified for the future of my home
Where over half the population is fearful of their own future here.
Frankly, I’m terrified.
I haven't done any writing on Cozar in months, and I could really use some writing prompts to get back into the grove of things. Does anyone have any ideas for me?
