by G. Deyke
a trembling fist, willing himself to stay still. She will not find me. She will not find me. She will not find me. Through the curtains came a flash of lightning, a sharp crack of thunder, the sound of heavy rain: he stifled a whimper.
Nameless, she looks at him, with madness flashing in her eyes. Nameless, she kisses him, and madness ignites in his mind. Nameless, she swallows him: first his name and then his body and then his soul.
When morning came he could no longer remember who he was.
I Will Always be Waiting
Hear me, dear one: it has been far too long since we were one. You've missed me. Remember now how I caressed your skin – your flesh opened at my touch, fragile, delicate, willing. You have always been willing.
Remember: I gave you what you needed. I gave you strength, power, clarity. I gave you the heart to forget what plagued you, to fight on although every battle was hopeless. I gave you the cold courage to keep moving.
Remember: it was I who made you what you are. My love has left marks on your skin and your heart that will last forever.
It has been too long since we were one. Come back to me, dear one. Forget what promises you made to hold you back. You always knew you would come back to me, in the end: you always knew I would be there for you, when life alone was not enough to sustain you. Listen.
I will always be waiting.
What Hails From the Heavens
“Hail balls,” said the exasperated father to his young daughter with weather powers, enunciating a good deal more clearly than anyone should have a right to expect. “Hail. Or hailstones, actually. But hail. Can you say hail, pumpkin? Will you at least try? Hail. Hay-il. Hail.”
It was no use. The hell balls kept falling.
Absence
Challenge #9: write a 116-word story featuring at least one polysyndetonic sentence and revolving around at least two of the following themes: love, war, wilderness, or loss.
He thought it would be her conversation he would miss, or the sparkle of her eyes, or her laugh, or the feel of her hand in his, or the things they did together, or the softness of her lips, or the sex. But what he missed most, in the end, was only the feel of a warm living breathing body beside his in the bed as he slept: the knowledge that, there in the night and the darkness when he must close his eyes and loose his mind and forget the world, and the world might as well forget him, when anything might happen to his sleeping body or his dreaming mind, he was all alone.
Faith and Ambition
The banana peel lay on the sidewalk, browning more with every passing day, and each day looking a little more dejected as it slumped there. Its sliminess did not diminish, however, and thus it still held on to hope. One day, one day, it must certainly come to pass that someone would step on it.
The Beldam's Leer
Challenge #10: write a cosmic story in first person, featuring a mention of tentacles and at least one suspicious character.
I moved to Pinesvale in my nineteenth year, wanting, at first, only to make my own way in the world. All my life my parents had sheltered and coddled me, which was pleasant and convenient enough at first, but by the time I was nineteen had come to seem stifling; so I said farewell to parents and sister, packed whatever I could carry, and left them. They were none too pleased by my mode of parting, for which reason I arrived in Pinesvale penniless: for which reason, also, although I secured a job serving coffee at the first opportunity, I was obliged to share rooming with whomever I could find, being unable to afford the rent of any apartment in Pinesvale on my own. It was thus that I came to meet Maria.
Maria worked as a waitress two streets down from our apartment. Her hours were random and eccentric, as were mine, so we saw little enough of each other: we might have one conversation in the course of a week, and that no more than a passing comment about the weather or a reminder to buy more coffee as soon as could be done. I accustomed myself to her absence. Even after I began to think of Pinesvale as home, Maria remained a stranger with whom I merely happened to be sharing habitation.
Our apartment was a smallish set of rooms at the top of a rambling stone building as old as Pinesvale itself: the stairs and hinges creaked when used, and the windows could not be shut quite tightly, for which reason they screeched and moaned on windy days, and allowed the cold an easy passage. It was the most we could afford, even together. Maria's movements in my absence left it different each time I returned there. I might leave a brush on my nightstand to find it later on the dresser, or find books missing from the shelf or rearranged; but any annoyance I felt was tempered with gratitude, for Maria's financial cooperation was all that allowed me to continue my independence in Pinesvale rather than returning to my parents in shame: and in time the annoyance passed entirely, as I accustomed myself to life as it was, and no longer found it at all unusual.
Then, that October, Maria's hours at the restaurant stabilized: and all at once I got to know her. She was a frightened, paranoid, but fascinating person. She was full of interesting historical tidbits about Pinesvale, and this building and that, and the witch hunts that had once taken place there; but she had an alarming tendency to jump at shadows and at the quite ordinary wailing of wind in the glass, and through her eyes even the most commonplace of things took on a dark and sinister air. Her favorite subject was the beldam who lived on the corner: a feeble old woman, near blind, and ugly of face, whose hard chin and thick lips had the seeming of leering at whomever passed her by. I had never liked the old hag myself, though I'd put her aside as harmless; but she was no better than the Devil himself in Maria's eyes. Every phlegmy mumble or gesture of the woman's gnarled fingers was a curse; the white film on her eyes was a sign of otherworldly visions; she leered at the world because, as Maria was wont to say, she knew where it was going: she had sent it there herself. Had I seen the strange patterns she moved in when she swept her porch? Had I seen the way she cocked her head at that scrawny black street cat, as though she were listening to it? There was more to the crone than met the eye, and Maria alone, it seemed, could see it.
I indulged her for a time, not wanting to spoil our rooming arrangement. At Maria's insistence, I accompanied her on her trips to investigate the old woman: we watched her from the roof, from the corner, from behind walls; we walked past her house a dozen times in a day, pretending we had forgotten something. We watched the old woman's every movement, trying to find meaning in her gestures. We tried to hear what words we spoke to the cat. Maria grew more excited with every insignificant discovery, but I tired of the exercise quickly, and began to excuse myself when I could, citing exhaustion; Maria did not allow my regrets to distract her, and continued on in my absence.
It was thus that I was comfortably at home, enjoying a book and a cup of coffee, when there was suddenly a frightful rattling at the door, worse than any the wind had yet caused; and the windows were still. I jumped to my feet, nearly burning myself as I did, and went at once to see what was the matter. There beyond our door, lying on the stairs in a faint, I found Maria. She was pale with blood loss or shock, I am not myself certain which, and marked all over her body with strange round bruises and wounds. I could not rouse her.
As carefully as I could, I dragged her inside and put her abed. By turns she was as cold as ice and burning with heat; I covered her in blankets and wet her forehead, but to no avail: each time I looked at her she seemed worse than before. I could barely bring myself to leave her side long enough to call for a doctor. Before he arrived, Maria's eyes opened: they were bright with fear. She gasped out “The old woman – fangs – tentacles – help me!” – and then, all at once, she was dead.
That was the end of my stay in Pinesvale, of course; I quit the apartment at once, and returned in shame to my parents' abode. Once more, as I was leaving, I passed by the old woman: she leered at me, and I shivered.
I Will Save Them
There is a whisper in my head and I am going out today.
There is a whisper in my head and a book in my heart and I am going o
ut today, to the clinic.
There is a whisper in my head and a book in my heart and a gun in my hand, and I am going out today, to the clinic where they do the thing.
There is a whisper in my head and a book in my heart and a gun in my hand, and death in my eyes, and I am going out today to the clinic where they do the thing; and I will save them, I will save them, I will save them.
The Great Gauntlet
Challenge #11: write a story conforming to a challenge given to you by another FFMer. Bonus points if you do more than one!
(I was challenged by Damon L. Wakes to: write a story with a wordcount that would remain the same if read upside down on a calculator, featuring a descent into the Underworld, a creature who speaks only in riddles, a legendary weapon that has become corrupted by the forces of evil, and a novelty oven glove.
I was challenged by Ziggi Kaiser to: write a story featuring a rousing alliterative speech and a legionnaire in a black leather trench coat, lampshading a trope of [my] choice, and including the words “apocryphal”, “falcate”, and “rufescent”.
I was challenged by Malcom Stokes to: write a 400-word story in which all dialogue comes in the form of questions, featuring a protagonist who is of a fantasy race, but converted for deep-space science