Unlike many entries I've not got a lot to say. Bit tired. Bit more tired. Also a dash of distracted, watching with peripheral vision as my flatmate plays Animal Crossing. I've no desire to take part, but it is fun to watch.
I mention that only because I was this close to making today's prompt have a connection to the game. Lots of folks haven't played it, so instead I've imitated the purple of the flowers growing on my friend's island, and the terra cotta echoes the pathways she has everywhere.
And I mention that in case you are inspired by thoughts of the game, in which case use that! These prompts are only ever to prompt. You need not use them to take part, we just want to help motivate your words and give you a place to share them.
Ready? Set? Go islanders! Er, writers!
Martians in the Manuscript
She was wearing a flowery dress and the first thought she had was that she was dressed completely inappropriately for being kidnapped by a Martian. She was having a picnic on her own, sitting on one of the floating boulders, when he stepped out of the shadow of the blue shrubbery…
*
It wasn’t a costume party, Rhonda had assured Yvonne when she invited them in, “Marla just loves Marvin!” She and Vance both wore homemade Marvin the Martian costumes: red tights and olive-green tutus, all festively bedecked with colorful sequins. Bicycle helmets with shoe brushes perched on top completed the ensemble…
*
The aliens were deeply unimpressed with all of the confusion. No, of course they didn’t call themselves Martians. They were themselves. It was everyone else who was someone else! And no, they didn’t call their ten-budded ships flying saucers, who’d do that? It was entirely obvious these were flying family homes. It just went on, and on like that too…
*
“Wow,” Kl’yd said around a mouthful of what Kel had so proudly presented to him after dinner. It looked like a dessert, but in his mouth it felt more like soft cheese and fingernails. And why the kark was it such a weird shade of green?…… Kel was smiling and waiting for what she hoped would be praise for her efforts.
Hoping you are well and if you're reading these — whether you participate or not — I'd love a wee comment. Just say hi. Tell us how you're fairing today.
Unlike many entries I've not got a lot to say. Bit tired. Bit more tired. Also a dash of distracted, watching with peripheral vision as my flatmate plays Animal Crossing. I've no desire to take part, but it is fun to watch.
„Come on, sweetie, finish your cake.”
The cake was rose-coloured and frilly. Jenna loved it, so of course Jake hated it.
In fact, he hated everything about this day. The cake, the attention his sister got, her stupid dress as frilly as the cake, having to sit with Aunt Marble who smelled like sea weed, but most of all he hated that it reminded him of his own Seabirth-day.
He’d known there was no sense in wishing it wouldn’t come, it was inevitable as the tide, but it only got real when the sea started calling his sister lately and their mom had gone and made an appointment with the priestess.
He’d never cared about the sea, but when his Seabirth-day had grown near, he’d imagined himself as various graceful and dangerous sea creatures. Had annoyed all his friends with his fantasies, making it even more embarrassing that none of them had come true. He sighed. His sister was hopefully gonna be a pink sea slug or a useless thing like a seahorse.
At the beach he listened to the traditional chants and the re-telling of the origins story, the priestess explaining their people’s connection to the sea and the gift of shape-shifting and blab la bla. Everybody here had heard that story 5000 times already.
The sea seemed to be dancing in expectation and excitement. When his sister took the final step from land to water and dipped her feet into the ocean, the waves rushed to the spot where she was standing, lifted her gently and carried her out. She squealed in delight and then all that was left was a series of footprints in the wet sand.
“Why don’t you go in too, Jake? Go swim with your sister!”
Oh no, he’d had enough on his own Seabirth-day. He was not going to turn into his sea-shape in front of all their relatives, or anybody for that matter, ever again.
So Jake, instead of frolicking in the sea as an arrow worm, sat in the sand, pouting, as he jealously watched the slim silhouette of the shark disappear into the ocean.
[Jake’s opinions are his own. Sea slugs are beautiful and so are seahorses. Also he’s an idiot. He should appreciate the fact that he gets to shape-shift into a sea creature!
PS: Apologies to all arrow worms! ]
[c/w: non-graphic discussion of attempted sexual assault]
Hutch brushed his fingertips lightly against her cheek, where the peach was already darkening to purple. Alice didn’t flinch.
“I’ll be all right, don’t you worry none, Handsome Hutch. Some of these gentlemen callers just don’t know how to treat a lady right.” She smiled, a mixture of aw shucks and come hither that her tricks knew well. It was one reason they called her Sweet Alice.
There were other reasons too, of course. Most of them were covered by the robe she had wrapped around her body. Covered, but not hidden.
“Are you kidding me?” Starsky was bristling, despite Hutch’s warning glare. “These so-called ‘gentlemen’ are predators. They’re sharks who only want to put the hurt on you. That’s what turns them on.”
“I can take care of myself. I took care of that one, didn’t I?”
They all looked towards the bedroom. Starsky and Hutch exchanged a meaningful glance. Alice only looked like a delicate hothouse flower.
“Yeah, you did,” Hutch acknowledged. “But—”
“I know there are monsters out there. Believe me, I know. And not all of them come round with a twenty clutched in their fist, either.” Her smile disappeared into a grim line. She rose to stand by the window, rubbing her hands up and down over the silky sleeves of her robe.
Two paramedics came out of the bedroom, wheeling a gurney between them.
“He’s going to be fine, but we’ll take him in and have a doctor look at him, take some x-rays,” one of them said. “He’s under arrest, right?”
Starsky nodded. “We already read him his rights. Tell the unis outside to follow you in. We’ll be along after we finish up here.”
When they were gone, Alice turned back to the two detectives, her sweet expression firmly back in place.
“Y’all came real quick when I called, and I truly appreciate it. Thank you.” She gave Starsky a quick kiss on the cheek, and another, more lingering one, on Hutch’s.
“Alice, you can walk away from this.” Hutch’s voice was soft, but there was conviction in his voice. Or maybe it was just optimism. He was hopeful for her.
If only wishes were horses. Then beggars would ride, and girls like Alice could have hopes too.
“I know I can,” she said. “I will, someday.”
But not today. Not anytime soon. And they all knew it.
Luna could just walk away… just do a fade into the landscape and be gone. Nobody would miss her, people were still coming onto Vegas by the dozens everyday, What the Big Guy maybe didn’t know, was that people were also leaving. Not in huge numbers, just here and there. Some faces she had gotten used to seeing just weren’t there anymore.
And things were starting to get bad. The rumor was there were spies from the other side here; two had been killed and Flagg had missed one of them entirely. If Flagg could miss something like that, things were definitely on a downward trend.
Then there was what happened to his wife, or whatever she was. The story was that she fell from the balcony of their penthouse apartment at the MGM Grand. Some said she jumped and some even went so far as to say the Walkin’ Dude had thrown her off. Either way, dead was dead, and everyone in Vegas started to keep to themselves.
So, pack up and leave, that was Luna’s best option. Leave Vegas and go, where? East she supposed. Leave in the middle of the night and just scoot on outta town on a bicycle. She could pick up a motorbike once she got far enough away. Get out before things got really bad and those dark, dead shark eyes of Randall Flagg had a chance to turn her way.
Four days later Luna found herself in Beaver, Utah. She’d managed to outfit herself with a new motorcycle and camping gear in St. George, and so far, it had been smooth sailing.
On the morning of her fifth day, Luna saw a flash in her rearview mirror and saw that to the west, an orange rose had bloomed. She pulled her bike over to the breakdown lane, took off her helmet, and turned to look at it.
There was no mistaking what it was – a huge mushroom cloud. Classic in its shape, all angry rolling fire and billowing smoke. Castle Bravo, recreated in 1990. Somebody had fucked up out there in the west and set off the big boom. Everyone out there was gone.
Luna put her helmet back on and brought the visor down. Kicking the bike into life, she peeled out into the middle of Interstate 70 and thought, “Nobody is going to bother looking for me now, for sure. I’m free.”
That night, the sunset was a spectacular show of colors: oranges, pinks, purples and yellows. She slept more soundly than she had since Captain Trips had burned across the country, killing the righteous and unrighteous alike.
(I finished re-reading Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’ for the 27th time today. That’s the story that has stuck to my brain. Until today, and the prompt of that orange rose, I had never considered writing a Stand fic. Thank you, Improbable Press.)
The first frost had painted a sheet of crystals on the last roses. Three blossoms had stood the test of autumn winds and the cold, but they would wither as soon as the spell of ice would melt away with the morning sun. The mossy stone bench glistened in the orange lamplight, like a painting just covered with fresh varnish, and not yet dry, with tiny ripples which, when viewed from above, became ever repeating patterns of curves and twists, like fern.
She turned back to look at the gnarly, hovering house, rising up behind her like a dark memory, bending her mind towards pain. She had never considered it safe, and now that she looked at it with new eyes, she knew it never was. Her life in it had pricked her, small needles digging into her skin, not enough to show, but enough to draw blood to the surface, calling out to more pain like a bloodied wave attracted sharks.
Stepping out of that door had been one of the hardest things she had ever done, but seeing the roses hurt almost more. One last goodbye, one last memory of something good before the season would sweep it away and leave nothing but uniform stumps and thorns.
She reached out and plucked one frozen leaf from the fullest rose and carefully laid it out between the pages of her journal. The page was empty. She hadn’t dared to put down in ink what she was about to do. She knew the house would have kept her back. She would have never made it across the threshold. And even now, she felt it reaching out for her. The tentacles of her immediate past, inky and slick with shame and doubt.
But there was one thing she was certain of. One thing only, but a guiding light nevertheless, that led her out through the garden gate and down the path that led onto the road. One thought that gave the rhythm to her breath and her steps as she walked away from everything she knew. One thought that warmed her cheeks even as the cold drove tears out of her eyes.
She knew that there were empty pages in her journal yet to fill, and that there was a story in her yet that she, and only she herself, would finish.
All he had to do was finish it. Just, walk away. Leave this room and go . . . He had no idea where. The shark tunnel. That’s where he would go. He would go and stand in the quiet (there were no school tours today, thankfully) and reflect on why that was a good idea.
So instead, he turned to his companion and said, “so Rose. I’ve been thinking about your little problem. I might have a solution, but it’s going to take a bunch of time and energy. From us both.”
He was such an idiot.