Ghost, 16/3/17

Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

It was easy not to care when you had no friends.

When nobody seemed to see you.

She floated around the college campus, and no one gave her a second glance.

She bumped into people, and no one even apologized.

As she sat outside on the library lawn, she looked down at her arms. So pale, nearly grey, in the persistent midday sun. Almost as if she was fading away.

She went to pick herself up, and made her way to her next class.

As she passed by the law building, an overly loud, familiar laugh made her stop.

With it came a sudden, unexpected fear. Her legs buckled, and she clutched at her throat, feeling invisible hands there, choking, tighter and tighter, unrelenting.

And then, only moments later, the invisible hands were gone.

She took a long, rattling breath.

Where on earth had she heard that laughter before, and why had it triggered such intense fear?

She couldn’t even stand properly, let alone think straight.

As she suspected, no one had even noticed her little outburst on the college walkway.

It was as if she wasn’t even there.

Advertisements

The Protagonist, 14/3/17

He is tall, but not too tall. Tall enough to rest his chin on the head of his love interest. He is thin, too, and a bit muscular, but not too fit. It can’t look like he goes to the gym everyday for several hours, although lets be honest, he probably does.

He usually has brown, or black hair. Dark and mysterious. But obviously, not too dark, or too mysterious. Your reader has to connect with him, after all.

He’s good enough at school. He misses way too many classes, because who has time for Math when you’re busy saving the world?

He’s pretty perfect. Chiseled jaw, just the right amount of stubble, 20/20 vision.

Actually, he shouldn’t be totally perfect. He has some “flaws” too, like his crooked grin. Make sure your love interest mentions it, oh, at least twenty or so times. If you want to spice things up a bit more, give him weird coloured eyes too. Lavender, amber, silver, emerald green, or even mismatched ones will do the trick.

Now all he needs is a totally overpowered super power, a goofy sidekick, and a decent amount of teen angst, and he will be ready to run off and save the world.

With little to no mistakes made, of course.

Intuition, 13/3/17

That night, she had a dream that someone stole her kidney.

She watched them, having knocked her to the floor and tying her up, take a scalpel and gloves and a Tupperware container from a black rucksack.

In the dream, it wasn’t painful at all. She saw them cut into skin and remove the reddish-brown organ, placing it in the container.

They sewed her back up, untied her, and left.

Easy as that.

She woke up feeling dreadful though. Her forehead was covered in sweat, her hair oily and mussed, as if she had been tossing and turning all night. Most noticeably, she was in extreme pain.

She cried out, and her husband, being a heavy sleeper, finally woke up. They headed straight for the emergency room.

After a whole array of tests and scans and a suitable dose of medication, the Doctor on call came to give her the diagnosis.

But she didn’t give him the chance. “It’s kidney disease, isn’t it?”

Her Doctor looked rather flustered. “Uh, yes ma’am, I’m sorry to say that it is indeed,” he said. “How did you know?”

She sighed. “Just intuition, I guess.”

Ex-thief, 9/3/17

As he crouched on the terraced rooftop, Ciro held out a single razor sharp blade, lazily twisting its hilt between gloved fingertips. The metal glinted in the moonlight, which was dancing across the dark canal below.

It had been a long night, and he was aching to return to his small, yet fairly comfortable room at the Drunken Blacksmith.

There was just one, tiny thing he had left to do.

Returning the thin blade to its sheath, he crept back across the rooftops, away from the docks toward the centre of the city. He passed by many balconies, avoiding the temptation that the dark windows brought, their occupants having retired for the evening. It would be so easy to slip in and pocket any discarded fineries he could spot within the villa. The owners would hardly miss one or two items, and they would fetch a hefty price, if Ciro could find the right buyer.

He shook himself out of his stupor and continued on. His thieving days were far behind him. Besides, he had one balcony in particular he was heading for, and a mission far greater than simply robbing the wealthy nobles of their plentiful jewels.

Ciro had to make someone disappear. For good.

Hide, 8/3/17

Darkness swirled before him, in the way that it did when his eyelids were tightly shut. He could see nothing, feel nothing.

He could hear it though. Somewhere deep in the forest, far enough away that it hadn’t found him, yet.

If it were a windier day, the faint sounds could almost be mistaken for trees moving, branches creaking, or even small animals, moving across the ground to find a daily meal.

But it was a hot night. And still. Far too still.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Despite the unbearable heat, chills ran from his spine, all the way down to his toes.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out some kind of structure, maybe thirty paces to his left.

It was an impossible choice.

Every horror film he had watched as a child almost screamed at him, Psycho-violin style, not to go inside. It would most certainly be a trap.

There would be no way out.

But the comfort of a door to hide behind, maybe even to lock, and most definitely to barricade, was too good to put down.

Besides, he couldn’t stay out here in the forest, in the middle of nowhere, without any way to navigate.

A faint howl from the creature helped him make up his mind.

The house it was.

Disclaimer: Yes, I realise this story was incredible cliché. Listening to horror soundtracks whilst writing is really not great for my creativity/originality.

Sushi, 6/3/17

“You want soy sauce with that?”

Her server stood with his fingers poised over the tiny plastic fishes, a perfectly rehearsed grin both hiding and hinting at the tiredness beneath.

“Yes please, and extra, if you can spare it,” she returned. “Please,” she tacked on, as an afterthought.

“Wasabi?”

“What? Oh no, I’m too white for that,” she said, immediately regretting the slip of tongue.

The boy serving her stopped, as if startled, but then his fake grin changed ever so slightly, his eyes glinting, and then, he laughed.

“Haven’t heard that one before,” he grinned.

“It’s a constant struggle really, being this white,” she said, making sure to layer on what was already obvious sarcasm.

“I can see that.”

As he got her change out of the register, she looked more closely at him. He was kind of cute, actually. Medium height, with tawny brown bed-hair and a decent layer of stubble.

Definitely too white to be working at a sushi shop.

Photograph, 5/3/17

She held the photograph closer, clutching it to her as her eyes began to blur, colours and lines fading beneath the tears that swelled, and then, finally, released, dropping thickly onto the black and white polaroid.

Her sadness weighed her down constantly. It swept around her, a blanket, or more likely, a restraint.

She could hardly move anymore.

Well, she could move, but the idea of moving too far, of even – god forbid – leaving the house, only served to increase the writhing pains within her stomach. The world would slow to nothing, and it was as if her hearing became pronounced; she could hear her heart beating reluctantly in her chest, her hands clenching, nails digging deeper in her palm, and her breathing ragged, ever so slow.

The days went by, and every moment felt like a dream.

At one point, she thought she heard John knock on the door, most likely with a parcel from some online shopping venture a few weeks prior. And yet, she didn’t move to answer the door. Eventually, after a minute or so, the knocking stopped, and muffled footsteps signalled John’s retreat.