#12 - Something Beautiful

Today’s words: Plenty, Singer, Atmosphere, Tribe

Word count: 454

Summary: When you love someone, every detail of them gets magnified

Author’s notes: I tried not to base this on Anthony Kiedis, but RHCP are my favourite band....

 

My thumb carefully traced the shy wrinkles at the corner of his left eye, brushing past a few of his dark eyelashes that would always flutter in that cute way whenever he was surprised or confused. Touching his face like that within the silent atmosphere of the room made me feel like I was falling for him all over again. My heart rippled and my skin burst into cool flames: love’s physical form. His eyes would reflect everything that I loved about him: his uncanny ability to turn anything serious into a joke; how he would always insist that I had the last bite of food, even if it was that fudge cake that reminded him of his mum; the pleasure that he took in staring at me and crossing his eyes just to make me laugh.

His face and all that it encapsulated was great, but it was his hands that I loved the most. They were the shell to my oyster, the ribcage to my lungs... Never before had I seen such power manifest itself in one place. If I ever cried, one gentle touch on my cheek was enough to calm the harsh sea that erupted out of me like an active volcano. Any time that he performed onstage, my focus was on his hands gripping the microphone as if it would disintegrate if he let it go. He would always sing into his hands as he held the head of the mic, it was like he was kissing me the entire time, eyes closed in delight. He’d always wanted to be a singer.

A sharp pull on my hand snapped me out of my hand-induced daydream as he rushed towards the tube station with me. Over ten years in the industry and he was still late for band rehearsals nine times out of ten. All I could see as we ducked and weaved through the crowd was the tattoo on his upper arm, something to do with a tribe he visited on his travels in the Far East. He had a few more, but that one was my favourite. Anytime I held onto his arm, I’d stroke it lightly with my index finger; the centre of the tattoo was the bold outline of a heart, so sometimes I housed my invisible initials inside of it.

He was a bit of a dork at times, hogged the covers, and he was usually late for dates, but there was nothing about him I’d change.

“Hey, what you thinkin’ about?” he asked, panting heavily once we’d gotten on a train at Piccadilly Circus.

I smiled as I looked at him: his dark hairline, prominent collarbones, the veins under his tanned skin... “Something beautiful.”

#11 - Welcome to the Horror Society

Today’s words: Ken, Showing, Bucket, Graduate

Word count: 469

Summary: A university’s ‘horror’ society have an unorthodox way of accepting a young girl’s application.

Before I graduated, I was a member of the ‘horror’ society. We came up with horror stories, went on trips to haunted locations, and had a movie showing every Wednesday in the old campus building. No-one really came near the building, even in the daytime, so it was like our spooky little hideout: high ceilings, old stone walls, and wooden flooring that would creak loudly any time someone stepped on it.

The leader of the society was Seth Teesdale; as Seth was our leader, he decided who was allowed to join the club. Any time that somebody signed up to the society, he’d test them – If they passed, they were permitted to join, if not, he’d give them dirty looks, pull pranks on them, and ‘forget’ to invite them to social gatherings. Many left, but some stuck it out in spite of Seth’s neglectful behaviour.

Seth’s initiation trials were usually pretty predictable – walk through the woods behind the science building unaided, watch A Serbian Film (uncensored) without flinching, tell a scary story that can unsettle him, that sort of thing. That was, until Kenna filled out her application form. Maybe it was because Ken was the first girl to apply in three months, or because Seth had a soft spot for her, but she was the only one who he paid ‘special attention’ to.

Ever seen Jack Ketchum’s Girl Next Door ? I think he got the idea from that. He tied Ken up half-naked in the basement of the campus building for three days – if she stayed there without complaining, she’d be allowed to join. Everyone thought it a little harsh, but we didn’t say anything to Seth. A steel bucket was placed on the floor by her feet, and Seth brought her food and water, but that was it. Not once did she beg to be let go or cry, until the third day when Seth got his pocket knife out.

“I don’t want to mark your pretty face, Kenny, so...”

As soon as he started tracing her side with the blade, I left. He wouldn’t actually cut her, I thought, that’d be too messed up.

When I got round to seeing her the next day, my hand involuntarily shot to my mouth and my eyes widened. What I saw before me didn’t seem real, I told myself that it was Halloween make-up; I think I knew deep down that it wasn’t. Her body was completely limp, feet all dirty, skin peeling away at the hells, and she had knife wounds all over her body. I tried to shout, or cry, but all I could do was take a few steps back, eyes glued to all of her scars that could never, would never heal.

You know what he said to justify himself?

“Fake blood gets old.”

#10 - The Game

Today's words: Sufferer, Midday, Gentleman, Animal 

Word Count: 480

Summary: A young man has his life disrupted forever due to something that happened when he was a kid.

Trigger warning: hints of abuse

 Every Saturday at midday, Michael dies.

Holding onto the closest available object, he clutches it in desperation until his knuckles turn paper-white. His whole body feels like it’s rejecting his soul, like someone’s trying to exorcise something evil out of him. Eventually he collapses into a trembling heap on the floor, struggling to collect as much oxygen as he can whilst his brain repeats for what feels like hours that he’s going to be okay.

Saturday afternoons with his dad would be something to look forward to every week. He’d prepare his clothes, comic books, and homework days in advance, alerting his friends at school whenever it was nearly the weekend. With his elbows on the windowsill overlooking the front garden, he’d press his forehead against the cold glass and wait until he could see the white registration plate that had his initials at the end (if you changed the ‘5’ for an ‘S’), and the friendly one, two, and three flash of the headlights. Scrambling from the window, he’d grab his backpack, kiss his mother, and run out of the door like an over-enthusiastic puppy, scared that its owner had left forever.

One Saturday, Michael’s dad invented a game.

“Are you ready, Mikey?”

“What do I have to do, again?”

“When you see the all of the hands of the clock move to twelve, you have to close your eyes. Then, I have to try and make you open them. If I can make you open your eyes in five minutes or less, I win; if not, you win, and I’ll give you a bag of sweets.”

“Butter fudge from Thornton’s??”

“The very same.”

“What if I lose?”

“If you lose...I have to dare you to do something, and you can’t say no.”

“Like what? Something scary...?”

“All you have to do is win, Mikey.”

The first time that Michael played the game, he lost after a few seconds.

“Hey! No fair – you know I’m really ticklish, dad!”

“Haha okay, I’ll try something different.”

A person is most vulnerable in two situations: when they can’t see, and when they’re naked.

“Dad, this feels weird.”

“You want this fudge, right?”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“Then keep your eyes closed.”

“Dad, this is starting to hurt, can we stop?”

“We’ve still got two minutes left. You want to win the game, don’t you?”

“Daddy...”

Every Saturday at midday, Michael’s dad shrugged off his regular skin; like a werewolf at the sight of a full moon, he turned into an animal.

And he used to be such a nice gentleman...

--

Michael’s nearly thirty now; he has a job that he loves, a steady girlfriend, and a cosy house in California that he paid for with his own money.

Michael is also a long-term sufferer of weekly panic attacks that tend to last for five minutes or less. He can’t remember why.

Switching things up

Okay so....I said I'd start writing stories again after a little break last year and I just stoppd altogether. I know why now.

I hated writing outside of genres that I wasn't comfortable with. I felt demotivated if I had to write within a genre that I disliked, which in turn probably made the story (and my writing) worse.

What I've decided is to continue this blog, but with random genres taken away. Random words stay.

This isn't to say that I'll JUST be writing one genre, I think it's great to experiment with different genres but only ones that I feel comfortable enough with.

What can you expect to see from me, then? I like romance, horror, thriller, comedy, and tragedy, mainly, but some other things may be thrown in there, too. That's varied enough, see?

I'll be able to start very soon and will continue to write every other day like I was doing before I stopped.

Sorry for the prolonged absense. *bows*