#8 - The Captain

Today’s words: Content, Kidney, Jam, Scope
Today’s genre: Sci-Fi/Comedy/Fantasy
Words: 474

“I scope an interesting planet over there, so’s I does, Cap’n!”

The Captain leant over the navigator’s shoulder with a keen stare in his eyes, lower lip jutting out slightly, eyebrow raised. “Excellent work, Squivvy, you never let me down, do you?”

“Well, sir, I do try an’ all. I’ve become veeeery observant these past few months, wouldn’t you say so, sir? I’ve been searching out planets and moons by way of the constellations, you see? Old trick from --”

“The question was rhetoric, Squivvy; I don’t care how you do it, just as long as you get me to where I need to go, are we clear?”

“Yessir.”

“ I did not bring an old stuffed lizard to life for the purpose of entertaining me with chitter chatter, you are here to work, and if you must natter would you kindly banter to yourself because what you say does not matter to me. ”

They stopped and stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before the Captain repositioned his cap and folded his arms. “Savvy?”

“Squivvy.”

“Savvy?!”

“Oh, yessir Cap’n, you got it Cap’n.”

Alien (the alien) continued to steer the ship, smiling slightly as countless stars and nebula whizzed passed them in a flurry of soft colour. Squivvy had always been cheery and talkative, even when they were stuck in a space jam for hours, he would find endless amusement in playing ‘I Spy.’ Alien and the Captain would be noticeably bored, but Squivvy would continue to smile and laugh like every game was his first go.

After a while, the Captain spoke up: “You know, I uh, I used to snuggle you to death when I was a kid.”

“You did, Cappy, sir?”

“Don’t call me ‘Cappy’.”

“Apologies, Cap...”

“I’d be so content with you, back when my captain’s hat still didn’t fit on my head and I had no concept of what it was like to be in charge of a ship or a crew...or how to us the potty without playing with my faeces.”

“Uh...huh...”

“ You spent most of the day and night in my arms, and you were my toy of choice - the one and only toy who could console me when I contracted an unfortunate kidney disease. I was about eight-years-old, do you recall this, Squiv?”

“I’ve no memory, sir.”

“Yes... You wouldn't, would you?” The Captain stroked the back of his neck as he gazed out of the front window while the orange and red planet glowed warmly ahead of them with its inviting light. “You can be a pain in my backside at times, you know? But I’ll never give you up...not never, you hear?”

“I loves you, so’s I do, Cap.”

A flush of red. “Shut up and look sharp, we’re approaching...”

“Right you are, sir.”

“...Happy-go-lucky bastard.”

#6 - Baby Doll

Today’s words: Condition, Superiority, Beat, Inevitable
Today’s genre: Fantasy/Horror
Word count: 472

Trigger warning: Contains (non-graphic) implications of sexual abuse

I, like many people, was adopted.

I, unlike many people, was adopted by a fairy.

It sounds ideal, right? A cheery little Tinkerbell-like person who carried a trail of fairy dust wherever they went. A flawless, superior being who everyone adored...

This fairy looked beautiful on the outside (long blonde hair, sparkling eyes, slim little waist, you know), but possessed a very ugly inside; a secret side. He thrived on others’ misfortune to appear superior, he’d sprinkle black fairy dust on people for no justifiable reason, and he made it an almost daily occurrence to beat me. It became a routine, an inevitable activity that I would have to endure lest I be chained up in the attic until my bones became part of the furniture. Eventually the beatings evolved into something worse.

The first night that it happened, I was asleep in my bed after a particularly energetic day at primary school; we had had our annual Sports Day and I had tired myself out so much that I almost fainted during the long distance run. All that kept me going was the thought of my soft mattress, big warm duvet, and the unconscious state that I would be in, away from the world, away from him. I had never been woken up to be abused before, it always occurred just before dinner or when I had done something to annoy him, like when I forgot to buy the right brand of cereal.

At first I thought it was a realistic nightmare, I’d get those a lot – the kind of dreams where I could hear myself mumbling out loud and my body would spasm violently, creating new bruises on top of old ones. I could feel those bony fingers trail up my side and tried to push them away, but my body wouldn’t move. There’s a condition called sleep paralysis which I’d experienced a few times, but never like that. Usually it would pass after a few seconds, but that night it felt like it lasted for hours. A multitude of voices whispered over each other in my head but I was forced into silence. My body was useless...my eyes, my mouth, too; I was like an inanimate sex doll that wasn’t required to speak or move, just to lay there and take it, but dolls didn’t cry.

Just when I thought it was over, I felt him again as his hair brushed against my face and his chapped lips grazed my cheek. I think my mouth got away with a few whimpers that may not have been audible, but inside I was screeching, begging for something, anything to happen that would make him stop, just stop, please stop already, Daddy!

He closed in on me and then I was his; his baby doll to play with whenever he got bored.

#4 - The Simple Life

Today’s words: Forecasting, Food, Radar, Breakfast
Today’s genre: Fantasy/Mystery/Historical
Word count: 415

The weather outside the small stone building was very sunny, and it would be for a few days more; at that time however, I was forecasting a dull, dreary day with constant showers and low temperatures – I was right. I am not referring to the weather when I mention an unfavourable outlook, rather I am talking about the family inside that building of stone – a family of five with barely enough food to sustain a singleton. Each and every day they’d make their way to the dining area for breakfast, wooden bowls and spoons held out ready for the broth from mother’s ladle; the children would be dressed in oversized rags and slacks, father would be donning the same dirty shirt and braced trousers that he had worn to the factory every day, and mother would be wearing a very worn dress with a grey-white apron that frayed at all edges. Unclean faces, sunken cheeks, bony limbs...

One awful morning, the wind ravaged and roared through the building, bursting through their uncovered windows and making the overhead cutlery rattle and clang nervously, and something was very different about the broth. Once all of the family’s portions had been rationed out, mother turned around to look into the empty black pot – it was as full as it had been before the first serving. The same thing happened each and every morning after.

The broth had an unusual texture and was the definition of ‘bland’, but they could sustain themselves on it while they afforded other commodities: another set of clothes for the children, some shoes with proper soles, and even a little bracelet for the eldest daughter.

No-one knew how the unending broth was conjured up or why it had decided to happen at the time that it did, but they were extremely thankful. Mother concluded that it was God taking mercy on them; the scuffs on her knees from praying night and day grew, as did her children (into handsome young men and women, let me bear witness).

That family had been on my radar for a long time before I decided that I wanted to intervene – they were very modest, kind, and never complained about their situation, even though they suffered more than most. Using up the only magic that I could exert until the next century, I made it so that they would never run out of food.

No thanks is necessary, it’s what any decent person – or witch – would do if they could.