Morsels of Fiction

Little pieces of fun

Small Animals Can’t Fight Back

Igor watched the centipede slowly make it‘s way down a mossy tree trunk. He brought his large hand up and hovered it just over the unsuspecting insect. He likes this moment. The one just before. He closed his eyes to savor it just for a moment, then he opened them again in sync with the movement of his hand.

            The centipede turned into sticky insect go under his palm and he revelled in the feeling. Insects did not provide the most satisfaction though. He still recalled the smoky stench of the burned cat with the outmost pleasure. His face soured at the memory of the lashes that followed it. The townspeople did not share his enthusiasm for maiming animals nor did they condone it.

            He had to make himself content with squashing bugs and torturing whatever tiny thing he came across in the patch of forested land by the town. Birds chirped high up in the tree and Igor scowled at them. So far the hated creatures had eluded him. Far too quick. He picked up a few loose rocks and launched them into the thick of the tree. The bluebirds scattered and took to the sky with screeches and flaps of tiny wings.

            At least that shut them up. He inspected the tree trunks for any further signs of insects, but found nothing but his splotches of his own handiwork. A small quirrel scampering from the forest caught his eye. Igor had never had a squirrel before. He wondered how it‘d smell burnt and schorched, delighting in the thought.

            He delicately approached it, trying his best not to spook it. The little creature turned to look at him, then retreated just a little further into the forest. Igor hesitated, he‘d heard stories about the forest and dark things that lived inside it. Things that made his own urges seem like love and caring.

            The way the squirrel cheekily regarded him made the decision for Igor, he again did his best sneaky approach. The squirrel once more retreated and Igor followed. This went on for a while, drawing Igor further and further into the forest. The leaves got thicker and let less and less light through.

            Always the squirrel stayed just out of reach. The darkness became unnatural, the shadows longer and longer and a chill extended down Igor‘s spine. He looked around and somehow all the branches around him seemed to end in long gnarled claws. The squirrel disappeared from sight but Igor thought he heard whispers.

            „Just leaves.“ The sound of his own voice startled him for a bit. The whispers became louder and Igor had enough. He started running but immidaitely tripped over roots that somehow tangled themselves around his ankles. The trees bent and swayed around him, and he could swore it became as dark as night.

            Red eyes glinted in the forest, as he frantically tried to pull the roots away from his foot to no avail. Against all logic it only tightened. Suddenly both wind and whispers stopped and everything fell dead silent. Igor‘s breath and heartbeat rang out clear. The smell of burnt meat filled his nostrils, without any clear source.

            He heard a cat meow, but saw nothing. And then again but this time it emerged. The very same cat he‘d burnt to ashes some months ago. It came and sat down as cats do and started licking its paw. Igor just stared. Then it looked at him and Igor swallowed. The cat then silently scampered away, and the grip of the root loosened.

            Perhaps a cloud just flew by and uncovered the sun but everything became brighter. Igor pulled himself free and ran out of the forest, nearly crying. He never hurt an animal again.

Nameless Horror

Come, I will show you.” The voice had no tone or shape but he heard the words as clear anything. He did not walk for he had no legs nor a body, but somehow he floated after the figure. Looking at it was a curious feeling, because he could see hundreds of shapes in one, flashing images. A dragon, an old man, a ghost, a skeleton … Yet the presence itself never flickered or wavered or even changed sizes. Always a vague humanoid.

The great hall they were in remained constant. Dark and vast, he could not see the end of it. Pillars came up, roughly at eye level, each with arms that resembled tentacles reaching up and cradling a glass globe. Inside each globe he saw galaxies, stars and planets. Each of them swirling and spinning.

Fascinated by such a creation he moved closer and inspected one. Incredibly as he thought about it the image in the globe zoomed in … No, he realized his vision extended and somehow he saw BOTH the planet and tiny little cities littering the surface of it … “Come.” Without tone the voice somehow conferred a sense of command and urgency.

He followed, and as he floated he contemplated on the nature of these worlds. The figure stopped in front of one globe, identical to all the others. “This is yours.

“Is it?” His own voice sounded so familiar and yet he felt convinced it had no sound.

You have work to do.”

“Why this one?”

The figure looked at him and for a moment he felt the force of a thousand ages bear down on him. Knowledge, wisdom, boundless cruelty and endless compassion all at once. That one look was enough. He needed no more to know he should obey. He looked at the globe and the people living on the planet came into view.

Tiny humans playing with their technology and toys. The longer the consciousness existed the more sure of himself he became. He knew the purpose of his creation and he knew what he had to do. Once it had been an asteroid and another time a flood. This time maybe a virus, maybe a nameless tentacle horror. One thing was for certain, the little creatures had their time to play with trinkets. Their time of extinction had come. Something else would rise now.

Something wiser he hoped.

(This is a short fiction exercise piece, some of the influences I very loosely had in mind were Terry Pratchett and H.P. Lovecraft)

Run

Writing exercise, focusing on description.  (specifically of running through a forest).  Funny how I always want to make these into self-contained stories. 

 

The sound of their footsteps cut through the forest silence, like an unwelcome intruder. All her concentration went into trying to keep track of the elusive humanoid, glimpsing it through the trees. Her world became heavy breathing and flashing foliage. Rustle of leaves as the wind blew through them. Occasionally her expensive shoes would sink into something sticky, but she didn‘t allow her mind to dwell on what exactly and pulled herself free.

She had to trust her feet and the feel she had for the familiar forest. So far they hadn‘t let her down but as her eyes were otherwise occupied she couldn‘t spare a look down. Any moment some stray root or rock could trip her up and end her chase. The morning sun cut through the leaves of the tall trees shielding most of the forest floor, sometimes hitting her straight in the eyes and taking away her sight, not helping things.

Her prey had been keeping a sprinting pace for the better part of an hour and her own stamina felt nearly depleted. At this point she carried herself onwards mostly on willpower. That man had taken something more precious than all the gold in her father‘s coffers. All her life her talents lay in running, perhaps not the greatest or most flashy talent but it was hers.

And she‘d be damned if that fool would take it from her. Her lungs tried to take in more air than her mouth could supply and her calves burned. Damnit, how was he so fast? She glimpsed his form fewer and fewer times between the trees as he pulled ahead. She tried to increase her own speed but she had no energy left to give.

Only when she completely lost sight of him did she stop. She looked around, at the tall old oaks that obscured her view in most directions. He cold be hiding anywhere, or long gone. As soon as she‘d remained still for more than a few seconds, gasping for air, she realized she wouldn‘t be able to start running again for a while. She allowed herself to collapse to her knees on the dirt ground.

A familiar voice spoke behind her in a mocking but still good-humoured tone, „That‘s all you got, sister?“

She turned her head around, too exhausted to bother with feeling bad. „Okay, you win.“ He‘d taken the only thing she was best at, but she always figured it was only a matter of time. You never stay ahead for long.

 

Blink

„Close your eyes for a moment when you‘re tired and you‘re gone. Sometimes you‘re transported to another world and sometimes that time is just … gone. You dreamt something and don‘t remember it or maybe you dreamt nothing at all. Blink. Hours of your life missing.

 

What if you lived your life like that?

 

Blink, convenience store, blink, home, blink …. You would remember nothing of the time in between. For all you know you were a different person. Controlled, or a different personality took over. The times you woke up would be the nightmare, but you‘d only have time to be scared.

 

That was my life for seven years.

 

I still don‘t remember any of it. People tell me what I did, that I acted no different, except for the freakouts. Imagine that. The time I was awake was the time I acted abnormal. That‘s what they noticed. I‘m okay now. Sort of. No more blackouts. My doctor told me to keep this journal, that it would help make sense of what‘s real, and what‘s not. I don‘t see the point, since I‘m cured. But doctor Anniston has hel-“

 

He returned to consciousness just as his finger pressed down on a key. His heart pumped faster as he read what he just wrote. How dare it? How dare it take over his life? He had the urge to scream.

 

Anger

The red butt shaped symbol we refer to as heart has been relentlessly associated with love and nice feelings, yet I‘ve found that the feeling that burns in the heart the most is anger. It‘s a special kind of almost pain that fills the body with adrenalin and instills a longing for violence and hateful comments.

As a motivator I would say it works even better than love. Love leaves you lethargic and pining. At best you‘ll be floating on a cloud of dreams through your still-ordinary days while anger calls on you to take action. Take that knife and slash someone. Take that punch, you can do it, the dark whispers say, and promise to give you power beyond your normal abilities.

Hate will see you through everytime. If you know how to use it, how to stoke the fires and keep them as slow embers even when all rational thought tells you to just let it go, then you will be invinicible. Untouchable. Perhaps you won‘t have many friends, but your enemies?

They will spend their last moments regretting every little thing they did to you.

Unoriginal

A writer sits and contemplates his first post.

He starts, has already started and words appear ….

So I was thinking I would put my writing exercises here, a better place to put them than in virtual boxes.  Let the people of the internet as they are called enjoy and perhaps comment.  Maybe even note my thoughts on writing.

Watch this space and watch this blog.  Lo and behold perhaps something wonderful will emerge from between the posts ….

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