Suddenly Stories

Inspired by this prompt, which provided the first two sentences of the drabble. I wrote this as a five-minute, no editing writing challenge.

“How about you step away from the weapon of mass destruction and we settle this like gentlemen?”

“How about ‘no’?”

“Please?”

“What kind of ploy is that? Do you think I’m some kinda idiot?”

“Kinda?”

“Well, how about—hrck!”

thud

“Took ye long enough.”

“I wanted to see if I could get you shot again.”

“Really.”

“Yep.”

“Why do I work with you again?”

“I pay well?”

“Yea, there’s that.”

“And I’m pretty?”

“Fff, yea. Ri—urk!”

“And I’m pretty?”

“Yer. pretty. very. very pretty.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“That’s completely uncool, ye know. Strangling yer own.”

“I didn’t see that clause in my contract when I signed on.”

“Didn’t you hire me?”

“Hmm … oh yea! I did!”

“Hmph.”

“But there’s nothing in your contract that says I can’t strangle you.”

“I hate y—”

“The kids are getting restless, Sue,” Donna said tiredly, dragging herself into the kitchen where her sister was heating the last half of a can of ravioli over a candle. “I had to let them jump on the sofa ten minutes before they would sleep.”

It was a nervous energy that gripped the five year old twin boys, Ben and Ken, aware of the danger even at their age and normally too fatigued from hunger to cause much damage. They had learned near-complete silence early on from their terrified mother. 

Just a small drabble. I might continue it later since I enjoyed writing it very much actually… didn’t edit it much so pardon my nonsense. Anyway here is Purple what a terrible title tho inspired by the prompt: The thing that crawled out of the drain was purple and glistening, and seemed to fold in on itself impossibly as it moved.

-

The thing that crawled out of the drain was purple and glistening, and seemed to fold in on itself impossibly as it moved.

“Good call on the bathtub,” Seth said. Fin nodded absently in response, his eyes fixated on the otherworldly being. “That probably wouldn’t wash off the carpet.”

“I thought it’d be bigger and you know….scarier,” Fin said.

“I assure you,” the purple crawly thing wriggled and writhed upwards into mid-air. “You do not wish for scarier.”

The boys stared agape at it. “Did it just speak?” Seth murmured.

“It has a name, you know.” There was the voice again. Guttural and loud, it spoke with no mouth. The disembodied voice was offended.

“What is it?” Fin dared asked.

“Haven’t you boys ever heard of the power in a name?” The crawly purple writhed again, slowly it was taking shape. The shape of a person….no, people didn’t have horns, Fin thought – definitely no horns on anyone he knew at least. 

“Call me Athelstan for the time being,” it smiled, he smiled – definitely male. His hair cascaded down to his bare chest, golden as the sun but icy blue on the tips. On his arms, the remaining purple viscosity settled as a tattoo of writhing tentacles. He towered over them, gazing down at the two stupid little humans with black lifeless eyes, no white, no visible pupils or irises. Truly two black orbs. This was a terrible idea. 

“Hi, Athels—  Fin muffled a grunt as Seth elbowed his side. 

"Greetings, Athelstan. To my knowledge of demon summoning – which I must admit is not very large – you’re supposed to answer three of our questions truthfully and then we’ll offer you something of ours in return, correct?” Probably their souls.

“Yesss,” he hissed.

Today was the first one in a looooong time, sorry amigos. Since it’s been so long, a quick reminder: this blog was started for people to submit the stuff they write from @suddenlyprompts, but all writing is welcome!  (Poems, short stories, whatever…hell, you can submit a novel if you want to) If you did write it from a suddenly prompts prompt, feel free to put the prompt at the top like a couple people have done. Or you can just keep us guessing :) Also, I’ve made a few half-hearted attempts to tag things with their genre and so forth, but if y’all want to correct or add to those shoot me a message and I’ll change it!

And please send me more stuff! It brings me joy to find a new story in my inbox, and I’m sure it brightens everyone else’s day to see it in their feed.

He closed his eyes and took it all in. The pain. The absence. The guilt. Time didn’t make it easier, it never did. Breathing deeply, Kyle looked up and took another step. Slowly, he walked around the empty room, his hand reaching for the memories. He could still see everything with such clarity. In this corner, there was the messy desk with piles of books and loose pages. Near the window, there had been pictures of them together and over there, the bed, sheets always all over the place. The dresser, with necklaces hanging and clothes thrown over open drawers. Heels and boots lying on the floor. The mirror with a faint trace of lipstick. The lavender walls fading in the sunlight. It was still there as it had been that day he last saw her.

Sara was gone now and Kyle couldn’t a thing about it. Looking outside, he watched the snow slowly fall on the already frozen land. He hadn’t wanted to empty the room. He had wanted to leave it intact, as if it would’ve been enough to bring the teenager back, but her mother had decided otherwise. Her pain had been great. Was still, or so he was told. He didn’t speak to her anymore. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since that night the police knocked to their door. Since they had discovered Sara’s body. Carmen had thrown everything around and trashed most of it. Out of rage. Out of pain. And then, she had left.

Kyle was now alone in an empty house. A cold house. He deeply believed Carmen still blamed him for what had happened. She had asked how he could be so impassive. Insensitive. He should’ve been there, that night. He should’ve protected her. Wasn’t that what a father was meant to be? What was he good for if he couldn’t shield an innocent girl from the darkness of this world? Why hadn’t he not stopped her from going out so late? Why…?

- Daddy…

A soft voice in his ear. Kyle could feel a cool breath on neck.

No, he begged. Not tonight, please.

- Daddy, help me…

He didn’t dare turn around. He knew what he would see. He knew she was there, in the white summer dress she had been wearing for that last party. He knew the delicate cloth was soiled with dirt and blood, ripped in places. He didn’t want to see the reproach in her eyes, the bruises on her so fair skin.

- Daddy, please… Where are you?

Closing his eyes, Kyle breathed deeply. He couldn’t escape. Time didn’t make it easier, it never did.

- I’m here, baby.

Words whispered to the dead. Tears in his eyes, he turned his head and glimpsed at the image of Sara. She was beautiful. Still. Despite everything. She was breathtaking. And she was reaching for him. How could he not answer? Unable to avoid the inevitable, he smiled sadly as his fingers closed around her icy pale hand.

- I’m so sorry, Sara… I’m here now…

            When we pulled up at the school and got out, I realized my hands were shaking slightly. It was colder than the weather channel had predicted, and the air felt dry, like it might snow. I’d never actually been to a dance, but I knew how to slow dance because of my uncle’s wedding when I was twelve. That should have been some comfort, I guess. At least I wouldn’t make a complete fool out of myself, if I danced at all. I could just convince Randy to stand in the corner with me, drink orange Faygo, and make fun of people’s dresses.

              I hugged Mark goodbye and started walking toward the auditorium with the others.  We walked into the auditorium, where some ridiculously loud Beyoncé song was making the walls shake. Randy smiled at me, and I smiled back, acutely aware of how sweaty my palms were. I wiped them on my dress and glanced around the gym. It wasn’t actually decorated that much, just a couple balloons and annoyingly flashy strobe lights that were stuck between red and blue. It was like the Fourth of July gone way wrong.  

            Ava and her date had disappeared off somewhere, probably to somewhere that didn’t look like an overly patriotic disco. I turned to Randy. “I’m going to get some food. Want anything?” I asked. “Sure, whatever.” He followed me to the food table. I grabbed two slices of pizza and a can of Faygo, and then sat down in a corner, against the shelf with all the encyclopedias. Randy sat down next to me, holding a plate with a piece of pizza on it and his own can of Faygo, which he opened and took a sip of.

“Y’know, instead of spending the money on this lame light show, they could totally have gotten us better drinks,” he pointed out, leaning back against the shelf.

“True.” I took a sip of my drink and stared out at the dancers, a veritable sea of sequined Sears dresses, eyeliner, and Axe body spray. Finally, a slow song started playing, and I stood up, smoothing out my dress. "Come on. We’re dancing.” I grabbed Randy’s hand, pulling him onto the dance floor. "I don’t know how to dance,” he mumbled. "Easy. You put your hands here.” I took his hands and placed them on my waist.

He blushed slightly. “I’m too short for this.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I grinned at him, putting my hands on his shoulders. “I don’t care.”

The dancing part was even more awkward than I expected it to be, with Randy being three inches shorter than me and stepping on my feet every time it was his turn to go forward, and me trying to lead without shoving him into another couple. The song wasn’t anything to talk about, either, but at least we could dance to it. At least we could pretend we were normal for three minutes and thirty seconds.

            The song ended and a faster one started playing, so we left the dance floor and headed out the back door. It was kind of cold outside, and I groaned, remembering that I forgot a jacket. Just my luck, there was already a light coat of frost over everything. I sat down on one of the benches outside, and Randy sat next to me, putting his arm around me. "Are you cold?” he asked. “Yeah,” I responded, leaning into him slightly. We just sat there for a while, him staring at the sky, me staring at him and shivering violently. This was the most physical contact that had ever occurred between us. And for some reason, I had to say what I said next.  “I love you."  He was silent for a long time. Too long. Finally, he sighed. "No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” I responded softly.   "No, you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t,” he snapped.   "Randy…” I felt horrible.  “I’m sorry. I like you. I like you a lot, actually, because you’re the only person who has ever cared enough to try and talk to me, and it worked, and now…I’m sorry. I just don’t…love you. I like you, I want to be around you because you’re the only thing that makes me feel halfway okay…but I don’t…I can’t love you,” he explained.

Tears streaked down my face. “It’s…it’s okay. I’m okay with that. ”  

I want a man, but not just any man.

Of course not, that would simply be too easy.

No, I want a man that cries with me at beautiful words

that touch his soul in just the right way,

then turns right around to twist them

into dirty things that make my knees go weak.

I want a man that isn’t afraid to be vulnerable. 

To let himself be cut open so I can see

every ugly thought,

every beautiful dream,

and every piece of his heart that got broken over time

only to lodge themselves in him like shrapnel. 

I want a man that lets me see everything.

And I want a man that isn’t afraid of the ticking time bomb that is me. 

A man that isn’t afraid to let me shatter apart,

let me explode,

let me destroy myself,

only so that he can help me rebuild myself each time:

stronger,

better than before.

But what I need?

Oh, what I need..

I need a man that simply isn’t afraid to love

or every mile of the rocky road we’ll walk

Her boyfriend of two weeks, stood by the window that was over the kitchen sink, He looked down at her sitting on the floor leaning against the wall.

"What do you want me to do about it?" He asked not paying any attention as he thought she was complaining about clothes or other items.

"Help…"

"….Pleease help…"

She started to feel like he didn’t care for her anymore- Not like how he did the first night they met under those neon signs in the city.(Though, They were both high out of their mind at the time.) “Austin!—” she called, Austin never responded right away when she called his name, Full name was Theo ‘Austin’ Thompson, he pulled his glasses up then crossed his arms and let out a deep sigh.

"Austin- Please, I-i need you.." she pleaded "Tell me Im loved, Th-that someone like you needs me" she told him, " Sophia’…" She cut him short, "I’m gonna take my own life" Sophia Jackson broke down sobbing uncontrollably, She had that horrid thought in mind for the past weeks now.

She thought that her boyfriend didnt love her anymore and that she was just useless in life.

Austin looked over at the knife block that sat across on the counter. And a thought came to mind, He walked over to it and pulled a long knife, and held it to his cheek slowly pulling it down to his jaw. He smirked a bit,

" Sorry Soph’…"

He approached the young girl of just 25 and keeled down to her height with the knife behind him.

Sophia looked up into his jade eyes that where protected by his glasses, She placed her hand on his stubble ridden chin and felt the roughness of it.

"…Austin… "

Austin placed one hand on her bruised shoulder. ” So…What were you talking about doing now?” He whispered softly in her Pierced ears. “T-taking my own…life…” Sophia voice trembled.

"No worries dear… " Austin smirked,

He revealed the knife hidden behind him, Sophia’s eyes widen with fear, ” Wh- what are you going to do with that?” she asked.

What did I do? The thought of living normally had left my mind completely, and in the road of my future ahead, I can only see death. It’s over. They’re going to kill me right here, right now. Although that doesn’t scare me, that made me very miserable. I wish I hadn’t picked that fight. I wish I hadn’t even come to school today.

  Seven days ago.

The school entrance is already visible from the car’s window, but I hesitate to step out. Normally, new kids in school would be scared, or hopeful, or nervous, but I just feel some kind of loathe. My mom leans back to face me and asks with concern on her face, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She looks tired - at least, more tired than she usually looks. I feel sick, looking at my mother like that. She doesn’t deserve anything like this. Not my dad dying, her having to get a job to pay for my tuition, or we having to move because the rent can’t keep up. There’s silence between us for some time.

"Nothing, mom," I finally say, and opened the door. As I close it, I add, "Thanks for driving me here."

She looks slightly relieved and smiles. I try my best returning that smile.

"No problem," she replies, closes her window, and drives away.

Of course, it was a flat out lie.

***

"My name’s Arthur Connors. I’m from Wenhallow."

The moment I speak out those words, the class is in a silent state. I look around to search for friendly faces, finding the opposite of what I’m looking for. A pair of beastly eyes and a set of crooked teeth in a grin stared back at me. I know exactly how this works.

The teacher told me, “You can sit behind Etoile over there.”

By the increasing amount of vengeful looks I get from every direction, I have the feeling that Etoile is some kind of Madonna I shouldn’t have messed around with. She stares coldly at me as I pass her seat and reach mine, already sending me shivers with her look. Great.

When the teacher continues and says, “Let’s start class” all I can hear are background music staging my death and the teacher narrating, “Shall we begin the kill?”

  Fourteen days later.

The first hit is quite blunt and it doesn’t sting at all; but apparently he knows that, and goes for another try at my stomach. The second one hurts.

"Today we’re gonna do a double dose, Connors," he says. I hear splitting knuckles and jeers.

Behold, the leader of the motor gang; beaten up and preparing to get spits - again. I laugh sarcastically inward. Why can I even earn that title? I don’t remember how I could’ve killed the previous leader. All I felt back then was frustration; and something that felt strangely good.

Malcolm delivers some more blows, while his friends keep cheering and jeering.

"Look at him, all soft n’ juicy ready to be butchered. I wonder if anyone’s gonna buy pork that wet his pants already, though." Is that joke even any good? Obviously the only thing he doesn’t suck at is punching people. Still, I hear laughter from all around. I’m surrounded by dumb guys; great.

I’m really going to die this time. Whatever Malcolm is doing really, really hurts. We’re at an abandoned shack in the outskirts of town, and no adults will arrive in time to stop them.

I laugh silently again. Am I still relying on adults after all this time? I didn’t even intend to let my mom know that I’ve been roaming streets on motorbikes looking for shops to loot.

My gang. I lead a gang full of muggers on motorbikes. If I were to suddenly skip roundabout, will they be looking for me?

"You don’t know who you’re messing with, Malcolm," I try to say. "They’ll come looking for me soon. They won’t be pleased when they found out what you did."

"Trying to scare me are ya? Not gonna work. Everyone knows anyone’ll be pleased to find out that Arthur Connors got his ass whooped."

So it didn’t work. Well, I’m not entirely sure they’ll look for me either. When I killed their previous leader, all they did was bowing to me and turning me into their new leader. I feel increasing desperation as no more ideas came to mind.

Desperation.

At that time, I was also full of desperation. Desperation, frustration, and a great feeling. Suddenly, I have a crazy urge to laugh out loud.

The mood shifts. I can feel that Malcolm is a little nervous. “What’s so funny, Connors?”

"You know, Malcolm," I feel great, I feel as if I’m slightly dizzy with euphoria. "I finally remember."

I finally remember what’s so great about breaking bones. I set myself up straight, while Malcolm backs away in horror. “Wh-What’s with that face, Connors? You think you’d scare me?”

I ignore him and look around, picking up a fine block of wood. It feels light. I feel as if I can lift anything. I can do anything. I grin wide. “Malcolm.”

"Y-yeah?"

"I wonder how your splitting skull will sound."

  Two days later.

I don’t know where I am anymore. Orientation of place and time doesn’t matter. Even who I am with doesn’t matter. She looks familiarly like a girl I know from school, a girl that humiliated me every time she’s got a chance. But she’s too tall, too old. “The trial will begin shortly.”

She opens a set of doors which lead to a place full of people. They call this a courtroom. So I’m charged for something? Or am I charging someone? Ah, I get it. They’re charging me for Malcolm. But I only did him what he deserved, right? Hey. Hey. I’m thinking.

I am led to the very front, into the defendant’s seat. Then she leaves and enters a door on the right. As soon as I sat down, I hear another female shouting, “That’s my son! He didn’t do it, he didn’t do anything wrong! How dare you charge him with such little evidence!”

I turn to look. It’s my mom. I’m glad to see her. “Hi, Mom.”

My mom kept silent. Maybe she’s not so glad to see me; I’ve kept her in the dark for half a month. And now I’m a murderer. She must be not so glad to see me. But nobody told my mom yet. That’s right, I’ll need to let her now.

"Defendant Arthur Connors, do you or do you not torture more than five of your classmates to their deaths two weeks ago in Tracebury Shack? That’s outside of town."

So the place is called Tracebury? I’ll need to write it down. “Yeah.”

Whispers filled the courtroom, and the judge had to hit her hammer to regain silence. One of the men shouted, “Murderer!” and cried out loud. He looked a lot like Malcolm. Strange; Malcolm is dead. And Malcolm never cried. I get a chill down my back just remembering how mean he’d been. And he’s going to do it again next time I go to school.

Malcolm is dead. Malcolm is dead. Thank god Malcolm is dead. So he can’t be Malcolm. Don’t cry, idiot; it gives you away. Malcolm is dead. Luckily I killed Malcolm already.

I answered yes to every other question, and then is led to the small exit door where the girl went earlier. She was pretty; if she hadn’t spread rumor about my dad suffering leprosy we could still just ignore each other peacefully. But Etoile didn’t. She let Malcolm get me. Say, I wonder how hers will sound like. Her skull cracking.

I pass my mom on the way. I’m glad to see her. “Hi, Mom.”

"No, no, no," she mutters.

I frown. What is she on about, now? Dad’s already dead, so she doesn’t have to look so sad, so scared. Why-

"He’s not my son! Where is he? What have you done to him? Where’s my son?"

"What are you talking about, Mom?" I shout back, boiling with anger. "What do you mean, I’m not your son? All this time you don’t want to have me around, is that it? That’s it, isn’t it?"

She looks like she’s about to cry, and turns silent. Don’t look that way, Mom. I love you. Stop. “I’m sorry. Please don’t look like that. Please, Mom.”

I feel so sincere that tears spill out of my eyes. I never said sorry to her, not for lying to her. Not for not telling her. Not for killing my friends. Not for shouting at her. I’m really, really sorry, Mom. The person behind me pushes me away from her, and in grief I can’t resist.

  Three days later.

Even now, I’m having a hard time letting the truth sink in. I murdered my bullies. I admitted it in court. I shouted at my mom and now I’m in jail. It’s just so bizarre that my brain can’t process it. Unbelievable.

What’s most unbelievable is that I don’t clearly remember what I was thinking then. They’re just written across my head like a story. Of course, I’ve been told that I’m moving to an asylum today, which is just as horrid. But if they really can cure me of whatever mental illness I’m in, I’m fine with it.

The warden comes to get me. “It’s time, boy. I’m going to miss you around. Stay nice.”

"Got it, sir." I’ve told my situation to him two days ago. He’s even the one reporting it to the Chief. I feel relieved knowing they understand. He opens the cell door.

Suddenly, Raphael bursts through the front door with five more people. The warden tried to stop them from trespassing, but Raphael shoots once and he crumpled to the ground. He grins widely at me, “Hullo, Connors, Chief, today we’re going to bail you out.”

***

My ‘borrowed’ motorcycle is just the way I left it, and I have to admit it that it feels good to ride it. “So, what so we do now?”

"Gee, aren’t you the Chief. Of course we’re going away. That shot back there obviously isn’t a safe one. Soon they’ll charge all of us, so why not out of state?"

"But… my mom is…"

"Aw, quit it, Chief! Did they give you funny potatoes in there or what?" They laughed, but I start to feel devastated. They’re serious.

"Really, I think it’ll be alright for me to just finish my sentence quietly."

"Are you saying you don’t want to take us up?" his voice turns dark. "You killed our previous Chief. You have to replace his responsibilities."

It’s be the Chief or be killed, just like last time. I’m going to enter this hell again. I’m going to leave my mom, ransack and rob more people, and live like a true criminal. And more and more people are going to get killed by my disease. What happened to choices? Unconsciously, we ride by train tracks.

This will be the last time to turn back. No, it’s already too late for that. If I turn back now, they’ll really kill me. I don’t know which is more worth it, living with nightmares, or die by it. I slow down at the edge of the rail, my underlings riding past me. Raphael halts once he’s across. “Chief, what’re you doing? Let’s go!”

I realize that the siren is ringing, the portals closed. A train is coming. That’s it. There’s a third option; right here, right now. I can just end everything here. The sound of a train approaching is getting louder and louder. Do I have the right to do this? They gave up their lives to free me, even if they’re not good people. They trusted me.

"Come on, Chief! Hurry! Just ditch the bike and get away from there!"

"I’m sorry, Raphael."

His eyes widen. “Chief, you-“

The train arrives right in time, and goes past me. The sound of my own splitting skull is a delight to hear under the wails of sirens and moving wheels.

***

I’m still alive? How’s that possible? My whole body aches and I feel something cold under me. It’s like I’m slowly sinking. But it hurts. It hurts.

Raphael kneels next to me and places a hand on the side of my neck. For an unexplainable reason, I think he’s smiling. Why are you smiling? But my voice won’t work. He turns around and announces, “He’s dead.”

But I’m still alive! My cells scream so loudly my head feels like it’s going to burst. I won’t move. Why can’t I move? Tell them I’m alive, Raphael, tell them! I hear someone cursing. “All hail the new Chief.”

Raphael almost purrs. “Good. I’ve been waiting for a long, long time.”

Saunders got thoughtful for a moment.

He looked at his son with a look saying are you sure he won’t tell? Sam nodded confirming.

[ the story is being updated here. Please do not judge it, because yes it is a One Direction fanfiction and yes it is Harry Styles, but I’m working terribly hard on it. Thank you!]

Clink. A rock flew up and hit Amelia’s window. Clink. Another one, arched forward and hit. Clink. One last try, the boy at the bottom of the house threw the pebble. This time, the window slid open.

 “What are you doing?” Amelia hissed as she stuck her head out from the window. She looked down at the ground, the cold air making the hair on her neck prickle. A head of curly brown hair and deep dimpled smile looked up at her. “I want to see you.” He replied.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “What if I don’t want to see you, and I want to sleep?” She called back down to him. The boy rolled his lip down, and pressed his palms together, pleading. “Please Lia? I have something for you.” Amelia’s heart jumped into her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the cold morning air, and then blinked open.

“Fine, I’m coming.” She whispered as she brought her head back inside and closed the window.