#2mss

From @alexprompts‘ post:  “Of course I don’t fear death - she raised me.”

Day 20 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1450

Constructive criticism welcome!

I embraced the wind as I ran across rooftops. From gap to gap, I leapt. Traversing the town from so high above placed a smile on my face. People milled about below me, some shooting confused or alarmed looks at me. It had been three hours since I left my house and it was time for a break. Crossing my legs and peering over the edge of a building, I made eye contact with a friend. She signalled at me to come down. I grimaced, knowing what she would say. Containers lining the side of the building paved my way to the ground.

Abby studied me with her arms folded and her brows furrowed. “You don’t fear death, do you? You’re always doing parkour in your free time. Can’t believe you haven’t had a bad fall yet.”

I smirked. “Of course I don’t fear death — she raised me.”

“Haha, funny. Come along — I’m grabbing lunch at your favourite place.”

“No, really. Let me tell you about it,” I insisted. “I’ve never gotten to tell my story.”

——————-

My birth name had been Ana Mitrović. My new name was Anna Miler. I still remember the phlegm clogging my itchy throat. Simultaneous hot and cold as I lay swaddled in the blankets of my cot, the raging fever waging a war with my body. Breathing was laborious. My mother’s face — worried, anxious, stressed — looking down at me, wondering how she could make me healthy.

A burning sensation overtook everything. I shivered, an infant clueless of everything but the pain I was feeling. And then it went dark: replaced by chilly water on my back and the kiss of a passing breeze. Someone was wading towards me. I broke out in tears and called for the reassurance of my parents. The only person that came was a lanky woman, clothed in white. Her hair was silk, her skin as pale as milk. Her eyes, however, seemed darker than the deepest night. 

She cradled me, placing a hand on my forehead. The warmth came back as she did that. This time, I was unscathed. It was pleasant, like a loving mother’s kiss. An orange glow shone on her palm as she drew it away. A smile turned into an “O” of surprise as she carried me away.

I must have fallen asleep, for I remembered waking up in a room full of cots. My clothes had been changed. I knew I was safe there. The pale woman came in and stood by my cot.

“This is your home now, Ana. Welcome to Limbo. You can call me Mother Death.”

Turning to a woman at her side, she whispered something. The only things I could pick out were, “the fire we’ve been looking for.” Many years had to pass before those words uncovered their meaning.

———————-

The schoolyard was packed with other kids — all having died very young — rushing to their class. Although the dorms were close to the campus, everyone left it to the last minute. A television anchored to the roof of the main corridor blared news from the world of the living. It was like a pair of binoculars to the chaos that Death had saved us from.

In class, the Soul Harvesting teacher pulled out a huge leather-bound journal. It was inked with the haphazard inscriptions of Mother Death herself. We were Mother Death’s helpers in the making. Souls were finicky: sometimes they fled the body too fast, while some refused to join the Underworld. We were taught about the different depths of Hell and where to place the souls of the sinners (in the flames for the malicious, deep in icy water for the deceitful).

At times, we would get a teacher from ten centuries ago. Everyone in Limbo did not age past twenty, but there were girls in 1920s flapper fashion and men in Roman robes. Despite barely having seen anything  but the dark cave walls of Limbo, nothing was missing.

———————-

“Ana. Mother Death has asked to see you,” my professor told me. “Now. It’s urgent.”

I nodded, shoving my notebooks into my bag. Faint blue light led my way out of the university campus. I swerved through crowds and inched my way through the Central Market. As I passed by a stall hawking mushrooms, the vendor grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in.

“You can feel it in the air, can’t you?” she whispered, looking around with wary eyes.

“Feel what?”

“Hell is stirring beneath us. It’s been grumbling for years — but recently it’s been getting worse. I thought you’d know. You seem like one of them.”

“I don’t get it. Sorry, but I have to meet Mother Death now.”

“Hold on. Let me check whether my instincts were right.”

Her grasp on my hand tightened and became warmer. The fire. The heat tingled and intensified. A flame rose from my palm. I yelped and jumped back, knocking over a container of wares.

“When you died, did it feel like a flame burning you up?”

“Yeah. I died of a fever.”

She smiled at me and said, “That wasn’t the fever. It was Hell trying to get to you.”

———————-

Mother Death sat at her dining table in her cottage. Even though she headed the city, she loved the seclusion of the corners of Limbo. She poured two cups of tea with nimble fingers and invited me to sit across her.

“I’ve heard that you’re doing exceptionally well in university. You’ll be amazing in the soul research field, my dear.”

My cheeks glowed with her approval. She had returned me the life that was snatched from me. She provided for all.

“It’s all thanks to you, Mother,” I paused before continuing, “There’s something very odd that I heard today from a vendor at the Central Market.”

She motioned for me to continue. I poured out every detail of the encounter, my hands trembling as I held the cup for its comforting warmth. Midway through my recollection, she extracted a notepad from her tremendous desk drawers. With a quill and a bottle of ink, she wrote with a deft hand. Her eyes were keen, concentrated on my every word. Encouraged, I retold the day’s affairs with a fairytale-like flourish.

“That is what I wanted to discuss today. From what you told me, you were speaking to Marie. She sees people’s fates. A wonderful talent that hasn’t grown obsolete.”

“Why does she have that power?” I played with my belt buckle, agitated by what Mother may say.

“The souls in Hell don’t like being in Hell. Every few centuries, they try to break out into the world of the living. She helped me piece together a team for the last attempt.”

The fire we’ve been looking for. I was part of the team. My hands… Their flames! Dancing balls of light that emerged in my moments of vivid emotion. When I failed my Soul Harvesting final… The textbook that burned. My head bobbed up and down in slow acceptance.

“Something’s different now. They’ve been speaking to me in my dreams. I don’t know what they’re saying — the connection’s somewhat garbled,” Mother Death said.

“What do I do? I don’t know anything…”

“You’ll have to return to the Overworld. Use a new name — Anna Miller?”

“And then?”

“Spend some time on Earth. Soon, I’ll come for you again. You’ll have to experience me a second time, I’m afraid.”

“And that’s how I infiltrate Hell? Death under a new identity?”

“Smart girl. I’ll accompany you to the Gate of Rebirth and no further.”

———————-

Abby was dumbfounded, struck by silence. Patting her back, I looked on as she struggled to process it all. Her eyes were locked onto the ground. She drew in her lips and nibbled on them as she delivered her viewpoint, “Damn, Anna. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Let’s go to the restaurant. Pretend nothing happened.”

I helped her up to her feet and we walked to the nearby Italian restaurant. The aroma of food took a load off our shoulders as we pored over the menu. Service was quick; my plate of carbonara arrived seven minutes after ordering. I dug into it, revelling in the rich creaminess of it. 

A few minutes into the meal, a headache crept in. I should’ve slept more last night. My chest was fluttering. Too fast. Way too fast. And then it slowed down. A pale woman came to our table and took my wrist. Abby’s eyes darted to her, alarmed, confused. 

“Are you ready?” the woman murmured.

MOTHER.

My body shook and then stiffened, everything fading to black.

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Part 3 of my 2-month short story challenge with @kiraawrites !!

The night is nearly pitch-black as I sprint down the streets, holding up my long skirts as I dart through the empty plaza, devoid of all life except for the small children and their nannies, soundly asleep by now, just after the stroke of midnight.

One of my heels snaps off, and I kick off my shoe and watch it fall into some bushes. Running with only one shoe proves to be more difficult, so I tuck the other into the satchel pinned under my skirt.

Ducking behind a house, I lean on the wall and pause to catch my breath. I use my knife to slice off the bottom of my skirts. I tie the rest around my waist and tuck the blade into one of the knots.

My satchel falls from a cut portion of my skirt, and I quickly open it to make sure my treasure hasn’t been lost. It hasn’t. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Repinning my hair, I knot my new tiara into my dark curls. I tie the ends of my silken white mask to the golden bands of the crown to ensure I’ll notice if it falls off, and hoist my satchel back up onto my shoulder.

A girl on the run after midnight, with a missing shoe, a torn-up dress, and a crown that isn’t hers. How fitting for my costume. What a piece of irony.

“HEY! Stop that girl!”

It’s time to go.

Shoving the pieces of my skirt into a bush, I sprint down a back alley. There are roars and curses from soldiers running behind me, but they’re so far away it’s almost laughable for me to be scared.

Someone skids out in front of me. It’s a blond, freckled teenage boy, shivering in thin regal robes and baring a long sword that looks nearly too heavy for him to carry.

I groan. It’s the Prince.

“Get away,” I say flippantly, pulling my knife out of my skirt. “I won’t hesitate to kill you too.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” I step closer, and he shivers. “I thought so. Now leave or you’ll be lying dead in a heap like your father. I’ve got no qualms about killing the whole damn palace if that’s what it takes to get the money for this crown.”

“I’m not leaving,” he hisses. “I’m coming with you.”

I wasn’t expecting this, and I don’t know what to say. “You…” I laugh. “You think you’re some kind of heroic spy, trying to infiltrate my quarters or whatever gibberish those writer hillbillies come up with these days? No. You leave on the count of three or you’re dead. One.”

The boy lunges with the sword, and before I can think the knife flies out of my hand into the grass. He grins triumphantly at my shocked expression. “I can help you,” the Prince declares. “I don’t want any of the money; I just need someone to show me out of here. My father was a bastard, and now that you killed him I get to escape this sorry excuse for a country and let it burn itself to the ground. I can help you,” he reiterates, “and I’m coming with. Or I’m following you anyway, and then telling the guards I know where you’re going.”

“I’ll kill you,” I say again, but he picks up on the hitch in my voice and his grin widens. I don’t look away from him for a moment while I bend down to pick up my knife, and I know he could run me through right here but he doesn’t.

I sigh.

“Fine.”

The boy pulls back his sword. “Let’s go, then.”

As he follows me diligently through the back alleys, the soldiers having been long gone by the time the clock struck one, I try to wrap my head around what I’ve just done.

A girl on the run after midnight, with a missing shoe, a torn-up dress, a crown that isn’t hers, and a stupid young Prince at her heels.

I suppose I really am a sort of Cinderella.

From @writingprompts post.

Day 23 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1978

Constructive criticism welcome!

I want money, a mansion and a pretty girl. That day was Life-Switching day. The day our souls would switch in a manner so unpredictable that it was nicknamed The Great Casino. We would enter new bodies, with different genders, ages and wealth levels. This system was supposed to address inequality. But I was not sure how, as it seemed to boil down to how well-off one was. 365 days to make it big, or bust.

It was my first time in America. Over the past few years, I had a streak of Eastern European lives, followed by four years of being in China. I was a James Luther, living in a small apartment in a city full of people adjusting to their new lives. There were many smiles but twice as many sad faces. Guess I'm really not alone in this struggle. The apartment was outfitted with furniture that seemed older than the apartment itself. In the cracked bedroom mirror, I studied my new self. Last year's Luther definitely didn't make it.

Judging by the poor furniture, unemptied wastebasket and an emerging beer belly, I had a lot of things to do. To my luck, there was a gym next door. With the few dollar bills in my wallet, I got a membership card and started on the machines. Did I really deserve this life? I've never liked anything I got — except when I was an attractive Chinese guy. Well, I suppose I did flunk my college final exams last year... Sweat was dripping off me as if I had walked through a thunderstorm. My arms were shaking. Flexing my biceps turned into a fit of agonising pain. I gave up and returned home.

"I hate this new life," muttered the man behind the counter.

"I hate my new life too."

From @creativepromptsforwriting‘s post:

“I will always love you. Even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

“Thank you. But I probably won’t last that long.”

Day 21 of the 2 Month Short Story Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 262

Constructive criticism welcome! (also this isn’t meant to really be in poetic form, more like prose with line breaks)

“I will always love you.

Even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

An age-old promise.

My heart fluttered.

I squeezed your hand

and wished to never let go.

Our breathing slowed

as we dragged each other in,

our lips,

then tongues,

touching as we kissed.

Harsh dryness of winter

fled from memory

as we remained 

in the tight embrace:

our love like rope

that binds us together.

Your heart thumped against my chest:

like falling in love

for the first time

(but better).

TW: Violence

Day 19 of the 2 Month Short Story Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 875

Constructive criticism welcome!

My husband and I were watching the television in complete silence. He had not noticed me yet, so I stood there in a rare break from my housework. Skin peeled from around my cuticles. My hands were leathery; the results of constant washing. Adam ran through at least three outfits a day and stained a shirt every other day at the cocktail parties of his colleagues. Hand creams were the hottest topics among the wives — if our husbands permitted us to meet — and we loved to buy them — if our husbands allowed us to buy anything. 

After checking the time, I decided to continue my work in the dining room. Guests were visiting the next day. Upon stepping backwards, my shoe caught on the nearby coat rack. I plummeted to the floor, masking a scream. Adam’s head swivelled back and he glared, his eyes like accusatory daggers. His face was taut with disapproval, his brows curving into the early stages of rage.

“Why are you not tidying up? Television is not for women — all of you are full of silly gossip,” he roared. “You won’t go out for the next month.”

He was a rich man with a rotten heart. He had selected me to be his wife as the “best of the worst” in the Choosing ceremony. It had been five years since then.

this is my first time writing the 2nd person POV. so uhhhhhh yeaH

Day 16 of the 2 Month Short Story Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 274

Constructive criticism welcome!

An empty car in an empty neighbourhood parking lot. It is devoid of human presence, but not of memories. You lay here once, sobbing because you were afraid; you needed a place to hide but doors were locked by the hostile glares of the neighbours. They had heard the rumours about you. Your body was pressed against that damp spot on the backseat with the cracked leather cover, a cold spot amidst the sweltering heat and humidity. There you sat till the sun peeked over the horizon, as if timidly asking, “Are you okay? Are you alright?”

That was the day you moved out.

That’s not it. You may remember the pastel clouds whirring past, the wind kissing your cheeks as it carried the faint floral scent of the valleys that hugged the road. Sounds of soft pattering rain on the roof, which you believed were the tears of a wounded soul from a bygone era. Then, you pulled over with heavy reluctance bearing down on your heart. The motel owner blushed at the shameful state of your room, and you sighed as you told yourself to make do.

That was your first solo road trip, fresh from your university graduation day.

Now you’re tired. Still warm from a shower, you crawl into their arms. It is your heaven after an arduous day that spanned a thousand hours. Behind you, their chest rises and falls like the undulating waves of a gentle tide creeping into the shore. The curtain has been pried open by the wind, offering a glimpse of the empty car in the empty parking lot. Thank you for bringing me home.

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From @writingprompts365‘s post: A character refuses to tell their name to someone.

Day 24 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 382

Constructive criticism welcome!

Henry slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed off to the park. There was too much time in his hands and he needed a break from studying for the next academic year. Math equations and classic texts were fun to study but not for the whole day. Mum had waved him off with a smile, thinking he was going to the library.

University is so soon. Mum wanted him to go into something profitable. Something people could get a PhD in. Henry would rather paint. Flowers, people, places — anything that captured his interest. Recently, nothing had. People were predictable. The city never had anything new. It was like living in a black-and-white film.

The park was quiet for a Friday afternoon. An old couple sat at a bench, conversing. Beneath a tree sat a girl reading a book. Her waist-length hair was as dark as a raven’s feather. Its thick mass wrapped itself around her, curls forming by her chin. Like she’s covered in a protective blanket.

Something about her expression pulled him in. I wonder what she’s thinking about — she obviously doesn’t care about the book. The girl glanced upwards and locked eyes with him. A look of surprise swiftly faded into an expression of boredom. No point not talking, now that she’s seen me.

“Hey. You look bored. What’s your name?”

“What if I don’t want to tell you It’s for your own good, trust me.”

“And why is that? I’m Henry. I like painting.”

“‘Cuz I’ll be gone real soon. Don’t bother with me — I’m no muse.”

“You’re moving? Wish I could too. This place is boring.”

She’s got spunk. Haven’t seen that in a while. Henry hoped she was joking. The girl went silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

“That’s exactly why I’m moving. I’ve been searching for something interesting for centuries. Literal centuries,” she replied, resting her icy gaze on him.

“Literal centuries? Are you joking, immortal or a time-traveller?”

“Two out of the three things you’ve just said are true.”

Henry had been scouring the city for someone different. And there she was: the time-traveller. His pulse pounding in his throat, he pleaded, “Take me with you.”

“Damn, it’s been 400 years and I’ve never had a pal. It’s Helene.”

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this is a warframe fanfic (which isnt 100% accurate)!! hope u like it

From @creativepromptsforwriting‘s post:  The most dangerous human being is the one who’s in love.

Day 20 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 882

Constructive criticism welcome!

My bow shone under the light of my spaceship. The Artemis Bow had a metal middle piece with rope wound round it for better grip. I imagined myself firing away on the battlefield, a mighty Tenno against the rest of the world. Past the middle piece, pale wood curved into ebony tips connected by a supple bowstring. In the middle of admiring my weapon, a pair of muscular arms hugged me from behind. Tender lips kissed my neck as I spun around to see Luke.

“Dumbass. What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to talk to you before going to Mars for the whole day. Needed to get some salvage for new ship parts,” he said, playing with the curls behind my ears. “Tell my ship Cephalon if you need me.”

I nodded and gave him a tight squeeze. Waving at me, he entered his ship and started off for Mars. I wanted to go resource gathering on Earth with him today. What a bummer.

-------------------

The next day, paws shook me awake. My dog paced about my room, panting. Something had to be irritating him.

“What’s wrong, old boy?” I reached out to pet his head.

Dodging my touch, he bounded out of the room. I followed him into the bright light of the hallway. That was when my ship Cephalon, Ordis, started playing a transmission from Luke’s Cephalon. What are they up to? He could’ve just come here.