r/WritingPrompts • u/Cody_Fox23 Skulking Mod | r/FoxFictions • Jan 16 '22

Constrained Writing [CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Hypoesthesia

Welcome back to Smash ‘Em Up Sunday!

 

SEUSfire

 

On Sunday morning at 9:30 AM Eastern in our Discord server’s voice chat, come hang out and listen to the stories that have been submitted be read. I’d love to have you there! You can be a reader and/or a listener. Plus if you wrote we can offer crit in-chat if you like!

 

Last Week

 

Another strong week of stories! We had some continuations, visits from old friends, new romances, and a few perilous moments. A lovely spread of tones across the stories on display.

 

Cody’s Choices

 

 

Community Choice

 

  1. /u/throwthisoneintrash - “Gurdao Beach” - A chance meeting leads to something wonderful.

  2. /u/sch0larite - “Mona Lisa” - Reflections on life in the museum.

  3. /u/NotMuchChop - “Gio” - An eccentric hot dog place captures a sassy narrator’s attention.

 

This Week’s Challenge

 

As we bring in the new year I have a new challenge. This month I will be forcing you to exercise your descriptive talents. As the month goes on I hope to make you approach the world in different ways as I take something precious from you: your senses.

 

In week three you can have sight and sound back, the biggest cruxes to interacting with society and other people, and a cornerstone of most basic writing. Huzzah! However now I’m taking away something often overlooked: touch. There is to be no tactile descriptions in your story. No sensation of fabric. No pain from falling down. No warmth from an embrace. The world is absent of sensation this week. Now touch is often tied up in a few other senses like spacial awareness of limbs. That can stay. This week we are eschewing realism for challenge and making a hybrid Hypoesthesia x CIPA condition that, as far as I’ve researched, doesn’t really exist in recorded medical history outside of say full on paralysis. This is all for the creative challenge. What stories can you tell in a world with no tactile feedback?

 

How to Contribute

 

Write a story or poem, no more than 800 words in the comments using at least two things from the three categories below. The more you use, the more points you get. Because yes! There are points! You have until 11:59 PM EDT 22 January 2021 to submit a response.

After you are done writing please be sure to take some time to read through the stories before the next SEUS is posted and tell me which stories you liked the best. You can give me just a number one, or a top 5 and I’ll enter them in with appropriate weighting. Feel free to DM me on Reddit or Discord!

 

Category Points
Word List 1 Point
Sentence Block 2 Points
Defining Features 3 Points

 

Word List

  • Needle
  • Numb
  • Grasp

  • Burn

     

Sentence Block

  • There was nothing.
  • It was a strange feeling.

 

Defining Features

  • There is a cat

  • No tactile descriptions

 

What’s happening at /r/WritingPrompts?

 

  • Nominate your favourite WP authors or commenters for Spotlight and Hall of Fame! We count on your nominations to make our selections.

  • Come hang out at The Writing Prompts Discord! I apologize in advance if I kinda fanboy when you join. I love my SEUS participants <3 Heck you might influence a future month’s choices!

  • Want to help the community run smoothly? Try applying for a mod position. Everytime you ban someone, the number tattoo on your arm increases by one!

 

I hope to see you all again next week!

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u/ispotts Jan 23 '22

Your Love is a Song

Morning arrives with the harsh bleating of my alarm clock. My hand groggily flounders around the nightstand, trying to grasp the small box to stop the grating sound. Finally, it finds the button and I sit up as silence settles over the room again. A loud yawn escapes my mouth and my arms stretch for the ceiling.

Bleary-eyed, I stumble into the kitchen and start to cook breakfast. Soon, the savory aroma of coffee wafts through the air and I crack two eggs into a frying pan. The burble of the coffee pot tells me it's done brewing, but I keep an eye on the pan, not wanting my eggs to burn. Soon they're fried to perfection and I slide them onto the plate. My cat circles around my feet, waiting for a breakfast of her own. After we've both had our respective breakfasts

I stare at the needle of the metronome, ticking back and forth at a brisk vivace tempo. The lively beat contrasts how numb I feel as the melody refuses to reveal itself. It is a strange feeling, the silence in my head. Usually, I have no issue pulling a few bars together, whether it's jazz, blues, or something more orchestral sounding. But lately when I am trying to write this one, special song, there is nothing. Staring at the keyboard, the ebony and ivory teeth sneering back in mockery of my failure. You're returning home tonight, just in time for our anniversary and I've been trying to plan this surprise for months.

This should be easy, I scold myself. The one time it matters for more than paycheck and I can't even manage one phrase. What measure of my love is this?

A flurry of attention in the tree outside the window catches my attention. Two chickadees flit around each other, chirping and twittering on. I smile as I remember you mentioning your love for the little songbirds that visited our birdfeeder in the springtime. It was a morning very similar to this one, I still remember how radiant you looked as sunlight streamed in through the bay window. I laughed as you tried to imitate the birdsongs, whistling the simple three and four note calls over and over.

Just then, I hear it. In the back of my mind, those simple rhythms start to tap away. Closing my eyes, my hands come to the key board as I start to sound out a tune that converts the syncopated chirping to a sweet melody. My left hand finds the harmony and soon, I'm in business. Within half an hour I've found a chorus, the verse, and half a bridge. The dark cloud that hounded me for days is lifted and the house is alive with the sound of music.

The rest of the morning passes quickly while I rehearse and polish your song, wanting every note to be perfect. A quick glance at the clock reminds me that you're flight lands soon, and I rush off to shower and make the final preparations for your arrival. You always say your love is a song and tonight I will show you those words are so very, very true.

3

u/bantamnerd Jan 23 '22

Windowsill 

 

There is nothing but a silence in my mind when I awake 

Grasp of nighttime due relinquished, finds a waking fire to make

World blurs into focus through a blackened needle's eye

I sit and watch the darkness crack, and fall from all the sky 

 

See sunrise gaze at tinder, kindle crumpled-paper head

Burn away the memories of conscientious dread

The worry all reduced to ash upon a morning breeze

It hides behind a door to which the nighttime holds the keys 

 

The feeling is a strange one, when I hear a little sound

Reminder that I’m not alone, and glancing all around

A creature on the windowsill returns reflective gaze

Gracefully a-basking in a golden daylight blaze 

 

Tawny seems the tortoiseshell, that flickers through the gap

Lands upon the carpet, makes a bid to reach my lap

Small and bright and perfect, every little thing that's fine

And when no-one comes a-calling, it is tentatively mine 

 

Fading light is quiet, but my mind is awful loud

Thoughts that throng and cry and yell and form a tinder crowd

Smoke upon the rising light, when now the day is done - 

Vanished by the mewling light of tawny feline sun

3

u/thegoodpage Jan 23 '22 edited Jan 23 '22

“Just relax now,” said a lady in white. “You shouldn’t feel anything under the numbing agent.” I watched her discard the needle.

Part of me was too afraid to look, but a stronger part was overcome with a sick fascination for the process. So I looked.

They said that when it’s complete, it’ll be almost invisible. But right now there was a concrete grey that was spreading. It oozed across my skin unevenly, like tendrils that sought to infuse, to inhabit every crevice of my body.

Before I knew it, my clothes were back on and they’ve sent me on my way home. It was an operation of sorts, but it was “minimally invasive and perfectly safe”, as the colorful, intensely cheerful pamphlet I was still holding stated.

It was not lost on me that the world felt mute in some way, as if it was at an arm’s distance from me. I could see the trees sway against the darkening backdrop, and a man in my peripheral reaching to catch his hat. But it was just that; I was an audience member peering in, rather than a being amidst a brewing storm. It was a strange feeling.

When I slipped into my house, I heard Shadow meow. It took me a moment to realize that the sound was coming from my feet. She stared at me and meowed some more as I picked her up and put her to my face. I could only smell her dusty fur. She must have been playing in the attic.

She yowled, one paw swiping across my vision. I put her down again, allowing her to dart across the hallway.

The bedroom door swung open. It’s him. I ran, just wanting to be enveloped by him. I waited for myself to melt into his arms, but for the first time, there was nothing. He seemed to know what I was thinking. He always did.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be used to it in no time.” His lips curled upwards. “You look beautiful as always.”

I managed a smile.

It’s true, the grey was gone. My body looked normal again, except for the fact that it became slightly glossy whenever the light hit from a certain angle. It was almost hard to believe.

Yesterday, I dug the tip of a knife across my leg, only to never draw even single drop of red.

Today, I held a piece of paper in my palm and watched it burn to ashes. This was the one that really made everything sink in. I used to be so terrified of fire, and now I was able to observe, in detail, the orange twisting and licking the space between my fingers.

At first, I felt invincible, because my body was. I could walk the streets without fear now. I could smile and twirl under the sun and not worry about the floating particles of disease and death that would have clung to my real skin.

But even after I’ve long adjusted, the melting feeling never came. I could see that his arms were around me. I could hear his infectious laugh, his sweet words of care. I could smell his cologne and taste his mint breath.

But I was never close enough to him. I kept grasping for more, wanting to pull him closer and closer, until he was yelping and wincing and prying my fingers off of him.

What does pain feel like again?

What does anything?

I often drifted to sleep facing the wall, with unceasing tears that I could not feel, wondering if complete immunity and health was worth never feeling complete again.

---

WC: 605

Thanks for reading, feedback welcome :) If you liked that, feel free to check out r/thegoodpage for more!

2

u/ThePinkTeenager Jan 23 '22 edited Jan 23 '22

I was born without the ability to feel pain. It sounds great, but it's a curse.

Because of it, I tried to walk around with a broken neck. I collapsed and my body went numb. People were talking to me and calling 911. I remember struggling to talk to them. Then there was nothing.

When I woke up again, I was in a half-raised hospital bed. I couldn't feel anything below my collarbone. Where did my body go? I wondered. I looked down. It was still there. I tried to grasp why I couldn't feel my own body anymore. It worried me.

One day, somebody knocked on the door. "Come in." I said. Thank God my mouth still worked.

"Hi Jude." My father and sisters walked into the room. The former's voice was dull. That was fair, seeing as his only son was paralyzed from the neck down. "Your mother's still at work."

My sister Annie was holding a bag. The bag squirmed. She put it on the floor and pulled out our cat, Patches.

"You brought Patches?" I asked.

"He wanted to see you."

Annie put Patches on my lap. I saw him, but didn't feel anything on my legs. Patches looked around for a bit, then settled in his usual place on my lap. I had a vague phantom sensation of his body. It was a strange feeling.

I tried to pet Patches out of habit. Unfortunately, I could only control my shoulder, so I clumsily whacked the poor animal instead. He yowled and jumped.

"Sorry!"

My sisters looked at me disapprovingly.

"My arms are paralyzed, okay?" I explained.

"I'll pick things up for you until you get better." offered my younger sister.

I smiled.

"That's really nice of you, Sara, but... Jude had a complete spinal injury. The doctors don't think he'll regain much movement." said Dad grimly.

Until then, the permanency of my situation hadn't quite sunk in. I was so focused on the present that I hadn't thought about the future. The idea that I would never walk, dress myself, or even hug someone again was frightening.

"Are you and Mom gonna have to wipe my butt?" The thought was horrifying.

"We'll hire caregivers for that." said Dad. I couldn't tell if that was better or worse. "We'll also renovate the house so it's wheelchair accessible."

"I can't do anything for myself anymore. Can't cook, or shower, or write, or brush my teeth. You and the caregivers will have to do everything for me."

"I know it's hard," said Dad, "but we'll find a way."

"On the bright side, you won't be burning yourself anymore." said Annie.

I glared at her.

"Annie, be nice to your brother." reprimanded Dad.

"She's not wrong." said Sara.

After my family left, three staff members came in. One was a nurse wielding a needle for an injection. The other two were a PT and a respiratory therapist. It was time for my afternoon exercises.

"Tomorrow morning, we're going to trial you with a power chair." said my PT as she bent and stretched my leg.

"Power chair?" I asked.

"A wheelchair that's propelled via an electric control instead of manual pushing. We have one that you should be able to propel."

The next day, my PT brought in the power chair. It was basically a black seat with a metal base and small wheels. One armrest had a large joystick. I was hoisted out of bed and into the chair, then buckled in.

"Push it." she said gently.

I tried to grab the joystick, but couldn't. The only way I could move it was by using my shoulder to move my entire arm forward. The chair moved.

"You can do it, Jude!" encouraged the therapist.

When I got to the wall, I found that I couldn't turn. My therapist solved that problem by putting my hand on the joystick. "Eventually, you'll have to learn to do this yourself." she said. "For now, we just want you driving the chair."

I turned and drove down the hallway with a grin on my face. For the first time since the accident, I was moving around independently. Just that simple fact made my future look a lot less bleak. I had hope.

6

u/Zetakh Jan 22 '22

Cornhole Cats

“Welcome back, one and all, to the 99th annual Fatal Feline Flinging Festival! I am your host, Mittens, joined today by our expert commentator, Noogie The Needle! Needle, welcome to the show!”

“Thank you, Mittens, truly great to be here! It is shaping up to be a most exciting day indeed! The competitors today are looking fierce!”

“They certainly are, Needle! Tell us, as a former Cornhole Cat yourself, how would you rate today’s target area?”

“Certainly one of the most lethal landing pads I’ve seen yet, Mittens! Forgetting for the moment the very real possibility of just going ‘splat’ upon the board itself if you miss the goals entirely, there is the very real possibility of losing one or more of your nine lives to the targets themselves!”

“You’re entirely correct, Needle! The targets are devilish this year! As always, they get smaller and more dangerous the higher-scoring they are! For ten points, our contestants have to contend with a goal lined with horribly sharp knives! One false move and you’ll lose your tail! Twenty is even worse - the entire edge of the hole is lined with electrified razor wire! Should you get caught in that, you’d likely pop like a can of tuna in a microwave!”

“Nasty indeed, Mittens! And naturally, our likely competition-ending 100 pointer is the worst of the worst. So tiny most would struggle to even fit their head through at the best of times, let alone when flying at breakneck speeds! Then there’s the fact it’s literally on fire to contend with! If you hit the side, you’ll burn to a crisp!”

Snowball tuned out the rest of the chatter from the commentators as he stared at the giant slingshot and the row of daredevil cats lined up to launch themselves at almost certain death.

Patches was first in line, wearing his hot pink, orange-striped flight suit and orange goggles. He looked up at the stand and met Snowball’s eyes, giving a cheeky salute.

Snowball returned it with a feeble wave of his own. It was a strange feeling, waiting for your tomfriend to attempt a death-defying stunt. A rather disconcerting high somewhere between delighted pride and insane terror.

“First up, from this very town, defending last year’s title on home turf! None other than Patched-up Patches!”

“Always a delight to see Patches compete! That young tom has defied death more times than I managed in seven - admittedly very short - lifetimes, and he’s still got all nine left!”

“We’ll see if he gets to keep them! He’s stepping up to the launchpad!”

As Patches grasped the elastic with his paws and began to push against the springy rubber, Snowball felt time slow to a crawl. With each straining step, he felt more and more numb.

Patches shot him a final look, his cheeky grin brilliant in the sunlight. Then he jumped.

There was nothing left to fight back against the force of the giant slingshot as Patches’ paws left the launchpad. It flung him forward, faster than Snowball’s eyes could follow.

“And he’s off! Oh, he’s going HIGH! Where is he aiming!?”

Snowball’s heart was in his throat as Patches’ shot up into the air, levelled out, then came plummeting back down. He didn’t breathe as the distance between Patches and the target shrunk, faster and faster.

“The madcat is going straight for the 100 points! He means to end it in one fell swoop!”

Snowball didn’t want to look.

But he couldn’t look away.

Patches dove, stretching like a dart to make himself thin and small.

Whump!

“By Bastet, he’s done it! The madcat scored 100 points! He’s through!”

“But he’s on fire, Needle! His flight suit’s burning!”

“Not to worry, he’s already tearing it off! Just listen to the adoration of that crowd, the cheers are deafening!”

“Good heavens, Needle, he’s naked! He’s lost all his fur!”

“What? Mittens, you idiot, of course he’s naked! He’s a Sphinx cat!”

It was an effort to start breathing again.

But as Patches’ grinning gremlin face looked every which way to take in the cheers, Snowball managed.

---

All blame for this I lay squarely at Cody's paws. He knows what he did! :D

4

u/dewa1195 Jan 22 '22 edited Jan 23 '22

Cracks

There is nothing to fear from the void. It’s just your weaknesses staring back at you.

Kayla woke to a pulsing head and a churning stomach full of bile. She grabbed a potion from the side table and downed it in a single gulp, shackling the nausea with an iron will. She drank some water to wash away the taste and waited.

When her head cleared and her stomach settled, she sat up and tried to remember the events of the night before.

Raz and Cathy, arm-in-arm, looking perfect with little lights floating around them as they conversed in their own strange language. Mead pitchers. Lots of them.

Just flashes but enough to drown her in a burning pit of jealousy and despair.

A knock pulled her attention outwards.

She pulled the door open to see a tall, broad-shouldered man—Julian—standing there with a plate of toast and a glass of juice

“Jule, why’re you here?” she asked, wincing at the raspy voice.

“I was worried. I saw how you reacted to them, I just wanted to talk to you,” her friend whispered.

Stepping aside, she let him in and closed the door.

“What did I do last night?” she asked.

Kayla braced against a wall and made her way to her bed, her observer silent as he always was.

“You didn’t say or do anything. Listen, I know you woke up to a horrible condition and now they’re both together—”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care! You’re growing numb, Kayla. This is not you.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

The look in his eyes screamed resigned pain.

“I can’t help you unless you want to be helped,” he said.

Something cracked in her then.

“Why do I need help? I am fine. I am a respected member of the coven. What do I need your help with?” she asked.

The sheer venom in her own tone shocked Kayla.

He set the plate on the bed next to her urging her to eat when she wouldn’t.

“Stop trying to mother me!”

“Then stop behaving like a child!”

“I am not a child!” Kayla roared.

He kept looking at me with those eyes—the ones full of pity. Her anger retreated, leaving her cold and frozen.

“I’m not a child,” she whispered into the silence.

“I know it’s hard—”

“Leave.”

“Kayla, please don’t shut us out. Everyone wants to help. Let us in,” he pled.

“Everyone wants to help,” Kayla said, disbelief coursing through her. “Then why were we the only ones who performed the ritual that night?”

“I..I—”

“Cathy told us that the price would be reduced if there were a lot of us. Not a single one of you cowards wanted to take part in it and now you’re telling me you want to help?”

“Kayla—what you did was not—”

“Safe? That we shouldn’t have played with Old Magics? But we beat it, didn’t we? The cost, though, was terrible. Now, I can’t even touch the man I—how can I not—”

Kayla fell silent.

“You’re right. It’s a terrible price to pay and we should have helped. But that was an experimental ritual which, if done badly, would’ve killed all of us. Is it so bad to want proof before risking our lives?”

The words were close, yet far.There was no water in the room but she drowned. It was a strange feeling.

“You are the best potions mistress in the coven. I’m sorry you lost that. You could still teach. You oblivious idiot, there are dozens of people who’d… Come see me when you’re ready.”

The moment the door closed, she launched the plate across the room.

The anger returned, burning her soul and staining it black. But she knew this would not last. It would all be beyond her grasp soon. The anger vanished as if it was never there, exhausting her. She labored through a quick spell to clean the broken shards.

She wanted to feel again. She needed to feel again.

Mead…mead would help. Where was it?

Mrrw. The blasted being was back. Why did it have to come back? Why can’t it leave her alon–

The black menace tackled her to the bed and sunk her needle-like claws into her skin, drawing blood. She laid exhausted on the bed with the weight of the cat on her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to run her fingers through it.

“I am tired,” she said to no one in particular. “I’m sorry, Lady Gaia. Your cruelty knows no bounds.”

She closed her eyes and let the darkness consume her again.

wc:780

More stories at: r/dewa_stories. All feedback welcome!

5

u/EdsMusings Jan 22 '22

You never forget the smell of your first freshly baked croissant. For me, it was a long time ago. I was a child, helping mon père in his bakery. One day, he decided to teach me how to make the perfect croissant. It was a precise process, that took almost half a day, but when you open the oven and smell a new croissant, you know it was worth it.

That same smell hangs in my bakery today. If mon père were here, I'm sure he would be proud of me.

I take out the fresh batch of croissants and put them on a plateau.

Monsieur Jacques brushes my leg and I pet him. He purrs. I pour out a can of cat food for him and he seems to enjoy it.

I walk to my refridgerator and take the necessary ingredients for baguette dough. Following the recipe mon père gave me, I prepare a dozen of petites baguettes. My friend Bastien always likes to order them, and he should be coming back from his work soon.

I take another plateau, put the baguettes on it and open the oven door. Right when I close the oven, the doorbell rings. I turn around. "Bienvenue à la boulangerie de Jean-Pièrre, comment est-ce que je peux-"

Three men in black suits are standing next to eachother. The man in the middle has a pencil moustanche. He approaches the counter. "Bonjour Jean-Pièrre. Can I just say, I love your bakery! It's so quaint."

"Thank you, monsieur. How can I help you?"

Monsieur Jacques jumps on the counter and squints at the three men.

"Oh we're not here to buy anything. Actually, we're here to sell you something." The other two men walk around the bakery.

"I don't buy industrially baked stuff. I make everything myself." I wipe my hands on my apron.

"Oh no, we're not here to sell you anything baked. Have you heard what happened to monsieur Leblanc's bakery? Such a tragedy."

Monsieur Leblanc was a famous baker in this part of Aquitaine. As the seventh decendant of the Leblanc family, he was the owner of one of the oldest bakeries in France. Two weeks ago, it burned down, with no culprit found.

"We wouldn't want that to happen to your little bakery, do we? So, I propose you offer me, let's say 60% of your profit, and I'll assure that your bakery remains unburned." The man puts his hand out.

Monsieur Jacques hisses softly. I pet him.

"Monsieur, I think I can handle myself. I'm sure the bakery won't burn down. Can I ask you to leave my bakery?"

The man leans closer. "Are you sure? You're going to regret this." The two men stop looking around and flank their boss.

"I don't care about your protection. This bakery will not fall in the hands of some criminal scum like you." I slowly reach for a two week old baguette under the counter. "So you can take your dynamic duo, and you can ba-guette out of my boulangerie."

All three of them reach into their suit and pull out guns. "Wrong answer."

I duck out of the way as a barrage of bullets flies into the back wall. I firmly grasp the baguette and smack the boss in the head with it.
He yelps in pain and his henchmen climb over the counter. I manage to hit one, knocking him down, but the other one grapples me. He holds my hands behind my back and starts kicking me with his knee.

A loud hiss flies past my ears and I hear a scream as Monsier Jacques claws at the man behind me.

The man with the pencil moustache has shrugged off my baguette blow and he takes a knife out of his jacket. After looking at his two henchmen, he approaches me, an eery smile on his face. "Oh we're gonna get your bakery, with or without you in it."
He swings at me but I shield myself with the baguette and push him back. He trips over the knocked down man and falls to the ground. I point my loaf of bread at him. "I will give you one more chance to leave. Go away now, and I will not talk to the authorities."

Monsieur Jacques has let go off the other man's face and he licks his paws. The man is sitting down, whimpering and shivering.

"Fine, but don't think you're going to get away with this so easily. The Loaffia always gets its revenge."

"I'm sure it does." I smile and I put the baguette back while the three men scramble to get out of the bakery as fast as possible.

The oven dings. I open it and the fresh smell of baguettes enters my nose.

I literally wrote this SEUS for that one pun. Hope you enjoyed it!

2

u/katpoker666 Jan 21 '22

‘Quiet’

—-

The needle broke as I put the record on. I expected Billie Holiday, and there was nothing. It was a strange feeling.

Changing the needle, the warm burnt caramel notes of her voice rang out. I settled into my chair with Sasha by my side. Finally, I had peace.

I’d booked this cabin last minute, a great deal. It was just what I needed to relax alone.

Sasha head-butted me as I reached for ‘Finnegan’s Wake.’ I scratched her back. Purring ensued.

Twenty pages in, and there was a knock at the door. What the hell? I’m in the middle of nowhere…

“Mr. Simmons?”

“No.”

“Well, it says here he lives at this address. Where shall I put it?”

I rolled my eyes. What the hell was the owner’s name…could it be his package? “I guess in the mudroom?”

“Ok.”

The Amazon driver left. Finally, I had peace. Sasha returned to my lap with a distinctive feline harrumph.

knock knock

Sasha eyed me as if daring me to move. I stayed put.

Knock Knock

Ugh, what if it’s important? I sighed, hefting my not inconsiderable weight from my chair.

“Good morning, Sir. Have you been saved?“

“I’m sorry?” I stared at them, confused.

They enunciated their words with care, as if to a child. “Haave youu beeen saaaved byyy Godddd?”

Umm, nope. This was not going to disrupt my day.

“Goodbye.” I slammed the door with more force than I’d intended. My soul damned for eternity was a small price to pay for solitude.

Two hours later, I could hear hounds baying in the distance. They soon closed in on our door.

“Sasha, I think this one is for you.”

She glared at me and arched her back as if daring me to say that again.

“Fine, Sasha I’ll get rid of them.” I rolled my eyes at my lazy princess’s antics. Walking to the door, I could hear the distinct sound of scratching at the door. I opened it and shouted, “Shoo!”

The dogs stared at me in numb confusion. I imagined them thinking, ‘wait, he’s not a cat. We smell feline!’ It was at that moment that I wondered if my first day of reclusiveness had driven me a bit mad. I decided to double down. “Shoo, you stupid mutts, there’s nothing for you here!”

A lone rider strode up. “What on earth are you doing to my hounds?”

“I—“

“You are acting quite odd, Sir. We’re in the midst of a good old-fashioned fox hunt. You’re distracting my best hunters.”

“Excuse me? They disturbed me.”

“Pish-tosh. Some folks cannot be reasoned with,” the rider mumbled to herself. In a louder voice, she said, “Anyway, we must be off—the prey is near. On lads!”

The canines raced off into the distance, following their mistress at speed.

As I returned from the porch, I heard a soft whimpering coming from the root cellar near the door. Curious, I looked down only to find a young vixen, shivering in fear. I smiled, glad that she’d escaped. The logic of hunting was beyond my grasp.

Going inside, I got some bacon and brought it out to her. The fox may be a surprise guest, but she was the only welcome one today.

—-

WC: 541

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

6

u/QuiscoverFontaine Jan 21 '22 edited Jan 22 '22

An Open Letter to the Resident(s) of Flat 4-B

Look, mate. I’ve grown pretty numb to your shenanigans over the years, but enough is enough. I fully respect your (and indeed anyone else’s) right to do whatever you so wish in the privacy or your own home, but there is a line. There is nothing I would like more than to not have to write yet another note, but you have left me no choice.

I’ve been politely suffering through your nightly cacophony for a while but I’m at my wit’s end. I have no idea what it is you’re doing up there but it makes everything rattle and I’m fairly certain it’s the source of the hairline fractures in my glassware.

Current guesses are:

  1. You’ve decided to become the world’s first one-person multi-saw and didgeridoo orchestra;

  2. The only music you enjoy is all of Enya’s records played simultaneously at the loudest possible volume;

  3. You’ve done something unconscionable to Time and Space and the Universe is screaming.

Whichever of these laudable hobbies it is, might I suggest doing them somewhere else? Or buying some headphones? Or just grasping the concept of making even a modicum of effort to keep it down.

There’s also the issue with the light. You know the one. That blinding, flickery one that constantly blasts forth from your windows and is strong enough to turn night into day. Is it the Aurora Borealis? At this time of year? In this part of the country? Localised entirely within your flat?

If yes, may I see it? If no, don’t.

Do you consider reading for less enlightened individuals? Because the rules for the communal washing machines are right there. And rule number one is to only use standard laundry detergents. Whatever alchemical nonsense you used left some residue and now all my clothes smell like civil unrest and paint thinner. I’m pretty sure my bedsheets are haunted. And I can’t describe to you what I found in the lint trap.

There is a shadow on the third-floor landing by the fire exit. It is always there, no matter what. Not only does it appear to operate outside of the laws of physics but the sight of it elicits a strange feeling in me. A tremulous, needling disquiet, like something as yet unseen is wrong. Like I’m standing on the lip of a yawning, bottomless chasm and am a heartbeat away from falling. You have been told on multiple occasions not to disrupt the emotional states of others in shared spaces. I paid for it to be cleaned up last time and I’d rather not have to do it again.

Then there are the visitors. You are more than welcome to have guests but the shimmering pillars of light are constantly loitering in the corridor, harassing the other residents, and leaving burn marks on the carpets. If these are your friends, I’d hate to meet your enemies. Every single interaction I have had with them has been less than cordial at best. They always judder menacingly and I may not be able to understand that high-pitched staticky hum they give off, but I know they’re insulting me.

And please have a word with whatever it is that has taken up residence in the plumbing and sings long, echoing songs of The Void. The whole building can hear it. I know you’ve told me before that it’s “THE COLLECTIVE CLAMOURING CRY OF THE CELESTIAL SPIRITS” but your excuses are of no help to me.

Additionally, it would be greatly appreciated if you would make the effort to ensure that the by-products of your otherworldly manifestations stay within the confines of your flat. The spidering mass of arcane symbols that have carved themselves into the paintwork of the stairwell gives me violent visions of my own death. Also, something literally unspeakable has soaked into the hallway carpet and takes a malicious enjoyment in trying to get me to step in it.

Lastly, and most importantly, please stop using my cat as an earthly mouthpiece with which to express your displeasure at my previous complaints. Passive-aggressive behaviour (or “ACTS OF VENGEANCE” as you so call them) is one thing, but you leave Mr Bingley out of this. You have no quarrel with him. He has yet to fully recover from when you used him to tell me that “THE PHYSICAL PLANE IS BUT A FRAGMENT OF THE VAST TOTALITY EXISTENCE” and that my tiny life is “INSIGNIFICANCE UPON INSIGNIFICANCE UPON INSIGNIFICANCE” and therefore worthless. You needn’t have bothered. I’m already well aware that you think you’re better than me.

Sort it out. I know you are “AN INFINITE DIVINE BEING POSSESSED WITH INCOMPREHENSIBLE HEAVENLY POWER, ETERNAL AND EVERLASTING AND WILL OUTLIVE TIME ITSELF” but that doesn’t mean you get to behave like a jackass.

Regards,

Steve in 4-C

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

800 words

r/Quiscovery

1

u/katpoker666 Jan 23 '22

I think this is the first funny thing of yours I’ve read, Quis. As usual, you’ve nailed it :)

2

u/katherine_c Jan 21 '22

This is clever and enjoyable to read. I really like the way you build up to weirder and weirder events! The line "I'm pretty sure my bedsheets are haunted" really struck me, and everything from there just seemed to build on this wonderful, absurd idea. It really comes together well, and you did a great job blending the mundane and the supernatural seamlessly. So many great images throughout!

2

u/katherine_c Jan 20 '22

First Contact

The lander opened, and Calvin stepped into a new world. His mind raced with thoughts, but the event itself was anticlimactic. The doors opened and there was nothing. Well, not nothing nothing, but nothing interesting. It could have been any patch of soil on Mars for all it mattered.

Ignoring the disappointment, he checked the readings from his suit. The needle of the compass swung from end to end, trying to identify some kind of magnetic anchor. North, South, it didn’t matter. Consistency was the key.

The temperature readout displayed 40C, and Calvin whispered a prayer of thanks for the many layers of climate-controlled protection around him. Other readouts indicated a reasonable degree of breathable air, no known infectious agents. Of course, it wasn’t the known agents he was worried about. The ship medbay was stocked against those. No, his helmet would stay fastened for this mission.

His first step across the surface let him know that gravity was a little more restrictive. What went up still came down, but with a little more gusto than expected.

“Landing Log 1: I have begun the exploration of Cava-912. No visible life signs noted. Readouts indicate the presence of unspecified microorganisms consistent with a Class Nine habitable site. Beginning initial reconnaissance. Habsuit will record all vitals and local conditions.”

He ended the log and set out away from his ship. The initial setup was boring. Calvin wondered if space exploration was all about boring, with life-altering discoveries sprinkled in. But he set up weather and atmosphere monitors, security alarms, and borers for the crust samples. It was rote work.

That numb feeling began to take over his mind, thoughts turning into static. The shadows grew long much faster than he expected. Still, he was nearly done with initial setup by the time gloom settled around him.

Conventional wisdom suggested he not wander an unfamiliar landscape in half-light. Listening to it would have saved him from the fall. On a planet with standard gravity, the fall would have been negligible, but instead the ground rushed up to his helmet, followed by darkness.

Warning lights and alarms brought him back. The first one he saw was “Habsuit breach” and he cursed. So much for avoiding the local microfauna. He ignored the others. The most important data came when he sat up and his vision swam in circles around him. A nice concussion to welcome him.

Which is why, at first, he was not shocked to see the creature sitting across from him. His nearest estimate for it was “cat,” though it had no fur and the eyes were far more sentient than any he had come across. It sat on the stones across from him, paws crossed as it studied him. For all he knew, that was an aggressive stance around here. But, concussed as he was, there was little he could do about it if it were.

The thing opened its mouth—rows of razor-thin teeth much unlike a cat’s lining it—and emitted a strange rumbling squeak. It then watched him, waiting for a response. Calvin remembered a protocol on first contact, but the details were beyond his fuzzy grasp. So he waved.

In response, the creature turned its head, eyes blinking out of sync. He could recognize confusion anywhere. Calvin pushed to his feet; he was better off standing if it was aggressive.

The planet spun again, his headlamp burning a vibrant path of light through the darkness. The creature made another yelp and leaped away from the light, pupils rapidly dilating at the exposure. Calvin stumbled, catching himself on the rocks nearby. He looked up and saw a red light blinking from whatever fateful tool he had last set up.

The alien returned, studying him with intention. It chirped again, pausing for his response.

“I need back up,” he said with a wave toward the light above. It turned its head uncertainly but followed the gesture.

Now a series of purrs, chirps, and squeals that were meaningless to Calvin. When he did not respond, Calvin recognized a familiar look of disappointment. Instead, it began walking, turning back to see if he was following. That was a sign that was crystal clear, and so Calvin did so.

It was a strange feeling, following some feline alien through an unfamiliar landscape. He hoped it was not leading him back to a lair to devour him. Before long, Calvin found himself standing back at the red light from above, again within the bounds of his secured radius. The alarms in his helmet went wild with the perimeter breach.

Calvin looked at the creature and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, as if that meant anything. Its ears twitched, and then it turned, running back into the darkness beyond.

Well, that had turned out exciting after all.

---

WC: 800

Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Looking forward to seeing where others went with this prompt!

2

u/rainbow--penguin Jan 23 '22

Some great details in this to make it grounded in reality. I liked the detail of the compass. It was a nice touch to note that there wouldn't be a north pole like on earth, but he was just looking for any reference point. I also liked the mention of the gravity. And the shadows growing long faster than he expected. It all fed in to making this feel real.

I was really wondering how you were going to work in the cat constraint given we were on Mars. I was not disappointed. I kind of want to meet a Martian cat now.

2

u/katherine_c Jan 23 '22

Thank you! I had fun writing up some alien touches to the scene. And if Martian cats turn out to be true, I'll be buying a ticket right away!

4

u/rainbow--penguin Jan 20 '22

Moving On

It was a strange feeling. The last thing I remembered was a blaring horn, the screech of crumpling metal, then nothing. For a brief moment there was absolutely nothing at all. Then I was watching them cut my mangled body from the burning wreckage.

It should have bothered me more, but all I could think about was Tilly, my daughter. I looked about, frantically whipping my ethereal head this way and that as I searched for her, dreading what I might see but needing to see it all the same.

My gaze locked on to a splash of crimson. A body on a stretcher. Tilly! I stared at her lifeless form as paramedics leaned over her, willing her to move, to live.

"Urrrgh." A guttural moan broke free from her lips as she rolled over.

"Alright miss, can you hear me? I need you to lie still, can you do that for me?"

They loaded her into the ambulance with practiced ease as I watched on, torn between horror and relief.

I made to follow, when a strange humming engulfed my senses, calling to me with promises of peace and happiness. But I would know no peace until I knew my daughter was okay.

Tearing myself away I raced towards the ambulance, uncertain if it was my legs carrying me or sheer force of will.

As I neared Tilly, I noticed a diaphanous substance around her. It emitted a hum similar to the one that now screamed at me to move on, but softer, at a higher frequency, cutting through everything else. Thrusting my ghostly hands into the aura I grasped hold, tethering myself to my daughter, and the noise stopped.

Without it, Tilly's rasping breaths were all too loud.

The journey to the hospital passed in a flash of eternity. Then a frenzy of activity broke the stillness. Rushing through the corridors. Doctors crowding round. Bright lights. The stench of disinfectant. Crunching. Cutting. Sucking.

I stayed with her through it all, trying to block out the pandemonium. Focusing only on her. Willing her to be okay with everything I had left - whatever that was.

Then it was just me and her, alone in her room, waiting.

"Dad?" Her eyes fluttered open, face twisted in pain and confusion. "What's -- Where -- Hello?"

Relief coursed through me as I reached out to comfort her, only to turn to anguish as my arms passed through her.

The next few weeks passed in an endless parade of nurses, needles and beeping machines. I watched on helplessly as they explained what had happened, and grief threatened to undo the hard work of the hospital staff. I watched the sobs wracking her body every night when she thought she was alone. I watched the will to fight - to get better - drain away.

But then I watched it return. With the careful attentions of the doctors and nurses I watched her regain her strength day by day, pulling herself out of her despair step by step. Until she was ready to go home.

I heard the call of the other side many times over the years but it was never stronger than the call of my daughter. Of seeing her grow up and live her life. Of seeing her failures and successes. Of being there for her, even if she didn't know it.

I dreaded the day it would all be over, but when it came I realised there was nothing to fear.

She was asleep in her bed with her cat curled up next to her while I looked around the room, filled with pictures of loved ones; mementos of a life well lived. The only sounds were Tilly's rhythmic breathing and her cat's gentle purr. Then it was just the purr.

With the tether to my daughter gone, I was no longer connected to the world by anything or anyone. I was truly numb.

I heard the call once more, and found I was finally ready to follow, drifting onwards to the next life until a voice called me back.

"Hey, wait for me Dad!"

"Tilly?" I gasped, whirling round to see the ghost of my daughter, now so much older than me.

"Who else?" she chuckled. "You waited all this time. You can't wait a few seconds more huh?"

"Y-you knew I was there?"

"Of course! I could feel you with me, watching over me. Every day."

"I just needed to know you were happy."

"I was. I am. But I'm here now. You don't have to wait any more. So are you ready?"

I nodded. Together we followed the call of the next life, and I was finally at peace.

WC: 777

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at r/RainbowWrites

2

u/katherine_c Jan 21 '22

Oh, this is beautiful. I think the way you described the father's dedication is really nicely done and really brings out a lot of emotion here. It starts with such an intense, chaotic scene, but it transitions nicely into the peaceful end. I got a bit lost when the time skipped ahead in the middle, but I think that was mostly just me having a short attention span this afternoon. I thought the detail with the cat's purr was a remarkable touch. It took that weighty moment and made it much easier of a transition. Just beautiful overall.

1

u/rainbow--penguin Jan 23 '22

Thanks Katherine! I'm really glad you liked it. I can definitely see what you mean about the time skip being a bit confusing. I might try restructuring the sentence in order to make the passage of time more of the focus.

4

u/DannyMethane_ Jan 20 '22

It's a hard concept to grasp, falling out of love. Days turn to months to years as the love between you grows, blooms, blossoms. But like a flower, it wilts. Left long enough, some love can bloom again next season. Others aren't so lucky. It rots from the roots up, until all of the greenery is withered, brown, and turned into nutrients for the next flower to grow there.

It was a strange feeling, seeing her there, her back turned to me. A stone cold curtain separated us, and there were no words that could needle a hole into it. Some things just can't be changed, and we're supposed to just be okay with that. Even our cat, Molly, sensed the tension, happily filling the vacant chasm between us.

I tried to conjure up the wonderful memories we had made. I tried to recall our first date; the smell of the coffee, the sound of traffic, the way her laughter could rid my mind of all negative thought. I struggled to recall meeting her parents the first time. There was nothing. Not a single drop of happiness remained between us. I had become numb to the love I once thought was all I had in this world.

We suffered the same burn of which so many couples before us still bore the scars. Death by a thousand cuts. Each tiny drop of resentment contained in a vessel much to small. It builds above the rim, only holding on through surface tension until finally, enough is enough, and a deluge descends, drowning any hope of recovering the relationship we once had. We didn't even make it a year before she laid those rings on the table and left.

Eventually that numbness faded and I was able to reflect on the things that tore our roots. A good gardener knows how to tend the soil. They know how to learn from their mistakes. They know how to keep weeds at bay. They know the right mix of water and sunlight to grow the most delicate flowers into unbreakable trees with roots so deep and strong that other flowers bloom in their wake.

2

u/katherine_c Jan 21 '22

The extended metaphor is a great vehicle to take what is a rather classic idea, the dissolution of a relationship, and tell it in a creative, fresh way. The next to last paragraph is my favorite, especially that image of a relationship held together by surface tension. It captures that idea so perfectly!

2

u/vibrantcomics Jan 19 '22

304: Chapter 2

D followed him past the ruined floors. They presently came to an opened door, laughter came from inside.

"That's our spot. Go inside and introduce yourself, they won't bite. " The man turned and walked downstairs.

D entered. It was a small condo, one room to the far right and a kitchen on the left. There was a broken Tv in the hall. Two soilders were loitering in the main hallway.

C was cleaning his gun in one corner. B stood near the kitchen, looking up. He then saw D.

"Hello. A never misses a shot, firearm or alchol. So I am assuming you are a friend."

"Yes. Hi, my name i-"

"Stop right there mister!" B got up and walked to D, hand raised. "By entering this hideout your old name shall be replaced. I herby chirsten you, D."

He walked in nonchalantly. " Oh come on now what do you think of it? Not that that matters. What's your division?"

"I am a private in the lightning corps. 52nd parachute battalion from-"

"Aaken. I know. I am a corporal in the 88th grenadier regiment along with mr armorer over there. You might want to give him your rifle, see if it functions."

"I have no hope for that, sadly. He's from the lightning corps, they supply sticks."

D was vexed. "Hey! They gave us rifles."

"And was there a red button?" C asked

"Huh?" D scratched his head. B suddenly grabbed D's hand," Look a war mark!" D saw the mean red burn on his wrist, strangely he had been numb to it. Freeing his hand from B's grasp, "Where's the washroom?"

"In that room to the right." He walked into a severely trashed room, then he saw the door right in front of him. Going inside, the horrible smell drove him away.

He came to the hall and immediately threw up. C sighed. "They must have given chocolate at the canteen today. Too bad."

"So you must have really liked the toilet experience. Want to take the bucket out tonight?"

"Oh hell no." D cluctched his chest. "I ain't going there again. It's horrible."

D sat down on the ground. B sat right next to him. "Right then. Hey I forgot to introduce myself and our armorer. I am B and he's C."

"Why are you all named after alphabets? It would be cooler to use fantasy or mythology names you know."

"It is my humble opinion that such names are all just word soup. No, tell me in what universe Joklium is cool? Writers probably ask a bunch of babies to scribble these and then plagarize that without cre-"

"Just tell you lack creativity." C ended B's rant.

"Well, we lack creativity. Alphabets are just simpler."

"Well okay B." D got up and sat near C. He watched him work. It was a strange feeling to see the innards of a gun. Slick oil dripped of a piece.

Then D got up and went to the kitchen. Various cans were strewn on the counter. The sink was out of repair. The fridge was open, and there was nothing inside.

He came out. B said," Sad isn't it? Seeing a glorious fridge devoid of ice creams and chocolates. We shall fix that one day."

"It'll melt. Besides this city's probably out of chocolate."

2

u/Goodmindtothrowitall Jan 19 '22 edited Jan 20 '22

Pyrophytes

Pain is not for me, not anymore.
Minnow-bright needle dives into my skin
And I am not afraid
Flowers bloom on my skin like bruises
it’s a strange feeling
Becoming stranger.

There is nothing
To stop my scars from rippling,
Rip stranger’s eyes from me,
close mouths,
stop questions
the scales of my skin will never recede
But I carry waves with me
And I am who I wanted to be

Though there are days where the fire returns
Wakes from its sleep, uncurls,
Winds needle-bright claws around my nerves
pulls tight
Pain is not for me, not anymore.
When the fire recedes I am empty as a cathedral
Numbness spreads like the starry sky,
My skin shines with scars, hard as chrysalis
but I shine with it,
Not beautiful but becoming,
All of us, still becoming.

Today, my small lion weighs down my lap
And the sound of her purr is a vibration
That travels through my grasp
There is no need for softness when there is love
There is no need for pity when there are curled piebald paws,
And tattoos of poppies bloom alongside burns.

5

u/gdbessemer Jan 19 '22 edited Jan 23 '22

Shadows in the Wavelength, part 2

More than three, leave the dream.

The man had five eyes on his face.

“Yes?” asked the man in the blue suit. His hazel eyes were half-lidded, gazing at Brody with manicured calm.

“Thought you were someone else,” said Brody. He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “I’m Brody, nice to meet you.”

“Thomas. Well, make yourself comfortable, young Brody.” Thomas gestured to the red vinyl top of the chrome stool next to his own. Brody sat down, avoiding the man’s unnatural gaze.

“Nice watch. Rolex?” Thomas asked.

“Casio.” Just play it cool. Pretend to be a figment of the patient’s imagination.

The dog whined. When Brody looked down, the dog had turned into a cat, which was meowing insistently. Malleable dream logic. There was a paper menu on top of the counter. Gibberish again, but he pretended to read it to give himself a minute to think.

Leave, or stay. Protocol said to leave. The man had five eyes. Numbers could just be a coincidence, sure. But, before finding a parasite, almost every dream diver reported seeing a “significant number:” three birds chirping, one giant sand castle, two parked cars. A Jungian scholar consulting on the project suggested this was synchronicity. The forensic psychologist, a call for help from the patient. Brody had his own hypothesis he wanted to test, too.

The most important lesson they’d learned from the numbers was this; the only two divers who’d encountered a “four” came back injured. And Sewell? In his talkative moments, Sewell would only ever say one word. “Five.”

Hence the rule. More than three, leave the dream. Every diver could use their watch to tell the chip in their brain to release a jolt of serotonin and start the wakeup.

But Brody wasn’t Sewell. What the other researchers didn’t grasp was, the dream divers needed to take risks. They were saving ten percent of their patients. It was a worse survival rate than heart attack or third degree burn victims. If the divers were going to beat the parasites, they needed information. Here, in the dreams of the dying, was the only place they could get it.

“You look troubled, son. Something the matter?”

Brody looked up at Thomas. His mouth was sympathetic, but the look didn’t reach those five staring eyes. Brody made himself look back though, make an aw-shucks smile.

“Oh, just…thinking about my girl,” said Brody. He thought of Marsten, her unusual concern.

“You look thirsty, young Brody. Let me get you a coffee.”

There was a clink and a pair of coffees were on the diner tabletop where none were before, steam wafting off them. Thomas daintily lifted his coffee and blew on it before drinking, five eyes closing in unison to savor the taste. Brody raised his cup and took a quick sip. Thomas was still deep in contemplation of his cup.

“Come here often?” Brody asked.

“Work has kept me busy of late. You know, saving the world and all that.” Thomas chuckled. “Granddad used to bring me here Sundays after church. Shoulda seen it then. Most popular destination in town.”

The payphone at front of the diner started ringing. Brody checked his watch. 00:50:00. Time to check in. “Thanks for the coffee,” said Brody. “Think that’s my girl.”

The phone was one of those rotary ones made out of bakelite. Brody picked up, looked at his watch, and engaged his chip.

<Report. - Marsten>

<Encountered the patient. Says his name is Thomas. - Brody>

“Nice watch.”

Thomas was there, putting a Casio watch away in his breast pocket.

<What was the number? - Marsten>

“Tell her you saw a three,” said Thomas.

Brody looked at his wrist. His watch was gone.

<Number??? - Marsten>

“Three,” said Thomas. “Do it and I’ll let this husk live.”

<Can’t talk. Going to intercept. - Brody>

He killed the connection, realized that he couldn’t call back. Without the watch his sense of the chip had gone numb.

They were sitting in a booth now, red vinyl seats as high as their heads. The cat was meowing frantically.

Thomas frowned. “Not smart. Now we gotta do this the hard way.”

“Empty threat,” said Brody. “You’re a parasite. You need Thomas.”

“Up to a point,” said Thomas with a chuckle. “Up to a point. But what I need now is a new host.”

Brody blinked. There was now a maggot-white tube sticking out of the left side of Thomas’ face, a dark liquid pulsing through the thin white membrane. The tube laid across the table like a disembowled intestine.

It ended in a needle, jabbed into Brody’s belly button. It was a strange feeling.

WC: 798

Shadow in the Wavelength, part 1

2

u/rainbow--penguin Jan 23 '22

Was glad to see the second part here after that cliffhanger.

I really liked this line:

His hazel eyes were half-lidded, gazing at Brody with manicured calm.

It conjured the image perfectly and told us lots about the character.

I also enjoyed the details like the letters all being gibberish. The coffee cups appearing. The sudden changes in location. And all the importance of numbers stuff. It was all good worldbuilding.

The way you incorporated the lack of feeling was also really good. The dream concept worked so well for that. And incorporating whatever random constraint you needed.

The conversation on the phone where Thomas was suddenly there was very tense. Them revealing that they knew what was going on was just instantly creepy. And the description at the very end was just so disturbing.

Well done!

4

u/AlterumTrepidelow Jan 18 '22 edited Jan 23 '22

Like A Moth to Flame

Fluttering, fluttering

My heart is a pair of wings

and I cannot fathom the fire from here

There is a needle threading in-between my ribs

and a burn is etched into my chest

and yet I cannot seem to feel any pain

only a spreading numbness

and a vague sense that I am meant to be somewhere else

There is a cat, a black cat

curling in and out of ladders built in my mind

I follow her

even though there was nothing to follow but her yellow eyes

the color of rotten squash

I come upon a door

I come upon an open door

I come upon an open door broken on its hinges

and there was nothing inside but blackness

It was a strange feeling

the feeling of being threaded from the inside out

and created anew

and then told

I am nothing

there is nothing