Ruvastuon - Projects

Clarity

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FFF263 In the Meadows prompt

1317 word count (I'm sorry it's a bit over... I tried condensing as much as I could.)

CW: violence, referenced forced drug use, a bit of body horror, and dehydration.

Summary: Maren wakes up in an unfamiliar meadow with a clear mind after years of living under a fog.

On an island surrounded by great forests sat a meadow hiding from the ocean. Laying among the blades of grass that swept by her like waves on the ocean, Maren woke in a state of listlessness. She was utterly exhausted, and without the aid of the deep to facilitate her navigation, she was stuck against the cool earth, blind to all but a gentle warmth on her skin.

Usually, she was quite sluggish between hunts, struggling with even the most basic of thoughts, waiting until they charged the water with those fowl drugs, sending her into a frenzy. Occasionally, she would have bouts of clarity, usually just long enough to witness the end of her hunt, but now it felt like her mind was sharper than it had been in years. With this new freedom, Maren’s thoughts drifted to the fathomless depths of what had until recently been her home.

With a clear mind, Maren did not remember it with the fondness she had felt when her brother was given the opportunity to show his devotion to the queens, or in the reverence that had surged through Maren’s entire being when her sister was accepted as a royal guard.

‘Oh how fortunate you are, Maren, to have been bestowed with the favor of our queens.’

How many lonely nights in the empty nursery had she prayed for such a thing before her naive devotion had doomed her? No, she had long lost any reverence for their tyranny, and her thoughts of that place had turned just as rotten as her limbs in the burning darkness of the mines.

Musing about her isolation, Maren could see herself for the pawn she had been. Her mother had warned her long ago, but the queen’s guard had claimed her mother was a traitor, not to be trusted. She had been ripped away from Maren before those precious lessons could be ingrained properly, and so, like a fool Maren had fallen for every lie they’d fed her, burying the barbed hook of their deception deeper into her throat until she wasn’t even a shell of what she had once been.

Another gust of wind swept by, drying her skin. Despite her newfound clarity, all of these revelations were little comfort in the face of her demise. Maren would have laughed at the irony if the queens had left her a proper mouth. At least death didn’t seem so painful as the screams of her victims had made it sound. The executioner, the being that even the queens had grown to fear as a monster, was going to die, dried up on land like some hapless fish that had unwittingly beached itself.

If there had been a higher power, and her wordless prayers had been heard in the darkness of her isolation, then maybe she had been spared from living in that hell any longer. After so many years of being a puppet, Maren wouldn’t be picky about the means of her salvation, and this was already too grand a fate for a monster such as herself. After all the innocent lives she had taken in the name of the queens, she deserved a far greater punishment. She accepted this death and was glad she could greet it in her own right mind.

As time continued to pass, Maren could feel her muscles gradually beginning to shrivel down as her breathing became ragged and the warmth against her skin continued to sap the life from her veins. Maren’s mind was fluttering away, split between fragmented memories of faces she could barely recall, until she felt something warm suddenly pressed under her scorched skin, lifting her up from her grassy resting place. The sudden shift cracked her skin at odd angles, causing sharp spikes of pain to run across her body, but she made no effort to move. Even with the sudden sensation of a beating heart coursing underneath her, the dehydration was too far along for Maren to comprehend anything until she suddenly lost track of the pulse and felt water enveloping her.

WIthin seconds of being submerged, her cracked skin healed over, and she began to explore the area, exhibiting a level of curiosity she thought had been lost to youth. A strange sense of wonder overtaking her foggy reason. Once satisfied with her findings, Maren turned her attention to the surface, she could sense another presence, and her newfound curiosity drove her to inspect.

“** ****, ****** *****.”

It was a strange chirpy language, nothing like the deep bellows she was familiar with from the Briney Court, but not entirely unpleasant. Even if she couldn’t understand the words, at this range, Maren was fairly confident when it came to gauging intent, and the voice sounded relieved. The emotion confused her, and after a brief hesitation, Maren found herself getting closer to the edge in an attempt to form a connection with one of her functional arms.

As Maren’s arm came in contact with an outstretched hand, she felt her limb quickly entangle the arm above to establish a connection. A flood of information cascaded freely into her mind as Maren saw the world through this creature’s eyes and understood his feelings, at least on the surface.

It wasn’t a skill she relied on, and had only resorted to it as a form of interrogation or out of pure desperation from isolation in her moments of clarity, and on every occasion she was met with a flood of negative emotions that were strangely absent here. Interested to find out more, Maren decided that it would be good to spark discussion with the creature so she could properly take in the terrain from the stranger’s eyes and enjoy the strange company she found herself in.

“Why am I here?”

She could tell he was quite shocked by her sudden intrusion into his mind, and flinched, waiting for him to pull away, but unlike the fear or anger that she had so often experienced with her own kind, the individual seemed more amused than anything.

“The tank you were being transported in broke open in the crash, I think? I was worried that I ate everyone, but if they were transporting you like that, then they probably deserved to die anyway...”

There was more that he wanted to say about that, but he stopped. There was no reason to pry about his eating habits, but at the mention of a tank, Maren quickly skimmed through his latest memories, carefully extracting what she was looking for. It was more of a glass coffin filled with stagnant water and salt crystals as far as she could tell. Frustrated by the torturous design, Maren pulled away, severing their connection while trying to remember how she could have ended up in such a thing?

“* ***** *** *** **** **** ********.”

The unintelligible words once more filled her mind, pulling it away from the putrid memory. Wondering if he had any more information about the situation, Maren quickly re-established the connection and caught his assumption that she had been kidnaped. A laughable conclusion, but he didn’t know any better. No one made it in and out of her cave alive, not while she was on the hunt, it was more likely the queens had drugged her last victim with something stronger than usual and tried to dispose of her for good. Though why they would go through all the trouble of shipping her in a glass coffin was a complete mystery. Whatever their intentions, there had been an intervention of some sort, and those involved had been properly taken care of.

“Thank you for saving me.”

A warm sensation spread through the connection as he exhibited genuine happiness at her remark. The surge shocked her slightly, but she found that it was an easy sensation to get used to. She had been given the salvation she longed for, and this creature had been the instrument to accomplish it.

Note: This is Maren after years of experimentation, all in the attempt to make an eldrich creature artificially. I use the term arms in place of tentacles because tentacles sounded a bit weird when I was writing it, and 'arms' has been used as an acceptable term, so I just went with it instead. Sorry for any confusion.

OC's favorite snack tag game.

Is there anything so undoing as a good snack?

What is one of your characters' favorite snacks, and why?

(I had this idea randomly and was suddenly very curious to hear about different character's choices on this topic) (If you feel so inclined to talk about multiple examples, I'd love to hear them!)

For my part: Owen the Medic

Favorite snack: chocolate chip cookies.

He wasn't originally a big fan of sweets, but one of the members of his squad started baking for all of them whenever they got the chance, and Owen discovered his love for warm cookies. He has gotten experimental with caramel and pretzels, but the classic chocolate chip always wins as it reminds him of the family he found during the war.

Tagging: @renasdoodles @davycoquette @kuebiko-writing +open tag!

Who is the evilest character in your wip Bloodmage and why do you feel that way?

Ohh great question. Thanks for the ask.

I don't have a full name for him yet since I'm waffleling between a few of them at the moment, so as of now, I just call him the Major.

In his quest for power and an extended life, he had committed just about every war crime he could manage to in the ten years of the war before he found a way to turn himself into a vampire. Needless to say, he just got worse with the increase in power.

When his country started losing the war, the Major allied with the tech witches to try and mass produce bloodmages to send the world into chaos and take attention away from him so he could regroup his vampire army.

His ultimate goal is enslavement of the world, and he will search out any and every person who is even slightly aligned with his mindset to use them for his greater purpose.

He enjoys the challenge of breaking people and veiws mercy as weakness.

He might have been a monster in the beginning, but that is what fear and his twisted heart drove him to become one step at a time.

Thanks again for the ask! I haven't had a chance to talk about him yet.

Hide and Seek

@flashfictionfridayofficial Thanks for the prompt!

Summary: A rather intense game of hide and seek preformed every fifty years. Each game spans over a five year period and involves about 300 active participants. The goal of the game is survival, but from what? Most involved only have a notion of their pursuer.

Warnings: Horror, blood, some eldritch elements

A pungent mix of rusted iron and raw meat woke Gordon suddenly from a dead sleep. Quickly glancing at the band bolted to his wrist he should have had another three hours before his next move, but the calculation must have been wrong. Adapting quickly, Gordon pulled out his hunting knife, and began pruning back a collection of tissue that had begun to grow, producing a thick pool of blood. The work was fowl and tedious, but a necessary step to buy more time. 

As he lingered the ceiling began to groan, warning of an impending collapse. Packing up the large mostly cleaned vertebra, Gordon inspected it for any additional growths before loading it on his back and quickly grabbed some extra supplies. There was no telling how long he’d have to be on the move before reaching another shelter, but delaying any longer would be dangerous. 

Inserting his data card, Gordon quickly switched his status to targeted. Looking back to the shower, he almost regretted not taking a bath before crashing, but sleep had been a better investment. He could worry about feeling clean when he could afford it.  

Stalking down one of the many dim corridors, dread simmered in his veins. Up until last year he’d been given alerts when his turn was drawing near, but lately he hadn’t even run into wanderers making him fear for the network. Reaching a good distance through the tunnels, the solitary echo of his boots was interrupted by the sound of dripping blood, as tissue continued to form around his burden at an alarming rate. A shiver ran down Gordon’s spine as he recalled his last encounter with the creature. If he could escape the tunnels and get to the lake he could use the current to outpace it, or he at least hoped that he could. 

It could smell him like this, and the chase would be easier that way wouldn’t it? The creature would take time to collect its fallen flesh, but the time it stalled varied significantly from case to case, making the tactic risky to use often. He’d avoided it for the most part, but today the scars on his left arm began to ache making him pause to glance over his shoulder. It wasn’t as overgrown as before, so maybe he was putting enough distance between them? That hope carried him a little faster, pushing him to the surface minutes before he’d anticipated.

Stepping out into the forest, a dock sat only a couple hundred feet away. The sight filled his bones with a surge of anticipation that died in his throat at the sound of twisting wood. Plastering himself against the far wall of the building, Gordon held his breath and listened as the trees were bent out of place. It was here. Silence followed for half a minute, forcing Gordon to sneak a small gasp of air, as his heart began to beat wildly. A low sallow hum called for him to cry out along with the rest of the forest, to make himself known, but he resisted. 

Among those that answered the call, a Starling perched on a nearby branch sang out and was instantly bathed in a red light that crept past the corner of his hiding place. Gordon saw the starlings eyes grow wide, and its muscles stiffen up as it lost balance and fell into the grass mere feet away from him.  

The wood once more creaked and strained as it was bent out of form. The red light passed over the top of the building, lingering just where he was hiding. It was taunting him, and he needed to move. The boat was so close but his legs seemed frozen, knowing what would happen if the creature laid eyes on him. The little Starling twitched and writhed, its eyes seeming to plead for an escape that Gordon couldn't provide. He could only make sure that the creature was occupied, and keep the game going until the timer ran out. Clenching his teeth, Gordon forced himself to move. 

As he took his first step, the sounds of the forest cut out suddenly, making his movements feel impossibly loud. The creature crooned in a twisted mockery, the light remaining in place, eerily still, and perfectly obstructed, goading him to flee. Swallowing back his fear, Gordon accepted the challenge and ran, ripping through the trees faster than he’d ever managed before. 

Even as his racing heartbeat rang through his ears, Gordon could hear the trees behind him, snapping at their bases to make room for the hunter. It would have its fun, but if Gordon could help it, the creature wouldn’t have its prize today.

Callisto- a current representative of one of the United cryptids self-government.

Your writeblr coffee shop order is ready!

Tea: What does your character find comfort in?

Thank you so much for the tea. It's perfect!

I picked one the squad members from my main WIP right now, Bloodmage (working title). His name is Hati, and he finds comfort in his foil lined hat.

For a bit more context...

Hati is a warlock who possesses the inherent talent of belief. If he believes in something, it comes into existence. At the age of 8, his collective was hunted down and massacred by the tech witches who wanted to harvest their power after learning that a Believer had awakened. In the chaos, his mother hid Hati and put a tin foil lined hat on his head, telling him that it protects him from the vision of tech witches, a statement he believes wholeheartedly to this day. Since he was so young when everything happened, Hati doesn't know about his ability, making him much stronger and unpredictable as a result.

Ever since escaping, he has always worn the hat and fiddles with the brim when he is nervous. He has only shared the full significance with Billy, but the rest of the squad knows the gist of what happened.

A Bit Old For This

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Where did this come from? I don't know... I woke up at 6:10 am. and saw the prompt. This story just kinda came knocking on my brain without notice.

Story Warning: breif thoughts of death, violence, abduction, mentions of unstable mental state, and isolation.

Aaron woke up scowling to the sound of his alarm. 4:30 am. flashed brightly on the small LED screen. He’d overslept again.

Not bothering to snooze, Arron slowly sat up in bed and attempted to fight his growing desire to pitch himself over the balcony of his fifth story apartment. Imagining the complications in the event of his failure he discarded the unproductive thoughts turning his attention to the bathroom instead.

Pictures and Phil and Rachel in their uniforms hung on the mirror taunting him with their smiles, a constant reminder of his failure.

Blasted psyche test. Weren't people like him the very kind that the military were looking for?

Aaron's scowl deepened as he tried to push down a rising sense of nausea, he really needed to take down those pictures before he…

A loud boom sounded from the living room and his failures were replaced by a sudden and unshakable dread.

He'd been anxious and angry in equal measure for most of his life, so Aaron was familiar with voids in his gut, but this dread seemed to be emanating from the back of his head telling him to run.

His brain didn't even process the command that had been instinctively issued before his body was moving calmly towards the bathroom window.

Unhooking the latched he ducked out to the fire escape and began to descend the stairs as quietly as possible while his heartbeat began to accelerate with each successive boom.

The wind began to pick up as he heard a low growl from above. He didn’t dare stop, didn't dare to look up and see what might have invaded his home. What would have happened had he hit snooze one more time? It was then that his anxiety caught up with the dread and a pit formed in his already weakened stomach threatening him with a putrid bile that crept into the back of his throat.

Aaron stopped just long enough to force the bile back down into his stomach. Unfortunately It was a moment too long, for even as he took several deep breaths after finally forcing the caustic mixture down his aching throat, he felt icy fingers gently wrapping around the back of his neck.

The back of his mind began to scream as his body froze in place. He wanted to move, needed to continue fleeing but it was as though his body had been frozen by those fingers which dug into the back of his neck.

"Are you sure this one will do?"

Aaron closed his eyes before he could see the person he heard them stepping closer. It was like his brain knew something worse than the eternal sleep he dreamed of would be forced on him if he made eye contact with whatever it was.

"The Professor was very clear in his description, and I can feel radiance even if it’s faint. I am a bit surprised he made it this long without being discovered."

His brow furrowed as Aaron tried to make sense of what was happening. What did they mean radiance? The feeling in the back of his head flared once more with the urgent desire to escape these things, but he was still firmly rooted in place as a bony finger pressed into the side of his face as warm blood pooled under the sharp nail.

The sting of torn skin was enough to convince the last sane shred of his mind that this wasn't another of his insane dreams, he'd always wake up when he was injured and less had drawn him from his wanderings. The icy grip around his throat tightened, and his vision blotched to blackness.

....

"Simon, wake up!"

His eyes snapped open at the unfamiliar voice. He was in a plain white room filled with sleeping figures. From a cursory glance he was probably the oldest by about fifteen years. Among them only about a fourth seemed to be awake, and half of those were staring at the walls in a daze.

He didn’t have much time to linger on his confusion as a familiar boom filled the room and his eyes were drawn to a wolf-like creature that stood towering over one child that was still sleeping. The creature's maw dripped with red as it didn't hesitate to bring its jaws down on the sleeping boy's shoulder before blinking out of existence with another boom, taking the boy with it.

Cries rang out from nearby children as they began to scramble away from any of the sleeping kids as more booms filled the room in rapid succession, always a sleeping child, and always there for less than a moment more than necessary. The teen near him continued to shake her unconscious friend while calling out his name as another boom sounded and knocked her away from the defenseless teen.

Aaron wasn't sure if it was that strange new part of his brain , or the well of frustration the had been brewing in his gut which caused him to leap at the wolf, but in the end the result was the same. Without an ounce of hesitation he pounced on the focused beast like a coiled spring which had finally been released.

Its body was lighter than the wolves he'd dealt with in the past, and as he pinned its throat to the ground with his knee, he reached to his belt finding his knife had been left unchecked.

His fingers gingerly gripped around the handle pulling it free as the creature seemed to catch up with its current situation and attempted to claw at him while snarling.

He was struck by the pathetically weak nature of this thing as his blade was buried in the creature's throat, tearing it cleanly with more ease than should have been possible. As the blade broke free of the creature it burst into a cloud of thick purple smoke and rapidly funneled into his mouth and nose suffocating him for a brief moment.

When the swirl was gone he looked down at his hands with patchy vision and tried to focus on the strange fog that he could now feel slowly making its way through his lungs.

"Congratulations!"

A little old man appeared not far away smiling from ear to ear.

"The first dream wolf has been absorbed so all survivors are now eligible dream Arbiter candidates!"

Little bursts of confetti sprayed over the room as the children and Aaron looked at the man in confusion.

It was at this point that the sleeping victims all started to wake up and look around them in confusion before happily reuniting with their peers and crying tears of what he assumed were relief.

For his part, all Aaron could manage to do was put away his suddenly clean knife, hoping the old man would suddenly decide it wasn't something that an abducted adult should be allowed to have.

WIP Themes Bingo tag game

Thanks for the tag, @seastarblue

Well, this was fun.

Bingo card for my main WIP: Bloodmage

So close to Bingo, but rationality stumped me in the end.

I have quite a bit of fun with this one when I can get the motivation/inspiration to write it.

When making the theme for this story, I was inspired by a writing style that just kept ramping up the absurd and wacky antics of the characters. I really liked that style and wanted to try implementing it in a situation that had more consequences. Thus, this amalgamation of borderline insane characters was born.

....And and extra for a side WIP: Absolute Zero

Absolute Zero is a more grounded (kinda) story than bloodmage, focusing on 408 or Silas as he attempts to break away from the hell he's been trapped in for decades only to land himself in an arguably more dangerous sitation.

A copy of my bingo card if you want to try it for your Wip.

No pressure tags

@renasdoodles @kuebiko-writing @wyked-ao3 @creatrackers @somethingclevermahogony ,

@laisley-writes +open Tag

Short Story: Green

The end of the world happened slowly; as most things do. The plants began to disappear—one by one becoming extinct—too gradually for the general public to take seriously. When they did notice, humanity shrugged it off as the natural cycle of things.

And then it was the animals. That was harder to ignore.

It was the pollinators first, of course. Without their help, much of the flora could not proliferate as they once had. The lack of sunlight, of fertile soil, of bees or butterflies or hummingbirds were the beginnings of the end. Grassy meadows became barren deserts and lush forests became wasteland littered with twigs and branches—the corpses of once-mighty trees. Green became a lost color.

There weren’t many humans left when Zoe found hope and began her journey. The last human interaction she had was years ago to a man dying of smoke sickness; a common story for the few still alive. The ever-smoking towers brought industry, jobs, prosperity for a while…before they brought illness and death.

Over time, the smog and ash the towers spewed blocked out the sun, displaced the air, and changed the color of the world. Those who inhaled too much of the toxic fumes died slow deaths. Many grew up breathing it, assured by charismatic politicians that it was not harmful. They didn’t want to see past the lies; humans were an optimistic species after all.

Zoe walked past one of the many ever-smoking towers—still spewing death into the air—and took a moment to gaze at the darkened sky. She wondered what the sun might have looked like; what it still might look like hiding behind that veil of black and gray. There were stories, of course, but she liked to imagine that the sun was green.

With one hand, she adjusted the breather that sat over her nose and mouth, clutching a small egg-shaped container in the other before continuing her stroll, stopping at at a flickering metal box that matched her in height. An oxygen vending machine.

She had stopped by every O vendor she had come across in her years-long journey. Air was something she could not afford to let run low. Her expedition was a long one and she didn’t even have a notion of when it would end. It was better to refill her breather as often as possible before there would be nothing left; when soon—she assumed—there would be a large stretch where there would be no more O vendors to provide breathable air. She didn’t know when or where, but she knew it was inevitable. There were only so many O vendors that could have been put up before the smoke sickness claimed too many lives to justify the expense and many were already running low on supply.

She inserted a plastic card into the machine and fresh air was pumped into her mask. She breathed it in appreciatively, taking in the slight chemical smell of the original container and wondered what air from plants smelled like as she crossed empty streets and passed more ever-smoking towers.

Her destination was far but she was almost there; or so she hoped. Just a little farther, she kept telling herself, repeating it every so often. Her personal mantra.

She held the little container close to her, afraid that she might lose it; that it might slip and tumble down somewhere she could never hope to reach; that it might wither before she got to the one place in the world the sun was said to touch. The Sunpatch she had been seeking since she had found the egg-shaped thing—her hope—that she carried with her.

She had walked for so long with no direction save for the little information she had managed to gather after so much research on the Sunpatch. Much of it were rumors that lead to dead ends, others were educated guesses when information was obviously incomplete. She hoped to the hidden sun that the one she followed now wasn’t another dead end. It was her last lead and she was so old and so tired.

Her elderly legs hurt and her feet were numb from so much walking but she soldiered on as always. Zoe was determined to get the little egg-shaped thing to the Sunpatch no matter the cost to herself.

Her journey was a lonely one; solitary but never by choice. Often she wished that she could have company; another of her kind. The egg was a good listener but not much for conversation. Had the world not ended, her conversations with egg would be seen as madness but there was no one now to judge her.

For years, she trudged through desert and dead forests and broken cities and rock fields. She searched every used-to-be settlement for survivors—but always found no one—and stopped by every defunct food store to stock up on liquid snack cakes, bottled water, and portable air cans. On rare occasions, she even found running water in the long-abandoned cities. In those, she had the luxury of a quick bath and change of clothes. This wasn’t one of those cities.

She chose a building that looked to be in good shape and tried the door. Locked. A quick glance around found her some rubble; pulled up concrete from a sidewalk.

The aging woman lifted the heavy fragment and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass in an explosive cacophony of clinking, clanging, and crashing. No one will care about a broken window. No one is here to care.

She swiped the opening with a balled up rag, sweeping away bits of broken glass before carefully climbing in; agile despite her age.

The space was lined with mostly-empty shelves that made little paths. Zoe noted these as she passed the counter with an old register caked with dust sitting on top of it. It must have been a corner store once.

She searched and found a few bottles of liquid snack cakes and water. No canned air, unfortunately. Whomever owned the business—or perhaps survivors that had fled the city in search of better homes away from the towers—had taken most of the supplies before they had gone.

Opening and attaching one of the little bottles of liquid snack to her breather via a short, thick straw, she sucked on the meal, reading the text on the bottle. She had read them a million times but the mind needed something to keep from going mad and with the world so empty there weren’t many options. “Now with 50% less fat and 100% more calories!” it claimed. What a load of ash.

Zoe rested well that night before awaking to bottles and cans strewn about the former shop. Wakefulness came slowly and she didn’t notice the peculiarity of the out-of-place things at first. It was after a few blinks that it registered. “No! No no no! Where is it?!”

Her heart skipped a beat and she went into a frenzy looking for the little egg-shaped container; missing from the rotten pillow where she had left it before falling into an exhausted slumber. She dug through her rucksack, searched every nook, every cranny, and under every store shelf, but found nothing but rubbish.

The floor was sticky from spilled snack cakes, their bottles chewed by the incisors of a small creature. She had no guesses as to what it could have been but it had left a trail of liquid-snack footprints to follow and so she got to tracking the thief.

The tracks lead her to the store’s backroom; dark without electricity to light the way. She squinted, backing up a bit to where there was light enough to see as she rummaged through her pack and pulled out a small metal flashlight. She shook it a few times, and then flicked the switch on its side. The beam of light flickered before holding steady.

She ventured into the dark room, sweeping the light beam from side to side in an effort to continue tracking the creature that pilfered her hope. The backroom was in worse wear than the store’s front. A thick blanket of dust and cobwebs covered just about every surface that wasn’t disturbed by a certain little thief. Zoe found the footprints again etched into the dust and followed them, taking care not to step on any of the impressions.

They lead her to stairs going down to a basement darker than the backroom. She gave her flashlight another shake before venturing the stairs—step by cautious step—holding the railing as she moved down. The old wood creaked under her weight and she feared that she would fall through, break her neck, and die in a dusty dark basement under an abandoned store in a long-forgotten city. For much too long, she tested every stair before proceeding.

Her feet found purchase on solid concrete ground fifteen minutes later. She swept light over the new room slowly, almost missing the bundled fur in the corner. There it is!

The rat turned when the light touched its black fur and hissed. Behind it was the egg-shaped container that Zoe had been looking for; a bit scratched up but otherwise fine.

She crouched down on creaky knees and attempted to reason with the animal, “Come on now, I need that.”

The rodent responded with another hiss, back fur prickling up.

Slowly as to not make any sudden movement, she retrieved a bottle of liquid snack cake from her bag. “How about a trade then?” She twisted the lid open.

The rodent watched her intently, the over-sweet smell of liquid cake entering its nostrils and masking every other scent in its tantalizing aroma. It wiggled its nose in satisfaction as it began to salivate.

“You like that don’t you?” Zoe cooed, removing the lid completely. She poured a small amount of the contents onto the floor in front of her, “Come on. I know you want it.”

The rat hesitated before cautiously approaching.

She poured more liquified food onto the floor, pooling it up for the little scoundrel.

Temptation and instinct overwhelmed the rodent and it scurried to the food. It lapped up the thick batter; greedy from hunger.

The human added to its meal, pouring a bit more for it before righting herself and walking around the rat to the egg. She bent down and retrieved her hope up off of the floor, giving it a quick inspection under her flashlight when she was standing again. “Well, you didn’t damage it too much…” she said to the hungry rodent, “I’ve got to go now, little rascal. Enjoy your meal.”

She carefully made her way around the sticky mess and the rat to the foot of the stairs and frowned at it, annoyed at having to climb back up. Fear began to well up in her at the thought of falling and so she took a moment to breathe, steeling her nerves for the ascent. I made it down all right; I can make it up again…

The rat squeaked then, interrupting an otherwise still scene. She turned her light on it as it ran in a circle once, twice, and then scurried to the shadows of the back wall. “Where are you going?”

The rat squeaked again as Zoe realized a bit late that this rodent is the first sign of life she had found in her travels in years. She had been too focused on retrieving her stolen hope that she had nearly missed the fact that this creature survived the smoke-sickness that was choking the life of nearly every living thing…and it wasn’t wearing a breather. Here?! No…we’re too close to towers…but it has to breathe somehow…

She touched the latch of her breather, tempted to remove it to see if perhaps the air was breathable here, but she thought better of it. If I die here, it’s over for real. There will be no hope left…Some animals had adapted to breathe less air and this rat was probably one of them. She couldn’t be fooled by it.

Instead, she followed the rat deeper into the dark; hand outstretched, shaking the flashlight every once in a while as if it would keep the battery going.

It wasn’t long before the rat lead her to a hole in the wall just big enough for Zoe to crawl into. The old woman sighed and considered turning around. The rat squeaked impatiently at her before scampering into the tunnel.

Against better judgement, she latched the flashlight to the shoulder strap of her pack, slipped the egg into one of its more secured pockets, and got on her hands and knees.

She crawled through the tunnel, surprised that it didn’t narrow or end so abruptly. Someone must’ve dug this before they left the city. Stinging pain throbbed in her old knees as she continued shuffling forward, following a used-to-be common pest through a tunnel under a convenience store.

The passage was longer than Zoe had ever expected an improvised excavation could be. She had to stop and take breaks, maneuvering herself into a more comfortable laying position every so often to rest. It lead deep into the earth before steadily slanting upwards; so gradual that Zoe hadn’t noticed until light shone through ahead of her.

Eager to escape the cramped walls, she quickened her crawl toward the light. She didn’t know how long she had been shuffling in the subterranean tunnel but she guessed from her backaches and bruised knees that it must have been a while.

She pulled herself from the hole, moving dirt and small rocks as she surfaced. The light was blinding after some time in underground darkness and her chest was starting to feel tight. She had enough air for at least another day! Surely she hadn’t been traversing underground for that long! But she was gasping for air, struggling to fill her lungs. Her breather was running low.

Panic starting to intrude on her psyche, Zoe desperately scanned her surroundings. Massive dirt and rock walls bordered her from the outside world. Stalactites hung from the earthen ceiling above, drops of water falling from their tips in rhythmic succession. She found herself in a vast cavern of sunken earth; nowhere near an O vendor.

All of this for nothing…because of my foolishness…because I followed a rat of all things!

As if in response to her distress, a whistling gust of wind—gray particles dancing within it—embraced Zoe in its cooling hug before racing up toward an opening in the ceiling, blowing out of it like a volcano and parting the endless gray-black clouds of the ever-smoking towers. It was from that opening that a beam of yellow light pointed to a single circular patch of yellow-green before dissipating a moment later.

Zoe’s eyes widened at the sight; brief but certain. She had been searching for so long and here it was; hidden under a city, under ever-smoking towers that blocked from view the few moments of sun that managed to touch earth periodically when upward wind broke black clouds. She stifled tears as she approached the Sunpatch.

Reverently, she held the egg-shaped container in both hands, dropping to her knees before the little patch of life. With shaking hands and burning lungs, she set the egg aside and began to dig, clawing the earth with bony fingers until she was satisfied with the divot she had made.

Dizziness was setting in as she lifted the egg and popped it in twain above the little hole, dropping a singular ball—smaller than her fist—into the exposed earth. The tightness in her chest was nearly unbearable by the time she buried the seed.

Her life’s mission finally complete, she smiled with satisfaction; with all the love and hope she could possibly give to the world. As the wind returned, quickly flying toward the opening in the ceiling, she laid her tired body down and faced the beam of sun as it came in for another few precious moments. Her air had run out and the world was closing in around her; replaced by an overwhelming serenity. The tension left her body, smile softening but never vanishing as she stared at the mound she had created and the brilliant streak of dusty yellow light that caressed it.

The sun wasn’t green but it was beautiful.

Originally published on renalawhead.com on July 22, 2024

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Sorry, I'm a bit late with this one, but I think I got it in just before the deadline. I had just finished the picture when the internet went out, and I had to transfer the story over to my phone manually. Unfortunately, I may or may not have fallen asleep while doing so, and I have just woken up in a panic to get this posted.

Summary: If the story calls for a villain, then what choice does a character have but to follow? Alexia, a proud and just knight, finds herself victim of this unfortunate reality.

Content warning: reference to suicide attempts, violence, self hatred, loss of control, blackouts, and violence.

Her Angel

Noble Alexia, good and loyal. She had come from the gutter and reached the peak of excellence. Becoming a knight had been her dream, but becoming the commander of the knight's had been her honor. The tales of her deeds and bravery spread through the world, memorializing her even before the first wrinkles of age had etched into her face. Truly a hero of legends; a figure that would be spoken of in whispers to starry-eyed young ones before bed.

Three years into her role as the knight commander, Alexia woke up to find her hands covered in blood. It hadn't been right, she had just been having a meal with a trusted friend, just been talking about her future with someone dear, then she blinked and found her hands covered in the blood of innocents.

It was at that moment that her life was irreversibly changed. The blackouts increased in frequency and duration, but when she sought help, no one could understand her ravings. The isolation brought her to the edge of her sanity when one night as she fearfully lay down in her bed, Alexia found that her eyes would jot close, and her fingers would no longer obey her commands.

Standing from her bed, she dawned unfamiliar clothes and met unfamiliar people. Her body moved against her will, and her lips spoke words that never should have been uttered. Whatever demon had possessed her seemed to find sick enjoyment in watching her suffer, for even in her few sane moments of control, it would jot let her end the torment. That didn't stop her from trying. The hesitation only lasted for the first dozen attempts before her disgust at the blood-soaked monster in her mirror drowned out any remaining pity for herself.

…

Coming to her senses once more Alexia tried to make sence of the stabbing pain pulsing through her with every breath, but with her body frozen in place, Alexia could only use her eyes to scan the surroundings. That was right, she'd been in a fight? She could see that her body was twisted at odd angles where she lay among a pile of rubble, memories flooding back to her in a disoriented array. She had been defeated by some upstart who shouldn't have the strength to lift her finger and been left to rot like the dog she had become.

The knight commander, formerly the golden sun of the empire, now lay dying in a suit of blackened armor befitting her new title of Scourge.

“Oh you're still alive?”

Alexia should have been taken by surprise at how close a stranger had gotten, but in her state a bull could be charging and she'd likely fail to notice.

"From the looks of it, your story ended in death, so why do you still haunt the living?”

The gaudy angelic figure stooped nearly mumbling ti itself while grasping the air from alexia. She felt her jaw tighten instinctively as a thin blue tether materialized leading back to her heart. Gathering the cord in its hand, the creature before her frowned in concentration before suddenly brightening.

“So they forgot you couldn't be killed by demonic energy? How fortunate that it seems to at least weaken you beyond their ability to sense.”

The creature seemed amused by whatever magic it had used to know such a dark secret of hers. Had it truely come to take her to the other side? No, after what she had done there was no way that such a beautiful creature would have any business with her. It took another cord and inspected it growing somber once more.

“Stay still for a moment longer, I will not let them have you anymore.”

With simple words, and they weren't even meant for her really as the creature still seemed to be taking more to itself than anything. Still her heart jumped at the forgotten convictions that she had been forced to swallow back. The creature grabbed a red strand in front of her and with a thin blade, cut the cord.

…

Sitting across from the gaudy man whom she has come to value as a friend. Alexia couldn't help but smile at his concentration on the food before him. She had come to learn over the years that he was mostly as human as anyone, even with his lack of factual features. To this world, he was expendable, to many of its inhabitants he was a monster, but to Alexia and Alexia alone, he was the same thing that he had always been to her.

“My Angel."

She spoke the words softly and reached out a hand to gently caress his face, while a soft smile spread over her lips.