#101 – A Child Needs to do One Thing…

…over and over to calm himself down when the adults get angry.  What does he do?  How did he learn it?

Mom and dad were fighting again.  Their yelling echoed through the hallway, back and forth over who did what this time.  Robbie rolled over in bed, kicking the covers off with his feet.  It sounded like the voices were getting closer and closer, and that just scared him more.

As quietly as he could, Robbie walked into the corner where his pet budgie, Flip, sat in his cage.  Already, Flip was starting the strange bobbing motion he did whenever there was tension in the house.  Without a word, Robbie tucked his arms against his body and began mimicking Flips movements.  He would close his eyes and pretend that he was just like Flip, tucked safely away behind his bars were nothing could get at him.

Robbie couldn’t remember when he started doing it.  It was just something that he’d always done whenever he got scared or anxious.  Robbie figured if he did it enough, maybe he could become a bird like Flip and fly away.

The voices were outside his door now.  Robbie began pumping his arms, like the wings of a bird.

Fly away.

The door flew open and a large silhouette stood in the frame, blocking out the light from the hallway.  Robbie pumped harder, feeling his breath tighten in his chest.

Fly away.

Rough hands reached for him.  Robbie let out a wailing cry before being pulled away Flip’s cage and dragged out of the room.  The door slammed shut, leaving Flip alone in the room, his head bobbing up and down in agitation.

Behind the Random: This one became darker than I’d originally written it in my head.  As usual though, my brain and fingers conspired against me to make something else.  Not that I’m complaining, mind you.  I’d just like a little bit more creative control over the process, is all.

#275 – You, a Grown Adult, are Afraid of the Dark…

…explain why this is a legitimate concern, so friends won’t laugh at you.

Something about the dark has a way of changing things.  The blacker it is, the more alien the world becomes around you.  Sometimes it can make the world seem to shrink around you, crushing down on you, and other times it can make stretch out to infinity, making you feel lost and alone yet completely at the mercy of whatever is out there.

It’s that unknown factor.  Anything could be in the dark and you wouldn’t know because you can’t see it.  It can be something as simple as an object on the ground we might step on like a child’s toy or it could be someone watching you, waiting for the moment that you’re at your most vulnerable.  And you would never know it was there until it was too late.

Behind the Random: As an agoraphobic, I can understand and relate to a person with a fear of the dark.  I have trouble walking through a wide open field in the dark even more than during the day just because of that mysterious shroud surrounding me.  The shadows will play tricks on my mind, always moving in the corner of my eye and taking on shapes of people or worse then vanishing when I look over.  So to all you Achluophobics out there, I understand you.

#127 – Describe a Room in Your House

Hidden away from the light of day
Tucked beneath the stairs.
Past the furnace to burn us
Lies darkened lairs.
A shadowy place for a wicked face
Where monsters like to dwell.
All your fears and all your tears.
Only makes the terror swell.
A hidden nightmare tucked down where
All there is to know is fright.
So don’t you wander any yonder
Without a guiding light.

Behind the Random: I’ve always been drawn to crawlspaces under stairs and inside closets since I was a kid.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it was the isolated safety of it (which actually wasn’t that safe now that I’m adult and understand all the terrible ways that could go wrong).

#245 – Write a Story…

…that ends with the line “And this is the room where it happened.”

It happened too fast for them to do anything.  One minute, it was quiet.  Suddenly, all hell broke lose as hands tore up through the floorboards, grasping at whatever they could wrap their decaying fingers around.  There were screams and cries for help as people were dragged downwards into the darkness below.

I ran for the door, barely avoiding getting grabbed by both ghouls and their victims.  I wasn’t thinking.  I just wanted to get out.  Just as I made it to the exit, I felt someone get a hold of my ankle.  I turned around and saw Tracey.  Her eyes were wide with fear and she mouthed the words “Help.”  I wanted to, but I could only sit there frozen as she was sucked into the moaning shadows.

My mind shut down then.  I just curled up next to the door and listened as the screams went silent one after another, only to be replaced by the sound of bodies being torn apart.  Occasionally, I could hear a fight break out between the creatures, each trying to get more than the other.  Other than that, there was nothing else.

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring down into the gaping hole that threatened to swallow me whole.  I didn’t move, too afraid to get their attention and find myself sharing the same fate as all those other people.  Maybe I fell asleep, I don’t know, but suddenly the sun was in the window and the light illuminated the hole.  The monsters, whatever they were, were gone.  So was everyone else.

Feeling numb, I stumbled out and made my way down to the Sheriff’s Office and brought you back here.  I know what it looks like and I know how it sounds, but I swear it’s true and this is the room where it happened.

Behind the Random: This one just screamed horror story.  Maybe that makes it too easy, but I like easy today.

#437 – Describe Your Favorite Athlete

The lights go out throughout the stadium, plunging the audience into darkness.  At first, there is nothing, then the bell begins to toll.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  Reverberating throughout the building, announcing his arrival.  Finally, an organ begins to play a Funeral March and he appears at the top of the stage.

Standing at a towering 6’9″ and just shy of 300lbs, the Undertaker is a monster of a man.  He stands motionless at the top of the ramp, his head lowered so his face is hidden behind his wide-rimmed hat.  After a few seconds, the Undertaker proceeds down the catwalk, his long black leather jacket skimming the ground behind him.

The Deadman gives no regard to his opponent standing in the middle of the ring as he marches slowly, his strides strong and sure.  When he reaches the squared circle, the long time pro wrestler steps up the steel stairs on the corner then pauses at the ropes.

His hands open at his side and he lifts them up, arms wide, and the lights lift with him.  Finally, he lifts his head to his opponent, his eyes a glistening white.  The Undertaker blinks and his eyes return to normal and trained on his opponent, a look of death on his worn face.

One massive leg kicks out and he steps over the top rope with ease, showcasing his size, and he enters the arena fully.  Eyes still locked on his future victim, he pulls his trenchcoat from his shoulders, revealing thick muscled arms covered in macabre tattoos.

The Phenom has entered the building and no one is safe from his darkness.

Behind the Random: Say what you want about professional wrestling.  It’s not every one’s cup of tea and I get that.  I don’t even watch it anymore myself, but there was a time that I would be sitting in front of my TV every Monday and Thursday night to watch grown men pretend to beat each other to a pulp and I loved it.

For me, it was never really about the fighting.  In fact, after a few minutes, I usually get bored of the back and forth pseudo-combat and read something while I wait for the match to come to an end.  And no, it certainly wasn’t the predictable and repetitive storylines the writers came up with.

It was all about the characters for me and it all started with Mark Callaway aka The Undertaker.  I was five or six when I watched one of his matches for the first time and I was instantly captivated by his power, speed, and dark persona.  After he decimated the poor jobber he was pitted against, the Taker pulled out a body bag and stuffed his unconscious opponents limp form inside of it and I was hooked and have been an Undertaker fan ever since, even to this day.

No one can tell me the men and women who enter that ring aren’t athletes.  The fights might be scripted and the moves well rehearsed, but it takes a tremendous amount of strength and stamina to do what they do.  Also, it takes a lot more skill to pull of the stunts they do and not permanently injure their opponent or themselves.

#293 – Describe Nearly Drowning

It’s claustorphobic.  The whole world seems to press around you.  You struggle to free yourself from its grasp, and anything near you becomes a tool for escape.  You want to scream, but your lungs are already full and any attempt just leads to more liquid filling your vital organs.  You claw frantically, trying to find some air anywhere but the world is getting darker.  You mind, deprived of life sustaining oxygen, begins to slow and shut down.

Then you feel arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you upwards.  As you head breaks the surface, you spit up water and take in a greedy breath.  Your chest burns from the exertion and you collapse into a coughing fit, but you’re still alive.  Every shudder and convulsion running down your spine and through your limbs is testament to your survival.  The lifeguard guides you to the safety of the edge of the pool where another is waiting to help pull you up out of the water.

A close call to be sure.

Behind the Random: I’ve almost drowned twice in my life.  The first time, I was maybe 7 or 8, I thought I was a stronger swimmer than I actually was.  I tried to make it to a small ‘island’ in the middle of a pool but I quickly realized my folly when I went under and couldn’t get back up.  Luckily, the lifeguard there was feeling rather perceptive and fished me out before anything bad happened.  It would be two more years before I would make the attempt and ultimately succeed at reaching the island.

The second time, I was 11 or 12 and it was the first time I’d been to a wave pool.  Once again, I seriously underestimated my situation and found myself knocked for a loop as a particularly aggresive wave caught me offguard.  I had no idea which way I was supposed to go and hadn’t had time to take a breath.  Panic ran through me and I flailed about trying to find some escape.  Fortunately, I found it and was able to get myself to the surface.  However, I received a stinging slap across the face as my lifesaver turned out to be the chest of a girl a few years older than me.  In my frantic attempt, I’d accidentally copped a feel.  I tried to sputter out some apology and explanation but I don’t think she was very receptive to me…

#564 – You are the Grim Reaper.

…write three different opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles.

I have been known throughout time by many names.  Thanatos.  Mors.  Santa Muerte.  Mot.  Izanami.  No one has been spared from my touch.  I have toppled more governments and influenced more nations than any being, mortal or divine.  I am feared by the cowardly and weak and courted by the brave and foolish.  I am eternal and inevitable.  I am Death.

* * *

For the longest time, I believed that I was cursed.  Forced to take away from the living and to cause pain and sadness in my wake.  It’s not an existence I would wish upon even my greatest enemy, if I had one.  I came into being without permission and with one purpose.  I have walked the loneliest path imaginable, but in my journey’s I have seen greater sights than you could ever imagine.  This is my story.

* * *

I know what you’re thinking right now as you read this.  You’re thinking, “Oh Lord, this is going to be a long book.”  Well wary reader, I hope you make yourself comfortable because I have existed since the first spark of life flickered into being in this universe.  But fear not, my friends, for I have tales that will have you in wonder and truths that will shake the very core of your beliefs.  I will share adventures, battles, betrayals, sacrifices, love, loss, and everything in between.  And that is just the tip of the iceberg.

Behind the Random: This one wasn’t as much fun as I thought it was going to be but it was still an interesting challenge.  I don’t know if I would read Death’s autobiography simply because it would be very TLDR.

#144 – Find a Section of Your Writing that has no Energy to it…

…and rewrite it as one long sentence.  Be sure that the sentence keeps expanding outwards, don’t worry about it being a run-on, and just let it flow.

The painting is set in a traditional frame, unremarkable with its faux wooden frame covered in copper metal markings that criss-cross the edges, creating strange symbols that seem to blend in with the wood, and surround the canvas splashed with black, greys, purples, and blues which take up most of the picture in violent slashes that seem to battle each other for dominance and yet still finding a strange kind of balance with each other as, if one were to look closer, more vibrant colors like red, yellow, pink, and orange peek out as if trying to escape the oppressive darkness like stars billions of miles away gleaming in the infinite void of space and give those looking up at them a glimmer of an existence beyond our own life and promises that there is indeed more than exists in this world that we see, and in the corner is a simple streak of white of a signature by the artist though the name is unfamiliar and indecipherable making the painting an even greater mystery as no one knows where it came from or what it truly represents and so it becomes something different to every person who looks upon it evoking indifference in some while creating a sense of love in others and wonder in a few more.

Behind the Random: It’s hard to force yourself to do a run on sentence when you’ve been trained most of your life not to do them.  The fact that I had to do it with a previous work made it that much more of a challenge since I coudn’t just let my fingers go and actually had to visualize what I wanted to write.

#274 – A Four-Year-Old Child is Afraid of the Dark.

…Write about the child’s fears and what you might say or do to help the child overcome the fears.

“Please don’t leave.” Calvin whimpered from beneath his blanket, “There’s monsters.”

“Monsters?!” I ask incredulously, “Here?!”

“Uh huh.  When it’s dark, they come out from there.” He murmurs and points past me.  I follow his direction to see the closet doors standing behind me.

“Oh I see.” I reply, “You wanna know a secret about monsters, bud?”

Calvin gives me barely a nod.

“Monsters, in reality, are more scared of you than you are of them.  They just want you to think they’re scary so you’ll leave them alone.”  I explain, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“They are scared of me?” Calvin asks, his eyes getting wide, “Why?”

I just smile ruefully, “Because you’re part of something that’s worse than monsters.  You’re a human being.  The most fearsome and blood-thirsty creature that’s ever lived.  And they know that if they don’t scare you, you’ll kill them.”

“Really?” The kid asked, in complete awe.

“Yep.  So the next time you see a monster, just remember that you’re worse than anything they’ll ever be.  Because humans are the real monsters in the world.  Not them.”

“Okay.” Calvin says meekly, sinking further into his bed as he draws his blanket over his head so only the top of his head is sticking out.

I grin down at him and ruffle his hair, “Alright kiddo, to bed with you.  Good night, sleep tight.”

“Goodnight…” Calvin murmurs from beneath his blanket.

As I walk out, I make sure the nightlight is on before flicking the lightswitch off and closing the door.  Just as it clicks shut, I hear a small voice from inside chanting half-heartedly “I’m a monster.  I’m a monster.  I’m a monster.” and I can’t help but smile.

Behind the Random: I’ll be the first to tell you that when it comes to motivational speaking, I rank just below Matt Foley.  I’m the last person you want to comfort you children unless you want them to be a little more screwed up than they are.  I can’t help it, it’s in my nature!  Don’t you judge me!

#602 – Write a Story…

…from the point of view of a homeless man or woman who falls asleep on the bus and accidentally ends up “on the other side of the tracks”, in a quiet neighbourhood late at night.

“Last stop of the night!” A bellowing voice called out, startling Willy from his slumber.  Bleary eyed, Willy got to his feet and stumbled through the open doors without thinking.  Immediately, Willy realized that he wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted to be and looked back to ask the bus driver where he was only to find the driver already pulling away.

Willy scratched his greasy unkepmt hair as he looked around himself, trying to figure out what to do next.  He found himself standing at the corner of a gas station just on the outskirts of a nice looking neighbourhood.  Every house looked identical to the next with their manicured lawns and SUVs.  If Willy was any further out of his element, he would have been on a different planet.

The gas station was closed and there was no pay phone, not that he had any change to make a call or even have someone to call if he could.  With a heavy sigh, Willy thrust his hands in the pockets of his ratty tattered old coat and wandered aimlessly.

The streets were bare, most of the people already tucked away in their warm beds in their cozy houses.  Every house he walked past, the windows were dark.

Willy’s stomach rumbled loudly, protesting the hunger that constantly gnawed at him.  A quick check confirmed that the stale bread he’d found the day before was only crumbs now.  Seeing no other choice, Willy ducked into the nearest alley and looked for a garbage can.

They stood in a line down the alley, almost in uniform.  Dark grey bins with wheels for easy transporting, filled with the leftovers and refuse of the well-to-do.  Willy tried to open one, but it seemed to be stuck.  He tried harder but the lid refused to give up its goods.  Disgruntled, Willy went to the next one but it too wouldn’t open.  Finally, Willy inspected it closer to find that it was lock.  Who locks up their grabage? Willy wondered to himself as he moved on, doing his best to ignore his stomach.

As he exited the alleyway, a deep rumbling roared as a massive pickup truck pased him, thick bass filling the air as garbled rap music pumped out.  In the cab, three teenagers all gawked at Willy.

Willy put his head down and walked away, trying to disappear.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t the inner city and he stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of suburbia.  Behind him, Willy heard the truck turn around and draw closer to him, slowly.

“Hey, you lost or something?” A voice called out.  Willy didn’t look.  He could hear the hostility in the voice.  This wasn’t a concerned citizen.  This was someone looking for a little fun at his expense.  He’d seen it before.  “Hey!  I’m talking to you!”

A can hit Willy in the side of the head, hard.  Willy told himself not to look.  Best to try to disappear than start a problem, especially here.  He was the outsider here and would be to blame if things went bad.

The driver, impatient with Willy’s lack of response, pushed the truck ahead of him and onto the sidewalk, cutting him off.  As soon as the truck stopped, the passenger door opened and the first kid hopped out and approached him, “Hey hobo!  Where you think you’re going, huh?”

Willy refused to meet his eyes as he came to shambling stop, trying to look as small as possible.  Willy wanted to tell the kid to leave him alone, but he could just stand there silently.

The second kid got out, “Dude, check out those clothes!  You look like you haven’t had a bath since you were in diapers.  What is that smell anyways?  Kitty litter and tuna?”

“You’re like a walking trash bag.  I feel sick just looking at you.” The first kid sneered, “Why don’t you just go jump in front of a bus or something, huh?”

Willy didn’t say anything.  It wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with in the past.  Sometimes, kids like this would come into this inner city and pick a random homeless person to hassle.  This would be the first time he was in their neighbourhood though, with no way out.

“You gonna say something, bro?” The first kid said, advancing on Willy aggresively, “Huh, you think you’re all hardcore living on the street or something?”

“Rick.  Dude.” The driver spoke up finally, but without any real conviction.

Rick ignored his friend as he continued staring down Willy, getting closer.  “What’s up, Stanky Pants?  You just gonna stand there or are you going to do something about it?”  Before Willy could reply, Rick shoved him.

Weak with hunger, Willy lost his balance and hit the ground.  Suddenly, Rick was on top of him, kicking and stomping on Willy’s prone form.  “This is how we treat garbage around here!  Next time, you should just stay in your cardboard box!” Rick maliciously roared, punctuating each word with another blow.

“Yeah!  Stomp him into the ground, Rick!”  The second kid cheered him on.  The driver just shook his head, trying not to watch the random act of violence on the homeless man.

After a few minutes, Rick finally stopped and stood over Willy, a wicked smile on his face, “How do you like that, Stank?  You want some more?  Cuz I got plenty more where that…”

Suddenly, lights flashed at them as a car pulled up by the truck.  “Hey!  Leave that man alone!” A man yelled out.  The kids scurried away like cockaroaches, jumping back into the truck as it peeled away.

The man rushed to Willy’s side and looked him over, “Are you okay?” He asked as he checked him for wounds, “Can you speak?”

Willy nodded as he painfully got back to his feet, “Y-yes.”  The man steadied him as he swayed on his feet, “Thank you.”

The man looked at Willy, “Yeah, no problem.  No way I could just drive by and let them beat you to a smear.  Do you need to go to the hospital or something?”

Willy shook his head, “No.  I’m fine, really.  I’ve been through worse.”  That was half-true.  20 years makes a big difference.  “Thank you again.”

The man extended a hand, “Again, no trouble.  My name’s Dan.”

Willy regarded the hand for a moment.  It had been a while since anyone had offered to shake his hand who didn’t have a knife hidden in the other.  Still this man just saved his hide, so he took it quickly, “Willy.”

“I don’t want to offend you, but you don’t look like you live around here.” Dan offered carefully, “You want a lift somewhere?”

Deep inside, Willy wanted to be offended by Dan’s observation but it was still the truth.  This wasn’t his world, not anymore.  Maybe years ago, before he’d given up hope.  “Uh, sure.  Can you take me to the Junction Station?”

Dan nodded as he walked back to his car, “Sure.  Hop in.”

As Dan drove them towards the city, they talked.  Dan seemed like an alright sort of guy.  Slowly, Willy opened up to him and revealed how he’d ended up on the streets.  Dan, in turn, told him about his own experience when he was younger and found himself on the streets.

Willy was surprised.  Dan was clean-cut and healthy.  Aside from a small scar on the tip of his nose, there was no indication he’d ever lived a hard life.

As they pulled up to the Junction Station, Dan pulled out his wallet and offered Willy two 100 dollar bills.  “Here.  I want you to take this.”

Willy reached for the money out of instinct but stopped himself, “Uh, I can’t.  You’ve done enough, Dan.”

Dan just smiled and pushed the money into his hands, “It’s okay.  Really.  When I was on the street, a stranger came and offered me a chance to help myself.  This is just my way of paying it forward.  So get yourself something to eat and maybe a new coat.  Who knows, maybe you can get your chance to pay it back someday.”‘

Willy looked at Dan suspiciously, as if he thought there was some catch but Dan seemed earnest in his offer.  Reluctantly, Willy took the bills and shoved them into his pocket.  “I’ll remember that Dan.  Thank you again.”

The good samaritan just smiled and waved him off as Willy opened the door to step out, “Take care of yourself Willy.  I hope I see you again.”  With another wave, Dan pulled away and Willy watched him drive off.

Willy pulled out the bills again and stared at them as if they were figments of his imagination and any minute now they would disappear into dust, but they were real.  It was more money than he’d seen in a long time.  It was enough to keep him feeling warm and fuzzy for a while, maybe even get him through the coming winter if he was careful.

Still, Dan’s words swirled around Willy’s head.  Somehow, he’d managed to pull himself out of the streets and back into a comfortable life.  He wasn’t cold and hungry and a victim of thug teenagers trying to prove how tough they were.  All because of an act of kindness of a stranger. 

Willy didn’t know what the future had in store for him, but he didn’t want to think about it right now.  He was tired and in a lot of pain and just wanted to go back to his little corner of the world and sleep.  Maybe tomorrow he’d have answers.  Maybe tomorrow would be the first day of his new life.

Maybe.

Behind the Random: This one was hard to do because I didn’t want to do my usual He was dead the whole time! or It’s aliens! or whatever twist I would usually pull in a story like this.  Maybe it comes off a little heavy handed on the social commentary, I don’t know.