A Ginormous Pig

This was for the Weekly Invisible Ink Challenge, and the prompt “Your first time seeing a large animal as a child”. I took an experience I have been told happened when I was a child from an early zoo visit, and put my own spin on it. I found this one really hard, child POV is not my wheelhouse.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look at the pig, it’s swimming! It’s ginormous!” She said, it was the biggest pig she had ever seen, ever.
“Yes baby, it’s a very big pig.” Mommy smiled, and stuck the the scratchy hat on her head.
“Can I pet it?” She asked, pulling the hat off her head. Oops. She almost hit a lady with a baby.
“No, we don’t pet animals at the zoo.” Mommy answered.
“We feeded the deer, can we feed the pig?” She asked, she could pet it while she was feeding it.
The lady with the baby gave mommy a mean look, I don’t like her.
“No-“ Mommy said
“I WANNA FEED THE BIG PIG!” It wasn’t fair, this was so much better than the deer.
“That isn’t a pig, it is a hippopotamus.” The mean lady said.
“A very big pig?” She asked her Mommy.
“Yes sweetie, a hippo is a very big pig. Do you want to go see the elephants?” Mommy asked.
“YES!” She said, taking one last look at the swimming pig, it was the biggest one she had ever seen, EVER.

How I Got Away With Murder

This was based on a couple of Meme’s floating around about killing people to make their autobiographies more interesting. I mixed it with a little stir craziness from lockdown, the oddity of the true crime buff community, and ended up with this prologue, which even I have to admit, is really strange.

Welcome to my autobiography. I am writing this prologue at 32, when I first came up with the idea of writing an autobiography, and you are probably reading it because of all the cool stuff that I am about to do. Ya, ABOUT, to do, as in I haven’t really done anything noteworthy yet, or at least nothing I can talk to anyone about. The latter is why I decided to write this in the first place, get it ready, and get it published posthumously.

Ok, so the book will of course give you the random growing up stories, all carefully crafted, to make me look great and my enemies look like shit. I want to tell you in this prologue where this book started, and that was in 2020, during the covid-19 epidemic, more specifically in lockdown.

I was middle class, single middle class. I say that cause when someone says middle class you are thinking 2 kids, pet, house, and I am more like apartment, have enough money to stay comfy, but my apartment is kind of boring for extended stays. I needed to find something to do, and before you think it, no I wasn’t one of those people who made sourdough, and turned to introspection. Mostly because I couldn’t get a starter, and my bread always turns out like a rock. I did make jam though, and it was fucking amazing. Anyway, I want to say I spent my time in isolation constructively, but basically I spent it doom-scrolling and binge-watching anything and then everything I could stream.

On one of my doom scrolls I read this joke “Gotta stop killing people to spice up my autobiography.” The next week it was “Thinking of killing a character in the book I am writing. Its my autobiography” And like, I thought this was dumb, because it wouldn’t actually be that interesting. I mean, its actually not that hard to kill someone. I mean, you can do it with your bare hands given the right size ratio or the element of surprise. Bring in a baseball bat and well, most people can do this.

What takes it from boring to interesting would be killing someone and GETTING AWAY with it. So that led me to true crime, and true crime bloggers, and like this thing where you all talk about how bad people are about getting away with murder. That of course leads to the conversation of, could you get away with it, AKA the perfect murder.

I am smart, resourceful and I KNEW I could rock this. Weird part is, the better you are, the deeper you get into this community, the less people share about their plans, like weirdly, “just in case you have to use them”, like yikes right?

So when I came up with my perfect plan I was so super proud, and yet extremely protective of it, cause I had like the best plan ever, and as soon as I put it out there, all these assholes were going take pieces and pretend they came up with them.

So here lies the rub with planning the perfect murder. Told people I had the perfect murder plan, the response “no plans perfect” . I was like actually, its pretty awesome. And then they responded, prove it. And there it was, you can’t actually prove its a perfect murder, unless you actually do the plan, and commit the murder.

I am not crazy, I did not go “Yep, sure, right on that.” I of course, blasted them for being a hypocritical asshole, and sulked like the adult woman I am.

I let it go, for a long time, because, well, really what other option did I have. Lockdown got extended, started working from home, and honestly I think the isolation got to me, because I reached a point where it didn’t seem so insane anymore.

Then I started murder shopping, as an amusement really, and that went on for like months, and it was the end of 2021, I had two vaccinations, and my stupid anti-vax, I guess former friends now were not people I could see. I just, I got bored, I had done all the things I could do, and watched all the shows, and I was really really bored.

That was when I realized I had completely assembled my murder kit. So I spent my time perfecting, revising the plan, until one day I guess, I completely lost it, because I picked a person. My victim I guess, and two weeks later, I, uh, killed them.

That is when I discovered the next problem. Killed’em, got away with it, and now I can’t tell anyone what I did. Jackie_the_ripped_1978 is great and all, but loose lips sink ships, and I don’t want to go to prison. But it sucked, cause I did it, I did the perfect murder, and if I tell someone then they are going to tell someone and everyone is going to claim the reason I went to prison was cause the murder wasn’t perfect not because Jackie can’t keep her trap shut.

So I came up with the idea, this idea, the stupid Meme idea, autobiography. The issue being, to sell this, without letting anyone read the murder bit, I need to have accomplished something worth someone taking a posthumous autobiography site unseen, and publishing it. It. So now I am onto great things, to get this story out there. So all my great works that follow, remember, did all that, to be able to tell you all about me losing my mind at 32 and committing the perfect murder, AND most importantly, getting away with it.

There are a few issues with my murder/autobiography plan, if you want to mimic it. It assumes you either will outlive and/or hate your parents, because life is not going to be great for them after this comes out. Works best for only children, same reasons as above. Same, actually goes for a family really, husband and kids won’t really take this so well, so you know why I died alone in the end.

So now you know the dark secret behind my wonderful life. If you are here for the descent into madness and murder bit, skip to chapter 22. If you just want to read the feel good bio you were expecting, read everything except chapters 22-28 inclusive. I hope you enjoy this book, as much as I enjoyed getting away with murder!

Final Print

This week’s six-sentence story, based on the word TERM, was supposed to be a lightheaded one. That said, I have been reading The Stand, and so again, we have gone dark. This week we meet Joe, who violated the terms in conditions with dire consequences.

Joe was a healthy 32 year old man in the prime of his life, with a great job, a beautiful home, a wonderful wife, two amazing children, and less than a week to live.

The worst part was, that it could have gone on like this for years, him living the perfect life, but with an act of hubris he had ruined it all.

In the early days, the deal he had made weighed heavy on his mind, making him question his every decision, was this within the bounds of the agreement, would that violate a term or condition?

Eleven years later he had become sloppy, time dulling the terror he had felt in the circle of mushrooms as he was told what fate would befall him if he was ever to renege on the contract he himself had negotiated.

With distance, he started to doubt that it had happened at all, a vivid hallucination brought on by the drugs to treat an illness he never had, the last damning consequence of what the Doctor’s called a misdiagnoses of the highest order.

He had held onto that foolish belief until this very morning, when he looked out upon his garden of death, a coffee in had as he surveyed the leafless trees, wilted flowers, yellowed grass, and the only thing left alive was a circle of mushrooms, mocking his arrogance, letting him know that his hour had come round at last.

Part of the continuing saga, of why we don’t mess with the Fae.

The Library

Hi, this one was prompted by a the pun on Book Worm in refernce to librarians. I have a few version of this theme, I love the idea of hoarding books, and defending knowledge…I know, a writer who loves books, what a surprise. Hope you enjoy.

People came from far and wide to visit The Library. The books within it were some of the oldest in existence, and there were few other places that one could see a book like this, let alone be allowed to interact with it.

No one knew how long The Library had been there, it seemed like it had always been there, and when people began to question this, it’s age could not be verified. The strange thing was, despite the growing size, and the voluminous collection, The Library only had a single librarian that worked there. There had only ever been one, and it seemed there would only ever be one.

There were assistants of course who were known to help out from time to time, but they never stayed on for long before moving along. Even though the positions were voluntary, and the vetting process extreme, there was never a lack of applicants. Everyone knew that a good reference from the Library was worth it’s weight in gold. It could be used to gather all manner of positions in the world, not just in libraries, but in museums, archeology, anthropology, to have worked in The Library was one of those things that was coveted.

There were many attempts to sack The Library over the years, but none really ever succeeded. It seemed they reconsidered upon entry, or they mysteriously disappeared never to be seen or heard from again. No one knew who owned the library either, as many had tried, and failed, to purchase it.

The one person that no one had ever suspected in all of this, was the libraries lone librarian. At present the librarian was known as Kaida, though in her late 40’s now, had been a mere 19 years old when she had started her apprenticeship to the previous librarian Daniel. No one knew how one got an apprenticeship at the library, and it was assumed that Kaida had been head hunted in some manner to obtain it.

Behind closed doors though, there was only ever one, the other an illusion to satisfy the curiosity of others. After all, were it known that the librarian was the proprietor, and the original one at that, there would be no end to the questions. One thing that they had learned from the fall of their brethren, was that there would also be no end to the fear. Not until the other had been eliminated, and was not longer a threat.

While many of their kind had kept jewels, gold, even spices, they were likely the only one, or were at least the only one left of their kind to keep books. In the early days they were laughed at, because they kept nothing at all, only the stories they had been told, and it was hard to explain to the ignorant what the true value of knowledge was. When people had began writing things down, they were overjoyed, for now they had something physical, some proof of what they had acquired.

At first they had kept the collection private, but private collections implied one had something to hide, and the illusion work was tedious to keep inventing husbands and wives and children. At some point they would surely be found out, and so they had created The Library.

This Library was their greatest accomplishment, and by another name, their hoard. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, to give others access to their hoard, but it kept it safer. Strangely, it also helped it expand far more quickly, as people were surprisingly willing to donate books to a library, knowing that it would benefit themselves as well as others.

The Library got more donations than any in the world, as it was advertised that no book donated would ever be destroyed, or thrown out, like so many other libraries did. Even the most damaged books were treasured, and carefully restored, in what was assumed to be a world class restoration room. It was very hard to explain that one was using magic to fix them, when one didn’t admit to being magical.

What The Library gave them though. was more than a safe hoard, it also gave them the gift of companionship. It allowed them to meet the people who were most like them, that worshiped at the altar of knowledge. Here they would live out their days, content in what they had wrought.