Highway to Hell

Usually my writing is dark, but every so often, it is tragic. This week’s entry for the six sentence story word of DETOUR by girlontheedge is definitely dark below the surface. Not much is said directly, but a lot is implied. If you have triggers, read the tags before reading, this one is a bumpy ride.


People tell me that life is a highway, that it isn’t the destination that matters, but the journey you take to get there.


If that is true then meeting you was like finding a detour in they construction zone that was my life, finally a chance to get out of the slow lane and drive.


At first it was perfect, the wind blowing through my hair, and by the time I realized you had led me onto a dark isolated road, I was so far away from the highway that I couldn’t find my way back.


So I kept going, when the road got bumpy, I slowed down a little and told myself it was okay, it would get better soon.


I didn’t turn back at the first blowout, the sixth, or even the broken axles, and it took a full blown crash to make me realize I couldn’t keep doing this, one day it was going to get me killed.


When I got back on the road, I was a cautious driver, always going below the limit, and it took me months before I could even think of hitting the highway again, let alone taking detour, but it’s been three years; I am ready to try again.

Rebirth

This was a 250 word piece for The Writer’s Mess Friday Picture Prompt Challenge, based on the picture below. This one is another sci fi, this time about sending out a ship to start life on a new planet. My goal was to make this a little lighter that the upcoming Six Sentence story, but my nature prevailed, and it’s a little dark as well.


Callista added the last samples to the capsule, and pressed it into place. The drawer lock clicked, and the pleasant chirp of the verification system indicated that it had been accepted.

This was it, the ark was complete. All biological samples were safely aboard, and tomorrow the ship would launch for a new world.

She stared for a minute at the ark’s glowing power source. It would provide the energy needed for terraforming, for creating their new home, and she prayed that it would work.

The ark would launch tomorrow, but in one year she would follow it, one of many who were chosen to populate the new colony, or so people thought. It wasn’t just a colony, it was the last, best hope for their race to survive.

The planet was running out of resources, the utopia of no disease and long life quickly turned into a shortage of supplies, and people just assumed that at some point the government would fix it.

The truth was that they were going to do nothing, because in less than a decade the amount of energy being harvested from the core would stop the planet spinning, leaving the world a lifeless husk.

It would be three years before the effects became wide spread, before people realized that the colonists had gone to repopulate the species, and the rest of them had been left to die.

So Callista prayed, that this ark would work as it should, because everything depended on it.

Vindicta

This incredibly dark little monster was inspired by the six sentence word prompt ingredient by girlontheedge. I immediately went to potion, but I don’t know when it went from potion to this little fic of revenge that is disturbing even to me….


The thorns dug into the soft flesh of her palm as she squeezed the stem of the rose, the final ingredient, a little too hard as she tried to decide if she was really going to do this.

It was overkill on her part, and she knew it, but the memory of his face as he mocked her in front of the crowd of onlookers, pretending as if their relationship had meant nothing to him, that she was just another notch in his bed post, it still made her blood boil.

She tossed the rose into the cauldron, regretting it even as she let it go, but it was too late now, the potion was made, and a small smirk crossed her face as the rising vapour turned to a thick cloud, forming shapes, sharp teeth and claws in the shadows before they skittered out the window.

There was no use in regret, it would change nothing, and James had made his bed, that bright sunny afternoon in the quad when he called her a-, well, he was not undeserving in this.

It wasn’t her fault, as she had learned far too late that with James, even saying no wouldn’t have stopped him, and if what the others had said was true, he was far worse when you didn’t go along with him.

She was pulled from her musings by the sounds of sirens, red lights flashing into the otherwise dark room, and she knew it was over, she wasn’t his first, but she had made sure, she would be his last.

Talisman

Okay, so this was written for the six sentence story prompt of charm, by girlontheedge. I am blaming this one on the fact I am reading The Stand by Stephen King right now, because its strange and a little twisted. It started off as a cute little idea, someone with a good luck charm, a rabbit’s foot, then it was the foot from a real rabbit, and then the guy carrying it got dark, and well, Happy New Year!


He walked into the house with a good luck charm in his pocket that you wouldn’t realize was the actual foot of a rabbit unless you got close enough to see the small rust colored stain on the fur where it was attached to the keychain like all the dollar store knock offs.

He was a superstitious man, even though his job relied far more on precision and skill than luck, but when you were raised by a woman like his grandmother, the superstition never quite left you, even when you knew it was foolish. 

He was a hard man, the type that in another time people would have accepted as a necessary evil, someone who got things done regardless of the costs, but in the here and now, his ruthless efficiency and cold demeanor scared most people when he let down his mask.  Even when it was up, it was like they could sense it, a lingering aura of death following him home in the case for his M82, which he carefully stowed in his attic until his next job.

When he was clean, and clothed, the charm back in his pocket,  he practiced in the mirror until the smile on his face no longer looked plastic, and then he picked up a different case and walked across the road, bracing himself for the noise within.

He stepped through the door, fifteen minutes before midnight, handing over the case of champagne with his apologies to the host, and sat surrounded by the unsuspecting sheep from his neighborhood, one hand in his pocket, fiddling with the rabbit’s foot to make sure he brought only good luck into the New Year.