Cold Hard Cash

He could hear the faint sound of laughter filtering through the trees.

Shafts of sunlight poured through gaps in the canopy, but the air was strangely cold.

Robert thought back, brought up the map in his mind; there shouldn’t be people for miles.

He wandered into the nearest patch of light, glanced up, and confirmed what he expected: thunder clouds rolling in already.

A necromancer, and by the sounds of it, he’d brought a band of witches too.

Just when he needed an easy job.

Roberts sighed, gripped his sword a bit tighter, and jogged off into the gathering darkness.

[100 words]

 

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Bound

They writhe, chained, below. No sleep, only the respite of discomfort before pain.

Soon they will be back on the oars, hauling themselves across oceans, fighting to live a life in chains rather than die in them. They’re just like us—the tribal tattoos inked on their forearms the only difference.

No, the men I work alongside are the real savages. They savour their positions: crew of a slave ship—what power! I don’t—but I’m grateful to be where I am.

They writhe; my fingers trace idly the scars on my forearms, where once my own tattoos were inked.

[100 words]

Hello/Goodbye

I didn’t recognise the number, but answered the call nevertheless.

“Hello?”

“Hi, who’s this?”

I paused. “It’s Toby,” I replied slowly. “Who were you expecting when you called my phone?” The sarcasm I was trying for didn’t quite work; the girl’s voice was so friendly that I instead ended up sounding helpful.

“No one in particular. How are you, Toby?”

“I’m fine, thank you…but who is this?”

“My name’s Gemma. Toby, you are the last person I will ever talk to. Goodbye.”

The line went dead.

I rushed to retrieve the number and called straight back.

There was no answer.

I Warned You

In London you’re never far from a rat.

Everyone knows that.

You’re also never far from one of my kind.

You know that too, to an extent.

You just don’t know what we are.

We’re waiting, suffering while we wait but that isn’t important.

The end will be so sweet we won’t remember the suffering.

I only call it the end so you’ll understand.

It is the beginning of a new age for us.

Most of my kind don’t care what happens to you.

Having a conscience doesn’t make me unique, but I’ve picked up more human traits than most.

No Return

It’s like you’ve gone and flipped a switch

One minute you’re an angel next thing you’re a *****

One second it’s like old times

Than I’m wondering (damn) did I commit crimes

I didn’t come here to fight

Thought after all this time we’d be right

We’ve talked out what went wrong

Held my hands up now I thought we’d get along

Seems you need me to be the enemy

Trying to reinforce every single fault you see

When we get on we’re that team again

When it goes wrong we can barely be friends

Say you don’t know what you’re doing to me

But you also claim you still see right through me

You’ve ruled us out forever

But I still think that we could work together

 

 

Survival

Survival: Those who walked upon the Earth still, didn’t know of or hope for anything else. When it’s not just your world, but the whole world, that comes crashing down, immediate priorities tend to stay simple. Those who survived the impact and the subsequent ‘winter’ became single-minded scavengers, wanting only what they could consume.

It was in this state that the crew found every survivor: concerned only with lasting another day. They did not respond to the plans for rebuilding, did not comprehend the need to secure life on a timescale longer than a season, longer than food would last.

 

[100 words]

Poor Pete [comic strip!]

[This is a blog-first medium! Enjoy. Let me know if there was a better way to put this up than this clunky format. For anyone interested, I believe a friend/cousin drew this, and I later added a story to (arguably) fit.]

Pete the orange was sad, as he lived all alone
Rain clouds would follow him wherever he’d go
His life seemed to be just a miserable mess
This sad state of affairs caused Pete much distress

MNiS Poor Pete 1.jpg

Then Pete found a rabbit, sat on the ground
This rabbit had udders, strange though it may sound
From these udders came poison, strong as can be
It could kill all the humans in the vicinity.

MNiS Poor Pete 2

The US Army, corrupted by greed
Didn’t like much this new technology
So they nuked the whole place, killing Pete, and unfortunately
His dopey, cute, flop-eared poison factory.

MNiS Poor Pete 3

fin.