forum One to two sentence stories, interpreted

Started March 23, 2019 by @Darkblossom group

tune

The thread with the one to two sentence stories has a lot of really interesting stories. Take those and write something short based off it, or just say what you think it means. Here is a link to that thread: https://www.notebook.ai/forum/writing-prompts/one-to-two-sentence-stories

This is old and you may not be in the mood, but have a bit of surreal literature. It's not very short (read: obnoxiously long) but I had fun with it. Credit goes to @IDKWrites for the prompt. ^^
Prompt used: I watched the man chug his Taco bell slurpees. Such raw power….
Story:
It was raining when I reached the rendezvous point, and the rain left little spots on my relatively new suit, but at the time that was the last thing on my mind. I motioned for my accomplice (who was posing as an Uber driver) to park around the back of the building, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder at the 10pm street with its flicking traffic lights. I already knew no one was around–we'd been staking out the area for at least two hours–but the instinct to check for danger was still strong.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn't bother to retrieve it, since the buzzing itself was the signal. Straightening the sleeves of my jacket, I stepped under the awning, made sure my earpiece was properly hidden, and opened the building's glass front door.
The door let out a jarring, toneless note as I entered, inevitably signaling my presence to the chalky-skinned youth behind the counter. We exchanged curt greetings and I slipped sidelong down the first aisle of road-trip accessories I saw, thus exiting the clerk's line of vision. I had forgotten to ask if she was involved in the night's mission….for safety's sake, I presumed she was not.
The convenience store wasn't large, but it was one of those places that had a row of chipped red-and -yellow dining booths by the window for people who enjoyed eating in a place like this. My partner was waiting in one such booth, calmly consuming a slice of pizza and a large cup of coffee. A similar meal was laid out across the table.
I took my seat there, casting her a smile. She smiled back without really looking at me. We'd worked together before, but I didn't really know her. We were assigned to this mission for two reasons: she was a woman and I was a man, which made meeting in public late at night look much less suspicious. And because we both happened to be experts in the field which our group now had to investigate.
"Micah," I said, picking up the coffee.
"Abbot," Micah replied, taking a deliberate bite of pizza. "Are the kids in bed?"
"All tucked in." Perfect timing. I'd just received word from my Uber-driving ally that the extraction team had arrived. "Did you find the babysitter?"
Micah nodded and made a casual motion, indicating the booth at the far end of the window behind her. I studied the individual sitting there, tamping down a rush of adrenaline.
He looked nothing like us, in our business suits and neatly combed hair. His clothes looked like they'd been pulled out of a dumpster–all either too big or too small, and covered in obscure stains. I could see the tendons standing out on his hands and neck, through skin as tanned as burnt bacon. His hair was some sort of badly-bleached, unwashed arrangement that stuck out from under his fraying hat like it was trying to escape. For some reason, he was wearing soggy purple socks, but no shoes. If he was worried the store would kick him out for this fashion choices, he didn't show it. He paid the world no mind, plowing through a plastic container of coleslaw like some kind of high-powered machine.
With a mixture of amusement and repulsion, I viewed the meal spread out before him: more coleslaw, a forest of coffee cups, a pile of ice cream bars, potato chips of several varieties….and some more obscure items, including a bowl of fresh salad, what looked like a wedding cake, and numerous Taco Bell slurpees. This store didn't sell such things, and where he got them, I still have no idea. I never thought to ask.
"Are you sure?" I asked Micah quietly. "He doesn't exactly….well….match the description on the application."
She gave me the most dry laugh I'd ever heard. "Please. We're both professionals. You know as well as I do that his type aren't what they used to be." She sipped her coffee and raised her eyebrows at me. "But that doesn't mean they're useless."
I shrugged. "I know, I know. I'm just saying, we have to think about how manageable he'll be. If he's too far gone, we could have another incident like that time at Starbucks, and nobody wants that, right?"
Her expression tightened. "This one's been vetted. He's alone, he keeps to himself, there's nothing on his record that indicates he's violent or unstable. He's just fading, like all the others, and that means we have the ability to bargain with him."
"Fine." I reluctantly started in on the pizza. "I haven't read his file yet–could you give me some details on him right quick?"
Micah looked irritated. "You were supposed to read it yesterday, Abbot." She drained her coffee and sighed. "He calls himself Ernie, but obviously that's just an alias. We don't know his real name yet. He seems to be some kind of primal kinetic type, or maybe photon-based. Documented instances of Manifestation: eight."
"Only eight? How long have we had eyes on him?"
"Since he arrived, two years ago. He's been bouncing all over the country with no pattern that we can make out. Nobody's seen him try to hurt others or commit a serious crime. He just…wanders, like most of the new ones do."
I nodded. "And the Manifestations, what about them?"
"All very brief, and all in moments where he felt threatened. He prefers to escape danger rather than defend himself, which is less than ideal for our purposes. But, still applicable."
"Did they manage to get any stats from all that?"
"Oh, yes." She looked at me pointedly. "He's a level four."
"What?" I thought I'd misheard. Level fours were second from the top in the pecking order, bested only by a few of the oldest primal types in our database–or level fives, as we called them. "But that doesn't match up," I protested. "With his track record–"
"You can't define these people by their records, Abbot. It's not that simple." Micah frowned sternly. "Look at him. You know how hard it is for his kind to get by in this world, especially the higher-level they are. Does he really seem to you like a man who's in perfect health?"
I watched the man chug his Taco bell slurpees. Such raw power….I had to admit, it was easy to spot if you looked at the details. And it was just as easy to see how that power was tearing him apart. The shaking of his hands as he guzzled his food, the high-sugar diet, the unkempt outfit, the odd dull-bright look in his dark eyes–all clear signs of someone who wasn't used to taking care of himself, and who didn't have much time left, and who was feverishly aware of that fact.
Nobody quite knew what triggered temporal decay in such beings, but it was starting to happen with concerning regularity lately. They showed up out of nowhere, burned bright for a few years, then died. I'd heard the upper levels of our organization had been trying to do research for a while on where these things came from, but self-destruct rates were high and the leaders didn't want to waste any more resources on the project. Our main objective these days was maximize the potential of our powerful visitors before their time ran out, in whatever way we saw fit. Unfortunately, that tended to dramatically shorten their already short lifespans–a piece of information we'd prudently kept to ourselves so far.
"Abbot. Are you listening?" Micah leaned forward, blocking my line of sight. "Extraction starts in five minutes. HQ doesn't want any mistakes this time."
I straightened with a quick nod. "Right. Are you going in, or am I?"
"You are. Level fours were your college thesis, not mine." Micah stood up, shaking the crumbs from her jacket. "I'll pay up front. Collect him and meet me by the car."
I stood up as well. "On it."
The walk over to my target was short. He didn't notice me as I approached, too engrossed in devouring the wedding cake to think of anything else. I stopped by his table, waited a minute, then cleared my throat. "Ernie?"
He looked up. The shadows under his eyes were pretty bad, and I could see the bones of his face beneath his weathered, dirt-smudged skin. But still he managed to give me a smile. It was the smile that they warned you about most often in training. Ernie looked so vulnerable when he smiled, so trusting. His eyes were large and night-sky blue, and despite his sunken features and downright slovenly outfit, he reminded me of a little kid who'd lost his parents on the playground. His kind were totally out of their depth in our world, and it showed–but you couldn't let your heart weaken. Most of them could still destroy a city block in a blink if the whim took them.
I returned his smile, stiffly. "My name is Abbot. You're one of the Erased Ones, aren't you?"
We'd heard others like him calling themselves that before, and quickly discovered that it was a surefire way to get their attention. Ernie responded to the name as I'd expected, blinking in surprise and staring at me closely.
"Yeah," he said. His voice was soft and rough, with a distinctly Midwestern flatness to it. "How do you know that about me, Abbot?"
I tried not to flinch when he used my name, tried to keep my tone friendly and soothing. "Well, it's kind of my job. I'm with the Special Department of Manifestation Location and Containment." I showed him my badge, letting the little gold emblem in the corner catch the light. "We're here to help people like you."
Ernie started to shiver, and reached for a cup of coffee. He didn't take his eyes off me. "Help me? You can't help me. I'm sorry Abbot…nobody can help me. They keep trying, but–" The cup reached his lips and he cut himself off, choking down the drink with reckless speed.
I tried a different tack, not wanting to upset him. "How did you afford all this food? Do you have a tab I can pay off for you?"
He finished the coffee and dropped the empty cup, scrabbling for another. "I didn't pay–just took it all." A guilty, nervous grin was flashed in my direction. "That girl didn't notice. They never notice."
So Ernie had the ability to manipulate fields of perception. I made a mental note of that, hoping it wouldn't put the mission at risk of failure. "It's all right, Ernie. I understand. But you don't have to steal so much, you know. That feeling you have–it's not actually hunger."
Finally, I got his full attention. He ceased all movement, staring at me in disbelief. "It's not? But…the emptiness…..food makes it go away. For a little while."
"Yes," I replied patiently. "But this kind of food is bad for your body. My organization has discovered much better ways to fill the….emptiness."
He stood up, knocking plastic packages onto the floor. I jumped back skittishly, reaching for my gun, but he didn't lash out. He just took a step forward, the color of his eyes doing strange things in the bad light. "What is it? Can you show me what to do? It–it hurts, in here." He touched his chest with shaking fingers. He was pleading now, his other hand extending towards me. "I can't take it any more. Do you know what it feels like? It feels like something's trying to eat me from the inside, but I'm growing at the same time, and my skin's not growing with me. I keep getting squished smaller and smaller. I don't like it. Can you make it stop?"
I put a hand on his arm, partly to cut off his babbling, and partly to keep him from coming any closer. "Yes, we can. We've helped many Erased Ones before you, and we can help many more. All we ask is that you help us in return."
He paused. I could feel a sort of electric rushing under my hand where it touched him. "….Help you? How?"
"It's very simple," I reassured him. "We'll only need you once in a while, for powering machines that bring light and warmth to houses. You could make a lot of people safe and happy, and in return we'll make you safe and happy." It wasn't a total lie. Providing widespread electricity to lower-class neighborhoods was one of our duties. The other things Ernie would do….we could tell him about those later, when he was already roped into a bargain. "Would you like that?"
He brightened. "I used to do stuff like that. I protected people." His hands still twitched towards the remaining food on the table, but with less urgency now. "Okay. I'll do it. Thank-you, Abbot, you're so kind. I'll find a way to repay you, and your group, I promise."
I patted his shoulder tightly. "Don't worry about that, Ernie. Are you ready to leave, then? My friend here–" I nodded at Micah, who was waiting by the door. She gave us a little wave. "–she can take us back to Headquarters if you want. We can get you set up in a suite of rooms, find you something healthier to eat, maybe new clothes as well?" I swiveled my shoulders, inviting him to come with me.
He didn't hesitate to follow, relief starkly evident on his face. "Yes. Yes, I'd like that. And you'll teach me how to fill the emptiness?"
"Of course." I walked him over to Micah, my hopes rising. Maybe we wouldn't need the extraction team at all this time. "Ernie, this is Agent Micah. Micah, this is Ernie."
"Hello," Ernie said, a bit shyly.
Micah gave him a smile that I'm sure looked far more genuine than mine. "It's nice to meet you, Ernie. Ready to go?"
He nodded, and I led them back outside, back into the rainy night. The street was still deserted–although I knew it only looked that way. The team had us totally surrounded at this point, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. The Uber car was waiting to our right, its engine humming warmly.
We were half-way there, ushering Ernie along between us, no doubt already thinking of our warm beds back home–when the lighting bolt struck.
It all happened in less than a breath. The bolt came down like a snake, thrashing, and touched its nose to the ground just two blocks away. The air exploded with noise, making both Micah and I stagger. I smelled something strange, like burning air. The entire parking lot was lit up as if by the sun itself.
And in that moment, Ernie turned directly towards the strike. I saw him stare into the flash, and for a second, his eyes didn't reflect the light, but answered it with light of their own. Tendrils of gold and blue and white arced away from him, reaching for everything, racing up to the lightning and connecting with it as it drew back into the sky. In the crash of thunder, I heard something else, something I've never since been able to describe. For a painfully long millisecond, Ernie was one with the lightning, and they spoke to each other.
Then time went back to normal. I caught myself before I fell, breathing heavily. My ears were ringing. My eyes were filled with the afterimage of the lighting, and the threads of energy around Ernie, making everything else pitch black. As a result, I almost didn't notice that–at the sight of the Manifestation–the rest of the extraction team had leaped out of hiding, leveling their weapons at Ernie.
"No! Get back in position!" Micah shouted, but it was too late.
Ernie stared at the heavily-clothed men all around him, seeming confused. He considered their guns with an uncertain frown, taking a small step back. "…Abbot? What is this?…."
My mind raced. This was a very dangerous scenario. If one of us made the wrong move now, Ernie could flee–or worse, attack. I moved slowly towards him, motioning for the team to give us space. "It's all right, Ernie. They're…they're here to protect us. You just startled them, that's all." I laughed, my voice wobbling. "Don't worry about them. Let's get in the car, shall we?"
Ernie's feet didn't budge. He peered at me as if he was having trouble making me out. "If they're here to protect us, why are they aiming at me?" The air was still thrumming, vibrating around him like the quivering needle of a seismograph. "Are…are they afraid of me?"
"No! No no." I laughed again, acutely aware that I was acting very suspicious, but unable to regain my composure. "They're not afraid of you! They know you're here to help us! They just…..we just, uh…."
I trailed off. My heart was beating way too fast.
Ernie must have realized the truth, because his expression changed. He wasn't lost and hungry and blindly trusting anymore. He was incredibly old, vastly powerful, but at the same time–a stray animal that had been abused by humans one too many times. As one part of him opened its eyes, another part of him seemed to wither and die.
"I thought you'd be different," he said quietly. The bitter amusement in his words was harsh on my ears. "But I guess I should have known. You people only exercise kindness when it benefits you."
Micah stepped forward, her hair all messed up and soaking wet from the rain. "Ernie, calm down. You've got it all wrong. We're here to help you." Her rigid arm extended towards the gunmen, holding them back through willpower alone. "You're going to be all right, just let us explain–"
"I won't listen to your poisoned words!" Ernie suddenly turned on her, his voice a roar. The light was returning, coiling around him like living strands of mist. "How many people like me have you tricked? How many?"
Micah stumbled back. The extraction team closed in, chattering in my earpiece like a flock of crows. Realizing we were about to totally lose control, I made one last desperate attempt to reason with the target.
"Ernie!" I shouted. He whirled on me, his sunken eyes alight. I held up my hands. "Think about this, please. The emptiness, remember? I didn't lie–we really can help you. We can make you feel all right again. You only have to do what we ask. Is that so terrible?"
He didn't waver, not in the slightest. His gaze was cold and proud. "I won't be used. Not by you, not by anyone. My suffering is great enough." He lifted one arm, and it rippled like the haze over hot concrete. "Tell your people to leave me alone. Now."
The situation fell through my fingers like sand. The leader of the extraction team took over, just as he was supposed to when things went wrong. Guns were raised, commands yelled out, Ernie gave a snarl like metal against metal. Micah ran past me, catching my arm and pulling me with her as she ran.
Because of her quick thinking, I'm still alive today. Whether Ernie intended to hurt us or not, Manifestations at such close quarters are like deadly explosions. I saw his body twist and swirl violently as raw energy coursed out in all directions, heard the sound of the pavement around him tearing–and then Micah dragged me around the corner and threw us both to the ground.
Chaos reigned for exactly 45.5 seconds. The light sought us out, stroking us with white-hot fingers. My head was filled with the indescribable noise again, the noise almost like voices. Then there was blood coming from my ears and I couldn't hear anything anymore. I lost track of Micah, even though her shoulder was touching mine the entire time. I floated in a flashing blackness, trying to find something to hold onto.
And then it was over.
Ernie was gone.
Since that day, I've been taking a break from active missions. Micah too, last I heard. We never talked about what happened, but I think it left a mark on both of us. We were the only survivors, after all, and it was our fault we'd lost the others. HQ's talking about suspending my badge–but I don't care. In a way, I almost wish they would.
Because if they don't, I know there will come a day when I have to meet Ernie's sad blue eyes again. And I don't think I'll be able to lie to him twice.
~~~

…Why did I just spend two days writing this, I have work to do lol +__+

“Her blood dropped steadily on the surrounding buildings. Finally, I had killed the woman who stabbed my heart.” From the Moral Ambiguity of Metaphors.

Her blood dropped steadily on the surrounding buildings. Finally, I had killed the woman who had stabbed my heart. I sat numbly near her, drained after the final climax. She was dead. She was dead. She was… calm. She looked calm, her features relaxed in a sleep-like death. Why did she get to be calm? After everything she had done, the pain she had caused, she got to be calm? No. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. I turned my head away, towards the sound of sirens. I realized how it looked. A young woman lying dead on the ground, a ragged, sleep deprived man with blood on his hands, and a discarded gun, missing three bullets. I knew it wouldn’t take a genius to put it together. So I left. Easy as that.

Except it wasn’t. In my haste, I forgot about fingerprints. I forgot about gun registration. I forgot about DNA. I forgot about the hotel room covered in her photographs. It took the detectives a few hours to track me down, just long enough to shower, throw away my clothes, and take a nap. I woke up to the police breaking down my door. The evidence was overwhelming. They locked me in a concrete box, one of those chilly interrogation rooms. Twenty five to life, they said. Great. Maybe I could be a prison dishwasher, or knit socks. I began to look forward to prison life. It was definitely better than my current life routine.

Quite a few detectives came in to see me. All asked the same questions. “Tell me what happened. How did it go down?” I repeated my answer so many times that I could relay it word for word, three years later. “I began chasing her five years ago. I tracked her movements from Chicago to Miami, from England to Pasadena. I made it my mission to learn everything about her. Her name is Harriet Jane Lewis, though she goes by many aliases. Margaret andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer), Lily Stevens, Heather B. Von Drecht. She was born in Birmingham in 1984. She attended Mountberry Ridge Girls School for her entire education. She began working for a corporate espionage program, making a living stealing company’s secrets, blackmailing CEO’s, the such. She dated Michael Richardson for three years. It ended when she revealed to his bosses that she, the receptionist, was his mistress. The CEO, his wife, was furious and promptly fired and divorced him. She has had no other long lasting relationships. Her parents have never contacted her. She doesn’t care. Her brother emailed her once last year, informing her of his marriage. She didn’t reply. I waited and waited for the perfect opportunity. Last week, she began working at my office under the name Reagan Miller. She flirted with my boss, got access to his office. I “caught” her exiting the building with company files and chased her down the alleyways. I cornered her. I shot her three times, once through the heart, once through her abdomen, once in her left leg.” The officers were taken aback by my lack of emotion. It was no surprise to me. I was a heartless man. I had no reason to live. I had nothing except the death of this woman. The fifth officer looked me directly in the eye. He asked me, unwavering, “Why. Why did you kill her?”

Why did I kill her? Why did I track her, learn about her, hunt her? Why did I plan her death for weeks before the event? Why did I mercilessly end her life, with no regret? Because. Because. Because years ago, she wasn’t the target. Years ago, she hunted. She tracked. She learned. She killed.

Because years ago, five years ago, her target was my heart. She was hired to destroy it. I was working on new technology, cutting age, phenomenal technology. A rival business wanted it for themselves. Her job was to steal my work, and to prevent my from restarting. To destroy my life. To destroy my heart.

Because she was strategic. She knew how to approach me, the poor scientific engineer. The man who lived in a sad apartment, who couldn’t bear to live in his home after his wife died. The man who drank too much coffee and only did laundry on the weekends. The man who worked 6-6, desperate to change the world. The man with a purpose, with a mission, with a heart.

Because she succeeded. She found me. She ruined me. She destroyed me. She destroyed the only thing I lived for. She destroyed my heart. I became a shadow of a man. I no longer cared about my mission. I didn’t try to follow my purpose. I drank too much alcohol. I never did laundry. I worked on tracking her. On killing her. I had a new purpose, a new mission. No heart.

Because that day, she broke me. I had no reason for life, I had no peace, I had no HEART. Shetoremylifeapartandhadnoregrets. Shedashedmyheartoutonthepavementandwalkedaway. ShestabbedandKILLEDANDLAUGHEDINMYFACE.

“BECAUSE SHE KILLED MY DAUGHTER. SHE KILLED MY ELOISE!”

This is late but oh my GOD that story hits hard, a little editing and it's practically a masterpiece