The black-haired boy took a deep breath as he entered his favorite bakery, glancing around. It was a cool winter Friday, yet there weren't too many people in the small building. He stood behind a tall woman and her child, who looked much calmer than the 5 to 6-year-olds that usually came into this bakery. The little girl turned to look up at him, smiling as she gave him a little wave, and he happily waved back. He then looked up at the menu, deciding to try something different this time, as he waited for the woman to finish.
"This is gospel, for the fallen ones…"
He somehow startled himself when he started humming along, but tried not to look it. "Locked away in permanent slumber…"
The lady finally finished with her order, and Emanuel moved up. He quickly took his order, somehow succeeding in not getting distracted by the lyrics that rang out in his head every few seconds.
There was no one behind him, so he stood there and checked his phone as he waited for his cupcake. He could tell someone was trying to get into his head; his brother had told him about the "defense mechanism" that not a lot of people knew about. That was also the same time he found out that his brother had been trying to read his mind for a good few years, but that wasn't the point.
Emanuel shook his head and looked up, trying to figure out who was trying to get in, as a different song started up.
"Baby shark do do do-do do-do, baby shark do do do-do do-do…"
He groaned quietly. "Anything but that one." He whispered to himself. After a bit of thinking, he came up with three options: the sketchy-looking old man in the corner of the bakery, one of the two people behind the counter, or - he suspected this person the most - the boy sitting at the booth near him. This boy he knew, and was the most likely suspect to him. Soon, the kind young lady came back with Emanuel's cupcake, and as he turned to take it, she glanced over his shoulder.
"Oh god." He heard her mutter as she glared at something behind him.
"What's wrong?" He asked, and she glanced at him before shaking her head. "Nothing, just…that little girl."
Emanuel turned around to see the same girl from before watching them. She waved at them, and Emanuel returned it as happily as before.
"Don't wave at that brat." The lady behind the counter whispered, much to Emanuel's surprise. "What? Why?"
"They don't come in here very often, but I live next to them, and trust me, that kid is major trouble. Don't let that smile fool you; she's a mind reader."
"Oh…"
"Hold me down, hold me down. Sneaking out the back door, make no sound."
"OH."
(I could've done better, I think, but I've been tired and sick lately :T)
I can tell the man is trying harder to get in my mind and I just smile. I warned you. As the man gives me a confused look I take a breath and go with whatever is going to come in my mind first. I almost laugh as the perfect song comes to mind.
And if you're good, I'll take you home with me… Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena. Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria why cosa buena. Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena. Hey Macarena!!
I see the man look even more confused. My smile grows as I continue the song.
After about a minute I see that the man starts to get flustered. Leave now and it can be over just like that dude. The man gives me another look, even more annoyed and then calls a friend over. The man's friend then looks at him.
"What?" He asks.
"Help me get her to stop…" The man says concentrating. I look at the friend and smile innocently and right as I feel him enter my mind I scream the song. The friend then quickly gets out. "Come on! Seriously?! You are thinking of that?" he looks at the man, "Dude, why are you putting up with this?"
"She knows something…" The man whispers, seeming as if he's about to break. I told you that you could've left… I stay in place, put my arms out, and start dancing the Macarena.
-
"And that's how you resist mind readers!" I say happily to Chloe.
"The Macarena? Really? Of all things the Macarena?" Chloe says.
I nod, "Yup!"
"How did I become friends with you?"
(I really rushed this so honestly…. bleh)
(I don't even know what she looks like, but I just imagine this girl with the most serious look on her face as she stares these guys down and dances the Macarena)
Week 33: Something cuts you, but your blood is not red.
ok i'll have to think abt this one
Ooh I had a thing that might sort of work for this.
Drip,Drip,Drip Golden liquid flowed from my wrists, from the wounds where the tight rope had rubbed away my skin, Drip a heavy mettle door opens with a dull thud then closes with a sharp ring, Drip Footsteps echo off of the hard stone cavern, Drip The footsteps grow nearer then stop a few feet from where I hang. Drip "So you're a godling after all" Drip "Just how much can we get for you my prize." Drip A small dart embeds its self in my captors neck a small knife cuts through the rope at my wrists. "Let's go!" The voice of my rescuer calls I hold up my hand asking for the knife, the leather hilt hits my hand and I stalk forward raise my hand, Drip.
"'The villain must have more power than the protagonist.' I disagree with this opinion. Yes, I do possess incredible power, both physical and mental, but the key to lasting power is true motivation. I genuinely do not care about many things. I used to care about a few distractions, but I have learned much, and the key to motivation is to not bleed. The difference between I and your typical psychotic criminals, tyrannical rulers, lonely villains, is that I cannot be redeemed. And I do not care about that either. I do not wear a mask, or a costume, or a television screen. I wear my own face, carelessly, casually, and it is not monstrous or disgusting. I wear my own foreign face, I do not care about that either. I have a motivation. I care about that. Do you have a motivation, dear prince. Do you rant and rage about it, it alone, would you never let yourself be swayed, even by torture, or family, or true, honest redemption, do you have a single goal to clean off the blood with. I have more power than the nation's protagonist, I do, because I have motivation, I have had one crown to reach for, an invisible one, and it has kept me standing beside your temporary throne for lifespans, and carefully, calmly built my throne on top of it, the crown unaccessible for you. Something has been cutting me, removing my heart, and the blood is not red, but ruby and diamond and ice, white and gold with relief, and…I have brought you here today to lift seven brimming goblets of it to your mouths, and force your own hands to pour it down your throats, and I will not care."
(too much of a run-on?)
"Holy shit…"
What was this? Why was it…
"Holy sh-shit?!" She choked, her words coming out in a whisper. The claw marks left on her hand by the animal she had tried to feed were deeper than she'd expected. She had never bled this much. She had hardly ever bled at all! This was bad, and she wasn't sure if she was scared or amazed. Both? Both. Both is good.
Regardless of her racing thoughts, she pulled her scarf from around her neck and wrapped her hand, clutching it to her chest as she turned and ran home.
"GRANNY!"
The elder woman's sharp ears didn't miss the call. Lila bolted up from her chair and practically chucked her book across the room. "Madeline!?" She ran downstairs and headed to the front of the house, where her panicking granddaughter stood in the front door, clutching a wrapped hand. "Oh…child, what did you do?" Lila asked as she pulled the girl into the house and closed the door behind her.
"I-I didn't- it was…m-my blood…"
"Shh, Maddie, it's okay. Just sit down, I'll go get the kit."
It took all but ten minutes to get it patched up properly, after which they sat there, sharing a knowing silence as the young woman stared at her bandaged hand. "Granny Lila…"
"I know, sweetie."
"…Blood is supposed to be red. W-why was mine white?"
Lila took in a deep breath, then released it as she stared guiltily at the wall across the room. "You've always asked about your parents, Maddie. Every time, I would avoid having to tell you the truth."
Madeline watched her grandmother closely, scooting closer to the old woman. "The truth about what? My parents?"
Lila turned to her granddaughter, frowning at her curious face, her worried golden eyes. "The truth about you're entire family."
Madeline tilted her head as the woman leaned forward and picked up the pair of scissors resting on the wooden coffee table. She then screamed in shock and fright when those scissors ran across the skin of Lila's palm, drawing the same white fluid that had been flowing from herself just a bit ago. Except, this time, the blood glowed dimly, coaxing a light to show from under the bandages covering the girl's hand.
"We are not human. We are an age-old people gifted with great power, power that the humans of this realm believed were too dangerous to keep us around. That is why you know no one from your family, and why you've lived here in the forest with me since you were a toddler. We are Celestials, Madeline."
My hand glides against the rock, trying to catch myself before I hit the ground. One tiny ledge allows me to, barley holding on. Slowly, the tip of the rock pokes into my hand. I clench my teeth as the point sinks further in. Eventually I know I'm going to have to let go.
I guess that eventually meant now.
My hand slips off, letting the rock break into my hand and I collapse onto ground 10 feet beneath me. I shouldn't have came out here today. The place I thought I knew well is now lost to me, making sure it leaves it mark. I roll onto my side, clutching my left hand, knowing it is cut open. When I look down at it I see blood. The blood drips on the ground and I stop breathing for a moment. Blood is supposed to be red…. I take a sharp breath. Why is my blood grey? I stand up shakily and take off my jacket, wrapping it around my hand, not minding any of the cold weather.
Then I run.
I sprint home, taking glances at my now grey hand, thinking that I'm imagining things. When I reach my door, my good hand yanks it open and I rush inside.
Dad is on the couch and looks at me, "Back home already?" I stop, forgetting that my dad was watching television when I left.
"Blood is red, right?" I say quietly, my voice shaking madly.
My dad looks confused, "Uh, yes, why?"
"Then why is this," I take out my cut hand, "Why is this grey?" Dad stares at me, dumbfounded. "Why is my blood grey?!" I scream.
Dad looks at his room, "Marilyn, can you come out here." Mom steps out door, looks at me, and stops. "Marilyn, we need to tell her."
"Tell me what?" I say, "What is going on?!"
I jump when mom is suddenly right next to me, "Pumpkin, come and sit down. We need to talk."
Sorry, I just felt like posting a prompt:
The last human on earth meets a baby/ an animal
Week 34: Dating a supervillain.
(Sorry I missed Wednesday. I've been really busy. I'm going to go to week 40, but then I'm going to end it. I won't delete the thread so you guys can post prompts and go back and see what you wrote, but I'll be signing off of this thread after that. Sorry :( .)
It's okay dude. You have done well.
(Aww! We'll miss ya)
"So…let me get this straight…" Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to lose his last hair of patience. "You stole nearly eighty thousand pounds of concrete…"
The man standing in front of him fidgeted, glancing out the window where four large trucks were parked. It was also where many steel beams were stacked, right next to the men cowering in a dark-colored cage. "Yes…"
"About two hundred steel girders…"
"Mhm…"
"And kidnapped six construction workers," he looked up at the dark-haired moron, ignoring the dark, pulsating splotch on his face - the magic that was healing whatever injury he'd gotten, "so that you could build a giant dick behind Skystreak's house."
"That is the plan, yes."
Jackson narrowed his eyes in that way that Necromancer recognized as 'I'm about to lose all of my shit with you'.
"And-" Jackson took a deep breath, "how, pray tell, is this productive in any way?"
"I mean, I was bored and needed inspiration for my next move."
"Ah, of course. So you, with your 165 IQ and dark magic, decided to build a giant concrete dick behind your enemy's house?"
"…See, when you say it like that-"
"Mason, you vapid fucking child."
"I'm good at this, I swear."
Jackson turned to grab his jacket from the rack next to the front door. "I'm fucking leaving. I want no part of this one." He opened the door and rolled his eyes when he heard snickering from behind him.
"Be flattered, Jackie! It's your fault I've been so into dicks lately!"
"BYE!"
(This was the first thing that came to mind…was that too much swearing?)
((OOC: Hm…might go back and look at some of the earlier prompts, as I was around for only a few and then these later ones))
Week 35: The story’s protagonist is the nicest person imaginable.
The story’s narrator hates them with a seething passion.
(Ohh I've seen this one before but I can never come up with anything good for it.)
Who's seen Narrator Hater?
Keep a good posture. But not too stiff; don't look like you're trying too hard. And stop looking around. Look straight ahead. Don't make eye contact; you'll come off as weird. But don't avoid eye contact, that's rude. And smile. No, don't smile for no reason; you look like an idiot. Well, I guess it doesn't really matter what you do. No one's watching you anyway, no one cares enough. Oh, god, but what if they ARE watching?
I walked down the main hallway, feeling hundreds of imaginary eyes on my back. I felt especially conspicuous carrying the large container of cupcakes that I had baked last night, but I consoled myself with the fact that the halls were mostly empty. School wouldn't start for another half hour. Just one more right turn, and then you're safe. Ish.
I turned the corner into the music wing, and there was the familiar swarm of band, orchestra, chorus, and drama kids. A loud buzz of conversation filled the air, and I couldn't help but feel at home in the midst of that comforting chaos.
"Leah!" My best friend Cassie waved me over, and I sat down next to the massive group of drama kids who were going over lines for today's audition for the spring musical– Beauty and the Beast.
"Hi everyone!" I beamed at them. "I made cupcakes!"
"You're the best!" Cassie exclaimed.
No, I'm not. Not in the least.
The nearby drama kids all took a cupcake, and some instrumentalists tentatively approached and shyly thanked me for the food. I smiled and greeted each of them by name. "You're welcome, Aspen. How'd that math test go? Oh, hi, Ryan! Good luck at your recital tomorrow!" I tried my hardest to get to know everyone I met.
They're all just putting up with you. No matter what you do, you'll never be good enough.
"I'm really nervous for my audition," Cassie said. "What if I forget the words, or I don't sing well enough, or…"
I smiled at her reassuringly. "You'll do great. You have a wonderful voice, you've practiced, and you know the song really well. You'll nail it; I believe in you!"
Cassie took a deep breath. "Thanks, Leah. That helps a lot."
She's lying; she's just too nice to tell you that you let her down. You always say the wrong thing. You're a terrible friend.
I glanced at her. "No problem."
"So, what role are you trying out for?"
"Oh, just an ensemble role."
"What?! But you have such a great voice, and you're so pretty! You should totally try for Belle."
"Pfft. Nah."
I hate your voice; it sounds like nails on a chalkboard and you're tone-deaf. I hate the way you look; you're fat, your hair's a mess, and I don't know how people stand to look at your face. Not to mention, you're clingy and annoying and your "friends" are just taking pity on you. You're pathetic. You're worthless. You're a waste of space. I hate everything about you.
God, could I just catch a break? Could I just enjoy myself for once like a normal person?
Normal people don't have voices in their heads.
Well, you can fuck off.
Make me. Christ, you can't do anything right. Normal people don't talk to themselves either.
Leave me alone!
Never. I am you, remember? But believe me, I wish I weren't.
I hate you.
Likewise.
