#evanthenerd83s storytime
Knives are red.
Dem is blue.
It’s been several months.
But I’ve got you.
Holly And The Demon And Lilah, the fifth short story, is coming on February 14, 2022!
It’ll come with a trigger warning.
It’ll be the longest short story by date.
Wonderful! I wonder what the trigger warning is for…
“The Room: Unhelpful”
First Story:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/658898716053340160/ekphrastic-fiction-contest-august-2021
Second Story:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/661773932525977600/the-room-guest-first-story
“Lady Gwenlyn asked me to pick up—“
The man on the right tilted his head. “A file? Or an artifact?”
His smile betrayed distrust. Not that Jonas could have blamed him. Being an Archivist meant safeguarding the Family’s secrets.
And the Family’s secrets could bring entire universes to rubble.
Jonas blinked, then coughed into a hand. “A… a file.”
The man on the left got up from his seat. “Which one?”
Sweat beads slid. Jonas never enjoyed this part of the job, interacting with the Helpers.
Everything about them made him uneasy. There was just something about the way they blinked, often too slow, or how they would stand in corners, facing corners. Like they’d gotten stuck in a loop.
“Uh. Um. I’m not sure. She didn’t tell me the AIN.”
For a fraction of a second, Righty’s smile faltered.
Ice replaced bland heat. Friendliness revealed disgust.
As if he could see his sins.
“B-but it does involve an adjacent world!”
“What kind?”
Jonas slammed his head on the countertop.
When he lifted it, everything was tinted red.
“What do you mean, ‘what kind’?!”
Lefty blinked. One eye at a time.
“What kind of adjacent world? A Waste? Or a Lively? Or a—“
“Look. She didn’t tell me. All she said was… and I quote, ‘get me the file for—“
“Please do not interrupt.”
The sound of Lefty’s voice froze Jonas. It was twinged mechanical. The mask had slipped further away.
“A… A reflection. Similarity grade unknown.”
Righty’s eyes went blank.
“We can’t help you if you don’t tell us—“
“For goodness sake! Cri—“
“Crimavel? Crim Mia? Crivical? Crimsonport? Cyc?”
Jonas slammed his fist on the countertop.
The sound echoed through the lobby. A woman gasped, and he suddenly felt very foolish.
Very foolish indeed.
“CRIMSONPORT! CRIMSONPORT!”
Very, very foolish.
Another great installment by @evanthenerd83 I love how this writer continually builds on previous pieces.
Birthday gifts from my Creative Partner.
“Inked Up”
1
Ellen calls me, late at night.
The shrill call of a landline shatters whatever reprieve I happened to be enjoying. Dogs bark in the woods. Wolves, probably.
I ignore it. I bury my head beneath the floorboards, trying my best.
No dice.
Ellen does not enjoy waiting. She simply enhances local volume, and that barely tolerable shrieking becomes torture. A banshee wails right beside my ear.
I jolt awake.
Blinking away the last vestiges of peace, I scan.
My eyes land on my bedside table, which is wooden, brown. No lamp. No alarm clock.
Only the old-fashioned home phone.
Which was… not there a second ago.
Neither was the bedside table, for that matter.
I grumble. “Bitch.”
I pick up the new addition to my sparse bedroom.
“What was that, Marvin?”
“Nothing,” I sit up. “What’s the issue?”
The voice on the other end of the line is clipped. As well as young, clearly saturated with molten sarcasm.
If tones could kill, I’d be speaking daisies right now.
Ellen stays silent. After a whole minute, I start to wonder if I waited too long, and if this delay has just cost me a job. And a big, fat paycheck.
That scares me more than what I’m hearing in the background.
Somebody is screaming. The words bleed together.
Explosions. Loud hissing. Like a snake shoved into a megaphone.
Word salad is being passed around. Tossed, you could say. Innumerable voices drown out meeker, pitiful whining.
Somewhere else, amidst this cacophony of apocalyptic horror and abject panic, somebody shouts, “Quick, seal it, se—“
Well. That’s all I hear before a volley of gunshots cut them off.
From an AC-19 or EDEB-1.
If the former, Rest In Peace.
If the latter… Rest in pieces.
Either way? Poor bastard.
“Uh… E-Ellen?”
Silence on Ellen’s part.
I stand up. The cabin’s wooden floor is covered with burnt paper stapled together. An impromptu carpet.
For an impromptu home.
On the other end, broken car horns blare.
Glass shatters.
A very big, very loud laugh overtakes the hissing.
“Ellen? What’s, uh, what’s going on? Are you at a… p-parade?”
Gunshots become wet.
Finally, Ellen takes a deep breath.
I can hear the faintest instability. Not much. But enough to make me worried, since she is almost never shaken.
And if she is shaken, and calling me this late at night, then…
… Oh shit.
Before she speaks, a new sound enters the chaotic fray.
Trumpet music.
What she says next puts everything in perspective.
“Marvin… I’m afraid that we’re gonna be needing your… services… again.”
2
“What happened,” I ask.
“Someone forgot to use non-bleeding ink.”
I stand in the center of the cabin. “Do we know who?”
“Nope.”
“How many were contaminated?”
A brief pause.
By now, the background has become incomprehensible; jumbling sounds indistinguishable and indescribable.
“I think…”
Ellen pauses again.
“About… thirteen? Twenty-five? Not really sure. You know how they get.”
I pull on my boots. Military grade. “Yeah. I know.”
Depending on the kind of ink, and the circumstances involved, the Bled-Together could range from just a few to a lot. Nobody has figured out the maximum participation.
But the biggest one ever dealt with reportedly comprised eighteen victims. A whole orchestra had been affected. The notes on their music sheets. A horrid affair.
These guys are rare. Once every month.
Easily taken care of. If you nip them in the bud.
I glance around. The cabin is dark. Yet something akin to light still filters through.
Something akin to light, of course, because there are no stars. No moonlight.
My weapon should be around here somewhere.
“How about civilian casualties? Have you evacuate—“
“Yes, yes, Marvin,” Ellen snaps. “We did. Now, can you just come do—“
Trumpets squelch. Alarm bells herald the Bled-Together’s mutation. I lean forward.
Fingers shake.
“Are you sure? Completely sure?”
A growl from Ellen’s end.
“WOULD YOU JUST… COME DOWN HERE, AND KILL THIS… FUCKING… THING?! IT’S GETTING BIGGER! MUCH BIGGER! I’M STANDING UNDERNEATH ITS FUCKING BELLY OR TORSO OR WHATEVER THE FUCK MAKES UP ITS TOP HALF, AND THERE’S FIFTY FUCKING HEADS SPROUTING!”
Her voice fails to drown out the apocalyptic choir. It also gets more shrill, an ear-tearing siren.
Something glints in my peripheral vision. I already know what it is before I lay both eyes on it. I smile.
And that smile quickly vanishes.
“That bad, huh?”
Ellen seethes. Air passes between her two front teeth, almost becoming a kind of whistle.
She is angry.
Then again, Ellen is almost always angry. At someone or something.
“You have no fucking idea.”
“Hm.”
I approach the corner. Floorboards barely utter a single groan.
Weight has no power here. The cabin smothers all sounds.
I kneel. My hands are numb, neither burning hot nor freezing cold, as they reach forward.
They curl around metal.
An old friend greets me.
Sensations come flooding back. I take a deep breath.
The air tastes like paper. Echoing heartbeats disrupt. Blood begins to pump through veins, and I sigh.
Life.
I’m alive again.
“Marvin, you dumbass. Are you even listening?”
I lift my weapon.
Things rattle within the pockets of my jacket. Bullets.
And not just any bullets. Special bullets, custom made.
Reliable. You don’t have to worry about running out of bullets. Not when you were born with them.
“I said—“
I let go of the phone. It falls.
Goes poof. A cloud of eraser shavings.
Such a construct is no longer needed. It was never needed, in fact. We are connected, Ellen and I.
We can talk whenever.
I speak.
“Loud and clear, Ell. Just let me o—”
The cabin falls away.
Walls and floor, windows, flicker away.
Silence switches to a low rumbling.
Darkness overtakes my sight.
I can no longer breathe.
I can do nothing.
I’m a concept.
An inference.
Unassembled.
Vagaries barely resembling flaws,
virtues,
an appearance,
a being.
For a few seconds.
Before—
“Welcome back.”
Light.
Sound.
Cruisers flash.
Explosions pop. Debris showers the crowded street, and I instinctively duck.
A jet screams overhead. It tilts to avoid a nearby building, but something suddenly changes. Space inverts.
Or the building simply gains its own gravitational pull.
The jet no longer turns away.
It curves right—
Just then, everything hits. Colors begin to swirl together. Images run down the canvas of reality.
My legs buckle.
“Marvin?”
My knees hit the ground.
“Marvin, for goodness sake, don’t—“
I throw up.
3
Ellen is a vision.
Short, lithe, a branch with legs. Her knee-length skirt billows in a sudden gust of wind.
Her uniform has been put through the wringer. Splotches of drying ink pockmark her collar and sleeves. Something glitters.
It takes me a while to recognize what I’m looking at.
“Is that—“
A swift hand motion sends the parasitic glass shards tumbling. “Never mind that.”
Her black hair dances. It is short, the strands unnaturally straight. Cut per regulation.
Long hair risks touching a puddle.
Or worse. There’s been so many secretaries who have accidentally contaminated themselves.
Many are placed in quarantine. Indefinitely.
Others quit. They don’t want to get put into quarantine. Nor do they particularly want to be bald.
I can’t really blame them.
Ellen fixes her brown eyes on my own. I almost shiver from the cold.
Instead I look away, cough into my fist. “Details?”
A beat of silence. I can hear the cacophony echoing from somewhere close by. Right around the corner.
And the screams.
Jesus Christ.
The screams.
“Alright,” Ellen sighs. “Here’s the situation.”
I watch a newspaper flutter along the cracked street. “Exposition already?”
“Shut up and listen. And be serious. People are dying. Kids have lost their parents, siblings, or belief in Santa Claus.”
I look up.
My eyebrows rise.
“H-how?”
She rolls her eyes. What a lovely expression. Like a model who has seen an anime fan.
“How did they become orphans?”
I wave my hand. Sweat dots my forehead.
Another jet screams past. The pilot ejects. He manages to land on the roof of a nearby building, his parachute unused.
“No. No. The last part. About Santa.”
She glares at me.
“The Bled-Together’s been treating Times Square like its… uh, their very own All-You-Can-Absorb buffet. They rolled up whoever was walking around.”
“Including the real Santa Claus?”
Teeth grinding.
“No. Dumbass. There were plenty of him standing around. You know how heavy foot traffic is during Christmas.”
The expression on her face melts away. She slips a hand into her pocket, rummaging around.
Until she finds it.
She pulls out.
I frown.
“You shouldn’t be smok—“
“You should be killing that fucking thing.”
She next retrieves a golden lighter. Flame meets paper.
“They came from Miguel and Michael. Which is some sort of… law firm, or something. A typical desk job.
“Unfortunately, we don’t know much. The trigger. The core. Not even the time of initial aggression. So… yeah, sorry. But it was quick. Quick enough for the janitorial staff to be absorbed.”
Ellen blows a ring of smoke.
“First emergency call was made an hour ago. By then, the Bled-Together got outside the building, taking security along with them, and rolled on. Police approached. Police retreated. Poor bastards were…”
She sneers.
“… unprepared for the situation.”
Her sneer melts.
“The survivors alerted dispatchers, who alerted us, and we put out the good word. Evacuation order.”
I see movement.
A glimpse of something big, bright, and bleeding behind the nearby skyscrapers. The edge of an elbow.
This elbow is bigger than a bus.
“The jets?”
Ellen takes another drag.
I really hate it when she does this.
She needs to kick the habit. We both know how dangerous smoking is.
Lung cancer. Throat cancer. A whole bunch of other, debilitating medical hazards.
Death being one of them.
And all of them.
But we both know.
She can’t.
She won’t.
She stares at me. Her eyes reflect flashing lights from downtown, familiar colors. Green and purple.
Our colors. A META van comes around the corner, gunning it.
It plows through the police tape. Tires squeal as the driver hits the brakes just a foot away. Close enough to gently blow Ellen’s hair.
She shrugs.
“National guard.”
The window rolls down. I glance over Ellen’s shoulder.
A face peers out. It is pale. Tears stream down cheeks, and wide eyes burn themselves into mine.
The driver nearly jumps out of the van. “Ms. Shirley!”
Ellen groans. “Oh. Christ.”
I step back.
My interest in humanity begins and ends with Ellen. She gives me orders. I can only be around other people during times like this.
I have no social life.
Not that I mind. What would I do?
Read?
Of course, I still watch.
“Ms. Shirley!”
The driver opens the door, flops on the ground.
They scramble to their feet.
Ellen clenches her eyes shut. A vein nearly pops out of her forehead.
She spins around.
“Mitch.”
Mitch bends over. He takes a deep breath.
“Mr. Lyle,” I nod.
Mitch raises a finger. The universal wait-a-minute gesture.
He straightens. His glasses are smashed. One lense was knocked loose, and is dangerously close to falling.
“Ms. Shirley! I’ve… I’ve just completed—“
Ellen doesn’t let him finish.
She spits out her cigarette, crushes it beneath her heels. The act is quick.
Cold. Just like everything else she does. There’s a professionalism in Ellen that I find, and don’t tell her this, positively frightening.
“Finally.”
I freeze. My ears have picked up…
… the cacophony is louder now.
Closer. Closer still.
As if it is about to pop out from behind those skyscrapers, roaring, screaming, laughing, blowing those trumpets.
Which means—
I instinctively step back.
I raise my weapon, causing several passersby to duck.
Goosebumps flare up and down my arms. Neck hair rises.
We are tied. Being fictional, we sense each other. I hate myself sometimes.
Ellen notices my reaction, and she smiles.
A sweet smile. One that is awfully familiar. Her very own version of puppy dog eyes.
“Time to do your job, Marvin.”
4
Ever seen something completely, utterly incomprehensible?
Seeing a Bled-Together is like that. Except even worse.
You can only see one part at a time. The whole thing would cause your reality to collapse. Survivors routinely get institutionalized.
Which is why I can hear—
“DO NOT LOOK UP. DO NOT LISTEN. JUST RUN.”
Mitch has hit the automated voice system in his van. It is neither male or female, perfectly androgynous.
He wipes his forehead with a beige sleeve. He wears the traditional uniform of a low-level field agent, a full-body suit. Sweat dampens harsh fabric.
A pair of headphones hang around his neck.
Ellen ignores him. She ignores everyone.
Aside from me.
Speaking of—
“You gonna deal with that?”
I turn back towards my employer.
“R-right.”
I’m not normally flustered. Or scared.
But this is definitely not a normal situation. The size of the Bled-Together says it all.
A hand slowly curls around the roof of a skyscraper. Glass shatters from inhuman pressure. Shards rain down.
I strain my eyes. The hand is multicolored, patches melting together.
There are also mini-hands forming it. Victims sway in the air. Fingers wriggle like worms.
A jet passes by. It launches a missile.
The missile curls downward. An explosion ripples, adding yet another drum-beat to the entertainment for the evening.
Another thing about Bled-Together?
Their presence throws the Laws of Physics into disarray.
Gravity. Light. Mathematics. They go screwy.
Which makes attacking them exceedingly difficult.
At least with traditional weaponry.
Ellen shoves me forward. “Good luck, pal.”
She darts away. She drags Mitch along with her.
They bend underneath a line of META tape—like police tape, but green—before vanishing among the crowd.
I watch as yet another hand emerges. It punches through another skyscraper.
It isn’t long before the head shows up.
Before then, I calculate the important numbers. Five-hundred feet tall. Ten city-blocks long.
A melting marshmallow containing countless eyes. Innumerable mouths gape, teeth gnashing. Tongues slither all over its skin.
It is dripping wet. Coagulating flesh and blood.
Ink slides down its lumpy, lumbering form. There are people trapped beneath it. They haven’t escaped.
Contamination spreads.
Contamination.
Ellen wasn’t lying.
The cacophony did it no justice. The situation is beyond bad, it is cancerous.
“Holy moly.”
I squint through the scope. My finger rests on the trigger.
Ol’ Eraser hums impatiently. That’s my weapon. Ol’ Eraser. Not creative, I know.
But I’m not the creative one.
Ellen is.
I’m just the created.
…
The Bled-Together strikes first.
I barely set my sights on the thing before it swivels its eyes.
A pulsating iris implodes. A couple of mouths open, and the shrillest screech I have ever heard bursts free. Everything goes fizzy.
Tendrils slash.
I duck, tuck, and roll a hundred feet.
Destruction falls around me. Bolts from battered vehicles. Bricks pulverized into dust. Entrails.
Some poor META field agents missed hazing week.
Always duck, tuck, and roll. No matter how far you think you can throw yourself.
I dash. Avoiding crumpled grills and bumpers. Shelter is key.
The tendrils rise. They hover in midair.
But not for long.
Those eyes quickly find me, the buffoon walking around in a brown trench coat and black slacks.
Another eardrum-exploding scream.
High winds.
I have found shelter.
Lobby is empty. Nobody sits behind the desk.
Polished floors reflect my sweaty face. Janitors are gone. Nobody ignores an evacuation order, especially if META has issued that order.
Booms rock the building. A vase slides.
I take a shortcut. The velvet chair would make Ellen look like a delicate China doll.
It also clips my shin. I feel nothing.
There are a few elevators. Three in total. One of them is open, light shining like heaven.
Waiting for me.
I appreciate it, god. But I’d rather not be trapped in a tiny, metal box.
I sweep a wide arc. To the right.
Towards the stairwell.
…
Fifteen stories later.
I can’t feel pain, but I am aware of time.
5
Killing a Bled-Together is difficult.
Like I said before, you can’t use regular weapons. Missiles will just bend around it.
Nor can you cut at it with a sword. The blade might damage the skin, but it’ll also spray hazardous materials in your face. That defeats your purpose.
Only weapons specifically crafted by people with certain skills work.
Like mine. Ol’ Eraser.
Ellen is talented. She created me as a child, after terrible circumstances left her both motherless and fatherless.
I was her imaginary friend.
Her guardian. Her hero. Her knight in shining armor, who’d come to her rescue.
A scared little girl needed hope. Protection.
And I offered her that protection.
Now… I’m her employee.
Her best employee.
Killing a Bled-Together is difficult.
But not impossible.
Even if it was, I’d do anything for that scared little girl, who has grown up into a brave, beautiful woman.
…
The roof is devoid of air conditioning units, elevator cable holders.
Wind cast my black hair fluttering. My coat acts as a cape.
I shield my eyes with an arm.
Birds take off flying. I hear them being swiped out of the sky.
The Bled-Together doesn’t seem to notice me. Something has distracted it.
I roll. I peer over the edge of the apartment building. What I see makes my blood boil.
“What the—“
Ellen stands before the abomination. She is smoking another cigarette.
Her body can barely compare. Only the cord lets me know precisely where she is.
And where she is…
… is…
A random eye twirls. I duck, taking cover.
I proceed to slap my forehead a couple times.
“What’s taking you so long?”
Her voice cuts through the anger. She sounds so calm. Which makes the anger flare up again.
I grind my teeth. “Why are you here?!”
The Bled-Together still doesn’t sense my presence. It leans forward.
“I asked you a question.”
Images flash. Ellen in a body bag. Ellen melting into a puddle of ink.
Ellen dead. Ellen forgotten. Ellen discarded. Ellen.
I pinch my end of the cord tight.
“Get out of here, princess. Do you not notice that the thing is drippin—“
“Hey. Dumbass. Do you not notice that I’m waiting?”
“Waiting for what?”
I can practically hear her chew the cigarette.
“For you to do your job.”
Right.
My job.
I sigh, calming myself down.
Ol’ Eraser weighs on my shoulder. The bullets growl. They really want to put the Bled-Together down.
As do I.
I turn back around.
I set the barrel. It rests against the ledge.
My eye finds the scope. Crosshairs fill the entirety of my vision, the world turns bright green.
I use a gun for the same reason Ellen smokes. Because I have to.
We both suffer from our own little problems. Hers is apathy, while mine is codependency. A need to be of her.
Like she’s my mother.
Which… I mean, yeah. She did create me.
But that’s besides the point.
The Bled-Together has quieted down.
No more hissing. The word salad is cold, uneaten. Whoever was laughing now sits calmly.
The trumpets are gone. Replaced by silence.
I’m honestly grateful for this respite. I wouldn’t be able to aim with the cacophony blasting at full volume.
Killing a Bled-Together means hitting an important spot. You have to destroy the original victim, the so-called core. That holds the whole mess together.
It provides the basic biological material. The rest is attached.
In this case? Finding the core is difficult.
Mr. Hodgepodge here is bigger than any we’ve dealt with. Its body doesn’t fit inside the range of my scope.
I’m zooming all over the place, trying to locate the core.
Eyes are everywhere. So are mouths. Patches of fabric stick out.
Police uniform. White shirt. Blue jeans. I blink back tears when I see a couple Santa hats.
Ellen taps her foot. Each flick sends shockwaves through my nerves.
I try to think.
In moments like this, which are not rare, I review what scant information is available.
Ok.
So.
Miguel And Michael. Law firm.
Law firm means lawyers. Lawyers typically wear suits. Suits usually consist of black jackets and pants, white shirts, and ties.
Ties.
Ties!
I nearly miss it.
Stripes.
Not the haphazard constitution of disarrayed absorption. A purposeful design.
The fabric flutters. It happens to be trapped between two mouths, which are halfway up the thing’s side.
I sweep the scope back.
The core is never actually located in the center.
I take a deep breath. Steady my heartbeat.
I press the trigger.
…
The Bled-Together dies.
It does not scream. All of its mouths open, all at the same time, gaping.
But word salad is not passed around. Snakes do not hiss through megaphones. Trumpets remain silent.
A printer simply beeps.
6
By morning’s first light, META cleans up.
Body parts are swept.
The ink faces flamethrowers.
Those who were contaminated, and managed to survive, are led into vans designed for this exact purpose.
Hazmat suits momentarily regain their popularity.
META holds a press conference. A blonde with bright blue eyes and a plastic smile stands before reporters salivating for answers. She goes through the motions.
I am never mentioned.
I like it that way.
So does Ellen.
She waits until I get back down. Her cigarette becomes a stump. It dies.
When I approach, she digs around her breast pocket. Seconds pass. Our ears ring from the gunshot.
Her hand returns.
I smile at its contents.
Ellen smirks. “This will do, right?”
“Yep,” I nod.
And I take the money.
It’s my birthday today.
I’m 23 now.
God do my bones hurt.
“Propaganda”
Believe all you see. Trust your eyes, ears, lying mouths. Ignore that which is born from others. Choose the side helping only you. Burn the honest.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“Slaughterhouse”
Some days brought escapes. Holes in pins. Men lying on the scarlet floor, bleeding. Vans being parked outside. Most left him with complaints to burn. But others simply made him long for a quick, somniferous bolt.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“Connection”
Through her eyes, I saw it. It. That which I lacked. What I was denied. The jigsaw piece. The clue. The key to repair. I finally saw the light, and felt the warmth. Knew others. A loving home. Coddling mother. Present father. Then she looked away.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“Young Child’s Word Association”
Taught. Scolded. Educated. Chastised. Helped. Disciplined. Tutored. Corrected. Enlightened. Punished. Illuminated. Illuminated. Enlightened. Light. Lit. Lit on. Lit. Bright.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
““Great writing leaps off the pages, but the worst of it literally comes to life. Enter META: an agency tasked with curbing such invasions of reality.
Eternally clad in a trench coat, Marvin and his trusty weapon Ol’ Eraser work closely together with his META handler, Ellen. Bound by an unusual connection that transcends imagination, they once more team up to confront a dangerous horror that emerged from the darkest of margins…”
The official synopsis of Inked Up, the first short story in the Marvin Missions series!
Coming May 27, 2022!
Season 2 of The Entity Photos begins Monday.
I know all these paragraph long stories are getting hold, folks. Just bear with me. Full length stories are coming soon. In June.
“Prey”
Birds are chirping. I can hear them in the bushes. Up in the trees. This causes my leg much irritation, and it groans again. It does no favors for my open head, either. Vessels wrinkle. Blood flows more freely. But the worst part about all this is that some birds aren’t even chirping. Some are simply watching. Some are just waiting.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“The Act,” my next flash fiction collection!
20 pieces, each only a paragraph long!
Tales of psychological fiction and horror.
On Wattpad!
Act One begins June 13, 2022.
Act Two begins July 4, 2022.
“The Act”
Pain. Suffering. The act of bleeding. Crying for one’s salvation. For something else to come. The delusion of prayer. Hope. Struggle. Hatred being exposed by love. Unrequited.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“Vector”
A cough. Just a little cough, from somewhere, anywhere, in the dark. Anyone could have made it. Everyone knows that. It echoes. It lasts. So does the fear. Someone whimpers, then breaks, spilling themselves all over. Sobbing. Pleading. So do the gunshots.
Want More: https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“Black And White”
The little boy has lost sight of his mother. One moment, she was holding his hand. Now she isn’t. Nobody is. The little boy cries, but no one holds him, comforts him, feeds him. Leads him. The mall has gone completely gray, like a misplaced photo.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“At The Bottom Of The Deep, Dark World”
Footsteps. Daniel can hear them from all around. He can’t see who’s making them. But he can tell. Heavy feet. In heavy boots. Boots being scraped against metal. They echo, orbit his head. They fill the inside of his diving helmet.
Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine
“Certain organs within the entity are discolored.”
10/?
Originally shared via Twitter on March 4, 2022.
Season 1 finale.
“The entrance to the entity’s second floor.”
9/?
Originally shared via Twitter on March 3, 2022.
“The entity’s bones resist even the most powerful drill.”
8/?
Originally shared via Twitter on March 3, 2022.
“The dermis within one of the entity’s bladders.”
7/?
Originally shared via Twitter on March 2, 2022.
