#original fiction
Agent Jam finally manages to escape the hotel room he’s been held captive in for the past three days, but the guilt and insecurity over having failed his new team still sits heavy in his mind.
or
Jam escapes for a little bit, but Team SA37 f**king sucks at communication, so Jam offers himself up as bait almost immediately. (originally posted under the URL @agentangst on August 4th, 2021)
WARNING: brief/non-graphic vomiting, slight interpersonal conflict, lack of communication, swearing, less than optimal sense of self-worth, brief mention of needles, kidnapping, manhandling, suffocation
—
“Come on… Come on…” Finally, with one last awkward rub of his head against his shoulder, Jam managed to dislodge the blindfold and shake it off.
“Oh, ow…”
His head hurt like hell, and it had nothing to do with the two hits he had received that day. He was just so damn thirsty. Not to mention hungry. And tired. But Jam could not afford to focus on that, not yet, not while he had only one more night to escape this damned hotel. It was either that or risk being taken to a second location.
Jam took a deep breath, waited for the throbbing in his head to die down at least a little, and took a look around the hotel room that had become his own little corner of hell. The lights were turned out, as usual, but the city lights shining through the balcony door still provided ample enough illumination for Jam’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“All right, all right, all right,” Jam murmured to himself, “let’s figure this out.”
An unpleasant and cynical thought wormed its way into Jam’s head as he looked about the dark shadows for some form of salvation. Asking him just what the hell he expected to be different about this night compared to the last two nights. Reminding him that he’d already gone through this song and dance twice and was still stuck in the exact same position.
Jam determinedly ignored that thought.
What the hell else was he supposed to do, anyway? Just sit and wait to be tortured some more? Screw that.
Jam craned his neck around, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was behind him. All he could see was the table, still bearing the remains of Cyrus’s recent and wholly unnecessary dinner. The man had been getting ready for a damned gala. Why the hell did he feel the need to have a meal before then? Jam knew the answer to that of course, but it still pissed him off and made his empty stomach cry out in anguish. Cyrus hadn’t even finished the meal - half the lamb meat still sat drying out on the little glass plate, the silverware set carelessly on top of it.
Wait–
“Holy crap…” Jam felt his heartbeat pick up, and with it, his breathing. “Holy crap…!”
Cyrus’s followers had actually forgotten to remove the remnants of Cyrus’s meal! The silverware was still left on the table, including the knife!
Why? Had they just gotten lazy? Or were they caught off guard by Cyrus’s impromptu decision to continue torturing Jam this night?
Hell, Jam didn’t know, and he didn’t care either because that was salvation right there! Adrenaline fueled Jam’s muscles as he gripped the chair he was tied to and began the slow and precarious process of inching himself towards the table.
The chair was heavy. The soft carpet caught at the legs easily. Jam nearly tipped over backwards once or twice, sending his heart shooting up into his mouth.
“It’s okay,” Jam whispered breathlessly. “It’s okay. Almost there.”
Finally, after what had to have been at least a half hour of grunting and struggling and nearly falling over, the chair bumped against the side of the table, the dinnerware clattering lightly upon contact. With a little bit more maneuvering, Jam managed to turn the chair just enough for him to be able to bend forward and grab the knife in his teeth.
‘Yes!’
Within ten minutes, the ropes that had been keeping Jam in place for the past three days were in severed pieces on the carpet floor. Jam quickly joined them as he stood up and immediately collapsed, his legs failing him and his headache flaring in protest.
“Owwwwww…”
Eyes tearing, hands clutching his head, Jam slowly and carefully got to his feet and stumbled over to the minibar. Three and a half empty water bottles later, Jam stumbled back over to the table and inhaled what remained of Cyrus’s dinner. It was a bit chewy, a little over seasoned, and Jam felt like he wanted to throw up immediately afterward, but at least his hands weren’t shaking as much anymore.
“Okay,” Jam muttered, wiping his mouth. “First thing’s first…”
He had to get himself cleaned up a bit before finally leaving this room. Jam didn’t know exactly what he looked like, but he could safely assume he did not look like someone who should be walking through a luxury hotel. And the bathroom mirror confirmed that, yep, he looked as shitty as he felt. The soap and washbasin couldn’t fix his greasy hair, nor the welts around his wrists, nor the bags under his eyes, but Jam still did his best to wash away the sweat and make his hair at least look like it belonged to someone who wasn’t on drugs or something.
As Jam dried off his face, he gave himself another glance in the mirror. “Guess that’ll have to do…”
And finally, finally, he was stepping outside that damned hotel room.
Jam tried his best not to look dodgy as he walked briskly towards the elevators. He couldn’t see anyone else on the floor, but he was acutely aware of the cameras. Still, it was really hard to not just go sprinting down the hallway. Jam jabbed at the elevator button repeatedly as soon as he reached it.
The nightmarish thought of Cyrus or one of Cyrus’s followers cornering him in a glass box ended up having Jam turning towards the stairs before an elevator had even arrived. The trek downward was literally dizzying, and Jam had to pause a few times to take a breath and allow his still wobbly legs a moment to rest.
“Doing better than I expected…” Jam chuckled drily as he leant against the handrail. “All things considered…”
The hustle and bustle of the gala was far louder than Jam expected when he eventually reached the first floor of the hotel. But then again, he had been stuck in a largely quiet except for the sound of his own screams hotel room for the past few days. Wincing, Jam turned to walk away from the source of the sound, only to bump into someone heading in the opposite direction and get knocked back onto his ass.
“Oh geez, I’m so sorry…!” Jam exclaimed instinctively as he awkwardly attempted to get back to his feet.
“Jam?!”
Heart skipping a beat, Jam looked up and got a good look at the person he had bumped into. “Agent- Agent SA37…!”
Before Jam could even think to wonder what on earth his boss was doing here, SA37 grabbed Jam by the bicep and pulled him to his feet.
“Where the hell have you been, rookie?” SA37 hissed.
Jam shook his head dumbly. “Hotel room. Cyrus, he– My cover got blown.”
“Your cover got–?” SA37 suddenly cut off, putting a hand to his ear.
“Boss,” Jam spoke up, his mind finally catching up fully to the present, “what are you doinghere…?”
It wasn’t like Jam wasn’t very, very, very grateful to see the team leader, but his mind was still reeling. What did their investigation have to gain from infiltrating Cyrus’s charity gala?
Wait… That was supposed to have been hisjob.
“We’ll talk in the van,” SA37 replied roughly. “Come on.”
Jam’s bicep was released, and SA37 turned and strode back the way he had been walking from. Jam shook himself and quickly trotted after him.
Five minutes later, Jam was climbing into the back of the team’s rental van parked just across the street from the side of the hotel. Inside the van, Agent 707 looked up sharply from the computer.
“Where the fuck have you been…!?” he snapped.
SA37 climbed in after Jam, slamming the door behind him. “That’s what I want to know,” the team leader said stonily.
Jam looked between the two senior agents before sinking down to the floor of the van with a sigh, head in his hands. “Cyrus found out. That I was Double Eye.”
“37.” Tigress’s voice spoke from the computer, sounding tight, but steady. “Do you need me to return to the van?”
SA37 placed a hand to his ear again, saying, “Just keep mingling for a bit, Tigress. Tell us if anything changes with Cyrus.” Then, he turned his sights back on Jam. “What do you mean he ‘found out’? How did he ‘find out,’ Jam?”
“I don’t know…!” Jam replied agitatedly. “There was no indication that he suspected a thing! It still seemed like he was totally buying my cover! And then he asked to meet at the hotel early, and I could tell something was off, but he’d been a bit stressed the past few days so I didn’t think about it until we were all in that freakin’ hotel room, and he told me that he knew, that- that he could… see through my lies or something…!”
Jam took a deep breath and scrubbed at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Looks like you got your ass handed to you,” 707 said bluntly, looking pointedly at Jam’s wrists.
Jam winced and nodded. “I mean… Yeah… Cyrus has been trying to indoctrinate me for the last few days, keepin’ me tied up in the hotel room, electrocuting me, trying to convince me to follow him–”
His voice cracked. Jam coughed, scrubbed at his eyes again, before looking up at his teammates tentatively.
“So what’re you guys doing here…?”
“We were looking for you, dumbass!” 707 snapped.
“Oh…”
SA37 hissed through his teeth, running a hand back through his hair. “Shit. I knew this wasn’t a good idea.
Jam felt his stomach churn, and he cringed. “I’m sorry, boss…”
“Dammit, Jam, that’s not–”
“I fucking told you,” 707 exclaimed.
“Seven, now is really not the time for that,” Tigress’s voice spoke lightly from the computer.
“The newbie got caught by a cult leader, Tigress…! Just let me be pissed off!”
“Iknow…!” SA37 shouted, causing Jam to sink further against the side of the van. “Jam got caught. Clearly, giving him that job was a lapse in judgement on my part.”
Jam clutched at the front of his t-shirt.
707 sat back slightly, some of the aggression leaving his body language. “Damn right…”
“What’s our next move, 37?” Tigress asked.
“So we’ve been compromised,” SA37 stated. “Pain in the ass, but fine. At the very least we’ve confirmed Cyrus is using aggressive indoctrination tactics, so we aren’t just investigating some harmless cultist.”
“Oh, so something good came out of Jam getting kidnapped by a damned cult,” 707 intoned.
Jam’s stomach jolted.
SA37 groaned. “Seven–”
Jam bolted for the back of the van, throwing open the door and throwing up the sad contents of his stomach onto the street.
“What the hell?!”
“Jam, what’s–?!”
It was over as quickly as it had started. Jam retreated back into the van, closing the door behind him.
“Cyrus wants me for something,” he mumbled hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What?” SA37 stared at him, bewildered.
“What the hell is happening right now?” Tigress demanded.
“Kid just threw up out the back of the van,” 707 reported, looking just as bewildered as SA37.
“Oh god, is he all right?”
“Cyrus doesn’t have any grand plans,” Jam said loudly. His voice was a little shaky, but he was at least confident he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “At least not that I can tell. He just surrounds himself with a bunch of young people who hang onto his every word because he’s convinced them that he values them. But apparently he’s… chosen me for something. I don’t know what, but he very much wants me alive.”
707 frowned. “Okay…”
“Do you know why?” SA37 asked.
“I don’t– He… He just said that he thought I was ‘worthy,’ even though I’d tried to deceive him.” Jam tugged at his hair awkwardly.
“Well,” Tigress murmured, “that’s something at least.”
SA37 narrowed his eyes at Jam, as though searching for something. “Jam?”
There was an order underlying that one word, and Jam complied. “I could be bait.”
“What?” Tigress hissed.
“No.” SA37 shook his head. “No. Not happening. Especially not after what just happened.”
“No, no, no, boss, please…!” Jam sat up straight, looking at the senior agent with desperation. “Look, you could just stick a tracker in me, see where Cyrus usually keeps the dissenting members, and that’ll be like– like– It would do a lot for the investigation…!”
“Yeah, and it would also do a lot for your eventual hospital bill,” 707 retorted snidely. “Didn’t you just say this guy’s been fucking electrocutingyou?”
“It- It’ll be fine…!” Jam mentally cursed himself for stuttering. “Look, like I said, Cyrus doesn’t want to kill me! I’ve already confirmed that!”
“Maybe he’s planning to turn you into his fucking boy toy or something, ever think about that?” 707 all but snarled.
Jam recoiled. “What?”
“Hemeans,” Tigress butt in tightly, “there are worse things than getting killed, Jam. What you’ve been going through for the past three days? It could be nothing compared to whatever else Cyrus has planned.”
“I know, I know, but…!” Jam groaned, fear and guilt and frustration making him want to curl in on himself, before once again turning desperately to the team leader. “Boss, please…! I know I messed up, and I just want to fix this!”
“It’s a pretty damn stupid way to fix it,” SA37 retorted sharply. “This is your third mission, Jam…! This shouldn’t have even happened to begin with!”
“I know!” Jam’s voice came out slightly thick, and he clutched at his shirt agitatedly. “I’m sorry!”
SA37 shook his head with a growl of frustration. “I don’t want you to apologise–!”
The team leader cut himself off and there was a subsequent moment of suffocating silence. 707 was frowning at the metal floor of the van, Jam was trying to swallow back the tightness in his throat, and SA37 was staring off in some arbitrary direction with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Okay.” SA37 finally spoke again, sounding calm, but stern. “Pitch me your plan, rookie.”
Jam coughed. “Um, huh…?”
“Convince me. Convince me that your bait plan won’t make the two of us regret the rest of our lives.”
A second chance. Agent SA37 was willing to hear him out. Jam could not mess this up.
Straightening up with another cough, Jam said, “Cyrus wants me alive. I don’t know what for exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s not for…” He glanced at 707. “Um… That.”
“‘Pretty sure’?”
“Certain,” Jam amended with a nod. “The guy shows very little interest in that kind of thing. He just wants these kids to hang onto his every word and live the lives he says is best. But he’s not…”
Jam frowned, gesturing vaguely as he tried to figure out how to best continue his case. “…His indoctrination tactics are… not exactly aggressive?”
A skeptical hum emanated from the computer.
707 scoffed. “God, newbie, if you don’t consider getting electrocuted aggressive–”
“That’s not what I mean,” Jam cut in, sounding just a bit more frustrated than he would have liked. “I mean the… electrocution is the most aggressive tactic he used. Otherwise, Cyrus prefers not to use physical violence. He’s more focused on, like, the mind games and the psychological, on making you feel uncomfortable and miserable–”
Jam stopped, shook himself, and continued., “The point is… I can take it. Even if I pretend to fall under Cyrus’s influence, I won’t be there long enough for him to really start, y’know, getting to me… ‘Cause you guys will know where I am, and you can get me whenever you need to…!”
707 grumbled something under his breath, looking away. SA37 fixed Jam with a hard stare.
“…And you’re sure you want to do this,” he stated.
Jam swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I can do it.”
“37,” Tigress said dubiously.
SA37 leant forward, pointing at Jam with a grimness that matched his expression. “I’m trusting you on this, rookie.”
707 groaned, tilting his head back.
“Dammit,” Tigress muttered.
“But.” SA37 kept his eyes and finger fixed on Jam. “If this goes too far, then that’s it. We can’t keep you in the team.”
Jam felt his heart drop. “Ah, well…” He chuckled nervously for lack of a better reaction. “No pressure, I guess.”
“I’m serious, Jam. I don’t want you taking any more risks than necessary. Understand?”
“…I understand, boss.”
SA37 seemed to relax just a little. “Good. Seven, do we have any trackers?”
With a sigh, 707 sat up and grabbed for a case sitting towards the front of the van.
“I swear to god, you’d better be careful, Jam,” Tigress said.
“I’ll try my– I mean, I will.” Jam nodded for emphasis, briefly forgetting that Tigress couldn’t actually see him.
707 approached Jam with a small cylinder in his hand. Jam couldn’t stop the “oh, god” from tumbling out of his mouth upon seeing the needle protruding from one end of the cylinder.
707 raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to not tell you this is gonna hurt, newbie?”
“Sonuva…” Jam pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and grit his teeth. “Just get it over with.”
—
“Jam is heading back through the emergency exit now.”
“Roger that.”
Tigress snagged a hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter and began to casually make her way through the crowd of lavishly dressed people. “…I do hope you know what you’re doing, 37.”
“He wants to prove himself,” the team leader muttered. “If we handle him with kid gloves, he’ll just think that we think he’s not good enough.”
“He does seem to care a lot about that,” Tigress conceded.
“Seems to care about a lot of things,” 707’s ostensibly irreverent voice mumbled in Tigress’s ear. “That’s part of his problem.”
No one responded to that. Tigress knew that they all thought the same thing. Perhaps it was just all of them being jaded by this job and the losses they had suffered through it.
“He may be annoying,” 707 finally added. “But I’d rather he not, y’know, die.”
“…Like I said, if this turns south, I’ll recommend him for another team,” 37 intoned.
That was if Jam survived should the plan turn south, but Tigress kept that thought to herself. It was very much unnecessary, and once again, she knew they all shared the thought anyway.
Tigress stopped at one of the side entrances to the ballroom and stood there, looking appropriately bored but polite. Soon, out of the corner of her eye, she could see a figure approaching from down the hall. When the figure was about one third away from the ballroom, Tigress turned to look at them. Briefly, very briefly, she and Jam made eye contact, but Jam otherwise looked for all the world like a young man too caught up in his own surroundings to see what was right in front of him.
Perfect.
After a second or two of staring, Tigress quickly approached the closest member of Cyrus’s entourage, a tall man in a plain black suit.
“Excuse me.” Tigress grabbed the man’s arm, and with it, his attention. “Are you security?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “I saw a strange man in that hallway, a shabby looking man, he looked very suspicious, like he didn’t want to be seen–”
“Wait…” Cyrus’s follower had looked close to telling her off at first, but now, he stiffened. “A dark haired man?”
Tigress nodded rapidly, pointing towards the appropriate hallway. “Yes, yes, I saw him in that hallway, and I got worried because he was acting very strangely–”
“I’ll take care of it, ma’am.” The man quickly moved past Tigress, hand already on his earpiece.
“Should I call the police?” Tigress asked worriedly.
“No…! No, don’t worry, me and the rest of security will take care of it.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
The man was gone before Tigress had even finished sighing in relief. Out of the corner of her eye, Tigress could see a few other people moving agitatedly amongst the crowd. Tigress dropped her hands, which she’d had clutched to her chest, down to her sides.
“You play an annoying bitch pretty well, Tigress.”
“Almost as well as you play a vapid moron, Seven,” Tigress retorted.
707 chuckled.
“Go ahead and mingle for a bit more, Tigress,” their team leader said. “Then come back to the van.”
“Roger that, 37.” Tigress grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and sighed. “I hope this works out…”
—
After Tigress left his field of view, Jam halted and turned to walk in the opposite direction. No sense in making himself look suspicious (or like a complete idiot) by deliberately entering a room full of people. His heart pounded in his chest and he stumbled over his feet slightly.
“Okay, okay, okay, I can do this…”
Jam rubbed at his arm. It was still sore from the tracker that had just been stuck into him, but the pain was oddly reassuring.
The bustle of the ballroom began to get fainter as Jam walked farther and farther away from it. His footsteps were almost nonexistent against the hallway carpet, so all he could really hear was the crowd behind him and his own pulse. Still, when the back of his neck prickled, Jam couldn’t help but take a glance behind.
“Oh,shit…!” Jam bolted. He didn’t even need to consider slowing down a bit before the Cyrus follower who had been stalking him from behind snagged the back of Jam’s shirt and yanked him backwards.
“Let g– Mmphm!” A hand slapped over Jam’s mouth cut off his frantic snarl while an arm around his waist lifted him off his feet.
“You caught him?” someone exclaimed in a sotto voice.
“Quick, we gotta get him out of the way…!”
Close quarters fighting and combat had never been Jam’s forte. At best, he was below average. With that in mind, Jam thrashed and squirmed and screamed with everything that he had as he was carried off into some side room. He kicked and clawed and felt his shoe connect with something.
“Ow! Goddammit!”
“Are you okay?”
The follower Jam had just kicked in the face waved off the third follower’s concern, feeling gingerly around their nose. The third follower gave Jam a very ugly glare, which Jam returned, accompanied by an attempt to get another kick in.
“How did he get out?” the third follower hissed.
“I don’t know,” the follower restraining Jam said through grit teeth. “But we can’t get him back upstairs like this.”
The second follower stood up straight, hand falling away from their face. “Just choke him out and we can claim he passed out.”
Oh, shit.
The hand clamped over Jam’s mouth moved to cover his nose as well. Panic, real and unacted, had Jam pulling and clawing at the hand as his ability to breathe was forcibly halted.
A part of Jam reminded him that it would be all right, that he wasn’t going to die and that the team knew exactly where he was. That part was not nearly as loud as the part screeching at him to fight! scream! breathe!
“Relax,” a voice rumbled through Jam’s heartbeat bruised chest. “Mr. Cyrus just wants to help you.”
Jam jerked his head frantically. He kicked and flailed and pulled, his chest spasming in desperation.
His lungs began to burn and his vision began to tunnel. Frantic, muffled cries turned into wretched, muffled whimpers.
Weak and twitching fingers slowly lost their grip and fell to his side. He felt his eyes close and his body go limp.
“Good…”
His last thought was that of hoping for no regret, mixed with aimless pleas.
Derek stared at the grave in front of him, someone had brought his wife flowers recently.
It would probably have been his mother-in-law, she had absolutely destroyed when Beatrice had died.
His wife had suffered a long, drawn out illness. One that the doctors, no matter how much they tried, could not heal, until she finally lost her battle.
He decided against kneeling, the message he had for his wife could be said standing up, “You know Bea, I never thought that I’d be free of you.”
As soon as he spoke, the wind picked up and a Beatrice’s voice came from behind him, “And you never will.”
Viola did her best to not to scowl.
All around her, people dance, sang and talk in merriment at the formal induction of her brother, James as Crown Prince and Heir of their father’s kingdom.
It was a bitter cup to drink from.
It was a slap in the face, a constant reminder that her father did not think her worthy to follow in his steps. That she would never sit on the throne, even if she was the older of the two.
She stared at her plate, she could not go to her room and weep, so she did the next best thing, eat and drink.
Lydia did not hear the door open, nor the footsteps approaching, she only woke up when she felt a hand on her forehead.
It wasn’t until a hissed, ‘Shit, fever’s really high,’ that she realize that it was Juliet, her roommate.
The moment Lydia opened her eyes well, she regretted it and closed them again, “What?”
“Lydia,” Juliet’s voice was soft, softer than she could remember ever hearing it, “we need to get you to a doctor, now.”
The rolling of her stomach made her want to throw up, but Lydia knew that Juliet was right, “Okay, help me?”
“Sure thing, hon, come one, let’s go.”
The phone call came in the middle of the night, waking my wife and I.
“Hello father,” the voice on the phone said, “it’s me, Annie. I should be going home soon, I’m making my way back to you, all these years I have missed you.”
The receiver nearly fell out of my grasp and I felt myself shake like a leaf, I looked at my wife with big eyes and said, “It’s Annie, she’s coming home.”
My wife turned pale and gasped, when I spoke again, I could hear the trembling in my own voice, “Okay, Annie, come home.”
After hanging up, my wife clutched at me and she felt cold; I was sure that I was trembling, Annie couldn’t be coming home, after all, we killed her ten years ago.
“The body of of a man was found in the woods, authorities say that it was badly decomposed and dismembered, no identification has been made so far.”
My husband turned the television off with a deep sigh, “Well, there’s another one.”
“Indeed,” I said before I took a sip of my coffee. “And this one is yours too.”
My husband glared at me, but nodded with an air of defeat, he didn’t seem happy to know that another of his victims had been found, “Current score, four of mine, two of yours.”
I smiled; at this rate, I would be winning our bet, “Seems like I’m winning.”
I stood frozen in front of my daughter’s closet. Then, I gathered my wits, closed the door and said, “There is nothing there, baby.”
I walked to her bed and picked my daughter in my arms, rocked her for a bit.
“But daddy, there is, I heard it,” she sobbed against my shoulder.
I turned the lights off and did my best to be as silent as I could as I walked towards the door. I knew that was the only way to escape that thing and get out of the house.
Legend always said, that the witch who managed to catch a rainbow would be granted immortality.
It had been Marina’s goal since she was a child to catch one, to be the one whose name would be remembered, someone who made a legend of herself.
And so, she had tried. Over and over she had chased after rainbows since she was old enough to understand what immortality would mean. Old enough to know that it would be the only way to get what she wanted.
But as she stared at the rainbow in her hand, watching quite enthralled as the colors stained her hands, she realized that no one had told her what happened after she had caught it.
Alexander stared at the child his weeping wife had just presented him.
It was a newborn babe, very pretty one at that, but definitely, not his. How could the child be his, when he had just returned after a year of war?
At once, he understood what this meant.
His poor wife looked terrified, and he could not blame her – he knew of men who killed their wives for this, but he would not harm her, it wasn’t her fault.
Instead, he kissed her forehead and took his sword and shield, Zeus was going to die.
Luella stared at the flames.
It really was the only thing she could do, even if they surrounded her, she didn’t feel the burn. But she hated the fact that she would be naked at the end of this none sense.
She sighed, this was a mess of Johan’s making, that harebrained idea of burning her in the woods without witnesses, ah fanaticism, what a joy.
When she saw his wide eyes, she said, “Haven’t you heard? Witches don’t burn.”
Vincent didn’t knew what to do.
Magic had been forbidden by his late grandfather, and his father had cracked down those who still practiced it in secret. Magic was outlawed and punished by death should anyone be caught using it.
It was something that didn’t make sense, but then again, his grandfather had been a bitter old man who wanted to be right all the time.
The rumor was, that his grandfather had been rejected by a witch, which had soured him on both love and magic.
And now here he was, unsure what to do, after all, how he was going to explain his sudden ability to talk to animals?
Eleanor looked as ‘the boss’ walked to his office with cup of coffee and sighed.
It was wrong. So very, very wrong not to say anything.
How could they notspeak up, knowing that something had killed their boss and took their place, even if the thing wore the boss’s skin?
She had tried to say something once, but her co-workers shushed her and told her to mind her own business, that the boss had simply changed for the better.
But she knew what that meant, they were silent because they liked ‘the thing’, because whatever it was that had taken over, was much kinder and nicer than their original boss had been.
Once upon a time, Philip would have cared what his mother would say.
But that day had passed, how could he leave behind the two babies that he held in his arms?
No, he was many things, but he refused to abandon his children. And that is the only thing that waited for him should he take his mother’s throne.
The babies mother, his love, had passed during childbirth and his grief was palpable, but he would not crumble, his children needed him.
So, he made the decision: goodbye crown, goodbye kingdom and hello fatherhood.
They took their coffee and thanked the barista.
And as they were walking out, about to take a sip of their latte, they noticed something written in their cup besides their name.
It read, ‘You’re beautiful.’
They froze, and after a moment they began to smile, they turned towards the barista, who was attending another customer.
They didn’t have time right now, they had an appointment, but they could always return later and slip their number to the barista.
With a plan in mind, they walked out.
Victoria stared at Melissa as if she had grown a second head. “You do realize,” she said slowly, “that your parents hate me, don’t you?”
Melissa rolled her eyes and snorted, “I know that. I am aware they think you’re responsible for everything all the way back to the original sin, but, please?”
“I hate you so much,” Victoria responded, closing her eyes, knowing that what she was going to do was madness. “But then again, I am your friend, and I would get to have fun to mess with your parents, count me in.”
Wherewith Thy Churches Blaze
Written for this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt: “setting heaven on fire” (inspired also by Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II, which I’ve been studying at uni recently)
Word Count: 242
“Why should a king be subject to a priest?
Proud Rome…
I’ll fire thy crazèd buildings, and enforce
The papal towers to kiss the lowly ground!”
- Christopher Marlowe, Edward II(Act I, Scene IV)
The torches blazed in their sconces, casting flickers of flame across the walls of the castle hall where the King paced restlessly. The ghost of a kiss lingered on his lips like the remnants of a bittersweet poison. His favourite, his heart, his everything - banished,cast asunder across an endless grey expanse of sea.That one word, banished,weighed heavier upon him than the loss of a thousand kingdoms ever could.
All this, brought about by hands that claimed to be friends. Treasonous conspirators, all of them, the peers and the clergy both. Worst of all, they were happy. They reveled in his misery, in his loneliness, and for what? So that they might feel less insecure in their own fragile superiority?
The King sank down onto his throne and put his face in his hands. Slowly the crown, that heavy circlet of ruby and gold, slid from his head and clattered to the floor. What did it matter? What was it worth, to be the head of state, when the laws of God denied him the only chance of happiness that could be?
The torches blazed in their sconces, the fire reflected in the anger in his eyes as his despair hardened into resolve. He would have his beloved by his side once more, even if he had to set Heaven itself on fire to do it. Some might have called it sacrilege; others, blasphemy.
The King called it love.
Last Line Tag IV
Thanks for the tag @emelkae (sorry this has literally taken me weeks!)
Okay, this one is from a ~new wip~ set during the Scottish Witch Hunt of 1597:
She wasn’t one of them, not any more: she was a witch, or so they said, and what courtesy or clemency could they owe to a witch?
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Find the Word Tag II
Thanks for tagging me @emelkae
All of these are from somewhere in Our Forgotten Devils
1. Right
A candle holder that had caught my attention before. Upon closer inspection, I find that my initial assessment was right: it is indeed, a severed hand. Shrivelled and blackened, nailed to the wooden stand by its wrist, holding the pale candle tightly between brittle fingers. An embossed label stuck to the base identifies it as a “hand of glory”.
2. Answer
“Alex,” I say, my voice shakier than I would like, “What the fuck is going on?” I feel like it’s all I’ve asked for the last forty-eight hours, and I’m beginning to think I haven’t gotten an honest answer even once.
3. Quiet
“If you want my help, then you need to start telling me the truth. All of it.”
For a moment, Alex is silent. He swallows hard and takes a shaky breath. “Okay,” he finally says, in a voice so quiet I doubt for a second if I really hear it at all, “Okay.”
4. Alive
I felt alive when I was with him, more so than I ever had before (or, for that matter, since).
5 was supposed to be cute, but apparently, I’ve never used the word cute in my life! (Seriously, went through several wips and it is nowhere to be found, curiously enough)
Open tag! For anyone who wants to, your words are Fate, Fear, Never, Loss, and Magic
Find the Word Tag
Thank you for the tag @fiercely-raging-writer
Crash(fromOur Forgotten Devils)
I take another worried glance over my shoulder. “Can’t you go any faster?” I ask.
“Not unless you want me to crash!” Alex says sharply.
The car pulls out and speeds up until it’s driving alongside us. I try to get a look at the driver, but the windows are tinted so dark I can’t see a thing. Whoever’s driving, they turn inwards, pushing hard into the side of us.
Burn(ed)(from Our Forgotten Devils)
“You look so much like your father.”
Abruptly, Alex drops her hands as if they’ve burned him. His flinch is slight but clearly visible nonetheless.
Scent(from Our Forgotten Devils)
Beneath the pervading scents of sandalwood and frankincense lies something else, something that I can’t quite place, but it makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust all the same. I feel like I should recognise it, but it’s too faint for me to determine what it is.
FuriousFury(from a micro-wip titled Clytemnestra’s Confession)
I needed to be over there, needed to see her, hold her, needed to snatch the dagger from Agamemnon’s hands and plunge it into his chest. But Achilles held fast, stubbornly refusing to let me go. I struggled and fought in vain until all my fury drained away and I slumped forwards, sobbing. When he finally let me go, I collapsed.
Open tag!
my muse: excerpt
“You are more to me than all art can ever be.” - Oscar Wilde, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’
Excerpt #1
James had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. He much preferred to keep it securely tucked inside his chest beneath the cashmere layers of his sweaters. He would likely never have spoken to Adrien at all, would’ve been too shy to even attempt it, had Adrien not chosen during one of the class tea breaks to speak to him first.
Before long, James had found himself looking forward to class in a way he never had before. Some mornings, he took the spiral stairs two at a time. He dreaded the moment of class ending almost as much as he longed for it, because Adrien always hung around afterwards for just a few moments to talk to him. And James had grown familiar with the envious glances of his classmates because, of all the interesting and talented people who milled around the studio, Adrien - bright, charming, vivacious Adrien - had chosen to speak to him.
That was the other reason why the prospect of submitting the painting tomorrow filled him with dread: it meant that the project was over, that Adrien’s job was finished, that James no longer had the means or the excuse to see him every other day.
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