Day 24093 This is myhouse. I won’t allow anyone to harm it. There should have been no more intruders after the last one. I do not want these people here. They willleave-
Day 24095 They are siblings. They are loud. Always singing and talking and stomping. As if they must be louder than anything else.
Day 24106 There are bolts on the door now. Bolts and hideous, gaudy new locks. Howdarethey-
Night 24112 I was going to fill the night with terrors. But he woke up screaming before I began. She came running from the other room. They sleep right across the hall from each other, with the doors on a crack. …they are young, are they not, to be living on their own. Was I ever so young?
Day 24114 She has fixed the squeak in the door at the top of the stairs. It never squeaked when I still lived.
Day 24121 The noise of the doorbell scares them. But they get so many deliveries. It is a good bell. It has worked all these years- I can see one of the men coming now with his packages, trudging up to the door. …perhaps if I knock before he is here, they will come and look before he can sound the bell.
Day 24129 He is planting flowers in boxes on my windowsills. I always wished I could have some flowers.
Night 24137 She is afraid of the dark. I could see it in her eyes when she got out of bed. …I lit the lamps for her.
Day 24142 They have moved the couch to the sun spot a little to the right of the window. That is where I used to have my armchair. It is the only sensible place for it.
Day 24163 Sometimes the noises of the world are suddenly too much for him. He winces and tries not to sway his head. This is my house. …I can keep it calm and quiet for a while.
Day 24178 She just got a phone call and now they are both laughing. Laughter is a good sound, isn’t it. They said this house has been good luck…
Night 24205 They are singing in our kitchen. He found my cookbook in the gap at the back of the kitchen cabinet and now they are trying to cook. They wanted to start with the soufflé. They don’t even know how to make béchamel! I turned the page to the casserole instead.
Day 24236 This is my house. These are myboarders. I won’t allow anyone to harm them.
Warmth washed over my face and I was suddenly aware of the brightness of my surroundings. I opened my eyes and immediately squeezed them shut again as a stream of sunlight caught me right in the pupils. I rolled over onto my stomach, rather unsure of where I was laying down, and tried to push myself onto my elbows, but my right arm groaned in pain. I opened my eyes again and saw a stretch sunlit pavement in front of me, which continued on to meet a brick wall and a chain link fence.
Taking care not to put weight on my right arm, I sat up onto my knees and had a rush of dizziness that lasted a few second. Once it had passed, I looked around. I had no idea where I was at, just that it looked like an alleyway or side street. I felt terrible; my bottom lip ached and felt like it was somewhat swollen, my right arm throbbed like it was about to fall off and when I looked down, I understood why: three oblong wounds split the skin on my forearm. They had dirt and dried blood caked against them, and I desperately hoped that they looked worse than they actually were. Besides that, my back and hips felt stiff and sore from who-knows-how-long I had been laying there on the pavement. There were minimal blood spots on the ground from my arm, so I guessed that I must have gotten the gashes before I had laid down in the alley.
The difficult thing was, though, that I really couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there. I tried to reach back in my memory banks and pull up what had happened, but I quickly found that I couldn’t remember anything. What really scared me was that I couldn’t even remember my name. I barely even had a clue as to what I looked like. /Brown hair/, I thought, /maybe black, with dark eyes to match?/ I searched around for a reflective surface, but there wasn’t one around.
Unsure of what to do next, I dug my hands into the pockets of my grimy jeans and pulled out the contents, hoping to find some clue to my identity in their midst. In my left hand was a handful of cash, but nothing else. I didn’t take the time to count it. In my right hand were a few wadded-up receipts, two quarters, and what looked like a crumpled business card. I pushed the contents back in my pockets except for the business card, which I smoothed against my knee and examined.
On the front was a fish skeleton logo, and under it in embossed letters read “Andie’s Fish Market”. Below that was a listing of hours of operation and an address. I decided to track down the store and start to piece my memory together from there.
It took me about two hours of wandering around and asking directions (and deflecting questions of, “Are you alright??”) before I finally found Andie’s Market. I pushed the door open and heard a bell chime above me. Standing behind the counter was a middle-aged, bronze-skinned Mexican man wearing a wonderfully pleasant smile. He handed his customer a bag, bid her a good day, then turned his attention to me.
“Hey! Glad you’re back! I have your order in the freezer, let me go grab it real quick,” he said, then disappeared into the back before I had a chance to react. A few moments later, he came from behind the counter and handed an oblong package wrapped in newspaper to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He threw his head back in what sounded like genuine laughter. “Good one, that was really quite clever,” he beamed. “If you have any issues, you just come right on back to see me.” There was a finality to his statement that clearly told me that I shouldn’t ask questions or make comments. I looked between him and the package in my hands and decided not to.
“Yeah, um, thanks,” I said awkwardly. “Um…have a good day.”
“You, too, señorita.”
I turned around without a backward glance and walked out onto the street. I caught a passer-by’s arm, asked him where the nearest, cheapest motel was, and he relayed some directions to me. I thanked him and forged on. I wanted to see what was in the package; I had a suspicion that it wasn’t just fish, or at least I hoped that it wasn’t. I found the motel, b.s.’d my way through the paperwork to get a room for the night, and paid with the cash in my pocket.
As soon as I pushed my way into the room, I locked the door and closed the shutters, then settled down to examine the package. Taped to the front was a receipt with the word “over” scribbled across the bottom. I carefully peeled receipt off and turned it over; there was a handwritten note on the back.
“Sam, I repaired your phylactery, but it wasn’t easy. I don’t know how well it’ll work, you may have to bring it back so I can do some adjustments. Just be really careful when you open it. Thanks for trusting me. -Andie P.s., good luck with the Trial, and God be with you, Angel.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed, thoroughly confused, but I pushed on. I set the note down and tore open the newsprint wrapping, but to my disappointment, all that was inside was a hunk of frozen fish. I sat there for a moment, really unsure of where to go from there. That had been my only chance at finding out who I was, and it had just ran into a dead end. I supposed I could go back and talk to Andie and see if he had any other clues, but I was suddenly feeling extremely worn down and lethargic.
I tried my best to cover up the fish again so I could toss it to the side and lay down, but I stopped short when I heard something fall and clink on the floor. I leaned over and small object by my foot caught my eye. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a necklace, and a rather pretty one at that.
I scooped it up and examined it; the chain was a simple but strong silver spiral link, hanging from the end was a small glass vial that had once been broken, but was now repaired using veins of silver, and inside the vial was a swirling green and blue, shimmering mist. The vial’s cork was held in place by an ornate silver clasp, which I carefully undid. I took a deep, steadying breath, gripped the slender cork between my forefinger and thumb, and pulled it out.
**This writing belongs to myself (Xan Overton, tumblr urls xanovertonbooks,livingbiohazard, and the-darkest-spark). Please do not repost (reblogs are welcome and appreciated <3) and do not remove these credits. Enjoy!**
Currently enjoying: Horns by Joe Hill. This book. This has such a unique premise. I would never want anyone to tell me all their truths and innermost thoughts. That would be scary and uncomfortable as hell. But it’s useful when you’re looking for a murderer.
Yueliang was still musing on her “sad situation” when she arrived home. Several hours in the soulless Office of Strategic Services listening to the quiet whine of the heating system gave her a powerful craving for something stronger than her usual peppermint tea. Her typical twenty minute drive turned into twice that––not that she learned the reason why when the traffic picked up again. Sitting in the car, drumming her short nails against the steering wheel, she felt her upper lip twitching with the desire to argue why she was fine without a partner.
A vibrant businesswoman, unafraid to use every weapon in her arsenal to get the job done, Sorcha Dunaid is a force few reckon with and escape unscathed. Red-haired, brown eyed and possessing a honeyed, malt whiskey voice, first impressions imply she’s fun in the bedroom. The impression isn’t wrong, but she’s equally dominating in the boardroom. It’s a mistake to assume her good looks and charm are her only attributes. Her lightning quick wit and fierce intelligence are sharper than any blade, and she has no reservations cutting her enemies down to size. And she has plenty of them. They hide on the fringes, scavengers waiting for a bigger predator to arrive and take a chunk out of her. Leave her bleeding and weak, so they can devour what remains. Sorcha’s guard remains strong, she won’t fall so easily. Not in any business deal, and not to any pretty face offering to buy her a drink.
Ina Howell, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and a long way from the sleepy Welsh village of her childhood. She’s brought a piece with in the form of her younger brother, Lewys, and cousin Ghenha. Working at a research hospital in Seattle, her goal is simple: find a cure for her brother’s genetic illness before it kills him. He says they’ve got time. She knows better. She didn’t become a doctor by accident. All those books she read while studying informed her of the terrible things coming to her brother before he dies. She won’t let that happen, and why can’t her bosses understand her urgency? She told them what she needs to do, but they drag their heels. If she weren’t so level-headed she’d think there’s a conspiracy, and the annoying Japanese man harassing her isn’t helping matters. Although, his expression when he fails at lecturing her is kind of cute.
With the perfect poker face, Belias couldn’t tell if this was a set up or if she was serious. It could go either way. “Look into? Professionally or otherwise?”
Sorcha ducked her head and laughed. “Are you still mad about my little trick?” Warm brown eyes met steely onyx. She drew in a sharp breath. “You are!”
Dissolving into giggles, Belias had to wait for Sorcha to regain her composure before he replied. “You set me up.”
She flapped her hand. “Oh pish. It’s hardly my fault you won’t make the first move. He’s adorable and you look good together. I did you a favour.”
“Don’t tell me, you ‘ship it’,” he replied, making air quotes with his fingers.
She laughed, “Belias, you’re so pre-millennial.”
A dark brow shot up. “Did you just call me a baby boomer?”
More laughter. “Hardly! You’re far too booming to be a boomer, darling.” A notification on her phone had her rising from her chair. “Time to play with a real boomer and all his misogyny.”
Belias followed two paces behind, saying, “Try not to ruin his ego too much, you still need his vote when you go to the board.”
Ryang Ji-hoon has the unfortunate luck to look like a member of a boyband. You might think otherwise, but for Ji-hoon, who needs to be invisible when he works, being asked for his autograph and getting his picture taken all the time makes his work so much riskier. A late arrival to the Brotherhood, Ji-hoon’s training went to extremes to get him ready alongside his peer group. His gratitude to Hisakawa Kagegorou carried him through the worst of it; reinforcing the reminder it was this or prison. He mentally cut ties with parts of his personality to cope, but still couldn’t wrap his head around how the organisation made its members grateful and willing to carry out assassinations for them. The money’s alluring, along with other perks, but late at night when he can’t sleep, Ji-hoon wonders why one stupid mistake as a teenager cost him so much. Maybe that’s why when he sees the chance to break from the Brotherhood he doesn’t think too much about consequences before leaping.
If there’s one thing Ambrose hates, it’s not knowing the answer. A genuine moment of confusion where he’s left fumbling for a reply. It happens most in social situations, and who can blame him? What is the right thing to say to the right person at the right time? It’s no wonder he sticks to the fringes, staying out of sight. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact he’s just dropped something lethal in a passing glass and doesn’t want anyone to remember his face or name – not that he gives his real one. Still, he hates not knowing. It sends his lip curling like it’s misidentified with the ones on his head. Ignorance. An unfavourable comparison and expectation to his Rom heritage that lacking an answer equals lacking intelligence. Ambrose hates not knowing. So, it’s natural that when a target takes an interest in him he has to know why. There’s nothing odd in that. He’s doing his job. Knowledge is power, so Hisakawa Kagegorou says.
“Adam” by Christine Griffin 5″ x 8″ graphite and white acrylic on Yupo paper, digitally bedazzled www.quickreaver.com
Created for the delightful Month of Love challenge! This week’s theme: BLUE
It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t draw an attractive man. I think I’m finally getting the hang of arting on Yupo. Graphite slides on so pretty! Next experiment: oils.
In the vast underground cities of México, life flourish, the xantilmeh trade with old and new merchandise in their shops and markets, the youkai, the barbaric invaders of their lands, now live among them, not as an equal, but they try to understand each other, two ways of life collide.
A tipical scene in the underground magical mexican city of Temixtitlan.
The foundation of Temixtitlan it´s lost in the shadows of time, dated it´s foundations to pre-human times, the city was destroyed and rebuilt thousand of times, the great kings of the Xantilmeh ruled the imponent palace of jade, in modern times, the city it´s home of many magic creatures who came from every corner of the known world.
