Old drabbles (mine and other community members’ from the recent past) + new word list at the end:
mechanical
She’s gentle with the key as she turns it several times, paying close attention to the tightening of the spring on the mechanical music box so as not to break it. And as she releases the key, Sia hears a soft, sweet melody start to play. It’s unknown to her but even with the delicate metallic tings of each note, she can feel sadness in the tune. As it continues to play, she hears a faint sobbing coming from beside her as a wavering woman starts to materialize, her shoulders rising and falling with each whimper.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
autonomous
Benja’s at some hipster artist’s gallery showing, on the verge of going crazy amidst the vapid faux-important chatter. The entire setup is something out of a novel with how carefully kitsch and quirky everything is, from the mismatched vintage furniture, to the semi-ironic playing of old country music nobody there listens to, to the uninspired pop art being presented.
“Pabst is garbage beer and your work is fake as fxck,” he finally blurts to the host, a hush coming over those gathered.
“And stop calling it your autonomous robot vacuum,” he adds, seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s a fxcking Roomba!”
Follow || Oskar
He pulls his hair into a low bun for ease then nudges the bridge of his glasses up with a middle finger. The follow through was always the hardest part, his job really never got easier but the initial jump remains absolute bullshit. A mortal body on a metal table, dead from an unknown force, is before him and Oskar rests one hand upon their arm, palm to cold skin. To any outsider, it’s sympathetic compassion but he knows better. Soon he’ll die just the same. Only Gaia is on his side and so he might wake with answers. That’s taking one for the team.
Ache || Ariki Kipa
“Right, Right, all set.”
The smile comes naturally, the deal is struck. A shiny, old dagger with a curious effect in exchange for a book with a gilded gold cover of finches. Ariki got the book and his client snagged the steal. A total rip off by value, monetary value anyway. But there’s something here, the penmanship marking up the contents stirs an ache in the deep. A face and a feeling quite queer, fuzzy from a hundred years forgotten, so peculiar and worth so much more.
Timing || Frankie Darling
Frankie tries again, the beat slowing in tempo, her voice humming along with the strum of chords. Midway through the bridge, her palm stops the guitar with a frustrated and abrupt twang.
“God dang…Timing? What is even with this lead up!” She laughs, her tone a touch annoyed.
A voice emits from the laptop open in front of her where she sits in her cozy living room.
“I don’t know,” Her father jokes, “Maybe I need to hear it for the 500th time.”
Consideration || Nikhil Roscoe
Cold sweat, headaches, fatigue. Nikhil pushes his hair back, wearing the stress of an awful time upon him. As sick as a dog and regarded just the same, not that he expects strangers to care. How can you feel like a live wire but be so tired all at the same time? New York traffic blurs by, steely pops of chrome zipping by. This traffic light takes forever. For a brief moment, his thoughts suggest to not wait at all. Just walk forward. But after careful consideration, Nikhil stays on the street corner instead until the walk signal blinks to life and beckons safely.
Maladay || Narcisse
It’s late as Narcisse locks up after work. It had snowed some earlier, but that had been followed by rain and the end result was a startlingly raw, crystalline bite that made him shudder and pull his scarf up over his nose.
The deep shadows of night are even deeper here, dark and thick in corners, climbing walls like some malignant malady that will only be partially eased by the light of dawn. He looks upward, past the shade and the tenements and squats, to the sliver of purple-grey sky that’s visible from his current position. A single star winks down at him, and he smiles because he knows without a doubt: somewhere far away, Elias is looking at the sky, too.
Teeth
“What up, Cheetara?” Benja sidles up alongside Medrina, grinning.
She rolls her eyes, sighing. “Cheetara? Real subtle. This is why you’re such a good secret agent. Top tier.”
Benja’s grin widens. “I was gonna go Panthro.” He admits. Medrina groans immediately. Benja smirks. “You know, for the authenticity.”
She sighs again.
“What about Catwoman?” he asks curiously.
“My ex used to call me that,” she admits, glancing at him.
“Oh yeah? Halle Berry or Michelle Pfeiffer?”
“Really?” Medrina eyerolls. “Eartha Kitt.”
Benja grins again, looking her over. “I could see that…”
She smiles with all her teeth. “Stop seeing it.”
Mood
The zombie before them was probably someone Alana could have chilled with before the fog came. She’s rotting so it’s hard to distinguish her age, but the skinny jeans, the remnants of a Chuck Taylor on one foot, and the Janet Jackson tee she’s sporting give off a vibe that before all this she was probably alright. Now, though, she wants to eat their faces off and devour their brains. One operative fires a shotgun right at her chest, obliterating the center of the t-shirt like a cartoon. The zombie looks down and releases a blood-curdling scream. Alana nods. “Mood.”
_
Sarsaparilla
‘Old Dad’s Sarsaparilla’ the label on the dark brown bottle read. The fact that Susie’s still had anything in it was surprising, or maybe someone was having the place restocked. Dan twisted the cap off the bottle and took a swig. “You sure you want to do this,” the cowboy spoke, depositing the cap into the front pocket of his jeans. The thing roared again and took two large, menacing steps forward. A hideous mass of tentacles and muck. “Suit yourself.” Dan nodded, and then threw the bottle.
Petrichor
It happened again. Brydon found himself regaining consciousness, the thing with which he shared his existence having deposited him into unfamiliar surroundings. His head pounded furiously, and he opted to stay in his current position, laying on his back and staring up at the roof of an abandoned warehouse. He opened his mouth, working his sore jaws, they were always like that, though he wasn’t sure why. There was a horrible taste left in his mouth, presumably due to the culinary tastes of the eldritch horror, but it was always dulled by the scent of petrichor which lingered on him.
Word prompt list:
poltergeist
follow
doll
coffee
New word: phosphorous