float_on_alright: don't ruin my story with your logic (keep your logic out of my stories)
I didn’t write anything fictional yesterday after having worked so hard on my Alien Story so I wanted to make sure to play with some fictional prompts today. I did two. In case anyone is curious, the book I'm getting the prompts from is "A Year of Creative Writing Prompts" which has three prompts for each day in a Leap Year. I've liked several of them so far. One of them is what eventually got me to the Alien Story I just wrote though I'd already been thinking I'd never written about aliens before... at least not other than like Thor and maybe a few other aliens from popular culture... that I can remember. Anyway. Point being, like the prompts and the structure even if I'm not using it exactly as it's set up to be used (five minute free write word in the morning and then a  full prompt each for "midday" and "dinner"). 

Anywayyyyyyy, the first one said that the shadows on the wall were talking to me and to describe the conversation. That one I wasn’t in love with because it is creepy and I have to be in the mood to do creepy I think. At the same time I probably could write a story about shadows on the walls and maybe the little bite that I wrote will eventually spin in my head to something else. I’ll definitely hang onto it for later. 

The second one was just a “five minute free write” on the word “circlet” which I expected to be difficult but turned out to be kind of fun. I wrote a little bit that I actually do want to come back to. I’ve been thinking that I want the next story I write to be a sappy Hallmark type (I wanted a number of their Christmas movies while they were doing the “Christmas in July” thing) with angst and fluff and an absurdly happy ending. I just want it to be gay. Hallmark has all the fanfic tropes except no one is ever gay. Or at least none of their main characters are. And I get it -- from a brand standard thing even if I hate it. I will give them that they have had a slightly more diverse cast as of late. It seems like they have been trying to do a little better so there’s that at least. Anyway, the thing is, I love the schmoop. I do, I can’t help it and I totally want to write queer schmoop. And this prompt could be it. Friends to lovers thing, maybe. We’ll see. I’ll post them here so I can remember to look back at them. 

There are shadows on my wall that shouldn't be there. They aren't there, they can't be there. Except they are. And they're whispering, low and hissing. I stare at the sun and it's trek across the sky hoping for a few more hours of sun but I know there's only a matter of minutes before the light sinks below the tree line. And then it will be dark and the shadows will blend and rise. They're always stronger at night. No one believes me. 

They put me on drugs but they don't help. The shadows are still there but I don't confess to hearing them any more. I don't want them to up the drug dosage again. I can't fight back when the drugs are too strong. And I must fight back. There is no weapon against a shadow that isn't there. But light helps, weakens them. Makes them fainter and quieter than usual and it's a relief on those long summer days that the light is out so long. But it's fall now and the days are shrinking and the nights are stretching and shadows are growing and they're getting louder. They're hisses are more like words now. I can almost make them out. I catch a word here and there and I try to block out the words. They want something. I can tell they want something. I can't tell yet what they want me to do but I'll know soon and I'll have to resist. It'll be so hard to resist. I've begged for more lamps but the desk light and the night light are all I'm allowed. They don't want to validate my hallucinations they say, but I know they're not hallucinations. They're not. 

The circlet sat gently on her forehead and for a moment she looked so positively royal I wanted to bow. I managed to avoid that. If I hadn't she'd have tortured me about it for weeks. My stomach swoops when she laughs. It's a beautiful sound. Like if a flower blooming made a song or you could hear the music of the smell of chocolate chip cookies, sweet and bright. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. She was beautiful, even without the elaborate dress she'd put on for this event and that circlet, as fine and precious as it was, wasn't good enough to sit on her head. It wasn't just that she was beautiful, though I thought she was. My friends always said she was a solid "7" and I understood, sort of. They were just looking at her from the outside. She was pretty but people didn't stop in the street to stare at her... She did get the occasional wolf whistle but we lived in a small town and she had been known to kick a man in the nuts if they got too close to her. She was amazing and I wondered what she was doing hanging around with me. I wasn't anything special. I was basically a 5 on a good day with make up. Someone once suggested she hung out with me because I made her look good, but they didn't know her. And what would be the point of hanging out with me at my house, just the two of us if she was only using me to make herself look better in the eyes of others? Not to mention that she was a total dork. I say that with love and the full acknowledgment that I am also a dork. We had competitions on who was dorkier which was how I knew without a doubt that she was not friends with me just to make herself look better. No one tried to make a fool of themselves like if they were trying to make themselves look better.

float_on_alright: procrastination is hard work (procrastination is hard work)

As a resident of “The South,” aka the southern states of the United States (as if there are no other “southern” regions in all the world, but whatever) I was accustomed to thunderstorms. They’d been a staple in my life for the last twenty-five years, at least, and I really didn’t think anything of them. Usually. Sure, I’d get out of a swimming pool for thunder. Lightening followed as a rule so you really didn’t want to risk being in an open body of water, but otherwise, I didn’t make no never mind. Again, usually.

But as I woke, gasping, the house rattling with the continued booming, I was sure I was about to die. I’d been dead asleep and there was little that would wake me up. This went on. This couldn’t possibly be thunder. It was still going. The house was still shaking. I’d never been in an earthquake so I didn’t know what that was like, but I thought maybe I was finding out now and I should get to shelter in door frame or something because couldn’t be good. The booming overhead though, I didn’t think it was an earthquake. This was probably a plane. And it was probably about to crash into my house. And kill me where I lay in my bed. I closed my eyes again and thought, “Well, if this is it, at least it will be quick.”

The booming faded a little and finally after a few more seconds, stopped. Then, the unmistakable crack of lightening shook my room again but nothing fell to the ground and nothing lit on fire. I was going to live after all. Another bout of thunder rolled over the house, but it wasn’t as intense, it wasn’t as long, and it wasn’t rattling. Just a thunderstorm now. The clouds could no longer bear their heavy weight and I heard the gush of rain against my windows. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to sleep. 

float_on_alright: drink tea and read (drink tea and read)
I did the computer mouse the other day so I thought I'd do the prompt as it was originally described and not as I'd inadvertently read it. It didn't seem right to "check it off" without doing it properly. 

The perspective of a mouse in a cupboard:

The tall ones weren't supposed to be home this early, Fur the 750th of the clan of Browns, thought to himself. They were supposed to be gone for a few more movements of the sun; he was pretty sure. Instead, they hadn't been gone long enough for the sun to have shifted much at all. He could tell from the line of the sun and shadows created by the small crack where the door of the cupboard didn't quite seal all the way closed. He was fairly certain that they hadn't heard him yet though. They seemed to be yelling at each other, and one had slammed the door closed after they'd entered. No, if he remained very still he might just be okay until they had left or gone to bed again. It was hard to understand what they were upset about exactly. The tall ones argued about such strange things. 

"You told me that you'd had the car taken in!" the child bearing one of the two shouted. 

"I did!" the non-child bearing one answered. 

Fur knew they had their own for such distinctions, but he didn't have time to sort out all of their languages. 

"Well then, why the hell did they not miss that we were nearly out of radiator fluid!"

"I don't know, Greta. And I'm sorry. They told me they checked all the fluids. Look," the one showed 'Greta' something he'd pulled from his pocket. Fur didn't quite understand what the slim block could show this Greta, but Greta looked. "See? A charge from the mechanic from yesterday." 

Greta let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, William." All the anger seemed to rush from the tall one in a whoosh. 

"It's okay," William answered. "I know you're worried about your sister, but there's nothing you can do for her right now anyway. And we'll be there soon." 

"Yes, I know you're right." 

"Your sister is going to be okay, love. I promise." 

"You can't promise that." 

Fur understood worry for brothers and sisters. He had some forty siblings somewhere. And several had died already. Theirs was not an easy life. 

"Why don't we get changed out of these clothes and then we'll go from there." The one called William said instead. 

"Okay," Greta nodded her head. William put his mouth on Greta's in a gentle, almost hesitant way. Fur had seen them do this before but didn't understand. The gesture never seemed to follow the same pattern. Sometimes it was all encompassing what they did and led to what Fur thought was mating, but sometimes it led to nothing but a smile or a wave goodbye. Such strange creatures, the tall ones. Fur hoped this meant that he would be free to move soon. 

Greta and William stood together a few moments more and then moved out of the room and up the stairs. Fur breathed a deep sigh of relief and scurried back into the crevice in the wall he'd come through hoping the tall ones would be gone for a while. He senses if he came back after the sun disappeared and reappeared that he would be able to raid their cabinets to his heart's content. He would just have to have a little patience. 


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