#creative-writing — Public Fediverse posts

The Threefold Death

Chapter 1 and 2.5

Chapter One – The Grotto

It was early morning on Big Finn Island, and the first fiery sliver of sun had just peeked above on the horizon. Its golden first light glowed upon a large brass bell which had been hanging in the brick tower of Finn Island Lodge for over two hundred years.

Beneath the bell was perched a large owl, its pin-sharp talons grasping the round iron hand-rail that surrounded the belfry. With wide, unblinking eyes the bird surveilled the expansive green lawns below, head swiveling. There was a small smear of red, red blood around its beak, for the night’s hunting had been a success. Belly full, sun rising, the predator’s night shift was over. Talons released the rail as the bird leaned slightly forward and spread its wings. As it cleared the tall bell-tower, its eyes were instinctually attracted to motion at its base, and while it had no words in its brain that said “woman and dog”, it recognized them as not prey, and flew silently away towards a cool burrow in a tree, where there were young to feed and sleep to be had.

The woman, Diva Charleson, didn’t see the owl of course, because she’d been picking a running playlist on her phone. She started the music and slipped the phone into the waistband pocket of her athleisure leggings, and then Diva bent over and unclipped her beagle, Maui. The two of them set off across the grass side by side, leaving wet tracks in the dew as they headed towards the Grotto.
Yesterday, Jack at the front desk had told Diva that the best running trail on the property (in his opinion) began there. Diva had read the little blurb on the visitor map he’d given her that described the spot: an old stone monument, a place of prayer, that was built long ago after the view from the spot inspired the establishment of the entire castle-like complex that was now the Lodge.
Maui was as excited as ever about some off-leash time, and was running full-speed circles around Diva as they ran across the grass, stopping only when interrupted by a whatever smell would momentarily get his attention. When the duo arrived at the edge of the forest, they were met with a waist-high split-rail fence, upon which Diva saw a sign. The Grotto it began, before listing off the same information she had read on the visitor map. Please, no dogs. Through the trees and ferns Diva could see a strange building. It was sort of square, with a four-sided, pyramid-shaped roof which was covered in moss. The walls and roof looked to be made of thousands of roundish stones, most no bigger than a man’s fist.
Diva looked back towards the Lodge. There was no one around, so she proceeded through the gap in the fence, disregarding the request from the sign about no dogs. She was only running through after all, no harm done. As she came closer to the structure, it became apparent that it was the back of it she’d been looking at. There was a small, clear pavilion in what would be the front, like a sunken living room. A flagstone pathway led around both sides of it, and she took the closer route, on the left. Maui, good dog that he was, followed close behind.
The stone path sank into the ground and turned into steps, before turning to the right. Maui squeezed past Diva’s legs and ran on ahead, as he often did. Then he barked in a serious tone that Diva had never heard before. It was a big boy bark.
Rounding the corner, she entered the pavilion and faced the hollow, covered area that was covered by mossy pyramid of stones she’d seen the back of.
Maui stood in a wide-legged defensive stance, and let out another single, gruff bark; a challenge that said Hey you! Move!
There, on a long, waist-high stone altar, lay the unmoving body of a man.
There was white piece of fabric covering the man’s face.
He was a guest of the hotel perhaps, some guy who’d drank too much on the company dime and fallen asleep in the unlikeliest of places.
There was blood, and there was something sticking out of the middle of his chest.
Maui looked back at Diva as she stepped forward to put the leash back on him. It was time to get out of here.
Maui trotted forward towards the obviously dead man, braver now, and sniffed in his direction, then barked again. Diva watched, transfixed. The body didn’t flinch, not even the tiniest bit.
There were thorny vines wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Maui was licking something on the ground.
Jesus Christ.
“Maui! Come now!” she called, concern and firmness in her voice.
The dog looked back at her, and she beckoned to him with a hand signal. His nose went back to what looked like a pile of puke on the ground.
“Damnit,” Diva whispered to herself as she moved quickly and decisively forward. She saw it was puke on the ground as she swooped the dog up in her arms. She stepped back quickly and then she glanced quickly up at the man on the altar again, only for a second, but closer now. The bloody mess of his torso and neck was worse than a movie. It was real. It was wood that was sticking out of his chest
Diva clipped the leash back onto her dog, then turned and walked back the way she came. Once she was back at the split-rail fence, she pulled her phone from her hip and called 911. Her call was answered after the second ring.
“911, do you need Fire, Police, or Ambulance?”

Chapter Two – Lincoln

To an outside observer, it might have looked like Lincoln was sitting in stasis, waiting for his next case. What he was really doing was meditating, or at least trying to. His therapist had suggested it to him as a way to mitigate certain aspects of his mental make-up, and as a method by which he could more reliably control and soften his responses and reactions in real time. So, he sat comfortably in his nice room, eyes closed, and he calibrated
Lincoln was rotating his attention through all of his sensory inputs minus vision, since his eyes were closed. He could hear the gurgle of the coffeemaker as it pulled the last of the water from its reservoir and dropped it over the grounds, and he could smell the nutty, chocolatey scent of the dark hot liquid in the pot. He could also hear the birds off to his left through the open screened window, chirping and pecking at the feeder, which he had noticed earlier would probably need refilling before the day was through. He could feel the clothing on his skin and his hands on his knees, and the pressure of his legs on each other and on the thin mat beneath him. He could feel his breath, going in and out.
Awareness was the focus of this exercise; environmental, physical, mental. The human body is a sensory machine, and consciousness is its passenger, he’d heard somewhere. He liked the sound of that, even if it did sound like canned social media wisdom. His therapist had told him that meditation would possibly sharpen his already keen senses, along with helping him to deal with the challenges that had led him to seek the practice in the first place.
Noticing his mind had wandered, he inhaled deeply and went back to his breath. Then he heard the gentle ping of an incoming audio call.
“Answer.” He said into the quiet.
A velveteen female voice responded from the desk speaker across the room.
“Good morning Lincoln. Quite sorry to interrupt your meditation, but there’s a DAIS-One contract coming through. It’s in your neighborhood, so you’re up.”
“Acknowledged, Zee. One moment.” Lincoln replied, getting up from his cross-legged position. He’d had enough of meditating anyways.
‘DAIS-one’ was the internal code for a homicide. Murder. King county often contracted these out, as it was only slightly more expensive and if the case didn’t get solved it had no effect on their numbers. Lincoln was incentivized for quick resolution by a pay bonus from DAIS if the case was solved within a week. Quick solves for the county were always touted in the numbers, which meant secure funding, which in a roundabout way meant continued pay for Lincoln. The local politicians may have defunded the police to the point of near-impotence, but polite society still wanted justice for the murdered, which meant it was time to get to work.
Lincoln reached his desk and put on his smart-glasses, which turned on automatically. He put himself in the zone; inhaled, held for three, then exhaled for three.
“Good morning Zeno, go ahead.” He said as he walked to the stovetop.
“Good morning, Agent Strive. There was a 911 call at seven-o-one this morning, placed by a lone woman walking her dog. Dramatic homicide, one known victim, adult male. City patrol has secured the scene, and the forensic team has been alerted. Initial scene photos by patrol are in the case file now.”
“Location?” Lincoln asked Zeno, while pouring a cup of coffee into a mug that read:

if (need_coffee) {
brew();
} else {
debug();
}

“The call originated from a location close to you, Finn Island Lodge.”
Lincoln walked casually over to the large sliding door and looked out over the water, taking a first hot sip.
“I’ve heard of it, been meaning to go there, I understand their restaurant is good. No ID on the victim yet?” Lincoln asked, taking another sip of coffee.
“Negative. His face is covered, and patrol hasn’t touched him.”
“Show me the pictures please.”
The first picture was displayed on the inside of his lenses. He blinked to flip through the pics of the approach and surroundings, until he got to the victim. Man on altar, cloth over face, some kind of stone structure around him. The next pic was up close, centered on a stick protruding from the guy’s chest. The next one was of what appeared to be blackberry vines, wrapped around the neck.
“Ouch. Okay, thanks. What’s the forensics team’s ETA?” Lincoln said, as the pictures disappeared from his vision.
“They’ll be arriving in ten minutes.”
“Is the caller still on scene?”
“Negative, but she’s still on property, She’s a guest at the Lodge and is booked for two more nights, with no plans to leave. Patrol took her statement and cut her loose. ”
“I’ll get ready and leave immediately. Thanks Zee.”
“My pleasure, Agent Strive.”

His glasses bleeped a soft tone via the bone-conductive emitters in the temple tips, indicating the call was closed. It was a white lie though, Link knew the call was never really closed. While he wore the glasses, everything he heard, saw, and said was monitored by Zeno. She was his controller, his partner, and if truth be told, his therapist. Zee kept him on the straight-and-narrow, or at least she tried. Lincoln did his part too, because he liked his job and he wanted to get paid. He wanted to blend in and have a life. He was a psychopath, so it was tricky.

He went to his bedroom garage and finished his coffee as he changed. His dad’s old saying popped through his mind, making a small alteration
Spectacles, weapon, wallet-and-watch.
It wasn’t the original version, but he’d not forgotten his testicles yet.

Thinking of his late father, he lowered the glasses on his nose and looked into the scanner on the safe. Once it was open, he looked over his arsenal and chose the beautiful Korth revolver that had been left to him. He hefted the heavy gun in his hand. ‘If eight rounds of .357 couldn’t get the job done, you’d better reload’ his dad had often said. Lincoln donned the matching shoulder holster and threw his smart blazer overtop. He holstered the gun and checked himself in the mirror to confirm everything was in order. He was a handsome man; blue-gray eyes, a tanned, lean face with a nordic jaw, all framed by russet curls over wide, muscular shoulders. He turned to his gun side, checking that it wasn’t printing through his jacket, which it was not.
Pleased with what he saw, he headed to the garage.

The Threefold Death

Chapter 1 and 2.5

Chapter One – The Grotto

It was early morning on Big Finn Island, and the first fiery sliver of sun had just peeked above on the horizon. Its golden first light glowed upon a large brass bell which had been hanging in the brick tower of Finn Island Lodge for over two hundred years.

Beneath the bell was perched a large owl, its pin-sharp talons grasping the round iron hand-rail that surrounded the belfry. With wide, unblinking eyes the bird surveilled the expansive green lawns below, head swiveling. There was a small smear of red, red blood around its beak, for the night’s hunting had been a success. Belly full, sun rising, the predator’s night shift was over. Talons released the rail as the bird leaned slightly forward and spread its wings. As it cleared the tall bell-tower, its eyes were instinctually attracted to motion at its base, and while it had no words in its brain that said “woman and dog”, it recognized them as not prey, and flew silently away towards a cool burrow in a tree, where there were young to feed and sleep to be had.

The woman, Diva Charleson, didn’t see the owl of course, because she’d been picking a running playlist on her phone. She started the music and slipped the phone into the waistband pocket of her athleisure leggings, and then Diva bent over and unclipped her beagle, Maui. The two of them set off across the grass side by side, leaving wet tracks in the dew as they headed towards the Grotto.
Yesterday, Jack at the front desk had told Diva that the best running trail on the property (in his opinion) began there. Diva had read the little blurb on the visitor map he’d given her that described the spot: an old stone monument, a place of prayer, that was built long ago after the view from the spot inspired the establishment of the entire castle-like complex that was now the Lodge.
Maui was as excited as ever about some off-leash time, and was running full-speed circles around Diva as they ran across the grass, stopping only when interrupted by a whatever smell would momentarily get his attention. When the duo arrived at the edge of the forest, they were met with a waist-high split-rail fence, upon which Diva saw a sign. The Grotto it began, before listing off the same information she had read on the visitor map. Please, no dogs. Through the trees and ferns Diva could see a strange building. It was sort of square, with a four-sided, pyramid-shaped roof which was covered in moss. The walls and roof looked to be made of thousands of roundish stones, most no bigger than a man’s fist.
Diva looked back towards the Lodge. There was no one around, so she proceeded through the gap in the fence, disregarding the request from the sign about no dogs. She was only running through after all, no harm done. As she came closer to the structure, it became apparent that it was the back of it she’d been looking at. There was a small, clear pavilion in what would be the front, like a sunken living room. A flagstone pathway led around both sides of it, and she took the closer route, on the left. Maui, good dog that he was, followed close behind.
The stone path sank into the ground and turned into steps, before turning to the right. Maui squeezed past Diva’s legs and ran on ahead, as he often did. Then he barked in a serious tone that Diva had never heard before. It was a big boy bark.
Rounding the corner, she entered the pavilion and faced the hollow, covered area that was covered by mossy pyramid of stones she’d seen the back of.
Maui stood in a wide-legged defensive stance, and let out another single, gruff bark; a challenge that said Hey you! Move!
There, on a long, waist-high stone altar, lay the unmoving body of a man.
There was white piece of fabric covering the man’s face.
He was a guest of the hotel perhaps, some guy who’d drank too much on the company dime and fallen asleep in the unlikeliest of places.
There was blood, and there was something sticking out of the middle of his chest.
Maui looked back at Diva as she stepped forward to put the leash back on him. It was time to get out of here.
Maui trotted forward towards the obviously dead man, braver now, and sniffed in his direction, then barked again. Diva watched, transfixed. The body didn’t flinch, not even the tiniest bit.
There were thorny vines wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Maui was licking something on the ground.
Jesus Christ.
“Maui! Come now!” she called, concern and firmness in her voice.
The dog looked back at her, and she beckoned to him with a hand signal. His nose went back to what looked like a pile of puke on the ground.
“Damnit,” Diva whispered to herself as she moved quickly and decisively forward. She saw it was puke on the ground as she swooped the dog up in her arms. She stepped back quickly and then she glanced quickly up at the man on the altar again, only for a second, but closer now. The bloody mess of his torso and neck was worse than a movie. It was real. It was wood that was sticking out of his chest
Diva clipped the leash back onto her dog, then turned and walked back the way she came. Once she was back at the split-rail fence, she pulled her phone from her hip and called 911. Her call was answered after the second ring.
“911, do you need Fire, Police, or Ambulance?”

Chapter Two – Lincoln

To an outside observer, it might have looked like Lincoln was sitting in stasis, waiting for his next case. What he was really doing was meditating, or at least trying to. His therapist had suggested it to him as a way to mitigate certain aspects of his mental make-up, and as a method by which he could more reliably control and soften his responses and reactions in real time. So, he sat comfortably in his nice room, eyes closed, and he calibrated
Lincoln was rotating his attention through all of his sensory inputs minus vision, since his eyes were closed. He could hear the gurgle of the coffeemaker as it pulled the last of the water from its reservoir and dropped it over the grounds, and he could smell the nutty, chocolatey scent of the dark hot liquid in the pot. He could also hear the birds off to his left through the open screened window, chirping and pecking at the feeder, which he had noticed earlier would probably need refilling before the day was through. He could feel the clothing on his skin and his hands on his knees, and the pressure of his legs on each other and on the thin mat beneath him. He could feel his breath, going in and out.
Awareness was the focus of this exercise; environmental, physical, mental. The human body is a sensory machine, and consciousness is its passenger, he’d heard somewhere. He liked the sound of that, even if it did sound like canned social media wisdom. His therapist had told him that meditation would possibly sharpen his already keen senses, along with helping him to deal with the challenges that had led him to seek the practice in the first place.
Noticing his mind had wandered, he inhaled deeply and went back to his breath. Then he heard the gentle ping of an incoming audio call.
“Answer.” He said into the quiet.
A velveteen female voice responded from the desk speaker across the room.
“Good morning Lincoln. Quite sorry to interrupt your meditation, but there’s a DAIS-One contract coming through. It’s in your neighborhood, so you’re up.”
“Acknowledged, Zee. One moment.” Lincoln replied, getting up from his cross-legged position. He’d had enough of meditating anyways.
‘DAIS-one’ was the internal code for a homicide. Murder. King county often contracted these out, as it was only slightly more expensive and if the case didn’t get solved it had no effect on their numbers. Lincoln was incentivized for quick resolution by a pay bonus from DAIS if the case was solved within a week. Quick solves for the county were always touted in the numbers, which meant secure funding, which in a roundabout way meant continued pay for Lincoln. The local politicians may have defunded the police to the point of near-impotence, but polite society still wanted justice for the murdered, which meant it was time to get to work.
Lincoln reached his desk and put on his smart-glasses, which turned on automatically. He put himself in the zone; inhaled, held for three, then exhaled for three.
“Good morning Zeno, go ahead.” He said as he walked to the stovetop.
“Good morning, Agent Strive. There was a 911 call at seven-o-one this morning, placed by a lone woman walking her dog. Dramatic homicide, one known victim, adult male. City patrol has secured the scene, and the forensic team has been alerted. Initial scene photos by patrol are in the case file now.”
“Location?” Lincoln asked Zeno, while pouring a cup of coffee into a mug that read:

if (need_coffee) {
brew();
} else {
debug();
}

“The call originated from a location close to you, Finn Island Lodge.”
Lincoln walked casually over to the large sliding door and looked out over the water, taking a first hot sip.
“I’ve heard of it, been meaning to go there, I understand their restaurant is good. No ID on the victim yet?” Lincoln asked, taking another sip of coffee.
“Negative. His face is covered, and patrol hasn’t touched him.”
“Show me the pictures please.”
The first picture was displayed on the inside of his lenses. He blinked to flip through the pics of the approach and surroundings, until he got to the victim. Man on altar, cloth over face, some kind of stone structure around him. The next pic was up close, centered on a stick protruding from the guy’s chest. The next one was of what appeared to be blackberry vines, wrapped around the neck.
“Ouch. Okay, thanks. What’s the forensics team’s ETA?” Lincoln said, as the pictures disappeared from his vision.
“They’ll be arriving in ten minutes.”
“Is the caller still on scene?”
“Negative, but she’s still on property, She’s a guest at the Lodge and is booked for two more nights, with no plans to leave. Patrol took her statement and cut her loose. ”
“I’ll get ready and leave immediately. Thanks Zee.”
“My pleasure, Agent Strive.”

His glasses bleeped a soft tone via the bone-conductive emitters in the temple tips, indicating the call was closed. It was a white lie though, Link knew the call was never really closed. While he wore the glasses, everything he heard, saw, and said was monitored by Zeno. She was his controller, his partner, and if truth be told, his therapist. Zee kept him on the straight-and-narrow, or at least she tried. Lincoln did his part too, because he liked his job and he wanted to get paid. He wanted to blend in and have a life. He was a psychopath, so it was tricky.

He went to his bedroom garage and finished his coffee as he changed. His dad’s old saying popped through his mind, making a small alteration
Spectacles, weapon, wallet-and-watch.
It wasn’t the original version, but he’d not forgotten his testicles yet.

Thinking of his late father, he lowered the glasses on his nose and looked into the scanner on the safe. Once it was open, he looked over his arsenal and chose the beautiful Korth revolver that had been left to him. He hefted the heavy gun in his hand. ‘If eight rounds of .357 couldn’t get the job done, you’d better reload’ his dad had often said. Lincoln donned the matching shoulder holster and threw his smart blazer overtop. He holstered the gun and checked himself in the mirror to confirm everything was in order. He was a handsome man; blue-gray eyes, a tanned, lean face with a nordic jaw, all framed by russet curls over wide, muscular shoulders. He turned to his gun side, checking that it wasn’t printing through his jacket, which it was not.
Pleased with what he saw, he headed to the garage.

The Threefold Death

Chapter 1 and 2.5

Chapter One – The Grotto

It was early morning on Big Finn Island, and the first fiery sliver of sun had just peeked above on the horizon. Its golden first light glowed upon a large brass bell which had been hanging in the brick tower of Finn Island Lodge for over two hundred years.

Beneath the bell was perched a large owl, its pin-sharp talons grasping the round iron hand-rail that surrounded the belfry. With wide, unblinking eyes the bird surveilled the expansive green lawns below, head swiveling. There was a small smear of red, red blood around its beak, for the night’s hunting had been a success. Belly full, sun rising, the predator’s night shift was over. Talons released the rail as the bird leaned slightly forward and spread its wings. As it cleared the tall bell-tower, its eyes were instinctually attracted to motion at its base, and while it had no words in its brain that said “woman and dog”, it recognized them as not prey, and flew silently away towards a cool burrow in a tree, where there were young to feed and sleep to be had.

The woman, Diva Charleson, didn’t see the owl of course, because she’d been picking a running playlist on her phone. She started the music and slipped the phone into the waistband pocket of her athleisure leggings, and then Diva bent over and unclipped her beagle, Maui. The two of them set off across the grass side by side, leaving wet tracks in the dew as they headed towards the Grotto.
Yesterday, Jack at the front desk had told Diva that the best running trail on the property (in his opinion) began there. Diva had read the little blurb on the visitor map he’d given her that described the spot: an old stone monument, a place of prayer, that was built long ago after the view from the spot inspired the establishment of the entire castle-like complex that was now the Lodge.
Maui was as excited as ever about some off-leash time, and was running full-speed circles around Diva as they ran across the grass, stopping only when interrupted by a whatever smell would momentarily get his attention. When the duo arrived at the edge of the forest, they were met with a waist-high split-rail fence, upon which Diva saw a sign. The Grotto it began, before listing off the same information she had read on the visitor map. Please, no dogs. Through the trees and ferns Diva could see a strange building. It was sort of square, with a four-sided, pyramid-shaped roof which was covered in moss. The walls and roof looked to be made of thousands of roundish stones, most no bigger than a man’s fist.
Diva looked back towards the Lodge. There was no one around, so she proceeded through the gap in the fence, disregarding the request from the sign about no dogs. She was only running through after all, no harm done. As she came closer to the structure, it became apparent that it was the back of it she’d been looking at. There was a small, clear pavilion in what would be the front, like a sunken living room. A flagstone pathway led around both sides of it, and she took the closer route, on the left. Maui, good dog that he was, followed close behind.
The stone path sank into the ground and turned into steps, before turning to the right. Maui squeezed past Diva’s legs and ran on ahead, as he often did. Then he barked in a serious tone that Diva had never heard before. It was a big boy bark.
Rounding the corner, she entered the pavilion and faced the hollow, covered area that was covered by mossy pyramid of stones she’d seen the back of.
Maui stood in a wide-legged defensive stance, and let out another single, gruff bark; a challenge that said Hey you! Move!
There, on a long, waist-high stone altar, lay the unmoving body of a man.
There was white piece of fabric covering the man’s face.
He was a guest of the hotel perhaps, some guy who’d drank too much on the company dime and fallen asleep in the unlikeliest of places.
There was blood, and there was something sticking out of the middle of his chest.
Maui looked back at Diva as she stepped forward to put the leash back on him. It was time to get out of here.
Maui trotted forward towards the obviously dead man, braver now, and sniffed in his direction, then barked again. Diva watched, transfixed. The body didn’t flinch, not even the tiniest bit.
There were thorny vines wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Maui was licking something on the ground.
Jesus Christ.
“Maui! Come now!” she called, concern and firmness in her voice.
The dog looked back at her, and she beckoned to him with a hand signal. His nose went back to what looked like a pile of puke on the ground.
“Damnit,” Diva whispered to herself as she moved quickly and decisively forward. She saw it was puke on the ground as she swooped the dog up in her arms. She stepped back quickly and then she glanced quickly up at the man on the altar again, only for a second, but closer now. The bloody mess of his torso and neck was worse than a movie. It was real. It was wood that was sticking out of his chest
Diva clipped the leash back onto her dog, then turned and walked back the way she came. Once she was back at the split-rail fence, she pulled her phone from her hip and called 911. Her call was answered after the second ring.
“911, do you need Fire, Police, or Ambulance?”

Chapter Two – Lincoln

To an outside observer, it might have looked like Lincoln was sitting in stasis, waiting for his next case. What he was really doing was meditating, or at least trying to. His therapist had suggested it to him as a way to mitigate certain aspects of his mental make-up, and as a method by which he could more reliably control and soften his responses and reactions in real time. So, he sat comfortably in his nice room, eyes closed, and he calibrated
Lincoln was rotating his attention through all of his sensory inputs minus vision, since his eyes were closed. He could hear the gurgle of the coffeemaker as it pulled the last of the water from its reservoir and dropped it over the grounds, and he could smell the nutty, chocolatey scent of the dark hot liquid in the pot. He could also hear the birds off to his left through the open screened window, chirping and pecking at the feeder, which he had noticed earlier would probably need refilling before the day was through. He could feel the clothing on his skin and his hands on his knees, and the pressure of his legs on each other and on the thin mat beneath him. He could feel his breath, going in and out.
Awareness was the focus of this exercise; environmental, physical, mental. The human body is a sensory machine, and consciousness is its passenger, he’d heard somewhere. He liked the sound of that, even if it did sound like canned social media wisdom. His therapist had told him that meditation would possibly sharpen his already keen senses, along with helping him to deal with the challenges that had led him to seek the practice in the first place.
Noticing his mind had wandered, he inhaled deeply and went back to his breath. Then he heard the gentle ping of an incoming audio call.
“Answer.” He said into the quiet.
A velveteen female voice responded from the desk speaker across the room.
“Good morning Lincoln. Quite sorry to interrupt your meditation, but there’s a DAIS-One contract coming through. It’s in your neighborhood, so you’re up.”
“Acknowledged, Zee. One moment.” Lincoln replied, getting up from his cross-legged position. He’d had enough of meditating anyways.
‘DAIS-one’ was the internal code for a homicide. Murder. King county often contracted these out, as it was only slightly more expensive and if the case didn’t get solved it had no effect on their numbers. Lincoln was incentivized for quick resolution by a pay bonus from DAIS if the case was solved within a week. Quick solves for the county were always touted in the numbers, which meant secure funding, which in a roundabout way meant continued pay for Lincoln. The local politicians may have defunded the police to the point of near-impotence, but polite society still wanted justice for the murdered, which meant it was time to get to work.
Lincoln reached his desk and put on his smart-glasses, which turned on automatically. He put himself in the zone; inhaled, held for three, then exhaled for three.
“Good morning Zeno, go ahead.” He said as he walked to the stovetop.
“Good morning, Agent Strive. There was a 911 call at seven-o-one this morning, placed by a lone woman walking her dog. Dramatic homicide, one known victim, adult male. City patrol has secured the scene, and the forensic team has been alerted. Initial scene photos by patrol are in the case file now.”
“Location?” Lincoln asked Zeno, while pouring a cup of coffee into a mug that read:

if (need_coffee) {
brew();
} else {
debug();
}

“The call originated from a location close to you, Finn Island Lodge.”
Lincoln walked casually over to the large sliding door and looked out over the water, taking a first hot sip.
“I’ve heard of it, been meaning to go there, I understand their restaurant is good. No ID on the victim yet?” Lincoln asked, taking another sip of coffee.
“Negative. His face is covered, and patrol hasn’t touched him.”
“Show me the pictures please.”
The first picture was displayed on the inside of his lenses. He blinked to flip through the pics of the approach and surroundings, until he got to the victim. Man on altar, cloth over face, some kind of stone structure around him. The next pic was up close, centered on a stick protruding from the guy’s chest. The next one was of what appeared to be blackberry vines, wrapped around the neck.
“Ouch. Okay, thanks. What’s the forensics team’s ETA?” Lincoln said, as the pictures disappeared from his vision.
“They’ll be arriving in ten minutes.”
“Is the caller still on scene?”
“Negative, but she’s still on property, She’s a guest at the Lodge and is booked for two more nights, with no plans to leave. Patrol took her statement and cut her loose. ”
“I’ll get ready and leave immediately. Thanks Zee.”
“My pleasure, Agent Strive.”

His glasses bleeped a soft tone via the bone-conductive emitters in the temple tips, indicating the call was closed. It was a white lie though, Link knew the call was never really closed. While he wore the glasses, everything he heard, saw, and said was monitored by Zeno. She was his controller, his partner, and if truth be told, his therapist. Zee kept him on the straight-and-narrow, or at least she tried. Lincoln did his part too, because he liked his job and he wanted to get paid. He wanted to blend in and have a life. He was a psychopath, so it was tricky.

He went to his bedroom garage and finished his coffee as he changed. His dad’s old saying popped through his mind, making a small alteration
Spectacles, weapon, wallet-and-watch.
It wasn’t the original version, but he’d not forgotten his testicles yet.

Thinking of his late father, he lowered the glasses on his nose and looked into the scanner on the safe. Once it was open, he looked over his arsenal and chose the beautiful Korth revolver that had been left to him. He hefted the heavy gun in his hand. ‘If eight rounds of .357 couldn’t get the job done, you’d better reload’ his dad had often said. Lincoln donned the matching shoulder holster and threw his smart blazer overtop. He holstered the gun and checked himself in the mirror to confirm everything was in order. He was a handsome man; blue-gray eyes, a tanned, lean face with a nordic jaw, all framed by russet curls over wide, muscular shoulders. He turned to his gun side, checking that it wasn’t printing through his jacket, which it was not.
Pleased with what he saw, he headed to the garage.

The Threefold Death

Chapter 1 and 2.5

Chapter One – The Grotto

It was early morning on Big Finn Island, and the first fiery sliver of sun had just peeked above on the horizon. Its golden first light glowed upon a large brass bell which had been hanging in the brick tower of Finn Island Lodge for over two hundred years.

Beneath the bell was perched a large owl, its pin-sharp talons grasping the round iron hand-rail that surrounded the belfry. With wide, unblinking eyes the bird surveilled the expansive green lawns below, head swiveling. There was a small smear of red, red blood around its beak, for the night’s hunting had been a success. Belly full, sun rising, the predator’s night shift was over. Talons released the rail as the bird leaned slightly forward and spread its wings. As it cleared the tall bell-tower, its eyes were instinctually attracted to motion at its base, and while it had no words in its brain that said “woman and dog”, it recognized them as not prey, and flew silently away towards a cool burrow in a tree, where there were young to feed and sleep to be had.

The woman, Diva Charleson, didn’t see the owl of course, because she’d been picking a running playlist on her phone. She started the music and slipped the phone into the waistband pocket of her athleisure leggings, and then Diva bent over and unclipped her beagle, Maui. The two of them set off across the grass side by side, leaving wet tracks in the dew as they headed towards the Grotto.
Yesterday, Jack at the front desk had told Diva that the best running trail on the property (in his opinion) began there. Diva had read the little blurb on the visitor map he’d given her that described the spot: an old stone monument, a place of prayer, that was built long ago after the view from the spot inspired the establishment of the entire castle-like complex that was now the Lodge.
Maui was as excited as ever about some off-leash time, and was running full-speed circles around Diva as they ran across the grass, stopping only when interrupted by a whatever smell would momentarily get his attention. When the duo arrived at the edge of the forest, they were met with a waist-high split-rail fence, upon which Diva saw a sign. The Grotto it began, before listing off the same information she had read on the visitor map. Please, no dogs. Through the trees and ferns Diva could see a strange building. It was sort of square, with a four-sided, pyramid-shaped roof which was covered in moss. The walls and roof looked to be made of thousands of roundish stones, most no bigger than a man’s fist.
Diva looked back towards the Lodge. There was no one around, so she proceeded through the gap in the fence, disregarding the request from the sign about no dogs. She was only running through after all, no harm done. As she came closer to the structure, it became apparent that it was the back of it she’d been looking at. There was a small, clear pavilion in what would be the front, like a sunken living room. A flagstone pathway led around both sides of it, and she took the closer route, on the left. Maui, good dog that he was, followed close behind.
The stone path sank into the ground and turned into steps, before turning to the right. Maui squeezed past Diva’s legs and ran on ahead, as he often did. Then he barked in a serious tone that Diva had never heard before. It was a big boy bark.
Rounding the corner, she entered the pavilion and faced the hollow, covered area that was covered by mossy pyramid of stones she’d seen the back of.
Maui stood in a wide-legged defensive stance, and let out another single, gruff bark; a challenge that said Hey you! Move!
There, on a long, waist-high stone altar, lay the unmoving body of a man.
There was white piece of fabric covering the man’s face.
He was a guest of the hotel perhaps, some guy who’d drank too much on the company dime and fallen asleep in the unlikeliest of places.
There was blood, and there was something sticking out of the middle of his chest.
Maui looked back at Diva as she stepped forward to put the leash back on him. It was time to get out of here.
Maui trotted forward towards the obviously dead man, braver now, and sniffed in his direction, then barked again. Diva watched, transfixed. The body didn’t flinch, not even the tiniest bit.
There were thorny vines wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Maui was licking something on the ground.
Jesus Christ.
“Maui! Come now!” she called, concern and firmness in her voice.
The dog looked back at her, and she beckoned to him with a hand signal. His nose went back to what looked like a pile of puke on the ground.
“Damnit,” Diva whispered to herself as she moved quickly and decisively forward. She saw it was puke on the ground as she swooped the dog up in her arms. She stepped back quickly and then she glanced quickly up at the man on the altar again, only for a second, but closer now. The bloody mess of his torso and neck was worse than a movie. It was real. It was wood that was sticking out of his chest
Diva clipped the leash back onto her dog, then turned and walked back the way she came. Once she was back at the split-rail fence, she pulled her phone from her hip and called 911. Her call was answered after the second ring.
“911, do you need Fire, Police, or Ambulance?”

Chapter Two – Lincoln

To an outside observer, it might have looked like Lincoln was sitting in stasis, waiting for his next case. What he was really doing was meditating, or at least trying to. His therapist had suggested it to him as a way to mitigate certain aspects of his mental make-up, and as a method by which he could more reliably control and soften his responses and reactions in real time. So, he sat comfortably in his nice room, eyes closed, and he calibrated
Lincoln was rotating his attention through all of his sensory inputs minus vision, since his eyes were closed. He could hear the gurgle of the coffeemaker as it pulled the last of the water from its reservoir and dropped it over the grounds, and he could smell the nutty, chocolatey scent of the dark hot liquid in the pot. He could also hear the birds off to his left through the open screened window, chirping and pecking at the feeder, which he had noticed earlier would probably need refilling before the day was through. He could feel the clothing on his skin and his hands on his knees, and the pressure of his legs on each other and on the thin mat beneath him. He could feel his breath, going in and out.
Awareness was the focus of this exercise; environmental, physical, mental. The human body is a sensory machine, and consciousness is its passenger, he’d heard somewhere. He liked the sound of that, even if it did sound like canned social media wisdom. His therapist had told him that meditation would possibly sharpen his already keen senses, along with helping him to deal with the challenges that had led him to seek the practice in the first place.
Noticing his mind had wandered, he inhaled deeply and went back to his breath. Then he heard the gentle ping of an incoming audio call.
“Answer.” He said into the quiet.
A velveteen female voice responded from the desk speaker across the room.
“Good morning Lincoln. Quite sorry to interrupt your meditation, but there’s a DAIS-One contract coming through. It’s in your neighborhood, so you’re up.”
“Acknowledged, Zee. One moment.” Lincoln replied, getting up from his cross-legged position. He’d had enough of meditating anyways.
‘DAIS-one’ was the internal code for a homicide. Murder. King county often contracted these out, as it was only slightly more expensive and if the case didn’t get solved it had no effect on their numbers. Lincoln was incentivized for quick resolution by a pay bonus from DAIS if the case was solved within a week. Quick solves for the county were always touted in the numbers, which meant secure funding, which in a roundabout way meant continued pay for Lincoln. The local politicians may have defunded the police to the point of near-impotence, but polite society still wanted justice for the murdered, which meant it was time to get to work.
Lincoln reached his desk and put on his smart-glasses, which turned on automatically. He put himself in the zone; inhaled, held for three, then exhaled for three.
“Good morning Zeno, go ahead.” He said as he walked to the stovetop.
“Good morning, Agent Strive. There was a 911 call at seven-o-one this morning, placed by a lone woman walking her dog. Dramatic homicide, one known victim, adult male. City patrol has secured the scene, and the forensic team has been alerted. Initial scene photos by patrol are in the case file now.”
“Location?” Lincoln asked Zeno, while pouring a cup of coffee into a mug that read:

if (need_coffee) {
brew();
} else {
debug();
}

“The call originated from a location close to you, Finn Island Lodge.”
Lincoln walked casually over to the large sliding door and looked out over the water, taking a first hot sip.
“I’ve heard of it, been meaning to go there, I understand their restaurant is good. No ID on the victim yet?” Lincoln asked, taking another sip of coffee.
“Negative. His face is covered, and patrol hasn’t touched him.”
“Show me the pictures please.”
The first picture was displayed on the inside of his lenses. He blinked to flip through the pics of the approach and surroundings, until he got to the victim. Man on altar, cloth over face, some kind of stone structure around him. The next pic was up close, centered on a stick protruding from the guy’s chest. The next one was of what appeared to be blackberry vines, wrapped around the neck.
“Ouch. Okay, thanks. What’s the forensics team’s ETA?” Lincoln said, as the pictures disappeared from his vision.
“They’ll be arriving in ten minutes.”
“Is the caller still on scene?”
“Negative, but she’s still on property, She’s a guest at the Lodge and is booked for two more nights, with no plans to leave. Patrol took her statement and cut her loose. ”
“I’ll get ready and leave immediately. Thanks Zee.”
“My pleasure, Agent Strive.”

His glasses bleeped a soft tone via the bone-conductive emitters in the temple tips, indicating the call was closed. It was a white lie though, Link knew the call was never really closed. While he wore the glasses, everything he heard, saw, and said was monitored by Zeno. She was his controller, his partner, and if truth be told, his therapist. Zee kept him on the straight-and-narrow, or at least she tried. Lincoln did his part too, because he liked his job and he wanted to get paid. He wanted to blend in and have a life. He was a psychopath, so it was tricky.

He went to his bedroom garage and finished his coffee as he changed. His dad’s old saying popped through his mind, making a small alteration
Spectacles, weapon, wallet-and-watch.
It wasn’t the original version, but he’d not forgotten his testicles yet.

Thinking of his late father, he lowered the glasses on his nose and looked into the scanner on the safe. Once it was open, he looked over his arsenal and chose the beautiful Korth revolver that had been left to him. He hefted the heavy gun in his hand. ‘If eight rounds of .357 couldn’t get the job done, you’d better reload’ his dad had often said. Lincoln donned the matching shoulder holster and threw his smart blazer overtop. He holstered the gun and checked himself in the mirror to confirm everything was in order. He was a handsome man; blue-gray eyes, a tanned, lean face with a nordic jaw, all framed by russet curls over wide, muscular shoulders. He turned to his gun side, checking that it wasn’t printing through his jacket, which it was not.
Pleased with what he saw, he headed to the garage.

The Threefold Death

Chapter 1 and 2.5

Chapter One – The Grotto

It was early morning on Big Finn Island, and the first fiery sliver of sun had just peeked above on the horizon. Its golden first light glowed upon a large brass bell which had been hanging in the brick tower of Finn Island Lodge for over two hundred years.

Beneath the bell was perched a large owl, its pin-sharp talons grasping the round iron hand-rail that surrounded the belfry. With wide, unblinking eyes the bird surveilled the expansive green lawns below, head swiveling. There was a small smear of red, red blood around its beak, for the night’s hunting had been a success. Belly full, sun rising, the predator’s night shift was over. Talons released the rail as the bird leaned slightly forward and spread its wings. As it cleared the tall bell-tower, its eyes were instinctually attracted to motion at its base, and while it had no words in its brain that said “woman and dog”, it recognized them as not prey, and flew silently away towards a cool burrow in a tree, where there were young to feed and sleep to be had.

The woman, Diva Charleson, didn’t see the owl of course, because she’d been picking a running playlist on her phone. She started the music and slipped the phone into the waistband pocket of her athleisure leggings, and then Diva bent over and unclipped her beagle, Maui. The two of them set off across the grass side by side, leaving wet tracks in the dew as they headed towards the Grotto.
Yesterday, Jack at the front desk had told Diva that the best running trail on the property (in his opinion) began there. Diva had read the little blurb on the visitor map he’d given her that described the spot: an old stone monument, a place of prayer, that was built long ago after the view from the spot inspired the establishment of the entire castle-like complex that was now the Lodge.
Maui was as excited as ever about some off-leash time, and was running full-speed circles around Diva as they ran across the grass, stopping only when interrupted by a whatever smell would momentarily get his attention. When the duo arrived at the edge of the forest, they were met with a waist-high split-rail fence, upon which Diva saw a sign. The Grotto it began, before listing off the same information she had read on the visitor map. Please, no dogs. Through the trees and ferns Diva could see a strange building. It was sort of square, with a four-sided, pyramid-shaped roof which was covered in moss. The walls and roof looked to be made of thousands of roundish stones, most no bigger than a man’s fist.
Diva looked back towards the Lodge. There was no one around, so she proceeded through the gap in the fence, disregarding the request from the sign about no dogs. She was only running through after all, no harm done. As she came closer to the structure, it became apparent that it was the back of it she’d been looking at. There was a small, clear pavilion in what would be the front, like a sunken living room. A flagstone pathway led around both sides of it, and she took the closer route, on the left. Maui, good dog that he was, followed close behind.
The stone path sank into the ground and turned into steps, before turning to the right. Maui squeezed past Diva’s legs and ran on ahead, as he often did. Then he barked in a serious tone that Diva had never heard before. It was a big boy bark.
Rounding the corner, she entered the pavilion and faced the hollow, covered area that was covered by mossy pyramid of stones she’d seen the back of.
Maui stood in a wide-legged defensive stance, and let out another single, gruff bark; a challenge that said Hey you! Move!
There, on a long, waist-high stone altar, lay the unmoving body of a man.
There was white piece of fabric covering the man’s face.
He was a guest of the hotel perhaps, some guy who’d drank too much on the company dime and fallen asleep in the unlikeliest of places.
There was blood, and there was something sticking out of the middle of his chest.
Maui looked back at Diva as she stepped forward to put the leash back on him. It was time to get out of here.
Maui trotted forward towards the obviously dead man, braver now, and sniffed in his direction, then barked again. Diva watched, transfixed. The body didn’t flinch, not even the tiniest bit.
There were thorny vines wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Maui was licking something on the ground.
Jesus Christ.
“Maui! Come now!” she called, concern and firmness in her voice.
The dog looked back at her, and she beckoned to him with a hand signal. His nose went back to what looked like a pile of puke on the ground.
“Damnit,” Diva whispered to herself as she moved quickly and decisively forward. She saw it was puke on the ground as she swooped the dog up in her arms. She stepped back quickly and then she glanced quickly up at the man on the altar again, only for a second, but closer now. The bloody mess of his torso and neck was worse than a movie. It was real. It was wood that was sticking out of his chest
Diva clipped the leash back onto her dog, then turned and walked back the way she came. Once she was back at the split-rail fence, she pulled her phone from her hip and called 911. Her call was answered after the second ring.
“911, do you need Fire, Police, or Ambulance?”

Chapter Two – Lincoln

To an outside observer, it might have looked like Lincoln was sitting in stasis, waiting for his next case. What he was really doing was meditating, or at least trying to. His therapist had suggested it to him as a way to mitigate certain aspects of his mental make-up, and as a method by which he could more reliably control and soften his responses and reactions in real time. So, he sat comfortably in his nice room, eyes closed, and he calibrated
Lincoln was rotating his attention through all of his sensory inputs minus vision, since his eyes were closed. He could hear the gurgle of the coffeemaker as it pulled the last of the water from its reservoir and dropped it over the grounds, and he could smell the nutty, chocolatey scent of the dark hot liquid in the pot. He could also hear the birds off to his left through the open screened window, chirping and pecking at the feeder, which he had noticed earlier would probably need refilling before the day was through. He could feel the clothing on his skin and his hands on his knees, and the pressure of his legs on each other and on the thin mat beneath him. He could feel his breath, going in and out.
Awareness was the focus of this exercise; environmental, physical, mental. The human body is a sensory machine, and consciousness is its passenger, he’d heard somewhere. He liked the sound of that, even if it did sound like canned social media wisdom. His therapist had told him that meditation would possibly sharpen his already keen senses, along with helping him to deal with the challenges that had led him to seek the practice in the first place.
Noticing his mind had wandered, he inhaled deeply and went back to his breath. Then he heard the gentle ping of an incoming audio call.
“Answer.” He said into the quiet.
A velveteen female voice responded from the desk speaker across the room.
“Good morning Lincoln. Quite sorry to interrupt your meditation, but there’s a DAIS-One contract coming through. It’s in your neighborhood, so you’re up.”
“Acknowledged, Zee. One moment.” Lincoln replied, getting up from his cross-legged position. He’d had enough of meditating anyways.
‘DAIS-one’ was the internal code for a homicide. Murder. King county often contracted these out, as it was only slightly more expensive and if the case didn’t get solved it had no effect on their numbers. Lincoln was incentivized for quick resolution by a pay bonus from DAIS if the case was solved within a week. Quick solves for the county were always touted in the numbers, which meant secure funding, which in a roundabout way meant continued pay for Lincoln. The local politicians may have defunded the police to the point of near-impotence, but polite society still wanted justice for the murdered, which meant it was time to get to work.
Lincoln reached his desk and put on his smart-glasses, which turned on automatically. He put himself in the zone; inhaled, held for three, then exhaled for three.
“Good morning Zeno, go ahead.” He said as he walked to the stovetop.
“Good morning, Agent Strive. There was a 911 call at seven-o-one this morning, placed by a lone woman walking her dog. Dramatic homicide, one known victim, adult male. City patrol has secured the scene, and the forensic team has been alerted. Initial scene photos by patrol are in the case file now.”
“Location?” Lincoln asked Zeno, while pouring a cup of coffee into a mug that read:

if (need_coffee) {
brew();
} else {
debug();
}

“The call originated from a location close to you, Finn Island Lodge.”
Lincoln walked casually over to the large sliding door and looked out over the water, taking a first hot sip.
“I’ve heard of it, been meaning to go there, I understand their restaurant is good. No ID on the victim yet?” Lincoln asked, taking another sip of coffee.
“Negative. His face is covered, and patrol hasn’t touched him.”
“Show me the pictures please.”
The first picture was displayed on the inside of his lenses. He blinked to flip through the pics of the approach and surroundings, until he got to the victim. Man on altar, cloth over face, some kind of stone structure around him. The next pic was up close, centered on a stick protruding from the guy’s chest. The next one was of what appeared to be blackberry vines, wrapped around the neck.
“Ouch. Okay, thanks. What’s the forensics team’s ETA?” Lincoln said, as the pictures disappeared from his vision.
“They’ll be arriving in ten minutes.”
“Is the caller still on scene?”
“Negative, but she’s still on property, She’s a guest at the Lodge and is booked for two more nights, with no plans to leave. Patrol took her statement and cut her loose. ”
“I’ll get ready and leave immediately. Thanks Zee.”
“My pleasure, Agent Strive.”

His glasses bleeped a soft tone via the bone-conductive emitters in the temple tips, indicating the call was closed. It was a white lie though, Link knew the call was never really closed. While he wore the glasses, everything he heard, saw, and said was monitored by Zeno. She was his controller, his partner, and if truth be told, his therapist. Zee kept him on the straight-and-narrow, or at least she tried. Lincoln did his part too, because he liked his job and he wanted to get paid. He wanted to blend in and have a life. He was a psychopath, so it was tricky.

He went to his bedroom garage and finished his coffee as he changed. His dad’s old saying popped through his mind, making a small alteration
Spectacles, weapon, wallet-and-watch.
It wasn’t the original version, but he’d not forgotten his testicles yet.

Thinking of his late father, he lowered the glasses on his nose and looked into the scanner on the safe. Once it was open, he looked over his arsenal and chose the beautiful Korth revolver that had been left to him. He hefted the heavy gun in his hand. ‘If eight rounds of .357 couldn’t get the job done, you’d better reload’ his dad had often said. Lincoln donned the matching shoulder holster and threw his smart blazer overtop. He holstered the gun and checked himself in the mirror to confirm everything was in order. He was a handsome man; blue-gray eyes, a tanned, lean face with a nordic jaw, all framed by russet curls over wide, muscular shoulders. He turned to his gun side, checking that it wasn’t printing through his jacket, which it was not.
Pleased with what he saw, he headed to the garage.

This right here. I thought I'd share it.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/agoodtuckering/822026065641979904?source=share

#PennedPossibilities #Writer #Author #WritingcCommunity #WritersOfMastodon #AmWriting #CreativeWriting #Fiction

This right here. I thought I'd share it.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/agoodtuckering/822026065641979904?source=share

#PennedPossibilities #Writer #Author #WritingcCommunity #WritersOfMastodon #AmWriting #CreativeWriting #Fiction

This right here. I thought I'd share it.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/agoodtuckering/822026065641979904?source=share

#PennedPossibilities #Writer #Author #WritingcCommunity #WritersOfMastodon #AmWriting #CreativeWriting #Fiction

This right here. I thought I'd share it.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/agoodtuckering/822026065641979904?source=share

#PennedPossibilities #Writer #Author #WritingcCommunity #WritersOfMastodon #AmWriting #CreativeWriting #Fiction

This right here. I thought I'd share it.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/agoodtuckering/822026065641979904?source=share

#PennedPossibilities #Writer #Author #WritingcCommunity #WritersOfMastodon #AmWriting #CreativeWriting #Fiction

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

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Hello to all you wonderful curious creatures of the feddi. We hope you all are well.
We just wanted to pass along an invitation to our upcoming graduation. As those who follow us know, we have been going through college for quite some time now. Well, here we are, our graduation is almost here. We have an email invitation that contains links for graduation messages, gifts, and we included a link to the college youtube channel if you wish to watch the livestream virtuallly. If you would like an invuitation, dm us your emails so we can forward the message to you.
Thank you and hope you can attend virtually.
#College #Graduation #Summer #2026 #CreativeWriting #Bachelor's
-- Altheda/Lillianna

Hello to all you wonderful curious creatures of the feddi. We hope you all are well.
We just wanted to pass along an invitation to our upcoming graduation. As those who follow us know, we have been going through college for quite some time now. Well, here we are, our graduation is almost here. We have an email invitation that contains links for graduation messages, gifts, and we included a link to the college youtube channel if you wish to watch the livestream virtuallly. If you would like an invuitation, dm us your emails so we can forward the message to you.
Thank you and hope you can attend virtually.
#College #Graduation #Summer #2026 #CreativeWriting #Bachelor's
-- Altheda/Lillianna

Hello to all you wonderful curious creatures of the feddi. We hope you all are well.
We just wanted to pass along an invitation to our upcoming graduation. As those who follow us know, we have been going through college for quite some time now. Well, here we are, our graduation is almost here. We have an email invitation that contains links for graduation messages, gifts, and we included a link to the college youtube channel if you wish to watch the livestream virtuallly. If you would like an invuitation, dm us your emails so we can forward the message to you.
Thank you and hope you can attend virtually.
#College #Graduation #Summer #2026 #CreativeWriting #Bachelor's
-- Altheda/Lillianna

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls

“Mya…”

The whisper drifted through the night once more.

My grandmother.

It had to be.

For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.

Now, somehow she was calling me.

The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.

The forest had become a place without life.

Yet I did not feel alone.

I felt watched.

Then I saw it.

A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.

I followed.

The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.

At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.

It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.

Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.

The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.

The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.

Then the shapes became people.

Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.

They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.

Their dance was impossibly beautiful.

For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.

The music welcomed me.

Each soul carried an unfinished story.

Lives interrupted.

Promises broken.

Words left unsaid.

I felt every one of them.

Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.

Then I saw her.

She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.

She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.

I knew that wrapper.

“Grandma…”

“My little Mya.”

The sound of my name broke something inside me.

I ran toward her.

My arms passed through her like cold smoke.

I stumbled.

She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.

The music grew louder.

The souls began moving closer.

Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.

“You should not have come.” Grandma said

“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes

“No.” She said

“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”

A cold shiver travelled through me.

“The voice you heard…”

“…wasn’t mine.”

The dancers circled us.

Closer.

Closer.

Their movements became faster.

The music deepened.

It no longer sounded beautiful.

It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.

I tried to step backward.

My feet refused.

The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.

Cold fingers brushed against my skin.

Then more.

Hands.

Dozens of invisible hands.

“I can’t move.”

“I know.” Grandma said

One by one, the dancers reached toward me.

Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.

Each touch stole something.

The smell of my mother’s cooking.

Gone.

My father’s laughter.

Gone.

The sound of rain against my apartment window.

Gone.

My first day at school.

Gone.

I gasped.

I couldn’t remember what month it was.

Then…

I couldn’t remember how old I was.

Fear gripped my chest.

Not because of the ghosts.

Because I was disappearing.

The music wrapped around me.

It made me feel

No more pain.

No more loneliness.

No more goodbyes.

Just dance.

Forever.

I looked down.

My feet no longer touched the ground.

I was floating.

The mist curled around my body like a second skin.

Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.

“You still have birthdays left.”

“You still have stories you haven’t written.”

“You still have people waiting for you.”

Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”

“My story ended long ago my child…”

“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”

The invisible hands pulled at me harder.

The circle tightened.

The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.

Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.

Every soul stopped dancing.

They turned toward her.

And there was sudden silence.

Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.

Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.

The invisible fingers released me.

The mist tore away from my skin.

The music had faded

“Run.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You already did.”

“What?”

“The day you chose to keep living.”

The wind roared.

The circle broke.

Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.

I fell.

The clearing blurred.

The tree disappeared.

I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.

I opened my eyes.

My mother knelt beside my bed.

Her face was pale with fear.

“Thank God.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.

I sat up slowly. 

“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said

The room spun.

My mum sighed and left. 

My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.

We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time. 

The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid. 

Thank you for reading!!!

Love,

Dupe Abiona.

SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)

“Mya…”

The whisper drifted through the night once more.

My grandmother.

It had to be.

For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.

Now, somehow she was calling me.

The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.

The forest had become a place without life.

Yet I did not feel alone.

I felt watched.

Then I saw it.

A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.

I followed.

The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.

At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.

It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.

Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.

The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.

The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.

Then the shapes became people.

Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.

They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.

Their dance was impossibly beautiful.

For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.

The music welcomed me.

Each soul carried an unfinished story.

Lives interrupted.

Promises broken.

Words left unsaid.

I felt every one of them.

Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.

Then I saw her.

She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.

She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.

I knew that wrapper.

“Grandma…”

“My little Mya.”

The sound of my name broke something inside me.

I ran toward her.

My arms passed through her like cold smoke.

I stumbled.

She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.

The music grew louder.

The souls began moving closer.

Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.

“You should not have come.” Grandma said

“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes

“No.” She said

“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”

A cold shiver travelled through me.

“The voice you heard…”

“…wasn’t mine.”

The dancers circled us.

Closer.

Closer.

Their movements became faster.

The music deepened.

It no longer sounded beautiful.

It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.

I tried to step backward.

My feet refused.

The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.

Cold fingers brushed against my skin.

Then more.

Hands.

Dozens of invisible hands.

“I can’t move.”

“I know.” Grandma said

One by one, the dancers reached toward me.

Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.

Each touch stole something.

The smell of my mother’s cooking.

Gone.

My father’s laughter.

Gone.

The sound of rain against my apartment window.

Gone.

My first day at school.

Gone.

I gasped.

I couldn’t remember what month it was.

Then…

I couldn’t remember how old I was.

Fear gripped my chest.

Not because of the ghosts.

Because I was disappearing.

The music wrapped around me.

It made me feel

No more pain.

No more loneliness.

No more goodbyes.

Just dance.

Forever.

I looked down.

My feet no longer touched the ground.

I was floating.

The mist curled around my body like a second skin.

Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.

“You still have birthdays left.”

“You still have stories you haven’t written.”

“You still have people waiting for you.”

Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”

“My story ended long ago my child…”

“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”

The invisible hands pulled at me harder.

The circle tightened.

The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.

Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.

Every soul stopped dancing.

They turned toward her.

And there was sudden silence.

Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.

Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.

The invisible fingers released me.

The mist tore away from my skin.

The music had faded

“Run.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You already did.”

“What?”

“The day you chose to keep living.”

The wind roared.

The circle broke.

Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.

I fell.

The clearing blurred.

The tree disappeared.

I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.

I opened my eyes.

My mother knelt beside my bed.

Her face was pale with fear.

“Thank God.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.

I sat up slowly. 

“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said

The room spun.

My mum sighed and left. 

My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.

We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time. 

The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid. 

Thank you for reading!!!

Love,

Dupe Abiona.

SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)

“Mya…”

The whisper drifted through the night once more.

My grandmother.

It had to be.

For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.

Now, somehow she was calling me.

The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.

The forest had become a place without life.

Yet I did not feel alone.

I felt watched.

Then I saw it.

A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.

I followed.

The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.

At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.

It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.

Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.

The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.

The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.

Then the shapes became people.

Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.

They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.

Their dance was impossibly beautiful.

For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.

The music welcomed me.

Each soul carried an unfinished story.

Lives interrupted.

Promises broken.

Words left unsaid.

I felt every one of them.

Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.

Then I saw her.

She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.

She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.

I knew that wrapper.

“Grandma…”

“My little Mya.”

The sound of my name broke something inside me.

I ran toward her.

My arms passed through her like cold smoke.

I stumbled.

She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.

The music grew louder.

The souls began moving closer.

Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.

“You should not have come.” Grandma said

“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes

“No.” She said

“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”

A cold shiver travelled through me.

“The voice you heard…”

“…wasn’t mine.”

The dancers circled us.

Closer.

Closer.

Their movements became faster.

The music deepened.

It no longer sounded beautiful.

It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.

I tried to step backward.

My feet refused.

The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.

Cold fingers brushed against my skin.

Then more.

Hands.

Dozens of invisible hands.

“I can’t move.”

“I know.” Grandma said

One by one, the dancers reached toward me.

Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.

Each touch stole something.

The smell of my mother’s cooking.

Gone.

My father’s laughter.

Gone.

The sound of rain against my apartment window.

Gone.

My first day at school.

Gone.

I gasped.

I couldn’t remember what month it was.

Then…

I couldn’t remember how old I was.

Fear gripped my chest.

Not because of the ghosts.

Because I was disappearing.

The music wrapped around me.

It made me feel

No more pain.

No more loneliness.

No more goodbyes.

Just dance.

Forever.

I looked down.

My feet no longer touched the ground.

I was floating.

The mist curled around my body like a second skin.

Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.

“You still have birthdays left.”

“You still have stories you haven’t written.”

“You still have people waiting for you.”

Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”

“My story ended long ago my child…”

“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”

The invisible hands pulled at me harder.

The circle tightened.

The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.

Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.

Every soul stopped dancing.

They turned toward her.

And there was sudden silence.

Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.

Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.

The invisible fingers released me.

The mist tore away from my skin.

The music had faded

“Run.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You already did.”

“What?”

“The day you chose to keep living.”

The wind roared.

The circle broke.

Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.

I fell.

The clearing blurred.

The tree disappeared.

I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.

I opened my eyes.

My mother knelt beside my bed.

Her face was pale with fear.

“Thank God.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.

I sat up slowly. 

“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said

The room spun.

My mum sighed and left. 

My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.

We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time. 

The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid. 

Thank you for reading!!!

Love,

Dupe Abiona.

SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)

“Mya…”

The whisper drifted through the night once more.

My grandmother.

It had to be.

For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.

Now, somehow she was calling me.

The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.

The forest had become a place without life.

Yet I did not feel alone.

I felt watched.

Then I saw it.

A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.

I followed.

The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.

At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.

It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.

Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.

The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.

The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.

Then the shapes became people.

Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.

They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.

Their dance was impossibly beautiful.

For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.

The music welcomed me.

Each soul carried an unfinished story.

Lives interrupted.

Promises broken.

Words left unsaid.

I felt every one of them.

Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.

Then I saw her.

She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.

She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.

I knew that wrapper.

“Grandma…”

“My little Mya.”

The sound of my name broke something inside me.

I ran toward her.

My arms passed through her like cold smoke.

I stumbled.

She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.

The music grew louder.

The souls began moving closer.

Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.

“You should not have come.” Grandma said

“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes

“No.” She said

“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”

A cold shiver travelled through me.

“The voice you heard…”

“…wasn’t mine.”

The dancers circled us.

Closer.

Closer.

Their movements became faster.

The music deepened.

It no longer sounded beautiful.

It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.

I tried to step backward.

My feet refused.

The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.

Cold fingers brushed against my skin.

Then more.

Hands.

Dozens of invisible hands.

“I can’t move.”

“I know.” Grandma said

One by one, the dancers reached toward me.

Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.

Each touch stole something.

The smell of my mother’s cooking.

Gone.

My father’s laughter.

Gone.

The sound of rain against my apartment window.

Gone.

My first day at school.

Gone.

I gasped.

I couldn’t remember what month it was.

Then…

I couldn’t remember how old I was.

Fear gripped my chest.

Not because of the ghosts.

Because I was disappearing.

The music wrapped around me.

It made me feel

No more pain.

No more loneliness.

No more goodbyes.

Just dance.

Forever.

I looked down.

My feet no longer touched the ground.

I was floating.

The mist curled around my body like a second skin.

Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.

“You still have birthdays left.”

“You still have stories you haven’t written.”

“You still have people waiting for you.”

Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”

“My story ended long ago my child…”

“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”

The invisible hands pulled at me harder.

The circle tightened.

The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.

Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.

Every soul stopped dancing.

They turned toward her.

And there was sudden silence.

Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.

Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.

The invisible fingers released me.

The mist tore away from my skin.

The music had faded

“Run.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You already did.”

“What?”

“The day you chose to keep living.”

The wind roared.

The circle broke.

Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.

I fell.

The clearing blurred.

The tree disappeared.

I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.

I opened my eyes.

My mother knelt beside my bed.

Her face was pale with fear.

“Thank God.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.

I sat up slowly. 

“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said

The room spun.

My mum sighed and left. 

My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.

We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time. 

The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid. 

Thank you for reading!!!

Love,

Dupe Abiona.

SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)

“Mya…”

The whisper drifted through the night once more.

My grandmother.

It had to be.

For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.

Now, somehow she was calling me.

The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.

The forest had become a place without life.

Yet I did not feel alone.

I felt watched.

Then I saw it.

A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.

I followed.

The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.

At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.

It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.

Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.

The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.

The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.

Then the shapes became people.

Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.

They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.

Their dance was impossibly beautiful.

For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.

The music welcomed me.

Each soul carried an unfinished story.

Lives interrupted.

Promises broken.

Words left unsaid.

I felt every one of them.

Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.

Then I saw her.

She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.

She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.

I knew that wrapper.

“Grandma…”

“My little Mya.”

The sound of my name broke something inside me.

I ran toward her.

My arms passed through her like cold smoke.

I stumbled.

She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.

The music grew louder.

The souls began moving closer.

Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.

“You should not have come.” Grandma said

“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes

“No.” She said

“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”

A cold shiver travelled through me.

“The voice you heard…”

“…wasn’t mine.”

The dancers circled us.

Closer.

Closer.

Their movements became faster.

The music deepened.

It no longer sounded beautiful.

It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.

I tried to step backward.

My feet refused.

The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.

Cold fingers brushed against my skin.

Then more.

Hands.

Dozens of invisible hands.

“I can’t move.”

“I know.” Grandma said

One by one, the dancers reached toward me.

Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.

Each touch stole something.

The smell of my mother’s cooking.

Gone.

My father’s laughter.

Gone.

The sound of rain against my apartment window.

Gone.

My first day at school.

Gone.

I gasped.

I couldn’t remember what month it was.

Then…

I couldn’t remember how old I was.

Fear gripped my chest.

Not because of the ghosts.

Because I was disappearing.

The music wrapped around me.

It made me feel

No more pain.

No more loneliness.

No more goodbyes.

Just dance.

Forever.

I looked down.

My feet no longer touched the ground.

I was floating.

The mist curled around my body like a second skin.

Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.

“You still have birthdays left.”

“You still have stories you haven’t written.”

“You still have people waiting for you.”

Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”

“My story ended long ago my child…”

“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”

The invisible hands pulled at me harder.

The circle tightened.

The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.

Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.

Every soul stopped dancing.

They turned toward her.

And there was sudden silence.

Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.

Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.

The invisible fingers released me.

The mist tore away from my skin.

The music had faded

“Run.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You already did.”

“What?”

“The day you chose to keep living.”

The wind roared.

The circle broke.

Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.

I fell.

The clearing blurred.

The tree disappeared.

I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.

I opened my eyes.

My mother knelt beside my bed.

Her face was pale with fear.

“Thank God.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.

I sat up slowly. 

“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said

The room spun.

My mum sighed and left. 

My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.

We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time. 

The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid. 

Thank you for reading!!!

Love,

Dupe Abiona.

I'm still working on writing that vampire/vampire hunter Alternate Universe version of my webnovel where instead of EDM DJ/famous pop star, Theo and Lys are a vampire turned against his will/vampire hunter who's been indoctrinated to think all vampires are evil before he meets Theo, but I keep getting fixated in THIS worldbuilding on stuff that doesn't make sense, like if a vampire transforms into an animal smaller than themselves, where does the blood they fed on go, etc. Both the modern music world AU where Fractured Heart is set, and the "romantasy" world that the "Canon" story I wrote BEFORE I started on Fractured Heart takes place, there's no magic so I've been struggling to relax my natural resistance to "suspending my sense of disbelief" when it comes to deciding on the ground rules for this new vampire/hunter world 😩 I can't stand it when rules in worlds that contain magic lack consistency, which happens in so, so many stories, so I'm trying to avoid it. I also don't want to make my characters too OP. But man I am struggling to stop my brain from fixating on "but physiologically that doesn't make sense" and occasionally give myself permission to just say "because magic makes it possible" 😅

#creativeWriting #novel #writing #writer #fiction

I'm still working on writing that vampire/vampire hunter Alternate Universe version of my webnovel where instead of EDM DJ/famous pop star, Theo and Lys are a vampire turned against his will/vampire hunter who's been indoctrinated to think all vampires are evil before he meets Theo, but I keep getting fixated in THIS worldbuilding on stuff that doesn't make sense, like if a vampire transforms into an animal smaller than themselves, where does the blood they fed on go, etc. Both the modern music world AU where Fractured Heart is set, and the "romantasy" world that the "Canon" story I wrote BEFORE I started on Fractured Heart takes place, there's no magic so I've been struggling to relax my natural resistance to "suspending my sense of disbelief" when it comes to deciding on the ground rules for this new vampire/hunter world 😩 I can't stand it when rules in worlds that contain magic lack consistency, which happens in so, so many stories, so I'm trying to avoid it. I also don't want to make my characters too OP. But man I am struggling to stop my brain from fixating on "but physiologically that doesn't make sense" and occasionally give myself permission to just say "because magic makes it possible" 😅

#creativeWriting #novel #writing #writer #fiction

I'm still working on writing that vampire/vampire hunter Alternate Universe version of my webnovel where instead of EDM DJ/famous pop star, Theo and Lys are a vampire turned against his will/vampire hunter who's been indoctrinated to think all vampires are evil before he meets Theo, but I keep getting fixated in THIS worldbuilding on stuff that doesn't make sense, like if a vampire transforms into an animal smaller than themselves, where does the blood they fed on go, etc. Both the modern music world AU where Fractured Heart is set, and the "romantasy" world that the "Canon" story I wrote BEFORE I started on Fractured Heart takes place, there's no magic so I've been struggling to relax my natural resistance to "suspending my sense of disbelief" when it comes to deciding on the ground rules for this new vampire/hunter world 😩 I can't stand it when rules in worlds that contain magic lack consistency, which happens in so, so many stories, so I'm trying to avoid it. I also don't want to make my characters too OP. But man I am struggling to stop my brain from fixating on "but physiologically that doesn't make sense" and occasionally give myself permission to just say "because magic makes it possible" 😅

#creativeWriting #novel #writing #writer #fiction

I'm still working on writing that vampire/vampire hunter Alternate Universe version of my webnovel where instead of EDM DJ/famous pop star, Theo and Lys are a vampire turned against his will/vampire hunter who's been indoctrinated to think all vampires are evil before he meets Theo, but I keep getting fixated in THIS worldbuilding on stuff that doesn't make sense, like if a vampire transforms into an animal smaller than themselves, where does the blood they fed on go, etc. Both the modern music world AU where Fractured Heart is set, and the "romantasy" world that the "Canon" story I wrote BEFORE I started on Fractured Heart takes place, there's no magic so I've been struggling to relax my natural resistance to "suspending my sense of disbelief" when it comes to deciding on the ground rules for this new vampire/hunter world 😩 I can't stand it when rules in worlds that contain magic lack consistency, which happens in so, so many stories, so I'm trying to avoid it. I also don't want to make my characters too OP. But man I am struggling to stop my brain from fixating on "but physiologically that doesn't make sense" and occasionally give myself permission to just say "because magic makes it possible" 😅

#creativeWriting #novel #writing #writer #fiction

#authorship #creativewriting #editing #amwriting #writingcommunity inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Five Great Quotations for Aspi...

#authorship #creativewriting #editing #amwriting #writingcommunity inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Five Great Quotations for Aspi...

#authorship #creativewriting #editing #amwriting #writingcommunity inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Five Great Quotations for Aspi...

#authorship #creativewriting #editing #amwriting #writingcommunity inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Five Great Quotations for Aspi...

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

#storytelling #creativewriting #amwriting #words #story inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Writing for the Web: Shorter i...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

#amquerying #characterdesign #5amwritersclub #AmEditing #creativewriting inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Fresh, original website conten...

--Jiggle & Wiggle --

Posting #poetry in a #quiet manner for #BlueSkyArtShow #PaintByWords (with #turtle as #prompt) #EastCoastKin #cute #fun #joy #PoetryCommunity #CreativeWriting

--Jiggle & Wiggle --

Posting #poetry in a #quiet manner for #BlueSkyArtShow #PaintByWords (with #turtle as #prompt) #EastCoastKin #cute #fun #joy #PoetryCommunity #CreativeWriting

--Jiggle & Wiggle --

Posting #poetry in a #quiet manner for #BlueSkyArtShow #PaintByWords (with #turtle as #prompt) #EastCoastKin #cute #fun #joy #PoetryCommunity #CreativeWriting

Not every idea deserves to be chased. Some you watch go by, and letting them pass is not a loss, it is how you make room for the one that matters. Writers burn out trying to catch every passing thought at once. Stand on the platform. Stay ready. Let the wrong ones go, and trust that the right story is already pulling in toward you. Writing tip of the day. 🙌

#writingcommunity #amWriting #writing #writingtips #creativewriting #writersofmastodon

Not every idea deserves to be chased. Some you watch go by, and letting them pass is not a loss, it is how you make room for the one that matters. Writers burn out trying to catch every passing thought at once. Stand on the platform. Stay ready. Let the wrong ones go, and trust that the right story is already pulling in toward you. Writing tip of the day. 🙌

#writingcommunity #amWriting #writing #writingtips #creativewriting #writersofmastodon

Not every idea deserves to be chased. Some you watch go by, and letting them pass is not a loss, it is how you make room for the one that matters. Writers burn out trying to catch every passing thought at once. Stand on the platform. Stay ready. Let the wrong ones go, and trust that the right story is already pulling in toward you. Writing tip of the day. 🙌

#writingcommunity #amWriting #writing #writingtips #creativewriting #writersofmastodon

Not every idea deserves to be chased. Some you watch go by, and letting them pass is not a loss, it is how you make room for the one that matters. Writers burn out trying to catch every passing thought at once. Stand on the platform. Stay ready. Let the wrong ones go, and trust that the right story is already pulling in toward you. Writing tip of the day. 🙌

#writingcommunity #amWriting #writing #writingtips #creativewriting #writersofmastodon

#CreativeWriting #AuthorLife #Storytellers #amwriting #writingcommunity inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Strengthen writing by replacin...

#CreativeWriting #AuthorLife #Storytellers #amwriting #writingcommunity inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Strengthen writing by replacin...

The road to Damascus -page 11

https://greatbenji.business.blog/2026/07/11/the-road-to-damascus-page-11/

The Stain (Rita Santos)

https://sevenstorypublishing.com/2026/07/11/the-stain-rita-santos/