Life

The Prompt:
This wasn’t the first time I had been trapped inside a _ , but it was the first time I had to escape in order to save a life. Here’s what happened.

Scope: 500 words


This wasn’t the first time I had been trapped inside a human, but it was the first time I had to escape i order to save a life. Here’s what happened.

Normally it only happens once in a decade these days. With technology and science taking over peoples beliefs there are not many who still practise the art of summoning. Most of the books describing how to summon a demon have been destroyed by now, and those that survived have been distorted so much it’s only the lucky ones that manage to get the rituals exactly right.

And here I was. Trapped inside of this young teenager who along with his friends somehow managed to get hold of a book and complete a ritual. They were laughing, drinking and smoking pot.   I must admit the taste of human activities were intoxicating. They always are – until we have worn the body down so much that we either get exorcised or the human goes insane and commits suicide.

Time is of no essence so I prepared myself for the ride. Teenagers are always more resilient than we give them credit for. Sure they are fragile but at the same time their minds are so flexible that they are able to accommodate us for longer time.

This teenager, Harry, was almost ordinary. He lived with his father and little brother, went to school, hung out with friends if not for the fact that his father beat him every night. His pain was excruciating and – I must admit – heroic.

Harrys father was plain evil. He loved to see his son in pain, loved to see the fear in his eyes. I, however, also felt the hatred that Harry kept in his heart for his father and the love for his brother.

I came to admire Harry. He did what he could to save his little brother, but his body was slowly withering away from all the torture. He knew it instinctively as well that if he died, his little brother would be next.

Trapped inside Harry I began to chink away at his mental armour. I planted ideas in his mind that I could exploit. I wanted to help. It took awhile but finally Harry had pieced together the clues I had left for the ritual I needed him to perform.

One dark night he was alone with the candles and the chalk. He chanted the words I had whispered to him in his sleep. I could feel the restraints loosen, feel myself grow inside him like a parasite waiting to get loose.

And loose I got.

Demon possession is an ugly thing – even more when we have a purpose. However, the look of fear in Harrys father’s eyes was worth it. It was painless, at least for Harry.

His little brother got to live. I’m watching over him. Awaiting him to summon me, as I see him rifle through Harrys books and papers. And I’m ready.

The Water

The Prompt:
Take an event from history and write a fictional account describing a conspiracy theory about what “REALLY” happened. Or, if you prefer, write a scene about a character who believes in one or more conspiracy theories. Outlandish or realistic, recent or ancient—anything is fair game, but do please make it convincing. I want to believe.

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.


They say something is in the water. That the government is poisoning us. Making us slower and dumber to better control us. How many times have I not heard “we need a filter on our tap”.

Often it is more talk than actual action. I usually smile overbearing when I hear people rant, normally over a cold beer in the summer heat or when the wine has been filled up several times already.

Only once or twice have I actually heard a person say they installed a filter of some kind on their water tap. Of course accompanied by talk of survival paranoia and other kinds of conspiracy theories about the government listening in on us, men in black and you name it.

I nod and smile, exchanging glances with some of the other guests. They shake their heads a little but not too much in order not to appear too discourteous. Other times the remarks bloom into a full fledged argument:

“But dude! You don’t have any proof they are contaminating our water! Everybody is drinking directly from the tap. We don’t even have the chlorine taste here as in other countries. It is as pure as it gets!”

Sometimes I really want to intersect myself into the discussion but I’m afraid I can’t hold my tongue. Too tempting to throw in the real facts about our drinking water. To hear them silenced by an expert, so they can throw all their silly conspiracy theories out.

My voice would be full of contempt and disdain. Not because I feel superior in any way but because I among a handful few know the truth. A truth that would put all the conspiracies to shame.

“We are not poisoning our water. I know, because I’m not a desk jockey in some cubicle punching numbers as you all think. I work in Marvel, the bio lab located ten floors down from our government building.

“I still punch numbers, but they are numbers of complex mathematical formulas that my colleagues give me. It’s my job check that they are valid and viable.

“Viable for what, you may ask? For the mutations to survive in the water.

“The mutations can be anything from small parasites to viruses. It’s getting harder for me to distinguish the more complex the mutation is.

“We are not trying to poison or control anybody. That is so far from the truth. Actually it’s the opposite.

“Marvel is just the nickname for the bio lab, that somebody came up with as an inside joke. “Almost like Marvel Comics”, he said.

“You see, we hope that the mutations will create other mutations in the those who drink the water. We want to create superheroes like those you read about or watch on the big screen. And we will succeed. Because we need them, now more than ever.

“So you see, there is something in the water”.

The Smile

For Amberyl

Writing Prompt: “Her smile was a bit too wide, a bit too cheerful, considering the blood on the walls”


She was painting.

Dr. Conrad, her therapist would be so proud of her. How many times had he not told her it would be good for her to get a hobby. She had always said yes, but whenever she got home, all thoughts of a hobby had vanished.

It was not that she did not want a hobby. How often had she not looked at the beautiful sculptures in the hall of dr. Conrad’s waiting room, wishing she could do the same?

But everything caught up with her as soon as she stepped within the confines of her own home. All the reassuring words of dr. Conrad. All the daydreaming. All the courage. Everything just vanished.

It was not so much the voices. She was used to them by now. She had learned to differentiate them by now. Conrad called them her “other” personalities. She just called them voices. 

She knew she was not crazy. The voices had always been there. To soothe her when she was anxious or frightened. She did not consider them friends, because they frightened away her friends.

She had begun to feel lonely and isolated, but the voices had assured her that she did not need anyone but them. That had triggered a warning in her.

Then she had been let go from her job. That had changed everything. 

“Instability” had been the word they had used. They had asked her to seek out a doctor. They had even offered to pay for one as severance pay.

The voices had tried to convince her that it was not her fault, but she knew differently. She had tried to ignore them, but in vain.

The more she ignored the voices the more persistent they became. She had tried everything. Loud music to block out the voices had not helped. They were always there. If not loud then a low whisper in her ear.

What was worse were the way they began isolating her. Made it hard for her to concentrate in a normal conversation. Thats when the anxiety set in. After a series of misunderstandings and unsuccessful tries she had found herself sitting at home staring into the walls.

It was purely by coincidence that she had found dr. Conrad. She had been out shopping for groceries when she had seen the ad.

It had taken her four tries to call him and set up an appointment. The first time she had lost courage. The second time the voices had convinced her she didn’t need him. The third time they had frightened her. The fourth time she had finally ignored them.

She now knew that dr. Conrad had been her saviour. Already the first time she had been there, she had felt better. More empowered. His voice had been more dominant than the others and for the first time in a long time the voices had vanished while she spoke to him.

They talked about everything. About her life. About the voices. About her choices. They had tried medicine but it had not helped. Only made her weaker to withstand the voices.

Slowly she had progressed. She even showed up regularly at the appointments, the voices no longer stopping her. She even got a part time job sorting mail at a local firm. But she was still lonely.

So she had started with the group sessions. They were different and at first she did not like it. But because dr. Conrad usually were there she could maintain a conversation. She even made one or two friends.

She lived and breathed for those sessions. It was like a small slice of heaven. Peace and quiet.

But the voices always returned when she got home. Thats why they had discussed what she could do to dampen them when she was alone.

“Hobbies” had dr. Conrad said. “Hobbies will engage your mind and make you concentrate. Block out the voices”.

It had been worth a try. And it had worked.

She had painted for the last half hour and there had been no voices. She smiled to herself, finishing two short strokes to complete the red flower. She knew that she could not keep on painting on walls, but it was a start. Maybe she could go buy some real canvas later after work tomorrow. The main thing was that she had started.

She almost did not notice the sound so preoccupied was she.

The door opened.

“Good morning all. I’m sorry I’m late. Are you ready to – “

Silence.

“Oh my God, Evy. What have you done”. Dr. Conrad looked at her with a look she really could not decipher. Was it surprise or happiness? Probably both. He would be so proud of her.

She smiled wide, showing her teeth. She felt happy.

“I’m painting. I finally took up a hobby as you have said”. Even she could hear the cheerfulness in her voice. “I know I’m only starting and that the colour is a bit monotome, but it is a start. And you were right. The voices went away”.

She did not even notice the bodies when she stepped over them in order to hug him.