Scrawling a Bit of Fiction: However Many We’re on

5 01 2013

What say we start the new year with a touch of fiction, hmmmm? As usual the image below is not one that I dredged up. No, the people who slaved long and hard to bring you the following writing prompt are non other than the ladies over at ermiliablog.

They are in the business of jump starting the creative juices on a weekly basis and I think we all might be just a little better for it. At least a little. Probably more than a little. Hell, you know what? It’s fan-freaking-tastic. How about that?

But enough of that, lets get to this!

https://i0.wp.com/media-cache-ec4.pinterest.com/upload/495677502707184712_wbgR1HVA_c.jpg

It had only been an hour since Mickey died and things just weren’t going well. Here she was struggling to pick her limbs up, straining muscles in her neck and back. At least she thought she was. She couldn’t quite remember what strain felt like, her ghostly form being free from physical limitations.

Death stood beside her clicking his tongue.

“Stop it.” She said.

“Sorry.” The clock, clock, clock noise ceased at once allowing the hum of the forest to return to the foreground.

Mickey’s body had slumped forward and fallen, face first, into a pile of soggy leaves. Why was she out here again? What had she been doing?

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“Shut up.” Mickey didn’t even give him a glance.

Death rubbed his neck with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his scythe.

Mickey sat in her own lap again. The skin was solid allowing her incorporeal form no purchase on her insides. The comforting enclosure of flesh and bone and blood was gone. She glared at Death.

“This is all your fault.”

“I know. I said I was sorry.”

The two just stared at each other for a long moment until Mickey forgot what she had been so angry about. Why was she wearing a dress? She put her thumb to her lip and nibbled at the end. She couldn’t even bite her nail. It wasn’t there anymore, not really.

Death put his hand on her shoulder. He let the scythe dangle down at his side.

“You looked beautiful in that dress Mickey. I’m glad you wore it. It was my favorite. Very thoughtful of you. I only wish you could have made it a little further. See, I set a picnic basket up about a hundred yards from here. One hundred thirty seven to be exact. I really thought we had something great going on. Now you’re dead. I wish I could explain it.”

He gave her a gentle push on the small of her back. Instinctively she started walking. Who was this man? What was he talking about? Who was that girl laying on the ground?

“I’ve been looking for love for I can’t tell you how long. For some reason as soon as I start to get close to someone. And I mean really close to someone they…expire.”

They stopped passing trees. Or more accurately the trees ceased to be; melting away into a muddy mixture of earthy colors that puddled behind them. It was like the world had been submerged in a mud bath and she was looking in from the outside. All around her white empty space stretched out into infinity. It was calm. Warm.

“I think we were on the verge of something great Mickey. But I guess that doesn’t matter much anymore.”

Death repositioned himself in front of her wielding the scythe in both hands now.

“I’m so very sorry.” He said.

He hefted the scythe above his head.

“Find peace in this place, Mickey Edgerton. May you find whatever sort of paradise it is that you are expecting.”

He clenched the handles and brought it down. The edge was so fine that it cut reality itself as it passed through the air, allowing not even specks of dust or air opportunity to flee from the cutting edge that pierced the fabric of the universe.

“Wait.” Mickey whispered. Death’s supernatural reflexes paused the reaping tool inches from her throat. A flicker of recognition danced across her face and she frowned and knit her brow. She licked her lips before speaking again.

“Worst. Date. Ever.”

Advertisements

Actions

Information

8 responses

5 01 2013
joetwo

“Worst Date Ever” Why do I have the impression that it was said by a teenager? Well done!

5 01 2013
Kyllan Brindle

Ha! Glad you liked it Joe. It was a particularly fun picture for me that week. I had a time trying to decide how old that young lady might have been in the photo to be honest.

11 01 2013
Anne Schilde

I liked the one hundred thirty seven yards, Kyllan. It gave depth to Death’s personality, like unbounded by time, he’d counted the steps many times. Clever take on the date with Death. Good job!

12 01 2013
Kyllan Brindle

I think there’s more layers to death than most people would give him (or her) credit. This picture, for whatever reason, made me think back to one of the earlier Picture it and Write entries, the man and woman covered in bed. Not sure why. Made sense to expand on though.

Happy to entertain.

12 01 2013
Anne Schilde

I remember that prompt. I wrote about my love for a soldier who’s not coming home. You honestly reminded me a little bit of the Death character in The Book Thief. Did you read that?

11 01 2013
Ermilia

You flatter us so much, we are undeserving. I can’t wait to see if you’ll review Blind Sight book 2 once it’s finished (and named).

Guilty and apologetic Death. This needs to turn into a novel.The ending is freeing awesome.

12 01 2013
Kyllan Brindle

Hey, you let me know when the next one is ready and I’m there! As far as noveling goes, I;ve given the old bony fellow a thought from time to time. Perhaps it is a good point to finally give him some literary love.

12 01 2013
Kyllan Brindle

I’ve just discovered my blog’s limit on replies per comment.

@Anne Schilde I’ve never heard of The Book Thief but you can guarantee that it’s going on my list of things to read. Good thing too, I’m dangerously close to finishing my current read without a new book to move on to!

I’ve always had a great attraction to characters that embody in monumental ways, or in certain cases, actually are ideas. If that makes sense. The obvious example being Death not as a condition or an event but as an individual. By assigning human traits to abstract ideas I feel it gives us even more room to explore those things, and reach more profound conclusions about something we may not feel we have the ability to even begin to examine working only in the abstract.

Also death makes me think of pie.

I love pie.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




%d bloggers like this: