Fiction : Prompt A Day - Un-Confession; I'm Dead; Follow The Stranger
Title: Un-Confession | I'm Dead | Follow The Stranger.
Type: Original Fiction.
Prompt: Taken from prompt_a_day. #036 unrequited love; #037 "don't tell anyone, but..."; #039 jailbait.
Claimer: Except the prompts, the ideas of the drabbles are mine.
Rating: PG15.
Word Count: 982 words.
Summary: Three unrelated drabbles based on the themes.
Author's Note: Haha. This is bad. If it continues like this, I'd have more than three posts per day, which results in me spamming my friends' f-list. I apoogize in advance but I'm having too much fun.
un-confession
"Come on, tell me."
"Shut up." She frowned at the soup simmering on the stove. "Pass the salt."
He tossed the shaker, watching her fumble to catch it. He ignored the glare directed towards him, and rested his head on the counter. "I still say that you should tell me how you feel."
There was something wrong with the soup. The colour wasn't right. Did it suppose to turn that shade of green? "I'm busy right now, if you haven't noticed. It'd be really great if you can just leave me alone."
"Not until you confess," he stubbornly persisted. "I don't understand why you won't tell."
"Maybe because I don't feel anything for you?"
"That's not true. David told me you do."
"David's an idiot." Plates clattered noisily when she placed them on the table, followed by a pile of cutleries. "If you insist on staying in my kitchen, you'd better do some work. Sort them out, and set the table."
He stood up, slowly, lazily and so like him. "I know you do."
"I'm glad to hear that," she responded dryly, trying to figure out what was wrong with the soup. "Now, if we've finished discussing about what you know and don't, will you get on with the table? Dinner's in ten minutes."
"You're so stubborn." Clinks of plates against polished mahogany signalled that he finally succumbed to her order. "Why won't you say that you love me?"
Screw the soup. She poured a generous amount of champagne into a flute glass as she watched him work and drained it in one go. It tasted bitter in her mouth. "Because I don't."
He glanced over his shoulder, and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Way to flatter a guy."
"I try."
She laughed, and he laughed, and they lived happily ever after. Just not with each other. The end.
END
i'm dead
"Don't tell anyone, but..." he glanced around, making sure that everyone else was too preoccupied with their respective lunches to notice our hushed conversation. He was making me nervous. He leaned forward, and I followed his lead. Our noses were almost touching. "I'm actually dead."
I stared at his very-much-alive grey-blue eyes, and leaned back. Why did I always attract freaks? "Right."
"I am!" he insisted, stabbing his chocolate pudding violently. "I really am dead!"
"So you're a zombie?" I stifled a chuckle that threatened to escape my throat, but from the look on his face, I didn't think that I succeeded. "Sorry."
"Not a zombie. I'm an undead." He spooned the abused pudding into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. I wondered if he was on some sort of a drug, or if I was only imagining this conversation. My imagination tended to lead a life of its own. "It's hard to be dead."
"I'm sure it does," I assured him, and glanced at the big clock suspended in the middle of the dining hall. Darn. Another twenty minutes until I could escape. "Erm... why aren't you... you know, decomposing?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. I'm special, I guess."
Of course. I fidgeted with my spoon; my appetite had disappeared since he announced himself to be one of the 'pushing-up-the-daisies' population. This was definitely not the thing I expected when I started dating him. I should start thinking up an excuse to break up with him, before he started claiming to be an alien child next. That'd be very awkward. I didn't really advocate inter-planetary relationship. "Listen... I-"
"I know you don't believe me," he interjected, and I cursed inwardly. I knew him enough to know that he was annoyed. "Let me show you something."
I hope it's not a rotten tooth. Har har. "I don't think-"
He popped out an eyeball and offered it to me.
I stared at the eyeball and his one-eyeball-ess face.
I screamed.
END
follow the stranger
"Come here. You're cold, aren't you?"
His hair gleamed underneath the dim fluorescent light, spilling over pale skin and onto crisp white coat. She looked at his offered hand (long, tapered fingers, delicate, like a pianist's) and hesitantly inched towards him. The headlight of a passing car cast a curious shadow play across his face, accentuating his high cheekbones and dark, dark eyes (like obsidian). She glanced around, scared and lost and alone. Winter was a cruel companion.
She took his hand. He looked the lesser of two evils.
Amusing how a mere smile could mold perceptions.
He nodded in approval, and curled his fingers around hers. "Good girl. Maria, yes?"
"How-"
"Never mind that." He laughed quietly, like he was indulging in a private, colossal joke on her expense. She frowned, and tried to tug her hand free. "Maria, such a beautiful name. I once knew a lady with that same name."
The compliment warmed her, made her move closer. "Really?"
"Really." He guided her off the street, towards an alley at the back of an old building. She was too preoccupied with his words and the unearthly lilt that flavoured them to notice the direction they were taking. "She was the daughter of a duke. With her own castle, of course, on top of a hill." A gentle smile, and he tilted her head up. "She looked just like you. Curious, curious."
She might have said something, responded to the revelation, but the creeping shadow swallowed her voice. There might have been a scream, the might not have. An hour or so later, the man walked out of the alley, alone and wiping daintily at his lips. He smoothed a hand over the wrinkles on his coat as he walked towards the bus stop, and stood besides a middle-aged woman. Amidst rumbles of vehicles and rustles of shopping bags, he looked at the white flakes fluttering from heaven with detached interest.
Such a cold evening, really.
END
Hahaha. Three prompts in one go. Whee.
Type: Original Fiction.
Prompt: Taken from prompt_a_day. #036 unrequited love; #037 "don't tell anyone, but..."; #039 jailbait.
Claimer: Except the prompts, the ideas of the drabbles are mine.
Rating: PG15.
Word Count: 982 words.
Summary: Three unrelated drabbles based on the themes.
Author's Note: Haha. This is bad. If it continues like this, I'd have more than three posts per day, which results in me spamming my friends' f-list. I apoogize in advance but I'm having too much fun.
un-confession
"Come on, tell me."
"Shut up." She frowned at the soup simmering on the stove. "Pass the salt."
He tossed the shaker, watching her fumble to catch it. He ignored the glare directed towards him, and rested his head on the counter. "I still say that you should tell me how you feel."
There was something wrong with the soup. The colour wasn't right. Did it suppose to turn that shade of green? "I'm busy right now, if you haven't noticed. It'd be really great if you can just leave me alone."
"Not until you confess," he stubbornly persisted. "I don't understand why you won't tell."
"Maybe because I don't feel anything for you?"
"That's not true. David told me you do."
"David's an idiot." Plates clattered noisily when she placed them on the table, followed by a pile of cutleries. "If you insist on staying in my kitchen, you'd better do some work. Sort them out, and set the table."
He stood up, slowly, lazily and so like him. "I know you do."
"I'm glad to hear that," she responded dryly, trying to figure out what was wrong with the soup. "Now, if we've finished discussing about what you know and don't, will you get on with the table? Dinner's in ten minutes."
"You're so stubborn." Clinks of plates against polished mahogany signalled that he finally succumbed to her order. "Why won't you say that you love me?"
Screw the soup. She poured a generous amount of champagne into a flute glass as she watched him work and drained it in one go. It tasted bitter in her mouth. "Because I don't."
He glanced over his shoulder, and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Way to flatter a guy."
"I try."
She laughed, and he laughed, and they lived happily ever after. Just not with each other. The end.
END
i'm dead
"Don't tell anyone, but..." he glanced around, making sure that everyone else was too preoccupied with their respective lunches to notice our hushed conversation. He was making me nervous. He leaned forward, and I followed his lead. Our noses were almost touching. "I'm actually dead."
I stared at his very-much-alive grey-blue eyes, and leaned back. Why did I always attract freaks? "Right."
"I am!" he insisted, stabbing his chocolate pudding violently. "I really am dead!"
"So you're a zombie?" I stifled a chuckle that threatened to escape my throat, but from the look on his face, I didn't think that I succeeded. "Sorry."
"Not a zombie. I'm an undead." He spooned the abused pudding into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. I wondered if he was on some sort of a drug, or if I was only imagining this conversation. My imagination tended to lead a life of its own. "It's hard to be dead."
"I'm sure it does," I assured him, and glanced at the big clock suspended in the middle of the dining hall. Darn. Another twenty minutes until I could escape. "Erm... why aren't you... you know, decomposing?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. I'm special, I guess."
Of course. I fidgeted with my spoon; my appetite had disappeared since he announced himself to be one of the 'pushing-up-the-daisies' population. This was definitely not the thing I expected when I started dating him. I should start thinking up an excuse to break up with him, before he started claiming to be an alien child next. That'd be very awkward. I didn't really advocate inter-planetary relationship. "Listen... I-"
"I know you don't believe me," he interjected, and I cursed inwardly. I knew him enough to know that he was annoyed. "Let me show you something."
I hope it's not a rotten tooth. Har har. "I don't think-"
He popped out an eyeball and offered it to me.
I stared at the eyeball and his one-eyeball-ess face.
I screamed.
END
follow the stranger
"Come here. You're cold, aren't you?"
His hair gleamed underneath the dim fluorescent light, spilling over pale skin and onto crisp white coat. She looked at his offered hand (long, tapered fingers, delicate, like a pianist's) and hesitantly inched towards him. The headlight of a passing car cast a curious shadow play across his face, accentuating his high cheekbones and dark, dark eyes (like obsidian). She glanced around, scared and lost and alone. Winter was a cruel companion.
She took his hand. He looked the lesser of two evils.
Amusing how a mere smile could mold perceptions.
He nodded in approval, and curled his fingers around hers. "Good girl. Maria, yes?"
"How-"
"Never mind that." He laughed quietly, like he was indulging in a private, colossal joke on her expense. She frowned, and tried to tug her hand free. "Maria, such a beautiful name. I once knew a lady with that same name."
The compliment warmed her, made her move closer. "Really?"
"Really." He guided her off the street, towards an alley at the back of an old building. She was too preoccupied with his words and the unearthly lilt that flavoured them to notice the direction they were taking. "She was the daughter of a duke. With her own castle, of course, on top of a hill." A gentle smile, and he tilted her head up. "She looked just like you. Curious, curious."
She might have said something, responded to the revelation, but the creeping shadow swallowed her voice. There might have been a scream, the might not have. An hour or so later, the man walked out of the alley, alone and wiping daintily at his lips. He smoothed a hand over the wrinkles on his coat as he walked towards the bus stop, and stood besides a middle-aged woman. Amidst rumbles of vehicles and rustles of shopping bags, he looked at the white flakes fluttering from heaven with detached interest.
Such a cold evening, really.
END
Hahaha. Three prompts in one go. Whee.