FotD, Fudge Ripple #11, Banana Cream #1
Author: Saya
Universe: I have no clue whatsoever
Rating: Everyone
Flavor: Flavor of the Day: meliorism (the doctrine that the world tends to become better or may be made better by human effort)
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 170
Warnings: N/A
“I just want to help,” she whispered.
I caught sight of tears glittering in wide eyes as she ducked her head, trying to camouflage her disappointment.
“Look kid,” I said, willing myself to go easy on her. “I'm glad that you want to help, that's all good and neighborly. But I don't need, nor want, your help.”
“But friends help each other?” The naked hope in her voice and the trembling of her bottom lip tugged at me.
I sighed, kneeling down and tipping her chin until she couldn't avoid my gaze. “I hate to burst your bubble, but there are just some things you can't fix.”
She nodded sadly, tugging back and preparing her retreat.
Surprising myself, I caught her elbow before she could flee. “Thanks for offering though, it's the thought that counts, right?”
She flashed me a watery smile before withdrawing back into her house.
I stood there for a long time, wondering when the smiles of a little girl had started holding such power over me.
Author: Saya
Universe: The 5th of January
Rating: PG
Flavor: Fudge Ripple #11 (hesitation), Banana Cream #1 (enter)
Toppings/Extras: Fresh Strawberries (The Deserted House - Here), Fresh Pineapple (Where worlds collide and days are dark), Gummy Bunnies (prompt: Desolation source: OneWord)
Wordcount: 558
Warnings: Haunted house
Notes: A smattering of backstory for The 5th of January based on an older poem of mine The Dark House on the Twisted Hill
“Come on Carter! Don't be a sissy!”
Despite his hesitance, Carter scrambled after his adventurous friend; allowing his pride and Anthony's sense of adventure to override his sense of better judgment.
Anthony turned and raised a finger to his lips, crouching down and crawling the rest of the way up to the crest of the hill. Together, they laid on their bellies and watched the house before them. Anthony excitedly; Carter warily, with a foreboding he couldn't quite shake.
“I don't like this...” He whispered, but Anthony shushed him.
“You're such a scaredy cat, learn to live a little,” Anthony whispered back. “This is going to be fun, I promise.”
A crack and a clatter caused both of them to jump. The old wooden 'for sale' sign in the yard, discolored and paint peeling from years in the sun, had banged against its frame with the wind.
Carter caught Anthony's gaze, pleased to know he wasn't the only one scared witless. But Anthony rallied, shoving off the uneven ground. “Let's go!”
Unable to do anything but follow, Carter fervently wished he hadn't recommended that mystery book to Anthony. If only he'd know that 'Adventurous Anthony' would take it upon himself to become a real detective, dragging poor, normal old Carter along for the ride.
Anthony bounded down the rise and up the next one with enviable ease, tossing himself over the wrought iron fence surrounding the old house with a grace that suggested repeated practice. Carter was winded when he reached the fence, lugging himself over and accidentally stabbing himself in the stomach on one of the points.
But Anthony had nary a backwards glance as his friend tumbled down to the ground with a thud. Acknowledged Carter's presence beside him on the porch step with only a tight smile. Carter rubbed his belly grumpily and muttered unkind things under his breath.
The first floorboard on the porch creaked nosily under their combined weight and they froze. Suddenly, Anthony didn't seem so gung ho about the whole “investigate the haunted house and prove everybody wrong” scheme.
“You go first,” he said, waving Carter towards the partially open door.
“Are you kidding me?” Carter cried, catching himself and whispering: “This was all your idea, you go first.”
“Ghosts are more likely to attack the person behind, I'm just trying to protect you.”
“I thought you said ghosts weren't real?”
Anthony crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Of course they aren't! But somebody is pretending that this place is haunted, it makes sense they would stick to normal ghost stories.”
Carter sighed and rolled his eyes, unwilling more than unable to poke holes in his friend's argument. After a moment of hesitation, he glared at his (supposed) friend and tiptoed to the door, sticking his foot through the gap.
He stopped, footing hovering over the threshold. He knew they shouldn't be there. Knew they should leave things well enough alone. But how was he supposed to convince Anthony of that? One never became a great detective by holding back, did they?
Taking a deep breath, he dropped his foot on the floor inside, pressing cautiously on the door to open it further. What he saw almost knocked his courage out of him.
Never before had he been faced with such emptiness, such desolation.
Gulping, he wedged his way through.