Story Lottery: Prompt: Lightning: Vanish/The Angel of Retribution
Title: Vanish
Genre: Horror
Rating: R
Prompt: flash of lighting @ story_lottery
Summary: This is how you lose your life.
Word Count: 405 words
Disclaimer: All characters, plot points, words, etc., are my own and I infringe on no known copyrights. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is sheer coincidence.
A/N: A two part story that originally started out based on "lightning" and ended up more like "flash". Re-reading, the two seem less related than I thought; in my head, they work, but then again, I'm the one who wrote them. *shrug* (Also, YAY! I finally finished on the last day!)
This is how you lose your life.
You’re born. You grow. You’re a child and you find that you’re good at baseball. You spend every day with out in the yard with your dad. You live for that rush, that immediate wash of adrenaline. In high school, as a member of the varsity team, you’re on top of the world. But then something happens and that all goes away. A shattered mind mirrors the shattered bone as reality sets in.
You grow.
You start to withdraw. You hang out with kids you would have scoffed at before the accident. Stealing bases turns to stealing cars and you get into things you shouldn’t. Your parents’ medicine cabinet is never the same. You’re reckless and you get caught.
You grow.
You go to college. You spend more time in your room snorting lines than studying, but this teaches you things that aren’t in books. You learn first aid, how to lie, how to pick someone’s pocket on the metro before they’ve realized you’ve even touched them.
You grow.
One day on the train, you nab someone’s wallet, someone important. They know who you are, where you’re from, what you do. They hunt you down and they make you hurt for the things you’ve done. They make you feel on the outside and numb everything on the inside, until you are hollow and angry, until you are just like they are.
You do not grow.
This man is high up in things you have only had nightmares about. He’s seen what you can do and offers you a deal. Work for him, or end up six feet under. Either way, you lose control. You choose to live. He takes you in, cleans you up, and sends you out into the harsh world with harsher orders.
This is how you lose your life. You may be breathing, walking, talking, but your life is on loan. It is someone else’s now and if you don’t do what they say, they can take it back from you without a second thought. So, you wipe the slate clean and you start being someone’s bitch, all the while taking everything in and twisting it to your own advantage. Every day is a slow, set clock spent in dark places doing dark things. But after a while, you begin to see the flaws, the cracks in the sidewalk, and you begin to grow again.
Title: The Angel of Retribution
Genre: Horror
Rating: R
Prompt: flash of lighting @ story_lottery
Summary: This is what you become.
Word Count: 701 words
Disclaimer: All characters, plot points, words, etc., are my own and I infringe on no known copyrights. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is sheer coincidence.
The stone statue stood intently, embracing its audience with scathing dissension. Its shocked expression filled many with regret, with shame, with paranoia, but not Adam. It stood staring at him dreadfully and he loved it. He loved its brazen hate, its incredulity that humankind could do such a thing to it. He loved how its passion, encased in polished, burgundy limestone, preyed on the emotions of the endless watchers that came through the museum every day. He loved the faces of the patrons, who walked quickly past the monstrosity, not daring to look into its eyes and see the beauty behind the grotesque horror the artist had portrayed in the statue’s features. It was excessive, uncalled for, and undeniably stunning.
It wasn’t until the art museum’s curator received orders from the artist himself that the statue was removed; even its creator could no longer gaze upon it without disgust. Adam was told to move it to the museum’s back basement, a dank place reserved for mindless “art” that had been quickly cast aside in favor of pieces more pleasing to the eye. As he loaded the statue onto the cart, Adam could feel the artistry beneath the canvas protecting the stone. The sculptor had taken great pride in his details; every muscle, every joint, it was all so realistic, like an actual person had been paralyzed and made into a bizarre monument to raw cruelty.
What was he thinking? Adam mused as he made his way to the service elevator. What sort of man would trust an artist like this? He wondered if the sculptor had lured the man in, promising payment in exchange for a model. Foolish.
What was your name? The statue offered no answer from beneath the cloth. It stoically ignored him until the rusty door shuddered open. Adam dragged the wheeled cart through canvas-covered pillars and carefully marked boxes. He set the large statue in the farthest corner, away from the sight of the elevator. He hesitated a moment before fumbling with the rope and tearing the canvas off the stone man. Surrounded by boxes of unworthy witnesses, it shone magnificently, like a great and terrible god. Adam stood in awe before it for several moments, just as struck now in the dim storage room as he was on the main floor when he first saw it, bathed in harsh light and harsher criticism. It seemed comfortable here, away from that; its terrified face seemed to relax and its body rested back against the marble floor that the artist had thrown it onto.
Adam walked slowly over to the wall and flicked the overhead light on. It was not very bright, but its soothing yellow glow suited the art beneath it. The red limestone from which the man was carved was riddled with gray and white veins, giving the effect of muscle and bone, as if this were a human turned inside out. The body itself was sprawled haphazardly across the marble, one hand lifting it from the ground, the other stretched out to some invisible foe. For protection or for help? Adam wondered. He stepped closer to the statue and studied its beautiful face. Contorted in rage and fear, the plump lips and large doe eyes were lost amid frantic panic. Its eyes seemed to plead to him. For what? Mercy? Redemption? Not any of these, he decided. Those eyes, which had plagued many visitors’ dreams since the exhibit opened, begged for vengeance, to gain retribution for the horrors it had been forced to illustrate. ”Please” they said, ”Don’t let me go through this alone, for nothing.”
In the silence of the storage basement, Adam let out a shuddering breath. He glanced guiltily at his wristwatch and cursed the last few hours he had to work before his shift ended. The curator would be expecting him on the floor in several minutes to give the last tour of the day. Perhaps he could give the tour and leave early, claiming illness. He certainly felt strange. With a last fleeting look at the statue, he got back into the elevator, his mind not at all on his work, but remaining the basement with the red, stone man.
Genre: Horror
Rating: R
Prompt: flash of lighting @ story_lottery
Summary: This is how you lose your life.
Word Count: 405 words
Disclaimer: All characters, plot points, words, etc., are my own and I infringe on no known copyrights. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is sheer coincidence.
A/N: A two part story that originally started out based on "lightning" and ended up more like "flash". Re-reading, the two seem less related than I thought; in my head, they work, but then again, I'm the one who wrote them. *shrug* (Also, YAY! I finally finished on the last day!)
This is how you lose your life.
You’re born. You grow. You’re a child and you find that you’re good at baseball. You spend every day with out in the yard with your dad. You live for that rush, that immediate wash of adrenaline. In high school, as a member of the varsity team, you’re on top of the world. But then something happens and that all goes away. A shattered mind mirrors the shattered bone as reality sets in.
You grow.
You start to withdraw. You hang out with kids you would have scoffed at before the accident. Stealing bases turns to stealing cars and you get into things you shouldn’t. Your parents’ medicine cabinet is never the same. You’re reckless and you get caught.
You grow.
You go to college. You spend more time in your room snorting lines than studying, but this teaches you things that aren’t in books. You learn first aid, how to lie, how to pick someone’s pocket on the metro before they’ve realized you’ve even touched them.
You grow.
One day on the train, you nab someone’s wallet, someone important. They know who you are, where you’re from, what you do. They hunt you down and they make you hurt for the things you’ve done. They make you feel on the outside and numb everything on the inside, until you are hollow and angry, until you are just like they are.
You do not grow.
This man is high up in things you have only had nightmares about. He’s seen what you can do and offers you a deal. Work for him, or end up six feet under. Either way, you lose control. You choose to live. He takes you in, cleans you up, and sends you out into the harsh world with harsher orders.
This is how you lose your life. You may be breathing, walking, talking, but your life is on loan. It is someone else’s now and if you don’t do what they say, they can take it back from you without a second thought. So, you wipe the slate clean and you start being someone’s bitch, all the while taking everything in and twisting it to your own advantage. Every day is a slow, set clock spent in dark places doing dark things. But after a while, you begin to see the flaws, the cracks in the sidewalk, and you begin to grow again.
Title: The Angel of Retribution
Genre: Horror
Rating: R
Prompt: flash of lighting @ story_lottery
Summary: This is what you become.
Word Count: 701 words
Disclaimer: All characters, plot points, words, etc., are my own and I infringe on no known copyrights. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is sheer coincidence.
The stone statue stood intently, embracing its audience with scathing dissension. Its shocked expression filled many with regret, with shame, with paranoia, but not Adam. It stood staring at him dreadfully and he loved it. He loved its brazen hate, its incredulity that humankind could do such a thing to it. He loved how its passion, encased in polished, burgundy limestone, preyed on the emotions of the endless watchers that came through the museum every day. He loved the faces of the patrons, who walked quickly past the monstrosity, not daring to look into its eyes and see the beauty behind the grotesque horror the artist had portrayed in the statue’s features. It was excessive, uncalled for, and undeniably stunning.
It wasn’t until the art museum’s curator received orders from the artist himself that the statue was removed; even its creator could no longer gaze upon it without disgust. Adam was told to move it to the museum’s back basement, a dank place reserved for mindless “art” that had been quickly cast aside in favor of pieces more pleasing to the eye. As he loaded the statue onto the cart, Adam could feel the artistry beneath the canvas protecting the stone. The sculptor had taken great pride in his details; every muscle, every joint, it was all so realistic, like an actual person had been paralyzed and made into a bizarre monument to raw cruelty.
What was he thinking? Adam mused as he made his way to the service elevator. What sort of man would trust an artist like this? He wondered if the sculptor had lured the man in, promising payment in exchange for a model. Foolish.
What was your name? The statue offered no answer from beneath the cloth. It stoically ignored him until the rusty door shuddered open. Adam dragged the wheeled cart through canvas-covered pillars and carefully marked boxes. He set the large statue in the farthest corner, away from the sight of the elevator. He hesitated a moment before fumbling with the rope and tearing the canvas off the stone man. Surrounded by boxes of unworthy witnesses, it shone magnificently, like a great and terrible god. Adam stood in awe before it for several moments, just as struck now in the dim storage room as he was on the main floor when he first saw it, bathed in harsh light and harsher criticism. It seemed comfortable here, away from that; its terrified face seemed to relax and its body rested back against the marble floor that the artist had thrown it onto.
Adam walked slowly over to the wall and flicked the overhead light on. It was not very bright, but its soothing yellow glow suited the art beneath it. The red limestone from which the man was carved was riddled with gray and white veins, giving the effect of muscle and bone, as if this were a human turned inside out. The body itself was sprawled haphazardly across the marble, one hand lifting it from the ground, the other stretched out to some invisible foe. For protection or for help? Adam wondered. He stepped closer to the statue and studied its beautiful face. Contorted in rage and fear, the plump lips and large doe eyes were lost amid frantic panic. Its eyes seemed to plead to him. For what? Mercy? Redemption? Not any of these, he decided. Those eyes, which had plagued many visitors’ dreams since the exhibit opened, begged for vengeance, to gain retribution for the horrors it had been forced to illustrate. ”Please” they said, ”Don’t let me go through this alone, for nothing.”
In the silence of the storage basement, Adam let out a shuddering breath. He glanced guiltily at his wristwatch and cursed the last few hours he had to work before his shift ended. The curator would be expecting him on the floor in several minutes to give the last tour of the day. Perhaps he could give the tour and leave early, claiming illness. He certainly felt strange. With a last fleeting look at the statue, he got back into the elevator, his mind not at all on his work, but remaining the basement with the red, stone man.