Ani-Mind (Short Story – 100 Prompts)

“She’s a lion, definitely. Or no, wait, maybe a jaguar,” whispers Trae under his breath to Mhark next to him. 

“Don’t be stupid, only celebrities and the insanely rich can afford exotic Ani-minds.” 

“I bet she’s a python,” Ash sits on the other side of Mhark and chimes in on their hushed conversation. The three stifle chuckles and try to keep quiet in the back of the conference room.

Despite their whispering, Matilda hears it all. Her reddish brown eyes fix on the three of them. She doesn’t know them by name, they are low level employees from the accounting department, but with one glance she knows everything about them. 

She rambles on with her presentation on their quarterly numbers, able to recite all her stats by heart without looking at the projections behind her, and continues to eye up the three gossipers. Both males wear dark, well tailored suits and white dress shirts, only their ties are a shock of color against their neutral suits. The one on the left has a tie printed with feathers in beautiful orange and red tones. A metallic bird in flight pin adorns one of his lapels. The right hand man has a tie of black feathers with shiny blue-green accents to each of the feathers. His silver tie clip is a large bird silhouette. Birds, they always think they’re better than everyone. 

She turns her attention to the woman who joined in. Her blouse is a gradient of blues, darkening as they flow down towards her waist. A dainty silver necklace hangs at her throat with a blue crystal water drop dangling from it. Just underneath her left eye, a small patch of blue fish scales has been tattooed onto her cheekbone. The scales seem to glow brighter as her face turns scarlet with embarrassment. 

Matilda switches the slide and begins to talk about the upcoming quarter. Her gaze slides over everybody in the room. Each figure in some way proudly displays their Ani-mind; a pocket square with dog bones here, cat whiskers tattooed on plump cheeks there, a wrapped scarf with cartoon bunnies frolicking on another. She thinks about her own outfit today, a modestly cut dress in deep plum with a long gold chain looped several times around her neck. The only other adornment to her outfit is her First Global Bank identification badge hanging on her chest from a longer gold chain. There are no symbols and no patterns which is just as she intended. 

Of course she has an Ani-mind. Everyone does. She just chooses to keep it private. When the technology debuted five years ago, even the founders didn’t know how ingrained it would become in daily life. It was marketed as a way to inhabit the mind of an animal for a short period of time. “A simple escape to a simpler mind,” they touted. Ani-mind was a way to experience the sheer bliss of a dog, the contentment of a cat, the ability to fly as a bird, or swim through beautiful coral reefs as a fish. Practically overnight, they became multi-billionaires. Not only was Ani-mind an escape, it became a lifestyle.

She finishes her presentation and everyone scatters quickly back to their desks. Only after the last person has left does she pick up her plain white mug and make her way to her corner office. Along the way, she overhears several of her employees discussing their dream Ani-mind, if money was no object. The huddled group hush as she gets close, replacing their conversation with a respectful “Ms. King” as she passes with a smile. 

Back at her desk, she opens her mailbox and begins to swipe through the pile of advertising emails she’s received. 

Frolicking Felines – connecting single cats, either in human or feline form. Delete.

Calling all Raccoons! A new study is recruiting now! If your Ani-mind is a raccoon and you’re between 18-28 years old, click here! Delete.

Discount Exotics – Be a lion for an hour at a fraction of the cost! Can’t miss offer!! Delete. 

Matilda wonders about the people who would choose a discount Ani-mind experience. She had seen a report on the news once about those places, the animals are extremely sickly and practically dead which is how they’re able to rent them out so cheap. I guess people do it just to boast that they were a lion once, even if all they did was lay there. 

The rest of her afternoon goes by quickly in a haze of spreadsheets and international phone calls with other branches to discuss the budget cuts she was imposing on them. A headache begins to form at the base of her skull. She leans back from her desk and rubs at it when a small knock sounds on her door. 

“Come in.”

The blonde head of her assistant Christoph pokes through the widening gap. “Hiya Ms. King. It’s 5 o’clock and I’ve finished up for the day. Is it ok if I head home or did you need me to do anything else?”

“That’s all for today, thanks Christoph. Have a good night,” she says with a small smile, glancing at a dog tag glittering from a black cord around his neck.

“You too!” And he leaves with a small wave. 

She decides it’s time for her to head out as well. She shuts down her computer, turns off the lights, and heads down in the crowded elevator, listening to the others talk about meeting up for a flight in an hour. The woman who held the door for her to get on has a single feather tattooed on the inside length of her lower arm in exquisite detail. Matilda can’t help but stare at the skill of the artist who did it. The woman notices her staring and grins.

“Had it done right after my first Ani-mind. I knew I was a bird before I even experienced it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Matilda replies. 

The woman’s eyes scan over Matilda, looking for some clue, and her eyebrows knit together when she finds nothing. Confusion was the typical response Matilda got when people looked her over. People can’t understand why she wouldn’t want to express the love for her Ani-mind. Matilda gives a polite but insincere smile and rushes out of the elevator as soon as the doors open in the lobby. 

Crowds push along the crowded city sidewalk, mostly people in suits rushing home from their office job to meld into the sweet world of their Ani-mind. She crosses the street and takes a path through the park. People line the benches; some are reading, some talking to friends, others have on the thin blue illuminated band wrapped around their head, eyes closed and a smile on their face as a squirrel or a duck or cat runs around nearby. 

Just outside of her building, she runs into one of her neighbors on the street, a ferret on a leash leaping alongside of him. 

“Hey Matty,” he says when he spots her. 

She glares at him. “Ugh, Kevan, you know I hate it when you call me that.” She squats down and pets the light gray ferret and her voices rises in pitch. “Well hello there, Mister Noodles! I’m so sorry you have to deal with him but you’re just so cute!” The ferret wiggles happily under her fingers. She stands back up and they walk into the building, grab their packages from the front desk, and into the elevator side by side. They chat about the weather, work, and finally he brings up the latest episode of “The Tarzan’s,” the latest TV craze about a celebrity family whose Ani-minds are a family of apes. The show alternates between the struggles of human lives and their Ani-mind lives. 

It always hung between them, never allowing them to be more than acquaintances. She could see him almost ask the question about her Ani-mind every time they spoke. She knew it was strange, hiding that side of her, but she couldn’t help it. 

They said their goodbyes as she unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside. Just like her outfit, her apartment shows no sign of her Ani-mind. The decor is minimal and animal free. 

From the moment she left work, she could feel it. That itch, that need to meld into the animal mind. That freedom is such a great release after a hard day. She kicks off her shoes and grabs a glass of water, taking it and her small package with her back into her bedroom. 

Slipping out of her business clothes, she pulls on a pair of comfy stretchy pants and a loose draping t-band shirt faded with age. Her ani-mind halo rests on the seat of a plush gray armchair in the corner of her bedroom. She spins the chair so it’s facing her closet doors. With a gentle tug, she opens both doors of her closet wide, the vast array of neutral and dark colored business clothes swaying lightly. From the middle of the clothes, she pushes them all to the sides and there it sits. 

The glass enclosure takes up the entire back wall of her closet and is two inches deep. The dark sand fills two-thirds of it and a light bar runs along the top of the glass. Tunnels have been carved criss-crossing all throughout the thin enclosure, allowing the white closet wall to show through. Various caverns mark endpoints of some of the tunnels. Moving along everywhere in the massive enclosure, brownish-red ants swarm along. Her eyes scan along the tunnels and caverns, looking for the queen. She spots her in one of the caverns, her size is three times that of the workers that move all around her. 

She runs her fingers along the glass and smiles as the ants move along behind it. She grabs the package and opens it up to reveal the ant food she had purchased online. Off to the left, she opens a hatch and dumps in a handful of the mixture. Then she sets the package on the floor, wraps the Ani-mind halo around her forehead and settles herself into the chair. The wire connected to the halo runs to a small button in her hand. 

She presses the button and the halo lights up blue as she focuses on the ant farm, trying to single out one ant making it’s way through the tunnels. The science behind Ani-mind was explained after it came out, but it never made much sense to Matilda. She knew it had something to do with blocking her sensory receptors and receiving and sending inputs to the animal. All she knew is once she focused on the ant, it takes about five to ten seconds for the room around her to melt away and the dark tunnel to appear around her. She knew from some chemical input that she was following this tunnel to the food her human self had just dropped in and bringing it back to the queen’s larvae. 

Her ant form was given a task, she executed it, and was given another task. That was her role and she loved it. After a day of giving orders and figuring out sophisticated financial issues, this simple task following was the perfect way to unwind. After an hour or so of moving the food from the drop site to the larvae to feed, she pressed the button in her human hand and slowly the bedroom appeared in front of her. 

Matilda’s headache was gone, her shoulders no longer tense, and she felt at peace. Leaving her closet door open, she got up from the chair and stretched, enjoying the calming sensation that flowed through her. She understands why people are so inclined to show off their Ani-minds; dogs, cats, and birds are the most popular, other small household pets right behind them in popularity. But she has never seen anyone broadcasting that their Ani-mind is an insect. It isn’t typical. But ants are strong and they band together with their colony and do incredible things. Why shouldn’t she be proud of her choice?

She pulls a black dress from her closet and drapes it over the back of the chair, preparing her outfit for work the next day. Turning on the TV, she climbs into bed and flips through the channels, trying to find something to watch. “Ani-mind Fails” is always an enjoyable watch, so she leaves on the clip show of people’s first time using Ani-mind. Puppies stumbling down stairs, cats with their tongues stuck out, and birds flapping their wings trying to get even an inch off the ground flit across the screen to a laugh track. After a moment, she hops up and crosses the room to her dresser. She digs through the top drawer until her fingers wrap around the small box she bought so many years ago. 

She lifts the jewelry box lid and pulls out the silver chain. Dangling from the bottom is a polished silver silhouette of an ant. It spins around, catching the light of the lamp next to her bed. She drops it back into the box and sets the box on the chair with her dress for tomorrow. She’s had enough speculation and hiding. Matilda climbs back into bed and turns off the bedside lamp. Her eyes drift from the TV to the massive ant farm in her closet. In the light, she can’t see the individual ants, but can make out their undulating movement in the tunnels. She drifts off to sleep with a slight smile on her face, excited about what tomorrow will bring. 

All short stories in the “100 prompts” tag will be written using the flash fiction prompts list on Eva Deverell’s Creative Writing Blog.  They will all be stand-alone short stories unless otherwise noted. Check out the Story Index for more. 

This story was written using Prompt # 70: A woman who uses her pet as a means to escape reality. 

They Say… (Short Story – 100 Prompts)

“They say this is the boy’s bike…”

It certainly looked old enough to fit the legend. Every inch of the frame was rusted metal and bulky, nothing like the streamlined road bikes which they all straddled. The relic rested haphazardly against a long forgotten wooden fence post that at one time marked the edge of a farm that used to be here. Every ten feet or so, another gnarled wooden post stood, creating an eerie border, cutting through the woods. The six boys dropped their bikes to the forest floor and crowded around the rusted figure.

“Wait, what boy? I thought you said the ghost was an old man?” Sean tugged his backpack off his shoulders and tossed it down next to his bike. 

“It is, newbie,” Lincoln sighed. He stepped in front of the bike, centering himself in front of the group of them. It was obvious from the moment Sean first walked into Timberland Middle School that Lincoln was the leader of the seventh grade. Sean knew if he wanted to fit in, he needed to be friends with Lincoln. “His name was Willard Grady. They say he kidnapped kids and brought them to the river and drowned them.”

“Why?” Ezra had spoken up. Sean was sure this wasn’t the first time the other boys had heard the story, but Lincoln was in showmanship mode and all of them stood enthralled.

“He was crazy.” Lincoln squatted and touched the rusted bike frame reverently. “They say this bike belongs to his last victim. He disappeared the same day as Old Man Grady, nobody knows what happened to either of them; they say their bodies were never found.”

Lincoln stood back up and swung his bag around so it rested on his stomach. He dug in and pulled out a handful of things. “They say Old Man Grady still haunts these woods, ringing an old bicycle bell as he prowls for more kids to drown in the river. Sean, your dare, should you be so brave as to accept, is to walk to the edge of the river, light this candle, and shout out to Old Man Grady that you’re here and not afraid of him.”

Lincoln shoved the items into Sean’s hands: a white pillar candle, a pack of matches, and a flashlight. Sean didn’t relish the thought of walking into unfamiliar woods alone less than a week after moving to a new town, but he wanted to be part of the group, he wanted to show them he wasn’t scared. “Each of you has done this before?”

The five other boys emphatically nodded and added words like “loads of times” but somehow Sean didn’t believe them. “Ok, well how far until the river?”

“Walk for about 10 minutes in that direction and you’ll see it, you can’t miss it.” 

Sean loaded the candle and matches into his bag which he slung back on his shoulders. He stood at the rusted bicycle, hesitant to cross the invisible barrier where the fence used to be. With one last glance over his shoulder at the guys, he took his first step deeper into the forest. 

He told himself not to look back, that looking back was a sign of fear and weakness, but he couldn’t help himself and, after enough time had passed, glanced back to see if they were still there. Although he was far enough away that he couldn’t really tell them apart, he figured the one leaning against a tree was Lincoln with Thomas, Ezra, Nicholas, and Jace all sitting on the forest floor in front of him, the beams of their flashlights waving around madly as they fought with them. Even though it was only dusk, the dense canopy of the forest made it necessary for them to need flashlights. 

He turned away from them, thankful that they hadn’t left him as a cruel prank, and continued deeper into the dark woods. Sean told himself that he was almost thirteen, almost a man, and wasn’t going to be scared of a story. Everything was still and quiet this far in, the only sound is the constant babbling of water from somewhere ahead of him. The flashlight Lincoln had given him wasn’t anywhere near as strong as the one he had at home, it’s beam weakly lighting up a small patch in front of him as he walked. 

A small sigh of relief escaped from his dry lips as his flashlight finally reflected off the moving water ahead of him. He was almost done. At the water’s edge, there were several boulders. He walked up to the largest of the three, it stood about chest high and he placed the candle from his bag on top. Sean twirled the matchbook between his fingers, contemplating his options. He had made it to the river, he could walk back and say he did it. He was far enough away from them that even if he yelled out to the ghost like he was supposed to, they wouldn’t hear him. 

But did he really want to solidify his new friendships with a lie? Before he could think on it too much more, he struck the match and lit the candle. It wasn’t much, but the small flame helped make the forest seem not as dark. This was it. All he had to do was say some words and he could head back to his new friends. He cleared his throat and decided to scream as loud as he could, hoping that Lincoln and the others could hear him. 

“Old Man Grady! Here I am! And I’m not afraid of you!!” It would have felt empowering, if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle of the word afraid. Was it from fear or puberty? If he thought the forest was quiet before, it was as if all sound had been blocked now. Even the river seemed to quiet down. 

A twig snaps somewhere to his left. He sweeps the beam of the flashlight in the direction, anxiously shining it’s light around searching for the source of the noise. It was a deer, or a rabbit or something, he told himself. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He had done what he needed to. He blew out the candle and left it where it sat. 

As he turned to head back, his flashlight flickers, briefly engulfing him in the darkness of the forest, before coming back on. Sean never thought he would be so happy to have that weak stream of light. Not wanting to be there any longer than he needed to be, he heads off back out of the forest, faster than he had walked in. 

Brrring! The wind carried the distant noise to his ears, the sound which in any other situation would have been completely normal. But here, in the middle of the woods, the ring of the bicycle bell causes every inch of his skin to form goose bumps. Icy water had replaced his blood and he was colder than he ever thought possible. His chin quivers and he rationalizes that it’s probably just Jace, they said he was a prankster, so he probably added the bit about the bell so he could scare him. Yeah, that was it. 

And yet his feet stomp just a little faster. Something fast breaks through the cylinder of light cast by his flashlight. It took a fraction of a second. Did he imagine that? Maybe. But instinct takes over; his fingers and toes tingle as his body is flooded with the “flight” hormone. Sean takes off running at full speed, barely avoiding trees. 

He can hear his heart pounding, louder than he’s ever heard before. And yet over that deafening noise, there is something else. The sound is unmistakeable. Something is behind him and catching up. 

It’s too risky to turn and look but he has to know. Has to. Would he turn and see Jace red faced and laughing? Or would he see the ghost of a madman? 

He glances over his shoulder and his blood turns to ice again. It’s not Jace. 

But it’s not Old Man Grady either.

The figure chasing after him has the appearance of a boy, younger than him, but not by much. He wears overalls and his skin is sallow and gray. Even though he is keeping pace, his feet never touch the ground. He merely hovers along behind him. His arms are outstretched, reaching for Sean.

A part of him always thought if he did see a ghost, it would be see-through, like a fog. This apparition behind him was scarier. It seemed to have weight to it, as if it could really hurt him. Even though his legs ached with exhaustion, he pushed harder, trying to put distance between himself and the boy. 

Up ahead, the trees thinned and he could see the beams from five flashlights lazily floating around. An unintelligible scream escapes his throat. Part warning, part cry for help. Instantly all five flashlights find him. He can hear them screaming “hurry up!”

He can’t explain it, but Sean knows that if he can get past the old fence post, he’ll be safe. 

A raspy voice right behind him shouts “Run!”

He’s close enough to make out who is who in the dark, he can even see the shape of the fence post. He’s so close, he’s going to make it, he’ll be safe in just a few more seconds.

Before he can reach the invisible boundary, he is pushed to the ground from behind. The wind is knocked out of him and he lays there, gasping, listening to the frantic screams of Lincoln and the others just feet away. 

Cold fingers wrap around his ankles and with a sharp tug, begin to drag him back into the woods. His fingers claw for purchase in the forest floor, but find nothing but loose dirt and twigs. Sean lifts his head to see the five boys gathered next to the post, screaming to him. A sixth boy in overalls stands nearby, watching Sean with sad eyes. Without thinking, he kicks at whatever is holding him, glancing backwards just long enough to see the surprised look on the old man’s face. 

Scrambling on hands and knees, he heads for the fence post. The ghost of the little boy no longer scares him. Instead it waves it’s arms as if to say “yes, this way, come on!” 

Kicking off with his back feet, he reaches an arm out towards Lincoln to pull him to safety but it’s at that moment when Willard Grady’s ghost grasps his ankle again. Sean’s arms wildly reach out for anything to grab ahold of and they grasp the rough metal of the old bike frame. Before he can get dragged in again, Lincoln, Jace, Nicholas, Thomas, and Ezra each grab the other end of the bike. 

With two hard yanks, they manage to free Sean from the ghost’s grip and pull him to their side of the fence. They lay in a pile, breathing raggedly, and watch as Old Man Grady stalks back and forth along the inside of the invisible fence before giving up and heading back into the woods. 

The young boy still stands off to the side, smiling at them. He glances to the rusted bicycle tangled up in their arms. With a wink at them, a bicycle identical to the one they cling to, except without the rust, appears. The young boy hops on and turns to ride off into the woods, with a last brrrrring of his bicycle bell as a goodbye.

All short stories in the “100 prompts” tag will be written using the flash fiction prompts list on Eva Deverell’s Creative Writing Blog.  They will all be stand-alone short stories unless otherwise noted. Check out the Story Index for more. (Image is from: Here)

This story was written using Prompt # 15: Write a story that begins and ends with a bicycle.

The Patient (Short Story – 100 Prompts)

In the tiny one story home, the sound of big band jazz music can be heard everywhere. It would actually be enjoyable if it wasn’t for the fact that it was the exact same songs that have played on repeat every single day for the last four years. Add to that the ever present sound of all the medical devices beeping and pinging out of sync with the music and you have a recipe for madness.

When Ella had first seen the advertisement for the job, she thought it was a dream come true. Home health nurse wanted for elderly patient, M-F 8am-5pm. After working 12 hour shifts plus overtime at the county hospital, it sounded like nirvana. All she had to do was take care of one patient while the family member was at work. The patient, Maude, had been in a coma for several years and during the interview her daughter Violet told Ella that all she was required to do was to make sure that the medical equipment was functioning properly, change out the nutrient and fluid bags once a day, and keep Maude’s music playing. Ella had asked about bathing and moving the patient, but Violet said she takes care of that at night.

“What kind of music does she like,” Ella asked, trying not to let her excitement show too much over finding such an easy gig.

“Only big band music. I’ve got a few CDs loaded into the player, you just need to be ready to start it over as soon as it ends. If there’s no music playing, her blood pressure sky rockets. It really keeps her calm.”

In the beginning, Ella sat mostly by Maude’s bedside, talking and reading to her. She only left the room to use the bathroom, grab some food for herself, or to answer the doorbell, which was always the mailwoman who had been on this route for 20 years asking how Maude was doing. “The same- unresponsive but her vitals are good.” Aside from being in a coma, Maude was perfectly healthy for a 78 year old. It’s apparent that she was never a pretty woman, even in her youth. Every time Ella looks at her, she is reminded of the witch from Snow White, which is probably why the house is occasionally under attack by the neighborhood kids screaming “witch” and hurling eggs. The few times this happened, Ella took it upon herself to hose the evidence away before Violet came home; she didn’t want to upset her.

Through her first year working there, Ella familiarized herself with the house, reading some of Maude’s own books to her; the ones in English anyway. Half of the bookshelves in Maude’s room were filled with what looked like really old cookbooks in a foreign language she didn’t recognize. She knew Violet had a bit of an accent she couldn’t place so she assumed these books were from wherever Maude had emigrated.

Ella was very content in her job, even if there wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t until the end of her second year she started to feel restless and bored. She had read through her ‘I’ll get to it eventually’ book pile and was tired of trying to read gossip magazines to Maude. Her time during the day began to be more in front of the TV and less in Maude’s room, rationalizing it to herself that Maude didn’t even know she was there. She always made sure that the music was playing and to check on her once every hour. But over time those hourly checks became every two hours, then every three, then twice a shift. As long as the CDs were playing and the beeping sounded normal, she knew everything was fine.

By her fourth year, Ella had settled into her routine of watching morning talk shows, then checking on Maude, then back onto the couch for daytime TV, including her soaps. One morning, after a particularly long night out with friends, she got to the house sure that she still reeked of wine. After a check on Maude and grabbing some water and aspirin, she laid down on the couch and fell asleep. A few hours later, the quickened beeping of the instruments woke her. It took her groggy brain longer than it should have to realize the music wasn’t playing. Ella scrambled off the couch and ran down the hall to see that although Maude looked the same, the devices around her were sped up almost double time. The dinging and beeping was almost as frantic as Ella as she pushed the buttons on the player to restart disc 1. Within seconds of the first few notes the beeping slowed to a normal pace. Guiltily, she spent the rest of the day next to Maude’s bed reading to her. The next day is when the trouble began.

It had started normal enough, saying good-bye to Violet, checking on Maude’s devices and nutrient bags, grabbing herself breakfast and sitting down to watch Good Morning America. It was sometime during the segment on a water-skiing squirrel she got a chill that sent goosebumps down her spine. It felt as if someone was standing just out of her peripheral vision staring at her. No one was there, obviously, but she got up to check on Maude, finding her exactly where she should be, all her equipment working normally. The whole rest of the day she couldn’t shake her feeling of being watched. That eerie feeling lasted a week and then worsened the following week with a constant dread in the pit of her stomach. Ella found herself sitting on the edge of the couch most days, looking at the TV but not really watching it, trying to convince herself that everything was all in her head and nothing was wrong. It was when she began to hear her name being whispered that she really started to freak out.

The first time it happened she ran into Maude’s room and stood in the doorway staring at the unconscious woman on the bed, convinced that somehow she was faking and was the one who had called her name. Movement just outside the window caught her eye and she threw open the dusty old crocheted curtains to see the mailwoman looking at her from the sidewalk twenty feet away. Is it possible she was just at the window and ran over there? No, she isn’t fast enough. Who was just here looking in? No one, there was no one here, you’re imagining things. Ella’s mind ran a mile a minute and she gave an insincere wave to the mail woman before drawing the curtains closed. Satisfied that Maude was still in her coma and not the source of the whispers, Ella made her way back out to the living room. She stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with herself when she caught a snippet of dialogue from the soap on TV. “It was a ghost–” the show continued it’s ridiculous storyline, but hearing that word sent a fresh chill down her spine and made all her hair stand up.

A ghost? Could a ghost be responsible for everything I’m experiencing? She knew it all started with the lapse in the music, was the music somehow keeping a ghost at bay? It seemed ludicrous and if you had told her this scenario a year ago, Ella would be the first to tell you how crazy you sounded. But here she was, fully sane and considering a ghost. After talking with a friend that night, she bought a sage smudge stick to cleanse the house the next day. After Violet left, Ella lit the stick and walked slowly through the house, wafting it’s smoke into every corner, nook, and cranny, just as the saleswoman at the metaphysical shop told her to. An hour later, the whole house had been cleansed and she sat down on the couch relieved. For the first time in weeks she was able to actually watch TV, it was a news report on the massive thunderstorms that were going to hit very soon. Blackouts were a very real possibility during these storms, but thankfully Violet had all of the medical equipment connected to a backup generator that would kick in if the power went out.

And it did within an hour of the news broadcast, yet the beeping and big band played on. Between the lights being out and the storm clouds blocking out any hint of the sun, the house was pitch black. Ella grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen and made her way to the bedroom to check on Maude. The beam of the flashlight illuminated the instrument panels first and when everything checked out she turned to leave when the light from her flashlight fell onto the floor. She had never seen it before because it was always so dark but illuminated in the flashlight’s bright beam was paint on the hardwood flooring underneath Maude’s bed. Ella got down on all fours to check it out and she saw that the entire space underneath the bed was painted with symbols. She scratched at the one closest to her and the old paint flaked up easily under her nails.

As she pushed herself back up, the feeling of dread crept back in. It’s just because the power is out and this storm is making everything seem really creepy and there’s creepy symbols painted on the floor. There’s not actually anything wrong, you’re just freaking yourself out. And yet she hurried out of the room to grab another sage stick from her purse.

She dug through her large tote bag on the kitchen table and, unable to find what she was looking for, she dumped the entire contents of the bag out, spilling them on the table and floor. Lightning flashed and lit the house up for a fraction of a second before the BOOM of the thunder. In that fraction of a second she saw the sage stick on the linoleum floor next to some wadded up tissues and an old lipstick she forgot she even had. She dove for the bundle of herbs, somehow so sure that this would fix everything. Still on her knees, she tried to light the smudge stick when she realized it. She didn’t even know when it had stopped, but it had. The house was completely silent; no beeping, no alarms, and no music. And there, just at the edge of her vision, somebody was standing there watching her.

Fear jolted through her and she threw her whole body backwards and hit the kitchen cabinets behind her, she used them for leverage and pulled her body up. It was too dark to see clearly, but when another crack of lightning lit up the room, she saw everything… and wished she hadn’t. Maude stood in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room. She looked exactly how Ella pictured she would, except for the eerie grin on her face. The tubes that had sustained her in the coma now dragged behind her on the floor, dripping whatever substances they contained, and her body seemed stronger and less frail now than it had over the past four years. And then there was her eyes, they were yellow and had slit-like pupils like a cat.

With no warning, Ella was lifted in the air by an unseen force and dropped hard onto the kitchen floor. Blood immediately spurted from her nose and mouth, her tongue probed and found at least two broken teeth. But she didn’t have long to think about the pain before she was thrown hard to her right and into the stove, shattering the glass front and creating a thousand small cuts all over her body. Throughout it all, Maude hadn’t moved a muscle, except her eyes, which mimicked Ella’s movement as she was flung around the room twice more.

Ella lay mangled on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her from countless injuries. The pain was too much to bear and she could feel her vision fading. With the last seconds of her life ticking away, Ella could only watch as Maude turned and walked to the front door, which swung open on it’s own as she got near. A flash of lightning outside briefly lit up the porch, where the mail woman waited, drenched and kneeling as if in praise of her former patient.

“Finally, it begins…”

All short stories in the “100 prompts” tag will be written using the flash fiction prompts list on Eva Deverell’s Creative Writing Blog.  They will all be stand-alone short stories unless otherwise noted. Check out the Story Index for more. (Image is from: Here)

This story was written using Prompt # 39: “She’d been coming here every day for four years, and there was never any work to do.”

Breakfast at Tiffany’s (Short Story – 100 Prompts)

 The mug shattered on the tile floor, splashes of tea lightly stained the robin’s egg blue chairs and walls.  She stood, chest heaving, face red in anger, with her hand still in a claw shape from when she hurled the mug to the ground.  

His gentle voice broke the silence of the restaurant. “Honey…” That one small word had broken her trance.  She met his sympathetic gaze, seated across the table with his hands still cupped around his intact mug.   

Shame flooded every thought in her brain as she looked around at all the horrified guests.  How could she have let herself get so angry so quick?  They had come to the city for a nice day out.  Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  It was something she had talked about for years, having breakfast at Tiffany’s, and they had finally made reservations and done it. 

Earlier that morning she pulled out her pearls and a black dress; if she was finally doing this, she was doing it right. She and her husband had one of their best mornings ever, no fighting or complaining, he had done everything she could have wanted him to do without her even asking.  They had taken the train into New York and had some of the best conversations they’d had in years.  To be honest, things had been rough for a while, they had been drifting apart without even realizing it.  

Without looking at the waitress, the source of her former anger, she quickly dropped to her knees and began picking up pieces of broken ceramic.  The waitress and other staff quickly took over as she mumbled an apology.  “We’ll take the check whenever you have a second,” her voice was low, sad and ashamed, and cracked lightly.  

She could feel the tears welling up in her. Something she had wanted to do for years would now be a tarnished memory.  All because the waitress asked if they were almost finished. In the moment it seemed such an insult, how dare they rush her, don’t they know how long she had been wanting to do this? They hurried to pay, left an extremely generous tip, and practically ran outside onto the busy New York street. 

He pulled her in for a kiss and with a smile reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a slip of paper and a pen. With exaggerated movements, he drew a long line across an item on the list.  “Don’t worry, honey, the doctor said six months. We’ll come back when we finish the rest of the list.”  

All short stories in the “100 prompts” tag will be written using the flash fiction prompts list on Eva Deverell’s Creative Writing Blog.  They will all be stand-alone short stories unless otherwise noted. Check out the Story Index for more. (Image is from: Here)

This story was written using Prompt # 55: “I wanted to stand and fight. He just wanted to finish his tea.”