Week 388 (November 16-22) Stories Topic: Patterns

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

You have until the 22nd of November to post a story and from the 23rd to around the 27th of November, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best!

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a story previously used in this group. Only one submission per person is allowed.

Your story should be between 300 and 3,500 words long.

REMEMBER! A short story is not merely a scene. It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

This week’s topic is: Patterns

Thanks goes to Nicky for suggesting the topic!

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story about anything that has to do with the subject/photo but it must relate to the topic somehow.

Most of all have fun!

[Garrison]

I've been feeling sleepy as hell these past few days and therefore got little done in the way of creative work. This new contest will hopefully turn that all around. My story this week is the final entry in the Poison Tongue Tales 2 saga and it's called "Street Sleeper".

CHARACTERS:

1. Johnny De Morgan, Human Busker
2. Link Rotunda, Orc Warrior
3. Debra Lynch, Elf Rogue

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Johnny’s overcoat has a checkerboard pattern.

SYNOPSIS: On a snowy winter evening, homeless street musician Johnny is freezing and exhausted as he tries to play songs for cash on his acoustic guitar. His guitar case is shallow with money and his enthusiasm for music is dwindling fast. Link Rotunda, a prizefighter, has just won a massive amount of money during a championship match, so Johnny desperately tries to cater to him with his music. Link laughs at and bullies Johnny while telling him to “get a real job”, much to the anger of fellow homeless beggar Debra Lynch. Link is much bigger and stronger than both of them, but Debra won’t allow Johnny to be pushed around. Johnny still tries to beg for money seeing as how he feels it’s his only real chance at getting a hot meal and a bed that evening.

[Garrison]

AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Street Sleeper
GENRE: Fantasy Drama
WORD COUNT: 1,713
RATING: PG-13 for language, sexual dialogue, and mild violence



Johnny De Morgan’s pick strummed delicately across his guitar strings and created a heavenly lullaby for those walking the streets at night. He too could feel the heaviness of his eyelids and the quicksand-like pull underneath his body. Yet he continued to strum his beautiful melodies as the snow gently poured into his guitar case, barely a single gold coin occupying this space. Strangers walked by with their chins tucked into their chests, not giving Johnny the slightest glance.

The night sky blanketed the city in midnight shadows. Johnny wished he too had a blanket of some kind, but all that kept him minimally warm was his checkered overcoat, striped scarf, and thin layers underneath. He struggled to keep his fingers steady in this shiver-inducing weather. Sometimes his melodies would echo awkwardly across the street corner because of his shaking. Johnny stopped playing and gripped the neck of his guitar like he was actually strangling someone. He held the instrument above his head like he was going to smash the fucking thing to pieces.

“Johnny, no!” shouted a feminine voice off to the side. The busker’s eyes must have been too frosty to notice her at first, but that beautiful voice could have only belonged to the elven rogue Debra Lynch. Light green skin, thick layers of black wool, wavy blue hair, and a cap over her scalp: she was unmistakable at this point. She had the same weary and sorrowful expression in her damp eyes that Johnny did. That made her even more beautiful (not that Johnny would ever tell her something like that).

“Johnny, you can’t give up yet. You’ll freeze to death out here if you don’t keep playing,” begged Debra.

“I don’t know, Debra,” said Johnny with his head hung low. “Does it really matter anymore how good I am with this stupid thing? Nobody’s paying attention. Everybody just wants to walk on by like I’m some sort of fucking monster. Forget it, Debra, I’m done with this shit.”

“So what would you rather do? Starve to death?” pleaded Debra while cupping her hands over Johnny’s arm. “You don’t have a choice in the matter. It’s either this or death. Wait a minute…you’re not actually considering…” The elf’s voice grew shaky with those last few words.

“Like you said, Debbie-Cakes: I don’t have a choice in the matter,” said Johnny with more coldness than the snowflakes pounding down on him. “I can stand out here and freeze like a motherfucker playing for pennies…or I can just fall asleep in my own shallow grave. Never have to wake up again. Never have to deal with these ignorant people. Never have to worry about where my next meal’s coming from. Sounds like heaven to me.”

Debra smacked Johnny in the back of his head and messed up his black puffy hairdo. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about that nonsense again! If you just fuck off the face of this earth, what am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? I need you, Johnny. We need each other!”

Tears welled up in Johnny’s frosty eyes as he said, “Sorry, I’m just a little frustrated, that’s all. God, what I wouldn’t do for a hot bowl of soup and a fucking blanket! Is that too much to ask for?!”

The argument came to an abrupt end when Johnny and Debra’s eyes zeroed in on a heavyset orc strutting down the streets. His leather armor, bloody war paint, and gigantic sword sheathed on his back gave him the aura of an undisputed champion. The burdensome sack of gold coins on his belt caused Johnny and Debra to snap awake with secretive excitement. Johnny strummed his guitar much more vigorously than before in hopes that the rock and roll music would entice this brutish warrior.

The orc attempted to skate on by, but Johnny and Debra blocked his path with the biggest of grins. Debra even rubbed her gloved fingers together to signify what she and her friend wanted. “Fuck off and die!” shouted the beastly warrior as he shoved Johnny into a row of rubbish bins.

“Hey!” belted Debra. “Who the hell do you think you are pushing a defenseless man like that?!” When the orc refused to listen, the elf grabbed him by the thick wrist and jerked him over for attention. “I’m talking to you, you gigantic sack of shit!”

“Debra, wait!” pleaded Johnny as he picked himself and his guitar off the ground. “That’s Link Rotunda! He’s a cage fighting champion! You’re not going to get any gold from him by calling him a sack of shit! Show some respect!”

Link’s rotten grin coincided with Debra’s fiery glare as the orc said, “That’s better! That’s what I like to see: people taking initiative!” He pointed his sausage index finger at Debra and said, “You could learn something from a guy like him!” The elf hmphed and folded her arms, never releasing her death stare from the gigantic bully. “Now then, where were we? Ah yes! You want some of this gold, sonny boy? You want to eat tonight? You’re going to have to earn it! Forget that stupid hipster guitar! You’re going to dance for your supper!”

“He will do no such thing!” grunted Debra before being held at bay by Link’s massive arm.

“What do you say, you sweet little boy? Are you going to dance or what?” asked Link with a devilish smirk. Despite Debra’s angry protests, Johnny tossed aside his guitar and danced around like a monkey attempting ballet. Link’s throaty laughter caused Debra to hold her face in her hands in sheer embarrassment. “Good one, good one! Now put the garbage can on your head! Do it, monkey boy!”

Sure enough, Johnny heaved a garbage can over himself and danced around some more, Debra shaking her head the entire time and Link laughing it up with a few knee slaps to boot. “How am I doing, Mr. Rotunda?”

“Oh, you’re doing great, my friend! You’re going to be a rich motherfucker in no time at all! Just one more thing and you’ll have all the gold you want! Take off that silly garbage can…and suck my dick!”

The monkey dancing was replaced with a frozen stillness and silent weeping underneath the garbage can. He slowly pulled off the bin and revealed an expression full of shock and despondency. “Is that what you really want, Mr. Rotunda? I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

“This is bullshit!” shouted Debra as she picked up the fallen rubbish bin and tossed it at Link.

The orc slashed it in half with one wave of his newly unsheathed sword. Garbage scattered across the ground and blew away in the winter breeze. Johnny silently asked Debra what the fuck she was doing and elf stood her ground with clenched fists and a raw attitude.

Meanwhile, Link just laughed it off and said, “I guess you don’t really want hot soup after all. It’s a shame, because I could have given you more soup in that one BJ than any restaurant. It’s saltier too! And tastier! Or so I’ve been told!” Link sheathed his sword, waved goodbye, and chuckled, “Keep saving up!” He turned heel and strutted away until the nighttime shadows covered him completely.

Johnny’s cheeks quivered and his eyes cascaded as he struggled to say, “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? He was our meal ticket!”

Debra’s angry breathing intensified to where this winter weather could be confused for a boiling summertime hell. She grabbed Johnny by his overcoat and shoved him against a brick wall. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” raged the elf. “Do you really think he was going to pay you all that money to humiliate yourself like that? Bullshit, he would have disappeared like a fart in the wind! I know you’re a homeless man looking for change, but you should never have to lower yourself like that just for a half ass chance at getting paid! I don’t care if Link Rotunda is the champion of the fucking universe! He’s a bully first and a humanitarian last! How do you think he wins so many of those fights?!”

Johnny snorted loose snot up his nose and swallowed before sobbing, “I’ll take a small chance of getting paid over no chance any day of the week.”

Debra slammed Johnny back first against the wall and raised her fist in the air as though she was ready to knock a few teeth loose. “I should turn that fucking face of yours inside out for saying shit like that! I should rip your brains out through your eye sockets and eat that for dinner instead of some poor man’s soup!”

Johnny De Morgan could feel his insides turning into jelly and his bladder and bowels loosening while anticipating the stinging fist that would eventually shatter his skull into snowflakes. The tension in his stomach made him ill. His skin turned pasty white. He shook harder than when he was struggling for warmth.

And then Debra said, “I’ve got a better idea than that” before showering her victim with a handful of golden coins. Johnny could finally breathe a heavy sigh of relief like a whirlwind of seething pain coming out of his mouth. His elf compatriot brushed his checkerboard coat off and said, “The only way you’ll ever eat with me tonight is if you never pull that shit again. You’re my best friend. I hate seeing you in pain like that. Link was never going to give you those gold coins, so I snatched them from him while he was busy laughing like a fucking hyena.”

Johnny and Debra embraced one another and gave their bodies enough warmth to last through two more winters. It wasn’t just physical warmth that Johnny felt throughout his body. It was that special warm fuzzy feeling of knowing his best friend had his back through thick and thin (even if she did scare the shit out of him). Johnny could picture the bowl of soup sliding down his throat and soothing his frosty wounds. Broccoli cheddar soup from a garlic bread bowl. Thank you, Mr. Rotunda. Thank you so much!

[Edward]

I hate to bring it up, but we've done patterns before...

[Garrison]

I knew it sounded familiar.

[Edward]

Last Halloween! I thought it sounded familiar too. And yes, G-Man, you submitted a story last time too. :D

[Garrison]

I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world. :)

[Samantha]

Help Me
written by,
Samantha Clough
word count: 603

Help Me

Written by,
Samantha Clough


It was just supposed to be a simple recon mission. All we had to do was survey the area for potential traps. Everything was going well. The locals had greeted us just like we were family, and the day had gone by smoothly.
(So why am I hiding in a basement, with a kid who is bleeding to death?) I looked at the boy and sighed. No matter how you looked at it, this boy was a rookie in every way.
(And now he’s dead.) The boy stared at me with horrified eyes, as I leaned over him to search his pockets.
“Sir-“
“Shush.”
I didn’t want to hear his last words.
(Knowing my luck the enemy will hear him.)
I rifled through his pockets, and found a radio disguised as a cookie tin. Sadly, it didn’t have any cookies, and the boy had little else of value.
(At least he has a gun and ammo.) So now I have two hand guns with ammo, a grenade, and a radio disguised as a cookie tin.
(Ok. I have a way to communicate, but that won’t help me if I’m dead.) I carefully put everything away into my pockets, then I prepared to give the boy his final farewell. He continued to watch me, as I took his too small hand into both of mine.
“I’m sorry.” This war has already cost so much, and this child wouldn’t be the last to pay.
(But at least he doesn’t have to die alone.) I felt him squeeze my hands in desperation, but he wisely stayed silent. (He looks kind of like my little brother.) I stayed with him until he died, then I gently closed his eyes. A part of me wanted to cover the body, or at least fold it’s hands, but that would have been too risky.
If the enemy hasn’t already tracked the boy, then it was only a matter of time. I walked up the stairs, and listened at the door. It had been a while since I heard anything from the outside. The locales would have told them about the boy. (But do they know about me?) I tried to think back to the other day, when my life was a simple pattern.
Got to work. Interact with my neighbors of the last five years. Eat. Drink… My hand was on the door when I heard the front door slam open. I ducked back down the stairs, but I knew there was no way out. The windows were too small and even if I could crawl through them… The enemy was clearly searching for us and they knew about the basement.
Because you could clearly see it from the front entrance. (So then, do I try to go out guns blazing or…) I couldn’t help looking over at the body. It was such a shame that it wouldn’t get a proper burial.
“But at least this way, they won’t find out anything.”
I took out the grenade, and laid down next to the body. It was still warm and I moved my arm under the head so that, it was cushioned against my shoulder.
“Hope you don’t mind kid but I need something happy to distract me.” He could have been my brother in life, and as I pulled the pin, the door to the basement was kicked open. Life is just full of surprises, even when you think you’ve won the war! (And going out with a bang is more my style.) The last thing I saw, was the boy’s face bathed in flame.

[[deleted user]]

Daily Routine
written by Slytherpuff
word count: 324

Patterns have affected every day lives. Daily lives may be considered patterns because you constantly go to the same place for work or school or you have a certain routine. Speaking of school, you follow a pattern of classes and lunches. The order rarely changes. Morning routines are another pattern that is accepted as a fact of life. Perhaps, they may be coordinated with family members. For school or for work, you wake up at the same time and aim to go to bed around the same time. Perhaps, you might order the same food or drink every day where it gets to the point where the employees know how to make it to your specific standards. Some of you may have certain times designated to holidays.

Look at a rug or a pillow nearby. Perhaps an unknown pattern will appear. The pillow has a striped pattern of dark red, dark blue, green, purple and grey stripes. After every two stripes, the next line, has a design. The design on each of these lines is different. It is still a pattern due to the intervals and the designs.

Deviations may occur from these patterns. The weekends interrupt the patterns from the weekdays. Also, daily routines may be affected by someone’s plans changing in the family. There are days when you will wake up late or go to bed late. At school, classes may be shortened or an assembly may replace classes. This may cause the order to shift. At work, sometimes there will be meetings and phone calls or perhaps you will be sitting at a desk working on a computer. Mother Nature may suddenly change and mess up plans. Also, a great deviation is vacation. Other deviations are occurrences within a family such as death. Also, there is the possibility of getting sick.

Whatever your case may be, patterns are guaranteed to be part of your every day life whether known or unknown.

[C.M.]

Title: Meet Cute
Words: 989
Author: C.M. Fritzen

Meet Cute

Zaiver tiredly ran a hand through his long, silver hair, tucking it reflexively behind his pointed ear. Another day in the life. He had been tasked with picking up Lord Draconis’s special jaf from town. This was not his least favorite task. He enjoyed the fresh air and being able to walk the streets of Lartnek. But it did remind him that he was not free, despite his apparent freedom. Guards lined the town and each knew his face and forms intimately. He knew most of the guards too, but he was the one kept and watched. Zaiver had never attempted to run away since the first time he had tried and subsequently spent a month in the stocks with the only sustenance shoved in his face and down his throat not to mention the weekly floggings. Still, the boundaries were there via the guards and in his own mind.

Zaiver sped along the street, weaving through the townsfolk, avoiding bakers and grocers and tailors and more. He felt like he was swimming upstream against the current of the townspeople. Stepping sideways, he narrowly dodged a woman carrying a large basket and crashed straight into another woman.

“Oh!” she said as she landed on the street with a bump.

“I’m so sorry!” Zaiver reached down to help her up.

The woman was of medium stature with light brown hair and hazel eyes. She scowled at his proffered hand and stood up on her own.

“Do you regularly walk down the street with your eyes closed?” she said, now on her feet.

“I--” Zaiver started, resisting the urge to fight back in defense, “I… I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

She studied him, pursing her lips, and he felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny, “My name’s Serenity.” she stuck out her hand.

“Zaiver Silver White. Pleasure to meet you,” he grasped her hand firmly.

“Wow. Three names in one. Quite a mouthful,” she folded her arms and leaned back slightly as if to survey his whole being.

His cheeks flushed, “Uh, yeah… Zaiver’s my dad’s name…”

“So, Silver, then?” Serenity nodded swiftly, “Nice to meet you, Silver.”

With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the stream of people before Zaiver could as much as protest. Best get that jaf… he thought.
***

The following week, Zaiver eagerly rushed to town on another errand. Perhaps he would run into Serenity again, though hopefully not literally this time. He made his way to the baker, looking at every woman he passed, hoping to see those hazel eyes and brown hair.

“Excuse me, sir!”

He paused, frustrated, “Yes?”

A short, thin elf stood there with a stack of papers in her arms, “I wondered if you would help me deliver these to the printer. They are incredibly heavy.”

He frowned, “I’m actually busy…”

“Printer’s just a few block away.”

“Oh, alright.” He took the stack from her and followed her to the printer, listening to her talk about some sort of event she was advertising for some tavern she worked at. He wasn’t particularly interested as he was still searching for Serenity.

They arrived and after setting the paper down on the printer’s workbench, Zaiver turned to say goodbye and paused. The elf stood with her arms crossed, leaning back slightly, surveying him.

“Well… bye,” he looked down and away from her gaze.

“Thanks for your help. Don’t close your eyes on the way back!”

“Uh, okay.”

***

Zaiver spent the next month looking for any chance to go into town so he could look for Serenity. Every trip he did meet a woman of some race or another. One trip was a werecat, another a tall elf, a draconian, a Light Wolf (that was strange) and a variety of human women. All of them had him do some menial task and every single one ended their interaction by crossing their arms and inspecting him. That he also found extremely odd. Was there some secret female errand society that had singled him out from the other men in town?

“One last time. I’ll look once more. If I can’t find her, she must have just been passing through...” Zaiver sighed to himself as he walked Lartnek’s main street, headed this time to the tavern to pick up a crate of seasonal brandy for Nis’s kitchens.

As he came near the tavern, he felt a tug on his tunic.

“Excuse me, I--”

“Have an errand for me?” Zaiver didn’t need to look to know a woman was standing at his elbow, he knew the pattern well enough by now, “I don’t mind helping… but I’m looking for someone…”

“It helps if you keep your eyes open,” she said.

He turned and looked at the woman, standing with her arms crossed, leaning back slightly, surveying him. This time she was short with black hair, pointed ears, and hazel eyes. Hazel?

“Wait…” Zaiver frowned, trying to put the pieces together, “Do you happen to know the woman I’m looking for? Her name is Serenity. She has hazel eyes, like yours, brown hair and is about height, maybe a little taller, and without pointed ears.

“So… like this?” slowly she changed, her hair grew lighter, she became taller and her ears rounded and shrank, “Serenity, you said?”

“W-what? Are YOU… you… Serenity?” Zaiver sputtered.

She laughed and the sound shone in his ears, “In the flesh!”

“So.. you… all this time… right here…?”

“Really, Silver, I expected more from you!”

“Polivorn? Shapeshifter?” he still couldn’t form sentences.

“Yep. Why don’t you buy me a beer and I’ll tell you all about it.” she smiled and linked arms with him, heading inside the tavern.

Zaiver allowed himself to be led and marveled at her smile. He wanted nothing more than to see that smile as often as possible for as long as he could. He would do anything to make her smile.

[C.P., Windrunner]

Not sure that this really stands all that well on its own, but it's what I have so I figured I would share it. It's set in the same fantasy world that I've been working in for a while. I've already shared some stories here.

Any thoughts are welcome.

Title: Creeping Darkness
By: CP Cabaniss
Genre: Fantasy
Length: 700 words

Darkness spilled under the door of the small chamber, rolling across the floor like spilled oil, sliding closer to the bed in the far corner. Amateras watched it curiously, chin propped on her knees, which she held tightly to her chest. This was not the first time that the darkness had seeped in, but it did seem to get closer each time, as though it were gaining power. She had asked her guards about it once, long ago, but they only sidestepped her question and cast fearful glances her way when they thought she couldn't see.

It was one more mark of her madness.

Now, as the darkness crept closer, covering the surface of the smooth stone floor, seeping into the rug just beside the bed, Ama looked up. Numbers and letters danced there in a colorful, writhing mass. She blocked them out most of the time, pretending she could not see them. It made her guards--the priests--uncomfortable when she talked of the patterns. But here, alone in her room, it was safe to see. It was also safe to act, which she would never do in front of a guard. Her imagination conjured up plenty of punishments for such an act, but the worst thing they could do to her was also the most likely. They could take away the sky.

Releasing her legs, Ama lifted her hand toward those dancing symbols, splaying her fingers and plucking, one at a time, like a musician plucking the strings on an instrument. She called it making a recipe, this thing she could do that everyone feared. The patterns of the world displayed themselves for her, begging to be seen, to be used, and sometimes, on rare occasions, she obliged them. It was the least she could do in return for the comfort they provided on all those lonely nights she spent tucked away under the monastery.

She never considered that it might be because of the patterns that she was sent here. It was not the fault of nature that men feared what they did not understand.

Bringing both hands before her, fingers plucking away, she cocked her head. Yes, that was the right order. All she needed was one more piece...there, she spotted the missing number as it danced in the mass of symbols. With one finger extended, she tugged the last piece from its dance and tucked it in line with the rest of her recipe. These symbols had stopped their dance. Instead, they held their place in the recipe she had created.

Pulling air into her lungs, Ama breathed out, willing the recipe to work, to become.

A swath of brilliant light burst from the recipe as it shattered, the pieces falling away, back into the dancing colors. The light pulsed forward from over her bed, driving the darkness away as it filled the room. It was a much speedier exit than the entrance had been, the blackness recoiling from the light, sliding from the rug and back toward the doorway within seconds. And then, just like that, it was gone, back under the door and out into the monastery. Maybe it would seek out a priest and sink its darkness into him, but she couldn't think too much about that. There was nothing she could do but drive it away from this room, the rest of the monastery was off limits to her, locked behind the door that kept her inside.

Lying down, finally able to relax now that that oily blackness was not seeking her out, Ama allowed herself to watch the dance of the symbols, her eyes picking out the combinations she would need for a variety of recipes. Everything in the universe had a pattern, you just had to know what to look for in the symbols.

As the dance overhead lulled her to sleep, Ama wondered about the darkness. It was not the dark of nature, but something else. And it was seeking her. She had been lucky thus far, but how long could she stay ahead of that suffocating entity? It was a question she could not answer, so she allowed herself to drift off, safe for one more night.

[Edward]

Title : One-Eight-Seven’d / Eighty-Six’d
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 848
Rating : PG13

Waking up, Monty couldn’t help getting a sense of déjà vu. He wasn’t in his own home, but instead he was in what looked like some sort of hotel room. Sitting up on the unfamiliar bed, Monty crossed the room to the window, looking through the net curtains at the exterior surroundings.

It was still night time, but the lights outside were bright, and even someone who had never been to this place before would undoubtedly know where Monty was.

Las Vegas!

It was all coming back to him; how he’d got drunk and headed out here on the first flight, even though he’d been banned from every casino in the area. His ability to count cards had got him into heaps of trouble, but for some reason he’d decided to come back and try his luck. He glanced at the bedside table and noticed an unfamiliar passport. Picking it up he looked inside, seeing a picture of himself that wasn’t quite him – his normally shoulder length hair was much shorter and much darker, and his stubbly beard was all but gone, He reached up to his chin, noticing for the first time that his chin was much cleaner than usual, and then he felt his hair, feeling it wasn’t as long as he’d been so proud of it being.

Had he decided to disguise himself so he could gamble?

Monty shrugged; he guessed so.

He looked at an outfit he assumed he’d left folded over the back of a chair – a tuxedo by the looks of it – and slipped into it before picking up his room key and heading out of the hotel room and down to the casino below.

The casino was busy, but it didn’t take him long to select a suitable table after he’d collected a number of chips. He sat down, gesturing to be dealt in, and picked up his cards from the table…

Less than an hour later, Monty had turned his one hundred dollars worth of chips into a little over seven thousand dollars, and he smiled as he collected the chips together, put them into a bucket he’d been provided by the casino staff, and retired to his room for the night.

Closing the door behind him, Monty staggered towards his bed then stopped short. A very attractive woman was laid out on the bed, her cheek resting on her hand as her reclined form smiled at him.

“Hi Monty,” she said, “remember me?”

Monty stared at the attractive woman and, despite what he hoped, he didn’t know who she was. He shook his head in response to her question.

“It’s Lucy,” she said, getting up from the bed, “and we had a deal.”

“A deal?” he repeated. “What deal?”

“You told me,” Lucy began, “that you wanted nothing more than to get one more chance at gambling in a casino; to make some much needed cash.”

“Did I?” Monty mused, then added, “I did?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, rising from the bed, “and now you have to pay up.”

“Pay up?” Monty looked confused, staring down at his bucket of winnings, “you want my winnings?”

Lucy shook her head, “Oh, no no no,” she said, “something much more precious than that. I want your soul.”

“My soul?” Monty repeated, looking completely confused.

“Yes,” Lucy sighed, “don’t tell me you can’t remember?”

Monty shook his head, “Not really,” he said, “did I happen to be drunk at the time?”

Lucy shrugged, “I’ll admit, you had been drinking,” she said, “but then I’m not responsible for the decisions you make when you’re drunk.”

Monty looked dubious about this strange woman’s words; part of him thought this was all some kind of joke, but another part of him, a small part, was very frightened indeed.

“So what exactly does that mean?” Monty asked.

Lucy smiled, “You have to come with me.”

Monty put down his hard earned cash, won by using his uncanny ability to recognise patterns in decks of cards and predict what cards were left to be shown, and walked towards Lucy, almost in a daze. He slipped out of his shoes as he walked towards the strange woman, who held out her hand to him. He took it, and the two of them walked towards the window.

“Now, don’t worry,” Lucy smiled, “I’ll be with you all the way.”

Monty nodded as Lucy helped him up onto the balcony railing, and the two of them stood precariously, looking down at the ground eleven stories below them.

“It’ll be okay,” Lucy said comfortingly, “you’re with me now.”

The two of them stepped off the balcony, and Monty felt the wind whistling past his face as they descended. He turned to look at Lucy, their hands still intertwined, and he’d have sworn he saw, instead of a beautiful woman, a red faced demon.

But he didn’t get a chance to tell anyone about what he’d seen. He was found dead on the forecourt of his hotel, his skull crushed and his body shattered.

And there was nobody beside him… Lucy had vanished.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Whoops. Sorry guys. (Special apologies for the topic as well, I forgot we had done it before!) I have been caught up in a lot of stuff and had to work today. Polls are going up!

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Wow today's been crazy! Will send message later!