ONLY 3 HOURS OVERDUE TODAY!!!
how am I the worst at deadlines ;_;
FEEL EMOTIONS YO
FUZZ, YOUR CHALLENGE FOR THE SIXTH OF JULY IS
DRAW SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE ME FEEL MULTIPLE EMOTIONS.
It doesn’t matter which emotions or how many, but more than one.
That’s the first thing he hears, and the last.
He looks up, blood smeared across his face, bones aching and he’s just so tired, he’s so tired of all of this, of having to be strong. He’s never been the strong one.
The footsteps come closer.
“Why are you doing this?” he whispers, voice shaky. “Please, why?”
A harsh laugh. More footsteps, behind him.
“You know,” the words are hissed at him, “You know why we had to do this.”
A loud, sharp smacking sound, and his face stings, then becomes almost numb. “Shut up.”
He spits out blood, filling his mouth.
“If you would just tell us, Rodolfo.”
“No,” he says. He’s said it this entire time. He might be tired of being strong, but that doesn’t make it any easier to be weak.
Well - it would be very easy to be weak, actually. But he isn’t allowed.
Another slap, his other cheek now on fire with pain.
“You’ve recently had a child, Rodolfo,” the voice says softly, and then it crouches in front of him. “With your pretty little wife, mm? It would be a shame if anything were to HAPPEN to them.”
No, no not Katie, not Katie and Sam - Sam’s only a baby still, and Katie didn’t know what she was getting into when they married. “No, please, I can’t tell you! I don’t know anything!”
“It is a bit late for that.” The man in front of him is masked. The only thing Rodolfo can see are his eyes, a deep, dark blue. Like ice, cold and emotionless. “We know you have the information we need. If you do not tell us, we will find it from another in your department. You are dying either way, of course,” he adds as an afterthought. “But whether or not you cooperate now determines how… painful it will be.”
Rodolfo closes his eyes. He cannot betray his country. “I do not know anything.”
A dark laugh, deep and hollow. “You’ve chosen your path, then, Rodolfo. Pity, blood is so very difficult to remove from clothing.” The shadow of a man stands, looking behind the chair Rodolfo is tied to. “Kill him. But make it slow. Make him feel it,” he instructs, and then
pain pain pain
Lucy, on the 6th of July, your challenge is
WRITE SOMETHING IN PAST TENSE
LUCY, YOUR CHALLENGE FOR TOMORROW IS
Write something DISTURBING.
FUZZ, YOUR CHALLENGE FOR THE FIFTH OF JULY IS
PUT YOUR MUSIC PLAYER ON SHUFFLE, BE INSPIRED BY THE THIRD SONG TO PLAY.
It’s the same every day.
Susan sighs, setting down her coffee cup on the kitchen counter and trailing her hand over Mitzie’s fur. The cat meows, purring softly and craning her head against Susan’s hand, and this is what happens every morning.
Her life is boring, boring and normal, and Susan never wanted it to be. She wakes up every morning at 6:00AM, takes a shower, brushes her teeth, gets dressed. It’s a routine that she’s had since she was sixteen, and it hasn’t changed in the five years since then.
After she’s clean, she’ll make her way out to the living room, greet Mitzie, then go into the kitchen and make a cup of coffee and some toast. She needs to be out of the house by 7:30 and that gives her just enough time to feed Mitzie and sit down to watch the news.
“What am I doing, Mitz?” Susan asks quietly, scritching the back of the cat’s neck lightly. “Remember? Being an adult was supposed to be exciting…” She shakes her head. “I’m so boring,” she remarks with a frown, stroking her back lightly. “Boring job, boring life, boring everything.”
Mitzie meows and Susan knows the sympathy she perceives in it is only in her head, but it makes her feel better nonetheless.
She knows that in a few minutes, Mitzie’s going to jump off the table and curl up in the sun coming through the window by the big chair. She always does.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” Susan murmurs, walking her fingers down Mitzie’s back. “In high school, I was… Well, still boring,” she sighs, “But marginally less boring. I at least had friends.”
Susan doesn’t have friends now that she sees outside of work. Everyone drifted apart after high school, and now they’re all making something of their lives. They’re all doing something while she’s stuck in a job that’s sapped her of her creativity and her uniqueness, if she ever had any. It’s made her complacent, made her comfortable. She wanted to be secure, but she never wanted to be stuck.
“Oh, Mitz,” she mumbles. This cat is the best part of her life, and that’s just pathetic. “Mitz, how do I fix this?”
Mitzie’s back legs tense, and Susan braces herself for the ridiculous dejected feeling she gets every time her cat decides she prefers warmth to her. But all Mitzie does is pad off the table onto Susan’s lap, feeling it out before turning around once and curling up.
If her cat, if a cat can change its routine, why can’t Susan? Why can’t she make her life what she wants instead of accepting what it already is? Why can’t she let herself do things instead of forcing herself to remain static? She learned this in English class; all the best characters are dynamic, so why can’t she apply that to her life?
… Because life isn’t a short story, she thinks, worrying her lower lip. Books aren’t how things actually happen. Stories are stories, and life is life, and she has responsibilities. If all of the characters in a book were dynamic, it’d be a horrible story, anyway. Some people are just meant to stay in the same place. Some people just can’t change.
Susan sighs, picking Mitzie up and giving her a kiss on her disgruntled head before setting her on the floor.
The news is on in two minutes, and Susan can’t break routine.
She just can’t.