03 May 2019
Today’s prompt: “What is the place or object from your childhood that you most think about when you think about home?”
You had a set of wooden blocks when you were a child. Squares, rectangles, a few triangles and cylinders. You put together buildings, built whole towns out of them, and then watched them topple with a wooden clatter.
You woke up this morning in R’lyeh, your captors having dropped you off, unconscious on the shoreline, and then rowed away. The buildings here remind you of that moment when your block houses were knocked down, when they had already begun falling. Physics demands the structures collapse, and yet they stand. Staring too long at them gives you a headache. It’s like looking into a funhouse mirror, one that reflects back a combination of hyperbolic geometry and imminent doom.
It’s only a matter of time until Cthulhu finds you here. You can hear his raspy, wet, juddering breaths several maniacally-angled streets over. You stare in the direction of the breathing, past an Escher-esque monstrosity of architecture with improbable spires jutting out of the concave edges sprouting from its twisted base.
You stare at the building, willing it to fall. It does not. You listen to the breathing, willing it to fade away. It comes closer.
You close your eyes and picture your blocks again, those solid, unwarped geometric friends with their right angles and parallel lines, those mementos of home. You open them and look out on the landscape of R’lyeh, and know that you’ll never see home again.
28 Apr 2019
Posts will resume Friday.
27 Apr 2019
Today’s prompt: “The most troubling phone call you hope you never receive”
“Hello?”
Breathing comes through the receiver. Not like a heavy breathing kind of thing – there’s an edge of rising panic to it.
“They’re coming,” a familiar voice says. You can’t quite place it.
“Who’s coming?”
“I don’t know. But they’re dangerous.” The voice seems to be coming through speakerphone, and there’s a hint of an echo. “You have to go get help. Don’t let them….”
You hear a pair of dress shoes clacking closer to whoever’s holding the phone, echoing through some cavernous structure.
“There you are,” a voice you’ve never heard before says. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“No. Please, no!” the familiar voice cries out. And then it hits you.
That’s your voice.
There’s a gunshot. Then the same footsteps, coming closer. And then the call goes dead.
And now you’re running. You don’t know what to do next. You just know you have to get out of there. You have to get in your car and drive far, far away.
You dash down several flights of stairs and into the parking garage. There’s your car. You run to it, and you’re fumbling for your keys when you hear a sound. It’s the sound a phone makes when you’ve just dialed a number and hear the rings of the other phone. You look around and see the glow of the phone, sitting on the hood of your car. You pick it up, just as the person on the other end of the phone picks up.
“Hello?”
It’s your voice.
You hear a familiar pair of clacking dress shoes echoing through the parking garage.
“They’re coming,” you say.
26 Apr 2019
Today’s prompt: “An e-mail that you inadvertently sent to someone who wasn’t supposed to see it”
From: jmckinnon@wexford.com
To: sjackson@wexford.com, smcfarland@wexford.com, yourname@wexford.com
Subject: Quarterly Sales Slump
Todd is pissed about our numbers. His literal words: “Heads will roll.”
Any ideas what we can do about this?
Jess
From: sjackson@wexford.com
To: jmckinnon@wexford.com, smcfarland@wexford.com, yourname@wexford.com
Subject: Re: Quarterly Sales Slump
I’m thinking a sacrifice to the elder gods for prosperity?
See More from Jess McKinnon
From: jmckinnon@wexford.com
To: sjackson@wexford.com, smcfarland@wexford.com, yourname@wexford.com
Subject: Re: Quarterly Sales Slump
Sure, but who?
See More from Steve Jackson
From: smcfarland@wexford.com
To: jmckinnon@wexford.com, sjackson@wexford.com, yourname@wexford.com
Subject: Re: Quarterly Sales Slump
Well, [insert-your-name-here] hasn’t exactly been pulling their weight lately.
See More from Jess McKinnon
“Shit. Siri, recall e-mail.
“Siri, recall that e-mail.
“Shit shit shit.”
From: sjackson@wexford.com
To: smcfarland@wexford.com, jmckinnon@wexford.com
Subject: Re: Quarterly Sales Slump
Hey Shannon, I think you just hit reply all, and [insert-your-name-here] was actually on that e-mail chain.
See More from Shannon McFarland
From: jmckinnon@wexford.com
To: smcfarland@wexford.com, sjackson@wexford.com
Subject: Re: Quarterly Sales Slump
Yeah, you said the quiet part out loud.
See more from Steve Jackson
From: smcfarland@wexford.com
To: jmckinnon@wexford.com, sjackson@wexford.com
Subject: Re: Quarterly Sales Slump
Well, we’d better move fast then. Maybe they haven’t checked their email yet.
See more from Jess McKinnon
25 Apr 2019
Today’s prompt: “Write an anonymous letter to a stranger detailing the things you’ve learned about life.”
To Whom it May Concern,
Thomas Hobbes is frequently quoted as saying that life is “nasty, brutish, and short.” Most people, of course, ignore the full context – that life outside a well-regulated and governed society is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. Without laws, the community, the social contract, all men have an equal claim to everything in the world, and thus nature would lead us to a war of all against all.
What Hobbes did not know is that there’s society, and there’s The Society.
We in The Society know there’s far more to life than the day-to-day grind of all the little people working their little jobs, fighting their petty fights, pursuing their miniscule dreams. There’s more to life than the fickle winds of political change or the swelling and receding tides of history. These are all trivial, and they only hint at what’s real.
What’s real is power. I’m not talking about riding around in a limousine. I’m not talking about holding elected office or rubbing elbows with film stars. I’m talking about the very thrum of the universe, shaping the very molecules around you to your ends, raw energy ripping through the core of you as if you were a Tesla coil.
Power, true power, comes from the Old Ones, and they grant it to their servants. For a price, of course. Some would blanch at the price, but for those who have heard the calling, who have tasted true power, what is the value of life? Of a few lives?
Of your life, if we’re to be specific?
You’re reading this letter because you woke up at the bottom of the sacrifice pit. And I’m afraid your life, from here on out, will be nasty, brutish, and short. Now be a good chap and fold up the letter and put it back into the envelope, would you? Wouldn’t want to waste trees. We’ll need them to burn this whole world down.
24 Apr 2019
Today’s prompt: “Do a detailed character sketch for a fictional character about whom you would never, ever want to write. Work to avoid making up anything that would capture your own interest.”
You wake up at 6 a.m., all smiles and eager to start your day, having gone to bed early last night after watching a few educational videos about personal hygiene. After toweling off from your shower, you put on your favorite pants – those khakis with the front pleats – and your favorite light gray polo shirt, buttoned all the way up to the top.
You make your lunch, slathering mayonnaise on two slices of Wonder Bread and topping them with two Kraft Singles. Ahh, processed American cheese. The perfect sandwich. You drop it into a brown bag with a Red Delicious.
And now it’s on to breakfast. Decaf coffee and a bowl of plain oatmeal.
You stir your oatmeal, scoop out a big spoonful, and suddenly pitch forward, face down, dead, into the bowl.
Sorry, I couldn’t get your cause of death. I was too busy yawning.
23 Apr 2019
Today’s prompt: “Set something on fire”
The fire begins peeling away the skin around your feet and calves. You scream as loudly as you can against the cloth gags, and struggle against the ropes that bind you to the post. It’s a bad way to die.
You close your eyes and try to ignore the pain, to move beyond it, but each pop you hear from the fire consuming the wood below you is a reminder of the flames rising higher.
You don’t know what will take you first – the carbon monoxide, the blood loss, organ failure, shock. You just hope it’s soon.