Wishkamon's 100 theme challenge

[Wishkamon]

Wishkamon's 100 Themes Challenge Prompts completed: 6 / 100 Ok, I think I'll have a bash at it. Setting myself the challenge to trying to stick to 500 words or less, in an attempt to improve on my verboseness. Any feedback is always welcome!   1. Introduction 2. Love 3. Light 4. Dark 5. Seeking Solace 6. Break Away 7. Heaven 8. Innocence 9. Drive 10. Breathe Again 11. Memory 12. Insanity 13. Misfortune 14. Smile 15. Silence 16. Questioning 17. Blood 18. Rainbow 19. Gray 20. Fortitude 21. Vacation 22. Mother Nature 23. Cat 24. No Time 25. Trouble Lurking 26. Tears 27. Foreign 28. Sorrow 29. Happiness 30. Under the Rain 31. Flowers 32. Night 33. Expectations 34. Stars 35. Hold My Hand 36. Precious Treasure 37. Eyes 38. Abandoned 39. Dreams 40. Rated 41. Teamwork 42. Standing Still 43. Dying 44. Two Roads 45. Illusion 46. Family 47. Creation 48. Childhood 49. Stripes 50. Breaking the Rules 51. Sport 52. Deep in Thought 53. Keeping a Secret 54. Tower 55. Waiting 56. Danger Ahead 57. Sacrifice 58. Kick in the Head 59. No Way Out 60. Rejection 61. Fairy Tale 62. Magic 63. Do Not Disturb 64. Multitasking 65. Horror 66. Traps 67. Playing the Melody 68. Hero 69. Annoyance 70. 67% 71. Obsession 72. Mischief Managed 73. I Can't 74. Are You Challenging Me? 75. Mirror 76. Broken Pieces 77. Test 78. Drink 79. Starvation 80. Words 81. Pen and Paper 82. Can You Hear Me? 83. Heal 84. Out Cold 85. Spiral 86. Seeing Red 87. Food 88. Pain 89. Through the Fire 90. Triangle 91. Drowning 92. All That I Have 93. Give Up 94. Last Hope 95. Advertisement 96. In the Storm 97. Safety First 98. Puzzle 99. Solitude 100. Relaxation

[Wishkamon]

A nice cheerful one to start off!

59. No Way Out   No way out The walls are slick and smooth; cold, wet stone covered here and there with a mottled landscape of loose, spongy moss. Above and below the surface every attempt to find purchase fails. My sore fingers grasp again and again for the tiny ledges, but I know that it is hopeless. The pale disk of sky grows darker and darker, sapping away at my deluded hopes of rescue. I understand that the chances of anyone else wandering so deep into the forest are slim to none, but I haven't yet truly processed it. I still have the energy to tread water, to shiver against the chill, but for how long? It's so cold. My teeth rattle my brain, and my body trembles, not just at the icy chill of the water, but at the thought of the depths below me. I can visualise an endless cylindrical expanse below the uneasy kicking of my numb toes, and the thought of the distance makes me feel sick. The rotting beams of wood which once protected this shaft from errant feet now float here beside me, mocking me with their inability to provide even the slightest meaningful buyency- I hit them almost every time I move my arms in the enclosed space, and I don't think I have ever hated anyone or anything as deeply as I hate those treacherous fragments of wood. I don't suppose I will ever hate anyone or anything again. I channel my rage at them. I waste the precious reserves of my energy screaming and shouting, flailing and floundering. I waste them because they are mine to waste, because I know that to be still and quiet would be sensible, but that it is not a palatable option in the face of such despair. I will die in this hole. It is just a matter of time. Of energy expenditure. Of exposure. The disk is a dark navy now, and I can see a single star. I know that an immeasurable distance has always separated us, but now these five or so unscalable meters make it seem so much further away. There is only distance in my tiny world now. The abyss below my feet and the unobtainable disk above. As the darkness takes over I become one with them both. I see only the star. Everything else is black. I float in sensory deprivation, and I drown in the sound of my own ragged breathing. How long?

[Wishkamon]

63. Do not disturb   leraina read the words for a fifth time, hoping to find some deeper meaning in them, but the small indentations in the granite lintel divulged nothing further. 'Do Not Disturb' She swore under her breath, acutely aware of the eyes of her traveling companions on the back of her head. It had taken all her guile and most of her funding to convince the suspicious villagers to guide her into the ancient catacombs, and she was sure they would not dare to go any further if they too could read the ancient inscriptions. 'It says 'halls of slumber.'' She dared not take her eyes off the door in case they betrayed her deceit. This could be what she had been searching for for so many years- the culmination of her life's work. There was no way she could stop now. It was just a warning, she told herself, a warning designed to keep out would be grave robbers, and she was no grave robber- she was a historian! The affirmation steeled her mind and she stepped back, gesturing for the seal to be broken. The least hesitant of the small group of men wiped his nose on his dusty sleeve before picking up the sledgehammer and going to work on the sleek black granite. He had played down in these catacombs as a boy, but he had not expected to find the same feeling of unease and foreboding down here now that he was a full grown man. The feeling spurred him on. Determined to overcome the childish fear he struck at the stone door again and again. A crack appeared, and then a hole. 'That's enough, let me see!' Leraina said, barely able to contain her excitement as she hurried forward with the torch. The first thing she saw was gold. Inconceivable amounts of gold in huge mountains that extend far beyond the reach of her torchlight. The second thing she saw was the opening of an enormous, reptilian eye. It blinked once and then focused on her. The ground began to rumble.   EHHH, bit cliche at the end. Originally I had enjoyed describing an indescribable ancient horror/humanity ending curse thing, but just couldn't get behind something like that being behind something with such a nonchalaunt warning! Maybe it was better? Oh well too late now!

[Wishkamon]

Whew, had to do some editing to cut that one down!

I used 'The Strays', from my round zero entry in this years Iron DM. You can check that out here if you are so inclined!

72. Mischief Managed   Flea observed the fat man from his hiding place behind a large, potted palm. Through the verdant leaves he watched the gluttonous pig strip off his clothes and wade into the heart shaped swimming pool. The clear water absorbed his varicose legs, then his swollen belly and flabby chest until all that remained above the surface was his balding head; pale hair swept sparingly across the shiny dome in a futile attempt to emulate abundance. Wet, pink lips formed a puckered circle, and he began to whistle tunelessly. Flea spat at the marble floor in disgust, hypnotised momentarily by the groseness, before chirping the signal that it was time for the fun to begin. All at once the manicured hedgerows of the villa's small garden burst into commotion. Five mangy dogs leapt out from the foliage, hackles raised and teeth bared. They bayed and snarled, encircling the pool and eliciting a vibrant stream of curse words from the fat aristocrat. Flea emerged from his hiding place and casually made his way through the decadent living space. He passed through the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors which separated the indoor and outdoor space, and then leant on his nail-infused sports bat and waited patiently for the man to spot him. When he finally noticed the boy, the fat man channeled his rage at him, but Flea let the colourful barrage of insults bounce harmlessly off his back. "...You'll not get away with this you filthy little cur! Call these beasts off immediately or I swear I'll hunt you down! I'll catch every one of you flea bitten strays!..." Flea felt no need to rebuke the unkind words. It was enough watching the meaty face grow redder and shorter of breath by the second. "Calm down old man, you'll pass out" he said calmly once he had grown tired of the fat-cat's floundering, "Me and my friends are not going to hurt you... And in return for this act of kindness, you're going to tell your greedy business partners that Hawks Leap is not safe for people like them." "Go to hell, you insolent whelp!" Flea shrugged his tanned shoulders, then he threw back his head and howled. The surroundings erupted into a noisy chorus as a swarm of street children burst from the hedges, howling and warbling like feral animals. Flea spun on the balls of his bare feet and watched with deep satisfaction as his mob tore through the place like a hurricane, destroying the carefully curated space in a matter of minutes. They tore down invaluable art, slashed designer furniture and shattered the tall windows; leaving not a thing untouched. Job done, Flea howled again, directing the feral pack of dogs and children for the door. The fat man gave chase- his enraged, bulbous form dripping pool water as he trundled clumsily through the ruins of his destroyed holiday home. Out of breath and naked he bellowed impotently from his doorway, but The Strays were already gone.

[Wishkamon]

Maybe I've been feeling a bit down these past few weeks, but I know that it will pass like the seasons.

52. Deep in Thought   I am happy being happy, so why do I sometimes feel nostalgic for despair? That strangling self-loathing, which I have long since vanquished, on occasion rears its head and I find a sick thrill. I could sink into it, like nails into pale thighs, I could lose myself in it, like fingers in a fistfull of hair. There's catharism in a visit to that wrything unhappiness, but I wonder: how did I ever inhabit this space? and can I ever truly be free of the potential to do so again? My negative thought patterns are now trails overgrown with brambles and weeds, and the paths forged by my positive outlook are made bare with frequent footfall, yet in times of trouble I find myself wading so casually back into the thick vegetation. I suppose the paths will always be there, although time has made them feel less dangerous. Infrequency has made me numb to the snagging of skin on those cruel thorns, and I alarm or amuse myself with dark thoughts which I no longer feel. I think them flippantly and without real venom. Why do they still live here in the shadows of my sunny disposition? Let it go. Exhale. Try to wash it from my skin in fresh spring rains. I am humbled by the beauty that surrounds me, and the laughable improbability of this world. I try to spread joy with my paintbrush and my smile. Look at the stars and marvel. I'm so tiny. Infinitesimal. And that brings me comfort.

[Wishkamon]

notes Been sitting on this in a failed attempt to cut it down under 500 words, I just like all of it, and can't bare to cut it! Am I being precious?! I think poor Faraday must be the problem, why do I love writing this trainwreck of a man so much? I need to get him into a game!

91. Drowning   'Get up, Johnny boy.' John growled incoherently and peeled his crusted eyelids open. When the world came into focus it was nothing but a vast, vertical sprawl of wet cobblestones. He moaned again and wiped dazedly at the strand of vomit-smelling drool which connected his chapped lips to the cold ground. His addled mind roused itself from sleep just enough to settle into despondency at the understanding that he had survived another of the depressing cycles of drunkenness and unconsciousness that now defined his days. How long had it been since his rejection from the Crossing Companions? He wondered, but he couldn't hazard a guess. ‘Get up now, Poppet’ John was certain that there was no point in lifting his sorry face from the gutter where it belonged. His bloodshot eyes searched listlessly for the source of the voice, and found it in the shiny surface of a glass bottle which lay, still within reaching distance of his nicotine stained fingers. Distorted by the curve of the bottle, the hideous, baby like face of the demon smiled at him. John's heart wrenched with exhausted self pity. ‘No. I won't. Go away.’ The demon pouted, observing him for a moment. ’Fine, if that's' what you really want…’ It blinked out of existence, stirring a sickening panic in the chest of the drunkard. John knew that the fiend was slowly torturing and devouring him, but it had become the only familiar presence in the relentless turbulence of his life. One, he realised with detest, that he was adrift without. "No, wait I didn't mean it…" he began, shakily getting to his knees and clutching at the bottle with sore desperation, "Come back!" The swollen face reappeared, beetle eyes glistening with mirth. "You are a joke." it hissed. John choked out a sound that was part bitter laugh and part thankful sob, and then the anger came. "Yes, I'm a joke- and you must the goddamned punchline! What imbecile would make a pact with someone like me! If my life is so pathetic, then what does that make you? Huh? Watching me all the time? What's the damned point, you stupid bastard?!' The demon did not take the bait. It never did. It smiled with infuriating nonchalance. "Oh, I may find a use for you yet, pet." John slumped back unsteadily, swaying with drunken exhaustion against the tyring onslaught of his frayed and erratic emotions. "What use?" He laughed, putting the bottle to his lips and draining the sliver of liquor that remained in the bottom. "You are haunting a dead man." "Or maybe I am just a voice in your head?" John snorted and tossed the bottle aside with tired rancour. At that point he noticed a mother and child walking past. The woman gripped the child's arm tightly- her eyes seemed to confirm the demon's insinuation; he was a crazy man. It erupted out of him, "What the hell are you looking at?! Huh?!" The little girl yelped and clung to her mother, and John laughed in deranged amazement at himself. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" The woman muttered, hurrying the youngster on. John stumbled to his feet, still laughing raggidly. "I am beyond shame! You can't shame me, you stupid bitch! You got any spare coppers? No? Well then **** OFF!" John watched her go and then sunk back inwards, his amusement fading rapidly as he descended back under the surface of his self-loathing. He couldn't be sure if it was himself or the demon speaking when he muttered, "You used to be so nice…" His fingers went to his pockets in an abscent search for tobacco, but they fastened instead around a coin. He pulled it out, squinted at it, and then smiled victoriously. "Did I get barred from The Dragon last night?" He asked? "Why don't we go and find out, Poppet?'

[Wishkamon]

01. Introduction   Auren Tullyho made his way through the crowd, parting a sea of Rubyroots denizens with his sapphire staff. He could already see the strangers, towering over the heads of the Draugers, Rock Gnomes and Svirfneblin who usually worked so tirelessly in the mines. They had been distracted, gathered round the winged trio like a flock of children at a magic show. "You there! What's your business?" He called as he approached, with characteristic and distinctively un-gnomish lack of cheer. The youngest of the exotic strangers, who was crouched down and conversing expressly with a pair of burley young women, straightened up like an alerted animal when the foreman called. "Ah! You are Mr. Auren?" His voice dripped with a strange accent, but he spoke the language with confidence. Behind him his armoured guards stood stoicly, hunched due to the low ceiling. Their faces were unreadable. "Aye. And who might you be?" The young harpy placed a clawed hand against his bare chest and swooped into a melodramatic bow, wings flaring show-offishly. "My name is Ches, twelfth prince of the Windseeker tribe, Champion of the 345th Red Moon Convocation! I have traveled far to reach this place, battled deadly hazards and braved the fierce elements to drink in the many wonders of this mighty city and the lands beyond! I come on a mission of compassion, friend!" Auren observed the prince skeptically as he rose from his bow, blue eyes twinkling in a handsome face. He'd never met a harpy before, but had heard tales that they were strange beings, prone to interference in business that was not their own... "And tell, what would bring a 'champion of the red moon' so deep underground?" "Your people speak of a monstrosity in the mineshaft. I wish to slay it, so you can work safely again." "Oh? Is that so, A mostrocety?!" Auren scoffed in amusement, voice dripping with cynicism. "And tell me, your highness, which one would that be? We have mine shafts and monstrosities a plenty down here!" His reaction garnered a round of laughter from some of his kinsmen, but to his irritation the prince laughed too- a melodical sound like a bubbling brook or well-composed wind chime. The sort of laugh, he thought bitterly, that might make married women swoon. Those were the other tales they told of harpies…. "Huh, well unfortunately I can not spend all my life here slaying monsters, there are many who need my help," the stranger admitted with an apologetic shrug. "So I wish to fight the most pressing one. The big worm which sweet Gillybelle here has told me about." Auren's chest tightened at the girlish giggle elicited from young Gilly. He looked the prince up and down- he was barely more than a boy. 'The big worm' was a rock guzzling, acid drooling, 90ft monster. After a long pause, the grumpy forman waved his hand dismissively. 'Do what you want" he said before turning and heading back through the crowd.