Excerpt
Cynical Depression
My eyes snapped open. Even in the suffocating darkness, I found myself beginning to relax. The noise had come from outside my door, from the sounds of it, the little ones were playing a rather rowdy game of tag. I sat up, shifting so I could lean back against the wall, a flick of my wrist illuminating the room with dull light. What little concrete wall was peeking through my décor absorbed much of the light. Another bang interrupted the silence, followed by some shouts in protest. I reached for my phone, the light of the screen blinding me. It was only 7 am. Figures. I rolled my eyes as I began to swipe through my messages. Another email from the mayor with a request for a sit down, five emails from the bank on First Street pleading for their money back, and one email from Love. I stopped my scroll and stared at the name. Why would Love be contacting me? I didn’t miss a meeting or kill anyone this week last I checked…
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Origin
I was nine when my past came back to haunt me. I had finally left the ring. Got out as they say. Clawed my way out from under the piles of bodies left in my wake, but I made one fatal mistake; I left my brother behind. When he discovered me, oh so many months later, I found myself barricaded between him and the dumpster behind the Trickster’s bar, his arm pushed against my ribs and his hand around my throat. My fingers clawed at his hand, the bloody scratches doing nothing to stop his hand from squeezing my throat even tighter.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Mischievous Delight
The world had turned upside down, or maybe right side up? Delight crashed into my room/the garage, stumbling over metal pipes and gas canisters before finally tripping and falling over a half built engine. She was in tears, a strange sight for sure but my eyes found themselves drawn to the purple bruises circling her delicate neck, being partially covered by her shaking hand.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Cynical Angst
I smirked at the memory of Depression’s shock as I followed the hallway right, left and around a blind spot before entering the dining room. Well, it was more like a cafeteria/hangout space but with its high ceilings, obtrusive ledges, and history of battle planning, many of the senior group members have come to calling it the War Room. I find that I agree with them as the room is reminiscent of a castle’s great hall, but with less gold and more blood stains. I grabbed a leg of chicken and some toast off the serving plates before seating myself at the head of the table. The youngsters provided excellent entertainment as they continued their game of tag, chasing each other around the long, oak table. A patch of red caught my attention as our newest member scurried by me. Seems Enmity was finally comfortable enough to relax her powers and interact with the other kids. She was definitely the youngest of the group at only six years old.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Loving Delight
I found myself hitting the refresh button again for the gazillionth time. Still no reply from Cynical. The question was, was he not answering in order to spite me or had he simply not read it yet? I clicked refresh again as my jaw began to clench. Cynical knew better than to ignore me.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Betrayal of Cynical Love
The city was grimy and dark, smog choked the color from the sky and the life from the weak. The streets were smeared with the blood of children who had gone out of their way to damage each other beyond repair. The city was overrun and Cynical liked it that way. He ruled over the darkened minds of traumatized kids, their pain redirected into glorious bouts of rage and violence as they sought to maintain control. The light and good were constantly at their throats, pushing and pushing for power until blood gurgled from their mouths, staining their teeth. This was Cynical’s city and he would not allow anyone to take it from him.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Flashback
The slam of the dagger silenced Cynical. Love was talking, Cynical could see his mouth moving but the words were muffled; absorbed by the onslaught of memories Cynical found himself drowning in. That dagger, his third favorite dagger, had made that exact same sound when Greed had found him.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
The Minstrel Shelved Upon Himself a Sigh
The minstrel gazed upon a sleeping wood yearning for Celeste, his recent amour. Her husband was now long gone as was she and he could no longer reach her door. (She had no husband). Fairly innocent he was, a young soul, baby-faced and all. Never was the Minstrel found out to be the one she was with. They had been meeting at an apartment in the village. He had jumped out the window as surely as he could before ire dramatically slammed opened the bedroom door (by the occupant of the apartment, of whom she had stolen a key from, unbeknownst to him). Baby-faced Minstrel then ran in his under-dunders through the back streets of the town until he reached his own home. He didn't see Celeste for a while after that.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle4 years ago in Fiction
The Nerd Herder
Between planets aboard the USS Barclay in System D: The Executive Officer (The XO) and The Chief Information Officer (The Chief) both took their seats on the bridge of the USS Barclay, settling in with their snacks and drinks. While the ship was under way there wasn’t much to do. The two of them could deal with any standard procedure from the comfort of their usual seats of command. The XO was technically an amalgamation of the past experience of every crew member, downloaded and compiled during her manufacture. It had the combined expertise and experience to make any decision reasonably close to what a quorum of shipmates would have chosen. It’s core rested in the most protected area of the ship; it’s location known only by a select few. Today it had chosen to represent itself with an automaton in the shape of what can only be described as a monkey bat the size of a football. He gently rustled his wings as he wiggled around, attempting to find that most elusive perfect position.
By Nick Wilbanks4 years ago in Fiction
