Fiction Under 500 #1

He had no idea where the story was going. Or what it was going to be about. Or whether it was going to be good. Or readable. But he was going to write it before he reached work.  He needed to write it. 

He entered crowded train. Took first available seat. Drew his notebook.

No pre-planned characters or plots. No direction in mind. He was just gonna make up shit as he went along. Should be interesting, he thought. 

He penned his first words.

Train pulled into station. Dozens squeezed themselves into packed train. A dozen stops until work.

He looked forward to reading whatever literary chaos ended up on his notepad.

Five hundred words or less, he thought. Here we go….

She mashed her heel into its chest. Used the leverage to remove her devine spear from the Demon’s belly.

She could hear the Scale Lord’s breaths. Shallow but still in existence. Gargantuan body rising and falling beneath her heel. Long, shattered wings flapping wildly as if trying to escape the demon’s expiring body.

She exhaled.

Cold smoky breath.

Her childhood spent preparing to avert the prophecy. One more strike to the heart and she will defeat fate. She can return home to her love. One more strike and she’s free of her cosmic shackles.

“Prophecy’s false,” She said. “I’m alive.”

The Scale Lord cackled. Coughed. Spat a purple oily substance at her feet.

“The battle’s won,” The Scale Lord replied. “Long ago.. its won.”

She drew her sickle. Beheaded Scale Lord before it could further speak.

She staggered off the Scale Lord’s corpse. Collapsed to her knees.

“Thank you, Ele’ees,” She said, praising her goddess.

The Scale Lord’s body quickly deteriorated to dust.

Its done.

Daylight through the window. Warmth of the sunrise through the prison bars and cracks in the stone walls. Birds chirping.

Ele’ees gave her strength. Weapons. The will to defeat the prophecy. Proof that divine power existed. That the universe was fair. That mortals like her can shed their cosmic shackles. Live the way they choose. She would spend the rest of her days praising her Goddess. Spreading her gospel. Loving Alex.

She walked to the shattered stain-glass window.

She  bathed in spreading sunlight. Inhaled the smell of grass. Goosebumps from the clean air breeze on her skin.

I’m going home, she thought. There was plenty of sunlight and grass home.  I’m going home to see him, she thought. To murder him… and everyone in my vil-… 

She felt rage. Felt joy. Felt bloodlust.

None were her thoughts. Her feelings.

“Isn’t me,” She tried to convince herself.

“But it is,” Scale Lord replied.

Power… she thought. Tried to chase the evil thoughts away but couldn’t. Felt like her own mind being silenced. Crushed. Replaced by another voice. Kill them all, she thought. Fuck the gods…

Skin tingling.

She rolled up her sleeve.

“I told you,” The Scale Lord said. “The battle was already won.”

She drew her spear. Twirled around the room looking for the owner of the voice.

She checked her arm.

Black scales. Up her arms and across her collar bone. She felt organs shifting. Expanding. Transforming.

“No… Alex,” She cried.

She cried so hard she was blind.

“Alex… I failed” She said as she released her spear. “I’m sor-”

She jerked forward. Landed on all fours.

They tore through her flesh. Her shoulder blades. Large black wings.

Such pain.

She cried. Tears of pain. Tears of sadness. Tears of laughter.

No escaping fate, she thought. Prophecy prevailed as it should. She embraced what she’s meant to become… The Queen of Scale. World devourer. Her true self.

“Alex… I’m coming home,” She said with a smirk.

Odd story, he thought.

He reached his stop.

He wondered why all of his endings were tragic and hopeless. Was that him? Was that a reflection of his soul? Was he the Scale Lord of his own lore? Or was he just a strange, odd, awkward son of a bitch?

He put his notebook away and exited the train car.

Probably the latter, he concluded. Strange, odd, awkward… Maybe a little broody.





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