Since I got so many updoots on my proposed writing competition the other week, and no response neither positive or negative from the mods, I’ve decided to go through with it. Write in the comments below a short story, essay, or piece of poetry based on the prompt “Echos in the dark”. The winner will be determined by whoever has the most updoots within 7 days. I’d highly recommend you start writing straight away to get the most eyes on your work. I too will be writing something for fun, but won’t be included as a possible winner.
The winner of the competition will be announced in a separate post, either just winning bragging rights, or will get a shout out to any social medias or websites they’re working to promote.
“this is what I wanted…” she whispered.
Which was good, because I didn’t feel the same way.
My skin stretched tight, pulling into itself until it felt like the fractured blisters of the Sonoran desert.
I inhaled deeply, dust motes floating around in this filthy room drawn into my lungs, further desiccating what was left of this husk. Soul untethered and body adorned in what used to be someone else.
Blood stretched from the corner nearest me opposite the ratty, curtained window all the way up above the end of the bed frame, animating the stale beige adobe wall with a briefly vibrant shade of life.
The scabs were forming as I watched. Thickening. Quicker than I thought.
The ball of my right foot tapped incessantly on the floor, frenetic buttterfly twitches that the patterned tile drained out and muted.
“Yeah!” I rasped out suddenly. “Well, you…” I hacked a cough and trailed off into a muttered curse and pushed myself off of my knees without purpose.
My whole body felt empty…depleted. Useless. I couldn’t stand, I didn’t even want to look around.
I didn’t feel like screaming or ripping the curtains off their pole or begging for forgiveness.
But i did.
The sun was as bright as it was when I found this place earlier today and I instinctively turned away from the blinding glare, swearing loudly and almost falling over warding off the sun.
she whispered to me again and I looked up from the delicate, ornate petals coloring the tile at the grisly, mottled shapes lying on the bed and the cracked tiles.
The ropes on the sackcloth mattress cut maybe an hour ago, now. Three still reaching toward her outline, the last frayed end discarded on the floor.
Something. Where?
I only realized I was the one panting after double checking the hut for the source of the rabid gasps. This pueblo was an enormous clay oven, and the bodies I would not bury were fermenting as a profane, useless offering.
I pushed against the door, which didn’t open. I bumped into it and pulled down the anachronistic latch to let myself out into the piercing day. I held a hand to my brow, which let me squint at the surrounding area. Flat, cracked sand. Flat, cracked mud. Shallow, dry hills miles beyond where anybody could walk before succumbing to the baking heat and merciless overhead glare.
I stepped forward, sand burning through the sole of my boot, and she whispered to me.
I could hear her.