drabbles | Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

17/Nov/2012

Arthur

There’s a word inside a stone and whoever pulls the word out of there becomes king. Men have spent half their lifetimes conversing with the stone, laying forth their theories and trying to convince the stone they would be just kings, fair kings, loved kings. The scholars argue whether the word is stuck in a stone or in all stones, and so stonetalking’s spread to all corners of the kingdom.

A young man sits down next to the big stone (the one stone) and ignores the three knights quoting poetry at it. “Hi, how are you?”

“Bored,” the stone says.

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15/Nov/2012

Rigor Mortis O.

It is always a compromise, always a death. (I thought maybe it should be construed as a coping mechanism for an inevitable death, a rebirth, but that excuses it.) Weave your death into your identity to feel less hollow, the same way you would keep a gangrenous limb for reasons of symmetry alone. You are always a collective, never a collectivist. Never individual though starkly individualist. It saddens me how kinderly you people forget; I am not impressed with where you work, not unless this just pays you, for being you. Instead your ink is theirs, and you become

invaded.

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13/Nov/2012

Of White and Blue

In ancient times, the sky was full of suns, cold and far away. Jealous of their beauty, mankind built their own cold lights on the ground and mirrored the darkening sky. At first, the faraway suns still outshone the earth, but the humans in their cities put more and more blue lanterns by their bedframes and in their windows and to light up their streets. Eventually the sky was not only matched, but its beauty was beaten and the pinpricks of light faded away.

When we developed space flight to visit other worlds, we found that there were none there.

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3/Nov/2012

Trace Fossil

The grey bug burrowed deep into its host’s chest. Crawled and scratched and ate its way down to her heart and the heart stopped. The bug, simple as it was, could simply not comprehend what had happened; what was once a very lively source of heat and joy now lay dead in its arms. So it kept digging. It was in love, plain and simple. It dug until its claws and teeth had worn down to nothingness and then it waited until they grew back and it dug again; through bone, out her back. She was just not there anymore.

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28/Oct/2012

Bird of Passage

He was a bird of passage, born with human bones and body. Humans are slower than birds, in many ways, and the instincts weren’t quite right in his head. The swallow sees the leaves turn yellow and knows it is time to leave for warmer climates. He felt the same way when the first snow fell. He had to hand in his minimum two weeks’ notice, organise goodbyes, and buy a plane ticket for the day after his last social promises. He would arrive, make himself known and struggle for months; make friends, even. Then the first snow would fall.

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21/Oct/2012

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 20

A village on the side of the road with old timberframe houses and lantern light in the windows after dark, where your death has been foretold ever since you were born. Miss Buhnaf is taking care of the logistics; in her great wooden temple there is a stone on which you will be laid. Torches have burnt since ten years back and will fall when you are tied and secure. Men with burlap sacks and silent feet have been sent out to fetch you. It is prophesied you will come of your own volition, but the men have their ways.

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21/Oct/2012

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 19

“Just a what?”

Elle stared at herself, then back at her girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Elle wore the laces, high boots with a short skirt, sporting curly red hair and a corset. Belts everywhere. Cecilia, on the other hand, was a sore thumb. Her hair fell straight and blond past her hips. Minimal make-up. A jumper with some university name on it. Trousers that went the whole way down her legs; regular shoes. She clutched a little icon on a golden necklace; the icon represented a martyr on a cross.

“Just a phase,” Cecilia repeated, “I am not a what you are anymore.”

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20/Oct/2012

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 18

Today’s image makes me shudder every time I see it so I shall link it and not show it here like I usually do. No known source.

http://i.imgur.com/Yd12t.jpg

It starts off as an aperture of the skin here and there, all over the diseased’s body. Feelings of panic and anxiety are normal. You should seek out your doctor immediately for treatment. If not, the apertures will grow long, thin hairs around the edges, and they might expand. At this point, the spread of the parasite is mostly subdermal. Nerves grow over the arm and leg muscles, taking shortcuts through them if they need to, until the nerves have reached the brain. This is accompanied by a feeling of coldness and vast depths near the apertures. Then they blink.

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18/Oct/2012

Plots You Can Have #3 – Futuristic Edition

[Trigger Warning: suicide]

Part 2: https://zombiesintelligently.com/2012/08/26/worldbuilding-3-when-to-let-go-new-stuff/#more-355

Part 1: https://zombiesintelligently.com/2012/08/20/a-few-plots-you-can-have/

This time we’ve got the following genres: existential romance, vigilante fiction, space anti-opera, paranoir, etc (did you know you can just make up genre names?)

Love-(You)-Not

existential romance

Futuristic Megacity. Boy meets girl. Boy splits into million versions of self, only one which dares fall in love with girl. Girl falls in love with boy. Suicide wave strikes city. Media panic. Boy questions own courage. Girl afraid of outside. City crumbles. Boy meets afraid version of himself. Girl confronts re: this; gets wrong version of boy. “You dared go outside.” Girl breaks down. Wrong version of boy convinces girl of double suicide. Right version of boy is too late. Stays there waiting for either of them to wake up again, because boy doesn’t want to Romeo. Fade out.
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17/Oct/2012

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 17

Image courtesy of Pat Kight on Google+

The safest place on Earth. Strawhat Nick said that wearing thick gloves and pounding the walls of the red barn like it would stand there forever. I hid there in thunderstorms on the upper floor and tried to calm down the cattle, whispering to them that we’re in the safest place on Earth. Well structured, uninteresting, with lots of hay to live on and lightning conuctors along the sides so we’re untouchable.

I cannot get the images out of my head now; their giant cow pupils shrinking, their jaws opening to moo without getting any sound out, their legs dangling.

There was a crack of thunder and then the rain stopped. That was the wrong way around, I thought, rain should start after the thundercrack.

There was a low hum and then the slits and gaps in the boards glowed. I felt like I was sinking, but upwards, and my breath hitched. For a moment I was weightless. I held onto something.

Tufts of hay fell past me, ceilingwards.

The ceiling was dismantled with ease and the boards laid neatly down outside. The cows were carried up, slowly turning, utterly silent and terrified. Only I could scream and I did.

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