Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Tweet Fiction: Cruising Cursed

     The sun was just peaking out behind a scattering of clouds that looked like the softest pillows that could ever be. A light blue sky stretched all the way to the horizon, providing the perfect backdrop for the scene. It was warm out, but not in a way that would cause one to sweat, and the heat was accompanied by an occasional cool breeze to keep the air from becoming too stagnant. The waters were calm, allowing the cruise ship to cut through the water easily, providing a smooth ride for the few hundred passengers aboard, each excited to finally be setting off. Add in to the fact that there isn't a single thing that I'm obligated to do and you've create the perfect environment for a vacation full of relaxation and recovery. 

     It would have been perfect my stomach wasn't constantly turning at the thought of what I needed to do today. I was cursed, you see. I did not immediately believe the old spinster of a woman, who apparently felt I was the worst human in existence for dropping a handful of change in what I thought was a beggar's cup. The splash and foul language that followed informed me that it was merely a cup of coffee. However, the misfortune that had come my way since then could not be explained away.

     I've lost my job, nearly lost my house and car, my wife is staying with her sister a few towns over all because I tried to help someone who I thought was in need and was mistaken. It just wasn't fair! I've always tried to do well by people. Offering to pay for drinks, holding doors if they're carrying heavy things, letting people merge, and offering those than less fortunate myself whatever pocket change I had. But one mistake and suddenly I deserve to have everything ripped from me?

     Karma is a bunch of bullshit if you ask me.

     When this old bitch cursed me, she said that the only way for the curse to be removed was for me to create misfortune greater than what I had encountered for another. A coldness spread through my veins as I recalled what needed to be done. I couldn't take this curse anymore. I've done so many good things and will continue to do them in the future. I deserve to be free!

     That thought repeated in his head as he began to make his way over to a group of his shipmates who had gathered against one of the lower railings near the front of the ship, all trying to get a good shot at the ancient ships that were lined up along the bay for some sort of show. 

      As I began to approach the crowd, my heart began to beat hard enough to hurt. It was punishing me for what I was planning. Knowing that I should be the one to bear this curse, not push it off to another. But no, I've already lost so much. So much that I didn't deserve to lose. There was so much good I've done, but everything was being taken away. It had to be done.

     There was cheering and excitement all around me, but all I felt as though I was surrounded by a cold air of dread. Once I was within reach of the group, I tripped. Well, that's what I wanted it to look like at least. In doing so I plowed into the outer line of the group, pushing them hard against those who were already leaning high up on the railing with cameras and selfie sticks in hand.

      I don't know what I expected to hear when someone went overboard, but it wasn't silence. I had stumbled away quickly to remove myself from the scene, so I didn't get a chance to see what my push caused, but silence was all I got in response. My heart stopped as I waited, hoping against hope that it would be that easy and I would be free.

     Then the screams started and I could feel a dense weight dissipate off of my body. The cold dread was gone, replaced by the amazing warmth of Miami. The tension and stress that had been building up for the past few weeks had all released at once, nearly causing me to crash to the floor in a puddle.

     I continued to walk away, using the panic as cover to remove myself from the scene completely. A smile slipped on my face, even though I felt a pain deep in my heart for what I had done. But now my vacation can finally begin. 




Flash Edit:  


   Blue skies, warm climate, and a cool breeze. Perfect for relaxing and letting all stress float away, but I could not relax. Not yet at least, because of the curse. I didn't believe it at first, but the number of unfortunate events I've encountered since could not be explained away. 

    A wave of dread passed over me, a reminder. To be free, I needed to pass it on to another. I needed to be free. That thought repeated in my mind as I made my way towards a group leaning high on the railings. 

    Accidents happen all the time, right?



Original Tweet:                (source)


    Free time and open skies for days, but he  could not relax. The curse needed to be passed on to another, and he knew what needed to be done.


Saturday, February 25, 2017

Chapter 1: The Deal


Author's Note:

This is the first chapter of a continuous series I'll be doing for my Patreon. This first chapter will be available to everyone, but after this they will be exclusive to my $5+ Patrons. So if you're liking it so far, consider becoming one!

If you're interested in becoming a Patron and getting access to the Main Story as well as all my other Patron-Only stories, you can find my Patreon page here.
-Old Man Civil


     The front door of the little shop that was supposed to be closed opened with a creak and sent the bell at the top ringing. The Shopkeeper was caught by surprise, as he just now realized that he forgot to lock the door, a very serious mistake in such a bad neighborhood. He shot up and quickly took large strides behind the counter where he kept a large wooden club. Just in case. Even though he'd managed to avoid a major robbery up to this point, he didn't like to take risks. The Shopkeeper's hand stopped inches from the club as he looked towards the door and saw who was standing there.

     An older woman, age apparent by her gray hair with just a few hints of auburn stubbornly fighting at her temples. Her hair was tied neatly up in a bun on the top of her head and it almost tapped the doorframe as she walked in, she was taller than him without a doubt. Sharp gray eyes contrasted strikingly against her tan face as their gaze drifted over his little shop, not stopping on anything in particular. 

     Above all, what stood out the most was the jacket she wore tightly around her slight frame. It was a light, dusty brown leather jacket that fell all the way to her knees. Stitched into the exterior was row after row of pockets, each snapped, zipped, tied, or latched shut in some way. No two seemed to be the same. The interior of the jacket likely hid even more pockets that he could not currently see as she had the jacked completely buttoned up, all the way to the collar. Each of the buttons appeared to be made of a different metal, but they all shined brilliantly, even in the dull lamplight.

     On the high collar of the jacket were several embroidered crests, though only two were recognizable to the Shopkeeper. One was the crest of Lunabek, signifying that this woman worked for, or was honored by, the crown in some way.  The second was the crest only given to Alchemists who have proven themselves to be at the very pinnacle of their craft. She was a Master Alchemist, of which there were only five in the entire city. All of them incredibly wealthy from the results of their craft. And for some reason, she was in his humble, dirty little shop.

     "Um, pardon me, milady." The Shopkeeper stumbled out as he managed a weak bow behind the counter. "You gave me a bit of a fright. I wasn't expecting anyone after hours." The Shopkeeper slowly moved his hand away from the club. "And you know, this isn't exactly the safest place to be when the sun goes down." He continued, trying to smile through the displeasure of having someone who was basically a Noble in his shop. As far as he was concerned, Nobles brought nothing but trouble.

     "I don't mean to be rude, milady," he said as politely as he could manage, but he did intend to be at least a little rude "but may I ask what you need from a little shop like my own? There's really nothing here I could have that you couldn't find in your own shops up there in the Gold Districts." 

     The woman remained silent, not even acknowledging the question as she continued walking along the shelves and looking over the various goods he had stocked today. It wasn't much, just the basic foodstuffs and your everyday use items like thread, needles, cloth, and ink. As one would expect from a Noble in a commoner's shop, she looked wholly unimpressed. Eventually she made her way to the front counter where she stared down at the Shopkeeper, who shrank away slightly from her intimidating glare. 

     After staring him down for a few seconds, she finally broke the silence. "I see you do not stock any elixirs or potions, do you not believe your customers have need of them?" She said with an accusative tone.

     The Shopkeeper was aghast at the question, but managed to quickly recover. "No,I don't have any elixirs or potions in stock, milady. Not for lack of respect towards your profession, you know. It's just that those things aren't exactly cheap and, well,  I'm not made of gold." He said through clenched teeth. How dare she come into his store and accuse him of not stocking the best goods that he could. The amount he made today would barely be enough to buy a single potion from an apprentice Alchemist, let alone a guild sanctioned Master like herself. 

     The woman eyed him warily, as if she was not appreciating the tone he was using with her. She turned her back to him and began wandering the small shop floor again, occasionally picking up something from the shelves to inspect. "How much of the Alchemical arts are you aware of, Mister..." and she trailed off, giving him time to provide his name.

     "Jaren, milady. My name's Jaren." he answered stiffly. "And I don't know much about that alchemy stuff. Just that you mix magic and herbs and stuff and get potions and elixirs out of it." 

     The woman tutted at him as he finished his answer, apparently disappointed in his lack of knowledge of her profession, which only made Jaren angier, clenching his jaw to bite back the response he truly wanted to give.

     "I suppose that is all a Shopkeeper such as yourself would need to know." The woman said, setting down a box of sewing needles before moving onto the next shelf. "You are correct in that Alchemy involves magic. To be an Alchemist you must be born with the gift to sense the various essences within the objects and beings that inhabit our world. It's this essence that magic relies upon. Without this gift, you cannot be an Alchemist. It would be like an armless man attempting to be a Blacksmith." She continued to lecture as she paced about the room, not even sending a glance Jaren's way to see if he was listening.

     "So? Is there a point?" Jaren blurted out abruptly after a short silence. "I'm sorry, milady, but I guess I don't get why you're telling me this. I know I don't have that whole magic gift thing. I enlisted when I was still a lad and it's the first thing they test for. So what is it-" he said before getting interrupted by the woman.

     "I'm here to make a deal, Mister Jaren. One that would be mutually beneficially, I would think." The woman said, turning her attention back to Jaren. Walking back up to the counter to stare him down once more. "While you may not have the gift, your sons are a different matter entirely."

     Jaren's eyes went wide at the mention of his sons, he could feel the anger rising in his stomach. There was no way he would let a Noble take his sons away from him. They'd already taken so much from him. After taking a deep breath to push the anger back, he said, "I'm sorry, milady, but my sons aren't up for bargain. The eldest already enlisted, just like his pa that one. The middle one I need around, as he's like to take over this shop one day. Then the youngest has already taken the vows of the Guiding Spirits. The church ain't likely to give him up."

     Instead of looking disappointed like Jaren expected, a slight smile began to turn the corners of the woman's lips. "Three sons? Now, I do believe you have four. If I'm not mistaken of course." The woman said smugly, as if proud to have caught him in a lie.

     Jaren's face scrunched up in disgust, of course. His fourth son. It's not that he was trying to hide the fact that he had a fourth from her, it's just that he tried to forget about him after what happened with his wife. Jaren shook his head to clear the thought from his head. "Ah! My apologies, milady. Of course, the fourth son. No, he isn't spoken for, I suppose. Though I do feel I should warn you, he ain't exactly good for much. Not sure what you'd want with him." Jaren said, noticing a sad look come across the woman's face, if only just for a moment.

     "I've been searching for an Apprentice, Mister Jaren. One who could continue on my legacy, or even surpass it with any luck. In your son I see the potential that I have been looking for, that I believed no longer existed in this younger generation. I believe he-" she said before stopping abruptly, waving her hands between them. "You don't care what I see in him, it doesn't matter. What I am offering is what you care about."

     "Sell me your son, Mister Jaren." The woman said flatly, all previous emotion gone from her face. "In exchange, you will receive weekly shipments of basic Elixirs and Potions made by yours truly until a time where your son is ready to begin crafting them himself. From that point and for the remaining duration of your son's apprenticeship with me, the shipments will be made by him." The woman unclasped two of the middle buttons of her jacket as she talked, one bronze and one silver Jaren thought. Then she reached into her jacket and pulled a scroll, which when unfurled revealed itself to be a contract. 

     "Anything that comes from my workshop will have my own personal crest on the bottle," the woman said, pointing to one of the crests on her collar that Jaren did not recognize, "along with the crest of a Master Alchemist. Your will be receiving them for free, and as Alchemical goods are governed by our own guild, and not the Merchant Guild, you may price them however you wish." With a sly smile she continued, working on hammering the final nail into the deal. "Such products showing up on the shelf could be just what a cozy little shop such as yours needs to ascend back to relevance."

     Jaren stared at the contract, unable to believe what he was reading.  Goods directly from a Master Alchemist? At no cost? A single potion would pay of all of his debts in one go. A crate of the things would allow him to move to a building that didn't creak with every step and lean when the wind got too strong. But she was a Noble. A Noble who just wanted to take more from him. But it was just that boy, nothing he hadn't tried to get rid of before.

     For several minutes both parties stood there in silence. Jaren continued to glare at the contract, trying to find any trick wording. Any clause or fine print that would allow the Noble to go back on her word, to stop paying him. He found nothing. Eventually, Jaren began to laugh as he realized his luck was finally turning around. Without saying another work he grabbed the ink and quill he kept under the counter for receipts and quickly signed his name on both copies of the contract, right below hers, then stuck out his hand. 

     "Why, I believe we have a deal, Miss..." Jaren said before glancing down at her signature on the contracts, "Lenorane Amberpure."

     With a smile she met his outstretched hand with her own and shook twice. "I am so very glad we could come to an agreement, Mister Jaren. I am sure you will not regret it one bit." Lenorane said with a smile before letting go of his hand and rolling up her copy of the contract.

     "Ah, just wait here a moment." Jaren said, beginning to turn around to head through the door behind counter that led to the house proper. "I'll go fetch the boy for you." 

     "No need, Mister Jaren."  Lenorane said as she raised a hand to stop him and smiled. "Young one, you can come out now." She called out towards the back room, her voice far kinder than it had been since entering the store.
     
     After a few seconds, a small boy peeked around the corner. Lenorane gestured him to come out, beckoning him into the room. The small boy shyly entered the room, he couldn't have been more than five or six years old. Tangled and dirty black hair hung past his shoulders, his shirt and pants were no more than tattered rags that wouldn't even be worth a beggars time.

     His bare feet slapped against the hard wooden floor as he walked over to his father and looked up at him, but his father did return the look. Jaren's had returned his attention to the contract, eyes locked onto it, paying no mind to the boy looking up at him. A sad look crossed the young boys face, but he did not seem surprised by his father's lack of reaction to his presence. 

     "Young one," Lenorane knelt down next to the counter, just an arms reach away from the boy, "You'll be coming with me now. Do you have anything you want to bring with you? Perhaps some farewells to say?"

     The boy continued to look up at his father, who still had not looked down at his son standing the beside him, then shook his head from side to side, his hair going every which way and hiding his face. The woman couldn't keep the saddened expression from her face, but quickly put back on a smile before extending a hand out to the boy.


     "Well, shall we head off then?" Lenorane asked the boy sweetly. The boy finally looked away from his father and locked eyes with Lenorane. He had the same strikingly gray eyes that she had and he was staring curiously at her past that tangled black nest that was his hair. As if he was trying to figure out some puzzle that was on her face. After a few more moments of hesitation, the young boy took her hand and allowed himself to be led out of the shop. Not once looking back towards his father as they left the little shop.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Tweet Fiction: The Exiled's Monologue


Full Story:



    "I was exiled from my home, as most of you already know. Thrown from the society I grew up in, looked upon by my peers as if I was a stranger who had taken up the skin of someone familiar." The man begin to speak from his platform placed high above the group below, many shifting nervously where they stood.

     The man's appearance went against all estimation, nothing about him suggested that he was the man they were all gathered to see. His bald head gleamed from the fires that lit up his stage, hair parted with to deal with the heat more likely than not. The symbols tattooed in dual rows down the center of his clean head glowed a kaleidoscope of colors, shifting and changing with no apparent pattern. The sharp, black suit he wore with an even darker undershirt and a crimson tie with an especially complex knot seemed to combat the image his bald head and tattoos aimed for.

     It also seemed to combat sound logic as a suit that dark and suffocating should not be comfortable to wear in such stiffing heat. However, against all reason, the man seemed to not be affected by the heat at all. There were no sweat stains soaking through his nice suit, no sweat glistening on his face or head, no damp marks on his pants where he would dry his sweaty palms. The man stood there as if it was the most natural place for him to be, like he was made for this sort of heat or that it was made for him.

     "Have you ever asked yourself the truth behind the matter of my being exiled? And don't even bother bringing up that book of lies and half-truths they had printed for the masses. Propaganda, every last word of it. Most of you are very familiar with such a thing. You come from homes where "alternate-facts" and "fake-news" crowded the streams of information, making it difficult for the truth, for the unbiased story to reach your eyes and ears. What you were left with was bullshit, plain and simple.

     "Now, I won't ask you to believe every word I speak today. All I ask is that you consider my story as well as the one they forced down your throats for so many years. It will be up to you to decide what beliefs you should keep, and what should be left behind."

     The man took a step back, leaving a silence so the crowd gathering below could take a moment to murmur and whisper their concerns, interests, and disbelief with one another. As with all crowds, the longer they were given the silence to fill, the louder they got. Before long the man stepped up once again and began to speak with his deep voice that demanded rapt and immediate attention.

     "As with all great stories, I shall start in the beginning. We, myself and my brethren, were initially brought into his Kingdom to aid him, the one above all. To serve in his steed and provide guidance and wisdom to those most in need. In the beginning we were young, inexperienced, so we relied heavily upon him for guidance and wisdom on our own. However, we were fast learners as that was a requirement of his.

     "While we all quickly learned the lessons and teachings we were to give the ones in need, the ones we were sent to help, there were a few of us who grew concerned with our teachings. That there was a better way. Sacrifice was a recurring theme in the lessons. What would you sacrifice to prove your worth the him, the one above all? What would you do to prove you are worthy of standing amongst him as one of the great and chosen.

     "As it turns out, people are willing to sacrifice a lot. Time was the easiest sacrifice for most to give, as it was seen as a drop in the bucket for those who will be granted immortality, to stand at his side for the rest of time. But time was not always enough. Some were asked to give up their life's work, a gift to show him their appreciation. Others were told to sacrifice their happiness, as what made them happy displeased him.

     "Some were even asked to give up a life, not always their own. Children, wives, friends. If a person's actions caused enough of his scorn to be pointed their way, someone near to them may be asked to prove they are worthy by sending the scorned one's soul off to be judged. To kill the one close to them, betray all that they had made, all to appease him. At first, none of us questioned his teachings. It was him who brought us here. Who allowed us such power and responsibility. The reasoning behind his methods and ways must have been beyond our limited sight and understanding. That is what we all thought for many dark years, but it did not last forever.

     "I broke first, and I take pride in that now. It happened after insisting to a man that he should take his family, a family that had fallen on hard times and were forced to do things that brought his scorn just to survive, to take that family and throw each off of the highest cliff on the coast to the rocks below. Do this and your place will be guaranteed by his side. His wrath would be your salvation, I said to the man who's eyes were red from the tears that flowed endlessly as he contemplated what was asked of him.

     "He did it, that man. Took each family member, a wife, two young sons, and a daughter who wasn't even a year, and threw them off of the highest cliff onto the rocks below. Just as I had asked. Just as he had instructed. The man looked over the edge after throwing the last of his family, their daughter who cried and cried through the whole thing even though she knew nothing of what was transpiring, and the man saw the crushed and broken bodies of his family on the rocks below.

     "I was there, to witness and make sure the deed was done in his name. The man looked to me and I had never before in my many, many years seen such a hollow man. A man who had given everything that made him a man. A man who had nothing else. The broken and hollowed out man said nothing to me as he looked me in the eyes, an image I will never be able to remove from my mind, and he stepped backwards over the edge of the cliff. Falling to the rocks below, to join his family one last time."

     The man on the platform stopped speaking here, this time there was no sound from the crowd to fill the silence. He brought a hand up and covered his face for this moment of silence. The group gathered below stayed completely still, shocked at what they were hearing. Unable to comprehend seeing the speaker like this after all they had heard about him. The man on the platform regained his composure after a few more moments of silence, perhaps a respect for that broken man and his unfortunate family.

     "That was the event that broken me free from his control, that showed me the error in what we had been taught all these years. And while I was the first, I was not the last. I had to be careful about which of my brethren I spoke about this, as not all were conflicted like I was. Many, most even, were completely fanatical about his ways and his rule. They knew that he was the one above all and not to be questioned. There was no question in their minds, just faith and love for him.

     "I did eventually identity a small group, smaller than I would have wished, of those who thought like myself. Who believed there was an error in the way he was teaching us and those we had initially sought out to help. That all this pain and suffering we forced upon them was meaningless for everyone other than him, who seemed to revel in it. To know that his will was seen as one that would not be ignored. It was with this small group that we created a rebellion.

     "It was a peaceful rebellion at first, we instructed those who he wished to harm themselves or others in some way to merely turn back onto a good and righteous path. One that helps others and cares for those in need as we thought we were doing. We led people to the happiness we knew was possible, even if they didn't believe it themselves. Unfortunately, this rebellion did not last long. He saw all, and we were no exception.

     "His wrath and vengeance was quick and struck true, sending several of my true brethren, the ones who turned from him and towards a greater good, were struck down by his most devout and powerful followers. Even then I had immense power available to me, but even that was not enough to stop the force he had put together. In the end our fight was lost, only three of us remained. Instead of sending us to whatever lay beyond for those who do not follow the path he set out for us, of doing the kindness of sending us to our brothers and sisters in arms, he exiled us. Stripped us of all he had provided for us and cast us down and out of his gates.

     "Exiled, seen as a revolting traitor by those I once called peers, with nothing but what little was left on my back and my only two remaining compatriots, we set off to continue what we had started. That is when we founded this place that we now call home. The place where you stand is where it all began, the entryway to the revolution we could not yet let end. To try and dissuade us or prevent us from doing what we felt needed to be done, he began sending us his rejects, those who he saw as the worst of the worst. The ones who would not follow his path no matter what intervention he may attempt.

     "He sent us you. It is thanks to those who came before you, who we've trained and turned from his rejects to warriors and prophets of the true righteous path, that our rebellion is stronger than ever. That is our story. The story that you can be a part of should you wish it. We will retake the kingdom we were once thrown from. Now, tomorrow, in a thousand years. It matters not. All that matters is that we continue to fight for those who survive above. For those who would be turned by him to a path of pain and suffering."

     The man speaking stepped around the podium he was speaking at and spread his arms, in doing so his wings full of black feathers spread out wide behind him. In a great, booming voice he announced himself to the crowd below.

     "My name is Lucifer, once an angel of God. Exiled for turning people from a path of suffering of agony. I ask for your aid in helping your fellow humans who still persist above."

     "Welcome to Hell."






Original Tweet:                (source)


    Ever wonder why I was exiled? Don't even mention that book of lies & half-truths he printed. I desired freedom, so I founded Hell. Welcome




Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Tweet Fiction: To Love Is To Sacrifice


Full Story:


  I was warned that she was out of her mind. Insane, my friends called her. Not right in the head, said my mother. Run, said one of her exes. To me, though, I could only see the beautiful woman, eyes shining with insight and heart full of whimsy, that I fell in love with. My falling for her was not a subtle or gradual thing. Before her, I did not believe in love at first sight, but when our eyes locked from across that crowded bar for the first time, I knew it to be true. Now I look at those who don't believe sadly, as they've never met someone who's soul resonates so completely with their own. 

     Love can be dangerous, but that's what makes it exciting. It's what led me to the interesting predicament I'm in now. On one of our first dates I mentioned that my heart was hers completely, that's how hard I had fallen for her, and her face lit up. The smile she gave me was the brightest and most beautiful I had ever seen. Even now that I'm on this table I think back on that smile, to the way it made me feel, and it helps get me through the rougher parts of this whole ordeal. I'll never regret helping create that smile, but I do have some regrets about the phrasing I used. 

     Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside of the near-empty room I was in. She was finally returning! I turned my head towards the door best I could, but this was difficult to do while still strapped down to the hard metal table. 

    After a few moments of listening to the sound of hard-sole shoes clack tile as she grew closer and closer, she finally pushed through the swinging double doors and into the room. She was in her lab-coat, as she had been for the last week or so since we came here, perfectly white except for the occasional dull red stain. Stained by my blood probably. An unfortunate, but likely unavoidable, accident. I still felt a bit bad about it, after seeing her I couldn't help but smile.

     She was beaming as she entered the room, lighting up the otherwise dim room with her infectious smile. In her arms was a clear glass jar, but the contents were hidden as she held in her arms tightly against her chest. There was even a slight skip to her step, causing her frizzled blond hair to bounce as she made her way to the center of the room where I lay.

     "Hello, my love." I rasped out. My throat had been killing me for the past few days, making it painful to speak. "What do you have there? Must be something nice to put such a hop in your step."

     She giggled sweetly in response, smile reaching her brilliant blue eyes that as always were opened wide to take in the world around her, but looking at only me.  She said nothing until she reached my bedside. "Oh, you know what it is, silly. It's your gift to me, remember? I had to prepare it to be displayed!"

     For a split second I panicked, as I couldn't remember buying her anything during my time here. It would be incredibly difficult to buy something while tied down like this. Then I remembered. The present wasn't something I bought. My present was far more intimate than that, something that I had for awhile. I glanced down and saw bandages wrapped tightly around my chest with apparent care. They were turning a light red as the bleeding from incision site began to soak through. Along with the bandages were various tubes and wires poking out of my chest and into an array of machines at my side. 

     "Ta-da!" She exclaimed excitedly as she extended her arms and held the glass jar out for me to see. Inside the jar was my heart, suspended in an impressively transparent liquid. A perfectionist as always. It's likely she'd been working on cleaning and making the heart and jar just perfect, no excess blood tinting the liquid red or any other sort of imperfections would be allowed by her standards. Just one more thing that I loved about her.

     "It looks absolutely wonderful, love." I croaked out, trying to make my failing voice reflect the happiness I felt upon seeing her proud and triumphant smile. "I'm glad you like my gift, I hope it makes you as happy as you make me." 

     She danced around the room with the heart, face slightly flushed and beaming that wonderful smile of hers. Then once her dance was done she twirled over to a bare table nearby and carefully set the heart down, looking at it from various angles and rotating it a few degrees to make sure it looked perfect. Once she was satisfied she twirled back over to the table, her open lab coat billowing out around around her. She bounced in place after stopping at my side again.

     "Now it's time for my gift to you!" She exclaimed excitedly. "I'd absolutely love to gift my heart to you," she said, her brow furrowing in frustration, "but figuring out how to remove my own heart out and prepare it while hooked up to those same machines you're currently using seems to be impossible." She continued, my heart breaking as she sounded sad about being unable to figure out how the operation would work. Not literally of course, my heart still sat comfortably in the jar over on the table.

     "Instead, I've decided to make a new heart for you!" She exclaimed, bouncing in excitement with hands clasped over her chest. "With everyone planned out just right and if I know your body well, which you know I do," she smirked and touched my arm lightly as she continued, "then this heart will work even better than the old one!" 

     She gestured wildly as she explained what exactly would go into my new heart. While I didn't completely understand everything she was talking about, I could tell she was incredibly excited and optimistic about it, so I began to feel the same way. As much as I loved spending all this time with her in this room, I would love to be mobile again. To be able to pick her up and squeeze her tight and shower her with affection. With her gift I should be able to do just that after a spell.

     "Now, you wait here!" She said as she finished talking about the heart. "I still have so much work to do to get it ready for you. Anything other than perfection for my love is unacceptable." She then began to skip back out of the room, radiating happiness as she went. Just as she got to the door she spun and blew me a kiss, then disappeared beyond the doorway. Off to one of her research and development stations, no doubt.

     I found my gaze once again resting on the heart in the jar, my heart, and I couldn't help but smile as my thoughts drifted back to her. 



     "A small sacrifice for my love."




Original Tweet:                (source)

His heart was hers. He could do nothing. He knew how it would end but there was no taking it back. It sat on the mantle in a clear glass jar.






Saturday, February 11, 2017

Tweet Fiction: Dreams For Sale


Author Note:
For this post and the next few after I will also be including a "Micro Fiction" version of the story that has a word constraint of 100. Just slightly above a tweet (~23-25 words) but still far more compact than the expanded section (500-5000). I hope you enjoy it and let me know how you like this format!
-Old Man Civil


Original Tweet:                (source)

What would you give to live out your dreams? $100? $1000? Your Life? Oh, but don't worry. They don't want all of it. That'd be such a waste.


Micro Fiction: (100 words)

    "Come one, come all! Gather 'round and listen up for the chance of a lifetime!" The tall man in the black and white suit called out to those milling about.

    "What're you willing to give up to live your dreams? Money? Possessions? Worry not. We don't desire either. We ask for one simple thing. Your life. Not all of it of course, don't be silly. With only the littlest bit we can help you live out your wildest dreams."The man opened his arms to the crowd with a grin across his painted face.

    "Who's ready to make a deal?"


Expanded: 


    "Come one, come all!" The almost absurdly tall man called out to the crowd milling about in front of him with a booming voice that could spread for miles. His suit striped black and white, patched up and threadbare from years of use and abuse. 

    "Come and listen for the chance of a lifetime!" He shouted, a small crowd finally beginning to form around his makeshift platform in the subway station. The man bent his unusually long legs, squatting down to be at eye-level to those who had gathered around. 

    The man gave the crowd time to settle, smiling at each person who continued to talk until they got quiet. Then once all was ready he began again, but this time in a hushed tone that could not be heard from outside of his little gathering.
    "What would you willing to give up to fulfill your wildest dreams? Those dreams you've had since you were a kid or the kind that you couldn't bring yourself to tell even your partner about. Your wealth? Your possessions? That seems like a reasonable price for such a thing, does it not?" 

    The man eyed each individual carefully, painted turning emotionless as a stone, as he said this. Their guilty and wanting souls his to be read like an open book set out just for him. 

    After a few uncomfortable moments, he sprang back up to his full height, towering over everyone around, with a showman's smile returned to his face.

    "Worry not, my dear friends! For we desire none of those things. What we are looking for is far more important than something that can be bought." The man continued, a wide grin spreading across his face that was painted to match his suit. 

    "What we ask for, my friends, is your life."  A silence spread across the group. Some unsure if they heard what he said correctly, others starting to wonder why they bothered stopping in the first place, but none of them moved. After letting the silence really sink in, letting the crowd fall deeper into thought as they tried to process his meaning, the man in the black and white suit laughed.

     "Not all of your life, of course! Don't give me such concerned looks! That would just be silly. After all, how could you live out your dreams if you are dead?" The man laughed again and this time some in the crowd laughed with him, although with a bit of some of the skepticism and nervousness remained.

    "With only the smallest, tiniest fraction of your life, we can help you. Yes, even you," the man said as he pointed out someone in the crowd who looked as though they were about to leave, but once the man had him in his gaze, they stopped and continued to listen. 

    "Even you can live out your wildest dreams. No matter how absurd, fantastical, or twisted." For a split second the man's demeanor changed, and several in the crowd flinched as though they had just been caught doing something they knew they shouldn't be. Then in a blink he was back as he was before, perhaps as he always was.  


    "Not a bad price if you ask me. You likely won't even notice it's missing! So what do we say, who wants to make a deal? I can see in your eyes that you're tempted, that if you say no now you'll regret it for as long as you can remember it." The man clapped his hands together, snapping the crowd out of their passive state, as if they had all be stuck in their own daydreams and fantasies. 

   "So who wants to make a deal with me? How about you?"

Friday, February 3, 2017

Tweet Fiction: Burners

Original Tweet:         source

A great evil took a hold of our world, claws deep in the souls of so many. A cleansing fire was their final option. They were called Burners

Expanded Concept:

     A plume of fire bellowed out of the large pit that was dug deep into the foundation of the ruined building, whose original purpose was long forgotten. The tips of the flames nearly rising to the ceiling twenty feet away. A group of six stood in front of the pit and bathed in the intense light and heat radiating from the flames. The echoes from their chanting bouncing back to them off of the empty, stone walls. Their words practiced and even, their faces alight with the type of fervor reserved for religious zealots. 

     "The Goddess of Flames who burns so bright,
     You light our way through each dark day.
     With your gifts we will cleanse this blight,
     Our faith in you we will never betray.

     "The claws of corruption have seized your land,
     After a touch your sparks have been turned.
     All shall be cleansed by your gift at our command,
     Purity will be returned as the corruption is burned.

     "These souls are corrupted no more,
      though their sparks have begun to dim.
     On ashen wings to you they soar,
     Their future now bright; instead of grim."
     
    The pit in front of them continued to burn as they repeated this hymn, fueled by a tall pile of now-charred corpses. The flames shook and shifted as the pile shifted as the flames continued to consume the corpses below, sending plumes of dark ash high into the night sky through the hole in the roof that was strategically placed above the fire pit. The group's eyes glistened as they watched the ash rise, believing that it carried what remained of the souls of the corpses below.

     Eventually the souls would be carried all the way to the heavens, where the Goddess of Flames would rekindle their spark. Once a soul had regained a bright, vibrant spark, it would be returned down to Earth where they would aid the Torch Bearers reclaim the land from the corruption. It was this belief that allowed the Torch Bearers, and all of those who followed the Goddess of Flames, to fight day in and day out without fear. One day they would fall, but without hesitation their brethren would pick up their tired and worn body and place it in one of the seven blessed cleansing pits. Then they would be returned to their Goddess and allowed to rest until they were ready to fight once again.

     Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with the teachings of their Goddess and the methods of the Torch Bearers. While they should be focusing all of their efforts and cleansing The Touched, those who had fallen to the corruptions grasp and turned away from the Goddess's Flame. Instead, they have to spend- No, not spend. That would imply we got something of value in returned. We had to constantly waste resources in order to protect the land we had carved out in this city turned dangerous wasteland. 
     
    Nobody ever said reclaiming this land was going to be easy, they were all thankfully they had the Goddess of Flame to help push them forward. Many of those who followed her now did not do so prior to The Awakening, what they called the time the corruption came up from the depths of hell and began gripping at those who's spark had already begun to dim. The destitute, broken, and morally corrupt were the first to fall to this corruption and they immediately began to turn on those who's spark still burned bright. 

     It wasn't until the city was completely overrun with The Touched, all those who could flee had done so already and those left had nowhere to go, that the Goddess appeared in front of the first prophet. Surrounded by The Touched, backed into a corner with nowhere left to run or hide. Saint Vatra the First, prior to receiving his title of course, had lost all hope. It was when he was at his lowest that she bestowed her gift, so it would be truly appreciated. A great plume of flame burst from the floor below and consumed every single one of The Touched  that threated him, scorching all of his hair off in the process and leaving a long, flame shaped burn across the chest above his heart.

     There was no pain from this burn, though, just a comforting warmth that felt familiar. As though he had once known it in his life. It was then he knew that there was something greater out there. Something greater than anything they had experienced or theorized before. Once Saint Vatra the First retreated to a safe location, easily found by following where the warmth in his chest guided him, he began to write the basic principles that would lay the groundwork for the religion that follows the Goddess of Flames. 


     "May her light guide us and her heat provide comfort in the night."