I liked the ending!

Interesting... 10/10 would read again

If there’s anything humans can do is make sure there is some semblance of order and use their skills to achieve that, before falling back into the old ways of taking advantage of each other and finding things to hate one another for lol society is still there, but it’s just gonna be weird and fun for a bit lol

Very nice characterization!

Why am I reminded of the Swamp Thing story when the lead was pissed at government agents that had arrested his girlfriend. Since Swamp Thing was a plant god, they ate only meat on their stakeout, until one man carelessly bit a tomato slice.

SPLAT! A huge tomato plant grows from the inside out.

I don't look forward to what happens when just a pinch of Goddess wakes up inside a grown man and woman!

I sadly cannot promise you to keep you updated, but I rarely post anywhere but here so you are free to follow me

I truly enjoyed this! Your writing is very well done--bravo!--and it's what you did with it that is unique: the reactions, the degree of confusion that he may have lost his edge, plus the last two paragraphs that close the story in a very entertaining way! I imagine the vampire in surprise at hearing that!

Very nice!

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. I try to respond to one writing prompt a week. I put them all in r/MMRicain_ShortStories if you want to read more of my stuff. If you post any more prompts, let me know!

“It was an accident!” I said out loud, trying to convince myself.

The room was silent, other than the sound of the air vents’ low hum. No one was around. I was fairly sure of it.

“Peter lunged at me,” I began replaying the scenario in soliloquy. “I was standing here, in the kitchen cutting an apple, and he just lunged right at me!”

“I don’t know why he would do it,” I stated in confusion, as if I had been asked some phantom questions. “We always got along great!”

I realized the knife was still in my hands, glued there by the blood. The blood felt so sticky and gross, and I could smell the iron in the air. I threw the knife down and wiped my hands on a nearby cloth.

What to do about the body though? What to do about the blood? I had no answers. I began pacing back and forth when suddenly I saw a silhouette through the window.

Scared, I turned slowly and saw a man outside, standing in the dark. He wore a top hat and a suit, like he was going to a Victorian era theatre. It was so preposterous seeing him out there I had to rub my eyes and slap myself to make sure he was really there.

He just stared, out from the dark and into the light of my little window. I didn’t know how much he saw, I didn’t know where he came from. And worse yet he just continued to stare.

He was staring right through my eyes and into my mind. I couldn’t look away. He itched his nose and wiggled his moustache, but otherwise he just stood still.

I kept staring at him, trying to will him to go away. As he stared I could feel the anger build inside me. Anger at him for possibly witnessing what I had done. Anger at him for having the power to ruin me. Anger at him for just staring and nothing more.

I picked up the knife and began to pry at the window frame. The damn thing didn’t open so I had to force it. I kept my eyes locked with him the entire time. Maybe if he saw what I was doing, he would run, he would leave and I could clean this place up. Remove the body, wash the blood.

The window wasn’t budging, so I had to break it. I grabbed the knife-block and began let my frustration flow. The window was firm and didn’t break on even the third or fourth hit.

Finally, on the fifth hit I heard the crash. Instantly I felt the rush as the cold vacuum of space sucked me out through the jagged glass. My blood froze. My eyes froze.

As my lungs turned to ice and consciousness quickly faded, the man turned and walked away. Spinning his cane as he went.

I swear you're gonna have me turning this into a full-blown book

xxxxxxxxxx

On the corner of Third and Chartreuse Street, in Blackwater City’s impoverished west side, there stood a drafty and shoddily-maintained poker and gambling hall, atop which sat two or three dozen cheap rooms for rent by the hour. The two businesses claimed not to be affiliated with one another, despite sharing a building, but in truth, they were both fronts for the Villains Association, which maintained its headquarters in the basement with the prep kitchens below. 

"Sorry if the base leaves a bit to be desired," called Connie through the locked door of the white-walled and genderless employee restroom in which I changed, for the first time, into my costume. "If we put any real work into the place, we might start to attract a decent crowd, and inevitably, people would ask questions.” Whether by ‘decent,’ she was referring to the quantity or quality of patrons to our fronts, I didn’t know. 

Aside, the VA’s orientation video played on my phone, which I had set on top of the toilet tank. I had already watched it; I merely wanted to make sure there was nothing I had missed, but it was shockingly short and simple. The 99-Cent Mart had given me more direction before putting me to work. 

“Well then, how’s the fit?” 

The ensemble consisted of a fitted shirt made of reflective silver lycra, lined with both rubber and kevlar, tucked into matching pants, belted with a holster at my hip for a sidearm. Bright white pleather gloves, lace-up boots, and a hooded capelet completed the look, with dark tinted goggles both for safety and identity concealment. Against the smoggy, starless night sky, I would be starkly conspicuous, grabbing the undivided attention of crowds below–and of my superheroic crush. 

I closed the video, pocketed my phone, and stepped out of the stall to see if my getup had the approval of my new handler. Connie smirked. “You look like a million bucks, rookie. Now, I  just hope you can steal as much!” She jerked her head, gesturing for me to follow her. “Shall we go test out your weapons?” 

As she led me down the hallway, a number of other villains passed us, many of them clapping me on the back or nudging me in the side with wide grins and words of welcome. “It’s friendlier than I expected.” I pointed out. 

“Oh, yeah. Our Christmas parties are incomparable. Well, here we are!” 

We stepped into a room with walls stacked with all manner of weapons, gadgets, and gear. All around us stood mannequins, some more battered than others from what I presumed was target practice, each of them painted with a cartoonish expression of agony, some of them with bullseyes on their chests or the backs of their skulls. Connie pulled what looked like a backpack off the hook from which it hung and handed it to me. As I strapped myself in, I realized it featured two protrusions, each bearing a green button, within reach of my grasp. “The left button is your accelerator, and the right button is your brake,” explained Connie. Curiously, I gripped the accelerator, thumbed the button…

And went rocketing, with a wail, into the air. 

Suspended by a miniature jet engine, I hovered above the ground, catching my breath. 

“Pretty cool, huh?” said a new voice, from behind. I spun around to see Flamethrower standing in the doorway, in full supervillain regalia, leaning against the frame with a casual grin. 

Now that we were on the same side, he wasn’t so intimidating. It was actually a comfort to encounter a familiar–and damn, handsome–face on my first day. (I wondered if he was a rare exception, or if I did indeed, contrary to what I had previously believed, enjoy the company of men.) “Show him the gun, Cons!” he said eagerly. Then, to me, “The weapon was my idea. If you don’t like it, you can send it back or whatever and get something else. I just kind of thought we’d look cool back to back. Oh, I hope it’s alright if I volunteered to mentor you. I figured it’s the least I could do to make up for sticking you up.”

“Hey, what’s a little aggro-robbery between friends, right?” 

Scene descriptions... I'm the worst at it. That is why I'm here: perhaps to learn from others.

I don't like solitary writing, and I really enjoy reading the work of others- even on Reddit!

Cheers

Thank you kindly for the comment; made me chuckle.

It's my first time here and I've never written anything like this before, so I thought: with practice via prompts and the community's feedback, perhaps I can get better at my writing mechanics, style, and imagination.

I just wish I knew more of what others thought of this amateurish attempt at a fiction short. Feedback is of cardinal importance in any endeavor, I think.

Appreciate your time in reading it.

[deleted]

When it first started, the desire for blood was unquenchable. I don’t remember how it happened, or even who I was before it. It was as if the thirst overtook everything.

In the beginning I fed on whatever I could: men, women, children, animals, carcasses. As time went on, my abilities improved. I became faster, stronger, my thoughts more clear. Even some desires from my past life returned. I occasionally found myself in bed with beautiful women. Some I let live, others I enjoyed completely.

In the year 1911, I was discovered for my crimes. Pictures of my pasty face were scattered all over the city with the words “WANTED” above it.

I was foolish back then. I embraced the fame, descending from dark alleys and rooftops, undisturbed by the onlooker who watched me feed. I knew they couldn’t stop me. Of course they tried. They'd set traps, thrown rocks, attempted to hit me with bats, shovels, pitchforks. Still, they couldn’t hurt me…

Until fire.

The first torch lit my entire body in flames. The pain was unlike anything I’d felt, living or dead. It burned until every inch of fair skin was gone, leaving only boils and the raw flesh underneath. The next day, the entire city was armed with torches, and my reign was over.

I had no choice but to run. I went into hiding. For years I fed on rodents and people wandering too far from the cities’ edge. My strength weakened, my thoughts became unclear. I became more creature than man, a monster with only instinct and desire.

Slowly my burns healed and my skin grew back. As the years passed, the world changed, but the thirst never went away.

I decided to do things differently. I learned to scope the places where criminals and addicts roamed. These were the sort of people who went missing everyday, and no one cared. To be safe, I made a simple set of rules: no groups, no cameras, no innocents.

That’s when everything changed. Criminals had a taste for drugs, and soon I did too. It was addictive. The heroin in their veins was my favorite. I could taste it, sending waves of pleasure up my fangs. Eventually it became my preference, and I learned to smell it while hunting.

One night I came across the sweetest smell. The hunger took over, and I broke my own rule. I snuck into a warehouse and killed six men to get to the one they were guarding. His scent was overpowering. I took him to my lair and fed for three days. I didn’t even mind the blood going cold. I savored every drop.

Six days later I was walking the streets, face covered by black cap and hoodie, when a group of teenagers began trailing me. Even from fifty feet away, I could hear their whispers.

“It’s him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Look, same hoodie. Pants. Freaky shoulders. Everything.”

Amused, I turned around and exposed myself to them. To my surprise, they didn’t cower. Usually my copper eyes, lifeless face and sharp bone-structure frightened the bravest of men. Not these. These begged for autographs.

“Told you!”

“Did he cry when you killed him?”

“What did you do with the body?”

“Will you take a picture with us, please?”

I awkwardly ran away. I’d never been so humiliated. For as long as I remembered, I’d been feared. Somehow these boys were smiling and laughing at me. Was I loosing my edge?

For hours I’d wondered what'd changed. I inspected my face and teeth in the mirror, but everything appeared the same.

Then, later that night, I heard it. As I walked a narrow street, brooding and seeking a heroin-laced snack, my ears picked up the sound. The voice of a broadcaster on the other side of a wall pierced me like a stake to the heart.

“He’s being called, ‘the hero of our time', 'zombie man', and 'hooded vigilante'," the telecaster said, a woman with a deep voice. Even with the television on low volume, I heard clearly. "After being caught on camera breaking into the warehouse of drug lord Santos Esteban, this hooded figure was seen fleeing the scene with Esteban’s lifeless body. Since then, federal authority’s have stated they're now looking for this figure, for the body of Esteban, and insisting the vigilante is, in no way affiliated with the FBI.

"Speculation has arisen as to the motive of the vigilante, though many believe he is simply acting on heroism. Videos of him decapitating the six armed guards to get to Esteban have circulated online, but the footage is too graphic to show here. There has been several alleged sightings of this man since the death of Esteban, one week ago, but analysts agree, none are real.

"Well, just today, four teenage boys have come forward and they are certain they have, in fact, spotted the hooded vigilante. Before we show their footage, I urge viewers to view with discretion. The face beneath the hood is… difficult to look at.”

My fangs nearly fell to the floor. For the first time in my life, I was a hero.

Who said I am not the villain?

This is really nice. I like how you kept it short and brief, but made it fun and whimsical. Like the fact they're bugs trying to get their marriage right is funny--and original. I think this is cool.

No, no, it’s alright xD Your writing made me feel something and that’s good :)

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I saw “reality fiction” and it’s where my mind went. I’m glad you liked it but sorry if it made you sad. The only other places I could’ve gone were really dark but in a totally different way. The corridors of my mind are a dark place lol

Life gave this man lemons, and he made a lemonade business out of it. Well done!

The first thing I noticed was the new saggy skin I wore, and the lingering pain in my left foot. I look down to notice is mangled, contorted and bruised. But the pain is smothered in something that dims its impact.

I look upwards, towards the celing. It's a dull metallic silver, but the odd thing is that is moving. Up and down, up and down...like it's breathing. It's only then I notice my own breathing, heavy and haggard. This prompts me to now look around, this time more astutely. There's a white chair, against a white wall--which is also moving. A clock, stuck at two, slowly lapping with the rhythm. And then there's this barely furnished bed--grey sheets, grey pillow, grey everything.

I try to get up, but my hands crumble under my own weight. I'm sitting there, almost helpless until I hear the clacking of heels, quickly in my direction. I try to lift my neck, and now I see her. She's a red headed woman with cold blue eyes, wearing a black uniform. I move my mouth to speak.

"Muuhahah," I mutter. What the hell?

"Don't worry Mr. Carson, your daughter will be with you shortly," She said in a low alto. Daughter? What daughter?

"But first Mr. Carson, can you confirm your date of birth? I know this is bizzare, but new protocol demands we do it."

I provide her with a random date? Hopefully, "Mr. Carson" is born on April 26th. Surprisingly, she nods her head in agreement.

"Good. Now we're ready." The redhead produces a long needle, and injects it into my arm. Suddenly, my motor skills are back, and my pain sharpens. "I'm sorry if it's so sudden, but we need you back in action sir."

Sir?

"We're experiencing multiple people waking up without any idea of who they are, or what they're supposed to do. All most a 100,000 people-- a cities worth this time!"

"And what am I supposed to do about that?"

"Edit the memories, give them a new home here. I know this time the experiment went a bit outside of the boundaries--you yourself were almost caught up amongst those who were replaced."

"Oh. Oh no."

Memories that aren't mine start flowing back into my head--memories of being a clinical psychologist in Canada are now replaced with pursuing Cybertechnical Engineering in college. Memories of my wife are abandoned, completely removed and instead replaced with hookups, one too many with the red head here--who is now carressing my face. My eyes are wide, and then, without me knowing it, I'm saying the following:

"Track down each report, and place it in the register Daisy, and I'll get to it. I have to rest. Do not rush." It's almost authoritarian, the voice of someone who commands a room. Deep, low, primal and slow.

"Daryl said now--"

"Daisy." I sit up now. Her mouth is closed shut and the color has drained from her face. "Did you not hear me?"

"I-I heard correctly."

"Do I need to remind you who is in charge of the whole Psycho-Analytics division?"

"No." She shakes her head and then looks down, stunned into silence.

"Good. Tell good Daryl I'll call him when I need to."

Her confident gait and steps are replaced now with a failed attempt at that same confidence in leaving the room. There's silence. The walls are still pulsing. The clock, still stuck at two. My hand moves into my lap. My head stares at it, until my lips move saying:

"You're lucky you have me. You don't try anything, and this will work just fine. Just fine. Fine. Isn't that right Mr. Robertson?" Now sitting up, I can see the mirror, and I see Mr. Carson staring straight into his own eyes, searching for me. "We're going to solve this little incident, without incident."

​

Feedback is encouraged!

[removed]

I love this :D It’s kinda sad for me tho :’)

When they first came in, they died during a snowstorm. A lean and fit male at the time. Very healthy and fit for the time. I checked their life out since it was one of my earliest clients. To remember the moment, I took a picture with them. Luckily space and time works differently here so I had a camera with me from his future.

His picture still sits on my desk and I sent him on his way to live a few years after his previous death. Never looked back at him until many years later. This time they died giving child birth. Apparently they came back as a women in their second life. I instantly knew it was them since the client information was on record. She ended up talking a lot more than previous.

"Oh hey! It's you"! She said as she was guided to my office.

"Wait you remember me? That's a first". I said as I wrote down notes in my notebook. My red skull pen sparkled in the soft light. A gift from Death. "So you died bringing life into the world correct"?

"Yea.... I was born small and my hips were terrible for childbirth". She said with a sigh. Leaning back in the chair before looking up at me.

"I see, it says you were 5'3 ft in your folder". I then pulled out some paperwork and began filling it out. "So reincarnation #K264, are you ready to go back to Paris"?

"Ummm... like an date or....." She picks up the pen and signed the paper.

Moments later she disappears with a flash of light as soon as she finished signing. As does every client of mine when they return back to the world.

"Wait what did she say?"

They would come back a total of 24 times after that. Everytime they spent more time talking with me. Eventually I began talking with them as I waited for them to sign the paper. I long lost my sense of time with this job since it doesn't exist in my office. However one time I did set a timer. Not sure if it was correct since it said weeks went by as we talked.

They sparked enough of an interest for me to decide to dig into their files. After doing some research, I notice they were seriously depressed during their lives. I wanted to know more and began digging deeper. Even going through my massive amount of files of other clients to find anyone related to or close friends with them. There was nothing.

Then the possibility that they were trying to reincarnate on purpose came to mind. After pulling some files I noticed that she was almost always never a fit for heaven or hell. Meaning she had to come to me in order to relive their life so they can go either way.

--

"Why don't you just ask them"? Death asked me during one of our tea breaks.

"Thats.... actually really smart. Hopefully I can, they may end up going somewhere else". I said as I sipped my tea. The cup having Chinese designs on it. A gift from one of my clients that did pottery.

"If they are purposefully coming here to reincarnate then they would know". She would stand up and stretch. "Well, I have to get going. There's a war brewing".

--

Some time had pass since then. They had finally returned after a full life for once.

"You died of old age? Thats a first". I said, prepared with a list of questions.

"Yea, nothing crazy happened for once"! They stood up and laughed. Then sat back down holding their back.

"I'm going to get straight to the point. Before we reincarnate you I have some question". I looked down at my notes. "Why do you always end up here to be reincarnated"? I looked up, tapping my pen on the desk.

"Oh that's really simple actually! You still owe me a date"! They said, leaning in close.

"Come on Timmy, pack your stuff quick."

"I can't find my dinosaur."

Timothy's mother, Elizabeth, was getting impatient. She had apparently decided spending a little extra time to allow him to gather his favorite toys was worth avoiding a meltdown, but as the search dragged on the cost of that decision was growing.

"You can leave the dinosaur, daddy will bring it later."

I could hear the fear in her voice. The longer the search took, and the more noise Timothy made rifling through his toys, the more likely it was that she'd be caught trying to drive off into the night with a child she had lost custody of.

"What the hell, Liz?"

Johnathan stood at the door, already calling the police.

"John, I can explain."

"I'm sure you can, but you'll have to explain to the cops, because this stunt of yours is violating the hell out of your visitation rights."

"You can't do this to me, he's my son."

"I haven't done anything to you, these are all the consequences of your choices."

This was going to get ugly. It always did.

"Psst, Timothy, down here."

Timothy dropped down and crawled under the bed.

"You alright, kid?"

"I don't know. Mommy said she and Daddy weren't going to fight anymore, but now they're fighting again."

"I know. I know. It's not very fair to us, now is it."

"No. Mommy said we were going on vacation, and Daddy would come with us. But I don't think Daddy knew about the vacation."

"No, he didn't. Let's let the grown ups figure that stuff out. For now you should get some sleep."

"I don't know if I can sleep under the bed though."

"I do it all the time. Plus, look what I got."

"MY DINOSAUR!"

"That's right kid. Now let's get some sleep."

Thank you, I needed this like I need a hole in my head.