Writing Prompt

The heavy iron door screatched open, and a metal tray slid across the dirty floor towards her.

She made a mental note. 8.15 am. At least they were consistent. Just a few more days until she would make her escape.

Until then… Ugh. She chewed on the dry bread roll which rattled around the tray.

A sharp noise vibrated through the fortress. 9am. The changing of the guards. She hated those lava-eyed dragons, with their razor sharp talons. She thought back to their capture, shuddering. She would need to plan a funeral when she made it out. If she made it.

Today she plotted her escape route. Left, right at the end of the corridor, down the stairs, through the basement, and out of the window. Then, run.

Weapons? Check. Well, if a whittled down bone she found in yesterday's dinner counted.

Water? Che--- BANG.

A loud explosion. Smoke. Dust. Shouting. Light where the ceiling had just been moments before.

She heard the beating of a dragon’s wings. Her heart froze.in her chest.

" Jump on NOW! ". She squinted through the Debra’s at a figureatop a lava-eyed beast?

Could that really be... Her?

I went hunting today to clear my mind to get away from everyone I see a fortress it’s camouflaged I can barely see it just like everyone barely saw my struggles I open the door it’s old and dusty inside like my heart it’s old and broken like me it’s old but it brings me comfort I want to stay here away from everyone

It’s a good job I’m not the kind of girl who wears heels, even though I could do with being a few inches taller. There’s no way I would make it across the rocky terrain I call my garden with the sharp edges of rocks jutting out of the ground. Its like walking over a neverending pile of plugs - and we all know how much stepping on one plug hurts!

Instead, I’m sitting here tying the laces on my trusted hiking boots. The soles are so thick I could be walking along the sand instead.

My husband, Edward, is already waiting at the gate. He’s a famous geologist and extended member of the royal family, inheriting this castle because nobody else wanted it. He saw the beauty of it, the tranquility of being in an area that no-one dared set foot in. I have aptly named him The King of Rocks, and standing before the gate he looks anything but a king in his clunky boots and rucksack filled with his various technical equipment - because you never know what treasures will be under your feet. Or under your arse if you miss your step!

My rucksack is heavy, filled with enough water bottles to keep us hydrated for the next few hours on our treasure hunt.

The gate clink-clink-clinks up, and as we step out into the forest of rock, a helicopter roars by overhead. We are normally used to seeing heicopters fly by, but this one is different. It takes a sharp turn and steers back in our direction. And something is dropped, something that falls to the grounds with a thunk, something that resembles a body. It lays there, about 200 feet away. The helicopter speeds off.

I can usually move quite nimbly over the rocks but today I trip over my first step. Edward grabs my hand to steady me. I have a bad feeling about this.

I wipe the perspiration from my forehead and clamber over the rocks, Edward matching my pace. I get to the body and I just know. It’s him. It’s my brother who has been missing for the last six years. But he’s dead.

So you’re here to fight the hakaa huh? What in the gods’ many names spurred you to do that? … Yeah well you’ll find no riches here. Dwarves are too stingy to carry gold unless they’re carrying it off the bodies of their victims. And if we capture any we have to return it to the families. … Whats that? No you fool we dont attack their stronghold. Have you ever read anything? … Whats that you cant read? Oh well you’ll fit in fine here and we definitely have a spot for you. Sit down have a pint and let’s talk awhile. … No we haven’t attacked the stronghold since the very first campaigns on the black mountains. It was a death run. Pits, 10 feet accross and 40 feet deep, swalloed entire battalions. We still don’t know how they do that. We think they dig them from below and pull the supports. It’s more sophisticated engineering than we enountered any where. … I wish that was the end of it. But I’d take death pits over the firery hells their war engines create. The pitch they use is unreal its not thick like ours its more like soup. Soup that clings to every part of you while burning explosively. Thankfully we are well out of range of those demonic monstrosities. … No for us it’s mostly arrows tipped with some kind of poison that drives you mad. I’d be fine if we could see the fucking bastards. With their beady black cave-eyes. They always come at night a few days before the new moon. They can see plain as day. Its a fucking nightmare. That’s why we call em night demons. … Haha you cant expect mercy from these beasts. Haven’t you heared about their king? Murdered four generations of a family he served. Women children elderly all in the name of freedom. … No it wasnt a school. Fuck do you know anything? He set the house on fire while everyone slept. Killed his own kin too apparently, they all burned alive. The fire was so hot there was no trace of anything left except the children’s bodies. The family threw some of them off the roof to escape the flames. No one survived. How’d he do it? What rise to power? … Fuck me no one knows. People say it’s his ring but that makes no sense. I think he found a djinn. How else could he live this long and have this much power?

every bone in my body aches. i’ve spent days propped up on this wall hardly able to move. the one time i decide to venture back out. the one time. and it was by you. my own blood. the people who raised me. after the two of you beat me to a near inch of my life, i remember why i left. why i ran to this place i now call home and have for the last 10 years. i never thought i’d see you again. the only memories i have of the both of you are so horrendous i try to block them out. i’ve done pretty well for the past decade. seeing you again brought each and every one of them back. memories of father beating me while mother watched and laughed. and laid his hand on me in a way i should not have known for 6 years old. memories of the days you left me to starve as punishment. or you were too high or slumped over wasted to even try to feed me. sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart. as much as i hate you, i can still find it in myself to forgive you. i’ve learned that hatred is a very powerful and draining emotion. surviving now without you is much easier than surviving with you. the two scenarios are very similar but now i avoid beatings and starvation. out of the decade i’ve been gone, i’ve only had people with me for the past five. they have shown me what a family should be. loving. kind. gentle. patient. full of laughter. and warm conversations. i still don’t know what to do with it sometimes. but i’m happy. i finally feel safe. despite the beating you both laid upon me three days ago when i decided to enter the town in which i grew up. i was hoping you’d have moved on by now. you always said you would. i was shocked to see the both of you again. and terribly frightened. but i suppose fear is normal when your parents are the town’s only executioners.

It’s been many moons and suns since I’ve seen someone. By day I bask on the roof, and take in the desert rays. By night I lay near the entry and await my prey. When they arrive, I will be very still until they’re near, and then I will insert my venom into their dry ass veins, cause they were dessicating in that desert lol idk them blood rivers are dried out.

Alas, a victim! I hear the rustle of a robe, smell the staleness of their breath. A weary man, a pile of crust at this point. He hasn’t lotioned in weeks. And his nails, oh my god, his nails. I could plant a whole ass garden with all the dirt under them. But I’m just a snake, or scorpion maybe, unsure. Either way I’m one of those species that do not garden.

Fool! I was too busy with my internal reptilian monologue and the man has already went inside. Fuck me man. Okay. I’ll just follow him in.

“Hello good sir, I am the snake/scorpion/reptile that resides in this here desert fortress, and I demand you to allow me to insert my poison hook into your skin.”

“No thank you. I am made of clay, and therefore do not have skin.”

“Oh. Okay, fair.”

Anxious. If someone asked me for one word to describe my life, I would use ‘anxious’. Or maybe ‘waiting’. The only thing protecting me is this fortress. Although, ‘fortress’ might not be a very good way to describe it. Our only defense from human invaders is this camouflage. No weapons, no military, low walls, no where to hide- at least not for long. Everyday I wait. For what, I don’t know. An attack? Drought? Disease? Doesn’t matter. I know I am destined for doom. Although, I have never felt doom. My life is perfect in every way. A castle full of healthy citizens, a beautiful wife and children, a full belly every day; no one has ever hurt my people. That is why I am so sure of doom. No one can live this perfect of a life without something happening eventually. That is why I live in fear. My seven year old once gave me a very valuable piece of advice. She said “don’t lose sight, daddy.” I pondered that. ‘Don’t lose sight.’ What does it mean?

End of story. Comment what you think it means!!

“And this is where the final scene from ‘A Bag Full of Cash’ was shot,” the tour guide said.

The group stared up at the dilapidated building from their position below. Andrew was reminded of the Psycho house in Hollywood, also perched on top of a hill. He envisioned this place decades ago, swarming with crew, equipment, actors.

“Can we go inside?” Andrew asked.

The tour guide shook his head. “Sadly it is in such disrepair, it’s too dangerous to explore.”

The group collectively sighed.

The final scene and he was standing at it. Where the Nameless One shot it out with his nemesis, Demon Eyes.

He closed his eyes and felt the power of this moment envelope him.

There was only one way out and that meant only one way in. They would know that and have made their plans taking that narrowness into account. So quietly, he made his plan. Protecting the treasures was his charge, a change he took to his heart. His commitment was stronger than his needing to live. He glanced out the window, quickly so not to be seen. No movement, not yet. And the line was still there. That was his hope, his only hope. Then a pebble skittered down over the rocks. They were near but not near enough yet. The hairs on his neck stood but he must wait. Another glance, shadowed figures against a crevice wall. It was time. He cut the line, the signal sent. The wire fell sending current through the metallic skins of all the rocks. The effect was immediate. Screams, more screams, followed by silence. Then the smell of burnt flesh touched his nostrils. He had won again. His children were safe. The price was high.

Cyprus lept from bush to tree, melting into the underbrush, fading into the foliage, walking as one with the forest. This was home. Her fortress. She scampered up the tree with the claws and dexterity of a squirrel, ran across a branch without stopping, and soared to the next tree. There was an unfamiliar scent in the breeze today. She intended to track it.

Her heart raced with exhilaration. "Maybe it's someone, not something," she whispered to herself. Cyprus was ousted from the home when she was young; all spritelings were. As soon as you could care for yourself, you were expected to. Her parents seemed but a vague blur in her mind. She craved companionship, whether it was another spriteling or a human, elf or dwarf. "Or anyone, really."

She bounded from branch to branch, tree to tree. Her long, tufted tail wrapped around the bough of a branch as she leaned off the trunk of the tree, peering down into the forest floor. Nothing yet. She breathed in deep again. The scent grew stronger. Part of it the scent smelled like smoke--usually a cause for alarm in the forest, but it seemed... controlled. The other scent seemed odd. Musky. Unwashed. But unlike any creature of the forest.

Springing to a great white oak, she was able to amble and dance through the many branches with ease. The smoke came into focus. She found a particularly large branch on the opposite side of the trunk, peaking around to spot the source. And there he was.

At least Cyprus thought it was a man. Though she'd never seen this type of creature before.

He was far taller than any person she'd seen before. He wore hide armor; a large mace attached to his side. That was standard for travelers in the forest. Some of her forest friends were a little... aggressive. What stood out about this character was his skin, his face. He had a gray-green pallor and seemed rough as maple bark. His face featured pronounced lower fangs jutting from a massive jaw, cool eyes under a thick brow, and jagged, pointed ears. But despite his brutish features and warriors gear, he seemed civilized. Proper even. Currently, he sipped tea from a dainty cup, perching on a log while reading from a book.

Perhaps he could be good company. She contemplated the best way to creep up on him. Spritelings are notorious pranksters. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. Something watched her.

"You can come down and join me." The voice, though deep as a bear's growl, was kind and proper. "I'd love some company, if you so please." His eyes never left his book.

Though Cyprus had always dreamed about meeting outsiders, reality kept her isolated. Yet, now that she was presented with the chance, she hesitated. What if he planned to harm her? Or deceive her? She almost jumped when he moved. He lifted his mace from the leather loop at his belt--and threw it across the fire.

"I promise, I don't intend to harm you." He lifted his eyes from his book. They were dark, but they were gentle.

Cyprus drifted down the trunk, taking ginger steps through the dead leaves and sat cross-legged out of reach of the strange man. "What are you?"

"Hopefully, a friend." He offered a roguish smile.

And she smiled back.