Writing Prompt
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Writings
STORY STARTER
Inspired by lori_potato
You've kindly been using your magic to heal people, but discover that in the long term it's killing them...
Writings
Since that day, I have never stayed long in one place.
I helped people, when I could.
Most denounced me as a witch.
Witch was apt, I supposed, I had made a deal with the Other, had I not?
Some time ago, my sister had been ill. She would have died if nature had been allowed to run its course. In this time, I prayed again and again, but received no answer. In desperation, I reached to the Other, and it answered.
Who would have refused it's offer? To sacrifice your innocence for your sister's life?
At the Other's bidding, I took the life Sir Edward, a good man, an old man, who had fought in the wars many years ago, but I believed I sent him to heaven, and I gave him a painless death. All the same he did not deserve to die.
In exchange the Other gave me power. I returned to my sister and healed her, but was soon thereafter, as some friends of Sir Edward learned of what I had done and branded me a witch, and though my own friends defended me, I fled. I can only pray my sister did not believe the truth of her healing.
A knight found me lying in a ditch, hiding. Guessing who I was, and who I had killed, he questioned me, and bound me. But my fortune was such that I spoke to him, and he was amenable to my charms, and he unbound me so that I may defile myself by him, and as he undid his armour, I stabbed him with the same blade I used on Sir Edward, and watched him die.
In a month, I had hidden myself again in the next town. I made a small living, pretending to be a widow of a knight, and sold the armor of the one who caught me for extra coin.
But fortune and I were at odds, and my neighbour, who intended to visit his cousin, passed through the town, and recognising me, stopped to talk. Quickly, he uncovered the lie, for he knew I was no widow, and from there, everything fell into place. He excused himself, but I prevented his leaving and begged him, to forgive me, to spare me. To him I was truthful, and never again. In the end he said he would speak of it to no one, but the Other urged me not to trust him, and as he left I struck him down and hid him in the forest.
I took none of his things, for my heart was heavy.
Some time later, a little boy, no more than eight, was injured right in front of me. An axel of a cart had shot through his abdomen, and I rushed to him and without thinking, healed him with my talent.
By the end of the day there were whispers of witchcraft, and again I fled.
So it was at every town that I stopped. My lies became more complex. I sold my virtue, I killed and stole. But I felt for those who hurt, and I healed them, and told myself I was in the right, and that my evil actions were simply because society gave me no choice.
And yet each action haunted me. I felt less and less of a person each time.
I returned to my hometown, concealed, and went to my sister's home.
It was her husband who answered, a good man, and he recognised me, and was sorrowful. He said my sister died soon after I left, in great pain. Her own body had begun to fight with itself, and in the end failed her. By the end of three days, her hair had fallen out, turned white, and she had gained wrinkles.
I was horrified, and rushed to the next town.
The child, too, was dead. The wound had closed, but the flesh there had been different, and it formed bruises on his skin. He had grown ill, and shortly thereafter, the wound had opened again and died.
Everywhere I visited, who I had been when I was there was spoken of in hushed tones. Anyone I had healed, be it from deadly injury or from the smallest cut, had died soon thereafter.
"You filled them with the lives you had taken." The Other said, "the lives of two people in one body, would fight each other until the body wasted away."
I fled, as I always did, I ran and ran.
And every last face haunted me.
She said I could help people. In that moment she was the only thing I could consider hope. The moment she approached I screamed at her, more so in pain than anger. Tears streamed down my face, I could feel the water trickle into the caverns forming on my cheeks from decay. My arms felt like they’d fall off if I moved them, my legs had already buckled into the dirt beneath me. Nothing around me was alive. There was a creeping circle of decay radiating from where I sat, where I chose to die. But I wasn’t dying. She took a step into the decay, cautious, like someone walking on ice. Her hand reached towards me, it was, monstrous, but so was I. She had an empathetic smile, her eyes studying me closely. She was an intense silhouette, not far off from a demon of sorts, but she was the only one bothering to give me the time of day. “What’s your name?” She said. I flinched away from her hand as it got close, “You don’t want to do that.” She looked at me, then at the ground, “I think you’ll find I don’t die that easily.” Before I could protest she pulled me into her arms, it hurt, like she was touching a burn all over my body. I hadn’t moved in days and my body reminded me so. I watched her arms and body carefully as she carried me, the rot would creep from myself and onto her, and then receed just as quickly. She smiled down at me, although masking a bit of pain, “See? You’re not the only one whose special.” I scoffed, “You call this special? I can’t even die.” “I’d say you’re lucky for that. We can’t choose the way the magic affects us, but we can choose what we do with it.” I felt exhaustion creep over me, the swaying of her gate rocking me to sleep, “I want.. to help people.”
That was over 3 years ago now. Since then I’ve taken her advice. This ‘magic’ as she calls it can be utilized in a productive way. I’ve even managed to learn how to control it. I bound my hands in medicine gauze before pulling thick gloves over them, followed by my medical coat and plague mask, funny how familiar this all feels. Day after day I’ve been helping her residents. They’d come in with random issues, nothing I couldn’t handle. Somehow this knowledge came to me easily, even if my patient wasn’t all that human anymore. It was peaceful, to say the least.
“Kure!” She burst into my room, I’ve only seen her panicked once, it took a lot to make her panic. “What is it?” She composed herself on the outside, “Something is… wrong. You better take a look.” I’m not sure what I was expecting when I stepped into the hall. A familiar stench of rot immediately crept past the dried herbs in my mask, dozens of residents I had helped laid on medical beds, some leaned against the walls, all with rot somewhere on their bodies. I stood there dumbfounded, confused, and then angry. “I told you it wouldn’t work.” I said lowly. I felt her gaze fall on me, it was cold. “I told you, this was the best I could do with this, this curse!” I felt the gauze beneath my gloves withering. It always got worse in time with my emotions. I felt her hand on my shoulder, “We’re still learning. We can fix this.” “How could you know. I’ll just end up killing everyone that’s here.” She was silent. “You should’ve left me where you found me.” She thought for a moment, “Kure. I don’t take kindly to those who think I’m wrong. But I’m willing to overlook it, because right now? You’re the only chance I got to save these people.” She forced me to meet her gaze, “Please, tell me what we need to do.” To think I’d have a queen begging me for help. I looked at her face, and then again at her people behind her. Slowly I nodded, “Fine. Fine. Get me my supplies, and I’ll see what I can do.”
I was on my way to work on the day the first of them died. I was en route with a cup of coffee and a newspaper in hand when I first heard the screams. I’m not sure how, but I knew immediately whatever was wrong was my doing. I dropped my briefcase and ran for the town square - it was a cold winter morning and my lungs burned, but I didn’t slow my pace. Only did I come to a halt when I reached the crowd already forming on the sidewalk in front of The Red Oak Tavern. “Move!” I ordered, pushing through the crowd. No one protested or tried to stop me - they thought I was there to help, no doubt. But when I finally laid eyes on the crumpled body of the young woman in front of me, I knew the truth was entirely the opposite. “Helena,” I whispered, crouching down beside her. She was curled into an almost fetal position and her eyes were wide open and the strangest shade of milky green. For a moment I pictured her in life - broad smile spread across her face, blue eyes sparkling. In death, she was so gaunt, so… inhuman? Something about this was extremely unsettling, almost otherworldly. “She was better,” choked out a soft voice from behind me. I didn’t turn. I knew if I did, I’d find myself face to face with Helena’s little sister, Elodie. “You made her better, and now she’s…” Now she’s dead. Now she’s dead and whatever I did to heal her didn’t work. Now she’s dead and… and what if what I did to save her is what killed her? I shuddered, trying to physically shake away the thought. No, this had to be something else. None of the people I’d healed had ever died before. At least, not in such a strange and sudden manor. It couldn’t be my doing, there was simply no way.
I’ve helped The blind The deaf The dead The alive The sick And more
I help for free No pay to need I help all day And even myself Once in a while
People tell me The healed Are dying? So soon?
I’ve healed them Yet it’s killing them The town dies off The healed are gone
I’ve stopped my healing Until I died Four days before The town was destroyed
All was gone All was lost Because of me And my power to heal
Jonas stared at me blankly before he started down the stairs. His facial expression was somewhat serious, but even though I was good at reading them, he was always so secretive. He cupped his hands together sitting down at a small table before sipping down another shot of espresso. “We need to talk…now,” he began, gesturing for me to sit down in the small chair. The chairs uncomfortable seat poked into my back with all the unwanted feelings. My magic had become increasingly powerful the last few days. Jonas has the power of controlling plants, and he was the one who kept all the trees stabilized and provided nourishment for them. He had countless plants in his room, all named something weird like Augustus or Domingo. He waved his arm around softly before a layer of fertilizer spread onto his favorite plant Amono. The plants suddenly sprouted a new leaf and Jonas looked back toward me. Soil was covering his hands and his faces wrinkles were so defined that small soil pieces could fit inside them. “What do you need to talk about?” I asked. “Your healing,” he said. I almost knocked myself out of the chair. What could he possibly want to talk to me about healing. After all I was keeping the population in a steady 567 million, and I had mantained the number for over a year. There was one time two years ago where I accidentally gave too little healing to my friend Robby and then the wound never healed correctly. I remembered almost bursting into laughter when seeing that his cut had sparked spiderweb cuts forming out from it, and the small dose of healing powder caused his face to be layered in pimples and other gross things. Looking back at the time, I couldn’t keep my seriousness. Jonas’s eyes peered into mine more intently than before, and the room got quiet. “I need you to stop healing people,” he eventually said. “What?!” I bursted out. “Look, I’ll explain everything eventually, for now I need you to listen to me,” he said seriously. “Do not heal anyone else. Do not.” I could feel his warm breath touch my tongue. His tone was almost angry and scruffy. I skeptically replied “ok,” before I arose from the chair. I looked down at my hand that was covered in fertilizer from Jonas’s wild movements with his hands. My healing? Why couldn’t I use it? Jonas looked at me one more time. “I will be monitoring you closely. Don’t disobey that Cooper. I’m counting on you,” Jonas repeated to me.
“You need to stop.”
I roll my eyes at her request. I can’t stop. Is she aware of how many people I’ve been able to help. How many families I’ve been able to save from mourning a brother, sister, parent.
“You know I can’t do that.”
My aunt walks towards the clinics table where I’m standing and takes a deep breath. “You’re harming these people.”
“I’m saving them,” I scoff.
Aunt Victoria shakes her head. “Haven’t you noticed all of the people dropping dead. They were healthy one minute then the next their families burying them six feet under.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m trying to stop it.”
“You don’t get it,” she whispers. Her eyes tear up. “You don’t understand where our families magic comes from. Using it, especially to save people who’s fate has already been written out has consequences. You cannot play god.”
“I’m not playing god,” I raise my voice. I walk around the table closer to my aunt and grab her hand gently. “If I can save these people from dying, save their families from the pain, why shouldn’t I?”
“Every life you help escape death he’ll choose another. You’re condemning other people to fates that weren’t originally there’s. Someone has to die. That’s how life works. It’s set in stone. You cannot change it no matter how hard you try.” Aunt Victoria takes a deep breath. “Our magic is dark, sweetheart. You’re mother and me were taught not to use it, our mother was taught the same. It isn’t like other people’s.”
None of this makes sense. I was suppose to be helping people, but here my aunt stands accusing me of killing more instead. Are the deaths that have been happening recently because of me?
My head has begun to throb at the thought.
“Promise me you won’t use it anymore.”
“I promise,” I whisper taking a shaky breath in. My eyes have becomes watery and I feel her place a gently kiss on my forehead. She mutters something to me before walking out but I don’t hear her. All I care about right now is getting to the bottom of this.
I refuse to stand by and watch more people die.
I have an impressive imagination. I put it to great use to manifest the most majestic fantastical realities for people. Limping Lenny can now leap castle walls, the Bristeltoe orphanage is kept by talking woodland creatures - now placing kids in homes more effectively than ever before. But this wonderful life has quickly become a nightmare when I recently discovered my blessings to the kindest people in Europe were curses all along.
No imagination is more visceral and rife with divergent outcomes as one plagued by fear. Just imagine something brushing your hand in a dark room… what twisted horror could it have been if the only good thing it could have been is impossible.
This is my state. Every leap Lenny takes with his new leg breaks an orphan’s leg. For each Bristletoe orphan housed, a child close to former patients of mine have fallen mute. I cannot bear to uncover which other cruelties I have haphazardly imposed by borrowing fortunes under the guise of “blessings.” I have helped so many people I don’t want to know!
I tremble as this reality besets me. Suddenly this study filled with mail could be incalculable records of bad, worse, and horrid news. My blood has stopped but my heart is racing. I will need to rectify this somehow. My family can be affected; I haven’t seen them in three fortnights. I am frozen and have no remedy to their predicament nor mine.
A bird hits my windowpane.
“Another gone, my lady.” The messenger scurried over to Adaline. Head resting on one of her hands she shooed him away, staring at the piles of scrolls lying on her table. How could this have happened? Just last week she had cured the baker’s son for a fair price, and now he had died. Of course, that could’ve been a mistake, but this same thing had happened to everyone she’d cured. She was getting all of the blame, and she hadn’t even meant to do anything! Adaline’s magical cures had ended last week in a tragic arson attempt. She had to promise the townspeople she wouldn’t use magic anymore. The one thing that brought her joy since Leroy. A pounding on Adaline’s window made her jump. She lazily walked over to the window and shoved it open. There he was, with what she assumed used to be flowers in his hand, and a stupid smile on his face. “I come bearing gifts,” he said, panting. “You know I have a door,” she answered coldly, before turning back to her table. She cleared her throat.
“_Dear Adaline of Corinth. _ We hate you. We wish harm upon you, and bad fortune with you. All the worst, __ The Thompkey’s.”
“And this isn’t even the half of it. Leave please.” The man just continued holding out the flowers. Adaline cut them and leaned close to him. “I don’t like lily’s.” The heartbroken look on his face almost made her regret it. “B-but… Adaline, please. I feel like I know you, we had a connection at some point, please.” Although it broke her heart, she answered “Leave.” He seemed ready to try again, but just bowed his head and slowly crawled out the window. She’d always loved that about him. Trying to be different, but he wasn’t trying at all. Adaline touched the door. “Goodbye, Leroy.”
“ Help me, please.” Came a small girl, looking up at me. There was a line behind her. I nodded, assuming today would be long and weary. I pressed my thumb to her forehead, feeling every ache of cancer through her body, fizzing around in one certain area like soda. Then in a moment, the area was quiet once more. “ Thank you, mister Swarvoski. I’m allowed back in my house again!” She happily skipped off in the direction of where her supposed house was. “.. Mr. Swarvoski?”
After a long dreary day, I had one last person awaiting my magic, at least, that’s what I had assumed. “ That first girl died.” The woman spoke. She had a hood on, yet he could see parts of her skin was decorated nicely with vitiligo. The woman began explaining that I had used too much magic on the little girl. On all of them. Too much magic is bad. “.. But you didnt know that. Now, they’re all dead, Swarvoski.” Suddenly, the woman was gone. And yet, I couldnt feel an ounce of remorse for my accidental murders.
Hands full of blessings, a heart brimming with grace. You’ve always found that your place in the world is that of a helper, a hero, a saviour. Yes, always, because your kind demeanour was accompanied by acts of wonder from a tender age. People would approach you in your cradle to find your touch and your tiny palms would gently buzz when coming into contact with their body, and release the soft, warm comfort of feathers gently caressing the skin. The ailments would release these bodies, and lives would be forever changed… forever… changed… As you look at your grey hands now, hard like stone, you can’t explain why. Weren’t you predestined to be the light of hope? Weren’t you chosen to uplift the heads hanging in despair? Was this all for nothing, was it all a lie? Why are all these poor people now turning just as bleak and rigid as your hands?
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