Writing Prompt

Charles enjoys company. He loves a good party. Any one and everyone is welcome. Come as you are. Don’t worry about hair or make up or dressing the part. He just likes to be surrounded by people. Especially if those people are willing to stroke his ego. Charles does not have a vast array of talents, but he is a people person. He can figure out what makes you tick. What makes you happy. What makes you sad. He can make you feel like you are his best friend, like the only person in the world. He can exploit you if you let him. And he can be cruel if you bore him or become tiresome. Don’t want to know too much. Don’t ask too many questions. Just enjoy the ride.

He struts into the tavern, the only thing on his mind being getting a good drink. He is greeted by Tom, Dick, and Stanley, who he greets by punching their arms, causing them to wince. The bar tender has his drink ready for him, which he takes with him to greet the ladies sitting at the table. They fawn over him, jostling each other to sit next to him. He taunts them, barely paying them any mind, causing them to nearly faint from the sheer pleasure of being looked at. His mind was on one woman in particular, the only woman in town who wouldn’t have him. How could he get married if it wasn’t to her? He wasn’t sure. His best friend showed up then, and got the band to play his favorite song. They stood on the tables and danced their hearts away, a drink constantly in their hands. Whenever a man got close to him, hr would push him off of the table, leaving only him and the ladies dancing together, spinning around and around in circles. When he left, stumbling out the door, the entire tavern called out their goodbyes to him. It was nice being the best man in town.

It took some time to realize my torturer had left the room. At first all I could register was that the pain was gone, for the moment, and relief flooded my brain, and I barely even heard his receding footsteps, or the heavy metal door opening and closing. But then the pain did not return, and I slowly found the strength to lift my head. The room was empty. Just me and the angled metal slab I was chained to, my arms over my head, my clothes torn to shreds and brown with blood. A distant noise. A voice? Loud, but far away. Shouting. Other voices, shouting. Something crashed, something smashed. An explosion rocked the room, and the door swung open, loose on its hinges. The hall was filled with smoke. My throat was dry enough already from screaming and lack of food or water, and I blinked rapidly to keep my eyes clear. The unmistakable sounds of a fight reached me through the smoke. No, not a fight - a smackdown. Fists against flesh, over and over, while the loser whimpered and wailed and was finally thrown aside. And then she appeared in the doorway, out of the smoke, blood on her knuckles, grenades on her belt, and her face streaked with dirt and soot. If I had thought that no longer being actively tortured was a relief, it was nothing compared to the wave of glee that rushed over me. She was here. She was here! "Marta." Her name barely escaped my hoarse throat. "You're alive." She strode forward and began to undo the binding on my hands. "Lucky for them. I might let a few live." "Who else is here?" "Just me. No time for backup." "That was stupid. And risky. What if they killed you?" My hands came free, and I sagged forward into her arms, strong and ready to hold me. "Yeah, well, you know me. I never think things through, right?" I couldn't think of anything appropriately snarky to say. It was just like her to throw my own words in my face like that. I wanted to tell her again she shouldn't have come, that it was a foolish thing to do, but now in her firm embrace, I couldn't lie and say I wished she weren't here.

She had cropped hair, lightly brushing against her collarbone. It had originally been blonde, but was long since dyed black. With her eyeliner on point, her long, dark lashes stood stark against her creamy skin, framing glittering green eyes. She had been popular, once, with the boys. Nowadays, the female population flocked to her, and the men stayed far away. She was always welcome, wherever she went, until she chose to leave. The carnage left in her wake was enough for most to hate her. A crooked grin was constantly plastered across her face, a frenulum piercing leaving metal fangs dangling over her real teeth, resting against her bottom lip. Despite being known for brutality and social bloodshed, the girl had a strong sense of humour. Wherever she went, those around her would be constantly entertained. Enough so, that the routine popularity deaths became tolerable. Every weekend, she would go hunting, slaughtering her targets with ease. She could fillet the head cheerleader with a handful of words, and had done so on several occasions. She did not like hierarchy. In her opinion, social constructs were bullshit. Wherever she went, those tiered groups would soon collapse. And seldom rebuild, for fear of her return. Public schools couldn’t handle her, but private schools outright refused her entry, paying homage to her impressive record of expulsions. And so she drifted, from school to school, often back and forth within mere months. The rubble of shattered egos in her wake. It was obvious she was smart. A few brief words from her painted mouth could set entire classes quaking. Some students stayed home until she left, others permanently changed schools to avoid their own downfall. Unfortunately for those people, she made her rounds to every school in the state; only those truly fleeing could escape across borders. Twice, she had been served. For defamation, her opponents had claimed. Twice, those charges had been dropped before trial. Her name, you ask? Briar Modley. And if you were wise, you’d keep your head down and never dare whisper her name in bad faith, lest she deign to set you straight. So study hard, avoid distinguishing from popular to not, and you might just make it to graduation with your pride intact.

You’re perceived as a brutal animal. Vicious and bloodthirsty. But now I realise how foolish it is to think you swim to the beaches to hunt tourists. You’re such a beautiful, gracious and majestic fish. None of the fame you have is deserved. I can only hope people welcome you rather than fear you. That they protect you rather than kill you. Sharks. Such a misunderstood creature. I loved too meet you even if from a cage and I cannot wait to repeat the experience.

Everyone's moved on. And yet the death of you still clatters within me. Like a blade striking fresh earth. Soundless. Brutal. I remember you through my wounds. My scars serve as a scrapbook. Is it foolish to wish this all was just a dream? Penned by a twisted mind with too much time on its hands? Or maybe there is a dream to which I can escape. I would welcome nescience gladly. Take its hand. Offer my gratitude. I would gladly go into debt for the chance to shed my memories. Yet I know you would frown upon such a venture. I know you wish me to hold on. To trust your flight pattern. You did not leave too early. You did not kiss the sky too late. The clouds have other plans for me. They caution me to stay. To wait. To care for those around me. To pass along the light. And so through my tears, I shine.

Signs Emma signs forth to die . Rhymes Emma rhymes forth with time . Make and mold your hi’s . Soften and lower goodbyes. Clumsy flumsy foolish girl . Just sing and fix your curls. Emma don’t Emma won’t . Emma Covers it with her coat .

God! I’m such an idiot. I should’ve never came here, the depression just shoves itself into the air but it does faze me. This is the best moment of my life! A day for celebration. People have been looking at me like I have nothing but he meant nothing to me. In fact, this is the best I’ve ever felt in a long time, a very long time. Those moments where I thought we had a glimpse, the smallest glimpse, of being something incredible dissipates when I think of the hell you put me through. The hell you put my family through…I will not let sadness cover my face from the truth, you deserve this. I can count the times you’ve broken me with the lines in your face. Dont you deserve this? The lines on the monitor finally went flat. I will always love you, dad.

He smiled - more of a smirk than anything - at me from across the bar. I gave an awkward wave, thinking about how his tattered shirt made him look like he had just crawled out of a dumpster. He took that as an invitation to walk over, a glass of a deep, red liquid sloshing over the rim clutched in his right hand. “Well, hello there, handsome.” He set his glass down next to me, scooting the bar school until it was barely a couple inches from mine. “What’s your name?” He asked. I should’ve rolled my eyes, laughed and walked away, anything but tell him. “Jackson.” I took a small sip from my beer, it tasted bitter and I recoiled a bit. The man must’ve noticed for he offered me his drink. I declined with a polite shake of the head. “What do you go by?” I asked instead. He smiled again, as if the question amused him, “Will.” He leaned in slightly and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You know, Will, I think you’ve had enough.” He laughed, it was ragged and deep. I caught a glance of a tattoo, one of a rose and the name “Bee” written on it in cursive imprinted at the base of his neck, right above the collar bone. I needed to get out of here. Instead, “What are you doing tonight?” I asked, a slight blush creeping up my ears. I hoped Will didn’t notice, even though I knew a man with a neck tattoo of someone else’s name was bad news, he was enchanting. He was really fucking with my head. He took a big swig from his glass, wiping his red-stained mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m cool with whatever you feel like doing.” Oh boy, I was really in for it wasn’t I? He said it so casually, not in a lustful way, but in a tone that suggested he really didn’t care. I smiled, and stopped clinging to my beer bottle like it was an anchor. “Well…”

He is a young, cold-blooded prince-turned-king who is known for his brilliance. After years of preparation, he murdered his parents and blamed another planet’s government for it to kickstart a war he believed to be inevitable. As brilliant as the prince is, he is arrogant, costing his people major casualties in exchange for victories. He does not find joy in sacrificing his people, but he deems it necessary to end generations worth of conflict and prove his worth as a young ruler.