Nellie welcomes Cthulhu as her Elder God on the 2012 ticket with VP Hastur.
Nellie can be found on twitter @solimond or at scribblingpencil.wordpress.com.
*This week’s prompt is our loosest yet. I’m not so concerned about the wording as long as this idea is clearly expressed in the first sentence.
- The story must start from the prompt. This means the prompt must be the
first words in the story.
- No more than 500 words (not including the
prompt). No less than 100 words.
- Any genre (in fact an
unexpected genre will get you more points.)
- Entries must be submitted
by Tuesday Noon EST
- The winner of each week’s competition will be
invited to judge the following week and post the winner’s badge similar to the
- Have fun!
She never imagined her own humanity would be her undoing. This was her job, damn-it, and it made no sense that she couldn’t do it because of a single child. Hell, she’d devoured children before, had drank them down until they were nothing but hollow, empty shells with dead eyes who would never function again. Tanner touched her shoulder as she stared down at the boy who was idly playing with a set of Legos.
Her mouth trembled as she spoke. “I…I don’t think I can do it.” Her voice sounded so foreign to her, small, pathetic…weak.
“I understand how you feel. This child, he was born from parents who were members of the 77th test group in Nevada. Whatever drug they used on those people…their kids came out different. Kind of like the way we came out different. It’s their brain waves, Miranda. It makes us sympathetic to them. But that’s all, it’s not you…it’s them.” His hand gripped tighter on her shoulder. He needed her to do this, because he couldn’t do it, would never do it again.
She shook him off. “He’s just a kid, Joe!” She hissed. “There have to be other leads, other ways to get to his parents. There has to be some other way than this!”
Joe saw the look in her eye, knew exactly what it was she was a feeling. It was a sick sense of self, a harsh realization that they were in the fact the monsters, that they really weren’t helping anything or anyone. “You know they don’t call us in unless there is no other way. His parents were smart and very careful. They killed off anyone tied to them…blew up buildings just to get rid of tapes and evidence. I think they only reason they didn’t kill their son was because he was their son. In fact, our intel states that, had we been only a few minutes late, they wouldn’t have come to get the boy before we could ever had laid eyes on him.”
Miranda looked back at the small child. He couldn’t have been more than 5 years old with dark hair like his mother, and bright eyes like his father. He looked up at her then, feeling someone watching him. His eyes were large, impossibly so, and so damned innocent. He didn’t know what she was, what she was capable of. “Joe, someone else has to do this. I can’t do this.” Her hands began to shake, and she tightened them into a fist.
“Who then? Hobbs? Crascher? They don’t just eat these people, Miranda. They mutilate them.” He turned her to the kid, pushed her forward. “He’s got a better chance with you.”
The inside of her mouth turned sour as the boy looked up at her, smiled, held his hand out. “Do you want to play with me?” He asked happily.
She knelt down, her eyes bleeding from honeyed brown to ink black wells. “Yes…yes let’s play a game.”