Abandoned Stories (Part 4/6)
In case you somehow missed last weeks post, I am tackling old abandoned short stories of mine in an attempt to feel more accomplished as a writer…despite most of these being from 2018. I’d like to think that means I completed the ideas I thought of from 2020 onward (since I was in short story courses, it is highly probable).
Here are several short stories that I came up with at various times, whether it be the first paragraph or the first page, I want to finish them. So this will be part 1 in a continued series. These are taken from my laptop, but there will be some from my phone as well because I am a devil-may-care writer with very little self-discipline.
The original portions of the stories I will make purple (or #7600FF) and the new additions will be traditional black. I will also put notes at the top and bottom in bold and bracketed off.
This week I am only doing two—though the second is a far bit longer than normally what I like to keep the stories at so enjoy!
The first one is from June 2018:
“Oh, How the Mind Wanders…”
(The TV show Hannibal was a wild, wild ride and I binged-watched the entire show in a very short amount of time and started to have weird dreams and ideas about cannibal characters…this was the only one I wrote down, and I believe it was one of the first I thought of)
The Prison in Oregon housed many petty thieves, those caught with a little bit over the legal limit of weed, some for domestic abuse, but no murderers. It is unknown to the residents if their state is unnaturally safe or if most murderers walk among them, unchecked by their police force.
“Maybe, the prison lied and we do have murderers locked up there,” an elderly woman whispers.
“No, it’s illegal to lie about that—my son, he works at the prison, said they tell everyone who exactly is kept here,” an elderly man whispers back.
Perhaps it would horrify the residents to know that the answer was much simpler. Today, the prison would house a murderer. A man who claimed to protect the state from villainous individuals deadset on killing the innocent.
How did he protect Oregon from these types, you ask? By eating them.
The prisoners were dragged from the far end of the wall to the balcony, nothing notable about any of them really, besides a few scars and burns here and there. Arson, burglary, some kidnappers, even a few mass murderers. The guards knew to stay away from those few, but sometimes human nature has its way and suddenly you find yourself in front of the mass murderer known for cannibalism.
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘the other guards thinks you’re worthless, but I happen to see your value,’ come on, open my cage…”
As if in a trance, the guard does just that, reaches down to his belt and twists the key into the lock. Only when the lock clicks open does sound rush back into the world. Guards scrambled backwards, prisoners roared, the cannibal rushed forth grabbing the mindless guard and took a bite out of his neck.
Chaos ensues; blood pours down the prisoner’s jumpsuit, guards aim their guns at the ready. The cannibal cackles as he is shoved away from the bloodied guard below him.
“Can’t blame me for trying…but you two look very capable, I doubt I would make it very far,” the cannibal flatters, “but then again, what do I have to lose?”
The armed guards tense, fingers at the ready. The cannibal’s face twists with glee as they lick the excess blood from their chin.
“It feels powerful, doesn’t it?” The cannibal questions. The guards remained poised but silent. The other prisoners have also silenced at this weird exchange. “How quickly you will be able to take a life…for some of you, I might even be your first. I would be honoured to evoke that type of blood-lust in any of you. It’s,” the cannibal sighs airily, “It’s a wonderful feeling…”
The cannibal edges forward, one of the guards’ hand trembles on the trigger.
"Heh, then again, I think you lack the strength to pull the trigger.”
The guard’s hand lowers slightly. The cannibal kneels and starts to tell a story.
“I remember my first…my darling teacher. They taught abnormal psychology, if you can believe it, and I asked them to help me with my thesis; Ritual Consumerism Through Time…they thought it was a clever argument about how capitalism effects the mind, but I used consumerism ironically. I hadn’t tried anything at that point, I mostly contemplated killing assholes; people who nearly ran me over, hit their pets, yell at service workers, all things my therapist claimed were normal to think. I doubt my therapist knew how deep my rage at their missteps was. After awhile of mindlessly thinking about how my peers would taste and how I would prepare them, I started my plan with my professor. They were clever, and caught on when my essay explained with delightful detail how I would flay their flesh with my sharpest knife and marinate their organs in a lovely red wine and thyme bath…” the cannibal trails off as a guard vomits.
The cannibal’s eyebrows raise, “I’ve barely gone into detail yet. try to have some decorum when I’m telling you of my rebirth…now, where was I? Oh, yes, the essay. I watched them read it in their office. I am so thankful I did, because to see their eyes widen in horror mad my heart thump and my skin flush. They tried to run, of course they did, I would think they were strange if they didn’t. I took great pains to only knock them out. It was harder than I thought to drag them to my car and into my garage, I was only a child at the time. Their thick cuts of flesh and cured organs fed me well throughout the months the police investigated.”
“Stop…”
“You should be honoured! I’ve told no one of my first, well other than my victims but they can’t share it afterwords…” The cannibal’s lips stretch thinly over his face before he launches himself at the uneasy guards.
(this one was fun, it felt like a weird prompt like “your character is a cannibal on their way to prison, what do they do?” or something. It was fascinating, makes me want to write a mystery novel, considering it would be pretty hard to find any evidence when it’s been eaten by the murderer, right? Best to keep this one short, as I said it has prompt energy.)
This second one is from September 2018:
“Holiday Rewind”
(I have had a deep fascination for time travel, and movies like groundhog day strike a weird curiosity in me. So what would happen instead of suddenly being in a groundhog day, you could choose when to go back and what to fix.)
Time travel this time of year was always tricky, the stars and planets aren’t aligned properly with all the fluff in the air. Christmas. The happiest holiday, but the busiest for many reasons. Snow makes the reactor scramble more times than not, and of course it just so happens on the graveyward shift when I’m working. Normally, I don’t deal with customers so late but, as I said, it’s Christmas.
Which is how I met Mrs. Drayton. A stocky woman, with dull chestnut hair, and a grey pantsuit who charged through the shop door and demanded that I take her away. Clearly, a woman determined on her mission. I flashed her my best and most practices customer-service smile, before beginning the very redundant spiel: “Good evening, and welcome to the Emporium of fantastical Playbacks where all—” I was cut short by the urgent press of a calloused hand.
“I know what this place is, I need to go back right away, so if we could hurry this up I would be most appreciative.” If she had tapped her foot on the ground, I would have guessed she was twenty-one and still living with her absentee boyfriend she met out of high school; but she didn’t. In fact, she waited patiently although a grimace was a permanent feature on her face.
“If you follow me to the back, you can tell me all about what you want to re-do.” I went to the front of the store, flipped the sign that said “with a customer, be back in a flash” and locked the door.
“I would appreciate it if we went a little faster, I don’t have a lot of time…”
I shook my head but picked up my pace to the pod in the backroom. “I take it you’ve been here before, I might remind you that messes with time too much can have consequences.”
The woman nodded but her eyes still held worry in the deep wrinkles at each corner. “I know, you’ve told me. I’ll get it right, I just need one more chance…”
Poor woman, I wonder how many times she has been here. I know better than to ask of course, if I knew it would change parts of the time she wishes to see. I simply motioned her into the pod, skipping my practiced speech. “How long do you wish to go back?”
“20…no, best go back 40 minutes.”
I slid the dial to 40 and close the door, I smiled at her through the small window and I see tears trail down her cheeks. I looked away and walk back to the reception desk. I cleared up the counter of cups and washed them in the sink facing the wall. The bell rings.
“Oh hello there, we’re actually closed right now, but if you come back in a few minutes the machine will be free.” I turned and see a man in a yellow hoodie enter the shop. The man shuffled across the floor to the desk, his hoodie covered his face and his hand were buried in his pockets.
“Sir? I have to ask you to leave…”
He ignored me and mumbled under his breath, as he stumbled closer I heared, “Stupid bitch, this has to be the place she went…”
His gun lifted before I could duck and shot me in the abdomen, my vision fish-eyed and blacked out as I hit my head on my descent down. I hold my hand to the wound that is slowly leaking my life out. “W-why…”
He rushed to my side, and threw the gun away. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I didn’t, you weren’t meant to be here, you scared me and I just—I’m sorry.”
His voice trailed off, or maybe it was me who faded until I couldn’t hear anything but the buzzing leftover from the gun fire. My last thought before the noise faded is that I should’ve locked the door.
——————
The bell above the door rung, and I popped my head up from under the counter. “Just a moment!” I shifted the last of the inventory on the tiny shelves and stood up, “Good evening, and welcome to the Emporium of fantastical Playbacks where all—” I was cut short by the urgent press of a calloused hand.
“Has it happened yet?” A stocky woman, with dull chestnut hair, and a grey pantsuit interrupted me.
“Has what happened yet?”
She looked around the shop, this time of night on Christmas is not very busy—normally customers come tomorrow, after bad Christmases. “No, no, I would’ve seen him…Is there anyone in the back?”
“Nope! You are the first customer in a few hours, I imagine you know what this place is?” I grinned.
“Yes…I’ve been here before, a while ago.” She took her hand back and pulled her blazer tighter around her shoulders.
“I thought so, so do you wish to be transported back in time?”
“No…if it’s alright I would like to stay here.” Her face jumped to mine, her eyes widened with concern.
I peeked at the window leading to the outside, “Are you escaping from someone? Is someone hurting you?”
Her eyes followed my to the snowy darkness outside, she hesitated, “…Yes.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’m actually quite strong, if anyone comes in here I could take them!” I gripped my bicep in a show of strength as I flex.
“You’d be suprised…” She whispered.
“What?” I asked her but she shook her head. I shrugged and turned around to prepare her a cocoa. “Do you like marshmellows in your cocoa?”
“Huh?” I turned to her, she still had her eyes trained on the darkness outside.
“Do you take marshmellows in your hot chocolate?” I asked again, but she ignored me. I observed her for a second, “She likes marshmellows, for sure.”
The kettle boiled and I make two mugs both with marshmellows, I slid hers across the counter. “I’m Marcy, by the way.”
“I know, you can call me Drayton…” She barely turned and took her cup to sip, “Thank you.”
I smiled, “You’re welcome. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to relax a little. Why don’t you come sit down?”
Drayton tensed, gripping her cup tighter, “I think it’s best if I don’t…”
I walked past her, I heard her gasp as I locked the door. “No one can get you in here. Come.” I pulled her toward the staff room. “There’s a little couch in here that suits our cocoa drinking pretty well.”
She sat heavily, as if her body were held up by strings I had cut.
“Do you want me to call the police? Or someone to take you home?”
Drayton shivered, “No…I’d feel better if I stayed here.”
I nodded. “I’m sure my boss won’t mind if you stayed here…I’ll have to explain the situation of course, but it should be fine.”
“Good…”
I tried to find a blanket or something to cover her on the couch. Her mug thunked on the plastic table. “Do you have a preference for garbage bags or an old curtain as a blanket?”
“I suppose the curtain,” she cleared her throat, “I actually need to go to the bathroom, is it down the hall?”
I nodded, not looking away from flipping the curtain in half and tucking it into the couch. There, it’s not the best but…it’ll do for the night. I grabbed our mugs and took it to the front of the store. I washed the cups in the sink facing the window. The bell rings.
“Hello! We’re actually closed right now, if you come back in a couple of minutes…” wait. I locked that door. I looked and saw the small trail of glass crunching under his feet. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“Stupid bitch, this has to be the place she went…” He seemed to ignore me, until the sound of the toilet flushing drew his eyes to me. “Where is she!” He yelled.
I fliched, “It’s just me here, sir. The…the urinals automatically flush.”
“Fuck!” His hand left his pocket with a gun, he rubbed it on his temple. “Just tell me where she is and I’ll go.”
I heard the door to the bathroom squeak open, “Please, don’t—” but it was too late, his finger pushed the trigger and I opened my eyes and I was on the ground with a sudden pain ebbing from my abdomen. I heard Drayton yell and the man was suddenly in my sight.
“Shit, I’m sorry Marcy. I’ll do better next time, I’m sorry.” Drayton moved my body until my head rested in her lap. “Just sleep, and I’ll—” I faded.
———————-
The bell above the door rung, and I popped my head up from under the counter. “Just a moment!” I shifted the last of the inventory on the tiny shelves and stood up, “Good evening, and welcome to the Emporium of fantastical Playbacks where all—” I was cut short by the urgent press of a cold calloused hand.
“Do you want to go get some coffee?” A stocky woman, with dull chestnut hair, and a grey pantsuit interrupted me.
“What?” I asked, I had not expected this stranger to say that.
She shook her head, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay, are you okay?”
The hand that held my shoulder trembled. “No, I have tried to fix this, but everytime we stay here, it happens anyway…”
“…okay?” I patted her hand.
She took several breathes, and some tears roll down her cheeks, “What if I told you that tonight a man walks into this shop and kills you…”
“I would wonder how often you used the pod in the back.”
She hooted a laugh, “Too much, the first time I had no idea how to use it. I was walking by the shop when I heard the gunshot. I knew what the shop was of course, I walk by it so often, but the man ran past me as I opened the door and saw you. You were bleeding out and weren’t making sense. I didn’t know what to do and I just held you as you past. Then I remember the purpose of this shop and tried to—I tried to, but I only got here five minutes earlier. I didn’t know you could set the timer.” She controled her breathing till it was almost normal, “But I’ve seen you die above a hundred times. Even if you’re in the bathroom when he comes and I’m out front he goes straight for you… I assume it’s a past customer or he knew a past customer but he also says ‘Stupid bitch, this has to be the place she went…’ and then he just.” Her breathing picked up again.
I thought for a moment. The shop held a strange object, a pod with the capability of transporting you through time, even the manager didn’t know how it appeared. It was a running joke that the pod was delievered by one of us in the future/past to open the shop. I shook as I said, “then I’m not meant to survive.”
Her eyes caught mine, “What?”
“If you let me finish my speech, I would’ve told you that the pod cannot save anyone, only relationships. Time can diverge but it cannot bring timelines back, if I die here. If I die here, then my timeline stops here. You can’t bring me along…”
“Can’t we try to make you leave… It’s the one thing I haven’t tried, I’m sure it’ll work.” She pulled on my arm until we reached th door and opened it. The moment my hand, held in hers, past the threshold I started to turn to sand.
“I already told you, my time is running out…” My hand disappeared into a pile of sand at her feet.
“But what’s the point? Why have the pod?”
“It helps people choose different paths in their relationships, not change their lives completely. If you go too far back, you fade like I do. I’m sorry.”
She clenched her fists, she looked old enough to be my aunt. Her tears flowed easily and evenly, “I’m sorry, kid,” she whispered defeatedly.
I chuckled down my own tears, “It’s okay, I always knew I would die in this shop. I just thought it would be of boredom rather than…y’know.”
We shared a quiet moment of grief, she walked back into the shop and pulled me into a hug. I wrapped my good hand around her and sobbed.
(I think I’ll stop it there, I was going to do another loop but I think this is a nice goodbye.)
