Chuck Wendig told me to. Click HERE for info.
Okay, so. I wrote something. I’m sharing it. Yeah. When I was writing this I was thinking, “This is the best thing I have ever written tra la la la!” And then I read it back and now i’m like…it’s rubbish. But I really don’t care! Does it matter? btw don’t even THINK about stealing this ‘cos it’s copyrighted. So there.
Here’s the choices that I got:
Aspect To Include:
Love Will Save The Day!
The Devils Palace
Haunted by Guilt!
My masterpiece (ha.ha.) is called:
Tears In Her Violet Eyes (according to MS Word it’s 1,828 words)
Cassandra pushed back her hair in a motion similar to the one that Kristen Stewart frequented. Her hair tumbled back around her face but she left it there this time. Cassandra prided herself on her long green tresses. Sometimes, if she was feeling particularly frivolous, she would wash it. Most of the time she let nature take its course. It made her feel more in touch with the earth.
A ding! from the egg timer behind her alerted her to the bubbling saucepan on the stove. It contained a single, hardboiled egg. She lifted it clear from the boiling water with her left hand and popped the whole thing into her mouth. Shell crushed between her teeth as she wandered from the kitchen and into the hallway.
Stopping abruptly, she spun around and faced the calendar that had caught her eye. The date was circled in red. Cassandra racked her brain, wondering what had possessed her to circle today’s date. She crunched through egg shell thoughtfully. An itch formed on her left shoulder and she reached with her right hand to scratch it.
Her right hand.
Cassandra spat out the slightly chewed mouthful of shell and egg and ran from the kitchen. The grey dusty curtains fluttered in her wake, sending particles of dust gliding gently to the floor. She skidded to a stop outside of a vivid red door. Cassandra wiped her mouth and straightened her used-to-be-blue shirt. Automatically, she read the sign that had always been there.
‘Welcome to the Devil’s Palace.’
She lifted her hand and knocked on the solid wood door, the noise her fist made thumped through to the room behind it.
A pair of eyeballs immerged on the door. They usually hid themselves away, but Cassandra was always nice to look at. They rolled up to look at her, one eye blue, the other brown. Slowly, they retracted and the door swung open.
The room was smoky, just as it always was. A low hum travelled through the room, it sounded organic, not machine made. A clicking sound came from the middle of the room. Followed by a loud slurping, the room was eerie.
It smelt like…death.
“Cassy?” A low, but deep, voice hummed through the room. Cassandra shivered and tapped her foot against the floor. Impatient. “Of course it is. Who else would it be?” Something creaked. A low laugh and then, “Lights!”
At his command, the lights on the walls, not to mention the disco ball hanging from the ceiling sprung into life. The room erupted into a cacophony of light, Cassandra squinted and sighed.
She whistled and the lights dimmed to half their brilliance.
“Shit. Thanks darling. I always forget.” Cassandra’s eyes latched onto a figure sitting at a desk in front of her. “Anything in particular you wanted?” He asked her, lifting his head up from the computer he was typing away at.
The Devil was a handsome man, with thick, dark hair and a very dashing beard that he was extremely proud of. When he stood, which wasn’t often, he came to Cassandra shoulder. It wasn’t that he was small, (hell forbid) but she was giant. At 6”7, she towered over him. Or so it seemed sometimes.
“Why haven’t you gotten rid of that ball yet?” Cassandra spoke, referring to the disco ball above them. It was a reigning argument between the two of them.
“Because I don’t want to be a eunuch.”
Cassandra glared at him, and he was quick to respond.
“The disco ball? Right! Because it’s fun and adds a certain ambience, don’t you think?” He grinned at her and quickly looked back at his computer again.
“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked him, curious despite her need to remind him of something important.
“Answering emails. Apparently, certain people weren’t impressed with my last birthday party. Limbs got eaten. Terrible business. I mean, really, what else do you expect? October 31st is the day of the devil. Expect devilish things to happen. Plus, I have a few bodies to ship. And more to sign for. No rest for the wicked, eh, Cassy?”
She laughed, not opening her mouth. She looked at the floor, the walls. She wondered how she was going to broach the subject. It was very personal.
“What’s the matter?” The typing stopped and the Devil looked at her. They had been together for so long, he knew exactly when she was upset.
“Nothing.” Came the curt reply.
“Fine! Okay!” The typing started up again. But the Devil wasn’t really typing emails, he was trying to lure her into his trap. His trap of indifference, of conversation.
“We’ve been together a while now, hm?” She asked him, scuffing her boot on the wooden floorboards.
“Indeed. Nigh on four hundred years, I bet.”
“Five hundred actually.”
If this was one of those womanly, ‘I need attention, let me pout’ moments, then I’m going back to bed. Thought the Devil. He plastered on an ‘I’m here for you’ expression and waited.
“Okay. I can’t think of any way to say this delicately, so I’ll just…say it.” Cassandra took a deep breath and prepared herself.
“Do go on.” And hurry up!
“Can I…um…can I have my hand back now, please?”
Instantly, the comforting expression disappeared and the Devil’s face became stony. He leaned back in his chair and regarded Cassandra.
“Why?” He asked her bluntly.
“Because I want it back. I’ve served my time. I want my hand back.” Cassandra pleaded with her eyes. It wasn’t working. “Five hundred years, you said.”
Cassandra lifted up her right arm and gently lowered the sleeve. She exposed the stump of her right wrist to the room. It wasn’t a clean cut, the limb had simply been torn from her body, leaving the bones exposed to the elements. The wound had never been treated, but the blood flow had stopped quickly. Now all that could been seen was the fleshy tissue with flashes of white packed.
The Devil opened his mouth, but before he could speak a thumping noise came from the ceiling.
“Aw! Bloody hell! God you evil bastard! Stop that Korean pop nonsense right now!” He yelled up to his rival.
The thumping bass of the music only intensified for five seconds before shutting down completely.
“Thanks.” The Devil muttered, shifting in his chair. “You can’t have it. I lost in a bet.”
“WHAT?” Cassandra stalked closer to the desk. “Get it back then!”
“You don’t understand. It was to Sarah.” The Devil shifted in his seat, guilt flowing from his body so thick Cassandra could taste it.
“Sarah the Zombie?” Her anger shook the room. Literally, the disco ball above them swayed slightly. “How dare you?” Her voice lowered. Leaning forward she placed her hand on the desk between them. Her violet eyes flashed and she bared her teeth at the Devil.
“Don’t take that tone with me!” The Devil jumped to his feet and leaned in towards her. “You disobeyed me, I took your hand. Fairs fair. Now leave, before I take your other one.”
Cassandra clenched her hand into a fist and considered breaking the desk in half. It was tempting. Very tempting. So she did.
Her left fist smashed into the polished wooden surface and it collapsed at their feet. The computer that had been resting on top of it also clattered to the ground. The lamp smashed and the rack of papers fluttered around the room.
The Devil regarded her solemnly and sat back down at his chair. He crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands.
Cassandra shook her head and stalked out from the room. But not before The Devil had seen something glittering in her violet eyes.
The door slammed shut behind her.
The Devil sighed and stared at the fallen desk for a minute or so. Rising from the chair, he walked over to the other side of the room where a picture was mounted on the wall. It was of Cassandra when they first met. Of course, she looked no different. Green hair flowing behind her, pale skin almost glowing, violet eyes sparking as her hands lay cupped in her lap. Her features were so beautiful, her nose long and straight, her eyes perfectly oval, round cheeks that always used to turn rosy when they spoke.
She was seated on a throne, posing for the painter. The painter being, The Devil. He had worked long and hard on the painting. His best piece yet.
He removed it from the wall, setting it down gently on the floor. Behind the painting, there was a safe. Generic, he knew, but would she ever think of looking behind her own portrait? No. Because she never knew how much she meant to him.
Spinning the combination, the reinforced steel door came unlatched. He reached in and pulled out a heavy cylinder. He carried it to his chair and cradled in his arms. The Devil knew what he had to do.
Cassandra was in the kitchen. Several saucepans were bubbling on the stove, each of them were full of boiled eggs. Scooping on out she stuffing it into her eyes and crunched.
“Cassy, that’s disgusting.”
A familiar voice came from behind her. She growled but didn’t turn. In the back of her mind, she noted that The Devil was in the kitchen and he hadn’t done that for years.
The Devil moved to the side of her and lifted something heavy onto the counter. She tilted her head and saw the cylinder. She didn’t recognize it, but her right hand had started to tingle.
Cassandra moved quickly to the container and tried to open the top. It was difficult to get a grip with only one hand and she was quickly becoming frustrated.
“Here, let me.” The Devil pulled back the catch and opened it up for her. She grabbed it and peered inside.
And there it was.
It looked just like it had the day he took it from her. Long and slender fingers, perfect fingernails, unlike her left hand which had been bitten down to the quick.
She eased her right wrist into the cylinder and instantly she felt the magic working, the bones beginning to heal, the flesh sewing itself together.
Cassandra pulled out the hand and gazed at it, fascinated.
“Thanks.” She mumbled to The Devil, who had been watching her intently.
“What will you do now?” He whispered, worried for his own sanity if she left. She was the one thing that helped him through the years, if she decided there was nothing left for her here, he didn’t know what would happen to him.
“Finish dinner.” She replied, nudging him with her hip. He looked up at her and saw her smiling down at him.
And it was the last thing he saw before her fist connected with his nose.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.