Tales of the Inklings

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Tales of the Inklings

Post by Wlonnie on Sat Aug 16, 2014 2:54 pm

This is the forum where you can post stories for other members to review, read, and enjoy. Feel free to post any of your work. Original stories, fanfictions, or weekly challenge ideas that were over the limit are ideal for this forum. Have fun!
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Wlonnie

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Re: Tales of the Inklings

Post by Wlonnie on Sat Aug 16, 2014 3:05 pm

The One about Blood and Red Eyes

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The small child I was babysitting had been asleep for an hour now. I had tried passing the time with a Star Trek re-run on TV, but that had gotten old fast. During times such as this, I would usually ramble on about life and its problems to Kaya, the cat who lived at the small child’s house. Of course, she was nowhere to be found.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
To put it plainly, I was bored.
I groaned and heaved myself up from the dark couch in my neighbor’s living room. Keeping myself amused while babysitting was never usually a problem. Playing with the little kids was awesome, and once they went to bed, I usually spent the last few hours either sketching or writing in my notebook. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be working on this particular night. All that was going on in this quiet little house was the baby sleeping, the wind whistling through the windows, and the floorboards creaking.
Wait. I knew this house inside-out. The only place where the floor creaked was on the stairs leading to the baby’s room, and the last I’d heard, Ryland wasn’t able to crawl out of his crib.
Someone else was in the house.
I darted to the kitchen as quietly as I could, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. I wasn’t armed with even a pocket knife. Whoever was up there, I could only hope they hadn’t come to harm us.
I decided to get it over with. I picked up speed at the bottom of the stairs and ran. A dark figure stood only seconds in front of me, and as time suddenly slowed down, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of turning on the lights.
BAM!
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? No, wait, that’s the question you should be asking me. Yes, we broke into the house. No, it was not my idea.” The voice belonged to a man. He was from the UK, by the sound of things; more specifically, England.
I frowned and stood up from where I had crashed into the stranger. “Who are you?” I demanded. “And – oh, goodness gracious, let me get the light.” I took a step down and flipped the switch at the bottom of the stairs. A flood of light rushed into the area, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the change. I looked up at the man on the stairs. “Oh good grief, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Doctor John Watson was sitting on the stairs, rubbing his head from where I had accidently ran into it.
“What’s going on?” I could feel the tension rising in my voice. I was not okay with this. No, detectives were not allowed in this house. Maybe it was the mother bear in me rising up, but either way, I did not want an ounce of danger within a fifty-mile radius of the little boy I was babysitting.
“There’s ... a bomb.”
“A bomb? Here? Explain yourself, man!”
“We don’t know. Sherlock got a call, he didn’t tell me who it was from, and all I know is that there’s a bomb in this house.” John stood up, still seeming sore about the fact that I had run into him.
Meanwhile, my mind was racing at a million miles per hour. There was a bomb in my next-door neighbors’ house. Baby Ryland was upstairs in his crib. I had to get him out of here while there was still time.
“Where’s Sherlock now?” I asked.
John shook his head. “I don’t know. Last I talked to him, he was still muttering away at himself, trying to find that bomb.” He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”
Well, someone was no help at all. I pushed past him and ran to the baby’s room. Poor thing. It was only eleven o’ clock at night, and now Ryland had to be awakened from a good night’s sleep. He started crying the moment I picked him up, but I wrapped him in a couple of blankets and sang a slow song to him in order to keep him calm. From that point on, I didn’t waste a second. Ryland’s crying had calmed down to a whimper by then, and after grabbing my purse and jacket, we raced out into the cold February air.
I looked around the house, trying to catch a glimpse of Sherlock in the dim light provided by the street lamps. Of course, there was nothing.
“Jenn!”
I turned around and looked out at the road. Two boys were running towards me, boys with familiar faces ... Steven and Adley?
“You people don’t even live here.” I deadpanned. “What is wrong with the world today?”
“Bombs, for one,” Steven said. “Is the baby all right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I looked down at Ryland, who was bundled up a couple of blankets and my hoodie. The baby had fallen back asleep, and was now snuggled right up against my chest.
“Good.” Adley said. “You’ve got to come with us, Jenn. From what we’ve heard, the bomb’s gonna explode any minute.”
“I don’t even understand why you two are working together.” I shook my head. “No, I haven’t even talked to Sherlock yet. Since John’s being a total confusing person, maybe his partner-in-crime will know what’s going on. I’m sorry guys, but I can’t leave until I find out what’s wrong with this picture.” With that, I turned around and began walking back to the house. I didn’t know what had caused my change of heart. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t want to appear as a damsel in distress. I could handle myself and the baby very well on my own, thank you. Crazy Kelowna boys.
Once I got back into the house, I noticed a strange door on the far right side. That door hadn’t been there before. In fact, there was no possible way that the door could lead anywhere. It was mounted on the most outlying wall of the house. Besides, I had only been gone for two and a half minutes. There was no way that someone could have attached that door in such a short time.
Naturally, I decided to investigate.
The door opened when I turned the knob. Slightly surprising. What was even more bizarre was the fact that there was a room beyond the door. It was dark and small, but I could see something in the far corner. A red light was glowing, and I couldn’t place where it was coming from.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
And then I realized what was happening. This was the room the bomb was in. The person in there right now – more than likely Sherlock or John – was diffusing the vile creation. Good. That was what we needed in this moment. A dosage of reality, some peace and –
That was when the figure turned around. It was John, and his eyes were glowing a deathly red.
I fought back the urge to scream. Slamming the door behind me, I ran from the house once again. John was evil. John was the one rigging the bomb. John had bright red glowing eyes. I had to tell someone.
For some reason, I ran onto the road. Ryland was wide awake at this point, sobbing and grabbing my shirt and probably wishing he could just go to bed. Poor little chap; I smoothed down his brown hair and kissed him on the forehead. There wasn’t time for lullabies now. I’d have to find him a safe place to hide, and fast.
“There she is!” And that’s when I realized that I wasn’t the only person on the road.
Spears of every shape, size, and design all came hurtling at me with expert speed. Blood spurted from every place they struck, and my body raced with a numbing pain I had never felt before. I fell to my knees. I knew that I should be dead. What was keeping me alive? But then the baby started to cry, and I knew that I couldn’t let go now. The flicker of life that I held in my hands was too precious to let go of for an instant. Even if I wouldn’t make it, I had to be sure that Ryland would be safe.
Suddenly, I felt something pulling me up. Two hands – one on each of my red-stained shoulders – were heaving me up from the ground. The boys. Steven and Adley were finally showing their usefulness, and not a second too soon.
“Go.” Steven said. “We’ll fight them off.” He picked up a spear from the ground, tip covered in my blood, and started going after the men on the road. Adley followed in his actions, and soon, the road was a battlefield.
My wounds suddenly stopped hurting. I was open and bloody, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. This was my chance to get Ryland to safety.
I raced from the road and went back to the house. The garage was open, and I ducked inside quickly. I lifted the baby into the air and inspected him carefully. Thank God; he hadn’t even been nicked by a spear. I looked around the room quickly, and spotted a larger-than-usual shoebox sitting on a dusty desk. I opened it up and set Ryland into it carefully. The baby squirmed and squealed, but as I began singing to him, he quickly calmed down and fell into a deep sleep again.
“So you found out about John.”
I put the lid on the shoebox. “You broke into my baby’s house. I want an explanation.”
“I had to see it for myself.”
“So you knew about this? The entire time?” I couldn’t help but feel ridiculously ticked off at Sherlock Holmes. “You have got to be kidding me.”
He didn’t say anything. Probably didn’t want to waste his time on my inferior intelligence or something of the kind.
I sighed. “Can you get the baby to a safe place? I have a feeling that dealings around here might be sticky for the next little while.” I glanced down at the gaping holes in my side. “Pun intended.”
“Of course I can. I’ll contact you when it’s safe to retrieve him.”
For some reason, the fact that Sherlock was being helpful like a normal person didn’t strike me as odd. I accepted the action of help with all the gratitude I could muster in that moment.
“Thanks,” I nodded sharply and handed him the shoebox. We didn’t say anything else. Honestly, I didn’t feel the need or even want to say anything else. I was a bloody mess, Ryland was going to be safe, and two of my close friends were out on the streets, fighting random crazies with spears.
Was there anything I could do other than trust?

Author's Note: Written originally for the August 15th challenge submitted by Jazzie. Unfortunately, this dream-story was too long of an entry. I decided to share it anyways, since a few KP members knew about this dream beforehand. Unedited work - I was lazy, sorry. Enjoy!
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Wlonnie

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Re: Tales of the Inklings

Post by LittleDancer on Sun Aug 17, 2014 1:54 pm

I noticed after that the, 'Tick Tock' Must have been the bomb. I really enjoyed this one (It has Sherlock in it.)
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GMARC

Post by Melody on Wed Jan 07, 2015 6:43 pm

This is from a "paragraph" I was wrote for English. It was supposed to be "scary, creepy, eeri."

Cold. Dark. Pain. Those are the only works my sluggish brain can form.
My cheeks presses against something hard and wet, my body is prone. The hardness is not smooth, but rough; pavement I think. The wetness is blood. I am unsure if it is mine. It could be. My whole body aches, a myriad of different pains—sharp, dull, throbbing—screaming out in a single cry for help. They all clamor for my undivided attention.
It begins to come back to me. There was an accident. I open one eye, my left, only to close it tighter than before. I cannot see out of it. It hurts, momentary taking precedence. I doubt I will ever see from it again. Summoning my courage, I open my other eye. I wish I had not.
Bodies lay strewn around me, broken and bleeding. I see now where the blood come from. It is a mixture of mine, gushing from where the bone protrudes through the flesh of my leg, and from the body next to me. That face, I know it. I cannot force myself to put a name to it. They are dead—what does it matter?
Buildings slowly form along the streets as my fuzzy vision clears. Tall, gray buildings. Lifeless. They are made from steel, most of their glass broken. The windows peer out as lidless eyes, forever watching.
I turn my head slightly, only to stop as a sudden jab of pain begins in my neck and runs down my spine. I see a bus, its dark tires still spinning, sinisterly highlighted in the dull moonlight. The words “Lost City Tours” is painted in red lettering on the side. I remember now.
I wish I could forget.
The tour bus had hit something; something living. I do not know what—not a person, and too large to be any animal I can think of. Years ago, long before anyone could remember, this city was abandoned. Nearly a hundred years later, it was opened for tourism. This was the first bus.
As I lay here, almost unconscious again, all I can think is “what did we hit?”. What did we hit? I don't know.
My ears prickle at the sound of a low growl. It might almost be mistaken for moaning. It is not human, this much I can tell, aside from the fact that every other human here is dead. For all I know, so am I.
The growling intensifies. I hear the sound of padded feet against cement. The thing is coming towards me. I turn my head again, the pain not as unbearable now. A large silhouette stands in front of me, the ends of its hair glowing silver from the moonlight behind. I catch a glimpse of teeth. Long. Razor sharp. They could tear through me in an instant. And probably will.
I turn to get up. I can't. My legs don't move—maybe that's why I never felt the pain from them. I didn't notice that until now. Judging from the way my foot is bent, they couldn't support me anyway. The creature moves closer. I can feel its breath. Rancid, smelling of rotting things. Rotting flesh.
The beast moves sideways, just slightly. It is unlike anything I have ever seen. Its eyes—they glow red. Not a dull, friendly red, like foxes and dogs. This red is bright, like fire. Evil.
My mind races. This city; years ago, it was the government's head research base for genetic alterations. GMARC. Genetic Manipulation And Research Center.
The creatures face comes closer to mine.
Well, at least I know why the city was abandoned.
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Re: Tales of the Inklings

Post by Wlonnie on Tue Feb 03, 2015 12:25 am

Unhealthy Obsession

Tap, tap, tap. His fingers never stop flying over that overused black-and-white keyboard. It’s like a poem, a heartbreak, a suddenly romantic jolt in the hemisphere.
I hate him, but I can’t keep my eyes off of him.
When he’s done, they all cheer for him. They clap and sing his praises like socially awkward emus from the top of the Alps. It’s grossly overdone, like music in a Disney film. I pretend that I didn’t hear him. I pretend that I don’t care. Before he notices that I’m breathing, I’m out the door and on the other side of town.
My unhealthy obsession knocks on the door every Tuesday evening. It comes in the shape of my best friend, Melia. You know you love the piano evenings at the bar! She exclaims in that squeaky, adorable, completely Melia way. I pretend not to hear her, but my words are a badly-staged play.
I have found my addiction, and my addiction hates me.
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Re: Tales of the Inklings

Post by Wlonnie on Tue Feb 03, 2015 12:26 am

A List of Firsts


Soft lips, blue eyes, baby skin. The magic within my bones has become this beautiful little creature. He’s like nothing I’ve ever seen; some beautiful little element of my soul that’s always been trying to escape.
My boy. My beautiful, tiny, sweet baby boy. Who knew such a thing would ever happen?
The first time he grips my finger, I can’t help but chuckle. He is my laughter. My hope. There is nothing greater than giving life to the very sign of new life itself.
I don’t ever want to close my eyes.
Some days, a broken masterpiece crumbles. But with this reassurance, this harmonized beating in my heart, I feel whole. I laugh when he laughs. I hold him when he cries.
The first time he sprains his ankle, I’m the one who cooks a pot of chicken soup and lines up cartoon reruns.
The first time he smiles at a girl in elementary school, I’m the one whose heart is welling up in the background.
It’s only fitting; he was the first time I became a mother.
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Re: Tales of the Inklings

Post by Heather (the Ninja) on Wed Apr 22, 2015 2:56 pm

Mel, your GMARC story is awesome and terrifying. i like how you ended with
'Well, at least I know why the city was abandoned.'
Yeah, about to die, life going terrible, bleeding all over, but at least I know why the city was abandoned. Awesome!
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