She was a child of the gods, sworn to defeat the monstrous of the world. And yet, she could not destroy this. Her eyes raked over the beast: the writhing tentacles, the spiraling horns, the patchy fur. Its head was blunt, its eyes burned with fear and fury. And yet, she could not destroy it. She watched as it tore through cities, as it decimated civilizations. The beauty in its destruction filled her with awe. It exuded a raw, primeval energy, something that she itched to tame, but wondered if she could. She feared it, and she loved it; she could not destroy it.

Inspired by a writing prompt from Writing Prompt Generator.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

“Blakely? Did it work? Are you still alive?” Reynolds blinked in the bright, empty lab. He heard a groan from somewhere in the room, but he couldn’t see anyone.

“Reynolds,” that same voice coughed, “when my head stops pounding, I am going to kill you.”

“Blakely!” he said, relieved. “I didn’t kill you!”

“If I’d thought you might,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have let you test your stupid machine. What the hell happened?”

Day 67

I have been stuck on this island by myself for over two months. And honestly, it’s been great. There is an abundance of food, the weather is warm but not too hot, there is clear, fresh water to drink, and I haven’t seen another person in weeks. It’s been so quiet. So relaxing. There is a small part of me that misses the rest of the world, but then I remember all the shit going on out there. Here, I am blissfully unaware. Here, I can feel the soothing breeze, bask in the sunlight, trace the clouds through the lush foliage. Here, I can be free.

Wait, is that a boat? Coming this way? Damn it.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

“I. Hate. Laundry.” Patience grunted as she heaved an armful of wet clothes from the washing machine, and lugged them to the dryers. “Who has time for this? All the time? For the rest of our lives?”

“Patience, I will never get over the fact that you are the least patient person I know,” Margaret grinned over the pile of clean clothes she was folding.

“Yeah,” Patience said with a dramatic sigh. “My mom has regretted naming me that since forever. She says she was hoping I would be more patient than she is, but that I took it as a challenge, and she should have known better.”

She stared into the void, and the void stared back. It had a nicer face than she expected. It almost seemed to have kind eyes.

“Hello.” The word vibrated through her, coming from everywhere and nowhere.

“Hello,” she replied, thinking it was the polite thing to do.

Everything around her seemed to shudder. It seemed the void was amused. “How kind. Most people just scream.”

“I didn’t think yelling would help anything.”

“Wise words indeed.”

She continued to stare. The void stared back, its lips twitching.

“You seem amused,” she said, almost accusingly.

“Well,” it replied, “This is a new experience for me. People have been coming to shriek at me for years and years, and yet here you stand, just,” it paused, “looking at me. I feel I should be flattered.”

“Well, I am making up my mind.”

“And what is your conclusion?”

“That you are not so bad, but there are other things I should be doing.”

“Wise words,” it repeated. “Then off you go. But should you ever wish for a chat…”

She smiled. “I know where to find you.”

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

She watched as he was brought before her, body chained and head bowed. She felt numb, like ice swam through her veins and chilled her from the inside. She looked to her father, watched as his lips moved, the crown on his head gleaming. She could feel the stares from the court, focused on her, on her disgrace. She looked back to him, and met his eyes.

They seemed to speak, the two of them, across the hall and beyond the physical realm. Sorrow and acceptance, love and horror. But no regret. She watched as the executioner’s blade swung high, watched as it swung down, watched as it severed his head from his neck. She felt anguish claw its way up her throat, but swallowed it down.

She observed the blood spilling across the cold stone. She wondered if her blood would stain her pillows, if the color would be as vibrant, when she joined him later that night. They had vowed, in the dark, that their love was eternal, and she would see to it that it was.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020