yachiru

Title: Inside Out
Prompt: “hikikomori”


Roy swallowed a few drops of his Nutrijam™, tilting his wheeled chair back as he watched the glowing green screen in front of him. A few feet behind him was his single bed, made from a long piece of steel. His bathroom wasn’t farther, the toilet made out of the same steel. His home had a cleaning function so he never had to shower. He simply had to stand with his arms out as the mist sloughed off old skin which was probably repurposed into the Nutrijam™.

The screen said it was three in the morning so he knew it was probably dark outside. He had no windows and had never opened the door.

Outside was a hellscape of red sky and burnt earth. He knew this from watching documentaries and from dreams he had sometimes. He remembered the sounds of sirens or perhaps that was his genetic memory. His parents or his grandparents. Surely they would remember a time before if they were alive. He thought it might have been nice to meet any of them just once.

He pressed a knob on the wall, lighting up the viewscreen. The metal wall seemed to warm and waver for a second before projecting an image of a beach on a sunny day. The tide came in, bringing with it a few pieces of shell.

Roy paid a little extra for the full experience so he could smell the salt and feel the coolness of water drops on his skin.

He slept there some nights, his head against the image of water and sand.

The sound of the waves stopped abruptly, glowing orange text appeared.

Accept Quest, Y/N?

“What?”

Accept Quest, Y/N?

“I don’t know anything about a quest,” he said.

Was this a video game? He liked those, he could be a hero or an explorer. He could be a villain, crushing cities under his heel.

He shook his head and went to his console to check the Corpo forums. He wasn't sure how they were maintained or who the posters were. He wasn't even sure real people posted there. It could be full of Corp bots all programmed to post at different times. He might be the last human left alive.

His mouth twisted at the thought. What a specimen.

He scrolled through the usual whining about the smell of ozone after people took the chemical shower and the posts of crude drawings of pixel genitalia.

He saw it about halfway down the page. It was the same message that blinked on his screen.

Accept Quest Y/N?

I saw this last night. Voluntary euthanasia? They want to flush us down our own toilets.

Is it a joke? It’s not funny. Rude!

You've been hacked!!!! Check your ports!

Choose and be free.

That user's name was blacked out, indicating the account had been deleted.

Roy logged off and walked over to the wall. The text blinked, taunting him.

“Yes,” he said.

His front door cracked open, the edges letting in a sliver of silver light.

“But it’s death outside,” he said. “Everything is gone. Burned and crisped.”

The door did not respond. The ocean did not come back.

He slowly shuffled forward until he was inches away from the door. The door that he had never opened. Had never thought he’d walk through.

Were there other people outside? People he could talk to or touch? Were there trees so tall he couldn’t see the tops?

He imagined what would happen if he stopped. If he never left. He thought of the whine of his computer, the cold of his bed frame. The tan food dripping into his mouth, coating his stomach in plastic. Watching the clock as minute after minute changed but everything else stayed the same.

He opened the door. He knew it would close behind him, that he could never go back.

He stepped into the light.

Title: Next Door
Prompt: Uncanny Valley
TW: Death


Cindy discreetly moved her front curtain out of the way so she could spy on her new neighbor. He was in his twenties, she thought. At least fifty years younger than Siph.

He had spiked hair, blonde at the tips, and thick green glasses wider than his face. His pants were disturbingly tight. She wished she’d bought those opera glasses Louise had been trying to sell after Harold died.

His eyes widened as he noticed her small one bedroom cottage across the street. He smiled, revealing crooked white teeth, and waved at her.

She sniffed and retreated. It was only fun if they didn’t know she was watching.

Cindy had been through four neighbors in the ten years she’d lived in the neighborhood. The house across the street never seemed to keep people for long. It sort of repelled renters. The owner’s had tried to paint it a cheerful yellow two years before but it had faded to a sick looking puce that her great grandniece called pustule yellow.

She had almost fallen asleep on her ancient flower patterned couch while watching a Survivor marathon when she heard a knock at the door. She opened her blurry eyes to check the thick clock on top of her tube television.

Seven fifteen. Whoever heard of visiting at seven fifteen at night?

She grumbled, straightening to her full height in a series of painful maneuvers. Her fluffy slippers were right next to the couch so her feet didn’t get cold on the hardwood floor.

“Who is it?” she shouted at her closed door. You could never be too careful with thieves and murderers about.

“I’m Harley, your new neighbor. I brought you some cookies.”

She frowned but opened the door. The young man was there, wearing those tight pants.

“Your pants are too tight,” she said.

He laughed nervously and looked down. “I guess they are but they look nice.”

Cindy did not feel like laughing. “It’s late.”

He looked down at the container in his hands. “Sorry, I’ve been in loading mode all day. The time must have slipped my notice. I made you some oatmeal cranberry cookies. I thought you’d like them.”

He held out the cookies and she took them, not knowing what else to do.

“I’m Cindy Rockwell,” she said, unable to say much else. She wasn’t happy with any of this and felt sleepy. She wanted to go back to the couch and sleep curled up with her pillows.

“Harley Patterson,” he said. “Sorry for the disturbance.”

She sniffed and closed the door on him, waiting until she heard him walk away to open the container and tip the cookies into her garbage can.

Cindy woke with a mouth full of cotton. She stretched her jaw and made her morning tea, a bitter black leaf that reminded her of coffee. She watched the morning news. Apparently murders were on the rise in her town.

“It’s never good news,” she said, to hear herself speak.

Dorothy knocked at around eleven. Cindy was dressed in a new yellow pullover and green slacks. She wanted to look good for her Romance Book Club which met weekly at one of the member’s houses.

Dorothy might have been older than Cindy. Her face was more wrinkled, set in a permanent scowl not unlike a bulldog.

“We’re gonna be late,” Dorothy said.

Cindy sighed as she got in the passenger seat. “Those old women will wait for us.”

They were meeting at Nancy’s house that week so Cindy had brought some toast with avocado smeared on it. She knew Nancy would hate it.

Lucinda and Louise were already there, sitting at the dining room table, sipping tea. They were waiting for Susan, who was always the last to arrive.

Cindy sat down gingerly.

“Have you read the one about the door yet?” Louise asked Lucinda.

“Where she falls in love with a door?” Lucinda asked. “One of my grandchildren bought it for my Kindle. It was strange but good.”

Cindy sniffed. “In my day we just read books about dukes and duchesses. They were classy.”

“You mean rape-y,” Nancy cut in.

Cindy rolled her eyes. “They got married after.”

“Oh so that makes it legitimate,” Nancy said, hiding a smile behind her hand.

Cindy scowled. “Still a better plot than falling in lust with a door.”

Susan finally showed, sweating and carrying a tin full of muffins. The muffins were so good no one complained about the forty minute wait.

They discussed books for an hour or so, snacking and discovering the fine plot points of an arachnid erotica. Cindy couldn’t stop thinking about Harley though.

She interrupted towards the end of the meeting, asking the girls what they thought.

“Skinwalker,” Lucinda said.

“What the hell?” Dorothy asked.

“No, I read a romance once with a skinwalker, they come from Native American folklore, no?” Susan asked.

Lucinda nodded. “My grandfather was Cherokee, he told me about them. Strangers who approach and want your skin so they can shift into it. Animals too. You should watch for animals going missing in your neighborhood.”


Nancy laughed. “Ya’ll read too much weird romance. No such thing. He’s just a nice boy who gave you cookies. You always see the dark side of life, Cindy.”

Cindy thought there was precious little light left. She wondered how Nancy would feel with blurry vision and creaky knees. Some days Cindy couldn’t even get out of bed, she just stayed in, reading and knitting hole covered blankets.

She saw Harley outside, mowing his lawn on the drive back.

“He seems nice,” Dorothy said. “Don’t let the girls scare you. You could use a friend close by who could help you if you fell.”

Cindy sniffed. “As if I would ever.”

Dorothy shrugged and helped Cindy inside.

It was dark when Cindy heard a knock again. She didn’t want to answer it but felt compelled to.

Harley was at her front door again.

“Could I have my container back?” he asked.

She hadn’t bothered to look at the clock but she knew it was much later than when he’d come before. She opened her mouth to tell him to go but the words wouldn’t leave her. She turned around to get him the plastic container.

She felt a pulling sensation, it didn’t hurt or wrench. All she felt was pressure and then she was staring at her own face with Harley’s smile.

“What?” she asked dumbly.

“I’m a skinwalker, though you probably guessed that. I take faces. Or souls, to be particular.”

“Why would you want mine? I’m old,” she said. Her lips were numb. She felt her knees collapse as she sank onto the floor.

“Collectability,” he said, snapping the consonants at the end.

Her last thought was that she should have put on the red lipstick. Oliver had always liked her in it. Said she looked murderous.

Title: Baby Hatch
Prompt: Sankofa
TW: Little bloody

Petyr was elbow deep in a bag of Cheetos when his ancient brick of a Mac started to buzz. He frantically wiped his hands on his brown overalls, smearing orange dust on his crotch as he rushed to stand.

He walked briskly through the steel hallway, the pale yellow lights flashed sluggishly along the walls.

Pictures of babies were hung every few feet. Some had five or six eyes, some had tentacles for arms. All were swaddled in red clothing with the slogan “Yokai Hatch” repeated in big block letters.

Karen from Accounting opened the door of her office as he was breezing past.

She squinted at him from behind large gold round frames. She held a Big Gulp between her furry paws.

“You need help?”

Petyr shrugged. “As long as it is not oozing or has rows of serrated teeth I’ll be fine.”

She took a long sip, nodding. He knew she remembered Basil, who almost took Greg’s arm off last summer.

Greg worked in the basement now, reviewing camera feed behind a locked door.

Petyr loped off for the front of the building, where the hatch lived. He thought of how it looked from the outside, a drawer of metal carved into the outside wall. Messages about safety were taped on it, along with warnings not to leave pink cheeked babies who might get consumed. The drawing of a human baby with a large red NO overlaid on it was particularly inspiring to him.

When someone put a child in the hatch, it gently deposited them into a square plastic container, drilled with small holes. It was enough to contain most creatures though one or two had managed to escape.

One was a gelatinous ooze named Partridge who slithered out through a miniscule cap between the cover and the frame. The other was a fox demon who simply ate through her cage. She’d torn her way through most of the office before Helen from Dairy managed to subdue her. Helen had said it was easier than wrestling cows.

In the box was a small lump so black it absorbed the light. Petyr put on his gloves and started to hum a soothing song.

“Hello baby, hello,” he sang.
The lump moved sluggishly towards his voice. It seemed almost sad.

“It’s okay,” Petyr said, opening the lid. “You’re safe with us. We have lots of lovely people who will care for you.”

He gingerly opened the lid, wary of teeth or arms.

The baby rolled a little but stayed still. It was a little bigger than the palm of Petyr’s hand. He grabbed a swaddling cloth and wrapped it around the baby’s body, cradling it in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he said.

He couldn’t see any eyes or arms. Nothing escaped the blackness of the baby’s skin. He started towards the nursery when he felt the building shake.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Earthquake.”

Real earthquake, not a drill. Though he knew where to go next from the drills he’d been to a few months before. Terrible things, drills. All that standing around and doing nothing. He kind of regretted bitching so much about them now. He knew where to go.

Around him, doors opened as employees left their offices to join him in the gym which had been built to double as a shelter in cases like this.

The walls shook even harder, some ceiling tiles came down on them as they all ran for the gym. Petyr cradled the baby to shield it from any falling debris.

Everyone was holding their phones, frantically looking for news. There wasn’t any.

The building stopped shaking. Petyr huddled near a wall. This didn’t feel like an earthquake, was all he could think.

In his arms, the infant let out a piercing noise that sounded eerily like a siren.

He heard a loud crack. Parts of the ceiling broke off and rained down on everyone.

“Get back!” he heard someone yell.

They all shifted to the back of the gym as the ceiling split open.

A round eye looked down at him. The baby’s cries ratcheted up. A piece of stone fell and cut the skin above his right eyebrow. Karen rushed over, tearing off her scarf and applying pressure.

“Is it here for you?” Petyr whispered. It happened that the parent regretted leaving their child sometimes. Not often, but there were procedures that had to be followed.

“We can’t just give it back,” Karen said. “We have forms to fill out. In triplicate!”

“I don’t think it’s going to wait for paperwork,” Petyr said, wiping the blood from his eye. He could taste it on his lips now, hot and metal.

He took the wiggling baby, brushing its tentacles away as it swiped at his face.

“Come on now,” he said, crooning at where its face would be. “We’ll get you back to Mom and Dad.”

He wasn’t sure if either term applied. He thought the monsters produced asexually but he’d never bothered to research much about them before. He’d probably have to change that.

The baby made a gurgling noise and projectile spit a glob of green goo at him. Petyr gagged, coughed, and kept going.

He held the baby up to the giant eyeball. His knees shook. He locked them and firmed his chin.

“Look, he’s here. This tantrum needs to end. You know the policy of our institution. We are more than happy to return what was left. This is impolite and unacceptable behavior. You’ll need to leave your name and contact information so we can bill you for the damages to our building.”

He heard a wail from one of the workers still in the room.

“Probably for therapy bills too,” he added.

The eye went away, an ink-black tentacle replaced it. It was twice as tall as Petyr and so big around it had to knock more of the wall away to get through. It gently picked up the baby who stopped crying once it was held.

“Thank you for your patronage,” Petyr yelled after it.

He fell on his butt as the monster drifted away, his legs would no longer hold him.

The hole in the ceiling was open and he could see the stars through them.

He laid all the way down, looking up, almost wanting to smile.

Maybe maybe maybe? Signing up for ljidol because I can though you're mostly getting horrible poetry.

Prompt: What Really Matters


When Gumshoe the Gnome went missing Madge walked the halls, looking in each cubicle for the culprit.

Eric from Accounting had a gnome but it wasn’t four foot tall and had no red bowtie. She smashed his secretary lamp and tipped the gnome over.

Tiffany from Sub-Basement B had a lovely unicorn on her desk but someone had set it aflame and Madge didn’t care for the smell of scorched majesty.

She’d searched almost everywhere but had found no sign of Gumshoe.

It had to be one of the wicked spirits, perhaps the twins or Karen from Finance, she thought.

Madge decided to ask the Rooster, he worked on the highest floor and knew everything there was to know.

Elevator. The halls twisted around her, forming patterns from alternating checkerboard patterns. An ancient elevator appeared, the iron doors opened.

She whispered the secret phrase.

Lambshanks.

Inside, the round floor lights lit up on the panel. The elevator began to move.

At floor one-hundred, the doors opened and Madge peeked her head out. The walls on this floor were bruised shades of pink and blue. The ground was made of soft grass. She kicked off her shoes, enjoying the cool wet strands.

She’d missed this floor, she thought, as she walked towards the giant tree in the center of it all.

The Rooster met her there. He resembled an owl rather than his namesake. White and tan feathers formed a halo around his sharp smile. At his feet stood Gumshoe the Gnome.

Madge gnashed her teeth, stomping until the young grass under her feet wilted and browned.

“You moth-riddled arse! How dare you steal what is mine?!”

The Rooster laughed, the sound shook the tree branches above him, shaking fuschia leaves onto his shoulders.

“Was it yours? I found him while weeding some crabgrass. Let us negotiate.”

The sound of bells filled Madge’s head. Dust stung her eyes. She closed them, rubbing the back of her eyelids with her closed fist. When she opened them she saw no trees or grass.

They sat in an office across a table. Gumshoe stood on top, wearing what Madge considered his most judgmental hat.

“Give me the gnome and I will only smash half of your things,” Madge said.

“Never!” The Rooster said, chuckling into his chest.

“You are too cheerful for this negotiation!” Madge shouted.

The Rooster shrugged. “You do not call or visit with me anymore. What else was I to do? It’s lonely here with only the wind and mounds of paperwork yet to be done.”

Madge narrowed her eyes. “I will visit with you but I must have Gumshoe back. You will serve tea with real cream. I may or may not smash some of your things.”

The Rooster nodded and slowly edged Gumshoe the Gnome over to Madge’s side of the table. She admired his bright blue eyes and jaunty chin, clutching him to her chest.

“Karen from Finance did not appreciate you, but I do,” she whispered.

In winter we hunt mermaids. As our fathers and our father's fathers have done, passing along their secret hunting grounds like an echo of genetic memory.

I wonder that the same isn't so for the creatures we hunt. Instinct alone should have guided them to better hibernating locations yet daughter after daughter is born, only to die inside their winter homes.

Perhaps something inside each is a cruel spirit, each whispers to each; safe here, safe here.

I know their hearts are tough. Usually the dogs won't even eat them. I know which parts are tender and which are bitter. I know how to crack bones for soup and how delicately sharp the knife must be to remove the scales without damaging them.

My daughter makes necklaces, sells them to tourists.

Look at how beautiful, my daughter tells them. Don't you want to be beautiful too?

rosa, the robot

she has seen machines
churning waves of metal
burning skies until skies were black

she fixes
cars-she unmuffles mufflers
attaches
shiny
wheels
over real wheels
make it louder-replace
ears-add muffler

factories thicken
urban gravy-rosa
applies spikes
bare knuckle tires
unmuffles mufflers
applies garbage bag
to headlight

the future is bright
chime in her ear-she
can't hear never fixed
that part

she watches cars become men
humping each other for oil slick
nothing sick-these are all american
manufactured biomechanical reality

xenomelia: a love story

First Alex smelled bonesand, hot flecks of hard white bone misted in the air around him. His body stilled. He'd paid for this and he wanted to get it right.

The Doc's face was hidden behind a white surgical mask. His eyes were cold, concentrating on veins and suction as his surgical saw bit into Alex's leg.

No anesthesia. Technically, this was body modification and the funny rules governing what could and could not be pumped into his body said the the shots were only for really important things like wisdom teeth or appendectomies.

Still, he was loaded. Benzos. A rainbow of anti-anxiety meds. Pain pills of dubious origin and age.

Oxana gave them to him. Wished him luck.

His mouth quirked. He thought she was beautiful and foreign and exotic. She'd lost a leg somewhere in Russia.

He'd envied her. Not for the tits (though they were nice). Or the booming prostitution business she operated out of that one-room flat.

They pay extra for crips, she'd told him, brushing the hair away from his forehead.

The saw made a particularly loud whine and Alex winced, the sharp pain breaking through the fog.

"My friend, I tell you, do not move. You want Pietro to cut off your manhood instead of leg?" Doc said, raising an eyebrow.

Alex blinked. "Sorry. Maybe tighten the chains?"

Doc sighed and tightened the chains holding Alex down. "I know men who would pay good money for this but no you want dismemberment. Americans, you are strange. Pumpkins disguised as gold. Why do you all hate what you are? Women are men. Men are women. I tell you I had one man implant a unicorn horn on his forehead? Some rich fellow keeps him as a pet now."

Alex made what he hoped was an agreeable sound. He couldn't explain. Not to the shrinks or his mother. Not to his lovers or friends. When he looked in the mirror, he only saw what did not belong. His leg, the insult attached to his body. He saw it as deformed, blackened. A demon sucking the life from his body.

Under Doc's saw, healthy blood flowed. Alex knew he saw things no one else saw. He knew they all thought he was insane.

Not Oxana. She'd understood. She'd given him Doc's number.

You should be as you want, she'd said, smoking that strange long cigarette. Your body is the only thing in this world that is truly yours. Keep it how you like it. Rather like decorating a house. Sometimes you need to move things around.

Smoke had curled out of her nostrils and he'd known then she was a dragon. Hoarding secrets in her den. In her eyes.

Fire burned his leg. He screamed at the smell of his own flesh as Doc cauterized the wound.

Doc threw something on the table next to Alex. The black flesh on the slab hissed and spat ichor that sizzled on the stone floor.

Alex whimpered, trying to crawl away from the awful thing that had come from him.

"Do not worry, my friend. This I do for free," Doc said. He held a torch in one hand and a mask in the other.

The blaze of heat was a lion. Alex closed his eyes and hoped they'd open again.

"I am not what I am."

Possibly my favorite quote along with "My mother is a fish." One of which I have tattooed on my body

I write fiction and poetry. Right now I'm doing a series on asoiaf which is weird because I barely watched the show and got to the part where the tween married some horse dude before I gave up and watched Forensic Files instead.

Mother of Dragons

these children of mine
so ugly-missing plate and fire
always showing soft underbellies
I breathe warmth into hearths
bleed gold for their pockets
still my children flee
some chase me-sharp metal
sticks-barking dogs
bang my door down
curse my name
children-so foolish
always
I punish them
tail whip-puffs of smoke
all say I love you
I love you
I love you

I break spines
crack teeth-split
lips-take limbs
souvenirs of children too rough
to be civilized
all to say
I love you
I love you
I love you

Song that is my jam right now;

I was ten when my father gave me a gun.

"You're old enough," he said. "You hunt or you don't eat."

I hunted real careful. We'd found a red hand print on one of the burnt up trees. Usually meant the People were around and I didn't want to be ate up.

From the darker part of the woods came this awful howl. Sounded like a cat being strangled but manlier.

Following strange sounds into a forest of ash wasn't real smart but I was never real smart either.

The sounds ended under one of the giant trees. In the dark shade underneath was a wolf. Or maybe something mixed in with wolf.

It watched me with yellow eyes. Its paw was caught in a trap with sharp teeth.

"Ain't ya'll supposed to chew that off? I heard a tale somewhere," I said softly.

The wolf followed my movements with its eyes.

"I ken get ya free but then you'd probably eat me."

I sighed and sat down across from the beast. It still watched me.

"You need a name. Names are important. Father says mine came from a kind of sickness. Sundown. Sounds right pretty for a sick thing. I think Beast is a good name for ya. Strong."

I talked and talked and talked. Finally, the wolf seemed to tire a little.

I pulled my small knife and opened the trap, backing away slowly.

Beast stood and shook his head. He limped back into the dark.

"You're welcome," I muttered.

Damn and I still hadn't killed anything. I couldn't go home until I did.

And since I'd been talking and moving around so loud all the game had run away.

It was dark by the time I gave up and started home. I could sleep by the river and maybe catch a deer in the morning.

Out of the night came the wolf.

Beast stood, not letting me past. He was as tall as me so there wasn't much I could do about it.

His muzzle was stained red with blood. He spat out a plump rabbit.

"Huh. He ain't never gonna believe I shot this thing though."

I bent to pick up the carcass. "You though, he might like. Ain't gonna last long with that paw anyway."

My pa did like Beast. Well, after he saved us from some cannibals.