Writing Prompts Week 11: A Story Set During a Full Moon

Evelyn took a deep breath of the sunset air. It was chill, bearing the promise of snowfall and the faint musky scent of a campfire about a mile or so upwind. She turned to her companions.

The first was a hooded figure, about five or so inches shorter than Evelyn. His right eye was covered with a leather patch, and one hand always seemed to hover possessively over the exotic blade at his belt.

The second was a rough-looking redhead, covered in various battle scars and the only other female in the group. She stood at ease and held her halberd with an easy familiarity that might lead one to think she was off her guard. They would of course be wrong, but that usually worked to her advantage.

The final companion was a lion-esque catfolk. His clothes were as flashy as his well-groomed mane, though his usual smile was currently replaced with a look of concern that nearly matched what Evelyn felt.

There was also the wolf that stood by Evelyn’s side, but she’d long since stopped thinking of Cobalt as an entirely separate entity from herself.

“Are you sure we’re far enough away?” She asked. The concern in her voice lacked the anxiety she felt, though she couldn’t keep it out of her hands as the fingers of one traced over the intricate carvings on her staff and the other twisted itself into Cobalt’s thick fur.

Sieg, the hooded companion, spoke first. “It’ll have to be. Moon’s supposed to rise in an hour.” Upon seeing the way Evelyn began to bite her lip, he added, “Relax, Sweetheart. If you do turn and break your bindings again, we all have our contingencies to stop you from going on a murderous rampage.”

“Yeah,” the redhead added, pulling out a set of manacles and starting with the task of chaining her friend to a nearby tree. “Not that you’re going to break them this time. I went and found some extra strong ones. Guaranteed not to break.”

“Thanks, Nia,” Evelyn smiled. Then she frowned. “Where’d you get the extra money to buy masterwork manacles, though?”

The redhead said nothing, but gestured with her head at Sieg, who was currently ignoring the girls in favour of surveying their current surroundings. The catfolk — Firebrand, as he preferred to be called — was discussing something with him just out of earshot.

“First time testing this,” Nia muttered.

Evelyn nodded. “I guess we’ll know soon if the practice pays off.” The chains on the manacles clinked against each other as the half-elf rubbed anxiously at a silver bracelet on her wrist. “Spirits, I don’t even know how it’s supposed to work.”

“Just remember what I keep telling you, Sweetheart.” Sieg approached and knelt down in front of Evelyn, wearing his usual semi-smug half-grin.

“Confidence is key,” she parroted at him, only barely managing to not roll her eyes.

“I still think some lessons with me would’ve helped,” Firebrand added. He was busy setting up a campfire about ten or so feet away, but that didn’t stop him from picking up the conversation clearly.

“I’m not going to learn self-confidence by strutting around and posing, I told you!” Just because Evelyn didn’t need to shout, didn’t mean she wouldn’t anyway. It helped with the stress at least.

“It’s more than just that. Give me a chance.”

Evelyn felt a twinge of guilt at the plea, but decided to ignore it for the time being. There were more important things to worry about currently: the full moon, and what came with it.

Nia gave a final tug on the chains to make sure they were secure before sighing in satisfaction and rocking back to sit cross-legged on the ground. Sieg followed suit and pulled a tiny flute from his pack, ignoring the glare the redhead sent his way.

The sun finished sinking, all reds and purples smeared across the sky before it settled into a deep and dark blue. The stars were already starting to appear, and the moon would rise any minute.

“Are you guys sure you want to sit this close?” The chains clinked as Evelyn shifted nervously. “If I do still-”

“You’re not going to turn. If that bracelet’s worth even half what we paid for it, you’ll keep being little Evelyn like you usually are.”

“You know,” Nia piped up, “it’s really funny to me how you keep calling her ‘little Evelyn’ when you literally have to tilt your head back to look her in the eyes.” She grinned around a stick of jerky.

“It’s a turn of phrase,” Sieg snapped. “She’s little compared to when she goes all wolfy.”

Cobalt, from beside the campfire, let out an amused huff, but otherwise ignored the group at large in favour of the remains of a badger he’d killed.

The moon began to creep over the mountains. A growing drop of silver in the dark sky. Evelyn felt her eyes drawn to it like it was magnetic. Hypnotic. She did not realized when her breaths came quicker and her shoulders shook. Swallowing a deep breath, she closed her eyes and willed herself not to change. She wanted to stay as she was. She wanted to stay herself.

In the back of her mind, she counted the seconds. One… two… three…. She was holding her breath. Her lungs wanted to burst. Four… five… six.

“Ten seconds,” she heard Sieg’s voice say.

Tentatively, Evelyn opened her eyes. Her friends were there, watching her. She could still recognize them as her friends; that was a good sign. Nia was smiling hopefully, and Sieg looked satisfied with himself.

She chanced a look down at herself. The same, slender half-elven hands. Fine, long legs. Her general waif-like frame was still as it was, and not a bit of fur in sight.

Evelyn sighed heavily and sank back against the tree whilst Nia and Firebrand moved to unlock the chains.

“See? I told you it’d work, Sweetheart.”

Evelyn wasn’t sure if she wanted to scoff at the smug grin on Sieg’s face or squeeze him in gratitude. She opted for neither and just wrapped her arms around herself as she made her way to the campfire and sat beside her wolf companion.

“Thank you, Sieg.”


Writing Prompts Week 8: A Story Set During a War

The bombs fall nearly every day. Strange soldiers in dark uniforms sweep the streets with their tanks and vicious dogs, searching for survivors. Every morning and every evening right before it gets dark.

They’re not so scary.

The soldiers only come during the day. I can see them. The monsters come at night.

They were people once, before they died. Souls of the dead, fed on hatred and violence until they gained a corporeal form, twisted and horrific. None of them look the same, except for those glowing red eyes. They chase me and that’s all I can see.

The monsters hate the light. They chased me into a burning building once. I found a concrete niche that I’d squeezed myself into. They couldn’t get me because of the firelight, but it was so hot. Others were chased there too. They didn’t make it.

I don’t know why I’m still here. Food is scarce. I get my water from the rain and puddles, but it’s poisonous. Every day I’m sick. The medicine’s all gone.

I’m giving myself up to the soldiers today. I’m too tired to fight anymore.

Fake a Smile

Cobweb shelters in my mind

Feeding off the darkness

All the lies we tell ourselves

To make it all seem okay

I’m drowning in their sorrow

Choking the life out of me

I want to apologize

For the pain I may have caused

And for wishing myself away

When I know that others hurt so much more

I’m not really here

I never really was

Just a siren with no song

A ghost who never did belong

Watching the world pass by

Trying to make ripples in a frozen pond

I’m sorry for running away

For never facing things head on

But my fear holds me in place

The darkness keeps me in its embrace

But it’s not so bad

So I suck it up and continue on

Pretending all is fine

Smiling sweetly through the pain

And that is why I drown

Because I’m not really there


I tell you that I’m fine
In my isolation
My own words, I know not
Whether truth or lies
Nor can I hope to explain
These bitter tears that sting my eyes
And my heart rends
Though I know not why
Too afraid to find someone
Too hurt to stay alone
Trapped in my own limbo
Not knowing my emotions
What I want
Or who I am
My reluctance wounds me
Eagerness frightens me
Where is my heart
And when does it all end?

Late Night Musings

It is roughly 2am and I am awake. Not entirely of my own volition, mind you. As such, I have decided two things.

First: I have to stop drinking straight black tea. I usually take it with milk and sugar, but I sometimes drink it on its own. This is a mistake for me because it makes my heart go crazy and race and squeeze like when I’m crushing really hard on someone. I especially need to stop doing this before bed, because, as you can probably well imagine, it makes it difficult to calm down enough for sleep.

Second: I really hate my selective memory. Half the time I’ll forget things I need to remember, and I’ll often remember things I’d rather forget. It also has the tendency to bring up memories of stressful situations when I’m lying in bed and trying to sleep.

Let me tell you a little story.

This happened when I was doing my little solo tour of the UK. I was in Edinburgh and, being the crazy horror fan that I am, decided to go on a tour of some of the city’s most haunted places: the vaults, and Greyfriar’s Kirkyard. The memory that has kept me from going to sleep took place in the vaults.

Now, the vaults are these hollow areas within the big bridge in Edinburgh that have a less than favourable history, which I will not share with you here because it is very long and rather depressing. One of the vaults we toured is reportedly the most haunted vault of the entire bridge and may or may not be inhabited by a terrifying demon ghost. Please note that only people on this special tour can enter most of the vaults (save for the ones sectioned off and rented out as useable space).

So we go into this vault and the tour guide gets us all to gather inside it while she stands just outside the actual chamber (I call it that, but it had a rather large and unobstructed entrance to the rest of the tunnel). She lights up a candle and turns off her flashlight, setting the mood. (As a side note, I was standing near the back of the group, in spite of my usual fear of pitch black darkness –I think I was feeling really brave that night). Then, she starts telling us a story about a previous tour that had happened in that very same vault.

There’s a general rule in that tour company that children have to be a certain age to be allowed to attend. One Friday night (a time when a lot of drunk people attend the tours), a couple brought their young daughter for the tour, but assured the guide that she was accustomed to watching scary movies and actually handled them even better than her older brother did, so she was allowed to attend. While they were in the haunted vault, some of the drunks started to make spooky noises to be annoying. As is usual practice with the tour guides, their guide blew out the candle to get the drunks to shut up. In the darkness, the girl’s mother felt her daughter grab her hand rather tightly. The mother, assuming her daughter was scared, knelt down to try to comfort the little girl. But the girl only kept gripping her mother’s hand tighter and tighter until it got so painful that the mother let out a yelp. Of course, everyone immediately spread out from around her and the tour guide turned on his flashlight and shone it on the woman. While she assured everyone that she hadn’t been attacked by a ghost, she realized that her daughter wasn’t with her anymore. They started to look for the girl in the vault and eventually found her standing in the far corner of the chamber and facing the wall.

Please realize, now, that in the time it took between the woman shouting and the tour guide shining his flashlight on her, there wouldn’t have been time for the little girl to get to the corner.

When the mother brought the girl close to her again, she seemed really frightened. After they left the vault, the mother scolded the girl for wandering off and scaring everyone the way she did. The tour guide tried to reassure the girl, saying that she should have just told him she was scared and he would have let her hold his flashlight.

It’s what the little girl said that is keeping me up now with my lamp on.

She said that she wasn’t scared by the story the tour guide was telling, and not by the darkness either. She said that after the guide blew out the candle, she felt a hand leading her into the corner. Her mother scolded her again, asking her how she would have thought it was her mother leading her there. She said that she knew it wasn’t her mother’s hand, because that hand had claws.


After returning to my hostel from that tour, I couldn’t get to sleep. Above my bed was the smoke alarm, which had a glowing red light on it. You can imagine how it unsettled me. I had to actually get out of my bed and spend some time in the common area before I was calm enough to try sleeping again.

What’s always bothered me, though, almost as much as the creature with the claws, was one question. If the little girl was in the corner, what was holding her mother’s hand?


Anyway, that’s why I really hate my memory sometimes. Good luck sleeping, everyone. TTFN


My song is tears of bitter rain
My breaths are winter winds
My eyes are pitch as blackest night
My soul can suck yours in

I feed on living creatures
Their deaths become my strength
Through death I was created
In death I shall remain

What is this existence?
What purpose do we serve?
Can we not subdue this hunger?
Can we not be what we were?

But what do those things matter?
This bloodlust rages on
My brethren, with me, together
Let the maelstrom carry on!