iholdn4
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
"What is it, my son?"
"We have killed a man," the voice from the other side of the confession booth kept its calm demeanor.
"'We'? Have you accomplices?"
"Neigh, father. We were alone."
"My son," said the priest, his hands starting to shake, "I am not sure I understand."
"That is why we are here, Father. We seek your guidance."
Father MacElroy stirred in his wooden seat.
"Well," he said, "how can I be of service."
"Could you spare us your liver?" Again, the voice did not falter or show any hint that its request was demented. Suddenly, an arm shot through the wooden screen and gripped the Father with the force of a hundred young men.
"What are you?!" shouted the priest.
"We are Legion, Father. We are one."
Broken legs slid along the ground as the mutt crawled to shelter. It was cold, and had been for weeks. It had been almost eighteen days since the pup had eaten anything substantial. As he lay down under a gutter, he began to feel warm. He dozed, and there he stayed for all time.
The three crones squawked and chirped like birds. One cackled madly, rocking back and forth. They waited in glee, ready to cut the thread of life from our hero.
The imp shuddered with joy.
"Can you not answer my riddle?" it said. Its voice sounded like broken glass.
"I cannot," replied the adventurer. "But I would like to ask you a riddle in rebuttal."
The imp was intrigued by the challenge. "So be it."
"What," began the explorer. "Do you and the Devil have in common?"
The imp could not answer. He had not heard this one in his millennium-long life. Never before had he been stumped in such a way.
"Allow me to give you the answer," he said, watching the struggling imp. "You shall both reside in Hell." In a flash of steel and sunlight, he swung his sword down onto the imp's surprised countenance.
'How clever' was the final thought that ran through the head, before it was cleaved clean off.
Why am I writing about a trash bag? I mean, trash bags are useful, I guess. What? GladLY. Oh. Oops. Well, uh... This is awkward.
My vision swirled, sending colors flying in front of my eyes. I saw double, and for a second I swore I could smell colors. Note to self: Do not pick a fight with a kangaroo.
Metal crashed and hollered. Men screamed in agony and rage alike. Armored behemoths marched toward the city walls accompanied by wailing horns. It would not last long.
"Drop it, John," he said.
"No, I can't," I was getting angry, but his voice terrified me.
"Just drop it. What's the worst that can happen? It's only a baby."
"No!"
But the voices wouldn't stop.
Hammer crashed down upon steel. Sparks erupted in every direction, briefly illuminating the damp cave. Metal screamed and hissed, but was tamed. A sword fit for a god.
The rural roads brought back rustic memories. Thoughts of friends and family filled the mind. Alcohol and trucks and parties and blood and guts and murder. Oops.
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writing since 2016 · 11 entries · 11 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means I.L. showed up.
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the words I.L. reaches for
fathervoiceimpfilledanswersmelllilacoopscrashedsteelmetalscreamedsworddropcolorstrash