Drabble Wednesday: Underneath the Surface

Today on Drabble Wednesday, come explore the darkness beneath the skin...

Warrior

They fear me.

My enemies. The quake at the fearsome sight of me and my blood-covered axe. They run from me on the battlefield. They tremble at the sound of my name, Gunnar the Bloody. I have slaughtered in the name of my tribe, I have slain thousands and stood on their corpses.

They fear me.

As do my fellow tribesmen. Because they know. They know I love killing. That I cannot quench my yearning for spilled blood.

They know one day I will turn on them.

That one day they will die at my hand.

They should fear me.

~*~

Secret Spot

“I have a secret place I go, a quiet spot on the ocean, past the island reef. Would you like to see it?”

I smile when he nods an enthusiastic yes. He caresses my arm, but I slink away, beckoning him to follow. We climb onto the boat and sail out into the beauty of serene waters and blue sky.

“Not much to see,” he scoffs.

I reply, “Close your eyes.”

He complies and I give a whistle.

A tentacle darts out and snatches him off the boat, dragging him under the sea.

I smile. I love feeding my pet.

~*~

Empire

I stare out the bedchamber window at my city, and beyond it my empire. One I was not born into, but inherited by marriage.

I remember my wedding day well. A lavish affair to Emperor Alphonse IV, Supreme Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a happy union. Both he and his lackeys think me weak, compliant. An Empress without teeth.

Fools.

I’ve been scheming for years, playing the simpering wife, while building allies. Now I will play my final piece for victory. My husband will be dead by nightfall and I will be the sole ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

 © A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved 

October Frights: Last Call

Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop!

For today’s post you get a little spectral sci-fi. Where no one can hear you scream…

Last Call

I stood outside my favourite rundown bar. It being my favourite mainly because it was the only bar on this backwater planet. Above me, filling the tangerine sky, the screaming warships raced off to the front lines. Fighters, heavy cruisers, troop ships, they all headed to the battlefront. Not a good place to be. I should know, I just returned from there. I still had the grime, plasma burns and blood on my battle suit to prove that fact.

I remember being there. I had memories of being in battle, exchanging plasma bursts with the enemy, advancing across the dust fields. I remember all of that. I don’t remember how I got back here.

Shock, maybe? I’ve heard of battle fatigue syndrome. Could it be that what’s messing with my head?

It didn’t matter, though. I couldn’t worry about it yet. The only thing that mattered was a cold beer, with a hard liquor chaser. Maybe New Alder Vodka. It had a fresh minty flavour, but with a kick that could knock you off your bar stool.

Wait. How did I get inside? Oh well. Bring me the beer and the vodka.

I sidled up to the bar and tried to get the bartender’s attention. He ignored me. Too busy watching the vid screen with some punk kid who didn’t have the guts to sign up to fight. Nobody respected soldiers anymore. I looked up at the program they were watching. It was the news. I noticed the headline flashing across the screen: All Presumed Dead at the Battle of the Incarnadine Dunes.

Hey. That’s where I was fighting. How can we all be dead when—

That’s when I saw the list of the fallen soldiers scrolling up the screen. That’s when I saw my name listed…

I screamed. No one in bar noticed.

Holy shit. It’s true. I was dead.

I was dead.

I guess I’m not getting that beer and vodka chaser.

Damn.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

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