#he’s clearly a gramophone granny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smuggsy · 3 years

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heyo! If you feel like a prompt, I'll offer up one for the flyboys? How about, “Am I going to die?" pls <3

Thank you! I always feel like writing for these two! Two prompts in a day, wow, this is unheard of. I would feel accomplished except I should've been working on an essay for my medieval history class so I only feel guilty lmao.

Anyway. Here, have some pining idiots. Bit of angst sprinkled in but really this is just Collins biting off more than he can chew. You know I love putting him in these situations #sorrynotsorry.

Collins has always been the heavier drinker. He's more easy-going, always accepting pints from the younger lads and beating them at cards and joining in on their bets when dark clouds loom close to the ground and they're allowed to leave for the day.

It's usually Farrier keeping him in check, walking him back to base late at night and watching carefully from behind, giving him space but close enough to grab in case he trips over his feet after a good amount of beer has numbed his reflexes.

Collins naively assumes Farrier isn't a booze lover. Isn't that into alcohol in general; he never has more than two pints, not even when Collins refuses to indulge in it does Farrier let himself get too comfortable at the bar or at a table.

Never when Collins is with him, anyway. This is a thought that has just recently taken form, as in, about ten minutes ago when Collins caught up with the group at the local pub after returning from his daily rounds.

Today he walks into the crowded place brimming with pilots as a thunderstorm announces itself outside, and when he takes a seat next to his wingmate on the far-off corner from the door he finds Farrier doesn't look up to meet his gaze.

"Evening," Collins greets, but he's not sure he's heard him over the music and incessant chatting of their peers.

Even if he does, Farrier pays him no mind.

To say that Collins is instantly bugged by it is an understatement. Farrier stares down at something in his lap, he's hunched down and sports a permanent frown and the overall sight of him just looks wrong.

"Ey, alright?"

He realises, but only once Farrier snaps his head up, that his eyes are a bit too glassy, his breath smelling a bit too strong when he sighs in Collins' direction.

"What? Oh, hey."

Collins only sees the paper in a flash, before Farrier tucks it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. The quick motion clearly meant to keep it away from prying eyes is the only reason Collins doesn't ask. Yet.

"Having fun?" he says instead with a smile, trying to brush away the sudden heaviness of a conversation that hasn't even started, and he leans back on his own seat and surveys the table in front. He counts at least five empty pints close enough to Farrier's side.

"Fun," Farrier scoffs with a shake of his head.

Collins finds the irony dripping from the word so strong and uncharacteristic that he leans over and takes a chug or two of his own beer.

"Let them have fun," his mate continues, gesturing vaguely towards the youngest recruits fooling about on the dancefloor, "they don't know what's fucking coming."

At that, Collins can't help but stare.

He gently places his pint back on the table and doesn't tear his eyes away from Farrier, now stumbling out of his chair looking much drunker than he did just a second ago.

"M'gonna head back," he says, trying to walk past Collins who only manages to move his chair back once Farrier's already on the other side.

"It'll be pouring outside!"

Just then, a thunder rumbles low and menacing under the sweet voice of The Andrews Sisters coming off the gramophone. Farrier stops dead in his tracks for a moment and just when Collins thinks he's going to turn around and sit back down, he shrugs and walks away.

"Ah, s'only a bit of rain, innit..."

He only stops by the bar to pay for his round of drinks, pushing through one or two excited couples dancing away the night and apologizing to one of the gals for almost stepping on her foot.

Collins watches the whole exchange from his spot, a bit taken aback by Farrier so easily brushing him off.

He gives himself a few moments to feel hurt and then he stands up and pays for his own unfinished pint, only catching up to him as he rounds the corner and the first droplets of rain start announcing a hell of a storm.

"Yer gonna be wet straight through if ya walk back now!"

"Yeah," Farrier says over his shoulder, lighting a cigarette and sending a sour smile Collins' way, "I am."

His gaze seems only a bit clearer as he stares Collins down, giving him a once over and taking in the sight with an approving nod. It makes something in Collins' stomach turn.

In a good way.

"You go back though, get yourself a nice bird to dance with. Put in all that effort to walk me back like I'm your granny?"

With the dragging of his words and the cigarette he keeps firmly placed in between his lips, Collins almost doesn't understand him.

He lets out an emotionless laugh and starts walking again when Farrier does.

"What effort? I always look like this."

Farrier blows away the smoke and nods again.

"You do."

"Something happen?"

There it is. He asks.

Farrier almost halts, just almost. He looks like he's about to answer but then the cigarette is back in his mouth and he openly ignores his question for a whole minute. Collins gets the cue but he still doesn't turn back. He figures he can play chaperone tonight, like Farrier's done with him so many times before.

Except, he's always ranting on after his round of pints and his wingmate's not much of a talker. No way to fill in the awkward silence. Collins can't help himself.

"You got mail," he tries again, a statement, just a simple comment that doesn't mean any harm and it definitely doesn't mean to make Farrier turn around like that - like he's properly annoyed at him for asking. For caring.

"Just go back," Farrier bites out, harshly, "you just got 'ere. Go on, don't lemme spoil your night."

"You're not."

"Collins..."

"I'll go if you really want me to."

That makes Farrier look at him again, truly look at him like the words have taken a bit of the alcohol off his blood and sobered him up. He stares for a long moment and then starts walking again without a word. Failing to answer again but answering nonetheless.

The lamp-posts they walk past light up the heavier drops of rain as if warning them of what's to come. Collins' hair is still wet from the shower so he doesn't feel much of a difference.

"You're a good kid, Jackie," Farrier says after a while, hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking up to the moonless sky. When he does, he seems to lose a bit of balance that he quickly regains before Collins can actually grab his arm to steady him.

He reckons it's better he didn't get to, judging by Farrier's general snappiness tonight. Can't be completely sure his help would be welcomed.

"What did you just call me?" he teases with a grin.

He sees a smile tug at Farrier's lips.

"A good kid."

Jackie.

"I'm twenty-fuckin'-five, thank you very much!"

At last, Farrier lets out a laugh. Collins feels like a heavy weight's been lifted off his shoulders.

"You're a fuckin' tease, s'what you are."

It's just as well that mother nature stops him as he intends to give an answer, because the words get stuck in his throat at the implication of that sentence.

The sky goes white for a split second, lightning flaring up above their heads before the cracking of thunder seems to switch on the merciless pouring rain once and for all. They're already far enough that they'd still end up drenched from head to toe even if they walked back to the pub.

"Shit, come on!"

Farrier starts running forward, where there's a couple of leafy pines by the road before the clearing starts the path back to the airbase: a very long and tree-deserted runway and training field.

In short, they're fucked.

Farrier beats him to the cover of the canopy and Collins thinks that perhaps he wasn't that drunk after all.

"Quicker in the air than on the ground, eh lad?"

"Want to race me, old man?"

"Nah, wouldn't want that spotless suit wrecked with mud."

Collins turns to answer and finds Farrier grinning at him playfully, looking him up and down again for the second time in twenty minutes - the spark in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed because he's never caught him staring so openly before. It makes his pulse quicken and turns his filter off.

"You really like me in my suit, dontcha?"

Farrier's next words sound fuelled by beer, as does that almost imperceptible lick of his lips.

"Why, of course I do."

He looks away to the curtain of falling rain in front of them, pooling down on the grass, and he shakes his head and talks so low that Collins almost doesn't hear him again.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"I'm drunk."

"Yeah, I know. Ye keep lookin' at me like ye want to eat me or somethin'."

Farrier snaps his head back to look at him, mouth half-open like a fish out of the water - like he can't quite believe what he's just heard, and Collins panics, thinks he's misread the situation completely (thinks that even if he didn't, he really shouldn't have called Farrier on it because, as his wingmate so bluntly put it, he is drunk). Thinks that's a very reckless and stupid thing to say and that he hasn't even downed half a pint of beer so he can't even use that as an excuse.

Collins stares back, for a moment he considers stepping away, jumping over that poodle increasing in size and running away in whichever opposite direction Farrier means to walk.

Try and pretend he didn't fuck this up royally.

"Well, would you want me to?" Farrier blurts out all of a sudden, openly staring at Collins' lips and neck and cheeks and hair now.

"What?"

"I said, would you want me to."

Another lightning. Farrier's face is so close that Collins can count the scattered freckles on his nose and cheeks where stray drops of rain slide down on his skin. He has very long eyelashes.

"Eat you or something."

The thunder following the light drowns out that pitiful noise that escapes Collins' throat. He feels drowsy like he's the one who spent hours sitting down at that table in the wet sweet air of the pub gulping down pint after pint.

Farrier is very, very drunk even if he doesn't look like it anymore.

He must be.

Collins wonders: if he answers truthfully, will Farrier remember it tomorrow?

"Yeah," his wingmate snickers, and after what feels like ages he takes the slightest step back and smiles that sour smile from before, fishing another cigarette out of his pack and putting it between his lips, "thought so. Pretty boy like you."

Pretty boy like– what the fuck's that supposed to mean?

"Answer me this, Collins. Am I going to die?"

And just like that, the conversation steers away from longing looks and unspoken words. Farrier's back to smoking that ciggy that's already wet and his hands return to his pockets and Collins feels he's just lost an opportunity that isn't going to arise again any time soon.

"What?" he repeats, like a broken record, refusing to let his own eyes derail from Farrier's face, refusing to look away to the falling of rain, the runway, the clearing, the town far away like Farrier himself is doing. Refusing to let the moment go.

"What are my chances? What are our chances?"

Collins shakes his head in frustration.

"Surviving this shit. Let me tell you: they're very thin. So it's better this way. I mean, it's me but– well it's just not worth it, is it? Forget it."

"Forget. Forget what? Tom, the fuck are you on about? Is this about that letter?"

"Fuck that letter."

He tosses the cigarette to the ground.

There's no remorse in the words, no hatred despite Farrier turning back to him and suddenly standing up straight, shoulders broad, gaze unwavering and challenging. Collins is still a bit taller but that doesn't mean he feels taller.

"I– sorry I– didn't mean to–"

"My fiancée," Farrier cuts him off, cocking his head and studying Collins' reaction for a moment before continuing, "got killed. A bombing over Portsmouth."

He drags the paper out and almost shoves it in Collins' face, who just stands there at a loss for words, again. Stammering like a broken record, again.

"I–," didn't know you were engaged, "–sorry, I'm sorry that happened."

He wants to kick himself for his lack of eloquence but it's the least of his concerns because he was just flirting with Farrier a moment ago, and Farrier was leading him on for some fucking reason – a fiancée?

That tends to mean one's attracted to women.

A dead fiancée.

"Sorry, Tom."

"Don't be."

Another lightning, another thunder, more heavy rain and Collins is already starting to feel the cold reach through his layers of clothes.

"I'm not. Fuck, I'm relieved!"

Farrier runs a hand over his face.

"I'm– fuck."

"It's okay," Collins offers uselessly.

"She's dead and I'm relieved I don' have to marry her. How fucked up is that?"

Collins thinks he hears a cry, and when Farrier tries to look away again he knows he heard a cry, and he doesn't let him turn around and steps forward to hold him in a tight embrace instead. Farrier wraps his arms around him tightly like he'd been waiting for Collins to hug him.

"I'm fucking horrible," he says, words muffled in the fabric of Collins' suit and sniffing through a runny nose. Jack keeps a hand rubbing at Farrier's back in what he hopes is an empathetic touch.

"No you're not, you're not."

They stay like that, holding onto one another against the trunk of a tree that's doing a really poor job of sheltering them from the rain at this point, but is better than nothing. Farrier doesn't really cry, stubborn as he is even in this state of inebriation, and after a while Collins feels his stubbly chin brushing against the side of his neck and smells the scent of alcohol again.

"I like it when you use my name," Farrier mumbles, words still muffled and burrowing his nose in Collins' shirt like it belongs there.

Collins' only thought at that moment, frozen and unable to say anything back, is that Drunk Farrier is a real piece of work. He thinks he understands, now, why he doesn't drink.

#this got a bit out of hand as i was sayin'#i know it was supposed to be angsty but uh you know #it didn't get that angsty for once #i hope you still enjoyed it though #also i only proof-read it once so apologies for any shitty grammar or cohesion #farrier #collins #collins x farrier #farrier x collins #dunkirk #dunkirk 2017 #dunkirk fanfic #mine #answered

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eldritchdrakon · 6 years

Text

Short story 03: Mannequin

This is one of my oldest stories, written almost 3 years ago. Unlike my others, this isn’t fantasy. Just give it a read and lemme know what you think!

I ran for my life. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, my whole body screaming in urgency. I glanced over my shoulder and yes, he was still in focused pursuit, his serrated blade glinting in the twilight, his intense red eyes glaring at me vindictively.

Didn’t make any sense, did I? Let me start from the beginning. My name is Sheena. I’m doing my arts degree at Higgin’s University. I live alone, which led to me working part-time at a retail store. Between college and all the night shifts, I have almost no time for anything else. A pretty boring life. Not many friends either, just Amanda, who used to be my neighbour.

This morning, on my way to painting class, I caught sight of Ethan, a member of the football team. Highschool heartthrob with a goofy grin that could make anyone weak in the knees. Bright blue eyes and messy brown hair were added bonuses.

I got irritated every time I saw him. For one, seeing him made my feet unsteady. Also, I got a gurgling in my stomach which felt like puking, but a lot more pleasant, know what I mean? I think I might’ve had a crush on him, along with almost every other girl at Higgin’s.

In class, I sat next to a girl named May, pulled out my paints and brush, and regarded the gramophone, the day’s muse. It was nice and quirky looking, just the way I liked it, and soon, I was lost in the deft strokes of my brush. I didn’t even have an inkling of the fact that things were gonna get really interesting during the break.

Amanda had a different schedule, so I sat alone at the cafeteria, biting away at my sandwich in silence. Someone sat in front of me, and I almost spewed out my half-chewed sandwich when I realised it was Ethan.

“Hi,” He said uncertainly. “I hope I’m not bothering you?”

“No!” I squeaked, and tried again, trying to regain my composure. “Not at all. It would honestly be an immense pleasure to share this table with you.” I blabbed like a machine-gun firing.

He stared at me, eyes wide, and burst out laughing. Oh God, his laugh was cute. I wanted to take a video and watch it 25 hours a day. Creepy, right? Sorry.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that!” He took a swig of juice from his glass, and looked at me slightly… hesitant? “Uh, this is gonna sound weird, but I’ve never been good at roundabout talk… Can we, uh, grab a snack together after college?”

My jaw dropped.

“Rrghsblbeygygd..ss.. WHAT?!” I managed, slamming the sandwich onto my tray. My cheeks were steaming.

“Your reaction is making me embarrassed too,” He laughed. “I’ve been noticing you a lot lately, and I think I might have a crush on you.” He said, flashing me his gorgeous goofy grin.

I almost fainted.

“This is a dare, right? A lost bet?” I looked around for anybody watching or snickering. “A prank?”

Ethan actually looked hurt, and his sad face sent me spiralling. “I’m… serious. I guess that means it’s a no? It’s fine, sorry, haha.”

“NO!” I said, a bit too loudly, and a few heads turned towards us, wondering what the commotion was. “I’m sorry, I’m not at all used to… this… I’d love to go out with you!” I blushed furiously at my mistake. “Oh shit, I meant go out as in, go out for a snack, not go out as in go out, I mean, oh hell, what do I mean?!”

He burst out laughing again, which warmed me right till my feet.

“Cool then, let’s meet at the front gate, as soon as college ends! See ya!” He walked away.

I just sat there dazed, till my eyes focused, revealing the clock.

“Oh, freaking hell!” I ran back to class, late by five minutes for the first time in my life.

The rest of the classes went by in a blur. Art history, clay modelling, digital art class, and finally, sketching.

After class, I took a heck of a long time in the washroom, washing my face as brutally as possible, making sure it was squeaky clean. As soon as the evening bell rang, I dashed straight to the gate, and stood there like a guard, at complete attention. My stomach fluttered as if I’d eaten rubber balls for lunch, all of which were bouncing off its walls.

I was terrified. What if he never came? What if this was all part of an elaborate plan? What if Ethan thinks he made a mistake? What if I creep him out? What if he finds out I watch cult practices and satanic rituals on Youtube? Oh hell no.

All those thoughts imploded as soon as I saw him jogging towards me, smiling and waving. Who gave God the right to make someone so… perfect?

“Shall we?” He gestured. I just nodded frantically, not trusting myself to talk.

All along the way, Ethan kept trying to initiate some conversation, but kept failing. He gave up after a while, steering the conversation to me. “Okay. Sheena, tell me something about you!”

“We-well, I uh, like art? And I read a lot of books?” I managed to stammer. “I also, um, work part-time at the retail store. Th-those are perhaps the only interesting things about my life.”

“Oh, part time job? Got your future all planned out already?” He asked, clearly impressed.

“That-It’s not-I just… I just don’t live with my parents, so…” I trailed off. Oh shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, you live by yourself? Cool, so do I!” came the reply.

I sighed with relief. Really dodged a bullet with that one.

Ah, the café. We had finally reached.

“Table for two?” A waiter asked us, to which Ethan nodded yes. Never in my life had I imagined this particular scenario happening to ME, of all people.

I ordered a blueberry cheesecake, while he went for a chocolate sundae.

We chatted all the while, by which I mean I nodded or shook my head to all the questions he asked me. I did manage to avoid talking about human sacrifices or blood rituals, so that was a plus.

After the meal, Ethan said “So, I guess this is it? I did enjoy myself, and I’d love to um, ‘go out’ with you again,” He said, half-grinning.

I blushed furiously and replied with a squeaky “Sure, I’d love to!” and watched him walk away.

I jogged all the way home with a new bounce in my step, rested for about an hour, and then left for the store.

The owner was Ms Kat (short for Katherine), a chirpy, amiable woman who got along really well with just about anybody. The workers all loved her as she made sure none of us, part-time or full-time, were ever uncomfortable. She was getting ready to leave just as I entered.

“Hi Sheena! You look bright today. What up?”

“Nothing much, Ms Kat, just been a great day!” I replied, as I put on my red work apron and tied it round my back.

“Ah, I get what you mean.” She nodded knowingly. “Also, could you handle the store alone today? Nathan called in sick, and Pam is still on her vacation. I’d stay if I could, but I have some really important work to do…”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll take care.” I smiled.

“Cool! Today’s been a slow day, so I doubt you’ll have much to do. Anyway, you can help yourself to the burgers I got you!”

Ms Kat was also adamant that none of the workers ever went hungry. Every day she would bring burgers, donuts, or even the occasional pizza. Makes it awesome to work there.

She was right, it was a slow day. Half an hour passed by, with only three customers. A granny who bought earbuds, a couple who bought a lot, and a teenaged guy who bought a pack of doritos.

After that, it was pretty uneventful. I wolfed down my burger and cleaned the place up a bit, restocked a few shelves, called in for the delivery of milk cans, that sort of thing.

I almost dozed off at the register when two more people entered. An old man hobbling around with a stick, and a guy? He was covered from head to toe. Hoodie, jeans, boots, and gloves covered his body, and a surgical mask and coolers covered his face. All I could see was his forehead, which was pale.

The old man hobbled over to the meds section, browsing through the ointments. I went over and asked him what he was looking for, all the while keeping an eye on the hooded guy, who was looking through biscuits. Hopefully he wouldn’t steal anything.

“I’m looking for an ointment for foot blisters, dear.” The old man said.

“Ah, anything with petroleum jelly would work for that.” I found it, walked with him to the register, and checked it out. He paid and walked to the door.

The hooded guy turned towards the old man, and something about his posture sent a chill through me.

Without warning, he dashed towards the old man and I yelled “Look out!” and ran towards them.

The poor man had barely enough time to turn around, before the hooded guy revealed an uncomfortably serrated butcher knife, and swung it through his neck, cutting his head clean off!

The old man’s body crumpled to the floor. The head bounced once before rolling to a stop at my feet, its eyes gazing right at me in pure fear.

I puked.

I mean, literally. I vomited right on the display, splattering liquid burger on candy and cigarettes.

That was the least of my worries, though. The hooded guy gazed at me through his shades. “Shhh.” He motioned with his fingers. He dug through his pockets and pulled out a red-lidded jar, filled with some weird translucent liquid. It was followed by a sinister looking instrument with 3 flat hooks on a circular base.

I stared terrified, tears streaming down my face as he grabbed the head. He stabbed the instrument right into the old man’s eye, and I screamed in horror. He pulled it out, and I could freaking see the eyeball coming out of its socket, along with a long sinewy strand of nerve, which the guy snapped with his gloved hand.

My eyes rolled up in my head at the sound. “Urrgh,” I groaned, as another wave of nausea rolled over me. The guy extracted the other eye in the same way and put them both into the jar. He stood, walked a bit, then turned and kicked the head. Hard. The bleeding head flew above the shelves, landing right into the fresh meat section. He burst out laughing and disappeared out of the store.

The laugh was oddly similar to Ethan’s, but way more high-pitched. I pushed those thoughts out of my head, and hurriedly began packing all my things. I had to get out fast and bring the matter to the police. I got the disc from the security cams, rushed out, closed and locked the shutters, and took off.

I turned round the corner and found myself staring at the killer, his face barely inches from mine. I let out a sharp gasp, pushing him away. He stumbled, his hood and shades falling off.

It was Ethan.

It was Ethan, but his eyes were an intense, fiery red. Otherwise, right from his brown hair to the rest of his face, he was Ethan.

I sobbed in confusion and ran. Ethan followed. I’m not athletic and I tire easily, but I had to keep running, or I’d die.

I ran, swerving into random streets, not knowing where I was going, but no matter where I turned, Ethan was always right behind me, no sign of exhaustion.

I collided with someone, and we both fell to the ground. ‘This is how it ends,’ I thought. ‘Slaughtered while assaulting random citizen.’

I braced myself for the impact of cold steel through the back of my neck, but none came.

“Sheena?” I heard someone.

I opened my eyes and found myself in a very unflattering position right on top of Ethan. Blue eyes! Different clothes! Regular Ethan! Thoroughly embarrassed, I pulled myself away and apologized.

“Don’t worry, I was just caught by surprise, that’s all” He laughed. “Damn, you’ve got a nice tackle.”

“Ethan, help. There’s a murderer looking for me.”

“Wait, what?”

I told him pieces of the story, and he listened with rapt attention.

“Oh my God,” he exclaimed when I finished. “My house is just two buildings from here. Come inside, you’ll be safe.”

On any other day I would’ve refused, even flat-out rejected the idea. In my current predicament though, that was the best option.

He led me inside and showed me to the living room. I stood around awkwardly for a while, and then asked him “Hey, can I borrow your phone? I need to call the police.”

“Yeah, sure. My phone’s upstairs. I’ll get it for you.” He ran up the stairs.

I sat on the sofa, twiddling my thumbs. This was an individual house, and Ethan lived alone. It wasn’t luxurious, but still, should be expensive, especially for someone who didn’t even have a part-time job.

I waited for slightly over five minutes. “Ethan? Everything okay up there?” I called out. No reply. I slowly climbed up the stairway. “Ethan?” I looked around hesitantly and discovered that there was only one room in the whole floor. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

My eyes popped open in fright. The whole room was cluttered with body parts! I gagged for a short while before realizing that they were fake, probably plastic or rubber. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Ethan was an artist too? I walked further inside, turned around the corner, and gasped.

About three dozen completed mannequins, both male and female, glared right back at me. They were severely creepy to look at. It didn’t help that all of them were naked and, ah, had very detailed anatomy.

My eyes fell on a jar. A red-lidded jar filled with translucent liquid. Now empty.

“Oh Sheena, you should’ve waited downstairs.”

My head jerked back and I saw Ethan standing behind me. One of his eyes was red, and his hand held a contact lens case.

He was grinning, but it wasn’t goofy or charming. It was downright horrifying. The serrated butcher knife in his other hand dripping blood on the floor didn’t exactly help me calm down.

“You-You-” I stuttered, whipping my eyes back and forth for a way to escape, not very successfully.

Without uttering a word, he dashed forward and caught my hands in a lock, dropping the lens case and the knife in the process. I struggled to escape, kicking at him. My weak kicks didn’t seem to faze him, and he stood there receiving them, grinning all the way. Without warning, he grabbed the front of my shirt and ripped it off my body.

I quickly tried to cover my chest, but he used that to his advantage and knocked my head into the wall. Hard.

I was dizzy. Everything looked blurry and there was a buzzing in my ears. I could feel Ethan diligently stripping off the rest of my clothes, my mind screaming at my body to stop him.

My sluggish arms and legs refused to move. The bastard hoisted my naked body onto his shoulders and carried me to the end of the room, to what looked like some kind of tub, filled with a hot, bubbling liquid.

He dropped me in.

It was scalding hot! I thrashed my now-active limbs in pain, as the heat seared through me. It was boiling wax! I tried to scream, but my mouth was muffled by the wax filling it. I lost my hearing, my sight, and my breath as the wax plugged everything shut. The only thing I felt was the pain.

When I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, and my mind almost blanked out, I finally realized why the mannequins seemed so lifelike.

Also, it seemed like I was gonna join his collection of wax figures. Permanently.

“Phew.” I wiped my brow. She took quite a bit of work to get ready. She still struggled, long after she became solid. Impressive. I bent a few limbs, arched her back, assembling her into a crouching pose, like a woman getting ready to run.

I smiled at the jar beneath her. Her lovely green eyes stared back at me, bobbing up and down, emotionless.

I stepped back and admired my work. Sheena was already a work of art, but now she was a masterpiece!

Hello! My name is Ethan. My hobbies are football and mannequin collecting. Nice to meet you! Maybe we can grab a snack together sometime?

Yeah, this was a much longer story than my previous ones. I don’t know how I feel about this. (too much PUKING oh my God) On one hand, I’m proud of it because romance and reality are both uncharted territory for me, and on the other, I don’t know how well they are represented. I would love it if you leave a comment, and reblogs would be massively appreciated!

I’m leaving links to my previous two short stories, check em out if you haven’t already!

https://eyelessfatdragon.tumblr.com/post/174523097885/short-story-01-flame

https://eyelessfatdragon.tumblr.com/post/174746750495/short-story-02-distortion

I’m tagging my friends here, please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future short stories! (or even if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, lol) @kiaradimari, @ratracechronicler, @k-nichelle-the-writer, @theplantpoweredwriter, @perringwrites, @whollyart

#writing #writeblr #short story #murder #mannequin #romance..?

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