thatnerduknow98

[thatnerduknow98]

“Mom! It hatched! It hatched!”

“What hatched, Donna?”

“My egg! The egg I showed you!” Donna’s screams of excitement filled the hallway.

Mary suddenly was worrisome about her daughter’s new pet. Donna brought her an egg from the woods a couple days ago, but upon holding it Mary thought it was plastic. She entered Donna’s room carefully.

On the blue circular shag rug that graced Donna’s bedroom was a creature unlike anything Mary had ever heard of. It was orange with green feathers, and scaled where it wasn’t feathery. It reminded Mary of a cross between a chicken and a lizard. Mary came closer to examine the creature, only to find it had five heads and six legs. Further examination revealed two of its legs were also wings.

Donna picked it up haphazardly, fearless of her new pet.

“I’m going to name it Sizzles!” she shouted, waking her baby sister Lilah in the room next to her. Lilah began to cry, pulling Mary’s attention away from her eldest daughter and the … thing.

“I’ll be right back, Donna,” Mary said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Donna nodded as Mary left to attend to Lilah. Against her better judgement, she put the baby on her hip and brought her back to Donna’s room.

Donna was pouring water from the cup next to her bed on the shag rug, which was smoldering. Then, as unbothered and nonchalantly as any seven year old who hatched a feathered scaly freak creature could be, she said “One of his heads can breathe fire. We should probably take him outside.”

Mary nodded and decided Donna had the situation under control. “Don’t take him near the other farm animals.”

Donna rolled her eyes, annoyed her mother assumed she was dumb enough to take a dangerous creature toward other prey animals. She took Sizzles, who was calm now that he was being held, out to the fire pit in their backyard. The fire-breathing head buried itself in the ashes.

That upset the other four heads, who began emitting various elements though their mouths at each other - ice, water, mud and electricity filled the fire pit. And of course, fire.

“Stop hurting each other!” Donna wailed. “You’re mother will be mad at me!”

Mary, who was observing the whole event from behind Donna with the baby on her hip, was confused by her eldest daughter’s statements.

“What do you mean their mother will be mad at you?” she asked.

Donna sighed and turned toward her mother. “I told you when I showed you the egg. It’s mother left it to me as a gift and told me to take good care of it. She said she’d be back for it a few days after it hatched.”

Mary was appalled a mother would leave its unborn with a child as a caregiver, and commented that under her breath. Donna heard her and scoffed.

“They’re not human, mom, they don’t raise their young the same way,” she said. “It’s mother said the egg babies can come out breathing a variety of elements different from their own, so if a fire breather hatches an ice breather the mothers body could kill it. They leave them with human children, who have been proven to be the safest caregiver for the eggs, until they hatch and then the mom comes back.”

Mary was impressed with Donna’s sudden adult-like knowledge and presentation. She wondered if Donna had really understood what that meant.

“Did it’s mother tell you how to care for it once it hatched?” Mary asked.

Donna thought about this for a moment and then her face dropped. “No.”

Mary laughed. “That’s okay. I’m sure we will figure it out. After all, no one told me how to care for you once you were born but you are still alive. And so is Lilah.”

You recently moved to the countryside. Your child was playing in the woods, and came back with a large green egg you thought was plastic, so you agreed they could keep it if no one claimed it. Your kid said it was a gift. You thought nothing of it. Then the egg hatched.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #fantasy #mythical creatures #mythical creature #family #mother #daughter #relationships #relationship #fairy tale #possibly a dragon

[thatnerduknow98]

My new kitten has the most rancid farts send help

#cats #cat #kitten #black cat #fart #rancid #smelly #help

[thatnerduknow98]

“Did you hear that your sister is pregnant?”

I was having a relaxing afternoon, laying down on a picnic blanket on my great grandma’s grave like I do every year after spring finally arrives. Then I shot up.

There was no one around. Just a bunch of headstones, some in wonderful, fresh condition, others cracked and barely readable.

“Yes, darling, I am talking to you. My great grandchild. The only one of your sibling group I never met.”

I turned around and looked at her headstone. It read “Margaret Amelia Williams, 1902-1995.” Grandma died of old age, they told me. I was born in ‘97.

“Quit freaking out and let me gossip. It’s been quite a long while since anybody has listened to what I’ve had to say.”

“You speak?” I responded.

“All the dead do. It’s just never quiet enough for you to hear us.”

Her voice did sound kind of weak. I guess that makes sense since her vocal cords have been decomposing for 30 years.

“What do the dead have to speak about?” I asked after some thought.

“Mostly what tomfoolery our descendants get into. Those of us in this graveyard like to compete to see whose grandchildren are the stupidest. Lorraine, who’s buried a few rows back, is winning that competition right now.”

“What did Lorraine’s grandchild do?”

“He did two shots of everclear back to back, stole a semi truck with a full load, crashed it, then lied to state police about being drunk when it was obvious. At least, that’s what the kids’ father sad when he visited the graveyard last weekend.”

“Oh.”

It was quiet for a minute, the way cemeteries should be quiet. I had to break the silence: “So my sister is pregnant?”

“Yeah. Her one night stand guy apparently doesn’t know how to wear a condom properly and your sister didn’t catch the mistake until after the deed was done. Quite frankly, I’m appalled she didn’t think to take a morning after pill but to each their own I guess. She wanted to drop out of college anyway so now she has a good reason to.”

“Do you talk to her too?”

“I tried to but she wasn’t listening. No one ever does.”

“Sis doesn’t have good hearing anyway,” I said, recalling the time I accidentally blew her left eardrum out with my trombone. It never healed. “What else do you know?”

“Girl, what don’t I know?”

They say that “Two can only keep a secret if one of them is dead”. You find out that’s not entirely true, for the dead are quite happy to gossip to any who will listen

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #story #graves #grave #graveyard #cemetery #dead #the dead #talking to the dead #speaking with the dead #conversation #picnic

[thatnerduknow98]

Married life is your husband coming in to pee while you’re taking a bath and then forgetting you’re in the bathtub and turning the light out on you 🙄😅😂

#i still love him

[thatnerduknow98]

I’m a newspaper reporter and I do this with my interview notes I opt not to use. I don’t always record my interviews so this is helpful for direct quotes

dissertation writing advice

#notes #notes documents #notes dump

[thatnerduknow98]

For me personally: she, her, hers, woman, demon, countess, goddess, kitten

[thatnerduknow98]

Being a newspaper editor in the pandemic is hard.

It’s all working from home because the office isn’t safe, and I had to lay off two of my three reporters because our subscriptions and ad sales just plummeted, and we can’t afford to keep them.

This means that on top of pasting the paper together, I have to write a good chunk of the news content for our daily. Luckily, there’s no sports right now so I don’t have to do sports. I’m not good at sports.

But it is overwhelming to try to fill pages A1-3 with local content when you’re supposed to be doing other pages on top of it and you have less reporters. And you’re a daily. And you’re on a strict deadline because if you goof then the paper is late and your remaining dwindling subscribers don’t get their paper on time.

So when I discovered that time stops in my garage closet, naturally I abused it.

To put it distinctly, I am anal. I have been forever. Everything has to be perfect the first time around because I don’t have time to fix it. This results in a culmination of panic episodes and zoning out until I’m essentially asleep with my eyes open. Both are a waste of time.

I found the closet trick by accident. I went out to the garage for a garage fridge beer and dropped a can, which exploded all over my car. So I went to the closet to get the car wash stuff and slipped on the empty can on the way in, smacking my face on the wall and knocking myself out. Somehow, probably from the broom I kicked over, the door shut.

I woke up what I presumed to be hours later, but when I walked out of the closet and went back to my computer, it was still the same time it had been when I left to get a beer.

I was perplexed to say the least. I didn’t have time to exploit time now, but I would investigate when I finish tomorrow’s paper, I thought.

The paper was pasted as normal and I was done with work around 5 p.m. I grabbed my watch and my phone and went back out to the garage.

I started the timer on my phone when the second hand on my watch struck twelve. This was just to ensure both my watch and timer work perfectly. A control, so to speak.

After I determined everything was working, and time passes normally in the garage, I entered the garage closet. My watch’s second hand immediately stopped ticking. My phone read 5:12 p.m.

I started the timer on my phone and it counted up. When it got to one minute, neither my watch nor the digital clock on my phone had changed. I waited for the timer to get up to two minutes. Then three. Then five. Then ten. Then fifteen. Nothing changed.

I stepped out of the closet. Nothing changed. Time stopped in the closet.

The universe had answered my prayers for a break, I thought. A helpful break, which I could take at any time of day and not delay or run behind or miss deadlines. I wondered if everyone stopped around me outside the closet, or if just the units of measurement for time paused. I had no roommates so I had no way to know.

At least, until one day. One overwhelming, terrifying day.

The publisher emailed me telling me we had to knock my remaining reporter down to part time. I lost my only full time reporter. When I told him this, he quit.

So now I was the editor of a daily newspaper with no reporters. Fuck me.

I emailed my alma mater to see if I could get an unpaid intern. But the advisor replied they were not requiring internship credit for graduation during the pandemic.

I had three spaces to fill on the front with headlines. I didn’t want to fill them with newswire, which isn’t local, so I called every source I could think of and their mother to find story ledes. I filled two.

It was deadline in five minutes and I lacked the third I needed. And the opinion page wasn’t done. And the “Dear Abby” weekly column we ran wasn’t submitted yet. I was going to cry.

So I went to the closet. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation after all. I needed time to cry, time to calm down and time to come up with a solution.

When I opened the door, a college freshman was standing in it.

“Who are you and why are you in my closet?!” I shouted.

He flinched. “Umm, I’m Tom, and this is gonna sound weird, but I discovered that time stopped in my college dorm closet so I’ve been hiding in it when I procrastinate on assignments. I’m not sure what went wrong this time but I seem to have transported to this closet. Which appears to be yours. If you don’t mind, I’ll just get out and get back in and perhaps I’ll go back to where I came from.”

He said this with humor in his tone so I laughed. “I believe you. Time stops in this closet too so I’ve been hiding in here when I feel I’m going to miss a deadline. I work in news.”

“Ah,” Tom stepped out of the closet and closed the door. “Where are we exactly?”

“Indianapolis.”

His eyes got wide. “I’m from Phoenix.”

“Arizona?”

Tom nodded.

“Whoa,” I said. “Well, I hope you’re right about the closet transporting you back because I don’t have a way to get your across the US for free in a pandemic.”

Tom opened the door and stepped in. He closed it.

I opened it five minutes later - completely forgetting about my deadline - and he was gone.

I stepped in, checking my watch and starting a timer again just to see if it still worked properly. Things appeared to be smooth until I stepped out.

I was in Tom’s college dorm room.

There’s a room in your house that exists outside of normal time. No one can bother you because no time passes between you going in and coming out no matter how long you’re there. Until one day someone is already there.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #I might finish this #I might finish this later #portal #time #time stops #frozen in time #college #dorm rooms #closet #closets #unlikely friends #unlikely friendship #science fiction #fictional story #journalism #journalist #news #newspaper #news editor

[thatnerduknow98]

It was Prince Phillip’s 14th birthday tomorrow. His birthday present was that he would meet Princess Angelica, the teen from a neighboring kingdom whom his parents signed a contract with to have betrothed. The union would show other neighboring states the countries would not fall to their political stupidity.

The problem was, Phillip had never met a girl before. His mother died in childbirth, and his father was always away at battle or on diplomatic trips, which made Phillip insecure and a prime target for whores beseeching his fortune. The first to attempt this trickery was one of the castle cooks, who groomed him at 2. The king had her beheaded and then prohibited Phillip from ever meeting any women.

However, the cook had a son. An illegitimate son as a result of a raping from one of the knights who frequented the kitchen looking to cure their insatiable hunger. The other cooks didn’t mind.

The king, sympathetic to the boy with no mom, much like Phillip, was disgruntled to hear he had left a boy orphaned. So he designated the boy to be Phillip’s personal servant.

The boy was two years older than Phillip. His name was Alexander, though he went by Lex. Lex and Phillip became best friends. The boys often went out horse back riding, shooting arrows and sparring with swords.

Like the rest of the servants, he slept in the bowels of the castle. Though Phillip was extremely nervous the day before his birthday, so he asked Lex to stay with him in his room until he fell asleep.

The boys played a very intense game of chess, and an even more intense game of cards. Lex was skilled with a Lute, and Phillip knew the drums of war, so they played songs when they got bored.

The sun began to rise and it became clear that the two’s special bond was more than just friendship. They sat on Phillip’s balcony, sleepless, nervous, and profoundly in love.

Phillip could not imagine life without Lex, however Lex belonged to the castle and his father, and the arranged marriage had Phillip leaving the kingdom.

Lex gripped Phillip’s hand a little tighter. He pointed to the horse’s stable. Phillip nodded.

The two snuck through the castle, avoiding the servants, maids, cooks, blacksmiths, knights, and other common folk who were arriving to witness the betrothal. Phillip shivered knowing he would be essentially screwing over his father and his kingdom.

But his love for Lex was too great. And Phillip’s love was requited — he did not want Phillip’s assets. He wanted to stow away into the woods, find or build a cottage, and live there as poor folk, rich in their love.

The stables were empty of farmers tending the horses. Phillip wanted to take his favorite horse, but Lex feared if they took the favorite one they would be found sooner. They took an average-sized common brown one with a black mane instead.

Donning plain hooded robes over their clothes, the two whisked away to the woods, where they sought to begin their new life together.

The result was a declaration of war between the two kingdoms. But it did not affect the lovers, as they had successfully and secretly left the country.

They stumbled upon an abandoned hut just over the border. It was falling apart, but there was plenty of trees, clay and stone around they could use to rebuild it.

So they did. And they lived happily ever after.

To prevent the prince from falling in love with a commoner, a decision was made to keep him away from all women until he reached the age to meet his betrothed. However, one day before meeting her, he escaped with an unexpected companion.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #prince #servant #the prince and his servant #unexpected love #love #queer #middle ages #dark ages #a love story #a queer love story

[thatnerduknow98]

“My darling, I hate to break it to you, but you are the ghost.”

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly be a ghost. I’m the vampire — the master of this castle. I have no soul to linger.”

“Violeta, dearest, you were the vampire. You were the wife of this house for 30 years, vampire mistress for 152 years, and have been a ghost ever since.”

“Butler, you do not understand. I can not be a ghost if I have no soul to stick around when the silver bullets enter my chest.”

“You weren’t shot, love. You were burned on the public square. It surprises me you do not remember such torture.”

“Repression serves me well. I forget most traumatic events.”

“Such as dying and becoming a ghost.”

Violeta snorted. “That I believe I would remember.”

“Sweetness, look in your mirrors! You can see your apparition. You are no longer vampire.”

“Those mirrors aren’t silver backed anymore. I had them replaced after shattering one a few weeks ago. The delivery folk were quick and had the mirrors up quickly, though they were spooked the whole time.”

“Because you are a ghost. Just accept it. This is better for you.”

“How so?”

“Ghosts can cross over. Vampires can not.”

You know, Butler, I heard that the mansion is haunted by a ghost. That’s quite silly, sir. I’ve worked here for 228 years, and I’ve never seen a single ghost in the mansion.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #arguing #butler #castle

[thatnerduknow98]

Tumblr I’d like your advice.

I turned down a journalism job today that would’ve been great for my career because that company did not want me to continue coaching gymnastics on the side.

My current media company doesn’t have a problem with the fact I coach (and also work retail) outside my full time job, but it pays me significantly less.

Quitting coaching/tumbling would impact my mental health. I’ve been at this gym specifically for 20 years and it’s the last piece of any childhood I once called home. I was not ready to give it up, nor did I think I would be asked to, when the offer came.

But I don’t get paid to coach. It’s a volunteer position.

Am I stupid for choosing pure happiness over advancing the career I also love?

#help #advice #am i stupid

[thatnerduknow98]

TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN!!!

[thatnerduknow98]

“I don’t actually enjoy defeating you, you know. I just do it because I’m the only one who can. And I know why you wreak havoc. I know your backstory. You were abandoned and forced to work terrible, abusive jobs that no longer exist. That’s a valid reason to want to burn down the government. But I have to stop you, because that’s my job. And you refuse to surrender until I’ve knocked you bloody to the ground, so I have to continue to knock you bloody. But I don’t like doing it. I know you’re a person under that mask and I know that you’re human and you hurt and I don’t like causing you pain. So why do you keep letting me do it?”

The villain had to think about this for a moment. “My therapist says I do this because I don’t know a life without abuse so I create the circumstances in which I am comforted by familiarity. You knocking my teeth in for the hundredth time is familiar. I have gotten to the point where I begin to enjoy it.”

“So it’s a kink?”

“No, no, nothing like that. You are much too young for me anyway, and that would be super wrong and gross. I may be evil but I have morals in that regard.”

The hero sighed. “Look, I really don’t like it when you force me to hurt you. Can you please find another way to outlet your needs?”

“I don’t know how,” he said. “I wasn’t good enough to qualify for boxing or ufc, but the first time you kicked my butt I didn’t even have to be good enough, you know? You saw a hint of me harming something else and put me in the hospital for a week. It was nice to be taken seriously, I guess.”

“Ok, but there may be other ways you can outlet your issues. Have you tried a peaceful hobby, like gardening or art?”

“Oh I’m actually an artist when I’m not a villain. My lab is covered in paint and canvases of unique shapes and sizes I cut myself. I even have a contemporary piece at the local art museum two towns over.”

The hero nodded and chucked. “Take your pain out on the paint. Or even find another sport. Men’s volleyball is really picking up here. You can take it out on the ball.”

“It’s not the same,” the villain said, face drooping. “I feel like I deserve to be punched and punished. Even before I started doing the things that warranted you to come defeat me.”

“Ok dude that’s called trauma and you need to figure out how to get thru that,” the hero replied, with a hint of annoyance. “Most of us actually feel that way too, like we deserve to be beaten, when we’ve never done anything that warrants it.”

“Why do you feel that?”

“My grades weren’t high enough in school so Dad paid more for me to go to college and then held it over my head.”

“Oh that’s awful.”

“Yeah. But now I save lives to prove to myself that you can be fucking dumb and still a good person.”

The villain pondered this for a moment before replying, “How would everyone react if I just quit? If I took a career change and never needed to be defeated again?”

“Well, we have secret identities for a reason. Just become your identity, and utilize your art and chemistry skills toward something better than colorful bombs.”

“Perhaps I should. But that’s scary.”

“It is scary, but honestly I wouldn’t acknowledge that you as a villain disappeared. If the press asked, I’d just shrug. This way you can change quietly.”

The villain nodded. “I appreciate that. I think I’m gonna try it.” He began limping away.

“You’ll be great!” the hero said. “At least take pride in knowing your decision is preventing me from doing something I don’t want to do.”

Six months later, the art exhibit two towns over had grown so big and expanded that it moved to the duo’s town. The hero went undercover, knowing this was his former enemy’s work, and was surprised to watch the work go from anger to peaceful. The red buildings became soft blue flowers in a meadow.

The hero turned to leave and made contact with the former villain, now an artist. The artist smiled- with his new pearly white teeth- and approached him.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. But they both knew the gratitude was from more than the hero visiting the exhibit.

“Foolish hero. As long as there is evil-” “-Yeah, yeah, you’ll return. But why? Each time you show up, you get your teeth kicked in.”

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #villain #hero #hero and villain #heroes #villains #heroes and villains #therapy #time for another therapy session

[thatnerduknow98]

It took me a minute before I realized her demon was a black cat named Void.

My neighbor Myrtle had been paying me to clean her house the last few weeks. My demon, Sarge, was about your average mean/kind, as I was the average mean/kind person. He mostly sat on the couch and watched Myrtle’s obnoxiously large TV whole Void sat on his lap, purring.

It was Thursday of the third week when it occurred to me I had yet to meet her demon. Myrtle usually napped while I cleaned, so Sarge suggested her demon was in the room with her.

Myrtle opened the door and asked me to clean her room, specifically to dust the shelves and such. I went in there, but the demon was not there. I was really confused, so I went to ask Myrtle about it.

Sarge beat me to it: “Myrtle, where’s your demon?”

She smiled a villainish smile and stroked her cat. “Void is my demon, darling.”

“But Void is so sweet,” I whispered. Knowing that the sweeter the demon, the meaner the lady, I was suddenly afraid.

She let out a guffaw-like laughter. “I’ll tell you what happened if you keep it a secret.”

I nodded, still afraid.

“I’m a serial killer. I’ve gotten away with lots of murders. In my prime, they called me the Southside Slaughterer. I’m still a slaughterer, but now I go about my murders in a less bloody way.”

I shuddered. “You’re… not gonna kill me right?”

“Depends on how good your demon is at his job,” she replied. “My victims were as bad as I was, so their demons did not protect them from me.”

Sarge jumped up from the couch, flew over to me and then started to shoo me out the door. I didn’t want to be rude so I stopped him.

“Myrtle, I will keep your secret, but I am genuinely afraid of you now and I am not comfortable continuing to clean your house,” I said. “I will finish your bedroom, but then I have to respectfully resign from this position.”

Myrtle nodded. “You aren’t the first who quit upon learning the truth. But my last couple kills were other women who decided to out me. I would take that into consideration as you leave.”

I finished the bedroom. Sarge kept vigilant watch at the door. Myrtle made herself a tea and sat on the couch with Void on her lap.

When I finished, I found her dead.

She had made two cups of tea. And drank from the wrong cup.

Humans are born with demon counterparts to protect them.The more innocent and pure a person is the more mean fierce and terrifying their demon becomes.Today you met an 82 year old woman with the kindest sweetest demon you’ve ever met.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #murder #mass murder #serial killer #serial killer story #suspense #mystery

[thatnerduknow98]

You live in a very haunted house, but it’s not that bad. The voices in the basement remind you of your laundry and tell you to check the boiler, the rat size talking spider keeps the pests away and is a pretty good therapist, and the victorian ghost children are great friends with your kids.

#it was a steal #the only house millennials can afford

[thatnerduknow98]

Margerie knew something was wrong when she came home to the dishes being cleaned.

The alien had replaced Ryan, her lowlife husband of 22 years. She married him at 17 after he knocked her up and then decided to financially abuse him after she found out he was cheating on her. The plan worked until she got sick of being a stay at home wife and decided to start working at the local crafting store in the evenings.

Ryan would bitch about how a woman’s place is in the home and he made no effort to keep the house clean. He wouldn’t even take their dog out when he got home from work, punishing Margerie for her independence by forcing her to clean up the dog’s accidents. Even the dog felt guilty, and began intentionally having his accidents in front of the back door instead of wherever he needed to go to make it easier for her to clean up.

The alien just wanted to observe humanity. His civilization had something similar to university, and they just so happened to be studying terrestrial life forms this summer. He decided to conduct a case study on Margerie and Ryan, and their dog.

The problem arose when the alien - who barely passed his spaceship piloting class - accidentally hovered too low to the road, forcing Ryan to swerve his beat down truck into a tree. Luckily, the alien was good at medicine and mechanics, and was able to repair Ryan and his truck.

It took a while though — all day, in fact. Late into the evening. So he decided to pretend to be Ryan while Ryan was essentially on a ventilator in his spaceship.

The alien had done enough research already to know Ryan’s likes and dislikes, but not so much to understand his behavior. He knew from previous studies that a husband and wife have a lifelong mutual bond of love and respect, so he figured he could complete basic tasks to emulate that relationship. He’d watched how humans take care of their houses, go to work, prepare meals and then each other. He’d even taken a particular interest in Margerie and Ryan’s adult child - especially his college sports career.

So the alien drove the truck home to Margerie, who wasn’t yet home from work. He saw the dog had an accident and cleaned it up. The dog was skeptical. It clearly knew what was happening. But the alien petted its head and gave it a few treats and it was content enough not to blow his cover.

The alien saw the laundry in the dryer needed folding, and the dishes needed to be done. He also saw the lawn needed mowing, and the garden trimmed back. He looked at the clock, which he understood enough to know he had about an hour and a half before Margerie got home. Trying to emulate that standard marriage relationship by completing the chores, he started with the grass.

He should’ve known by the way the neighbors were looking at him that he was not doing a good job at keeping his cover. He also found that the lawn mower did not want to start, but being skilled in mechanics, he fixed it like he did Ryan’s truck. He mowed and edged the lawn, then trimmed back the garden, harvesting a few flowers to make a bouquet, which he left in a vase on the kitchen table.

He was dirty now, so he decided to do the dishes before the laundry. He washed them by hand, even though the couple had a dishwasher. He wasn’t familiar with that technology yet. He put everything away and even reorganized the pots and pans cabinet.

The alien then partook in a shower. He could’ve sterilized himself by absorbing and dissolving the dirt, but he was human for about an hour now and was really enjoying the experience, so he chose to try the activity. He particularly liked Ryan’s bourbon-smelling soap.

From there, he combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and shaved his face. He did not need to do these things, but he felt his unique situation posed the opportunity to research human hygiene first hand.

The alien heard the door open and shut.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?” Margerie shouted.

The alien was confused, knowing enough language to recognize the swear word. He put the clean laundry on - which did not match at all, for he had not studied human fashion yet - and ran out to greet her.

“What’s wrong, my darling?” the alien asked gently, genuinely confused.

She looked him up and down and simply stated, “You are not my husband. I know you aren’t, because the truck no longer has the dent in it above the gas tank, the dishes are clean, there isn’t dog shit on the floor, the lawn and garden are kept, and judging by your mismatched clothes that I know I threw in the dryer before work, the laundry is done. You even thought to make me a flower bouquet. My Ryan has never — in 22 years of marriage — ever given me flowers. Nor has he bothered to do any of the tasks I just mentioned. So you have to be an imposter.”

The alien squirmed in Ryan’s shoes. The dog came to console him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There was an accident, and Ryan is ok, but he’s healing right now. I thought maybe I could step in for a couple of days.”

Margerie put her handbag on the couch and threw her hands on her hips. “I’m going to need more context.”

After listening to the alien’s story and seeing it’s true form, she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Well, I do like my house like this,” she concluded. “I suppose if you want to stick around for a while and keep pretending to be my husband, I guess that’s ok. Hell, you could take Ryan back to your planet for experimentation if you want. He’s not a very good person, and I kept telling him karma would get him someday.”

The alien lit up and danced around with the dog. Margerie smiled.

“But first, I’m going to teach you fashion because boy do you need help with that outfit,” she said.

You’re an alien spy that has replaced someone in order to blend in on Earth. Turns out the guy you replaced had a very unhappy wife who immediately realised you aren’t him when you treat her like a normal husband should.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #aliens #about an alien #fictional short story #alien #extra terrestrial #terrestrial

[thatnerduknow98]

Her nose was just as long and crooked as it was 100 years ago when she first transformed me, but she died her hair pink to keep up with the times.

It’s 2023 now, after all. And today is the centennial anniversary of the day I went from a lovely little 12 year old taking a stroll in a grass patch with her father after a baseball game, to the oldest tree in the park.

It wasn’t an accident. Daddy spent all day calling me his beautiful little princess, so naturally when I saw the hag sitting on the bench I flaunted my attractiveness to her in a rude and distasteful manner.

She ignored me mostly until I made a comment about her nose being twisted like a tree root, gnarly and ugly. She whipped up off the bench so fast and pointed her finger at me violently. What came next was a woosh that pushed Daddy to the ground.

Then I was a tree. Right where we were standing. Daddy’s cries and pleas to the woman were pitiful, and then they turned to anger when she refused to turn me back. She vanished into thin air and I’d never seen her again.

The last century wasn’t too bad though. Daddy visited me every day, spending hours upon hours under the shade of my canopy. He removed harmful plants and fungi that grew up the side of my trunk, clipped back dead branches, and even planted more trees next to me because he read somewhere that trees survive better in a wooded area than by themselves.

He had a new baby a few years later and raised him to care for me just as well. My brother took over after Daddy could no longer walk. Little bro planted a more diverse garden around me.

The others in the town enjoyed the new plants and such so much that I became the hang out spot for many mothers and babies, soccer games, first dates, and picnics with grandparents. I listened as they talked about the happenings of the world. I particularly liked the political speech of my town.

Apparently the land I was a part of was owned by the town, so my brother ran for town council to have it turned into a park. By then, he had two kids who had also begun the “taking care of big sister” routine. Little bro had no other knowledge on anything at all, but he loved greenery and taking care of it more than anyone else, and everyone agreed it was important. I became the steeple of the Skillman Town Park, formally recognized and dedicated in 1972.

More and more individuals came to the park and it grew quite large. The trees Daddy planted did draw in new wildlife and nutrients that helped me grow super tall and thrive quite a bit. It was peaceful. Even in the winter, under two-five feet of snow, I felt good.

I only thought that being a tree was a burden for a little while. The hag turned me to a tree because I compared her nose to it’s ugly twists, but honestly the twists and knots are what make trees beautiful. At least, that’s what the arborist said while giving a tour sometime in the 1930s.

And as more people came to sit by me and discuss their happenings with their own, I learned more about how awful the human world is. I thought it was really bad in the ‘40s, but each decade just seems to be getting worse. In the 2020s, women HAVE to work to afford their own place to live, and the rent is absolutely outrageous.

I’m glad I’m a tree. I live for free and I don’t have to work or spend money to feed myself. I think it’s my great grand nieces and nephews now who take care of me — I’ve started losing track of my relatives honestly. And I’m outside all the time in the sun. I’m beautiful year round without needing the cosmetics the women all wear now. And I don’t have to worry about fitting societal norms because I’m a tree, and that’s pretty normal.

The city has only tried to cut me down one time, in the mid ‘80s. It was shut down pretty quickly after the proposing councilman’s home was TP’ed by environmental teenagers in support of expanding the park.

And my park has grown too. There are softball diamonds and soccer fields. Even a cross country course. I get to watch sports all year round.

So when the witch made her reappearance, with her crooked nose, she was appalled to find me in such a state of peace. I informed her politely that I was perfectly fine with the way I am, and thanked her for rewarding me with a wonderful life.

I didn’t want to be mean to her because I was afraid she’d turn me human again, and a 12 year old girl with no parents is not the situation you want to be in in this time, as I learned from the 12 year old homeless girl who slept under my roots last night.

But that didn’t seem to matter. The witch stared at me, with her crooked nose, and decided to just leave me there. She came back every few weeks to pull the fungi off my bark to use in her potion making. So it all worked out in the end.

You angered a witch, and in retaliation, she transformed you into an unmovable tree in a public park. Months later, she returns with the sinister hope of reveling in your suffering, only to find that you are not only surviving but thriving and happier than ever before.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #writing prompt #response #prompts #fiction #short story #fictional story #tree #root #bark #leaf #a story about a tree #park #town park #city park #witch #a witch turned me into a tree #fungi #plant #plants #trees #arbor #arborists #cute story #beautiful

[thatnerduknow98]

An FBI Agent goes undercover in a cult only to realise that all the members are undercover agents from different branches

#the government is a cult if you really think about it