Trick or Treaty

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

"Veronica and Kenzie are going to be here any moment, dear--are you sure you don't want any help getting your costume on?"

 A few muffled grumbles came from the other side of the door before she finally got her response. "Nooo, I got it..."


Alesha took a deep breath as she waited as patiently as she could for her daughter.  Recently, Margo had become much more independent--unfortunately, it was not quite the blessing Alesha had hoped it would be. She was obviously trying to compensate for her inability to read, but it was beginning to cause issues. The most every-day tasks were suddenly becoming a lot more difficult than usual, because Margo still had trouble doing even the most simple things--but now she was refusing help with any of them.

Still, it was probably a good thing. Margo would never learn to conquer these problems if she didn't do it on her own--but such as in this case, she was trying to tackle things most kids her age couldn't do. It was nearly impossible to button up a costume with giant fairy wings as an adult, much less a child with short little arms.


Finally, though, after nearly a half an hour, Margo emerged from her bedroom looking incredibly triumphant. Alesha was even opening her mouth to congratulate her... when she noticed a problem.

"Sweetie... don't you want to change your shoes?"

Margo looked down, confused. "No... why?"

"Well... they don't really fit with your costume, do they? Fairies don't wear rubber boots."

She blinked slowly, obviously still puzzled. "Why not?"



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Short: Caged

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


She could feel his eyes on her.

No, not sense them--feel them. It was a gaze that traveled from her worn shoes up the length of her prison uniform to the messy splay of hair she no longer wished to deal with. He didn't know it, but she could see what he saw--feel the fear that he felt. She knew he was looking for her lips--her teeth. Looking to see if everyone was telling the truth...  if she really was a vampire.


"Go, or I will sink my teeth into that scrawny little neck of yours," she spat, remaining motionless from her position on the bed.

"I--I'm just bringing you your food," the new night watchman stammered, the bundle in his hands nearly trembling out of his grip. "I--I didn't mean to-"

"Just leave it on the floor."



"You think I can't break through those bars and break your spine?!" she snarled as the boy still continued to stand at her cell, gaping at her as she carefully lifted herself from the bed. "GET OUT!"

They often sent the freshest police academy graduates down to see Amelia. It had become some sort of game; they let her initiate some of the more egotistical recruits in exchange for them not coming and spitting at her during their breaks. Probably a fair trade, but it had come far too late. She had long since lost the ability to forgive them.


As he scurried away--and she dived hungrily for her food--she briefly recalled the one time she had actually wished she could have broken free.

They were cruel, her captors. Even her fellow inmates. It didn't matter that Amelia had never once pierced flesh with her fangs; the mere fact she could, that she had brought this dreadful disease into their peaceful, quaint town of Twinbrook, was enough for them to despise her existence. If she had murdered two men accidentally because of her appetite for blood, what more would she be capable of if she put her mind to it?

Much more, she savored as the juice of the sour plasma fruit dripped down her cheek.


Suddenly, Amelia recoiled from her unexpected lust for retribution; the fruit dropped to the floor and her body hurled itself against the back wall of the cell violently.

"No," she whimpered aloud. "You need to fight this... You're stronger than this!"

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