“It” #writephoto


Hiding in the dark was a set of green eyes.

They watched passerby with a lukewarm malice, waiting for them to take the wrong step, make the wrong move.

The eyes belonged to It. It had been there for 120 years. It did not know where it came from.  One night it was just there, simmering with malevolence.

The first time It pounced the rush was amazing. Blood pounded in its ears as bones cracked. The sound, the feel, the taste…it was electrifying.

But as the years passed the excitement dulled. That electricity, once so all-consuming, became a colourless drizzle.

What was it still doing here?

Did it even want to pounce anymore?

It yearned for something else, something it did not understand. It saw that Thing in the faces of the humans it stalked. In the way their lips curved upwards, in the crinkles that appeared around their eyes. It heard the Thing too, sometimes, in their voices when they talked.

There was a frustrating familiarity to this Thing, as if it was something It had once had but lost. It began to remember things, vague feelings, confusing images. It remembered walking past this same cavern with that same Thing dancing in its veins. It remembered wondering what lived in the darkness beyond the entrance. Then, a sharp pain – and it remembered hands clawing at its neck, and an overwhelming fear, a hopelessness, an anger.

It watches the humans now but it lets them be. It cannot end them for the Thing lives on in them.

So it waits in the dark, and it watches.

Silently, hungrily, it watches.


(Image courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

Written for Sue Vincent’s Writephoto prompt: Green




Microfiction: Stars in His Eyes

There is a story about bitterness that I want you to hear.

It happened so long ago, but it has shaped our city in the darkest way imaginable.

He was an ambitious fellow with stars in his eyes. He’d come to Vezzereth to study magic. He worked hard to master his craft. But there were a million others like him, and he lacked natural instinct. He couldn’t guide the magic properly. He couldn’t keep it pure.

I was the head mage of the academy and it was my responsibility to turn him down.

So I did.

But his determination knew no bounds.

Every year a fresh application arrived, and every year I sent a rejection letter.

Eventually they stopped coming.

When the plague struck I alone knew the truth. I alone suspected. I recognized the smell rising from the bodies of the sick and dying. It was the reek of magic gone bad.

I knew it was him but I had no choice. The bodies were piling up. My friends, my colleagues…

He alone could stop it.

And with a savage look of glee on his face, he did.


Sometimes I am glad that the sickness took me.

I did not live to feel the guilt.

But still, I cannot move on.

This is my monster.

As long as he remains, I shall remain.

Daily Prompt:Bitter

Microfiction: The Obsidian City (Part 3)

My dream city has turned into a nightmare.

I managed to escape from the academy, but I don’t have a way to get home. I only have a few gold coins in my pocket and those won’t last me long.

What’s worse, the mages will be looking for me. They’re probably combing the streets for me now.

They could be anywhere.


I’m surrounded by people but I feel utterly exposed.

I’m alone in the City of Magic.

How will I survive?


Daily Prompt:Exposed

In the same world:
Sour Magic
The Obsidian City Part 1
The Obsidian City Part 2
Alienne of Amber Falls
The Dreamer

Microfiction: The Dreamer

I wanted the lifestyle of a mage.

To live surrounded by the glittering towers of Vezzereth, the enticement of magic in the air. To be served by maids with eyes like jewels.

So I studied hard and became one.

But the towers didn’t glitter as fiercely as in my dreams. The magic wouldn’t sizzle as I wanted it to, and the servants’ eyes weren’t quite as bright.

It seems I am what they call a dreamer.

I  wonder if reality will ever be enough for me.


Daily Prompt:Lifestyle