chibirose_24: (Default)
Prompt: you wake up from a coma & they buried you. (from another friend)

The head wound was traumatic, but not life-ending. But they had taken matters into their own hands. He was wasting bed space, supplies, and wasn't waking up any time soon.

"We need to dispose of him. His trauma is suspicious on its own, and who knows what he said, and or didn't say, while behind enemy lines. He's likely to not remember anything when he wakes, and even if he did he's already compromised. They know what he looks like and who he belongs to."

"We can't know any of this for sure, not yet."

"They delivered him back to us, already in this state."

No one could argue any more, and no one would. People like him were expendable, one of many. He was just a faceless, nameless man in sea of people that were the bloody hands of the association. He had no family, no one to miss him or even know that he was gone.

*****

He could hear things moving around and was aware of a great weight setting a top his entire body. Something slimy was moving across his face. Everything smelled earthy, from the tiny amounts of oxygen that he could breathe in. With ever breath he could taste dirt. He was lying on his side, one arm pinned beneath him, the other to side. He could move the fingers of the top hand, and all he could feel was lose dirt. Something tickled the inside of his nose and ever breath filled his mouth with more dirt. He didn't dare open his eyes.

Where was he? What had happened? Had he died and this was hell? Something in the back of his mind told him that the latter was only a pretty lie. A memory came floating back to him and he tried to keep from panicking. Someone had found out who he was and what he did. He remembered a dark room with a single naked bulb and something...something...

As if on cue there was a blinding stab on pain as something crawled over the upside of his head. He couldn't keep his eyes from watering, leaving muddy tracks down his cheeks, or the quick intake of breath. Dirt clogged his nose and he tried to snort, which only caused the moist dirt to stick in clumps, blocking even more airflow. He tried to work some of the dirt out of his mouth in tiny puffs, but that wasn't helping either. His throat was itchy with the need to cough and sneeze but he forced himself to do neither.

The head wound from the car. That would also explain the now throbbing in his pinned down leg. He had been found out and hit by a car. Questioned. Then no more memories. Who had buried him? How far under was he and could he dig his way out? He tried to shimmy and everything only packed tighter around him. Another stab of pain lanced through his head, but at least time he didn't breath.

The worm, or what he assumed was a worm, that had been crawling on his cheek earlier was now moving around, inspecting his nostril. There was something with legs crawling inside his shirt, and something else down the back of his pants. He began to tremble minutely. This was how his bloody life was going to end, buried alive.

At least it was only the earth dwelling things that would see him suffer.
chibirose_24: (Default)
Prompt:You go to an art show, find the piece of your dreams, but it's way out of your price range like ever. Find a way to haggle the artist to an acceptable price. (from a friend of mine)

My heels clicked on the polished floor and as I stared around the dimly lit show room, not for the first time, I thought why am I here? While I loved art in all it's forms and fashions this was not my element. Every woman here was dressed to kill in gowns and diamonds, the men in tuxedos, some even in top hats. It was like they just stepped off the pages of Vanity Fair. And then me, in my royal purple cocktail dress and black kitten heels. I signed internally and wished my job hadn't wanted a piece written for this show so I could go home. But, a free ticket is a free ticket.

A waiter passed by and offered me a flute of champagne, which I excepted gratefully. There were groups of people gathered around small, raised tables scattered throughout the middle of the show room, chatting about this and that. I wandered aimlessly around, catching bits and pieces of conversations.

...such an awful piece that one over there...

...did you happen to notice my new pearls...

...I feel as if no one knows what true art is anymore, what with this dreadfully...

While I had to admit that there were a few questionable pieces within the showroom, as I looked at each one individually I tried to figure out what the artist was trying to portray. Every art piece tells a story if you're willing to look for it. Another waiter passed by and took my empty flute and offered a fresh one. Taking a sip, I found there was a second room. This one had no tables, very few occupants, and only about five paintings. I started at the very right and studied for a moment. A sunflower field, a shaft of sunlight, some clouds. Nothing to out of the ordinary but I sensed a sadness from it. Moving on to the next, something caught my eye. The last of the pieces was alone on the far wall, splashes of bright color mixed in the overall muted tone. I was drawn to it immediately.

Forest greens, chocolate brown, and grays dominated the painting. A forest scene, tall dark trunks, green foliage covering the ground. There was one tree trunk, set off to the left hand side and the focal point, that had a single twisting vine wound around the base. Tiny purple and yellow flowers bloomed on the vine, and a single Monarch butterfly was perched on one blossom. I leaned down and read the card underneath.

To Bloom Without Sun

Never had I been so drawn to a single piece. I reached up to touch one of the flowers and caught myself just in time. I stood there stared for a moment before reaching for the tag that dangled off to one side. Yeesh! Yeah that wasn't happening. But I wanted it so badly. It was calling to me like a lost child.

"You seem so entranced." I started and turned around. A young man, who looked almost as out of place as I did was standing behind me, eying the piece over my shoulder.

"I suppose I was." I brushed a stray hair behind my ear, and looked back at the painting. "There's such a lonely feeling, but it's like life. There is always something beautiful if you're willing to look hard, or try, hard enough."

"Well then," He came to stand beside me now. "I couldn't have said it better myself. And I'm the one who painted it."

"It is lovely." I glanced back at the painting with a sense of longing.

"Judging by the look on your face you won't be participating in the auction for it?" I looked up at him and shook my head.

"I'm here to observe for an article over the show, and I don't make this kind of money. Not unless I didn't want to eat for the next several years of my life." I laughed quietly.

"Ah, the life of a starving reporter."

"Or artist."

He laughed at that. "Too true."

I bid him a good night a few minutes later and made my way back to main room to take one final look around before departing. No need to stay for the auction if I didn't intend to bid. Once home I began the rough draft for the article to be published in the next weeks release.

"I am no art extraordinaire, but to however bought the piece entitled 'To Bloom Without Sun', I hope you enjoy it. Had I the ability, I would have bought it myself. I had to chance to meet with the artist and would have tried to knock his price down, but I couldn't find it in my heart to ask, the piece was too lovely..."

That was all I mentioned in the two page article about it, the rest was just fluff to take up space. It was published and I tried my best to put it from my mind after that. It was just a painting after all. Two weeks later, almost a month after the show, there was a large wrapped something leaning against the outside of my cubicle when I showed up to work. There was a note card attached to the outside.

"I found it my 'art'"
chibirose_24: (Default)
Prompt idea from [community profile] dailyprompt for 11/13/14

I was dosing, in and of sleep, listening to the background gunfire and dialogue of ME3. I was curled up on my side near the edge of the bed with him sitting on the floor with his back to the side. If he leaned his head back just a bit, he would hit my stomach.

"Hey." he touched my shoulder and I started awake. I sat up and noticed that the tv was on the console home screen.

"How long have I been asleep?" I felt a bit bad, but the lack of sleep had been taking its toll on me these last few nights. Tai had moved away from me to sort through cloths, tossing a few onto the a chair.

"About half an hour. You staying?" I looked at him taking off his shirt and dammit, couldn't help the flutter in my stomach. I wanted to beat myself, this was Nolan's best friend, his brother. Well...truth be told with the way Nolan was and how he left, their relationship had kind of taken a nose dive. My internal debate must have taken longer than I thought, because Tai turned back to me and met my eyes. He stood there in basketball shorts and nothing else, his long black hair slightly obscuring his deep brown eyes. Heat crept up my face, but I couldn't force myself to look away. "Becuase," he took the few steps over to where I was sitting on the edge of the bed. "You can stay if you want to. I'll take you home on the way to work." I stared up at him, and there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch.

"That's..." I cleared my throat. "Yeah that works." He sat down beside me and wrapped an arm my shoulders.

"I meant what I said that night, but now I have to ask that you let go. It's over, he's gone. I hate seeing you like this."

"What should I do?" I looked over at him, already to close. I looked away and leaned my head on his shoulder instead.

"Find a new hobby, do something, anything. You have to detach yourself from him. He was just a shitty controller to a cute little console. " he squeezed my arm and kissed my temple. I wasn't sure how I felt about being compared to a gaming system, but I'd been called far worse. I cuddled closer to him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"You say do...anything..." I looked up at him. "What exactly does that entail?"

"Jenn..." his control was worse than mine and my heart was in my throat when he kissed me.
chibirose_24: (Default)
I had two things.
A fedora and a red bladed katana. And yet that bitch in white keeps telling me I have everything I need. Ingrum is no help and neither is Amalya. What the actual fuck am I doing? I wander aimlessly around my tiny room, my bare feet slapping against tile. The leaky faucet in the kitchen drips against the metal sink, seemingly in time with my heartbeat.
A chill creeps up my spine raising goosebumps. I ignore it, to lost in my own pathetic downward spiral to care what it could mean. Probably my body just telling me to put socks on anyway. I stop at one end of the room and lean my forehead against the cinder block wall, fighting the urge to beat my head against it. I was no closer to finding out the answers I needed than I was when Donte picked me up at that party all those years ago.
A knock on my door made me start and I almost screamed. Reaching for the door handle I noticed that my hand was shaking so badly that I was having a hard time wrapping it around the knob.
So that chill had been a warning. But a warning of what, I had no idea, and now it was on my front stoop.
chibirose_24: (Default)
I've been living in a hotel now for almost a month and a half with a total of four books, some lined paper and colored pencils, and headphones. Needless to say I'm going somewhat crazy. I stumbled across this site and decided that, hey, why not? I'm an aspiring author and need to be imaginative, lest my work gets rusty and dull.
So I ask anyone to prompt me, whether it be for random fanfiction (should I happen to be savvy), or with anything that you can think of. Any and all are welcomed from the horrible to erotic, and everything in between.
Much obliged, to those who choose to participate. ^^

~Chibi

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