Scribble Ninjas

I hid under the table, holding my breath and hoping that he wouldn’t find me. Sweat dripped down my cheek and fell to the grass. Why did summer have to be so hot? I wondered as I shifted my position to fit under the table more comfortably.

“Eep!” I heard a yelp from an area not too far from where I was. I slightly lifted the tablecloth and peeked out from the picnic table; there was nobody in sight. I let out a sigh of relief but placed my hand over my mouth quickly, afraid that someone would have heard me. I quickly dropped the table cloth and turned around.

I flinched at the sight I saw when I turned around. On the other side of the picnic table, somebody else had lifted the cloth. A broad grin was plastered on his face and he said the two words that I had dread to hear.

Found you.

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Narration of the still-face experiment.

She had my arms around her shoulder, supporting my weight by leaning slightly to the side. This was always how she carried me. I liked it.
A man led us to the room. Almost everything was white: the walls, the ceilings, the window blinds, even the men were dressed in white coats. They had black boxes pointing at her and I, with a square tube that jutted out towards us – it was shiny.
She talked with the man for a bit before putting me in the chair, and then she began playing with me.

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Melly's in Korea right now so I'm posting her story, yo.

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Usually, summer is my favorite time of year; after all, there’s no school, which means there are no teachers, which means there are no classes, which means there’s no homework, which means there’s no detention – all of which sounds awesome to a kid who’s not that into all that education stuff.

Usually, I get started right away with the fun and games: the pool parties, the beach days, the movie marathons, the mall hang-outs, the carnivals – all the typical summer festivities that, eventually, get old but still happen anyway for lack of better things to do.

Usually, summer means I go to bed late and wake up late. It means I don’t eat lunch until I feel like it (which could mean I won’t eat until 4:30 in the afternoon), and it means some days I’ll just sit around and do nothing but watch cartoons from the 90s.

Usually, summer is my favorite time of year.

But not this year.

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A/N: I've been wanting to write a story based on Greek Mythology for a while, so this be it! You might want to brush up on Persephone and Hades before reading it, though.

He waits for me on the mattress, smiling that wicked smile of his. Any trace of gentleness in his expression is poisoned by greed and want.

“Well?” he asks.

“I will not be your plaything,” I say. My fingers move on their own accord, out of my control. Unbuttoning my blouse and tugging down at my skirt, removing one article of clothing at a time until I lay bare.

“I will not be your wife,” I say, taking one step forward. My mind tells me to stop, but my feet move forward. I am drawn. I am chained. I am trapped.

“I will not love you,” I say, slipping into the mattress next to him. His weight rolls over me, hot – too hot – and crushes me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and his voice whispers to me in the darkness.

“Welcome to Hell, Persephone.”

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I thought I'd post the first part of the collaborative story as soon as possible so you guys could have more time to brainstorm!

PART ONE: Veritas

I leaned back in the chair before sliding my ID through a slot in the armrest. The chair made a whirring sound, then slowly the whole room – the walls, the floor, the ceiling – lit up, thousands of glass monitors blinking to life. Images flickered in and out of the screens, changing to something new every few seconds.

“Society Member 82965 to the Veritas Class,” an automated voice announced from above. “Approval for conditioning into the Veritas Class pending…”

A small mirror attached to the chair swiveled around to face me. I took a long look. This would be the last time I'd see this face.

“Conditioning approved,” the voice said. “While waiting for surgeons to begin procedure, please enter new name.

I heard the soft tapping of shoes sound in synchronized steps. I could feel their presence, even if I couldn’t see them. Those of the Salus class always had a distinct scent to them; cold, sharp, and somewhat synthetic.

Their tools made small clinking sounds as they set up the table. Needles, injections, and circuit chips – everything they needed in order to rewire me.

“Please enter new identification,” the machine prompted. I reached forward and slowly typed in my name, letter by letter.

The machine glowed green as I finished.

“Name approved. Welcoming new society member, Villette Saunders. New society member, number 82965, Villette Saunders. Surgery may now proceed."

There was a loud beep, then the room fell to darkness.


Next chapter.

I was the one who killed your mother. The ‘promotion’ was just an excuse, ‘taking care of our future’ was just an excuse, ‘duty’ was just an excuse, they were all no more than excuses, all to serve my selfish wants for glory. I was vain, foolish, for thinking I needed to be the one to succeed in developing that virus, to be the first, the greatest. I was mad with ambition, naïve with arrogance, obsessed with immortality.

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“Isn’t it just so beautiful?” my friend/co-worker sighed with starry eyes. She was staring at the dance floor where the bride and groom were slow dancing together.

“Ya sure,” I mumbled, taking another sip of champagne.

“I’ve always dreamed of my wedding,” her eyes lit up again. “What about you Rebecca? You’re so beautiful! I’m surprised you’re not married already!”

“Amber…” I paused, compensating on whether to tell her or not. I decided against it after considering the fact that we’ve only been coworkers for six months.

“Nevermind,” and another sip of champagne.

“Hmm..?” Amber cocked her head to the side. I should have known that Amber was not the one to let something go. “You should just say it! I won’t judge” she flashed me a smile.

That’s what everybody says.

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