Cyrus walked easy, a pretty young girl by his side. He talked, and she giggled.
Things were so different now. He could remember when there was nothing here save a small village and wilderness. Those were simpler times, but things change over hundreds of years. There was no stopping it.
His kind had worried at the beginning of this age, that The Hunt would be hampered with all the light, but the prey was attracted to light, like moths.
Slipping into an alley, he went for her neck. She moaned her ecstasy and pressed against him.
If we were having coffee, we would be sipping some nice Seattle’s Best coffee, listening to music from this little Dot thing we picked up cause it was on sale, and watching a little football. Wow, look at us, we’re multi-taskers!
Right now, Radioactive is playing. Who knows what comes next? Alexa has it on some playlist, so I sure don’t.
Doug looked askew at the steaming car planted in the shrub and shrugged. “Like I said officer, guy never slowed down. Couldn’t hear him over the music, some old rock I think, round and round something. He was laughing though. Probably high. Darn kids!”
The officer scribbled notes before looking back up at Doug. “He never tried to get off?”
“Doubt the thought ever crossed his mind. Was having a blast. Like at the fair or something. We lucky nobody got hurt.”
“True. That shrub is torn up pretty good though. Guess the hospital can tack it onto his bill.”
If we were having coffee, I think I’d opt for some hot apple cider. It’s good stuff on a cold, rainy evening, and I’ve already had a pot and a half of coffee today. I can get you some coffee, tea, or of course some cider if you like. It’s up to you.
It’s been a rough few weeks for me, and I can’t put my finger on exactly why. Best guess, the time change. I haven’t felt like myself since. It’s like I have no motivation to do anything. I’ve barely run, tried to recommit to daily writing but have felt too exhausted in the evenings to make any real headway. It’s been frustrating to say the least. I’m not a person to look forward to bed at 8 o’clock, but that’s been me lately. Some evenings I’ve looked for bed earlier than that!
So I’ve written what I could while trying to keep my eyes open. It hasn’t been a ton of words though. A few 100 word stories for #FridayFictioneers and a sheet full of ideas. Not much, but I’m still plugging away, hoping that I’ll feel like myself again soon.
I’m hoping that this next week will go better. I’m really looking for some good miles and some good words in the coming weeks.
Thanks for stopping by! See you in a bit!
#WeekendCoffeeShare is an informal weekly link-up hosted now by Eclectic Alli that serves as something of a mind-dump for the week. If there are typos and what-not found here, I apologize, but mind-dump. I don’t do a lot of editing here as I like that it is more a stream of consciousness type post, normally written while drinking coffee, listening to music, and reflecting on the week gone by.
Joaquin lay upon the wood-planked floor in the center of it all. The center…of the pentagram chalked in white, of candles blood red tipping each point, and of the circle of poured salt pulled directly from the sea.
Moonbeams filtered through the circular window, filling his circle and himself, with power. The time was near, the circle would be fully lit, and he would pull a demon from the underworld, trapping it in the sea-salt circle. A pet demon, just what he needed.
Scott strutted around the kitchen, head swinging to and fro, red curls swaying in time to the music. “Oh yeah, that’s it,” he declared, throwing out something between a Michael Jackson thrust and a Travolta finger pointing thing.
The toaster popped, and he set to slathering the perfectly browned bread with jelly found in the fridge. His backside kept the beat. Finished, he licked the knife clean and popped it back into the jar.
“Hey, that’s my jam!” came a distressed cry from the kitchen doorway.
Jack sipped his namesake, then turned up the cheap hotel glassware, draining the contents in a gulp before resting the glass atop his tupperware.
He chuckled at the little stack of plastic bowls. He had meal prepped for this trip with all the good intentions of a habitual dieter. Then the business went bad, and the diet with it. The healthy habits landed in the trash can, while he landed in all the local dives eating slop and drinking worse.
He poured another drink as he packed. There’s always next week, he thought. I’ll do better then.