Daily Writing Prompt Thread Thingy It'll Be Fun

[Somewhere_In_The_Clouds]

Imagine having full custody
It’s really great

 

[Isabella7Storm5]

They are my prized children with all the special privileges
Spoiled, they are

 

[Eroica]

I went back. I found a prompt because it's the popular thing to do now apparently.
And I found this.

“I know you’re still here”

Spoiler

“I know you’re still here.”

His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the darkness like a blade. His footsteps reverberate through the ship’s hold, coming closer and closer to where I am, huddled in the corner—so close I can smell him, hear him breathe…

I bury my head in my legs to block out the smell of his cologne. It’s too overpowering today. My eyes press into my knees till I see stars. “I know I’m still here, too,” I choke out, my voice muffled.

“Why?” he says, sitting beside me, and my heart does that painful lurching thing again.

“He came back.” My voice breaks, but I continue. “In… in my dream. I still… it feels like he’s still here, Roux. Like he’s haunting me, and I have to… I have to keep telling myself he’s dead now…” I trail off. A sob wells up in my throat like a rock.

“Hey,” says Roux gently, pulling me close to him, and the sob that was stuck breaks free. I can’t stop now. It held a host of others, waiting to burst from me, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just strokes my hair, waiting for my cries to cease.

That’s how I sleep tonight. Him, holding me through the whole night, until eventually, he, too, falls asleep.

Hey. Wait up a moment here---
I WROTE SOMETHING
OH MY GOD
Yes I know it's bad
But it's the first in like two months

 

[notabitail]

Ooo. I just figured out a good prompt.

Shadows on the wall.

 

[Amer]

The image:

View attachment 4294692

The story:

There's nothing to the wood, layers of age, resting one on top of the other, each log standing for a wall that holds inside a cabin full of kids, boys on the left, yelling, jumping on beds, banging the floor like drums, girls on the right, crying, wishing they could go home, clinging to the dolls they hoped no one would steal. The wood couldn't contain the noise, even if it tried. Children were loud, louder than the whack of an ax, louder than the whine of a saw.
The wood stood tall. Every nail scored through its flesh rattled, every layer of glue tore splinters out of its side. Would it hold on forever? Trees robbed of life to contain children abandoned by their parents for a simple weekend, week after week, eventually turning to Summer, and soon, weeks at a time?
Yes, on their own. Yes, left alone. Yes...
Smoke.
Flame.
A spark. One leaping from a pine-filled bonfire, chewing on one leaf, crawling to the next, then another, then another, growing bigger with each bite, leaving a trail of black ash and red embers.
The spark growing to flame, it reared on its hind. Wood. Dry. Ready to be consumed, it snorted.
Shudders ran through the layers of age. What could it do? Standing against such a devil, burning, then dead? Children! There were children on the other side of the logs of wood! They would be consumed too!
Calling to the nails, snatching up the glue, the cabin stood as a whole, every splinter connecting layer to layer, every layer connecting board to board, every board connecting wall to wall.
The spark crawled onto the porch. Rearing, it hissed, May I come in? Little children are fun to eat. Little splinters are fun to tease. I won't last long. Only long enough to get my fill, only long enough until...
No! Layers of age tightened. You may not. These children are in my care, these splinters in my layers.
The spark lowered to the floor. Very well, then. I won't tease. I won't even bite. It slithered to the side, a dark trail left behind. I'll take. Take whatever I please. You can't stop me, being made of wood. As you see, the spark reared once more, I can move. Wood can not. Oh, what a pleasure this will be!
Groans echoed through the layers of age. The spark was right. Wood couldn't move. Wood couldn't bite. It could only be burned -- consumed out of sight.
The spark moved to the cabin's side, licking the floor, lapping the wall. Flames, growing, spreading, stood taller, slithering through layers and burning the cabin's walls. Rising from the splinters, sweet as fresh hemlock, and black as a starless sky, smoke took to the air, flying past the roof.
Help! The cabin cried.
Crawling to the door, the spark's yellow eyes glowed. It was unstoppable. It won without fight. Slipping through the door's crack, it snuck inside, to the children, to the bunks, to the bedding, to the clothing. It'd reach the little girls' dolls, stealing them without care, and it would lap up the floor, ruining the hammered drums.
Oh! Oh! The layers of age shifted against the nails. Stop! Don't hurt them!
Like a wall of death, black smoke rose to the ceiling. It spun on a heel, laughing at the spark's victory. Without the flame, it could not exist. Without the spark, it could not kill.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!"
Wails filled the two rooms.
Water fell from the ceiling.
The spark sizzled, growling, groaning. Dodging water droplets, the smoke twisted into knots, and the flame dashed for shelter. Water sprayed, running through hoses hidden within the cabin's ceiling, clambering up the sturdy wooden walls.
No! The spark sank. You can't stop me!
The wood, the boards, the splinters, wet from spray, soaked from the flow, chased embers from its layers. I'm not, it sighed, but I did forget about the system, strong and fierce. It's stopping you! It's saving the children!
Dressed in yellow and carrying red hoses, firemen burst in. "Everyone! This way!" they called.
Children, dropping to their knees, crawled to the firemen and out to safety. They were saved. They were saved.
Cowering in a corner, the spark coiled its flame. Watching from all around, the wood towered above. The spark could not hide. It could not run. Firemen sprayed a hose, and a heavy flow of water rushed under the beds, smothering embers clinging to the bunk's feet. It rushed against the spark and drowned its red glow. Gone. The danger was gone. Gone as quickly as it had come, gone as fast as it had birthed.
There's nothing to the wood, blackened with burns, coated with smoke's blood, one log resting on the other, holding for one moment longer, each wall leaning against the frame, clinging to whatever will make them stand. It wouldn't be here if there were no water. It wouldn't be breathing for the next day if there were no system.

Wow, this is very creative to dialogue the wood and the flame. Well done!