Magenta Monster

Metcalf stood back from the oily smoke. If he thought about the smell and what it was, he gagged; but he was the senior investigator in this mess and had to be made of sterner stuff. The plumes were from the incinerator designed to deal with foot and mouth outbreaks in farm animals, but the carcasses being loaded in where most definatly not animals. He chewed his cheek until it drew blood. Someone, he thought, someone high up had thought of these people as diseased animals. The feeling just would not leave him. It was supposed to have been an accident and he was to check and write a report to prevent it in future.

But of course it wouldn’t happen in the future becuase they were all gone, including the women from the shelter hiding from their men, their little ones following them to the same mass grave. Metcalf’s hands balled into fists. Such a waste - the teenagers from the mental health half-way house had mostly been affected too.

With a bad taste in his mouth he turned away from the piles of bodies awaiting incineration. The food in the soup kitchens was the only answer; his men were rounding up what was left of it. The lab would have results for him that afternoon. ‘Sir?’ came a tentative voice.

‘Rose?’ he said turning around. The young sargeant had been crying. Most unprofessional, but then so had he, hadn’t he?

‘Some of the food… some of the food, got into the childrens home.’ she was pale with bright spots on her cheeks. He didn’t correct the term childrens home, there was no point. He sighed heavily.

‘Has anyone survived yet?’ she shook her head. Metcalf closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his course silvered hair.

‘Sir… ?’ her voice broke. ‘It looks to me like… like radiation poisoning.’ She pushed the toe of her shoe into the ash covered ground. He nodded, that had been his conclussion too; but the only thing they all had in common was the donated food. Soup kitchens fed the homeless, shelters and children’s homes often ran on donations too, as did old folks homes!

‘Rose, check out all the old folks homes,’ she nodded, ‘and Rose send warnings to other districts would you?’ The puzzelment was there only for a moment replaced by fear - This could well be bigger than one city, why had it taken them so long to spot it?

Because, he thought bitterly, homeless people die in puddles of puke and blood all the time.

It had only become apparent when the rats had entered the city to clean up the corpses. He’d had to call in the Army to help clear the corpses, there were just so many of them. Rose’s slight shadow fell across his path once more, ‘Dad?’ she whispered, he didn’t reprimand her, ‘Dad the hospitals! It’s in the hospital food too,’ and then she was sobbing and he was hugging, her numb but pleased she at least could still feel.

He squeezed her shoulders, ‘we’ll get them, Rosey’. She nodded mutely.

She dried her eyes and drew back her shoulders in defiance. ‘If it’s radiation it will be easy to trace to source.’

He smiled with no humour. ‘They’ll have accounted for that honey, it will be dirty and mixed source; probably traceable to half a dozen enemies of state.’ he snorted. Yes, he was that suspicous.

He went back to his office to read the incoming reports. There were scared people, clustered around the front of the building, screaming plague, screaming doomsday, crying and wailing. Some of them, he noticed, had the sheen and the odd one here and there had a nose bleed. Some of these people were dying and there was nothing he could do to save them.

The common factor was the food, donated food to the needy, so it could be that cheap contaminated food was being sold on the black market somewhere and a benevolent donar had thought it would feed hungry bellies as well as anything else. If so, that person would probably have commited suicide. He knew those reports were yet to come, the nurses and aid workers who would think they’d done it, the officers who had to watch a childrens’ home die.

Eventually he got into his office, his gut churning on nothing but black tar coffee. This had to be deliberate, all the vunerable had been targeted. His heart sank as he read confirmation messages, every city and town, all of them - the same. It was a national operation.

And then he saw it, a red envolope. Gingerly, he opened it.

Metcalf, Welcome to the New Solution Now the world will be stronger Now we will have only the brightest, strongest Society has been cleansed

Do not fight you are part of it

The Actiman Affiliate

…..

It could be a hoax, people did things like that, and why sign it such if it really were the Actiman Affiliate, the global corporation? And why? Just why? But he was already punching the forensic team’s number and the internal post’s. This was genocide, this was a cull, why hadn’t he seen it? He’d thought it was an accident cover-up - but this was systematic. The sick, the old, the poor, all those who rely on society had been… exterminated.

A white-clad officer took the envelope from him. He called the government; the coldness in his stomach told him he would be fighting them on this one. His life expectancy was now probably very low. Time for Rose and her brother to leave the country - he’d sort out their visas before he trod on too many toes. Of course he thought bitterly if the Actimen Affiliate were involved then there would probably be entire nations writhing in slow languid death already, and if that was the case then nowhere would be safe.

Guttering wind had stolen her candle light only moments before; Bella stood hoping like hell that dawn was not far off. There were skittering noises in the distance but the worst thing she could do was run. She calmed her ragged breath. The Namrok had been known to attack those who maintained stillness but had panic attacks. She closed her eyes; it made no difference to the impenetrable gloom, but it made her feel better.

Ten years ago no one had heard of the Namrok. Well, not in a way that any adult would ever have belived. Ten years ago she had been a lab tech with a promising career but that was before the rift, before the Namrok had taken back the realm they maintained was theirs. It was a shame they had rendered electronics useless as Bella would have swapped her very soul for a torch. Her breathing sounded harsh in her ears; she trembled and caught herself. No movement, that was the key - they were predators, and without her flame she was the prey.

A frozen rabbit, and if the Namrok caught her a fate worse than dinner awaited. She swallowed involuntarily. Angry with herself, she opened her eyes; a faint brusing had entered the sky. It was getting lighter, dawn! She may survive yet!

She exhaled in relief and the scuttling noise stopped. They were listening now - they knew she was there, and they would be clicking at each other to pin point her. She wanted to scream, wanted to run. With extreme hardship she pushed down the whimper that pushed at her, counting in her mind whilst straining her ears, desperately listening. Time seemed to stretch and she was cold, the roll of… parchment in her hand seemed to burn into her in contrast.

She had no idea if it was valuable or not, but they had just left it there and the flame should have protected her to her home, but there had been no lamps left and she had been too eager to get home and away from the dark. The scrittering noise had started up again, they would be moving in a slow circle around her, trapping her, but the sky was pearlised with precious sunlight now.

Unless she was very unlucky she would survive. The lighter it got the blinder they got, and fear of light would drive them away before long. But now she could see their forms, large and shapeless, at the edge of a large circle; and there were a lot of them, seeming to condense out of the night, little grey points of reflective light - and the smell. Sweet, sickly, sour, rotting meat - it clogged her nostrils and made her gag. They rose in a wave. She screamed and dropped down into a ball as a long, flicking talon scythed the air above her.

‘I’m dead’ she whimpered, waiting for the next blow, but the sun was tinging the sky rose and peach and they where wailing in a forlorn and alien way. The danger was not past, though as they know where she was. She used the confusion to duck and dive amoungst them, dreading the claws; few had seen the Namrok and lived to tell. Bella panted hard with fright once outside their circle and then she ran.

….

Bella was throwing up outside the Den, that had been too close, she had to stop this, but someone had to try and stop the Namrok. Viktor opened the metal door, with talon scratches all over it. ‘Close call?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose as she nodded and puked some more. He shouted for tea and warm water to those below and then took the parchment from her. ‘This is skin… ‘ he said, paling. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘I will get Anna to translate it.’ and he was gone into the gloom. She wondered briefly if she should have mentioned that the letters would be written in the victim’s own blood. Her stomach flipped again and she sunk down the wall instead. There would be parties going out to retrieve more supplies, candles, food; that type of thing.

She felt a bit better after cleaning up and drinking her tea, Viktor was pacing the small room he called HQ central. ‘Are you sure, Anna?’ Anna nodded, Bella slipped herself into a vacant chair. ‘This is not good, can we stop them?’

Anna hesitated, ‘Maybe, I do not know. Bella may, though.’

Bella froze, ‘Wha.. what’s it say then?’ she asked.

‘They are planning on blotting out the sun so there will be no dawn to rescue us.’ Bella’s stomach flipped once more.

‘They have some scientists held captive…’ She was already nodding, knowing full well she would not be getting any sleep.

‘It’s my lab isn’t it? They are are going to trigger one of the super volcanoes!’ The others nodded. The dust from the eruption, smoke, soot and ash would clog the sky. It would become cold and dark, and in the dark the Namrok were supreme.

They began planning Mission Abort Vulcan.

Selorian Raising up her hair to fasten the necklace, Trent discovered a zipper pull just inside her hair line on the back of her neck. #storystarters

Selorian Ripples of time crashed in, trapping him in a turbulent inner storm born from his own past mistakes. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks “Have a care, dear,” Grams said, patting my hand as my boyfriend got the car. “Monsters don’t advertise themselves as such.” #storystarters

jessrosenbooks His eyes were solemn. “You cannot know what will come. Everything leaves ripples beyond your vision.” He held out his hand. #storystarters

Selorian “If I died tomorrow, I’d still love you forever.” Tears welled in her eyes as he spoke. “Words of love can break hearts too.” #storystarters

Selorian There are places where rules don’t apply. The laws of physics mean nothing & reality is an illusion. My town is one of them. #storystarters

Selorian Too many times my hands have gotten me in trouble. They make gestures, pick up things, and hurt people. #storystarters

katirra Cinderella didn’t expect a Fairy Godmother to be riding in on a Harley with a t-shirt, saying ‘Born to Spell” & a gun rack. #storystarters

katirra Thanksgiving was officially out of hand when Auntie Em hopped on the table & started singing “I’m too sexy”. #storystarters

katirra Opening her eyes, she saw a spider the size of a cat crawling on the bed. Jumping for the door, she saw a 2nd approaching. #storystarters

Selorian Tarot cards vibrated on the table. The fortune tellers eyes widened as they flew into the air and fluttered around the room. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Why weren’t the neighbors coming out, too? The thing that landed in the street lit up the night sky & kept calling her name. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Mary thought she might love Lyle. So nice, made her smile, feel special. Feel tingles. “Hello, Millie,” he said as he passed. #storystarters

Selorian Time crashed in, eating away at him like vultures tearing flesh from a carcass. Was time travel really worth the pain? #storystarters

Selorian Leaping. Backstepping. Television had plenty of terms and methods for time travel. None of them came close to the real thing. #storystarters

Selorian Flies circled the body but didn’t dare land on it. The two figures approached it in full biohazard gear. #storystarters

Selorian The wind smelled foul and sounded unsettled. It wasn’t going to be a good day. #storystarters

Selorian Enough coffee in me now to try some #storystarters to get the day, and the muse, to rolling. #amwriting

jessrosenbooks Sleep eluded Maria. Like a greased marble, it slipped from her grasp. Hours yawned before dawn. #storystarters

valeca The night began with “Oh, and Mr. [Patient X] has flesh-eating disease”… and went downhill from there. #storystarters

valeca It all started to go wrong when she asked, “Do you mind if I kill you?” #storystarters

jessrosenbooks The Freyan was exotic, smooth skin & wearing a sarong. So different from home, where everyone had soft fur and clothes. #storystarters

Selorian Her breath caught in her throat as tears filled her eyes. He’d been her world. Fifty years he had promised. Now he was gone. #storystarters

Selorian Air shimmered in front of him like a mirage in the desert. Wind whipped the trees & a dark figure stepped out to look at him. #storystarters

Selorian Veins wiggled beneath his skin as the bugs entered the bloodstream and moved from his hand to his forearm. #storystarters

Selorian He stared down the barrel of the gun pointed at him. ” You better shoot me, because if you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” #storystarters

Selorian It isn’t what the government doesn’t say we should fear, but those they do say. #storystarters

Selorian There was more to the noises we heard than the settling noises made by a hundred year old house. Something was there. #storystarters

Selorian “Roswell was a media decoy. It was fabricated to draw attention away from what actually crashed in upper Washington state.” #storystarters

Selorian “Go ahead and be the heroe. I’ll be remembered for the bad I did long after the good you did is forgotten.” #storystarters

Selorian He had finally accepted the duality within him. The knowledge of what he was capable of was still crippling at times. #storystarters

thefourpartland The sword flickered in the early morning haze, catching Malcolm by surprise. #storystarters

thefourpartland The sun crept over the horizon, illuminating the battlefield beneath. #storystarters

Saffy Gone was the time of choices, gone was the hope of a 1000 peoples, doom scented the air, which vibrated purple #storystarters

entrebat “Keypad with a rotating code, biometric locks, laser sensors, pulse monitors,” Ruth gave a sidelong glance, “you in?” #storystarters

entrebat The job was the job. He just had to squeeze the trigger. Lane looked down the barrel at his brother and whispered a prayer. #storystarters

Selorian Broken promises she could tolerate. Even a broken bone once. But when he broke her spirit, it was time to leave. #StoryStarters

entrebat The tiny needles penetrated Jose’s skin as relentlessly as the android administering the torture. Jose hated the machines. #storystarters

entrebat The sandstorms were hell. Sara came out of the desert upon what remained of the city. There had to be something left to loot. #storystarters

Selorian Simple spells had a way of never being that way. She once destroyed a house trying to turn the page of her book. #StoryStarters

Selorian It was depressing to look up at the desolate surface of the Earth. #storystarters

ClaireGoverts Sometimes it came down to a matter of who one knew. And apparently she didn’t know the people she needed to. #storystarters

ClaireGoverts Revenge is a dish best served cold, he thought while placing the files in a spot sure to be noticed by the right person. #storystarters

entrebat Smiles were erased at once. The sheer terror that gripped the crowd was overwhielming. Someone screamed. A gun fired. I ran. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Cars sat still, crowded. “I wonder what happened,” my wife said. “A man died in his car,” Ellie responded. “He just told me.” #storystarters

Selorian “If it were true only four leaf clovers brought luck, then there would indeed be very little luck in the world.” #storystarters

Selorian Lines stretched for blocks as people waited for their rations. Starvation instead of annihilation. The aliens were smart. #storystarters

Selorian She wore her Master’s mark. No one but her knew it was there and that made it even more delectable. She’d go to Hell for him. #storystarters

kristengajdos He needed find her before time ran out and she was gone forever. #storystarters

Suzanne_Rock Darien Lange only have a few short hours before the demon lord would awaken. #storystarters #WIP #amwriting

jessrosenbooks With care and precision, she shaped the chocolate chip cookies, hiding a little tablet in each one. #storystarters

Selorian ‘Space, the final frontier.’ How fitting a saying for the afterlife we all eventually end up in after we die. #storystarters

Selorian Leaves drifted down lazily on the fall breeze as he sat on the steps looking at the graveyard in his back yard. #storystarters

Selorian She tested the water with the tip of her toe from a flat rock. The lake had to be tolerable if she was going to drown him. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Shoving my hands in my pockets to hide the shaking, I turned and walked away from him, fully aware this walk may be my last. #storystarters

Saffy Crystal bars had her locked in tighter to this nightmare than any iron in the history of man, Mil shuddered… #storystarters

jessrosenbooks The veg garden was gorgeous this year. The neighborhood was quieter than last year. Nice when a plan comes together. #storystarters

entrebat Troy stared hard at the blank page in front of him wondering if he could truly kill her instead of just writing about it. #storystarters

Selorian Mechanical gears engaged & the steel doors began to close. Caden watched the dust blot out the sun as the doors sealed. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks As every morning since the meds ran out, she shook the bottle as though it would change. Today, something rattled in it. #storystarters

Selorian He knew the woods like the back of his hand, but in the dark & running for his life, they were as foreign as a distant land. #storystarters

katirra Looking into the pinic basket bewildered, Tim saw only condiments and his date holding a large butcher knife. #storystarters

Selorian The road home was a dirt lane that I had promised myself I’d never to go back down again. Yet, there I was. #storystarters

Saffy The darkness crawled behind Alice’s eyes, she waited controlling her breath, chiding herself for being childish #storystarters

katirra As Dan slithered away, he wondered at his wisdom in telling the witch that he was leaving her for another woman. #storystarters

Selorian “She’s the Keeper of Things That Must Never Be Spoken Of,” he said, waving to the woman behind him. “And you’re one of them.” #storystarters

Selorian Fissures spread across the sky, opening wide to reveal a glowing darkness within that pulled everything toward it. #storystarters

Selorian He cast aside any remnants of self-doubt still clinging to him after the words she had spoken and ran after her. #storystarters

Selorian When he rose, the sun rose. When he slept, the sun set. The days and the seasons gathered around him and became one with him. #storystarters

milwaukeewriter Trying is the first step to failure. So what do I do? Not trying works just as good, with minimal effort expended. #storystarters #amwriting

Selorian: The swamps were filled with gators, poisonous snakes , and other dangers. None of those were what worried him. #storystarters

The swamps were filled with gators, poisonous snakes, and other dangers. None of those were what worried him. After all Jeramy had grown up in these swamps, he knew the calls of the animals and the slipper-soft sound of an alligator. People where always supprised how fast they moved - Even lethargic, they were lethal!

He punted his flat wide boat across murky water towards stilted houses. The grey milky wood of them, smooth and skeletal, was decked with fresh flowers, vines cut from monsterous trees around him. The flowers, fleshy and sweet smelling, would live for a few weeks, then puss into brown sludge over night - they were already dead, they just didn’t realise it. Just like the inhabitants of the houses.

Jeramy tied the boat up and hefted himself up the rope ladder, swaying, feeling heavy in his leather trench coat and armaments, his hat trapped sweat on his brow - clothing unsuited for the muggy swamps. He had known this but they were his identity now, his life away from the infested swamps. His body remembered this world though, remembered daring to swing across the gator pools and licking poisonous frogs with his play mates.

He remembered cheering as the older boys went off to do their initiations and how he had been confused when his little sister Miriam had gone with them and not come back. How he had searched the swamps for her and seen the coldness grow in his mother.

The flowers, looking like dismembered body bits, hampered his rise to the platform. Drums were banging out a fast tempo that hung in the air. Every five years this came round, every five years, this would be the second since his own coming of age, since his own failure to become part of it. He shouldn’t have survived the punishment for that failure - the scars on his arms tingled.

‘Halt! were do you come from?’ Asked the withered man before him, the milk teeth necklace he wore jangled as he rose. Mariam’s smiling face surged in Jeramy’s memory, Jenna’s frightened one replaced it, sobbing with blood gushing from her mouth.

‘I am no stranger here, Padre,’ Jeramy rasped. Vocal cords did not mend well.

The priest looked at him, skin browned by the wind and sun that streamed through the trees over the stretches of murky water. ‘I do not know you are you from one of the neighbouring homesteads?’. Jeramy shock his head. Others had begun appearing around him, little bare legged children, in tattered threadbare clothes. Women, solemn in age and bright with youth.

‘Ah but Padre, you created me.’ Jeramy smiled. His mother, old and haggard, appeared. His smile shuddered.

‘Jeramy?’ she asked in a whisper, how could she know? He face was different now, his voice, everything really.

The Priest gave a signal, Jeramy saw the men of the village edging in for the attack. ‘Jeramy, our accursed son! You are back are you? You failed in you rite of passage - banishment is the punishment! You should not have returned.’ With a flick of his hand the Priest set the strength of the village on him. He sliced through them, indiscriminatly knowing he was cutting down kin - but they had gone through the rite, they must die. The bile rose, anger threatened to mist his vision at the thought of his sister and how some of them passed that rite.

Women and children huddled around, splattered with their men’s blood, crying softly. The Priest still stood, white with shock; he looked grey and dirty. Jeramy smiled, ‘Exiled? He tells you all those who fail are exiled? And what of the girls? What does he tell you of them?’

Silence filled the room, except swamps are never quiet, and the weeping of children could not be stemmed - he didn’t want it to be - a lot more tears needed to be shed - more blood to be spilt.

‘He says they go off to the Dome-Cities to be educated and have a life we hope they’ll return with one day.’ One of the women said.

‘Have any?’ he asked knowing the answer. They shook their heads.

‘Tell them, Padre’ he rasped, ‘tell them what you actually do with their children,’ the Priest shuddered, glaring.

‘I founded and saved this community! After the great war! The war to end all wars! There are no domed-cities, we are what’s left - here in the swamps.’ Whispers surged, fear had gripped these people.

‘Then where do you send the little girls?’ his mother asked suddenly.

The Priest stood, not answering.

Jeramy smiled lopsidedly, ‘I failed the ritual because I couldn’t stomach what he said should happen to Jenna.’

He spotted the woman he thought was Jenna’s mother - her head flicked up from the child she was cuddling. ‘He takes us to a cave at the edge of the swamp and then… then he takes the girl and gets the boys to do the same, after each had pulled one of her teeth out.’ Cries went up from the women. ‘I do not know what comes next as he slit my wrists and pushed me in the gator pool.’

His mother and the other women were all staring at the Priest. He smiled. ‘But ladies the girls live on, they are with us still! I bring them back to the village’ he said. More horror as they realised whaat the ceremonial meat was. His mother was trembling, she picked up the Priest’s ceremonial stick.

‘I have to keep the population down! We are the only survivors!’ he said.

‘We are not,’ Jeramy hissed, ‘there was one bomb, a team from the cities found me, skull fractured, drowned and half eaten - the world still exists, they re-built me father!’

‘Then why did you return?’ the Priest asked.

‘To kill the guilty ones, that’s my job now, and all of these… men they had tortured a child too death they had not said no, and worse they did not tell the women!’

Jeramy, pulled out a blunt nosed gun and stood resolute, but he could not pull the trigger, the Priests eyes were yellow like the a true preditor, his mother swung the staff with a sickening sound, the other women moved in, ripping the Priest apart.

Technically they were guilty too, but Jeramy decided to ignore that fact - just this once.

This story is from a #storystarters by Selorian

DOOMSDAY

The dust settled on the Google Wars of 2012 on December 21st & the internet juggernaut’s victory led to the Mayan doomsday - well sort off anyway.

China, incensed at Google, decided to put all their resources into DOS attacks taking out the economic hub of the western world right around christmas and killing the January sales. They also sliced, bombed and generally messed up any peer to peer cables they could get their hands on - which was, oh, all of them. They then blasted all satellites out of the sky, bar their own.

The world was in turmoil - no internet, no shopping, no TV. Mass global communication was down - economics ground to a halt, banking had stupidly relied on systems that were nuked by the DOS attacks. Mobile phones ceased to ring. Financial apocalypse.

But Amy didn’t care about most of it. The panicked doomsday riots had been scary but she had hidden in a storm drain and slowly worked her way through the tinned food she had stored near by. After the riots had calmed down and the police had bashed a few heads she had sneaked back out with her rucksack and filled up on food and clothing from the trashed shops. She went back five times that night and repeated the process every night until the shop keepers got their acts together and boarded up the windows and doors. She was very careful - living on the street for the past five years had taught her to vary where she came from and where she went too. She had caches of food and clothing all over the place. If you always went to the same place people noticed - the wrong type of people noticed.

Amy was maybe 17; she wasn’t sure and she looked older now, the elements and cold nights had aged her, she was thin but robust, nicely rounded by the layers and layers of illsorted clothes. And out of most of the population of the UK she had guessed the truth and was waiting for the invasion - she had seen the tactic played out a few times - once unfortunately on herself. The boys would follow you to your nest and rough you up a bit, rape you none too gently and leave - telling Ricardo, or Gary or Al where you were. He’d wait until you emerged from your stinking hole, all friendly and smiles, offering you resources such as pain killers, food and a warm bed to sleep in.

And then you found yourself hooking for him, fucking men three times your age to line his pockets; but you where warm and fed until - and this was the inevitable bit - he got stabbed or shot or ODed or even arrested for something or other. Then you were back on the streets having lost your edge.

This is what would happen now to the western world, Amy surmised, and then China would be heros and the populations and resources of the western world would be laid at their feet. For Amy wasn’t stupid and she had seen the news reports before things got bad - it was unknown international pirates who had cut the P2P networks and pirates who had sunk the transport ships that bought cheap food into England. And that was something that worried Amy - England had built on its farm land, had forgotten how to farm; her mother, before the paranoia got too bad, had explained the island’s history to her. She knew there would be mass starvation soon.

Amy frowned and looked at her bitten fingers, with infections pussing next to at least three nails. There was that old World War Two bunker she had found in the woods just outside town - she got the jitters and moved her stashes there - a few a night, being clever about it. She had more than she thought, but not enough. She took a shopping trolly and broke into a ware house and stole medicines, then in another part of town she stole bottled water, then camping supplies and more food.

She did this for what seemed an age and the ice melted and the nights grew shorter. She went to different towns, always fearing that they would catch her, but cameras were dead all relying on the infastructure that wasn’t there anymore; and security guards were recruited into the police. Then one night, with daffodils pushing out of their green pods, the sky flashed white. Amy was pushing a trolly of books from a library - she didn’t know why she had taken them but it seemed the right thing to do. She was behind a building when it happened.

But she still wet herself. Blinded momentarily by the blast, she ran, and ran to her bunker, emptied the trolly of books down the hatch and scambled in behind them. She closed the hatch just as the rain begain to pour.

Panting, she flicked her torch on and hooked a car battery up to some LED lighting she’d nicked. She changed and washed and then sorted the books. She picked up a rather old battered book she’d found on the libarian’s desk - it obviously belonged to them personally - she almost hadn’t taken it.

It was called “Life After Doomssay”. She had a feeling she’d made the right decision.

I have found like the most useful hashtag on twitter for short story writers! It is: #storystarters - I have gone back through the archive and extracted the ones I want to use in future and I will do a round up of the ones I like in future Looking at the list it looks like Selorian is my favourite but then he is also the most active My Friday Flash Doomsday yesturday was from one of his starters!

Selorian: Nightmares can be woken from and forgotten. There isn’t that luxury with real life. #storystarters

Selorian: Strong convictions only get in the way of a successful political career. #storystarters

Selorian: The swamps were filled with gators, poisonous snakes , and other dangers. None of those were what worried him. #storystarters

Selorian: It was driven into him that he was the bad kid–a monster. He was neither; he was autistic & people were too scared to care. #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters Death seemed to follow her, leaving a swath of suffering in her wake. Would there be no end to it?

Selorian: The coffee was a special alien blend. Twelve varieties of beans chosen for their ability to raise creativity. #storystarters

The tender spot had moved overnight. She winced as she felt her stomach & pain flared. Then something moved under her skin. #storystarters

Selorian: The giggling grew louder. Two girls, younger than his daughter, sat cross legged in the darkness in the cemetery. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: She ran. Her pulse was so loud, she didn’t hear footsteps. The window was her only chance. Jerked back, she heard ripping. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: The snow was maddening. Its cold. Its smell. The brightness, the quiet. The crunch of footsteps split the silence. #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters . Her lifeless body was being tossed back and forth mercilessly against the cliff wall by the huge angry waves.

Selorian: She dipped her fingers into his chest and played with his heart. Hatred morphed into love within his watching eyes. #storystarters

Selorian: She clutched the faded blue cloth rose as she ran through the swaying wheat.He’d kill her for taking it, just like her mother.#storystarters

Selorian: Sixty steps true west from the twisted tree. A slab of limestone protruded from the ground. Hell waited below it. #storystarters

Selorian: Concern etched across his face as listened to the person on the cell phone. She watched tied & naked from the bed as he left. #storystarters

katirra: Between dodging bebe guns & amorous males, she regretted her wish to spend a day as a squirrel. No wonder the genie laughed. #storystarters

Selorian: RT @melissamurphy2: #storystarters She heard the cries of pain and terror from a dozen or more anguished voices at once and felt his del …

Selorian: The dust devil crossed the parking lot as she waited, picking up litter in its small, but very real, fury. #storystarters

Selorian: The weight of the pistol grew with the realization of what he’d done. She stared wide-eyed, waiting for him to join her. #storystarters

ClaireGoverts: So this is the end of the world? She’d thought there would be more fire. #storystarters

gregmcqueen: He stuck out his tongue to catch a falling snowflake. Then he spat, as his mouth filled with the bitter taste of ash. #storystarters

Selorian: There was no hiding the wonder in her eyes as she looked out across the frozen landscape of standing corpses. #storystarters

Selorian: The switching of life forces had been outlawed, but he didn’t have any choice if either of them were going to survive. #storystarters

katirra: A six-foot hot pink alien woman wearing lime bib overalls was not what Bruce was expecting when he opened his eyes. #storystarters

wotv: “I dare you,” she said, her eyes cold. “I dare you touch it.” #storystarters

wotv: Standing at the edge of the pool, she swallowed the remaining scotch and prepared to die. #storystarters

katirra: Dashing for the bathroom Fred now knew why “The Beast” malt liquor was on sale for $0.69 a can. #storystarters

summoner2100: He sat at his desk typing an email. The phone rang. It was his boss. He didn’t want to pick it up but he had to. #storystarters

Selorian: The maple tree shook as he tapped it, as if hit by a stiff breeze, and crimson liquid began slowly dripping into the bucket. #storystarters

gregmcqueen: As he let her lifeless body drop from his hands,Ray’s mind burned with a question that had plagued him for years. WHY? #storystarters

Selorian: “Two hearts beat within him. His and the heart of the man who died two hundred years earlier.” #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters The swirling colors and lights dancing with shadows twisted in front her and Alisa was spell bound, unable to look away.

CascadeLily: The man with eyes the colour of night stood over the body. “You are going to hell,” said the old lady. The man simply smiled. #storystarters

summoner2100: He stood at the end of the corridor. The empty elevator shaft was his only escape. @storystarters

darcknyt: #storystarters She took a long slow drag from her cigarette, blew out the plume, and licked the blood off her fingertips one at a time.

darcknyt: “Do…do you see that?” she said, eyes wide. He followed her stare, and pointing finger. The he saw it and his breath caught. #storystarters

marisabirns: Just before he left home for good, Hal made a pot of soup for the family. #storystarters

Selorian: She enjoyed the lingering feel of him on her skin. Mixing his ashes with a little aloe was a wonderful idea. #storystarters

FutureNostalgic: Now just what is that doing there he thought, poking the festering object with his toe. #storystarters

HeatherMeMaher: He scratched and dug until the skin broke, fascinated by the perfect sphere of blood forming at the top of the bug bite. #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters She glanced around the room nervously once more as if searching for hidden demons still lurking in the shadows.

jessrosenbooks: The time came for her to stay in the house alone. Trembling, she tried not to remember scrubbing the kitchen ceiling. #storystarters

Selorian: He knew they called him the Jester King. He supposed it was appropriate. Make him laugh and he spared your life. #storystarters

Selorian: Setting off explosions to create controlled avalanches was dangerous work, but he enjoyed the power too much to give it up. #storystarters

Selorian: The pitter-patter of little feet in the hall normally woke her each morning. Today it was the absence of it that did. #storystarters

katirra: Mystified and frustrated by vague instructions, he dumped the bicycle parts on the sidewalk. #storystarters

katirra: Drinking moonshine while cooking turned out to be a bad idea. #storystarters

Selorian: The end of time is when the clocks slow down, stop, and begin ticking away again backwards. #storystarters

Selorian: It’s in our darkest hour that the darkest part of us, our primal instinct to survive no matter the cost, is revealed again. #storystarters

Selorian: It took the end of the world for peace to prevail. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: Theatrically, he proclaimed, “How do I love thee?” His grin became wolfish as he reached into his pocket. “Like this.” #storystarters

HeatherMeMaher: “This one time I was eating a french fry and I choked and died.” Dan shook his head. Goddamn five-year old liar, he thought. #storystarters

Selorian: “Once in a lifetime experience,” the man shouted from the exhibit. “Experience death at the hands of Jack the Ripper!” #storystarters

Selorian: “Keep the damn dog,” she hissed, dragging her luggage out the door. “He requires too much attention, just like you!” #storystarters

Selorian: The blades flashed and a sudden pain erupted in his chest. Stumbling back, he looked down at a sword buried between two ribs. #storystarters

Selorian: “Time to die,”came the whisper again. The basement had been the morgue. Was it a threat or a statement the spirit was making? #storystarters

Selorian: Playing a ouija board in the middle of an Indian graveyard at the stroke of midnight is never a good thing. #storystarters

Selorian: It came into town through the train tracks. A crackling blue energy riding the rail and intent on dragging us all to hell. #storystarters

Selorian: “The only thing I hate about fingerfood is when they forget to remove the fingernails and the rings.” #storystarters

Selorian: He took a sip of the strawberry shake as he removed the covers from his scope. One shot and it was off to see a movie. #storystarters

HeatherMeMaher: It was Freeman’s day to kill. But the knife, still crusted with last week’s blood, seemed dull. #storystarters

Jessy and her mother opened the door of The Old Bakery and crunched their way through the foot or so of snow. They went up the steps to the Lawn behind the Mill and began to collect the snow to make a snowman. Jessy was excitedly instructing were the snowman should go but her mother was struggling, she didn’t really like the lawn bit of the garden. It gave her the ‘willies’ at the best of times but the snows blinding half light made things worse, with the sound of the waterfall whispering around her.

If she dwelt to much on that then her imagination would spark and that was not a good thing in a property as old as this one. She’d been the one drawn here though collecting its history - the lawn had been the Mill pond.

Jessy was calling to her, obviously her attention had wandered, she assembled the snowman in Jessy’s exact spot. The four year old was most adamant that the snowman had to be there and got upset that it was too tall so being the mum she was it got shortened.

They dug out some stones from under a bench and used a long dead feather lilac flower for the nose. Jessy’s mum looked at it and shuddered. It was awful, scary as hell but Jessy was bouncing about it. ‘You like your snowman do you?’

‘Snow-girl mummy!’ she insisted.

Jessy’s mum felt very cold, ‘lets go get hot chocolate.’ she said ushering the two of them in away from the snowman.

Later Jessy’s dad shrugged at the snowman, ‘looks freaky.’

‘She doesn’t!’ said Jessy upset, ’she’s my friend!’ the parents looked at each other.

Then when they were putting her to sleep Jessy asked them when the snow-girl would come alive and come into the house. Thinking of the snowman story, they pandered. ‘Maybe tonight,’ shivered Jessy’s mum.

Later on when they themselves where in bed they really wished they hadn’t, there was a rattle and a thump - dressing rapidly they scrambled onto the landing expecting burglars. Jessy was stirring in her bed. They got to the stairs; the snowman’s miss-matched eyes looked up at them.

Where Jessy’s mum had made a groove for its mouth it split and tried to talk, but the language sounded brittle and like Shakespeare. They understood the gist of it, scared Jessy’s mum began down the stairs, ‘Elizabeth no!’ her husband shouted.

‘But Daddy’ Jess said from his side, ‘Catherine just wants to come home and be with her mummy.’

Jessy’s mum stood and looked at the snowman with its misshapen head, ‘would.. would you like to sit by the fire?’ she asked swallowing hard. It nodded, she lead it to the living room. It seemed confused but settled down. Jessie’s daddy closed the door and stared.

Jessy got some toys out and to her parents surprise begin to play with the monster.

The parents watched as the snowman slowly became a puddle socking their little girl who held a mostly one sided conversation with the thing. Finally it was too much for Jessy’s mother, ‘Jessy tell your friend goodnight and go get some dry pyjamas on!’ Reluctantly the child left. The snowman stared at Elizabeth forlornly. ‘G.. goodnight Catherine’ she stammered and to her own surprise covered it up with the throw from the settee, ‘that should warm you up’ she said.

On their way up the stairs Jessy’s mum began to cry, ‘its been so cold and alone’ she whispered. The door banged open once more and the two parents turned in dread, the smell of fresh baked bread wafted over them and a timber voice hovered in the air, the same Shakespearean tongue but they understood what it meant, ‘I told you she’d find her way home mum,’ and then the breeze was gone and the door closed firmly behind it.

…..

The New Bakery languished in the snow drift as the young man of 15 made his way with hand cart through the wall of snow, there was bread to deliver and later there would be provisions to bring back for the Bakers and Millers across the way. The set up worked well on the water from the stream, he snorted, if the ice lingered much longer the river would freeze and they’d be reliant on the stored flour. He huffed up the hill, ‘Thomas! wait for me!’ came the high little voice of his sister.

‘Go home Catherine its too cold out.’

‘I can make it! I can be helpful! Please?’ she begged, her eyes on him, large with hope.

‘No back to the Bake House!’ he demanded. He heard the resignation in her voice and stop to check, she would be safe back in the house soon and he wouldn’t have to worry about were a miserable 8 year old was.

Catherine skipped in the snow, powdery clouds bloomed around her and her thick skirts made a strange trail behind her she seemed to like the snow.

He sighed and continued his cold boring journey at least there was a tavern in the village and another on the high road that lead to the cities.

It was getting dark by the time he returned, brushing the snow off his boots he could smell the bread baking, the door opened, ‘Yes Catherine I’ll tell you all about it!’ he said almost crossly but mostly amused.

‘Is she not with you?’ came his mothers voice, tight and frightening, Thomas looked up from his boots and straightened shaking his head, his stomach leaping.

His mother yelled and his dad stomped down the stairs and Dudley came out of the bellows house. They were all focusing on Tom. ‘I… I told her to go back at the end of the lane this morning.’ His mothers paleness told him everything. ‘I’ll go to the Millers! She’ll be back probably just playing’ he said turning back into the snow.

Alex hated his life, his home, his family, they had become a millstone around his neck, they were demanding and lovely and he hated them, even his five year old daughter Nina who would spend her days painting him beautiful pictures.

His wife had insisted he take the children to see Santa Cluas. He couldn’t see the point, surely all it did was foster silly ideas in their heads, but he had smacked Milissa again and she couldn’t take them as she couldn’t show her face in public. Guilt and loathing racked him and so he took the three kids with their runny noses and sticky hands to the shopping mall.

Nina was bouncing visibly with excitement at the glittering and annoyingly flashy lights. What a waste of time and resources - this was not going to be teaching them how to save the planet. Inside there was a Santa Grotto surrounded by bored looking students in elf hats and ears and a very very long queue. He sighed and tagged them onto the end.

‘Daddy?’ Nina asked quietly, he ignored her, ‘Daddy? Why don’t we go see the other Father Christmas?’ She tugged incesently at his sleeve. He looked into the old covered market annexed to the new shiny mall and there was indeed another grotto.

‘Oh yes please Dad!’ Jeramy said. There was no queue and it looked like it would be a lot cheaper, made of wood with some grey looking fake snow that did not glitter.

He conceeded and they headed over to it. The gotto was constructed of silvered wood that looked like it belonged on a beach rather than in a shopping centre, there were shutters with no glass or perspex in the windows. No Christmas lights and just a few pine bowers dropping needles forlornly on the floor intertwined with some viscous looking holly denuded of its festive red berries.

‘Oh wow real reindeer!’ Cheryl his eight year old squealed and begain patting the smelly creatures, Alex’s nose begain to sting from the cold, the air con must have been switched on to get rid of the animal smell - well, it wasn’t working.

There were no cheery elves either; just an old woman dressed drably and bulkily in coarse looking material; she smiled, but still looked like she had eaten far too many of her own home made pies. Alex asked her how much it cost and was pleased to hear it was free, but when he saw Santa he was not suprised that there was no queue.

The man looked more like a lumber jack in a similar brown ‘dress’ to Mrs Claws. He had a dirty looking flowing beared and a mass of white yellowed hair cascading from a fur lined leather hat. Bright beetle black eyes glinting in grooved skin, crinkling his whole face in loud silent laughter. The man was repulsive. The kids however flocked to him, in his large wooden… throne.

Nina smiled at him. ‘Can I have a happy mummy?’ she said quietly. Alex caught the words and angry shame flared in him. He glared at his little daughter. Santa boomed a laugh and fixed him with a stare. Alex felt even colder and stomped his feet impatiently.

Santa reached into a rough brown sack and brought out a snow globe which he handed to the delighted child. She cradled it as if it were a new kitten. ‘Daddy what are you going to ask Santa for?’ she said innocently.

‘For you lot to fuck off.’ he said meaning it. Ninas brown eyes brimmed with tears, Santa’s dark ones where studying them both, the old man smiled mirthlessly at Alex.

Alex dragged the kids home feeling unsettled, especially as he’d noticed one of the riendeers had been deformed - six legs. Creepy. Maybe he’d had too much whisky last night after all.

…

That evening he took his guilt out on his pasty faced wife with her puffy eyes and limp hands. She looked a sight when he’d finished and the kids lay silent and wide eyed in their beds, holding their breaths till they heard their mothers sobs.

The stupid snow globe was on the mantle piece with its light-house and seashell resin base. It was, to his suprise made of actual glass and quiet heavy. He threw it at his fucking miserable wife.

The world twitched and jurked, he felt like he was falling.

…

He awoke to the sound of the sea, there was a chill in the air, dazed he looked around him. Was he in the attic? His head felt a bit odd but he stood up. He could smell something like electricity. Milky white light was streaming in. A large beveled glass triangle took up most of the room, giving him the strange impression a fish was looking at him from three different directions at once. Puzzled, he noticed a door and stepped out onto a circular balcony. The sky was a wierd distortion of colour making him dizzy. He looked over the rails to a sea of white below.

Breathing hard he looked into the sky once more. A pair of large brown eyes clouded the sky, distorted… and then they where spinning, now they were upside down; now just shuddering across the sky.

The sky settled again but his view of it was obscured by the large white flakes that swerled in instant blizzard around him. He retreated shivering inside - where the hell was he?

…

Nina put her snow globe back on the mantle piece watching the white swerl, it was strange but she thought there was a person in the lighthouse, she hadn’t noticed them yesterday when Santa had given her it. Mrs Nelson from next door was fixing them some dinner. Mummy was still in the hospital and the police hadn’t been able to find her daddy. Nina felt sad but also hopeful, she felt sure it had been the real Santa they’d seen yesterday and somehow she felt both her parents had got what they wished for.

Deceived and broken she lay, her body twisted and inert now, the body she had hated so much as she had grown up. They’d left it there like so much rubbish, but she had not been rubbish, she had been a buetiful woman - something she had always wanted, she hadn’t quiet been there, had still been saving but no one could tell that from the outside.

They had told her she was pretty and had merely smiled when she had explained her predicament and had told her to follow them for a good time. So thrilled to find people so happy to be with her. They had plied her with drinks and took her out into the back ally. And there they had called her a faggot and striped her naked, told her she was the deceiver - of how she polluted the minds of the young. What a freak! *Despicable* - all truths she knew. She begged them to stop but they said her kind had to go, they said many had to go, they said they’d leave them all in the gutter just like her.

*But* she mused as she sat there looking at the corpse, they had deceived themselves, they took what they really wanted from her, pretending that it was punishement, denying their own intenations. She at least had known what she was. And now she was free and she was most definitely a she - she just had to make sure she picked the right body this time round.