Gee

Gee ran his rusted scalple along the snail’s belly, splitting the coagulated mass in two. The body of the mollusk was still fresh enough that it hadn’t completely hardened or dried up yet. Instead, the previously slippery surface was now slightly tacky. Gee took a small paint brush and rubbed it along the newly exposed flesh. He hummed a little tune to himself as he focused.

When the brush had collected enough mucus, Gee walked a few feet over to the table at the other side of the shack. On top of the large platform were two projects he had been working on for some time. First, was a golden helmet made with some cheap metal and spray paint. It was more like a baseball cap without the rim, and it had two large antannae-like strips on top that curved their way a foot into the air above. As an interesting feature, Gee had taken long, black strands of hair, which he had gotten in town from one of the barbers, and attached them around the inside brim. His intention was to hide his face as much as possible when he donned the creation.

The second project, which had taken more time, precision, and care, was much closer to Gee’s heart. Sitting next to the completed helmet was a gigantic, unfinished replica of a snail’s shell. Gee always had a fascination with the little creature’s homes, and one gloomy day a few months prior, he had decided to build one of his own.

To make it as organic as possible, Gee had taken hundreds of snails that he had found in the woods around his house, and with their own slime he had glued crushed pieces of their own shells together. So far it was all holding up really well, even after he sanded the materials into one smooth, brown-speckled surface. All that was left was one final piece.

Gee brushed the slime on the large mouth of the shell, and held the last bit in place. He removed his hand a few seconds later, stepped back, and admired the result of all of his hard efforts. Gee wanted to try out his new creations right away, but practiced some self restraint first as he discarded the remnants of his most recent victim, cleaned the brush, and put away his scalple and other tools.

With nothing holding him back, Gee fastened the helmet onto his head. The hair almost did its job too well. He could barely see anything in front of him. With a little bit of difficulty he wrapped his arms around the shell, about four feet in diameter, and squeezed his way through the shack’s fat door.

It was fall, and the forest where he lived had transformed into a golden wonderland. A canopy made up primarily of yellow leaves spread out above him and enriched the rays of sun shining on those that had already plummeted to the ground below.

“What a beautiful day,” Gee rasped, “A good day.”

Gee undressed himself down to nothing. He put his clothes in a small pile near the shack door, and then squated down near his shell. Much like the helmet, he had tacked on a belt to the inside of the shell so he could fasten it around his body. He buckled the belt around his waist, much like how he did in his truck, and got down on his hands and knees. The shell was a lot lighter on his back than he had originally anticipated.

Naked, Gee massaged the ground with his body, and using his toes he slowly inched forward. The dirt felt very interesting against his torso, and the twigs underneath scraped hard against his body; cutting up his stomach and legs. He smelled the grass. It was a good smell. And, he nibbled on a golden leaf or two.

The experience was so amazing to Gee, that a few tears started to trickle down his cheeck.

When he realized how dirty he was, Gee decided to crawl to the stream nearby. Once there, he washed himself, and his tears combined with the fresh, crisp water. In the middle of his bath as a snail, Gee saw a deer walk into view. He froze, staring at the large four legged animal. For a while, it stared back at him.

'A Snail' created and posted on DeviantArt by maCGot

He became so fascinated with the smooth look of the deer’s skin and started to wonder what kind of new experiences he could have if he had the same material wrapped around his body; hooves in his hands.

Gee started crawling closer to the deer. Slowly but surely, he would do anything to capture one. He wasn’t sure how he would do it with his bare hands, but it was worth trying. He moved a few feet. The deer didn’t budge. He moved a few feet closer, and the deer just stared at him, wondering if he should dash away or not.

For a brief moment Gee thought he would be successful. In a weird, illogical way, he had truly thought that come nightfall he would be wearing a deer skin. And then the deer’s ears perked up, and looked to its right. There was something in the bushes nearby that worried the deer more than Gee did. Gee could see the fear in its eyes, and he knew that at any second some squirrel or other woodland creature would completely ruin his chances. He had to pounce, and he had to do it now.

Gee ran after the deer.

The deer started to gallop away.

There was a gunshot.

Gee’s shell shattered. The snail’s glue no longer held everything together.

For the last few seconds of his life, Gee saw the deer gallop out of sight. He watched as the bushes nearby moved. He saw two hunters take off their own shells; two leafy exteriors. Gee wasn’t sure why he couldn’t move his body anymore, nor why his back hurt so bad. Everything blurred.

As his blood soaked into the earth, a few snails burrowed out from the ground, thinking it had started to rain.

Gee– Inspired by ‘A Snail’, created and posted on DeviantArt by maCGot

Noma

“Exu!” Noma called out into the black depth around her. “Exu, I need your guidance!” The heart-broken Iara was sitting on a mushroom at the most desolate spot of her swampy lake.

Camouflaging her appearance to match the fungi on which she rested, Noma had wanted to be invisible to the world around her. Her green hair, light skin, and fish-like tail formed spots in perfect comparison to the mushroom’s. Only her red eyes had been visible to passersby, but even those had been buried in her hands for most of the time.

After a while of wallowing in her unfortunes, Noma decided that she needed to be cheered up.

“Exu!” She cried. “Why won’t you come? A mortal has run off with my heart, and he has no intention of tending to it or giving it back. I fear it will never be happy again. Why won’t you help?”

Like a spotlight, Noma used her bright eyes to scan the pools around her. The corner in which she rested was especially dark. Most of the fish stayed away from the area. Not even the frogs ventured into the lifeless zone. Seaweed was scarce, and only spotted, poisonous mushrooms littered the sandy floor. Even now, Noma could only see a few caps here and there in the few feet of vision the blackness allowed.

A faint gurgling noise surrounded her.

Noma looked to her right. At the base of her perch stood three forms as black as the void they crawled out of. They were very small and resembled  young little children that the humans carried around with them in the dry world. Much like Noma, they also had glowing eyes, although theirs were green and empty. A sickly green liquid poured from their gaping mouths and coilded like seaweed into the water around them.

Noma watched the three demonic creatures walk towards the mushroom, hands outstretched, grasping the air. She withdrew her tail, moving it up onto the mushroom and away from their grasp. Their heads barely reached the top of the cap.

'Noma' - created and posted on DeviantArt by Thistly

One of the creatures belched and a large gush of the green goo expelled from its mouth. “Mother!” It said.

“Mother?” questioned Noma. “I’m sorry, little ones, but I am not your mother. I am nobody’s mother, nor do I intend to be.”

“Mother!” the other’s repeated. They inched a little closer.

“Please stay away!” Noma exclaimed, shocked and confused. Part of her tail had slipped off the side of the mushroom cap, and the child closest to it got a hold of it. Noma gasped. “Get away! Let go of me!” She now scolded the child.

More green liquid gushed out and landed on Noma’s tail. A long drawn out “EXU!” pierced the darkness.

The three children’s skin started bubbling, and within moments their frames had collapsed into three large piles of mud. Noma stared blankly at the mounds.

“How do you expect a man to love you if you treat younglings so poorly?” A deep, rumbling voice nearby vibrated the waters.  A pair of red eyes similar to Noma’s appeared a short way in the distance. The black water concealed the figure, giving the illusion that the eyes were floating.

“Exu!” Noma sighed in relief.

“You called?” Exu blinked. For a moment Noma felt alone again. “What reason would a mortal have not to love an Iara?”

“I don’t want to talk about it Exu. What is done is done, and there is nothing I can do about it. Won’t you play a game with me to cheer up my sorrow?”

Exu silently looked Noma in the eye before he spoke. “It was your tail again, I suppose?”

“Exu!” Noma broke down into tears.

“Careful now,” Exu warned. “Or you’ll contaminate your freshwater home.”

Noma took in a few large breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. “Of course it was the tail,” she said. “It’s always the tail! I’ve never been like any of the other spirits in the lakes nearby. All of them can hide their tails and walk on land to find their mates. Why can’t I do that, Exu?”

“Don’t you like being different?” he asked. “I can tell you now that the fish anywhere else aren’t happier than the ones in your lake.”

“That’s because I can’t leave! I’m always with them. I spoil them with my company. There hasn’t been a man at my shores in years, Exu! Finally one came, and before he completely fell in love with me, he spotted my tail and ran away. I’ll never have someone to share my home with.”

Exu thought about this for a while. “Come,” he said. His eyes turned, and soon the two of them were swimming out of the dark corner and into the bright, bustling community. Noma took another look at Exu. She always forgot how intimidating he looked in the light. His body was that of a young mortal man, and he covered himself in ritualistic red and black cloth that was always swirling around in the water. He wore a simplistic mask that concealed his true face, and bore a cane in his left hand.

“Where did you see this man?” he asked. Noma pointed to the east. “Lead the way.” Exu was always slightly behind her as they swam to the eastern shore.

“It was right here that I first spotted him,” she said as the two of them poked their heads out of the water near a fallen tree.

“Where was he?”

“Over there,” Noma said, pointing to a clearing through the trees.

“Show me.”

Noma didn’t know what he meant by this. “You know I can’t walk, how could I show you?”

“Go over to the land’s edge and try, won’t you?” Exu motioned towards the clearing with his cane. Noma battled with the idea for a while; there was no way she could do this, but maybe there was, no there wasn’t, yes, no, yes, no. “Where’s the harm in trying?” Exu said.

Finally, Noma decided he was right, and she swam to a spot along the coast where the land dropped off into the water. She placed her hands on the grass now level with her eyes, and paused once more in doubt.

Swiftly, with the tip of his cane, Exu scooped Noma up and tossed her onto the land.

“EXU!” She screamed. She got onto her back, and held her torso up with her arms behind her, as her tail flapped around uncontrollably. “I can’t leave the water without transforming first, you know that!”

“But you just did,” he retorted.

“Look at me!” She yelled, “I can’t control my tail! It’s not supposed to be out of the water in this form!”

“Then change!” Exu was inappropriately enjoying the Iara’s unpleasant and embarassing scene. “All of your sister spirits did it. Now you have to too if you want to survive.”

Noma struggled to keep her body upright. It was nearly impossible to steady herself or her tail.

“Concentrate!” Exu yelled.

“I can’t!” she cried out.

“You better! Or I’ll cut it in two!” Exu’s body rose out of the water and he gently placed himself in a standing position next to Noma. He raised his staff in a threatening gesture.

With all of her might, Noma closed her eyes and concentrated. She imagined her tail slowing down to a halt, and like a bird molts its feathers, she envisioned each scale falling off, one by one. The true skin was slowly being revealed to be of a light peach color, and as more of the scales plucked themselves from the girl, Noma could see a gap forming down the middle. Soon, the lower half of her body was entirely exposed, and where there had once been a large tail, now lay two slender and beautiful legs.

In all of her concentration, Noma realised her tail had stopped thrashing. She opened her eyes, and noticed that her imaginary transformation had become a reality.

“EXU! I DID IT!” She exclaimed. There was no response. Noma looked around, but he was no longer there. Instead, a bodiless voice rang through the air.

“How do you think the others managed to do it?” It rang through the trees. “Not alone, I can tell you that.” The voice laughed. “You always could do this, you know. The more you told yourself you couldn’t, the more you believed it. Sometimes, you need a big push by those you trust before you are able to take the leap alone.”

And with that, Noma could no longer feel Exu’s presence. She was now laying near the water alone.

Somewhere in the woods behind her, Noma heard a branch break. She quickly turned towards the sound. Peeking behind a tree was the mystery man who had run away in fear earlier. He must have been curious enough to come back for a second glance.

Noma’s heart skipped a beat in excitement. She smiled. “It’s ok, you can come out now,” she said. “I see you.”

The man stepped out from his hiding spot, took one look at Noma’s completely transformed appearance, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to be with her. He would live under the water with her, as was custom, and although he would grow older while Noma stayed youthful, he didn’t care. He would be hers forever; hook, line, and sinker.

Noma– Inspired by ‘Noma’ created and posted on DeviantArt by Thistly

Suzie

Twisted Pixels - Psycho Clown created and posted on DeviantArt by Nitr0gene

That bitch better not get all the attention AGAIN today. Here I am, about to risk my life for these pathetic hicks in this middle-of-nowhere-shitsville, and miss chicken-feet over there just struts around, making a fool out of herself, and all eyes go on her. I mean, what do I look like? A flower?

Suzie, the ‘hanging woman’, tightened her grip around the noose in her hand. She stepped up onto her stool and put the knotted rope around her neck.

They ask me to play along. ‘Put this noose around your neck Suzie, and we’ll teach you how to cock your neck just right so you won’t choke to death.’ And she gets a stupid chicken suit? ‘Paint your face like a clown Suzie, you’ll attract more patrons that way.’ And she gets a strap on beak that she can take off in one second?

Suzie tilted her head to the side, keeping her air-flow in tact, and stepped off. She hung there limp and closed her eyes. The striped canvas was pulled back as two men entered the tent. Bob ripped up the tickets they had just bought at a booth outside. Ricky was already doing a good job of selling the ‘freak show’ today. His sales had been through the roof lately. 

The men flocked over to the chicken-lady.

Why can’t I get that job sometimes? I understand the risk that one guy will visit the fair in two different cities, spot the difference, and point out the whole show as a fraud, but this was too unfair.

True, the firebreather and his sword-swallowing twin had reminded her that it could be worse; she could be stuck growing hair from her chin. That excuse didn’t work with Suzie though. Afterall, the bearded-lady liked her job. She found her hair to be erotic, and it was no secret around camp that the wolfman did too.

The two men watched as the girl across the way flapped her arms and clucked. They pointed and laughed.

“Lay an egg for me, freak!” they yelled.

When they grew bored, they moved on futher into the tent where the mermaid’s tank was set up. They didn’t even glance at Suzie.

If this keeps up, they’ll cancel my act.

When all of the patrons were out of earshot, and the chicken-lady sat down in her ‘nest’, Suzie yelled to her from her hanging position. “Take a break outside of the tent, will ya?” Bob gave her a warning glance, but she continued. “I’m gettin nothing here!”

Her nemesis slid the beak to her chin. Bob was close to pinching together the tent flaps just in case patrons busted in on the scene.

“It’s not my fault you’re act is dry. Maybe you should drown in the mermaid tank instead.”

Suzie growled.

Bob coughed at the two ladies as he heard Ricky outside barking up another deal. They went back to their business.

What if I actually did die? Nobody would care, that is if they even noticed. They’d just say ‘oh Suzie has been practicing her act a lot in the past MONTH’. Maybe when the flies come they’d think differently.

This time, a woman and a boy entered into the tent.  Through her closed eyes, Suzie heard a gasp.

Great, another screamer I bet.

“Sir, what is that hanging there?” The woman asked in a very concerned and stern tone.

Suzie had to hold back a smile.

“That’s the hanging woman,” Bob explained. “She had once been an innocent girl, turned evil by the devil. Years ago, she stumbled upon our camp and attempted to burn it down. We caught her before the deed was done, and hung her. The deal she made with the devil has kept her body in perfect condition.”

“Well, I find that to be highly inappropriate!” She yelled.

“This is the freak tent, miss.”

“I don’t care! Billy, stop dawdling at that chicken, we’re leaving!”

“But mom-”

“No buts! Get over here! And YOU sir,” she paused, “you better believe that I’m telling everyone what kind of SICK business you’re running here! BILLY, NOW!”

“Miss-”

The tent opened and they exited. Bob followed after. Soon, Ricky’s voice popped up in defense as the woman tried to get her money back.

Suzie slipped out of her noose and sat on the stool.

“Sounds like you’re through Suzie. You better high-tail it out of here before Bob gets back.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Suzie bit.

A few seconds went by and Bob made his way back into the tent. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He yelled at Suzie. “Get back in that noose!”

“You’re not canceling me?” Suzie was surprised.

“Not yet. One more complaint like that though, and it’s out of my hands. Now put that noose around your neck and die already. We have another wave of men outside waiting.”

“I’m sick of this Bob! Nobody likes the hanging lady!”

“So what?” Bob was getting frustrated. “You think we all love our lives here? We can’t afford to be picky. So, suck it up and get back on your stool!”

Suzie didn’t move, out of protest. Her mind was busy racing.

He only cares about the business. I’m so tired of everyone only caring about the BUSINESS! What about me? What about my happiness? I didn’t run away from home for THIS!

“NOW!” Bob yelled under his breath.

Suzie made up her mind. She was done with this world.

“FINE” she said.

Bob watched as she climbed back up onto her stool. He made a hurry up motion with his hand as he waited to open up the tent again.

“I’m just going to make sure it’s still tight enough,” Suzie said in a deflated tone as she tugged on the rope. Bob sighed. She pulled a few more times, harder and harder.

“Get on with it!” Bob piped up.

With a final tug, Suzie snapped the rod the rope hung from. Part of the tent nearby collapsed. The mermaid screamed. Suzie ran over to the chicken lady, flung the noose around her neck, and pulled. The woman lost her balance and fell over onto her side, screams muffled through her beak. Bob launched himself at Suzie as she tried dragging the chicken-lady towards the back of the tent.

His hands made contact with her head, and the two of them tumbled down to the hard dirt. She was no match for the large brute that was now on top of her, pinning her down. Bob twisted her wrist, and Suzie lost her grip on the rope. She thought it would end there, but Bob kept moving. He picked up the end of the noose Suzie had just dropped, and wrapped it around her neck. The world around her started to black out as her body convulsed, desperate for oxygen.

This is the end. This is how I die.

The world went in slow motion as Bob’s face started disappearing into the darkness. Her hearing was also going. She felt drowzy. She wanted to go to sleep.

Suzie was almost deaf when the gun went off. It sounded more like a dull thump than the sharp bang one usually hears. Bob’s grip loosened. His expression went blank. His body slowly fell closer to Suzie. Just as he was about to land on top of her, his arm buckled up and he fell to the right.

Ricky ran over, smoking barrel in hand. He pushed the dead man off of her. Suzie’s lungs filled up with air once more. Ricky helped her to a sitting position and offered her some water from the canteen in his back pocket. A few seconds went by and Suzie was back in the moment. She still felt exhausted. Her body ached.

She looked over at the chicken-lady laying on the ground as limp as a noodle, face as purple as a plum.

“Are you ok?” Ricky asked as he surveyed the scene. Suzie didn’t respond. “Who knew Bob would flip out like that,” he continued. “That complaint really got to him, but I didn’t think he’d take it out on you two like this! Let’s get you to a bed. Everything will be ok. It’s alright.”

Suzie passed out.

When she awoke, she was scotch free. Everyone blamed Bob for the incident. Nobody believed for a second that Suzie was strong enough to break the noose free, and for the rest of her short life, Suzie was promoted to be the new chicken-lady.

Two months later she bashed the snake charmer’s head in, and was then bitten by the very pets she had wished to own. The venom killed her in less than ten minutes.

Apparently the grass wasn’t greener on the other side of the road, but Suzie, the new chicken-lady had crossed it anyway.

–Suzie: Inspired by ‘Twisted Pixels – Psycho Clown’ created and posted on DeviantArt by Nitr0gene

Lily

The Healer, created and posted on DeviantArt by *Ipeters

The hummingbird hung, suspended upside-down in the air by an invisible force. It lay motionless. Dead.

Lily had found the lifeless bird, as red as blood, on her daily walk through the forest on the eastern edge of the orphanage grounds. The composition of the bird on its green deathbed was a beautiful contrast in Lily’s color-blind eyes. The growing fingers of life curling up over the corpse, engulfing the spirit-abandoned husk, was beauty in itself.

She had knelt down near the bird, and had hovered her left hand over the limp creature. Lily had wriggled her fingers, and like a marionette on invisible strings, the bird’s whole body had moved with them. Lily had gently raised her arm higher, lifting the bird off the ground. Without even touching the hummingbird, Lily had then used the palm of her right hand to pull it into a more centered position in front of her.

With her mind, Lily now rotated the bird left, right, up and down, serenely inspecting every centimeter of the bird’s body. The tail feathers looked fine, as did its feet and breast. The right wing had a slight ruffle, and an abnormal bulge protruded from the left side of the neck. She deduced that the poor thing must have crashed into a tree.

Moving the bird onto its back, Lily stared into the birds eyes. The shimmer and glow that one finds in the eyes of even the ugliest or meanest of creatures was not present here. The black surfaces now resembled the shells of a curled up bug more than the receptacles of light they had once been.

Many people throughout Lily’s life had commented on her own beautiful blue-grey eyes, saying that they were the windows to the soul. The phrase had troubled Lily on numerous occasions. If this was true, then would seeing the world in shades of grey mean that her soul was cursed? The concept had depressed the girl. One day, when she realized the truth of this phrase, she decided to come to terms with her imperfections.

The others around her thought the words were metaphorical. You couldn’t actually see a soul, let alone view it through two magical looking glasses that some divine being had plastered on every face. What an absurd idea!

It wasn’t absurd to Lily though. Maybe they couldn’t see the individual and unique lifeforms that inhabited each and every creature, but Lily could. Her inability to see yellows and browns hadn’t been a curse after all. Instead, it had been a silly superficial sacrifice for a better cause. Lily could see someone’s soul. She could look into their eyes, dead or alive, and feel the state of their aura; their consciousness. She could feel their happiness, their pain, their guilt; however, the details behind each emotion still remained a secret. She couldn’t see people’s pasts or read their thoughts, but if one of the orphans had stolen a cookie, Lily could figure out who the culprit was.

Nobody knew that Lily had these experiences, and that was fine with her. She would never tell anyone about her gifts. If she had learned anything from massaging others’ minds, it was that people didn’t like things that were ‘different’. The world wasn’t ready for her, and she didn’t know if it ever would be.

A few years after Lily had learned of her abilities, she discovered one extra trick.

She focused on the hummingbird, grasping around in its dark eyes with her mind. The object she longed to find should still be here, but Lily was having a hard time finding it. How long ago had the bird died? She pushed harder and delved deeper into the abyss. Nothing.

Just as Lily was about to give up, she noticed a very heavy sensation upon her chest. Her breathing slowed down, not out of choice, but because her lungs started to feel burdened by something, like they were caught in an ever-tightening clamp. Lily recognized the emotions. Sadness. Embarrassment. Regret.

She had found it. The bird’s soul was now intertwined with her own. She was going to be successful.

Lily started the process. Her body started to convulse in large drawn-out pulses, but Lily was able to keep control. She kept her eyes locked onto the bird’s soul as her head tilted to the left, then to the right. In a final pulse, the invisible strings were cut, and the bird fell back to the earth. Just as she had experienced before, her eye-sight diminished. Everything became a thick blur of grey. Not one thing could be distinguished from another; Lily was as good as blind.

She steadied herself, trying not to fall to one side. She knew that it wouldn’t last for very long, it never did, although it seemed to take longer and longer to recover each time. Lily closed her eyes as she waited, paying more attention to the sounds of the world around her and the feel of the dirt on her fingers.

There was a rustle in the grass before her. It had worked. She heard the buzz of the hummingbird’s wings as they started to flap once again. For a second she believed it hovered right in front of her, saying thank you. The weight on her lungs lifted, and her head became light. Joy. Rediscovery. Grace.

The hummingbird flew away.

When Lily opened her eyes, for a brief moment she could make out the purplish-red of the flowers around her, but it quickly diluted back to the grey world Lily had grown accustomed to.

A bell rang in the distance.

Time to go back.

–Lily, inspired by the digital art ‘The Healer’, created and posted on DeviantArt by *Ipeters

Mort

Mama always said to reach for the stars.

“You could be a firefighter or a police officer. You could even become president if you wanted to.”

Mama always took it upon herself to make an example list for me, Mort thought to himself, and for some reason all of the professions usually centered around making the world a better place; fighting fires, crimes, or the world in general.

“If you want to take it literally, become an astronaut.”

Except for that one. Mort always liked that one.

“But don’t expect anything to be easy. You’re bound to get hurt along the way.”

Even if Mort had dreams of flying to the moon and back, that last statement always kept him locked in his room. The thought of being hurt was scary to him; he would rather risk sacrificing a healthy social life than be rejected. If he could avoid even one person laughing at his abnormally large head, it would all be worth it. But still, his mother would try to encourage him, until she thought she was building up his hopes too much, and then she would bring out the ‘you’ll get hurt’ statement. All her work would be for nothing.

“I’ll make you a ham sandwich,” she said, giving up on him once again and leaving the room.

Mort didn’t mind staying in his room. Apart from the never-ending battle with boredom, he actually found it to be a rather sustainable lifestyle. Thanks to Mama, he was in constant supply of sandwiches, albeit the same, dry ham sandwiches, but it was fuel nonetheless. Sometimes he added ketchup for a little variety and a tangy boost of flavor.

Most of the time Mort would sleep to pass the time. Sometimes he would dream, sometimes he would close his eyes for what seemed like a minute but wake up an hour later.

Mama is making me a sandwich. I can afford to at least lay down.

Mort curled up on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars that Mort’s mother had helped him stick to the plaster above were now barely visable in the daylight. Their shallow shadows were the only signs of their presence, but it was enough for Mort to begin pondering of the wonders he would see if he followed his mother’s advice.

“I brought you some ketchup again today, just how you like it.”

“Thanks Mama,” replied Mort as he took the plate from his mother’s hands.

Mort never liked using ketchup bottles, he never did know how to get the stuff out. Supposedly you had to hit the bottle somewhere with the palm of your hand, but he didn’t know where. His mom used to pour it out for him, but one day he found a fly in the red pile of gook and felt much safer if he did it himself. Since he couldn’t work the bottle, Mama would bring him packets that she would take from fast food joints. Plus, Mort liked the feel of them between his fingers.

“I’ll let you eat now,” his mother said as she left the room again and closed the door.

Mort ripped open one of the packets and poured the red substance out onto the plate. He discarded the wrapper and picked up the next one. He studied the second ketchup packet in his hands. This one felt extra squishy. He put his palms on either side of the packet and carefully moved them around. The ketchup moved from end to the other, bulging the plastic as it went. A smile filled Mort’s face.

*THUD* A faint noise in the distance perked Morts ears.

*THUD* The noise grew louder. Whatever was causing the noise was getting closer.

*THUD* Mort felt his bed wiggle a little bit

*THUD* Now the whole house shook.

*THUD* Mort’s body bounced a foot off his bed. In his attempt to grab something sturdy, Mort only grasped his fist over the packet still in his hands, and ketchup spurted all over the wall behind his bed.

*THUD* Mort now flew so high he touched the ceiling. One of his fingers scraped across a plastic star. He fell back onto his comfortable bed and the aftershock launched him a couple of inches back into the air.

The noise stopped. The last couple of thuds had been almost deafening, and it sounded like whatever made them had perched itself just outside the house. A few seconds of silence went by, and for a brief moment Mort thought that maybe he HAD gone deaf.

Thankfully, he was proven wrong when he heard a violent scraping above his head. It was followed by a clamping noise that reminded him of the garbage truck that came by every week.

Soon the stars were falling down, along with entire chunks of the ceiling, as the intruder pryed open a hole into the room. Mort picked up the closest thing to him, which happened to be his pillow – white and fluffy with a red, felt heart that his mother had stitched on the front – and cowered underneath it.

The scraping stopped.

Mort looked up at the damage above him and rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly. There, in the hole where a part of his ceiling had once been, hung a light. At least it looked like a light. As his eyes focused, Mort could make out a shape. A star shape.

A STAR SHAPE!?

Had a falling star just landed on his house? His mother’s words echo’ed in his ears.

Reach for the stars, it said.

Mort reached up towards the light. Little did he know of the ketchup-hungry truth that lay hidden in the shadow above as it closed in on the boy.

His mother had been right.

He was bound to get hurt along the way.

'Reach the Stars' created by Fabreeze, posted on DeviantArt

 “Mort, here’s your sandwich.”

Mama?

The words pulled Mort from his sleep. He could barely lift his large head from under his pillow as his mom entered the room. Outside, the garbage truck made its way to the next house

“I brought you some ketchup again today, just how you like it.”

I think I’ll switch to mustard.

–Mort: Written by Robbie, Inspired by the sculpture ‘Reach the Stars’ created and posted on DeviantArt by Fabreeze

Patrick

“Some people get plastic surgery to smooth out the wrinkles. Others get it to feel sexier or more confident about themselves. One became obsessed to look like a cat, but you wished to look like a,” the reporter paused.

He had known exactly what kind of absurd situation he was getting himself into when he volunteered for this interview, but the actuality of it didn’t hit him until now.  He had originally hoped that the viral topic at hand would be enough to launch his career into national status, but as he stood there, staring at his subject, holding down the vomit that could rise up at any moment and ruin his new suit, he wondered if it was all worth it.

“You wanted to look like a-”

He had to finish the sentence if he wanted anything to come of this.

“A st-”

Here it came, the vomit he had been surpressing was coming up in verbal form.

“Star-”

There was no turning back now.

“A starfish?”

“Yup” the pink blob splattered through his blubbery lips. The 700 lb man was laying down on his back in his own bed. The reporter was situated in a chair by his bedside.

“I’m sure the world is wondering the same thing that I am,” the reporter coughed at the fishy stench in the room. “Why did you want to do this?”

The starfish-man, who liked to refer to himself as ‘Patrick,’ although it sounded more like Ppppstkkk when he pronounced it, blinked at the question. Either he wanted to respond and didn’t know what to say, or he physically had lost the ability to form words.

The reporter continued.

“According to the surgeons who gave you your initial consultations,” the reporter looked at his notes in front of him as he spoke, “you were such a fan of Spongebob Squarepants that you longed to replicate his best friend Patrick. Is that still how you would describe your reasoning today?”

Patrick coughed up some green liquid and blinked again.

“Your medical records state you have gone through 23 amazing surgeries, including cranial reconstruction, and 15 sessions of fat injections, totaling 560 lbs inserted into your arms, legs, and torso in an attempt to get the starfish shape? Don’t you think this is a very illogical and unhealthy message you’re sending out into the world?”

Patrick groaned. He appeared to be experiencing some kind of pain in his side as he slightly wriggled around in bed. His groaning turned into muffled shouts. A few doctors that had been at hand sprinted to his side and started checking his vitals.

“He’s bloating up,” one doctor said to the other.

“The surgeries are catching up to him!” the second doctor yelled.

“Get out of the room, everyone!” the first doctor piped up again. “He’s gonna blow!”

Later that night, on the 10 o’clock news, reporters across the globe were yapping on about the latest viral video. Apparently, some man had suffocated to death when a giant starfish expelled a large starfish-flatulent, launching the sea creature onto the man. The weight of the blubber-filled specimen was too much for the man, who no longer could breathe in under the pressure, and he died just moments later. It was all caught on tape and was leaked by an anonymous source to youtubers across the world.

Reporters say the starfish has been freed back into the wild sea where it belongs.

'Patrick Star' posted by Brushcommander on DeviantArt.com

— Patrick: Written by Robbie, inspired by the digital art ‘Patrick Star’ created and posted on DeviantArt by Brushcommander.

About The Red Cap Writer

Apart from growing up with the trademark of auburn hair, it was the concept behind the Redcap that truly drove me to choose the character as inspiration for my blog title.  Wikipedia describes the creature as…

'Murderous Redcap' posted on DeviantArt by MTG Online

“…a type of imaginary malevolent murderous dwarf, goblin, elf or fairy found in Border Folklore. They are said to inhabit ruined castles found along the border between England and Scotland. Redcaps are said to murder travelers who stray into their homes and dye their hats with their victims’ blood (from which they get their name). Redcaps must kill regularly, for if the blood staining their hats dries out, they die. Redcaps are very fast in spite of the heavy iron pikes they wield and the iron-shod boots they wear. Outrunning a redcap is supposedly impossible; the only way to escape one is to quote a passage from the Bible.  They lose a tooth on hearing it, which they leave behind. They are depicted as sturdy old men with red eyes, taloned hands and large teeth, wearing a red cap and bearing a pikestaff in the left hand.”

An artist's interpretation of a redcap

Now, when I e-mailed the article to my sister as a suggestion of a blog title, she wrote one sentence back to me; “That is so ‘Robbie'”.

It’s not that I’m a murderous goblin by any means. Everyone who knows me would say the complete opposite actually – I tend to be a bright, fun, optimistic guy in person. But, it’s true that I’m drawn to artistically dark and creatively twisted pieces of art; whether it be a painting, a book, a movie, etc.. Nightmare before christmas was, and still is, a favorite movie of mine.

I also like flowers, puppy dogs, and potpourri. So, don’t be scared.

Awwwww, the wittle wedcap has a wose on his hat!

As far as the goal of this blog, I really don’t have anything set in stone yet. I am writing a book – that also is pretty dark and quirky in nature – and hopefully I’ll use this as a way to write through my ideas or share excerpts. I also would like to keep my writing skills warm by regularly finding inspirational photos/pieces of art to create stories around.

I know this is the umpteen-billionth blog that I’ve created. It might come and go like my other ones have in the past, but it might also stick. Who knows. Only time will tell.

Until then, I will appreciate your feedback and comments. Just try to maintain a respectful approach. Thank you for reading.

-Robbie