justa-rat - Tumblr blog

[justa-rat]

CASTING CALL - FNAF VIP DRAMATIC READING

Five Nights at Freddy’s has just released a brand new series of interactive novels. While audiobooks of some of these novels already exist, along with Youtubers recording their journey’s through the novels - I wanted to do something different. I want to create an alternative experience from the typical audiobook, and instead create a fully playable dramatic reading of FNAF VIP.

This will include Voice Acted characters, sound effects, music, and original art for each different video. The novel will be playable on youtube, using end cards or links in the description to allow players to make their choices.

If you don’t see a role you would like to audition for, please note that more will be added very soon.

If you are good at writing scripts, or like to make art - please feel encouraged to apply!

This is a passion project for the community, if you cannot directly contribute then please please share this around so we can create an experience out of VIP!

[justa-rat]

Do you like Five Nights at Freddys? Interactive novels and voice acting? Heard of said brand new interactive novel, VIP? Well let’s do a dramatic reading of it, on youtube, with each choice fully voice acted!

Like art? We can use some artists!

Just wanna write? I can use some script writers too!

[justa-rat]

I'm not dead, just working!

Here's a little excerpt of what I've been working on. I'm hoping to get this done in the next few days. It's hopefully going to be a little longer than my usual stories. It is horror.

You see, after Juniper - our eldest foster passed away, we realized we had space for a new indoor foster. Juniper had been with us for longer than we had anticipated. He was already pretty old when he was passed to our care, not to mention a little crusty. At the end of the day, he wasn’t a cute puppy and no one adopted him. After a while, we really didn’t mind. He didn’t do too well around other animals, so we basically only kept one other foster during his time with us. They would usually be a more difficult situation, one of mom’s projects. Meanwhile, Juniper would spend his nights snuggled up with me or Mark, my brother. Juniper, weirdly enough, became my best friend. Sure he wasn’t some manly German Shepard, or some pretty poodle - he was my crusty little guy. I really did love him, and it broke my heart when he died. I guess I just thought he’d live forever. I guess our family had never held onto a single animal long enough to see their true end. It hurt me for a while. And for a while I had no interest in any more foster animals. It was just part of me grieving, I needed the break. But Juniper was exactly the reason why I wanted to become a vet, and take in fosters in the first place. For all the crusty little guys out there who aren’t going to make it out of the kennel.  So. My parents finally decided to get a new indoor foster dog. Low maintenance, a little guy who just needs a place to stay in between homes.

I'm still working on the beginning preamble, but I hope for it to be in the style of a Nosleep story. I might even post it there when I'm fully done. :)

[justa-rat]

Uwu uwu uwu

“Mom, the dog is really, really starting to weird me out.”

If you gaze upon this post you are tagged,,, mostly bc Idk that many people here yet I don’t wanna double-tag by accident :>

out of context line ! !

drive-by tagged by @fortunatetragedy and it's wendesday and i'm about be outta town for a couple of days so let's freaking go.

this one's from Poppy's "about" page on her dedication website where a third of The Singularity Project will be hosted.

I thought the biggest reveal after his death would be that I was adopted (which I am and I’ve known this since I was at least 10), but apparently I was stupidly wrong.

family secrets? i'm sure it's all well and good.

no-pressure tagging @wrencatte, @kairahara, @emperorharuhi, @justa-rat, @opaleyedprince and you who gazes upon this post.

[justa-rat]

Oooh okay okay okay.

“Why are you trying to kill me?”

No pressure to reply UwU

@ghoulfuckersincorporated @kyofsonder @frostedlemonwriter

out of context line!

Argh, @aintgonnatakethis double tagged me!

Today's out of context line comes from Book 2, Act 1 of Doom Metal Love Story and I'm getting SO INTO THE SPIRIT that I'm not even going to tell you who's speaking~

"Alright, Sullivan, let's see what you've got."

I'm going to tag everyone I know bc it's Wednesday!

@astramachina @aritany @autism-purgatory @bargainbincheese @borisyvain

@cowboybrunch @deanwax @frostedlemonwriter @hagscribes @justa-rat

@leahnardo-da-veggie @minamaybe @noblebs @scribble-dee-vee @sentfromwolves

@thelittlestspider @the-golden-comet @taranorma @wolgerrswraith @words-after-midnight

[justa-rat]

Thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag!

I don’t currently have any sheets of my old or new OC’s posted, but soon soon. For now you’ll have to deal with no context. 😎

To Joseph, my first and my favorite: Just because you can’t control your powers doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole to everyone you meet.

To Seth, my baby: Being a coward does not make you a good man.

To Shiela Jackson: Girl you have so many more things to worry about than your job, get a grip.

To Viper, Raven, and Scarlet: Yall are just 3 different versions of a self insert you’re not special.

And now to tag ! Please note there is no pressure this is all for fun ^^

Lmk if u wanna know more about my characters, asks are always open ^^

@boredwritergirl @rickie-the-storyteller @charlesjosephwrites

Roast Your OCs Tag!

Title is exactly what it says it is. This is a tag game where you roast your OCs in one sentence. Summarise them in the most hilarious way possible, or just plain insult them, either works. Of course, I'm starting off with Kunio and Nathaniel, MCs of The Tengu And The Angel, and I'm also gonna throw in Ariel and Solana, MCs of Night Of The Blue Moon!

Kunio: Uptight edgelord freaks out because someone loves him

Nathaniel: Hi, I’m the 'Please love me, I need physical validation to live' brand of traumatised

Ariel: Look out, Homura Akemi, there’s a new brooding magical lesbian on the block

Solana: I'm a magical girl, but I'm also a depressed adult woman who hates her day job and cries in her car on the way to work

Tagging @the-golden-comet, @madi-konrad and @randomwritingwords!

[justa-rat]

As apology for the mess I created and my 200 words today being secret words, I give you my cats. Oreo and Sofia.

Oreo:

Sofia:

Tumblr wouldn’t let me add two videos, you’ll get her transformation another day.

[justa-rat]

My Writeblr Intro... Take Two...

I'm learning f o r m a t t i n g

Why you might be seeing this again:

I'm honestly really terrible at introductions in general, whether it be an introductory paragraph to a story, or just introducing myself at all lmao.

But I like writing! I started this blog because I was participating in a 200 word a day writing challenge, and wanted somewhere to put the random drabbles that I came up with. I'm 24 years old, I'm female, and I am an LGBT Ally. Yall are welcome here. Also 420 friendly as well! I love ships of all sorts, and love the fanfiction writers and artists who feed us. Lately, I have been focusing mainly on honing my horror writing skills, as I am working on a Webseries/Interactive unfiction project that requires better writing than I can achieve right now. I am currently looking for help with it, and might post more about it in the future. For now, all I will say is:

Lovecraftian Autopsies.

Things I like:

Horror

Unfiction/Webseries/ARG's

Romance

Fantasy

Art

Writing

Music

Anime

Some Examples:

Anything Stanley Kubrick (2001, Shining, etc.)

Hereditary/Midsummer

Walten Files

Backrooms

Angel Hare

Hi I'm Mary Mary

FNAF

A Court of Thorns and Roses

Warrior Cats (CHILDHOOD MEMORIES BRO)

Silent Hill

Resident Evil

Alien Isolation

Deadspace

Wendigoon

Nightmind/Nick Nocturne

Fallout

Cryptids

Honestly it's hard to find things I don't like in the genre. I love weird ideas that really make you question reality, it's the best kinda horror. Odds are if it's a webseries I will like it for certain. I could just keep listing things on and on forever.

If you like any of things things, just wanna talk, or share short stories please let me know! I've been posting a lot of Fallout recently, but I also plan on continuing to write short horror stories and get better and better at writing horror in general.

[justa-rat]

Pretty as Porcelain

May 13th,

Word Count:  571

I always hated my grandma's antique porcelain dolls. She had them poised up on the shelves of her guest bedroom, the same bedroom I was stuck in whenever I visited. The room itself was actually kinda comforting looking back on it. The twin bed was tucked snuggly in the far corner of the room, on the opposite side of the door. There was a large window on the far wall, centered in the middle and streaming in bounds of natural light. The bed had the most comfortable quilted blanket I had ever snuggled up into, and the pillows were always so soft. There were old looking bookshelves stuffed with tons of my favorites growing up. Next to the door sat the dresser, and to your right upon entering would be the closet. I had fond memories of playing with my cousins in that room, and some less pleasant ones from whenever we'd bicker and fight over who got what toy. It would have been perfect, if it wasn't for that shelf of stupid dolls. 

They'd be directly on your left as you walked in, on the same wall as the door. They perfectly lined up with the bed. One was a little maid, equipped with a feather duster stuck to her hand. She had curly brown hair and brown eyes, and wore the traditional dress and hair cap usually associated with the word 'maid'.  She sat on the far left. The second was a nurse, she in contrast, had short painted blonde hair, presumably tucked over the nurse hat she wore. It had one of those big red crosses on it. She had a tidy little nurse dress on, and the brightest color of blue eyes. She sat in the middle. The last and final doll had straight black hair. Her eyes were green, and she was dressed as a teacher. She wore a skirt and blouse, and had little wire glasses fashioned on. She held a book under her left arm, and she sat on the far right. They were old, old dolls. The hair - or what was left of it - had mostly fallen out. They had the eyelids too, the ones that shut when you laid them flat. I remember, because whenever I'd get too creeped out - I'd always reach up and lay them down so they couldn't stare at me so intently. 

Whenever my cousins were also staying over, it wasn't so bad. I could just pull the comforter over my head, and take comfort in my cousin snoozing in the sleeping bag on the floor. Other times it would be the other way around, we were told to take turns - especially if it was a long visit. My grandparents had a small house, so we didn't have enough beds for everyone. My parents would usually take the couch and the loveseat, and they'd give us the guest bedroom. 

It got weird whenever it was just me visiting, though. 

It started really small, Like sometimes I would wake up to find them all sitting upright - even though I was certain I had laid them down the night before. I'd tell my parents about it at breakfast, but they just told me I must have forgotten. I think they thought it was funny, how scared I was over a few dolls. These ones were different though, when you looked at them it felt like they were looking back. 

[justa-rat]

Meeting of Minds and Gunpowder. Pt. 2.

May 12th,

Word Count:  920

Part One

Goodnieghbor bloomed before the Ghoul. A mix of robots, ghouls, and smooth-skins. Compared to Diamond City, it was a true mixing pot of all sorts. However, one thing that pulled them all together in similarity - was the no good aura around them. Each and every person was scum, he could tell. Pickpockets, thieves, and scammers the lot of them. Even the spare raider could be spotted slinking in and out of doors in the back alleys. Dried blood splattered on the pavement underfoot, telling stories of mugging and knife fights long passed. A place of true degeneracy. It was about what the world had come too in a nutshell - a steaming pile of shit. As long as he got what he needed, the Ghoul could care less. He adjusted the hat on his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and strode deeper into the city. Another wretched bout of coughing wracked his lungs, his head tilting down on instinct as he shoved himself into an alley. He leaned against a wall for a moment, sweat beading down his forehead. He took a wheezing breath, sliding down till he was sitting, resting his aching head in his hands. His body was shaking, not out of any fear - but of need. The world blurred, spinning around and around twistingly. 

"Hey… Guy. You feelin' alright?" A raspy voice sliced through the Ghouls' thoughts.

A man stood before him, he wore a brazen red coat - fashioned in a colonial style. Atop his head sat a tricorn hat, it looked to be old, worn, covered in dirt and old blood. The Ghoul swatted a hand lazily in his direction, voicelessly forfeiting the others assistance - yet the stranger still persisted. 

"C'mon pal, just talk to me. What's the problem? Run 'outta Jet? Psycho? Buffout? Withdrawal can be a bitch, I've been there." His words sounded oddly sincere. This was no doubt going to cost him. It didn't really matter, if this dumbass stranger could get him in the same room as some Rads - he'd be all set from there. 

It was a shame the strangers voice only worsened his aching head. 

"I don't need no damn drugs. Not them kinda drugs, anyway." He growled out through grit teeth, the wave after wave of vertigo driving him near mad. His expression turned to a wince, and the stranger nodded in understanding. Wordlessly, he fumbled throughout the pouch attached to his waist. Inhalers and tablets shifted about as he dug through it, momentarily producing a small vial containing a yellow liquid. 

"Here, friend." He extended his hand, the vial resting in his palm. The Ghoul wasted no time snatching up the precious vial, uncorking it with his teeth - he paused, looking up at the stranger. A fellow ghoul, it seemed. 

"If this is piss, I'll fuckin' shoot your ass." He lifted the vial to the gaping hole in which his nose once rested, sniffing it. It at least didn't smell like piss. The stranger only snorted in response, but said nothing to his comment. The Ghoul lifted the vial to his chapped and broken lips, tilting his head back and slurping up the small amount of liquid greedily. Instant relief washed over him, and a sigh left his body. He relaxed, waiting for the rest of the symptoms to slowly subside. 

"Feel better?" The stranger was leaning against the wall now, one ankle crossed over the other as the full of his weight rested on the building behind him. His arms were crossed, and he was watching the other man keenly. 

"What do you want, exactly?" The Ghoul cut to the chase, he understood how the wasteland worked - nothing was truly for free. "Caps? Want me to kill someone for ya?" His tone was demeaning, taunting even. Guy looked like he was ripped out of a damn history book.  

The stranger simply put his hands up in resignation, bowing his head ever so slightly, "I don't want a damn thing from you, friend, just a fellow forgotten and undermined man looking to help another get back on his feet." A smile appeared on his face, and the Ghoul realized it was worse than anything he could have thought. The man was an idealist. 

Pushing himself away from the wall, the stranger took a few paces towards the Ghoul. He tensed in reaction, hand unconsciously feeling for his gun - but the other made no move to pull out a weapon. Instead, he reached out a hand towards the Ghoul, an offering of peace - and to help the fellow stand. The Ghoul's eyes narrowed, and he denied the help - pushing the other ghoul's hand out of his face, and getting to his feet on his own. They stood eye to eye now, rather than the stranger lording over him in a state of vulnerability. The Ghoul even took slight satisfaction of being taller than the other, tiling his head up ever so slightly. He took a moment to look the stranger up and down, fully taking in the revolutionary war garb he dawned. He made a vague gesture towards his clothing, curiosity overpowering anything else in that moment, "So uh… What's up with the getup… You some kinda… Weird reenactor? Thought thems all died out with the war n'all."  

The stranger's smile didn't fade, he even let out a laugh, "Ahh, nah. Not really. Outfit just… Spoke to me is all. The name’s John Hancock, I'm the mayor here. I'd like to personally welcome you to my little slice of heaven, Goodneighbor."

[justa-rat]

Bus Stop.

May 10th, 2024

Word Count: 222

Cool, crisp autumn air. Leaves turning from their original green hue, to the reds and yellows of late summer. A chill had already crept into the air, seeping into the very bones of those who walked the streets. The sky above glowered a drab gray, and the girl sat next to her dog on the bus bench. She stared up into the endless escape of the sky, transfixed on how the clouds' various shapes were vaguely familiar. 

Almost a dog, a snail-like shape. Once, she swore she’d even spotted a chair. The overcast sky shifted a few shades darker, and she felt a cold wet tap on her nose. A sprinkle had begun, and this bus stop did not feature cover. A sigh left her painted red lips, pushing back a strand of dark brown hair. The bus was meant to arrive a solid fifteen minutes ago - yet here she still sat. She had just barely missed arriving late, work always loved to keep her. Maybe the bus arrived early today, she may be waiting for nothing.

Five more minutes, she’d give it five more minutes. The walk home wasn’t tremendously far, but she’d definitely break a sweat booking it down the sidewalk for thirty minutes. She just didn’t like being out on the town alone, especially as the sun began to set.

[justa-rat]

Meeting of Minds and Gunpowder. Pt. 1.

May 9th,

Word Count: 588

Fallout Fanfiction

Diamond city had been an absolute shitshow. He'd gone in looking for supplies, and left with bullet holes. Bigoted pricks. 

His rusted spurs jingled, being carried by the howling winds of the wasteland. The dust in the breeze stung his eyes, and the Ghoul tilted his head down just slightly - using his hat to shield them. The scene around him shifted with each step, wasteland turning to ruined cityscape. He strode down the barren streets, most of his surroundings obscured by a thick gray fog. He cut through the leftovers of what once was the Boston Bugle, taking a moment to rummage around the wreckage for anything he could find. He started with the desks, ripping open drawers with enough force to kick up loose pages. They fluttered aimlessly to the floor, and he scowled - nothing but pens and pencils, office supplies. Carrying on, he came across an old door. He didn't bother testing the lock, deciding he'd rather apply a swift yet decisive kick to the center of its mass. The hinges only had but a moment to groan their protest, before the rotted wood of the building gave out completely. He stood at the entrance to an old storeroom, packages of ink and spare typewriters sat on the shelves. They were of various makes and models, the most of them sporting a shiny black sheen. 

He stepped inside slowly, scanning the room only once before carelessly ripping items from their place. He destroyed his surroundings, everything topped over or thrown against the wall in his feverish search. Yet, all he was rewarded with were a few bottles of Nuka Cola, and a spare bottle cap. He took a breath, only to find his throat caught - a fit of coughing erupted from him suddenly and violently. He staggered, catching himself on a half broken wall - the ruined piping stuck out and bent in various directions. He wheezed and gagged on his own throat, hacking up a wad of spit and directing it to the ground. His shoulders rose and fell in heavy pants, sparing a few moments to recover from the sudden bout of vertigo. He was running out of time.

Stuffing his scarce findings into his satchel, he strode forth deeper into the winding maze of the city. He carried himself with a slight limp, favoring his left side over the right. A bullet rested in his thigh, making him wonder exactly just how much lead he had buried in him. Maybe it had been the vibrant splash of red that had caught his eye, or maybe it had just been luck - but he caught sight of something. A bright red arrow spray painted on a dirty white wall, directly above it hung a patched together sign. It read, "Goodneighbor." Without much option, he altered his course in the direction of the arrow. 

Another turn, another corner, another sign. He felt like a rat in a maze, marching towards some trap. He eyed the passing alleys warily, the setting sun doing him no favors. That was until he spotted the gentle glow of neon in the distance. It danced around the corner of the street, beaconing the Ghoul approach. More signs were hung, large bold neon red letters spelling out "GOODNEIGHBOR", with blue arrows beneath pointing right. His gaze followed the arrows' direction to a scraped together metal gate, and another sign - this time with another bent arrow pointing towards the dull blue door. He wasted no time, striding towards the entrance - and crossing the threshold of the city.

Part Two

[justa-rat]

Banshee.

May 8th,

Word Count: 624

You thought of her.

The last time you saw her.

How her hair slicked with sweat stuck to her face, perfectly framing her beauty. How her wide-stretched eyes stared directly onto yours. They were such a pretty shade of green. It was rare you were granted the pleasure of staring into green eyes. Her complexion was fair, her skin was so, so smooth. Not a blemish in sight, you would have said she were a goddess, had you not been wiser.

She lay in a pool of her own dark blood. The shade of crimson it embodied was near black, you only knew it was red due to how the light hit the reflections in the pool. Her mouth was still open, utterly frozen in an eternal scream. 

She looked so normal now, despite the shotgun-shell sized hole that ripped through her abdomen. Your hands still shook, the offending weapon resting in your white-knuckled grip. 

You hadn’t moved since firing the shot, your eyes stared at her form. You had to be sure, everything in your body told you she was not dead. You pumped the shotgun, leveling the sights to her skull. 

A bead of sweat dripped down your forehead, your index finger sliding over the trigger. You took in a breath.

A high-pitched screech filled the room, your eardrums ached with the noise. You staggered back, the shotgun misfiring into the stone walls. Water splashed at your feet, wetting your clothing. You felt something drip down the side of your head, vertigo, nauseam.  

Relief flooded you as the assault finally ended, but everything sounded… a little more muffled than it had before. The woman now hung in the air before you, dark hair splayed out as if she were underwater. The wound on her stomach began to slowly knit together, razor sharp teeth being bared at you. Her true form had been revealed now, her true power. 

Your fingers clumsily fumbled to reload the shotgun, backing away all the while. You missed when her eyes were green. 

You ready your aim once more - only for another ear-shattering wail to come forth. Crimson tears now streaked her cheeks, you could hardly make out the words. You still question if she uttered any,

“WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!” Her voice came out in a choked sob.

You would not be fooled. You had heard of banshee’s from your town. Her words were not true, but rather the words of another lost, poor soul. You wonder whose tragic end she had both incited and recorded. She would not have yours. 

Fighting the maddening squeal, you lift the gun into aim once more. Peering through blurred vision, you swallowed the sick slowly threatening to crawl up your throat. You aimed at her skull.

The gunshot was silent., all you could hear was the sudden relief to her horrific wails. 

Her body crumpled in the air, and once again returned to the earth. What was left of her face now flowered into gore. You stand there shivering, unable to hear your own footsteps through muffled silence. You pull out a knife, and slice away a lock of her hair. 

You don’t remember why you thought of her, of what she took from you. 

What you took from her. 

Yet as you sit next to your favorite old record player - your fingers resting on its case… You can’t help but think of her final words. How you brushed them off then, only to have them haunt you now.

Your eyes look to the horizon, your bones are old and weak now, and you can only enjoy the gentle vibrations of the music you once loved.

Why did you kill her?

[justa-rat]

Cat and Mouse.

May 7th, 2024

Word Count: 227

Always the mouse, never the cat.

Day by day, I find myself batted between the paws of another.

They never use their claws, but after a while the constant back and forth begins to bruise. It brings them joy, so I endure as their mouse.

I asked how they became the cat one day, and for a moment rage overtook their soft features.. I remember being afraid, walking back my question through stammering words. The cat only let out a quiet growl, responding despite my expectations.

 “Because, I was once a mouse.”

I only felt perplexed, my next words fumbling from my lips before I could catch them, “Does that mean I’m destined to be a cat one day?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and thick. 

“We all start as mice. We all become cats. At first it hurts, but then you begin to understand how fun it is to play with your food.”

“Am I nothing but food for you?”

“No, no, no, of course not my little mouse. You are special, special to me. The other mice? They were nothing, you… You are my muse.”

“If I was another mouse, would you have eaten me?”

“Yes.”

I frowned, staring down at my hands. “How do I become a cat, like you? I want to be strong like you. I don’t want to be a mouse anymore.”

“All you have to do is find a mouse even smaller than you.”

[justa-rat]

The Woods. Pt. 1

May 5th,

Word Count: 858

Momma had always told me to stay away from the woods, but momma told me to stay away from a lot of things. I was never very good at listening, though. Each time I would disobey one of momma’s rules, she would become absolutely irate with me. She was never cruel, maybe a slap on the wrist at worst - she had always been worried. Maybe that’s why she had so many of them. Rules, I mean.

The rules themselves would vary, but a decent portion of them was about how I was to interact with strangers. Some of them were the standard fare: Don’t talk to strangers, don’t eat any of the food they give you, and absolutely don’t follow them into the woods. They got a bit… More specific as I aged. 

When I was eight, she told me to never say ‘thank you’ to a stranger. It took me off guard, she had been so adamant about my learning of manners - I had never known the same rules didn’t apply to anyone I didn’t know.

When I was thirteen, strangely enough she warned me to never, ever dance with a stranger.  This one boggled me more than most. After all, how was I to ever get to the point of dancing with someone, if I never was supposed to talk to them anyhow?

The most confusing set of rules she ever imparted, however, came when I had turned fourteen.

“I need you to listen to me, Claire, and I need you to listen well.” I remember how intently her eyes looked into mine, the expression on her face telling the severity of her words.

“Okay, Momma.” I would gently mutter, and she would continue.

“You have to be careful out… In that world. It’s full of terrible people who want to do us nothing but harm. No matter what, though, you have to be polite to the strangers who threaten us.” My mind was once again flipped on its head, the contradictory nature of her rules turning my head into a mess of thoughts. I should have simply let her continue, but I could no longer hold back my question.

“But why, Momma?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter why!” Snapped her immediate response, before she took a deep breath. “I’m… Sorry, pumpkin. It’s just extremely important that you… I just… I need you to trust me, okay honey? As long as you do what I say, everything will be fine.”

“I just…” I whimpered, lip wobbling as worry twisted my stomach, “I-I just dunno how, Momma! None of this makes sense. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, but I’m also not supposed to be rude? But-But I also have to never say thank you? Which is rude… and the rule about the dancing, Its… Its-“ my eyes filled with tears, sobs building up in my throat. I painfully swallowed the heavy lump forming, trying to keep down my emotions.

“Shhh, shh, baby.” My mother sighed, pulling me into her arms. “I know it’s confusing. I know all of this must be so confusing for you.” She gently stroked the back of my head. “Let me try to explain a little better, okay?” She pulled away to look me in the eyes as she spoke, and I lifted an arm to wipe my leaking eyes. “O-okay, momma.”

“Alright, dear.” She smiled sorrowfully. “You must never, under any circumstances enter the woods. Whenever you are away from home, and encounter an adult you’re unfamiliar with - I need you to try and get out of sight before they notice you. Run straight home after. Now, if they do notice you before you notice them - do not run. That would be considered rude, especially if they call out to you. Engage in friendly conversation; but tell them NOTHING about you. Not your name, not where you live, not even your favorite color - do you understand so far?”

I nodded, and she continued.

“Now, if they offer to take you somewhere, offer to give you food or candy, or offer to do you some sort of favor - always find a way to politely decline. Do NOT outright apologize, but you must let them down gently… Say… Say something like, ‘Unfortunately I can’t, I have to be home for dinner.’ Do anything you can to end the conversation, and come straight home.

Never dance with them, never apologize to them, never thank them. You NEVER want to be in their debt, do you understand me? They will take your words as meaning that, they will expect you to return the favor.”

My stomach twisted, was everyone out in the world truly so scary, would I really be able to live up to her expectations? What would really happen just from saying a few words? I couldn’t fathom.

Yet despite how I claimed I understood, despite how fervently she warned me - I didn’t listen. I was only fourteen, I had just barely begun my transition into adulthood… But worst of all I was curious..

Maybe things wouldn’t have ended up this way, had only I listened.

[justa-rat]

Feral.

May 4th,

Word Count: 600

Fallout Inspired

He didn’t even recognize himself. Sunken eyes were nested in his skull. His skin was tight and leathery, flesh being slowly eaten away by the unrelenting radiation. His nose was nothing but a deep gouge in the center of his face, lips crumbled away to nothing. The top of his head was smooth - any hair having fallen out a long time ago. 

And yet as he stood there, he couldn’t quite focus on his features. Anytime he tried too hard, anytime he caught the faintest glimpse of his new reality- the man's stomach would lurch. Maybe he didn’t want to see, to recognize the irreversible damage that had been inflicted upon his one and only body.  He just couldn’t recognize himself anymore

He used to be-

He used to have-

His eyes weren’t… 

Were they? 

Right? 

He hadn’t always been like this - there was no way. 

He couldn’t…

He…

He couldn’t remember his own face?

How could he have forgotten, how could he have forgotten his own face - his own identity?

He was losing himself, spiraling into a never ending pit of despair.

What did he look like?

What did his mother look like? 

His father? 

His lover?

All their faces were naught but blurred marks in his memory. He felt sick, the room spinning in circles. He stumbled out of the bathroom - wooden floors creaking in protest of his heavy boots. A small bedroom was his destination, a dirty rickety old bed stuffed into a corner. He collapsed, an urge, need, craving overtaking his being.

Rads. 

He desperately needed rads. Rolling onto his side, he hung his head over the side of the bed. Clawing desperately, his fingers hooked the corner of  a small wooden box. The sound of tiny glass vials clinking around was accompanied by the scraping of wood on wood as he yanked the box out from beneath it.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

They were all empty, piled on top of one another. A sudden rage flickered to life in his chest, teeth creaking in his ears at how tightly he set his jaw. He began to grab empty vials by the handful, tossing them aside. Their shatters filled the quiet safe house with a cacophony of noise. If his tear ducts hadn’t all but dried away by now, he would begin to sob. The noises still came forth, gasping dry sobs that caught in his throat. He felt as though he were choking.

Hope drained from his very soul… Until a glint of yellow caught his eye. Tucked away in the corner sat one last vial. He snatched it up quickly, pulling out the tiny cork and gorging down the intense rush of radiation greedily. It hardly felt like enough, hardly quenching his undying thirst. He would need more soon.

He looked at the pistol, sat on a crooked nightstand only a foot or two away. He knew this was never going to be sustainable, he couldn’t keep relying on getting lucky. Scavenging had been bringing back less and less each time, he was beginning to think he’d picked this part of the wasteland clean. He’d have to get moving soon, then. He would have to face society, as much as he desperately wished to continue his self-induced exile. No one wanted to set eyes on a ghoul, and they made that fact abundantly clear. He didn’t particularly like the thought of the alternative, and he forced himself to his feet. Grabbing the pistol, he tucked it neatly into its holster. With a sigh, he grabbed his ball cap, and stepped back out into the wasteland.

[justa-rat]

The Fawn.

May 3rd,

Word Count: 435

The crisp, cold air freezes your nostrils as you inhale. The chill fills your lungs, your breath shudders. 

Your body freezes, hands swaying ever so gently. You steel yourself, for your aim must be true. Otherwise, your hollow belly would have to endure another night of nothing. 

Your arms ache, you’ve been staring down the shaft of your arrow for a few long seconds now. Fifteen yards away a large buck stands grazing, its large black eyes warily watching its surroundings. 

Ever so carefully, you line up the tip of the arrow to the skull of the beautiful stag. Your fingers twitch eagerly, saliva pooling in the corners of your mouth. You can already smell the scent of venison hung over a roaring fire, flames ever so gently licking the bottom. You would attend it vigilantly, slowly rotating your make-shift spit. Oh how the meat would ripen, slowly caramelizing the outsides. Your stomach growled. 

You took one final breath-

The stag's head snaps upward, and out from behind him staggers a small, innocent fawn. You hesitate. The tiny morsel wouldn’t last a minute on his own. Would more than likely get picked off by predators. You wonder where its mother might be. With how long it seemed, if she had already died he might be done for already. All depended if he was still on the teat.

It wasn't large enough to kill quite yet. Maybe you’d be making some lone wolfs day. 

You release your arrow, and as always, your aim is true. The arrow strikes through the eye socket of the stag. A sharp cry bellows from its very soul - body seizing before its inevitable collapse. The young fawn freezes, and stares directly at you.

Your eye’s meet those of the future bucks. Its breathing was sharp and shallow. You could tell. Even as you approached, the young fawn stayed absolutely still. Your eyes did not leave his as you stepped towards the buck, the grass between you and it painted with crimson. With warning not given, the fawn's posture straightens. The fear once present in a small animal's fight or flight simply vanished. The small fawn stood before you with all of the power and grace of his father now dead beside him. The power and grace of a buck who was yet to be.

The fawn held your stare, and uttered but one single word. A voice that broke the silence between hunter and prey.

“Why?” 

An answer did not reach your tongue swiftly, but after a few long, painfully silent moments you answered.

“To eat.”