Tammy’s Golem

[WP] Golems always follow orders, they do exactly as they are told the best way they can. This golem was simply told to go pick up the laundry. If it happens to pull the mystic sword from its stone and become destined to bring peace of the kingdom on the way there, well…

“You know how golems are, Tammy,” Linda begins, “they do exactly what you tell them and to the best of their ability.”


“Relax,” Tammy replies. “I just sent him up the road to get my delicates from the laundromat. He’ll be back in a jiffy, just wait ‘n see.”


“But what if it does something terribly unexpected in the process? It could grab the wrong laundry, mistakenly draw Excalibur, or even step on the mail man!”


Suddenly, the front door swings open and a 6 ft golem walks in with a wicker basket. Tammy walks over, sifts through the basket, then turns back. “Drats. Looks like it managed to get the proper clothes and the past 25 minutes must not have been enough time to make the 8,400 mile round trip to England.


Tammy pauses, then leans back to look at the golem’s feet, finding a dark discoloration compared to the monotone gray stone that makes up the rest of its body. She moves her head from side to side as if weighing something once she sees the unopened envelope stuck to the bottom of its foot. “I suppose the jury’s still out on the mailman. Best we lay low for the next few days. You up for takeout?”


Linda’s panicked expression shifts from worry into glee as she claps and nods vigorously.


“Alright,” Tammy says, turning back to the golem. “Now run up to that Asian spot and grab us something to eat. You know the one.”


The golem trots off, slamming the door to dislodge a picture from the wall.


“Tammy!” Linda exclaims.


“What?” she replies. “It’s not like it’ll step on the mailman again.”

Don-E-Don’s Cat

Super Steve had trained for a lifetime, not to get stronger or becoming more proficient, rather the only power that he needed to grow was his power of restraint. His birth on another planet and subsequent forced relocation to Earth had manifested into some spectacular powers including super strength, speed, flight, and even laser vision. He was so strong and secure in his powers that he was not ashamed at all when it came to fighting villains in a cape and spandex.


Today is just another day of breaking up some neerdowells, when the scientific mob boss known as Donnie the Don aka Don-e-Don rises out of the top hatch of a tank, aims an unknown weapon at Super Steve, and fires.


Super Steve suffers from boredom and not just any boredom, with super powers comes super boredom. As he watches the spiraling beam leave the end of the barrel, he finally decides to take his power moderation from 0.1 to 0.15. Time slows down as he moves to pick up one civilian after another, moving them away from whatever blast radius this thing is going to have.


He empties all the rooms of the two buildings behind him and relocates the occupants a few blocks away. Maybe not all of them will have whip lash from this, he thinks as he sets the last civilian down.


Super Steve hustles back by power walking and takes his place in front of the incoming energy projectile. Well, I’ve gotta let them hit me some or they’ll just quit trying. He goes through several cheesy poses as if he were in a photo booth at the local mall, the settles on placing his foot on top of a gangster lying next to him and giving a thumbs up towards the camera-projectile.


Steve holds the grin for what he feels like was over an hour, waiting for the molasses projectile to reach him. He glances down to the gangster again and realizes that the criminal is scared, but it’s not of him.


Steve notices a purse clutched in his arm while extending the other to shield from danger. When he follows the man’s gaze, looking upward, he finds Cat Man descending from above in his flying squirrel suit. Steve tsks as he looks back down to the apparent purse snatchther that managed to earn the ire of one like Cat Man. “This is not your day, friend,” Steve says, then thumbs back up to the pouncing hero. “Do you have any idea how violent that guy is? You’d have been a lot better off if you only had to deal with–Oh Shit!” He exclaims remembering the molasses beam.


Steve reaches for Cat Man intending to shove him away as the honeyed-energy nudges the spandex covering his leaping calf.


Steve blinks and the world regains motion, but somehow seems to move faster than what should be possible. He looks down to see a giant hole in the sidewalk next to him and splattered blood from…someone, but he’s not sure who. “Geez, I hope that wasn’t–” he starts but is cut short as something strikes him in the back.


“Ow!” He yells turning back to find a thug more confused than he is. “What?…what the heck did you just hit me with?”


“Just,” the thug stammers, “just a rock, sir.”


I’ll show you a rock you little twerp, Steve thinks, charging.


But the thugs expression shifts into deeper confusion as Super Steve leans forward, beginning to move imperceptibly slow as he proceeds to make the first step forward.


“Am, I being punked?” the thug asks, turning to look for hidden cameras.


Not-so-Super Steve’s leg cramps and he straightens, tightens his butt, and grasps towards his hamstring. He begins putting fourth greater effort, hobbling towards the thug who just stands there, not sure what to do next. Steve swings his fist at him but his wrists flexes on the thug’s chin.


“Agh, what the hell man?” Steve complains, with drawing his now sprained wrist while continuing to nurse the knot in his leg muscle.


A boom happens, startling Steve as the thug suddenly turns into red confetti…or perhaps red beef stew. Steve wipes goblets of red something from his face. He chances a look behind him finding huge swaths of the nearby city wiped away, with his current street no longer recognizable.


There is blood, brick, trees, cars, an office desk, living room furniture, kitchen appliances, and a toilet…none of which is where it’s supposed to be.


“Steve,” calls a hushed whisper. Steve begins looking around, initially seeing nothing living except for a meowing cat that is sitting inside the toilet bowl for some reason.


“Steve!” he hears again and finally hobbles to a nearby embankment to find a naked man shivering and trying to cover himself.


“Hey–” Steve starts, then coughs and corrects himself. “Greetings citizens. It is not safe here so perhaps you should move along and go find some clothes.”


“It’s me,” the naked man replies. “Cat man.”


Steve is confused at first but finally catches on. “Right, right, citizen and I am the Easter Bunny. Now–“
“Steve, stop being a dumb ass,” Cat man says, raising his voice, buffering Steve and causing the few remaining nearby windows to shatter. “I can’t move,” Cat Man continues, whispering again. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to stop this close to you. Every other attempt was off by miles.”


Steve smiles and nods sympathetically. “That weapon must have switched our powers somehow,” Steve says, growing thoughtful.


“Well see if you can find it and get us out of this mess.”


Steve moves back towards the rubble as survivors and locals start coming around. After far too many hobbled steps, too much time sifting through dead ends, and expending his last nerve on a cat that can’t seem to shut up, Steve hobbles over and plucks the jingling cat out of the toilet. He looks at its collar to find a name tag: Mittens. If found, please return to Don-e-Don.


“Oh,” Steve says, making the connection. “Well that makes sense.” He chucks the cat as if bailing water from a boat.


A “rawrrreyerr,” ensues as the cat travels in a flailing arc to land on its feet and skimper away.


Steve shoves the toilet over and finds a white lab coat drenched in blood and the gray dust of brick mortar. A further search yields some electronic components. He pulls two larger parts from the pile, lifts them in the air, and brings them together to see the silhouette of an energy weapon.


“Well shit,” Steve complains tossing the components and storming off.

Desmond’s Journey

48-Hour Challenge on writing.com. I found and accepted the challenge with an hour and a half remaining before the deadline. I wrote this story, then took 25 mins to figure out how to submit for the contest. I got it submitted with 9 mins remaining. The only guidance was to write a story of under 500 words while using the song Wake Me Up by Avicii as inspiration.

Desmond is excruciatingly bored, his leg bouncing under his desk as he continues to bite at the thumbnail of his paint speckled hand. His art teacher is going over theory—a complete and utterly hopeless waste of his time. It might as well be trigonometry for all the use it will have after he finishes school.


The gray hood of his jacket is pulled over his head and his sleeves are bunched up around his elbows. Various splotches of neon-orange, red, green and other colors stain his fingertips. And his jacket? It was monotone once—but that day is behind him now.


His jacket pockets are empty, but that doesn’t stop him from periodically sliding his hands inside to make sure. At some point, his accomplices had started rating him out. He didn’t know when exactly, but their jingling as he walked was probably the main cause…probably.


He had become so used to the balls jingling within the cans that he no longer noticed, instead becoming anxious when their sound was absent. If only his teachers could move past their own problems of hearing them, wouldn’t that be fantastic?


Desmond’s walking through school had led to several confiscations and imprisonments of his many, many friends. His teachers had learned to pat him down prior to his entering class, but he had learned as well. The sacrifice of those bygone friends allowed him to learn the value of leaving things outside. Then they would not be confiscated, and the teachers would not hear him as he abandoned their boring lecture.
…which just happened, by the way.


The teacher had started talking about proper form and rules…rules?! The audacity! He had never liked their rules, their coloring books that gave him boundaries to remain within. He didn’t need their approval or to be in their contests. All he needed, he thought, as he rounded the school building and knelt to grab a sack full of moral support…oh wait, he actually doesn’t need anything anymore, sighing as the jingling sack chases away his disquiet.


He finally comes to the wall he had previously chosen. Paint tops are sent tumbling as he liberates the nozzles with a flick of his thumb. The wall’s surface is was a solid off-white, and the mortar is so near flush with the brick’s surface, that he couldn’t have dreamed up a better canvas.


But Desmond knew his time was limited so he worked fast. His eyes keep returning to a clock on the wall as a corridor takes shape within his newest artwork. Several colored tops now sit on the tile floor around him, an audience watching as he finishes.


The last thing he uses is a sealant but turns to be between it and his art. Facing the can like a camera, the sack clutched in hand, he depresses the nozzle. The can drops away as the bell rings and other kids begin to file into the cafeteria. He simply turns and continues walking down the corridor.

Lights, Camera, Ashes!

[WP] You are a scientist as well as a vampire. While researching a cure for vampirism you discover a game-changer: Iron supplements along with a normal human diet sustain vampires better than blood. You call for a press conference to announce your findings.

“Is this guy legit, Becca?” the cameraman asks his partner.


“How many times do we need to go over this, Stan?” Becca relies. “It’s Rebecca so stop trying to shorten it.”


“Whatever you say, Rebeccaroni.”


Rebecca rolls her eyes and looks around to the other news crews gathering in the Community Center. “A lot of crews sure think he’s legit. Whatever he’s announcing, it seems like he wanted to get the information out to as large an audience as possible. Even the national gang is here.”


“Well, I ain’t worried about the national blow hards. I brought Samantha along for this one,” Stan says, rubbing his camera affectionately.


“That’s your new one?”


“Seriously? You can’t tell the difference between Samantha and that previous dumpster fire that kept me company? Rachel was way less classy than my new girl.”


Rebecca shakes her head. “You’re a strange little man.”


“Greetings and thank you all for coming,” the man begins, standing at a podium that is over looking the crowd.


Rebecca gives a rolling gesture to Stan and turns back to the stage.


“I appreciate you all being able to make it out here at such a late hour,” the speaker in the white coat continues. “My name is not important, but I bring to you my fi–” He is interrupted, raising his hand in front of his face and looking towards one end of the crowd. “Please, I requested no flash photography.”


Stan is tapping the view finder and turning dials as the speaker addresses the other side of the room.


“What’s going on?” Rebecca asks in a forced whisper.


Stan shakes his head. “I’m not picking him up in the view finder for some reason.”


“Do we still have audio?”


“Yeah.”


“Well just keep rolling.”


“As I was saying,” the speaker continues. “I’ve made a discovery that will benefit all life in Earth. Human kind and animal alike. For starters, it should be said…Vampires are real and I have proof.”


A large commotion comes over the crowd and the speaker raises his hands in a calming gesture. “Please, allow me to continue for that’s not the reason for my calling this conference.”


Stan shakes his head. “Come on girl, don’t do me like this. I need this on film. He flips two more switches and turns on the cam lights, assuming it might be a lighting issue.


The speaker turns toward the light, raises a hand to shield his face, screams, then catches fire and turns to dust.


Rebecca turns back to Stan with a glare as Stan looks back and forth between the camera and the vacant podium. “Ooohhh,” Stan finally says, nodding in understanding. He taps the side of his camera as he looks back to Rebecca. “UV lamps.”