Creative Corner

@Mypilot

They weren't the usual sort of family that you would find in a gated community in the richer part of the district. The people who shared a fence-line with them took every opportunity to remind them of that fact. It was rather unfortunate for them, but their words fell on deaf ears, literally.

Zombies don't hear much of anything. Or speak, or do anything else for that matter, other than spread their rot around them, leaving the taste of death in their wake. They weren't the kind of people who cared what anyone thought of them. They had no reason to; they were already dead.

They had a dead garden where dead flowers grew. The dead little boy trundled around the yard with his dead little animal - they neighbours thought that maybe it had once been a dog, but it was hard to tell when they could see the light shining through its ribcage.

The zombies didn't bother anyone though. Despite their strangeness, they kept to themselves, so the neighbours' complaints went unheard by the council. They weren't bothering anyone, and their presence did a good job of discouraging other unsavoury sorts that might otherwise darken their door.

There was nothing wrong with the zombie family that lived in the gated community, except for the fact that they were zombies. As long as you made sure to stay in a direction away from the wind that carried their rotting stench - slim chance of that - then you were guaranteed that they would give you your space and keep to themselves.

For some reason, the neighbours still weren't convinced.

@Mypilot

Dana spent hours planting the plants in her garden, wearing gloves and jeans in the middle of March. A coat covered her torso. The weather was just beginning to warm up, so now was the optimal time to put the flower seeds in the ground so they would grow by the end of summer and bloom in the fall.

In the months that went by, as her flowers grew, unfortunate things happened to Dana and her son, Mark.

The winds were harsh and strong in the month of April as the rain poured down to the ground, drenching the buds that had sprung out of the ground, forcing them back into the dirt. Mark had gone out the take his toys back into the house and forgot all about his mother’s flower garden, stomping on the flowers.

Dana slammed her bedroom door shut and sobbed for hours when she saw the mess in the light of day.

By May, the buds were almost twice as large. They showed promise, and Dana spent extra time tending to them to help them get back on their feet after last month’s setback. She just wanted to see the beautiful blooms and feel the accomplished feeling of a successful garden. This was the first time she had touched it since her husband died five years ago.

Mark, his friend, and the friend’s dog snuck around outside on a hot winter’s night. The animal played in the garden, destroying the flowers that had made considerable progress. They were wrecked almost beyond repair.

Dana built a little fence around the yard that was six and a half feet long by three feet wide. It was a good sized area, just the right sized space to fit on top of a body.

These flowers needed protected, though she understood that they may not make it out of this alive. She talked to them.

“Oh, darling, you’ll make it through this illness,” she whispered, touching the leaves of one particularly broken plant. “We’ll be together soon.”

Things went from hot to hotter in June. Dana prioritized the plants to the point that she fainted in the garden. While at the hospital, she told her boy to take care of the plants. Every moment she spent in the hospital, she thought about her garden. The plants couldn’t die, she had to take care of them.

They needed to last.

She worried that Mark might not heed her request. After all, he was an adult and didn’t need her anymore, and he visited once a week. If that.

Dana asked the young girl next door to help her keep up with the garden. The temperatures in July were hotter than June, and she couldn’t spend as much time outside without feeling lightheaded. No matter how much water she drank, she couldn’t stay outside for long periods of time.

The kind woman agreed, and she helped Dana with other things. When Dana could, she paid the girl a few dollars here and there.

When night came, Dana would sit out in the garden and stare at the flowers. They were surviving, not thriving. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

“I wanted us, to be forever,” she said, voice wavered and cracked. She wiped the tears off her face. “And I wanted a few more years on this planet. I won’t last much longer, I’m afraid, to see your flowers bloom.”

Dana lost her appetite and grew slimmer throughout the weeks of August, and Lucy, the woman next door, insisted on taking her to the doctor. Dana refused. She didn’t want to be drugged and she didn’t want to leave her garden.

She wouldn’t stop talking about how important it was and that her husband needed it and she couldn’t let it die. Not like she let him die, on accident, when she was busy on a grocery run and he fell down the stairs.

That image of him when she came home would forever haunt her mind.

Of course, she buried in the backyard with a small tombstone that she etched his name into. Years passed and she got the idea in a dream that she should grow some flowers for him, so he could enjoy something beautiful while he was six feet under.

At the start of September, Dana died. No one took care of the flowers, and it was like they grew up out of the ground already dead.

They were never meant to bloom.

@Karika - Awww, a surprisingly cute story for my slightly unpleasant prompt. =.D I'm just imagining the lil zombie family going about their business. I could almost see this as an animated short, where their limbs keep popping off at random times. I suppose a dead garden is alright when everything else is that way, too!

@humanityxpeople - Ah, yes. The unhappy story I was expecting. \o/ Poor Dana and poor Mr. Dana. At least his sort-of flowers match his sorry state. =D I like that last line and thought it tied it all together quite well, very befitting. rip the flowers

Winner is Karika, with the runner-up being humanityxpeople, to no ones surprise! Congrats you two for being motivated and on time! =D

Prompt: "You don't strike me as a professional criminal."
Words: whisper, gaze, cuff, defiant, erroneous, chortle, employer, hide, innocent, mask.
Deadline: 17 October 23:59

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Karika @Annalynn @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @MintyDragon @Kiradog234 @Skyeset @AloneTogether @frostt

@Karika

I stood against the corner, enveloped in shadow. I could hide here without worry, invisible to passers by. In the early recesses of the morning it was still mostly dark. Few streetlamps had flickered on and so I was pretty much alone. Good, just how I liked it.

I adjusted the cuffs of my crimson aviator jacket. Crimson's a good colour, it hides the blood. A shape came into being at the other end of the alley, sliding soundlessly into its depths.

I removed the whale done dagger from my pocket. The small weight was reassuring in my hand, a comfort in unfamiliar territory. No way was I taking any chances. This job had been far too difficult to escape payment, if I was going to be ambushed and killed in this line of work, so be it, but I'd be paid first.

This was my first ever commissioned kill. I'd killed before, of course, it's hard not to when you operate in the criminal underground of a busy city such as this. I was renowned for never donning a mask, no matter the consequences. My only protection was my collar. I'd pull it up, cover the bottom half of my face and save it from being recognised. Honestly, I'm not sure how effective that is, generally I don't leave any witnesses so it's never been a problem.

The shape slunk onto the wall next to me, pressing against the cool stonework and breathing in strangled gulps. He was short, rotund, with a mop of unevenly cut dirtied blonde hair astride his scalp.

I caught a whisper of something unintelligible, accompanied by wheasing snatches of breath. I wondered if this person had ran here, or if he was nervous.

He glanced sidelong at me, gathering his nerve if I knew anything. I gazed back at him icily. I didn't visit come here to wait around. The dagger was now hidden up my sleeve, out of sight.

When he spoke again, I head every chilling word.

"Erroneus." The code word, that didn't bother me too much, but it meant that I'd messed up.

"You got the w-wrong one. She was innocent it was her sister we wanted... out of the way." He gave a laugh at the end, well, more of a chortle really, obviously trying to relieve the steadily growing tension.

I stood, motionless, too startled to reply. I didn't mess up. I was effective.

Surely, he had made the mistake? No, not him, his employer. He was only the messenger, he probably didn't even know who the target had been.

"No. I did not mess up, there is no way. I had the facts, I followed every instruction." I was defiant, certain of my success. My eyes flicked to his hands, his pockets. There was no trace of the promised dosh. I felt a spark of anger ignite within me. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

He sensed my negative feelings, "Well, a-apparently she has - had - a twin sister. So -any-any-anyone could have made that mistake." His eyes were wide, pleading. He knew how this would end. I smiled inwardly, it appeared my reputation was known. That, that was good news.

I decided then that there was no need for another Death this week. I sheathed my dagger. If I wanted my reputation to continue to grow, I had to let him live.

I shot him the fiercest glare I could muster, then turned on my heel and made to leave, pulling my collar up around my throat. Anger flared within me. How dare they. I must have been set up to avoid a payment. Denied what was rightfully mine. I ground my teeth together, turning back with a flourish. My dagger sunk into his throats before he had even realised it.

The small mans eyes widened even more as he gagged and fell to the ground, unnmoving. Almost instantly, I felt more peaceful, calmed.

The whale bone dagger dripped as I turned it, admiring the burgundy liquid that shone faintly in the moonlight. I bent, wiped it off on his jacket, and turned again, exiting the alley without a moments hesiation.

“You don’t strike me as a professional criminal.”

“You think?” the kid snapped back at the lady who’d spoken, her assessment (however true) making him appear stupid in front of the others. “Professional criminal my arse. Unless you’re- you’re a merc or somethin’, then there’s no such thing as a ‘professional’. Now shut your trap and lie there like a good, innocent hostage.”

He moved the barrel of the gun away from her direction, pointing it at a few of the others who looked like they would try something. The panda mask over his face made him feel overheated, and even though no one could see his face, he had a weird feeling they all knew he wasn’t old enough to be on the same level as his crew. To be hired by an employer like the boss.

Bee returned, his telltale bee mask slightly askew on his face. He righted it before talking, voice louder and more hostile than normal. “Everybody better stay down!” he barked, his gun held steadily in front of him as a reminder of who was in charge. “If I see any one of you getting up before we’re out of this building, I will shoot you. Understand?” If anyone thought he wasn’t professional would quickly learn how erroneous that assumption was, and they all knew it.

There were a few whispers of consent, all the hostages wincing away from Bee and his gun—as if they could hide. And when Wolf entered the room, duffel of money in hand, they all watched her warily. No one wanted to meet her defiant gaze. Prey to predator.

“All good?” she asked, nodding at Panda. He nodded back, habitually fixing his mask. Satisfied, she waved at Bee. “Let’s go.”

They walked out of the bank like kings from a banquet, duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Aside from their masks, their clothes were entirely identical. Right down to the black leather gloves and neat cuffs. A unit, a team.

In the car, with a Casper the Ghost mask on, Ghost tapped on the side of the car as they all piled in. Before the last boot was even off of the pavement, he was peeling out of the lot and down the road, the telltale sound of sirens creeping up after them.

“Spotted,” Bee hissed, ripping off his mask. He let out a string of curses, turning around from the front seat to peer through the rearview window. “Better lose them, Ghost. Last thing we need is a helicopter after us.”

Ghost let out a grunt of acknowledgement, and deftly drove the car up through oncoming traffic and onto the highway.

Briefly, before he turned, Bee glanced at Panda. “Not bad for your first showdown, kid. Maybe next time you’ll actually get to shoot someone. He grinned, toothy and as wolf-like as Wolf’s mask, before twisting back into his seat. If this were some sort of action flick, Panda would have expected Bee to let loose a villainous chortle.

Briefly, Panda recalled what the lady had said to him. You don’t strike me as a professional criminal. Yeah. He knew.

@Karika

We resided in different areas of the criminal profession. Where I had a method to my madness, he did whatever he pleased whenever he pleased as long as it got the results he craved. All of this was effortless when he wore a mask and lived in anonymity. He blended in with the crowd, and he hid in plain sight just for the thrill. Eventually, he got caught, and I moved on.

There were bigger and better things out there for me, and I loved the emotions of playing with a new target and getting someone to trust me only to be met with betrayal. They were all so innocent on the outside, but they had an unpaid debt on the inside.

Unknowingly murdered by me. And it was intoxicating to have that kind of power.

My employer called me one evening after what I considered a particularly successful dinner in the richer part of town where the average person would have to put a mortgage on their house to eat.

“You take care of her yet?” he rasped. His voice had been wrecked with years of smoking cigarettes and cigars and it always came out as menacing and threatening.

“I will soon,” I answered.

“Erroneous. You’ll do it tonight,” he responded.

He always spoke that word when he meant business, and he had quite a large vocabulary. He might be head of some illegal operations, but he still had a thirst for knowledge.

“But--” She meant nothing to me, but I hadn’t won her over yet. I needed time for it to hurt her.

“You’re not playing games with this one. She hasn’t paid up and she’s long past due.”

“Yes, sir.”

I found my way to her apartment. A beautiful penthouse that she told me belonged to her husband, but he was always away from home. She emphasized that when I came over to her place a couple nights ago, and I didn’t care. None of it meant anything to me.

Maybe tonight I would be defiant. I wouldn’t follow his orders. I played this game by my rules, not by his, and there was nothing stopping me.

I gazed at her while she poured glasses of wine, thinking about how she would never do for plenty of other men and women. I knew her loneliness, and I understood it in the way she desired my attention and my touch.

“You know, you don’t strike me as a professional criminal,” she spoke, breaking a silence between us that I hadn’t noticed was there.

If I had taken a sip of my wine, I likely would have spit it out, but I could play this game with my poker face on. “If I were a professional criminal,” I said. “What would I need to look like to be considered one? A neon sign, maybe?”

She chortled and sat down next to me on the couch. “Dressed to kill. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Just, classier, I suppose.”

“This is as classy as it gets.” I took the wine glass, but I didn’t take a sip. “What gave it away?”

She sighed and leaned into the couch. I noticed she hadn’t touched her wine either. “The fact that it’s been six months since I paid your dying employer.”

I scooted closer to her, to watch her closely. “Why haven’t you paid up? You’ve got the whole world right here, and I’m sure millions of dollars are sitting in your bank account.”

“Because he was rude to me once. He doesn’t deserve my money and he won’t get it.”

“Huh.” I nodded since that was her decision. I glanced at the back wall where I knew the safe was located after my last visit. My eyes focused on her. This was a good moment, where she was sitting and vulnerable and I could choke her.

It would be intimate, for sure, and I preferred the use of a gun, but I would use whatever skills I had available to me in the moment.

“That’s petty,” I said.

“So is a man ordering someone to kill his ex-clients.”

Fair enough. I sighed and set the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I won’t murder you tonight,” I whispered as I got up from the couch and looked down at her. “Maybe another time.”

She smiled and waved to say goodbye.

Before I stepped out of the apartment, she had cuffed me.

“You can join your husband in jail,” she whispered. This was a trap. My employer sent her to stop me while I was ordered to stop her. Yet I lost. “Unless you want to drink the wine.”

She didn’t strike me as a professional criminal either. I should have known better than to take off my mask and let her worm her way inside my head, but she knew my weakness. I wanted someone to understand and I wanted some emotional intimacy since I had no one to share that with.

So the prompt was “You don’t strike me as a professional criminal.”
What I didn’t mention, was that where I got it from, there was a second part to it with a reply that read “That’s why I’m so good at it.”
I’m loving your interpretations of the prompt as you were only given half of it.

@Kiradog234
There’s several spelling/word errors in this that made me stumble over the meaning for a moment, but I can figure out what you’re trying to say.

I like the use of the word ‘rotund’. It’s not used that much these days, at least not in the books I’ve been reading. I really like your use of description in that last paragraph, too. It’s an interesting story. I rather enjoyed your take on the prompt, especially without knowing the second part that went with it.

@Mypilot
A kid? That’s different. I like it. Ooh. I found an error. That doesn’t happen often.
“If anyone thought he wasn’t professional would quickly learn how erroneous that assumption was, and they all knew it.” I still see what you’re saying, of course. I just like to pick at you because you’re too good at this otherwise.

A very nicely written bank heist. I love the way you describe the characters, and how Panda seems quite reluctant to be there.

@humanityxpeople
I love the raspy voice of the employer. It makes me think of a film noir kind of setting, luxurious criminal in a nice restaurant with a raspy mob boss grunting at them and thinking they can be pushed around. Beautiful.

That’s an interesting use of the word erroneous, though I suppose it does work there. I’ve never seen it used quite like that before. Bravo for making it work.

Ooh. It doesn’t lose the film noir vibe at all through the whole thing. I really love the twist at the ending.

Winner: humanityxpeople
Runner up: Mypilot

Well done to the three of you. I thoroughly enjoyed them all.

@Karika

Thank you for the feedback! I always forget to re-read things, and my iPad has a dodgy keyboard at the moment, so I make more spelling mistakes than usual XD

@Karika I'm glad you enjoyed it! :D The film noir vibe was unintentional but I can see where it is, and I like it.

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @/humanityxpeople @/Karika @Annalynn @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @MintyDragon @Kiradog234 @Skyeset @AloneTogether @frostt @misericordieuse @favvn @Restless @Auraelia

In the spirit of Halloween,

Prompt: "Nothing good happens after midnight"
Words: wind, eerie, trees, whisper, midnight, silent, decrepit, cemetery, sprint, eyes

Deadline: Friday Oct. 20th @ 21:00 FR time.