#writing experiment
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The sands devoured the landscape in every direction, a gaping yawn of yellows and reds. The protagonist's throat scorched dry. The last drops of their water bottle had been drained two hours ago.
They staggered another step forward on the dunes, squeezing their eyes shut against the breeze that somehow did nothing to alleviate the heat. They raised a hand to shield their face.
When they opened their eyes again, the antagonist stood in front of them. They looked as cool as ever, untouched by blistering day or the surprisingly freezing night.
"How is your great escape going?" the antagonist asked. They flicked their fingers, magic summoning a sweet pool of water into the inviting cup of their palm. "Are you ready to come home yet, darling?"
Option A: The protagonist shoved past the mirage, for it had to be a mirage, in silence. "I'm not your darling," they snapped, all the same. And they knew they could never go home again.
Option B: The protagonist's gaze dropped, despite their best efforts, to the tantalizing promise of water. It was all they could do not to drop to their knees there and then.
The antagonist's smile shimmered across their face, glinting in their eyes. You can have it," the antagonist said. "If you ask nicely."
Option C: The protagonist's hands shot up, drawing up a protective ward. Their heart hammered. It was impossible that the antagonist was standing there, wasn't it? The citadel was barely in sight anymore.
"Oh," the antagonist clicked their tongue. "That badly, huh? Poor thing."
Option D: "How are your desperate attempts to find me going?" the protagonist returned. "Ain't nothing but sand to see."
"If you come back now, I won't be angry."
The protagonist snorted. "I've got my own anger to contend with, after what you did. What do I care about yours?"
Option E: "Do you really think?" The antagonist stepped closer, holding their watery hand up to the protagonist's lips. "That distance alone would be enough to shatter the connection between us? This is silly. You know I don't like to see you suffer."
The protagonist let the antagonist feed them a drop of water. A moment of weakness, perhaps. Or maybe just the familiarity of them, of the bond rattling in their chest. The thirst and the hunger.
"Then close your eyes, love," they replied. "Look away and you won't have to."
#idk what this is#writing#experiment#writing experiment#poll#writing poll#creative writing#hero x villain#antagonist x protagonist#protagonists and antagonists#i wish the poll choices could include more text
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Avoiding my WIPs; writing experiment #2: Klaroline AU human
Caroline should’ve known. In a small town, there’s only so many local “celebrities” that could be tapped to be in the charity bachelor auction. Of course they’d bring in the famous pitcher for the Wolves, a two-time MVP who recently led his team to a World Series win. Klaus Mikaelson. Sports legend. Home-town hero. And the worst breakup Caroline had experienced.
She managed to slip into the shadows of Mystic Grill, ducking slightly behind the tacky, heart-shaped signs the planning committee had placed throughout the banquet room. Matt immediately was at her side, handing over a fresh screwdriver with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. Had I known he’d be here, I would’ve warned you,” he quietly murmured.
“It wouldn’t have mattered. As deputy mayor, I’d still be expected to make an appearance.” She barely resisted the urge to down her cocktail, knowing there were judgy eyes watching closely for any sign of weakness. Fucking small towns.
Klaus smiled with a casual confidence as he glad-handed around the room. He could still wear the hell out of a tux. Bastard. Caroline steeled herself for the moment when he noticed her and no matter how many times she’d prepared herself for this moment that she’d assumed would never come, it still felt like taking a bullet. Those gray eyes were much colder than she’d imagined. He held her gaze for the briefest of seconds and then looked right through her.
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Practice Makes Perfect
For @happyocelot
Hope you like this little snippet! I enjoyed the experiment!
AO3
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 薬屋のひとりごと - 日向夏 | Kusuriya no Hitorigoto - Hyuuga Natsu
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Fengxian/Lakan (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto)
Characters: Lakan (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Fengxian (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto)
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Title from a K-pop Song, Song: Singularity (BTS Kim Taehyung | V), Angst, Introspection, Pining, Nightmares, Flower Language, Psychological Horror, Alternate Character Interpretation, Tags Contain Spoilers, Ambiguous/Open Ending
Summary:
Other days, he reaches for her, and she comes apart at his fingertips, nothing left of her but weiqi stones that clatter past his feet. Today, he doesn't dare, and miraculously, the Lakan in his dream listens, for once. He will gladly stay still and let her dole out as much of her disgust as she can if it means she'll grace him with her presence, just a little bit longer.
After all, she's the only dream he's ever had, even if this is a nightmare.
#kusuriya no hitorigoto#the apothecary diaries#fengxian#lakan#fanfic#fic#my fic#pls be forewarned this is heavy angst#writing experiment
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it’s really insane being creatively confident for once. when i used to get bored of what i was doing within a project, i’d get really scared of dropping it and desperate not to. this time i’m think Okay. So What Would I Be Interested In? How Do I Have Fun Again? take a break if you feel you need to but if you still want to work, don’t let burn out be burn out. turn it into exploration. find what will make you fall in love with your project again.
#writing#writers block#writing tips#writing experiment#artistic exploration#writing is fun#keep it that way#fall in love with your project again#comic writing#character writing#original work#original content
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Untitled Experiment 1.2
— [ << Untilted Experiment 1.1 ] —
Tubbo got out of his room and was about to run towards and down the stairs when he stopped.
"Who's Tubbo's parent uh, line? Guardian?" Tubbo's face scrunched in confusion. "What are you talking about? Are you asking who my parent is? Why are there five options there? And what do they all mean? Like, most of them are animals!"
"Tubbo come on! We should go now if you really want to go to the park!"
Tubbo looked towards the stairs, he knew who his parent was. He totally did! It was—
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It might be strange for a boy to be named Abigail.
But back then, upon arriving at the orphanage, Abigail is nothing but a filthy, quiet kid. Aimlessly wandering around the orphanage until a nun take pities on him and decide to take him under her wing. He never spoke, never did things unless he was guided to. Eyes that didn't spark a hint of life in them, that always seems unfocused.
Children avoid him a lot, naturally. In this small village, people still believes in ghost and bad spirit.
The only time he ever reacted is when he heard the name Abigail.
No one knows why. Abigail probably wouldn't remember. But like a clockwork, he spring back to life when people called him Abigail.
“Abigail can you bring this for me?”
“Abigail let's play!”
“Abigail you count to ten, and we'll start hiding.”
Abigail. Abigail. Abigail.
Maybe there's something familiar in that name.
Maybe it's a memory Abigail refused to remember for whatever reason.
But he knows the name Abigail is important. To him, or to someone else.
So he respond, and he spoke, and he play, and he lived. He lived because someone he cares about could never does.
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What would the Cornwall gang order at a coffee shop.
Tristan: He would be that douche bag that would be overly specific with his order down to which ingredients go in and the way you mix it. He’d also get irrationally upset every time the barista gets his name wrong. He’s sure they’re doing it on purpose. (They kinda are.)
Isolde: Would either get an ungodly amount of espresso or just straight black coffee. It’s not about the taste but how much caffeine she can get into her system. She probably pours 5 hour energies into her cup on the regular, much to the horror of Palomides and Brangaine.
Dinadan: Probably a ridiculously sugary Frappuccino with extra whip cream paired with a equally sugary pastry. He’ll also give the barista an obviously fake name just because.
Palomides: Would get hot chocolate. He likes how whimsical it feels. He prefers it darker than it’s usually made at most shops, but he stills enjoys it.
Brangaine: Would get Black tea with cream and sugar. She’ll also have a blueberry muffin that she will have to guard from everyone else at the table. Even though she specifically asked them if they wanted one and they said no!
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Continuous Cities 6 (A continuation of Italy Calvino’s Invisible Cities) by Ami J. Sanghvi
—Published in Prometheus Dreaming Magazine’s 2019 Prometheus Unbound anthology; semifinalist 🥀🌹
#amaranth#amaranthine#prometheus#invisible cities#magical realism#italo calvino#ekphrastic poem#ekphrastic poetry#ekphrasis#metaphysical#survivor#prose#prose writing#experimental writing#writing experiment#art experiment#indie art#indie author#parafiction#poets on tumblr#experimental#experimental poetry#indie writer#poetry blog#queer poetry#queer bipoc#desi writers#support indie authors#indie press#indie publishing
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The most recent episode of the podcast is out!
Narrator, Author, and Artist of the episode is The Bricksmith (she/hers):
https://www.tumblr.com/the-bricksmith
Artist of the logo art is FallenLeafSpirit (she/hers):
https://www.tumblr.com/fallenleafspirit
Transcript below break:
[Transcript Start]
Good evening friends enemies and unaquainted strangers. I Welcome you to the Disquiet Library. I am the curator. And these listless halls house many stories and artworks. This evening i have a reading and painting from the library collections. Before I get on with that I have a few announcements.
We have selected a library assistant. It turns out that Chester Teefs the author of the oh so helpful book our Liberian friend recommended to us a few months back lives near one of the entrances to the library. He was interested with working with the library's mimic population and reached out to me to see if he could assist. I was all too happy to take up his offer as regrettably I have made little headway with the rowdy books in our collections. So if you see a large trunk with a tophat around do not be alarmed. However I must say that although our new assistant is merely an assistant librarian, the powers and abilities conferred by this position are still potent and the usual safety measures for dealing with librarians should be followed. For those who have forgotten or are uninformed, Chester and I have put together some safety protocol and interaction guidelines. These should be posted on our new community announcements corkboards near the entrances.
Our second announcement for the evening is that community mapping efforts mentioned last week have progressed well. We have now established that one can get to the children's fiction section most of the time. By tucking a red crayon behind ones left ear. If you would like to contribute to the ongoing mapping efforts please feel free to use the crayons and paper we provide near the donation bins. Completed mapping efforts can be turned in at the checkout counter or if you happen to catch me winding my way through the stacks. Please do not turn maps in to Chester as this could have dangerous concerns for the spacial stability of existing routes.
With that all accounted for let us turn to this evenings artwork. It is another artwork and story provided by my archivist contact in an adjoining galaxy who provided the story of our nameless droid friend from a few months ago. You do not need to have viewed that artwork or story to understand this evenings entertainment. For thise listening to the audio recordings a link to view the accompanying artwork has been included in the description box or card where ever you found the recordings. The story has some description of gore and death but the artwork should have no objectionable flavors. So if you find these distasteful please feel free to peruse the other works the library has to offer. With that let's begin.
I'm still finding it weird working with the soldiers. They don't really have much of a personality. Must be their struck training or something but it's a bit unnerving when the closest they get to amicability is when they are polishing their weapons together or in the mess hall together. I'll try to get to know them once we get underway.
Galactic standard year 3455 spring week 5 day 2 Kaffel sector.
My platoon and I have received orders to carry supplies to the Carragath base. Reports indicate heavy pirate activity in the area and the nearest warp point is in the next system so we have been supplied with one of the battle carriers rather than a cargo hauler as would usually be flown on such a route. It seems a bit overkill for a few pirates. But apparently this transport has some important supplies that can't be risked.
Galactic standard year 3455 spring week 5 day 5 Warpspace
We are getting close to our destination now. I guess I was too harsh on the soldiers in my last entry. I've shared evenings with them where we played a few rounds of sechnet as one if them had picked up a deck of the cards in one of his old away trips. They are a damn hand at it and truly wiped the floor with me. The one time I won they blamed it on me using "those damn envoy powers to read our fuck'n minds." When I just got lucky with my draws. They are still pretty formal and war focused but I suppose its to be expected from people who were raised both with growth accelerant and trained for war since they were infants. Today they invited me down to the training range. I was supposed to show them some moves so they can get adjusted to fighting along side a plasmasword. And some of the basic abilities they can expect when I channel the will. TS 3654 wanted to see how I held up in comparison to their plasma launchers. So he went a bit more fierce in demonstrations than we had agreed. And once they realized plasmaswords can discharge absorbed energy they had me face off against them in target practice. They had a lot of fun and seemed impressed at the end of it.
It was unnerving to see the androids simply stopped and turned around and started retreating in formation. Forming ribbons and rivulets of metal liquid that flowed out of the ship and back into the troop carriers.
Galactic standard year 3455 spring week 5 day 5 unknown
Everyone is dead or soon to be. We fell into a trap. Somehow the confederacy ripped us out of warpspace. I thought that was impossible. Not only that but in doing so they ripped the battle carrier in half. One moment everything g is fine then the next the ships ripped apart and we are taking fire. They look to be a medium fleet of a battle ship and some carriers. But soon while we were scrambling to ready the particle beams and return fire troop transports had already landed bots in the hull. I suited up in an Eva suit and took a battalion of soldiers to fight through the landing bots and go rescue stranded crew in the fore section of the ship. No mater how many bots we shot they just kept flowing in like swarms of ants and locusts burning away any living beings in their way. Endless waves of machines we fought though. Cutting then down and blasting holes through them. Even the blasts from my plasma saber could only clear momentary breaks. I tried to clear my mind and just let the will flow through me. But even the endurance and strength the will provided could do little more than hold the line against the holds of metal and lancing red plasma bolts. I felt the drone and vibration of the particle beams shutter off. As the power to the ship disappeared. We had made it to a viewport and so the only light was the dull glow from outside and the pressing stillness. A rumble below deck confirmed that they had destroyed the power station. And the bots stopped advancing. They all stared as us with their pointed heads and plasma launchers but they were paused waiting. The only thing we could hear was our breathing. Deep and slow conserving our suit supplies.
As the troop transports receded a single shuttle departed the confederacy fleet and approached the main hangar Bay. Our view blocked its approach. And one of my soldiers remarked on the bots leaving. "Why did they stop they shouldn't have stopped."
"We are dead already its not worth the effort. Without power our life support is out and we can't send for help." Another soldier, TS 3650, remarked.
"Commander. Can I see your plasma sword a second?" One of my solders had asked. I gave it to him and he held the thin blade up to a curious hole bored into one of the corpses. It wasn't the traditional round bolt hole but rather the thin slit reflected the geometry of the sword blade. "I don't think a simple bot could have done a lot of these." He said. "Also…" he grabbed the back of the armor and heaved the body out of an indentation in the wall the helmet was embedded in the wall and it came free of its occupant revealing the face of the man who had called me a cheater at cards thus morning. He had been in our battalion with us.
"We could get to the life pods they should have separate systems we could use."
"We have to be careful and take it slow though. Our EVAs are only about half full." My body tried to panic to breathe heavily as I processed the news. But I steadied my breathing g forcing long slow breaths. Panic would only use the air faster. As we slowly made our way through the empty halls. The massacre became evident. I had five soldiers remaining and it seemed like we may have been the only survivors. But the dark passageways only lit by our lamps attached to our helmets and the dull blue glow if my plasmasword. Sights got more horrific as we progressed. Amidst the piles of eviscerated bots and soldiers shot down in their squads by the bots. We started to find unnatural bodies. Soldiers missing limbs rather than shot. Or in some cases a few bodies were violently pulled into an air duct as though something had grasped them and tried to drag them away with no regard for their bone structure or armor. Shiny red blood glistened on their white beetle armor which caught our lamps and added to the grisly scenes.
The last three of us remaining made it to the escape pods and had started manually disengaging them and launching before we piled into the last one. As we launched I caught a glimpse of four yellow reflected eyes that caught my lamp from the dark as I pulled the hatch closed. We have life support now but with the cruzer disabled and unable to broadcast our signals there is little hope. I write this down to document so that if our bodies are found the republic can be at least warned.
"I only read three of you. I think we lost TS 3650 as well." I observed. Stick together men. We don't know what got the other two and I don't want to loose any more of you. The darkness pressed in around us even more as we made our way along the last few turns towards the escape pods. The trooper behind me started coughing. We paused to check in on him. His oxygen was getting low. And his suit was starting to backfill with nitrogen.
I only noticed the flash of movement and the slamming if the air duct just too late. TS 4567 had gotten grabbed by something from behind and had been rapidly dragged into the vents. His body was folded and floppy as his pulverized bones behaved much more like a bag if gravel when disrupted.
The remaining pages of the journal were blank and an angular charred slit carved into the edge of the journal and through to the chest of the burnt figure that was partially melded with the wall of the escape pod as though frozen in the moment of falling into a pool.
As the escape pod slowly turned in space. The two envoys saw the silhouette of a confederate cruzer. Smooth armor shells interspersed with minimalistic striped down utilitarian beams and girders and greebles. Then they saw a swirling green particle beam tear through their shuttle. They could hear the screams of their soldiers in the adjoining cabin before the escape pods emergency systems kicked in and closed the adjoining hatch. A dark y shaped silhouette of a shuttle broke away from the cruzer. The pods communicator crackled to life with a robotic severe voice. "This is general Horror. I bring the last words of your compatriot. 'Run run as fast as you can.' Do you have anything you would like to tell to tell to those who come looking for your bodies?"
That concludes our story for the evening. The library is currently undergoing some restructuring so you will be unable to find the usual resources with the donation bins. I will simply say thank you shadowy wanderers of the night. I hope you have a wonderful evening.
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Writing tip
When you write something, consider that you are painting a picture with your words to the reader. The better you describe the scene, the better your readers will be able to image it.
Example 1: The man stood at the corner.
Example 2: The miserable elderly man in the soaking wet brim hat and trench coat stood in the pouring rain at the corner of 5th and Low.
#writing#creative writing#writing tips#writing experiment#writing prompt#writing community#writing inspiration#writing advice
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Avoiding my WIPs; writing experiment #1: Ghost Ship fusion with Klaroline
They never should’ve kept the gold. Caroline had felt uneasy about it ever since she and Klaus had found it in the abandoned ship’s cargo hold. It had made no sense that it was sitting there in the weathered crate, the lid pried open but the gold untouched. How could that be — especially when the abandoned cruise ship clearly had been ransacked for decades by marauding treasure hunters and pirates?
Klaus picked up a dusty bar, studying it closely, his voice careful, but tinged with suspicion as he remarked, “Looks like the serial numbers were filed off. Considering we’ve found these floating in international waters, it seems to be ours for the taking.”
Rather than send her into daydreams of a carefree, frivolous lifestyle in which she’d never have to worry about paying bills on a meager salvager’s salary again, an icy sliver of fear gripped her instead. She couldn’t stop thinking about Klaus’ offhanded comment about the decades-old rust streaks they encountered earlier that he said looked more like bloodstains.
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The View Behind
Hello there! This is the last of the three poems in the Failures United™ Collection. It’s short, so I’ll keep my rambling short as well. I hope you enjoy The View Behind!
The View Behind
You look back, and find you aren't behind.
You're with everyone else;
Failures United™.
Making their way forwards together.
Towards progress.
The End
If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!
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Hello! Prospective new mutual. Found your post and was intrigued by the idea of "potentially weird writing experiments."
Care to share a little more on what you mean? :eyesemoji: One of the things I've been experimenting with is the strengths of prose/writing specifically as a medium -- what it can do well, how to play with the form.
(I'll also try to toss an ask or two your way for WorldBuilding Wednesday, I saw you mention interest--)
Hi!
While I've not shared any yet (been a bit focused on my editing deadline right now) I really want to share some of the writing experiments I've been doing. Sometimes they are not that weird with me just playing with different genres to my comfort zone or playing with a different perspectives (I was once taught in school that stories should never be in first person because that's boring... boy were they wrong. Read Darren Shan and now I use first person a lot.) really want to mess around with some 2nd person just to see what kind of thing I can create with it.
However when they do fall into the more weird category its things like playing with the formatting to tell the story from 4 perspectives at once (like on the same page and not switching between chapters) or mixing genres and tropes that are not normally paired. Or writing from a POV of a character with limited agency to act in scenes because of secrets or limitations. There are other ones if I were to delve through my WIPs. Some of these I did a while ago and am curious to go back to them and share bits. Maybe some new things too because my brain is always going "what if I do it this way?" about things (I really want to play with a time travel idea with different time lines over laying each other in the narrative.) I'll probably start sharing things like this in October or if things go well next week once the editing is done!
I subscribe very much to the idea of learning the rules of writing and then seeing where I can break or bend them to make something interesting.
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Feburary 1
Love letter 💌
To my dearest beloved,
I can't exactly picture you in my head. I don't know what you look like. Or what your personality is. Or even your name is… but if you are my beloved, I know you are something truly special and I am grateful that you have chosen me. I've been waiting for you and now that I have you, I will be the best that I can be for you. I can only hope you will do the same.
When I close my eyes, I dream of the simple things. Coming home to you. Saying good morning and good night everyday. I think of making you dinner and cuddling on the couch. I think about gentle touches and inside jokes that only we'll understand. Jamming out to music and screaming at the television. And… I want that. I can't wait to have it. And I hope I can have it with you someday.
I hope you will stick around for a while. I hope you love me at my best as well as my worst. Think that I'm perfect even when I'm easily the ugliest thing you've ever seen and when I go out of my way to be everything you want me to be. I've yet to have that. In all honesty, I want someone to love me for who I am and not who I pretend to be. But that is a tall order so I won't ask of you something I fail to do myself.
I'm not the easiest person to love. I'm broken beyond belief and I'm not… I'm headstrong and opinionated. I'm loud and obnoxious and clingy. I'm easily the smartest ass and the dumbest idiot in the room. I'm not anything that people would go out the way for, the bottom of the barrel, the last choice. So… for you to settle for me… to choose me at all… I am eternally grateful.
One day, I will get to meet you and I hope you are everything I hoped for.
Yours truly
“What the F*** is this?” Ikari growls, crumbling the letter as I sit nervously in front of him. He slams his fist on the table before sitting forward. “Why does this letter sound like an apology letter?”
“It’s… how I honestly feel.” I say, looking down at the table that we’re sitting at. “That's all I could come up with. I’m sorry if it's bad.”
“Okay, first off. Shut up. You are the densest person I have ever met. I don’t waste my time on just anyone and for you to think I would settle for the bottom of the barrel…” he slams his fist again, startling the waitress as she walks past. “You should know better. I don’t settle for anything less than satisfactory and you… you’re more than that, got it?”
My cheeks burn and tears tinge my eyes.
my submission for the 1st day of the feburary prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting
#writing#writeblr#for a fanfic#fanfic#writing inspiration#writing experiment#building an oc?#maybe idk#a little depressing#febuary#feburary prompts#romantic#love letter
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The Washerwoman
DISCLAIMER: while ispired by real accounts of obstetric violence, all names and facts recounted in this story are invented and do not refer to real people.
-
The hospital hall was almost blindlingly white, only broken by the equally aqua-clad nurses going back and forth. Tha air was filled with a low murmur, and occasionally a scream, a request for help.
Nobody was looking in her direction. She tried to stop a nurse passing by.
"Good morning. I am Aglaia Gheraldini, I was supposed to meet with ..."
"Ask at the reception"
"It was them who told me to go here ..."
"That's not my problem"
The nurse left. Aglaia found herself stranded in the aisle, now even more nervous at the perspective of actually approaching someone.
"Excuse me? I'm here for the internship ..." she tried asking a doctor.
"I'm busy"
"Excuse me, I wanted to speak with Dr Farella ..."
"Can't you read the signs over the door?!"
"Listen, move, you are in the way of everyone"
"Sorry"
They were right. Anxious as she was, she had stopped looking at the signs over the doors, and Dr Farella's office was in fact right in front of her. Nice going, Aglaia.
She could hear the muttering of the nurses and ostetricians around.
"Yeah, sorry ..."
"That's the intern? We will have to just endure her ..."
Good, she had already made a fool of herself. Desperately trying not to worsen the situation, she lightly knocked at the door, doing everything she could not to seem intrusive.
"Excuse me, I'm Aglaia Gheraldini. I had an agreement for an internship in this hospital with Dr Farella ..."
The middle aged man who was examining a bunch of papers at the desk glanced up and, upon actually noticing her, gave her a bright smile.
"That's me! Now, dear, I'm a little busy right now. Maybe we talk later? Go take a walk, maybe we'll get a drink together later and discuss this"
-
The baby blue of the sky clashed against the gold of the burnt grass in the heat of summer; the pinewood was closer and closer, promising cool, dark green shade, and Aglaia walked faster.
Finally, she reached her refuge from the merciless sun; she swiped her sweat, and sighed contently. Trekking was just what she needed after a long week of work.
She inspired the scent of pines and sea breeze. If she closed her eyes and focused she could hear, beyond the murmur of a nearby stream, the crashing of the waves on a beach. Maybe she would have gone for a swim later ...
She had fallen in love with Sardinia years ago, when she was a young teenager and had spent a summer there. She had been instantly smitten by the constant presence of the sea that found you no matter where you were, by the dry expanses of dry and reddish earth, by the night sky that held more stars than she had ever seen in her life.
Finding a stage in an hospital near Sassari had seemed like a blessing: to finally get to do her dream job, and enjoy the wonders of Sardegna during her scarce free time. Of course, now that she had seen the hospital, she was starting to have some doubts; but after all, nothing guaranteed her that an hospital in Milan or Rome would have been any better, and without being in such a beautiful place. She could still count herself lucky.
Another sound mixed with the stream and the waves. At first, she had troubles recognizing it: cicadas, birds? No, she realized as she walked closer: it was a human voice. It was singing something akin to a lullaby, in that Sardinian dialect that Aglaia didn't understand. A sweet, melancholic voice ... so melancholic. So much that it gave her chills. There was something wrong in those sad words, something unnatural ... what the hell was she thinking?!
It was just some lady singing. Judging by the direction of the sound, she was by the stream Aglaia was about to see, probably another trekker, maybe out with her child.
She would have seen her, gave her that friendly but detached greeting between two people who cross paths in the middle of nowhere, and continued on to the sea. Simple as that.
There was something in Aglaia that refused to do so. Something that paralized her, that screamed at her to don't go, don't go, don't go. It was ridiculous ... but still, that day, Aglaia avoided the stream and took another path to reach the sea.
-
"Now look to this one" the nurse said mockingly, pointing her gloved finger at the young woman writhing on the bed, her sweat and blood staining the otherwise pristine hospital bed. "She isn't even able to push"
"She might be too tired, she has been in labor by three days straight" objected Aglaia. "Maybe it's best if we ..."
"Who the hell do you think you are? You are here to learn the job, not to teach it to us!"
"Listen, we know what's it, okay?" intervened another nurse, trying to sound more placating. "We know what is an actual emergency and what is just some kid who desperately needs to get fucked at twenty and then can't handle the consequences. Right?"
The last part, along with a glare, was addressed to the patient, who cowered as much as she could, weakly asking for help.
"Aglaia, go call Dr Farella, we're giving her the episiotomy"
-
The hawk soared high in the deep azure of the sky; it circled a couple times, then launched itself somewhere past the point Aglaia could see. She smiled, and continued her trek.
The nuraghe should't have been far by now. She had already seen this one, back on that vacation that had sparked her love for Sardegna; this path was the same she had walked with her parents that time. A trip down memory lane, quite literally.
Now she would have had to pass a canal, cross a bridge, and then walk straight for another couple miles. She would have had her packed lunch there, rested a bit, taken some pictures, and then headed back. A day of perfect relax.
The cicadas were crying so loud that day, prompted by the intense heat. But amidst their choir, Aglaia could make up the running water of the canal, and - that song.
It was the very same song she had heard in her trek of two weeks before, the one who, she had to admit with some embarassment, had pushed her to run from her intended path. The same sad and sweet voice; the same incomprehensible lyrics in Sardinian.
Again, Aglaia felt her skin crawl, but this time, she stood her ground. It was ridiculous! It was just a song, probably the favorite of some trekker who coincidentally took the same paths of her. There wasn't this much choice on an island, after all. It was beyond absurd to be scared.
This time she would have gone forward. She had to, to reach the nuraghe, and she wasn't about to renounce her trip because of some suggestion. Now she would have reached the canal, seen the woman, greeted her and passed by. And everything would have been fine.
Here she was. Bent on the canal, tan, a long aquiline nose, a cascade of black hair, brows furrowed in concentration on what she was doing; washing clothes in the water.
Really! Aglaia had never thought that there could still be someone who washed clothes by hand in water bodies. Maybe the woman was from a very backwards family ... or maybe, her washing machine had broken and she was trying to bear the situation with dignity, acting as if everything was normal.
Now closer, about to cross the bridge, Aglaia was about to shout a greeting, a wave, and then go on her path, when her gaze fell on what the woman was actually washing.
There was so much red. What once should have been a lavender nightgown was now painted by a big crimson stain in its middle, the blood dripping and painting the surrounding crystalline canal a light pink; next to the woman there was another indument, a damp baby suit, its color impossible to understand with all the blood that completely covered it.
A scream escaped from Aglaia's lips, and she immediately tried to suppress it. This was the aftermath of a crime. She knew what she was seeing, it was impossible for a human being to lose all the blood she was seeing on these clothes and survive ... especially the baby. This woman was trying to cover up a murder, she was violent, dangerous, and they were alone here ...
The woman turned to look at her, and the nightgown slipped from her hands. Aglaia had to move, move, why had her body decided to freeze, what it had to do was run!
The woman screamed. The sound pierced Aglaia's hears, bringing tears to her eyes all by itself; it was different from anything she had ever heard even at the hospital, a cry of pure agony, despair and rage fused into one. Now she would have attacked her ...
She splashed Aglaia with the water of the canal. The young woman could barely elaborate on what an absurd, stupid move that was, that the liquid actually hit her face, and she fell down, screaming.
What should have been the barely warm water of a low canal felt like it was coming from all the rivers in Hell, a scorching thing that ravaged Aglaia's face, hissing and blistering on the spots of her face where it touched her.
Aglaia didn't even think: she scrambled to her feet, desperately trying to wipe out the liquid from her face and only managing to spread it further, and ran away, stumbling, falling, getting back up and running again, over and over, to her home.
-
Aglaia ignored the umpteenth message Dr Farella had sent her, asking her out. She would have had to see him in person anyway, et theh hospital, and tolerate his constant harassment. Not even the light disfigurement from the scalding water on her face seemed to deter him.
She had tried telling him she wasn't interested, and the answer had been to not be snobbish and an increase of the requests. She had tried, as politely as she could, to bring up the subject to the department head, but she had been completely ignored.
Nurses and obstetricians had made of her their personal stress ball, bursting out in screams at the minimal error or even without reason. And honestly, it was better like this, she could take it. It was a different question when they took it out on the patients.
Today it was another of such cases. Nurse Stefanini was making her wrath clear to a woman guilty of screaming too much during the expulsion phase. The poor woman was actually reining herself in, probably.
Especially because this labor was, once again, taking too long. Aglaia reached them, studying the track; the woman looked at her, at a complete loss, hoping in some kind of response.
Aglaia reached the nurse, avoiding to look the woman in her eyes. She showed her the results,
"The baby is under ..."
"Yeah, scream it for everyone to know!" huffed the nurse. "Do something useful and call Dr Paragnini, we'll need a Kristeller maneuver"
Aglaia shut up and ran to obey; the situation was even more serious than she had thought.
It seemed to take forever, finding Paragnini's office in the long white aisles that all looked the same, careful not to lose her way; as for the medic himself, he preferred finishing organizing his papers before, telling her to just wait. When she finally got back, the doctor in tow, the patient was gripping the metal bars on the bed with all her might.
"What is happening? What is happening?!"
"Hasn't the nurse told you?" asked Aglaia. She had been expecting to find her ready, scared, but aware of what was about to happen.
"Do you think one like her will understand?" Nurse Stefanini pointed at the woman, as if her appearence alone provided crushing evidence of her lack of wits.
Dr Paragini pressed all his weight on the woman's womb, causing her to cry in terror and surprise. Hadn't they debriefed her? It wasn't possible, the deontological code demanded informed consent!
"Aglaia, do you want to move?! Otherwise she'll never stop screaming!"
Aglaia ran, putting her own pressure on the woman's body. The maneuver, fortunately, was effective; two minutes later, the baby was out, placed at her mother's breast.
Aglaia felt relief washing all over her; she knew how dangerous this maneouver could be, the success was something to celebrate.
Still, she couldn't overlook the situation. Why had nobody asked for the patient's consent? What was she supposed to do in this situation, she couldn't expose the fact, she was just an intern, not even a doctor ...
"Excuse me" a feeble voice broke through her thoughts. "What do I ... how do I ..."
"Can't you take care of it on her own?" Aglaia immediately regretted her words. The patient seemed to make herself small, somehow smaller than the baby she held in her arms. No, she had to focus on her job. Not using vulnerable people as a stress anthidote, no matter how diffused the practice seemed to be in this hospital.
"Here, you held her like this. Do you feel strong enough to breastfeed her right now? Perfect. Here you go"
-
At least her social life wasn't limited to that damn hospital. Going around and chatting with other trekkers had given their fruits: Aglaia was now taking a nice stroll on a small town along a girl named Marina, who lived there.
It was a lovely place, a small fishermen town, the walls of ths buildings old and battered from the wind and sea, the smell of salt penetrating everything. Marina wasn't particularly impressed, having spent all her life there; she was talking about doing a 'decent' trip to Cagliari, as soon as they would have had enough coinciding free time. Aglaia didn't mind. Anywhere was fine, as long as it was in Sardinia and far away from the hospital environment.
All of a sudden, Marina's bored expression turned into a smile, and she strode forward.
She reached an elderly woman, so curved and signed that she seemed to have been sculpted into an old olive trunk; the two started talking in Sardinian dialect, so that Aglaia didn't understand a word and ended up standing there awkwardly, trying not to look too confused and hoping her friend would have remembered her existence.
"Sorry!" said Marina after a few minutes. "Aglaia, this is my grandmother. She was going to the marketplace, too"
"Nice to meet you" said Aglaia, offering her hand.
Marina's grandmother took and shook it, but her gaze remained fixed on Aglaia's burns. The young woman felt put under intensive examination, wondered how to react without sounding rude, and then the woman said something in Sardinian, still looking pointedly at her.
"She asked if you have met a panas" explained Marina. Ah, so her grandmother was of that old generation that didn't know standard Italian and only spoke regional dialects; Aglaia smiled kindly at her and then turned to her friend.
"What is a 'panas'?"
"An old legend we have around here. It says that a woman who dies in childbirth is condemned to wash her and her baby's clothes in penance, for a very long time. If someone interrupts her work she has to repeat by start, so if it happens she will get angry and punish the culprit by spraying boiling water on them" Marina pointed at Aglaia's blisters.
Aglaia stood still for a few seconds, trying to retreve her voice; when she did, what got out of her mouth was: "Penance for what? Did they murder their children?"
"No, no, just for dying in childbirth. You see, it makes them 'impure'. Ancient Sardinians weren't very progressive, sorry"
It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible. It must have been a coincidence, maybe some criminal had exploited the legend to get rid of the evidence and the water had been made hot by some totally explainable means ...
No, that sounded like Scooby Doo. Hell, the whole reason Aglaia still hadn't told anyone what she had seen was because she couldn't explain it! But there had to be a way, there just had to be a rational explaination for everything, she couldn't have met a ghost!
She forced a laugh. "Sorry to disappoint. I have these because my roommate let fall a pot of boiling water and I got drops on my face"
-
"Look at her, she looks like she's about to birth a frog!"
Aglaia, passing hurriedly by the aisle, had absolutely no cointext for this exclamating by one of the nurses. Her next charge, however, was to bring an oxytocine phlebo right in that very room, so that she had a privileged view over the issue.
The woman was as white as the hospital walls, but the bed she was on was a disaster. Her nightgown and the sheets were stained, dripping in subtle rivers of blood and an unidentified brown-green liquid. Had she defecated during the birth process? It was normal, why had the nurse even commented on it ...
No, that wasn't normal. That was too fluid, and the labor too early on ... that was her amniotic fluid. Her waters just broke, and instead of crystalline as they should, they were that mud color that had caused such ilarity in the nurses.
Ilarity, her ass! She had studied it over and over back in university. Meconium inalation syndrome: the child was suffering from a lack of oxygen, it had expelled his meconium in the amniotic fluid, and now risked breathing it, worsening the situation. If they did nothing, it would have suffucated.
The nurses were chatting among themselves, clearly not intentioned to do anything and just leave the poor woman to her own devices. She was trying to push, she was painful to see; Aglaia forced herself to stay impassible, to stay clinical, and still the result of her examination was anything but comforting.
She ran outside, finding Dr. Farella.
"Doctor, this is urgent. We have to do a caesarean"
"We don't have to do anything"
"Doctor, you haven't seen the situation, the amniotic fluid is ..."
"She can still terminate the birth naturally and it's better like this. Besides the fact that it saves us a lot on the costs, it will help her get her lesson. She had her fun with her legs open, now she gets the consequences"
Impure women, huh?
"The one waiting outside is her husband, not even the Damn Mother Church would have anything to say on that ... and even if he wasn't, that's not our business to judge, we have to ..."
"You have to shut up and listen to the people who actually have experience. She's carrying out the process naturally, and that's it"
It was only an emergence caesarean that prevented the disaster that day. The woman was cut open and stitched back up rather carelessly, of course without asking for her informed consent. The baby had to be brought to reanimation, but he was ultimately saved.
The doctor handed him to the patient, who laid exhausted and tearful among her own sweat, blood and other bodily fluids, and declared that she was clearly about to be a horrible, abusive mother, seen how she had already refused to suffer even to give birth to her son.
-
At last, Aglaia was due for a weekend back in Milan, with her family. It had been a long time since she had seen her parents, after all, so she could take a couple days away from the mountains and the beaches of Sardinia.
She stopped to a bakery before boarding her plane on Friday night: some traditional sweets were just what was needed to placate anxious, 'you-never-call' parents. A small package of sebadas would have done ...
And there, at the cash register, she saw the woman at the canal.
She recognized the tan, the long hair, the long and aquiline nose. The only difference was the expression: she was smiling, a bright smile that would have lit up a room.
Inside a framed picture.
The man at the register noticed her gaze. "Did you know my daughter?"
"Eh? No, I had just mistaken her for someone I know"
The man smiled, a small, wistful thing. "How old are you? Twenty-five? She was a little younger than you, in that picture"
The smile vanished. "She was pregnant, back then. It doesn't show, because I cut up the picture to focus on her smile, and not how ..."
He trailed off.
"I am sorry. Did something happen?"
"She died. Complications from childbirth. Neither her nor the kid made it. Weird, right? You think these things happened long ago, or maybe in some Third World country, instead ... there are people who don't believe me when I tell them, you know? Well, sure, you never expect that it will happen to people you love."
"I am terribly sorry. It's awful"
"The hospital was investiigated, of course, but ... well, they didn't find anything. Said that the doctors had done everything possible, and ... I'm sorry, now I am rambling. I shouldn't throw this story on every customer that passes by"
"It's no problem, really"
As she exited from the bakery, Aglaia decided that it had to be a scam. There were no other explainations. Maybe someone had sent the woman at the canal, and then the picturee, to conspire against her, to ...
Who was she kidding? She wasn't the target of a conspiracy. She was a perfect nobody, with no actual work and very little money to her name, living with a roommate in a tiny apartment. Nobody had anything to gain from her.
But then, what was this story?
The following days were spent in research. She actually spent very little time with the parents she had gone to see: her time was consumed by internet searches for the 'panas'.
She actually found her with no problem: a couple local newspaper had talked about her death. Her name was Arianna Lanzetti, she had been twenty-one, and already married. She also found the woman's former social profile: a Facebook page now submerged by messages of condolences and remembrance.
This was insane. This was all insane. And maybe she was going actually insane, because a particular idea was starting to take shape in her mind.
-
Usually, it was discomforting to be ignored as 'just an intern', Today, it was a blessing.
There weren't many women in the delivery room in that day and hour; if the hospital personnel did they job, they could have easily taken care of them without needing her. They probably wouldn't have even noticed.
Dr Farella, as befitting of his great intelligence, had left the computer on and logged into his hospital account; if he had returned too soon, Aglaia would have told him that Nurse Stefanini had sent her to check on a thrombophilic patient. if the nurse had denied, she would have played it as a misunderstanding. She could take it, she was used to everyone yelling at her and calling her incompetent.
She set on 'research file', and typed in Arianna Lanzetti's death date. The very same day as she should have given birth to her child.
There had been several births that day. Aglaia scrolled down, scanning the screen. Ludovica Fornasari, Vanessa Prosdocimi ... maybe Arianna Lanzetti had been in the care of another gynecologist ...
No. Here she was. Aglaia opened her file.
She hadn't known what to expect. Maybe some laconic report about the birth being more difficult than anticipated, due to 'lack of cooperation from the patient' and not, of course, from carelessness of the hospital personnel. She wasn't prepared to a horror story,
Arianna's baby was being expelled with the umbiilical chord wrapped around their neck. A critical situation, but not an uncommon one. All ostetrician personnel was prepared to deal with it. But they hadn't noticed. Farella, and everyone in attendance that day, had not realized the situation. Maybe Arianna had, she should have realized that something wasn't right. Probably, she had complained, tried to signal her fear. Surely, she had been laughed at.
They had seen too late, when the baby was already out, almost strangled. They had intervened in a hurry, doing a fretful episiotomy on Arianna, rushing to try and reanimate the baby, and it had been all useless. That baby had never drawn even one breath.
As for Arianna herself, her wound had been hastily stitched up, too badly: it had reopened, and she had been let alone for hours afterwards, with all the nurses avoiding her and the consequences of their mistake. Only hours later, at the insistence of the family, someone had checked and found out that she was dead.
It was almost too ridiculous to believe. Too absurd, too cruel. What that woman must have felt as she died, alone, without knowing what had been of her child ... Aglaia fought back tears. She felt like everyone would have discovered everything, if they had seen her in tears.
She drew deep breaths, in and out, in and out. Slowly, it worked. She felt suddenly very calm, completely in control. She had all the facts now, and she could act accordingly.
She had another plan now.
-
"I didn't take you for the type to do such things. To think you acted like a puritan! Not that I'm complaining"
Aglaia smiled through gritted teeth. She wouldn't have had to bear this act for long.
She looked up. Through the treetops shone the stars of Sardinia, so bright, so many. The sweet perfume of wet grass filled the air. The sound of the stream was closer and closer.
"Sooo ... do we get to it?"
"I know a better spot"
Farella huffed, but still followed her. The whole date had been insufferable: not only she had had to act like she was genuinely attracted by him, but he looked indignant that she hadn't jumped him yet!
As if she would let herself be touched by a murderer ... she still needed a little time. She still heard no song. At least, she could pretending she was getting cold feet.
No song. Farella put an arm around her waist. He would have accepted a no, right? They were alone in the forest by night, there was nothing that prevented him from - but his crimes were out of apathy and lack of care, she didn't know if he would have been capable of something as direct as to force himself on her ...
That thing she heard, was it the stream? A happy illusion or ... no, it was there, it was the panas' song!
She strode decisively towards the sound, leaving Farella behind.
"Hey, were are you going? Wait ..."
He was running after her. Good.
She removed her flashlight from the figure knelt over the water immediately, she didn't want to be the one to disturb her again. Just a moment, to make sure of where she was, then pointed the flash to the surrounding trees.
Farella wasn't smart enough to do the same.
"What the fuck ..."
The light showed Arianna's tan skin, her long, shiny hair, her aquiline nose. Her eyes were dark, fixed on the man - maybe she couldn't see him in the face, with that torch pointed towards her.
Aglaia directed her flashlight on him, fully illuminating his stunned visage.
The panas dropped her clothes in the stream and lunged. Aglaia had barely a flash of her long, thin arms protending towards them, and then she turned on her heels and ran, ran as fast as she could.
The screams echoed for a few seconds, then they were replaced by the splashing of water. After a few minutes, the lullaby resumed.
Aglaia sighed. Everything had gone well, and Arianna Lanzetti had received her justice.
She took the way home with a lighter step, turning her nose up to admire the beautiful sky of Sardinia, shining bright as she had never seen before.
"
The Carabinieri found nothing implicating Aglaia in the death of Dr Farella.
She was interrogated, of course; the 'gentleman' had bragged about their date with his friends, and the restaurant personnel could confirm that they had been there together the night of the 'tragedy'.
But she simply lied, declaring that they had parted ways after the dinner together: he had drunk too much and gotten inopportune, and she had dropped him, returning home by foot. Her roommate could attest to this, as she had seen her arrive walking alone from her window. Aglaia had been careful not to leave anything on the car that could be attributed to her, and in the end, they let her go without too much of a fuss.
Farella's death was ruled as an accident: as Aglaia had said, he was drunk, so he had driven to the middle of nowhere, taken an ill-advised walk in the forest by night, slipped into the stream and drowned because of his impaired reflexes. He couldn't have been killed, they had found no traces of other human presences around the area where the corpse was found.
There wasn't much of a fuss about the death itself. Farella was given a tearful funeral with family and colleagues going on and on about what a great man he was, what an example to all doctors; once he was under the ground, he got only complaints because his sudden disappearence upset the turn system and they had to procure another gynecologist on short notice.
Aglaia got some nurses blaming her because 'if she hadn't left him all of this wouldn't have happened', but by now, she was used to ignore those complaints.
Life to the hospital returned to its dull, pathetic normality.
Nurses and doctors still took out their frustrations on the patients. Interventions were denied, informed consent not given. Many women left the place shaking, in tears, only comforted by finally having their children with them.
Aglaia did everything she could. She was comforting, kind; she explained the medical procedures that should have been executed; she made sure nobody was left alone for any extended period of time; she did everything in her power to notify the higher-ups of any possible problem with the births that her colleagues might have ignored.
It still wasn't enough. She was only an intern; she had little to no decisional power in there. She was the secondary stress ball after the patients. She only did what she could.
Take the situation to the authorities' attention seemed impossible. Arianna's death and the number of cops at Farella's funeral had made it clear: someone here had important protections. Even if alerted, they wouldn't have done nothing.
Aglaia did what she could. She was a needed comfort to the patients; she never answered to the abuse the rest of the medical equipe hurled at her and instead offered smiles and little presents. She was just a treasure to have around.
And sooner or later, someone else here would have accepted her offer to go for a trek to the nuraghe, passing by the old canal.
#my writing#writing attempts#writing experiment#horror#horror stories#tw: death#tw: childbirth#tw: blood mention#tw: murder#tw: obstetric violence
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