Category: Imaginary Page 17 of 21

Imaginary Adventures

Lost Angel

On March 7, 2020

While several deities prepare for game night in Hades’ library, an angel crash lands in the underworld, bringing a mystery.

“Hades, can we keep him?”

“Persephone, it’s not a small pigeon to nurse back to health, it’s an angel.”

A chihuahua bolted between Hades’ feet to sniff the slightly crumpled angel lying on the white-marble floor in front of them. Several more of Hades’ dogs popped their heads out from around the library to investigate the commotion.

Hades looked at the pieces of the stained glass window scattered around the library. At least the angel didn’t crash through my favorite window, Hades thought on the positive side although the angel did leave a streak of blood on his clean floors. Hades suspected some of the blood that covered the angel came from whatever he fought before the fall.

“He’s so precious,” Persephone whispered as she glided her fingers over the angel’s smooth, youthful face. “I wonder where he came from?”

“I’m sure someone will be here shortly to collect him,” Hades assured as he picked up his chihuahua. “Leave him be. Our guests are about to arrive for game night, and I, for one, would like a break.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” a joyous voice announced.

The chihuahua barked and jumped out of Hades’ hands. The tiny dog ran to a white-bearded man dressed in red shorts and a topical button-up t-shirt while carrying a large red sack. Dogs of various sizes and breeds rushed to the newcomer with their tags wagging. The man opened up his bag and tossed out dog cookies.

“Santa, you jolly bastard,” Hades greeted with excitement. “What games did you bring for us today?”

“Depends on who ends up joining us,” Santa replied while petting all the dogs. “I got Ticket to Ride, Cards Against Humanity, Catan, Midnight Zombie Sabotage, and a bunch more. I left Pandemic at the workshop. Seemed a bit too real given current events.”

All the lights and flames in the library flickered off then returned with a gradual spread away from a midnight-skinned goddess with a glittery dress.

“You’re here, [Goddess of Shadows*]!” Persephone shouted with glee as she ran over and hugged her friend. (*Persephone called the goddess by her true name, but her name becomes her title for those not allowed to know it.)

As the two embraced, the Shadow Goddess caught sight of the fallen angel. “Are we doing a murder mystery game tonight?”

“Ooh! Yes! Let’s solve the mystery of who killed the angel,” Persephone encouraged. She put on a gray deerstalker cap that she conjured from her purple dress pockets. “The game is afoot.”

“I told you,” Hades spoke in a calm tone, “someone will be here for him any—”

Flying down from the hole the angel made, a green dragon landed next to the injured angel. The dragon morphed into a humanoid form.

“Neon!” Persephone cheered. “I thought you were working?”

“I’m technically here for him,” Neon said as he lifted the angel. “This human wished to be an angelic warrior. Obviously, that had consequences. Thank you for not tossing him aside.”

“I knew someone would be here to collect him,” Hades said with a modest tone. “Wasn’t expecting it to be you. The kid made a wish, huh?”

“Yeah, around Volo Grant.”

“I’m sure Volo feels awful,” Santa commented. “That kid tries so hard, but he can’t control the wishes.”

Neon stretched out his wings. “Thank you again for watching him. I’d better get back to Earth.”

Dionysus joyfully strolled in the library with a case of wine as he watched Neon fly away through the ceiling with an angel in his arms. “Did I miss anything?”

This week’s short story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “Hades can we keep him?” “Persephone, it’s not a small pigeon to nurse back to health, it’s an angel,” the discussion goes as they look at the slightly crumpled figure laying in front of them.

Thank you to Mikey Marchan at Design Pickle for bringing this scene to life!

The New Windows at The Last House

By Dennis

On February 29, 2020

In Imaginary

Gia is brought back to the end of time by a friend to investigate the new windows at The Last House.

“I think we should kill it.”

Gia crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at Slayer. “That’s your solution to everything.”

Slayer floated in front of Gia. Slayer’s ghostly, black-draped crystalline form would’ve given anyone the chills from its presence. However, being a fellow end-timer herself, Gia was able to turn that feeling off. In contrast to Slayer’s form, Gia took the appearance of a human with the charming beauty of an actress dressed in a black cocktail dress with matching stockings, a short leather jacket, a jade bracelet, and red sneakers. She also only had two arms compared to Slayer’s four.

“Why are we here?” Gia inquisitively asked. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

There was almost nothing left. All the stars had burnt out. All the planets had been destroyed or withered away ages ago. All the end-timers born on this rock floating through an endless black swamp of rolling midnight had all scattered back in time to periods where there was still life. What did remain was a structure they referred to as The Last House, which stood before the two end-timers.

The Last House was a dilapidated three-story mansion. Gia was always impressed that the building had managed to be still standing and retained its purple exterior paint. As Gia looked at the house, she had a feeling the structure had changed since her last visit.

“Do you notice it?” Slayer asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gia replied. “Is there something different about it?”

“The windows. They’re solid red now.”

“They are. How’d you notice this?”

“I like to come back here from time to time to see if anything is different – if any one of us had managed to change the end.”

Gia always liked to think of endings as the start of a new act, a new story, but being here, Gia felt the true grim weight of the end. She shifted the subject. “Why bring me?”

“You’re the most creative of us,” Slayer unashamedly admitted. “If I investigate The Last House with anyone, I want it to be with you because if something does go awry, you’ll find a solution.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you, Slayer.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Slayer said as they led the way to the front door with Gia following beside him. “When was the last time you were here?”

Gia sighed. “It would’ve been lifetimes ago.”

Gia stepped on the wooden porch. The porch responded with a creaky hollow that she ignored as she opened the eggplant-colored door. To Gia’s surprise, the golden door handle had a pristine shine. The inside was a chaotic collage of architectural styles from various time-periods from numerous planets. Her eyes darted all over the place, trying to make sense of the building. She ran her finger on the red glass windows. The color wiped away with her stoke, leaving a tacky reside on her fingertip.

Slayer did the same with one of their hands. “This is blood. Fresh blood.”

“How is that possible? Are there any other end-timers around?”

“No, we’re the only ones here.”

Gia flicked the blood off her finger. “I don’t think we’re alone.”

The ceiling began to pour down with blood. It washed over every surface of the walls, reaching the Milky Way color marbled floor. It drifted around them, as if it was sentient, and pooled together in the center of the room. From the ground, the blood stood up, taking a humanoid form with dragon-like wings.

“Freedom is mine,” the blood creator roared as it bolted out the open front door.

Gia and Slayer looked at each and shrugged.

“Not very many places for it to go,” Slayer commented, unworried.

“Yeah, you said it,” Gia added. “The question remains, which one of us locked it up here and why?”

“It could even have been us, but it hasn’t happened in our timeline yet.”

“That’s true.”

Gia and Slayer casually strolled out of The Last House, with Gia closing the door behind. In the foggy field before them stood two free-standing doors. One was green and the other red, with the green one being Gia’s time machine and the other belonging to Slayer. The blood creature was nowhere in sight.

Slayer opened his door. On the other side was a sunny, sandy desert. “Until our paths cross again.”

Gia nodded goodbye as Slayer went through their door. The moment the door closed, it blinked out of existence as if it was never there. Gia opened her door, leading to a theatre stage. As Gia closed her door, a small puddle of blood slipped its way through.

This week’s short story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “Creation is no more. What remains is an endless black swamp of rolling midnight. Terrible and boundless. The only thing that persists, that continues on into the darkness, is the Last House, an old construct that harbors all those that are left from the feast of Night.”

Welcome

By Dennis

On February 22, 2020

In Imaginary

The nearest beach was thousands of miles away from Jake, but somehow he woke up on one with no knowledge of how he got there and a text from an unknown number that simply said, “Welcome.”

The morning sunlight brushed Jake’s face, but he refused to open his eyes. Today was his first day off from work in two weeks. He reached for his pillow, only to notice he felt something hard and slimy instead of soft and fluffy. Jake snapped his eyes open. A piece of driftwood had replaced his pillow. More seriously, a beach replaced his bedroom.

The nearest beach for Jake was over a thousand miles away. His roommates could pull from a clever prank from time to time, but getting him to a beach was not in their skillset. The texture of the sand felt too real on his bare feet for this to be a dream. He stood up, looking for anything that would tell him where he woke up.

The beach appeared to span a few miles, but he saw no people. The beach itself was unrealistically immaculate, in Jake’s opinion. There was no litter anywhere, the ocean waves were clear, and an orange glow from the sunrise blanked the sky. However, was something unnatural about this beach Jake couldn’t place.

Jake decided his first course of action was to do an inventory assessment. He wore a plain red shirt and checkered red pajama bottoms. The only item in his pockets was his cell phone fully charged. With a glance, he unlocked his phone. There was no signal, but there was one new message from an unknown number. Jake tapped the message.

“Welcome” was all the message read, dated for 6:30 am that day.

“Welcome to where?” Jake mumbled.

The icon for someone typing a message appeared. Jake waited in nervous anticipation. After all, he had no service. A few seconds later, the following text came through. “Find the door before they find you.”

“Before who finds me?” Jake said to his phone, hoping someone was listening to him on the other end.

No message came.

Jake sighed and put away his phone. As he looked around for the door, he realized what felt so off about the beach. There were no animals. Anytime he had gone to the beach, there would always be birds, crabs, or washed-up jellyfish. There was no life on the beach except him.

With no door in sight on the beach, Jake wagered his best bet would be to head into the forest. After a short hike, the scenery changed. If you were to ask Jake about his knowledge of maritime forests, he wouldn’t be able to provide much in the way of answers, but he did know trees were not purple with neon pink leaves.

Jake pulled out his phone and took a few photos of the unusual trees and flowers. He wanted to look up what they were later or proved they existed. From the camera’s screen, Jake found a freestanding pink door with white strokes that looked like waves. He put his phone away to see the door with his own eyes. There was the door.

Today was Jake’s day off, and with the door found, he was curious about what secrets the forest held. He traveled in the opposite direction, pushing past green leaves twice his size, to a clearing with a small campfire. Surrounding the campfire were a dozen purple-haired creatures half his size with wooden masks of his own face.

The furry creators stopped their dancing and faced Jake. They picked up their metal spears from the ground and charged after Jake. Jake ran for the door. The battle cries from the masked creatures pushed an out-of-shape Jake to run blindly fast. He was a long way from the door when he tripped and fell hard into the ground. Before Jake could stand, a couple of spears pierced through his body, causing him to fall back down. The island inhabitants surrounded Jake and took their prey back home.

A man and a woman side-stepped out from behind the door. The tall, slender man wore a pink and white suit matching the door frame’s color while the young woman, slightly shorter than the man, wore a red dress. The woman worked away on a transparent tablet device while the man watched Jake’s body get dragged.

“That’s the second time they got him, Loki,” the woman said. “What should we do differently?”

“Let’s send him a third text message telling him to run,” the man said. “Great job on those masks, by the way, Raven.”

“Thank you,” Raven replied as she noted the change while Loki opened the door, which revealed Jake’s bedroom with Jake sleeping in bed.

This week’s short story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “You go to sleep one night, in your bed just like you would every night. Only this time, you awake to find yourself washed ashore on what appears to be a deserted island. You check your phone, no service, but you have a text from an unknown number saying, ‘Welcome.'”

Thank you to Janine De Guzman at Design Pickle for bringing this scene to life!

Liked this story? Be sure to check out my other works featuring Loki and Raven.

Sacrificed

By Dennis

On February 15, 2020

In Imaginary

Alexia should’ve been dead as one cannot survive while being chained to a sculpture of the deity the farmers wanted to please.

Alexia should have been dead. It is basic science that a seventeen-year-old girl cannot survive being tossed into the ocean while chained to a “stupid boulder.”

Okay, so it’s not a stupid boulder, Alexia reasoned as she tried to wiggle free from the marble sculpture of Poseidon’s head.

Alexia’s real anger was at the oracle, who said the sacrifice was required to please the gods if the farmers wanted a successful harvest. Alexia had insisted the framers had used too many chemicals and polluted the soil. The city depended on the farms, and she volunteered to assist in their production. She had developed a new farming method where plants could grow vertically, saving space, and did not require soil.

Now Alexia was sinking to the bottom of the ocean for her blasphemy. In hindsight, she could see the signs of their superstitious nature. Alexia wished she paid better attention to her religious studies. The failure of not metaphorically building a bridge of understanding weighted her down, along with the rock. She did know the head she was attached to was the god of the seas, but the farmers worshipped him as a god of agriculture. It made no sense to her.

The only other question bigger on her mind was how she was breathing underwater. She was mesmerized at first; however, as she sank, her enthrallment was replaced by rage.

“That’s a nice sculpture there.”

Alexia turned to the voice, which put her off-balance as the sound was in her head, but she could associate a location with it. Swimming beside her was a merman twice her size with pristine muscles, almost god-like–if she had believed in the gods. His fluorescent blue tail swished back and forth to keep pace with Alexia’s descent.

“Who are you?” Alexia asked in her head.

“Can’t you tell from your sculpture? You know what, it’s not an accurate depiction of me.”

“Poseidon?”

“That’s one name for me. Yes, let’s use that name.”

“Poseidon, huh?” Alexia responded with a hint of disbelief. “Think you can free me?”

“Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You destroy those that did this to you.”

Alexia smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

With a snap of his wrist, a golden trident burst to life in his hand. He slashed the chains that bound Alexia. The statue drifted downward while Alexia remained stationary.

“Take this,” Poseidon kindly offered as he handed her his weapon.

The moment Alexia took hold of the trident, its glow engulfed her body and shot her upward, into the sky. She landed back on the cliff on the flying island, where the farmers sacrificed her.

Everyone was in the middle of their celebrations when Alexia made her splashy entrance. The music stopped, and all eyes–including the oracle–where on Alexia. Alexia pointed the trident at the party, and from the ocean, a fist of waves slammed into the crowd.

Off in the distance on a hill, Poseidon stood on his legs, watching the seaweeds tangle themselves around the people and drag them to their watery grave. A man with similar stature and physique, but with an impeccable white suit, walked up beside him.

“I wouldn’t have expected such retribution from you, bother.”

“The Atlanteans’ arrogance grows. Either they are too devoted to their sciences, or they worship us incorrectly, thus causing us to change. Are you not worried, Zeus?”

“I am concerned, but I am also fascinated. The interplanetary travel they’re developing will take us to new worlds.”

“If their belief in us holds.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll remind them.”

This week’s short story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “The local humans are having trouble getting their crops to grow so they decide to sacrifice a young girl to their god, by tying her to a heavy rock and throwing it into the sea. She is found by you, a powerful ocean deity…who is displeased by their cruelty.”

Thank you to Janine De Guzman at Design Pickle for creating such beautiful cover art for the story.

Saturday Morning Interrupted

By Dennis

On February 8, 2020

In Imaginary

A programmer’s Saturday morning ritual is interrupted by a loud knocking from a soldier in Legionnaire armor with the ancient city of Rome behind him.

Despite being “a grown-ass adult,” Lucas had a Saturday morning ritual of enjoying a bowl of sugary cereal while watching cartoons on a streaming service in his PJs. He lived alone in his one-bedroom Oklahoma City apartment, which freed him from judgmental remarks from roommates – though he was prepared to defend himself. The routine was his special way to unwind after a week of coding at Deep Fork Technology.

Lucas nearly choked on the first bite of his cereal from the sudden, thunderous knock on the front door.

He grumbled under his breath, “Who could this be?” as he paused the show on his TV to answer the call.

Upon opening the door, a man in full Legionnaire armor stood before Lucas with the ancient city of Rome behind the soldier. Lucas stuck his head out the entrance to study the scene. In his mind, this had to be an elaborate prank. Still, he could feel the sunshine and smell the summer breeze, contrasting the snowy weather he knew was happening in Oklahoma City. The outside building of his apartment matched the clay exterior of a Roman house.

“Are you Lucas?” the Legionnaire interrupted.

Lucas turned his attention to the soldier, now noticing the bloody rag around his leg. “Yes, I’m Lucas.”

The soldier let himself inside. “I was told this would be a safe place.”

Lucas closed the door. “Who are you?”

“I am Barbados. You have a strange home here.”

“How are you able to communicate with me?”

“What do you mean? We are speaking Latin.”

“No, we’re speaking English.”

“English? What’s this English?”

“Never mind. Who sent you here?”

Barbados fell into the worn-out, brown thrift-store bought couch. “This man in this strange, pinkish outfit I have never seen. New fashion, I suppose. Pointed me to your door and said you were a healer.”

“I tried to be a doctor, but I switched majors to programming,” Lucas explained.

“I did not understand a word you just said.”

Lucas thought for a moment to best word the situation. “I’m not a healer.”

Barbados nodded in understanding. “I see.”

Although Lucas didn’t have much medical training, he did recognize a dying person and rushed to his side. He kneed by him, stuck in a state of what to do, as Barbados took his last breath. Lucas checked his pulse. There was none.

“Fuck.”

Before he had much time to think about what to do next, there was a knock at the door. Lucas opened the door to a tall, slender man in a pink suit with bold, black outlines and a woman in a red dress from the Roman era. Something about their appearance–perhaps their black hair–made Lucas think they were siblings. The scene behind them was of a rainy night in a futuristic neon city.

The two individuals let themselves inside and headed straight to Barbados.

“Don’t mind us,” the man in the pink suit said. “We’re here to collect Barbados.”

The woman lifted Barbados from the legs while the man grabbed him from the other end.

“Have a nice day,” the woman said as she walked back past Lucas.

The strangers closed the door behind themselves. Lucas waited a few seconds, trying to process what happened, and opened the front door. Outside was his snow-covered apartment building. The cold wind whipped his face, telling him this was real. Lucas closed the door and returned to his cereal as that’s all he could think to do.

In the raining neon city, the man and the woman dropped Barbados on the alleyway pavement. The man opened Barbados’ eyes and pulled out a contact lens. He handed the lens to the woman.

“I’ll get the footage processed right away,” the woman said. “How are you feeling about this episode so far, Loki?”

Loki pulled out a black pen from inside his suit jacket. He shook the device, and the writing utensil transformed into a staff as tall as himself. He poked at Barbados with the bottom end of the staff.

“I’m not sure yet, Raven. I think Barbados died too soon to have any comical moments with Lucas. We’ll try again, but with different people.”

This week’s prompted short story was inspired by the following idea: “You awake one Saturday morning to frantic banging on your front door. Upon opening the door you see in front of you a man in full Legionnaire armor and behind him the ancient city of Rome.”