I looked up as if in surprise. “No, there’s a drop.” I tapped my lower lip. “I’m not in my livery now, or you’d see red everywhere. No flashy stuff right now, y’know. Working.” I looked back down but kept him in my peripheral position.

He crawls halfway across the path. Even on his knees, he is taller than me. Two of his hands brace against the ground. He is peering at my lips. The pendant swings free. “I still can’t see.”, he complains.

1,892 words.

He grabbed me from the door and slammed me into the wall. Shoving his body against mine, he mimed a sexual act. “I can take you. Right here. Right now. And there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing anyone can do about it. No one cares. You are all my property, and I can do what I god damn well please to you. And no one will care.” He patted my purse. “After all, a well paid whore does everything she’s bought for. Right? Don’t forget to vote this upcoming election. Every vote counts, after all.”

2,215 words.

After finishing up some tasks, I was pulled into a very dark area. I could barely see. I didn’t feel threatened, but I call the sword just in case and start poking around, because why the fuck not. I’m here. Let’s see who wants to play.

A small group of shadowmen pour out of the walls and the woodwork. Classic nightmare phantasms. Looks like they just got their first union job. Devouring light, oppressive air, general feelings of predatory delight towards the lone human in the room. Amateurs. They didn’t sniff the air first. Before pouncing they should have waited for fear to flavor the room. I had no fear. They pounced anyway.

744 words.

Is it really a trap when you want the outcome? A dialogue between Weaver and her captor. 310 words.

“Great. Now I can add delusions of grandeur to my list of psychoses. Especially after yesterday’s meltdown. This is not going to look good on my resume.” Bones sorted and proper fires lit, I knew I would have to post the entire script. I have seen too many clues in other people’s words to know the Grey Sky is spreading. Someone is intentionally hijacking the dead on a level that hasn’t been seen for centuries.

I am quite sure I am not the first to sound the alarm. I am most likely the last knowing how I tend to stumble onto the last moves of a game in play. But it is my duty to sound the alarm when it is called.

I’m sounding it.

1,397 words.

“The hell you think you’re going?” Wrong question, I thought. Where the hell do I think I am? I had just stood up from a perch on a prone log. A campfire burned in the middle of the night. Around it was the remnants of carved stone and large chunks of rough hewn wood. I had been in raven form before I stood up. The act of standing transformed me from raven bird to raven-cloaked Weaver.

“Sit your black ass down. After your bullshit today, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” The speaker shifted position, filling the silence with soft rattles. I looked to my left and saw Mxtl (the closest this American English speaker can come to pronouncing Snake Dancer’s preferred name) in her beaded regalia sitting on one of the carved stones. It was not lost to me, that her current seat looked like a giant snake’s skull that was collared with large feathers. She didn’t look up at me, but was visually focused on a small handmade rattle in her hand. The shaft looked familiar.

3,029 words