Short Story: Becoming Myself

In honour of Bi Visibility day this turned into more of a personal essay but I'm still counting it.


Becoming Myself

I had my first crush on a girl when I was still in Primary School, only I didn't really know that at the time. I was young enough that anything to do with boys or kissing was still counted as "icky (despite already having had a number of boyfriends in that "we're going out now and we might hold hands but nothing else" sort of way young kids do). I remember thinking she was pretty. I remember her making my stomach feel funny. I wasn't really old enough to understand what that was. I never said anything, because of course girls fancying girls is Wrong and just doesn't happen. I ended up hating her, and I'll always wonder if that was anything to do with what she was really like or whether that was my way of dealing with feelings I didn't want to understand.

As a teenager I kissed a lot of girls. I've lost count to be honest. I kissed most of my friends as a teen, even though I wasn't going out with them, because when you're fourteen and at a party that's the sort of thing you do. Getting the girls to kiss each other was a great game. It felt daring. Taboo. And of course the boys enjoyed watching, so we did it as much for performance as anything else. (Funny how the boys were always willing to watch the girls kiss but were never willing to kiss each other). I always preferred kissing the girls to the boys. It was softer, and they were generally better at it. I couldn't let on how much I enjoyed it though. But I was always willing to.

I remember my first kiss with someone who had a tongue piercing. That was fun. It was at the beach. And it was with a girl. I don't remember most of my first kisses with boys.

I kept kissing girls even when I had a boyfriend. Because he was okay with it. Because everyone knows that girls kissing girls "doesn't count". My heart didn't know that though. I think I fell in love with a girl while I had a boyfriend. Here I was supposed to be feeling squishy things about a dude and it was on of my friends that got my heart all aflutter. She was always willing to kiss, and she was good at it. She made me feel special. Even the time she threw up after spending the evening making out with me. It was oddly endearing and I jumped to take care of her, which was how I knew it was love.

And yet I still laboured under the illusion I was straight. Because I fancied boys, which is what girls are "supposed" to do. Any attraction I felt for women wasn't valid. It didn't count. I wasn't cheating if I kissed a girl (that was explicitly stated by my boyfriend) because only kisses with boys were real.

I stopped telling people I was straight about seven years ago. I realised that my attraction to women was substantial enough that the word didn't really apply to me. But I didn't really feel not-straight. I still fancied men. I fell in love with men. Whatever I felt for women wasn't real. It didn't count. That's the message I'd gotten my entire life.

I started identifying as bisexual about two years ago. I'd been doing a lot of work on coming to terms with myself, growing into me, doing the damage that mandatory schooling wreaks on most kids. And if I was sorting out my self-image issues and my self-esteem issues I might as well come to terms with my sexuality as well. And when I sat and thought about it, when I treated the feelings I'd had for women as valid too, I realised something important; I have been attracted to men and women for most of my life. And I realised there was a word to describe that and that it's okay to use it.

I am bisexual.

A lot of my friends weren't surprised to be honest. Most of them had worked it out long before I had. They knew me better than I knew myself. And they were supportive when I started using the correct terms to describe myself, which meant the world.

Because bisexuality is so often erased, both by straight people and the LGBT+ community. We're seen as greedy, as slutty, as cheaters who are inherently untrustworthy. We're told it's just a phase, that we're confused and we'll decide which gender we're really attracted to at some point. We're defined by who our current partner is instead of who we're attracted to. We're erased by both communities, each of them trying to lump us in with the other. When bisexual characters are on tv or in movies they're not called bisexuals, they're "people who don't like labels." I internalised these messages for so long, but no more.

Coming to terms with what it means to be queer, and bisexual in particular, has almost been harder than actually admitting to myself that I am bisexual. I forget that, because of who I am attracted to, technically I am part of a minority. I sometimes forget I am bisexual; somehow in my brain, being attracted to men and women and Being Bisexual are two different things and sometimes it's hard to reconcile the two.

It's also been hard reconciling my identity with other parts of my life. There are places where I've felt that I can be myself, unrepentantly, and places where I feel like I have to hide myself. Because people didn't know that about me, because I wasn't sure how they'd react. It's tiring. Listening to people be openly homophobic because they think you're like them and you're not. Feeling like you're essentially two people depending on where you are and who you're with. It's exhausting. I haven't been doing it that long and I'm tired. People who work out who they are much younger, who have to hide so much longer; I have no idea how you do it but you are strong and you are brave and I am so proud of you.

I'm not going to hide any more, keep bits of me under wraps like it's a shameful secret, because it's not. I am not ashamed of who I am, and no one has the right to make me feel ashamed. There is nothing to be ashamed of. And if they people who claim to love me think there is something shameful about who I am then they don't love me half as much as they claim to.

Traditionally stories have beginnings, conflict, endings but there is no ending to this story. This isn't fiction, it's my life, and it's going to carry on. I've not gotten to the ending yet. I am on a continual journey of becoming myself, of learning what that really means. I don't know who I'll be in five, ten year's time, but I'm looking forward to finding out. Maybe I'll have made giant leaps forward, maybe the steps will only be small. It doesn't matter. As long as I keep on trying to be myself, the best person I can be, the only person I can be. That's what's important.

Today, I was brave. I took a big step. Tomorrow; who knows? I can't wait to find out.

---

If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.

Short Story: Chris

This story was inspired in no small part by the fact the final chapter of one of my favourite fics was posted this morning (you can read hit me double hard here). And I'm not gonna lie, this one kicked my ass. Both in terms of the length (my longest story yet on this challenge) but also in what I was trying to achieve.

Have you ever attempted to write slow burn romance in a short story? Well I have. As of today.

Hope it comes across well and that you enjoy it.


Chris

1.

The first time I saw her I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Not in that typical movie star type way where everyone looks like they were made from variation on the same mold. Chris didn’t look like a movie star, but she was no less breathtaking. Tall, muscled, broad. Short dark hair and eyes dark enough to be black. Her skin was almost as dark as her eyes and her cheekbones could probably cut glass.

To say that I was overwhelmed was an understatement. Being anywhere within a five foot radius of Chris had a detrimental effect on my my cognitive abilities.

It was a miracle I didn’t end up drooling on my shoes the first time we were introduced.

2.

Despite my complete inability to words around her, Chris and I somehow ended up friends. When I wasn’t focused on just how stunning she was and let myself relax, she was actually pretty good company. The easy back and forth was comforting, light teasing barely masking affection. Chris was funny, and interested in similar things to me and protective of her friends in a way I probably shouldn’t have found hot. What she saw in me I didn’t know, but I was glad she did.

I tried to put aside my crush, to tell myself a friendship with Chris was a beautiful thing in and of itself and I shouldn’t put it at risk because I wanted things I couldn’t have.

As you might expect, my heart didn’t listen.

3.

I first realised I’d fallen in love with her when she punched a man for me.

We were in our usual corner in the pub, talking about nonsense over coffee, like we’d done a hundred times. I’d gotten up to order us refills and was waiting at the bar when a gentlemen became… aggressively amorous with me.

Chris was on her feet in a flash.

“Didn’t you hear? My friend said no.”

The drunk leered and accused us of being dykes (how could he know I desperately wanted us to be together even if it was hopeless?) and Chris punched him.

As he lay on the floor clutching his nose she said: “It would be an honour to be Tash’s girlfriend but just because I’m not doesn’t mean she’s interested in you.”

My heart almost stopped when she said that.

We had to find a new pub to drink in after work, but it was a hundred percent worth it. Later, when we found out she’d broken the creep’s nose, I decided I never wanted to marry anyone but her.

4.

I’d just about gotten used to the idea of being in love with my best friend when Chris dropped a bombshell on me. A new project at work meant she’d be working abroad for six months.

I almost passed out I hyperventilated so hard.

Six months without drinks after work? Without seeing her beautiful face, feeling the solid warmth of her sat next to me, enjoying her quiet humour? I didn’t know how I would cope. I felt sick.

“Hey,” she said, looking me in the eye. “Just because I’m not gonna be here doesn’t mean we won’t talk. The time difference is only a couple of hours. I’ll still annoy you with my text messages at all hours of the day.”

I nodded, desperately trying to get the white noise in my brain under control. Chris was right, of course she was, but the next six months looked bleak anyway. I was happy for her; that she’d been put in charge of this project was a great sign for her career, but I couldn’t deny I would miss her.

5.

Texts and emails and the odd Skype call were all I had of Chris for the next six months. It was wonderful to hear from her every single time, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted her here with me, but I wasn’t selfish enough to tell her that. This was a good move for her, and I was determined to be a good friend.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. It just made mine ache.

The six months crept by all too slowly.

6.

The day she told me her employers were extending her contract I swear I almost stopped breathing. I wanted to scream and stamp my feet at how unfair it was. How was I supposed to make it another three months without her at my side? Another three months without coffee, without the presence of someone willing to punch a man to defend my honour.

I swallowed my heartbreak, told her I would miss her but that I was happy for her, and resigned myself to another few Chrisless months.

She looked almost as miserable about the idea as I felt.

7.

I met Chris at the airport the day she got back. She was stood in the arrivals lounge surrounded by suitcases, a bag on her back that she dropped the moment our eyes met.

How I resisted running to her and flinging my arms around her I would never know. Chris didn’t seem to be able to resist as easily and the embrace we shared was desperate. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, inhaling the smell of her. I knew it was just her shampoo and deodorant but to me she smelled like home.

“I missed you so much,” she said quietly when we pulled apart, her eyes roving my face as though memorising it.

“I missed you too,” I said. “Every day.”

“Never again,” she murmured, almost too low for me to hear. “I’m never leaving you ever again.”

I tried not to think about what she meant by that.

To distract my brain from thinking anything foolish, I picked up a couple of suitcases and led her out of the airport. There was so much for us to catch up on.

8.

A group of our mutual friends threw a welcome back party for Chris. I assumed she’d want to spend her time catching up with everyone but the whole night she never strayed from my side. It was nice actually, having the comforting warmth of her at my elbow again.

It only got awkward when one of her friends (who I hadn’t seen since well before she went away) commented that it must have been hard on us doing things long distance.

There was a beat before I quietly explained that we weren’t together and the bloke in question sputtered his apologies before finding somewhere else to be. I couldn’t meet Chris’s eyes. I hoped she couldn’t hear the desperate hammering of my heart against my ribcage.

We were spared any further awkwardness by the arrival of the friend that had introduced us in the first place.

9.

We settled back into our routine of meeting up for coffee after work. Chris’s company were pleased with her and kept offering her more responsibility. They wanted her to go abroad again to work on more projects but she’d turned them down.

“Why?” I asked. It wasn’t that I wanted her to go away again, quite the opposite, but I didn’t understand why she would turn something down when it would be so beneficial to her career.

“I wasn’t happy when I was away,” she said, not meeting my eye. “You weren’t there.”

I held my breath.

“The other night at the party, when Rob asked us about being long distance…” she said, fingers playing with the handle of her mug.

“Yes?” I said, hoping against hope that the conversation was going in the direction I thought it was, that after all this time…

“Never mind,” she said quietly.

We finished our drinks and went our separate ways.

10.

An awkwardness that had never been there before crept into our friendship. We still met up at the pub regularly but the conversation had become stilted, long drawn out pauses where there had been none before.

Honestly, things had been easier when we were in different countries.

I thought back to the night of the party, to the conversation we’d almost had afterwards, and my heart sank.

She’d figured me out, she must have, my feelings written all over my face. I could have kicked myself. Of course I would go and ruin one of the most fulfilling friendships I’d ever had because I couldn’t get my foolish heart to behave.

My fears were confirmed when Chris cancelled our regular meet up the next day; she’d never cancelled on me before. I went home and wallowed in a tub of ice cream, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

11.

A week went by without any word from Chris. I was almost frantic with worry. This was unprecedented in our friendship. Even when we were thousands of miles apart we never went more than a couple of days without at least a text.

The doorbell rang. When I answered it was Chris, wild-eyed and frantic.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly no longer concerned for myself. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, pacing backwards and forwards in my living room. “No, wait. Everything’s wrong.”

I braced myself for the anger, for the understanding. The gentle let-down, the quiet death of my heart.

“Tash…” Chris breathed. She was so close. When had she gotten so close?

I swallowed. “Chris,” I said. My heart felt like a jackhammer.

No matter what happened, this was her dance; she had to take the lead.

“The other night, when I was talking about the party…” she said. I hardly dared breathe for fear she’d interrupt herself again. She licked her lips. “What I was trying to say– I wanted… You know everyone thinks we’ve been dating since the beginning?” she finally managed.

I shook my head. “No,” I managed to choke out. “I didn’t.”

“Well they do. I don’t know, maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I was too obvious about my feelings.”

My brain skittered to a halt. “About your what?”

Chris looked at me with such sadness and heartache in her eyes. I knew the look well; I saw it in my own eyes every time I looked in the mirror.

“It was just a silly crush at first. I mean, you’re stunning, how could I not be attracted to you? But then as we spent time together I realised… You’re kind and you listen and you put up with my ridiculous jokes and… I couldn’t help falling for you in the end. I love you Tash.”

Her face was a mask of anguish. She really didn’t know if her feelings were returned or not. Apparently I’d been better at hiding my own emotions than I’d thought

My heart couldn’t decide whether it wanted to plummet to somewhere between my knees or soar above my head. A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to burst from my throat but I pushed it down. Laughing right now would not give the right impression.

“Hey,” I sad gently, reaching out to take her hands in mine. They were shaking. “How long have you known?”

“Since that bloke tried to grope you in the pub. I’d never punched anybody before but the thought of him touching you when you didn’t want it… I was just so angry.”

I couldn’t help myself then, I laughed.

Chris looked hurt. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said, and I felt a grin take over my face. “It’s just… I realised I’d fallen in love with you at that moment too.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards. “Really?”

I nodded. “I thought I’d given myself away when he made that comment about us being dykes.”

“I thought I’d given myself away with what I said afterwards,” Chris said, her mouth creeping up into a smile again. “Does this mean I get to kiss you now?” she said.

“Please.”

So she did.

12.

After that things went back to normal, only better. We still hung out talking about nothing in particular, only now there were kisses to go along with our coffee. There were proper dates too, and all the other things you do when you’re in love with someone.

I was giddy with happiness.

Most of our friends were surprised to find out that we really hadn’t been dating the whole time. Apparently our feelings were obvious to everyone except each other.

Mt friendship with Chris was a beautiful thing. Being in love with her was even better.

Even if she did still have a detrimental effect on my cognitive abilities on occasion.

---

If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.

Short Story: Return

Didn't feel much like writing today, but I got my story done. Eventually.

Sometimes all you can do is show up. Even if you don't feel like it.

Return

“Hi.”

His voice was quiet, tentative. Familiar.

I looked up from the cupcakes I was decorating and my gaze met a pair of blue eyes I knew so well.

“I came back,” he said. “Took me a while to find you, but you named this place what you always said you would so…” he trailed off with a shrug.

Words wouldn’t come to me. He looked good, in his scruffy t shirt and jeans. His hair was longer than I remembered, and there was a soft growth of beard on his chin.

My heart ached, but I remembered the hurt in my chest the day he’d walked away. For good, I’d thought.

“I can see that,” I said, and I tried to keep my voice level. Tried to keep the blame and anger inside. He flinched and I assumed I wasn’t doing a very good job.

“I’m sorr–” he said, before I interrupted him,

“Save it,” I said, and this time I sounded tired. I was too goddamn old to be dealing with his dramatic bullshit. God knows I still loved him, and probably always would, but a heart can only take so many hurts before it stops trying. I was long past that point with James. “What do you want?” I said, my words short and sharp and unforgiving.

“I wanted to apologise,” he said. “But since you don’t seem to want me to…”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at those soulful baby blues any more. He’d always been able to get what he wanted just by fluttering his pretty eyelashes at me. The man was far too good looking for his own good, and I could feel the resolve I’d built myself over the last two years slip away.

“You hurt me,” I said, and I couldn’t keep my emotions under control. They spilled out into my voice, choking up in my throat. The corners of my eyes burned and I knew I was a few heartbeats away from tears. “You left.”

“David,” he whispered, taking a step closer to the counter. I wiped at my traitorous eyes and stepped back, not ready for him to be so close.

“I’m covered in flour,” I protested, though it sounded like a flimsy excuse even to me.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I fucked up David. I never should have left you.” He sounded utterly wretched and my stomach twisted.

“But you did,” I pointed out. “You left me and I moved on.”
“I haven’t,” he said, and he sounded so thoroughly miserable my heart ached. “I thought… I thought I wanted adventure, to see the world, but I was wrong. All I want is you.”

I felt my resolve crumbling. How many nights had I cried over this man that had broken my heart? How many times had I told myself I wouldn’t take him back no matter what? I should have known better.

I loved him. No amount of hurt could change that.

Something about my body language must have changed, must have tipped him off because he looked at me through his fringe, looking young and mischievous. He bit his lip, and I probably shouldn’t have found it as adorable as I did. “Can we start over?”

I should say no. I knew that. But for all I’d tried to pretend otherwise, the last two years had been miserable without him. Sure I’d moved cities and started my own business but success had been hollow without him beside me.

It wasn’t that I needed to be with someone in order to be happy. It was just that, when you love someone, you don’t feel right when you’re not with them.

I imagined Sunday mornings in my bakery, both of us covered in flour and grinning wildly at each other. I imagined him in an apron, tongue sticking out a little bit as he put the finishing touches to a customer’s cake. I imagined sitting in the café watching the rain together, hands wrapped around hot mugs of tea.

That sounded so much better than a future spent alone.

I felt a grin steal over my face. “I think we can work something out,” I said.

He smiled and I felt breathless and giddy. Alive, like I hadn’t quite managed since he’d left. “Yeah? Cool.” James looked as giddy as I felt.

“If you’re staying, you can make yourself useful,” I said, aiming for stern but coming out more lovestruck and ridiculous. I nodded at the peg with the spare aprons. “These cupcakes all need icing before tonight.”

He scurried to grab an apron—a ridiculous pink one that said “kiss the chef”—and came round the counter. “I think I just about remember how to ice cupcakes,” he said. “You need anything special doing with them.”

I shook my head and handed him a piping bag, our fingers brushing as he took it from me. We shared a small, silly grin and I couldn’t resist; I leaned over and did exactly what his apron told me to.


“Welcome home,” I whispered against his mouth. “Welcome home.”

---

If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.

Short Story: Buzz

Today's story may or may not have been inspired by me finding about fig wasps. Slight body horror to follow.

Buzz

It was the buzzing that first attracted my attention. An angry vibration that should have served as a warning to stay away. Instead, like a fool, I sought out the source of the noise.

I crashed through the woods, pushing foliage aside as I went. The noise grew louder. I followed my ears, and then my nose as I picked up a sickly sweet stench.

When I found the source of the buzzing I wish I hadn’t.

It was a corpse, all bloated and green. The scent I’d picked up was that of decay as the poor soul’s insides rotted and turned to slime. I was almost sick.

Insects were crawling all over the body, strange wasp-like things I’d never seen before. They were everywhere, crawling in and out of the dead person’s nose, ears and eye sockets. Every orifice that I could see was filled with a mass of angry buzzing creatures, bright yellow and glistening in the dappled sunlight.

Whether they were coming or going I couldn’t tell, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

My instincts screamed at me to get out of there, to call someone, anyone, so they could do something. But there was part of me, the part concerned with morbid curiosity, that told me to stay put. To drink my fill of the macabre sight, to memorise the sickening sounds and smells and the taste of decay on my tongue. I couldn’t move.

The pitch of the buzzing changed, and knew the insects were aware of me.

Bile rose in the back of my throat and a voice in my mind screamed at me to run.

The first insect lifted off from the corpse and flew towards me. My paralysis broke.

I ran.

The swarm came after me, a malevolent cloud of hatred and buzzing chasing me through the woods.

Suddenly I knew the sick truth; the wasps had been leaving the bloated corpse that had been their incubator. And now they were searching for a new victim, a home for their own eggs.

Me.

The first sting felt like I’d been hit in the back of the neck by a golf ball. My neck immediately went numb and I stumbled in surprise. The second sting felt exactly the same, and the third.

I couldn’t keep running.

I crashed to the forest floor, unable to keep up with the number of stings. The pain was immense, intense, followed by a seductive cool numbness that called to me. I fought it as long as I could but the will of the swarm was inevitable.

I could feel the wasps crawling over my skin but I couldn’t move my limbs to do anything about it. I wanted—needed—to scream but nothing would come out. I couldn’t open my mouth.

Panic blossomed in my chest like bile as a single wasp crawled over my chin. It was soon followed by another, and another, the delicate whisper of their legs like the rush of water.

Something nipped at my lips, sharp and bright and painful. I choked back vomit as a realised what was happening; they were chewing their way inside me.

Perhaps choking to death on my own sick wasn’t such a terrible fate after all.

I watched in growing horror as a single wasp crested my cheek and looked me in the eye. Unbidden the ruined eye sockets of the other corpse sprang to mind and I knew what was to come.

I slammed my eyes shut. My fate might be an inevitability but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fight it with every breath I had left.

The pressure of an unvoiced scream grew inside my chest until I thought I would explode. They were inside my nose now, my ears. Crawling around like my insides were home. My lips tasted of blood as they buzzed against my teeth. I couldn’t breathe.

The last thing I felt before I passed out was the first nip of insect jaws at my eyelids. After that the darkness was a mercy.

---

If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.

Short Story: A Day in the Life

I started this story with the idea of writing something with a different perspective on yesterday's story, that of the person receiving the fifteen pairs of underpants, assorted. It ended up being something of a tirade about working in customer service.

Oh well


A Day in the Life

The day had start off so well.

I’d managed to climb out of bed the first time my alarm went off, there was the perfect amount of hot water for my shower and I got a free cookie from the barista I like when I went to pick up my morning coffee. For a Monday that’s practically perfect.

Of course it all went down hill the moment I got to work.

There had been a massive system malfunction over the weekend and the staff were still struggling to keep up. Hundreds of completed quests hadn’t been processed properly and a good dozen or so had simply disappeared off the system. Wonderful. I told my boss I’d do an extra hour to help sort things out and then settled into my booth.

The first adventurer dropped off the items from their completed quest and went of their merry way after accepting the reward. Another happy customer and, more importantly one that hadn’t shouted at me. If only the rest of my customers had been like that first one.

By lunchtime the queue outside my booth was twenty or so people deep and I was starting to get a headache from all the people who had shouted at me for things that weren’t my fault. It was a relief to slip out of my booth for lunch.

Or it would have been if someone hadn’t nicked my sandwiches. I had to run out to the shop to grab something and by the time I got back to the quest submission centre I was well and truly late.

Over the course of the afternoon I had people drop the following items on my desk: four dead rats, three kilograms of mud, fifteen pairs of underwear (and I wasn’t convinced they were all clean) and a small pile of assorted bones. By the time six o’clock rolled around I was hip deep in an argument with an adventurer over whether he had actually fulfilled the requirements of the quest.

“The quest clearly states that you need ten old dollars in pennies and you only have nine dollars ninety-nine.”

“Yes I can see you’ve checked the quest as complete on your HUD but that doesn’t change the fact the quest is, in fact, incomplete.”

“If you have another penny on you I can process this quest now, otherwise you will have to come back tomorrow.”

“I am aware that’s an inconvenience but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Sir if you don’t lower your voice I will have to call security.”

“Sir? Sir! Security!”

By the time I’d managed to drag my carcass home it was cold, dark and raining, and I had lost all faith in humanity. Not a day went by at the processing centre when I didn’t wish I was on the other side of the counter. Sure the people I dealt with day in day out had to collect some weird shit in exchange for their rewards, but at least they weren’t stuck in a booth getting shouted at all day. Maybe one day I’d be able to quit my job, buy a HUD and start adventuring.

It was nice to have dreams.

In the meantime I shoved a ready meal in he microwave and ate my tub of boiling hot cheese in front of some crap TV. I climbed into bed long before my usual time, exhausted. I hoped everything would seem better after a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was another day.

I hoped the douchebag with the pennies didn’t come back.

---

If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.

Short Story: Quest

Today's story pokes fun at some of the weird shopping list, "collect twenty of this" type quests you get in RPGs. Don't get me wrong I love those games, and have sunk hundreds of hours into them (hello there Skyrim and Dragon Age: Inquisition) but these quests can get a bit... weird.

Just like today's story.


Quest

A new quest popped up on my heads up display. I opened it, excited to head out into the world on an adventure once more.

“They want me to collect what?” I said to myself in utter disbelief.

Fifteen pairs of underpants, assorted.

“What the actual fuck?” I muttered. Was the quest giver some kind of pervert or something? What the hell did they want with that many pairs of pants? I could understand it if they just wanted me to get fifteen pairs of pants in their size and preferred style but no. I didn’t even want to think what the quest setter wanted with that many pairs of random pants.

Still… the reward was pretty good. Enough credits to buy that new weapon I’d been after.

I accepted.

Now I just had to work out where to find the requisite number of knickers. I figured I could always go buy them for my employer, but I got the distinct impression that wasn’t what they were after. I checked the quest specification again; it just said “underpants, various”. Helpful.

I sat down for a moment, thinking. What sorts of places might I find stray underwear. The ad didn’t specify but my personal preference was for them to be clean when I picked them up.

My first stop was a launderette. There were always odd bits of clothes being left in the dryers.

I was in luck: the first laundrette I visited yielded three of the fifteen pairs I needed. I updated the quest progress meter and felt the first flicker of excitement over the reward. I was twenty percent of the way there. And I’d only received a few odd looks for picking pairs of knickers out of the lint trap.

By the time I had check all the launderettes within walking distance I was almost half way to my goal.

I was pretty happy with how far I’d gotten with the quest so far, because the next thing I planned on doing was checking the laundry people had put out on their washing lines. The weather wasn’t terribly great today which meant fewer people were likely to have their washing out.

I dived into the first garden I saw with washing in and started pulling pants off the line.

Three hours later I had fourteen out of my fifteen pairs of pants and a dog bite on my arse for my troubles. It didn’t matter though, I was so close to my goal. So close. I could almost taste the reward.

Which was good because I wasn’t looking forward to my next port of call: the leisure centre changing rooms.

Oh they would almost certainly have what I needed, but there was no telling what sort of state they’d be in. I’d seen discarded knickers in all sorts of predicaments before. I prayed I would find a pair completely soaked in chlorinated water. That was better than some of the alternatives.

I paid my way into the leisure centre, a small price considering the magnitude of the reward, and methodically searched the changing rooms. Every nook, every cranny, every empty locker. Nothing.

I left the leisure centre disappointed.

All I needed was one more pair of pants and that new weapon would be mine.

Just one more.

A thought occurred to me. I knew exactly where I could find a single pair of pants.

It was awkward getting the rest of my armour and clothes off but soon enough I was down to my underwear. I had my last pair of panties.

I scrabbled to put my clothes back on, feeling a little bit conscious of the fact I was now going commando, and ran to the quest marker to submit my items. The queue at quest submission was interminable, but at last I was rid of the fifteen sets of underwear. I asked no questions and refused to look the attendant in the eye as they passed me my reward.

As I headed to the store to exchange my hard-earned credits for loot, another quest marker popped up on the HUD. I hesitated a moment—thoughts of underpants, various still fresh in my mind—before clicking open.

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If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.

Short Story: Keeping Promises

I ended up writing a much happier story today. Probably because it's Saturday.

Day two of the challenge is in the bag.


Keeping Promises

It had been many years since she’d last seen the gleaming spires of her homeland. Too many. Her heart ached at the sight, so familiar and yet, not the same. The unmistakeable mark of progress was evident in the new towers and buildings. No doubt time had wrought changes on the people too.

Was she still the same? Would she still remember her?

Doubt swirled in Fliss’s mind but she had to try. She’d promised.

She made her way down in to the city, the steps still so familiar after so long away. The smells and sounds of the marketplace were unchanged, all cinnamon and coffee and people arguing over price. She breathed deep of the scent of home.

There was a rhythm to the chaos, an almost predictable ebb and flow. Almost, because as soon as you figured out the pattern it changed again, and you had to either stand your ground or change with it, being swept along with the crowd. Fliss was out of practice at this dance but she remembered the steps well enough; her instincts were still sound.

She left the market behind and made her way down into the Old Town. Here too time had wrought its changes. Someone in their wisdom had evidently decided on some sort of regeneration scheme; many of the buildings sported new timber and a fresh lick of paint. But there was a certain timelessness to the dusty cobble streets and Fliss’s feet found their way sure enough.

The house was at the other end of Old Town, tucked up against the city wall. When Fliss had last been here the roof had been riddled with holes but now it sported a fresh thatch. A small boy was playing with a squirming pile of kittens in the yard, his knees and elbows and face all dirty. He looked up as Fliss passed and there was something familiar about the keen flash of his blue eyes, the precise brown of his skin under all the dirt. A faint thrum of possibility shuddered in Fliss’s chest. She tamped it down ruthlessly.

This was about keeping a promise, fulfilling an oath, not mending the things she’d broken so long ago. She held no hope for a future here. Life had long since beaten hopefulness out of her.

She hesitated before knocking and chided herself for it. She had brought empires to their knees, stared down philosophers and kings, steadfast and resolute. And yet when it came to knocking on the door of a simple hovel she was laid low.

The boy looked up at her. There was no judgement in his eyes, just a kindliness that made Fliss’s heart ache and her stomach wish she hadn’t had any lunch. The boy scrambled to his feet, kittens flying every which way with irritated yowls, stumbled over and knocked for her. He nodded once and returned to placate the kittens, his job done.

A short, middle-aged woman answered the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen cloth. Her hair was grey and her skin was wrinkled and worn, like cracked brown leather, comfortable and safe. Familiar. Almost painfully so.

“Can I help you?” said the woman. Her tone was as kind as her face, warm and soft. The voice conjured up memories of tea and fresh baked bread and hugs that were strong enough to break bones.

Fliss smiled. “I promised I’d come back, and I’m here. Hello Cait.”

The woman’s icicle eyes went wide with shock and then disbelief. “Fliss? Is that really you?” She choked a little on the words, emotion threatening to rise up her throat and spill out.

“It’s me,” she said. “I’ve come home.”

Cait pulled Fliss into one of the bone-crushing hugs she remembered so well. Hot, wet tears soaked into her travelling cloak, and she wasn’t sure whether they belonged to her or Cait. The woman pulled back, her eyes wet but full of warmth.

“Let me look at you,” Cait said, and Fliss felt naked under her penetrating glare. “You look good,” she said with a broad grin that showed off a handful of scraggly teeth. “A sight for sore eyes indeed. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I told you when I left that I’d come back to you one day,” Fliss said quietly. “I promised, and I never break my promises.”

“I know,” Cait said. “But the years have a habit of making us forget. I almost couldn’t remember your face.” There was sadness in her voice at that, and Fliss understood. How often over the years had she struggled to recall memories of the home she’d left to see the world? How many times had she questioned whether it was worth it, when she could remember oaths of fealty and names of nobility more easily than the faces of those she loved best?

“Well, it’s here now.”

“Yes, and you’ve barely aged a day,” Cait said, sounding astonished. “You look just like I remember you the day you left. And I–”

“You’re perfect,” Fliss interrupted, wrapping her arms around Cait. “You’re everything I ever dreamed about for years.” They were silent for a while then, just enjoying the feel of each other in their arms, the sound of their mingled breaths. “I’m here to stay you know?” Fliss murmured after a while. “My adventures are over.”

“You’re sure,” Cait said sharply, and Fliss couldn’t begrudge her the suspicion. “You won’t run off in the middle of the night to go see the world some more?”

Fliss shook her head. “I’m done. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise but… my home is here, like my heart.”

Cait’s gaze was soft as Fliss said the words. “What will you do?”

“Tell stories. Write about the things I’ve done and seen. Love you like I should have done all along. Let life just happen for once, instead of running at it head on. I made you a promise when I left that I would come back, and I have. Now I promise that the only way I’m leaving you is when Death himself comes for me.”

Cait nodded. “I believe you,” she said, and pulled Fliss in for another hug. This one lasted a long, long time.

“Who’s the boy in the yard?” Fliss asked when they parted. “He knocked on the door for me.” She ducked her head, suddenly embarrassed, heat flooding her cheeks. “I wasn’t quite brave enough.”

“That’s Jon, my son. He’s good at recognising what people need, even when they don’t know it themselves.” Cait’s smile was soft and fond.

“Your son?” Fliss was surprised at that.

“You have your stories and I have mine. Tell me one of yours and you’ll get the truth from me.”

“Deal,” Fliss said with a grin.

“Come on. It’s nearly time for dinner, and you should be introduced to Jon properly.” Cait stuck her head out the door and called the boy in, warning him to make sure he washed his hands first.

Fliss sighed and sat at the table. The house smelled of bread and stew, rich and homely. The cadence of Cait’s voice as she chided Jon was familiar, comforting. She knew without a doubt she’d made the right decision. She’d kept her promise.

She’d come home.

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If you enjoyed this story feel free to purchase one of my books either here, or here. Or you can buy me a coffee here.