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Interactive 📖 Serialised 📖 Stories

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Weekly short stories where readers vote for what happens each day.  Find out more in the About section or jump right into the latest story below (and don't forget to vote!)

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Battleground

Part Two

Of course, she had to fight it. The thing inside of her was wrong. Monstrous. Dangerous. One touch and… she pushed the memory from her mind before a tear could dare threaten to fall. She wouldn’t think about that. She couldn’t.

 

Another victim. One more thing taken from you. And you are just going to let it go? Let them win?

 

No one wins. No one ever wins with vengeance and violence. Harriet paced around the room, looking for something, anything, to distract her mind. She wished she had taken up more hobbies. Something that would keep her hands busy. Anything to stop them shaking as the conflict continued to rage inside of her. 

 

More will die.

 

The same is true if this thing is unleashed. Who I am to decide who should die?

 

The one with the power to change things. You don’t even know what you are capable of. Maybe there is a way to control it, if you’d give it a chance.

 

Control. It seemed impossible. Harriet slumped onto the sofa, one of only two things that she purchased with her settlement. At the time she expected to die. She reasoned she should at least do so on something comfortable. She pondered the word control. It was something she was good at before. She was known for it. If she could control this thing, then maybe she could take the fight her ex-employers. Maybe no one else needed to get hurt.

 

She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to call it, it was already there, sliding under her skin, desperate to get out. It slithered out and along the floor. She didn’t need to see the red tendrils creep along the floorboards and stretch down through the gaps, she could feel them as they searched desperately for something, someone, to grab hold of. Taking a deep breath, her brow furrowed in concentration, she called the abomination back. It resisted, as she anticipated, and pulled desperately towards its nearest victim. Mrs Gordon. She bought her a homecooked dinner everyday after the accident. That stopped when Harriet’s mutation appeared. After… She shook her head and dug her nails into the sofa. 

 

No. Get back. NOW. 

 

The tendrils shuddered, tried once more to pull away, and retreated. The tendrils snapped back up into the apartment, along the floor and slammed back into Harriet’s chest, the violence of it making her gasp with pain. Her hands clawed at her chest, expecting to find a gaping hole. But she was whole. She was fine, and so was Mrs Gordon. Harriet shook with relief before letting out a bark of laughter. She did it. She controlled it. She laughed again. She can do it. She can do this. Her laughter turned to giggles until she slid onto the floor, trying to catch her breath between this strange, sudden affliction of mirth. She can do this.

 

But this was just the first step. She needed to train more. She needed to let the tendrils take someone and release them without killing them. She couldn’t go after anyone at the company just yet. She had to take them by surprise. So who wouldn’t she miss if anything went wrong?

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