Writing Prompt: A five-fingered man
Every few weeks I meet up with some writing mates and we do a writing prompt. Each of us pick a word or theme and set a 40-minute timer. We tap away and then read it out to one another.
The following short story has been edited for typos, but is otherwise in its raw state. As someone who can polish work until there’s nothing left and never get it out there, writing something I won’t edit can be refreshing. It’s also a good test to see if the skills I’ve been practicing are becoming ingrained.
So, the prompts for this one were:
Underground, pink, edible protagonist, glass
Here goes…
Royce raised his hand to his mouth. He’d never been this deep in the tunnels before. The fungus was thin here, the light thinner.
And whatever had chased him this far was getting closer.
The scrape of claws on stone was cut short as whatever it was froze to muffle the sound. It was a stalker then, and close.
Royce put what remained of his right index finger in his mouth. The stump was healing over, his tongue running over the scab. He bit down on his remaining knuckle. He wanted to scream and that only made him bite harder. Harder through the joint and gristle and the skin on the other side. He gulped his own flesh and bone and when he felt it sliding down his gullet, he ran.
There was no need for stealth now. Whatever was behind him was too close. Besides, he’d just eaten his own finger. The tunnel came into granular focus as it sped past him. What pale green light the fungus gave off washed to blacks and whites in extreme detail.
Soon the compounds embedded in his flesh started to make themselves known. His feet pounded a tempo, faster and faster, echoing off the walls. His lungs stopped aching, the air slipping in and out of him smoother than glass. All pains lost in the surge of blood and beat of heart. The tunnel widened, sand underfoot. Here.
He spun and slid to a stop, bare feet dragging through the sand. He was looking down a funnel toward the corridor he’d come down. There was no place for his stalker to hide now. It appeared.
“Jareth?”
Jareth lurched into the room. “You’ve gone too far, Royce.”
“Far? I was running from you. Thought you were a belly-rat or scuttle-worm on my tail.”
Jareth raised his right hand. Four fingers and a thumb. One finger was missing a knuckle, but that had long since healed.
Royce looked down at his own hand. A thumb was all that was left. Blood dripped in an uneven pattern against the sand. “I didn’t mean to…I just can’t…”
“She’s gone, Royce.” Jareth took a step forwards.
“The pain hasn’t.”
“I’m sorry, friend, but you know the Commandments.”
“It’s not fair!” Royce screamed. “I heal slower than everyone. I’ve probably only had the same as you!”
“You’ve always made excuses.” Jareth held up his right hand again, palm out as if to stop Royce. It was whole, all five fingers healed and complete. “The Commandments are unbreakable.”
An emptiness opened up in Royce, one so deep he could step in and fall forever. At least there was no pain. “So, they’ve sent you.”
His oldest friend tapped at a band around his upper arm. Royce didn’t need colour vision to know what colour it was. Pink. The assassin’s flag. He didn’t need colour vision to see the tears in his friend’s eyes.
Right now, Royce couldn’t feel pain. Right now, with nearly five fingers in his guts, he didn’t feel fear. A five-finger man was unstoppable. He sprinted, sand flying behind him. Even Royce was surprised at how soon he reached Jareth.
But then Jareth wasn’t there. Royce spun, trying to find him. Something red exploded at the back of his skull and the world lurched sideways until the ground slapped him. Royce pushed up onto his hands only to be sent crashing into the tunnel wall by Jareth’s boot. He coughed, spitting blood and sand. He couldn’t make himself move, but there was no pain. Jareth stood over him and shook out a bag.
Two right hands, completely fingerless, fell to the ground at Royce’s feet. They seemed grotesque, as if the palms were staring at him. Royce gasped. The tattoos over the hands were unmistakable. Royce looked at his own hands, at the matching tattoos. Salem and Borne had been caught too.
Jareth knelt down in front of Royce and drew a heavy blade. He took one of Royce’s hands in his, almost gently. “You will be taken back for trial.” He raised the knife. “And there will be pain.”
