TBT: Ma seconde tentative de livre

Bonjour, ça fait longtemps que je n'ai pas publier sur ce blog! Je me concentre cette année sur mon nouveau blog d'écrivain, Conatus, oú je travaille sur mon projet PAWW, Pictures Are Worth Writing, mais aujourd'hui j'ai retrouvé ce chapitre tiré d'un livre que j'avais débuté à écrire en 2011, Aujourd'hui, les zombies, sur une invasion de zombies, évidemment, mais qui n'a jamais eu lieu. Le document total a quand même 45 pages. J'ai décidé de partager ce chapitre avec vous, puisqu'il contient de la romance et des fleurs. ;) Avertissement pour violence graphique et mortalité infantile.

Jour 54

Dîner aux chandelles ou comment être obligé de dire adieu à son bras

Aucun zombie à l’horizon. Un regard vert forêt s’en assura avant de bien remettre le morceau de tissus entre les planches de bois bloquant une fenêtre. Il retourna à la cuisine, et ses doigts effleurèrent la hanche du fusil de chasse posé sur une commode. Il sourit à sa femme qui mangeait avec leur fils et les rejoignit à la table. La seule source de lumière était quelques bougies placées çà et là. Ils mangèrent en silence, ponctué parfois par des paroles à demi chuchotées.

Ils avaient trouvé refuge dans une vieille maison en campagne, loin de toute urbanisation, et leur stratégie semblait porter fruits puisqu’il n’y avait eu que quelques zombies depuis qu’ils y étaient arrivés, il y avait de cela quelques jours.

Plus tard dans la soirée, la femme lisait à voix basse un livre à son fils pour qu’il s’endorme lorsque son mari vint les rejoindre.

« Tam, viens voir », fit-il d’une voix qu’il se voulait calme malgré son anxiété.

Après avoir souhaité une bonne nuit à l’enfant, ils le quittèrent pour aller à une fenêtre derrière la maison. L’homme lui fit signe de rester silencieuse avant de lui montrer ce qui causé son trouble.

Six zombies étaient amassés contre une des parois de la maison, silencieux avec leur air hagard. Il y eut soudain un septième, se présentant à quelques centimètres d’eux, son regard directement dans celui de la femme, Tamara. Celle-ci recula, effrayée, et se plaqua une main contre la bouche pour éteindre son hoquet de frayeur.

Le mal était toutefois fait. La créature se mit à geindre de l’autre côté du mur, et les six autres firent pareil. Il y eut un bruit sourd, puis d’autres lui firent écho.

La maison était si fragile, ils allaient détruire le mur. Le couple ne savait que faire. Devaient-ils se risquer à sortir pour les descendre avant qu’ils n’attirent d’autres de leurs semblables ? Leur hésitation leur fut fatale.

Il y eut un lourd craquement dans le bois, et ils virent une craque s’élever tout le long du mur, puis disparaître dans l’autre pièce à l’étage, où leur fils dormait. Un autre coup agrandît la fente, et Tamara vit une créature de presque deux mètres. C’était elle qui cognait le mur. Aucun doute que celui-ci ne tiendrait plus longtemps.

L’homme courut chercher son fusil de chasse, et il entendit d’autres zombies qui essayaient de détruire la barricade d’une fenêtre. Il retourna vers sa femme, mais n’eut le temps de la rejoindre.

Le mur lâcha, se brisa en un nuage de plâtre pour laisser passer le plus gros zombie que le couple n’eut jamais vu. Le fusil fut utilisé contre lui, et l’homme cria à sa femme d’aller chercher leur fils. Elle ne voulait pas le laisser seul face à ces créatures, mais son cœur fit un nouveau bond lorsqu’un bruit lourd se fit entendre à l’étage. Elle courut pour rejoindre la pièce où leur fils dormait, mais déjà, c’était trop tard. Il était déjà mort, une goule s’empiffrant de son petit corps.

C’était la fin. La femme le savait. Toutefois, elle n’allait pas leur donner sa vie sans combattre. Elle sortit une arme automatique de sous son t-shirt et tira dans le derrière du crâne du zombie qui s’écroula. Sanglotant sans que les larmes ne coulent, elle s’approcha du cadavre sur le lit.

Sa gorge avait été déchirée, le sang avait imprégné une bonne partie des draps et dégoutait sur le sol de bois. Il pouvait se transformer d’un moment à un autre maintenant, et la femme savait ce qu’elle avait à faire. Son arme automatique était toujours logée dans le creux de sa main. Elle la leva et visa le front de  son enfant.

Non, ce n’est plus mon fils.

Elle détourna les yeux. Tira. Et cria lorsqu’une goule râla derrière elle. Elle se retourna et se recula pour avoir un meilleur angle de tir. Son pied nu glissa sur le sang qui s’étendait toujours, et elle tomba, sa tête cognant contre le montant du lit. La femme fut désorientée un instant, mais se força à reprendre ses esprits pour tuer le zombie. Une fois fait, elle voulut se relever, mais elle était encore trop étourdie pour ce faire et tomba de nouveau sur le sol. Sous la force des chutes répétées, celui-ci craqua et brisa, envoyant la pauvre femme un étage en dessous.

Elle resta un instant sans bouger, la respiration coupée par l’impact. Elle était tombée dans le salon, heureusement sur une moquette épaisse et verte. Malheureusement, elle était aussi tombée sur une table basse en vitre épaisse, du style qui ne servait qu’à être toujours sale, et dont la base en acier n’était pas recouverte par une protection en caoutchouc. La table était renversée, et un des pieds avait traversée son bras gauche.

La douleur la réveilla de sa demi-inconscience, et elle cria. C’était terrible. Elle n’osait bouger du tout, la panique totale s’éprit d’elle. Le métal râpait contre son os à chacun de ses sanglots.

Elle avait peine à entendre ce qui se passait autour d’elle, avec son sang qui lui tambourinait aux oreilles, sa tête qui n’était pas encore remise de la chute et la douleur cuisante de son bras. Que se passait-il pour son mari ? Pourquoi n’y avait-il pas de zombies qui venaient la dévorer ? Elle se força à se calmer, prenant de longues respirations malgré l’inconfort qui envahissait sa tête. Il y avait des pas rapides dans le couloir, des voix d’hommes. Était-ce son mari ? À qui parlait-il ? Tamara ne comprenait pas, et même si elle se concentrait, une allégresse lui disait d’arrêter de combattre, de simplement s’endormir et se laisser porter…

Elle distingua un visage d’homme au-dessus d’elle, et ce n’était pas son mari. Elle émit un faible bruit, mélange d’un gémissement et soupir, avant de difficilement déglutir. Elle ne comprenait pas ce que la personne lui disait, et puis quelqu’un d’autre se pencha de l’autre côté d’elle. Il bougeait ses doigts devant ses yeux, ces derniers devenant trop lourds pour elle. Ils se fermèrent d’eux-mêmes, et elle perdit conscience.

28.09.11

PAWW! (Fr + En)

Dans mon dernier article, j'ai mentionné un projet d'écriture que je voulais faire portant sur 52 semaines. J'ai créé un nouveau blog sur Wordpress pour le publier, et aussi commencer à neuf un blog d'écrivain. J'ai créé Pensées d'une Folle/Morue quand j'avais 14 ans, je n'avais pas les mêmes intérêts à l'époque.

Je vous invite donc à visiter Conatus, mon nouveau bloye, pour plus d'informations sur PAWW. :)

--

In my last article, I mentionned a writing project I wanted to do for a whole year. I created a new blog on Wordpress to publish it, and also to start a new writing blog. I created this one when I was 14, I didn't have the same interests at that time.

I invite you to visit Conatus, my new baby, for more informations on PAWW. :)

Halloween incoming! (Fr) Part II

Et voici ma deuxième histoire d'Halloween. Celle-ci est Bones.

"Certaines personnes ne peuvent parfois être sauvées. C'était un fait de la vie, nous attendons la mort depuis la naissance. Nos os sont le centre de notre corps, ses fondations. L'esprit est attiré à eux, l'étreinte alors que la chair les emmitoufle dans un cocon. Si les os sont réunis, l'esprit peut être réattaché à eux, comme il a déjà laissé sa marque sur eux. J'ai le pouvoir de rassembler esprit et os, mais cela vient avec un prix. Êtes-vous prêts à en assumer le coût?

"N'importe quoi pour être de nouveau avec notre fille, monsieur, n'importe quoi," la femme s'empressa d'accepter. Son mari et elle se serraient l'un contre l'autre dans la petite boutique de Victor, où de mystérieux instruments étaient exposés.

"Très bien, alors ce sera 25 pièces maintenant, et l'autre moitié après."

L'homme hocha la tête et poussa l'or sur son bureau. Ils attendirent, les yeux brillants d'espoir.

"Avez-vous apporté ses os?" Victor demanda, préparant ses instruments.

"Bien sûr." Ils lui tendirent un sac de cuir, qu'il accepta. Il plaça des chandelles aux coins d'un pentagramme gravé dans le bois de la table au milieu de sa boutique. Lentement, il sortit les os du sac et les plaça au centre. Il prit un calice et une dague et les apporta aussi à la table. Sans hésiter, il s'entailla la paume, peu profondément mais assez pour verser du sang dans la coupe. Il se mit à murmurer des mots dans une langue inconnue au couple. L'air autour d'eux s'alourdit, à en devenir suffocant. Le mari étreignit sa femme, mais ils continuèrent à regarder le rituel de Victor le Nécromancien.

Les os bougeaient, s'alignaient ensemble pour former la forme d'un squelette humain avec des bruits sinistres. Une ombre, puis de la chair pâle et grise jaillit d'eux. Bientôt, une jeune fille fut assise au centre de la pièce, l'air hagard et les yeux perdus. Victor haleta, hors d'haleine, et entoura les épaules de l'enfant de sa veste.

"Oh, Elena," la mère se mit à sangloter alors que le couple l'entoura. La jeune fille les regarda, confuse. "Tu es avec nous maintenant, notre chère fille."

"Elle a l'air pâle. Est-ce normal?"

"Mourir semble avoir cet effet. C'est normal." Victor haussa les épaules. L'homme le paya puis sortirent, impatients de retourner à la maison avec leur fille. Victor gloussa et entreposa l'argent dans son coffre-fort.

Ils revinrent une semaine plus tard avec des yeux gonflés, mais la colère crispant leurs mains.

"Charlatan! Tu nous as dit que tu pourrais la faire revenir!"

"Et je l'ai fait." Il attrapa le lourd sac qu'ils lui lancèrent à la figure. Il jeta un coup d'œil à l'intérieur.

"À chaque jour son corps a continué à dépérir, ses bras et ses jambes devenant noir jusqu'à ce qu'ils tombent. Quel sorte de monstre es-tu pour nous faire souffrir la mort de notre fille une deuxième fois?"

"Vous m'avez demandé de la ressusciter, mais vous ne m'avez jamais spécifié pour combien de temps. J'ai cru qu'une semaine en sa compagnie alors qu'elle devait être morte serait suffisant pour vous satisfaire."

La femme cracha sur son luxurieux tapis. "Pourquoi ne pas nous avoir avertis?"

Victor eut un sourire suffisant. Les gens en deuil étaient les plus faciles à tromper, aveuglés comme ils étaient par le chagrin. "Vous auriez dû demander."

Ils lui jettèrent un regard noir, rempli de haine, et avant de quitter,  l'homme lui dit: "À chaque fois que tu ressuscites quelqu'un, une part de la Mort reste accrochée à toi. Puisse-t-elle te faire pourrir de l'intérieur."

Fin

Halloween Incoming! (Fr) Partie I

S

C'est l'Halloween vendredi prochain, ma fête préférée! Je peux mettre du sang partout où je veux et personne dira rien!

Pour l'occasion j'ai décidé de traduire deux de mes histoires du 100 Theme Challenge que j'ai fait.  J'aurais eu le choix de plusieurs histoires, comme je n'aime pas vraiment écrire dans la dentelle, mais je me suis finalement arrêtée sur deux qui me plaisaient. Après tout, qui n'aime pas les sorcières et les nécromanciers? :P

La première que je vous présente est "Poison". 

Les diverses herbes infusaient lentement dans le chaudron, embaumant la petite cabane de bois. Katalina ouvrit une fenête, et la fumée s'échappa à l'extérieur, disparaissant dans la forêt. C'était l'odeur de justice et de vengeance. Le poison devait bouillir quelques heures avant qu'il ne soit prêt, et Katalina aurait simplement à transférer le liquide dans des contenants pour ensuite les vendre. La potion serait sans goût, parfaite pour introduire dans un breuvage ou une soupe. C'était son meilleur vendeur, et chaque semaine elle devait en faire de nouveau pour satisfaire les demandes.

Le lendemain matin, de nouveaux clients vinrent à elle, en privée, lui dire ce dont ils avaient besoin, et elle leur vendit tous instruments de la Mort dont ils avaient besoin. Les gens la craignaient, parce qu'ils savaient ce qu'elle faisait dans les profondeurs de sa maison, mais personne n'en parlait jamais. Ils avaient besoin de ses recettes spéciales et de ses poupées voodoo.

Katalina n'avait pas toujours été une sorcière. Avant, elle avait été heureuse, avec un mari et un bébé. Il était l'amour de sa vie, et ils vivaient ensemble dans une petite ville qui les toléraient. Leur enfant avait des problèmes respiratoires, et ils payaient sa médecine grâce à l'emploi difficile de son mari qui était livreur. C'était une vie de misère, mais sa famille était le centre de sa vie. Jusqu'à la fin de celle-ci. Des hommes vinrent une nuit, pour aucune raison, et capturèrent son mari et son bébé. Elle cria et sanglota pour de l'aide, mais personne ne vint, alors elle chercha seule pendant des jours. Elle trouva le corps de son mari pendu à un grand arbre, son corps nu tordu et méconnaissable par la façon grotesque qu'il avait été brûlé avant qu'ils ne le tuent. Elle creusa une tombe pour lui, et seulement l'espoir de retrouver leur fille l'empêcha de s'installer avec lui à l'intérieur – ou plutôt, ce qu'il restait de lui. Mais elle ne la trouva jamais, parce qu'honnêtement, qu'était-ce une autre enfant noire dans un monde blanc?

Au fil des années, elle arrêta d'espérer. Elle ne put jamais se venger des gens qui avaient capturé son mari, alors elle souhaita mort et maladie et mauvaise chance et infertilité à tous. Elle chercha des sorcières qui pourraient exaucer ses souhaits. Elles lui dirent qu'elles ne pouvaient l'aider, qu'elles ne pouvaient utiliser la magie noire, mais elles partagèrent leurs connaissances des herbes avec elle; tout ce qu'elles savaient. 

Katalina offrait ses services pour aider les autres à se venger, parce qu'elle savait comment ce besoin s'emparait de tout le reste. Elle était avide de sang, d'os et de cris dans la nuit, parce que jamais plus elle ne pourrait chanter à sa fille, et jamais plus elle ne pourrait voir les fossettes de son mari lorsqu'il souriant, jusqu'à ce qu'elle les rejoigne dans l'au-delà; jusqu'à ce qu'ils soient réunis une nouvelle fois, pour toujours.

Fin

Dur dur d'être une sorcière. L'autre histoire sera plus tard dans la semaine. :)

Anxiety and I (Fr + Eng)

Je me suis découvert une nouvelle passion depuis août dernier, on est vraiment très proches l'un de l'autre. Cette passion s'appelle l'anxiété, et elle n'est pas tant passionnante que passionée par moi. Bref, lorsque je me couche et que mes pensées commencent à tournoyer dans ma tête sans que je puisse les éteindre, j'écris. J'écris parfois sur mes sentiments par rapport à ma présente situation, mais parfois j'écris une courte histoire auquelle l'idée principale me trottait dans la tête. Celle que je vous présente est super cheesy, mais j'ai toujours aimé reprendre des mythes et les placer dans un environnement moderne.

La première chose qu'il remarqua fut sa bouche invitante, rose et charnue, dans le brouillard de sa barbe de quelques jours. Elle s'ouvra, et James força un sourire par habitude, continuant sa quête à une paire de yeux ensorcelants.

Plusieurs proclament que l'âme peut être vu au travers les yeux des gens, eh bien l'âme de l'étranger était une tempête sur l'océan, avec des teintes de bleu et de gris et de jaune et de vert. Zeus avait tiré un éclair à Poséidon qui était atterri dans les Champs Élysées, d’où l'étranger était né. James cligna des yeux avec étonnement lorsqu'une main chaude pressa son bras au-travers son manteau.

"Pardon?" Il demanda stupidement, et à sa surprise, les joues de l'étranger rougirent.

"Tu me dévisageais." Sa voix était profonde, assorti au reste de sa magnifique personne.

"Qui ne le ferait pas, tu es magnifique," Il répliqua sans hésitation. "À quelle famille appartiens-tu?" 

Il n'était habituellement pas aussi direct, mais il devait savoir. Son cœur était tombé directement dans l'étau de l'amour à la vue de cet étranger.

L'homme émit un bruit de moquerie, mais son froncement de sourcils s'effaça lorsqu'il remarqua que James était sérieux.

"Jamais personne ne m'a dit que j'étais magnifique auparavant, et toi non plus si tu savais que je suis un Hades."

James sourit et fit un pas en avant. Il était plus petit que l'étranger et dut lever la tête pour que leur regard garde contact.

"Et savoir cela n'empêche pas ma tête de tourner depuis que mon regard est tombé sur toi."

Il leva sa main au-dessus de celle de l'autre. "Puis-je?" Il pouvait déjà sentir l'attraction émaner de l'étranger, quelque chose qu'il n'avait jamais vécu auparavant.

L'étranger hésita, puis prit sa main dans la sienne, presque trop chaude en cette journée fraiche. 

Immédiatement, ils sentirent une chaleur se répandre en eux. Ils se regardèrent avec émerveillement.

"Tu es un Aphrodite," dit-il à James, qui hocha la tête.

"Il semble que nous étions condamnés à croiser le chemin de l'autre."

J'utilise Hadès et Aphrodite comme étant des familles prédisposant certains trains de personnalité, pour ceux qui pourraient être confus.

--

I discovered myself a new hobby since last august, we're so close together now. It's called anxiety, and I'm not as addicted to it as it's addicted to me. When I go to sleep and thoughts begin to swirl around in my head without me being able to stop them, I write. I often write about my feelings on my current situation, but I also sometimes simply write a short story with a plotline I had in the head for a while. The one I'm showing to you is super cheesy, but I always liked to take myths and put them in modern settings.

The first thing he noticed was his soft-looking mouth, pink and full, in the mist of his dark stubble. It opened to say something, and James forced a smile out of habit, pursuing his quest up to a mesmerizing set of eyes.

Some said you could see the soul through someone’s eyes, well the stranger’s soul was a tempest on the ocean, with hues of blue and grey and yellow and green. Zeus had thrown a lightning at Poseidon who landed on the Elysian Fields, and from the event the stranger was born. James blinked in astonishment when a warm hand gently landed on his clothed arm.

"Sorry what?" He stupidly asked, and to his surprise, he saw the stranger’s face redden.

"You were staring at me." His voice was deep, matching the rest of his beautiful self.

"Who wouldn't, you’re gorgeous," he replied without hesitation. "Which family do you belong to?" 

He usually wouldn’t be this direct, but he had to know. His heart had fallen right in love’s grasp at the sight of him.

The man scoffed, but his scowl melted after a few seconds when he realized James was serious.

"No one called me gorgeous before, and you wouldn’t either if you knew I’m a Hades."

James smiled and took a step forward. He was shorter than the stranger, and so he had to look up to keep visual contact.

"Yet knowing this doesn't stop my head from spinning since my gaze fell on you."

James raised his hand above the other’s. “May I?” He could already feel the pull of attraction lure him closer, something he never felt before.

The beautiful stranger hesitated, but finally accepted his hand, firmly clasping it in his, almost too hot for such a chilly day. Instantly, they both felt warmth grow inside of them. They stared at each other in wonder.

"You’re an Aphrodite," he said to James, who nodded.

"It seems like we were doomed to cross each other’s path."

I used here Hades and Aphrodite as families who has a certain type of personality, for those who were confused.

Also I found this. :)

NaNoWriMo 2014! (Eng + Fr)

Hi, long time no see! It's been a while since I wrote anything on this blog, but that doesn't mean I stopped writing in the meantime. I published another Resident Evil fanfiction, and the sequel of the Veredas Contract, titled The Sadler Contract. It's even better than the first story, go read it. ;)

I was kept entertained anyway with work and school, running about 60 hours per week and when I had free time, I'd read huge amounts of fics or scroll on Tumblr, or... I don't know, sleep? I sleep way too much, I used to have a sharp mind only with five hours of sleep; now I sleep eight hours and I'm still sleepy and I'm addicted to coffee. Coffee is life.

I honestly don't like to have to get up this early in the morning, my mind is a lot more ready to write when it's dark outside, and it's easier for me to concentrate... I'm a lady of the night, what can I say.

Getting back on my main subject, as you can tell by the title of this entry, I'm gonna participate for the first time in the National November Writing Month. I didn't enter in the previous years because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up (also because of laziness), but I want to give it a go this year. In fact, I'm already writing the whole plot of the book, so it'll be easier to know where exactly I'm heading with the story and I can add details and everything on the way. I already did that when I worked on Teardrops Burn, and even if it wasn't perfect, it greatly helped. It really depends what kind of story you want to achieve, I guess. For a contest you need to write 50k words on though, I won't be able to lazy around because I don't know how to handle a certain part of my plot (even though I already know I'll procrastinate out of tiredness and such, even as I'm writing this, I'm taking pauses to read a story on Wattpad).

I'll try to tease you soon with a bit of the plot when I'll be done with it, at least with a first version. It'll involve anyway romance between a woman and a man, surprisingly enough. I thought long and hard about it, and even though I'd prefer it to be homoerotism once more, I think it's gonna satisfy a larger audience if for now I'm doing heteroerotism. I really want to write about a strong-headed woman, and that's what I'm going to write. It's going well so far, but we'll see in a month and a half. :P

---

Alloooo, ça faisait longtemps (surtout un article en français, ouuh) que j'avais écrit sur mon bloye, mais ça ne veut pas dire que j'ai arrêté d'écrire entretemps. J'ai pris une pause, mais j'ai eu le temps de publier une nouvelle fanfiction de Resident Evil, et la suite de The Veredas Contract, intitulée The Sadler Contract. C'est meilleur encore que le premier opus. ;)

J'ai été pas mal préoccupée par l'école et le travail, j'ai des semaines de 60 heures environ, et quand j'ai du temps libre, je préfère lire des fanfictions, être sur Tumblr, jouer à des jeux vidéo, ou bien dormir... Je dors bien trop ces derniers temps, j'étais habituée à 5 heures par nuit, et maintenant c'est au moins 8 heures et je suis encore fatiguée durant la journée. Je suis donc accroe au café. Le café est la vie.

Je n'aime pas être obligée de me lever tôt pour soit le travail ou l'école, mon esprit est beaucoup plus concentré à écrire durant la nuit, j'ai plus d'inspiration. Je suis une dame de la nuit, pas de l'aube.

Pour revenir au sujet principal, comme le nom du post le dit, je vais participer pour la première fois au National November Writing  Month, je n'avais pas tenté l'expérience les années précédéntes parce que je savais que je réussirais pas à tenir sur tout le mois (et aussi par lâcheté), mais je vais tenter ma chance cette année. En fait, j'écris déjà le résumé de mon livre, je vais être plus à l'aise de savoir dans quelle direction je vais avec l'histoire et je pourrai ajouter des détails et tout en chemin. J'ai déjà rédigé un plan de travail pour Teardrops Burn, une de mes histoires précédentes, et même si ce n'était pas parfait, ça m'a beaucoup aidée. Ça dépend quel type d'histoire tu écris, je suppose. Pour un concours qui consiste à écrire 50000 mots en un mois, je ne tiens pas à être bloquée parce que je ne sais pas comment dénoué une certaine partie de l'histoire (même si je sais déjà que je vais procrastiner par fatigue, et ce n'est pas comme si je faisais des pauses sur Tumblr en écrivant ce post haha :P)

Je vais essayé de publier une idée d'ensemble ce qu'il va se passer dans mon histoire, au moins avec une première version. Il va y avoir de la romance entre un homme et une femme, après mûre réflexion de ma part. Je voudrais écrire de l'homoérotisme, mais je crois que je vais obtenir une plus grande audience avec de l'hétéroérotisme. J'avais vraiment envie d'écrire sur une femme forte de tête, et c'est ça que je vais écrire. Pour l'instant, je sais où je m'en tiens, mais attendons à dans un mois et demi. :P

100 Theme Challenge Conclusion and Thoughts - A Ramble

I did it. I wrote a hundred stories in more or less a hundred days. I began on April 19th and finished on July 11st, so it's not that bad, right? At first, I was writing two themes in advance, meaning that I was publishing #1 but already working on #3. It worked well until I went to Montreal for my birthday, at the end of May. I wasn't able to keep up and was even late some days. I hate to be late, and my procrastination skills don't help in the matter. I had to focus and force myself to write each day, and it was worse when I reached a thousand words per day. I often finished around 3 or 4 AM a story, so of course most of my stories aren't polished or sometimes not even double-checked. I'm that lazy, what can I say. It's a bit of a wonder how I managed to do it, but like I said, sleep was optional at some point. My inspiration comes a lot more easily at night, so when I was working early in the morning, it sucked. Self-motivation is really important when trying to complete this kind of challenges, because few people will encourage you and even fewer will read your stories along the way. It's just how things are, I guess. Do this for yourself, not for the others. That's what I learned a while ago, and if people congratulates you for your devotion, then gently pat your shoulder and have a drink while writing. Don't get yourself drunk though, because you might not like the results of your story (true story).

Anyway, there was a lot of work involved in that challenge, let me tell you, and I'm glad it's over to be quite honest. I feel a bit empty-handed, with no more obligation to write, but I have my list of future projects. I already published a new chapter of one of my fanfictions, I have to polish Teardrops Burn and finish the sequel of The Veredas Contract, among other things. I'm also building up a new project from scratch, but this one will be extended on a whole year. Crazy, you say? Wait 'til you read what I have in mind, but I'll take a break before starting it, don't worry.

So, I wrote around 60 000 words for that challenge. It's kind of a lot, for me at least, considering I've been working on something for six months and it's only 10 000 words. The genres of these 100 themes were also quite diverse, even though I'm not the best to classify a story, I think I wrote non-fiction, suspense, horror, science-fiction, fantasy and drama. I must forget some genres, but I'm satisfied with that list. I liked to touch as many genres as possible, it was refreshing and kept me on my toes, if I can say, because I kept experiencing. I wrote on witches, zombies, werewolves, pirates, detectives, vampires, princess warriors, mythical creatures, desperate people, lonely ones and lots of gay men, to name only these ones. I am satisfied of myself.

Last thing I wanted to mention is how much research I put into many of these stories. I don't know how many times I found myself on weird sites because I was looking up something. The FBI site is really informative (and intimidating, I mean, it's the FBI). I now know too much about Chicago's gambling situation of 1959 and read all about the differences of false and real opium. I'm not sure if that'll ever come in handy in my life, but at least I know a pirate translator exists out there and I'm aware of what kinds of sorcery is practiced today...  Yeh scurvy rats!

Sorry for the ramble. I haven't even talked of the most important thing: my improvement with dealing with plots. The whole point of starting this was for me to be able to rapidly establish a start, a main action and a conclusion to any kind of story. Of course, with 1000 words, the main action was longer and more detailed, and the ending cut short, but I'm happy with what I did. The first stories were glimpses of a situation, really to tease the reader and to rapidly create an environment and a situation or to build up a feeling, and that's why I sometimes used them to write sequels for the longer stories, to expand its universe and write something a bit more satisfying; to put meat around the bones.

I also enjoyed connecting some of the stories together, I love putting references a bit everywhere. For example, when I wrote #25, Broken Pieces, I used the term 'Underworld' without realizing that #85's theme was that, so from there I had the genius idea that I could link universes together. Some of the stories are really cool and personal achievements for me, some less, but for the amount of time I had for each of them, I feel awesome.

The complete list is available here!

Shall I tell you my TOP 10? Hell yeah! The list is in no particular order, mind you.

1. #99. Ocean : Of course it's in my top 10, simply for my genius idea to add pirate slangs to the story. You can't imagine the fun I had with that, even though I'm not sure if my story is believable. I read that potatoes don't have enough vitamin C so they couldn't heal the scurvy, but Jacob was in an early stage, so why not? The pirate was never sick because he kept drinking his potato wine (if you didn't already understand).

2. #65. Princess : I knew I wouldn't write something traditional when I saw that theme. My princess would kick ass à la Xena, and she did. The sequel took another direction, but I loved the fact she goes in and kills a dragon by herself.

3. The Dive Under multiple stories: I wasn't satisfied with the ending of it, but I loved the concept, especially #23. Magic Imagine working and a beast just crashes in and someone throws fireballs at it, how quick you'd probably faint. I don't know what I would do, to be honest. I saw the concept of #25. Broken Pieces more like a version of the BBC Sherlock, with his assistant having a crush on him and not pretending not being gay (or whatever is supposed to be true in that serie). I wish their relationship was a bit more like in the manga Do you know my detective? in which both of the detectives are badass and in a twisted relationship, but oh well, I can't satisfy all my fantasies in one story.

4. 57. Bones: An evil necromancer! Do I need to add anything?

5. 49. Alcohol:  I love mythology, and I always wanted to try to write a modern version of one. One of my favorite Greek gods is Hades, because I love broody bad men, so it was the perfect opportunity.

6. 45. Need: I love reversing stereotypes, and I asked myself what it would be if heterosexuals were persecuted and killed instead of the LGBT community.

7. 27. Words: A man loved his wife dearly and her writing keeps him alive, so of course he wants her heritage to be shared to everyone. Perhaps she wasn't interested in being published, but he loved her so much he wants everyone to know how much of a beautiful person she was. It's a beautiful love story, I adore it.

8. 34. Solitude: I wrote this in one go, in about ten minutes, and I was crying at the end. I love that story, the sentences are so simple yet exhales of solitude, loneliness and melancholy. It's meant to be read between the lines.

9. 12. Tears: I was inspired by a conversation I overheard on the bus. Sometimes the real meaning of a conversation is not in the words themselves, but in the way they are pronounced, the breath's rhythm, the silence, the double meanings, the struggle of the voice. Sometimes people prefer not to listen to these signs, they pretend everything is fine.

10. Teardrops Burn, of course. You can't imagine the amount of work I put in that story. I was working on the plot months before I started writing it. It was my first time writing a Film Noir story, so I wanted to be sure where I was going with this before attempting anything. I love Jack, and if you hadn't notice before, Kenneth is the Homme Fatal. ;) I'll still need some more time to finish it completely, and then I'll publish it on Wattpad. It's 11k words on its own, after all.

It was a bit hard to narrow down 100 stories to only 10, since I put so much time and effort in each of them, but I think those ones are the ones I'm most proud of. I probably have some other things to add, but I'll stop here, otherwise I won't ever go to sleep... it's 4 AM. Old habits die hard.

100 Theme Challenge #100

100. Forever

Mister Thompson never had the chance to meet any of the Collins family members, but he did hear a lot about them. He had moved in this town a few years ago, and that tall, mansion on the hill always intrigued him. It was inhabited even though not once had he seen anyone come in or out. The yard around wasn’t kept clean, and much junk laid around too many frightful tombstones.

Mister Thompson wasn’t disturbed by that, but he wished he could go there and clean up for them. It was fortunate they posted an announce that they were looking for a new butler. A lot of people scoffed at that, but Mister Thompson didn’t. He called the Collins Family.

“Hello, this is Margareth speaking,” a soft feminine voice greeted on the other line.

“Hello, Ms. Collins. I’m Mister Thompson and I call about the butler offer.”

“Ah yes, would you be interested in taking the job?”

“I am indeed, Ms. Collins.”

“Then please come by in the afternoon, I’ll be waiting for you.”

And she hung up. Mister Thompson was a bit surprised it went that well, and he began to prepare himself for this afternoon.

His friend looked at him in dismay when he announced him he was to go to the Collins mansion for an interview.

“You might never come back,” he said, and Mr. Thompson scoffed.

“Nonsense, the lady I spoke with didn’t seem like a killer. They need a butler, and I’m in need of a job.

“Fine, but be careful.”

He went to the Collins mansion in the afternoon like it was asked of him, and he pushed open the portal leading in. The grass was so high he wouldn’t have been surprised if wild animals were living through. He climbed the unstable stairs and knocked on the door. He hadn’t waited two seconds that it opened to reveal a young girl with a pale face and big eyes which pierced intelligence and cleverness.

“Mister Thompson?” she asked, and he could only nod. “My mother is waiting for you. Come in.”

He followed her inside and almost fumbled on his own feet once he took in the decorations. Dark, dreadful statues and paintings everywhere, even with a skeleton hanged above the chimney. Mister Thompson took a long breath and sped up to keep up with the young girl. She led him to an old office, where a bear carped and stuffed own and birds greeted him.

“Good afternoon, Mister Thompson. You’ve already met my daughter, Evangeline. Isn’t she quite lovely?”

Evangeline looked at him without blinking, and he cleared his throat in discomfort. A girl her age shouldn’t look at people with such a serious, almost cruel expression.

“Ah, yes, charming,” he politely smiled. “Would you like to look at my résumé?”

“That won’t be necessary, mon cher. You look like the role already. Let me take you on a tour of our beautiful house instead.”

Mr. Thompson refrained from replying and nodded. Mrs. Collins seemed excited to have a guest and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He’d simply have to keep his surprise to himself. They returned to the hall to go to the dinner room, and Mr. Thomspson had to grit his teeth together not to grimace. Skeletons were seated at the table, placed a way so they were imitating the act of eating and drinking.

“Isn’t that exquisite,” Mrs. Collins exclaimed in that sing-song voice of her. She approached one corpse and placed her spider-like hand on its skull, stroking it. “This is Uncle Ralph Collins. He died two years ago of an heart attack, and he’s been eating here ever since. Her wife comes to visit him once in a while.”

She didn’t mention if she was died or alive, and Mr. Thompson didn’t ask. She pointed another one. “This is Samantha Collins. She was burnt for sorcery in the 19^th Century.” She smiled with fondness. “We take good care of her.”

Mrs. Collins didn’t seem to notice the stiffness of Mr. Thompson’s shoulders as she arranged the crown of dead flowers on another skull. “You see, family is very important for you, we like to stay close.”

“Indeed, I noticed that well, Mrs. Collins,” Mr. Thompson replied with a small voice, smile tight.

“Let’s continue, dear.”

The kitchen wasn’t visited, but he almost was glad. Who knew what could possibly lay in there. They climbed the stairs to visit the bedrooms. They were gruesome, dark and filled with spiderwebs.

“Am I to clean up as well?” He asked, eyeing the numerous dead bugs on the floor.

“Oh no, it’s part of the decoration,” Mrs. Collins winked at him and twirled her dress around as she seemed to float across the hall towards a closed door.

“This leads up to Adam’s room, please don’t go up there under any circumstance. He can be grumpy and doesn't like to be bothered with his experiments.” Mr. Thompson wondered for a second what experiment exactly he was performing up there, but he preferred to once again stay silent, for the sake of his sanity.

“I’m keeping that in mind,” he nodded at once and continued to follow her. Evangeline seemed to appear from nowhere, carrying a doll with her. It took Mr. Thompson a second to realize that it had no head anymore and its clothes were all burnt.

“Oh, I see you brought Samantha with you, darling. Could you be a sweetheart and go get your little brother?”

With a glare at her mother, Evangeline walked away, muttering something about not being a sweetheart.

“All right, Mrs. Collins-“

“Please, call me Margareth. No one calls me that since the death of my husband. Would you like to meet him, by the way, he’s usually in the garden...”

“No need to, I assure you. I already have an impression of this job. I have a few other appointments, but I’ll call you back,” Mr. Thompson said, clapping his hands together. With that, he willed himself not to run out of this house and simply walked quickly away, breathing deeply once he reached the fresh air of the outside.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Evangeline asked to her mother as they watched him leave. “I liked him.”

“We’re such a lovely family, I could only wonder why he wouldn't,” Mrs. Collins replied.

(What is 100TC?)

So here I am done with this challenge!! Of course the 100th had to be an Addams family tribute, this couldn't have ended any way better. I'll soon make a conclusion of this challenge in the days to come, but for now I think I deserve a small break.

100 Theme Challenge #99

99. Ocean

His men were sick. Some even died already. They first claimed they were tired all the time, even if they'd sleep all day, and then they began to bleed from their nose and mouth, with dark spots appearing on their body. Some would lose their teeth, others would simply fall and never get up. It was frightening for the captain who didn't know what to do or how to cure the disease. Even the doctor on the ship had gotten infected. He at first thought this might be because they hadn't been on Earth for so long that the ocean had caused them or made them ill, but then he remembered some pirate's journeys were longer than that, so it couldn't be. Was all of his crew doomed to Death's claws? He thought it could be the food as well, but everybody was eating the same thing, and yet only some was infected.

He couldn't endure that, the penicillin they had left did nothing, and to do a bloodletting was useless because they were all bleeding on their own. He set the ship on the nearest port's direction, but it'd take at least a week to get there, and he wasn't sure his crew would last until then. He kept drinking to dampen his worries and to stay focused on not getting the same disease. He made sure to keep his mouth hidden with a scarf when he was pushing the corpses off the bridge and tending to his amorphous men. What would happen if the captain was to die, he'd rather not dwell on that thought.

One day his Quartermaster didn't show up to help him, and he rushed to his room.

"Why ye not up, pirate?"

"I be not feelin' very well, cap'n," a tired voice came from the bed in the dark room. The captain approached, leaned towards his mate. He had than same wax-like complexion than the rest of them, with feverish eyes.

"Ye scurvy dog," he cursed under his breath. He hurried outside and came back quickly with a bottle in hand, uncorking it with his teeth. "Drink me spiced grog, that gunna help ye devil's henchman." He helped his quartermaster to take a few sips. "It'll wake ye up, matey."

Once the sick man took his fill, coughing only a bit, the captain tucked him back under his covers. He pushed aside the hair from his face, watching him fall back into an uneasy sleep.

"I won't let th' devil take ye away from me," he muttered under his breath before he took off to his other duties.

"Avast ye bulge rats! Set up th' sails and someone climb the crow's nest, we need a new lookout after th' last one went in Davy Jones' Locker!"

The day went on, but even the captain had to help cleaning. The infection was killing the sailors in quite a bloody way, and wood soaked up any liquid where the varnish had been scratched away, so it had to be cleaned fast. He was moving things around in the cargo when he found a sack of potatoes lost through the other boxes. They hadn't eaten any potatoes for a while, now that he thought of it. Luckily the cook wasn't dead. He took the sack and transported it to the kitchen. He noticed his quartermaster already there, eating some stew (which was more like a broth with meat and no vegetables)

"Ye're awake, Jacob. How ye're feelin'?"

"Better, cap'n. What was th' grog ye gave me?"

The captain produced the bottle from his many pockets and sat with his quartermaster.

"I got robbed once. I was supposed to get some spiced rum, but instead it was only tis' odd-colored 'n tastin' piss. I be drinkin' it because I drank all 'o th' rum," he explained. He offered it to him. "Want another taste?"

"Aye. It sure woke me up, cap'n, whatever 'tis is." He slowly drank some before taking another mouthful of stew, and the captain was glad to see some colors back on his cheeks.

"Yo ho ho, Cook, put some potatoes in the stew, I brought ye some," he yelled at the cook once he came back from wherever he had been. He was starving and seeing Jacob up and about only awoke his hunger, now that he wasn't worried for him anymore. The old man grumbled under his breath, but set himself to work. He knew better than to search for the captain's wrath.

"So how many jacks did we lose so far, cap'n?"

"A pair 'tis mornin'. We cleaned up the ship, made her all shiny 'n pretty again, so it keeps th' crew occupied."

"Aye. I thought I was in fer Davy Jones' treasure chest, but I be predictin' spiced grog be better fer ye health than I first thought."

The captain clapped him on the shoulder in a brotherly way, grinning.

"'Tis piss tastes so bad than even th' disease didn't want any 'n ran out 'o ye body. Anyway we be headin' to New Providence 'n be thar in a few days. Wit' a wee bit 'o faith, a doctor gunna be knowin' what 'tis disease be 'bout."

Jacob nodded and kept eating. He seemed famished, and the captain let him eat. After a short while, the cook grunted that the stew was ready, and they both took a bowl of it. The potatoes weren't completely cooked, but nobody complained and munched and drank while the other sailors were working outside.

"Cap'n, what do ye think caused 'tis?" Jacob asked after a while. The captain tightened his lips in a line.

"I fear it be th' lack 'o fresh fruits, we prob'ly need them to live or somethin'."

Jacob shrugged. "I never thought not eatin' somethin' could murder ye. Blast them green vegetables." The captain laughed and offered him another sip of his bottle, without telling him he never usually shared his grog.

(What is 100TC?)

Arrr, matey! 99th story and I just did a pirate story, I feel accomplished. I used a pirate translator, and I have absolutely no shame in it. 'Tis was full 'o awe. The captain's alcohol is actually potato wine, which I'm not sure how it could have landed in his hands, but whatever. That's what helped him not to get scurvy and what refrained Jacob from having further symptoms. 

100 Theme Challenge #98

98. Grandparents

The sun was bright in the sky and the air hot and humid, almost stuffy. It was hard to even breathe and move around, and I could feel drops of sweat run down my back. I continued to chop off the tree though, because this weather meant slower zombies as well, and less danger for me. I knew I could get too hot and still be in danger, but I kept myself hydrated, and I had sunscreen on, so it was as good as it could get. The tree fell down with a muffled thud since I'd put stuff to keep it as quiet as possible. I worked on cutting it in parts to bring them back more easily, even though it'd take me most of the day. I brought them all back at the house one by one, and I was exhausted once I was done. I still worked on preparing them for replacing the fence's broken pickets that were destroyed after the last attack. It was done just before dusk, and I returned inside. I did place some empty cans and small metal objects on a cord, so I'd hear it if any zombie would attempt to sneak on me though. 

The house I found wasn't out of the ordinary, but it was comfortable with plenty of dry food and cans to last at least a few months. It probably belonged to a big family. I would sometimes kill a small animal, and it almost would be considered a gourmet dinner, rabbit and peas. I was in for a few weeks now, and beside a few zombie surprises, I seemed to be alone in this small city. A forest was nearby the backyard, a river ran through the middle of the city, it was almost perfect. I could climb on the roof to survey the surroundings, but not once had I seen light anywhere to tell me there were other survivors. I kept on the fences up during the first few days that I arrived at that house, killing the too many zombies lingering around. After cleaning the backyard, I found the remains of a small garden and seed inside the attic. This would be sufficient to grow a small army of plants, and hopefully they wouldn't be eaten by wild animals.

I'd already found the corpse of a dog inside, starved to death, and buried it outside. That had not been pleasant. I knew I couldn't stay in here for that long, but then the plants would ripen and be useful to someone else's belly. I might not even survive for that long.

Sleep came easily to me that night, my muscles sore from all the exercise. I was more muscled than I ever had been, but yet my body still had its limits. The next morning, I was sore as hell, which only meant I was still alive. I'd have to explore a bit, find some new weapons because I only had a screwdriver and a kitchen knife, which were too dangerous to use in my opinion. I stretched to lessen the pain, ate, and put on a backpack before heading outside, screwdriver in hand. Nothing had disturbed my defenses. I unhooked the cord, climbed the fence before attaching it again. I chose the house on the edge of the city, so I could escape if there was any trouble, while hoping for no roaming hordes. So far I had been lucky.

The first house I encountered was mostly empty, probably by the owners before they took off. There was no sign of intrusion and no zombie inside. There was canned food in the drawers, and I brought some just in case. There was never enough food. The second house was about the same, and the armory was empty as well. Perhaps my luck was running dry.

In the third house, I had to be a lot quieter, because at least four zombies were roaming on the first floor with the entrance door left wide open. I had to take the chance. I took the first one by surprise with a hit in the temple, but my screwdriver got stuck, and I struggled to get it out. First thing I knew they were coming towards me, and I discovered there was a lot more than I first thought. They managed to corner me in the living room, and I threw a chair at one of them to try to slow them down. I ran for the basement door, locking it behind myself. It was pitch black, and I calmed myself down before I attempted to find the light switch. Of course it wouldn't work, so I retrieved my flashlight from my backpack. I was slowly climbing down the stairs when I heard some growls nearby. 

I froze, turned the light towards the sound, but I couldn't see anything, the basement was quite wild. I realized with a silent curse I had left my screwdriver on the floor, I probably lost it as I was escaping the zombies. I explored a bit and found the workshop, with screwdrivers again laying around. I took the longest and turned around when I heard another growl. Nothing was coming closer though, but I could hear chains clinking as well… I slowly approached, light forward, and was met with the glossy eyes of two zombies. I gasped, screwdriver clutched in my hand, when I noticed the chains attached around their neck. They had been leashed down here.

They had been old people when they had died, perhaps grandparents, and I shivered in concern. Who could have done such a thing? I took a deep breath (by the mouth, mind you, because the stench was quite disgusting) and killed them one by one. I crouched down and looked at the name tags they had on. Captain America and Wonder Woman. I scoffed, not knowing if I was to cry or laugh. Superheroes were dead.

(What is 100TC?)

100 Theme Challenge #97

Sequel of #50, #51, #52, #54, #60, #68,  #69, #70, #73, #74, #76, #79, #81, #88 and #91.

97. Courage

Part XVI - Epilogue

"I thought you'd be happier celebrating the end of your case with your wife," Kenneth told Jack, eyes unblinking and Jack gulped down his gin and tonic, eager to feel the burn as it slid down his throat. Kenneth chuckled.

"Barbara and I have a simple, yet complicated relationship, Jack replied.

"Aren't all the relationships the same?"

"Perphaps, but all are unique as well. Barbara always has her way of telling me when she's uspet and I can tell she's mad at me, but I couldn't tell you why."

"At least you know she's mad. I could never tell when James was mad…" At that his face fell, and he looked away for a second. "I can't believe I won't ever see him again."

"Well, some say you see your loved ones after you die, if that's any comfort." It was a bit lame, but Jack never knew what to say to people who lost someone. The only person he'd lost was his father, and that was years ago. The only thing he achieved with his son had been to make him know the taste of his own blood.

"Want one?" He offered Kenneth a cigarette, and the other accepted.

"Thanks. I'm never craving these except when I'm with you. I'm afraid you're creating me a new dependence, Mister Byrnes."

"You can call me Jack."

"So we're out with the formalities, now?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm not fancy enough for you to continue to call me Mister."

Kenneth scoffed. "Then call me Kenneth, because I'm not either. So what about that cigarette?"

Jack took one of his pack and lit it before he gave it to the other. "You're such a gentleman." Kenneth chuckled and thanked him.

"You were talking about you and your wife. You don't love her anymore?"

Jack looked at Kenneth and wondered what gave him away. Kenneth was more talented at perceiving others than he first thought.

"What makes you think that?" He asked, and Kenneth slowly exhaled smoke before he answered.

"Well, first you wouldn't be brooding this much in here, and secondly, you wouldn't want to hang with me." He smirked and offered back the smoking stick.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" Jack asked, and yet he already knew the answer.

Kenneth leaned towards him, cigarette still in hand, and put it himself between Jack's lips, brushing his digits against his bottom lip as he retreated them. "Because I'm a homosexual. You've been talking me about that waiting sensation is the reason you drink, but you never talked to me about your wife. I was wondering, why is he talking to me about this stuff, why is he talking to me period, even after you knew what I was. Tell me, Jack, did you ever discuss of your feelings with your wife?"

Jack was surprised, because no, he never talked of this with Barbara. Nowadays it was more about the weather and his cases than anything else. He took a long drag of the cigarette, eager for the drug to calm him. "She wouldn't understand."

"Or maybe you're not confident enough to let her know all of your secrets." Now Kenneth was pushing his buttons, and he glared at him.

"And you think you know everything of me? Tell me, Kenneth, what do you know of my secrets?" He gritted between his teeth, trying really hard not to yell at that smirking face. Kenneth didn't reply but drank what remained in his glass before he stood up. He went to leave before he turned around.

"Return to your wife, Mister Byrnes. Tell her you love her, and try to stop missing opportunities."

Kenneth disappeared through the door, and Jack made no attempt to follow him. He sighed and asked for another drink. He lit up another cigarette and finished it without noticing. He tried to distract himself with the boxing championship presented at the small television of the bar, to no avail. Kenneth's words swirled around and brought a bitter taste to his mouth even gin couldn't wash away.

"Hey there, Mister Byrnes. So how's the investigation going?" Sharon Porter asked him beside him. Jack hadn't even noticed she was here, and guilt filled him. He had been too engulfed by Kenneth's presence.

"It's finished, we found the culprit."

"Oh thank God. I thought the killer would return for me, or for the new bartender. He's quite talented, you see, maybe even more than that poor James, God have his soul. Now if only that damn waitress Ada could present herself on due time, that'd be fantastic. Say, do you want another drink, it'll be on the house," she debited faster than he thought could be possible, and he wondered if she breathed through at all. He once again compared her to a mouse, and for her to be able to keep steady a tray was beyond him.

"No, I think it's time I'm heading home, but thanks for the offer," he carefully answered as he rose up, putting on his coat. The wound on his side stung a bit as he moved, but nothing he couldn't endure, and alcohol dulled the pain.

"All right then, have a good night," she winked at him and took off. He dusted off his hat and placed it on his head. The wind flicked his duster coat around, and he picked another cigarette on the way to his car. He took the time to turn on the radio before he began the way back to his house. He would have to begin his report of the case first thing in the morning, but for now he would return to his wife, and maybe someday they would discuss seriously about having a kid. That was the right thing to do.

On the radio, that damn song was playing again.

I wish you joy, though teardrops burn

But if some day you should want to return

Please hurry back and we'll make a new start

Till then you're breaking my heart

(What is 100TC?)

The song is yet again You're breaking my heart, by Vic Damone. So it's the end of an epic journey, both for Jack and I. This is not the final version, of course, I planned to add and twitch up a few scenes before I release this story on Wattpad. 

100 Theme Challenge #96

96. Sweet

"She said she knew me before!" The stranger growled at his companion while he continued to stare down at me, his hands digging into my shoulders. I threw a panicked look at my coworker and tried to push him away, but he didn't bulge.

"You're hurting me," I said, kicking his shin for him to let me go. He stumbled back, but from his free will, not because of my hit. He looked at the other stranger, setting his jaw. I didn't know them, I never saw them before, and they just barged in the drugstore as if they owned the place and latched onto me. I only had one second to think the man was attractive before his hands closed on me, and I was shaken so hard I thought I was going to cry when I didn't seem to have the effective reaction for them.

"You don't recognize me?" He kept asking me, almost frenetic, and I kept shaking my head, regretting there weren't more customers to help me out. My coworker, the cashier, was younger than me and probably hadn't any more clue of what was going on than I did.

"Fuck, what are we going to do?" He muttered, turning his back to me. The woman sighed.

"You're frightening her, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down, she told me she knew about me before we even met. She lied to me."

I frowned. Who was 'she' supposed to be? "Could I have an explanation please? Why am I supposed to know you?"

"What's your name?" The man asked me instead, and I pointed at my nametag with a roll of my eyes. I was getting more and more annoying, after my first fright falling down. And I didn’t appreciate being pushed around.

"Inès… How come they look the same but don't have the same name?" He kept talking as If I wasn't here to witness it all.

"I don't know, John, but perhaps it's not the best idea to discuss of this here," the woman cautiously replied. She had the same good looks than John who was fuming for no apparent reason.

"Fine, then you're coming with us," he commanded me, and I frowned.

"No way, I don't know you and I'm working, there's no way I'm following random strangers," I protested, slowly backing off towards the emergency button of my cosmetics stand. My coworker was frozen into place and wouldn't be the one to save me, even though she was protected by the counter. I was surprised to see John actually smirked at me, his features softening, and I had to slowly exhale at the rush of attractiveness.

"You're just like her. Come with us, and I'll explain everything to you."

He seemed sincere, and I did have a sense of recognition with him. Maybe I once saw him and had a dream with his face in there; I couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't think any of them would hurt me, past that small incident at the beginning. I sighed and told them to wait before I went up to my friend.

"You're going with them, after he yelled in your face?"

I shrugged. "I don't think they mean me harm. Besides, I have my cellphone, and he's kind of cute, so…"

It was her turn to sigh. "Fine. I'll make up an excuse for you. Go now."

"Don't worry about  me, I have a feeling I'll be just fine," I smiled one last time at her and returned to the two strangers who escorted me outside.

"Where are we going? And who is that woman you keep comparing me with?"

We stopped at a car, slick and bright red, and John motioned for me to hop in. I didn't budge.

"Tell me, or I'm not going with you."

He groaned as the woman, whose name was still unknown, climbed in with a chuckle. He dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking for the right words.

"She was my fiancé. She… died a long time ago." He struggled a bit to say that out loud.

"And I'm supposed to look like her?"

"You're supposed to be a younger, identical version of her. We looked everywhere for you, and now you don't remember a damn thing and won't get in the bloody car."

He was getting mad again, his mouth set in a frown, but it didn't help in the matter. How could I  be identical to his lost lover? It was absurd. Orphan Black's theory wasn't real.

"How can this be?" I muttered, but he gestured at the opened door, and I went in after another sigh.

"It's pretty simple, hun. Have you ever heard of time traveling and reincarnation?" The ginger woman said from behind the wheel. She started the car after John took his seat.

"Of course I did, but I never thought this was real."

"You don't believe it until you can bite your teeth in it," John muttered under his breath, but I still heard him.

"So what, I'm the reincarnation of your lover, but how could I remember you, I didn't know you existed fifteen minutes ago."

He turned around in his seat to face me, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Because we always were connected throughout our lives. And yes, I know it's cheesy, but I've waited long enough for you, and you'll understand once you get all your memories back."

I frowned, still not believing him totally. This would be quite an imaginative story, if it wasn't true.

"So you're bringing me to the TARDIS or what?"

They both chuckled.

"We've got something much better," John replied.

(What is 100TC?)

'Cause it's always a great idea to follow random people, even if they're cute.