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Prophecy Six Blog

Sharing My Unedited Writing Experiences & Life Experiences.

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mystery

It’s About Something Not Natural

Before I get to the story part of this I just want to explain to you what I’m looking for help wise. I’ve been working on a second series and I’m getting to the point of flushing out the main issues. I’m wanting to get peoples opinions on the idea and since I now have a Wattpad I thought it would be great to share it on My Works page.

With that said, I have no flippin’ idea what to put it under. I’ve been thinking about this and I’m starting to drive myself a little crazy… okay a little more crazy… than usual. I have no idea what to classify this story as.

Jay is about a freelance genie in the modern world. They partner up with a detective to catch a serial-killer focuses on killing Wishers – the main food source for Genie. Jay needs to find this killer and quick before the humans discover that there are more than just Genies going bump in the night.

Would that make it a murder mystery? Would it be fantasy because it has magical creatures in it… or would I put it under Paranormal since it’s about something not natural… you could even say it’s supernatural:

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Anywho, I will posted the first chapter below and you can make your suggestions since I’m so lost as to where to put this. XD

 

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Chapter 1: Time to Make a Difference

 

I stared into my coffee.

The tar tasting liquid rippled to the same beat my foot tapped against the center leg of the table while my iPod blasted upbeat techno into the cheap dollarstore buds that rested in my ears. After all these years living on this rock nothing compared to the buzz of energy that radiated from hearing a favorite jam shuffle onto my playlist.

Okay, maybe there were two things…

Across from my table at the small cafe on Augusta Ave, right off Queens, a young man sat hunched over tapping away on his cellular contraption. Never had much interest in getting one of those devices – never saw the point. I understood the benefits sure, but I didn’t have enough friends or family to justify the outrageous amount of mullah needed to have one of those things.

It wasn’t his obsessed typing that caught my attention, though.

In a super megatropolis like Toronto, watching the crowds of humans sucked into their 300 dollar mini-computer was a common sight. It was how he was typing. Fingers jabbing in a panicked fray, eyes wide, and mouth open enough to catch the stray fly if he was unlucky. Usually screen junkies typed quick but held the same droned out apathetic expression. His panic, fear, anger, and sadness were flowing out of him like your insides after Chipotle. I could have ignored him. I had done that a million times or more to others in a similar state, but it was what he was typing that intrigued me.

While humans searched for answers in words written on a tiny glass screen I found my answers in their body language. He was too busy to notice the young waitress deliver his latte, not because he had to get to the next level of Candy Crush but for another reason entirely.

The wincing of his brows, the sniffling of his nose… the slight glistening of tears that he held inside as to not make a scene in public were what I saw. The biting of his tongue, the frustrated pulling of his hair and the panicked look around the cafe before forcing himself to take a sip of the latte to try and calm himself – were all I needed to know.

I knew what the kid was going through. I had seen the same painful expression on human faces before. Although the screaming thoughts from inside his head also helped; there was no need to listen to the details.

Mom. Sick. Hospital. Not much time.

                Humans thrived on connections. The whole reasons social media exploded the way it did was for humans desire to feel connected to something bigger then themselves. Before that it was religions and before that tribes. They depended on one another and strived to impress each other. That’s something we never cared for. We didn’t need each other… but it fracking sucked how much we needed these meat suits.

Even with the dependency on humans we were still independent beings. Some of us stuck in crappy jobs, while others – like myself – had the luck to go out on their own. A freelancer, some could say.

That’s why I was sitting in this grated garden chair on the uneven patio lined by a looped metal fence. This was why I was drinking this bitter tar that I honestly didn’t need to drink. This boy was my meal ticket and that’s why I listened to him.

He was like a broken recorded with his thoughts, and although I felt a twinge in my empty chest regarding his feelings about his mom, there were some rules a freelancer like myself needed to follow.

Accident. Life support. Oh God!

The big bearded guy in the sky had nothing to do with it. He gave humans freewill. With that freewill gave the big guy some overdue time off. Of course that’s my own assumption. Never met the being humans called God, Allah… whatever. I didn’t follow their mythology… heck I didn’t follow anything really.

What can I do? How can I help her?

                “Come on, kid,” I grumbled into my coffee before taking a sip. My electric blue bang fell in front of my face before I combed it back with one hand while the other set the chipped mug onto the table. My black fingernails tapped on the sides of the mug, contrasting against the white porcelain.

He only had to say one word.

One word all humans said constantly like it was some kind of greedy prayer.

I looked through the metal grated table at my rolled down combats. They were practical enough with the amount of walking my job required and with this no-shits-given, free-style appearance I had going with my half shaved head and thick framed ‘hipster’ glasses, no one really paid much attention to me. I liked the glasses ‘cause they reminded me of the pair I busted in the 80s, not ‘cause they were hipster. Whatever the hell a hipster was anyway?

I….

                I sat up in my chair, leaning on my elbows along the edge of the unbalanced metal table. From the years of experience the word ‘I’ usually had the word I needed to complete this screen junkie’s request.

I…

                Come on! I wanted to scream, grinding my teeth in anticipation.

I wish her to be okay. I want her to be okay…

                I stood after hearing the magic word, taking a small glass bottle out of the pocket of my sweatshirt as I approached him. I rested my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t notice me and didn’t see me. I was a shadow standing behind him. With knowing that I leaned down close, moving aside his brunette hair to whisper: “You got your wish.”

He didn’t turn around as I gave him a pat on the shoulder. I glanced to his ear, seeing a pale white smoke begin to leak from the cannel onto his shoulder. Wisher essence. Ten times harder than crack and the staple of my diet.

With a pop of the cork I placed the bottle by his ear, allowing the white liquid to fill the bottle. He didn’t react. He just reached to take another sip of his latte before his phone rang.

Slipping the bottle into my pocket, I went through the opening in the metal fence and into the busy morning rush. There came a clattering noise when his chair flew back hitting the pavement when he stood abruptly after hearing the news. I stopped by a newspaper dispenser to admire my work.

Awake? Pull-through? Live? She’ll live! His thoughts flooded my mind. I smirked, knowing all too well what I had done.

 

Nothing to Apologize For (Writing Prompt)

“I have nothing to apologize for,” I seethed, holding my hands in a death grip against my ribs.

“Nothing to-” Royce stopped pacing at the end of the hospital bed, “do you freaking hear yourself, Jay? That bastard almost tore your freaking heart out with his bare hands… you could have died!”

“And I didn’t!” I shouted back, recoiling from the sharp pain stabbing in my chest from the outburst. Lowering my voice, I made sure our eyes met before continuing. “I didn’t die, Royce… I’m fine.”

His heavy breath escaped his nosed like steam escaping a boiling pot. His hand tugging through his slicked back hair before moving down to rub his neck. I knew he hated that I didn’t wait. I knew he blamed himself for what happened. The fact was, I knew if I hadn’t gone alone he would have been the one in this hospital bed or worse laying butt naked on a steel slab in the morgue.

Humans were always so sensitive. Their personal relationships, even those small ones forced upon them from work, made it hard to keep everything in perspective. The Jinn was hurt, meaning it was likely in hiding licking its wounds. That gave me time to recover and Royce time to get his shit in gear before more bodies started turning up.

“Can you at least acknowledge the fact you screwed up? That you shouldn’ve done that take down on your own,” Royce breathed, gripping the plastic foot-board of my bed. He glared at me, trying to read me.

Idiot. My fault.

“I was an idiot – I’m sorry – k?” I started, noticing him smirk. “Blaming yourself isn’t gonna bring that psycho in.”

“Neither is you being in recovery,” he straightened up crossing his arms.

“I’ll be out soon…”

At least that’s what I hoped. As much as I shared a similar body design with these humans didn’t mean it took me as long to heal. I’d be healed within the week but they would insist on me staying off the job for at least another two to recover. Humans were squishy meat suits – not as resilient as my kind.

“In the mean time what should I be looking for?” Royce asked.

Sliding myself to sit higher up in bed, I gave a groan when my body ached. My ribs were hurting the most, but that Jinn’s venom was still coursing through my veins. Everything felt stiff.

“Hospitals… vet clinics… drug stores,” I shrugged. “Wherever you think someone with a bullet hole would go to get patched up.”

It was unlikely that thing would go anywhere. Like me, the beast was healing up fine on its own. Royce didn’t need to know that. The police didn’t need to think about it. The Jinn was down for the time and that meant it gave everyone a well deserved rest.

“All right, I’ll look into it,” Royce headed for the door. He stopped for a moment just as he reached for the handle. He turned back to look at me, opening his mouth before he stopped himself.

Sorry. Worried for her. Please, get better.

“I’ll keep an eye on the cat,” he muttered, opening the door and hurrying back out into the bustling hall.

The sound of footsteps and shouts echoed through the white washed walls. The smell of bleach and floral arrangements filled my nose. I didn’t want to be here but I had to stay put. I was playing a role and not all parts were going to be glamorous.

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OTHER MOMENTS WITH JAY & ROYCE:

Tranquillity                                           I Wish

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