Prophecy Six Blog

Sharing My Unedited Writing Experiences & Life Experiences.



30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 25: Word Image Search


Word Image Search

Today’s challenge is: think of a word and search for it using Google Images. Writing something inspired by the 11th Image.

The word I chose was tranquillity. The 11th image was:


I stood at the end of the board walk. The warm night air off the water stuck to my skin. I pulled my housecoat closer as the fluffy lime material tickled my skin. The smell of salt danced up my nose making me close my eyes and take a slower, deeper breath. The sound of waves lapped around me, slapping up onto my feet covered in white sand.

I open my eyes to see glass reflecting cotton of blues, pinks, and greys. The sky like candy pastels as I run my hand through my hair knocking away the fading electric blue strands.

I’m glad I came out here. I needed a break.

There came a knock from behind me. I turned around, feeling my frustration return. Someone was at my door and I had a good idea as to who it was.

Snapping my fingers the imaged faded, leaving me standing in the middle of the dark room. Photographs plastered the back wall caught the light through the crack in the drawn blinds when a car drove through the alleyway below. I could hear the neighbours shouting across the way as there came another knock on my front door.

The knocking this time was louder.

Secretly I had hoped he had left after thinking I wasn’t in.

“Jay!” it was Royce, as I had expected. “Jaya, open the fracking door – we need to talk!”

I smirked after hearing him use the word I commonly used to replace the oh so boring swears of this century. Maybe there was hope for Officer Bass after all.

Closing the door to my room and making sure the lock was latched, I made my way down the hallway covered in tacky floral print to the living room. I stood facing the entrance and with a snap of my fingers the front latch unlocked. He knocked again, obviously not noticing what I had done.

“It’s open – you Neanderthal,” I called, crossing my arms under my chest as he opened the door.

“It was locked – I checked,” Royce growled, closing the door. A thick manila folder was tucked under his right pit.

“Hope you check crime scenes better,” I smirked, noticing a hazel glare over his sunglasses, a habit I hadn’t yet been able to make him curb. “So, what brings yah to my lair this late?”

He took off his shoes, welcoming himself in like he had half a dozen times, collapsing in his usual spot in the corner of my lumpy black futon. Patches jumped up onto the back, settling near Royce as he gave her a hesitant pat. After they were both settled he set down the folder on my coffee table still covered with takeout containers.

“We found another body,” Royce muttered, moving to lean his elbows onto his knees after firmly planting his feet on the floor. He was hunched over in deep thought as I caught him give me a glance. “I know you’re off… since…”

He paused, taking off his sunglasses to set them atop the folder. He took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Patches was rubbing up against his back now for attention that he wasn’t going to give. I knew he blamed himself for what had happened but it wasn’t his fault. I wish I could have told him I was fine. I wanted to tell him that that Jinn couldn’t have killed me with an injury like that… but I couldn’t. He couldn’t know what I was. I couldn’t tell him or I’d be sent back to the bottle for who knows how long.

“Hey, Bass…” my voice was low but it reached his ears when he turned to give me a smirk at hearing his nickname, “you’re my partner – tell me what you need me to do.”


Ha…. well that was unexpected… didn’t think Jaya would make a comeback. If you don’t remember Jaya – she was a free genie I wrote about a while back [Her First Appearance Is Here]. Maybe my mind is telling me something… XD

I wish… (Short Story)

I stared into my black coffee.

The black 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 with humans 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 bistro off of Main and Queen, 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 friends or family to really justify the outrageous amount of mullah needed to have one of those things. Then again, I’m a different breed… an older breed that remembers a time when these finger tapping screen junkies were working themselves to the bone to survive.

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

In the big city watching the crowds of people – just like you – sucked into their 300 dollar mini-computer was a common sight. It was how he was typing… 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 a more personal reason.

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 bistro 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 hundreds of human faces. Although I could hear him screaming out in his head for help, there was no need to listen to the details.

     Mom. Sick. Hospital. Not much time.

     Humans make connections with each other. They depend on one another and strive to impress each other. That’s something my kind never cared for. My kind were independent beings; some stuck in crappy jobs, while others – like myself – had the luck to go out on their own.

A freelancer, some could say.

I listened to the boy. He was like a broken recorded with his thoughts, and although I loved to have helped him right then and there, there are some rules a freelancer like myself needs to follow.

     Accident. Life support. Oh God!

The big bearded guy in the sky had nothing to do with it. He gave humans free will. With that free will 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 bright 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 top. 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 travelling 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 sat up in my chair, leaning on my elbows along the edge of the unbalanced metal bistro table. From the years of experience that one word ‘I’ usually had the one word I needed to complete this boy’s request.


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

     I want her to be okay. I wish she’d live through this.

     I stood after hearing the magic word.

Walking behind the boy, I rested my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t notice me, and didn’t see me. I was but a shadow standing behind him. With knowing that I leaned down close, moving aside his brunette hair and whisper: “You got your wish.”

He didn’t turn around, as I gave him a pat on the shoulder. He reached to take another sip of his latte before his phone rang.

Hopping down into the crowded street I heard him stand abruptly from his place at the table. His voice filled with joy at hearing the news.

Awake? Pull-through? Live? She’ll live!

I’ve been around long enough to know that everyone has a wish.

Some wish for money, fame, or fortune.

Some wish for vanity, luck, and love.

Those are all things humans’ desire but over the centuries of working with them the one thing I found most commonly wished for was time.

You want time with loved ones. You want time with pets. You want time for school work. You want time with special projects. Everywhere I went, I would hear the same damn thing.

I wish I had more time…

Sure, there are those of my kind who live off of materialistic desires.

I was one of them once…

Now that I’m a freelancer, though, I can give my time to ensure they have the time they desire.

Dialogue Prompt: You Look Just as Lost


Clara sat folding her hands in prayer as she knelt at the pew in the hospital chapel. There had been little news about her father since they had arrived. The doctors had been running around in a panic as the nurses had little to say about the situation.

All she knew was her father’s heart gave way but they had been able to stabilize him.

For how long? She had wondered, as she felt tears roll down her face. She had wanted to know more. The doctors should have told her what they were doing. What tests they were going to run, or what medicines they were putting him on.

No one remembered she was even there. It had been hours since she have wandered into the chapel, and it had been hours she had spent kneeling, praying for some sort of news. For all she knew her father could have died and no one was telling her.

Rogersford had been called; at least that request had been followed. He was spending his time dealing with the press, trying to keep this recent event under control.

Bless him for taking on such a challenge. Clara thought, drawing in a deep breath while she peered up at the statue of the Goddess Sirphan. She looked so peaceful with her hands folded in prayer. My father is in the Goddess’s care now, I should try and stop worrying.

How could she do such a thing? Her father was sick; it was her part to worry and to pray.

Closing her eyes, she lay her head down against the neck of the pew in front of her. The wood was cool against her forehead. She was so tired but she couldn’t rest, not with the image of her father’s attack still fresh in her mind.

There came a creak from the door to the chapel followed by heavy footsteps. Her head shot up as she spotted a man wrapped in a heavy wool jacket. His stripped scarf draped loose around his neck while he tried to light his pipe with a wooden match he had pulled out of his left pant pocket. His orange hair was frazzled as heavy bags rested under his eyes.

He looked to have had a similar restless night.

He yawned, stretching his arms out before glancing in her direction. He looked at her surprised, like he hadn’t been expecting anyone to be in the chapel. The morning light danced colourfully across the stone floor through the stain glass like a rainbow, as he quickly ran his hands through his messy hair.

“No need to make yourself presentable in my presence.” Clara chimed, standing from her place near the pews. “You look just as lost as I am.”

“Lost may be a good word for it.” Henry muttered, taking a long drag from his pipe. The smoky taste calmed his nerves as he tucked the used match in his pocket. No one usually came to the chapel, and those that did were usually patients. This woman though looked too well dressed to be from one of the wards. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“A doctor, actually.” Clara answered, sitting down on the bench folding her hands. “I’m waiting on news about my father.”

“You’ll be waiting a while then, the doctors are short staffed at the moment.” Henry replied, taking his pipe out of his mouth. He glanced at the woman who glowed in the light that shone through the windows. Her hair a glistening amber, as her pale face showed her worry.

“Are you a doctor?” Clara asked.

The man smirked. He was well dressed like a doctor, and as worn from lack of sleep. It was possible he had just come off a long shift and was finally having a moment to himself.

“No, I’m like you. Praying for a sick friend, hoping to the Gods he gets back on his feet.” She noticed his brow knot after he spoke, as if what he had said was in bad taste. “We all seem to be waiting for something.”

He quickly shook his head and continued to bite the end of his pipe.

“I guess.” Clara sighed, smiling at his words. She glanced at him, as he bowed his head. He looked to be leaving her be, as he tucked his pipe back into his jacket pocket before leaving the room. “I’ll pray for your friend.”

He paused at the door, as he turned to glance at the woman again. Her words were genuine, a rare thing in such a time. A stranger was willing to pray for someone they didn’t even know; maybe there was some good in the world after all.

“I will do the same for your father.” Henry nodded again, as he left the room. He closed the door before pausing to see Franklin walking towards him.

Why had he left Gregory alone? Was that the best thing after what had happened?

“He’s sedated.” Franklin grumbled, fixing his tie and adjusting his hair. “Now onto my other patient.”

Henry watched while Gregory’s mentor opened the door to the chapel. What were the chances the same doctor was tending to that woman’s father and his best friend? He watched Franklin close the chapel door behind him, only allowing Henry a moment’s glimpse to see the woman again.

Maybe her prayers would be answered and hopefully so would his.

Dialogue Prompt: Get a Doctor!


It still amazed him, how something so stressful could make him feel like such a new man. Gregory walked down the dreary streets. He would have his name in every paper across Demor tomorrow morning with his research published in every medical journal. He was a famous doctor now. Though, now that he thought about it, he felt no different than that morning.

Feeling the breeze across his face he watched the newspapers of that day drift around the street. Some sat in the gutters wet, and crumpled like all those hopeless fools that had lost their ambition beside them.

He shook his head; there was still so much he needed to do to make sure that those that needed his treatment would get it. He would need to do many fundraisers as he could. They would need it for the materials but then he needed to also find doctors to perform them for free.

Gregory was more than willing to do them all, but he would reach his goal faster if there was more than one in an operating room. Not to mention the lectures he would need to develop to teach the next generation of doctors. His method would spread worldwide. That thought filled every inch of his mind, inflating his ego.

                What if this doesn’t work as well as planned? What if this is all a dream and I’m still walking to the ministry? He thought, patting his jacket pocket as if trying to wake himself in fear it was a dream. No it was very much real, and he had very much fulfilled his lifelong dream.

That was crazy to think such things, but everything was going too well. Normally at this point he would hit a wall, he would sink into himself, zone the rest of the world out and not come out until he had figured out what was holding him down inside.

Stopping for a moment, Gregory looked out across the park. He could see the streetlights imitate the sun as it danced through their branches and onto the dark walkway. Their rustling calmed him as the late evening breeze cooled his flushed face. Closing his eyes he leaned back on his heels. He had to let go. Things would be different from this moment on. He would make a difference.

There was screams to his left as he noticed it getting closer. Opening his eyes, he realized why things had been so easy. He felt the horse knock him to the ground. The carriage didn’t pause as it continued to drive over his arms and leg. He felt a rush of energy shoot through him as he twisted his body to keep his head away from the wheels.

“Dear god!” He heard a voice scream. “Get a doctor! Someone needs to get this man a doctor.”

Not registering what happened, Gregory tried to sit up. He could feel a throbbing in his left leg. Just a simple cut, he was sure. He couldn’t be that bad off. Feeling the weight of his numb arms pull him back onto the ground there came a stabbing pain that vibrated through every inch of his upper body. He could feel something wet rolling down the sides of his face. Was he crying? Why was he crying?

Everyone was screaming and rushing passed him. He couldn’t be that hurt. He could go home, right?

“Greg, you need to stay with us. You will be at a hospital soon.” A young man said in a surprisingly calm voice. He was in a carriage now, to dark to see anything but this man’s face. Was his head in this man’s lap? How; or when did he get into the carriage? “Hurry, he’s bleeding out.”

This man had red hair, and the greenest of eyes. He knew this face. He couldn’t place him though, as he watched the young man begin to wrap a tourniquet around each of his arms. The voices were fading as was the little light in the carriage. Was he so tired he was falling asleep? He didn’t even get this man’s name.

Dialogue Prompt: Shut Up!

Liora stood in front of the mirror. There was only an hour before the dinner and the dress she had chosen to wear didn’t look to fit. How could it be too tight when she had worn this same dress on her last visit?

The seam looked like it was about to pop, and the hem was four inches off the floor. She couldn’t have grown that much in just four months.

Her heart stopped at the sound of knocking, as she turned in time to see the young man enter the room. He wore a nicely fitted shirt and pants. His cape the appropriate length off the floor. If anyone was growing like a weed it was Devral, yet his clothing fit perfectly.

“Liora,” The young man paused, “Uh…”

By his reaction she could tell he didn’t know what to do. In most situations a gentleman would compliment a lady, but never had he been prepared for this. Liora didn’t want a compliment anyway. She would have known it was just her friend trying to be nice.

“Shut up.” She blurted.

The sound of a popping seam made her grab for her side. The material pulled tight on her shoulders, while the top button at the back of the dress stayed undone.She didn’t want to hear anything Devral had to say. She felt bad enough already and he normally made things worse.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t care. Shut up.”

His hands went up to surrender, at hearing the sharp bitterness in her voice. Tears watered in the corner of her eyes, as she forced back tear. Devral would use this against her. If she let him see her cry, he would never let her live it done.

Devral noticed her gripping the material of the dress. It must have been embarrassing for her, to have him there. Liora was always dressed so nicely. Her clothes were always the latest fashions. Most of the other girls’ spoke of her choice in clothing, and she always caught the boys’ attention.

If he wanted to he could easily make her feel worse. He could tell others about this situation and news of her fashion malfunction would spread like wildfire. Before, when he was younger, he may have considered doing that. Not now… not after realizing how words could hurt someone as much as any weapon.

Now, as he looked at the girl he felt sorry for her. Liora was a strong person but there was a lot of pressure on her, just like there was on him.

Being stuck in the undersized garment was probably a huge blow to her self-esteem.

Somehow he had to make her feel better? There had to be something he could say to make light of the situation.

“Well, that’s not the tightest situation you’ve been in.” He noticed the girl glare at him in the reflection of the mirror. Had she expected him to say something else?

After a moment, the glare faded. The corner of her mouth twitched, before he heard her snort.

“Very true.” More seams popped, as she chuckled. 

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