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10prompts2024-10-31 08:28 pm
but_can_i_be_trusted) wrote in 10prompts2024-10-31 08:28 pm
Entry tags:
Table: Weather. Prompt #4: (Thunder) Storm.
Title: 'Rite of Passage'
Author:but_can_i_be_trusted
Table/Prompt: Table: Weather. Prompt #4: (Thunder) Storm.
Fandom: Original Fiction
Pairing/Character: Original
Summary: Everyone likes to take the mickey out of the new kid.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some spooky concepts; brief violence
Notes: Crossposted toficlet_zone
It all sounded like a bit of harmless fun, really. It sounded silly, but pleasant enough, when it was first suggested: You, and the new friends you'd made, sneaking into the old, abandoned factory at the edge of town. Telling ghost stories to each other on a dark and stormy night.
But now, stuck here all on your own, you're beginning to look at things from a rather different slant.
The others had claimed that it was just a formality, a sort of rite of passage for the kids in the neighborhood. A thing to do for kicks, more than to be taken seriously.
Too late, you're starting to realize the arrogance in their eyes. The way they'd smirked when you'd agreed to come along. Everyone likes to take the mickey out of the new kid.
You wish, now, that you'd paid more attention.
Oh, they'd led you on a supposedly merry chase, once you'd all made your way inside. Called out teasingly to you, as they raced through the mazelike structure. Got your head well and truly spinning, until you'd found yourself as lost as lost could possibly be.
Now? Now there is nothing but silence, aside from the storm that rages out of doors. Sounding like the night itself is alive. A hungry beast, with a thousand shadows that serve as its myriad beating hearts. All pounding out at the thought of fresh meat. Shadows that play havoc against the already impenetrable darkness, for the flashlight that you were loaned is flickering feebly, hardly able to pierce the gloom.
Those rats. They'd done that deliberately, no doubt. Left you stuck with a flashlight that's had its batteries drained almost completely. And all so they could laugh at the naïve newbie nitwit they'd conned into coming to this hellhole. You'd love to track each of them down, and serve them up some manner of punishment once you're out of this nightmare of a place.
If you can ever find the exit. If the exit even exists, anymore.
Doors upon doors, leading into endless corridors. Rooms that all look exactly alike, so far as you're able to tell. Maybe you've gotten yourself all turned around, by now. It's possible that you're simply retracing your steps. You're not sure. You're not sure that you even care about that.
You've got to stop. Collect yourself. Get your bearings. Take a breath or two. Panic, as tempting as it is to run straight into its welcoming embrace, never does anyone a bit of good. Unreasoning fear, unlike the sensible fear that keeps people alive when they're in potential danger, is no one's friend. It's a poison that can seep unbidden into your mind, into your very psyche.
So you force yourself to stand still, and take a look around. There's no danger; you're merely lost. No one is chasing you. All that's happened is that some idiots with a twisted sense of humor brought you here on a fool's errand, and left you to your own devices. They're probably long gone, laughing their fool heads off.
Well. You'll give them something to laugh at.
It takes you some time, especially with the weak flashlight. But you eventually find your way back out of the factory. You know where the leader of that little band of twerps lives. So you go, and knock on his door.
He answers, surprised to find you, drenched through with rain, standing on his doorstep. His cronies are with him, all gathered around a horror movie playing on his television.
He's even more surprised when you punch him in the face.
Author:
but_can_i_be_trustedTable/Prompt: Table: Weather. Prompt #4: (Thunder) Storm.
Fandom: Original Fiction
Pairing/Character: Original
Summary: Everyone likes to take the mickey out of the new kid.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some spooky concepts; brief violence
Notes: Crossposted to
ficlet_zoneIt all sounded like a bit of harmless fun, really. It sounded silly, but pleasant enough, when it was first suggested: You, and the new friends you'd made, sneaking into the old, abandoned factory at the edge of town. Telling ghost stories to each other on a dark and stormy night.
But now, stuck here all on your own, you're beginning to look at things from a rather different slant.
The others had claimed that it was just a formality, a sort of rite of passage for the kids in the neighborhood. A thing to do for kicks, more than to be taken seriously.
Too late, you're starting to realize the arrogance in their eyes. The way they'd smirked when you'd agreed to come along. Everyone likes to take the mickey out of the new kid.
You wish, now, that you'd paid more attention.
Oh, they'd led you on a supposedly merry chase, once you'd all made your way inside. Called out teasingly to you, as they raced through the mazelike structure. Got your head well and truly spinning, until you'd found yourself as lost as lost could possibly be.
Now? Now there is nothing but silence, aside from the storm that rages out of doors. Sounding like the night itself is alive. A hungry beast, with a thousand shadows that serve as its myriad beating hearts. All pounding out at the thought of fresh meat. Shadows that play havoc against the already impenetrable darkness, for the flashlight that you were loaned is flickering feebly, hardly able to pierce the gloom.
Those rats. They'd done that deliberately, no doubt. Left you stuck with a flashlight that's had its batteries drained almost completely. And all so they could laugh at the naïve newbie nitwit they'd conned into coming to this hellhole. You'd love to track each of them down, and serve them up some manner of punishment once you're out of this nightmare of a place.
If you can ever find the exit. If the exit even exists, anymore.
Doors upon doors, leading into endless corridors. Rooms that all look exactly alike, so far as you're able to tell. Maybe you've gotten yourself all turned around, by now. It's possible that you're simply retracing your steps. You're not sure. You're not sure that you even care about that.
You've got to stop. Collect yourself. Get your bearings. Take a breath or two. Panic, as tempting as it is to run straight into its welcoming embrace, never does anyone a bit of good. Unreasoning fear, unlike the sensible fear that keeps people alive when they're in potential danger, is no one's friend. It's a poison that can seep unbidden into your mind, into your very psyche.
So you force yourself to stand still, and take a look around. There's no danger; you're merely lost. No one is chasing you. All that's happened is that some idiots with a twisted sense of humor brought you here on a fool's errand, and left you to your own devices. They're probably long gone, laughing their fool heads off.
Well. You'll give them something to laugh at.
It takes you some time, especially with the weak flashlight. But you eventually find your way back out of the factory. You know where the leader of that little band of twerps lives. So you go, and knock on his door.
He answers, surprised to find you, drenched through with rain, standing on his doorstep. His cronies are with him, all gathered around a horror movie playing on his television.
He's even more surprised when you punch him in the face.