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Chosen0ftheMoon
Moon
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2019
((Okay so fair warning- I wrote a fuck ton, I recently watched Doctor Sleep and they had said that Jack Daniels tasted like Fire and it inspired me to write this-Also I was a huge SuperNatural Fan, but I’m sure that’s Clear through the writing.))
((I suppose I’m looking to just explore this character and this world more, I know the prompt leaves it at a cliff but I’m happy to rewind and drive back to see the sights that lead to it- Again I’m really sorry for the wall of text but sometimes Inspiration can never strike- or sometimes it hits like lighting- I hope whoever reads it enjoys!)
[SPOILER="Here’s the Prompt!" When I was 10 years old I told my father I was a big Girl now- he told me if you were a big girl now, then you should drink like one. Come meet Jack.
I remember it all, the way that old antique dinner-table chair , the same one my grandpa dined and maybe even died in, a splinter poked into my skin but that didn’t matter.
Crash-
The bottle was half empty, or full if you’re one of those people, contents poured in a glass in front of me- I knew he didn’t even drink it by the glass, it looked wrong, smelt wrong-
”You’re a big girl then? Then Drink it. Drink the Big Girl Drink and let’s see how big you are now.”
I was confident, I was a kid- I couldn’t be wrong, I grabbed the cup and sent the match into the powder keg; I had hoped it was only going to be like cough syrup; but I was wrong: It felt like I was set on fire, I screamed, I cried, He laughed.
never touched the bottle after that- not until my 19th Birthday- after that? I decided maybe I wanted to be set on fire.
———————-
I see things in the fire. I see shapes, I see figures, I see people, places and things- the way the flames move; teachers would have you think it’s all random- but sit out at a campfire when the wind is as dead as a door nail- and tell me if that fire will sit still-
There is beauty in the flames, I often watch them dance- When people see the word fire they think of pain: they think of burns, but that’s just a brother with an old Lighter.
A Fire is warmth, is it light- back before my phone could light up the darkness, the campfire would-
And the campfire does now.
My only real companion is the bottle of Jack Daniels, My head tells me it’s my fathers still but I know it isn’t, I remember buying it and the cashier ogling my tits through the whole thing- but that doesn’t matter- he lent me ten cents that I was short.
The bottle is his as much as it is mine; and as much as it is **theirs.**
—————
They sit outside the fire, far enough that I can never truly see them, but I don’t have to see them truly, I know what they are the minute I see their beady eyes- and their razor sharp teeth.
The bottle is my only companion on this trip, and those things are the hitchhikers I pick up.
I never see them move, I never see more arrive- they are simply there, in the dark as they watch- they follow my movements sometimes it’s cute- like the way a cat would stalk a ball of Yarn. Or sometimes they seem like a serial killer stalking the Prom Queen.
I think they’re ghosts, I call them moths- mostly because they always stalk the flames and watch the owner of it- but also because I really fucking hate moths.
—————-
I sleep during the day mostly, too much light for them- or maybe they’re there but I just can’t see them. Roads are empty in the dark and the nights are hot, like the flame but not as pleasant, and a hell of a lot harder to sleep with. But it was better the warmth than the cold....
—————
I’m always waiting for the day one of them approaches- I have my dad’s revolver, he was a cop once- keyword was, he was a mean bastard, but maybe he knew what I was to become, and what I was to do-
Or maybe he was just a mean bastard.
He’s gone now, but I hear him in the back of my mind, like he’s locked away in a cell at the back of the Asylum; Good, He deserved it. He wasn’t cursed with the bastards in the dark- maybe that’s because he was one.
————————————————-
I get lost sometimes, sitting there with the flame and the match- wondering just what it would take for me to finally burn up, or finally go out.
My phone rings once, The people who call know the drill- they leave a message, I send a text- and I go and follow the flames.
But tonight it rang again, and again.....
Something big was happening.
And I was a way too drunk to handle it alone.[/SPOILER]
Apologies- I have no idea why it’s split in two parts and have no idea how to fix it!- but I hope someone still enjoys the read!
((I suppose I’m looking to just explore this character and this world more, I know the prompt leaves it at a cliff but I’m happy to rewind and drive back to see the sights that lead to it- Again I’m really sorry for the wall of text but sometimes Inspiration can never strike- or sometimes it hits like lighting- I hope whoever reads it enjoys!)
[SPOILER="Here’s the Prompt!" When I was 10 years old I told my father I was a big Girl now- he told me if you were a big girl now, then you should drink like one. Come meet Jack.
I remember it all, the way that old antique dinner-table chair , the same one my grandpa dined and maybe even died in, a splinter poked into my skin but that didn’t matter.
Crash-
The bottle was half empty, or full if you’re one of those people, contents poured in a glass in front of me- I knew he didn’t even drink it by the glass, it looked wrong, smelt wrong-
”You’re a big girl then? Then Drink it. Drink the Big Girl Drink and let’s see how big you are now.”
I was confident, I was a kid- I couldn’t be wrong, I grabbed the cup and sent the match into the powder keg; I had hoped it was only going to be like cough syrup; but I was wrong: It felt like I was set on fire, I screamed, I cried, He laughed.
never touched the bottle after that- not until my 19th Birthday- after that? I decided maybe I wanted to be set on fire.
———————-
I see things in the fire. I see shapes, I see figures, I see people, places and things- the way the flames move; teachers would have you think it’s all random- but sit out at a campfire when the wind is as dead as a door nail- and tell me if that fire will sit still-
There is beauty in the flames, I often watch them dance- When people see the word fire they think of pain: they think of burns, but that’s just a brother with an old Lighter.
A Fire is warmth, is it light- back before my phone could light up the darkness, the campfire would-
And the campfire does now.
My only real companion is the bottle of Jack Daniels, My head tells me it’s my fathers still but I know it isn’t, I remember buying it and the cashier ogling my tits through the whole thing- but that doesn’t matter- he lent me ten cents that I was short.
The bottle is his as much as it is mine; and as much as it is **theirs.**
—————
They sit outside the fire, far enough that I can never truly see them, but I don’t have to see them truly, I know what they are the minute I see their beady eyes- and their razor sharp teeth.
The bottle is my only companion on this trip, and those things are the hitchhikers I pick up.
I never see them move, I never see more arrive- they are simply there, in the dark as they watch- they follow my movements sometimes it’s cute- like the way a cat would stalk a ball of Yarn. Or sometimes they seem like a serial killer stalking the Prom Queen.
I think they’re ghosts, I call them moths- mostly because they always stalk the flames and watch the owner of it- but also because I really fucking hate moths.
—————-
I sleep during the day mostly, too much light for them- or maybe they’re there but I just can’t see them. Roads are empty in the dark and the nights are hot, like the flame but not as pleasant, and a hell of a lot harder to sleep with. But it was better the warmth than the cold....
—————
I’m always waiting for the day one of them approaches- I have my dad’s revolver, he was a cop once- keyword was, he was a mean bastard, but maybe he knew what I was to become, and what I was to do-
Or maybe he was just a mean bastard.
He’s gone now, but I hear him in the back of my mind, like he’s locked away in a cell at the back of the Asylum; Good, He deserved it. He wasn’t cursed with the bastards in the dark- maybe that’s because he was one.
————————————————-
I get lost sometimes, sitting there with the flame and the match- wondering just what it would take for me to finally burn up, or finally go out.
My phone rings once, The people who call know the drill- they leave a message, I send a text- and I go and follow the flames.
But tonight it rang again, and again.....
Something big was happening.
And I was a way too drunk to handle it alone.[/SPOILER]
Apologies- I have no idea why it’s split in two parts and have no idea how to fix it!- but I hope someone still enjoys the read!