I’ve looked into the writing prompts and I’ve seen some weird links in the writing prompts, I’ve tried to research about this “Narrator” but as I was checking some of the writing prompts, my screen froze and I saw someone typing on the screen, I took a screenshot-
huh, why is it not showing?
anyway, maybe you guys can help, could you search the website to find any clues about this Narrator person?
Jackson probed at the vase pieces. They had tiny air bubbles in the cement. Gross thought Jackson.
“Found something?” Olive walked towards him.
“Nope,” Jackson stood up, his face twisted into a grimace. “I can’t bare to look at them. All those holes.” He shuddered.
“Haha! Your tryphobia is triggered?” Olympia popped out of nowhere.
“Lemme see those,” Olive bent down, studying the cracked cement.
“I wonder why the vase is made out of cement.” Fletcher said sitting comfortably on Rashida’s couch.
“مرحبًا ، هل أجريت أي عملية (hello, have you made any process)?” says Rashida coming from the kitchen carrying some cool strawberry juice.
“No not ye-” Olive was about to say, when Jackson shouted.
“OoH StRaWbErRy JuIcE!”
Everyone shook their heads.
“As I was saying, we haven’t. Unfortunately.” Olive said shortly, still flipping through the vase pieces. Suddenly, she shrieks.
A finger nail fell from the vase piece and onto the carpet. Everyone backs away from it. Then, Olympia takes a tentative step forward and, using her nails, picks it up. Her eyes widen.
“Guys, I think we found a lead.”
“This fingernail, it seems old.” Fletcher said looking at the dusty nail.
Olive sat on the floor looking at the vase pieces. She had recovered from that initial shock and was riffling through the pottery with a new found gusto.
“What are looking for Olive?” Jackson asks on his perch on the sofa.
“I have a feeling there are more fingernails.” She said simply. “Ah ha!” She exclaims, making everybody look at her.
“What?” they say in elusion.
Olive holds up a vase piece to the late morning sun and as the light hits the piece, Jackson sees a small U-like slit in the cement, as if their was once a fingernail in their, lodged between the hardened cement
“See?” Olive says grinning.
Olympia perks up and turns to Rashida, who is finishing her strawberry juice. “When did you get this vase?”
Rashida smiles a bit, “I actually commissioned it.”
“When did you get it and when you got it, was it painted?”
Rashida smiles sadly and says, “I painted it myself and-” she frowns a bit “- right, I forgot to tell you, I got the vase a few weeks after the vase was done. The company said their was a problem with one of their workers. Something about him being arrested or some thing like that. They didn’t say much about it and I never really thought about it to much.”
“What company was it?” Jackson said, questioning what the whole of the Detective Squad was thinking.
Um, who has been writing on my blog? Someone called the “Narrator” or something like that? I haven’t been writing on this blog since my last article called “South America’s Llamas and Alpacas” published on April. I thought I left a clear note, saying that I wouldn’t be writing until my school is over, near the end of June. But, that announcement seemed to be deleted and replaced with a new announcement that claimed to announce the beginnings of a writing prompt month. This doesn’t make any sense to me. And, I noticed that someone, I’m assuming the “Narrator” wrote many writing prompts and well, they all seem pretty dark. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this, so don’t worry. <EvErY ThInGs> going to be <DaNdY.>
I swing my small dart at the dartboard and whoop in joy when it hit the bullseye. “I’m having so much fun! My god!” I yelp and hug my friend beside me. “Thanks for bringing me!”
She smiles weakly and says, “My um pleasure Cassy. He he um.” She starts to sweat profusely and looks at everyone on the ground. “You really don’t have to do this Cassy.” She whispers pulling away from me shaking, as Fredric moans in pain and drops to the ground.
“What, revenge?” I say, frowning.
“Uh.” She doesn’t say anything.
“You don’t think I want to avenge Sasha?!” I glare at her.
She reaches the door and says in a small voice, “Don’t you think her book was enough?”
“It didn’t get enough people Rebecca.” I say gravely.
“Come here Rebecca, I’m not gonna hurt you! You’re on our side!” I frown, starting to get angry. “Why are you afraid? Or are you hiding something.”
She stays silent, her phone twitching behind her back and I catch a glimpse of three letters on her phone. 911.
“YOU!!” I scream and lunge at her. “I THOUGH YOU WERE IN THIS WITH ME! YOU TRAITOR!”
I grab her arm, letting my nails sink into her flesh. She screams in agony. I growl and dip my last dart in my green poison and stab the dart into her forehead.
“BULLSYE!” I scream, my grief rattled brain screaming with me-
“THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!!” as I lunge towards the door and run away from the Rec Room and into the night, laughing and whooping like a maniac.
This story is a retelling (my style) of The Licked Hand, an urban legend
I lay in bed, trying to go to sleep. I felt a cold draft of air waft into my left, open hand as it flopped to the side of my bed and nearly touched the floor. I’m not a long armed person, I was just scootched to the side of my bed. I stared at my door and my eyes began to close. Then, I felt a lick on my left hand. My mind peppered with sleep, I vaguely dismissed it as my dog. As I sleepily scootched forward, my right hand outstretched, and reached to the bottom of the bed, to pet my dog, when I felt a lump underneath my covers. Then I realized, my dog was on my bed, sleeping. That was the last thought I had, before I was yanked, both hands, underneath the bed before I-Well that’s a story for later times, hall we? Haha, too bad!
I finally have hit 100 likes on StoryClouds! Thank you guys so much for the likes. I’m so amazed about how big this blog has grown since 2019 and I’m thankful of the support (in the form of likes) that my writing has been getting.