An Eighth Shot of Espresso: The Coffeehouse

A mercenary works for anyone, as long as they have coin to pay for your work. You have to leave your morals and conscience at the door. Survival didn't care about the arbitrary laws of Man. After all, a 'murder' becomes a' mercy killing' under the right context. A 'moral stain' becomes a 'necessary evil' when your own head is on the line. No one cares about your righteousness after the axe severs your neck. Survival of the fittest, and all those cliches. In my world, you did what you had to, if you wanted to see another sunrise. If you had a problem with that, then you go your way, and I'll go mine, and we won't have a problem. So this gig was just like any other. A paid patron who needed a job done. So what if the guy was Undead? There were fates worse than Death, and believe me, in those cases, Death was a blessing. Quick and quiet, no complication and no scandal. That's how I like it. Unfortunately, this time, there was one catch. The ...

"Have you seen such an odd arrangement?"  The elderly wizard shuffled forwards into the forbidden library. His student followed at a much slower pace.  Strolling about after hours, with no permission from the elders, no written dispensations, no protective charms...if they were discovered, the punishment would be swift and most likely lethal. Again, the apprentice hoped a transfer to a more sane--and sensible--mentor wasn't out of the question. These late night outings detracted from his sleep, and he liked his sleep, thank you very much. Perhaps they could look around once, to satisfy the old man's curiosity, then return to the safe walls of the dormitory. He didn't like the restless air in this library, or the distinct feeling of eyes on his back. His mentor stopped so suddenly that he nearly ran into him. He caught himself before he swore curses in every language he knew. Such behavior might have scandalized a normal sage, but his mentor would not have been bot...

The purge was all but complete. Necks in the noose, highborn necks.  The reckoning was harsh, with the mob as judge, jury and executioner. Any member of the nobility who did not flee in time was caught in the chaos.Their allies slunk back into the shadows.But people talk and gleefully throw others into the fire to save their own lives.The prisons stayed full, despite the innocent being released. There were too many accusations, not enough justices to verify each and every one.  I'm sure there were cases of human error. Money still ensured a stay of execution, a short one, at least. Cries of foul play and favoritism, and lists of reasons and justifications. In some ways, life did  not  change from one regime to the next. I could have fled with the others, but chose to remain. Why? I stayed to simply record what happened for posterity. Too many secrets harbored too long in the shadows. That was how the old order lasted for as long as it had. Once the floodgates opened...

The #vssfantasy prompt word is "becoming." Moonlight bathed the nursery. A silver light diffused through the trees and touched every leaf within. My Guide guided me down the dirt path. My ears caught a hint of harp music, with a soft melody of pipes and flute.The sharp smell of fresh rain and spring dew tickled my nostrils. All of my senses told me I was outside, under the bright full moon. I saw no signage or any directional arrows, but before I knew it, the path ended at a wide, green meadow. "Where are we?" The Guide smiled. She tossed her head and her long lavender braid sparkled with glitter. "We are close, please follow me."  Before I could say a word, she was down the path. Her feet didn't even touch the ground; her white diaphanous robe shifted with the wind. I scrambled to catch up. Unfortunately for me, my Human capabilities were limited in the Fae realm, and I had to use my own two feet.  "I'm glad you responded to our Call. Some ar...

Horror writing prompt on Bluesky, courtesy of @pgpayt.blsky.social and @fhpowellwriter.bsky.social. The prompt is  the headless writer. Beware the headless writer. They sit at their computer and write a story that never ends.  I didn't believe the rumors. They were as bad as the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Washington Irving took a local legend, built upon it, and wrote a timeless classic. A chilling horror tale, for sure, but in the end, that was all it was. A fanciful story to tell the gullible when the autumn winds blow through dead trees and the campfire crackles on the leaves. The house seemed innocent enough. It stood empty, but it was hardly decrepit. It even had a fresh coat of white paint, with brand new blue tiles on the roof and the front door a deep shade of plum purple. The new grass seeds sprouted in the front lawn. A wooden fence marked the boundaries of the property. So far, so good. The realtor had told me that the charming exterior, excellent locatio...

Rachel's Revenge (1) Rachel wakes up in a different time, a different place. What has happened and what will  she do now? A snippet for Spooktober. _____ Cold, darkness, heat Where am I Hard wood beneath my palms, barely enough room to stretch out my arms Where am I A sliver of light above her, just the barest crack. Panic gave her strength and she reached for  it. A finger’s width and nothing more. She pushed and pushed against the ceiling and felt it  give way. Push, push, push, that’s it, you’re doing fine Tearing, shredding, a burst of crimson spreading beneath her Head swimming with pain and effort, a rag shoved deep into her mouth to cut off her cries   The ceiling broke under the weight of fear and splintered into many pieces. She sat up in  darkness, unable to see, completely disoriented. Her throat felt as dry as desert sand. “Hello?” she whispered. “Who’s there?” She only heard her voice in her head. Silence crushed her like  a velvet cloak. How l...

A repost from the original An Eighth Shot of Espresso blog on Wordpress. Prompt: Write about a character who finds a family photograph in a crime scene. This item is one of the few clear pieces of evidence they're able to find-but what does it mean? What happened in the crime scene, and what does it have to do with the people in the photograph? Is this the breakthrough the character was looking for, or has the plot only thickened? (From 400 Story Seeds to Crush Writers Block by M. Kirin ) _____ A light smear of blood stained the photo. It gave a scarlet tinge to the black and white film, but I was still able to see every detail. Six people, three in the front and three in the back. Great-grandmother, grandmother and mother in the front, daughters in the back. All wore high-necked gowns with tight sleeves, their chestnut hair all coiffed to perfection. The youngest daughter in the middle of the back row was a full head shorter than the rest. Her eyes stared at the camera with a defi...