prompt

The Albino Pangolin

Written per a prompt from a friend. Also hey hi hello, yes I am alive, just mentally hibernating.

The mall was busy, typical for a Saturday afternoon, the bustling crowds packing the halls and escalators to a claustrophobic degree. Teens chatted on their phones, thumbs a-blur as they texted and tweeted and reblogged and shared. A pair of adults hurried- bleary eyed and overwrought – after their children as the little ones ran amok between the legs of other shoppers, hyped up on donuts and Jamba Juice. Elderly folk reclined on a set of arm chairs, the sitting area delineated by a collection of potted palms.

There was a flash, then, by the fountain in the central atrium. 

Someone gasped. Another yelped. Someone else laughed, before scurrying away, phones out and angled towards the ground. 

An albino pangolin waddled out of the fountain, water dripping from her scales, her red eyes taking in the scene. 

People stopped and stared, and the man playing the piano a few feet away came to a clanging, discordant stop when the pangolin sidled past his foot, her cold scales brushing against his ankles.

She stood on her hind legs, blinking in the flashes of cameras; a curious device hung from her neck, bounced between her feet as she set off in search of an escalator. 

People made way, commenting and pointing and exclaiming ‘how cute!’ as she passed. A spotty teenage tried to pick her up, but she flicked her tail and chittered her displeasure, sending the boy running after his friends.  

No one got on the escalator until she reached the next level. 

Already the noise of the place had changed, and she knew she was running out of time before animal control was called to deal with her. It had happened before, and would undoubtedly happen again. 

Finding a bench that overlooked the promenade and atrium below, the pangolin clambered atop it. The tide of humanity continued to swirl and swarm below and around her, the chaotic clammed of thousands of  voices deafening in the glass-roofed space. 

She huffed, scratched her claws against the glass in irritation, and sat up on her hind legs, the device on display. 

The president -a honey badger of some renown – had given her this sort of mission before, and she could not, would not fail. Too much hung in the balance.

With another determined huff she pressed a claw to the gleaming, silver green button in the middle of the device. There came a soft beep, a dull swell of light, and then… 

And then blessed silence. 

The humans, previously overwhelming in their numbers, had vanished. To where, the albino pangolin didn’t particularly care. So long as they were gone, she and her comrades could do what they needed to in order to save their Sacred Mother. 

Satisfied with another job well done, the albino pangolin clambered off the bench and went in search of a snack. Reshaping reality always left her feeling a little peckish, regardless of whether she’d eaten recently or not. 

A few minutes later the albino pangolin gave up, realizing there weren’t nearly enough insects in such a sterile human space, and vanished herself to a favorite savanna, there to feast upon one of many termite mounds.  

Temple

Here we begin a new series: Picture Prompts. (There’s another, specific technical lingo word for it, but idk what it is, so there.) Ah! There it is: Ekphrasis.

We might also try to throw in some pieces inspired by songs, but that’s for future Kat to worry about. Anyways! Pls enjoy! Image used with permission from the wonderful artist @boomsheika_boom on Twitter/X!

The boy sat in a tree. It wasn’t much of a tree, really, more of a single remaining limb on a half dead giant of the forest. Vines draped off the trunk and limb, extensions of the vines covering the temple half-hidden by the surrounding foliage. The boy wasn’t much to look at either, scrawny and wan as he was, barefoot and clad in tattered clothing the colors of earth and moss. His dark hair was shaggy, hanging loose in eyes the color of summer wheat.  

Hood up, and hunched as he was, he resembled an oversized, somewhat tatterdemalion owl.  

The boy sat perched on the limb, contemplating the temple doors. They were stone, thick slabs of a granite like material that shimmered in the gilded light filtering through the canopy above. 

He’d been here, in the forest, for days, knowing he had to get in, find what lay within, and soon. But still the puzzle of the doors confounded him. 

He shifted, right leg dangling beneath, bare foot disproportionately large over the ground. His mind wandered, imagining himself as a giant, and how easy it would be to simply smash the wall with a fist. 

Alas, what was needed was stealth, subterfuge, subtlety. 

Huffing he looked back to the doors with a scowl. He was beginning to contemplate lunch when he saw something in the corner of his eye. He looked up, and nearly tumbled backwards off the branch as a flitting orb of white light darted at him. Clinging to the branch, he studied the orb as it dipped and buzzed around him. Then, it alit on his knee. 

Hello.

A voice chittered in his head. 

His hand slipped and he slid backwards off the branch, hanging only by his knees. His hood flipped off, his hair hanging in shaggy clumps, the wind wending through the ends.

“What are you?” He gasped, scrabbling for purchase. 

I am… 

“You are?”

I am Auros. 

“Auros…” the boy managed to pull himself back into a sitting position, disturbing the orb. It gave a distinctly avian shake of irritation and buzzed back into the air, hovering in front of his face. 

Yes. Auros. Who are you? 

“Me?” The boy pondered, unsure if this was one of the temple’s traps. 

Yes you. 

“Oh. Well I’m…” eh, what the hell, he thought. “Nevis,” he replied, opting for at least part of the truth. 

Greeting, Nevis, the orb chimed. It’s voice was surprisingly melodic. What are you doing here? 

“I’m… well I’m trying to get into the temple.”

Why? 

“Because there’s something in there I need.”

What do you need?

“I… I don’t actually know, really. Someone wants whatever it is, and they paid me to get it.”

Oh. Why don’t you have it? 

“Can’t get in, can I?” Nevis gestured to the impenetrable doors. 

Auros made a contemplative hum. And then zipped off, a blurring of white light through the gathering gloom of early evening. 

Nevis watched as the orb bobbed around the door, up and down and around the cracks. Just when the boy thought the orb was stymied Auros disappeared into the keyhole. 

Blinking in surprise, Nevis waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Just as the sun was sinking behind the eastern mountains, as dark enveloped the clearing he was in, Auros reappeared. The spirit beelined for Nevis.  

Now you can get in. Auros quipped, vibrating with self-satisfaction. 

“What do you…” Nevis asked. But at a bob from Auros, the boy looked. 

And saw that the temple doors were opened. Not much, just a crack. But enough for a slender boy like Nevis to slip through.

“How did you do that?” He breathed. 

Auros can do many things. Nevis need help from Auros. 

“Yes.” Nevis laughed, shocked as his turn of luck, and began descending his tree. “Nevis need help from Auros.”

Ghost 1

The beginning of something that may or may not continue. Title pending.

The sun shone incongruously. Had Laila been in charge, it would rain all day every day, but particularly today. There was something offensive about the way the light played on the spring leaves, of how the birds warbled and sang in the trees. 

Laila huffed and went back to tying her herb bundles. She ignored the weight of the pale eyes she knew were watching her. They were always watching her. Had been watching her since that night, 9 months ago, when she’d failed the one thing she’d sworn to do: heal and preserve.

Jonash had been an old friend of hers, shared childhood memories binding them more tightly than blood. As with all people they had drifted as they’d gotten older, but never far enough away to truly forget about each other. She was accepted to the University of Science in the city, and he had joined the city watch.

Then the war came. She left for the battle fields as a healer, he a soldier. They had been in the same regiment, and spent many hours in each other’s company when they were able. When the war ended, Laila returned to the city and established a healer’s den with her commission and repute as a savior of many. Jonash remained with the watch for a month before wanderlust got the better of him, and he departed the city to become a member of the Ranger’s Guild. 

Months, then years passed, and still they kept in touch.

Until his replies had grown shorter and distant. Until he’d stopped replying all together.

Laila, accepting his absence with a stoic heart, was content with the fact that he had finally met someone else and moved on. 

And then he appeared on her doorstep in the middle night, bleeding and with an expression that frightened her. He swore at her in a language she didn’t know before falling at her feet, pale with blood loss and pain. She’d done everything she knew to do, even resorting to using what little magic she possessed. 

It wasn’t enough. 

After four hours of her trying desperately to save her friend, she held his head when he died. She closed his light blue eyes, unnerved by the hatred and fear she saw there. As she took her hands away something cold ran up her arms and through her body, leaving her feeling clammy and unclean. When she turned she came face to face with Jonash’s ghost. She screamed once before noticing that he was yelling and gesticulating at her. But he made no noise. He charged her, hands outstretched to strangle her, but they, and then the rest of his incorporeal body, passed through her entirely, leaving her retching on the floor. For some reason his spirit had remained, unable to leave the plain of the living. The ghost tried to leave and made it as far as the front doorstep before being pulled back as if on a string. He tried the window with the same results. 

Laila tried everything she could to communicate and free Jonash, but it was all in vain. The priests had never heard of such a condition, the scientists wanted to study him, and the mages’ spells and incantations only hurt Jonash, much to their irritation. Magic always succeeded when science failed. Or so they had believed. 

And so 9 months had passed. Jonash was invisible to all but Laila and those gifted with the Sight. And as he was unable to influence the world around him in any way, all he could do was stand around and watch Laila. 

“If you’re done staring at my ass, maybe you could stand in the door and deter people from coming in?” Laila said. She had too much to get done today to be interrupted with petty calls about impotence and spots. 

She was met with what she called a sulky silence, and threw a rueful smile over her shoulder at the ghost. Jonash looked up from examining his fingernails and drifted to the door, rolling his eyes. Though Laila struggled with the fact that she had failed to save her friend, she was glad that his ghost wasn’t covered in blood and gore. He looked as she assumed he had before receiving the injuries.

No sooner had he taken up his post at the door did someone gasp with surprise at walking through a ghost. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m closed today!” Laila called.

“How the hell can a healer be closed?” Came the disgruntled response. 

“Unless you or a loved one is bleeding profusely, has a broken bone, or is dying, please come back tomorrow.”

The voice on the other side of the door muttered something. Jonash stepped back through the door to shrug, expression as confused as Laila’s was annoyed. 

“If you let me in, I can help you!”

Laila rolled her eyes heavenward and prayed for strength. 

“When I want an assistant, I will post a listing at the University,” she said, thinking the person at the door was a hopeful student. 

“No, not with that. But I could help you if you nee… No! I can help you with the other thing!”

Laila paused, glancing at Jonash. The ghost shrugged again and leaned against the wall. At some point he’d regained enough solidity to control what he fell through. 

“May as well see what the child has to say?” He mouthed.

Laila stuck her tongue out at him. 

“What do you mean, ‘the other thing’?” She asked.

The voice on the other side of the door dropped to a murmur. The speaker was clearly pressed up agains the lock: “I can’t speak of it out here, but I think I have a solution to your… mutual problem.”

A glimmer of hope sprang up in Laila’s chest. 

“Fine. But make sure no one sees you come in.”

She went to the door and unlocked it. She and Jonash watched, bemused, as a youth slipped through the door with a furtive look that befit a noisy thief. 

“Thank you,” he said, brushing himself off. He looked around a moment before his gaze snagged on Jonash. The ghost flashed a nasty smile at the lad, who blanched and turned away quickly. 

“You can see him?” Laila asked, surprised. The lad didn’t look like a seer, let alone a mage or a priest. 

“Of course I can,” the lad said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Yes, you said that. But how? And why?”

The lad sketched a bow, sweeping the floor with his hat. 

“Clearly I have some explaining to do.” 

Jonash mouthed “Clearly,” and reached out and punched the lad in the back, his hand appearing in his stomach folded in a rude gesture.

“If you could refrain from messing with my internal organs, I thank you,” The lad said, suppressing a shudder. Laila just raised her brows in invitation for him to continue. “To answer your questions, my lady,” he said, readjusting his hat. “I am Arthur Marín, and I believe I have a solution to your ghostly prob-”

“You said that before. But I don’t understand how you can s-“ 

“-lem. And I can see your Jonash because I am a necromancer.”