Iris Drops By For A Guest Post

Oh bloody hell, it's the tenth and I haven't updated in four days.

Here is a brief rant by my MC about…giant swamp monsters destroying libraries. (They are a serious issue!) I could be working on my novel right about now, but instead I'm doing this. Screw it, it's my novel, I can do what I like. FREEDOM OF NOVEL RIGHTS! FREEDOM!

Ahem.

---

It's not as if I like being pulled out of reality, dropped in a chair in front of a computer, and told to write a blog post. "Any sort of blog post," they said. She said. There's only one of them, but she's two inches taller than I am and looks pretty insane at the moment, so I should probably be very, very scared.


What sort of blog is this anyway?! There's a thing up at the top that says Newfallen Mystery, but what does that mean?! Spellcheck says that Newfallen isn't even a word!


So, life pretty much sucks. It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't constantly worried about my friends, terrified out of my mind of Ms. Freeman, agitated that I can't even come up with a good name for the swamp monster—


Oh yes, the swamp monster. There's two of them, and the baby is in the process of destroying my beloved library. Let me tell you, for a baby, that thing is pretty damn big. 

"Omnia told you not to swear on her blog."

Who the hell are you?!

"I'm the Inner Editor. Now stop that."

Stop what?

"Swearing. Her mother reads this blog, you know."

I am so confused. 

"Well, here comes Omnia to give you a boot back into the novel. You should stay on your best behavior if you ever want to come back and do guest posts again."

But I don't want to do guest posts again!

"Well then I suppose you should just vandalize the blog and hope that she never invites you back."

That's a very good idea, pinkish-purple text.

"I am Claudia, the Inner Editor."

I'm sure you are, dear. What was that you were saying about vandalism?

"I—"


SDJKGHSDKFJHGKGAKJERHSDGGJSDJRHGT THIS IS STUPID. 


"Obviously, you do not understand sarcasm."

Look! More Writings! (Part Two)

And now, I must apologize for the squickily disappointing ending. Just in time for Hallowe'en! (And yes, I am dorkily pretentious enough to add the apostrophe every friggin' time.)

^_^ I'm such a freak!

How did your life end up like this? You were so content just last week. Sure, you weren't the luckiest person in the world, but you were pretty happy with how things turned out. Your life could have been a lot worse.

And now…this. How did it happen? When did it happen? Why did it happen? For what purpose? Why were you in that room, and where are you now? Somewhere much cleaner, that's for sure. White walls and four chairs. The three facing you are black; your chair is red. But those… You hesitate to call them people. Figures. The figures in the shadows are gone. 

You have so many questions. You almost wish the figures would come back to answer them. No, no you don't. You can't seem to be able to picture their faces, so you suppose you must have blocked it somehow. But whatever they look like, you know they're bad news. 

What's that sound? The wall slides open and… Green. Green and scaly. Not even B-movie 'green skinned space babe' green. Pastel green, a color that wouldn't be out of place in a little girl's room. Somehow, they are still menacing. There's three of them now. The woman and two men, one of which carries a canvas bag. While the guys take a seat, the woman makes her way over to you. You try to jerk away as she grabs your chin, but she twists your head to either side to take look at your face. You yelp in pain, but she just smirks and lets go of your face. Obviously, they have no qualms about causing you pain or discomfort. 

"This one is just right."

There's no sign of her accent anymore. What? Her voice is a calming, mellow purr. You can't help but relax, thinking that maybe, just maybe, everything will be all right. Your peace is shattered as soon as one of the men speaks. His voice is harsh and guttural, like a tiger with strep throat, but it's what he says that disturbs you.

"Shall we commence to impregnate it?" he says. 

"Impregnate? It?" you yelp. "But I can't— I'm not an it!" Funny how that is at the front of your mind, not the impregnation thing. "What are you going to do to me?!"

"Our race is nearly extinct," says the woman. "None of us left can birth children, so we need someone to carry on the legacy."

"So you're going to impregnate me?" you squeak. You're stupid. 

"Mm-hmm." Now she's opening packages of something—you don't want to think about what it is—from the bag. "Check and see if it's male or female." 

One of the male aliens stands up, and now is when you start to really panic. You leap away, running towards the closed door-wall, hoping it will open. You crash into the wall at full tilt, and as you slump to the floor, your head ringing, the walls slides open, letting in a cool breeze that smells of chlorine. You attempt to make a break for it, but a clammy hand closes around your neck and drags you back to the chair. It is obvious you won't be going anywhere.

This is going to hurt. 

Yeah. Aliens want to impregnate you with green scaly alien behbes. I'm really sorry about what you just read.

Look! More Writings!

So…I know I said 'probably' on that elevator story, but this is so much more interesting! Next bit comes tomorrow, for Hallowe'en.

Look! It's like Choose Your Own Adventure, but you don't get to choose! And it's not very adventurous so far! You're just in a room! And weird crap happens! YAY!

Yeah, Fright Night went well, we had to kick out the seventh graders, and I escaped without concussion. Candy for everyone!

You are in a room. You are sitting on a wooden chair. Your hands are tied behind your back and your elbows to the chair, the ropes chafing your wrists. In addition, your head aches something awful. You aren't sure, but you think you might be bleeding, up there, near your hairline. There is a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, but it is off. The only light source in the room is a small window high on the wall to your left, dim light glistening off the damp stone walls. It is nighttime outside. You can hear children laughing and shrieking in delight outside. 

How can this be? you think. You don't remember anything past getting into bed last night. Was that last night? You're not sure. You don't know how much time has passed.

There is a reinforced wooden door in front of you and to the right. It creaks open. You tense, causing the ropes to scrape against your wrists again. You were expecting someone there, but apparently the door has merely opened of its own accord. Just as you start to relax, a tall, thin figure appears in the door. Shadows hide their face, but their clothes are clean, but simple and obviously old. Loose, faded jeans and a gray sweatshirt.

"Time's almost up," the figure says. They have a touch of a Dixie accent. You can't tell if it's a man or a woman. You should be able to tell, shouldn't you? You secretly like to think you're rather good at figuring out people, but you can tell absolutely nothing about this person. If it's even a person. Creepy. 

"Time? What time? How much is left?" you cry, your ragged throat scratching as you speak, but the figure has already turned and left. The door swings shut with a sharp crack. A few moments later, you are able to discern the sound of footsteps thudding methodically up a flight of stairs. 

You let your chin fall onto your chest. Stuff like this is only supposed to happen to other people. Besides, they're not even doing it right! Do they want ransom? Well, won't they be disappointed. Is it just the one person? Hmm, you might be able to take him, her, it. 

Not like this, you won't. Even if you weren't tied up, even if there wasn't blood leaking into your eye now, even if you knew their techniques, you still aren't up for a fight. You're far too weak. Your limbs are like lead weights and you don't feel like you could even lift them, let alone take a swing at someone.

Your arms are starting to cramp, being held in a position like that. You wiggle your arms and, miracle to end all miracles, the ropes start to loosen. Honestly, a Boy Scout could tie you up better! 

Okay, that might not be fair to the BSA. Or, rather, whoever tied the knots. The rope is still secure, but now you've got some wiggle room. Unfortunately, that brief action has tired you out. Your shoulders, back, arms, chest—they're all aching now. 

You start to plan your escape. You'll probably be able to squeeze out that window, even if it will be tight, but can you even get it open? Well, you'll burn that bridge when you cross it. The important thing now is to get out of these ropes. Bondage just isn't your thing, at least not right now. 

Oh no! Footsteps! You quickly settle back in your chair, hoping whoever it is won't notice the ropes sagging around your arms. They certainly don't sound like the one who was here before—wait, no, it's two people! Two sets of footsteps. Fudge on a stick. 

The door creaks open again, and the two people enter. The one on the left is the one who told you that your time is running out. Definitely a woman, as you can now see the shape of her chest. Her head is still obscured in shadow, all but her chin. She seems very particular about that. The one on the right is dressed similarly to the woman, in a gray sweatshirt and jeans, but he wears slightly tighter jeans. He's even taller than the woman, and his face is completely hidden by darkness.

For a long moment, all is silence. You can practically hear your nervous heart fluttering.

"Well?" you ask. It's all you can manage at the moment. 

The two figures cross their arms, the woman smirking. 

"Well is not the question, hon," she says. 

"The question is," says the man, "whether or not you're feeling brave enough."

They both step into the light, and you can't help but scream. You jerk away, and the force of your motion sends your chair crashing backwards. As your ears begin to ring, the world fades to black.