Seanday Shorts: Strained Friendship, pt1

"Just hurry up," Greg demanded. "I'm seeing Sam in twenty, and I don't want to be late!"

I looked at Greg's back, he'd been trying to beef up, but he just didn’t have the genetics. I on the other hand was just naturally large. I'd trained hard and my efforts had built something I was proud of--much to Greg's annoyance.

He pulled at the shirt he was wearing in disgust; it was one of mine, and way too large for him.

A week ago, he was in a deep depression and I was worried where it might lead. In a moment of stupidity I revealed that I had the ability to get inside people, and I thought I could help him get over his depression.

He didn't believe me of course, but I told him I could give him a body--well, just like mine.

"I wished," he'd muttered. I knew he'd always envied my physique, but my power had nothing to do with my size, it was just hard work. I knew Greg just wanted to be big, without the effort.

I told him to trust me, and let me just show him. He conceded, and I told him to remove his clothes--it didn't phase him, we shared the apartment and see each other naked all the time.

We stood in front of the mirror. As soon as I touched him, I made sure he couldn't struggle by freezing him in place. He watched with eyes wide as I began to push myself into his back, but he started to freak out, shouting and yelling.

Caption This (7th Oct)

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Replay, Chain Letter pt4: A New Year

Taking votes for the next story in the comments.

It was the next morning; Saturday. I vaguely remembered chatting to Brooke's mates on the computer, bitching about being taken off the team. The night ended up surfing his favourite porn sites and jerking off. Through tired eyes I glanced around the room, shirts and sports gear scattered across the floor. My head dropped to the pillow again. An itchy irritation prickled across my face--I rubbed it with the heel of my hand. "Fuck it."

The discomfort intensified, it felt like thousands of hot pin pricks sweeping across my skin. I yelled and ran to the bathroom splashing cold water over my face, I looked up and saw Brooke's reflection. "Good, now I've got your attention," a waspish voice echoed through my head. "You need to understand--your purpose."

"My purpose?" I questioned, rubbing at my eyes. "What do you mean?"

There was a soft chuckle. "You're working for me now--my soul collector."

I choked shaking my head. "What are you, the devil?"

"No, just one of his associates," the voice replied as a prickle etched its way across my face again.

Brooke's face had changed, staring back at me was the mask that I foolishly used yesterday. I wanted out of this forced partnership, I pulled at the edges for the mask desperately trying to free myself. "I can't get it off," I yelled only feeling more pain the harder I tried.

Eventually I surrendered to the fact I was trapped. "Finished?" The voice echoed again. "You are bound by the mask, to fulfil its demands or suffer the consequences. It was in the contract you signed."

"I didn't sign anything," I muttered.

"But you did, yesterday when the previous owner handed you the mask."

I blinked, the long list of names. The short guy I thought was the courier. "Shit!"

Replay, Chain Letter, pt3: The Placeholder

I scratched my ass and paused for a moment looking at the young face in the mirror. I cocked a grin again and raised an eyebrow it felt so right in this guise, young cocky and overconfident.

The strength in this kid seemed boundless; I started to duck and weave shadow boxing with my reflection, it felt natural as if my newly acquired muscles somehow knew what to do.

Picking up the notebook I tapped at the name ‘Alex O’Brian’ wondering if it would be possible to get his memories at a later date, “Of course.” Whispered the voice.

I looked at my reflection again, smiling I rifled through Chapman’s clothes and found a green vest similar to the one the kid was wearing. Quickly I swapped it with the t-shirt; I loved its tightness, and the way it hugged my borrowed body.

Grabbing the notebook and heading out the door, I returned to my own house. Inside I spent a good couple of hours exploring the kids body, it would have been longer but my enjoyment was disturbed by someone ringing that damn doorbell again. To be on the safe side I checked out the window, it was a police officer. Quickly I shifted back to my own identity before opening the door.

Caption This (30th Sep)

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Playing Jax

Stewart began to panic when he wound up at what was obviously a motorcyclists’ hangout after taking a wrong turn on one of his infrequent outside forays. He approached a group of bikers checking out one guy’s new tattoo.

“Uh… excuse me. Hi, I’m lost. Can you please help me?” Stewart tried to hide his nervousness but he sounded more like a shy school boy than a confident young man. The men turned to stare at the intruder. Soon he was surrounded by big burly men who looked like any one of them could snap him in half with their pinkies if they so desired.

They started to taunt the thin lad, pushing him around and generally roughing him up. Stewart had no idea how he was going to get out of this mess. He was ready to accept that he was dead meat when the sea of men parted and a ruggedly handsome man, probably somewhere around ten years older than Stewart and obviously someone of standing in the club, made his way towards him.

“What’s going on?” He demanded as he looked Stewart over.

“We thought he might be a spy for the Feds. Like that guy before.”

“Him? A spy?” A murmur of agreement ran through the group. “Don’t make me laugh. Let him go.” The man commanded sternly. The man holding Stewart immediately let go, Stewart’s shirt now crumpled with specks of red showing on the white fabric. Other than a cut lip and a bloody nose, Stewart was fine and very thankful the man had come along when he did.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to come here. I lost my way while walking.”

Without responding, the man grabbed Stewart by the arm, making Stewart wince in pain from his strong grip. Now even more scared and nervous than before he wasn’t at all sure what would happen next. “Come with me.” He roughly commanded as he pulled on Stewart’s arm. He led Stewart into a garage and then into a room with a large table. The man sat down and motioned for Stewart to sit.

Replay, Chain Letter, pt2: There Goes the Neighbourhood

Throwing on some sweat pants and a cotton t-shirt I picked up Chapman's keys and went to leave, but something tugged at my subconscious, and a soft voice in my head told me take the notebook, shrugging I picked it up and left the house.

It had been the first time I'd been inside Chapman's house, even though we'd spoken many times; a big, strong guy kinda dwarfed me a bit and always seem to talk down to me with a 'grin of superiority'. He told me that he'd broken up with his wife soon after he moved in and since then he'd been living alone.

The heavy door swung open after I'd found the right key for the lock. Inside I was a little surprised, not the tidy well presented home I would have expected but a bit of a mess. Discarded workout clothes and a kit bag lay in the hall, in the bigger room there was a huge TV with a couple of takeaway cartons on the table. What looked like a protein drink half finished sat on the floor. In the kitchen the sink was full of unwashed plates and dishes, some cooked chicken still in the pan.

Tentatively approaching the bedroom, I slowly opened the door; the blinds were still closed so I couldn't see much only dark shapes. Flicking on the light surprised me further; It was completely different to the turmoil of the rest of the house, everything was clean, and in its place. A huge double bed with black satin sheets dominated the room, evident that Chapman thought he was a bit of a stud and needed an appropriate stage to impress the fact. There were huge mirrored doors opposite which led to his closet and a personal gym. There were a number of framed pictures on the dresser, mainly of Chapman posing in what looks like some kind of contest.

Replay, Chain Letter, pt1: A Year and a Day

RIIIING, RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

I turned over and looked at the clock, "6am? What the fuck?" I groaned and turned over.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

"THE FUCK?" it suddenly dawned on me that there was someone at the door. Throwing the sheets off I sat on the bed gathering my thoughts.

RIIIIIIING!

Looking out the window I tried to see who had disturbed my morning sleep but couldn't see anyone. RIIIIIING! "Who the hell is down there?"

A guy stepped back into my view, "Delivery for you sir!"

"Just put it down somewhere. I'll get it later," I groaned.

"No can do sir, needs a signature."

Letting out a groan, I pulled on some discarded shorts and made my way down the stairs. Yanking open the door revealed the culprit: a short stocky guy wearing a blue and red uniform grinned at me. Rolling my eyes, I frowned at him, and his plastic smile dropped a little as he handed me a box about eight inches square.

I was surprised when he unrolled a long sheet of paper, easily a couple of feet long. "Sign here sir." He pointed to a line right at the bottom. There were hundreds of names, and many didn't even appear to be from this country.

He thanked me heartily and shook my hand, and as I pulled away I felt a tingle creeping up my arm. His smile curled into something quite different as he left.

Still a little dazed by the whole experience, I put the package on the table and returned to bed. But as I slept a nightmare of giant, toothed beasts chased me through the darkness of never ending tunnels woke me with a start, and I had the feeling of an icy hand gripping my heart. Groaning, I rolled over and with a thump fell to the floor; then just as suddenly as it appeared the pain was gone.

Making my way to the kitchen, my eyes were drawn to the package. I glanced at the label. The text was blurred, and almost seemed to move. I rubbed my thumb across the label and snapped it away again, for it felt like something had just bitten me. A spot of blood bloomed from my thumb and dropped, hitting the surface of the label where it was absorbed almost instantly. The characters jumped and darted across the label and then pulled into focus; my name, my address. I gingerly turned the box on its side. The return address only had the name of some obscure building in New York, but as soon as I'd read the words they disappeared.

Caption This (23rd Sep)

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Seanday Extra Portion: Morning After

I turned over and groaned. My best friend was visiting me, and he'd insisted on going to a club. It was a hairy night, I'd tried to keep sober while Mark proved his worth downing drink after drink.

****

Light peeled through the curtains, bleeding through my eyelids. I groaned again and pulled the duvet over my head.

Something dredged its way through my mind: sunlight. What time was it?

I threw the duvet back and sat up; big mistake. I retched holding a hand to my mouth and leaned over the edge of the bed. There was a conveniently placed bucket: I used it.

Collapsing back into bed, I pushed my hands through my hair and holding my head desperately trying to stop the room spinning. I tried to think why I had this lousy hangover, I'd only had three drinks; had someone spiked them?

There was a noise from the other room, it cut through my mind like an axe. I groaned guessing it was Mark, slowly I pushed myself up. The smell from the bucket made me retch again, but it was dry. Getting to my feet, I stumbled towards the door my hands feeling my way, looking through squinted eyes.

Seanday Off: Take, take, take

I read the text and threw the mobile across the room. "Damn-it."

A quiet life, that's all I wanted, but everywhere I stopped people took it away.

It had been three months, long enough that I thought I'd be safe. But the text had told me that they were on the way. Someone had tipped them off, and I had a good idea who was responsible.

I'd been on the run; across the country. Each time I'd tried to make a home I'd get the call, giving me minutes to escape and run--again.

Even if I kept to myself, people would rat me out call the AGENCY. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, was it my colour? The way I dressed--I plucked at the yellow shirt I was wearing. Maybe they were just plain scared of me--I wasn't small, I looked after myself.

The mobile bleated again, and I retrieved it from the floor. "Fuck." I'd only had it for a few weeks, and now it was worthless. Whatever text came through was unreadable on the cracked screen.

Caption This (16th Sep)

Saturdays the readers get a chance to write something, use the picture as inspiration or perhaps suggest something for others to write.  Two pictures, but check in the new comments section you can add pictures now so post your own stories/pictures!

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