☆Writing Drabble☆

Hello! When thinking of what to do for this blog, I was honestly stumped. I had plenty of concepts and writing scraps on my ideas page, but they all didn’t feel right. Either that, or I thought “I don’t have enough time to write that.”

So, the obvious choice was to start writing something that I really don’t have enough time to write! Haha! Don’t be like me.

The following is what I like to call a ‘drabble.’ To me, a drabble is just something I wrote for fun, like a spontaneous idea. I don’t know exactly where I’ll go with it, but while writing it, I just follow my instincts. I like to try new things in drabbles as well! A lot of my drabbles end up being edited and expanded upon later, but due to short time, this one is rather short. I had a lot of fun writing it, though! The characters in this are dear to me, and I really enjoyed burying myself in Isko’s mindset. Have fun reading, and maybe even give drabbles a try too! They’re neat practice.

Now, prepare yourself for a tone switch.

—☆—

       Isko hates these hallways. He hates their white, fluorescent lighting that bounces off their stupid marble floors. He hates their stupid golden archways, intricately carved with dozens of stupid triangles. He hates their stupid, endless, inescapable, see-through containment cells. He can hear the people inside them; he can see their misty glow. He can barely feel his own legs as he walks past them, focusing his gaze at the door at the end. He doesn’t want to go to the next room; He doesn’t want to see her.

         Her. Vaiya. Even thinking of her name ignites a furious flame within Isko. He wants to slam her head down onto the control counter and throw her into the abyss. He wants to scream at her until his throat bleeds. He wants to rip out her soul and rush her karma. Why does he have to follow her every ord-?

         Hands slam against the glass of the cell to Isko’s right. He flinches, hurrying up his pace. That’s why.

        The flame flickers out, Isko solemnly reaching up to his face. The soul amalgamation behind him continues to beat their fists against the glass.

      “F-f-f-” “F-F-” “F-f-f-f-” “F-f-f-” 

          “O-o-o-r-” “O-O-O-RR-” “O-o-o-o-r-” “O-o-” 

              “Tee-za!” “TTTEZA!” “Ttteeee-zza.” “Rteee-za!” 

       Isko doesn’t respond to their overlapping cries. The door feels like it’s getting further and further away. Is he even making progress? He has to be. He’s walking. Not that logic applies to him anymore, but he has to get there. His face feels like a mask glued to his skull. He can’t take it off. How much time does he have left? He feels nauseated, his stomach buzzing with painful tensity that he can’t will away. It feels like his throat is running with saliva, a coiled object choking him in the back of his throat, pushing him to the edge of gagging but never doing so. His tongue tastes disinfected, his nostrils burn in the sterile air, his hands shake as he reaches out to the doorknob-

     But the door is still far away. Isko digs his claw-like nails into his arm before he can shout out a frustrated curse. Vaiya would hear him, and he doesn’t need more on his plate. He just needs to stay calm. Calm, calm, calm. He repeats the word as he walks forward, forcing his shoulders to relax. 

     Calm, calm, calm, calm…

    There’s soul amalgamations staring at him, calculating.

    Calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm…

    How many has he gotten for her now? How long have they been waiting?

    Calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm.

    They still think they can escape. They think if they appease her, then they’ll find an opening. Isko can see it on their faces. 

   Calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm-

   They don’t get it. There’s nothing they can do. Vaiya will never let them go; Vaiya will never relent. Why are they still hoping? Just give up. The ones that give up are easier to look at. Melted puddles of nulled emotions, glassy eyes that stare into nothing.

    Calm, calm, calm calm, calm, calm, calm, calm. It isn’t helping. Calm doesn’t even feel like a word anymore. Is he repeating calm or clam? Clamp? Triangular, golden clamps. Isko’s breath turns wheezy. It would be funny if it wasn’t terrifying.

    The door is right in front of him. Golden triangles decorate its surface, their shiny exteriors reflecting a warped image of Isko’s face. He stumbles back with a start, squeezing his eyes shut. Hurry, Isko, hurry. It’s just a stupid reflection. He throws open the door with far too much urgency.