The Searcher

Hello, dear readers!

This writing prompt definitely had my writer juices flowing! I hope you enjoy reading it and as always I would love any feedback you might have.

Screenshot 2018-11-30 at 4.42.24 PM

She crouches down beside his head and with her pointer finger and thumb stretches his eyelid open. His pupils don’t stir, “Looks like it.”

“What should we do?” I realize I’m biting my nails to the quick.

In one swift move, she releases his eyelid and pulls a dagger from her ankle sheath. It raises swiftly above her head, her answer crystal clear.

My fingers wrap around her wrist stopping any forward momentum.

“I said I think I broke him. NOT let’s kill him.” Hisses through my clenched teeth.

“Aww,” is her only reply as she lets me disarm her. She flicks his cheek as she gets to her feet.

“I think we should keep him.” The words leave my lips on a sigh.

“He’s not a pet, Ava, you can’t just keep him. And by ‘we’ what you really mean is you.” Her fingers move to stroke the wide onyx braid she lets fall over her shoulder. “He’s not even my type.”

“Since he’s still breathing?” I can feel the smile tug at my cheeks.

“Exactly.” She winks. “If the myths are true, you should be able to wind him back up, right? Maybe look for the mechanism?”

My knees bend and I pull at the strings which tie his shirt tightly to his chest. I tremble as they loosen to reveal just a regular chest. Well, it was broader than I’d ever seen with a light dusting of hair which matched his head. But there was no sign of the clockwork, Searchers like him were supposed to be comprised of.

“Maybe he isn’t a searcher after all,” I watch as she pulls her lips back in a grimace and her eyes bulge.

“He has to be.” I look back at his passive face and a white line just below his right ear catches my eye.

His skin his warm to the touch as I slowly tilt his head to the left, exposing the back of his neck. My fingers tiptoe along the scare till they reach just below his hairline. I can feel something hard and unyielding beneath the skin.

“I can feel something.”

“If it’s a button whatever you do, don’t push it.” Her voice isn’t its usual strong timber, there’s a hint of something in it that I don’t think I’ve ever heard before.

I pull away from the buried object and rock back on my ankles surveying this man lying before me. I automatically start rubbing my hands together feeling the blood which has dried on my knuckles.

Neither of us notices the reflection in the floor length mirror opposite us. His eyes are open.



Honestly Austen

Postscript: I’m not sure if these weeks prompt is connected to last, but I kind of like the idea that it might be part of the same story.






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