Stories from Nothing: The Spies

Catalyst:
This one actually got its inspiration from a Cracked article about games you should give a shot playing in your own head to make life more interesting. One of these was to have a look at people on the street or train platform or bus and figure out which one of them was a spy or assassin and who their target was.

Story:
She stepped down onto the platform and took up her place next to the air conditioning vent, to the right of the small conductors' office. Her mark was already standing there, as was her second sent by the Agency.
She threw a casual glance at the two of them. After a day or so of not being up close to him, the mark was much fatter than she remembered. And the agent was a short, handsome man with small glasses. Like they had organized, he was reading that free gossip newspaper they hand out at train stations.
The rumble from underneath the platform told her that the train was almost here. She put her bag down onto the air conditioning vent and dug around and found her black day planner. She opened it and began writing. Hopefully the Agent would notice. This was the signal that everything was a go. A chattering group of school children passed her and she watched them go. Made eyes with the Agent. She turned away. On the bench, the Agent put the newspaper into his satchel bag and took out a small black book of his own and had a look at something, nodded, and replaced it in his bag.
The train pulled up to the station. The Mark checked his watch. It was late. The doors opened and the Mark went on. She followed and right behind her, the Agent stepped onto the crowded train.

Stories from Nothing: The Flower

Catalyst: L found a flower on the ground and put it in an open mailbox on the way home.

Story: The flower lay in the mailbox, unexposed to the elements, atop the Morgans' electricity bill. Laura and Richard came home at the same time and, as Richard parked the car, Laura would go out to the mailbox and retrieve whatever lay within.
Reaching her hand in today, she pulled out the still-crisp flower and stared at it.
"Richard!" she said, stomping into the house. "Richard, come here!"
"What?" Richard put his keys on the kitchen counter.
Laura held the flower out to him. "Someone put this in our mailbox."
"Who?"
"I don't know, Richard, why don't you tell me?"
"Honey, I don't know who would do that," Richard moved to her, to take the flower. "Where was it?"
"I told you it was in the mailbox!" she held it away from him. "Was it her, Richard? Was it her again?"
"Jesus, Laura," Richard said, turning away. "It's over with her. I ended it. You know that."
"Do I? Because this says different!"
"No it does--"
"She's coming back! She's putting things in our mailbox now!"
"We don't know for sure--"
"Don't be a child!" she threw the flower across the room. "Who else would it be?"
"It could by anyone!"
"Why would anyone put a flower in someone's mailbox?" Laura began to cry. "You bastard," she said, then. "You bastard."
"Who would do this to us?" Richard said to himself, under his breath. He sat at the kitchen table. "Why?"

Background for D&D Character

The Diary of Teera von Bloodmoon

1/

Well that’s it, my life is over. Against my better council – and my desires – Humphrey’s mission to go to the Furthest Continents has been approved. Of course, that means dutiful wife must  attend him – across the world, away from everything! And I can’t bring my gowns! He assures me everything will be fine, that nothing could happen to one of her majesty’s finest ships! I do so dislike boats.

(illegible, water-damaged entries)

8/

I hate boats, I hate boats, I hate boats, I HATE BOATS!

9/

Well, I was sick over the side once more. The mean laughed at me. Again. I also believe they are making crude eyes at me. Leering. Always leering, wanting. I stay in my cabin mostly. Away from the ruffians. The swordmaster, Phinnius, he’s the leeriest.

10/

Humphrey arranged for us to have a candlelit dinner on the bough this evening. It’s the first patch of calm water we’ve had since our first week. We’ve been out here for 10 weeks!

Humphrey says we’re about a quarter of the way there!

Wretchedness!

(pages removed)

14/

The worst finally happened! It’s been days since it happened and I’m only now able to write it down – my hands have finally ceased their trembling.

It was as if he couldn’t steer the ship anymore. It just started careening off to the side, like we’d hit a whirlpool.

“Make it stop!” I remember screaming, begging. “Bring us around!”

“I can’t!” he shouted. “It’s like she’s steering herself!”

It was then that the island came into view out of the mist. A tall, desert thing. A mountain lay off in the distance, around the other side, smoke firing up into the sky from all around it.

We crashed into it, the rocks jarring, splintering, us to a stop and sending most of the crew overboard and down onto the beach.

The natives were on them so quickly, murdering them, blood was everywhere.

It was like they were waiting for us.

They started hunting us. Humphrey stood between a group of them and I long enough for Phinnius to help me escape. I fear the worst for Humphrey. Dearest, dearest man.

I’m holed up in a cave near some fruit trees with Phinnius. There was a village with some abandoned buildings not far off, but we knew better than to stay there.

He tells me to be quiet most of the time. I’m happy to oblige.

(sketches of the island trees, mostly of the fruit, the bats.)

15/

Phinnius went scouting today, to find more crew from the ship. He found the ship burned. He found the bodies gone. There was evidence of fires and cooked meat. Some of them still had their boots on, in the ash pits.

16/

It’s been two weeks since Phinnius found the wreckage. He managed to salvage some pole arms and he’s been teaching me to use them. Just in case. I’m weak and can barely swing it, but I practice for hours when he goes scouting for food.

17/

I KILLED ONE!

One came upon our camp and I murdered him!

It was exhilarating!

Phinnius made wine from fruit. Phinnius is rather handsome.

(page covered in blood. Entries long faded away)

20/

We went scouting together. He thought I should know where the food comes from. Just in case. Him and his “just in cases”…

Yes, we found their camp.

They had heads on pikes. One of them I recognized.

Humphrey’s.

Well, I recognized the necklace, tie, hat and rings that were on or around the rotting head. Poor Humphrey.

(pages covered in dirt or torn or covered in sketches)

21/

My god, I had forgotten about this journal!

Phinnius is dead. The cannibals raided our camp and caught him.

I killed a few but I had to retreat.

I could hear his screams in the night from their camp as they ate him alive.

Poor Phinnius.

I’ve lost two men now to these inhuman bastards – brutes! Wretches! Devils!

That was 6 months ago, now.

I’m supremely good with my pole arm now. Phinnius would be proud.

Hubert might not be.

Humphrey, sorry.

Gods it’s been too long. What another life I lived.

I fashioned a tree home. If a cannibal strays by here, I murder him.

Or her.

It does not matter what they are.

They are monsters.

(entries stop here. It is obvious that this last entry is at least a year old.)