Short Story “A gods Story – God of Charm”

Hey hi my lovelies! My name is Tanya Hooper and Welcome to TanyaTale. I post here on this blog every Friday at 7pm about anything and everything creative. If you are new here i welcome you to our little community! Be sure to click that like and subscribe button to let me know you’ve stopped by. If you are returning welcome back!

For those of you who are new, or haven’t been keeping up to date with the blog lately, welcome to March Madness – month of gods. For the first two stories in this series please click here(1) and here(2) to have a gander at the stories of Orion’s Belt and Poseidon Jr. Or continue reading for the third instalment “God of Charm” be sure to click the like button if you are enjoying the series!

I have a tale I must tell and one that you shall hear. Before we start I must confess this tale is not one of joy. There is no happy ending, as a matter of fact there is no ending at all. I can almost hear your minds boggling at the thought for I doubt you have ever heard a story that never ends. Alas, an everlasting story is what I grace you with now for nothing is impossible, as you are soon to discover.

My name was Mary Joan and I lived on Clifton Street in a small flat on the corner of the street. A regular woman living a regular life. I was a writer of thrillers whose imagination grew more vivid with every day that passed. One day, as I was returning home, something within urged me to visit the charity shop which laid below my flat. I went inside, for I was sure no harm could come from a single visit to a charity shop.

Once inside I found myself drawn to a bracelet. The dainty chain laid seductively upon the old book shelf. I took it in my palm and for a moment simply stared. I had never seen a thing of such beauty. The chain appeared to be woven from stringlets of silver with tiny silver hoops spread sparsely beaconing for a charm to be added to each. There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted it. It had to be mine.

And so, I purchased it and returned home. The preceding days were filled with torment as the creative river that was my mind stopped flowing. It was like winter had come to my mind and had frozen still all thoughts. On the first day I sat, three hours still besides my computer watching a blank curser blink before my eyes. The second day saw me taking to books, desperate for inspiration which never came. The third day found me pacing the length of the room hoping and waiting patiently. The fourth day I saw nothing for my eyes were shut so tight as I tried to picture any scene, anything I could write. Day five I grew depressed and struggled to move from bed. I put on a film A Streetcar Named Desire and there he was. My answer. Marlon Brando.

I recalled the name from school – a method actor. I had heard of method actors before, going about their role as if it were real life and living as the character too. I was desperate and surely method writing could work too. And so, I went out – I walked to a park and waited till it grew dark. I waited until the dead of night had passed – I didn’t want to be a cliché-  I waited until the sun began to rise. I sat on a bench silently until I saw a young man approaching in the distance.

“Excuse me.” I called out, “Which way is the launderette.” I knew.

“That way.” He gestured, turning his back on me. You do remember me telling you I was a writer of thrillers, don’t you?

Two hours later and the crime could not be traced back to me. There was no blood, no DNA. No body. By the time I returned home the sun had risen and the shops had begun to open. I passed a quaint little store which sold handmade charms, I looked down to my wrist to see my bracelet and I knew what I had to do. Every psycho needed a niche and my villain would collect charms. One charm for every life she took. I walked inside and spoke to nice old lady. She asked me what charm I was after and I told her a washing machine. At first, she looked confused, but she was smart enough not to question it. She told me to return the next day to collect it and I did.

Before then however, I had a tale to write. I ventured home and to my pleasure my writers block had disappeared. Before you ask how I did not feel guilty, it’s simple. Everyone must die eventually – it was clearly that young man’s time.

So, I continued, method writing. Until the day I added the tenth charm to my bracelet. Until the day he visited me.

He looked like a cliché. Nothing at all like how I would have written him. He wore a cloak – it was a little obvious. He held a staff. At first, I thought it a prank for Halloween was drawing near but there was something about him that felt all too real. There was a darkness that most would not have been able to comprehend. A darkness that I recognised.

He told me he too had been a slave to his work – he killed for justice, to purify society from those who sinned. He told me he had been a man of god, just as I was a woman. He told me that in life he may have worshipped the man who gave such beauty to humanity. But throughout time he learnt that the god of life is only one half of the universe and that for every being of light there is one of dark.

I smiled for as a writer I knew what was to come next. For a while I was his apprentice. He taught me all he knew. He taught me that there were so many other ways to kill, so many other stories to be told. He taught me how to do his job until today, the day I was promoted. And so, the story begins. My journey as the god of death.

So i hope you enjoyed that! if you did click that like button to let me know! Be sure to click subscribe for an alert for the final story in the series which is due next Friday! Until then, byedy bye my lovelies!

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