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Quinn Chapman and the Altar of Evil I

Quinn Chapman and the Altar of Evil The flames of Hades flickered off the rough hewn walls of the cavern as I stumbled my way deeper into the earthen maw. Acrid, black smoke invaded my eyes, blurring my vision and clouding my lungs. Dark voices shouted in a rhythmic chant somewhere beyond the hall of fire through which I now walked. My body was cut and bruised; my clothes turned to rags barely clinging to my sweat glistened flesh.  What maligned road led me to my current state of depravity? My mind flickered back to that fateful day in the warrens of Singapore, to one of the myriad of seedy opium dens lining the alleys. It was there that I found the remnants of the infamous Anglo explorer Sir Percival Covington.  I pushed back the shoddy veil of the curtain to find Sir Percival upon his back, clad in sweat-stained khaki and a weeks' worth of grime. So much for the hero of the British Empire. His glazed eyes alighted upon me, and a flicker of recognition danced across his ...
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Original Writing: A Mouse Complains

 A Mouse Complains

A computer mouse on a work desk.

The Prompt: Perspectives, anything besides humans.


Get your stinking hands of me, you damn dirty human! Why are you always clinging to me with your sweaty palms? Those nasty hands of yours are covered in something sticky and greasy, probably the remnants of the office donuts you just slammed into you gaping maw.

Do you even wash your hands before you touch me? Please get some Lysol and wipe me off, there is a residue building on my ebony surface and I don't know what it is.

Those fat fingers of yours can't help clicking my buttons and flicking my wheel. You don't even ask my permission! Would it kill you to buy me a new battery before you get all up in my business? Or at least get a cue tip and clean out my light hole. There are more crumbs in there than on the front of your short sleeve button down and overly short tie. Be gentle, I'm delicate.

Please, for fuck's sake, don't spill that hot coffee on me. Take it out on the keyboard next door. No one likes that asshat.

Another thing, you drag me and pull me across the rough surface of your desk. No pad and no considerations these days! Logi in the cube next door gets a pad! He also doesn't get slammed around when something takes to long to load or crashes. It's not my damn fault, so take it easy, asshole!

One more thing, I have a delicate, and probably overly Freudian, connection with the mother board. I don't know who my father was, so don't come between me and my mother board! Leaver her running or else my lights will go out and you can't click jack!

~The Mouse

P.S. Get some sun, your pale ass face is scaring me.
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