My plan for October was to participate in Inktober but instead of drawing, I wanted to use the prompts for writing. I proceeded to complete the first day’s prompt (gargoyle) and then haven’t done any of the other days since. This is partly due to having a busy week but mainly because I’ve been working on something different.
My writing group decided to have a short story prompt for October that involves writing something with at least three characters in a gothic setting. I decided to go with a Midwestern Gothic setting and have been slowly writing the story. It’s been a lot of fun, and I’ve hardly thought of Inktober because of it. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
But since I did write something for the first day, I thought I’d share it here. If I finish the short story and write other drabbles for the Inktober prompts, I’ll share them at some point as well.
Gargoyle
Nobody ever talks about how boring it is to be a gargoyle. How day in and day out you just sit atop your perch, sneering down at the world. Yet the world is tiny, far away. A buzzing hoard of tiny shapes moving about their day and lives.
They never tell you how tedious it can be for every pigeon in the city to swoop by each day, maybe to stop for a chat on your shoulder or to leave a goopy surprise in revenge.
They never tell you how lonesome it can be when the other gargoyles snicker and snort over their own inside jokes that are most likely about you.
They never tell you how it’s not fair that you didn’t get to decide what you looked like. What ugly, curling snarl your face permanently makes. The shape of your horns or the curve of your wings or the length of your claws. That some random sculpture made all the decisions on what he thought was considered ugly or scary or worthy to scare away spirits.
They never tell you that most of the time people forget about us up on top of our cathedrals. That most of those ant-sized shapes zipping around don’t bother to turn their head up once and consider our existence.
They never tell you how much it can change when once, just once, someone does look up, points their stubby finger at you, and smiles.
Keeper of the Wood Between Worlds 