The Roar of Our Stars Round 4: Chat 1

Wow. I never thought I’d be able to pick this back up again. But here we are, actually new content, after days of my posting the stuff I already did. It’d be nice if I could keep going after this, but well… there’s a reason all of my posts have been TRoOS for the past week or so. More arthritis nonsense.

Icon credits: First and Second.

heliotropicalica: help

pretendinaryfriend: what?

Heart pounding, Travis pulled his knees up to his chin. It felt like a nightmare, just picturing his friend in peril, thousands of miles away. He didn’t have the experience necessary to cope. He didn’t want to step away from his computer, but he also had a strong urge to run out the door and demand assistance from someone. Anyone.

His hand shook as he hovered his fingers over the keyboard. She’d get to a neighbour’s house, call the police, and then everything would be perfectly fine. Burglary was a thing that happened.

As his mind wandered towards his default comfort zone, his hand dragged the mouse through a series of distracted actions.


He stared at the word document until his eyes started to swim in the large expanse of white screen.

“Oh crap,” he whispered. “I think I get it now.”

He yanked his keyboard off of his desk and into his lap. His fingers flew over the keys, his usual habits entirely forgotten in the rushing exchange of information.

“I saw something the other day,” he said aloud, as if that might help his words reach Persephone, “and now you’re seeing the same kind of thing. It’s a monster.”

The chilly night air made goosebumps rise all over Persephone’s skin. She felt as though tiny people were all trying to burst out of her at once. Rubbing her arms, she sneaked along the fence and stared at the window to her bedroom.

No one stuck out an unpleasant head to seek her out or follow her route. Not right away. Still she stared, unblinking. Her eyes began to water, and then she tripped over a sprinklerhead.

A strangled cry died in her throat.

Pain lanced through her shoulder as she hit the ground, the cold of the damp grass underlining the sensation. She whimpered, momentarily forgetting the window.

The wind started to pick up. She glanced up at the window, then scrambled to her feet.

A silhouette stood there, lit up by the yellow glow of her desk lamp. It was fuzzy, as if standing against the glare of the sun.

It was also standing in front of the window. Not behind it.

Persephone scrambled over the fence, trying not to panic. Her hair was in her face, obscuring her vision. It had been a trick of the light. Her neighbours were home, even sitting on the porch. She ran to them.


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