The Juice


prompted-buttonAt first this prompt didn’t interest me, but I thought I would give it a try and I quite like the end result.

Check out the Tipsy Lit writing prompts, guidelines and rewards –

The prompt for this week is: your character has access to a rare and forbidden magic that will answer a current need. Does he/she use it? 

Check the story out below:

“It’s state of the art. No one has seen one of these in…in like a thousand years.”

She is excited. Her lips are twitching, her hands are shaking. I’m afraid I may have to pry it from her cold dead fingers.

“What is it?”

She raises her eyebrows and blinks at me.

“You don’t know?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“But…but…where did you get it?”

I shrug. I don’t want to talk or even think about last night. Five people dead and nothing to show for it except this odd shaped little bottle. The bottle is made of glass and is no bigger than my hand. And yet, despite it’s small size, the orange liquid inside doesn’t fill half the bottle. It looks a lot like goo.

As Tana holds it, I watch the goo take the form of a human and bang on the glass. Tana grins at it and her lips start to tremble. I, on the other hand, have become accustomed to seeing the goo’s awkward attempts at escape. I have seen it transform into a hammer, a blowtorch, a bow and arrow and a lion…Though it took their shape, it failed to take on any of their other properties. It was still merely goo and escape was futile.

“It’s shape shifter juice,” she tells me.

“What the…”

“If you drink it, you’ll be able to take any shape or form you choose.” Even as she says this, the goo transforms into a gooey knife and tries to crack it’s way out of the glass. “You should drink it.” Tana pushes the glass towards me. She knows the graverobber rule, the only rule we abide by – Finders Keepers. Even though I know she wants it, I can see it in her twinkly eyes, I take the bottle from her.

Before I open it, I notice her eyes turn into a pool of darkness, the way they do when she is hoping for someone’s demise.

“What didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugs, then sticks out her tongue.

“The juice can reject a host. If it rejects you, you die.”

I stare at the bottle in my hand and I recall the screams and the blood. We went to a lot of trouble to get into that grave and this was all there was to take. I owe it to them to drink it.

I uncork the bottle.

“To long life.” I raise it momentarily, bend my head back and pour the shifting substance down my throat.

About the author

Oyinkan Braithwaite


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June 2019
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