loganmarloe

[loganmarloe]

Untitled Response to Current Events

Anna Smith bought a bus ticket to the most popular museum in Idaho in September, about a month and a half after the birthday party she attended with her boyfriend, Tad.

The museum offered guided tours with a human guide, but also video-assisted self-guided tours. Anna had heard the self-guided tours were the best. One could wander around, lost in their own private thoughts, while nobody interfered.

She told her parents, who were church-going people with conservative political views and a strict set of rules, that she was going to the museum with her boyfriend, but that was a lie. She went alone. She knew this wasn’t something Tad would appreciate. She was sure he would tell her mother if she told him what she was up to, so she lied to him, too, and made plans to dump him when she got back. She was already sixteen and plenty old enough to make life decisions on her own.

When Anna got off the bus, she looked up at the big sign affixed to the roof. It read, “Madam Maginnis’ Museum of Marvels.” She admired the swirls on the ends of the initial letters in the name. It was whimsical, but also pretty.

Inside, she paid her ticket for entrance, as well as for the video-guided tour. She received a small tablet that offered to help her find any of the 400 different exhibits. She had gotten advice from a friend of a friend to check out several exhibits in the first half-hour she was there.

She chose to look at some of the women’s history exhibits, one about surgery in Wild West times, a random assortment of funny looking gadgets, and finally, the one her friend had told her about: the dusty cow exhibit.

This one was a little known exhibit. You could only get to it by using a password with the tablet. The human guides don’t even know about it.

She stood in front of the lonely taxidermied cow, selected the speech icon in the upper right, and looked at the screen while the video voice spoke about the strange little cow and its place in Idaho history.

The video playing was colorful, with a blue background, orange and green buttons, and photos that were every color of the rainbow. Her friend said the button would be a little hard to find. It had to be, if it were to remain a secret. In fact, the position and appearance of the button changed every day, so nobody would be the wiser.

Anna looked all the way around the screen, until she found a tiny octagon within the pupil of a man holding a pitchfork in 1898. It very nearly blended in completely with the eye. She clicked on it.

The recorded speech continued, but the screen opened a new page within the video. On it was a puzzle that had to be solved. A dancing blue-clad ballerina twirled in six different positions in sequence. As instructed by her friend’s friend, she touched each ballerina on the screen in the order she’d been told was valid for today only.

She’d had to jump through numerous hoops to get the code. She’d had to prove her identity and also her desire to visit the secret exhibit. She’d also had to prove that nobody had forced her to go and convince the code makers that she wouldn’t tell anyone else the code or that she intended to see the exhibit. It had taken two in-person interviews at public parks and depositing collateral that would be used against her if she told anyone the truth.

After she finished tapping in the ballerina code, the screen went dark, though the bright, cheery voice talking about how a calf was found after a horrible dust storm more than a century ago. It was a boring story, but this exhibit was pretty popular with teenage girls.

There appeared to be no text on the screen, but she’d been given a sort of decoder sheet. It looked transparent, but when Anna placed it over the darkened screen, a set of instructions appeared in lavender text. She quickly memorized them and then pressed a spot underneath a picture of a campfire in the middle of the right side of the screen. As soon as she pressed it, the dusty cow video came back on. There was no sign of the other screen. She put the tablet in her backpack for safekeeping.

As instructed by the interviewer who’d approved her and handed it to her, she went to the restroom, entered and locked a stall, and placed the transparent plastic sheet into the toilet. She watched as it dissolved completely and then flushed.

She exited the stall, washing her hands as anyone else would do, and then went back out into the museum’s exhibit hall. Looking around, she spotted an exhibit that showed what indigenous people would look like by a cook fire, thousands of years ago.

Next to the exhibit was a door concealed by the curtains that lined the walls. She only knew it was there from the extensive instructions for her trip. She made sure nobody saw her and slipped behind the curtain and then out the door.

The door led outside to the south side of the building. There was nothing special about it. It had nowhere to sit and nothing to admire. She paid this very little attention.

The memorized instructions had her start walking due south. She had made sure to have on a good pair of walking shoes and jeans, as advised by her friend’s friend. It soon became apparent why this was recommended.

The brush and bushes and trees grew tightly together in this part of the state. Had she worn shorts, she’d have scratched up her legs thoroughly. She walked about a mile south until she saw a tree that seemed kind of lopsided and had a funny shape to one branch. At the tree, she turned left and counted out thirty steps.

She was told it might me more or less, depending on the length of her stride, so she was to look for a rock in the shape of a rabbit. She looked around. There were many rocks in the area. None looked like wildlife.

Then she saw one that she thought might be mistaken for a rabbit on a rainy day and if she was squinting. She looked on the other side of it, as instructed. If it were the right one, there would be a small hole where an eye might be. This wasn’t easy, as a bush was growing along its back. She understood the need for secrecy, but shoving aside prickly bushes wasn’t what she had in mind for this excursion.

Once she found the little hole, she then faced the other side of the rabbit rock and turned right. She walked up the hill that rose right away from the little clearing. At the top, she’d been told to look for a lavender bush. Not one painted lavender, but a bush that was flowering now with lavender.

She wondered what they used for directions when it wasn’t flowering and went around the bush and put her back to it. Then she headed out in a straight line away from it. She checked her phone as she started walking. As instructed, she kept a decent pace for fourteen minutes.

At the end of the fourteen minutes, she found herself crossing a sign that read, “Nevada State Line”. She took a deep breath and then continued for about five more minutes, finally emerging into a large clearing in the trees.

In the center of the clearing stood a bus-like vehicle. It read, “Carebus” and had an image of a rabbit on the side. She heaved a big sigh of relief and started to sob. As she dropped to her knees from exhaustion, three people came streaming out of the bus.

They gathered her up, gave her some water, and brought her inside. After a few minutes, they asked her the questions required. All of them had designated answers that had nothing to do with the content.

“Anna, how did you find the cow exhibit?”

“My shoes are green.”

“Where is the capital of Iowa?”

“Lavender flowers are blooming.”

“What is today’s date?”

“Top left. Bottom center. Top right. Top center. Bottom right. Bottom left.”

After the questions, they brought her into a little room for an interview. After answering several real questions and paying the bill in cash, she was led to a changing area. She got into a lavender gown and made sure to leave her socks on. It was a little chilly inside the bus. She left her clothing in a little locker and shut the door.

After emerging from the room, she was led to a room with a special exam table. Once positioned on it, she was asked more questions. They wanted to be sure she was sure.

“Did anyone transport you to the museum with the knowledge of your desire to seek this procedure?”

“No. I told nobody why I was really going to the museum.”

“Do you remember what happens afterward?”

“Yes, I will remain here for an hour and have another examination to determine whether I am ready to return to the museum. I will probably bleed a bit for two weeks and need to generally take it easy if I feel tired. I’ll contact you if I feel poorly and follow instructions to be seen near home.”

“Good. There will be no charge if you need to be seen there. Remember to tell no-one anything about this. The only way this works for anyone is if it is kept completely secret.”

She nodded and swore she’d never tell anyone.

“Did you tell anyone about why you need this procedure?”

“No. I took home tests and disposed of them in the trash at the mall.”

“Anna, there are other choices you can make. Are you sure you want to have this procedure done?”

Anna looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. I am sure. This is the only choice for me.”

“All right, then. We are going to go ahead.” The attendant left the room and signaled for the doctor to proceed.

An hour and a half later, Anna Smith got into a small car with one of the attendants and was driven back to the museum on a regular road. She went back inside the museum and looked at a few more exhibits before it was time to take the bus home. She felt a little sore, but also free.

Fifteen years later, Anna had graduated from college and was a cartoonist with a major film production company with dozens of film credits on her resume. She married someone who respected her and gave birth to two healthy children. She owned her own home, had a nice car, and took her family to beautiful resorts for vacation every year.

She never told anyone about the secret exhibit. Nobody went to jail. She was happy and healthy and free.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #10

Prompt: You wind up in hell. You are confused at first until you see a row of people in front of you, crying profusely. You weren’t sent to hell to be punished, you were sent as the punishment.

—————

Nusha rolled over in bed, eyes still shut. “Mmmm,” she said to nobody. She lived alone. “Uhhn.”

Something felt different. The sheets were nice, but a bit nicer than she thought she remembered. Maybe that new fabric softener really worked like the ad promised.

She sat up and unhooked her eye mask from one ear. Instead of bright sunlight from her window, she saw a soft orange glow. Curiously, though, it didn’t come from the window. Indeed, there was no window.

Nusha threw off the covers, stood, and walked over to the wall that wasn’t her wall and patted it where the orange glow was emanating. It was unexpectedly cool.

She tossed the eye mask onto the bed, which also wasn’t hers. She turned around and around, trying to figure out where she was. The room was nice, but she’d definitely gone to sleep in her own bed, so was appropriately confused.

She opened the wardrobe that stood against a non-glowing wall. Inside were some of her favorite clothes. She was pleased, but confused even more because these items represented various periods of time over the course of her 63 years.

She selected a rainbow t-shirt and pair of short overalls she’d worn when visiting a glacier as part of a climate change summit she attended in her 20s. They fit amazingly as well as back then.

She found a pair of sneakers she remembered wearing in junior high school. They were far cleaner than when she’d last seen them. She stuffed her feet into them without socks, as was her way back then.

She went to the door and tentatively turned the knob; it opened easily. She cracked the door open a few inches and peeked out. She saw no one, so she opened it a bit more and stuck her head into the hallway.

Looking up and down the long corridor, she noted the air was a bit stale, but otherwise pleasantly cool.

She shrugged inwardly and walked out of the room. Initially unsure of which direction to take, she decided to go left.

The corridor seemed longer on first inspection, but she must have been mistaken. She reached a double set of ornately enameled doors very quickly.

She admired the birds of paradise design for a moment before turning the equally ornate handles.

When she walked in, she gasped at the opulence. There was a large table set with piles of food on fancy silver and gold platters.

There was but one chair, but it was beautiful. It looked very old, but made of a rich, dark wood she’d never seen before. There was scrimshaw work up and down the sides. The upholstery was of the softest silk.

She helped herself to coffee in a porcelain cup of elegant design. As she sat down, she sipped. The taste was the best she’d ever had and the chair was the most comfortable.

She sighed happily as she set the cup in its saucer. Then she spotted a mirror at the far end of the ridiculously large room. She strode over and looked at herself, gasping again. She was young again - no more than 25 years old.

As she gazed at her long-lost reflection, she decided she must be in Nirvana. She returned to her seat and began to eat. A little while later, someone joined her.

The door opened softly behind her, so she didn’t hear him coming as she finished a chewy bite of delightful baklava.

“Ah, baklava, one of my favorites” the man said with a soothingly deep voice. Nevertheless, she jumped slightly. “I am sorry, dear Nusha, I did not mean to startle you.”

She set down the fork and looked up as he came around to the front of her table. She looked him up and down. He wasn’t particularly tall nor short. His hair was a beautiful, silky dark brown. His cheeks had a trim beard with just a touch of lighter brown on either side of his face. His caramel brown eyes smiled as merrily as his full lips.

Finally, she said, “How do you know my name? Who are you? And where am I? I’m assuming I’m dead, considering my apparent youth despite my greater years.”

The man chuckled and sat down opposite her in a chair that wasn’t there a moment ago. He poured a glass of wine for himself and refilled hers. “I am Gerian and I know who you are because I pulled strings to bring you here. You are neither alive nor dead.” Before she could utter a disbelieving sound, he held up a staying hand. “There’s no more that I can explain. Please, finish your meal. Afterward, I will escort you to your, ah, project room.”

She looked at him through squinted eyes for a long moment before picking up her fork again. “You’re a weird little man. Normally, I’d get up and leave, but I don’t know where I am. Also, this is the best baklava I’ve ever had, so I’m going to finish it.”

Gerian watched her enjoy the dessert and then stood after she’d satisfactorily wiped her mouth. “This way,” he said with a flourish toward a door she hadn’t noticed before. It seemed to be in shadow, though the room was brightly lit.

He held the door open while she walked through. It took a moment before her eyes adjusted to the darkness within. She walked toward curtains that seemed to split the room in half. Where the fabric met, a bright slice of light shone. As she approached it, Gerian pulled it aside. On the other side were people. They were lined up against a wall under harsh light and looked confused, sad, anxious, and varying degrees of annoyed.

As her eyes further adjusted, she began to recognize some of them. The last one on the left was her gym teacher from junior high school, though Nusha had heard she’d died more than a decade ago. The one just to the right of center was a woman she’d worked for briefly after college. Amazingly, her own father, who she’d known only until she was six years old, was the second to last one on the right.

After several minutes, she realized she knew all of these people and they were all supposed to be dead. She turned to Gerian, who’d anticipated her questions.

“Yes, you know them. No, you’re not crazy. Time has little meaning here, so it was simple to bring them all together for this moment.”

Nusha looked at all of their faces in turn as she thought frantically about what this all could mean. She stepped forward out of the shadows. In doing so, the others could now see her. Some of them gasped. Others just looked at her, eyes wide. A few of them started to cry quietly. The woman she’d worked for after college started to bawl loudly. On her father’s face, there was no sign of recognition.

Nusha sucked in a breath and looked at Gerian. “This isn’t Nirvana or some other sort of heavenly place, is it?” He merely smiled blandly, eyes twinkling as they looked back at her.

“Am I in some sort of hell? What did I do? I wasn’t a bad person!” Gerian’s smile turned to an amused smirk.

She looked at the people again and it suddenly dawned on her that every one of them had done her wrong in some way. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait!”

She slowly paced back and forth along the lineup of people, then stopped, turning toward her host. “Am I… Am I their punishment?”

Gerian’s smirk deepened. He watched Nusha for a moment, clearly struggling with her thoughts, and then sighed dramatically.

“Yes, darling, you are their punishment,” he said, flapping his hand at her as her lips began to open. “No, you don’t have to do any actual physical punishment, if you don’t want to. If you do, please give me a moment to grab my popcorn.”

He looked at her expectantly. “No? Oh, well. Moving on! The objective here is to make these contemptible creatures regret their mistakes. Once you finish, you can go back to your life.”

Nusha staggered back into a column she hadn’t seen upon entering. She straightened and then relaxed against it, face pensive, for several long minutes. Her former employer, Laurie, started to beg her for mercy.

She looked at the pathetic fool. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered how she tormented her on the job. She also remembered crying in just such a manner when Laurie fired her over the phone when she’d been injured and unable to work after a car accident that hadn’t even been her fault. Nusha had also begged. Laurie had no mercy then.

“Let’s do this.”

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #9

Prompt:

You’ve bought an old chest of drawers and discover a piece of paper stuck inside. What is written on that piece of paper?

It should include a time machine. Also use the sentence ‘You’re an idiot.’ Bonus prompt: There seems to be no one left on the planet.

—————

Chania Timper checked her phone. 4:29. The delivery guys would be here in a minute. She’d purchased a chest of drawers from a strange little thrift shop she’d never seen before. Granted, she didn’t go to the Mussano Peak neighborhood often. The last time she was there, she was chasing what her best friend Trent called the “most perfectamous” baguette. She’d found the baguette, but it wasn’t all that.

The door buzzer sounded and she hit the button to allow access. She went out to the stairwell and looked down. She could see two people and just a corner of the chest. She recognized the lovely grain of the wood from two stories up. It had a sworl in it that shouldn’t exist. Trees just don’t grow like that, but it was real wood. The shop clerk, a twenty-something whose eyes had the cast of someone who’s seen much in their life, assured her it was a genuine antique made by hand.

She didn’t catch the name of the place where it was created, but it didn’t matter. The piece spoke to her and that’s all she needed. It would fit in with all of the other eclectic pieces of furniture and art that helped her express herself.

The delivery guys got to the second floor and she gave them a little wave. They eased it through the door and asked her where to put it. She directed them to the perfect spot in her bedroom, right under the window. They were very gentle with it and she thanked and tipped them well.

After they’d gone, she turned to go fill it with her favorite clothes when her phone rang.

She saw it was Trent and answered. They talked for a long time about the chest and his favorite subject: food. While they spoke, Chania prepared and ate a soup he described on the fly. They talked for a while longer and made plans to go to a medieval-themed festival the coming weekend.

By the time they got off the call, it was pretty late. Chania went into the bedroom and put a few items in the top drawer. She started to feel sleepier than she thought she’d been. She decided to put the rest of the clothes in the chest the next morning. On top, she put a framed photo of herself with her little brother, who’d passed away a few years ago. They’d just finished making pancakes from scratch in the photo. Every time she saw it, she smiled at how much flour had not gone into the bowl.

She threw on an old t-shirt of his in lieu of pajamas and slipped into bed. She was asleep in seconds and dreamt of that day in their mother’s kitchen.

—————

Chania woke as the sun hit her eyes. She realized she’d forgotten to draw the curtains and groaned. She tried throwing the covers over her head, but the blanket was lightweight for summer, so it was still bright.

She got up and went to close the curtains, but hesitated. Something wasn’t right. She looked around, but nothing in her bedroom seemed out of place. She looked through the window and down to the street. There wasn’t anyone down on the sidewalk nor cars in the street. Normal for early Sunday, she thought. She couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong.

She watched the street for a few more moments, thinking about the hot dog guy. He started serving “breakfast dogs” a few weeks ago and they were actually pretty good. She picked her phone up from the dresser, where she’d left it the night before. Too early for hot dog guy, she thought and decided to go for a jog and maybe bring back a coffee from that new shop a couple of blocks down the street.

She opened her closet, but was astonished to find it empty. She knew she’d been very tired last night, but she was sure she hadn’t put all of her clothes in the new chest of drawers. Doubting herself, she opened the top drawer and found only a pair of black jeans and some underwear.

She shut the drawer and opened the next one down, but it was empty. Well, empty except for a yellowed, old folded piece of paper jammed into the back joints. They must have missed it when the dresser was being readied for sale in the shop. She shut that drawer and yanked open the third just to be sure, but it was even emptier.

She went back to the second drawer and grabbed the note. It was really stuck back there, but she managed to rock it and get it out of the joint. It turned out to be three pages of thick note paper that looked like it was from a bygone era. Maybe WWII.

Opening the pages, the words she expected to see weren’t there. It was a diagram with geometric designs she’d never seen and some exponential numbers. The next page was a different diagram, this one with some words in what looked like German. The last page was text written in a fine script. Three blocks of text seemed to be written in different languages.The first two looked like German and French. She was relieved to discover the last one was English, as she’d only studied Spanish as a second language. She read it and dismissed it as nonsense.

Chania folded it back up and set it on top of the chest. She walked out into the living room and shrieked loudly. All of her furniture was gone. In their place were remnants of old, broken furniture; they were covered in a thick layer of dust. She dashed into the kitchen and found it similarly dilapidated.

She crossed to the front door and tried to open it. It groaned, but stayed shut. She twisted the knob again and gave it a mighty yank. It shrieked as loudly as she’d just done and then cracked open. Paint chips and dust showered down on her. She poked her head out and saw the building had aged something like a hundred years while she’d slept.

She noted that nobody had poked their heads out at her shrieking or the door opening loudly. It was as if nobody lived there anymore. She pulled her head back inside and shoved the door shut as best she could. It didn’t really fit back into the jamb, so she left it, turning instead toward her bedroom.

She could see her nice curtains from here and everything looked clean. She walked back into the room and it was like everything was okay, except for the rest of her apartment.

Considering that, she looked again and was surprised the street and surrounding buildings didn’t look more broken down and dusty. She pulled on the jeans that had been in the top drawer and pulled off her brother’s old t-shirt to put on one of the bras that had been in there, as well. She hadn’t placed one of her own tops in the chest, so she just put the t-shirt back on.

She grabbed her keys and then put them back on the chest. There was nobody around to lock out of her apartment.

Out in the hallway, she nearly fell through the floor when she put her weight on the first step down. Grabbing the railing, she pulled her foot out of the hole she’d just created. She tested the edges and gingerly made her way down both staircases to the ground floor.

Out on the street, she was again shocked. The street was dilapidated and old. The asphalt had cracked and tufts of grass had grown in with it before dying. The air was chill for summer and Chania wished she had a jacket.

She couldn’t fathom how the view from her window had been so different. She looked up at her building and marveled at how it was still standing. There were holes where most of the windows had been and the facing had come away in large chunks. A block away, she found what looked like the hot dog guy’s cart. It was practically smashed flat. She didn’t go far before going back up to the apartment.

Chania looked out her window again and couldn’t understand that the city looked like it had yesterday. It was green and everything was brightly colored. There weren’t any people, but everything else was fine. She even saw a couple of birds and a cat. It was like she was watching a very boring television show through her bedroom window. She decided she had to go figure out what had happened

She looked around at the rest of her things. Nothing that hadn’t been in or on the chest was still there. She saw a lump under the covers of her bed. She pulled them back and found her backpack. She’d forgotten to put it away. Inside it was a half-full bag of homemade granola she’d made for an outing, as well as a bottle of water, a tube of sunscreen, and a ball cap. Everything that was good for a trip to the farmer’s market, but maybe not enough for an apocalypse.

She picked up the bag and turned toward the chest of drawers. She stuffed the notes from the chest in her back pocket, along with her phone, though she wasn’t sure what she’d use the thing for. She looked at the photo and thought she’d better take it, just in case she didn’t return here. She packed it with the underwear inside the backpack, zipped it up, and went to the kitchen to top off her water.

She turned on the tap, but nothing happened. She sighed and looked around for other provisions. Nothing was in the cupboards. The fridge’s door was hanging by one hinge and nothing had been cold inside for a long time. She just left it all and carefully descended the stairs again.

She seemingly walked aimlessly around the city. She went into random buildings, finding more devastation. She did note there were no people, dead or living. The lack of bodies was curious and she felt like she was just having an elaborate dream.

About an hour later, she found herself in her old neighborhood. She walked a little more until she found the street she’d lived on with her mother and brother before they’d both passed away.

A couple of blocks later, she walked up the steps of her old house. The porch was only held up on one side. The other was almost a ramp to the second floor, though it was so full of holes, only a squirrel could venture up there without falling through.

Chania pushed open what was left of the door and entered; it was yet another ruined building. She looked around, conscious of the fact that the house had not been hers for long before this disaster happened. Other people would have been living here at the time of whatever catastrophe this devastation reflected.

She stepped over broken furniture and bits of ceiling plaster and made her way to her old bedroom, somehow compelled to see how it, too, had fallen. She had just entered the upstairs hallway when she heard a crashing sound. Chania screamed. She looked around and saw dust billowing out of what would have been her brother’s room.

She covered her nose and mouth with the top of the t-shirt she was wearing and waded through the debris. When she looked through the door to the room, she initially didn’t see anything, but then saw a big hole and the kitchen below.

The biggest shock of her life came next. Emerging from beneath a pile of rubble was her brother. The one who’d been dead for three and a half years. She gaped at him, trying to understand what was happening. Then he looked up. Their eyes locked and he said, “Sis? Thank the universe you’re here! I can’t find anyone and everything is broken.”

She continued to stare. He was the same age as when he’d died. He looked full of health and strong. “Stefan?” she squeaked out finally.

“Why are you staring so hard, Chania? Come down here already, would you? I can’t find Mom.”

She stepped back from the hole and nearly tripped on an aluminum baseball bat. She looked at it. The handle wraps had rotted off, but it could be a good weapon. She wasn’t sure why she’d need a weapon, but if her brother could be alive, somebody else could be, too.

She stuffed it into the backpack, handle end sticking out and put the bag on her back. Downstairs, she stopped in the entrance to the kitchen and looked at her brother dusting himself off. He stood up and opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed up and gave him the biggest hug she could manage.

“Hey!” he said, startled. “You’ll break me!” When she didn’t let up, he pushed her away and held her at arm’s length. “What is going on? You never hug me. Hey, did you cut your hair?”

She shook her head. Her vision started to blur as her eyes teared up. She pulled up the t-shirt again to wipe her eyes when he noticed what she was wearing.

“Hey! Why are you wearing my favorite Star Wars shirt?!”

Chania looked down at herself and started giggling. Her brother just stared, mouth open. He stepped back as she started laughing huge guffaws. Finally, her laughter turned to sobs.

“Wait,” Stefan said, hands outstretched. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Chania turned and ran through the front door. Once outside, she sat on the curb and sucked in huge breaths as she tried to calm down. One thought kept running through her head: He’s alive.

A few moments later, she heard sneakers running up behind her. She turned and was somehow surprised again to see her brother, in the flesh.

“What gives?” he demanded, his brows nearly knitted together. “Why’d you run?”

She stood up and took a deep breath before turning to him. “You’ve been dead for over three years, that’s what!”

His lips twisted in amusement. “Sure, I have. I’m totally dead.”

“You’re an idiot. Don’t you think there’s a lot that’s odd about what’s happening?” Chania said. “I mean, everything is old and broken. I woke up in my apartment and everything but my bedroom had turned old.”

“Your apartment? Wha-” he started as she kept talking over him.

“There was no food or anything. My clothes were almost all gone and I wouldn’t have this backpack if it hadn’t been in my bed, even though I have no idea how that works!”

She kept going for a few minutes, telling him about her journey through the ruined city to here. He absorbed only a few things she said, however, as his mind was reeling from the revelation that she thought he’d been dead for three years and she had her own apartment now. Just yesterday, she’d been living at home with him and their mom.

“So, that’s what’s happening,” she said. “Do you know what’s going on?”

He shook his head and turned away from her. She started to speak again, but he held up his finger in a ‘one sec’ kind of way, so she waited. When he turned back, he had one question: “Where’s Mom?” He saw her face fall and knew. “She’s dead. How?”

Chania took a breath. “She died in the same car crash you did.” Her eyes watched as the pain of loss darkened his features. He didn’t cry, but only stared, mouth working a bit as he silently repeated, she’s dead.

She let him sit down and absorb the information and let her own mind wander. Some things - many things - didn’t add up, here.

After several minutes, she said, “Stefan? Do you remember where you were when you woke up? Were you in bed?”

Startled, he started to nod, “Well, yea-, wait, no. I woke up falling through the ceiling into the kitchen. I remember seeing the hole first thing and then I hit the floor. Hm.” His eyebrows continued scrunching together.

His sister sat down next to him and made the sound he was fond of hearing when he imagined the gears of her brain were turning. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking all of this has to do with the chest of drawers I bought yesterday. It had a weird note in it and only stuff I’d put on it or in it, along with my bed and everything on it, survived this disaster.”

“So?”

She opened the backpack and pulled out the photo. “You’re in this photo with me and we’re the only people who seem to be alive.”

“Whoa! We just made pancakes yesterday. When did you have time to get it printed out?”

“A lot of time has passed since this day, bro,” she said, shaking her head. “I moved in with Grandpa and he sold our old house and put it into a fund. I moved out after I got a job and I’m using the fund money to go to college, or I was. I guess college is dust now, too.”

Stefan looked at the photo for a long time. Then he handed it back to her and stood up. “Let’s go.”

She put the photo back inside the pack and said, “Where?”

“To your apartment, no, wait. Let me see the note you were talking about.”

Silently, wondering where this was going, but open to anything at this point, she pulled the note papers out of her pocket and handed them to him.

He looked at them for a long time before he said, “Did you read the back page?”

“Yeah, some fantasy nonsense to do with time travel.”

“Maybe not so much nonsense,” he said. “Somehow, this paper has something to do with bringing us both forward in time, but that doesn’t make sense. If I’m dead, it would have to be the past.”

“The chest of drawers,” she said.

“What?”

“The chest of drawers,” she said with more emphasis. “The note was inside, jammed in the back of the second drawer. I pulled it out this morning before I discovered the apocalypse, but didn’t really believe it.” She suddenly zipped the bag back up, stood and hoisted it onto her back. “We have to go there.”

Stefan followed her lead. Ideas whirled in his mind. He couldn’t figure out why the world looked like this or why there weren’t other people. If he was dead and this was some kind of post-apocalyptic era, how could they be here together?

When they got to the building, she showed him how to climb the rotten steps. They got up to the apartment and he followed as she went directly to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway as she went around the room, as though looking for something.

Chania was relieved to find it hadn’t changed. She looked over at her impossibly alive brother and said, pointing, “Come here. Look out the window.”

Not knowing what to expect, he gingerly approached and looked out the window. He gasped aloud. “How the hell? That’s not what it looks like down there!”

“I know! I think it has something to do with this chest,” she said, looking down and stroking the smooth top of the old dresser.

Stefan looked out the window again and pointed, “Hey! There’s someone there!”

Chania looked up and squeaked. “That’s the hot dog guy!”

His quizzical look prompted her to explain. “That’s the guy who sells breakfast hot dogs downstairs in front of the park almost every morning. Regular ones, too, but the breakfast dogs are new.”

“Okay, that’s weird, but okay.”

Chania suddenly leaned over and hoisted the window up so she could yell down below, but when it opened, the scene changed. It was just as they’d left it a few minutes ago. There wasn’t a hot dog guy. There was only the smashed-up cart and all the debris around it.

Chania screamed in frustration. Stefan tapped her arm. She moved aside and watched as he put the window back down. The scene changed back to the bucolic street, empty save for the hot dog guy starting to set up his cart.

“What. The. Hell?” she said, voice rising. “I-. What the hell are we looking at, Stef?”

“Sis, I think we’re looking at the past. I don’t know how I came back from the dead or how this window works, but this looks like something that’s happening, but not now.”

They stood there for several minutes just watching the hot dog guy. The man put blocks around the wheels so it wouldn’t roll. He then took out a pack of hot dog shaped objects and put them into the warmer and turned it on. Then he set out the condiments and brought out a little old fashioned cash register. Finally, he unfurled and opened the broad umbrella that kept the summer sun off him as he worked.

Shaking herself, she finally asked, “What is it we’re supposed to see? I mean, he probably won’t have customers for a little while. It’s still early.”

“I suspect we’re about to find out,” her brother said. She looked at him and saw worry wrinkles around his young eyes.

They both watched for a while longer. Chania hoped to see some people come out and do normal things, like walk their dogs or stop at the hot dog cart. After a few minutes, though, they saw a great flash of light that seemed to encompass everything. It partially blinded them for a few seconds. There was no sound at all, like one might expect from an explosion.

When their vision cleared, they saw the world on fire. Chania saw an SUV barrel up the street, too fast and out of control. It hit and then rolled over the hot dog cart and continued into the park. The hot dog guy was nowhere to be seen. The SUV kept charging down the gentle slope of the park and only stopped when it smashed into a tree.

Nobody was about. The people had disappeared. Chania gasped and then started crying. Stefan just stood there, shaking. After watching for several more minutes, it became apparent that they’d just witnessed the event that made the world the way it is, though they were no closer to an answer to the mystery of what it was.

Stefan moved to the edge of the bed and sat down. He pulled the note papers from his pocket and looked at them again. Pointing to one passage, he looked up and said, “This part here, listen: ‘The chest is used by placing objects in it. Otherwise it sits inert, unmoving. Once objects are inside, the events will manifest.’”

Chania shrugged. “That just sounds like instructions for an idiot on how to use a chest of drawers.” She hesitated. “But wait, ‘events will manifest’? What events would you expect from putting clothes in a drawer?”

Stefan stood up and paced back and forth. Chania took his place on the edge of the bed and watched him trying to figure out the note.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, go with me, here. Somehow the maker of this dresser knew what was going to happen. Maybe he even set it up to happen. He planned this with someone else. Maybe it was a doomsday device that was supposed to destroy a city.”

“Like we did to Hiroshima?”

He pointed emphatically, “Yes! Exactly like that, but somehow magically.”

She scoffed and he put his hand up to stop her. His face was deadly serious. She shut her mouth and listened.

“It must be magical or something, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, right? I mean, I’m sure it’s science, in some way. Magic is only what we don’t understand yet.”

Chiana struggled not to smile, though she was very glad to see her science-nerd brother doing his thing again. She nodded encouragingly.

“So, we know that the last page is a Rosetta stone-like translation page. It seems like instructions for whoever would be setting it off. The makers didn’t know which language the bomber would speak, so they put it in three languages. It looks like German first, then French, and lastly, English.”

“I thought the paper and the ink looked kind of old,” Chania said. “It gives me WWII vibes. Plus, there’s the diagrams and symbols. I could swear that tiny one in the corner is a swastika.”

Stefan looked closer and agreed it could be, though it was really very tiny. “So,” he said finally, “why wasn’t it set off during the war? How did it get here? Why hasn’t it been set off accidentally before?”

His sister’s eyes unfocused. She tried to puzzle it out. Then she slapped her leg. “The clothes and the picture!”

He shrugged and shook his head at the same time, hands out to his sides. She explained. “When I bought it from this thrift shop I hadn’t seen before, I thought the person working there was a little weird about it. They seemed only concerned with this chest of drawers. In fact, only this piece was clean and polished.”

“What does that even mean?” Stefan said, annoyance coloring his voice.

“Listen, you little dipshit,” falling back into old sibling patter like when they were kids. “What if it was a setup? What if that guy had been waiting for the right time and place and sold it to me so I’d set off the apocalypse? It was a really good price and delivery was free, even though I lived several miles away.”

“So?” Stephan said. “A lot of things get free delivery.”

“Not anymore, kiddo,” she said. “A lot of things happened while you were gone.”

“Don’t call me ‘kiddo’! I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not that much younger than you.”

Chania dipped her head down. “I’m sorry, yeah, you have.” She took a breath. “What if, to make things happen with this thing, it had to do with where to put stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, setting off the apocalypse could have been its endgame, but instead, it pushed me into the future - me and my dead brother! Why is there a time travel aspect?”

“Does it matter? How do we fix it, if we can?” Stefan sat down beside his sibling.

“I put your picture on top of the chest after I put clothes in the top drawer. What if the clothes were to set off the disaster, but putting things on top caused the time travel?”

“I won’t pretend to understand this, but what do you want to do?”

Chania picked up the bag and rummaged in it for a bit. Then she pulled out the photo and placed it inside the top drawer and shut it.

Stefan scoffed. “What’s that supposed to do?”

“If I’m right, it’ll reverse the apocalypse and bring us back in time.”

“Okay, but in your time, I’m dead,” Stefan said slowly. “I might not make it - again.”

Chania’s throat constricted and tears stung her eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just leave things as they are.”

“One probo, sister of mine,” he said with a wry smile. “There’s no food and I don’t think we can trust the water. It would be better if we tried to save the world instead of starving to death in what’s left of it.”

Her face fell as she realized this truth. He held her while she sobbed into his shoulder.

After a while, she sat up again and said, “I don’t want to lose you again, but I also don’t want to watch us both die.”

“What do we do?” Stefan asked softly.

Chania sniffed and wiped her eyes. “We go to sleep. When we wake up - if we wake up, or I wake up, we’ll see what’s happened.”

The siblings were exhausted, so sleep came easily after they laid down side by side, holding hands like small children.

—————

Chania awoke as the sun hit her eyes. She thought, I’m back in my apartment. Is Stefan, too?

She looked over to her left and found the space next to her was empty. She shook from the sobs that overcame her.

When she sat up to blow her nose, she found her old alarm clock where her tissue box should be. She wiped her eyes with her shirt and looked around. She was in her old bedroom and it wasn’t ruined.

She popped out of bed and looked around again. Everything was as it was the day they made pancakes. She looked down and saw she was wearing the purple pajamas she’d worn that morning.

Tearing open the door, she jumped across the hall and crashed through her brother’s door. He was already up and standing, amazed, in the middle of his also-not-ruined room. They locked eyes and screamed, “Aaaaahhhh!”

From downstairs, a voice called, “Would you two please stop screaming into this ‘void’ you keep talking about and come downstairs?”

“Mom!” Chania said breathlessly. “She’s alive!” She turned to run downstairs, but Stefan caught her arm and stopped her.

“What?” she said, annoyed. “Let me go!”

“We’re back before everything,” he said emphatically. When she didn’t seem to get it, he said, “This means we can stop all the bad stuff.”

Chania finally relaxed and nodded. “Okay, but first, pancakes with Mom. Then, we cancel the plans to go camping.”

“What? Why? We’ve been planning that trip for months!”

“It’s when you two died.”

“But you were supposed to go. What happened?”

“I broke my leg in a bicycle accident the week before and had to stay with Grandpa while you two went.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, camping is off and so is bike riding for you. Let’s go see Mom.”

Chania got there first and bear-hugged her mother as hard as when she’d seen her brother in the future.

They made up a story as to why they didn’t want to go camping, which their mother accepted. She never wanted to go in the first place, but didn’t want to spoil their fun.

Years later, Chania and Stefan went to the thrift store on the day Chania would have purchased the fateful chest of drawers and did just that.

Instead of getting it delivered, they’d rented a truck, which they drove to an isolated, empty lot in the country and burned the chest of drawers to ashes, notes and all. They didn’t care how it worked. They were only happy that the world didn’t end and they had each other.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #8

Prompt: This story involves a geeky shapeshifter, a cave, some tools, and a discovery.

—————

Dana Moore was going home when they saw a strange happening. Someone they know just slipped into the rock wall of a cliff. There was no door or opening of any kind. They saw the guy who always sits in the seat farthest right of the last row of their cultural anthropology class just disappear into the rock face.

They stopped and looked for a long time, but nothing happened. They decided they were just tired after the stress of midterms and were seeing things. Going home, however, the thought wouldn’t leave their mind.

At exactly 3:23 am, Dana sat straight up in bed and realized they weren’t crazy and that guy had actually slipped into the rock wall. They got up and put on a t-shirt reading “Wookie of the Year” and a pair of shorts and ran out the door. They lived only a few blocks from the rock wall.

Often used as a harmless place for graffiti, the wall was currently covered in three-quarters of a mural featuring horses riding rocket bikes. The other quarter looked like it had been the subject of a paint roller and some drab gray paint. The person using it must have gotten tired or bored to death and went home.

Dana looked closely at the wall and realized what had awoken them mid-dream: between two of the horses on rocket bikes was a dark rectangle that sort of looked like a barn in the background, but now that they were looking more closely, they saw that it was an actual door. It was painted expertly to blend in with the scene.

They had to admire the craftsmanship and cleverness of its placement. They never would have seen that had whatshisname hadn’t been going through it when they happened to be looking that way.

Stepping forward, Dana gently touched the door and let their finger slide downward on it. It wasn’t wood or metal. They were a little amazed to discover it was an expertly crafted resin door. It really seemed to have the same texture as the surrounding rock.

Next, they pushed on the door. It gave much more easily than they thought it would. There was no knob, so likely no latch, so they kept pushing until they could slide inside and close the door behind them. They looked around and realized they were in a small cave.

There were shelves and tables and benches - all carved out of the rock. On the far wall, Dana saw a chisel and hammer, along with some other tools, sitting next to what looked like it would become perhaps a television stand.

They went through a natural arch into another room of the cave. In here were a bed and some clothes hanging on a rack. They started to feel like they were creeping around someone’s house without permission.

Suddenly, they heard the door scrape open and then shut. Panicking, Dana squeezed under the bed and waited.

Footsteps sounded on the rock floor. Dana saw with horror that the feet were taking off their shoes and getting undressed. What if he sees me? they thought. They tried to shrink back as far under the bed as they could, but it wasn’t far, as there was a small pile of rocks shoved up against the wall under there.

The feet moved away and then came back. A weight pushed down on Dana from above and they realized the guy was sitting on the bed. They could hear him taking small stuff out of his pockets. Coins jingled together as they were placed on the bedside table carved from rock.

Dana gasped when a tube of lip balm suddenly dropped on the floor and rolled toward them. The weight disappeared from above and they realized the guy was coming after his lip balm. He’ll see me!

A very strange feeling came over Dana just then. They felt like their skin was tightening and hardening. They stopped breathing and stayed very still.

The guy bent down and looked under the bed. Dana was sure he could see them, but he merely grabbed the lip balm and stood back up. They would have exhaled, had they been able to inhale in the first place. They had no idea what was going on.

They stayed that way as the guy from class got into bed and fell asleep.

When Dana could hear him snoring, they decide to leave as quietly as possible. Their skin was suddenly flexible again and they could breathe again. They were so confused, but anxious to leave.

They shimmied out from under the bed, quieter than a mouse, and hurried out the door. When they were halfway home, they happened to notice their hand felt strange.

Dana held up their hand and nearly screamed when they realized it was made of stone. They shook their arm and pushed at the stoniness on their skin. Nothing made it come off.

Just then, a police car rolled around a corner at the far end of the short street. Dana felt fear rise up their back like a helium-filled balloon going skyward. Suddenly not wanting to appear interesting, they turned down an alley that led to their neighbor’s back yard. Once behind the house, they caught sight of their hand and were astonished to see that it was pliable flesh again. There was no sign it was ever stony; it wasn’t even dusty.

When the neighbor’s dog started to bark, they hurried along the access alley the city environmental trucks use to get to the garbage cans on Tuesdays. They slipped into their back yard, unlocking the back door and going inside in a hurry.

They took off their shoes and ran up the carpeted stairs in a hurry, hoping not to awaken their roommates. Once in their room, they turned on the light and examined every part of themself. Nothing stood out.

They stood in front of their bathroom mirror and just stared at their own face. Out of the blue, a car backfired and suddenly, Dana saw themself disappear. They shrieked involuntarily. They would have kept shrieking over and over, but then they realized they hadn’t disappeared so much as transformed into a perfect facsimile of the door behind them.

The sudden realization caused them to go back to their normal form: Brown hair, hazel eyes, oval face, five-foot eight-inch narrow frame, and both stubby-fingered hands made of flesh and blood.

Dana couldn’t come up with any other conclusion than they were a shapeshifter and tonight was the night the ability manifested.

Suddenly, the wookie on their t-shirt seemed more made of reality than their thoughts, so they went to bed, determined to put their theory to the test in the morning.

That was going to be a fun time.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #7

A prompt from Love, Death, & Robots creator Tim Miller and supervising director Jennifer Yuh Nelson:

Write or draw something that seems normal…

until it isn’t.

----------

Tarja is on the way to the grocery store, but he’s peeved about it. His mom should have gotten the cabbage yesterday when she went shopping. She should be going out to get it, not interrupting his D&D session with his friends online.

Scuffing his shoes as he walks, he sees his reflection suddenly in a puddle of water. He shoves his unruly black hair out of his face and straightens up a little. He looks around to see if anyone caught him being vain, but nobody’s there.

The street is nice and quiet right now, meaning Mrs. Tan isn’t sitting outside, critiquing the neighbor kids’ clothing or how they wear their hair. The trash truck is gone and the dogs all seem to be napping. There is the odd group of kids, playing basketball with an improvised hoop tacked up on a telephone pole. Then there’s Mr. Tandy’s violin student, who actually seems to be getting better. The sound isn’t quite like a cat in heat anymore.

He gets down to the corner and turns left. As he walks along the new street, he ends up in his own head, going over some of the scenarios of the game.

He looks up from the sidewalk just in time to see a white cat cross his path. He thinks it’s weird, as he’s lived in this neighborhood for all of his 19 years and he’s never seen a cat so white around here and hasn’t heard of anyone moving. He shrugs mentally. Cats are pretty weird, so who knows where it came from, though it’s pretty strange that the cat has one black paw. It reminds him of Mrs. Paulson’s cat. Mister Muffin is black with one pure white paw on the same leg as this one.

He just gets past the little apartment building that only has six units when he notices the building is a slightly lighter color of brown. He stops and stares. He’s heard of colors fading in the sun, but never so uniformly - or fast. It was darker just two days ago and it doesn’t look like new paint. He stands there for several minutes, trying to process this when one of the neighborhood kids comes tearing around the corner on his bike, headed back to his house. Over his shoulder, the kid yells something indistinct. He seems scared.

Tarja shakes himself and continues toward the little store on the corner just a few blocks away.

He’s nearly there when he smells something strange. He can’t quite place it, but it seems to be related to some pale mist or smoke that’s coming out of a big truck’s tailpipe. He knows pale exhaust means something is really wrong with an engine, but it sounds just fine as it pulls away. The smell sticks around after it’s gone, so he looks around for the source.

After a moment, he sees a puddle of something cream-colored. He thinks it’s probably the proverbial spilled milk, though it doesn’t smell like milk - spoiled or otherwise.

He goes in the store and looks for the owner, Lani Orrison. When he can’t find her, he goes up to the clerk, who’s unfamiliar, and asks where Lani is.

“Who?” the clerk says.

“You know, Lani, your boss?” he says. The clerk just looks at him with knitted brows and tightening lips. “The owner? Lani Orrison?”

“I’m the owner, wise guy,” the clerk says. “Who are you, anyway? Haven’t seen you around here before. How would you know who own this place, anyway?” His voice rises as he finishes the last question.

“I - I’m sorry,” Tarja stammers, not wanting to piss off the large gentleman who said he owned the place. “I just wanted to tell her - ah, just mention that there’s a puddle of some weird, white stuff outside that smells suspicious. That’s all.”

“Weird white stuff? You mean the oil leak? That’s been there for a week. My supplier was supposed to come fix that. What’s so weird about it? It’s not even dirty, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

Tarja doesn’t know how to process this information. Oil? What does he mean, oil? Oil isn’t white, he thinks. He decides to drop it, as he’s extremely worried that this guy will rearrange his face if he keeps pressing. He can practically feel the heat coming off the guy.

He decides to just buy the cabbage and go home. When he gets to the produce aisle, however, the cabbage is a weird peach color. He’s never seen cabbage that color and wonders if it’s safe to eat. He’s about to go ask the guy about the funny color, but he stops himself.

He doesn’t want to bother him again and, besides, the colors of everything seem off.

He starts to look around - really look around - and discovers other things that are weird, not just the colors. The produce bins, which are normally a green plastic, are painted yellow wood. And the prices look like they have numbers on them, but they only look like that from a distance. Up close, the symbols are pretty different.

He goes to another aisle and sees the cans of tomatoes on the shelves right were they always are, but they’re square and the lettering of the label is just a bit wrong. At least they’re still red, he thinks. He backs up and bumps into a woman pushing a cart with a little kid in it. The cart has inflatable tires and it’s their quiet operation that caused him to not notice it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and veers off down another aisle.

He scans the shelves of skin care products, but doesn’t really see them. He gets to the makeup section and realizes that makeup comes in different colors, anyway, so it wouldn’t seem strange. Then he catches a look at himself in one of those little mirrors with a handle, hanging on its post and stops dead.

He feels like he can’t breathe. His mouth opens and closes to no avail. His eyes are riveted on the image in the mirror. He knows he should see himself, and he does, but not quite. His cheeks are softer - the edges of his jaw seem, well, gone. His nose is a bit shorter and his lips are a bit fuller. He reaches up and touches his ears and finds they’re as small as they look. He finally reaches the end of his oxygen and sucks in a deep, heaving breath.

That’s when he notices something else. When he breathes, he can see his chest - without looking down. He lets his hands drop from his ears and hesitates just below his collarbone and then touches his chest right where his pectoral muscles should be.

His hands press on soft, yielding flesh. He pulls his hands away in a hurry and looks down. Breasts!

He suddenly can’t breathe again. His mouth opens and closes as fast as a fish that’s just been pulled out of a stream.

All of his thoughts are a jumble of strange colors and shapes. He notices the edges of his vision are growing darker and then he faints dead away.

When he comes to, he finds the clerk/owner bent over him, along with the woman he bumped into. The little kid is pointing at him from the cart seat and babbling.

“Ma’am?” the clerk says, eyebrows knit together again, but slightly higher on his face. “Are you all right? You fainted.”

The woman takes off her sweater and starts to bundle it into a pillow. “Here, let’s get your head off the linoleum, hon.”

Tarja sits up suddenly, causing a mighty pain in his head and looks down at himself again. He finds that he’s still, well, female. He screams. It comes out in a high pitch he’s never heard himself utter. He jumps to his feet and bolts out of the store and into oncoming traffic. 

The truck driver never saw her.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #6

Prompt: Write a story about someone who is really good at something they hate: magician.

—————

Lance Rivers needed to pay his rent, but his job doesn’t pay enough to afford the big rise in rents. He can’t go to his mom. She’s having hard times, too. His father left when he was still in diapers and all of his rich relatives, well, don’t exist.

He stood before the Magia Real magic shop and just stared at the door. He really didn’t want to become homeless, considering the high summer temperatures and the bugs and occasional snakes. He hated performing magic, but the job pays well, especially this place. It helps that he speaks some Spanish, as most of the clientele are Spanish speakers.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and screamed internally. Then he exhaled as slowly as he could and entered the shop. The place was nicely dark, so he had to wait while his eyes adjusted, but that didn’t prevent the shop’s owner from seeing him first.

“Hola, Lance!” bellowed Jorge Vélez. “Have you reconsidered my offer? Will you do magic for your favorite Tío Jorge?”

Lance smiled wanly. “You’re the only Tío Jorge I know.” He’s not his uncle, but he doesn’t want to make the man sad. He’s known his mother’s brother’s “best friend” since he was little. He’s pretty sure his actual uncle and Jorge really are together, but they hide it because of family who can’t handle it. So, until they decide to come out to everyone, he’s just his jokey pretend uncle.

“I know you don’t really like magic, mijo, but it’s a good job!” Jorge said. “You don’t have to use heavy tools or disgusting chemicals and it’s not dangerous.”

Lance snorts. “Are you sure? Kids are dangerous beasts, tío. And they’re pretty gross, too.”

Jorge chuckles and puts an arm around Lance’s shoulders. “Come, I made menudo and the bread is about to come out of the oven.”

At the mention of food, he stomach growled deeply. Jorge boomed out another laugh and led him into the apartment behind the shop.

The soup was perfect, as usual. The tripe was super tender and the cilantro fresh. When the bread came out, Lance sniffed it with great pleasure. Jorge smiled. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.

The younger man looked up at Jorge and said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home cooked meal, tío. Things have been tough.”

“Is that why you’re here, mijo? You’re broke?”

“I’m not completely broke - just somewhat broke,” Lance said through a bite of the soft bread. “I need to pay rent tomorrow and my job doesn’t give me enough hours or pay.”

Jorge grunted in sympathy. They ate in silence for a little while before he said, “Why don’t you quit that job at the grocery store and come work for me full time? I know you don’t like magic -”

“No, tío, I hate magic. We talked about this.”

Jorge sighed his biggest disapproving sigh. “Well,” he said after a few moments, “I would pay you well and give you all the hours you need, so think about it, okay?”

Lance swallowed and got up. He walked over to the cabinet and got his favorite cup out - one of a dog who solves mysteries with the help of his platypus friend - and helps himself to some iced tea from the fridge.

As he sat down, he makes a decision. “Okay, I’m going to tell you something, tío. I told you I hate magic, but not why. Do you want to know?”

Jorge nodded.

“I can’t take this back if I tell you and you can’t tell anyone,” Lance said with an edge to his voice. He relaxed the furrows in his brow a bit and added, “Except Uncle Kenton. I suppose you don’t keep secrets from him.”

Jorge’s eyes opened wide. “Why would you say that?” He picked up a towel and started to fold it into thirds, unfolded it and folded it again.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Do you agree to my terms?”

When Jorge nodded, he said, “I hate magic because, for me at least, magic is real. Not that I believe in it a lot. I mean it’s real, real.”

He let that hang in the air for a moment and stared unblinkingly into the other man’s eyes. To his credit, Jorge didn’t laugh. His mouth worked a bit and he looked somewhat befuddled, but he didn’t laugh.

After he thought about it for a bit, Jorge said, “But wouldn’t that make it better for you and not worse?”

Lance looked down at his hands, twisting them a bit, and then shook his head. “It makes it worse, because along with being able to do fun tricks, I’m also able to hear everyone’s thoughts and understand what they’re going to do next.”

Jorge opened his mouth again, but shut it just as fast. He didn’t understand, but he wanted to be supportive of his nephew.

The younger man nodded and explained. “The things people think are a messy jumble, but sometimes I hear their kinky secrets and  their grocery lists and weird ideas about how other people think of them. I know what some of them are planning and some of it isn’t good.”

Jorge had no words. He just let him talk at his own pace. He had questions, but he held them for now.

After several minutes he said, voice shaking slightly, “ Sometimes I have to relive memories that aren’t mine - bad memories, sex memories, terrifying memories - and I don’t want to know them in the first place!”

Lance sighed and wiped the tears that started to trace down his cheeks. Telling someone this felt good, but it was also scary to feel these emotions. He didn’t like being vulnerable in front of people.

Jorge pulled his chair around and hugged the boy. Lance let him. They sat like that until Lance stopped crying. He sat up and Jorge put his chair back on the other side of the table.

“Mijo, have you ever told anyone this? Maybe someone can give you medication for it.”

“It isn’t an illness, tío, “I went to a psychiatrist before and they put me on anti-psychotic meds. They didn’t work, so I stopped taking them and went to a Buddhist temple. I learned how to meditate and keep the magic away.”

Jorge went to the fridge and got the tea carafe out. He refilled Lance’s glass and got himself a glass.

Lance looked at Jorge and relaxed his mind a bit. Just as he thought, he doubted him and wondered how to get him back on his meds.

“Jorge, I know you think I’m just nuts, but it’s real. I can prove it.”

Lance stood up and turned around. “Take an object - quietly - and put it someplace. Don’t tell me where or what. When you’re done, tell me.”

Jorge started to protest, but Lance waved his arm up and down. “Please, tío! I need you to believe me.”

The older man went to the silverware drawer and quietly withdrew a single bamboo chopstick. He walked over to the fridge and put it behind the golden pothos he kept on top. Then he said down and said, “Okay. I put something.”

Lance turned around, went directly over to the plant and removed the chopstick. He turned to Jorge and said, “You were thinking how you loved that time we went to Golden Noodle Palace - just you, me, and Uncle K. You bought these chopsticks because Uncle K loved the lotus design on the sides.”

Jorge gasped. His mind turned and churned as he tried to puzzle this out. Lance really was magical! he thought.

The younger man nodded and sat down, fingering the gold-plated carving of the utensil. There was utter silence for ten solid minutes before Jorge slapped his palm down on the table, startling Lance.

“Well, that’s no reason to not perform illusions, mijo! We have to go back to the temple!”

Lance stammered a bit while watching Jorge grab his straw fedora and jam it on his head.

“Don’t sit there jabbering - let’s go! We have to get them to help you push back the magic while you perform. Wait a minute!” Jorge stopped and turned, pointing at Lance.

“Does this mean you don’t know how to do the tricks? Have you always been able to do all of them magically?”

Lance’s face stiffened at the suggestion for a second and then relaxed. “No, tío, I know how to do those things like you do. You taught me how to do them before I had the magic.”

Jorge sighed happily. My legacy is secure, he thought. Then he said aloud while shooing Lance out the door, “Good! Wait, when did you get the magic? Tell me everything.”

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #5

Prompt: Since FTL was invented, people like you were tasked with intercepting previously departed slower than light ships to upgrade their systems and redirect their course. You were often met with some grumbling and frustration, but you never met people who refuse the upgrade like this latest ship.

Source: @writing-prompt-s and submitted by @coldbrewblooded

—————

For a long time in human history, traveling at speeds faster than light was a mere dream and the source of many rich fantasy stories. Eventually, scientists found the key to traveling so quickly, though it was decades after many humans had already left the planet seeking something better.

Some of these were on generation ships designed to house humans from birth to death, reproducing on the way so that the descendants of the original crew could eventually be delivered to a new, unoccupied planet. Others were using new cryostasis technology that would deliver the ship’s original crew to such a planet, unaged. This technology, however, had not been tested thoroughly and it was unclear the crew would survive.

Zanadia Lark accepted a position in the Intergalactic Travel Commission’s retrofit division, which, to her at least, sounded like boring mechanic work in a space dock. It was a bit more involved than that, however. She was assigned to a crew that used its FTL-equipped ship to catch up to the older ships and retrofit their engines in order that they may reach their destinations faster. The retrofit was free, as promised to them when they purchased the licenses needed to use the exit port at the Lunar Space Gate.

Her retrofit crew, aboard the Mercury, were tasked with intercepting the ships that had been out the longest. Other crews had reached the very first ships to leave and reported few problems with mid-transport retrofitting activities, though there was one incident that resulted in total loss of both the retrofit ship and its client. What little information reached the commission indicated some resistance to the retrofit, but didn’t include specifics.

Zanadia’s ship was the third such crew to be launched. On their first assignment, the crew of the Sova were using the first generation of cryostasis technology. This ship was prioritized because of recently discovered glitches that could prevent the stasis pods from releasing their crew.

Zana, as many of the crew called her, was the first technician with training in psychology and negotiation skills. These skills were not necessary on this assignment, as the artificial intelligence installed on the Sova was completely compliant to her requests. After the engine upgrade, the crew were awakened without incidence and they continued on their way.

The second assignment was more complicated. It was a generation ship that had managed to avoid contact with another retrofit crew. The previous crew was running out of supplies and couldn’t take more time to wait for a reply.

The generation ship, called the Ascension, likewise didn’t reply to the Mercury’s hails. After consultation with the commission, they were given permission to dock and enter. After getting inside, they headed toward the bridge.

As soon as they got out of the docking area, however, they were confronted by some of the Ascension’s crew members - with weapons. With no other choice, they allowed themselves to be put in a detainment area and waited for the captain to arrive.

“Why have you intruded on our journey?” the captain demanded a little while later without even a greeting.

Zana stood and opened her mouth to speak, but was immediately drowned out by the captain’s tirade into the fact that this ship is sovereign territory and the Mercury had no right to dock. Zana waited patiently until the older woman stopped to take a breath.

“Captain, I understand you view this as an intrusion,” she began. She put up a hand when she saw the captain’s mouth begin to move again. “If you’ll allow me to speak, perhaps I can explain our purpose.”

“Oh, I know your purpose, young one,” she said with a lofty tone. “You want to change our ship - to ‘upgrade’ it when there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Zana nodded. “Yes, we are here to upgrade it - as instructed by the Intergalactic Travel Commission.” The captain bristled again. Zana continued in a rush. “This upgrade, as promised by the commission, will make your ship’s engines capable of faster-than-light speed, so you can reach your destination sooner. The generational nature of your journey is no longer necessary. All of you can reach your new planet without having to live out your years in transit.”

The captain seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she said, “While I understand you were sent out with a task, I wish to reject the promised upgrades. I’m not required to accept them am I?

The question caught Zana off guard. Why wouldn’t they want to go faster? she thought. The captain seemed to hear the thought, so she explained.

“The purpose of this ship is so that we can start a new civilization. One free from the influences of previous civilizations.”

“Excuse me if I’m misunderstanding, but I thought that was the goal of every ship that left Earth in the past several decades,” Zana said.

“Perhaps that’s what they say, but by design, our generations are to learn about how to be a civilization without any examples or even knowledge of our time on Earth,” the captain said. “By the time we reach the new planet, our descendants will be starting fresh, with no foul notions from the old generations.”

“But without context,” Zana asked, genuinely curious, “how will your descendants know how to proceed? Reinventing everything?”

The captain’s face seemed aglow as she replied, “That is the point. If we are dead and our ideas far removed from those of Earth - even well-meaning information - our great-great-grandchildren will make everything anew. In this way, we hope to avoid the horrors of what happened on our home planet.”

Zana thought about this for a few moments. The elder woman allowed her the time. Finally, Zana said, “How will you ensure they won’t make the same mistakes?”

“We cannot ensure such a thing, but we must have faith that we will teach them right from wrong and they will carry it forward.

Zana sighed. “To answer your previously asked question, no, you are not required to accept the upgrades. You can continue like this, if you want. I saw that you didn’t register your destination. How do you know there won’t be anyone else there, seeing that now most travelers will have FTL engines?”

The captain smiled mysteriously. “It isn’t close to any of the most desired planets. I’m counting on human laziness and impatience stopping them at closer destinations. We have allowed for many more generations than any other voyager by the time we left. I won’t tell you where it is, but it is much, much farther than anyone has ever gone.”

Zana had the captain sign her retrofit order declining upgrades, wished them well, and then the Mercury left the budding civilization to continue on its unhurried way.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #4

Prompt: It’s midnight. There’s ice on the ground. You’re high up in a mountain. There’s a joyful feel to the place.

—————

The ice on the ground has melted around the bonfire the elders built. At the top of a mountain, at this time of year, the fire doubles as both ritual energy and salvation against the freezing death.

As it nears midnight, the elders call on everyone to gather around. Everyone from the town, except the smallest children and their elderly grandparents caring for them down in the village, huddle even closer to the flames. This night is Tinay’s first solstice moon gathering. She’s almost too young, but the elders granted her permission, considering her twelfth birthday is tomorrow.

The priests bring out the drums and place them near the flames. Playing slow, heavy beats, they begin to chant. After a few moments, the villagers begin to chant with them. After another moment, some begin to sing a tune, wordless yet in perfect synchronicity to the drums.

The song continues and the villagers begin to sway. The buildup of joyful energy begins to reach a critical stage and, suddenly, everyone begins to dance in time with the music.

Tinay is still swaying, trying to learn the rhythm. She looks deep into the licking flames before her and sings wordlessly along with her parents and the rest of the village. She finds herself thinking about her younger siblings and that they must be having treats and listening to nama tell stories, as she did this day last year.

Suddenly, the youngling realizes that she no longer needs to learn the rhythm, but is dancing like the others and she hears her voice singing as loudly as the rest. She feels a rush of energy and happiness. Looking up at the sky, she feels part of the earth and stars more than she ever has before.

The drums and singing continue for what seems like hours. Tinay has lost track of time and, in the rush of the emotions she’s feeling, cannot be bothered to look up at the moon to tell the time. It doesn’t matter.

After a time, the drums soften and slow. The villagers slow and quiet with them. When the music stops, the priests say words that Tinay hardly hears. When they’re finished, everyone goes back down the mountain path toward home, feeling like they’re insubstantial; floating on the joy of the flames.

They all gather in the square and eat heartily. The young girl feels hungrier than she’s ever been. Everyone hugs one another and then they all go home to sleep. Tinay reflects on the ritual as she drifts off and realizes now why the village adults always seem so happy when they wake after a solstice moon.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #3

Prompt: Write a 650 word story in the drama genre. It’s about an archaeologist and should include a tablet. Also use the sentence ‘It’s your fault.’ Bonus prompt: The story takes place in a desert.

—————

The tablet, made of a very unique clay mixture, lay beneath a 24-pound slab of obsidian in the tiny country of Uscaria for at least 4,000 years. The day the obsidian was lifted was the day Dr. Sebastian Shala’s life changed. The question yet to be answered was, was his life changed for the better?

The day had started early, before the sun had made its appearance. Dr. Shala’s assistant was late, but all was forgiven when he gave him his favorite iced cinnamon mocha as a peace offering. The archaeologist didn’t really mind Garen being late, but the coffees were nice to have. He made a mental note to buy some of the local pastries next week to atone for his bad coffee karma.

Garen set up the workspace as Dr. Shala arranged his notes on the folding table. He would have loved to have a dedicated space where he could leave his notes out, but he was but one of seven associate archaeologists serving under the reclusive desert country’s archaeology department. It was a rare privilege to be allowed to dig here, so he kept his desires for personal space to himself.

“The people from the government are here to lift the obsidian and observe, Dr. Shala,” his assistant said, startling him out of his quiet reverie.

“Thank you, Garen,” he said. “How do you feel about taking documentary video with this?”

The young man’s face lit up. He’d been hoping the doctor would let him do some photography. He nodded and quickly got the camera ready.

The government crew, which consisted of Uscaria’s head archaeologist, Hamsin Oris, and his cousin, Marcha, entered the wide space in the cave system that ran along the north border. The country didn’t put much money into archaeology and when they charged access fees, they liked to keep as much as they could for future projects.

Garen spoke a little of the local dialect and was able to get everyone synchronized. With a short count, the slab was lifted carefully and the bottom examined. There didn’t appear to be any markings on it, as had been anticipated. They carefully set the obsidian on a prepared table for further examination.

“Well, that is a little underwhelming,” Dr. Shala said.

“Uh, Doctor?” Garen’s voice had a higher, slightly strained pitch to it than normal. Sebastian looked around with concern.

Garen merely pointed into the seemingly empty space the obsidian left behind. The doctor didn’t see anything, at first, but then saw a strange pattern in the soft, powdery earth. He gestured to Garen to make sure to get a clear image of the pattern.

Quickly grabbing a brush, he gently moved the soil over the pattern, and was shocked to discover hard clay upon which had been written words in something similar to cunieform.

Everyone in the room gasped aloud. Dr. Oris shouted something. Garen translated, “He wants you to stop immediately.” Dr. Shala complied and then the two groups had a discussion, haltingly, over what to do.

In the end, Dr. Oris allowed Dr. Shala to remove the earth over the clay. The going was slow, however, as now both pairs of people had to have time to photograph each stage of removal.

After gaining the edges of the piece, they took a break at lunch. After eating, Dr. Orris sent Marcha off to an area with better cellular reception to contact his office about the details. She was also instructed to retrieve a transport box.

While they waited, the two archaeologists gently argued over access to the piece after it was completely unearthed. It was decided that they would all work from Dr. Oris’ office, as it was more secure and, at this time of year, cooler, too.

A little while later, the two had managed to carefully lift the tablet, with Garen taking video, onto another small table. While neither was doing official research, both appeared to be sneaking peeks of the artifact.

The two actually  bumped heads at one point, jostling the little table. The Uscarian archaeologist shouted something as bits of what could be the tablet fell to the side of it.

Garen translated, “Watch out! If it breaks, it’s your fault. You’ll never work here again!” Dr. Shala raised his hands and backed up. The other man did the same.

Much later, Marcha returned with a container and two more people from the government. Dr. Oris gave his cousin a stare that would melt paint off a wall. She only gave a tiny shrug.

When Dr. Shala asked him, Garen told him that they said they were from Uscaria’s head ministry and were here to observe and ensure nothing untoward happened. Garen added that it didn’t look like Dr. Oris was expecting them and he would rather they weren’t there.

Later, when reporters asked him, Dr. Shala was unable to tell them where the tablet was nor where it was taken. He merely told them that they would have to wait until the video footage was examined.

Months later, after the news cycle had changed several times and most had forgotten about the tablet, Sebastian Shala was able to make his way back to Uscaria to quietly tell the ministry the news: This tablet wasn’t written by humans.

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #2

Prompt: Write a 200 word story in the comedy genre. It’s about a frustrated waitress and should include a letter. Also use the sentence ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ Bonus prompt: There is a great storm.

—————

“Waitress?” an elderly woman said as she waved her hand.

Trista mentally rolled her eyes. It’s a small cafe, lady, of course I can see you, she thought as she smiled her best tip smile and moved toward her table. She glanced outside and saw the storm was getting worse. She was glad this place had a backup generator.

After she poured more coffee and dropped off more cream for the customer, Trista clocked out on her break

In the break room, she grabbed the sandwich she’d stashed in the shared fridge this morning. As she went to bite into it, Jeff came in and said, “You don’t need to try to hide your food anymore, Trista.”

“Whatever do you mean Jeffrey?” she replied with wide eyes.

Jeff smirked and said, “I learned the last two times not to touch your food. You’re one crazy bitch about those hot peppers! I couldn’t believe you put them in yogurt, too!”

Trista kicked a foot out and caught his shin in passing.

“Ow!”

“Don’t call me a ‘bitch’ and you just don’t understand flavor Jeffrey. Peppers are literally the spice of life.”

Jeff scurried away without saying anything more. Trista was pleased his training was successful. Not only would he not touch her food, but he’d warn his buddies, too. Now, she could put the ghost peppers away and resume her regularly scheduled lunches.

After she finished her sandwich, the boss came in and dropped an envelope in front of her. “This isn’t your home, Trista, so stop having people send you mail here.”

She didn’t give her a chance to reply before going back out the door.

Trista’s brows knitted together as she looked at the envelope. She’d gotten a mailbox a month ago, so nobody should be sending her mail at work. She ripped the side off, pulled out the letter, scanned it and then let out a little shriek.

She had forgotten she’d sent a short story off to a major magazine six months ago. It was accepted and she was getting paid!

She did a little happy dance. Selene, another underpaid, overworked wait staffer, entered mid-dance and joined her. “Not that it isn’t fun, but why are we dancing?” she said, giggling.

Trista showed her the letter. Selene gasped. “You’re getting published!” she sang, “and it’s not on Amazon!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Trista stopped and looked at Selene. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?” she asked before she started dancing again - this time to some music from her phone.

“Of Harrison seeing that and coming around for money, of course!”

Trista threw back he head and laughed, “Nope!”

Selene’s forehead furrowed and she a frown was creeping its way across her mouth. “Why not? He’s a leech, just like I told you.”

“Because, my friend, last time I talked to him, I told him I might be pregnant. Haven’t heard from him in a month!”

Selene’s mouth opened and then she laughed as hard as Trista. They kept dancing until the cook rang the bell hard out in the dining room.

“Order up!”

[loganmarloe]

Prompted Writing #1

Prompt: “It’s about a druid and should include a ripped-up bank note. Also use the sentence ‘This is delicious!’”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ifar had been living in this city for nearly 35  years. He’d moved around quite a bit in his three-thousand-year existence, but this city had been his favorite - until now. He could see it was coming to the end of its uniqueness, as so many had done before. Time moves all and this city was no exception.

He made up his mind to move again, but this time, he decided to change everything. He’d move to North America. After having moved all around the world, he never thought he’d have to resort to moving there.

In the hundreds of years since Europeans had “discovered” the “New World”, Ifar hadn’t felt the tug to explore there. All of the news he’d heard in all of that time had been alarming.

The violence and moral failings were enough to put him off the place. He thought there had been quite enough of that and he’d rather find more peaceful places to exist. He found his way to Asia and studied with those who had followed the Buddha. He wished he’d been able to meet the man, but he’d been trying to adjust to a new reality around the time the great philosopher had died.

Becoming immortal wasn’t an event. He couldn’t even place when it might have occurred. He might have been born that way. He had lived the first few decades of his life as a druid, having been taught the ways of the forest and sky from a very young age. His mother was a member of the druid high council and offspring were expected to follow suit.

He only realized his difference when he failed to age as his fellow villagers had. Once his condition was discovered, his mother unquestioningly had hidden him for as long as she could. When she died, the villagers discovered his youth and cast him out as some sort of evil thing.

He’d been rattling around Europe, Asia, and Africa ever since. North America was still relatively new, but since the advent of digital communications, his location meant less and less. He’d read about America and wanted to avoid it, so he decided on Canada.

He packed his things, booked a flight to Toronto, and headed out. The flight was uneventful until the plane neared its destination. Things got bumpy and they were diverted to Detroit, a bit more south than he’d planned.

The passengers were told that, due to inclement weather, the flight would be unable to resume until the morning. They were shooed off the plane and given vouchers for food and a place to sleep. He loathed fast food of any kind, so he ventured out of the airport and got a cab. After asking the driver for recommendations, he stopped at a roadside taco shop where he and the driver had some very nice tacos - his first.

“These are delicious!” he said to the driver. The driver smiled and nodded. He came here often and was pleased to share the place with a tourist.

As they were returning to the car, Ifar saw a five-dollar bill sticking out from under a rock and bent down to pick it up. He was surprised when only half of it came up in his hand. He lifted the rock and found the other half. He was curious how it had come to be ripped up and half stuck under a rock, but didn’t care enough to puzzle it out. He showed it to the driver who said it could be turned in to a bank for a replacement.

Ifar shrugged and stuffed the pieces into his pants pocket. He asked the driver to take him to a hotel near the airport and sat back to watch the scenery go by.

The driver had just entered a highway when, from above there was a crunch and the roof of the cab bent inward. The startled driver swerved and the car jerked to a stop in the grass on the side of the road. The two of them popped out of the car and were utterly shocked to discover a Roman chariot embedded into the cab’s top.

The driver looked up. They hadn’t yet passed under an overpass, so where the green and white chariot had come from was, well, impossible. Ifar had seen enough in his long life to know that no good would come of this.

He paid the bewildered driver too much and quickly made his way off the highway. Where he ended up didn’t matter. It just had to be as far as he could get as fast as he could get there. Whoever lost that chariot might just come looking for it and he’d had his fill of meeting other immortals. It never ended well.