The idea is to start with an image and each person writes about it as s/he sees it, in the writer’s choice of style. See the original thread for clarification and inspiration.
Current prompt: Someone or something finding three identical footprints in the snow.
Next up: “Two go in, one comes out.”
Previous:
an unusual shop
someone or something on the border between wilderness and civilization
Since Errata just posted on the old thread a couple of days ago, I’ve recopied her stories here, so they can be read:
I turned away. There never was anything here for me, there never will be. My family, my friends, are nothing. They cast me out, without a second thought. I would find a better life, a life I could live without depending on anyone. People are not to be depended on. They always betray you. The forest loomed before me. Moonlight dappled the ground, breaking up the endless shadow. I hesitated a brief moment, then plunged in. Perhaps the life I sought was in the forest. I’d never know if I didn’t try.
Wow, these are
allmostly depressing. I’ll write a non-depressing one now.I stared into the forest. Long ago, it had been my refuge when life was frustrating. Before we moved. Then, I had learned to live with frustration. Times were better now. Now, I didn’t have to either cope or use a refuge. But I still remembered it with fondness. I smiled, and ran inside. Running through it, reliving the joy, the relief. Suddenly, I stopped short.
I had come to the end of the forest.
I was looking out over city.
No!, I cried out. No!
You can’t destroy my refuge. You can’t!
But it was no use. No matter how much I denied it, it had happened.
(Annoying voice: But this was supposed to be cheerful.
Me: Shut up. It’s more effective.
Annoying voice: But you wrote it so it would be cheerful.
Me: FINE! Now shut up.)
I turned and walked back. All the joy was gone. The forest used to go on forever. There was no end to it. And now it was gone. I looked around myself suddenly. This was the clearing I had loved so very much. My tree, my rock. Mine. But– This was much farther into the forest, right? It had been the limit of my territory. Beyond that, there was only unexplored territory. No. Beyond that, there was the end. Beyond that, there was more city. No forest was endless, and this was no exception. I knew that. This forest hadn’t shrunk, I had grown. I knew that now. This forest was still my kingdom.
*GASP* This is quickly going to become my favorite thread… I’ll write tomorrow! Yay! A fun writing prompt!
Errata is right, that prompt provokes depressing images.
ooh, another one of these!
Interesting… I may try it later.
I am going to try and write a fairly cheerful one.
Journey’s End
I wanted water. Badly. Really badly.
My water supply had run out two days ago, and the heat in this accursed desert wasn’t helping.
I was exhausted.
My camel, Jamilla, kept looking at me with contempt. She had good reasons for it, too. It was my fault that we got separated from my uncle’s caravan.
For that matter, it was my fault that we had even been with the caravan.
Further, it was my fault that we ran out of water. I accidentally left half of our supply of that under-appreciated liquid at the well where we got it.
So, the point is, I was absolutely miserable, and had nobody to blame for it but myself.
Yet, what could I do but keep going? I would come to the city of Urbana eventually. Provided, that is, that I was going in the right direction.
“Shelia,” my conscience said, “you are absolutely hopeless.”
My conscience was right. Or so I thought.
I wandered for an incalculable amount of time, until I made an interesting discovery: It was in front of me! Urbana, that is.
I ran towards it. I ran right through it.
Only a mirage.
I collapsed, crushed.
Jamilla turned and walked away from me. I didn’t blame her.
I stomped off my frustration and followed her.
Urbana was in front of me again. I ignored it.
Until I ran into a building.
This Urbana was real!
I was thrilled. I danced with joy. Some nearby children tapped their heads. They thought I was crazy. I didn’t care.
I heard voices calling my name.
I paused, perched on the edge of the barren wilderness that had nearly defeated me and civilization.
Then I ran to meet the caravan. Caught amidst embraces and questions, I could only say one word.
“Water?”
( That was fun. Good writing practice.)
Hmmm… not to many people.
(Random practice continuation of Lady Bunniful’s story) I will venture farther out, into that land of unknown. People say adventure is bad, and that children should follow the rules. I don’t believe that that saying is true. Yes, I will go out and find where I belong.
(That sounds weird, like one of my poems. I’ll turn it into poetry!)
I will venture farther out,
Into that land of unknown.
People say adventure is bad,
And that children should follow the rules.
I don’t believe that
That saying is true.
Yes, I will go out and find where I belong.
That was Errata’s story, not mine. I just copied it here from the other thread.
Oh, okay.
Wow, what a cool idea. Actually, it reminds me of a really good book called The Fruit-Bowl Project, by Sarah Durkee.
They can’t see me, I know it. They just waltz on by me, not even noticing for a second the tall girl dressed in black, hanging onto dear life by a thread of hope behind the wall. The wall that let no one in, let no one out.
Okay, So maybe the situation wasn’t that dire. But still, I was hungry, cold, alone and forgotten. And now, apparently, invisible.
My nimble hands move quickly towards the bag around my waist, flipping it open, pulling out a long black rope that resembled an over-sized garter snake. Thinking of snakes, I shuddered. A cotton-mouth had almost gotten me, back when I tried to cross a marshy pond. “Stupid,” I say aloud. Not one of the children playing in the school yard turns toward the girl shouting insults at herself.
That’s when I notice the sign hanging on the wall:
School For the Deaf.
“Stupid,” I say again, grinning.
I might actually do this. Mine’s probably going to be about Wicca or something.
Ahhh… I remember when I made this… I must write an entry. Later… as it always is…
Someone or something on the border between wilderness and civilization… hmm… Everyone seems to have done someone, so I think I’ll do something, later.
We can take suggestions for the next prompt any time.
I crouched on the roof of the building.
Here in the older side of town, the houses were all the same height. The loose shingles slid beneath my feet, but the gutter caught them before they could fall and give me away.
Perching on an old brick chimney, I gazed toward the trees at the edge of the small city.
People didn’t go in the forest. There were dark things, left over from times best forgotten, that lived on among the trees.
I shivered with excitement. Bounding on all fours (so as better to keep my balance), I leaped from roof to roof (it was about two feet between each house). I soon reached the boundary line.
Slinking along the edge of the house, I peered down at the tree below. The leaves shimmered in a patch of moonlight peeking through the thick clouds overhead.
Standing up for a moment, I leaped from the rooftop into the tree. My breath sped away for a quick second as I fell, then leaves and branches whipped my face and arms as I crash-landed in the tree. Shimmying down the trunk, I reached the forest floor.
It was quiet, and dark. The moonlight didn’t reach here. It smelled of shadows, and undisturbed wilderness.
I breathed in deeply.
It smelled like home.
I think i did this one already, or intended to, so maybe a new prompt:
In the misty morning air after a rain that lasted all night, an abnormal number of crows gather in a large, twisted, knotted, dead tree in an abandoned and overgrown field.
[someone or something on the border between wilderness and civilization]
I feel the sharp tug of ripping hems, and with a clatter I am standing feet away from my overturned chair. With a brief, searching glance at the tidy setting of white tables and teacups and a great cry pressing at my lips, I turn and sprint as fast as the confines of these garments will allow me. I ignore the calls from behind me and focus my senses instead on the pounding of my feet over the groomed grass which is swiftly turning to mud. The pebbly muck splatters between the toes of my somehow shoeless foot, cleaning away with its years of confinement into too small a shoe.
Okay, not done, but I have homework to finish and I should be getting to bed, so I’ll finish this tomorrow.
Misty field
‘Tis morning, dawning fair and clear, on mist.
A single tree, in meadow stands, alone.
Crows, flying from near and far, gather.
Silent, until the one on top, cries out.
And then they speak, all a once, at work.
A crow’s meeting, but nobody knows, reasons,
That all the crows, from small to large, should meet!
But now they’re gone, they flew together, away.
I started writing this and it turned into a poem. But when I tried to post it, after a bit of delay, it vanished! Completely and totally! I had to re-write it.
Anyway, you like it?
Okay, now I get to write my story!
I race down the hallway of the manor, excited that someone has come to call. Twelve year old girls shouldn’t be running, but there hasn’t been a visitor at our house since… I run into the front hall to see my mother talking to a women, holding Hope, the baby. Iris my 8 year old sister stands on her right, and Joseph, my 9 year old brother on the left. Lukas, my 5 year old brother stands behind Mother, looking back at me. I recognize our visitor now. She’s the baroness, my aunt.
“Maia!” she says. I step forward cautiously as my aunt turns toward my mother. “Claire, I know how hard it has been for you since Soren passed away.” She was talking about my father. “Maia could come live with me for a little while and Dana, here…” She pointed at her servant. “…could help you take care of your children.”
‘No…” my mother started to say, but I interrupted, hesitantly, then strongly.
“I’ll go.” I say, not believing my words…
I must first apologize for my absence and admit, shamefully, that I only came back to see how many posts I’d had because penguini told me that it was listed in the new setup.
[someone or something on the border between wilderness and civilization]
I walk the endless loop of the cul-de-sac on which I live only when it rains. The rain makes majestic patterns in the air, the insects are gone, and the darkness of the ominous clouds is strangely comforting. When it rains, I am alone in a world of faerie. When it is sunny, children laugh and play, and while the flowers are still beautiful, everything lacks mystery. I don’t want the rain-world to be tainted by the reality, and so I walk outside only during the rain.
Today, there is a thunderstorm. I don’t take a jacket outside. I invariably return home from these days soaking wet.
There is a path into the woods which were cut down for these houses, which still remain in places. I am not allowed to walk beyond the boundaries of pavement.
Thunder rumbles, lightning flashes. My clothes are plastered to my skin. I stand at the edge of the street, looking down the green alley. I consider my family, but I am not in their world. I am in a place of magic. It’s completely different, I tell myself.
I pause at the edge of the woods.
I take a deep breath.
I step away from what I know.
Yay, I was wondering when there would be a new one of these! Thank you, GAPAs!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Dear Julia,
When you stand in the sunlight on this hill, under the sycamore tree, and you close your eyes and smell that freesia wafting on the air and feel the breeze trying to catch your fingers, then you can remember the life we once led here.
It was an important part of the town, to be certain. A hilltop for planting, sometimes- a windy one, lots of sky, lots of clouds, and very often, lots of sun, moon and stars. You come up here on a perfectly fine afternoon and you can gaze your fill upon range and range of hills, awfully blue hills. They fall across the dim skyline all the way to the lakes, but then, nobody bothers to follow them there. The lake has long since dried up under the drought. Now the hills, once dotted here and there with cottages and lye, have grown a beard of thick foliage across them, amongst the young pines where their roots have clung deep into the eroded earth and stuck like quicksand.
I recall those cottages and lye, and the snap peas dripping late rain from their crooked ends as they hung on the trellises in every garden. The women sure did tend them well enough, but snap peas are often full to burst, and they burst that year. That was the year that the trains stopped coming and the mail carts moved on down the path, horses not even seeing anything but that dirt ahead. Nobody bothered to look back then, either, not even the birds gone south. I think I can still see the metal handle of the switch over there, swaying beyond the cattails. That handle’s rusted now, though. The red paint that we used to spend our money on once every half-year didn’t do much good at all. No good, but it kept us hoping. Turns out the hope didn’t do much of any good, either.
Yes, it is a beautiful spot up here. Mountain laurel and lilacs accenting the rolling bluegrass and all, like nature’s perfume. You often wonder why people choose to be buried somewhere up in the public, city graves like in Almswood or Trent…instead of right here, where the only footsteps to bother you are those of the deer and the dew, and the occasional pair of feet. Mine, mostly. There might have been yours, too, but nobody ever hitches along.
Over there, and to the left of that freesia patch, you can catch a small view of the old stones without disturbing the long grass in the valley. They run long back, 1780, 1880, and such, but no further than the quite beginning 1900s. All sorts were buried there, I suppose. Strong minded people that came a long way to be alone, and summer people that flew along here like trembling birds under the quaff sunlight, laughing at the funny words on the tombstones that we no longer understand. Then there were the few simple people who knew that contact with the human race only smothered you, in layers and layers of nonsense. All sorts, and it doesn’t do any harm that they came simply to look and wait and watch.
People simply wild with grief have brought their significant others up this hill, their relatives, belated friends and the like. They all know how it is, and then there’s time that plays his part…rainy days, sunny days, snow, and then sometimes that rest on the brink of chaos and utter peace, the one that you feel just before the great storms break their worst over the hills after sunrise.
Speaking of their storms, you see there? I tell you, beyond those hills the people here could see the thick black clouds coming from miles away. I think I see them now, the dark rolling ones. Sky’s getting ever dimmer, I don’t doubt that it will be pouring right soon. It should give those lilacs a nice break, though. I wonder, what have wild things like them to cling to if not the tines of the civil pitchfork? Then, it must be true that those without guidance must find their own dirt paths away from the past. They can follow the tracks through the wild corn whenever they please, but aren’t they smart, they stay clinging to the small pines for their entire existence. I know why they do, too. They know ‘s well as I that there’s nothing out there left for beings so small. Isn’t it funny, you know, that we are just as small as them, in a sense? I think about that whenever I set under this sycamore, and I think about you.
I can see you from where I’m taking refuge under this tree. You’re right over there, past 1800 but not quite 1900, lying under that smaller stone, the one with the broken edges and the wreath of daisies lying on top like some sort of holy crown. You’re resting, Julia, somewhere peaceful that is not beneath the dirt, but still it is almost here. Maybe you could recall it all for yourself if you really tried your best. Could you look at the sky for a moment as you lie there? Could you stretch your nose to the earth once more, and take in the rustic scent that used to fill our taffeta and the curtains? I know that when I get up and leave this letter here beside the sycamore tree, and when it melts from the touch of the rain into the ground, and it seeps into the bones of our town, that you might be able to reach out a hand to feel it, and feel mine running across the parchment. And then I’ll feel you again, your palm in mine like we were built this way, and remember this wilderness that we made our home. We aren’t like them that’s gone back, like the others across the train tracks, that have moved on to try to change. I don’t want it, to stay with my roots sliding over this eroding earth until I wither is the track that I’m setting on. And, with all your respects, that’s how I’d like to keep.
Always love,
Jonathan
I have been through the wild. Some of it is still with me, fighting its way forth, fighting to use my tongue to speak wild words. I live on the edge, on the border, liminal between the forest and city. Between myself and what is not me, what is trying to drag the rest of me along downstream, quicker, quicker.
Some days I am calm and I am quiet and I drink tea on the long willing to talk to anyone who passes by. No one does. Until you came along.
Could the next one be about an unusual shop?
Request granted. I was just thinking it was about time to put a new one up there.
Prompt: An unusual shop
There was a gap between the apartment buildings on 23rd street. I hadn’t noticed it before but now that I saw it I turned down it, figuring it would probably also lead west which is where I lived.
It did seem to lead in that direction but I realized that it would take me a while to walk there, the alley I’d taken was filled with beautiful brick and stone walls, balconies and many other things to look at. As I passed through, I saw that there was a stucco building I had never seen before tucked in among the wood and stone. It had vines growing on its walls partially obscuring a sign “Ackerman’s” and another simply stating “Open”. I tried to look through the windows to see what sort of things might be sold but there were only two very small ones. They were also round, rather high up, and stained glass and nearly impossible to look through. My curiosity won over any sort of caution I might have otherwise felt and so I pushed the wooden door and passed into the shop.
Inside I saw rows and rows of shelves. Each shelf contained rows and rows of bottles and each bottle a small city. The cities seemed to exist down to the small details though they were so tiny it was hard to tell. I saw no sign of a proprietor but I enjoyed an hour there looking at all of the miniature cities. Some of the bottles were colored, giving their cities a sort of sky. Each city was unique and each was labeled neatly in a bizzare alphabet.
I have not returned to Ackerman’s since that day but I have continued to keep my eyes open to what others might pass by in their hurry to get elsewhere. To me my city is as majestic and beautiful as those miniature ones in their tiny bottles.
“I’ll go.” I say again. “Are you sure, Maia?” my mother asks. “Yes.” I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the baroness smile. Not a nice smile, though. A smile of victory. I keep it to myself, and the baroness says, “Maia, dear. Tomorrow I’ll come to pick you up, and drop Dana off. I’m sure you’ll have fun with your cousins.” I doubted that I would like them. I had met Lilayenn and Roarke before, and I didn’t think that they would have changed. The baroness bade everyone farewell, and I climbed the stairs to my room to think…
Prompt: an unusual shop.
My hand caresses the brass latch of the door as I pause to reconsider one last time. The building is dark and unforgiving, and probably not even open. I roll onto the balls of my feet, peering into the shop. Finally, i press my small hand down on the door handle.
No bell jingles cheerily as I push open the door, unlike so many of the other shops on the street. The floorboards don’t creak as I tread cautiously on them, and even my breath seems to fade away until the room is completely silent.
What disturbs me most, though, is that I am most certainly not alone. A figure sits on a tall stool, a ridiculously long black cloak puddling around the feet of the chair. I open my mouth to call hello, but my voice is blotted out by…silence.
The dark figure turns around, and I see that is a disturbingly beautiful woman sitting on the chair. Her luscious dark hair tumbles around her shoulders as she rises from the stool and starts towards me.
I back up slightly, as any sensible being should do when confronted by a stranger. “Hello, dear,” she says, smiling slightly.
“But how did…?” Once again, I don’t even hear my own words; I merely think them.
The woman laughs, an appealing laugh, for sure, but dark. And sorrowful. “Don’t worry, sugar, I can hear you. I only sell the silence, you know.”
“Sell the silence?” I echo.
The woman laughs again. “Oh, yes, I have jars of it. Some fool dropped a few jars a decade ago, and spilled silence all over the place. Couldn’t collect it all, of course. That’s why it’s so…silent…in here.” The corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “You may have some, if you like. The business kind of dwindled away: No one wants silence anymore. Especially little boys like you.” She gestures towards the looming shelves on the far wall. I saunter over to the shelves and scan the jars.
Bottles and jars of every colour, size and shape. Some wide and stout, some tall and thin. Some blue, and some of the brightest pink imaginable. ((
)) Some as small as my thumb, some as wide as my forearm is long. I select a small blue flask, a squat green jar, and a skinny orange bottle. The orange one’s cork smells of nutmeg.
As I walk over to the woman, still sitting on her barstool, I suddenly remember that I have no money on me. I feel my face fall as I turn back towards the shelf, and I wonder why I actually believe that there is silence in these jars, and why I want it so badly.
“Wait!” the woman calls. I look over my shoulder. She comes to me, saying, “There is no payment for the little boy who wants silence so badly.” She smiles. I look at her with the most gratitude that I can display on my face, shove the bottles into my pockets, and rush out the door, which swings ever so silently behind me.
The baroness comes the next day. I’m excited to see her palace. I’ve never seen it, only met my cousins at a convention. Dana leads the baroness into the house, and my aunt turns to me and asks, “Can you ride a horse?”
“Why, yes.” I tell her, “I’ll go get her.” I start to run to the stables, then slow to a walk. Joseph dashes behind me to catch up, followed by Iris. They hold the door open for me as Iris asks a surprise question. “Will you come back?”
“Of course.” I say, caught of guard by the question. “Of course.”
I lead Shell out of the stable, and Iris and Joseph follow me back. Dana has just loaded my bag onto a horse, and I give my goodbyes. When I’m finished, I mounted Shell, and we’re off!
The baroness leads me down the road, and guards move to form around us as we leave the wall of the manor. I wave back at my family until I can’t see them anymore. Then the baroness turns to me and says, “You don’t mind underground places, right.”
“Of course not.” I say. When I was as old as Iris I would explore the sea shore caves at our summer home. “Why?”
“Because my castle is built underground.”
Prompt: an unusual shop
I stumble over the cobblestone road.
Annoyed, I look behind to see what I had tripped on, but there is nothing there. I blink, nonplussed. The cobbles are painted a dark maroon color, with golden and navy painted swirls.
The paint wasn’t there a second ago.
Looking up further, I notice a door in the crumbling brick wall beside me. The wood is dark, and the hinges are unusually old-fashioned.
There is no handle.
Curious, I push on the door, and after a moment’s pause of consideration it swings open.
It is an old shop, though I have never noticed it before. The air inside is heavy, but not musty.
I can see no light source, but there is a vague glow about the place, as if the dust is faintly luminescent.
Sitting at the counter is a wrinkled old woman, casually turning the pages of a large and equally old-looking book. She looks up at me, saying, “Why, hello. Take a look around and see if anything suits you.”
The pages of the book continue to turn, although the woman’s hand has left the pages.
I make no comment on this.
There is a faint rustling coming from the books on the shelves. To my ever-decreasing surprise, I notice that they are moving around, rearranging themselves.
Walking over to a shelf, I pull a small, light blue book from its place and open it. The pages seem to smile at me, and I take an immediate liking to the book. Turning the page, I come across an illustration, drawn in fine ink. The characters in the picture are moving. They pause as I stare at them, open-mouthed.
“It ain’t polite to stare, miss,” a boy chastises me. I quickly close my mouth and nod. “Sorry.”
Closing the book, I walk over to the counter and ask, “How much for this one?”
The lady gazes at me thoughtfully. “That will cost you one secret. The moment you speak of this shop and what you have purchased, the book will disappear.”
“That’s fair.”
Stepping, squinting, out into the sunlight, I look around. Colors seem brighter, somehow, and sounds are louder.
A voice pipes from the book in my hand. “Oy! You gonna read us or not?”
Unusual shop:
Why do you mock me like this?
So strange and random.
Your shelves are filled up.
Junk of all sorts resides here.
I could spend hours!
Unusual shop:
There’s something about you… Charm?
I believe that’s it.
/gradster(1)/ – Secretary of Bureaucracy of the ASAP
((Okay, I continue my random story.))
“What?!” I say, nearly falling off Shell. “Your castle is underground?!” Then I realize I’m being rude, and shut my mouth.
“Yes.” the baroness said stiffly, “I will describe it to you.”
“The baron and I decided we wanted a place far away from everyone when we were married. We were walking one day when I noticed a hole in the ground. The baron knelt down and looked through it. Below, he saw a giant cavern, and built inside was a city. The houses were dug out stalactites, and there was a gigantic stalactite that connected the ceiling and floor of the cave. It had obviously been used as a temple. A beautiful stalactite was a perfect palace. There were walkways everywhere, including one beginning at the hole at our feet. On the floor of the cavern, there were more homes, and a good many caves (which we now mine in). It was clear someone had lived here before us. After some thought, we decided that it was a perfect city. We did not have to torture anyone to get it built. It is our home to this day.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I said, “But where does the light get in?”
“It gets in through more holes like the one the baron and I found. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
“Oh, yes.” I said, but in my head I said, I hope so.
Prompt: an unusual shop
The shop has always been there. My mother would take me, when I was small, dragging me about by my pudgy toddler’s hand while she rushed from department to department, and her bags and arms grew fuller and fuller. When I was older, I went with my friends. Our paths were less varied than my mother’s, and our hands were nearly almost empty when we stepped out into the sunshine, but it didn’t matter. That was not the point.
Gradually, my life changed. I parted ways with my mother, and with my friends, and I left the town and the school and the shop behind me.
It was summer when I returned, feeling as though I had awoken from a hundred-year sleep, and everything had changed but myself. I stood in front of my house and looked at the trim lawn and the middle-aged woman in a hat and gloves tending her flower gardens. The woman was not my mother. The house was not my house. I turned away, walking with even, measured steps, counting my heartbeats. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… I stopped in front of what had once been my best friend’s house. It looked the same–untidy grass, peeling paint, wild forests of rhododendrons and ivy. But there were no children running through the long grass, shouting from the the rhododendron bushes. I turned away.
I hadn’t known where I was headed until I found myself standing in front of the shop. It at least looked the same. I pulled open the door and went in.
Mm. More later.
We rode on for the whole day, slept, and rode again. It was time for the midday meal when we reached a small building. The baroness told me to get off Shell and leave her with a stable boy. The horses would go down into the city another way. The baroness then led me to a hole in the ground. I looked down, to discover a walkway spanning a gigantic cavern. I climbed down into the hole and stepped carefully onto the bridge. I looked out at the cave. It was amazing, to say the least. People bustled below, on the streets, toward a market gathered around what looked like the temple my aunt had described. There were people on the walkways, too, carrying goods to sell in baskets. Light shone through many holes that connected the city below to the world above. It was almost like any regular city. The baroness startled my thoughts,
“Let’s go quickly, Maia, for it is already market time.” We walked faster, and I marveled at everything. When we finally reached the marketplace, I had seen so much that I thought my eyes would get stuck wide open. People parted to let us pass, and the baroness smiled at her people. She left me with a servant, Shay, who looked like she was about 16. Shay smiled at me and handed me a pastry. I thanked her quietly, and turned to watch the baron speak.
Unusual shop:
It was an old town, medieval, almost. I loved it. We had moved there months ago, and I, though sad to leave our old town, already was more attached to this one. Today, I was out exploring. I walked past the neatly-kept houses, into a section which was stuffed with shops. ‘Ye Olde Tea Shoppe’, and the like. They mostly looked fairly modern on the inside. Then, just when I was getting tired of all the cheesy names, I came upon one without a name. Curious.
I’ll finish this later. Writer’s block, and it’s been sitting on my computer for ages.
Possible Prompts:
Someone or something finding three identical footprints in the snow.
A girl walks into her sister’s bedroom, only to find that her sister is furiously throwing clothes into a suitcase.
A child running like mad through the streets of a colonial town.
Someone receives a mysterious telephone call.
[prompt: an unusual shop]
It hadn’t been there. I swear it wasn’t there before. I know I sound stupid. I know it seems like a drunkard’s fantasy. But I swear to you, that place wasn’t there before yesterday. Of course it was? That’s your response? Of course it was? No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t there before yesterday. What? You don’t believe me? Fine. Be that way. Don’t listen to me. Even though I SAW it appear. Oh, NOW you want to know about. You want to know what happened yesterday. Fine. I’ll tell you. But I’ll only tell you under one condition. You mustn’t go into the shop. Never. Never go into the shop. You understand? Good. Well, then, here’s my story:
I was walking down the street, just like regular. You know, it’s right near my apartment, the place where that shop is now. I was just walking down the street when –BAM!- the shop appeared! Right in the middle of the wall. Sign and everything, Zazermacky and Associates had appeared. Naturally, I was curious. I walked inside. I saw an old man there, behind the counter. He didn’t say anything, just glared at me. And there were all these magnificant things in there, too. Pirates, and ninjas, and fairies, and ninja fairies, and ninja pirate fairy princesses, all stuck inside jars! You don’t believe me? While, you should. Hmph. I’m leaving. Just … don’t go into that shop.
Later that night…
“You have the corpses?â€
“Yes, master.â€
“All went according to plan?â€
“Yes, master. They were like putty in my hands. Do you have them?â€
“Yes. They came in here right after you left them in a huff on the street.â€
“Were you watching?â€
“Yes.â€
“And you neutralized them?â€
“Yes.â€
“Good.â€
“Now, let us move the shop. In the next town, we shall eat our newly-harvested meal.â€
“Yes, master.â€
((I personally like the mysterious phone call prompt.))
I watch my aunt and uncle talk to the crowd, and then the market begins! Shay tells me I can you anywhere I want, as long as I report back to her at the end of the market. I meander through the crowd, when I see an old building. Magic, it says on the sign. Below, it says, For Sale: Charms, Potions, Familiars, Time, and More. I open the door and slip in without another thought. The bell on the door tinkles, and a boy and an older girl look up.
“Hi…:” I say tentatively, “I’m Maia.”
The girl glances into a crystal ball, and the insides of it swirl.
“The baroness’s niece?” She asked.
“Yes”
“I’m Holly, this is Teddy, or Thid, as he likes to be called now. Our store sells what you need.”
“And that is…”
“A little magic.”
‘Kay, after AGES of thought, I have an answer, which is actually not original, and slightly similar to a couple before me, but still.
I walked toward it, hesitantly. I stopped before the door. Did I really want to do this? Yes. I put my hand out and turned the handle, looking around the shop.
It was full of bottles, though not just any bottles. They were impossible shapes, some with the spout pointing down, etc. But that was nothing compared to where some of the bottles were. Not merely on shelves, though a good quantity were. Some were an inch above the shelves, and some were zooming around the celling. Some were balancing on one point, protruding from the main part. Some were rolling around on the floor, and some, as soon as I came in, made odd noises, and picked themselves off of their shelves and came flying toward me, and started banging into me. I wasn’t particularly bothered. In fact, I hardly noticed. I just shut the door behind me, still looking around. Now I noticed the contents of the bottles. liquids of all colors, black and red and purple and orange, some pastel and some bold. Every color imaginable. Some of the liquids seemed to be glowing, some were leaping about, some were bubbling as though there was a fire under them, some looked like they were mist. I stood there, hardly moving, without noticing the globes banging into me had stopped. I didn’t even notice the old woman’s word until the second time she said it. “Hello. Can you hear, Child?”
I stared at her. “Of course.”
“You don’t act like it. Took forever to answer me, and all. You like my potions?”
“Is that what they are?”
“Of course! Not for drinking. Anyone who believes that… But they form a limited enchantment on their bottle, which will remain until they’re poured into another bottle. All keep the bottle from breaking, and keep the stopper from being unstoppered by anyone other than the owner. They do different things. Some you can see, just by looking, some you can’t. I’ll tell you what they do.”
She proceeded to do so, I listening fascinated. Watchdog potions and light potions and all sorts of things. When she had finished, the old woman asked me, “So, what do you want?”
“What? Oh. I haven’t got money.”
She winked. “You don’t need money. Take whatever you want, as much as you want, but you can’t come back. Make your choices wisely. And don’t try to sell the potions, they’ll vanish. They were made to be given, not sold. Though you shouldn’t try to give them, either.” She smiled cheerily, and fell silent, letting me decide. After a long, long, time, I muttered, “I know what I want, but I can’t get it.”
“And what is that?”
I faced her. “A potion that lets me make my own potions.”
She looked at me. “Child, that is given! Your imagination! All you have to do is imagine a potion, and it will appear! That would be the worst of potions! Useless! Chose from these.”
I laughed. I could make my own potions! The choice was easy after that. I took a glowing ball, a ‘watchdog’ potion, and after some consideration, a flying ball that did absolutely nothing. I turned around to thank the old woman, but she-and the shop-were gone. I was standing in the street, facing an empty space. All that was left was the three bottles in my hands.
“Magic?”
“Yes, of course. You’re a new customer, and my crystal ball says you need luck, so…” Holly laid out 3 amulets on the counter. “Choose one.” She instructed. There was one shiny one, and it was medium sized. The stone was a deep maroon. Another was a large stone, and a forest green. The last was a small ice-blue stone, and it was swirly inside. The other two certainly looked better, but I had learned that looks weren’t everything, so I chose the blue stone. it was icy to the touch, and the girl said, “Oh, that one. That is both truth and luck. I hope you fare well.” I turned and walked away, but over the tinkling of the bell on the door, I heard Teddy say, “She chose right, didn’t she?” and Holly answer back. “I hope so.”
I just think this is a really cool prompt.
An ambulance, shows up, then someone calls 9-1-1, then someone has a heart attack.
I have an idea for a prompt:
“Two go in, one comes out.”
I’m interested to know what people come up with.
Can we please have a new prompt?!
I take the amulet and hang it around my neck. I’ll go back to that store, I decide, just not now. The rest of the market is nice. I buy treats and presents for my family back home. I also buy treats and lunch for myself. Yet for the whole time, Holly’s words haunted my thoughts. “I hope so.” I certainly hoped so, too.
Later, I walked back to Shay. As she led my to the palace, she said, “That’s certainly a lot of gifts for yourself.”
“Oh, no,” I told her, “They’re for my family.”
“But you do understand, the baroness likes you very much.”
“And…”
“Well, she would like to adopt you.”
“I like my family. I’m living with them.”
“Maia, she’s brought you here to keep you.”
Ella enters the shop, tucking a hair behind an ear absentmindedly. “I saw the sign over the door.”
“That’s been out of date forever,” says the woman behind the counter, who is rummaging in the back. She is dressed in a long white skirt and tunic, with a dark cloth covering her head. Ella cannot see her face.
“So you don’t sell-”
“Oh, we do, we do,” the woman sighs, still not turning around. “But times are hard, ωÏαιότατος.” Ella does not recognize the word, only that it is Greek. “Our wares are of less quality.”
Ella shifts from foot to foot, finally daring to ask the question. “What… do you sell, exactly? I couldn’t quite read the sign.”
“Statues,” says the woman. “The most beautiful little statues, of all creatures, great and small.”
“May I see one?”
The woman swiftly turns to the counter and ducks below. Ella still can’t see her face. Rapidly, a little stone statue is placed on the counter. It is of a spider, and it is so realistic that the girl shrinks away in fright. She is terrified of spiders.
Somehow the woman senses this, for she laughs softly. “Not too appealing, ανθÏώπινων? Try this.” A life-size statue of a cat, realistic down to the hairs on its back, is placed on the desk. Ella reaches out to touch it.
“It looks frightened.”
The woman sighed. “My statues always do. It is a fault of mine. I cannot get the expression right, not in a million years.”
Ella pauses before she asks. “Do you have any of humans?”
The woman says, “I do now.” She stands up, and Ella sees her face for the first time.
She had planned to ask the woman what she meant, but the writhing mass of snakes around the face of a woman turns her tongue to stone.
Permanently.
That was fun!!
I’m going to move my story to the books in progress thread.
I’ll try one, with the 2 come in, 1 comes out… This one won’t be depressing, as the theme suggests!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dahai* and Beheshto**, sisters, and in their fifth year at school, ran, laughing to the petshop, where a couple cats were being brought into the shop. They ran up to the owner, a friend of their parents, with graying hair and half-moon glasses, and said in unison “Could we buy a बिलà¥à¤²à¥€? A cat?” The old man, Vahan, chuckles and says, “Of course, my पà¥à¤¯à¤¾à¤°à¥‹, that’s what this is for!” They ran, still laughing over to where the cats being brought in had gone. They were 2 adorable kittens with milky white bellies, and orange and black fur that just begged for Dahai and Beheshto to pet them. After much deliberation over which cat to pick, They finally decided to pick the one who the workers said was younger. Dahai picked up one of the cages, and Beheshto took out their hard earned pocket money, and they ran back to Vahan. They ran back out of the store, laughing, with their new cat, Miwen, carried in their hands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It didn’t say it had to be people where 2 came in, 1 came out…
The sun was hot against the back of her neck, and the little cave before her looked cool and inviting. She could hear water dripping and echoing inside.
Plip-plop
…plop…
……..op….
Plip
Alexander was inside the cave already, laughing and beckoning. “Come on, it’s nice! Ooh, listen to the echo! Echo! Echo!” His words seemed less to fill the cave than to make it emptier than before. Suddenly filled with misgiving, Elizabeth took a few steps back. “I don’t know…” she said.
“Come on,” said Alexander. “Are you scared?”
That was silly. There was nothing frightening about this cave. She’d been in it hundreds of times before. It only went back a few yards anyway. Quashing her fear, she ran into the cave, darting past Alexander and skidding on the the wet floor. He laughed, and she laughed, too, feeling nothing.
“Let’s go further in,” he said.
“It doesn’t go very far,” she said. “I’m cold. Let’s go back out.”
“You go if you’re so cold.” He met Elizabeth’s eyes and they both knew what he meant.
“Fine,” she sighed. “But it doesn’t go very far.” She stepped forward towards the wall to illustrate her point, but no rock met her hands, only air. She took another step forward, and another. She was now in total darkness. “Elizabeth?” said Alexander, but his voice seemed oddly distant. “Elizabeth!” Even fainter now.
“Alexander?” But there was no response. She continued walking.
The hours ticked slowly by. Alexander sat at the mouth of the cave, chewing his nails. He stood suddenly and walked to the back wall of the cave, where nothing but rock met his fingertips. “Elizabeth!” he called again. “This isn’t funny! Where did you go?”
No one ever knew.
Every night, the star children come down.
In the quiet darkness their laughter echoes and their footsteps lightly sing. Lighting up the forests with their dusty silver glow, they play hide-and-seek until morning comes.
They all take turns to watch the moon’s path, for if the sunlight reached them they would shatter into fragments of ice.
~~~
Estelle stepped down into a tree. It was always annoying to make the journey down to Earth, but it was worth it, in the end.
Lewin – the ‘just a friend- really!’ – stepped down beside her and smiled.
“Here we are again,” he said. “Last time.”
“What, already? Aww…”
At a certain age, star children become to old to make the journey to Earth and remain permanently in the sky.
It had been fairly easy to tell that the time was coming soon. The other children started to seem immature and boisterous; Estelle stood off to the side while they played, and always volunteered to watch the time. Then she’d met Lewin, and they became fast friends. The time had flown by…
“Let’s go see the city again!” Estelle enthused.
The lights were on even at night in the city, and it was the closest the star children could get to being in the human society. And as a bonus, the streetlights in the city would hide the children’s glow so that it would only be visible to other star children.
“Mmk.” Lewin had never been too fond of the city.
“Race you there!” Estelle dashed off.
They walked the nearly-empty streets, peering into shop windows and cafes.
“I’d love to get that coat,” Estelle gushed. “And that hat…”
Lewin rolled his eyes. “The store is closed, and anyway, we don’t have any ‘money’.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think that scarf would look great on me? Besides, who would notice it was gone?”
Before Lewin could stop her, she had reached through the glass and pulled the scarf out. She put it on and struck a pose. “What do you think?”
“I think you should put it back!” Lewin grabbed the scarf and stuck it back into the store. He peered into the shadows around them. “What if someone saw you?!”
Estelle rolled her eyes. “You’re such a spoilsport. There’s no one here.”
Worriedly, Lewin noticed that where the scarf had been, Estelle’s glow had diminished.
They continued to walk in silence. Estelle was sulking, and Lewin observed that her glow was ever duller.
“The moon is setting, we should go,” he broke the silence.
“No… Let’s stay a bit longer! We’ve got time…”
Lewin shook his head. “I’m going.”
Estelle’s expression hardened. “Fine. Go. I’m staying.”
Lewin walked off slowly, half-hoping that she would change her mind. But when he turned back all he saw was a young girl, turned away from him. She had no glow.
Okay, I guess I’ll do a combination of 2 go in, one comes out, and my own about the footprints:
Cara glanced at me, her long brown hair clouding her face. She smiled warmly, though the weather was cold and snowflakes melted on our cheeks. “Come on, Ethan!” she laughed, already starting through the forest laden with snow. I ran to catch up with her, my snowboots pounding in the snow and my heart pounding in my chest. Cara laughed more, her pink lips parted in merriment. I playfully shoved into her shoulder, causing her tumble onto the ground. I laughed as I sped ahead, feeling free and alive in the sparkling world of ice.
But Cara never rejoined me. I slowed to a hesitant stop, looking frantically around the forest. It was eerily silent, with just the crunch of my boots on the snow making noise. “Cara?” I called, my breath coming out in smoke-like puffs. I retraced our footprints until I came to the place where I had pushed Cara into the snow. There was no imprint where her body had been, only
three
indentical
footprints.
I’ll try… combining what’s now with the previous theme and the three footprints, except not in the snow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glen and Gery walked through the streets of London. They were brothers. Glen had recently returned from a trip to Africa as a soldier in the Great War. The sky was black above them with the soot coming from the smokestacks. There was a new shop where there hadn’t been one before, and through the dirty window, they couldn’t see anything. Walking in, they saw there were cages that had dark, black cloths over them, so you could barely see what was in them. They were large cages, almost big enough to fit a person inside. There was also a store room, with the door half open, so they could half see stuff in the dark room. A man, the shop owner, rushed over to them, almost super-naturally, and said “What can I do for you, sirs?”
“What do you sell her?” Glen asked.
“Many, many things. We sell joy, thoughts, anger, and… justice” The man said haughtily. At the mention of justice, Gery tightened up.
The old man continued. “What we have here are feeling, thoughts, and anything you cannot touch or feel. The abstract shop, I call it. Anyone who wants, deserves or needs one of these things will find this shop. One of you is in desperate need… of justice.” Gery tightened again, turning pale.
“What’s wrong, Gery?” Glen asked confusedly. Speaking slowly, Gery said
“When… I… was… in… Africa, I… killed… many… natives… to… try… and… find… riches. I… never… regretted… it.”
“I knew. That is why you’ve come here. You shall repay your debts.” the old man smiled evilly. He grabbed Gery, quite strong for his appearing age, and picked him up, uncovered on of the cages. It was empty. He threw Gery inside. Glen ran to help his brother, but the old man blocked his path. He hit Glen with an amazing force. The old man seemed to grow, changing into a horrible figure. Glen started away from him, but the old man, now a seemingly infinite shadow, shouted
“Do not attempt to run away. If you go in there, you will suffer the same fate he did.”
“What happened to him? He’s just trapped in a cage?” Glen whimpered.
The shadow lifted the cage’s cover once again, and in the cage, Glen could see nothing. There was nothing. Glen crept forwards to the cage, and looking inside it, he could see three burnt foot marks. They were all the size of Glen’s feet.
“What did you do to him?! He was my brother, and you killed him!” Glen yelled at the shadow.
“Only my job as Hbarta, angel of death, and demon of life!” the shadow twisted up into the ceiling, becoming no more than a wisp of smoke. Glen ran out of the shop, sobbing. When he turned back, it was the empty lot it had been before.
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(I thought I clicked “comment” before but maybe it didn’t work as I don’t see it awaiting moderation. if so, please disregard this)
warning: profanity. I request politely that it be left in because I feel that censoring limits the dramatic effect and this thread seems to be more populated by those less likely to be offended by it, but selective application of asterisks would be completely understandable and tolerable, at least.
[The profanity was what caused the spam filter to snag your post. Minor snippage required. The dramatic effect remains sufficiently intact. –Admin.]
[two go in, one comes out]
I am never going anywhere magical again. Or on adventures.
I mean, you have no idea how much it sucks. You’re thinking, sparkles and friendly creatures and good always wins, and all of this Disney crap. You don’t believe me. I understand completely. I wouldn’t have believed you. We want everything to be romanticized. I jumped at the chance to go on an adventure, a real adventure, for once in my life. For another story to tell. “So, today in my global class…” “So, today I went to the land of Faerie…” I got a story, but still. Not worth it.
I wasn’t the only one there. How could I go on an adventure, a magical adventure to boot, and leave my girlfriend behind? She would understand. She would be so jealous. I would hate to be left behind by her on a magical adventure. So, we walk into the glimmering portal, hand in hand…
It turns out, faeries are sexist and homophobic. Little bastards, with the buzzing wings and the high-pitched voices, and elitist and arrogant too. And they curse like Elizabethan sailors. I suppose it’s to be expected. I hate Shakespeare too, by the way.
Not only faeries, but dwarves and elves… they’re also racist. Some are all like, oh noes, humans! fear! but most are, ew, it’s the earthbound scum! And with those ****** wings you can’t do anything about it, they fly just out of range and spit…
I’m sorry about the language. I’m kind of distraught. Please understand. Please listen.
We’re still walking along, taking in all this, looking for potential weapons and also maybe dark corners (well, as has been pointed out, we are only human, and there is no supervision in Faerie) and after a while it gets to be a little much. We start responding to their slurs. I don’t take well to discrimination, and she’s even worse than I am. One of the many reasons that I love her.
I think it was the swords made out of cane that did it. Nobody likes being threatened by their inferiors, especially when it seems like the inferiors will succeed. We broke off the cane and tipped it with splinters of rock, like obsidian, only it was probably like magical obsidian, they certainly freaked out about it enough for that, and tied it together with duct tape. Of course I have duct tape. I always have duct tape. It’s especially important in situations such as this when you don’t know what supplies will be available. Duct tape can fix anything.
We have our swords. They’re really more like spears, but we’re treating them as swords. We don’t have training in using the edge of a blade, anyway; we don’t fence saber.
Like I said before, faeries don’t like it when you threaten them with swords.
As it turns out, the faerie queen is actually named Titania. And she is fickle as hell. She changes her mind on how to kill us like six different times. Fire, no, boiling oil, no, drowning, no, suffocation… You have no idea how tedious it is. All the while she’s flirting with Oberon. So annoying. Eventually she decides on public stoning, and puts us in separate cages for the next day. Just far apart enough that we can’t touch. That bitch. The cages are made out of that sharp rock monolithically, so it’s not like we can break out, anyway. We wait.
The portal we walked through had a time limit. And it’s back. It appears in my cage. I can either enter it, or stay in Faerie forever. I have the choice, and I would give anything to be the one forced to stay. My life? It’s nothing, really, compared to hers. She tells me to go. I curse and cry and scream and eventually walk through the portal as it’s disappearing. Alone.
I reach home, and the originators of the portals are mysteriously absent. I wish I still had the spear. And that one of them was near.
It’s been a few hours, but I don’t know how time runs there. My watch is broken. It could be hours or seconds. And I could never see her again. And, like I said, I’d rather be dead.
But I have a plan.
Remember how I said duct tape could fix anything? And ever since I’ve been back, it’s been looking kind of weird and glimmery…
Dodecahedron: This wound up in our new spam filter — hence the delay. I’ve rescued it and posted it untouched, because the profanity is not gratuitous and has literary justification.
(after a second time it wasn’t awaiting moderation either. so I’m assuming that it’s submitting and not showing. more apologies for the double post, and hopefully an explanation?)
I’ve got a new theme-
A vending machine that refunds change in life instead of change in coins…
(maybe it’ll kick-start this thread…)
This reminds me of The Lathe of Heaven. I really liked that book. I’ll try not to kill the thread again.
[a vending machine that refunds change in life]
All she really wanted was something to drink. There was still play practice after school, and he was going to be there, and she didn’t want the pity or the angst or any of the rumor. She was tired and she needed some way to survive three hours of drama, in both senses of the word.
“ENJOY A REFRESHING DRINK NOW,” flashed the display. It was an order. $1.50 for iced tea. The only thing in the machine with caffeine, and only 23 milligrams in the whole bottle, but still. The machine ate a dollar, two quarters. A4. There was raspberry and lemon tea, but she wasn’t sure of its caffeine content. Not enough. Never enough.
“EMPTY.” She was tired and thirsty. Wouldn’t it be Zen, she thought, if it responded in haiku? Or in koans? That would be much more pleasing. Even “TRY AGAIN LATER.” Magic 8-Ball of the world, her drink machine, dispensing advice and refreshment to all. (“YOU ARE NOT ALONE. SOMEDAY SOMEONE WILL LOVE YOU. IT WILL BE OKAY.”)
Maybe the next machine over would have iced tea. She pressed the change return button, cupped her hands over it to prevent the mass exodus of coins throughout the cafeteria…
Wasn’t there supposed to be money? A refund, returned? Was the machine broken?
Wasn’t there supposed to be–
(a
change?
)
All she really wanted was something to drink. The play practice was going to be tiring, everyone whispering and nobody asking. But at least he would be there, and at least there wasn’t so much doubting anymore. Still. Caffeine.
She put a dollar and fifty cents into the machine, keyed in: A4. Iced tea would not be perfect, but it would help.
“DRINK CANNOT BE FOUND / TRY AGAIN SOME OTHER TIME / OR ANOTHER PLACE.”
Smiling, shaking her head, she keyed in A5, where there was lemon-flavored tea.
Probably way too long… Sorry about that.
A soda machine that refunds change in life.
Lisa walked down the hall, scowling at the floor. Today was her last day in school. They were moving, halfway through the school year. How was that reasonable? Besides, they’d never moved before. Why?
She stopped beside her favorite vending machine. Most of the vending machines only dispensed water, but this one, though it looked like it only dispensed water, actually, if you hit the bottom button, dispensed something else. It changed, but it was never water. And the beauty of it was that nobody ever came here, so she was never seen getting something other then water.
Anyway, today was no different. She deposited three quarters, without really looking at the machine, and punched the bottom button. Nothing happened. She punched again, finally looking at it. A little red dot showed on that button.
“No!” She hit the soda machine furiously. “My last day here and I have to drink water?” She angrily hit the refund button. Nothing happened. “What? I don’t even get my money back? This machine never broke down before.”
She hadn’t taken three steps away from it when her cell phone rang in her bag. Which was odd, Lisa could have sworn that it didn’t get any service. She pulled it out automatically, and glanced at it. It was much nicer than her mom’s old phone, which was now hers. She had probably accidentally gotten one of her classmate’s phones. She’d have to figure out whose it was, and return it. But what to do now, while it was ringing? She glanced at the caller I.D., and frowned. That was her mom’s number… Why not. “Hello?”
“Hi, honey. Did you find out about the times Saturday?”
Saturday? They were leaving Wednesday… “Which times?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already… The times for your volleyball game, of course! You didn’t get them?”
Since when had she played volleyball? It had always been a dream, but she had never been good enough.
“Lisa? If you didn’t get them, you can just ask later…”
“Uh, no I got them.” She paused, wondering how she knew this. “It’s from five to eight.”
“Five to eight! Right through dinner. We’ll have to eat early… Well, it can’t be helped. Is that when the game starts, or when you have to be dropped off?”
“Uh… That’s when I have to be dropped off. The game starts at six.”
“Oh, okay. Also, can I borrow your computer? I won’t disturb anything on it, but I need to take it to Melissa’s house, she doesn’t have one.”
“My- Sure.” Was Mom just playing a trick on her? But how? Pretending she had a computer, sure. But the cell phone?
“Thanks! I’ll have it back by the end of school. That’s everything, I think. See you when you get home, okay?”
“Yeah. Bye.”
Lisa snapped the phone shut, without looking at the contacts. What was going on? She didn’t play volleyball… Or did she? Sitting down where she was, she dug out her schedule. Sure enough, there was volleyball, sitting innocently on the list. Her other classes were different too… More advanced. The books in her bag, she noticed now, were different too, as was her bag. Wait. She dug through her bag at top speed. “Yes!” she exclaimed, loudly. All the pencils her mother had told her to give to her friends ‘so that they can remember you’ were gone. She wasn’t moving. She was in volleyball. She had a cell phone. She had a computer. Her life appeared to have just spun around and she didn’t see how it could get better. Picking up her bag, she ran out of the hallway, intent on finding out what else had changed. She had forgotten all about the soda machine she had been so frustrated with a moment ago. She probably wouldn’t be back. But the soda machine, sunning itself in its cranny, didn’t mind. It was used to being forgotten.