To have your challenge entry recorded, please write your piece as a reply to this thread.
As a central theme of Consistency is the existence of time — ensuring that you are writing on a timely and daily basis — the theme of this month’s prompts will also be about time.
Today's prompt: [Hour]
Definition: a period of time equal to a twenty-fourth part of a day and night and divided into 60 minutes.
╰┈➤ Write a piece about something that happens during an hour.
Word Count: Minimum 300 words, no maximum.
An hour before the train leaves and I am a hundred kilometers away from you.
Invisible flame sets my feet alight by the first five minutes, my legs taking me forward regardless of the screams its muscles make. There's no time to shout in pain; I save my voice for the next fifty-fifth minutes.
Forty-five and I grow used to the world blurring before me. Not one face stays long enough in my sight that I can register any smile or frown besides yours. The stars that awoke constellations in your eyes twinkle with encouragement, and I pray a silent thanks for their grace.
Thirty sets of sixty seconds and I nearly collapse onto a stray street light. It flickers with pity as my body slumps against the harsh upright metal. Thirty seconds I tell myself I'll have. By the tenth, I take off, leaving its warmth for the cold night.
By the fifteenth, I hear the faint blare of the announcer. The train that is about to take you away from me has just arrived, is what I get from his strained voice.
The crowds can't hear my pleading over the shriek of the train's screeching halt. Parents look at me in mild shock, more disgusted as the pull their children closer. Ten left. I must look like I had escaped a highly guarded area to get here. A runaway.
Except I was running toward, to someone who I realized I didn't want scratched out of my life. The initial of the name I want to draw in hearts pierced by an arrow.
But the station guard draws my patience thinner than the five minutes winding down to two. He says that you need a ticket, and I tell him I haven't said goodbye. The core of my stomach tells me to tell him I'm lying. I don't.
By the time I step on the train, my neck receives a near fatal whiplash as I search for you. You aren't here, my head says; you have to be here, my heart says. What if I had gotten the time wrong? You could be thousands of kilometers away by now if I misheard.
I must have misheard.
Body aching, I step back down to the platform, defeated. I was too late.
"Hey!"
In the second I don't realize it's you, I think I'm hearing things.
But it is, you're standing in front of me, voice muffled by the blue scarf I gave you two weeks ago. Next thing I feel is your touch, and I'm scared I might fall into you quite literally. Yet the more I feel myself slip, the more I feel you catching my weight.
I feel the wood creak underneath me, and I decide that I can tell her after a good, true fifteen minute break.
[WC: 470]
546 words
Outside the open window of Seele’s room, closed curtains wave at the stars blinking in the night sky. Inside her room, time has long since stopped. The ghost of a kiss lingering on tightly shut lips leaves Kiana in a trance.
A garden of anemones and dahlias bloom underneath a patch of snow. Kiana’s hands still as flowers bloom right before her eyes. The roots must have made their way up to her throat because words seem to never make it out of her mouth and air feels heavy on her lungs. Her lips quiver as she struggles to hold back a breath, cold roots digging deeper into her neck, and the ocean shakes violently in her eyes.
“Kiana?“ Seele's voice cuts through the silence. Like thorns on a rose prickling against her skin, it leaves bright red marks on Kiana’s cheeks. Seele speaks softly, almost a whisper, but her voice echoes loudly in her ears. Anxiety ultimately weighs down her chest. In her eyes, there’s only guilt and shame, and she sees it reflect on the anemones growing wider and wider by the seconds. “Is everything okay?”
The moment Seele runs a hand on her cheeks, the garden ceases to exist. Bouquets of anemones, roses, and dahlias disappear as quickly as it came and all of a sudden, she’s staring at Seele’s bare face, no garden or snow. Kiana sees that her eyes are wide with concern as she nurses the side of her face with her palm, warm fingers against cool skin. A lingering feeling tells Kiana that it had been a mistake.
Kiana thinks—no, everything isn’t okay. The heavy feeling invading her chest tells her she’s not supposed to be here and that that garden is never meant to grow. She rejects the precedent but she lies besides Seele, eyes wide and breath uneven with the urge to seek that garden once more. Her hands are already on her neck clinging desperately for her embrace, but she hesitates. Purple eyes only remind her of a person she once loved because somehow, even as she tries so hard to move on and fill up the space she left empty in her heart by herself, she could never forget her—even when Seele keeps her company, holds her hand, and keeps her warm on a cold night in November. Memories of a promise shared in July only continue to flash in her mind and open a door for guilt to revisit her as it always had. At this point, guilt had become her best friend.
Glimpse of anemones and dahlias growing amidst winter and petals of rose against her cheeks pulls Kiana back to reality. Gardens had not bloomed with her and she had not seen flowers grow in patches of snow until Seele. She feels ridiculous comparing who she once had with Seele—Seele who doesn’t deserve to be part of the mess she made—but she’s desperate and lonely and Seele is honest with her. So she thinks—yes, everything’s fine. She’s alright. She leaves the past and stays in the present and until then, past the window sills and translucent glass panes, flowers pull her and give her sanctuary in Seele’s room. The garden convinces her to stay—even if tonight lasts only an hour.
”I’m okay.”
Word count: 534 🖥
I highly doubt any of my teachers will ever see this but this isn’t based on my computer science teacher specifically. I do love computer science, I promise, but my goodness GCSE revision was rough.
The computer science classrooms always got stuffy in the summer. It was even worse after lunchtime, having no time to breathe after the fourty or so students trying to fit so they could finish their last minute homework or take paper from the printers for not-printing related matters had left. 14:10 was the last lesson of the day, and everyone in the room wished they had air conditioning.
Another lesson on something we all knew about. There was so much repetition around this time of the year. Exams loomed in the not-so-distant future so all the teachers were desperately trying to get the “vulnerable knowledge” locked into our heads. In our unfortunate case, that involved doing a quiz everyone got full marks on, reading information we already knew, and answering extended questions in a format we wouldn’t even be assessed on. It was the same every lesson. All the information blurred into one. What were we learning about today? Binary, again? Ha, if only. It was probably something irritatingly simple and mind-numbingly boring like secondary storage devices.
“You should not be talking,” the teacher said, even though nobody was talking. “I expect absolute silence,” they said, as if that were any different to any other day.
I looked away from the computer screen, giving my eyes a rest. Thankfully I had a window near my desk to look out of. The only thing I could see was the rest of the school grounds, but it was comforting nevertheless. I did love this subject, really. Computers amazed me. Forced revision wouldn’t change that. I could still go home and work on my own projects comfortably and sporadically without the pressure to work work work for an hour straight. Sometimes I would work for three hours without pause; other days I would struggle with ten minutes. School didn’t allow that freedom.
The room was getting restless, which usually meant there was around fifteen minutes left of the lesson. Sure enough, the clock read 14:55. That time was deceptive: it gave a false reassurance that the lesson would soon be over, even though a quarter of it remained. As usual, I’d got a lot done, but not as much as I expected to the standard I accepted. Some days I would kick into speedrun hyperfocus mode.
Today was not one of those days.
I sat there, the minutes dragging on, feebly typing something every now and again to look busy. I outlined the rest of my answers so I at least attempted everything, but oh no, I ran out of time to mark everything. What a tragedy. Not.
Finally, finally, the clock flicked to :08. Everyone began to pack away their things, eager to leave as soon as it hit ten past.
:09. The teacher said to have a nice weekend, then insisted we wait that final minute, even though we were all ready to leave. It was always like this: we were used to it, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating. We stood in silent anticipation.
:10.
“Bye, Mx.! Have a good weekend!”
“Bye.”
“Thanks, Mx..”
At last, we were free.
…At least, we would be after the locker rush was over.
I may or may not have written this while listening to Yue's "songs for when you're running out of oxygen in space" playlist cuz it just fits.
CW: death
A faint beeping sound followed by an incoherent voice drummed in my ears, forcing my mind out of the darkness it had slipped into. My heavy lids struggle to open, offering only fogged images before me as I strained myself to get up. A groan fell from my lips at the jolt of pain that shot through my body, every muscle screaming out in agony.
Despite the unfortunate awareness of the pain I was in, at least the voice was clearer now, enough for me to tell who it belonged to.
“Cove…” I called out his name, reaching a trembling hand for the containment boxes that surrounded me and grabbing on as well as I could. My entire body strained to barely pull myself up and linger in place, draining me of whatever strength I had left.
I repeated his name as best I could manage, staggering forward only to collapse back onto the cold floor.
“Yes– Captain-Captain Wolf?” his voice glitched, sounding faint across the vacant cabin. Ah, so he too was struggling.
“How long…?”
Cove went silent for a brief moment before his reply graced my ears. “One hour, captain”
I raised my head just enough to look over at the wide glass pane towering in front of me, showing me the great nothingness that met me on the other side. Once a magnificent sight to my naive little eyes, and now, still magnificent, but telling a far different story. No longer did the dark chasm of space hold wonder and adventure for me to explore, but rather fate and melancholy; a bitter farewell.
I took in a lungful of whatever oxygen remained before propping myself up on my arms and dragging my uncooperative legs towards the wall where I collapsed onto, finally able to rest someplace more comfortable.
“Cove?”
“Yes-yes, Captain?”
“Record” I breathed out, tilting my head back against the cold metal that sustained my withering body.
“Affirma-ma-mative, Captain. Recording” his voice glitched again and somehow that saddened me more than my own ticking time.
I lingered in the eerie silence of my spaceship, accompanied only by the faint sizzling of the dying machines struggling to sustain my lifeline long enough to make me painfully aware of every passing minute.
“To whoever finds this… This is– Captain Halcyon Wolf of the uh– the Artemis Colony. It’s day… uh–” I winced in pain at the ache in my head and Cove ended up filling in for me.
“One thousand and sixty-four”
I nodded, uncaring of whether or not he was right. “I’m on a mission from planet Dion L90–” My wheezing lungs forced me to a stop, every word scratching against my throat, but I couldn’t stop. I had to finish my message. “I made it. There and back– I fulfilled my– mission, code: 9924…” The throbbing in my head interrupted me once again, aching every time I had to actually remember something.
“6.7.1.8.2.3.” Cove finished it for me. I suppose it made sense that an A.I would know numbers and dates better than me.
“I could go on… and on, about everything I found but– My time is running out… and I– I don’t know how much longer I can hold on” My eyes fluttered shut, my head resting against the wall behind me as I took another moment to catch my breath. “Everything hurts… so much and it’s so– so cold.” I shivered but was unable to even wrap my own arms around myself. Though what use was it anyway? My time was up… it was only a matter of moments now…
“I hope my work isn’t in vain… I hope– I hope that whoever finds this– can finish what I could not. And– and take care of Cove…” I smiled faintly at the thought of some young explorer like me back in the day finding this and fulfilling my mission.
It was a pleasant thought for a dying woman.
“May the stars guide your travels, explorer–” I let out a pained groan at the conclusion of the message, it wasn’t good but it would have to do. “Cove, end recording…” I waited until receiving the familiar beep to signify the conclusion before calling for him again.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Make sure to keep that well– I… I won’t make it… but– you will”
A light flashed before me and as I looked over I was met with a vague humanoid figure standing before me. His silhouette flickered, his body barely visible in its holographic blue state but it was enough to satisfy me.
“Captain…”
“Take care of whoever finds you– finds this…” I gestured vaguely at the ship, struggling more with every word, slurring them together into a hazy mess. “And Cove?”
“Yes, Captain?” his figure knelt down in front of me, his featureless face right in front of mine. I reached out for him and he reached for me but our hands never met. He simply passed right through me.
My hand fell limp on the ground and I followed it with a slight raspy laugh at the occurrence. “Oh… Cove, I love you– You’re the best friend I could’ve ever asked for…” I mustered the best smile I could, even if human emotes didn’t matter to him, I wanted him to see it; to know. “I’m lucky… to spend my last moments with you…”
“Captain, I-I-I already sent out the notice. They will come-come for you– Please don’t–”
“Not this time” I shook my head.
How come it’s the a.i who’s the hopeful one? I suppose that’s the blissful ignorance of death. It’s foreign to him, isn’t it? Or does he know what this means… Does it hurt him too? I hope not.
“How much… more…?”
He hesitated, for the first time since his creation, he actually hesitated. “Five min-minutes and twenty-three seconds, Captain”
“Call me Hal…”
“Hal”
I smiled. At least I could hear my own name one last time. At least it mattered to someone.
My body relaxed onto the surface sustaining me, every muscle easing out of the tension the ache held on me until now. I could no longer feel it. My lungs tried as well as they could but every breath came in shallow, one fainter than the other. I’m so tired… My eyes fluttered shut offering my mind the soothing darkness as it slipped away, engulfing me in the quiet.
“Hal…”
WC: 1,064
He was a trickster, a scammer. Games were his specialty. He could lure anyone foolish enough to challenge him. This could make him bold, confident even. But when he saw the man with the long, silky black hair with those innocent eyes, he knew tonight would be a feast. He quickened his pace and made it to the market’s center. Straightening his robe and smoothing his hair, he tapped the man’s shoulder.
“My, beautiful sir, would you perhaps be interested in a game of chance? I shuffle the cards, you pick one and I guess what it is. If I win, I get to keep that gorgeous ruby ring, and if you win I’ll give you this”—he pulled out a bronze locket attached to a golden chain—”family heirloom of mine. Deal?” It was difficult to talk without looking into his eyes. A swirly mix of blue and green. A blue-y green. A green-y blue.
“Oh? You must think of me as—” He started, sounding almost angry. But he breathed and smiled—I would never forget that smile. “Fine, handsome. Let’s see what you can do. Frankly speaking, I’m excited. No one has asked me such a thing. Alright, do your magic.” He folded his hands and smirked.
I pull out the pack of cards and pretend to put a spell on them. My unofficial apprentice was an official apprentice and mentee of the witch Vaishnavi. I even spoke a few spells he told me. Perhaps the man knew I wasn’t a witch, but my pretending brought a laugh out of him, which reminded me of wind blowing through a paddy field. I proceed to shuffle the cards and make them dance with my fingers. The market was getting too crowded. It had only been a few mere days after the king died but it seemed markets ran regardless.
“Pretty boy, let’s go there. It’s more quiet, hm?” I tug on his shirt. He nods and we both rush to the dark corner, a sort of alley. I finished shuffling the cards and spread them out for him. “Pick one, I promise not to look.” I felt him tap a card and I knew I was going home with the ruby ring. I shuffled the cards and said this with an air of ominosity: “And your card is—!” I pull a card out, only to gasp so loud that someone from the market looks in.
The card he’d picked was a Queen of Hearts. But this card, it wasn’t even a proper card. It was a Knight of… Pentagons? My eyes shoot up to a smirking, handsome face. “You- How?- Huh?-'' I stutter, trying to sum my questions whilst battling my embarrassment.
“Is this your card?” He twirled his finger and from an empty hand emerged the Queen of Hearts. He flicked the card at me and walked out of the alley backwards. “Here, tomorrow, after the market’s closed. I’ll show you more tricks. Win against me, and I’ll tell you my name, Akavan!” He blended into the crowd and by the time I snapped out of that trance of humiliation, he was gone. So a challenge, was it? I will be waiting. After all, it was only a mere twenty four hours.
(( no matter how much i struggled with writing today, i refuse to give up now. I am in far too deep and I am COMMITTED.
if the narration seems frantic and doesn't make sense then that's exactly what I was going for; this was a mix between a character exercise and kind of dabbling in unreliable narrator territory to an extent ))
One hour. Marcus has to make it through one hour, and then everything else will work itself out. Life will be a breeze after this is over, but he's gotta fight for it first like he fights for everything he has left. Always fighting, always fighting, clawing for any chance at anything at all because he has to try his hardest if he wants to hope for anything just like the times have to fight to keep changing and time has to fight to keep moving. Thinking about the time makes his heart rate spike. Had to be some time around three in the morning for sure, for sure! For sure, it must be, because he can already feel that those empowered by this time have arrived. Spirits. Demons. Perhaps something even worse. The witching hour. Not every person believes in the supernatural, in the paranormal or otherworldly justifications behind the unexplained phenomenon of the otherwise natural and sensible world. But it would be wrong to argue that those who were superstitious of it were far and few in between, for that couldn't be farther from the truth. And of those believers, Marcus is part of the crowd that takes precautions against the unseen forces, by far, the most seriously. That's all a bunch of longer words just thrown together without much thought behind it. Marcus tends to talk like that a lot once he really starts rambling. Sometimes, he even comes up with his *own* words! Like sensical, derived from nonsensical and meaning the exact opposite! Does that make any sense? Not really! A word of sense not making sense itself is such a beautifully contradictory thing! Is it a word already, I wonder? Has someone else already done it? Well, if it was already a thing, maybe whoever came up with it should have tried a little harder to get recognition for it, and they can just suck it up now because it's his now and that's what Marcus had to do for his entire life and *he's* had things stolen from him and *he* didn't whine *nearly* as much, *did* he--!?
A loud *BANG* that may or may not be a product of his own mind snaps him away from that train of thought and gets him back to the more important track: defending himself out here where there's no other option than to fend off the demons alone that surely lurk here. The forest is dark, and cold, and the shadows cast over the area weave between the branches of the dying trees and fall lifeless to the ground. The weather is unforgiving. Not at all the best condition, but it's not as if Marcus had a choice in the matter, either. It was either he escaped right then and there or he'd *never* get out, and if he was gonna be stuck with the latter option *then so help me, why don't you just kill me now and get it over with!* He can hear them. Footsteps. They're faint, they're distant, but they're there, and it's the people and he knows it's the people because that's the kind of steps that only people make because people let themselves be heard even when they try not to. People fumble and make noise and shatter even if they don't want anyone to see. It's because people are stupid, so stupid. Well, Marcus is beyond that. He doesn't have time nor the energy nor the care to dwell on his own humanity in relation to all of these astonishing revelations, because he needs to dedicate all of that to running right now. And run, he does.
This is his only hope at ever living a life at all, so he's persistent. And he's tenacious. He won't let the hands that reach out from under the dirt grab his ankles, and he won't let the moon fall down to the earth itself to crush him in its weight, and he's not stopping when the stars start falling in brilliant blazes of light and fury, and he's not going to stop for the people who are yelling for him to come back and he isn't running slow enough for the eyes to even have time to track him down because they blink and he's gone, they blink, they blink, they blink, and it's always too much and it's never enough because it'll never not sting to keep their eyes open and they always know exactly where he is anyway and *he'll never let them reach him.* It'll take an hour to get out of these woods. An hour stands between Marcus and opportunity and safety and freedom. And he'll be damned if he lets some monster hellbent on taking that get to him before he gets out.
Holding the little tuxedo cat in your arms, you watch as he struggles to open his eyes and stare up at you. Those eyes are dull and sad now. And God, does it pain you to hear the little whimper that escapes him as he nuzzles his face against your arm. You had an hour to say goodbye before Cosmo would cross over the rainbow bridge. A fucking hour. How were you meant to say goodbye to him like that? He meowed and pawed at you until you lifted him higher. “Hey, Cosmo, shh, I know lil dude. You’re my pretty boy, you know that right? And you’ll always be that.” The kitten purred softly in recognition as though he understood and it made your heart ache even more. There was no way he didn’t know. You’d been sitting here, just holding them, for almost the entire hour as he slept because you couldn’t bear to wake him. So, now that he was awake and mostly aware, you had less than fifteen minutes to tell him goodbye before they’d put him down. And while you knew, in your heart, it was for his own good, it didn’t change how much it hurt. You traced your fingers idly down his face and scratched under his chin, listening to him purr against your hand in contentment. He wriggled in your hold until you loosened it to let him sink his claws into your shirt. It seemed as though his whole body shook as he clung to you, whimpering like he was begging you to fix this. “I know… I’m so, so sorry, Cosmo. I was meant to protect you but I couldn’t save you from this. I couldn’t stop a disease I never knew you had from snatching you from me when I least expected it. Shh…” You rub the side of his face gently as you slowly detach him from your shirt and lay him in your arms again. He’s so tired of all of this, and God you wish you could’ve prevented it. He’s your little buddy. Your Cosmo. “Ma’am…? It’s time. Would you like to stay in the room with him as it’s done?” “Yeah. Yeah, I can’t just— just leave him.” Your veterinarian didn’t say anything in response, instead just offering you a faint smile and reaching for the prepped syringe. “You’re going somewhere where everything will be okay again, Cosmo. It won’t hurt anymore, okay?” He mewled in response, stretching his paws out to reach for you as you gently placed him on the metal table. Your time with this little gem of a cat was coming to an end. You held his paws as his eyes fluttered closed and his body stilled. God, an hour to say goodbye hadn’t been enough. But he was gone now, prancing across the rainbow bridge to his new home.
WC: 442
A lot can happen in an hour.
There are only 24 in a day, and at least eight should be spent in deep sleep. Deciding what’s the most productive way to spend each one I spend awake is something that I’ve found difficulty in since I was small. I could read a couple dozen pages of the books I’ve been piling up on the shelf, all unread. Similarly, I can catch up on two or three episodes of those shows everyone’s been recommending to me but I never bother to watch. If I really wanted to be productive, I could dedicate an hour to catching up on the weekly homework assignments that make me dread Sundays.
The fact that I’m writing this journal entry and unironically calling it a submission for Consistency should say a lot about how I actually spend my hours of the day. There’s no way I’ll be able to get my eight hours of sleep by the time I’m meant to get up for my workout routine tomorrow.
No, you could easily say that I’m working out already. What’s the inherent difference between spending an hour typing words on a screen and jogging on a treadmill for the same amount of time? Actually, never mind, there’s a lot of them. Typing doesn’t burn nearly as many calories and I won’t gain any more muscle from coming up with creative ideas to express myself, but by that logic, I’m not really developing my creativity by jogging on a treadmill, either…
I apologize for the pun, but it’s more an issue of consistency than anything else. Healthy habits are the foundation of a healthy lifestyle, and strengthening the mind is just as important as strengthening the body. (I wouldn’t recommend blocking out time at 1 in the morning to start typing away or working out, so please don’t follow my example this way!)
That being said, blocking out an hour or so a day to spit words on a blank page has been a great way for me to practice setting goals for myself. I recognize that I need to spend more time fine-tuning my schedule, since I feel like I don’t dedicate enough time to the people and places I care about. That’s kind of why I like to push the idea of forming habits like working out or writing daily. Even if it’s just 300 words a day, or even less, and even if it’s just words on a page written for the sake of having them written, what’s important is developing the habit of creating habits, and that’s a skill I could really use for my day-to-day.
The disease has been spreading rapidly. It’s hit Asia, Europe, Africa, South America, and now it’s worming its way through North America. They’ve said overpopulation is a problem, well, it isn’t anymore. And it’s only been five months.
A country’s lucky if it remains a quarter of their population after the virus has swept over its lands. The Standing-Man Killer—that’s what they called the disease—infected most, and very close to all people who have it die.
I’m terrified. My cousins have already gotten it and died, and so have my uncles and aunts. Two of my friends died this month.
School’d been cancelled for the past two months, and rightfully so. Getting an education would’ve killed us. In person anyway. And with all these losses, people dropping left and right, online school just can’t be a thing.
It’s the most contagious virus yet. If you breathe any contaminated air, you get it, no matter what. Immediately. But you don’t know you have it, and that’s what kills you.
It’s called the Standing-Man Killer for a reason: people with the disease drop dead if they stand. My parents have made it mandatory to be sitting at all times, just in case. At least, they make it mandatory for me. Mom risks her life walking to the kitchen to make toast or grab a soda. We’d gotten rid of the couches and replaced them with toilets, and we installed curtains around them. Privacy and safety all at once.
I should think it’s ridiculous. I should argue and be rebellious like all teenagers and say, “I don’t want to sit on a toilet for the rest of my life!” But I can’t help wanting to stay safe, after all that’s happened. One day the virus will pass, hopefully, and we’ll be able to stand again.
After a month of sitting on a toilet, while I’m eating a peanut butter sandwich and watching the news, they announce the Standing-Man Killer has been eradicated. Apparently everyone’s either died or stayed sheltered and are okay!
“Haha!” I laugh in joy. “Does this mean we can get back to our lives now?”
Except no one answers my question. “Mom,” I call out to her, as she’s standing in the kitchen. She’s always complaining she can’t hear me when she’s in the kitchen. “They say the virus is no more!”
I set my sandwich on the floor. “MOM! DAD?”
I hear a loud thump.
Another thump.
I jump to my feet, my heart speeding up. The virus is over. The virus is over. I can stand. Mom and Dad are fine. Standing isn’t dangerous. I take a wobbly step, then two. I break out into a run, my legs finding it easier to adjust to being up than I thought they would be.
And as I see them in the kitchen, I stop breathing. No, I hyperventilate. This can’t be happening. They’re not…
I let out a bloodcurdling scream and fall to the floor, shake my parents, beg them to wake up. But they won’t wake up because they’re dead and the Standing-Man Killer has killed them. But that’s impossible because it’s over…the disease is supposed to be gone…But if it’s not then—
I collapse face-first onto the floor, because the virus has gotten me too.
It was 11pm. She stood atop the cliff, overlooking the vast forest below. Staring up at the night sky, she tried to locate her favorite stars, a gentle smile across her lips. The wind caused her hair to flutter behind her, the chill from it causing her to wrap her hands around herself. Several minutes passed with her just looking at the night sky. Behind her, her boyfriend was trying to build a small fire to keep them warm. A few minutes pass again, and he is able to successfully get a small fire going. Calling her over, both sit by the fire, a blanket draped over their shoulders. Leaning her head onto his shoulder, she wraps her hands around his waist. “I am so excited to see this meteor shower”
“I know. I am excited too, more because I know how much you wanted to see one, and getting to share in this experience with you is just so special.”
“Thank you for finding out about this.”
Checking his watch, he sees it is 11:10PM. He pulls his laptop closer that had been lying beside him. Clicking onto the website that was live tracking the meteor shower, he saw that the timer for their location still had 10 more minutes to go.
Seeing that he has time, he gets up and grabs a bag of marshmallows and wooden skewers from the trunk of his car. Coming back, he hands them to her, re-joining her on the ground under the blanket. Tearing open both bags, they get to assembling small marshmallow skewers. Roasting them over the fire, they sit in silence, just enjoying being beside each other. Soon, his phone and computer both alert him to the fact that it is time.
Nudging her, he points to the night sky. Slowly but surely, bright sparks show up in the sky. Soon, enough, the sky is filled with meteors, lighting the night sky up, making it so bright that the stars become hard to see. He turns to face her and sees her awestricken face, wonder dancing in her eyes. She closes her eyes, hands clasped together, wishing upon them.
Sitting on the ground, cuddled together, they spend the next few minutes just enjoying the view of the meteor shower, with her slowly falling asleep on him. He gets up and picks her up bridal style gently, carrying her to his car and depositing her into the seat. Buckling her in, he sees the clock in his car reads midnight. Smiling, he turns to go around to the driver’s side of the car. Before getting in, he turns around, closing his eyes, clasping his hands, sending out his own wish seeing that the meteor shower is still ongoing. He wishes to spend every day with her like the past hour, just enjoying the simplicity of life.
[WC: 475]
the soft morning hour
Word Count: 1k
Summary:
It was Takuto and Zenkichi's day off.
To some, a day off from work meant a nice day out. Taking a stroll in any of Japan's cities, or going out to eat. But to Takuto and Zenkichi, days off were rarer than blue moons. Those days meant staying in, basking in the morning sunlight curled next to each other.
They cooked meals together in a cramped kitchen, arms around the middle of whoever was stirring the curry or washing the dishes. Both of them weren't the best of cooks, but they were open to trying out new recipes. As well as learning to lessen the damages to their home in doing so.
Nonetheless, those days were more valuable than any treasure. They did their best to treat it as such, so they could look back on them and recall with fondness.
And that morning was slowly becoming another of those scarce days.
Takuto took the chance to start reading one of the books he has recently brought. He was seated at the right end of the couch in the living room. His legs were folded beside him, making him take up most of the couch.
Zenkichi didn't mind though. He was seated at the other end, head resting against his hand. The television was off, and he didn't have a book of his own. Yet not a slick of boredom glossed his eyes. He stared at Takuto, his other hand rubbing one of his thighs.
The other man was impossibly warm like always, and Zenkichi was careful to not disturb him. They were still tired and they wanted to spend the rest of their day there, where nothing could bother them. Where there was nothing to be stressed about.
Zenkichi could see the iris clearly.
His surroundings were indistinct, muted, to him. The sounds around him had fallen away ages ago. His world reduced to mere centimeters of space and time, nearing the realm of abstract thought. Unable to be comprehended the more he focused on Takuto.
The other man's eyes seemed fabricated from textiles, from wool threads. The strands overlapped each other and created an intricate, organized mess. Especially against the warm light above them, and the rays of the sun slipping through the window to their far left.
Like fate lines leading up to a single point, Zenkichi thought.
The hazel hue of Takuto's eyes never failed to impress Zenkichi. He had always expected to see only tones of brown. But to see different tones of yellow and brown mesh so well together, it gave away the allusion of gold. Yet, as much as the idea made him smile, the iris was purely hazel. Purely mesmerizing in its simple tone.
The iris fell away to the pupil, a black dot growing as it skimmed through the letters of Takuto's chosen book. Zenkichi didn't catch what the title was, nor what it was about. But with few words he could read Takuto silently say to himself, he guessed it was about an ex-convict in 19th-century France.
Zenkichi could see the reflection of the window in Takuto's glasses, and some glimpses of it on his own. The sun gently flowed through the curtains, and framed the room. The rims of their glasses started to glow with the soft morning light. And slowly, even their clothing became rimmed with it. It was ethereal, the way their comfortable clothing took on the sunlight.
The curtains moved loftily in front of the window, silent and graceful whilst Takuto turned another page. He felt a breeze caress his ankles. Cool enough for him to sift his legs tighter together, but warm enough to be able to suppress a shiver.
Zenkichi carefully returned his hand on Takuto's thigh, and continued to watch the other man read his book.
Takuto's eyes were something else. They were complex, with different hues and layers, and he could never quite seem to crawl out of their depths. He could never find the will to, either. They were a beauty Zenkichi had never believed he would be able to see again. An inescapable beauty he was content to lose himself in the remaining days he lived.
Takuto's gaze flickered over Zenkichi's face. His hands closed the book for a moment. A smile emerged on his features. "Did something catch your eye?"
Zenkichi supposed he had meant it to come out as teasing and self-assured. But he could only hear the softness in Takuto's voice, his breathlessness.
"Nothing really," Zenkichi murmured with a quiet laugh, refusing to move away from Takuto's gaze. "Just trying to remember when's the last time we had a day off together."
Takuto reached to grasp Zenkichi's hand on his thigh, and stroked the back of his palm.
"It was…" Takuto pondered, head tilting gently to the side as he pondered. Then responded, "Three weeks ago, on a Sunday." His voice was ever so soft, so fond.
"You're lovely." Zenkichi exhaled. Framed by the soft morning light, brown hair swept back and pale blue robes not even slightly rumpled, Takuto looked almost inhuman. Not keeping his compliments to himself was new, since he never found the right string of words to convey them. But he was willing to try again, for his and Takuto's sake. "Can't believe that after this, we won't be having another day off until weeks later."
Zenkichi shared one more breath with Takuto before he rasped out, throat suddenly tight. "I couldn't help but miss you at work this week, could've used your help in making some profiles for some cases."
"Sorry I couldn't be there this time around, I had some errands to run." Takuto chuckled, "Maybe next time, I'll have some time to look over cases with you again."
Zenkichi sighed, eyes still unflinching from Takuto's. "I'm not sure though, cases have been pretty gruesome as of late. Something about bodies being found on telephone poles…" He trailed off.
Takuto maneuvered himself to lay on Zenkichi's side. He intertwined his hand with Zenkichi's, and ran his fingertips on the back of his palm with the lightest caressing. "As long as I'm helping you make the world a little more safe, I'm alright with anything, Zen."
Takuto raised his head, and Zenkichi's eyes finally left him to focus on his lips instead.
With a soft kiss, shallow, long and full of meaning, Zenkichi was happy in leaving everything else he needed to say unspoken.
An hour within myself
What is time? Nothing pops up in your head as you mindlessly swipe your finger upwards, feeling as if every moment yousee currently never really is remembered by your mind. As if it went right through it. You soon feel unease within your back, causing you to rearrange your position. It doesn't go away, so you just begin to ignore it, as if it'll help. Time seems to pass by slowly or rapidly, you don't really know how, but it feels like there are instances where it's fast, and vice versa, no matter what you're doing. Be it staring aimlessly at the ceiling, scrolling through social media, reading, writing, watching, or just, nothing. Simply existing. And yet your mind continues to go on in a spiral about time.
Within your head, you imagine...a ball, a huge ballroom, with several people dancing around, with the only twist being those people having voices, representing your thoughts as you are reminded of them, soon swarming your head. And yet you do nothing. You let yourself be consumed by the thousands upon thousands of voices, scenarios, feelings, thoughts. You don't even know which is which anymore, and you don't bother to. You do nothing, again. You feel as if the world is nothing but black and white, or maybe just...white, due to how bland and empty you feel, and how everything feels. You feel content, despite the lack of almost everything. You are still alive, anyway.
You snap back to reality, feeling the warmth of the blanket surround you, the sound of the raindrops falling, the electric fan whirring. The sounds of the people that live with you. You sigh, although not in disappointment, but in...you find your mind blank once more, unable to pinpoint your feelings, but it doesn't bother you. You get up from your bed, standing up. You feel and hear your bones...popping? Once more, you do not care. It feels like you should be concerned, but you are not. And you should be disappointed, and you are not either. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you're okay with not knowing. It's already fine for you as it is.
You grab your water bottle from the bed table, drinking as you felt your dry mouth moisturized, causing you to let out a refreshed "Ah." You don't really speak, and you really prefer to just be all alone with your mind. Something didn't seem right with that line, you thought. But you don't bother to check it. You walk outside, only to realize everyone is asleep. You heave a sigh as you head to the bathroom sink to wash up your face, and brush your teeth, and you return to your room to grab your water bottle for a refill.
The kitchen is dark. You feel a tingle in your spine the moment you turn your back against nothing, but you do not flinch, nor move, nor react. You just let the feeling be felt. You accidentally spilled some water, but it's alright. You just wipe it with a small rag that's used for the table. You soon head back to your room, and back to your phone. You return to your cycle of activities, watching, reading, scrolling, writing, and sometimes, playing. But you were interrupted by the sound of your alarm. Ah. An hour has already passed by. You look out your window to see the sun beginning to rise from the horizon. You feel like adding something like, 'but it's only felt like minutes', only for you to realize you don't remember how a minute feels like, how a second feels like, or how an hour feels like. So you just don't add it.
Word Count: 912
“We’ve got only one hour,
To fill this sour tower,
With my love, I will shower
You, till my last breath and power.
With one hour, we’ll live,
With our hearts, believe,
I’ll carry you down this very eve,
Because you’re my soul, Aviv.
Down this golden cage,
Away from this life they've arranged,
Write a new chapter in a new page,
I’ll hold your hand as we age.
As I promised on our wedding night in depth,
I’ll love you through health and death,
Give you riches and fill you with wealth,
And we’ll share the burdens and strength.
But until then, one hour,
I will not cower,
I would scour the earth to give you, my flower,
My superpower.
Give you your God given right,
To fight this night,
Let you fill it with your bright light,
Let you be your own knight.
You carry a powerful weapon beside,
We’ll fight side by side,
Down each step inside,
And finally leave this tower behind.”
I grip the paper tightly in my hands. After twenty years inside this place, I am more than ready to leave. Brushing my tears aside, I put the paper safely inside my corset and went to my bed to take out a piece of wood. I had found it discarded when I had been moved to this room. After spending a good amount of time sharpening it, the mediocre branch became a deadly dagger in my hands. I look beyond my barred window as I push the dagger beside the poem. The sun is going down soon.
I brush my hair and give myself a last inspection in the dirty mirror above my vanity table. My dark green dress was long enough to hide the fact that I’m wearing boots underneath. We’ve been planning this escape for weeks now. Malik had only been able to smuggle me these very boots. Everything else would have been too suspicious and confiscated by the guards outside my room. Tonight is my only chance to flee. Tonight is the ball in which the King will parade me around and announce our marriage.
And I’ll be waiting.
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The grand ballroom was lightened by candles adorning the golden walls and crystal chandeliers swung from the ceiling. The marble white floor was so clean that I could see my reflection perfectly. But even more luxurious were the clothes of the noble people dancing and talking along with the music played by the orchestra in the back. I noticed the stark contrast of my green dress with their silk dresses and suits. They were made of all the colours of the rising sun. Another evidence of how I did not belong here was their light skin and blond hair.
As I stepped inside, my guards stayed behind and assumed places beside the door. Gasps arose as the people inside took notice of me. Some looked on with wonder, others disgust, and my heart twisted. I quickly searched for a familiar face before continuing on. My eyes stopped briefly upon the throne before I found her beside the food table. Shoulders back and tension knotting in my belly I walk towards her and discreetly pick up a piece of sweet off a plate.
The waitress I knew as Magda stepped towards me and offered champagne.
“Everything’s in place, Aviv. In one hour, before the clock strikes midnight, someone will come get you. Remember the plan.”
Without even waiting for my nod, Magda courtesies and slips away to offer a drink to another guest. A second later, the orchestra changed up their tune, declaring the arrival of the King and his gentlemen-in-waiting.
The King's pale complexion wasn't hard to find. Tall and young, he walked towards the dais with the confidence that came with his title. Upon his white hair was a white ivory crown and below, a strong jaw clenched and bright blue eyes cautiously darted around the room. Chin dipping slightly in recognition as the people bowed before him. He’s nothing like I’ve ever imagined. It’s not common for the royal family to be seen in public since they spend most of their time in an unknown location. Rumors say that they live in a magical castle made of ice. Not that I’ll ever believe without seeing it with my own two eyes.
When he reached the throne, his voice boomed out-
“Thank you all for being here on this special night. Tonight, I have an announcement to make. Please welcome Princess Aviv Howl of The Old Kingdom.”
With that, the guests opened a path from me to the imposing man. With no other choice, I walked forward and soon found myself putting my hand into his.
“I, King Cyprus Balfor of The New Kingdom and Princess Aviv are to marry-” Screams cut him off and as we look towards the screams, we see the windows shatter and people in black jump inside. In the middle of the chaos, I rush towards them, but King Cyprus holds me in place. “If I have to cut my own hand to be free I will”. I hissed at him. Surprised, he let me go and I ran towards one of the windows and threw myself out of it.
One moment I was flying beneath the moonlight, the next, someone caught me by my middle and dropped me at the ground. Their green eyes met mine in the dark and together we ran towards my new destiny.
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OMFG THIS WAS SO HARD TO FINISH. *cries* I AM EXHAUSTED!
Midnight
They say midnight is the hour that never ends, unbeknownst to all who sleep. Yet I do not rest when the hour strikes twelve, for I am afraid of what lays wake. I wait out the hour. I stay alert, my senses sharp and as keen as ever, I lay and I wait for what feels like days and days and perhaps that’s exactly what they were.
Unfortunately, some nights lasted longer than others, and that midnight was no exception. The wind whistled through the eaves, the whole house seeming to tremble and quake beneath the harsh breath of the storm. And I was frightened. Midnight ticked on and on, the hour never changing. I grew hungry and weak, but didn’t have the courage to leave my bed.
Lightning flashed through the cracks in the curtains, and thunder boomed from the distant hills. The night seemed to beckon to me, but I was frozen in fear and could not be tempted. The storm grew harsh with my resistance and a gust of wind forced itself through the window and I covered my face as shards of glass shattered in all directions. Jumping from my bed, I ran through the house, looking for an escape.
The storm calmed to a low whisper, beckoning to me and I burst through the door, inhaling the fresh night air. The whispering ceased, but I had broken my only rule. I was tempted at the hour of midnight.
My breath hung heavy in the cold air, and the silence was cruel. I looked around, waiting for what would find me, when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I turned and stared into the penetrating eyes of the lone wolf; it slunk round the side of my cabin, its coat of white shining in the light of the full moon, its bright eyes searching my soul. I screamed, and the ground began to shake. The wolf bounded off into the night and the ground rumbled louder and louder; the earth cracked, trees shooting out of the ground, tall and looming. I ran, but they followed me, the trees appearing all around till I was in what seemed like a forest. I heard the lone wolf's cry from far away; the shadows creeping closer, and I covered my ears, falling to my knees.
I woke drenched in sweat; the room flooded in darkness; the clock striking one. A wolf howled in the distance and that’s when I realized I had done the worst thing imaginable. I had slept through the hour of midnight.
Rain falls rapidly from the sea of clouds weeping above. A young man pulls his hood over his messy head of hair and takes a breath. As the scent of wet concrete filled his nose, he stepped forward from his doorway and closed the door behind him. He took two steps into his driveway before a semi-opaque woman appeared, staring at him over his shoulder.
“Aren’t you gonna lock the door?” The apparition asked. The man sighed, his breath turned to vapor.
“I’m not gonna go far. Just gonna circle the block.” He assured, continuing forward. He got onto the sidewalk, the sound of a car cut through the rain’s gentle hiss as his companion spoke again.
“Every time you say that, you wind up on the other side of town. Either that or you somehow wander into the fog.”
“The fog is calming. You make it sound like a bad thing, I figure you’d like it more than I do.” He shot her an amused look. She appeared flustered, circling her hands around each other.
“Well I do- I just don’t get how you always just waltz right into it. Sometimes it feels like the fog is finding you. Which…that’s an interesting thou-” She stared at him with an unamused look and pointed back to the house. “The door, Cayde. Lock it."
Cayde snickered. “Almost had you.”
“Uh huh, not this time.” She gestured him to turn around. Lightly shaking his head, Cayde turned and walked back to the door, fishing his keys from his pocket and sticking the door key into the top lock.
“I really don’t get why you nag so much about the door every time I go out. Not like you use it or even can unless the fog drifts here.” He pulled the key out and put it in the bottom lock. “I don’t think anybody’ll steal anything, Cee. We don’t have anything worth taking.”
“Doesn’t mean risks are something we should be taking. I’d rather not come home to someone rummaging through our-”
“Our?”
“Ugh, your stuff. Point is, I don’t like the thought of strangers being in our house.”
“Our?” Cayde replied with a restrained smile. Cee folded her arms and stared him in the face, her brow furrowed in irritation. No amount of rain could deafen the man’s snickering. He stared back, biting his lip. Her eyes narrowed and his snickers turned to giggling. Her gaze softened and she covered her growing smile with her hand.
“You’re not funny.” She giggled.
“Then what’re you giggling about?”
“How annoying you are.”
The man pulled out his key and shoved it back into his pocket. “It’s okay to admit that I’m funny.” He assured with a turn. He made his way back to the sidewalk and looked forward. “Oh hey, check that out.” He pointed to the approaching fog a short ways away, swallowing buildings into its maw. “Maybe it really is finding me.”
“Well, you're gonna head in, then?” With a nod, Cayde ran down the sidewalk.
The fog was dense, almost opaque, those who came out of their homes found themselves stumbling through their surroundings. Cayde however, could see through it. For him, the fog was thin but it was still in large quantities. A silver haired woman walked beside him, stretching her arms with a soft groan.
“Being physical never stops being weird.” Cee commented.
Cayde pulled his phone out, quickly unlocking it and checking the weather. “Huh. Better get used to it, this fog is here to stay for the next three days.”
“Really? Kinda wish it was permanent, rather than just appearing unannounced.”
“I’unno.” He shrugged. “I kinda like it appearing at random. Makes it mysterious. How does it work? Why does stuff like that appear?” He pointed at an approaching figure with four arms, in each hand were iridescent rocks. The creature grumbled to itself in a strange, unknown language. He pointed at her. “Why’re you physical here? Mysteries.”
Cee stifled a chuckle. “Dork.”
“I’ve got a…half-ghost following me around all the time and weird other-wordly fog pouring into town. If being curious makes me a dork, then I’ll wear those shoes.” “Glad we’re in agreement. If only we could agree on you being a NEET…” She smiled slyly. An exasperated groan left his lips and he rolled his eyes.
“I’m a paranormal investigator, actually.”
“Right and I’m queen of the fog.” She snickered. Her companion stopped walking and stared at her, his eyes bright and shining with amazement.
“Really?”
“No.”
Cayde frowned and kicked a pebble. “Don’t do that.” Cee chuckled and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“What, is a mysterious ghostly lady following you around not cool enough for you?” She teased. He nodded and she lightly shoved him in response, prompting a laugh.
“You really are annoying, y’know that?”
“Yeah. That’s why you follow me around though, isn’t it?”
One hour.
That's all that's left until the deadline. I shake my head, inner exasperation gnawing at me for leaving things to the last minute again.
A minute has passed.
I chew on my metaphorical pencil, thinking about what to write, another minute flying by as I do.
Feeling all out of ideas, I resign myself to just detail this process itself instead.
Fifty-seven minutes left.
I remind myself that this time I should really submit ten minutes before the platform closes.
Fifty-six.
Still seems like I have a lot of time left, though I know it's never quite enough.
Fifty-five.
Really stepping up the pace here. Writing does make time fly faster.
As if to mock me, now it doesn't. Still the same minute.
Fifty-four.
Dad's washing the dishes. Understandable. Those chicken wings really were amazing, but they must have left a lot of greasy plates and dishes behind.
Fifty-three.
A car has started up in the distance, coming closer than drifting away again. It's a quiet neighbourhood, so you can hear individual things like that.
Fifty-two. Some birds are chirping quietly, though not loudly. Afternoons are quite calm for them.
I wait for the next minute.
Fifty-one. My grandpa's digging the soil again. For what, none of us know. There won't be anything more planted other than grass if it was on us, but it's not. They should take it easier at their age.
Fifty.
Dad's begun peeling garlic, must be cooking... Oh! He's preparing the new chicken wings. I still think it might be too much in two days but, oh well...
Forty-eight.
Well, not really forty-eight yet, but I'm pretty sure half a minute passed.
Dad offered that I should take some rosemary home. I said no, cause we'd never use it for anything.
Forty-seven.
I'm so bored. I'm gonna go check on discord, see what the Writervana folks are up to.
Hehehe. The panic is palpable, I am definitely not the only one doing this last minute. Well, last hour.
Dad keeps popping in though, showing rosemary and bay leaf and olive oil and talking about some distant relatives that were farmers and plowed their land with cows.
There are forty-two minutes left. Still feeling so terminally bored. I wanna go play games or something.
Forty-one.
I should definitely finish this up before I do, though. It wouldn't do to almost miss the deadline again because there were only 5 minutes left to do some grammar check and editing.
Forty minutes.
I wonder if I stop writing at the fifth minute to submit this, will it still be valid? After all, this needs to be happening during an hour.
I do suppose it wasn't specified that the entire hour had to be detailed, just that it had to be within an hour. I think.
Dad came in again. I think I'll close the door. Soon.
Thirty-eight minutes left. So bored. Gonna check on writervana again.
Someone said john arbuckle is banned in writervana. I find that very funny and would post a gif of him, except I have had enough of being muted, once was enough. I'm lucky I didn't catch the 'I don't read the rules' disease.
Twenty-eight minutes to go. Might as well stick this thing in a document file and check for grammar.
All is well.
Dad and I will go on a walk and I'll get a soda to drink on this hot summer day some time later, so yay.
Twenty-five.
Getting restless. This'll have to do, I want to wrap it up. The word count is already enough.
Seventeen.
Quality… maybe another day. I want my soda.
And so I submitted this and in the remaining minutes of the hour, I got ready to go walk and get my soda.
Meliran would be so proud. Edibles and beverages first and foremost.
The end.
WordCount: 899
The guide's voice was blending with the murmur of the stream in the distance. Sara liked that place, full of gardens that you couldn't see the end of, imposing and delicately made statues, flowers she had never seen before, and the sun painted in a blue sky. She adjusted her cap, it was midday, and although it was cool, the sun's rays began to weigh her down, however, no one had been able to get the guide to hurry at all these three days that they visited the Illusions Castle, a castle of mysterious owner, so picturesque that when the guided tours began, you had to ask for your place months in advance.
Dressed in a polo shirt, denim shorts and tennis shoes, Sara continued to drink water from her plastic bottle while she stopped listening to what the guide was saying once and for all and focused on observing that labyrinth of gardens while she waited for her friend who had left to go to the bathroom with three other people. That garden in particular caused her a great fascination, although she had gone just to accompany her friend Amelia, she was enjoying the visit more than she would ever admit. Although it had only recently opened to the public and the castle family was not well known, her grandmother had at some point in her life worked at the castle. Intrigued, she agreed to accompany Amelia when she asked, but she couldn't get her grandmother's strange reaction to the moment she told her that she would be visiting the castle out of her mind. It was as if she wanted to warn her of something, but couldn't, strange.
As Amelia did not appear, and the guide's voice became more monotonous as the minutes passed, Sara began to distance herself a little from the group. She thought about wandering around for a while, the castle was so big that she could always go back to where the group was, so she was not worried. She slyly grabbed a closed bottle of water that was lying around, checked the time on her wristwatch, and set off. She was surprised at how easy it was to get separated from a group, and made a note that if she ever went on an expedition somewhere dangerous, she would physically tie herself to the guide. It may sound extreme, but Sara had a special quirk, and that was getting lost. She wasn't worried about getting lost in this enclosed, security-filled, finite place tho, so she let herself wander through the maze of gardens with a calm heart.
As she walked at a leisurely pace it didn't take her long to find red, pink, peach colored roses, along with others that she honestly couldn't name and had no interest in doing so, however, it caught her attention because she had never seen such colorful flowers, yellow, purple, blue... without realizing it, Sara had wandered longer than usual, Sara checked her watch and realized that almost half an hour had passed since she started her walk, and so she decided to return with the group, which she determined would take another half hour more. When she was about to get to where the group was, she realized that there was no one there, which was strange, but she only assumed that the guide had continued without her. It was a lousy service, in fact, he had not sent anyone to look for her. Without taking much notice she continued walking, but she remembered Amelia, how could she leave without her?, was she still in the bathroom? With the sun still over her head, she decided she had enough of the tour and headed to where she knew the group reception was. She went through a door of the castle to get through, and inside was a crowd of people. What must have happened? There were rescue groups and even an ambulance, could someone have been seriously injured? Sara, now worried, began to search for Amelia with her eyes while shouting her name. She saw her surrounded by officers and tensed, pushing whoever was in her way, in a hurry Sara arrived with Amelia.
"Amelia, what happened?" asked Sara with a worried face, not noticing the surprised faces of the officers. "Are you hurt?
"Am I hurt?" Amelia's voice cracked as she finished the question. She held both her arms and looked her up and down. The officers were communicating with someone on the radio. She could hear something like "we found her" and Sara began to feel a shiver go up her spine, but she tried to remain calm. "Would it be possible to know where you've been all this time?"
Amelia was on the verge of tears and that worried Sara seriously, Amelia never cried. With a voice full of doubt, she began to explain her walk through the gardens. "But I don't understand, is there something wrong with the garden? I was only gone for like an hour."
"An hour? What are you talking about, Sara?" Amelia pulled her to a window. "Does that look like an hour to you?"
The night sky showed off its stars in that chaotic situation. Sara, perplexed, checked her watch to see that it was indeed close to nine o'clock at night. And even more perplexed she was, when on her wrist she saw a tattoo she had never had done before.
Note: My longest piece... yes, my best piece... no kidding, I haven't even read what I've written :)
Trixie stared at the three objects on the table. They were challenges, designed to challenge their skill and knowledge. If she passed it, she could raise the status of her family. Even just being a student of the Vaning Adventurer Sect had a much higher status than being one of the many peasants.
The test puzzled her though. For the first two challenges, she had fifty minutes.
The first challenge was to make the flying feather fall.
The second challenge was a cursed box they had to open.
In the last ten minutes, they would have something to do with the empty flask.
The first challenge was easy. When she couldn't push the feather down, and taking control of the mana was useless, she just set the feather on fire, and the ashes crumbled down.
The second challenge was harder. Trixie didn't really find a way to open the box without harming herself or anyone nearby. She couldn't use her lockpicking equipment, and to be honest she didn't understand the purpose of this challenge to begin with. The purpose of the first was easy: To find loopholes, which is no doubt a necessary skill to have when it comes to contracts. The third challenge was likely going to involve bottling mana somehow.
But the second one? Without proper equipment it was hard to open the box safely. Maybe the curse was not that bad, and the challenge is to test whether they had the confidence to step forward?
Trixie looked at the people around her. While the sight of their challenges was obscured, their faces were not. Almost all were in deep concetration, and some of the more mana sensitive she knew participated frowned.
Okay, opening it seems to be bad. Besides, most of the deaths happened because of overconfidence.
Maybe the purpose of the challenge was to let it go? There were fifty minutes alloted, and she doubted putting a feather down was going to take that long for the others.
She glanced at the empty flask. The third challenge was a bit odd. Testing their mana was to be expected, but why was the flask here now and not when they needed it? It seemed like a bad idea to hand it out at the beginning, ready to be tampered with.
She wished they would repeat at least one challenge, but no, ambiguity and suddenness was also one of the things they tested.
Runes lit up when she caressed them with her hand.
A moment later, she realized what she had to do.
She tapped the flask against the box, and the curse flowed into the bottle. A grin nestled on her face, and she could feel others staring at her. Quickly she opened the box. Inside, there was a scroll.
Drink the flask.
Her grin was replaced by a frown. Drinking the contents of the curse sounded stupid.
But, the examination. She could gain more status, more money, more food.
… Drinking a curse still was stupid.
She thought of her mother, with heavy wrinkles and droopy eyes, her father, always slouched over, buckling in the burden. Arranging the trip to here had been very expensive.
… It still was stupid.
No, she decided. Their parents, she knew, didn't want her here but to be another peasant. She had rebelled against them, pleading until they arranged the trip. The examination itself was free of cost. And now she swallowed her ambition.
If becoming one of the Vaning Adventurer Sect meant letting go of the will to live, then she wanted none of that.
The hour passed. Some of them around her had drunk the flask. This happened in the last ten minutes, though she couldn't be sure if what she saw was magic or real. The examiner, a rather thin woman who looked like she might fall from a light breeze, pointed at every person who had drunk the potion and asked them to come in the next room. She also pointed at those who failed at the earlier tasks, and led them to a different room.
Step by step they all trudged out.
"You failed," she began. She bit down on her lips. "You failed the last part of the examination. But we are still in need of adventurers. If you drink now, you shall be given a lesser pass still."
Some of the people around her drank the potion. Trixie too thought of drinking it; it didn't seem to have any effect on the ones who were led out.
"This is your last chance."
Her lips bled from all the biting. She cast her glance downwards. The examiner stared at everyone in the room.
"Before you leave, let me show you a glimpse of what could have been. Bear witness to the might!"
The wall collapsed in itself, and they all stared into the room where all the successful went inside.
Their veins were black and bulging, and a different person went from person to person, administering a salve to their veins. They were strong, powerful, but their behavior seemed subdued.
"Congratulations. Continue to survive, and you'll gradually grow. As you can see, the others, in their greed or whatever, drank the curse and changed. They no longer can fail, because they no longer are there. We, the Vaning Adventurer Sect, are made of people who are still capable of failing. Let's not forget that in humanity's retaliation."
Trixie smacked her head, realizing the obvious intentions. She really didn't perform well under time pressure.
The examiner stared at each of them, then, in a voice cold and devoid of emotion, as if what she was asking them of was something trivial, she said, "Now kill them."
"Excuse me?" Trixie stood up.
"They are no more humans but beasts. The last part of the examination. Kill them, and gain the power to grasp your destiny."
One by one, the other examinees all stared down at a beast and struck the killing blow.
Trixie merely sat back down. Tears welled in her eyes, and her lips now looked mangled.
The examiner walked up to her, light footed.
"We also have use for supporting roles. Otherwise, well, we're a Sect, what did you expect when you signed up?"
"Fight against beasts, not humans."
"They were all human before."
"Oh."
On her way back to the village, Trixie thought about a lot of things. Her parents reluctance to get involved in the sect. The examiner, who looked so light. And her response.
"Looks like I'm failing for real."
Word Count: 2,033 words (For mental health reasons, I wrote an AU spin-off/sequel to yesterday's entry. :D)
She holds the sheet of paper in her hand as crowds pass by her, always in motion. Completely still, she may as well have been a bonsai tree planted by the sidewalk. She will make a bright and bewildered bonsai tree.
Maybe if she stares hard enough the address written in it will change? But try as she might, the neatly scrawled letters stay the same. Ever-growing confusion simmers in her chest and she passes a hesitant glance at the cafe in front her.
New Beginnings, the sign says in thick blue script.
What’s she doing here again?
Someone in a rush bumps into her and she stumbles forward.
“Sorry!” she shouts behind her, but whoever pushed her has disappeared among the busy crowds. Everyone is stuck within their own worlds, she muses; she finds it may be a characteristic of this campus.
“Good afternoon, miss,” says a sudden voice in front of her. She flinches, almost dropping the piece of paper in her hand.
Careful to not block the main campus roads this time, she steps aside, eyeing the woman who has seemingly sprouted from the sidewalk. As composed as she can, she says, “Uh, yes?”
“Miss Caly, right?”
“Yes—wait, huh?”
“You have a reservation,” she says, matter-of-factly. So much so that Caly almost believes it. But she can only gape. Gesturing to the door, the woman continues, “Please take a seat.”
Caly finally finds the words to speak. “But I didn’t make a reservation.” Her legs push against the brick sidewalk as she struggles against the woman’s iron arms. Is this even legal? “Maybe you got the wrong person. I’ll just head off.”
The front door opens, sending out a whoosh of cold air and the bustling chatters of customers. Caly blinks; from the front, the cafe doesn't look like it was packed. Coolness runs along her skin and she feels an unfair pull beckoning her forward. Has the heat outside always been this blistering?
It is then Caly notices the iron-armed woman hasn’t said anything. Still smiling at her, she gestures Caly forward once more.
There are multiple voices in Caly’s head fighting for which decision to make. One, this is unknown ground, unknown people. Her parents always warned her about foolishly following strangers. But two, she isn’t a kid anymore; this cafe looks… safe, for the most part. Strange, but still safe. And three, the paper in her hand seems to buzz against her skin; and that, that is the strangest factor in this situation.
She remembers the kind man with blue glasses she helped yesterday. She remembers carrying his trash and the small smile he gave her. She also remembers when he brought out a sheet of paper and wrote an address to “a cafe he would really like to treat her to sometime”.
Again, the buzz against her skin; within her, it’s as if her spirit tingles. Caly sighs. “Okay, please lead the way, ma’am.” She gives in.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Despite the rush of cool air she received earlier, the atmosphere inside is warm. Customers chat amongst each other as the cafe employees serve with a certain jive in their steps. Wallpapered walls the color of home-baked macaroons, gleaming and varnished wooden floors, clusters of golden incandescent bulbs above cleanly-setted tables—all of it paints a picture of a happy hustle and bustle to which Caly can’t help but smile.
She is led to a table far off to the left. Wide windows by her side let her watch her fellow students rushing to and fro. Perfect for her to sit and wait in.
People-watching is something Caly always loved to do. There’s something always sparkling, always new, at the sight of people going about their lives. Caly smiles when she sees children run about with a spring in their steps. Her heart soars when she sees families, hand-in-hand, walking home with their steps always in rhythm.
It is perhaps in her core: Caly likes life. She loves living. And she revels in the presence of its evidence always.
There’s a tap on her table. Caly blinks up from her musing. A waiter dressed in the same warm colors of the cafe greets her with a polite smile. A pair of glasses hangs on his neck. “Your order will come within an hour.”
She blinks. “I… haven’t ordered anything.”
“It’s alright. Everyone here gets their usual.”
“Huh?”
“In the meantime,” he lays a menu on her table, “you can choose any refreshment to partake in as you wait.”
She is once again overwhelmed by confusion. But, as if controlled by the atmosphere of her surroundings, she orders a random drink in a blank haze.
The waiter writes her order down and, with a smile, walks off towards the kitchen.
Caly watches him before her gaze drops to the table.
Again, what is she doing here?
She sighs, resting her head on her arms. She can’t seem to shrug off any offers today, but… she strangely doesn’t mind.
Closing her eyes, she breathes in the scent of sweet cake and coffee. Since her order—whatever that is—comes in an hour, maybe she can doze off for a few minutes?
But before she can begin an innocent little daydream, there’s another tap on her table. Snapping straight, she blinks.
“Sorry for troubling you. For some reason they insisted that this was my tab—”
Whatever the young man continued to say escapes her. Caly’s heartbeat dances in a rhythm unlike she has ever experienced. A surge of emotions simmer within her—relief, love, frustration, fear, gratitude. Her eyes blur. Images of friends she’d never known flash in her mind’s eye, but she can’t follow any of their faces.
Yet she knows this man is one of them.
And she knows this man’s name.
“Ohnu?”
He pauses. Caly watches, through the blurs, how his eyes stop at hers. She stares in awe at how much she can guess the thoughts passing through his head.
When he speaks, Caly’s chest tightens.
“Caly?”
And she stands, enveloping him in a hug. It is then the wall to her tears shatter, and, in the arms of a friend she hadn’t known she lost and missed very dearly, she breaks.
Ohnu laughs the laugh he always had whenever they had successfully escaped their pursuers in a world she vaguely remembers; the laugh that was able to force a smile out of the steely Nadia; the laugh that tinkled in complete harmony with his brother.
And Caly cries at the memories she is flooded in.
She doesn’t know how long she stays there, overwhelmed and a mess, but in her next conscious moment she is staring down at a table with her head in her hands. Blinking, she reaches for the pile of tissues on the side.
Ohnu sits in front of her, watching her with a gentle eye. “How much do you remember?”
Caly laughs. “I remembered nothing. Until I saw you.”
He smiles. “I see. It’s the same for me.” A beat passes between them as Caly sniffs. “It’s rather jarring, but it’s nice to see you again, Caly. Especially now that you’re able to talk very well.”
“Quite jarring, indeed.” Caly leans back in her seat with a solemn smile. “How bad was I before, then?”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t say you were bad.”
“Come on, there’s no need to be shy.”
“No, I mean it,” he waves a hand, “even though you spoke in broken phrases, we could still understand you.” He grins. “You’re an open book, Caly.”
And the warmth in her bubbles up further, if that was even possible. She grins back. “Speaking of books, are you a writer now? You’ve always wanted to be a writer.”
He leans forward, resting his head on his hand. “Not exactly,” he says, “but I’m getting there.”
The waiter appears, once again out of nowhere, and drops a set of drinks in front of them. Before either of them could get any word in, he smiles and promptly leaves.
Ohnu blinks at the waiter’s back. “What’s going on here?”
Caly can only shake her head. “Beats me. He only said my order would come within an hour. I don’t even know what that order is.”
He turns to her. “He said the same thing to me.”
There’s a pause as they try to think. Yet within only a few seconds, they shrug in unison before laughing. Whatever confusion Caly had ten minutes ago floats forgotten in the warmth she basks herself in.
New Beginnings Cafe, Caly muses. She’s beginning to think she understands what’s going on.
Caly and Ohnu catch up to each other’s lives. Ohnu is here to study too, majoring in English. Caly is here to join nursing school. It fills her with wonder and also a certain joy; as if pieces of a puzzle have set into place, she realizes how much of her now has long been spurred by the unseen soul of whoever she was before.
And she knows it is the same for him.
Minutes and moments pass, each spent with bright conversation. She doesn’t know how much time has passed exactly, but she knows in herself she is ready to spend her whole day in this cafe if she is allowed to.
Ohnu brings up her family. She opens her mouth to reply but is yet again interrupted.
But this time, by a voice she also knows.
“Caly? Ohnu?”
They both stand and face the side.
Caly doesn’t see the emotions that flash in Ohnu’s face, but she can guess: a quick glint of recognition in his eyes, shaking pupils overwhelmed by relief, and a wide trembling smile that wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say.
She knows because she feels the exact same things tenfold.
Yan, eyes wide in recognition and head shak