One Word: Degree

I earned my degree feeling on top of the world.  It took less than a year before I devastatingly realized it was the most expensive piece of paper I'd ever own, and worth less than the paper I could've bought at Staples.

OneWord: Received

It was the simplest and the greatest gift I'd ever received, and at the time I had no idea the power behind it.  A pen, a simple pen.  How could I ever have known how it'd change my life?   "Write your dreams, and make them come true," my grandfather told me.  Sentiment?  Magic?  I'll never know.  But what I do know, is that when I look back to determine the moment everything changed, it all tracks back to when I received that simple gift.

OneWord: Disaster

It was such a disaster. In her worst nightmares, she’d never imagined the blind date could go *quite* so badly. It was the kind of story she couldn’t have made up — so unbelievable it had to be true.

FridayFlash #64: The road less travelled

She stood only a few kilometers from the base of the mountain, its peak shrouded in an unnatural mist. It was a mountain she'd never had any interest in seeing from a distance, much less climbing, but now she had no choice. She looked around her, taking in the stunning views and the happily oblivious families playing on the beach. They had no idea of the power that lurked nearby; hopefully they never would.

She took a deep breath and left the beach, finding herself quickly in deep vegetation. She knew of people who could trek through deep forest without ever making a sound. Sadly, she was not one of them. And realistically she figured her presence would be known long before sound would have given her away. She rolled her eyes as another branch snapped and an angry bird cawed loudly.

Humans had so few natural predators, yet somehow still the thought of approaching one in its den triggered long dormant instincts; her legs felt like she was wearing lead shoes, and she could hear her own heartbeat. But she had no choice. It was her fault Callie had been taken. Taken. Not killed. Nobody believed her when she told them that, claiming stress and grief were manipulating her memories. But she knew what she had seen; the dragon had been too gentle, too determined. It hadn't killed her sister; it had kidnapped her.

She muttered under her breath as she ducked under a branch only to walk straight into a cob web. There was no trail; of course there was no trail -- most people had no idea what lived up there and those who did, actively avoided visiting. But somehow it wasn't horribly overgrown either -- as she walked, her feet seemed to find their own path.

All too quickly she reached the low mist. The air hung heavy and her clothes began to sag as they drank the moisture from the air. She paused to catch her breath and became aware of the utter silence surrounding her. The birds, monkeys, and various other woodland critters who had been narrating her hike, were now noticeably missing, as though they too knew better than to risk venturing into the mist.

Welcome Christina, she froze and her eyes widened at the words she felt rather than heard. We have been waiting for you.

She snorted and determinedly continued her hike. After all, realistically if they, whoever they were, wanted her dead, she would be. Only a few moments later, the mist cleared, her limp hair and damp clothing all that reminded her of the humidity that had been.

Christina didn’t know what she’d expected to find. If she’d put any consideration into it, it would have been an arid cavern of some sort – maybe something similar to a volcano. But that was not what she found.

She knew she was staring and her teeth clicked as she consciously closed her mouth. What she saw defied all understanding she possessed. If front of her floated a stunning castle, whose edges shimmered like a mirage. To either side was what looked like giant garages, unfathomably large, and lit by crystals. The whole place oozed wealth and grandeur, but somehow also had a welcoming homey feel.

“Stein!” Christina’s eyes focused on the door as her little sister came tearing out toward her.

“Callie!” She swooped her sister up in a bear hug, “Are you okay?” But she could tell by the grin on her face and the strength in her hug that her sister was fine. “What happened? Actually no, never mind, you can tell me when we get home.”

Callie unwrapped herself and grabbed Christina’s hand, pulling toward the castle. “We can’t go yet. You have to meet Jory! And school is so much more fun here than at home.”

Christina, she held her breath as the powerful feeling overtook her again, Callie will complete her studies here. At which point she may return to your home if she desires. You too have sufficient power to stay and learn – although you are old to be so untrained. Alternately, you may leave unharmed. But know that once you cross the mist, you will have no memory of this place. Choose wisely.

Callie tugged on her hand, imploring her to come, but Christina paused, her mind spinning. She thought of her parents, and the grief they would feel at the apparent loss of another daughter; she thought of the life she would lead if she never knew what had happened to Callie; and then she looked at her sister’s excited face and knew there was no choice. Hoping it wasn’t all an elaborate ruse, she gave one last look through the mist before allowing her little sister to pull her toward the castle and her destiny.

OneWord: Distant

The stars sparkled in the distant sky and Alissa thought through her future.  If only she could get that far away.  Start over.  Distance would be her saviour.

(sixty seconds to write about OneWord: oneword.com)

FridayFlash #63: Daily Commute

I found this one very disturbing. Consider yourself forewarned.

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As she watched the train approach the station she wondered what it would be like to step in front of it. Her life was good, she had no reason or particular interest in ending it beyond curiosity. In her mind she could see it all play out. She could hear the screams of the bystanders, the shriek of the breaks being applied full force. She studied the train with an air of calculation. This one would be a good one to do it with. Different drivers approached the station at varying speeds. Most slowed down, some so much even a child could cross in front without any real risk of injury. But this driver was flying at a rate so fast the people crowded closest to the tracks would be forced backwards by the wind, even as they tried to remain blasé and unaffected.

She could do it. One long stride, well timed, and she’d be flying along the front of the train. That timing was important. She didn’t want to be standing on the tracks and be hit. Nor did she want to fall and be run over. Both of those would be a gory mess of pain. She wanted to fly. Like a figurehead on the front of a ship. A commuter’s banner. The unknown working woman, waiting on the tracks with all the other lemmings. Presumably once the train did slow to a halt, these commuters would be held up at least a few minutes. The driver would have to undergo paperwork and counselling – she wasn’t sure which was worse. Everybody else on the train would have a story to tell their friends and loved ones. “A woman jumped in front of my train at Barrie!” Her life would mean nothing, but her death would provide a few minutes of entertainment before being shrugged off as yesterday’s news. It was the people on the trains after her that would resent her. All the following trains would be late and their passengers would not have a good story to tell. But still, it’d be little more than a commuter’s grumble.

She could jump. Just to do it, break the rules and see what happened. But then there was the very real possibility she’d end up dead. Or worse – seriously hurt. And she had no interest in that. She had children she loved – Jamie, her youngest, had just started kindergarten. Her husband and her family would be upset, and it would haunt him forever that he couldn’t understand why. How could he, when there was no reason? No reason at all. No reason she had to be the one to give the commuters a story. Not when there were so many others who could do the same. She looked casually around the platform. There were no cameras. She watched the train approach. Calculating. And when she deemed the moment right, she jostled forwards abruptly -- as though she'd been shoved. Crashing hard into the unfortunate lemming in front of her.

The woman didn't fly. She didn't even scream. It was more of a crunch really as only the top half of her intercepted the train. There was moment of stunned silence before the chaos on the platform kicked in.

A few people rushed to the aid of the woman. She considered doing the same -- she had basic first aid training after all -- but really, how much could she do that they weren't already doing? She overheard a couple of people on the phone with 911. Some commuters simply waited in their spots for the doors to open, pointedly ignoring the chaos surrounding them. If they didn't participate, it wasn't happening. But the ones who really appalled her were the people who pulled out their cell phones -- what kind of person would take pictures of something like that?

A senseless death. The kind of tragedy that makes you remember to appreciate the important things in life. So with that in mind, she decided to take the day off and go pick up her children from school. Perhaps they'd take the dog to the playground. They'd love that. Commuting could wait till tomorrow.

Friday Flash #62: Good Fences

"Are you moving?"

I stopped myself from uttering the sarcastic response that sprang to mind in light of the moving truck and obvious packing going on, and settled instead for a brief nod.  The elderly busybody thrived on knowing everybody's business, whereas I thrived on privacy.  We'd never gotten along particularly well.

"Why?"

"I'm concerned the cops will discover the bodies in the basement."  Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.  I left her standing there and went to collect the next box.  I wondered what it said that she was at least contemplating believing my wild fiction.

"Where are you going?" she asked as I returned.

"Away."

She waddled in front of me, so I had to either step through the gardens or push her out of the way to continue being productive.  I rolled my eyes as I finally met her gaze.

"Where?"

"I don't know," I told her, and I wasn't entirely lying.

"Well where is the truck going?"

"It's taking my stuff to storage.  If I ever get it packed…"

She didn't take the hint.  I can't say I was surprised.  I took a deep breath in an attempt to give my internal censors time to work.  I shook my head and shoved past her, closer than would ever be deemed polite, but not so aggressively that she lost her balance.  When I returned, she'd removed herself from the path, but still watched every move I made.  Her husband sat, as he always did, in his rocker across the street.  In five years, I'd yet to hear him say a word or see him venture farther from the house than his porch.

In truth, I didn't know where I was going.  I just felt immensely dissatisfied where I was and had deemed it time to move on.  My job allowed me to work from anywhere with a decent internet connection.  I had vague plans to drive south and east until I found somewhere warm and sunny.  This town, which had once seemed so quaint and peaceful, had been plagued by the same issues as small towns everywhere and the novelty had worn off.  But worse than boredom inspired drug use and a disproportionate number of teenage pregnancies, people had been going missing.  As the anxiety rose on the streets and local news celebrities had been replaced by state reporters, it occurred to me that nobody would even notice if I were to disappear.  Work would clue in eventually -- but I doubted they'd do anything other than have HR fire me via email.

So I decided it was time to go.  Start over somewhere that I wouldn't have to shovel the driveway.  Maybe a city this time, where anonymity was the expectation rather than the exception.  Somewhere I could pay an exorbitant amount for an average latte served by a barista who can't spell.

By the time I finished packing, my own personal neighbourhood watch had her lips curled in tightly and anger creased her forehead.  It became a stubborn point for me not to address her.  As I climbed into the truck, she never moved.  I didn't say goodbye and she didn't wave.  I just left her standing there glaring as I pulled out.
A few days later I found myself on the other side of the country, contemplating options for my next home.  I sat in a busy sports bar and half-heartedly watched the tv while I awaited my order.  Football switched off as two talking heads appeared.  Breaking News!  The national anchor started talking, her words transcribed on the bottom of the screen.  Husband and wife serial killers arrested.  Parts of dozens of bodies spanning a time period of decades found in their basement.  Neighbours describe them as quiet, loving, and part of the community.

On the screen showed the house across the street, the porch swing now empty and still, accompanied by a mug shots of my nosy neighbour and her quiet husband.