The Time Keeper - Part Two

Okay... here we go!  Part Two of the story-telling!  I have chosen Mark Gardner's work to continue on with.  Now, how I've done this is:  Mark's work is in purple, mine is in green... okay?  Okay... now, read on and enjoy. 

I sat in the booth pouring sugar into my coffee cup. The pawnshop across the street should’ve opened twenty minutes ago, but the open sign hung in the window dark. I reached into my pocket and felt it, knowing today could be the last time it touch the antique. I hated to part with such a treasure, but these were hard times.

A figure staggered down the sidewalk barely awake. The figure, not the sidewalk. A tendril of light smoke wafted from the cigarette pinched between his lips. Even from across the street, I could see the red cherry get brighter as he breathed. Orange-red brilliance, followed by a compounding of the tendril; twin exhausts rushed from his nostrils before lazily dying in the still morning. He staggered up to the door of the pawnshop, inserted a key and walked inside, the door hanging open at an unwelcome angle.

Although the neon sign welcoming patrons remained off, I signaled to my waiter, knowing what must be done.

“Anything else, miss?”

I cleared my throat, fearing he would charge me extra, but I suspect this part of my plan was integral. “Can I get a cup to go?” I asked sheepishly.

He smiled. “Sure thing,” he smiled, “let me get you one.” He paced the bill facedown on the table and walked away.

I placed the crumbled bank notes on the bill along with the rest of the change from my pocket. I knew the sad pile of currency covered my coffee and the hour I sat across the street from the pawnshop. I knew the tip wasn’t spectacular, but I now had no money to my name. This plan better work, I thought as I stood and met the cheery waiter with my steaming cup. I remember thinking how cheerful he was – I don’t trust people who’re that happy.

I murmured thanks for the cup and walked out the door. Perhaps if I’d known the magnitude of the events to follow, I’d’ve savored the moment. Perhaps said a few words to the universe to honor the occasion. I don’t know. Adventures such as this are rarely what they seem in the beginning.

* * *

“We’re not open yet.”

I removed my hand from the reinforced steel door. The bell that signaled my closing the door seemed comical – such a small sound, barely echoing in a cavernous room filled with trinkets and electronics.

I raised the still-steaming cup as a peace offering. “I’m in no hurry, but it looks as if you could use this.”

The aged man smiled and motioned me towards the counter with an excited wave. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he replied in a gravely voice. No doubt due to the cigarette habit.

I placed the cup on the glass counter as my brain processed what he said. “Waiting for me?” I stammered, fear rising.

He smiled, lines forming on his sun-damaged face. The greying whiskers seemed like a field of tree stumps after a recent logging expedition. “Not you, dear,” he said with desire, “but the coffee you bear.”

He seized the cup and drank greedily. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps his gravely voice isn’t from cigarettes. After a moment, his eyes rolled back into his head. I detected a slight shudder and the skin of of tree stumps transformed to a shade of red – making the grey contrast all the more against his skin. “That’s terrible,” he exhaled. “But, oh so welcome.” He set the cup on the counter. “What can I do for you this fine morning?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my last remaining possession. I laid the hunk of silver on the counter, next to the coffee cup. The man nodded, and the silver was lost in his large hand. He ran his thumb along the edge of the watch. “Timekeeper one-seven-two,” he whispered.

I knew I had him where I wanted him. At the time I was only interested in a handful of banknotes to get me through the week. In retrospect, it was he who had me… but, I’m getting ahead of myself.

He placed the silver down with a tenderness I mistook for a love of antiques. “I want to show you something,” he declared, and reached into his own pocket. He pulled out his own silver, dangling from a silver chain. He placed it next to mine and my eyes grew wide.

There sat an identical watch. His was shiny and well cared for. Mine was dented and tarnished. I could see his watch shiver slightly with the tick of the second hand, as mine lie there silent and sad. I began to think I had overvalued my piece, and my confidence wilt, but then my eyes were drawn to the final difference between our timekeepers: the number etched into the side.

“Ah,” he breathed coffee breath across the counter, “you see it.”

Where mine features a fading one-seven-two, his shiny etching proclaimed his to be more than a hundred newer. I reached out to feel the etching of his watch against my fingers, but a static discharge repelled my reach.

“Be careful there,” he whispered, “time is a fickle thing.”

I felt compelled to respond. The words didn’t seem to be my own. When I tried to hold them back, my head began to ache. “But,” I blurted, “it forever heeds its will to the timekeeper.”

The man nodded and withdrew a steel box. He unlocked it with a key and withdrew several banknotes. He laid five of them on the counter. “You have a decision to make,” he declared.

I reached towards the counter, confident of the payday the currency represented, but my hand seemed drawn towards my timekeeper of its own volition.

“Be certain,” he said, “adventure awaits with either decision.”

I closed my eyes and made my decision. A decision I know now was predestined. A decision at sometimes I regret, but mostly, I cherish. A decision that resulted in sudden life.

Before I opened my eyes, I caught a whiff of flowers, of the sharp sea air… of… home.  They snapped open and I found myself standing outside my father’s bakery in the seaside town I had been born in.

Exactly how did I come to be here?

The place looked as though it had come from a dream I had just after my father died.  It had that hazy appearance of ghosts gone in another life, in another time where I couldn’t possible have … then I saw him, my father, serving Mrs. Wilson from down the road.  She was a lovely old dear who died just weeks before my father did.  So, this must have been a dream!

The wind died down for a moment and I could hear a ticking sound.  It was gentle and I almost missed it, until I looked down and found that my left hand was closed over something and I was holding it against my stomach.  On opening it, I found the time piece all fixed up, prettily ticking away and looking as though it was brand new.  I gawped at it for a good minute as the second hand went around and made the hour hand moved very slowly towards the twelve.

It was almost 4pm.

I smiled.  Then, I refocused my eyes on the tiny face of the time piece and realised I may have moved back in time, but physically, I had stayed exactly the same. 

Looking up, I stared back at the bakery again.  If I were to go inside there, I’d be a stranger to the man serving at the counter.  Just as I was beginning to wonder what I was doing here in the time of my teenaged years, my stomached grumbled loudly that it was time for food.  Looking both ways, I crossed the empty street, ducking under the awning just as the first drops of rain began to fall and thunder drummed around the surrounding mountains.

Pushing the door open of the store, I heard the bell ring to announce me.  The man looked up and smiled as I approached the counter.  I never saw this side of my father – ever. This was the side everyone else saw.  I saw the strict, disciplinarian who would make me eat all my vegetables, forced me to study over my weekends while it was sunny outside and kept me from the best parties over the bay in Bestian’s Bay County.  Kids at my high school thought I was either stupid or very boring; but it was my father who kept me from having a cool social life.  I wondered just how he kept these two personalities in check the whole time… I mean, was this man really my father?  Or was all the controlling just for show?

Then, a woman walked in from out the back with a long apron on, a woman I knew well.  She worked here and I knew she did wonders for this bakery because she had come from France.  It was Celine… a brilliant pastry chef who could turn any bag of flour into the most delicious-tasting bread, lightest sponge cakes, sweetest cookies… yes, it was her.  She had her dark curls up in a hair net, but it was her.  She walked in humming a tune as she carried a tray of freshly baked, sliced and wrapped bread out and shimmied them into the trays behind the counter. 

My father walked up to her grinning, “How many more to go?”

“This is it for today, then, I have the cake for Mr. Jones to finish icing.” She replied, sounding like a backwards playing record to my ears, but perfectly fine to him.

“Good, good.” He patted her well-curved behind, kissed her on the back of the neck, and moved past her a little too close to get to the counter I was standing in front of.  It took all of my strength not to say anything to him as he turned and smiled, “Yes?  How can I help you today?”

“Um… do you have more pies left please?” I looked over at the warmer and found it was half-full.

“We have chicken, steak and kidney, steak and mushroom and vegetarian.” He said, “The last are new for the weird people who don’t like meat.” Yep, it was my father alright.

Walking to the warmer, I looked in on the pies.  They were fresh, delicious and wonderful, and I knew it, “The steak and mushroom, please.”

“Want peas with that?” he asked grabbing a plate off the shelf, “And you better eat here, just look at that rain out there.”

I turned and looked as the rain overflowed the gutters and swelled in the streets, “Wow… it’s really coming down.”

“Here ya go.” He smiled, “That’ll be $3.50.”

I pulled out my purse and pulled out a $5.00 and handed it over, got my change and walked to a nearby table.  As I sat down, with my meal, I noticed he went out the back of the bakery, where the sounds of work suddenly turned very quiet.   I tried to ignore the fact I was the only person sitting in the place eating and watched the time tick slowly by, wishing I knew what was going on, but the more I wanted to spy on the two out the back, less I wanted to know… was he kissing her?  Was he having sex with her?  Was he…? I dug my fork into the steaming hot pie.

It wasn’t my business.

The door opened quickly and a woman walked in, slamming it against the wind.  Shaking her umbrella, she dumped it in the holder, didn’t remove her jacket and let herself behind the counter.  Allowing herself out the back, I then heard what I suspected:

“How dare you!  With that French slut!  How could you?” she raced back out again.

I tried to look anywhere but where the noise came from, but failed.  Instead, I stood, leaving my meal behind and went outside and wished I had never come here.  The dampness of the wind refreshed me and chilled me at the same time as I pulled the pocket watch out of my pocket, held it close and closed my eyes, wishing I was anywhere else but here…

The Dare

Okay, this is going to be fun!  Over the next 4 weeks, we (the people on Chuck Wendig's blog and me) are going to write a 4-part story.  This is the first installment... how fun, how cool, how ... very interesting.  I'll try and keep up the other installments of 'The Dare' if I can find them along the way. 

Enjoy!

As I stand here on the very edge of the top of the fifty-second floors of ‘The Glory Hotel’, I wonder exactly how it came to be that I said yes to such a dumb idea.

Oh, yeah, that’s right… I said that it was not just David Copperfield who could fly, anyone could.

Was I drunk when I said that?  I sure hope I was, because I really hate heights; and the last thing I need is to test my humanity right now.  Turning from my perch, I look back at my stupid friends who are pushing me, throwing rubbish from the roof at me and are screaming at me to ‘do it!’ that I was a wimp if I didn’t.

Was I a wimp?

Really?

I mean I was human, but not really… you see I was born here on Earth, but I did turn out to have a few extras built into my DNA that the normal Human Being just didn’t have.

Like what?  Um… I can bench press 350kg cold.  I really can!  And yet I’m built like a weed.  I don’t look like it, but I can sucker-punch anyone into the middle of next week too.  But I’d never do it; I’m just not brought up that way – and nobody is going to force me to do that.

Other ‘skills’ I’ve been able to do is have a toughened skeletal structure… and skin that heals very quickly; and I don’t mean in 3 days, I mean as I watch it in about a minute.  This is another reason why I don’t get into fights with anyone… it would just freak the shit outa them!

And until recently – like my 18^th Birthday – I found out I not only levitate, but fly short distances.  Well, I told my best friend, and I found out what a big blabbermouth they turned out to be.

Yeah, who needs enemies when you have friends like that, right?

Well, this leads me to standing here on the ledge of the building where … oh shit on a pancake… there’s the cops all the way down there!

Turning, I glare at my ‘friends’ , “Well, jeez, Amelia, thanks.”

She meets my glare as she stalks up to me in her outfit which makes her look like a street-walker, “What?”

“Who called the cops?”

She looks over the edge, smirking, then stifles a laugh, “Oh, shit, I didn’t think they’d believe me!”

I step back from the ledge, “What!”

This is when things got deadly, and Amelia pulls a 32 out of her handbag, “Oh, no you don’t.  You are going to fly… you told me you could.”

“I told you it was a secret.”

“And you expected me to sit on that shit for how long?” she smiles, “Especially after you showed me… you’re a fuckin’ mutant, and you’re going to show everyone.”

“Shoot me first.” I say, “I’d rather be dead than be a joke.”

“Fly!” she screams stepping closer, just within reach.

“Make me!” I shout back.

Sitting on the ledge, she grimaces, “Don’t you make me…”

As soon as she looks away, I grab her wrist, yanking her to her feet, watching the gun fall away down below us, “Good, now you’re unarmed, we can get to business.”

Tears blur her vision as she struggles to get away from me, screaming into the night air, “Oh my god!  Let me go!  She’s going to throw me off the building!”

I held her close against me whispering, “Throw you?  Nah, that’s too good for you… to watch you fall, watch your body splatter onto the ground for what you’ve done to me.  Instead, sweetheart, my friend, dear… chump… I’m going to teach you a lesson about exactly what I am…”  with that, I take a deep breath and jump off the edge of the building, taking flight into the night air with Amelia screaming the whole time as she clings to me.

But, I have a plan… 

The Dare - Part Two

The Dare - Part Three

Fitting In

It's Slamming Time... two genres, slammed together to make one story.  Chuck gave us two lists and we had to pick out what we thought would make some great work.  I chose:  Sword & Sorcery and Alternate History.  Enjoy!

I spotted him sitting alone at lunch time picking at his lunch as the other kids played, screamed and ran around the school yard around him.  Richard was in his own world, as he watched the butterfly flit and flutter on the wind’s current, blind to everything around, and yet, it knew where to go – well, kinda.

He was entranced by its beauty.

I turned my attention away for a moment to pull apart two girls who had gotten into a hair-pulling fight, sending them off to the Principal’s office.  When I turned back, it was in time to see him raise his hand, open-palmed at the butterfly, while watching it with a small smiled on his face.  Then, he suddenly pulled it into a fist!  As he did, the insect was mutilated!

My breath caught and he looked straight at me. 

My mouth turned dry as I saw in his eyes nothing… a mocking kind of expression, a look of emptiness you can’t really describe – but feel.

The bell for the next class snapped me out of my trance and he packed up his lunchbox and walked towards the buildings, stepping on the dead butterfly, walking past me.

I could feel his chilliness as he ignored my attempt to say hello to him.

But I knew at that moment… right then.

I had found him.

I had found Merlin.

A few days passed by and I saw him again sitting in the library looking through books in the study area.  Some of the boys from his class were throwing balls of paper at his head, snorting as some of them got caught in his hair, calling him ‘a poofta’ and ‘whatcha gonna do, cry… go on, cry.’

The whole time, he ignored them, brushing the paper off his work, out of his hair and kept on reading the books – or so it looked like it.  I was flipping through some books to see which ones to use for the next few class reading list, writing down some titles as I found one or two I needed for my class in my notebook, when he looked over at me over his reading glasses.

The boys noticed and snickered amongst themselves little snortings and pickings about ‘a class romance’ and ‘isn’t he a little old for you?’.  He ignored them again as he turned the page of the book, but as he did, I noticed his hand wasn’t exactly touching the page.  His fingers lifted off the page around an inch or so and the page seemed to follow as though by magic.

I almost wished I had my phone or camera handy, but I didn’t.

Blinking a few times, turned back to the book of ‘Old Man and the Sea’ in my hands, decided against it, put it back on the shelf, and picked up the next book from the reading list we were offered.  When I turned back to where Richard had been sitting, I found he had gone.

His classmates had followed him outside.

This was when I heard the scream cut the air!

Dropping the book, I grabbed my notebook and raced outside where I found Richard standing his ground, while one of the students who had been picking on him in the library was in a crumpled heap in the port racks, and appeared to be not moving.

I turned to him, “Richard, what happened?”

One of the boys snapped, “He threw our friend through the air, but he didn’t touch him… it was weird, Sir.”

I looked at the boy they were glaring at and hesitantly touched his shoulder, “Richard, you can tell me.”

He looked up at me, tears in his eyes, “I wanted to tell him to leave me alone, to go away.  When I turned around, he was like that.  I didn’t touch him.”

“Sir, he clearly doesn’t fit in here…”

“It’s not about fitting in when you go to school,” I snapped, “It’s about  getting an education.  Now, I did notice he didn’t do anything to provoke you, so what happened?” I looked back at Richard and he had zoned out, looking at his feet.  He didn’t like being the centre of attention, and I knew he was going to be suspended by the Principal.

I had to call him on this.

“What he said happened… well, it happened, but we did pick on him.” One of the boys said, “But he’s a weirdo… what did you expect?”

“Okay, no name-calling, you’ll only make things worse.” I ordered, “Now, get your friend to the office, along with the rest of you lot and, Richard, you’ll have to come with me there too.  I have to report you.”

His eyes snapped up to me, “Do you have to?”

“Yes.”

“Honestly?”

This was when I knew I was working with a powerful being.  I heard a voice in my mind, ‘You don’t need to report me to the Principal.’

I smiled and said quietly, “I am not the droid you’re looking for.” A panicked expression crossed his face as I let him go first along with the rest of the boys to the Administration.

Man, Richard had it all … all inside him… how did he sleep at night?

His mind power worked on the Principal… and his parents – who had no clue what they had under their roof – and he was let go of. 

I stayed behind and told the Principal what happened.

He didn’t believe me and told me to take some time off – that I was stressed out.

He gave me three weeks off.

This meant I was suspended with pay. 

But I was sent here to find Richard and let him know of his destiny.  Being a substitute teacher wasn’t exactly the right way to do this, but observing him was great outside school.

I could really watch him in his element, which was in public.

Being a sorcerer myself, I could disguise myself and place myself at just the right places and know where he was going to be.  But there was one problem, he knew it was me every time.

He spotted me at a restaurant, at a skate park and at a busy shopping mall… and each time, I had used different disguises.  Richard would turn around and just look at me through the crowd and give me a little smile; knowing I wasn’t allowed anywhere near him, because I was just his teacher most times, most days.

Anyway, I thought to back off and let well enough alone.  I was halfway through my suspension and didn’t want to lose my job at the school; I liked teaching English, Music and Art.  I was good at them.  So, I played my piano, painted a few canvas’ and read a couple of books in the time I had left to myself.

That was until I heard on the radio of the car accident not far from my house.  I turned on the news network on the television and found it was Richard’s family who had been involved in the accident; and all of them but him had been fatally injured in it.

I packed up my bag and took off to the hospital, leaving the tv on and my canvas half-finished and all the lights on in the house.

They wouldn’t let me see him, not unless I was family.

He wasn’t in ICU, but he was being kept in for observation, and that’s all they told me.  I sat in the waiting room in the ER knowing he’d change people’s minds; and he did.

The doctor came out, searched the room for me, “He wishes to see you.”

I stood and followed the doctor into the tiny cubicle where they had him hooked up to a few things, “Hello, Richard.”

He looked at me, “Hi, Mr Harrigon.” He waited for the doctor to leave and the duty nurse to finish what she was doing and pull the curtain for us to have privacy, “You can stop calling me Richard.  I know what- who I am.” He smiled, “And you’re another Sorcerer as well.”

“What is your name, Sorcerer?”

He smiled, “Merlin.  And you are Taliesin, my father.”

“I am so pleased we have found each other… but we have much work to do, for there is a war afoot and not much time to find the Arthur of this time.”

He frowned, “That could be anyone.”

“I know, but we must find The Tor, the Sword and all the Knights as well to make the ending we wish for right.” I grinned, “Are you with me, my son?”

“You know I am, Father!” 

The Love Triangle

This week, we were given 3 tables to pick a word from each table... then to write a story from it of 1,000 words.  I chose library, a Vampire, a forbidden tryst.

enjoy!

It’s normally just on closing when I spot him from the front counter.  He walks in with his head down, with his sunglasses on, with that long, black leather jacket on, his hair spiky and weird and all the jewelled colours of green, purple and royal blue. 

It makes my meatsuit go all dewey... and I have to take a deep breath to make sure I keep myself under control.

He often glances over to me.

A smile pulls the corner of his mouth up, but just a little and my knees go all wobbly behind the counter as I pick up the microphone for the P.A system and press the button down: “It’s three minutes to closing.  Please choose your reading material and come to front counter to check it out.  Thank you for coming to the Logan North Library and have a nice day.” I put the microphone down as I switch it off and begin the walk around to check the aisles – just in case we have a few people with their ear buds plugged in and they didn’t hear the announcement.

I find four teenagers huddling in the far corner of the reference section tweeting and texting each other... I mean, what’s the use of socialising if they’re doing that?  Well, I gently tap them on the shoulders and advise them that it’s closing time with a kind smile on my face.

They grunt and pack up.

Yep, teenagers today... I could just rip their faces off.  But the human in me won’t allow it.

...won’t allow it... shit, I think I’m becoming too much of a human.

I keep up the search and look through all the meeting rooms, the childrens’ section and the toilets.  Yes, everyone’s gone, and I’m the last one here... well, me and my mystery guest who has been showing up on closing.

Now... where is he hiding?

I can almost smell him.

Turning toward the staff room, I’m confronted by his tall form as his hand is about to touch my shoulder.  His eyes connect with mine and he smiles at me.

“Hi.” I smile back.

“Hello, demon.” He grins.

“You’re the only one here who can spot that I’m not human.”

“Just like you’re the only one around here who can spot I’m a vampire.” He said dropping his hand to his side.

“But what are you doing here?”

“It’s not you I’m here for.” He said, “It’s your meatsuit.  She’s attracted to me; and I know it.” Stepping forwards, he whispered, “Deep down, I think you know it too.”

Looking at him as he steps back, I figure it couldn’t hurt to ask Alison (the human I’m possessing) if she’d like to be with this vampire.  Staggering a little, she burst forward, as though a child let out into the sun after a few days of rain, “Hi!  I’m Alison!  And you’re so ... well, um... hi.”

“Allison, huh?” he grins looking her up and down, “Pretty name.  I’m Ryan.” He put out his hand to be shaken.  As soon as she takes it, he pulls her close, wrapping his other arm around her, holding her close to his body as she takes in a deep, shaking breath of shock.

This always happens to Humans – they’re so weak when it comes to hypnotising them.

Taking in a deep breath through his nostrils, he takes in everything about her... her scent, her perfume, the smell of her conditioner, her fear of him right now.

He’s going to change that.

Yes... he can change that, right now.  His teeth elongates as his opens his mouth to allows room for them to grow – and his hunger badgers him to feed it; screams at him to fulfill it! – and he lowers his mouth to her neck as she tilts her head at just the right angle...

Alison’s body jerks and the scent changes completely!

“Dammit!” He shoves her away, “Why are you doing this?”

I smile, “You don’t get it.”

He turns and walks way, “I’m not staying unless I get Alison.”

Three days later, just on closing he’s back. He skulks around the library just before closing and he hides again – as usual – and waits for me.

Sitting at the collection of computers near the check-out desk, he watches me close down the main computer system for the night, “I don’t get what?” he asks.

Smiling I turn off the screen I have been working on, “Never mind.”

He stand and walk to the desk, “No… I’ve been around for over two centuries and women still use this crap on me.  What don’t I get?  And don’t say ‘Never mind’.  That’s crap.”

I walk around the counter, switching off the lights as I grab my bag on the way through, “Okay.  She likes you – a lot – but I love you.  I have seen you throughout the centuries go about your business and we have never been allowed to be together; not until now.  The apocalypse hit and they threw out the book, burned up all the pages… and now anything goes!”

He stood there looking me up and down, “You demons smell disgusting.”

“Oh… I didn’t know.”

“It’s your bodily scent.”

“I went to Hell… I came back like this.”

“I know. But I want Alison, please, let her go.” He stood there looking at me.  I knew he wasn’t going to leave me alone until he got who he wanted – and it wasn’t me.

“Okay.” Stepping back, I left her body, watching him catch her as she collapsed.

He truly did love her… want her… need her.

I was just in the way…

This is the one time I’ve hated being a Demon.

Jennifer's Fate

Okay, this week, it's X meets Y!  This means two big movie titles merge together and to make one story.  Chuck made two lists and I picked out two great movies and mixed them together the best way I could.... 'Terminator' and 'Back to the Future'.  Enjoy!


"Come with me if you want to live." his massive gloved hand moved toward me, open palmed as his huge frame stood over me.  Holy crap, just who was this guy?  Did he just kill the arsehole who tried to shoot me as I walked home from the police station and... is that Delorian he's drove up in?
"Okay." I grabbed his hand and he pulled me to my feet as though I was a feather.
"Come on." he had an Austrian accent, but was demanding enough that I didn't notice anything much about him, except, well, he filled out those biker jeans really... really well.
Jumping in to the car, the whole thing groaned under his weight and he pulled down the door as I did, encasing us inside the cramped quarters of what looked like...

No, hang on!  

It was!

It was Doc Brown's actual Delorian!

"Shit!  This fuckin' thing really works!" I blurted looking at the date-marker as the large man punched in today's date, then another date in twenty years' time and then started the car.  The car growled to life as the Flux Capacitor over my left shoulder glowed into action, "Jesus Christ in a side-car." I pulled on my seat belt as the central locking made sure I didn't jump out and my driver - who I thought was saving me - shoved the car into gear and planted the pedal to the metal.

FLASH!

FLASH!

BOOM!

Bright daylight invaded my sight and I quickly shaded my face as my driver handed me a pair of sunglasses, "Here, you'll need these."
Fumbling for them, I shoved them onto my face and looked through the windscreen, "Where are we?" clearing my throat, I corrected myself, "Better still, when are we?"
He didn't say anything for a few moments as the car moved amongst the clouds and early morning sunlight, then he looked at the dash and steered to the left and the car suddenly jerked and bumped!  The tyres screeched as they found purchase on the ground and he applied the brakes. 
We sat there amongst the cloud.
"It's fog." he said.
"When are we?"
"Come on." he turned off the car, pulled the keys out and got out.
I followed him outside and found it was cold.  From somewhere inside the car's tiny quarters, he had grabbed a jacket and gave it to me.  Pulling it on, I looked around and could only just make out a house, "Where are we?"
"This is your place."
"Why do I live in such a secluded place?"
"You don't." he said, "This mountain is filled with people.  It's early morning and nobody is awake yet." he checked his watch and pressed a button and the watch began to countdown, "We have three hours to be here, then I take you back." holding his hand up, he pressed a button on the keys and car vanished.
"Hey!" I yelled, "Where'd it go?"
"Relax, it's still there... but it's just cloaked." he made an attempt at smiling and failed, then walked past me as the door of the house nearby opened, "Doc, I brought her here.  Now can I do my usual updates?"
"Yes, yes, of course.  Jennifer... it's so good to see you." Doc Brown's wild hair appeared to glow in the early morning sun as the fog lifted, "Come inside, Marty's been looking forward to seeing you again."
"Again?" I asked, "But I saw him up at the lake just last night."
He touched my arm as his eyes widened, remembering where I had come from, "Of course, it was 1985 last night, now, it's ... oh never mind, you don't need to know." he hurried towards the house in his usual, wide gate before turning toward me, "Come on, Jennifer, there's so much to do."
"But why am I here?"
Rushing up to me, he touched my shoulder, "There's so much that goes wrong in your future... and it's not you and Marty, it's your kids.  They're losers... they pick up insecurities from your past and apply it to their lives."
"That can happen?"
"It's in their DNA... it was supposed to.  But we can change that!" he pulled me on the arm and dragged me toward the house, "You have only three hours to do this."

Marty pushed himself out of the recliner.  He made that weird, old-man sound my Dad makes each time he gets up.  He's lost a lot of his gorgeous brown hair I loved running my fingers through and he had gotten kinda, wide and podgy in the middle; something he said he'd never get.  Then, Marty looked at me and smiled.  He had the same sparkle in those beautiful eyes he used to when we were... last night.
"Marty." I whispered, "You look..."
"Like crap." he said, "I know.  But we can change this." he looked me up and down, "Did that cyborg kill the mugger?"
"Yes. I did." the Terminator said from his charging unit to my right, "This means you've already changed history in a major way, Jennifer."
I frowned, "No, you did.  I didn't expect you to show up in Doc's time machine; and if I was supposed to die that way, well that's how it was supposed to go."
"Actually it wasn't supposed to go that way." Marty said walking toward me, "Needles destroyed my car last night, remember?  When I didn't take up that race - and he just avoided the Mercedes - he pulled apart the engine in the truck, then beat me up.  You had to walk home from the hospital."
The memory of last night clicked into place, "Yes, that's right.  I had gone to the police and reported him, and that took hours. I was on my way home, because my folks were out of town; and nobody could take me home."
Marty looked to the floor, "I couldn't stop any of it."
"Needles is a horrible person.  But seeing Biff was his Grandfather, well, it's in his genes." I snorted, "So, what happens now?"
Doc looked through the historical records on a thin little screen and a keyboard, "Well, according to Google, Needles just got out of prison and is hoping to get a hold of your family - and soon!"
"And I asked where we are and you didn't tell me." I looked at the Terminator.
"We're still in Hill Valley, California, but it's different." Marty muttered, "Terribly different."
My gut turned cool, "How different?"
Doc sighed as he walked away from the screen, "Jennifer, we have to send you back and - this time - you have to let the guy shoot you."
Marty turned away from me and walked toward the fireplace, leaning on the mantle, "Oh, man, this is heavy."
"Why did you rescue me in the first place?" I asked, my voice shaking as tears blurred my vision, "And what happens if I get away?"
Marty turned to Doc, "Yeah, what happens if she does on her own?"
"Well, this won't be the future we'll be in, it'll be a different one." Doc said, "And if you remember the last time we traveled back in time, Marty, you changed the past with that Sports Almanac and we ended up in a different 1985?"
"Yes!  I do remember that!" Grinning, he walked to me, "Now, you have to fight that mugger, and kill him... can you do that?"
"Kill?" 
The Terminator unplugged himself from his unit, "If she has never killed before, she will not kill now."
"He's right." I said, "Marty, I'll have to see how I go... if I'm desparate enough, it might happen; you know, the flight or fight response.  But if I can't do it, well, I can't do it."
Doc looked up at the clock on the mantle, "Let's have something to eat and see what we can do."

Lunch in the future was ordinary.  We had sandwiches and coffee, I mean, it all came out of the fridge, was fresh and delicious and and the fruit we ate afterwards was lovely.  
It was as thought nothing had changed between 1985 and 2005.  But I found the bread very, blah. The water was filtered and the coffee wasn't instant; instead it was very exotic and I was told everyone drank it all ground up and in a plunger now.  Wow... how upper-class!
Over lunch, we discussed how to make sure I lived. Marty kept on looking at me with concern on his face. When he thought I wasn't looking, he pulled out a photo of me from his wallet and stared at it, looked at me and back at it, sighed and tried to keep from crying.

I knew it.

I was supposed to die last night.

And this is how his life had turned out... no wife, no kids, no life to speak of.  Marty McFly had turned out to be a failure right through and it was all because I had died last night.
I had to do something about this - and I knew I had to live through that mugging.
"What are you thinking?" The Terminator's voice by my shoulder startled me.
"Oh... hi." I turned to him, "I um, was thinking about what I'm going to do differently when I go back."
"No matter what, you'll be mugged." he said.
"Not necessarily." I smiled, "There's more than one way to skin a cat.  Dad always told me that."
His watch began beeping.  He pressed the buttons on either side of it, "It's time to go back."

The Delorian sped off, down the road.  The Terminator had dropped me outside the police station at the exact time I was scheduled to go inside. Turning I went inside and made my statement - which took me an hour and a half.
Stepping outside, I found it was raining.
"Damn." I whispered looking around and pulling my light jacket around me.  

My house was ten blocks away. 

The hospital was only two blocks away.

It was 2am and my folks were out of town until lunchtime tomorrow morning.

I turned toward the hospital, took one step when the doors opened of the police station, "Hey, Jennifer!"
I turned and there stood the Constable who took my statement, "Do you need a lift anywhere?  It's pretty late and raining."
"Yes.  Could you take me to the hospital, please?  Marty's in there, and I'd like to be there for when he wakes up tomorrow." I walked toward him.
"Okay, come back inside, it's not safe out here." he opened the door again and I walked inside with him.

The Terminator watched from across the road in the darkened interior of the Delorian.  He had stayed in 1985 to make sure Jennifer made the right choices tonight; to his relief, she had.  The policeman was going to be her protector tonight; instead of her being on her own and found dead later the next morning.  

This was going to change the future... but then again, Doc was always right about something:  

the future is never set, not permanently anyway.

An Eye For Design

I'm back!  Yep, I'm working in with Chuck Wendig's 'Terrible Mind's Blog again and doing Flash Fiction Fridays... and this is the first one off the blocks. Here's the prompt:  'You think your character is cool? My character is a fucking adventurous half-orc ranger from a bustling city who studied interior dungeon design'

"Get in there you filth!"

The guard shoved me into the disgusting, vomit-inducing room they called a dungeon and slammed the door behind me as I tripped over an overlapping flagstone and fell flat on my face!
"Yuck." I muttered trying not to let my hands touch the almost-black slime covering the floor, "I can't believe they leave people here."
Rising to my knees, I looked around.  This place was most certainly nothing to look at.  I mean, I've been in dungeons - and I've been in dungeons - and this one was, well, crap on a tortilla.  Sighing, I pushed myself to stand without touching the floor and found this room wasn't tiny. 
Smiling I nodded: 'I can do something with this place.'

Being a half-Orc, I have the best of both worlds; that is I enjoy belting the living shit out of the bad guys (whoever they may be at the time of battle) and then I also have a flair with how I dress off the field.  My home is a cave in Myeena Mountains in Mideilena-West; yes that's across the huge swamp and over the land bridge near the elven quarter.  However, how I came to be able to live there - and not be sent away by the elves - has a lot to do with my half-breed upbringing.  You see, my Mother is Elven and my Father was an Orc... okay, you're wondering exactly what they saw in each other.  Well, it was a wartime love.
Elves go through a time of being in ... um... well they're like cats, okay?  They in heat four times a year and will have it off with anyone or anything.  Yes, my Mother saw my father and ... um... well, being an Orc, he's up for anything - especially Elves.
Okay, now you know how I came to be a half-breed. 

Ick... I know!  

But you wanted to know; I know you wanted to know.

I enjoyed the heat of battle and loved coming home to my little piece of paradise.  I often visited my Mother when I did return and she loved it when I did.


But not everyone liked me.

It's not everyday you see an Orc-like creature walking into an Elven village and nobody will go running and screaming to grab weapons and attack them.  

I'm friendly - really - unless I'm fighting against your army in battle; like I said.

And it wasn't until Mother passed away that the village of Elves started to push me out.  It seemed they were only putting up with my presence all these years.  But when they needed a stronger being to help them with uprooting trees or thatching their roofs in Autumn, I was the one they called upon.  If they needed somebody scare away anyone from the village - besides the dogs we already had - I was the one put on guard duty all night.  I was also the one who helped decorate the gardens, the paths, the houses and make their village win The Village To Live in; according to 'Mid-Mountain Monthly Living Scrolls'.  

Yes.  Not long after Mother died, and after we buried her, the Elves of The Committee waited until I was away in battle to fight for our lands to stay as peaceful as they always have been, before building a wall across the road from my home to their village. This road was one they said they'd always keep paved for me - they had promised to keep the way open for the rest of my life to my mother!
To my mother, they had promised this!
And then, when I started taking the wall down, after I returned home with riches of the battle to share with my 'people', they called on their allies:  The Humans.

Oh!  How I hate The Humans.  They pick and destroy without question.  If they see something different or unusual or 'not right', they'll kill it, then realise it was wrong later on.

So, I fought back - as you do when things aren't right when you're attacked for no right reason.  I used my weapons and acted like my Father... 

I acted like an Orc... dammit... I should have kept my head about me and remembered what my Mother instilled in me:  'Always talk things through.  Nothing comes of violence, Patrick.' 
But it seems my name was no longer Patrick.  They called me 'filth' because I still stunk of the war and battle I been to, because I hadn't had a chance to bath before they ambushed me at the road.

Yes, my capture had been planned.  

I looked around at my dungeon, smiling at my hard work.  The filthy water wasn't going to be drunk by me - no way! Instead I had found the rags of the last person who they had left here and scrubbed the floors, walls and ceiling of thie place.  And oh, how they glistened!

Now, did you know this dungeon was made of marble?  

All it needs is a fountain over in the corner to capture the morning light and fresh hay to take away that icky smell.

Highway to Hell

Chuck has got us writing the last Flash Fiction this year as a random song title.  Now, we don't have to go to the theme of the song, just use the song title; and he's given us 3,000 word limit to write to.  Mine is AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell'... well, because it's been stuck in my head for the last few days.

My life started out like anyone else’s. 

I was born into a loving family and brought up properly to respect my elders, to care for my Mum and Dad and be carefree as a kid.  I learned my lessons at school, went to Karate lessons on the weekends and rode my bike around the BMX tracks at dusk before I heard Dad’s whistle on the wind for us to come home.

Mum was the best cook.  She could make just about anything she could put her hand to from food to clothes to most anything around the house.  Dad built her a craft room the size of the living room and she practically lived in it for around six months before Christmas.  

And we were never allowed in it.

Never.

Not even to borrow a pair of scissors.

We never questioned that rule and just accepted that she was working on Christmas presents or birthday presents and did as we were told.  So, Mum’s craft room was something we never went near, never told anyone about and when we showed our friends around the house, we kinda gave it a dismissive wave saying, ‘Oh, that’s Mum’s craft room; we’re not allowed in there… you know, it’s her cave of mystery.’ We’d giggle and snort and walk off.  Our friends never questioned that room either.

As the years passed, Mum’s hair began to grey little by little.  She started to look more tired, but she still had the energy of a person her age.  I noticed that the more she used her craft room, the older she appeared to become.  I’m not sure if Dad realised it or not.  So I asked him.

“Of course I notice.” He frowned, “She just won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Dad, have you been inside her craft room since you built it?” I asked.

He looked to his hands, fiddled with his fingernails and then looked at me, “No.  She won’t allow me in either.” Looking over at the room, he shook his head, “I wonder what’s going on.”

Then, one day, I arrived home early from high school to find the door of the craft room ajar and wondered what had happened.  Mum normally kept that room locked up tight – even when we weren’t home.  The rest of the house had been locked up and this room had been built separate from the house.  I didn’t know what do to.  Dumping my school port on the floor near my bedroom, I walked out to the room and felt heat coming from behind the door.  I put my hand up to the gap and it felt like an oven inside there… and going against all the rules I had obey all this time, I pulled the door open more and stepped inside.

This place was the most organised mess I’d ever seen.  There were boxes of material stacked along one wall in order of colour, drawer up drawer of beads sitting along a counter by the window.  Hooked on a long piece of dowel were hoops of ribbon in all widths and colours you could ever possibly imagine.  I saw two sewing machines, two overlockers and in one area of the place were two easels and a collection of paints, brushes and canvas’ as well with smocks all over the place hanging up on hooks ready for use.  But the place was hot… it was like an oven.  By the time I had looked around, I had begun to sweat badly, but hadn’t noticed that the door had swung shut behind me until I heard a loud CLICK sound and I turned, looking at it dumbly.

Without even touching it, I knew that doorknob was hot, by the way it turned a molten orange kinda colour and began to drip onto the floor. 

“Mum!” I called out but my throat was caught, dry and hoarse, “Where are you?”

A very deep chuckle answered me, “Your mother isn’t here, Drew.  But be a good boy and step forwards, let me see my legacy.” Turning to my right I saw an unremarkable man standing next to the counter, “Come here Drew… I must see you for myself.” A grin pulled at his face and his eyes looked like … mine.

“No.” I cringed, “Who are you?  And where is my mother?”

“You are my son… and your mother is a whore.” He snickered, “She made a deal boy, and came here personally to collect her soul today.” He looked me up and down, “But meeting you… that was just an accident, a good one.”

“I don’t care who you think you are…”

“Think?” he stepped forward, “I know I who am.  But have you seen your Daddy look at you lately?  He can’t fully just look at you, can he?”

“What kind of deal did she make?”

He sighed, cocking his head to one side, “She wanted another child, oh so badly she made a deal with the Devil… and guess who I am?” he tapped out a little dance on the spot with that grin on his face, “And I graciously let her… but there was a catch.”

“Isn’t there always?”

“That catch was that the child was mine.”

I felt a sudden hatred for this man so strong I wanted to kill him, “Where is my mother?”

He gave me a mocking smile, “Dead.  Once I take a soul, you die because a human cannot exist without a soul.”

Feeling behind me, I found a pair of large metal scissors – the type that cut material, that are very sharp, that are expensive.  I grabbed them quickly and lunged toward him screaming!  Shoving him to the floor, I felt my hatred explode out of me as I plunged the scissors into him…

… but they hit nothing but the floor!

Scrambling to my feet, I looked around.

Where’d he go?

Turning, I heard the door open, and Dad was standing there, “Son? Drew, you okay?” he spotted the scissors sticking up out of the carpet of the floor and noticed me coated in sweat, “What happened?”

“He took her.” I groaned.

“Your mother?”

I nodded, “She made a deal with the Devil.”

Dad just stood there, not knowing what to do, not until I yanked the scissors out of the carpet, “So you attacked him?”

Dumping them onto the counter, I muttered, “He told me he was my father.  Exactly what did you expect me to do?”

He shrugged.

“You know, you’re acting very… calm about this.”

He ran a hand over his stubbled face as his voice caught in his throat, “Yeah, I know.  It’s because I’ve always known that you’re not mine.  There were just little things about you that gave it away that you didn’t belong to me… and today, we have to save your mother from the place she been sent to.”

“Dad that might take years.”

He looked at me, then look to his hands.  The Devil was right:  my father couldn’t look at me.

“Dad, we don’t know where He put her.”

“Yes we do.” He nodded looking at me finally, “The Devil put her on his throne… but your mother isn’t a Queen.”

“She’s the whore.” I whispered.

It took weeks to find out what we needed to about how to get into Hell without the Devil finding out.  And really there was no real way to do it.  The only way to do anything about getting into that place was to make a deal with a demon… and even then, with my bloodlines, they’d tell their boss who – when you think on it – was the Devil.

Crap really, right?

Yeah… right.

So, there we were – Dad and I – sitting at the dinner table eating pizza after the other kids had gone to bed, working on our search for Mum, when I had the best idea.  Well, okay, not the best, but it was something that would work.

“How about I tell Him I’d go with him.”

Dad turned on me, “Are you nuts?”

“Hear me through.” I touched his arm, “He wants me anyway.  So I go and find out where she is and bring her back through… um…” I search the papers, “Purgatory.”

He looked at the research, “And which Reaper is going to wait for you there?”

“We’ll find a way back.”

“Or not.” A voice said behind us.

We turned to find my sister, Tiffany, standing there in her pajamas, “I’ll summon you back.”

“Summon?”

She walked to the table, quickly read over our plan and sat down, “I’ve been practicing witchcraft for over a year, I can do it.”

“But your initiation…”

“Bah… it’s all flowers and floating pencils.”

“You have to have one.” Dad said, “You can’t do this without being…”

“I’ll talk to my High Priestess and see what I can do.” She smiled, “I want Mum back as well, but like all Hell I’m letting you piss off downstairs without a way back.”

Tiffany came home the next afternoon in a crappy mood, “She won’t let me.”

“You’re not ready?” I asked.

“Not according to her.”

“Sis, I’m not letting you if your High Priestess isn’t letting you.” I said, “But I appreciate the idea of it.”

“Okay.” She said, “But at least let me prepare the pathway for you to enter the place… so you might be able to return the same way.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I grinned.

The cemetery was dark the night we did the ceremony for me to enter Hell.  I wasn’t looking forward to it and neither was Dad… but it was our only way to get our mother home.  The disgusting part was that we had to exhume her grave.  It took around an hour to dig her casket up and open it.  Then, I had to get into the box with the body… this was the freaking shitty part!

The casket was closed – but not nailed shut – and then the ceremony was begun.  Dad spoke the Latin to perfection and then Tiffany prepared the pathway back through the casket for me to come home – and what a way to come home!

I heard the thin layer of dirt being tossed over the lid and then heard them performing the rituals.  Minutes later, I pushed the lid open and found I was in a boiling hot cell of a place.  Heat rays wavered off the floor and all around me.

I was in Hell.

Climbing out of the casket, I stepped onto the roasting ground and stood, and began to walk to the road where the Devil stood waiting for me.

“I knew you just couldn’t resist me.” He smiled.

“I’m here for my mother.”

“The whore?” he laughed, “Very well, you can have her.” He turned and walked across the road, towards a door I hadn’t noticed.  It opened and let us through into a hallway where there were cells upon cells of lost souls of people who had lost their way and were stuck here in Hell for a variety of reasons.

I was here to get my mother out of here and back to Earth where she belonged.

We approached the end of the hallway and the door opened to a room where I found my mother chained to a bed in the middle of a large cell.  She was almost naked and had demons taking advantage of her – one by one – and she just laid back against the grey pillows with a distant expression on her face, in her eyes.

“Mother?” I said stepping toward her.

She turned toward me and her eyes lit up, “Oh… another one…”

“No… I’m your son.”

She turned her face from me whispering, “I have no son… none at all.”

Tears stung my eyes as I turned around, leaning on the door frame ready to be sick.  I had come all this way to find my mother, only to find her chained up and treated like this.

“It must be a shock…”

“Fuck off… you knew she’d do this.” I snapped.

He took a deep breath, “Well, yes, Drew I did.  So, why did you come?  Why did you come alone?”

I turned and looked at him, “Because it’s me you want.  And you would not have stopped me.”

“True.”

I glanced at my Mother once more before approaching the bed, grabbing her shoulders and looking into her eyes and realising immediately, that we had definitely lost her.  Her eyes were nothing but lost pools of nothing – they were empty of life, of soul, of anything to say she used to be a human.  I whispered in her ear, “Mum, it’s me, Drew, your son.  You have a family.  Tiffany missed you.  Dad misses you… little Bradley misses his Mummy… please come home to Earth.” I started to cry, “Or at the very least, ask God to save you.”

Her head snapped around as her voice shrieked, “I have no family!  Never did!” she shoved me away, “Leave me alone, Drew!  For the love of all that’s God’s creatures, Drew go away!” she pulled and yanked at the chains as she tried to scratch at me and I turned away toward the door.

It opened and I stepped back out into the hallway…

…walked down past the other cells…

…out onto the side of the highway…

I crossed it toward the place I was before, found the casket and climbed back into it… dreading the fact I had to close the lid on my own.

I now despised small spaces.

Pushing the lid open, I sat up to find Dad was squatting by the casket to help me up, “Shit Drew… you were gone for a good five hours.  It’s almost dawn.”

“We lost her.” I said, “She’s…”

“…here.” Tiffany said looking over the top of grave site with a torch.

With Dad helping me up, we looked over the top of the grave to find my Mum was standing next to the grave, “Holy crap on toast.” Dad mumbled, “Let’s clean this place up and get the hell outa here.”

“Please, let’s not use that word anymore.” Mum said.

“Which one?” I asked clambering out of the grave.

“Hell.” She said holding me close, “You pulled me out of that place, and I was on the highway to Hell… the true Hell.  He had more plans for me than just what you saw, Drew.”

“What kind of plans?” Tiffany asked.

“Well, he’s let me go.” Mum said, “We’re safe from Him… for now.”

When we arrived home, Dad and Mum sat in the kitchen talking.  I listened at my bedroom door with my light out to their conversation:

“Sweetheart, what did you mean by: for now?” he asked.

“Do we have to…”

“Yes, we do.” He said.

“He let me go.  But Drew is the Son of the Devil.  When he is old enough, he will be ordered to walk the Highway to Hell by his true father – and nothing we do will save him from his true destiny in life.”

“What destiny is that?”

I heard Mum start to cry, “We’ll be able to say that our son is the Devil.”