He thought it would make her happy. With a flourish, Kukulcan donned his feather robe and stepped into the circle. He had been working for ages on this long count calendar, and tonight, the first night of the Tzolk’in cycle, he was ready to dedicate it to her. His mother. His lover. His goddess. Continue reading “Apocalypse Now”
Elemental
They were the Weather Men, and they ruled the world. Continue reading “Elemental”
Stargazer
His eyes were shut, his lids and eyebrows squinting with such force that his entire face was contorted. Continue reading “Stargazer”
La Llorona
She stood outside the store in the pouring rain, just beyond the awning. The first thing Pablo noticed about her was not the way her long hair fell in thick, wet ropes down her back, nor her blotchy red face, nor her unusually slender frame, outlined by the black cotton sundress, now soaked, that clung to her body, leaving very little to the imagination. No, the first thing he noticed was her eyes, bloodshot and tired, devoid of any hint of happiness. Continue reading “La Llorona”
Chrysalis
It was coming. I could neither see nor hear it, but I knew it was approaching. Slowly, deliberately, it was coming for me. Continue reading “Chrysalis”
Nothing New Under the Sun
Ukobach sat at his desk, staring blankly at the endless pile of papers in front of him. He was going cross-eyed with all this paperwork, but he also knew that if he didn’t start working now, his boss would come buzzing in from nowhere and make him regret it. No, he thought with a sigh, better to get started now. Continue reading “Nothing New Under the Sun”
Love Potion
The store had been on Main Street for as long as anyone could remember. Signs proclaiming “Love Potions for Sale” and “Greatest Wishes Fulfilled” always got a chuckle from passers-by, but nobody ever admitted to actually going inside. Still, in good economies or bad, it has remained open for business. Continue reading “Love Potion”
Colors of the World
Sarah sits down at the table. In front of her is her canvas, wide and white and clean. She does not know yet what she will create, but she knows instinctively that it will be beautiful. Continue reading “Colors of the World”
Trapped
Seven days.
I’ve been stuck in this godforsaken place for seven frickin’ days. Or has it been more than a week?
Months? Years? I can’t tell anymore.
It started when I visited a corn maze with my friends. It had been one of my rare days off, and I’d decided to spend it with my friends instead of watching TV. We had found the maze by chance, driving the back roads on our way to an Amish town in Pennsylvania. A huge hand-painted sign in front proclaimed, “DEMETER’S LABYRINTH,” with several corn stalks decorating the outside. I had scoffed at the mixed mythology, but my friend Marjorie urged us to stop and explore. “We never get to do this kind of stuff,” she had said. “It’ll be fun.”
Ben, sitting next to Marjorie in the back seat, agreed. He had a crush on Marjorie, and the chance of being alone with her was too good to pass up. I rolled my eyes and was going to continue driving, but Lenny, squirming in the passenger’s seat, announced, “I really have to pee.”
So we parked the car, paid our tickets, and entered the maze. Within minutes, everyone had gone their separate ways, and I was left exploring the confusing pathways on my own.
When the sun had begun to set, I was still stuck in the middle of the maze, and I hadn’t seen or heard from anyone in hours. I thought for sure someone who worked there would have noticed that I was lost, or that my friends would have tried to find me, but there was nothing. No sound, no lights, no sign of any life whatsoever.
I yelled until I was hoarse, but it did me no good.
That was the end of the first day.
The second day, I tried to retrace my steps, but every time I thought I was doubling back, I found myself in a new spot. Paths sometimes led to dead ends, but often they would take me to little outdoor “rooms,” with benches and fountains. I was able to keep myself hydrated because of these fountains, but I was starting to become weak and more confused with hunger.
By the time the sun had set on the second day, I was famished. That’s when I found the storehouse.
It was a little underground shed, the entrance to which was on the ground, hidden near one of the fountains. I managed to jimmy open the doors, thinking that if I disabled one of the fountains, the owners would come to investigate. What I found instead was a treasure trove of food, clothes, and other goodies. This could have been where they stored all the lost-and-found items, but that didn’t explain the boxes of MREs, camping gear, and survival equipment I found in the back. Had someone gotten lost in this maze before?
On the third day, my belly full and my mind more engaged, I started to think of ways to get out of the maze.
The trouble with corn is that you can’t climb up the stalks to get your bearings. You can go between the stalks, but this maze was acres and acres long; I could have been a yard from the road or miles away. There just was no way to tell. Also, I thought for sure someone would have come along by then. Why hadn’t they reopened the maze?
On the fourth day, I figured I’d take a page from mythology to help me out of my own labyrinth. I began ripping down corn stalks and braiding rope so that I at least would know where I had been. That project took longer than I thought it would, and I didn’t have a long enough rope until the middle of the fifth day.
The corn rope turned out to be really helpful, especially once I realized it would still take me at least another day to travel through all the paths in the maze. This was the most complicated labyrinth I’d ever seen! Last night, I made my way back to the storehouse and just cried. I couldn’t believe my friends would abandon me. Why wouldn’t my family be looking for me? What did I have to do to get someone’s attention?
This morning, as I was rummaging around in the storehouse, I found a radio. It was solar-powered, so I had to wait for it to sit out in the sun for an hour or so before I could get it to work.
And that’s when I found out about the outbreak. Or zombie apocalypse. They aren’t calling it that on the radio, but people are getting ill from some sort of contact-borne illness, and they’re going crazy. Like, running around and killing people crazy. What else should I call it?
I’ve been here for seven days, all by myself, and it’s saved my life.
The trouble is, I don’t think I will be able to leave.
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Daily Shorts challenged me with “Write about five things you would do to entertain yourself if you didn’t see a soul for seven days. Could be fiction or nonfiction.” and I challenged The Drama Mama with “It’s toxic.”
Rising Power
Fog rolled off the Featherpass mountains like an overflowing cauldron, spilling into Magicka Bay. The sun glinted off the surface of the ocean.
It was a dreary day.
Kip sighed and turned away from the tower window. She was frustrated with the monotony of her days at the Magicka. She had arrived six months ago, and they had yet to begin her instruction in the magical arts. Indeed, she was treated more like a servant than a student: her days were filled with menial household tasks, from cleaning to cooking, from sun up to sun down. Occasionally, Rory would show up to take her away from her chores for an hour or two, but only to take her hunting or fishing, and he preferred to answer her questions with grunts or one-word answers. Still, she liked Rory, and she looked forward to these times with him; she always tried to do well at her chores so that he would return more frequently.
Perhaps she had imagined becoming a mage would be more glamorous. She knew it was dangerous, being one of the Magicka: ordinary folks either feared or worshiped those who could bend energy to suit their needs…but most people in the four worlds feared the things the Magicka could do.
She shivered at the memory of the men who had raised her, the elders of Olstrick who had branded and exiled her once they found out about her powers. The nightmares no longer came every night, but she still felt fear when she got too close to a fire, and sometimes she thought she saw some the men following her in a crowd.
She shook her head. Get back to work, Kip. It was the only thing for her to do if she wanted to stay here. And no matter how dreary her days were, she still wanted to stay. She hurried down the stairs to the kitchen.
Cook was already there, of course: he was there before the first cockcrow each morning. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, directing various servants as they busied themselves preparing the day’s meals. He caught sight of Kip as soon as she entered the room.
“Well, look who has finally decided to join us!”
Kip frowned. “I’m sorry I’m late, Cook. I–”
“No excuses. Just results!” Cook liked to say that. A lot. He took her by the hand and led her to a table by the oven. “Today, you will make bread. Remember what I told you?”
She nodded. She had been making bread now for a week. “Flour, yeast, honey, salt, milk,” Kip called out each ingredient as she pulled it from the shelf. There was already a bowl of water at her workstation. Satisfied that Kip knew what she was doing, Cook turned his attention to another part of the kitchen.
Kip carefully measured out the yeast and honey and mixed them into the warm water. She wondered what exactly went on in that bowl that caused it to bubble. She imagined tiny yeast bugs in the bowl gobbling up the honey and burping out bubbles. The visual was so absurd that a giggle escaped her lips.
As soon as she began to laugh, the bowl became frothy.
Almost too frothy.
Kip frowned. She must have lost track of time. She peeked up at Cook, to see if he noticed that she had been daydreaming, but he was engaged in deep conversation with another servant about the merits of duck meat.
She added the rest of the ingredients and mixed them up to make the dough. After it was kneaded enough, she rolled the dough into a ball and put it in a bowl to rise. She wondered, again what those little imaginary yeast bugs might be doing. Were they gobbling up the flour as well? Maybe they were making themselves so fat that the flour around them expanded? She looked closely at the dough, hoping to watch those little bugs in action.
Right before her eyes, the dough began to rise. Faster than she thought possible. It should have taken at least an hour to get to the size that it was now, but only seconds had passed. What was going on?
She glanced at Cook again, but he hadn’t moved.
For that matter, neither had anyone in the kitchen. Even the cauldrons over the fires had ceased to bubble.
It was as if time itself had stopped, except for Kip and the rising dough.
Her eyes widened, and she reached her hand out reflexively, as if to stop the dough from rising any further. As soon as her fingers touched the dough, everything and everyone in the kitchen began to move normally, as if nothing had happened.
Except her dough had fully risen, even though she had only begun making it a few minutes prior!
She frowned and looked at the ball of dough with skepticism. Was someone playing games with her? She looked around the room surreptitiously. Everyone had their heads down, concentrating on their own tasks.
Kip supposed that the only way to find out who was behind this trick was to finish making the bread. She punched down the dough and continued to knead it for a few minutes. She then divided the dough into smaller balls and laid them out on a board to be put in the oven.
Before placing the loaves in the oven, she scanned the room again to see if anyone was watching her, but still saw no one interested in what she was doing. With a wince — she still didn’t like to be too close to fires! — she pushed the loaves into the oven.
She watched intently as the dough reacted to the heat. Again the loaves began to grow, but this time at a regular pace. She thought again of the yeast bugs, picturing them burping more as it got hotter and hotter.
And then, once again, it happened: the loaves began to grow larger and larger, at lightning-quick pace, gaining a lovely golden sheen after only a few seconds. These loaves of bread were almost done, and less than a minute had passed.
The fire was still burning brightly in the oven, but as Kip looked up from her work, she saw that everything around her was moving much more slowly than normal. Time had not stopped, but it had slowed considerably. She grabbed the handle of the bread board to pull it out of the oven, but yelped and jumped back as she realized that she had forgotten to put on her gloves.
Her reaction kicked everything back to normal speed. None of the servants even looked up as they heard her cry out.
Cook, however, did take notice. “Kip?” he inquired in a strangled voice.
Kip didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see the look of rage on Cook’s face. “Um, just a minute. I need to get these loaves out of the oven.” She grabbed a glove and busied herself with her task.
“Kip.” Cook’s voice was more commanding now.
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I know the bread is messed up. I think someone is–”
“No, Kip,” insisted Cook. “Open your eyes and see what you’ve done.”
Squinting, she opened one eye, and then the other, and she saw on the table before her four perfect loaves of bread, each with a small series of grooves on the top that looked like it had been cut out with a knife as it had baked. The design was eerily familiar: it was the mark she knew was her own. It had not yet surfaced on her skin, for she was not yet a mage, but she had seen it in her dreams, and she knew there was no other design quite like it.
She slowly lifted her eyes to Cook. “Did I…do that?”
Cook folded his arms in front of his chest. “Looks like you just discovered your Way. I think it might be time for you to learn some self-control before you make too much of a mess out of my kitchen.” He pointed at two loaves that were still in the oven and beginning to burn.
“Oh no!” Mortified, Kip ran over to the oven and pulled the loaves out. As soon as the bread was safely out of the oven, Cook placed two arms on her shoulders and looked her square in the eyes, stopping her string of apologies.
“No excuses. Just results.” He smiled. “And I think I like these results.”
This week’s Indie Ink Writing Challenge came from Kelly Garriott Waite, who wrote:
The sun glinted off the surface of the ocean. It was a dreary day.
I challenged FlamingNyx, who will answer my prompt here before the end of the week.