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Looks like I may have a ton of these, so this is collection 1 of Reflections |
| BC Prompt: When was the last time you dedicated a day to yourself? If you have, share the details and their effects on you at the end of the day. If you haven't, why not, and would you if given the chance? Note: Written as a chapter/scene in my upcoming NaNoWriMo novel. I wake up in the dark room well rested but wary. The heavy metal door has been left open allowing a liberal amount of yellow light to seep in. The skewed rectangle of light looks odd against the impermeable caliginous of my temporary safe haven. The juice and sandwich I had thrown on the floor last night was still there, palely glowing with the thinnest reaches of the beam outside my door. I sit up. Maybe they weren't trying to make me sick. Surely if they wanted to poison me they could have done it with the needle they stuck me with last night. I don't want to think about yesterday. I don't want to think at all. Shoving all thought from my mind I am forced to focus on my body. I do a quick assessment: legs fine, left buttocks a bit sore where they stuck me, arms good. I roll my shoulders a few times and revel in the feel of my shoulder blades contracting. I roll my head in a few circles around my neck and feel my tension ease somewhat. My throat is sore from all the screaming I've been doing. I pick up the apple juice and inspect it closely. It is a small plastic cup, about a half pint, sealed with a thin aluminum paper top. It would be easy for them to stick a needle in the top, but I see no signs of tampering and I have decided they won't poison me. The worse it will probably do is make me drowsy and I have a feeling I won't want to be up for long anyway. The juice is delicious. I always did like apple juice, plus it has the added benefit of helping with my regularity. Given the week I have been having my bowels are sure to need all the support they can get. Without bothering to inspect it I rip open the second container of juice and gulp it down greedily. This one is cranberry apple juice, another great diuretic. That done I pick up the sandwich. Dry turkey on a dry hamburger bun. My stomach rebels. I toss the meager proportions back into the darkest corner of my room. Though 'room' doesn't feel right, more like a 'cell'. There are three doors into my cell. The one facing me while lying down is open. The second one behind me is closed and probably leads to the nurses station. A blinder covers the window so I can not say for sure. The third door to my left creeps me out. It has no window and I see no need for two extra doors. Seems like overkill if you ask me. The thought of people coming in at me from all sides makes me uneasy. Last night it felt like they all piled in through the open door but on reflection it's plausible they used the other two as well. I was just too overwhelmed and hysterical to notice at the time. Spurred on by a fresh bout of paranoia I decide to leave my roomy cell and do a bit of reconnaissance. I stand in the bright doorway. There is a door to a cell just like mine to my right. Directly across and to the left a bit is the shower room where the creepy guy was. Beyond my tiny bright hallway the empty main thoroughfare is dull in comparison. Dim white search lighting lights up the corridor intermittently. It must still be late at night or early morning. Emboldened by the lack of foot traffic I walk to the edge of my hallway and survey the nurses station on my left. One male nurse is sitting at the computer. He doesn't look up. To my right all the bedroom doors are closed, silence reigns. I decide that's enough exploring for one night. Stifling a yawn I return to the cot in my cell and quickly descend into blissful darkness. *tired of writing but she goes on to wake up (in a mental institution) and is basically forced to have a day to herself for some intense reflection* -------------------------------------------- Edited for FINAL short story submission into GlimmerTrain  on 4/20/2019----------------- Companion piece to
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| Final: "Whichever Way the Wind Blows" Faith may have entered her sleeping cabin in Car 2 as Chicago's most loved weather woman, but she left her room as Ororo Monroe, mutant weather witch. Storm's skintight leotard gleamed against the interior lighting of the hallway. I can't wait to run into that old hack Bette Midler again, Storm thought to herself. I bet she'll just die after getting a look at me. As if conjured from thought, old ladies Bette and Spot came around the corner nearly colliding with white spandex clad X-Men crusader. "Watch it Geris, I don't need you smudging my outfit with your prune hands." "Who's Geri?" asks Spot innocently. She looks up into Storms eyes and gasps sharply. Hand over her mouth she exclaims, "Dear Lord child, what is wrong with your eyes!? They're all white!" "They're contacts Dottie, calm down; and she is trying to call us old, geriatrics. Rather ironic considering she's got that grey wig on. Better old and dignified than young and loose. Though you're no spring chicken yourself. I read that article in Public magazine where that Bieber boy called you an 'old stale wind'. Guess your rose doesn't smell that ripe to some." "Better watch it Miss M," Storm spat. "This rose still has it's thorns, and my hair is silver not grey!" "Least this rose isn't so easily picked." Bette shoots back. "You know, I hope we don't ride near any beaches. It would be a shame for you to drown." The women glared at each other, sparks shooting from their eyes. Modo and Poe choose this moment to walk down the hallway. "Did you hear about that mysterious piece of paper tHiNg found?" asks the dark poet. "Yea, somethings going in in Car Three, but I think I'll stay clear of that. You know Bruce Willis is supposed to be here? I think somewhere in Car Four. That's where I'm headed. The two men slow down to give Storm appreciative glances and continue on their way. It was enough to blow away the dark clouds gathering behind Storms eyes. Without another word she turns her back on Bette and Dot and follows after the men.   Passing through Car Three on her way to Car Four, Storm hears rapid scuttling from behind one of the cabin doors. No one else seems to be in the car but a pile of Bones . Storm tsks to herself and says out loud, "An old skeleton, really? How cliche." Looking both ways to ensure she's alone, the scantily clad mutant leans closer to the door. The whispers from behind the door sound animated and urgent. "Snooping? How pathetic." Stomach leaping into her chest Storm whirls around to face Batman . Having been caught sneaking several times before she was able to prevent the shriek that tried to leap from her throat. The panic from a moment before was quickly replaced by a heat that filled her cheeks and throat. "Who are you calling pathetic? Where the hell did you come from and why are you here then?" "I have my reasons," the dark knight says without further explanation. "The only reason you exist right now is to do my bidding and you are seriously lacking in that department." "How long are we going to attempt to carry on with this charade?" Jeff practically whines. "As long as I'm breathing and calling the shots. Shape up or this mysterious A won't be the only one sending out mass text messages." Batman merely glares at his blackmailer. "Glare all you want right now, just make sure you fix your face when the time comes. Where is that creepy Chiana chick anyway? And that other guy, Ken something I bet they're somewhere getting busy. Come on, let's go catch them in the act!"  |
| Final: "A Storm Approaches" poplist tHiNg V Batman Chiana The Dyslexic Delivery Man Axl Mr. Bones Houdini scurries up to the terminal. "Hope I'm not too late," she asks V while readjusting her top hot and disentangling her cape from around her feet. "You're fine," said V "We're actually still waiting on a few guests to arrive. I think this is them pulling up now." A sleek black limousine pulls up to the station gate and expels a well dressed chauffeur. The driver opens the back door and out comes Jeff Justus in a tailored tux. "Where is his bat suit?" asks Chiana perplexed. Not that I am complaining, that suit sexes suits him frell." "O I'm sure he'll change once he gets settled. Probably came straight here from work." said V as she began to wave trying to get Jeff's attention. Jeff was preoccupied however with something still in the car. He reaches back in and pulls out a hand quickly followed by a silver stiletto clad foot. Half a beat later Faith Fairchild is standing next to Jeff and gazing judgmentally at the train station and it's inhabitants. Her sight lands on the party attendees briefly. A small smirk claims her lips, she claims Jeff's elbow and sashays into the train terminal. The wind whips her long billowy silver night dress behind her, partially obscuring the chauffeur's vision as he blindly maneuvers a mound of trunks after his charges. "Why the hlel do thye need so mcuh lugggae?!" Cries The Dyslexic Delivery Man . "Well, that Batman costume is bound to be pretty cumbersome," says V, none too convincingly. "And the other five cases?" wonders tHiNg aloud. Nobody has time to speculate further as the dazzling couple approaches. Faith walks straight up to V and is the first to speak. "Brooke, it's so nice to see you!" Faith exclaims in overstated excitement. The two women clasp upper arms and smack air kisses feet away from either of their cheeks. "Yes, Faith glad you could make it." Brooke says with a small smile. "O me too. I almost didn't you know. I am just so busy making appearances everywhere. Plus I have a couple of side ventures I am looking at. Have you heard my new single Don't Be Early for the Party? It's a huge hit on iTunes I just know you're going to play it on the train aren't you?" "Uh, maybe," stammers Brooke a bit taken aback. She turns to greet Jeff but Faith jerks him aside. "Anywho, we don't want to be rude. I'm sure you were only waiting for us to arrive before leaving. Alfred, Brooke -- What are you dressed as? A bee? Why all the black then? -- This lady will show you where to put our things. We'll be inside mingling." "Very good ma'am." Alfred the chauffeur responded to Faith and Jeff's retreating backs as the couple walked away without so much as a glance for the other patrons left gaping after them. ------------------------------ Inside the train Faith began eyeing the guests, automatically listing them in order of importance, mentally deciding who would be worth talking to and for how long. "That was awfully rude Faith," says Jeff, sternly shaking his arm out of her grip. She turns wide eyes on him. "What? I was nothing but polite to Brooke and I practically ran onto this party train of hers to make up for our lateness. I'd say I was a model guest. Besides what do you care? All you need to do is keep playing the part of my adoring escort and all will stay right in your little world. Is that, Bruce Willis!? Quick, how does my hair look? You stay here, I think I should handle this introduction, solo. |
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I just hope they can see it that way.
