Writing Exercise 094

This week I got another writing prompt and I turned it into a drabble. Now that it is finished, I think I could have done things differently, more lightheartedly and situated in my dear Neverbeen Universe -- a simple travel towards new horizons. It would have been a fun adventure, but instead I chose to write something that might get you thinking...

2017/09/29 – the last day on Earth (Drabble)

It all began with a misunderstanding; simple words misinterpreted. They set in motion a chain reaction of other words – clearer and more decisive, with only a worried whisper as bulwark easily overcome by blind obedience. A button was pushed; through the grapevine a devastating message spread half around the globe, important ears only a phone call away. The countdown was ticking. In blind wrath and vengeance more words were bellowed down the chain of responsibility and more buttons were pushed, some farther away, some closer. But most people didn't even know until it hit them. The last day of humankind.

Midnight Art

Lately I've not been sleeping well. So during another wakeful night I thought: why not use the time to be a little productive?
Too tired to write, yet too awake to sleep, I sat down to draw. Listening to music, I used Sai to outline and colour what came to mind.
Here is the result of that sleepless night:

Writing Exercise 093

This week I got a prompt from my dear writing buddy Frankie, and a quite interesting one at that. So come with me on a journey and see what happens. :D

2017/09/18 – The teapot boils and you pour the hot water into the mug. Stir the teabag around in circles, creating a small vortex within the cup. As you keep stirring, you watch the vortex, staring at it dreamily, until you notice the vortex getting bigger and bigger and suddenly you are pulled into it. Down and down the spinning vortex, down and gone to another realm. Where do you land and how do you get back?

Breaching the surface she drew in huge gulps of air; gasping and panting she looked around to find herself in a lake surrounded by dark hills contrasting with the golds and violets of the setting sun. Still out of breath she swam to the banks and dragged her body out of the water, shivering with cold.

“What in the world happened? And where am I?” she wondered as she looked about the beautiful and perfectly calm landscape. Two pale moons were up, and the first stars became visible in the evening sky. So she instantly knew, this was not Earth anymore.

“This has to be one of my weird dreams,” she groaned. Then again she never realized she was dreaming when she did. But it couldn't be real either, could it?

The sun was low on the horizon and wouldn't be able to dry her clothes, so she decided to move and try to find people who might help her. Trudging along the banks of the lake she shivered; her flip-flops made a wet noise with every step she took. Her thoughts wandered home, wishing this really was just a dream and she was napping on her cosy sofa huddled in a fleece blanket and her tea was getting cold.

In the distance she saw a campfire burning in the semi-darkness, and she felt so relieved there were people out there she almost forgot to be afraid. Almost. For as she hurried towards the light in the dark she remembered that whoever was there might not be as friendly as she hoped. On her long way there images of ghastly monsters danced before her mind's eye, drinking blood and crunching bones with their sharp teeth – her bones. She shook her head and walked on. No, she needed help; she was in no position to fear for herself and conjure the worst persons possible. Maybe these monsters were nice and helpful monsters who offered her a change of clothes and a cup of tea.

Decidedly she approached the campfire. And when she arrived, she sighed a sigh of relief as she saw the creatures sitting there looked perfectly human. And yet her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. It was still three men, at least one of them armed with a sword, against one frail and shivering woman. She gulped and halted as if rooted to the ground.

“Come, sit with us. You must be cold,” the man with the sword had noticed her and his dark eyes bore into her as if they could see past her flesh and bones and right into her soul.

The other men also looked her way now. “Oh, hey there. Didn't notice you there in the dark,” the dark blonde smiled at her and waved, while the other stern looking man only acknowledged her with a nod.

“Uh, thank you,” she hesitatingly smiled, “and hi.” These strangers seemed oddly familiar, though she was sure she'd never met them before. Carefully she sat and eyed them a bit warily. At least they seemed friendly and spoke her language. She rubbed her hands and held them close to the fire. The warmth did wonders to her shivering body, but her wet clothes still clung to her.

“May I offer you a cup of coffee? Or tea...” the stern man politely asked. In his three-pieced suit he seemed a bit out of place, much unlike the other two.

“Yes, please,” she nodded eagerly, the prospect of a hot beverage melted her mistrust away. “Either is fine. And thank you.” The man poured her a cup and she cradled it, warming her hands before taking a sip. The coffee was strong and bitter but it did the worlds of good. She smiled and sighed contentedly.

The dark blonde fetched a big towel from their tents. “Did you fall into the lake?” he asked sympathetically.

“Something like that,” she murmured a bit embarrassed. She didn't think they might believe her if she told them what really happened. Instead she huddled into the towel and dried herself. But she stopped when she felt the scrutinizing stare of the one who invited her to their campfire. “Uhm…?” she blinked at him questioningly.

“No, she didn't,” he stated, “she fell through a vortex in her tea cup and landed here.”

She startled, feeling embarrassed yet again. How did he know? Somehow she felt, she should know the answer already.

“A vortex in her tea cup? That sounds highly unlikely,” the dark blonde chuckled quietly.

“But it's true, isn't it? Asuka Ishimaru, author of two short story collections about our dear Neverbeen Universe,” the man who became creepier and creepier to her observed.

“How – how do you know my name?” she asked scared as hell.

“Indeed, how would I know if you didn't tell me and we'd never met? Well, you do know me – as you know all of us – and you know my powers even more than I do, don't you? Remember. Who am I?” he grinned, crafty as a cartload of monkeys.

She stared at him, utterly confused and even shaken. The coffee cup in her hands trembled as she clutched it. Her mind was in turmoil as it tried to make sense of what that man told her. She was sure, they'd never met. And yet she couldn't shake the feeling that – like he said – she did know them.

“How is that even possible, Raphael?” the dark blonde wondered as the stern gentleman cleared his throat and said with an apprehensive air: “If I may? Ishimaru-sensei may very well know us if her identity is confirmed. As I gather from your information on her, Ra-chin, she indeed may be the wisest entity in this whole Universe, and it is a wondrous incident that she is in fact here.”

She stared and outright gaped at the three men before her as finally it dawned on her who they were. At once everything made sense. Why they seemed so familiar, why the man called Raphael knew her name and what happened to her, why the gentleman behaved as he did. She etiolated and felt as though she might faint any minute. Could this really be happening?

“Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes still trained on the three men as if they had grown a second head. But this was even more miraculous. “Is this really real? Are – are you... real?” she blurted and almost dropped her cup of coffee.

Raphael crossed his arms and grinned: “As real as we possibly could.”

And the dark blonde – Gene – blinked, then nodded. “Sure. I feel very real.”

The gentlemanly Reaper agreed as well.

And she was very well gobsmacked. The more she realised the three of them were really there – she was really there and came face to face with them – the more a broad smile spread on her lips. “Awesome. This is totally awesome,” she breathed and stared at them dreamy-eyed. To meet the main characters of her novel in the making was a dream come true.

“Not at all,” Raphael glowered and knotted his brows. “Care to explain why the hell you do all these things to us in your new story? I don't care what happens to me, but I hope you have a damn good reason for what happens to my dear Gene,” he had a warning tone in his voice which spoke of the danger and power he contained. He stood and spread his black wings.

She gulped, her enthusiasm snuffed out in an instant and replaced by fear. For she very well knew what this Daemon was capable of – she had written it herself.

However, the Reaper came to her rescue and stood in Raphael's path. “Don't do something reckless, Ra-chin,” he solemnly said, “remember. Ishimaru-sensei is our creator. If you do her harm we won't be able to foresee the consequences to our own existence, nay, the existence of whole Neverbeen Universe.”

“I know that,” Raphael growled, “but that doesn't justify what she's doing to us. I can't let her get away with murder, even if it's just in a book.”

“Murder?” Gene echoed, and exclaimed shocked, “Someone's going to die? I don't want that.”

“It's just for dramatical purposes. And there is a happy end,” she promised, then turned to Raphael, “You know that, right? All is well in the end. You can prove it if you read my mind.”

Raphael crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don't like it. Rewrite the story!”

Again, Thanatos cleared his throat to get their attention: “If there is an agreeable ending, that may not be necessary. Be that as it may, there is a more concerning fact at hand. If Ishimaru-sensei is here in Nverbeen Universe, a world of her own creation, this may have serious consequences, possibly cataclysmic ones.”

Gene nodded. “I see. I get it now. But whatever happens when she is here?”

“Excuse me. That I can't possibly fathom,” Thanatos said. “However, I deem it an urgent matter to transport Ishimaru-sensei back to her own world so this world might not be endangered, nor pose a threat to her wellbeing.”

“Agreed,” Raphael relented, “I don't want this place to implode on us or whatever. So we have to get her back to wherever she came from.”

She nodded eagerly. As great and fascinating it might be to meet her own creations in the flesh, she knew how dangerous this world was and she certainly didn't want to die in an imaginary world. “Yes, please. I'd rather you visited me at home than something happened to me here,” she smiled lopsidedly.

“But how to get you there?” Gene asked. “Could one of those portals bring you there?”

Raphael thought for a moment until he concluded: “I don't think so. The portals may be connected to other places in Neverbeen Universe, but they won't lead outside. We have to think of something else.”

For a while pensive silence ensued until it was again Raphael who came up with something. “Let's have a look at the incident that brought you here: you were pouring yourself some tea, stirring the tea and creating a vortex. And as you stared at it the vortex sucked you in. My guess: this is all in your mind; the vortex hypnotized you somehow and you're still there where you belong. Otherwise you couldn't possibly enter a universe that is purely of your own creation.”

That somehow sounded plausible. “So what do I do to get… unhypnotized?” she asked, “Because that would bring me back, right?”

Raphael nodded. “I think so.” Again he thought for a moment, then suggested: “I could link our minds and see if I can wake you.”

Hesitatingly she nodded. She was pretty uncomfortable with someone poking around in her mind, especially someone of Raphael's calibre. But she wanted to return home as fast as possible and hopefully in one piece. “Alright. Please try,” she agreed.

She felt a tingle in the back of her head as Raphael's presence gently pushed inside her head, filled her thinking and a shiver ran down her spine when his calm and deep mental voice murmured: 'Relax. Think of your home. Remember, this is not real, this is but a daydream. Remember where you are and what you are doing. Good. Hold that thought.' She relaxed and did as he told, relished in the feel of his strong mind guiding hers.

'And on the count of three you open your eyes and are back where you belong. Ready? One… two… three.'

She opened her eyes and blinked. Gone was the campfire, and gone were the three protagonists of her novel in the making. She became aware she was still standing in the kitchen, staring forlornly into her mug. “That was the weirdest daydream I've ever had,” she mused. “Wish it was real though. Oh, well.” She shrugged and took a huge sip of her tea. It had become too strong and had already gone cold. She downed it nonetheless, put the teapot on again and flip-flopped back to her desk where she opened the manuscript to her novel in the making. This incident had really put her in the good mood to work on the story again…

Writing Exercise 092

Hello again!
This week, of course, I have another writing exercise for you. This time I wrote a drabble about the weather, and how it changed.
Here it is:

2017/09/17 – sunshine (Drabble)

The rays of the summer sun are fading. Less warmth reaches the earth and a cold wind is blowing away summer's last petals. You remember the brightness of those days and the heat caressing your skin. Yet still the sun makes the lake seem like dancing diamonds and has you long for its warmth and think of summer. The sunshine deceives you, lures you outside. But even if it is colder than you estimated you still glean a lot from it. And if it is just a little smile, that will be perfectly enough. For it lightens up my world.

Writing Exercise 091

Of curse, this week I also have a writing exercise for you. This time I got a very interesting prompt.
Let's see what I did with it, shall we?

2017/09/10 – The Post Offices all over the world are going to close, but they give you one last chance to write your very last snail mail ever.

“Did you know the Post Offices are going to close? It's all over the news,” my mother told exasperated when she visited me this Monday morning, “Can you believe that!”

I just shrugged as I always felt awkward writing mails. Usually they were addressed to public authorities or insurance companies and thus no pleasant mails at all. I wouldn't miss them. And when I found my mailbox empty I'd often muttered: “No mail at all is good mail.”

“But they give each person one last chance to send a very last mail. The authorities have handed over a list of their citizens so they can check,” my mother continued, reached into her bag and showed me an envelope. “I'm headed there now. Want to come along?” she asked excitedly.

Reluctantly I agreed, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bag and keys and followed her to the only supermarket in the village, where the Post Office was crammed between the shelf with wine and the bakers.

When we reached the supermarket, the place was overrun with people – young and old. The poor cashiers didn't know what to do as they were so few and not used to having a whole village of customers in their shop at the same time.

“Oh, god,” I moaned, “this is madness.”

Once so friendly neighbours fought viciously over the last stamps and envelopes, the queue extended over the whole building and frayed at times as people got impatient and frantic and were eager to send their last mail or postcard or parcel. People were shouting and shoving but nothing made the process go faster as there was only one Post Office register.

“Are you really going to stand here in line waiting all day?” I asked my mother and she huffed: “I've run out of stamps. Didn't think it would be that full.” So we queued for a while. I looked around the shelves and thought about what to make for dinner. Until my mother became really impatient.

“You know what? Let's come back tomorrow. They won't be closing for another week. There sure is enough time to get that mail sent,” she decided.

“Who are you writing to anyway?” I was curious, but she only smiled sagely.

“To a very important person in my life, of course,” she answered.

So we decided to go home and meet up again tomorrow. But the situation was the same on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and we had neither the patience nor the mood to stand in line all day with people who behaved like madmen.

That was when three letters and a postcard arrived in my mailbox. Curiously I opened them to find my best friend and some people I'd lost contact with had decided to write their very last letter to me. As I didn't expect any mail I was pretty overwhelmed while I read each letter and postcard. Their words moved me almost to tears and the desire to write back to each of them filled me. I would type each of them an email, I promised to myself. But I also decided I would write that last letter and have it sent!

But it had to be special. So I searched my office for some sheets of laid paper and took my calligraphy pen and got to work. As I wrote the longest and most meaningful letter in my whole life I wanted to convey a lot of things. Of course I could tell this person any day per phone or email or text or directly. But dedicating my final letter to this person made everything so profound and serious. I even found my last two stamps, so again I met up with my mother on Friday to share them with her. The post box was overstuffed and I didn't want to rumple my letter.

“You know what? Here. I don't need that Post Office to deliver anything to you,” I exclaimed and handed the letter over. She was speechless and smiled happily then hugged me.

“You're right,” she agreed. “We'll never get that letter delivered in time with so many people overcrowding the place. And the post box is a mess. Here.” She gave me her letter, and it indeed was addressed to me.

“So I am that important person?” I ask surprised.

“Of course, silly,” she laughed and hugged me again.

Announcement

It's on a pretty short notice, but I have something to tell you. :D

Tomorrow I'm going to have an author's slot at my dear writing buddy Frankie's release party for her novel "Emergence".
In this author's slot I get to celebrate with my friend, talk about my works and do a reading of a short story from my yet unreleased third volume of my "Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe" short story collections.

The event starts at 6:30 p.m. CET and my author's slot starts at 8:15 p.m. CET.
Here's the link to Frankie's Facebook, as the party will be held online.

Don't miss it and celebrate with us! :D