Journey's end.

The plane dropped out of the sky; a flaming ball of metal, out of control. Inside, all the passengers were screaming as they fell into a mass of bodies, piled against the front-most cabin partition, everyone being pelted by loose hand-luggage and by whatever else hadn’t been secured by the flight attendants. The drinks trolley came last, dropping like a comet with a tail of miniature bottles following it.

It was surely the end for them all.

Seconds later, the superheated fuselage ploughed into the swamp. The wings followed soon after and then there was an eerie half silence, punctuated by the low roar of the flames and the ticking of strained metals and the pinging of rivets as they shot loose.

The sobbing began a further fifteen or twenty minutes later. A figure rose from beneath the surface of the half-water/half mud, her clothes shredded and coated in a mix of blood, aviation fuel and green slime. She pulled herself free and then collapsed on the first piece of semi-firm land she could find, totally traumatised and spent.

The watcher who had witnessed all this, stepped out from the wooden shack, realising that although speed was important, he still had to navigate the swamp safely. He’d be no help to her at all if he misplaced his feet and got caught in a pool of quick-mud. There’d be no-one to save either of them if that happened.

It took a further ten or so minutes for Marshall to reach her and by that time the sobbing had stopped, resolving into a familiar screaming wail. He levered her up from the mud, the soft mulch resisting him until, with a slurp, she gently pulled free. He spooned his hands and scooped the ooze from her face.

“Flight on time… I caught the flight on time,” she cried, her voice even more hoarse than before.

Marshall nodded sombrely.”I was going to ask you how you survived. But now I know.” He studied her face, still not recognising her. He gave her a weak smile, hoping to boost her spirits. “You were in the black box, weren’t you?”

I'm a clairvoyant - but I can't see any future in it!

“I can see you working in retail. Maybe clothing. I’m thinking that you possibly manage or own a boutique.”

The well-dressed woman with the glass of champagne nodded, her over-sized Patek Phillipe shifting down her wrist. “That’s amazing,” she gushed. “Can you tell me anything else? Anything personal?”

I focused on the end of my nose, adopting what I thought might look like a ‘between the worlds’ look. “I can see that you’re married and I’m getting that your lover is younger than you. Maybe ten, fifteen years younger. You met him at the sports club, I think.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Anything else? Anything spicy?” She grinned wolfishly, her eyes full of mischief. “Anything that I wouldn’t want anyone else to know?”

I matched her expression, pushing my luck a little further. “What, other than the fact that you’re dissatisfied with your husband’s bed-room technique and your lover’s your toy-boy? How much more do you want me to share here in mixed company? Eh?”

The babble of conversation dipped for a moment and for most of the last comment I was the only one speaking loudly, the words causing a number of heads to turn toward us. The boutique-owner blushed, twisting her wedding ring on her finger for a moment. She looked quickly around, trying to assess the make-up of the crowd near us. “I’d be very interested to speak with you later,” she murmured, moving in close. “I’d like to give you my card, if I may.”

I palmed the oblong, pushing it into my purse and stepped back, wanting to distance myself from her.

And bumped into a man, standing directly behind me.

Of course he’d been holding a drink. And of course, it’d been a glass of red wine. And of course, it’d spilled down the back of my favourite cream silk blouse. Just my luck. And I could feel it soaking further down my back too.

“I’m so sorry,” we both chorused, laughing at the comedy of it.

“But I’m even more sorry,” the man continued, taking advantage of the lag of my hesitation, while I thought back to when I’d bought the blouse and how much it’d cost me. He shook his head mournfully. “That’s silk too. That’s never gonna come out.”

“I know,” I wailed, deliberately overplaying it. “And the white wine trick doesn’t work too. It’s ruined. And it was such a favourite too!” I jammed my lower lip out and scrunched my eyes up, willing tears to come. And they did - it’d cost me almost £300 less than a month ago and it’d been only the second time I’d worn it.

The man stood back, his face crumpling when he saw my mood collapse. “I’ve got to make it up to you,” he said. He took me by the upper arm, steering me to the bathroom with one hand and loosening his jacket with the other. “Maybe if let you use my shirt, it’d keep you decent. I can wear my jacket buttoned until I get home. It’d be the least I could do.” He looped an arm around me, pulling me close until I could feel his upper body hard against me.

I shivered, feeling suddenly afraid. I just wanted to get home now and this man was giving me the worst sort of messages.

“I’ve got something at home that can help me salvage this,” I said, pulling away. “I’ll just grab one of the cabs waiting outside. No need to worry yourself.”

But the guy was persistent. He ducked behind the visitors’ coat-rail, shucked off his jacket and shirt and came back out, handing me his shirt while he slipped his jacket back on. And then he ushered me into the bathroom. What could I do but comply?

Of course he was still waiting when I came out again. His jacket buttoned-up and looking lumpy on him. And it didn’t stop there. A few minutes later we were both giving our addresses to the cab driver - his only a few blocks from the one I gave - and I knew he was gonna be a difficult guy to shake.

We’d only gone a few blocks when he began to open up, telling me he was called Caine - with an ‘e’ - and saying that he’d enjoyed my act. If it’d been an act, that is.

“It was a fluke,” I said, shrugging. “Just a run of lucky guesses. No more than that.”

Caine looked at me with a determined look on his face. Rather like he was trying to memorise my face or gauge the veracity of my answers.

And then I remembered the blocky feel of his ribs against mine.

“Madam? We’re here. The cab-ride is free. The Holdens paid me for the night.” The driver opened the window between him and us and grinned expectantly.

“Thanks, mister.” I dug in my purse and handed him a ten pound note, nodding amiably. “And Caine,” I said, slipping out a business card. “This is where I work. If you like you can come by and I’ll give you your shirt back. It’s not the best fit for me, you know?”

———————————————————

I waited until the taxi was out of sight and then waited another couple of minutes before ringing for another cab. I was alone. It was dark. And I was almost three miles away from home. But I still felt safer than I’d felt before. When I was riding in a cab with a man with a gun - and he thought I could read his mind.

I just hoped he wasn't going to be pissed when he got to that lady's boutique.

http://writingroom101.wordpress.com/writing-room/wr101-prompt-series/30-days-of-june/

An Act of God?

Like two charcoal smudges stacked one on top of another, the priest gazed out from the cool of the bell tower, watching the cloud on the horizon. Already ashen from his late night efforts falsifying arson at the local woodworking tool factory, even his collar was grey.

Carlos Ramada was Viela's appointed small god botherer. A role that had him discrediting the mischief of minor deities. The last thing the Church needed was people believing in demi-gods or anything other than the Holy Father. And so, he had a very varied and sometimes dangerous job, often working outside the law.

The cloud began to move as soon as he stepped out into the sun's glare, homing in on him like a giant malevolent sheep. Metal tools began to fall, their cast bodies shattering into shrapnel as they hit the cobblestones.

Ramada groaned. "Damn you," he said, shaking his fist. "The planes in Spain don't fall mainly in the rain!"

The Alphabet in Reverse.

I saw an entry on a friend's blog recently. She wrote a story using each individual letter of the alphabet in turn. And then repeated it from 'Z' to 'A'.

Now, I love a challenge but I'm also a bit perverse, so I did the alphabet in reverse too. My way!

The American shook his head.

“Honestly,” he said, “You really don’t stand a chance!”

Eyeing him coldly, I stepped back.

“After all I’ve done for you, I have expected your support.”

“Lady. You had it once, but now I can promise you nothing!”

Petulantly, I thrust out my lower lip. Not at all happy with him.

“Harriet will help. I know that.”

“Agreed. But only if I consent to it.” He smirked maddeningly.

“Bastard. You’d do that too.”

“Every inch of the way. If you don’t make it easy for yourself."

The two of us just stood glaring at one another. Neither of us wanting to show any weakness.

“I suppose this is it, then.” I shrugged, dismissing him as though he were a tradesman, working to unblock my toilet. “You go your way…”

“Not looking back.”

“Right ahead. No hesitation.”

“Exactly.” He rubbed his chin, waiting for me to continue.

“Victoria,” he began.

“Eugene?” I raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

“Remember how we used to be?” He took my hand again.

“Say the word and I’ll stay. I promise.”

Eventually he did… and we’re still together now.

Dinner for... seven.

The lights dropped and the table-top began to glow.

A point of light hovered over the chair opposite from me, quickly expanding into a human form. It gained definition and then firmed up.

River Song looked coolly down her nose at me for a moment, her face then splitting into a broad smile. “Hello, sweetie,” she purred, rising from her seat to first strut around the table and then crouch behind me. The holo-vert was so detailed that I could actually feel her breath on my neck but when I immediately turned to face it/her, my face flushed bright crimson, my eyes stopping directly in line with the cleft between her breasts.

“Easy, Tiger!” she laughed, enjoying my embarrassment. “I don’t usually go that far so early on first date.” She angled her head, looking at me appraisingly. “I usually wait until dessert.” She extended her hand and took mine, drawing me up to face her, her blue-grey eyes full of mischief.

Her touch was firm and challenging, her hand neither hot or cold. This was obviously a limitation to the accuracy of the simulation. But still, it was damn good.

A second point of light established itself over another chair, its image firming up to become Russell Crowe. This hologram wasted no time coming to his feet, his long legs quickly bringing him around the table to greet me.

“Hello, man. How’re you doing, pal?” He gave me a quick nod and then turned to eye River Song, his hands on his hips and his attention fully on her. “Ooh, babe,” he said. “How about you and me leaving here and going somewhere more private. This guy’s only gonna slow us down.” He draped his hands around River Song's waist, pulling her close.

“Mmmm, sweetie. You sure know how to make a girl feel wanted. I’m game. Just lead on.” The two of them left the table, finding a dim corner to continue their conversation in.

A third point of light appeared, this one becoming David Bowie. Not the current Bowie but the Ziggy Stardust one. He stood, tall and self-confident, giving me his trademark ironic smile and a warm two-handed handshake. “Hi, mate. How’s it hanging? You come here often?”

I nodded. “It’s my first time. But I’m the host…”

“Easy, friend.” He looked around, seeing River and Crowe together. “I just need to talk with these guys a minute. I’ll catch you later, I promise you…”

The fourth and fifth guests were Stephen Fry and Hugh Lawrie, the two of them feeling thoroughly relaxed in each other’s company, swapping jokes and reminiscing about their university and comedy work together. They were both very polite though. But just not present for me. But what could I expect? I’d thought it was odd I’d got them as a single selection.

The final guest flickered into reality. He’d been the one I’d picked last. I’d only chosen him because I’d wanted to watch him. See how he behaved. How he moved. Listen to his voice and study him closely. I stood up, moving around the table to greet him, rather than waiting for him to rise.

“Hello, friend. It looks like it’s just you and me left now. At least I know we’ll get on.”

My last guest smiled. “You’re 100% right there,” he said, his face a perfect copy of mine. “I kinda thought it’d end this way…”

http://writingroom101.wordpress.com/writing-room/wr101-prompt-series/30-days-of-june/

A message to the past...

June 4th 2019

Dear Grandfather

I sit here in the ruins of your world, writing to plead that you do not act on this communication in the same way that you originally did.

The technology I’m using to send this message back through time to you is impressive, I’ll admit, but it should not be further developed. Even though you will certainly become wealthy beyond your wildest imaginings - I’m sitting in the luxurious apartment made possible by your wealth, so I know that to be true - I beg that you destroy this message and then forget everything about it.

The world today is not as you would have expected. The building block I sit in is, as yet, still intact but I fear that it is only a matter of time before we will be affected. The continual splintering and fissuring of the time-line makes that inevitable. Outside here now, you could walk a hundred meters in any direction and pass through half a dozen time-lines. Of course, they all bleed into one another. For example, there are Medieval knights outside my window as I write, battling dinosaurs with lasers. It’s only a matter of time before the house shields get hit by a stray blast and the whole block is destroyed.

And now, an apology. The thermonuclear incendiary bomb I included in this package should have killed you as soon as you opened it. However, as you are reading this, I can only assume that it must have failed. I assure you that it was not a decision I made lightly.

Our future is at stake.

With regrets

Your Grandson

http://writingroom101.wordpress.com/writing-room/wr101-prompt-series/30-days-of-june/

Home is where...

So I just tossed everything precious into a bag, picked up my keys and drove. Leaving the rest behind me. And not looking back. 

You’re asking where I’m going? I really don’t know. But I do know I’m done with planning. I’ll just follow my road until I reach Freedom; the place where my heart feels light and my spirit soars. And where I can be the person I want to be. The woman who fell in love with herself.

http://miamadisonauthor.wordpress.com/2014/06/02/flash-fic-round-2/