“It looks like they’re having fun!” called Mrs. MacKenzie over the backyard fence.
Protagonist stood barefoot in the dewy grass beside the raised planter boxes she was dazedly watering. She could see Mrs. MacKenzie’s phone held aloft over the top of her head, but her face was otherwise obscured by her own manicured hedges, like the neighbor in Home Improvement. It was just before 8am on a December Saturday.
“They definitely are!” Protagonist called back, audibly annoyed.
“Oh, don’t roll your eyes,” laughed Mrs. MacKenzie without having to look, “They’re practicing for empty nesting. Let them live, they’ll take you on the next one.”
Mrs. MacKenzie finally stood on her tip toes and peered over the fence to get a good look at the girl. Flannel PJ pants at least one size too big hung off her hips and she yawned before looking to meet the older woman’s eyes. She half-heartedly smiled.
“You know, you’re doing a good job caring for those,” Mrs. MacKenzie gestured to the tomatoes glistening in the new mist, “those are notorious.”
“It’s all Mom,” said Protagonist back, “and she’s only been gone two days.” Still, she blushed at the compliment.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be grateful when she’s back. How long will they be gone for?”
“Almost 4 weeks.”
Mrs. MacKenzie clapped her hands together, “Oh, that’s marvelous. So well-deserved. They work so hard, you know.”
At that, Protagonist was quiet. Not willing to give up quite yet, Mrs. MacKenzie began, “Are those Janey’s -”
“Well, I think that’s good enough.”
Protagonist threw down the hose, wiped her hands on her pants, and cut the woman off.
“Take care, Mrs. MacKenzie.”
She was padding to the kitchen door before the lady could respond, grass coating her toes. She slammed it, for good measure.
Mrs. MacKenzie was unbelievably annoying. It took all the ingenuity Protagonist had in her to sneak out past 11 pm without being seen by the hag through her giant picture window. A thorn in Protagonist’s side.
Protagonist stood high on her left foot, shoved her right foot under the kitchen sink and brushed off the sticky grass. Then she did the same to her left. She picked up the cup of tea she’d overheated before her watering and maneuvered to the white sitting room couch, careful not to mess up the grassy trail of footprints she’d left from the door. She retrieved her tablet and pen off the cushions before sinking in, to sketch and sip, sketch and sip. The house was so quiet, she could hear the digital strokes of the pen.
Eventually, she came to a pause and opened up social media. There, at the top of her dashboard, glittering teeth and already rosy cheeked, was a selfie of her mother in front of a bright blue tropical sky. It already had 57 likes and a handful of comments:
“Stunning! Miss you guys.”
“Well-deserved, you two.”
“Haven’t aged a day!”
Protagonist smirked and liked the picture herself before closing the app without so much as a scroll. She stretched her legs and opened her iMessages. There was the picture again, accompanied by a text from her mother: “Can you post this to my page please? I can’t figure out how to attach it to a post.” Protagonist rolled her eyes. Where would they be without her? Her mother could barely start her push-to-start car without Protagonist’s helping hand. It was tiresome, but it made for funny stories to share with the neighbors and people at church who themselves would laugh with the knowingness of people who couldn’t start their cars either.
Protagonist gulped down the last drops of her tea, wiped the tea mustache from her lip with the sleeve of her waffle knit, then rose to continue her day. On her way back to the kitchen, she grabbed her mom’s cell phone off the hall console table and returned it to the back of the already open junk drawer, beside a handful of hot sauce packets and a worn debit card. She bumped the drawer closed with her hip and threw the mug into the sink. She didn’t flinch as she heard it shatter.
If you asked the goblins, they would tell you the fairies have been waging a war on them for generations.
If you asked the fairies about it, they would tell you you can't wage a war on animals.
Strange Magic fanfiction based on "mirror universe" ideas. Dark and violent.
Content warnings: genocide, fantasy racism, graphic depictions of violence, magical/biological warfare
The cool blast of air as she walked through the sliding doors, the clang of the carts, the sight smell of dirt as she opened into the produce section. Even if she came with a strict list, she inevitably abandoned it in favor of the endless culinary opportunities.
This frequently got her in trouble with her mother, who followed a new rigid diet every month after inevitably failing the previous one. And it was always for a stupid reason:
“Ugh, did you know EVERYTHING has sugar in it?”
“God damnit, BUTTER smells good right now! I didn’t even know butter had a smell. You know, God gave us noses for a reason...”
“How could I have possibly known a cabbage-only diet would upset my stomach like this...”
“These beans have no taste! Or smell... Maybe I’m getting sick? I should stop. I shouldn’t starve myself if I’m sick. I’ll pick it up when I feel better...”
On the off chance her mom let Protagonist be the one to even do the grocery shopping - relinquishing control over something for even a second was a challenge for her - it almost always ended the same way: Protagonist jumped at the chance, promised to stick to the list of:
- chia seeds
- oat milk
- iceberg lettuce
- grass-fed ghee
- tofurkey
- horseradish
- 2 liters of Diet Coke
then came home with 17 extra items, and her mother lost her mind. Nevermind that Protagonist was never required to follow her mother’s seasonal diets and therefore never did. And nevermind that Protagonist had to eat something. The betrayal! The sheer horror of eggs passing across the threshold! It always dissolved into a fight. “How dare you...”
But today, as the cool mist presently watering the cucumbers and zucchini fogged up the screen of her cell phone list, Protagonist was completely free to purchase whatever she wanted. She would get heirloom tomatoes, despite having beautiful ones already glimmering in the backyard. She would stock up on Haagen Dazs bars. She would put real milk in her tea. She would feel for the firmness of every single avocado.
Protagonist worshipped at the church of groceries. She had long ago memorized the contents of each and every aisle, and she’d bemoaned at last year’s Thanksgiving alongside her favorite check-out lady Shirley, when they’d moved the aisles around.
“And a major holiday around the corner, no less!”
Today, she would let each aisle speak to her. A giant block of feta cheese? Why not? Protagonist grabbed three bottles of freshly made salad dressing. What made them different from the shelf-stable ones on aisle 16? She didn’t care. All she felt was sick contentment as she smirked, imagining her mother gasping at the trans fat.
She turned the cart around the corner. Aisles 3 and 4: Frozen foods, pizza, ice cream. Protagonist grabbed a “rising crust” cheese and popper her gum as the she let the freezer door slam shut. A woman and her toddler looked up at the sound, the boy aggressively rolling a Hot Wheels car across the cart handle between his mom’s hands, slamming into her fingers, carelessly. Protagonist waved. The child simply stared, then went back to whooshing. “Fucker,” Protagonist mumbled as she rolled past. She thought she heard the young mom gasp.
Around the next corner. Aisles 5 and 6: Cleaning supplies, paper products, dog food. This aisle never made any sense to her. She grabbed a bottle of bleach and jumbo toilet paper.
Around the next corner. Aisles 7 and 8: Magazines and party supplies. Then deodorant, body wash, and cheap makeup. She grabbed a stick of Dove and an eyeliner pencil. Why not? Can’t beat $3.
Around the next corner. And then the next. Cake mix, flour, baking sheets. She selected the nicest bottle of olive oil she could find. Another turn, and another. Cans of beans, packages of cookies, fresh sourdough. Her cart runneth over.
By the time she pushed up to Shirley’s lane, Protagonist could barely swing the cart around the magazine rack.
“Stocking up while mom’s away?”
“Exactly,” Protagonist smiled. It felt good to be seen by Shirley. The small talk began.
“How’s Georgia? Will you see each other over the break?”
“We’re having a sleepover next Tuesday.”
“Oh that’s nice!”
Scan, beep. Scan, beep. Pause.
“I wondered if maybe you’d go to her place for Christmas- “
“Nope,” Protagonist cut Shirley off, perhaps too brightly.
Shirley tried to shrug it off by not stopping her scanning, but her voice tightened, apologetic, “Oh sure. I’ll bet they have plenty going on, what with such a big family...”
Scan, beep. Scan, beep. Pause.
“Have you, uh... Have you heard from Janey?”
Protagonist didn’t respond, eyes far away, in the land of candy and gum. She reached across the belt and grabbed a handful of prepaid Visa gift cards, tossing them onto the receding end of her items and setting down a divider too late for it to matter.
“$50 on each please,” she finally looked up at Shirley, who was staring at her, concerned. When she looked back down to scan the gift cards, Protagonist could see her counting them up in her head. “My, that’s a lot of money, honey.”
“For my teachers. Christmas gifts.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you!” Shirley resumed her scanning, “Want them in the bags?”
“I’ll take ‘em,” Protagonist tossed them into her purse, then swiped the debit card and keyed in the pin while Shirley bagged each item carefully.
“Well, there ya go!” Shirley patted the side of the last bag proudly, like a mother who’d just forced her child into a large, puffy winter coat. She reached around to tear of the receipt and, as she handed it to Protagonist, found a Visa gift card being handed back to her.
“For you,” the girl said firmly.
Shirley looked up, eyes wide, “Oh, you-”
“Merry Christmas. Thanks for everything.”
Protagonist loaded the bags back into her cart quickly and nearly jogged away before Shirley could protest the gift. She caught Shirley wipe a tear away from the corner of her eye as she greeted the next guest. Protagonist smiled to herself.
Hi, I’m Madison. I write poems, essays, articles, non-fiction books, and zines. But I’ve always wanted to have a place where I could experiment with writing serial and flash fiction.
I used to use tumblr for reblogging anything and everything related to Harry Potter, Jane Austen, Bob’s Burgers, and general English Major feelings. But I never really wrote my own stuff (unless I was vague-blring about family tensions. Wow, teen angst!)
Since the collapse of Twitter (which I was never on in the first place) I was nevertheless inspired to return to tumblr with hopes that it might be the home for my fiction.
It’s time to make good on that! Every Friday, I’m going to challenge myself to write a piece of short-form fiction. Whether it be a chapter or a scene, a teeny tiny story or a character sketch, I’m going to try and hold myself to the practice. It will likely be very imperfect. I’ve been told fiction is my weakest genre, and I believe it. But I enjoy it. And I want to get better. Let’s go!
Being back in the small fishing town after eighteen years felt surreal to Freya as she walked down through the narrow winding streets towards the harbour. In her jeans pocket, her hand was wrapped around a set of keys. The keys to her new shop. Everyone had told her she was insane to open her dream business in such a small tourist orientated location but something deep inside her told her that…
Birthdays come and go but every birthday, I get to relive the moment with my mom when she tells me the story of my birth. As I get older, I enjoy the story more and more.
“You were happy right were you were. Labor had to be induced.” 7am.
“The doctors attached a heart monitor and your little heart went....” My mom mimcks the sound of my little heart beat. It always makes me laugh. Then on to the contractions and an hour later, a silent baby was born.
“Weren’t you worried when I wasn’t crying?”
“No. You were just looking around.”
I laugh at this because I wonder what my first thoughts were. Would baby me have asked a question? [”Who turned on the lights?”] Would baby me fret over all the things that were in the control of these strangers? [Don’t drop me!] Or were my first minutes filled with simply observing and being in the moment?
I love to think that baby me took in every moment of the beginning of my life. Like all newborn animals, I knew that the discomfort and disorientation would end and I’d be returned back to safety.
[Or I could have been cursing - “Not this again! I said cat, not human, c.a.t.”]
Less than a week to go!! Preorder out now :) #fridayfiction #happyfriday #amwriting #amreading https://www.instagram.com/p/BncIVnBhxPz/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=qyi76fdo8vby
