Story Time

[writingmayham]

All Men Will Fall

“And what are you going to fight me with? these?”

She laughed tapping her sharp silver nail on the tip of one of the swords that surrounded her.

“How are those going to help you! I am more powerful than any of your men put together.” She shook her head. “Your muscle against my magic, because after all, you have no magic in your kingdom. You burned it out long ago, along with the witches and sorcerers. Now, look at you.” She turned to eye every knight that stood before her. They would soon be kneeling. “You have left yourselves weak. Your fear of something bigger, better than you, has left you weak.”

The king in his golden armour spoke. “You are not better than us, we have honour and if we have to die for it, so be it”

There was a slight shift to her right. She knew what it was, she’d seen it before. A nervous man, unable to hide his fear. They all had it and reeked of it. She couldn’t blame them, they had a selfish king, just like the ones that came before and the ones that will be. None of them could control magic or possess it so what do they do? Crush it, smoke it out whatever they had to do so no one else could lay claim to it. That was always going to be their downfall. Fear.

“Know king. You don’t want to rattle your men with talks of death.”

He raised his sword higher to the witch's chest. “I promise you, the only death tonight will be your own.”

She arched an eyebrow. So sure he was she thought, funny he never had the same courage when it came to embracing magic. He never made a sound when he swung his sword towards her neck. She knew it was coming, the slight change in his stance, the halt in his breath before he swung tipped her off. All she had to do was duck. The sword cut clean through the air making the king lose his balance and with that she stepped forward grabbing his sword hand and snaking around him, her front firmly pressed against his back. She brought his hand up, his sword touching his neck. Leaning in close, her purple lips brushing up against his ear she whispered.

“You were good king, but not good enough.”

She never allowed him to say another word. Just like he never allowed the thousands he killed a single word. The sword sliced through clean, sharpened for her only to be used on another. The king's body dropped and she breathed in deep holding his head high.

“He’ll do nicely on my wall.”

She rolled her head towards the others the only sound was blood dripping to the fall. They looked scared and this made her savour the moment.

“Don’t worry, he won't get lonely.” Her smile grew, “That’s a promise.”

[writingmayham]

Wishful Thinking

Whenever anyone asks me “What superpower would I have if I could choose?”, mine is always the same. To be able to travel inside any storybook I choose. To meet the characters, see a world full of wonderful and odd things, fight evil and win and even try the evil side if I feel reckless. Then when the story finishes, I would be teleported back to my dull reality ready to find another world to escape into. I would live a hundred lives, experience and see a hundred things.  

I sighed and closed the book. It was a nice ending, the good triumphed over evil the girl got the guy. A perfectly neat ending. I always hated the feeling that came after. The feeling that makes me push myself up from the library floor ready to find the next story I hoped I would be whisked away into. There was an array to choose from. Some with broken spines and worn covers from being loved by so many and others with pristine crisp pages just waiting for their story to be explored. The one I chose was an old favourite. A place where snow fell and blanketed the ground like glistening gems, animals spoke and there was always suspense and excitement. I looked at my watch seeing the rabbit tick around. I wondered if I could squeeze in one chapter before I had to go. Looking out the window the sky had greyed and snow had started to fall. But when it landed, I knew it would only turn to slush. Thinking about walking home in the drizzle and cold I settled myself back down in my bean bag. I opened my book and began to read. I read until I was no longer seeing the words but feeling my characters’ every step as the snow crunched under their feet and every breath of cold air they took, and just like Alice falling down a rabbit hole I slipped away into another world holding only excitement and wonder and maybe one day I'll get to stay there forever.

[writingmayham]

One Winner

The rain came down and umbrellas came up. I was so tired. Each serve seemed to add another rock to the end of my racket. Years of repetition and practice kept my feet moving, but this was different. This was harder. I bounced the ball once, twice, leaning back into the strain that travelled all the way up my leg and back. Two more misses and it would be all over. My arm swung; the ball hit the net. Shit. The girl on the other side didn’t even flinch, she crouched waiting like a cat. Her movements were precise and she hit with force. All the younger ones that came through now had that drive in them, that pushed them to be quicker, faster. This was my last tournament, the last chance to prove myself as one of the greats, not a player that needed to retire but chose to. I had to win. I was quick enough to hold my ground but how long would that last me? I bounced the ball once, twice and breathed in deep, this was it.

The crowd was hushed the air energized like static from a balloon. She bounced the ball once, twice and threw it high hitting it a metre to my right. Easy. I smacked it back sending it quick over the net. She moved with grace, ever so light on her feet. To compete against a legend was an honour but to win against one would cement my place in this sport. I’ve been compared against all my competitors for weeks, the newbie finding her place. Would she make it? Could she hold her own? The ball came back over the net, slower this time. I needed to win. My racket connected with the ball sending it once again back over in one clean stroke. It hit the ground ounce, twice, and I fell to my knees. I won.

[writingmayham]

Aliens, am I right?

The cold, limp alien lay on the table silent and still. Its heart-shaped head framed its enlarged purple eyes with a golden glow coming from within. My colleague stood opposite me, scalpel in hand. Its razor-sharp edge hovers over the blue-spotted skin. Beads of sweat started to trickle down his forehead.

“Damn it, Harrison, there’s not much time we have to do this now!” My voice is urgent.

He nodded never looking up, took a deep breath and drove the scalpel into the creature's soft and doughy flesh, carving from chest to navel. A foal smell engulfed the room. Far from a delicate perfume they so often have. I gagged covering my nose, but Harrison held strong. Even as he plunged his hand deep into the alien's stomach. Green blood as thick as honey clung to his hand as it emerged. In his palm, lay the gold cube.

“We found it.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Call them, tell them … the world is saved.”

I nodded, without missing a beat I picked up the alien's hand, pointed a finger and said. “E.T, phone home.”

The Entire set erupted with laughter. “Cut”! The director yelled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That’s the last time I’ll do it I swear.”

[writingmayham]

One Snail, Two Snails

“What!”

I stood in front of a desk, and behind it perched a man that had two small wings protruding from his back. He had on long white robes with a name badge that said peter engraved on it. On top of his head sat a golden round hat that had small gold wings stuck on either side matching the ones on his back. The gold gleamed against the brightness of the puffy clouds that surrounded us.

“You’re 3488027 in line.” He repeated in a voice that said he had done this many times.

He handed me a ticket and I stared at the seven digits. Then they changed. 3499027.

“Hey, it changed, I’ve gone backwards!” I said showing him my ticket.

“It does, people have died that have done good deeds throughout their lives. They are put higher on the list.”

“I’ve done good deeds too.” I retorted

He looked down at his monitor. His pointy glasses slid down his long nose.

“Ah yes. Recycling, is very good, holding the door for people, and returning borrowed items in a timely manner. These are all very good but they didn’t make much of a difference.

He turned the monitor around to show a white page with a thin golden line crossing from one side to the other.

“This is a map of your life. If you’ve done a good deed it goes up, and for a bad one it drops down. Yours is neither good nor bad.”

“What about that one?”

I pointed to the screen at one of the few raised bumps in my line.

“That,” he said, “was when you removed a snail off the footpath saving it from being trodden on.”

I stared at him

“You’re lucky, it could be worse. You could be down there in Hell.” He whispered pointing to the floor. “The waiting list is much longer.”

He continued “Now, we do have things you can do while you wait.”

I saved a snail?

He fished out two pamphlets handing them to me.

You can either go back to earth in spirit, some people guide, other haunt or there’s reincarnation. The downfall is you can’t choose which animal you want to be, so you could be a tiger or an ant there’s no way of really knowing.”

I took one from him. I saved a snail?

“Spirit, good choice. Your grandma Clare chose that too, hangs around a woman called Mary a lot, very good with mirrors.”

He handed me a white cloth bag that said ‘Heaven rules’ in gold writing printed on the side.

“This is everything you need to know about haunting or guiding people, what you can and can’t do. Remember to keep your ticket on you for when you're called. If you would like to step through the white doors on your right you will be informed where to go next.”

He smiled and I shuffled my way to the door in a strange daze. I looked back watching the next person step up to the counter. I wondered what number she will get. She could be put ahead of me, all she had to do was save two snails.