Prompt: Suddenly able to hear others’ thoughts | the illegitimate son of a king | is stalked by a jealous admirer

I wonder if he’s awake yet, the lazy bastard.

Sima Zhou stiffened at the table, where he was transcribing saying of the late Emperor Wu Di. He was a bastard, that didn’t bother him. But he wasn’t lazy! He’d been up before the thin streaks of dawn filtered in through the thin rice paper covering his window. His fingers were stained with ink as he painstakingly paid homage to the great man he remembered simply as Grandfather Sima Yan.

“Enter,” he commanded stiffly, and the door to his room opened, bringing the scent of fresh jasmine tea and his favorite spicy duck eggs. He glowered at the serving woman as she set his breakfast table. But she was perfectly polite and efficient, concentrating on her work and not giving any sign of disrespect. Had he imagined it?

“After breakfast, I will want a bath,” he said curtly, and she bowed with folded hands above her forehead.

As if it matters if he smells like jasmine or pigs. Did he hear a laugh as she carried her tray out of the room?

Voices followed him through the morning until he thought he was going insane. He finally sank into the hot water of the bath and let the water cover his head.

How I long to lie beside him…

Sima Zhou shot upright, spluttering. Was there no peace? And who said that? He thrashed in the water, looking all around the bathing chamber, but it was empty, as he had commanded.

If his brother had an accident, he would be appointed heir. He would thank me…

Sima Zhou shouted, “Who’s there?”

He was frozen with terror. If something happened to Sima Lun, he was as likely to be accused as appointed. He climbed out of the pool and dried himself quickly, struggling into his robes without waiting for the servants.

He had to find whoever was thinking such dark thoughts and convince them otherwise. But how?

To be continued, perhaps

Dogs in house	Houdini
Time writing	~35 minutes, including research
December word count	11,035

Prompt: Time rolls by in an instant

Thanks to Shane Gallagher for permission to use his beautiful image, “After the Fall”!

Willem Simms crept forward on point. His earpiece had conked out with a final burst of static that threatened to shatter his eardrum when the temporal rift rolled over at oh-eight-hundred. Once the fog cleared, the open ground he’d been crossing at the Darwin International Airport was filled with hundred-year old forest growth. He’d lost visual with the rest of his troop and figured he better get to high ground to scout out the area.

The 5^th/21^st Light Horse Regiment was on recon into Darwin, looking for survivors from the temporal rifts. Willem’s troop was assigned two secondary agendas: determine the naval port and air force base status. Willem himself had a third assignment: determine the status of Arnhem Land. The government had been unable to re-establish anything more than short-range communications since the temporal rifts first opened. Willem was ideally suited to both missions. He was Yolngu, born and raised in Arnhem Land, and he was third generation Royal Australian Navy.

The danger in these missions lay not only in the temporal rifts, which rolled across the countryside like a black fog, but also with the survivalists who had decided these were the end-times and government rule was no longer their concern. The gung-ho radicals tended to shoot first and ask for ID later – they were easy to deal with. The conspirists were harder to gauge – they were so twisted in knots, they didn’t believe anything anybody told them. Including something as simple as, “We’re here to help you,” or “We have food.”

The airport’s traffic control tower had exploded. Willem couldn’t tell whether it was deliberate or not. The end result was the same. Thick vines covered the remains, and he decided to venture toward the RAAF base in search of survivors.

It was almost eleven by the time he reached once-familiar grounds. He came in on Billeroy Road, but nothing looked the same, now covered with the thick vines that seemed the most common hallmark of the temporal shifts. As he neared Birribang Road, he hesitated. He should continue on to the base in search of active operations. And he would. But surely a brief detour in search of an old friend was understandable. And Ian Foster would be useful if Willem could find him.

He turned onto Birribang and stopped cold. He’d never seen a live rift in motion. This one was barely thirty feet ahead of him, moving down the street. The black fog spread across the width of the street and the surrounding buildings. He could barely see through it to the buildings on the far end. Directly in front of him, it cleared enough for him to see the old brick facades and broad windows he remembered so well. The first building in the row was already covered in thick vines, windows long gone, bricks crumbling. Willem watched in horrified fascination as the fog drifted away and the vines poured in as it cleared. He could actually see them growing across the buildings.

The street looked long deserted, until Willem spied someone leaning against the corner of the building on the other side of the street from where he stood. The man wasn’t moving, holding an MP5 across his chest, and wearing a gas mask. Willem shook his head. What good would a gas mask do in a rift?

He moved closer, watching carefully for any movement from the still man or the surrounding buildings. He’d learned from hard experience that these days, every one was guilty until proven innocent. Think otherwise, and you’d be dead in an unguarded instant.

The man groaned and rolled his head. Willem froze, waiting to be seen. The man looked right at him, then around, then back at him. He reached up slowly and pulled off his mask.

Willem’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ian Foster? Seriously, mate? Where the hell have you been?”

Foster stood, still moving slowly. Still holding the gun close, Willem noted, though still pointing up. He debated lowering his own gun. It was Ian, dammit. If he couldn’t trust him, he may as well pack it in. He lowered his gun. Foster gave him a broad smile and swung his gun slowly down to the ground, avoiding pointing it at Willem.

“Simms, you old bastard. I can’t believe it. I’d ask how long has it been, but I guess that’s a worthless question these days.”

Willem wasn’t sure how much to engage. But he did want to bring in Foster if he could. “Did you just make it through a live rift? You don’t look any older. What’s with the gas mask? And since when did the RAAF start issuing MP5s?”

Foster looked down at his gun. “Ah, well, it’s not exactly standard issue,” he said noncommittally. He walked forward, lifting his left arm in a broad wave, once to the right, once to the left. Willem looked around. “No worries,” Foster said. “If they’d been worried about you, you’d already be dead.”

Dogs in house	Houdini
Time writing:	~45 minutes, plus research
October word count:	4,279

Prompt: Dragons on the Highway

Ben climbed out of the small carriage and stretched, then stiffened as he looked across the paddock and saw the dragons in their enclosure. “Damn monsters,” he muttered, and bent to check the horses’ hooves.

Sharon had already jumped down from her side and was talking to the horses as if they could understand her. They were just dumb animals, but she had a soft spot for them. Ben usually thought it was sweet. Today it annoyed him.

No, if he was honest, he was annoyed because he knew any minute she was going to turn her attention to the dragons. She would want to drag him over to see them while she ooh’d and aah’d about how beautiful and magnificent they were. He was already thinking of an excuse, but she came around the horses and hugged him, catching him off guard. He hugged her back and gave her quick kisses, then pulled her away from the dragons toward the café.

As they walked in, still arm in arm, his heart sank. All the tables and the counter seats were full. There was only one single guy sitting at a table, and before Ben could reign her in, Sharon had already walked up to him. “Hi! It’s a full house today – mind if we join you?”

The guy looked up from his paper and waved his coffee mug toward the opposite seat. “Help yourself. There’s coffee in the pot if you wanna grab a couple mugs from the counter.” Ben groaned. Sharon really had no sense of strangers – they were just friends she hadn’t met yet. She picked up two mugs off the counter and waved to the waitress, then slid onto the empty bench. Ben had no choice but to sit next to her.

The other guy gave him a funny look. “Name’s Richard. Richard Jansen. You look an awful lot like someone I used to know. What’s your name, son?”

Ben shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “Ben. Ben Waltham. This is Sharon Cates.”

Richard nodded. “I wondered. I can’t believe it. Waltham – you have got to be related to George Waltham. You’re his spittin’ image.”

Ben jerked upright. His hand trembled on the table. Sharon put hers over his, squeezing, calming. She laced their fingers together. Bern focused on them, trying to breathe calmly. “How did you know my Uncle George?” He already knew the answer. He’d seen it outside.

“I trained with him in the Dragon Corps, and we rode together for sixteen years. He was a good man, your uncle. I still miss him.”

Ben spat out. “He was…until that monster killed him! Is that her out there? Do you ride his killer?” Sharon gripped his fingers tight, her face draining of color. He had never told her why he disliked the dragons that fascinated her so.

Richard’s face darkened, and he set down his coffee mug with slow precision. “Son, someone’s done you a disservice. Old Bess didn’t kill George.”

“What do you know about it?” Ben almost shouted. He drew in a ragged breath and preprared to tell Sharon they had to get out of there.

Richard said quietly, “I was there. I saw the whole thing.”

Ben sank back in the seat, staring, as Richard continued. “Bess didn’t kill your uncle, Ben. He was working hazmat, trying to contain a crazed dam. The dam knocked him out with her tail, and Bess stood over him. She tried to save him from being roasted alive.” He hesitated, his gaze turned in, replaying the memory. “Bess took the flames herself. She still has the scars. The dam was in a rage, shooting flame all around. It took the hazmat crew almost twenty minutes to contain her. By that time, George was dead, and Bess nearly was.”

Richard lifted his coffee mug. “I don’t know who told you otherwise, son, or why. But your uncle was a good friend to me and a hero that day. Yes, I took care of Bess while she healed. We mourned for George together.”

Ben stared at the table, his fingers still entwined with Sharon, the dingy, well-fingered menu against the window – anywhere but Richard. “My mother. She told me Bess turned on him for no reason.”

Sharon asked, “Why would she lie to you like that?”

Ben looked up, finally meeting Richard’s gaze. Richard nodded his understanding. Ben said, “She was afraid. She didn’t want me to become a dragon rider too.”

Richard left a few bills on the table and collected his paper and cap. He stood and looked down at them. “Would you like to meet her? I think she would be mighty happy to meet you.”

Ben looked away again and shook his head. Sharon leaned against him and smiled sadly up at Richard. “Thank you. Really. Maybe we’ll see you another time. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, young lady. Both of you.” He rested his hand on Ben’s shoulder for a moment, then walked away. Ben sat staring, sightlessly, listening to the bells on the café door as it opened and closed. Sharon sat quietly with him.

Suddenly Ben leaped up without a word and ran out the door.

Time writing:	45 minutes
October word count:	2,468

Prompt: Wake me when I’m older (or, lost in the middle)

Becca walked in the dark room and hesitated when she saw Ms. Wilson’s figure in the wing back chair. It was early, before the first light of morning, and Ms. Wilson was usually a sound sleeper. Becca flicked on the overhead light, almost dreading what she might find.

Ms. Wilson blinked at the light and smiled at her, pulling the plugs out of her ears. “Hello, dear. I was just catching up on some of the political speeches I missed. Some of them can drone on and on, but many of them are quite inspiring.”

Becca returned her smile in relief and came over to pull up Ms. Wilson’s sleeve and check her pulse. “Who were you listening to, then? Someone recent?”

“Yes, the Neo-Liberal Party leader from the 70s, Ms. Daughtry.”

Becca nodded vaguely. She wasn’t really interested in politics, but she thought she remembered Daughtry. “The total equality program?”

Ms Wilson patted her arm. “Yes, very good, dear. It was really revolutionary, coming on the heels of the traditionalism of the 60s. It’s heartening to hear so much progress made since I went under in the 40s.”

Becca looked up in surprise. Ms. Wilson was younger than most of her charges, but she hadn’t realized how young. “Why, Ms. Wilson, you could leave here, if you wanted. Travel, see what’s changed.”

Ms. Wilson laughed with a sour edge and looked away. She glanced back and patted Becca’s arm again. “No dear, I’m already too old for that. But thank you, it’s an interesting thought.”

Becca left her and continued her rounds, checking on each of her charges as they woke in the early hours. She couldn’t shake the idea that Ms. Wilson didn’t belong in here. This place was for the elders who couldn’t live In Between anymore. She tended them day in and day out, watched them review history and advise the leaders of the present. She wondered if they wished they had lived In Between.

It was a few weeks before she broached the idea to Ms. Wilson again. They were sharing a cup of tea in the afternoon, and talking about 21^st century neo-Impressionist artists like Pell and Douglas. She said casually, “There’s an exhibit of 18^th and 21^st century comparative Impressionism at the Louvre. I’ve been thinking about going for a long weekend. Would you like to join me?”

She wanted to continue with a persuasive argument, but she bit her tongue and sipped her tea, allowing Ms. Wilson to consider the idea. And she was tempted, Becca could tell. Finally, she shook her head. “Thank you, dear. What a generous offer. I couldn’t, I’m afraid.” Becca knew better than to push. As she cleaned up the tea service and carried it away, she suggested, “Well, just think about it. I’ll let you know when I make plans to go.”

“Why would you want to take an elder?” her friend Sarah exclaimed with a comical expression of distaste. Becca punched her shoulder across the pub table.

“She’s nice. And she’s not actually that old. Nowhere near close to a hundred. Not even 80, if I’m right. She really shouldn’t be in there yet. Can you imagine, Sarah? Sleeping you life away and then living the rest of it shut in, even if they do treat you like a queen?”

Sarah laughed and waved her mug over to where Doug and Georgie were shooting pool. “Georgie treats me like a queen now! Why would I want to wait till I’m older? We have it pretty good now.”

Becca leaned back, nursing her beer. “That’s just it, Sarah. Why would anyone? I mean, what have we done? Don’t you think it’s kind of crazy?”

Sarah thumped her beer on the table and leaned forward, looking around with an alarmed expression. “Holy hell, Becs, don’t talk like that. You’ll have them on you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Becca lifted her mug and forced a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sarah. You know I was just jabbering.” She ignored the questioning looks that Sarah gave her the rest of the night, and tried not to notice how Sarah pulled out of their goodnight hug as if she were already distancing herself. She walked home deep in thought and didn’t even think to notice if anyone was watching her.

TBC, perhaps…

Dogs in house	Houdini
Music	Pop mix
Time writing:	~ 40 minutes
September word count:	8,173

Prompt: Backpack, falls, crossroads, soothe, message (use at least 3 of these)

Charley lay on the sun-warmed riverbank, drying off after a long overdue bath in the deep pool below the roaring falls. Hero sat patiently by her side, keeping watch and panting as his fur also dried. He loved swimming almost as much as she did.

Finally she pulled on her mostly-dried long-sleeved tee and threadbare jeans that she’s washed in the river and dried on tree branches in the sun. She pulled on her black Lucchese boots and tucked the Ruger 9 mil in her right boot; out here, she didn’t hide it under her jeans. She hadn’t seen anyone on the trail since she’d shared a campfire with a young couple three nights ago, but you couldn’t be too careful.

She finished braiding her hip-length light-brown hair and stood, stretching and twisting before she picked up her backpack.

Hero took a few steps along the trail they had followed to the river. Charley shook her head. “Come on, boy. We have to get out to the road. Storms are coming, and we need to get some miles behind us.”

She headed towards the distant road. Hero trotted next to her and whined.  She rested a hand on his back to soothe him as they walked. “I know, boy. I don’t like it either, but we’ll be okay.”

At the road, she hiked along, turning and sticking out her thumb for the occasional car. They sped past and she shrugged and continued walking. Finally a dusty red pickup truck passed and then pulled over. As she approached, she could see a child’s head in the back seat of the cab. That bode well, although she was kind of surprised they stopped, with Hero by her side. She didn’t plan to put him in the back, so she figured this would be a quick conversation.

The passenger window rolled down. The driver was a handsome guy, maybe thirties, short hair, dark skin that made his smile extra bright. He had a long scar from the side of his right eye down his cheek and under his chin. Charley wondered what his story was, then cut off that thought. It didn’t do to ask questions. People asked them back, and she had no answers to give.

“Hey, where you headed?” he called.

“As far west as we can go,” Charley said, hoisting her backpack and resting her hand on Hero’s back again. He sat under her touch, alert and quiet.

“We’re headed to Denver. Can your dog sit on the floor in front of you? I don’t think he should go in back with Pete.” Charley leaned forward and looked into the back seat. Pete sat on a booster, bouncing with excitement, reaching both hands out to wave at her. She smiled and nodded to him.

Looking back at the driver, she said, “Yes, he’s a good dog.”

“I can see that. He’s big.”

The door unlocked. Charley swung her backpack behind the seat next to Pete and climbed in, pointing to the floor. Hero neatly jumped in and sat next to her, facing Pete. She reached out a hand to the driver. “Thanks. I’m Charley. This is Hero.”

He pulled back out onto the freeway without taking her hand. “No problem. This is Pete, and I’m Daniel.”

Charley didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she felt the truck slowing down. She opened her eyes and jerked upright when she didn’t see Hero next to her. Looking back, she saw him curled up on the seat, with his head in Pete’s lap. Pete’s hands were fisted in his hair, and he slept with his head dropped back against the booster and his mouth hanging open in that wide, vulnerable look kids keep in their sleep longer than they do awake.

She looked around to see where they were stopping. Daniel said, “I need a break, and I figured we could grab a bite to eat…”

Charley bit her lip and wondered if Daniel and Pete would notice that she didn’t eat anything. She wouldn’t need to feed again for several more nights…

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	35 minutes
August word count:	11,882

Prompt: Sally’s Story (or, Growing up in the Saloon)

I was ten when we come to Poke Hill. The town was just about four buildings then: the church, the general store, the school and the saloon. Daddy was a gambler, and we moved from town to town, staying as long as it took anyone to figure out he cheated at cards.

Momma died when I was six. She was real pretty, I recall her face and her long blond hair she always wore in a braid. I loved to brush it out and re-braid it. She had a real fine brush, and I took it with me when we left. But Daddy sold it along the way. I couldn’t hide nothin’ from him in my pack.

Coulda been worse. The night some old drunk tried to buy me, Daddy punched his lights out and dragged me outta there. We rode at least an hour before he stopped and built a campfire for the night. I was half asleep when he cut my hair off. Next town, he took me to the barber and got me lookin’ like a boy. He called me Sully from then on. Sometimes I still think I hear it.

So we travelled around for four years, till we come into Poke Hill one spring evenin’ when the air still held a touch of coolness as the sun went down. Daddy said he had a friend who’d settled out here, and he thought it was time we settled too. We never talked about the future, any more than we talked about the past, but lookin’ back, I think Daddy knew we wouldn’t be able to keep my secret for too much longer.

‘Sides, I longed for a home of my own and a school somethin’ fierce. Every town we went in, I’d hang about the school if I could. Sometimes the teachers were right nice and let me sit in on classes. Sometimes they’d tutor me after the other kids left, if I helped clean up, wipe down the writing boards, sweep up and whatnot.

The saloon was always our first stop in any new town. Well, for one thing, we’d got to eat and find a place to stay. And Daddy had to find out who the local players were. This time, he went in looking for a name. Turned out his friend had a ranch out of town, but always came in to play poker on Friday nights. Turned out the nice lookin’ man Daddy asked was the preacher. He invited us to join him for lunch, and he told Jason Bloom behind the bar to give us a room for the night until Daddy’s friend came in the next day. Jason looked none too happy about it, but he nodded. I took our dishes to the counter and told him I’d help out in the evenin’ while Daddy played cards. He looked a mite happier after that.

The preacher was as nice as he looked. He introduced us to everyone who came in the saloon for lunch. He told us who was the sheriff and the grocer and the dentist. The girls started comin’ down towards the end of lunch, and he greeted each of them by name, but real respectful like. I noticed the men still in the saloon didn’t use the kind of language I was used to hearing when the live-in girls were around. I thought that was probably the preacher’s influence.

Right after lunch, I started helping Jason, and I worked my tail off till he popped me with a bar towel and told me to quit yawnin’ so huge and get up to bed. I hadn’t slept in a real bed in a might long time, and I figured I’d get at least a few hours before Daddy come in and made me get down on the floor. He was already deep in a game and didn’t even nod when I said good night.

I slept so good in that bed, I missed all the ruckus. I woke up in the morning, still in the bed all by myself. I figured Daddy had hit it off with one of the girls is all. I got dressed and headed down to see if Jason would give me some breakfast. I thought I might even get to go check out the school.

I came down the stairs and Jason was sweeping up some broken glass. I said mornin’ and he whipped his head up so fast, I knew I’d startled him somethin’ fierce. He stared at me with wide eyes, and I got a bad feelin’ in the pit of my stomach. I knew somethin’ was dead wrong with my Daddy. 

Dogs in house:	Houdini
Time writing:	30 minutes
May word count:	4,928

Sally plays a role in my "Rainmaker" short story, and she wanted her story heard, too.