Prompt: City Nightscape, or Finding the old, lost in the new

Thanks to Abdel for permission to use his beautiful image, "Titel-title"!

Ben ran his hands over the flight panel and checked the approach schedule one last time. He submitted his approval to the controller and leaned back in his pilot’s seat. Snorting with derision at the thought of this as piloting, he cleared the window so he could watch their approach.

Prague was still one of his favorite metros. You could hardly make out the old city tucked low against the river and surrounded by towering skyscrapers. As one of the oldest metros, Prague’s central towers weren’t as high as later developments. Ben’s home base in Dallas, for instance, didn’t have a single tower less than 150 floors. But he preferred Prague’s chaotic mishmash of old and new.

The hovercraft reached the entry point on their flight path and Ben felt the brief stomach flip he always did as the Martine Drive suspended their forward motion. The large round engines on either side of the craft rotated from forward-facing to upward-facing, and they began to descend from their hi-atmo cruising altitude into the city airspace.

Ben loved night landings into metros. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else – they’d think he was being ridiculous – and it did make him feel like a kid again, watching his granddad pilot one of the old airjets. Now, that was piloting. Hands on controls the whole flight. Sure, Granddad had plenty of help, but he was still the real pilot. Ben felt cheated of that experience. By the time he was old enough, the airjets had been replaced by the automated craft like this one, doubled in speed and size. Like the metro towers themselves, everything bigger was better.

Leaning his forehead against the cold glass, Ben peered down through the moonlit towers and tried to identify the familiar nightscape of the old city. The Einstein Tower—currently the largest residential building in New Europe—loomed in the metro center, with its lighted crown piercing the sparse louds. Below it, Ben could barely see the glint of the Vltava as it meandered through the metro. Following its path, he found the broad S-curves that framed the old city. Even the lights of the stumpy buildings were different, casting a yellow glow like ancient lamplight instead of the cold blue and white gleam of the tall towers.

Ben heaved a sigh in time with the engines’ shift into final descent. Staring up at the towers that now loomed over the hovercraft, he rolled his forehead on the glass once more, searching the darkness that was old Prague. There—there was St. Vitus Cathedral. If he had enough time between loads, he would go light a candle. Maybe step into one of the booths. He always had something to offer up for a priest to give him a penalty. Never the real thing though. He was still working that out with God himself. If he got it right with God, maybe he could go home someday and make it right with Granddad.

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	~40 minutes, including research
October word count:	11,134

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: Foreboding

Carla couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. She looked up from her book, not lifting her head so her hair still carefully hid her face. Three hours into the train ride, and the passengers had settled down into the stillness of the sub-Pacific trip. Even at 500mph, it was a good 15-hour trip. Even the kids had gotten tired of looking out at the ocean once they left the sealife of the Continental Shelf far enough behind. The creatures swimming past now were few and far between.

Peering around, Carla relaxed as she saw no sign of anyone watching her. She had been so very careful to hide herself before she ever reached the port and bought the last-minute ticket as they were calling final boarding. She missed the connectedness of her slate, but it went both ways, and she needed to be completely off the grid for awhile. It was kind of fun to hold an old book, thumb the pages. She had picked up a deck of cards and a couple of old travel games at a novelty shop in Portland before she headed down the coast to the Fresno Port.

It was still hard to think of Fresno as the highlight of Southern California. She’d been in Los Angeles just months before the fault blew in ’37. If only Andy had come with her to Vancouver for that stupid movie. She pushed the thought away, and all the ones that came with it.

She decided to stretch her legs. It took almost an hour to walk the length of the train and back, so she locked up her duffel in her seat storage and palmed some cash for the bar. As she stood and stretched her arms up, ignoring the crackling pops along her back, the train passed under a colony of nesting worms that lived on the tunnel. She watched them wave overhead in the darkness. She imagined swimming out there in the cold, still waters, resting on the heat of the train tunnel, seeing the lights from an approaching train fill you vision and the rushing thrum of its passage, until darkness swallowed it again.

Smiling at the idea, she started the trek along the train. At the end of each cabin, you had to pull the iris open to climb into the middle airlock, then close it, then open the next cabin’s iris and climb through. The alarm was deafening if you did not securely close each one. It wasn’t a mistake most passengers made more than once.

Fourteen cabins, and the most notice Carla got was from any children still awake. The adult passengers studiously avoided each other, sleeping or staring at their slates. No one talked above a whisper, and the lights were dim. Each time she entered a cabin, she paused at the back to study the passengers, but no one triggered her alarm sensors. She still had that tickling feeling at the back of her neck, but she was about ready to chalk it up to being over two miles underwater.

She walked down the cabin to the front airlock and climbed in. As she pulled the iris shut, the other side opened. She whirled around as someone climbed in and pulled it shut behind him. She felt frozen in place. She knew that hair, those shoulders, that back, those legs. Her eyes widened as he straightened and turned around. Her mouth opened a couple of times ithout any words coming out. He stood calmly, watching her struggle. “You? You can’t be here! How? What—”

“Hi Carla,” said Andy. He might have said more, but her head filled with buzzing and she felt herself falling into darkness.

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	35 minutes
September word count:	5,350

Prompt: Raise Your Glass

Brita thumped her chipped mug on the table and pushed her chair back, standing a bit unsteadily. She wasn’t used to the strong Southern moonshine, but she motioned for another round and clapped her hands for attention as the room slowly quieted.

“It’s a good night for celebrating!” She spoke loud and clear, ignoring his voice in her mind. Speak up, girl. You can’t lead with a whisper. You got to be strong.

“We’ve come together for the harvest.” She nodded to Silas, the town leader. “Your fields grew well. You’ve got full silos to make it through the winter and plenty to trade.” Keep to yourself, girl. Don’t you lie with him like a wanton..like your mother…

The crowd roared approval and thumped their fists and mugs on the tables. She lifted her mug and waved it for silence. Get to the point, girl.

“Thank you for your hospitality while we’ve worked side by side.” She grinned at William, arms around two of the local women. “Hard work, hard play, my Pops used to say.” We got no time for games, girl. Don’t be foolish.

“Pops saw the writing on the wall, even before the Monsanto plague took hold.” He’d slapped her mouth as he knocked the peanut butter and jelly sandwich to the floor. That crap’ll kill you, girl! Her best friend, Anna, ran out the door and all the way home and never spoke to Brita again.

“He started the Arc commune out in Idaho, and by the time the plague took out the corporate farms, the Arc was the only clean ag source in the country.” Those men are evil. They’ve rained destruction on us all in the name of the almighty dollar! Anna’s dad was one of the Monsanto execs killed in the Farmers’ Rebellion. William had been onsite, but he swore he hadn’t held a gun that day, and he never had since.

“We’re proud to share his vision of clean food with you today. Thank you for investing in Arc corn and grain for your fields.” Every trade is the highest stakes poker game of your life, girl. Play for keeps.

Tomorrow we’ll be on our way. Tonight, we celebrate. To the harvest!” The crowd roared again.

Happy birthday, Pops. Thanks for what you gave us to survive.

“To my Pops” she lifted her mug high. They all raised their mugs in a moment of silence. Brita drank the last of her moonshine and threw the mug into the harvest fire, sparks shooting out of the fireplace. Wasteful.

She marched over to Silas and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Catcalls and shouts of approval surrounded them as he slid his arms around her back and kissed her again. His was the only voice she heard for the rest of that night.

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Music	The Lumineers, iTunes Festival convert
Time writing:	30 minutes
September word count:	4,655

Prompt: Message by fortune cookie

Siena McAlister retrieved her weapons from the spaceport security. The tension eased from her shoulders as the comforting weight of her pulse pistols and laser knives settled against her hips and thigh. She always had the titanium stakes tucked in her thick black braids, but she hated feeling vulnerable when she wasn’t fully unarmed.

She glanced over to her favorite neo-Chinese takeout place across the station. The host caught her eye with an impassive nod as he held out a silver tray and bowed to her. She shook her head slightly, but he only bowed deeper, more insistently, and held out the tray patiently. She sighed and headed over. When she reached him, she returned his bow and took the lone fortune cookie on the tray.

“Xie xie,” she muttered as he slipped away. She broke it open and read the fortune.

Be prepared to lend your assistance. You are ready for success.

Siena sighed and tucked the fortune in her pocket. She knew she wouldn’t have to look for it. Trouble was undoubtedly already headed her way. Surely there was time for spring rolls and lo mein.

 #

Trouble ran into her headlong, in front of the jeweler’s shop. A young girl, Siena guessed eight or nine, was darting through the crowded walkway and tripped in front of Siena. She barely had time to plant her feet and brace for the impact. As she grabbed the young girl’s arms, she marveled at how much more she seemed to weight than her slight frame appeared. The girl gasped and pulled away. Siena looked past her to see three helmeted guards walking toward them. She tucked the girl under her arm and swung across the walkway, walking away from them.

“There you are! Ama sent me looking for you when you didn’t come right home from school. Come on, I bet you have homework, and I have to get to work” she said loud enough for passersby to appreciate a long-suffering older sister. The girl glanced back at the guards, then up at Siena with a fierce glare. Siena winked at her and gave her a quick squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she reassured the girl, encouraging her to go along. “I’ll tell Ama I found you at the library. Come on, let’s go see if she has supper ready.” When the girl started to look behind them, Siena whispered, “First rule of being chased. Never look back. It slows you down and draws attention. If they’re going to catch you, they will. But not today, I think.” The girl looked forward and matched Siena’s stride.

Siena took the long way through the port to reach her small rented room. By the time they took the lifts into the residential quarters, she was sure the guards had continued their search for the lone girl elsewhere. She debated sending the girl on her way, but she suspected her fortune wouldn’t be fulfilled so easily. The girl looked over the 10^th level balcony while Siena lay her palm against the door to unlock it. “Come on,” she said. “Home sweet home.”

The girl followed her inside and kicked off her worn shoes in the entry. She had some manners then, Siena thought. She still hadn’t spoken. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked around the small room, then back at Siena. A smile ghosted across her lips. “So, what’s Ama making for supper?”

Siena grinned and shook her head. “Hope you like soba, kid. It’s about all I can cook.” The girl raised her eyebrows and marched into the kitchenette along the wall. It was Siena’s turn to watch her, hands on hips. Without a word, the girl opened cabinets and the chiller and pulled out random items, including a pack of soba noodles. She poured water in a pot and put it on the stove, then started chopping things with quick efficiency.

Siena shook her head and walked over to the wall safe, where she stashed her pistols and knives, then stretched out on the couch.

“You got a name, kid?”

The girl looked up, opening her mouth a couple of times as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. Finally, she whispered, “Sojenjay.”

Oh, shit. Siena leaped to her feet and stared blindly out the window. This girl wasn’t trouble. She was Armageddon.  

Dogs in house:	Houdini
Time writing:	~45 minutes
July word count:	710