onestoryonehour

[onestoryonehour]

I made a website...

I spoke to my friend @wallet-the-fourth who gave me fantastic advice to create a website to increase visibility, so my first website (ever I think?) is LIVE. I’ll be posting most of my content there, but I’ll still update here as well. 

Much excite!

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A story that begins with “Smoke stings his/her eyes.”

Smoke stings her eyes. The young woman stands in a pit of fire restrained to a pyre, shaking nervously and coughing.  She is undergoing a ritual, one that will change her life forever. A group of female shamans encircle her, reciting ancestral prayers and chanting her name. Asabi, one who is chosen. As the fire begins reaches her skin, Asabi feels an unfamiliar sensation. It is the worst pain she has felt in her life, searing through every inch of her, all the way down to the bone. She begins to scream and looks down to see her clothes beginning to char but her skin remains unscathed. How am I feeling such pain but yet no part of me is burning? The fire grows higher, Asabi screams louder and the shamans’ wails grow. When the flames seal her into a cocoon, Asabi’s vision goes white and she experiences a vision.

***

Asabi is swept back in time to ten years prior. She opens her eyes and finds herself in the middle of the hallway at her former high school. Looking around, the nostalgia comes in waves but she also gets the sense that she is not fully there. Kids pass her, filling the air with meaningless chatter about cute boys, test performance and which teacher they dislike that week. Asabi remembers her locker number and walks to it. 518. Without thinking, she successfully opens her padlock with the combination. She takes it off, surprised at the ease of remembering something she hadn’t done in several years. Her locker is messy and she smiles to herself at the familiarity. I was never very good at organizing. Suddenly, she sees a shadow grow large and senses people behind her. She turns around, bracing herself against the lockers. It was a group of jocks, the ones that bullied her when she was in school. Asabi was triggered by the trauma she suffered, feeling her fear overwhelm her. One jock in particular was the worst to her. His name was Eric Grausam.

“Hey, weirdo. What’s your ugly mug doing around here?” The other jocks laugh.

“I’m getting my books out of my locker, idiot, can’t you tell?”  Grausam’s face falls and grows stern. He approaches her.

“What did you call me?”

“Idiot. Don’t you recognize your own name?” Whoa! I don’t remember saying this! I’m so dead!

“You’re going to take that back.”

“Or what? What are you going to do?”

“Insult me again and you’ll find out, bitch.”

“I’m not apologizing.” Grausam throws his bookbag to the floor and punches her. Asabi slams back into the lockers with a metallic thud, holding a hand over her eye. The jocks laugh and slap Grausam on the back. The kids in the background briefly stop at the encounter but put their heads down and quickly walk away. She immediately feels herself getting angry and growing hot. Why won’t anyone help me? She feels a tingling sensation on her eyebrow and feels something wet. When she looks at her hand, she sees blood on her fingertips.  Her palm turns a red-orange before her eyes, something she’s never seen. Asabi uses an elbow to push herself back up to face Grausam. He smirks, raises his fist again and pulls his elbow back and propels it forward to hit her again. This time, Asabi catches his fist in her hand. The jocks stop laughing and Grausam’s face flashes with fear which turns into pain. He begins screaming. Asabi thinks that some newfound strength overpowers her, but realizes that her body temperature had risen so high at her anger that she begins burning his skin. She doesn’t stop, even though Grausam and his friends are now yelling at her to. She smiles wickedly and uses the other hand to touch his cheek, which also begins to burn. At this point, Grausam starts pleading, which empowers her.

“Hey weirdo. Now who’s ugly?”

“Asabi N’Guvu!” She continues to burn him as the principal calls her name. “Stop it now!” He approaches her and puts a hand on her arm to pull her away, but he retreats in pain, looking between her and his hand. “I said STOP!” Asabi blinks, letting Grausam go. He falls to the floor, holding his hand in agony. There are ugly welts on his skin the shape of Asabi’s hands. She looks at her palm and sees them returning to their normal color. When she looks up, everyone is staring at her in fear and disbelief. Afraid, Asabi runs home.

***

When she reaches her house, Asabi bursts through the door, almost breaking it down.

“MOTHER!” she exclaims, “Mother!” She looks around in a panic. I’m sure the principal has called already. She hears sirens in the distance and runs into the living room where her mother is sitting calmly, as if she was waiting for her. Asabi runs to her and breaks down at her feet. “Mother, something is wrong with me. What is wrong with me?” Asabi’s mother cradles her child’s face in her hands.

“My child, nothing is wrong. It is time.” Asabi looks at her through tearful eyes, confused.

“Time? Time for what? I just burned a kid with my bare hands. I didn’t mean to do it.” Her mother’s face grew stern and came closer.

“Oh, but you did. He rightfully deserved it.” 

“Mother, how can you say that?” She took out a tissue and began drying her daughter’s tears.

“I want to tell you a story. Long ago, before we were brought to America, we were a part of a tribe called the Ujasiri. A volcano near the village erupted, and the women of this tribe, desperate to save their people, stood hand in hand reciting a prayer to summon the fire god. The god appeared, mocking them for attempting to stop his wrath. These women humbly asked the god to spare them and in return, they would let his spirit inhabit one of their own to inflict wrath upon those that sought to commit injustices against them. The fire god agreed, and thus the line of the Mwako goddesses was established.”

“Mwako?”

“Yes. It means ‘to set ablaze’. One woman in every generation of Mwako women is chosen by the fire god for his spirit to inhabit her body and protect her people. The last few generations, he has lain dormant, our people decimated by slavery and racism. But you, my daughter, are the chosen one. You will reunite our people and protect us.” 

“But-but how can I do this?”

“You already have. You are ready.”

“What if I don’t want this?” Asabi’s mother took her daughter’s hands in her own, stroking them gently, slight disappointment crossing her face before she forced a smile.

“Then things will continue as they are. That boy will get better and continue to torment you. Or his friends, if they decide to get vengeance. Asabi, you are of a rare and highly distinguished line of powerful women. If you embrace this, you will have nothing and no one to fear.” Asabi was comforted by her words. She did not want to be tormented anymore. 

“Okay.” Her mother beamed.

“Okay.” 

***

[Present]

The pain was far too much for Asabi now. Her eyes rolled back and she welcomed the end of her life to stop it. At that moment, a fiery figure burst from the flames, shrieking and diving into her mouth. The shamans whooped and hollered, the incantation at its climax. An intense pain filled her and then subsided. She opened her eyes, seeing herself no longer engulfed in flames or restrained. Sitting up slowly, she saw all of the women on bent knee, heads bowed. Except her mother, who was smiling at her with tears streaming down her face, mouthing something she couldn’t make out. Asabi stepped down from the pyre, unashamed of her naked form. She listened closely to the words being spoken that she’d never heard before but yet understood perfectly.

M’bale medishi. Our goddess has returned.

***

Time: 57 minutes

Prompt adapted from: “Go Into the Story” by Scott Meyers

This is by far one of my new favorite stories. It’s amazing seeing female empowerment birthed like this from one simple line. The names I used are Swahili and German. “Mwako” means “ablaze”, which perfectly describes our newborn goddess. - LM, author

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A story involving a medicine cabinet.

In the wee hours of the night, a young man ran down the damp sidewalk glancing over his shoulder every couple hundred feet to make sure no one was behind him.  Once he reached a red bricked building with characteristic white shutters, he ran around the side and began climbing up the fire escape. He realized that was a mistake when he tripped a few times climbing up the wet industrial iron stairs. When he arrived on his floor, he opened up the window to an apartment and climbed in. After closing it, he put up a colorful poster flush to the glass panels and closed the blinds. Next, he ran for the door and locked all three of her deadbolts for added security. Once he was done, he frantically stuffed his hands in his seemingly endless pants pockets in a panic. He fished out an unlabeled prescription bottle with small purple pills. He got him a glass of water from the kitchen sink, retrieved one pill from the bottle and took it, downing the entire glass.  A minute later, he bent over in pain and bit his jacket sleeve to prevent him from crying out too loudly. He began transforming, shrinking in height and body structure to a more slender, feminine shape. He was now Ilisha Kubad, a black woman, her original identity. Illisha tore off the clothes that were now hanging off of her small frame and left them in a pile on the floor. She then ran to her bathroom and tapped hurriedly on her medicine cabinet mirror. Immediately, the mirror came alive, a pair of digital eyes blinking away its idleness.

“Good morning,” it started, then looked up at its displayed clock that read “3:00 AM”.  “Oh dear, it’s still night?”

“I don’t have time for jokes, LE. Let me in.”

“Okay. Right hand print, please.” LE’s screen changed to a hand print outline where Ilisha placed her palm so it could read her prints. After a few minutes, the outline turned green to signal that it was a match. “Retinal scan.” Ilisha brought her face closer to the mirror where a yellow horizontal beam ran up and down her eyes. It turned red. “No match.” Ugh, I’ve got to tweak the formulation to increase the rate of iris turnover.

“Give me a second, LE, I haven’t fully reverted yet.” After a beat, Ilisha brought her eyes close again to reattempt the scan. The beam turned green and she heard a click behind the mirror. 

“Welcome, Ilisha,” the mirror said. 

Ilisha opened the medicine cabinet and slid it over on the wall to reveal a hidden chamber. The lights came on, displaying rows of prescription bottles that were unlabeled like the one she had earlier but the space underneath was labeled with various names and ethnicities. She placed the one she held in the empty spot, next to a bottle with orange pills labeled “Trevor, white male”. 

“It was fun to have your privilege tonight, Trevor. However, you have a lot of debts to clear with a lot of bad men, my friend.” She slid the medicine cabinet back to its original position and closed the door.

“You have work in four hours, Ilisha,” the mirror announced

“I’m fully aware of that, thanks,” Ilisha muttered. She quickly brushed her teeth, feeling too lazy to put in the effort to wash her face. She’d wash it in four hours when she got up. Afterwards, she pulled on an old oversized tee, a pair of underwear and slipped on her satin-lined beanie.  She slid into bed and happily drifted off to sleep.

***

Four hours later turned into six hours as Ilisha kept snoozing her phone alarm. The next time, she finally managed to wake up. She looked at the time and immediately jumped out. She was late again. Somehow she didn’t care very much and knew that she could always rely on traffic to be her excuse.  They didn’t argue with her commute as someone was always getting into a wreck.

She dragged her feet into the bathroom and undressed, tapping the mirror.The mirror came alive again, this time displaying an array of information. The time and weather on the bottom right, emails in the center (a few passive aggressive ones from her boss) and a few video streaming apps on the bottom left. She selected Youtube and watched a few makeup guru videos while she performed her morning routine. When she finished, her stomach was growling and she groaned, annoyed that she wasn’t going to have time for breakfast.

“I took the liberty of ordering your breakfast and having it delivered for you the sixth time you snoozed me.” Ilisha could have cried at the thoughtfulness. She gave her gratitude as she walked into the bedroom to pull on a t-shirt, hoodie, jeans and Converses. She pulled off her satin lined beanie and quickly flat twisted her hair in two.

“Thank you, LE. What would I do without you?”

“Obviously starve since I order your breakfast almost every morning now. This isn’t the best for your budget, you know.” She stuck her tongue out at the smart mirror.

“I appreciate you for it.” Ilisha was grabbing her bag and keys when she noticed the mens’ clothes. Panicked, she picked them up and stuffed them in the very bottom of her laundry hamper. Once they were out of sight, she unlocked and opened her door, picked up her breakfast and headed off to work.

***

When Ilisha walked into work at Pharmaseussicals Corporation half an hour later, she sped quickly past her manager’s office to her desk in an attempt to avoid him, which was counterintuitive since it was fully transparent. He noticed her and ran out to catch up to her.

“Illisha!” She stopped in her tracks, silently cursing to herself and slowly turned around with a big smile on her face. 

“Morning, Gary.” He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning.

“It’s almost lunchtime.”

“I know, I got caught in pre-lunch traffic, you know how it is in the city.” Gary held up a hand.

“Spare me the excuses. You have to make a better effort to come in early. I understand that you’re young and you want to go out at night, but you have a responsibility to show up for work. You take time out of your coworker’s day when they have to fill you in on everything that you miss because you overslept.” She stayed silent at him seeing right through her. 

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, er, as frequently anymore.”

“I bet,” Gary responded, unconvinced. “Anyway, I’m sure you already saw, but as your manager, I’m inclined to remind you about the GC-MS showing a lot of noise again.” 

“The injection port probably just needs some attention. I’ll get right on that.” He left without another word. Ilisha kept a fake smile on her face as he walked away before turning and dropping it into a frown. Her job was so mundane and she was tired of it. She didn’t get a Master’s just to get talked down to, yet here she was. Living the corporate highlife at the mid-bottom of the totem pole. Ilisha reached her desk and tapped the surface to bring a keyboard and trackpad into view. Everyone’s desks were incredibly futuristic. No more wires or batteries. She set her breakfast down and opened it to see her favorite meal from Waffle House. The All-Star breakfast with a blueberry waffle, grits, sausage and scrambled eggs. They may be in the future, but Waffle House was timeless. One of her coworkers peered over the partition and tiptoed over to perch on her desk. Ilisha looked up, slightly annoyed but also amused.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Did you go out last night?” 

“Yes, I did.”

“Who’d you turn into?” Ilisha looked around to make sure no one heard that.

“Keep your voice down! Trevor. The rich executive with a ton of debt. A couple of gangsters chased me down last night. It’s okay though, I outran them.” Her coworker looked worried.

“Ilisha, you promised you were going to stop. I know you’re a brilliant chemist but this was supposed to be an idea you tried out to confirm that your invention works. What if you get hurt?”

“I won’t. It’s just a bit of fun. Chill.” 

“Whatever. Did you bring me breakfast?”

“Layla, you get here at 7 am.” Layla cocked her head in a “so-what?” fashion.

“Your point is…….? You know, being the fantastical phenomenon that it was, I thought that Lord of the Rings was really going to make second breakfast a thing.”

“Which is probably why it’s fantasy.” Layla smirked. “I need to adjust the formulation for the reversion pill. It took my eyes a little bit longer to revert after my body.”

“Hmm….perhaps retinol? To boost the cell turnover rate? It sounds trivial, but maybe it might work.” Ilisha pensively tapped her finger on her bottom lip. 

“I think you might be right.”

“So, co-author?” Ilisha looked over at her coworker.

“I don’t think so. I’m not publishing this.”

“Oh, so you just invented this incredible product only to be like your favorite X-Men character?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like to be someone else? Another race? Another culture?”

“Nah, it sounds too much like identity theft.”

“Except I’m not stealing from them. I do it to experience how other people live. To literally walk in their shoes.”

“I don’t know, man. From what you’ve told me about this Trevor dude, he sounds like bad news. I don’t want anything to happen to you that is meant for him.”

“I’m not doing anything to incite violence.”

“You don’t have to do anything to get certain people to turn violent against you. You know this already. Your skin color is a trigger.” 

“I know.” Ilisha’s stomach growled. “Okay, I gotta eat before I pass out.”

“Sure. Enjoy your brunch.”

***

After doing the necessary repairs to the injection port, Ilisha ran a sample to test it but the spectra was still really noisy. She put the computer on standby and opened up the mass spectrometer to inspect the ion box and she noticed that it was a bit dirty. It took her a few hours to delicately dismantle it, clean it and put it back together. She ran a new sample and the spectra came out clear as day with distinguishable peaks. At least something was going right.

Ilisha spent the remainder of the day reading papers, running samples and answering emails from customers. Once all of her coworkers (and Gary) were gone, she clipped her badge to her jeans and walked up a floor to her secret lab where her experiment was set up in a hood. She weighed out the ingredients carefully into a round bottom flask, adding 1% of retinol to the formulation. Next, she attached it to a clamp and set it on a heating mantle. Finally, she set the correct temperature and turned on the condenser, watching it carefully over the next two hours. After the allotted time, the formulation had turned purple, which let her know that it was ready. She turned off the heat and condenser, pulled on insulated gloves and removed the round bottom flask from the setup.  Next, she went over to another hood and poured the product into the chamber, setting it to aliquot in a mold. She sealed the mold and set it on liquid nitrogen to freeze dry it. She reopened the mold and smiled at her finished product. Let’s change your life, Trevor.

Ilisha went home, ate a quick dinner and pulled out another set of nice mens’ clothes to change into. She went into the bathroom, took a shower, gained access into the medicine cabinet and took out a pill to turn into Trevor. She got a glass of water from the kitchen and took the pill. Like the reversal, she doubled over in pain as her body grew to transform her into the incredibly built, blue-eyed white male executive, Trevor. After putting the medicine cabinet back into place, she went into the bedroom to get dressed and pocketed the small bag of the reversion pills she made a few hours prior. She removed the colorful poster from the window and opened the blinds to provide quick access again and left through the front door into the night.

A few blocks down from the apartment, Ilisha/Trevor walked in the dark towards the nightclub she was at the night prior. On her way there, she was intercepted by the gangsters that had chased her last night.

“Well, well, look who’s back.” Ilisha/Trevor put her hands up in peace.

“Look gentlemen, I’m only here to collect my profits from my nightclub so that I can pay you and clear the debt. I’ll be right back.” One of the gangsters cocked his gun and aimed it at her. She stared down the barrel, suddenly very fearful.

“I don’t think so. We want our money right now.” Ilisha/Trevor began shaking.

“I don’t have it on me, I told you, it’s at the club.”

“Rich guy like you not carrying any money? That’s unheard of. Hand over your wallet.” Ilisha/Trevor reached slowly into her pocket. What do I do?! I don’t have a wallet! She laughed nervously as she pretended to be going past loose change and felt the baggie. The pills! They’re fine enough that I can crush them into a powder and make a diversion! She quickly opened the baggie and poured it into her hand, crushing it.

“Here, assholes.” In a sweeping maneuver, she flung the powder in their faces and ran in the opposite direction. The gangsters were distracted for a split second and the one wielding the gun shot in her direction. The bullet hit her shoulder. Ilisha/Trevor screamed and touched her shoulder, feeling the worst pain she’d ever had in her life. She heard them running behind her and she tried her best to continue sprinting. As she neared her building, she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to use the fire escape as she had to climb up two sets of ladders first. 

Luckily, Trevor’s physique allowed her to break open the front door and apply the deadbolt. It’d buy her a minute, but they were going to be able to get in. She started up the stairs and by the time she reached the second floor, they were through the door and gaining on her. Finally she reached her apartment door and applied the deadbolts, taking a second to rest on the door. The gangsters had already caught up to her as they began ramming the door. Her arm was getting a bit cold, she was losing too much blood. She reached in her pocket to revert to herself and realized that she used all of them as a diversion. She wasn’t going to be able to get back into the medicine cabinet. She was trapped. In this body and by the gangsters almost through her door. She had to try and gain access. She tapped the mirror and it came alive with the biometric scan. Placing her blood stained hand on the mirror, she waited for it to respond and it turned red. She tried again, and it was still red. 

Accepting her fate, she closed her eyes as the gangsters tore down her door and came inside. All of them cocked their guns, but only one shot theirs. 

Layla was right.

***

Time: About 2.5 hours.

Prompt adapted from: “Go Into the Story” by Scott Meyers 

Lemme tell y’all, I quite enjoyed THIS. Yes, it took longer than an hour, forgive me, but this was so worth it. It’s like polyjuice potion on another level. Proud of this one. -LM, author

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A scene in which you introduce a character in a memorable way.

It was an ordinary day at the bank with ordinary people treading the paths they were taught to. They seemed as lifeless as a robot, watching the fruits of their labor slip out of their hands one bill at a time without question. The bank tellers were the gardeners, tending to the seeds planted by their customers and watching them grow or die. However, today one particular customer decided that she was going to pull hers completely out, to the very last root.

***

Over the loudspeaker, the smooth jazz music was silenced abruptly, followed by the chords of a song that set pop culture aflame. It was "Bobak Yellow” by Cardi B, but with an interesting bounce remix with the lyric “I make money moves” repeated rhythmically. The normal response to a well-loved song by the masses would have been to begin vibing but they were frozen in place, thanks to handy powers that could freeze time whenever the wielder wished. The bank teller noticed that she was the only one among them that could move. She stayed in place, too terrified to move anything except her eyes. A moment later, the bank door swung open and two men walked in holding a large roll of fabric. They were shirtless and looked like they’d been dipped headfirst into a vat of gold paint.

They crouched down and unrolled an extensive train of a glittery mat. Afterwards, the men held open the door and two more men came in carrying a woman seated on their shoulders with her legs crossed as if she were on a throne. They knelt down to allow her in without hitting her head on the doorframe, then stood back up to carry her to the service window. They gently lowered her down without a single sign of effort and she gracefully landed to strut the rest of the way on her carpet to the teller. The teller took a moment to take in her entire look. Although she had no idea who she was, she felt like she should know. The young woman was wearing a fur coat, what looked like a bandeau top, leather leggings and bold black stilettos with a pointed toe. It wasn’t the teller’s personal taste but the confidence completed the outfit. She made a gesture with her hand as if she was showing someone’s height and then lowered it, the volume decreasing as she did. The teller laughed uncomfortably, retreating to sarcasm to cope with her fear.

“Are you Lil Kim?” The extravagant customer lowered her sunglasses onto her nose and looked over them at her. 

“Wow, are you this funny to all of your customers….” She read the badge on her collar. “…Erica?” Erica shook her head. 

“No. No ma’am, I apologize. How may I help you today, Miss….” 

“It’s Ms. and you don’t need to worry about the rest. It’s not necessary. I’m here to make a withdrawal.” 

“Yes, Ms., Okay, what’s your account number?” 

“All of them.” Erica looked up from her computer at Ms..  

“I’m sorry?” 

“The account number is all of the account numbers. I’m here for all of it.” Erica laughed nervously, looking at Ms. in disbelief. 

“Are you-is this a bank robbery?” Ms. scoffed and turned, pacing slowly to take in every detail of the interior design. 

“I’d like to tell you something about me, Erica. I like money. I like to surround myself with nice things as a reminder that I have it. Do you see these?” She leaned on one of her men to show Erica the bottom of her shoe. "I paid a lot of money to have Christian Louboutin sew in the red carpet from the 2002 Oscars onto the bottom. These are red bottoms.” Erica was confused.

“Why the 2002 Oscars?” Ms. was shocked. 

“Uh, Halle? Denzel? The year that Black people snatched white Hollywood from the top and we’ve been clawing our way back up ever since. That carpet is a reminder to me that I’m always at the top.” Erica was speechless. She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be in fear.   

“Oh, right. A golden year.” She was pressing the silent alarm button so hard she thought she was going to rip the shelving off. 

“You know what I love most about “Bobak Yellow”? When Cardi B says “I make money moves”. Truly iconic. So I would like you to move the money from all of the accounts onto a money order and into my hand, please. You’ll need both hands, so you can stop attempting to ring the silent alarm.” Erica gulped. Busted. 

“Look, I—“ 

“I’m not mad at you, it’s just not going to work. I didn’t just freeze time in here, I froze time EVERYWHERE. Why would I want the police to get me at my own bank?” Erica was confused. 

“Your bank?” Ms. nodded. 

“Yeah. I own this bank. Hurry it up, I’ve got a plane to catch.” Erica still didn’t believe her, but if she had the power to stop time, she wasn’t going to risk getting set on fire. She made the money order and handed it over.

“What am I going to say when you unfreeze everyone?” Ms. took a second to think about it. 

“Just say that there’s a system error. I’ll create a glitch for you. Should give you a few days to find a new job.” Ms. turned to leave but paused. 

“I lied, I don’t own this bank. My ex does but I named it after him when I helped him start it.” Erica was stunned. 

“Your ex?” 

“Yeah. CK Bank, the ‘CK’ stands for Cheating Keaton. If you see him, be sure to tell him that it was me that took all of his money and ruined him.” At that, Ms. walked out of the door waving the check in an absentminded goodbye, the men rolling up the mat after her with glitter fluttering out onto the shiny floor.

***

Time: 50 minutes or so.

Prompt: “Go Into the Story” by Scott Meyers

Okay, so I’m going to go ahead and admit that this one is not my best work, like it started off really good and poetic and then just fizzled out LOL. I have no idea how, I just brainstormed some funny moments and what I would consider to be a ridiculous yet memorable entrance and rolled with it. -LM, author

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A scene featuring two characters sitting on the edge of a bridge.

It late afternoon on a summer day and the traffic was already at its worst. Among the line of cars moving at a snail’s pace on the Don Holt Bridge was a Lyft transporting two customers to the airport. However, today was different. This car was ushering a pair of fresh college graduates, Steven and Lea, to their brand new lives as fully-responsible adults with jobs. They were lifelong friends attached at the hip and they were about to be separated for the very first time. The realization hit them as they sat in silence, a noticeable chasm of fear and sorrow between them as they looked out of their respective windows. When the looming thought that you may not see someone again lingers in the mind, what would you want your parting words to be? 

“Sorry about this, guys,” the driver called, "My GPS is showing a really bad wreck at the base of the bridge, which is the cause for this mess.” 

“It’s fine, sir. After 22 years of living here, we’re used to it,” Lea responded, not looking away from the window. 

“What time does your start flight boarding, Miss?”  

“Seven,” she responded. 

“How about you, Sir?" 

“Same,” Steven muttered, also continuing to look out. 

“It’s so weird that we’re moving,” Lea began, "Saying goodbye to Mom and Dad was something I wasn't prepared for.” Steven took a moment before saying something. 

“Yeah, me neither. Truth be told, I’m genuinely afraid of what’s ahead. Last night our parents revealed so much to me that I’d never even thought of.”   

“Yet those things will be the determining factors in how our lives turn out.” Steven nodded in agreement. 

"Have they ever sat in the same room for more than an hour before?” Lea shook her head. 

“Not that I know of. When I saw the four of them sitting there like that, I was fully prepared for an intervention telling me that I was making a mistake in moving far away. Not for the conversation that our lives were going to be ten times harder than anyone else’s because we’re black.” 

“They were just letting us know that we now belong to a much more realistic society than that of our imaginations.” 

“They have a lot of expectations for us and I'm scared that I won’t be able to live up to them.” Steven chuckled. 

“Now we carry both their expectations and the world’s. A burden we saw coming but didn’t want to admit.” Lea shrugged. Traffic began to crawl forward.  

“Remember when we were younger and I came to you crying because I wanted to go to Kelly’s sleepover and my parents adamantly said no? I thought that they were just being mean but I didn’t realize that they were only trying to prevent the possibility of being blamed for something that I didn’t do. Since all of this melanin makes me a pretty huge target.” 

“When I think back to how we grew up, I feel like I was being groomed for the expectations of me as a black person. They only warned me about the bad things that might happen to me and not so much of the good that I might see in my new world,” Steven admitted. 

“All this time I thought they were the toughest, most picture-perfect people but that was them fighting to keep us alive so we could join this never-ending battle to survive.” At that, Steven and Lea fell quiet. The cars in front of them began moving faster and their driver eased off of the bridge to merge onto the interstate. 

*** 

They arrived to the airport thirty minutes before their boarding time. They split the bill on the app and Steven paid the tip. The feeling that they were leaving one another didn’t hit when they checked their bags or when they went through security but rather when they arrived at their respective gates and saw the last few people boarding. The youngsters turned to each other and tried their best to put genuinely happy smiles on their faces but the anguish was telling.   

“Well, this is me,” Lea announced. Steven smiled a handsome half-smile. 

“I’m over here.” 

“This is really it, isn’t it? We’re about to jet off three thousand miles away from one another.” Steven stood back on his heels, fidgeting with his ticket, avoiding eye contact with Lea, still in denial. 

“Yeah. It is.”   

“I’ve got three weeks of vacation, with the possibility of more if I work my overtime right. Maybe I can come visit you?” Steven laughed. 

“I should have applied to your company. I’ve only got two. No overtime.” Lea smiled, looking down at her feet. Suddenly, their heard their names get called to board.   

“Oh, before I forget,” Lea started, taking off one of her backpack straps and bringing it around to the front to unzip it.  She reached inside and pulled out a slim black box with a silver ribbon on it. “Here.”   

“Thank you.” Steven smiled at her, then mirrored her action, pulling out an identically wrapped gift. She graciously took it.

“Happy birthday, Lea.” Lea beamed. 

“Happy birthday, Steven.” They embraced. 

When their final boarding call rang through the intercom, they took another moment to cling to one another, a single tear landing on each other’s shoulders and disappearing into the fabric.  Finally they turned and headed towards their planes, the sunset painting their faces a shimmering orange. Their fingers were the last to unravel as they moved apart, not wanting the lasting image of letting go.

***

Time: 1+ hours

Prompt: “Go Into the Story” by Scott Meyers

This story was a much tougher one to write after my decision to make the characters black and it took me close to three hours to actually complete.  For this one I took the bridge both literally and metaphorically. The characters are not only sitting in a car on a bridge as this story is being told, but they’re also on the edge of their youth, analyzing how their upbringing bridges their new lives as adults together. It was deeply personal for me but incredibly powerful. I love this process. - LM, author

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A murder scene.

The detective opened the door to the apartment with a gloved hand. Before her was a man that was sitting with his face down on the counter. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sleeping. He was dead. The crime scene was already marked and being analyzed by her colleagues. One of them came over to talk to her.

“Sorry to call you in this late, detective.”

“I signed up for this when I took the job. What you got?”

“Eric Sturgeon. 56 years old, he’s been dead a few hours. There’s no sign of a struggle or forced entry.  Our biggest clue is that wine next to him. We’ve already sent off samples to the lab.”

“Good. Any leads on a suspect?” Her colleague gestured with a nod to the detective’s right. There was a young woman sitting on the couch staring at white noise. “His stepdaughter, Olivia Malvado. She’s the one that called it in.” 

The detective furrowed her eyebrows.“She turned herself in?”

“Not necessarily. I tried to ask her some questions, but she said that she doesn’t answer to men.” The detective smirked.

“Relatable. Alright, I’ll take care of it.” She calmly but carefully walked over to where Olivia was sitting, resting her hand on her sidearm. Olivia was miles away, yet the look of grace in a nice dress, heels and a glass of red wine in her hand. The detective noticed that she hadn’t ingested any as the glass was spotless on the rim.

“Ms. Malvado? My name is-“

“I know who you are, Detective. You’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Did you want to make a confession?”

"Do you have time for a story?” 

The detective nodded and waved her colleague over to record it.

“I was eight years old when Momma met Eric. I didn’t think anything of him at first, just thought he was another bum boyfriend using her for money. He actually turned out to be very nice…” Olivia zoned out as she told her story.

“It’s okay, keep going.”

“The first few years were good, he made me breakfast, took me to school, helped me with my homework. We even had game nights. He was a breath of fresh air to me and my mom, just the nicest person I had ever met. Then…” she drifted off into silence.

“Yes?” The detective asked.

“Then I became a woman. So he taught me a new game. 'One that only grown ups play,’ he said.” The detective watched Olivia’s face darken. “My mom didn’t believe me. My teacher, my friends, nobody. It didn’t stop until I ran away. The police brought me back but I kept running away. One night a couple walking through the park found me half-freezing to death. I lied about who I was and begged them not to call the police. I lived with them for years, building a new identity and living a new life. The whole time I was planning our reunion. It’s amazing, when he saw me, he had no problem trying to make up for lost time.”

Suddenly, the sound of angry footsteps filled the room. The door flew open and a woman ran in with two policewomen trailing behind, attempting to restrain her. 

“Eric? Why are all of you in my house? What’s happened?”

“Mother,” the young woman called from the couch, "How nice of you to join us.” The woman looked over at the kitchen and she became livid at the sight of her dead husband.

"Oh my—Olivia? What did you do?!” Olivia stood up and walked over to her mother, swirling the wine in her glass. The detective’s colleague entered the apartment, handing her a folder with results from forensics and a container of prescription painkillers. The mass spectrometric analysis of the wine displayed a dangerously high content of it. He overdosed within minutes. She looked up with alarm, realizing that she was already too late.  

“I gave him a taste of his own medicine,” Olivia said without remorse, and took a sip of wine. 

***

Time: 47 minutes

Prompt: “Go Into the Story” by Scott Meyers

[onestoryonehour]

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Scene 41 [A Rewrite]

INT. JORDAN APARTMENT, CHARLESTON, NIGHTTIME 

The youngsters approach the apartment door, hearing ethereal trap hip-hop beats through the door. It filled the room as they entered, along with the scent of a savory dish and toasted bread. The apartment was simple but filled with a sense of luxury by beautiful Afrofuturistic and African diaspora artwork that lined the walls. The washer and dryer were going but some clothes were hanging themselves up on a rack. The vacuum cleaner was at work but no sound escaped it, thanks to a brilliant silencing spell. In the kitchen, chaos ensued. A knife was chopping vegetables, the dishes were washing themselves and placing themselves onto a drying rack. At the stove, a beautiful young black woman, Amana, was swaying sensually while moving her wand in an upwards spiral on beat with the music, performing a spell to get a simmering pot of gumbo to self-stir. She was barefooted and wearing a slightly-sheer robe that revealed the outline of a lace bodysuit underneath. Ashur is blown away. Ham is uninterested, and eager to go back out. He walks over to a window to look out at a street lined with beautiful historic houses. Sauda purposefully slams the door, which startles Amana.

AMANA: Damn, Dada, no need to be extra. (She cups her hand and turning it counterclockwise as if turning a knob, lowering the volume. She sees Ham and Ashur and gasps excitedly). Sauda! I have NEVER seen you bring a boy home, and now you bring two? Sis! 

SAUDA: Don’t get the wrong idea. Y’all, this is my little sister, Amana. Girl, do you mind? (Gestures toward Amana’s unapologetic display of skin) 

AMANA: (Rolls eyes, tying the straps together at the waist, somewhat closing the robe) Well, you didn’t tell me people were comin’, so don’t give me that. You’re lucky I made enough gumbo for everybody.

Sauda walks over to the stove to waft the scent of the gumbo. 

AMANA: So you gonna tell me who they are? 

SAUDA: The one on the left’s Hami. He broke a fundamental MACUSA law—  

AMANA: (excited) Oh, so he’s a bad boy? 

SAUDA: Yeah, and the other is Ashur, he’s a non-vessel-- 

AMANA: (suspicious) A non-vessel? Dada, what’d you do? 

SAUDA: (suddenly defensive) Nothin’! Long story short, Ham’s trying to get his siblings out of foster care and imma help him out. 

Ashur loses his balance for a second and Amana walks over to help him onto the couch. Sauda and Ham look over, also concerned.

AMANA: Oh, he doesn’t look so good. I know that feeling, especially after reading too much about Trump on Twitter. 

 (Reads his aura) 

Oh, your stomach’s uneasy. You sit here, hun, I’ll make you some ginger tea. (flicks her wand to turn on the burner underneath the kettle)

 (Reads his aura) 

Aww, another editor rejected his pitch for a new black comic book character. Man, I know the feeling, seems like the longer non-people of color stay in those roles, the less opportunities we’ll get to make something new and relatable. 

Ham watches Amana from where he was looking out at the street.

HAMI: You’re a Reader? 

AMANA: Yeah. Y’all Northerners talk funny, though. It’s soda, not pop. Sweet tea, not iced tea.   

ASHUR: Wait. Are you forreal reading me? How are you dragging me when you just met me? 

AMANA: (laughs) Not that kind of read. Every person has energies, which I consider sparks of light, and they kinda arrange themselves into images that I can interpret. As for what you were thinking when you saw me dancing, well…it’s not the first time a dude’s imagined that. Let me get you that tea. 

Ham looks back out the window, concerned about his siblings, hoping that they weren’t doing anything magical and exposing themselves. 

Amana flicks her wand. A mug, looseleaf tea, an infuser and a sugar cube assembles together and the boiling kettle lifts off to pour water into the mug. Amana performs the same upward spiral movement while bopping her head to the music to stir the tea. The mug floats gently over to Ashur and hovers until he takes it by the handle.

ASHUR: (mesmerized) Thank you. 

AMANA: Sure.   

Amana performs a spell to levitate bowls and spoons out to set the table. The bread comes out of the oven, slicing and buttering itself before also going over to the table. The pot of gumbo floats over to the center of the table and the ladle begins spooning gumbo into each bowl. Ashur is both fascinated and scared.

AMANA: Dinner is served. (To Sauda) Bitch, you’re not getting Chik-Fil-A, I made you food. 

SAUDA: Quit Reading me! 

AMANA Quit being so damn basic. Now that was me dragging her, Ashur. 

ANGLE ON HAM, his hands on the windowsill, which he was opening to escape out of. 

AMANA: (Doesn’t notice this) Hami, are you cool with gumbo? You’re not vegetarian are you? Or vegan? If so, the only thing I got are basil leaves. 

They all look over to Hami, who begins laughing uneasily while closing the window and stepping away.

HAM: Not vegan. I’ll have some gumbo.   

Sauda looks over at Ham, suspicious of his seemingly inconspicuous attempts to leave. Ashur is already seated, setting his empty mug down, which immediately lifts off to the sink to get washed. He watches it go and turns back, laughing. Amana sits across from Ashur.

AMANA: (Reading Ashur’s aura) You’re definitely not vegan. Have you ever had andouille sausage straight from Louisiana? 

Ashur shakes his head but rubs his hands together, ready to consume the meal. Amana beams at him. Sauda notices the empty seat across from her.

SAUDA: Ham, you won’t be any use to your siblings if you don’t eat something. Join us. My little sis is a great cook. 

Ham is still standing close to the window, hesitant to stay. His stomach growls at the sight and smell of the gumbo and he surrenders to her request.

***

Characters:

Amana (Queenie)- “A faithful and loyal warrior”, Swahili 

Sauda (Tina)-"Dark and beautiful”, Swahili 

Hami (Newt)- “Defender, protector", Swahili 

Ashur (Jacob)- “The one who accompanies”, Swahili 

***

For today’s writing exercise, I decided to write something from one of my favorite films, but made it from the perspective of four young African-Americans. I changed the terminology for muggles and magical beings to “non-vessels” and “vessels”, respectively, to make it little more unique. I had a lot of fun with this one. -LM, author

Time: 1+ Hour

Prompt: Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them, The Original Screenplay by JK Rowling

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A story involving a chase scene without cars.

Reva came home after a rough day at work. The strap of her bag slipped from her shoulders and she rubbed the residual ache from the weight. Every day was rough and beginning to take a toll on her. She walked over to the fridge but something caught her eye before opening it. She hung her head back, groaning in annoyance. Her bills were due. She was down to her last few dollars and she wouldn’t get paid for another three days. Each month was the same, the majority of her paychecks went towards anything but herself. More and more she felt she was only worth the scraps in the world.

She opened the refrigerator and took out one of the containers from her stack of perfectly prepped meals. Popping it into the microwave for three minutes, she leaned back on the counter and zoned out. Her laptop was on, a blank document open with the cursor blinking. That’s weird, she thought. Pretty sure I shut that before I went out. She suddenly got an urge to write. It was something she always loved doing, but never took it seriously. She got ideas here and there but no worlds were ever built from it. Her words wouldn’t save lives or help advance technology. People needed more than that from her.

The microwave beeped and she jolted out of her thoughts. She took the container out and set it on top of a hand towel so she wouldn’t burn herself. She sat down at her computer, minimized the document and opened up her work email. The influx of messages in her inbox overwhelmed her. It never ended. Frustrated, she shut the computer and watched some TV.

Later, while she was getting ready for bed, her thoughts skimmed through what she had to do the next day. Worked nagged at her like an unsatisfied toddler. It wasn’t her dream job, but she took that job because she had to. Just like a normal person does to survive. If she had her dream job, she’d be creating vast lands with the most unique characters to populate them. She’d make a universe filled with excitement. Waking up every day doing what she wanted seemed unrealistic. In your dreams, Reva. She got in bed and dozed off.

***

As Reva slept, a small spark of light slowly climbed out of her ear. It had the arms and legs of a tiny human, but the rest of it was just illumination. It sat on the edge and looked down into the canal of Reva’s ear. The darkness scared it, so it leaped onto the bed and floated into the air toward the laptop. Landing softly on the desk, the spark went towards the edge of the laptop and began to lift it by floating upwards. Next, it dropped itself onto the trackpad and glided gracefully over its surface like an ice skater to set the screen alight. It continued to glide on the trackpad until the mouse hovered over the document application. It jumped to click and open it. Once it came up, it hopped onto a key and continued jumping rhythmically onto other keys to type out a message. Satisfied, the spark set off to crawl back into Reva’s ear, but then something caught its eye. Other sparks of light were floating around the city. It had never seen so many of them before. Drawn to them, it opened up Reva’s window and drifted off to meet them.

***

Reva woke up to the faint sound of wind rushing through the apartment. She got up and walked over to her living room. The window was open and it was cold. I never open the window. How did this happen? A thought crossed her mind that maybe she was sleepwalking. Shaking her head at herself, she closed the window. On her way back to her bedroom, she noticed her laptop open again. I’m definitely sleepwalking because I distinctly remember closing that. She nudged the mouse and saw the document app open, but this time a message was on it. WRITE, REVA, it said, CHASE YOUR DREAM. Freaked out, she erased the message and shut down the laptop, making a mental note to tell the landlord that there might be an intruder in the building. She went back to her bedroom but couldn’t go back to sleep. If someone was trying to steal from her, why would they leave a message telling her to write? This person knew too much about her. She put the thought away and read to try and go to sleep.

***

Over the next several days, the spark of light had met several others and had quickly made friends. However, it learned something that it never knew before. Its light was fading. Its friends quickly noticed this.

“My light is dimming! How can this be? I’ve always been so bright. What is wrong with me?”

“When your host stops thinking about you, your light begins to fade. If you leave and get lost, your light will fade, too. This has been happening to us for a long time. Bill’s been lost for-how many years now, Bill?”

“About ten. We worked together off and on for a while, but I sense that he’s finally done with me. I don’t have too much longer.”

“Sometimes our hosts think about us and we get a little bit better, but it doesn’t help. We will die out eventually.”

The spark began to worry about Reva. She hadn’t seen its message. It was doomed to lose its light forever and die.

“I’ve got to get back to Reva.”

“Do you know the way back?”

“I—no, but I’ll keep looking for as long as it takes.”

“We’ll help you.”

A month had passed. They were lost throughout the city, and the spark’s light was almost out. It was tired, and it couldn’t fly as effectively anymore. It grew desperate, desperate to find Reva.

Meanwhile, Reva was home from another rough day at work. She was upset at having to go through this every day. Why couldn’t she be happy? Why couldn’t she do what she really wanted to do AND pay the bills with it? She needed a way out. Her gaze rested on her laptop. A Hamilton lyric entered her ear from her headphones that sparked something. “I wrote my way out…wrote everything down as far as I could see…” That was all she needed. She threw her bag to the ground and opened her laptop. When she opened the document application, a message saying that an auto-save file was available for recovery came up. She clicked “ok”. When the message she had deleted came up, she nearly cried. WRITE, REVA, CHASE YOUR DREAM. “Ok,” she said to herself quietly. She began to write.

Drifting hopelessly through the city, the spark suddenly got a burst of energy and its light began to illuminate brighter than it had ever seen.

“Friend! Look!”

“My light! It’s coming back!”

“That means she’s looking for you!” They grew excited. She’s writing! She saw the message! As they flew, an illuminated fiber began to form in front of them. Reva was lighting the path back to her by writing. The spark flew higher and faster, eager to get back. When they arrived, they all landed on the porch together and watched Reva work. She looked so happy and absorbed in the work. Lines appeared on the document as she built her new world and brought life to new characters.

“Well friend, I suppose it’s time for us to part. I have a feeling that we won’t see each other again, but our light lives on through you. Never let Reva forget that.” The spark of light grew sad but was also warmed by the message.

“I will never forget all of you.” The other lights hopped off and drifted away.

Reva found a place to take a break. She was mentally exhausted but was smiling more than she’d ever had in several years. She saw something glinting in the corner of her eye and she turned towards it. She saw a spark of light hovering at her window. Thinking it was a firefly, she leaned over to get a closer look but quickly realized that it wasn’t one. It was simply a spark of light, but it looked like it had arms and….legs. She opened the window and the spark of light drifted in and sat in front of her. Reva suddenly got a feeling of familiarity. The spark’s tiny arms reached out and gave her nose a gentle hug. It leaned back and gave her a smile. Reva smiled back, warmed by the gesture.

“It was you all along, wasn’t it? I’ve been looking for you.”

They found one another. Her and her dream.

***

Time: 1 hr, 40 minutes (thanks to long, detailed openers. I probably could have started off with when Reva went to sleep and that would have put me at under an hour.)

Prompt adapted from: “Go Into the Story” by Scott Meyers

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: A Character disobeys an order.

A soldier walks up to her commanding officer, who is looking through a file.

“Sir.”

“Lieutenant. Walk with me.” They walk through a muddy camp to a vast, lifeless field, lined by a forest. The earth looked like it’d hadn’t been watered for years. They stop and face the forest. “I have a task for you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I need you to carry out a mission.” Not facing the lieutenant, the commanding officer hands her the file rather roughly, making the lieutenant take a step back to steady herself. The lieutenant takes it, a bit surprised at the unexpected force. She opens up the file and begins skimming the first few pages. It was filled with various infractions and criminal charges against the target: murder, robbery, theft, arson. It was a file for someone that definitely needed to meet Lady Justice.

When she turned onto the fifth page, she froze when she saw the photograph and the words “eliminate” on the line next to it. Her heart began beating irregularly and her hands were shaking. She looked up at her commanding officer with shock in her eyes, but the commander kept scanning the empty field, as if she were building an invisible house, her hands clasped securely behind her back.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“I—sir, are you sure this is the target?”

“I’m not prone to making mistakes, Lieutenant. You would be careful in suggesting so.” The lieutenant took another glance at the photograph and blinking hard, hoping that each time she opened her eyes, she would see a face different from the one that kept staring back at her. The commanding officer finally turned to look at the lieutenant. She squinted her eyes and took weighted steps to approach her but she kept a small distance between them. She towered above her.

“Lieutenant. You are still here, which means that you are not carrying out my order and wasting my time.” The lieutenant closed the file and handed it back to her, unable to look at her anymore.

“I am not the right person for this mission.”

“You do not have a high enough rank to tell me that I made a wrong decision.” The lieutenant tore the file open and held it up to her commanding officer.

“Sir, you saw the name and the name of the children and you immediately thought I would be the best person to do this?” The commander closed the distance further, towering over her so she bent at the waist a little to show the building fury in her eyes.

“Let me make this clear, if you do not carry this out, I promise that your blood will be the last thing he ever sees.” The lieutenant made her decision after hearing the threat.

“I’ll do it.” The commanding officer straightened.

“Good. He is being held in the artillery building.” The lieutenant gave her a lifeless salute before turning towards the building. When she approached the building, she had the guard let her in. Her father was sitting on a chair, bound and blindfolded. She felt ashamed.

“Unlock the cell.” She waited until the guard fully unlocked it to take out her pistol and kill him. She moved the body out of the way to allow her to open the cell door. She took off the blindfold to look into the same eyes she saw in the file.

“Father.”

“My daughter?” She began to untie him.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

The door swung open. It was her commanding officer, and she was pointing a gun at the lieutenant.

“I’m sorry as well, sir. But I made a promise.” She shot the lieutenant in the head and waited a moment for the blood to spread on the floor before shooting the prisoner.

***

Time: 60 minutes.

Prompt from: “Go Into The Story” by Scott Myers

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: You bought the video game on sale, just for fun. That’s all it was supposed to be; a game. But suddenly, it feels all too real.

Tyler plopped into his bean bag in front of his tv, turning on the console. It let out a small chirp as it woke up, greeting him enthusiastically. He didn’t really feel like playing but needed to cool off after his day. Gaming was a great outlet for him to let out frustrations and achieve small goals. He used his controller  to select his new game, The Realist. It had phenomenal reviews on Gamespot and IGN about the horror aspect and he was eager to try it out. He got to the character creation menu. It asked for his name, so he put in his gamertag.  

He saw a message pop up on the screen: “Is this your real name?” He selected ‘yes’. 

"We need an authentic name in order for you to play. The game will not start unless you put in your birth name.” His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Whatever. He put in his actual name. 

“Thank you, Tyler. Enjoy the game.” Placed in the first-person perspective, the only part of his character he could see was a knife in his hand. The setting was a modern white house in the daylight. No zombies, no post-apocalyptic signs, just the house. He moved towards the door and opened it. As he began exploring the inside, he felt that this place was familiar. The entry way, the flooring, where the plants were placed….this was his house. He was the game. He went to the game menu to try and exit, but it wasn’t letting him.   

He ran to the back of his TV stand and unplugged the console, but the damage had been done. The game stalled him in order to hack him through his power cord into the framework of the smart house. All of the doors and windows immediately locked. He was trapped and at the mercy of this game. Breathing hard, he watched the TV to see his character advancing towards his door. It began carving away at the wood to make a generic outline of a skull and crossbones. Then the doornob began to rattle. Tyler backed away. The character, revealed to be a direct copy of himself pointed the knife at him. 

Game over. 

***

Time: 30 min.

Prompt from r/writingprompts

[onestoryonehour]

Prompt: You are in charge of assigning every child on earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Again?” The young worker saw another resignation notification show up on her screen. Aya sat back in her chair, the frustration building up in her head. If this kept up, it would burst like a balloon. Five monsters within two weeks. She couldn’t understand why this kid was such a hinderance to her job. Every other kid successfully feared the monster under her bed, but not Ella. This girl fought back with a solid lack of fear. Aya looked through her checklist to figure out where she might have gone wrong. She did everything right. If she hired another monster, they would simply quit too. No, this was a job for her. She did always want to be out in the field. 

“Shetani,” Aya called through the intercom, “Are you there?” A grunt from the other side responded in a timely manner, alerting her that he was paying attention. “Wonderful. Listen, I’m about to put myself on assignment for a little girl in Charleston. She’s been a problem for us the last few weeks, so I’m going to handle it. I need you to take point on this mission. Can you do that?” Another grunt. “Good. I’ll deploy as soon as I’m ready.” The girl was already asleep. She needed this to go well or this would kill her flawless record. She was not about to lose to this child. 

She programmed the landing parameters. Aya worked in the Night Monsters Division, in charge of scaring kids by assigning monsters to live under the bed. Most grew out of it, but that fear was replaced with another. They called it “growing up”. After about twelve years of age, kids no longer acknowleged the monster. One monster currently held the record for most amount of kids scared: Streep. Streep was the Queen of Monsters. A total of 15 kids under her belt, she seemed to live forever. She was a legend among them. A photo of her was on Aya’s desk as a reminder to be her very best. 

“I’m ready to begin, Shetani. I’ll be my worst.” She pushed the deploy button to transport herself to beneath the bed. Let’s see if she resists this time. She made a mind link to project herself into her dreams. No matter what happy thing she saw, Aya appeared as a great and terrible version of herself. She turned light to darkness and sun to storms. A great start. But it wouldn’t mean anything unless the child didn’t wake up and call for her parents. Human parents were very trivial in the ways they tried to scare away the monsters. They’d pretend to scare the monster away (scare the scary, genius.), install nightlights or tell their children that the inanimate stuffed animal would protect them. Of course to an adult the monsters were invisible as they only appeared to innocent, unguarded minds. It was useless to send a monster to an adult human because at that point, monsters were the least scary to them.   

Aya was shaken out of her thoughts when the child began to stir. She smirked, confident that her efforts were successful. She was even prepared to submit a draft of her report stating that she had succeeded until she heard her speak. 

“Hi Mr. Monster, welcome back.” 

Welcome back? Ignore her, Aya. Stick to the mission, she thought to herself. “You’re quiet, so you must be a new monster. My name is Ella.” Aya let out a sigh of exasperation. This was going to take a while. 

“Mr. Monster? Can you hear me?” Nothing. “Well, I’ll talk, then. Today was a really bad day at school. There were these kids that were mean to me. They made fun of my hair and my clothes. I don’t know why I didn’t defend myself, maybe it’s because I don’t know how to. My mom always says not to worry about them and to ignore them, but it’s so hard when they say hurtful things about me all of the time. I don’t want to be a mean person, but sometimes I feel like I have to make them be scared of me to leave me alone. Could you do it instead so I don’t have to?” Is that why they kept disappearing from this assignment? To scare other kids for her? Going rogue was cause for immediate dismissal but she didn’t dismiss these monsters. They quit. It didn’t make any sense. 

“I wish you could go everywhere with me. I feel like we’d be an invincible team. Our own kind of superhero. Make the bad guys scared of us so they don’t hurt people.  Mom also says to always be kind to people so I feel bad for saying that. I bet you’re not even mean. Just lonely like me." 

Suddenly she knew why all of the other monsters had failed. Instead of using fear to empower them, Ella responded in compassion, weakening them. She saw plenty of monsters in her day and purposefully chose to surround herself with happiness. Aya made it her job to ruin that for every kid. She was the monster.  

***

Time: 1h, 33 min (because editing woes)

Prompt from r/writingprompts

[onestoryonehour]

A New Direction...

So I clearly failed at making this blog into what I planned for it to be, but I’d like to do something different with it. As you can already tell, I LOVE writing. It’s probably something I love to do as much as science. So I’d like to take the opportunity to make this blog into a bit of a writing challenge for me to build my writing skill. I think I’m going to call it “One Hour. One Story. ” or something. 

The challenge consists of searching for writing prompts and giving myself an hour to write a cohesive short story. I think this is something interesting that I’d like to try and I’m using the GRE as proof that I can do it because you have to write two full essays in an hour in the analytical writing section. This time, it’ll be so much more fun. 

Looking forward to sharing these stories with you.

[onestoryonehour]

A few weeks ago, I started reading Gabrielle Union’s book and boy, is it a read. I’ve always admired her as an actress and a woman because 1) she looks like me and 2) she speaks like me (which is something she addresses in this book).  While I admire her talent, I have to admit that I haven’t seen much of her work.  I think Bring it On, Bad Boys II and Daddy’s Little Girls were the only films of hers I’d seen prior to her show Being Mary Jane (which is phenomenal and for another post).  She recently spoke out about having suffered multiple miscarriages around the time this book was being released and I knew I had to have it. And WOW does she dive in fast. I’ve learned SO much about her in 52% (thanks Kindle) than I ever have and it makes me respect and love her even more. She really understands how tough it is to be a black woman in our society and carries herself with more class than I ever could. This book has been both sad and hilarious so far, can’t wait to finish it. IF I manage to finish it sometime soon.