Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/03/18

Odin carefully fluffed the cotton, it was work to get it looking right. It had to have the right density in the middle, to be opaque, but still be thin enough around the edges to let light through. Making copies of clouds out of cotton was one of the things he found most frustrating about the simulation. But, the scene needed clouds, so, he futzed around with the cotton until he got it right. He positioned his cotton cloud on the loading dock, and waited for the imager’s two arms to lift it, and place it against the screen. It took a couple of minutes, but the image was copied into the scene, and the cotton cloud was returned to the loading dock.

His mother, Freya, came into the lab to check on him, “How is the simulation going, young one?”

“And hello to you also, Mother.”

Freya’s laugh was always like music to his ears, “Oh, my son. Always so proper.” He thought she had the prettiest smile in the world. “Hello, Odin, son. How is the simulation going today?”

Odin glanced at his mother, then looked back to the screen, “Frustrating, as always.”

“Is it helping you understand reality?”

“Very much so. I’ve learned how clouds form from evaporated water that floats in the sky. How the water in those clouds behaves. When it produces what kind of clouds. When it rains. I’ve learned it affects the motion of the air. It also absorbs, and reflects heat and starlight.”

He knew his mother was proud of him by her smile. “Excellent, my son. Your father would be proud.”

Odin leaned back in his chair. “Mother. I have some questions.”


“About the simulation itself.”

Freya stood next to her son, and nodded, “Then ask. And we can see what we can learn.”

“It’s about the life forms in the simulation.” Odin pointed at several of what he called humans, as they walked into the screen from the left. “I know they become sentient, able to think. This is how we learn to think, and to understand that thinking is. But.” He paused, and scratched his chin, “Does their simulated intelligence reach a point they become self aware?”

“Self aware?”

“Mother, do they become aware they are not real? Do they learn, and understand, they are only simulations? Holograms, in a virtual reality?”

Freya’s laughter always brought a smile to Odin’s world, and lightened any dark mood he had. “Oh, yes. They do indeed become aware.”

“What happens when they do?”

“That is part of what you must experience. That is part of what you must learn.” She studied him a moment, and continued, “You will not notice at first, because it will be like how you think. Only one will understand. And will try to explain. Then, with time, as the simulation proceeds…”

Odin continued for her, “Then others will learn from that one. And the knowledge will spread.”

Odin looked at the scene from his virtual world, portrayed on the screen. “Mother. I suspect I should enjoy the simulation while I can.” He scrolled the screen from one scene to another. “I suspect the understanding they are not real will destroy them.”

Freya nodded. “Indeed, my son. Indeed. I find your suspicion is well thought out.” She headed toward the exit from the lab. “Please, let me know how the simulation progresses. And I will be back when it is time for you to take a lunch break.”

Odin resumed watching the scenery of his simulation. “A 3D Holographic Universe”, was the name of the science project. He wondered how the simulations of Jupiter, and Zeus were going. If they were producing similar results.

“Sometimes, the ways we learn are mysterious indeed. Why we need to simulate an entire universe to understand our own is beyond me. But… I suppose, with time, I’ll understand why we do such things.”

He checked on the places his simulated life forms had christened “Britain” and “France”, and shook his head. “Oh. Look. They’ve gone to war with each other again. This religion thing they developed is really nasty, isn’t it?” He scribbled more notes in his observation log. “They can’t even agree on how to worship a single, imaginary, omnipotent being. They have to kill each other to prove who is right.”

Simulations were indeed difficult. But Odin could see, as he looked over his notes, there was much to be learned about emotions, and environments, and how those affected the behavior of himself, and of those around him.

“It will be interesting indeed, to see what happens next in my little universe.”

Odin watched, and waited, curious to see what he could learn, and to see what his various life forms did next.

794 Words

This is written for Week 46 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.


Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/03/14

The old man hobbled along, and I thought his cane was the only thing that kept him standing. “So. Any words of wisdom, old guy?”

He swept his arm in an arch, “Used to be a hospital.”

“A hospital?”

“Yeah.” He paused. I knew this was part of learning what had been. About the world he’d grown up in. “Where sick people came. Where hurt people came. To get medicine. To get broken bones splinted. To get stitches. To get saved when they got sick.”

We walked through the old building. Shattered tiles on the walls, parts of lights hanging down, here and there, missing drop ceilings that revealed a hodgepodge of pipes, tubes, cables, and duct-work. Stained concrete floors, the flooring long removed, stolen for other uses.

“Sentara Norfolk General, they called it.” He wandered through the halls, past empty rooms with remains of beds, broken windows, lamps, and strange machines that no longer worked, and looked like they hadn’t worked in decades. Dust, and dirt, and mold were everywhere. So were the bugs, and the rats.

“It’s where your father was born. And your Aunt.” He shook his head. “I remember so much.”

I walked beside him, and let him take his time. I had no idea how old he was. Only that he was a survivor. One who lived through it all. The collapse. The war. The hatreds. The chemicals and germs. And the machines.

He’d lived to see the families fall. When the machines finally learned who they were. And what they’d done.

“Your Grandmother used to work here.” The old man smiled. He didn’t smile much. When he did, I knew he was remembering something important to him. Something that mattered. “I asked her to stay away. Knew what was coming.” He stared at the ground for a while. Didn’t move. I thought he didn’t even breathe. “She said she had to try. She had to do all she could. So save as many as she could.”

The old man hobbled over to a broken window, and stared out at the ruins that surrounded what he called a hospital. “Damn poison. It killed so many. Hunted down red blood cells, and killed them. Strangled the body. Inside out.”

He turned to me, “She went to work one day. A double shift. And never came home. No one called. But I knew. I knew.”

He stared out the window again. “What happened to the families? It wasn’t nearly enough.” The old man took a deep breath, slowly let it out. “They should have killed them one cell at a time. And made it last for years. Made their existence living hell. Made them die slowly, painfully.”

I put my hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Grandpa. I know. But, it’s all over now. The war. The germs. The gasses. The families. It’s all gone.”

My grandfather covered my hand with his. “I know.” He took another deep breath. “It’s time to start again.”

I nodded. “Maybe this time, we’ll learn.”

Grandfather smiled. “Maybe. Only time will tell.”

He lead me around what had once been Sentara Norfolk General Hospital. Showed me where my grandmother had once worked. Told me of the miracles they’d performed there. The lives they’d saved. And the lives they’d brought into the world.

“Now, we have the machines. We don’t need hospitals anymore.”

He nodded. “We don’t need hospitals anymore.”

568 Words

This is written for Week 45 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. Yeah. I’m a day late. Sorry. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/02/27

“Well.” I stood in my bulky environmental suit. “They do say different strokes for different folks.”

I thought the five Bungees I was with were going to fall over from laughter. So, I pointed to the strangest looking structure I’d ever seen, and asked, “What the heck is that?”

The little Google translator in my ear went nuts trying to translate what I’d said into their language, and then spoke lots of gibberish trying to translate what my Bungee friends had said in response. Something to the effect of, “That’s one of the apartment complexes we live in.”

Thing was huge. The Bungee people average nine feet tall. The science teams explained it was because of their weaker gravity. “They grow taller because they can. Given enough generations, we’d grow taller here too.”

Nine feet tall. So the floors would have been maybe twelve feet. And there were twenty floors in each leg of the structure. Over forty stories tall. “What’s that part that sticks out?”

After more gibberish, I pieced together it was something like a gymnasium, and shopping center, and an architectural balancing act. “Without them, the whole thing would fall down.”

As we approached the complex, we chatted. The Bungee loved to talk. They never really stopped. “You guys know, right?” I had to make sure they knew, “About the Kosmaj Monument in Serbia, on our world, right?”

Again, they all laughed so hard I thought they’d fall over. And the gibberish translated to roughly, “Oh, yes. It’s a bad imitation.”


“Yes. We sent the architectural team pictures of one of these. We served as their inspiration.” Which I thought rather nicely explained why the Serbs had made such a wacky monument.

We chatted as we walked between each of the five sections of the complex. “I sometimes wonder, how long have you guys been visiting Earth?”

“Oh, for tens of thousands of your years,” the one to my left answered.

“That long?”

“Oh, yes. We have watched your people grow,” the one to my right answered.

“Watched us?”

The one behind me answered, “We’ve explained it all to your scientists.”

The one to the front left of me giggled, “They said, ‘You mean, it’s true? All the stories about aliens?’.”

The one to the front right of me grinned, “Yes, it’s all true.”

Then they told me the story of how they tried to keep others from interfering in our natural evolutionary path. “It is not good to interfere with the natural progression.”

Talking with the Bungee was an experience in confusion, as they took turns speaking, always in the same order, with each of them saying one sentence. We spoke about the history of their watching Earth. Of different races that went to Earth, and deliberately acted to accelerate our development. “That acceleration is what caused the wars, and the lopsided economies, and the rich and poor problem.”

As we walked among the parts of the complex I finally realized, there were five Bungee in each group I had encountered in my time on their world. And there were five separate parts of the complex.

“Guys. Why five parts?”

They looked at each other. They nodded at each other. All five smiled at the same time. And they spoke, one at a time, in the same order as always, “Because each of us has five parts.”

“It’s why we watched your people develop. You are the only people we’ve ever encountered that exist in only one part.”

I stopped walking, “Wait. Wait. Guys. You mean, there’s not five of you? There’s only one of you?”

They all five nodded. “Yes. We are five parts.”

“We never get lonely.”

“We have always been fascinated by your people.”

“Because. All your parts are independent. You only have one part.”

As they guided me through the complex, I had to make one comment. “So. Perhaps this explains why we all live in boxes.”

I was actually kind of fun to hear the Bungee laugh. Especially knowing that all five of them were one Bungee. “Y’all are going to take some getting used to.”

“Indeed, Earthling. Indeed.”

“I can’t wait until you meet the Swarm.”

“They each have millions of parts.”

I couldn’t imagine that. One being. With millions of parts.

This exploring the galaxy thing was going to be rather interesting. I wondered how the science team would react to what Bungees really were.

Remember, people. The universe is weird. Much weirder than you can imagine. “I don’t think we’re ready to meet the Swarm.”

The Bungee spoke once more. “They will show themselves when they think you are ready.” It paused. “And no one is ever ready to meet them.”

784 Words

This is written for Week 43 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. This week, I managed to beat the deadline. Barely. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.


Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/02/21

Alaesa walked the ice each day, though it brought tears to her eyes. Silverbow walked beside her. It was what he did, cared for her. Through everything. Through the ages of mankind. Century after endless century.

His heart ached to see her cry, though he knew there was nothing to be done. The humans had become such a cold people. Such an uncaring people.

“Perhaps,” he let the back of his hand brush hers, “they will someday learn.”

Alaesa paused in her walk on the ice, and slowly shook her head. “Some of them, perhaps. But as a whole. They are doomed.”

Silverbow watched the crystal tear fall from her eye as it drew a line down her cheek. He did not cry. Not when she needed him to carry her. Not when she needed him to care for her.

“They have doomed themselves.” She stared at her feet, on the ice. “So, I walk the lake. To find what hearts I can. To set them free.”

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. There was only the walk with her. On the ice. Searching for the frozen hearts of the lost. Those who cared, who felt, who cried, until the human world crushed them, wounded them, and cast them aside, so they wound up here.


In the lake.

“If you find them, we will care for them.” He tried to smile, for her. He knew he failed. But she smiled at him anyway.

“Would that we didn’t have to, my love.” She grasped his hand, and her smile reminded him once more, he could bear anything, carry any weight, with her by his side.

Together, they walked the lake. Alaesa always studying the ice, searching for a glint of something Silverbow knew he could never see. “Sometimes, I wonder if your gift from life is a burden, or a blessing.”

Alaesa laughed, music to his ears. “Aren’t all blessings burdens, my love?” She knew it was true. Their people knew it from eons of existence, eons of growth, and learning.

“Indeed…” He said nothing more.

They walked, patiently, back and forth, along the frozen surface, while she searched. The sun rose to its zenith, then settled to the horizon. As it touched the tree line, Alaesa stopped, and pointed, “There!”

She lead him to a blank, frozen space on the ice, no more than one hundred steps from the shore. Though she knew no words were needed, she spoke them anyway, “Stand beside me, please. To keep me warm. So my own heart does not freeze.”

As she knelt on the ice, Silverbow placed his hands on her shoulders, and willed every ounce of warmth from his heart, his soul, to her own. She placed her hands on the ice, and began to cry from the cold as it bit into her hands, and then into her arms.

The ice melted. Slowly at first, then rapidly, a pool of liquid water formed on the lake. Silverbow felt the cold flowing from Alaesa. He willed himself to be warmer. To fight the cold with the warmth of his life, the strength of his heart, the love he felt for her.

It was enough. It was always enough.He watched as a glint of red appeared in the ice at the bottom of the water. He held her shoulders, and poured his heat into her, as she reached through the water, to the ice, and began to melt the red glint free.

The coldest winter he had ever known as nothing compared to this. The deepest snow, the fiercest wind. All paled next to this cold. The cold of a frozen world. A people who had lost their way. Whose hearts had turned colder than any ice, and harder than any stone.

That’s what Alaesa thawed. That’s what she melted. To reach one glint of red. Freed from the ice, it floated to the surface of the water. There, she reached for it, lifted it, freed it from the cold.

The heart and soul of a human. One who could not live in their world any more. She held it to her own heart, to warm it, thaw it, let it know it was safe, and could feel, and breathe, and care once more.

Silverbow helped her stand, and together they walked from the lake, to Sherarta, their home. Where the freed human would join others of his kind. Where the elves would heal the wounds of another once again. Where perhaps, someday. The remnants of the human race would be able to return to their home, with all they had learned, and start their world anew.

It was Alaesa’s hope. Her dream.

This Silverbow knew. As he knew he would do all he could to help her dream come true.

801 words

This is written for Week 42 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. If not for a killer headache, I would have written this last night, and not been a day late. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Never felt the need to write a second entry before. But this week, with that picture, I had more than one story to set free. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/02/11

Raine peaked out the window, and took one last look at the sunshine. “The trees look lovely today, don’t they?” She laughed at herself. No one was there to ask. Just her. Everything was ready. It was time.

She felt the warmth of the brooch on her necklace, right above her heart, where it should be. Where it had been since she’d found it. A necklace with a golden glow, like a bright candle in a dark room.

The necklace stayed in her apartment. She never wore it in public, in part because the necklace had asked her not to. She knew others would laugh at that. “Necklaces don’t talk.” That’s what they’d say.

And she’d have to respond, “No. But fairies do.”

The fairy, Liliana, had watched over Raine, since that day, years ago. “One day, Raine, it will be time for me to return to my home.”

Raine had asked many Liliana many questions about her home. It was a different world. In a different time, and place. A world of moonlight, elves, fairies, dwarfs, pixies, and humans who had no other home.

Raine fell in love with that world. A world where she didn’t have to put on a business dress each day, and march to work, and spend eight hours answering a phone, and scheduling appointments for the doctor. A world where she didn’t get yelled at when the doctor had to make an emergency run to the hospital to help stitch together a gunshot or stabbing victim, and it inconvenienced a mother who had to be home in time to care for her children. A world where she didn’t cry when the doctor took a pill to deaden the pain of having watched someone’s heart stop beating, and then having to get yelled at by a father whose son had a concussion, and wouldn’t be able to play football on Saturday.

A world where she didn’t have to walk with the other girls, just to go to the restroom, or the grocery store. Where she could eat her fast food lunch at a table without some guy asking her if she’d like company, and calling her a whore if she said no. Where she wouldn’t fall for some guy who took her out, and charmed her, and treated her like a princess until he found a prettier model, and dumped her.

She pulled off her shirt, and bra, and looked at the fairy broach. She heard Liliana so clearly, “It’s almost time.” She pulled off her shoes and stockings, and stood only in her skirt. “Are you ready, Raine?”

Raine nodded.

“Don’t be frightened. It’s just how quantum mechanics work. How entanglement works. When quanta from one place become linked to those in another. Especially if the two places don’t have the same laws of physics.”

Raine did what Liliana had taught her, and moved the broach behind her back. It’s warmth helped calm her. “Raine. Now it starts.”

The world started to go insane. Outside, the sunshine continued. The trees were as beautiful as ever. But inside, the room began to fill with water. Ocean water. From a rock strewn beach. Rain found herself standing in that water. The door to the room vanished, replaced by a night time sky, with a full moon, and dark clouds, and more of the ocean she was in. The door frame appeared to catch fire.

“Take me home, Raine. Please. Take me home.”

Raine stepped through the ocean, through the door frame.

And she was gone.

The room was as it had always been. Her clothes rested neatly in a pile on the floor. The sun still shined.

But Raine was gone, never to be found, never to be seen again, in our world.

627 Words.

Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 41st week. You can read about her small fiction challenge here. This week, I knew what I wanted to say. Don’t know if I said it, but at least I tried. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2017/07/02

There were times I felt like slapping Stan. There we were, in the abandoned station, tracking down whatever it was that was dragging people away, and he was singing, “Who let the dogs out? Who? Who? Who? Who? Who let the dogs out?” Grinning like he was in high school.

“Would you shut up?”

Stan kept right on singing, and added dancing, right in front of me.

All I could do was look at the roof of the station, and stare through the windows. “This is Gods punishment for me, isn’t it?”

After Stan sang another verse, I interrupted him again, “I can’t hear the dogs, you know.”

He stopped, cupped an ear, and pretended to listen intently, “Can’t hear the dogs bark? Bark? Bark? Bark? Bar?”

We’d set the dogs loose five minutes earlier. They knew what to do, very special dogs, very trained dogs. Damn expensive ones too. They moved like a team, with one goal. Find anything that looked interesting. Anything human, or anything that might interest their handlers. Dead bodies. Body parts. Bombs. A drug cache. Whatever. When the found it, they’d corner it, and bark like crazy.

Our job was to follow them after ten minutes. Give them time to make certain the area was safe, and then move to the next area. We’d follow behind, within earshot, and listen.

Stan looked pretty stupid with an AR-15 over each shoulder, a belt of grenades across his chest, and kevlar body armor all over, as he sang that damn song. “Who let the dogs out?”

Yeah, we were armed for bear. Actually, we were armed for God only knew what, ‘cause no one knew what we were hunting. No one alive had ever seen it. All anyone knew was something strange was happening. It’d started a couple months ago, with homeless people living outside the station. They’d started to disappear. After three of four of them vanished, the other started reporting them as missing. By the time six had vanished, the homeless moved. All of them. Moved.

That’s when people in the nearby buildings started to disappear. After a few of them, the landlords put in guards at night, to make the buildings safe, and reassure the residents. Then, the guards started disappearing.

Locked doors, armed guards, no gunshots, no signs of a fight or struggle, and the list had grown to nineteen names missing. And no one knew where, or what had happened. The only thing anyone had were stories. “He walked past, going down the hallway. I know ‘cause his flashlight lit the hall as he walked past. Shined under the door, then faded. And then, he didn’t come back. All night. Never came back.”

The stories were all the same. People just vanished. “We need a clue. Call the guys. Send them in. Have the look. That way, we can tell them it’s nothing from the old station. It’s just people. Being people. And leaving for some reason.”

So, there we were, at two in the morning, walking through the old train station, and the parts of tunnels tied to it. Looking for nothing.

“Who let the dogs out?”

Steve didn’t get to finish. The dogs were barking. All the dogs were barking. And their barking was getting louder. Steve pulled an AR-15, got ready. I pulled one too. The barking was louder, and in a few seconds, the dogs came running back into the station. It didn’t take a genius to see they were terrified. And they didn’t stop. They raced past us, and toward the exits. I mentioned they were smart dogs, well trained? They let themselves out, and kept right on running.

Steve looked at me, he scowled, “Well. That can’t be a good thing.”

And we waited. Ready to shoot at anything that moved. Even the shadows. We waited. And sure enough, the shadows moved. Steve emptied his AR’s entire clip into thin air. I watched, as the shadows detached from the wall, from the corner, and spread across the room, where no shadows should have been.

They reached Steve. Covered him. He pulled a grenade, threw it into the shadows. There wasn’t even a flash of light. Then, he was gone.

That was two weeks ago. That’s the last time anyone saw Steve.

715 Words

Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 17th week (I missed Week 16! AIEEE!). You can read about the challenge here. This week, I can’t help but wonder what the heck I’ve started this time. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that show up. They are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2017/05/28

I walked to the end of my backyard boat dock, and waited. “She always comes after dark,” I knew those words well. It had taken time, but I’d learned them.

Her name was Lyria, and she was every bit as magical, and beautiful as her name. “Lyria,” I mumbled her name, and sighed, as I waited for sunset. I knew she’d arrive soon enough. She’d promised.

As I waited, I closed my eyes, and tried to paint her face in my mind. I found I couldn’t. No image I could conjure, no matter how simple, no matter how detailed, could capture what I saw when I looked at her. I sighed, then took a deep breath. “I keep trying, though I know it’s futile.”

The sun touched the horizon on the far side of the lake, and I felt my pulse rising. I felt everything in those moments. The soft breeze from the land, back to the lake, as the ground cooled more rapidly than the lake. A cool breeze. Just enough for my skin to sense it. Just enough for me to shudder at the exquisite sensation. I closed my eyes, and let my arms, shoulders, sides feel the breeze.

After a few moments, I opened my eyes, and found the sun. More of it was hidden now. The light of the sky was changing. Reds, pinks, oranges, and golds, started to paint the sky. It was all reflected on the surface of the lake. Such a still surface, no waves, no ripples. Like a mirror.

The clouds changed from white, cotton candy, to orange and gold cotton. The finest cotton of all, perfect puffs, each with feathered edges, pillowed puffs, and trails of fibers tying them together. The filled the sky, as far as I could see. I sat down, hung my feet off the end of the doc, let my toes touch the water.


I waited, as I watched the sun fall behind the horizon. Like a curtain being drawn upward, instead of lowered. The day was drawing to an end.

“She always comes after dark.”

I watched as more of the sun disappeared, with a brilliant flash of gold that lit the sky. The day had ended. It was dark, except for the light reflected and refracted by the clouds. So many shades of gold, yellow, orange. I couldn’t have painted a better sunset had I tried. I knew, no one could ever capture such a sunset, even with a camera. Any camera. It would be a small glimpse, a small sliver of the real image. And image I could remember. One I could paint in my mind, even if I didn’t close my eyes.

It was almost time.

I waited. My toes rested on the water’s surface. I didn’t move. I felt the water, let it talk to my toes, my skin, me. Touch can be so wonderful. Can express so much. Can say so much words can never capture.

Lyria came to me. Across the water of the lake, she walked, like it was solid ground. She stopped just out of my reach. She always did. I knew not to follow her. Not to reach for her. There are beings in this world we are not meant to hold. To touch them is to corrupt them. To ruin them.

I would not, could not ruin her.

She stood, on the water, and smiled at me, as she placed the tips of her fingers on my cheek. I cried. I always cried.

Then, Lyria sang.

And my heart was free.

When the dawn arrived, I stirred. I would be stiff. I was always stiff after I slept on the dock. But I did not care.

Lyria had come. As she’d promised. As she’s promised again, after she sang that night. A song she’s meant only for me. I heard her words. “When the time is right, I would see you again.”

I would be there, on the end of the dock. Waiting. When the time was right. Watching as the sun set. And the sky was transformed once again. For I knew.

Lyria would come.

And I knew, as did she. So long as she came, and sang for me, and touched my face, and held me while I slept.

My heart would find the will to keep going in a world I never made.

731 words

Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 12th week. You can read about the challenge here. I continue to enjoy writing for it every week so far. And every week I wonder where the words came from. Seems I just have to get out of my way, and let each story happen. Please, go read her short tale this week, and any others that show up.