Tag: fantasy

prompt: Write a story with the aim of making your reader laugh.

available at Reedsy

“I haven’t, but it’s on my bucket list.”

– “Wot’s a bucket list?”

“You ogres have no culture at all, do you?”

– “You wot? We gots a lots of culture.”

“Like what?”

– “Like da Log Drum Festival.”

“What’s that?”

– “You don’t know wot a log drum is?”

“Of course, I know what a log drum is. A hollow log you beat with a stick.”

– “Right. Dat.”

“The festival, what is it?”

– “Oh. We builds a bonfire, beat on da log drums, dance around, and den go kill somefing to frow in the fire for eats.”

“One festival hardly makes a culture.”

– “Dere’s also da Skin Drum Festival.”

“The same thing, only with skin drums?”

– “No. Totally different.”

“Really? Is there a bonfire?”

– “Yeah.”

“And you beat on the skin drums?”

– “Yeah.”

“Dancing?”

– “Yeah.”

“Then you kill something, cook it in the fire and eat it?”

– “Exactly.”

“It’s the same thing!”

– “No! Totally different. Skin drums is not log drums, so not da same fing at all!”

“I’d sigh in exasperation, but you wouldn’t get it.”

– “Get wot?”

“Never mind. Any other cultural festivities?”

– “Oh! Children Drum Festival.”

“No. Tell me you don’t beat on children.”

– “Of course not. Da children beat on da drums.”

“Oh. Bonfire, dancing, and then you kill something, yada yada yada?”

– “Yeah.”

“Do you have any festivals that don’t involve killing something?”

– “Da Chieftain’s Festival.”

“Bonfire, drums, and dancing?”

– “Yeah.”

“Then what happens?”

– “Da chieftain shares da meat he brung for da feast.”

“Is there any cultural thing you do that doesn’t involve a bonfire, drums, dancing, and optionally very fresh meat cooked in that same bonfire?”

– “Da Midwinter Festival.”

“No bonfire?”

– “No. Too cold. We has it in da community center place.”

“Drums?”

– “No. Too loud inside.”

“Food?”

– “Yeah. Potluck.”

“Okay, that’s a little better, I guess. Then what?”

– “We plays bingo!”

“Ugh. Do ogres have any cultural things? More … highbrow. Like poetry, music that isn’t just drums, plays, anything?”

– “I told you. We plays bingo. We also plays hopscotch a lots.”

“Hopscotch? Surprising, that. But plays, like Shakespeare’s Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet?”

– “I ain’t played dose. Dey fun?”

“Forget it. Look, I’m just trying to find some kind of cultural connection here. What about clothes? Like, this kilt I’m wearing is Scottish, like me, and the pattern is my clan tartan.”

– “We has fancy clothes, too. Dis is my festival dress. I dressed up for you.”

“It certainly is a lovely brown.”

– “And look, I can wear like we does when festival start.”

“Oh, you can just pop those right out, can’t you?”

– “Better for hopscotch, see?”

“Don’t injure yourself.”

– “Feels good when dey is loose.”

“It, uh, looks rather mesmerizing, although perhaps dangerous.”

– “You funny little human. Not dangerous. I protects you.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. I…uh…can’t breathe…you’re squeezing too tight…and I’m right between your….”

– “Dat’s all da protects you get for now.”

“Thank you.”

– “So, wot is bucket list?”

“It’s a list of things I’d like to do before I kick the bucket.”

– “Why you kick da bucket? It leaks?”

“Not a literal bucket. It’s a euphemism for dying. You know what a euphemism is, right?”

– “I know euphemism. It’s wen da youf say one fing but mean another when dey being sneaky.”

“Not…exactly, but close enough, I guess.”

– “You sick? You looks healfy.”

“No, I’m not sick. I’m healthy and doing well.”

– “Den why you dying?”

“Oh, I’m not — at least not any time soon, I hope.”

– “Den why da bucket list?”

“It’s just things I think I’d like to try while I’m able. If I do them now, while I’m young and healthy, I won’t look back someday when I am dying and regret not doing them.”

– “Dat’s a good idea. I fink maybe I could makes bucket list and do fun stuff.”

“What are you — oh, your dress has pockets. I guess that counts as culture.”

– “Needs pockets for carry extra meats home.”

“Indeed. I see you have pencil and paper in there, although it appears stained.”

– “And dese.”

“Oh, yes, those would come in handy at a festival.”

– “Okay. I started bucket list.”

“What did you put on it?”

– “Is private.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

– “Wot cultures you got?”

“We have the Highland Games, where we compete in traditional sports like caber-toss, listen to traditional bagpipe music, and eat traditional foods, like haggis. My favorite, though, is Scotch eggs for breakfast.”

– “No bonfire?”

“Not usually, no.”

– “Boring. Wot else?”

“Poetry. Of course, there’s Robert Burns … but there’s others as well.”

– “Robert burns wot? Bonfires?”

“No, no. That’s his name, Robert Burns.”

– “Dumb name if he not burns somefing. Anyfing else?”

“Highland music; the bagpipes and the….”

– “Drums?”

“Uh, yeah, the bagpipes and the drums.”

– “Even silly humans know drums is good.”

“But don’t forget the bagpipes.”

– “Dey sound like dying sheep stepped on by troll. Hurt ears.”

“That’s … that’s fair, I guess. But don’t forget the fiddle.”

– “Fiddle is fing wit’ squeaky strings?”

“It can be, if the player’s not very good.”

– “No good players, den?”

“Ugh. Never mind.”

– “Anyfing else?”

“There are Scottish playwrights, authors, musicians, artists — like Sir Henry Raeburn. He’s a bit famous.”

– “He not burns nofing too?”

“No, his last name is Raeburn.”

– “Why name people wot dey don’t do?”

“It’s um, a cultural thing?”

– “I knowed it. Culture is dumb. Except best ogre culture of all.”

“What’s that?”

– “Culture for making goat milk cheese.”

“Hah! That’s funny! You’ve got a keen sense of humor.”

– “And smell. You petted dog on way here, it rubbed on your left leg.”

“You can tell that by smell alone?”

– “Dog I can smell, dark fur on light trousers I see.”

 “I’m wearing a kilt, those are my legs — you’re having me on!”

– “Dat’s da goal.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so humorous. You just keep impressing me.”

– “Okay, if you says.”

“I…can’t…breathe.”

– “You said to press.”

“Oof. I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

– “Kind of serious. If you wants.”

“Well, it’s possible. You’re very attractive. Not just for an ogre, but in general. Big strong woman like you, I’m sure you’ve had your pick of humans. So, to turn the original question back on you, have you ever had sex with a human?”

– “Not yet, but you’re on bucket list.”

“Seriously?”

– “This serious.”

“That’s — a whole roll — what, a dozen? You think we’ll need that many?”

– “For starts. I has more at home.”

“Oh, I hope I can keep up. And there goes the dress again. They really are magnificent.”

– “If you no keeps up, at least it’s one fing off your bucket list.”

“Too true. Lead the way — oh, right here? Okay.”

prompt: Write a story with a number or time in the title.

available at Reedsy

Nonum Incarcera — Ninth Prison — also known as Nonum Infernum, Ninth Hell, The Pit, The Devil’s Asshole, and more frightening names, kept its secrets and prisoners bound up tight. The only sentence served at the Ninth was life. The prison sat in a volcanic valley, sealed by magic, auto-blasters, and the heavily guarded borders of the no-man’s-land where it was located between Dwarven, Elven, and Orcish nations.

Its founding during the Neoclassical boom of the early 18^th century was evident from its architecture, its Latin name, and the Latin titles for many of the personnel. Those historical holdovers were slowly being eroded, but with the long-lived races in charge, the pace of that change was glacial.

While all the races shared in maintaining the prison, the bulk of the inside guards were orcs, ogres, trolls, and hill giants. Outside, centaurs and fleet-footed elves patrolled the dead-end valley and cliff walls, while dwarves and dark elves manned the caverns that provided the only outside access to the valley.

Only the worst of the worst were sent to the Ninth, and the dwarves guarding the in-valley cavern entrance saw them all. Mad fae enclosed in cages of iron, power-corrupted sorcerers bound with magic dispelling chains, blood-thirsty warlords of all sorts bound hand and foot, some even hogtied. In short, prisoner transport was entirely safe for everyone but the prisoner.

That’s what made the entrance of the latest prisoner so odd. Dark elves walked alongside a human in prison garb, the three of them chatting and laughing. She wasn’t bound in any way and wasn’t brought in a wagon or cart. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the prison grays she wore, it would seem to be three friends out for a stroll.

Blasters whined to their ready state as the dwarves standing guard drew on the trio. The guard commander called out, “Stop there, and stand by for inspection! Lethal force is authorized.”

The three stopped, one of the dark elves holding out a clipboard in one hand, cuffs and shackles in the other. The second nodded at the human woman, who put her hands flat on top of her head. “Would you like me to get on the ground, or anything like that?” she asked.

The guard commander stroked his beard. “No, that’s not necessary, just don’t move.”

“You got it, boss,” she said.

The dark elf guard with the clipboard offered the cuffs and shackles to the dwarf guard. “If you think you need ’em, you can have ’em. She’s bein’ good, though. Hell, she volunteered to walk in when the transport wagon broke down outside the east gate.”

“You walked five miles to get here?” the dwarf asked.

“I did, sir,” she answered.

As the dwarf began looking over the paperwork for the prisoner, he was interrupted by the warden. “Praetorius, I need to talk to the prisoner in your office, please.”

“Aye, Dux Custodiae,” the guard commander said. “Would you like me to bind her first?”

“No, thank you. I will take those shackles and cuffs, though.” The warden, one of the only elves to work inside the prison, and perhaps the smallest employee in the entire complex, smoothed her uniform jacket and turned toward the human woman. “Please step through the metal detector and magic detector, then step into the office here.”

The woman did as told and took a seat across the desk from the warden. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Ms. Palmer,” the warden said, “I’m Chief Warden Highoak. I’m in charge of the women’s wing of the prison.”

“Please, ma’am, Trish is fine.”

“Ms. Palmer, I’m confused by your record.” Highoak flipped through the papers that had been passed along by the dark elves. “Normal life for thirty years, then six ex-boyfriends murdered in two years.”

Trish shrugged and smiled. “I was set up. Didn’t do it.”

“Poison — utterly cliché. It seems like a severe lack of impulse control. You aren’t going to be a problem, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I just want to keep my head down and do my time.”

Warden Highoak leaned across the desk. “You understand, you are here to ‘do time’ for life, right?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. At least, until my appeal makes it to court. I’m sure my defense team can find the real killer and I’ll be exonerated.”

Highoak cuffed and shackled Trish and led her into the prison proper herself. Once there, she handed her off to intake with her paperwork. After a search, she was issued a uniform, mattress, blanket, pillow, and hygiene kit, and allowed to keep her notebook and soft-tip pen.

Based on the nature of her crimes, she wasn’t deemed a danger to other prisoners. As such, her new cell was in general population. Her cellmate was an ancient ogre, missing a hand and one eye, thinning grey hair hanging limp over a heavily wrinkled face.

“Bottom bunk’s mine,” the ogre said.

“Sure thing. The name’s Trish.”

The ogre simply grunted in reply.

Taking the hint, Trish kept quiet as she made up her bunk and set her sparse belongings on the little shelf next to her bunk. Once she was settled in, she wandered the common area. Those that seemed somewhat friendly she greeted.

A hill giant guard stepped in front of her. “Hey, fish! You need to understand something.”

Trish looked up at the guard’s face. “Yes, ma’am. What do I need to understand?”

“Gumgrut runs the floor here. She tells you to jump you ask how high on the way up.” The guard cleared her throat. “Unless she asks you to do something illegal.”

Trish looked at the guard’s nametag. “I don’t know Gumgrut, Officer Parumpf.”

“Your cellie,” Parumpf said.

“I thought that was the guards’ job? Or the warden?”

“If a guard tells you to do something, you do it or go to solitary.” The guard crouched down to put her face on a level with Trish. “If Gumgrut tells you to do something and you don’t, you might end up dead. Just stay clear of the troublemakers and contraband, and you’ll be fine. If you have a question or a problem, look for me or Officer Wallford. We won’t steer you wrong. If you just want to bitch about something, I’d recommend the bitch in the mirror.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Trish said. “Got it. Um, what time’s dinner?”

“Six. You’ll hear the call.” Parumpf stood. “Now get out of here. Library’s open, if you’re into that.”

Trish wandered around some more, making her eventual way to the library. Her eyes took in everything without any obvious ogling. It was clear that notes were being passed between the women’s section and men’s section through the library. The prisoners working in the library were in on it, and it didn’t seem the lone guard, a bored-looking orc, was paying any attention.

At dinner, she found a quiet corner in which to sit, where she was joined by a boisterous dwarf. She smiled and nodded along as the dwarf woman regaled her with grossly exaggerated stories of how she killed a dozen giants with a spoon because they annoyed her.

Trish knew better than to engage too much with someone so clearly unhinged. Instead, on finishing her dinner, she returned to her cell, where she found Gumgrut already asleep.

As quiet as she could, she climbed into her bunk, pulled out her notebook and pen, and began writing a letter. It was filled with the sort of boring inanities that one might expect of a woman with little hope of freedom trying to stay connected to family.

Beneath the inanity, though, was the real message. Encoded in the letter, she wrote:

Day 1: Arrived. Outer perimeter guards let me walk in without cuffs/shackles. Inner perimeter guards would have let me continue but met with warden who shackled me.

Smuggled in lock pick set, 4 100 krown notes — not internally! — sleight of hand only.

Notes and contraband passing through library. Officer Stormtooth ignored it all.

My cellmate is mob boss Hilda Gumgrut.

Officer Parumpf says Gumgrut ‘runs the floor’ — says I’m to speak to Parumpf or Officer Wallford if I have an issue. Have not met Wallford yet but expect they both defer to Gumgrut.

Expect to find ingress for contraband within original planned 90 days.

Bonus: I will try to find out how Gumgrut continues to run the family from inside.

prompt: Write about a portal or doorway that’s hiding in plain sight.

available at Reedsy

Angel watched the restroom door. A small, stout woman, barely taller than the doorknob’s height, with lime-green hair and a bright, reflective safety vest had gone in several minutes earlier and still hadn’t come out. She hadn’t locked the door, so the green “Vacant” still showed. Angel was so busy watching the door that she didn’t see the woman with the squirming baby until she was already at the door.

Angel opened her mouth to warn her that the room was occupied, but before she could say anything the young woman had gone in and locked the door. With the red “Occupied” showing, Angel wondered what was going on. Was the other woman still in there? Little person or no, she’d be hard to miss.

When the young mother re-emerged with her baby, Angel decided she couldn’t wait any longer. If the green-haired lady was still in there, that was on her.

There was room for a toilet, a sink, a baby-changing station that folded down from the wall, a waste basket below the paper towel dispenser, and just enough room and handholds for wheelchair users to qualify it as “accessible.” What there wasn’t, was a stout, little, green-haired woman in a yellow safety vest.

Angel looked at herself in the mirror above the sink while she washed her hands. I must’ve not been looking when she came out, she thought, or maybe she didn’t go in and I didn’t see it right.

There was a smaller voice that she ignored, trying to tell herself that maybe she didn’t see the woman at all. Angel rubbed the stubble on her head as she walked out. Her coworkers had teased her about having a breakdown and “going full Britney.”

She pretended their comments didn’t bother her, but they did. They wormed their way into her brain like a parasite, infecting her with self-doubt. Her fingers touched the burn at the back of her head. It wasn’t serious, but the pain reminded her that she’d had a good reason to shave her head.

A kid at his birthday party with silly string, plus his auntie with her back turned was a predictable outcome, judging by the amount she’d already had in her hair. The introduction of the birthday cake with lit candles, though, turned the next spray into a flaming projectile.

She still felt awful that she’d ruined his birthday party. There’s something about a grown woman screaming with her hair on fire that puts a damper on the mood. The ER doctor that shaved the back of her head to get at the burn — mostly first degree with a patch of second degree — was kind enough to shave off everything else. It was that or leave the ER looking like a horror movie villain.

Angel returned to the bench to wait for the bus. She still had forty minutes to wait. It was the big downside to living in the boonies — spotty public transportation. She found herself watching the restroom without meaning to. A thin woman with ghostly pale skin and deep brown hair, wearing a safety vest like the one worn by the woman that had disappeared, stepped into the restroom.

When the woman didn’t immediately lock the door, Angel jumped up from the bench and burst into the restroom. She was ready to apologize but there was no one there she could apologize to. A faint odor of ozone hung in the air, as though an electrical appliance had shorted in the room.

She ran her hands along the sink. When her fingers touched a spot of water on the edge of the basin, a shock ran up her arm, making her jump back.

Even as she boarded the bus for the hour-long journey home, she was trying to rationalize what she’d seen and felt. Maybe she’d seen a man and he’d gone into the men’s restroom. That, combined with static, probably from sitting on the plastic bench, explained it.

Her sleep was fitful, and she woke unrefreshed. The oddity of the restroom bothered her. She didn’t have to work that day, but she packed a lunch in her backpack and took the bus to the city anyway. Ignoring that it made her look suspicious, she watched everyone that came by in a yellow safety vest. The men’s room had a conspicuous “Out of Order” sign hanging from the knob and police tape crossed over it.

She was halfway through a sandwich when a thin man in a yellow safety vest looked at the “Out of Order” sign and walked past to the women’s room. Angel did her best to not look like she was watching. She saw him knock, then duck into the women’s restroom from the corner of her eye.

The door hadn’t had time to close completely by the time she got to it and burst in. The air crackled around the man as he sprinkled water from the sink at his feet. Angel grabbed for his arm and heard a crackle and pop as she was blinded by a blue flash.

Her vision returned, albeit with spots. The man was gone, as was the water he’d sprinkled on the floor around him. She dropped the now-squashed half sandwich into the waste basket and looked at the sink. Feeling silly, she cupped a hand under the automatic faucet and let the collected water drip on her feet.

She felt the hair on her arms stand on end, then found herself standing on a flat stone at the edge of a spring. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of lilac. Hummingbirds drank from flowers on a vine that Angel couldn’t identify. As her gaze shifted away from the immediate surroundings, she found herself facing unbroken wilderness.

Behind her was a road, not of asphalt or concrete or cobbles, but appeared to be an unbroken, smooth slab of granite. She walked out to the center of the road and looked down it. Flanked by trees on both sides, it led straight into the hills where she could see a glimpse of a city.

The sound of wheels crunching over gravel came from behind and she spun around to see what had to be a car. All the parts were there, four wheels with inflated tires, windows, doors, and a driver and passenger. Beyond that, though, it was odd. There was no room front or rear for an engine, and with how quiet it was she guessed it was electric.

The mismatched pair got out. The short woman with green hair she’d seen the previous day, and who she guessed was the thin, pale woman she’d seen after. She hadn’t noticed then, but the thin woman had ears with tall points on them. The shorter woman had her hair pulled up and had smaller points on her ears.

The two approached Angel and the shorter one spoke. “I’m Arva, and she’s Elynia. You’re a human, ain’tcha?”

“Uh, yeah, yes I am.” Angel looked around her again. “Where are we?”

“On the highway between the village of Ost and King City,” Elynia said, “by the Underworld Spring. Who are you, and how did you get here?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Angel, and you both disappeared in the bathroom yesterday, so today I followed a man in—”

“An elf, you mean,” the thin one interjected.

“Elf?”

“Like me. He’s an elf, not a man. Man hasn’t been here for centuries,” Elynia said.

“So, you’re an elf.” Angel pointed at Arva. “Does that mean you’re—”

“A dwarf, right.” 

“Uh, okay, an elf, who was sprinkling water on his feet, and he popped away in a flash of blue light.” Angel shrugged. “I did what I saw him doing and then I was here.”

The small, stout woman said, “You shouldn’ta’ seen that. Ah well, what’s done is done. You’re the first human to cross in what … six, maybe seven-hundred years or thereabouts.”

“Um, cross? Cross what? You said the Underworld Spring. Is this the Underworld? Am I dead?” Angel thought she should be fearful, but all she felt was curiosity.

“No. This is the Overworld. You’re from the Underworld.” Elynia pointed at the spring. “That spring is one of the ‘matching places’ between our worlds. Humans built a city near it and turned the spring into a ‘Park and Ride’ as you call it. Beneath that parking lot and bus stop is the spring, and that’s where the water for your restrooms comes from. It’s the water that ties the realms together.”

“At least until it dries up on your side or ours,” Arva said. “You said he went into the ladies? Why didn’t he use the men’s? It works just the same.”

“Oh, it’s out of order or something. But there’s police tape, too, so—”

“Never mind, I don’t wanna know. The Underworld’s a mess.” Arva let out an exaggerated sigh and snorted. “I don’t suppose we’ll have time to make a crossing today, seeing how we got a human to take to the watch.”

“I can tell you’re all sorts of sad about that,” Elynia said. “Well, Angel, would you like to join us in the car, and we can head to the city? If not, we’ll call the watch to come get you.”

“They’ll just make us do it,” Arva said, flashing a badge.

“What if I just go back to the spring and sprinkle the water on my feet? Wouldn’t I return home?”

“You might, but the watch’ll still come after you.” Arva opened the car. “If you go with us, we can get your promise to secrecy and let you go. Otherwise, we noticed that humans don’t pay attention to people in safety vests. Especially when there’s a group of them, say, lugging all your belongings out of your home. No one would see the watch take you, and your neighbors would assume you moved.”

“Okay, so disappeared or go to the watch and promise to keep mum.” Angel thought for a moment. “Is it in the village, or the city?”

“The city, of course,” Elynia said.

“Well, I guess I could take a look at your city, but I’d really like to check out the village. The air’s so clean here, is everything electric like your car?”

“It’s not electric,” Arva said. “It runs on magic.”

“Right. Because that makes so much sense.” Angel crossed her arms. “I’m not a gullible child.”

“Yet you activated an ancient portal with a sprinkle of water, popped up to the Overworld, and think that everything still needs to work as it does in the Underworld.” Elynia laughed.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Angel got into the car and sat down, followed by the dwarf and elf. “Okay, take me to the watch.”

The doors closed and the car pulled onto the road and took off at speed. No one controlled it, and there were no controls to do so. “Mighty bold to just take command of my car,” Arva said.

“Take command? I was talking to you.” Angel sighed. “Sorry.”

“It shouldn’t take orders from anyone but me,” Arva said, “but you shouldn’t be able to activate the portal, either.”

“I told you I saw magic in a human yesterday.” Elynia wore a smug expression. “This is the one I saw.”

“I didn’t think it possible.” The dwarf stared at Angel. “I guess magic’s not completely dead in the Underworld, then.”

The city rose up before them, spires instead of skyscrapers, parks and green spaces everywhere, and the soft murmur of conversations without the noise of machinery. The watch building was a two-story stone structure that was clearly equivalent to a police station.

Angel entered to gasps as uniformed dwarves, elves, and others she couldn’t identify right off, turned to face her. She gave an awkward wave. “Hi. I’m a human and I got here by, uh, following a guy.”

After two hours of confused questioning, magical testing, and lots of ogling by the other officers, Angel signed a promise to not tell anyone else in the “Underworld” how to cross. She also found a common sense of humor in the dwarf and joined her and Elynia for an early dinner in the city.

Angel checked the time. “Crap. The last bus home is in ten minutes. I won’t make it back.”

“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? We’ve got to put on the stupid vests and go back to the Underworld tomorrow anyway,” Elynia said. “You’ll get to see at least a little of the village.”

“Yeah, I could do that.” Angel thought for a minute. “What are you two doing at lunch tomorrow? I know this great place downtown. Little hole in the wall that does the best Mexican.”

They discussed their plans for the following day as they filed out of the restaurant and piled into the car for the drive to the village.

prompt: Start your story with the lines: “The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.”

available at Reedsy

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. Perhaps, if I was hung over, I’d have a clue, but I feel like I’ve had a good night’s sleep for the first time in recent memory.

I try to remember waking up and moving to where I stand, but there’s nothing. If I’d slept on the small sofa or in one of the armchairs that made up the totality of the room’s furnishings, I would be stiff and sore, not the case.

The thought tickles something in my mind — the case. What case?

I examine the room. Aside from the sparse furnishings, the room has nothing interesting to offer. The walls are covered in pictures of books on bookcases. The sort of thing that could be used as a backdrop for a play or movie. Light comes from a dozen recessed fixtures in the ceiling.

The oddest thing, though, is the lack of any door, window, or other opening. Just to be sure I’m not dreaming, I pinch myself — too hard. It hurts.

There’s too much I don’t know about what’s going on. I take stock of what I do know.

My name is Carmen Carina Alvarez, but I hate it. I go by “CC” instead of the names of my dead grandmother and great aunt. I’m 32, a police officer with a masters in criminal justice — so new the Captain says the ink is still wet on the diploma — and well on my way to making detective.

The last thing I can remember before this room is the Garvey kidnapping case. I was canvassing the apartment building…no, wait, I finished canvassing the building and was walking back out to the cruiser…. It’s all blank after that.

Well, I got in here somehow, and that’s how I’m getting out. I walk along the walls, feeling the slick wallpaper with its images of books on shelves. There has to be a seam somewhere.

I stop halfway along the second wall. Even if I can’t find a seam, I can make one. I reach for my knife in the pouch on my duty belt, only to realize I’m not in uniform.

I’m wearing my work clothes from my old construction job, pre-academy. Old cargo pants and a flannel shirt. No knife in my pocket, but I do have a pen.

I open it, press hard against the wallpaper and drag it back and forth over the same spot to get a hole started. It feels a little wrong to mess up my pen this way, but getting out takes priority.

A small hole becomes a larger hole, becomes a place to grab hold and rip. I work both directions from the hole, exposing the dull grey wall behind. With a three-handspan tall strip across the whole wall, I move on to repeat on the next.

It’s while I’m ripping a strip out of the third wall that I find the door. I wonder how they managed to paper over it on the inside for a moment, then decide it’s better just to get out.

There are no hinges on the inside, so the door must open out. I give it a push, but it doesn’t budge. Without being able to determine which side the hinges are on, I try shouldering it open, first from the left, then the right.

When trying the right side, I hear a slight crack. I back up and try again. Another crack but more faint this time. I need more mass.

I flip the sofa off its legs onto its upholstered back. It slides on the wood floor without much effort. I start from the far side of the room and run the sofa into the stubborn door like a battering ram.

The crack is much louder this time, and I see the door flex a little. I do it again and the sofa gets caught partway through the now open door, where a broken lock bracket hangs from the wall. Just beyond the sofa and door is a toppled bookcase.

I climb over the sofa and bookcase and examine the new room. Where the previous had a few furnishings and pictures of bookcases full of books, this one has bare, grey walls lined with mostly empty bookcases. Real bookcases.

I don’t see another door besides the one I just stepped through, so I examine the dozen or so books. They’re all textbooks I used in the past. Curious, I pick up the Intro to Criminal Justice book from my freshman year. I flip through it and see all my highlighter marks and notes.

It’s not just the same edition, it’s the actual book I used. There’s a rude drawing on page 317 that was already there when I bought it used from the campus store. I take a few minutes to look through all fourteen books in the room and verify that they’re all my copies.

As I finish examining each one, I put it on a middle shelf in the order I used them in school. Placed all together like that, they seem small and meaningless in a room full of empty shelves.

If these shelves were my life, would they have anything else on them? Well, pictures of family and friends, for sure. I’ve got trinkets from every city I’ve ever visited arranged on shelves at home. Nothing very big, just something I can stuff into my pocket or carry-on and remind myself of a trip.

A tin that used to be full of Almond Roca from the factory in Tacoma, Washington is the largest of them, while the smallest is a half-inch lapel pin that I picked up in a truck stop in Tijuana, Mexico.  It doesn’t look like I’ll have a chance to do any shopping wherever I am.

With no other doors in here, and another wall to strip the paper off in the first room, I decide to give myself a break. I search the shelves, looking for some small, forgotten item on the backs of the highest or lowest shelves. Climbing one of them, I feel something loose in the carved facing.

I jiggle it and a carved flower falls into my hand. Just under an inch, made of wood, and stained a deep brown, I turn it over a couple times and squeeze it in my left hand. Souvenir “shopping” done, I return to the first room to rip the paper from the last wall.

Instead of the room as I’d left it, though, I find all the walls repaired, the sofa back in place, the door still open, and a creature lounging on the sofa. I guess that she’s a demon or devil of some kind, based on the deep red skin, black horns and hooves, and the way she’s twirling the end of her tail in a clawed hand.

“Who are you?”

“Not important,” she says. “What is important is, what you are going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can fight, or you can give up. It’s up to you.” She has a gleam in her solid black eyes that makes me nervous.

“You mean I’m dead,” I say more than ask, “and now it’s time for judgement. Well, if you mean to take me to hell, I’m not going. I’ll fight.” I pull my pen out and brandish it like a weapon. It’s not much against those horns, but it’s better than nothing.

“Nothing quite so final or dramatic as that.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“You can go through the door,” she says, waving at the wall behind her that opens into a bright room, “or you can choose to rest here a while. I’ll fill the shelves with all the books you might want to read until you’re ready to start over.”

“Start over?”

“Yes. You can rest as long as you like—”

“Shut up,” I cut her off. “I’m not staying here.”

I look into the bright light of the open room behind her and recognize the surgical lights shining in my eyes. Without waiting for a response, I run toward the light.

“Wait! You can’t take that! Not so—”

I feel myself slam into my body as pain jolts throughout. I can barely hear her voice trailing off, “…fast, it’ll hurt.”

I’m awake and aware on the operating table. The anesthesiologist is in trouble for this one, but I don’t care. I feel the wooden flower held tightly in my hand. It was real, and I’m alive. All I can do is laugh.

prompt: Your character gets everything they ever wanted — only to realize the true cost.

available at Reedsy

Glory, honor, the chance to prove himself. For any warrior, this would be the chance of a lifetime. For Kendrick, however, prophesied to perform the greatest feat a person could, this was everything. The enemy was encroaching on his clan’s sacred lands. Not other clans, not even people, no. People knew well enough to leave sacred spaces unsullied.

No, these were abominations that shouldn’t exist. They had no connection to the land, no history in this place beyond the last few moons. In those few moons, though, they built their monstrous edifices close to the sacred river on one side and loosed their gargantuan beasts over lands that bordered the shared burial grounds of all the clans.

These giant creatures looked like people, but on an immense scale. If Kendrick was to drive them out, it would require his deep connection to the land. That, and the intelligence and keen minds of people compared to the slow, stupid giants.

Kendrick donned his uniform and headed out to scout the giants in the forest. They weren’t difficult to spot when one knew where to look, but they were surprising in their ability to be stealthy when they desired.

He came across a couple of them, both females. He used his years of experience to climb into the lower canopy without making a sound. If there were females here, there had to be males close by. They wouldn’t let their females wander too far without protection.

As he scanned as far as he could see, the giantesses below him grunted at each other, and one of them scratched marks on a stack of leaves with a stick that had a burnt end.

Clever, but hardly indicative of intelligence. It was likely she saw a person writing and was copying what she’d seen. The leaves were probably because they weren’t smart enough to make clay tablets on which to write.

A crashing in the brush caught his attention. Four males showed up and they grunted at the females. An exchange of grunts later, the females followed the males back into the heavy brush.

Kendrick waited until they were completely out of hearing and returned to the forest floor. Following them would be simple enough. Each of their footprints were as long as he was tall. The female had dropped her burnt stick. It had seemed small in her hand but was nearly as tall as him. The outside was coated in some sort of paint and was smoothed round.

For the time being, he hid the scratching stick in the brush so he could bring it back to the elders to study. He had tracks to follow, if he was to learn everything he could about the monsters. Only fools rushed to attack an enemy they didn’t understand, and Kendrick was not going to be a fool today or any day.

The giants covered great distances in a short time, their immense strides taking them through the forest at a pace unsustainable for any but the largest or swiftest creatures. Even here, though, people had an advantage over the monsters. Through their connection to the forest, people had developed methods of travel that far-outstripped walking or running.

The tracks led to a worn path the size of a major road. In parts, it was as wide as the entire village square. Kendrick followed it to the edge of the clearing where the giants had erected their constructions made from trees torn out of the ground and ripped into strips. He didn’t know how they accomplished that, but he didn’t want to face that kind of strength head-on. He would if he had to, but a harassing strategy was looking like his best bet and there was no one more capable of it than him.

He climbed a tree just a little way back from the clearing, all the way to the very top. Once atop the tree, he unfurled his wings from the pack on his back and jumped. To say he could fly would be an overstatement. Instead, the wings allowed him to soar, gliding down unless he caught a strong updraft. Here in the forest, those kinds of updrafts didn’t happen.

He managed to sail all the way back to where he’d stashed the burnt stick. The elders would know what kind of wood it was, and what kind of paint was on the outside. They might even know how the monsters found such smooth, straight sticks in the first place.

The stick wasn’t overly heavy, but it was too cumbersome to climb with, so he had to walk the rest of the way back to the village. It was nearing sunset when he returned.

Not wanting to alarm anyone with the giant’s stick, he snuck into the village from the back side and made straight for the elder’s hall. The walls were formed of a cottonwood tree that was grown around a clay form. Once the burl formed completely around the clay, it was hollowed out by breaking and removing the clay, and a door added.

Kendrick brought the stick to the elders, who sat around their table, enjoying mushroom soup by the light of a glow-worm lamp. “Elders, one of the monsters, a female, was mimicking writing with this burnt stick on a pile of leaves.”

They all rose from their meal and gathered around to examine the stick. “So smooth,” said the first. “This paint is so even,” said the second. The third sniffed at the blackened end, her forehead crinkled, and she scraped at it with a knife.

The look of consternation didn’t leave her face. The more she scraped, the more blackened dust it created. She grabbed a hatchet from the workbench and began chopping away at the end of the stick.

The more she chopped, the more concerned she looked. Finally, she began chopping at the middle of the stick until the black core showed there as well.

“This is a finely made instrument, not a painted, burnt stick.” She carefully carved away more of the wood from the dark central rod, until the rod broke. “Notice how soft the center is, in order to leave marks. This was not grown like this, either. It was made from dead wood and whatever this central rod is.”

“How can you tell, Grandmother?” Kendrick asked. She wasn’t his actual grandmother, but everyone in the village, including the other elders, “Grandfather” and “Great Aunt ,” called her that.

“Look here,” she said. “This faint line. This is two pieces of dead wood, joined together somehow.”

“You’re saying the giants are smart?” he asked.

“I’m saying they are like people,” she said.

“How will I fulfill my prophecy?” he asked. “If they were brute monsters, I could scare them from the forest and they would leave us alone for many generations. If you’re saying they’re as smart as people….”

“That’s not what Grandmother said,” Great Aunt cut in. “She said they are people.”

“But how? People know how to work with the trees for what they need, rather than kill them. They kill their own beasts and eat their flesh. They are monsters, through and through.” Just saying what he knew of them sent shivers down Kendrick’s spine.

Grandfather chuckled. “Did you think that combat was the only way to fulfill a prophecy? Maybe you’re meant to talk to them and ask them to leave.” He broke down in a coughing laugh until Grandmother caught his eye with her stern expression.

“Kendrick. You’ve worked your whole life toward this,” she said, “but maybe in the wrong direction. Still, take the skills you have and do what you can to keep the giant people from crossing into the burial grounds.”

“I will,” he said. “I will keep them out, even if costs my life.” He strode out of the elder’s hall into the lengthening shadows with a sense of dread purpose.

As the door closed behind him, he heard Great Aunt tut and exclaim, “Always so serious, that one.”

Kendrick spent the night preparing his weapons and trying to decide if anyone should join him as he went to confront the monster people. He ultimately decided he would be better off doing it alone. He set up a mind stone up in his room that would record everything he experienced. Every sight, sound, scent, and vibration; even those he didn’t consciously notice.

If he did die, the elders would know to look for the stone and discover what happened. Either way, he knew he was heading out to fulfill his prophecy.

It took two glides from the tallest trees to reach the trail at the edge of the monsters’ clearing. There was activity in the clearing, with the monsters using open fire to roast the flesh of their slain beasts.

It took all Kendrick had not to vomit, but he steeled himself as he had done in combat with the other clans in the past. The creatures were busy and not paying attention to the tree line, so he took advantage of that. He climbed to the top of one of the trees on the very edge of the clearing, careful to keep himself hidden among the leaves, his uniform providing perfect camouflage.

Three times as he moved into position, one or more of the creatures looked right at him. They must have excellent hearing, he thought. Each time, he froze and waited for them to look away. Since there was no other reaction from them, he was certain he hadn’t been spotted.

Kendrick readied his spear, unfurled his wings, and jumped. He wouldn’t be able to kill them with a single blow, but if he could get over the fire, he could ride the thermals up and keep diving at them and harassing them with his blade.

 Faster than he thought they would be able, one of the females turned and put a hand out, stopping him before he reached the fire. “And now I die,” he said. He froze. There he stood on her palm and any moment now, she would squeeze, and he would be dead.

The blow never came. Instead, the female grunted at him. It sounded like words. The accent was thick, but she was…speaking?!

“Wh—what?” he stammered.

“We’re not going to hurt you, little guy, but you gotta be careful. You almost flew into the fire.” He looked at the giantess. It was the same one he’d seen the previous day, and she had another of the writing sticks behind her ear.

Kendrick growled and raised his spear. “I was going to use the thermals to gain altitude. If you hadn’t seen me, you’d be bleeding profusely right now. I may have lost the element of surprise, but I challenge you all to combat!”

“Why do you want to hurt me?” she asked.

“You’re monsters! You eat the flesh of your beasts and kill the trees. You have no connection to the forest, and yet you are here, defiling it.” He held an aggressive pose on her palm, doing his best to keep from trembling.

“We don’t want to defile anything,” she said. “That’s why we chose this clearing under a dead tree and the wood from it to build our shacks. We’re only going to be here for a year or two, cataloging the animals, then, when we leave, the jungle will reclaim all this and, in a decade or less, it will be as if we were never here.”

“How do you speak the language of people?” he asked. “Are you demons?”

“I was going to ask how a little flying guy in the Amazon speaks Welsh,” she said.

Kendrick moved to jump. His first thrust would be her eye to incapacitate her. Glory was in his hands now.

His lunge was cut short by her other hand blocking him and taking the brunt of the blow. She didn’t even wince as the spear sunk into the meat of her palm. Instead, she pulled her hand away, taking his spear with it. A shake of her hand freed the spear to drop to the ground below.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Kendrick still doing his best to look intimidating. She broke the stalemate. “We’ve seen you several times over the past few weeks. We saw you watching us yesterday. You seemed interested in my pencil,” — another word he didn’t understand until she pointed at the stick behind her ear — “so, I left it for you.”

“How did you see me? I am invisible in the trees.” She shook off his strongest blow and it wasn’t even worthy of a mention. He felt glory slipping away.

She laughed; a monstrous, deep, booming laugh that made his knees weak. “If you want to be sneaky, maybe don’t wear chartreuse and orange.” He didn’t understand a couple of the words, but she smiled at him. “Those bright colors really stand out.”

Kendrick looked at his drab, spotted uniform. There was nothing bright about it. Maybe their eyes just worked different to his. This was getting him nowhere. He had a task, and it was time to do it. He thought about what Grandfather had said, joking or not.

He relaxed his stance. “My name is Kendrick, the strongest warrior of my clan. I have been sent to keep you from entering sacred lands.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kendrick, I’m Anwen. Now, which lands are your sacred lands?”

Kendrick turned in her palm and gestured to the west. “The river toward the sunset from here is strictly for the gods, and all the plants that grow on its shore as well. Do not drink from it, do not water your plants from it, do not allow beasts to drink from it, and do not eat anything that grows within a hundred paces of the river. That’s, um, my paces, not yours.”

“Oh, yes, the creek,” she said. “There’s uranium in the creek. That’s a poisonous rock. We will continue to avoid it. Anywhere else?”

He turned to the south. “There is a clearing to that direction, that lies along the sacred river. Nothing grows there except the stones that mark our dead before their soul travels the gods’ river to the afterlife. It is the shared graveyard of all the clans and is holy ground. Do not go there.”

“Of course,” she said. “We don’t want to disturb your sacred sites, and certainly not your graveyard. Although, one of the horses got loose last week and wandered close to there. Unfortunately, he ate some grass while he was near the river and is sick now. I don’t think he’s going to make it. Is there anywhere else?”

“That is all. I will not reveal the location of our village, or any other clan’s village.”

“You have our word, Kendrick.” Anwen smiled. “You can tell your people that we will be staying here, and in the jungle to the east while we study the animals around here. We’d like to learn more about you and your people, and let your people learn more about us, but we won’t force you. If any of your people want to hang out with a bunch of nerdy humans, you know where to find us. We’ll even make sure to cook vegetarian for you.”

“I never thought I’d talk to a monster, and I never thought a monster would turn out to be a person after all.” Kendrick wanted to get home, but that would require climbing at least twice, unless…. “Anwen, may I ask a favor?”

“Sure, Kendrick. What do you need?”

“Could you move closer to the updraft from the fire?”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m sure.”

She moved her hand over the edge of the fire pit, where Kendrick could feel the warm air rising. He unfurled his wings and jumped, circling to climb high above even the tallest trees on the rising column of air. As he circled ever higher, he caught sight of their food stores; baskets of fruit, mushrooms, strange vegetables he’d never seen, and the largest supply of honey he’d ever laid eyes on. One of them was putting it into a mug of hot water with a bag of something.

Once he was high enough, he left the thermal to glide home. He couldn’t wait to tell the elders about the monsters — giant people, he reminded himself — and their offer. There was to be no moment of glory or honor for a warrior. His single attack attempt had been foiled by only one of the giants, and he’d ended up just asking them. Still, he’d accomplished what he set out to do and he knew he would be back, if for no other reason than to sample their vegetables and honey.