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Untitled Opening 432 words There was an uncertainty in the wind that blew in over the prairies. Jack laughed, despite himself. Seventeen years and all that he had given her was a daughter; now, not even a home for that daughter to live in. At least he hadn't taken away her mother. She did that herself upon news of the repossession. The owner-man hadn't sugar-coated his words. Jack could stand it, but Mary - it hurt so to say her name - hadn't sugar-coated her actions. She had decided that there was nothing left for her here now and with a small case of scant belongings rode with the bulldozer man back to the depot. Hours later he was still in the same place but now the wind had roused a dust storm, and it rode in, rolled in as a great pyroclast or hurricane's wall. A broad cliff of dust, rising six stories high or more, reckoned Jack, but he'd never been to the city so it was hard to judge. He'd have to leave soon, he knew that. It was an era of selfishness, of inherited debts but lacking legacy. And surely his daughter would want to flee from it too. Perhaps she already had. He turned to check. No, still there. But land was a man's game, a male inheritance. You were born on your father's land, worked it, till you owned it yourself and died on it. Now the bank owned it, meaning several thousand investors owned an inch square of the acres each. What could a man do with a square inch of farm? But it was no farm, not any more, just a great sandy landscape, featureless and barren. Not even a farmhouse now. He'd have to go West, find himself a- But what was Jack looking for? A purpose? No, he had his daughter to live for, even if his wife didn't. A home? Well, home was where you laid your head, however much history a house had to make it a sad thing to lose, so it wasn't that either. No... find himself a- or was that it, find himself? He smiled the thin smile of cynic re-invigorated by the tantalising prospect of honest-to-God hope. Escape from fatalism in wrenching back control of one's own destiny was a heady, intoxicating prospect. Control was tempting, and Jack fell to its allure without a care for the outcome. His grin widened as he realised he'd literally thrown caution to the approaching Easterly wind. The path was clear. His grizzled jaw was set. He would head West to find himself - daughter in tow.
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May 13, 2015 10:32
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| # ¿ May 11, 2024 04:20 |
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Ulterior Motives, 1000 Words I desperately needed to switch into the 3:30 Psych class, but my advisor, Mister Black was being a huge roadblock - a real cock-gobbling dickhole. Did that even make sense? Some sort of cannibalistic dick monster? Whatever. The point is, my personal future and the fate of all mankind depended on me switching out of Chem, and I didn't have the proper papers signed. I gave a sigh and brushed a lock of blond hair out of my face. I didn't really need the papers, of course. A lifetime of careful envelope pushing had ingrained in me an almost supernatural sense of who could grease what wheels, and Mr. Black was the lube keeper of this particular train. Unfortunately, he had 'reservations'. "I understand that Psych would fulfill your natural science requirement just as well as Chem, Stacey. But you told me that you wanted to be an engineer. I'm just worried that you're sidetracking your future over, um...." He looked mildly uncomfortable. "A spring fling," I provided helpfully. I was aware of my 'reputation', and Mr. Black wasn't too far off from the mark. I WAS switching classes to be closer to a guy, after all. Just not the way he thought. I gave another exasperated sigh - I really didn't have the time or energy to deal with this. "Mr. Black - Marcus..." He looked up, stricken. He knew what was coming. I gave a calming smile. "Remember last summer - my ex-boyfriend, trying to figure things out with, you know, 'things'. And then I stumbled in on the two of you. Together." "Now, Stacey, you promised me you wouldn't say anything-" "I did, and I kept my promise, didn't I? I showed you just how trustworthy I could be at keeping secrets. And now, Marcus, I'm asking you to trust me again. It's very, very important that I take this class. Please? For someone who has done so much for you?" Mr. Black sighed and signed the document. "I guess you’re really determined about this, Stacey. I just hope you know what you're doing." Oh, I did. If there was anything I knew, it was the vital importance of getting close my target. I smiled and took the class transfer. Becky was waiting outside. My partner in crime was fidgeting with something in her pocket. "I assume you've got it, the way you're acting so suspicious," I scolded her, softly. "Seriously, girlfriend, relax. We haven't done anything wrong... yet." "Sorry," she said, staring at her Mary Janes. She was a mousy, quiet little thing who dressed modestly, in stark contrast to myself. She was my favorite person in the world. "I just never did anything like this before." "Yeah, well, me neither. But there's a first time for everything. And the important bit is confidence and normality. Come on, we're in a secluded spot. Hand it over so I can take care of things on Thursday." Becky nodded and pulled it out of her pocket. A small, brown bottle of what I hoped was the colourless liquid I'd sent her for was thrust into my hand. As I clasped my fingers over Becky's I noticed my watch edging closer to 3:15. I was glad I'd brought the psych textbooks, just in case. "Come on," I said, "It's nearly time." I wasn't lying: what was in the bottle was strictly legal. What I was planning to do with it, however... The liquid was for step two, and that would need Thursday's thunderstorm to carry off properly. Weather is unpredictable, and while that could wreak havoc with arrangements on longer missions, I'd run a few simulations and my arrival shouldn't have disturbed things just two years in. I still expected lightning. The transfer papers had been step one of phase two. Phase one was Chem. My ex-lab-partner Ryan had no clue, but he was now on his way to figuring out the necessary compounds after my "meddling" in his experiments. As Becky and I power-walked across campus, I wondered whether I'd have to transfer back to chem to check his progress, or whether a chance encounter would do. Time would tell. Becky stopped suddenly. "This is it," she began, nervously. "Do you want me to wait, or..." I picked up where she'd trailed off. "No, you can go." Her shoulders, held almost to her ears in tension, relaxed. She scurried away down the corridor. "Now, class, last time you'll remember that we -" Ah, good, just in time. Without knocking, I cradled the brand-new textbooks in my right arm and flung open the door with my left. A squeak. A stage fall. Books everywhere. Everyone's attention. Perfect. "I'm so sorry," I panted, deliberately scrabbling around more than was quite necessary on my hands and knees. I held the transfer papers out, Mr Black's signature almost still wet, "Here's my transfer." The teacher grunted. We weren't going to get along, but I wasn't interested in him. I locked eyes with my target. It was Simon, in the back row. Simon Lane. He looked different from his photos. No grey hair, no pinstripe suit and broad-knotted, boldly-coloured tie. No forced smile on marble steps, waving at anonymous lenses. Just a scrawny college kid with a messy mop and faded band T-shirt. In fact, as I sat next to him, he looked almost intimidated. Good. This shouldn't be too difficult. Because this is where it happened. This is where, on a gloomy campus at a second-tier university, I pushed a previously-middling chemistry student to become a brilliant pioneer. Ryan would go on to develop the cure for a disease that in my past had ravaged mankind. For my now-classmates, it would be twenty-five years in their future. A cure was no good without funding, speedy approval, and a distribution infrastructure though, so I needed Simon. And he didn't know it yet, but here was also where I'd just sat beside who I'd make the future President of the United States. simplefish fucked around with this message at 05:31 on May 18, 2015 |
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May 18, 2015 04:55
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I just realised that I hosed up slightly (though not critically) and have a Marcus Black and Marcus Lane in a 1000-word story.
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May 18, 2015 05:23
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Thank you! E: Marcus Lane is now Simon Lane. For transparency, my opening also had a doing where it should have had a done, so I changed that too. simplefish fucked around with this message at 05:34 on May 18, 2015 |
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May 18, 2015 05:28
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gently caress it, I'm in. Flash me as well, why not?
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May 19, 2015 13:22
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