Skip to main content

Short Story: The Trials of an Unnamed Character

This is the story of my life. Literally. I wake up in the morning and each day is a new beginning. I find myself in a different bed, in a different room. The books on the bookshelves have different titles. That cup of tea I left on my desk last night? It's now a cold cup of coffee.

One day, I hear my husband singing in the shower. The next day, there is nothing but silence. He doesn't exist anymore. Sometimes, I remember his name, but he's no longer the man I married. He could end up as a relative, my best friend, the antagonist who makes my life a living hell. My darling cat is now the huge yellow labrador retriever sprawled across my bed. At least the dog doesn't snore.

My best friend used to live next door. Her house is empty now. I get a phone call; she's moved to an apartment downtown. Last week, she worked at a coffee shop, but now she spends her days at the office. What exactly does she do? I have no idea, and frankly, I'm not sure she does, either. Hell, what happened to her spouse? They're as elusive as mine...or at least, the one I'm pretty sure I had, at one point in time.

They say that your fate is written in the stars. I'm not sure if I've ever seen any in the sky, come to think about it. The moon's always full, the leaves swirl in a constant wind around my feet. Time really has no meaning, I guess, though I'm pretty sure I'm here. I exist, just in this really weird dimension that keeps changing, as if at someone's whim. If a God, or Goddess, or some sort of Cosmic Force keeps being this fickle, maybe I can file a complaint somewhere. 

Just as I settle into my new existence, I hear the telltale clatter of keys. Panicked, I see, in my mind's eye, yet another wave of change. I feel it in my bones, the very essence of my strange existence.

"Not again!"

Skeins are pulled apart, fate betrays me once again, and the letters on the page rearrange themselves. Sentences once there are erased, whole paragraphs and chapters edited and deleted. Who was doing this?! Who was reshaping time and space? Who even had this sort of power?

The Author. Of course. 

And my surroundings began to change yet again.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Writing Prompt: The Queen of Possiblities

The #vssfantasy prompt word is "becoming." Moonlight bathed the nursery. A silver light diffused through the trees and touched every leaf within. My Guide guided me down the dirt path. My ears caught a hint of harp music, with a soft melody of pipes and flute.The sharp smell of fresh rain and spring dew tickled my nostrils. All of my senses told me I was outside, under the bright full moon. I saw no signage or any directional arrows, but before I knew it, the path ended at a wide, green meadow. "Where are we?" The Guide smiled. She tossed her head and her long lavender braid sparkled with glitter. "We are close, please follow me."  Before I could say a word, she was down the path. Her feet didn't even touch the ground; her white diaphanous robe shifted with the wind. I scrambled to catch up. Unfortunately for me, my Human capabilities were limited in the Fae realm, and I had to use my own two feet.  "I'm glad you responded to our Call. Some ar...

Prompt: The Heirloom Cane (Prompt from "400 Story Seeds to Crush Writers Block")

 From  400 Story Seeds to Crush Writers Block by M. Kirin Prompt: Write about a young character who needs a cane to walk and thus are gifted the cane of one of their late grandparents. What is the history of this cane? Is this the first time it's been passed down? How does this young character feel about the present?Do they find shame in such an antiquated item...or does it inspire them to go on, much like it inspired their ancestors? He turned it over in his hands. Smooth polished wood, set in a metal sheath that gleamed in the sunlight. He thought he could catch the faintest whiff of fragrance, perhaps teak or sandalwood. The curved handle was inlaid with gold with a copper pattern embedded within it.  "This was Grandpa's? I don't think I've ever seen him use it before." His grandmother nodded as she set the cup of tea before him. "This was his formal cane. He only used it for special occasions, like weddings, funerals, and outings to the theatre. You k...

Writing Prompt Repost: The Corpse in the Window

This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog. This is done more in verse, but it tells a story. _____ Prompt from  “ 642 Things to Write About” by the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto ): The corpse you saw in the Undertaker's window She looked almost alive. Almost. The false flush of life in her sallow cheeks. Eyes closed in a timeless sleep. Dark hair set in curly waves across her shoulders and hands clasped serenely over her breast. She looked almost alive Almost. White satin and lace a black rose in the bodice. Delicate silk gloves to the elbow. Ivory stockings a garter on her thigh never thrown. She looked almost alive Almost. Long lashes against a colorless cheek. A trusting smile frozen in time. Never knowing the betrayal the lurked behind the eyes of her beloved. She looked almost alive Almost. If she could take another breath and feel lov...