Why did he have to die
Why didn’t the big green guy tear the plane apart
With him in it
Ultimate enemy he’s not
He can’t attack if he’s in pieces
After all the drones would’ve kept up
There would still’ve been a battle
At the same time
I wondered about the hero slain
Couldn’t his body have regenerated
He is super after all
His sister’s cry annihilated the enemy’s attempt to surround
Enhanced her passion
Still would’ve happened
Heart swollen, enraged
At the possibility though t’would change
It’s a waste things ended in that way
No something’s wrong
The turn of events doesn’t follow the plan
Like an actor playing a viking wearing a watch
A plot flaw
The twist out of place
That being said, I’m going to burst if I don’t write something.
There, I’ve done it.
Miggsie sat there scrawling on a tablet with a fountain pen dipped in ink missing the laptop. She hadn’t figured out how to get back to her own time yet. Maybe the man on the horse would give a clue. He seemed to show up a lot.
“Maybe if I ask him it won’t come across as odd. He knew my name. Wasn’t surprised by my dress. There’s got to be a way seeing I’ve been here before. I smell things simmering. First the stove, then him.”
She selected file, then save. “Hey! How did I get here! Am I cooking too?” She didn’t smell anything. “Great my food is burning in another time, or another dimension. Wonder if the man on the horse will turn the stove down…” She pushed back from the oak desk glancing down at the pen and paper. “Ok, this is absurd. How am I doing this?
First things first… whatever they are.
At the end of the hall was a doorway leading to what used to be the foyer now elegant and carved wood, quality stuff not cheap … oh excuse me, inexpensive paneling. The door at the bottom of the stairs and out was part stained glass. What used to be two other apartments were simply other rooms leading to she didn’t know but would find out later. She stepped out checking the handle to ensure she wouldn’t lock herself out. No lock. “The twilight zone is more like it” but she did remember growing up during a time locking the door wasn’t necessary, in fact, she remembered when it was newsworthy to advise people to begin locking their doors thanks to a few instances of strangers walking in and something was taken. It saddened most but most were also aware of human nature and how things could evolve unlike now, or then that used to be now, that too many forgot what it means to be human although they were human and have to study human nature from a textbook reducing it all to what someone else wants you to think. It was accepted as now’s the time and isn’t it sad it’s come to pass. The only crisis though should you have asked her grandfather was stamps went from 2 cents to 3 cents making it inconvenient for exact change with an odd number.
Outside on the street the man sat. She looked around, at him, turned to look at the house which had taken on a Victorian flavor, spun around to see the road head down the hill, not a doctor’s office in sight, no autism center, no dumpster, no diagnostics place, no labs, just unpaved roads, land and the sweetest crispest air she’d ever smelled. The man on the horse laughed, “Ms Miggsie you look confused.”
That was a name only her Aunt had used and as she got a little older the way her Aunt loved the New York Yankees, it occurred to her she might have hoped she’d become a ballplayer and that’s what the crowds would chant.
“Just woke from a dead sleep” she smiled back as the realization that “this guy knows me, isn’t impressed with my full-length parka” and the clocks didn’t get turned back until next Sunday hit her square between the eyes.
WTF was all she had fighting off the panic clawing at her chest.
“Huh, and why am I panicking …”
Daylight savings time ends so fall back. She’d set the clock, the only one that had to be done manually, back an hour and went to sleep. A Horse whinny around 7:30am coming from under her window woke her. Rolling over she began to drift then heard it again.
“What … was that a horse”?
Looking out the window there was snow, mounds of it, but it hadn’t snowed much in winter for years. There was a horse and rider, a well-dressed rider or at least dressed differently, way differently. Men didn’t wear pants like that, and drove cars. No cars, nothing across the street but a large field, no buildings, no retirement home, no doctor’s offices, no haze over the horizon. No haze. The view was clearer than it’d been in a while. No stores in the distance, no highway, no hospital. She sat up in bed, bed, full-sized not the twin mattress she had on the floor she intended to buy a bed frame for. Candleholders on the wall gave the light.
“Where am I living?”
She got up in the same sweatshirt dress she’d passed out in and the clothes in the closet were the same.
“Talk about not making sense. This sure isn’t Jennie Logan being dressed for the times or am I? What direction did I go, back to where? How do I even know to think this?”
She put on her coat and headed out the door.
“Is it really like that when you die?”
We were watching the Book Of Life. In the land of the dead there is more life and celebration than when people are alive especially on the Day Of The Dead.
“I don’t know sweetie.”
I was going to say that no one has ever come back to tell anyone about what happens at the same time flashing back to when I saw my grandfather after he’d passed. Was it a dream? Certainly wasn’t what my definition of a vision was in those days. I walked into a luncheonette and he was sitting at a booth. I almost walked past suddenly recognizing him. He had his head down chuckling like he did when he was playing a joke. I got excited and teary never expecting to see him again overwhelmed he’d come to see me and he frowned as if I were being absurd. I guess I was. He loved me. Should I ever have doubted it? He looked good, young and healthy. I think I hugged him. The same thing happened with my grandmother. She was on a sidewalk on a street like we lived in Yonkers, residential homes in a row shaded by trees. She was in a dress like she’d worn when she was younger wearing a pair of shoes with stacked heels. How could I have known? I was no more than an infant if that. I might not have even been a thought yet. She walked briskly, looked so healthy and in great shape. There were other relatives. They all looked good completely free of pain. Not in any of that had anyone talked about what happens or where they’d been hanging out these days. No tunnels, no lights, no voices calling, besides, I was still alive.
He spoke before I could offer an explanation, as if, or an insight.
“Well when you die you’ll have to take your iPad.”
“Do you want me to send you pictures?”
He became quiet watching all that went on.
“Your iPad will have to die too.”
“So I can send a message then?”
“Yes you can tell me.”
Finally relaxing at a genuine bakery with a New York staple buttered roll! What took her so long to find this place especially after all the times she’d walked by it over the past couple of years! It said bakery in the name. Didn’t it click? Thank goodness the light finally came on. She had to laugh remembering all those days pining for something she thought no café offered, not no way, not no how, nowhere in town, wishing, wishing…wishing leading to exasperation, that burst of energy leaving your body though annoyance keeps its grip around your shoulders. “Where does that energy go? Huh… living energy… anyway…” All their sweet junk, gooey iced scones – blasphemers! Of course the cappuccino was American size, which meant a small soup bowl-mug with too much milk, but it was good enough not to need sugar sprinkled over the top not that sugar on the froth was a bad thing. What Ruth could taste of the coffee wasn’t bad at all, not bitter at least like other places served, nothing to bring a tear to your eye. It sure wasn’t New York but it’d do until that cataclysmic event when all would change … Leave it to a significant event, an apocalypse to mess up being able to stop for a buttered roll. “Maybe it could miss the bakery like tornadoes do, changing the path and leaving the place alone? Asking too much? At least they’ll keep making them for now. Real butter, mmm, good stuff.”
The suitcase lay open as she looked round the room. What to take… what to take. Her thoughts were interrupted by thudding from the trunk at the foot of her bed. For a moment she stared blankly her focus still leaning toward sweaters and should she pack that one pair of jeans she owns. “Oh yeah.” She opened the trunk. “Forgot about him.” He looked up at her partly terrified, mostly angry. “Still haven’t learned” she said aloud. “How do you like being spell-bound? Literally.”
She winked and he woke in the local park being cuffed for nudity.
She decided to leave the jeans.
The prompt today is:
…the suitcase lay open…