Tag: odd prompts (Page 19 of 25)

The Detail’s in the Turtles

June 22, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Miranda soaked in the view. The great mountain with its craggy range of smaller needles. Atop it all, the wisp of steam that boded well for no one near, but far enough away she only worried if the smoke grew black and covered the peak’s snow.

The lake, its waters finally clear and swimmable, even for a dragon built for flight. Long grasses grew alongshore, where fish hid among stiff reeds and tall, gaunt birds sought dinner. Splashes came from the middle of the lake, where a bleached and dry tree overhung the water and turtles took turns in line for the high dive.

The scent of jeweled stonefruits; garnet deep and sultry, pale pink with notes of floral innocence, citrus topaz with a hint of tartness, blended with emerald lilies and sapphire sea salt. Underneath it all, the amethyst hint of something Miranda only knew made her think of soap, and the purification of charcoal harmonizing the disparate and competing notes into a fragrant symphony.

And her house, the first home she’d truly ever had, built – or at least repaired – with her hands, and Greystone’s. Stone and wood and an open window that was jarringly shuttered until they returned, but left unlocked in case they didn’t.

“Are you ready, my lady?” His voice was quiet behind her, patient and understanding.

“You haven’t called me that in a long time.” She could hear the reproach in her voice, but couldn’t stop it from escaping with a surge of fury at her father. Soon her days would be filled with politics, bland niceties and diplomacy. Each interaction simultaneously meaningless, fraught with peril, and layered with deniable implications.

“I haven’t needed to.”

At her nod, Greystone shifted into his housecat form, leopard spots shifting into tabby stripes. Long familiarity meant she barely noticed when he climbed up her tail into the harness.

Behind him, the librarian waited, his snout tufted into the air with determination. Twitching wings and pale speckles showed his terror at heading for court.

She took one last look, but the scene blurred behind sudden diamonds.

But she was a daughter of the House of Zaratha, and the Dragon Kings did not cry.

Miranda turned away and launched into the air, wings spread wide, steadfastly refusing to look down.

***

This continues In Defense of Dragons, which is not. the. book. I’m. supposed. to. be. writing! Instead of book two, I found myself writing half-remembered dreams, or a Professor Porter short story. I’m not sure whether to thank the muse or scold her.

But I’m glad to be making progress on IDOD, which was an early idea before I had the skill to tell the tale I wanted. Inspired by Becky Jones’ prompt, “The turtles lined up on the log waiting for their turn at the high dive into the river.”

My prompt went to AC Young this week – go check out his dark justice story in the Odd Prompts comments section!

The Last Normal Day

June 7, 2021 / fionagreywrites

The morning after the messenger’s dramatic arrival and collapse dawned chill and gloomy. Ralph was overdue to return to the Great Library, but it wasn’t clear whether Miranda would let him leave. For a over a decade now, he’d brought her books on the histories and folklore, without a clue that she was the missing aetheling who’d fought in the wars.

And in a single moment of just a few minutes, she’d broken her cover in front of the one person who she’d permitted to transit her territory. A person with an insatiable quest knowledge combined with the appetite to talk. She had no idea whether he even had the ability to keep secrets. Bookwyrms certainly weren’t known for their locked snouts, even to protect their knowledge hordes.

Movement from the open kitchen window meant she was out of time. Ralph was awake.

A thump, and she bit off a quiet curse from the training ring’s soft ground. Greystone had gotten a good blow in while she’d been distracted. She blinked up at the sky and gestured toward her home. “He’s up.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Greystone replied. “You and I know there are few reasons why a Royal Messenger would arrive here exhausted. And you made sure he’d be asleep until at least noon.”

He reached a hand covered in silky grey fur down to her. His humanoid form had some limitations, but she’d always loved the fact that he got to keep his claws. She put her hand in his and let him help her back to her feet.

“It’s hard not to be distracted.” She blew out a huge breath that pushed him back a step. It would have been surprisingly large – especially given the hint of smoke that came with it – had she been human rather than a shapeshifted dragon.

“Once the messenger wakes, everything changes.” His words were quiet. “You know that. Today is the most normal day of the rest of your life.”

She squared her shoulders and raised her hands to the guard position. The black and white speckled snout now poked from the window, inquisitive nostrils quivering, and she ignored it or the unanswered questions. “Then what are we waiting for?”

***

I forgot to submit a writing prompt last week, so I snagged a spare. This one was “Today is the most normal day of the rest of your life.” That said, several ideas sparked with other spares, too. I like the challenge of an assigned prompt, but might have to to pay more deliberate attention in the future.

Interested in playing along? Check out Odd Prompts for more!

Homestead in Exile

June 2, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Miranda awoke disoriented from her spot drowsing in the warm afternoon sunlight. She straightened her scaled crimson forelimbs, soft black topsoil churned under sharp claws. Blinking, she raised her head and looked around, uncertain why she’d awakened from her nap.

The view extended around her looked structurally the same as it had since she’d first arrived ten years ago. An orchard stretched to the northwest, a lake to the east, a cabin to the south, surrounded by forest. To the north, the mountain chain with its white peaks towered, jagged teeth that bound the horizon. The Great Mountain loomed large and forbidding above all the rest.

The changes were small but vital. The orchard’s trees were no longer dried and half-dead from benign neglect, as they had been when she’d started her exile. Now they sparkled in orderly rows, almost-ripe jeweled stonefruits gleaming rainbows in the light. The cabin roof had been repaired from leaks and rot both, and extended into a cool, dry network of natural caverns. Even the lake improved from swampy muck after blockage had been cleared and aquatic plants filtered.

She had done this, Miranda thought with satisfaction, a smile cresting her face. A lifetime of uselessness purged along with her penance for sins past, all poured instead into creating life from nothing, order from resounding chaos.

The stonefruits she grew were sold as jewels and jewelry to foreign lands, allowing the countryside to recover from a long and disastrous war. She helped her country by avoiding it, and Miranda was pleased with both.

Legend spoke of the stones’ ability to enhance dragon magic, tipping the balance toward the light in the wars. Legend, and the secrets she had paid dearly in costs more than coin to keep.

A rustling in the tree above her head interrupted her ruminations. Miranda tipped her head back, languid movements still protesting wakefulness. She recognized the tiny green eyes staring down from the perch and moved her head toward the branch in greeting. A miniscule tongue darted out and licked her nose, while oversized fuzzy ears rotated batlike, as if seeking invisible aerial signals.

“Brat,” she grumbled at the cat. “Why aren’t you afraid to wake me up? I could eat you in one bite, and instead you wake me for tea.” The grey tabby mewled and hopped onto her horns, trotting down her neck spines to land and flex against the ground with easy grace before shaking his head.

Miranda mimicked the stretch as she yawned. Snapping her wings open, she rose to head back to the cabin. “You’re right, of course, Greystone. The book bearer is due soon.” The cat nodded, increasing his size to trot alongside her as they headed for home. Spots dappled his fur with a shimmer, the tabby stripes fading from view with each step.

Home, she thought. She was content in the peaceful countryside. Surrounded by trees and a loyal companion, left alone by the world. It was a far cry from her childhood. What more could any dragon ask?

Greystone darted ahead through the open gate with the whisk of a black-tipped tail. Miranda paused, scanning the horizon one last time, inexplicably unnerved.

She curled her lip back and snarled softly into the silence. There was a scent she didn’t like in the air of the homestead she’d so proudly built, and one she couldn’t fully articulate. Like the scent of a distant fire, the campgrounds of the inbound marching army, a portent not yet fully realized.

***

This week, Leigh Kimmel prompted me with “Something in the air, like the smoke of a distant fire,” which worked out well for Miranda’s introduction. This is a bit of a cheat, as it’s a rewrite from an earlier start of In Defense of Dragons, but that’s all I’ve got for this week.

Meanwhile, I prompted AC Young with ““Oh, that’s just Glenda, the theater ghost. Don’t worry. She just wants to make you sneeze.”” Go check it out at More Odds Than Ends, and join in next week’s!

Devil’s in the Dance

May 26, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Greystone darted ahead of Miranda, his silver-grey dappled fur a blur against the stone.

“I hear them!”

He was already around the corner, and the cry came faintly. She hadn’t intended to speed up – appearances were more important in Dragur Keep than she preferred – but found herself moving faster, just as her heart beat faster.

The invitation meant all were welcome. The gnomes, the elephants, the dwarves, the trolls – everyone came at the Dragon King’s invitation, even the humans. The peace treaty ball was politicking and pretense rolled into one, with a dash of snobbery and slight fear.

And for those unlucky few, the invitation compelled them to arrive, whether or not they wanted to. Once broken, the magic seal wrapped around the unsuspecting recipient. The trouble was, by the time the mail arrived, there was no escaping those glowing tendrils that bound the geas.

Just as it had for Miranda, the tangible reminder of her father’s last wish.

There were pleasures, however, and she recalled them from her childhood with glee. It wasn’t just roast chicken the cat was excited about. No, it was the opportunity to see something she never thought she’d witness again. Miranda sped her steps with a dragonet’s whimsy.

Greyhound’s enormous ears twitched as he sat impatiently waiting for her, tufts of silver erupting from the tips in wavy plumes that reflected sunlight. Green eyes with slit pupils gazed into the courtyard without interruption. “Took you long enough.”

Against the cobblestone floor came rhythmic tapping. The octopus danced in a frilly practice tutu, legs in ballet pointe slippers, and ended her warmup in a twirl where all but one leg flared out below the ballet garment in a tutu parody.

The performer stretched in impossible ways before beginning again, this time with variations of speed and added frills. She leapt into the air, purple legs flaring wide in all directions, before landing upside down. Orange suckers held her in place, dangling from one of the unlit torches to continue limbering exercises, three tentacles at a time.

“I can’t believe it,” hissed Greystone. “She looks exactly as she did when we were younger. If this is practice, the real event will be stunning.”

“I never thought I’d see the great Edemame again,” whispered Miranda. “Isn’t she booked out decades in advance?”

She leaned against the door and soaked in the sight. She had spent the first performance glued to her father’s side, and if she let herself believe in the moment, it was as if he were with her once more.

Even if finding the dancer here meant her father had always intended this year to be the year he trapped her into returning.

***

This week, nother Mike’s prompt was perfect to continue the draft that doesn’t need to be worked on but is so much fun to write, In Defense of Dragons. Every ball needs a spectacle (or so says the author who has never, in fact, actually been to a ballroom dance).

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: The magic wasn’t in the wand, s/he discovered. The quill, on the other hand…

Love and Terror

May 12, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Gina ran into the conservatory and felt the humidity hit her face as the door banged shut behind her. The pot in her hand didn’t have much time left.

She could tell where her grandmother had already been, just by how well the plants were doing. The vegetables were noticeably plumper after a visit, and odd combinations managed to thrive in ways that would make horticulturists shudder. Leaves became perkier, stems greener, buds unfurled into colorful and fragrant blooms. Vines trailed over brick and stone, trailing delicate stems in curls with the promise of fruit.

Humming came from the farthest end of the conservatory, where the special plants were.

Gina sped her footsteps toward the humming, careful not to touch any of the plants. Her gifts weren’t wanted here, and it was rare she dared the overgrown paths.

“Gina?” Always the tone of surprise, but her grandmother’s voice was welcoming nonetheless. “What are you doing here?”

“Grandma, it needs help. I took it too far.” She held up the pot of violets, brown and shriveled in a bed of parched dirt.

“You must learn control of your magic,” Grandmother admonished. “I won’t always be around to save your plants, you know.”

She ran a hand gently over the flowers, which purred and followed her touch. Life bloomed green and purple under her aged hand, the swollen knuckles defying her gift.

The girl grinned and gave a little dance, her red sneakers hitting the brick floor in a tattoo of staccato steps. “Thanks, Grandma!”

“Gina, try to keep this one only half-dead if you can. Now scoot. Get out of here before I have to revive it again.”

She ducked her head and tucked the pot close to her chest. Before she could turn to go, a hand fell on her shoulder.

“Wait a moment, will you?” Grandmother stooped down and spoke directly to the pot of violets. Her voice crooned a beckoning call, and the violets swayed as her breath passed over the newly regrown petals. “Now. You be good, or Grandma will get you.”

The quiet words sunk in for a moment, as if the violets were wondering whether the old woman meant it. Then flowers doubled in size, spilling over Gina’s small hands in their eagerness.

She leaned over and kissed her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek. “That’ll keep them in line before I kill them again next week!”

“Threats always do, dear. Now shoo. The cucumbers still need inspiration.”

***

This week, my prompt came from nother Mike, who wants plants to purr. Mine went to Becky Jones, and I hope she continues a dangerously delicious story!

Schooltime Songs

April 28, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Jake wasn’t quite sure what it meant when the little anime figure beside the computer monitor started talking, but it probably wasn’t a good sign. He couldn’t tell anyone, obviously. His twin sister Annie already made fun of him for having a statue of a girl.

He swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. The plastic woman in the sailor outfit and high boots made him uncomfortable in ways he wasn’t sure he was ready for yet. He just knew that he liked looking at the tiny figurine. Plus, cool time powers. What wasn’t to like?

But now…maybe insanity came with the hormones they talked about in health class.

“Time to get up!” the statue chirped in a singsong. She twirled her staff and thumped it on his desk. “School is waiting!”

“It’s summer,” Jake mumbled. He wasn’t sure he’d moved or even blinked since he’d heard a noise and woken up to keep Annie out of his room again.

The door opened, and his mom poked her head in. “Were you talking to someone?”

He shook his head, still under the blue and black checked plaid blanket.

“Well, get up then. Sprinkles needs her walk. Your turn.” She closed the door gently, her footsteps echoing down the hall toward his sister’s room.

The sailor winked at him and gave a snappy salute.

Jake hurried to pull his jeans on while still under the blanket, careful to avoid eye contact.

When he got back from a tour of sniffing neighborhood mailboxes with a fluffy black dog convinced she was four times larger than she was, the house was in an uproar.

“I’m telling you, it warbled!” Annie was shouting at the top of his lungs. Dad was pouring coffee, looking apologetic as he headed for the garage.

“Water doesn’t really sing, dear. Not even in singing fountains.” Mom was having none of it, humming to tease the girl while she trimmed the flower stems. She placed the bouquet of flowers in the mason jar always kept in the kitchen window.

Jake stared. “What didn’t warble?”

“It did,” Annie insisted. “I was taking a shower and the water began warbling.”

“Glad you finally showered,” he said under his breath. He caught her glare. “I mean, are you sure you weren’t singing without realizing it? You warble, right?”

“Why would I sing about school? Or you?” She scoffed and shoved a piece of toast in her mouth. “Imma nos two ped.”

“No, you just sound stupid,” Jake replied, and fled before she could catch him.

He’d nearly forgotten by lunchtime. Mom forgot time when she was in the greenhouse, so dinner was the big meal together. He usually just grabbed a sandwich and snacks from the approved healthy bin if he really needed something to tide him over. Only this time, the kitchen wasn’t empty.

His mother sat dangling a dainty, empty teacup from one pinky. From the odd sharp scent in the air, he wasn’t sure she’d actually been drinking tea.

“Uh, Mom?”

She hiccupped. “You know those mini daffodils I have in the greenhouse? The white ones with the orange center? I love the scent on those.”

He hadn’t a clue what she meant. “Sure, Mom. Did they get a fungus or a pest infestation or something?”

“They sang,” she said, and looked at her cup sadly. “They want you to go to school.”

“What, owl delivery was broken?”

He could have fallen on the linoleum when she nodded. “I thought the powers skipped both you and Annie.”

Behind his mother, the flowers in the mason jar began glowing.

***

Not sure I’m quite happy with this one, but I’ve been looking for an opportunity to use those singing flowers. Might play with it some more. Thanks to nother mike for the opening paragraph’s prompt! Mine went to AC Young, who rescued the orangutan on a motorcycle. Inspired by real life, but apparently I have a movie to watch…

The Endless Road

April 20, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Joel stared out the window, wondering if he’d be able to fix things this time. It wasn’t a matter of whether he’d screwed up, Lisa had told him. It was how badly he’d done so.

He huffed, fogging the glass, and wiped it away, careful to use his flannel sleeve so he didn’t smudge the glass. Then ruined it by leaning his forehead against the porthole. He jerked away when the cold sunk into his consciousness.

Didn’t matter. The view was incredible, and he might as well enjoy it. He certainly wasn’t going to enjoy Lisa for much longer, the way things were going.

It’d be easier if they weren’t in a confined environment, but they’d gotten through training so easily. Laughing at the issues other couples had, the barbed commentary helping them get through the selection process. They’d passed with ease, thinking the multi-year journey couldn’t be worse than what they’d experienced in the dome.

But now, here on the Endless Road, decisions tended to have more impact than they used to back on Earth.

There was no turning back again, but Joel suspected the stars cared little whether the travelers made it to their destination without tearing themselves apart.

***

Short and sweet this week. My odd prompt came from Cedar Sanderson: The endless road calls to the traveler, but once they set foot on it, there is no turning back again.

Mine went to nother Mike, who wrote about the real reason the road sings. Check it out at More Odds Than Ends!

Escape

April 12, 2021 / fionagreywrites

This post has been removed by the author in preparation for publication.

***

I took some liberties with this week’s prompt from Leigh Kimmel to make it fit with Paladin’s Legacy, book two of the Professor Porter series (which is achingly slow, but finally stutter-stepping its way along. “You hear a thumping from under the heating register, like there’s someone in the basement tapping on the ductwork. Except this house doesn’t have a basement.”

My prompt went to nother Mike: “The city had a sudden rash of helpful acts of vandalism.”

Interested in creative and writing prompts? Check out More Odds Than Ends here.

Space Cookies

April 7, 2021 / fionagreywrites

Squeak flicked his tail in irritation and chittered at the recalcitrant computer. “Did you change our course again?”

“After the last time you yelled at me?” Black and white fur stretched from a blob to form slowly extending spotted paws. A yawn, and ivory fangs flashed with a curled pink tongue half-hidden behind. “Wouldn’t have dared. I programmed the course based on what you asked.”

“Linky, we’re headed straight for that asteroid.” He curled his fluffy tail around the chair back for balance and pressed his paws against the computer screen with rapid motions, adjusting their course.

She yawned again, her voice still low with sleep. “You wanted to visit the asteroid. You told me to program the computer for the asteroid.”

“You programmed it to go through the asteroid,” Squeak snapped at the cat. He flattened his ears backward. Why couldn’t his partner have been a squirrel, like usual? She slept all the time and took up four times the room. He could have had a whole crew. But Linky came cheap, because she did things her way, and he was a sucker for a bargain.

The cat stretched, her head low and her tail spiking straight upward. “Fastest way to get those core samples you wanted. Then we swing back around the other side and orbit while we analyze the results.”

“Though, Linky. You want to go through the asteroid. I wanted to land on it. On its surface.”

She blinked pale green eyes at him. “The initial scan shows ice. I programmed us to slow down to drilling speed. Safer than a spacewalk. You change our speed, you change our trajectory.”

“We’re almost there.” Squeak cut her off and blew out his cheeks. Why hadn’t he gotten married like his mother wanted? He could raise a whole brood of space squirrels. “Suit up.”

She twitched her whiskers and turned away. “Aye aye, cap’n. If that’s what you want.”

They both knew they had several hours before they’d reach the asteroid, especially after the course change. Squeak was just getting rid of her, and they both knew it.

He’d just turned back to the computer when the spaceship jolted. Then jolted again. “Hailstorm?”

“Asteroid field,” Linky said. She flowed toward the controls and took over, steering through the pebbles. “Just little ones. I had us programmed to go around it.”

Squirrels didn’t blush like those weird talking apes he’d found a few planets back, but Squeak wanted to all of a sudden. The Nutter Butter didn’t deserve the kind of reckless disregard and endangerment he’d just caused. He puffed out his cheeks again and took a deep breath, then tilted his chin up. “I’m – I’m sorry.”

She lifted a paw in the feline equivalent of a shrug. “You should get some sleep. You spent all night checking our inventory.”

He hung his head, ears drooping. “Double checking. I knew you did it yesterday afternoon.”

“I’m aware of that.” Linky’s tone was dry. “You trust me at all?”

“Getting there.” He hesitated. “I’m going to crash out. Get some rest. You should, too.”

She stretched again, arching her back, and padded her way over to the sleeping room. Linky curled up but kept her eyes open, watching him with those enormous eyes. “Won’t argue.”

He hesitated again, and a mental ghost whispered into his brain. Trust your crew, or stay out of space. Squeak gave a half-smile at the memory. Uncle Fletch had been just as ornery as Linky. Why, he’d even flown one of the asteroid belt races just to annoy his mother.

He curled up next to Linky, and for the first time used her tail as a pillow. Like crew should. For the first time, he realized she probably hadn’t been sleeping well either. Maybe that was why she seemed tired so often.

“Long day,” he said with a sigh. He stared at the ceiling, the lights auto-dimmed now that movement had stopped. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her eyes close. Her body relaxed, with a faint rumble he felt vibrate through her longer fur into his shorter coat.

“Yes,” Linky said. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead.”

***

Becky Jones and I traded prompts this week. A cat and a squirrel curling up together (and talking) was given life by a conversation about humanity’s future regrets in taking cats into space.

In return, she used “I have a lot of work travel coming up and wanted shells in place” for inspiration.

Join Odd Prompts at More Odds Than Ends!

Capturing Joy

March 21, 2021 / fionagreywrites

“Don’t mind Katarina,” Serena said, and gave him a welcoming hug. She pulled back and patted her white bun with one hand. “She darts in and out of here so fast, it’s hard to keep track of her. I gave her free rein a long time ago. You’ll meet her soon enough, when she’s ready.”

Carl nodded and smiled, trying to conceal his breaking heart. When Dad had called, he hadn’t believed his grandmother had been as bad as the stories. Surely it had only been a single bad day. She’d been fine when he’d seen her a few months ago, independent and fierce as always, for all that she was barely five feet tall.

He’d texted his boss that he needed time off and hadn’t waited for approval. The six-hour drive always felt vaguely apocalyptic to him. Sure, it had something to do with Chicago drivers’ Mad Max tendencies, definitely. But when he hit the windmill farms, enormous towers symmetrically spaced in empty green fields like mechanical plants, rotors moving slow, with no one else in sight – that was when the cognitive dissonance hit.

He hadn’t quite shaken off the sense of dystopia by the time he’d hit grandmother Serena’s tiny house, set back among the trees and accessible only by a narrow, winding road. Better to think of giant mechanical trees than to think about his grandmother forced into some home, unable to care for herself any longer.

Unable to take pride in her self-sufficiency. Unable to choose what she did, and when. Under someone else’s control. She’d wither away and die from the indignity, assuming she even understood what was happening.

Carl clung to hope as he hung up his jacket, shedding rain droplets onto the polished wooden floor. The cottage was immaculate, as always, with walls covered with photographs. He breathed deep of the familiar lavender and lemon polish, gazing around. “Who’s Katarina?”

Serena had disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with a spoon in hand. “Your father called you, didn’t he? Always convinced I’m losing my marbles.”

He coughed, startled. It loosened his tongue. “Well, have you?”

She pointed the spoon at him and gave him a look.

He stepped back hastily and bumped the door. Carl raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, yes, he called.”

“Stay a few days with your gran,” she said, and lowered the spoon. She turned back to the stove, disappearing out of sight. “You’ll meet her soon enough, mayhap. Katarina is real. Always has been. I’d always hoped you’d meet her sooner, but she comes when and to whom she will.”

Carl started to follow the new scent of vanilla and sugar the spoon had promised, but his eye caught on a photograph. This one had a simple black wooden frame. Didn’t matter how often he came, she’d always put something new up. Serena always said the scenery needed to change frequently to keep from getting bored.

Would they let her put up this many photographs in assisted living? Would a kind nurse help her change out the photos in each frame and add more until the wall was a mural of captured smiles and poses? Would they realize she’d been a professional photographer, or assume dementia when the people in the pictures were so varied?

He blinked back tears. Some of his favorite memories were going out with his gran on walks just to explore. He’d had a small camera appropriate for child-sized hands and clumsiness, but he’d delighted in finding items or events, whether a budding spring flower or girls laughing at their first double dutch jump rope success.

Capture the joy, she’d always said, and he’d dutifully raise the camera to his eye and try his best.

He looked closer at the image that had caught his eye. An unfamiliar little girl of five or so, just a blur of dark hair and an impish smile. The black and white photograph must have been treated to highlight her red jacket. The trend seemed awfully modern for his grandmother.

Carl leaned in, his eye caught by an anachronism. The little girl looked like she was wearing modern sneakers with her old-fashioned school uniform. Movement flagged his attention.

The little girl winked at him.

He gasped. Stumbling down the hallway, he focused on the scene in front of him. Grandma making cookies was only surpassed in normalcy by Grandma taking photographs.

“She’ll be here soon,” Serena said from where she spooned cookie dough onto a tray. “Always takes her a while to transit out of that world and back into ours.”

“Whaaa?” Carl croaked with great eloquence.

She looked up at him with a sharp eye. “You didn’t think I’d let you stay a lawyer forever, did you? My time is short in this world, boyo, and you’re my heir.”

Silence filled the sunny kitchen, gleaming off well-polished wood. He stood there with his mouth open, the padded kitchen chairs too far away to catch him if he fell over.

Serena put the tray in the oven and set a timer. She turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. “You didn’t think I was a normal photographer, did you?”

He hiccupped. Footsteps sounded behind him, light and quick. Child-sized noises.

“Best get to training or the power will go wild when it hits you. I bet you’ve forgotten all I taught you as a boy.”

***

On this week’s odd prompt exchange, mine went to ‘nother Mike: “She closed her eyes, and saw nothing but sparkles.” I can’t wait to see what he does with it.

In return, Leigh Kimmel challenged me with the following: “On the wall is an old-fashioned photograph of a little girl in a red jacket. You look closer and realize that the girl is wearing modern sneakers.” This was a fun one – thanks, Leigh!

Want to join in? Check out More Odds Than Ends!

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