You guys, I can’t just write on one thing. I love my poetry. It’s what keeps me sane and drew me into this wonderfully topsy turvy writer’s life. But I’ve got more to say.
I’ve been writing for LeftyPop, so I can get a little snarky bits out about particularly bothersome popculture/political hits my monitor. (If you haven’t checked that out, you really should. You’re missing out. These writers are brilliant.)
I’m writing a romance. **I’ll pause for a moment so you can pick your jaw of of the floor.** True story. I’m doing it. I have a feeling that some dark bits are going to make their way in, but the true essence will be a romance. I won’t be sharing that on here, however.
And then there’s this story that I want to share with you. I actually introduced it, a while back over at my buddy Tim Gallen’s blog, but I figured I’d play with it over here for a bit. It’s dystopian, with heavy leanings in fantasy.
Without further ado:
She worked in the Ministry of Documents. Initially she had been given a semi-important task of reissuing the state IDs. After two days of the IDs not downloading fast enough, she’d been demoted. It was purely a software problem that she had no control over, but such is life. Fortunate for her, as an employee of the Ministry, she had the “luxury” of never being fired.
She didn’t know what they contained just that she had to make sure no one accessed them. The room towered over her, filled to bursting with folders and files bulging with paperwork. She had no idea, which ones were special. The room matched the rest of the ministry, all brown, with no carpet, white walls and bookshelves to the ceiling. Filled with filing instead of books. Why didn’t they just convert the paper to nano technology and save space? She couldn’t muster up the energy to care.
She pulled a book out of her handbag and a grapple-all fruits were hybrids now. Much more efficient. It told a story of some boy with a lightning scar on his forehead. He should’ve just gotten the scare removed, and solved all of his problems, she thought. She lost herself and time in the antiquated notion of good versus evil.
She feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s her lone co-worker hashtag 1047673. Each of the Ministry offices had at least two workers assigned. This office was so rarely used they just had the minimum. He held up a scroll and put a finger to his mouth. She frowned slightly. He was forever looking, but for what she never knew. She tried to turn back to her book, but he kept tapping her on the shoulder. She huffed in frustration. Fine. Let’s get this over with.
She followed him to the far corner of the room, where the tracking devices had to work a little harder to detect footprints and spatial locations of humans. He unrolled it, and spread it out, the corners curved ever so slight. It hovered a foot above the table. She couldn’t stifle her gasp, and he frowned in her direction. What was this thing? Four crystals appeared suspended above it; two were ice blue and the others on the other side, blood-red. They spun around and around and around, faster before her eyes. She heard a rushing in her ears, faster than a heartbeat, louder than thinking. She knew if she grabbed the red, they would stop spinning and then something…would happen. She didn’t know what, but for the moment that need to know became most like an itch in the middle of her back that she just needed to scratch. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed them, so hot, will they leave a mark?
Something curious started happening with the rest of the cloth. A hole developed in the middle, spinning like the crystals had, and flapping? No, it was like pages in a book. It kept picking up more and more speed, widening. The pages started rushing through the room, and soon she was holding on the to crystals, so she wouldn’t fly away, her boot clad feet floating in the air. She let a soundless scream, the air being ripped from her lungs.
The closed door burst open and five men in blue uniforms came in bearing the Ministry coat of arms, a fish jumping out of a lake. They brandished long black batons yelling, ”You’ve activated the Splitz! You’ve activated the Splitz! Shut it down!” No firearms were allowed inside of the Ministry compound, yet they were pointing the silver plastique weapons of the time. The uniforms fought hard against the wind and holding onto their fire arms. Some of them had enough self-preservation to drop theirs, grabbing onto anything bolted down, trying to avoid the chairs flying past, paperweights and dangerous papers. Others were being tossed around like the ktan dolls made of potato sacks and filled with chunny feathers.
hashtag 1047673 grabbed her hand. He was holding on to the blue crystals, she realized. He nodded toward the widening hole in the middle of the map where less pages were spewing. She frowned and shook her head. She had no idea what he meant, and she did not want to find out. His lips tightened and then he jumped, pulling her along with him. The closer they got to the hole, the more it started drawing them in, instead of blowing them away. She reached out instinctively for anything to stop the progression, and instead managed to grab the edge of the cloth. She couldn’t stop…
And that my friends is Part One. Let me know what you think in the comments. I know it’s a departure from the poetry, but I just gotta be me. Tell me what you think in the comments below. Do you wan to hear what happens next? Let me know!
UPDATE: Feel free to travel Down the Rabbit Hole Part 2.