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Theme Thursday Discussion:

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When Ms. Abeleine left, everyone could feel it. Nothing physical. The thermostats read the same. The lights continued their output. The low drum of traffic outside the office remained in its steady flow.

​

Everything was the same - but different.

​

It was less vibrant. Sunlight seemed to lose some of its hue. When groups gathered by the watercooler to chat during break, eyes would softly scan for her auburn hair lurking somewhere in the background. The small oven in the breakroom did not waft the scent of the premade cookie dough as she felt a tray should be made that day because it was 'all fuzzy in here.'

​

Everyone was happy for her, of course. Getting her dream job overseas. After all, who deserved it more? She had been a team player, kind, determined. The whole package.

​

Her going away party was a rowdy affair. Tim couldn't recall the last time he'd even had three drinks, much less however came after that. It was somewhat of a blur. Yet despite his flawed recollection he could see her figure sliding through the room and eliciting laughter from each passing group. Despite her imminent departure casting a sense of gloom, for those brief hours she dispelled storm clouds.

​

It had been hard to find where she had bought the cookie dough. Apparently there was an in-group with a local confectionary shop. Tim found it not the least bit surprising she had mingled herself into their good graces. Who else? In truth the only reason he even found out about them was by using her name as a guiding light in his search.

​

The cookies rose up just like hers had in the worn out breakroom oven. The smell still brought folks in to look. It didn't evade Tim's notice that when they entered to inspect the source of those heavenly smells, they quizzically looked this way and that. Their scans ran over Tim, seeking out another.

​

He couldn't blame them, really. The cookies tasted good, but not quite right. The orange light of the oven filaments was just a bit too dull. On one hand he felt foolish. Foolish for trying to imitate her. To bring what it is that she'd brought. On the other hand, a smile began to take form on his features. It wasn't a gleaming grin, but it was there all the same.

​

Because she would've tried. For some reason, the thought of that seemed like enough.

​

Tim felt she'd left something tiny in the office. Just a fragment. A memory, but one that drew small breaths. A figment.

​

Wasn't that something to smile about?

"So, Mr.... Mr. Devil-corn? Your lines here tell me that you are sure to have a long career as a... meat packer? Not a profession I see every day in my shop," Miss Valencia said as she looked down at my palm with narrow brown eyes that were hard to pick out from her thick blob of curly hair.

At least one of my friends behind me snickered. Valencia had fallen right into the trap of the false social media page that I had set up before I made the appointment. You see, this was all part of my plan to convince my friends that psychics aren't real. They just use whatever information they can garner about you before regurgitating it under the guise of "reading you". The atmosphere of the shop contributed to the lie - huge candles burning all around, heavy red and pink drapery to evoke romance, and the smell of rose incense permeating the air.

"I'm not sure I'm getting a full picture of you Mr. Corn. Perhaps you should lean in a bit closer so I can see you better."

"Sure thing," I said, leaning in a bit, picking up even more of her strong perfume, a floral combination that came off more like household cleaner than anything pleasant.

She dropped my palm and fingered one of her six necklaces, the one with stones that looked like fake emeralds. "Have you recently participated in a seance, Mr. Corn?"

"Uhh, no."

"Strange things, I'm seeing a seance in my vision. Perhaps a family member or someone important recently died?

"Not at all."

"Perhaps then, a friend of a friend?"

"I know of no one that has died recently. This is as expected, it doesn't seem like you really know how to read minds. In fact, I tricked you into thinking that I'm someone that I'm not." I laughed as I scanned her face for a reaction.

"Most interesting, Mr. Corn. I get people like you all of the time. You think you're so smart, that nothing outside of what is logically and scientifically fact is possible. Yet, each time one of you comes to my shop, they leave changed."

"I doubt that." I said confidently.

She smiled slightly, re-adjusting her hands. "Give me your palm again, and let us see what your future holds."

I shrugged. "So tell me how it works then since you claim I'm going to leave changed. Prove to me that you know something about me just by looking at me."

"There isn't much to it, darling. Your ghost-white palor speaks of a grim death. I don't even need to consult my totems," she looked down at the necklaces.

It struck me that when I had awoken this morning I had a strange pain in my right arm and a sudden thought that I was going to die soon.

The next time I went to breathe I felt like I couldn't. My vision went fuzzy gray, then black.

[WC: 496]

The children's section of the Sarah Hightown Library felt like walking into another world. Sure, there were aisles and aisles of bookshelves just like in the adults' section, but these shelves were more unique, often featuring cut-out tunnels and miniature reading nooks-- the perfect place for a child to hide away and read.

I recall how I used to beg my grandparents to take me. The task often fell upon my grandfather. I would spend an hour or so browsing the selections and loading my arms with as many books as I could carry. Sometimes, he would come in and peruse the adult section, but most of the time, he simply sat in the car.

Something about that library made me feel at peace. At home. It was almost as if I should've been a book, resting on its shelves. Curled up in a built-in nook in the back, I would travel across worlds, solve mysteries, and discover love. I would march out happily, though no one could tell, the books towering above my grin as I carefully walked down the steps to the parking lot.

My grandfather would open the door, help me to put the books in the car, and drive me back to their house. "What did you come out with today?" He would often ask.

With pride, I'd tell him I'd challenged myself to read The Never-ending Story or I would chuckle and tell him I picked up another Wishbone or two. He would pat my shoulder and laugh his scratchy, deep laugh. He would always reply with, "Keep on reading, kid."

And I did. The library was my favorite escape. I spent my summers making the reading program look like a toddler's program. I giggled with delight as the librarians stamped my progress onto the tracking sheet, surprise etched onto their face. "You've really read all these books?"

At the time, I didn't realize they were questioning if was bluffing on the number, I, childishly, thought they were amazed at my reading skills. I would nod happily while they still held the same look of disbelief. My grandfather would clear his throat quietly and say, "She comes home with a new pile every few days. She always goes through them all."

And with that, they pressed the stamp onto the sheet and sent me off with the new books I had chosen. As I aged, I branched out into the adult section, preferring stories with characters that matched me mentally, but I often found myself returning to children's section, even though I'd outgrown or read most of the books.

It wasn't until he died that I finally understood. It wasn't the children's section or the library that had made me feel at home. It had always been my grandfather, giving me the independence and support to do the one thing I loved most in the world.

DING! End of Round 1. I return to my corner, staying standing to make a point. The champ keeps his eyes on me the whole time his cornerman talks to him. He never took a back step. He kept on me, forcing me to duck and dive. He gives the glare of a champion.

DING! End of Round 2. I take the seat on the stool and get some water. The champ listens intently to his cornerman while I hear encouragement from mine. His face remains pristine, without a trace of leather contact. I can feel something from when he bounced his fist off my gut.

DING! End of Round 3. His forearms have gotten between me and my target on every swing. The champ licks his lips. This is the round he dominates coming up. I can feel a spot under my right eye beginning to react.

DING! End of Round 4. I gladly sit down, as another 10 seconds may have been too many. The champ leans forward in his corner, ready to burst off the stool and continue landing his shots. My cornerman says his guard stays up a split-second too long, but I don't know if I'm strong enough to take advantage.

DING! End of Round 5. The doctor gives my right eye a cursory look, but I can still see through it. In the haze around me, I notice some sort of rub being applied to the champ's torso. Could it be? Did I get through his guard? If I did, the champ refuses to let me see the result of my work.

DING! End of Round 6. I stagger to the corner, still reeling from the eight-count I took a minute prior. The cornerman shows concern, but they say I'm good to go. The champ has his hands up even in the corner. Eighteen minutes and he looks fresh. How does he do it?

DING! End of Round 7. Vaseline goes over a cut on the champ's face. My right eye is swelling up, but I refuse medical attention. I can see the tiredness he has. I'm getting my third wind. For the first time in his career, in his reign, and for the first time in this fight, I'm not facing the champ. I'm facing a boxer. And I can beat a boxer.

DING! End of Round 8. The crowd is on its feet after a last-second exchange. I've gotten my eight-count back, and they can smell history. The champ is frustrated, his head down as he listens to strategy. I dare not get too confident; one uppercut could change the fight. But it could also change the world.

There would be no bell for Round 9. I didn't need one. Once I had broken down his confidence, his stare, and his swagger, all that was left was to break down a man. One-two and an uppercut! That was all! A shattered man lay on the canvas.

ALL HAIL THE NEW CHAMPION!!!

[WC: 499]

##Signs from the Universe

Thea sits on her porch enjoying the sunrise when a man walks up the hill. She tries to look over his head to enjoy the last bits of sunlight, but he is determined to get her attention. The man kneels before Thea, but his knees wobble. He bends his neck slightly to avoid looking up at her. Clearly, he isn't used to kneeling.

"Oh great Oracle. I am Archon Basil, and I come to ask for your guidance." He tries to avoid making his words sound commands, but old habits die hard.

"Hmm." Thea stares at him closely. "I don't like you."

The man stands and clenches his fist. He calms himself before he acts impulsive. "Do you mean that my future is filled with tragedy?"

"No, I can't see the future. I just know how to read the universe, and you." Thea scrunches her face. "I've read your type many times. You are about to embark on a campaign of conquest right?"

"Your words are the truth."

"I know they're my words, and archons never visit me for other reasons. It's always they're about to go to war with a great power, and their victory is uncertain. If they've come to me, then they've already lost." Thea takes a sip of wine. "Well, I hope they lose. A few probably won."

"But I am not uncertain. I am confident," Basil says.

"Indeed, I can tell."

"And I am not deluded by my own prowess. Victory is not achieved by one's glory, but by tactics and strategy. One cannot assume victory. One must plan to have an edge."

"Quite true."

"I also understand the value of my soldiers. If they're starving and tired, they would never win. They need to be kept in the best condition and given proper motivation."

"Perhaps I was wrong. You are different than the rest," Thea smiles.

"I had hoped to persuade you of my merits." Basil bows again.

"Yes, I can tell by the shape of the clouds that you will be succeed in destroying a great state. Glory will reign," Thea says.

"Thank you. I've brought some coins for the prediction." Basil hands her a bag.

"Wonderful. Your campaign will be a success," Thea says. Basil turns and leaves. Thea shakes her head.

"That idiot didn't even notice there were no clouds in the sky. That's the problem with archons. They never listen. Always get in their own heads." Thea checks the bag again. "This one does seem more gracious and intelligent than the rest. Granted, he certainly lacked humility like his peers."

Thea sips her wine again. "When will someone come to me to just chat about the weather? Why can't I have that?"

r/AstroRideWrites

The Special Kid

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I was a little boy, I could see people's aura. My mother told me I inherit this ability from my grandmother. We don't know why it happens to us, but it makes us "special".

Most would say it's a blessing, but I think it's a curse. Aura's show your true colors. You could be the sweetest person in the world, but I know you a fake person just by your aura.

Today was like any other for me. Just walking around town and seeing people's aura. They look like a cloud version of them. At first, I was scared. But I learn to ignore them.

"Let me rob this old woman"

My attention instantly turns to that sound. It was a person wearing a mask over their face. They were planning on robbing this old woman.

"As soon as she walks over to the street, let's push her off the road and grab that purse!"

Crap, is he actually going to do it? Thinking fast, I speed walk to the old lady.

"Hey, ma'am. Would you like my help?"

"Oh, thank you so much, sonny"

I could hear the robber aura cursing me out, but I don't care, I'm used to this. This happens every single day. I' m used of being "The Hero" at this point. I don't even think I deserve that title honestly.

I glance at the old lady aura. She seems happy, and not fake unlike the other auras.

"How about you stay at my house and I fix you something to eat, sonny?" She asked.

Her aqua change to loneliness. I didn't even need to know her backstory to tell what she's currently going through.

Without any hesitation, I nodded.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

WPC: 286

Wow, nothing like beginning the alphabet with a super-duper hard word. At least it can get only easier from here? =P

"Now that everyone's here, our safety topic today is flammables and combustibles."

Welders shuffled around the tiny office like zombies, zipping up tool bags and donning extra layers to beat the November chill.

Supervisor Gravinski sighed and tapped the tablet screen to complete his task. "Be safe out there. Nothing new that you haven't heard before, I guess."

No one responded. No one edged toward the door for another full ten minutes, but eventually the room emptied of workers.

The door banged against the trailer's exterior as a brisk wind sent papers flying off the desk. An apprentice nicknamed Hefty bumbled in moments later.

"What is it now, Martin?" asked the supervisor.

Hefty wiped his drippy nose and squinted through his thick and very scratched eyeglasses. "Uh, aren't we supposed to sign something in the mornings?"

"I already took care of it. Is the shipping container clean like I asked?"

The desk tilted toward the corner where Hefty leaned against it. "No, you told us not to start work until we sign the forms."

"Work started an hour ago," Gravinski muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Exactly my directions. I wish all my guys were as diligent as you, Martin." He pulled a blank sheet from his notebook and slapped it down in front of the apprentice. "Sign this. I'll finish filling it out soon."

Hefty patted his pockets and then his chest, where he might have had a breast pocket if he'd worn the company shirt. "I don't have anything to write with," he said.

A smile formed beneath dull eyes, and Gravinski offered Hefty his pen. "I know you know the rules, but you also know how the plant is. No smoking near the oxygen tanks. They'll throw us all out if they catch us."

Hefty winked and tapped his safety glasses. "You got it, boss man. They won't catch us smoking."

He signed the blank paper and crammed the pen into his pocket. Then he lumbered outside, leaving the door open to a clear view of the refinery campus down the hill. Its stacks belched steam and chemicals into the sky.

Gravinski shivered and wandered the office, scooping up papers and stacking them under a paperweight shaped like a fire extinguisher. He leaned back in his seat with another sigh and stared into the man-made clouds below.

Suddenly his vision went white. A shockwave shook the trailer like a box of cereal, sending the fire extinguisher and other loose objects toppling to the floor. He blinked several times as his vision and hearing slowly returned. Clouds flickered red and orange in the valley below, where collapsed buildings and charred pipe bridges still burned.

Gravinski straightened his jacket and walked toward the parking lot.

"Mr. G! Mr. G!" sooty-faced Hefty panted as he caught up. "Where are you going? It's bad. Real bad."

"I hear they're hiring a couple states over," he replied as he climbed in his truck. "Maybe it'll be better for me over there."

1 Radiance

Isaac winced at the bright sun as he stepped off the city bus in front of the university laboratory. Allowing the bustle to dilute around him as people shuffled like drones towards their destinations, the scientist wished he could sprout wings and fly away. He basked in the warm light for but a moment instead.

Cordelia, Issac's temporary partner, greeted him in the dull break room with a smile.

"What is it?" he muttered over a hastily prepared cup of coffee.

Her smile grew slightly wider and her eyes narrower but she said nothing in response.

"Did I forget something, what's wrong?" Isaac looked down at plain button up shirt, slacks, two matching brown shoes. Finding nothing immediately amiss, he started to pat himself down.

"No! It's actually about work for once!"

"Don't play games with me, I'll log in and find it for myself and spoil your fun soon enough. If there is anything more than another set of dead ends. The Doc loves when we have to take two steps back."

Cordelia shut her mouth but kept the smile. "You did it, we finally did it!"

"It . . . it can't be. How many times did you check?"

"Once. I only had to once. Look!" She shoved a tablet into her partner's hands. He scrolled through quickly.

"This has to be a mistake!"

"No, Isaac. You found the key!"

"I . . . I'm not sure what this means."

"It means we can measure brainwaves, see what people emit. To say this is a breakthrough isn't enough. We're going to be famous, Isaac. Published."

"You know the Doc will soak up any glory, and these results are still probably a false positive. I can't believe the madman was onto something all this time. What if he's right about more than this?"

"Well. There's two things I do know."

"Yea? What's that?"

"We have some sort of results, and results mean more funding, and more funding means our jobs are safe for now."

"Is that all you can think about? The Doc is practically a god in science fiction. Have you read any of his stuff?"

"Never." She looked to the tablet again and finally stopped smiling.

"He talks about reading people's brainwaves being only the first step into something greater. Imagine being able to see something like our souls, our ambient energy floating around us like a cloud. The civilization in the books undergoes a steady metamorphosis . . ."

"You're right," Delia responded, "It's nutty, but we're here to do the actual work, right?"

"I suppose. Doubt the Doc will tell me anything more than what we know, but I've been trying my best to puzzle out what he's up to in the long run."

"Are you now?" The Doc walked into the room wearing his lab coat as he always did.

Wide-eyed, Cordelia silently and unceremoniously took the tablet and surrendered it to her superior.

"Ah! Progress. Wonderful! Won't you come with me . . . Isaac is it?"

The younger man gulped and nodded in assent.

--

WC: 500. All feedback is welcome! I'm probably going to use these characters and their setting again. /r/courageisnowhere

Hi there! Cool framing device with the rounds of boxing! Loved the action even though you wrote the in between parts. Great job!

For crit:

"without a trace of leather contact" I'm not sure what this means.

"I can feel something from when" this feels a little awkward.

"This is the round he dominates coming up." A little unclear. I take it to mean, the champ usually dominates round four, but there might be a clearer way to say it.

"beginning to react" is vague

"eight-count I took" so the champ scored a knock down and it took eight counts for our boxer to stand up? It's a little unclear. Perhaps, "still reeling after being down for an eight-count" or something like that?

"but they say" who? the coach and trainer and cut man all? or some other group?

"swelling up" I thought it was already swollen because the doctor looked at it earlier and you gave the detail of the boxer still being able to see through it.

>For the first time in his career, in his reign, and for the first time in this fight, I'm not facing the champ. I'm facing a boxer. And I can beat a boxer.

Great stuff there, I think it captures a lot of what's going on in your story. You do switch subjects, but being that they are boxing pitting them against each other in the sentence is cool.

Overall, I think you should lean into the framing even more. It's interesting having descriptions of in between the fighting so each round you have the boxer looking back with the wounds and then forward with the strategy. I really liked that split.

So much so that I missed some more of the forward looking element at the end or in what would have been round 9. Without it, the ending is abrupt and the frame broken, which could be what you were going after, but even then I think there might be a better way to tie it up for your character and story.

Then, some of the sentences repeated structure and subject, i.e. "the champ keeps", "he never took", "he kept on", "he gives" from your first paragraph. Now that's totally fine but it does give the flow a little bit of choppiness or kind of like a monotone at times.

I found it hard to see what the boxer was trying to set up or exactly how the champ was blocking or how the fighting progressed. That might be by design as the boxer wouldn't be thinking that, but I am wondering a bit about those details. I like boxing, though, so it could just be me.

Hopefully something I've said helps! Well done and excellent take on the theme.

Hello!

I liked your sweet and touching story!

For crit:

The descriptions felt a bit loose at times.

>Something about that library made me feel at peace.

I understand that you might be hiding the ultimate realization that the time with the grandfather made the library time special, but

>Sometimes, he would come in and peruse the adult section, but most of the time, he simply sat in the car.

So, it's really time alone among the books under the watchful eye of the grandpa, from what I can see.

That it felt like home was a bit odd considering:

>The library was my favorite escape.

I think it might feel like something other than home, like a home away from home.

You do end it with,

>giving me the independence and support to do the one thing I loved most in the world.

which matches the introspective and self-reflective anecdotes from the narrator.

>At the time, I didn't realize they were questioning if was bluffing on the number, I, childishly, thought they were amazed at my reading skills.

I wouldn't set off "childishly" with commas here. It's not an aside but directly modifying "thought".

The narrator's voice feels childlike still, which could be nostalgia, but there's something else there. Maybe it's that the grandpa is more a background character even with the dialogue, the narrator is the center of attention on all of it.

>Curled up in a built-in nook in the back, I would travel across worlds, solve mysteries, and discover love. I would march out happily, though no one could tell, the books towering above my grin as I carefully walked down the steps to the parking lot.

I like this a lot, and it shows growth for the narrator, and I mean it's a cute image of course! I'd like more focus on these things or that growth through books.

Overall, I'd recommend focusing in more on an aspect or two. You cover a lot of ground and some elements suffer for it, I think. The grandpa could use more characterization here, considering his importance to the narrator.

"I recall" is present tense where the rest is first person past.

I'm left with questions about this. The descriptions are there, the nostalgia is palpable, but I wonder more about things like where's the grandfather now? Why is the narrator returning here? What purpose are the recollections serving in the narrative?

All said, well done on the story and thanks for the pleasant read! I loved your descriptions and that setting.

hahah! We're not starting the alphabet over just yet, but you're right it's a tricky one!!

Thank you so much for the review. :) TBH, it's a real memory, which I struggle the most to write about. Something about writing reality for me is difficult. I am working to improve on that :) Thank you also for the post. It was really great to get to remember my childhood with my granddad. <3

Victory was at hand.

The blood-air filled mine own lungs, souring the tongue. Twas’ natheless sweeter than the coldest ale. Shouts drawn deep from the gut thundered through the vale. The glint of steel shimmered atop the thousand dead men festering under the travelling sunne. The slaughter was nearly done. Our great king hath won us glory.

Still and all, the price was paid. For when many of theirs lay dead at our feet, many of ours shared the same fate. Carrion birds swirled above. Below the cries that roared from the living, there were the moans of the dying. Squirming like worms unearthed from the soil, uncountable men writhed in their blood. Banners emblazoned with the Great Houses lay tangled among the pagan script of those savages.

One of them, with false breath still about him, was supine beneath a comrade-in-arms. His neck was open from which his lifeblood withdrew. His eyes were frantic, spelling the words which his mouth had failed him.

I refused to read them. With my spear I struck betwixt the eyes. The steel lurched past his skull and met his brain, ending the conversation.

A powerful horn sounded. There were more.

As quick as a dagger, silence fell on us. Heads turned to the forest. One by one, they stepped out from between the trees. Armed with iron-hewn spears and round bucklers, they marched forward. Unlike their fallen kin, there was no formation, each man his own.

Somewhere, the voice of our commander rose.

“They walk once more to their deaths! Arms!”

The training in our bones seized us at once and those who were left trudged to his side to form a line. Rows and rows of spear-teeth faced their reinforcements in unison. Looking to mine own sides, the men were toilworn, breathing like dogs in the sunne. I was the same.

A long trumpet blast rattled our battleworn shields. This would be quick. They were few. If they were like their dead, they would again taste steel.

They were not. Among their ranks were men with bearskins upon their shoulders, the maw of those beasts atop their crowns. They wore little armour. But among all their differences, it was their eyes.

There was nothing but hunger in them.

The haft of my spear fell limp in my hand. The sinews in my limbs unravelled to strands. My gaze turned to the ground without a command, yet their howls struck mine own ears all the same. The once-brave men around me whimpered like day-born whelps.

Their warriors stopped and began to shiver. Their teeth chattered and their faces swelled red. A soundful fury clamoured in their throats, bellowing forth from their foamed lips. Their teeth sunk into the edges of their shields, and they began devouring them.

We knew what was coming as if our minds were one. Our hearts had left us and fear gripped what was left.

The slaughter was nearly done.