Day 194 Writing Short Stories

Train

The rain drizzled down against the high glass ceiling. She traced with her gaze the iron Gothic work keeping the glass windows up. She imagined the day they built the train station, and what it took to make all the individual pieces. It was a true marvel. She could sit there watching the high arches, the ironwork, the symbols, and the old clock face all day, but she was meant to catch a train.

It was the old ghost train that only those with special eyes saw. Her silver-blue eyes were just that. They were trained to see what was not there and what was supposed to be there. She saw all the cursed still lingering on the tracks, where they had taken their lives. She pitied them, but it was not her department to release them from their sorrows. The world had cursed them to linger here.

She glanced beside her. The track between all the tracks was startling to fill up with people like her. They wore their collars high and hats deep. Not everyone wanted to be seen and witnessed. The train was sacred ground. Every feud, every deed was forgiven there until you stepped out. Then you were free picking for others.

She had nothing to hide. She worked for the ministry, but not in a hunting capacity. She didn’t have to familiarize herself with the faces she saw. She would rather forget them.

When the train finally arrived, she stepped in, letting it take her through the country high up north, where they had found an unusual deposit of magic. It was her duty to find those who could see before they harmed anyone with their sight and gifts.

A Wife

The boy was back. Like a boomerang, he couldn’t stay away from home. She and his father had done every trick known to man to keep him out in the world, but nothing seemed to work. It took only one tiny, miserable event to make him crawl back home and seek nurture. Her husband said it was due to all the cuddling she had done. It might be, but it might be as well all the free passes he had given their son. Whatever the reason was, he was there in his childhood bedroom sleeping the day away, and it wouldn’t do.

She had racked her brain to figure out what to do. She had done every trick she could think of, and it earned her a year or two’s freedom. There had to be a permanent solution. She watched her husband sip his morning tea and eat his porridge. He had been and still was a pathetic creature without her. She was sure that he wouldn’t even manage to dress up without her. Okay, she was exaggerating, but there was a morsel of truth in it, and she knew what she would have to do. She would have to find a wife for her son.

She snarled.

Her husband groaned. It was meant as a question.

“Is your boss’s daughter still away in the big city?”

He tilted his head and locked his eyes with her.

“No,” he warned her.

“No, what?” she asked.

“Whatever you are thinking, no. We don’t meddle. He will leave eventually. He always does.”

She sighed.

Fired

A poor woman gets wired after working for 30 years at the same company. I skipped this one as I have to leave for work soon.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

It is so dark outside. Yesterday, the sun was hiding behind thick clouds, and everything was muddy gray, and before I knew it, it was dark again. But the artificial therapy light is working. I don’t feel the usual pull to go back to sleep and sleep the day away. The polar night, or as we call it, kaamos*, is so sneaky. At first, the darkness is just there, and it is alright, but then gradually it gnaws at you, and you lose your strength. I feel silly for not setting up the therapy light sooner. I just thought that the constant tiredness was something else.

*Polar night sounds too nice and cute for what it really presents. Kaamos, the Finnish word for it, represents something heavier, something close to darkness. Finish nature is so odd. We have these endless nights midsummer, and then these lightless days, and studies show that fluctuations in light influence our mental wellbeing, yet there is no system to mitigate the impact. It is just taken for granted that it goes that way. I wonder if we were more attuned to the fact when we didn’t have artificial lights. Was there a system in place to help those who struggled with the shifting lights? I want to think there was—something to help those when the midwinter sadness took over and they went crazy.

Thank you for reading! Have a day full of light ❤