Day 360 Writing Short Stories

Tyranny

It’s the little things. Not the luxuries. Not the material goods. That’s a lie. It’s the ability to disagree. The ability to think otherwise. The ability to do and live a life according to one’s morals and conscience. The ability to move. Ability to be, appear, and love—the absence of it. The tyranny of the powerful, the masses, and such things don’t exist. They go away so easily with fear, and then there’s nothing left but control and anxiety. The suffocating feeling that all is not well. That something is wrong.

She was feeling just that. Something was amiss. Something didn’t sit right. But there was nothing she could do. She had shouted her concerns from the top of every roof, every podium, but no one listened. They huddled in their homes, running after things they didn’t need or want. She needed action, but she didn’t believe in the actions of violence. She believed in the altered minds, the quiet rebellions. She believed in knowledge, books, poems, philosophy; she believed in history and the words of those who wrote letters.

It was the letters. It was the words. It was how time was spent, how it was viewed.

Wizard

She had been watching the neighbor all week, moving into the new house next to them. She was sure that he hadn’t carried a thing inside, that the man had made the furniture, the packages carry themselves inside the house. Her parents had said that she had an overactive imagination, that there was no such thing as magic and wizards. She didn’t believe a single word they said. Her logs of the man’s movements and all the oddities happening around the house were proof.

She watched as the man locked his front door, as he had done every day at the same time. He walked to his car and was off.

She hopped down from the bench she had propped against the window and rushed out. Both of her parents were at work, and she had finally been able to convince them she could be left alone in the home after school.

She sneaked into the neighbor’s backyard and then peered inside his living room window. The house looked mundane, like any other house on the street. The pieces of furniture stayed still, were oddly beige, and harmless.

She circled the house, trying every door and window. The bedroom window was loose, and she wiggled herself in through the small opening.

The house was boring, and she was regretting her choices. Maybe her parents had been right. Maybe there was no such thing as magic, let alone wizards.

She made her way upstairs and found yet more boring rooms. The man was keen on models. There were models of airplanes, trains, cars, ships, and rockets made out of wooden sticks. They were delicate, complicated, and had demanded hours of work. The room was full of books, too. She let her fingers slide along their spines. There were books about physics, philosophy, history, chemistry, biology, geography, of small things and big things. Her finger stopped at the spine with the word metaphysics written on it. The book vibrated under her touch, sending a little electric current to her.

Her heart skipped a beat as she drew the book out of the shell. She opened it. It was full of bizarre symbols in a language she didn’t recognize. She smoothed her finger over the words and felt them tingle against her finger.

She spelled out some of the words, and soon the room was spinning. In the middle of the room, a huge portal opened, sucking in all the models, the books, and the furniture. The portal tugged her in, making her feet scrape against the floor. She tried to fight against it, but the current was too powerful.

The door to the room blew open, and the neighbor stood there. His mouth hung open as the portal sucked her in.

“Shit,” she heard the man shout.

Next thing she knew, she stood in the middle of a bizarre, foreign town, full of columns, towers, and onion-shaped roofs. There were all sorts of creatures walking down the street. Some looked like those from her fantasy books, and others from fairy tales. There were elves, cat-like people, dwarfs, tall, nimble-looking monsters with long arms and tusks and fur. All were making their way around the booths along the road.

She swallowed and felt panic rise.

“Silly girl,” she heard next to her and saw the wizard standing beside her. “I knew there was magic in the street when I moved in, but in a child.” He shook his head. “Just my luck.”

Sound of Rain

The stillness bestowed within. Yawn turning into a slowness. All there is, is the rain beating against the window, the roof, the world, washing everything new.

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

Could you please teleport me to that wizard world? A mini-adventure in the world of fantasy or to a different galaxy would do some good.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a magical day!