The door shut with a loud thud, followed by the clicking sound of three rows of latches. It was now too late for hesitation. Any chance of Amyrah changing her mind had been missed.

The makeshift room was small and crowded. Due to the length of time they would be in the air, each passenger was given a strict packing code to follow. Anything that was not considered a necessity – to them at least – was allowed on board. With all the young excited bodies squeezed inside, the small room heated up quickly.

She looked around at the other chosen ones. Each passenger was stunningly beautiful in their own right. In fact, she could hardly find a flaw in any of them. It hadn’t dawned on her till they were all seated together, how similar all the passengers looked.

Her mind quickly shifted as an public service announcement came on, preparing them for their departure. Amyrah was having a difficult time containing her emotions, something frowned upon at the academy. But she was just so anxious to finally be leaving the academy. She was the first in her family line to ever leave. It was an honor few were ever chosen for.

Amyrah had been one of the top of her class for as long as she remembered. Her older brother, Cryant, always disliked that about her. He wouldn’t even say goodbye when she left, yet she didn’t feel conscious of his absence. Instead, she quickly became absorbed with the streaks of light fluttering past her window. Streaks of white and blue flashed past her eyes at an alarming rate, causing her mind to drift off. Just what would this new commission hold for her?

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, dailyshorts challenged me with “Write a story telling why this day is important: August 18, 3015” and I challenged Major Bedhead with “You are in a room full of people and you are the only blind person there. Describe the room and the people in your mind.”

Continued from The Eternal Kingdom….

Surely this is all just coincidental. Could she have really just destroyed the maps leading to the Eternal Kingdom? That thought sent shivers down her spine. She must find Galiena, surely she would have answers.

Without hesitation Ur grabbed her cloak and headed into town. The wind whipped and twirled her hair, giving it a crazed life of its own. She bent her head down, shielding her face from the wind’s wrath. The journey into town was long and treacherous. The impending storm had left the streets eerily vacant.

Ur pressed her face against the tavern window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Galiena. The townsmen were oblivious to the storm. Their only concern was seeking solace in their mead and sharing elaborate stories of their various conquests. Attentive barmaids lingered nearby, eager to hear the latest stories.

With no sign of Galiena, Ur was left with no other option, she would have to make the long and arduous journey to Galiena’s cottage. The thought of making the journey sent a chill through Ur. The road quickly became uneven and rocky while the enraged wind made it even more difficult for Ur to maintain her balance. Ur could barely make out the faint flicker of a candle in the window up ahead. As she approached the door she was relived to see the old woman slumped in a chair in front of the fire. But before Ur could knock, Galiena was already up and on her way to the door.

“I wasn’t expecting you till dawn youngling.”

“I… I didn’t know. I thought what you were saying was… was…”

“What are you babbling about. Spit it out already!”

“The map. I didn’t know.” Ur raised her eyes to Galiena’s scornful gaze. “I threw the map in… the fire.”

Galiena’s demeanor quickly shifted and her eyes went from fearful to panic stricken. Now she wore a mask of pure terror.

“You what?? Oh youngling….. you have no idea what you have just done.”

 For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Diane challenged me with “There was no way I could have known then, but my decision would later shake the very foundation of the entire world’s beliefs to the core.” and I challenged Fran with “What happens when a computer malfunctions and traps about 400 people in a small department store?“

I couldn’t believe this day was finally here. After weeks and weeks of searching, I had finally found the perfect apartment. I secretly snickered as I thought of everyone back home who didn’t think a lil’ country girl could make it on her own in a big city. I’ll show them! Of course, deep down I wasn’t always so sure I would make it either.

I definitely didn’t believe I would ever be living in an apartment like the one I just found either. It was a beautiful one bedroom corner apartment on the 31st floor with two walls of windows. During the day, the apartment was flooded with afternoon sunlight and on clear nights, I could see for miles.

As I pulled my car up to the building I thought back to the day I called my realtor about this place. I had stumbled across the listing as I was leaving a restaurant with some friends. I still didn’t understand why the realtor was so hesitant to show me this place, especially since it was in my price range and was way nicer than any of the other dumps she had me walking through. I reached across the seat, grabbed a box and shut the car door with my hip. Guess I had better get this production started!

After a long day of moving and unpacking I decided to call it a night. I poured myself a glass of wine and stretched out on my new sofa. I took a deep sip and surveyed my surroundings. Sigh. Seriously, could life get any better then…

If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eye Joe
I’d been married long time ago
Where did you come from where did you go
Where did you come from Cotton-Eye Joe
If it hadn’t been…

What the!?! My silent serene night came quickly to a halt as “Cotton Eye Joe” came blaring through my ceiling. I watched in horror as my Grandmother’s vase filled with fresh flowers was vibrating its way across my kitchen table. I jumped up to save it from its impending doom as a new, even more painful noise began – a banjo. I tried to block out the noise and find my calm happy place but this ear carnage was just too much for me to handle.

I began to countdown to the end of the song. As the last verse was sung I let out a huge sigh of relief, until….. the song began to play AGAIN! My neighbor continued to play that annoying song over and over again for the next hour till I was on the verge of tears. When it cycled through again I was done.

“Oh hell no! This is going to stop NOW!” I grabbed my keys and stomped towards the elevator. The door slid open and I pounded the button for the 32nd floor. Only a distant rumbling of that God forsaken song could be heard as the doors shut, but I was quickly greeted by the song when I arrived to the floor above.

I began to knock on the door. No answer. The intensity of my knocking increased as my request for acknowledgment was being further and further ignored. In a fit of pure frustration I began violently kicking the door while continuing the assault with my fists. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the latch on the door clicked.

“Can you please turn down your music? I just moved in below you and your music is rattling everything in my apartment. I’m really tired and just want to unwind for a bit so…”

“Yeah no, that’s not gonna happen. This song is how I unwind. After a long day I come home and decompress. You are just gonna have to get use to it missy.”

“I am just asking you to turn it down a bit…”

“And I said, NO! It’s my apartment and I will do whatever I please, when I please and for as long as I please.”

“Well you don’t have to be such an ass. I was just asking you to consider someone other than yourself.”

“And I don’t have to listen to one little word that comes out of your pretty little mouth!”

“What?? How dare you! I swear, if that song gets played one more time I am going to…”
SLAM

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Kameko Murakami challenged me with “If that song gets played one more time, I swear I’m going to…” and I challenged Fran with “If you could invent something to help mankind what would it be?”

Many of us walk through life wondering what would happen if we truly spoke our minds. If we honestly answered that questions, “Does this make me look fat?” We may even have pretend conversations with ourselves, telling that certain person just how we really feel. We reflect back on past encounters or confrontations and realize all the things we should have said but never did.

I spend my days with a constant filter. Deliberately screening my every thought, mindfully choosing my words. I am careful not to inflict harm and cautious to never speak the truth. This filter forces me to exchange daily pleasantries with people I loathe. It constrains me to tolerate their lying grins, their backstabbing ways. I am always on guard, buffering all information to protect my soul. I try to come across as intrigued to buffer the fact that I am truly disdained by their utter existence.

Now, imagine trying something new. Envision a day where there is no filter. Where every word, thought and pondering flows freely from your lips. Imagine a day where we are no longer bound by social convictions, restricted by our inner ego. Imagine a day when our id rules our conscious, no longer bound by responsibility. I wonder just how the world would react to such freedom.

What is the first thing you would say?

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, SAM challenged me with “Try something new.” and I challenged Dim Dom with “Write from the point of view of a virus about to infect an important document.”

The booming voice on the microphone became muffled as I shut the bathroom door behind me. My heart was racing in my chest and it took everything in me to not have a complete and utter breakdown.

I walked over to the sink and turned on the cold water. As I looked in the mirror I hardly recognized the person staring back at me. My face was pale with beads of sweat trickling down my hairline. “Seriously man, get a grip“, I said to the pathetic reflection staring back at me.

I knew I only had a few more minutes before they were going to begin the awards ceremony and I wanted to make sure I was in my seat before they dimmed the lights. Tonight was the culmination of my life’s work and I was not going to miss my big moment. Countless hours of research, days upon days away from my family, holed up in my office till I found the ‘perfect’ chemical combination. Tonight, the ultimate prize was mine.

I quickly splashed some water on my face and turned off the faucet. When I turned to grab a hand towel I heard the distinct sound of a dead bolt sliding into place.

Well that’s weird, I thought as I tossed my crumpled towel in the garbage can. I quickly ran my hand through my hair and straightened my tie. Now’s my time to shine!

I pulled on the door handle but the door didn’t budge. I tugged and yanked with all my might, but each time my pull was met with resistance. “What the……”  I began frantically tugging at the door handle. What is going on? Why won’t this door open??

Outside I heard the ceremony music begin to play. NO! This can’t be happening! I began to pound on the door. “Help! Somebody please help me!”

The music was too loud and was drowning out my pleas and I was sure everyone was already back in their seats. How could this be happening? Why now? After everything I have done to get here.

I turned and slid my back down the door till I hit the floor with a thud. As I rested my head in my hands I heard the president our company begin his introduction – MY introduction. I sat and listened as he went on and on about my research, my discoveries, my progress for the human race. When he announced my name it was welcomed with silence, or at least I thought. His next words hit me like a punch in the groin. “Since Jack had to leave unexpectedly and will unable to accept his award this evening, his assistant Tim has graciously offered to accept on his behalf.”

And with that, everything became clear.

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Trencher challenged me with “A character is locked in a bathroom at the worst possible time. ” and I challenged Melissa with “Create a story or poem inspired by a line in a Charles Bukowski poem: “some suicides are never recorded.”".