Thomas studied himself in the
mirror, his lips parted. The outline of
his silhouette seemed to flicker on and off.
“What have I done?” he
muttered. The memory clung to a rock in
the sluggish stream of his mind. “Think
hard, Thomas.”
He remembered a metal box
covered with thousands of tiny light bulbs.
One column flashed blue, the next red, green, violet. A phantom hand wrenched his stomach as
he…went back in time?
It was a brisk autumn morning
in downtown Chicago. Thomas stood dazed
under a maple tree in a small park. A
young boy rushed over to him, his eyes almost large enough to touch the brim of
his brown flat cap. The face looked
right. He drew his blaster.
Cold, feverish chills racked Thomas’
body. He had thought the lad looked
familiar. It had struck him with the
last note of his weapon’s introductory vibrato. “Sorry, Grandpa Jim.”
Thomas’ brown hair faded to
blond, then vanished. His body shone for
an indeterminable duration before dispersing into a timeless void.
Nice piece, Patrick! :) Definitely something I would keep reading if you expanded it.
ReplyDeleteThank you. It's funny that you mention expanding it. It was originally 100 words.
DeleteWell, you certainly have the gift, Mr Stahl! Now do tell: where is your A2Z reveal post, hmm? You know, the one in which you disclose your wicked writing plans?
ReplyDeleteThank you, ma'am! I have been extremely busy the last few days, but I shall find a moment to reveal my scheme on the morrow. Sorry for the delay.
Delete