SYNCHRONIZED: Not sure if I believe…

Rustypuppy — Wed, 25 Oct 2023 04:10:59 GMT

SYNCHRONIZED: Not sure if I believe in past lives. Zack does. He says I wouldn't always hold my hand out the car window, fingers spread like a wingtip, if I hadn't previously been a bird.

This road winds more than a desert snake. The cliff drops away to the ocean outside Zach's window, while I feel crushed by the shadow of the mountain. This is the price of love, or at least the temporary discomfort I'm willing to endure to get Zach to one of the few freediving spots he hasn’t yet explored. I lean my seat back to better catch the air current sweeping in through the sun roof and out the back windows.

At the beach, Zack kisses me before walking into the ocean. I stroll along the beach, then settle down with my feet in the swash. No breeze, but the motion of the water reminds me of soaring.

He's back within an hour, eyes sparkling, his camera full of photos he's eager to share with me and the world. The droplets of saltwater in his hair glitter. His words tumble over each other like a babbling brook. If I believed in past lives, Zach would have been a fish.

He wraps his arms around me, completely soaking my t-shirt. "Thanks for this," he murmurs into my hair. "I know it's not your thing."

I melt into his hug, thankful we're both humans for this iteration of our existence. "We can do my thing tomorrow. I found a place that will let me jump out of a perfectly good airplane."

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SINGLE PAGE STORY* SUNDAY: DISCRETE - Callamine…

Rustypuppy — Sun, 08 Oct 2023 16:14:00 GMT

SINGLE PAGE STORY* SUNDAY: DISCRETE - Callamine held the scroll above the sleeping baby's forehead.

She'd been ordered to curse the boy as punishment for the actions of the father. Such things did not sit well with Calla, who believed the one responsible should bear the consequences of their actions, not the next generation. But she was still only a low-level fairy and as such, dared not disobey a command from her queen.

She did, however, dare to speak the curse instead of touching the written words to the newborn's skin.

Thus on his sixteenth birthday, the day the boy was to die, the master weaver celebrated his first year of apprenticeship by letting the boy dye the first wool of the season.

Callamine had slug duty for a lunar month as punishment. Disgusting, but temporary. After all, a fairy who'd thrice failed her advancement assessment couldn't be smart enough to know about homophones.

* fanciful microfiction of less than 300 words

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