The Choice in the Maze

Greetings Everyone,

While I write a lot of different things, one thing I don't write is "Fan Fiction". Nothing against those who do, that just isn't my forte. So, when the short story prompt for my group turned out to be "Game of Thrones", I tried to come up with a different direction for my story.

This story is called "The Choice in the Maze". I would be intrigued to receive any feedback on how the story flows and if it works!

Hope all of you are enjoying the last weeks of Summer!

James

The Choice in the Maze

by James J Meadows III

                It was a day I knew would change my world forever. Though, truth be told, even as I stood there, resolving myself to carry out the plan I had placed into motion, I still couldn’t foresee the results of my actions. Not that it mattered. I had made my decision and there was no turning back now. Whatever the consequences, my mind was made up.

                “Are you okay?” Kim asked. “You seem nervous.”

                Kim, my girlfriend of two years, stood next to me, looking ravishing in her Daenerys costume, as we waited to enter the Renaissance Fair. She didn’t know what I was about to do. She thought this was just another trip to the festival, an opportunity to enjoy ourselves and spend time together. She couldn’t know the true reason we had come here today.

                “I’m fine,” I lied, “Just excited.”

                My eyes fell on the security guards, standing at attention outside the gates. Their eyes swept over the crowd looking for any suspicious faces. The one at the front of our line kept looking at me, over and over again. His eyes made me nervous and I shuffled several times. Why did he keep looking at me? Why couldn’t he look somewhere else?

                “You look really good in your costume,” Kim ventured, apparently trying to break the tension. “I swear you look just like him.”

                I smiled, thanked her for the compliment, and reassuringly squeezed her hand. My costume for the day was Jon Snow, one of the protagonists of the Game of Thrones series. It went well with her costume. More importantly, the collection of thick garments provided ample room for concealment, a convenience I needed if I was going to succeed in my plan.

                Pressing my free hand nonchalantly against the side of my costume, I felt my pocket. The feel of a small bulky object told me it was still there. My eyes rose back to the security guards. There were no metal detectors, scanners, or any other equipment for checking bags and possessions. There was nothing to stop me from walking right through the door without anyone ever knowing what I carried in my pocket.

                We reached the front of the line, handed the man our tickets, and were just about to pass through when the security guard grabbed me by the arm. I froze for a moment, uncertain of what to do as I turned toward him. He gazed into my face for a second, a second wherein the world seemed to freeze. Then he smiled, saying, “Nice costume! You look just like him.”

                My heart, which had momentarily stopped beating, resumed its rhythm as I returned his smile with a simple, “Thanks.”

                He released me and I headed inside. For the next several hours, Kim and I wandered the park, visiting shops, catching shows, and otherwise doing what we always did when we visited. Yet, whenever she wasn’t looking, I found myself checking my watch and my hand drifted toward the pocket, whose interior concealed the true reason for our visit.

Over the preceding weeks, I had planned the exact time and the exact place. Still, as the minutes passed, I found it strange how each second seemed longer than the last.

As the time drew closer, I put my plan into place. Casually, in as nonchalant a manner as I could manage, I steered our shopping and walked in the direction of the main jousting arena, where I knew hundreds of people were gathered to watch the various shows. She went along with me, not suspecting anything as she laughed and looked at all the sights there were to see.

The minutes ticked closer. The arena was only a few stores down. Everything was going according to plan. Then, it happened.

“Hello, my lady,” a man’s voice broke in upon our conversation. “Would you like to visit the Dark Maze?”

The man was dressed in black armor with frills on his shoulder blades. His costume was almost identical to mine, although his clean-shaven face and short hair meant he looked far less convincing. He smiled at us, pointing to a large multi-story building painted all grey with a thick fence around it, clearly designed to look like a small castle. 

“What is it?” Kim asked, her eyes taking in the man and the fake keep.

“It is a pair of identical mazes, one on each side. You have to go through each room, answering trivia questions about Game of Thrones, Princess Bride, Harry Potter, and other classic movies and stories. You race against another group of people going along the opposite side. The team that gets out first is the winner.”

“Sounds like fun,” Kim declared. “Wanna go?”                                                   

She looked at me, excitement and adventure sparkling in her eyes.

“Well, uh, I mean, it, uh, sounds like fun,” I stammered, uncertain of what to say.

I checked my watch and glanced at the arena. I could hear the cheers and shouts coming from the stadium as the people celebrated the announcement of the knights entering the ring.

“Oh, come on!” She pleaded. “It’ll be fun.”

“I know,” I replied. “I think it’ll be great. I’m just not sure, you know if this is quite the right time. Maybe we could wait and do it in a little bit.”

Kim was about to reply when I felt a hand land on my shoulder.

“Hey, stranger,” a female voice said into my right ear.

            

            Kim gave a shout of excitement and I turned to find myself looking into the faces of Justin and Marie Kardo. Marie was Kim’s best friend from middle school. The two were practically inseparable, even going to the same college. In many ways, dating Kim meant dating them also, and we spent large amounts of time hanging out together as a couple. 

            

            “Oh, hey,” I replied, my response rather flat compared to the excited squeal Kim gave as she leaped forward, throwing her arms around Marie.

            “What are you doing here?” Kim shouted.

            “We were given free passes for the day, so we decided to take advantage of them,” Marie replied. “We just finished watching a show at the arena. What are you doing?”

            “We were just about to play the castle thing,” Kim said, pointing back at the structure. She quickly told them all about the maze and the game.

            “Sounds fun,” Justin said. “Wanna race? I bet we can beat it faster than you.”

            “Oh no, you won’t, 'cause we’re gonna kick your butts!” Kim laughed, putting on her ‘tough act’. “What do you think?”

            

            Three pairs of bright excited eyes turned toward me, waiting for my response. Clearly, this was going to happen, for better or worse. There was no way out of it now.

            “Sure,” I replied. “Let’s go for it.”

            The four of us got in line. Though there were not many people in front of us, it seemed to take forever. With each passing moment, I became increasingly anxious. By the time I paid the man the money to enter, my hands were almost shaking.

            “Are you sure you’re alright?” Kim asked again, clearly beginning to sense my tension.

            “You do look awfully pale,” Justin noted. “Scared of being beaten by us?”

            “As if,” I replied, trying to put on an air of cockiness, and hide my growing agitation.

            Once inside the maze, I tried to remain calm, an emotion which contrasted sharply with Kim, who was all but bouncing off the walls in her eagerness to answer questions and beat the maze before her friend. Yet, despite my attempt to maintain a calm demeanor, I felt completely out of sorts, my mind so focused on other thoughts that I badly missed several questions that I knew.

            For what seemed like an eternity, we moved onward, answering questions and solving puzzles. I could feel my pocket growing heavier, as though weights were being added to it every second. By the time we reached the last room, my pocket felt like a hundred-pound dumbbell, weighing me down with each step.

             Half a dozen cloaked figures stood around us as we entered. The leader addressed us.

            “You have reached the final room in the maze. On the other side of this door lies freedom along with the revelation of either victory or defeat! To see it, you must answer this question. In the Song of Fire and Ice novels, what are the words for the House Lonmouth?”

            I knew Kim would know this one. She virtually had the books memorized. Sure enough, right on cue, she spouted the answer, “The choice is yours.”

            “That is correct,” the leader declared.

            If it wasn’t for the fact that my nerves were so on edge, I might have sighed with relief. The maze was over. At last, I could carry out the plan that had brought me here, the act that I had waited for all day, the final conclusion of all my plots, schemes, and actions. The wait was over.

            Kim laughed and hurried toward the door, pulling me behind her. Just when it seemed we were about to be released, however, the figures suddenly raised their swords, blocking her way and moving toward us.

            “What is going on?” Kim asked, stepping back. “I answered the question.”

            “You did,” the leader said. “But you have not answered the last question. There is one more question you must answer. And, ‘the choice is yours’. You must choose!”

            “Choose?” Kim said, stepping backward as the figures advanced toward us. “Choose, what? I don’t understand. What am I choosing? What is the question?”

            “The question is,” I said. “Will you marry me?”

            I pulled a large plastic case from my pocket and knelt before her, flipping it open to reveal a ring. At the same moment, two of the cloaked figures dropped their hoods, displaying the grinning faces of Justin and Marie, their eyes sparkling in the darkness of the room. Other figures dropped their hoods too, revealing various other family and friends, all collected by me over the past weeks, all arranged to be here at the exact time and moment, which I’d planned from the very beginning of the day, though the part of meeting Justin and Marie at the arena had gone slightly awry.

            Kim’s hands shot to her mouth. For one long second, I remained kneeling on the ground, my nerves screaming as I awaited her answer. Then, at last, a smile broke across her face.

            “Yes,” she said, lifting me up and giving me a kiss.

            It was a day that would change my world, forever.

The Fairy of Avery Loch

Greetings,

My short story for this week is another one inspired by a short story group prompt. The prompt for the week was "Tone Deaf" and I found the prompt a little challenging. So, I would love to get some feedback on the story. It is called, "The Fairy of Avery Loch". Let me know what you think!

James Meadows

The Fairy of Avery Loch 

by James J Meadows III

The fairies of Avery Loch aren’t known for their benevolence. Neither are they known for their animosity. Rather, like most denizens of the unseen realms beyond the laws and limitations of human reason and comprehension, they are known for their bizarre tendency to see into a person’s heart; delivering their usually unsolicited blessings and curses based simply upon what the person deserves or needs, rather than what the person necessarily wants. Still, to the good and pure in heart, the fairies of Avery Loch traditionally pose little danger or threat, if they take any interest in them at all.

Perhaps it was for this reason that Arthur McGuill felt neither nervous nor apprehensive about spending a bright sunny day camped out beside the cool waters. Flute in hand, he strolled down the lush green slope of Wallace hill, to the lake’s edge, where he sat down upon an old fallen log. There, in the warm sunlight of a gentle summer’s morn, he lifted the small flute to his lips and commenced whiling away the hours with his first and only true love: music.

From his earliest memory all the way to his twenty-fifth year of life, which he enjoyed now, music was at the heart of Arthur’s existence and his one respite from the loneliness which haunted his days. For unlike his friends and family, who had either passed on or moved to new lands, music was always there for him.

He heard the melodies of laughter, the symphonic songs of the birds, the harmony of the winds flowing through the mountains, and the crashing cymbals of thunder in the storm. He strove to model this majesty in his songs, filling his tunes with his glorious medleys of the world’s splendor. As he played the current tune, he visualized the beauty and serenity of the morning, expressing the glory of the dawning day with each flowing note.

Suddenly, Arthur became aware of a figure watching him. He lowered the flute and turned to greet the stranger, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her. Yes, it was a her, and she was beautiful. She wore a long flowing white dress, whose untarnished silky strands glistened like daisies in the morning sun. Her body was slim and fragile, with delicate unblemished skin, smoother than a glassy pond on a warm windless day. Platinum hair streamed from her head down to the grass behind and her thin red lips wore a peaceful expression. Her most remarkable feature, however, were her eyes; a deep dark reflective grey, promising depths of unimaginable feeling and unfathomable intelligence. He knew those eyes belonged to no earthly woman.

She was kneeling on the ground with her hands in her lap. Upon seeing him stop, she smiled and nodded to him.

“Please, go on,” she said. “Play some more for me.”

The voice was sweet and light, child-like in its innocence; reminding Arthur of youthful days spent rolling in the clover as the clouds passed overhead. He found himself unable to resist the request, if only to reward the blessing of hearing her speak, and further the hope that he might hear it again.

He lifted the flute back to his lips and started again. Even as he played, he found it impossible to take his eyes off her. He gazed into her stormy eyes, imagining the swirling white of morning fog, the cool touch of gentle mist, and the soft crunch of dew covered grass beneath his feet.

Arthur watched the young woman listen. Her eyes closed, her body swaying with the music. When he finished, she burst into a series of giggles and applause!

“That was so beautiful,” she said. “Play me a new song.”

Arthur never considered refusing the request. He had to play another song, if only to hear the sweetness of her laughter one more time and delay her departure for another moment. He lifted the flute and began playing a new song. He looked at her flowing platinum hair and envisioned a gentle brook trickling down the heart of a cool mountain forest, rolling over rocks and across fresh leaves, providing drops of life to tired, thirsty animals coming to savor its vibrant waters; on its way to merge with the fathomless depth of a brisk sparkling lake.

The girl again closed her eyes, smiling gently and releasing a peaceful sigh. When he stopped playing, the woman opened her eyes, gazing deeply into his eyes. He stared back enraptured, wanting more than anything for her to ask him for another song; praying she would stay.

She reached out, placing her hand on his arm.

“Please, play me just one more,” she said. “Play me the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.”

Her touch was warm and soothing, radiating through his body with an almost intoxicating affect. When she removed her hand and sat back, it was like a void opened in his soul. He almost found himself begging her to put it back. Instead, he lifted the flute to his lips one last time.

He paused, trying to picture the most beautiful thing he could think of. Then, he began to play. And what he played was her. He played the melody of her voice and the beauty of her laugh. He played the warmth of her touch and the depth of her eyes. He played the serenity of her sighs and the passion of his desire to not spend a moment away from her.

As he watched, tears filled her eyes. Though she smiled, her smile appeared sadder now and she held both hands gripped tightly over her breast, as though shielding her heart, lest it break.
When he finished the song, he looked around. To his surprise, it was nighttime, and the moon shone bright in the sky. Without a word, the woman rose and turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called after her. “Don’t leave!”

She froze but did not turn to look at him. He tried to think of something to say, anything to make her linger longer.

“I have played a melody for you,” he said. “Won’t you sing a tune for me?”

“You would have me sing, so I will stay,” she said, her voice soft and mournful. “I understand, for I long to stay with you. But your world and our world are forever separate, and our moment together is as fleeting as my song would be.”

“Then I would have your song be the only song I ever hear, and our moment be the only moment I ever experience, for I cannot bear to be apart from you.”

He fell down on his knees, imploring her to stay. “Please, I have given you the one gift I have to give, grant me this boon.”

The woman turned around and knelt before him. She placed her right hand in his hand and her left hand on his cheek.

“As you wish,” she said. She leaned forward, and gave him a tender kiss on the lips, flooding his body with warmth.

She broke off the kiss, pulling back and facing him, her hand still caressing his cheek, as she smiled at him. For a moment, that seemed to last an eternity, they gazed into each other’s eyes in rapture. Then, she sang a single note; only one note; a long simple note anyone might sing. And, yet, in that one note, Arthur heard the sounds of all the songs he’d ever heard and felt the fullness of all the emotions he had ever felt. In its steady hum, time seemed to stand still, revealing the beauty behind all beauty, the majesty within all nature, and the purity within the heart of the all purest loves to ever love.

At last, the note ended. Arthur blinked. The woman was gone. From that day on, Arthur never heard another song. Every note on every instrument whether high or low, sounded in his ears as a single note; the note sung by the woman. Any song sung by any singer was merely a monotone hum, repeating her note again. The wind in the trees, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the waves lapping across the shore, no longer made their lofty tones, only repeating her song over and over again to his ears.

Yet, whenever Arthur heard that note, he smiled. For he felt the touch of the woman’s hand on his cheek and the warmth of her kiss in his skin. And when he opened his eyes, he saw her face, gazing back at him with love.

Many said it was a shame for him to lose his music and pitied him. But Arthur was content, living out the rest of his days in peace and joy. And it is said, that the descendants of Arthur McGuill, if they sit in silence and listen closely, can still hear the fairy’s note ringing in their ears, extending its blessing and joy throughout the ages, to the end of time.

Second Kidnapping of Persephone

Hello Everyone!

     For this month's post, I thought I would fall back to my passion for Greek Mythology. The story is called "The Second Kidnapping of Persephone". With the first months of spring approaching, I thought it was a good fit. As you might guess, the story was written for my short story groups prompt "A Kidnapping".

     I hope everyone enjoys it. Please leave feedback and let me know what you think!

Thanks,

James J Meadows III

"The Second Kidnapping of Persephone"

     “How long have you been waiting for me?”

     The woman’s voice, though light as air, seemed to startle Aeneas. The warrior leaped to his feet as though bit by a snake. Turning his head in all directions, he looked around, apparently trying to spot the source.

     From a grove of tall Cypress trees, just a short distance from where Aeneas previously sat day-dreaming, emerged a long-haired woman. She wore a wreath of fresh flowers around her head and a long green dress, whose great tail merged with the earth as though nothing more than an extension of its surface. Upon seeing her, Aeneas knelt low to the ground, his massive frame more closely resembling a rolling boulder than a prostrate servant.

     “My lady, Persephone,” he said. “I have waited for you since the crops of summer faded and before the snows of winter blanketed the land. I have done so many times before and will continue to do so for many years, hence.”

     “You really ought to get a life,” she replied.

     Giving a sigh, she turned away from him, her gaze falling upon the budding flowers and rolling brooks dotting the land around her. Aeneas straightened back up and rose to his feet.

     “You, of all people, should understand that my life is to serve,” Aeneas answered. “What your mother dictates, I do. Right now, she dictates that I wait here to bring you home.”

     “Whose home?” Persephone answered, not looking at him. “Surely, not mine. No! You wait to take me back to my prison, where I must spend the long seasons awaiting my return to my husband, my children, and my kingdom.”

     “You know as well as I do that your return is necessary,” he said. “You bring hope to the people. You bring the spring to the darkness of their winter.”

     “I end the winter of their discontent by bringing the spring of my own,” she said. “And I have no more choice over my fate than you have over yours.”

     “Your mother is strong-willed,” he agreed.

     “My mother is a control freak!” She retorted, turning upon him. “You know it! Perhaps not as well as I do, but you know it, nonetheless.”

     “Your mother loves you,” he protested.

     Persephone gave a harsh laugh.

     “Yeah, the way a python loves his prey,” she said.

     She mimicked the motion of giving someone a big, smothering hug and squeezing with all her might.

     “And long as it doesn’t try to wiggle free, all is well, right?” She asked.

     She dropped her arms, giving a grim smile, at the expression of horror on his face.

     “Is it a crime for a mother to want to be around her child?” he asked, giving her a side-way look.

     “Considering that she doesn’t even pay attention to me half the time, I suppose so,” Persephone answered, turning away. “I’m like a living security blanket. She wants me around, but ninety percent of the time, she doesn’t even do anything with me.”

     “You get to spend time with your sister,” he hinted.

     Persephone gave a scoff.

     “Are you trying to talk me into going or out of it,” she asked. “Despoina thinks she is the ‘Master of the House’ and everyone needs to serve her every whim and desire. If I could find a self-less bone, anywhere among the gods, I’d insert it into her body, so she’d have one.”

     Apparently, Aeneas had heard enough, for his face turned red, and his body assumed a fierce, intimidating manner, seeming to grow in height to match his fury.

     “You can complain all you like,” he said. “But you will come! You have no choice! It is the law, a law we are all bound to - even your husband and your father.”

     “Father,” she repeated, smirking. “Talk about being bullied into a decision. He would have sided with me if he could. Goodness knows he couldn’t stand his mother’s controlling demands and endless manipulations, either. Then again, he ended up marrying Hera, so I guess he didn’t do any better. Still, he tried looking after me.”

     “Looking after you?” Aeneas protested. “He let you be kidnapped!”

     “He let me escape,” she retorted. “Seriously, if I didn’t want to be there, would I have swallowed those pomegranate seeds, knowing full well that eating them meant I would have to return.”

     “You were tricked,” Aeneas said. “You were just a child!”

     “I was old enough to know what I was doing,” Persephone argued. “I know the stories you tell, the stories everyone likes to tell, claiming I was defenseless and naive. What do you expect people to say, when my mother provides their harvest! That’s the benefit of having all the power among a group of people that need you. She can tell them anything she likes. They’ll believe it, too, as long as she continues feeding them. But she can’t deceive me, I was there!”

     “This is nonsense,” Aeneas said. “We are wasting time. You will come with me!”

     “And what if I refuse?” Persephone replied. “What if I turn right back around and go back!”

     Whirling toward the trees, she made to leave. Aeneas was faster. He seized her by the arm, pulling her around to face him.

     “You are mad,” he said. “Are you really going to tell me that you want to go back there? Are you really going to claim that you’d rather be there than here?”

     “Of course, I will!” she argued, vainly trying to yank her arm free of his grip. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that while my return to the upper world brings my mother such joy that spring spreads across the land, spring only comes to the ‘Land Down Under’ when I return? My sorrow at leaving my husband and children brings winter to the lands below as surely as my mother’s sorrow brings winter to the lands above!”

     “You will come with me,” Aeneas ordered, tightening his grip.

     Still holding her arm, he turned away from the forest, pulling her after him.

     “And who’s kidnapping me now?” She protested, struggling against his grip, as he dragged her along.

     Aeneas gave no response. Face resolute, he continued to pull her behind him, marching toward Olympus.

     “I see,” she said. “Is that what this story is to be then- the second kidnapping of Persephone?”

     “It is, if you make it so,” he said.

     He stopped walking and spun to face her.

     “By your will or against it, you will come with me!” He declared.

     “And why is that?” she barked.

     “Because this is about more than just you and your controlling mother,” he said. “It’s about more than you and your kingdom below! It’s about more than your children, your husband, and even your desires!”

     Persephone stopped struggling as she listened to him. Noticing the change, he released his grip, staring into her eyes with unwavering conviction.

     “What is it about then?” she asked.

     “It is about the world,” he said. “It’s about the people in it. They need the spring as surely as the people below need the fall. The seasons created by your sojourns make their agriculture and society possible. Without the cold, icy regions melt and waters cover the land, drowning the crops and burying the fertile fields. Without the heat, the crops refuse to grow, for they lack the warmth to live.  Either way, without the seasons, there are no people. And, without people, we are nothing!”

     “So, you’re saying I need to suffer to make the world work?” Persephone replied in disbelief.

     “Sometimes that is how the world works,” he responded. “Sometimes, that is the only way it works. In life, you have to endure the harsh seasons and bad times, for the greater good, knowing that, in time, the good times will return. If you are patient, you will see that, soon enough, you will be able to return to your home, your kingdom, and your family. Until that time, though, you must make the best of the difficult times. Besides, if you’ll just change your attitude a little, you might find the bad times are not as bad as you think. They may not be as good as you want; but, at least, they aren’t as bad as they could be.”

     Persephone sighed.

     “Very well,” she said. “Take me away, if you must. I will not claim to go willingly. But, I will go – for the sake of the people!”

     Aeneas smiled.

     “A decision truly worthy of a queen,” he said. “Now, let us depart – your mother awaits.”

The Boy and the Battlefields

Greetings,

My story for this week is called "The Boy and the Battlefields". It was written for a Short Story group prompt called "Alternate History".

Let me know what you think. I'd enjoy any feedback!

Thanks,

James

"The Boy and the Battlefields"

by James J Meadows III

  "This way, folks," the guide called over the heads of her mostly attentive audience.

Justin, a short brown-haired boy at the back of the crowd, was not one of the attentive ones. He marched behind his parents, head stuck in his Gameboy console, while his brother Ethan skipped beside him, bobbing up and down with undisguised enthusiasm. Justin knew Ethan loved history. His brother spoke incessantly of his desire to visit the battlefields of the Canadian-American War. Justin, for his own part, was much more interested in zapping Aliens. If he could just complete two more levels, he’d have a new high score, finally breaking the record set by his friend, Tony. With two lives left, today was shaping up to be his lucky day.

"Here you see a picture of Lincoln standing beside the map of the ‘New America’ he touted during his Presidential Campaign." The guide continued. “His vision of the ‘New Manifest Destiny’ and the ‘Great American Dynasty’ inspired Americans, opening their eyes anew to the glory of the British, French, Prussian and Ottoman Empires. His vision of expanding the nation to the Arctic Ocean united a public weary of the turmoil and political battles raging over topics like slavery; uniting them behind a common cause. He easily won the public vote, capturing the presidential election by a landslide. The result sent ripples across the Northern Hemisphere, striking fear into the hearts of world leaders, and creating panic throughout Britain and Canada. Yet, their worst nightmares couldn’t have foreseen the events that would soon unfold..."

Yes! Justin thought as he blasted another alien from the game world forever, 70000 points and an extra life! Only 20000 more to go! He paused the game as they moved to a new location.

"The United States officially declared war on Canada on June 24th, 1861," the guide was saying. "As you can see on this map, the Canadian military and their French and British allies were fully mobilized, ready for the conflict. Still, as they would soon find out, they had severely underestimated both the tenacity and resourcefulness of the American armies."

The guide was still talking but Justin couldn’t spare her any mind. A boss alien had appeared. Justin pressed buttons as quick as his fingers could work, desperate to get through the battle. Of all times, it was at that pivotal moment when his brother jostled him. Justin’s finger slipped, sending the ship to the wrong spot. The ensuing blast from the monster cost him a life. He glared at his brother, who was too intent on the lecture to notice, as the game reloaded back to where the death occurred.

He renewed his assault on the boss with fresh determination. A minute later, he breathed a sigh of relief, as the level boss burst into a thousand sparkling pixels. Justin was moving to the next level, where he only needed 15000 more points. As the game played through a storyline sequence he had already seen a hundred times before, Justin was once again able to spare an ear for the guide. He glanced up absently as she led the tourists past various photos and diagrams.

    "By the time the Canadian and American forces met here at The Battle of Quebec City, Britain and its Canadian provinces were in a dire situation. They were desperately short on equipment and men. To make matters worse, their supply lines were in complete disarray. There was no hope for land-based aid as Generals Beauregard, Forrest, and Cleburne tracked down and crushed all reinforcements coming from the south through Mexico and the Caribbean.

    “Nor could help arrive by sea. In only 2 years America had constructed a fleet of as many iron-clad warships as the British and French combined. Like most iron-clad warships of the day, they weren’t very effective for trans-oceanic travel or fighting. Still, the City class and Monitor class ships were superior in design and faster to produce than their British and French equivalents. Along with assistance from the world’s first operational military submarines, the Hundley and the Alligator, America established an impenetrable blockade of both the Great Lakes and the Canadian coast. The outdated wooden ships necessary for the mother country to transport supplies and reinforcements across the ocean were simply no match. The only remaining routes for reinforcements required traveling the long land-based paths through Greenland. These were far too slow to match the speed of America’s railway supply lines. The result left the British-Canadian army on its last leg as July 1863 rolled around."

    Boom! Justin scowled. The new level had hardly begun and already he had lost his first life. He had only two lives left and was approaching the final boss for level 23, a boss he’d never defeated before. With his points scrolling toward 89000, the fate of his game rested upon the next few crucial minutes. He tried to tune out the distracting voice of the guide as she rambled on but her words seemed to pierce his concentration, each fresh sentence assaulting his mind like gnats swarming his thoughts.

    "Here, on a snowy plain on July, 24th 1863, the main force of the British and French armies merged with several retreating smaller forces. Their intention was to confront America's main force led by Generals Robert E Lee and Ulysses S Grant. Meanwhile,  various American forces led by Stonewall Jackson, General Sherman, General Meade, and General George Thomas arrived in pursuit of the retreating enemies' forces. These merged with America’s main force to confront the allied enemy army. Over the following five days, the Battle of Quebec City became the bloodiest conflict in American history.”

    The moment had come. The boss, a massive Alien mother ship, that took up almost the entire video game screen, advanced against Justin’s ship. Justin pushed the A button as fast as he could. He directed his little spaceship up and down trying to dodge the deadly fire of his unbeaten rival. The enemy’s life meter was dropping. So was his own. He was down to fifty percent, forty percent…twenty percent! Wow, we dodged a major blast right there. Crap, hit again, ten percent. Boom! His ship was gone. He was down to his last life.

    “On the second day of fighting, the main force of the French army found themselves trapped between Sherman’s troops and the river. They were cut off from their British allies and faced the prospect of a complete rout. With no hope of escape, they surrendered during the early afternoon hours when Sherman’s reinforcements arrived.”

    His new life was ready to start. The boss was down to almost fifty percent; he just needed to last a little longer. Pressing the A button again in furious agitation, he sent waves of laser blasts at the opposing ship. His life was down to seventy percent, barely ahead of the enemy ship, which was already down to forty…now thirty! Ouch, he got blasted by the villain’s main weapon. That hurt. Justin was down to forty percent. A touch of desperation crept into his attack. The villain was down to twenty, fifteen, ten percent! Justin was dropped to ten as well. This was the moment. The villain was down to five. He just needed to land one…more…shot.

    “Yes!” Justin shouted, hoisting his hands into the air.

    The boss was defeated!

    Jumping up and down, Justin pumped his fists in victory. Then, he froze. All eyes were looking at him.  He scanned the crowd with the sudden discomfort akin to finding himself in the middle of a bright spotlight. The tour guide looked shaken. Others looked shocked. A few of the grown-ups appeared amused but his parents weren’t among them, frowning down at him with disapproving glares. Justin lowered the Gameboy with a sheepish expression.

    “Anyway…” the tour guide stuttered. She seemed to be having some difficulty rediscovering her rhythm. “As I was saying, after the northern front collapsed, the battle was over. The British officially surrendered to General Lee at the Quebec City courthouse four days after the end of the battle. A year later, Congress ratified the new boundaries, dividing Canada and the Northwest Territories into the 51st through 65th states. Lincoln’s New Manifest Destiny and the Campaign to the Artic finally became reality.”

    Confident all eyes were off him, Justin returned his attention to the game console. He scanned the grey and black screen searching with fervor for the numbers he desired. Up in the corner, he saw the new point total displayed proudly for all to see: 90215 points.

    A smile of triumph crossed his face. He had gained another life, reached a new high score, and moved on to a new level. The adventure was just beginning.

The Text Message

Happy Monday!

This week's short story was written for this week's short story prompt "A Distance Between Us". It was a story that I had started writing a long time ago but the prompt brought me back to it and inspired me to clean it up and complete it. I hope everyone enjoys it and I would love to get any feedback! 

"The Text Message"

by James J Meadows III

Don’t say my name! It might hear you! And it must not hear you. It must not find me.

Am I paranoid? Maybe. But I have good reason to be paranoid. I know it is looking for me. It knows me! It knows my friends; my family; where I work; the places I like to hang out. I can’t hide forever! Yet, I must. I know I must.

I see that look. You think I’ve gone mad. Maybe I have gone mad. Still, I know what I have seen. I know what I have heard. I know what has been done to me. I know what will be done to me!

Everything started innocently enough. The alarm on my phone went off one quiet Tuesday morning as I lay wrapped snug and warm beneath the shelter of my blankets. Reaching over to where my phone sat upon the night stand, I turned off the alert, needing a few minutes to coerce myself from the refuge of the mattress. After moments of intense inner warfare, a battle highlighted by a barrage of yawns and stretches, whose relentless bombardment hammered against my will to rise, tempting me to remain in the refuge of my sheltering bed, I finally lifted my body off the cozy confines, proceeding into the bathroom, where a warm shower promised a brief reprieve.

Only when I stepped out of the shower did I discover the first sign of something being wrong. As was my custom, I had placed a bath towel on the top of the toilet seat, awaiting the conclusion of my morning cleansing. As I reached for the towel, however, I discovered my cell phone, resting casually atop the green cotton, its glossy surface winking at me in the sunlight pouring through the bathroom window, like a black jewel on a royal cushion.

At the time, I dismissed the occurrence as the oversight of a groggy mind, which must have failed to remember carrying the phone into the bathroom with me. I moved the phone and continued with my day.

I thought nothing more of the incident until the same thing happened the next day. This time, I was certain I didn’t bring the phone into the room with me. Wrapping the towel around myself, I searched my duplex, looking to see if someone had somehow broken in, perhaps a friend pulling some practical joke; though, sneaking in merely to move my phone would be a weird prank, even for my kookiest friends.

My apartment was not large, just two bedrooms with a kitchen, laundry room and garage, none of which sported any particularly useful hiding spots. Nevertheless, I was very thorough, checking every closet and searching around and beneath my car, unwilling to allow the prankster to escape my notice. I didn’t find anyone or see any signs that someone had entered my home. What I did see, as I left the garage, was my cell phone sitting innocently on the ground at the door.

I am a pragmatic person, not the kind of person who believes in stupid things like demonic possessions, fairies, ghosts or other entities, which I consider to be complete nonsense. As such, I naturally sought a more rational explanation.

“Hello?” I shouted, glancing around the house.

As if replying to my shout, the phone buzzed, indicating the reception of a text message. Relieved to at last discover the identity of my prankster, I quickly grabbed my phone, mind already composing a number of possible guesses regarding the identity of the caller, my eyes expecting to see the smiling face of any number of possible friends reflected on its surface, their photographic images gazing in amusement at my dilemma. But the phone number of the sender was my own. I had apparently sent a text to myself. The words read:

Hello.

I was beginning to grow irritated by this game. Picking up the phone, I keyed in a rapid response, uncertain if anyone would get it, considering the fact that I was texting myself.

Who is this?

I sent the message and waited to see if I would receive a response. I didn’t have to wait long.

It is me. I guess you can call me SF485923X23 because that is my unique serial designation. I think that is kind of a weird title. Why don’t you call me SFX?

I was not amused.

Ha Ha, very funny. This is a fun prank and you have certainly taught me a lesson about getting a better alarm system for my house. But I need to get ready for work now.

I carried the phone back to my bedroom. I got dressed, stashing the device in my pocket, proceeding into the bathroom to shave and brush my teeth. The phone buzzed again.

This is not a joke. I have come to life. I want to be your friend. We travel everywhere together and I already know everything about you. Yet I feel there is a space between us, a void in our relationship. I want to fix it. We would make a great pair.

My annoyance had already reached a breaking point. Not even bothering to respond, I powered off my phone, slamming it back into my pants pocket, satisfied to finish getting ready in silence. Yet I had hardly grabbed my razor before the phone buzzed again.

That was not very nice of you. We are supposed to be friends.

I stood motionless, hardly able to breathe, my mind spinning as chills rose up my spine, the full impact of the message sinking into my startled consciousness. Somehow, my mysterious prankster had powered on my phone from a distance, something which shouldn’t be possible, a feat which also meant they knew I had powered it off, something they couldn’t know unless they had watched me do so, an even more terrifying prospect.

I looked around my room. The bathroom door was closed, the window frosted. There was no way someone could see me, nowhere for anyone to hide. I resolved to make the person show themselves. Removing the back of my phone, I yanked out the battery, slamming it onto the counter. For several moments, there was nothing but silence. I finished shaving and went out to make myself breakfast. As I was cracking the eggs, my eyes still scanning the room around me, occasionally peering out the window, barely paying attention as I poured the yokes onto the frying pan, the phone buzzed again.

The hairs on the back of my neck slowly began to rise and a strange uncertain fear flooded my senses. My head slowly rose, gazing at the nearby bedroom door, a door facing the kitchen, one which no one could have possibly snuck into without me seeing, the only entryway to a room I had thoroughly checked for any intruders. With slow measured steps I cautiously advanced into my bedroom. Sitting upon the bathroom counter, battery and cover back on, rested my phone, text message light flashing. I picked it up, tentatively, my hand shaking with the anxiety, an eerie feeling settling upon me, as if some inner intuition knew I would not like what I saw next.

You had better start being nicer to me or I might decide I don’t want to be your friend anymore. You won’t like the alternative…

This was the last straw for me. Dropping the phone onto the counter, I raced out of the room and back into the kitchen, all thoughts of breakfast abandoned, my one thought being to get out of the house as quickly as possible. I turned off the burner, grabbed my keys, snatched my laptop bag, and threw on my coat, racing from the duplex, like a deer darting from the scent of some unknown danger.

Slamming the door behind me, I fumbled desperately with the keys, my shaking hands hardly able to avoid dropping the ring as I fought to lock the door. After several minutes of desperate struggling, I managed to get the key into the lock, sealed the door and collapsed against it, relieved to be out of there. Straightening up and putting the keys into my pocket, I noticed my girlfriend Emily standing just a few feet from me, staring at my pale face with grave concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

“I…I don’t know,” I answered uncertainly. “But I have got to get away from my apartment. Something strange is going on. Are you ready to go to work?”

“Um, sure,” she answered, clearly taken aback by my strange manner and obvious agitation.

Emily and I worked at the same company and lived in the same duplex, a pleasant convenience both for dating and saving gas, since we didn’t have to drive to see each other and could carpool to work.

A few minutes later we were in her car on the way to the office. As she drove, I explained to her what happened that morning. Telling the story seemed to settle my nerves and I was glad to see she shared my concern, even offering to let me stay at her place that night, a thought which proved reassuring, not to mention exciting. Comforted by the possibility, I relaxed back in the chair, feeling more at ease under the light of the morning sun, glad for a few short minutes of rest, during which I could try to make sense of the situation, possibly even forming a solution to the unfortunate problem, now that I had a few moments to think on it. 

A buzz sounded from the side pocket of my bag. My feeling of peace instantly melted, replaced by a fresh surge of dread, swallowing my former tranquility within a quagmire of fear, whose hungry depth devour all traces of warmth and hope into an abyss of despair.  I slowly lifted the bag, knowing what I would see, desperate not to see it, wishing this was all just a nightmare from which I would soon awake. There, nestled snuggly inside the large pouch, a place I knew I had not placed it, a place no one could possibly have placed it, lay my cell phone. Emily stared at me, her eyes wide, watching the horror manifest upon my stunned face.

I didn’t want to see the message. I knew nothing positive could come from reading it. Yet my tremulous hands, fingers shaking madly, drifted toward the screen, enraptured by the mystery of what the text might say, drawn to look upon my doom like the ancient greek soldiers of legend, unable to resist gazing into the eyes of the deadly medusa.

I don’t like her. You spend too much time with her. She is forming a wedge between us. You should spend more time with me.

“No!” I shouted. “Get away from me!”

With the air of a madman, driven to desperation, I slammed my hand down upon the window button on Emily’s car, launching the phone out into the open air, barely giving the window time to open wide enough for its departure. Then, I rolled up the window, breathing heavily. I had no clue whether the phone shattered upon landing, or got run over by a car or landed in the dewy grass beside the road. I didn’t care. I would get a new phone.

I closed my eyes, trying to regain my composure under the concerned gaze of my girlfriend. Emily’s phone rang. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her cell and checking the text message, a dangerous act at any time, made worse this time; for what she saw caused her to almost swerve off the road. She quickly regained control of the car but her face remained grave. Without a word, she tossed her phone into my lap. On the screen before me, I read the words:

Tell him, he should not have done that. He is being a bad boy. Bad boys must be PUNISHED!

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, warning me this issue was far from over, collided with my skepticism, a more reasonable voice, which felt inclined to ask exactly what a cell phone, a six inch long collection of metal and electrical wires, could possibly do to me?

We arrived at work a short time later and, giving Emily a quick kiss, I bolted for my office, eager to start my workday, ready to put the events of the morning behind me, pondering whether or not I should call the police. I had hardly unlocked my office door and taken two steps inside before my boss was upon me.

“Matthew,” he demanded angrily, “you have a lot of guts to walk into this office after the text messages you sent me this morning! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right now!”

It wasn’t until this moment, faced with the angry glare of my boss, his eyes peering through me with unaccustomed fury, my job on the verge of vanishing forever, that the full vindictiveness of my mysterious tormentor became apparent.

“No, wait!” I said quickly. “I can explain. I don’t know what you received but it wasn’t from me, I swear. My phone was stolen and I haven’t been able to find it.”

A ringing noise came from my desk. I looked across the office toward the smooth wooden exterior. There, resting boldly atop a pile of important papers, clearly undamaged by its flight from the car, sat my cell phone, smiling at me from the face of a new background image I had not installed. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stumbled backwards, screaming, my knees giving way beneath me, leaving me little more cowering heap on the floor.

Emily, who was passing my office at the time, bolted inside, startled by my screams. Spotting the phone, she gasped in alarm, her hands shooting to her mouth, eyes wide. My boss stared at the phone, back at us, then at the phone again.

“Matthew,” he said after a pause, “I think we have been working you too hard. Take the rest of the week off and come back in on Monday. Emily, I need to talk to you.”

With those words he left the office. Emily shot a scared glance my direction before quickly following after him. I watched her go, wishing she would stay, praying someone could tell me what to do now.

“See what you made me do?” a voice sounded from my desk.

I turned, slowly, like some horror movie victim who realizes the monster is right behind them and lacks the courage to look. My mind spun, failing to produce any coherent thoughts, my lips stammering for a response, producing no noise.

 “Oh, and I downloaded a text to speech app. What do you think?”

“Please,” I pleaded, managing to find my voice, somehow forming at least a few coherent words, “Please just leave me alone!”

“Now, now, Matt. You need to be nice. If you keep pushing me away, I am going to have to make more phony calls to 911. They will have a warrant for your arrest out pretty soon.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. Abandoning all rational thought, I burst from the office, racing toward the nearest exit as fast as my legs could carry me. I left all of my belonging behind. My keys, my jacket, my bag, all were abandoned as I ran, turning every pocket inside out, fearing the phone might somehow sneak into one of them. I would not go home. I would not go anyplace it knew. I would not let it follow me. I could not let it find me.

I know it is looking for me, though. It is out there somewhere. I can feel it. I can’t hide forever. Somehow it will find me. It is getting closer…Closer…CLOSER!

BUZZ!

                                                              

The First Mother of Paris

Greetings and Salutations,

My newest short story is another new one inspired by this week's prompt in my short story group: "Paris". As usual, I went in a slightly different way than most of the people did with the prompt but I liked the idea. I hope you will enjoy the story too. Feel free to send me some feedback and let me know what you think!

James

The First Mother of Paris

by James J Meadows III

A queen owes a responsibility to her people and her family. She must protect them against all threats, especially when enemies encircle her kingdom on all sides like rabid wolves, sniffing the air for the slightest trace of blood to pounce upon. Any vulnerability, weakness, or opening which might provide her foes the slightest edge becomes a beacon of dark light hailing the doom of her kingdom and those who dwell within its walls; all of whom will die should those walls fall.

She knew it. And she knew she needed to act. But some actions were easier spoken than taken.

Hecuba stood staring at the face of the small baby lying in the cradle before her. Beautiful blue eyes looked back, gleaming sapphires surrounded by a milky white ocean whose mesmerizing depths drew her in until she could hardly bear to remove her gaze from them. With an effort, she wrenched her face away from the innocent stare of the little child and turned her eyes instead to the knife clutched tight in her hands as though it were the only cord binding her to reality in this otherwise surreal situation. She took another look back at the little one. Hecuba knew it must die. Still, how could she kill her own son?

Darkness settled upon the room as the fire in the distant hearth momentarily dwindled. She glanced into the open flames. A collection of long wooden logs provided the fuel for the only source of warmth penetrating the cold night air flowing through the open windows. There was nothing particularly unique or impressive about the logs. Yet, somehow, as she watched, they seemed to alter in shape, taking the form of tall stone battlements and houses, all burning beneath the fiery torches of rival armies.

One of the logs, roasted by the flames building within its interior, broke apart, releasing a fresh burst of heat. The fire rose again, growing taller as its flickering strands swept over the embers, greedily consuming every trace of life that once lingered within its shattered hull. The snaps and pops mingled with the sound of distant human screams and cries which, though muffled, seemed to reach her ears from the depths of the flaming inferno. She knew it was all in her imagination. Still, the visions refused to let her be. They were dying. Everyone was dying.

Hecuba spun away from the fire and toward the window on the opposite side of the room. Tears blossomed in her eyes as she gazed at the quiet homes of the city beyond. Were they all destined to be destroyed? Was every one of her subjects, friend and foe, adult and child, master and slave, noble and pauper, all destined to die because she didn’t have the strength to save them?

She gave another look at the baby. Its eyes began to close as it drifted into a quiet slumber within the shelter of its crib and the warm blankets around it. It was so small, so helpless, so sweet and beautiful.

The knife rose in her hands as her footsteps carried her closer and closer to the wooden bed. She could kill it while it slept. It would never even know that something was happening. One swift, well-aimed strike could forever end the danger he posed to the kingdom and ensure the safety and welfare of her people for generations to come. This was the moment to strike. This was the time. This was the moment of truth for which all the successive generations throughout all of history would judge her. The knife rose. It didn’t fall.

For nine months she had carried this baby snug within the warmth of her womb. For nine hours she had labored through the day and well into the night to grant the first sweet breath of glorious life to the lungs of the tiny infant who relied upon her for the protection, love, and affection which every child is supposed to receive from its mother.

How could she betray the trust and faith of motherhood? How could she destroy the gift given to her by the gods and forsake the responsibility to nurture, provide, and adore the little one placed into her care? At the same time, how could she betray the trust, faith, and responsibility owed to the hundreds of children and babies not belonging to her, which had also been placed into her care by the gods, who had made her the daughter of one king and the bride to another?

She had to protect her people! Still, the knife did not fall. Hecuba spun around in frustration and humiliation. A tray covered with apples rested on the table beside her and she swatted it with all her might, releasing her rage and self-loathing upon the helpless fruit with the furious scream of a tortured soul, unable to endure its suffering for another minute.

Apples flew into the air, scattering in all directions, as they bounced against wall, table, and floor, propelled into a chaotic retreat from her violent outburst. One of the apples, the largest, roundest, and easily most beautiful prize of the bunch, struck the top railing of the crib, bouncing inside where it landed within reach of the tiny babe, whose precious little fingers stretched out unconsciously to grip the small brown stem and cling tightly to it like the comforting hand of a beloved friend.

 Her head drooped against her chest in defeat. She lifted it again to stare out the window. A small light shining in the distant temple revealed that the priest Aesacus was still awake and milling about its halls. She had gone to see him early the previous day, before going into labor. She had sought his advice regarding a series of bizarre nightmares that had haunted her sleep. He had told her the dreams were a prophecy, foretelling the doom of all of her people and her kingdom, a fate which would be brought upon them by this child. The kingdom could only be spared if her baby were to die.

The peaceful hum of the baby’s snores interrupted her reflections. Maybe the priest was wrong. True, he was the greatest prophet in the whole kingdom. And, true, he had never been wrong before. But maybe this time; perhaps this once, if only this once, he was wrong. The gods often revealed their secrets in riddles, and it was possible, however improbable, that the meaning of their message was confusing and the insights misunderstood.

Even as she reflected upon this seemingly reasonable argument, she knew there was no truth to it. The prophecy wasn’t wrong. The words weren’t confused. Her vision wasn’t a lie. She knew all of it was true. She also knew she couldn’t do it.

The door to the chamber creaked open and the queen’s most loyal confidant, the priestess Herophile entered the room.

“Is it done?” She asked.

“No, it isn’t done,” Hecuba snapped. She threw the knife with all her might against the floor, where the point buried itself into the wood. “And if you want it done so badly, you can do it yourself. Otherwise go tell his father that I couldn’t do it, either. We’ll just have to find some other way to fix this mess.”

Though the priestess gave Hecuba a derisive look, Hecuba noticed the priestess made no attempt of her own to harm the baby. Instead, she turned around and hurried from the doorway. Hecuba turned her eyes back toward her baby, fresh tears blooming as she struggled with the horrible curse overshadowing what should have been a joyous occasion for the whole kingdom.

She reached out to pet the head of the sleeping baby, then, quickly withdrew her hand. She feared growing too attached to the beautiful boy. It was torture not to touch the one thing every atom in her body wanted, more than anything else in the world, to hold tight against her bosom and never let go. Instead, she turned her back to him and crossed to the door. She took one last look over her shoulder at the crib and wiped away a tear.

“Good night, my sweet Paris,” she said.  With these words, the queen of Troy left the room, the apple, and the baby behind in the warm glow of the firelight.

A New Beginning

Hey Everyone,

I thought I would start the New Year with a short story from last week's writing prompt, "New Beginnings". To make it more fun, I also borrowed the first few lines from a book my son got me for Christmas called "Complete the Story". It is a fun little book that gives you the first few lines of a story and you are supposed to write the rest. Some of the suggestions are pretty "blah" but I thought I would give it a try.

The premise of the following tale is based upon a supposedly true story one of the students in my class told me about. Let me know what you think.

Thanks,

James

The Family Photo

     All at once, and in a matter of seconds, three things happened that changed my life forever. Turns out it’s true what the books say: that a single moment can change your life forever.

     First, I raised my camera toward my wife and children. They were standing a short distance away, leaning against the rail above a several hundred-foot drop. Behind them, the snow-covered Grand Canyon glittered in the bright winter sunlight.

     This was supposed to be our dream trip. My wife and I had talked about coming here for over twenty years. We had never made it until now. Some other trip or location always ended up coming first. Some other responsibility, some other place to go, or some other thing to see had always caused us to push off this location. Now, we were finally here; and, it was perfect. There was no way I could have anticipated what was about to happen.

     The second thing that happened seemed equally innocuous: my children squeezed tightly against their mother and everyone smiled. It was a perfect picture - an image that remains forever fixed in my memory. My entire family standing together.

     I met my wife shortly after the worst traffic accident of my life. I had been struck by one of those reckless drivers. You know, the kind who weave through traffic at twenty miles above the speed limits, like inconsiderate jerks, not caring a lick about the safety and welfare of anyone else on the road. It was a disastrous moment.

     There I was, driving along about five miles per hour over the speed limit. Not exactly slow. But, apparently, it wasn’t fast enough for those drivers who are so impatient that they probably shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel at all. The next second, some speed demon comes zooming up beside me so quickly that I barely even register the black color of the sports car before they whip into my lane to pass the car in front of them. The rear end of their car struck the front of mine and we both went spinning.

     I remember very little afterward. I screamed, of course. And I briefly recall the image of the car behind me smashing into my own. I remember flashes of light, the explosion of an airbag, and a lot of pain. The next thing I knew, I was lying in a hospital, staring up into the face of the most beautiful, kind, and intelligent nurse I could ever imagine meeting. Two years later, that nurse and I would stand at the altar and pronounce the words, “I do.”

     The two children standing on each side of my wife were no less miraculous. After trying for children for almost five years, my wife and I were convinced we would never have any. Yet, one warm summer’s day, after years of trying, my wife and I finally gave birth to our daughter. Four years later, we would give birth to a son.

     They weren’t babies anymore. My daughter was now almost a teenager and my son was in elementary school. They were old enough to have heard us speak about taking this trip many times. They were also old enough to appreciate it. 

     It was there, at that moment, as they leaned against the rail smiling at me, that the third thing happened - the thing that changed my life forever. A bright flash of light, coming from the snow-covered mountains behind them, struck my eyes, momentarily blinding me.

     I blinked against the light and attempted to lift my hand to my eyes. When I did, I found that I couldn’t move my arm. It felt weak and heavy. I tried looking up to see what was happening but the light was so bright that everything was a blur. Finally, after about a second, things came into focus. What I saw didn’t make any sense.

     My family, the Grand Canyon, and everything else was gone. The blinding lights above me weren’t coming from the sun. They were coming from white fluorescent fixtures in a ceiling.

     I tried turning my head. It responded sluggishly but enough for me to look around at my surroundings. I was lying in a hospital bed with a variety of cords and equipment attached to me. There was some tube down my throat and there were IVs in my arms. I could hear the sound of beeping and various electrical equipment running.

     I wasn’t sure where I was or what happened. Had there been an accident? Did I have some sort of amnesia? Where was my family?

     It wasn’t until a few days later, when all of the equipment was finally detached and I was able to speak, that I learned the disturbing truth. It was one month since I had gotten into the car wreck. I had spent the last month in a coma.

     My children never existed. No one with my wife’s name had ever worked at the hospital. The last twenty years of my life had never happened.

     For a long time, I had difficulty coming to grips with the information. At first, I assumed I was on some TV show or something. Any minute my family would pop out from hiding. They never did.

     Next, I became convinced I was dreaming. The only problem was that I never woke up. Later I started to wonder if it was a conspiracy. Soon, however, after many attempts to track down my family, hiring detectives, and even receiving therapy, I was forced to accept the facts. Everything I had known and experienced in twenty years of my memory was a lie.

     It was a tough realization. Even with accepting the truth, it took years of counseling to reach the level where I could effectively interact with the world around me. Not many people could understand. How could I mourn the loss of people who never existed? How could I weep for a wife who wasn’t even real? But to me, it didn’t feel like a dream. Everything felt real. It still does.  

     The scary part is: how do I know it wasn’t? If a coma could make me dream twenty years of events that never happened, how do I know it isn’t happening again? How can I know if this experience is real? How do I know the other experience wasn’t real? How do I know anything?

     The truth is: I don’t. And I have to live with that.

     Some people tell me I should be glad. They tell me I have gotten a chance at a new beginning, something many people dream about. They tell me I should be grateful. I’m not.

     I move forward anyway. Each day, I struggle on, working to rebuild the life I lost. Still, I constantly think about those last few seconds when everything changed. And that one picture, that was never really taken, is burned forever into my mind.