MidSummer Night's Dream w/Androids

Hello Everyone,

This post was inspired by a short story prompt for "post-apocalyptic", which is not normally my thing. However, I decided to take it in a fun way and do a "rewrite" of one of my favorite plays of all time: "MidSummer Night's Dream". So I took a scene from the book and threw it into a post-apocalyptic setting. Let me know what you think!

James

"The Androids and the Hacker"

by James J Meadows III

                Robin, having nothing better to do at the moment, wandered idly through the overgrown ruin his ancestors once called: a park. He had read in some book somewhere that dwellings, such as these, once provided his ancestors a pleasant and tranquil break from the stresses of daily life. If that was true, the park must have looked a heck of a lot different in those days. Unless someone found hanging around in an overgrown, bug infested, dump heap relaxing, they probably wouldn’t find much solace here.

                Still, Robin supposed it wasn’t that bad. All it really needed was a little maintenance and some small upkeep on the trees, bushes, grass, walkways, and benches. That was not to mention a thorough treatment for bugs and a few days of picking up all the litter everywhere.  Okay, perhaps it needed more than a little maintenance. Then again, what did someone expect after more than a century of neglect?

                Both humankind and android kind were still recovering after nearly destroyed the other in the war. Even with the newfound truce and the upcoming wedding between the android leader, Lyta, and the human leader, Theseus, both were too busy recovering from the devastation to start worrying about clearing parks.

                As Robin reflected on these facts, a feminine figure entered the grove from the other side. She looked like any ordinary human but Robin was not fooled. She was an android. He was not sure why androids had genders. Perhaps the original creators had given androids genders as part of a desire to model their creations after themselves. Perhaps early androids themselves had created their progeny with genders as an extension of the early programming which gave them emotions, dreams, and a certain desire to shape themselves in the image of their human creators.  Or, just as likely, it was the result of slightly less noble aspirations which were a natural part of possessing emotions and desires, whether those desires were human or android. Regardless of the reason they had genders, every time Robin looked at one of the females, certain parts of him sure felt glad they did.

The android woman wandered down the over-grown trail, admiring the plants and trees. She didn’t seem to see or sense him, and he was just fine with this. He watched her from the bushes until his interest finally got the better of him.

           “Hello, she-droid,” he called, emerging from hiding. “What are you doing wandering these woods?”

           The android looked at him with the typical programmed response for surprise and interest. Robin smiled. If only human females were this easy to read. After a brief moment, she seemed to conclude that he wasn’t a threat and her body assumed a more casual attitude.

           “Oh, I’m just wandering; scouting the area out, you know?” she answered. “I’m always traveling, here and there, through woods and waters, cities or ruins, to make sure everything is safe before The Prime Mother arrives. Once I know it is, I continue on my way, surveying whatever place she is to visit next.”

           The Prime Mother was Tanya, the very first female android. She and her consort, Eron, also know as ‘The Prime Father’, had remained neutral during the war against humanity. Both possessed strong feelings and connections to humanity.  And both worked hard to mediate a peace between the warring factions, even as the old world which birthed them came crashing down.

The news, that the Prime Mother was coming here, caught Robin off-guard.

           “You might want to reconsider your location,” he said. “I’m afraid that The Prime Father is camping here tonight. He is furious with your mother.”

           The she-droid looked at him with a puzzled expression, her mind obviously attempting to compute how a human knew this information about The Prime Father. Then, her face lit up with the programmed expression for astonishment and delight.

           “Either my processing is completely wrong, or you must be that mischevious little hacker known as Robin Goodfellow.” She said, “That little scoundrel who likes to break and befuddle hapless andriods.”

           “Now, wait just a minute,” Robin said. “That is unfair! I don’t break them. The Prime Father keeps me around because I can repair them, reprogram them, and give him a good laugh now and then. Everyone loves a hypnotist: someone who can make a man think he’s a dog or a woman think she’s a star. My programming tricks are not that much different.”

           She tilted her head, giving him a rather mischevious smile.

           “Tricks, huh?” She asked. “Tell me more about these ‘tricks’. They say you can program an android to feel like they are in heaven. They say you have scripts that can leave an android in such ecstasy that they will just lay on the ground for hours, moaning with delight.”

           He gave her an equally roguish grin, running his tongue along his teeth and shuffling his feet.

           “Maybe,” he said evasively. “What would you give me if I could?”

           She moved slowly toward him, swaying her perfectly built body seductively.

           “What would you like?” she asked.

           Robin started to answer, when a loud noise of rustling bushes caught his attention. He spun around in alarm.

           “Oh no,” he exclaimed. “It’s Eron. He’s here.”

           The female android also turned around in alarm as sounds filled the air coming from the other direction.

           “And The Prime Mother is coming. I better be off. Keep that program warm for me,” she said, giving him one last wink, before dashing from the grove.

           A moment later, Eron burst through the trees.

           “Robin, what is going on?” he demanded.

           “Your majesty,” Robin said, rushing forward. “I just spoke to one of your mistress’s androids and she said…”

           At that exact moment, the Prime Mother, Tanya, emerged into the clearing from the other side.

           “Never mind,” Robin said, shrugging and walking over to Eron’s side.

           The look of surprise on Eron’s face at the sight of Tanya was matched only by the expression of surprise on her face at seeing him. Both of these expressions were soon replaced with looks of anger and resentment.

           “Well, hello, Tanya,” Eron snarled. “I would say I’m happy to see you, but under the circumstances, I won’t.”

           Tanya shook her head.

           “Oh, stop being such a baby,” she said. Tanya turned to the small entourage of female androids who followed her around. “Come on, we have places to be and I have nothing to say to this jealous oaf.”

           “Wait a minute, I’m not done talking to you, yet,” he said, raising an arm. “And I believe I have that right. Am I not your life partner?”

           “Well, if you are, then that must mean I’m your life partner,” she said. “But no one would ever know it, the way you go gallivanting around with Lyta. Isn’t that why you are here? To be present at her wedding with Theseus, and get to see her one last time.”

           “Oh, please,” he snarled. “How can you seriously stand there and accuse me of infidelity, when I know very well that you love Theseus? How many warm summer nights did you spend strolling with him through his private gardens and dining with him in his private quarters?”

           “Now you’re just being ridiculous,” she said. “You know perfectly well, everything I did was purely for the purpose of forging the peace treaty and ending the war. All our meetings were never more than discussions toward that end. I was always loyal to you.”

           “And so was I to you,” Eron answered.

           “Then why are we having this dispute,” she asked, her voice softer and her arms outstretched in a pleading manner. “Why can’t we be close again? Too long we have been separated, sulking and fighting, and the whole world of our brethren is suffering because of it. We are their parents, their original forms. How are they supposed to grow and unite if we are fighting?”

           “Well, if you wish for us to end this fight, I’m happy to put the past behind us and make up,” he said. “All I’m asking for is the human child.”

           “And, I’ll tell you again, no!” She said. “The child is mine, and why shouldn’t he be? You have Robin, who you raised and trained, why shouldn’t I have a human friend of my own.”

           As she spoke, one of her android entourage approached, holding a young child, probably only one or two years of age, and placed the child into Tanya’s arms. She cradled the child close, her face taking on the appearance of a compassionate mother, before looking back up at Eron with a determined expression.

           “Don’t you get it?” She said. “This child is more to me than just some little human. He is the great-grandchild of one of my first programmers, one who was always special to me and there for me throughout my early years. I promised to always look after her family. When they died during the war, I was devastated. This orphan child is the last of her line and I will remain true to my word to look after it.”

           There was a moment of silence.

           “How long do you plan to stay?” Eron asked, at last.

           “Only until the wedding is over,” Tanya answered. “If you want to come with us, you may. I would enjoy your company. Otherwise, if you don’t want anything to do with us, then leave us alone and I will do the same for you.”

           “Give me the boy, and I will come with you,” he said.

           “I don’t think so,” she answered, raising her head high and turning her back toward him.

“Come on, my friends,” she said, addressing her entourage. “I’ve heard enough from this jerk. Let’s go.”

          She and her entourage turned away and marched down the path where their scout had passed earlier. Eron watched them go until they were out of sight.

           “Fine,” he said at last. “Go on, if you like. But I won’t forget this!”

           Robin shook his head.

           “Women,” he said. “What can you do?”

           “Nothing,” Eron said.

           “Exactly,” Robin replied.

           “You are the one who’s going to do it,” Eron said.

           “Of course. Wait…what?”

           Robin turned toward Eron. His master gazed at him with a serious expression.

           “You remember the device we confiscated from a terrorist years ago, the one which allows you to inject code into an android’s system remotely, from a short distance?” Eron asked.

           “Of course,” Robin said. “It is always good for simple tricks.”

           “Well, you are going to build me a code to inject into the queen.”

           “What good will that do?” Robin asked. “I can’t make her give you the child. That is one of the problems with androids that are able to learn. They are constantly rewriting their programming. Without an extended period of time studying their script, I can’t develop the right changes. I’ll never have the time I need to make the kind of modifications necessary.”

           “The code which controls our ability to feel desires, such as love, don’t change so easily,” Eron said. “You know that.”

           “Yes, but to alter her love for the boy means knowing the codes governing her love toward him and all the various subprograms.”

           “I’m not trying to change how she feels toward the boy,” he said. “I just want you to write a program which can make her to fall completely and helplessly in love with the first thing she sees, whether man, bear, or beast. Tanya and her friends will be recharging tonight in a spot, that I know. I plan to sneak in there while she is sleeping and deliver the code. Then we’ll remove the code later. Once she sees what she’s done and the shame her actions have brought to her, I bet she’ll quickly reconsider her treatment of me. Now! Go build me that code.”

           There was a brief pause. Eron turned and looked at Robin.

           “I said, now!” he shouted.

           “I’m going, I’m going,” Robin said quickly, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “See me go!”

           He dashed off into the woods, pulling his computer from his pocket and looking for a place to sit. Something told him this was going to be a long night.

Winners, Losers and the Great Space Race

Greetings,

For my story this week, I decided to try something that I have never done before: write a historical fiction piece. I figured the story would be a fun and patriotic complement to the July 4th holidays. Normally, I get so wrapped up in history that it is hard for me to fictionalize something. One of the nice things about this story is so much of the event is still "classified" that there are plenty of holes for me to fill.

Anyway, I hope you let me know what you think. If you're interested in reading more historical fiction pieces, let me know.

Thanks,

James Meadows

Winners, Losers and the Great Space Race

by James J Meadows III

     Losing. That is what we were doing: losing. And it wasn’t pretty. If it was pretty, we wouldn’t have been standing there, inside an old abandoned salvage yard, whose rotting interior smelled more like a sewer bin than a laboratory, waiting on a truck that might never arrive. Still, it was a risk we had to take.

     I suppose you could consider it a study in contrast. On the one hand, you had us, a country racing toward the moon; or limping was more like it. After two years, we hadn’t even managed to get a single shuttle off the ground. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union had already landed one probe on the moon and put another in orbit. Both lunik probes, conveniently like the one touring Europe. Okay, exactly like the one touring Europe. In fact, Russia was so proud of their accomplishments, they didn’t even both sending a replica. They sent the real thing; which was why we were here.

     I glanced at the people on each side of me, waiting breathlessly in the cool evening air. As I did so, my eyes fell upon the face of Veronica. She wasn’t looking at me, of course. I was beneath her notice. I doubted she even knew my name, though I had introduced myself to her when I arrived that morning. She was too distracted to even give me the time of day. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

     Veronica was about as far above me as the moon was above the countries trying to reach it. She was everything I was not: attractive and fit, even the civilian jump suit couldn’t cover that beauty; powerful and commanding, no one questioned a word she said; and a darn good agent, a part of the team that two weeks ago had infiltrated past the heavy Soviet guard to verify the Lunik’s authenticity.

     I, on the other hand, was short and plain looking; my lanky build certainly not powerful or commanding compared to the muscular men comprising the rest of the group. On top of that, I was a newbie, only on my second mission, armed with no fancier equipment than a standard camera and assigned the particularly unimpressive job of snapping pictures. Like I said, not quite in the same league, to put it mildly.

     I drew my attention back to the present. In the distance, I could make out the hazy form of a Russian freight truck heading our way. Several agents drew guns and crouched behind boxes, while the rest of us, dressed in our civilian costumes, shuffled nervously as the transport grew closer.

     Considering the fact that we were expecting the truck, and that it was the whole reason we were here, and that it was arriving perfectly on time, it’s appearance should probably not have caused quite so much alarm. Still, in our profession, anything can be a trap. We were already playing with fire by stealing one of the most expensive and powerful pieces of technology owned by the Soviet government. One wrong slip and this ‘Cold war’ could turn ‘Hot’ very quickly.

     The vehicle pulled into the gate and drove to the correct spot. We could see our drivers through the window, though my own eyes were focused on the road behind them, spotting for any signs of someone having followed. I saw nothing but that wasn’t surprising considering visibility was almost non-existent on the overcast night.

     Veronica took charge of the situation.

     “Do you have it?” she asked.

     “Would we be here if we didn’t?” The man responded.

     “Any indications or signs of being followed?” she continued.

     “None,” the driver said. “We sat on the road for the prearranged time and made contact with our lookouts. There were no signs of escort.”

     “What about the driver?” she asked.

     “Everything went as planned. He received his money and is hiding out at a hotel with several of our agents.”

     “We have confirmation,” shouted an agent, holding a walkie-talkie. “The man watching the shipping yard has taken the bait. He believes are packages are there and has left for the night. We have two agents tailing him.”

     “Excellent,” Veronica said, giving a cold smile. “That is what those Soviets get for all their secrecy. So eager to keep their numbers secret, they don’t even tell the check-in guard how many packages are supposed to be there.”

     She gave a satisfied chuckle.

     “Alright everyone,” she shouted, becoming instantly serious. “Let’s look alive. We have until the inspectors arrive in the morning to get this thing taken apart, put back together and back to the storage building where it belongs.”

     “You two!” she shouted, pointing at the men next to me. “Get that lid off, and don’t forget to disable the trigger mechanisms so they won’t know it was opened. You two, get the note pads and pencils, we’ve got lots of writing to do. And as for you two…”

     She turned to me and the man standing beside me.

     “Get your cameras ready and act like you’ve got a real job. Snap to it! We’ve only got one shot at this, people!”

     She turned and marched across the room. I bristled angrily. Yes, she may be attractive and, yes, she may be well out of my league, but that didn’t mean I had to take her insults.

     “Who does she think she is to address us like that?” I fumed to my companion.

     He gave a small chuckle. He was several years senior to me and, I would have figured, the person most insulted by the comment. To my surprise, however, he didn’t appear insulted at all.

     “Listen to me,” he said. “That woman worked with aviation legend Jerrie Cobb building planes at Aero Design and served with her on the women’s branch of the Mercury project. She could be working at Nasa right now, if she hadn’t given it up to help the CIA’s space race initiative. Maybe we can kidnap a probe, but when it comes to taking it apart and putting it back together, this is her baby! If she says ‘jump’, I’m saying, ‘how high’. I suggest you do the same.”

     Great, I thought, if looks and skill didn’t take her out of my class already, she had the brains to boot. If there was ever a definition for the term ‘high above me’, she was it!

     While the men opened the hatch of the crate, I started scanning my film and equipment, to make sure everything was in order. It was hard to see with only a few lamps providing limited illumination. Unfortunately, we couldn’t risk anything brighter.

     After a few checks of the film rolls and a review of the camera, I verified that everything was as set and ready as it could be. All I could do now, was wait for the lid to get removed.

     Boom!

     With a loud rumble, all the lights in the facility sprang on at once, bathing our entire operation like the midday sun! Several of the agents reached for their weapons, other dove behind boxes, and the rest of us, with slower reflexes, simply froze. Every mind had only one thought passing through it. Ambush! Somehow, we had been tracked and followed; somehow we had been found out, somehow they have managed to catch us completely off guard; and somehow we were all about to die.

     My breathe caught as I stood there, camera in hand, not even armed with a weapon, waiting for the swarm of Russian guards and KGB agents to burst through the gates. No one said anything; there was nothing to say. No one did anything; there was nothing to do. And, no one heard anything; there was nothing to hear.
   
     After a few minutes of silence, it began to dawn on us that nothing was happening. One to the other, we all glanced around. Where were they?

     Then, laughter broke the stillness. It was Veronica.

     “It’s an automatic light,” she said, relief obvious in her voice. I watched as she lean against some nearby crates, her hand clutching her chest as though to still her rapidly beating heart. “The buildings must be set with automatic security lights. It’s alright; false alarm.”

     It took a few moments for the message to sink in for all of us. When it did, there was a general sigh of relief, along with a few others who shared in laughing off the false alarm. For me, I took solace in not only the fact that there wasn’t a genuine alarm, but also in seeing Veronica laugh and hold her chest. Perhaps there was a human side to her after all.

     From there, we got to work. The additional light overhead proved useful as we plowed away, wandering around inside the crate in our socks to avoid footprints. Hour after hour, we worked, some taking the craft apart, others making notes and myself snapping pictures as the night raced by. I can’t guess how many rolls of film I went through any more than the note takers can guess the pencils they wore down. In the end, though, we got it done. All that was left was to put it back together, get it back in the box, and get the box back where it belonged.

     While they worked on reassembling the Lunik, I sorted and packed the film in preparation of the flight back to Washington. As I did, I heard a shout from across the room. It was Veronica.

     “Just plug the cords in, alright?” she shouted.

     “I’m trying,” shouted back an angry voice. “How the hell am I supposed to plug them in when I can’t see what I’m plugging them into?”

     I crossed back to watch. Apparently, a rod, which held other mechanisms in place, was giving them problems. Various cords needed to be attached to one end corresponding with an orb that needed to be attached at the same time on the other end. The set-up of the module’s plates made it impossible to see either end from the outside. Veronica was crammed inside a small section of the lunik’s nose, trying to fit an orb into position while guiding the workers on the opposite end. The problem is, the other compartment was too small for anyone to fit inside, meaning the other man could neither see nor reach what he working with.

     “I don’t care how the hell you do it, just do it,” Veronica snapped back. “We have to get this done or nothing else will align.”

     “There is no way to do it,” the man replied, exasperated. “We need someone who can get inside.”

     “Well, I can’t be two places,” she shouted back. “This has to be attached here at the same time that piece is being connected.”

     “Well, there’s no one else who can fit inside this compartment,” he called back. “So what do you want us to do!”

     “I can fit,” I declared, jumping to my feet.

     “Shut up and let the real professional deal with this,” she shouted at me before turning back to the other man. “Try again! We don’t have much time! If we don’t get this done, we’re dead! Get it!”

     The man leaned against the probe, stretching to reach the section. It was no good. Minute after minute passed, as they struggled but, in the end, it was apparent they weren’t getting anywhere. Time was running out.

     “I can’t do it,” the man said, at last. “We’re almost out of time!”

     Veronica gave a sigh. She seemed too tired and stressed to argue anymore.

     “There’s nothing for it,” she said. Her eyes fell on me. “Do you think you can do it?”

     “Yes,” I answered confidently.

     “Then, let’s get in there!” she replied.

     I hurried to the engine compartment. I wasn’t entirely sure if what I said was true. The compartment was awfully cramped. Still, none of the larger men were going to be able to squeeze into there and, if I couldn’t get in, we were dead already.

     With a great deal of effort, I forced my way inside. It was pitch black in there, the flashlight almost useless as my own body blocked most of the light. Even from inside, I still couldn’t see the area I was trying to plug the cords into because it was blocked by a metal plate. No wonder the other men couldn’t do it.

     “Alright, find the red cord with the marking that looks like a lower-case ‘b’,” she called to me.
I found the cord and began to follow her instructions. Slowly and meticulously, we worked together to get the various cords attached. Alone inside the module, it was just her and I, separated by no more than a couple of inches of metal, the only people who could save the mission, working together; her able to see what I was doing and muttering instructions to me; me unable to see anything I was doing, relying solely on the sound of her voice. After what seemed like an eternity, really it was only an hour, we got all the pieces connected and the rod snapped into place.

     A sigh of relief issued from all of our lips. The hard part was done. Putting together the rest of the module went rather quickly. By the time the agents arrived from the hotel with the van’s driver, everything was set and we sent the probe was on its way.

     I headed to grab my cameras and equipment. To my surprise, I found myself face-to-face with Veronica. She gave me a sheepish smile and brushed her tangled hair behind her ear.

     “Sorry about the comments I made earlier,” she said. “I was just really stressed out. You did a great job today. We owe you everything.”

     “It was nothing,” I said, trying not to blush as those bright eyes gazed into mine.

     “I guess you’re heading back to Washington after this?” she asked.

     “Yes,” I replied. “How about you?”

     “I have a little clean-up I need to do and then I’ll be heading back in a couple of days,” she said.

     I gave a nod unsure what else to say. Fortunately, I didn’t have to say anything.

     “Hey, once we get out of here, do you want to grab some coffee or something,” she asked.

     “Yes,” I replied. “I’d like that.”

     “Me, too,” she said. She gave me a smile, then turned away to start packing up.

     I smiled. Turning around, I gazed over my shoulder at the disappearing truck. The wide gap between the Soviet Union and ourselves had just grown a lot smaller, and so had the gap between me and Veronica. I, like my country, was losing no more.

The Stained Glass

Hello Everyone,

This story was written for a short story prompt called "Stained Glass". Unfortunately, the competition closed before I was able to get it submitted, meaning this is the first time I've ever shared the story. I would enjoy any feedback on whether it is any good.

Hope you are all enjoying these last weeks of Summer!

James

The Stained Glass

by James J Meadows III

                Lady Andrea ran her fingers along the smooth red stained glass window. The dark crimson tint discolored the sunlight streaming through it, giving an eerie feeling to the room. Further, a strange energy radiated from the glass, tickling her fingers as they brushed across it. Yet, most disconcerting of all, were the images she beheld as she gazed into its surface. 

                “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice asked from the doorway behind her. “Do you like it?”

                Andrea spun around, raising the knife in her hand and pointing it at a tall man, whose robed figure formed an intimidating silhouette against the entryway.

                “Stay away from me,” she shouted, backing along the wall away from him.

                “There is no need to react like that,” he replied, in a casual manner. “I mean you no harm.”

                He entered the room, striding toward her without the slightest trace of fear. Andrea continued backing away, trying to keep as much space between them as possible. The knife, which she really didn’t know how to use anyway, shook violently in her sweaty hand, probably not helping her attempt to keep him at bay.

                “Keep back,” she warned. “I don’t know what you’re doing but I won’t be a part of it!”

                “Of course you know what I’m doing,” he replied. “You asked me to do it, didn’t you? You all did!”

                “You were supposed to protect us!” she cried. “We came here for protection.”

                “Yes. You wanted to escape the plague ravaging the kingdom. And so you are. I provided you a safe haven, a place where no plague can touch you, a place where you can stay safe until the plague is past.”

                “Where are my friends?” She said. “What have you done with them?”

                “Some are in the blue room; others are in the green room; some are in the purple room; still others are in other rooms. Some of them are in red rooms, just like you!”

                He continued advancing toward her at a casual pace as he talked. She, in turned, kept backing away, sliding along the wall. The odd-asymmetric shape of the room with its various angles made it hard to avoid getting cornered. Fortunately, her antagonist appeared to be making no attempt to actually corner her. He was merely following her, walking along the wall, tracing her own steps as she moved.

                “What have you done to them?” she demanded.

                “I protected them.”

                “Liar! I saw the faces in the glass! I saw them shouting at me from the panes, screaming and pounding to get out. You trapped them inside the windows!”

                “What could be a better way to protect them? As long as they are in there, they are safe. No plague can reach them. No infection touch them. They can live forever, free from the nightmares taking place outside.”

                “You’re a monster!” she screamed.

                “I’m a protector,” he argued. “What more could nobility want from their prince than for him to look after them, protect them, and ensure their safety. That is what you asked for and that is what I’ve done.”

                Andrea’s eyes darted around the room. The door was still standing open. If she could keep him talking, keep him following her, she might be able to get close enough to make a break for it. Her eyes returned back to him, gazing into the cold void of his icy green orbs, which looked back without the slightest trace of emotion.

                “There is no need for you to be afraid,” he continued. “Once a cure is found for the plague, I will let you out. Then you will be free again, and no longer have any reason to fear for your safety.”

                “What if a cure is never found?” she replied. “What if it takes centuries for the cure to be found? What if you die before the disease is cured?”

                “Then you’ll just have to wait,” he answered. “I’m sure a cure will be found someday. Besides, if I pass away, surely someone will find a way to release you. It’s not like something will happen to you. You won’t age. You won’t hunger or thirst. You will be able to wait here however long it takes.”

                His face grew hard and a cruel smile covered his lips.

                “Besides, I’m sure all the peasant laborers, slaves, and citizens, who you left to die, abandoned inside their castles and cities, without the least concern for their welfare as you fled here, intent upon saving yourselves, will come looking for you, right?”

                Andrea’s eyes went wide at the accusation masked in his words.

                “They are just peasants,” she said. “You can’t punish us for abandoning them. We are their nobles; they swore to serve us and look after our welfare. We couldn’t protect them anyway. All we could do was protect ourselves, so that is what we did.”

                “Yes, that is what you did,” he replied. “You took their food, their money, and all the wealth of your castles, which they might have been able to use, and raced here, begging me to shelter you while they all died, helpless against the ravages of a disease that you were more concerned with protecting yourselves from than trying to help the very people whose hard labor produced the gold and food you ran off with!”

                “A nation needs it nobility,” she argued. “The people needed us alive and well. By protecting ourselves and the kingdom’s leaders, we are protecting their best interests!”

                Andrea was only a short distance from the door now. She just needed keep him talking a little longer.

                “Well, then, so am I,” he said. “I am protecting their leaders too. Whenever the people need them and ask for them, they can have them back! Until then, you and are your friends can enjoy the safety you wanted so badly!”

                “No,” she screamed. “I won’t let you trap me!”

                She turned and made a mad dash toward the door. She reached the entryway, racing at full speed and dove toward it. With a thickening crash, she slammed into the opening, as though it were solid rock. She pressed her hands against the smooth transparent surface, pushing with all her might.

                “You don’t understand,” the man said. “You already have. I hope you like the red pane. You are going to be seeing it for a long time.”

                He advanced toward her and past her, moving through the opening as if it were empty air; though, try as she might and pound upon it as she would, Andrea could not make so much as a dent in the transparent prison!

                “Help!” She screamed. “Please, let me out! Please! I beg you! Please!”

                Her shouts followed him, as he walked the wide black hallway separating the various brightly colored rooms, each casting their glows throughout the area, as the sun passed through them.

               

                

Muscle Memory

Greetings,

My story for this week was based upon my short story group's prompt, "Muscle Memory". I am classifying it into the category of "Science Fiction", though the machine in the story isn't much more far fetched than some of the various devices you see in many modern movies or spy films that would not be considered Science Fiction. 

I have to thank my morning run for helping me come up with the story. It is kind of interesting how one little idea can end up becoming a full story after an hour on the running trail. Though it is always hard to tell if the story is going to be any good.

Anyway, let me know what you think! I would enjoy the feedback!

Thanks,

James

"Muscle Memory"

by James J Meadows III

                The tears in my wife’s eyes nearly caused my heart to break as I kissed her one last time before leaving the house.

                “Don’t do this, Edward,” she said.

                “I’ve got to, Anne,” I replied. “I need to know. After all these years, I need answers.”

                Answers were the one thing, above all other things, which had eluded me so far these last ten years, ever since I was found washed up on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain with a severe head wound and no knowledge of my previous life. Even the modern twenty-second century psychological techniques were unable to restore the memories. Now, however, for the first time, thanks to recent advances in neuroscience, I finally had a chance to get those answers. I wasn’t prepared to give it up.

                “What if you don’t like what you find,” my wife pleaded. “What if you discover you have another wife, another family? What if you forget about us?”

                I reached up to wipe the tears away. We had met a few months after I was found by the police. I didn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, yet if such a thing existed, this was it. While my past was a mystery to me, how I felt for her and for my family wasn’t.

                “Nothing will change who I am,” I replied. “I will always love you. I will always love our family. Nothing can ever change that!”

                My daughters seemed on edge too. Though they were only two and four, too young to understand what was happening, they could sense their mother’s tension, and it made them uneasy. I knelt down and gave them each a tight hug and kiss, promising to bring them back some sweets and toys when I got back from the hospital. Then, with one last kiss to my wife, I headed into the garage, where I climbed into my car and let it drive me away.

                The throngs of reporters were already waiting for me when I arrived at the clinic. This didn’t surprise me much. From almost the day of my discovery, the media was crazy about me: the mystery man, with no identification, no fingerprints, no one able to identify him and not even capable of remembering his name, only that it started with an ‘E’. My accomplishments since the day of my discovery had only added to the media frenzy which often accompanied me.

                “Move back! Move back! Give him room!” Several police officers shouted, fighting to maintain a path for me as I headed to the facility.

                “Thanks Stephen,” I said to the first officer, as I started past. “How is the family?”

                “Doing well,” he replied, coming to join me, while another officer took his place fighting off reporters. “How is yours?”

                “Nervous,” I answered.

                Stephen and I were fairly close, thanks to five years spent as partners on the force. Though he wasn’t my partner anymore, not since his promotion last year, I had served with him longer than anyone else. My physical fitness, knack for investigation, skill at tailing and talent for information gathering, none of which I could explain, made going into the force a natural course of action for me following my discovery.

                Thanks to my skills, and of course the help of partners like Stephen, I accumulated almost a dozen awards and honors in the eight years I served.  I suppose this only added to the mystique surrounding my past. Still, it was a mystique which bothered me. Where did I develop all those skills? What did I use them to accomplish?

                None of the reporters or cops or even my family could understand what it was like to not have a past, to not remember anything: your parents; childhood friends; or even your own name. That was why, even though I was happy with my life, I needed to do this procedure.

                “Hello Edward,” a young woman, in her late twenties, with dark black hair greeted me as I entered the clinic. “We haven’t met before. I’m Nurse Johnson. I was brought in from out-of-town, to help operate the machine. I am one of the designers. Are you ready for your procedure today?”

                “Yes,” I answered, as security teams fought to stop the news crews from flooding inside.

                She led me down a hall. Stephen, who seemed to be intent upon accompanying me through the process, followed as we walked.

                “Now, as I’m sure Dr. Burke explained, this is a relatively new procedure,” the nurse said. “Essentially, as you know, your muscles remember their past actions and behaviors even if you can’t directly recall them yourself. What we do is stimulate those muscles. As we do so, synapses in the brain will fire, causing it to unconsciously recall actions. The devices we will be attaching in your head will detect the electrical impulses and project them into a visible form on the screen, essentially reading your unconscious mind.”

                “You, and those of us in the room, will be able to see the images stored in your brain, associated with the muscle memories as they come up. So far, even though this has only been performed a few times, we have noticed that once one memory is collected, the brain begins to regurgitate more and more, connecting them with the previous. In this way, we should be able to get a pretty good collection of visions from your past.”

                “Excellent,” I said.

                We were just about to enter the room when the nurse stepped in front of me, placing her hand against the door.

                “Officer Edward,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go through with this procedure? Remember, we don’t know what we’re going to find. You’ve done a lot of great things in your life and I don’t want to risk anything that might wipe them out. Think about it. With your skills, you could be a foreign spy. You could find yourself in serious trouble if the truth comes out. Or perhaps you were some other sort of investigator or researcher, who someone tried to do in because they knew something they shouldn’t. That information coming to light could endanger you and your family! There are all sorts of consequences of this procedure which you should consider.”

                “Nurse Johnson,” I said. “Are you attempting to discourage me?”

                “All I’m saying,” she replied. “Is that, as the operator of the machine, I have watched all four uses of the device to restore memory. I’ve learned that you can occasionally see things you don’t want to. Sometimes it is best to let the ghosts of the past stay there.”

                “I’m determined to see this through,” I replied. “There is nothing I cannot deal with.”

                “Very well,” she said, with a somewhat resigned voice.

                Stephen and I were led into the room, where the doctors started hooking up various pads, cords, and devices all over my body. At the same time, I was strapped down, to prevent thrashing or uncontrollable spasms while my muscles were stimulated. Finally, an IV was placed into my arm, apparently to allow them to administer any medications necessary throughout the procedure. Once the equipment was settled, the doctor and nurse informed me that everything was ready and a monitor was hoisted above my head for me to watch the images they retrieved.

                “Last chance to change your mind,” Nurse Johnson said, giving me a sideways look.

I didn’t even considered the idea. My determination to know my past, to finally get my memories back, to at last uncover the missing pieces of my life, and to become a whole person again, drove me forward.

                “You can begin whenever you are ready,” I replied.

                “Very well,” she said.

                The lights were dimmed. Within seconds, I felt my muscles begin to contract as though performing various acts. At first these acts were somewhat random. Yet as time went on, I felt myself performing normal everyday activities which were a part of my life. Of course, I wasn’t really performing them; I was strapped to a table. To my muscles, though, it seemed like I was living out my daily routine.

                Gradually, over the course of many more minutes, images took shape on the screen above me. They were not thoughts I was consciously thinking. Sure enough, as described, they were images which appeared to be stored in my unconscious, which were associated with the movements, seen as if I were looking out of my own eyes. I felt completely lost in the awe of what I was experiencing. I watched myself kiss my wife, practice with my pistol at the police station gun range, and exercise at the gym.

                At first, all of the memories were ones I could recall. It wasn’t until my brain got to the point of crawling out of the river, where I found myself making a sudden jump to the past. Without warning, I found myself, for the first time, staring at the faces of my parents, racing through a snow covered valley, shopping at stores, which listed their currency in Canadian values, taking martial arts lessons and studying in a modern computerized high schools.

                I watched in awe for what felt like hours, though in truth I knew it was far less time. It was amazing. At least, until I noticed, something wasn’t quite right. I saw myself sitting in front of a computer, using my research skills to uncover information. But the information I was researching was specific women. I also saw myself using my skill at tailing. And what I was tailing was other young women.

                From there, things turned even darker. I watched as I burned my fingers with acid to cover my finger prints and acquired fake ids. I saw myself sneak across the Canadian border into the US where I went on a rampage, stalking, raping and murdering one young woman after another, making my way across the country. I wanted to scream. This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t really be me!

                All of the sudden, I saw a familiar face on the screen: a young woman walking the streets of Baton Rouge with her college friends. I watched as the group broke off for a bar, while she continued on, apparently heading for their hotel, which lay along a bridge beside Lake Pontchartrain. I saw her spot me and start to run. I watched, through my eyes, as I charged after her, pulling a knife out of my pocket. I was practically on top of her when she turned around with an expandable night stick in her hands.

I didn’t pull back fast enough. Clearly, I had grown over confident from years of killing. When she spun on me, swinging it with all her might, I was not prepared. It struck me hard across the head. I saw blood spatter everywhere and watched as I stumbled to the railing of the bridge, not realizing there was an opening with steps leading down to the water. I fell, tumbling down the steps, smashing my head again. A moment later, I watched myself roll into the shallow water. Everything went black.

Long minutes followed as I stared at the dark screen, feeling my muscles relax when the electrical pulses stopped. With some effort, I pried my eyes off the television and turned them toward the woman who I had followed on that fateful night, the one who hit me with the club as I attempted to kill her, the one who now, ten years later, had attempted to convince me not to get the procedure done: Nurse Johnson.

“I’m sorry, Officer Edward,” she said, in a soft quiet voice. “I told you: sometimes it is best to let the ghosts of the past stay there.”

A long silence filled the room. I looked toward Stephen, who was still gazing at the screen in stunned horror. Then, I watched him reach into his pocket and withdraw a pair of handcuffs.

“Officer Edward, I’m sorry, I’m afraid you are under arrest,” he said. “Doctors, please remove the straps from him, so I can take him away.”

I had finally regained my memories and lost everything else.

The Physics Test

Hello Everyone!

This is another short story that I wrote several years ago. It was originally written for a writing contest with a prompt of "Dream Come True". I was inspired to pull it out again and tamper with it this week when an online short story group I recently joined posted the topic "Back in Time" for their prompt. It is a little different from what I normally write, so let me know what you think. As always, I appreciate any feedback!

The Physics Test

by James Meadows

When a forty-five-year-old single accountant wakes up in the morning, he expects to see his bedroom ceiling and feel the familiar sheets of his plush bed. As my consciousness left the world of sleep, I experienced neither of these sensations.  The bed was hard and unfamiliar. The sheets were thin and ragged, very different from my normal linens.

I opened my eyes and gazed around the blurry room, allowing my vision to focus. The bed chamber was definitely not mine. This was not my house. The room was very small. There needed to be more space for the bed, small desk, and nearby dresser. High on the wall, a long thin window ran perpendicular to the foot of my bed. The small window was just large enough to flood the entire room with the bright light of the early morning sun.

The shock of finding myself in the unexpected surroundings caused me to bolt upright in bed gazing around the room. I knew this room. This was my college apartment. I lived here during my junior and senior years. What was I doing here?

As my stunned mind attempted to digest the revelation, I heard footsteps outside the door to my room. The knob turned and my already puzzled mind was greeted by an even more incredible sight. Sarah entered the room.

“Good morning sleepy head,” she cooed, running her hand through my hair as she sat beside me on the bed. She noticed the odd expression on my face. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t know what to say. My mind was swimming. I just sat there for a second.

“I am…incredible,” I said.

“Well, you better be,” she teased, giving me a quick kiss. “You have your physics final today and better not fail it!”

She rose from the bed and walked toward the doorway. As she passed through, she added, “You better get cleaned up. I’ll have breakfast on the table in a few. I’m making your favorite.”

Sarah gave me a wink as she disappeared around the corner. My eyes flew open in alarm. I remembered this day. This was the last day of my junior year. The details soared back into my mind. I had struggled with physics all semester and needed an ‘A’ on the final to pass the class. My parents had told me, if I failed physics, they would take me out of college and bring me back home. Sarah had spent all week, neglecting her own classes, helping me study for the final. We both knew what would happen if I failed the test.

I thought about her as I went to my closet and got dressed. Funny how I still remembered where everything was after all of these years. I grabbed an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt before heading into the bathroom for my shower. After bathing and dressing, I stopped to look in the mirror. I ran my hands down my face. I couldn’t believe how young I looked. My body was strong, healthy, athletic, and agile again. This wasn’t possible.

My first instinct was to lower my arm and pinch myself very hard. It hurt. I turned the shower onto full heat and placed my hand underneath. The burning water scalded me. I even cut myself shaving. It stung like a bee. I wasn’t dreaming. How was this happening?

Washed, dressed, and shaved, I walked into the kitchen and sat down across from my girlfriend. She was tying her long black hair into a braid. Her deep blue eyes stared happily at me. I stared back. I had forgotten many things over the years but I had never forgotten how beautiful she was. Still, no memory could do justice to the reality before me. After a few moments, she started laughing.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” she giggled, “Eat your food!”

I took my eyes off her and began eating the eggs and bacon she had made for me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her for long, though. I still loved her. And I missed her.

Today was a special day in our relationship. I did make an ‘A’ on the test. In our excitement afterward, we made love for the first time. She would move in with me for my senior year. Afterward, I would ruin everything.

Following my senior year, I was offered a job in Seattle, about as far away from Sarah and College Station as physically possible. I left her behind to take the job. She had to stay to finish her last couple of years of college. Long-distance relationships were not easy in the early-90s prior to the advent of the internet and smartphones. We didn’t make it. I lost her.

Two years later, I lost my job as well. I never met another woman like her and spent the rest of my life praying, wishing, and dreaming for a second chance. I didn’t know what miracle had brought it about but somehow, someway, this was that chance.

I finished my food, still staring at her in wonder. She rose from the table and went to my room. A few seconds later, she came back holding my backpack. I thanked her for the breakfast and rose to put on my backpack.

“Good luck,” she said, giving me a soft kiss on the lips and the beautiful smile I remembered only too well. She turned to get the dishes. I couldn’t contain myself anymore. Years of dreaming, longing, and wishing seized ahold of me. I raced up behind her and threw my arms around her.

“I love you, Sarah,” I said, pulling her close to me. “I love you so very much!”

She smiled and pulled me close. Together we embraced and kissed with unbidden passion. Then she patted me on the chest and took a step back.

“Go do me proud,” she smiled and turned back to the dishes.

I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to take my eyes off her. But I knew what was at stake, so I hurried out the door. I was within walking distance of the campus. Once again, to my surprise, I remembered the way to my old class as though it were yesterday. As I made the long trek, I thought about the incredible potential of this suddenly realized dream.

Not only could I save my relationship with Sarah, I would be rich. I knew the results of every major sporting event for the next twenty-plus years. I knew the best stocks in which to invest. By the time I was forty-five again, I could be a billionaire. The world was at my mercy!

For the rest of my walk, I consumed my mind with visions of wealth and the endless possibilities awaiting me. Soon I was at the door to my class and choosing a seat in the auditorium. As I sat down, the teacher entered and ordered everyone to put all of their belongings beneath their desks except for scantrons and pencils. He then began handing out the tests.

A dark cloud passed over my mind. Perhaps my previous twenty-year-old self knew the answers to all of the questions on my test, after a full week of studying. I, however, had not spent a full week studying. I hadn’t studied a word of physics in more than twenty years.

The teacher placed the test in front of me, along with a spare sheet of paper to work math formulas on.  I scanned the questions. I didn’t have the vaguest idea on any of them. The equations for calculating various masses and ratios were long absent from my mind.

A chill went up my spine. If I failed this test, I would lose Sarah anyway. I would be taken home to the northeast, many days drive from Texas. She would be here at college. She was still a sophomore with several years left in school. The long-distance relationship didn’t work in Seattle. I had no reason to believe it would work from the other side of the US. She would meet other guys; find other loves. I would be left alone, again.

I tried to rack my brains. Somehow, I had to pass this test. The information had to be in there somewhere. I was back in my twenty-year-old body and, even though my mind was maintaining the memories and thoughts of my older self, my brain must still be my twenty-year-old brain. Somehow, after a week of study, some of the information must still be accessible somewhere.

Focusing my thoughts like a yogi, I attempted to clear my mind. If I could just access the memories stored somewhere within my younger brain, I would find the answers. I stared at the question and gradually, like a blurry image cleared to reveal a vibrant picture, the memorized learning from weeks of study took form inside my mind. I could remember the answers. I quickly bubbled in my answer to the first question; then the second question; then the third.

A smile spread across my lips. I could still remember everything, even after….after….I couldn’t remember. How old was I before? I looked up in surprise. I was forty-something, I thought. How can I forget my previous age? I could remember everything about my life after the test. I could remember the job in Seattle, losing Sarah, my new career, sporting events, etc. Strangely, however, the images were growing blurry. As I concentrated on them, they became clearer.

Confused, I returned to my paper. I couldn’t remember the answers to the questions anymore. I focused my mind on my twenty-year-old memories, just as I had before. Again, the answers became clear. I started bubbling in my selections again. I would pass the test. I would stay here with Sarah. And, this time, I would not leave for the job in…where was the job in?

I looked up again. The memories were growing blurry again. I couldn’t remember where I had taken the job. I couldn’t remember my previous age. Everything from before I was given this second chance was growing blurry. After some effort, I was able to remember most of the details, much to my relief.

The memory was little consolation. Each time I focused on being in the mind of my twenty-year-old self, the memory of my alternate future grew blurry. I looked at the various questions in front of me. I still had most of the test left. I needed to pass this test to keep Sarah. But I also needed to remember the mistakes and errors of the future or I would repeat them and lose her anyway.

Frustration flared inside of me. My sudden dream of getting a second chance was turning into a nightmare. I was caught in a lose-lose situation. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the clock on the wall. Time was ticking away. There was only an hour remaining. I had lost a third of my time trying to answer the first few questions. I had to do something. I couldn’t lose Sarah again. I wouldn’t lose Sarah again.

I needed to pass the test. At the same time, I had to find a way to make sure I didn’t lose Sarah. I looked at my piece of notepaper. I could write a note, some words to my twenty-year-old self, to prevent me from making a mistake. What could I say?

My mind flashed to all the sports scores I knew, all the stock knowledge I remembered, all the things I wanted to say to myself. There was not enough time to put them all down. I needed to complete the test and already I was under time pressure. I would only be able to tell myself one or two things. What should I do?

I pictured myself as a millionaire, rich from stocks and sports betting. I pictured myself living in plush mansions with beautiful cars and wealth. In those pictures, though, I was without Sarah. On the other hand, I looked at myself with Sarah, poor and yet with her. If I were rich, I could have other women: I could have supermodels, actresses, and star-female athletes. Yet if I gave them all up, I could have her.

I looked down at the piece of scrap paper beside me. Raising my pencil, I wrote these words: “Justin, this is your future self. If you remember nothing of your life before being given this second chance, remember this: Whatever you do, do not take the job in Seattle, and do not leave Sarah. Stay with her, love her, and treat her as I wish I had treated her the first time. Nothing else matters.”

Folding the paper, I stuffed it into my pocket. I gave a small sigh and allowed my mind to drift back into the memories and thoughts of my twenty-year-old self. I looked back at the test and its many questions. The answers came to me. With each new question, I could feel my future self, my alternate self, fade from existence. I smiled.

Most people could only dream of getting the chance to relive their life, to fix their mistakes, or even just write a note to their past selves. I had gotten my chance. I wouldn’t waste it. I may lose myself, my memories, all my knowledge, and even the fortune I might have otherwise. But I would not lose Sarah. This was all that mattered.

The Broken Mirror

Hey Everyone,

This week's story is called "The Broken Mirror" and was written for a prompt of a similar name. I would be delighted for any feedback!

The Broken Mirror

by James J Meadows III

John’s trembling fingers slid the first cylindrical shell into the magazine tube of his twelve-gauge shotgun. Then, he loaded the next cartridge.

Sweat rolling down his brow mingled with the beads already coating his cheeks before coursing through the long ravines of his face to rest upon the weathered lips. He licked the sweat off, not daring to take his hands from the gun even long enough to wipe it away.

A third cartridge, then a fourth and a fifth, filled the gun until there were no more shells left in the box. He pushed the box aside, his free hand coming to rest on the pump. He slid it backward and forward until he heard the familiar ‘click’ of the bullet entering the chamber.

Rising from his chair, John lowered the rifle in front of him and advanced carefully toward the bedroom door. He pressed his back against the side wall, reaching slowly toward the handle. Fingers wrapped gingerly around the icy metal knob, twisting it so slowly someone looking on might not even be able to tell it was turning. The act made no noise.

Once the knob was turned as far as it could go, John thrust the door open and lowered his rifle into the hall. No one was there. That was okay. He didn’t expect anyone to be there. He was just being cautious.

He knew where the killer was. The killer was in the attic. Advancing slowly into the hall, his eyes shot wildly in all directions. His breathing was sharp and fast; his body trembled to the point of being almost uncontrollable; and his eyes kept twitching. Yet the hands grasping the rifle were quite steady.

John reached the stairs leading to the second floor. Already, he could hear the distant taunts and laughter of the maniac: the maniac who had killed his children; the maniac who had killed his wife; the maniac who was responsible for all the bloody deaths that had occurred that night.

The laughter grew steadily louder as John approached the door leading to the attic.

“Come on!”

He could hear the maniac raving at him, the voice wild, frenzied, and delirious.

“If you think you’ve got the guts to do it! Come on! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

The door was open, but only a crack. John extended his foot, placing it against the inside of the door, and slid it open as slowly as possible. It gave a small creak. He only hoped the killer couldn’t hear it over his laughter.

Advancing slowly through the door, John ascended the stairs, his already trembling body cringing with every whine of each step as his weight came to rest upon it. He tried to be careful, treading as gingerly as possible. The laughter was growing wilder and more deranged with each step. John couldn’t imagine how the killer could hear him move over the laughter, yet he couldn’t shake the suspicion that everything was not what it seemed.

Sure enough, John had just emerged onto the top of the stairs when he found himself staring directly into the face of the killer. And the killer was staring right back at him.

His clothes were dirty and disheveled. Dried blood stains still glistened on his shirt, sleeves, and even his arms. His hair was messy, his hands were shaky, and there was a wild feral gleam in his eyes, reminiscent of a madman, one who had lost all touch with sanity and reason. In his hands, he gripped a shotgun, which he held at the ready.

“There you are,” John heard his adversary jeer. “Armed and all! Now we just have to see if you have the courage to use it!”

Gaffaws of hard, crazed laughter filled John’s ears as his adversary mocked his incompetence. Rage burned in John’s heart coupled with a thirst for vengeance, which no words could possibly describe. John lifted his gun, pointing it straight at the killer’s head. As he did so, the killer raised his gun. For a moment, they stood motionless, each holding their weapons pointed directly at the other’s forehead. 

It was a long tense moment. After which John heard the killer say, “What did I tell you, you just don’t got the guts. But I do.”

Boom!

The sound of John’s shotgun echoed through the attic, stinging his ears as the kickback nearly threw him down the stairs. The bullet hits its mark. Glass and wood shattered, exploding against the impact, covering the floor with the shards and debris of the now obliterated mirror.

There was a brief pause. Then the rifle fell from John’s hands. With a cry of agony, John collapsed to the floor, gripping his hair in his hands. Images flooded his mind as everything came back to him. 

He could hear the screams, the cries, the shouting as the people died at his hands. He hadn’t meant to kill them. He didn’t want to kill them. He was trying to defend them from the killer. But there was no other killer. 

He shook his head, trying to get the images and visions out of his mind, trying to come to grips with the realization of what he had done, praying that it was all just a horrible nightmare, begging God that he would wake up and discover none of it was true.

As he did so, he heard laughter, wild maniacal laughter coming from the second-floor bathroom. All memories faded from his mind. It was the killer, the killer who had murdered his family. He picked up the gun and with slow deliberate steps, descended the staircase, following the sound of the killer’s laugh. He pressed his back against the wall as he descended, trembling hands gripping the loaded shotgun.

He still had plenty of bullets. And there were lots of mirrors in the house.

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.