Last row, negotiating chopsticks. Normally she enjoyed the feel of the sticks between her fingers, slowing her movements enough to really savor each bite. This evening, however, her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t focus on her meal. She thought back to her nightmares over the previous week, waking again and again, sweating and heart pounding. And then her inexplicable certainty upon waking that morning that the mirror she had bought from her favorite thrift store was causing the terrible dreams. Such a shame too, as she loved its gilded edges and rounded frame. She called the shop first thing, only to get their voicemail but found on their website that they did not accept any returns. It was in her bedroom, but she felt the mirror’s presence while working in her office, piercing her concentration. She clocked out early, put on gloves and a jacket, removed the mirror from the wall, and gingerly placed it in the dumpster across the street from her building. Then she walked through the brisk air to her favorite restaurant. It was just after the server placed her noodle bowl at her table that the thrift store returned her call. She sheepishly explained that her inquiry was no longer relevant, now knowing their return policy, but the clerk still asked for details about the item in question. Upon hearing her response, the clerk replied, “um, ma’am, you must have the wrong thrift store. We never stock mirrors in our inventory. Best of luck to you,” then hung up. So she sits now, with her hands shaking, replaying the moment she purchased the mirror, the person at the register admiring it with her, saying “oh how lovely, I didn’t even know we had this in the shop.”
She watched the lights passing by through what she thought was a window. Then she noticed the little white line. She moved closer, squinted her eyes to focus and managed to read the tiny sign: "Read me to open this portal to another world". SWOOOOSHHH! Off she goes!
Summer photo, second row first person - type type type
Pictured here is a man. A sad man for whom the bell of notifications tolls. Ding ding. It fuels him. His name? @Mike sowden. His occupation? Travelogue writer and all around stinker. But he is loved. Here on his computer. Loved by all. Until one day when the WiFi goes out. But the notifications keep coming. Ding ding. Mike has yet to realize what we already know: the entire computer is set up to keep him entertained and happy. Nothing about his world - Substack, the fans, the facts themselves - is real. Soon he, too, will realize this. Soon, he too will enter…THE SOWDEN ZONE
[the guy taking quick bites] I better get home. I’ve already been gone 6 hours and I am fairly sure the dozen air holes I left in the box won’t allow him to last much longer.
Her hair stood on end as the phone rang, and she picked it up to confirm what she dreaded. Unknown caller. Every morning at 7:03 for the past week, as she sat with her morning coffee. She had answered it the first day, only to hear the muffled voice of someone saying...something. She couldn't make it out, but it had given her the creeps. The next day, the same, except she could discern one word: warning. She hadn't dared answer since. This morning, as her finger touched "ignore call," a shadow fell over her, and her entire world went dark.
Second row... The colors of autumn, the reds, the goldens, like the nutty aroma of her coffee, remind her that endings are the natural result of beginnings. She felt safe and a little disheartened at the same time.
Tiny person chosen: The man with his small dog, second page, center bottom right.
As he was waiting his turn to buy movie tickets, people surrounded him. His sweaty palms were getting more and more wet. He had heard reports in the news about the arrival of more and more changelings in society, making everybody nervous. How would he know if one of them was right beside him. Since the arrival of these "changelings", crime statistics had gone up twenty percents in barely a few months compared to the usual annual numbers. From people having their throat slit from ear to ear, to others being stabbed, broken necks or bashed in skulls. It was all quite frightening and yet many people he knew did not believe in such news. Fake News! they would say. But was it true or not? Did the crime rate go up or was it just another way for the big media corporations to better control the masses through fear. As he kept his eyes peeled and his ears wide open, he kept going from people to people, looking at them for a few seconds, listening to their conversations and looking at their body language. Most people around him were relaxed and some even laughed at what ever they were hearing from the people next to them. Everybody was calm, except for him. His hands started to shake, sweating profusely. He even had to change the dog's leash from hand to hand, swipping his palms on his pant legs. He tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths, and even reciting his favorite mantra in his head, but nothing would work.
"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" his instincts told him. Eventually, he could not take it anymore and while pulling on his dog's leash who had started to smell the shoes of a man beside him in great interest, he got out of the mass of people in front of the cinema. No way was he accepting to get into a dark room with a bunch of strangers for a damn movie. He had only wanted to buy tickets for tonight's show, but his instincts told him that it was just a bad idea. With a brisk walk, pulling at his dog who kept wanting to sniff the world around him, he went back home only to find a few hours later as he turned out the television that the very theater he was supposed to be into had been attacked by a few changelings that very night. The world he was now in was no more safe. The rumors were true. Nobody could be trusted.
What do I want...what do I want...What? What do I want? What DO I want. I want. I want. I want. I. I. I. Jesus, what do I want? I don't know what I want. Do I know what I want? What do I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant????????????????????
He always walked to the bookshop on this day. To remember the days he walked to the bookshop with her. Before he lost her. Before the world fell apart. On this day, he tried to think about the good things, to keep her clearly in his mind, but over the years, she faded. The pain had softened along with her features, but the bookshop was the best place for remembering her. He felt cold. Shivered. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He frowned. And then, carefully, he felt a tiny, ice-cold hand creep into his own.
She walked down the empty back alley in her uncomfortable heels which were killing her newly manicured feet. Unaware of the shadow behind she walked with click-clack noise along the alley, waking up the snoring cat. Suddenly, the shadow swept past her and made her stop in the middle with a jerk. She could feel the sweat drop down her forehead while she grasped onto the umbrella which she carried along as a stick, to make her uncomfortable heels just a little comfortable. The shadow watched her from behind the wall and decided to throw open the knife when suddenly her phone rang and she resumed her uncomfortable but (this time) hurried walk.
"Dear storyteller, all manner of living things die every autumn. No one would even notice."
thats scary enough.... i'll take the bottom row of autumn, cell phone "ringing": and so just now when he had thought the very worst was over it had done it again dredging up anxietythe evil android just as he thought he had been making peace with technology ie his phone didnt capriciously go into airplane mode when he was expecting a call back fro a girl a possible employer the DMV!! and he had by small bitter steps learned how to shut down background apps and finally he had set the ring-tone to a jimi hendrix song which seemed to make even the endlessly cascading spam calls, mostly what he got these days as he was old and in the way made them bearable: THIS happens; a ring that harkens back to his earliest childhood memories of rotary phones, when the phone was more like an alarm than a heartbeat pulse and he recalled crushes on 6th grade teachers who had called parents to remind of field trip rules and yes all this as he drifts far from the mall of here and now the leaf-strewn body he and his friend had found in the woods under an October moon so very very long ago.......
lol when required to do any heavy lifting i kinda suck but THIS entirely in wheelhouse of skill-set ie no sweat broken and many other stones unturned ha
Last row, negotiating chopsticks. Normally she enjoyed the feel of the sticks between her fingers, slowing her movements enough to really savor each bite. This evening, however, her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t focus on her meal. She thought back to her nightmares over the previous week, waking again and again, sweating and heart pounding. And then her inexplicable certainty upon waking that morning that the mirror she had bought from her favorite thrift store was causing the terrible dreams. Such a shame too, as she loved its gilded edges and rounded frame. She called the shop first thing, only to get their voicemail but found on their website that they did not accept any returns. It was in her bedroom, but she felt the mirror’s presence while working in her office, piercing her concentration. She clocked out early, put on gloves and a jacket, removed the mirror from the wall, and gingerly placed it in the dumpster across the street from her building. Then she walked through the brisk air to her favorite restaurant. It was just after the server placed her noodle bowl at her table that the thrift store returned her call. She sheepishly explained that her inquiry was no longer relevant, now knowing their return policy, but the clerk still asked for details about the item in question. Upon hearing her response, the clerk replied, “um, ma’am, you must have the wrong thrift store. We never stock mirrors in our inventory. Best of luck to you,” then hung up. So she sits now, with her hands shaking, replaying the moment she purchased the mirror, the person at the register admiring it with her, saying “oh how lovely, I didn’t even know we had this in the shop.”
this is great in an Edgar Allen Poe meets Anne Kadet kinda way !!!~ heh
Brilliant!
(Train drawing, center girl "Pensive")
She watched the lights passing by through what she thought was a window. Then she noticed the little white line. She moved closer, squinted her eyes to focus and managed to read the tiny sign: "Read me to open this portal to another world". SWOOOOSHHH! Off she goes!
Oh no!
its actually scary!
Many of your characters are staring down into phones. That alone is scary.
Such is life!
Summer photo, second row first person - type type type
Pictured here is a man. A sad man for whom the bell of notifications tolls. Ding ding. It fuels him. His name? @Mike sowden. His occupation? Travelogue writer and all around stinker. But he is loved. Here on his computer. Loved by all. Until one day when the WiFi goes out. But the notifications keep coming. Ding ding. Mike has yet to realize what we already know: the entire computer is set up to keep him entertained and happy. Nothing about his world - Substack, the fans, the facts themselves - is real. Soon he, too, will realize this. Soon, he too will enter…THE SOWDEN ZONE
Negotiating Chopsticks from Autumn
returning from grave
chopsticks used to be easy
relearn everything
[the guy taking quick bites] I better get home. I’ve already been gone 6 hours and I am fairly sure the dozen air holes I left in the box won’t allow him to last much longer.
[Autumn, last row, ring.]
Her hair stood on end as the phone rang, and she picked it up to confirm what she dreaded. Unknown caller. Every morning at 7:03 for the past week, as she sat with her morning coffee. She had answered it the first day, only to hear the muffled voice of someone saying...something. She couldn't make it out, but it had given her the creeps. The next day, the same, except she could discern one word: warning. She hadn't dared answer since. This morning, as her finger touched "ignore call," a shadow fell over her, and her entire world went dark.
🫣 Okay that scared me.
Glad to hear it! Thanks for the motivation.
Second row... The colors of autumn, the reds, the goldens, like the nutty aroma of her coffee, remind her that endings are the natural result of beginnings. She felt safe and a little disheartened at the same time.
Well said!
Tiny person chosen: The man with his small dog, second page, center bottom right.
As he was waiting his turn to buy movie tickets, people surrounded him. His sweaty palms were getting more and more wet. He had heard reports in the news about the arrival of more and more changelings in society, making everybody nervous. How would he know if one of them was right beside him. Since the arrival of these "changelings", crime statistics had gone up twenty percents in barely a few months compared to the usual annual numbers. From people having their throat slit from ear to ear, to others being stabbed, broken necks or bashed in skulls. It was all quite frightening and yet many people he knew did not believe in such news. Fake News! they would say. But was it true or not? Did the crime rate go up or was it just another way for the big media corporations to better control the masses through fear. As he kept his eyes peeled and his ears wide open, he kept going from people to people, looking at them for a few seconds, listening to their conversations and looking at their body language. Most people around him were relaxed and some even laughed at what ever they were hearing from the people next to them. Everybody was calm, except for him. His hands started to shake, sweating profusely. He even had to change the dog's leash from hand to hand, swipping his palms on his pant legs. He tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths, and even reciting his favorite mantra in his head, but nothing would work.
"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" his instincts told him. Eventually, he could not take it anymore and while pulling on his dog's leash who had started to smell the shoes of a man beside him in great interest, he got out of the mass of people in front of the cinema. No way was he accepting to get into a dark room with a bunch of strangers for a damn movie. He had only wanted to buy tickets for tonight's show, but his instincts told him that it was just a bad idea. With a brisk walk, pulling at his dog who kept wanting to sniff the world around him, he went back home only to find a few hours later as he turned out the television that the very theater he was supposed to be into had been attacked by a few changelings that very night. The world he was now in was no more safe. The rumors were true. Nobody could be trusted.
That is a scary mindset to be in. Great story!
Reading The Menu Drawing
What do I want...what do I want...What? What do I want? What DO I want. I want. I want. I want. I. I. I. Jesus, what do I want? I don't know what I want. Do I know what I want? What do I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant????????????????????
No one talks about this horror!
Spooky Spring, bottom row, Father and Daughter.
He always walked to the bookshop on this day. To remember the days he walked to the bookshop with her. Before he lost her. Before the world fell apart. On this day, he tried to think about the good things, to keep her clearly in his mind, but over the years, she faded. The pain had softened along with her features, but the bookshop was the best place for remembering her. He felt cold. Shivered. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He frowned. And then, carefully, he felt a tiny, ice-cold hand creep into his own.
That sent a shiver down my spine!
A dark winter's take -- Uncomfortable on heels:
She walked down the empty back alley in her uncomfortable heels which were killing her newly manicured feet. Unaware of the shadow behind she walked with click-clack noise along the alley, waking up the snoring cat. Suddenly, the shadow swept past her and made her stop in the middle with a jerk. She could feel the sweat drop down her forehead while she grasped onto the umbrella which she carried along as a stick, to make her uncomfortable heels just a little comfortable. The shadow watched her from behind the wall and decided to throw open the knife when suddenly her phone rang and she resumed her uncomfortable but (this time) hurried walk.
"Dear storyteller, all manner of living things die every autumn. No one would even notice."
thats scary enough.... i'll take the bottom row of autumn, cell phone "ringing": and so just now when he had thought the very worst was over it had done it again dredging up anxietythe evil android just as he thought he had been making peace with technology ie his phone didnt capriciously go into airplane mode when he was expecting a call back fro a girl a possible employer the DMV!! and he had by small bitter steps learned how to shut down background apps and finally he had set the ring-tone to a jimi hendrix song which seemed to make even the endlessly cascading spam calls, mostly what he got these days as he was old and in the way made them bearable: THIS happens; a ring that harkens back to his earliest childhood memories of rotary phones, when the phone was more like an alarm than a heartbeat pulse and he recalled crushes on 6th grade teachers who had called parents to remind of field trip rules and yes all this as he drifts far from the mall of here and now the leaf-strewn body he and his friend had found in the woods under an October moon so very very long ago.......
Oof this was great!
lol when required to do any heavy lifting i kinda suck but THIS entirely in wheelhouse of skill-set ie no sweat broken and many other stones unturned ha
Nice! Which tiny person is this Kimia?
Great choice. Love it!