Timewave

Leslie jumped from the table, a mouse scuttling past her legs as she made the drastic dive. Her head hitting the edge of the blue cupboard and knocking her unconscious. The television blared in the background about the first black president of the United States being elected.

Waking up a few hours later, at least to Leslie's perception, she found herself with a massive headache and in a cold and dark meadow. Looking around, she wondered if someone had thought she were dead, and decided to just dump her body somewhere instead of calling the cops. Rubbing her head and getting to her feet, she made her way through the woods, hoping to find a hiking trail, a bike path, or even a road that would take her back to civilization.

After almost two hours, Leslie started to panic. What if there was no road for more miles than she could walk? What if she had been going in the wrong direction? Should she have waited for daybreak? Shaking her head, she knew that freaking out would do her absolutely no good, and she sat down on a nearby boulder. And that's when she heard the shuffling footsteps coming from the direction she had been coming from.

originally she had thought that it had been the wind, or her own fears lurking in the back of her mind coming out to hound her at the worst possible time. But as she slowly turned her head towards the sound, she realized that her prayers might be answered. A warm and hazy light was permeating through the darkness of the entangled tree limbs that she had been fighting tooth and nail to get through. Standing, she called out, a nervous and hopeful smile splayed across her lips as she did so.

The smile dissolved, however, when she saw a lithe and muscular man step through the trees, wearing a loincloth. Fumbled words passed her lips as grunts passed his. Stepping away, she bumped into another man who had stepped up from behind her as silently as a spider climbs its way onto a hand. Turning abruptly to face him, she found a club hitting her head and an enveloping blackness welcoming her back.

The next time Leslie awoke, she was in a barn. Hay stuck to her hair and clothes as if she were a human scarecrow. Climbing out, she made her way out of the hay and the barn, slowly, remembering the men from the woods. Finding a farmhouse outside, she instantly recognized it as her great-great-grandparents farm. Meaning the the barn she had woken up in was the house her parents had remodeled before she was born after the farmhouse had been eaten by termites. Leslie only recognized the house from pictures, and as she continued to stare in disbelief, she saw her ancestors come out of the house and head towards the barn. their hands together and a bucket of something in each hand, she felt light-hearted to see the couple so happy.

And then she realized that she had possibly gone insane, or somehow traveled through time. Either way, the last time she had interacted with someone, it had ended with her getting knocked unconscious. Stepping backwards and attempting to turn and run, she tripped over herself and hit her head against a wooden fence that kept the pigs in during the winter.

Hearing sirens, Leslie awoke and felt her eyes water from the bright light in the ambulance. She didn't move or speak, afraid that if she tried to do anything, she would be sent hurtling through time to just get knocked out over and over again through all of eternity. The ambulance driver asked the other EMT if they were going to vote for Barack Obama the next day. The EMT shrugged and said it would be interesting to be a part of history. The first black president of the United States of America was a pretty big part of history, according to him.

Challenge #87

Hey guys I'm sorry I uploaded this challenge a little later than intended.
But! The challenge for the week is to write a story that is set in the past.

This could be your own past or a completely fictional past its up to you!

If you would like to submit a story you can email us at inkedfeathersfink@gmail.com

thanks everybody!

Thirteen Teacups

My grandmother was an eccentric old lady. Her house was filled with all kinds of crazy things. For example she had a taxidermy squirrel dressed in a tuxedo. His name was Herbert.
                But the one thing that really intrigued me as a kid was these thirteen teacups that she had lined up. They were all numbered too, with each number uniquely and delicately painted on.
One day I asked my grandma about them.
                “Grandma, why do you have these?” I asked. Out of the things my grandmother owned, these were the things that peeked my interest.
“Samantha do not touch those! They are very delicate.” Was all she said to me. Over the years I would bring up the question and I would always got the same response no matter what age I was.
               
                But today I am staring at a box with my name on it, and my Grandma’s Will rests in my hands.

“Samantha as you know these teacups are very special to me. I know that you will take great care of them. But you have to make me a promise. The first Friday the 13^th that these cups are in your possession you must start a tradition. You must drink a special kind of tea in the first cup on midnight the first Friday the 13^th that you have these. Then the next time you must do the same, but with cup number two. So on and so forth. Now you may be wondering why I am asking you do this and what it all means. But I promise you that if you do this, you will start to notice changes in your life. Changes that are amazing and unbelievable. Please Samantha I know you will not let me down. I love you so much my darling little girl.”

                I stare at the paper, reading the paragraph over and over. It makes absolutely no sense what so ever. But yet my curiosity gets the best of me.
I grab the box and lug it up the stairs to my crappy little apartment. I carefully set the box down and open the door. I peer down at the box with my name on it, excited to open it and investigate.
                When I get inside I set the box down on my tiny kitchen table and open it very carefully. On the top of the box is a piece of paper with a ‘tea’ recipe for Moonbrew Tea. It’s the weird tea that I apparently have to drink out of each cup. I go down the list reading each ingredient. There are cloves and peppermint, cinnamon and licorice root and orange peelings. It sounds like a strong flavored brew, but delicious as well.
                I carefully grab the first cup I see that’s wrapped in bubble wrap. Taking my time I carefully unfold it to find one of my favorites. It’s the number 6 cup, with its dark midnight blue and swirling gold design. I stare at it for a moment as the nostalgia of the item washes over me.
I remember days when I would visit my grandma and my eyes would always drift to this cup.
I sigh before setting the cup down. I can’t help but miss my grandma as I go through each and every cup, remembering the designs and wishing I knew what they meant.
               
                After I unpack all the cups I go to my calendar to find when the next Friday the 13^th will be. Goosebumps travel up and down my arms when I see that the next Friday the 13^th is next Friday.
I get that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach when something weird and unexplainable happens, and all I know is I can’t wait to find out what this all means.

-The first Friday-

I am giddy the whole day at work, just watching the clock and waiting till I can go home. The ingredients for the tea are all waiting for me at home along with the first tea cup.
“You are acting weirder than usual today. Must be because it’s the 13^th.” My coworker jokes.
I smile at her. “Yeah well you know it’s a weird day.” I say.
“It’s only weird if you make it weird.” She says. At that exact moment the power goes out in the office. 

                They send us home for the day, unable to fix the power problem. I am so excited that I practically speed on my way home.
I get everything set up for that night, hoping that something magical will happen. The first cup sits on my table with a bright number one painted on the side. As the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight I begin brewing up the tea. The wonderfully spicy smell fills my whole apartment and I smile as it already begins to soothe me. I bring my old tea pot over to the table and fill the tea cup. My grandmother never said anything about a special chant, or anything else I had to do while drinking the tea. I put on my favorite Fleet Foxes album and sit back and relax in the chair.
                I take a sip of tea just as the clock strikes twelve, waiting for something to happen.
I take a couple more sips of the tea, which tastes delicious, and I look around my apartment. I’m expecting something amazing and wonderful to happen, but nothing does. So I just keep sipping my tea and listening to my music. Maybe this whole thing is a silly game my grandma made up to trick me, but even if it is I don’t mind because I’m suddenly the most relaxed I’ve ever been.
               

The next morning I wake up well rested and happy. The sun barely peeks in through my curtains.
I get out of bed and open the curtains to find a one hundred dollar bill stuck to my window, flapping in the wind. My spine tingles as I stare at the bill. A small gasp escapes me before I open the window and quickly grab the money. I stare at it dumbfounded as if it must be fake. But it looks like it’s the real thing and I hold it close to my chest smiling. The first cup of tea has done its job and I can’t wait to see what the next twelve cups brings me. 

The Escape

            The seven houses looked down on the river. I looked up at them, every morning, hoping to live in just one of them when I grew up. The brick, the ivy-covered, the white stone and the wood; each house was an amazing work of art that I wished to be a part of.

            My own home, a trailer on the other end of the city, dust covered and practically dilapidated, housed me for my whole life. For thirteen years I lived there with my father, a man who drank frequently and conversed rarely. A dreary and hopeless life is what I was given, and I wanted more. Thankfully, on the twenty-second of July, I met a girl named Naomi.

            Tall like the houses that looked down on the river, long brown curls that reminded me of the waves in the river, and gorgeous green eyes like the ivy on some of those houses; I found her to be perfect. She found me to be entertaining and a drastic change from her usual crowd. But after telling her my dreams and after helping her with hers, she eventually helped me with mine. She helped me get through high school, especially Science class. She was a genius when it came to chemistry and the combining of molecules. It all just seemed like numbers and letters to me that didn’t mean a thing.

            She was my best friend.

            Seven years after we met, after we became friends, we moved in together at the 22^nd St Apartments. They were on a hill that let us see the seven houses overlooking the river, if we squinted really hard. Thirteen years after that, after getting our degrees from college and getting work, we scraped our money together and got a house on the river, we could see the backyards, or at least try to, of the houses overlooking the river. Those seven houses stayed out of my reach, but when Naomi passed away when our child turned seven, the seven houses didn’t matter anymore. I buried her on the twenty-second of July, and I escaped with her thirteen years later.

Challenge #86

Hey all!

The challenge for this week is to write a story that incorporates either your lucky numbers, or your favorite numbers.

If you would like to join us with a piece of your own work, please do! Just send us your work via e-mail at inkedfeathersfink@gmail.com for Fan Friday!

See you later on Wednesday!

It's called a Trap

            Looking through the bushes, I can see them. The tall ones that walk on two legs, sometimes four, sometimes, they have multiple limbs made of metal, and that is really freaky. They come in different sizes, colors, and their fur changes in different ways as well. But they are all the same. I have seen what they have done to my kind.

            When I was just a hatchling, I saw the small ones throw stones at my family. When I was old enough to fly, I saw the elders release their house trained flea bags on my brothers and sisters, laughing as they pounced and chewed. When I became old enough to build my own nest, men and women continued to chop down the trees I made my home in. The last one, a few days ago, when it dropped, left me crippled due to a branch crushing my left wing.

            Watching them, I can see them laugh and smile, I wish I could see them suffer as I have.

            “Aw! Poor birdy,” I jump at the sound behind me, I look back and try to fly away, but the pain is too much and I end up hopping onto my chest. I can feel the stubby little fingers pick me up, and lift me into the palm of their hand. The fingers stroke my back, and it is comforting and disgusting at the same time. I’m scared and angry. I don’t want to die.

            I’ve been captive for a month now. They have me in a cage, my wing is bandaged, they feed me, they pet me, they ask me to sing. They have been kind and I hate them for it. I know it is a trap, I know they want me to let my guard down so that they can feed me to their flea bag of a feline that focuses its attention on me whenever I am let out of the cage for bandage changed. I can see its eyes glaze in hunger when it sees me.

            Once, the humans let it sniff me. It licked my head, and rubbed its massive grey head against my tiny yellow one. I trembled in fear, but held my bowels. I retained my dignity.

            “Time to fly little one,” the large red-headed woman said, opening the cage and pulling me out as gently as a human can do anything ‘gently’.

            “No! Mommy! I want to keep Thunder Wing!” The son shouted, snot coming out of his nose from crying too hard.

            “Her name is Princess Peony! And she needs to go home to rule her kingdom!” The daughter screeched. She was the one who had found me and taken care of me the most. She had begged her mother to let them keep me until I was healed. Her mother had said no, until she had done what humans do bet, and thrown her mother’s favorite Elvis ashtray against a wall.

            Setting me on the open windowsill, the woman held her children by her sides and they looked eagerly towards me for some reason. I looked around for the grey cat, or some other form of danger, and saw none. I looked outside, tested my wings, looked back at them, and then jumped.

            Three weeks later, I came back to the house and sat on the windowsill. I had a grasshopper in my clutches. A gift. The boy saw me, squealed, and opened the window. He grabbed me, held me close, and I couldn’t remember why I had come back. Humans are vicious creatures.

Black Mamba

They fear me. Of course they should fear me, for I am a dread inducing creature. My very nature is to cause panic in the other creatures around me.
                I can kill creatures that are half my size, because I am dangerous and deadly and this is why they fear me.
               

It’s night time and I slither through the grass looking for my next meal. I sense each smell waiting for the waft of something yummy. That’s when I feel something bigger than me come closer. Instinctively I go into defense mode. I hiss at the creature that is only a few feet away from me. Still the creature does not get my message; it keeps getting closer to me.
                My next instinct is to lash out and bite and that’s exactly what I do. With a quick snap my fangs sink into flesh, injecting my venom. I withdraw and slither back into the bushes, waiting for the creature to die.

“FUCK! A fucking snake just bit me. Shit..Oh my god. Oh my god.”
                “Dude calm down, just calm down. How bad is it? Where did it go?!”
                “I don’t man..Oh dude I don’t feel so good..I-I-think I’m gonna pass o-“
                “Jason? JASON?! SHIT DUDE WAKE UP! WHAT THE FUCK? Oh my god where did it go. Fuck man..Jason?!”

                I  sense another creature near the first one that I had bitten. I hope that the second creature takes it as a message to stay away from me. They are too big to devour so I slither on into the grass looking for something easier to digest. They should have known to fear me.