Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2021-12-13 05:33 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2021-12-13 05:33 pm
Entry tags:
- canon: leverage,
- canon: original,
- canon: the old guard,
- canon: uncharted,
- canon: vampire diaries universe,
- canon: wynonna earp,
- prompts: get your words out,
- ship: chloe/nadine/sam,
- tvdverse: freya mikaelson,
- uncharted: chloe frazer,
- uncharted: nadine ross,
- uncharted: sam drake,
- wynonna earp: wynonna earp
get your words out { 2022 } challenge tracking
Directory:
PERSONAL GOALS:• Yearly Goals IN PROGRESS
• Clear the Queue IN PROGRESS
OFFICIAL CHALLENGES:• 1/16/22 Five Minutes Challenge COMPLETE
• 1/31/22 January Challenge: Tarot Prompts COMPLETE
• 2/22-23/22 Roll the Dice Challenge COMPLETE
• February 2022 Lovely Word Stroll IN PROGRESS
• March-June 2022 GYWO Yahtzee COMPLETE
• 3/11-17/22 March Small Challenge COMPLETE
• 5/11-12/22 May Small Challenge COMPLETE
• 5/15-21/22 7 Days, 7 Stories COMPLETE
• July 2022 Mid-Year Marathon INCOMPLETE
• 7/1/2022 February Challenge: Five and Ten COMPLETE
• 7/5/2022 March Challenge: SuperWordAlicious COMPLETE
• 7/10-12/22 Time Management Challenge COMPLETE
• 7/14/22 Simile but Different Challenge COMPLETE
• 7/21/22 Blind Prompts Challenge COMPLETE
• August 2022 Mid-Year Marathon INCOMPLETE
• 7/28/22 Stop, Drop, Write COMPLETE
• 7/29/22 Green with Graffiti Challenge COMPLETE
• 8/17/22 Christmas in July COMPLETE
• 8/30/22 August Challenge: The Dump COMPLETE
• 9/12-13/22 Two-Day Challenge COMPLETE
• 10/14-18/22 Nano Prep Challenge COMPLETE
• 11/13-14/22 Roll the Dice Challenge COMPLETE
• 12/12/22 Time Management Challenge COMPLETE
• 12/16/22 September Challenge COMPLETE
• 12/19/22 Challenge: Choose Your Title COMPLETE
• 12/20/22 November Challenge: Dated COMPLETE
• 12/21/22 December Challenge: Stop Watch COMPLETE
YEARLY GOALS
CLEAR THE QUEUE
NETFLIX
AMAZON PRIME
HBO MAX
HULU
Disney+
1/16/21 | five minutes challenge | original | 209 | COMPLETE
Holly’s head snaps around towards the sound of her friend’s voice, eyes narrowing to try and see what Heather is looking for. “See what?”
Heather points in the direction of the woods, before lifting her bionoculars to see if she could get a better look. The two of them have been bird watching in this park for ages, and as a result have become the best of friends. Their names even both start with H, so clearly a match made in heaven. But it’s not often that there’s something actually worth noticing.
“I could have sworn I saw a superb fairywren.”
“What?” Holly frowns as she also lifts her binoculars. “They don’t get this far north.”
“I would have thought so too, but it was so vibrant and blue.” She huffs a bit in response. “It’s gone now. I was probably wrong.”
“One day we’ll get to see them,” Holly nods, resting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Just need to keep saving up for that Australia trip.” It’s a pipe dream in many ways, but they’re both still willing to work at it, for however long it takes. “It’ll be great.”
“Indeed,” Heather smirks. “In the meantime, shall we find a better birdwatching spot?”
1/31/22 | january challenge: tarot prompts | uncharted | 731 | COMPLETE
Sam is always looking for the next job.
Not that he doesn’t want to revel in their victories, but there’s always a point where he’s worried they’ll stop. That Nadine and Chloe will think that the last score is the best score and won’t want to look at something new. Or, more to the point, they’ll be done with him.
Most of the time, he doubts they will. Chloe seems to enjoy keeping him around, and as much as he and Nadine bicker, eventually they grow into a begrudging respect for each other.
(Very, very begrudging.)
But there are moments in the dark, after they’ve had their celebratory drinks and collected their requisite payments, that he can feel the itch begin again. A creeping sensation that tingles at the base of his spine, whispering the promises of the glory and riches that await him if he just gets up and gets moving again. Maybe it’s a side effect of spending so long in prison, returning to a world that he needed to run to catch up with, but he doesn’t want the next job to be the end.
Someone has to keep looking forward. Sam is more than happy to do it, since it seems so much better than looking back.
Nadine does her best to keep them all alive.
Yes, even Sam, much to her chagrin.
The two glib bastards that she seems to have saddled herself to can’t take things seriously to save their life, so someone has to, but in some ways, Nadine doesn’t mind. As far as treasure hunting goes, she’s never really shared the spark for it. She didn’t spend her childhood drowning herself in lore, or researching people long dead who might have hidden treasure somewhere. She grew up regimented, contained, and it’s that regimented life that helps for planning.
It’s strange to be in a position where she finds herself respected to this degree. Sam and Chloe accept who she is, warts and all, and put her in a position to use her skills to their advantage. It’s a feeling she’s never really felt before, not with her family, not with leading Shoreline. It seems like they were just waiting on an opportunity for her to fail and knock her down as a result, but nine times out of ten, the people knocking Nadine down wouldn’t be her partners.
One day, she might even be able to call them friends. She just hopes they all live long enough to get there.
Let Chloe and Sam chase the fantasy. She’ll minimize the risk and make sure they have a real plan.
Chloe somehow melds the two—Nadine’s reason with Sam’s momentum. She tethers them together, balancing them on a fulcrum, though sometimes things swing too much in one direction over the other. Sometimes Nadine’s inflexibility rears its ugly head, or Sam’s impulsiveness will buy them more trouble than it’s worth. But Chloe wouldn’t trade either of them for the world.
Moonlight streaks through the flap of their tent as Sam and Nadine sleep on either side of her. It’s far too warm and humid to be cramped so close together, but the tent itself is small, the kind where she can’t even shift without feeling the ridge of Sam’s arm against her spine, or Nadine’s shoulder pressed tightly to hers. Still, she wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, keeping watch so her friends can get some sleep.
She never really thought of herself as a “team” person. Sure, she’s joined them for the odd job here and there, but never really thought of herself as the type to come with a package deal. But in some ways, it makes sense that the three of them fit together. Each outcasts in their own respect, with rough edges that don’t always mesh.
It’s simply a matter of finding the right puzzle to fit into. And Chloe intends to keep this one together as long as she can.
A beeping noise goes off nearby and Nadine stirs, slapping a hand out to grab it. Once the sound is off, she blinks blearily at Chloe. “Time for my shift. Get some sleep.”
Chloe nods as she shifts down, closing her eyes and letting herself drift off. If nothing else, it’s nice to have someone there to watch her back.
3/2-3/22 | roll the dice challenge | goal: 4,797 | COMPLETE
WORD COUNT: 4,752 - but passes the goal pre-editing.
february 2022 | lovely word stroll (part a) | running count: 8,136 | COMPLETE
march-june 2022 | gywo yahtzee | running count: 8/8 | COMPLETE
3/17-23/22 | march small challenge | goal: 7,800 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 8,408
5/11-12/22 | may small challenge: two day challenge | goal: 1,200 | COMPLETE
GRAND TOTAL: 1,200
5/15-21/22 | 7 days, 7 stories | 7/7 | COMPLETE
GRAND TOTAL: 10,920
july 2022 | mid-year marathon | goal: 25,479 | INCOMPLETE
Week 2:
Week 3:
Week 4:
GRAND TOTAL: 11,244
7/1/2022 | february challenge: five and ten | original | 626
“First student to clean up their station gets an automatic A on the next quiz.”
Even that doesn’t get a response, though a few kids look up, surprised and confused. Almost as though they’re just realizing that work is expected of them. Sally sees Devin’s stern look across the way from her, and slowly he makes his way closer, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“You’re not helping.”
“No, it’s not my job to help. They are the ones who aren’t helping.” She gestures to the phone zombies, showing that there’s plenty of work to do but no one actually doing it. “I’m just trying to motivate them properly.”
“We can’t reward them like that. It defeats the point of community service. You’re supposed to do something that doesn’t benefit you.”
“Tell that to all the billionaires running scam charities, Mr. C,” one student comments as he makes his way past them, face in his phone. Sally points in the kid’s direction and nods.
“What they said. People have been motivating themselves to do nice things since the dawn of capitalism. Sometimes that’s the only way the nice things get done.”
“But is that really the kinds of values you want to instill in your students?”
“The parents would say that I shouldn’t be instilling values at all.”
Devin rolls his eyes. “We spend way more time with their kids than they do. They should thank us for making sure that their children aren’t actual terrors.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” she sighs, leaning back against the wall. “And they know the value of this. But good will isn’t something you can force. Give them a quid pro quo, otherwise they’re never going to realize the benefits.”
Devin pauses, turning the statement over in his head, before looking over at her. “That makes no sense.”
“These kids are all about hitting their pleasure centers. Their phones have turned them into those rats that kept hitting the pleasure button until they died. Override the dopamine. Give them new dopamine until they realize that doing acts of service is the dopamine.”
“You have a scary understanding of human biology.”
“I don’t need to understand how the flesh suits work. I teach English, not Science.”
Devin shakes his head but watches as some students seem to have jumped into motion and are slowly starting actually to do the work. Soon, one student, Palo, makes his way closer with an empty station and packed up bags of garbage.
“No shit on that free A on the quiz, Ms. Mallory?”
“I can’t use that word in front of a student, but a deal’s a deal.” She reaches into her purse and scribbles down a rough coupon—I, Ms. Mallory, give Palo Martinez one free A on his next quiz. “It has to be used on the next quiz, no saving it for a later date. Got it?”
Palo tips his head to the side. “Man, I already studied for that one.”
“Well, look at that. You gained some new knowledge, and you don’t have to prove to me you know it. Good job.”
Palo shakes his head as he wanders off. Devin watches him go, before sighing. “Get them to do the activity first, then appreciate the value, you said?”
Sally shrugs. “Sometimes, that’s the only way you can win.”
7/5/2022 | march challenge: superwordalicious | original | 897
Rita looks up over her shoulder at the tall alien standing next to her. Universal translators are great for the words you’re saying, the audio chip translating flawlessly until you find the right combination. It doesn’t matter that E’gorblath, her new tentacled friend, doesn’t have the mouth parts to form human words effortlessly. Not when the chip in Rita’s ear does all the work for him.
But not all translations are perfect, as she is about to find out.
“People have been saying that about the English language since time began,” she sighs, leaning back against a nearby wall. “What’s got you tripped up this time?”
“The suffix, ‘phobe,’ that is usually said to indicate fear, correct?”
“You would be correct.”
“And the prefix ‘uni,’ that is to show an all-encompassing collection?”
“You would be correct again.” Not that Rita is the most grammatically correct person in the world, but she knows the basics. She gives Ted a nod as he makes his way into the room, clipboard in hand. The various technology needs constant monitoring, and he knows from experience that Rita and E’gorblath were more likely to spend their time shooting the shit rather than actually paying attention to their work.
If he could fire them, he would. But they don’t technically work for him. Never mind that the two of them have never been the most scientifically minded.
“And would you consider me a fish?”
That has Rita pausing, tipping her head to the side as she considers. She thinks her friend falls more into the octopus family than a fishy one, but she’s not sure that lay people care enough to know the difference.
“I would say you’re more of a cephalopod,” Ted comments idly, and Rita nods in his direction.
“What he said.”
“Ah. Then perhaps that caused the confusion.”
“Who’d you confuse, buddy?”
“Armin, down at the chow hall. I told him we ran into a bunch of unifishphobes on the last planet, and he looked at me like I had grown another set of tentacles. Which would be quite impressive. As you see that I already have many.” He gives a bit of a trill as he fans out his tentacles in demonstration. “My parents were always quite proud of that.”
“And who could blame them?” Rita nods, before making a face. “But no, that wasn’t why. Unifishphobe isn’t a word, my dude.”
Part of his face pushes together, almost as though mimicking a human squint. “It is not?”
“Nope. Never heard that word before in my life.”
“There are a lot of words you haven’t heard before, Corsairs. It’s not exactly a hard bar to clear.” Ted glances back over his shoulder as he puts his pen down. “But she’s right. Unifishphobe isn’t a word.”
“Then how, in your language, do you convey a fear of fish?”
“I don’t think there is a word for that,” Rita replies. “Who would be afraid of a pack of lousy fish?”
“Ichthyophobia.”
Both of them turn to stare at Ted. Rita narrows her eyes. “No way, you just pulled that out of your ass.”
“Ichthyo, from the Greek ikhthus meaning fish. Phobia, for fear. It’s not that difficult.”
“Oh, so you just speak Greek now?”
“There’s lots you don’t know about me, Rita. Don’t be so surprised.” He rolls his eyes. “Besides, I’m a scientist. Greek and Latin are a common occurrence.”
Rita and E’gorblath stare at him for a long moment. Then they glance back at each other. E’gorblath shifts to cast a sidelong look back at Ted and their silent conversation comes to one conclusion, that Rita is quick to articulate: “You totally have a fear of fish.”
Ted sputters, before turning back around to face them. “What drove you to that conclusion?”
“Why else would you know the word for fear of fish if you didn’t have a fear of fish?” Rita crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Do you just go around looking up the words for fears you don’t have?”
Ted groans, burying his face in his hands. “Why is your brain this way?”
“It’s not just me. E’gorblath thinks it too.”
“I do. You have chosen a very random vocabulary word to know, and dissected it so cleanly. Clearly you must have a fear of the finned ones yourself.” Then he pauses, turning to face Ted more. “Is there a word for fear of the cephalopods?”
“It depends on the cephalopod.” Ted can’t help himself but volunteer the information. “For octopi it’s chapodiphobia, for squids it’s teuthiphobia. You would probably be closer to a—oh my god.” Ted rolls his eyes as he sees the shit-eating grin stretching across Rita’s face. “I like to learn things! That doesn’t mean I’m afraid of everything.”
“Uh-huh.” Rita and E’gorblath don’t seem convinced, and it’s long a second longer of amused looks before Ted storms out, clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Just do your damn jobs!”
The door slams behind him, and Rita can’t help but laugh.
“Man, he really can’t take a joke, can he?” She shakes her head. “One of these days, he’s going to just explode from the tension.”
“That would be quite gruesome,” E’gorblath states, taking Rita literally, as usual. “Though I suppose that would be better than getting eaten by one of those fish he’s so afraid of.”
7/10-12/22 | time management challenge | goal: 60 minutes | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 1,536
7/14/22 | simile but different challenge | original | 670 | COMPLETE
There are always those dates where there’s nothing wrong with the guy. He’s sweet and friendly, and amiable. They have similar values. They want the same things. All in all, he’s a perfectly fine example of what I’m looking for. Only there’s absolutely no chemistry and I haven’t figured out how to break it to him yet. So I’m just sitting here, drinking my wine and hoping that eventually the night will end. And fortunately for them, there’s no awkward silence, as he just keeps talking.
“And I just,” Leonard pauses, trying to find the right words. “Well, I’ve always been interested in someone who’s … witty like a feminist up a creek.”
The wine glass pauses halfway back down to the table as I process that statement. “What?”
He pauses, concerned. “It’s a compliment! Truly!”
I finish what’s left of my wine before placing the glass back on the table. It doesn’t sound like an insult. I’ll give him that. But I’m not entirely sure it makes sense. “No, I’m not offended. Just … confused.”
Leonard nods, trying to parse what exactly that means for their conversation. “Well. I enjoy the company of feminists. They challenge me, and I find their wit quite engaging. No one can tear a person down quite like a feminist can.”
“No, you had me for the first half. It’s the ‘up a creek’ part that confuses me.”
“Well, when you’re up a creek, usually someone with a breathtaking wit can become even more visceral. I’ve always fold that stress can make the insults sharper.”
I pause, tipping my head to the side, running my finger around the bottom of my wineglass. It’s a curious brief expression that doesn’t mean much, but for the first time this evening, it seems like Leonard has said something that has actually sparked my interest.
“Leonard,” I begin, trying to determine how to phrase this properly. “Are you … into being insulted?”
Something in his eyes flickers. I can’t tell if it’s offense or interest. “…What do you mean?”
Guess I’m going to have to be more direct. “Like does it turn you on?”
He looks at me discerningly. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug, “Just curious. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. But if we’re going to pursue this relationship further, I want to make sure we’re into the same things.” Funny how five minutes ago I wasn’t interested in seeing this man again, but it’s amazing the journey a strange turn of phrase can take you on.
He pauses, leaning back in his seat with a smirk, before glancing around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. We are in a public restaurant, after all. “Let’s just say it definitely doesn’t turn me off.”
“We’ll have to discuss boundaries.”
“Obviously, consent is important.”
“And I’m still not sure how I feel about this, but we could keep things chill for a while?”
“I’m not in any rush.”
“Great.” I raise my hand to signal for the server to bring our check. “We should probably take this conversation somewhere else.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Leonard reaches for his wallet before looking up at me. “Unless you want to split the bill?”
I tip my head to the side, trying to find my inner domineering woman. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me out, or are we friends here?” He raises an eyebrow and I make a face. “Not quite right?”
“We’ll workshop it.” He pulls out his card anyway, and once the bill is settled, he gets to his feet. “Ready when you are.”
I grin and follow him out the door. “Let’s do this.”
7/21/22 | may challenge: blind prompts | original | 1,020 | COMPLETE
He can’t help but wince at the octave change as the end of his name turns into a shriek in his sister’s high-pitched voice. The sound echoes through the open space of the restaurant’s minimalist kitchen to the floor outside, and Maria, the hostess, looks at him with a sympathetic expression.
“That kind of day already?”
“Looks like,” Marshall sighs, before excusing himself and making his way to the back.
While Ivy, head chef of their upscale, fine dining restaurant, is infamous for her meltdowns when things weren’t going properly, things had been better lately. She’s been seeing a therapist to deal with her anxiety, building coping mechanisms and trying to make herself a better person and boss. Things had been going really well until this morning’s unfortunate meltdown.
When he emerges into the kitchen, his sister is furiously churning some kind of hollandaise sauce while the line cook to her left looks exasperated. David holds out his hands at Marshall behind Ivy’s back, clearly not sure what he did wrong, but something had to have set Ivy off to make her this angry. Marshall nods, waving off the other man, before addressing his sister directly.
“You bellowed?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” Ivy snaps as she looks up at him briefly before turning her attention back to the food. “You’re supposed to be managing my restaurant.”
“I am. Or I was until you summoned me.”
“You said, don’t worry, Ives, I’ve got all this handled. Let me worry about the staff. You just stay focused on the menu.”
“I did say that, yes.”
“Then why couldn’t you hire someone who knows the proper way to make some fucking hollandaise?”
Marshall runs a hand over his face. “David knows how to make a hollandaise sauce, Ivy. But sauces break sometimes, even for the most skilled chefs. You need to fucking calm down.”
“Calm down?” That shriek reappears, and it drags her attention away from the stove and onto her brother. “Did you seriously just fucking tell me to calm down?”
“You’re taking David’s head off over a damn sauce, Ivy.”
Her hands come up, curling as though she may want to strangle him, and he takes charge. He reaches over to flip down the heat on the stove and then takes his sister by the arm.
“You.” He catches one of the other line cooks, Samara, on her way in and he points to the sauce. “Take over here.” He then turns his attention back to Ivy. “We are going to have a talk.”
Ivy doesn’t fight him as he drags her out into the restaurant proper, sitting her down on a bar stool. He moves behind the bar, running his hands across the various alcoholic beverages present before he finds a bottle of her favorite whiskey and pours her a shot. He slides the glass down the bar to her and points.
“Drink it.”
She makes a face. “It’s eight in the morning.”
“And you’re acting like a psychopath before brunch. Drink.”
Ivy rolls her eyes, but does as her big brother tells her and knocks back the shot. It forces her to take a breath, then exhale, and he sees some of the tension fall away.
“Now. Tell me what the hell is actually going on. Because you and I both know that you didn’t flip out over a broken hollandaise sauce.”
Ivy stares at the empty shot glass for a moment, and Marshall waits, not pushing her. He knows that she’ll get there eventually. He just needs to give her the time and space to find her words. After a few minutes, she reaches for the bottle of whiskey, pours herself another shot and knocks it back before she finally speaks.
“I saw Derek this morning.”
Immediately, every muscle in Marshall’s body tenses, and he straightens. “Where?”
“He came by the apartment.”
“Is he still there?”
“No, of course not. I didn’t even let him in.”
“He didn’t touch you, did he?”
“No.”
“Because if he did, I swear to God—”
“No, Marshall.” Ivy reaches over, her hand resting against his arm and giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s fine. He was fine. He just caught me on my way out and wanted to ask me to mail him something if I found it.”
“He could have texted or called or some shit.”
“I have him blocked on everything.”
“I don’t. He could have given me the message.”
“Oh, and give you an excuse to punch him? Yeah. Unlikely.” She shakes her head as she turns over the shot glass on top of the bar. “It wasn’t a big deal. It just…threw me for a loop. And given that I was the one who made him feel the need to show up like that in the first place—”
“For damn fucking good reasons.”
“Maybe. But it just got under my skin, and that’s why I blew up at David when the sauce broke.” She rubs her temples as the tension starts finally to leave her shoulders. “I owe him a big apology.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” He tips his head to the side. “Seems like the therapy is working, though?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You think?”
“It would have taken at least three more shots for you to tell me the truth, pre-therapy.” He smirks, before more seriously following with: “And you came up with the initiative to apologize on your own. I didn’t have to pull it out of you.”
She offers him a weak smile before getting to her feet. “Look at me, being a better person.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“I know.” She pushes up on the bottom rung of the stool, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to go find David. You should make sure the front is ready for when brunch arrives.”
“On it,” he nods, before letting her go. He then takes a deep breath himself, before reaching for a fresh glass and pouring himself his own shot. If this is how the day is starting, he’s probably going to need it.
august 2022 | mid-year marathon | goal: 25,479 | INCOMPLETE
Week 2:
Week 3:
Week 4:
GRAND TOTAL: 20,642
7/28/22 | stop, drop, write | original | 515 | COMPLETE
Tyler squints at his teammate as he gathers the camera equipment from the car. The Pine Barrens stretch out before him like an endless reach of pine trees and sand. It’s an eerie enough space. If he stares at it long enough, he feels like he might get sucked into quicksand. But all too quickly, the vison fades and he snaps his attention back to Gary.
“I thought we were looking into the Jersey Devil.”
“Leeds Devil is more specific,” Gary replies, swinging a backpack of supplies over his shoulder. “As it appears in Leeds Point and the lore says it came from Leeds Family.”
“There’s lore now?”
Gary rolls his eyes. “Do you do any research at all when we head out on these jobs?”
“Of course not.” Tyler smirks at his friend, checking the viewfinder on the handheld video camera. “That’s what I have you for.” Gary rolls his eyes at him and Tyler continues. “Besides, the research never actually holds up to the actual appearance of the thing. Stories are unreliable. Always better to deal directly with the source.”
Gary huffs, shifting his backpack, his jaw set in a stubborn expression, before turning to head into the Pine Barrens and begin their adventure. Tyler follows close behind, opening the camera and taking some B-roll while he waits. He knows how this is going to go. Gary is going to commit to hanging him out to opt not to share his information. But Tyler knows that Gary is a know-it-all and can’t resist sharing information once he has it.
Three, two, one …
“So the story goes—”
“There it is.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“The story goes that Mother Leeds had twelve children. When she found out she was pregnant with her thirteenth, she cursed the child while invoking the Devil, as thirteen is an unlucky number.”
“This sounds like a poor decision on her part.”
“The baby was born with the head of a goat, bat-like wings, and cloven hooves. Reports say it made an unholy sound before flying up the chimney and disappearing into the Pine Barrens.”
“Where it would become the spook of choice for New Jerseyans for centuries to come.”
“Basically.”
“So, is this one of the ones you think is real, or is this just one we’re following up on by popular viewer demand?”
“I’ve seen it.”
Tyler’s brow furrows, and he jogs ahead, keeping the camera framed on Gary as he does. “I’m sorry, repeat that again for the rest of the class?”
Gary sets his jaw again, and his shoulders slump. “I grew up in Leeds Point. I don’t have to believe the thing is real. I’ve seen it.”
“Way to bury the lead, dude.”
“I wasn’t sure how I wanted to talk about it yet.” Gary shrugs. “And I didn’t have any proof. So once we have proof, I’ll talk about it, okay?”
“Okay.” Tyler turns back to the rest of the trees and continues taking B-roll. “This is already the best trip ever.”
“You’re fucking incorrigible.”
7/29/22 | green with graffiti challenge | original | 698 words | COMPLETE
The tag itself wouldn’t be anything special to anyone else. No gang claims or famous artwork happening here. But Maria could see it every morning when she woke up across the street, the small heart with an arrow through it in a graphic type of design. Every morning it made her smile, even if hours later she knew that her father would have her scrubbing it off the side of the building later that day.
She moves through the beginning paces of her day—shower, getting dressed, eating breakfast—and then heads over to the bodega where her father is already out and swearing at the appearance of the art.
“You would think whoever this idiot is would take a hint,” he murmurs as she gets closer. “Clean this up, mija? Before the customers come in?”
“Yes, Papi,” she nods as she makes her way inside to drop off her stuff. Gathering the cleaning supplies, she makes her way over to the spot in question and scrubs.
She never would have known that they’re made for her if she hadn’t spent so much time up close and personal with them. It’s a small tag, not a lot of surface area, but she can see the shape of her name made out in the arches and curves of the heart and arrow. She can also see the matching points of Esteban’s name as well, blending together. Every time she sees it, she can’t help but smile, and every time she has to wash it away it makes her sad, but she knows her father would never let it stay.
The paint washes away to a nearby storm drain along with the soapsuds, and soon the shop is back to its usual sickly green. She sighs, puts the cleaning supplies away, and heads back to the register for the rest of her shift.
People flow in and out, some familiar, some not, getting their coffee and groceries before heading back out to their day. The monotony of the day makes it easy for her to daydream, pretend she is anywhere else in the world, doing anything else but man this register. But around mid-afternoon, a familiar cologne appears in front of her register, placing down a coffee and a pack of Ho-Ho’s, followed by a ten-dollar bill.
“Maria.”
She looks up with a smile as she pulls it closer. “Esteban.”
“Did you get my message?”
She glances around briefly to make sure her father isn’t anywhere nearby before turning back to him. “I did. But you know you can’t just keep putting it up every day.”
“Well, if your father didn’t keep washing it away, I wouldn’t have to.”
She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’s the one being forced to erase his painstakingly planned graffiti, so she lets him believe that it’s her father doing the damage. “That will never happen, and you know it.”
“So I guess I’ll just have to keep putting it back.”
She sighs. “You could just give it to me on a piece of paper, you know? Like a drawing.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same.” He takes the Ho-Ho’s back from her, as well as his change, before tossing her a wink. “I’ve got something to prove.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m going to out stubborn him, every time.” His hand brushes hers, and he gives it a soft squeeze, before releasing it as her father rounds the corner. Maria’s eyes drop to the counter, and Esteban quickly leaves. Her father comes up to the side and raises an eyebrow.
“Ho-Ho’s again?”
“Just like every other day.”
He waves a hand. “Terrible for his digestion.”
Maria can’t help the soft chuckle. Her father wanders off to do something else in the store and she glances back to the window to meet Esteban’s eyes as he makes his escape. She knows he’ll be back tonight to recreate his work, and tomorrow morning she’ll be washing it off again, but as much as it saddens her, she can’t help but look forward to it.
Maybe he truly will out-stubborn her father after all.
8/17/22 | christmas in july | leverage/the old guard | 1,450 | COMPLETE
She looks at the tips of her fingers sticking out over the tops of her gloves and marvels as whatever has happened to her eats back at the blackness, trying to form around the tips of her fingers. It’s been weeks since she woke up with these new abilities and she still marvels at it. She doesn’t know how, or why, the universe gave this gift to her, but she can’t help but feel that she’s become very fortunate.
The unfortunate part about it is that she has nowhere to go.
She doesn’t know why she didn’t die when Max stabbed her. She should have died. She felt like she was dying. But when she woke up, covered in her own blood, the hideout was empty. They had made their intentions perfectly clear. She isn’t part of the crew anymore. So she needs to find other means of getting herself out of France. Which is hard to do when you have no money.
Turning towards the shop window, she studies the elaborate dresses standing in the window. She knows the steps it would take to go in and steal one. If her clothes were better, she could pass herself off as the handmaid of a Parisian lady—she certainly studied enough for them. She has traded out the bloodstained clothes they stabbed in her for something a little more put together, but it took her several days to make the trek back into the city. Her clothes and the rest of her are not in the state that would allow her to pull off that ruse.
She could break in and steal it. Brute force has never been her strong suit, but she is capable. She would have to wait until the shop owner left for the evening, and hope she didn’t steal the order of someone too punitive. Yes, brute force would have to be the name of the game. Hopefully, the shop owner would close early for his own yuletide celebrations.
It is Christmas, after all.
(Abandoned on Christmas. She really has hit rock bottom.)
She tucks herself around an alley corner waiting for the lights of the shop to die down and tries to circle through the odd dreams she’s been having since she woke up in that house. Faces of men and women she doesn’t recognize, people she feels compelled to find. Maybe, once she’s gotten some money and made her way out of Paris, she’ll have more of a means of figuring things out. She has to start over, after all. Maybe she should start there.
Time ticks on as she huddles in the cold, and footsteps approach from the street. She slowly peeks out of the alley, trying to get a sense of if it’s the shopkeeper finally headed home, but instead of moving away from the shop, the footsteps move past it, right into the alley where she’s hiding.
He’s a tall man with a warm face, dark curly hair and a full beard. Standing next to him is an equally tall man, Italian by the looks of him, with short hair and a rather distinctive nose. She likes the nose. It gives him character. They’re dressed well, but move with purpose, as though they know that they’re the most powerful thing in any room they walk into.
And she can’t help but feel like she’s seen them before.
“Hello,” the dark-haired one begins in French, his accent something warm and unfamiliar to her. She’s heard nothing like it, and she wants to pick it apart to find the pieces that would allow her to mimic it. His skin is warm-toned like hers. Maybe it’s her means of escape. “We’ve been looking for you.”
She doesn’t know how to respond to that. Fear fills her first, thinking that maybe Max has realized she isn’t dead, and has sent another crew to finish the job. The panic must have followed to her face, because he immediately reaches out, taking her arms gently in a manner that’s almost comforting.
“No, no. We’re not here to hurt you.” He places one hand to his chest. “My name is Yusuf. And this is Nicolo. We’re here to help you.”
She isn’t sure how to play this. Help her with what, exactly? They seem to have money. Maybe she can play along with a little of the truth long enough to get her out of Paris. In a con, sometimes the truth can go a long way.
“But I’ve seen you in my dreams,” she matches him in kind, not wanting to give herself away yet. “How can you be here if I’ve seen you in my dreams?”
“That is a very long story.” Yusuf pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s cold here. Do you have a home?” She shakes her head, and he nods. “Let us take you somewhere warmer. Get you something to eat. It is Christmas, after all.”
She takes a breath and nods, before letting them take her away. Maybe this plan works out better than she thought.
There are two women waiting for them when they arrive at where Nicolo and Yusuf are staying. Andromache, beautiful, formidable Greek, perhaps? She gives the impression of being their leader, and she is immediately drawn to that energy. The other, Quynh, is quieter, watching her from the moment she enters the room.
“What’s your name?” Quynh asks, and she gives her the first one that comes to mind.
“Sophie.” It’s a character she’s been working on for a while, but she thinks she can make it work here. “Sophie Devereaux.”
There’s a veritable feast laid out on the table in front of them, and she feels her stomach rumble. She can’t even remember when her last meal was. Andromache smiles, before gesturing to the table.
“Good. Now that you’re here, we can eat.”
Sophie does not intend to argue that point. She tries not to eat too fast, not wanting to make herself sick, but the food is delicious. And as they eat, the four of them explain what happened to her. How she’s now part of something much bigger than herself.
How she’s immortal now.
She seems to be an anomaly amongst them. She’s no skilled warrior from an ancient time. She’s just a woman, and not a very good one. But she can read a room, and it seems like there’s a lot of love here. A bond that goes deeper than any she’s ever met. One built of time and trust. Fighting, possibly, she could learn. But the bond that these people shared is something that she’s been craving her entire life.
Maybe its worth being a little honest.
They show her to a room she can sleep in, and offer her the chance for a hot bath, which she accepts. Afterwards, she sits on the window seat when Yusuf comes in to give her a fresh set of clothes.
“You’re going to have to teach me a lot,” she says, in English, and he raises an eyebrow at her, amused, but matches her.
“So not French after all, are we?”
Sophie shakes her head. “London-born, I’m afraid.”
“And how did you wind up in France?”
“I’m not a very good person,” she admits. “I was here to steal something. And once that was done, the leader of my crew decided he didn’t need me anymore.”
“So he killed you.”
She nods. “I’m not sure I’m the right fit for what you all need. I’m not a warrior. I can hold my most of the time, but I’ve killed no one.”
Yusuf nods, before moving to sit next to her. “And for what it’s worth, I hope that you never have to. But personally, I don’t think it’s all about being warriors or fighters. And it’s not something you need to know right now.”
“I suppose.” She’s still not sure. “I want to learn to defend myself better. When the time comes.”
“I’m sure Andromache will enjoy putting you through your paces.”
“She seems the type.”
“So is your name really Sophie Devereaux, since you are no longer French?”
She pauses, then shrugs. “It’s not. But I think if I’m starting over, it could be. It’s who I want to be now.”
Yusuf nods with a warm smile, before resting a hand on her shoulder gently. “Get some rest. You’re about to have a long life ahead of you.”
Sophie smiles as he leaves, turning her attention back to the window again. A long life indeed. She thinks she might enjoy that.
8/18/22 | five minutes challenge | original | 364 | COMPLETE
Harry turns his head to squint at the sky above them and frowns. “Looks like a plane to me.”
“What’s a plane?”
Harry looks over at Harmony and he frowns, briefly, before remembering that she hasn’t seen a lot of the things that he has. Returning to Earth after spending her life in the colony on the moon, there’s bound to be gaps. Especially since she’s only six.
“A plane is a giant flying machine we use for transportation for long distances.”
“How long a distance?” she asks as he scoops her up and sets her on his shoulders. “Could I take a plane to school?”
“No. You could take a plane to Disney World, though. Not right to Disney World, but to the state that Disney World is in.” He says this as though Disney doesn’t own Florida in some shape or form, but that’s a conversation that’s a little too nuanced for a six-year-old.
“So we take a plane to Florida, and then go to Disney World, and then take the plane home?”
He laughs before shrugging. “Well, you could, if you really wanted to. But that wouldn’t be very much fun, and you’d be really tired. So you would more likely get a hotel in Florida and spend the night.”
“Oh.” She glances down at the top of his head. “Uncle Harry?”
“Yes, Harmony?”
“Can we take a plane to Disney World before I go back to the moon?”
As much as he would very much like that, he knows they don’t have the time to make those kinds of plans. He pats her leg gently before shaking his head. “Maybe not this trip, kiddo. But let’s talk to your mom. Maybe we can plan for it the next time you come home.”
“Yeah?” she smiles brightly. “Think she’ll say yes?”
“I think she would give you the world if she could.”
Harmony beams, tipping her head down so she can see his face. “Can we get ice cream before I go back to the moon?”
Harry laughs, before turning and leading them back towards the house. “That, I think we can definitely manage.”
august challenge: the dump | original | 809 words | COMPLETE
“That can’t be safe.”
Hunter, the oldest, looks to his mother with suspicion. “You said we could ride it, Mom.”
“Yeah, but that was before I actually saw it.” She squints as she leans closer, trying to see where they connect and if they seem sturdy. “This looks like some kind of Action Park reject.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Which is a good thing.”
Cole, her middle child, seems to catch on to the implications of the conversation, and his lip starts to wibble. “You’re not going to let us go?”
“I didn’t say that.” She holds up a hand. “I just want to make sure that it’s safe first.”
“Of course it’s safe.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “They wouldn’t let people go on it if it wasn’t safe.”
“You would be surprised, kid.” She sighs. “Just go play a bit in the shallow end and let me do some research.”
Hunter groans, but turns and heads in the direction of the shallow end, while Mallory settles onto one of the lawn chairs. Cole follows his brother, head low and dejected. And Caleb, precious baby of the family, looks just happy to be included as he trots after them.
Mallory sighs as she settles back on the lounge chair, reaching for her phone to see what she can find. It’s not that she doesn’t want them to have fun. It’s just that she doesn’t want them to have a trip to the ER. Or worse.
She scrolls on her phone through the reviews, occasionally glancing up to make sure the boys were doing as she said. Mostly, most of the reviews seem fine. A few cranky Karens who seem to have it out for the resort, but nothing about the slide that’s inherently dangerous. And she’s about to tell them they’re free to go, when she looks up and sees that the pool in front of her is devoid of her children.
Mallory snaps up into a standing position, eyes scanning the pool for any sign of her boys. When her eyes fall on Caleb, wandering towards her and reaching for his towel, she lets off one small sigh of relief. “Caleb, where’s your brothers?”
He shrugs before pointing back to the entrance to the slide. “They said they were gonna go on the slide, but I said you said not to, and they said that you were being dumb and they didn’t have to listen to you, and I said that you can’t call people dumb, it’s not nice, and then they said that I didn’t have to come.”
The longer Caleb rambles, the more Mallory can feel a headache forming. She reaches for Caleb’s hand, before turning towards the entrance to the slide. “C’mon. We’re going to get your brothers.”
The march down the sun-drenched concrete is quick, as they reach the end of the line and dodge to the side so that she can scan the faces for her sons. When she finally spots them, her voice rises over the crowd.
“Hunter Andrew Moore.”
The combination of mom voice and the full name treatment renders every child on that line silent by reflex, but only one of them has the foresight to look afraid. She raises a finger, gesturing for him and Cole to come closer, and they’re both smart enough not to argue, ducking under the barriers until they reach where their mom is standing.
“Mom—”
“What did I say to you?”
“But you were taking so long—” Cole interrupted and she holds up a hand to silence both of them.
“I don’t care what you thought,” she says firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “My job is keeping you safe. And that means you listen to me when I tell you to wait.”
“But—”
“No buts!” She turns and gestures for them to walk ahead of her. “C’mon. We’re going back to the room.”
“What?!”
“You two clearly can’t be trusted to listen to me when necessary, so you are not riding this slide today. We’re going back to the room, getting changed, and we’re going out instead.”
Hunter and Cole look at each other tentatively. “Where are we going?”
“Museums. So many museums.”
Both children groan, before turning and heading towards the door as commanded. Mallory isn’t totally heartless. She’ll let them come back and ride the slide before they leave. But for now, they need to learn that actions have consequences.
And those consequences sometimes include being forced to learn things while on summer vacation.
9/12-13 | two-day challenge | goal: 2,000 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 3,139
10/14-18/22 | nano prep challenge | goal: 1,667/day | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 9,114
11/13-14/22 | roll the dice challenge | goal: 1,073 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 3,998
12/12/22 | time management challenge | goal: 60 minutes | COMPLETE
12/16/22 | september challenge | tvdverse | 610 | COMPLETE
Jed and Kaleb blink at the witch in front of them. For all the time that they spent with Hope, nothing prepared them for Freya Mikaelson, who says things like “I need my dirt” as though it’s just a casual part of the conversation. Jed eyes Hope’s aunt again, before he looks around the run down clock tower.
“Just—any dirt?”
Freya laughs before shaking her head and pointing to the jar sitting up on a shelf. “No. That dirt.”
Kaleb frowns more than Jed obediently goes to fetch it. “You just keep a jar of dirt around.”
“It’s dirt from the place I was born. Sometimes a witch can use it to draw power for certain spells.”
“So does that mean one day Hope’s going to walk around with a jar of New Orleans dirt?” Jed asks, studying the jar in his hands.
“Maybe, if she lives far from here for a while. Though given that she’s one of the most powerful creatures on the planet, she might not need such a simple thing to boost her power.”
“Aren’t you some kind of mega witch?”
“I was, once upon a time. But I don’t even come close to what Hope can do.”
“That says terrifying things about Hope, doesn’t it?”
Freya nods, before taking the jar of dirt from Jed. “Yes, it does.” She places the jar of dirt down on the table and spreads out the map in front of her. “Alright, so we think the monster is somewhere in this area of the city and we need to track it?”
Kaleb nods as he moves to stand next to her. “Yeah. Hope says location spells are hard to do without something of the creatures to work with.”
“Hence why we needed the dirt.” Freya smirks before looking over the map. “Fortunately for us, I know all the supernatural creatures in New Orleans. Werewolves, vampires, witches—they all have certain frequencies. Ideally, I’ll be able to pick out the frequency that doesn’t fit, and be able to follow it.”
“Great,” Kaleb nods. “Can you teach the other witches to do this? Help them build some kind of monster radar or something?”
Freya laughs. “I think most of the witches' parents would object to them taking lessons from me. Mikaelson isn’t exactly a source of comfort to most of them.”
“Fair,” Kaleb nods. “But still. There’s probably a lot they could learn from you.”
“And a lot they probably shouldn’t.” She waves her hands to light the candles in the room. “I’m perfectly fine with being a cautionary tale. The witches at the Salvatore School have lots of capable witches to teach them. Now. Shall we get back to business?”
Kaleb nods, and Jed leans over her shoulder to watch. As she closes her eyes and chants and her mind passing through until it finds the unfamiliar vibe in a sea of known ones. And soon, a red dot appears on the map, and Jed and Kaleb can watch as it winds through the streets of New Orleans. The boys leave to catch their quarry, and Freya returns to a quiet evening with her family.
At least until Hope sends her a text that reads: Why did Kaleb and Jed just hand me a jar of dirt “in case I needed it”?
She laughs and Keelin looks back at her with a sigh. “Were you messing with Hope’s friends again?”
Freya grins. “I can’t help it. They’re gullible.”
Keelin shakes her head. “You know, this is the reason Hope doesn’t introduce you to more of her friends.”
“Probably. But I just can’t resist.”
12/19/22 | challenge: choose your title (the gun in the mist) | wynonna earp | 703 | COMPLETE
“C’mon Kitter,” she shouts out into the distance, tightening the grip on her gun as she moves in slow circles. “This isn’t fair play.”
“Who said anything about playing fair?” Kitter taunts in return, a laugh that swings dangerously close to maniacal hiding under his tone. “I don’t believe we stated any rules of engagement before we started.”
“You know what? That’s on me, for shooting first instead of letting you continue to rip that poor girl’s tongue out. My bad.”
The laughter continues to spread, an unnerving sound that makes her skin crawl each time she hears it. “We’re all doing what we gotta do, Earp.”
“So you won’t take it personally when I get you between the eyes and send you back to Hell, then?”
“You’re going to have to catch me first.”
Which is hard because his voice seems like it’s coming from everywhere around here. It’s disorienting, and makes her just want to shoot in circles, but she doesn’t know who else might be caught in the mist and the damage that could do. So she takes a breath, eyeing the shadows in the dark and also monitoring the barrel of her gun.
If Peacemaker is on her side—and she usually is—then she’ll give her a sign when she’s getting close.
Before she can wander too far, she gets slammed into from behind, but before she can turn and shoot, whatever it is vanishes, disappearing back into the warm embrace of the fog. Wynonna tries to settle her nerves, taking a deep breath as she tries to remember the plan. Trust Peacemaker. Trust the plan.
She takes a deep breath and takes another few tentative steps closer, doing her best to rely on her other senses. She listens, for what hopefully is only one set of footsteps moving across the ground, but even that isn’t a guarantee. Given what revenants can do, she isn’t even sure that he still has a physical form anymore, only that a physical form touched her. That has to mean something, right?
Another few tentative steps forward and something slams into her again, but she holds her ground and doesn’t flinch. Peacemaker also doesn’t glow, meaning it isn’t her time, not yet. She keeps trusting her senses and hopes that this will pay off in her favor.
“Sure you don’t want to make this a fair fight, Kitter? Not too late to change your mind.”
“No thanks, Wynonna. I think I’m good where I am.”
One last final slam hits her, and this time, it sends her flying. She hits the ground hard, knocking the air from her lungs for a moment, but Peacemaker glows in her hands. Acting on instinct, she rolls and turns to see a shadow looming over her, a solid one, and she can even almost see Kitter’s menacing grin through the smoke.
“Ever wonder if your insides taste as good as you look, Earp? I bet they do.”
Wynonna makes a face like she wants to gag before shaking her head. “Too bad you’re never going to find out.”
Before he can react, she has her gun arm up. Oddly enough, Wynonna’s gotten quite comfortable at shooting from the ground, so it doesn’t take much. The barrel glows, her finger pulls the trigger, and soon she’s treated with the sight of the fire and brimstone portal reaching up and dragging Kitter back down to Hell. Almost instantly, as soon as he’s gone, the fog clears and Wynonna finds herself alone.
What a relief.
Pushing up to her feet, she goes to head back to Kitter’s place to make sure his last victim was okay. Twenty-five revenants down, only fifty-two more to go.
12/20/22 | november challenge: dated | original | 485 | COMPLETE
There has to be something, otherwise you would think I would learn from my mistakes.
Anyway, so we were supposed to have this lunch date, right? Something low pressure, just getting to know each other—easy. So I’m there, waiting at the café, just giving myself one last look-over, and I see him approaching from the distance. I get up, get ready to give him a smile, and as he gets closer, what do I see? He’s got a little chunk of something on his face, caught in his beard. Now me, I’m trying to make a good impression, so I’m not sure if I should say anything or not, but then I realize what it is.
He has egg on his face. And you know how I feel about eggs. Makes me want to gag right there and then.
But being the nice person that I am, I swallow my disgust and give a little gesture at the side of my face. “You have a little…”
“Oh,” he says, reaching up to brush it off. “Thanks. Must have been left over from my breakfast.”
I have to lift my napkin up to cover the face I make because breakfast?! Mind you, this was not an early lunch, by any means. He had a call at noon so we could really meet until one. So this man has been sitting for what? Five, six hours with egg on his face? Does he not look in the mirror? Does he not have friends who would let him know these things?
My god.
Anyway, things went downhill from there. Everything he tells me about himself, all I see is just a pigsty of an apartment where nothing is ever clean because this man seems to not understand how to present himself, and I just get progressively more snippy until …
Well, he gets the message.
Now I’m well aware this is a me thing. That I can’t get past the one initial flaw: no man is going to be Prince Charming on the first date, et cetera. But do you really think it would be too much to ask for someone with just…basic hygiene? Who looks at himself in the mirror every once in a while? Honestly.
Anyway, I think I’m just going to swear off men for a while. Clearly I am not in a headspace to be dating and I should just focus on myself for a little while. If only I made better company.
12/21/22 | december challenge: stop watch | original | 692 | COMPLETE
Someone must be lying down on the job today.
I smirk, pleased that I seem to have caught something interesting, but when I look down at my watch to catch the time, my second hand isn’t moving either. My heart drops—this is my favorite watch, an expensive one given to me by my husband that I won’t be able to afford to replace soon. I just wound it this morning. There’s no reason it should be stopping.
As I look up to stave off the panic, I realize it isn’t the only thing that’s stopped. My eyes sweep the green, taking in the sight of frozen people all around me. The disorientation is dizzying, but when I see a shrouded figure approaching in the distance, I realize what this is.
I’m supposed to be retired. I don’t think anyone should shame me for being out of practice.
“Jennifer,” Kilborn begins as he moves to take the seat on the bench next to me.
“Is this all really necessary? I’m retired, you realize.”
“I’m aware. The Bureau would like to ask you to reconsider.”
The handlers all look the same, designed to be unassuming. Same boxy haircuts, same suits. I would even hazard to guess that they all come in the same color, just to make sure that you’re not able to distinguish one from the other. Kilborn, however, always seems to be the one that’s assigned to me, and as a result, I’ve gotten quite good at picking out all of his little quirks. He’s a smidge shorter than the rest, and he’s quite fond of a distinctive pocket square. And since she last saw him, has grayed around his temples.
Not uncommon. The job takes a toll on you.
“I may have been willing to risk my life for my country, but I’m not suicidal.” She tips her head to the side. “And according to medical, that’s what my continuing to work for the Bureau would be. Suicide.”
Stopping and starting time can have quite the profound effect on the one pushing the button. When harnessing a force like time, there are always repercussions, and the body can only withstand it for so long. It’s why there’s such a high turnover with agents. Eventually, all the minutes that you froze time pile up and release back onto you and, well … sometimes the human heart isn’t made to withstand it.
Hence, why I’m now retired at the ripe old age of forty.
Kilborn grits his teeth, not liking that answer. “You likely have several more good missions in you before that becomes a possibility. The improvements they’ve made in the technology—”
“The answer is no. I’m sure you have many bright young agents who would take this on. Give it to one of them.”
“None of them are you.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not even me anymore.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just a civilian. Take this to someone who can actually get the job done.”
Kilborn grits his teeth, clearly frustrated, but in the end, he walks away. He waits until he gets to the other end of the park and time resumes again, people snapping to life around me. I settle back against the bench with a sigh, and the peal of the bells that I had been waiting for chime through the air.
As much as I may miss my work, I love my life more—and I won’t do that to my husband. But as I rise from the bench and go to return home, I can’t help but feel like there’s something or someone watching me over my shoulder.