Posts on this prompt:

Unflinching reflections by Kits

Naked by BandE

Bridge by Aniket

Posts not-on-this-prompt:

A Black Catastrophe by Hannah

“Who are you?”

“The same as you.”

“You mean you’re me?”

“In a sense, yes. I am a different version of you.”

“Parallel universe. It exists!”

“Great. I was worried who the other me would be like, and how would I find him. Wasn’t counting on the fact that you would be the one I initiated first contact with. You seem bright enough to have caught up with the events too.”

“What do you mean about you initiating contact? I am the one who broke through the system and created this bridge.”

“You’re mistaken. I was the one who broke through. I’ve spent 11 years of my life for this day.”

“Ha! I made it only in 10. Guess, I am the smarter one.”

“Can you cross the barrier though? Or just communicate from the other side of the bridge.”

“I don’t know. You’re the first thing I saw after breaking through. I haven’t tried. Let’s see. There shouldn’t be any harm in trying as I designed the bridge. That too, if I may add, one whole year faster than you did. Worst that can happen is it rejects any transference and blocks me.”

“Well go ahead and try.”

“I can’t. It thrusts my hand away with some kind of a repulsive force.”

“Let me try.”

“Wait how can your hand pass throu…”, SLAP ,“what was that for?!”

“That was what I was doing in the 11th year. Jerk.”

He was standing in the sky lobby on the 102nd floor looking out over the city. He was naked. Not a stitch of clothing. He felt very uncomfortable-especially when his friends and colleagues at the brokerage house walked by and spoke to him, always maintaining eye contact, never looking downward. Awakening, he remembered every detail of the dream that plagued him, night after night.

He had mentioned the recurring dream to his wife who thought maybe it was because he was up so much during the night with the baby. Sarah was just two weeks old and seemed to never want to sleep at night. His constantly interrupted slumber probably was why the dream kept happening,  reasoned his wife.

Standing there at the window today, during lunch break, he studied his clothed reflection and wondered why his naked dream reflection was sexless. It was as if his crotch had been airbrushed out of existance.  His shrink said it was because of a deeply rooted feeling of helplessness. An inability to control events  happening or about to happen .

He began obsessing over the “what ifs” of  life.  What if Sarah got sick in the middle of the night?  What if  his wife was attracted to another man? What if he didn’t get that pay raise and they couldn’t get a bigger apartment?  What if his subway train got stuck underground and he missed  a meeting?

He began to sleep less, tossing and turning  much of the night. Still, when he did get a bit of sleep, the dream returned. Sleep deprived, he felt that the quality of his work with the firm was slipping. What if he didn’t get that promotion? Thoughts roiled around inside his head as he stood in the sky lobby looking out over the city. He noticed the planes in the distance, coming into, or taking off from, the airport west of the city. He imagined a plane somehow releasing him from all the worry, the “what ifs, the life pressures, the disturbing naked dream.

That night, after dinner, he held his wife very close to him, breathing in the fragrance of her hair, her skin. He told her how much she and the baby meant to him and that if his job review went well tomorrow, how they would be able to get a bigger place. One where Sarah could have her own room.

The next morning found him on the way to work  early. He had to be at the office before 8:00 a.m. This was the one day he didn’t want to be late. No lame excuses about things like subway delays.

Hijacked Flight 11 hit the building at 8:45 a.m. that morning, just below the sky lobby where he took his morning breaks. The plane, with a full load of jet fuel, exploded and incinerated  everybody and everything. No one on the floors above survived.

Television was showing the second building collapsing when the phone rang.  Removing a protesting  baby Sarah from her breast, her trembling hand held the phone to her ear.

“They’re gone. Everything gone…My friends… The office… The twin towers … All gone. There’s just a blizzard of dust flying everywhere. We had to climb through heaps of debris to get out  of the subway station. If our train hadn’t been delayed…”  She could barely hear his choking, sobbing words against the background of sirens.”I should have been with them. It was out of my control.”

They slowly walked, along with  many other families of the victims, away from the site.The memorial service had ended. Ten years after the attack, new buildings were rising on the footprints of the destroyed ones.  Sarah turned and said ,”C’mon Mom, let’s go home. We’ll sit in my room and have tea. You can tell me again about the dream you had that night after Dad died. You know, the one where he called you from the subway station.”

Halloween was over a week ago, so Dr. Areli Black was startled when she saw the hand sticking out of a tiny window in the brick wall of the building where she worked.  Startled, but not surprised.

“Darn kids,” she muttered, stalking up to the hand.  Every time someone quit or was fired, which happened often in her line of work, whatever rookies were then hired always managed to get together and pull some sort of prank.

Black prodded the fingers in preparation for yanking the arm out of the window – when she presented her boss with evidence of the joke, surely justice would be done.  But when she grasped the hand and felt it to be not rubber but very much alive, it grasped her back.  Now she could not let go.
“You kids have no idea what you’re getting into!” she managed to spout off, that is, before the brick wall popped inward and another rose out of a slot in the ground to replace it.

As Black fell against the bricks, before the new wall replaced the spot of the old she was able to catch a glimpse of the room she was now in, its walls bright white in the morning sun. Then everything was black as tar, and she felt the hand let go and pull away.  Puffing, Black ran her hands along the wall, which she now deemed to be plastic, and eventually found the edges of it.  There was no sound, apart from her.  She was alone with the fake.

Dr. Black straightened her dress, felt her heels to make sure they weren’t broken, and stood up, determined to find a way out of the room.  Then the lights came on – white and blinding.  She sat on the plastic wall, and while her eyes blinked rapidly to adjust she saw a door open and a bunch of small shapes pour through.  Her eyes cleared.

“Cats?” Black snorted, standing up again, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  But it was true.  The room was now filled with black cats, all in various typical cat postures – such as washing their fur, stretching, or sitting primly with their tails curled across their paws.  All except one, that is.  This cat, which Black deemed to be some sort of leader or spokesperson – well, spokescat, she supposed – hopped onto a chair the felines had somehow brought with them into the room, and cleared its throat.

“Dr. Black,” the cat began, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience this may cause you, but the next phase of our project requires a human body.  I’m sure you understand – you’ll be paid handsomely for your trouble.  That is, when we have used you to take control of the government.  Now, if you please, step with us into the lab so we can begin.”  The cat watched Black for a moment, then began to wash its paws.

Black pushed a few bobby pins that had fallen out back into her thin blonde hair, “Well, I, um…”  She trailed off sheepishly and stared at the wall containing the door the cats had come through, “Sorry – it looked so real I almost forgot!”

The wall began to rise, not unlike a garage door, revealing the director and sound crew.

“Cut, cut!”  The director was waving his arms, his frizzy hair flying around with reckless abandon, “Come on Liz,” he shouted at her, “you’ve seen these cats a million times already – and we’ve cut this scene a million times already.  I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to work with the cats today, so please, try to get it right next time!”

Everyday he came to the same spot to stand and stare into the mirror. His reflection showed him an unshaven face, haggard eyes and drooping shoulders. Like life had beaten the shit out of him and he was still taking more hits than he could possibly handle. His wife had left him six months ago taking their daughter along. Her parents had never liked him. Always the sniping remark subtly concealed with concern and worry. The thin line had been treaded very carefully, just the right hint of disdain, never too much. It didn’t matter, he felt like a jackass anyway, unworthy of them and their daughter.

Now she was gone and with her his Candice, blonde and blue -eyed. The eyes he had given her. The hair was a throwback from her genes. All the Amsworth family had black eyes, never blue so his Candice stood out like a flame amongst all the black haired cousins. She was his beacon and she had been snuffed out from his life.

A decision, a choice, made unwisely and you are made to suffer endlessly for it. His choice had been to start the meth lab. Make the money whilst you can. Hiding it had been easy. Keeping it afloat harder. And it was so easy to sell too. His reflection had begun to look better. He was the picture of health, eyes bright and shoulders holding strong too. The profits had come in quick. He had finally bought her that necklace she had been yearning for. Candice had worn the best clothes.

Then the questions had started. He hadn’t given the right answers. His mistake. One minute is all it takes really, for a life to get turned upside down.

Posts on this prompt:

Just Another Context by Kendra

Stumpy Stephenson by BandE

Posts not-on-prompt:

Child’s Dilemma by Helene Lozina

Paul by LLGibson

Mary I of England by Martin Cid

Candy Man by Jake Pierce