Cedar Sanderson is doing N'inktober, so I'm going to follow along and do what I've been trained to do by the Raconteur Press Postcard books: come up with a story to match her visual prompts. I can't guarantee that I'll have a complete story for every image, but I'm going to at least try to come up with a scene, a start, or an idea!
Nocturnal Schizophrenia
I have learned to dread the simple things.
Most people don’t. Then again, most people haven’t been adopted by a mystical, indestructible leather backpack. Specifically one that periodically coughs up macguffins to drag them into reality-spanning adventures. A year of dealing with that sort of thing has kind of given me a new perspective on what “difficult” means. Strange alien technology, lost sorcerous artifacts, or rescuing genetically engineered Oracles imprisoned by a murderous corporation? Just another Monday for me.
A bit of paper with some writing on it? Now, that was downright ominous.
I turned the slip of paper over in my hands. Aside from the carefully printed words on one side, there was nothing distinguishing about it. I double-checked, just to be sure, before handing it over to Jinn.
She took her first sip of coffee with a sigh of contentment, then frowned as she read it aloud.
“Small Worlds need saving, too.” She let her eyes unfocus for a few seconds as she examined the paper more deeply. When she came back to reality, she shrugged and handed it back to me.
“It’s paper. Definitely no mystical residue. Complete lack of any sort of compulsion, geas, or other divine tampering. My teeth don’t itch, so there’s no quantum entanglement going on. It’s a piece of paper.”
“It looks like the first two words are underlined. And those capitals… think that might be a name? Or the title of something?”
“Hon, I’m an Oracle. Not Google.” She leaned over the kitchen counter and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I have confidence in you. You’ll figure it out.”
I sighed, finished my coffee, and went to check Google. In roughly that order.
—
A few minutes later, I stomped out of the bedroom, pulling on my sweatshirt and muttering darkly.
“Jonathan Campbell Finagle. What’s gotten into you?”
“Internet’s down.” I started searching for my shoes. “And my phone refuses to connect to anything right now.”
“You could try mine –”
“Already did. Same thing.”
“And with you, there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
“Not anymore.” Not where the backpack was concerned, at least. “The library should be open in a half hour. I’ll pop in there and see what I can find.”
“And if their internet is down too?”
I smacked the backpack with my hand and slung it across my shoulder. “Then I keep looking until I figure out what I’m supposed to do.”
“Want company?”
I hesitated. Jinn had been my companion on a couple of backpack-related adventures - heck, she had been my first - but in the end, I shook my head.
“Nah. I’ll just be a few blocks away. I’ll holler once I figure out what’s going on, OK?” I gave her a kiss goodbye and headed out the door.
—
I thought about grabbing my bike, but figured that would get me to the library too quickly. It was a wonderfully gloomy fall morning, anyway. The past two days had been nothing but cold, cleansing rain for hours on end, soaking everything in sight. There was a dark freshness about the day that was invigorating. A walk to the library would do me good.
There wasn’t much traffic on the streets, which suited me. Every few blocks I fiddled with my phone, trying to see if I could get a connection yet, with a continued lack of success. I finally stuffed it into my pocket and enjoyed the changing leaves as I walked.
That’s why I was looking around when I passed by the old Bear Hollow railroad trestle. The street I was on ran along the edge of the hollow, and crossed the remains of the old railroad bed that had led off to where the bridge stretched over the ravine.
At first, I thought the glimpse of golden light that I caught out of the corner of my eye was a break in the clouds; but if anything, they were even thicker than before. Off to buy right, I spotted movement over on the trestle, partially obscured by the thick brush that grew up along the edge of of the hollow. A young lady with long blonde hair was sitting on top of the railing, feet dangling over the edge and kicking idly. As I watched, she tossed her hair back, golden hair flying out around her.
I turned to head on to the library, but stopped. Something about the way she was sitting made me uncomfortable. Too far forward, maybe? Or a little too stiffly? I decided the library could wait a few minutes. I pushed through the underbrush and the old, half-rotten barrier the railway had put up to discourage people from walking out on the trestle. Once I was past that, I made my way down the old tracks to where the girls was sitting.
The moss and wet leaves covering the trestle muffled my footsteps as I approached. She was dressed plainly, what looked like brown pants and a plain white cotton shirt. She tossed her head again, and I realized what had caught my attention. She was staring down in the ravine, where the Bear River cut through the rough stone two hundred feet below. It wasn’t a big river, as things went; but it was fast, and deep, and not the sort of thing that anyone with any sense messed with.
I coughed as I drew up closer to her, so she wouldn’t be surprised by my appearance. She stopped swinging her legs and I noticed that her feet were bare. That was the only acknowledgment of my appearance that I got from her. She kept her head bowed, eyes fixed on the water below.
I slowed as I came closer. Her hands were gripping the rough wood of the trestle. Wisps of steam rose around her. When I was just a few yards from her, I could feel a gentle warmth. The crunch of leaves from under my foot startled me. The area immediately around her was preternaturally dry. When I spoke, I did my best to sound casual and conversational.
“Nice day, isn’t it?”
Her shrug was almost imperceptible. “It’s OK.” She kicked her legs once, eyes still on the river below. “The wet is nice.”
“It is.” I leaned on the trestle beam she was sitting on, close enough that if we had each reached out and leaned into it, our fingertips might have brushed. The warmth rolling off her felt wonderful. “We needed it, too. Rinse away some of the grime.”
“Cleaning. Right. You use water for cleaning.”
She shifted slightly, turning so that I could see her face clearly for the first time. I almost stepped back as I felt the heat of her gaze. Almost. She was pretty enough, in a simple way. Except that where her right eye should have been was a miniature sun, burning brightly. Her left eye was slightly smaller, mottled brown and black with deep cracks running across it.
When I finally found my voice, I spoke carefully. “Yes. Yes, we do. I’m guessing you’re not from around here, ma’am. My name’s John.”
“John.” She sounded it out, rolling it around, then looked back down at the river. “No. We’re from –” she waved one hand in the general direction of the sky.
“Do you have a name?”
“No.” Her head hung a bit lower. “There’s nobody to talk to, back home. Not anymore.”
“Must get lonely. Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm. You kind of hesitated there, I think.” I nodded at the ravine below us. “You have anything like this back home?”
“Not really. We were going to, and –” She stopped speaking and shrunk in on herself.
“Something happened?”
She shrugged. “Star stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”
I thought of the black and gray planet. Baked and cracked. “I think I might. So you came for a visit?”
“To see the water. The stuff you wash with.” She kept her focus on the ravine. “You use it to put out fires, too, don’t you?”
“We do. If we have to...”
She was quiet for a long time. “Sometimes I think maybe I should do that. Give up and go into the dark. So I won’t be lonely anymore.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in a world that seemed suddenly still. “I understand. I’ve been there. I thought about that too, once. Almost did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I had a friend. Someone who saw that I was hurting. They took me out for coffee. Sat with me and listened to me.”
“What’s coffee?”
“Well, it’s… huh.” I nodded at the water below us. “It’s water, but it’s hot. Really, really hot. So hot it almost turns to steam. We drink it because it tastes good, and it warms us up a little. I think maybe it might cool you down a bit, but you might like it. My girlfriend and I could make some for you, if you’d like.”
“You would sit with me?”
I smiled. “Yeah. Absolutely. Come on down and we’ll show you.”
—
As she climbed down off the trestle, I pulled out my phone. I had no trouble getting it to call Jinn. Of course. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, hon. Everything OK? Did you figure out what’s going on?”
“Yeah. Small planets need saving, too.”
The star’s eyes went wide as she stepped down onto the moss covered trestle. She shuffled across it slowly, then giggled at the feel of it under her bare feet.
“Who’s that I hear?”
“Someone who needs a friend to talk to. Put some coffee on, will you? Nice and hot. I think we’re going to get to name a star.”