Okay, so I know it’s been a while since I posted, but in my defense… I thought I posted last week! Turns out, that was the week before. Quarantine is messing with my dates big time. I also know that recently I have been posting more stories and chapters, but I have an awful lot of work to do (that I am not doing but should). I just would like to say sorry about that!
Anyway, this week, I present to you chapter four, “The gift.”
(If you haven’t read chapter 1, click here. For chapter 2, click here. To read chapter 3, click on this link.)
SPOILER ALERT: Every morning, Maggie and all the kids walk to the Storyteller’s Oval to hear a story. They are often cryptic and broad. One day, she is told to meet the Storyteller after the story in a place no one dares to go. It is revealed to Maggie that she has… powers! In this story, you will read her reaction and an explanation of what… in the world… is going… on?!
Now, you’re all caught up, so grab your cucumber water, a nice soft seating-spot (yeah. A chair. That’s the word I meant.), and whatever device you are reading this on. Pull up a foot rest and get ready to read!
“No. No, no, n-n-no… Not me! Me? Powers? No. Definitely not. That is not…” I almost drop the pocket watch. Luckily, I do not. I prepare myself to laugh at the joke. Soon, someone will jump out and go ‘JUST KIDDING!’ I wait, but no one does.
“Are you quite sure?” The Storyteller smiles, a glint of distrust shining in her eyes. She approaches the window and pulls back the giggling curtains. Outside, I see a view of the village square. How is that possible? We are nowhere near the village. “Try it.”
“Try… try w-what?”
“Your powers.”
“H-” I take a breath. “How?” She does not answer, and I get the feeling this is some sort of test. I turn towards the window. “How do I do this?”
“You must try it for yourself.”
“What even are my-” I stop. “the powers you are talking about?” I try to speak more cautiously this time.
“How do I know?” From the way she says it, it is clear she does.
“You made a mistake.” I point out. “On purpose. You said ‘How do I know?’ You should have said ‘How would I know?’ if you really had no clue. You did that on purpose.”
“I did?”
“Of course. You stressed the word ‘how.’
“Hmm… I did.” She must have changed her mind because after she says this she drops the curtain. I watch as she takes a seat in the flower-patterned armchair, and she gestures towards the big, blue one. I sit down. “What did you think of yesterday’s story?”
“I liked it.”
“Mmm…” The Storyteller seems distracted, like there is something bothering her.
“Are you okay?”
“Mmm… I wonder… Dear, would you be so kind as to do something for me?”
“What is it?”
“Could you tell me something?”
“L-like w-what? What do you… what do you nee– want me to say?” The knot in my stomach tightens, clenching my insides. Fear starts to build up inside of me.
“What is your saddest memory?”
“M-my sa… most painful memory?” I do not speak for a while. I feel fear and dread creeping up my spine. I do not want to be here… I do not want to be here… I do not want to be here... I feel my eyes get warm. I take a deep breath. And I explain. Everything. I tell her about my nickname. My fear spreads. I tell her about the cloak. My dread climbs. By the end, I am weak. I am tired and deeply afraid. I wish I was not here. I wish I was anywhere but here.
When I am done, the Storyteller is quiet. We sit there, across from each other, for a few minutes. I wonder if I have said too little. Or too much. Finally, she stands up and walks over to the window. I can no longer see her expression as she pulls back the sweeping curtains, which are not giggling anymore. Outside the window I see the village. At night. My heart pounds as I gather enough strength to venture over near the Storyteller.
“Wh-what happened?” She turns to me. On her face, she wears a smile of satisfaction. Her twinkling eyes make me feel as though I achieved something important.
“You did that.”
“M-m-me?” The Storyteller looks at me and nods. In my mind, I mount stairs of fear and wonder. My shock climbs. “H-how did I do that?”
She opens the door quietly, and I know she wants me to step outside. I do just that. The cool, breezy air brushes against me and makes my cloak flutter quietly. The same effect happens to the Storyteller’s dress. We walk in silence between stalks of wheat. We walk in silence until the pearl white moon shines atop the field of wheat. The whole area seems magical.
I am first to break the silence. “How is it… possible,” I decide, but in my mind, I think ‘we are far beyond the barriers of possible,’ “-that it is midnight now, when I started my s-story around noon?”
The Storyteller sighs. It is not an annoyed or upset sigh. It is a sad one, but I am not sure that is much better. “You, my dear, have a Gift.” It is now that I realize I am still holding the pocket watch in my trembling hand, turning it over in my palm, feeling the smoothness of one side and the rough, engrained side on the back.
“Does it have to do with this?” I hold up the thin chain between my two fingers. The light of the moon reflects on the fragile silver.
“Oh, yes, Dear.” The Storyteller reaches out her palm, and I place the watch on it. Delicately, she opened it. “This clock… do you know what it means?” I shake my head no. “This clock… When you use your powers—like today—this watch shows when, or where, you are.”
“Where, or when, are we now?”
“We are in tomorrow. Almost 1 o’clock in the morning.” She pauses. “You were scared of where you were in the present, but not scared enough to go anywhen.”
“Anywhen?”
“Similar to anywhere, but about time.”
“You mentioned I was scared…” I say, unsure how to go on. “Wh-why?”
“All powers of ours depend on emotion or feelings.”
“What are our powers?”
“We have three major powers. Turning back time, turning time forward, and stopping time.”
“What… e-motions do they correspond to?” My voice cracks on the word ’emotions’, and I scold myself silently.
“Going back requires curiosity or nostalgia, going forward requires fear of the present or longing for the future…”
“What about pausing time?”
The Storyteller does not say anything. “Pausing time… requires anger, hate, or… lack of patience.” We walk silently until we get back to her house. A wary feeling comes over me. And then I realize something. My parents.
“Do not worry about your parents.” She says, fully expecting my realization. She stops walking and turns to me. “Close your eyes.” I close them. “Do you miss the comfort of a home? Do you miss feeling warm and cozy? Can you feel the longing for the past?” I listen to her every word, soaking it up.
Nothing happens.
The Storyteller tries again, reminding me of a safe place, but every time, it fails. I love where I am now.
I don’t want to leave. I am in paradise. But paradise never lasts long.
Finally, the Storyteller gives up, and quietly, we walk back to the Path. From there, I start to walk home.
That one wasn’t as long as some of the other ones. How did you like it? Normally, in fantasy, you shouldn’t really have someone explain everything, but I think it worked out okay. Plus, the conflict isn’t based around her powers themselves. You are actually going to meet the conflict-causer in the next chapter! Thank you for reading!
Remember, Just Keep Writing!
Am I write? 