Storytime Blog Hop - Rise

Hello, hello out there!

Others have said it, but I’m going to say it too - sometimes writing can feel a little like shouting into the void, but I’m so glad you’re here, reading this. I hope this short story gives you a little bit of joy. We need all the joy we can get. This one starts a little grim (as many of mine do) but hang in there for the ending!

And, as always, scroll to the bottom for more short stories from around the world.

Rise

I awaken excited, knowing today is the day. I throw my blanket back and rise. Still in pajamas, I go to the kitchen and start the kettle. My gaze keeps wandering to the window, the field of golden grass beyond it, and at the center of the field, where I can’t see it, the artifact I’m going to open.

The kettle screams. I pour boiling water into my favorite mug, drop in two tea bags and wait for them to steep. I nearly leave it then, my feet bouncing and fingertips tingling, because I want so badly to get to that field, but I force myself to wait, to sweeten the tea, to blow on it, to sip it, because I must go slowly so nothing goes wrong.

Finally, tea consumed, I burst out of the door, thrust my feet into the waiting sandals, and stride through the field to the artifact.

The blue metal ball waits for me, and so does my assistant. Cloaked in sadness, the short, wrinkled man stands near the ball but not too near. He hands me a screwdriver and reminds me, “Don’t touch it with your hand. It’ll be too hot—”

I chuckle. “I know, Gremm.” But my eyes are already focused and I’m walking past him, ignoring the way he skitters back.

I kneel. The top of the artifact comes to my shoulders, when I’m kneeling. Lines criss cross it. I choose a promising one, set the screwdriver against it, and begin to pry.

It cracks— YES!—

Explodes.

Flames engulf me. My hair burns off and my clothes melt and my skin chars and it goes on and on and on—

I awaken with sweat beading on my hairline, my breaths coming too fast. Today is the day.

But, deep inside, I know today has been the day for a very long time.

I’m going to burn to death again. I can’t face the agony. I’ll stay in bed. But my arms throw back my blanket and my stomach clenches and my body rises.

My feet take me to the kitchen, my hands make a cup of tea, my eyes stare out the window toward the field of golden grass. I drink my tea.

Inside my mind, I’m screaming.

I fight, but I’m a passenger in my own body. Door, sandals, field, just like the thousands of other times I’ve done this. What is going on? Why?

The blue metal ball waits for me, and so does my assistant. He stands near the ball but not too near.

Please, I want to scream at him, please don’t make me. I don’t want to die in fire.

My hands are shaking when I take the screwdriver and I stare at it a moment too long.

He hesitates too, sudden desperation in his voice, “Don’t touch it with your hand. It’ll be too hot—”

My chuckle sounds as forced as it is. “I know, Gremm.”

My feet are moving again, but that tiny hesitation gave me hope, and I throw all of my will against whatever it is controlling me. My steps slow, but then it’s too late, and I kneel.

Lines criss cross the artifact. I choose a promising one.

He warned me not to touch it.

If I’m going to die in fire anyway...

With one hand, I set the screwdriver against a line.

I lean forward until I’m off balance.

Fall.

My other hand flashes out to catch me and then I’m pressed against it, hands and face, and it does burn but it burns cold—

The ball explodes and blue flames engulf me, but this time, though they burn, it’s a purifying fire and my skin doesn’t blacken.

When it stops, I’m still alive.

I lie panting in the black, stubbled grass. Drag myself to my hands and knees.

The charred body of my assistant is both too close and too far away.

I crawl to him.

He stars up at the cerulean sky, a faint smile on his mouth. His eyes are wild and free. His lips crack when he whispers, “Run.”

I leave the field and the house and the man behind, static screaming in my head. Why can’t I remember?

There’s never been anything beyond the house and the field before, but now there’s a whole town nestled in the hills with mountains beyond that scrape the sky, and I know how I must look, with burnt off hair and pajamas and eyes as wild as my assistant’s were— no one could survive that blast, but I did— and I slow to a walk, try to smooth my stubble and clothes and realize I’ve lost my shoes.

Rocks dig into my feet and I stumble. I don’t know who I’m running from or why but people are everywhere and the first building I come to is a bar so I slip inside.

I just need a minute to breathe.

The lights are dim, a relief after the bright sun, and I blink. A man in the far corner makes a choked sound and starts to rise, but the woman at his side grabs his arm and the woman across from him whispers fiercely.

I flinch away from the strangers, flee past them to a table in the back where I tuck myself into a corner. When the waitress comes by to take my order, I stare up at her, clear my throat, and admit, “I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart.” The way she shapes her vowels sits strangely on my ears. “It’s taken care of.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Even if it weren’t, you could stay. I’ve been where you are.”

“Thank you. Just… something sweet.”

She nods and walks away and returns and I sip, letting the fire of alcohol in my throat ground me to here, this moment. I suspect the people in the other corner know what’s going on, but I’m not ready for them yet.