300-Word Writing Challenge #39 -- VICTORY TO PHYREBRAT!

[Elckerlyc]

“Thy name was writ in water—it shall stand,” (Oscar Wild)


I crouch in the dusk, amidst graves and cypresses, squinting at a headstone. I know its epitaph by heart.

Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water​

Bleak resignation, poetically phrased. Or was it?
I glance up at the darkening sky, look for a certain star. There...

The planet should have been named Mare Infinitus, hosting only an never-ending ocean. Its silvery colored water -a perplexing phenomena- gave the planet an atypical high albedo and, tragically, an ill considered name.
Bright Star.
I went there, desiring solitude. Bringing only Keats’ Complete Works, I hired a sailing yacht, renamed it Fall of Hyperion and embarked on a solo trip around the world. No treacherous reefs or sandbanks, no hazardous straits or sirens. Just tranquil seas, all the way.
On day 93, at sunrise, tranquillity was shattered by persisted knocking on the hull.
Bafflement battling annoyance, I got up to inspect. The morning sun was coating the ocean with sparkles, emphasizing a patch that was smooth. I blinked, not trusting my eyes.
There was writing on the surface, letters formed by slightly raised water, highlighted by the slanting sunlight.

CAN YOU READ THIS

I gaped.

YOU CAN
EXCELLENT

In quick succession the lines of text flashed.

PLEASE EXPLAIN THESE WORDS
THAT WHICH YOU STUDY
EACH NIGHT
ENTHRALLED

First Contact. With a telepathic, liquid being (who I dubbed Bright), stirred out of seclusion by poetry. No words can adequately describe this surreal encounter, our silent conversation about words, their power, being, Keats. It was dreamlike, majestic, scary.
A bizarre thought took my breath. Bright read it.

I CAN DO THAT
AND MAINTAIN IT
LEGIBLE FROM HIGH ABOVE
STEADFAST

“Just the name,” I breathed, awed, “writ in water.”

I exit the cemetery, leaving an edited headstone sprinkled by starlight.

was is​

 

[johnnyjet]

Beneath Calm Waters

In the hours before dawn, the waters were calm.

Deceptively calm, thought Marco. For there was lurking beneath the surface a terrible beast which was spewing death and destruction throughout the region.

His family had a history with its kin. Long ago there was a great battle between his family, the wealthy and powerful Castillos, and a horde of sea creatures who terrorized the local fishermen. Though much blood was spilled, the Castillos ultimately won. One lone surviving beast went out to sea, never to be seen again.

Generations later its descendant returned, again terrorizing the seaside community. Everyone knew the creature wanted the blood of a Castillo.

Marco took a knife, cut his hand, and let the blood drip into the calm waters. The creature would know the taste of Castillo blood.

The waters rippled, churning more and more vigorously. He braced himself, a harpoon grasped tightly. In the early morning coolness, sweat beaded on his forehead.

The water's surface split open, and a long-necked beast leaped out. With the grimacing face of a snake, the sleek, silvery body of a sailfish, it howled. Vicious waves pounded the boat, tossing Marco fore and aft. He held on tightly, unable to raise his harpoon. The beast went under.

Tense seconds later, it leaped from the sea again. Marco steadied himself, hefted the harpoon and fired. The harpoon embedded itself in its neck. The attached rope tightened. Joy welled up within him, for he had struck the spot his grandfather had told him about.

It howled again and bolted out to sea, dragging Marco and his boat with him, for the rope was entangled in the sails.

Soon the waters were calm again. From that day on, no one was bothered by either sea creatures or the Castillos.

 

[mosaix]

Just Beneath The Surface…


“Up periscope.”

“Any change, Captain?”

“Four on deck now, including a female with a child. Not seen them before but a female aboard makes taking this vessel even more useful.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We’ll approach after nightfall and you can board under cover of darkness.”

….

“It went well, Captain. Ten in all, including the female and child.”

“Any problems?”

“None. We took them by surprise and our appearance was, no doubt, a considerable shock to them. They succumbed easily, no resistance at all. They’re in the sample hold with the others. Sedated.”

“You covered your tracks? You left no evidence?”

“Our boarding equipment caused some slight damage to the bow, but there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“What’s the state of the vessel now?”

“Well she’s empty so we’re about to go back aboard to scuttle her.”

“No. Leave it. It’s getting light and our sensors indicate another vessel is in the area. We mustn’t risk discovery.”

“Very well. It’s inevitable I know, but this need for secrecy and avoiding suspicion is an ongoing problem. We only take a few here and there and yet to make such a long trip worthwhile requires many, many more.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. A single strike taking hundreds or even thousands at one go would suit our purpose.”

“It’d have to be a pretty big ship and we’d have to have some way of stopping it.”

“They’re getting bigger all the time. And perhaps we could arrange an 'accidental' collision of some kind that just disabled the thing until we were ready to sink it. Maybe an iceberg? But that’s for another expedition. Prepare for orbit and home. By the way, just for the log, was there any identification on today’s vessel?”

“Yes, there was, Captain. Mary, or maybe Marie, Celeste.”

 

[Phyrebrat]

Vigil for a Mother

The last time I was a mother, I was waving Darnley off in his dinghy. Polished mahogany flashed under an early autumn sun, the red of his sail slowly melting into the scarlet wall of maples on the great lake’s far side.

I’ve learnt when a parent loses a child, she becomes something undefined. Losing a breast in ‘89 ungendered me - something clothing or surgery couldn’t undo - but when life cut my boy from me, I couldn’t even call myself a mother.

So now I wait. To be a mother again.

In the study, I wait. In the kitchen where countless meals for one have been cooked, as I look vacantly over the sandy shore to that great mirrored firmament, I wait. For the little white V, for the whipping slap of cord on weatherproof fabric. For the ting-ting of wire on an aluminium mast.

But Darnley doesn’t return.

And despite the storm-washed flotsam the plovers beachcomb on the mean shore, there’s no sign of wreckage.

After seven decades, his little arms must be tired from rowing back to me.

I wait. I’ll always wait.

I waited in the lounge when Sam - unable to carry the burden of blame, or continue his own vigil - left, leaving the lake house, his son, where I could not...

And now, as words and memories of eighty-something years hemmorrhage from my mind, I only remember one thing:

You have to wait.

Time erodes my brain by stealth, like the wavelets washing the shore clean; my wedding day, first car, and last Christmas are sanded away, till eventually...

I know I’m waiting, but what for?

And there, sitting like a lone red leaf amongst the now bare winter trunks, a distant red triangle bobs towards me, and an unrecognised word comes, unbidden.

Darnley.

 

[Ian Fortytwo]

Enhanced Humanity.

I keep struggling with the sail, until eventually, sheer persistence I managed to become quite proficient. Mind you I had been sailing six weeks, and I had fifty years ahead of me.

Luckily my fishing ability was much better, and at least I wouldn't go hungry. The yacht was very high tech, with fridge, desalination plant, for fresh water and a microwave. There was plenty of dried powder food stuff, which contains protein.

The planet I was on consists of 90 percent water, which reflects the blue skies. The sun did not radiate any heat, however I was created so that I felt neither heat nor cold.

My recording device transcribed all that I did so that further explorers would not fail.

Suddenly the world went dark, and icy cold, the ocean froze solid. Then an internal communication chip informed that the sun imploded.

I would will be stuck here forever or until further explorers discover me. Must keep recording until they come.

 

[Perpetual Man]

Ebb and Flow

There is a stillness at the heart of the sea. It stretches for miles in all directions, the sky clear blue, reflected in the waters below, although they undulate slowly, back and forth, back and forth to the rhythm of the tide.

The world is, of course, gone. Beneath the troughs and swells, the eddies the shattered buildings of a broken world crumble bit by bit, tendrils of kelp peer through broken panes, while fish dart and play amid the remnants of a broken civilisation.

Billions upon billions of souls claimed by the briny depths, children, the aged and all between drowned as the waters rose through their incompetence and stupidity. The waters could be considered the tombs of the lost, skeletal frames locked in the throws of gasping fluid, desperate for that one last breath.

But they are all gone now, delivered to their heaven or hell by the darkness of the depths.

But…

But…

The waters are clearer than they have ever been, and leviathan song echoes in symphonic glory, while dolphins dance through the vacant seas at play with the world about them. Iridescent jelly fish catch the light as they drift close, the sunlight dappling them in a multitude of hues.

Broken reefs claim back that which was taken again, blazing back into a glory that was stolen from them. What once was broken, whole again.
Flocks of giant manta leap into the air, the illusion of flight before slapping onto the ocean below, the waters where shoals thrive spinning and twisting in dances long denied, celebrating the passing of man.

Deep, deep down, near vents of volcanic ash and residue, life continues. Something moves, something thrives. Something new.
And Mother Earth, beautiful Gaia spins and smiles.

 

[jd73]

Blue Water

The yacht was the consciousness, do you see? See her searching for her captain? Across every open water on every celestial body, every ocean of liquid neon, along unsublimated canals of undiscovered elements?

Did you see her glint and sparkle like a fading nova as she begged transfer to the next solar system, and the next, whipped away in a flash? She didn’t care about the elements. She only cared to find her captain, dashed from her decks like jenga blocks. Around suns, through gaseous seas she journeyed. Sheets of corrosive rain tore at her sails – she paid it no attention, putt-putting through infinite expanses. Did you know she cried bilge-tears until faces and shoulders turned away in contempt? Have you seen the Captain?, and: no, no, I haven’t, but I heard he was washed overboard near Badaring-42, sorry if that’s not right, so sorry for your loss, have you tried looking there?

Did you hide your face?

They say she ran with a pod of race-whales on Gripperpent-3, sank beneath thousand-mile-high technicolour waves of Shondaffer’s Garage, to endure a stint as a legend among its people. But it was for nothing; it yielded up not her captain.

Did you feel her decks warp under the punishing triple suns a thousand thousand years beyond the Shament Nebula. Those suns did triple emerald violence to her, and she shipped water when she came by Mulays-5, whose inhabitants had not seen her captain, had never troubled to cast their killing blades upon his neck. Hurricanes cruising at mach-7 or more across Valigh’s plasma lakes visited their hate upon her hull, yet never did she crumple.

Did you know what transpired when her fuel supplies evaporated to a fumey nothing, bewitched by the murderous calms of the Salaberta Blue Ocean?

Did you care?


#300w

 

[Peter V]

Fruits de Mer

Cassie woke from that dream where her parents were still alive, before the accident that had stranded her. As always, she was struck anew by grief and knew that the rekindled sense of loss and loneliness would take hours to fade.

Thankfully, the day was bright, the sky cerulean and even out beyond the reef, the sea was a calm the like of which only happened two or three times each summer. A good day to fish and play with her friends. They would distract her.

Picking up her net, she pushed her little dinghy out into the lagoon. Passing through the break in the reef, the sea turned from turquoise to cobalt but was as benign as it had appeared from her ramshackle island home.

Swim with me

That felt like Odyssey. “Soon.” Cassie answered. “Let me lay out my net.”

No fish needed today. Calypso brings gift

Cassie giggled as a beautiful bottle nosed dolphin leapt into the air, deliberately splashing her as she re-entered the water.

You are wet now. Come play

“I need fish for other days.” Cassie smiled, resisting the temptation to dive in after her. “Anyway, what does Calypso bring me?”

Man things

Curiosity piqued, Cassie scanned the water and spied the fin of another dolphin carving a V towards her through the gentle swell. He was trailing something, which turned out to be a net. Cassie hauled it aboard and untangled the half dozen cans within. Their labels had long since soaked off.

Picking one at random, she peeled back the lid with her knife.

“Peaches!” Cassie put the can to her lips and drank some of the sweet liquid. She stabbed a chunk and devoured it. Nothing had ever tasted so fine.

Play now?

Fishing could wait. Cassie dived into the water.

 

[JadeW]

Moonlight cast down upon the swaying sailboat. It laid in a glittering halo of light as the occupant inside the cabin clutched at his beloved object. He sat on the floor rocking to the rhythm of the ocean. He was mumbling to himself; residing in his world. Yet, he knew where he was and how he got there. About three weeks had gone by, but so much had happened.

He had picked up the small totem from a seller in Tunis and was on his way back to Athens to give it to his client. Things went downhill from there. The first night out at sea, he developed a delirious fever. Images of blood and carnage flashed in his mind. The next day, he found himself scratching the word al-tadhih on the walls of the boat. He didn’t know what the word meant. Another feverish dream gave him the meaning. All night he had images of people being sacrificed. On the second day, he wasn’t sure where he was anymore. He couldn’t concentrate on navigating. He didn’t eat much or sleep much. The small totem was with him where he went on the boat. He needed to keep an eye on it at all times. The next few days he found his supplies dwindling and the boat sailing aimlessly. He took comfort in knowing he wasn’t alone. It spoke to him. On his final day, he laid on the floor with the small totem in one hand and a note that he had failed to find before in the other. The note read:

This totem is for you, my friend. I hope you like it as much as you had liked my wife. It will open a world of wonder and horror for you. Goodbye.

 

[Starbeast]

Island of the Silver Ship
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"Mr. Curry", said Captain Bronson looking through binoculars. "I found your twin volcano island."

"That's it."

Lowering binoculars, "You sure?"

"It's just as the shipwreck survivor described."

"So. This ship of sliver, it's there?"

"Yes. A ship made of pure silver. It's there", grinned Curry.

#

Captain Bronson sailed his cargo ship to the uncharted island, disembarked with crewmen, trekked through dense jungle until entering a clearing.

"Unbelievable", uttered Bronson. "It's a flying saucer."

"Fantastic", exclaimed Curry. "A space ship from another world. It's priceless!"

"No it isn't."

"But...?"

"You think you could sell this in a black market? Any government would seize it, then shoot us for knowing about it."

"Captain! Captain!"

"What's wrong, Ahmed?"

"Three crewmen were taken by someone into the jungle."

"Who?"

"None of us saw anyone. Listen. There's movement in the brush."

Bronson shouted, "Everyone arm yourselves!"

To their horror, humanoid monstrosities wearing tattered space suits, charged out of the foliage into Bronson's men. Firearms were useless against the attack. Mr. Curry ran back to a raft and hastily paddled toward the cargo ship. Once aboard, he noticed a space creature climbing up the side of the vessel. Curry fired a flare at it, but was deflected, then fell into the ship's hold which ignited a fuel tank, and exploded.

#

"Where am I?"

"Safe aboard my ship. I'm Captain Ackerman. We found you two days ago. You spoke in your sleep about trouble on a twin volcano island. We're moored there."

"We've gotta leave, NOW! It's dangerous...!"

"Relax. All we found was a burned out hull of a ship. How about some grub?"

Knock, knock, knock.

"That'll be the doctor." Opening the door, long arms grabbed the Captain, crushing him. Curry screamed as he recognized the space monster that lumbered toward him.

 

[Ursa major]

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An Editorial Change
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The Guide has been updated.​

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Today’s updates to your Guide:​

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A. Editorial changes (1 change)​

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1. Cover Warning​

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Reason​

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Threat of litigation.​

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History​

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Since the invention of the IID, and its overuse, there has been a noticeable increase in non-travel-related impossible/implausible events:​

• Formerly incorrect scientific theories becoming correct.
• Psychiatric surgery becoming a practical medical procedure. The demand for the severing of guilt from its possessors has greatly increased, putting psychiatric surgeons amongst the wealthier inhabitants of the universe.
• Less improbably, psychiatric surgeons have become a major source of work for accountants, in both tax management and the further monetarisation of the industry. This has led to the sale of “excess” guilt (guilt surgically removed from patients), creating Guilt Markets on many worlds.
• Some of the transplanted guilt is traded for use as blackmail. Unsolicited guilt transplants have become the subject of both criminal and civil law
• Lawyers have succeeded in having any sort of imposition of guilt deemed worthy of litigation, provided the damage is severe (that is, worth the lawyers’ time).

In light of the above, and because panicking has sometimes been seen to be evidence of a character flaw (rather than the expected outcome from an external provocation), induced panic attacks can be treated as attacks on the reputation of its victims and thus subject to a claim for (potentially heavy) damages.​

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Action taken​

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The previous warning on this book -- “Don’t Panic!” -- has been changed to “Be Calm” (in even larger and friendlier letters).​

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See also​

• Oolon Colluphid
• Invention of the Infinite Improbability Drive
• Heart of Gold
• Psychiatric Surgery
• Guilt Transplantation
• Guilt Litigation

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B. Content changes (4,734,155,633 changes)​

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Note: Content does not necessarily represent the opinions of the publisher.​

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1. Lawyers, Proposed Capital Punishment for​

[...]​

 

[The Big Peat]

Lonely the Sky, Lonely the Sea

Lonely the Sky, Lonely the Sea,
When Young Davey McGregor came
A-Seeking Me.

I knew well it was himself by
The wistful sound of his song, the
Tone of his sigh,
Heard in the sleeping dreams we’d shared,
As he’d wondered so much why us
Two; if he dared
Set his sail after some figment
Of his subconscious romantic
Impulses, sent
By who knows who to us? Maybe
Some real divine blessing. Maybe
A fantasy.

Now Young Davey had sailed to me,
And my dream love was as real as
The lonely sea.

“Oh come my pretty lass, oh come
My beauty under the cold wave,
For I can’t plumb
The airless depths of the water
Between us and our dreamed love, if
I do not err
In thinking this your hoped for wish,
In thinking you real as earth, in
Wanting your kiss.
Let me, my love, not hope in vain!
Come to my boat on the wave, and
With me remain.”

“For I have questioned too long why
Fate has sent us dreams; let us fill
The lonely sky.”

His words lit yearning in my blood,
Fire in the cold depths, a river
Rising in flood.
But I could not rise to his boat,
For what would I say? I could not
Shed my seal coat,
And walk like the woman in his dreams.
Many years would pass before the tides
Loosened coat seams.
But in slumber we had been set
Together, and I hoped he would
Not cease songs yet.

For it aches waiting to be free,
And oft I think; lonely the sky,
Lonely the sea.

 

[scarpelius]

Two peas in a pod boat

People are dumb.
Even you, the reader of these pages, must have had moments when you slap your forehead and said "Son of a bitch!".
Well maybe not like that, because that's Arnie's favorite saying, but something similar.
Don't take it personally, I do not know you and I've no intention to insult you, but at the end of this diary you might come to know and understand me.

In the morning a bird came and sat on the topmast. I was excited, birds means land is near, but after an hour it fell dead on the cabin roof. It was a yellow and blue feathers parrot.
I thought I could eat it, but upon checking the corpse it was mostly bones. Poor thing, flew so many days that it consumed all its resources. My first impulse was to throw it overboard, but maybe Arnie could use it as bait for fishing.

Today I feel confident, the sea is calm and we have water and food. Arnie is very good at these things, he is the opposite of me, calm, strong and determined to survive. Me instead, I am thinking to end this torment. The world is gone, every piece of land has been swallowed by water and we haven't seen another living soul since. The bird was the first one in many, many months.

Arnie left me a note "The other way around, stupid!"
That was the "AHA" moment for me. We have this contraption Arnie put it together, to charge the batteries and I was spinning it the wrong way.
That's why it never charges.

I LOVE YOU ARNIE, YOU'RE MY ROCK.

Tomorrow is his turn.

At the bottom of the page with the same handwriting but more relaxed:
"Whatever floats your boat dude."

 

[chrispenycate]

This be the verse you grave​

A single man-made beacon throws accents through the night
Drawing a blotchy line across the ripples' lapping.
Exhausted sailor's home upon the sea,
The war is ended, no-one with the energy to fight
Warriors drift back, no singing or backslapping
Who won, when all have lost? Is peace itself the victory?

Destruction rules, the tranquil ocean just ignores it
Itself a strong, essentially pernicious, force.
Replete with gently lapping entropy
Tide's out - the silence underscores it
Adrenaline retreating to its source
Leaving demob weak and dopey

Deep, peaceful sleep replaces combat's vilence
Though lifetime nightmares, polluted by experience
No man can forget, none ignore it.
Nor any stand the memory before it
No cannons' grumblings intruding on the silence.
No officers will fill forms to his disapprearance

The warrior is home, no family await.
Alone, no loves, no mates, no reason to continue
Preferring not to suicide, leave the end to fate
But loss of love is somewhat balanced out
By lack of fervid ambition burning within you
By lack of need or enemy to hate.

Gently applauding waves against fibreglass hull
Lullaby the tortured spirit to unconsciousness.
Passion becalming as the tide recedes
All energy's expended, though guilt reservoirs are full.
He breathes the rhythm of the world's caress
With grief no mere coma impedes.

Weapon's peace, killings cease, ubiquitous decease,
The enemy's tired as he of the hostilities
Victory's always just past the horizon
But separation between it and now never decrease,
Unreachable collection of futilities
A paradise hands free to fix your eyes on

The war is treatied out, hostilities continue
Your dead will always accompany within you.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

ADAM’S REST



Devonshire Herald, October 2020


Well-known eccentric Alicia DeBlaze has left her estate to Sandy Bay, with one caveat: her boat is to be kept in the bay, its mizzen light lit at all times.

Robert Chancer, local councillor, commented, ‘for four million quid, the council would light the wreck from stern to prow.’

****** *****
6th March, 1995

A perfect day before the heat of summer and the crowds that followed. We collected what we needed from the front porch and walked down the sand covered path, Adam racing ahead. He’d been walking to DeBlaze’s Cove since he was a tot but when I turned the corner, the tide was heavy.

Adam knew the sea well, he was practically born in it, a real fish-boy, but I still shouted to him: ‘Be careful! Only paddle!’

He lifted his hand, acknowledging me, and that was the last I saw of him: a single wave to tell his mum not to cluck, and then endless sea and sand.

Helicopters circled as coastguard searched. I waited on the beach as night fell, thinking of Adam alone in the dark. He hated the blackness.

Even after they found his broken body in the rocks that kept me awake, how he hated the dark, until I bought the boat and kept the light lit so he wasn’t afraid.

**** ****

31st October 2020

‘Let’s get this over with,’ says Jamesy, as we dock with the schooner. ‘Coucil say to leave a double light.’

It only takes half an hour to sort the lights but the day has fallen into darkness. On the hill, near the DeBlaze estate, a firework shrieks and explodes over the bay. Two sparkles break away, and circle the mast before dying in its light like ghosts, together.

 

[M. Robert Gibson]

Around The Galaxy In Eighty Years

Day 800
Arrived safely on Caeruleus, the 'Blue' planet. All boats and equipment unloaded safely from the transporter, no mishaps like on Malum. This will be the seventeenth planet on my galactic trip and promises to be one of the easiest circumnavigations since the whole planet is essentially a lake. No dangerous reefs or undercurrents.
It should literally be plain sailing.

Day 801
First day at sea (lake?). As expected, made good headway. Nothing much else to report. Supplies plentiful, weather clement. At this rate I should have single-handedly sailed around this world in about sixty days.

Day 802
Nothing new to report. Same view, same weather, same progress.

Day 803
Strange event today. A cloud appeared, totally enveloping the boat. No visibility for an hour. All electronic devices out of action, so lost communication with support team. The cloud disappeared leaving behind a strange smell and a sticky coating on everything. Also, I might have swallowed some, judging by the strange taste in my mouth.

Day 810
A week since my last entry! Really? The days are beginning to blur.
Electronics still out. I have the uncanny feeling of someone, or something, else on board. Stupid I know. Probably because I've been out of touch for a few days now. I seem to be sleeping more.

Day 827
I hear noises or maybe voices, so there's definitely something else on board, yet a thorough search finds nothing.
Sometimes I wake to find things have been moved or I wake in a different place. Am I sleep walking?

Day 841
The voices are in my head, but I don't understand. It's like some alien whispering in my ear. Am I in control?

Day
I understand now. I am their vessel. We must leave this planet. My crew commands it.

 

[The Judge]

A Djinn’s Lament​

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Oh, nightingales and pomegranates, how wrong this all is. How aberrant. How unnatural.​

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A djinn such as I – a mighty djinn, formed from the smokeless fire, wielder of great powers, bestower of wishes, one who wandered the Earth before ever the sons of Adam trod the land – such a djinn should be exalted, revered, treated with respect. Instead…​

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“Now! Take me there now!”​

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"I hear and obey, O mistress.”​

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I should be soaring above the desert sands, vying with the swift falcons, reclining upon palms at green oases as poets and philosophers bicker, following merchant caravans as they travel the golden roads. Silks and spices and all the perfumes of Araby should be mine. But no…​

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“The sea! I want the sea!”​

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“Your wish is my command, O mistress.”​

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Sea. Leagues and leagues of nothing but sea. But no Sindbad. No rocs, no valley of diamonds, no caverns of pearls, no chests of gold. No adventures, escapes or wonders. No oared galley or white-sailed dhow or pirate ship. Not even any hurricanes or tempests, for if ever I should breathe upon the waters…​

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“Not rough! I don’t like it rough!”​

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“As you desire, O mistress.”​

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I should be weaving stories with Scheherazade or entertaining Balkis, the Sheban queen. Houris and peris have ever been my companions, but now I’m paired with this petty termagant. Oh, I’ve been commanded before – released from lamp or bottle, held to the promise of three wishes. But I want to curse the fate that makes me captive to such a one – a tyrant who holds my life in her hands. And yet, and yet…​

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“I want to go home now, Papa.”​

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“I am your slave forever, O daughter mine.”​

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But next time her mother is away, we’re getting a babysitter.​

 

[Ursa major]

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This challenge is now closed and so the voting is open.

To cast your THREE votes, use the link below.

Please vote for your top THREE choices; note that all three votes must be cast AT THE SAME TIME to count.​

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