Shards and Phractures

Note: This story is an entry into this week's Friday Challenge, which can be found here . The challenge: Get the fifth chapter out of the way--after your world has been defined, your major characters introduced, the basics of the general plot laid out--you know, all that stuff that gets rewritten and thrown out sixteen times before you actually get on with the actual story. So, we join our plotline, already in progress... Trage settled into his new home. He had no idea if he was doing the same thing that other wizard's apprentices did. His duties mostly involved cleaning up after the wizard and his friends. He cleaned up after the animals, swept out the house, and cleaned and dusted the entire place, every day. Most days, the wizard sat in his room, poring over books and carrying on odd and mysterious experiments. There were strange-shaped boxes and other things stacked in one corner, and every time he dusted them, he noticed Midge was right there watching. The wizard h...

...even if no one else can see what you see... Merchandise is available! -=ad=-

Note: This is an entry into the Friday Challenge, which can be found here . "Doctor!" the nurse shouted. "His eyes are open!" A flurry of activity, lights in his eyes, hammer to his knees. Blood pressure cuff tightened and removed. Where was he? Why was he here? Thinking was fuzzy. "You've been in a coma," the doctor said at last. "But you're going to be all right now. Your nightmare is over." He was wrong. Cassidy stood by the corner of the building, peering around. He thought he had lost his pursuers, but he wasn't quite sure. He had ducked into a doorway, turned his reversible jacket inside-out, and put on a baseball cap to cover his eyes, and now he was trying to see if any of them had caught on. There. Two guys in business suits and shades, standing in front of the laundromat. They were talking quietly, turning their heads from side to side. Looking for him. Cassidy took a step back, and a deep breath. Then he steppe...

Note:  This is an entry into The Friday Challenge. The man was short, wearing gray robes with a wizard's cap.  He was chewing on a cigar.  He muscled the cart into the ballroom, swearing under his breath.  Once it was through the door, he pulled a wand from his pocket.  One quick flourish, and the tables and chairs scattered themselves across the room.  A banner floated up the wall and hung itself from hooks--"Welcome!  Reunion!  Class of 204!" it proclaimed. His work done, he snapped his fingers; a flame appeared at his fingertips, and he lit the cigar from it.  He let out a deep sigh, knowing the kind of mess he'd have to clean up when this was all over... Albus frowned at him over the top of his brandy snifter.  "You changed your name?" "That's right," Emrys said.  "Too many legends and conflicting reports.  Everyone wanted to know where the damn sword ended up at.  I didn't have the heart to tell them the kid traded it for a night ...

Note:  This post is an entry into this week's Friday Challenge, which can be found here.   The challenge:  What happens after "The Day the Earth Stood Still?"  (The remake version, that is.) Riley was waiting for her at the airlock, with a bucket of paint in his hand for some strange reason.  Of course, Riley would be the one to see her off.  He gave her a wink and a smile, and she nodded back. "Knock 'em dead," he added.  "After all, what can go wrong?"  With that, all of the tension leaked out of her body, and she found herself laughing in spite of herself. He stepped aside, and Carrie saw what he had painted on the airlock door.  "Fitting and appropriate," she said, as the door opened. The laughter was gone before she cycled through the airlock, and she stepped out into the alien space station.  Two aliens waited to escort her to the conference room.  On her left was a heavy worlder, built like a Sumo but with tufts of green fuzz in od...

Note:  This is an entry into the Friday Challenge, which can be found here . Damien sat still while the interviewer set up his recorder at the far end of the table.  The device was a lot smaller than he had expected. "Okay.  We're rolling.  You ready for this?" Damien gave the man a grim smile.  "No," he said.  "The real question is, are YOU ready?"  The man frowned back at him, but Damien ignored it.  He gestured to the newspaper in the center of the table. "What, you mean you had something to do with that?"  The cover headline scrolled across the electronic paper.  A local big-name celebrity businessman had gone nuts, shot and killed one of his partners, and claimed to have shot someone else, though the body had not been found.  The other partner had completely disappeared, and the animated video on the page showed grim-faced cops hauling boxes upon boxes of evidence out of the man's home. He took a long, deep breath.  "If you were...

NOTE:  This is an entry for The Friday Challenge, which can be found Here . Rick leaned on the balcony overlooking the bay, and took a long pull on his cigar.  Behind him, inside the house, the raucous noises of a birthday party were still blasting.  His party.  But at his age, he felt the need for a little quiet. The quiet didn't last long. "Grampa Rick!  Grampa!  Come on, tell us a story!" "Yeah!  You always tell good stories!  Tell us how you made all your money!" "Story! Story!" Nine grandkids--plus a handful of their friends--makes for a very intimidating, albeit small, army.  So, Rick reluctantly put out the cigar, but he refused to abandon the brandy snifter, and allowed himself to be led back inside, to the fireplace.   "Come ON, Grampa!  How did you get to be rich?" He looked over to the table, where the remaining adults were cleaning away the mess and lost in their own conversations.  This was just him, and the munchkins...not that ...