The Confabulator Cafe

Category: Confabulation

  • Last Rites

    The sound of the creaking study door jolted him back to reality.  He looked up to see his wife standing next to him, carrying his dinner on a tray.  A quick glance outside confirmed his fears—the sun had already set.  He’d gotten distracted and missed breakfast.  Again.

    “Do you think it will work?” she asked, setting the bottle down onto the desk next to him.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course, but…”

    “No, it’s fine, I understand.  It’s hard to believe that something like this would exist, I get it.  I don’t blame you for being skeptical.  But every other spell I’ve found in that manuscript has worked.  So it’s got to work.  It just… it has to, you know?”

    She smiled, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “I’m just worried about you.  Ever since… well, you know… you’ve been so depressed.  I can’t blame you.  Lord only knows how I’d do if I were suddenly transformed like that.  But as much as I love seeing you happy like this, I just worry that it’s for the wrong reason, you know?  Two weeks after the attack, and you just happen to find something that will reverse all your troubles?  Dearest, it just sounds too good to be true.  You’ve spent so much time and effort into translating that grimoire, but what if it’s just snake oil?  What happens then?”

    He reached up, wrapped his fingers around hers, and smiled.  “Well… I guess if that happened, I’d just… try and figure out what went wrong, and do whatever I can to fix it.  I’m sure it’s possible.  Yeah, okay, no one around here thinks it’s possible, but… that… that doesn’t mean anything!”  He spun around on his work stool, and stared into her eyes.  “This is going to work.  I know it.  If I had stopped working just because I didn’t think something was possible…”

    He paused.  “Is that a new blouse?  It looks nice.  I like the collar.”  She clutched her neck, her face growing pale, but he was too distracted to notice. (more…)

  • Girl in a Mirror

    She looked in the mirror. Fifteen years old now, home from school, but needing to view what the others were seeing in her. They all claimed to see things she did not. So she looked.

    Mirror mirror?

    Sure enough, there was the dog. Cody Stineman told her she looked like a stupid dog almost daily; a dog stared back at her now. Stupid eyes peering out from a pale face, crooked teeth, white, but surely too crooked to be human. A stupid and ugly dog stared at her, its eyes somehow even more hurt than her own.

    Her vision clouded for a moment. She felt the wetness on her cheek before she saw them. A small drip of tears on a dog’s face. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping the dog would be gone when she opened them again.

    The dog was gone. She was now staring at an eagle. Wings spread wide and sharp eyes glaring in a most majestic way. This is what Coach Ainslow saw at practice just an hour ago. An eagle of a basketball player. She picked off two passes into the post and tipped a few more, resulting in Coach screaming that she was an eagle, sharp-eyed and ready to pounce. “Yeeeeeeahhhhhh,” he screamed in a very un-eaglelike way. “That’s you right there, an eagle. Yeeeaaaaahhhhh.”

    “More like a gorilla.” She heard Megan Winters mumble that to some freshman girl, and when she looked over, they were staring at her, laughing and rolling their eyes. (more…)

  • One Good Deed

    The mirror’s surface remained devoid of any human reflection. Dirt and unidentifiable sludge kept her curly hair twisted into a tangled mess. Carefully applied charcoal dust and more dirt buried the features of her face in earthy cracks. Torn fabrics and layers of ragged coats hid her expensive undergarments. She was only disguising herself as a vagrant, not forcing herself to suffer every aspect of their misery. Besides, at her age wearing anything felt uncomfortable already. Everything dragged at her skin, chaffing or cutting in the worst places and almost nothing seemed to heal anymore. Eventually she would be nothing but a gibbering pile of cuts and bruises. She needed to finish this before that happened, or before someone made the decision for her. With one final turn in the mirror, she gave a snapping dismissal to herself and headed for the streets.

    It had been years since she’d gone outside. While she had technically left her home on several occasions, she had never just spent time outdoors for the sake of being outdoors since the day she’d received the phone call asking her to come to identify the body of her last grandchild. Her family had not been large, but this was the twenty first century in a first world country. She hadn’t expected to be the last Goldenbaum standing. Children were supposed outlive their parents here, and the grandchildren outlive them. If you had a few descendants, your legacy was secure. You didn’t need to pump out fifteen kids in the hopes that a few would live long enough to do the same before they all kicked the bucket. She scowled up at the pale blue of the winter sky. “I had four kids. Two had kids of their own. Fifteen! That’s fifteen I could rely on! I was supposed to be done with this!” She screeched. A woman passing by gave her a small look before quickly hurrying on her way. Evalise sighed. Causing people to think she was psychotic wouldn’t help. Probably. (more…)

  • The Humanity Mirror

    I am the happiest woman in all the world. I am about to marry the man of my dreams, and he has given me this delightfully magical mirror as a wedding gift. My complexion glows, my eyes sparkle, and as I twirl in my gown, I am beautiful. Nothing could be better.

    #

    After our first year of marriage, it appears some of my sparkle has dimmed. I gaze into the glass surface of the mirror, desperately looking for the sparkle in my eye and the glow in my cheeks. Perhaps the year of arguments and disappointment have taken their toll on my beauty. I have to hope that this next year will be better. He gave me a lovely pendant for our anniversary. But it pales in comparison to this mirror he gave me last year.

    #

    Each day it seems as if there is less life in my reflection. After every fight, I rush to the bedroom and stare myself down in the mirror. My eyes are squinty and hard and frown lines wrinkle around my mouth. Had I known this marriage would slowly suck the beauty—the life—from me, I never would have accepted it or this mirror.

    I don’t know what to do. (more…)

  • Nephilim

    “You boys lost?”

    The man’s voice, with its slight Southwestern twang, came from behind me to my left.  As Pedro, my Patron, was sitting on that side, I ignored it.  To be honest, it was hard to focus on it in the busy, bustling diner as it was.  Pedro had told me the place’s name, saying that it had the best salsa burger in the entire country. I gotta admit, that’s not exactly what I imagined a vampire who’d been around for half a millenia would remember, but whatever.  I’ll admit the tomatoes, peppers, and Kobe beef were like someone painted a sunset on my palate, but that’s what happens when all your senses increase by a few orders of magnitude.

    Place has a bit of a fly problem, I thought angrily, as it suddenly seemed like a horde of the buggers had taken up residence just outside of my arm’s reach.

    “Hey, shit for brains–talking to you too,” the man continued from right behind me.  I nearly whirled around whipped out his throat just for the hell of it, but caught myself.

    Don’t want to announce to a room full of gazelles that a lion walks amongst them, I thought.  Although this asshole is definitely moving his way to the ‘slowest gazelle on the veldt’-territory.   I glanced over at Pedro just as the diner’s cook slammed his hand down on the bell in the order’s window.

    The look on Pedro’s face that was my first warning. The Old Ones tend not to show fear.  I think part of it is showmanship, but most of it is because after walking the earth for centuries there’s not a whole lot you haven’t seen.  So understand, when an Old One has a face like a seal who has just seen an orca hop out the water and start walking up the beach towards him, that’s a bad sign.

    My second warning?  Well that was the fact the sound of that bell just kept ringing…ringing…ringing like the sound had been suspended in mid-air.  My master, before turning me over to receive my training as a young vampire, had told me sound or light seeming to be off was a sign of magic.  What particular brand of magic was not important, as generally magic is a big neon sign saying “GTFO” in 100-point, bright neon green font. (more…)

  • The Next Step

    The knock came early on Sunday morning, between my second cup of coffee and my first beer. I didn’t get much company. The last ten people to knock on my door were UPS drivers, and they fled in their big brown trucks before I even answered the door.

    I peeked out the front window, expecting my landlord, who would want to know when to expect last month’s rent. Instead, I saw Mack Davis, the guy who had made my two years at Bobtown University a little piece of Hell. He didn’t look like I remembered. A couple of decades wore everyone down, but his once full frame had grown slack. His gray temples faded in to a receding hairline. Time had erased his trademark smirk and had left crow’s feet in its wake.

    I opened the door as far as the brass security chain would allow. “What do you want?”

    “Hi, Sammy. Do you still go by Sammy?”

    “It’s Sam, now.”

    Mack took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay, Sam.”

    “What do you want?”

    “Can I come in for a second?”

    This man had taunted me. I skipped classes just to avoid him. He once beat me so badly that I couldn’t sleep and spent the night sitting on the benches at student health, waiting for the doors to open. Now, he stood before me, turning a yellowing piece of notebook paper over in his hands. His slumped shoulders stole at least three inches from his height, and he had lost at least thirty pounds of muscle.

    “Why?” I asked. (more…)

  • Bubblegum and Mud

    My porch lights were off. A sure sign that I wasn’t handing out candy. That I wasn’t participating in the candy shop propaganda sponsored by parents who were too cheap to buy treats for their own kids. Though with the prices of costumes these days, they could have skipped the costume and bought the candy themselves.

    But apparently, the car in my drive partnered with the dining room light shining through the blinds was enough of a sign to signify that someone was home. The upbeat trill of the doorbell sat at jarring odds with my mood. “I don’t have candy,” I yelled. The doorbell sounded again and my teacup clattered as I slammed it down onto the saucer. It was more whiskey than tea.

    By the time I made it to the door, they’d rung the bell twice more. I flipped the deadbolt as it sounded off yet again. “What do you want?” The words began as a snarl and faltered, dying on my lips. “You.”

    He didn’t say anything, simply stared at me from beneath his hood. His bony fingers wrapped around a scythe. (more…)

  • Me, Myself, & I

    Knock knock. Knock.

    I opened the door.

    “’Hey.” The man at the door was barely an adult. He wore baggy jeans and a t-shirt, a pair of glasses sitting on a pimply face under a shaggy mess of hair. He slouched confidently, if such a thing was possible, thumbs hooked in his belt, looking at me expectantly like he expected to be invited in.

    I didn’t respond to him. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. Everything about him bothered me. His slouch. His clothes. His glasses. His hair. He chewed on his lip as he waited for me to say anything.

    “Aw shit,” I said.

     A familiar smirk crossed his face. “Yep,” he said. “You gonna let me in?” I stood aside and he walked past me. There wasn’t really any other choice. He looked around, feigning disinterest but paying attention to everything about my small apartment. I knew what he was seeing. The dripping faucet, scuffed walls, dusty shelves, and dirty carpet. I closed the front door and followed him.  “This is where you live?” he asked.

    “Yep.”

    “It’s kind of a shithole.”

    I wouldn’t let most people get away with saying something like that, but I didn’t have a lot of options here. He looked out the window, and his face on the glass reflected next to mine. A slightly different haircut. A few less pimples. Other than that…. “How old are you?” I asked. (more…)

  • The Tower Princess

    Prompt: I survived the war between the kingdoms by hiding in a tower.

     

    I was the last to arrive at my own palace when they returned my father’s body from the kingdom to the north, wrapped in a white shroud.

    Peace. It was a word that held no meaning for me anymore. It was all that the kingdom could talk about, but it didn’t live inside of me anymore.

    They fussed over me on my way down to the throne room. I’d chosen a dress of the darkest emerald, almost black but with the barest hint of life beneath. It was an unlucky color for a wedding. It was the wrong color for mourning. It was the right color for me, today.

    My father’s throne room. My mother’s throne room when he went to the border forts to fight. By rights, it should be my throne room but the crown prince from the north sat on the throne as I entered. My betrothed. I would be permitted to take the chair beside him once our two kingdoms were bound in holy matrimony, where I would be decorative rather than effective. A pact made long before the war started. A white silk cord wrapped around my wrist heavy with charms the prince had sent before the war. Childhood things. Old things worn smooth by my fingers over the years.

    As the queen, I had the right to revoke that betrothal. (more…)

  • Wayward Witch

    I gently placed my hands upon the young man’s broken body, listening to his gurgles and knowing he was well beyond my abilities. Still, I had to try. I delved inside with my power and saw his heartbeat fading, the breath growing short and the light fading from within. Someone in the crowd started sobbing as I pulled my hands back. There was nothing I could do. No one could stop death, not even the strange woman from the hill.

    A couple of soldiers escorted me from the tent as they laid a cloth over the young captain. Leila stood outside, waiting to defend me should they decide his death lay at my feet and not the enemy’s. Her services were not needed as the widow shrieked curses towards the sky instead.

    “The cost of this war is growing far too high.”

    “The cost of any war is too high. Sadly, it is one that many are apparently willing to pay.”

    “They shouldn’t be. Over a hundred dead just this day, and that number would be higher if you hadn’t been here to help the others.”

    I didn’t know how to respond to that. Ever since I was little, people had come to me for healing. My mother had been afraid that my talents would invite misfortune, but as my gifts had never brought harm, all accepted me warmly. I had learned quickly that not every wound could be healed and even though my talent grew as I did, I would never be able to stop the inevitable. To try would be madness.

    “Death comes to us all eventually. Sickness, accidents, the passage of time. It does not matter. Everyone must step through that door eventually. Some just meet that fate trying to shove others through it.”

    Leila stopped, grabbing my arm. “How can you say that! Are you so cold you do not mourn the great loss of these young lives?”

    “Of course I mourn them! Leila, I have seen death far too much in my life already. It hurts to see so many go to it, but I know that nothing I can do could stop it. What would you have me do? I am not a warlord. I am not a Queen. I have no authority save that given to me by those seeking my help. My powers are limited. Finite. I am a healer, not a goddess. You yourself have explained that to others several times.”

    “I know that, but there must be something.”

    “There is. Beg the gods for peace and do your best to help in any way you can. It is what I do.”

    *** (more…)