Sylvie Looked Away. "Can We Not Talk About This?"

“Today has been pretty good. Not many visitors. I started a new book about-” My voice cuts off abruptly as I stare at her. “You…you just wasted your question. Why would you do that?”

She smiles gently. “I didn’t need it.”

“But…” I am lost. Confused. “Why?”

“Because,” she says, reaching out and putting her hand on my arm. “I thought you could use a friend. So could I. What’s your book about?”

Numbly, I start explaining the intricacies of my book, offering her some refreshments.

And that is how the strangest friendship I’ve ever had began.

You have been a mountaintop prophet for 1,000 years. Each person only gets one question and you’re sure you’ve heard every question that can be asked. Until one day someone uses their one question to ask, “How are you doing?”

Jane sighed. “Fine.”

Andy frowned. “Huh. I thought you would put up more of a fight.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I know you. For you, that was as close to an apology as you’ll probably ever get.”

He nodded. She wasn’t wrong.

“And,” she added, throwing him a small smile. “I forgive you.”

Writing Prompt #2862

"Don't you have something to say?"

"Well, I don't like to apologize, so no, not really. I feel like we can comfortably just move forward from here."

"Sorry, can't help you," the council says, the head mage waving his hand. Everything fades away, and I find myself in the archmage's cottage.

I kick and throw some stuff out of irritation for awhile, shouting at the ceiling. But when I kick the bed, the end post falls off, revealing a hollow hole inside.

I reach in, and find a small journal. Curious, I sit down on the bed and open it up.

"Dear reader, if you are reading this, it means I have FINALLY found a way out!!! Bless you, for you are most likely the one to thank for this turn of events.

"You see, I (an archmage, for 200 years), was never supposed to be. I cannot do magic to save my life, as you have most likely found out firsthand. I am not even sure how I ended up with the position, as I never dueled the previous archmage. The council simply appeared one day and declared it so. And so here I am, writing this book to tell you how I have managed for two centuries without magic."

My eyes are huge as they scan the pages. A few pages in, I discover that the previous arachmage, while unable to do much magic, was quite accomplished at potion work.

Anytime someone came to him needing something, or he was called upon to solve a problem, or banish a beast, he found or made a potion of some kind to suit the problem.

The book is filled with potions recipes, words to speak over them, infusions to add to objects.

"All this time," I marvel. "Maybe the council knew what they were doing after all. It wasn't magic the archmage was performing.

"It was science."

You are a terrible mage, yet through pure, dumb luck you managed to defeat an archmage in a duel, thus taking their place according to ancient tradition. Many mages protest against giving such a prestigious position to a clearly unqualified candidate, including yourself.

I watched through half closed eyes as my wife “snuck” back into the bedroom, discarding her clothes and changing back into her pajamas before she slid into bed with me.

I hid a smile as I stirred, making her freeze. 

I mumbled, “Hey, baby. Did you get up?”

Her voice was pinched and high as she squeaked, “No! Just the bathroom!”

The snicker almost escaped, but I covered it by rolling back over. I fell asleep, only to wake up the next morning to find a note on the kitchen table.

“Sorry I missed you! My job needs me to travel for a few days. There's a convention in Springdale. Love you!”

I laughed out loud as I made my coffee. There wasn’t a convention center in Springdale. There wasn’t even a hotel.

A week later, she was late to my birthday party. 

A loose term, considering it was the two of us and a cake I picked up from the store. Oh, and some takeout! Didn’t want to cook.

She ran in the door. “Sorry, sorry! Got held up at the… office.” She hung up her coat and hat, coming over and kissing me deeply. 

I paused, pulling away slightly. “Love, do you smell something?”

She shook her head, confused. “No. What’s wrong? What do you smell?”

I hid my grin. “It almost smells like…blood. You aren’t hurt, are you?”

Her eyes went huge as she squeaked, “No! I’m fine! Must be…dirt! Tripped outside!”

I took a huge bite of cake. “Ah. My mistake. Hey, I was thinking of taking up a new hobby. What do you think about me becoming an assassin?”

I watched gleefully as she spit out a huge gulp of water, a true spit take. Finally, I am unable to hold in my excitement, laughing as she coughs and wipes her mouth.

Then she glared at me. “How long have you known?!”

I felt almost guilty when I said, “12 years.”

The look on her face was worth every second of it.

Your spouse (erroneously) thinks they’ve done a good job hiding the fact that they’re an assassin for hire from you. You’ve known for years now, but find just how awful they are at hiding it endearing, and don’t want to spoil it for them.

"I may or may not have planted a beanstalk in the backyard on accident."

I bit my lip waiting for my husband's response. It's not the most welcome of homecomings after a long day at work.

Jack's eye twitches. "You...what?"

"It was an accident! The trader swore they were peas! You know I've been wanting a garden."

Jack runs over to the window and sees the beanstalk. It had only been an hour since I planted it, but it was already nearly as tall as the house.

I wring my hands. "I'm sorry! What do we do?"

Jack sighs. "I'll chop it down. Let me put my stuff down first."

I let out a breath of relief. "Thanks."

30 minutes later, the beanstalk is gone. Jack comes back inside, sweating. "If you have any more seeds, I can plant them for you, since I already need to shower."

I hand over the remaining seeds and kiss him on the cheek. "I love you. I'll start on dinner."

Several minutes later, I'm chopping vegetables when the door slams open and Jack comes back inside with wide eyes.

"Okay, I know those were strawberries, but look at them now." He points out the back door, to where a gigantic strawberry vine is slowly but surely poking out of the ground.

I drop the carrot I'm holding in shock.

Jack is fuming. "That trader better watch out, because the next time I see him, I'm giving him a piece of my mind!"

"Wait, try these," I say, handing him some more seeds. "Those ones came from my friend Ella. They should be apple trees. Normal ones."

Jack stomps outside and comes back in 10 minutes later. "They're growing like weeds! Good weeds, I suppose, but they're already starting to flower. It must not be the seeds."

"Maybe it's the dirt," I suggest. "Made anyone mad enough to curse our garden lately?"

Jack turns red.

I put down my knife and raise an eyebrow at him.

He blushes harder. "I may or may not have told Gothel that I couldn't fix her tower. She didn't like that, but I didn't think she would curse our garden!"

I shrug and resume chopping. "We'll make the best of it then. Super sized fruit will go a lot longer. Maybe we can sell some of it too!"

Writing Prompt #2742

"You know I love you."

"Of course."

"And I don't want to do anything to worry you."

"That's a really bad start to this conversation."

"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again." - C. S. Lewis

I frown. "You have a therapist?"

He scoffs. "I kill people for a living. Of course I have a therapist! Pamela is completely qualified, if that's what you're worried about."

My brow furrows. "So...you want me, your public nemesis number 1, to come to your home, chill in your guest room, and chat with your therapist?"

He rolls his eyes. "That's not...actually, yeah. That's pretty accurate."

"Why?"

"I need someone around that I'm not paying to keep me company."

I think that was supposed to be a joke, but his delivery was a bit to dry, too forced. Is he...lonely? I shake my head. "But why are you offering that to me? What if I say no?"

He growls. "I just offered you mercy. Your life. And your questioning me? I threatened your life and you actually asked me to.... I don't think you're okay." He folds his arms as if to say, I win. Give it your best shot. The prick even raises his eyebrows to taunt me. Jerk.

I grit my teeth. "So you just want me to sit around your house all day? Where's the fun in that?"

He rubs a hand on his temples. "What part of 'talk to my therapist' did you not understand? I'm serious. We've been fighting over this kingdom for years, and you've always put up a fight."

I know when I've lost a fight, and this is no different. I have a feeling that even if I sit down and refuse to move, he would knock me out and take me back anyway.

I sigh. "Fine, I'll meet Pamela. She better be a good listener."

Under the mask, I think I can see a smile. "She is."

And I know I must have imagined it, but later, I could swear that he mumbled under his breath, "And so am I."

When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.

The prophetess gave me a look. “That’s disgusting.”

I shrugged, unable to keep the smug grin off my face. “But it worked. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. And, I got a date!”

She groaned. “Priorities, Isabel, priorities!”

I frowned. “I’m sorry, was “get Isabel a man” not number one?”

“No!”

I laugh. “Teasing, Anna! Chill out. He’s cute!”

Anna groaned again. “Please, just call it off. Fight him, win, everything is solved.”

She rubbed her temples as I shook my head apologetically. 

“Sorry,” I said. I really was a bit sorry. I liked Anna. Truthfully, I had gone to the meeting place with every intention of ending everything. But he was just so sweet, and when we started talking, we couldn’t stop. Masks came off, and one thing led to another and then we were kissing. 

When I relayed the details of the meeting to Anna, she could only shake her head.

“I hope you’re happy,” she grumbled. “Messing with prophecies and fate. It’s a nasty business, and you never know how it’ll turn out.”

I didn’t respond, knowing my words would only hurt. I turned and left the room, hiding my face.

Anna was my best friend, and I didn’t want her to see the hurt she had caused me. 

I would go on my date tonight with the former villain, and hopefully Anna would still be here when I got back. 

No one, not even my best friend, could tell me what to do.

"I said you were destined to lock fists with the villain! Not lips!" "Well it worked, didn't it?"

The first few times, I didn’t understand why everything felt so familiar. I would wake up at 16 with nothing but vague dreams from every time before. My room sometimes looked different than I thought it should. Eventually, I started to keep a diary. Strangely, it always stuck around when the clock reset. 

That was how I figured out the timeline. 30 whole years. I lived from 16 to 35, and on the morning of my 46th birthday, I would wake up at 16 again. 

Once I realized what was happening, I tried to make the best of it. I lived each time out differently, reading about everything I had done before in my diary.

One time, I married my best friend. The next, I married someone I met in college. A few times, I didn’t get married, once I didn’t go to college.

I had four kids after I graduated, then one kid during college, then no kids at all.

Once, I had a kid before I was even out of high school. 

Saved my father’s life, didn’t get there in time.

Got arrested (only made that mistake once), became a bad influence, became a good one.

Got an office job, worked as a police officer, tried my hand at acting, singing, dancing, tried graphic design.

Made friends, lost friends, made more.

I made plenty of mistakes, especially in the beginning. But then, doesn’t everyone? Some of them I made over and over again, but some mistakes you only make once.

I never figured out what was causing me to reset my life. 

But I didn’t really care.

See, most people only get one life, no matter how long or short it is.

My life may have only been 30 years, but I got to do it over and over again, however I wanted.

In my opinion, that’s a gift.

I love my life.

You are caught in a time loop but instead of resetting you daily, it resets you every 30 years

The little girl watched as the kind man held her brother. 

A single tear ran down his cheek, and she felt one on her own face.

Even the kind man was crying.

The little girl looked out the window of his shop and surveyed the scene. The blood, the cars, the flashing lights of cop cars, ambulances, and firetrucks alike. 

Behind her, her brother sobbed, “I’m sorry, Ella.”

Ella cried into her hands silently, wishing she could make a sound, touch him. She felt a tug, deep inside her, but she fought it.

A paramedic was tending to her brother, wrapping his wounds and scolding him for putting himself in danger.

“Ella was in trouble,” he said stubbornly.

The kind man held his good hand. “Is the girl going to be okay?”

The paramedic stayed quiet.

Ella ignored the tugging, sobbing silently, screaming into the soundless void.

He spoke again. “Did they catch the man who hit her?”

Ella watched as the paramedic shook his head slowly, and her brother screamed in anger. 

More people came in and out of the shop. Police officers wanting to question her brother and the kind man, medics checking on him, and finally, their parents made it through the backed up traffic and yellow tape, bursting in to hug their son tearfully.

“It wasn’t your fault,” they whispered over and over again.

Ella agreed with them, trying to join their hug.

This time she couldn’t fight the tugging. She was pulled away from her family.

Forever.

Writing Prompt #2822

"Kid, sit down." The man held a hand on the injured teen's shoulder. "You almost died twenty minutes ago. Take a breath."

"But someone has to go out there and save her! It's my fault she—"

"It's nobody's damn fault but the bastard who did this. You're not responsible for everyone else. The sooner you learn that, the better."