The Artifact

The writing prompt for this piece was – One January morning, you awake and discover that you have become invisible. What happens?

The Artifact

 

The alarm went off. It was time to awaken. I stretched my arms above my head and slowly got out of bed. The previous late-night’s workload at the lab had taken its toll. 

I am a scientist at NASA’s Alien Technology Analysis Department. That new artifact that had been brought to Area 51 was a puzzle. It took hours for me to take it apart. Inside, I found countless connections to trace, buttons to push, and liquids held within to break down and analyze. And still, I had no idea what its purpose was.

As I passed a mirror in the hallway, I was taken by the image reflected there. Or should I say the lack of image? What was wrong with the mirror? Everything behind me seemed to be reflected except for me. 

I looked down at myself and could see all of me. I went back to the bedroom, and I woke up my wife. She opened her eyes, bewildered. 

“Do you see anything different about me today?” I asked. 

“Where are you?” she screamed. “And why did you wake me up? I don’t have to go to work.”

“I’m right here,” I responded. 

“Oh, sure you are. Stupid joke; Now go away wherever you are and let me sleep!”

This made it even more confusing for me. 

I dressed, went downstairs, and had breakfast. Every mirror in the house reflected the same lack of me.

I got into my car and drove to the lab. The drivers I passed stared at me. Could they not see me, either? If so, I was lucky not to have been stopped by police as a rogue, runaway, driverless car.

My destination was the security entrance gate to the Area 51 compound. How was I to get in, if they couldn’t see me? Unfortunately, or fortunately, as it happened, it never came to that. 

The being that showed up in the road ahead of me made me stop the car. It pointed to me and made a signal that I should step out of the vehicle. 

I was a bit unnerved by this, but being a scientist and curious, I chose to do as instructed. 

“You have something that belongs to us,” was spoken to me in perfect English.

“You can see me,” I asked, “Who are you, and where do you come from?”

“I repeat,” it replied, “You have something that belongs to us. We wish for its return.”

“What are you talking about?” I stammered, “I have nothing, and as a matter of fact, I am nothing at the moment. Did you do this to me?”

The alien, for that is what it must be, spoke, “So many questions, inquisitive one. Return the device you have been playing with, and all will be well.”

“Do you mean the device I took apart yesterday?”

“Again, with the questions – Yes. Return it now.” the being demanded. 

Don’t ask me what happened next. I found myself back in the lab at my workstation. All the pieces in front of me made more sense, and I managed to put them all back together. No one in the lab even noticed what I was doing. 

Next, I found myself back on the road with that alien thing, who promptly took the device from me and disappeared before my eyes. 

I returned to my car, glanced up at the rearview mirror, and saw my own reflection. 

As I continued to the lab, I wondered; how I was ever going to explain the missing artifact. 

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You Have a Holy What?

The writing prompt for this was – “Hole”

You Have a Holy –  What?

As a kid, I always dreamed I had a hole in my hand. This was not visible to the outside world, but I could access it. The idea probably originated from my reading of Green Lantern and Flash comics. When superheroes needed their super suits to rescue someone in distress, they just popped open a ring or some small object, and their miniaturized little suit would appear and immediately grow to its regular size.

So, I wanted something just like that. I didn’t like rings and the like, so I wanted a hole in my hand. From this hole, I could pull out any object I wanted that I might need. Sure, I wanted to be a superhero, and with this hole storage area, I managed to pull out weapons and other necessary items in my fight against crime.  However, that wasn’t its only purpose. Anything I wanted could be miniaturized and stored in my endless storage compartment in my hand. 

If I needed an extra table and chairs for an event. They were in my hand. If I needed a casserole dish to prepare a meal (which I didn’t do much of as a kid); the hand had it. 

I just needed to think of something I wanted; it might have been something I never heard of before that day, and it was there for the taking in my hand. When I was done using whatever I created. It would shrink back and go right into storage again. 

For most of my childhood, this belief continued in my mind. I even envisioned it in my waking hours. 

Don’t you all wish that you could have that capability? Think of the money you’d save.

 

Now, for the hole in my head, which I’ve been told numerous times that I must have, that is a (w)hole other story. Maybe I’ll write about that sometime…if the idea doesn’t escape my head. 

 

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The Torch has been Passed

The Torch Has Been Passed

There he stands, the old man. I’ve seen pictures of my ancestors’ final days. They are old men, too, leaning on their scythe with a spent hourglass in hand. You can see the aged wrinkles on their faces, white beards hanging down to their waists, a tired expression with a glimpse of happiness on their face, knowing that they’ve left a wish of prosperity to their descendants. But this is not the man I see before me.

Yes, he is old, but the scars and baggage he has accumulated in 2024 are greater than those that preceded him. His back bent low, his expression not one of hope for the future he must pass on. He looks at me with foreboding and sadness. He hesitates as he passes his burdens on me and slowly hobbles away to join his brethren. 

‘Tis the next day. It is 2025. I stand here alone. It is said that the age of puberty has grown shorter and shorter over the years. I am a case in point. I should be a baby. I should be slowly taking in the information left by my father and age throughout the 365+ days of my life at a normal pace until I reach the time to pass on at the end of December. Puberty, for me, should not occur until at least May. The cold months of January through March are meant for me to learn about the past and create building blocks for the future. April through June are when I grow the seeds of my knowledge, blossom, and learn more about who I am. July through September is when I bear the fruit of all my endeavors. Leaving me from October to December to forge the pathway for my future child and the role he must take the following year when he takes my place. 

But here I sit, the day after. My sash claiming I am the newborn 2025 is already tattered. I need to be the adult I am not yet, for there is so much to deal with that was left to me that cannot wait. If my father looked the way he did when he passed, what am I to become when I have so much to fix before I’ve even started?

I call to the friends and supporters of my ancestors. I reach out to Hope, Compassion, Acceptance, Empathy, Respect, Love, and Trust. I plead to Intelligence, Understanding, Truth, and Community to take a stronger role in my tasks. 

I am more than a compiler of data, a collector of records, an observer of what passes. I am an active participant in this world. My appearance and demeanor represent all that is happening—the joys, the sorrows, the ups and downs, the rights and the wrongs.

Can I age out before my time is up? I don’t know. It has never been tested, and I do not wish to find out. I want to live a full life. I want to age gracefully, not in shame, as my father did. I want to be remembered as someone to emulate. I do not want to leave to my offspring what was left to me. 

Therein lies my tale. It is but the day after my father entrusted me with my task. I believe a better future is in store for me and the world. How it ends, time will tell.

 

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The Forgotten Journey

Today’s writing prompt was – Light. I chose to write about light in the darkness.

The Forgotten Journey

It was a dark and stormy night. Oh wait, I’ve done that line before. Well, it was darkish, at least, though it was during the day. The storm and night came much later.

I found myself in the middle of the Forgotten Woods. For those of you who have never heard of the Forgotten Woods, I should describe it to you. I was going to say something here, but I forgot what it was. 

Anyway, here I stand in the middle of this wooded area. Around me, there are lots of trees. It must be some sort of forest or woods or something. I have no idea how I got here or how to get out of here. This is a problem; I’m sure I should be somewhere else. 

It’s good that I have my writing notebook to write down what is happening should I be asked to write about this experience someday. 

Drawing a map might be a good idea to track where I have been. As I take out my pencil to begin drawing, I’m astounded at the beauty of all these trees. They all reach high into the sky and diffuse the sunlight so that shadows surround me. If I had my phone, I would have taken a picture of them. But I must have forgotten it at home.

There is a winding path in front of me that I choose to take. Hopefully, that will get me to where I am going. 

I can hear the sounds of different kinds of birds chirping and squawking all around me. I bet they’re having a good laugh at my predicament. 

I notice that I’m carrying my writer’s notebook. I should write all this down in case someone asks me to write about this experience someday. 

Someone must have been in this forest before. I see remnants of pages torn from someone’s notebook along the way, with scribbles that resemble my writing. Either someone is copying my writing style, or I left them there on a previous trip. I should remember that, shouldn’t I?

You know, it’s not a bad idea to leave clues; I might pass this way again. As  I go to tear out a page from my writer’s notebook, I discover some pages in my book have been torn out and are missing. I wonder who did that. I would never treat my writer’s notebook like that.

The sun is going down, and my tree area is getting darker. I decide to go toward the sunset, hoping that will get me somewhere I recognize. The path I’m walking on is headed in that direction anyway. 

It’s not long before I see a break in the trees. Could this be the end of my journey?

As I leave the Forgotten Woods, some memories begin to return. I remember that I was challenged to go into the woods alone by some friends of mine. I sort of remember starting my journey, but the next thing I recall is coming out of the woods.

Being much wiser now, I circumnavigate the woods to return to my starting point, thus averting any more forgetting. 

When I was confronted by my friends who challenged me about my experience, I looked down at my notebook with its torn pages. My response to them was simple. “I’m not going to tell you. I left clues for you all in the forest. It’s up to you to find them and get the answers to your questions. Good Luck.” That was my challenge, or maybe it was payback.

I turned away from them and headed back home. The last I heard, of the five that went in, at least three were still looking for clues. 

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I remember…

The writing prompt for this piece was “I remember…”

I Remember…

I remember the day that it happened so long ago. 

We were at the seashore, looking out at the turbulent waves rushing towards us on the shore. As they reached the shore, there was a loud crashing sound, the sand tossing in spirals in the air to match each wave. Each wave followed the other. 

Then, as the sky darkened, it came. I’m not sure who saw it first, but the reaction to this bedraggled creature was the same. It was one of awe and fright. 

As the creature, for that is the only thing it could be called, stood up, it stared at us. Its skin matched the undulations of the waves. Its color was the darkness of the sky. However, its face did not match the body it possessed. It was that of a child. 

We stood frozen in place as this child/creature moved toward us. As it looked us over, it appeared to be examining us. It stopped before me and waited.

But what was it waiting for? We didn’t know. And then, it spoke. 

My partner and I looked at each other. At the same time, we both said. “It spoke in …” I said, “English’. My partner said, “German.”

It wanted to know where it was and who we were. 

I explained that we were humans, and my partner, a language teacher, more curious than me, spoke in French, “Nous vivons aux États-Unis sur une planète appelée Terre.”

The creature nodded. It said, “Thank you.” This time, we heard it in English and French.

We had so many questions, but it did not stay to hear them. It just turned and faded back into the sea.

As it disappeared, the darkness receded, and the waves dissolved into a calm. 

It has been 7 years since that day. Neither of us wishes to talk about it, unsure if it ever happened. But I can assure you I remember the day that it happened so long ago.

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The List

The writing prompt for this week is – Lists of things you don’t want either to give or get. I brought in an old friend of mine for that.

The List

I ran into my friend Ronald the other day. He was looking rather forlorn. This was unusual for Ronald. He always seemed to be a perky person, looking for adventure, ready to tackle any trouble coming his way. At least, as long as the trouble passed him by and was foisted on someone else…usually me. 

So I asked him, “You look troubled, Ron, what’s up?”

“I don’t understand it,” he said, “everywhere I go and try to do something, I get sent away.”

“Can you give me some examples?” I asked.

“You know that kid that’s been missing in our neighborhood for a week? Well, I thought I saw him, so I went to the police station and wanted to report it, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“Isn’t that the same kid that you’ve been going to the police every day since you heard there was a reward for information to finding him, telling them that you’ve seen the kid somewhere else?”

“Yeah. What’s your point?”

“And haven’t you been at home the last 3 days claiming to be sick?”

“I had to go get my medicine,” he replied, “and the drug store is next to the police station, and I could have seen him there.”

“Where else have you been sent away from?”

“The Supermarket. Is it my fault that the few times I’ve been in Stop and Shop, something stacked collapsed in the aisle I was in? And I was going to pay for that bag of cookies, but I forgot to take them out of my cart, or maybe it was my jacket pocket because my cart was full; I’m not sure. Now, if anyone recognizes me in the store, they ask me to leave unless a responsible adult accompanies me.”

“Is that all?” I continued.

“Well, there is your parent’s house. That’s been going on since we were kids. It’s just not fair.”

“Look at it this way,” I suggested, “Most criminals gain their notoriety by being placed on a public ‘Wanted’ list, gaining more fame the higher they rank. Conversely, you have gained your notoriety and rank as ‘Number 1’ on everyone’s ‘Unwanted List’ with very little work on your part.”

Ronald thought about that for a few seconds and smiled, “You know, you’re right. I am famous for not getting myself in trouble, yet no one wants me around. It’s an honor to be on an unwanted list.”

“Except you’re not on my unwanted list.” I said, “I still consider you my friend.”

“True,” he said, “which reminds me, I have a great idea of what we can do today.”

I stammered, “You…i..idea…us together?”

“Sure!” he shouted. It’ll be great fun. What could possibly go wrong?”

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The Inheritance

The writing prompt for this piece was a set of words to choose from to start our writing. I chose all of the words to include in this piece. The words were: And, Maybe, Time, Wait, Before, Now, and Thanksgiving. 

The Inheritance

And the time had come. It was difficult to wait this long. The decision had been made before I was born. Now was the moment that I was to use my inheritance. 

I never believed I would be able to do this. 

My first Thanksgiving as a teenager was when my grandfather pulled me aside and explained it all to me.  

“Harvey, you have been given a gift,” he said, “The firstborn male child of every other generation inherits it. When you reach your 21st birthday, at the exact time you were born, you must say these words:

The time is right. 

I have no fright. 

I need to use the power of flight. 

Back in time is where I will go, 

To the ancestor, that will let me know

The power that I hold within.“

My grandfather couldn’t tell me what that power he spoke of was. He told me that only the first one could explain. My grandfather was clear that my words would send me back in time to where the power originated and that all questions would be answered. 

I had eight years to ponder this. Eight anxious, frustrating years of letting my imagination go wild. Just the thought of being able to travel through time was enough to feed my dreams with all sorts of alternative realities. 

I couldn’t talk to my parents about it, for they were not of the chosen generation. They would have no knowledge of what was to happen. 

You should note that a few days after my grandfather gave me the words, he passed away. At least, I think he did. He just disappeared one day and was never seen again.  When I asked my mother about it, she informed me that all my grandparents had passed away before I was born.

Despite arguing that I had seen and talked to her father, she said I must have just been dreaming.

 

So here I stand, twenty years old at 4:22 in the morning, waiting for the second hand to reach 12. 

Was it all a dream? Time travel isn’t possible, right? This is a foolish thing to do. But no one is here with me. I mean, it doesn’t hurt to try. Maybe this power that I have in me can be used to help this world. It certainly needs it.

 

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1:

“The time is right. 

I have no fright. 

I need to use the power of flight. 

Back in time is where’ll go, 

To the ancestor that will let me know 

The power that I hold within.” 

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My Thanksgiving Wish 2024

Thanksgiving Message 2024

I’m sorry I’m late with my Thanksgiving wishes this year. There are too many issues that fill up my thoughts. The continuation of wars and conflicts, the steps toward a solution to climate change, and political decisions that have caused much anger, anxiety, depression, and hate. Add to that diseases, homelessness, and food shortages around the world. Where is our future headed? All these pressing concerns made it difficult for me to create a Thanksgiving message.

The path that we’ve chosen to take is a difficult one. Our unity seems shattered by a change in our perception of who we are. As a nation where we were one, willing to disagree but accept each other, we are now divided into groups. Groups of individuals that are unwilling to accept each other, hence, do not work with each other for the common good. 

As I said in last year’s message, the seeds needed to grow and nurture things to be grateful for must be planted deep into our hearts and minds. Let them grow and flourish this year to build a world where people listen to each other. A world where individual differences are accepted and compromises made. A world of peace, not destruction. A world of beauty. 

I know it’s hard now. The anger we feel, the frustration, and the sense of hopelessness block those seeds from germinating fully. We cannot let those hindrances block what we need to survive. 

Don’t give up. Don’t distance yourself from what we can do together despite those who threaten to prevent us from working together. 

Change happens, not always for the good; however, we still can overcome the blocks. We just need to focus on who we are and want to be. 

It’s okay to be angry and frustrated sometimes, but don’t let it overshadow you: my friends, family, and all I work with and care about. Stay strong. For then, we will have lots to be thankful for. And we can continue to celebrate Thanksgiving every day of the year. 

To all my friends, family, acquaintances, and everyone else, that is my wish for you, a little late, for Thanksgiving day, 2024 and on. Be well. Stay safe. 

 

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It Happened on the Overnight Express

The prompt for this piece was “A ride on a train.”

It Happened on the Overnight Express

It was to be a long train ride. Jeremy had never been on a long train ride before. The longest ride he’d been on was for a couple of hours. But this one was an overnight ride. It had sleeping compartments and catered meals. It was a big deal for him. The best part was that his company was paying for it. Also, as a part-time storyteller, he hoped that the trip and meeting he was to attend would be fodder for stories he could use when he performed.

This meeting was of top executives and planners involved in creating a new form of communication. It was known as the Let Individuals Attune Reality System (L.I.A.R.S.). It allowed one to send instant information to the global community that was authenticated and factual based on research and public interest – sources withheld. Jeremy’s boss managed to get an invite for Jeremy.

The L.I.A.R.S. had been tested in Russia, China, and the U.S. for how it could be used to impact real-time knowledge, with much success. Now, Jeremy’s role was to become part of it. 

There were several strange individuals on this voyage. Some were well-dressed males with slick-backed hair who must have been going to the same meeting as Jeremy. He overheard several conversations in the dining car reflecting on the recent election’s results and how it turned out so positively for them.

There were also a few women involved in these conversations. They were inputting some rather radical ideas into the discussion. Jeremy didn’t believe they were active implementers of the L.I.A.R.S. project but that they certainly had participated as subjects.

It was overnight, when all were in their sleeping compartments that the incident occurred. There was a scream, and as Jeremy rushed out to find out what had caused it, he tripped over a body on the floor.  He recognized the person immediately as a reporter for the Times. The reporter was dead. 

This train ride now became a Murder on the Orient Express event. There happened to be a famous detective on the train. All the passengers were interviewed about their knowledge of the deceased, where they were when the scream was heard, and any connections they had with the reporter. Unfortunately, Jeremy became the lead suspect as he was the one who found the body first. 

Something about the L.I.A.R.S. project was the motive for the person who did it. Jeremy, being a storyteller, meant that his testimony was considered unreliable. 

Jeremy’s cover had been blown. He was not a supporter of the Let Individuals Attune Reality System, and it was clear that he was at the meeting for some other nefarious purpose. 

As circumstantial was the evidence. He was taken away and charged with the murder. 

Of course, Jeremy’s boss at the Telling Rational Underlings True Happenings (T.R.U.T.H.) company denied all knowledge of him or why he was there.

Guess that is the way the world works now.

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These times they are a-changin’

This week’s writing Spark was a picture prompt. I chose the first picture in this writing as my inspiration

These Times They Are a-Changin’

I grew up in the Bronx in the 1950s and 1960s. I have fond memories of all the places and things I did there. My mother passed away in 1998, so that was the last time I got to visit my old stomping grounds. The picture of the old RKO Marble Hill Movie Theater that I found online reminded me of when I used to go there to see movies with my parents and sisters. As I aged out of children’s prices, I was taught the art of lying about my age, as I was short for a 12-year-old. I was asked to do that for many years.

Seeing that picture inspired me to return to my home grounds and see how it changed. I was not in the mood to travel there by car, train, or subway, usually a two-hour trip on a good traffic day, so I decided to take a virtual one using Google Maps Street View. I was astonished at what I saw. 

Where the movie theater used to stand, there is now a Walgreens pharmacy. Across the street, where my mother used to work as a dental assistant, there is now an AmeriTel T-Mobile exclusive dealer. 

Around the corner where the Dale Movie Theater was (the other place we occasionally went to see movies) is a parking garage and an H&R Block office.

Moving up Broadway, a few blocks away, where there used to be a public swimming pool in the summer (in the winter, it was an indoor ice skating rink), there is a shopping mall. I spent most of my early childhood and teen years either swimming (and when I was old enough lifeguarding) at the pool or winter skating (note: In 1971, when I was playing ice hockey for Stony Brook University, we played an away game at that rink. It was one of the only games I ever scored a goal and my parents were there to watch me).

Seeing those changes, I became reticent to check where my old apartment house was. There were so many memories that I didn’t want tainted, but I couldn’t resist.

My parent’s apartment house was on the street opposite Manhattan College in a section of the Bronx called Riverdale (not the one where all the Archie comics and TV shows refer to, though I was an Archie comic reader). There was a small park adjacent to the building, as was the hill on which our apartment building was built. Half of the building was on the lower street across from the college (the basement and first five floors), and the rest was built on a parallel street at the top of the hill (floors 7 through 11. The 5th and 6th floors were where the two halves connected.

I’ve written about the bare hill on the side of the apartment building before: https://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=2755,  Notice the bottom of the hill next to the apartment.

The lower part was easy to sled on. The part you don’t see going up to the other street was steep. That was not used for sledding at all except for in the warmer months. That’s when we broke down cardboard boxes and used them to slide down the dirt-covered hill. That was until someone decided to build a house there, ending all attempts at sledding there. 

Returning to the old neighborhood, I expected to see the apartment and the house blocking the steep hill. Google Maps allows me to see pictures taken in different years. In the most recent year (2022), the house was demolished. In the 2019 picture, it still stood. They are building a mixed-use apartment complex in place of the destroyed building. What was woods and greenery will now be an apartment building. 

     

I know that as we move into the future, we look for improvements in our lifestyles—better housing for everyone, more access to things we need—but let’s not forget where we came from. Let’s not take away all of the things in life that nurture us and that we enjoy. Let’s make the places that we live in the ones that we want to return to in reality, not just virtually – the parks, the swimming holes and public pools, the frozen lakes or rinks, the walks through the woods and quaint villages where people sell wares at outdoor markets, and good places to eat that aren’t fast food or cost a fortune Places that we are proud to be part of. 

Yes, these times, they are a-changin’, but let’s slow down and make the change enjoyable. Don’t relive the past, but also, don’t forget it. 

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