More MWM Live practice. This one took a little longer, had trouble getting rid of the word “crawl” from the list of random words.

Travis woke up, still tied to the bed. He couldn’t see Laura, but could hear movement downstairs. Cups clicked together, water pouring. He guessed that she was making tea, and was surprised that he didn’t immediately want some. Looking up, he could see why.

Banging on the surface of the mirror that hung above Laura’s bed, desperately trying to break through from the other side, from whatever place it was that lay on the other side of Laura’s mirror, was a carbon copy of Travis. The copy’s skin looked parched, cracking in places, and it clutched at its throat from time to time. Behind it, other versions of Travis crawled across the surface, like men trapped under ice, their mouths open in soundless screams.

“There’s no point looking at them,” said Laura as she walked in, holding the predicted cups of tea. “They never do anything else. They are such base creatures.”

Her voice was emotionless and yet Travis did not find it cold. There was some pure about it, some clear and resonant, like listening to church bells chiming on a quiet morning. He realised it was not the world that had become quieter though, but his own mind.

“Will I miss them?” he asked. His own voice, although not quite as clear as Laura’s, had a clarity that he had never experienced before, as if the world moved slightly aside to accommodate his words.

“No,” replied Laura. “The mirror is so greedy, it always takes the needs first. Another few days, and you will never want or need anything again.”

“I thought so,” replied Travis. “I heard you making tea, but didn’t think for a moment I wanted any. I’m sure I used to love tea.”

“You did,” said Laura, “But now you are free even of that foible.”

“Man unbound …” whispered Travis, remembering the name of the book that Laura had given him, back at the very beginning of their bizarre experiment.

“Not quite yet,” Laura countered, and poured the boiling tea across Travis’ chest. “We have still to remove your pain, and your fear.”

But Travis didn’t hear her. The part of him that was screaming in pain was already trapped on the other side of the mirror.

More practice for Monkeys with Machineguns Live!

Found a fantastic site for generating random ideas, http://shortstoryideas.herb.me.uk/index.html, which I will blog about later. In the meantime, here’s the end of the line.

Vera had heard about the telephone box. It was the last one left in the county, apparently, sitting quietly on the corner of the village green. It was never vandalised, unlike the play area just a few yards away, never put into service as a make shift toilet or short term accommodation for teenagers overcome by hormones and cheap cider.

No, the phone box just sat, and waited for you to make a call.

It was after John left, that Vera used it.

“It is only for emergencies,” Vera’s mother’s voice rang in the ear of memory as, with a trembling hand, she took hold of the telephone box door’s shiny brass handle. “Real emergencies”.

Vera caught sight of her reflection in the glass. Dark rings surrounded her bloodshot and tear ruined eyes. Her hair had taken on a peculiar shape, mirroring her dishevelled three-days-on clothes.

“Real emergencies,” she whispered to herself, and opened the door.

Inside, the telephone box was silent. The outside world seemed a million miles away as the door shut behind Vera with a soft click. Vera had never been inside the phone box before, but she had heard descriptions, in the rumours and the stories that people told from time to time.

She looked at the sturdy gunmetal grey telephone case. She gingerly lifted up the handset. As she had been told, there was no dial, and nowhere to insert any money. Just a grey metal box, a handset … and a voice at the end of the line.

“Hello?”

Vera jumped, involuntarily. “Hello?” she replied.

“Hello. This is the voice at the end of the line. Can I help you?”

“It … it’s an emergency,” said Vera.

“We understand,” replied the voice. “Tell us what you need, Vera”

Vera didn’t even flinch at the mention of her name. Her mother hand told her that the voice at the end of the line knew things, things about the people in the village.

“It’s Steve, my husband,” said Vera. “He’s left me and …”

“Do you want him back?” asked the voice. “Back can be … difficult”

“No, I don’t want him back,” replied Vera.

“Good,” said the voice. “Then let us discuss your options”.