“Looks like a crack to another dimension to me, mate, notoriously tricky to fix; and expensive I might add.”
“It’ll cost a lot, then?” I asked, not completely without humour. Although I knew the crack looked strange- it had a glow which wasn’t normal in a ground floor crack.
The fixer continued, “Not in cash terms, mate- no callout even; job like this is for the good of humanity.
“It will cost you, though.”
“Could you elaborate a bit more?” I asked after he left it hanging.
“What it will cost you, mate, is your life in this world. You opened it, you have to close it.”
I have to say he had me there. I didn’t really like to dabble: I was interested but the artefacts, even those known to work, scared me too much.
Normally. The rock had called me to it, though.
It was only small, a pretty, pale blue-green thing I found in the park. I’d noticed it when it rolled across the path.
When I picked it up I felt something immediately. Its power, I guess; things suddenly just seemed, well, possible.
I started by moving a coin across the table, a feeling told me to make the crack; then I moved a chair, a feeling told me to make the crack; I tried to make myself invisible, I made myself opaque, a feeling told me to make the crack; I thought about the possibilities of time travel, a feeling told me to make the crack; I moved through the flat not really in control of my legs, feeling the need to make the crack; and in the kitchen it took control completely and caused the crack to appear.
I came round and called up Bill.
“Do I just crawl in, then?” I asked him, with an air of resignation.
“Yes, but give me the rock first.”
He took a piece of felt from his pocket, the same colour as the rock, placed it over his palm and held out his hand, starting to say something under his breath as he did. I went to place it on his hand but lost control again, freezing before it got there, so he swiftly moved his hand up, took the rock and wrapped it up tight.
“It will have no power to stop you now,” he said and placed it in my hoodie’s front pocket. Then he nodded at the crack and said, “Go on with you,” before falling mournfully silent. He even looked down as if at a graveside.
Without thinking I stepped forward into the crack and the world around me changed in an instant.
Ever since I have lived in a world seemingly consisting of one long cave. I walk down it until I tire and have to sleep, I eat whatever it is the grows on the walls, and I pray that I will eventually find a rock that will open up a crack to take me back home.
“It’ll cost a lot, then?” I asked, not completely without humour. Although I knew the crack looked strange- it had a glow which wasn’t normal in a ground floor crack.
The fixer continued, “Not in cash terms, mate- no callout even; job like this is for the good of humanity.
“It will cost you, though.”
“Could you elaborate a bit more?” I asked after he left it hanging.
“What it will cost you, mate, is your life in this world. You opened it, you have to close it.”
I have to say he had me there. I didn’t really like to dabble: I was interested but the artefacts, even those known to work, scared me too much.
Normally. The rock had called me to it, though.
It was only small, a pretty, pale blue-green thing I found in the park. I’d noticed it when it rolled across the path.
When I picked it up I felt something immediately. Its power, I guess; things suddenly just seemed, well, possible.
I started by moving a coin across the table, a feeling told me to make the crack; then I moved a chair, a feeling told me to make the crack; I tried to make myself invisible, I made myself opaque, a feeling told me to make the crack; I thought about the possibilities of time travel, a feeling told me to make the crack; I moved through the flat not really in control of my legs, feeling the need to make the crack; and in the kitchen it took control completely and caused the crack to appear.
I came round and called up Bill.
“Do I just crawl in, then?” I asked him, with an air of resignation.
“Yes, but give me the rock first.”
He took a piece of felt from his pocket, the same colour as the rock, placed it over his palm and held out his hand, starting to say something under his breath as he did. I went to place it on his hand but lost control again, freezing before it got there, so he swiftly moved his hand up, took the rock and wrapped it up tight.
“It will have no power to stop you now,” he said and placed it in my hoodie’s front pocket. Then he nodded at the crack and said, “Go on with you,” before falling mournfully silent. He even looked down as if at a graveside.
Without thinking I stepped forward into the crack and the world around me changed in an instant.
Ever since I have lived in a world seemingly consisting of one long cave. I walk down it until I tire and have to sleep, I eat whatever it is the grows on the walls, and I pray that I will eventually find a rock that will open up a crack to take me back home.
Written for the Woven Tale's Weekly Contest, from the prompt, Crack.
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