By: Colleen Holmquist
Topics:
A package arrives at your character’s door, but they didn’t order anything
Or
Start your story in a traffic jam
Or
Set your story on a Baseball/softball diamond
Or
Something with your name on it
Or
The day the clocks all stopped
Gertrude found herself in a line of cars a mile or two long waiting at the drawbridge. She waited patiently for an hour to move even an inch. Suddenly, the bridge dropped, the traffic resumed and she continued merrily on her way home.
On a certain day at noon Greenwich mean time, all clocks in the known world stopped. No one really noticed—not at first anyway.
At that very instant, Hortense heard a knock at her back door. Cautiously, but curiously, she cracked the door and peered outside. She looked left, right, up, down and saw no one, no cars, no animals, no things. However, as she drew the door closed something prevented it from latching. Looking to her feet, she beheld a package—could it truly be—creeping in. Her eyes scanned the surface for a label. When finally she detected it, the microscopic typescript appeared to be in a foreign language. Afraid to leave the package to look for a magnifying glass, she yelled at her neighbor, Gertrude, who had just stepped out of her car, to bring her one.
A moment later, the two of them were carefully deciphering the words. By all accounts, the package was addressed to Hortense and her neighbor. Both names were on it. Looking up and at each other they simultaneously shrugged their shoulders and upturned their hands in bewilderment—neither recalled having ordering anything.
They were apprehensive about opening the package—it continued to millimeter itself deeper inside the house. Hortense left Gertrude with the parcel and ran to find a butterfly net with which to capture it. Due to its slow progress, they had no trouble casting the net over the unsuspecting box. The deed accomplished, they donned protective eyewear, gloves and chain mail shirts and hoisted the package into the backseat of Gertrude’s SUV.
Hortense kept a watchful eye on the bundle as Gertrude carefully maneuvered the vehicle out of the driveway and on to the street. Looking left, right then left again she eased into the left lane and headed for the local baseball team’s diamond. She pulled into the parking lot and halted under the shade of a spreading chestnut tree.
Gertrude and Hortense hefted the parcel—still in the butterfly net—and tramped to the pitcher’s mound. They intended to leave it there but thinking better of it—due to the uncertainty of its contents, they hefted it again and marched—it seemed fitting, the chain mail and all—to center field where they hastily deposited it, removed the net and hotfooted as fast as the wind to the car without a backwards glance.
Doors locked, windows rolled up, the key in the ignition, the two women deemed their circumstances secure enough to venture a peek at center field. An aurora of chartreuse infused lavender descended from a cloudless sky and the box levitated heavenward evaporating from sight. Stunned, the pair lamented, “Now we shall never know…”
Hortense and Gertrude returned home in silence and at that very instant all the clocks in the known world struck noon.
Such a day as this one was never known, before or after.
By: Arron Leavitt
I’d barely drug myself to the side of my bed in an attempt to confront the day when the doorbell rang. I’m relatively certain I had one of those comic clouds with little skull and crossbones, lightning bolts and exclamation signs hanging over my head as I tried to pull myself together and face whoever it was that wasn’t civilized enough to wait until later. Glaring through the peep hole I saw nothing. I slowly pulled the door open scanning this way and that, no one. That did not help my mood. As I turned around to go shamble about my morning, I spotted something lying just outside the door at my feet. A little bubblegum pink cube lying there. I picked it up to examine it. The small object somehow managed to seem pleased with my discovery and a little smug, which seemed strange for a small inanimate box. On closer examination there was a tiny crank on the side of the box, and an inviting pink button sitting on top. I set it aside for a bit to try to face the day.
The box sat contentedly on my kitchen table while I worked myself through the rest of my morning routine, finally reaching a reluctant state of readiness and sitting back down with a small breakfast to puzzle out the box. No numbers, letters, or descriptions on the box anywhere to assist me, just smooth and pink. Tentatively I turned the crank the tiniest amount with no real effect. Since nothing awful happened I turned it a few more degrees, noticing that the entire box was slowly shifting color. It slowly slid from pink to red, passed through maroon on its way to orange. It was bizarre to watch the entirety of the object shift through each shade, handle, button and all. I set it aside again, heading for the work day ahead.
As I stepped back through the door that evening, worn a bit more from tumbling roughness of another day doing the usual thing, I faced the small box again. Lying there where I’d left it, I could still swear that it was just pleased to exist. I’d left it at a sort of deep purple, verging on blue, a few more cranks and I watched as aqua and a bright sunshine yellow and then a bright shining fuchsia pink took turns on its surface. Well, nothing for it but to try the button, I suppose. I sat there huddled over this fascinating box, feeling a little drab in comparison, and slowly lowered my finger onto the button. There wasn’t a sound, no click, but I thought for a moment there must have been a flash, I was so disoriented. Except it didn’t fade away, my entire room, my outfit, my furniture, my appliances all now exactly matched that eye searing shade of pink. I looked wildly around the room for a few beats then ran to the door to the hall. I quickly realized two things. One, the color ended in a sharp line drawn incredibly precisely down the middle of the doorway. Normal life on one side, insane single color everything on the other. The second thing I realized was that it wasn’t just my things, and my home. As I reached out for the door handle I saw my own hand for the first time since the press. Bright pink. I ran to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror at what felt like looking at a full scale model of myself in fluorescent pink staring back at me. Except it was me. Not good.
It took me a while to work back up to walking back into that room. I swear the box was practically beaming at this point, how a box that wasn’t moving and had no expressions managed that I still don’t know. It felt like it was absolutely ecstatic about being pink. And sharing it with the rest of the room. And me. I cranked the handle again and found a nice pleasing grass green, something less eye searing, and pressed the button again. Again the change was so instantaneous that it took my mind a bit to process. Wall to wall, and ceiling to floor green. I tried a few other shades, and finally decided to venture out of my kitchen. It worked the same on my living room, everything ended up an outrageous banana yellow. TV didn’t work anymore though, or probably did, but a flat surface in which everything is the same color doesn’t convey detail well. I stared at it, baffled at why such a thing would come to be, what purpose could it possibly serve. I wandered into my bedroom, which now seemed both chaotic and drab with its variety of everyday colors. I looked out the open window and heard the normal sounds of the neighborhood drifting in. It seemed so out of place in my decidedly weird evening to have everything else obliviously rolling on. Idly turning the crank, I pressed the button again, still fascinated and baffled by the process. Instantly the room, myself, and the world out my window, right to the horizon were all the exact same shade of retro chartreuse green. And then I panicked. Have you ever had a moment where you’ve made some inadvisable seemingly small action, and immediately realized it was the wrong thing and simultaneously that life doesn’t allow for quick undos? I stared slack-jawed out the window then frantically tapped all the clear surfaces of the cube willing it to stop doing that. I cranked and pressed the button again. Having every mundane object be a nondescript beige was not really an improvement. My hands fell to my sides, I couldn’t even grasp what had just happened. I stood there for a while with my finger resting on the button, then dropped the box and jumped back when it made a soft “bing”. I stared at it on my floor, my mind spinning it’s wheels uselessly for a few minutes, then it slowly dawned on me. It was nestled there on the burnt orange carpet that I kind of hated, next to my blue jeans and a green sock that really should have been in the laundry. I let out a breath that had apparently been trapped for a while and collapsed in a heap on the floor staring at my ceiling. So, if your last Tuesday evening was, um more weirdly colorful than should have been possible, I’m sorry. But that box is very happy to have helped.
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