Writing On The Walls 1 Page 3

  The anxiety would start. And then there would be more arguing. And although they still worked, she knew they would never complete the task. Time would be up. They never knew it until the end though.

  As she blew smoke from her mouth into the air, she watched the six groups of six do all the same things she had seen time and time again. All the wrong things.

  She jotted down a few more notes about each group and was about to resign herself to watching in boredom when she saw something on one of the screens that made her lean forward.

  In one of the groups, there was a man. A young man, twenty-five or so. At the moment that she noticed him, he was asking a question of his group mates, a question that she had never heard anyone ask before.

  His group looked puzzled for a moment while they considered his question. The young man gently explained his thoughts, while neither coercing nor manipulating his new friends into following him.

  And finally, they got back to work. And this time when she watched, this group was doing things she had never seen any other groups do before. And they were going fast. They might beat the time limit. She had never been sure if it could actually be beaten. But she thought that they could do it.

  She stood up like a spectator at a sporting event watching the ball fly toward the goal, hoping that her team would score.

  Then the whistle blew and they were done. They had completed the task. She threw her arms in the air.

  ***

  The room was empty. The TV monitors had gone black, the teams had resumed their normal lives, and the winners had received their reward.

  All that was left of her was a smoldering cigarette leaning delicately against the side of the ashtray and a pair of sunglasses with the stems open resting on the tabletop.

  ONE TRAVELER

  My backpack was heavy. I tried to pack light, like all the guidebooks suggest, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it.

  I needed at least two pairs of shoes. At least. And by that, I mean I ended up packing four pairs. Two were for walking around during the day, and two were for going out at night. There was no other way.

  Also, there was no way, and I mean no way, I was going anywhere without my hair dryer. That just wasn’t going to work. I didn’t know what I would find in the hotels and hostels where we were going to stay, and going out with wet hair just wasn’t an option. In fact, going out with air-dried hair wasn’t an option. So the hair dryer came with me.

  Then there were my clothes, makeup, bathroom stuff like toothpaste and deodorant, two novels (I really like to read), the guidebooks for the countries we were visiting, and a couple of small electronic gadgets. That doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, when it was all on my back, it was plenty.

  I could definitely carry it all, even though my friends suggested I couldn’t. I just couldn’t move very fast through train stations and airports, which was a drag when we had to run to the next train, but I always made it. Until today.

  My two friends that I’m traveling with both brought just two pairs of shoes, one for the day and one for the night. But what I don’t understand is, not every day is the same and not every night is the same, so how can you know that the one pair of shoes you brought will work for where you’re going? Also, neither of them packed a hair dryer (but I bet they’ll both want to use mine). I don’t mind taking one for the team though, so we can all have great hair.

  Anyway, we were running late for our train, but not that late that we couldn’t make it. We just had to hurry. But I had to go to the bathroom. Bad. And if I can help it, I usually like to go before we get on the train, just so I can avoid the train bathroom as much as possible.

  So I told them I was going to go, and they started complaining because they thought we were going to miss the train. I told them we’d be fine. The bathroom wasn’t that far away, and we still had a few minutes. They said I wouldn’t be able to walk fast enough because my backpack was so heavy. So I said I would leave it with them so I could get to the bathroom faster, which they didn’t like because they said if they had to move they would have to carry it, and they didn’t want to do that.

  So I just kept it because I really needed to go, and I wasn’t going to miss my chance, so I told them just to board the train and I’d be there in a minute.

  I got over there fast enough, but then there was a line, and then it was hard to maneuver in the stall with my bag, because I certainly wasn’t going to leave it outside the stall, and then the sinks were crowded, but (obviously) I needed to wash my hands. When I stepped out of the bathroom again, I saw the train, and felt a little smug that it was still there and I would make it on time.

  And then it pulled away.

  I stood there for a minute just looking, thinking to myself, damn. Finally, I walked over to a bench and sat down, putting my backpack in between my legs on the ground. I got a text message just a moment later that said: Meet you at the hostel when you get here.

  I realized I better figure out when the next train was. So I walked over to the counter and got all that figured out and changed my ticket.

  So, here I am, sitting on that same bench. It’ll be several hours before the next train, so I’ve got some time to kill. I can probably finish one of the books I brought, and then maybe leave it on the bench in a good samaritan sort of way so that someone else can read it. That would lighten my load a little bit.

  But, I’ll tell you what, when I finally get there and we get ready to go out tonight, and we can all use my hair dryer, my friends will have only one person to thank. Me.

  THE GAME MAKER

  She crossed her small legs beneath her, tennis shoes still on, and adjusted the skirt of her cotton dress so that it covered her now possibly visible underwear. Not that there was anyone around to see them.

  The basement was cool and dark, with just a little sunlight coming through the sliding glass door. The girl sat at the coffee table with the game spread out before her on the table top, thinking.

  It was silent here, save the noise from the air conditioner, which she always liked. It helped her think. She could pull ideas and thoughts out of the silent air, things that would float to her like leaves falling to the ground.

  She sat up on her knees, being careful not to disturb the bandage of the one she had recently skinned and leaned over the table, looking at the game board in front of her.

  The game pieces she had set to the side for now, they really weren’t all that important anyways, and she looked at the path that swathed its way around the rectangular board and wondered where she could find a short cut. Or where she could find a hidden entrance, or a place where she could jump to another square that wasn’t adjacent to the one she was on.

  When she played with her friends, they always played by the rules of the game, which was okay, but not nearly as fun as when she played by herself. Then she could see the cracks in the rules. The places where she could use the path as she wished.

  Sometimes she reached the destination, the end of the game. And sometimes she didn’t. Either was okay with her.

  Footsteps. Perfect.

  She knew who was coming down the stairs into the basement. In fact, she had been waiting for her.

  “Kate!,” said a young female voice in the enthusiastic way that children often speak. Her footsteps got louder and more erratic as she bounded down the last of the steps.

  Kate saw her yellow haired sister round the corner and walk toward her farther into the basement.

  “Emily, do you want to play a game?” Kate asked.

  Emily stopped immediately, as if she wanted to answer yes, but was afraid to come any farther forward. She kept walking, but slower now.

  “Okay,” she said and plopped down on the other side of the table from Kate. She had to kneel in order to see the game board properly, her elbows on the table as she rested her chin in her hands. “I want to be yellow.”

  “Okay,” Kate said, “you can be yellow. Which other one do you want to be?”

>   Emily was confused.

  “There are four pieces and two of us, so you have to pick another one too,” Kate said.

  Emily looked at her as if she knew that this wasn’t quite right, but picked another game piece just in case she might be wrong.

  “Red.”

  “Okay. I’ll be green and blue.”

  Emily had already started to line up her pieces in the start area.

  “No, no Emily. You pick any two squares to put your pieces on. Just not the same one.”

  Once again, Emily looked confused, but did as her sister told her, putting her pieces on two separate squares. Instead of assuming she knew what to do next, she waited for directions from her sister.

  “You’re younger, so you get to go first. Move your pieces.”

  Emily picked up her yellow piece first and then her red piece and moved each of them one square. Kate looked at her as if she was waiting for her to do more.

  “Is that all?” Kate said. Emily nodded. “Okay, my turn.”

  Kate began to move her pieces. She jumped parts of the board that were just empty spaces, seeing her own hidden passageways, ran her pieces along multiple squares that in her mind were clearly tunnels, and found shortcuts in several places that allowed her pieces to skip certain squares and land on others. When she was done, she looked at Emily.

  Emily looked at her with a face that clearly knew she had been had, and got up from her knees to stand over the table.

  “You’re just making this up!

  Kate, as calm as ever, answered her sister. “No, I’m not. This is how the game is played. It’s not my fault if you only moved two squares.”

  Emily, fed up, threw her hands over her head and bounced over to the stair case. “Mom! Kate’s making up the rules to the game, and she’s gonna win because I don’t know them!

  “Kate! Play by the rules so your sister can play with you. I’m trying to write and I need you guys to be quiet!”

  “Okay! Sorry!” Kate yelled back.

  Emily, satisfied with the judge’s verdict, walked back over to the table and resumed her position ready to play the game the correct way, sure of her imminent victory. Kate looked at the game board, at the colored pieces and appeared ready to play by the rules this time.

  She was about to gather up all the pieces and place two of them at the starting position, but instead she paused and looked directly at Emily.

  “You know what Emily? Let’s play a different game.” She smiled at her sister.

  THE END OF WINTER

  One day, just like that, the winter was over.

  It was rainy, and I mean rainy. The type of rain that doesn’t just sprinkle your shoulders, but the kind that soaks your pants from the bottom up, so that you’re wet ankle to calf.

  It wasn’t real warm, but it was humid. But even the stickiness felt good after the winter chill. It hadn’t been an incredibly cold winter, but it was cold enough. I had started to get tired of the way the air would go straight to your bones when you walked outside, even though you had on a coat and gloves and maybe a scarf.

  So on that day, when it warmed up and the sky opened, it felt good. Even if the weather really wasn’t that great.

  I was walking along, umbrella in hand, pants soaked, and thought about the way the winter had started, even though, technically, it was still early March and not really spring yet.

  Just like that, it had started. For me, often, the seasons sort of blend together so that by the time I’m aware it’s fall, it’s already winter. Well, not this year. One day it was fall, and the next it was winter.

  I met her on the train that morning when she almost fell into me after a particularly jarring start. I had seen her before several times. You kind of get to know the other people around you who commute around the same time you do every day. Mostly though, you don’t talk to anyone, you just notice them.

  The guy with white hair who always reads the paper, the young guy with square framed glasses who always annoyingly stretches his legs out into the open space when he sits down, like no one will need to stand there later on. The lady who sits near the window and just stares out of it without a book or music or anything, and who always looks kind of sad.

  The woman who fell into me that day, I noticed her before because she always carried this huge bag with her, and she was always fishing around in it, and I always wondered what was inside of it, and would she find what she was looking for, and maybe that it was even bottomless, like she could dig through it forever. For some reason, I was just really curious.

  So anyway, she falls into me and apologizes and I really look at her for the first time. And I catch this look in her eyes, and all of the sudden I want to talk to her. But instead I just stood there, hanging on to the pole.

  When we got to the station and stepped outside, the air reached my bones and I put my head down against the wind. I saw her walk out and go in the opposite direction from where I was walking.

  After that, it seemed like at least a few times a week, I would see her on the train and we were always in the same car, which I thought was weird because there were a lot of cars on the train, but whatever.

  I kept wondering what was inside that bag. She would look through it again and again, but she would never pull anything out. I wondered what she was looking for.

  Anyways, all of the sudden, I just stopped seeing her. Maybe she moved or something. Or got another job where she didn’t have to ride the train, or maybe she was taking a different train now. Or maybe for some reason we just don’t get in the same car anymore. I thought it was weird and I looked around for her, but never saw her again.

  So that was how the winter passed. Not too cold, but cold enough.

  I thought about it for a while, why I stopped seeing her on the train, but couldn’t come up with a good reason why. And then I thought to myself, why does it matter? After that I stopped looking for her, and starting paying attention to the other people on the train again.

  And then today happened, with the rain and the humidity, and I thought, just like that, the winter was over.

  THE HORSE AND THE ROOSTER

  Once there was a Farmer who had produced a bountiful crop. He was very proud of himself and the hard work that he had put into his farm. Feeling grateful and prosperous, he decided that he would sell his produce at the market in town.

  He called to his side two of his best farm animals, whom he knew he could count on to do a job well done.

  "Horse. Rooster," the Farmer called.

  "Yes," they replied in unison.

  "As you know, we have been very successful on the farm as of late, and I want to sell our crops at the market. But I will need your help to do so."

  "Anything you need us to do, Farmer, we will do it gladly."

  "Tomorrow, I'll need to be awakened early so I can make preparations. Horse, will you wake me when the sun rises?"

  "Yes, Farmer, I will," said the Horse.

  "Also, I will need someone to pull the cart that will carry the produce. Rooster, will you pull the cart for me tomorrow?"

  "Yes, Farmer, I will," said the Rooster.

  All three walked away feeling satisfied with what they had decided upon. The Farmer feeling pleased at his two best helpers and the Horse and the Rooster feeling pleased that the Farmer regarded them so highly.

  The next morning when the sun came up, the Horse whinnied and stamped his feet in the dirt trying to make as much noise as possible. But he couldn't wake the Farmer. Finally, the Farmer awoke on his own and seeing that the sun was high in the sky he became enraged. He went outside and beat the Horse. The Horse, hurt and ashamed, hung his head as he walked away.

  The farmer now had to hurry since he was already late. He loaded up his crops and called for the Rooster, who was now a little nervous after seeing what had happened to the Horse.

  When the Rooster was harnessed to the cart he began to pull, but soon found it wouldn't budge. He pulled harder and harder, but finally he dropped
to the ground in exhaustion.

  The Farmer, becoming enraged once more, pulled out the knife he had brought with him and lunged at the Rooster, who was able to slip out of the harness and run away just in time. The Rooster knew that he would be next on the slaughter block if he was caught. He ran in the opposite direction of the farm.

  The Farmer, now angry and discouraged, abandoned his cart in the road and began to walk home, while the crops rotted in the midday sun.

  NOTE TO READERS

  Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this story please consider doing two things:

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  Thanks again!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Amanda Linehan is a fiction writer, blogger and INFP. She has indie published two young adult novels and a couple handfuls of short stories. Her short fiction has been featured on Every Day Fiction.

  She lives in Maryland, likes to be outside and writes with her cat sleeping on the floor beside her desk.