Saturday, June 18, 2016

Story Cubes 18: Vertigo (fiction)

"I don't have a magic wand," I said when we reached the top of the tower.

She gave me a sour look. "You don't need one," she said. If you weren't slow as a turtle and such a straight arrow, you could leave footprints around the world."

"You are just full of clichés, aren't you?" I retorted.

Angry, she turned and stared out at the landscape, her mouth slowly opening and closing, like a fish. Apparently, she was trying to think of something pithy to say, but nothing would come out.

I started to whistle a meandering tune and leaned out of the window. I could just make out our footprints below. It was getting dark, and I saw a star fall to earth. Then I felt her hand on my back. For an insane second, I thought she was going to push me.

I turned around, and we both started to laugh. Vertigo? I said. "Don't worry. This isn't the end," she said.


(The bold-faced words are interpreted from the images on Rory's Story Cubes)

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