Morning all it looks like we have reached Friday morning. I hope everyone had a successful week and is now contemplating a fantastically fun weekend. Personally, I’m hoping for a nice quiet one. The Christmas shopping is complete, so the only need to venture into the world of retail is the weekly grocery trip. All other stores are going to be avoided for the time being. But before the weekend, quiet or otherwise can begin, we have Friday. So shall we begin our Friday with the morning prompt? excellent, let’s go.
I think this one may actually be my favorite from this week.
Friday, December 3rd: He scribbled furiously across the page.
He scribbled furiously across the page. He had to get this all down. It was too fantastical, to surreal. He could scarcely believe that it happened. Yet happened it did. The words spilled out of him, flowing across page after page. His notebook was full and he searched the desk for more. He found a small notepad in the drawer.
“Milk, Eggs, sandwich meat,” he scowled at the start of his grocery list and scratched the words out before continuing his narrative. He had to get the words down.
Already the details were fading, becoming hazy and only the broad strokes of events remained fixed in his mind. He concentrated on getting the last of them down. His fingers started to tremble. A fog eased into his mind.
The memory spell.
It had to be. He thought they were joking. How could a spell erase his memory? Especially a memory so extraordinary. He tore all of the pages from the note book and added the pages from the note pad as well. He folded them and on the blank back he scrawled a note to himself. Feeling the last of the memory slipping away, He crammed the pages into an envelope. On the address label he wrote the alias he used for his hidden post office box and addressed it. He put the return address under a friends name and their home address, lest the letter somehow become misdirected. He quickly affixed the stamps to the letter, adding two extra so that the postage was more than covered.
He stood from his desk and raced into the hallway.
There, the postal slot for outgoing mail gleamed in the light, its brass fittings shining like promised gold. He strode across the hall and slid the envelope into the slot. It fell, and the metal flap clinked. He turned away and walked back towards his room.
At least if anything else happened, there would be a record somewhere, somehow of this extraordinary event. He was halfway back to his hotel room when the blankness of the memory cleanse closed in, obliterating even the last of the details from his mind. He stood in the hallway, perfectly still and staring into space for a moment. His labored breathing stilled. His excitement faded. A look of peace flitted across his features. Then he blinked.
He looked around, wondering why he was standing in the hallway. He saw his hotel door standing open. He must have opened it, come out into the hallway for something. He just couldn’t remember what. He shook his head and walked back to his room before someone could spot him staring stupidly off into space.
He entered his hotel room and closed the door behind himself. He shook his head. What had he been thinking. He looked down at himself. His shirt and trousers were torn in places as though he forced himself to run through a dense thicket. There were scratches on his skin under the torn cloth and caught in one of his sleeves he found a long thorn from one of the local plants.
Had he stumbled into some sort of hedge?
He shook his head. Whatever the cause, he couldn’t go around in such a state. What would people say? He slid his feet out of his mud caked boots and left them by the door. “I was probably in the hall trying to get someone to clean them,” he told himself. He walked towards the bathroom, unbuttoning his torn shirt as he moved. A shower and a fresh set of clothing was definitely in order. He could see to the boots later.
Ten til Midnight 