I found myself with a little free time after some gardening this morning. The little one was listening to her favorite podcast and Liz was taking a nap. I sat down, thinking I might do some additional outlining for Purpleverse 2 and I just couldn’t stay focused. Then I thought about a conversation Liz and I had had at breakfast. She’d seen a TikTok or tweet that said something to the effect of, “It must be weird to be a baby. You fall asleep at home and wake up at Wal-Mart.” I said something to that of how an elevator must also be weird, where the doors close and, when they open again, you’re not in the same place, although you didn’t go anywhere. I remarked that it would make a good writing prompt. I guess I got stuck there, so I figured I’d put the outline aside and try a prompt for the first time.
Here’s what I came up with.
The scale of the structures exceeded his capacity to comprehend. They appeared to be made of stone, but it was a gray, swirled pattern that he couldn’t identify, and it was all unnaturally smooth. No wind or water could have caused this kind of erosion. Canyon walls and sandstone were all he knew. The other thing that unsettled him was the sheer volume of humanity here. His tribe was only seventy-five strong, but at least that many people passed him every second, it seemed. He begged the Great Spirit to take him home, to the familiar, but the voice that now guided him bade him inside the nearest structure.
He still did not know how he’d come to be here, where what little of the sky he could see was strewn with spider webs. The color of it seemed to suggest a dust storm was coming, but he didn’t smell or taste it. It smelled of gunpowder, so shelter seemed sensible to him. He approached the spot where the strangely dressed people entered and exited in steady streams. He took a tentative step forward and the flow consumed him, as a river approaching a fall, and it felt just as dangerous. His eyes closed involuntarily as he neared the slicing, chopping death trap they all willingly walked towards. There was a sudden pressure of bodies against him and a similarly sudden release. The air was cool and clean, and he was certain he must now be among his ancestors.
As he carefully opened his eyes, he stood in a perfect cubic cave. No, that wasn’t quite right. He must be inside the structure he was being pulled toward, but nothing meant anything. There were openings to the outside, but there was no breeze, only light reflected from other structures. People continued to flow in and out through the “people mill,” as those were the only words he could find to describe it. He wanted to drop to his knees right then and pray for death, as it could not be worse than this torture.
“Forward, you are nearly done, my son,” the voice told him.
He had to obey, for no one else in this place spoke his language. He joined the river of people once more and followed them to a smaller cavern. The people crushed against him until he thought his breath would leave forever. Then the cave walls closed with the type of shining metal of the swords of the cavalrymen. That metal only meant pain and sorrow to his people, so this omen could only signal doom. The walls slid apart again, but the cave outside was now different. Only a shaman could perform magic of the mind like this, but which of the strangers was he? No one yet had screamed out in horror, so maybe he may survive this ordeal.
“Follow the light, brave warrior.”
He followed the throng through the open wall and the light shone brightly ahead of him. He walked closer and closer to one of the openings that was not open. Before him and below him sprawled an entire prairie of stone and movement. Nature did not exist here. At the edge of sight, he thought he glimpsed the shimmer of water, but many of the mesas below glinted in a similar way, like a frozen waterfall. His language had no words for the horror of it.
“Cling to your ways, teach your children well. These things may yet not be. Remember what you have seen because your destiny is to prevent it.”
He awoke with a start beside the creek, with green trees above him, the blue sky clean and clear. Patting his horse, he started back toward his village, eager to talk to the elders.