almost flora kane

United States

formerly -writinginhopesofsomeday- / just a little somebody

let's listen to rain together, for what a lovely world we live in.
if you ever need anything, want to collab, or have a prompt comment on one of my pieces and we can set something up:)

Message to Readers

hope you enjoy, and there's more to come:)

a world of gray (2)

October 16, 2020


Luis sits in the street for another moment, repeating what he saw in his mind. His body aches, but the tips of his fingers feel as if static electricity is jumping from ring fingers to thumbs and back again. It itches, for some odd reason. Pressing his hands onto the blacktop, Luis pushes himself up, barely. Another shivering circle pulses where his right hand was a second ago. It glows bright white in the middle, a star surrounded by a man-made sky. Luis remembers his fingers slipping into the puddle like they were dipped in a bucket of ice water. The static left his fingertips then. 
    A car is coming down the street now. Luis shakes his head, glancing down where the shape lies. Go away, he thinks, don’t do it again. Somehow, it shrinks in size. Luis steps toward the sidewalk, staring at the star until it’s a pinprick, until it’s nothing. 
    The static is stronger again. He can feel it in the soles of his feet, and climbing up his wrists. Luis begins to walk faster. He wants to go to bed, and pretend none of this ever happened. Maybe he’s dreaming. 
    No, there’s itching. There’s pain. There’s blood. Luis takes his electric fingers to his forehead. Red is dripping into his left eye. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet, and he wipes the cut with the end of his untucked button-down. He can’t feel it hurting.
    Luis blinks, and it’s gone.
    In memory’s place there is only a gray void. He’s home, yet on the couch he’s only used when he’s sick. There’s a bandage on his forehead. It burns. Luis didn’t mean to think come to the power, its presence was flickering in his consciousness when he woke. All of a sudden, it’s there again. A pulsing shape, floating above the coffee table. No longer bright and pure, the cloud is dark and rippling, an ocean on an almost stormy night. Luis sits up, facing the thing. He notices its edge of gray, a ring similar to the one last night. Focusing on it, Luis can feel the circle even as he closes his eyes. Reaching out with his right hand, he sees it. A mark of gray. A freckle beating in time with the larger figure, about the size of a quarter, where his hand meets his wrist. 
    The cloud jumps as Luis jerks his hand back into his body. He rubs the mark and it quivers at the touch of his silver electricity. Glancing up, he throws his hands out at the mass. It doesn’t move. Luis tenses, embarrassed to no one. Making a fist, the size lessens with the movement. Again. It changes shape and size. He spends time testing these deliberate actions which bend the matter at a flash of static. 
    Eventually, he calls it to disappear, taking mere seconds as a break before throwing his arm out to the right. The sweeping motion flings books, dishes, and boxes across the room with lamps and the dining room chairs following in step. The noise shocks Luis. He lurches to his feet to try to silence the crashing. Realizing, finally, how his head is throbbing, he starts falling in another blink. 
    This time, Luis remembers. The long days on the couch and around his apartment stick rigid in his brain as he practices controlling these pockets of transparent mass. Sometimes, they’re the bright, shining white, pure and unbroken. Other times the darkness seems to grasp all the light in the room and tug toward nothingness. More comfortable, Luis decided, are the pieces of gray space. The consequences of it have littered the room, and more gray freckles have grown on his body. 
    Like heroes in movies he’s wondered about becoming a vigilante. Putting on a pair of tights and taking a cab to the nearest future crime scene. Most days, however, Luis only watches the news. 
    In the minutes between making objects disappear into these- these portals, as he’s named them, there’s been a lot of publicity over a groundbreaking discovery. There’s a metal we haven’t discovered until now, the reporter states, and scientists are wondering if this is the material which will save our world from decline. Her voice is heard, like many others, over the metal referred to as the Kosslyn Sample, recognition for the man responsible. 
    The Kosslyn is being distributed across the world for experimentation, and it’s no coincidence one of the pieces lands in a building seventeen blocks from Luis’s apartment. He argues this while laying on the floor after a particularly exhausting session. He decides, then, to take up a post to watch the building.
    He has the time, well, he’s taken the time off of his job, sick day after sick day, to figure out what he can do. Sleep schedule flipped, he wonders if he’ll be able to go back at all when time runs out. College is starting in a month, and he thinks of that too. Going back for another semester, learning things he doesn’t care about. Luis feels alive with this ability. There’s a certain sense of power he couldn’t get from anything else.

to be continued...

a world of gray (1) 

thank you all for the support and title ideas. i've decided on this for the moment, but it's subject to change. i wish you good luck today.

p.s. this is for a fiction writing assignment in english. i have a lot more to write for this. feedback is appreciated.


See History
  • October 16, 2020 - 7:40am (Now Viewing)

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  • mirkat

    I'm drinking this up! Keep writing!

    14 days ago
  • queenie hawthorne

    oh my god.
    i clicked on this faster than sonic probably runs.
    this is amazing. i love the style that you write in.

    14 days ago