Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
Congrats to Justin Sewall, Seven Time Champion of the Science Fiction Microstory Contest
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Thank you very much everyone!! I really appreciate it!
A very fine story, Justin. And there were terrific stories from everyone this month!
Thanks again everyone! I'll have the April prompt at some point today.Best,
JSS
Justin Sewall © 2020
“Mommy, tell me the Myth of Man again.”
Lisa Sevnyne paused her knitting and sighed softly. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting uneven, flickering light across the common room. It danced playfully on her daughter’s face.
“Why do you want to hear it again my child?” asked Lisa. “It’s far past your time for dreamwalking.”
“Puh-leeeeze Mommy!”
Lisa looked deeply into her daughter’s eyes – saw herself within, and loved her. She opened her arms wide, causing her daughter to squeal with delight as she leapt onto her mother’s lap. Lisa kissed the back of her head and whispered into her daughter’s ear.
“Listen to me my child, listen while I tell you the Myth of Man. Listen, learn, and live!”
Her daughter snuggled in, and Lisa Sevnyne began the recitation she knew so well.
“Long ago, before the gleaming towers burned and fell, before the earth was scorched and scarred, before your third foremother went to and fro among masses scarcely countable or conceivable – was Man.”
“What did Man look like Mommy?”
“Hush now daughter and I will tell you.”
Lisa began to rock slowly, recounting the Myth of Man until her daughter’s head slowly drooped and her eyes fluttered with the first steps of dreamwalking. When the telltale sign of rhythmic breathing held fast, she gently picked her daughter up and lay her softly in bed.
“Dream well my daughter…for someday… soon…you must descend and face the truth.”
***
Jennifer Tentoonyne knelt before the high priestess and grimaced as her flowing brown hair fell to the ground in large clumps. She had been dreading this rite for many settings of the sun, and now it was here: her Day of Descent. After perfectly reciting the Myth of Man, Jen-Ten – as she was called by her best friend Mona Sevtyate - prepared to receive The Marks. Jen-Ten cast furtive glances toward the assembled women, but did not see her best friend. To her regret and shame, Mona had failed her own recitation and stormed off in an unfaithful fit of jealously, leaving Jen-Ten angry and confused.
The words of the high priestess pulled her back into the moment.
“Jennifer Tentoonyne, you have been found worthy to receive The Marks on your Day of Descent. Art thou willing to submit and bear The Marks in true faith to thyself and those assembled?”
Jen-Ten looked at her mother, whose eyes seemed to urge her on lovingly, then back to the high priestess.
“I am willing.”
“As thou have spoken, receive now The Marks from thy sisters.”
At the base of her newly shorn neck, Jen-Ten felt the needles as they burned the block of closely set lines upon it. The same lines worn by every other woman of the village.
She felt her spirit lift for a reason she could not explain. It would soar yes, but now she must descend.
***
Jen-Ten shivered in the cold rain and used her spear to help pick her way through the rubble. The back of her neck throbbed slightly from The Marks, but she resisted touching them. Finally after many turnings of time, she came to the ruins of the shattered pyramid and the broad, crumbling steps that led to the Downbelow. She moved swiftly down them, seeking both refuge from the elements – and the truth. Gray light filtered into the corridor before her, barely illuminating a massive door that looked out of place among the fire scorched ruins. Jen-Ten stood before it, waiting expectantly. She bowed her head as the high priestess had instructed, and in the blink of an eye, a red light flashed across her neck. The massive doors swung open and warm, inviting light poured out into the darkness.
“Wel…wel…wel…come,” a disembodied voice stuttered.
Jen-Ten thrust her spear before her and stepped cautiously into the bright. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the visage of a woman upon the opposite wall behind something clear like water, yet solid to the touch. She seemed to resemble her mother…but how was that possible? She could not read the markings underneath it, and before new questions could form in her mind, another red light flashed across her neck.
“Jen…Jen…Jennifer 1029, step forward,” the voice commanded.
“BEHOLD! The Myth of Man…and his irredeemable downfall!” Images of war, death and destruction paraded before Jen’s eyes.
“Stop!” she screamed, freezing one image. “Who is this?”
The voice replied, “It is the pattern on which you are all based.”
“It is called: the Mona Lisa.”