What's This? A Ghost?

Well, except for the excellent Christopher stuff, I haven't found much good that I can share, really.  I would love to hear from you all, though, over on Discord!

https://discord.gg/3Cwy39v

The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 10

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson

The Wounded World

Originally written 2006

Posted June 22, 2019 

THE CHAOS FACTOR

I see the Past, Present and Future,

Existing all at once Before me;

O Divine Spirit sustain me on thy wings!

William Blake 

CHAPTER TEN

What was going to happen now?~

As the 'copter continued its descent in, I realized that this would be Mantra's first meeting with Dr. Sarn following the Night of Terror.  That meant that I would have to be careful about what I said.  My information would be more informed than hers, but she wouldn't know it.  To have my supervisor thinking that my experience had made me delusional would not be helpful.

I was thinking hard and fast about my situation.  As far as I could see, there was nothing that that I'd done or experienced that should have triggered another dislocation in time.  Had I become like a floating bottle in a storm? Would this temporal shifting never stop, like what happened to that guy on Quantum Leap?  If I'd really become unstuck in time, how long would it be before I landed into a situation that would kill me? I pressed my hands together on my lap, hoping to keep the pilot from seeing them shake.

But he was a sharp one.  "Lots of people get jumpy riding in a 'copter," he was saying. "You'll be yourself once you get your feet back on solid ground." 

Yeah, and you'll be happy enough to be rid of a flaky passenger, too, I thought.

As the helicopter settled into the Alcatraz hanger, I saw Dr. Sarn waiting on the tarmac, this time garbed in a lab coat and brown slacks. The fashion she affected helped me to remember that she was a scientist, not just a Gestapo-style thug.

Of course, Mengele had been a doctor, too. 

The Belle of Eerie, Arizona - Chapter 2, Part 1

Posted 06-07-19 

Revised 07-07-19 

By Christopher Leeson
 
Chapter 2, Part 1

December 19, 1871, Continued

While the Mexican helper at the Feed and Grain store loaded Irene's purchases onto the buckboard, the woman herself stood nearby, talking to Patricia O'Hanlan. Myra had been told that the latter represented the new form and the new face of Patrick O'Hanlan. This was a hard idea to choke down, but, over all, she liked the idea of someone else besides herself suffering. Myra remembered Pat O'Hanlan as a plain, fortyish man, hard to pick out from a crowd. But this girl “Trisha,” even wearing pants and a shirt, was something to see. A shape like hers should have been painted for a theater poster. She wondered whether Trisha, being decidedly of the pretty persuasion, was having much trouble with men trying to keep company with her.

“Well, hello, Myra,” a male voice made address from behind. She recognized that timbre and turned to face her accoster.

“George!” she exclaimed. “Have you trailing my aunt and me like some sort of Injun scout?”

“Not a bit!” the farm boy responded, his grin broad and confident. “I came into town to pick up a few hardware items for Ma and Pa.”

“Well, if you're going to the hardware shop, this isn't it.”

“No, but I thought I'd look over the new merchandise here at the feed store. It appears to be of high quality.”

She tossed her head. “If that's a sneaky way of saying that you like the way I look, I've got a good mind to knock you into the street!”

“Temper, temper. Haven't you learned yet that women shouldn't be hitting men?”

“And why not?”

“Because if women started to hit men, men would have to start hitting them back. A man could really hurt a light-bodied little gal with a hard punch, if he was inclined to give her one.”

“So, now you're threatening me?” the maiden challenged.

“No, I'm just letting you know why smart mothers teach their daughters not to go around punching men.”

“Well, you shouldn't go popping off about how a girl looks, not if you don't want to get hit.”

The youth's smile seemed undiminished. “That's a strange way of looking at things. Most girls like to be told they're pretty.”

“I ain't like most girls!”