I kicked this off last week but since there was only one response I thought we might extend the run of it a little bit.
Below you will find the opening of a story. The first part I wrote, the second part was written by Kaleiyah Prose. All you need to do is carry the story on in the comments below. Have fun.
The pocket watch has sixteen hands and they all pointed in the same direction. Twelve. It was ridiculous really, who would want a watch that didn’t tell the time, never mind one that had sixteen hands, none of which had ever moved a millimetre. Marcel clicked the watch closed and slid it inside his jacket pocket. He was used to the weight of it bumping against his ribs as he walked and when it wasn’t there he missed it. Missed the useless bit of junk like a limb.
He waited for the little man to light up green on the crossing and checked both ways. The way was clear and he followed as the crowds surged forward, carrying him from one side of the road to the other.
Forty-Seven, Ivy Road. He counted the numbers beside the doors of the shops as he passed. Forty-Nine, Fifty-One, Fifty-Three…
There was a space between the end of Fifty-One and Fifty Five. Barely wide enough for a grown man to squeeze through but just about there. He ran over the address in his head and counted down the street again. Yes he decided. He’d found the right place.
Inside his gloves he could feel his fingers itching, impatient to get to work. They were trembling too.
One step, that was all it would take.
by Carol J Forrester
One would think that after passing through an interdimensional rifts for a living, one would get used to it. But without fail, Marcel felt the sting across his spine straighten each of his vertebrae and the tell-tale heaviness settling across his body like an ocean wave. His vision blurred briefly, but returned to normal after blinking a few times. Instinctively, and to ground his mind and body in this new rift, he reached inside his jacket pocket to touch the familiar metal of his watch.
Only this time, he felt nothing but his jacket’s cloth.
by Kaleigah Prose