She is the One

58DC3994-C8C2-47B6-BFD5-6767C9A8337ASara never thought of herself as special. Sure, she was tall, blonde, and beautiful. But between genetic engineering, hair coloring, and cosmetic surgery, who wasn’t?

But then, in 2180, everything changed for her. She was looking for a position within the security force and had transmitted her CV in response to an inquiry from a bot investigator. When she got a message on her communicator regarding her CV, she provided the bot with her physical world coordinates and was instantly teleported to what looked like an underground room in a 21st century ruin.

Sara looked around the dank, dirty room into which she found herself when she noticed what appeared to be a tiny, iridescent dot on a far wall. She walked up to it and touched the dot with her index finger. That action brought the wall to life, a giant screen with thousands of horizontal dots and shimmering images appeared before her.

Instead of jumping back in fear, though, as so many who had preceded her had done, Sara was intrigued. She reached out and touched the screen and she instantly knew exactly what it meant.

At a different location in another dimension, the Managers were watching Sara as she absorbed what was passing from the screen to her consciousness. “Is she the one?” one of the Managers asked.

“Even in the darkest hour, you can see her light, the Manager of the Managers said. “She is, indeed, the one.”

Written for The Haunted Wordsmith Daily Prompt. Teresa selected the genre of “Superhero” and the Sentence Starter of “Even in the darkest hour, you can see his (or her) light.” Photo credit: Josh Hild on Unsplash.

And Here We Are

CFAA25FC-A156-4430-9217-67A373B1CA18I started blogging in 2005. I geared my blog for an audience of one — me. It was more of an online journal than anything else. I had no regular schedule. Sometimes, life interrupted and I’d go for months without posting. Ultimately, I got bored and stopped blogging.

Then I started a new blog in 2009. This time I tried to be more “regular,” posting at least weekly and occasionally a few times a week. I also aimed this restart for a broader audience. Rather than being a personal journal, I was expressing my opinions, sharing my observations, offering my perspectives.

Unfortunately, no one was listening. I accumulated almost no followers and rarely got any comments. Of course, I wasn’t on WordPress. I was using a platform called TypePad.

I told a friend that I felt like my blog was like that tree that falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it. It wasn’t making a sound. He said, “Maybe you should restart your blog on WordPress.”

So I did. In 2013. And suddenly there were a lot of people hearing my tree fall. One of my posts got “Freshly Pressed,” and received tons of likes and comments. And my blog started getting a lot of followers.

But something weird happened. My blog took over my life. I became obsessed by it. I became driven by the number of likes and comments each post would get. I checked every day to see how many new followers I got.

My blog was running my life. And ruining my life. Everything else — my job, my wife, my kids — took a backseat to my blog. My life was falling apart.

And when I almost lost my family, I quit blogging. Cold turkey, as they say.

That was three years ago. I rededicated myself relationship with my wife and kids. I focused on my work. I pulled my life back together.

At the end of 2016 I retired. My wife, who was not used to me hanging around during the weekdays, was desperate for me to find something to do that would get me out of her hair. “Why don’t you restart your blog?” she suggested.

So last May, the time was right to once again restart my blog.

And here we are.

Written for today’s one-word prompt, “restart.”

FFfAW — Windmill Restoration

As the crowd gathered behind the temporary fences, the two workers double-checked the electrical connections hidden in the bushes at the base of the windmill. Everything was looking good.

Originally built in 1903 to pump water to irrigate the city’s park, electric water pumps eventually replaced the need for the windmill and it fell into disrepair. Ultimately, the mill was in such a state of ruin that the city condemned it and ordered it to be torn down.

But then the city’s Historical Preservation Society received a two million dollar anonymous donation specifically earmarked for the historic windmill’s restoration.

This was finally the day that the mill was scheduled to go back into operation. The mayor and other dignitaries and distinguished guests were in attendance, along with dozens of the city’s residents, including my daughter and me.

When the power was switched on and the giant windmill’s four large sails began to slowly rotate, a loud cheer rang out.

“It’s magnificent, Daddy,” my daughter said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

(170 words)

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers from Priceless Joy. Photo credit: Fandango. Oh, that’s me!