The Rip in the Fibers

Winning Entry for the Writer’s Cramp 3/1/07– Prompt: Write a short story or poem something that is about to happen.

At first glance, Larry was an ordinary man, rushing to the bus in a brown rain coat that slapped the backs of his legs. A briefcase in one hand, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other, he was just a regular looking business man; perhaps a lawyer or banker. Larry was actually a file clerk. The briefcase held his lunch.

Little did Larry know, his life was about to change. He woke up a couple of minutes late that morning, showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, ate breakfast, and for the first time in his life he forgot to push in his chair. He headed to work with little thought that today might just be a day where his mundane life turned around and became more exciting.

Scheduled on this particular day was a tear in the fibers between reality and fantasy that allowed the most wonderful beasts into the natural world. The tear was scheduled to rip at 11:59 AM Central Standard Time in the precise spot where Larry had eaten a dry piece of toast that morning.

However, due to unforeseen circumstances the tear would appear at twelve noon instead.

One might think that one minute late was no big deal. For a tear in the fibers between reality and fantasy, however, it can cause great strife in the happenings that go on. For instance, at 11:59 AM, the creatures that appeared would be kind and gentle, like Fairies, Unicorns, and wooly beasts that wanted nothing but to share a cup of tea around the table and maybe a cookie or two. At twelve noon, however, the tear shifted just enough to allow in the most terrible monsters, for instance, trolls, ogres, goblins, dragons that were not the pink variety, but an iridescent black with smoke coming from their wicked nostrils.

Larry was at work filing the most important files – cases that had been closed – when the room in which he stood began to shake. He looked around as the fluorescent lights blinked on and off. He had his hand between two files, one for a pet custody case and one for a stolen car that was returned, when the room was still again and the lights became stable. He shrugged his shoulders as if nothing had happened. Small earthquakes were frequent in this part of town, particularly when the train went by outside.

It was twelve noon when Larry looked at his watch. He thought it was odd. There wasn’t usually a train at that time.

He looked at the man he called his Filing Companion, though they never actually spoke.

“There isn’t a noon train,” he said. His filing companion paused and gave him a sideways glance. “There isn’t usually a noon train,” Larry said, but this time to himself.

The earthquake wasn’t the train. It was the tear in the fibers between reality and fantasy trying to make headway in Larry’s apartment. His chair, which was usually tucked neatly under the table, was in the very spot where the tear was supposed to rip through, and therefore was in the way of the rip, blocking it.

When Larry got home that evening after a long day of filing, he unlocked the door to his apartment. He flicked on the light and gasped. All of the books that had been neatly alphabetized by title were now on the ground in a pile. The pictures were all crooked. A vase had fallen from the mantle and smashed on the ground, leaving a wet puddle and flower petals behind. Larry looked around, shocked, until he remembered the earthquake. He slapped his thigh with an ah-ha! He put his briefcase on the kitchen counter and tucked the chair neatly under the dining room table. He watched a couple hours of television and then went to bed.

You might think that the tear in the fibers between reality and fantasy had been completely blocked by the misplaced chair, in a way it was. But it had been rescheduled for the next day. A day that Larry would remember to push in his chair.

Word Count: 682