Zlaw's Echo

"You can't just leave like this!" She slammed the door he'd just opened back closed, and kept her hand on it, ostensively standing in his way. "Watch me," he answered calmly. His eyes matched his tone as they confronted her angry glare. He didn't try to go around her yet. It was like he knew she would move eventually and had time to wait for it to happen. "There's still some things left for you to do around here. There must be." He sighed with melancholy. "When I first got here, the Grand Canyon and Ayers Rock were pretty much the only things that stood out on the surface of this Earth. Maybe Mount Fuji, too. Not that I don't like the Everest, but I find it overrated. The point is, since then, I have travelled far and wide, and I feel pretty confident in saying that I have, indeed, seen everything there is for me to see." "I can't believe that." "Try me. I have walked the Great Wall of China back an...

Stella had never seen such a happy bunch of musicians. She had been in marching bands and orchestras, but no matter how joyful or enthusiastic the people in those groups had been, they could never have matched the energy her eyes were beholding now. This gave the word show a whole new dimension. The three boys in the middle of the pub looked alike enough to be brothers. Maybe cousins? In any case, even though they each had a different eye colour, they all had that same wild mane of wavy auburn hair on their head and freckles on their pale cheeks. One of them, front and centre, was playing his violin like Stella didn't know a violin could be played. He kept jumping all over the place, tapping his feet, shaking his head as much as he could without his chin ever leaving its resting place at the base of his instrument. His fingers moved so fast and dexterously on the neck that she had trouble keeping up with them. But somehow, he never missed a note. Not that she could tell for sure...

Hands and forehead on the steering wheel of her pickup truck, eyes wide open, Eva is starting to regret her choice of copilot for this road trip. On the passenger seat next to her, her college room-mate Becca is fumbling with a paper map, one of those that folds like an accordion. "You did say you could read a map," grumbles the driver. "I can. These are forested areas, and these are roads, towns,…" The blonde girl points at various parts of the map with her index finger, completely unembarrassed. "Anyone can see that, Becca!" snaps Eva. She straightens herself back up in order to glare at her passenger. Becca just stares back unblinkingly, sure of herself. "No, they can't. Reading a map is not as simple as it seems. Lots of people get confused by the legend, the orientation, the scale…" "What good is deciphering a map if you can't tell me where to turn based on what you see on there?" Becca purses her lips. She is star...

"What's it like being a Giant, Jimbo?" asked Lulu. The Gnome was sitting on the highest branch of the highest fir tree, his little legs dangling off his perch, his eyes gazing at the stars. Leaning against the trunk of a neighbouring evergreen, weaving a basket to keep his hands busy, James barely had to lift his chin to look up at his tiny friend. "Much like being a Gnome, I imagine," he answered calmly. "C'mon! Be honest. I'd like to know," insisted Lulu childishly. That was a common temperament for his kind. It took so little energy for them to be agitated that they could afford to be. Lulu never got mean, however. That's why Jim liked him. The Giant took a deep breath, considering his next words: "Well, everything looks small. And it takes ages for us to eat, or make clothing for ourselves, because we need so much food and fabric. Also, we move slower than most other things, which can be frustrating." The Giant was grim...

I've heard that when you're lost in the wilderness, you should look for a road. And when you're safe and sound, at home, or at the very least surrounded by people and/or civilisation, that sounds logical. That sounds like rational advice to give out. It sounds like it makes sense. But does it really? Roads are a good point of reference because almost every human culture has them in one form or another. And, by design, they are things that cover a lot of ground, so it should be statistically more likely to come upon them that anything else, even when you have no idea where you are or where you're going. Not to mention, roads happen to lead somewhere, which is handy when you're trying to find your bearing; if you follow a road long enough, regardless of direction, it's eventually going to take you to another better point of reference, or at the very least people, who should be able to give you one. When you think about it, roads are essentially the concrete — p...

"Excuse me, Miss, please don't touch that!" the shop attendant blurts out in a panic. Luckily, he manages to reach the young woman just before her index finger comes into contact with the antique camera in front of her. He lets out his breath in relief as she stops dead in her tracks. "Why not?" she asks despite her obedience. She does not look like she's used to antique shops. Bubblegum in her mouth, brightly coloured makeup, flashy clothes, a smartphone in her hand; a far-cry from the older more uptight crowd he is used to seeing in his establishment. But he tries not to judge people by how they present. Even when they try to preserve appearances, seemingly yielding to societal pressure, they cannot refrain their inner nature. Despite her modern looks, this young lady could very well be an avid collector of antiquities, couldn't she? "First of all, because there is a sign the size of your head saying 'PLEASE, DO NOT TOUCH'. Second of ...

Two men in overalls are sitting on a wooden bench, on the side of a dirt path running along a cornfield. One of them is leaning back, both arms outstretched onto the back of their seat, staring into the sea of cereals in front of them, gently swaying in the midnight breeze. "There's one thing I don't get about scarecrows, dude," he says after a while. "Which is?" His friend is hunched forward, eyes closed, massaging his stiff neck. "What are they so darn creepy for?" The other man stops rubbing his fingers on the back of his head and opens his eyes: "Well… It's in their name, isn't it? They're meant to be scary." "Sure, they're meant to be scary. But to crows , though. Why are they always made to look scary to people as well?" "I guess there isn't any reason to think crows aren't scared of the same things humans are scared of." "They're evidently not! They're scared of thi...

Sitting at a table in the corner of the local watering hole, a woman is studying a couple of maps, by lantern-light. Despite her activity, she does not seem to mind the drunken sailors celebrating being back to shore after months at sea, nor the miners unwinding after a hard day of digging, still covered in soot. After all, they are part of the charm of the place, and even the other quieter patrons appear amused by their antics. At one point, a man in a unironed shirt enters the bar, and goes straight for the woman as soon as he has located her. He hasn't even reached her that she raises a hand to stop him, before even looking up from her work. "Let me guess: you're mounting an expedition, and you'd like me to be your navigator." His smile widens. He isn't even going to bother denying the accusation: "You're the best one out there." "I'm really not." "You are to me…" She sighs, and lowers her hand to interlace her ...

"It's yours if you want it," said the salvage yard owner dismissively. She didn't even remember when that particular piece of rubbish had come in. It might have been here when she took over the place. Either way, it was now part of the walls, like so many other scraps of metal like it in this literal dump. It would probably be worth more melted down than as it was, but she had never gotten around to doing that, prioritising newer discarded equipment, easier to dismantle. But now, there was a little lady staring at it intensely, so she figured she might as well get rid of it if she had the opportunity. She could always use the space. The girl seemed fascinated by the the object in question. It hardly had any shape anymore, but she did recognise it must have been a droid once. A humanoid one at that, based on the semblance of a face she swore she caught a glimpse of, beneath the dirt covering every square inch of it. That depression had to be an eye socket… There w...

Two dozen people in their early twenties are standing at attention in front of a man in his forties. All in a similar outfit, they form a line, in front of which he is pacing calmly, wrists crossed behind the small of his back. "Welcome to Camp Heartfall. You have all been selected based on your athletic, intellectual, magical, and emotional capabilities. None of you should be lacking in any department, but in the event that you should find yourself short in any way, please, do NOT hesitate to rely on your team mates. You are expected to function as a whole, the constituting parts of a very well-oiled machine, working toward the same goal. In other words, no competition will be tolerated among counselors. Is that clear?" "Sir, yes, Sir." To this spontaneous, unanimous, and unwavering assent, the corner of the drill sergeant's mouth twitches as he refrains a full-on smile. It's nice to see the camp is finally finding its pace. When he was where they are, ...

Despite his naturally dark skin, Officer Yadunbé looked quite pale when he came back into the Police station. So much so one of his colleagues, Detective Buma, stopped him to enquire as to why: "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Ugly crime scene," answered the man in uniform, nodding pensively. His eyes were lost in thought, and he was shivering at whatever he was remembering. "That bad?" "Well… The techs are saying it feels like The Rhino is back." "Damn…" At the sound of his partner and mentor swearing – a rare occurrence – young Detective Ikali looked up from the paperwork he was filling out. "Who's Zeraïno? Some kind of organised-crime hitman?" Both older men turned to him and laughed, amused by his ignorance, as legitimate as it was for his age. At least, that put a little colour back in Yadunbé's cheeks. "Nice guess, but The Rhino is not a surname, it's a nickname. It ...

"Hold on to your hats, folks, 'cause we're venturing into uncharted territory!" bellows the Captain of the ship as he expertly spins the wheel. "Is this wise, Captain?" whispers the woman standing directly behind his right shoulder. She is in a law-enforcement uniform, and looks just as serious as her job, a stern expression on her face as she talks through gritted teeth. If he is as concerned as she is, it is not visible in his smile. "Well, Marshal, I have whirlpools twice the size of this boat to the East, and surfacing bedrock to the West. And I don't have to tell you about the storm front coming from the South; you've seen it for yourself. So yes, I do believe going North is the safest course of action at this point. The moment I get an opening to an area that is on my map, I promise you I'll take us there." Behind them, a couple starts arguing, the woman lightly punching her husband on the arm: "I told you this honeymo...

"All you have to do is get to that ridge. Past that point, you'll be safe." His aunt's words – among the last ones he would ever hear from her – were echoing in his mind as he walked. At first, it had seemed like a reasonable target, but now that he had been alone in the wilderness for a few days, he was not so convinced anymore. Surely he did not need to go that far to lose his pursuers? Surely they wouldn't go to such lengths just to catch him? Maybe he could stop now, and he would still be all right? When he had been looking at it from the village, the ridge did not look so remote, but now, even though he had been steadily going towards it since he'd left, it felt out of reach. Other strong arguments against his caretaker's advice were bouncing around in his head: why that ridge in particular? What made it so special that, upon reaching it, he would be out of harm's way? How ridiculous of a reference point was it? Besides, if the people chasing ...

It was pouring outside, and I hadn't seen any pedestrian in hours when a little lady came out of nowhere and into my cab. She startled me when she opened the door. It slammed behind her as she sprawled herself across the back seats, drenched, hugging herself. She only uttered one word: "Drive." I chuckled. Although I'd heard that line many times in cheesy movies, in all my years as a cabbie, I'd never had anyone say it to me for real. "This isn't a romantic comedy, Miss; I need an address." "How about now? Still need an address?" There was an unexpected metallic click as she straightened up. I frowned and looked at her more closely through the rear-view mirror, only to see her still holding her right side with her left hand, but aiming the barrel of a pistol at the back of my neck with the other. To be fair, I had never had a gun pointed at my head before. I had never had a gun pointed at me at all. I don't think I had ever even ...

Dear Diary, I hope you don't mind that I call you "Dear" even though we've just become acquainted; I simply didn't know what else to open with. This is my first time holding a journal, after all. The suggestion to start one came from my therapists. They have it in their head that documenting what goes through my head day to day could maybe help me make progress. What they would consider progress, I do not know for sure. I am not as enthusiastic as they are at the prospect, but since I'm locked up in here without much else to do, I suppose I can afford to give it a go. If I'm being honest, it feels a little nice to have something to call "Dear". Scary, too. Because it means I have something to lose. I guess I should avoid writing too many important things within your pages, this way, I should be all right even in the event that you are taken or destroyed. I know you're not going to ask – if only because you cannot ask, since you're an...

How long have they been wandering aimlessly in this dark forest for, now? Days? A week, maybe? Like they have lost track of time, they have lost count of all the swampy areas they have crossed, but their boots heavy with mud keep reminding them that the number is probably quite high. Their clothes are torn and stained with sap from all the branches they keep getting caught on, to the point where they are starting to get a little too cold for comfort when night comes. As for their skin, constantly brushing against harsh tree bark and incessantly tripping over roots and rocks makes it bruised and bloodied all over. They have twigs and leaves in their hair. Overall, it is hardly a cosy situation for any of them. What even happened, for them to get so desperately lost? They weren't looking for trouble. They are all experimented hikers and campers, with equipment in good condition; they checked it before they left. And these woods are fully mapped. There wasn't supposed to be any...

This is the story of a magical guidebook, that could take you to any place you pointed to on its pages. The Guidebook started out as a simple travel journal, for a young woman who was not aware of her abilities. A true wanderer, she took trip after trip, carefully documenting every step in her diary, at first not realising every single picture she glued in there became a portal to the location where the photograph had been taken. By the time she did understand what she had done, there were already many pages filled with images of places far and wide around the world! The first time she experienced the magic of what she had created, she was lucky not to end up somewhere too cold or too hot for what she was wearing. Thinking she was hallucinating, she stayed put until, twenty-four hours later, the Guidebook brought her back to her room, where she had been when she had touched it. It laid exactly where it had been then, too. After that, she did not dare to open it for a while. But it ...

Andrew regains consciousness with a banging headache, his face flat on his dashboard. He winces in pain as he straightens up, which pulls on a cut on his forehead. He reaches for it reflexively, but the blood has already dried. He then looks around his cockpit, where every single equipment appears to have taken heavy damage, and swears under his breath. The hull must be intact, at least, or he would be dead. He looks out the window and cannot see any point of reference, only distant stars that are just as likely to be familiar as they are to be unknown, from this far. He manages to pull up a radar image, for a 360° view, but that is no help. So, he goes for the radio: "HQ? Anyone copy?" " Five by five, Captain McCarthy, " answers a mechanical voice. "Can you tell me where I am?" " Your ship's navigation system appears to be offline. " "Yeah, I can see that; that's why I was hoping you could help me out." " I am sorry...

"What do you see?" "Not much. Birds, boats… Is that a dolphin?" "What kind of boats?" "I don't know. Small ones. Maybe for fishing. Not the type that could be a threat to us. Obviously…" Clearly, he WOULD say something if he was seeing anything of interest. His sister knows that, doesn't she? "It's been days." "I am aware; I've been right here waiting alongside you." "They should have been back, by now." "Well, they're not." Lowering his hand from his brow, where it was shielding his eyes from the Sun, Reyld tears his gaze away from the line where the sky meets the ocean, far ahead. It doesn't really matter whether he is staring or not. That's not going to make his other sisters come back faster. They'll get here whether or not there is anyone waiting for them. He was just doing it out of habit. "What are we going to do if they don't come back?" ...

What are the odds? Seriously, what are the chances that you'll actually get the expected result, here? Infinitesimal, at best, and that's being generous. What you're planning is basically impossible. Do you have the slightest idea the number of stars that will need to align for this to work? You will literally need to control the elements at some points. I'm talking elements like the weather, which includes wind speed, atmospheric pressure, precipitation, temperature, the works. There's also timing, in terms of time of day, time of year, actual year. Down to the nanosecond in some cases. Then there is the amount of skill required from all concerned parties. Parties which will need to meet in the first place. And agree, or at least independently come to the same conclusion. The variables are endless! And as if this weren't bad enough, luck is a component, too. You need both hard-earned expertise AND sheer good fortune for this to come to fruition, not just eithe...