I am invisible, secluded in a corner of my homebound train as it groans and clatters its only song across a thousand miles of tracks. Out of the window, telephone lines bob and weave against the blazing sky. Days-old patches of snow tuck away into the red earth while blackjack oaks fade into the endless, sun-drenched horizon.
It was the perfect night for Jim to drive his love, Angie, to his favorite spot along the scenic drive. They were just going to watch the sunset at first, but the orange skies lazily turned jet black and they weren’t ready to end their romantic evening just yet.
Amylia sighed out of boredom. Her netscan visor projected thousands of glowing green data bytes every second like raindrops on her skin. She hid in a corner of the corporate network and watched it all stream by, one useless message after another.
“Bring me my grimoire,” the old warlock said.
“Right away, master,” replied the demon. “What spell shall we cast?”
“A powerful curse. Something truly wicked.”
Because I love old stories and their evolution through time, I want to flip back the calendar pages to the days of the Wild West and pre-statehood Oklahoma to look at the origins of the Western genre.
I turned the corner and there it was ─ the same moss-covered statue I’ve passed at least four times now. Just laughing at me. It knows I’m lost. I’ve refused to let this maze get the best of me, but I feel like I’ve been trying to escape for years. I’m almost ready to give up.