(Jixanny Prompt Nine: Picture Prompt - Pic #4)
The storm had finally moved off toward the west, leaving only a steady drip-drip-drip of water off the gutters and the cool, damp smell of wet earth drifting through the slightly cracked window of Trixie’s bedroom.
Trixie sat cross-legged on her quilt, a heavy leather-bound journal resting against her knees. The lamp on her nightstand cast a warm, amber circle of light, making her shadow loom large against the floral wallpaper. Beside her, Clyde sat like a small, watchful sentinel. His yellow eyes were fixed on the movement of her pen, his tail giving a rhythmic, thoughtful twitch.
She paused as she looked down at the entry she’d just finished - a detailed, slightly frantic account of the "Bill and Ted Incident" and her up-close-and-too-personal encounter with a fiery jack o’ lantern.
"I’m serious, Clyde," she said ruefully. "I look at Sarah’s journal like it's the ultimate map to the universe. Every time I open it, I feel like I'm touching something wise and almost sacred."
Clyde let out a soft mrrp and leaned forward, sniffing the edge of the paper.
"But look at this," Trixie continued, gesturing with her pen at the messy writing and the underlined warnings. "If someone reads this in a few hundred years, what is she even going to think? Is she going to see a master of the craft, or is she going to see a girl, her brother, and her boyfriend who accidentally summoned a cinematic duo and the Headless Freaking Horseman?"
She reached out, scratching Clyde behind his ears. The cat purred, a low and somehow soothing sound.
"I can't decide if I should leave these behind as a cautionary tale," she mused. "You know, like a giant 'DO NOT TOUCH' sign for the next generation of Beldens. 'Here is exactly how Dan, Mart, and I messed up so you don't have to.' Or..." She trailed off, glancing at her cat again. "Or if I should just burn the evidence. Wait until we know what we’re really doing, assuming that actually happens, and start over with a journal that makes me look like I had a plan all along."
She sighed, looking back at the page. "Sarah made it look so easy. But I bet she had her 'Suck Days' too. She just probably didn't have to deal with flaming ghost pumpkins or time-traveling slackers."
Clyde blinked slowly, then climbed into her lap, turning one, awkward circle before settling on top of the journal.
"Right.” Trixie laughed softly, closing her eyes and resting her head against the headboard. "First things first. Survive the Horseman. Then I can worry about my literary legacy. For now, I think I'll just leave the matches in the kitchen."
The storm had finally moved off toward the west, leaving only a steady drip-drip-drip of water off the gutters and the cool, damp smell of wet earth drifting through the slightly cracked window of Trixie’s bedroom.
Trixie sat cross-legged on her quilt, a heavy leather-bound journal resting against her knees. The lamp on her nightstand cast a warm, amber circle of light, making her shadow loom large against the floral wallpaper. Beside her, Clyde sat like a small, watchful sentinel. His yellow eyes were fixed on the movement of her pen, his tail giving a rhythmic, thoughtful twitch.
She paused as she looked down at the entry she’d just finished - a detailed, slightly frantic account of the "Bill and Ted Incident" and her up-close-and-too-personal encounter with a fiery jack o’ lantern.
"I’m serious, Clyde," she said ruefully. "I look at Sarah’s journal like it's the ultimate map to the universe. Every time I open it, I feel like I'm touching something wise and almost sacred."
Clyde let out a soft mrrp and leaned forward, sniffing the edge of the paper.
"But look at this," Trixie continued, gesturing with her pen at the messy writing and the underlined warnings. "If someone reads this in a few hundred years, what is she even going to think? Is she going to see a master of the craft, or is she going to see a girl, her brother, and her boyfriend who accidentally summoned a cinematic duo and the Headless Freaking Horseman?"
She reached out, scratching Clyde behind his ears. The cat purred, a low and somehow soothing sound.
"I can't decide if I should leave these behind as a cautionary tale," she mused. "You know, like a giant 'DO NOT TOUCH' sign for the next generation of Beldens. 'Here is exactly how Dan, Mart, and I messed up so you don't have to.' Or..." She trailed off, glancing at her cat again. "Or if I should just burn the evidence. Wait until we know what we’re really doing, assuming that actually happens, and start over with a journal that makes me look like I had a plan all along."
She sighed, looking back at the page. "Sarah made it look so easy. But I bet she had her 'Suck Days' too. She just probably didn't have to deal with flaming ghost pumpkins or time-traveling slackers."
Clyde blinked slowly, then climbed into her lap, turning one, awkward circle before settling on top of the journal.
"Right.” Trixie laughed softly, closing her eyes and resting her head against the headboard. "First things first. Survive the Horseman. Then I can worry about my literary legacy. For now, I think I'll just leave the matches in the kitchen."