This story was written using the first prompt on the NV Rivera YouTube Channel: Use the Author as a Model. I used Neil Gaiman’s short story “The Goldfish Pool & Other Stories” as my model.
This is a 3 minute read.
THE MOMENT
It was snowing when I arrived at ComicCon and I felt myself surrounded by a thousand misshapen superheros.
There was a volunteer in a hi-yellow Tshirt waiting for me at the check-in holding an exhibit booth placard with my name misspelled neatly upon it.
“I’m taking you straight to your next stop ma’am,” said the volunteer. She seemed vaguely disappointed that I didn’t have any swag for her to collect, just a single advanced reader copy of my book to display and a pen from a local bank.
“You know,” she said as she led me to an empty elevator, “I don’t think you’re ready for what comes next.”
“I’ve come to ComicCon before,” I said with a smile. She was right to warn people. It could be an intense experience if you’ve never been before.
“Not the con,” she said as the elevator doors closed, “your career.” She smiled widely and I was taken aback by the way she looked directly in my eyes. It was as if she was challenging me to say something more or to question her. I said nothing, so she continued. “I read your book.” Her eyes darted to the prepublication copy of The Arrows Dance in my hand.
“Oh,” I said, “are you a book blogger?” Someone from the publishing house had tried to start a blog campaign with my book. I hadn’t checked in to see how it did.
It’s a terrible thing to admit, but although I was ecstatic to be a debut author, I knew in my soul The Arrows Dance was far from a complete story. It was the beginning of an epic series. The publisher signed on for a trilogy, but my outlines were sketched out as far as book seven. I hadn’t stopped writing since finishing revisions on The Arrows Dance. This Con was the first thing I had allowed to interrupt my flow in 8 months, and that was mostly because I wanted to attend as a fan.
The girl pressed the emergency stop button in the elevator and stepped closer to me. “I’m not supposed to say anything. I’m just a guide on the side. I’m here with you because this is a moment and you may need me to steady you, but I simply can’t pass up this opportunity to tell you how big this is going to get.
I didn’t want to be afraid of this young girl in her borrowed volunteer tee and jeans that looked a size too big, but her light eyes set in her round face with skin so dark it seemed other-worldly. Her black curly hair that wasn’t given the freedom of length, clung to the crown of her head and seemed to follow no style or current trend.
“Why did you press that button?” I asked, trying to speak slow enough that the tremor wouldn’t find my words.
“It’s okay,” she said again, smiling, “I’m here to help.” She placed her long-fingered, cold hand on my bare arm. The hairs all over my body prickled.
“This is a moment,” she said again. I began to wonder if this androgenous being was attempting to make a pass at me.
“I shoved her hand away and moved my way over to the controls releasing the elevator from its stall. “Well, the moment has passed.”
The elevator doors opened. On the other side was another volunteer. A boy this time, but almost exactly the same build and height as the girl behind me. His eyes were dark, his skin light, but his hair -- though it was blonde -- had the same short, tight-to-the-head curls. Maybe I was wrong, maybe it was a trend.
“I’ll take you from here, ma’am,” he said looking at the girl behind me.
“She isn’t ready,” the girl said as the boy took the placard from her.
“No one ever is. That is why we are here,” he smiled at me and said, “Now let’s get you to that next stop.”
I stepped forward, almost missing the whispered words from the girl behind me, “Your life is about to change.”
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The inspiration
Here is the video of the prompt so you can write your own story.