Luna Station Quarterly is a speculative fiction magazine featuring stories by emerging women authors.
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There It Stood

There it stood. Staring. She flipped it the bird. It did not take flight. Strange, she had seen it done and almost anticipated that sense of satisfaction when she would watch it disappear in dismay at her decision. Obviously it knew her better than she had been lead to believe. It could tell that she had not yet made a decision but was trying to convince it otherwise. It was waiting for the real choice. Shit. Could she call on something else? What would be a match for indecision (apart from the obvious, which was currently otherwise engaged)? Confusion? Perhaps to start a conversation with emotion or with existential dilemma would distract its purpose and she could slip away without detection.

Hi there you two. Or low?

Depends who you’re asking I suppose. Emotion? You talking today?

Why wouldn’t I be? Is implication there with you?

No it’s there with you, obviously. I was just asking.

You never just ask though, do you?

I can always just ask. Because there’s never an answer anyway.

Fiddlesticks.

That’s not like you. Who’re you hiding?

None of your business.

Oh hi. Not seen you for a while. Emotion in need of some immaturity?

Always.

Hey!

You asked for it.

I asked for someone to be on my side is what you’re here for.

Where for?

Well, wherever we were before this grand event. What is this?

Nothing of note really. I was just saying hi. Just, passing through. Is that indecision over there? Looks left out.

Well I don’t want it. I’ve already an attachment I don’t need.

That’s not my fault is it- you never think before you call and then fucking reason always takes precious time to get anywhere useful and I can’t leave before the royal arrival as you well know. So suck it up and have a cry otherwise they’ll say I’m not doing my job properly.

When you finish with reason send it over to indecision then please?

Do it yourself.

Come on we’re all on the same side here. Don’t laugh.

Oh I’m laughing.

You’ll throw the tears off course.

They were never going to be real.

As far as I’m concerned they were.

As far as anything ever is. Where’d she go?

Who’s with her if we’re here?

What an ego. Oh hi. How’s things?

Top of the world.

Of course.

And she had satisfied a disappearance. She closed the window gently behind her and looked at the room. It was a window she had recognized but the place she found herself in was new- a round orange room with black floorboards and an open top that bared the cloudy sky above. A round blue rug sat in the centre of the floor. Turning around she watched the window melt into the wall leaving just a small keyhole in its place. There were no other windows or doors in the room. She was alone. Walking the circumference, her hand brushed against the wall, fingers finding many more keyholes in place of non-existent windows.

She stood still, listening to nothingness. The clouds drifted above, coming from somewhere and going to a place she could only guess. She stood in the middle of the rug and looked at it. Hundreds of keys were tied to the fringed border all around the edge. Kneeling down she untied a key and walked over to a keyhole. They key went in and she turned it. A lock clicked and a window grew from the hole. She opened the window and leaned out. A giant mirror stretched out beyond the horizon on all sides. It reflected nothing because nothing was there, not even above. Reaching down she touched the mirror and her fingers made a ripple on the surface. Retreating inside the room again she shut the window and the window melted away leaving no keyhole.

She lay on the rug and stared up at the sky. The clouds had thickened and the smell of rain was in the air. She closed her eyes and breathed in. She sat up. Bending over her fingers worked each key loose from their ties, leaving the keys on the floor beside the rug. As the last key was untied, the rug lifted up and up. Carrying her into the depth of clouds, soaking her through as thunder rumbled around her. She stood up and looked down. Nothing could be seen through the thick dark rain-cloud. She let herself fall backwards through the fog and as she gained speed, turned into a bolt of lightning, finding the ground again and disappearing into the world.

A bit about the author:

Emma is a writer and film director from Australia, currently based in London and Sarajevo. She is studying her MA at film.factory under mentor Béla Tarr. Emma is an alumni of the Berlinale Talents, the Berlinale Short Film Station and the TransAtlantic Talent Lab Reykjavík. Visit author page