Out of Time | A Fantasy Short Story

It's finals week. You know what that means...

It’s that time of the semester again: finals week.

My students are scrambling to finish projects, write papers, and end the term on a high note. In a similar vein, so am I. I’ll share more information later, but we’re going to rebrand this newsletter to head in a new, different, and (in my opinion) better direction, focusing on what I love: fantasy fiction.

I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am. In fact, why don’t you subscribe so you don’t miss all the updates?

Anyway, that’s enough out of me; here’s a new story, “Out of Time.”

It might be a little rough around the edges, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Out of Time

By J. Louis

Sweat beaded on Cole’s forehead as he reviewed his wizarding exam answers. He nervously fiddled with his quill, lightly tapping it on the desk; busy fingers kept him from picking at his cuticles. As he flipped over the last page, he took a deep breath, then exhaled.

All questions answered, and without any guesswork.

But it wasn’t the paper exam he was worried about.

Professor Celia watched over the students like a hawk from her perch at the head of the classroom, her beady eyes occasionally glancing at the pocket watch clutched in her talons. He avoided making eye contact with her and instead let his gaze drift to the other students.

Some of them had given up entirely, putting their heads down and accepting defeat, while others struggled on. A light-haired girl in front of him tapped her foot on the cobblestoned floor as she gnawed on the shaft of her quill. The tall freckled boy next to him took off his glasses and, with tears dripping down his cheeks, signed his name at the top of his exam.

His name!

“Time’s up.”

The professor rose from her seat, the wings of her dark cloak billowing with the motion. Several students around Cole continued to furiously scribble down their answers. He flipped his exam over and scrawled his name at the top of his own.

“I said time’s up!”

The professor’s voice cracked with wicked contortion, and the room grew dark. With the final stroke of his name, his quill–along with all the others–zipped out of his hand and raced toward the front of the classroom. Their tips embedded themselves into the chalkboard like arrows shot from a crossbow. Professor Celia plucked the quills out one by one.

“We’re moving on to the practical exam.”

The students all stood and formed a single-file line. It was a simple test: lift the professor’s pocket watch off the desk using magic.

But all Cole had managed to do in practice was flip it upside-down. He understood the theory, yet struggled with practical application.

One by one, the students approached the front of the classroom for the exam. Some managed to make it float with the most basic of magic: levitation spells and hover charms. Others took more creative approaches, lifting it with wind gusts, or water geysers, or even plant stalks sprouting from the desk itself. Regardless of how creative the solution, Professor Celia remained cold and stone-faced, stating “Pass” or “Fail” accordingly.

“Cole,” the professor said. “Your turn.”

Cole swallowed and picked at his fingers, feeling the skin flake and strip from the nail. He approached the front of the classroom and stared at the pocket watch, ticking away on the polished surface of the desk.

Float, he thought, mentally grappling with the pocket watch.

It shifted to the left and right, but did not rise. He tried again, and again, but the pocket watch remained adamant, refusing to heed his demand. He ran through all the spells, charms, and incantations he could think of, but to no avail. Professor Celia drummed her long fingers on the desk, a bored expression on her face.

Cole took a deep breath and glanced out the window. A lark roosted on the sill, trilling its cheerful melody. He closed his eyes and pictured it floating on the breeze, its wings spread wide. How was it so easy, so effortless for them? He opened his mind and reached for the root once again, the source of all magic, and let his thoughts take shape.

Fly, he thought. Fly, and be free.

And the pocket watch, at last, yielded.

The watch rolled along the surface of the desk, then sprouted wings, one much bigger than the other. With what seemed like great effort, it lifted itself off the desk and flew unevenly in front of the professor’s hooked nose. She watched it with keen eyes, like a predator stalking its prey.

Then she snatched it out of the air.

“You pass,” the professor said with a curt nod. “And bonus points for creativity. I like, uh…” She lifted the watch and examined the feathers, mangled by her hand. “Whatever this is.”

From the Prompt Vault

Next, it’s your turn to get creative!

Write a story inspired by the prompt: sprouted.

If you use this prompt, restack this post and tag me in it so I can read your work. I love seeing what you all come up with week to week.

Thanks for Reading!

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That’s all I’ve got for now. Until next time… keep writing!

- Josh