Waiting in the Canyon

I honestly don’t really know what this is. I was bored and threw together some words and tried to structure them like sentences in order to express ideas. This is some weird thing that resulted.

Wednesday twisted locks of hair around her fingers; she pressed her incisors’ tips directly together, making her jaw jut. The shrunken head in her hands frowned quietly.

The salon had walls on two sides, both made of red rock eroded by wind and glittering with grains of mica. The remaining two sides were rows of carved arches, exposing the room to the openness of the canyon. The sunlight flooded the room. Distant walls of ancient stone were drowned in a blue haze. Wind hissed through the canyon.

An androgynous shaman perched at the desk sipped amber cider and drew circles on the surface with a lazy finger. A horsefly drowsily flew in a corner, ignoring the two bipeds.

A small hole in the rock opened and a pair of mice exited, one became a boy and approached the desk. The other slipped back into the tunnel.

The boy spoke to the shaman in Inuktit and the shaman’s dark green eyes looked through him. He placed some turquoise onto the desk and stepped outside.

Wednesday stretched her legs out and looked at the confused, oblivious horsefly.

“Ich möchte einige Erdbeeren,” she muttered and put the head down. The shaman looked up and grunted at her disapprovingly. She wasn’t sure if it was the German or the fact that she had brought in a shrunken head.

She summoned a small bowl of pistachio ice cream and sourly gnawed on her wooden spoon.

She considered killing the horsefly, but then there wouldn’t be anything to watch. She’d seen the Grand Canyon thousands of times, and being stuck out here wasn’t offering up any entertainment.

She tried to charm the head awake, but it was sealed shut. She had hoped it would be a little more polite when it was bored, but evidently it wasn’t going to yield.

Wednesday fantasized that she would approach the desk haughtily, slam her fist down next to the turquoise rocks, and demand to be seen. Or just punch the shaman in the face. She had a great deal of difficulty picturing exactly how she would do it, so instead she pictured jumping off the side.

She wasn’t allowed to summon any high-level toys for herself here, which meant no fire.

“You wanna cure your pyromania? Get outta my house!” Natalie had shouted at her. Wednesday had wanted to point out Natalie’s excess mascara and weird red eyeshadow to Deirdre, in order to provoke the matriarch, but Deirdre hadn’t been likely to listen to a girl getting kicked out of their boss’s home.

Wednesday figured being dead wasn’t a big problem for her, but waiting was definitely going to drive her insane.

She groaned, completed the ice cream, and hurled the cup at the horsefly. The shaman nonchalantly looked at the girl as the bowl clattered against the wall and fell to the floor.

Anna, Jackie, and Aaron had died in her fire. But it wasn’t her fault—Natalie had been wrong. Natalie was always wrong.

Wednesday pouted at the shaman, and, restlessly, considered leaping back-first out of the room and plummeting down through the haze.

“Oh, my Lolita,” the horsefly sang.

Wednesday’s gaze shot over to it.

It wasn’t the horsefly.

A claw-handed poet slouched in the corner and beamed softly. Wednesday turned her head disdainfully and gnawed on her lips.

“When’s my train?” she finally asked the shaman.

“Two o’clock,” responded the poet.

She sighed. That was an eternity from now.

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