Flysticks: Cruising skies

Chapter one

     My back makes a soft thud on the field of artifical grass after despair loosens my sturdy bones, causing me to slide off my hoverstick floating multiple inxhes above the ground. I struggle to breathe. The scattering lights above me watch down at me with shame. I close my eyes. How many attempts till I make any progress? This question boils my chest with agony. 

     "Again!" A low pitch, booms into the air. 

     "No!" I shout.

     I open my eyes. And stand myself up. A muscular woman furrows, with crossed arms. Flaring her eyes at me. She carried a pocket watch, A light reflects on the bronze-ticking item. She shouts, "what?" 

     Refusing to reply I grab my hoverstick, walking towards the east side of the double-doors, besides two levers, attached to the concrete wall, of the stadium. The grass crunching under my feet. I shake the hoverstick, it shrank into a cylinder. I attach the cylinder onto my hip. 

     "Our training isn't over! Get back here Terry!" 

     "Hey! Back off! A high pitch shout interviews. 

     My eyes darts upwards. A girl with curly hair stands, holding the carbon steel rail, at the elevated seating area. She smiles at me. I smile back and she waves. 

     I enter the locker room through the double doors. After removing my prot active gear, exchanging it with the clatter in my pocket, immediately taking myself to the exit. I walk west down the hallway, after reaching the corner I meet the the girl with the curly hair. She takes my hand and we depart the entrance hall. 

     We stood outside the entrance doors. I signaled with a wave of hand, to the winged horse I instantly catch in my peripateti. The winged horse approching us, pulling a carriage on the cobbled road. I lift myg legs off the paved walkway and my legs rest on tfhe glass floor inside the the carriage closing the door after the curly haired girl steps inside. 

     "Where too?" ask the winged horse. 

     "To the Red Roses and poses," I say. 

     "No," the girl intersects. 

     I furrow my eyebrows, "yes." 

     "You ever golf?" 

     I sigh. And my shoulders eases on the seat. 

Michael A. Romain

#382 in Fantasy
#76 in Short stories

Story about: a broomracing festival, ra

Edited: 29.12.2020

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