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Emily Roubini

Into the clouds

 It was a cloudy day, as cloudy as it could be. The sky was a uniform shade of white, interrupted only by occasional wisps of cloud. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. But on this particular cloudy day, something very unusual happened.

A woman, dressed in a vivid red coat and carrying a battered old suitcase, stepped off the curb and into the middle of the road. Traffic came to a halt around her, honking their horns and shouting in frustration. Pedestrians stopped in their tracks, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. The woman paid them no mind, her gaze fixed firmly on the clouds above.

As she stood there, the clouds began to part, revealing a small patch of blue sky. The woman tilted her head back, letting the sunlight warm her face. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, she threw herself forward, arms outstretched. To the onlookers, it appeared as if she were trying to embrace the sky. But as she reached up towards the clouds, something extraordinary happened.

Her body seemed to disappear, merging seamlessly with the clouds around her. In the blink of an eye, she was gone, swallowed whole by the ethereal mass. The remaining clouds began to twist and churn, forming a vortex above the spot where she had vanished. The wind picked up, whistling through the streets, sending papers and debris flying through the air. The traffic, now at a standstill, began to honk their horns again, but this time out of wonder rather than frustration.

The woman's disappearance had left everyone in a state of shock. Some people stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Others, more superstitious in nature, crossed themselves and muttered prayers under their breath. Still others laughed, thinking it was all some sort of elaborate hoax. But as they stood there, watching the clouds dance above where she had been, they couldn't shake the feeling that something truly incredible had just happened.

The vortex of clouds continued to spin, growing larger and more intense with each passing second. It was as if the very sky itself was trying to tell them something. Something they couldn't quite understand yet. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the vortex began to dissipate. The clouds settled back into their usual pattern, and the woman reappeared, floating gently back down to the ground.

Her red coat billowed out behind her like wings, and as she landed on the pavement, she turned to face the crowd that had gathered around her. Her eyes shone with an otherworldly light, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The onlookers, still reeling from what they had witnessed, hesitantly took a step forward, their curiosity getting the better of them.

"Where did you come from?" someone finally managed to ask.

The woman looked at them for a long moment before answering. "I came from the clouds," she said simply. "And now it's time for me to go back."

With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk away, back towards the horizon where the clouds and sky met in a perfect line. The crowd watched her go, their minds reeling with questions and theories, but none of them daring to interrupt her as she disappeared once more into the ethereal realm from which she came.

And as the last echoes of her footsteps faded away, the world seemed just a little bit stranger and more wonderful than it had before.

Sky

 Sunlight streamed through the window, casting long stripes across the bed, where a girl slept peacefully. Her name was Emily. She was twelve years old. As she lay there, Emily had the odd sensation that something was... different. It was hard to put her finger on it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. She yawned and stretched, rolling over to face the other way.

The walls of her room were covered in posters of her favorite bands and actors. There was a small desk by the window, cluttered with schoolbooks and paintbrushes. Her toys were neatly arranged on a shelf above her bed. Everything seemed so normal, so familiar. But still, that nagging feeling wouldn't go away.

Emily sat up suddenly, her eyes wide open. She glanced around the room, her heart racing. What was it? Something felt... off. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, taking a tentative step forward. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and she shivered. It was like she could feel eyes on her, watching her every move.

She walked over to her bedroom door and hesitantly turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing the hallway beyond. The hallway was empty, the carpet soft beneath her feet. But still, that feeling... it was almost as if she wasn't alone. She took another step, her heart pounding in her chest, and then another.

As she continued down the hall, she couldn't help but wonder what had caused that strange sensation earlier. It was almost as if she had stepped into someone else's dream. Or maybe... she thought, her heart racing even faster... maybe she was the one who didn't belong.

11

 The sky was the color of old teeth, and the wind felt like a knife blade scraping across bare skin. It was one of those days where you could practically taste the impending storm in the air, thick and ominous, as if the world itself were holding its breath in anticipation. Even the birds had the sense to stay in their nests, as if they knew that there was no point in trying to fly against such a force.

In this small, unremarkable town, there was a particular street that seemed to attract a certain type of person. People who were running from something, or looking for something they couldn't quite put their finger on. The buildings were old and weathered, with peeling paint and boarded-up windows. It was the kind of place where you could disappear for a while, if you knew how to blend in.

One such character, a woman in her early thirties with auburn hair and piercing green eyes, walked down the center of the street, her head held high despite the biting wind. She wore a long black coat, the collar turned up to protect her neck from the cold. In one hand she carried a battered leather satchel, the other hand tucked into the pocket of her favorite pair of worn jeans. As she walked, she hummed to herself, a tune that seemed to come from nowhere and yet was oddly familiar.

The air was thick with the smell of coffee, and as she passed by a small, quaint café, she couldn't help but stop and peer inside. The warmth from the fireplace and the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee called to her, tempting her to step inside and take refuge from the storm that was surely on its way. But she hesitated, glancing at her watch instead. It was almost time. She couldn't afford to be late.

Light

 It's a warm summer evening. The sky is painted a vivid orange, as if someone had splashed a great can of paint across the horizon. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, and crickets chirp from the shrubs lining the sidewalk. A young woman, her long black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, is sitting cross-legged on the front step of an old, ramshackle house. She's wearing a pair of faded jeans and a tank top, and she's idly twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she watches the world go by.

Her name is Lily, and she's been living here with her grandmother for as long as she can remember. She's always known that her grandmother was different from other people; she had a sixth sense, a connection to the spirit world that most people simply couldn't understand. As a child, Lily would often visit her grandmother's old séance room, where they would hold hands and try to contact the dead. She'd never really believed in any of it, not until tonight.

Something feels different tonight. The air is charged with energy, like the world is about to change in some profound and unimaginable way. Lily can't shake the feeling that her grandmother is about to teach her something important, something that will change her life forever. She looks up at the old woman, who is sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, her wrinkled hands folded neatly in her lap, and wonders what secret she's about to reveal.

The sky turns a deeper shade of orange, and Lily's heart begins to race. She can feel the tension building in her chest, a mix of anticipation and fear. The world around her seems to fade away, and all she can focus on is her grandmother's face, etched with wrinkles and stories of a life well lived. The old woman looks up at her, her eyes twinkling in the dim light, and slowly raises a gnarled finger into the air.

"Do you see it, child?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you feel it?"

Lily nods, her throat tightening. "I see it, Grandmother," she says, her voice trembling. "I feel it too."

The old woman smiles, her lips curling into a knowing grin. "Good," she says. "Then you are ready."

With those words, a blinding flash of light fills the sky, and the world around them changes in an instant. The house, the porch, the crickets, the stars - everything seems to fade away, replaced by a swirling vortex of colors and shapes. Lily feels herself being pulled into the vortex, spinning faster and faster, until she can no longer tell up from down, left from right. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the spinning stops, and she finds herself standing in a place she's never seen before.

The air is cool and crisp, and the sky above her head is a deep, indigo blue, speckled with twinkling stars. She's no longer on the front step of her grandmother's house. She's somewhere else entirely. Somewhere magical. Somewhere real.

Gravity

 The air was thick with anticipation as the small crowd gathered around the makeshift stage. The performer, a tall, lanky man with a mane of wild red hair, stood before them, a look of determination etched into his weathered face. He adjusted the knobs and dials on the antique device in his hands, its brass casing gleaming in the faint light. The silence was palpable, each person in the crowd holding their breath, waiting for the moment when he would flip the switch.

As if sensing the weight of their expectations, the man hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally, with a flourish, he flipped the switch. There was a deafening roar, and the crowd flinched, covering their ears. A blinding flash filled the air, momentarily blinding everyone. When their eyes adjusted, they saw that the man was gone, vanished into thin air. In his place, a massive, spinning orb hung suspended above the stage. It pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly light, casting strange shadows across the faces of the stunned onlookers.

As they stared, transfixed, at the spinning orb, they felt something...different. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first. But as they continued to watch, it grew stronger, more tangible. They felt their feet lift off the ground, their bodies begin to float, weightless. The orb seemed to be exerting a gravitational force on them, pulling them toward it with an irresistible force. They could feel the pull in their bones, in their very souls. It was as if they were being drawn into the heart of the spinning orb, into another world entirely.

Slowly, the crowd began to move toward the orb, their faces etched with a mix of awe, fear, and wonder. They drifted closer, drawn inexorably toward the spinning sphere of light. They knew, deep down, that this was no ordinary performance. This was something more, something profound. They felt a connection to the orb, a sense of belonging, of being part of something greater than themselves. As they approached the orb, they felt their lives, their very existence, begin to shift, to change. They were no longer the same people they had been mere moments ago. They were being reborn, transformed, by the power of the spinning sphere.

The man, the performer, had vanished. But his legacy remained, etched into the very fabric of reality itself. The spinning orb, the focus of their attention, their obsession, hung there, pulsing with energy, waiting for them to reach out and touch it, to become one with it, to become gravity.

Steps

 The world was a blur of blue and green, like looking through a kaleidoscope. I was floating, weightless, yet with an odd sense of gravity pressing down on me. I tried to move, to speak, but found myself paralyzed. My vision began to sharpen, and I realized I was lying on a cold, hard surface. The sky above me was no longer a peaceful blue, but a deep indigo, speckled with tiny pinpricks of light. I forced my eyelids open, squinting against the brightness.

I was in a garden, or at least what remained of one. The carefully tended flower beds were now overrun with weeds, and the statues that once adorned the pathways were toppled and cracked. The air smelled of dust and decay, and a chilly wind rustled through the leaves of the few trees left standing. I sat up, wincing as pains shot through my body, and glanced around for any sign of life.

As I scanned my surroundings, I noticed a small, battered notebook lying on the ground nearby. Curiosity getting the better of me, I reached out and picked it up. The cover was made of rough, worn leather, and it felt strangely familiar in my hand. Flipping it open, I saw that it was filled with meticulous handwriting, each word neatly formed and carefully inked. The first entry read: "Steps taken: 0." I frowned, trying to remember what that meant. Just then, a distant murmur broke the silence, growing steadily louder.