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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/910629-Calling-Pandora
Rated: 18+ · Book · Activity · #2120076
Collection of 31 short-short stories and some micro fiction. Easy to review.
#910629 added May 7, 2017 at 3:47pm
Restrictions: None
Calling Pandora
Harry, Ron, and Hermione become friends.

**

Daxter, tapping his watch and then looking at the horizon, said, "Harlen, It's time to sew your problems into your empty dreams."

Harlen scratched his buzz cut. "In English, please."

The wind whipped Daxter's coat around his legs, his face swaddled in layers of fur. "It's called a metaphor." Daxter studied Harlen's blank stare. "You told me you never dream." Harlen looked even more confused. "When I meditate—"

Harlen rolled his eyes.

Daxter ignored his best friend, wondering, yet again, what he found in Harlen that captured his imagination. "In plain English, then. Before you fall asleep, ask your brain how to free the stone."

A nearby rock fit in Harlen's hand, and he tossed it across the blue river, counting how many times it hit the surface before sinking. "Ya see that, Dax? Seven jumps. Want me to find you a skipping stone?"

More shy than commanding, Dax considered his possible options and chose the one that would ground his flaky friend. "Maybe we have three days left, maybe two. It's time we call in Pandora."

His mouth formed a grim frown. "No freaking way. Don't you remember the last time she helped? She almost destroyed the San Francisco bridge."

"The operative word in that sentence, Harlen, is almost. Stop digging up onions, or we'll all be slaving under Freakazoid's demands."

"Freakazoid?" Another rock slid from Harlen's palm, skipping ten times. "Digging up onions?"

Under other circumstances, Daxter would have laughed. "Seriously, bro." Dax punched Harlen's shoulder. "Digging up onions, the past. Freakazoid? You do remember who Pandora's father was?"

"Was?" scoffed Harlen. "Nobody ever found the body. If you ask me—"

"I'm not asking."

—"Pandora's looking good for her father's murder. I refuse to work with her."

The weight of the world deepened Daxter's sigh. "Onions, Harlen, Onions." Dax grabbed his friend's shoulders and shook him.

"What the . . . you're rattling my teeth. Back off, Dax."

Above their heads, an eagle sailed. Both boys watched the gentle swoop of its graceful flight. Dax took note of Harlen's awe.

"Pandora's ancestors and her dad practically built this city." He picked up a small stone and winged it hard enough to clip Harlen's shoulder. "You ever want to see another eagle soar?"

Harlen, rubbing the sore spot, glared at Dax. "You had to hit my bad shoulder. You remember how I hurt it. Back in second—"

"No one cares about the past, Harlen. If we don't capture the stone, no past ever existed. Freakazoid takes over the world."

If dawn lighting up Harlen's face wasn't such a cliche, Dax would have said that. On second thought . . . "Looks like dawn hit your face and lit you up. You get it now, right?"

Harlen laughed. "Finally, you speak like a normal human being. His face sobered. "You think Freakazoid is Pandora's dad, don't you?"

Daxter's shoulders sagged as if a two ton weight had tumbled off. "I already talked to Pandora. She'll have answers, not conjectures."

Mid throw, Harlen dropped his skipping stone. "You . . . what?

The disbelief written on his features almost made Dax laugh. "Look," he held out placating hands, "I know Pandora makes you itchy. I only wanted to feel her out before approaching you."

The waggling of Harlen's warned of his lewd comment. "Don't you mean you felt her up?"

Face red and hands shaking, Dax rushed Harlen and wrestled his friend to the ground. Fists blew, and grunts followed.

"Boys, boys."

Daxter and Harlen jumped to their feet at the sound of Pandora's lyrical voice.

For Dax, it was a siren song. He brushed off his jeans, and with his head studying his scuffed sneakers, he apologized. Pandora's reassuring hand on his shoulder lit him up like a race car lunging forward. A second later, the calm he only knew in her presence saturated him. "Uh, how much did you see?" Her jeans appeared to be painted on, along with her t-shirt.

With one delicate finger, Pandora pointed to her eyes. "Daxter, my eyes are up here."

Hot and cold, upside down and inside out, left is right, and the globe fell off its axis. Pandora's effect on Dax never dulled.

Pandora laughed. "You can close your mouth, now, Daxter."

The eagle soared over their position, and this time Dax chilled. "I think that's the same eagle we've been seeing. And I don't think it's real."

Her arm involuntarily snaked around Dax's shoulder. "You're not saying that eagle is one of Freakazoid's drones?"

Dax drew her close to ease her trembling.

Harlen loped into view, pockets heavy with skipping stones. "Hey, Pandy."

Pandora's upper cut to Harlen's jaw silenced him. "Do . . . not . . . call me that . . . again. Unless you prefer dying."

"Cut it out, you two," Daxter said. "Pandora, you brought the map of the underground tunnels?"

From a well-worn leather satchel, Pandora teased out the contents.

One of Harlen's arms made a grab for it, easily deflected by Pandora.

"Hey, that was my left shoulder. The one that got hurt in—"

"Second grade," Daxter and Pandora said simultaneously and rolled their eyes.

Taking great pains to unfold the crumbling maps, Pandora lectured Harlen. "These plans are at least two-hundred years old. If we lose any part of them . . . "

Freakazoid's eagle dove in and snatched away a corner of the map.

The trio lit out for Pandora's car and studied the map from the interior lights.

Pandora, Daxter, and Harlen each pointed to three different locations. "Let's start here."

"Don't worry, Pandora. Harlen's been meditating."

Note to self: no editing yet.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/910629-Calling-Pandora