Prompt Fiction

PROMPT : CAMOUFLAGE 

“Jess—Jessie, slow down! I can’t keep up.”

“Try,” Jessie said, tersely. Her steps seemed to quicken instead of slow. “If we stop now, we’re dead, do you hear me?”

“I’m not as tall as you are,” Sheila gasped out. “Please, you know I can’t-“

Jessie whirled around, her heterochromic eyes snapping in tandem. The purple eye on the right darkening with the yellow one on the left. “You will keep up,” she snarled. “You’re the one that came crying to my bedroom door, telling me everything about the school, the teachers and the guardians. If you didn’t want my help, you never should have come to me.”

Sheila smacked at the cold tears streaking her cheeks. Her face was pink and red. “I-I only meant that,” she stared down at her fluffy grey boots. “Jessie…”

Jessie scowled, her years showing as she dropped to a crouch and drew something out from her coat pocket. “You should have dressed warmer if you’re cold now,” she said, gruffly. “Here, this will have to do. I don’t have proper camouflage for us now, but when we reach the Rebel campsite, we’ll be alright.”

Sheila sniffled, watching as Jessie drew out a fat mirrored compact and popped it open. There was a little tin of pressed powder in there, pitch black as the night, with shimmers of gold.

“This is sky powder,” Jessie said, quietly. “Hold your breath and do not blink. Whatever you do, don’t move.”

Sheila obediently held still, even as Jessie scraped out a nail’s worth of the sky powder. She then blew it straight into Sheila’s face.

Sheila jerked and twisted in surprise. She sneezed loudly a moment later, before belatedly remembering that moment was bad.

That was all it took as the fine black powder settled over her. She had a second or two to register the shock before surprise took over her chubby features.

“J-jessie-!” her little voice quavered. “W-why?”

There was no answer from the silent Jessie, who snapped the compact shut and tucked it inside of her coat.

The transformation started from the bottom up and within seconds, Sheila was nothing more than a tiny stone statue. Every single identifying feature preserved in immaculate detail.

“Because I’m the Dean’s daughter,” Jessie whispered. “And she’s my mother.”

(c) S. Harricharan.

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