White Hand of Power

Here is my first #flashfiction post!  I used the January 1st prompt from the Writer’s Digest daily calender.  The prompt is at the top in bold, everything underneath is my own.

You bolt awake … but you’re not immediately sure what awakened you.  You blearily fumble for your cell phone to check the time, but as you reach for the bedside table, you gasp – your hand passes through the oak nightstand as if it were composed of nothing but mist.  After a moment, you raise your hand up in front of your face to discover that it is not the nightstand that is no longer solid, but your disconcertingly translucent hand.  What has happened?


Slowly, you roll onto your back and raise your other hand in front of your face.  Your right hand is still made of flesh.  You poke your cheek to make sure, then grab the cell phone off the bedside table.  2:07 shines up at you in bright blue text.  Your arm makes a satisfying thump as you let it fall back to the bed beside you.  With a deep breath, you turn your attention back to your left arm.

In the dim light from the cell phone and the spikes of street light coming through the blinds, your hand is a ghostly white.  You push the sleeve of your pajama up to your elbow and see that this new ability goes at least that far.  You wiggle your fingers, ball your hand into a fist.  Everything still functions.

Your heart starts pounding.  This is your gift.  The magical power that you inherited from generations of Chabangers.  Just as sure as your chestnut locks and even browner eyes, this too was in your very genes.

It was considered impolite to ask another Chabanger what their special gift was.  Most of the time, a keen observer could figure it out.  Uncle Loui had a strange limp that to the best of your knowledge, didn’t have any practical benefit.  He’d know exactly what to make of your own new found power.  For, in the dull light of the middle of the night, you weren’t really sure it was a gift.  Your whole body couldn’t pass through objects – the rest of you was as solid as when you went to bed.  And your left hand was useless, unable to even change the touch sensitive screen of the cell phone.

Sleep would be impossible to come by, so you decide to get up.  At least you could explore your prank of a gift in secret, be ready to answer the barrage of questions that you would face as everyone discovered your gift.  No matter how rude it was considered to ask what your gift was, it was perfectly acceptable to offer to train those most recently acquainted with their newest skills.

An hour later, you collapse onto the bed again.  You have no more understanding of your ghostly arm then you did when you started.  You can’t put any weight on it (you tried a cartwheel with nearly fatal results), and you have no ability to carry any weight with it (attempting to move the bedside table had been a bad idea).  As you allow your eyelids to drift shut, you stretch your arms over your head.  Your left hand should hit the wall, but instead drifts right through.  You startle and open your eyes as you feel the ghostly cold flood through your veins.  In a moment, your whole body is ghostly white.

You sit up, somewhere in the back of your mind wondering why you’re not floating right down through your bed.  You pull your arm back out of the wall, and suddenly your whole body is tingling as it returns to normal.  You look down at your left hand in new appreciation.  This was a wonderful development.  Your left hand may be useless on its own, but it must hold potential power for your whole body, and somehow you could activate it to make yourself lighter than air and able to pass through solid objects.

You stick your hand through the wall a few more times, but you can’t replicate the floating feeling you’d had just a few moments before.  You flop back onto the pillows and stare up at the ceiling.  Eventually, your eyelids start to drift closed.  The last thing you remember thinking before you fall asleep is how much fun you’re going to have for April Fool’s this year.


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