This week’s prompts were:
- Character: Librarian
- Object: Rug
- Genre/Tone: Speculative (SF/F)
I found it impossible to avoid the trope of the flying carpet. It made me wonder about images that are so deeply ingrained in our cultural imagination that they are utterly inescapable. So now I’m motivated to figure out how to make a magical carpet that doesn’t fly. What other magical properties might a carpet have?
On the other hand, I also found it impossible to name a librarian anything other than Marion, even if I genderbent him. I’m not exploring that at all.
As always, we’d love to see your responses to the prompts! Post something in the comments below. If you need instructions on the exercise, find them here.
Marion signed for the delivery with his left hand and a grimace on his face. There was no room among the stacks and the couple study tables in the county’s public library for anything that came in a six-foot corrugated box that smelled of dust and smoked paprika. The return address offered no help: Scheherazade was a mythical figure, and nobody spelled it “Araby” anymore.
Maybe it would be something he could sell? Lord knew the library needed every penny it could get these days; the county had cut funding to a bare minimum, and since Covid had “temporarily” suspended late fees no borrower would pay even for books they straight-up stole. Without some fundage, the library was going under, and Marion didn’t think he could live with himself if that happened.
At least the library was empty at the moment. He pulled out his box cutter and sliced the box open the long way, not entirely sure what to expect—maybe a curtain rod or a lampstand, maybe a hat rack?—but instead out rolled an oriental carpet with a brilliant blue fringe and a pattern of red, purple, and gold. Well, maybe it could go under the study tables? He measured the space, but he only had to measure one side of the rug to determine it would overflow the tiny area of hardwood. He laid it out on top of the tables, just to get a sense of its size, but the corners kept rolling upward, as if pulling the rest of the carpet up into the sky. And now, having unrolled it entirely, he saw that it would be nearly impossible to roll up again to get it out of the place. Nor could he think of anyone in this rural town who would be interested in such an item, much less willing to pay anything for it.
Still, he had to get it out somehow or other. He climbed atop one of the tables and grabbed the shorter edge, trying to start rolling it up again. As soon as he did, the whole fabric of the carpet bucked underneath him, and rose into the air, unsupported by tables or pillars or anything solid. Marion gasped, but held onto the blue tassels of the fringe. “Scheherazade?” He looked all around. “It can’t be real!” But the carpet curled up around him, and swept him through the door and high up into the sky. He covered his eyes with one hand, and gripped the fringe of the carpet with whitened fingers, until he felt the wind die down and the rug settled beneath him. He opened one eye, then the other, to find himself floating a foot above the rocky ground at the peak of a mountain surrounded by clouds. Before him on a crimson velvet cushion, sat a woman clad in silks and gold jewelry.
“Scheherazade?” he said again. The woman nodded.
“I need new stories, and I’m running low. I am willing to pay an out-of-county rate for access to your library.” She held out a hand with half a dozen gold coins in it.
Marion took a deep breath of the thin air. Beyond her on the peak, he saw the gateway to a palace of marble, jade, and lapis lazuli with a black smoke surrounding it. He nodded. “I think I can arrange that.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re a life saver.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re saving a whole county!”