Geoffrey & Me

by Damien Concordel

Link to original story:

I’ve lost count now of how many times I’ve walked by this field. It’s just easier for me. Sure, I could use the roads, but given where school is, it’s much shorter to go through the fields. This path allows me to shave off at least half of the forty-minute walk around the village.

Most of the neighbors are OK with me taking this shortcut. They’ve all caught me at least once in their fields and, after I explained the situation, let me continue taking that path, telling me which way to go around the crops to cause minimal damage to them as I walk. But not old man Jacobson. I have to kind of sneak around and make sure I don’t get caught. And I don’t want to just go around his field or the whole point of the shortcut is almost entirely lost.

But there’s another reason I like to go through that field in particular: Geoffrey. He talks to me every time I take the path. Sometimes, in fact, I leave a bit early and stay a few minutes to chat with him. He tells me tons of fascinating stories about places I’ve never heard before. I don’t know if they’re true, but I’d like them to be. I honestly can’t imagine him having genuinely visited those places, after all, given his situation. Maybe he’s just bored and making up these stories to entertain himself. But I don’t care. At the very least they’re fun stories even if they are complete fiction.

I should clarify one thing: when I say he talks, it’s not as if he actually moves his mouth. It’s more like some kind of telepathy.

The first time this happened, I was pretty stunned. I’d just passed him when a voice in my head said, “Hey, kid!”

I was pretty deep in thought back then, so it took me a few seconds to realize the voice was in my head. As it is, I thought I’d heard someone, and started looking around.

“Over here!” I looked to my left. “Further left” I followed his indication and saw nobody. I started to look even further to the left.

“No, that’s too far. Back to the right.” I turned my head back. There was nobody there. I wondered if the person might be too small to stick out past the wheatstalks and started scrutinizing them, trying to catch a glimpse of someone between them.

“Hey, eyes are up here” I looked up. There was only a scarecrow.

“Yup, that’s it. It’s me.”

I remember feeling concerned that I might be losing my senses at that point. But I was in perfect form, not ill or delirious, not tired or hungry, it was just a regular hot sunny day and I was just on my way to school, the same as a zillion days before that. I tried to pinch myself to see if I might be dreaming, but it was real all right.

“Um… You… You talk?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking. Let’s just say I communicate. What’s your name?”

“But how… how…”

“Strange name, Buthowhow… Are you foreign? My name’s Geoffrey.”

“What? No, I… No! My name’s Randy. I just… I meant… How can you even talk, or communicate, or whatever you’re doing?”

At this point he actually sounded offended. “Oh so just because I’m a scarecrow, I’m not a real person? Now that’s hurtful.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I meant…” I couldn’t figure out how to finish the sentence. At this point I had a nagging suspicion again that something wasn’t right, that this couldn’t be happening. I pinched myself again, thinking I might have done it wrong the previous time, or done it as part of this hallucination.

“But I mean… You… Well, you are just a scarecrow, aren’t you? Just… fabric stuffed with hay and wrapped in old clothes?”

“Yes, physically speaking, that is what I am. But why the hell should it mean that I can’t think or communicate?”

“But… I mean, inanimate objects can’t think! Can they?”

“Well this inanimate object can. Screw your assumptions, and deal with it.”

This surprisingly aggressive answer left me speechless. Then again, I guess he did have a bit of a point: me judging that it shouldn’t be able to talk was… No. It couldn’t be. I had to be imagining this.

“Say, where is it you go every day through this field? I can’t imagine Jacobson is all too thrilled about it” he then said, casually as anything.

The sudden change of tone and subject genuinely threw me off guard. I tried once more though.

“But is it magic, or are you just posing as a scarecrow?”

To my surprise, he responded by repeating his previous question, this time in a firm, impatient tone. After a moment of bewilderment, I gave up and explained about the shortcut. We chatted on for a couple of minutes, then I said that I had to run, that I was late for school, and bade him good-bye.

“See you tonight!” he said. I wasn’t sure what to answer to this, so I said nothing and instead took off. I kept wondering about this encounter all day. And still I wondered whether I might have just imagined it. But sure enough, as I walked back home that night, Geoffrey talked to me again. This time I wasn’t as rushed, so I took some more time to chat. Making sure to steer clear from how he’d gotten there, I tried to understand more about him: who he was, what he knew, etc. I hoped to glean some hints from that.

He said he’d been in that field for at least three years. He didn’t mention the time before he’d gotten there, but implied he remembered a before, though without ever going into detail. I just assumed he was made before old man Jacobson placed him there, but some things he mentioned – or let slip, really – seemed to imply there was more to it.

Over time I kept seeing him and sometimes talking to him. I often reflected again on how this could be possible, but every time I approached the topic he either shut me down or changed the subject. There were a few times when he let slip a bit more than he intended, but quickly walked his comments back. To me, this confirmed there was more to it than he wanted to admit.

He was always friendly, and kind, and seemed to very much enjoy our conversations. He said at one point that it was nice to have someone to talk to. Old Jacobson never responded. Geoffrey didn’t have proof, but he was pretty sure Jacobson looked up in response once, even though he never replied verbally.

So our chats became part of our daily routines. Of course, he let me run past in silence when it was raining. Once I expressed a bit of pity for him, having to stand there in the rain as well, but he said it really wasn’t a problem, he didn’t feel wetness or cold. Of course, I thought at that point. That’s when I realized I’d started seeing him more as an actual person than the object he was. Somehow I didn’t mind any more. It helped pass the time and he’d become a pretty interesting friend.

Until it all changed. At first, that day was no different. As I walked through Murray’s and Pritchard’s fields, I saw Geoffrey standing alone in the distance. I reached him and the conversation began.

“Hi Randy!”

“Hey Geoffrey!”

A bit of small talk ensued, catching up on my news and his extremely boring life. He said the crow from the tree on Malloy’s field came and plucked another couple strands of hay from him for its nest.

“Kind of defeats the purpose of being, you know, a scarecrow!” he said sarcastically. We kept chatting and joking.

Then, just as I got up to leave, he turned serious and said, “Hey, could you do me a favor?”

“Uh, yeah, sure” I said uneasily. I wasn’t sure what kind of favor he was going to ask, but it couldn’t be that hard.

“Could you just reach into my sleeve and tuck the hay back in? That’s where the crow plucked the strands. I don’t like how these bits move in the breeze.”

“Sure.” I went right up to him and reached for his right hand. Of course, I didn’t suspect anything. It didn’t even occur to me he’d already said he didn’t physically feel anything. I tucked the strands in and made to get back on my way.

Only I couldn’t.

I tried to move a muscle, any muscle, but nothing happened. It was only after a few seconds that I realized that my head wouldn’t turn either. Instead, I was looking out toward Malloy’s field from a high vantage point. A boy dressed just like me had just appeared where I’d been a second earlier. He smiled widely at me, picked up my backpack and headed off toward my school.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I tried to say. I couldn’t move my sown-up mouth of course. But he did pause in his actions right as I thought, so he must have heard me like I’d heard him. But he didn’t reply. He just left at a brisk pace, beaming like he never could as a scarecrow. I myself felt dejected but couldn’t move my face to show it.

“Geoffrey? GEOFFREY!” No answer.

“At least tell me what’s going on!” Still nothing. He’d left me alone in this field, immobile, unable to do anything. I didn’t know what was going on, and couldn’t do anything about it. All I knew was that I was stuck as a scarecrow myself. I couldn’t call for help, I couldn’t contact my parents, I was completely helpless. A wave of frustration, anger and grief overcame me, but of course I couldn’t actually cry.

I never saw Geoffrey again.

Over time I learned to get used to my new situation, and had time to think about things. Eventually I realized that this must be the same thing that had happened to Geoffrey in the first place. I even started to make connections between some of the things he’d let slip in our earlier conversations.

I’ve been out in that field day and night, for days, weeks, months, years even. I’ve been drenched by rain and swayed by wind, frozen by the cold and baked by the sun, picked at by birds and inhabited by insects, oddly without feeling any of it. Just like Geoffrey had said, really.

My only company now is Jacobson when he comes to clean out the field or for the harvest. And still he refuses to talk to me. One time he did seem to look up at me and do a double take, however. He looked aghast.

“Not again” I heard him mutter in the quiet air, “How am I going to explain this to the parents? This is a mess. I warned him not to cross my field.” Then he went back to his work.

It took me a few seconds then to realize he meant my parents. Then it shocked me to realize that I’d almost forgotten about them, about the grief my disappearance must have caused them. The guilt and grief and anger overcame me again, though I was yet again forced to take it stoically.

But finally today, after so many years, a girl has just come through the field along the very same path I used to use. I see my chance and decide to start to seize it, just like Geoffrey did with me.

“Hey, you!” I think to her.

Daniel and The Machine by Laura R. Matis

I wrote this in one of our meetings awhile back, and I’ve since polished it up a bit. Unfortunately, I no longer have the writing prompt that started this story, but I hope you all enjoy it. 🙂

– Laura


The sweat glistened and beaded down Daniel’s forehead. Squinting, concentrating hard on the flashing lights of the singing monster, he felt his attempt to pierce a hole through it with his eyes fail. His adversary’s rhythmic lights continued their dance. Daniel steadied his grip over the katana, determined to annihilate this treacherous beast once and for all. A classic battle of David versus Goliath.

To everyone else in the pub, however, Daniel was threatening the dusty old jukebox with his umbrella.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” his best friend Jim exclaimed. Other pub patrons swiveled around in their stools to witness this bizarre event. Jim turned to the bartender.

“What did you give him?”

“Nothing I don’t give anyone else,” the old man replied in a tone indicating that this was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Daniel remained focused. A crowd began to cheer him on. The cheers were strange, though, peppered with phrases like, “Put the umbrella down!” and “You break it, you buy it, asshole!”. Alas, he absorbed the applause, letting it fuel his victory. The beast glowed in response, flashing its lights of sorcery. Mocking him.

Ready to strike, he raised the katana over his head. A firm hand grabbed his midair and jerked the mighty katana away from him, saving the beast. It was his fellow warrior Jim! What was this traitorous move?

“Let’s put this down and get you a seat, okay buddy?” Jim gently offered.

What? Surrender? How could his most trusted comrade ask him to do such a thing?

Daniel launched his hand in the air, attempting to free himself from Jim’s grasp.



He barreled toward the jukebox and bought his umbrella down hard on the glass. It bounced off the surface and smacked him in the nose. He dropped the umbrella, cupping his hands over his face as blood dripped through his fingers. The beast continued to blink at him, unphased. He reached again for his katana. It was gone!

“Daniel,” Jim’s voice broke through his confused fog. “We’re being kicked out.”

He looked at his friend, dazed.


“We have to leave, Daniel.”

“No! We will not retreat!”

Searching for his weapon, he struggled to free himself from Jim’s firm grasp. Jim let out a long, frustrated sigh, hiding the offending umbrella behind his back with one hand while trying to wrangle his intoxicated friend with the other.

“They’re going to call the police,” Jim reasoned. “If the police come, they will arrest you.”

Daniel blinked. He knew this was bad.

“Try explaining that one to your fiancé.” Jim added.

A jolt of panic thrust Daniel back into reality.


What would she say if he landed in jail the day before their wedding?

Worse, what would she do?

In his haze, he realized what he had done and slurred apologies spilled out of his mouth. His body half-slung over Jim’s shoulder, the pair shuffled through the exit and down the dimly lit road.



Note: I thought I would write out my passage from the meeting today. I changed it while I was writing and edited as well. The first sentence was my prompt from the random sentence generator. – Andi

“Everyone says they love nature until they realize how dangerous she can be. She is the mother of all things great and small. She creates and keeps ever changing all things. The viral and bacterial and microbial beings which she creates; she watches as they become the most potent little beings they can be, becoming transmittable, mutating with speed and an accuracy for disruption and change that none of her other creations can rival. The tiny beings use their special set of crafting skills to become the very best, hoping to see all of the world as they travel from host to host.

“She made the Spanish Influenza, the Avian Influenza and the common cold. She made Typhoid and Tuberculosis and Syphilis and a myriad of other tiny, invisible-to-human creations. An independent world in our broader world. The germs of the world.

“She made ants – able to lift many times their body weight and deeply social, relying on each other to command the world of bugs.

“Dogs. Cats. House pets. Zoo Animals. Animals seen on Safari.

“The great number of living organisms on the land, and the great number of living organisms in the water: at sea, in the ocean, populating the lakes and running with the water in the rivers.

“H2O. There was an H2O ban circling on the internet for years. People, unaware that H2O was more commonly known as water, disavowing its corrosive properties. The universal solvent, it is usually called. It can come as a solid, a liquid or a gas and it has a shot of killing a human in any of its forms. Freezing to death, drowning in any body of water big enough to cover nose and mouth, overheating in a steam room are all fates that could greet us.

“The reality is that all of nature is embodied with both the ability to create and the ability destroy. Some among us like to label the creation as inherently good and the destruction as inherently bad. But the naked truth of the matter is that very few things have inherent, intrinsic, unchanging value like that. All parts of nature can be used for good or for bad. Even the labels of good and bad themselves can be put into the employ of any cause that someone decides to pick up.”

I stop reading. I have selected to read a book from the 2020s because it is my Step 1 for gaining perspective. I have felt all the feelings – the hopelessness, the loss, the confusion, the grief. I have let the feelings exist, given them space to be and permission of affect me in that space. I have given myself a moment to allow my hurt, fear, and pain be abscond my reason. Letting my emotions, great and small, take over my entire world and douse my doorstep temporarily in black paint. And now, I was ready to start to gain perspective, before making my plan of action. You are fundamentally a woman of action, I whisper in my own head.

We can all temporarily feel permanently trapped in our individual moments. We think our moment is somehow unique and special and everlasting and none of those things are true. I remind myself gently that, us humans have had to face our own mortality since . . . since always. There is no point in which fear, death, and struggle suddenly became part of the human experience. There was no point when they was not parts of those intangible things that swim around creating our existence.

What we now know in our bones, in the 3030s, that was only starting to be discussed in the 2020s, is that everything goes through an exponential growth curve early in its reign. It happened at the Industrial Revolution, the Digital Revolution and all human-wide moments of change since then. The exponential growth curves themselves had an exponential growth curve, I think with a chuckle.

Now, we teach all humans who are still alive how to best accept a completely new paradigm for their lives because the average human has their entire world shift at least five times during their lifetime. I always include reading from the 2020s in my process. The overwhelm, the uncertainty and the fear radiate out of the writings so strongly that you feel like you are there being blasted by the uncertainty yourself, having it come into your world from all sides. They had to write about the wounds while they were still happening, fresher than fresh. I always hear the thread of the lost crying out for knowledge and guidance; it always makes me feel heard and normal. Normal to be a flawed and imperfect human, who does not always know what to do or where to go. A human who sometimes gets washed away in their own emotions and all the accompanying thoughts. The cacophony of things that we would rather not feel or realize washing over me. Washing over me and the rest of humanity as we dive into the depths, hoping to find meaning in the moment.

New Website!

Welcome to the brand-new Power of The Pen website! Here is here we can post the writing that we didn’t have time to finish in our meetings. You may also post your own work, or even a thought or two.  Just register on the website and post away! Be sure to select your username carefully, as Word Press does not allow you to change it.  I’m excited to see where this site takes us, and I’m looking forward to seeing you on here or at our next meeting.

Happy writing,


Test post from Test User

Once upon a time, there was an admin who wanted to see if her website worked. So she created a friend named Test User. Together with Test User, she went through the registration process and created a profile. Then along came a problem; how could Test User successfully post to the admin’s website? She found the “Add New” button under “Posts”, and wrote a silly story about this whole process. After she was done, she hit “Submit for Review”, and the post was now visible to both the admin and Test User. The admin, pleased that everything was working correctly, hit the “Publish” button.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.