Blount and the Dodgy Device
Note: This was based on a writing prompt from a class I’m taking in my spare time. There really isn’t more to it, and I don’t know if there ever will be. But, I had fun with it. It’s good to write some fiction again.
Rupert Everett Blount was very happy, thank you very much. He did not mind the cold. His knuckles ached, but that was to be expected. Blount, as his closest friends had often referred to him, was a man of principle. He never complained, never caused undue trouble, nor inserted himself in a situation which he did not belong. He was very amicable. Blount didn’t know exactly how he had gotten here, or what the device had been, but he wasn’t one to complain. He just tried to make the most of his situation, despite his confusion at it.
Blount had never seen the device before, having only just discovered it in between the cushions of his brown, leather settee after his final guest had departed. Carrying a crystal wine decanter with a red, plastic funnel poking out of the spout, he worried after his carpet. He always received high praise for his unique red blends, Blount reminded himself as he poured the remaining sips and half-drank glasses into the decanter. He was resourceful and frugal, qualities he had prided himself on; that, and his iron will. So, when he pushed the squishy yellow button on the device that read “Enter,” Blount was not afraid. When the crackle and sparks tore into space-time, he simply approached it with curiosity at first, then amusement.
The tear made easy work of the environmentally-conscious bamboo hors d’oeuvre plates and recycled napkins smeared with lipstick and red wine. He simply deposited them into the blackness beyond the tear, and “out of sight, out of mind.” Blount set down the device, which looked a bit like a television clicker, and tossed a final, large bag of trash into the void. He felt a chill coming from the tear, and his curiosity had gotten the better of him. It wouldn’t hurt to take a small peek, now would it? He told himself to “buck up.” Blount stepped bravely through the tear, emerging into a frozen wasteland, the likes of which reminded him of when his father had decided to winter in Reykjavík. The tear closed itself a moment after he had emerged from his sitting room to this tundra, just beside the large pile of refuse.
Snow was all that Blount could see for as far as his vision would allow; admittedly, it wasn’t very far. He pulled his dinner jacket tighter around himself, and remembered a television show saying that cold climates were the most dangerous to be stranded in. He resolved to find shelter as quickly as possible, not stopping to wonder where he was or how he would get home. He was an optimist after all, and didn’t much like people who refused to act when the situation called for it. He dug through the remaining scraps from his weekly get-together for any useful thing.
After using a broken wine bottle as a spade to scrape out small abode for himself in the ice, Blount collected all remaining items, and settled into the makeshift igloo. The lighter he had found allowed for a tiny flame, to which he added napkins and plates to burn. It wouldn’t be much, but it would suffice, for now. As he watched his party burn, he thought back to the device, worrying over who had left it and why. Still, Blount had his dignity, and would not allow errant thoughts to bog him down. He was, after all, very amicable.
