Some maps don’t like being drawn–they prefer to hold the pen.
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The Head Historian had approached Elias Mapps that morning with a task that those in the archives shunned—to restore a fading map.
It simply took too much work.
But young Mapps had little to do that evening–no dates, nothing on HIS personal map.
He squinted at its intricate lines under the glow of a UV lamp.
Its lavender hues seemed to flicker with unanswered questions.
The Pacific, Atlantic…the 70% water that makes up the globe.
His meticulous pen traced the fine lines surrounding the continents.
The line glowed.
He leapt.
As though the springs in his seat had sent him to another realm.
He fell back against his swivel chair, head striking the headboard.
He swore–the continents had moved under his pen.
Columbus’ America had become–Asia.
And Africa had taken India’s place.
Places in his own city were–
New.
Unfamiliar.
Young Mapps blinked. It had been a long day–or he was growing old.
As he left the room, the continents shifted once more, and the glowing line made an ominous curve–
Into an arrow.
Pointing—to a historian it seemed to know.
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Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui Lin. AI tags are coincidental
Part 2 continues tomorrow!
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The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 