Farewell, Patricia

I received a message in my "other" box on Facebook. I seldom think to check there, so this message was three weeks old.  I didn't know the sender, but she asked if I was related to Patricia de Perez, as I had commented on a post she'd made. 

I answered no, not related just friends.

Her reply stunned me.  My friend had passed away, three weeks ago.  They were trying to locate her next of kin.

How did I miss her three week absence?  

Patricia was one of my first internet connects.  We followed each other on Twitter, when I finally succumbed to Facebook, we found each other there.

We shared a love for cats, often sharing pictures of our furbabies.  She was an advocate for shelter cats.

We liked and shared with each other many posts with mutually shared interests. She loved gardening and crafting.  She operated an online gift store.  She found beautiful pictures and put them on her Facebook wall.

Her sense of humor often made me giggle.

When I made a Facebook page for this blog, she liked it.  Patricia was often the first to "like" and comment on the page when I added a story. 

I never met her IRL. Now, I never will.  



Rest well my friend.  I miss you.

Last Trip

Trifecta: Week Seventy-Two
Congratulations to the weekend winners!
And on to this week's word;
ALCHEMY (noun)

1

: a medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, the discovery of a universal cure for disease, and the discovery of a means of indefinitely prolonging life

2

: a power or process of transforming something common into something special

3

: an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting

Jackson had spent fifty years in the one room shack at the base of the mountain.  He'd married, once.  It hadn't gone well.  He found he preferred being alone to arguing over every detail of life.  

But there had been loneliness.  Until he found Ayrydd.  

He was going to see her today for the last time.  He owed her that.  

The pain running up and down his arm was getting worse.  His number was up, no sense in fighting it.  He just hoped he had enough strength left to hike up the foothills to her lair.

Jackson had no regrets, he was somewhere in his eighties.  He could still get around, until just lately.  Yep, a good time to die.

As he labored up the mountain, he pondered what alchemy made the air suddenly unbreathable.  His wheezing had alerted Ayrydd to his arrival.  She waited outside her lair, sparkling green eyes reflecting her knowledge of the reason for his visit.

He accompanied her inside.  They sat together the rest of the day in silent communion.  As the pain spread into his chest and his breath stuttered, he whispered a barely audible goodbye.

                   **************

Ayrydd sat motionless for several hours, grieving silently for her latest loss.  She pushed her snout into Jackson's still face, though she knew there was no life left.  Then, with utmost tenderness, she cradled his body in her forelimbs.  She carried him along a narrow passage to a small cavern deep within the rock.  

In the center was the bier she'd built for him only days before.  She laid him gently on the bed of dried branches.

Ayrydd gazed at his lifeless form a few moments longer before emitting a puff of flame.  The fire's glow danced along her golden scales as she bid her friend a final farewell.

Old Acquaintances

 This image and These words from "Some Night" by FUN: I found a martyr in my bed tonight
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am

Tiger Eyes – Master Class 2013 #5

Congratulations to Carrie!  

In keeping with “changing it up,” when I asked Carrie for a line from a novel, I asked her to give me the last line. That’s right class, this week, you have to END on the prompt, not begin with it. Carrie chose Judy Blume’s Tiger Eyes, which ends with:

Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

and on to the story...

Liam hunched through the afternoon downpour.  His footing was sure on the rain slicked rocks as he climbed the rise toward the abandoned chapel. At the foot of the cracked and weather warped granite steps he stopped to survey ruin. The walls were mostly intact, the turrets not all crumbled. 

He mounted the first six stairs. Before he could reach the topmost step, a rush of air pushed him back. Leathery wings spread wide, framing a bestial face. The features were the same shade as the walls of the chapel. The cheeks and forehead were similarly marred by the erosion of years and weather.

"Thou shalt not enter this holy house, Liam Braden."  Its voice was as eroded as its face. 

"Ye're not serious, are ye?  Tis my family land, gargoyle."

"Thou art unclean. Thee may not enter."

"Unclean?  I'm soakin' wet!"  Liam attempted to side step the creature.

A rock hard hand gently blocked his move. "I am sworn to keep the unclean out of God's house. Thou hast partaken of human flesh, Liam Braden." 

"Ah, that. Well, they was already departed this world. It's not like I slew them meself." 

"And thou hast committed murderer." 

"Self defense."  Liam countered. 

The wings spread as the monster stood to full height. "The murder of thy Father and Mother were not self defense, nor the killing of thy siblings!" 

Liam sighed, "No, but I was under a compulsion.  It was not me fault."

It was the gargoyle's turn to sigh. "A geas set upon thee as the price for the dark gift thee chose to cheat death.  Thou cannot deceive me."

"Alright. Ye've got a point. But, honestly, how holy can this place still be?  None have worshipped here for centuries. And besides, I helped me father raise ye to the tower. T'was meself that named ye. Cedric."  Liam grinned.  "Ye were marvelous! All grim power and stony strength."

"Thee was a good boy then, Liam.  Cedric, yes, I remember."

"Then let me in, old friend. We'll reminisce."

Cedric pondered a moment. "My strength is not what it was, I am lonely. Against my judgement, I bid thee enter Liam Braden."

Together, they walked into the nave. Liam was surprised and unexpectedly pleased to see the stained glass behind the pulpit was intact. The weak light of the dreary day muted the once vibrant hues as they tinted the decomposing body that lay across the podium.

He glanced sidelong at the creature next to him. "Ye've been entertaining?"

"Badly behaved youngsters.  They thought to practice the black mass.  In fact, summoned a demon before I could rouse myself. I had to put a stop to that."

"And the others?"

"Fled. This one chose to martyr herself for her demon."  Cedric gazed sadly at the corpse. "A wasted effort. I sent it back to Hell anyway."

"I see."  Liam eyed the remains hungrily, "Perhaps I was sent to help ye cleanse the house.  I could, oh, dispose of that bit a mess for ye."

"Ghouls!"  Cedric rolled his stony eyes. "Alright then.Maybe that's the way its supposed to be."

Joy Ride

Write at the Merge: Week 4
This week we were given two images, I chose this one;


        They'd been riding since dawn,the shaggy ponies kept a steady but leisurely pace. Liam  dismounted  at the top of the highest point in the area. The small specks in the distance encouraged him to remount and coax the quickest pace the animals were capable of maintaining without over taxing them.

       After a few hours he said, "We're about to be overtaken, lassie. We'll need to be findin' some cover quick."

       Anne Marie cast an exasperated glance at her traveling companion. "Who wants to kill you this time, Liam?  Some angry husband, perhaps?"

       "Are ye sure it's not yerself they're a trackin' girlie? It seems I've pulled ye outta a scrape or two."  Liam had alit and given his pony a slap on the rump.  The stocky animal lumbered a few paces away and began munching on grass. "Stupid creature. They'll eat ye if they kill us."

       Anne Marie sniffed the air, "I'm fairly certain I don't know this pack."  She chuckled at Liam's discomfiture over her gift.  "It's you they want.  I just want to know why."

       He sighed in resignation. "They think I've disrespected them in some way, I imagine."  Liam looked back at her, "Sweetling, if ye want t' live, I suggest ya get off that lump and draw that slice o' iron ye're a carryin'".  The distant sound of hoof beats was closing on them.

      "I don't use my blade to kill honest men." She turned her pony toward a stand of trees as if to leave.

      "Though I admire yer high principles, I never said they was honest, m'dear.  And ye'll find that out if they kill me."  Liam's eyes roamed her form, "they'll see ye as the spoils.  Even dressed as a man, ye're very comely."

      Anne Marie snorted, then smiled sweetly, "In that case, perhaps my best option is to kill you.  Leave your pretty body where they can find it, and escape while they grieve your loss.  Or rather, the fact that they didn't get to kill you themselves."

"If'n ye kill me, darlin', ye'll not find yer treasure.  So ye have need of me, and ye'd miss me.  Besides, ye just said ye didn't kill men."

      "I said honest men, Liam.  That doesn't apply to you."  She grinned as she dismounted, drawing the iron great sword. "Though, I might miss you.  A little."  She could hear the laboured breathing of horses.  The party was almost upon them.

      "That's me girl!"  Liam chuckled and together they turned to face the eight riders that entered the clearing.


For those that recognize these characters, this event is before Liam undergoes the change that makes him immortal.

Flavored Friendship

The prompt was based on flavor. Read here for the  first part of the story.



Joey finished charging the coolant on the old refrigerator. He plugged the unit in and waited for the temperature to drop.

While he waited, he looked around the aged kitchen. It had been ten years since he'd been here. It hadn't changed.

"You all done, mister?", asked the young woman that had let him in.

"Almost. Just waiting to make sure it's working right."

His eyes lit on a pair of coffee mugs in the dish strainer. His memory filled with the flavor of hot chocolate. Steaming mugs, shared years ago on snow covered days.

Telling dreams of what he'd be when he grew up. Listening to stories older than himself. The spoon scraping the bottom of the pot. Blending cocoa and sugar and milk into the flavor of friendship.

"I used to shovel the walks here. When I was a kid." he said.

"Oh. Your Aunt Maudie's "snow boy".