Here I am sliding in at the last minute again for the #TuesFlashFicTrain Challenge with my next take on Gloria's story!
Gloria crept down the hallway in the direction the two intruders had gone. She’d been thrilled to find the invisibility shawl still folded in its original plastic packing. Once beneath its cover she noticed the light was a bit dimmer, and the sound of her footsteps seemed muffled. She hoped that effect would help her get close enough to her quarry to perform the spells she’d decided on.
Working her way through the maze of hallways, Gloria checked each door she passed. So far all had been locked. She had a pretty good idea where the men had been headed. The main security office; it handled the incoming calls as well as keeping the non-witch personnel from accidentally stumbling upon the work that went on after hours. If people found out exactly how the city’s infrastructure was really kept together…well, it would not be good.
Gloria rounded the next corner and nearly ran into the pair of scoundrels she’d been hunting.
“Come on Tom! We won’t have all night.” The deep voice came from a tall, dark haired man wearing a long, black cloak. He wielded an ivory wand carved with symbols that made Gloria’s stomach heave.
The other man was a foot and a half shorter and dressed in faded jeans and a dirty pocket t-shirt. “This is an art Manny, if you're in a hurry just use that twig you're waving around instead.” He never looked up from the knob he was working with a lock pick.
Manny just scowled at the other man’s back. Gloria knew he couldn’t use the wand to force the door without causing several alarm wards to sound. The designers hadn’t counted on a simple thieves’ trick in this part of the building.
Under the cover of the shawl, Gloria lit a yellow candle and pulled one of the packets and a small marble bowl from her pocket. After measuring the proper amount for a stasis spell she drew a breath and opened her mouth to recite the paralysis incantation.
But, when she formed the words, no sound came from her throat. Not only was she hidden visibly, she evidently couldn’t be heard either. And if she couldn’t recite the spell, her wand, the candle and powder were useless.
Gloria silently cursed herself for not reading the packaging completely. She hadn’t grabbed an invisibility shawl, she was wearing a solitude shield.
Showing posts with label am writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label am writing. Show all posts
Friday, April 29, 2016
Friday, April 15, 2016
Winterdone
Tara gave us "south" this week for the 100 Word Challenge. having finally gotten the peas in today (here in the north), this is where I went...
Bitter wind blew, raising goose bumps on the back of her neck. The long running winter had almost broken her will.
The stubborn daffodils, refusing to be held at bay kept her from giving up completely.
She stood in the yard, waiting for the dog to finish investigating the frosted grass.
Her breath exited in cold cast miniature clouds.
As she shivered in her light jacket, the dog raised a nose to the wind.
She curiously lifted her own muted sense to sniff the air.
Her eyes widened in delight.
Ever so faint, from the south, she smelled spring arrive.
Bitter wind blew, raising goose bumps on the back of her neck. The long running winter had almost broken her will.
The stubborn daffodils, refusing to be held at bay kept her from giving up completely.
She stood in the yard, waiting for the dog to finish investigating the frosted grass.
Her breath exited in cold cast miniature clouds.
As she shivered in her light jacket, the dog raised a nose to the wind.
She curiously lifted her own muted sense to sniff the air.
Her eyes widened in delight.
Ever so faint, from the south, she smelled spring arrive.
Friday, April 1, 2016
Flash Fiction Train Challenge R4-W1
Popping into the Tuesday Flash Fiction Challenge with Kat Avila again. Here's this week's offering.
Gloria hustled to grab her jacket from the locker room, then ran for the time clock. She’d gotten a late start this evening; her keys managing to not be where she’d expected. Ten minutes wasted searching for them left her rushing to be at her post on time. As she rounded the corner she slammed into Harvey.
“Pushing the time limits tonight, Glo?” he asked.
Gloria muttered about the missing keys as she attempted to side-step the assistant supervisor. He anticipated the move and blocked her escape. “Don’t forget to check in on your break tonight. I need a word with you.”
“Yeah, sure.” Gloria made another attempt to pass him.
Harvey grabbed her arm, his eyes bored into hers, “Seriously, Gloria, you need to show up this time.”
She wrenched her arm from his grasp, “Fine, Harvey, I’ll find you.” She stared at him until he stepped aside and let her pass. As she hurried away, she could feel him watching her. Shivers rippled up her back telling her to turn and make certain he hadn’t followed her. She resisted the urge; this time. She supposed she’d better make the meeting, Harvey would make the paranoia worse if she kept defying him.
Gloria punched her card with one minute to spare. The sense of relief she’d gotten from being on time faded as she walked the long hall to her cubicle. At this hour no one else was on duty. The dim night-lights cast eerie shadows along the way.
She hated the night shift. The old building seemed intent on letting her know she was alone in this section. Random thumps and groans echoed down the hallway. When she reached her department, the only light came from her desk. At least someone had left it on for her. She shuffled to the space as quietly as she could. The rap of her heels only accentuated the empty desks she passed on the way.
Gloria dropped into her chair with a sigh. The screen in front of her was already filling with tasks to be attended. She opened the large drawer in the desk and cringed as it uttered a metallic shriek. Shuddering, she dropped her handbag inside and kicked it shut. She gingerly tested the next drawer, relieved with its hushed compliance. She shuffled through its interior until she located her wand and candles.
After printing out the list of problems to fix, she pulled up a map of the city and zoomed in on her sector.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
Flash Fiction Train; Round 3, Part 5
Sneaking in at the very last minute with my offering for Kat Avila's Tuesday Flash Fiction Train
Rita stood in the middle of the aisle, eyes squeezed shut. The screams no longer reached her ears and she shuddered in anguish at the result of her rage. The memories had flooded her mind, intermingled with the taunts of the old woman and other passengers.
She had let it overcome her.
A hand touched her shoulder then stroked her cheek.
“Rita.”
She ignored the whisper, soft and warm as a summer’s breeze. But Walter would not be shunned.
“Rita, open your eyes. Look at me.”
“Nooo,” she sobbed, “I can’t look! I can’t!”
She could hear the people on the bus again. “What’s wrong with you, girly girl?” it was the screech of the old woman.
Again she heard the soft voice, “Hush now, Lucy. You haven’t walked in her steps. Go still yourself.”
“But…”
“Sit, Lucy.”
As Rita finally opened her eyes, she saw the old woman trudge to an empty seat. The bus moved steadily down the street, the passengers still staring at her, but without the hostility she remembered. There was no blood, no shattered windows. No one screamed.
Rita looked back to Walter, “I thought…I thought I killed them!”
“You almost did.” Walter said, “but you stopped before it became real. You chose life over death.”
“How?”
Walter smiled at her. “Because you are stronger than the coven. They couldn’t control you as easily as they thought.”
“But the memories, the pain.”
“Lies. All of it.”
Rita shook her head in confusion, it had seemed so real. But as she tried to recall the fear and hate, the feelings faded.
“You are free, Rita.” As he turned to go, Walter looked back one more time, “See you in my dreams.”
Rita stood in the middle of the aisle, eyes squeezed shut. The screams no longer reached her ears and she shuddered in anguish at the result of her rage. The memories had flooded her mind, intermingled with the taunts of the old woman and other passengers.
She had let it overcome her.
A hand touched her shoulder then stroked her cheek.
“Rita.”
She ignored the whisper, soft and warm as a summer’s breeze. But Walter would not be shunned.
“Rita, open your eyes. Look at me.”
“Nooo,” she sobbed, “I can’t look! I can’t!”
She could hear the people on the bus again. “What’s wrong with you, girly girl?” it was the screech of the old woman.
Again she heard the soft voice, “Hush now, Lucy. You haven’t walked in her steps. Go still yourself.”
“But…”
“Sit, Lucy.”
As Rita finally opened her eyes, she saw the old woman trudge to an empty seat. The bus moved steadily down the street, the passengers still staring at her, but without the hostility she remembered. There was no blood, no shattered windows. No one screamed.
Rita looked back to Walter, “I thought…I thought I killed them!”
“You almost did.” Walter said, “but you stopped before it became real. You chose life over death.”
“How?”
Walter smiled at her. “Because you are stronger than the coven. They couldn’t control you as easily as they thought.”
“But the memories, the pain.”
“Lies. All of it.”
Rita shook her head in confusion, it had seemed so real. But as she tried to recall the fear and hate, the feelings faded.
“You are free, Rita.” As he turned to go, Walter looked back one more time, “See you in my dreams.”
Friday, March 4, 2016
Riding the Flash Fiction Train, Round 3/Week 3
I've been regularly joining in at Kat Avila'a Fiction Trials to play a story writing challenge. Check out this week's offerings, then come back to play on the Flash Fiction Train. Here's my offering...
Rita glared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. The cold wasn’t budging and it was just a miracle she made it through the conference call. Thankfully Laura had been on her game and kept the conversation grounded.
A yawn, interrupted by a new bout of coughing brought Rita back to the perusal of her image. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Her nose reddened and tender from the continuous application of tissues. With a sigh she pulled the bottle from the medicine cabinet.
As much as she needed to dampen her symptoms and get a good night’s sleep, Rita was hesitant to dose herself again. The dreams induced by the vile liquid were becoming harder to shake off. The most recent dream had conjured a name for the mystery man. At the thought, Rita’s lips tingled at the memory.
“No.” She spoke to the mirror, “I'm not going to do it!”
She replaced the bottle and shuffled out of the bathroom. Her slippers scuffed the carpet, the small noise causing her head to pound. She dropped onto the couch grabbing the knitted throw from the back. She wrapped herself in its warmth. As long as she stayed upright she kept the drainage from choking her. She closed her eyes and drifted into an unsettled doze.
“You're back! I didn’t think I would see you so soon.” He reached to stroke her cheek.
Rita pulled back, “Who are you? Why do you haunt my sleep?”
His eyes filled with hurt, “I’m Walter. I’ve always been here for you.”
“Not always. Only if I use that gawd-awful cold medicine.” Rita narrowed her eyes, “which I did not take tonight!”
“No, I’m always here, Rita. You just don’t remember…”
“Oh, I’d remember, just like I remembered last night’s dream.”
Walter sighed, “It’s not a dream to me, Rita.”
“Really? Then, I think it’s time you explain why that is!”
Rita glared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. The cold wasn’t budging and it was just a miracle she made it through the conference call. Thankfully Laura had been on her game and kept the conversation grounded.
A yawn, interrupted by a new bout of coughing brought Rita back to the perusal of her image. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Her nose reddened and tender from the continuous application of tissues. With a sigh she pulled the bottle from the medicine cabinet.
As much as she needed to dampen her symptoms and get a good night’s sleep, Rita was hesitant to dose herself again. The dreams induced by the vile liquid were becoming harder to shake off. The most recent dream had conjured a name for the mystery man. At the thought, Rita’s lips tingled at the memory.
“No.” She spoke to the mirror, “I'm not going to do it!”
She replaced the bottle and shuffled out of the bathroom. Her slippers scuffed the carpet, the small noise causing her head to pound. She dropped onto the couch grabbing the knitted throw from the back. She wrapped herself in its warmth. As long as she stayed upright she kept the drainage from choking her. She closed her eyes and drifted into an unsettled doze.
“You're back! I didn’t think I would see you so soon.” He reached to stroke her cheek.
Rita pulled back, “Who are you? Why do you haunt my sleep?”
His eyes filled with hurt, “I’m Walter. I’ve always been here for you.”
“Not always. Only if I use that gawd-awful cold medicine.” Rita narrowed her eyes, “which I did not take tonight!”
“No, I’m always here, Rita. You just don’t remember…”
“Oh, I’d remember, just like I remembered last night’s dream.”
Walter sighed, “It’s not a dream to me, Rita.”
“Really? Then, I think it’s time you explain why that is!”
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
The Paper
Sneaking in to The 100 Word Challenge at the last minute with my offering; a memory.
It lay on the front walk. Wrapped in an orange plastic baggie. I watch it from the window, that bright beacon, begging me to rescue it.
It calls to me. “Look! The Times’ Crossword, and don’t forget the sudoku.”
I gaze at it as morning slips to the afternoon. “I’m the Sunday paper; comics, sales stuffers, coupons and news!”
The afternoon wanes, still it beckons. “Editorials?”
Just before the sun sets, I rise from my chair and bring it in.
Turning the pages hesitantly.
I gasp at his picture; though I knew it would be there.
Under the heading: Obituaries.
It lay on the front walk. Wrapped in an orange plastic baggie. I watch it from the window, that bright beacon, begging me to rescue it.
It calls to me. “Look! The Times’ Crossword, and don’t forget the sudoku.”
I gaze at it as morning slips to the afternoon. “I’m the Sunday paper; comics, sales stuffers, coupons and news!”
The afternoon wanes, still it beckons. “Editorials?”
Just before the sun sets, I rise from my chair and bring it in.
Turning the pages hesitantly.
I gasp at his picture; though I knew it would be there.
Under the heading: Obituaries.
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Check Mate
I took a stab at the Fractured Friday prompt at Our Write Side this week. The challenge was to take a famous love triangle and mix it up, change the story a bit. I chose the Arthurian trio; Guinevere, Lancelot, and of course the King himself, Arthur.
“Lance, babe. He’s the King.”
Lancelot frowned at his fiance, “So what? How does that give him the right to claim you? There’s plenty of other girls out there. Available girls.” Lance paused and stared at Guinevere with narrowed eyes, “unless…you lobbied for his attention!”
‘Vere eye-rolled a sigh. “Really Lance, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Maids and fancy dresses. And riches! Hey, don’t worry, we can still see each other.”
“We can ‘see’ each other?” Lance snorted, “Right, I’ll wave as you roll by in the royal carriage on your way to the royal bed.”
“Don’t be an oaf, Lancelot! Marrying the King is politics. We can still, you know, be together. It’s common practice, all the kings have mistresses, I’ll have you.” She batted her lashes at her erstwhile boyfriend. “It’ll be exciting!”
Lancelot grunted, he knew his arguments were in vain. His Guinevere had always acted like royalty. Well, being the Queen was as royal as it gets. “Fine ‘Vere, be the Queen, but I’m not sitting at your knee like a pet dog.”
“Of course not, silly man. I already told Arty how special you are. He’s going to make you a knight!” ‘Vere clapped her hands in delight at her own ingenuity.
“Oh yeah? With armor and stuff?” Lance began to smile, “that’ll be cool, ‘Vere, good idea!
*****
Lancelot knelt before his King. Excalibur touched each shoulder in the solemn ceremony of knighthood.
“Rise, Sir Lancelot! Knight of the Round Table.” Arthur’s words echoed around the hall.
Lance rose, beaming giddily within Arthur’s embrace. As the celebrations began, he found the Queen and reached to give her a hug of thanks.
She dodged his grasp. “Not here, Lance!” she whispered. “I’ll send for you later. Go now, party hearty!” Then, she slipped away.
Lance sighed in resignation and returned to the festivities. After a few flagons of mead and a couple of hours of merry making, he was feeling more optimistic. As the party wound down he readied himself to retire to his quarters where he’d await the Queen’s summons.
He approached Arthur to make his good-night and reiterate his thanks.
“Ah, Sir Lancelot! I’m glad I caught you.” The King smiled at him, “how quickly can you suit up and saddle your steed?”
“Sire?”
“I have an important task for you. A dragon needs slaying, my boy! It’s already eaten two of my best knights. But, the Queen assures me you are the best of the best.” The King waited as Lancelot hesitated, “come along, Sir Knight, time to get a move on!”
*****
‘Vere hummed to herself as she brushed her golden curls. She donned her prettiest nightgown in anticipation. When the knock at her door came, she jumped up and hurried to greet her lover.
She threw the door open, ready to throw herself at Lance. It took great effort to maintain the smile she was wearing.
“My Queen, you look lovely tonight,” Arthur said dryly as he walked past her into the bed chamber.
Guinevere followed numbly, her heart trembled as the King removed his robes.
“Lance, babe. He’s the King.”
Lancelot frowned at his fiance, “So what? How does that give him the right to claim you? There’s plenty of other girls out there. Available girls.” Lance paused and stared at Guinevere with narrowed eyes, “unless…you lobbied for his attention!”
‘Vere eye-rolled a sigh. “Really Lance, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Maids and fancy dresses. And riches! Hey, don’t worry, we can still see each other.”
“We can ‘see’ each other?” Lance snorted, “Right, I’ll wave as you roll by in the royal carriage on your way to the royal bed.”
“Don’t be an oaf, Lancelot! Marrying the King is politics. We can still, you know, be together. It’s common practice, all the kings have mistresses, I’ll have you.” She batted her lashes at her erstwhile boyfriend. “It’ll be exciting!”
Lancelot grunted, he knew his arguments were in vain. His Guinevere had always acted like royalty. Well, being the Queen was as royal as it gets. “Fine ‘Vere, be the Queen, but I’m not sitting at your knee like a pet dog.”
“Of course not, silly man. I already told Arty how special you are. He’s going to make you a knight!” ‘Vere clapped her hands in delight at her own ingenuity.
“Oh yeah? With armor and stuff?” Lance began to smile, “that’ll be cool, ‘Vere, good idea!
*****
Lancelot knelt before his King. Excalibur touched each shoulder in the solemn ceremony of knighthood.
“Rise, Sir Lancelot! Knight of the Round Table.” Arthur’s words echoed around the hall.
Lance rose, beaming giddily within Arthur’s embrace. As the celebrations began, he found the Queen and reached to give her a hug of thanks.
She dodged his grasp. “Not here, Lance!” she whispered. “I’ll send for you later. Go now, party hearty!” Then, she slipped away.
Lance sighed in resignation and returned to the festivities. After a few flagons of mead and a couple of hours of merry making, he was feeling more optimistic. As the party wound down he readied himself to retire to his quarters where he’d await the Queen’s summons.
He approached Arthur to make his good-night and reiterate his thanks.
“Ah, Sir Lancelot! I’m glad I caught you.” The King smiled at him, “how quickly can you suit up and saddle your steed?”
“Sire?”
“I have an important task for you. A dragon needs slaying, my boy! It’s already eaten two of my best knights. But, the Queen assures me you are the best of the best.” The King waited as Lancelot hesitated, “come along, Sir Knight, time to get a move on!”
*****
‘Vere hummed to herself as she brushed her golden curls. She donned her prettiest nightgown in anticipation. When the knock at her door came, she jumped up and hurried to greet her lover.
She threw the door open, ready to throw herself at Lance. It took great effort to maintain the smile she was wearing.
“My Queen, you look lovely tonight,” Arthur said dryly as he walked past her into the bed chamber.
Guinevere followed numbly, her heart trembled as the King removed his robes.
Friday, February 12, 2016
Luck
This week's word is 'luck' at the 100 Word Challenge over at Tara's place..
Greta looked warily at the hand held out to her. It was large and rough; black dirt embedded under the nails.
She forced a smile to her lips as she allowed her carefully manicured fingers to be swallowed within its grasp.
He towered over her as he led her to the dance floor. she spied the perfectly matched couples swirling gracefully.
Greta swallowed her sigh. The luck of the draw.
His arm encircled her waist and he twirled her into the music. Greta’s reserve fled as the crowd moved back to watch.
That night, he danced her into her dreams.
100 Word Challenge
Greta looked warily at the hand held out to her. It was large and rough; black dirt embedded under the nails.
She forced a smile to her lips as she allowed her carefully manicured fingers to be swallowed within its grasp.
He towered over her as he led her to the dance floor. she spied the perfectly matched couples swirling gracefully.
Greta swallowed her sigh. The luck of the draw.
His arm encircled her waist and he twirled her into the music. Greta’s reserve fled as the crowd moved back to watch.
That night, he danced her into her dreams.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Hose-zone
Two socks enter.
Only to lose sight of each other in the agitation and tumble.
Lost somewhere between drain and lint trap,
Or upon the aberrant path leading to the dark side of the moon.
One lonely sock waits in my drawer.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
There She Goes Again
I've missed Anne Marie. She whispers to me at night, it's time to let her out for a while.
My offering for Master Class Monday at Our Write Side
Anne Marie listened intently for a repetition of the cracking of leaves behind her. Though she heard no new sound, she silently circled back. The iron broadsword in her grip hummed in anticipation. She sniffed the air; was that a hint of fresh blood on the breeze?
From tree to tree she crept forward, homing in on the scent. As she neared her target she heard the whisper of soft breaths. And something else…rhythmic tapping, so soft she almost missed it.
Anne Marie stopped, a memory tickled at her. A thing forgotten, a thing she needed to know.
She tested the breeze again. The blood odor was thicker and foul. And another smell...sulfur. Her eyebrows rose as well as the hair at the nape of her neck.
With only the old iron blade, did she dare to confront the thing lying in wait? For it was certainly waiting for her.
Still soft, the tapping continued, insistent and no longer just ahead but all around.
‘Too late to turn back,’ she told herself, ‘she knows I’m here.’
Anne Marie stood straight and sheathed the sword.
Three more steps brought her into the circle. Its guardian smiled a welcome as it beckoned her to the center most spot.
She smirked back at the daemon; it wouldn’t be the first time she'd stood at the crossroad to oblivion. Nor would it be the last.
My offering for Master Class Monday at Our Write Side
Anne Marie listened intently for a repetition of the cracking of leaves behind her. Though she heard no new sound, she silently circled back. The iron broadsword in her grip hummed in anticipation. She sniffed the air; was that a hint of fresh blood on the breeze?
From tree to tree she crept forward, homing in on the scent. As she neared her target she heard the whisper of soft breaths. And something else…rhythmic tapping, so soft she almost missed it.
Anne Marie stopped, a memory tickled at her. A thing forgotten, a thing she needed to know.
She tested the breeze again. The blood odor was thicker and foul. And another smell...sulfur. Her eyebrows rose as well as the hair at the nape of her neck.
With only the old iron blade, did she dare to confront the thing lying in wait? For it was certainly waiting for her.
Still soft, the tapping continued, insistent and no longer just ahead but all around.
‘Too late to turn back,’ she told herself, ‘she knows I’m here.’
Anne Marie stood straight and sheathed the sword.
Three more steps brought her into the circle. Its guardian smiled a welcome as it beckoned her to the center most spot.
She smirked back at the daemon; it wouldn’t be the first time she'd stood at the crossroad to oblivion. Nor would it be the last.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Listen to the Music
The guests had listened
politely throughout his performance. As soon as he finished the final ballad
the serving girls immediately entered and placed platters on the long table.
Gaddy noticed the food was carefully arranged to give the appearance of great bounty.
The king’s guests served themselves
sparingly, yet the platters barely fed the entire table. The talk at the table
was low and stilted.
He wrapped his harp and
retrieved his cloak, then Gaddy took a moment to look out a window at the
courtyard below. Figures in tattered cloaks and dirty blankets huddled around
small campfires, leaning close to one another against cold. Women doled out
bits of bread to solemn faced children, then shared what was left with their
men.
“They came for my protection.”
Gaddy turned, startled by
the voice and its owner, he made a deep bow as he spoke, “Sire.”
The old king answered, “Stand
up lad, I’m not above you, nor those gathered below. I have failed them. He
leaned on the stone casement, staring at the crowded courtyard.
Gaddy stood silently next to
his king, an old man struggling with a war not of making and the impact it was
having on the people he’d sworn to protect. He could see
tears in the king’s eyes, the droop of shoulders not strong enough to bear the
pain.
“Go
play for them, Harper. Play them songs of courage and strength. Of hopes
fulfilled.” The king turned to Gaddy, “Give them a tiny time of enchantment to
pass the night. Make them believe tomorrow will be better.”
“Will
it be better, your Majesty?”
“Perhaps
if they believe…it will be.”
Gaddy wrapped his cloak
about his shoulders and made his way to the courtyard. He walked among the
people noting hollow eyes and mournful faces. A small girl with her thumb stuck
into her mouth followed his progress with a curious gaze. He gave her a small
smile and sat a few yards away. He unwrapped the harp and plucked a string. The
tone attracted the attention of the closest groups.
The little girl stared at
him, her thumb still tucked securely between her lips. He plucked a second
note, an infant chortled in reply from another huddle of folk, quickly hushed
by its mother. Gaddy pulled another string encouraging the babe to answer. When
it did, he played another.
The little girl removed her
thumb and laughed at the game, her mother allowed herself a small smile. Gaddy
strummed across the harp causing more heads to turn and scattered giggles to
surface. As the children moved closer he picked out a tune and stomped his
foot. With the next notes the children stomped along. Men loosened their frowns
and clapped in time. Mothers holding children swayed in rhythm.
An old man in a patched
cloak, hat pulled low over his face, sat down next to Gaddy with a small drum.
As the song progressed the drummer kept time, more of the folk clapped cold
hands or stomped tired feet. Laughter became the lyrics as the children danced
in circles with each other.
Music rang through the
courtyard and warmth pushed away the chill of evening. The drummer stood and
invited Gaddy to join him as he walked a path toward the castle doors. Gaddy hesitated;
his fellow lifted the brim of his hat and winked. Gaddy nodded and followed,
motioning the folk to come along. As they approached the steps the doors swung
wide and the musicians and their parade danced into the hall.
Gaddy saw the table had been
refilled with breads and bruised fruit. The king’s guard attended, handing out
the fare as Gaddy and his drummer led the folk around them. He played every
spring and summer tune he knew and when he had played them all, he started
over.
Children raced each other
from one end of the hall to the other, women and men gathered at the edges
laughing and cheering them on. As night fell, Gaddy slowed his fingers bringing
toddlers back to their parents. Families gathered in groups as serving women
delivered blankets from the great bedrooms of the castle.
The drummer set his
instrument aside as Gaddy played lullabies and watched children nod into sleep
with smiles still on their faces. When the harp finally silenced, the only sound
was the breath of those sleeping
Gaddy turned to the drummer whose eyes were drooping into
slumber, “Good night…your
Majesty,” he whispered.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Hazardous Record
A small teaser for the Nano project. Inspired by a prompt from Master Class Monday at Our Write Side
Trey listened to RJ’s plan with only half of his attention. The third of their cohorts, Clarence, was in the corner of the tent unconscious.
Their captors had left them to stew for more time than he’d expected. Probably hoping one or another would cook up some escape plan and create an excuse to beat them up again. Trey preferred not to go that route.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?” RJ punched him in the arm.
“Yeah, and I’m thinking.” Trey muttered.
RJ rolled his eyes, “Your thinking is interfering with the listening.” He got up and paced the small confines of the tent.
“Well, whatever we decide, we should wait for Clarence to wake up.” Trey walked over to check on his friend for the tenth time in the last hour. “He seems to be breathing okay.” Trey prodded him gently, He was answered with a groan and shift in position, but nothing more.
RJ looked on, “are you sure you want his opinion? He has a hazardous record in the planning thing. That’s why were stuck in here instead of back home at dinner with our families.”
Trey shrugged, “we could have said no. We made our own decisions.”
“I would've made a different decision if I’d know it meant traveling to a different dimension full of demons and spider people.” RJ gave Trey a look that dared him to disagree.
Trey listened to RJ’s plan with only half of his attention. The third of their cohorts, Clarence, was in the corner of the tent unconscious.
Their captors had left them to stew for more time than he’d expected. Probably hoping one or another would cook up some escape plan and create an excuse to beat them up again. Trey preferred not to go that route.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?” RJ punched him in the arm.
“Yeah, and I’m thinking.” Trey muttered.
RJ rolled his eyes, “Your thinking is interfering with the listening.” He got up and paced the small confines of the tent.
“Well, whatever we decide, we should wait for Clarence to wake up.” Trey walked over to check on his friend for the tenth time in the last hour. “He seems to be breathing okay.” Trey prodded him gently, He was answered with a groan and shift in position, but nothing more.
RJ looked on, “are you sure you want his opinion? He has a hazardous record in the planning thing. That’s why were stuck in here instead of back home at dinner with our families.”
Trey shrugged, “we could have said no. We made our own decisions.”
“I would've made a different decision if I’d know it meant traveling to a different dimension full of demons and spider people.” RJ gave Trey a look that dared him to disagree.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Fifteen Minutes...or so
Although I'm in the middle of the chaos that is Nanowrimo, I couldn't resist revisiting Joe and Charlie. I hope Amanda doesn't roll her eyes too much as I used her prompt "fifteen minutes of fame" from Coldly Calculating over at Our Write Side.
Lily had several jobs for her enthralled demons. Joe and Charlie were starting to get desperate to escape.
“How’re we gonna get outta this, Joe?”
“Shut up! Let me think.”
“You been thinkin’ for weeks.”
“You been whinin’ for weeks!”
Charlie sighed heavily, “I don’t know how much more I can take, Joe.”
“I know, Charlie, I know. Ill figure it out, I promise.”
That evening Lily summoned them for another of her little tasks, as she called them. She gleefully spelled out the directions for this latest adventure then stood grinning as the star stud in her nose whirled wildly.
“You want us to rob a bank?!? Joe was incredulous.
Charlie was merely mortified, “No no no, this is not happening, it’s a dream. A very bad dream.”
“Yes, I want you to rob a bank.” Lily giggled. “And you'll do it, not like you have a choice or anything,”
Charlie continued to mumble, “Oh man oh man. This is so embarrassing.”
“Come along, pets, to the pentagram, I need to get you delivered.”
Several candles and an incantation later, the two found themselves materializing in the empty lobby of a nearby bank.
“Why didn’t she just put us in the vault, now we have to blast it open before we can get ‘poofed’ back to prison.” Another heavy sigh and slump of shoulder and Charlie headed toward the vault, tail dragging behind.
“Charlie, hold up!”
“What Joe? I just wanna get this ov…”
“No! I got it? Look up there Charlie.”
“What? Where?”
“Up there, security cameras!”
Charlie gave Joe a sidelong glance. “We don’t show up on tape, Joe.” Charlie shook his head, he’d never expected Joe to lose it first.
“We don’t, but dancing money bags will.” Joe rubbed his clawed hands together in anticipation.
“I still don’t get how that’ll help us.”
“”Think Charlie. Bank gets ripped off. Big headline. How long before someone leaks freaky security footage to the Internet and we get our fifteen minutes of fame?”
“So dancing money ends up on the webz.”
“Remember that time He locked us in that dressing room mirror for doing the macarena at Wally’s?” Joe grinned.
“Oh man! Don’t remind me, my eyes still burn.”
“Well, we’re gonna macarena hundred dollar bills all over the lobby!”
*****
Three weeks later in an opulent office, a minion interrupts his employers latest deal.
“Hey, boss?”
“Really? I’m kinda busy here, Dood.”
“I know boss, but I think you wanna see this. For real.”
“Alright, be right there.” Laying aside his golden pen, he cast a stern look at his guest, “Don’t go anywhere Donald, I’ll be right back.” He turned back to Dood, “This better be worth my time or you'll be the star of next years haunted playhouse.”
His flunky pointed to a wall of screens. Each one showed a grainy video being played on assorted venues. The leaked footage was trending on twitter. It had a Facebook fan page. It was the number one hit for Google searches of banks, hauntings, or the macarena. The news channels played it over and over.
“I think it’s them boss. But it don’t tell us where they went.”
He watched the assorted screens for several minutes before pointing at one slightly better image, “Zoom in on that one.” Leaning closer he ordered the footage stopped. “Right there. Get my coat, tell Mr. T. It’s his lucky day, I’ll catch up with him later.”
“What’d ya see boss?”
“The middle dancer, it was a peace lily.”
Lily had several jobs for her enthralled demons. Joe and Charlie were starting to get desperate to escape.
“How’re we gonna get outta this, Joe?”
“Shut up! Let me think.”
“You been thinkin’ for weeks.”
“You been whinin’ for weeks!”
Charlie sighed heavily, “I don’t know how much more I can take, Joe.”
“I know, Charlie, I know. Ill figure it out, I promise.”
That evening Lily summoned them for another of her little tasks, as she called them. She gleefully spelled out the directions for this latest adventure then stood grinning as the star stud in her nose whirled wildly.
“You want us to rob a bank?!? Joe was incredulous.
Charlie was merely mortified, “No no no, this is not happening, it’s a dream. A very bad dream.”
“Yes, I want you to rob a bank.” Lily giggled. “And you'll do it, not like you have a choice or anything,”
Charlie continued to mumble, “Oh man oh man. This is so embarrassing.”
“Come along, pets, to the pentagram, I need to get you delivered.”
Several candles and an incantation later, the two found themselves materializing in the empty lobby of a nearby bank.
“Why didn’t she just put us in the vault, now we have to blast it open before we can get ‘poofed’ back to prison.” Another heavy sigh and slump of shoulder and Charlie headed toward the vault, tail dragging behind.
“Charlie, hold up!”
“What Joe? I just wanna get this ov…”
“No! I got it? Look up there Charlie.”
“What? Where?”
“Up there, security cameras!”
Charlie gave Joe a sidelong glance. “We don’t show up on tape, Joe.” Charlie shook his head, he’d never expected Joe to lose it first.
“We don’t, but dancing money bags will.” Joe rubbed his clawed hands together in anticipation.
“I still don’t get how that’ll help us.”
“”Think Charlie. Bank gets ripped off. Big headline. How long before someone leaks freaky security footage to the Internet and we get our fifteen minutes of fame?”
“So dancing money ends up on the webz.”
“Remember that time He locked us in that dressing room mirror for doing the macarena at Wally’s?” Joe grinned.
“Oh man! Don’t remind me, my eyes still burn.”
“Well, we’re gonna macarena hundred dollar bills all over the lobby!”
*****
Three weeks later in an opulent office, a minion interrupts his employers latest deal.
“Hey, boss?”
“Really? I’m kinda busy here, Dood.”
“I know boss, but I think you wanna see this. For real.”
“Alright, be right there.” Laying aside his golden pen, he cast a stern look at his guest, “Don’t go anywhere Donald, I’ll be right back.” He turned back to Dood, “This better be worth my time or you'll be the star of next years haunted playhouse.”
His flunky pointed to a wall of screens. Each one showed a grainy video being played on assorted venues. The leaked footage was trending on twitter. It had a Facebook fan page. It was the number one hit for Google searches of banks, hauntings, or the macarena. The news channels played it over and over.
“I think it’s them boss. But it don’t tell us where they went.”
He watched the assorted screens for several minutes before pointing at one slightly better image, “Zoom in on that one.” Leaning closer he ordered the footage stopped. “Right there. Get my coat, tell Mr. T. It’s his lucky day, I’ll catch up with him later.”
“What’d ya see boss?”
“The middle dancer, it was a peace lily.”
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Caught!
This little bit of whimsy was prompted by the Coldly Calculating prompt at Our Write Side.
I really enjoy the choices they offer!
After their near damnation experience in the last house they’d infested, Joe and Charlie were relaxing in dubious comfort in a cluttered attic.
“Joe, what you want to do next? Scratching inside the walls or opening all the cabinet doors?”
“I wanna take a break, Charlie. We got plenty of time.”
“I’m bored Joe.”
“Jeez Charlie. Let me catch my breath.” Joe sighed deeply. “By the way, dude, you still stink of sweet grass.”
“I do not!” Charlie sniffed his arm and down the length of his tail. “Well, maybe that witch singed my tail fork when she shoved that burning bundle up the chimney after me.”
Ignoring Charlie, Joe started poking through one of the many boxes and suitcases stashed around the cramped space. Pawing through one lightly damaged trunk, he pulled out a shiny black cape.
“Look, Charlie. Halloween costumes.” Charlie joined him, grabbing a piece of fabric
“Wow, Joe! We can use these to scare the you know who outta the family here!” Charlie draped a yellowed toga over his head. “Booooo!”
“Look what you did! You snagged it on your horns, man.” Joe grabbed garment and threw it on the growing pile of clothing. “You need to take better care those, you don’t want to end up with a hang-horn.”
“Yeah, yeah, I could polish ‘em too.” Charlie stuck his head back into the nearly empty trunk. “Hey, what’s that?” Charlie reached for a small leather covered case at the bottom.
Joe slapped his hand, “Gimme that. I was here first.”Joe lifted the lid, the rusty hinges on the side protested only mildly. A rectangle of black velvet covered the contents. Joe unceremoniously brushed it aside.
“Augh!” Joe dropped the case and contents back to the bottom of the trunk.
“What man! What’s wrong.” Charlie peeked over the edge, “Holy Hell!” eyes wide, he scuttled backwards. At the bottom of the trunk, a silver handled athame lay haphazardly atop its case.
“Of all places, we wander into a nest of Wiccans.” Joe started to pace, “We need to get outta here, they figure out we’re here and who knows what kind of three ring circus they'll stir up.”
“Joe, calm down, if they was practicing, this stuff wouldn’t be up here, now would it?” Charlie looked nervously over his shoulder despite his words.
“Okay, yeah, you're probably right. They wouldn’t put something like that up here.” Joe closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to pull himself together. “We should move on anyway. Who knows what other…”
“Too late, boys.” The voice emanated form a dark shadow at the top of the attic stairs. “However you're right about the athame, there are no Wiccans practicing here. At least, not anymore. Their toys do come in handy though.” The speaker stepped forward revealing a teen-aged girl in full goth regalia.
“It’s a great early warning system, and…led you right into our trap.” As she spoke the girl bent and poured salt before her feet.
“Trap? What trap?” Joe had been taking the measure of the youngster and was building energy for a powerful demonic counter attack.
“Look around silly. You were so interested in rummaging through the garbage you missed the pentagram.” She grinned in delight. “And I just closed it.”
Joe barely heard as he loosed a fireball. Which immediately bounced back. Charlie yelled as he ducked the blazing missile. “OhmySatanohmySatanohmySatan!”
Joe drooped, out of the frying pan into hell. “So, what now?”
“Glad you asked,” she said brightly, “I’m Lily by the way. My friends and I have a job for you. It needs done tonight, so enough with chit-chat, come along now.”
“Tonight? How did you know you'd catch a demon tonight?”
“Sillies. Who do you think called that ghost hunter to the last house.” She skipped out of the room, Joe and Charlie dragged along by her spell. “And one of you stinks.”
Charlie muttered, “I do not.”
I really enjoy the choices they offer!
After their near damnation experience in the last house they’d infested, Joe and Charlie were relaxing in dubious comfort in a cluttered attic.
“Joe, what you want to do next? Scratching inside the walls or opening all the cabinet doors?”
“I wanna take a break, Charlie. We got plenty of time.”
“I’m bored Joe.”
“Jeez Charlie. Let me catch my breath.” Joe sighed deeply. “By the way, dude, you still stink of sweet grass.”
“I do not!” Charlie sniffed his arm and down the length of his tail. “Well, maybe that witch singed my tail fork when she shoved that burning bundle up the chimney after me.”
Ignoring Charlie, Joe started poking through one of the many boxes and suitcases stashed around the cramped space. Pawing through one lightly damaged trunk, he pulled out a shiny black cape.
“Look, Charlie. Halloween costumes.” Charlie joined him, grabbing a piece of fabric
“Wow, Joe! We can use these to scare the you know who outta the family here!” Charlie draped a yellowed toga over his head. “Booooo!”
“Look what you did! You snagged it on your horns, man.” Joe grabbed garment and threw it on the growing pile of clothing. “You need to take better care those, you don’t want to end up with a hang-horn.”
“Yeah, yeah, I could polish ‘em too.” Charlie stuck his head back into the nearly empty trunk. “Hey, what’s that?” Charlie reached for a small leather covered case at the bottom.
Joe slapped his hand, “Gimme that. I was here first.”Joe lifted the lid, the rusty hinges on the side protested only mildly. A rectangle of black velvet covered the contents. Joe unceremoniously brushed it aside.
“Augh!” Joe dropped the case and contents back to the bottom of the trunk.
“What man! What’s wrong.” Charlie peeked over the edge, “Holy Hell!” eyes wide, he scuttled backwards. At the bottom of the trunk, a silver handled athame lay haphazardly atop its case.
“Of all places, we wander into a nest of Wiccans.” Joe started to pace, “We need to get outta here, they figure out we’re here and who knows what kind of three ring circus they'll stir up.”
“Joe, calm down, if they was practicing, this stuff wouldn’t be up here, now would it?” Charlie looked nervously over his shoulder despite his words.
“Okay, yeah, you're probably right. They wouldn’t put something like that up here.” Joe closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to pull himself together. “We should move on anyway. Who knows what other…”
“Too late, boys.” The voice emanated form a dark shadow at the top of the attic stairs. “However you're right about the athame, there are no Wiccans practicing here. At least, not anymore. Their toys do come in handy though.” The speaker stepped forward revealing a teen-aged girl in full goth regalia.
“It’s a great early warning system, and…led you right into our trap.” As she spoke the girl bent and poured salt before her feet.
“Trap? What trap?” Joe had been taking the measure of the youngster and was building energy for a powerful demonic counter attack.
“Look around silly. You were so interested in rummaging through the garbage you missed the pentagram.” She grinned in delight. “And I just closed it.”
Joe barely heard as he loosed a fireball. Which immediately bounced back. Charlie yelled as he ducked the blazing missile. “OhmySatanohmySatanohmySatan!”
Joe drooped, out of the frying pan into hell. “So, what now?”
“Glad you asked,” she said brightly, “I’m Lily by the way. My friends and I have a job for you. It needs done tonight, so enough with chit-chat, come along now.”
“Tonight? How did you know you'd catch a demon tonight?”
“Sillies. Who do you think called that ghost hunter to the last house.” She skipped out of the room, Joe and Charlie dragged along by her spell. “And one of you stinks.”
Charlie muttered, “I do not.”
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Writers Block
Just a bit of flotsam floating in my head today.
They've been quiet today.
Why today?
So chatty the past few months. Telling me their stories. Making sure I understood everything.
They gave specific instructions so I could write each chapter exactly as they lived them.
Today though, today they have said nothing.
I keep thinking back, did I miss some important detail? Did I did I not strike the right mood?
Are they mad? I feel like are ignoring me they on purpose.
Yeah, they used to get pissed off when I joined my friends for lunch, or drinks on the weekend. But, that hasn't happened for a long time now. My friends don't call anymore.
I mean, it's not like they can just grab their phones and have a chat.
I do kinda miss those spontaneous dates.
But they said it interfered too much with telling the stories. I had to get rid of those friends.
And truth be told, I don't miss them all that much.
Most of the time.
Except for Ginny. Her I miss.
It's particularly hard to get rid of Ginny.
The others, not so much.
Becky was so wrapped up in her kids, she was making me crazy with all the pictures and bragging. Oh my God, the bragging! You'd have thought her kids were geniuses.
Your kids aren't so special now are they, Becky?
And Robbie, constantly off on some adventure where he was the best looking, smartest, funniest...blah blah blah. Of course, all the women just fell all over him, too.
Your last adventure wasn't quite what you expected, was it Robbie?
So, they don't call anymore
But, that was alright. They were still here to talk to me.
I do wish they would have accepted Ginny.
Maybe that's why I'm being ignored. They are mad because I'm still holding on to Ginny.
I bet that's it. As soon as I let go of her, I'll be on the good list again.
I'm just not ready yet. Maybe I can appease them by spiffing up their stories. After all, they want people to read them, right?
Who shall I start with?
Regina. She'll want everyone to understand. She never, ever really meant to hurt her kids. She just wanted to give them baths.
Becky's kids needed baths, too. It made Regina sad how dirty they were. Just like her kids. She could never keep them clean enough. She showed me how to clean such dirty kids. It was hard, but we got it done. Made it easier when we finally made Becky shut up.
Or I could work on Clyde's story. How he accidentally pushed his best friend off a mountain in Italy. Yeah, his best friend was screwing around with his fiance, but it was still an accident.
Robbie's last adventure was in California. There are mountains there, too. Not as special as Italy, but Clyde said the mechanics are the same.
Marty won't let me tell his story yet. He asks how can I tell the story if it isn't finished?
Marty's story is just so hard. I mean, I got the first part right. The kidnapping was easy. And describing the choking sounds took a little work, but I got through it. The last part though, that's holding me back.
I can feel Marty giving me the stink eye.
That's why they aren't talking to me.
Damn.
I suppose I'd better oil the chain saw and dig Ginny up. Just get it done.
Then I can get busy on Jack's story. Jack's is the best of all their stories. It'll be longer than the rest. The research is gonna be exhausting, but it'll be a best seller.
They just know it.
They've been quiet today.
Why today?
So chatty the past few months. Telling me their stories. Making sure I understood everything.
They gave specific instructions so I could write each chapter exactly as they lived them.
Today though, today they have said nothing.
I keep thinking back, did I miss some important detail? Did I did I not strike the right mood?
Are they mad? I feel like are ignoring me they on purpose.
Yeah, they used to get pissed off when I joined my friends for lunch, or drinks on the weekend. But, that hasn't happened for a long time now. My friends don't call anymore.
I mean, it's not like they can just grab their phones and have a chat.
I do kinda miss those spontaneous dates.
But they said it interfered too much with telling the stories. I had to get rid of those friends.
And truth be told, I don't miss them all that much.
Most of the time.
Except for Ginny. Her I miss.
It's particularly hard to get rid of Ginny.
The others, not so much.
Becky was so wrapped up in her kids, she was making me crazy with all the pictures and bragging. Oh my God, the bragging! You'd have thought her kids were geniuses.
Your kids aren't so special now are they, Becky?
And Robbie, constantly off on some adventure where he was the best looking, smartest, funniest...blah blah blah. Of course, all the women just fell all over him, too.
Your last adventure wasn't quite what you expected, was it Robbie?
So, they don't call anymore
But, that was alright. They were still here to talk to me.
I do wish they would have accepted Ginny.
Maybe that's why I'm being ignored. They are mad because I'm still holding on to Ginny.
I bet that's it. As soon as I let go of her, I'll be on the good list again.
I'm just not ready yet. Maybe I can appease them by spiffing up their stories. After all, they want people to read them, right?
Who shall I start with?
Regina. She'll want everyone to understand. She never, ever really meant to hurt her kids. She just wanted to give them baths.
Becky's kids needed baths, too. It made Regina sad how dirty they were. Just like her kids. She could never keep them clean enough. She showed me how to clean such dirty kids. It was hard, but we got it done. Made it easier when we finally made Becky shut up.
Or I could work on Clyde's story. How he accidentally pushed his best friend off a mountain in Italy. Yeah, his best friend was screwing around with his fiance, but it was still an accident.
Robbie's last adventure was in California. There are mountains there, too. Not as special as Italy, but Clyde said the mechanics are the same.
Marty won't let me tell his story yet. He asks how can I tell the story if it isn't finished?
Marty's story is just so hard. I mean, I got the first part right. The kidnapping was easy. And describing the choking sounds took a little work, but I got through it. The last part though, that's holding me back.
I can feel Marty giving me the stink eye.
That's why they aren't talking to me.
Damn.
I suppose I'd better oil the chain saw and dig Ginny up. Just get it done.
Then I can get busy on Jack's story. Jack's is the best of all their stories. It'll be longer than the rest. The research is gonna be exhausting, but it'll be a best seller.
They just know it.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Puppy Love
I haven't written for so long, I feel all awkward-y. And, there may be some cursing and a little bitty bit of graphic violence in here, just sayin...
And many thanks to (or laying of blame on) Tara R. from Thin Spiral Notebook for the inspiration.
Archie strolled down the sidewalk ignoring the lure of loud music leaking from the open doors of the clubs lining the street. He'd occasionally glance up at the full moon shining down on the lines of night lifers waiting their turn to get inside.
He let out a sigh, he just wasn't in the mood anymore. .
His spirits had been high as he left his basement apartment and bounded up the steps to street level dressed in his clubster's best. Tight black jeans and ab hugging red polo, his black hair artfully tousled. He was primed for a hip grinding night of dance followed, hopefully, by a light snack before heading back to hide his head in bed.
At the top of the stairs stood a pale figure, obviously waiting tor him. That was where Archie's night began to lose its luster.
"What now, Conner? Did I break another rule? Sleep too late, awaken too damn early?" He'd been in the city a couple months and had immediately stepped on the local brood's toes. Conner had become a regular bearer of criticism
"Gratch wants to see you. You haven't attended a meeting in weeks, and you're overstepping Pike's territory."
"What? Bullshit!" Archie tried to step around Conner, who moved to block him. "Okay. Look, I'll check in with Gratch in the morning. Right now, I'm hungry. Just let me get on with my night." He tried to sidestep again, "And just how much "territory" does Pike have? I haven't hit the same street twice since I've been here."
"If it's east of Talbot Street, it's Pike's. I know you're new, but at least pretend to be considerate. Play west tonight and see Gratch before you crash." Conner gave Archie's outfit a contemptuous once over. "And, dude, wear shades. Your eyes are fuckin' glowing." Conner turned his back and strode quickly away. Archie could still hear him mutter about freaking lone wolf freaks that thought they could do as they pleased.
"You invited me, asshole! And my eyes don't glow!" Archie yelled at Connor's retreating back. He regretted accepting that invitation. Nothing here had been as Conner had promised. It was all rules and checking in and don't go here, or there.
"Bullshit." Archie stubbornly headed east, toward the rising full moon.
He was met at the entrance of the first club by one of Pike's clan. "Not even, jerk. Move on." Archie left. They'd guessed he wouldn't obey and were waiting for him. He'd be outnumbered and knew it wasn't worth the risk.
He turned around and wandered more or less west. The neighborhood changed within a few blocks. He left the boisterous club life behind and found the streets lined with shops that closed before the night took over leaving only smoke filled dives and swaggering working girls. Each half block broken by unlit alleys.
The moon had reached it zenith as he crossed yet another alley. A yelp caught his attention and he stopped to listen.
"Get off ya little piece of shit!" A growl followed by cursing and another yelp piqued Archie's curiosity. He silently entered the alley. Careful to avoid the litter of trash, he made his way farther down the narrow space.
In the dim light from an open door he saw two men digging behind a dumpster at the alley's end. A pasty faced blond held a broom, a sickly thin black man had his right hand wrapped around his left wrist. The smell of fresh blood filled Archie's nostrils. His pace quickened.
The broom wielder thrust his weapon under the dumpster and pulled. A tiny, dirty ball of fur tumbled out. With a growl it headed toward the man with the smell of blood wafting from him. Before the creature could reach him, he aimed a vicious kick at its small form, rolling it across the alley to collide with the wall. The broom made contact eliciting another yelp.
"Hey! What's the deal, dudes? You got to pick on a puppy?" Archie stepped in between them and the injured animal.
"Screw off, kid. The little bastard bit me. It's dead."
Archie grabbed the growling pup by the scruff. "I'd say you provoked the poor thing. It had to defend itself, didn't it?"
"Go home, boy. This ain't your business."
"Well, I just made it my business. So back off and everything will be fine. No one gets hurt, especially the puppy."
The men looked at Archie, then each other. Blondie swung the broom, Archie yanked it from his hand, twirled it baton style then drove it through his throat. As pasty face dropped to the ground gurgling, Archie grabbed his partner before he could recover from shock and run.
"Oh shit man oh shit! I didn't see nuthin' let me go. Didn't know it was your dog so sorry man. Oh shit oh shit!"
"Oh shut up." Archie put the pup down as he grabbed slim's head, jerked it back and sunk his fangs deep into the jugular.
He drank until the heart stopped then dropped the lifeless body. Turning his attention to the blond, he found the pup grunting and growling, furiously tearing flesh from the dead man's throat wound.
"Slow down there,Turbo!" Archie picked the pup up by the scruff again, holding it at arms length as it snapped and snarled. "Dude, you'll make yourself sick gorging like that."
As the animal realized its belly really was full, it settled into Archie's arms. "Bet the Gratch's brood missed you when they decimated that lycan nest last week, huh? Damned intolerant jerks."
"Hmm, Dude or is it Dudette?" His attempt to find out and was rewarded with a growl and nip.
"Okay then." Archie glanced at the west leaning moon. "We'll just wait until we can do a diaper change to check your junk."
With the satiated pup in the crook of his arm, Archie exited the alley. The tiny werewolf lifted its nose and howled mournfully. The full moon dipped a little lower as Archie made a decision.
"I'm pretty sure rescuing you is another no-no. Well, they did say go west."
He grinned, leathery wings ripping through shirt fabric as he lofted into the air and pointed westward, following the moon. "Since you won't give me a hint, we'll go with a gender neutral name, okay?"
"Wanna see the Pacific...Robin?"
And many thanks to (or laying of blame on) Tara R. from Thin Spiral Notebook for the inspiration.
Archie strolled down the sidewalk ignoring the lure of loud music leaking from the open doors of the clubs lining the street. He'd occasionally glance up at the full moon shining down on the lines of night lifers waiting their turn to get inside.
He let out a sigh, he just wasn't in the mood anymore. .
His spirits had been high as he left his basement apartment and bounded up the steps to street level dressed in his clubster's best. Tight black jeans and ab hugging red polo, his black hair artfully tousled. He was primed for a hip grinding night of dance followed, hopefully, by a light snack before heading back to hide his head in bed.
At the top of the stairs stood a pale figure, obviously waiting tor him. That was where Archie's night began to lose its luster.
"What now, Conner? Did I break another rule? Sleep too late, awaken too damn early?" He'd been in the city a couple months and had immediately stepped on the local brood's toes. Conner had become a regular bearer of criticism
"Gratch wants to see you. You haven't attended a meeting in weeks, and you're overstepping Pike's territory."
"What? Bullshit!" Archie tried to step around Conner, who moved to block him. "Okay. Look, I'll check in with Gratch in the morning. Right now, I'm hungry. Just let me get on with my night." He tried to sidestep again, "And just how much "territory" does Pike have? I haven't hit the same street twice since I've been here."
"If it's east of Talbot Street, it's Pike's. I know you're new, but at least pretend to be considerate. Play west tonight and see Gratch before you crash." Conner gave Archie's outfit a contemptuous once over. "And, dude, wear shades. Your eyes are fuckin' glowing." Conner turned his back and strode quickly away. Archie could still hear him mutter about freaking lone wolf freaks that thought they could do as they pleased.
"You invited me, asshole! And my eyes don't glow!" Archie yelled at Connor's retreating back. He regretted accepting that invitation. Nothing here had been as Conner had promised. It was all rules and checking in and don't go here, or there.
"Bullshit." Archie stubbornly headed east, toward the rising full moon.
He was met at the entrance of the first club by one of Pike's clan. "Not even, jerk. Move on." Archie left. They'd guessed he wouldn't obey and were waiting for him. He'd be outnumbered and knew it wasn't worth the risk.
He turned around and wandered more or less west. The neighborhood changed within a few blocks. He left the boisterous club life behind and found the streets lined with shops that closed before the night took over leaving only smoke filled dives and swaggering working girls. Each half block broken by unlit alleys.
The moon had reached it zenith as he crossed yet another alley. A yelp caught his attention and he stopped to listen.
"Get off ya little piece of shit!" A growl followed by cursing and another yelp piqued Archie's curiosity. He silently entered the alley. Careful to avoid the litter of trash, he made his way farther down the narrow space.
In the dim light from an open door he saw two men digging behind a dumpster at the alley's end. A pasty faced blond held a broom, a sickly thin black man had his right hand wrapped around his left wrist. The smell of fresh blood filled Archie's nostrils. His pace quickened.
The broom wielder thrust his weapon under the dumpster and pulled. A tiny, dirty ball of fur tumbled out. With a growl it headed toward the man with the smell of blood wafting from him. Before the creature could reach him, he aimed a vicious kick at its small form, rolling it across the alley to collide with the wall. The broom made contact eliciting another yelp.
"Hey! What's the deal, dudes? You got to pick on a puppy?" Archie stepped in between them and the injured animal.
"Screw off, kid. The little bastard bit me. It's dead."
Archie grabbed the growling pup by the scruff. "I'd say you provoked the poor thing. It had to defend itself, didn't it?"
"Go home, boy. This ain't your business."
"Well, I just made it my business. So back off and everything will be fine. No one gets hurt, especially the puppy."
The men looked at Archie, then each other. Blondie swung the broom, Archie yanked it from his hand, twirled it baton style then drove it through his throat. As pasty face dropped to the ground gurgling, Archie grabbed his partner before he could recover from shock and run.
"Oh shit man oh shit! I didn't see nuthin' let me go. Didn't know it was your dog so sorry man. Oh shit oh shit!"
"Oh shut up." Archie put the pup down as he grabbed slim's head, jerked it back and sunk his fangs deep into the jugular.
He drank until the heart stopped then dropped the lifeless body. Turning his attention to the blond, he found the pup grunting and growling, furiously tearing flesh from the dead man's throat wound.
"Slow down there,Turbo!" Archie picked the pup up by the scruff again, holding it at arms length as it snapped and snarled. "Dude, you'll make yourself sick gorging like that."
As the animal realized its belly really was full, it settled into Archie's arms. "Bet the Gratch's brood missed you when they decimated that lycan nest last week, huh? Damned intolerant jerks."
"Hmm, Dude or is it Dudette?" His attempt to find out and was rewarded with a growl and nip.
"Okay then." Archie glanced at the west leaning moon. "We'll just wait until we can do a diaper change to check your junk."
With the satiated pup in the crook of his arm, Archie exited the alley. The tiny werewolf lifted its nose and howled mournfully. The full moon dipped a little lower as Archie made a decision.
"I'm pretty sure rescuing you is another no-no. Well, they did say go west."
He grinned, leathery wings ripping through shirt fabric as he lofted into the air and pointed westward, following the moon. "Since you won't give me a hint, we'll go with a gender neutral name, okay?"
"Wanna see the Pacific...Robin?"
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Yes, #amwriting
A question came through my twitter feed a few days ago. It went like this; "would you keep writing if you knew no one on earth would ever read what you've written?"I thought about it for a minute. Then I answered. Yes.
Yes, I would still write.
I hang around the internet with beautiful writing people. Their words inspire me. I'm the unpublished hanger on. I know if can ever connect the vignettes, character studies, and poems, I may have a story.
And I do so want to write a complete and sensible tale. But if I never get it done, it'll be because something grabbed my attention and said "write me."
Because I am a writer. Undisciplined for sure. Scatterbrained at least. But a writer. A weaver of words. With tales to tell and myths to mold.
Because...
When I walk outside and see the leaves turning, fleeing from their branches, words are unleashed in my head. Scattered nouns and adjectives trying valiantly to create a sentence.
Because...
When things happen around me, my mind runs off in tangents. Visions of "what ifs" start scrolling behinds my eyes.
My characters are my friends, I see them. I hear them. I smell their surroundings and feel their emotions.
They give me their stories in fits and starts. Then wander off to have another adventure. Which I'm sure they'll relate as soon as they return.
And when they do, I will write it. Whether or not anyone reads it.
Friday, September 12, 2014
The Awakening
Lillian shuffled between the quickly made litter and the defiled clan house, directing the men of MacGoulan in the proper way to secure her human prize, and questioning Sionn.
"You're familiar with the clan chief's sword, are you not?" she asked.
"Aye, I've seen it"
"Have you found it here? Did Donnchadh die with his blade, is it with his body?"
Sionn tried to hide his disgust, "I did not search his remains, old woman! You said to burn it all."
Lillian smirked, "Before you light the fire, search for the sword. If you do not find it, search again after the fire has cleaned up the mess. Search every hovel here. Do not think to defy me, Sionn MacGoulan, don't for a minute think this same fate couldn't visit your home." Without waiting for an answer, she left him glaring after her as she returned to the litter that held Annag.
The hairs rising on Sionn's neck convinced him to follow her commands. He watched as she directed his clansmen to accompany her, carrying the wounded girl with them.
>>>>>
Annag’s dreams were ugly and disordered. In them she ran, trying to escape the terror that began as her wedding feast. Trying not to believe Taog, her betrothed had been torn apart in front of her.
Running from the vision of savaged flesh that had been her mother and the memory of her father being pulled down and slain.
Fleeing the scream of her young sister before her head was ripped from her body.
Trying not to see every one of her clansmen dismembered, bloodied. Dead.
Screaming herself to muffle the soothing voice that kept repeating, "It will be alright."
More frightening was the beast that walked beside her. A man with a wolf’s snout. Claws at the end of each finger. Together they walked from village to village, clan to clan. In each pace they left blood and death behind.
She raised her hands to wipe the tears from her face only to see claws growing from her own fingers.
She screamed in denial.
“It will be alright,girl.” Again the voice. Soothing. Compelling. Terrifying.
She’d cried out repeatedly in her fevered dreams. And each time that voice, those words “it will be alright’” mocked her.
>>>>>
Annag woke from the nightmare at midday. The sun blazing through the window across from her cot. She felt a strange relief, at least she was alone.
The room smelled of burning herbs and the taste on her tongue mirrored them. She tried to raise her head. Dizziness made that impossible. She could see the sky bleached white by the heat of the day. A wind gusted through the window, its breath drawing the last moisture from her mouth.
She lay back on the pillow, her mind sorting the dreams from reality. The burning pain on her back insisting far more of the nightmare was real than not.
Her solitude was too soon broken. The persistent voice from her dreams broke the silence.
“So, Annag, last of MacClarren, you’ve awoken finally.” Lillian filled the small space.
“Where am I? What has happened? I don’t remember, where is my family, where is Taog?” she asked the last question already knowing the answer.
“You are a guest in my home. For now.” The old woman appraised her. “What do you remember, girl?”
“Attack. By… wolves?” Annag closed her eyes as tears began to form, then opened them quickly as memories of blood and death swam behind her lids.
“Wolves?” Lillian snorted, “You know better, girl. The only wolves in this land are the one’s on two legs. How do you even know the word?”
“I don’t…”
“I do. Men that become beasts, the old stories. Wolf? Not really, just animals from a man’s black heart, made real by old magics.”
Annag tried to deny, she shook her head, “no, they are only tales to frighten children! Such things don’t exist, they cannot…”
“They cannot? Were you not frightened, ‘child’?” Lillian sneered at her. “Your clan is dead. MacClarren is no more. No father, chief. No mother. No precious little sister.” Lillian’s voice that had pretended comfort during the nightmares, threw aside the pretense. “And your MacGoulan boy? Ripped apart.”
“Stop! Stop it!” Annag tried to get up from the cot, Lillian pushed her back with the butt of her staff.
“You stop, girl. Stop puling like a babe. You are alive. And hard work it was to keep you that way.” Lillian eyed her sidelong. “What I really want to know, is how you survived, how you slew a dozen shape shifted men and only have a few scratches to show for it.”
Annag’s memories played in her mind. Her father’s blade. Where was her father’s blade. She almost asked the old woman, then hesitated. She had held the broadsword in her hands, where had it gone? Vague recollections of moonlight glinting on the iron. Surely she’d never left the clan house. But, where was the blade?”
She did not trust this old woman. Her answer was half truth, “My clansmen killed them before they fell themselves. I remember being wounded. I must have fainted, the beasts thought me dead already.”
Lillian weighed the words. “Perhaps. Perhaps that is so. We shall see, yes, we shall see.”
“Sionn! I remember Sionn, I want to speak to him, please.” Annag was ready to leave this place, this woman. She could go to MacGoulan, she had been betrothed.
Lillian laughed, “I think you don’t want to speak to Sionn, or any MacGoulan. The scratches you remember, the one’s healing on your pretty back? They carry… well let’s just say a sickness.”
“What do you mean? Am I dying? The babe, I carry a child!”
“Dead is what you’ll both be if you approach any MacGoulan. Those marks mean the beast is in you now, girl. You’re tainted.”
“No! You're lying, lying!” Annag stood up in spite of the dizziness, she wanted to strike Lillian. Stop the words that resurrected the dream. The dream of walking with the beast at her side, leaving death behind.
Lillian smiled knowingly at Annag. “Am I now?”
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