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.
Showing posts with label writingprompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writingprompt. Show all posts
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
The Draw
This is my response to the EatSleepWrite-Flash it Friday prompt.
"Draw two cards." Caught by surprise, Casey stopped on her trip back to the plane's galley. The man hadn't spoken but three words since he'd boarded, those being yes, pertaining to the lunch offering, and thank you when she removed the empty tray.
"Excuse me?" As she waited for him to repeat his question she tried to place his age. He wore a black overcoat and a worn black bowler, dark glasses covered the top half of his pale face. The only visible color was the blood red of a thin tie.
"Draw two cards." He fanned the deck before her.
"Is this a magic trick?" She smiled as an indecipherable unease crept through her shoulders.
"Perhaps." His thin lips attempted a smile in return.
She glanced around the cabin, looking for a valid excuse to flee. She could feel his unseen eyes staring into hers. Holding her breath, she tugged two cards from the deck.
"And what have you drawn?"
Casey wrenched her gaze from the reflection of her own eyes in his dark glasses to study her cards. "A pair of aces."
His brows appeared above the dark frames. "A pair of aces? How unusual."
With increasing discomfort, Casey snapped out, "Yes, a diamond and a spade. So did I win?"
"Perhaps. It seems you have a decision to make, my dear. Riches or death."
She thrust the cards at him, "No, no I don't."
He grasped her hands and wrapped them around the pair, "No, my dear, these are yours. You needn't decide now, but eventually you must." He maintained the contact for several minutes, still holding her gaze with his unseen stare.
The call of "Stewardess!" from several seats forward broke the spell. Casey pulled away roughly, tucking the cards in her pocket unconsciously.
She avoided him the rest of the routine flight. Comfort didn't return until the flight ended and her feet touched the tarmac.
She hadn't expected it to be her last day at work. Cost cuts and low seniority left her unemployed.
Another day in a month of days looking for work. Casey had skipped breakfast, and lunch was probably going to be one more cup of ramen noodles. She was blocks from her apartment when the sky opened up, soaking her in seconds.
The closest shelter was a school bus parked along a desolate side street. The door was open, she hesitated only a moment before hopping up the steps. She dropped into the first seat wringing out her hair as her clothes shed puddles around her waterlogged shoes. She leaned back, depressed and exhausted, she drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
She woke to the sound of the doors closing with a hydraulic hiss. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she sputtered, jumping from her seat.
"No problem, my dear." The driver turned his sun glassed face her way, "It is time to make your decision."
Casey fell back to the seat as he started the engine and rolled away from the curb.
"Draw two cards." Caught by surprise, Casey stopped on her trip back to the plane's galley. The man hadn't spoken but three words since he'd boarded, those being yes, pertaining to the lunch offering, and thank you when she removed the empty tray.
"Excuse me?" As she waited for him to repeat his question she tried to place his age. He wore a black overcoat and a worn black bowler, dark glasses covered the top half of his pale face. The only visible color was the blood red of a thin tie.
"Draw two cards." He fanned the deck before her.
"Is this a magic trick?" She smiled as an indecipherable unease crept through her shoulders.
"Perhaps." His thin lips attempted a smile in return.
She glanced around the cabin, looking for a valid excuse to flee. She could feel his unseen eyes staring into hers. Holding her breath, she tugged two cards from the deck.
"And what have you drawn?"
Casey wrenched her gaze from the reflection of her own eyes in his dark glasses to study her cards. "A pair of aces."
His brows appeared above the dark frames. "A pair of aces? How unusual."
With increasing discomfort, Casey snapped out, "Yes, a diamond and a spade. So did I win?"
"Perhaps. It seems you have a decision to make, my dear. Riches or death."
She thrust the cards at him, "No, no I don't."
He grasped her hands and wrapped them around the pair, "No, my dear, these are yours. You needn't decide now, but eventually you must." He maintained the contact for several minutes, still holding her gaze with his unseen stare.
The call of "Stewardess!" from several seats forward broke the spell. Casey pulled away roughly, tucking the cards in her pocket unconsciously.
She avoided him the rest of the routine flight. Comfort didn't return until the flight ended and her feet touched the tarmac.
She hadn't expected it to be her last day at work. Cost cuts and low seniority left her unemployed.
Another day in a month of days looking for work. Casey had skipped breakfast, and lunch was probably going to be one more cup of ramen noodles. She was blocks from her apartment when the sky opened up, soaking her in seconds.
The closest shelter was a school bus parked along a desolate side street. The door was open, she hesitated only a moment before hopping up the steps. She dropped into the first seat wringing out her hair as her clothes shed puddles around her waterlogged shoes. She leaned back, depressed and exhausted, she drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
She woke to the sound of the doors closing with a hydraulic hiss. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she sputtered, jumping from her seat.
"No problem, my dear." The driver turned his sun glassed face her way, "It is time to make your decision."
Casey fell back to the seat as he started the engine and rolled away from the curb.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Blessing of the Garden Gate
My offering for Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite
The prompt I chose was nonpotable blessings
Twas quiet here, not long ago. Shadow prevailed and gave cover to ghosts of the despair. Wraiths of grief wrapped chilled fingers of loneliness around the heart of one left behind. Neglect squeezed and choked life into submission.
Then she arrived. Her dreams and memories carried in boxes of cluttered life. The man by her side not so sure of this final destination, pulled along by her need to come home.
Life and color slowly return, the man working hard to reclaim a space left to weedy decay. She spends her time splashing color on faded walls. Together they create home.
Warm, golden light now shines from windows once shuttered in despair. The laughter within spills haphazardly into flowerbeds beneath the screened opening as one of the blood resides within again.
The bright Fae of the night climb thorny stems to peek inside. Wings shimmering with moon glow from a cloudless sky, they raise excited brows and whisper of better times. They've marked the return of Rose and Tulip, old bearded Iris. They hail the arrival of Lily and Heather.
Malevolent ivy retreats in frustration, pushed out by carefully nurtured roots. It slumbers uneasily beneath the color splashed gardens, waiting for the chance to regain a foothold.
Barefoot, careful of the garden sprites, the woman contentedly surveys the work of her spouse. Multiple beds entice butterflies and honey bees. Songbirds settle into the regained peace.
A vegetable garden flourishes where none have farmed for decades. Fruit trees replace the ones lost through age and neglect. Wild berries welcome eager hands that have grown since picking and stuffing them into giggling faces long ago.
Her gaze follows the spreading limbs of the oak that shaded her childhood. Beneath it an overgrown lilac was a green fortress for herself and her siblings. Trimmed and tidied it still provides a quiet space within to think and to dream.
On sunny days her man sees the figure of a woman regarding his work. Her grandmother she says. The one who left behind bits of garden hidden amongst the weeds. He raises his brow, but accepts and hopes his efforts are acceptable.
From the corner of her eye she catches glimpses of the Fae. They duck under the ferns and dance around the lilies. Playing chase with the squirrels and flitting about the feeder with hummingbirds. She tells no one she sees them, just smiles to herself.
Flowers follow their season, bloom then fade, replaced by the next, finally relinquishing to colder months. The vegetable garden ripens and gives its bounty to enhance the table through winter. Always some seed or fruit is left behind for wildlife. And Fae.
Snow fall blankets the ground, insulating roots and bulbs. A protective cover of bright white sheltering the promise of spring to come.
She looks for the tracks in the snow. Rabbit, squirrel, and sometimes prints unfamiliar. Frosty pictures are left on window panes, icy flowers, a reminder that spring is nearby.
With yarn in her lap she waits out the cold. Watching for the early signs, a blush in the undergrowth, tiny buds peeking from the trees. Daffodils pushing through the frost, not waiting for a designated date.
Soon, the time for faery dances and color will draw her barefoot through the garden gate and all the blessings it holds.
The prompt I chose was nonpotable blessings
Twas quiet here, not long ago. Shadow prevailed and gave cover to ghosts of the despair. Wraiths of grief wrapped chilled fingers of loneliness around the heart of one left behind. Neglect squeezed and choked life into submission.
Then she arrived. Her dreams and memories carried in boxes of cluttered life. The man by her side not so sure of this final destination, pulled along by her need to come home.
Life and color slowly return, the man working hard to reclaim a space left to weedy decay. She spends her time splashing color on faded walls. Together they create home.
Warm, golden light now shines from windows once shuttered in despair. The laughter within spills haphazardly into flowerbeds beneath the screened opening as one of the blood resides within again.
The bright Fae of the night climb thorny stems to peek inside. Wings shimmering with moon glow from a cloudless sky, they raise excited brows and whisper of better times. They've marked the return of Rose and Tulip, old bearded Iris. They hail the arrival of Lily and Heather.
Malevolent ivy retreats in frustration, pushed out by carefully nurtured roots. It slumbers uneasily beneath the color splashed gardens, waiting for the chance to regain a foothold.
Barefoot, careful of the garden sprites, the woman contentedly surveys the work of her spouse. Multiple beds entice butterflies and honey bees. Songbirds settle into the regained peace.
A vegetable garden flourishes where none have farmed for decades. Fruit trees replace the ones lost through age and neglect. Wild berries welcome eager hands that have grown since picking and stuffing them into giggling faces long ago.
Her gaze follows the spreading limbs of the oak that shaded her childhood. Beneath it an overgrown lilac was a green fortress for herself and her siblings. Trimmed and tidied it still provides a quiet space within to think and to dream.
On sunny days her man sees the figure of a woman regarding his work. Her grandmother she says. The one who left behind bits of garden hidden amongst the weeds. He raises his brow, but accepts and hopes his efforts are acceptable.
From the corner of her eye she catches glimpses of the Fae. They duck under the ferns and dance around the lilies. Playing chase with the squirrels and flitting about the feeder with hummingbirds. She tells no one she sees them, just smiles to herself.
Flowers follow their season, bloom then fade, replaced by the next, finally relinquishing to colder months. The vegetable garden ripens and gives its bounty to enhance the table through winter. Always some seed or fruit is left behind for wildlife. And Fae.
Snow fall blankets the ground, insulating roots and bulbs. A protective cover of bright white sheltering the promise of spring to come.
She looks for the tracks in the snow. Rabbit, squirrel, and sometimes prints unfamiliar. Frosty pictures are left on window panes, icy flowers, a reminder that spring is nearby.
With yarn in her lap she waits out the cold. Watching for the early signs, a blush in the undergrowth, tiny buds peeking from the trees. Daffodils pushing through the frost, not waiting for a designated date.
Soon, the time for faery dances and color will draw her barefoot through the garden gate and all the blessings it holds.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)