Another Path

The prompt:Someone has stolen something from you (or your character). Something of tremendous value. What will you do to get it back? Or will you give up?

This is about Beth/Lyabet. First introduced here. 



Beth rounded the last corner before home and was confronted by half a dozen squad cars.  Squad cars parked in front of her house.

An officer stopped her as she leapt from her car, asking who she was, did she belong here. She replied to the questions, panic rising in her with each answer

"What's  going on? What's wrong? Are my kids OK? Where's my husband? What is happening?" her voice became louder, shriller as images flashed through her mind, each more frightening than the one before.

Finally a detective walked her to the door. Chuck was waiting inside, the panic in his eyes, mirroring her own. "Barry is missing," was all he could get out.

She felt like she was choking.  "Barry?  My baby?" she thought, "he's only two. Where could he go?  Where is Darren?"

The detective began to explain. "Your sons were in your backyard. The older boy," he flipped through a notebook, "Darren, he's five, right?"
Beth nodded automatically.
"Yes, Darren said a woman came into the yard and talked to them. Then she took Barry's hand and walked by the tree out there. And were gone."

She felt, what?  Faint?  A strange feeling, something she'd never experienced. The droning of the police. Question after question. The same ones, over and over and over.

"Beth!"
"Catch her! She's passing out."
"Give her time. We can get more info later. Not much to do now but put out an alert."
"We'll be in touch. Call if you think of anything"

Silence

"Beth?  Honey, are you OK?"

"What?  OK?  No, no, I am not OK. Where is my baby?" she looked at her husband. Saw the fear, for Barry. For her.  "Please, Chuck, please. What happened to Barry?  Where is he?  Where is Darren?"

Chuck took a breath, let it out slowly. " The boys were playing out back. Darren came in crying, because the pretty lady took Barry, but wouldn't take him"

"What?  Darren wanted to go?"

"Talk to him, Beth, the cops didn't think he knew what was going on. Maybe you can get more from him."

Beth climbed the stairs and found Darren in his room. She wrapped her arms around him, afraid to let go. Afraid he'd disappear too.

"Mommy?  Are you mad at me? 'Cause I let Barry go by himself" his brown eyes, so like his father's, were filled with guilt. "I wanted to go, but the lady said I couldn't. It was a special place. Only Barry could go into the tree."

Tears filled his eyes, "I'm not as special as Barry. I can't hear you like he does,"

Beth's heart broke for him. She wanted to reassure him, let him know how special he was. But, one word stuck in her head.

Into. Into the tree. Not by the tree. Into the tree.

"Darren. What did this pretty lady look like?  It's important. Tell me what she looked like."  As Darren described the mystery woman, Beth's anguish turned to anger.

Beth went downstairs where she found Chuck was slumped on the sofa. He looked beaten.
"Chuck, I know where he is. I'm going to go get him."

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then understanding replaced the confusion. "You know where he is. Are you saying he was taken by your...people, other elementals?"

"Yes." The look in her eyes alarmed him. As well as the way her hair had begun to writhe and float of it's own accord. He was no longer looking at Beth, his wife. He was looking at Lyabet, an element of the air. A force of nature.

"I'm going to go get him."

"Beth," he wasn't sure she would hear him right now, but he spoke anyway, "just come back. Come back with our son."

>>>>>>>>

Lyabet was of air and wind. The old oak in the backyard was of the earth. She had travelled that way before. But it had been a long time. Letting go of her human flesh, she passed through the outer shell of the old tree, reaching its heart, becoming one. She followed the trunk down. Into the roots, into the earth.

It was slower going than she liked. But as she travelled she began to recognize traces of her son. From root to taproot to rock she followed the spark of his passage. Finally to another trunk, in a farther place, she returned to the air.

In front her was a familiar circle of seven ancient trees. As she approached them, a woman stepped from between two huge trunks.

"'Bet you came to see me!  It's been so long!  I've missed you." The woman threw her arms out in welcome.  Lyabet sidestepped the proffered embrace.

She gave one simple command.

"Give him back, Mother."

Summer Song

This week, your memoir prompt assignment is to think of a sound or a smell the reminds you of something from your past and write a post about that memory.  Don't forget to incorporate the sound/smell of your choosing!


Yellowed photos, a half century old. I look at the pictures of times long gone.
The memories faded as the photographs by growing, moving, hustling.
Life goes on, gets in the way.

Until summer.

When I hear the song of locusts. Beginning hesitantly, then gaining confidence and volume. Overwhelming the other evening sounds. Tapering off to start again.

Wave after wave.

I close my eyes. And catch a wave.  Fifty years drop away, and clarity returns.

I can smell the heat of summer evening. Feel the humid air that is August holding me in its damp embrace.

My dusty bare feet are rinsed clean by the arrival of dew on the grass. It's cold is a surprise against my toes.

My brothers and I climb about the old front porch. Standing atop the brick bases that hold wooden support posts . Hugging those posts while moths play daredevil with the dim outdoor porch light.

Across the old gravel road, lightning bugs arise in a cloud from the corn field. Winking yellow in the dusk.  Too many to count. But we count anyway.

A memory recalled with each hesitant beginning.
Coming now, in wave after wave.



Hear the song:  summer song

It's A Dog's Life

The prompt:
Is there someone who drives you crazy?
Someone who really gets under your skin.
Now, write a first-person piece - as if YOU are this individual. Write from his or her perspective and include the things that really bother you. 





There's that damn noise again.  I'm going to pretend I didn't hear it and just lie here. 
Maybe she'll hit it again and go back to sleep.

Or maybe she'll get up at this silly hour. 
Sigh.

Alright, I know the drill.  Wait til she puts those wrappers on and head for the bath.

I just had a bath, and by that I mean soaking, last night.  I still feel damp, urff.

I wish she'd talk to me in the morning.  I'd like to let her know I want to go out. 

And I need a drink of water.

But she's busy.  In the bath.  I'll guard the door. 

Here we go!  Food and water!

Damn, I always have to wait til last.  "They" always get served first.
At least my food belongs to me here.  I don't have to share it.  At the other place I had to share.
I didn't get much, the others were bigger than me.

Yay food!  Yay water!

I am not eating too fast.  Yes, I am chewing.

Yes I am! 

Mostly.

Now she goes into the soft chair room.

Alright already, you sit there. 

Sigh.

She's leaving again.  She goes away everyday.  Then she's gone forever.

Tick.  Tock.  Tick.  Tock.

He's finally awake.  We go outside together. 

I don't know why.  It's cold and wet. 

We have all those strange little tree trunks inside.  I don't have to go out.

It's too late anyway.

Tick.  Tock.  Tick.  Tock.

I hear the beastly growl!  Yay!  She came back.

HelloHelloHelloHelloHello

I wish she'd talk to me.

Or not.

I don't have any idea why the chair is rocking.

It wasn't rocking when I got up.

I need a drink of water.

Can we go out now?

Can WE go out now?

OK, I want in.

Where's the treat?

I did too do something!  It's by the bath place.

My ball is under that thing.  I can't get it.  I can't get it.  I CAN'T GEEETTTT ITTT!

I need a drink of water.

I'm hungry.  Damn, I'm always last.   

She lets me sit beside her!  On the soft chair. 

For a minute. 

"They" get to sit on her.  "They" don't even give her kisses.

Sigh.

OhOhOhOhOh!

She's going to the bath.  Wait.  No, the food room!  Yay!

She needs me to go with her.  Just in case.  There might be intruders.  I hear a noise.

OK, so it's just "them".

I'll lie here in the middle of the room.  That way I can see everywhere.

OhOhOhOhOhOh!

Back to the soft chairs?

Nope, the tops of the funny looking tree trunks.

What is that wonderful smell?

I'm hungry.  He gives me bites.  She might.  She might.  She might.

She might not.

Back in the center of the food room.  She needs to stand still.  If she stands still, she might not step on me.
 Well, at least she doesn't kick me.  The other place that happened a lot.

I need a drink of water.  WE need to go out.  We, get it?

Sigh.

Yay!  A treat! 
Yes, I'm a good boy.

OhOhOhOhOh!

Now, she's going to the bath place.
I will guard the bath.  She closed the door, but I can keep the intruders away better.

Yay! The door opens!
She has a different wrapper now. 

She goes to the soft chair room.
She's sitting in her soft chair.
It's dark.
It's time to go to sleep.  On the bed.  The floor is cold and hard.
I've been lying on it all day.

Mostly.

It's dark.
It's time to go to sleep.

It's dark.  Sleep.

Finally.  She gets on the bed. 

And throws my ball on the floor.  I wonder how it got under the blankets.

Yawn!  It's been a long day.

Good night my people.


I am off of you! 
I can't help it, I itch!
I AM OFF OF YOU!
Stay on your own side, then....

Not Just Another Donut

But this week's prompt is simple: write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, inspired by the delicious shot. Word limit is 600.

I'm beautiful, a pink delight
A sugar laden treasure 
Plump and moist and sprinkle frilled
A tasty morning pleasure

Little teeth take greedy bites
Tiny tongues lap icing
Sprinkles stuck on chubby cheeks
I find them so enticing

Another nibble, one more bite
Almost to the goal
Hurry now to chew right through
And breach the donut hole 

I have them now, the little brats
Their cheeks I am embracing
With jaws of yeast and frosting glue
A trap of their own making

I'll bet a bright pink donut
Was not one of their fears
I suck them in with greedy bites
Lapping more than tears

I feel so fresh and whole again
I hope it's not too late
To find another hiding place
On some sweet kiddie's plate 

Those Grimm boys didn't get it right
In fact, they seldom did 
They always want to blame the witch
But t'was I who ate the kids

Forgiveless

This week's prompt is about forgiveness. Forgiving others, forgiving yourself. Write about a time of forgiveness.
(Thank you all for your comments. I have edited a bit based on your input. Renee)



All bright and shiny. She sparkled with goodness. She cared about what I said. She comforted me when life was being difficult. 

She was a precious treasure, a golden hearted friend. 

But, then?

She stole from me. She stole from my business. My livelihood. My life. 

She stole my faith in people. And she did it with smiles and sweet talk. 
She manipulated my feelings by confessing to minor mistakes. 

I had trusted her. She became my liaison with the other employees.  They loved her, too. They told her their secrets. 

She took advantage of their trust. She knew things they didn't want told. They closed their eyes to her "indiscretions".

When she was caught?  She was angry. Not apologetic, not ashamed. Just angry, at the person who caught her.  Angry at me, because she couldn't make me believe her lies anymore.   

Now, I am angry at myself.   That I didn't see that the bright and sparkly treasure was base metal underneath. Angry at myself that I cannot forgive her. 

The Path Chosen

This week's Red Writing Hood assignment is to write - fiction or non-fiction - about a time when you took a detour. Where had you intended to go and where did you end up?


The eldest dropped at school. The toddler safely at daycare.  Beth headed for her rendezvous.  She'd put it off as long as she could.

Her car nosed it's way down the narrow path. She'd left paved roads and street signs behind miles ago.

The car began to stutter. The track was almost non-existent now. The less defined it was, the less the vehicle cooperated.

"Well, I guess it's by foot already", she thought.

She entered a light woods and found what looked like a rabbit run. She followed it deeper, the trees around her not menacing, but welcoming.

As she continued, she could feel the opening of her heart. Hear the joy as she was recognized. Beth felt them as they felt her. Long before they were in view of each other.

Her steps began to quicken as she got closer to her goal. She hadn't realized how much she missed this place.

When she exited the woods, they were waiting. Asking where she had been. Why she had stayed away so long. Would she stay now. All in a jumble of words and pictures in her head. The only true sound was the singing of birds, the buzz of insects.

Beth sent reassurances of her love for them. They were family, yes. She had missed them, yes. She had taken a different path, she would not be staying.

She could feel the sadness and disappointment like clouds covering the sun. With sighs they began move away.  Soon there was only one.

"Father," she reached for his hand, "it's good to see you."

"Lyabet, you look tired!" he took her hand and led her to sit on a fallen tree trunk. "You need to rest. This life?  This path you've chosen? Doesn't treat you well."

"We've spoken of this before, Father. The outer world is different. Timewise and in other ways. I'm fine, and you know I won't be staying"

"I will never understand!  You choose a man who can't hear or see you as you truly are. You choose to live in silence. In muted light."

"I choose a man who cherishes me."   Beth had heard and said these words before. She had not come to argue the point again.

"I have children, Father. You have grandchildren."  She hoped to see interest at least. Maybe happiness.
What she saw and felt was arrogance.

"Blind, deaf children!  Little animals to wear you down.  You don't need that. Them. Stay here!  Where you belong." And then pleading, "Listen, feel. I know you can feel us. This place. It calls you. We call you. We hear you. They never will."

Beth stood, her anger and grief carefully controlled. She closed her mind. She allowed the feelings surrounding her to fade. She chose to be blind and deaf.

And walked away.

It was dark when she pulled into the driveway. Would they still be awake, it must be very late.

The door opened before she could reach it. Her oldest ran out and threw his arms around her. He was followed by his father, carrying the toddler. Relief showing in his eyes.

"I was afraid. Afraid you'd stay this time. You've given up so much, you've..."

"Shhhh. The little I left behind is nothing compared to what I have now," she soothed her husband, her oldest, still clinging, "Mommy, where were you?"

"I just had to make a little detour, it's alright now"

And the toddler in his fathers arms said, "Me toad dem you comin. I heerd you."

Flavors of Summer's Past

This week's prompt asked us to describe your favorite fruit or vegetable: the first time you tasted it, where it came from, where you were, what memories it brings.

Hot summer days. My brothers and I spent them outside. The half acre field behind the house was our haven. Overgrown, our paths through it well defined. 

Around the house were several trees. All perfect for climbing. 

We ate our first fruits there. 

The old cherry trees, with sappy branches. If we could beat the birds, we feasted on bright red cherries. So tart they made us shudder. 

Wadded up in the weeds were black raspberry patches. We ate them sun-warmed. The berries sweet and smooth flavored, leaving our fingers purple stained from grabbing. 

The old pear tree was stingy. Only producing every other year. Soft yellow-brown fruit. The sugary juices rolling from our chins as we ate. The cores dropped where we finished. 

The old concord grapevine. Almost wild. The skins were eaten first, slightly bitter. Then the meat of the grape. A full, sweet, lightly tart flavor that drew us back for more. 

And on the side of the road behind the field, one neighbor had strawberries. As big as our hands. I think we ate more than he harvested. But he never said a word. 

I miss those days. Eating the gifts of nature at our leisure. The flavors still stamped in my memory.