We had been friends for over 30 years. We met in the 2nd grade. We grew up together and shared some of life’s biggest milestones. I had come to think of her more like a sister, rather than just a friend. As adults her husband and children became an extension of my own family. We shared our wins and losses. I would seek her out for advice, someone to vent to, someone to cry with, someone to laugh and have an amazing time with. I trusted her with every aspect of my life and thought she would always be there for me no matter what. And then she wasn’t. We never saw eye to eye on politics. She and her husband would sometimes like to get into debates with me. I tried to be respectful of their views, I listened to them, but I just didn’t always agree. I felt they were entitled to their opinions, and because of the strong friendship even when I was uncomfortable on the receiving end of the barbs, I just let it go. I never really felt it was a big issue, until it became one. At a party talk turned toward politics. She began poking fun and teasing but was taking it a bit too far. I felt she sensed I was getting uncomfortable and annoyed and thought that would be the end of it. But then she asked me a question, “Do you sometimes feel attacked by my husband and I on politics?” I replied honestly, “Yes.” It never occurred to me that I could be anything but honest with her. It never occurred to me that she would take offense at my response. Her reaction however was to tell me, “If you feel that way I want nothing more to do with you.” I was stunned; I couldn’t believe she took that stance. That was the end of our friendship. We never really spoke or saw each other again after that. I tried reaching out at one point to explain how upset I was. She never once tried to contact me to discuss it and address it. That just made me feel even worse. I always felt a true friend would have acknowledged my feelings and reacted by perhaps trying not to continue to interact with me in a way that made me feel like that. For me a line was crossed that day, I was devastated to discover that someone I felt so close to could discard the friendship so easily. You begin to question your judgment in a situation like this. I was so blindsided by the whole thing, how could I have trusted someone so implicitly that would treat me so coldly and turn her back on me simply because she didn’t like hearing the truth. I can honestly say I have never in my life felt so betrayed. Let’s Get Emotional
My goal with the challenge this year is to use it as an exercise to write something focused on a particular emotion. I hope to convey that mood or feeling through word choice in the story. I welcome your feedback on what worked or didn’t for you in each piece.
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I have reached the conclusion that more times than not I see the world through rose-colored glasses. I want to believe that people are genuinely good. I want to believe that people care about other people and will do the right thing more than not. More and more these days I am proven wrong, and it leaves me feeling utterly dejected and astonished. By now it shouldn’t surprise and shock me. The lack of humanity in the world is on display in the news everyday. I just allow myself to see that as the exception and not the rule. I guess I don’t want to admit just how much ugly there is out there. But then you see something that gives you a slap across the face. The glasses come off and you are blind-sided by the sheer disgust of reality. That which you believe to be the exception is actually the norm. I had one of those moments after watching this video. It left me in tears for more than one reason - the vileness I see in the folks who unashamed took something they clearly didn’t need and the compassion of one person who clearly had a need but was willing to only take what he felt was necessary so that others could also take what they needed.
It’s 6:00pm, the phone is ringing. I don’t want to answer it. I rub my arms up and down as I shiver. I know who it is - well not specifically “who” but I know the voice that will be on the line. He’s been calling everyday starting at 6pm for the last several months. I take a deep breath and pick it up, “Hello.” “I had a dream about you…” I hang up, hands shaking. The phone rings again. I pick it up and hang up. It rings again, I pick it up and hang up. Again it rings, I disconnect the phone for the night. This is my daily ritual. Every day. When it first started, the first few calls, I tried to get him to tell me who he was. It soon became apparent that wasn’t going to happen. I stopped engaging with him. I would hang up immediately. I thought that would deter the calls. But it didn’t. After a few weeks, I spoke to the police. Unless I knew who it was and he tried to physically harm me, there was nothing they could do. I was informed that if it escalated I was to contact them. After that I stopped going anywhere by myself. I bought mace. I told friends and family, asking them not to tell anyone where I am or where I am going to be. I’m not sure they really understand what it is like to be targeted like this. How unsettling it is. How cautious I need to be. It could be anyone, someone I know, someone in one of my classes, a complete stranger, anyone. Someone could be watching me, following me. I’ve spent countless hours trying to figure out who it could be. Listening for a voice that sounds like him. Being on alert every moment when moving from point A to point B. How could they understand, it isn’t happening to them. To them it is just an annoyance. I begin to unplug the phone every night before the calls even start. After a month goes by I think, that should do it. Certainly he has given up by now. I start to leave the phone plugged in again. A few nights go by and nothing. It worked, it’s over. Before the week is out, the phone rings again. My skin prickles, because I know. “Hello.” I hear the voice and hang up, then collapse to floor and cry as the phone rings again. Let’s Get Emotional
My goal with the challenge this year is to use it as an exercise to write something focused on a particular emotion. I hope to convey that mood or feeling through word choice in the story. I welcome your feedback on what worked or didn’t for you in each piece. I adore children. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever think I wouldn’t have a few of my own. But over the last few years I have had to face the harsh reality that childless is my fate. I’ve lived with endometriosis and fibroids my entire reproductive life. I was officially diagnosed in my early 20s and was told the longer I waited to have children the more difficult it would be to conceive and carry a child to term. I wasn’t concerned at the time. I was in love, in a committed relationship, and I believed we would get married and have children. I was wrong. When that relationship came to its end, I thought I still had plenty of time. I’d meet someone new, we’d get married, and we’d have kids. Again, I was wrong. Time ran out. It’s very difficult to force yourself to come to terms with this. I was angry with myself for failing this aspect of my life. If only I had done things differently, if I had made better decisions, if I had taken better care of myself. I was deeply saddened and mourning a loss. The emotional toll and feeling of worthlessness is mentally and physically draining. The life I had always imagined disappeared. Let’s Get Emotional
My goal with the challenge this year is to use it as an exercise to write something focused on a particular emotion. I hope to convey that mood or feeling through word choice in the story. I welcome your feedback on what worked or didn’t for you in each piece. Like a quick burst of daylight filling my bedroom, the lightening startled me. The book I had been reading was still propped open on a pillow; I must have dozed off some time ago. A long slow rumble that built into a violent crack shaking the house followed the flash. I closed the book and tucked it under a pillow, then snuggled deeper into the duvet, pulling it in closer around me. The warmth enveloped my body and eased my suddenly tensed muscles back to a relaxed state. I inhaled deeply, the lingering scent of lavender from freshly laundered bedding permeated the room. I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds of rain drumming against the roof and windows. The glimmers of light, rumbles of thunder, and pitter-patter of the rain lulled me back into a dreamy slumber. Let’s Get Emotional
My goal with the challenge this year is to use it as an exercise to write something focused on a particular emotion. I hope to convey that mood or feeling through word choice in the story. I welcome your feedback on what worked or didn’t for you in each piece. The arched stone entrance beckoned. Dwarfed by trees and overgrown with vines, Mother Nature had almost reclaimed it. Soon passersby wouldn’t even know it was there. But it called to me, enter. Curiosity taking over common sense, I lifted and ducked under the vines to pass through. A breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees and wafted the scent of pine around me. The forest beyond the entrance was rich and dense. I wandered through trees covered with a deep green moss. Carefully winding my way through tall ferns, I came to a small stream cascading through the trees. Rich lush green, everywhere I looked, surrounded me. Just when I thought I’d get lost in the sea of green, a bright fuchsia from a wild rhododendron added a shock of color. I sat upon the stump of a downed tree beside the stream. I closed my eyes and inhaled the rich tones of decaying leaves and wood, the musky notes of ferns. I began to hear music, pipes and chimes, off in the distance. When I opened my eyes I caught just a glimpse of white ahead of me. I tried to look closer, but there was nothing moving. Out of the corner of my eye there was another flash of white. I turned my head and heard giggling, but again I could see nothing there. Goosebumps rose on my skin, suddenly I didn’t feel I was alone. Let’s Get Emotional
My goal with the challenge this year is to use it as an exercise to write something focused on a particular emotion. I hope to convey that mood or feeling through word choice in the story. I welcome your feedback on what worked or didn’t for you in each piece. It was a dreary, overcast Friday and the end of another very arduous week. I packed up for the day and walked out to head home. In the parking lot I glanced up at the gray sky and spied a single bright spot streaking by. I paused to watch it a moment and mumbled to myself, “I wish I were on it.” A ray of warmth and light woke me the next morning. I opened one eye and peaked, “Could that be the sun?” After weeks of wet, chill, and mud that single ray felt glorious. I reached for my phone and checked the forecast, sunny and warming throughout the day. Just what I needed; a perfect getaway day. I was out the door and in my car in no time. I took twisting backcountry roads past fields of cows and horses also basking in the long elusive sunshine. I stopped a moment beside one field to take some photos, the cows were still sporting their winter coats, and I love how fuzzy they look. Soon I was driving into a valley along a river, mountains emerging on each side. The water was high and racing from the snow and ice melt. I rolled the windows down to breath the cool, fresh mountain air. Before long I was once again skirting through small towns, stopping along the way at random craft and antique shops. I found a quaint cafe to grab a bite for lunch and was back on the road. The terrain began to change once again and the homes became distinctly New England style. I rolled the windows down; I should be close enough to smell it. I took a deep breath and smiled, there it was the sandy, salty, seaweedy smell on the ocean breeze. I few more twists and turns and I could see it, my destination, the red-roofed house nestled beside the lighthouse, statuesque on its rocky island. Let’s Get Emotional
My goal with the challenge this year is to use it as an exercise to write something focused on a particular emotion. I hope to convey that mood or feeling through word choice in the story. I welcome your feedback on what worked or didn’t for you in each piece. Here's my first round entry for the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. My writing prompts were: Genre: Drama Location: Working From Home Character: A Surfer The sensation of the plane descending woke me. I slid the window shade up and peered out. As the plane circled for its approach, I got my first glimpse of the eight islands. The lush greens and dark, jagged mountains and cliffs grew closer and closer. It was beautiful and foreboding at the same time.
I picked up a car and headed to the rented beachside bungalow. Once inside, I wandered from room to room; it didn’t take long, it was small. Neat and clean, it was furnished with rattan and decorated in hues of blues, greens, and corals. The few boxes of my belongings were stacked in the living room. On top lay a manila envelope. I took a deep breath, picked it up, and settled onto a lounge to study the dossier. After giving it a thorough read, I closed my eyes and repeated, “I am Dora Ann Evans, I am Dora Ann Evans, I am Dora Ann Evans.” “Dora the Explorer,” I said out loud with a chuckle. Someone had a sense of humor about it this time. Standing and walking to the sliding glass doors, I stepped onto the veranda. The bungalow was situated about a third of the way up a cliff side. It was nestled among a grove of trees offering a sense of seclusion. A stairway off the veranda descended to a small private cove. Before me was a spectacular view of Oahu’s North Shore. To the right Waimea Beach to the left Haleiwa. Lifting my face to the sky, a warm breeze flowed over me. “Home Sweet Home,” for the next six months at least. Someday, yes someday, home would mean something more permanent. Returning to the living room and the boxes I sighed, “Time to get settled in.” I set up the office first. I hadn’t checked in yet. It was a daily ritual I resented but it was required. Opening my laptop, I quickly scanned e-mail, clicked compose, and penned, “Arrived safely. All is well.” then hit send. My mind drifted to graduation day. The day my world turned upside down. The day a daily “All is well.” became a routine part of life. It was unsettling, the first days in a new location. A reminder of a past I was always trying to outrun. I shook my head in an attempt to refocus on the present. “Work, get to work.” My job was my life, as long as I focused on the task at hand I could forget. I opened a file in Word and began preparing the schedule for the next day. It was going to be a busy one. The warmth of the sun filtering through the window woke me. I didn’t often sleep well the first few days; it took time to adjust so I was surprised at how rested I felt. I liked to get a lay of the land as soon as possible, so the day was spent driving the island, talking to locals, and scouting for sites and story ideas. My goal, as always, was to find off the beaten path destinations, authentic cuisine, and immersion in the history and culture of the place. I had a knack for being able to blend in, just another face in the crowd. The less impression made the better. The day flew by, my notebook filling with names and contact information, locations to check out, and activities to try. I worked up quite an appetite and was looking forward to attending the luau that evening. Before heading out for the night, I checked in, “All is well.” I heard a ukulele playing as I approached the canopied tables. A beautiful Hawaiian woman greeted me, draping a fragrant lei over my shoulders. As she showed me to my table, the smell of pork roasting permeated the air making my mouth water. There were other guests at the table already so I introduced myself. “I’m Dora,” I said extending my hand to a young couple on my right. “I’m John and this is my wife, Lisa. I’m still getting used to saying that, my wife, we just got married,” he couldn’t stop smiling. There were congratulations all around. “Is that a bit of a Texan accent I hear?” “Yes ma’am, Austin, born and raised.” “I’m Kim and this is my husband George,” said the woman to my left. “New York?” “That’s right,” said George. “You have an ear for accents, I see. Where are you from?” “A hobby. I’m from Chicago.” The honeymooners were lost in each other, stealing kisses, taking in the sights and the sounds. I looked at them and smiled wistfully thinking, “I’ve never stayed in any one place long enough to find that kind of relationship.” Beginning to feel a bit melancholy, I stared out to the water and let my mind wander. “Is this your first time visiting Hawaii, Dora?” George asked reeling me back in. “Yes, it is. I’m taking an extended vacation. I needed a bit of a break. How about you both? Have you been here before?” Kim replied, “Once before, for an anniversary. We vowed we would come back when we retired and here we are.” A waiter approached the table with umbrellaed mai tais. “Aloha, my name is Akoni. I will be serving you this evening. Is there anything you need?” He glanced around the table but his gaze lingered on Dora. “Just keep the mai tais flowing,” said George. “Å'kålè ma'luna!” He exclaimed as he raised his glass. Laughing, we all cheered. Sipping my drink, I thought to myself the lies came so easy now. At first it was a struggle. Now it was second nature, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like how comfortable and normal it was getting. Soon enough, Akoni was back with the first course. His gaze again on Dora, “Do you have any questions?” Everyone shook their head and began passing the appetizers around. Kim leaned over to Dora, “I think you have an admirer. He can’t keep his eyes off you.” “Oh, what, I don’t think so. He’s just doing his job.” John, now preoccupied with food, turned to the table as a whole and asked, “Did you hear the news? They found and captured The Big “V”, Gino Vecoli, in Texas of all places.” The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I couldn’t have heard that right. Surely someone would have contacted me if this were true. Instinctively I began slowly scanning the crowd. “You don’t say,” exclaimed George. “I remember him, one of the most notorious crime bosses in New York City.” “Who?” asked Kim. “The mobster, remember, years ago the Feds raided his home and the homes of his associates. They arrested Tony “The Ghost” DeLuca, his right hand man. His wife turned up dead shortly after his arrest. Gino went missing.” “I do remember that now. There was a daughter that went missing too wasn’t there. The daughter of the man arrested, I think.” I began to tremble. I put down my drink so no one would see how badly my hands were shaking. “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.” I hoped they couldn’t hear the tremor in my voice. Lisa chimed in, “They say he’s been on the run for 10 years. Can you believe it! How does someone just disappear for 10 years! I wonder what happened to the daughter?” “Likely the same thing that happened to her mother. The “family” would have done anything to keep The Ghost quiet,” voiced George. My hands were still shaking as I ran a paper towel under some cold water and pressed it to the back of my neck and temples. I checked my phone, no messages. “Take big deep breaths, calm down. You need to get through dinner as though nothing is wrong.” I stood in front of a fan, allowing the cool air to wash over me, taking long, slow breaths until I could feel my heartbeat slow to a normal pace. After regaining my composure, I started to make my way back to the table. Akoni, seeing me, approached, “Is everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I forced a smile and small laugh, “I’m fine, really. Perhaps one too many mai tais.” He nodded and I continued on. Fortunately the conversation had turned to other topics while I was away. As the main course was served the show began. I tried to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening but my mind kept drifting to the bombshell John inadvertently dropped. What might this mean now? I was eager to get back to the bungalow for any news. “Still no messages.” I checked some news sites, but there was no more information than I heard over dinner. He had in fact been found and was in custody. I carefully composed an e-mail, “I hear a storm may be coming.” hastily hitting send. I slept fitfully, my mind moving in a million different directions. At daybreak I grabbed a bite to eat and settled onto the veranda. The sound of the waves was soothing; it was quiet, peaceful. I worked through the morning but there was still no word. “Surfing. That would get rid of some of this pent up tension.” I flipped through my notes for the name of a surfing school I came across yesterday and called to see if they could fit me in for a lesson. I set out for Sunset Beach after lunch. Although I spent more time off the board than on it, it was a cathartic diversion. The instructor was patient and knowledgeable. He schooled me on various types of boards and piqued my interest on how they were made. A friend of his, a surfer as well, was one of the best board builders on the island. As luck would have it, he had a shop a short walk up the beach. That was my next stop. I knocked on the open door and walked inside, “Hello,” I called. Much to my surprise Akoni walked out from a back room. He stopped short, “Good afternoon,” he said with a grin, “Did you enjoy the show last night?” “Yes, I did. I was just chatting with the surf instructor, he said I could speak to a board builder here.” “That’s me. So, you want to buy a board?” “No, no, after that lesson I think it best not to quit my day job. So surfer and board builder by day, waiter by night?” “My family owns the business that runs the luaus, I help out from time to time. I’m a surfer at heart, and I have been fortunate to make a living doing it. If you aren’t buying, what can I do for you?” “I’m interested in how they are made. Do you have time to tell me about it, show me the process? Amused, Akoni teased, “I’m on to you.” For the second time in two days my heart began to race. He leaned over and whispered, “Are you The Chameleon?” “What are you talking about?” I backed away from him. He walked to the front where there was a small waiting area, and picked up a magazine off the table. He handed it to me. It was Adventure Athletica, the cover featured racing at Baja. “The Chameleon,” he repeated, “the travel writer and critic for the Adventure Athletica. That’s you isn’t it?” “Why would you think that? I’ve never heard of this magazine.” I handed it back to him. “Well, someone has been talking to folks and asking lots of questions about surfing. It’s a small island; and the surfing community is smaller still.” “I’m a tourist, nothing more. I’m curious. I’m sorry to have interrupted your work, I’ll let you get back to it.” “Please wait, have dinner with me. I’ll tell you more about the boards and how they are made. You’re secret is safe with me.” “I’m not who you think I am,” and with that I turned and walked out of the shop and down the beach. Shaken, I returned to the bungalow. Agitated, I paced from room to room. All this time, no one has ever connected me to the magazine before. First the news about Vecoli, now my cover is compromised on the magazine. This assignment was a bad idea; perhaps I should leave. There was a knock on the door. Startled, I glanced out a side window, saw the black car and knew who it was. I opened the door, “Agent Anderson, I was wondering when I would hear from you.” I gestured for him to enter and walked out to the veranda. He followed and sat in one of the chairs. I remained standing, looking out to sea. “So it’s true then?” “Yes, we found him. He’s in custody. It’s finally over, Sophia.” My skin prickled. I turned my head; “No one has called me that in a very long time.” “That’s your name.” “I have traveled the world in six month intervals, I have had 20 different names.” “I know it has been a difficult life.” “I wouldn’t say that. Not difficult, not really. It’s been lonely. Will my father testify?” “Yes. You have nothing to fear now. There’s no one left to hurt you. What will you do?” “I still have an obligation to the magazine, at least to finish this issue.” “So you’ll continue as The Chameleon? There is no reason to remain anonymous any longer.” “I don’t know who I am if not, The Chameleon.” “You are Sophia DeLuca. You have a degree in Fine Arts from Columbia University. You are the creative genius behind Adventure Athletica. In all my years, I have never met anyone so strong, resilient, and successful in crafting their “new” lives. You don’t need to hide anymore, show the world who you are.” “Not DeLuca, never DeLuca.” “The choice is yours now. Who do you want to be?” I didn’t speak for some time, just starring out over the ocean. The sun was beginning to set coloring the sky with shades of orange. Perhaps this could truly be home after all. “Liberta, Sophia Liberta.” Standing Agent Anderson extended his hand, “I’m pleased to meet you Sophia Liberta.” “Please excuse me Agent, I have to meet a surfer for dinner.” Challenge # 2 of the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Contest was over the weekend. For the challenge we are given writing prompts at midnight and have 48 hours to write a story using 1000 words or less. My Challenge 2 prompts were: Genre: Thriller Location: Wildlife Refuge Object: A Silver Spoon Attempting to write a thriller pushed me outside my comfort zone, but I like a good challenge, and I gave it my best shot. Here's what I came up with. They responded to an ad. “Wildlife executive director of Silver Spoon Big Cat Sanctuary to retire. Seeking heir to oversee the preserve. Interested persons should respond at silverspoonsanctuary.com.” Four did.
It was a beautiful day for mid-September, a bright blue sky, warm breeze kind of day. Vik was first to arrive, a large, muscular, athletic looking man in his mid 50s. Lily pulled up right after him. He hauled his oversized backpack out of the Jeep, then turned to assist the slender, 40-something woman. She was intently taking in the scenery, gazing at the surrounding mountains. “Have you ever been out west before?” Vik asked. “No, I haven’t. I’m eager to see it. I’ve lived in Boston most of my life.” “What made you decide to come out here for this?” “I needed a change,” She picked up her bag and walked over to the gate running her hand down the handles in the shape of silver spoons. You could hear Sal and Mara before you could see them; clearly they liked Phish. They pulled up in a vintage VW Microbus, brightly painted in red and gold, emblazoned with the logo “The Hugos.” A porter greeted them, “Welcome to Silver Spoon Sanctuary. I will escort you to your cabins. Please bring only your essentials. No weapons are permitted on the grounds.” They were taken to a cluster of three cabins alongside a small lake. “Diana is expecting you at six for dinner at the main house. You will find a map of the grounds in your cabins, there are ATVs in the barn for your use.” Each took some time to get settled into their cabins. Vik was the first to emerge with a shotgun slung over his shoulder and some binoculars. Lily saw him from her window and met him outside. “What are you doing with that? We were instructed not to bring weapons.” “It looks like we have a few hours to ourselves before we meet the director. I think I’ll take advantage of the time to do some tracking.” With that he sauntered over to the barn to retrieve an ATV. Lily stalked after him. “We didn’t come here to hunt and track the animals. I think you should at least wait and meet Diana before exploring the grounds.” “I’m not sure why you’re here, but I fully intend to make this a hunting and gaming preserve. I am going to get a look at the terrain and get a feel for the place,” retorted Vik. “She’ll never allow that.” “Once she’s out of here it’s no longer her call.” Vik sped off on one of the ATVs. Upon hearing the commotion, Sal and Mara came out of their cabin. “Where’s he off to?” Sal asked. “He’s a hunter, he wants to get a look at the grounds,” replied Lily disgusted. “I did a little research on the sanctuary. Diana doesn’t keep it open to the public, except for the occasional fundraiser or educational workshop,” said Mara. “If we get the opportunity, Sal and I would like to open it up as an attraction. Let people come in and meet the animals and interact with them.” “We traveled with a circus and did an act with trained tigers for several years. I enjoy working with the big cats in particular. Why are you here? What’s your plan?” asked Sal. “I don’t have a plan.” Lily walked back to her cabin. It was nearing six and Vik hadn’t come back to the cabins. “I think we should leave without him,” said Mara. Sal and Lily agreed and made their way to dinner. The main house sat upon a hill overlooking the entire grounds. Behind it a tent with tables and a buffet was set. Diana emerged from the house, her constant companion by her side, a beautiful snow leopard. She slowly made her way to the tent, wearing a flowing light blue tunic that accentuated her gray hair and blue eyes. Woman and cat were a stunning sight to behold. “Hello, I am Diana and this is Gaia. “She’s beautiful,” cooed Mara. “How did you tame her? I’ve never seen a wild cat so docile.” “I haven’t tamed her. I don’t believe you can tame a wild animal, and make no mistake she is a wild animal. It appears we are short one.” “Yes, Vik. He took an ATV out this afternoon and hasn’t made it back yet,” said Sal. A gunshot was heard in the distance, followed by the roars of two lions. “That would be Athena and Artemis. They do sound hungry,” Diana, sat and stroked Gaia behind the ears. “You don’t think that’s Vik? Should we go look for him?” asked Mara. “I believe Athena and Artemis already found him. There is no point. Shall we eat, I’m sure you have some questions.” The stunned guests sat in silence. “Has the cat got your tongues?” Diana laughed. “Ah, Nyx, ever the curious one.” As she spoke a tiger sauntered around the table. “I’ve worked with tigers in the past, I’ll show you I can train one,” boasted Sal. He got up and began to approach the tiger now seated on her right. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The tiger pinned its ears back and crouched. “Sal, stop. Listen to her!” Mara jumped from her chair and rushed to Sal. Nyx pounced. “Never approach the animal, always let the animal approach you. Never, ever make any sudden moves. Slowly Diana turned toward Lily, “and then there was one. Why are you here?” Lily kneeled before her, “I’m lost. I have nothing left. I want their beauty, their strength, their courage.” “What will you give them?” “My heart.” The panther cub bounded from the shadows, approaching Lily. She licked her face and hands and curled up beside her. “You have been chosen, name her well.” At that Diana and Gaia stood in unison and walked off into the mountains. “Hope, I name her Hope.” I am participating in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. I am a newbie to the competition. For the challenge we are given writing prompts at midnight and have 48 hours to write a story using 1000 words or less. My Challenge 1 prompts were: Genre: Historical Fiction Location: A Castle Object: A Thimble Here's what I came up with. Cheers to all who are participating. Happy Writing! Isleen arose before dawn and made her way to the sacred circle on her family’s farm. She entered and kneeled to pray to the Pleiades. “Mother Goddess, on this, eve of Beltane, restore the fertility of the earth, bring growth and bounty to our crops, and restore life and vitality to our livestock and families.” She buried an offering of sweet bread, then brushed her hands through the dew-laden grass and washed her face with the cool water. As she was doing so, she faintly heard the sound of chimes, looking around she saw nothing.
Drustan rose as the sky was turning pink. He went to the Druid altar in the castle courtyard and kneeled to pray. “God of the Sun, warm and awaken the Earth. Bring light, life, and prosperity to our community.” He placed an offering of antlers, acorns, and seeds upon the altar. He meditated in silence until the sounds of the cathedral bells signaled the dawn of the day. A long, arduous winter was finally coming to an end. Sorrow and dismay hung over the village of Ros like a black cloud. Food shortages and malnutrition had taken a toll, as 25 lives were lost to Typhus this winter season. The loss of any member of the community was felt deeply, this loss was devastating. Today, however, spirits were lighter. As dawn broke there was hope and a promise of rebirth in the air. At the epicenter of the village, Castle Ballyros, home to Lord and Lady Cara was bustling with activity preparing for the evening rituals. The main street passing in front of the castle was being cleaned. On each end of the street an area was being prepared for two bonfires. A maypole was raised in the castle square and tables for a village-wide feast were placed around it. Maidens gathered in the castle square toiling to string flower garlands of primrose, lilacs, daisies, and marigolds. Their melodic voices and laughter floated in the spring breeze as they worked. “Agh,” Isleen exclaimed as she pricked herself with a needle making a crown of daises and primrose. A drop of blood splashed on the flowers as she drew her finger to her mouth to stop the bleeding. “Be careful Isleen, here use a thimble. If the fairies get a scent of your blood they may whisk you away before Drustan is able to have his way with you,” teased Brie, her closest friend. “Hush, Brie, you shouldn’t speak so.” Suddenly, again she heard bells softly tinkling, “Do you hear that?” “Hear what?” Brie replied. “I thought I heard bells; this morning too.” “I don’t know how you could hear anything over all the noise in the castle square today.” Isleen looked up from her work and glanced around, it was crowded, everyone was busy, “It’s nothing,” she thought to herself. She placed the thimble on her finger and got back to work. The bachelors of the village were in the surrounding woods collecting the nine sacred woods for the bonfires. One of the young men was playing a flute as the others divided up the work. “I know there’s a stand of Alder trees down by where the river forks, I’ll go gather those branches,” said Drustan. Off he went and soon had a bundle of the wood in his arms. As he bent to pick up one last branch he saw a flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. He stood and looked around but nothing was there. At dusk, the villagers gathered in the castle square for the Beltane rituals. Lord Cara ignited flame through the rubbing of sticks praying to the sun Gods for a bountiful growing season and lit the bonfires. The bachelors and maidens gathered around the maypole each grasping a ribbon and began their weaving to the tunes of the harp and viola. Drustan held the ribbon over Isleen as she ducked under; they smiled coyly at one another. Baskets adorned with flowers containing the names of the Maypole dancers were presented to Lord and Lady Cara. Lady Cara drew a name, “Drustan Cara, I pronounce thee God of the Sun.” Lord Cara drew a name, “Isleen Byrne, I pronounce thee Goddess of the Earth.” Drustan and Isleen presented themselves before the Lord and Lady for their handfasting. Crowns of flowers were placed upon their heads and their hands were bound with flower garlands. Lord and Lady Cara chanted “May this marriage of Earth and Sun awaken the soil and bring bounty and wealth to our community.” Again, Isleen heard the faint sound of bells. She glanced at Drustan, and the people surrounding them, but no one seemed to indicate they had heard it. Once the handfasting was complete, the newly crowned God and Goddess invited all to the table and the villagers sat down for a feast. When dinner had ended, Drustan and Isleen rose and signaled for the herds to be walked through the village. The cattle adorned in flowered garlands were paraded around the fires in a figure eight. Having thus been blessed they were lead to pasture for the spring season. It was now time for the God and Goddess to take their repose into the woods. Isleen and her maidens entered first to decorate the wedding bed. They found a grove of Hawthorn, Ash, and Oak and tied ribbons from the boughs. Isleen settled herself on the mossy ground beneath the trees and waited. Again the bells chimed, louder this time, she glanced behind her and saw a beautiful woman on a white horse. “It’s time for you to join us Isleen.” As the maidens rushed out of the woods they bid Drustan to enter. In the distance he saw the ribbons flickering in the light breeze and ran to the grove. All that was there was a floral crown with a few specks of dried blood. Isleen was gone. |
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