tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205531552024-03-07T16:15:23.202-05:00As my whimsy takes meA freelance writer's free to write whatever comes to her mind.Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-54253670835044027102013-02-17T17:03:00.004-05:002013-02-17T17:03:56.442-05:00Change of VenueI will now be blogging over at <a href="http://cedarwrites.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Cedar Writes</a>, and hopefully be keeping a more regular schedule. Also, you can find my blog on writing and self-publishing over at <a href="http://amazingstoriesmag.com/blog/" target="_blank">Amazing Stories Magazine</a>. I appear there on Mondays. I look forward to hearing from you, so follow the links and don't be shy, I like to chat.Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-526127958234527812013-02-13T08:47:00.002-05:002013-02-13T08:49:04.375-05:00Productivity My schedule doesn't give me a lot of play time. Fortunately, some of the things I do and call 'work' I also regard as play. This allows me to go off and "play" while still feeling productive. Which isn't to say that I don't occasionally goof off and waste time, too.<br />
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Yesterday was one of the most productive, creative days I have had in a while. It may not happen again soon, but I'm pleased with myself this morning. I wrote over three thousand words on the work in progress, a snarky little story about a pixie with a chip on his shoulder, and a very reluctant fairy princess. What I thought was going to be a short story is rapidly headed for novel status. Not that I mind too much, I am enjoying these characters.<br />
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When I finally shut that file down, (which doesn't have the same impact as firmly closing a notebook and slamming one's pen down, saying "enough! I'm tired, already!" to your characters), I moved on to my artwork. I've been learning how to paint on paper, which is a change for me, as I normally paint on skin. Watercolors behave totally different on paper, and I really enjoy seeing what I can make them do, how I can take the picture in my head and bring it to life. It is exciting, and I was so pleased to be able to do the art for the cover of <i>Snow Angel</i>. If you scroll down a bit in the blog, you will find the first parts of the story for free... and the rest of it will be available for purchase soon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xO2SohF0F_NxvQiEpuUw9FaTYxj3AnQU7q4o3LA9tW_PkssdLk36OuBZta5kp4Mc7BQyXlFRy7o1LMG38skZd2OXoTl7lYCZl0lxvrbzL_IrHciNM6TwDwOaH2IhPKKqG8H2oQ/s1600/snow+angel+purple+text.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xO2SohF0F_NxvQiEpuUw9FaTYxj3AnQU7q4o3LA9tW_PkssdLk36OuBZta5kp4Mc7BQyXlFRy7o1LMG38skZd2OXoTl7lYCZl0lxvrbzL_IrHciNM6TwDwOaH2IhPKKqG8H2oQ/s320/snow+angel+purple+text.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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There it is, the cover for my short story about an innocent child, his discovery, and the mother who would fiercely protect her family against even the most unknowable dangers. </div>
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I finished out my evening by editing the story one last time, and sending it out to beta readers. Just before I fell asleep last night, I got a message from one of them, telling me he'd done a first read through and found it <i>"Sweet, and powerful." </i></div>
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<br />Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-65985196066742992492013-02-10T09:12:00.001-05:002013-02-10T09:12:30.690-05:00It's MorningI felt the strong desire to update the blog, but I've been putting it off because, well, there's nothing really to talk about on the writing front. I finished Snow Angel, and I plan to publish it, but I held off to do a cover. I'm writing a sequel to Memories of the Abyss even though it isn't published yet, because there is so much raw emotion in it I'm have trouble editing it. But for new words? Nothing much recently.<br />
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Partly, that is because I am back in school fulltime for the semester. Essentials of Algebra, Abnormal Psych, and Anatomy & Physiology, and later this semester Cultural Anthropology. Wheee... Yes, I am busy, why do you ask? However, last semester I wrote around classes. This semester, the only class I go to school for is A&P, the others are online. Which means I have more time to do things like work. Writing is taking a back seat for the time.<br />
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I did get Vulcan's Kittens finished editing, and out to my young beta readers. So far, the three teens that read it really like it, and I have been asked about the sequel already, which means I need to get cracking on that. My publishing and editing process I will be blogging about over at <a href="http://www.amazingstoriesmag.com/" target="_blank">Amazing Stories</a>, and you can find the first in the series <a href="http://amazingstoriesmag.com/2013/02/7863/" target="_blank">Why Self Publish?</a>, with more to follow every Monday. There are a lot of interesting topics being written about over there!<br />
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As for the other side of my writing, I haven't been reading much fiction recently. I'd gotten a couple of Jim Butcher's Dresden Files through the library, but I don't think I'll finish before I need to return them. I did, however, stay up late last night reading... I'd bought Kate Paulk's second in the Con series, ConSensual, and I pulled it up on the Kindle as I'd been having a bad day and needed to de-stress. I laughed out loud in the dark and didn't put it down until I was finished. Ah... I've missed that feeling of being sucked into another world. I highly recommend it!<br />
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You, too, can be amused and entertained, just click on the cover below...<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009L5QVFS/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B009L5QVFS&linkCode=as2&tag=httpstonycroc-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=B009L5QVFS&Format=_SL110_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=httpstonycroc-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=httpstonycroc-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B009L5QVFS" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-44171883438923261282012-12-26T22:51:00.001-05:002012-12-26T22:52:30.552-05:00Deeply Felt<br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.14289746270515025" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.14289746270515025" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pregnancy is possibly the most intimate encounter you can have with another person short of sexual relations. And even those aren’t always a metaphysical experience. I have experienced sex that was not intimate at all. Giving birth to my children, however, was a deeply connected, wonderful experience. Finally meeting the people who had been growing inside me for nine months was awe inspiring. </span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first child was delivered after almost 24 hours of labor in my own home. I was so tired, and must have been in pain, although I mostly remember being weary and deeply uncomfortable. The pressure of delivering her head was abruptly terminated by a slippery, wiggly feeling of the rest of her body sliding out of me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My elation at the birth of my child, I didn’t know yet whether a boy or a girl, was abruptly dampened. Instead of placing my wet, new baby on my belly as had been promised, they took her down onto the bed, where I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t sit up to see what was happening, but pieced it together later from my father’s photos. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She had been born blue, kind of a blue-gray mottled color that indicated she needed oxygen in her blood. From a portable bottle the midwife administered the needed air, and my new daughter pinked right up. She was then placed in my arms. I remember laughing and crying all at once, completely and utterly overwhelmed in this first meeting with her. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All babies are beautiful in their mother’s eyes. This one was no exception. I still think she’s beautiful, and amazing, fourteen years later. Our relationship will last beyond a lifetime, and even though it will never be as intimate as it was in that first moment, we are joined by an invisible cord. </span></div>
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Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-37540221478504447162012-12-13T16:27:00.002-05:002012-12-13T16:27:49.281-05:00Bear Kicker<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7240577291231602" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7240577291231602" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bear Kicking</span></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7240577291231602" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bears have a curiosity bump. I went for a walk early one morning, and took the camera with me to take pictures of dewy cobwebs. All the way at the back of the pasture I found a patch of lovely ones, and was bent over taking pictures when I heard a rustling in the brush. I immediately thought “Oh, Dad’s moose!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">See, Dad had been sleeping out in his tent for a week, and the day before this had awakened to a moose crashing through the brush in the ravine below his tent. He’d crept to the edge and watched the south end of the moose proceeding north up the creek. So it was a natural assumption on my part to think that this large crashing in the brush was also a moose.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I swung the camera up and took a shot from the hip, flash and all. The flash was my undoing. I might have gotten away with it, but Mr. Bruin saw that light and stood up to see what the light was over the brush. At this point I realized that he was bigger than I, and although not known to attack humans often, I am not going to trust a bear further than I could throw it. Dad got away with kicking one in the...um. Well, you know. But that one was a yearling, a lot smaller than he, not a big ol’ bruin looking at little ol’ me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I went. Toward the house, wishing that I were a sprinter, not an endurance runner (and that a decade ago!) I am pretty sure he went in the other direction, but I wasn’t really looking. All I know is that he didn’t follow me home!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Talk about adrenaline to start your morning - that was a little too much. Coming back to Dad’s bear, the yearling, I just have to tell that story along with mine. Dad keeps bees, and even with an electric fence, the bears just can’t resist all those delicious grubs and sweet honey. One warm summer night, Dad heard a ruckus through his open window. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">He knew just what that noise was. I was awakened by the sound of his feet thundering down the stairs. I ran out of my room to see my mother in her nightgown, carrying a pistol and a handful of cartridges. Dad told us later what had happened. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once he got out to the garden and could see by the moonlight that there was indeed a bear in his hives, he’d stopped briefly. Unarmed, wearing only his briefs and wellingtons, he then charged at the bear. He’d decided, in that split moment, that if he could be bigger than the yearling who was plundering his hives, he could scare it off. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bear, oblivious, his head as far in a hive box as it would go up to his shoulders, munched on. Dad kept coming. The bear’s first clue was a size 12 foot, encased in rubber garden boot, making violent contact with his north end. He pulled his head out and ran, squalling like a baby, toward the edge of the garden. After a few jumps he stopped and looked back to see what had hit him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dad told us later: “he just had this look, like ‘What did I do?” All injured innocence aside, Dad raised his hands up over his head and roared like a bull. This did the trick, and the bear made for the woods, possibly leaving behind what bears are said to do in the woods. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">My mother and I arrived in time to see the bear high-tailing it in the moonlight. Mom had grabbed the wrong cartridges, and was feeding .357’s into a .44 and wondering why they were falling out as fast as she put them into the revolver. So the bear escaped with only his dignity injured, and Dad earned the nickname Bear Kicker, which he will never live down. </span></span></div>
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</b>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-89846712491683011302012-12-03T12:05:00.005-05:002012-12-03T12:06:34.003-05:00Snow Angel Snippet 3<br />
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“You're hypothermic.” Sarah
informed her. “Your core temperature is so low all the blood has
left your extremities, that is why you have no dexterity.” </div>
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She
gently moved the child's hands away and finished unbuttoning the
coat. It was oilskin over what seemed to be a down lining, and her
torso was dry. That must be what had saved her, lying in the snow.
Her boots had kept her slender feet dry, too. Sarah decided to leave
the dry inner layers, but the jeans had to come off, they were wet
from calf to thigh.
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“Josh.” She looked at him,
standing there with a pile of blankets up to his eyes. His gray eyes,
so like her husband's, were solemn and she suddenly saw the man he
would be, so like his father. Her heart throbbed. “Get my big
orange kit.”</div>
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“The one I'm not allowed to touch?”
His eyes were wide.
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“Yes, honey. Right now, please.”
She knew he'd needed to know it was ok, but she could still feel how
fast this life was slipping away.
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Sarah lifted the slight body away from
the clothing. The duster was cut oddly, with slits for the wings, but
it still took a little work to get it off her. By the time Sarah had
the girl off the floor out of her wet things and onto the couch, Josh
was standing next to them with the kit. Sarah quickly flipped it open
and pulled out the trauma shears. By this time the angel was slowly
becoming aware, and she tried to push Sarah away.
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“You cannot stay in the jeans, and
wet jeans are almost impossible to pull off.” Sarah told her
firmly. The girl shook her head weakly.</div>
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The older woman sighed. “All right.
I'll try it.”</div>
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She undid the jeans and started to
peel them off inside out. The angel wriggled a little, but couldn't
help. </div>
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“You know, if you wore looser jeans this would be easier. Why
does an angel need to look sexy, anyway?”</div>
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She grabbed the shear and was half way
up one leg before the girl could protest. The angel went limp, which
Sarah took as consent.
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“Josh, go run a bath, honey.” The
little boy had been crouched by the couch, having taken one of the
angel's hand in both of his. Now he nodded silently and trotted off.
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“I don't know how I'm going to get
you in the tub with those wings...” Sarah sighed. “Wet feathers
are part of your problem.”</div>
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The angel's deep brown eyes had closed
again. Sarah felt for her pulse, which might be a little faster, but
not a lot. Her top was tied on, it turned out, almost a corset with
lacing up the sides. Sarah cut those, too, whispering an apology to
the non-responsive girl. She'd done enough of this as a medic over
the years that skin was skin, but this still seemed invasive every
time.
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Once the girl was down to her
underwear and pale skin that was almost blue with the cold, Sarah
lifted her off the couch and into a fireman's carry. The angel's
wings were hanging limply, and Sarah bit back a curse as she tangled
in them and stumbled. She really did try not to curse in front of
Josh. Bad habits from years of working with rough men. Fortunately,
that had also taught her to persist and endure. Which got her into
the bathroom with her awkward burden.
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Josh was sitting on the closed toilet,
his feet dangling. The water was still running into the tub. Sarah
slowly lowered the girl into the tub.
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“Hold this wing.” She told her
son. She didn't want to get the feathers any wetter. It was a weird
situation. Normally, with a case of hypothermia this bad, she would
have immediately called 911. Not with this girl, though. The lukewarm
water would bring her core temperature up slowly.
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The wingsoff to one side, Sarah
crouched below them, holding the angel's face out of the water. With
the girl on her side like this, drowning was the new danger. Now,
arms trembling with fatigue, she finally had time to think. She'd
never read anything about angels dying. Falling, yes, as in fallen
angels from heaven. This one didn't strike her as that sort, though.
So how had a very young looking angel wound up lying in her backyard?
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Josh was patiently holding one
wingtip, so Sarah risked letting go of part of her burden
momentarily. The girl's pulse was much stronger.
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“Hey... Hello, angel.” She felt
awkward addressing the being. Was there a proper form of address for
one? She'd read and giggled her way through Emily Post as a girl with
her sister, but this situation wasn't covered.
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She was rewarded for her efforts with
a flutter of eyelids. She tried again. “What happened to you?
What's your name?”</div>
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The girl jerked suddenly, and Sarah
got a face full of wet feathers. Spluttering, she maintained her hold
on the girl's face so she didn't submerge. Josh let go and retreated
to the doorway.
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“Hey! Calm down, it's ok...” Sarah
couldn't see, but as the girl was thrashing now, she felt it would be
safe to let go, and did so. She leaned back out of the way and wound
up with her butt on the floor, looking at the angel. The being had
managed to sit up, and her wings made an umbrella over both of them
as she held them out of the water.
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Her eyes were ice blue, and wide with
what Sarah read as consternation. She clutched her arms over her
chest and her knees were drawn up. Sarah held out her hands, palms
up.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Can you understand me?” the older
woman asked softly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah glanced over at Josh, still
standing poised in the doorway. His eyes were wide again. The angel
looked at him as well, then back at Sarah. Slowly, she nodded.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah left out the breath she didn't
know she had been holding. “All right. You're safe. You had
hypothermia, and I was helping you get warm. You understand?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The angel nodded again. She looked at
Josh. “I... remember you.” She whispered.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The little boy smiled, like the sun
coming out from behind clouds. He ventured back into the room,
putting his hands behind him shyly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah watched him. “This is my son,
Joshua.” She looked at the being. “My name is Sarah.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You can call me... Sera.” the
other whispered back. </div>
Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-23275412353999314082012-12-02T12:25:00.000-05:002012-12-02T12:25:13.112-05:00Snow Angel Snippet 2<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lying on her back in the snow was a
young woman. Already, she was dusted over with snow, which is why
Sarah had missed her clothes. Dressed in a long duster jacket, jeans,
and cowboy boots, she was motionless. Her face was pale... Sarah
leaned closer over her, pushing Josh toward the house.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Go home...” she told him
distractedly. He didn't need to know death, just yet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The girl's lashes fluttered, and then
her eyes opened. Sarah gasped. “You're alive!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then her practical side kicked in. The
child must be freezing. “Come on, are you hurt anywhere?” She
held out her hands and the other slowly raised hers, eyes slightly
unfocused.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No...” she whispered. “So
cold...”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah took her forearms. They were
like ice. “We need to get you in the house, right now.” She
pulled and was surprised at the weight for a second, then almost
dropped the girl as she registered the wings that were coming up off
the ground with her. They hung slack off her back, and she could
almost believe they weren't real, until the girl shuddered and they
retracted up into a neat fold behind her, wrapping partly around her
shoulders.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, my.” Sarah breathed. On the
next breath she was back in charge of herself. “Up to the house,
now.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The young angel let herself be half
carried, Josh romping around them like an excited puppy. Sarah got
her up the two steps onto the porch with difficulty, the poor thing
seemed to be slipping away. Josh pulled open the slider, and the two
women half fell into the house.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Joshie, go get us blankets.” His
mother ordered. She was feeling for a pulse, and it was impossibly
slow under her cold fingertips. She really wasn't sure an angel could
die, but all her training was kicking in now. She started pulling off
the wet clothing that was making puddles on her clean floor. The
angel, girl, whatever she was, was trying to help but not able to
move much. </div>
Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-42290813286612888752012-11-30T15:04:00.001-05:002012-11-30T15:05:16.353-05:00Winter StoryA snippet of my work in progress, which I think will be a Christmas gift to my children.<br />
<br />
#########################<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Snow Angel </b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah was standing at the sink with her
hands in hot soapy dishwater when her son came in the sliding glass
door in a small swirl of frosty air and rapidly melting snow. She
turned around to see him bouncing up and down on the mat. He knew he
wasn't allowed to bring his wet boots any further inside. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mama,
Mama!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah felt the smile starting. Josh
always made her happy, no matter how the day had been going. “What,
Little Man?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She walked over to him, drying her
hands on the dishtowel that had been hanging over her shoulder.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There's a snow angel in the
backyard!” he announced.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do you want me to come see?” She
knew he did, that's why he had come inside. He nodded vigorously,
pulling open the door and plunging back out into the snowy yard.
There had been close to a foot of snow the night before, and it was
still coming down, although lightly, now.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah put her feet into her husband's
boots. Oversized on her, they were easy to just pull on and go. He
teased her that she wore them more than he, some winters. She
stepped out the door without a jacket. It wasn't that cold, and she
would only be out for a moment. Josh's little foot prints disappeared
beneath hers as she followed them around the corner and into the
backyard.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She was puzzled as they led down
toward the pasture. Their backyard wasn't well defined, as it merged
into the forty-acre hayfield that gently rolled away toward the creek
a quarter of a mile from the house. Josh usually played close to
home, though. He was out of sight, his little woodland camo jacket
helping as his footsteps led her toward a patch of hedgerow that she
kept for the blackberries. Rounding that, she found him standing
still and looking at the ground. The snow was lumpy, but unmarred.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Did you make a snow angel?” Sarah
prompted.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He looked up at her, his face angelic,
a snowflake clinging to one of his lashes for a second. “No, Mama,
I found her here.” He pointed, and Sarah stepped closer to see what
he was looking at.</div>
Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-84831352363874594592012-10-11T19:55:00.001-04:002012-10-11T19:55:36.457-04:00Hay Day It's been a long time since I last posted, so to anyone still reading this, I apologize. I've been busy! Full-time student now. The novel, Vulcan's Kittens, I am hoping to have polished and ready to go by the end of November, and I have sold a couple of stories (happy dance!). I am taking a College Comp class, which is... interesting. I have to, no way out of it, so I might as well let you all read what I'm writing for that... Next week, snippets of work in progress, I promise. I will be back on track because I need to be. Tonight, you get an essay on a memory of when I was about seven years old.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Hay
Day</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /><br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">When
you are young, it seems all of life is a waiting game. I stood in the
pasture waiting, for my father, for my dog to finish hunting mice,
for my sister to join me. My father has been gone for months, TDY to
the arctic and there are days I think I can't remember his face.
Murphy is enjoying the hay day, the shepherd mix will hunt all day,
until her belly is round from her feast of rodents. The new mown hay
has only been down for a day, but already it is half-dry and the air
is so thickly scented with the sweet smell I can taste it. My little
sister is probably still asleep in bed, I was up early to help my
mother with the milking, and now I am standing in the sunshine slowly
warming up. The house doesn't have heat in it, yet. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Murphy
gives a little yip, her black and brown body poised, tail low and
steady. Then she pounces, both front feet together, jumping into the
rolled windrow of hay and trapping the mouse. With a click of her
jaws she has her prey, and she flips her head back sharply, tossing
the mouse high into the air before catching it again and eating it
with an audible crunch and a gulp. Mission accomplished, she trots
over to me and flops her butt on the ground, pink tongue lolling out.
I scratch her silky ears and head, surveying the length of our long,
narrow pasture, looking toward Billy Joe’s house, and past it, the
high road where I can see but not hear cars, the tractor drowns them
out. It doesn’t drown out the high bleat of baby goats, though, and
I turn toward our house. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">As
I walk, the dry stubble is sharp under my bare feet, but with my
calluses from running around barefoot all the time, it doesn’t slow
me down much. I am in no hurry, Murph has gone back to hunting mice
as we move toward the half-built house. The garden with it’s rows
of tall sweet corn block me from seeing our little road directly, but
I can see a plume of dust that means someone is driving past our
place. Our neighbor’s Brahma bull, trained to do tricks in rodeos,
is leaning against the fence between our place and his, eyeing the
corn with his mournful eyes. </span></span><span style="color: black;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Our
animals are penned up today, while we hay, in the corral my father
and “Uncle” Jim built to break mustangs in. I’m headed there.
Salsa and Snakedancer are watching, heads over the corral fence and
ears pricked toward me. Salsa’s still shaggy, she needs the last of
her winter coat brushed out. My mother has been busy with the house
construction and my sisters, so my guess is that Jim will do it when
he comes to check on the horses. I’m too little to reach her back
yet. Snakedancer’s off-center star is half-hidden under his black
forelock, but his bay coat is shiny. He’s only a half hand too tall
to be a pony, so I can reach all of him, at least when he lets me. I
pick up a handful of hay off the windrow to feed them. It’s not
crunchy brittle like it will be in a day or two when we bale it.
</span></span><span style="color: black;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Salsa
lips her hay delicately off my flat palm, and I pat her nose. It’s
the softest spot on a horse, velvety compared to the coarse horse
hair on the rest of her. Snake doesn’t like his face touched, and
he lets most of his hay fall to the ground inside the corral after
taking it politely from my hand. The baby goats have bounced over and
gathered by the horses’ knees, and now they try out the hay. They
are still bottle-fed, but they are starting to nibble on everything
and anything. Snake puts his head back over the fence, and lets me
lean my face against his cheek. I inhale his smell and close my eyes
in pleasure at the combination of horse, fresh hay, and sunshine.
Murphy comes and leans against my leg and I am safe and happy in the
company of my horse and dog. The throb of the tractor and the bleats
of the goats are good background music for my childhood hay day. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-55308381330667375232012-07-24T16:06:00.000-04:002012-07-24T16:06:20.538-04:00Zombie Maggots<i>A lit</i><i>tle story I put together after attending a panel at LibertyCon entitled "The Messiest Ways to Kill Zombies." I don't know about anything else, this has to be the grossest! Much thanks to Lin Wicklund, for the title and inspiration, Jonny Iffland for encouragement, and as always, Sanford Begley for his unswerving honesty. Enjoy!</i>
<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Zombie Maggots</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The original zombies were not the
shambling undead monsters of film and fiction, but hapless victims of
a bioengineered virus. Just where the first outbreak occurred is
still hotly debated amongst those who care, not that there's a lot of
those left anymore. Most of us are just worried about staying alive,
inside, with all the windows sealed tightly. Why aren't we worried
about running away from zombies?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, the answer to that question lies
in the well-intentioned mistake of a genetic engineer who was trying
to cure or kill the zombies. Fly larvae have been used to clean
wounds since medieval times, as maggots will eat the decayed flesh,
but not the living. His plan was to create fly larvae that would eat
the zombies, essentially biological warfare against the former humans
who had once lived amongst us, and now, did their level best to feed
off us all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Bad enough that our erstwhile friends,
neighbors and family had become ravening beasts, the existence of
zombie maggots was enough to spend the entire world into a tailspin.
See, the zombie virus only infected perhaps one out of 10. Antivirals
could even catch it if it were early enough in the onset. The flies,
though…</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I'm ahead of myself. Even during
the a zombie apocalypse. It's nice to get to get out and have a
little fun sometimes. Although, had I known the apocalypse was
coming. I probably would have stayed home instead of flying through
Atlanta, and grabbing a shuttle up to Chattanooga. You see, I'm
usually a devoted husband and father, and when the news of the zombie
outbreak broke, I was attending a science fiction convention, a
thousand miles away from home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We were all sitting in the con suite, I
was listening to the guys tell stories and wondering exactly how high
they would pile the shit before they gave it up and admitted they
were telling tall tales. Really, half the fans are writers themselves
and the amateurs can rival the pros when it comes to fiction,
especially when they are talking about their daily lives. I was
laughing my head off, I always have such a good time at this
convention. It's nice to get away from home and not be a mundane for
a while. But when the Hobbit came through the doors hollering “The
zombie apocalypse is coming!” We all laughed at him. Zombies are
pretty popular fiction these days, and they all figured he just had a
little too much at the bar. I knew he didn't drink, but I also know
his penchant for odd humor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"No, really.” He babbled
excitedly. "Remember last year, when John Ringo wrote about
bioengineered viruses? Well, there's reports coming out of China that
someone made real zombies."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He waved his phone in the air. Seconds
later, every 'Fly in the room was on their own phone, laptop, tablet,
or leaning over someone's shoulder as articles and even video of the
zombies were pulled up. A Presidential press release with no
questions answered broke the news moments later that all air traffic,
and indeed all means of transportation, were being embargoed. The
room was quiet, almost unheard of with this crowd. But this massive
level of quarantine and the speed of the reaction shocked us all into
the reality that the apocalypse had indeed arrived.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first thing I felt the need to do
was call home to my wife and kids… Well, I tried to dial. All I
could get was “all circuits are busy, please try again later."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I must have shown my feelings on my
face, because Jones, ever the quick one to see how any of us were
feeling, came by to squeeze my shoulder. “It'll be ok, man.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I knew better, oh sure, I couldn't know
it for a certainty, but not letting anyone travel at all meant that
the virus was already here on the continental US. My hometown is a
little place out in the sticks. But it's only two hours travel from a
big international airport. Not that we were any safer here.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It took less than an hour for the first
meeting of the newly dubbed zombie patrol to happen. You see, the
group I hang out with isn't your typical mix of gamers and geeks that
attend a con. There's a heavy influence of military and hard science
people. It's probably the only group of people I've been a part of
that made me feel like I was not the smartest person in the room.
There's a few bright intellects amongst us that make me feel
downright stupid. Not that they ever mean to, and they're the nicest
folks you could ever chat with. Our first concern was to try and get
more facts. The consensus was that the the news had been suppressed
for some time, and had only been released when it could no longer be
suppressed and the quarantine had to be put into effect.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
None of us like operating in a vacuum,
fortunately there were people like Piotr who had government contacts.
It took a few hours to get answers, and even then they would be
incomplete. In the meantime, the party restarted. Human nature being
what it was, we could smile and even laugh while the world lay in
ruins around us. The booze helped too. I wasn't drinking, I rarely
do, and I have a need for situational awareness, and tonight it was
heightened to the point of complete paranoia. I was downright
twitchy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It wasn't just the news, though. I'd
had a gut feeling all day that something was going to go wrong. I had
attributed it to not liking crowds, but now I knew it was related to
this. Something was happening, and it was coming fast. I did notice
that not all of us were partying. Several, who had been pulled aside
earlier by the two guys who were rapidly taking charge, seem to be
standing sentry. Others came and went quietly, stopping to talk with
the organizers of the zombie patrol. I had grabbed a notebook, a
regular paper one, and now I slid into the chair next to the guy in
charge. Tall and slender, his blonde hair was rumpled, despite its
short length, from the wig he'd been wearing earlier.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Want me to keep inventory?"
I asked Zane quietly. He looked at me, obviously thinking for a
moment. Then he shook his head. He looked around a minute. “Sam...”
He called across the room to a nondescript guy with silver hair I
hadn't really noticed before. The older man looked alert and
concerned and now that I saw him, I could see he was standing guard
over a young woman who had her head down on the table next to him.
“Send Thuja over here, will you?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sam gave him a crooked smile and a nod,
then bent over her to talk to her. Shane continued to me in a low
voice. “She's got four kids at home in New England, and I know her,
she'll be better off if she's busy.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I understood. I felt the same way.
Something to do to keep my mind off the uncertainty, and the nagging
feeling that my place was at home defending my family against the
great unknown. She showed up at the table with calm face, a little
damp around the eyes, but eager enough to take my notebook and start
writing down lists.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'd known that the guys coming in and
telling him exactly what weapons were available, and how much ammo
everybody had for them. We had been to the range, early that morning,
but there was still a lot left. If it got really bad, we need it. I
also knew even before it had been stated in the meeting earlier, that
the primary danger would be from rioting and looting, not from
zombies. People behave badly in crises, and I knew I was lucky to be
with this group.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our ad-hoc secretary kept more than
inventory, making notes of ideas as people drifted to and from the
table. Some of the zombie killing ideas were pretty far-fetched,
where on earth would we find an airport snowblower in southern
Tennessee? We weren't entirely sure we would even ever see zombies,
but it was better to plan and prepare for the worst case, and I am
always planning.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Also, keeping busy kept me from
thinking too much about my family. I had taken the time during the
evening to get my laptop and e-mail home. The Internet seem to be at
least partially functional, and the parts that were down were
probably from overload as the whole world tried to figure out what
was going on. Rumors abounded, but our unspoken consensus was that we
would take none of our information from the Internet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After a while, all of the ideas were
far-fetched. Setting zombies on fire, using them as fuel, or (God
forbid) eating them, all seemed to be flights of fantasy. No one
seemed to want to leave, although it was getting late. Around 2 AM,
her boyfriend came and got Thuja. To be more accurate, he gently
lifted her up from where she was resting her head on the table. "I'm
not asleep." she mumbled at him. "Just resting my eyes."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stood and stretched. I'd stayed put
when she crashed to keep an eye on her, while Sam had been in on the
planning session taking place at a lower table. I'd heard the gentle
rumble of the Behemoth's voice, along with several others I knew
well. The core group was coming together in crisis as I'd expected.
Too many of us have training not to make this happen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nodded at him and asked “Sentry
duty?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"It's not really sentry duty, too
many open spaces around here, more just keeping an eye on things,
sounding out the feeling of the hotel. Speaking of which, per
government order were staying here for free. We're refugees."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stopped suddenly. "My laptop. I
need to check my e-mails."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He nodded and called across the room,
"Hey, Ted, you still have Thuja's things? And this guy wants his
laptop."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The skinny balding man who rarely spoke
nodded at him. He was sitting next to a table full of laptops, purses
and sundry items, including my laptop, which I picked up now.
"Thanks, Ted."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He surprised me by taking my hand and
gave it a little squeeze. "We'll get you home somehow."
Suddenly choked up, I nodded at him and headed out the door towards
my room.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"There's more to this than some
virus," Don caught up to me, and as we walked together to the
other building he went on gravely. The big man had family out there,
too. "There's no way they could get the authorization to shut
down the US like this. There's something else, something worse."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I remembered the next words I uttered
for very long time. "What could possibly be worse than zombies?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next morning the women cooked
pancakes and I helped with the breakfast crew. As I carried things
around the BFC I heard snippets of conversation. Others were
concerned about their families as well, and there was a lot of
hugging as we all reassured one another. The general mood of the
mundanes seemed to be confusion and a sense that it was somehow all a
drill and life would go back to normal any moment now. Piotr just
shook his head when he heard that one. We knew he had more
information, but we didn't press yet. He'd tell when he could, and if
he knew we had to know, we'd know.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Feeding people felt good. When I sat
still and had time to think… well, I kept myself pretty busy all
day. Thuja made me eat once, and Jones brought me a bottle of water
late in the afternoon and made me sit down and drink it with him.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You need to start taking care of
yourself.” He told me gently. “We need you, your kids need you to
make it home. And we don't have the time to worry about you. There's
rumors that there is some infected landed at the Atlanta airport."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nodded at him. "I know I need to
do better, I'll try to eat and drink. I heard the rumors too, and
honestly I'm not sure what to do about... Against an epidemic under
the circumstances. Quarantine…" I sighed deeply and put my
hands over my eyes. “I'm sure there's people here somewhere that
have studied epidemiology."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He nodded. "Yes, but the more
brains we have on it, the better our solutions can be." He
squeezed my arm as he stood up and I looked up at him. He was a
gentle giant who spent most of his time behind a desk, and the rest
of it at the shooting range. He was also lucky, his kid was with him
on this trip.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Thanks, Jones." He nodded
and walked away and I looked around the room. There was still a lot
of aimless people, but it was easy to see that the core group of
sheepdogs had shaken out. We still weren't entirely sure what we were
up against, but we were ready for something. There was a tension in
the air. I still had that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The roads had been quiet all day. We'd
sent out a couple of scouting parties in local vehicles with people
who knew the back ways. They brought back people and supplies as it
had been decided we'd hole up at the hotel rather than run to another
location. The mundanes hadn't asked for protection... didn't seem to
even know they needed it yet... but we'd decided to provide it. Our
group grew slightly as a few outside our group were invited into the
meetings, but even some of our group faded out of active planning for
various reasons.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, though, I could hear a siren come
screaming up the road. I started to run for the door, and could hear
Zane behind me barking out orders to the sentries. He could have
outrun me easily, but chose to lope easily at my side as I headed
toward the main road. There was a small group of mundanes in front of
the lobby when we arrived and he shoved through them easily, the
force of his presence making itself known.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He thrust out a hand to the policeman
standing there. I hung back a step, watching the crowd and looking at
the officer with his nervous eyes. I saw another of our group show
up, but he stayed on the periphery. I nodded to him and relaxed a
little. It wasn't just me watching for trouble. The police officer
looked pale and sweaty, his hands shaking as he spoke loudly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Infected people... Um,” He gulped
once. “Zombies, are approaching the city. We recommend everyone go
inside and avoid any contact with them. They are considered very
violent, and will attack without warning. Also, any contact may be
considered dangerous.” He shivered and my gaze on him sharpened.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Zane, he's in shock.” I muttered.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As if on cue, the officer's eyes rolled
into his head and he started to collapse. Zane and I caught him and
got him safely to the ground. “Call Schimmer.” Zane clipped out,
unbuttoning the man's shirt and taking his pulse.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We'd been given some of the radios the
security staff used, so I lifted it to my lips and started to talk...
then stopped as I saw my first zombie. Later, they tell me I said
“Send in the Zombie Patrol, now!” But honestly I don't remember
speaking, just reacting to that... thing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It wasn't human anymore. Oh, sure, it
still had two arms, legs, and a head, but the person was gone and
only the shell was left, running towards us awkwardly. It was bent
nearly double, one leg wasn't working right so it wasn't exactly
fast, and I could see dark drool and bubbles of froth coming from its
mouth as it appeared around the Brewhouse almost on top of us. Only
one, but a whole group of people around us who were now panicking and
doing their best to run away.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zane was still on the ground with the
cop. I stood over them and Mazzie, who'd been the perimeter guard,
bellowed for the innocent bystanders to follow him. He led them
toward the big double doors of the grand lobby. I'd been given a
sword out of his collection of sharp pointy things, and now I drew it
from the improvised belt and held it one handed, a hammer I'd swiped
from maintenance in the other. I didn't know what it would take to
kill this thing, and we'd decided to save ammo, so I left the gun
holstered on the other hip.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zane was up next to me now, scanning
the area for more of them while I watched the zombie approach. Out of
the corner of my eye I could see the Patrol arriving, and Mazzie
giving them directions before taking up a position in front of the
door, steel bared and ready. By the time the foul thing was less than
50 feet from me I'd decided to try something, so I took a step toward
it, spreading my arms, and bellowing a shout as I did so. It
flinched, whatever was left of the brain seeing me as a threat, but
then the hunger took over and with a shrill whine it scurried toward
me, almost knuckle-walking in the urgency to reach me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Turns out killing them isn't hard.
Lopping at their necks like taking a tree down works. So does
smashing their brain pan once they're down. I'm not a trained
swordsman, but I've chopped a few trees in my time. It lay on the
ground twitching and bleeding black blood with me panting over it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zane swatted me on the back. “Only
the one, so far. Good work.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I gulped a deep breath and then
regretted that. “Ugh.” I backed up rapidly. “Dayum, that's a
stink.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Schimmer looked up from kneeling beside
the policeman. “I'll take a look at it in a minute. Our first
casualty.” He finished mournfully, laying the man's shirt over his
face.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What happened?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Heart attack, would be my guess.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ok, we have two bodies on our hands,
what next?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Behemoth lumbered up, with Don in tow.
The two of them could hire out as an ablative meat wall, the biggest
guys I know. I always feel like a shrimp next to them. Don was
carrying sheets. “One of the security guys is coming with a golf
cart and trailer. We'll get them off the street at least and see if
we can reach the authorities.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don gently laid a sheet over the cop.
Schimmer crossed himself and stood up, shaking his head. “I want to
take a look at the zombie. Where's Thuja? I know she's got some
medical training. Who else?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Mazzie walked up, still scanning the
area, and heard the question. “One of Taz's boys is in pre-med.
See if you can find him, too.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nodded and used the radio to put out
the call. Shortly it was just Schimmer and I standing near the body
of the creature, trying not to breathe to deeply. Schim's reaction to
the stench was unprintable. Neither of us really wanted to get closer
to it, but when the trailer showed up we'd wrapped it in sheets and
lifted it in. I was shocked at how light the body was.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The three of them did a sort of
autopsy. I heard the Taz kid saying it was more of a hack job, and
the only one who didn't lose her breakfast was Thuja. Without a lab,
they couldn't tell much about it besides the blood was thicker than
it ought to have been, the brains were basically black jello (don't
ask me how they got at the brains, some things are better left
unimagined) and the body was decaying from the inside out. They also
said that an ear and two fingers were found in the stomach. Then I
felt like losing my last meal.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The lovely ladies of BFC somehow
managed a good spread for dinner. We'd been there longer than we'd
planned, now, and food supplies from our own stores were running low.
We'd need to do something about that, but tonight even the sentries
were rotated in to eat well. I asked Laura how the women felt about
playing house while the men were out on patrol and she shrugged.
“Someone has to make sure your bellies are full and brains sharp.
We'll fight if they get this far, all of us are armed, but we'd
distract you if we were on patrol with you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nodded. The discussion about women in
combat had been going on for a long time on the Bar, and she was
right, men are wired to think first about the female, then
themselves. We couldn't afford to lose anyone to stupidity. The
Dwarf, a complete misnomer as he was taller than I, came to sit down
heavily next to me. “Whew, it's hot out there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I haven't seen you all day. How's it
going?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, we had a batch come up the
railroad tracks. Musta been fourteen or so, they bunch up and it's
hard to count when you're trying to kill them fast.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ginger handed him a beer. “Bless you
my lady.” He intoned and drained it. “Ah... Yeah, they aren't
real coordinated but some of them are fast.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We can't stay here.” Piotr sat
down on my other side.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think we'd better have a meeting.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He shook his head. “I need to make an
announcement, then we'll have that.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I turned and saw the Behemoth. “Joe,
we need to get everybody quiet a minute.” He nodded, then stood.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Listen up!” He bellowed. Instant
silence fell, and Piotr stood up. Every eye in the place was on him.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The zombies aren't the worst thing
out there. A scientist working on either a cure or a bioweapon
against them fu...” he looked at Linnet, who was giving him the
evil eye. “Er, goofed up. He genetically manipulated the blow fly,
trying to create larvae that would target the zombies. Instead, we've
got an airborne vector that spreads the virus. Eggs are laid on the
skin, they are cemented on so there's no way to remove them except
cutting them off. When they hatch, they burrow in, and spread the
virus through their saliva if the parent was exposed to zombies.
Which they will have been by the time we see them.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He stopped to take a breath and rubbed
his hand over his head. “They are spreading as fast as the zombies
at this point. We are going to need to find someplace where we can
get inside and stay in as much as possible.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He sat down, and the leaders of the
Patrol showed up as if by magic. I stood and nodded to Zane as I
walked outside to take the section he'd been watching. I looked up
into the sky and wondered how we were going to fight against flies.
Swords and guns weren't going to hack it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The zombies were becoming more numerous
that day, and I was out in the thick of it for most of the day while
the planning was happening. While not too difficult to evade, it was
still hot and tiring work. We had one casualty, he slipped in zombie
blood and fell, breaking his arm.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
All around us for two days the
evacuation had been going on. Our second supply run had been stopped
and we'd been warned that unauthorized vehicles would be targeted and
destroyed. We'd begun to feel like an island, forgotten, when the
cavalry showed up. National Guard APC's with three buses in tow. The
soldiers looked tense, and I tipped my hat to them as they pulled up.
One young man looked startled at that. Guess he's never seen a guy
covered in zombie blood and wearing a cowboy hat with torn t-shirt
shirt, utilikilt, and sandals. I'd needed the hat from my costume,
though, the sun had been getting to me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There wasn't room for everyone. I'd
known that when I saw the buses. We helped get the mundanes loaded,
which was mostly arguing with them about having to leave their stuff
behind. As they were trickling in, I wandered close to where Zane was
talking to the lieutenant in charge.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We have new intel,” He was saying.
“There's an insect vector. You need to have your men checking for
eggs on their skin and clothing, and if you find any, get them off.
It spreads the virus.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The lieutenant shook his head. “I
haven't heard about this, sir. Are you sure?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zane sighed. “We have a reliable
source. I understand there are a lot of rumors flying. This isn't one
of them. Understood?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That last came out in a command bark,
and the young officer paled slightly and nodded. Zane turned away and
gestured at me. “Let's gather in BFC again. Time to make a bug out
plan.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was a much reduced group that met
at the long bar. The families had sent wives with children on the
buses and any of ours who weren't in something resembling fighting
shape had been sent too. After the normal people were loaded we'd
added those. So there wasn't room for all, but even those who
couldn't fight could think, and now we needed to get out of town
before the flies found us. We'd been given permission to caravan out
in personal vehicles, but warned that most gas stations were closed
as the civilian population had been largely evacuated.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There were probably thirty or forty of
us, people kept moving so it was difficult to count. Four to a
vehicle for comfort and room for stuff, and that mean at least ten
vehicles. As most of us had flown in, we had a few personal vehicles
still, and some rentals. Evacuees had left keys for a couple more. It
was doable, barely. The next question was where to go. Most of us had
family, and those who didn't had critters that needed taking care of.
However, splitting up seemed like a bad idea.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We might still be sitting there
debating if we hadn't heard the shouts from the sentries. We all
spilled out into the dusk and could see them coming in a wave, down
the train tracks to the heart of the hotel. I could hear the heavy
cracks of someone's gun, hard to tell which one as several others
opened up. We wanted to stop them before they got too close. We were
all tired, but I felt my body shift into overdrive as I drew and
fired.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was dark by the time we'd finished
them. I drooped against a post, my empty pistol hanging in my hand.
Don came by and casually swung the sword he was carrying to smash the
head of the zombie at my feet. We didn't know if they needed to be
brainless, it just felt right. “C'mon.” He grunted and I followed
him into the parking lot. There was a small group standing around a
heap of zombies, shining lights onto it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I got close enough to see what they
were looking at. What had been the man's chest was seething with fat
white worms. If they were the maggots they were huge, fully the size
of my pinky finger. Mindlessly consuming their prey, they posed no
immediate threat to us, but I shuddered at the thought of one of
those things under my skin. I could hear the slurping noise of them
eating, and I turned away to dry heave. I wasn't the only one.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Load it up.” Zane called. “We're
going right now. There don't seem to be flies in the dark, but
they'll be here in the morning.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wound up in a van with Sam, Thuja,
and the Dwarf. I hadn't seen Thuja since the day before. The Dwarf
and I had fought shoulder-to-shoulder at some point earlier in the
evening. It seemed like a week. I could see the car in front of us,
and twisting around, the line of headlights behind us.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Where are we going?” I asked Sam,
who was driving. Thuja answered. “Short run, John's place. Long
run... well, we don't know. We can't split up, and I'd never make it
home on my own.” She sounded sad and tired. Sam reached over and
took her hand without speaking. She went on, “my kids and family
are on their way to Canada. I got an email.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mine are going to my wife's parents
in Colorado.” I told her. “Piotr said the flies react badly to
cold, they're too big to keep flying in the cold. So I told my wife
to get everyone as high as they can.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She nodded without looking back and I
guessed she'd said something like that to her Dad as well. I leaned
back and closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion pour over me. I
stank, I was tired and hungry, and I didn't know where we were going
or when I'd see my family again. All I could do was trust that this
band of gun geeks had what it took to get us all home and maybe we
could figure out how to solve the apocalypse on the way.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was going to be a long road. I
slept. </div>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-27794684615938475792012-06-15T07:00:00.001-04:002012-06-15T07:00:53.278-04:00Plant LifeSo the snippeted novella, Plant Life, is published! If you liked the tease, be sure to get the whole thing, and the author would be tickled if you'd leave an honest review for her!
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008BMBF6W/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=httpstonycroc-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B008BMBF6W"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL110_&ASIN=B008BMBF6W&MarketPlace=US&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=httpstonycroc-20&ServiceVersion=20070822" ></a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=httpstonycroc-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B008BMBF6W" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" />Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-42842849973810778352012-05-07T14:58:00.002-04:002012-05-07T15:03:15.683-04:00Plant Life SnippetI thought I would put up a snippet of my work in progress, a space opera novella that will be published soon. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7208243999630213" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rick Shaley swung open the door of the ship and looked around, puzzled. Behind him, the rest of the crew of the "Ranger" stood at </span><span style="background-color: yellow; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> ready, weapons in hand. After a year of hearing only native animals and the local equivalent of bugs, the sudden knocking at the door a few minutes ago came as quite a shock. But now, as he directed the powerful flashlight beam around the clearing they had created around the ship, he could see nothing, not even one of the larger denizens of the planet they called Verdant.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Anything?" Trixie asked from behind him.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"No - not even any eyes." Rick answered her laughingly.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bond groaned. That had been a poke at him.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once, I see an eye, and you all can't let it go.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It had been three months since he had shouted for them, to tell them he had seen an eye, a human eye, blinking up at him from the surface of a leaf. When they had reached him, there was only a large leaf with exceptionally large stomata on its surface. Trixie, as the crew's medic, had diagnosed heat exhaustion, and had sent him to rest in the ship. In the time since the leaf incident, Bond had become the butt of many jokes.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Hey, Rick, can we get back to dinner now?" the fourth member of the crew, Melina, asked. Melina Lavoie was the Captain, and the most laid back of the foursome. When the scout ships were crewed, there were generally either couples, or all men. There weren't enough female volunteers to ever form an all female crew. The sociological dynamics worked better that way, according to the Planetary Exploration Committee. This crew was unusual in that the four of them had not automatically paired off. Although Bond and Trixie were happily married, the other two found themselves more comfortable as friends than lovers.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Yeah..." he switched off the light and started to close the door. "Hey! Look at this!"</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the ground in front of the door there were regular patches of phosphorescence, leading away from the door into the jungle. Rick hopped down and crouched beside the first one. He broke off a sprig of the moss-like plant and held it up for the others, who were now </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">l</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">eaning out of the door to see. It glowed brightly, casting a greenish light on Rick's fingers. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"That wasn't there earlier." Bond stated. "It was almost dark when I came in, and there was bare earth where the ramp lets down."</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Well, you know how fast the plants here grow..." Trixie tilted her head to one side in her thinking position, as Rick thought of it.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Melina jumped down beside him, carefully avoiding the patch of plants, as he had done. "It looks almost like tracks."</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Or a trail." Rick added, his mind busy. "What do you suppose banged on the door?"</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Bond," Melina asked "Could you follow these little plants in the daylight?"</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Um, yes, I suppose. That is, if they stay the same." After almost a year</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, a</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ll of them were very familiar with the ever changing plants of Verdant. The growth here was not only lush and green, giving the planet its name, but fast. Faster than any Earth plant, even some of the vines that he had watched as a boy literally growing before his eyes.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Well, I'm not letting you wander around in the dark.” Melina looked Rick in the eye. "Any of you."</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Yes ma'am." He said meekly. "I'll wait until morning."</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Ok, everyone in then." She shooed them in briskly to their forgotten dinner, going in last herself and shutting the door behind her. The Scouts were theoretically under her command, but they were selected and trained for independence of thinking, and keeping them safe was a lot like herding cats. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the morning, contrary to their fears, there was no problem finding the little plants. They had not grown, but they had burst into bloom, a vibrant electric blue with long, cerise stamens. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Oh, how lovely!" Trixie exclaimed, kneeling beside them and bending her face over them. "And they smell wonderful!"</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bond leaned over, picked one and stuffed it into his little gas chromatograph. The quick scent of smoke, and then it beeped at him. "Hmmm... no alkaloids or signs of other toxins." He picked another one and crushed a petal and tasted it gingerly. "Sweet", he said, putting the rest of the flower in his mouth.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 17px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Melina, standing in the doorway, laughed. "How many times have I asked you not to put everything in your mouth?" she scolded playfully.</span></b></div>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-30575816927679237082012-04-02T08:35:00.000-04:002012-04-02T08:35:35.153-04:00Farm Wife<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Earth's grand eruption of life</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">blossoms and grows anew</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">green shoots, pink petals promise fruit. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Farm wife tends lavish gardens</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Back bent painfully</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Rewards reaped for hoeing long. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Earthy woman all day through<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vital lover’s kiss<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">greets night’s darkness with passion.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sleep comes suddenly to her</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His shoulder under cheek</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her lashes flutter down softly. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Season to season life runs</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hot and cold in turn</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love continues without cease. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div>For the <a href="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/" target="_blank">IndieInk Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href="http://allysonmwhipple.wordpress.com" target="_blank">Allyson</a> challenged me with "Write a narrative constructed out of a series of haiku." and I challenged <a href="http://cheshirecatsmile.blogspot.com" target="_blank">Bran macFeabhail</a> with "Write a pivotal moment in a personal history that swings on the most trivial occurrence. "Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-67261841860211080922012-03-26T18:48:00.000-04:002012-03-26T18:48:16.844-04:00Snow White's Dilemma Part 2<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White went to bed a happy girl. The little house was tidy, and she had discovered that a clean house was peaceful. Even Grumpy wasn't as grumpy as usual, sitting by the fire and enjoying his pipe. Her little room had been fairly good, as she had no possessions of her own, other than a spare gown Happy and Doc had surprised her with the month before. She slept deeply and peacefully. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the morning she stood in the door of the cottage and waved as the cheerful crew of Dwarves marched off to the mines. When she went back in to take care of the messy leftovers of breakfast time, she too was humming their little tune. She scrubbed the dishes clean and made them disappear, amusing herself for a time with arranging flowers on the tables in vases she didn't know the dwarves had had. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She was discovering that when she called for something she only had to think about where she wanted it. Then it would show up there. Sometimes it was dirty, or upside-down, and she guessed that was the way it had been when Mrs. Beauchamp vanished it. She made the house look clean, smell good, and filled with pretties, then she went outdoors to play. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For all that she looked grown-up, Snow White was very much a child at heart. She hadn't had a proper childhood, in the palace. She'd often looked out the tall, mullioned windows in envy at the peasant children playing games in the dirt below. Here in the forest there were no children to play with, but the woodland creatures responded to her gentle heart and played silly games like hide and seek with her. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When her stomach rumbled she decided it was about time to not only get herself a little lunch, but to begin dinner preparations for the dwarves. She was still learning to cook, and although Sneezy had been giving her lessons, she really was only comfortable making bread and roasts. Tonight she was going to try making a pie with the leftover meat and potatoes from the night before. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Back in the house she held out her hand. “Sneezy's cookbook, please.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A book fell into her hand and she stared at it in confusion. It wasn't his cookbook, in fact, she had never seen it before. She set it aside and said firmly “Sneezy's cookbook!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Six books later, Snow White sat on the floor with her head in her hands. Something had gone wrong. She was getting books, just not the one she wanted. She didn't know what to do. She sniffled, wiped her nose, and stood up, resolute. Her father had always told her magic came with a price, and now she was beginning to understand what he meant. She carried the books to the empty bookshelf and put them on it. She held out her hand and called for another one. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She didn't know how much time had passed when she finally got the book she needed, but she was tired, hot, and dusty. She took it into the kitchen and started making the pies. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Dinner was late that night, and she put the dishes in the cupboards when they were washed, instead of disappearing them. The dwarves went to bed, but Snow White sat on her bed and thought hard. In the morning, she pulled Doc and Happy aside after breakfast. They heard her out and nodded. Happy hugged her and she smiled. Sometimes that was all it took to make her feel better about herself. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">While they were gone that day she stayed inside all day, pulling things out of midair and putting them away carefully after cleaning them. She knew she didn't have everything, but that would have to wait for the dwarves help, as they knew what they had. That evening at the table she explained what she was doing, and that she was going to need their help. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We need more room, or less things.” she told them. “I asked Doc and Happy about building an addition on the house, and they say it can be done. But I don't even know if I have everything back yet. Can you help me?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The dwarves, who had been collecting odds and ends for more years than most humans had to live, and who expected to live at least that many more years, looked at each other thoughtfully. She had a point. It was nice to live in a house where you weren't tripping over things whenever you moved. Having books neatly on shelves meant they could find one when they wanted it, instead of being surprised when they discovered a title in a stack they wanted to read. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Grumpy slowly said “I'd like my pipe, so I can think about it. Too much change is risky...” </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White held out her hand and summoned it. A blob or sticky red stuff appeared. “Oh, dear. Strawberry jam?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She tried again and got it, to her immense relief. She went to wash the jam off her hand. This was getting bad, she really had to get everything out of storage as soon as possible. They all stayed up late, reminding her of what they owned and making plans for an addition. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the morning, Snow White waved as they went to work, then rubbed her tired eyes. The house was piled again, but it was temporary and much more organized, at least. She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing dark shadows under her eyes. She jumped as Mrs. Beauchamp materialized at her shoulder. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hello.” She managed. “I had to take it all back out of wherever you put it.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I see that. What happened?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, it wasn't coming when I called, or the wrong things came.” The girl explained plaintively. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh, dear. You have a very disorganized mind.” The old lady tsked and flew over to the shelves and ran a finger along them. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I was trying to keep track. And I've cleaned....” Snow White pointed out as the sprite rubbed her fingers together. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I see that, at least.” The senior sprite reached out and made a circle with her hands, then slowly pulled it bigger, spreading her arms apart. Snow White could see a faint glow coming through it. “Hold onto my foot, my dear. I may never come back out if I get lost in there.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The girl obligingly took the bony ankle of the old woman and held tight as she dove into the hole. She pulled Snow's arm in with her, and the girl felt her arm tingle as it passed through the glowing circle. The sprite's voice echoed back hollowly. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ah, here's the problem. Don't let go, dear.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White wasn't sure what she was doing in there, but she seemed to be flying in every direction. The girl held on determinedly, but her arm was being jerked about rapidly. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do, please come out, Mrs. Beauchamp. I don't need it, really. I'm going to take care of it myself.” She finally called, holding onto a chair with her free hand to keep herself from being pulled bodily through the hole.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Almost done, dear. Really, this is the secret to properly done housework!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then with a violent twitch that twisted her arm painfully, the little old woman twisted out of Snow White's grasp. There was a burst of violet light and a sprinkle of glitter, or perhaps stars, and the girl was thrown backwards as the hole closed with a sound like a clap of thunder. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White sat on the floor with her ears ringing and rubbing her arm for a few moments, waiting to see if the sprite would reappear. There was a profound silence in the house. Tenatively, she held up her good hand and called “Mrs. Beauchamp?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nothing at all happened. She tried again, and then asked for something else. She might as well have been speaking to empty air. The portal to whatever it was had closed off entirely, it seemed. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White stood up, rubbing herself where she had landed hard enough to bruise, and went outside to call the old woman's name. After a while she gave it up and simply stood in the sunshine, feeling tears roll down her cheeks. Evidently, housework done correctly could kill you. </div>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-33917418839361505872012-03-25T18:32:00.000-04:002012-03-25T18:32:06.653-04:00Snow White's Dilemma<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In a little house, deep in the great dark woods, there lived a lovely girl and seven dwarves. The story of how the girl came to live with these dwarves is a well-known one. The part of the story most often skipped over is the middle, where she learned to live as a housekeeper. It wasn't easy, she had spent most of her life in privileged luxury. It came to pass, that her deepest, darkest, secret was that she was a slob. The dwarves, also slobs, really didn't care.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By now you will have guessed that Snow White was her name. One day as she sat staring at the dirty dishes on the table, she made a resolution to learn how properly clean house. This was a bit of a challenge, as the dwarves would be no help at all, having never learned themselves. There were no other people in the woods, and the woodland animals neither kept house nor seemed to mind her dirty house.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rummaging through the little library in the little house she found a book on housekeeping. Rather old, she had to handle it carefully lest it fall apart her. And the dubious stains on the cover made her wrinkle her nose, as she gingerly opened it and laid it flat on the table. The very first page declared it to be “The Compleat Housekeeper's Guide to Immaculate Living" by Mrs. Beauchamp. Snow White cautiously turned over the next page in the book, and stared down at the first words on it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The book was instructing her to be certain that there were not too many objects in each room, in other words, to reduce the clutter before she attempted to keep a clean house. Snow White lifted her head and looked around her in despair at the piles of books, clothing, dishes, and other detritus on every single flat surface in the room. There was simply no place to put all of that, she had been moving those piles around, since the very first day she came here. Snow White put her head in her hands and sniffled a little bit.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Suddenly she was aware that she was not alone in the room. She lifted her head, and looked around. To her surprise, she saw a tiny, wizened old woman hovering in midair at her shoulder. Iridescent fairy wings sprouted from the old woman's shoulders enabling her to hover at Snow White's head level.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Who are you?" Snow White gasped.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The little woman, who could not have been more more than 8 inches tall, smiled and spoke softly. "I am Mrs. Beauchamp. My spirit dwells in this book, and when called upon, I help those who are in need."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"But I didn't call you." Snow White said plaintively.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"You are in need though, dear." The little pixie woman looked around and flew about the room for a moment, poking with her wand that she pulled out of her waist belt at various piles. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White felt shame that this obviously very efficient and organized woman was seeing the condition of her home. She did need help, she realized. And she wasn't going to look a gift horse… Err, fairy, in the mouth. She still didn't know where they were going to put all the stuff.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"What can I do though, with all these things? There simply isn't any place to put it all."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Well I suppose, that we could open an interdimensional portal."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White stared at the little pixie. "I'll have what?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Nevermind dear, it's too much trouble to explain anyway."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Mrs. Beauchamp poked one particularly tall tower with her wand, and as it slowly cascaded to one side, she fluttered quickly out of the way. Snow White heard herself whimper a little. The whole thing was hopeless.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Well my dear, how long do we have?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"What do you mean?” Space Snow White asked, lifting her head. "How long to clean the house?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes, until the menfolk arrive.” Mrs. Beauchamp flew straight up to the ceiling and looked around in every direction. Snow White knew what she was seeing, piles everywhere and no place to put everything. With a flick of her wand, the little pixie made everything vanish.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snowflake leapt to her feet. ""What have you done? Where did it all go? The dwarves will be angry, and I will be in so much trouble."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Not at all, child. Whenever you want something, merely, not its name and reach out your hand, and it will appear where you want it."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Oh, Mrs. Beauchamp! However can I thank you,? It looks so much better already, now all I have to do is scrub and sweep." Snow White danced around the room a little, enjoying all the space she had to move in. The wizened old woman swooped in and kissed her cheek. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Now, my dear, I am leaving for a much-needed holiday. I will check in with you when I return.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White spent the rest of her afternoon happily cleaning. She scrubbed, swept, mopped, and finally, the house was sparkling. When the dwarves arrived home that evening, she had the table set and dinner cooking. They crowded in looking around and murmuring and wonder.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"What have you done with all of our things?" Sleepy murmured finally.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Snow White smiled. "What would you like?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"How about my blanket?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Of course, sleepy." Snow White held out her hand in midair, and simply asked "Sleepy's blanket, please."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sleepy's well-worn, light blue fuzzy blanket appeared in her hand immediately. She held it out to him, and all the other dwarfs laughed and applauded.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"That's a neat trick." Grumpy remarked. "But can you do it again?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"And what is it that you want, Grumpy?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"I want my pipe." He growled.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">"Grumpy's pipe." Snow White chirped, holding out her hand again.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The grubby object in question appeared in her palm, and she handed it to Grumpy. "Here you are. Is everyone ready for dinner?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They all were and once she had them seated at the table, she served out the roast and bread fresh bread that she had made that day. After dinner, she asked two of the dwarves to help her with the dishes. She explained to the rest that this would be an nightly ritual from now on. As the dishes were washed and dried, she held out her hand for it each one, and said put it away as she took them. They vanished from sight and Snow White smiled, knowing that when she needed them they would be ready for her. There were definite advantages, she decided, to living in a world with magic. Imagine if there were no magic, what a mess this would be, she would still be sitting there trying to decide what to do with it all.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>For the <a href="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/" target="_blank">IndieInk Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href="http://theschmorgasboard.com/" target="_blank">Diane</a> challenged me with "Pick your favorite fairy tale or well-known children's story and rewrite it with the hero/lead character having a not-so-good secret." and I challenged <a href="http://runningforautism.com/" target="_blank">Kirsten Doyle</a> with "She sips the cloudy colloid. "Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-82906722747759380632012-03-22T19:21:00.002-04:002012-03-22T19:54:01.100-04:00A Greener OfficeAriena stood in the doorway, indecisive. Her hand hovered at the lightswitch. She still had work to do... god knew, it was never done, but she was too tired to think straight. Getting home safely wasn't an issue for her, but she'd sent Joe home over an hour earlier, telling him to go while he was still coherent.<br />
<br />
She switched off the lights and listened to the room sigh. It always did that and she enjoyed hearing it. Her office, shared with two others, was a sprawling industrial space and in an attempt to spare her sanity at living and working in the big city, she had filled it with growing things. There were even fish and frogs in the discreetly netted pool located at the center of the room.<br />
<br />
She stepped back inside, on a whim, and closed the door, shutting out the world. One of the frogs started to croak softly. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, smelling damp earth, and recalling her childhood. Evenings on the farm had often been like this, warm, breathless, and dark. The only thing missing were the blink of fireflies.<br />
<br />
Ari opened her eyes and gasped in suprise. There, over the pool, was a little green flash. She rubbed her eyes, thinking the lack of sleep had finally gotten to her. Now there were two. She sat down in the nearest chair and watched them dance in mid-air, glowing songs to one another in a high-rise office. She had no idea how they had found this place. She didn't really care, she was thrilled they were here.<br />
<br />
Finally, she yawned and yawned again. "Good night, fireflies." She whispered as she slipped out the door. "I'll be back soon."<br />
<br />
In the morning she was late to the office, owner's perogative, although she rarely used it. Joe looked up from his desk as she walked in. "Maeve went to grab the mail. You look rested."<br />
<br />
"I had a good night." Was all she said as she went directly to the pool to feed the koi. They swirled about her fingers, as eager as puppies for their kibble. Bright bodies shone and flashed, and she saw one of the shy leaf frogs swim under a rock. She heard them, more than saw them.<br />
<br />
"You know, Ari, this office is why I work for you." Joe commented, coming up beside her and holding out his hand for some of the food pellets. She gave him some and watched his delighted smile as the fish nibbled his fingers. Exquisite in suit and tie, it was an incongrous image of the driven executive he was. She knew he was being honest. He could make much more than she could afford to pay him, but this place was something special. She knew it, and so did their clients. He pulled out a handkercheif and dried his hands.<br />
<br />
"I saw fireflies in here last night." She told him softly. Now, in the light streaming in from the floor to ceiling windows, it seemed unlikely, but she was fairly sure she hadn't been hallucinating.<br />
<br />
"I'm not surprised, somehow." He tucked the square of fine white cotton away. "Ready for the dog and pony show?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, yes." She patted the attache case she had been carrying. "It's a month's work, and I'm so ready for it to be over!"<br />
<br />
"Shall we?" He crooked his elbow and she took his arm, laughing at his formal attitude.<br />
<br />
Their clients had wanted to meet in their own office. Ari and Joe were met by one of the managers at the door and ushered into a plush conference room. The windows were shaded and the light was one. Ari immediately set her case on the table and went to the blinds while Joe made his way through introductions with the gaggle of suited men and the lone woman who were waiting for them. She found the controls and stood silently by them, ignoring the curious glances coming her way from their potential clients. One of the man came to stand by her side.<br />
<br />
"Miss Ariena." He greeted her.<br />
<br />
"Mr. Waltham. I recall we met at the Barclays presentation. How is Colleen?" She inquired after his assistant, a long suffering woman who had hit it off with her after their initial presentation. She now came to Ari's office.<br />
<br />
He beamed. "She is well, thank you. I wanted to come in and see the look on Sach's face when you pull this one out of your hat."<br />
<br />
She chuckled. Joe had just given her the high sign, it was time to put on the show. He poured the contents of the case onto the table, eliciting outraged gasps from the assembled executives. "Ladies and gentlemen, the raw material." He announced. Ari swept open the curtains.<br />
<br />
Before their eyes, the crumbly looking dirt on the table began to writhe, then green tendrils erupted from it. They shot out, twining around themselves and forming a sturdy central trunk, then spreading out into branches over their heads, leaves springing out and turning toward the sunlight now streaming into the office.<br />
<br />
"Behold, the new greener office. The tree we have just grown is capable of putting out enough bio-electricity to power at least one laptop. Imagine a room full of them. With the ability to harness the energy of the sun in a way the solar panel never had, the greener office is a less expensive proposition and a healthier one too."<br />
<br />
Overhead, the tree began to bloom, and the assembled people looked at it in silent awe. Ari just smiled. They had made another sale, she could tell.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #555555; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #555555; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">For the <a href="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/" target="_blank">IndieInk Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href="http://majorbedhead.net/" target="_blank">Major Bedhead</a> challenged me with "You are the last one in the office, about to leave for the night, when the lights go out. What happens next? " and I challenged <a href="http://innocentsaccidentshints.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Michael</a> with "Your protagonist is suffering from extreme sleep deprivation. "</span>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-70499014095982688772012-03-08T19:58:00.000-05:002012-03-08T19:58:58.061-05:00The Family PortraitThe bored young thing with the drink in her hand drifted to a stop in front of the massive fireplace. She stared up at the painting above it. The young man who had been lounging on a sofa, equally bored despite the party going on about both of them, rose and joined her in looking at it. <br />
<br />
“What do you think of it?” He leaned on the mantle of the useless monstrosity of a fireplace. It made no sense to have it in this house, in this climate. He’d spent his life there, looking at the picture, but he’d never actually seen a fire in it. The girl was pretty, though. <br />
<br />
“It’s fascinating. A slice of life, so plebian... not the sort of thing you see done in oils.”<br />
<br />
“True. But Grampa commissioned it to always remind the family where we’d come from. Where we could go back to if we weren’t wise in business.”<br />
<br />
“I think it’s charming in a post-modern way. What is it called?”<br />
<br />
“Tuck Lisenbee scratches off a lottery ticket inside the Save & Sak convenience store in Billy Goat Hill, Alabama.”<br />
<br />
She turned and looked at him, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling. “Enough about the origins, what do you do?”<br />
<br />
He smiled down at her. “Shall we go lounge by the pool and I’l tell you if you’ll tell me?”<br />
<br />
She took his arm, laughing, and they left the portrait of the poor redneck trying his luck... and winning. <br />
<br />
<br />
For the <a href="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/" target="_blank">IndieInk Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href="http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Lance</a> challenged me with "Tuck Lisenbee scratches off a lottery ticket inside the Save & Sak convenience store in Billy Goat Hill, Alabama." and I challenged <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/blog/crazytalkin" target="_blank">jahedgepath</a> with "Write a horror piece with rainbow balloons and a monkey in it. "Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-77215153504906651632011-12-01T11:01:00.000-05:002011-12-01T11:01:59.003-05:00Battle's AftermathBes opened his eyes and looked up. “Aduro.” he whispered unseeing, then closed his eyes again. Linn started to cry. He was terribly wounded, his gut open to the moonlight. She didn’t know what an immortal could take, and his power... she focussed. Instead of a flare she could barely stand to look at, he was flickering faintly with white. <br />
<br />
Linn held her hands over the worst wound and bit her lips. Blackie lowered his nose to touch her crossed hands. A flare of pink mixed with blue erupted from them and arced into Bes’ body. Linn whimpered. Even with Blackie, that had hurt. <br />
<br />
Bes opened his eyes again. This time he was focussing. He stared up at them for a minute. Linn realized it was too dark for him to see her face. She slid Lambent out of her sheath and into her lap. The glow reflected off her face and she leaned over him, trying to smile. <br />
<br />
“Bes?”<br />
<br />
His eyes widened. “What the hell...” He bit out. Linn flinched.<br />
<br />
“It’s me.” She told him hesitantly. Blackie licked his cheek, which was uncharacteristically stubbly. “And Blackie.”<br />
<br />
“How did you two get here?” Bes whispered. <br />
<br />
Linn could see the pain on his face. She wondered if she could do the power transfer thing again. She wasn’t sure what it did, but it seemed to have been helpful. <br />
<br />
“Blackie brought me. I think it was the high path.”<br />
<br />
“You ran the high path.” he repeated, looking stunned. He tried to lift a hand. Linn took it in hers. He was cold. She bit her lips. <br />
<br />
“Blackie...” She looked at her companion. “Can we do it again?”<br />
<br />
“Do what again?” Bes asked. She ignored him for the moment. Blackie moved around to the other side and extended his head over Bes’ body. Linn leaned over from the other side. They touched foreheads. <br />
<br />
This time the glow of their power lasted a full minute. Twisting strands of blue and pink extended down into Bes and Linn could see his skin move and the wound closing. Then she started to pass out. Throwing herself to the side so she wouldn’t fall onto Bes, her world dissolved into gray sparkling nothingness, and then to black. <br />
<br />
She woke staring up at the moon, Blackie licking her face. She tried to sit up and fell back, too dizzy to manage. she turned her head and could see that she was inches from Bes. He was looking at her with a funny expression on his face. Still flat on his back, but the pain and tension had eased. She grayed out again. Bes was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out. <br />
<br />
After a minute... or more, Linn couldn’t tell, she started to feel again. She hadn’t been completely out that time. It was more like she’d stepped away from her body for a minute. She took a deep breath, feeling her head spinning. She gagged. The smell on the battlefield was bad and getting worse. <br />
<br />
“Linn! Linn...” Bes’ urgent whisper got through to her. She opened her eyes and saw him trying to sit up. <br />
<br />
“No!” She pushed herself up. He slumped back. <br />
<br />
“Look...” He tried to point, his hand shaking.<br />
<br />
She looked across his body at Blackie, who was standing, his face contorted into a silent snarl, and his back hair standing on end. Linn staggered to her feet, Lambent in hand. Advancing toward them were three beings, black power boiling off them like a fog. <br />
<br />
She faced them, Lambent in hand, feeling a snarl on her face as well. As they came closer she could see they walked on all fours, with a curious, limping gait. They stopped as they saw her, whining a little like dogs. One of them lifted his heavy head and sniffed the air. <br />
<br />
He laughed, a long, high pitched chattering howl that set Linn’s teeth on edge. <br />
<br />
“How... Delicious.” He said in that high voice. “Look, my dears, a halfling and a kitten stand to protect our greatest enemy.” <br />
<br />
All three of the hyenas started to laugh as they walked toward Linn and Blackie. Bes was still helpless on the ground. Linn cried out in fear. The miasma that surrounded stank like long-dead flesh. <br />
<br />
“Stop!” she screamed at them. “Go away from here!” <br />
<br />
They stopped and whined, slinking low to the ground. “Hehe...the child wants us to be gone.” one said. <br />
<br />
“Wants us to let her be...” Another hissed. <br />
<br />
“But we are so hungry...” the leader whimpered. “We want their juicy flesh.”<br />
<br />
“Come closer and I’ll kill you.” Linn stated grimly, her jaw set. <br />
<br />
“Oh, oooh...” Moaned one, sinking to the ground and covering his face with his paws. Then he looked up, laughing. Linn could see the flash of his teeth in his open jaws. <br />
<br />
“We are already dead...” He choked out. Next to her, Blackie snarled a warning. The other two were trying to flank them. <br />
<br />
“Zombie hyenas. What next?” Linn muttered. “At least I can hurt you.” she lunged, slashing with Lambent like she was swinging an axe. The glowing sword bit into the back of the leader’s neck with a meaty thunk. He screamed a howl, hurling himself backward. <br />
<br />
Linn, who had twisted the sword out as she struck, rocked back on the balls or her feet, seeing the other leap at her, but Blackie leapt and bit deep in his throat, rolling him across the bloody plain. She let them go and pivoted toward the third hyena. He was slinking toward her. She shrieked and ran at him, swinging Lambent high over her head and then down at his skull. He tried to roll out of the way, and she slashed his throat open and one of his forelegs off entirely. <br />
<br />
His high scream was almost human, and then he turned tail and ran across the plain. Linn didn’t chase him, spinning instead to see the hyena Blackie had bitten break free and run away, too. The leader was nowhere in sight. Linn held lambent high, flaring bright with power, and walked around Bes’ prone body, making sure they were really gone. The sword, covered in blood and bone bits, crackled and hissed. <br />
<br />
Satisfied, she knelt and wiped the blade as clean as she could with a tuft of dry grass. She didn’t want that nasty stuff on her sword. Breathing deeply and trying to let the rage that had been coursing through her flow out again, she went to Bes. <br />
<br />
Bending over him, she touched his forehead. His eyes were closed again. They fluttered open at her touch. He was warmer. She pulled her trembling hand back.<br />
<br />
He gave her a little smile. “You are magnificent.”<br />
<br />
Linn raised an eyebrow. “You’re delusional.”<br />
<br />
He chuffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “They won’t come back. Much easier prey than us out there tonight.”<br />
<br />
Linn felt her shoulders relax. She had been so tense it hurt. “All right.”<br />
<br />
She pulled off her jacket, shivering a little in the wind. She hadn’t brought her pack. She made a mental not to never leave it again. Twice, now, she had been caught without it. Spreading the thin windbreaker over Bes’ torso, she patted her pockets. <br />
<br />
Back in Hawaii... however far away that was, now... she’d put a mylar wrap in her cargo pocket, in case it got cold enough that night to need it against the damp conditions. She’d been hypothermic once and that was enough. She stretched it out, now, knowing the thin layer of plastic would help keep him from losing anymore body heat, at least. <br />
<br />
She tucked it around him, ignoring his murmured protestations. Blackie reappeared and stretched out next to Bes, his tongue lolling out. She nodded at him. <br />
<br />
“You ok?” she asked. <br />
<br />
He nodded., then put his big head on Bes’ shoulder. Linn realized that he was as long as the short man, stretched out like this. She stood up and looked around again. The moon was high overhead now, thin clouds racing across the surface. She could see dark shapes huddled on the ground here and there. <br />
<br />
There was no sign of the hyenas. She refocussed, drawing upon her Sight. She sucked in a quick breath. Off to one side, far enough away she couldn’t make out details, there was a flare of golden power. She drew Lambent again and stood over Bes, remembering not to lock her knees. <br />
<br />
“What is it?” he asked. <br />
<br />
“I don’t know. Just... a lot of power.”<br />
<br />
Now there was another flare, near where the first one had been, but this one was a pale blue. Linn swore, tensing. Bes, below her, chuckled hoarsely. <br />
<br />
“Better not let anyone else hear you say things like that.”<br />
<br />
She glanced down at him, seeing the smile on his face. “Glad you’re feeling better.”<br />
<br />
The flares happened again, closer. Linn could see people walking, now, and... she squinted. A horse-drawn wagon?<br />
<br />
“Bes?” she asked quietly, not looking at him. She didn’t dare look away from the approaching group. <br />
<br />
“Yes, Linn?” He had an odd note to his voice.<br />
<br />
“Who is the enemy here, and how do I tell?”<br />
<br />
“Ah...” he sighed. “There is a question I could spend years on.”<br />
<br />
“A quick answer would be good.” She shot back drily. <br />
<br />
“Try shouting Aduro when they draw near.” He sounded better, she noted absently. Whatever she and Blackie had done, it must have worked. Blackie... <br />
<br />
Linn looked down. Blackie was asleep, his paws twitching in a dream. Fat lot of help he was. “Blackie!” she hissed urgently at him. He sat up, yawning. His ears twitched toward the approaching group of people. They stopped, and there was another flare of golden power. <br />
<br />
Blackie jumped to his feet and took off. <br />
<br />
“Dammit, Cat!” Linn shouted hoarsely after him. She looked back down at Bes, torn. Did she leave him, who still couldn’t move, or go after the idiot kitten?<br />
<br />
She stayed where she was. The group bunched up when Blackie bounded into them, and then started to move toward her, fast. In the moonlight she still couldn’t make out details. There were, she thought, six of them coming toward her. The rest were staying with the wagon, which had stopped. <br />
<br />
She had been holding Lambent loosely at her side, and now she swung her up, power flaring off the tip as she did so. Bracing herself over Bes, she screamed defiantly. <br />
<br />
“Aduro!” <br />
<br />
Bes shouted weakly beneath her. Linn bared her teeth and prepared to die. She had no illusions about her chances against immortals. They had started to run, now, and suddenly they shouted back to her.<br />
<br />
“Aduro! Aduro!” <br />
<br />
The power flared from all of them... Red, green, gold, blue, iridescent, and the pure yellow that was Sekhmet. Sobbing, Linn dropped Lambent and ran to meet them. She cried out as she recognized the golden woman. <br />
<br />
“Mama! Mama...” She fell into Theta’s arms. Sobbing wildly, she couldn’t have stopped trying if she had wanted to. Burying her face in her mother’s embrace, Linn clung to her for a second. <br />
<br />
Her face wet with tears, she looked up at her mother. “Bes... Bes is hurt.”<br />
<br />
Her mother was crying too, Linn realized. She just nodded and let Linn go, hurrying toward Bes. Her Grandfather caught hold of her now, kissing her forehead. <br />
<br />
“How the hell did you get here?!” <br />
<br />
Linn gurgled a little laugh. “Bes asked me that, too.”<br />
<br />
Sekhmet squeezed her shoulder. “You looked ready for trouble there. Anything we should know.”<br />
<br />
Linn shook her head, suddenly very tired. “There were zombie hyenas. I think they are gone, now.”<br />
<br />
Quetzalcoatl kissed her cheek tenderly and she felt a jump of power from him. “Brave little girl.” Was all he said. <br />
<br />
Coyote strolled up to her. He hugged her and led her to meet the member of the party she hadn’t met. The blue lady was a tall, dark-haired woman with a prominent nose and a broad smile. <br />
<br />
“I am Panacea.” She held out her hands and Linn took them, feeling warm, soft skin.<br />
<br />
“The Greek goddess of healing.” Linn said softly, wondering why she was with Grandpa Heff. <br />
<br />
Panacea nodded. “After battles, I roam the field helping the fallen ones recover.”<br />
<br />
“Bes is hurt.” Linn told her, looking over to where he mother was kneeling at Bes’ side. She walked over and knelt on the other side of him. They had stopped talking when she came near. “What?” She asked. <br />
<br />
“Bes was just telling me how you and Blackie were trying to heal him.” her mother had a little quiver in her voice.<br />
<br />
Linn looked at her numbly. “Did I do it wrong? She asked, alarmed. <br />
<br />
“No, no...” Theta bit her lip. Linn recognized that. She did it herself when worried.<br />
<br />
“What is wrong?” her voice squeaked a little. <br />
<br />
“Hey, there.” Bes spoke, lifting a hand to her. She took it automatically, squeezing it a little. <br />
<br />
“It’s just that it was very dangerous for you to do.” her mother told her. “Healing is a huge power drain. I’m tapping into all the power I’ve drained from volcanoes over the course of months, Panacea has been charging herself for years...”<br />
<br />
“Oh.” Linn looked down at Bes. He had that look on his face again. “I didn’t think about it, Mom. I just...” She fluttered her hands, trying to put into words the way she’d felt when she looked down and saw him lying there broken and split open.<br />
<br />
Bes grunted and tried to push himself up. Both Linn and Theta grabbed him by the shoulders. Theta looked at Linn. “Do. Not. Try. To. Help.” She snapped. Then she flared. <br />
<br />
Linn felt like she was wrapped in golden flames. Warmth slid through her skin, into her bones. She looked into Bes’ face, seeing his eyes closed and a tear sliding down his cheek. The world slowed to a crawl and the expression on his face was of agony and joy all at once. The flames snapped out and he sat up, wrapping his arms around her. <br />
<br />
Linn was crying again, into Bes’ solid shoulder. She was sitting awry on the cold, hard ground, her arms wrapped around him. He was petting her hair. “Shhh. shhh... let it out now.”<br />
<br />
She hiccuped and he chuckled. “Can we get up now?”<br />
<br />
She scrambled to her feet, sniffing and looking for her handkerchief. That, at least, she hadn’t left behind. Her grandfather, smiling, extended a hand to Bes. They clasped forearms and the burly smith pulled the shorter immortal to his feet. Bes stretched and groaned. <br />
<br />
“Thank you, Theta.” He hugged her briefly. <br />
<br />
Coyote handed Lambent to Linn. She smiled at him. Her face felt stiff with fatigue and tears dried onto it. She was covered in blood and mud from the run throughout the field and her fight. But everything was all right. Blackie bumped her hand with his head.She cupped his skull in her fingers. <br />
<br />
“Can we go home now?” She asked softly.<br />
<br />
“Yes, you can. Where do you want to go?” her mother asked her very gently. <br />
<br />
Linn blinked at her. She realized this was a choice... the apartment in Seattle, or the Sanctuary. Suddenly she knew that if she chose the apartment she wouldn’t remember all this. She could go back to the shallow girl she had been on the plane that summer, just killing time waiting for life to go back to normal. None of this would seem real, just a bad dream she’d awakened from. <br />
<br />
Linn drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I left the Coblyns at the bunker in Hawaii. I need to get back there and help them get home.”<br />
<br />
Theta blinked at her, then slowly smiled. She looked at Heff without speaking. He grinned broadly. Then he looked at Bes. <br />
<br />
“Feel up to taking her?”<br />
<br />
“Not baby-sitting this time.” The Egyptian growled.<br />
<br />
“No, not any more.” Heff agreed with a chuckle. <br />
<br />
Bes looked at Linn, his eyes clear and dark. No power shone there to conceal his soul. “Want me to come along?” He asked her. <br />
<br />
“Of course.” she replied. “I have no idea how to get back there.”<br />
<br />
He laughed, that full belly laugh she hadn’t heard in too long. <br />
<br />
“Right then. Ready?”<br />
<br />
“Just a minute.” She told him tranquilly. Then she hugged everyone, ending with her mother.<br />
<br />
“Will you come to Sanctuary? Bring Grampa?” she whispered. <br />
<br />
“Of course.” Her mother whispered back in her ear. “Couldn’t keep me away, love.”<br />
<br />
Linn sniffed and stepped away. “Ok, now I’m ready.”<br />
<br />
Bes took her hand and Blackie flanked her. They started to run and the moonlit land tunneled out and away. They were back on the high path. Bes didn’t move as fast as Blackie had done, before. Linn thought Blackie must have known Bes was in trouble, before. Maybe he’d been coming here every time he disappeared into the fog. <br />
<br />
They landed much more smoothly, as Bes had talked her through how to do it as they jogged along on the tunnel. She’d told him where they were going, and he told her how to land with bended knees for more bounce. <br />
<br />
The fog was still laying over the landscape like a wet blanket. Linn sucked in a lungful of warm, wet air, catching the exotic scents and sea air. She pulled her compass out and consulted it, looking at the ground. She figured if she found the cattle path she could get back to camp. <br />
<br />
Bes swept her a little bow. “Lead on!”<br />
<br />
She nodded wanly. All the activity was catching up with her. She really wanted a nap and food, not necessarily in that order. By the time she got them into camp she was shaking a little. <br />
<br />
Bes sat her down and put her jacket over her. It seemed odd to Linn that nothing had changed here since she left. He pack was all put together and leaning against the pole of the lean-to. The little green fire was still flickering merrily. She held her hands out to it, and then snatched them back, not wanting Bes to see how they were trembling. <br />
<br />
He pulled open the small pouch on her back pack and handed her a protein bar and then the spout of her camelbak. “Eat and drink. You put a lot of yourself into me...” his eyes softened. “Using that much power means you need to refuel. This will help.”<br />
<br />
Linn just nodded, too tired to speak. She chewed slowly. It tasted delicious, which probably meant she was pretty bad off. He stood up. <br />
<br />
“I’m going to go check in with the Coblyns. I will be right back, Ok?”<br />
<br />
“I’ll be here.” Which was true, Linn reflected, because she didn’t have the energy to go with him. Once they had gotten safely back, it was like someone had opened a tap and emptied her out. She took another bite. <br />
<br />
She was half asleep when he came back. She was aware that he was there, but too tired to speak to him. He talked to her anyway. <br />
<br />
“They are almost done. It’s ready to launch when Heff sends word. Daffyd wants me to take you straight back to the Sanctuary.”<br />
<br />
“How...?” she managed. <br />
<br />
“They want to stay here until launch to make sure it goes well. I’m going to send Coyote to them.”<br />
<br />
Linn closed her eyes. She didn’t want to go anywhere, she was too tired to move. Bes shook her shoulder. “Come on, Linn. Let’s go home.”<br />
<br />
“There’s an offer I can’t refuse...” She muttered. She still didn’t move. <br />
<br />
Bes scooped her up. Linn squeaked. “You can’t carry me!”<br />
<br />
“I can and you aren’t moving...” He started to walk, and she knew without opening her eyes they were back on the high path. She relaxed and let herself drift into sleep. She felt safe again. <br />
<br />
For the <a href ="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/">IndieInk Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href ="http://innocentsaccidentshints.blogspot.com/">Michael</a> challenged me with "An offer I can't refuse" and I challenged <a href ="http://diamondsmadeofglass.blogspot.com/">Lilu</a> with "Babysitting kittens".Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-53842338495261550882011-11-16T23:23:00.000-05:002011-11-16T23:23:31.115-05:00Emerald ForestBeryl knelt in the kitchen-garden of Seahold, humming to herself. All was well in her wold. At breakfast her mother had announced that Acer was showing certain signs. <br />
“Get out your pipe and leather tools, old dwarf.” she had cheerfully and irreverently addressed the chief of his clan, Beryl’s father. “Time to start making a pair of baby boots.”<br />
After breakfast Beryl, who was very fond of her sister-in-law, had set out to gather certain herbs. Some could be found here, in the safe kitchen garden, gathered in the sun with the company of drowsy bees. Others she would range farther afield for. The sound of a cleared throat caught her attention. She looked up to see a groomsman at the gate, holding her fat pony. Beryl rose to her feet, dusting off her hands. <br />
“Thank you, Bas.” <br />
“No worries, Berry. There’s lunch and what-not in your pannier.”<br />
And her pack-basket lashed behind the saddle on Fat Boy’s haunches, Beryl saw with pleasure. “You are too good to me, Basalt.” she complimented her father’s life-long retainer. <br />
“Tis a pleasure, child.” he smiled up at her. With her half-human blood she loomed a full head taller than he. She mounted and waved cheerfully as her pony ambled reluctantly away from home. <br />
Fat Boy did pick up his pace once he was resigned to not going home until all her errands were done. Beryl slouched in her saddle and mentally ran through the plants she planned to harvest today. Her trips to the deep forest were infrequent for several reasons. One was that Beryl was a homebody who preferred to stay close to her Clan. Of more importance was that few plants grew in the deep shade of the enormous trees. And there were others... She kicked Fat Boy into a reluctant trot. <br />
She found the plant she was seeking near the heart of the forest, where sunbeams were pale golden lances falling silently on the silver-pink blossoms of the wood sorrel. Ground-tying Fat Boy, who was as faithful as a dog in his own way, she set to work with trowel and clippers. <br />
Lost in thought, she almost missed the slight rustling. She looked up and around, cocking her head to one side to better catch the elusive noises. The birds were still singing, undisturbed by her presence as she had been almost still for so long. This other presence, and she was certain someone was there, bothered them not at all. Beryl sighed. She knew what that meant. <br />
In a low, calm voice she commanded, “Show yourself.”<br />
For a moment she thought she’d heard a chuckle, but quickly changed her mind when her stalker stepped out from behind the tree. The tall, icy blond elf in front of her probably never smiled, much less allowed anything as crass as a laugh to cross his lips. Dressed in greens and browns that were never muddy, his long hair hung to his waist, bound back with a gold filet. In his hands he held a bow, drawn, but pointed at the ground in a manner she assumed he meant as non-threatening. Beryl rocked back on her heels and dusted her hands off. <br />
“Merry Meet, kind sir.” she addressed him cordially, hoping he was as she termed him. Elves were not her favorite people. Culturally they tended toward an aloof hauteur that precluded anyone knowing them well, and Beryl herself liked to know the people around her, to see what they needed and provide it if it were in her power. Elves never needed anything. <br />
He took a couple more steps toward her, releasing the bowstring and peering down at her. Beryl suddenly felt very grubby and small. She stood up, her head only reaching to his shoulder. <br />
“What do ye in our wood, human woman?” he demanded abruptly. <br />
Beryl tipped her chin up defiantly. “Simply gathering herbs for a tisane.”<br />
“An whose permission gained you access here?”<br />
“Merely mine own.” She shot back, her eyes flashing. She fell into his speech pattern without realizing she had done so until after she had spoken. <br />
He frowned, his finely sculpted brows lowering over huge green eyes. “No one can enter Ellyndyl’s borders without a permission granted them.”<br />
“Can they not, now?” Beryl decided this one was too stupid for words and bent to pick up her basket. <br />
She concealed her tiny, sharp root knife in one hand as she did so. Aggravated at her indifference to him, the elf raised his bow again, pulling it taut. Beryl set her jaw and took a step toward him, so that the arrow was almost touching her chest. <br />
The second elf appeared almost magically beside her. “Gently, now, cousin. She will unman you before you can let go that arrow.”<br />
Startled, Beryl looked up at him. She knew that richly mocking voice with it’s undercurrent of laughter. <br />
“And besides,” he went on. “‘T’would be very bad form indeed to harm the daughter of Seahold.”<br />
The blond elf showed the first expression Beryl had seen on his face, a fleeting look of consternation, and hastily lowered and released the bow. He was forgotten as she turned and faced her rescuer. Without thinking, she reached up and stroked his cheek. <br />
“Thou hast grown.” she blurted. <br />
He captured her hand and grinned down at her. “As thou hast. Where art thy pigtails and freckles, my friend?”<br />
“It has been ten summers. Thou at least wert old enough to have reached your full size, or at least so I thought.”<br />
He laughed aloud. Beryl was delighted. Perhaps only one percent of all elves even had a sense of humor, but this was one of them, and her friend. He squeezed her hand and she felt a little flutter. More than friend, then. She admitted it to herself and read it in his sea-green eyes as he smiled down at her. <br />
<br />
For the <a href ="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/">IndieInk Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href ="http://browncoatmom.blogspot.com/">Chaos Mandy</a> challenged me with "1% of Elves" and I challenged <a href ="http://sassyirishlassie.com/">Kat</a> with "A chance encounter with the Egyptian god Bes".Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-32932935734787502352011-11-07T09:45:00.000-05:002011-11-07T09:45:43.040-05:00Teaching Time<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the morning, Linn milked the goats and fed the kittens, then her grandfather called her into the yard. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ever built a fire from scratch?” Heff asked. He stood there with his hands in his jeans pocket, looking relaxed and casual. Linn looked at him, puzzled. He was different today. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ve made fires while out camping with Mom and Dad, they wanted to teach me how to take care of myself.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Show me.” He didn’t move. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She looked at him for a minute and then realized he wouldn’t help. She shrugged and trotted into the house. The things she wanted were easy to find. Back outside, she glanced around to pick a spot. Close by, there was really only one option. She knelt on the driveway and crumpled up paper, then grabbed some dead flower stalks from the border, and a few small pieces of kindling from the woodpile. She struck the match on the box she’d brought out, shielding it from the wind with her hand, and ignited the paper. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Good. Do it again. House and woodpile off limits.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Heff dumped a bucket of water over her kindling blaze, and Linn hopped back, spluttering indignantly. He took the matches from her. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But, but!” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nope. You can do it.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I carry a match safe in the woods.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How many matches in it?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Um, about a dozen?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What happens if you’re out there,” He indicated the looming mountains with a sweep of his arm. “More than a week?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She sighed. She knew in theory how to do this. Looking grumpily back at him, she set off for the woods. This collection took a little longer. She was vaguely aware that Grampa Heff was in the woods nearby, but he was very quiet, and she didn’t really want to talk to him, and wasn’t about to ask for help.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The first thing she looked for was a paper birch. The bark was highly flammable and could be lit even wet. She had a handful of it in her survival kit, but Grampa had set the parameters, and her pack was indoors. All she had was her belt pouch and knife. This turned a difficult task into a time-consuming one. With her knife she cut dry twigs down and tied them into a neat bundle with braided grass and hung this from one of her belt loops. The birch bark went into her pocket along with a handful of dry grass. She found some dry, fallen wood. She didn’t bother to break them, long pieces could be arranged radially and pushed in as they burned down. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When she walked out of the woods with her hands full, Heff was hunkered down by the long driveway. He nodded at her. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come t’ house.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Linn followed him to the yard, where the fire ring he used for barbecuing had been cleaned out. He had a platter of food on the table. Linn laughed at that, and built the fire carefully. Bark first, shredded and cocooned with the dried grass. The twigs on that, then the tree limbs, arranged to give the kernel of the fire air. Pulling out her knife and flint striker, she rested the striker on the bark, pushing down firmly and creating a stream of sparks that jetted into the tinder. A couple of tries and she could see glowing spots that she blew on to feed the fire. Flames flicked up, and she rearranged the twigs to be in better contact with the tinder. Rocking back on her heels, she smiled up at her grandfather. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Better?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Very good. I’ll cook lunch while you check on the kittens.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Linn could feel her cheeks warm at his praise. Grampa Heff didn’t do it much, and she knew she’d passed his first test. She wondered what the next one would be. The kittens were waiting for her at the gate, ready for their bottles. She felt guilty for having left them most of the morning, but then thought of a mother cat. The kittens would be alone while she was out hunting. Linn cuddled them and washed them after their bottles, until they were ready to fall asleep again. They slept a lot. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Her own stomach grumbled, and she sniffed. Grampa's cooking smelled good. She sniffed again. Smelled like bacon. Linn scrambled down the ladder and Grampa Heff handed her a plate full of bacon and eggs. He’d pulled and washed a handful of sorrel and lightly wilted it in the bacon grease. It was delicious, and she had seconds. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Her stomach full, she sighed and smiled up at him. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did I pass?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yep. Figured your Mom did ok with you. But I needed to be sure.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We used to go camping a lot.” Linn looked at the little fire dying into embers. Grampa had pulled it apart so it would go out. She felt happy. Her Dad would have liked what Grampa had done today. He’d taught her as much as her mother had. They had gone camping in all seasons, and she’d loved every trip. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You miss him.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, but it’s ok. This... He would have liked this.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Heff nodded. “He was a good man.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did he know... about you, and Mom?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Heff shook his head. “No, he didn’t. But then, most mortals never know. We’re safer that way, both mortal and immortal.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She nodded. “I won’t tell.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know you won’t. Now, I need to get some work done in the smithy today.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll make dinner.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Heff laughed. “I’ll take you up on that, as long as it’s one of your Dad’s recipes.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Linn laughed along with him, feeling something in her heart ease a little. If she couldn’t have her father, she at least had the goodness that was her memories of him in her mind. Her mother really couldn’t cook. Everything was burned or raw, with her. Linn had been her father’s “little chef” since she could stand on a stool at his elbow, and she liked to cook. Tonight she’d have fun. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, if you’re going to cook it, go out and get it.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Kill it, clean it, and then cook it, girl. You won’t always have a supermarket and a refrigerator at your beck and call.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t know how.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You shoot pretty good with your .22, your Mom tells me.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I didn’t bring it.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, here.” Heff reached behind the woodpile and handed her a .22 rifle. Plain and worn, she could see immediately it was old. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ve had it for a long spell. Time you got to take care of her.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He handed her a leather pouch which had six cartridges in it. “You can’t get game with that many, we go hungry. Time will come you’ll get two... one for each of us.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Linn nodded. She wasn’t sure they wouldn’t go hungry tonight. Her parents hadn’t taught her how to hunt. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Heff smiled. “Don’t look so stricken. Go find a couple of rabbits, bring ‘em home and I’ll teach you how to clean them.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Linn put the pouch on her belt and picked up her day pack. She knew she needed to learn this, but this was challenging. Then she grinned. “All right, Grampa. I’ll be home soon!”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Heff chuckled as she walked away. She was feisty. She had a chance in this messy world of theirs. He stretched a hand out over the fire, feeling the warmth of it, and then closed his fingers. The fire went out, and he could feel the energy he’d just absorbed racing through his body. Time to get to work. </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><br />
For the <a href ="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/">Indie Ink Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href ="http://www.bewilderedbug.com/">Bewildered Bug</a> challenged me with "She Was Feisty" and I challenged <a href ="http://www.headant.com/">Head Ant</a> with "Stop the world, I want to get off for a while".Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-34946415377557130372011-10-05T21:48:00.000-04:002011-10-05T21:48:16.027-04:00Honor's Price<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Leona knelt at the watering hole to lap at the tepid, scummy water. She saw herself reflected in it, coat scruffy and eyes dull. This hadn’t been what she’d thought would happen, months ago, when she’d met a mouse and accepted his help in return for the relief of having the festering thorn drawn from her pad. She’d agreed at the time to spare his life, and those of his kind in return for the blessed relief from pain. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Now, half way through the dry season, with all the larger game fled to more prosperous ground, her pride was starving. She hadn’t thought, at the time, how much the tender little morsels of mouse, so fun to hunt and bounce on with both paws, were important to their diet. The cubs hunted a little already, mice mostly, and she felt guilty for allowing it, but she herself didn’t take part. And if the cubs didn’t hunt, they would have been dead already. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The last gazelle she’d felled had disappeared into the maw of her male, who lolled in the shade and gnawed a bone even now. If only she could hunt the mice, she would survive this season. But she couldn’t, and with her death the pride would dissolve. Her lion would chose another mate, and the first thing they would do together would be to snap the necks of the babies Leona had borne. Three roly poly balls of fluff. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">She lifted her head from the waterhole and looked around. Nothing moving but dust on the wind. There seemed to be more dust and less vegetation than even last dry season. Every year it was worse. She was six now, a matronly lioness. This dry season would be her last. She sighed and panted in the heat. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">She began her patrol, on sore pads. The thorn removed, her wound had healed, but now she was ranging so far for game that her pads were worn thin. She was a mile from the home acacia tree when a strange delegation barred her path. Five mice, all seemingly gray at the muzzle. She sniffed deeply. They smelled old, too. They flinched at her breath but didn’t run. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What would you ask of me, now?” She growled. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“We want to ask you to hunt mice again.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What?” Leona sat abruptly, her rump hitting the ground with a thump. “I swore I would not eat another mouse.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“We know.” the oldest was white to the eyes. “The mousling who assisted you was not a thoughtful being.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And? I gave my word, you know.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“We will release you from that vow. Out population has swelled so that we are unable to find food for our children. Mouse families breed unchecked, and disease is on the rise. You will have noticed that there are less plants and more dust?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yes, I thought that seemed to be so this season.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Our people are turning this veldt into desert. Without you hunting and keeping them in check, we all die. So, lioness, we ask you to begin hunting mice again. Will you do this?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Leona looked down at them, so still and serious, waiting for her answer. Suddenly she understood why they were all grey-beards. She reached down and delicately seized one in her jaws. The others scattered, but didn’t get far. Her belly was full when she reached the spreading acacia tree in the warmth of dawn. She collapsed next to her sleeping cubs and fell deeply asleep, hope warming her as she digested many, many mice. </span></div><br />
For the <a href="http://www.indieink.org/writing-challenges/">Indie Ink Writing Challenge</a> this week, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/Challenger%20URL">Tobie, http://misadventuresoftobie.blogspot.com/, thewritegirl</a> challenged me with "Write about the mouse and the lion from the perspective of the lion." and I challenged <a href="http://www.blogger.com/Challengee%20URL">Jurgen Nation (Anastacia), http://www.jurgennation.com, jurgen_nation</a> with "Walking in the woods and surprising a mythical creature".Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-912793748994843542011-09-22T10:26:00.000-04:002011-09-22T10:26:40.384-04:00Ignorance is BlissWe were sitting in my room, he on the edge of the bed, me in the computer chair. It's not the biggest room to begin with, and it's a shared office/bed space. So we were knee-to-knee and he had to have known what was coming. It wasn't the first time he'd lied to me, nor was it the largest. But it was the last time he would.<br />
<br />
I asked him a question that I already knew the answer to, and his lip started to quiver. He knew I knew, and he thought I'd forgive him and try again, as I had just a few short months earlier. After all, our wedding was only weeks away. He pleaded desperately that he had been bringing me and the children money. From his mother. I swallowed my rage and coolly asked him to leave. It wasn't about the money. It had never been about the money, or the home, or the job.<br />
<br />
After he drove away finally, avowing his love, devotion, and desire to get it all back together and win me back, I returned to sit on the bed and stare into space. I felt numb. I'd told him at the end of the conversation I didn't have anything else to say. I did, but he wasn't worth losing my temper over. It was my own fault for not looking harder, for not seeing through his web of lies earlier. I wanted the happy times to be the truth, not the lies and laziness that he hid so well.<br />
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My weekly <a href="http://www.indieink.org/2011/09/19/the-new-indieink-indieink-remixed-check-out-our-new-digs/">Indie Ink Challenge</a> piece. I was challenged by <a href="http://sadiesstorylines.com/">Sadie</a> with "I don't want to see the truth, I was happy with ignorance" and I challenged <a href="http://theohsounusualhousewife.blogspot.com/2011/09/writing-prompt-challenge.html">Hannah</a>, and her response was brilliant!Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-20868334428235724022011-09-15T21:46:00.000-04:002011-09-15T21:46:13.426-04:00Mirror, Mirror...<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“How do I choose what I will do with my life? How do I know what consequences those choices will have for me ten, twenty years down the road?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The slender, brown-eyed girl frowned at the reflection in the mirror. She had received three acceptance letters from college in the mail that afternoon, and had opened them all and pored over the descriptions of each school and majors yet again. She still couldn’t decide. One had the advantage of being close to home - but it would be nice to get away from her family and try her wings out. Another was a prestigious school, but it would be expensive. The third hadn’t really been an option at first, but was where her boyfriend planned to attend. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She closed her eyes. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall...” she muttered. Magic would be nice, of course - a fairy god mother to wave a wand and tell her what to do to find her happily ever after. She opened her eyes and did a double take. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The girl spun around in shock at the plump, short-haired woman who stood behind her in the mirror reflection. She was alone in her bedroom. She looked back at the mirror. There was still a woman standing just behind her left shoulder. She was grinning at her. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Wha - Who!” she stammered. The woman chuckled. “Are you my fairy godmother?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now the woman laughed. “No, I’m your older and wiser self. Hello young lady.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The younger shook her head in bemusement. “How?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh, that will become clear later, but I won’t tempt paradox.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Why?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Getting quite journalistic in your questions, good girl. I am here to offer a tiny bit of guidance.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You’re going to tell me where to go to college.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The older version looked quite shocked. “Not at all, that would bring a paradox right down on us. Merely a hint, is all. How many acceptances so far?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Five. The last three came in today.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Lay them out on your bed.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The younger turned and collected the pile of letters and laid them out edge to edge along her pink comforter. She looked back at the mirror, where the older woman was leaning forward as if to see. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“The third one from the foot of the bed. Start there, and count off the ‘eeny, meeny, miny, moe ryhme.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Obediently she bent over the letters, touching each one in turn, cycling back around as she counted. When she finally picked up the letter that was it, she turned to look back at the mirror. The apparition was gone. She looked down at the letter she held. The college was one she hadn’t considered in her top three. It specialized in maths and science. The young woman looked back at the still-empty mirror and realized that the counting rhyme had a set sequence. Her elder self had chosen the school for her as surely as if she had pointed to it and stated “That’s the one.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sweeping the other letters onto the floor, the young woman flopped onto her bed and wondered about the possibility of quantum time travel. She fell asleep dreaming of a laughing pair of eyes that were her own. </span></div><div>*End*</div><div><br />
</div><div>Writing for the Indie Ink writing challenge! I was challenged this week by <a href="http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/">Tara R</a> with "eeny, meeny, miny, moe" and I challenged http://writinginthemarginsburstingattheseams.blogspot.com/ with "Part-Time Husband". </div>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-36367064071446737672011-09-07T17:34:00.000-04:002011-09-07T17:34:54.324-04:00Fork in the Road<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe slouched in a hard chair, his phone dangling from one limp hand. He almost let go and let it all fall down, down to the floor. He wanted to just stop the world and get off now. Everything was gone, it was all laid to waste and his life might as well be over. The world was his oyster, not that long before. How had he let it come to this? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He picked up his hand and stared at the text on it. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I know what you did. Don’t bother coming home. I changed the locks already.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So she knew what he’d done to keep his family together, to keep his home and give his children someplace to sleep at night. When the last business he’d tried to start he had gone to his father-in-law. The ruddy, balding man, his white beard neatly trimmed, had looked down at him from over his wobbling chins. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Not a penny.” He had said before his son-in-law had even opened his mouth. The man had felt his face flush. “I’ll get it from someone else, then.” The older man, Arthur, had sniffed contemptuously. “Not likely. But you won’t get another penny from me. My daughter is always welcome, of course, but not while she’s married to you.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe had left, head held high, although his heart was sinking. His credit was shot, of course. Coming to Art had been a desperate last ploy. His carpet cleaning business was going down the tubes and the last loan he’d scraped up had all gone to pay his vendors. Now what was he going to do? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe drove into town, following the truck ahead of him without paying much attention to where he was going. The rain and dusk didn’t really exist for him, he blindly followed the taillights ahead, tears making them look like stars. He almost followed them right off the edge of the road. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Stomping on the brakes, he fishtailed to a stop. His heart in his throat, he ran to the edge of the blacktop and looked down into the ravine. The armored truck lay on its back in the ravine, one headlight still shining. The undercarriage was steaming in the cold rain. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe scrambled down to the truck, grabbing branches and slipping the last few feet. He could hear a man groaning from the wreck. He looked into the gaping hole where the passenger window had been. The guard was obviously dead, his head hanging at a strange angle. The driver was half conscious, covered in blood. Joe couldn’t see well enough to tell what was wrong with the man, and he couldn’t reach him from this side of the truck. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He backed out and started to go around the back of the truck. He didn’t want to go near the engine. The back door was buckled open, and Joe stopped and stared. Bags of money lay half inside the truck, one was torn open and twenties had spilled out into the mud. The driver moaned and Joe started. He looked up at the road. Only his headlights showed. He hesitated a minute. This road wasn’t busy, but it was likely someone would be along very soon. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He made his decision. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, four months later, he sat in a hotel room wondering bitterly why he had chosen as he had. Would she still care? Was this the end of everything he’d ever wanted? He lifted the phone and dialed a number from memory. Time to find out the answer. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">This is my<a href="http://indieink.org/writing-challenges/"> Indie Ink challenge</a> piece for the week. I was challenged by <a href="http://theuncensoredpeepshow.blogspot.com/">Dirk</a>, with "the world's his oyster", And I challenged SuperMaren. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> <a href="http://supermaren.com/">http://supermaren.com/</a></span></span></div>Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20553155.post-50073576794095184492011-09-01T22:12:00.000-04:002011-09-01T22:12:06.800-04:00I'd written a lovely story about the USO in Vietnam, and my computer crashed and I hadn't saved it… bad Cedar! I just got home from Civil Air Patrol meeting with my daughter and found it gone. With only an hour to deadline, I'm not going to be able to finish writing it, now. I was thinking of the cadence challenge tonight, as I was watching my daughter drill with the other cadets. They were marching and calling cadence, and it made me think of all the young men and women who serve our country in uniform, not so much older than these children. They go out whole and hearty, and come back on those choppers, damaged sometimes beyond repair.<br />
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One of the biggest regrets in my life was giving up my opportunity to serve. All I can do now is support those who wear the uniform now, and raise up the next generation to be patriots. Perhaps one of my children will one day serve their country, and I shall send them off with tears and pride.<br />
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My challenge this week, which I failed miserably, was<br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I hear the choppers coming </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">They’re hovering overhead </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">They’ve come to get the wounded</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> They’ve come to get the dead"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">From: <a href="http://www.ShoesNeverWorn.com/">KSyrah</a></span><br />
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My challenge to <a href="http://sadiesstorylines.com/?p=248">Sarah Cas</a>s was "Hey Y'all, watch this!"Cedarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06335404569894164715noreply@blogger.com3