WEP Dark Places

Happy Halloween!

Time for the Write, Edit, Publish blog-hop, Dark Places.

WEP was started by my friend Denise Covy who is an awesome writer and lives down under in Australia. Yolanda Renee, another terrific writer co-host the challenge. So, when your done reading my creepy story head over and read what others have written. There's still time to join the fun and whip a spooky tail of your own.

To read other stories or join go here.

Unforgiven

I always walked through the tunnel under the highway to get home. Strange, I didn’t remember riding the bus, yet here I was at the tunnel entrance with the bus depot behind me. The tunnel was constructed of cement with lights overhead and benches along the side. It was about three city blocks long and saved more than a dozen blocks walking along a busy street and over the bridge. But, today the lights were all burned out. I peered into darkness.

            Rain pelted my umbrella. Perhaps the rain had shorted out the lights. The tunnel leaked when it rained and there would be puddles of water. Above me, the street light gave off a soft glow and I could see the other light far in the distance. No one joined me. There were usually a dozen or more other commuters. Not today.

            I took a breath and entered alone. My foot stepped into a puddle and splashed against my ankle. The emptiness made me anxious and I bit my lower lip.

            I lived alone. After twenty-seven years in an abusive marriage I didn’t miss his companionship and I had no plans to remarry. I did miss my girls. Both in their twenties, they had busy lives. I tried to keep them safe from their father, but abuse is learned and each of my girls could lay it on like peanut butter on toast. The more you put on, the more you choked with the gooey substance sticking to the roof of your mouth.

            The light up ahead started to flicker. A sudden darkness made me turn. The street light behind me was completely out. When I turned back I counted how many times the light hesitated. One, two, three, four and it was out. I stood in utter darkness.

            My heart began to pound so loud that my ears throbbed. The ground shuddered. I stepped forward and fell. A vast chasm had opened in the tunnel floor. My scream echoed against the rock wall. I didn’t remember dropping the umbrella or my purse.

            I grabbed at the rocks that jutted away from the wall. My fingers bled from the attempt to slow my speed down. An orange glow started to dance off the obsidian boulders. I landed and fell forward. My breath rushed out of my lungs. I sat up, checking for injury. Nothing seemed to be broken. Then a hissing, gurgling noise surrounded me. Glowing eyes advanced. Alarmed, I stood. Turning in a circle, a horde approached. Distorted shapes. Some like wolves and others human with elongated features, arms, legs and fingers.

I put out my hands. “Don’t come near.”

They rushed me. Snarling, cursing, I felt sharp teeth dig into my legs. Hands pulled me down. Eyes bore into mine. Foul smells surrounded me. One of them licked my face. I screamed. They laughed. The dog like creatures sounded like hyenas.

“Be gone!” A voice spoke. Smooth as chocolate syrup.

I sat up. My clothes were torn, my skin bruised and ripped, bleeding.

“Come, come. What did you expect?” A man stood before me. In appearance, he was my younger self’s identical twin, blond and tall.

I stood. “Who are you? Where am I?”

His smile caused his lips to split and distort. His eyebrows lifted a little on the ends and blue eyes turned black. “Let me give you a tour.”

“No,” I said. He took my arm anyway and instantly we stood on a precipice overlooking a burning lake. Something moved in the flames but I couldn’t make out what is was.

“I had to work hard with you.” His grin appeared more like a snake ready to bite. “Your husband wore you down, but still you persisted. Your parents never hugged you or gave the encouragement they lathered on your brother.”

As he spoke visions formed in my mind. I saw first my husband and then my parents followed by my brother’s grin. I felt him pinch me hard as he often did when I was a child.

“But your children.” His words came out as a hiss. “First the oldest.” My Sally appeared before me and I heard her speaking. “Mom, you never loved me. You always…” the rest would get nasty. I turned away.

“But the youngest, well…” With his smile his face transformed even more while I felt shattered to the core of my being. Betsy stood before me. A beer bottle in her hand. “Why did you do that, Mom? Why did you say that, Mom? How could you.” Her accusations continued for more than an hour that day. I knew I had never done the things she was laying out before me. And, I remembered the feeling of total emptiness. I had finally fallen into the depths of dark despair. I fought for weeks and yet couldn’t extract myself from the numbing destruction of my heart. My girls hadn’t called me since and I hadn’t called them.

Horns jutted out of the man’s forehead who looked like a wrinkled evil me. I shivered and then I hovered over my bedroom and saw myself on the bed. A pill bottle lay open next to me.

“But, no more sorrow…” I began to quote the verse from Revelations.

“You committed the unforgiveable sin. You took your own life.” He laughed then, a noise that pierced my eardrum. I felt him pushing me.

Falling, falling. I felt the heat from the fire in the lake and then the flames swallowed me. Licking. Burning. My skin sizzled, turned black and then red and blistered. The pain…no words were left. I screamed.

Others burned beside me. Hundreds, thousands, tears flowing from their eyes to turn to steam on their cheeks. Above me, the devil laughed. And with the sound of his enjoyment sharp blades pierced my heart. I was in hell and couldn’t undo my mistake.

Word Count 982

What did you think?

Nancy

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Write, Edit, Published August 2017 challenge. Reunion

Write, Edit, Published bloghop. This blog hop was started by the lovely Denise Covy and joining her is Yolanda Renee. This month the challenge is to write a story with the prompt, Reunion. Sorry I'm late, I won't bore you with the reason. To read other fabulous stories, go here.

Reunion

Timothy reached for the letter he’d set aside three days ago and gazed at the return address. His anger hadn’t subsided from when he first found it in his mail slot. Rather, it had intensified.

Rage had kept him from his family all these years. More than twenty. He nurtured it. Like rain on sandy soil, his irritation flowed in little rivulets, each holding the memories of what had been done to him. The first when he had been fifteen. His father accepted a job in New York City and moved his entire family from the beaches of southern California to the city that never sleeps. A surfer, Timothy had lost his chance to compete in the champion trials, and he’d lost his friends. There wasn’t any place to surf in New York City.

At school, he had to endure name calling and never did make new friends. His grades had plummeted. Who knew what might have happened in southern California. He might have been on the honor roll. In New York he flunked. There was no ivy league school for him. Instead, he attended a small college.

When he’d graduated from that little college, his father didn’t come. Afterwards, in an argument his father let him know that he was a big failure and a disappointment.

He landed a job in California shortly after that and had moved. Every year invitations came for family reunions and Christmas. He threw them all away and never sent a single gift. He ignored news of his sister’s weddings and the birth of their children. He burned the only photos he had of his father.

He jumped in his chair when the phone rang. Timothy lifted his iPhone and recognized the number from New York. He nearly tossed the expensive phone aside, but something made him stop. Who would it be? His father or his mother? Father never called him. But his mother had left one tearful message after another on his Birthday’s and a Christmas. It was probably her. The only bright spot in the list of wrong doing.

His mother had encouraged him through all the problems. If it hadn’t been for her, he never would have gone to college at all.

He swiped the phone and hesitated before saying, “Hello.”

“Timothy.” It was his father. His thumb hovered near the end call button.

“Please come, your mother has cancer. Her only wish is to see you again.”

Word Count: 408

I can't say that this was the most joyful thing I've ever written, but this is what came to me. I hope you enjoyed it.

Nancy

When Love Meets, Write, Edit, Publish, blog hop.

Time once more for my favorite blog hop. Write, Edit, Publish, was founded by my friend, the awesome Aussie, Denise Covey. Joining her as moderator is Yolanda Renee, also awesome. To read other stories in this hop go here.

This challenged included a poem. Being inspired by the poem, I added two lines which have a * symbol before the quote. The poem is below my story.

For those who are new to my blog, I’ve been compared with Tolkien in writing style. A great honor since he is my favorite writer. If you haven’t yet purchased my epic fantasy you can do so. The title is, The Treasures of Carmelidrium. You will find it on my sidebar. Just 99 cents. At some point this year it will have a new book cover and the price will go up to $2.99.

When Love Meets

They fell together, distilled in time, transformed beyond love and hate. *Pleasure and Pain swear friendship leal and true.

            Grace lifted her arms above her head, her fingers met in an arch, heavenward. Tears, ran silent along her cheeks. On tiptoe she thrust upward, her faerie wings took flight. Beneath on the lily pad rested Storm, his wings tattered and grey. Their compassion strained beyond endurance, as *the vulture may be comrade to the dove.

            Grace called upon her healing powers. Twirling, her feathered skirt flew out, a kaleidoscope of colors. Magic shifted. Grace danced upon the air stream, casting her sparks overhead. The faerie dust floated downward, landing as soft whispers on Storm. He raised smoky gray eyes and met her crystal blue gaze.

            Anger rushed out of him. Striking the pond with flashes of thunder. Frogs leapt into the water, birds took flight, while Storm still stared skyward.

            Grace ignored his bad temper. She had empathy enough. Stored up. Measured strong. She held her love close. Gazing down, she saw her healing powers restore Storm’s ragged wings. Strong once more, his wings changed color to midnight blue. He launched himself from the lily pad and met her in flight.

She raised her voice in song.  “Born of God, my bitter foe. Take heed to measure your wild hostility. Peace with love will smooth your cares, until all is sweet, within your heart.”

Storm’s answer was heavy with his deep voice. “Grace. You who are named for all that is good fail to see evil. As bats beat their wings in rapid progression, the world will overtake you and whither your passion.” He flew close and plucked a tear, now turned into a crystal, from her cheek.

Grace smiled, fluttered close and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Would that you could embrace the sunlight.”

“Shadows obscure its rays.”

She flew in a circle around him. “After the rain, the darkness will vanish. It is then that the rainbow appears.”

“Then we must live in the colors, and vanish when they fade.” Storm’s face softened and his regard turned thoughtful.

“Let it be so.” Grace smiled.

“We will make our home in a bilious cloud.” Storm took up the dance with Grace. His wings dripped cobalt blue while Grace shed white ivory.

“Nay, a grass bungalow beneath the evergreen on top of yonder knoll.”

“Sunlight doesn’t reach below the sturdy branches of the pine.” Storm allowed Grace’s fingers to entwine his own. She laughed then and the sound was like a whispered song through the breeze.

Word Count: 430

PEACE AND LOVE

There are two angels, messengers of light,

    Both born of God, who yet are bitterest foes.

    No human breast their dual presence knows.

As violently opposed as wrong and right,

When one draws near, the other takes swift flight,

    And when one enters, thence the other goes.

    Till mortal life in the immortal flows,

So must these two avoid each other's sight.

Despair and hope may meet within one heart,

The vulture may be comrade to the dove!

Pleasure and Pain swear friendship leal and true:

But till the grave unites them, still apart

Must dwell these angels known as Peace and Love,

For only Death can reconcile the two.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay and Mitchell, 1917

I hope you enjoyed the story. Tell me what you liked.

Nancy

If you would like to read my other faerie stories, scroll down and select faerie from the list of post. P.S. Would you be interested in purchasing a collection of faerie stories? How many would you like to see included for your 99 cents? 

Write, Edit Publish, Grandpa's Stories

Today is another WEP Challenge. Write, Edit, Publish was founded by Densie Covey and is a continuing blog hop. Densie's co-host, Yolanda Renee also helps. This challenge is open to everyone, writer, poet artist and more. Densie and Yolanda have the difficult task of picking a winner. So much talent that I'm sure it's difficult. Good luck ladies.We are to write about 'The Back of the Drawer.' I didn't write just about the back of the desk, but the whole desk.

To view other submissions go here.

This story is in honor of C. S. Lewis whose Narnia series had a big influence on me.

Grandpa’s Stories

I have so many happy memories of grandpa and his stories. Even as an adult, I treasured our Sunday visits to the nursing home with my own children. Grandpa would sit in his favorite rocker and spin a wild tale of strange talking animals and magical beasts, purple skies and golden grass. My children would sit around him listening just as I once did. Their eyes as big as saucers and many the occasional exclamation of, “Oh wow,” and, “Really?!” followed by, “Tell it again Grandpa.”

             One Christmas when I turned nine, grandpa gave me the Narnia series by C. S. Lewis. Inside the cover, it read, “Because you love my stories more than all my other grandchildren.” Oh, and I did.

            Now I dabble at my own fantastical stories, but none are as good as grandpa’s.

            My thoughts return to the moment as the furniture movers bring in grandpa’s old roll top desk. I had it placed in my study, along the wall that ran from the window to the door. I had bookshelves there once. Now those shelves were nestled in my closet and the junk was packed away in several boxes that my husband stashed in the attic. Grandpa’s old rocker had gone to my brother and his living room furniture had long since been auctioned off to help pay for final expenses.

            No matter, I got the best part. I knew the sight of grandpa’s old desk would inspire some wonderful tales. I got out the furniture polish and gave the treasured piece a good shine.

            Three days later, while I sat at my computer desk, in my office chair and a blank word document up on my laptop, inspiration had fled. I couldn’t think of a single thing. I turned the chair and gazed at grandpa’s old roll top.

            As a child, I’d never been allowed to open it. Now, the desk and its contents belonged to me. Did grandpa keep his stories in side? Or maybe in one of the locked drawers in front?

            When grandpa passed, his lawyer gave an envelope. It contained the keys to his roll top which was made of mahogany. Plain without decoration.

            I stood. I don’t know why I didn’t open it immediately when the desk had arrived. I guess it was out of respect for grandpa. He’d catch me trying to lift the roll top desk lid and laugh. “Not now Sugar Plum,” he’d say and pat my head.

            Surely, grandpa wouldn’t care anymore? He did leave them to me.

            I opened my computer desk drawer and retrieved the envelope and opened it.

            The long key was very similar to a skeleton key except more intricate with five cuts past the shoulder and before the squared off tip. A dragon head was carved into the head of the key and made of the same grey metal. I thought it odd that the desk should be so plain and the key so intricate. There was a drawer key as well with a little round tag that said so. Nothing special about it.

            Now that I held the keys in my hand the only thing left was to open the desk. I was nervous. No idea why.

            I opened the drawers first and found nothing. Well, there was a small paper clip in one of them. Putting the drawer key back on my computer desk I grabbed the dragon head key and went back to the top.

            There’s nothing in there, silly.

            But there was. All the cubie holes had little glass jars that were sealed and labeled. Faerie dust, unicorn hair, dragon whiskers…really?! Dragon whiskers? And I started humming the song, ‘Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.’ Don’t ask why, I don’t know.

            After reading each one and peering through the glass at what it contained, I put them all back inside their cubie hole. Grandpa’s imagination was great.

            In the drawer above were you sit I found a map. I pulled it out and walked to my computer desk so I could sit and read it. There were mountains and valleys, several volcanoes, rivers, streams and lakes. All of them named to fit one of grandpa’s stories. In the center was the town I’d heard about for years, Kalidan.

            Grandpa obviously collected items from living animals, rocks and dust, giving them each a fantastical name. He took the time to create a wonderfully detailed map and put it on parchment to add authenticity. But, nowhere could I find a single word written down. I really wanted to write his stories down and even publish them in honor of his memory. Would my memories be enough?

            I put his map back, shut the roll top, but I didn’t lock it. Super time. I had to cook and spend a little time with my husband and children. My son was in his last year of high school and the girls were right behind him. Teenagers. Are parents ever prepared?

*

            I awoke to an elephant’s trumpet and sat up in bed. Glancing at the clock I read 3 A.M. on the lit display.

            Another noise followed the elephant. Then giggles and a roar. They were close. Too close. I got up and put on my bathrobe to gaze out the bedroom window at the street below. Light from the street lamps told me no one, or animal was about. Glancing at my husband I could tell he hadn’t been disturbed.

            Another cry from that elephant told me something was going on. Had the T.V. been left running on Animal Planet?

            I slipped into my slippers and left the bedroom being careful to shut the door quietly. Descending the stares the voices got louder.

            “Where are we?”

            “The wizard moved.”

            Outside my study door I could hear a cacophony of noise coming from within. I opened the door. Immediately, three faeries flew past. A unicorn was eating papers in my trash. A dragon hunched in the corner while ash gray smoke lifted from his nostrils and tickled his whiskers. Whiskers!

            Glancing at the roll top desk I saw the lid open and an elephant pulling free of one of the drawers. I heard in my head Grandpa say, “I always keep my desk locked, especially at night.”

Word Count: 1,050

So, I’m a little over, sorry.

Did you enjoy my story?

Nancy

Write, Edit, Publish. Utopian Dream Challenge

This challenge for Write, Edit, Publish is titled: Utopian Dreams. Pretty picture.

To read what others have written go here.

Write, Edit Publish is a blog hop that challenges writers, poets and artistic members to post a story, poem or something other than that. Started by Denise Covey the two big wigs that run the show are Denise and Yolanda Renee. Both are talented authors. Denise writes Romance and Yolanda writes Mysteries. So it's time to let you all read my story.

Flash fiction is a form of writing to help authors tighten their prose without losing content, traditionally 1,000 words or less. Enjoy.

Beyond the Gate

Disappointment tailgated me like a road rage driver out for revenge. I’d had so much ambition when I was young. I would be a success. My plans included a thriving and well paid career. A loving husband. Brilliant and devoted children. I wanted to be, no, I needed to be more successful than my siblings. I needed to prove that I was somebody.

I have a career. I make good money, though not as much as my brother. But then, he is a man and I am woman. I have a husband who is faithful. He’s a yes man and doesn’t argue with me. I like that. He makes good money though he isn’t advancement material. Still…what is lacking? Romance. A girl shouldn’t complain, right?

My children. Well…one should accept what has been given I suppose. Still, I could want more. They both struggle. First in school and then in their choice of jobs. Neither attended college. I pushed them to, but they refused. Neither makes a third of what I earn. They value what I never did, the simple joys of life. My brother’s children both have degrees. They both have ambition. Where did I miss the mark? 

I must face the fact. I’m a failure. With that thought I made a margarita, my third, and sat down to watch a thin and beautiful woman push a line of jewelry on the TV. I liked this jewelry. I often bought something, but tonight my mind wandered and I remembered the dream. In it there was an arched wrought iron gate and I could see a garden beyond. I’d had this dream every night for a week. It felt like a memory, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. And why would I be attracted to that anyway?

I finished my drink and went to bed.

*

Thursday dawned as thousands of Thursdays had in my life. There was nothing unique. Nothing out of the ordinary. I drank a breakfast shake and headed out the door. Getting in my BMW I headed downtown. An hour later I was diverted from my usual parking spot by construction.

            “Damn!”

            I found a spot five blocks away from my office building in a neighborhood, parked and locked my car. I didn’t wear walking shoes to the office. Dressed professionally, I wore high heels. I considered taking the shoes off, but I didn’t have a spare pair of panty hose, so the trudge in heels was necessary.

            I wasn’t alone. Perhaps a dozen others were preparing to walk the side street as well. I eyed them, but they seemed as aggravated as I was. I slung my purse over one shoulder and prepared myself for the trip.

            I allowed a number of people to get ahead of me. I didn’t need their company. I only knew one of them and I didn’t like him. His name was John, and he whined about every task I handed him. I went a different way even though it would take longer.

            Two blocks later I came to the gate. The same gate in my dream. I was sure I’d never driven or walked along this street before.

The wrought iron was perfection. A filigree at the top of the arch, the gate was between two brick pillars and left open, beckoning. Beyond I could see a pathway that wound between trees and flowerbeds. It seemed separate from the house, a land to itself.  

            The scent of magnolias filled the air and one bush hugged the brick pillar and peeked between the iron bars. I felt pulled. I wanted to enter. I wanted to abandon my life, my disappointments. I took a step closer, than another one. I reached the gate and touched the cool iron. I could almost hear a chorus of voices calling, “Come…come…be welcome. Utopia awaits. Let your cares slip away. Dance with me under the moon.”

            I must resist. I have responsibilities. I am a successful business woman, wife and mother. Yet the pull.

            I had reached the top of my profession. There wouldn’t be another advancement, no more raises and I had to deal with men over me who could care less about my needs. Of course, I didn’t care about those below me.

            My husband. Yes, I loved him. He loved me more as it should be. He also lived in his own world and never helped me with the housework, or cooking, or grocery shopping. He didn’t even attend any of our children’s after school functions. Of course, neither did I. My career was number one. Number One! And for what? To appease a group of people who didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Well, I didn’t care about them either.

            My children. Both are grown. They have their own life and they don’t have much time for me. I give them ample advice especially after downing several margaritas, but they roll their eyes and ignore me. Both have married sub-par humans. I’ve given up on them.

            My thoughts wonder to my sister. I haven’t given her much thought and no time for years. She has very little in material goods and she has suffered. An abusive marriage. She once asked me for help and I denied her. The nerve. She never amounted to anything. Of course, I knew she never would. But, now, after years of hardship she was happy. She valued her children and she even stayed married and her husband has turned into a good man. Her family is close. Not like mine.

            So…what is there for me?

I stepped beyond the gate.

Word count: 940

Note: I know people like this character, but this isn’t about any one person. Rather it is a story about our choices and how we value others. N. R. Williams

If you want to leave a critique you may. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. May your New Year fill you with Happiness. Nancy

I found this post and highly recommend it. The Hard Truth About Publishing: What Writers and Readers Need to Know.

Constellations or Spooky tale for Write, Edit, Publish blog-hop

In this post for the October Write, Edit, Publish blog-hop we are challenged to write about the Constellations or to scare you with a Spooky tale. Denise Covey and Yolanda Renee have really put on their witches hats to come up with such a challenge. We'll, I've done both. Alas I'm not alone, so I've added the link that will take you to the list of all the other writers and artist. To read go here.

Guess which constellation is in my story? You're right.

Orion

Half the student body was in the park tonight. At least it felt like half. Some were gathered around the huge bonfire in the pit the park provided. Most were smoking pot and drinking beer. I was using one of the telescopes Mr. Weaver had provided to study the stars along with my classmates.

            “Hey, Wigs,” Brian said, walking up to me along with his buddies, Jack and Paul.

            I glanced at them. “My name is Katie.” The students at my school had started calling me ‘wigs’ after I lost all my hair during chemo, two years ago when I wore a wig. All better now and my hair was back, short but real.

            Brian stopped in front of the telescope blocking my view. “It’s not fair that you were assigned Orion.”

            I stood up straight ready for a fight with the class bullies. “What’s it to you?”

            “We want Orion.” Brian shoved his hands into his pockets.

            “So?” I looked between the three.

            “We are all from Orion,” Paul said.

            “Huh?” Paul was tall and too thin.

            “It’s true,” Jack said. “Aliens came down and colonized this planet from the Orion system.”

            “You’re saying we are from the Orion system? That we are aliens?” This sounded a lot like that weird T.V. show.

            “Not exactly,” Brian said. “We mated with the inhabitants. Changed the DNA.”

            “So what exactly does this have to do with me?” I folded my arms.

            “When you do your report,” Brian said. “Add that in.”

            “You’re joking, right? You want me to humiliate myself by claiming that advanced aliens had sex with cave women? The answers no, boys.”

            “Look.” Jack grabbed my arm. I yanked it out of his fingers and backed up.

            “You three are just pissed because Mr. Weaver gave you the Big and Little Dipper. Maybe you should take it up with Orion, I hear he’s moved in down the street. Big guy, white hair, carries a sickle.” I approached the telescope. Brian picked it up.

            I put my hands on my hip. “Hey Dipper boy, put it down!”

            “You are just---” Jack seemed to have a hard time figuring out how to insult me.

“Hand over the assignment. You take the two Dippers and we take Orion.” Brian’s grin made me want to smack him.

            “Why don’t you go to the nearest cave and dance with the Neanderthals.”

            “Because you won’t be there, ‘Wigs.’” Paul stepped a little to near and I backed up.

            Mr. Weaver came over. “You alright Katherine?”

            “Yeah, just great.” I said. “These three want Orion instead of the Big and Little Dipper.”

            “The assignments stand. Get to work on your project boys and leave Katherine alone.”

            Brian, Paul and Jack walked away grumbling. Mr. Weaver adjusted the telescope and nodded at me. I finished my study of Orion and put my notes in my backpack and left.

            My parents had bought a house that skirted the park. I approached the back gate about fifteen minutes later. I was still mad at the dipper boys and took several steps over the brown grass in the backyard toward the rear of my house. The night had been cool, but a sudden blast of frigid air came on the wind and I was shoved to the ground. I grunted, lost my breath and turned over on my back. The fallen oak leaves rustled beneath me.

            Above me in a cloudless sky was the constellation Orion. Now I’ve never been good at connecting the stars the way the Ancient Greeks did, but as I watched a laser light spread between the stars to outline Orion. His sword sheathed at his side and a sickle raised in one hand.

            As I watched, Orion turned his head and his eyes came alive in shades of red. He leapt from the sky and landed near me. I gasped, my hair was tossed in the wind about my face and I wondered if someone had slipped me a hallucination pill in my coffee.

            “You dare to mock me, human?!” Orion’s deep voice rocked the bare branches of our oat near me. I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak.

            “Die!” Orion swept his sickle past my head. I scooted back like a desperate bug on my hands and feet, straddling the ground. Orion’s sickle slammed into the oak tree. It groaned and a dead branch fell slicing deep into my side. I gasped. Pain coursed through my body like ghostly fingers trying to freeze my soul. The imagine of Orion blurred. I felt the ground shake with his weight as he walked away and realized he had left.

            The wind still whisked through the bitter night. Oak leaves swirled around me. I held my side were the oak had injured me. Blood flowed warm between my fingers. My breath now came in short gasps. My last thought as I died was; The Dipper Boys would get Orion now.

Word Count: 825

Thank you for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed my story.

Now available on Amazon for the low friendship price of 99 cents.

To purchase go here.

Also available:

To purchase go here.

N. R. Williams

Copyright 2016

All rights reserved.

Write, Edit, Publish. Valentine, Be Mine. The Annual Coloring of Flowers Day

The Write, Edit, Publish challenge for February 2016 is all about love to honor Valentine's Day. Write, Edit, Publish is a multi-year round blog hop with writing challenges. Started by Denise Covey and now, Denise is joined by Yolanda Renee to help oversee our submissions. This Valentines post will be judged by the honorable and brilliant Regency Romance Author, Francine Howarth. We are all published, yeah. Go here to read what others have written or to add your name and write something too. 

No idea how the underlined blue words got there. Don't click on them they will take you to an add. I downloaded Windows 10 and I've been having weird stuff happen. I also don't know how to get rid of them. Arrrgh. 

The Annual Coloring of Flowers Day

Raindrop slipped between worlds and entered the festivities. Faerieland held the annual coloring of flowers today. Laughter and chattering filled the air. Faeries came from all over to this special spot. A lake took center position and all around it were pockets of flowers in full bloom. Tulips, lilies, lilacs, iris, and many more. None had color, not even their stems nor the lake.

            Raindrop’s faerie cousins sat on blankets, or dangled from tree limbs. He joined his parents who had brought enchanted chairs that floated between the ground and trees.

            “Good to see you son. How are you finding your job?” His father’s midnight blue brows were bushy and took up much of his forehead. Raindrop kept his brows trimmed.

            “I oversee the shadows of Frisco.”

            “Do you enjoy the work?”

            “Thunderclap,” Raindrops mother said. “Let him relax and enjoy our time together.” She turned to him and smiled making her cheeks puffy like a chipmunk with too many nuts in its mouth. “Have you found a faerie maiden yet?”

            Raindrop sighed. “No Mother.” He knew it wasn’t for lack of trying, but every female faerie in Frisco was spoken for.

            A trumpet blast. The faeries around the lake grew quiet. “Today our annual flower coloring contest is very special.” The male announcer said. “We celebrate 3,000 years. Allow me to introduce the contestants.” He proceeded to rattle off both male and female faerie names and as he did the faeries flew out from a tree trunk.

            Raindrop couldn’t concentrate. The most beautiful faerie he’d ever seen had gracefully fluttered into view. Her golden hair was decorated with tiny purple coral bells. Leaves entwined among her hair and curled down the strands of hair like ribbons. Her purple dress sculpted her tiny body and was sewn in the same shape as a purple coral bell.

            “This is Wondrous,” the announcer said indicating her.

            Wondrous…Raindrop admired the purple stones that sparkled beside pearls on her cheeks to climb green markings up to her forehead. Wondrous…what an appropriate name.

            The trumpet sounded once more. The competing faeries swooped into the air. Wondrous flew to the other side of the lake. Without a word, Raindrop followed and settled on a tree branch. The competition began.

            Wondrous flew over the lake and tapped her wand. Blue sparks flew out followed by green. Instantly the lake took on multiple hues of blue and leafing plants sprang from the water. Another flick of her wand and lily pond leaves grew thick, each sprouting water lilies. They opened petals and changed from white to yellow tipped in purple. In the center an enormous pink lily opened. On the bank Wondrous flew from flower to flower. Flick and flick. Color ran up the stems turning variegated shades of green and yellow. Iris had blue, purple, yellow and pink color spread across each petal and blend together, bleeding spikes of riotous color over all.

Day lilies swayed when Wondrous fluttered over them. Tap, they changed from white to orange with spots and grew darker, the edges turning red. Flick, flick, flick. Lilacs became a rainbow of green, yellow, purple and blue. Magnolia’s turned pink and red. Daffodils changed into sea green petals. When the trumpet blew again to end the competition, Wondrous presented the judges with a kaleidoscope of varying degrees and shades. Raindrop had never seen anything so marvelous in all his life.

Raindrop flew between hundreds of faeries to congratulate Wondrous on her winning display. Other male faeries presented her with tokens. Raindrop glanced around. He didn’t have a token. What to do?

Then he saw a tiny coral bell peeking through from among the other flowers Wondrous had colored. He swooped down and picked the sweet blossom and flew quickly to the side of Wondrous. Still he worried, was it enough? Taking the petals of the coral bell, he ran it beneath the raindrops that hung from his hairline. When he gazed again at the flower, the raindrop enhanced its color and broke it into fractions in the light.

Wondrous turned. Raindrop held out the flower and she took it. Her golden eyes studied the petals before gazing at Raindrop and smiling.

“Will you join me at our table?” Raindrop asked.

“I will.” Her smile made his wings stop fluttering and he fell. She swooped down and caught his hand. Their touch ignited sparks that flew into the darkening sky and lit it up followed by a loud bang.

Raindrop couldn’t stop gazing at her. They joined his parents. The night was filled with scrumptious food and laughter. When the faerie orchestra began to play, Raindrop led Wondrous in a faerie dance, floating beneath the bows of a weeping willow.

The dance ended. He held her close. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

She giggled and flew around him, pointing her toes like a faerie ballerina. Raindrop caught her hand and swung her close. Suspended in air he kissed her. As the moon rose behind them, the faeries gathered beneath them, clapped.

“We will have a lifetime of joy,” Raindrop said.

“I shall paint our joy along the mountain paths of Frisco,” Wondrous said and kissed him again.

Word Count 871

Happy Valentine’s Day. How did you enjoy my faerie love story?

Be sure to visit the other writer’s to read more Valentine post here.

Nancy

My friend, Yolanda Renee's new book and cover reveal.

Yolanda Renee has been my friend since I first started blogging. She is a gifted mystery writer and is announcing the up coming release of her book, Murder & Obsession. Here are the details. 

COVER REVEAL

MURDER & OBSESSION

Flames burn between a hardboiled cop and a gifted artist, but soon extinguish as another man’s obsession ignites into an inferno of desire, driving him to destroy the object of his madness.

As wedding bells echo like the ring of toasting champagne glasses in the ice carved mountains of Anchorage Alaska, detective Steven Quaid rehabs his grandfather’s cabin into a honeymoon cottage for his new bride.

When he returns from a hunting trip, Steven’s faced with five police officers, who “Want to talk.” Plagued by two unsolved murders, the Department is searching for answers.

The conversation comes to a deafening halt as the team finds a bloody crime scene in the bridal suite. "Where's her body?" is a question Steven cannot fathom. 

Steven’s jaw clenches and his heart races. Images of Sarah streak through his mind.

The silence breaks as an explosion of accusations vibrate through every fiber of his being.

Steven bolts…

Although running is never the smart thing to do, Steven’s not thinking clearly and his escape into the wilderness of the Brooks Range proves almost fatal.

This Steven Quaid mystery is both personal and heartbreaking.

Bio:

At one time Alaska called to me and I answered. I learned to sleep under the midnight sun, survive in below zero temperatures, and hike the Mountain Ranges. I've traveled from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, and the memories are some of my most valued. The wonders, mysteries, and incredible beauty that is Alaska has never left me and thus now influence my writing.

Despite my adventurous spirit, I achieved my educational goals, married, and I have two wonderful sons. Writing is now my focus, my newest adventure!

You can find me here:

My Blog: Defending the Pen

Facebook

Twitter @Yolanda Renée

Pinterest

Author Page: Amazon

New Covers:

Murder, Madness & Love

After a gritty detective becomes involved with a beautiful widow suspected of murder, rumor and obsession obstruct his quest for justice.

Memories of Murder

World damnation is a psychotic man’s goal, but two obstacles stand in his way, greed and a dedicated detective. 

Sounds like a great read. Give it up for Yolanda.

Nancy