Turning Point: Flash Fiction Results For Monday’s Muse Nov 30th 2015

Turning Point

Heat spread across my cheeks as Mama turned and gave me that look, the one that said, ‘Don’t make me turn this car around, mister.’ I choked on the angry retort that tickled my tongue and drew my clenched fist beneath my thighs in an attempt not to hit my sister, Harriet, across the back of her head.

Harriet snickered. 

She always seemed to find humor in making every waking day of my life miserable. Sure we had our laughs every now and again, but mostly it was war; war waged on me by the villainous troll that my parents had spent the last six years trying to convince me was actually my sister and not some rotten changeling that had crept in from the forest.

Changlings did that, came in and made people believe they were someone they were not. I read about it once in a comic, so it’s true alright. Harriet didn’t fool me. But Mama and Daddy, they were goners.

They would learn the truth one day. I would show them. But for now, it was obvious that they were too hypnotized by bouncy curls and rosy cheeks to see anything other than the enemy they tucked in at night.

So it was settled. I was going to make my escape and then show them all the truth later. My bags were already packed to go. I am going to become a changling.

Becoming a changling usually required that a kid be kidnapped and swapped out by the changling gang. I read that too somewhere.

Living in the forest wouldn’t be so bad. I loved climbing trees and creek fishing, and I could definitely do without having to stare at Mrs. Beezly another day. Life at nine was hard enough as it was let alone having to look at her all afternoon.

The only problem that I did have was not being rotten enough for them to change me out. I always managed to get the threatening look from Mama but I had never had the guts to cross…that line…never had the moxy…never…

WHACK! Cathunk!

“HENRY!” Mama screamed at me as the car yanked over to the side of the road spitting gravel, my guilty hand still raised in the air. Harriet was wailing like a stuck pig. She was going to have a nice knot where her forehead kissed that side window.

The shocked look in her eyes made my stomach burn as Mama actually whipped the car around and directed it toward home. Home and my future as a changling.

Far as I could see it, I’d earned my place today. I even managed to snicker. It was a real turning point.

THE END

These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt May 23rd, 2018, originally posted on December 3rd, 2015.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

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The Pull of the Rain: A Free Flow Write #Romance #Writing

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“I don’t know how to win you.” He said, the lines in his brow straining against the pull of the rain. The eyes that looked back at him were equally intense, equally determined.

But why? Why was this such a struggle? Didn’t she understand? He pulled his hand down his face, callouses brushing against evening whiskers that had begun to sprout beneath the brutality of the day. Dampness, not only from the rain but from the sweat of his exertion made his shirt cling to his chest, arms, and back.

He needed to quit this, he needed to quit her, he needed-

“Didn’t you hear the bell?”  A voice cut through the patter of rain against wet earth. A finger of lightning traced the sky and pointed towards the house a little ways off. It was as if the finger of God was telling him, “Go home, Jesse. That is enough.”

Jesse ground his teeth, walking toward the edge of the fence. He met the woman’s gaze as she shielded her eyes against the falling rain with the kitchen towel she held above her head.

Why is she out here? 

She asked again, “Didn’t you hear the bell? I rang it several times.”

“I heard it.” His voice was clipped. She paused, as was her way as of late, and traced his face as if it were a page of a novel she was reading. She was reading him.

“Alright then,” she finally said. Her hands dropped down, pulling the kitchen towel from over her head. She twisted it between her hands before glancing once over his shoulder and then back at the house.

She had only gotten a few steps before Jesse forced himself out of the corral. He took hold of her arm and turned her around to face him, another generic apology ready upon his lips.

“Hannah,” He said her name but paused, the expression on her face striking him to silence. Even beneath the wetness of the falling rain he could tell there were tears upon her face.

He had never given a care for her tears, never given a care for her. He didn’t know how to win her either. He didn’t know how to bring peace from an unwanted union, or love from two lonely hearts made stone. Nothing he had tried to do had done any good with Hannah, the same way nothing he had been trying to do with the blasted horse was working either.

He felt defeated, he could tell that Hannah did as well, the dip at the corners of her mouth said so. He touched the side of her mouth with his fingertip and felt a jolt of electricity that was not unlike the lightning.

Before he could make heads or tails of why he had touched her mouth with his hand, he touched her lips with his, something he had not done since the day they said “I do,” and even that was short lived and almost painful.

But it wasn’t so with this kiss, not with how the rain blanketed them, not with how Hannah’s unsure hands found their way up his chest, or how his arms found their way around her curved waist.

It was peace. It wasn’t winning, it wasn’t losing. It was just the sweetest surrender; giving into the wanting and being met with the same determination.

THE END

*Originally published April 9, 2015.

 

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

What He Said: Flash Fiction Results for Monday’s Muse August 15th, 2016

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What He Said: Flash Fiction

It was just one interview, one, and yet she felt as if she were trapped in a room filled with flashing camera’s and buzzard-like reporters, all out to take their bite at her. 

Really, she was all alone in an empty cafe, a stupid ball cap squeezing her head a scarf wrapped around her neck like a noose with Lyle in front of her.

Lyle Ready was the head editor for an indie publication that had been gaining a lot of traction lately. Emory couldn’t have cared less about his work, truth was she hardly knew him. Actually, she only knew him through a lost acquaintance. That acquaintance being the girlfriend of her ex’s brother.

Her name was Wren, Wren Ready. Wren was  a sweet girl who Emory owed a huge favor to, and as fate would have it, Wren’s older brother needed a big push in order to take his craft to the next level.

Of course, Wren called Emory. What had been her words, “Hey, lady. you need to clear your name. You need an unbiased platform to do that on and Lyle has that platform. Talk to him. Tell him your side of things. It will be like killing three birds with one stone; you will have cleared your name, Lyle will get a greater boost for business and I will free you from your debt. It’s a win-win-win! At least that’s what he said, and I happen to agree. Lyle that is, that’s what Lyle said.”

At the sound of Lyle’s surprising baritone voice, Emory snapped out of her mental drifting. His caramel eyes stared widely into hers expecting an answer.

Emory ran her finger’s between the noose-scarf and her throat. It’s only one interview. “Sorry, can you repeat the question?” She gave him a half smile, noticed the caramel of his eyes darken a bit before he jotted down a few words in his notebook.

Emory read them upside down but she got the gist of what he’d written. Throat going dry she took a long gulp of the glass of water beside her. He’d basically written that she was too flakey to have done what she was being accused of…at least in his estimation. He’d also said that she was a classic beauty.

She shrugged her shoulders. She was innocent, but at least someone else had come to that conclusion and used his own words. She also appreciated being called beautiful.

THE END

*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt, August,15th, 2016. Follow the link to see the original post with rules and give the prompt a try yourself or share it with a writer friend!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

And He Was Lovely: Romantic Words

The ache ran deep for him. She felt it clear in her middle and even as it radiated outward into every part of her, tickling her heart.

There was a part of her that mistook the feel of it, the scent of what was growing inside her as nothing but anxiety, anxiety for the absence of a man she’d never known. But her soul and spirit knew him and thus she ached for him in only a way loneliness could describe.

Yet, she banished the anxiety and renamed the presence inside her ‘hope,’ and not just hope but ‘reminder.’ She was being reminded that although love had never resided with her in this way before that it was sure to come. And soon she’d know his name.

He was the one for which the hole in her heart had been carved, and the ache born. Yes, he was the one she’d prayed for and he was lovely.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Not Everything: Flash Fiction Results for Monday’s Muse August 8th 2016

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Not Everything: Flash Fiction

He pulled his cap over the earbuds that blared in his ears. He needed them to stay in place, needed the music to take him to a different dimension in the same way the gray smoke that drifted from the embers of his cigarette led him into a superficial, addictive calm. He needed to focus if he was going to do what he planned to do.

Time had come knocking and it refused to remove its knuckles from his door until he complied. He ground his teeth, relenting to the urge that was pushing him.

He would make peace.

He wasn’t a perfect man. As far as what his new pastor had preached, he was still but a babe in Christ. Some habits, behaviors would take time to break. He quickened his pace before time could do any more knocking,

Pushing through the slushy snow that slowly melted against the pavement, he crossed the street and stepped into the coffee shop. He’d been a usual there for three years straight. Every morning, before work, he ordered the same coffee, the same way, with the same plain bagel, toasted, with cinnamon cream cheese.

Two days ago, the new girl had gotten everything wrong…not everything. She’d added cream to his coffee and given him an everything bagel with cinnamon cream cheese! The bagel wasn’t even toasted.

He was already running late for work and the morning rush had filled the coffee shop clear out to the sidewalk. He didn’t have time to get things fixed, but he’d stewed on it long enough to rip the girl a new one the following morning.

And all that evening the Holy Spirit seemed to do a beautiful job of convicting him of righteousness and the words of his pastor, “Kindness first, none of us are perfect although we serve a perfect God filled with perfect love for us.”

He was learning. He was leaning.

Standing in front of the girl at the coffee shop, her face suddenly draining at the sight of him. He apologized.

THE END.

*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt August, 8th, 2016.  Follow the link to see the rules and give the prompt a try!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

As an Eagle in Flight: Flash Fiction

Her toes clawed the earth, dug into the soil like determined roots. Her muscles strained and her tendons drew taught like skins stretched over the mouth of a drum. She pushed until sweat pressed from her pours like oil from crushed olives.

She would not be moved.

Bearing down, tasting the sweat that seeped between her clenched teeth, she thrust her shoulder deeper into his belly. If need be, she’d run him over the cliff. She’d even go with him to save her land.

She grunted against her enemy’s champion, felt her hands lose purchase against his slick muscles. If not for the many scars she would have likened them to fine marble.

In that moment, the man had gone from being a movable mountain to the very milestone that would crush her.

She tried to latch on to him again, push him away with all her might, but the ground had been lost. She knew it. Worse, so did he.

Shoving her hands away he thrust his open palm against her abdomen sending her hurling backward, feet over head in a winded tangle of frustration and tears.

The horn sounded. The battle was over. Her family hung their heads in shame.

She didn’t bother to rise, only held her tender ribs. Had her enemy not spoken she would have never risen again.

“To lose a battle is not to lose the war,” He said, pulling her up by her arm. The movement was suddenly more agonizing than the loss itself. His hand upon her only served as a sign that they were now in bondage, their land lost, their chains invisible, but their freedom as lofty as an eagle in flight.

He cupped the nape of her neck and whispered his finish in her ear, “Consider your bondage the intermission to a greater journey ahead.”

Smiling he walked away, giving her  his back as the others put her arms in chains.

THE END…OR THE BEGINNING

*This is  free flow writing exercise. The only corrections made are those of glaring grammar issues. I hope you enjoyed it.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Scorching Sun: Microfiction

The rain felt like acid on his chaffed skin. The sun had licked him dry, nearly to the bone and left him tender. He’d hoped that the clouds above would have given him some relief but the water, tainted by  the poison that saturated the air, had only made a bad situation even worse.

Pushing himself upward with a chorus of slurred oaths and grunts, he peered forward. From where he sat, he had at least another mile to go before he reached the borders of Homeland. By then he would have found shelter and gained enough distance between them and himself to rest up and lick his wounds.

Turning on your clan was never a wise thing to do. There was no going back. There wasn’t even a safe haven to be found amongst other clans.

Traitors were trusted by no one and were hunted by all.

He could have cried with empty repentance for what he’d done, but his tears would have been false. He wouldn’t change a thing.

Like the parable of Jesus, he’d found his precious pearl hidden in the field,  and he’d sold just about his very soul to get it.

Stumbling to his feet, he glanced down at his scarred palms, took in a breath and forced his legs to move.

THE END

*This has been a long overdue study in stream of consciousness writing. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did to write it.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

On a Wing & a Prayer: Flash Fiction Results for Monday’s Muse July 25th 2016

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On a Wing & a Prayer: Flash Fiction

Had things gotten so bad that she was actually considering kissing a frog? 

Yes, they absolutely had and there was no turning back now. She’d already considered all of her options…which proved to be slim to none and yet time was definitely running out.

Desperate times had called for such desperate measures that she had even gone as far as to perch herself right on the slimy nose of a frog ready to plant her very first kiss.

By the look in his bulbous eyes, he was probably thinking she was nothing more than dinner. She had to make this quick.

The reality was, she was enjoying her sabbatical. Life as a flighty winged creature was far easier than being who she really was; scullery maid number 339. She didn’t even have a name.

Well, she had a name, Aldover Gilacutty…Aldover, that was how it ended up being pronounced later on. Really what she was named was ‘All over’ because that is what her father said when she was born, “Dear Lord, my life is all over!

Why? Because she had been born the eleventh girl to a lowly cobbler who needed a strong strapping son to take up the family business, not another girl to wear his work before he made a single cent from sales.

Life could be cruel sometimes.

Short on his tax payment, her father sold Aldover  to the palace where she became scullery maid 339. Basically, she was a drab shadow that no one ever noticed. It stood to reason no one noticed her. Her father had sold her without a second thought, and her sisters had forgotten who she was.

Aldover simply wanted more out of life, even if life as an insect would be shorter than that of a human, thus she kind of stole a potion and turned herself into a butterfly…really she was more of a fancy moth compared to other butterflies but she was enjoying her new life.

But with all potions, there was that darned time limit and hers was drawing to a head. Good thing she’d learned to read fine print. It was common knowledge that a kiss could transform you back into a human, but that was when another human offered you, the morphed creature, a smooch.

Aldover figured if she kissed another creator as the morphed being then perhaps she would stay the same while they became human in her place. Dancing on the frogs nose, it was now or never, test her hypothesis or end it all by becoming a quick snack.

Tipping her nose down and letting out a breath she planted a kiss that she hoped and prayed would change everything.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* I hope you enjoyed the start of this. I know I did. There is nothing quite as satisfying than writing an easy story that makes your heart smile. And, yes, I will be writing more. I can’t leave Aldover hanging on a wing and a prayer. These are my results for MONDAY’S MUSE JULY 25th 2016. To see the rules and give the writing prompt a try yourself, you can do so by clicking HERE.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Desperate Waters: Results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 18th 2016

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Desperate Waters: Flash Fiction

The sight was satisfying almost good enough to drink. The trek there had been long and arduous but they still had further to go. Looking back at her companions, noticing the longing in their eyes, she warned them not to drink the water.

It had been only a half day since most of their canteens had run dry. What was left of their life source was reserved for specific positions of the sun, moments when the clouds waned thin and the scorching heat all but sapped her and her companions dry.

Unlike them, the family she’d spirited away from the war camp, she had been trained to withstand such conditions. Only the strongest, most hale and resilient were honored to be soldiers in the Ubrain army.

The family, Talvians, they had not experienced such training, but they had been trained for survival in other ways. Nearly a month’s journey by foot from their native land, trapped under the reign of a king who held ought against their people, they’d learned the surest way for a Talvian to survive in the Realm of Ubraia was to do so in the shadows.

For three centuries, even in the face of their dwindling numbers had they done so. But the youngest ruler of Ubraia had sent fire even into the deepest darkness to drive them out.

Talvia, with cat-like speed, took a firm grip on the Mildreath’s wrist. Mildreath, the mother of the family, belly swollen with child all but cried out. Thirst was all over her face. Talvia loosened her grip.

“Take my water, Midreath, but don’t drink this,” She let her eyes scan the rushing waters at her feet. “The river runs green. It’s been poisoned.” Swallowing down the dryness that had strained her own throat, she pushed her canteen to Mildreath’s chapped lips.

They were close to Lithia. Lithians had little care for anyone. Lithians ruled the Frake.

Talvia’s heart ached inside of her for their plight. The last of the free Talvians in the Realm of Ubraia, sentenced to death, pushed the fringes of thirsty desperation to the point they would willingly drink of poisoned water.

Talvia, named after the people most hated in her land, named by a grandmother who claimed her a wicked curse, felt a comradery with the people she’d stolen away, so much so that she’d made herself a traitor to her own people by sparing their lives.

Pinching her eyes closed and shifting her sword at her side she trudged further through the green waters. They still had a very long way to go if they were to reach safety and they hadn’t even crossed the borders of Lithia.

THE END… For now

*MONDAY’s MUSE WRITING PROMPT  JULY 18th 2016 RESULTS. I hope you enjoyed this snippet of a Fantasy Tale that I intend to write in the future. I will keep you posted in the future. In the meantime, follow the above link if you’d like to give this writing prompt a try!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

More to the Man: Microfiction Results for Monday’s Muse June 27th 2016

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More to the Man: Microfiction

He was such a clever man. Smart in every way, even down to the precise way he tied his shoes. It made her wonder how she ever ended up with him.

She wasn’t judging. At least that wasn’t her intention. She just imagined that a less ‘precise’ person would better handle this job. She glanced down at her own clothing. She was neatly put together in a more let’s-have-a-play-day kind of way.

Rompers were her favorite. Had been since her childhood, especially the brightly colored ones. She was beyond excited that they’d made a comeback into the fashion world.

Some people believed that beer was a sign God loved them. She knew that His decision to bring back the mighty romper was more accurate.

“Ready?” He asked her, his blue eyes brightened with his query. For the first time, she noticed the tiny specks of brown that freckled them. In truth, she’d never noticed his eyes at all. Not until that day.

She’d actually only noticed his crispness and nothing else, assuming one thing about him rather than another. The truth of it embarrassed her.

“Absolutely.” She gave him a smile and tried to hold down the flush that had painted her cheeks. Clearly, there was more to the man than fine shoes and perfect hair.

He’d volunteered for this position, one that several of their co-workers had shunned. He clearly had an open heart, that, and incredible blue eyes.

THE END

* These are my results for Monday’s Muse, June 27th, 2016. To see the original prompt and rules, and maybe even see what your imagination creates by giving it a shot yourself, you can do so by clicking HERE.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!