Web of Flowers: Micro Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Drama

She rode her bike as far into the pasture as the tall plants would allow. Taking a breath, and putting up the kickstand, she let out a scream, praying that she’d gone far enough.

She’d gone far enough in other ways, said too much, allowed her heart to get entangled in webs that no spider would dare dance upon let alone spin. Now she was stuck, just as stuck as the tangle of wildflowers that clogged the spokes of her bicycle wheels.

Panting from the tension that stretched her chest, she knelt down and tore away plug after plug of busted flowers. The scent of their sap saturated her fingers promising to leave a faint reminder of where she’d been and what she’d done.

It would be no different than with the rest of her life; the scent of her actions, the evidence of her trying to pull herself free would always trace her existence.


*I know, you are probably wondering what is that she has done. The feelers of my mental muse are still seeking answers to that and may have actually found them. But on the other hand, I am not even sure the answer matters. These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt June 5th, 2017. Follow the link to give it a try yourself!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!


The Wall: A Free Flow Write Short Story


She gently feathered her fingers against her full lips, recalling his kiss again. The sweetness of it had been so heady that she now absentmindedly played against her mouth as if her touch would rekindle the sensation.

Her first kiss.

Pulling her fingers away, and drawing in those suddenly lonely lips, Everdean let out a sigh so wrought with longing that she was certain she could have made every flower in her mother’s rose garden wilt.

It was all truly absurd, she had to admit to her self. Wenton Iveprow had never been a candidate for her affections, never. And she was certain that she, of all the eligible darlings of Oakvereaton, was not to be listed upon his calling card.

Neighbors. They had always been neighbors, and certainly not the fondest of such. The term was even too intimate to describe their dealings. Their encounters were as sudden and overbearing as weeds that sprang up over night.

Things had grown so foul between them that their fathers decided it was best they erect a wall between their properties, “Best to keep the peace,” Everdean’s father had said,  “And to make it harder for war,” Wenton’s father had added.

It was only recently that the door had been added, and that only because of happenings far more tragic than Wenton and his weeds. With a gust of the wind the joints in Everdean’s broken leg began to ache and her shifting upon her wheeled chair let out a moan that matched that of her lips.

She pressed her eyes together and curled the toes of her propped leg, grateful that she could finally manage such a task. After her run in with the horse no one had thought she would ever walk again, it was the cost of her heroics,  never mind that Wenton would come calling on her and even kiss her.

A swarm of butterflies danced within her belly as a scent so close to grapes waft through the cut face of the door in the wall, the lovely purple heads danced from their stems propped up by bronze, masculine fingers.

He breath caught. He had come back so soon, and oh how sent a ripple of joy through her that no one else had managed. Catching Wenton’s chocolate brown eyes with the lovely flecks of caramel, flicker with light as he smiled, only made her smile in turn.

Gazing upon his lips, she couldn’t help but touch her own again as he came beyond the door of the wall.


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Blue Viola: A Watercolor by Request

What grand news! My mother LOVED her watercolored Poppies card for Mother’s Day. She loved it so much she requested that I paint a card for her mother…In case you have not guessed, she let it be known the Poppies design was hers and no one elses.

Mom’s are so cute.

Anyhow, I decided to try my hand at a Viola. The original was pink (I intend to paint it true to its color in the future, and mayhaps recreate it with colored pencil) but I decided to go for blue tones with this study.

Here she is:

Copyright Candce Coates
Copyright Candce Coates

I didn’t use the same technique that I had with the Poppies. (If you have not seen them click HERE.)  But all in all, I am not disappointed with this. Watercolors are tricky things.

Here goes the image all dressed up in card form.

Copyright Candice Coates
Copyright Candice Coates

As I gain more years under my belt, I begin to develop different tastes. As of late, flowers have become of interest. We shall see where this leads my art in the future.


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Journey to north end: Finale

The water was like acid slicing through the dryness that had constricted his airways. It burned even to touch his tongue but called up a desperation for more from deep within him. Crell needed more.

He hacked and clawed at his throat and face, his eyes felt like heavy weights were holding them closed but at the same time, with each desperate attempt to blink the weights tore away.

“Crell?!” Rosie’s voice was panicked and muffled, but she was there, right there, her hands touching his face. “Get more water! Those things don’t like water!” She yelled at his crew.

The vessel shook again with a dizzying tail spin before jerking as if it had been caught be something from beneath. Crell tried to open his eyes again but found himself gasping for air.

1372324928s7mvsHis body seized from the stabbing chill of more water, and the burn of his flesh sucking it in again. He growled through clenched teeth, holding tightly to Rosie’s hand.

“They’re almost off. They are all almost-” Her voice transitioned from sounds of relief to shrieks of terror. Rosie grabbed hold of Crell’s shirt and pulled him closer to her, nearly smothering him.

The sounds of fear suddenly broke through the dullness of his once blocked ears as more of the growths fell away, retreating from the water. Even his eyes were free to open. He wished they had stayed shut.

The assaulting scent of the creature from below was bad enough; the stench of stagnant water laced with the body rot of other victims who had plunged beneath the blooms was paralyzing. The first of the creatures boarded the vessel, its leather skin stretched taught across jagged bone and rippled muscles. Its face was the shape of a sharp ‘v’ drawn with dark creases exposing teeth like that of a sharks.

It expanded its long clawed arms and let out a cry that forced Rosie to let Crell go. For the first time ever, Crell wished she was still holding on to him, but now she was covering her ears.

The beast stumbled forward, eyes the color of dry blood locked on Crell. “No!” He shouted as another of its kind crawled upon the vessel from behind them.

Crell could hear and breath clearly now. The water had knocked the growths free from his flesh, but he was still a goner. He could feel it in his bones.

“Rosie,” He whispered her name and clutched her hand, uncertain of why she was pulling away from him. Yes, he knew he was a dead man, but they didn’t want her. She could have at least been a momentary comfort until he was pulled below and torn apart.

But she would not stay put. Instead she shoved him away from her with such force that the creatures that hunted him cried out again lunging in his direction until stopping with a quickness that Crell could not read. It was as if they were hypnotized.

They were.

“Is this what you want?” Rosie held one of the bloody growths in her hands with several of the others to her chest. The beast from behind her hissed and caused her to stumble forward, but she did not drop her bait. “Crell, crank the engine…” She whispered as she eased forward towards the front of the vessel. The others of the crew had moved out of harms way. The creatures followed Rosie.

More cries from the predators echoed around them as the scent of blood and growths teased their drawn nostrils. An entire pack was on its way. The two on the vessel began to look at Crell again. He tried to crank faster but he was so weak. One of the creatures began to snarl and ease in his direction again, primed to pounce.

“No!” Rosie shouted, hurling one of the larger growths at the creature’s face. Before it could make its deadly move it was knocked from the vessel by the blunt force of its companion seeking after the growth that Rosie had hurled.

“Don’t stop! Crank faster!” The scrapping sound that had all but ceased was beginning to rise again. As if baiting wild hounds, Rosie tossed what was left of the growths as far away from the vessel as she could.

More pollen began to fill the air with the creature’s violent moves towards their reward, but the vessel was close, so close to North End. They were going to make it, blooms and pollen be darned! “Hold on, Crell!”

“Rosie! No!” Crell managed to push out from his belly.

Taking hold of the wheel, Rosie sent the vessel hurling forward with as much intent as she had the growths when she tossed them overboard. Wind whipped up behind them in a smokey blue trail of pollen before the vessel  groaned from an unexpected impact as its underbelly hit against a rock face that was well hidden beneath the growth of blooms.

Everyone on board shot forward in wild arcs in the air, splashing like cannon balls into the depths of North Sea.

*   *   *

Crell couldn’t help but sip up the salted water, dunking his head beneath for good measure. They were only a mile or so from North End now and he could manage the threat of dehydration. After what he had just experienced he was certain he could manage anything, even the violent slap of Rosie’s hand that had just landed against his back.

He turned to her as the burn of his slapped flesh radiated against the coolness of the salt water.

“We did it!” Rosie beamed. “We made it to North End. Well, we did, your vessel not so much.”

Crell scowled deeply at her before forcing her lips into his with such dominance that he was certain he felt her sinking. The crazy woman had cost him his vessel but she had saved his life and knocked him senseless in the process. “Yeah, we made it.” He said, pulling her back upward, smiling at her lips still locked in a heady pucker. “We did indeed.”


I hope you liked this bizarre story and found the “Ending” to be satisfying. As with all of the stories like this, there is somewhat of a tug to write more, as if what has been produced is only a snippet of a larger body of work, and perhaps this is. Only time will tell in the end.


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Journey to North End: Part 1 A Short Story

Crell cranked the arm of the engine eighteen more times for good luck. His adam’s apple seemed to be stuck at an uncomfortable position at the center of his throat. Rosie thumping him on the shoulder immediately knocked it loose. He swallowed hard and turned on her with sharp eyes.

As usually Rosie was spitting out words before he could even take in a decent breath. “Are we going forward or not? I don’t want to be here all day.” She folded her arms across her chest, one brow cocked.  1392603435dr22y

Crell narrowed his eyes. “Yes. I was getting ready to move us forwards when you hit me!”

“I didn’t hit you. I touched you.”

The throbbing flesh of his shoulder begged to differ. Crell bit his tongue, not waiting to waste a single, precious second arguing with a woman he knew he could not best even when she was absolutely wrong. The sooner they reached the North End the sooner they would be out of each others hair. Or so he hoped.

The ocean was wide, the wind was low, for now. As long as the wind stayed still, as long as the engines kept moving, not stalling even once, they would be fine.

Rosie must have noticed the nervous sweet speckling his forehead because she clicked her tongue and thumped him again. “They are only flowers, Crell. And mighty beautiful flowers if I don’t say so myself.”

“Don’t say so!” He rebuked with a firm shake of his head. “Don’t say so at all! They are not beautiful. They are deadly. Should the wind pick up , should their pollen fill with air,” He crossed himself and cranked the engine eighteen more times as his eyes stared hard at the blue ocean of flowers.

Rosie had no idea what they were getting into. She had not the slightest clue what the pollen could do to the mind, or worse, what they who hid beneath the full blooms would do to them should they fall over board.  Crell shuddered to remember.

He had no need to imagine it. He had crossed these blooms once before. Then he was but a child of thirteen and after the incident he had sworn to never come this way again. Now thirty, his boat floated on the air upon the edge of the blooms with the familiar childhood fear creeping up his throat again. He caught Rosie’s hand right before it thumped him a third time.

“Just keep your net over you face!” He dropped her hand and pulled her netted hood over her head and face and made certain that it was securely sealed. “And for goodness sake, keep your hands to yourself. We don’t have room for error here. No room at all.”

Stifling a frightened whine, Crell eased the ship forward. A bright sent of pollen began to fill the air.

THE END… For Now

I have had the desire to do a week long short story, similar to the one a did a little while ago titled, The Day He Took Her Hand. Granted, it is Tuesday and this story already feels like it is much more than a short story, but I intend to give it at least two more days of writing to round it off…see where it takes me.


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