Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: April 16th, 2018

OPENING LINE (S): “The door whispered on its hinges as his/her fingers gently pushed it open, his/her stomach leaping as the light from the window washed over the scene inside the room.

 “The look on her face spoke volumes. Her gaze had more intonation and resonance than that which came from spoken words. Instantly she was understood.”


  • Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes.
  • Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “MondayMuse.”
  • To get the Above Image click and copy the image below (It is a public domain image.)


If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to and I will post your lovely words here on my blog.


*Originally posted June 2015

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!


The Right Time: Writing Prompt 1 Results

Writing Prompt: “3rds” Song: The Right Time, by Warren Barfield (Click the song title to read lyrics and hear the song.) Album:“Red Bird” 3rd line in 3rd verse of 3rd song: “We were barely getting by” Note: From my view, I have chosen to count the chorus as a verse. To view the original Prompt & Rules, click HERE.

The Right Time

“We were barely getting by. Carlos liked to believe that everything was just fine, but me, I knew better. Seven days straight drinking cold water and wearing underclothes that were so filthy they could stand up straight on their own was not fine.

“Life’s too short to be gripping all the time.” Carlos managed to throw that line at me every time I looked like I was going to wage a complaint. In all honesty, there wasn’t anything that Carlos could do that he wasn’t already doing to make things any better. We had a roof over our heads, really it was a tent he had managed to pinch from some local store a few months back. He hated stealing, but he hated being cold more than that.

More than just being dirty, finding our stomachs growling louder than any conversation we could seem to have, what seemed to bother me the most was his optimism. I suppose one of us had to be the optimist. One of us had a whole long life to live and the other…well the other of us was on precious borrowed time, time that should never be spent with complaints, no matter how much clay gets caught underneath your fingernails.

Apart from the stealing, we did other things that weren’t always on the shining side of the law. All of it was harmless. Just two kids out pocking a joke or two with no cares in the world besides seeking a good laugh and make believing we were a pair of lost boys on Neverland.

That was mostly true.

There wasn’t much to care about besides living in that moment. At least I let Carlos believe that I believed that. That is what friends are for, to laugh with, cry with, and run away with when it seems there is no hope.

Homes for the un-adoptables. What is it that makes a kid unwanted, unable to be placed? What does being unadoptable even mean? Did it mean that Carlos and I, and a slew of others, were broken, mistakes, unfit for love?

Carlos somehow managed to not think so. He said it meant we were born free. It meant we were created without confines and made to live in the dreams that others would never get to live.

I had always been the realist, not so much a pessimist, but a guy willing to look at the facts and call a spade a spade. We weren’t wanted because we were too old. Thirteen isn’t cute and cuddly. Carlos said if age had anything to do with it then what made us not cute when we were babies in the system?

I kept the hard truth to myself. One of us wasn’t wanted because of sickness and a quick expiration date on life. Parents didn’t want that. They wanted to be grandparents. That meant their kid had to grow up. If they wanted to watch the beginning and end of a life in less than twenty years they would get a puppy, not a thirteen-year-old old boy.

That is why we ran away. That is why I ran away and I am so glad that I did because if I hadn’t done so, ten years ago, I would have never gotten to see Carlos reach the height of his life. I would have never come out of my shell and anger. I would have never been able to tell his grandmother, seven months after he passed, what a great kid he was. I would have never been adopted by her and become the man I am today if it wasn’t for Carlos.


I really enjoyed writing this and seeing how the story unfolded around that first line, “We were barely getting by.” I felt like I was taking a risk, hitting on a subject that is so sensitive to many, being an “unwanted” child, lost in the system. I hope I was able to bring the short tale full circle and create a tale that is uniquely its own apart from the song that lent its inspiration.  Thanks for reading, and I will be posting my BONUS round next week!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

The Drop: Part 2 of The Sickle #Blogbattle Week 17

Tis Tuesday and another grand day for a Blogbattle! This week's word is "Drop." To read more blog battle entries, click HERE. To read Part 1 of The Sickle, click HERE.

The Drop

Clovis felt like he had been running for days. He might as well had been. The way his tongue had glued to the roof of his mouth from the strain of unrelenting thirst was a sure sign that he would be a dead man…and soon.

He had been a moving target for several hours, running into the face of the sun towards the rocky cliffs ahead of him, hoping to find some kind of shelter. But with each determined stride, with each kick of the living dust that swirled around his feet, the farther away the mountain seemed to be.

Its promise of temporary shelter snaked through him pressing him forward, battling against the relentless distance that taunted him. It was almost as if the mountain was moving away from him.

He knew better. The soaring heat of Hydra Colony, and the glare of its suns were baking away his reasoning. He still had not gotten the chance to register what was happening or why Empire had disconnected him. He could only focus his mind on shelter, and the thirst that was quickly drawing moisture from his pressed lips.

Better dehydration killed him than them to get their hands on him.

The XX, what Empire had dubbed the denizens farmed in Hydra Colony, were too basic, too far gone from human or true terre to be considered female.

They were devoid of reason and even lacked the necessary organs to reproduce. They were all but maddened clay forms, incomplete, lacking the finishing touch from the hand of God.

Shrill cries and hoots similar to that of aggravated baboons echoed against the rock face of the  mountains causing Clovis’ jaw to clench. The sound was beyond threatening and he had yet to formulate a plan for survival beyond running.

Foolishly, he chanced a look behind him, squinting past the blisters that were lingering just beneath his burning skin. At least six XX’s had emerged from the living dust just after he had collected the viable sample, and were now in hot pursuit.

Hot. How long would it be before the colony was completely cleansed by the fire that came after every Sickle trial? By the sudden rise of ferocity of the suns, Clovis reckoned he would survive a week at best before he was roasted alive.

That was at least a full five days before the fires ignited, putting Hydra Colony back at zero.

Another shrill cry, followed by a cacophony of others distinct from those that had previously assaulted his ears broke out behind him. Again Clovis looked back, just as his palm touched the rough surface of the mountain, and a prayer for a clear path to safety parted his lips.

Horror clawed up his spine with a chill that knocked the heat from his skin. Something large, larger than the XX’s had come upon them with neck break speed. Roaring like a lion, it tore down Clovis’ pursuers with blurring movements, dropping their lifeless forms to the dust.

Clovis choked down a terrible cry of his own. Six dead meant at least 36 would rise in their places, never mind the others who probably crawled upon the mountain, hiding in the darkness.

Tearing  his eyes away from the beast he could only assume was born of his blood and the living dust, Clovis took to the mountain, gripping the Sickle with an unyielding hold.

Sharp rock threatened to break his skin, forcing Clovis to change his position several times, costing him precious time. The panting of the beast behind him bounced around him.

It was drawing close, too close. Clovis needed a plan. It was that, or die at the age of 40.

He finally pulled himself to a flat surface dropping his head to his chest, taking in deep breathes through his nostrils, anything to quiet his movements and mask his position.

A shadow sliced across his path causing him to startle. He slowly drew upward from his seated position, shifting the Sickle in his hand, praying no dust lingered upon the mountain. Blood would be shed before it was all said and done, Clovis just intended for it not to be his.

Again the shadow zipped past him, dancing to the music of bare feet against stone, and breaths shallowly and carefully drawn. With each pass, Clovis moved backward, slid behind a rock, climbed over a low over hang that kissed a narrow cave opening just at his feet, until he finally realized what he had done.

“You idiot,” He chastised himself. He had allowed his fear to surrender him to the hand of his appointment, allowing them to push him directly in to the position they wanted him in, and all with the movement of their shadow.

Before he could process, before he could undo the damage he had done, the roar of the beast cracked against his eardrums. Stunned by the closeness  of the sound, Clovis blocked his ears, losing the focus he so needed to keep himself alive.

By the time he righted his swimming equilibrium, it was too late. The shadow of the beast began to fill the area around him. Clovis  swallowed down the dryness of fear.

“I will not die this day!” He hissed, readying himself for the creature’s arrival, unprepared for the hooking hold that had grabbed him by the ankles dragging him down to the ground from behind.

Clovis hit the ground hard, chest first and winded, careful not to lose the Sickle, but unable to stop the rough hands as they jerked him backward, forcing him through the darkness. Down, down, down, he tumbled, unable to gain purchase with control, until all he felt was rushing air around him just before he hit bottom.

Stunned, he struggled to open his eyes. The drop should have killed him.  But it may have saved his life…


To read Part 3 “Awake” Click HERE

Less than 30 words shy of 1000. I actually tried to write a bit less BUT that clearly didn’t happen. I also wanted to try a different story line all together BUT that didn’t happen either. The Sickle just stuck with me, as did Clovis. I had to give him another week or else I am certain I would have gone mad. 

I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave feedback and be sure to check out other entries of this blog battle.


Monday’s Muse: Writing Prompt July 6th



OPENING LINE (S): The walls to their borders were strong, but not so much so that they couldn’t break through them.

RULES: Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or one of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within 15 to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of this  post to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “Monday’s Muse.”

If you do not have a blog of your own send me an email to and I will post your lovely words here on my blog.


My results will be posted on Thursday July 9th under the FICTION tab, then the WRITING PROMPTS AND EXERCISES, then MY WRITING PROMPT RESULTS.

Untitled: Results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: June 15


Hello all! Here are my results for Monday’s Muse writing prompt. To see the original post with rules and first line, please click HERE. 


Face puckering with confusion, she glanced back down at the map, its inky words on parchment glowed with opalescent  splendor as the arrow of the drawn compass pointed straight ahead, the door was straight ahead, down the path of turquoise water. 

It could have been worse, she thought to herself. She had already been through worse since she came here…wherever here was. She had no idea how she had gotten where she was. All she could remember was that she should never lose the map in her hands and that she had to get home.

Even her name seemed to attempt to allude her from time to time. “Arlista, Alrista Raymond. Twenty eight years old.” She glanced down at the diamond cluster on her left ring finger. “Married?” She pressed her eyes closed, shaking her head. “Not married, yet. No wedding band. Engaged!” She perked. “To someone…Gosh I hope he is worth it.”

She had not realized she had started to walk along the sandy beach until the scrapping sound of the compass arrow began to cry out from the parchment in her hand. Sighing she moved back towards the path of the doorway and not a second to soon.

The call of the hounds and the men, should she be so bold to call the haggard figures that, began to echo out in the distance. They had found her!

Taking a nerves breath and pinching back tears that had once again began to sting her eyes, Arlista took her first steps towards the door. It should have been an easy task, would have been if she weren’t terrified of water and the risk of drowning.

“Please, Lord, don’t let the water be too deep or the current too strong.” She slid forward as water saturated the cotton canvas of her tennis shoes. The barking growls grew even closer, pushing Arlista to move faster. She was much more decided that she would rather drawn then fall prey to her pursuers.

Biting her lip and squeezing her fist so tightly around the parchment that she felt it crumple in her hands, she dashed towards the door, only she did not feel the water rising up her legs, nor did she feel the sprays of mist against her face.

What she felt and heard instead was the hallow sound of rubber soles smacking solid ground, echoing throughout an expansive hallway.

The dip that rocked her belly should have been sign enough that something had changed, the heat of the map in her hands also a telltale sign. She allowed herself only a few short seconds to fully asses her new surroundings.

She was indeed walking on water, which drew a dry gulping swallow from her throat, but she was also in a hallway standing before a massive black, lacquered door that had no handle.

Her throat suddenly tightened as the ghastly hounds and them that rode them slide to a stop on the shoreline of the beach. Arlista obviously hadn’t moved fast enough.

Watching them charge her forced her hand towards the handle-less door with the intent to pound against it for entrance. It was a worthy thought but one that was completely unnecessary.

The map had acted as key, swinging the door open on its hinges and letting Arlista drop inside its darkness just as the hounds and the pursuers were swept away by a wave of turquoise water.


I had a lot of stops with this story, as I received four phone calls as soon as I put my fingers to the keyboard. Alas, I still honored the time limit and finished writing within 20min. I am not sure what the beginning of this story is or what its end will be but it does garner some interest and curiosity. Who is Arlista and how did she get the map? 

I hope you enjoyed reading and do feel free to give the writing prompt a try! And be sure to share your results?


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“Grandma’s House” Results For Writing Prompt: Heads, Tails, Center

Yep! I am cutting it close folks, posting this near 10pm. Alas, I went to the movies and FINALLY saw The Avengers: Age of Ultron.

Okay, before we begin, allow me to add a link HERE that will lead you to the original exercise and rules.

NOTE: As you read, I will highlight each word I used from my Heads, Tails, Center list. Each word will be color coordinated with the list it came from.

I hope you enjoy my results!



Less clutter would have made the dirty  house more of a home. As it stood, the place was a mess, swelling from inside out with goo-gabs of useless junk. “That’s all it is, useless…just like you.”

Terralyn unfolded her arms from around her waist, smacking the dingy dishtowel in her hands against the worn edge of her grandmothers old couch. She had been trying to get the place in order for days, to no avail it seemed, but even her exhaustion couldn’t get her to sit, or maybe it was all the boxes stacked on the sofa that kept her from it.

She blew out a breathe and stepped out onto the back lawn. It was really more a patch of packed dirt that turned into mud whenever it rained. Terralyn scrunched her nose and peered out further across the rustic property. It had once been so beautiful. She prayed that it could be again.

Narrowing her eyes deeper, she noticed the golden patches of hair peeking up from a dog’s head on the far side of the yard. “The property manager never said anything about a dog,” She mumbled, wondering if she should take the chance and investigate the intruder on her newly acquired property.

The sudden whimper of the mutt answered that for her. There was no way she was going to leave him stuck. She rushed back into the house and snatched open the old fridge door. She was never good with dogs but she figured if she gave him a treat maybe he would be more inclined to let her help her, assuming he had no inclination of doing so in the first place.

Lucky for her, there were a few chicken legs left in the fridge, dried through and near petrified for having been left so long. She wouldn’t eat them, but she was sure the dog wouldn’t mind.

A sudden sound of shifting chain link fencing and the barking of the dog made her startle in her steps. She heard the sound of a man grunt as heavy booted feet smacked into the soil. Dear Lord, she had no care for intruders. First the dog and now this and to make matters worse, she couldn’t even see out back from where she was to get a view of who was out there.

Why didn’t Grandma ever get bigger windows? The check Terralyn had received shortly after the funeral let her know she could have more than afforded some.

“Note to self, get bigger windows. Bring in more natural light. Earn a greater return when you sell this dump.” The dog was still barking as she headed for the door, but the barking didn’t sound at all like that of an animal on the edge but more of a creature rejoicing over his pending rescue.

Terralyn glanced down at the chicken leg in her fist. She had gotten a treat and everything, but by the way she was holding on to the thing one would have thought she meant to use it as a weapon.

“I can see it now, Junk House heiress fends off intruder with petrified chicken leg.” Shaking her head again she walked outside. At first the only thing she could see was Grandma’s old tabby cat, Hyde, walking across that mossy fence post. Well that was a lucky thing…maybe. It was lucky because she had found Hyde, not so luck because Hyde had never liked her.

“Hey, you Ms. Helen’s granddaughter?” A deep voice called out from behind her, startling her. Terralyn jumped and the chicken leg went flying, the dirty, golden mutt leaped for it, snatching himself free from the man’s hold and colliding with Terralyn.

Dazed, and embarrassed, she looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, and a smile that near stopped her heart. “I’m so sorry! Jack Prince,” He said, as he pulled her up from the ground and steadied her. Realizing she was going to live he extended a hand.

Terralyn shook it. “That your dog?” She asked glancing back at the mutt who was happily wrestling with the chicken leg.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s called Albert. And you are?”

The way his face looked, ruddy red with dark freckles, those sapphire eyes and black hair that looked soft as silk, nearly made Terralyn giggle. Handsome men made her giggle. She did giggle!

Jack laughed with her. “What’s funny?”

“My wipe out is all,” She lied. “And yes, I am Helen’s granddaughter. Nice to meet you and your dog.”

“Pleasures all mine.”

Maybe she wouldn’t sell so quickly.


This prompt started out a bit tough with writing out my lists of 10 for each column. It also immediately took a turn because I, the creator of the thing, used the Center list for the first word by mistake. I immediately fixed it by picking a word from the proper list right after. All in all, I had a good time doing this. I spent roughly 20min.


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The Barrier: Short story: Results from Monday’s Muse June 8th

Thursday is FINALLY here! I have been wanting to share my results with you since Monday, when I wrote them. I hope you enjoy this story. I truly see much more coming from this than a 20 minute free write. To take a look at the original post with rules, please click HERE.


No matter how fast they drove, it seemed near impossible to escape the Drain. Still, he pressed further down on the gas peddle, the speedometer rising higher and higher–they didn’t call him Gunner for nothing. The whirring sound like scrapping metal, amplifying around them was proof enough of that.

“We’re not going to make it!” Elessie shouted from the back of the cab. Gunner peeked at her through the rear view mirror. He hand never liked the woman, and didn’t care in letting that truth be known, nevertheless she still requested him, by name, each morning to taxi her around the city.

Part of him, the mundane part of him, used to being her chauffeur, wanted to smile at her discomfort and squirming. She was always so level headed, her veneer impenetrable. Not today however. Today she was a frantic mess, more so, Gunner was feeling the hero. That was mostly due to the fact he, like Elessie, had no desire of dying anytime soon.

“Gunner! They are gaining,” Her voice broke into a whimper as she collapsed unto the dirty floor of the cab. “We are going to die,” More out of character sobbing.

“Not if I can help it!” Again he pressed the gas peddle, swerving in and out of the lines of traffic. The side of his car slammed into a car on his driver’s side causing Elessie to tumble to the other side of the cab.

“Put on your seat belt!” He growled past clenched teeth. Yanking the wheel to the right and pushing the gas again as a line in traffic parted like the Red sea, he rid himself of the other car, only to watch it collide with another just a few feet from his tale.

Cutting it close, Gunner. 

White knuckles  gripped the wheel tighter, as his golden brown eyes stared ahead, calculating as best he could his next break in the line ahead. It was a weird gift, if he could call it such, one that left the daily grind of his life in a sea of predictability.

He began to notice it after the accident, his mother was driving that day. He was fifteen. A trucker, spilling hot coffee on his crown jewels ran right into them. Mom didn’t make it. Gunner came out with a several scars and a visual tic that made his vision propel ahead in time by only mere moments. Sometimes it was seconds, sometimes it was minutes. There had even been times when there were days.

He prayed today was a mix between minutes and seconds. “Please, God…”

He sucked in breath as the sound of the Drain drew more life behind them into a stillness of grey darkness and death. His vision grew conical and spiraled out, lighting the path in…seconds.

“THANK YOU!” He shouted with insane laughter, whipping the car with neck-break swerves, avoiding obstacles in front of them by mere inches.

They were so close to the Edge, so close to the barrier that had been set up between the Utopia of the human mind and the reality that had fallen upon the world, that the few select dared not to endure.

Unlike Elessie, Gunner was not one of the lucky ones chosen to be a resident. He had broken in when he was 22 and never looked back, and for good reason. Funny how life and an unearthly invasion could make a man reconsider how green the grass on his side of things really was. Funnier still was that he had not seen any of this coming and now he was trying to break out.

He chanced a final glance at the wild dark eyes of the woman behind him. If she thought today was bad it was only about to get worse. “Brace yourself,”

“Wh-what are you going to do?! We will die if we hit the barrier! We can’t go out there! there is no way!”

Oh how he lived off of proving that woman wrong. “Wanna bet?” Vision spiraling forward once again, Gunner found his exit. Holding his breath, he broke through the barrier and away from the touch of the Drain right as it kissed the barrier that held it bound…for now.


Wheewhoo! I had a blast writing this! Gunner, Elessie, the DRAIN! I finished typing just in the nick of 20min of time just as he got out of the barrier just in time! 

I am really curious to see what is going on outside of the Utopian society that is now freezing up with grey death. What has caused this to happen, what is it exactly? And what is so terrible outside of the barrier that Gunner would want to break away from it in the first place. 

Again, the glorious beauty of constant stream/freeflow writing! So many awesome ideas, full of novel potential (Pun not intended) to be gleaned! I think Gunner will definitely have a longer story in the future. 


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A Sound Like Locust: Future Novel Excerpt #Blogbattle “Horde”

Tuesday has come again and with it the all enjoyable Blog Battle, hosted by fellow blogger and author, Rachael Ritchey! The keyword this week is “Horde.”To check out her blog and other entries, please click HERE.

A Sound Like Locust

A smile spread across his face, but could only be seen in his near obsidian eyes. Aiolyn shifted his mouth guard, pulling it down to his chin, exposing milk white teeth.

“They are hale, just as was reported,” He peered through his spyglass, watching the herds-women of Tamier, and let out a shrill laugh that was only inhibited by the gust of wind that had rushed up the hill side, and over the long grass that hid the Ibrian army.

Chorus, Aiolyn’s eldest brother gave him a sharp, warning stare, one which Aiolyn ignored. He was far too excited. “And they are pretty, too! Not a muckmaude among them. Here, see for yourself. I prayed to the Father King for a pretty mate. He has certainly honored me!”

Chorus shook his head. Aiolyn ever the vain one, using the derogatory term “muckmaude,” not even realizing he was insulting the Father King by referring to ones He had created in such a manner. The young man would find out soon enough that beauty wasn’t everything. Heart,  character, faith, they were what truly mattered. Loyalty.

He looked ahead again, keeping that nugget of wisdom to himself. Chorus had had to learn that truth the hard way, as would the young men behind him.

He chanced a sweeping gaze around at them. A sea of Ibrian men, fresh out of their youth, having only just passed the threshold into adult hood by means of war, and now waited for his command, waited for Chorus to give the signale for them to descend upon the inhabitants of Tamier and claim its land and women as their own.

As was the Ibrian way.

What was not the Ibrian way was for a man of Chorus’ age, 33, and status to be among them. He had taken two brides already one of Ibrian decent who had died far too young. Another from the land of Velah who had killed herself only moments after Chorus had killed the man she laid with. She had been so desperate not to be his.

Anyone but his! Her hateful voice echoed through the corridors of his mind.

Chorus shook his head as if dusting off the shame of the memory. His thoughts needed to remain clear. He had not wanted to come to Tamier, but he had agreed to the Chieftains terms; to claim a new bride, one for himself and another for his youngest brother, Thaylon who road out to war upon the sea at the side of Chorus’ twin, Argaso.

Chorus was thus charged to lead the youth. Stretch out the boarders and the ways of Ibria, and trust in Heaven’s King, the Almighty Father, to honor him with a worthy mate.

“Go on, look, Chorus!” Aiolyn thrust the spyglass into Chorus’ large hand. Letting out a conceding breath, he took a quick peek. The women were hale and…pretty.

Having looked too long, Aiolyn said to him, “Finally glad you chose to lead us aren’t you?” He winked before thrusting his mouth guard back into place.

Before Chorus could give his retort, strong wind tickled the back of his head and caused his jaw muscles to tighten. The wind would carry their scent to the flocks below. Their loss of ease would alert the people of Tamier of their presents. There was no more time to spare. Their moment had come.

Raising his massive arm in the air and blowing through the intricate metal weaving of his face guard, Chorus let out a hissing sound similar to that of a Locust, a sound the other Ibrian’s also began to release. The unified call rose higher and higher and vibrated against the hillside.

The raid had begun!

With movements less like a horde and more like the regimented swarm, Chorus and his men descended upon Tamier like a rushing wave, overtaking their scent that was carried by the wind.


I hope you enjoyed a little peek into the life of Chorus and his younger brother Aiolyn. There is certainly more to come in the form of a full length novel. These characters have lived in my head and imagination for a couple of years now, and every now and again, they , like others, reveal a bit more of their story to me. When I read this week’s word for the Blogbattle, this jumped in my mind and I had to write it out. 

I will assure you, that the Ibrian’s, though they are conquerors, have a way about them that is truly honorable even though they do, well…conquer. Their culture and “Way” which is something that Chorus holds very sacred and dear, is so rich and is actually not one that is abusive towards women…although having one’s world turned on its ear would suggest otherwise. 

I will just have to get the story fully written for you to understand my meaning. 


The Nursery: Part 1 Short Story #BlogBattle

New Week! New Blog Battle! New Word: Bun! For more stories dancing around this word, and to get to know Rachel Ritchey, the brilliant mind who started these battles,  click HERE to follow the link.


“Well if that just don’t beat all,” Harriet propped a fist in between the space of her trim waist and bottom. “Glendella, do you see what I am seeing?”

Glendella pursed her lips and tried to stifle an irritated sigh. Shaking jet black hair from her eyes she said, “No, Harriet, I don’t. If you haven’t noticed, I am busy.” She flicked her fingers in midair, the gesture looking as if she were conducting an invisible orchestra.

Copyright by Candice Coates
 by Candice Coates

She was…in a sense, doing just that, manipulating the code through Cerebral Helix, ensuring that it remained “delightful” and full of whimsy.

Each stroke of her fingers against the projected functions of the Cerebral computer she manipulated dictated what was happening in the Nursery. One slip of her finger, one misplaced flick of her wrist and-

“Well, then you ought to get yourself unbusy, because all that flicking and fiddling ain’t doing a bit of good.”

Excuse me? I will have you know, I have been doing this for ninety seven ye-”

Harriet pointed down into the Nursery, her nose in the air, “They’s waking up, ever last one of ’em.”

* * *

Elias, held his breath as he eased within the blanket of darkness of B.U.N Headquarters.  He hardly let himself breathe. There were many “last” things that made his list of things he most certainly did not want to happen to him, at the top of that list was being caught and put in the Nursery of BUN…again.

B.U.N or Binary Unit of Narcosis was a vile existence. Nothing short of torture for anyone put in the Nursery. From the moment of a souls conception B.U.N was involved, linking them with their Cerebral Helix, and stealing away everything good; hope, good dreams, wonder and imagination. B.U.N claimed it as its own.

The stolen muse of those who were born to sleep and dream had become the very foundation of the whimsical world that now existed.

People, those seen as Seed and not Tiller, had been reduced to real live think tanks, forced to sleep until their last breath, weaved into a binary code of the Cerebral Helix where their dreams and thoughts were used to create a world beyond anyone’s imagination. A world fit only for Tillers.

Tillers were too busy to dream, far too superior in pedigree to be milked in the Nursery.

Elias shuttered and felt the familiar itch that tickled the skin of his naval, neck and spine. There were no scars to be had for the mental assault he had endured for the first seventeen years of his life.

He was one of the fortunate ones. He had gotten away.

“Very few like us,” Laila Tov had said when she had first found him. “Most people are stuck when they dream, accept everything as real. We know better.”

“How?” He asked. “We just feel it. We know how to wake up.”

And they did feel it, so much so they manipulated their dreams to run contrary to their natural muse. Doing that too often, however, upset the Binary Code, created monstrous  environments, which lead to  an immediate rejection from Cerebral Helix Coding and the Nursery.

Being rejected…well that meant evaporation. Recycling was out of the question for the “bad seed”. B.U.N could not risk any contamination.

But even that process required a compliance that those like Elias, Laila Tov, and several others just did not embody. People like them not so simply got away.

Elias smiled thinking on their first conversation, before making contact with Captain Laila Tov. “Phase one is completed, Sweet hea- Er, Captain.” It had been three years since he joined the Good Night Project, named for his now wife Laila Tov. He still found it hard to call her “Captain,” not because he didn’t think she was worth her salt as a leader, but because he found her so darn cute!

“How many awake?” Her voice held no lilt of endearment. Laila Tov was all business. This was a one shot gig. Everyone in the Nursery had to be flat-lined from the code in order for phase two to work.

“All of them.”

Silence that was followed by a relieved sigh, opened up for the next command. “Begin Phase Two. The others are prepared to initiate their Binary Uploads.The Tillers won’t have time to rewrite the code before our nightmares begin to manifest. Its going to get darker in there and even worse out here.”

Elias grimaced. “That’s generally what happens when nightmares become reality. It gets dark fast. But hey, we wrote this code so…”

“True. Let’s finish this, Soldier- er Darling.”

“Rodger that!” Elias smiled as if Laila Tov’s last word was a kiss.

* * *

“Stop that!” Harriet hissed at Glendella. “Your going to break your hands clean off at the wrist, woman it ain’t working! Somethings wrong with them!” Harriet suddenly sucked in a strangled voice and pointed a finger at Glendella. Her once raven-esque hair had grown grey and brittle, the coarse strands of it brushing against her sagging skin.

Dreams were always the place of youth, but Glendella had suddenly grown haggardly. “Or,” Harriet took another step back, plastering herself against the viewing bay of the Nursery below. “You are what’s wrong! Glendella you are absolutely ghastly!”

Glendella’s eyes widened, drool slipped from her lips along with several of her once pristine and perfect teeth. “You’re one to talk, your skirts are about to pop!” She let out a horrified mew as she tried to catch her teeth.

Harriet had not felt the strain of the fabric against her once trim waist but couldn’t help but faint to the ground as if shot as the sound of her seams popping echoed through the room.


I hope you enjoyed the beginning of this tale. It is very tongue and cheek. I must give a shout out to the “muse” who inadvertently gave me the idea for this story, Blondeusk! Do check out her blog HERE and give it a follow…you can thank me later, that is after your sides have taken a moment from splittling with laughter. She is funny, that one. 


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Only Willing Hearts: A Free Flow Write

“Hypocrite!” She screamed her voice so ragged he thought her throat was bleeding.

Roylin’s gaze darkened. “You do know what hypocrite means don’t you? It means actor, someone who pretends. I have not pretended anything with you, Lyzelle. In fact I have been nothing but honest.”

Lyzelle’s nostrils flared as if they were trying to reach the wide roundness that her irate eyes had. Roylin, however, smug as ever, seemed anything but irate. Sure, he had raised his voice, but that was only to over power her’s. Now that he had, now that he stared at her with narrowed, mocking eyes, he slipped into silence.

Triumphant silence. She thought, watching his milk white teeth scrap across his bottom lip as his mouth eased into a smile.

Roylin folded his arms across his chest and leaned in closer to her, lowering down from his height to better meet her gaze head on. “You don’t care for the truth, do you?”

The suggestion unnerved her all the more. “Of course I do! I-”

Roylin held his hand so close to her lips that Lyzelle felt the heat of them radiating from his skin. She quieted, wanting to have a full on battle with her heart for fluttering the way it was because of his closeness. He was the enemy. He was…

“No, Lyzelle. You only care for things that suit you,” He moved his hand away from her mouth, and placed the focus of his eyes there instead. “You like the thought of telling the world that this, this match, was not a good union. That I have been nothing but a delinquent, and it burns you that you cannot. Worse yet,”

Roylin let out a slow breath and stepped back from her, not by much, but  enough for her to suddenly miss his heat. “Worse yet, it burns you that you have caught affection for me. And that, dear Lyzelle is what makes you the hypocrite, not me.”

He turned from her and leaned his hips against the arm of the sofa. Lyzelle felt her nails, freshly manicured, stabbing into the palms of her hands. They were such pretty nails and yet they were causing her such ugly pain in that instance, the same way her unwanted husband had caused her pain by reading her like a wide open book, line by line, word for word.

Roylin was right. Lyzelle was the hypocrite, feigning disdain for a man who she had come to secretly admire and dare she say love? No! Not the L word. She had promised herself she would never love him, never…

Her eyes began to blur with tears. The rippling of the water so distorted her view that she had not been aware of Roylin’s hand when it hesitated before hooking her chin.

Hot tears sprang from her eyes even as she tried to bat them away, hide them from this man who was sure to mock her. She stilled upon his words, the low tenderness of his voice, soothing her somehow.

“You do not need to cry, Wife. I meant all that I said and I said it unashamedly.” His other hand took hold of her face and in unison his thumbs brushed away the errant tears that had betrayed her. “We shared the same feelings for each other once. Truly, I may not have loved you before, certainly had not even thought to like you, but I do now, and nothing can change that. Not even you.”

He leaned his face closer to hers, his breath played against her cheek as he spoke. “And I reckon you have no desire of attempting to do so.” He whispered before setting his lips sweetly against hers. It was not the briefest of kisses but it was not so long that Lyzelle in her fragile, distrusting state would have treated it as a gesture that had overstayed its welcome.

In fact, she wished for more and would have kicked herself for taking more had the sensation that rippled through her not been so intoxicating. Roylin laughed against her lips as he lifted her from the ground, his arms strong around her waist.

Again, Lyzelle’s eyes shot wide, and embarrassment colored her cheeks with the thought she had been had, that she had played right into his hand. Here comes the mockery, Lyzelle.

As if he could have read her thoughts, Roylin brushed his mouth against hers and said, “There are no actors here, Lyzelle. Only willing hearts.” Another kiss, longer and sweeter. “…Only willing hearts.”

And with that she let herself be satisfied.


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