Dottie over at Tink's Place have come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt will be posted and if you choose to participate you post your story on Friday - 350 words, give or take.
I have to thank Blodeuedd at Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell for introducing me to this fun meme. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with every week, but I'll give it a try from time to time.
The Image This Week:
(Image from Deviantart.com)
Story by: Melissa
I no longer weep tears, to many years have passed to be morn any longer. Anger has filled the gaping holes of loss and depression. I will find a way to revenge what he has done to me, as no creature should have to live this way. The fairies try to keep me company and bring me what they think will make me happy, flowers and fruits, along with what I want. But they can't give me what I desire, long for...to be free like them. To go where I wish, like them.
This fate is worse than being cut and let fall to earth, broken but still with legs. We always thought losing our wings would be the fate worse than death. But this. This is worse. I was left with my wings, a stark reminder of the freedom and feel of the wind on my face. Once in a while the breeze will brush past my cheeks, sending my hair floating in the breeze, rustling my long white feathers just to leave the ache of loss and void of use.
I'm glad I'm hidden away in this forest with no one to see me this way. The bottom half of my body...oh. Not only can I not fly with the fairies, but I can't walk the land with my once worshipers. Bending at the waist, I hug my soft bark. At least he did that when condemning me to this form. he left me with soft bark instead of the harsh cutting scales of many tree. Any way you look at it, I'll never see my long, curved milky-white legs again. The tree trunk wrapping to my waist is rooted deep into the dirt. I do feel the workings of nature as I'm rooted into her. But I will never walk or fly again, unless I find a way to break this spell, or someone finds me who knows how.
One day the spell will be broken, and I'll run to the end of the cliff, spread my cramped wings and fly to his table. I'll make him pay for stripping me of my freedom, and leaving me with all facets to feel yet not use. In a prison without bars. For one who was free to do as she wished, go where she wanted without an answer to any, now to be stuck in one spot, rooted.
The sadness from the loss has hardened and become anger. And he will feel the loss one day as well. I have been counting the moons that pass, and will continue to do so until I find him again. To make him pay.