Flash Fiction Friday (57)

This weeks Flash is a section from my NaNoWriMo project, Cursed, by the Rain.  I've given you more than the 350 words, more like 582.  Sorry.  But hope you enjoy.  This is the Preface, happening years before the story actually is placed.  There is more before, and much more after.... already I see changes that need to be done and this is a rather rough version as no edits have been done.  But, gives you an idea. :)

I will say I'm nervous about sharing this.  It feels different with this one as it does the normal flash fictions.

Thank you...

Cursed, by the Rain
By:  Melissa Hayden
Preface:

Jayda slowly turned, elbow still resting on the wall where she cracked the wood.

His light voice came to her high pitched as if playing with her, “tsk, tsk. You of all should know better."  Now a little more serious,  "You have seen the things we can do.  Now, are you going to help like your maker would like?” On the last part he descended from the ceiling as graceful as an angel, or a god.

For a breath all is quite, Seol holding hers working through the pain, Jayda's opponent standing across the room smiling at her; he knew he had her. Then her heart stopped as she heard the drop. The drop that could mean her life, their lives. It had to be blood dripping from the bed, Jayda hoped. There it was again, speeding up. Hells burning, the roof she thought. It wasn’t holding. Jayda knew she had to act fast and hide before the rain broke through and touched her. He would find her now, after all she’d done to remain hidden for so long.

Jayda’s eyes widened. She had lived a mundane life for to long. She had started to think things with the gods where simple stories or tricks of her mind. But this was no trick. She knew the truth, just chose to block it out and become to comfortable. Stupid. She should have known she’d never have been able to stop them from coming here, and that could only end one way for the poor folks who had been kind to her. Frozen, stuck between worry for the people she’d come to love and knowing she’d left them get to deep under her skin.

Finally she found her voice and surprised at how nonchalant she sounded, “Utter. So, what do you have for the child?” but she had a grudging feeling she didn’t want to know, or would not like it. Gifts from gods were never good. She knew.

“Aethur!” growled his name correcting her. She snickered, she still could get under his skin, but she knew she'd better watch as he could hurt her.

Seol must have found her breath again as she cried harder, “No, Jayda. You can’t. Let. Him.”

Jayda didn’t even take her eyes from him to look to Seol, from knowledge she knew he could knock her away in a moments time, and she wanted to see it coming.

“Aah, is Jayda what you go by now? Well. To the child." Aethur indicated Seols swollen belly that's about to burst, "I need to give the gift all men want.”

“No, no. You aren’t allowed to do that! No mortal is to have that ability. It’s against all the laws you and we live by.”

“Yes, well. We don’t have laws when the leader is dead, now do we? He is to rise again. And I have to share his knowledge with a child on his birth. At the moment before he breaths his first mortal air and sets eyes on the mortal land. It must be done to save all.”

“Save all? All you care about…” Jayda didn’t finish as Seol gave one loud scream and crunched forward grabbing her knees. The baby was coming. Aethur turned to Seol, waiting to catch the baby when the roof ripped back from the walls, exposing her to the last thing she would remember until the Storm Lord was done with her, the full blast of rain stinging her face and arms.

Flash Fiction Friday (56)

(Image found on Toto Photos)

Blodeuedd got me started with Dottie over at Tink's Place doing these Flash Fiction posts with images.  But with all the picture stuff going on, and life gets crazy it's hard to keep up.

I'm going to try doing the flash with three words randomly found in the dictionary.  I closed and opened the book three times and dropped my finger on the page.  Where it fell was the word.

The words this week:
~~ Medalist - n. 1) a person who designs or makes medals 2) a person who has been awarded a medal 3) in golf, the winner at medal play.
~~ Tender - v.t. 1) to offer in payment of an obligation 2) to present for acceptance; offer; as, he tendered his resignation - n. 1) an offer of money, services, etc. made to satisfy an obligation 2) a formal offer, as of marriage, a contract, etc. 3) something offered in payment, especially money; ef. legal tender
~~ Pacemaker - n. a runner, horse, automobile, etc. that sets the pace for others, as in a race.

I'm picking up with the flash fiction set in a fantasy steampunk world.

The starts of this story is Flash Fiction Friday 51 with Shaffron the steam-pixie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By:  Melissa

Shaffron trudged through the sharp rain.  It felt as it could cut her skin like fresh cut metal as she flew the message to the giant's army.  Probably something about where they are to move to next, or attack, or something Shaffron didn't care about.  She wanted tender of gears and metal, maybe money and some food along the way, and find the Medalist.

The Medalist was an a man from long before the pixies wings where ripped from their backs, and this metal impostors had to be created.  If it wasn't for him they wouldn't have come up with another way to fly.  He was a simple man creating medals for awards and fun, when metal working was for fun, not for life.  His medals grew to hide secrets in the gears for revolutionary fights, sending messages from pixie to pixie and allies during games and battles.  Then his gear creations grew from his crafty mind and have helped bring them back to some semblance of life.

Shaffron had to watch her step with the giants.  They were demanding and would cheat her any payment if she was slow at getting her messages through.  She couldn't afford to be relaxed on receiving any metal, gears, or compatible needs.  The Medalist would need them all to finish his project when he was found and retrieved.  The last word received was that the Medalist was taken by the giants for his known works, and they had loads of metal to work and create any weapons against their enemy.  The Medalist had become a pacemaker in the metal yielding field, and crafting the steam machines to get through what flesh could not.

Shaffron sighed with relief when she spotted the first sign of camp.  She flashed her mirror in the rhythmic pattern to signal she was of no harm and had a message.  A giant stepped from behind the tree, causing Shaffron to start and almost drop her mirror in the mud below as he looked like a moving tree in his disguise.

As she followed the guard to the chief, Shaffron heard the unmistakable sound of gears clicking and metal being molded.  Shaffron shifted her head to listen and look, to find where the sounds were coming from.  This could be her clue to the Medalist.  Maybe he's here in this camp.

Flash Fiction Friday (55)

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:

(artist of picture unknown)

Story by:  Melissa

Branwen was fond of these moments in her sanctuary on the rock edge.  She knew she could never stay long to over look her home, as her parents would worry.  But she loved the freedom to let her nature fly.

Her parents had not suspected anything different of her, and she kept it that way.  Her mother use to ask if she felt anything, the wind, a calling, anything.  But Branwen always said no and ran off to play with the other kids.  She knew from the stories of cursed people that she would be killed for what she was, so kept her secret hidden.  Only to release herself on rare days she could make this trek through the woods and up the mountain away from others.

Branwen looked off into the breeze, enjoying its caress and embrace.  The wind grew stronger, and she held her pale dress down, letting her hair flow freely.  Her hair felt as it was elongating, but she knew what was happening.  Ravens where releasing from their hold of her, she liberated them from her hold close to her.

Branwen closed her eyes watching through her beloved ravens as they stretched their long aching wings over the land.  A chill ran down her spine, and she reached to her now bald head, without her waist length hair she could feel the nip of the mountain air.

Branwen took a deep breath stilling herself for the return of her ravens.  What they found while out would decide if she was returning home today or going in search of the answers she needs, to learn where she's from.

However, she knew where her ravens flew; there would be battle, even if only a bar fight between friends or country against country.  She never let the rage get that far out of hand, but the ravens where getting stronger and she knew the day was coming.  She would soon have to leave home, hoping those who took her in all those years ago would survive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Branwen walked the path into a new town.  She over heard the stories of the battles in Erwen, Rovendale, and Logen.  Then there where tales of a fair skinned girl with raven black hair that feathered out in the wind to ravens.  And when she made an appearance in a town that death and war would follow.

Branwen reached up to her bundled hair she now keeps hidden in cloth, holding back tears for those that loved her and helped her, to simply die in an unneeded battle for land rights.  Branwen glanced around town as she hid in the shadows of the tavern, looking for the home of the old woman who might hold the secret to her existence.

Flash Fiction Friday (54)

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 was found by Dottie on Facebook, artist unknown)

Story by:  Melissa

Josephine slammed the door shut behind Kalid's crawling limp and stormed to her balcony for fresh air well needed to call her.

She stood on her limestone balcony, hands resting on the wide stone railing, taking deep cleansing breaths of the salty sea air.  She opened her eyes, looking down at the dark evening gown she wore.  Shacking her head she should have known right then and there when he insisted on buying it for her, clothing not her, he was planning.  She never wore gowns, let alone dresses or skirts.  She should have never given in.

Josephine turned her face to the moon peaking out from behind her home planet.  The moon illuminated her homes outlines of land and water along with the swirling atmosphere.  To see such details, it was so close, yet so far away.  It's torture to look upon it without being able to return.  Josephine took another long deep breath of fresh air as she wishes she could return, some day.  The melancholy hit her, she was free there and she abused it.  The ways of this world are backwards compared to the freedom of her memories there.  These men find it a game, hunting, to find a challenging wild woman and tame her to his ways.  Instead of a ring on their partners' hand, they use collars.  Collars!  Josephine shivered at the thought as anger started to bloom again.

Movement on the ground to her left caused Josephine to turn her attention from the planet and moon toward the parking area.  She felt a ping of guilt for the action she took, harsh but to the point.  The man took long enough to emerge from the apartment complex.  He must have paused a few times along the way to collect himself.  He was limping, but standing straighter now.

Josephine turned her eyes back to the rolling ocean crashing on the rocks, letting the sound calm her sparked anger then guilt.  She then chuckled at the thought that crept into her mind.  Hell, I may have just made myself more desirable in this world's manly mind, a prey worth dominating.  Oh, more troubles to come from the opposite sex...but have to make due and have fun while here.

Flash Fiction Friday (53)

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.

Flash Fiction Friday (52)

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 found at deviantart.com)

This is the image from 2 Fridays ago, in which I missed posting.  Yesterdays Flash I am working on now.

Story by:  Melissa

Ironic?  No.  I learned the hard way that the scary tales all sparred from truth, a dreadful truth.  The name of the town was picked with deep meaning and purpose.  Nevermore.  Once here, you never see more.  Even in death.

I learned the small town is full of dead people.  Sounds like the movie, I see dead people.  But in a sense, yes, when you visit Nevermore, you see dead people.  And if you are visiting Nevermore, well you might as well take up residence as you are not leaving.

My father brought us here, by accident.  He made a wrong turn off the interstate looking for my college, then the car broke down.  We couldn't get the parts delivered, my dad found a nice woman, and then the accident, the one that took him from me.  Then I had my accident, ending up here in the graveyard.

The stories of this town being the Rippers is true.  I've seen him come and go, and call unsuspecting people to this place.  No, they may not die today or tomorrow, but their name is on the list.  Their time is nearing, and he keeps them close at hand so he can escort them away.

I wait here in the graveyard, at the monument of this dreary town.  The name carved in the marble top, to remind us when we wake and wait at this station for my escort to the after world I am to be part of.  He has dressed me in a stunning black gown, if I'd not been dead I would have loved the way it fits me.  Then again, thinking on being dead and an all black gown, I can't be going to the place of fuzzy comfy clouds.  I know he's taking me to the one place I don't want to go, and have no idea what I've done wrong to be taken to the dark dreaded halls of Hell.

Cooing pulls me from my burning thoughts.  I feel the heavy weight of mascara and eyeliner running the length of my checks, crunching with the salty residue as I open my eyes looking up to the crow the size of a cat.  Looking around the bright full moon illuminates the naked trees showing several of the massive crows surrounding me.  One extends it's wings to rise to eye level and shivers into the man I'm waiting for.  

He bows, extending his hand.  "My Lady, a pleasure to be at your assistance."

I'm froze in shock.  This man is the man I've seen in the shadows, and the voice I've heard on the phone.  I'd never put the two together.  I don't speak.  I fear I can't.

He looks up when I don't take his hand.  A twinkle in his eye when the moon light catches his brown, almost black, eyes.  "My dear, are you ready for our big day?  We will arrive together, you as my wife, as we talked."

I feel my fingers slip into his soft and gentle hand.  This is how I will live out evermore, in Nevermore.

Flash Fiction Friday (51)

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:

(The picture was found on FreakingNews)

Story By:  Melissa

Shaffron sat atop the giant skull looking up at the man, tipping her top hat in greeting.  "I'm what you call a steam-pixie.  I'll gladly work to carry your messages back and forth.  But there has to be some, stipulations to the arrangement.  I work for gears and metal or large sums of monetary.  I expect drink when I get the message, and drink along with food at delivery."

A crow Shaffron flies with perched on her brass boned wing with leather flaps and gears gave her a menacing look of death.  What the giant didn't see was the steam packs that she had to use to start the gears spinning.  But they didn't need to know all her secrets.

Shaffron rubbed her hands up and down her new nylon hose that protected her legs, feeling the knit hand coverings curl and expose the slices and cuts from sharp metal and gear working.  The leggings were different colors, but she didn't care they fit.  Maybe she could find a matching set, nah; she liked the variety in color.  Cloth was easy to find, it was everywhere you just had to put the time out to go get it, instead of working with metal.  She had a few pairs that were damaged from working with metal and sown back together, but thought she'd wear the good ones for this meeting.

Shaffron was more worried about getting more metal and gears.  Metals have become a rarity these days and in high demand with everyone horded the materials to make their mechanical, and keep them working. That's why she wanted this job, the giants where rich with metal and she could make gears she needed from that, or even earn the gears she needed without all that hot work of melting and molding.

Shaffron's bodice felt as if it was a snake tightening around her waist and chest, anxiety was setting in.  That giant was taking too long to make his decision.  Maybe she shouldn't have asked for food.  But in this lush forest with huge mushrooms, they could afford to share a drop of their food with her.  Hell, a drop was all she needed from them as they are giants.

"Okay, I see how this is."  Shaffron jumped down from the large skull as her over-long stocking feet hit the mud.  "You need a little proof.  Fine, just wait here."

Shaffron walked behind the skull pulled her long red matted dreadlocks from the center of her back and plugged in her portable steam pump over her shoulder.  Pumping the leaver on top a few times the gears on her wings whirled and clicked then removed the hose when she felt her wings start to flap.  Up in the air she started to rise, then took hold of the chains hanging from the center brass structure to guide herself toward the giants face.

"There, you see." She said as she winked her heavy eye lashes at the large man smiling.  "I'm not fibbing about what I can do.  Deal?"

The giant grunted and waved toward his camp.  Shaffron circled down to pick up her portable steam pump, and as she followed the man as he walked to get the message he needed sent to his army Shaffron thought how lucky she was to be a flyer with his long strides.  

Flash Fiction Friday (50)

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:

(Picture by unknown)

Story by:  Melissa

"Jonathan, I told you the hair-brained idea of using bread crumbs would not work.  You should have listened to me and used the river pebbles.  First of all, the forest has barely started to show it's color of life, and the animals are too hungry.  Which they would have been...Oof!" Julie finished as she walked into Jonathan's back.  "What on green land is..." lifting her head, looking past Jonathan.  "that?"

Jonathan gaped at the tree, or woman, before him.  "The stories are true."  He breathed out.

"No they aren't.  Fairy tales are stories told to us kids to keep us out of trouble or from being scared."  Julie huffed out from frustration of traipsing unknowingly through the woods.

Jonathan crept next to the tree-woman, circling it slowly, taking in all the angles.  Julie stood back looking it over from the edge of the tree line, that now she looked around it circled the tree-woman and leaned away from her.  Where her legs should be was the strong tree trunk appearing as a green moss covered form fitting skirt, from her waist and flowing out at the ground as the roots buried down into the ground.  But the upper body was visible, bare visible.  Her ribs and chest lay bare for the world to see as she stretched backward.  But the hands where what bothered her, the limbs of the tree grew from her fingers, straight up.  Although not long.

Julie walked closer to the tree-woman, looking at her hands.  The limbs are her...nails.

Jonathan reached to touch the woman, Julie jumped, "Don't!"

Jonathan pulled his hand back as if he was shocked, and looked to Julie questioning.  "Look at her face, Julie.  She looks like she was struck with something.  Maybe it was magic!  The way she leans back and her mouth is open, in a wordless scream."

Julie looked over the tree-woman's face, "So maybe there's some truth to one of the old fairy tales," and finished before Jonathan could say 'I told you so,' "or, there is a very...talented carver who once lived near."

Flash Fiction Friday (49)

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:

(artist unknown)

Story by:  Melissa

She breezed past his discarded his short and shoes carelessly tossed to the corner of the decorative marble floor.  Sweat sleeked his back, down his thin muscled chest as he leaped and danced across around the hall when she arrived.  Her pink essence mixing with the fog.  She keeps the fog to the edges of the hall, then not containing herself any long, creeps along the floor filling till the circles of marbles aren't visible to the human eye, trying to get close enough to touch him.  Slipping around him as he runs, spins, leaps, and stretches the length of the hall she could see the emotions warred across.  Such emotion exposed on his face and in his movements.

It'd been to long since he had moved this way, but his body was still lithe with the corded muscles of a young dancer.  He'd not lost his aplomb through the years, evident at the allegro of his dance and the perfectly paused, accented moments.  He never tipped or stumbled.  The attitude was perfect, his knee bent accented by the mystery hidden in his long cotton pants, his arms posed for a breath.

It'd been to long since she had touched him too.  The way her life ended, he didn't deserve her touch.  She spent years learning to control her essence and moving solid mundane items.

His eyes where closed and this was her moment, for revenge.  She swirled her pink tinted essence about forming the long lean body of what she remembers.  As he came to a pause in his movement, arms coming around, she slipped in front of him, flush to his chest.  The swirling dragging her lace behind her with one arm over his shoulder to his back and his around her waist.  She leaned in for that long missed kiss.  His eyes never opened, he probably thought he was dreaming.  But before their lips met, he gasp, his eyes opened with a snap looking into her smile.

She pulled her hand from behind his back with the red dripping dagger in hand.

The breeze whistled through the hall in his ears.  It sounded like her voice, "And you thought you were done with me...."

He collapsed to the floor sucking the air and blanketing moist fog into his cramped lungs.

Was it revenge, or was it desire?  It didn't matter, she had him with her, for torment or pleasure, or maybe both.

Flash Fiction Friday (48)

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:

(artist of picture, unknown)

Okay, I went back to continue with Sunny from Flash 47

Story by:  Melissa

The sadness that had started to well in her heart vanished as anger burned it's warmth within.  Sunny jumped to her feet, ready to attack, defend, or even run, depending on the mood of her Uncle.  A tall dark man turned the last spiral of the stairs to face her, a smile playing across his thick lips, but not sparkling in his eyes.

"Why?"  Sunny's voice cracked as anger closed her throat, before he could talk first.

Pillan chuckled as he descended the last few steps, "You remember me child?  I'm honored.  Now to the matter at hand, we can not make it easy for you, child."

"Easy!  What do you mean, easy?  I've spent years in service to these weak humans, and searching this world for the needed tools."

"Ah." Pillan started holding a finger up.  "That is part of your trouble.  Without these, what you call, weak humans we would have no power."

Sunny cut him off, "We created them.  They are nothing but little pests to us."

"Yes we did, and they were created to bring us to staying sane, have a purpose.  And without them worshipping us we would have no power here.  Nothing at all."

"So.." Sunny paused, "They are a game to us.  We play with them like toys?"

Pillan saw the thoughts racing through Sunny's mind at that comment, and they couldn't be good.  "No.  We don't play with them.  We guide them, learn from them, and remember what life is to us.  Precious and vulnerable.  More than just the games the gods play with each other.  We need them to keep us from killing each other."

Sunny starred at Pillan, not sure exactly what he was trying to get across to her.  She was not like these pieces of meat walking around on this land.  She is more than them and had a bigger meaning to her.

"I see that look.  Some of you young ones don't get it yet."  Pillan sighed.  "Okay.  Look here."

Pillan clenched his fist before him and splayed his fingers open.  A shiny silver oval with circular brass and silver stars framing it appeared before her.  Looking closely Sunny caught her reflection, looking right to her angry and saddened red rimmed eyes.  Sunny started to growl, she never cried.

"Sweety,"  Pillan started catching Sunny's attention, and looking to him. 

Pillan pointed to the mirror and with a downward flick of his hand the gears around the mirror turned, slowly one at a time until the whole frame was turning in numerous tiny circles.  The once shiny surface rippled and before her, she saw herself dressed differently.  

"This could be you, in time. Your time." was all Sunny heard as she stared at her image.

Her image is draped in the lace of Mehera the goddess of love and purity.  She looked as he skin and hair radiated with brightness, her sun shining through.  He power pendant hung from her hair line, accenting her calm forehead.  Slowly color seeps into the picture.  Rose to her cheeks, her reddened sour lips she had been chewing on, and one large single tear overflowed down her cheek.

Sunny chocked, as her wedding image vanished back to the poor peasant girl she is in this stinky world.  She will have her love.  But when?

Sunny sucked a deep breath.  "How long?" was all she whispered in a growl, but she wanted to know, how long will she have to suffer the agony of knowing it can happen.  

"As long as it takes.  Find your home, your purpose, and all will fit together."  Pillan clouded, blending with the dark clouds in the sky, along with the spiral staircase.

Riddles again.  What her uncle brought her was no gift, but torment to make her days here even worse.  She would play their little game now.  The people of this world would become her pawns and she will rule them all, as their Queen, or even as their Goddess.

Flash Fiction Friday (47)

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:

(artist unknown)

Story By:  Melissa

Sunny starred out over the dark abyss of ocean, the fresh water drew back to where it came from, then rushed to her like a lover to her arms again, teasing but never touching her.  Her heart beat relaxing to the rhythm of the soothing waves. The sun's setting and the gems are set, waiting for the moment to arrive.  Sunny sighed as the weight was about to lift from her chest, tonight she would finally be strong enough to do it.  She let her mind wonder back to that one night so long ago, as she does on nights she is home, to watch the sun set here at the waters edge as she had with him before he left.

The clouds darkened and rolled in as if a storm was brewing, but the town seer had not called for rain, not for days.  Sunny raveled from her dream moment to get ready to drain her powers into the spell.  Sunny hoped the rushing clouds will not interfere.  Sunny felt confident she was strong enough.  She's worked on her magicks, strengthening her will in this weak physical form, to search for her love.

Sunny shock her head and whispered to herself, "He should never have been meddling in the spells he was not ready for."

The wind picked up with the dark clouds stirring.  Sunny lifted her skirts holding them to her, flipping her hair behind her, letting the wind take it.  The sun meets the ocean, drawing a sparkling path to her.  She whispered the incantation.  The jewel hanging to her collar bone, heated, she knew it was sparking to light and soon would be as bright as the setting sun.  The gems on the ground around her start to glow, they would take all the magicked words spoken and her willpower to illuminate, joining paths.  It had to work it took to long to find these rare gems on this world and they will burn out quick, she will have to run as soon as the paths met.  But before the last sounds escaped her lips the dark clouds covered her sun, and taking her path to her love with it.

"Hari, you old fool."  Sunny cursed to the sky, knowing better than to curse Shaera the goddess of luck, as she would need her help when she returned to her Masters home after curfew.  Why would the storm god stop her?  The sun is her special touch and she had learned this spell for this moment.  She needed that path!

Sunny lowered her head, feeling her eyes burn with tears of desperation and want.  She wanted to go to him now, to not wait another day in this world of weak beings.  She was a child of the sky, like he, and deserved to be together in their freedom now that her growth was about complete in this world.  She'd learned what she could learn here.  This body, this place was a prison, and she was prevented from returning home for some reason.  She's waited all these years, one more day shouldn't make a difference, but to her it did matter especially when it could be longer than one more day.  Sunny's mind raced to the gems.  Were they burnt out?  Sunny moved to the first gem, it was good; the second, it was exhausted.  She would look at the third later; just knowing one was dead was enough.

"Damn the storms."  She cursed again.  She would have to search this world over for another of its kind.

Sunny plopped to the ground in her flowing dress she loved because it made her feel she had wings.  Defeated by her own relative, if that is what the other gods are to her.  She didn't know how long she would have to search again, or wait to see her love.

She sat starring over the dark ocean rushing to her like her lover then sucked away before it touched her, so much like the resemblance of her life.  Sunny lifted her eyes from the ocean of life to the sky of death, trying not to think of how it took away from her when a staircase spiraling toward her appeared from the dark clouds.  Sunny knew this was no stairway to heaven, as there is no heaven, not anymore.  This was her... Uncle was a close enough word in this world.  What did he want?

Flash Fiction Friday (46)

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:

(we don't have the artist of this lovely, haunting picture. Sorry)

Story By:  Melissa

I walk into my sparse study, with a stiffness I haven't felt in years, lifting my restricting skirt to my waist, I try to lounge as comfortable as I can in this hard high back chair.  It's the only chair here, at the moment.  I need to add some flare to the room, since I'm starting to make more money.  My adoring fans will want to meet with me in private so I'll need more furniture, maybe a chaise lounge, love seat, or a couch.  But now I need to relax.

I can feel her rising against me.  The dark shadow I've pushed away, hidden in the recesses of my darkest shadows of a thought.  She is growing stronger now.  So much so, when I look in the mirror I take a chance that I won't recognize myself.  In the place of my sun struck blond hair; oily raven dark hair.  The dark side of me, the one that made all this possible for me.

She once was a beautiful girl, looked like I do now and I her, but I couldn't have her wandering around.  Not when I wanted the life she had and she wouldn't share with me.  Now she's the darkness hidden in me, becoming a vampire of sorts.  She lives off my energy, sucking it from me more and more these days.

I'll have to find someone to help me contain her again.  I can't lose everything to a little whelp like her.  She was kind and trusting once, but now I can feel the loathing and dark desires stirring.

With a sigh, I lay my head back on the decorative carving at the top of the cherry wood chair, and stare at the ceiling.  She has exhausted me today.  She is stirring greatly.

In the corner of my eye I see the shadow move.  I jerk, there in the corner of the mirror over the ornate fireplace; she's watching and surfacing easier.

My time might be running out.  Then what?  She will kill me, its plain as that.  I feel her thinking, planning.

I growl, reach for the tea cup on the table.  I watch it shatter against the mirror, leaving a little spider crack on the mirror.  I realize, now I'm yelling and my chest heaving.  Damn her!  She might have started this life, but she is not hard enough to live it.  She can not come back!  I've been protecting her this long, I will win out again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, I was having a moment yesterday.  I don't know if this flash will make any sense to anyone, but it felt good to get it out, and twist it to that picture.

415 words and I felt better.

Don't know if I'm really back to the flash stories again, I seem to be off my game with stuff here around home, but its a try.

Flash Fiction Friday (45)

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:

(Unknown artist)

Story by:  Melissa

Gamila was one of several girls raised for this reason.  Over the years girls were eliminated and now only two remained.  In the end, she was the one selected for him.  She was not prepared for all the pampering she received; bathed in scented water, hair decorated with gold ribbons, the color of their mighty god, and red roses, to show the love the village had for their god and to romance him with her.

Gamila dressed in a sheer slip of a gown and covered with a blanket, so none of the village could see her sacred body before their powerful god had his first full view.  She was guided to her carriage, and the women of the order took her to the plateau away from town, for privacy of the Gods, and hers.

Gamila exited the carriage with the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders.  The woman escort nodded once to her, fluffed Gamila's hair, and bowed before returning to the seat to head back home.

Gamila watched the carriage disappear into the forest, and then looked around the plateau and to the sky.  She was the villages' gift to him, one beautiful female every thirty years.  She was the honored one to be picked by the village, grateful to know she was the most beautiful in town, but to what end.  No one knew exactly what their god did with the women, but it kept their lands and animals fertile and healthy.

She unwrapped from the blanket, flipping it out to sit on the ground.  She would wait; he would come to her when he was ready.  She had to look presentable to draw him in; if he refused her, her village would die.  That's what she was told, etched in her from the time she arrived at the order.

After a time, she laid down across the blanket, looking to the sky she whispers, "I'm sorry if I offend.  If I'm not what you desire.  Please, forgive my town.  I've waited all these years for you."

A warm wind picked up, blowing rose pedals through the air.  Gamila stood.  Her hair flowed around her, the rose pedals shifted along her body with the wind.  The thin gown did nothing to protect her skin, but that was the point.  The wind felt different, Gamila gasped.  Gentle hands of wind grazed her breasts, a warm draft between her thighs grazing up over her curved hips to her lean smooth stomach.  Gamila's eyes widened.  

She looked around, seeing no one, just pedals and gold ribbon floating around her.  This had to be Him, and he must be pleased for next she saw a young man walk from the forest toward her.  Dark chestnut hair, he glowed in a uniform of white lined with gold.

She stood stunned by the sight of him, watching him walk to her.  As he neared, she saw his eyes sparkle like gold in the setting sun.  He is pleased, she thought as her eyes drifted over his long body.  His hands took the place of the winds and his strong long arms pulled her to him.

Flash Fiction Friday (44)

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:

(I don't know who the artist of the picture is.)

Story by:  Melissa

The maiden looked down at the crane joining her at the river bed, as she brushed the spider webs of the tunnels from her golden gown, not as many this trip, which shows how many trips she's made through those forgotten castle passages.

He should be here.  The maiden looked across the river wondering if he was hiding there, thinking she had trackers following her, or if it wasn't her coming through the wood line.  But she'd been standing here for a while, he would have given up his hiding spot by now.  So she stood staring at the peaceful river.  She felt like a child again, running in hiding from her father, a high statesman, to see some wretch of a boy.  Her father would be so disappointed in her.  This thing with this boy was still such a new thing.  What was the attraction to him?  Someone for sport, possibly for love?  He was definitely not one of those dreaded men so full of themselves and the position her father held in the courts.

She heaved a heavy sigh and turned to leave.  He must be done with her, best to learn now.  The crane clicked and clicked again, then a long bellow to the sky, caused her to turn.  The sky turned from bright day, to black as night.  Dark thick clouds rolled in with speed of her turning her head.  The crane bellows again to the sky, then looked to her with one eye, clicking again.

Stunned, the maiden nodded, "Yes, I'm going back."

The stories of the witch had been circulating again, but no one had seen proof.  Until now.  This was her sigh.

The maiden turned to the woods, lifted her skirts ready to run, and stopped with one step.  He walked from the brush in front of her, his dark hair blowing across his face as the wind picked up.  The maiden relaxed some, knowing she was safe with him near.  She walked to him, and he to her, not stopping until she was safe in his arms.

His hands glided up her back, over her bare shoulders to the top of her head.  Then the sound of an egg cracking over her head.  She looked up to her flings eyes.  His eyes turned from brown, to the heavy black of the clouds above.

"Oh no,"  the maiden whispered.

"Oh yes," he answered with a smile.

Black sticky syrupy liquid was the last she saw, dripping down over her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, the crane that created her at the river side, was cuddled up beside her, and at eye level.  The maiden opened her beck to say, Hello little friend, when all she heard was clicks, and clicks again.  She turned her narrow head and bellowed to the dark sky, as the warlock chuckled from the trees behind her.

Flash Fiction Friday (43)

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:

(Artwork by Luis Royo)

Story By:  Melissa

(Sorry, this one is from 2 weeks ago. I still owed you. This weeks will be up tonight.)

Bryant walked past the armor and swards hanging in the exhibition of history.  A history so long past the metal was dulled and rusting.  The dents where reminders of a time past where people battled to the death in large fields, on and off horses.  There were stories told of this time.  And the story that was told to keep peace in all the lands, scare the men from fighting, bringing death to the land by way of the singing sword again.  The story of the war sirens.  

Bryant didn't believe them, just stories that was all, he thought with a scowl, lip and nose twitching at the anger of how dumb his people had grown to be over years.  So submissive, they don't even fight for themselves.

Bryant was convinced war was their answer.  The Candoveans have been stopping trade caravans through their territory, the friendly neighbor they once were and now the enemy stealing what little we had to trade, and what we needed to survive.  The Candoveans were a people that had grown selfish and demanding.  But we need the supplies from Antelians on the other side.  But now.  Now they are taking the women and children who lived close to the borders, shrinking out land so we are all squeezing closer to the city.

Bryant had all but two on the council convinced.  Those two were stopping the inevitable from happening.  Just to superstitious.  Bryant had an invisible ally on the council though, she will detain them away so he can get the army ready to leave.

******

Bryant charged, with his followers, into battle seated tall on his white steed, on the grounds his long lost ancestors had battled for all those years ago.  The armor, even though still dented with dings of battle years past, was shining in the morning beam of light.  The buffing helped, and hopefully was blinding his opposing army, not knowing where to swing.

The clash of metal and wood rose through the valley.  Men screamed, falling to the blood muddied ground.  Bryant was sweating and tiring from the weight of his armor, sword, and the fights.  His horse dying beside him as he fights on.

Battling a man dressed for battle in only a leather loin cloth.  Bryant heard the singing of a beautiful voice.  The voice calling to him, he paused in swinging his sword, turning to see a beauty of glowing blue-green light.  A woman was on the battlefield, but no one was attacking her.  Only half the men seemed to even see her.  Then she sang her voice strong all the men turned, drinking in her beauty.

She raised her hands, singing, the wind carrying her voice to all ears.  As the men fell to their knees, then to the ground.

Bryant looked up as she came to his side.  He ran a finger down his cheek, she sang for him.  And he chocked his last breathe.

Flash Fiction Friday (42)

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 by IruLana from DeviantArt.com)

Story By:  Melissa

Okay, this is Part 7.  Sorry to keep it going, so I finished it, mostly. ;)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Phoenix narrowed his eyes on Cerine, "Times up.  What have you told them, Cerine?"

Liam piped up in a relaxed tone, "I was just about to ask Cheyenne to marry me."

Phoenix spun to face Liam, eyes glowing, "What!  I will not hear of it.  Not with the likes of you!"

Cheyenne's jaw fell open, and she gawked at Liam for a moment, letting his comment sink in.  He had been talking about being a team.  Was he really going to ask or just trying to get to Phoenix.  Cheyenne jumped to her feet, "I'll marry who I damn well wish!  You have no say in my life!"

"You are here, in my home, my world, one of my creatures.  You will do as I say."  The tone was cold as ice and a growl of stones falling rumbling down a mountain side.

Cheyenne had enough, "No!"  was all she got out before feeling the slam of power to her chest, throwing her chair backward, flipping it and sending her sliding across the marble floor.

Liam jumped and ran to her still form, picked up her head holding it to his chest and whispered to her, "We will get out of here.  I can help you, but they will all rot here.  I won't help them.  They have become bitter crazy trapped here.  Listen.  Listen and stay with me.  I want to take you home, my home, in the woods.  Lush greens hide the city in the mountain side.  The crystal lake reflects the blue sky and spacious homes.  There is a lovely little stream I use to sit by.  I want to take you there, to have your hand after these years."

Cheyenne looked into Liam's bright blue eyes, "You mean it, really?  Marriage?"

Liam smiled, "Yes, I want to share my favorite spot with you.  Feel those pouty lips on mine, forever."

Phoenix grabbed Liam's shoulder, picking him up and pitching him across the floor.  Liam landed hard in the corner.

Cheyenne felt the fury burn in her, the fury that would fuel her sun magic since there's no sun present.  Phoenix reached for her, pulling her to her feet.  "We.."

Cheyenne hit him with a flame ball, one with as much of her sun and human magic in it as she could muster, in this dark city hidden below the pond.  Phoenix stumbled back a few steps releasing her from his grasp.

He smiled to her, "You are one of my descendants.  Long lines have passed, but still one of mine.  You can't hurt me with my own powers."

Cheyenne jumped back a step.  The sword jabbed through Phoenix's chest.  He had taken Liam for granted, to be a weak human.  But there was something more there.  Cheyenne didn't care what it was; she loved him, and would marry him in his home.  Phoenix slid to his knees showing Liam in his glory.  "A team.  A couple."

"There was more than your powers in there." Cheyenne growled through gritted teeth to Phoenix.

Cheyenne beamed a smile to Liam then turned evil eyes to her mother. "Thanks for all the help."  She said, full of sarcasm.

Cerine was standing looking stunned, at the lifeless form of Phoenix.  "I... I... I couldn't fight him.  I tried years ago, and was punished.  I couldn't match him."

"Well, we did."  Cheyenne turned to Liam.  "Now, how do we get out?  What do you have up your sleeve?"

Liam smiled his all-knowing smile, "Love, you know me all to well."

Cheyenne huffed, "Maybe not well enough?" and cocked and eyebrow.

"Alright.  Elf.  Earth elf.  Happy?"

Cheyenne nodded.  "We'll get through the rest as we go.  I know enough.  Now, getting out."

Liam walked up to Cheyenne slipping his arms around her waist, "Sun fuels Earth, to live.  And you do that to me.  We feed each other.  You need to shine, and I love basking in the rays.  Together we'll swim through the water and through the barrier above.  I can take care of the stones holding the barrier."  Then winked.

Cheyenne slipped her hands up Liams muscled chest, over his shoulders and around his neck, taking in the feel of him, with her, "And what about this place you are taking me.  Out in the middle of the woods?  Hidden by the mountains and lush vegetation.  Can I be...me?"

"Yes, I'm hiding you away in the woods."  his teeth gleamed as his thin lips spread into a wide smile, "And you can be you, through and through.  No hiding what's inside, what or who you are."

Cheyenne's eyes flicked to the side dropping her head, "Maybe one dragon flying over head?"

Liam raised her chin to have her eyes locked on his again, "Yes, one dragon flying overhead.  A beautiful warrior to have on our side.  If she wants to come with us."

Both turned to look at Cerine.  "Yes.  Yes!  To walk through grass again!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

825 words, and finished. Not the best, but had to close it out.  I felt it was going to long and getting to difficult to keep up with changing pictures. :)

Hope you enjoy! Thank you.