Her fall

William_Blake

The smell of smoke lingered in the air. The cook fires were all lit, burning at intervals along the edges of the mass of creatures. Morsels of meat were up for grabs, roasting over suspended grates. That food would make some lucky one’s last meal. Spiced drinks warming in mugs added sweetness to the smoke.

The sky was just beginning to tinge with late afternoon pinks and blues, and Zanna’s heart sank. She had misjudged her new world. First impressions were tricky, she knew. She could still feel the calm anticipation within the queues, but it did not belong to her. She was still an outsider here, and she needed connections, alliances, to proceed.

Zanna jogged past a long-necked beast clothed only in creamy white fur. Llama, she thought. The name came to her from a past life. An owl perched on its shoulder. No, she thought. These creatures are not as they seem. However fantastic these beings would be elsewhere, here they are commonplace.

Suddenly her feet caught up on something and the ground came up to meet her. She hit hard and splayed out on the ground. Minutes passed and she felt something cool on her foot. A glance revealed the llama-like beast, pressing his snout to her skin. “Are you okay?” he seemed to ask as Zanna pushed herself up to sitting, but his eyes were wary.

She smiled to show that she was okay, although her ankle did hurt. Just then she noticed a book next to her, large, rippled, leather bound. It was well used. The book had tripped her up while she ran. Zanna tried to reach for it, gently tugging at the shawl that had become tangled around her. To her surprise, the scratchy wool had turned soft. In fact, the shawl was no longer a garment at all – somehow in her fall, the wool had changed to glossy feathers. She had been given a pair of wings.

Zanna sat on the chilled ground in the gathering dark, her strange companions clearly concerned about her. She could feel the steely resolve of her past, her human life, propping her up. Yet here she was weak, injured, and changed. She could smell the smoke in the air and she was hungry.

“Some food, please?” she asked the llama.

My submission to this week’s Speakeasy, based on William Blake’s painting The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy. Like it? Read the rest here.

Companion

“She’s here,” Mikelo announced, sounding surprised. He made a three-quarter turn and swirled his cloak around himself. “I can feel her.” He held up his hand as if to demonstrate it. How often had he conjured up characters? Why shouldn’t one of them finally become real?

No one seemed to notice his excitement. They shuffled nearer and nearer to the priestesses, anxious to offer their responses to today’s question. They each could only imagine their own beginnings and endings. The poor limited beings, Mikelo thought. Nevertheless, he could feel her here, his girl-now-woman, new to this world, fresh from death. His story had given her new life, he knew it. Now he would find her, he alone could be her companion.

“Look for her,” he called, striding through the gradually shrinking mass of creatures. “A young woman alone and searching. She’s new here.” He got nods and murmurs in response but no shouts of recognition. “I need to help her,” he said.

Mikelo was much older than he looked; he was nearly 300 years old the last time he had consulted. Time had trained him to be patient. Yet here he found himself, his heart suddenly racing as he hunted for little more than a phantasm, dead certain that he and she had work to do together.

My contribution to Trifecta this week, including the third definition of the word companion: one that is closely connected to something similar. Like this? Read the rest of the story!

She searches

“I have to go,” Zanna said as she squeezed the old woman’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. Then she ran alongside the line, dodging the listless creatures queued for their judgments. She ran, her arms wrapped around her, holding her blue shawl close. The wind pushed her hair into her eyes making it hard for her to see. She quickly lost sight of the man’s black cape, and she slowed her pace to look for him amongst the lines. Instead she found herself face to face with a lovely girl with green skin and glowing silver eyes.

“Why are you running?” she asked Zanna in a surprisingly deep voice. “What are you after?”

“The caped man. I thought I saw him come this way,” Zanna answered, moving closer to the girl and joining her line. “Did you see him just now?” she whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear her.

“No, but I heard him nearby,” the green-faced girl answered. She was very young, Zanna noticed, much younger than she was. Her hair was a few shades greener than her face, and was tied back in an elaborate braid.

“Who is he?” Zanna whispered.

The girl looked surprised. “Mikelo, you mean?”

“Is that his name? The caped man?” Zanna answered urgently. She could feel the girl closing off, getting nervous.

“Yes, that’s him,” she took a step back and looked anxiously ahead at the row of priestesses in the distance. Her turn was still a long way off.

“It’s okay,” Zanna said. “I’m new here,” she tried to smile, looking into the girl’s amazing silver eyes, but the girl was fixed on the priestesses. It wasn’t working, the silver-eyed girl was lost. “Thanks,” Zanna murmured, and darted off up the line.

She quickly found a gap in the lines and turned, wandering past a group of lanky boys with lizard eyes. She shot them a smile as she passed. Zanna kept going, hoping to catch sight of the black cloak, the tall man – Mikelo – who knew his way around this world. As the gap widened into a path, she picked up her pace, resuming her run. She knew she was attracting attention, but she didn’t care. The air was cold and fresh and it felt right to keep moving.

Find the rest here.

Let’s play a game

“Go commando today. Dare you!” she giggled.

“Alright,” I agreed.

“Will you send me a picture?” she asked. “Text it to me, while I’m at work, concentrating,” she raised her eyebrows and smirked cutely.

“What?” I asked.

“Come on, say yes,” she coaxed.

“What do I get?” I asked.

“You get to think about me every time your cock brushes your zipper,” she laughed. “What else do you want?”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Of course,” she stopped smiling, gave me a straight face.

What the hell, I’ll play her game. “Your panties.”

 

Forgive me for getting a little dirty for this week’s TrifeXXXtra submission. Did you know that November 15th is National Erotica Day? Go check out the rest of the submissions, I won’t tell.

 

She joins them

Zanna slowed as she neared the crowd. She could hear the flutist playing nearby, and farther off, a group of drummers. The storyteller was elsewhere. An immense woman with grayish, leathery skin and curling locks of white hair draped over her body stood inches from her, and she inched closer until she brushed the woman’s arm. Tilting her head toward her, Zanna caught her attention.

“Oh, my girl, you must be chilled in your thin dress,” the woman wrapped her arm around Zanna. “Let me give you a shawl,” the woman said as she pulled a bright blue knitted blanket from under her tresses. She smiled as she wrapped it around Zanna. “I don’t know you, girl,” she said kindly.

“I am new here,” Zanna answered. “My name is Zanna.”

“Lovely name, girl,” the woman answered. Her eyes glowed with golden light. “Are you joining us here, then?”

“I think so,” Zanna answered. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said, noticing the leggy boys ahead of her with their bony, iridescent wings. Might she get to see them take flight, she wondered.

“It is,” the old woman agreed, nodding toward the twin snowcapped mountains towering in the distance. “I will miss this place if today is my day,” she said. “This is a good place.”

Zanna noticed how warm she felt wrapped in the bright blue blanket, the woman’s wide arms still holding her. She could feel her resolve slipping away. Still a novice, she thought. Still susceptible to experience. She felt the early twinges of disappointment rising in her chest.

The old woman sensed her feelings. “It’s okay, girl. Let’s make a promise. If today is our day, they will remember us in their prayers every Question Day, forever. If it is not, we will remain right here,” she smiled and patted Zanna’s arm.

Zanna nodded at the old woman as she caught a glimpse of the storyteller’s black cloak ahead of them. Her heart lurched.

My Trifecta submission for the week, including the word remember: to keep in mind for attention or consideration.

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Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four

She watches

Zanna noticed him weaving in and out through the lines of creatures. His gleaming black cloak seemed to shift and come alive around him as he moved. He drew her attention as he drew theirs. From her hiding place at the edge of the trees, she glimpsed him. She could not make out the color of his eyes from this distance, yet she could sense their brightness. She couldn’t hear his voice but she could tell that he was speaking. She immediately knew that he was different than the others.

The creatures waiting so patiently to answer the priestesses’ questions were waiting for an opportunity, yes. They were kind and loving to one another, yes. But they were following the rules, doing as was expected. The black-cloaked man moved purposefully, unexpectedly. He seemed powerful yet calm, even playful.

From where she was, Zanna could see how he energized the crowd. She could see him seducing them. She wanted to be among the group, listening, being seduced. She needed to hear him. With him as her guide, she would find the quickest path through this new world. The thought made her almost sad, as she wished she could know each of the fantastical creatures. Yet she felt that she must stay focused on her journey and pass as quickly as possible through each new world. The cloaked man would help her find her next death, she was sure of it.

She gathered up the fabric of her white gown around her and set off running from the bank of trees, the deep yellow leaves crunching under her feet and her long dark hair streaming behind her.

Like this? Read the rest! 

Part one
Part two
Part three

The storyteller

This post is a continuation of this and this. Let’s see where it’s going…

The storyteller wore his hair and beard in braids, thin and long, some dark some light. Some had bells tied to the end, so he jingled nearly constantly. His deep green eyes glowed brightly, the sign of his gift. His tall figure moved gracefully in and out of the lines, his shimmering black robe billowing slightly in the cool air. Those waiting moved aside in anticipation of his passing, almost imperceptibly creating a living maze through which he passed freely. As he walked, he spoke, telling his stories.

“It all began with a girl,” he said. “The girl was born before her time, so that her very birth was nearly her death. Her early brush with the other side strengthened the girl, and foretold of many more deaths to come. This girl was greatly half-loved.”

“How can a child be only half-loved?” asked a gorgeous centaur woman of the passing storyteller, her silver hair falling to her shining flanks, a woven shawl wrapped over her shoulders barely concealing her breasts.

The storyteller paused for a moment, turned, and smiled when he saw his intruder. “One of her makers refused her. The other worshipped her. Alas, she was only ever half-loved,” he nodded, his eyes on her nearly visible breasts.

“The girl learned to read early, he continued, moving on through the maze with a swish of his robe. She read books and memorized her favorite characters, until they became part of her. Her family realized her gift for language and began to encourage her. She studied with tutors until it became clear that she could learn any foreign tongue within hours of exposure. Her tutors recommended that she travel. Her family refused, preferring to keep her safe within the walls of her home. She continued to read and to study, and to work with her teachers as best she could. She learned many skills; she dabbled in art and healing, in martial arts and meditation. She learned to combine flavors unusual and delicious ways. Most valuably, she learned to make people like her. As she grew, she became very well known.”

The storyteller brushed up against a tall, thin creature with a long neck and a dark, handsome face. The creature wore nothing but its glossy black fur and carried a large sack of roasted nuts, which filled the air with cinnamon. At the creature’s touch, the storyteller turned and placed a hand on his silken back. He snatched a bag of nuts from the sack, paying with a smirk and a bat of his eyelashes. He fluidly slipped around the creature and moved on through the maze. He was gathering attention.

“When the girl found herself a woman, she left home for good and traveled. She continued to pick up languages on her journeys, and she came to know many people in many ways. In some places she found friends and was well-loved, and in others, she was mistrusted, turned away. Her life had always been both, and she carried on,” the storyteller came upon a group of creatures that did not break for him. He reached for a delicate winged woman, lifted her easily, and set her aside. He offered a quick bow and a mischievous glance as thanks and moved on.

“The girl, now a woman, continued her travels until she learned to understand why we do as we do, feel as we feel. She used her gifts wisely and became powerful. Then her deaths began to court her,” the storyteller stopped to listen to a flutist’s tune, his maze momentarily closing in on him.

Her craft

This post is a continuation of this story, and it includes the word craft: skill in deceiving to gain an end.

She watched from afar, new to this world. Alone, as she had arrived, she lingered in the grove of bare red-barked trees on the hill overlooking the others, watching and gathering her strength. Her death hours earlier had left her weak. She still wore the simple white gown and her hair was loose around her shoulders. She would need to find a way to tie it back. As for weapons, she was armed only with her craft.

She’d have to watch carefully for she sensed that the gathering of odd creatures today was a special one. The clusters seemed peaceful – she could hear soft music playing from tiny flutes and curvy horns. Perhaps weapons would be unnecessary, even useless here. She could feel their anticipation and their secret exhaustion.

To succeed here she’d need sustenance. She needed to learn the ways of the citizens, quickly. Sometimes friendship grew instantly, but more often she had to fight for it. She sensed, pleasantly, that in this world friendship would be easy. The beauty of the unusual creatures struck her, a passing glimpse of sun glinting off of the vibrant fur of a golden bearlike beast and catching the iridescent blue and purple wings of a fairy girl. She noticed that no two creatures were exactly alike. They seemed almost oblivious to their differences, just murmuring to one another and nodding to the passing musicians.

Curious, she crept to the edge of the trees, hoping to overhear their conversations, to learn their lilting tongue. She called on her gift for language, knowing that she would need to speak with them, and soon, to succeed in this world. She would need to make them believe in her if she would ever succeed at leading them, and she knew that she must lead them. Leading them was surely the quickest path to her next death.

Question day

Thirty-three words to follow Maggie Stiefvater’s quote from The Scorpio Races:

“It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.”

They queued up anxiously outside—beasts, nymphs, giants, wise men—each desiring to trade the damp gray of today’s reality for the mystical vibrancy of the next. Yet only one would be chosen.

Today I began working on Trifecta’s weekend prompt without reading very closely, and I wrote more than 33 words. I liked what I wrote, so here you go. Thanks for the inspiration, Maggie! My longer version:

They were queued up anxiously outside—rippled beasts, tiny nymphs with gossamer wings, leggy giants, cloaked wise men—each awaiting the opportunity for consideration. They each desired to pass through the gate from this life to the next and to trade the cold damp gray of today’s reality for the warm mystical vibrancy of the next. Yet the futility of it nearly stifled them. One and only one would be chosen.

They shuffled in the line, remarkably calm in the face of such excitement. The larger beings offered their shoulders to the fairies and their backs to the stooped wizards. The storytellers wove their tales of distraction while the crowd inched forward. Those with instruments played quietly. Each and every being would be interviewed on this holy day.

At the front of the line, the white-haired priestess gathered her white robes tighter as she smiled at the elderly wise man in front of her. “What do you want?” she asked kindly, the same question that she would ask of each and every one of the offerlings.

“I want to know myself, that is all,” the wise man answered thoughtfully.

“Yes,” the white priestess answered, offering him her gloved hand.

 

Undertow and ice cream

Note: This is a story about my Aunt Rose Ann, my mom’s younger sister. My mom told me this story many times as I was growing up, and I am still very careful at the beach to this day.

“Don’t go out too deep,” Mother said, putting the thick white sunscreen on my face. “Make sure you can see me, do you understand?” she asked, serious. Her mouth drooped at the edges. “I can’t swim out to come get you, Rose Ann. Stay with your sister and brother.”

“Yes, Mother,” I shouted, running away across the sand. I jumped into the waves to cool off my feet. “Carole! Let’s play!” I called to my sister, who was walking along the edge where the water met the sand.

“Let’s pretend that Norman is a monster coming to get us,” I said, kicking the waves. Norman was ahead of us in the deep water, riding the waves in.

“Okay,” she mumbled, still walking.

The next time Norman rode a wave in, I ran up, jumping the wave. “Aaaahhhh!” I screamed into his face as he got close. I splashed him in the face with water and then ran away. Carole watched from where she was, laughing.

“Hey, watch it, Raggedy Ann!” Norman said, wiping the water out of his eyes. He turned and swam back out past the crashing waves. He didn’t ride the next few.

I walked along the beach away from Carole, jumping the waves as they came. After a while, I turned around. I could still see her. She had bent down to build a sandcastle. Maybe I’ll go help her in a minute, I thought. I liked jumping over the waves, though. As I got farther away from my sister and brother, I passed two girls the same size as me, splashing each other. I joined them, laughing as they splashed me back.

“Let’s play mermaid,” one of them said.

“Yeah!” I said. “Let’s pretend we are beach wrecked and we can’t move until a prince comes and kisses us to give us our human legs,” I said. I like to make up stories to go with games. We all found a spot on the sand and started burying our legs. The sand felt cool and heavy on my legs.

“Come on, girls!” a man called to my new friends. “Time for lunch!”

“Alright, Daddy,” they answered at the same time.

I glanced down the beach. I could see Carole in her red swimsuit, building her sandcastle. I stayed for a few more minutes buried under my mermaid tail, then I jumped up and ran back to the water. I stood in the waves, letting them crash on me. I liked the stinging feeling. After a while, I turned the other way and let the waves crash on my back. Then I looked to find Carole, but she wasn’t there anymore. I started walking to find her. I passed more kids, more parents in chairs on the sand. I didn’t remember passing any of them before, but I wasn’t worried.

As I walked, I made up a song. I liked to do that whenever I was by myself. “Waves, waves, try to get me, waves,” I sang. “You can’t reach me, waves, you’re too slow.” As I sang, I ran away from the waves onto the sand.

I sang and ran farther and farther. I did not see Carole or Norman, or mommy. I started to feel thirsty, so I kept walking. The other kids playing in the water started to sound really loud, so I put my hands over my ears.

Where were they? I wanted some of the juice that Mother packed. I wanted my butter and jelly sandwich, too. Did Mother leave without me? I started to get angry. I ran faster, my hands still on my ears. I could feel my heart pounding hard in my chest. All of a sudden, I got tired of running, so I sat down. I kept my ears covered. I looked but didn’t see Carole on the sand. I didn’t see Norman anywhere in the water. Mother was not sitting on her chair by our colorful blanket. They all left me. I started to cry.

I cried for a while, getting louder.

After a while, a lady with a baby came over by me. She sat down and put her arm around me.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Her eyes looked scared, but she was smiling. She looked nice, nicer than Mother. Her baby was cute. He pulled my hair. “Sorry about that,” she said, taking his hand off my hair.

“Air!” the baby said, reaching for my hair again.

“It’s okay,” I said, wiping my eyes and handing him some of my hair. “I like babies.”

“Okay, then,” the lady said. “Sweetie, where is your mother?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think she left without me,” I told her, even though I didn’t really think that. Maybe if she believed me, she’d take me home with her. I’d like a baby brother.

The baby brushed my hair on his face, laughing. I liked him, and I tickled his foot.

“She left without you?” the lady said, surprised. “I don’t think so. She must be around here looking for you.”

“No, she never looks for me,” I told her. “She’s always mad at me and she’d probably be glad if I was lost forever.”

“No, young lady, that’s no way to talk about your mother,” the lady told me. Now her mouth turned down at the edges like Mother’s did. “Let’s go look for help,” she said, standing up and lifting the baby into her arms. “Come along.”

I walked with her but a little apart, up the beach to the lifeguard chair. The lady spoke to the lifeguard for a minute, and he stood up and waved some red flags in the air.

“He’s calling the police officer for help,” the lady told me.

A few minutes later an officer walked down from the boardwalk. He looked hot.

“Hi, there, little miss,” he said to me. He was friendly. If I had a dad, I’d want him to be like that.

“Hi,” I answered. I should have said sir, but I didn’t.

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. Why did everyone keep asking me the same questions? “She left without me,” I said.

“Don’t be sassy, now,” the lady said. Her little boy was struggling to get down.

“Do you know your name, young lady?” the police officer asked me. Of course I dp. I’m four and a half.

“It’s Rose Ann,” I said loudly. “My mom is named Dora but she likes to be called Dorothy. My sister is Carole Lee and my brother is Norman. My dad was Sam but he died in the war when I was a baby. I never met him.”

“Well, that is too bad, little miss,” the police officer said. He looked sad. The lady made a clucking sound with her tongue and reached over to rub my back. “Listen, Rose Ann,” I’m going to take you back to the police station to wait until we can track down your momma.”

“Okay,” I said. I like adventures a lot and this sounded like a good one. I was excited.

“Wait just a second, alright?” the lady said, and carried her baby over to the ice cream cart nearby. She bought two ice cream cones and handed one to her boy and brought the other one to me.

“Oh, wow!” I said. “Thanks!” Mother hardly ever let me have ice cream. I unwrapped it and started eating.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your dad,” the lady said. She looked very sad.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I’m used to it.”

The police officer took my hand and started to lead me away. “Thanks, now, Ma’am,” he said to the lady. As we walked away I glanced over my shoulder at her and her baby. I wished I was leaving with them, that they were my family. The lady was super nice, way better than Mother. I bet she would never leave me at the beach.

When we got to the police station, Mother was there with Carole and Norman. She was crying and so was Carole. Norman looked bored. Carole hugged me tight, saying “I’m so glad that you didn’t drown.”

Mother looked at me with her usual gloomy eyes, and said “Why didn’t you stay where I asked you to?” She sounded so angry.

“Ma’am, the undertow is very strong today,” the officer told her. He put a hand on my shoulder. “It could have happened to anyone,” he said. “But you are a very lucky young lady,” he said to me. “Please be careful and stay with your family from now on, alright?” he patted my shoulder. I wished I could stay with him here at the police station. Maybe I could be a police officer in training.