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Writing

Dragon Hunter

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The city had burned; there was nothing left but ash. A shadow swept across the landscape as a dragon soared overhead. Ari looked up as it disappeared out of sight over the mountain range. He heaved a great sigh, he had been too late, again. He sheathed his sword and started out to survey the damages.

 

The charred remains of a building scattered when he made contact with the toe of his boot. Bending down he gathered the ashes in his hands, the grittiness coating his fingers, a sharp, tangy smell hit him, flooding his senses. Northern Grey backs probably, judging from the amount of destruction and the size of the one he had just glimpsed.

 

Contrary to popular belief, not all dragons breathed fire. Among those that did, heat was a relative thing. A diamond tailed horned dragon, for example, was all bluster, lots of smoke and fury, very little flame. Northern Greys, on the other hand, were fairly deadly. Very little smoke, a cry as innocent as the bleating of a doe. But their fire burned almost as hot as the sun. Which begged the question, what were Northern Greys doing this far south?

 

Everness had been a large city, a bustling center of trade and commerce. Dragons usually kept a lower profile than this. It was the third city of this size burned to the ground that he had come across in as many months. Something was very, very wrong. Dragons had been hunted almost to extinction centuries ago. Most places he went, they were regarded as fairy tales. The creatures had a vested interest in keeping it that way. So why the unprovoked and frequent attacks on high profile cities all of a sudden? Three large, well known cities, in three months all within the same region. That was definitely going to be noticed.

 

Ari gazed out over the landscape as smoke curled up and climbed into the sky, insects and birds eerily silent. He closed his eyes and brought up his other senses, focusing on the mountain the Grey had disappeared over. He stood in silence as the sun sank down behind the mountains, shadows stretching out across the remains of the city. He was unaware of the passage of time as he used his extra senses to survey the mountain range and what it was hiding. A soft breeze danced through the ruins and night had fully fallen when he finally opened his eyes. He knew what he had to do. It was time for the people to know the truth.

Writing

Flash Fiction and Me

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I realize that I went about six weeks without publishing anything. Several people pointed this out to me and it made my heart happy to know that people actually look for, read and enjoy my stories! Someone was asking me what flash fiction was, so I thought I’d tell you.

Flash fiction is shorter than a short story. The first flash fiction piece I ever wrote (The Vessel), I wrote before I ever heard that term. I joked with my brother than the story I had written was a short, short story, a micro story or a mini story. Which made me think, was that a thing? So I googled it.

Flash fiction is a thing. It is exactly a micro or mini story. It’s a completed story in and of itself, but well under the word count for a short story, which is 1,000 to 1,500 words depending on who you ask. I had a piece that was either a shorter short story or a longer flash fiction piece. While trying to decide what it should be classified as, I ran across the best description I’d seen. It said that while a short story stood on it’s own, flash fiction hints at a larger story. That decided it for me, my piece was flash fiction.

While flash fiction has a cohesive story and an ending, it often leaves you thinking you’d like to hear more. But it is a completed story in and of itself at the same time. Is that confusing? It simply means that it tells a story, but leaves questions that could lead to a bigger story.

I love my flash fiction. For one, it lets me stretch my writing muscles so to speak. It’s like exercise, keeps me in the writing mode. Or gets me into it. Sometimes it finds its way into larger stories later on, or I end up writing other pieces of flash fiction that continue the story or tell a different part of it, like with The Vessel or Wolf Girl. The main character from The Witch in the Woods became a character in the book I’m writing.

Yes, I have a full length novel in the work as well as several completed short stories. I don’t publish the short stories on my blog (with the exception of A Very Witchy New Year, which I saw as a new years gift to my readers) because I might want to publish them or enter them into a writing contest at some point and most of those things require you to submit work that is previously unpublished. So as much as I would love to share them here, I am waiting in case I decide to try publishing.

My book is a fantasy novel set in modern times in the north Texas area. My local peeps will recognize towns and landmarks in the book. I have so far put 26 completed chapters to paper, over 26k words. I am currently working on wrapping up part one of the book, out of three. So I am about one third of the way done. I started it about two years ago. I had nine chapters down when I left my full time job in May. It’s now September and I have 26 completed chapters plus 3 partially completed ones. That’s 17 chapters I’ve completed in three months. Amazing what you can accomplish when you have time to devote to it!

I have gone back to work part time now but I am committed to getting this book done. When I have a completed, or nearly completed book, I will post the first chapter on here.

I had gotten out of the habit of posting regularly because I stopped doing my writing prompts. Yes, the majority of my flash fiction pieces come from a series of writing prompts I’ve been doing. If I sit down and make myself write every night, sometimes I get much of nothing, but other times I churn out a full short story or a piece of flash fiction and often, once in the writing mode, I continue on to work on my book. I often put something I love to paper on nights that I didn’t feel like writing, until I sat down and just did it. Recognizing this, I am getting back to my habit of sitting down on a regular basis to write.

If I skip a few weeks of posting flash fiction, you can be sure it’s because I’m fully absorbed in working on my forthcoming book. Can’t wait to share it with you all!

Writing

Fairies in the Forest

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She chased the cat out of the woods and across the field to the edge of a ravine. She stood now, staring down into the abyss. She knew she wasn’t suppose to leave the confines of the woods, but Chara had run away and she was wanted to catch her and bring her back to the house.

As she stood staring into the chasm, she understood why her mother had been so insistent that she not leave the woods. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to know about the drop off. She knew that it would be too much for Elizabeth to resist.

Elizabeth was an explorer and she loved to climb. There was no way she could ignore this ravine now that she’d found it. The urge to explore was like a fire burning inside her that she could not ignore. This was something that she was born to do.

She glanced around then quickly scurried over the edge. She shimmed down the embankment like a billy goat! She was a natural born climber and she had started climbing the trees in the woods almost as soon as she could walk. Her mother still told the story of the time she had searched everywhere for her only to find her on the roof when she was four years old.

Elizabeth knew her mother worried about her, but she had no reason to. She practically stuck to the side of the ravine as if she covered in glue. There was no slope too steep and no tree too high. Climbing is what she did best, after all!

Reaching the bottom more quickly that should have been humanly possible; she dropped to the ground, brushed herself off and stood to look around.

She stood in a lush valley, the growing things so green it was like an emerald carpet spreading out in every direction. It was like another world.

The faint sound of music drifted across the valley and she set off to find its source. Coming to a sparkling blue stream, she stopped to sit and watch the water for awhile. Suddenly she realized that she wasn’t alone. She was surprised, but not afraid.

Turning to her right, she silently regarded the woman perched on the rock next to her. She was dressed all in green, from the leaves weaved in her hair to her soft velvet shoes. She looked kind and Elizabeth could have sworn she saw a gossamer set of wings flutter out of sight just as she turned to see her.

“Hello,” The green woman spoke, “What are you?”

“I’m a girl” Elizabeth replied as this were a perfectly reasonable question, “What are you?”

“I’m a fairy.” The women said as she cocked her head and studied Elizabeth intently, “I’ve never seen a human girl before.”

“I’ve never seen a fairy before,” Elizabeth replied, “I thought you’d be smaller.”

The fairy let out a tinkling sound of laughter, then she dipped her foot into the stream and kicked a shower of water up into the air. Elizabeth giggled at that and stuck her hand into the stream to splash her own spray of water into the air.

Giggling now, water flying, the coldness sharp and shocking yet exhilarating. Elizabeth shrieked in laughter as she tore around the bank, splashing her new friend and dodging sprays of water sent her way.

Shaking the water from her body almost like a dog would, the fairy smiled dazzlingly at her and winked as wings popped out and she flew straight up into the air! Elizabeth got so excited that she forgot, for a moment, that she herself couldn’t fly. Jumping straight up into the air after the tinkling sound of fairy laughter, Elizabeth felt something pop out of her own back and realized with a start that she was still in the air!

Wings beat at her back, the vibration odd yet somehow vaguely familiar. She tried to turn to look at them and found herself turning in circles. She stopped before she could get dizzy, then darted straight up, then forward, then stopped to hover again.

Turning in midair, she saw the fairy regarding her, mouth agape.

“You said you were a girl! A human girl!” The fairy accused.

“I am! I was! I mean……….” Elizabeth trailed off. She had no idea why she should have wings, her mother had never mentioned such a thing.

Her mother! Elizabeth zipped straight up in the air in surprise! She suddenly realized how much trouble she was going to be in when her mother couldn’t find her in the woods.

“I-I’m sorry, I have to go!” She gulped as she turned and literally flew through the valley back to the wall of the ravine. Straight up she shot, tumbling over the edge and crash landing in the grass above. Chara, her cat, still sat at the edge, licking a paw as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

Elizabeth grabbed the cat and made a mad dash back toward home, hoping her mother hadn’t noticed her absence yet. She had.

Her mother stood at the front door, hands on her hips, foot tapping. She had a long suffering look on her face. She was a mother all too use to her child running off willy nilly into the woods, completely oblivious to her mother’s worry.

Her expression turned from one of annoyance to utter shock in about two seconds flat. Elizabeth halted in her forward run toward the cabin to look around her for the source of her mother’s shock. Turning in a circle, she remembered her new wings.

She looked back at her mother, denials of wrong doing on her lips but her mother did not yell at her. Instead, the shock faded into resignation.

“Come inside Elizabeth,” her mother said, “we have a lot to discuss.”

 

 

Writing

The Tree

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There was a door in a tree. In the middle of the woods, amongst all the normal looking trees, stood a tall oak with a door in the middle of the trunk and a light hanging off the side. You know, so you could see the door if it was dark.

Why on Earth it was there and what it could possibly lead to was another issue entirely. She stood staring up at it in contemplation. Should she go in? There was very little chance that she wasn’t going to go in, to be honest. She had to know where it went.

Drawing in a deep breath, she made her way up the little path that seemed to open up in front of her. There wasn’t a path as such, no sidewalk or anything to mark an actual path, just less undergrowth, an absence of obstacles to get there.

Reaching the door, she turned the knob and it swung open with a slight screech. Peering in to the dim interior, dust floated by and there was a slightly musty smell.

“Anybody here?” She called.

No answer.

Stepping inside, the air seemed to brighten a little, sunlight filtering in from a small window, up high, that hadn’t been visible from the outside. The door squealed again as it swung shut. She jumped a little, but really, what had she expected?

As she made her way further in, the room seemed to widen and lengthen. The brightness grew incrementally as she walked tentatively forward. Warmth filled the air from a fire that crackled comfortingly in the corner of the room. A plush chair was situated just in front of the fire.

Well, why not? She perched in the chair, suddenly aware of a robe draped across it. Snuggling into it, she found it soft, warm and just her size. She looked to her right and noticed a staircase twisting it’s way up and up, it seemed to go on forever.

“What is this place?” She whispered out loud.

“It is whatever you want it to be.” Came the reply.

She jumped and looked around for the source of the voice. There was a little man, with huge ears and feet, no taller than a five year old but obviously aged. He gave a slight bow.

“Who are you?” She inquired.

“I am your guide, should you choose to explore.” He answered as he handed her a fluted champagne glass. “Drink and this world shall open up to you, but I must warn you, time moves differently here. Be very sure this is what you really want.”

She reflected for a few minutes on her life. The job that wasn’t going anywhere, her lack of a love life, her insatiable desire for knowledge and adventure. It was the easiest decision she had ever made in her life.

She took the champagne glass and drank deeply.

Writing

The Truck

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The truck hummed suspiciously in her driveway. Clara regarded it thoughtfully. It was a rather large truck, white, with lights on top. But how had it gotten here?

Clara didn’t own a truck and she had never seen this one until it appeared in her driveway a moment ago. The hum was suspicious mostly because trucks didn’t really hum. They rumbled or purred or something more apropos of an engine. This sounded more like something electric.

The truck looked mostly normal, with blue lights pulsating from under it. The windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t see inside, even the front windshield. That was certainly odd.

She reflected that she should probably be afraid, or some other normal emotion that one might have if an unearthly sounding truck appeared in your driveway out of nowhere. But then again, she really wasn’t a normal person.

She became aware of her oddness at a very early age. When she knew what people were thinking without them having to speak, when people she wanted just showed up at the door, because they felt compelled to and when toys she saw on TV and wished for just appeared. But she hadn’t wished for this truck so what was up with it? Why was it here?

There was a soft click as the door swung open. An inhumanly tall man with a bluish tint to his skin stepped out. He wore a suit of soft, glittery silver, all one piece. Those were definitely antennas coming out of the top of his head.

“Hello Clara.” She heard in her head, though he had not spoken out loud.

“Hello.” She thought back at him, still far more curious than afraid.

“My name is Alto and I’m here to take you to the induction ceremony.” He sounded so matter of fact, as if she had been expecting him.

“Induction ceremony?” She probed.

Was that a sigh she heard inside her head?

“You are being inducted into The Intergalactic Society for Gifted Beings,” he thought at her, “you didn’t receive the welcome packet?”

“Uh…no.”

There was another sigh, this one distinct and thoroughly long suffering.

“So hard to get good help these days.” She heard him thinking.

“Well, get in or we’re going to be late,” He told her, “I’ll explain on the way.”

Writing

Adventure

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I watched the sun sink down below the horizon.  It was gorgeous, majestic! The blues and reds mingling as the sun grew huge and sank slowly behind the mountain range.

I inhaled the smell of the impending night deeply; this was my favorite time of day. The heat dissipating quickly as the sounds of night overcame the sounds of day. Chirping of birds and the calling of children ceased as the crickets and frogs took over.

Would I ever see my homeland again? By morning we should be well into our journey. The herds were on the move and so were we. For the first time in my memory, food was scare. Packed and ready to go, we set out, traveling by night to avoid the scorching heat.

I gave one longing backwards glance to my childhood home then turned and joined the others as we set out on our adventure.

Writing

The Incident

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She fumbled for the light switch. It had to be here somewhere, she thought, as she stumbled along the wall in the darkness, feeling for it. This level of darkness was impossible, was there not a window anywhere? How about a bit of moonlight or a street lamp shining through a curtain? Seriously, how could it be this dark?

She felt the primeval panic rising in her throat. She tried to calm herself, to think logically. But every primitive instinct in her body was screaming that the darkness was evil, bad, to be feared. She had to get out of here.

She felt hot tears come unbidden to her eyes and start to spill down her cheeks. Mucous clogged up her throat and her breath came out in ragged gulps. Just as she was about to lose it completely, she mercifully found a doorknob. Turning it, she threw herself through the door and out onto the fair grounds.

All around her sirens blared and the sounds of shouting filled her ears. Stumbling away from the doorway she suddenly found herself struck by the glare of a spotlight. She froze like a deer, and for the same reason. Going from complete darkness to the blindingly bright spotlight, she was momentarily stunned and blinded.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” a voice was demanding.

She looked up, blinking, shielding her eyes, trying to make sense of the words that were being said to her. The words were unclear, muffled, coming from a distance. As she struggled to focus, things began to sharpen, the words became decipherable, clearer, closer, and she was able to make out shapes around her. Police cars, an ambulance, cameras, were those reporters?

“Ma’am, I need you to focus!” the voice was more insistent now. She looked up into the face of a firefighter that stared back at her with a mixture of fear, amazement and concern, “I said, did you just come out of that building?”

She glanced back at the door she had exited through and nodded, numbly.

“My God! How is that possible?” He took her arm and guided her toward the ambulance, a uniformed officer holding the reports at bay. That didn’t keep them from hurling questions at her.

“Ma’am! Ma’am! What’s your name?”

“Who are you?”

“What were you doing in there?”

“Did you have anything to do with the attack?”

“What’s your association with the victims?”

Victims, what were they talking about?

The fire fighter handed her over to a paramedic. As she sat on a gurney near the ambulance, she glanced down long enough to notice she was covered in blood, she looked up in horror as the spotlight hit her again. A reporter, she realized this time. She tried to remember what had happened, but her memory started with her frantic search for the light switch. Any existence she had prior to that was gone, wiped from her memory.

“We’re going to need to question her,” a police detective was saying to the paramedic, “we don’t know if she’s the only survivor or the perpetrator.”

“After she receives medical treatment.” The handsome young paramedic replied, loading her into the back of the ambulance and closing the door.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed to speak, “I don’t remember anything.”

As the ambulance pulled away from the crime scene, he smiled at her with red, glowing eyes, “It’s ok, all that is behind you. You’re one of us now.”

 

 

 

 

Writing

Mirror, Mirror

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“Mirror, Mirror on the wall” she joked.

“Yes Mistress?” Came the reply.

She froze. Did that really just happen? She turned back toward the mirror, its surface shimmering now in a way it hadn’t before.

“Umm…………” she was at a loss as to how to proceed.

“Did you have a question mistress?” the mirror asked.

“Yeah, why do you call me mistress?” as soon as the words left her mouth she realized there were at least a dozen more relevant questions she could have asked. Starting with, how on earth the mirror was talking.

“Because you are my mistress,” it answered, “you have fulfilled all three requirements, you have physical possession of the mirror itself, through which we can communicate, you have the power to summon me and the ability to scry.”

“Scry?”

Did she hear the mirror sigh?

“Yes, mistress, scry, the ability to see visions in reflective surfaces such as water, glass or obsidian.”

Well she had to admit that her interest was piqued now. This overly large and ornate mirror had been left to her by her grandmother. It had arrived on her doorstep, with a simple note attached.

“For Esmerelda, who holds the power.” She hadn’t understood it then but it was starting to make a bit more sense.

Ok, so scrying is one thing, but this mirror is talking to me, she thought to herself. Out loud she asked, “Who and what are you?” Yes, that was definitely a more sensible question. She had about a million questions about her grandmother now, but one thing at a time.

“Let’s just say that I exist in another dimension and this mirror serves as a portal for the purposes of communication for those who have the eyes to see and the ears to hear.”

She wasn’t sure if the mirror was being overly simplistic or outright cryptic, she was sure the mirror didn’t mean physical eyes or ears. She was equally sure that she wasn’t living in a fairy tale; this was rural Texas for the love of Pete! Well, she might as well play along. What could it hurt? Maybe she was on a hidden camera show!

She leaned forward and reached out to swipe her hand across the mirrors surface. It responded, the surface shimmering as if she had disturbed a pool of tranquil water. Through the shimmering surface she could just glimpse the other side, just glimpse her future.

 

 

 

Writing

Warehouse

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The warehouse was dusty, dimly lit, abandoned. She had made it her temporary home. At least, she hoped it was temporary! It was echo-y too, she tried not to be too loud or to stir up too much dust. In the far back corner, she had made a room by arranging some large, stacked boxes. Behind these boxes was the pallet she slept on, her few meager belongings and her sketch book.

That sketch book was the reason she was living in abandoned warehouses. She drew everything she saw. Everything. Drawing has been her passion since she was old enough to hold a crayon.

How was it her fault that she had sketched the face of murderer? She hadn’t known he was a murder at the time. She had seen him leaving her neighbors house, he hadn’t seen her at first. He froze when he saw her, caught her eye. They just stared at each other for a long moment then he started across the street toward her, glanced to his left when he heard sirens, then gave her one last look before turning and fleeing down the street.

Of course she had told the police everything when they had questioned her. She gave them the sketch but the officers who questioned her had never returned to the police station that day. When she got the call from the police searching for the missing officers, she knew she was in trouble so she threw a few items into a duffle bag and took off. She had watched enough crime shows to know not to use her debit or credit cards and she wasn’t sure who she could trust now.

She lay on the pallet now, gazing up at the cobweb coated ceiling. There were windows lining the top of the room, all the way around. It let in just enough moonlight through the dust coated panes that she wasn’t in pitch blackness.

She was almost asleep when a noise startled her. She sat up quickly, then held her breath, listening. There was a rustling sound, like someone moving through the darkness toward her. She calmly pulled out her gun and readied herself. She was not going to be taken out, not tonight, not any night!

A flashlight shone in her face, she brought the gun up and aimed, “Who’s there?” she demanded.

The next thing she knew she had been disarmed and the face of the killer was staring down at her. “Thought you could hide from me?” He smirked at her.

This is it, she thought, as she scooted back away from him. A surge of anxiety and white hot anger boiled up inside her. As she thought about how much she wanted to hurt him for what he had done to her neighbor and what he was about to do to her, he reached out toward her and she flung her arms forward in a defensive position.

Inexplicably, she held a glowing orb in her hands. It was so bright it hurt her eyes, it was white and it felt burning hot. She flung it away from her and it shot with deadly precision straight at her attacker. Then suddenly, he was lying on the floor, a gaping, smoking hold in the middle of his chest. The orb was gone and she was safe.

She stared in disbelief at her hands. Well that had been interesting. Suddenly she remembered her great aunt, the one who claimed to be a witch, the one the whole family thought was crazy. She quickly gathered her things and headed out of the warehouse. It was time to pay her aunt a visit and find out what was going on.

 

Writing

VROOM!

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Throwing the car into gear and putting her foot into the pedal, Sophia sailed out of the parking lot and launched the Shelby Mustang down the road.

“Whoo Hoo!” She shouted as she opened up the throttle, threw her head back and felt the air rush through her hair. Top down, blue with white racing stripes, she loved this car! She felt free and exhilarated! What could be better than this?

Flying up the road, the wheels came off the ground as she went up and over a hill. She flew through an intersection then slowed down to take a turn, but not quite enough, the car started to spin, she was able to regain control as it fishtailed around the corner.

She was sad when she reached her destination. She pulled back into the parking lot, gravel spraying from behind the wheels as she slid to stop in front of the building. Turing to her passenger, she asked, “So, do I get my license now?”