Wording Wednesday - a Blue Moon Series story - White Stone

She wipes her hand across the mirror, which is spotted and blackened with age. The dust coating it comes off on her hand.

If anyone finds out just how far her family fell from grace, they'd say things that shouldn't be said by heretics and heathens. She has to keep this quiet. She has to silence anyone who dares to speak ill against her family. She has to change the story, no matter what the cost.

Snow tilts her head to the side, gazing at her reflection with her last good eye. Trading sight for sight. Eye for an eye. It's an old saying, but the meaning remains the same. Squaring her shoulders, she observes as the last blue color in her iris fades into a milky fog. On one side of her vision, she sees everything. Through the fog, it becomes shapes without definition or color, a world seemingly devoid of meaning.

Her father had traded the witch for what exactly? These powers? For her?

She stands, flattens her hands against her skirts, and marches to the window. Pushing open the wooden frame, she gazes out into the darkened sky. One eye sees the bright illumination of colors, blues ranging from turquoise to midnight, stars as far as she can see. Her other side shows dark splotches along the horizon.

"Come," she says, keeping her voice low.

"With this," her father had told her, "we will be able to rule the world."

"We already rule, Papa."

"No, Snow. No one believes a woman able to lead. You, you are the key to changing all of that. I have given my sight for you, and soon, you will give yours too."

She had been too young to understand then, but now in her blossoming years, with her breasts just starting to peek along her skin, her father had made the fourth trade—her first eye.

From the shadowing darkness ahead of her, a single crow soars in gracefully. When it gets close to the window frame, it flaps its wings, causing her newly whitened hair to shift in the breeze. It caws at her, a cackling sound that she had never heard up close before. It's piercing, and there's something devastatingly beautiful about it.

She gained emotional fortitude for her father's eyes, wolves for her hair, crows for one eye. When the witch comes for the other, she'll have unimaginable powers.

Snow had asked, "Why crows for an eye? Aren't wolves more dangerous? Shouldn't they be worth more than hair?"

Her father touched the tip of her nose. "Wolves are dangerous, but crows have sight. And with sight, comes power. We are trading for power, Snow."

Reaching out her delicate fingers, Snow strokes the crow down its back. The outline of it resembles a cat in her bad vision, and she's not sure if she'll ever be ready to give up her other eye. Sight is power, after all.

The crow caws again.

"I want to see what you see," she whispers, sorrow filling her voice as she realized she would never see the same again.

The crow launches itself into the air. Snow blinks and rubs her eyes, but still, there's another side to her vision. Out of the milky fog, she is soaring alongside the crow. No, that's not right. She is the crow, seeing the world below. All the thick outlines of buildings, the trees cropped out of the forest, and she realizes that she has sight without sight. She's given up one experience for another.

She waves the vision away and sits in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection for a long time. What will they say when they see her? What will they think and say? Everyone will know what happened with the witch. They'll know.

As if answering her sorrow, a howl sounds in the distance. Snow clenches her fits and sits up straight. No, they won't know how she became. She will not allow it. She simply is and always will be the Queen.

- - - - -

This is a spin off from the Blue Moon series (In a Blue Moon already released, Bolt from the Blue coming soon, Greener on the Other Side coming sooner). All titles will be based on color idioms, and I do plan on giving Snow her own story one of these days.

Story prompt from the Wording Wednesday group on MeWe. Based on the art in the link below:

https://fineartamerica.com/featured/prayer-amanda-clark.html

Wording Wednesday - a Ferals short story

Dirk stops short at the edge of the alleyway and glances over at Shepherd. "Did you hear that?" His voice is tinny, high despite being almost old enough to get into the agency program. He considers himself an adult now, with his birthday only two months away.

Shepherd takes a long look down the dark alley. No lights, the partial moon covered by clouds, nothing to see by. He cranks the flashlight in his hand and sweeps it across the shadows. Four pairs of eyes light up, staring straight back at them. Shepherd jumps back, fumbling with the flashlight and nearly dropping it.

Dirk stares, brown eyes wide with terror.

"What day is it?" Shepherd whispers, his fingers shaking around the flashlight as he turns the beam back up toward the eyes. The two pairs glow in the light, still looking straight down at the boys from their perch on top of the garbage containers.

"Two days," Dirk states. He shows his watch to prove the point; though, neither boy can see the face of it in the dark.

Dirk got lucky after the Spread. He managed to be one of the few people who came across a watch that wound whenever he took a step. An ongoing, perfect watch for a place without much, if any, electricity or access to batteries. Best yet, his shows the cycles of the moon. A daily reminder of how much danger he is in, or is not. Two days should be plenty of time.

The taller boy lets out a long, slow breath. "Okay, then. We're fine, right?"

"We're fine," Dirk echoes. He can't peel his gaze away from the creatures.

One of them has long fur, off-white with a dark patch on its chest. After a moment of watching at the boys, it licks its paw and rubs it along its face. As if it weren't one of the deadliest creatures in the world, as if it were nothing but a ... "House cat." The thought escapes Dirk's lips on a whisper, almost like a dare. He's an adult now, and he should be able to call them like they are. Cats.

Except they aren't. They haven't been cats for a long time.

"Whatever, man. Let's go." The flashlight turns off for a second, and the sound of the mechanical hand crank fills the silence between them.

"Do you think their inoculated?"

"You want to stay and find out?" The beam comes back on, and Shepherd aims it at Dirk.

"No." Dirk puts his hand up, shielding his eyes from the light. "But if they aren't, then—"

"Then the TNR Agents will deal with them."

Dirk stands up straighter. "We could bring them in."

Shepherd aims the light back down the alley. Only one set of eyes gazes at them now, the off-white one missing from the scene. "You want to try to catch it? Be my guest."

Taking one step forward, the boy shakes with nervous, giddy energy. Dirk glances around the opening to the narrow path. He freezes when he sees more eyes appearing out of the darkness, blinking into existence from out of oblivion. He gulps down a breath, stumbling backwards. "A pride."

"Not just a pride." Shepherd's voice dissolves. "A colony."

The boys take three steps back, then four, both almost tripping over their own two feet.

"It's not the full moon," Dirk whispers, voice whimpering with disbelief and fright.

The beam of light winks out again, and with their hearts pounding, the boys turn and run as fast as they can. Their feet launch off the pavement, and they sprint. Faster than they did in survival class, faster than they did during their exams, faster than they ever have run before. They run so fast, they feel like they are flying.

But that's the thing about Ferals; no matter how fast, no human has ever outrun them.

- - - - -

I rarely write in third person, let alone present tense, but I've been writing a few stories in present tense as of late and wanted to try third person. I figure if I'm trying new things, it should probably be during writing prompts. This prompt is curated by Andy Brokaw, a lovely YA writer, and she used "The Cats' Rendezvous" by Édouard Manet to inspire our first piece for Wording Wednesday, a writing group on MeWe.

If anyone else is on MeWe, feel free to add me! mewe.com/i/racheldesilets

YA Gets Real: Sacrifice

The four of us watched in horror as green light exploded from the tip of the witch's wand straight into Madison Patrick. Madison's eyes rolled back into her head, her body shuddered once, and she collapsed onto the ground.

Josephine, Carlyle, and Trevor gasped behind me.

The witch, who I thought would be ecstatic to have just ended Madison's life, glanced at the end of her wand. Her brow furrowed, and she frowned.

"Why did you not save her?" Her voice came out tinny and hollow.

There was a long, outstretched moment of silence. I gazed at the charred clothes on top of Madison's chest. I swallowed back a bit of bile from the smell filling the stone-walled space.

"We tried. We just got here too late," I said.

"No, Lex, we were here just in time," Josephine squeaked.

I narrowed my eyes and took a step away from my friends, the people I had spent ages on this journey with. We had come all this way to subdue the witch and save Madison's life. We had arrived at the tower too late, and there was nothing we could have done to save her. The witch had been casting her spell before we entered the room.

"We were too late," I said again.

Trevor shook his head and glanced down at his sword. "We could have saved her."

"No, we didn't have the time," I said.

"You could have," the witch said, eyeing me.

Finally, it clicked into place. I blinked at my friends and swept my eyes over the sullen looking witch. She had used all her magic on that last spell. She hadn't wanted to kill Madison at all. She had wanted to kill me.

"Whoa. Wait a second." I stepped back from all of them, holding my hands up. "You had expected me to travel across the continent, defeat the wraith, drain the swamp with the formi inside, and beat the harnessed rider to what ... to sacrifice myself for Madison Patrick?!"

None of them could look me in the eyes.

"I barely knew her! You barely knew her!" I pointed out to my so-called friends. "Sure, I was trying to save her life, but I wasn't prepared to die for her." The words were true, and I'm not sure what kind of person that made me. While I had failed to save her, so had they. No one stepped up on this one.

"You have the amulet," Carlyle finally said, eyes sullen and lips taut. "It would have brought you back."

"How was I supposed to know?" My voice rose, panic bubbling into my throat. "You guys never told me that!"

"They couldn't," the witch said. "It would have only worked if your intentions had been pure, if you were actually willing to sacrifice yourself for her." She shook her head, looking at me with disappointment. "I can't believe I planned all of this just to get to you." With that, she turned and marched out of her tower.

I stood there, jaw open, stunned.

"You weren't the person we thought you were," Trevor said.

"No one had to die today." Tears welled in Josephine's eyes.

"So are we letting the witch go?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips. "Because she's, you know, a murderer now."

As if in a trance, the three of them repeated, "No one had to die today."

"You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing!" I slammed my foot down, hoping to break them out of whatever had just happened. This wasn't all on me. This wasn't all my fault, but they were making me feel like it was.

They continued repeating the sentence over and over again, "No one had to die today." Slowly, my companions shuffled out of the room, leaving me behind with the body of Madison Patrick.

- - -

Thanks for reading the parody series YA Gets Real! It's a parody series of shorts that make fun of the tropes we know and love in Young Adult literature. There are quite a few books where the main character does sacrifice themselves for the sake of others. I won't give any recommendations for this one, because that would give away too many endings. ;)

Cheers! Another YA Gets Real will be posted in two weeks! Stay tuned!

YA Gets Real: Don't Go Inside the House

The lone house loomed at the end of the street, dark and foreboding. Night crept around the car's headlights, trying to shut off what little light illuminated the front of the building. As Trevor cut the engine, a crow cawed in the distance.

"This doesn't look anything like the brochure." Katie held up the bed and breakfast pamphlet, one that promised pampering and relaxation. She glanced between the brochure and the house. The sign that hung on rusted nails came loose at that moment, and half of it fell in a pendulum arc, swaying back and forth to the breeze.

"Yeah," Trevor said, holding his gaze steady on the house. He wouldn't claim to be afraid of whatever was inside, not in front of the girl he was trying to impress, but he also didn't want to step foot inside the house.

The wooden paneling was a gray, faded from the bright white that the pictures of it reflected in its glory days. The paint was chipped and peeled, flaking off in the least bit of wind. Each window was smeared and tarnished with years of grime, unknown in origin. The porch held a single rocking chair, one that eerily tilted with the wind, creaking all the way.

"Maybe ..." Katie let her voice trail off as she stuffed the brochure back in the glove compartment. "Maybe we shouldn't go inside?" She rubbed her arms, trying to stop the goosebumps from forming on her skin.

"I mean, it doesn't look anything like the advertisement." Playing it cool, Trevor tapped his fingers on the wheel. "If you want, I mean, we could ..." He shifted his gaze to Katie, hoping she would tell him to get out of there.

Katie took another look at the house. The roof hanging over the porch seemed ready to collapse on itself. Curiosity had run through her, but she didn't like the looks of those steps. If something happened to her already sprained ankle, she could be looking at sitting out the rest of field hockey season.

Just then, a small flicker of a light danced in one of the upper rooms. The couple blinked and leaned forward, trying to get a better look, but the house offered no answers. The yellow glow eased in and out of existence, almost like it wasn't real.

"We probably shouldn't go investigate," Trevor said. To heck with trying to appear cool, he had no desire to die at this old house.

"No, you're right. This place gives me the creeps." Katie squeezed Trevor's arm. "Hey, look." She held her phone up to him, and he was momentarily blinded by the blue glow. "I found a place with better reviews. Want to go?"

"Sure," Trevor said, turning the car around.

For the seventh time this month, the spirit was annoyed that social media existed. The ghost sighed. Someday, maybe, someone's phone would fail and leave them with no other option than to go inside.

- - -

These posts are silly, parody posts of some scenes that can be found in YA tropes intended to make you smile for your weekend. I adore YA books, as a reader and a writer. These stories are fiction, but provide a possible alternative to scenes from stories we love.

Titles I enjoyed where the MC does investigate (linked images):
            

YA Gets Real: Chosen One

“Jude,” he snarled, grabbing a hold of my wrist. I shook him off and crossed my arms, glaring daggers at him. He pressed on, unabated. “We need you, whether you want to come to terms with it or not. Without you, the entire world as we know it ends.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hardly think the entire world will end. People will find a way to move on after the society crumbles and the war ends.” I shifted my stance. “Or are you telling me that you believe this is the only way to live?”

Beltrov looked me up and down, debating what to say to change my mind. He couldn’t; I had already decided on my future, and none of it involved him or the outlaws.

“If you don’t save us, no one will,” he whispered, his voice pleading. Now he was trying to prey on my emotions. Everything he had said since I had met him had been a lie—a manipulation in attempts to get me to complete his dirty work.

“Look. You can wield the sword, so can I. Who cares if it glows blue when I hold it? There’s no difference. It’s still a sword. No magic, just a blue light.” I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m not doing this. I don’t want to risk my life for a future I don’t believe in.” I wasn’t playing the reluctant hero card, because I wasn’t a hero. I hated this whole thing—the war, the society, the outlaws. I wouldn’t take part in any of it.

“Maybe,” I said, gazing into his gray eyes dulled from years of battle. “Maybe you should join me instead, ever think of that?”

He barked out a laugh. “On a farm. In the middle of the woods.”

I nodded. “It’s much safer than… this.” I gestured to the hollowed out shells of buildings around us. Debris littered the ground. The society was collapsing, thanks to the outlaws. And if I didn’t get my hands on some seeds fast, food would go soon after. “I’d rather not starve to death.”

“We’ve been working towards this our whole lives!” Beltrov exclaimed, kicking at a rock in the ground with disgust written across his face. He gestured wildly, as if that would clue me in on some secret I didn’t already know. “How can you walk away from this?!”

I jabbed a finger into his chest, getting so close to his face that he had to look me in the eyes. I growled, “You’ve been working towards this. You decided that you needed to find me, the chosen one. But look, Beltrov, while I’m flattered by this... prophecy, I will not risk my life. I will not be part of your war.” I shook my head. “This is not life, but destruction.”

“It’s a means to an end.”

“You say that, but I think my method works better.” I shrugged, glancing towards the mountain peaks in the distance. A two day walk, three tops, and I’d find the little, isolated village. I’d find peace. I’d live. Why couldn’t Beltrov see that? “Look, if you win the war, you can come find me in the mountains with the villagers.” I stood on my tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Good luck, Beltrov. Maybe we shall meet again.”

“Jude…” His voice barely came out as a whisper. I pressed my eyes closed and turned away from the ruined city. “But you have the sword’s power... We need you.”

“A blue glowing sword is hardly a reason to stay.” I marched out of the city, refusing to glance back. I feared if I did, I would give into the pitifully sad expression on Beltrov’s face and join his unending war against the society.

---

These posts are silly, parody posts of some scenes that can be found in YA tropes. These fun shorts should make you smile on your Monday morning.

I love YA books, as a reader and a writer. Still, there are some tropes that deserve to become real. While these stories are still fiction, they provide an alternative, possibly more realistic, version of scenes from stories we love.

YA Gets Real: Information

These posts are silly, parody posts of some scenes that can be found in YA tropes. These fun shorts should make you smile on your Monday morning.

I love YA books, as a reader and a writer. Still, there are some tropes that deserve to become real. While these stories are still fiction, they provide a more realistic version of those tropes we know and love.

---

"One hundred and fifty years ago, the Book of Richette disappeared from the caverns underneath the Crowned Empire. With the Secret Coven of the Black Forest searching for it, we had to form the Sisters of the Eternal Circle to battle against them. The war has raged for years, since the Sisters are the only ones who have access to the Library of Counsel. Without access, there's no hope for the Secret Coven to get the Book of Richette back."

"The Prophet of Alzard predicted that the Book of Richette would reappear on the First Moon of the Rising Tide when Lilith was born. We had no idea who we were looking for at the time, just a girl named Lilith. But then we found you, Daughter of the Second--"

"Whoa," I interrupted, holding up my hands. "Okay... whoa, slow down." I shook my head, my brown hair tumbling around my face, framing my cheeks.

Richard tilted his head to the side and blinked slowly, something he did when he was confused. I guessed the... What was it? Sisters... of the... Whatever, growing up as part of a warring magical group trying to defend some magical thing didn't give him the necessary people skills to understand that I needed time to process all this information. Especially if I was expected to save the world.

"Okay." I pressed my eyes closed and breathed in a sharp, deep breath. "Can you... write this down? Make an outline or a diagram or something?" I peeked my eyes opened and saw a frown on Richard's face. "Look, I'm not going to understand any of this unless I have it in writing. Honestly, it's so confusing, I don't even know how you understand any of it." I patted him on the shoulder. "Give me the essay tomorrow, and I'll read it on my own time."

I stood up and started to walk out of the dank, underground secret lair. I paused at the bottom of the circular stairs. Turning, I forced a pleasant smile. "You know what, don't give me an essay. Give me the notes, the bare minimum, and then we'll talk. See you later, Richard." I blew him a kiss and walked up the stairs, out into the open air.

YA Gets Real: Vampire

These posts are silly, parody posts of some scenes that can be found in YA tropes. These fun shorts should make you smile on your Monday morning.

I love YA books, as a reader and a writer. Still, there are some tropes that deserve to become real. While these stories are still fiction, they provide a more realistic version of those tropes we know and love.

---

Laura Roerck and I had been dating for six months. In that time, our relationship had been next to perfect, down to the night we opened up the most private parts of ourselves to each other. She had always been a little left of center, with jet black choppy hair, bright red lipstick, and pale skin. Her complexion matched the alternative lifestyle I lived, being in an underground band. Everyone said we were perfect together.

Everyone except Laura.

With two months to go before we graduated, most people were planning for prom. Laura, however, planned an extravagant date for us. She took me out to the nicest restaurant in our two stoplight town. Mid-dinner, mid-laugh, she reached across the candle-lit table and grabbed my hand with hers. Her fingers were cool to the touch.

"Kev..." She let the word trail off her tongue like she always did. It made my skin ache with desire to feel her, touch her, brush my lips against hers. "I need to talk to you about something. I know you wanted me to go to Lakeview College with you--"

I shook my head. "Laura, don't. We've talked about this. Even if you want to go to Frankford, it's not that far away. An hour tops. We both have cars; we can make it work." I forced a smile onto my lips, squeezing her hand gently in mine.

She pressed her eyes closed, her lips down-turned. Her brow furrowed into a stricken expression, and she breathed deep. When her eyes opened again, it was almost as if she was staring through me. "We can't."

My heart shattered. The pieces split my arteries, and my body flooded with blood, bursting my veins with icy hollowness. "We can," I repeated, as if those two words would be enough to make us stay together. I had never met a more beautiful girl in my life. No one understood the almost co-dependent relationship I had with my band mates.

The insults of years shot through my brain. High school had been a nightmare, until Laura moved to town. She got it; she got me.

"Why?" The word came out from my lips without my permission.

She sighed. "Do you want the truth? Because I'm scared you'll never look at me the same way again." Her head shook as she absently ran her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit. I waited for her to meet my eyes, and once she did, I nodded. "You know how Sophia ended up in the hospital for treatment?"

I nodded. Everyone knew Sophia's story, but I had no idea what that had to do with us.

"Well, she had all those cuts on her wrists because of me." Laura looked down at her fingers. She intertwined them very carefully with mine.

"I don't understand."

"I fed off of her."

I dropped her hand from mine. "Fed," I echoed, feeling numbness spread through my limbs.

"I'm a vampire." She looked at me, her eyes staring deeply into mine.

My heart skipped several beats, and I had to swallow to stop the bile rising in my throat. "A vampire."

"Yes." Laura nodded once, succinctly in confirmation.

"Okay," I said, chewing the inside of my lip. "Okay. Maybe you're right. Maybe we should take a break. You can go to your college; I'll go to mine..." My heart tried to escape out of my rib cage. "It's fine. Right? I mean... if you're... you know, and I'm me, then clearly, this will never work. I'll uhm... I'll see you later. Okay?" I stood up, stumbling backwards against the chair. It slid out from under me and smashed against the floor. Everyone in the restaurant turned towards us, all eyes tracking my movements.

"Kevin, we can talk about this. It's not a big deal." Laura frowned.

"But you wanted to break up." I stumbled over the words, righting the chair with shaking hands. "I think you were right." If Laura was telling the truth, I could very easily become her blood bag. If she wasn't, then she was crazy.

Laura's hand snaked out, snatching mine with a fang-like grip. "You can't tell anyone."

I stared at her fingers curled around my wrist. "If I told anyone, no one would believe me." I shook her off. "Good luck, Laura. I hope... that you get what you need." Frowning at the calloused sounding words, I strode towards the door. No wonder why she understood me.

She was just as insane as me.

I pushed the door open and was greeted by warm, humid night air. A vampire. Had I just been transported into some teenage drama? I shook my head and made a note to ask Sophia what really happened once she got back to school. Vampire, sociopath, or compulsive liar, there was no way I could handle dealing with any of those for the rest of my life. I would be better off alone.

YA Gets Real: Protection

These posts are silly, parody posts of some scenes that can be found in YA tropes. These fun shorts should make you smile on your Monday morning.

I love YA books, as a reader and a writer. Still, there are some tropes that deserve to become real. While these stories are still fiction, they provide a more realistic version of those tropes we know and love.

---

I opened my eyes to darkness, but the hair on my neck crept upward as I felt eyes on me. My body froze, panic welling inside my chest. Asleep in my bed at home, I should have been safe, but that thought didn't quell my rising anxiety.

Reaching out from the warmth of my covers, I flicked on the lamp on my bedside table. I blinked several times, grabbed my glasses, and shoved them on. I nearly screamed when I saw the outline of Roger Kennedy standing on the other side of my room.

"What are you doing here?!" My voice was a harsh whisper. Roger was one of those guys who was hard to ignore. Try as I might, he was in all of my classes. As far as I knew, he was harmless, not the serial killer type. But still, he was in my bedroom in the middle of the night.

Roger shrugged, a sheepish smile stretching across his lips. His smile was framed perfectly by his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. "Watching you sleep."

I widened my eyes and twisted my lips, shocked by his blunt confession. "Obviously, Roger. But... why?" I pulled the covers farther up my chest, covering the straps of my tank top. If I screamed right now, how long would it take my dad to get here? And would he murder Roger? Did I want to witness Roger getting the biggest ass kicking of his life?

Maybe.

"Because I feel like... you need to be protected."

I frowned. "From you?" I glanced around the room. "Because clearly, you are the only one here right now. Watching me like a total creep."

He held up his hands, shaking his head. "Sorry, Elisa. This isn't going as I planned."

"How did you plan it? For me to stay asleep the entire time?" My jaw dropped. "Roger... have you done this before?"

"Only once or twice." He shrugged. "You know, you're very sexy when you sleep."

"Okay, that's it." I pointed to the open window behind him. The window he had apparently climbed in earlier. Note to self: I must keep that window locked from now on. And maybe tell my dad. Restraining orders were a reasonable thing to get if someone climbed into your room in the middle of the night, right? There had to be some law against that? "Get out." I narrowed my eyes.

"You don't understand. I need to--"

"Out, Roger!" I threw the covers aside and got out of bed. I crossed the room and shoved him towards the window before he could even blink.

"Okay! Okay. Just... give me a second." Roger inched towards the window frame. He looked back at me, his brown eyes smoldering beneath his long lashes. "You know, you were supposed to feel... good that I was watching out for you."

"Go. Now," I growled.

Roger sighed and shook his head. "Only because you want me to, Elisa." He lifted one of his legs over the window frame. "See you tomorrow in school."

My eye twitched, not wanting to think about seeing him ever again.

He jumped and a second later, he shrieked from the ground. I rushed to the window and stared down at Roger with wide, unbelieving eyes. His leg twisted away from him at an awkward angle.

"Why on earth didn't you climb down?!" I hissed. It was the second story, not a particularly easy jump.

"Help me?" His voice was weak as he tried to shift his weight. A grimace passed over his face, making his hair look darker.

"Fat chance of that happening. You were watching me sleep, Roger."

"Yeah, but now my leg is broken because of you." He reached down, gasping out a pathetic breath.

I blew my bangs out of my face.

"Elisa, if you save me, we'll be linked together forever." He glanced up at me with watery eyes. "That's how this works. You save me once, and I give you my undying love."

"Dad!" I screamed, turning away from the window.

"No, Elisa. Don't get your dad, he'll never under--"

"Dad! Roger Kennedy was watching me sleep and now has a broken leg outside my window." I marched into my parents' room with a scowl on my face.

My dad had flipped on his light, his hair a shaggy mess around his ears. He reached for his police issued gun. "I'm going to kill him," he grumbled.

"I think a restraining order and a broken leg are sufficient for now." I shrugged. I heard Roger's groan from all the way down the hall. I leaned against my parents' door frame as my dad got out of bed. "He probably needs to see a psychologist too."

My dad grumbled something incoherent, picked up the phone, and called for an ambulance. After he hung up, he turned to me. "What did he say to you, Elisa? Why was he here? Did he touch you?"

"What? No! No. He was just saying something about love, needing to protect me and all that. You'll make sure he gets help, right?" I took a step back as my dad crossed into the hallway. My mother, never one for being interrupted mid-sleep, mumbled something about being careful and passed out. "I mean, since he didn't do anything other than..." I shuddered. I didn't realize being watched would be so... creepy.

"I'll make sure he gets help." My dad growled as he shrugged on his police jacket over his t-shirt. He would have looked official if it weren't for the plaid pants. "But we're getting that ruddy alarm system now. Your mother can't argue with me this time. Stupid Kennedys. Stupid..." He continued to mumble as he walked down the stairs and outside to greet the broken intruder.

I sat on the stairs and waited. It would just be a matter of time until Roger Kennedy got whatever help he needed. With any hope, he'd be out of my life and my bedroom forever.

Drifting Away

Got another Writing Prompt today from the fabulous Nina Pelletier on G+.  So here's the first flash fiction piece of the year based on this prompt:

#1 - 1st person POV
#2 - 400 word count maximum
#3 - Your character has an unusual superpower.  Very Very unusual.  Have him/her tell us about it.

-----


"Hey," he smiled at me. I loved his smiles.

“Hi,” my voice was tentative.

I hated meeting new people, especially new guys. It was my fault that I was such a loner. One of my girlfriends told me a long time ago that I should get over it. But we’re not friends anymore. Call it self-fulfilling, but I saw Gina and Thomas, my ex, run off together long before they did.

“I’m Jack.” He held out his hand and leaned over the counter.

I tried to act the dumb blonde bit and refused to shake his hand. Instead, I continued with my customer spiel. “Our special today is Midnight Moon Chocolate – it’s really good.”

He eyed me; deep blue, grey steady on mine. He withdrew his hand. For the past month, I was able to gawk at him. He was gorgeous. But I didn’t want to touch him. It would ruin everything.

“Tell you what, Kylie. How about you and I go out on a date. Tonight? This place closes at nine, right?” It wasn’t really a question.

I looked down at my nametag. He made my voice sound like music. “Fine,” I grumbled. It was going to be tonight or never. “Ten.” At least I could go home and get the smell of spoiled milk out of my hair.

We met later at the only theatre in town. We had coffee beforehand, we talked, and we watched the only movie playing at 11pm. I treated him like he was on fire, staying far away from his hands as possible. Touching would ruin everything.

He leaned against his car at the end of the night. “I have to ask, is there going to be another date?”

“Maybe,” I said. Here goes nothing. I planted a kiss right on his lips. It took him by surprise. But what I saw surprised me more. The first time I touch someone, I see the last moment I will ever see them. I feel my heartbreak. That’s how I knew about Thomas and Gina before it happened.

Jack was the first person who wasn’t going to leave me. He cried silently over a hospital bed, my hospital bed, and I felt myself drifting away.

When I pulled back from our first kiss, I had a tear on my cheek.

“That was different,” he said bemused.

“You have no idea.” I wiped the tear away.

Published and Giveaway!

Remember that post I made way long ago about how I was going on a self-publishing adventure for "My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade"?

Yeah, I barely remember that post myself, but the point is - I've done it.  I'm proud to announce that my not-quite-novella (aka novelette) is published and available on Amazon or Smashwords!

In addition to this super fabulous amazing news, I will be adding good news to it!

You know that Winter Giveaway that's still going on?

Well, each winner within the giveaway (there will be five winners) will receive a free ebook copy of My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade.

 How's that for gifting before the holidays?

Now, if you don't know what Terrance Wade's Summer Vacation is all about, you should read this super awesome blurb:

Terrance’s dad always said, “Never let your mother through that door.”  So when she comes in through the window, Terrance figures it’s okay.

His mom says, “Terrance, your dad doesn’t want me to show you the world. But we’re going – tonight, now."

Terrance, a naive yet astute 7-year-old, doesn’t know he’s being kidnapped by his mother.  Instead, he thinks she’s a secret agent, and he believes they’re on a mission to save the world. 

If that's not enough to get you interested, let me tell you why I personally loved writing Terrance.  He's absolutely silly.  He's one of the silliest kids in the world.  He constantly finds ways to undermine his parents (unknowingly), and he frequently misunderstands things.

It's currently priced at a small sum of $1.50.  It's 15k words, and I firmly stand behind the "99 cents per 10k words" philosophy.  If you don't feel like buying it, but are interested, you should head over to the giveaway and enter!  There's five chances to win (the two hardcover contests close tonight)!

Nightmare Fuel: Day One

I'm several days behind in Nightmare Fuel, but I really want to edit these flash fiction pieces and make them something worth reading.  If I don't have any good ideas for a photo, then I'll move onto the next.

For those that don't know, Nightmare Fuel was started by Bliss Morgan.  It is a daily photo prompt for the month of October (Hallo-month) and is horror based.  If you do not like horror or dark stories, you probably shouldn't read these.  You've been warned.

Link to day one photo prompt - you can also read other people's stories there.

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They had done something to my eyes.  The only thing I had left was the ability to shut my lids, to will it all away.  Wish away all the madness of this place.  But they did something. My lids were gone, vanished. All that I had left were scratchy eyes that used to stare upon beauty, upon a world so glorious and vast that I couldn't comprehend the end.

But stuck in this small, forsaken place, I still knew not what eternity meant, but if it was anything like this - I knew every minute would be worse than the last.

I toppled over onto a cross, no - a grave. A grave so aged and ruined that it almost toppled over under my weight. I couldn't weigh that much anymore; the lifeless, limp body I used to call my own. I couldn't possibly be more than a dead leaf, caught up in a hailstorm waiting to be pelted back down to earth.

I tried to blink again, more subconsciously than anything else. My eyes ached, all I wanted was one moment of blackness, one moment to forget this place.

My skin rippled along my wrists. I stared closely at it. Wasn't much more I could do than stare. My veins turned black and wiggled under my skin like snakes, snapping at the surface. I screamed as one of them burst forth through my skin. Blood pooled down my arms, the sight made me gag as my other arm wrenched itself open. My veins were crawling out of my skin, killing me for the hundredth time over. They pulled at themselves like long bits of yarn, tearing bits of muscle and pulling loads of blood out with them. Every synapse in my body shot off, lighting small fires throughout my core. This was the hundredth, no thousandth time they have killed me slowly. But this was the first time I couldn't shut my eyes.

Flash Fiction

I've been in a bit of a rut as far as writing has gone.

"My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade" is sitting at home - too far away for me to work on it on my lunch break.  And Rioss is finished, hopefully getting edited soon.  Rioss II is a project that I don't want to undertake until Rioss is being queried.  I should probably finish my other projects too.

"My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade" is about Terrance Wade - a precarious little kid that gets kidnapped by his mother over the summer vacation.  He tells an epic tale of adventure, even though he should be scared because he's been kidnapped.  But that's not Terry's style - he likes "seeing the world."  This might end up being my first self-published short story - as I'm aiming for 5-10k, and it sits at 2.5k right now.  A small goal, but I think I need smaller goals right now while Rioss is in the balance.

But, I'm still writing.  Here's my silly little flash fiction piece:

Sometimes the scratching is more than I can bear.  It seeps into my head, swirling around my brain and crawls deep within the recesses of my nervous system. I want to scream.  I want to claw and tear out my own skin, but they tell me that’s crazy.  There’s nothing there, it’s all in my head.

But what you can’t hear, I can.  It sounds like distant clicking of tongues mixed with a small undertone of bee hums.  And they dance around in human flesh, pretending to be normal.  Pretending to be like us.  After a few too many drinks, after they let their guard down, after they overindulge on the fantasies and pleasures earth promised them, you can see it.  Just a flicker, just a moment, but the whites in their eyes flash to black.  And their pupils shrink to the size of a pin.  The color of their eyes turns bright yellow.  

And they say I’m crazy, but the woman who made that decision is one of them.  I’m sure of it.  There’s no such thing as aliens, and they certainly don’t wear human skin.  They are wrong.  So so so wrong.  And as the humming gets closer and threatens to burst my cells from the inside out, I see him.  He’s the one that I’ve been waiting for.  He’s their leader.

He’s beautiful.

He must die.

The Unanswerable Question

Don't forget to check out my giveaway!
 
Here's some Friday Flash Fiction:

“If you could go back, and do it all over again – would you?” Mist overshadowed the blues in her eyes. We both already knew the answer to that question. She knew, but she still wanted me to hear it. She wanted me to break her heart.

“I would,” I whispered softly into her hair. Her body shivered as she sobbed into my shirt. My arms weren’t strong enough to hold her, not after that. The world had already shattered around us, but we couldn’t change what happened. She loved me with all her heart, and that wasn’t enough. I would keep her safe, but I couldn't promise love.

“Why me?” She asked. As I watched the smoke rise up from the campfire, I wondered the same thing.

We had been together for what seemed like years, but it was only a month. We wandered from place to place after the government ordered destruction of major cities. Why her? Why not the ones we left behind?

My wife had been cleaning the dishes. Soap bubbles filled the air in our third story apartment building. Our son moved his train off the tracks and rammed it into furniture. I had just come home from work. I flicked on the news as I loosened my tie and heard it.

Emergency broadcast. Bombs dropping in an hour.

The city was in panic. A virus had broken out, there was no other way to stop it. The city was flattened, everyone was dead. But not us, not her, not me.

But the moment where my wife gave up, where her green eyes faded into lifelessness, I held onto this girl. A seventeen year old had managed to climb out of the shelter by grabbing my arm. I was reaching for the woman with green eyes, but she clung onto our son’s lifeless body. She wouldn’t let him go. The rubble collapsed on top of her leaving me and the girl alive.  We managed to escape the city before the second wave of bombs dropped. She stood clinging to me as we watched the rising smoke from the smoldering ashes.


We were alive. One month was long enough for her to fall in love with me. One month was long enough for me to break her heart. One month was enough for us to forget what laws used to be and make love in the field. One month was enough for me to cry while she slept soundlessly next to me.

Society was broken in pieces. People lived in rural towns, the virus was contained they said. We hadn’t heard any official radio broadcasts since. We presumed Washington was gone. With ham radios, city survivors found each other and set up a colony. We started rebuilding in a the first rural town that would let us in.

No one knew the woman with green eyes. No one knew the miniature train conductor. Everyone knew that it was us. That this girl and I had escaped New York, which was bombed below sea level. As far as we knew, we were the only ones that survived the biggest city collapse in all of history. There were others from Atlanta, Baltimore, Boston, even a couple from Los Angeles. But no one heard of anyone else from New York.

Why us?

Oh the internet...

She told her story.  Everything about herself unfolded through words, interweaving and designed together to make anyone passionate about how she felt.  She felt powerful, after reading those words, her words, staring back at her from the back lit LCD.  There was something about it that she couldn’t explain, except the desire.  That was thicker than ever.  She was hungry for it, hungry to divulge all of her secrets in the form of stories.  And she was delighted when people ate them up.

When she met Kevin for the first time, he really seemed to get her.  “Heather, you are so sensitive… but I love that sassy side.”  Her mouth skewed for a moment before she realized it was a compliment.  But it was strange to hear after just one cup of coffee.

Three years later, Kevin watched as Heather walked down the aisle, dressed in a gorgeous draping gown that flowed behind her.  She felt like a princess, everyone’s eyes on her, noticing her for the first time as a beautiful creature, instead of a beautiful writer.  Kevin whispered sweetly into her ear.

A year later, Kevin put down the morning paper and winced at her over his cup of coffee.  “Love, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Her eyes narrowed.  They hadn’t had the perfect relationship, but nothing had gone seriously awry.  She was waiting for that moment, always on edge that it was just inches away.  That everything was too good to be true.

“Remember that guy that always commented on your stuff online – scryer?”  Kevin swirled the stirrer in his coffee.  “Well, that was me.”

She thought about this for a moment.  Kevin had been following her for years… Probably ever since she had started the blog.

“It was no accident when we ran into each other in that coffee shop.  I fell in love with you before you even knew I existed.  I loved you so much, and I still love you, and I really hope that doesn’t creep you out, because, gosh, Heather, I really do love you.”

She had no reason to be frightened, or scared, because Kevin was her husband.  She knew him through and through, he was a good man.  Albeit probably a little desperate for my attention, she thought, but that was something that I loved about him.  She smiled sweetly and kissed him on the forehead.  “I only wish you would have introduced yourself sooner.”

-------

So I started this with the complete intention of making it into a horror, but I just couldn't.  Kevin was too nice of a character (darn him for making my brain turn to mush).  Anyway, I figure there are enough "woes of the internet" online and maybe, for once, we should have something sweet come out of a semi-stalker, because really, how often does that happen in real life?  Anyone have stories of a stalker that turned out to be good?  Or a little bit too obsessive internet follower?  Just curious :)

Lost Soul

estherase photos on flickr

The twisted bones that curled together to form fingers reached into the beetle’s body.  A bloodied bone from some other small creature lay to the side, wielded as a weapon against this beautiful black, green beetle.  Its fingers were sharp, like serrated knifes,and with ease, the fingers flicked the exoskeleton away.  Pieces of green oozing blood pooled underneath the body.  The bloody substance stuck between each piercing finger, dripping around the beetle like snot on a cold winter’s day.

As the bones plunged themselves deeper into the thick skin,the beetle let out one last sigh of breathe before shuddering, dead.  The hands curled around the heart, still warmwith the last beat.  One finger poked inside the heart, wrapping the arteries around its tip.  It torn and shred at it until half of the organ was outside the body, the final vein snapping off with a sickening pop.

Its mouth opened.  God, please, no.  And the teeth closed around the flesh, tearing through the soggy, metallic mess. I tasted it in its teeth, my teeth. I felt it as it slid down its throat, my throat.  And I watched it fall through the gnarled cracks of my body, landing on the sidewalk and oozing out its remaining green blood.

When the ghastly skeleton had its full, it flew upwards into the sky.  The wings beat like hummingbirds, but silent.  Fast and furious, it flew through trees, barely dodging leaves.  If I could throw up, I would.  And then its eyes would land on something else, another creature to mangle, and off we would go.

Being trapped in a gremlin’s body with no control, seeing all the awful things it eats… or rather, doesn’t with all the cracks and holes in its body… feeling everything, tasting it all.  This was hell, and I could only assume that I was a doomed and lost soul.

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This prompt was created by Bliss Morgan who does "Nightmare Fuel" (aka "Write Terrible Things with Me").  She does one every single day - and I have, sadly, been unable to keep up between work and editing and my brand new PS3 (darn those video games).  This this image struck me, so I had to.

Also, I have a giveaway for Lauren Oliver's Before I Fall.  Check it out!

First Line Prompt

I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up. It was minutes after, actually. After the screaming match that ended with my trousers and boxers drifting down onto the apartment complex’s front lawn, I took off in my car. I had no idea where I was going or where I would end up, but decided to have my first drink as a newly single man.

It was in the bar that Dean slapped me on the back. “You look like you need a drinking buddy!” His teeth looked like they had been cut from a magazine and placed on his gruff man’s body. They didn’t fit him at all. In fact, Dean was probably one of the most awkwardly shaped people I had ever met, hands and feet huge for his lankly limbs, and a face that a burly man would have.

I was immediately intrigued. That and I couldn’t say no to a free drink. A few whiskey sours later, and I spilled my guts. “And she tells me to get out. I mean, she was the one cheating!”

Dean grabbed my shoulder, “You’re better off, forget her! So many more people out there.” He looked around, “I’ll tell you what, I left my wife. We didn’t even divorce! Met this gal out here, she’s great. I live my life with no baggage, you know? None of that hard stuff.” He took a long drink.

I grumbled into my drink. The ice had already melted, watering down the whole mess. “I thought I had done everything right, and now, all I have are some pants and underwear.”

Dean thought about this for a moment. “Okay! I know, let’s just go grab something! If you could have anything from your life with her, what would it be?”

Without a thought, “My laptop.” I had scrambled to get away from the whizzing plates that I had forgotten to grab it.

“Great, let’s get it!”

I drove to my old apartment complex and marched up the stairs. With Dean by my side, my new drinking buddy, I was ready to face my wife and get all my stuff back, not just my laptop.

The door opened. My wife looked at me, then Dean, her eyes widened. Her mouth held itself agape, nostrils flared in disbelief.

Dean’s face held the same expression. His lips formed the whisper, “Patricia?”

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Thanks again to Nina's Prompt & Share on G+. I'm having entirely too much fun with these.

The Green Stuff

I was handsome.  Even with my portly size and mismatched skin, I was handsome.  And maybe I was a bit on the furry side, dark puffs rising out of all parts of my body - okay, maybe I was very furry, but I was still handsome.  And I'll tell you, I know how to strut my stuff to get whatever I want.

That was the greatest thing about me, the fact that I could be portly and a little round in the middle and still get all the access that I wanted to human contact.  Maybe I was a little forceful in situations, jamming my face into someone else's or maybe just poking them a whole bunch in the stomach.  But that's what all people wanted, right?  So yes, I was fine, me and my handsome self.  We could strut our stuff around the kitchen, the living room, the dining room like it was no body's business.  I would sit on the counters, the tables, the couches, even the arm rests, I didn't care.  I was too handsome to care.  And when it came down to it, my voice was like angels kissing the air, so really, I never had to worry about getting in trouble.  So maybe my life was easy, but then I discovered grass.

Grass, sweet, delectable grass.  No one understands what it does to me, how it makes me feel.  So full, euphoric almost - that maybe for just that minute, it is me.  Me and my grass sitting out back, lazing around on another day.  I didn't understand why anyone would get upset over a little obsession with grass.  I was so angry when I was boarded up inside, kept away from this delicious substance.  Why was it such a big deal for me to go outside, to inhale the sweet smelling air of freedom and feed my indulgences with a little green stuff.  Right?

But my mentality stayed the same.  I had to find a way out, some way, when no one was watching.  And I did, then they boarded those exits up to.  But it was always the same outcome, which is why I wondered why it mattered to them so much.  I went outside and was stunned - how big the world was.  The ceiling melded into the distance, there were actual, living creatures in the world besides myself.  There were endless possibilities, but all I wanted was some grass.  Being chased by them, I only ran to get to the next patch, the next location to sit down and enjoy my greens in peace, before being boarded back up inside.  Thing was, I never wanted to escape, really.  I would always come back to the door and sit, crying until someone found me.  It wasn't a big deal because I never went very far.  So why did they keep boarding up all the windows?  Stronger screens that my claws couldn't tear, annoying feet blocking my exits when the doors were open.

It was a tough life, being a portly house cat addicted to grass.

-----

Inspired by and dedicated to the fat cat, Mogwai.

Delete

He stared at the letter, reading the words over and over to himself, his eyes skimming the page backwards and forwards.  He couldn't believe that he had received another one.  Frustrated, his fingers clenched on the keys.  He wanted to find the right words to send back, something to scream "You made the wrong choice."  But instead, they just softened instead.  His right hand moved over to the mouse and he hovered the cursor over the "Delete" key.  If only there were some way to go back, edit the past, make him look and sound better on paper.  Write a biography about himself and send it for review - he was interesting, he was an asset, he was helpful, but here he was stuck, like moss growing on a tree.  He feared that if he moved, he would shrivel to pieces, his whole life would unravel.  Maybe that's why he never tried to "sell himself on paper."

"We regret to inform you that you have not been chosen for this position."  Number seventeen?

Was he to remain stuck at this job for ever.  He looked around his cubicle office, drones of faces, long from boredom, paste white from lack of healthy vitamin D.  He could almost see people throwing themselves out the windows in their mind's eye.  Was he the only one going this crazy, or did people see these things when they looked at him?  A rat clawing at the bars of his cage, praying that the grubby fingers from that chunky five year old won't come back to knock him around.  Hoping that there will be a chance to move through the maze, get the prize at the end and finally rest for a moment in piece.

It had taken this job two months to get back to him, he had almost completely forgotten about it since he had given up hope.  But instead of deciding that he wasn't good enough, he just became pissed off.  He was good enough, and he wanted to rise up and scream it.  In fact, he was rising up and screaming it.

"WHY THE HELL CAN'T I FIND A JOB?!"  He stood on his desk, the soapbox of his life, his moment to live, his moment to decide that survival was better than money.  "All of you, can't you see it, why do you stand for this?!"  He pointed wildly out the window, their building stood facing the bricks of another building, "That view isn't reality, neither is this!"  He kicked over his keyboard, attempted to kick down the cubical wall, but it wouldn't budge from the weight of all the other walls stacked against it.  His foot throbbed in his polished, now scuffed, black dress shoe.  "The real world isn't stuck in your monitors, your life doesn't need to be here!"  His hair shifted into an unruly, brown mesh on the top of his head, his eyes sank from years of committing his life to being in this place.  He remembered all the moments that he waited patiently for a raise, a promotion, something so that he could get a little more money, save more, retire early, finally do what he wanted to do.

"I've been waiting too long!  And I think you have to!"  He climbed over the gray cubical, half walking, half jogging away from the security guards that were now encroaching on his space.  Papers flew out from under his feet, people dodged into their corners, one person from the mail room and copy center clapped, a few sparse chuckles were heard in the office, but mostly, people were scared.

"I'm telling you!  Get out!  Don't waste your life like me!"  As the security guards took this man away, my friend turned to me and asked me if I knew who he was.

I shook my head, "But I'll tell you what, it's these moments that are the only reason worth working in a place like this - when people go crazy.  Everyone has that breaking point."

My friend scowled, "So what happens when you reach yours?"

I smirked, "I just hope that I put on a better show than anyone else - one that people talk about for years to come."

Whipping Boy

His fingernails turned black with dirt, the shovel just wasn't fast enough and his back hurt from the long day.  He turned the soil over, digging farther and farther down.  He kept looking back and forth, measuring with his eyes, making sure that he, indeed, had enough space.  Just a few more inches, he thought, a sly grin growing across his face.  The sky seemed to dance, captivated in his eyes.  A huge weight was lifted off his shoulders as he breathed in the freshly turned dirt - this should be the way everyone celebrates the end of their work week.  He wished so deeply that he could share this strange euphoria with his co-workers.  Maybe they could feel the same, if only they knew his secret.

With a gruff huff, he shoved himself off the ground, wiping his soiled hands on his khaki pants.  He almost laughed at the hand print streaks that they made, how his wife would be so angry with him for messing in the garden again, or what she thought was the garden. 

He walked a few feet east where the five foot some inches long bag was sitting.  He grabbed one edge of it and dragged it slowly towards the slightly longer three foot deep hole in the ground.  The bag rolled into the hole with a sickening thud.  The man scratched his itchy nose and then took another deep breath of fresh dirt and forest.  He didn't care how long it took the cops to find the body, he didn't care if he died after this, he just knew it was time to bask.  He could bask in the moments at work without someone breathing down his shoulder, he could finish his memoirs as everyone frantically figured out what happened to their fearful leader, he might even be congratulated for doing the deed that no one else dreamed of completing, but everyone wished they had the guts to.  Sadly, there was nothing redeemable about the boss in the bag, and although one might wish that there was - that such a cruel act of human violence should be punished, but honestly, this wasn't the person to miss.  The slave driver, manipulator, the person that stepped on everyone else and kept everyone down while clawing their way up the corporate ladder.

Yes, he thought, this was a good thing - and as he covered the bag and dirt sprinkled on the plastic like rain on a rooftop, he knew that this was the only way he could keep living.  It was either the whipper or the whipping boy, and frankly, he thought, there was no way he'd let himself end up in a shallow grave - even if he now would meet his death in a chair.

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It's been awhile since I've written.  I wrote another piece that will be submitted to a publisher - once I polish it.  I went on vacation - to a Unitarian Universalist camp in the woods, and it was super relaxing.  It put me back in touch with myself, made me self-reflect.  But while I was lost inside my own head, it was hard to put myself into another set of shoes.  I actually love the feeling that I get from writing.  It was nice to reflect on that, realizing that I am made for something more, and having some people affirm that I am, indeed, a half decent, if not good, writer.  So now I'm back, in full force, for one blog entry a day.  It's go time.

Today, I am a...

Let’s play a game.  The inner monologue begins at the start of the day, something to end the endless tasks ahead.  So let’s play a game.  Data entry is no longer just data, no, it’s now a secret code to a safe that contains a bomb.  If I get it wrong, the bomb explodes, if I get it right, then I move onto the next secret code.  I listen, watch the numbers, convincing myself that they could change at any time.  I actually get the slightest big nervous as my fingers stroke the wrong key.  “Shoot!  Game over!”  Oh wait, I’m not actually part of a bomb squad… okay, backspace, enter the number “4” correctly this time.

Entering names and updating lists is really just me doing my job – my job of updating the most wanted list.  And oh!  There goes the guy on the street down below my office window.  Quick, someone run and grab him, tackle him!  He’s the most wanted… erm… CEO of a major corporation who has done nothing wrong.  Right, never mind, I’m not some cop searching for the predators of our streets. 

When I enter our galley kitchenette, I’m really going into a giant pantry, with millions of possibilities of things to cook.  I’m a gourmet chef, serving something amazing from our miraculous, deep cabinetry.  I open one cabinet, open another, open another, step back and wonder – what can I make today?  What delicious meal can I serve myself?  I close all the cabinets because they are full of bitter, high fiber, low calorie food and snag some pretzels out of the giant, plastic bin.  Munch, munch, yes, this is my gourmet lunch.

When I take my plant to water it, I’m really in a lush garden with green vines growing so high up the sides of the fence that you cannot even see any connection to the outside world.  This fern is a gateway to a land of butterflies, squirrels, and endless rows of flowers and fresh vegetables.  I dig my fingers into the dirt, get the warm earth underneath my fingernails and play with the grains on my skin.

Let’s play a game – where imagination can take you everywhere you want to be and no where that you are.  The sun is setting somewhere, over a lakefront, with someone lazing in a boat, a line dipping into the water with no intention on catching any fish.  This is me, it’s my boat, and my lake, and my house is a short paddle away.  I bask in the last of the sunlight for the day and breathe the fresh air deeply into my lungs.  This is my life. 

The clock ticks lazily over to 4:45pm and I gather my things out of the receptionist area, walk out the front door, jump onto my scooter and rocket myself in between cars – getting home as fast as I can.  Right now, I’m a motocross driver, and I’m winning the race.

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What are you today?  Because today, I'm really an uninspired receptionist, with a new, dashingly good haircut.  And I feel pretty good.