Nubile

This is for last week’s prompt for the 52 week writing challenge, “a creation myth.” It got a little poetic, but I like it. Enjoy!

She set her fingers to work, diligent and earnest in her desire to make companions for her blue blanket above the heads of mortals. Oh sweet, sensitive sky, don’t be sad. You’ll be lonely no more.

With a touch of stardust from the heavens mixed with drops of salt water from the ocean below, she concocted the substance that would be the foundation of her new creations. The elixir would not be enough though, as with any sweeping gust or downpour of rain it would disintegrate through the sky’s open hands. No, she needed something to weave the potion into a tangible mass that wouldn’t fly away so easily, but float and hover until the end of time.

She glided over to the trees and asked the birds, May I borrow some feathers, my friends? I need to make companions for the sky, and they shall be your comrades, too.

The birds chirped and shook, dropping scattered feathers for her to gather in all shades of white, grey and black. She nodded her gratitude and brought the feathers back with her up into the blue, moving her fingers nimbly up and over, stretching and twisting the feathers with the stardust and rain mixture until a light and fluffy ball emerged, resting in place and wandering here and there, but never too far.

She smiled and marveled at the little wonder, then repeated the process. Over and over, each time producing a new sky beast. Some were fluffier, and some stretched out longer, but they all emitted a smoky skin and bobbed back and forth, in tune with their brother sky.

As the final puff took its place in the sky, she reached her arms out in goodbye and blew them each a kiss. Keep each other company, and no matter how far you may roam, I always know you’ll come back home.

Advertisements

Grudges Come Back to Haunt Us

This is for last week’s prompt to the 52 week writing challenge, “a story about justice being done.” I’d struggled with this at first because I felt like justice was such a loaded and complicated term, but I think I captured that feeling pretty well here. Warning: there is profanity and violence in this story. Proceed with caution!

Kieran sat on the hard bench, stifled by the collar of his button up shirt and stiff blazer. Neither of those things compared to the cuffs around his wrists though. The cold metal chafed his vulnerable skin, and the raw red welts made him see the blood on his hands from that night.

***

            He hadn’t meant for things to get out of hand. He just wanted an explanation for why the man he’d considered his best friend for so long would betray him that way. It’d been five years since the night Kieran caught him with the woman he loved, but it still grated him to see their pictures online, happy together, smiling, taunting him.

He should have let it go. It was done and over. Nothing left to do or say from any of them. But he didn’t let go. He held onto the pain and anger and let it fester away at his soul, fueling that rage with endless bottles of Jack and Jim. Holding grudges was always Kieran’s specialty, and that night it overwhelmed him.

With breath reeking of alcohol, and a staggering step, he arrived at his former best friend’s house, banging a fist so hard against the door he splintered the area around the knocker. Kieran heard grumbling from the other side as a light went on in the dark house. They’d already been asleep. People do that at two in the morning.

The door opened and for the first time in five years, Kieran stood face to face with the man who’d stolen his girlfriend from him. “Kieran, what the hell are you doing?”

“You never told me why, Lucius. Why’d you do it?” Kieran slurred his words.

Lucius sighed. “Kieran, you’re drunk. Let me get you a cab home.”

Kieran reached out. “No, you’re gonna answer my question.” His voice rose in volume. “Why did you take her from me?”

“Kieran, please. It’s late and you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”

“Then fucking answer me,” Kieran bellowed.

Lucius put a hand out, pleading for him to quiet down. “Okay, okay, let’s talk. Come around this way.” He led Kieran to the shed on the side of the house.

“You were my best friend.” Kieran got quiet now. “And I loved her.”

“Kieran, I’m sorry. It just happened.”

“Bullshit.” Yelling again.

Lucius put a hand up again. “Look, Kieran, the truth is, you have a problem. And Mary, she couldn’t take it anymore. We tried to get you help, but look at you now. You refuse to face your problems head on.”

Kieran’s nostrils flared. “I had it under control. Until you went and took her from me.”

Lucius shook his head. “She came to me, looking for a friend to help. And I tried. But we couldn’t help you. And in the process…” He looked down, guilty.

“Yeah, in the process of wanting to help me, you abandoned me. Ran off into the sunset together.” Kieran was wobbling now, getting in close to Lucius.

Lucius reached a hand out to Kieran’s shoulder, but Kieran knocked it away. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anything from you.” Spit flew from his mouth now.

“Kieran, please. Calm down.” Lucius’s voice shook. “You’re gonna cause a scene and I don’t want someone to call the police on you.” He reached a hand out again, but this time Kieran grabbed it and knocked Lucius back.

Lucius stumbled against the table, but still tried to settle his comrade’s rage. “Please, Kieran. Look at yourself. You’re a mess right now. Don’t do this.”

Kieran stepped forward and grabbed his former friend’s shirt front. “You took everything from me.” His other hand came forward in a fist, full force. Bone cracked against bone, but Kieran felt nothing.

Lucius tried to cry out, but Kieran kept going, not letting the man who’d taken his life take a single breath. By the time he realized what he’d done, Lucius lay still in his arms. Kieran shook him but received no response. “Lucius? Lucius?” Nothing.

Kieran’s eyes teared up and his breath hitched. “Oh god, no. What did I do? Fuck. Shit. Fuck.”

“Lucius what’s going—?” The sleepy voice behind him stopped short. Mary stepped forward into the light. “Kieran? Where’s—?” That’s when she saw him and her hands shot up to her face. “Oh my god, Kieran. What happened? What did you do?”

Kieran let go of Lucius’s limp body, watching in horror as his former friend fell to the floor, unmoving. “Mary, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

She knelt down, hands shaking as she reached for her husband’s neck to check his pulse. She pulled them back instantly like she’d been bitten by a snake. Kieran ran out, not looking back at the damage he’d done.

***

            Now, he waited for his name to be called. Waited for judgment. Waited to be forced to look Mary in the eye one last time before he was found guilty of first degree murder.

“Kieran Nieto.” This was it. He took a deep breath and got up on his feet. It felt strange to stumble forward without alcohol in his system.

As he walked down the aisle to the front of the court room, he managed to catch Mary’s eye and found her gazing back, stone-faced with eyes cold and hard as ice. She had every right to hate him. He’d gone too far. Past the point of no return.

The judge’s gavel came down and Kieran swallowed down the lump in his throat. This would be quick and easy. He already knew what he wanted to do. When the moment of confession came, for the first time in his life, he did the right thing. “In the case of…” He hardly heard the rest. He was ready with his answer. “Guilty.” The word fell from his lips like a broken promise.

The next hour or so went in a flurry as he was propelled from the room to his next destination. Handled from one officer to another, he finally made his way to a secure vehicle, only to find himself alone at the end.

Kieran looked around, confused at this breach in protocol. A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach, and then just as suddenly, a sharp, cold pain shot into his spine.

“There’s no saving you, Kieran. You’ve been dead a long time.” He’d never heard Mary’s voice that way before. Soulless. Frozen. Venomous.

“Mary.” He gurgled as his knees buckled beneath him. “Please.”

She came around to face him. “This is your justice, Kieran.”

No, he thought as it all faded away. It’s your ghost.

Christmas Lights in the Middle of August

Almost done catching up on the 52 week writing challenge. This one’s for the prompt “a story set in a strange small town.” Inspired by the season. Enjoy!

The sunbaked clay road seemed to go on forever, but finally I found civilization. At least, I thought I had. The small town had a few scattered houses as I made my way in to its center, and every single one had Christmas lights and decorations still up. Or up too early. It’s all about perspective.

I didn’t see any kids running around the park I passed. No neighbors sitting out on the front porches. Who’d be out in this heat, though? Still, the air seemed to stand still around me, like not a living soul dwelled in the area to breathe it in.

For a second I thought I’d stumbled upon an old, abandoned Christmas village. Like Santa’s Enchanted Hell Forest. Then, a jingling doorbell caught my ear just off to the side. I turned my head and saw a sweet, smiling elderly woman with snow white hair. Mrs. Claus. I smiled back.

“Hello dear. Are you lost?” Her voice sounded like a lifelong smoker’s. Didn’t match the rosy cheeks and bright eyes at all.

“I’m afraid so. My car broke down a few miles outside of town. Was looking for some help.” I brought a hand up to shield my eyes from the bright rays of sunlight hitting me directly in the face.

She beckoned me forward. “Come in, dear. We have food, water and a phone. Let’s see what we can do.”

I obeyed and followed her inside. It looked like a little mom and pop hardware store. A tall, robust around the waist old man sat behind the counter, a full white beard and head of hair to match. I was really starting to think this was the famous Claus duo from stories.

“Afternoon, son. What can we do for you?” His gruff voice expelled bursts of air, like it was hard for him to breathe.

“His car broke down, dear. Is there someone we can call?” his wife asked.

He waved a hand. “Nonsense. I’ll take a look.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Nick. There you go again. Thinking yourself a mechanic.”

“Every vehicle’s the same inside, Ilsa. Don’t matter it’s outside,” he insisted.

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you. If I could just use your phone, I’ll gladly call Triple A,” I said.

Old Nick chuckled. “Won’t get a service car out here. We’re not even on a map.”

I frowned. “How do you get mail then?”

“We don’t. Mail doesn’t come here. Only comes to our other house.”

He pulled a utility belt around his big belly and pulled a tool kit from behind the counter. “C’mon, son. Let’s take a look at her.”

“Well, it’s a few miles outside of town. I don’t wanna make you walk so far.”

He waved a hand again. “We’ll the take the wagon then.”

Ilsa bustled forward with cold glasses of water in hand. “Dear, please, take something to drink first. You’ll faint from dehydration.”

I licked my lips at the sight of the water. I’d forgotten how parched I was. “Thank you.” I grabbed for the water and brought the sweet, cool elixir to my lips. Without stopping for breath I drank it all the way down to the last drop.

I looked around as I wiped my mouth. “Where is everyone else around this town, anyway? I didn’t see them as I walked in.”

“Oh, they’re around.” Ilsa smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “They’re just shy around strangers.”

“Guess you don’t get many visitors out here, huh?”

Nick laughed. “You got that right.”

“And what about all the Christmas décor? It’s the middle of August.”

“It makes us feel at home,” Ilsa answered. “So far from the north, we get lonesome sometimes.”

“This is our summer home,” Nick explained. “A place to get away and regroup for the coming year’s work load.”

“It certainly is isolated.” Why would anyone vacation here?

“Ready, son? Let’s get going on that car.”

Nick led me out to a shed where he unveiled a bright red convertible that looked brand new. “I though you said it was a wagon?”

He gave another rumbly laugh. “I only call it the wagon. It’s actually a Corvette.”

“I can see that.” I smiled like an idiot. Santa Claus drives a convertible when he’s away at his summer home.

We made our way to my car, Nick taking the convertible to its max speed and me grinning like a kid on Christmas. We arrived in no time to find my abandoned car still sitting in the sun, hood up and a sign I’d left in the grime-ridden window that read “PLEASE DON’T STEAL ME!”

Nick waddled over to look at the engine and went to work with his tools. I stood by, watching his nimble fingers run back and forth like he was casting a charm and within minutes, I don’t know how, but the dead engine roared to life and my car was back in commission.

“That’s amazing. How’d you do it?” I gaped.

Nick winked. “Got the magic touch.”

He got in his convertible and called back, “Follow me back in so we can get you on your way.”

Back in the weird, seemingly empty Christmas town, I saw something strange as I drove in. A few tiny kids playing on the jungle gym and swings in the park I’d seen empty before scattered as I drove by. Real skittish, these townsfolk.

Like shadows that disappeared just out of the corner of my eye, I saw more and more of the people in the houses. Everyone seemed so small, and elf-like, but I couldn’t get a good look to tell who they were.

Inside the hardware store again I looked closer and noticed the shelves were not full of tools and things to buy, but rather projects, half finished, complete and just started. Objects that looked like toys and machines and gadgets. I scratched my head and finally blurted out, “Okay, I know this is gonna sound ridiculous, but who are you guys?”

“Just ol’ Nick and Ilsa, dear. With our closest friends.” She smiled as she handed me a plate of cookies.

“Uh huh,” I muttered as I took a bite.

Nick laughed. “No need to worry about us, son. We’re just a couple old farts getting by out of the way of society. City’s too noisy and these old bones need a break from the cold from time to time.”

I decided not to press the matter. Besides, a grown ass man shouldn’t be thinking that Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus and their elves would build a whole town in the middle of nowhere for their summer vacation. Or that they’d exist altogether.

Nick pulled out a map and set it on the table, marking the route to take out of town. “Now when you come up at this crossroads, take the road right. It’ll take you straight to the highway and that should get you back on track.”

I nodded as I packed away the snacks and water bottles Ilsa had given me. “Thank you both so much. It really was nice of you to do so much for a total stranger.”

“Nonsense. We’re not strangers. We’re old friends.” Nick laughed.

I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. It really did feel like I’d known them my whole life.

Outside, I got back in my car, turned the key and put my hand on the gear. “Thanks again, Nick.”

“No problem, Jack.” He patted my shoulder, his grip warm and firm.

At that moment I realized I’d never given either of them my name. “Hey, how did you—?”

Nick winked. “Mind the snow on the roads as you get close to home. Old man Frost likes to play tricks sometimes.”

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. I decided to just accept it and go on. As I drove out of town, I caught a better glimpse of the residents as they turned the lights on for the coming night. Behind me, in the rearview mirror, sparkling flashes of color flickered, the whole town lit up like a Christmas tree.

I smiled. Santa’s Enchanted Summer Getaway.

But I’m Only Human

Still playing catch up on my 52 week writing challenge, and seeing as the year is quickly coming to an end, I need to get on that. Here’s a story I wrote for the prompt “a story about anger.” I do warn there is violence and references to abuse in this story, so proceed at your own risk.

Franny picked up the pencil and set the number 2 lead point to the coarse, beige paper again. Grey smudges dotted the side of her hand and made some appearances on her nose. Her brows furrowed and she breathed hard through her nose, shallow breaths that held back the tears.

They don’t know me. They don’t matter. They’re not worth my time.

Without realizing what her fingers had formed with the pencil on paper, she drew out figures familiar in size and shape, and they started to dance. She gasped. Not again.

She threw the pencil at the wall like it had bitten her. The unshaded, faceless figures shimmied and swayed, waiting for her maestro fingers to tell them which way to go and what to do. No, no I’m not like that. I’m human. I’m only human.

The figures danced and beckoned, their nonexistent faces leering with sharp teeth in her mind’s eye, taking on the sneers of her classmates. The gaping, laughing maws of her teachers. We could teach them. Show them just what freaks we really are.

Franny’s fingers ran over the paper, searching for the invisible wires making her figures move of their own accord, and felt a jolt of electricity. It sparked the memory of the sting of the boys’ hits against her bare skin when they chased her naked out of the girls’ locker room showers, out in the open cold, in front of everyone.

Her breathing quickened and she picked up another pencil, shading in the details, giving each face the eyes, nose and mouths of all the kids and teachers who’d abused her over the past two years. With each burning memory of pain and humiliation she pressed the lead harder until the figures took on grotesque forms of real-life people. No, not people. Monsters.

We are human. They are not. Humans don’t do the things they do. Humans don’t snarl and cackle and taunt. Monsters do.

Franny started slow, curling her fingers back and forth to watch the two dimensional figures flurry back and forth. Then, she made them collide into one another. They laughed when she laughed. BAM BAM BAM. She made them smash one after another. And all the while the figures laughed. They laughed at their own pain. They laughed at their self-destruction as Franny bid them with her invisible, electric strings.

Soon, blooming roses of red paint spread across the paper, dripping from the figures’ grotesque, smiling mouths, and Franny laughed. Now who’re the freaks?

Outside, a commotion caught her attention. In the courtyard a crowd of people gathered, some crying, some screaming, calling for help, others reached out their hands trying to grab at something at the center of the mass of bodies.

Franny dropped her fingers and the figures on her paper went limp. She got up, afraid to see what was out there. She made her way to the window of the art room, pressed a hand to the glass and stood on tip toes. Someone ran in, frantic, startling Franny out of her reverie.

“What’s going on out there?” she asked the student.

“Where’s the phone?” She didn’t answer Franny’s question.

Franny pointed toward the teacher’s desk. The other student made for the phone and tried to dial, but her hands were shaking. Franny recognized this girl. It was one of the kids who hung around the others—the ones who tormented her.

“You’re one of them,” she said out loud, picking up the pencil she’d thrown earlier and walking back toward the desk where she’d left her art work.

“What?” The girl waved her off as she got a response from the other line. “Yes, please send an ambulance. Two kids are hurt. Bleeding so much.”

She paused as she listened to the other voice on the line and didn’t notice Franny return to her seat. The quiet girl put her pencil to paper again and began gliding the lead point, curving and sketching, scratching marks into the surface.

“I don’t know. They just started running at each other. Like wild animals. Wouldn’t stop. Heads crashed over and over. Please, they’re bleeding so much.” The girl on the phone sobbed.

Franny didn’t look up from her paper. “You’re one of them. You don’t say mean things. You don’t hit me. But you stand there and watch as they do.”

The girl looked to Franny again, impatient. “What are you saying?”

Franny stopped now, dropped her pencil, and stared the girl in the eye, her own glowing with rage. “You’re just as monstrous as they are!”

With that, Franny brought a finger down to the paper in front of her, slicing her nail through the thin surface, and before her eyes, the girl on the phone began to gurgle. A wide, gaping wound appeared in her neck and scarlet liquid dribbled out slow at first and then gushed out like a faucet open all the way.

The phone fell from her hand and Franny could vaguely hear the other voice talking, trying to get the girl’s attention. She calmly walked over, put the phone back on the receiver and knelt down by the girl. “You could have avoided this if you’d just told them to stop.”

The girl reached out a trembling hand, her eyes pleading for mercy. Franny had none. She walked out of the classroom and past the crowd. “I’m only human,” she kept whispering to herself over and over again.

Chaos continued behind her. Chaos she knew she’d caused. And now that she knew her power, she’d find her revenge elsewhere. It was time to go home.

Wild Ride

So for this prompt from my 52 week writing challenge, a story about a near death experience, I decided to go with an incident that actually happened to me about a month ago. Enjoy!

Driving down the 95 is hell on a good day, but at night in a sports car with terrible blind spots and a passenger who’s head blocks most of the right-hand visual? Recipe for disaster. That’s why I didn’t even know something was happening until my mom started screaming and reaching her arm out to me.

Before I knew it, in slow motion, like a movie or a dream, an all-black car, faded paint and no headlights, skidded up my right against the barricade, spun across all four lanes heading south bound to the other side, stopped only by the left-hand barricade.

Meanwhile, my sweaty hands stayed on the wheel, gripping the rubber cover so tight my knuckles were numb. My arms mechanically swiveled the wheel side to side, but I barely felt my car weave with the movement within my lane.

My mom kept screaming something. I don’t know what she said. Just words. My dad screamed in the back seat too, but it was all warbled noise, like that one teacher from the Peanuts cartoons.

I may have stopped breathing. My heart may have stopped beating. Hard to tell when all you see is a car spinning out of control like something out of a James Bond movie and you’re smack in the middle of it. The weirdest part though? On a Florida road at night going 70 miles an hour, every car around and behind me somehow managed to make an arcing pathway for the car losing control.

Like Moses parted the red sea, my red Pontiac G5 was the dividing line that all the other cars managed to follow and avoid crashing into one another like a carnival bumper car ride.

A huge crash and sudden stop in front of me brought the world’s volume back up full blast. I slammed on the brakes and barely stopped in time. The mini SUV in front had been hit by the car that lost control and so I stopped too, without a scratch or even a dent.

If the both of us had been driving just a little faster, that would’ve been my car that took the hit, and my car could not survive that crash. Too small to take the impact.

A miracle. Serendipity. A guardian angel. Call it what you will, but it was freakin’ insane. And the real kicker? My life did not flash before my eyes. Nothing flashed.

The world stood still while I watched that car skid, swerve and slide its way across a highway and narrowly miss my car. Fast and slow. Still and in motion. Like time and space had converged at that one point and the universe had caved in and recreated itself to unfold right then and there.

No, my life did not flash before my eyes. It just stopped and went on.

Day of Birth

For this 52 week writing challenge prompt, “a story that takes place the year you were born,” I decided to tell the story I’ve heard so many times from my mom about the day I was born, in my own words and how I heard the story. Happy Thanksgiving reading!

“GET! ME! TO! THE! HOS.PIT.AAAAAALLLL!” she screamed like a banshee.

“I’m trying!” he hadn’t meant to shout. It was stressful trying to navigate Miami traffic with a woman giving labor in the backseat though.

“Just hang in there, Sony.” Her brother-in-law’s already high pitched voice sounded squeakier and more anxious than usual.

She gritted her teeth and tried to keep the screams down, but it was hard. After nearly 10 months of being pregnant, the same day a C-section is scheduled, the damn baby decided to be born mere hours before she was supposed to be at the hospital.

Her husband ran red light after red light, honking viciously at other drivers to move out of his way. “Damn it, where’s a cop when you need one?” He was trying to get a police officer’s attention to get him an escort to clear the way to the hospital. No such luck this day, though.

As he approached a railway in the path, he didn’t slow down, but instead sped up and flew over the tracks. The motion set another screaming wave from the back seat. “Watch it, you idiot. The baby just almost flew out of here.”

He muttered curses under his breath in Spanish. It shouldn’t have taken this long to get to the hospital, but that’s Miami for you. A simple three-mile route turned into a zig zagging journey through back streets and side roads avoiding traffic and took three times as long to get to your destination.

When they finally got there, her brother-in-law jumped out of the car and ran for help. She got lucky and was put directly on a gurney and transferred to the elevator to get her to a room. The baby was stubborn though, and started crowning in the cramped space shared with strangers. Her worst fear had come true. Her legs spread and her business open to the public, giving birth. She screamed more in frustration and embarrassment than from pain.

The doctor barely had time to get in the room. None of the usual prep for a birthing was done. No time to stand on ceremony. The baby came on her own time, disregarding her parents’ careful plans and strategies.

Nearly an hour later, they held the baby in their arms, the mother sweating and eyes closed, the father’s hands shaking, and the brother-in-law dozing off in the waiting room.