New Year

She waits; face painted and eyes aglow.  The hand of the clock moves closer to the next year, a new year.  She’s gathered her apparel, adorned her jewels, and is ready to fly over the merriment. For only tonight does she live outside the minds of those who call to her, only tonight.

“Five!” Someone shouts from beyond.

“Four!” The group gets louder, she spreads her wings.

“Three!” They scream now with raised glasses.

“Two!” She hovers, breath caught.

“One!” She takes to the air as a song breaks out. Below her the humans laugh, kiss.

No one notices her vestige, no one sees her garb. Yet they feel her presence. One man twirls his partner, a lady with a wide smile, and proclaims wildly that he will turn a new leaf. A woman grabs her friend’s hand, pulls the smaller frame into a hug and resolves to laugh more. Another man gets down on one knee with a diamond, another woman throws out her pack of cigarettes….

She flies, for sixty seconds and then she disappears.

3294916626_f06da1661d_b

Fairy by Teatro Escola de Pelotas CC BY 2.0

Written for: Photo Challege #93

Because the Night

Night brought Gregory the freedom to produce his craft. Only under its darkness, when the light shut off and the city slept, could he peak into the windows of his secret obsessions and take a photo – no flash – for posterity.

Gregory needed the night. Without it, the store fronts and classrooms, the living rooms and ballrooms, would never empty. Without the night, the prescribed time for all humans to be in bed, Gregory would never find the serene moment of objects untouched, televisions off, seats empty. Behind his lens – no flash – Gregory lived for the moment when he, all alone, existed because of the night.

Inspired by The Daily Post.

Same Bed, Different Dreams

Lela loved her feathered comforter. She loved the way the cotton brushed against her skin, how its heavy weight kept away the cold. But Lela did not have her feathered comforter.  It was wrapped around her husband’s body, held there by the unyielding strength of a sleeping man.

In the darkness of their room, in the dead of night, with only the lamplight casting across their bed Lela realized, she wanted the comforter more than her husband.

Herman loved his life. When he placed his head on the pillow every night it was simple – he was happy with his wife, his choices, his bedding. Even though the comforter was well-worn and had belonged to Lela back before they were married, it smelled like them mixed together. He breathed in the sweet smell with every REM cycled breath.

In the darkness of their room, in the dead of night, with only the lamplight casting across their bed Herman realized, in the depths of his sleep, that he wanted to keep this comforter and the mix of their smell forever.

Inspired by The Daily Post’s Third Rate Romance

Flying in Real Life

“Linus, look!”

Margaret sat by the window, bouncing with excitement.

Linus let out a groan and opened his eyes to stare at his younger sister. Her face was glued to the double-glass of the airplane window, taking in the view from thousands of feet up in the air.

“You’re blocking the window, Margaret,” Linus said, although he could hardly bring himself to look. He dug himself deeper into his chair, clenching his armrest with all the strength his eight-year-old body could muster.

Unlike his sister, Linus did not take well to the concept of flying.

“How are you still so excited?” he asked. “We’ve been in the air for over seven hours.”

“But we’re flying! Over an ocean!” answered Margaret.

Their mother hissed at both of them to ‘be quiet’, even though only Margaret was yelling.

It wasn’t fair.

“I don’t think you seem to get it, Linus.”

“Get what?”

“After hours and hours of make-believe and pretending to be superheroes, here we are,” she waved her hand around as if she were presenting the window as a work of art. “We are flying in real life.”

“With all the real-life risks too,” Linus grumbled to himself.

“And when we get to LandIce –”

“It’s Iceland, Margaret.”

“Oh, right. But when we get there, we’re going to see colors in the sky!”

“Maybe.”

“And we’re going to see snow!”

“We have snow at home.”

“Yea, but it’s not blue like the glaciers. You told me that, Linus, so it must be true.”

“Yea, yea,” Linus conceded, hands coming up to grip his forehead. He started to agree with his mother; they all could use some quiet time. He hesitated before opening his eyes, worried still that at any moment they might plummet into the ocean.

He chose to make his baby sister a distraction, instead. “You know Iceland is really old?”

“Like Auntie Nell?” Margaret’s nose crinkled at the memory of her great Aunt, who yelled when they threw snowballs in her direction.

Linus snorted. “Way older.”

Margaret looked back out the window. “Imagine all the make-believe stories a place that old has inside it.”

“Some of the best, I imagine” Linus said.

“Tell me!” Margaret demanded. “Then you can forget how scaredy-cat you are on this plane.”

“I’m not scared.” Linus insisted.

Margaret grinned, knowing she was right. “Then, tell me.”

Linus groaned again but this time for another reason. “Well, I don’t actually know any of their stories yet, but I bet they have mountains that are really monsters and fairies that deliver snowstorms or –“

“Or magicians that turn the sky into coloring books!” Margaret added.

As they made up tales of a foreign land far away, Linus let go of his fear until the plane began its descent. After sharp drop in elevation, he reached for the armrest again.

“It’s okay, Linus, look.” Margaret pointed out the window, where the sunrise cast a glow over their newest adventure. “If we fall now, Iceland’s giants will catch us.”

Check out more Adventures with Linus and Margaret!

The Crack

 

"Her Story Written in Disappearing Ink." CC2.0 photo by Michael Shaheen.

CC2.0 photo by Michael Shaheen.

The truth is in the crack. It is the clue. Follow it and you will see, none of this is what it seems. The well-worn pavement, the chipped brick walls, an entryway – an illusion. The grand persuasion because, as is says, ‘a beautiful girl lived here’, an emerald green doorframe beckons, why wouldn’t you peak your head in to see?

What did that beautiful girl leave behind?

But the truth is in the crack. A crack can mean many things: poorly constructed pavement, heavy traffic, a sinkhole underneath. Or, it could mean that something is below, something – and every heated exhale from its scaly snout hits the backside of the pavement, a crack forms and its beady lizard eye can see. It waits, simmering, for you to poke your head in and see what’s through the doorway. Because then, it’s dinnertime.

The truth is in the crack.

~~~

Written for the final Flash Friday. The prompt was to include the photo and a dragon.

NaNoWriMo – The End

NaNo-2015-Winner-Banner

I know, I know, I’m a few days late but today is my first day of editing and isn’t that always a good time to go back and acknowledge the first draft?

Oh, this ball of clay I’ve created that now will be molded into something greater.

nano

I’m excited.

This is my first NaNoWriMo where I’ve told the story within the 50k. No months of writing scenes ahead of me. I thank this blog for that fact, and a year of writing flash fiction and short stories. I was able to tell the story, within the word limit.

But now it’s time to take these words and sand down their rough edges. Time to make sure the story in my head is the same as the one on the page. It is time.

…Not to be dramatic or anything.

I thank you for following this month’s journey. This blog will now return to its regularly scheduled fiction programming.