I wrote this as a Christmas present for a fellow writer on the Fantasy-writers.org site. Personally I'm quite pleased with it, almost want to write it over as a five minute animated short.
Written by Michelle Nielsen
Left, right, left, right. He moved on, yet unmoved by his surroundings. Stark white glistened around him as he trudged on. His mantle of furs may as well have been gossamer for all they did against the penetrating cold, but his pale skin and dark cold eyes held a deeper truth. His existence depended on the dead chill.
Left right, left right. Past forests frosted white with powdery snow, transformed into frothy glaciers. His footsteps fell in single-minded determination. He paused not to look upon the dazzling diamond brilliance of the white-clad world around him. It held no beauty for him, for eons he’d known its appearance.
Left right, left right. Behind him the frozen forests stood and he ventured into the open. Vast open space shrouded in glistening white lay before him, in the far distance, framed by the fading shimmer of distant stars a single filament of ice reached for the dark heavens above that formed the cosmos. Wheeling and dancing, colliding with their neighbors, the whole of the universe drifted in an eternal cold dark night. He would not, could not be moved by the beauty and power of the cosmos. That too, he’d seen too often.
Left right, left right. Frozen feet moved of their own accord, onwards towards the glistening pinnacle of ice. As he drew closer, the goal grew clearer. The filament towered over the glacial plain. Wind hammered at him, but he would not be deterred, impervious to the biting cold. Something was trapped in the filament of ice.
Left right, left right. He drew closer, now able to see the figure trapped within the tower of ice. He slowed. The one thing of beauty that moved him. The old cold heart of winter stirred looking upon it. A maid, young and fair looked sadly at him from her icy prison, her skin rosy where his was pale, her garments light and flowery where he wore the mantle of winter.
A withered, pale skinned hand reached for her face. His palm rested on the ice above the perfect blush of her cheek. A sigh of breath escaped his chest, longing filled his cold old body. He could not yet find another way for them to be together, but for her to be trapped eternal in a moment in time.
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Monday, January 10, 2011
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Time Stamp
written by Suzanne Driggs
December 2012
Never a quiet place, the cell block echoed with the sound of the iron doors clanging shut, the low rumble of conversation and harsh snatch of arguments. Still, Drew recognized the limp-shuffle as his cell mate came down the corridor. Dave was a long-timer. He’d already done fifteen years of three life sentences when Drew moved in twenty years before.
He entered, old and bent, heading straight for his bunk. The trip to the medical wing wore him out these days.
“You remember the things we talked about?” Dave’s voice rasped and whispered at the same time.
“What’d the doc say?”
“Not much longer. They might keep my over there next time. That’s why you gotta tell me your…” Dave convulsed with his hacking cough.
~
September 1963
He’d taken off the suit jacket as he left the office. Just the short walk from the corner bus stop soaked his shirt through. The mail box at the gate held a couple bills and an envelope with a typed address.
Mr. Andrew Dwyer
Looked official, though the return address wasn’t a printed logo. He frowned reading it.
Drew Dwyer, 84682-075
PO Box 462
Represa, CA 95671
He’d reached the step to the porch. Glancing up, he noticed the door was closed. As he climbed the steps, he thought, “Lulu must have taken the baby on one of their walks. ‘I have to move’ she says; too hot to move today.” He sighed, and muttered, “Wish she’d at least left the windows open.” His hands left wet marks on the envelopes as he switched so he could fish the house keys out of his pocket. His foot bumped the door and it swung in.
Empty.
The furniture was there. It came with the house. The baby clothes and toys that covered every flat surface were gone.
Leaving the door open, he stepped in further.
“Lulu?” Her name sounded loud without the baby shrieks and TV in the background.
His writing corner remained untouched. The stack of neatly typed manuscript still nestled in the paper box where he’d left it the night before.
Last night’s and this morning’s dishes filled the sink. He dropped the mail on the little kitchen table and turned to go down the hall; might as well put his jacket away. When he reached the closet, it stood open; only his clothes still inside.
Lulu hated it here, told him every day, at least twice, in the morning when he left for work and again at dinner.
He stripped off his shirt and slacks. Standing in his “wifebeater” undershirt and skivvies felt cooler. He looked around for his shorts and the vision of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s popped to mind.
She’d threatened to leave pretty much every day. It didn’t matter that he had a bank job with a “future” and his novel. Though with all the rejections, Lulu’s claim that he’d have more success robbing the bank than getting published hit closer to the truth than he liked. She was trapped and hated him, wouldn’t even be there if it weren’t for the baby.
He found the bottle, still half full and set it on the table.
“Baby girl,” he whispered and nodded to himself. He had to keep Lulu happy to have his baby girl.
One Flintstone jelly glass remained in the cupboard. Glass in hand; he caught a glimpse of the .45 on the top shelf. Stretching up to reach it, he pulled it down and set the glass and revolver by the whiskey, then flicked the small oscillating fan to life and slumped down in the wooden chair. He filled the glass as the fan’s breeze passed back and forth from across the table. The mail fluttered.
He took a swallow that drained half the first pour. It burned that sweet kind of burn, a little up his nose, then warmed his tonsils and made its way past the lump in his throat. The effort brought tears to his eyes… at least that’s how he wanted to think of it. He felt his brain contract and along with it, his vision narrowed so he looked down a dark sided tunnel.
Lulu had gotten the idea about robbing the bank. She started out suggesting it as a story idea. Maybe the hot days got to her, but she kept building on it and building on it till he thought she really believed he would rob his own bank. She said it proved he didn’t love her cause he wouldn’t listen. He sighed with the memory of her tear streaked face, eyes blazing.
“Not your own bank, idiot!” she’d screamed. They could buy their own house. No one would suspect him.
He’d have to remember where he put the bullets. He’d put them somewhere safe. There’d been a couple of times after getting a rejection and Lu screaming at him, he thought about being dead. But dead was forever and he’d never see Baby Girl grow up. No, he weighed the gun in his hand, maybe Lulu’s scheme would work; have their own place.
The fan turned his way again and the envelope with the typed address flipped toward him. He took another big swallow and then picked it up. Not legal size, and not that thick. It wasn’t one of his queries come back, rejected.
Why did they put his name on it? The only thing in Represa was the prison. Maybe some joke or a scam. Could it make his day worse? He was afraid of the answer. Huh? The post mark wasn’t Represa…Hanalei… Hanalei HI? He tore it open and unfolded the plain white paper.
Dear Drew,
You asked me to send this to you by Sept. 26, 1963. You were still at the penitentiary when we talked and made this plan.
He turned the envelope over and looked at the return address again. Did that look like a prisoner ID number? He went back to the letter.
I had told you that I’d figured out that I could choose what to do after I die. I decided to come back to my same life at a certain time with all my memories so I can change how I did things before.
That you’re getting this means I was right.
So you would know this is real, you told me three things that only you would know.
1. You were eight when your cat, Muffin, had six kittens. When you came home from school, your mother told you Muffin had gone to live in the wild with the kitten’s father.
2. When your grandmother came to visit, she always brought those little chocolate bars. One time you checked the dresser drawer right after she left and found a full bag and ate them all yourself.
3. The only thing that made you happy in your life was when your daughter came to see you.
The first two seem kind of bland, but you picked them.
So here’s the deal. Keep writing, keep submitting. When you feel sad, write about it.
Don’t worry about Lulu, robbing a bank won’t make her any happier.
Meet me at the Soup Plantation in Point Loma, Sept. 26, 2010 to celebrate. I’ll be the old guy with the big grin.
P.S. get rid of the gun.
Muffin. He combed his fingers through his hair. His thoughts drifted on the alcohol current… no… floated. Scanning the letter again the word “penitentiary” jumped out. He leaned back considering and noticed his writing corner through the doorway to the living room. The late sun coming through the window blinds cast shadow bars across the typing table.
“No, robbing a bank won’t make any of us happy,” he said softly. His brain relaxed and the light expanded in his vision. The same hot, dream-lost kitchen surrounded him but it wasn’t an ending here. He was just passing through.
Copyright © Suzanne Driggs 2010
December 2012
Never a quiet place, the cell block echoed with the sound of the iron doors clanging shut, the low rumble of conversation and harsh snatch of arguments. Still, Drew recognized the limp-shuffle as his cell mate came down the corridor. Dave was a long-timer. He’d already done fifteen years of three life sentences when Drew moved in twenty years before.
He entered, old and bent, heading straight for his bunk. The trip to the medical wing wore him out these days.
“You remember the things we talked about?” Dave’s voice rasped and whispered at the same time.
“What’d the doc say?”
“Not much longer. They might keep my over there next time. That’s why you gotta tell me your…” Dave convulsed with his hacking cough.
~
September 1963
He’d taken off the suit jacket as he left the office. Just the short walk from the corner bus stop soaked his shirt through. The mail box at the gate held a couple bills and an envelope with a typed address.
Mr. Andrew Dwyer
Looked official, though the return address wasn’t a printed logo. He frowned reading it.
Drew Dwyer, 84682-075
PO Box 462
Represa, CA 95671
He’d reached the step to the porch. Glancing up, he noticed the door was closed. As he climbed the steps, he thought, “Lulu must have taken the baby on one of their walks. ‘I have to move’ she says; too hot to move today.” He sighed, and muttered, “Wish she’d at least left the windows open.” His hands left wet marks on the envelopes as he switched so he could fish the house keys out of his pocket. His foot bumped the door and it swung in.
Empty.
The furniture was there. It came with the house. The baby clothes and toys that covered every flat surface were gone.
Leaving the door open, he stepped in further.
“Lulu?” Her name sounded loud without the baby shrieks and TV in the background.
His writing corner remained untouched. The stack of neatly typed manuscript still nestled in the paper box where he’d left it the night before.
Last night’s and this morning’s dishes filled the sink. He dropped the mail on the little kitchen table and turned to go down the hall; might as well put his jacket away. When he reached the closet, it stood open; only his clothes still inside.
Lulu hated it here, told him every day, at least twice, in the morning when he left for work and again at dinner.
He stripped off his shirt and slacks. Standing in his “wifebeater” undershirt and skivvies felt cooler. He looked around for his shorts and the vision of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s popped to mind.
She’d threatened to leave pretty much every day. It didn’t matter that he had a bank job with a “future” and his novel. Though with all the rejections, Lulu’s claim that he’d have more success robbing the bank than getting published hit closer to the truth than he liked. She was trapped and hated him, wouldn’t even be there if it weren’t for the baby.
He found the bottle, still half full and set it on the table.
“Baby girl,” he whispered and nodded to himself. He had to keep Lulu happy to have his baby girl.
One Flintstone jelly glass remained in the cupboard. Glass in hand; he caught a glimpse of the .45 on the top shelf. Stretching up to reach it, he pulled it down and set the glass and revolver by the whiskey, then flicked the small oscillating fan to life and slumped down in the wooden chair. He filled the glass as the fan’s breeze passed back and forth from across the table. The mail fluttered.
He took a swallow that drained half the first pour. It burned that sweet kind of burn, a little up his nose, then warmed his tonsils and made its way past the lump in his throat. The effort brought tears to his eyes… at least that’s how he wanted to think of it. He felt his brain contract and along with it, his vision narrowed so he looked down a dark sided tunnel.
Lulu had gotten the idea about robbing the bank. She started out suggesting it as a story idea. Maybe the hot days got to her, but she kept building on it and building on it till he thought she really believed he would rob his own bank. She said it proved he didn’t love her cause he wouldn’t listen. He sighed with the memory of her tear streaked face, eyes blazing.
“Not your own bank, idiot!” she’d screamed. They could buy their own house. No one would suspect him.
He’d have to remember where he put the bullets. He’d put them somewhere safe. There’d been a couple of times after getting a rejection and Lu screaming at him, he thought about being dead. But dead was forever and he’d never see Baby Girl grow up. No, he weighed the gun in his hand, maybe Lulu’s scheme would work; have their own place.
The fan turned his way again and the envelope with the typed address flipped toward him. He took another big swallow and then picked it up. Not legal size, and not that thick. It wasn’t one of his queries come back, rejected.
Why did they put his name on it? The only thing in Represa was the prison. Maybe some joke or a scam. Could it make his day worse? He was afraid of the answer. Huh? The post mark wasn’t Represa…Hanalei… Hanalei HI? He tore it open and unfolded the plain white paper.
Dear Drew,
You asked me to send this to you by Sept. 26, 1963. You were still at the penitentiary when we talked and made this plan.
He turned the envelope over and looked at the return address again. Did that look like a prisoner ID number? He went back to the letter.
I had told you that I’d figured out that I could choose what to do after I die. I decided to come back to my same life at a certain time with all my memories so I can change how I did things before.
That you’re getting this means I was right.
So you would know this is real, you told me three things that only you would know.
1. You were eight when your cat, Muffin, had six kittens. When you came home from school, your mother told you Muffin had gone to live in the wild with the kitten’s father.
2. When your grandmother came to visit, she always brought those little chocolate bars. One time you checked the dresser drawer right after she left and found a full bag and ate them all yourself.
3. The only thing that made you happy in your life was when your daughter came to see you.
The first two seem kind of bland, but you picked them.
So here’s the deal. Keep writing, keep submitting. When you feel sad, write about it.
Don’t worry about Lulu, robbing a bank won’t make her any happier.
Meet me at the Soup Plantation in Point Loma, Sept. 26, 2010 to celebrate. I’ll be the old guy with the big grin.
P.S. get rid of the gun.
Muffin. He combed his fingers through his hair. His thoughts drifted on the alcohol current… no… floated. Scanning the letter again the word “penitentiary” jumped out. He leaned back considering and noticed his writing corner through the doorway to the living room. The late sun coming through the window blinds cast shadow bars across the typing table.
“No, robbing a bank won’t make any of us happy,” he said softly. His brain relaxed and the light expanded in his vision. The same hot, dream-lost kitchen surrounded him but it wasn’t an ending here. He was just passing through.
Copyright © Suzanne Driggs 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Dragon's Play
written by Michelle Nielsen
The letter came from a respectable location, a magic citadel floating above the highest mountain range in the land. It surprised Elbert Jean-Jacob Englehiemer Wordsmith that the letter came with a most unusual contraption, a flying carpet. However, after a frightful, near vertical climb to reach said citadel, he reflected the physical effort of such a climb would be unthinkable for a scholar of his experience.
Stepping off the carpet and onto the threshold of the citadel's front gate, Elbert dusted off his finest doublet and boldly knocked on the gate. He frowned as he waited, wondering where the staff were to tend this massive place. It looked as if a family of giants had resided there at one time. Before long, the gate opened, but not by a towering giant. He gained another surprise as he looked upon a lovely elf-woman with crystalline blue eyes and dark brown hair. She gave a pleasant smile as she addressed him.
"Elbert Jean-Jacob Englehiemer Wordsmith Esquire the Third, I presume?" She asked, her voice sweet and soft. Elbert bowed courteously to her.
"Indeed, madam...would I be addressing Miss Drucilla?"
"You are," she said. He amused her it seemed, her eyes smiling. 'Please, come in. You're eagerly awaited." Elbert stepped into a massive hallway that seemed to go on forever. Looking around he was alarmed to find he and Drucilla were the only living souls there.
"Might I inquire where the subjects to be tutored are located?" Elbert asked boldly, wanting to establish his authority as soon as possible.
"They're at play right now," Drucilla said with a constant smile, as if in relief. "I should discuss the children with you first. My Lady's instructions were clear to me when she left. Her offspring require special...handling."
Drucilla led him to a small alcove, built for people of smaller size. The alcove hid a door into which she led him. The room was comfortably attired, with a bay window overlooking a spacious courtyard of immense proportions.
"So what instructions does your Lady have? Anything of great importance I am to teach them? I'm skilled with history, mathematics, physics, literature..." There was something odd in Drucilla's blue eyes as she regarded him with a long suffered expression.
"Manners and etiquette, mostly," Drucilla said with a sigh, "They're a rather rambunctious lot, given to fits of humor unsuitable for..."
"DRUCILLIE!!" A plaintive childlike cry came from outside the window. Drucilla sighed, her eyes rolled with resignation.
"I can't take my eyes off them for a second..." she muttered softly. She rose, went to the window and poked her head out. "Whymsper, what is it now, love?"
"Brieghton smacked me again! With his TAIL!!" the voice responded to Drucilla.
"DID NOT!" shouted another voice, male by the gruff sound. Alarmed, Elbert tried to look out the window to the children below who were carrying on so. He caught a glimpse of a large ball, and four or five large forms. Large, brightly colored, scaled forms.
"Dragons?! These children are dragons?!?" Elbert responded with alarm as the children came into his view. He had a keen fear of anything scaly, whether it was a humble garter snake no longer than a dagger or something as large as... He shuddered.
"Perhaps you'd feel better about it if you met them. They can be charming when they aren't..."
Something hard struck stone in the courtyard. Again came the plaintive wail of Whymsper being subjected once more to Brieghton's abuse. Drucilla poked her head out the window and firmly ordered the two apart. She turned back to Elbert and motioned to the door.
"Shall we?"
His apprehension grew the whole way to the courtyard, despite Drucilla's attempts to soothe his nerves. The children, he discovered were five young dragonlings, and ranged from the largest, Brieghton, to the smallest, Whymsper, who immediately approached Drucilla for comforting, great tears running down her long muzzle.
"He hit me again!" she quailed, as Drucilla gently embraced her around the massive neck. Elbert swore Whymsper was the size of the largest draft horse he'd ever laid eyes on. Brieghton loomed behind her, much bigger and bolder both in color and attitude.
"I did not, you little..."
"Brieghton!" Drucilla's sharp voice brought the biggest dragonling up short. Instantly, Brieghton looked contrite for his actions. "What have I told you about your younger and smaller siblings?"
"To treat them as I would want to be treated..." he recited miserably. Elbert could tell from Brieghton's reaction he learned from experience some form of discipline would soon be meted out.
"Precisely, that goes the same as you three," Drucilla added, as she cast a speculative eye over the remaining three dragonlings who tried for some semblance of innocence.
"We were just playing ball, that's all!" Brieghton said in his defense. "It’s not my fault Whyms got in the way..." His protest stopped abruptly when Drucilla gave him an unimpressed expression.
After much fuss, Elbert was finally introduced to the dragonlings, although he tried to keep the initial meeting as brief as possible. Whymsper took to Elbert immediately, much to his discomfort. When they left the dragonlings to their play, he spoke briefly with Drucilla about the location of the wine-cellar. Flustered by what he could call a narrow escape, Elbert felt the need for a drink.
###
By the following afternoon, Elbert arranged for the dragonlings’ school-room to be in the great dining hall, the only place that could fit five young dragons and a fearful schoolmaster comfortably. They sat on the floor, watching him in expectation as Elbert made every pretense of hiding his very real fear.
“…in which case,” Elbert stated in mid-lesson, his knees locked to keep them from trembling, “No one may start to eat until the King, Lord or residing Master sits and begins the feast himself.”
Brieghton snorted with contempt. “It never matters to us when or where we eat. Not to mention who.” The oldest dragonling gave Elbert a sidelong glance. Alarm crept into Elbert’s face as he realized how close he stood to the large dragonling. The effort he took to ease away from Brieghton could not have been greater.
“Brieghton!” Drucilla spoke up from the little chair tucked into the corner of the room, her brow furrowed. Brieghton settled down, grumbling to himself about having to respect adults.
“Hmph,” Elbert attempted to cover his fear with his own disdain. “Well, courtesy is a key factor in relations. Deny a king respect and you may well find yourself hunted, young Brieghton.”
Brieghton snorted again and rose to his feet. Elbert shuddered when he tried to stare down Brieghton and nearly failed in the most epic of proportions when an unlikely hero came to his rescue.
“Brieght,” Whymsper said, for once bearing a stern gaze at her larger and older brother. “Don’t. I like him.” The little dragon shifted to face her brother, clearly in Elbert’s defense.
Elbert sighed with relief as Brieghton backed down, much to everyone’s surprise.
“Class dismissed,” Elbert stated, unable to hear over the heartbeat which pounded in his ears. He barely heard Drucilla approach him over the thundering in his head and the chaos of the dragonlings as they ran off to play. Her hand on his shoulder startled him.
“I’m surprised Whyms got attached to you so quickly,” she told him with amusement. “She’s a good girl, unlike that scamp of a brother. Besides, she’s her mother’s favorite.”
“Ah, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Elbert said with trepidation, “but when is their mother going to return?”
“Oh, she comes and goes as she pleases,” Drucilla said smiling. “You know how dragons can be. Not to worry though, you’ll have an easier time with her around to keep them in line.”
The next morning, Elbert decided a lecture on proper forms of addressing people of both higher and lower ranks would be appropriate. Just when he began to speak the entire citadel shook violently. Elbert fell flat on his face, and covered his head with his hands.
The dragonlings looked between themselves with delight.
“MAMMA!” they shouted together and charged from the Great Hall, lesson and tutor forgotten. Drucilla entered the hall hurriedly and helped Elbert to his feet.
“My Lady is back,” she said once Elbert saw the citadel wasn’t falling down around him. “It’s time to meet the children’s mother.”
Elbert began shaking well before they entered the courtyard. He’d half hoped that the dragon mother would only be a little larger than her offspring. Once he laid eyes upon her, he saw she filled the entire courtyard. She looked down at him with curiosity, her imposingly long neck craning around. Elbert guessed her teeth were all taller than his person.
“My Lady,” Drucilla began to introduce him. “This is Elbert Jean-Jacob Englehiemer Wordsmith Esquire the Third, the children’s tutor.” The dragon mother looked duly impressed at the dwarf.
In response, Elbert fainted.
The letter came from a respectable location, a magic citadel floating above the highest mountain range in the land. It surprised Elbert Jean-Jacob Englehiemer Wordsmith that the letter came with a most unusual contraption, a flying carpet. However, after a frightful, near vertical climb to reach said citadel, he reflected the physical effort of such a climb would be unthinkable for a scholar of his experience.
Stepping off the carpet and onto the threshold of the citadel's front gate, Elbert dusted off his finest doublet and boldly knocked on the gate. He frowned as he waited, wondering where the staff were to tend this massive place. It looked as if a family of giants had resided there at one time. Before long, the gate opened, but not by a towering giant. He gained another surprise as he looked upon a lovely elf-woman with crystalline blue eyes and dark brown hair. She gave a pleasant smile as she addressed him.
"Elbert Jean-Jacob Englehiemer Wordsmith Esquire the Third, I presume?" She asked, her voice sweet and soft. Elbert bowed courteously to her.
"Indeed, madam...would I be addressing Miss Drucilla?"
"You are," she said. He amused her it seemed, her eyes smiling. 'Please, come in. You're eagerly awaited." Elbert stepped into a massive hallway that seemed to go on forever. Looking around he was alarmed to find he and Drucilla were the only living souls there.
"Might I inquire where the subjects to be tutored are located?" Elbert asked boldly, wanting to establish his authority as soon as possible.
"They're at play right now," Drucilla said with a constant smile, as if in relief. "I should discuss the children with you first. My Lady's instructions were clear to me when she left. Her offspring require special...handling."
Drucilla led him to a small alcove, built for people of smaller size. The alcove hid a door into which she led him. The room was comfortably attired, with a bay window overlooking a spacious courtyard of immense proportions.
"So what instructions does your Lady have? Anything of great importance I am to teach them? I'm skilled with history, mathematics, physics, literature..." There was something odd in Drucilla's blue eyes as she regarded him with a long suffered expression.
"Manners and etiquette, mostly," Drucilla said with a sigh, "They're a rather rambunctious lot, given to fits of humor unsuitable for..."
"DRUCILLIE!!" A plaintive childlike cry came from outside the window. Drucilla sighed, her eyes rolled with resignation.
"I can't take my eyes off them for a second..." she muttered softly. She rose, went to the window and poked her head out. "Whymsper, what is it now, love?"
"Brieghton smacked me again! With his TAIL!!" the voice responded to Drucilla.
"DID NOT!" shouted another voice, male by the gruff sound. Alarmed, Elbert tried to look out the window to the children below who were carrying on so. He caught a glimpse of a large ball, and four or five large forms. Large, brightly colored, scaled forms.
"Dragons?! These children are dragons?!?" Elbert responded with alarm as the children came into his view. He had a keen fear of anything scaly, whether it was a humble garter snake no longer than a dagger or something as large as... He shuddered.
"Perhaps you'd feel better about it if you met them. They can be charming when they aren't..."
Something hard struck stone in the courtyard. Again came the plaintive wail of Whymsper being subjected once more to Brieghton's abuse. Drucilla poked her head out the window and firmly ordered the two apart. She turned back to Elbert and motioned to the door.
"Shall we?"
His apprehension grew the whole way to the courtyard, despite Drucilla's attempts to soothe his nerves. The children, he discovered were five young dragonlings, and ranged from the largest, Brieghton, to the smallest, Whymsper, who immediately approached Drucilla for comforting, great tears running down her long muzzle.
"He hit me again!" she quailed, as Drucilla gently embraced her around the massive neck. Elbert swore Whymsper was the size of the largest draft horse he'd ever laid eyes on. Brieghton loomed behind her, much bigger and bolder both in color and attitude.
"I did not, you little..."
"Brieghton!" Drucilla's sharp voice brought the biggest dragonling up short. Instantly, Brieghton looked contrite for his actions. "What have I told you about your younger and smaller siblings?"
"To treat them as I would want to be treated..." he recited miserably. Elbert could tell from Brieghton's reaction he learned from experience some form of discipline would soon be meted out.
"Precisely, that goes the same as you three," Drucilla added, as she cast a speculative eye over the remaining three dragonlings who tried for some semblance of innocence.
"We were just playing ball, that's all!" Brieghton said in his defense. "It’s not my fault Whyms got in the way..." His protest stopped abruptly when Drucilla gave him an unimpressed expression.
After much fuss, Elbert was finally introduced to the dragonlings, although he tried to keep the initial meeting as brief as possible. Whymsper took to Elbert immediately, much to his discomfort. When they left the dragonlings to their play, he spoke briefly with Drucilla about the location of the wine-cellar. Flustered by what he could call a narrow escape, Elbert felt the need for a drink.
###
By the following afternoon, Elbert arranged for the dragonlings’ school-room to be in the great dining hall, the only place that could fit five young dragons and a fearful schoolmaster comfortably. They sat on the floor, watching him in expectation as Elbert made every pretense of hiding his very real fear.
“…in which case,” Elbert stated in mid-lesson, his knees locked to keep them from trembling, “No one may start to eat until the King, Lord or residing Master sits and begins the feast himself.”
Brieghton snorted with contempt. “It never matters to us when or where we eat. Not to mention who.” The oldest dragonling gave Elbert a sidelong glance. Alarm crept into Elbert’s face as he realized how close he stood to the large dragonling. The effort he took to ease away from Brieghton could not have been greater.
“Brieghton!” Drucilla spoke up from the little chair tucked into the corner of the room, her brow furrowed. Brieghton settled down, grumbling to himself about having to respect adults.
“Hmph,” Elbert attempted to cover his fear with his own disdain. “Well, courtesy is a key factor in relations. Deny a king respect and you may well find yourself hunted, young Brieghton.”
Brieghton snorted again and rose to his feet. Elbert shuddered when he tried to stare down Brieghton and nearly failed in the most epic of proportions when an unlikely hero came to his rescue.
“Brieght,” Whymsper said, for once bearing a stern gaze at her larger and older brother. “Don’t. I like him.” The little dragon shifted to face her brother, clearly in Elbert’s defense.
Elbert sighed with relief as Brieghton backed down, much to everyone’s surprise.
“Class dismissed,” Elbert stated, unable to hear over the heartbeat which pounded in his ears. He barely heard Drucilla approach him over the thundering in his head and the chaos of the dragonlings as they ran off to play. Her hand on his shoulder startled him.
“I’m surprised Whyms got attached to you so quickly,” she told him with amusement. “She’s a good girl, unlike that scamp of a brother. Besides, she’s her mother’s favorite.”
“Ah, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Elbert said with trepidation, “but when is their mother going to return?”
“Oh, she comes and goes as she pleases,” Drucilla said smiling. “You know how dragons can be. Not to worry though, you’ll have an easier time with her around to keep them in line.”
The next morning, Elbert decided a lecture on proper forms of addressing people of both higher and lower ranks would be appropriate. Just when he began to speak the entire citadel shook violently. Elbert fell flat on his face, and covered his head with his hands.
The dragonlings looked between themselves with delight.
“MAMMA!” they shouted together and charged from the Great Hall, lesson and tutor forgotten. Drucilla entered the hall hurriedly and helped Elbert to his feet.
“My Lady is back,” she said once Elbert saw the citadel wasn’t falling down around him. “It’s time to meet the children’s mother.”
Elbert began shaking well before they entered the courtyard. He’d half hoped that the dragon mother would only be a little larger than her offspring. Once he laid eyes upon her, he saw she filled the entire courtyard. She looked down at him with curiosity, her imposingly long neck craning around. Elbert guessed her teeth were all taller than his person.
“My Lady,” Drucilla began to introduce him. “This is Elbert Jean-Jacob Englehiemer Wordsmith Esquire the Third, the children’s tutor.” The dragon mother looked duly impressed at the dwarf.
In response, Elbert fainted.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The Feast
written by Michelle Nielsen
“...and that is why we have them for dinner every Thanksgiving.” Mother concluded her annual speech to the gathered children. Across the table, Father nodded his approval.
The family stood around the table where three plump carcasses lay, roasted to golden brown perfection, the fragrance from them tantalized the senses. Mother gave Father an irritated glance when she noticed his fixed gaze upon the largest of the entrees. She couldn’t condemn him though. The meal came out perfect.
“Dad got the biggest one, didn’t he?” the youngest son asked. Mother nodded.
“I sure did,” Father said, pride oozed from every word. “Someday I’ll teach you to hunt like that too...” Mother brought him up short with a snort of laughter.
“Dig in everyone,” Mother said with a gesture to the waiting meal, the meat so tender it fell from the bones.
“I heard that the wild ones taste different,” one hesitant child said, looking at the offerings with trepidation.
“It’s true,” said Father, “Because their diet varies...”
“That’s enough,” said Mother as she patted his downy head with her three-fingered hand, “Hush and eat your human.”
In relative peace and harmony, the Velociraptor family descended and fed with gusto.
“...and that is why we have them for dinner every Thanksgiving.” Mother concluded her annual speech to the gathered children. Across the table, Father nodded his approval.
The family stood around the table where three plump carcasses lay, roasted to golden brown perfection, the fragrance from them tantalized the senses. Mother gave Father an irritated glance when she noticed his fixed gaze upon the largest of the entrees. She couldn’t condemn him though. The meal came out perfect.
“Dad got the biggest one, didn’t he?” the youngest son asked. Mother nodded.
“I sure did,” Father said, pride oozed from every word. “Someday I’ll teach you to hunt like that too...” Mother brought him up short with a snort of laughter.
“Dig in everyone,” Mother said with a gesture to the waiting meal, the meat so tender it fell from the bones.
“I heard that the wild ones taste different,” one hesitant child said, looking at the offerings with trepidation.
“It’s true,” said Father, “Because their diet varies...”
“That’s enough,” said Mother as she patted his downy head with her three-fingered hand, “Hush and eat your human.”
In relative peace and harmony, the Velociraptor family descended and fed with gusto.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Now You See It
NOW YOU SEE IT
by Nyki Blatchley
"And how exactly," asked Ms Carver with a tone of ominous calm, "does one lose a planet?"
The two scientists facing her were not immune to the menace in her voice, but they had no choice but to tell the truth. She'd find out anyway.
"Well," began Dr Trumble, adjusting the glasses on the end of his nose, then immediately putting them back the way they'd been, "it's been happening rather a lot lately. The reports..."
"I've read the reports," snapped Ms Carver. "Ravings of madmen, if you ask me. Can you explain to me what precisely this "gremloid energy" is?"
Trumble glanced at his colleague, willing him to contribute, and Professor Dodgson obliged.
"Well, no-one's managed to solve the equations yet," he explained slowly, "but it's in essence a previously undetected form of energy that... er, hides things."
"Hides things." Ms Carver's voice would have cut solid steel, and probably made a fair job on diamond, but Dodgson seemed not to have noticed.
"Yes. Always unexpectedly, and always things that we really, really need..."
"Like a planet with resources that can't be found anywhere else in the galaxy?" suggested Ms Carver, eyes fixed behind fashionable square glasses.
"Precisely like that," Dodgson agreed. Trumble wondered whether he was very stupid or very nervous. "It... hides them behind a fold of space, and we have to work out exactly where."
"And then? Once we know, how do we get these things back?"
"We don't have to," explained Trumble, feeling that he should support his colleague. "As soon as we've worked out their location, they... just reappear. We're still working on the theory, but it seems that gremloid energy is symbiotic with the human mind. Once the problem's been solved, it releases what it's taken."
There was a very, very long silence, during which Trumble and Dodgson exchanged glances. There were stories about Ms Carver's rages and which mental hospitals their targets had ended up in. Trumble had always believed them mere urban legends. Looking at her now, he was less sure.
"So," she said very quietly at last, "how do you normally solve these... games?"
"We use the GAVA computer," said Dodgson. "It's the only one on earth powerful enough to solve the complex calculations."
Ms Carver nodded. "That's why it's called the Great And Very Awesome computer," she said. "So why aren't you using it now?"
They exchanged glances again. "It's broken," said Trumble at last. "The central processor is..."
Thirty seconds later, Trumble was fleeing for his life from a murderous Ms Carver, while Dodgson huddled whimpering in a corner, eyes glazed. In retrospect, Trumble realised, he should have made something up: any excuse would have done.
Anything but telling her that the central processor had been hidden by gremloid energy.
Copyright © 2010 Nyki Blatchley
Nyki Blatchley is a British author and poet who graduated from Keele University in English and Greek and now lives just outside London. He has had about two dozen stories published, mostly fantasy or horror. His novel At An Uncertain Hour was published by StoneGarden in April 2009.
by Nyki Blatchley
"And how exactly," asked Ms Carver with a tone of ominous calm, "does one lose a planet?"
The two scientists facing her were not immune to the menace in her voice, but they had no choice but to tell the truth. She'd find out anyway.
"Well," began Dr Trumble, adjusting the glasses on the end of his nose, then immediately putting them back the way they'd been, "it's been happening rather a lot lately. The reports..."
"I've read the reports," snapped Ms Carver. "Ravings of madmen, if you ask me. Can you explain to me what precisely this "gremloid energy" is?"
Trumble glanced at his colleague, willing him to contribute, and Professor Dodgson obliged.
"Well, no-one's managed to solve the equations yet," he explained slowly, "but it's in essence a previously undetected form of energy that... er, hides things."
"Hides things." Ms Carver's voice would have cut solid steel, and probably made a fair job on diamond, but Dodgson seemed not to have noticed.
"Yes. Always unexpectedly, and always things that we really, really need..."
"Like a planet with resources that can't be found anywhere else in the galaxy?" suggested Ms Carver, eyes fixed behind fashionable square glasses.
"Precisely like that," Dodgson agreed. Trumble wondered whether he was very stupid or very nervous. "It... hides them behind a fold of space, and we have to work out exactly where."
"And then? Once we know, how do we get these things back?"
"We don't have to," explained Trumble, feeling that he should support his colleague. "As soon as we've worked out their location, they... just reappear. We're still working on the theory, but it seems that gremloid energy is symbiotic with the human mind. Once the problem's been solved, it releases what it's taken."
There was a very, very long silence, during which Trumble and Dodgson exchanged glances. There were stories about Ms Carver's rages and which mental hospitals their targets had ended up in. Trumble had always believed them mere urban legends. Looking at her now, he was less sure.
"So," she said very quietly at last, "how do you normally solve these... games?"
"We use the GAVA computer," said Dodgson. "It's the only one on earth powerful enough to solve the complex calculations."
Ms Carver nodded. "That's why it's called the Great And Very Awesome computer," she said. "So why aren't you using it now?"
They exchanged glances again. "It's broken," said Trumble at last. "The central processor is..."
Thirty seconds later, Trumble was fleeing for his life from a murderous Ms Carver, while Dodgson huddled whimpering in a corner, eyes glazed. In retrospect, Trumble realised, he should have made something up: any excuse would have done.
Anything but telling her that the central processor had been hidden by gremloid energy.
Copyright © 2010 Nyki Blatchley
Nyki Blatchley is a British author and poet who graduated from Keele University in English and Greek and now lives just outside London. He has had about two dozen stories published, mostly fantasy or horror. His novel At An Uncertain Hour was published by StoneGarden in April 2009.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Harvest Game
Empress Sabine glanced past the supplicant when she heard the game warden step through the far door. Once her gold-flecked gaze targeted him, the warden nodded and slipped out of the audience chamber.
Her attention returned to the bundle of rich fabric, precious gems and metals quivering before the dais. “Your concerns are noted, Lord Enlad. Unfortunately, your plea, coming after game selection and training, does not sway our sympathy.”
Raising his face to the Empress, a death sentence in itself, the noble cried, “Take me! Take me! Spare my son!”
The imperial eyes narrowed and darkened to smoky amber. Her lips parted exposing deadly canines. “If he survives, your son will be returned to your family.” A nod signaled the Imperial guard to half drag, half carry Lord Enlad from the Presence.
Sabine lived for Harvest Game Day ever since the former Emperor, in his misguided love for her, commanded an enchantment that condemned her to immortality in this dreadful human body. This one day they bathed her in non-perfumed emollients and combed out her black of blackest hair to fall free, unadorned.
At the appointed time, the human attendants left her standing naked at the rim. In the arena below, the game waited, chosen for their strength and trained in physical combat. It amused her to see their expressions, not sure of the meaning of this naked woman, and then her transformation to panther.
Gold lit her eyes. The growl came from joy.
Who is the strongest, hummmm?
Written by Suzanne Driggs
Copyright © 2010 Suzanne Driggs
Her attention returned to the bundle of rich fabric, precious gems and metals quivering before the dais. “Your concerns are noted, Lord Enlad. Unfortunately, your plea, coming after game selection and training, does not sway our sympathy.”
Raising his face to the Empress, a death sentence in itself, the noble cried, “Take me! Take me! Spare my son!”
The imperial eyes narrowed and darkened to smoky amber. Her lips parted exposing deadly canines. “If he survives, your son will be returned to your family.” A nod signaled the Imperial guard to half drag, half carry Lord Enlad from the Presence.
Sabine lived for Harvest Game Day ever since the former Emperor, in his misguided love for her, commanded an enchantment that condemned her to immortality in this dreadful human body. This one day they bathed her in non-perfumed emollients and combed out her black of blackest hair to fall free, unadorned.
At the appointed time, the human attendants left her standing naked at the rim. In the arena below, the game waited, chosen for their strength and trained in physical combat. It amused her to see their expressions, not sure of the meaning of this naked woman, and then her transformation to panther.
Gold lit her eyes. The growl came from joy.
Who is the strongest, hummmm?
Written by Suzanne Driggs
Copyright © 2010 Suzanne Driggs
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Puzzled
This was published on Flashshot some time ago, I feel this is one of my personal best.
Puzzled
By Michelle Nielsen
He looked long at the cipher before him in the gloom, struggling to keep his frustration at bay. Tormented by confusion, he grimaced. Too late! He remembered just as his razor sharp teeth sliced into the scarred sides of his cheeks and nearly severed his tongue.
Enraged, he looked at the cipher's author.
Dracula cast the paper aside in disgust.
Damn Van Helsing!
Damn Sudoku!
Puzzled
By Michelle Nielsen
He looked long at the cipher before him in the gloom, struggling to keep his frustration at bay. Tormented by confusion, he grimaced. Too late! He remembered just as his razor sharp teeth sliced into the scarred sides of his cheeks and nearly severed his tongue.
Enraged, he looked at the cipher's author.
Dracula cast the paper aside in disgust.
Damn Van Helsing!
Damn Sudoku!
Where Wolf?
Actually wrote this while drinking...can't believe it came out comprehensible.
Where Wolf?
By Michelle Nielsen
Beth heard Harold in the bathroom, the sound unmistakable. She sighed, resolute now.
So much they had gone through to rid him of that horrible curse. Finally hunting down and killing the thing that caused it was a small mercy. Yet those few things remained unchanged.
They had to get rid of the family dog for its own sake, Harold's presence drove it mad. He still shed like fifty longhaired dachshunds, but she could live with that. It was the damned drinking from the toilet that would drive her to divorce.
Where Wolf?
By Michelle Nielsen
Beth heard Harold in the bathroom, the sound unmistakable. She sighed, resolute now.
So much they had gone through to rid him of that horrible curse. Finally hunting down and killing the thing that caused it was a small mercy. Yet those few things remained unchanged.
They had to get rid of the family dog for its own sake, Harold's presence drove it mad. He still shed like fifty longhaired dachshunds, but she could live with that. It was the damned drinking from the toilet that would drive her to divorce.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Pardon Me
Another of my Flashshot publications. Was posted March 5 and I think it's one of my personal favorites...there is too much potential with this one...question is, should I go with full length horror, or tone it down for a kid's story?
Pardon Me
by Michelle Nielsen
"Mama?" Her young son stood by her bed in footed pajamas, his teddy bear in hand.
"Yeah, baby?" she muttered in her sleep.
"The boogieman's under my bed again..."
"Tell Mr. Bear to eat him up..." she mumbled, not wanting to be disturbed.
The next morning she was startled to find bones under her son's bed. She swept the mess out and looked around trying to figure out what else was amiss. She noticed odd stains on the teddy bear's gold-furred belly and speculated that her son had tried to feed it ketchup again.
The teddy bear burped.
Pardon Me
by Michelle Nielsen
"Mama?" Her young son stood by her bed in footed pajamas, his teddy bear in hand.
"Yeah, baby?" she muttered in her sleep.
"The boogieman's under my bed again..."
"Tell Mr. Bear to eat him up..." she mumbled, not wanting to be disturbed.
The next morning she was startled to find bones under her son's bed. She swept the mess out and looked around trying to figure out what else was amiss. She noticed odd stains on the teddy bear's gold-furred belly and speculated that her son had tried to feed it ketchup again.
The teddy bear burped.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Stitch in Time
A micro story I had published in February on a literature e-zine called Flashshot. I've been told it bears resemblance to a certain Mel Brooks comedy.
Stitch in Time
Only one task out of four thousand completed!
Where is that wretch Igor? My creation is well-meaning but much too slow.
On top of everything else, there's that incessant banging on door...
I can't stop now! There's still so much to do!
No steps may be skipped or all will be ruined, including my reputation.
What now? Villagers are in the castle?
Tell them I've left! Tell them I'm sick, tell them the TRUTH! I've too much at stake!
Couldn't they possibly riot at my door some other time?
Like next Tuesday?
Stitch in Time
Only one task out of four thousand completed!
Where is that wretch Igor? My creation is well-meaning but much too slow.
On top of everything else, there's that incessant banging on door...
I can't stop now! There's still so much to do!
No steps may be skipped or all will be ruined, including my reputation.
What now? Villagers are in the castle?
Tell them I've left! Tell them I'm sick, tell them the TRUTH! I've too much at stake!
Couldn't they possibly riot at my door some other time?
Like next Tuesday?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)