Hi guys, I'm an aspiring writer who has recently joined a discord bookclub. (I'm yet to do a proper intro on tumblr though)
It's called the Little Red Writing Hoods, this is a book club which also dabbles heavily in writing.
The club is run by @fleurtygurl and @joinourbookclub.
Meetings happen every sunday (18:30 GMT or 10:30PT), they will likely start happening through a voice channel in-server.
Monthly tasks (optional) include:
-> Prompt of the month (in case you'd like to wiggle your writing fingers)
-> Book of the month (we pick a book, we discuss it, we let chaos ensue)
There are forums to discuss wips and books (they don't need to be the monthly tasks).
It's very small, and everyone is very new to the whole dynamic, but it would be great if more people could join and we could help each other grow as writers and/or readers. Everything is very casual, but it has already helped me a lot (doing a prompt every sunday has made me write more than ever before),
Prompt: Write a piece based on a photograph. (Thank you @inkspellangel for the photo inspo ;) )
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing: 30 minutes
This is a piece in response to one of the prompts in our book club, Little Red Writing Hoods (@joinourbookclub).
tl;dr: Do I beta read my stuff? Is the earth flat?
I have always loved the sea, there has always been a call of the water to my very essence, that is how I had become a professional diver. I lie. I have become a diver to fulfill the stupid caprice of getting my late father’s approval. He is dead, has been so since I was seventeen, didn’t even send me to college. He couldn’t.
I swam nimbly under the old wreckage of an old ship. That wasn’t what I was here for; here, the same place where I had had an accident four months ago. There it was, my car, the lights… still on? It didn’t matter.
My flashlight caught an old familiar face. The lone wooden statue of a cellist, perpetually playing even after it had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Somehow it was terribly beautiful, between the wooden crevices and the slats created by its inexorable erosion there was new life, corals of every and each color, made for a beautiful net up to the musician’s knee, over the green algae that painted most of his suit and half of his face, and finding purchase on the cello’s base it confidently extended the colorful network up to the pegbox of the instrument. This very same statue had somehow been a personal god for me. Stupid, but so is most of hope, just a stupid little thought.
That fateful night the rain was unforgivable and unavoidable, such inclement weather had been my demise, that and sending the car over the guard rails and straight into the ocean. I couldn’t even process the moment, it just happened, one moment I was driving slowly through the road, the next I was underwater, no air inside the car, just water everywhere. Trying to remain calm and rational is a perfectly sound saying, but no one is either under the loom of death itself. I tried to take my seatbelt off, I couldn’t. I tried to break any of the windows next to me, I also couldn’t. I stupidly cried, or tried to, underwater. I remember looking at the only surviving photo of me and my dad together, it hung under the rearview mirror inside a keychain. We were smiling for the camera, ugly Christmas sweaters could be seen, we looked genuinely happy. The rest of the photos I had destroyed, childishly. Off in the distance, that was when I first made out another face, but as my brain was quickly being deprived of oxygen, I had actually thought it was a person, I had thought that I was dying and my dad was coming to get me.
A shimmer caught my eye, the keychain. Instead of going to my poor old car, I neared the statue. Hope was stupid, and yet… My hand hovered over the uncovered side of it. A gentle expression could be seen, where the algae hadn’t reached yet. Playing until the end, and even beyond, how fitting. I pulled my hand down. No need to touch it, wouldn’t feel a thing with all the gear that weighed me down as it was, at most I would disturb the little animals that hid in the coral, and even the ones that had managed to sneak inside of it and create a new home.
I finally approached the car and took the keychain out. That had been the sole reason to comeback here, even so, somehow, this had been far more than that. That statue was more than a hallucination now. It felt like a sign. Just like hope is idiotic, signs are the most illogical of nonfactual data. In my brain all of this felt like a reaffirmation, it felt like…
“All storms will pass, and there is beauty to be had everywhere.”
I tried to hold back the tears. Had my father ever said something like that? Yes, I believe so. He loved self help mottos, this sounded just like it. It was stupidly perfect.
Book Club meeting for the Little Red Writing Hoods server~
Task: Write a piece based on a photograph! (Ty @brilligbroilledbooks for the photo!)
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing 30 minutes
Note that I did not edit this at all, so you are really seeing what I write given 40 minutes on the clock.
CW: Blood and death.
@joinourbookclub -- Our server's tumblr!
The Red Swan
Swan swept herself into the air, and brushed against the wooden floor with her tiny steps. She glided across the stage and glistened against the hot spotlight. Her solo was going just as well as she had practiced in rehearsal.
When she raised her arms, she felt the audience stare at her body as if she was a spectacle to behold. Indeed she was. She spun round and round keeping her eyes fixated on the middle beam in the back of the auditorium. Finally, she gracefully collapsed.
The audience restrained from applauding because the scene was not over yet. Each audience member had seen this choreography again and again, they all knew the tragic fate of Odette, but something about the way Swan carried her weight from one end of the stage to the other made them all transfixed. She was beauty itself.
Her solo ended, and the other ballet performers flocked in. Mingo, Dove, and Crane, each had worked extremely hard to where they were. Each were experts, prima ballerinas, but only one of them, Swan, had gotten the lead part. In a romantic version of the world, they could have all been Odette. But this was not a romantic world, and only one of them could receive the love and admiration from the audience. And that person was Swan.
They encircled Swan, made sure to match her movements and accentuated her legs and arms so she looked more magnificent than she actually was. Mingo took to the left side, and Dove and Crane to the right. The three teased and tethered along the edge of Swan’s wingspan. And with a crescendo, they began to frolic until a staccato told them it was time to end their graceful movements. They moved rigidly making sure to make Swan stand out as the beautiful Odette. ‘It could have been any of us,’ they each thought to themselves. But the teacher had grown fond of Swan. He wouldn’t leave her alone. The three of them all witnessed his lovingly gaze at her, his sly remarks, and the way he kept her after sessions. ‘It couldn’t have been any of us,’they winced. ‘No. Only Swan could have put on a show as magnificent as this.’
The four moved in sync and breathed in the hot lights. Spinning and spinning, they danced. Spinning and Spinning. They danced until their hearts gave out. The crescendo reached its peak, the four ballerinas came forth to the middle of the stage - the scene was almost over. FLASH. The lights went out. The audience cheered, but Mingo, Dove, and Crane tried to see each other’s faces in the darkness. Where was Swan? They felt her absence, her towering figure missing and had collapsed to the ground.
The lights came back on. A woman screamed. Swan laid in a pool of her own blood. Her white feather dress soaked in red. Mingo looked at Dove, she was holding back a smile. Crane covered her mouth, she was about to laugh. She felt herself going insane from how her body decided to react. Mingo looked down at Swan’s face, and thought to herself, ‘Oh Swan, only you could have put on a show as magnificent as this.’
( CHALLENGE ) — write an epilogue for a pre existing book
word count ; 284
time ; 40 minutes
book ; twilight series
Fifty years of not feeling right passed before Renesmee made a choice–to leave, to change, to experience life in colours beyond polished white and the dark green of trees bordering the Cullen properties. She no longer wanted to hang from her father’s every word, to watch her mother’s besotted glances. Their love, forged to be eternal, did not have the space for Renesmee that they initially believed. So she left, and it was fine.
She chose New York, a cliche, and found an apartment where the cupboards hung off the hinges. Where the taps screamed. The floorboards creaked. The door to her bedroom didn’t close quite right. Renesmee loved it. Gave it purple paint and bookshelves, filled the windowsill with flowers. Each night she sat and watched the streets from the chair by her window, tea warm in her hands; eventually she decided that was something else she wanted.
The warmth of touch. Of life rushing by her.
Renesmee became Lily, a simple girl in ratty clothes, working the night shift at the local corner store. She smiled, bright, and didn’t care for her teeth, or the shine of her eyes. The Cullen’s had convinced her she was special, but she wasn’t. Or at least, not in the way they said she was. And being special meant little when Renesmee didn’t feel alive
Lily did, when an old woman clasped her hands, pressed each line of her palm into Lily’s smooth blemish free skin, and told her she was sweet. Sweet, like honey, sugar, things that were sticky on the tongue.
And the girl across the hall, with her overalls and the lingering scent of oil paint. In her bright eyes Lily was immortalised.
I chose Howl's Moving Castle, one of my favorite books by far! I had such a fun time writing this one :)
Note: we had 10 minutes prep and 40 minutes of writing time
Sophie never understood the fuss of a wedding. She supposed something so heartfelt did deserve some special attention. It was a miracle that Howl managed to find love after all. Though she still didn’t feel she deserved something big and grand like Howl was hoping for. He wanted them to wear the finest clothes and be wed in the most extravagant of places. Sophie, however, wanted something closer to her roots. Through some arduous bickering, they eventually agreed upon something quite fitting.
They’d be wed in the flower field among their friends and family. Martha talked with the Cesari to help make them a splendid chocolate cake. Fanny would help sew Sophie’s dress. (Howl insisted that he magic up his own, lest Sophie’s family line was just as bad with fixing clothes as her.) Michael sent invites to everyone they knew, including Howl’s family from Wales. They weren’t too thrilled with the idea of another world, but they were glad that he found someone who could tolerate him.
It was the day before the wedding and the hustle and bustle was upon them all. Decorations to be put up, food to be delivered, a priest to be found. Everyone was running hither and thither to complete the finishing touches. And while the hectic spree was going on outside, Fanny was helping Sophie get ready in the castle bathroom. Sophie sat on a stool in her long, ruffled, white dress staring into the mirror as Fanny brushed and braided her hair. Sophie could hardly believe who she was looking at. Not months before, she would’ve been looking at a misfortune girl, given up on making her own way. Now, she looks at the bold, beautiful young woman before her in reverence.
“Something the matter, dear?” Fanny pauses to ask. “You seem thoughtful.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sophie replied. “Just.. uncertain, that’s all.”
“Oh don’t worry! Those feelings will pass once you see your husband-to-be. In fact, when I was to marry your father, I…” Sophie drowned her speech with her own thoughts of Howl. She still couldn’t quite believe how he had been able to see her for who she was. Especially since she couldn’t even see herself in such a way.
‘My fortune really did turn around,’ she thought to herself.
Much sooner than she thought, it was time for Sophie to walk down the isle. When she opened the door, all eyes were upon her. She was able to catch a glimpse of Howl talking quite proudly with Michael. She thought perhaps he was gloating about how he didn’t feel nervous at all. (What a lie that would’ve been.) But when he turned to look, his expression turned to awe. He stood still, taking in a beauty he had never quite seen before.
Fanny took the honors of walking Sophie down the carpeted path amongst the tulips. When Sophie reached the altar, she was just as captivated by Howl. Trying to hide her nervousness, and ease Howl’s, she decided to banter. “What, no questions about how your outfit looks? Or comments about your hair?”
Howl eases into a smile. “I’m sorry dear, you seemed to have cast some sort of spell to make me speechless.”
Calcifer clears his throat and begins speaking. “Dearest friends, we are gathered here today to witness a miracle. The miracle of love, and how Sophie managed to worm her way into Howl’s heart (quite forcefully, might I add)...”
“Oh, skip to the end, Calcifer,” Howl said, waving him off without so much a glance.
Calcifer sighed. “Do you, Howell Jenkins, accept Sophie to be your lawfully-wedded witch?”
“I do,” Howl sighed with stars in his eyes.
“And do you, Sophie Hatter, accept Howell to be your lawfully-wedded wizard?”
Sophie gazed at Howl. She notices not only the excitement in his eyes, but the soul that was returned to him. She sees the heart she helped to free, the passionate, loyal, and caring heart she learned to love after everything. “...I do.”
“Then, by the power invested in me (by Miss Sophie), I now pronounce you husband and wife! For those averse to intimacy, look away now.” Howl took Sophie in his arms, dipped her down, and kissed her as she held his head in her hands. The crowd cheered for the couple, though they could not hear it. Their attention was drawn to each other yet again, feeling each other’s smiles and hands.
The after party was excellent. Market Chipping was decorated with lights, the streets were filled with music and dancing. The cake turned out a marvel, too! Then the time came for Sophie to toss the bouquet. She sent it flying behind her, and a group of girls scrambled for it. In the end, it was Martha who caught it, who blushed deeply glancing at Michael (who also grew red). The night was filled with joy. Everyone went on their merry ways home, and Sophie and Howl went on back to the castle to live on their happily-ever-after.
Book Club meeting for the Little Red Writing Hoods server~
Task: Write an epilogue to a pre-existing book. (Mine is Lord of the Flies by William Golding)
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing 40 minutes
CW: Lots of swear words
Note that I did not edit this at all, so you are really seeing what I write given 50 minutes on the clock.
Lord of the Flies: An Awkward Boat Ride
The orange sun colored with the flames of a burning jungle was setting, and the boys from the island made their way onto the boat. The Naval Officer was quick to notice the tension between all of them, but he didn’t pay too much mind, he simply thought of it as “boys just being boys;” they would get over all their issues eventually.
He noticed that two boys, Ralph and Jack had the most tension out of the group. So like the genius he was, he made them sit together on the boat. Surely, that would resolve all of their problems.
Ralph, who was wrapped in a blanket, glared at Jack. Jack still had the bodypaint when he tried to kill him, remembering that moment, Ralph scoffed.
“The fuck was that for?” Jack roared.
“Oh, I’m sorry ass-hat, your dumb face got in the way of my ocean view.”
Now provoked, Jack was thinking about getting up and throwing Ralph off the boat. But unfortunately, the Naval Officer was there keeping a close eye on them.
“Whatever,” Jack said, defeated. He looked over at what the other boys were doing. Sam and Eric were playing a game of chess. While Roger, the sick bastard, was playing with a dead fish. How did he manage to get that? They were only on the boat for twenty minutes? The whole time he was on the island, he never caught a single fish himself.
“You’re a real psychopath, you know that?” said Ralph. His words were like daggers, he was done being the nice kid. They were back heading towards civilization, he could insult Jack as much as he wanted! Because soon enough it wouldn’t even matter. “For God’s sake, you killed Piggy and Simon!”
“Actually…” Rogger popped in, “I killed Piggy with a boulder… and Simon… who knows what happened to that guy.”
“SEE I’M NOT THAT TERRIBLE!” Jack screamed.
“Rogger, what the fuck?” said Ralph. And before Ralph could question any further the boat rocked really hard from the crashing waves. Ralph ended up going overboard, and a small “yes!” could be heard from Jack.
Ralph was heading into the water head first. He could barely read out the letters, but he soon saw “U.S.S. SIMON” was the name of the boat. Simon. He didn’t deserve to die. And oh shit, this is not the time to be thinking about that, I’m gonna actually die! After this whole time of surviving on the island, I’m going to die from being thrown overboard!? Fuck!
As Ralph was cursing his unfortunate circumstances, he felt the water wrap around only his waist. Slowly, he was being lifted back up away from the ocean and was placed back onto the boat. THUMP!
When he looked at the other boys, they were staring at something behind him. He turned around, it was Simon! He came back from the dead! Except he wasn’t wearing the clothes he was wearing on the island, he was wearing a heavenly robe! And the air sparkled around him as he moved closer to the boys.
“Greetings fellow children, I have returned to see you all off back home.” Simon stood before all of them on the boat.
The boys were too stunned to speak. Only Sam and Eric gave Simon a thumbs up.
So off they were, all merry again. Until that night, the motor stopped working. The Naval Officer went to see what was wrong, but he screamed as he saw a ghost of a child wearing glasses by the boat.
“HAAHAH, GUESS WHOSE BACK TO HAUNT YE, ME PIGGY.”
The other boys woke up, Jack stomped down and screamed back.
“PISS THE FUCK OFF, PIGGY! IF YOU DON’T GET THIS BOAT TO WORK, THEN I’LL COME OVER THERE AND MAKE YOU DIE ALL OVER AGAIN!”
“Shut up, Piggy even I don’t want to deal with you… I just want to sleep” said Ralph.
The rest of the boys joined in and Piggy’s ghost whimpered and turned back on the motor. Even after death, he was a coward.
The next morning they finally arrived. The Naval officer brought the boys to his base and called the police to find the boys’ parents. After an hour, Jack’s mum arrived.
“My sweet baby! You’re alive!” She hugged and kissed him. The other boys looked at the two with deep disgust.
Ralph had to step in. He tapped Jack’s mum on the shoulder and began to furiously rant on how Jack is a terrible person, who needs to be locked in jail. He also went and described in great depth how Piggy was killed.
Jack’s mum grew angry. She looked at her son and slapped him across the face. Jack began to cry from the pain. After a few hours, all the boys’ parents and guardians arrived, but one boy was left. And that was Simon. The police station called the Naval Officier back telling him that Simon’s parents and family were nowhere to be found. Simon was content with this, but Jack’s mum had other plans. In the few hours she got to know the boy, she decided to adopt him.
“WHAT THE FUCK? I’M NOT LIVING WITH KNOCK-OFF JESUS!” Jack yelled.
“WELL TOO BAD JACK, YOU’RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT.” Said his mum. She kept saying how Simon was too good to not have as her son, and that he would set the bar for what Jack should strive to be. After going back and forth, Jack had no other option, but to agree. “Oh, and you’re going to be having playdates with all those other nice boys, you need some friends, sweetie.”
Jack rolled his eyes, the rest of his life would become a living hell. Jack’s mum and Simon skipped as they headed back home, and the three of them lived happily ever after, well maybe not for Jack.
Book Club meeting for the Little Red Writing Hoods server~
Task: Write an epilogue to a pre-existing book. (Mine is The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh. It's our book of the month for last month)
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing: 45 minutes
If you think you know stress, try planning a wedding with gods as your guests. Hyeri and Nari are constantly by my side, teaching me of the spirit realm’s traditions and picking out decorations. Shin takes care of the invitations as he is the one who knows all the gods and their houses. I don’t have to do much, but as the only human I feel all the weight on my shoulders.
On the morning of the wedding, Hyeri is the only one with me as Nari finalizes everything. The scene feels familiar, but the roles are reversed. Once it was I who dressed Hyeri up as a bride, now it is her turn to dress me.
“Are you nervous?” She asks as she strokes my hair.
“About marrying Shin? No. But the wedding? Absolutely. And then there’s the problem of me being human…”
“Shhh. Everything is going to be great. Listen; There was once a girl who was flung to her death in shiny robes and a painted face. She thought her life was over before she had the chance to live, but she woke up in a strange new place. In this place she had a duty to fulfill, even though she didn’t know anything about the world around her. Her duty was to marry the Sea God, or at least who she thought was the Sea God, but that was impossible. For he was never there. She spent her days in misery, knowing that she would really die this time if she could not fulfill her duty. But as the time limit drew near she came face to face with death. He had come early to take a peek at the soul he would be collecting. And she saw that he was sad. He knew how unfair her situation was, but there was nothing he could do. The God of Death asked the girl if she was scared of him, but she knew then that she wasn’t because death was kind. She had already accepted death once, why would there be fear in accepting it again?”
“The girl knew it was wrong to abandon her duty, but she couldn’t help but follow where her heart lured her. She spent her nights with the God of Death at the river of souls where they would talk and dance in the moonlight. Eventually her time came to an end, but the God of Death did not want to give her up. He asked the girl to marry him and she agreed. But there was only one problem. She was still human.”
“So what did she do?”
Hyeri smiles gently and sticks a pin through my hair. I look at the updo in the mirror in front of me. It is perfect.
“The god gave her a bit of his life and in doing so made her just as immortal as him.”
Hyeri rests her head on my shoulder. “You look so beautiful, Mina. The day is going to be perfect.”
Nari enters the room. “Everything is ready, it’s time to get out there, Mina.”
I take a deep breath as I stand. The movements make my skirts cascade around me. Nari takes one of my arms as Hyeri takes the other and they walk me to the start of the aisle before taking their places on the altar, leaving me with Mask, Dai, and Miki. Usually it’s the father who walks the bride down the aisle, but without a father here, I asked my great grandmother and grandfather to walk me.
I peek at the altar and my breath catches when I see Shin waiting for me there. Fat tears slip down my cheeks. This is really happening.
“You cry too much, Mina,” Dai says. Mask wipes my tears with her finger so as not to mess up the makeup that Hyeri put so much effort into.
“I can’t help it,” I say.
I look deep into the eyes of my beloved ancestors before saying, “Let’s go.”
Hyeri is right; everything is perfect. The wedding is outside and the scenery is beautiful. The trees bloom brilliantly with a little help from a fertility goddess. The water is still and a rainbow stretches over the sky, reminding me of the day I saved the spirit realm. I catch the eye of the Goddess of Moon and Memory in the audience and she even smiles at me. Nothing could be more perfect.
But of course there is one thing more perfect. Shin looks like the most beautiful thing in the whole universe in his lotus colored robes. My eyes fill with tears again as I come to stand in front of him.
Shin is holding something in his hand. I can’t see what it is, but that doesn’t matter to me. I can’t take my eyes off of his face as he begins his speech.
“Mina, you came into the spirit realm unexpectedly as a girl who was not chosen, but had a mission in her heart. And not only did you save us, but you touched all of our hearts with your kindness and strong will. I am glad that you were not a bride chosen for me so I could choose you, myself.”
Shin finally opens his hand to reveal what he was holding; a small, smooth pebble with a lotus etched into it. My heart skips a beat as I remember that stone I picked up for him so long ago.
“My soul belongs to you, Mina.”
Shin blows a breath onto the rock. It shimmers like someone coated it in glitter as he holds it out to me. I do not hesitate as I take the bit of his soul, but I do not expect it to feel so powerful. My whole body tingles and I begin to feel lighter, stronger, more whole.
A gasp pushes its way through my lips. Now I am the one shimmering. The crowd applauds at my transformation. But of course the moment is cut short when Nagmi starts calling for a party.
I dance the night away amongst the gods and goddesses and my new husband. This night is the end of my life of chasing after others and living in fear of gods who want me dead. My life has just begun.
Little Red Writing Hoods Book of the Month (September)
This month we are reading Children of the Alley or Children of Gebelawi by Naguib Mahfouz. This is a historical fiction novel that is heavily allegorical of the people and events intersecting in a specific alley in Cairo. Stay tuned for some updates on thoughts and quotes.
Prompt: Write about someone who is learning to recognize and take credit for their own achievements.
Time brainstorming: 10minutes
Writing Time: 30minutes
As always when I need to think up something quick, the infernal cave characters come to the rescue. :'D
It may not be complete but this time it was Crystal's turn to step in.
First day
Crystal
Five years of education should be enough to prepare this. And it might have been. Had they not asked her to teach the children about Aquila Riot. No amount of time would be enough to prepare her for that.
At the same time, she didn’t need an education to tell them about that event. She had been part of it.
“Good day! My name is Crystal and I will be your new history teacher this year.” Would today be both the first and last time she walked through the school doors? She hoped not.
“I have been asked to tell you about the Aquila Riot.”
There was sighs and protests from the kids. According to them they didn’t need a whole class to go over the event, since they already read about it last year.
“What can you tell us that they haven’t already told us last year?” A boy in the back asked.
A part of her didn’t want to tell them about her involvement. She had been one of the older kids at the time. But she also didn’t want to lie to them. “Is there something you want to know about it?”
Another boy sighed. “It’s only a story anyway. No way that those children could’ve just gotten up in smoke.”
“They didn’t go up in smoke. They were in the building all along.” She spoke before thinking it through.
“And how do you know?” The second boy asked.
“Because I was there.”
Even the kids that were talking with each other went quiet. This was it! They all stared at her.
She took a breath and prepared to take the harsh words they would throw her way. She was ready to leave.
“That’s so cool!” The boy in the back broke the silence. Soon the others followed and they drowned her in questions. Not malicious ones. No. Their questions stemmed from curiosity.
Was it really okay for her to not be shunned? Did her experience not make her a monster? She herself hadn’t participated in the beating of children. She hadn’t even known about it until right before Gikel turned up. But she had participated in the burning of orphanages. As well as the ‘rescuing’ of the children they held.
Her hand reached for the identification chain in her pocket.
Prompt: "Write a about someone who is learning to recognize and take credit for their own achievements".
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing: 30 minutes
This is a piece in response to one of the prompts in our book club, Little Red Writing Hoods (@joinourbookclub).
Charlotte has been working under Ludwig’s Maddening Ingenium Corporate as soon as she was freshly done with college. Poor thing got her first taste of the real world there. Long hours, a small pay, and a competitive team. Still, she found friends, and the small pay was a joy, the first piece of materialistic wealth that she could claim as solely hers.
Through the years she climbed the ranks steadily, yet, to this day, she doesn’t see herself as a creator, even if her creations are the ones that have kept the company afloat.
Ludwig the founding father, the “Maddening Ingenium”, was a beautiful mind truly, but like all beautiful minds he got surrounded by “yes man” and his genius was easily clouded. “Why don’t we just launch a new update on the cauldron?” — Yes, updating the same invention through the years is profitable, but not innovative in the slightest. These were the tasks that Charlotte was usually stuck with. “Oh, no one knows it better than you Charlotte. No one really knows how to make my genius flourish other than you.” — No, no one knew, and to this day Charlotte cursed the moment she showed Ludwig that she could be an asset, and not just any asset. She might be the only one that can actually understand the way the made his inventions and what course of action he would probably take.
“Here you go, Charlotte.”
Charlotte looked down to her desk. A new print from “Fable”, the local newspaper. The headline read “Ludwig’s Award Streak remains unbroken”, the photo accompanying it had their founder shaking hands and smiling widely. She couldn’t take it, and quickly threw it in the trash can under her desk.
“They didn’t get his right angle?” Amelia, Charlotte’s assistant, offered meekly, clearly feeling awkward and not knowing how to react.
“Not really, Amelia.” Charlotte said curtly.
Taking a deep breath, she stared at the haphazard mess in her desk and pressing her fingertips together she closed her eyes for a brief second.
“I’m sorry. Truly. It’s just… I’m tired.” Charlotte opened back her eyes, and looked on, not really seeing anything in front of her.
“That’s it, isn’t it? I’m just tired. Tired that we work as a corporation, as a team, but only one of us is the star player, the quarterback, the protagonist, right? How is that fair?” On the last question, Charlotte finally looked back at Amelia, who wasn’t sure of what to do, yet again.
“It isn’t fair. None of this is. Do you have any idea of how many stupid patents our genius has submitted only during the first three months of this year? Hundreds! Hundreds of useless patents that I had to sift through. And how many hours have I dedicated to them? How many of them did I have to mash with my own inventions to make them be just functional? Huh?”
Poor Amelia just looked on, mouth agape.
“And speaking of hours! Those aren’t just extra hours, those are my life, those are moments that I decided to let go of, to maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be finally seen, appreciated, validated.” Charlotte sighed, put her hands flatly on her desk and got up unceremoniously.
“Hmmm, Charlotte?”
“You know, I can make things, invent things. I’ve done it, before. I’ve created and submitted, and…” Charlotte’s green eyes followed the birds flying without a care in the window in front of her, they did majestic dives and acrobatic circles, and some of them flew around the billboard with a gigantic ad that read “Think different”, a colorful cauldron by its’ side.
“They haven’t chosen one of my patents.” Charlotte set her eyes back on poor Amelia that was just more confused with each passing minute. “They have actively chosen to maintain the ego of their inventor over getting one of my creations done, over getting my name on one of their products.”
“My problem, Amelia, is not that I have lost moments with my family, it’s not that I don’t have husband or kids…” — Charlotte stepped to the side of her desk, now facing Amelia, that had stood right in front of her office’s door — my problem is that they do not let me create. And isn’t that exactly why we are working for them?”
“But Charlotte…” —Amelia tried to measure her words as best as she could — “It’s all the fixing that you do that has kept us going on, you ought to know that.” Amelia tried to meet Charlotte’s gaze as best as she could.
“I do.” Charlotte nodded as if to reinforce her sentiment. She picked up her bag and slipped it on her shoulder. “I do, and I’m done fixing. I’m going to do, to make, to create. Not just fix somebody else’s mess, even if that’s a gift onto itself.”
Charlotte squeezed Amelia’s shoulder lightly, as she passed through her and left her small office.
Ludwig’s Maddening Ingenium Corporate rebranded as Maddening Emporium. They continued to attract the masses and to resell the same products that Ludwig had made so famous.
Charlotte left and never came, and has patented her first invention that is set to revolutionize the way the people of Fable use their mirrors.
Today's prompt was: Write about someone who is learning to recognize and take credit for their own achievements.
I'm not gonna lie, this one hit me so hard in the C-PTSD that I couldn't even apply this to any of my WIPs or create a scenario around it. Instead, I just wrote about myself.
Brainstorming: 10 minutes
Writing: 30 minutes
Word count: 407
TW: mentions of narcissism, gaslighting, parentification, traumatizing events
I’ve always been the caretaker, the giver, the one to prioritize the many over myself. I have trained myself to mask my emotions and only react to the situation pragmatically. I can quickly analyze the ever growing list of choices that make up Life’s Butterfly Effect and choose the path that leads to the best possible outcome. I’m The Mom Friend, The Void, The Therapist, The Virgo, The Supply.
I was raised by a narcissist. It took until I was 15 years old to realize something wasn’t right. It took another 5 years for me to get out. Then, another 5 years passed before I could actually process what I went through healthily. I was never rewarded for the good things I achieved; those were expected, if not required, of me. One misstep in the wrong direction often would lead to days, weeks, or years of constant berating. I couldn’t make mistakes, I knew they would be viewed as purposeful attempts to anger my mother.
It’s been just over a year since I went no-contact with my mother. In that time, I’ve been able to work on myself and focus on my family. I wrote a book about my experiences. It was the first creative work I had completed in over a decade. I’ve reconnected with my family, not only to get to know them, but to also learn the truth behind so many other situations. I’ve rebuilt myself into someone I’m entirely happy existing as. It’s not easy, especially given the broken spirit I started with. Years of therapy, medications, self reflection; days where all I could do is cry (or worse, days I couldn’t cry); all the time I spent self reflecting on myself.
“You do the best with the information that you have.” Even though most of the information I used to operate from was a lie, I still believe I made the best choice in every horrible situation I faced. I graduated college twice while still under the thumb of constant negging and oppression. I found real, unconditional love when I had no idea what that looked like. I made the choice to leave my mother’s house and I did so well for myself that moving back there was never an option. It didn’t need to be, because I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I know that now, and I do my best everyday to remind myself of that truth.
I guess you can consider the amount of time we have to plan less than a month. We only have our lunches and an hour after school, after all. But there are exactly thirty days until homecoming, which has to be perfect because it’s our senior year. We have no more chances after this.
I sit next to Sandra and Alyssa during our lunch meeting today. The student council room is really just our English teacher’s classroom, but we make it work. There are eleven other students here, all with the same goal, but varying ideas. We’ve been split into smaller groups to make things easier. I’m glad Sandra volunteered me and Alyssa for the decorations team. Catering and tickets seem much harder.
I watch them as they scribble down ideas. They are masters at student council work, having done it for all three years before this one. This is my first year in the council. They convinced me by saying it was our last year in high school so I should do something exhilarating. This is exhilarating, knowing I’m impacting the rest of the school. I’m starting to get more comfortable too when I see their ideas: a red carpet to walk in on, black and red balloons on each table. I’m just itching to be a part of the planning.
“What about a photobooth with props?” I suggest.
“Hmm,” Sandra thinks as she tilts her chin. “I don’t think we have the budget for that.”
“Oh…”
I don’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. I don’t think I’m meant for this, after all.
27 days.
We reconvene with the rest of the council after the weekend. I try to stay focused as Sandra lists off the ideas she and Alyssa came up with. Turns out I don’t have to try so hard. I snap to attention after I hear Sandra propose a photobooth. And what’s more? Everyone loves the idea. They all shout out different ways we can make it work with our budget. So why did Sandra shoot it down initially? I give her the benefit of the doubt, telling myself that she had time to think it through over the weekend. That must be it, but I just wish she would say that it was my idea. But maybe I’m just being selfish.
23 days.
Sandra, Alyssa, and I go shopping for photobooth props and we have no idea what we’re looking for. We’re in a party store and find the usual: hats, boas, and fake mustaches.
“We need something…more,” says Alyssa.
Sandra nods. “Exactly what I was just thinking.”
I walk through the ideas as they talk, investigating what else the store has. My eyes catch on LED strings. Something deep inside of me tells me that this is what we’ve been looking for.
I bring the strings back to my friends and show them how we can loop them through the boas or around the brim of the hats for some glowing pictures. Sandra wastes no time plucking them from my fingers and taking them to check out. I try not to smile too hard. I did it. I had a great idea for the student council.
That is until Sandra tells the whole council the next day the story of how she found the LEDs and knew they were perfect. My heart squeezes in my chest and I can’t stay in this too small room anymore. I don’t go far. Just outside the door where I can breathe for a few minutes. Little do I know that Bailey, another student council member, follows me out.
“Are you okay?” She asks.
I nod my head and say yes, but that doesn’t fool her.
“Then why are you out here?”
“I just…feel like I’m not helping you guys.”
I consider keeping it at that, but she sits down next to me and everything starts spilling out. I expect her to tell me that I’m being too sensitive, but instead she tells me to tell her some of my ideas. So I do. Together we make a plan to put them into motion.
Book Club meeting for the Little Red Writing Hoods server~
Task: Write a story based on a photograph!
For today's meeting we sent a photo to another member for them to write a story on. @joinourbookclub sent me the picture above!
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing 30 minutes
I've never written anything like this before and needed an extra like 15 minutes to finish it but here you go!
Ashe steps lightly over the fallen leaves of the forest. Her temper, though well controlled, is still enough to warm the space around her and possibly cause a blaze. She focuses her mind to remember her destination and sashays her way around trees and brush. She knows this path well as she’s traveled it time and time again to visit Juniper. She frets over showing up at an inconvenient time. Usually she’ll send a messenger ahead so Juniper knows to expect her. Other times she whispered her letters into the babbling brook or the cool summer’s breeze to carry her words along. Nevertheless, today’s events left no time for forewarning.
Ashe approaches a lake surrounded by weeping willow trees. She takes a moment to observe how still everything seems to be. The pit in her stomach reminds her to keep moving. Walking parallel to the bank of the shore, Ashe lazily trails her hands through the willows damp tendrils. She hums to herself a well rehearsed tune while doing so waiting for just the right tree to hear her call.
Just ahead, a willow parts her leaves like curtains to reveal Juniper’s alcove. Ashe strides a bit too quickly through the portal and trips over a slightly exposed root. She quickly turns to apologize to the willow before hastily walking to Juniper’s front gate.
Ashe see’s Juniper just on the other side of her fence, tending to her small flower garden. As Ashe approaches, Juniper see’s her out of her periphery and stands to open the gate. Not a moment later Ashe runs through the gate and directly into Juniper’s arms and begins to sob.
Juniper holds Ashe tight against her chest, allowing a few moments to pass to allow Ashe to mellow. Juniper pulls away and looks Ashe in the eyes. She uses a tender hand to wipe away Ashe’s tears.
“What happened?” Juniper whispers.
“Juniper my parents they–,” Ashe coughs as another wave of sobbing tries to overcome her, “We got into an argument. They threatened my throne!”
“What? Why?” Juniper’s voice cracks and the earth beneath them quakes ever so slightly.
Ashe covers her mouth with one hand as if to keep her words inside her, “They want an heir.” Juniper stands rock solid. She starts connecting the dots as to why Ashe came unannounced. Juniper grabs both of Ashe’s hands and pulls them close to her chest.
“If they know you came here, you will be exiled.” Juniper’s voice barely comes as a whisper now. Even inside her alcove, there are ears everywhere. Ashe, still trying to compose herself, lets out a half giggle. What Juniper said wasn’t funny, but just the thought the Juniper thinks Ashe cares about her place in the castle made her laugh.
“If you offer me refuge, they will cast you out as well.” Ashe coos through a smirk. Juniper smiles back and kisses the middle point between Ashe’s hands.
“Indeed,” whispers the wind. Ashe and Juniper look up and see Nubia resting against the fence post. Both girls relax into relief. “Disobeying royalty, at best, is worth a charge of treason. I’m sure you know what the worst case scenario is, Ashe.”
Ashe nods solemnly, training her gaze to the ground. “Where could we go? How could we find a place where we wouldn’t be found?” Ashe swings her gaze between Juniper and Nubia, all three nymphs lost in thought.
Nubia snaps her fingers in triumph. Leaving her place at the fence, she grabs both Juniper and Ashe by the forearms and leads them to the alcove’s exit. Nubia pulls the girls toward the lake and kneels next to the rising tide.
“Coral? Are you there?” Nubia asks her reflection. The moments pass by all to slow without a response. Juniper and Ashe share a concerned look. Nubia reaches her hand just below the surface and assists Coral from the water. Juniper and Ashe breathe a sigh of relief.
Coral takes one look at the three girls and chuckles. “I’m supposing it’s time then?” She asks while putting her hand on her hip.
“We don’t know where we can go. There aren’t many places that have mortals that look like we do,” Nubia explains.
Coral thinks for a moment, her face slowly falling into unsureness. “Would you be willing to appear mortal?”
“You know as well as all of us that we can’t do that,” Juniper snaps.
“Well, that’s not necessarily true,” Ashe says, drawing the attention of the other three girls. “We can forfeit our immortality.” None of the girls respond. Coral nods her head slowly, already understanding the gravity of the situation. Juniper’s face swings between several phases of grief.
“Fine, I’ll do it if Ashe does it,” Nubia declares sternly. “If it means we can all stay together, I’d rather have one life with all of you than an eternity without love.” Ashe moves to grab Nubia’s hand, pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek. Coral stands behind Ashe and Nubia and hugs them around the neck. Juniper gazes longingly back at the entrance to her alcove. She releases a sigh and turns back to their girlfriends. She smiles and joins the group hug.
This week, my writer friends and I did a picture prompt challenge. I was given my prompt by the lovely @fleurtygurl
The Quest for Knowledge
“Come on Val,” said a raccoon, running ahead of his sister. “We’re almost there! I can see the peak from here!”
“Slow down Franco!” a second raccoon shouted. “I can’t run as fast as you.”
The siblings had been traveling for days to the sacred mountain top above their community. They were on their way to speak with the Almighty Raccoon God, Melon, to find the information they have been seeking. For centuries, raccoon kind has been foraging for their food. With the changing times, less and less food has been available out in the wilds. More and more have they ended up scavenging for scraps amongst the humans. More and more have they been run off by humans, dogs, and cars.
There had been a myth among their gaze (the name for a group of raccoons) of an old raccoon who had ascended to the heavens to become a god. One who lived among the humans, learned their ways of trash making. With his knowledge, his mind arose after death, so others may seek this knowledge. Never will they have to depend on the fragile trust of humans, but form their own ways, their own destinies.
The siblings finally approached the peak. They looked out into the mountainous valley. The sky began to change its hue. The lake burned with the same sky fire. The sun began to return to its bed between the mountains.
“Do you think he’ll answer?” asked Valerie.
“Of course he will!” answered Franco. “He has to, I just know it!”
“What do we even do?”
“It’s simple. We’ll do what that one human does outside his house every morning. We raise our hands like this, look to the sky, and start saying what we want. OH GREAT TRASH GOD! OH HOLIEST OF-”
“Do you realize how silly you look?!”
“Oh come on, it’s worth a shot. We came all this way, didn’t we?”
Valerie sighed. “Alright, alright.”
And so, the two began praying, asking the god for advice, asking questions. How can we find better food? Could you please provide for our families? What should we do? The siblings stopped and waited. After a while, nothing seemed to happen. They began to crouch back down again, losing hope. Then, appearing from the sky, an apparition appeared. The image of a large raccoon sat above them. “My dear children,” it spoke.
“SEE?! I told you!!” Franco jumped around in joy.
The voice continued speaking. “You need not worry any longer, for I have the answers you have sought.”
“Oh please, Mister Melon God,” Valerie said. “How do we find food without getting hurt?”
“The answer is simple, my child. To find food, you must learn to make it yourself. Find where it comes from.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fruits come from plants, and plants from seeds. Seeds need time to grow before bearing the most delicious fruit. Animals, such as fish and mice, come from other animals. Know where they reside, let them grow too, before the harvest.”
“Oh thank you, great Raccoon God!” Both the raccoons exclaimed. “Praise be the mighty Melon!!” The siblings lifted their hands in worship. The apparition blessed them before vanishing off into the heavens once more. The siblings slept on the peak, restless to bring their new knowledge to their gaze.
Book Club meeting for the Little Red Writing Hoods server~
Task: Write a story based on a photograph!
For today's meeting we sent a photo to another member for them to write a story on. @biron-ore sent me the picture above!
Time brainstorming: 10 minutes
Time writing 30 minutes
Note that I did not edit this at all, so you are really seeing what I write given 40 minutes on the clock.
TW: Slight body horror and death
The Plague Doctor’s child
Dreary fog loomed over the country of Ecnarf. It used to be filled with golden buildings that sprung up into the clouds, but all that’s left of that nostalgic image are the yellow-speckled roads covered in black mud. The only noise that could be heard was people screaming from the pain caused by a mysterious plague. A plague that slowly distorted their faces before they could no longer take in any oxygen from their noses or mouths. The city of Sirap was no different.
Dr. P was sent to eliminate those in Sirap. Being part of the Nightshade League, he along with all the other Plague Doctors, was responsible for handling those affected by the disease. At first, the Nightshade League tried saving the victims, but to no avail, their efforts were futile. Opening up their airways only caused the victims’ bodies to distort as well. The only peaceful solution was to kill them.
Dr. P thudded through the black mud and investigated the first house. There was a young couple. He could only assume the two were relieved to see him because once he opened the creaky door their heads swung in his direction and they opened up their arms as if to embrace him; as if to embrace death itself. With one swift motion, both of their heads lay against their laps. The only effective method to stop the spread was decapitation.
“I was meant to save people,” sighed Dr. P. “Not kill them.”
He continued his day’s work until night fell.
Morning light came in through the mucky smog of the city and woke up Dr. P. Despite his heavy mask it was still easy to detect if the sun had risen or not. Yesterday he had worked his way through 120 people, and today he would try and shoot higher. The town was not that big, only 2,000 in population. If he worked hard he could save everyone by the end of the week.
Save?
Kill?
Oh, what difference does it make?
On the last day, after 1899 people, Dr. P heard a faint cry. It was a child’s cry no older than 2 or 3. Dr. P lied to himself that the more he does his job the easier it gets. But his heart kept aching at what he had to do: be a savior.
He came across the child in a cradle, he had already saved their parents. They would be joining them soon too. Except something was wrong. Or rather, right?
The child was crying yes, but in spite of their crooked jaw and twisted face, it wasn’t in pain. It was crying out of hunger. Curious, Dr. P gave the child some milk that was left in the kitchen. The child drank and stopped crying, they began to giggle and then opened up their tiny arms to be picked up.
Dr. P held the child in his arms.
“You poor thing,” he swayed the child back and forth, “you’re all alone now.”
The child continued to giggle, their laughter was so contagious, Dr. P found himself chuckling as well.
He couldn’t kill them. He just couldn’t.
But the Nightshade League! It had strict orders to save, no eliminate, everyone in the country, with no exception.
But he had to rescue this child! This child wasn’t in pain, they must have held the key to curing this awful plague. Perhaps, there really was hope. Dr. P had given up long ago when his sister died visiting Ecanrf last spring. Has it really been that long since this whole thing started? How dreadful.
Dr. P looked at the giggling child once more, the child had opened their jagged mouth and smiled. Dr. P decided to break the oath he took from the Nightshade League.
He exited the house, child in arm, and stepped into the afternoon sun, walked past the iron gate, and carried onto the next house.
They say that the woods were once wild, bursting with heartless creatures who slashed their claws and snapped their jaws. Humans, the fools that we are, would try to gain glory by taking down a beast, but to no avail. Eventually we learned to stay away and for a long time, things were as they should be. The beasts continued to maim and kill, but kept it in the woods. The humans remained safe by the coast as our civilization grew.
That is until the day a beast left the woods. A frightening thing it was with fur as black as night and horns as sharp as knives protruding from its head. The beast trailed blood where it lurked through the town. Whether it was its own blood or what it inflicted on another beast we still don’t know. The beast made its home on the edge of town, if you could call the sad pile of sticks a home. But as the town left the beast to its own devices, too frightened to approach it, the home grew. Each morning the beast left town and each evening it returned with seeds. A garden began to sprout behind the pile of sticks and the beast was content to take care of it.
The humans, on the other hand, were not content. They thought, “how dare this creature spend centuries terrorizing us, then invade our home and take resources that should be ours?” So they met one morning while the beast was gone and devised a plan. Some humans went down to the coast to bring back buckets of water to have at the ready. Others made shields out of bark. It didn’t offer much protection against a fabled beast, but it was what they had. Finally, the rest lit their torches and waited for the beast to return.
The beast came back that evening, unassuming as ever. It laid down on its bed of sticks and when its breathing was deep and its body still, the humans set fire to the sticks. The fire spread fast, consuming the plants the beast worked so hard to grow and the beast itself. Its cries echoed through the night and the smell of cooked meat filled the air. The humans rejoiced as the beast fled and followed it to the ocean. They were not done yet. They yanked the weakened beast from the water and as a team dragged it back to the woods. The beast did not fight back, it only whimpered along the way. The humans traveled farther into the woods than they had in centuries, but regretted their decision once they heard other beasts stalking around them. They turned to leave, but were frightened into place when a beast as large as the mountains appeared. But the beast was not interested in them. No, its first instinct was to attack the wounded beast.
Blood was drawn and the small beast wailed, barely clinging on to life. It ran as best as its wounded body could, but ultimately collapsed underneath the redwood trees. You would think the story ends here, but there are forces in this world that prevail even in the hardest of times. One of those forces is kindness. The plants remembered how kind the beast was to them so they grew and grew until they wrapped around it in a layer of protection. The other beast tried to get through, but the plants fired back with poisons and thorns. The beast ran off and any other beast that tried to attack in the coming years. The plants wouldn’t let the humans through either, but when they looked into the beast’s eyes they understood. They could see the pain the beast was put through. Enough pain from the other beasts to leave its home. Enough pain from the humans to want to close its eyes and sleep forever. But more importantly than the pain, they could see the beast’s gentle heart. The humans shed tears for the beast as it slept and went back every few years to check on it.
Fathers, sons, grandsons, and great grandsons all visited the beast. It grew in its sleep until it reached the top of the redwood it originally laid beneath and clovers sprouted from its head, but even after the changes in appearance and time it was not forgotten. The other beasts gradually died off, torn to shreds by their own kind. The humans reflected on them, thinking that they were not so different after all, both foolish by nature. After 1000 years only one beast remained.
I can hear your hesitancy to believe. You’ve been to the now peaceful woods and have never seen this giant beast. That’s because after 1000 years, it awoke. No one was there to see its eyes open for the first time in a millennium or the plants retract to set it free, but it was impossible to miss it stand and march away. We don’t know where the beast went, but we can feel that it is once again content. It must be roaming the world, sprouting gardens wherever it goes. A beautiful thing that will never come to harm again.
Prompt: "sleeping during danger" + "a place where it is comfortable to be alone."
Time brainstorming: Ten minutes
Time writing: 30 minutes
This is a piece in response to one of the prompts in our book club, Little Red Writing Hoods (@joinourbookclub), these in particular were provided by @chaoticstupidbird.
***
Believing in anything other than what you can perceive is for the people that can afford the luxury of an active imagination, or so Miriam thought.
Being born and raised in a small town had some perks, but they were very difficult to see, especially once you turned the age that people are meant to find themselves. Being a farmer, a shepherd, a priest, or a smith; that was it. A vast list, wasn’t it? Or better yet, the list of everything Miriam knew she did not want to be. Then again, anything that would take her away from the village sounded like a dream. Yes, there were perks to living on a village, and they all disappeared once you were old enough to start scorning them. Tight knit community? No, a gossip mafia ready to sink their teeth into the newest hit piece. And anything and everything will do. No qualms, no sympathy; no thoughts, head empty. And how much did Miriam hate that.
Everything was about to change though; Miriam was going to the city and she was going to be employed. More than that, Miriam was going to end the evil that threatened the villagers time and time again. She was going to become a ranger and she was going to make the city folk see that they were losing more by letting bandits run amuck in the forest that connected her village and the city.
One can hate where they live and still want to protect every single person in there. Someway, somehow, they were all they had, no one else really cared, no one else really saw what they went through. Yes, they were a poor village, but they still sold livestock and provisions to the city, which was the only way they weathered through the seasons. But that mattered little, as long as they were fed, it didn’t really matter the poor peasants that feared the crossing through the woods so much that a mass was done every and each time they had to go through such endeavor. Or the mass that had to be made when they would be found dead, their goods completely pillaged, whatever small gold jewelry they had on them taken.
Miriam snapped from her whirlwind of thoughts. She had to be alert. She was now one of the poor villagers crossing that forest. She had chosen the dead of night to leave her village. No mass, no witnesses, no one to send her off. She had lost her parents very early on and had been raised by a widowed farmer that had put her to work as soon as she could lift things. She was thankful and resentful all in equal amounts. Care and a rough education made it difficult for her to attach herself to anything, and yet she still did. She still cared for that god forsaken village. Those buildings, those people, they had fed her, and taught her, and loved her. Maybe not her caretaker, but plenty of others had gone out of their way for her to have bits and pieces of childhood. Toys, clothes, friends, food, kisses and hugs. Not all was bad bleary and baleful.
Walking through a thick wood, where the leaves aren’t green but pitch darkness, a blanket ready to envelop you, was a challenge. She had packed light, the crossing was three days, this was her second night, she had only packed enough food and drink and planned each of her stops. This was the dead last, and then the city.
There it was, an old friend. Grey stones gleamed silver under the moonlight, a restful benevolent face with closed eyes and clasped hands can be seen, carved out of those stones, as if it were the helm statue of a ship ready to fair against high tides. A cloak hides the figures’ hair and body, only their face and hands are visible, they look like they are either sleeping the sleep of the just or are deep in prayer; in such a state that one would not dare to break either their peace or their focus. This was her lighthouse in the middle of a dark ruthless ocean.
When Miriam was around nine years old and started to understand the feeling of being slighted, that was when she started escaping. She would escape her work, at first by hiding in places around the farm, small places that only she could fit in. Yet, still, she was found. When she got bolder, she started venturing into the woods, and one day, she found this place. An abandoned monument, a church perhaps, where a beautiful statue had been carved out. Nature had claimed most of the building, even when she was younger, it hadn’t been on a much better state. A tree had decided to destroy part of the eastern wall, growing through the stone and knocking out everything in its’ way, roots invading tiled floor, branches meandering through old rooms and breaking free through glass; it was so tall now that its’ top competed in height with the roof, a roof that was collapsing in on itself. None of the windows had survived, all were broken and shattered, stories in stained glass interrupted or completely missing entire scenes. Somehow, the broken windows by the sculpture, almost lent it an air of quiet suffering, a resigned patience, a calm dignified acceptance; nature was taking what man had abandoned, and that was the way things were.
Miriam shone her little lantern on the statue’s face. She had never been a believer, she believed in herself, what she could do, what she could change. Everything else was for the wishful thinkers, for the ones that carried a gleam in their eyes or a shortage of intelligence between their ears, or maybe just both. She had been abandoned too, nature hadn’t claimed her, but sometimes she thought that was exactly why her mind never tarried itself in delusions of hope. Hope was needed, she was crossing this forest in the hopes of changing her future, but too much of it was poison and downright foolhardy.
Only nature’s noises could be heard: crickets, cicadas, faraway rushing water, a gentle cacophony, all but interrupted as Miriam simmered down the flame inside her lantern. She adjusted her cape, letting her hood fall down. Hand pressing down on one of the enormous wooden doors, she gently pushed it avoiding the splinters jutting through most of its’ expanse. The metal hinges protested throughout the empty hall, the sound petering through the exposed eastern wall.
Everything was the same, pretty geometric tilling littered with leaves, and an altar at the end, stone slab table with visible deep cracks and crevices and the walls behind it with hollowed spaces meant to house statues that have been taken away and are now being inhabited by dust, animals or invading plants. Miriam walked to the altar and set up her bedroll behind the table, if anyone walked in they wouldn’t see her, it was also a vantage point for her as she could watch the whole room from there and the altar walls would protect her from the weather outside, as they formed a small half circle alcove. She hoped she would have a dreamless sleep and that she would wake up early in the morning.
Miriam’s wish wasn’t granted. She dreamt, fitfully. In the limbo between sleep and wakefulness she heard noises. Metal groaning, slow steps, a mindless unintelligible faraway conversation. She could hear them approaching, they were now within earshot.
“You know what is better than stealing, Jamie?” a voice boomed off of… stone?
“Not getting caught.” Jamie, Miriam guessed, answered with an apathetic tone.
A few more steps echoed through the tiled floor. How strange, no images for her dream, only life like noises and voices.
“Better than stealing, my boy–” sounds of fabric friction could be faintly heard, and then patting “–is to plan to steal something and finding something else even more valuable.”
“Aye, boss.”
“Aye!”
Two other goons interjected.
Scraping. A heavy object being set down.
When was the last night Miriam truly slept through? Even the night before she left the village, she couldn’t truly rest making sure all preparations were correct, once, twice, thrice…
The sun filtered in through the broken windows and the destroyed wall. A girl slept soundly, chest moving rhythmically, a serene expression of someone who had rested well. As the sun moved slowly through the morning sky, a glint of metal now reflected its’ light onto the spacious atrium.
Miriam’s story of the day she found the lost idol that the city mayor had so scrupulously sent to be made by one of the biggest minds of their generation, a true artiste, was a tale of draconian enemies and the highest cunning that could be employed. A tale that earned her employment as captain of the forest rangers and a squadron to train and upkeep the security of the trading routes that were finally seen as precious to the city.
Better than stealing, is to find the rightful owners and spinning a tale for anyone with half a mind to imagine silly things here and there. Better than imagining, is to sometimes one hope to be at the right place under the right circumstances and be given a little hand with their fate.
