LaughaholicWritings

This is just my writing adventures

[laughaholicwriting]

A Mother’s Gift

Sitting in this stuffy room makes me want to scream. I make sure I don’t touch a single finger to my pearls, and I keep my head high, showing no strain from the weight of my crown. My husband sits next to me, nodding and humming, keeping a casual air, while I turn every word over in my mind. Carefully picking each sentence, and speak only at the most significant points in the conversation. Even if I were born with royal blood, I would still work thrice as hard as my counterpart.

“Regarding the young prince, the public is thrilled to have something to fawn over, but we advise waiting until his first year to officially announce him as the heir to the crown.”

My eyes go to Lord Aerios, “For what reason?” I think I shock them because none of the men surrounding me seem to know what to say. My husband simply looks to me, then to the advisors, curiously. I silently hope he doesn’t have to remind them to answer to their queen.

One clears his throat, “Well, your majesty, the prince was born early, it would be safer to wait until we’re sure he’ll...survive.”

I feel a fire ignite in my chest. I stare into the eyes of each and every advisor in the room, rising from my seat, “Draw up the proper documents at once, announce the public that Prince Emyr, is their future king.”

“B-but your majesty-” Lord Aerios starts.

“I,” My voice was strong and it echoed throughout the grand room, ricocheting off every small man before me. “Have spoken. Not as someone who seeks council. Not as someone who is unsure of themselves. As someone who gives orders, and is listened to.” I watch them all. Waiting for the moment I have to be cruel. They all have witnessed it before, or at least, heard of it. I am kind until doubted, then I am a creature of wrath. “You may leave.”

I turn, not waiting for them to bow, and the guards are quick to open the doors. My heels click, and my silk robes billow behind me. I hear my husband's own shoes behind me and turn my head to the side to signal him next to me.

“Emyr?” He asks.

“It came to me the moment he opened his eyes.”

“Darling,” He holds my elbow so that I stop and look at him. “I should have talked to you first; Warned you that they were going to want to wait, but it is the wise thing to do.”

“It’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard,” I state. He opens his mouth, but I keep talking. “Emyr absorbed every increment of energy I had. He destroyed my body and came into the world silent. As if he did nothing at all. You heard the physicians, I’ll most likely never carry another child. He came because he will be great.”

My husband sighs and gazes into my fire. “If he has even a sliver of you in him, he’ll be the strongest of them all.” He leans down and grasps my hand, softly kissing it. Then he turns and continues down a different hall.

I watch him for a moment, then resume walking. Once I walk through countless marble halls and gold-plated doorways, I finally reach my destination. A guard bows and opens the doors, and a maid curtseys before scurrying away. I step into the room and pause at the cradle. Emyr lies bundled, so tiny I fear my arms will swallow him. But his chest moves steady, and his heart beats strong. 

I reach down and bring him to my chest. He wiggles slightly but is quick to relax, “My heart is your first lullaby. My lungs are the first crashing waves you’ll ever hear.” I move his head to rest in the crook of my elbow. “You knew what you were doing, didn’t you? Taking everything I had to give, so you’d never have to share.”

He only yawns. I run a finger down his cheek, “Very well, I need to show you something.”

I walk over to his balcony and step into the fresh air. The sound of bustling streets and shouting merchants can be heard beyond the castle walls. This wing towers tall enough to see the city, and the constant movement of it.

I look to Emyr again, his eyes are open and looking into mine, “One day, this will be yours. You can do whatever you like with it. Build it further up into the sky, burn it to the ground, I don’t care. It’s yours. Whatever you choose, you will be a sight to behold.”

Emyr closes his eyes again, silent as ever. I notice that the gold dust painting my cheeks and breasts has fallen onto him, making him shimmer. I smile and watch his small face, “My darling son, you will grow to be written in the history books. It won’t matter how outrageous the legends are, they will all be true.”

[laughaholicwriting]

Writing Prompt #1

Describe a “first day” in your life (first day of marriage, of school, etc.)

AN: So I hate writing about myself, thus I put a folklore/mythology twist to all the prompts in this book I have.

Deer Woman- sometimes known as the Deer Lady, is a spirit in various forms of Native American mythology that is primarily associated with fertility and love. Though primarily shown as a benign spirit, she is also shown to lure promiscuous men to their death.

Kindergarten. Roan knew it was an important year, and the very first day could very well layout the rest of her academic career. Her parents prepared her, though. She can read three grades above her level, solve simple multiplication problems (0s, 1s, 2s, 5s, and 10s are easy enough for even toddlers) Roan knew she was smart and could breeze through any test the teacher gives.

What she wasn’t prepared for, was being the only faun in her class. She knew that they were the only deer in the neighborhood, and perhaps that was the reason her parents took her to a park further than the one right around the corner, but she never thought it would be to avoid alienation. Just to play with kids who had more similar games.

Now, holding her mom’s hand, staring into Ms. Clement’s classroom, Roan was more aware of her four-legged bottom half, covered in light brown fur. She felt ridiculous for begging her mom to let her use hoof-shiner the night before, and shopping solely in the shirt section of the stores for back-to-school shopping.

“Be good, honey,” Her mom knelt her front legs and enveloped Roan into a tight hug. “Dad is gonna pick you up at four, okay?”

Roan hugs back tighter, “Okay.” Her mom hands her the small satchel Roan picked out just last week. It carries a few of her favorite books, a small doll, and a peanut butter sandwich along with some strawberries from their garden.

Her mom nudged her inside, and with a kiss goodbye, Roan was officially alone.

The class itself wasn’t bad. She could distract herself with singing the ABCs or drawing pictures of her family and friends. She was friendly to her table buddies, and they seemed to be okay with her, and lunch went off without a hitch. Recess was a nightmare. Roan didn’t know that playground equipment for faun was different from human. Her narrow hooves couldn’t climb up the bars, the slide was too slippery, and balancing on the swings was too difficult. 

Eventually, she settled in the sandbox and opted to dig holes and draw in the dirt with sticks. Her cheeks were bright red whenever she caught other students staring and whispering.

Back at her table, Roan made less of an effort to talk to the others. Her hooves hurt, and her wide nose wiggled with emotion. Her head hung low and she counted the seconds until she could go home.

Most kids were picked up around two, but a few lingered later. Playing with classroom toys, reading, running around. Roan still sat at her desk, doodling on scrap paper from a craft earlier.

She had a plan to beg her parents to send her to a different school. Even if it meant being further away, or waking up an hour earlier every morning. Or maybe she could convince them to do homeschooling or online school. Anything is better than feeling so far away and lonely in a room full of people.

“Can I sit with you?”

Roan looks up with wide eyes at a girl with pale skin, narrow eyes, and smooth black hair bobbed right at her shoulders. “Uh...yeah.”

The little girl sat down next to her, grabbing another spare paper, and a few markers. She silently drew a field, filling it with flowers and trees.

Roan tried to ignore her, but couldn’t help but stare.

“I can’t imagine having a Mystical Trait I couldn’t hide,” The girl comments.

“Huh?”

“You're a faun, right? Your gonna grow up to be a Deer Woman. Hey, are there Deer Men? Or are they called something else?”

Roan was extremely confused, “Um, my parents never really told me. My dad is also half deer, but I just call him Dad.”

She nods, “Makes sense. I don’t really know a lot about my species either.”

Roan gasps, “You have a Mystical Trait?!”

The girl nods, pulling her hair back to reveal gills sitting just below her ears, “I never like to pin my hair back because I don’t want other kids to make fun of me. I’m a Koi.”

“That’s so cool!” Roan beams. She’s never met a fish-type before.

The Koi giggles and holds out her hand, “I’m Erika.”

Roan takes her hand, feeling less alone, “My name’s Roan.”

----

AN: I hope you liked it. Below is a quick sketch I did of Roan when she’s older, I gave her a bunch of hair to avoid drawing her body and more facial details XD

[laughaholicwriting]

If Hephaestus Were Human

We all know the Greek Gods are known for fits of jealousy, rage, murder, unfair punishments, infidelity, and much more. What if they were punished? Born again into unknown bodies, stripped of their heritage, and had to walk the world alone? They still have their memories and knowledge, but weak mortals with no power can’t accomplish great deeds, right?

Hephaestus > Brenton

Hephaestus: God of Blacksmiths and Fire

Brenton: Name meaning “dweller near burnt land”

He never thought himself handsome. Not when he was a God, and not even now, as human, still cursed to cringe at his own reflection.

His parents always called him handsome, cute, stud…anything they thought parents ought to tell their kid with self-esteem issues. But having an eon of namecalling and stigmatism constantly lurking in the back of his mind, no words were sweet enough to affect his bitter mindset.

Another thing that never changed is his handiness. His dad was ecstatic that he picked up slack in the family-owned auto shop so easily. ‘I knew we were destined to get you.’

He knows too much about destiny.

“Brenton,” His mother called from her room. “Can you be a dear and open the windows for me before heading to the shop? It’s a nice day.”

“Sure thing,” He answered while getting up from the table to do as she asked. When he finished, he poured another cup of coffee (he’s always tired these days) He set his coffee down next to the pile of bills, and tapped his fingers next to them, staring at them as if his anger could rip them apart.

“You’d think disability reductions would help, huh?” His mom rolls in on her wheelchair and stops so she’s behind him. He feels her hand on his back, attempting to soothe him. “If we could manage on our own, you wouldn’t be working to the bone and still living with your parents at twenty-three.”

Brenton was quiet for a few moments, trying to feel every brush of his mom’s hand over his back, store it in his memory, “I’ve got the rest of my life to do what I want.”

What he didn’t say was that he didn’t really think about his future. He always pictured it staying exactly the way it is. Wake up, help Mom around the house, help Dad in the shop, go home, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Brenton was content with this. He figured that as long as his parents wanted his help—not that they’d admit to wanting it—he didn’t need to think about untraveled roads.

“I should probably get going,” Brenton grabs his mom’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “You rest, and when I get home I’ll help out with your pottery.”

Another form of income for them; with all the organic/all-natural fads happening, homemade decor popularized, too. His mom is able to bring in some extra money through her vases, but Brenton has a knack for pumping them out faster and his painting isn’t half bad either.

I’m good with my hands, if not anything else.

He puts his heavy boots on and heads to Cliff’s Auto Shop, just below their apartment.

“Son, you wanna go get us some burgers for lunch?” His dad grunted while messing with the engine.

“Sure.” Brenton wiped his hands on the rag and mentally noted where he left off with the car battery.

There’s a nice (and by nice, that means cheap) burger place just a block away. He looked at his reflection in the store windows he walked by and sighed. He tries not to let his looks bother him, but he really can’t help but feel hopeless.

He smiles at the clerk when he walks into the burger joint, “Hey, Don.”

Don looks up from the grill behind the counter, “Bren! The usual, I presume?”

“Yep,” Brenton shoves his hands in his pockets. “How’s Kate?”

“She’s good, responding well to the medicine.” Don smiles as he flips the meat.

“Good.” Brenton was never an avid conversationalist, but those who’ve known him since he was a kid don’t seem to mind or think him rude.

Soon enough, the burgers were ready and put in a bag. Brenton handed Don a five and bid him farewell. He held the warm bag of food at his side, not wanting to get grease from his clothes onto the bag. As he walked out, the bell on the door jingled. Only a few steps later, it jingled again. He looked back to see if it was Don letting him know he forgot something or has more news he didn’t tell Brenton.

There’s a woman. Someone who certainly doesn’t look like she belongs in that place. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt, with a white blouse. Her curly hair is pulled into an elegant bun and her dark skin is free from any dirt or grim.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” She gasps as her heels click up to him, and she’s struggling to catch her breath.

“Yes?” Brenton asks suspiciously, trying to think of any reason he would be in trouble.

She hands him a card, “I work for a modeling agency and I think you’d be interested in my offer.”

He looks at the card, Pyre Modeling, then he looks around for a camera crew. When that wasn’t found, he looks back at the woman. Catherine, according to the card.

“I can answer any questions you might have,” She supplies when he says nothing.

“What were you doing in that joint? You’d get fry grease all over your outfit.” He doesn’t try to sound demeaning, but he really only has one voice setting.

“Is it a crime to want lunch?” She asks with a raised brow. “Besides, I work in the building just over there.” She points to the tall building just behind the apartment complex across the street from Don’s.

“Didn’t know that was an agency.”

“There are other businesses there, too. We’re on the fourth floor.”

Brenton looks at the card once more and hands it back, “I gotta keep a roof over my parents’ heads. Can’t be messing around with this shit. Don’t know why you’d go looking for me anyway.”

He turns around and starts walking, but she runs ahead and turns to stop in front of him. “Are you kidding me? You’re beautiful!”

His eyes widen, “What?”

She shrugs, “Maybe not in the conventional, perfect Barbie Ken way, but you are beautiful.”

When he just stares, she grabs his hand and puts the card back, folding his finger over it. She doesn’t even comment on the black oil stuck under his nails, “Give me a call if you change your mind. We’re not looking for conventional.”

With that, she turns and walks away.

That evening, he was washing the clay from his hands at the kitchen sink. He couldn’t stop thinking about that woman and her words.

Him? Beautiful? No way.

He dries his hands and looks at the pile of bills still sitting on the kitchen table.

Brenton fishes his rarely-used phone from his back pocket and finds the card along with it. He leans out the doorway of the kitchen and makes sure his dad is passed out on the couch and his mom is holding his hand, rubbing her husband’s knuckles as she smiles at the TV.

He makes sure the number is correct and presses CALL. There are a few rings, and he’s afraid that it really was all a lie, like some kind of sick prank.

“Catherine Newman, with Pyre Agency.” She answers formally.

He’s silent a few moments, “You really think I could be a model?”

I’m doing this for my parents, he tells himself, If I’m successful, Mom and Dad won’t have to worry anymore.

But something people won’t tell you, is that it’s okay to make selfish decisions. It’s those decisions that make you happy, keep you alive.

No, it’s not just about staying alive. It’s about living.

All Modern Greek Stories