Hero

No one wanted to be at the Citadel that dark Thursday but there was no choice in the matter. It could have been a good morning but the wind was a little too brisk and the ice a touch too slick. Luckily, it did not take too long to seat everyone and soon the class was quietly anticipating the start of the play. Most of the children snuggled deep down in their jackets, breathing on their hands to get some feeling back in them.
Miss Callighan furrowed her brows glancing down the row at her class. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her body. She quietly wondered to herself as to why it was so cold in the theatre. Just as the thought crossed her mind she felt a wave of heat flood the room. They had finally turned the furnace on.
In a few short moments the play began. It was good but it was not the best rendition of Romeo and Juliet she had ever seen. Again Miss Callighan glanced down the row. Some of the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves, while a couple, she noticed, had fallen asleep. Maybe she should not have taken the entire English class on the field trip. She shook her head and went back to watching the play.
It was the marriage scene when everything went wrong. Maybe it was due to the cold or just a design flaw but the building started to collapse in on itself.
All the children began screaming and everyone started rushing to the exits. Miss Callighan ushered her class towards the doors and told them to stay calm, even though she herself was panicking. Just before making it out of the building, Miss Callighan took one last look inside and saw on a small child crying on the floor. The kid could not have been more than two. She raced back in, grabbed the child and wrapped herself around him protectively as the building came down on the two of them.
Later, when the rescue workers cleared the rubble away they found a young school teacher holding  crying toddler in her frozen arms.

A/N: This is another Cafe Chi piece. The prompt was to write a tragedy about somebody at our meeting. For privacy reasons I changed the name. 

Deja Vu

I have this constant feeling that nothing is real. You know that feeling where you wonder if you are actually dreaming and if your life is actually something completely different than what you thought it was. I guess that is not exactly the way I am feeling. One moment ago I was just celebrating my high school graduation, now I am sitting in the library of a college I do not even remember applying to. Mom says that forgetting things comes with age but I am pretty sure that people do not just forget five years of their life just like that.
The biggest problems arise when I forget my own husband's name. I do not even remember him, let alone getting married. And I do not remember carrying a human baby inside me for nine months. I remember the night of my high school grad so vividly and then nothing. A complete blank. I think my husband's name is Kevin, yes, that has to be it. It is hard to see him look so disheartened every time I make it obvious that I do not remember some important piece of our relationship. It was just yesterday that he came home and told me that he had made it into medical school, I congratulated as though he was an acquaintance.
Then, there is my son, Logan. I do not even recognize his cry. I will often think to myself, "can't that mother quiet her child," before realizing that I am the mother and he is my child. I feel being a mother right now is more responsibility than I can handle. Its true, I forget to bring essentials with me, like diapers or bottles. Then there was that time I actually left him at the park, it was only five minutes before I realized I was missing the stroller, but still I forgot him. When that happened I became convinced that I switched places with somebody else because there was no way that this could be my life right now. I mentioned my theory to Kevin and he insisted that I was the same person. I have spent a lot time staring at my reflection, and I see me, only older. It always surprises me because I still expect to see my seventeen year old self. There is one key thing missing from my memory from that night, my grad night, I can feel it. Oh wait-

Maribeth stirred in her sleep. A concerned mother sat up and a family rushed to gather around a hospital bed. Chocolate brown eyes fluttered open and a muffled question escaped a seventeen year old girl's lips.
"Hey honey," Marybeth's mother squeezed her hand, "don't try to talk, just rest."

Maribeth looked around the campus of her new school. She was finally a college freshman. She stared at the map in her hand with a puzzled expression.
"Need help?" She looked up and saw a young man looking over her shoulder.
She smiled and nodded, "that would be awesome. I'm Maribeth, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Maribeth," he took the girl's hand, "I'm Kevin."
"Nice to meet you too."

A/N: This was a piece from Cafe Chi that did over a month but I was having lots of problems with my computer (still am) and so did not post it at the time. Not my best piece of writing but I feel like this little passage has some potential should I ever choose to do something more with it.

Percillant

I stared up at the darkening sky as the waves gently washed my feet. My toes squished with wet sand between them and the wind quietly made itself known. A deep sigh escaped my companions lips. Falcon was sitting a few feet behind me. I heard a second sigh and this time I turned back to look at him. He was a disheveled mess. His pants were ripped into shorts, though I was pretty sure he did not do that intentionally. His shirt was bloodstained and his face had dirt and grime smeared across it. War, it does things to people.
"It doesn't have to be this way," I had not realized he was looking at me.
"What do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow, "She said-"
He cut me off, "she's percillant, it doesn't mean she is right."
 War, it does thing to people. There it was again, that thought that was not mine.
"What if someone hears you?" I glanced around quickly.
"What if someone does?" He shrugged and stood up.
"They could-"
"What?! What could they possibly do? Please tell me!" He waved his hands in front of himself.
War, it does things to people.
"STOP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" I yelled suddenly.
Falcon looked taken aback, "I'm not in your head."
I was seriously losing it. War, it does things to people. Not again.
"War, it does thing to people," that time it sounded like someone said it out loud. It was too high to be Falcon's voice. I looked around desperately.
"War, it does things to people."
Shut up.
"I didn't say anything."
Oh! I said that out loud.
"War-"
"SHUT UP!" I put my hands over my ears and dropped to my knees, "SHUT UP! Shut up!"
Silence.
I felt two hands on my shoulders and looked up. Falcon was kneeling in front of me, peering at my face.
I stared him straight in the eye and said, "War, it does things to people."

A/N: This piece was written yesterday during Cafe Chi (my writing club). The prompt: write a short story with your own made up word. My word was percillant, hence the title. See if you can guess what my word means.

Prompt

If you could have any animal for a pet, what would it be?

If I could have any animal in the world (or make-believe world) as a pet I would probably have a Pegasus. A flying horse, what could be better than that? His coat would be a nice tan with a black mane. His wings would be a black like the feathers of a crow. His name would Shadow Mane. He would be very spirited and would love to spend his time flying about and often being silly. I think that he would probably get into trouble a lot too, especially if there were other horses or pegasi around. I bet though if there were not any others around he would probably get fairly lonely because I would not be able to spend all of my time with him as I unfortunately have responsibilities that I actually have to attend to. Obviously, I would make sure that he is well fed with oats and apples, and maybe even a few dandelions. I would give him of water and lots of space so he could run and fly around. I would go out riding in the morning and in the evening and would laze about with him in his stable stall.  

A/N: I was looking online for things to write about and I came across a page with a few different prompts, unfortunately, I don't remember the site.

Writing Update

If you are wondering as to why I have not posted in a while my computer has not been working very well. At this point I have to resort to using my iPad if I want to post anything online for your reading enjoyment. I finally got my nano novel backed up and so now I am going to try and de-fragment my computer and see if that works, wish me luck!
Now, just because I cannot type on my laptop does not mean I have not been writing or working on my novel. I have this app on my iPad that is called "A Novel Idea" and I have found it very useful for organizing my thoughts and ideas lately, even though I have not been able to work directly on my novel. I have written up a couple of character profiles and done a little profiling with the entire novel as well. Also, I have been trying to think up a title for my Nano novel as I still have not given it an official name. Part of my problem is that I cannot decide if I want to be a prequel to "Dreamscape" (that is the working title of my baby) or if I want it to be completely separate.
Here are a few of my title ideas (keep in mind that my novel is based off sleeping beauty):

~Not a Cinderella Story (this was the working title for a while)
~Faeries (I don't really like this one but I was thinking that it would go well if I called my baby "Demons")
~Pirates, fairies, and normal people (this one would have to be completely separate from "Dreamscape" because it sounds just to quirky and fun to be associated with a more mature story.)
~Something sleeping beauty-ish (again, only if this novel is stand alone)
~It has been told before... (don't really like this one, not sure why I have it written down.)
~Meridian (the name of the kingdom in the novel, if I were to go with this title I would call my baby "Taryn".)

Those are my ideas so far and I do not feel particularly happy with any of them. I think that I will need to keep searching those creative waters for ideas.

The Guilty Tool

Colonel Mustard liked sleeping on the window seat in the study. He especially liked it just after three in the afternoon because the sun would shine through the large panes of glass precisely into the right spot. It was a quarter to four in the middle of his nap when it happened. When everything went absolutely disastrous. At first, only a shadow flitted by the window but soon it turned into a small tapping noise that gradually grew louder and louder. Now the Colonel slept quite heavily when he got going but even the soundest sleepers would wake up to glass shattering all over there face. The thing that really woke poor Mustard were the sharp shards that had caught him snoring. In a split he was off his makeshift bed, his tired darting around the room while he spat diamonds out of his mouth. He took in a heavy breath, regaining his composure and that was when he found the culprit. There was a small toy wrench right beside the window seat, and he knew that it had not been there before he began his daily ritual. Now the only thing to do would be to find the guilty object's partner or in terms of crime, his accomplice.

Colonel Mustard very carefully peered out the window, and saw a mass of brown tousled hair disappear behind his favourite lilac bush. He pocketed the small tool and a small smile crept onto the military commander's face. He headed out of the study quietly whistling to himself.

A/N: This is the second Clue piece I have done. Again, this is a game played for Cafe Chi.

Quinn's Interview

Hi, this is Lynn Spunk and I am here today with Quinn, who is currently embarking on a journey with our intrepid fairy. Luckily, he was able to take a break from that to come and answer a few questions for us.

Lynn: So is Quinn your real name or just a nickname?

Quinn: My full name is Graham Quinton Thatch, but everyone calls me Quinn.

Lynn: I see. Is there a particular reason you go by a shortened version of your middle name?

Quinn: I was named after my grandfather on my side of the family because my grandmother insisted that his named needed to be passed on to the first born son. My mom is not very fond of the name Graham and so my dad and her decided that they would call me by middle name which happens to be my grandfather's name on my dad's side of the family. The reason for shortening it to Quinn was because I think Quinton sounds too old fashioned.

Lynn: Which parent do you look the most alike?

Quinn: It is hard to say. Both of my parents have dark brown hair and I have blonde which is a distinct difference that most people will comment on when they see me with my family. I have been asked if I was adopted before and before you ask, I wasn't. My family assumes that I got the blonde hair from my mom's side as her dad has blonde or at least he did. I could have gotten blue eyes from either one of my parents as they both have blue, which is probably not too surprising. Actually, I think I look the most like my grandpa Quinton, which is funny because my dad looks nothing like him. I got a square jaw and my dad has a more round face. My mom's face is more heart-shaped.

Lynn: Do you have any defining physical features?

Quinn: I have a scar just above my right eyebrow.

Lynn: Look at that you do. It looks like it probably hurt, what happened?

Quinn: I was riding my bike when I was ten and my front wheel hit a rock, and in turn that sent me flying into a neighbours fence. Next thing I knew I was laying on the ground with a giant gash in my head. Had to get seven stitches.

Lynn: That does not sound like fun.

Quinn: It wasn't.

Lynn: Do you have any siblings?

Quinn: I have one older sister.

Lynn: How old is she?

Quinn: Twenty-six.

Lynn: And you're twenty-two, right? So that would be a four year age difference.

Quinn: Yeah, I am twenty-two.

Lynn: Are you and your sister close?

Quinn: As close as any brother and sister. She has that tendency to be bossy, and I like pushing her buttons.

Lynn: Are there any unique characteristics that you would say you have in your relationship with her.

Quinn: We never have yelling matches, which I hear a lot of siblings do.

Lynn: I am glad you can joke about your condition. Speaking of, how long have you been mute?

Boiling Pot

Jump up! Quick! Dash!

It smells suspicious in here.

What is that?

The pot is there.

Pour the pasta in!

Spaghetti and macaroni too.

No! Not yet!

Oh pot! Boil a foolish thing!

Alas, my poor stomach.

I stare, stand, wait, sit.

This goes on for days.

For weeks!

FOR YEARS!

Oh look the plates are lonely.

Here you go mister spoon,

Just the perfect friend for you.

The wooden utensil quietly swims,

Laying in wait.

Wait! Look!

Oh boiling pot,

At last you have come to greet me, friend!

OUCH!

A/N: Snap your fingers! Haha! This was for bad poetry night, the second one we have had as Cafe Chi-ers, but my first.

NaNoWrimo Update

Lately my writing project has been finishing my NaNoWrimo that I started in November. I seem to have found myself at a very tricky point in the plot, the climax. So basically everything that I have been writing thus far was to lead me directly here. I cannot remember whether I have mentioned this before but I am a part of a writing which calls itself Cafe Chi. Every week we meet as a group and make new goals, and a couple of months I have made the same goal every week and that is to resolve the pirate situation. I set abstract goals like this because I feel it should help me obtain more satisfaction by completing a plot than a set number of words; therefore, leading me to work harder to finish my goals, at least that is the theory. It worked quite well with my last goal, which was to find the princess. But it seems the climax is not as easy to tackle as I had thought it would be a few months ago. The biggest of my problems have been the distractions, my baby being the worst of them. Now, before anyone starts thinking that I secretly got married or something... my baby is NOT an actually human baby. It is the novel that I keep close to my chest and believe will be my greatest piece of writing. It has the potential to be so important to me that I would become unable to even try and publish it. Hence, I treat it like a mother would her baby.

Dani

Before Captain Vane

“RUAIRI?” She had been calling the young boy for the past five minutes, “RUAIRI! YOU COME IN RIGHT NOW! YOU HEAR ME?”

A little boy with dark hair scampered into the hovel that they called their home. He was covered from head to toe in mud. His bright blue eyes peaked out under dark lashes. He bit his lip while looking up at his mother. With a deep sigh she knelt down in front of him with a dirty cloth in her hand.

“My dear boy,” His mother scowled, “how on this good earth did you become such a mess? I swear that if I did not know any better I would say you were one of Mister Bugnot’s pigs and not my own little boy.”

The five year old giggled at his mother’s words and covered his mouth with his hand. She gently removed his hand from his face and started to scrub the dirt off it. When she had cleaned the little face as best she could she stood.

“Go change into something decent,” She gave him a little push to the door on the opposite side of the room, “your father will be home soon and you know how he feels about keeping a clean and tidy house, which includes you.”

Ruairi ran into his room, no larger than a closet. He quickly removed clothes that were covered in dry mud and pushed them under his small bed. He opened the trunk, it was the only other object in the room besides the bed, and pulled out a clean tunic and trousers. He quickly put them on and hurried out into the main room. He peaked over the table to watch what his mother cooking their evening meal.

The young boy jumped as the front door burst open and in walked his father. The man stood staring around the room before closing the door shut behind him. He shut it a little harsher than was needed and his son felt a shiver run down his spine. His father walked over to the table, his boots thundering with each step. He looked at what his wife was cooking for dinner and scoffed but said nothing. He then turned to Ruairi, who shrunk under his gaze. He took in the mud caked into his son’s hair and the guilty look on his face.

“And what have you been up to today?” His whisper rumbled through the house. He reached out and touched the boy’s hair, “Boy, why is your hair filthy?”

Ruairi stared at his father, his lip quivered a little, “I was playing outside and fell.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, “what a clumsy son I have.”

His father’s hand came up, Ruairi flinched. WHACK! The slap across his face sent the boy sprawling to the floor. His mother came around the table and stood between the two.

“Mariam,” The man said angrily, “Get out of the way, the boy needs to learn.”

“Not like this,” She placed her hands on her hips, “he is just a child.”

WHACK! Mariam raised her hand to her face. It was already a violent red.

“You do not talk back to me, Woman!” His voice shook the entire house. Ruairi whimpered from the floor.

The Freaks

“Poor Billy-Jo,” Eric said sitting down next to Ivy under their favourite tree. The afternoon sun was slowly getting lower in the sky.

“Hmmm?” She glanced up from her book, but only for a moment.

“You know, my little sister?” Eric leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Mmmm...?” Ivy closed her book and stared at him intently.

“Do you understand why half the village is born with abnormalities?” He frowned, his eyes still closed as he took in a heavy breath. “It is no wonder that people come from all around to see the town of freaks.”

Ivy made a muffled growl from the back of her throat.

Eric sat up, looked at and shrugged his shoulders, “ I know you do not like it, but that is what people call this place. I am not saying that you are a freak or anything, but you have to admit that you a different than most people and to some they consider that to freakish.”

The young girl slumped against the trees and put her book down. She breathed deeply and touched Eric's arm.

“She was running around again and broke my mom's favourite vase,” He gently patted Ivy's hand, “it really is not her fault. I mean, how is it fair that she cannot be like a normal kid just because she was born without bones in her arms. You know if I could I would trade arms with her.”

Ivy tilted her head and her eyes sparkled at him.

“Thanks Ivy,” The Older boy smiled back at her, “you know I would help you too. Actually, I was talking to one of the travellers who was in town a few days, he said there is this amazing doctor he met in...”

Eric's furrowed his brows in concentration, while Ivy raised a brow at him.

“JOFELL,” He exclaimed, “I am sure that was the name of the city. Anyway, I am sure he would be able to solve your problem.”

Ivy looked at him sceptically.

“I am serious,” Eric sat up straight, “the traveller told me some incredible stories. Apparently this doctor he managed take replace someone's ear back. And he also figured out a way to help a person breath through their nose even though before they could only breathe through their month.”

Ivy let her fingers dance briefly above her head.

“No, not magic,” this time he patted her head, “science.”

Ivy stared at him blankly.

“What? That is what the traveller called it,” Eric shrugged.

A/N: Another Cafe Chi piece. This was based off Characters for an epic tale. I was given the Freaks. Here is the picture that I am talking about:

It comes from this website:
http://www.cabanonpress.com/tomsshed/3.EPIC.htm

'Em Grey Curtains

“I really hate typing,” Mrs Peacock said irritably to herself. She stared across the room full of books and stared longingly at the window. Nothing would please her more than to grab the knife which sat on the desk in front of her and rip the dreadful grey curtains to shreds. Her fingers carefully danced on the hard wood surface in thought. While her mind wandered away to the place just beyond the curtains. The very place she could not reach. She had been stuck in the dreadful dusty library for days and was sure that she would never breathe a breath of fresh again. Her back slumped uncharacteristically against her chair in the most unladylike fashion imaginable. She small sigh escaped her carefully painted lips as her eyes closed to let her have the peace of a daydream. She could just feel the satisfaction of as tearing sound of dull grey reached her delicate ears. The triumph welled up in her as she felt the threads of fabric fraying at her fingertips.

A knock was heard at the door and she sat up with a bolt. Her eyes locked on the on the fine dark oak that had once been so keenly polished but had now started to fade. Quietly, steps could be heard fading away down the hall. She glared and then looked down the innocent little knife sitting on her desk.

A/N: Again, another game from my writing club. This time the game was called "Clue". In the game an item, person and room is selected, (yes, from the board game) and then you have to write about it.

The Elegant Bow

She sparkled and danced within what could have been her best friend but put too much emphasis on her want for independence. The ear became her captor and her tormentor, as the elegant bow tried to escape his clutches. Nothing would have pleased her more than to explore the world around her. She called just belong her for help to the shirt, the sweater, anyone that might listen to her. No one did.

Bow took matters into her own folds, as she carefully and quietly wiggled out of her back. Nothing would her stop her from exploring the cold world of white swirls or golden flashes of green. She could taste freedom on the very tip of her tongue just before she fell to the ground. Off she went, her back calling softly beside to come back. Off she went to explore the world never to be seen by those who had loved so dearly again.


A/N: So this was written at one of the meetings writing club and I figured that I should actually post it. We were playing a writing game where we had to write about an article of clothing that the person sitting opposite to us was wearing.