Magpie Tales #34

She snatched up the lamp as she hurtled down the corridor, praying that one of the doors would be unlocked.

The next one…the next one…perhaps the next one… she thought as the heavy footsteps approached ever closer. She dreaded to think what would happen if she didn’t find a hiding place. One of these doors had to be open.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

They were right behind her.

“Found you,” came the soft, hateful voice. She screamed as she dropped the lamp, shattering it and extinguishing any light that she could have used to see her captor.

“Now be a good Earthwalker and follow me,” the voice said. She felt a cold hand grasp her arm, sending cold shudders down her spine. “Or I will have to use force.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she whimpered piteously.

He chuckled softly. “Prisoners don’t get their questions answered,” he said. His face was too close to hers. She could almost feel the cold emanating from his body.

Deciding it was useless to try and escape, she followed him down the dark corridor until they reached a door.

“Now, give me the key,” he told her.

“But---”

“The key, Evangeline.” He fairly growled at her.

“I don’t have a---”

“In your pocket.”

And as he said the words, she felt an unmistakable weight in her pocket. Stunned, she reached into the soft folds of her gown and withdrew an ornately designed silver key.

“Now, unlock the door,” he hissed, shoving her toward the door. She did as she was told and opened the door.

Where there should have been a sitting room, there was just more hateful darkness. But it was a strange darkness. It seemed to seep into the room like some kind of mist or fog. Yet, all she felt was a cutting wind.

“Inside,”

And taking a deep breath, she stepped into the darkness, desperately hoping she would not be sucked under.

Microfiction Monday - #50

She watched the last ship

disappear over the horizon

wondering when she would see him again...

Three Word Wednesday #208 - engulf, imminent, tamper

             I lazily ran my fingers across the ancient leather backs of the books on the shelf as I walked past them. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a complete bookworm and I love the written word. But I’ve read most of these books before. Macbeth, Hamlet, The Odyssey, and so many more. I needed something new. Something I could really sink my teeth into. Something that would completely engulf me emotionally, mentally, and physically. I wanted something to become obsessed with again.

            “Are you absolutely positive you haven’t gotten anything new yet, Dan?” I called down the aisles.

            “Pretty sure,” the old librarian replied, feebly hobbling over to where I stood.

            “All right,” I sighed. “I’m just going to take another look around. Maybe I missed something.”

            “If you want to, Tia.” He said as he hobbled away again amongst the books.

            I made my way back to the first aisle and started to look at every single book I passed. There had to be something here that caught my eye. There always was, after all. It was easier to get into the books here. I mean, really get into them. I'm talking being sucked into the pages of the book. I literally watched Oedipus resist against the songs of the Sirens and find his way back to Ithaca last week. And the week before that, I listened to the prophecy the witches made for Macbeth. So why, why, why couldn’t I find a good book this week?

            I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander until it came in contact with something. Eyes still closed, I followed the call of the book until I was standing right in front of it. My eyes snapped open, only to find a dog-eared volume with no title, author or any other inscription on the faded black leather cover. I eyed it suspiciously. Father had told me not to tamper with suspicious books. Or I’d be sucked in immediately.

            I closed my eyes again, searching for a new book, but all I could hear was the haunting melody of the tattered book I had just left.

            Maybe you’re supposed to find this book, my subconscious told me.

            I took a deep breath and turned back to the book. It stood there on the shelf, taunting me, tempting me to open it’s torn cover and look at whatever treasure lay hidden within. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I snapped up the book and immediately felt a connection. As if it somehow attached itself to my hand. Alarmed, I tried to let go, but I couldn’t. Instead, it opened and I saw that imminent white light as I was sucked into the torn, yellow pages.

Carry On Tuesday #72

It started out as a feeling (they always do, you know). Just a small feeling.

Flutters in her stomach every time he walked by.

Catching herself looking at him without knowing she was.

Suddenly noticing that his eyes weren’t grey, but actually a very very deep blue.

Things like that. Little things. After all, it is the little things in life that make us appreciate it all the more.

Why was this happening, though? How had he gotten past all the defenses she had put up? She had sworn never to love again. Not after Gabriel. She had sworn never to commit the same folly. What real need was there for love? She had done just fine before Gabriel.

But then Micah came along with his warm smile and open hands. With his ocean eyes and sea beach hugs. How could she have let him soften her? How had he wormed his way into her life and nestled himself comfortably in her heart. And why why why wasn’t she resisting? Surely that’s what she should be doing.

Yet, something about him made her want him all the more. He was a good person, after all. Not all men were scum like Gabriel. In fact, Micah and Gabriel were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Gracious, kindhearted Micah contrasted with dark, selfish Gabriel.

Perhaps this was just the beginning. A new beginning. A new story. Or maybe it would come to nothing.

Only time would tell.

Poetry Class Poem #1 - Crash

Metal meets metal.

A deafening roar.

Two bodies entwined together

in blood and in gore.

Crash.

Sirens sound, detached noise,

Paramedics rushing to the floor

where two bodies twist together

not knowing what’s in store.

Crash.

They should have listened,

too drunk to find the door.

Yet they insisted on driving,

And now their eyes see no more.

Crash.

Sunday Scribblings #234 - Love

They walked side by side. Together physically, but emotionally and spiritually separated by an ever-deepening rift. He held her hand loosely in his own but did not look at her, fearing – no, loathing the thought of her fearful, tear-stained face.

In front of them, the dark waters glided as one. A few fishermen boats could be discerned from the darkness. The sun was not yet up, but this did not hinder the hardy fisherman. A single star was visible in the cloudy expanse above the sea. He had told her that it was theirs. The star would burn for as long as he loved her.

He released her hand and strode to a bench. There were so many memories here. Sighing with nostalgia, he turned to her, their eyes meeting for the first time in three days. For the first time since he discovered her secret.

She opened her mouth. “Oh, Ronnie I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching for him. He shrugged away, looking out to the sea.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was gentler than he wanted. Too warm. Too intimate.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did.” This time, he could not keep the anger and sadness from his voice.

“If I could do it over---”

“You can’t,” he growled.

She reached for him again. This time, he didn’t shy away from her touch. Squeezing his shoulder, she stood beside him. Just like she did the night they met. He embraced her, disregarding his weakness for her. This time, she held him up. Supported him like he did her that day so long ago. Across the sea, a ray of the sun’s light emerged, renewed.

They would get through this.

Three Word Wednesday #207 - gait, nudge, ripen

She watched him walk through the market. He had a strange, slow gait. Almost loping. Like a lion’s. It was majestic in a way, she supposed. Even he had some beauty about him. A blind beggar. Always there. Feeling his way about, that mongrel always jumping by his feet, barking incessantly. She was a noblewoman, but for some reason she found him intriguing. The way he never seemed miserable.

Why was it that she, a noblewoman who had everything money could buy, felt miserable, but he, a blind beggar, seemed to have no worries at all? How could that be possible? How could he be happier than she? She didn’t understand it. Her maid nudged her slightly.

“Come, Your Ladyship. We are expected back at the fort by five,” the maid told her, leading her away from the crowded market and back to the carriage.

“Just a moment more,” she replied, shaking off her maid and turning back toward the market.

Everyone seemed happy. Except for her. Children chased each other around the stalls, and the general commotion was somehow comforting. Not like the complete silence back at the fort. No, there she had curfews and rules to follow. She must learn Latin. And Greek. And ladylike skills such as sewing and looking pretty. None of the women here at the market needed to waste their time learning such trifling things. They could look at the ripened apples and pumpkins stacked in little towers of red, green, gold, and orange. Fabric from the East, tinted with indigo dye and lined with gold thread. Trinkets and baubles in another corner. There was just so much life here. Life that seemed nonexistent in the fort.

“We must go, My Lady,” the maid said, tugging her arm gently. “The market will come in again in a fortnight. His Lordship is waiting for you in the fort. You musn’t keep him waiting.”

She sighed. “Yes, mustn’t keep him waiting,” she said as she turned back toward her carriage.