Fiction

the blue jay

by

A flash of blue out of the corner of my eye makes me pause.

Out the lace-lined window of the living room, perched on the lowermost branch of the oak in the front yard, is a blue jay. Its head, framed with the signature black markings along the neck, twitches from side to side as though trying to hear noises invisible to me. Perhaps from far away, and perhaps from close by. I don’t know that the blue jay can see me, but I place my needles and yarn spool in my lap to use my arms as my own perch along the backside of the couch.

I know for a fact that it’s too cold for blue jays—for any bird, really—to be in our tree. The dew that morning had left a crunchy frost on the grass that pleased my ears, and the breeze made me pull up my infinity scarf up around my neck and nose when I stepped out for that first breath of fresh air this morning. Keeping my feet flat upon the firm, cold earth, feeling the crunchy grass give way beneath my weight. A cup of warm tea in my fingerless-gloved hands. I always liked feeling the warm mug beneath my bare fingers.

As I watch the blue jay now, I wonder why it is sitting there, quirking its head side to side. It’s still looking in the same direction as when I first saw it.

A bright blue punch of color on an otherwise gray morning.

I can’t help but wonder what it’s waiting for… A meal to quirk its ears. For the snow to fall. A mate it won’t fly south without.

At that thought, I drop my eyes, a wave of grief overcoming me. No tears come, not anymore.

A shrill ring pierces the room, and I pad across the patterned rug to pick up the phone, the scarf in progress laid upon the cream sofa.

“Hello, darling,” I say immediately, knowing it’s one of my cherubs calling. Someone always does this time of morning, ever since…

“Hi, Mom,” my daughter’s voice chimes back at me. A wariness tinging her forced bright tone. “How are you doing this morning?”

This is part of the new routine. One of my children calls and asks how I am doing, and I feel like nothing has changed. Despite how much I want it to… This morning, I say something different.

“Do you know there’s a blue jay sitting outside in the oak tree this morning,” I say, crossing the room slightly, the cord of the phone stretching a little as I go. From there, I can still see the blue jay standing on that lone low branch.

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “That’s a nice little surprise, isn’t it?”

“It is a pretty little thing,” I say, noticing the bird flap its wings, though staying quite contentedly on the branch. “How are you, my darling?”

“A little sad still, but moving forward,” she says. She’ll be more honest with her feelings than my eldest son. “I just wanted to check on you, I’ll be by tonight with a pie my boss brought in. I have no use for it, you know, and I thought you might like it.”

My love always loved pie, so that makes me smile. But my daughter developed diabetes as a child so she avoids sweets like it is her full-time job.

“What kind of pie?”

“I think she said blueberry or huckleberry, one of the two.”

“Sounds lovely, dear.”

Blue jay. Blueberry. I make the mental note to try and remember if it is in fact blueberry later on. I’d like that kind of synchronicity.

“You know,” she starts, a hint of refresh on her breath. “I think I remember hearing once that blue jays show up as messengers from heaven.”

I don’t know if it’s true, but a warmth blossoms in my chest, and my eyes dart back to the tree. The bird isn’t there anymore and any smile that had raised at that mention falls.

It must have flown away when I wasn’t looking.

A pang replaces the momentary warmth that was in my heart.

“Maybe it’s Dad,” she says, quietly, hopefully.

This time a tear leaks out through my left eye. A single tear. I let it slowly trek down my cheek before wiping it as the wetness reaches my chin.

“Could be, sweet pea.”

“Anyway,” she says before clearing her throat, “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, love.”

I place the phone back on the home base, and walk to the living room window, my heart seemingly breaking all over again. The bird is not in the tree. I sit myself on the couch and continue to gaze out the window, grateful even if just for a moment of unusual bright beauty in the day.

And then I see it again.

The blue jay right on top of the mailbox.

Its head turns momentarily toward me before a flap of wings takes the bird flying away on the wintery breeze. Blue jays are messengers, she said…

I bundle up into my scarf and knit sweater and go outside, crunching along the crisp, frosty grass, to the metal gray mailbox with the numbers 4343 on it in peeling black stickers. The numbers I realize now reflect how many years we were married.

Inside the mailbox is a little card, parchment that looks and feels familiar. No address, but clearly waiting for me. I glance around. No flash of blue to be seen. My fingers flip open the card, the card that wasn’t in the mailbox yesterday.

Only four words were on the card… Four words that were also on the first bouquet of flowers my husband gave me when he started courting me after four years of friendship.

For my flighty girl

***

Written October 2022

FWF – A New Beginning

by

It’s so hot in this car that I have to roll down the window. The hot desert wind shooting by my social worker’s speeding car is ten times better than the stagnant air I’ve had to put up with since her AC is broken. It broke last month and she still hasn’t fixed it.

“How much longer?” I ask, allowing the breeze to dance around my face, efficiently waking me up from my stupor.

Tina sighs. “For once, can you just be patient, Thora? We’ll be there soon.”

I feel like she’s asking too much of me. Usually a new home is in the city, but this time they are keeping me in the dark about it and a girl gets impatient, especially me. We’ve been driving for three hours. To where, I have no clue. There seems to be nothing but desert on all sides of us with no end in sight.

Choosing to not respond to my social worker, I stick my hand out the window. The bracelet my mom left with me–two woven bands separated by various green and blue stones, and one I distinctly recognize as turquoise–glints back at me. I’ve worn this thing as long as I can remember. It’s all she left behind before she disappeared. Because of this bracelet, I still think she’s alive. No one else does.

I wave my hand around, riding the wind, as though wielding a wand. If only I could magic myself out of this car and to wherever my mom is, then I wouldn’t have to be shuffled from foster home to foster home again. Unfortunately, magic doesn’t exist, I don’t know where my mom is and I wouldn’t know where to go. After a few minutes, my hand goes up and down with the wind without me really controlling it. Again, I’m lulled into a nap.

The jerk of the emergency brake jars me awake. I hate it when Tina pulls that stupid centerpiece. My fifteen years in the system never cured me from the uncomfortable stomach lurch that inevitably followed. I swear it is her lot in life to only purchase cars with a centerpiece E-brake. Don’t ask me why.

“All right, I couldn’t tell you before, but you need to brace yourself,” she says, turning toward me. My head rolls along the leather seat to look at her as I try to gather my foggy brain power. Sweat dampens the bottom of my hair against my neck and I welcome the brief coolness it brings. “This family is technically your biological family.”

My head and body snap forward. I thought I was the only one left of my family. As I wait for Tina to spill the details, my chest won’t let any breath escape.

“Apparently, she’s your mom’s cousin. Somehow we found her and she’s expressed interest in taking you in.”

I raise my eyebrows. No one ever wants me. I believe the words “more trouble than she’s worth” is a permanent fixture in the mouths of my many foster families. And it’s kind of true. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t listen to orders very well. When I want to do something, I do it regardless if they tell me explicitly not to.

“Now, before you go AWOL like you did last time, please just …” she searches for the words for a moment. “Be good. That’s all I ask. You only have a couple of months until you’re 18 and can do as you please. Until then, stay out of trouble, okay?”

I roll my eyes at her. That speech hasn’t held onto my conscience yet and I’m betting it won’t stick this time either. She does seem more serious than usual though.

It’s beyond amazing that any of my family could be tracked down, so we’ll see if I want to follow the rules or not. It all depends on if they’re crazy or mean.

Since we’ve obviously reached our destination, I look outside and freeze. A small brick house stands completely unoriginal from the others on the street. The only thing that distinguishes it from the other houses is a tree house in the tree in the backyard. Other than that, it has the same square-ish exterior, the same placement of the same white door and windows and the same chimney poking out of the roof on the right hand side–just like all of the neighboring houses. All of the grass is green even though it is early September. And as far as I can tell, there is no broken cement anywhere on either side of the street.

Kids scream through the sprinklers at a couple of houses. It was one of those neighborhoods: a place to raise a family. The last time I was placed in a neighborhood like this, I was ten. My distaste for it came from the fact that it made me think of how I likely would have lived with my mom were she still around. After that, I asked Tina to only put me with families in the busy city, a place where a traditional family life was a little more uncommon so I could avoid those feelings of misery. Apparently that particular request of mine is disregarded this time because a “blood relative” is involved. Just lovely. Note the sarcasm.

Welcome to suburbia, Thora.

Thanks to this week’s FWF prompt by Kellie Elmore, I was able to piece together a better beginning for one of my WIPS. I cannot express enough thanks that this prompt triggered such an inspiration for this story and I’m stoked to be giving it more attention now that a critical piece is now making sense. 

Paying Respects

by

A young redhead swinging, laughing in the glare of sunlight as a man’s hands reach for her. A father rolling in the grass with his daughter. A glimpse of a guitar in his hands, teaching her how to strum. His rich, husky voice says, “You can be… whatever. Whatever it is you want to be.” The hiccups of her childish giggles fade into darkness.

My eyes snap open to the morning sun barging in through my window as if it were invited in. Birds chirp outside, singing a song that I don’t even wish to sing along to.

No alarm clock this morning just like the last four days. It’s hard not to count.

I reach up to cover my eyes, feeling wetness on my cheeks. Again. My one source of sunshine is gone for good, and this sunlight is merely warming my cheek, not filling the gaping hole that I can barely breathe through.

I don’t want to face today. It’s too late to say goodbye, too early to say farewell, so why say it when it will just make this more real?

Someone knocks at my door.

“Emery?”

The pity in her voice makes me roll over, not wanting the tears to have a witness. The weight of her sinks down the side of my bed, and I suppress the urge to shove her off. On any normal day, I’d welcome my aunt’s presence first thing in the morning. Now she’s just a reminder of what I don’t have.

“It’s time to get up, sweetie,” she says, rubbing her hand on my shoulder. I shrug her off, grunting, hoping that was invitation enough for her to leave me alone. “We have to be there in an hour.”

That doesn’t make me want to get up any more than the sunlight does.

All too late, my aunt leaves my room, taking with her his eyes, his chestnut hair and his generosity.

I don’t want to face today. Facing it would mean that I would have to accept that my dad is no longer here, and that’s not acceptable.

When I open my eyes this time, it’s with a new determination. I throw on the closest pair of jeans, and covertly slip on my bra underneath my Eagles tee that I wore to bed without actually taking it off. From the floor, I snatch up my Ogio school backpack and dump its contents onto my bed. A math book, geography binder and all of the pens that I could never find scatter and bounce off each other.

Walking around my bedroom, I swipe several key items into my now-empty bag. Deodorant, bobby pins, a photograph of me and Dad, floss, toothbrush, my backup case holding a handful of guitar picks, pitch pipe, and my wallet. My guitar case rests against the wall plastered with all of my signed concert posters: AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Heart, and others that I’ve covered up with ones that left more meaningful impressions. I swing the case around my shoulder and take one last look around the small bedroom Dad and I used to jam in.

This time I won’t let any tears fall.

I’ll pay respects to my father the way he’d want me to–to be whatever I want to be. And that means leaving this town.

Death of a Fish

by

“Mommy, what’s wrong with my fish?”

Gretchen called me from the other room. As I walked in, I could already predict what the fish is doing: floating on its side at the top of the tank.

“What’s it doing?” I asked, feigning curiosity.

“It’s just floating and not moving,” Gretchen said, tracing her finger along the glass bowl. “Is she ok?”

How on earth do I explain to my three-year old daughter that her fish has died and won’t ever swim again?

“Um,” I say, struggling to find that right words to make death clear to her. I kneel next to her, hoping this story will help. “Do you remember Grandma Jamie?”

She looks at me utterly confused. “I thought there was only Grandma Natalie and Grandpa Daniel.”

“Well, now there is. Grandma Jamie died when you were just a baby, so I don’t think you would remember her.”

She continued to look at me, “She died?”

“Yes, Gretchen. Do you know what happens when you die?”

She shook her head. I took a deep breath as I try to figure out a way to explain this. I grabbed Gretchen’s little hand and placed it on her chest.

“You feel that?” I asked, trying to smile as I feel her tiny, pulsing heartbeat. She looked down at her hand.

“Yes! What’s that mommy?”

“It’s your heart. I have one too,” I said as I took her hand and put it up against my chest. “Can you feel mine?”

She smiled even wider. “Yes.”

“Well, when you die, your heart doesn’t do that anymore,” I said, hoping to see some kind of understanding in my daughter’s eyes.

“It stops?” she asked, tilting her head to the side like a puppy.

“Yes, it stops. And when a heart stops, then the body becomes very still and won’t move again.”

“Is that what happened to my fish? Her heart stopped?”

“Yes, honey.”

“But why?”

“Well, heart’s are very powerful things. Sometimes they work too hard and that makes it so they can’t work anymore. Or in Grandma Jamie’s case, her heart was very old so it stopped because it had been beating for so long,” I said.

“What does that heart do after it stops?”

Finally a question that is easier to answer.

“It waits until it is time to go to heaven,” I explained, relaxing now that it seems to be making sense to her but without making her scared.

“Is Grandma Jamie’s heart there?”

“Yes.”

“Then how does my fish get to heaven if her heart stopped?”

“We will have a funeral for her. Funerals pass on those who die to heaven.”

With that, Gretchen picked up the fish bowl and asked me where the funeral would be.

“For fish, the way they get to heaven is through the toilet.”

I felt weird saying it, but it’s true. Gretchen walks over to the bathroom, holding the tank very carefully. I followed, making sure Gretchen didn’t dump the tank into the toilet along with her beloved fish.

“Let me help you, babe.” I slid my hands around the tank until I could easily scoop the fish out of the bowl and dropped it into the toilet. “Would you like to say good bye?” I ask Gretchen.

She waved at the unblinking fish and yelled, “Enjoy heaven, Dory!”

Then she promptly, and delightedly, flushed the toilet.

The Cabin by the Lake

by

“Come on, Ty! Let’s get out of here,” Lisa whines behind me. “This place gives me the creeps.”

I roll my eyes before turning back to face her on the porch. Her arms are firmly crossed in front of her chest, making her boobs pop out a little on top. I find myself distracted. If she gets scared, she’ll cling to me. Shaking my head, I force myself to look at her face and try to snap myself out of the thoughts she sends through me.

“Come on!” I mimic her tone. “It’s just an abandoned cabin.”

I turn back around. The sign clearly says, “No Trespassing,” but I don’t care. Shoving the signed door open, I start to walk in. And then she yells.

“Tyler!”

An exasperated sigh leaves me. Swearing to myself this is the last time I turn around for her, I grab her hands and beg.

“Come on, Lees! Don’t be such a baby. We’ll be in and out, I promise.” She gives me a worried look. “I just want to see the place.”

Now she’s looking everywhere except at me. When she looks into my eyes, I pucker my lips in a pout. Only a couple moments later, she caves. “Fine! But in and out, okay?”

Finally! I smile at her. “Okay.”

When I go to drop my arms, Lisa holds tight to my left hand. Damn, you’d think I’m taking her to her death here. It’s just a moldy old cabin!

That’s what it smells like at least. The wooden slats covering the floor seem to have been soaked through. They don’t creak under our weight, but our footsteps sound heavier than they really are. The walls have a dark green growth on them. A moist scent reaches my nose; it’s sort of pleasant but not. Above a brick fireplace, there’s a large cracked mirror. Whoever lived here last also left behind a ripped couch that is lopsided for some reason. Not that I’m surprised–who would want it anyway?

This is awesome.

I run my hand along the peeling wallpaper. It’s sort of oily and greasy; I can’t tell which. My hand comes to an open archway into another room.

Without warning, a few bats fly past us and out the door. Lisa shrieks and I’m partially deaf for a few seconds. Her grip on my hand is like a fucking vice so I try to lessen it. I’d like to keep my fingers, thank you.

“You can’t let me go!” she whispers as she clings, instead, to my jacket. “That scared me.”

“Like I said before,” I say, “baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” she pouts. She looks adorable so I can’t help but laugh at her.

“Then prove it,” I say, throwing my arms out to the sides. She is taken aback for a moment. But after considering it, she sticks her nose in the air and walks bravely into the room the bats came from. Whether that’s true bravery remains to be seen.

“See?” she says as she stands in the middle of the insanely dark room by herself. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a dining room or study. Either way, it’s too dark to get anything done in now. I can barely see the outline of her figure which sends my mind spiraling elsewhere and I consider taking her right here, right now.

“Oh, yeah,” I chuckle. “How courageous.”

I walk into the room. Before I’m barely two steps in, Lisa says something that makes me stop.

“Are you touching me?”

“Huh?”

“There’s a hand on my leg. It’s yours, right?” Her voice gets higher with nearly every word. My own hair starts to stand on edge.

“How can it be?” I ask, completely baffled. She had to be pulling my leg because I’m certainly not pulling hers. “I’m, like, four feet away from you.”

“Seriously, this isn’t funny, Ty!”

I don’t know what’s touching her, but it’s probably nothing. Probably a left behind blanket or something.

“I’m not touching you,” I assure her. “Just come back to the entryway, okay?”

It’s silent for a moment.

“Lisa?”

“Tyler,” she whispers again, and I freeze. Something doesn’t feel right. “I can’t move.”

That does it. I make my way back into the dark room, feeling my way around trying to find her. The shape of her body has disappeared in the darkness. I’m not sure where she is.

“Okay, Lisa, don’t worry, okay? I’ll get you out of here. Say something so I can find you.”

She says my name softly but it sounds like it’s coming from all sides of the room. That doesn’t make this any easier.

Then I step into something wet. Really wet. It feels like I have submerged my foot into a puddle.

“Lisa?”

She doesn’t answer; a gurgle of water does.

Before I know it, what felt like a puddle has traveled up my legs to my knees.

“Lisa!”

I bolt back to the entry way as fast as I can. I won’t be able to do any good if I don’t get out of there. Water splashes up on me. I swear I’m stepping on things I don’t remember being on the floor on my way in here. When I make it past the door frame, I can see the water spilling into the rest of the landing, all from that room.

Under the water, a hand and an arm reach outward. A fake green gem sparkles up at me. Lisa. But that hand isn’t dead. It’s clawing it’s way towards me. As I turn to run, the hand grips my foot. I trip and fall face forward. With strength I’m sure Lisa doesn’t have, I’m yanked back into the dark room and under the water.

I try to climb out, but it’s like I can’t help myself as I seep into the depths of the house. As soon as my head’s under water, a song starts to resonate around me.

You hear the door slam and realize there’s nowhere left to run
You feel the cold hand and wonder if you’ll ever see the sun

My eyes snap open and I’m looking up at my blank ceiling. Thank God… just a dream.

I roll over and snatch up my cell phone. It’s Lisa.

You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination, girl!
But all the while you hear the creature creeping up—

 

“Thriller” ceases to play when I answer the call.

“Tyler! Where are you?” Her voice is startled. I’m taken back to my dream for a moment.

“Sorry, I fell asleep. I’ll meet you in 15?” I say, rubbing my eyes.

“Oh, okay!” She sounds so happy and carefree that I smile. She’s okay. It wasn’t real even if it felt like it. “What did you want to do? Get costumes or carve pumpkins? Or are you still dead pressed on checking out that creepy old house?”

I pause as I remember that abandoned house I kept passing on my way home from work. The one with the “No Trespassing” sign on the door right by the lake.

“Your choice, sweetie.”

She pauses for a moment too. She probably wasn’t expecting that. “My choice?”

“Yes, your choice.”

Getting Away

by

“Wake up!”

“Hmm…”

“Wake up!”

“Hmph!”

“Come on, Trina! Get up!”

The blanket is ripped from my body. The chill immediately makes goose bumps stand at attention all over my body. Blindly, I reach around me in search of cover, but all I feel is the grass and the small feet of my sister, tapping impatiently.

“Go back to bed, Kelly,” I mumble as I roll over and curl my arms and legs up to my stomach.

I did not sleep well. The roots beneath my back made sure of that. We’ve been on the run for two weeks, but barely any sign of —

“Fine! Don’t mind me if you get eaten alive then!”

My eyes snap open and roll over to see what Kelly is freaking out about. Well, now I see she has every reason to panic.

Dripping fangs are bearing down on us from the mouth of a beast sitting on a tree branch. Now, this isn’t your normal tiger or crocodile kind of beast. We’re talking a four-hundred pound scaly quadropod with large eyes, a bear snout, saber-tooth fangs, and paws that could grip my entire head in a single grasp. A purple tongue slithers out and across its teeth as the beast curls its shoulders. It’s ready to pounce.

“Kelly,” I say getting onto my feet. When I put my arm protectively in front of her, I feel Kelly’s hands grip my forearm.

We had come so far; we were so close to the border. Our freedom is practically right here. I should have known we wouldn’t make it out alive. If the men who captured us didn’t find us and kill us themselves, these beasts would finish the job.

“Kelly, you listen to me,” I speak quickly and quietly, “You run. Okay? As fast as you possibly can. No matter what happens, I won’t let them take you again, so you keep running, you understand?”

I see her nod her head.

“When you reach the outside, find an adult and tell them to take you to the police. Tell them everything you’ve gone through and tell them every name you heard while we were trapped, okay?”

She nods again, this time slower. My little sister, so strong even in the face of danger. Sometimes I wish I could be like her.

“Ready?”

She grasps my hand once more and looks into my eyes.

“Go!”

She darts from out behind me into the brush as I start to scale the tree. These beasts don’t like touching the ground if they can help it; if there’s anything I learned by being trapped for six months in that hell hole, it was that. Those stupid scientists created them: a hybrid of a gila monster, a tiger and who knows what else. All I know is that there’s something in the ground that throws them off balance, making it harder to catch prey.

Sure enough, a moment later the creak of a branch tells me the beast is on my trail. Better me than Kelly.

I make it up about a dozen feet from the ground to the thickest branch that can hold me. With support from higher branches, I sidle my way along until the branch of another tree can carry me further. A snap of wood and a snarl draws my attention. The beast has already taken my place in the tree I was just in. As quickly as I can, I put a tree trunk between us.

Looking around, I notice there’s a deep ravine just beyond the thick branch my feet were shaking on–my only way out. The moment I feel the beasts strong paws climb onto the tree I’m in, I don’t hesitate. I run and then jump.

The wind rushes by, making my ears whistle. Right before I hit the water, I pinch my eyes closed and hold my breath, wanting this whole mess to be over.

*   *   *

“Is this her?”

A man’s voice rouses me. Water laps up onto my legs in a slow rhythm. My hands and forehead sting.

“Trina!”

At the sound of Kelly’s voice, I open my eyes and am blinded by the sun. With all the strength I can muster, which isn’t much, I try to push my body up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there,” the man speaks again. His hand is on my shoulder. A tickle in my throat makes me cough. Kelly comes into my vision, splashing water as she runs toward me.

“Trina!” She kneels next to me. I want to hold her but I can’t even lift myself up, so I give her my hand. She takes it eagerly. “You okay?”

“I will be, I think,” I say, my throat feeling like it has dirt in it. “What about you, Kel?”

“I’m good,” she smiles at me. “I found someone to help!”

I finally am able to roll myself over enough to see the man. After his head blocks the glare of the sun, I see the face that appeared late in my bedroom six months ago. The face that told me not to scream. The face that said someone was coming for us, that they weren’t to be trusted. He had said he would come for us as soon as possible. Now he was here. A smile cracks through my parched lips.

“Hi, Dad.”

FWF ~ Gentle One

by

It’s far past my bedtime. Daddy would be furious if he knew I was out in the woods behind our house again. Ever since dusk, it’s been bugging me for so long that I just have to be out here right now. I have to find out what I saw.

I make my way past crooked trees, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The glimmers disappeared this way, I’m sure of it. After a few minutes, I notice that I’m approaching a swamp from the squelch beneath my feet and the dull shimmer of water some fifty feet away from me. I stop, not wanting to venture too far into the messy mud.

Glancing around, I cross my arms in front of me and feel goosebumps erupt on my skin. It’s much colder than it was a moment ago. The chill came on a subtle breeze. I look to the direction I feel the wind coming from and gasp. There’s the white glimmering flash again!

The longing to know what it is overwhelms me and I start to walk over. Every step I take towards it makes the wind blow harder until I finally feel like I can’t breathe from the pressure on my chest. Have I walked into a wall? That’s almost what it seems like.

The glimmer is only a little bit closer to me now, even though I feel like I should be closer. Wait a minute… it’s getting brighter and brighter! The light is coming towards me.

A voice speaks, “You need to go home, Silas.”

I can only muster a squeak. “Wha?”

“We are the Fae and we have been assigned to protect you, gentle one,” the voice continued, “only you’re not supposed to know.”

In an instant, the light surrounds me and I’m warmed from the outside in.

The next thing I know, I’m looking up at my ceiling with my bed sheets on top of me, wondering what on earth I saw at dusk. A strange glimmer or sparkle, was it? I consider going out to the forest despite Daddy’s temper. But then I change my mind and doze off to sleep while dream of fairies.

FWF ~ Not Alone

by

Waves slapped up against the ship, rocking it along with the whistling winds. That’s the last sound I remember as I laid on the cold, wet wood on the bow.

Now I’m sitting in cold water up to my waist looking out at the open sea to my left. Our ship used to be right there, but it crashed into the rocks and sunk into the watery depths. It looks like I’m the only left.

The problem is that I don’t feel alone.

There’s rustling in the trees across from the marsh with bodies that I can’t make out moving quickly through the brush. What sounds like someone trudging through the mud seems to come closer and closer to me. Then a subtle breeze comes from somewhere in the marsh I’m sitting in. In my mind, I imagine some horrible, horned water beast sending out his breath and inhaling strongly to get the scent of a meal. At that thought, I bolt upright, wringing out my sodden shirt as I walk to firmer ground. My eyes dart every which way, but it’s so dark there’s not much I can truly see.

I hear a snarl and jump. I am most definitely not alone and I know who that snarl belongs to.

The ship we came on held animals, quite a few of them. They were being brought to America for a circus. There were monkeys, a couple lions, a baby elephant and a couple zebras. None of those animals made this particular sound.

There was a tiger on board that would snarl just like that while I mopped up the floor around its cage, as though it were rolling its shoulders up and down, preparing to pounce on supper. I’m not sure if I’d care to see that tiger right now, especially if that cage had a similar end as our ship.

Another gust brushes by and a chill runs down my body. My arms grasp each other, feeling many goosebumps prickle up.

Then a sound I’m not expecting–a slight tinkling, like a small bell–rings slightly through the humid air.

From out of the jungle, a green light no bigger than my head comes my direction. It’s bright–too bright. I shield my eyes against the green glare. At that moment, the clouds part and expose a very full moon.

“No need to be afraid, little one.”

The voice is small and female, though clearly grown up. The light surrounding her is so bright that I can only see the outline of her tiny human-like form which is dwarfed by feathery wings.

“What are you?” I ask, though my gut tells me she’s magical. Magic may only be spoken of in hushed whispers where I’m from, but I always hoped and dreamed that it really existed.

“I’m a faerie, and I’m here to help you, Linley.”

I inhale sharply. She knows my name. I’m about to ask her how she knows who I am but she cuts me off with a giggle.

“We know everything about you and have since the moment your body touched our soil.”

As she spoke, she held out a wand and another green light started to glow and grow. Within moments, that light shifts into a lantern.

“Take it,” she says encouragingly. Once I grab the handle, it’s like everything around me–the marsh, the ocean, the jungle behind me–comes into clearer view. “There are few others who survived, but you must find them. They are all on this island somewhere, scattered from the impact.”

“Why must I find them? I’m only a child,” I ask, near tears, hoping that an adult would come and protect me so I wouldn’t have to do this on my own. What the faerie says next makes me catch my breath.

“You’re the only one who believes in the Magic so it must be you. Don’t worry, you’ll find help as you go,” the green light of the faerie starts to float away from me. “But beware, there are plenty of creatures that won’t be as kind.”

Rustling surrounds me as though those creatures are around, and I could have sworn there was a howl somewhere in the distance. The lapping of the water on the marshy shore seems to increase like a stronger tide could be rolling in.

“Stick to the path illuminated and you will find your comrades and your escape. I cannot stay, but I trust I shall see you soon, Linley.”

In a glimmer, she takes flight over the jungle into the foggy clouds, illuminating the emerald green trees that make up the jungle. The clouds slowly roll back together as if the moon were pulling a blanket around itself. For a moment, it’s quite beautiful and I wish I had a blanket to keep me warm. Then I remember, I’m not alone and there’s nothing here to keep me warm. Moving is my only option.

The green lantern the faerie left with me shimmered with a yellow ribbon that unwound itself from the green light, leading me away from the marsh and up a stoney path alongside the jungle.

Who knows where this path will take me? I can only hope that I can trust the lovely green faerie who knows my name, and trust that I will find whoever is left from our ship.

FWF ~ The Last Stop

by

Free Write Friday Prompt for 5/11

You have been traveling by train in Europe. You wake to find that you’ve missed your stop and you are the last one aboard. You reach for your luggage in the hold above and as you pull it down a wallet (not belonging to you) falls out. You open it to find a large amount of cash…Tell me a story!

“Is anyone sitting here?”

A small face surrounded by what looks like a million cotton balls pokes her head inside my train cabin. Little bright eyes peep out from behind miniscule glasses and her skin, though wrinkly, is very plump. Her accent is definitely from some part of Scandinavia. Her vowels are just a tad too long, her consonants not hard enough and her words sort of meld together.

I shake my head at her. I boarded the train with no one; no one was supposed to join me. She comes in smiling with pursed lips. As she sits across from me, she holds her enormous purse on her lap while she rocks back and forth for a moment.

“Where are you going?”

I don’t say anything. I don’t want to tell this old lady that I’m going home to nothing, that I spent my whole inheritance on a trip throughout Europe to start over or that the attempt was a complete bust. Least of all, I don’t want to tell her what happened to the family that certainly isn’t waiting for me at home.

I don’t need her pity and I don’t need anyone. Not anymore.

“Did you hear me?” she asks, looking somewhat concerned.

Finally, I speak. “Yes, I heard you.”

She bounces back in her seat, pleased with herself. “Well?”

“I’m going back to America,” I say after as long of a pause I dare make. She squints her eyes suspiciously.

“You don’t sound happy,” she says simply. She’s right–I’m not happy. “What did you see in Europe?”

Holding back a snort, I smile.

“Everything.”And I’m not kidding. I really did see everything. Despite that, I got nothing out of it. It’s a harsh comparison, but it’s like thinking Disney Land is the most magical place in the world only to find it’s a dump. I wonder if that’s what happens when you lose everything.

She smiles in return. “Then why are you sad?”

Again, I don’t want to tell her anything. I don’t know this woman–heck, I’m lucky if I know myself on a good day. The hem of my too long and too loose shirt catches my attention. My fingers play with the fraying strings numbly.

“I couldn’t do what I came to do and now I have a flight to catch in Paris.”

That’s all I can bring myself to say. She surveys me for a moment. Her eyes pause on my baggie shirt and my tattered boots. They’ve lasted me this whole trip and I intend on finishing my trip with them. If anything, that could be an accomplishment since I accomplished nothing else in Europe.

“Will you help me?” she suddenly asks. I’m afraid to say yes, but I do anyway. She lifts her large snakeskin purse from her lap. “Will you help me put this up there?” She gestures to the rack above my head.

My relief is instant. She hands me the bag and I toss it up there. When I turn back around, she’s holding her hand out.

“Annaliese.”

I shake her hand.

“Lydia.”

She smiles gently. A yawn tugs at my mouth as I sit back down.

“Are you tired?” she asks.

I guess I kind of feel that way so I nod. Annaliese suggests that I take a nap and it’s hard not to take her suggestion. Perhaps sleep is what I truly need.

“Sleep.”

That’s all she says before I completely pass out.

*   *   *

A horn sounds and I startle awake. Annaliese has gone. It’s dark outside my window so I check my watch. 9:13.

Oh, shit…

I bolt out of my seat and make my way down the cart until I find a conductor. There’s nobody else around and I’m starting to think the train is heading back to some kind of depot somewhere in obscure Europe. About two cars away, I find a clerk. He appears startled by my brashness when I ask him where the hell the train is.

“We are about to arrive in Berlin, miss,” he says uncertainly.

Oh, no… Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no! I’ve not only missed my stop in Paris and my flight back to the U.S., but my train ticket only covers me from Rome to Paris. It doesn’t cover me from Germany and beyond. Trying not to arouse suspicion, I tell him thank you and return to my cabin. I close the doors behind me. The tears threaten to come down but I won’t let them. I stare at the ceiling to keep myself from crying. This usually works.

Then a reflection of some sort catches my eye above the luggage rack. When I reach up, my fingers graze something made of leather. My first thought is that Annaliese must have accidentally left her wallet behind. Then I notice a slip of paper with my name on it poking out of the side. I pull it out.

Lydia,

It’s not the end of the world. Things do get hard, but we can always fight our way above them. You are young–don’t give up yet. I hope this helps. I hope you had a nice sleep.

Annaliese
PS: After I return from Denmark in two days, you come visit me in Finland. I live on Tammio.

In the leather pouch, there’s a wad of Euros. I peel them apart and find that there’s over two thousand in the stack–that’s nearly four thousand dollars.

Oh, my… I cannot accept this! My first thought is to turn it in to someone on the train to mail to her while I try to work my way back to a flight back to America. Then I consider taking the money straight back to her on Tammio, wherever that is. That’s not a place I visited. Helsinki happened about two months ago. Plus I only stayed in Finland for about a couple of days, since I was more excited about Sweden.

Knowing my Swedish ancestry is largely what brought me to tour Europe to begin with. When I got there, however, disappointment settled in worse than ever. It turns out my great-great grandfather was heavily involved in Hitler’s camp during World War II. That’s not exactly the history I was expecting. I thought being of Scandinavian descent would give my family a richer, more established history. My family wasn’t so lucky in that respect.

The realization suddenly hits that I have no choice but to use this money, one way or another. There’s no other choice–I’m fresh out of money. The last of the inheritance went to my flight and final train ride, and I screwed those up. Why didn’t I wake up at the other stops?

The train starts to slow down. Very quickly, I make up my mind, snatch up my duffle bag and shove the wallet in my hoodie pocket. Once I find the nearest door, I wait, bouncing on my toes for the train to stop and unload. A voice comes on over the intercom.

“Brussels-Midi.”

As soon as the doors open, my feet jump to the platform. The impact jostles my hoodie and the leather stuffed with Euros nearly flies out, making my heart nearly stop. People start milling out of the train around me so I don’t dare take it out to check on it. My hand stays firmly on the pouch in my pocket.

I’ve been to Brussels-Midi before so I immediately turn left and head to the ticket kiosks. I insert two 20 Euro notes into the machine and select a one-way ticket.

It’s not long before I’m anxiously seated on another train to Helsinki, watching as the Polish countryside flashes by in a blur.

Armoir

by

Shadows of bruises.  That’s all I see.  Around the eyes, fingerprints on the neck, and there must be more along his chest.  But those are hidden.  Hidden by a soft white linen jacket, masking the marks of a night gone horribly wrong.  A night where the truth ended in pain.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

His body lays like an old statue, and somewhere deep inside me there is a sense of unnerving.  I have never seen him so still in the five years that I’ve known him.  A part of me wants to reach out and shake his arm to see his bright blue eyes open wide to take me in,  with a laugh bubbling out of him… as though this whole thing were just a joke.

The fresh ink of the words in a small box in a corner of Sunday’s paper would suggest otherwise.  This was no joke.  In fact, his effervescent laughter is growing faint in my memory against my will to remember.  As though a dim record were skipping in the back of my mind, his laughter that sounded like continuous hiccups, start to slip away in pieces.  I’ll miss them.

Through the subtle stale smell of phermeldahide, there is a slight sweet aroma of orchids circulating the room.  Orchids of pink and orange stand next to the oak box surrounding a sign.  On the sign, there is a picture of him from three months ago in his backyard.  Blue eyes crinkled at the edges, his larger two front teeth taking up much of his smile that lit up his whole face.  His lanky build was angled towards someone who sat next to him on his trampoline and his right arm was looped around her neck as her own her wrapped tightly around his waist, wrinkling the finely pressed button-down he was wearing.

The name below the picture is one that will stay with me for the rest of my life: Peter Dameron. That girl in the picture is me. This was us before everything spilled out… before our relationship changed for good. I would not say things went wrong.  I’d say one thing came out right, even if Peter’s father didn’t see it that way.