August 2nd Story: Aminna's Shrine

Alright folks, here it is. Unfortunately, it doesn't work with the quotes as smashingly as I'd hoped. But that's because it wasn't really inspired by them. I didn't really use them as a prompt so much as an inhibition. And, this isn't really about the plot so much as the setting it illuminates...

And to make yet another excuse, I'm quite exhausted and would have loved to have more time to work on this but must go to bed now.

He said, "Have a happy birthday...a very happy birthday," and smiled and nodded. Since nodding and smiling appeared to be his wonted way, the fact that this instance garnered particular mention speaks of its considerable magnitude.

At one of the tables outside the booth, Parcenet felt herself shudder. Her entire life she had dedicated to the Holy Castis, and she could not help but inwardly recoil when she heard a God referred to in such casual passing. Only demons, and nonloyal beings, were to be referred to by their titles. The noble Three were to be spoken of respectfully, and by name. Saw she not the interior of the booth, but by what she did hear, the boy and his parents therein did attempt to heed the waiter's bidding. Of course, they could not. Aminna's offspring did frolic rampant at their table, and the God itself was present only in fleeting moments. It appeared briefly only to be overwhelmed again, its purity befouled by the demon spawn. And yet the family made no effort to restrain themselves!

Lull, was she letting Ropask's demons enter her? She would go back to the Castium anon, lest she be tainted by the heresy – nay, she reminded herself: ignorance – of the commonfolk. She closed her eyes, ignored her ears, and emptied her mind. Shut thyself from the influences of the offspring, for only the purest Three shall dwell within thy Haven...

Only when she was certain that she had Allayed any demons within her did she reopen her eyes.

“Everything alright, Ma'am?”

Inquired the waiter whilst he did replenish her glass.

“Yea, quite,” Parcenet replied.

Looking upon his face, she beheld such a marvel of nodding and smiling as she had never before thought possible. Could he be...? Quell, no need to jump to such conclusions. Excitement is a dangerous being, and not one that is tamed by haste. Yea, she would linger, observing him for awhile longer.

 

To read it all, go here.

Quote Prompt

This week's prompt involves two randomly selected quotes. The goal is to use one quote as the opening line of a story, and the other as the closing line. I've never tried this before, but I'm sure I'm in for oodles of fun.

First line: He said, "Have a happy birthday...a very happy birthday," and smiled and nodded.
Last line: "Yea," said Parcenet, "we who dwell there do hold it to be an excellent estate."
(the underlined section can be excluded as it is arguably not part of the sentence... oh, and character names can be inserted/removed/changed)


I will post a story conforming to these guidelines on/by August 2nd.


Hopefully.

July 26 Story: The Color

This week, the only prompt I set myself was to write something cheerful, since the ones I have been writing lately have been rather grim. This one is so short, I'm not even sure it deserves to be called a story. Maybe the epithets 'sketch' or 'scene' would be more fitting. In any case, it is inspired by the story The Open Window by Saki (Hector Hugo Munro).

“Completely colorblind?”
“Mm-hm – since birth.”
“My son is, too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but he's so self-conscious! I'm so sorry, I wouldn't have – you know – I just had no idea...”
“No, not at all, ma'am. I'm just glad others can enjoy it.”
“Well, like I say, it's a lovely color.”
“Thank you. Have a good day, ma'am.”
“Alright, take care, dear.”
“Hello, sir. Will this be all today?”
“Yes.”
“Seven ninety-five is your total... okay... here's your change, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Have a good day.”
“Good day – I... I just have to tell you, that's a great color.”
“Oh...” the woman behind the counter smiles, fingering her hair. The golden-red curls fall to the middle of her back. “I get it from my father's side... though,” she shakes her head. “He'd be ashamed if he saw I wore it like this.”
The old man, nodding, steps away from the counter. Then, as if finally absorbing what she said, looks back at her questioningly.
“People in his culture usually keep their hair very short...” she explains. “If he could see me now, he'd be terrified that it would get singed.”
“Singed?” An idea is starting to glow in his gray eyes. A wild idea. The color had reminded him of it, but – could she really be...? “What culture is this, if you don't mind me asking?”

Read the rest.

July 19 story: Through the Trees

This story came out a bit more surreal and strange than I had originally planned. It is inspired by the photos in the prompt, but... well I guess I got a little carried away. Though, the whole thing can be interpreted metaphorically, which I noticed after I'd written it trust the more discerning readers will pick up on. Without further ado:

The cat takes a few steps in my direction. I reach my hand towards it, and it instantly retreats back into the shadowy alley on the other side of the street.

I don't try talking it out  – I always feel stupid talking to animals. I'm afraid someone other than the animal will hear me and, either not seeing the animal or not realizing that I'm talking to it, think I've gone completely nuts. Besides, what would I say? Here kitty kitty?

So I just sit here on the cool stone of my aunt's front stoop, shaded by the wall of her house. You might think that because the cat is so dark, I wouldn't be able to see it when it's in the shadows, but I can. It's darker than shadow, and stands out like a patch of black velvet on black linen. It's one eye glows golden-green. I've heard you're not supposed to stare at animals, because they'll take it as a sign of aggression, so I let my gaze wander around the dark old buildings, crammed so tight that the places that should be streets are more like alleys, and the alleys... well, I guess that's why the cat likes it here. Humans don't fit, so it's like it has its own private road system. There must be other cats, too, but this one-eyed black one is the only one I've met.

The whole village feels like it has been compressed, as though someone were trying to fit a big town into a small area and didn't want to leave anything out. Looking up, the buildings lean towards each other, practically blotting out the sky. All the heat and smells that usually accompany streets are stuck in the tunnel that is the street, unable to ventilate. I've never liked coming here, and usually try to come up with an excuse not to visit my aunt, but this time I had to come.

To read the whole thing, click here.

Photo Prompt

This week I'm doing a photo prompt. The idea is to write a story that is somehow inspired by the photo(s) in the prompt. That can be taken as loosely or exactly as you like. The final result may have little to nothing to do with either photo, but I find it's a pretty good way to get myself to think in ways I might not have otherwise (whether that is a good idea as far as the actual story goes is up to debate, but it definitely gets the wheels of imagination turning...).

This week's photos:

Assuming I get over my writers block/brain-lethargy, (complete responsibility for that goes to the hot, muggy weather, not my laziness and procrastination) I will post the story I write from this prompt on Monday, July 19.

(photo credit: Don't be a baby! by Extra Medium and Medina Cat by wind_dancer)

July 12 story: Camp Mariana

Why not kick of my career as a blogger with a story? I'll start with last week's story, called Camp Mariana. Like most of the stories that I will be posting on here, this one was written in less than a week, and thus is pretty rough around the edges (and, admittedly, everything in between). Also, as with any of my stories I post, I am open to any comments and/or criticism from anyone reading.

Camp Mariana was inspired by the fantastic Canon in J.

“Plo! Come, darling, I know you're tired but –”

He stopped talking as he got close enough to the bed to see that the child was already awake, pale arms hugging the blankets around her in the cold. Huge, round eyes followed him as he sat down on the foot of the bed. He hoped it was too dark for them to read his face. Had she heard? Did she know everything already? Had she woken up, sensing the importance of this night?

Or did she always sit awake like this, unable to sleep?

“There isn't much time, darling.” He kept his voice smooth and level.“You're going to have to come with me tonight, Plo.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and she pulled the blankets tighter around her.

“I know how scary this is for you, darling, but it's the safest plan Momma and I could come up with.”

Her eyes glowed huge and empty in the dark.

“Things aren't safe here anymore, Plo, especially for you.”

He ran a hand through his thick blond mustache.

“You're going to go to a place where there are other people like you, other people who needed to leave their homes. It will be safer there. You won't be so alone. You'll be happier, Plo...”

Gods, she was so small, so young... but surely there was no sense in waiting? No, things were only going to get more dangerous. And besides, she was old enough. That's what they'd decided, wasn't it?

“Will there be other kids there?” Her voice was soft, but not nearly as hollow as he had expected it to be.

“Well, I... I don't...” He grinned. “You know, I believe there will. Yes, there will be lots of other children there.”

Her grip on the blanket loosened, and something like excitement appeared on her face. Well, it probably wasn't really a lie – and if it made her happy, what was the harm? For all he knew, the camp could be teeming with children... then again, for all he knew it could be nonexistent...

To read the rest, click here.