Books and Affiliated, Le Shorts, Writing Prompts

In the Beginning

There was once a beautiful white snake and a great black snake in the caretaker’s garden. The black snake lay at the caretaker’s feet and enjoyed all the best he had to offer, as well as companionship and the pride of the caretaker. But for the black snake, it wasn’t enough, and he became bitter and greedy because there was one other in the garden who held the caretaker’s esteem.

Mankind.

So often, the caretaker spoke of Mankind and boasted of his achievements. It made the black snake resentful. He concocted a scheme to reduce Mankind and elevate himself once again, but something stood in his way. The black snake could go anywhere he desired as long as he did not enter the inner garden where Mankind rested. So he bequested the aid of the beautiful white snake. She guarded the coming and going of the garden and greeted the caretaker every day. One night, while he was away, she opened the gate for the black snake. He entered the inner garden and made his way to Mankind’s other half which lay sleeping beneath the trees. And so the black snake whispered in her ear to cause Mankind to fall.

#PatchworkDolls

~FanTC

Books and Affiliated, Le Shorts

Something to Share

I’m going to share my fairy poetry with you.

They shared it with me, and I don’t feel it’s right to keep it to myself.

Who gave it to me, you ask.

The fairies, of course.

* * *

“Deep in the hollow
Of an ancient wood
Mystical lanterns
At one time stood.”
HOME

* * *

“This road you’re on
Does it ever end?
These twists and turns
Each hidden bend
What made you walk
The path you took?
Was it fairy love
Or love forsook?
THE ROAD

* * *

“The fairy glade is where you’re at
Where dreams are made in a great big vat,
And in this land you’ll never find
A grain of sand left out of time.”
DARE TO DREAM

* * *

“Don’t you wake by bird’s light song?
But all is dead in winter’s frost.
Can life begin at journeys end?
Or is snow the mark that all is lost?”
WINTER

* * *

“Hush of night
‘Neath a violet sky
Moonlit waves
Have sung goodbye.”
FAREWELL TO THE SEA

* * *

On the isle of wonder
Where enchantment reigns
Where walls fall asunder
And set free their chains
Give worry to the sea
And stress to the winds
For on the isle on wonder
Your adventure begins.”
THE ISLE

* * *

The passage of time
A mysterious thing
When you hear the bells chime
Then you must leave the ring.
Be warned.”

Le Shorts

The Squid from Quid

The Squid from Quid
A short story poem

Once upon a time
in the land of Quid,
there came a strange
and peculiar squid.

He had no ink
or cloud to spread.
Truth be told,
he'd rather be dead.

Because all his peers
they teased him bad.
He had no friends,
which made him sad.

And so one day
when he was down,
he explored on his own
and got out of town.

Deep in the ocean
away from his home,
he had time to think
and be on his own.

He saw all the coral
and moved through the weeds.
He saw all the many
variety of reeds.

It made him think
since no plant was the same,
that maybe his peers
were really quite lame.

To think that all squids -
the young and the old -
should all be the same,
not to shy, not to bold.

He thought he was broke
all his life he felt so.
But now he felt changed
and now he felt whole.

The next time squids laughed
or called him mean names,
he reminded himself
he was not to blame.

Each squid has a purpose
though some may not see it,
and maybe one day
he would grow up to be it.

The end
Le Shorts

Hair There Be Pirates

A satirical short fiction based around the shenanigans of cosmetology school.

*****

Captain Jon Wickham paced the forward bow of his ship the Clipper Lady. He fumed, and every time he let out a breath, his curly mustache fluttered above his lips.

“Confound those bloody blighters. What be keepin’ them so long?”

He turned an eye to the watery horizon, silver glass all around them, gray skies above matching his own cloudy steel eyes. The sails snapped in the breeze, as if mimicking his frustration.

“Cap’n,” the first mate Ethram started, squinting against the growing light. “I don’t think she’s gonna show up.”

“She better!” the captain sputtered. “By Jove, she better, or I’ll have her sails fer my washrags.”

Up in the crow’s nest, high above the deck and beyond the canvas sails, Redhand Jess Snipps shielded her eyes from the glare of the ocean. The Jolly Roger flapped and snapped around her head. She frowned. Drawing out a spyglass and fitting it to her eye, she slowly swept the surrounding horizon.

“Nothin’ yet, Cap’n!” she shouted, battling the wind to make her voice heard below.

Wickham snatched the plumed hat off his head and tossed it to the deck. “Blistering barnacles! What be keepin’ her this long?”

“D’ya think she got boarded?” shipmate Angel questioned, her hand resting fidgety on her pistol butt.

The captain froze and turned a weather eye to the rough sea. It was picking up ferocity as the day dawned. The clouds darkened the sea and waves rocked the ship about.

“Aye,” he murmured. “I be thinkin’ that meself.”

“Ho, Cap’n!” Snipps suddenly cried. “Somethin’s appeared southeast in the distance.”

Captain Wickham scooped up his hat again and rushed towards the stern, climbing up the steps to the helm where quartermaster Lorn stood. He stepped aside quickly before the captain could elbow him out of the way. Wickham took up the wheel and shifted the ship’s direction with one quick spin. The entire vessel dipped on its port side. Salty water sprayed into the air, misting the sailors. Coils of rope slithered across the deck. Crewmen scrambled to scooped them up and secure them. In the far-off distance, a black speck bobbed lazily on the horizon line—the source of their excitement.

“Blimey,” Lorn muttered. “‘Bout time they showed their scurvy hides.”

Wickham’s expression remained severe, his thin lips pressed in a grim line. The wind thrust itself into their sails, speeding them towards their target. Despite the rapid pace, it wasn’t until midday before the blight became a recognizable figure.

“It’s her a’right,” Ethram said softly, coming to stand with his captain. “The Late Show. Who’s gettin’ the rift fo’ this ‘un?”

Lorn gave a queer smile and glanced upward. “Let’s give ‘er to Jess. She won’t keep us out till dark.”

“Aye, agreed,” Captain Wickham said. “We’ll come alongside ‘er by high noon. Ready the sweeps.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” the first mate said, nodding as he descended to the main deck.

Jess climbed out of her barrel and scurried down to the deck. The crew were already swarming the area, planks and grappling hooks in hand. Others were monkey-climbing the rigging and grabbing hold of loose, dangling ropes. They prepared to board the Late Show at any minute.

The pirate ship cut through the water, spilling waves on either side as it sped toward the smaller vessel. Crewmen from the other ship ran across the deck in a mad hurry—they knew what was coming. They could not outrun the faster ship, not with the wind working with the Lady, but they sure as Davy Jones tried.

The Clipper Lady cut in front of the Late Show, stealing the wind from her sails. The Lady slowed and both ships stopped dead in the water. A great cry rang out from the Lady‘s crew as they shot the grappling hooks to the other ship. Cannons boomed, tearing through the Late Show‘s wooden hull.

First mate Ethram donned a jaunty hat. He hefted a wicked looking sword with sharp ridges running down the blade. He gave a nod to Snipps, indicating his weapon. “Dis here’s a feather, sharp as a razor.” It glittered in a shaft of sunlight.

Getting ready to scamper across one of the rickety planks, Jess whipped out her own weapon, but something didn’t feel right. Looking down at the object in her hand, she found a pair of polished shears. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

What the Dickens?

“Take ‘er down, Snipps,” the captain ordered, pulling a blood-red hairdryer from his belt.

Something isn’t right, Jess thought again, and looked out towards the other ship.

Then Jess saw her—the captain of the Late Show. A fierce woman with the thickest mane of hair Jess had ever seen. The hair was curly and wild, blowing about on the wind as if it were alive and was ready to attack. Someone had done a hack-job on it before and tried to cut through the thickness, but that only made it grow. Besides all of this, however, was something far more terrifying to Redhand Jess . . .

. . . Dreadlocks.

The End

Le Shorts

Glimmer Tears

Something I wrote back in high school. It’s inspired by a song from Loreena McKennett

*****

The golden sunlight reflected like a strip of gossamer across the evergreen trees. Thick clusters of needle leaves shuffled in the soft breeze. A cool mist wove finger-like through the boughs. The air was warm but damp. A chill made seventeen year old Jane’s skin prick. Her sandy brown hair shimmered, and her skin glowed in the passing light.

Summer was ending. She could almost taste autumn on the air.

She had been watching the woods for seven evenings. She couldn’t explain what she was looking for, but she had been waiting all her life for this moment. Even as a child, she knew there was something magical about those woods. When she entered high school, she thought she had put all this fantasy behind her, but something beckoned her to continue dreaming. Now she would finally know what she was waiting for.

The first night had been an accident. It had been a long day at work, and she was taking a walk to clear her head. She had only paused for a moment, watching the fog drift among the everwoods, when strange lights flickered into place. They bobbed and moved through the trees. But once darkness settled, she had not been able to see the lights anymore.

Each night, the lights became brighter, more clear. Last night she had seen torches, but more surprisingly, ghosts. Images wavered, appeared, then faded from view. Tonight – she was sure – something would happen.

Jane drew in a breath and held it as the lights flickered into view one by one. They came slowly at first, few and far between, but then arriving in clusters. They lit up the trees and dispelled the fog. They moved in a line going from east to west, passing right by her without seeming to notice.

Sunset turned to twilight and the air became abruptly cooler, raising the gooseflesh on Jane’s skin until she shivered.

Slowly, patiently, ghostly figures began to emerge from the mist, taking shape and form, becoming tangible figures with details so refined that Jane could have painted them from memory with just a glance. She dared not blink – the figures might disappear entirely just as they had done last night. She wanted to step towards them, but she feared disturbing the fantastic mirage.

There was magic in the air, she could feel it. A tingling on her skin, a warming in the air. Even while the sunlight faded and the world became dark, the figures in the trees seemed to glow with their own light – sparkling almost.

I can see them, she gasped silently. I’m not dreaming. They’re…they’re actually real.

Elves. Mystical beings. Myth straight out of the story books, the stuff of legends. Not twenty feet away, the elegant creatures glided by, soft as whispers and subtle as roes, with glimmering capes of spider silk and evening dew and raven hair braided with forget-me-nots and violets. Every detail was delicate and intricate.

Jane found she couldn’t believe her eyes – not really. Elves did not exist in reality so the past week surely must have been a series of dreams. Yes, perhaps this was all a dream. If that were the case, then it explained why this evening felt like a goodbye.

She watched the procession with a keen gaze, taking in everything and letting nothing escape her eye. But she wasn’t the only one staring. There was a man standing perfectly still, and he was watching her closely.

She caught her breath. Could he see her? Who was he? Should she be afraid? No one else in the procession paid him any mind – or her, for that matter. Yet he continued to stare.

Just then, he started forward. Jane stumbled back a step, then froze. He weaved around his brothers and sisters without disrupting their solemn walk. He was coming closer. She couldn’t move – could hardly breathe.

He passed out of the woods and hesitated, casting his gaze around the open field as if seeing it for the first time. Jane could see him more clearly now—he seemed both young and old at the same time. His features were smooth and refined, though still chiseled with youth. His eyes told a different story, a story about a world lived over many, many seasons. 

Stopping just a few paces away from her, he stood very still, gazing at her openly with starlit blue eyes. It was a strange combination:  raven black hair with crystal blue eyes.

Jane very carefully, very hesitantly, lifted her hand to wave. She didn’t know what else to do, but the staring spell had to be broken. He raised his hand as well, holding it up without waving.

Now what?

“Hi,” she said, swallowing to clear the lump in her throat.

“Well met, friend,” he greeted.

Jane took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This is real. I’m not dreaming. He’s tall and slender with pointy ears and robes of royalty over silk clothes. This is not a dream.

“I am Runal Eytheranea,” the elf said, gesturing to himself, then fell silent and waited for her.

Say something, you dork, she scolded herself. “I’m Jane. Jane Carter.”

“You are human,” he noted.

She nodded her head.

“And yet you opened the doors to Lorienne,” he said.

He glanced back at the trees where his fellows had disappeared. They were alone. The air was still and quiet as if time had stood still. Only crickets sounded like a chorus of tiny voices to fill the silence.

“Are you…” Jane felt stupid to be asking this question, but since she had started, she had no choice but to continue. “Are you real?”

Instead of answering, he held out his hand to her, palm up. For a moment, she felt a twinge of fear. She shook it off. Stepping closer, she reached out to lay her hand in his. His skin was cool to the touch because of the night air, but it quickly warmed in her hand. The touch of flesh was real, and his gentle clasp eased away the sense that he might fade away.

Runal was gazing down at her hand when he spoke. “I feel as if I know you from long ago,” he murmured.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Jane said.

He looked up. “No. From a long-forgotten memory. Or a dream,” he added.

Jane let out a trembling sigh. “I knew it. This is just a dream.”

A deeply sorrowful expression entered Runal’s eyes as he withdrew his hand. “The ships are calling,” he said softly.

It’s not real…

“I must leave you now.”

She nodded, maintaining control over her expression. “I know.”

“They’ll not be returning to this land,” he explained, backing up.

Jane nodded again and raised her hand to wave.

*****

Sunlight broke over the land with just a fraction of rosy light at first, steadily growing as the day began. Jane was still standing before the trees with hand raised in a good bye. It did not feel as if she had been standing out all night. She could almost still see the Elvin man’s retreating figure as he pulled the silver hood over his head and followed his brothers and sisters.

“It’s just not fair,” she said as a tear trickled down her face and sparkled in the sunlight.

*****

“Suddenly I knew that you’d have to go

Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so

Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time

And I wondered why.

“The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you

The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.”

 –The Old Ways (by Loreena McKennett).