Inner Owlet

Namesake

2012-02-26T22:19:00.002-06:00

YAY! In case you didn't know, Spring Fevers has been released! And it's FREE! (Want to know more? Mindy McGinnis of Writer, Writer, Pants on Fire has a beautiful description) I have three short stories in the anthology, so if you get time to read 'em, please let me know what you think!

***

Namesake

She stared up at the drip, drip, drip of crimson rain and sighed. Watching the God’s Blood fall everyday was torture, knowing it would be her life force staining the city streets soon enough. Others of her kind didn’t feel that way, she knew. They were grateful to have been spared the Birth-Death that was so popular now.

The last dribble of red gore seeped into the sandstone, and Mira turned to leave. A whimper stopped her in her tracks, like it always did: the death cry of the infant. The sad, pitiful wail no one else ever seemed to hear.

She wanted to go to the broken babe on the altar and shush it, tell it to give up and go on to happier places. The afterlife, the priests assured them, was blissful. But she couldn’t force herself to do it. She’d held too many of them, their tiny bodies nothing more than vessels for the magic the priests gathered to keep the kingdom running.

Their blood, her blood—the blood of all sacrifices—was for the better good. Long ago it had been discovered that power was released when a soul entered this world. Magic, it was called. The power fueled the necessities so many people relied upon; spells to bake bread perfectly, potions to rile the passions of lovers, and great pools of healing that the populace were free to use whenever they wanted.

The only cost was one child per family.

The release of power had recently, within the last couple of decades, been found to double when a sacrifice died. The spot where soul left this world, if it was the same spot which the soul had entered, became holy ground. Now priests demanded all sacrifices be born on the altar, the Shrine of God’s Blood. And it was there that a hooded man slit each soul’s throat.

It was where her throat would meet metal, one day.

Unlike other citizens, she wasn’t allowed to use the healing baths. She was expected to sicken eventually, and when that happened, her crimson-filled body would be the whimpering shell on the shrine.

Mira trembled. She didn’t want to die. She hated that her people killed their infants, their sons and daughters… but she had no voice. As a sacrifice, she was little more than chattel. She wasn’t even allowed to marry, or bare children. Her vote would be meaningless if ever the topic was breached.

And it wouldn’t be.

People loved their necessities. Even when the priests had discovered that Birth-Deaths were easier, faster, and more efficient. Mothers let their newborns be snatched from their wombs and instantly slaughtered…and no one cared about the babe’s last breathe, no one ever heard it but Mira.

She peeked over her shoulder and watched the body shudder as air left it’s lungs for the last time. A tear dribbled down her cheek and she turned away. The priests had servants who cleaned up the shrine and disposed of the bodies. The so-called Godlings.

Funny, but no one cared what happened to the shells of those who provided God’s Blood. No one wondered what would happen if the God’s were angered by the treatment of their namesake children.

Not that Mira really believed in the Gods. How could she? She’s watched women give up their humanity so their bread rose and baked perfectly. She seen father’s laugh at the hiccupping cough of a sliced infant. It was these people she was supposed to serve with her very life…and she didn’t even like them.

But escape was impossible. A wall surrounded the city, higher than her by dozens of feet. Only one man had ever climbed it, but he’d been shot down by the guards. He hadn’t even been a sacrifice, just an adventurous boy with a penchant for climbing.

Her punishment, should she attempt to flee the city and her fate, would be much worse. Being one of the Full-Term sacrifices, as it was called, meant that she was given a limited amount of time to live life. To come in to her own—to come full term before her neck was torn asunder. People treated her with indifference as long as she did what was expected of her.

She worked. She contributed to the good of the city. Her body and thoughts and hopes and dreams were unimportant. Utterly insignificant. That only changed if she stopped doing her duty.

She’d seen a Full-Term sacrifice punished, once. It’d been horrible in the most base, cruel way. He had been staked through the palms, with iron spikes, and left out on the shrine for the crows to eat. His blood had rained down for five days before his heart stopped beating, and only then was his corpse tossed into a midden heap.

She hadn’t known his name, or why he was punished, but his fate was one she wanted to avoid at all costs. Death would come for her, she knew, but she’d rather it was one quick kiss of steel and not a week of agony.

Still, the thought of watching another day come and go, and hearing the last cry of another Birth-Death was unimaginable. The tiny body behind her was a testament, a proclamation that she needed to escape this cycle of death.

Her soul was worth more.

Smaller

2012-02-22T15:04:00.000-06:00

Before I post my story, I wanted to say HELLO to everyone! I've been gone a while, but I'm feeling much better lately and hope to start posting regularly again :)

Also, I have good news: Matt Sinclair and Cat Woods are publishing an anthology, and three (THREE!!!) of my stories have been accepted into the first issue, Spring Fevers. I'll give more details when I get 'em :P

Thanks for stopping by!

***

Smaller

I hate it all. The fat lumped together in rolls that pinch and sag against one another. The sallow tint yellowing everything. The dull flakes pretending to be snow.

My body is a disaster.

I haven’t been able to stand even the thought of a mirror since I hit puberty. Blubber and sweat keep me occupied, thanks very much. Even the pounds of makeup it would take to cover my face wouldn’t be enough to disguise my misery.

I honestly hate being alive.

It’s not enough that I was born with the slowest metabolism on Earth. No. I also was born in America’s Deep South. Not in a one-street sleepy little town, but picture-perfect Able Hill, Alabama. Sounds like a hick-farm, but it’s not.

Beautiful farm houses with wrap-around porches date back generations, and every lawn is unique and pristine. Barbie would have been happy in any of them.

But not me.

I am Freak. Ben & Jerry’s Worst Nightmare. Crater Face. Jelly Doughnut. And my personal favorite, Ugly Ulga. Not that my name is actually Ulga, but, according to my classmates, it was the only name that suited me. Because it is just as horrible as I am.

No one ever calls me Darcy. No one ever remembers my birthday, my last name, or the fact that I’m human. They all laugh at me. Crater Face, the huge alien it’s okay to mess with because the mothership won’t ever zoom down to the rescue.

I hate that. Normal people suck.

But I know that’s not true. I’m the one who’s fat. I’m the one who’s ugly. It’s me, me, me.

White ovals sneer at me, their tiny shapes taunting me. Ha-ha, they whisper. You’ll never be smaller than us. And I can’t argue. I stare down at my counter, the marble a beautiful backdrop for my morbidity, and sigh. It hurts to drag air into my lungs, the weight on my ribs all but crushing me.

I can’t do it anymore.

Dozens of chalky little dots grin up at me like freaky little teeth. I shudder and scoop up a handful, shoving them past my lips and letting each grainy capsule dissolve. Bitterness clings to my tongue, and I want to spit, maybe even scream, but I hold in the words no one has ever cared to hear, and swallow. Another handful, and then another, silences me.

The steps from the sink to my bedroom are few, but it takes me forever to find my door. The white paint cheerily mocks me, and I shove past the barrier to my private space. Pink and white lace greets me for the last time. I’ve begged to paint the whole room black, so at least some part of me is stamped in my only haven, but my parents refused.

Apparently a Southern Lady shouldn’t want a black bedroom. I imagine they’ll find what I’m about to do even more scandalous than a coat of paint. Not that I’m an expert on propriety, of course.

But I don’t want to think about them and their standards. Or their perfect house. Or their neighbors. Or anyone in Able Hill, Alabama. In fact, I never want to think again. All I’ve ever wanted was…

I wheeze and clutch my stomach. I try for a second to ignore whatever is happening in my belly, but the pain is…agony. Tears slip down my cheeks as dagger-like fingernails scratch at my stomach lining, and then a hand grips the bleeding inside of my gut, wrenching me. I choke out a sob, but then I can’t even breathe. I retch and vomit and cry as pain twists me into a knot.

I see tiny white dots in the puke covering me, my floor, and everything else in sight. But I also see the Mac‘n’Cheese I ate for a snack. I gag and burp, and a stray noodle escapes my esophagus with a wet plop. I groan and sag into the mess, unable to support myself as more pain hits. I imagine a bowling ball slamming into my gut over and over again, because that’s what it feels like—except this ball belongs to a sadist. Spikes and shards of glass make it a torture device, and it shreds me.

I vomit again, heaving up my lunch, then my breakfast…

The little pills laugh at me again. You’re still not smaller than us, they say. And I still can’t argue. I don’t want to argue. I just want to die.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to go to sleep, fade away into dreamland. Mr. Sandman was supposed to be my friend, my ally. All I wanted was peace.

The agony and the sadist’s ball hit hard enough to rip a moan from me. I shudder and sob, knowing it’s not over. And it seems clear, all of a sudden, that I’m never going to get peace. I’m never going to be allowed to make this choice.

The universe hates me.

Why else would I have been born so hideous? The imperfect child of two perfect people? In a perfect town, with other perfect people and their perfect houses? Near the horribly beautiful yards and annoying adorable dogs? The perfection has always sickened me, but I know I only hate it because I don’t belong…the universe played a cruel joke. I just don’t know why.

My heart stutters. Pressure builds in my chest, and I want to roll over, stop whatever’s happening, but I can’t move. My lungs are empty, and I can’t remember how to breathe. My heart is thumping, thumping, thumping, and it’s all I can hear. I can’t think with all the noise, and I’m scared…

But the pain is lessening. The bowling ball is finally still, and I can’t feel the shards of glass that had hurt so badly… now it’s like someone popped open a can of soda after shaking it, and all the foam is gushing around inside me.

So much better. I sigh and relax, happy to think about soda. I love the fizz from Root Beer. And the smell of…I forgot the name. It smelled like…

I forgot that, too.

I start to frown, but my face is somewhere above me, and I’m sinking. Soda bubbles are all around me, and I want to giggle. I’ve had this dream before, where I strip down and do a cannon ball into a pool full of Pepsi.

But…this doesn’t feel like a dream…

Winter

2012-01-17T23:11:00.001-06:00

I couldn't help myself. Even though I feel like I've been run into the ground lately, this story came flying off my fingers and onto Microsoft Word. Gotta love when that happens. But I'm not promising to be punctual with any more stories....I'm still resolved to a hiatus. You know, if my imagination will let up long enough.

Winter

It was torture knowing her touch killed. The faintest brush of her desire blackened the skin of her lovers, crippling them. Destroying them. But never could she resist the temptation of a man.

New mortals wandered into her embrace, deep into her arms, all the time. She called to them. Beauty appealed to humans in a primal way, she supposed. And she was beautiful. No mortal man had ever fled her touch, even as she drained the heat from their bodies.

But it wasn’t just beauty. Death was too high a cost for just something pleasing to look upon. She’d clung to enough men to know some of their thoughts and needs; survival and challenge fueled most of them. They’d claimed more than once that it was the peace of nature that called to them and lured them into her embrace. Yet that was pure foolishness.

Nature wasn’t peaceful. Nothing natural lounged and dreamt of peace the way humans did—in fact, she’d never understood the search for peace. What was it, really, that the men longed for? Sometimes she mused that mortals simply wanted to be closer to the beasts they’d been. Humans had roamed the planet savagely, once. Oh, those had been dark days. Bloody, heathen days. How she missed the red splatters, the gore. The light in the eyes of those men had been so much more vital.

Now she kissed away the strains and stresses of life, but the creatures barely fought their fate. Their hearts pounded only for release. And she mourned every loss. Even the weak mortals would be better than the sad loneliness she endured.

So when a man walked to her, chest bared, face filled with determination, she all but wept. His face held a trace of insanity, a pinch of savagery. One long scar traced his muscled form, gliding from neck to pelvis. His skin puckered with cold, but he was fierce and unwavering. He walked straight into her arms, eyes alight.

She caught him, held him close. The sweetness of his breath was at odds with the strength coiled in his body, and she reveled in the sensations heating her own frosty form. His lips parted beneath her own, his gasps fueling her desire. Only when she clung to him, her skin pressed tightly to his, did tenderness gentle his hands. He stroked her, petting her and fondling her snowy softness.

Ecstasy found her in his arms, and she moaned at his every touch. Her fingers traced the stark blue veins crisscrossing his paling skin, and she licked away his pain. Icy numbness followed her mouth, but he didn’t fight her. He opened himself to sensation and laughed as she sucked his warmth straight from his blood. He was different than the many who’d come to her lately, and he reminded her of the fearless ones that had wandered before humanity had gone soft. She let him taste her pleasure, let rapture slide between them, joining them in an ancient, natural dance.

As she cried her joy to the heavens, his last breath hovered in the air, trapped as smoke in the cold. Slowly she breathed that precious cloud in, then released his corpse. Smiling, she turned away, looking again for a new partner…but this time with hope.

Hiatus

2012-01-13T11:48:00.000-06:00

It's been about two weeks since my last post, and it'll probably be at least another two before I get anything else posted here. Although I miss posting on Inner Owlet, I just started a new job and also found out that I have a medical condition that needs attention.

I'll post again as soon as possible!

The Message

2011-12-26T18:58:00.001-06:00

Warning: something strange is afoot, my friends. Something very odd. I noticed when the season changed from Fall to Winter, back when everything was as normal as could be. But all of a sudden elves started popping out of the woodwork.

I'm not being figurative, either. I mean real elves.

^This fellow showed up on my doorstep with a message. Several, in fact.

I tried to decipher them all, but the strange pictures make an odd collage I find myself hard-pressed to understand.

And then something even stranger happened: my house was decorated.

A mysterious penguin appeared. Could gremlins with a penguin fetish be to blame?

My houseplants were invaded by ornaments and candy. Who knew that pine trees liked peppermint?

An Angel took up residence near my ceiling. I guess I need extra guidance?

And then my dogs started wearing festive scarves.

It's comical. My pups normally hate doggie clothes, but they've taken to these with...good cheer.

A brand-new cooking set appeared, complete with kitchen towels. I think someone is trying to tell me something...but I didn't get a cookbook, so maybe not :P

And then everything iced over.

What could it all mean? Were the messages, decorations and gifts all connected???? Did the season have a secret meaning? I almost pulled out my hair searching for answers, and I still don't know.

...but Merry Christmas nonetheless! =P

Soaked in Crimson

2011-12-18T17:52:00.001-06:00

How was it that only death was left behind? The emptiness, the ache? Marie sat in front of her grandmother’s mirror and watched her reflection. She noticed the way her skin pearled with bumps, but the cold felt so distant.
Everything was distant; she’d made sure of that.

Being alone was important. Her husband wouldn’t understand, her friends would freak. They didn’t know. No one was privy to her secret, her failure.

The waxy texture of her face looked distorted in the mirror. Fake. She watched her hand trace the contours of her jaw and neck, proving it was all real. It seemed so unfair, so cruel. Her hand delved lower, over her body. She ignored her breasts, rubbing instead across her stomach.

It was flat, empty.

She rocked, body shaking with grief. Her head banged on something and tiny flecks of silver glittered down onto her carpet. Red rain joined the mess, but she didn’t feel anything.

Pain, it seemed, numbed her pain, and Marie almost laughed.

She looked up. Fractured spiderwebs claimed her reflection now. Every feature was distorted, broken. Marie rubbed a fingertip along the jagged edges and felt her inner ache fade as sensation robbed her of breath.

Only when everything was numb, and the world was soaked in crimson, did Marie allow herself to cry.

The Be-All, End-All Interview

2011-12-13T21:22:00.001-06:00

*cough*

Actually, it’s more just that Riley Redgate is so awesome she deserves a rockin’ title. Riley is a fabulous writer, funny and informative blogger, and a witty tweeter. As a member of the YA target audience, Riley is knowledgeable about what is “hip” and “groovy”. I, obviously, am not. Miss Redgate is graciously gonna answer some questions I have about the YA crowd… their tastes, current trends, yada yada yada.

After this interview, be sure to check out my brand new awards and awardees!

Without further ado, it's time for the interrogation to begin!

AM: Does every YA novel need to have a love interest?

RR: NOoo! Adolescence isn't only important because of a pubescent sexual awakening, or whatever. This is a formative period. Teenagers are on the cusp of deciding who we're going to be for the rest of our ENTIRE LIVES, and on some level we're all very aware of this and very self-conscious about it. Some sort of internal conflict should preferably drive the story along, but that internal conflict doesn't have to involve romance.

AM: Are the Twilight Saga books popular anymore, or has it sunk to just a movie craze?

RR: I haven't heard a fellow teen talk about Twilight with anything but derision for months now. Sort of sad.

AM: How much reality is too much reality? Do YA generally prefer all gritty fact or some fact mixed in with easy-to-handle fantasy?

RR: Someone on AQC says that all stories are fantasy. I agree. I think the slice-me-open lay-me-bare 100% honest parts of a story are the ones that will stay with the reader longest, though. Nothing's harder than saying what you really mean.

That said, every novel should have pleasure involved. No one's going to read something that's misery misery misery all the way through. (Uh, I assume.) Even the gritty stuff has to have moments that are comparatively lighter.

AM: If you HAD to choose, would you read dark fantasy or fairy tales?

RR: Oh, man! This is a hard one; I love both. But I'd say fairy tales. There's something about stories and memories from my childhood that have a deeper connection than new thought fodder. It's an unfair advantage that fairy tales have over other stories, but one I fully approve of

AM: Would you guess that a lot of high school kids read YA?

RR: Er... at my high school, not many kids READ, to be honest. I mean, yes, there are some. But so many people have sports and academics and extracurriculars and volunteering - and then for the less-involved people, there's TV and video games. And, of course, the all-consuming social life. In the midst of all that, time is impossible to come by.

Those who do read have likely picked up a YA book at some point or another, even if they don't really know it's YA. I don't know anyone who exclusively reads YA, though some really love YA authors (Ellen Hopkins, John Green).

And I bet there's a whole subset of Secret Readers who check books out of the library but don't let anyone see them reading them, so there's that.

AM: Do you have and reading suggestions for us old people (hee hee)?

RR: Ahahaha. Okay, lessee. In adult, everything Neil Gaiman has ever written, plus Dave Barry's BIG TROUBLE.

In YA... well, let's see. I'm not a huge contemporary reader, but Stephanie Perkins's ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS and LOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR blew even me away. Those, E. Lockhart's DISREPUTABLE HISTORY, and Megan McCafferty's Jessica Darling series ring so true to what a teenager really thinks and feels, it's friggin' incredible.

Outside of contemporary? First, my favorite trilogy, Patrick Ness's CHAOS WALKING series. He also just came out with A MONSTER CALLS, which is brilliant.

Also, I'm going to say Veronica Roth's DIVERGENT, which just won Goodreads's Favorite Book, and Laini Taylor's DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE.

What the hey, throw a Harry Potter reread in there too.

Bon appetit!

You're the best, Riley! *hugs*

***************************

And now I get to announce that I've been awarded TWO blog awards!

The first is from the lovely and talented Masako Moonshade, who happens to be a name ninja that can mix with any crowd. Her writing is stand-out though, and she's even appeared as a guest on my blog! Check out her blog for insights and pure awesomeness.

The rules for this one are simple:

Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to them. Thank you, Moonshade!
Pick some of your favorite blogs to share the award with!

The blog that popped in my head for this award was Anita Grace Howard's A Still and Quiet Maddness. You MUST go see her background (and check out her blog, of course)! Haunting and lovely, yes?

The second blog was Suzanne Payne's. Red (as her friends on Twitter and AQC call her) is the sweetest person you'll ever meet, and her posts are both down-to-earth and lovely.

********************************

My next award was thoughtfully bestowed by Cherie :) I've had the great good fortune of befriending this sweet individual, but I'm still constantly surprised by her fantastic writing and unending good humor. I urge all of you to follow her blog and her tweets!

The best part about this award? NO RULES! Yay :) I'm simply going to (virtually) throw it at three of my fav bloggers, all of which are beautimous in their own way!

First up is Words from the Woods! For those of you who haven't followed Cat Wood's blog, DO IT NOW! She's smart, talented and beautiful (her blog is a beautiful source of insight, too)!

The Bad Ass Homemaker is next! Michelle Simkins of Greenwoman is wickedly funny, ridiculously talented, and just so happen to be the #queenofhashtags! Her blog is AWESOME. Actually, it's awesome topped with awesomesauce. It's a beautiful collage of pictures, short stories, rants and insights.

Last, but never least, is Writer, Writer, Pants on Fire! If y'all don't know Mindy McGinnis, you need to work on correcting that sad shortcoming. As reigning champ of quirky and cool, Mindy is my hero. Her blog is a collection of query crits, factoids and fun interviews. And did I mention her beautifully written (often hilarious) anecdotes? Check out the fell-naked-down-the-stairs one!

....the end :)

Bethany's Story: Living Ladder

2011-12-03T15:47:00.001-06:00

                  I have worked for a while on a Fusion story for Bethany of Rookie Riter. She is the first of my followers to send me an email requesting her own story (I've previously sought out guinea pigs - er, uh, volunteers). Her sole request was that her hair be part of a superpower. Kinda like Samson, if you read the bible and know that story. And my plan was to do exactly that...right up until last night (Bethany is on board with the change, btw. I don't willy-nilly take away superpowers).

                In keeping with my new inspiration, Bethany's story reads like a creation story. However, not many Native American tribes used names like Bethany, which requires me to detour from my normal Fusion etiquette. I couldn't use her name, but I wanted her character's name to reflect it in some way. I took to the internet and a couple of helpful baby name websites informed me that Bethany means "From the house of figs". So, Bethany, in this story, will be known as Little Fig.

Enjoy!

Living Ladder

Singing River roamed the hills where she’d been born, her feet barely touching the mossy rocks. She loved the open sky and daily visited the hunched mounds overlooking her village. Her parents tried to make her work in the fields with the rest of the family, but she hated dirt and seeds; she craved the open air and the endless blue sky.

Birch and Little Fig, Singing River’s closest friends, trailed after her and their voices floated on the wind, sweetening the summer air. Birch joked and sent her shy smiles whenever she glanced his way, and Singing River tried to ignore the fluttering in her heart. Together they explored every rock and ledge they came across, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company. But when dusk settled over the land, something kept Singing River from heading home with her friends, even though her heart ached when beautiful Little Fig clasped Birch’s hand.

Singing River’s skin tightened expectantly as the sun melted into the ground, and she stayed upon the highest hill she could climb, her eyes glued to the black dome framing her world.

Always she’d been different, set apart by her wandering ways. Only in the hills, with her body braced against the fierce winds and chill night, did she feel normal. Free. Able to stand on her own. So when the darkness parted and a scattered group of fallen stars landed at her feet, sprinkling her body with moonbeams, Singing River was thrilled

An urge to climb into the darkness came upon her, and she knew this was her chance to be important, to be remembered. Singing River tossed the stars, one by one, back into the air and ascended each unto the heavens, using the unfortunate stars as glittering steps. Far up into the clouds was a door made of nighttime, and Singing River passed through it into a new realm, where only spirits had traveled before. The lingering souls of her ancestors greeted her, and Singing River met her mother’s mother for the first time.

Delighted with her discovery, Singing River decided to stay. For many weeks she wandered the clouds, happy and content, still glowing with the remnants of moonbeams. But the spirits did not linger in one place for long, so Singing River rarely had company and she wilted with loneliness.

Close to entering the spirit world herself, Singing River made a request to the enduring spirits. She wanted a way for other mortals to visit her, and she begged her mother’s mother to help. Such a creation had never before been conceived, and the spirit realm was a long way from the mortal’s land. Singing River’s grandmother had been a powerful shaman while alive, and she knew such a request would take great sacrifice; she warned her daughter’s daughter, yet Singing River offered anything for the chance, driven by the hope of seeing her family and friends again. The other spirits in the cloud realm were happy at the thought of seeing their loved ones, too, so they banded together and created a ladder from the mortal world into their realm. None of them suspected that the ladder would be alive.

Singing River’s hair exploded with rapid growth; the thick strands curled and looped around the clouds, crowding the spirit world. For four days her hair grew, and Singing River was happy to push the piles out of the realm when at last it stopped.

The moonbeam-colored locks landed near her village, and people crowded close to see what the strange strands were. Yet so high was the spirit realm, that none on mortal land could see the living ladder’s origin.

It was Birch who braved the climb first; he sensed Singing River high above him and longed to see her again. When he entered the clouded realm, Singing River embraced him and they laughed and cried in joy. Birch leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers, confessing without words that their years of silent looks and shy smiles had grown to something more. Singing River’s heart fluttered and then melted, and when he asked for her hand in marriage, she tearfully agreed. Singing River’s one request was that he live with her in the spirit realm, for now she was a gateway and could not travel home.

Birch climbed back down and shared the happy news, urging Singing River’s family and his own to come and witness their vows. But, in the excitement, he forgot to include Little Fig. Hurt and heartbroken, she silently fumed. The whole village cheered and celebrated the upcoming wedding in the clouds, but Little Fig glared at the heavens. Though she liked Singing River, it was Birch she loved.

Knowing that morning would bring nuptials, Little Fig used the night to ensure Birch would never see Singing River again. She carried a small torch to the living ladder and set it afire. Ash rained down on the village as the hair burned, and Little Fig was covered in silver dust as the moonbeam strands disappeared into the dark heavens.

The flames consumed every inch of hair, leaving Singing River’s head and face forever scarred. She wept and her tears poured from the clouds to drench the mortal world in the first rainstorm, sweeping away fields and farms in her sorrow. Thunder and lightning joined the rain as the spirits howled their displeasure, and Singing River’s grandmother sent heavenly fire upon Little Fig’s home, incinerating it in retaliation for the girl’s spitefulness.

When the storm ended, Little Fig was cast from the village for her sins. She roamed the world silvered with ruined moonbeams, forced to forever remain in the mortal realm as a living ghost.

Hip-Hip-Hooray!

2011-11-29T10:51:00.000-06:00

NaNoWriMo is almost over this year, and I've written a horrible collection of 40,000 words! Yay! Even though November was a rough month full of challenges, I still managed to get almost half of a rough draft written :) TAKE THAT, UNIVERSE!

Hee. Okay. My gleeful moment is over, but I do have a fun update: I'll be posting a new Fusion story soon. This one has Bethany's name all over it!!! Check out her blog and be prepared to fall in love with her character :D

Creation Stories

2011-11-28T00:08:00.004-06:00

            November has been a rough month full of both moving and NaNoWriMo. Finding time for my blog has been a challenge. However, now that NaNo is winding down, I'm happy to return to my dreamy short stories.

            But first, let me explain a bit about my recent writing revelations. I've moved to South Dakoka, a beautiful eclectic mix of mountains and rolling plains. Also, history. Americans mostly associate SD with Mt Rushmore, but Native Americans have a longer history with this land. Culture and landscape are huge inspirations for me. That being said, I'm excited to start a new chapter in my writing: I'm going to explore creation stories of my own devising. I will mostly focus on flash fiction.

           For those of you who don't know what a creation story is, you can find out more and read an example here.

                ******************************************************

Keir'mun's Tail

Keir’mun circled the world’s unending seas for years, her large scales undulating under the sun and bathing in the moonlight. She languished in the deepest blue caves and sought the company of glaciers, but her journeys were lonely and she hungered for children.

Unable to find a mate, Keir’mun bit her own flesh and swallowed one of her three tails. With little care for the taste of her own blood, she spat it out. The tiny scales that had lined her tail broke away from the dead meat and swam away, populating the oceans with life.

But Keir’mun was not happy. She wanted children, not the witless creatures lurking under the waves. She bit herself again, taking one of her two remaining tails, and buried it deep within her belly. As time passed, she swelled with child. Moons came and went in full cycles and still her stomach grew until finally she had doubled in size. Her girth could no longer sit inside the deep caves she loved and she ventured out into open sea to give birth. The creatures within Keir’mun kicked and floundered, twisting as they tried to escape.

Her offspring took weeks to worm from her body and she was left dying as they finally emerged. Not fish, her children, but creatures with gangly limbs and fleshy faces. Many made it free of her body, their hues as varied as her giant scales, but some drowned at birth and their limbs became a feast for the results of her first tail. A few females developed a knack for the water and swam away, gills and tails forming; Keir’mun knew those would perish into legend. With no males with which to breed, they would wither and die alone, as she might have.

Keir’mun watched the remainder of her precious creations struggle in the water, so she rolled on her side and allowed them to scramble upon her body. Even as she gave her life to become earth, her children ate her. Devoured by love, Keir’mun lived within her children and passed from bloodline to bloodline, a guide linking them to both land and sea.

Mindy's Story: WWBBCDITZA

2011-11-17T10:41:00.000-06:00

Ready for another Fusion story? I have a special one for a very special lady: Mindy McGinnis of Writer, Writer, Pants on Fire :) My Fusion tales are inspired by the people I write them for, and Mindy (also known as BBC on AQC and Twitter) had a few funny requests.
A)"You should write one about me accidentally nearly hitting a cat, swerving to miss the cat and hitting an alligator"
B) something about corn.

...oh, and I'm sure you're wondering what WWBBCDITZA means, but I'm not going to tell you! Let's see if anyone can piece it together. Make sure to post your guess in the comments, because I'm awarding the winner a copy of:

Hint: the first letter in this acronym stands for "What" and the last letter stands for "Apocalypse".

************************************************************

WWBBCDITZA

Pouncing sucked; pouncing on a dead thing that still managed to walk around sucked ass. Still, she had perfect form. Her claws raked down the zombie’s face with no problem. Dead skin didn’t really put up much of a fight.

Mr. Deader-Than-A-Doornail dropped and rolled around like an upside-down spider, limbs flailing. Once knocked over, zombies were easy to dispose of. BBC – known as Big Black Cat before all her friends succumbed to walking death – sighed.

Killing a zombie wasn’t about cutting off limbs, disemboweling, or burning. Those would have fun. Instead, she had to feed the darn things. Yes, feed, as in shovel food between their rotten teeth and jam it down their decaying throats.

Talk about a yuck-factor. The only thing that could make it worse? It had to be corn. BBC hated corn with a passion derived of having lived on a farm that grew it. She’d wanted to be a city cat, but no, her mama made her mouse the barn. Mice could have eaten every crumb of human food for all she cared. Silly twits had started the apocalypse! Like walking on two legs made it okay for them to be arrogant numbskulls.

But humans had kicked their own asses. No living people walked the Earth to her knowledge. Suckers! More room for cats. BBC purred, then stretched. She fantasized about planting a field of catnip as she slammed a couple pawfuls of corn down the zombie’s throat. It stopped wiggling quickly.

Corn was nasty and that’s why it stopped the maggot-heads. End of story. Yet…she wondered. A wandering tabby had told her about the corn trick, and she’d been desperate enough to try it back then, but how the hell had he figured it out? Who stuck their corn-filled paw down a zombie’s throat without knowing the result? She’d gone from swimming through piles of walking dead to a few stragglers – and she was grateful for that – but still, a big WTF popped into her brain every now and then.

With a flick of her fluffy black tail, BBC pranced away from the stinky corpse. She needed to groom herself again, but it was such a chore after corn-stuffing. She couldn’t lick off zombie goo, obviously, and that left – shudder – water as the only viable solution.

A small stream invaded her home to the south, and she tried to prevent her tail from bushing as she went that way. A totally wasted effort. She looked scary long before the water transformed her into the proverbial drowned cat. Poufy was so not a good look for her. Neither was drowned.

A road dissected the forest about halfway to the stream, and BBC marched across it with no qualms. Humans were all maggot meat by now, and no other animals cared about luxury vehicles. That smug confidence almost got her squished.

A horn blared as a car, a stupid-looking cube thing, swerved, tires squealing, and slammed into a rusted sign. The ‘Beware of Alligators’ sign that had cautioned drivers for years, it’s cartoon gator almost completely faded, collapsed on top of the ridiculous car.

BBC sighed. Great. Now zombies were driving. That was worse than old humans behind the wheel. And she didn’t have any corn nearby; she’d have to take down the thing before running off to grab some golden gross to shove down its throat.

When a cough and a groan emerged from the car, BBC froze. Zombies grunted. Sometimes they burped. But never – never! – had she heard one cough. This was one special zombie….or….

A kid climbed out of the vehicle, his pink skin very much alive. A scratch on his cheek bled red. Zombie goo was black. So this was a real, live human. Well, half a human. It wasn’t tall or strong, and it didn’t look smart. Not nearly as smarmy as some of the people she’d met before the apocalypse. He fell to his knees, looked around, and burst into tears.

Damn. She was a sucker for tears. With no remaining willpower, she went to the kid, fully expecting him to slobber all over her. He didn’t disappoint. Snot joined the zombie goo coating her, which was gross, but she didn’t pull away.

He eventually calmed down. “I thought I was all alone,” he whispered. “I hated being alone.”

BBC’s heart broke just a little. She’d been there, felt that. Cats might not have the pack mentality of mutts, but they needed affection. Zombies did not fill that need. Before she allowed herself to get roped into adopting the kid, she pulled away.

He let go, but sniffles started. Damn. “How did you survive, kitty?”

BBC rolled her eyes. Kitty? Really? She meowed and trotted past the totaled vehicle. She still needed a bath and the kid looked like he hadn’t eaten in a while. Water would probably do him good. The boy continued to sniffle as he followed after her, mumbling about being lost in the woods. How he’d survived, BBC didn’t know. He looked helpless, sounded helpless, and acted helpless.

A moan drifted on the wind, followed by a foul stench. The stupid dead walkers traveled in straggling packs. It was no surprise that another one was here, but it worried BBC. The kid was a pushover if his sniffles were any indication, and she didn’t want to deal with a panicked human while trying to kill a zombie.

“Kitty, you need to go hide.” The boy looked around. “A corpse is walking this way.”

BBC was impressed. He didn’t look scared or sad anymore; in fact, it appeared as though he’d hidden away all emotion. A strange detachment lingered in his eyes, making him seem almost adult. Of course, that didn’t mean she was going to leave the zombie to him. He might think he was tough, but he probably couldn’t handle the maggot-head.

The kid didn’t wait for her to turn tail and hide, but rather marched off into the woods. Like an idiot. BBC meowed aloud at his stupidity, then followed. She’d have to knock the thing out fast to keep it from biting him. One nick and the boy would succumb to the virus. She might not be a fan of humans, but she wouldn’t actually wish such an existence on anyone.

So when she caught up to the kid, she was in for the second surprise of the day. The little guy pulled out a handful of corn and threw it at the zombie. She started to scoff, then noticed that the little kernels hadn’t bounced off the corpse. The kid had managed to imbed the corn inside the dead guy. How, she had no idea – but golden flecks peeked out between desiccated ribs and from within a gaping eye socket. The zombie stood for second, frozen, then swayed. Flesh slid off its bones in rotted clumps, landing with muted plops on the forest floor. The naked skeleton broke apart, bone by bone, and tumbled into a macabre pile.

BBC gagged. Even shoving corn down a zombie’s throat wasn’t that nasty. How the HELL had the kid done it?

Boy Wonder walked to her, reached down to pat her on the head, then sagged to the ground. His whole body shuddered. “I hate this. I hate knowing what it’ll be like.”

Every muscle in BBC’s body went rigid.

“And, even worse, is knowing that there’s no one left to hunt me down. I’ll be the only person left, but I won’t even be a person. I’ll just be walking meat.” Fat tears poured down the kid’s face. He scratched at his shoulder, his ragged fingernails catching on the cloth of his jacket. BBC sniffed at the air, hoping she wasn’t right about what he meant. But there it was, zombie stink. The new clutter of meat and bones smelled old…this stink was new. Fresh. The kid was infected.

Hissing, BBC jumped away from the boy.

He looked at her, fear in his eyes again. “I guess it’s getting worse if you can smell it now.” He scratched at his shoulder again. “I’m glad you didn’t know right away. You’re only a cat, but you’re the first friend I’ve had in a long time. Too long. I’m kinda glad it got me. It found me when I was asleep, and I didn’t hear it until too late. But now I don’t have to be alone. I won’t have to kill anymore. I hate killing, even though they’re already dead.”

BBC hissed again. Nothing he could say would make it okay, make him better. He was already dead, and with every passing minute he could start rotting. She needed to kill him.

“Don’t worry.” He reached in his jacket. “I don’t want to be one of them. I’ve thought about it, you know, since it happened. How I’d be a monster, how I’d be dead anyway. I decided to choose for myself. That stupid corpse won’t get the best of me.”

Every hair stood on BBC’s body stood on end. The kid was talking gibberish. He was already far-gone. She gasped in a deep breath and prepared to pounce. She could do this. She could end an entire species, kill the last human…he was already dead anyway.

But he shoved a hand into his jacket pocket and brought out another fistful of corn. With no pause or time for consideration, he brought all of it to his mouth and swallowed, choking a bit as the kernels clogged his throat.

BBC watched, mesmerized. The kid gagged and convulsed, his tiny body writhing in pain. She should’ve done it. She should’ve killed him and spared him this lingering death. Her claws couldn’t have hurt him this badly. As his face paled and his heart slowed, the stink grew more pronounced.

BBC’s muscles tightened with the passing seconds, but she wouldn’t leave him alone. This human, young though he was, was noble. She meowed softly as his body twitched in death throes. It had taken him longer to die than the other zombies, probably because he’d been more alive. But the corn was working.

BBC wished she could cry. The poor kid deserved tears.

Then his body jack-knifed up, and air rushed in and out of his lungs. He clawed at his shoulder, howling in agony. “Make it stop!” he screamed. “Please!”

But something had changed. BBC could see color returning to his cheeks, could hear his heart pounding strongly again. Zombies didn’t have red blood and rosy cheeks, or a heartbeat. He was still alive. And the stink was gone. Not just faint, but gone.

When his screams stopped and he wasn’t thrashing around anymore, BBC prowled closer. With a delicate nail, she sliced open his shirt. No wound marred his back, shoulder or arms. He smelled human.

No freaking way. BBC poked his skin with her paw just to be sure. A cure? Corn not only killed zombies, but cured the virus? NO. FREAKING. WAY. It wasn’t possible.

“Kitty?” The kid blinked. “How am I still alive?”

BBC curled up on his chest, stunned. With no answers and no clue what else to do, she purred. Apparently God wanted her to adopt a human, and who was she to argue?

Maybe she was a pack animal after all.

Almost Deleted

2011-11-12T19:55:00.000-06:00

I was seconds away from deleting everything today. The struggle to write anything worth reading felt hopeless and never-ending. The fear of being rejected for the rest of my life... the worry that I'll only embarrass myself...it slammed against me like a force of nature. It almost broke my heart; I imagined my dreams shattering. I cried, but I couldn't hit delete.

I'm a dreamer and it's hard fitting into the world sometimes. Today was one of those times. Most days are a blur of reality and fiction - I daydream and doodle constantly. Writing is a release, a way to entertain myself so that fiction stays firmly separated from reality. I'm a captive audience to my own imagination. But when my worry outweighs my inspiration, I can't help but wonder if I'm just a silly lunatic puttering at her computer, waiting to be let down by the universe.

I don't have words of wisdom. I didn't have a great epiphany. I just couldn't delete everything I've worked on for over a year...even though I'm not sure I made the right decision.

Suzanne's Story: Cursed

2011-10-31T11:29:00.004-05:00

Happy Halloween!!!

I have been MIA for a while, but I'm baaaaack! I moved over 1,000 miles in the last two weeks and I've seen snow storms, farms, lamas, mountains, unicorns, and endless stretches of wheat fields. It's been a busy couple of weeks! South Dakota is my new abode and it's lovely. I'll have plenty of inspiration in the years to come. However, today's story was conceived and written in Texas.

My friend Suzanne Payne asked for a Fusion story, and I am happy to deliver :D This lady is an awesome example of determination and sweetness; she has an active family at home and still finds time to chat with her online family - the #goatposse. You can follow her blog and her Twitter account.

Today's story is PERFECT for Halloween. Suzanne asked for a story that has a cowboy element and a witch. Creepy (but very cool) combo, huh? I hope you enjoy it!

************************************

Cursed

Henry took a deep breath, then pushed open the doors to the town’s ballroom. The potion he’d bought from a charm trader to calm his nerves barely muted the butterflies in his stomach. The chamber was shabby compared to many of the ballrooms he’d been in recently, but it was the only space large enough to hold a celebration. And tonight was a celebration.

This was his homecoming after ten long years.

Cheers met his entrance, and his parents rushed to him, laughing and crying. Henry embraced his mother first, her scent familiar and comforting, then hugged his father. The rough slap on his back made him smile. They hadn’t changed.

The butterflies receded as other people crowded close to greet and congratulate him. The potion hadn’t been as potent as his memories. He knew all these people, had lived among them during his childhood. It didn’t matter that he’d become a legend. Ten years of hard work had turned a large profit and now he had more money than God. He owned railroads crisscrossing the country, houses in the far corners of the world, and every new trinket known to man. But he lived with aching loneliness. He’d missed this place, these people. And one person in particular.

His eyes sought Suzanne, his childhood friend. His whole reason for leaving to make a fortune. She’d been engaged when he’d left, her parents all but throwing her into the rich mayor’s arms, but Henry couldn’t help sweeping the crowd for her. She would be wrapped in silk and draped with diamonds, probably with children clinging to her skirts. His heart would almost certainly break. But it had broken ten years ago, too, and he could survive it again. He hoped.

His gaze landed on a fat, bald man crooning to a young blonde woman. The mayor. The woman was obviously his wife – her diamond ring was enormous – and that could only mean one thing.

“Where’s Suzanne buried?” he asked, sorrow squeezing his heart. The people around him frowned.

“Who, dear?” Henry’s mother looked puzzled, but she’d known Suzanne well. She’d also known he’d loved the young beauty.

“Suzanne.” His eyes searched the room again, sure this was a joke. How could they have forgotten Suzanne? Her eyes had captivated him and she had a grin so endearing he’d teased her endlessly just to see it. She was one of a kind.

His mother shrugged delicately, and Henry tensed. This was no joke. His mother wasn’t so cruel. So what was going on? Where was Suzanne? He excused himself from the main party and wandered the edge of the room. He stared into every face, but Suzanne was not hidden among the throng of laughing people.

A shadow moved to his left, and Henry turned. A ragged, dirty creature stared up at him. She was ensconced in the darkest corner of the room, like she was hiding. Bright, hopeful eyes watched him.

“Suzanne?” he asked. When she flinched, certainty settled in his heart. His childhood love, the one person he’d made his fortune for, was hunched like a pauper amongst his family and friends. “Are you hurt?”

“You can hear me,” she whispered, her words resonating with awe. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in years.”

Henry stared. Years? She’d been neglected like this for years? “Why? What happened? When I left, you were engaged to the mayor.”

Suzanne glared. “The mayor is a fickle, adulterous man. I refused him.” Her expression softened. “I only ever wanted one man…but he left. I don’t know why.”

Henry’s heart broke, and it hurt worse than leaving her behind ever had. She loved someone else. After ten years, he should have expected it. “I’m sorry, Suzanne. But, please, come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up.” He offered her his arm, but she ignored it.

“I want to go home,” she said. “But my room is haunted.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Haunted? Well, maybe we can go there just to grab some clothes for you. You don’t have to stay. Then you can use my hotel room to wash and relax. I’ll rent another.”

Suzanne didn’t seem to hear him. Her face was blank, and she hummed softly under her breath. Her lovely voice rose and fell with sweet clarity to a tune from their childhood. Their tune. They’d made it up one afternoon, and he’d fallen in love with her shortly thereafter.

Henry blinked away tears as he gently pulled her through the room and out into the street. Not a single person glanced their way, which surprised him. He’d expected his mother to cling to him after ten years of separation.

The night baked with desert heat and dust swirled around their shoes. Suzanne shuffled as though in a trance, and Henry gazed down at her knotted brown tresses with regret. His poor Suzanne. She deserved more than this.

Her house loomed out of the darkness, and he guided her up the steps and into the entrance way. She looked around as if amazed. “I haven’t been here in a long time,” she whispered. “There are so many cobwebs.”

Henry frowned. Cobwebs? Not a single one marred the ceiling or doorway. But Suzanne’s eyes roved the house and seemed to see more. “Let’s go get your things,” he said.

The second story looked tidy and clean, but Suzanne cringed as she walked down the main corridor. Her tiny frame shrunk and her breath sawed in and out. Never had he seen her eyes so wide, so frightened. She stopped in front of her bedroom door, and when he reached to open it, she squeaked.

“Can’t you see them? I see them. They are dark and evil. They won’t tell me his name. I can’t remember why he left.” Suzanne twisted to stare up at him, but recognition didn’t light her face. “Who are you again?”

Henry tried to smile. “I’m a friend. I left ten years ago, so you might not remember me. My name is Henry.”

“I know that name.” Suzanne smiled. “I know it…but I don’t. They won’t let me.” She pointed at her door.

“I don’t see anything, Suzanne.”

“Let me show you.” She thrust both her hands up onto his face. “This will make you see.”

Henry stumbled away from her. “Stop!” He blinked when her hands moved, and then he gasped. Dark webs blocked her bedroom door, just like she’d said, and inky tendrils snaked over every inch of the hallway. They were surrounded. “What happened? What did you do, Suzanne?”

She shrugged. “I made you see. No one else can. I’ve not been here to show anyone.”

Henry didn’t know what she meant, but this was starting to smell like magic. He’d come across a witch or two in his travels, and magic often worked in strange ways. Evil ways. Charms and potions were one thing, but witches and magic boasted darker portents. Henry gently moved Suzanne out of his way, then kicked in her door. The black webs exploded. Grit rained down on them, but Suzanne didn’t seem to mind. She walked into her room and twirled, a smile brightening her face.

“I remember this place.” She danced from her bed to her desk, her ratty skirts swirling around her. Everything she touched bloomed with brilliant sparks.

Henry stayed in the hall, watching. His eyes followed her graceful movements, and his heart ached for her to say his name. He didn’t think she remembered him at all.

“I was here,” she said. “I’d just come back from the mayor’s house. He’d been with a servant girl, and I was crying. I told Mother that I wouldn’t marry him. I wanted to marry… another man. I can’t remember his name. But I loved him. Mother told me to stop being silly.” Suzanne looked at Henry. “I wasn’t silly. He loved me too. I know he did, because his eyes never lied. But he left. I went to his house to tell him I’d broken off my engagement, hoping he’d propose, but he’d already gone away. His mother said I’d just missed him.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “His name…his name was…”

Henry turned away. He didn’t want to know the other man’s name.

“Henry.”

The air stilled, and Henry couldn’t breathe. She’d said his name. Did she remember him now? He turned and looked at her, fear and hope wrestling in his chest.

“His name was Henry.” Suzanne stared into space again. “I’d loved him and he’d left me. So I cursed love…and the black webs came. My parents forgot me. I forgot Henry. Everyone stopped seeing me. I was a ghost, but now I’m here again.”

Henry smiled. “With me.”

She looked at him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Henry, my love.”

Suzanne’s eyes widened. “Henry?” She stepped toward him. “My Henry?”

He nodded. They stared at each other for a long moment, and recognition slowly filled her gaze. She fell into his arms, and Henry scooped her up. She remembered him. She loved him.

“I love you, Suzanne.” He kissed her hair. “I left to make a fortune. I knew you were engaged, and I couldn’t stay and watch you wed the mayor. It broke my heart to leave you behind.”

“You love me?” She wrapped her arms around him.

“I do. I always have.” Henry set Suzanne on her feet. “I always will.”

A bright flash of light burst through the room and knocked Henry to the floor. He groaned and squinted against a lingering glare. Suzanne’s glare. She glowed an eerie purple-black and dark tendrils poured off her. Wisps of smoke slithered around her like snakes.

“Suzanne?” Henry got to his feet, staring at the halo of darkness surrounding her.

“Henry, I lied. I remember everything.” Her grin was familiar and beloved, but her eyes didn’t shine with amusement. Victory and defeat battled under her lashes. “I loved you so much that when you left, I accidently cursed myself. My mother’s grandmother was a witch. I must’ve inherited her power without knowing it, and I’ve been trapped in my own magic. I’ve been so lonely and it was your fault. I hated you for years, Henry. Years. But you came back. I’ve decided to forgive you, which means now we have forever.. ”

“Forever?”

“Yes. I have shared my curse, my love, and you took the bait. You said you’ll always love me. You’ll never have to eat again. You’ll never get cold. You’ll never speak to your mother, father or friends again.” She heaved a gusty sigh. “But don’t worry. Time passes differently once the webs grow…”Suzanne looked at the doorway, and Henry followed her gaze. Black webs were already reforming, intricate whorls locking them into Suzanne’s magic.

Henry wanted to run, but the webs looked suddenly dense and ominous. “I should’ve come back sooner, Suzanne. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d come looking for me.” He reached for her hand. “But I’m here now. We can get married, start a family. We can live happily ever after!”

Suzanne laughed, her voice echoing oddly in the tiny bedroom. “Magic is a fickle thing, Henry, but it isn’t forgiving. Curses aren’t just simple spells. They’re soul-sworn spells. I am trapped in mine until I die, and part of me will linger here forever after.” She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Do you think I’ll be content with anything less than your shared torment?”

Henry knelt before her. “Suzanne, I have loved you with all my heart for most of my life. I’m begging you, please don’t do this.”

She giggled. “Oh, my love. It’s too late for that…”

The Bridge

2011-10-17T15:52:00.000-05:00

Kendra knew she wasn’t supposed to be on the bridge. No one was supposed to go on the bridge. It was old and decayed and creepy. Only stupid people crossed it, and rarely did those make it to the other side.

But ten kids stood waiting at the forest’s edge for her to reach the middle, and they expected her to chicken out. That’s why they’d dared her in the first place. She was the shy kid, the one that never caused any trouble…if anyone would have chickened out, it should’ve been her.

But Kendra was tired of being the shy wimp.

The wood under her feet creaked. The wind knocked her sideways onto the moldy rope handles. She shivered and tiptoed across another board. She could do this. Nothing stood between her and some much-needed respect. Except for a two-hundred-foot drop.

Kendra snorted. She wasn’t scared of heights. This would be easy.

A screech rent the air. Kendra glanced over her shoulder in time to see all the other kids turn and flee. They knew what that sound was, just like Kendra. And they’d left her. They’d abandoned her.

Kendra turned and quickly navigated the wooden planks. She needed to get back to the forest! Another screech echoed all around her, and Kendra started to sweat. It would get her if she didn’t hurry. Her moist palms slid on the old rope, and she almost fell face-first. Hurry, hurry, hurry, she chanted.

This is what she deserved for trying to be brave. Shy kids never got eaten. Kendra saw a shadow sweep over the bridge in front of her. She squealed and ducked, just as talons scraped the rope to her left.

It had missed!

Kendra ran. Two boards cracked and crumbled under her, but she didn’t slow down. The forest was so close! Another screech – this one louder than the others – hurt her ears. Her right foot hit dark soil and she dived into the foliage near the bridge…

But not quick enough.

Blog Award: 7 X 7

2011-10-11T14:38:00.001-05:00

Ashley Nixen gifted me with the 7 X 7 Link Award :)

The rules of the award are simple: I have to provide 7 links to my own blog (It's kinda like a high school superlative award, where I have to pick and choose which of my posts is "best this" or "best that"). I also get to name 7 new recipients!

Most Beautiful: The Beautiful Stone

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Nature inspired The Beautiful Stone (*cough* along with the tv show Merlin *cough*), so it has a special place in my heart.

Most Helpful: Victoria's Secret...er, I mean, Panty Meme Extraordinaire!

Need a laugh? Don't know what a meme is? Want to see a manaquin picking a wedgie?

Most Popular: The Skeleton Key

This blogvel (blog novel) was written by a gang of fabulous authors. I wrote chapter two and created Hadriax - the sexiest dragon alive in literature - in a crazy writing moment. He has since helped Rebecca save the world. You're welcome, ladies ;)

Most Controversial: Sunlight and Sea-magic

This is spicy. Like, wowza. I experimented with erotica and romance, and this is what I ended up with. I ask that only followers 18 and older read this post.

Most Surprisingly Successful: I'm a Truly Terrible Poet

I thought my attempt at poetry would go unnoticed, but it has the most comments of all my posts!

Most Underrated: Seamed Clown

My first post didn't get a single comment :(

Most Pride-Worthy: Fusion

I will write YOU a story! I love sharing the writing experience, and that was the idea behind this adventure. I've written stories for Michelle, Cherie, Anita, and Tracy. Let me write one for you next!

And now I get to pass this on to 7 of my blogging friends!

1. Mindy McGinnis of Writer, Writer Pants on Fire

2. JLea of Jello World.

3. Cat Woods of Words from the Woods.

4. Anita Grace Howard of A Still and Quiet and Madness.

5. Bex of Bex Hogan.

6. Cherie of Ready. Write. Go.

7. David of David Powers King.

Tracy's Story: Jumping Day

2011-10-07T10:40:00.004-05:00

Another Fusion story!

Tracy Jorgensen emailed me and asked for a Fusion story that would explain her two-week absence from her blog. This is what I came up with :) Enjoy!

*****************************************************************************

Jumping Day

It isn’t the sky that bothers me, or the endless freedom it provides – it’s the possibility of falling. My son should never have to face that.

When I first realized that his wings were sprouting, like buds on a rose bush, I could have sheared them and crippled him then. That would have been kinder than allowing him to jump from a cloud, arms spread, intuition and hope the only things keeping him aloft. But I couldn’t. I let them grow, feathers forming perfectly.

His ten-year-old body gleams with health now, as he darts around the clouds, jumping from one dense blob to the next. Muscles pump in his arms and bunch in his legs, but it’s his laugh that proves how vital he is. His joy can’t be contained – even I cannot suppress a smile as his grin lights up the sky.

But today is his Jumping Day, his leap of faith. And it is now, as I stand on the precipice of his chosen cloud, waves dancing beneath me, that I regret.

I ache with remorse.

It would have been easy to clip the wispy down feathers from him, but now it’s too late. He is not the sweet cherub I had once thought to prune. My wings flex, revealing my nerves to the many eyes that flicker to catch the movement. Only my son and I have such bright wings, such vibrant colors. I don’t doubt that others expect me to cry, to mourn if the worst happens. Many children die on their Jumping Day, others never recover from the fall. My own wings are distinct, but useless. The clouds are my prison now, and I look at my child and fear only the worst: that my weakness passed to him.

But my fear does not fill him. It is with a bright, full, toothy grin that he looks at me, his excitement energizing the air, and leaps. His small body spirals downward and I am helpless. I cannot catch him…

But I don’t need to.

Faster than any child I’ve ever seen, he adapts. His glorious wings fling outward with a majestic power I will never personally know. His bright plumage glints in the sunlight. Cheers fill the air. He is flying, a child no longer. My baby no longer.

Even though remorse and sorrow weighted my heart only moments earlier, a stronger feeling rushes through me now. A feeling I’ve had countless times since his birth. A feeling I will never grow tired of.

Pride.

**************************************************************************

So, does leaping off a cloud count as a reason for not blogging? I think so. OH! And ^ these are not angels! I'll post my picture for this story soon, so check back to find out what these creatures are!

Thanks for reading!

Want

2011-10-04T22:33:00.000-05:00

As many of you know, I hosted a blog contest recently and the winner was Cherie of Ready. Write. Go. :) My lovely and talented friend is a YA writer, a mother, an artist (check out the mermaid she made me on my sidebar) and a great tweeter! Follow her at @writercherie for laughs and #goatposse fun!

I hope you enjoy her story as much as I have.

Want

By Cherie

She dreamt of skin. Smooth, not undulating…pearly pink but ruddy once under the heat of the noonday sun. Sometimes when the others had crawled inside the crevices of their rock, their bodies curled tight as if seeking for warmth, she’d go up just shy of the glimmering surface. Chin tilted up, eyes squinting, letting the dappled, layered light filter through the water to touch her face.

A caress. A promise of love.

Diamonds glinting off the eternal gray that is her prison. Yes, she’d heard of diamond rings and dancing feet and human touch. Her heart sighed as she whirled around, the viscous lake hindering her natural form and grace.

Melusine.

Her mother’s quiet call seeped into her consciousness. Despite the miles between them, her mother’s probing mind reached hers, long-tentacled thoughts grasping and prodding for a hold. Melusine blocked her mother out and sighed.

She gazed upwards with longing, at the dying light abandoning her into the abysmal darkness of her home. Melusine coiled her two-pronged serpentine tail around her tiny waist. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend they were arms wrapping her in an embrace. Just like in grandmama’s stories.

Before the curse.

Melusine, her mother called again.

She frowned. Mother disapproved, of course. Men are brutes, their hearts impure, she had said. Her mother, who once loved too.

Melusine let her fingers trail over her slick, obsidian scales, tracing where they end and where her pale, almost-human skin began. Scutes peppered her shoulders and around her elbows, running down her arms to pool at her wrists like thick cuffs. Her tender breasts escaped this monstrosity, however, and she rubbed her dark nipples, reveling in their untarnished beauty.

Grandmama once thought-whispered to her the scent of ripe olives lingering in the air. Of the cool, tangy taste of wine, running like fire down her throat. Of warm, soft lips pressing hot breaths against plump thighs. Grandmama, who clung to the edge of the lake day after day after day. Hiding among bulrushes and cattails, and all to catch a glimpse of the man with the hat. One day, he didn’t come and grandmama coiled inside her hole never to surface again.

Mother’s frantic thoughts intruded into Melusine’s head. Come back, come back, they said. She’d forbidden her children from rising out of the depths of their sanctuary. Or hell, as Melusine thought of the algae-covered rock they lived in at the bottom of the lake. Melusine thrashed her tail in anger. Why couldn’t she turn human, even for a day? Grandmama had a year, her mother a month. They’d lived on two legs in the land of men, flaunting their wondrous beauty, catching kisses on red, red lips. But the curse became stronger as they got weaker living on tainted waters and broken dreams. By the time Melusine was born, her mother could no longer keep her human form.

I want to feel. Melusine’s thought overpowered her mother’s, drowning out her voice.

The surface broke. A body plunged down—arms and legs flailing, kicking. Murky bubbles rose up to cover the human’s face. His torso twisted, brilliant gold hair fanning out around his head. Melusine reached for him, her fingers clasping fabric. His eyes widened as they met her gaze.

Beautiful, beautiful human.

She pulled him down, her tail embracing his body, siphoning off the last vestiges of warmth from his blood. Her hands explored his skin, muscles taut underneath, and her fingers splayed against his chest.

Melusine leaned forward and touched her yearning lips to his cold ones. His thrashings ceased.

The water sent out one lone ripple and stilled. Melusine loosened her grip and the body sunk down into nothingness.

Her tail glimmered. Melusine raked her hands over her breasts and down her stomach, leaving red streaks where her nails had gouged her. A cry lodged in her throat, swelling, suffocating her with grief. Melusine notched a fingernail underneath her scale and pulled, tearing off the layer. She flinched as the raw skin was exposed. Pink and smooth.

Her hands worked quickly, pulling and ripping. Melusine bit her lip as each tear exacerbated the fire scorching her body. Finally…finally, her dream had come true.

Her arms outstretched, Melusine smiled and stared at the crimson water until her vision blurred and there was only darkness to accompany her descent home.

Sunlight and Sea-magic

2011-10-02T10:33:00.002-05:00

The lovely and talented Michelle Simkins of Greenwoman hosts FSSF (First Sunday Short Fiction) and I'm participating this month :)

I don't normally post anything too racy on Inner Owlet, but this short story is really cool and I'm going to make an exception. I originally entered it in JLea's Clothing NOT Optional Contest, so you know its spicy!

I'll ask that only followers 18 and older read this post.

****************************************************************************

Sunshine and Sea Magic

I press my face to the glass of my prison; the humans don’t know my tears mingle with the salt in my tank, would probably never guess that I can cry. But I can. No matter how many times I hear freak, it always hurts.

Being in a circus, on display like an animal, consumes me. I watch little girls walk around on two legs, their smiles sweet and happy. I witness lovers kissing, their hands woven together. And the clothes; I envy the rainbow-colors of human cloth.

I can never walk. I’ve never been kissed. I don’t have clothes, except for a seashell net, which barely covers my breasts. My prison-tank is too small for me to swim, forcing me to float limply in the tepid water. Every single day is motionless torture.

But I have memories of a better time.

My family had treasured me, telling me often how beautiful I was, how special. How gifted. But I’d gotten caught in a tidal wave and had been swept away. Waking up on the shore had been terrifying. Air had cracked my skin and dried my lungs.

And then the circus found me.

They named me “Demon of the Deep” and ripped my dress, my lovely seaweed-silk dress, so they could wrap me in their scrap of embellished netting. They’d thrown me into my prison, the stagnate saltwater rejuvenating me only enough to keep my heart beating.

It’s been years since then, a horrible half-life. I am no longer a child of the sea, but a woman. Human men, lust brightening their eyes, seem to recognize this.

Only one man is different. He’d been a boy the first time I’d seen him, a small youth in metal cuffs working near my tank. I had screamed and yelled for my family for months after my imprisonment; most people would laugh or mock me, but the boy never did. He would watch with sad eyes. The humans were cruel to imprison me, but even more so to enslave one of their own children. Although I didn’t learn their language for several years, it took only days to learn that the boy was property, a creature not unlike myself. That bonded us, and now my man – for that’s how I think of him, after countless kind gestures on his part – has begun to sleep near my tank, his bruised body just another shadow in this strange land-world.

But tonight is different and he is not just a still shadow. He’s crawled to me, a single finger pressed to his lips. I nod fearfully; the other circus men would hurt him if they found him wandering around at night.

He climbs up my tank, surprising me with his agility, and offers me a hand. I peek above the water, questions in my eyes, but he remains silent. I lift one hand, afraid and excited, and let him grip my fingers.

His skin is soft and warm, like sunlight. I haven’t touched another creature in years, and his hand sends tingles down my arm. My eyes close in ecstasy. Imagining the rest of my body enveloped in soft warmth is easy, and shivers race through my blood.

Slowly, so that the water doesn’t splash, he pulls me from my tank. One strong arm bands around my waist, so close to my breasts that they ache, and then slides lower to cup the length of my tail. I moan and writhe in his arms while his breath caresses the shell of my ear, a sweet sea-breeze that has me arching towards him.

I feel him move, gently climbing down from my tank and then walking, but I don’t care where he goes. Every motion is bliss and heats me further. My pleasure must have been obvious, for he chuckles, his hands gripping and then smoothing out the delicate scales of my tail. His other hand inches up, almost touching the underside of my breast through the net. My nipples pearl and I moan louder.

He whispers in my ear, probably telling me to be quiet, but I’m lost. My skin is afire with sensation and I want more. I curl into him and let my face rest in the hollow of his throat. A human smell, unique and musky, fills my nose. I breathe him in and skim my lips over his pulse. He hisses, but not in an angry way.

I grin.

I want to taste his sunlight, so I flick my tongue over his pulse. His moan raises goose bumps on my skin and I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, pressing my now-tender breasts to his chest. My head falls back when my nipples meet the rough material of his shirt through my net, and his lips press down on my exposed throat, kissing and licking as I pant for air.

My skin starts to dry and panic fills the back of my mind, but I want a real kiss before I die. I want to experience the fiery heat of the sun in this brief freedom he’s gifted me with – a gift I would never have asked for. I lift my head to gaze at him. His brown hair is tousled, curls flopping over his brows. His eyes, which have always been blacker than the deepest ocean depths, sparkle. I lean close to him and he watches me, tripping over something and then blushing. I smile and brush my lips over his, then suck in deadly air to gasp in pleasure.

He groans. I feel him stop moving as I press forward again, merging my mouth to his. When he sweeps his tongue forward, surprising me, I open my mouth and I’m filled with a passion I’d never known existed.

Passion worth dying for.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he breaks the kiss. Some of the sparkle is gone from his eyes. He kneels with me still in his arms and his face gentles into a smile. He places a last kiss to my lips before lowering me into water.

I hadn’t heard the waves, or smelled the salt, but I gasp in joy and then whimper helplessly as my body sucks in the life-giving essence of the sea. My eyes squeeze close as energy builds within me, power I’d long-since lost. Once again I’m lost in sensation, unable to control the moans and gasps falling from my lips

He’d brought me home.

I flutter open my eyelashes, needing to look at him. His face holds tenderness and love. I reach for him and he reaches back, weaving our hands together. I seal my eyes shut again and use the gift I’d been renowned for as a child. Sea-magic seeps from my body into his and he shudders before falling bonelessly into my arms.

I watch his body transform; his pants rip as his legs fuse and a beautiful green fin replaces his feet. When he stirs hesitantly in my arms and looks at me with wonder, I use his fingers to trace down his body, showing him the changes.

His beautiful eyes sparkle again.

The Prize

2011-09-30T15:31:00.001-05:00

Thank you to everyone who entered my contest! I've had so much fun reading your stories that I'm sad it's over :(

The winner of the stack of books is....(drum roll, please...)....

Cherie, of Ready.Write. Go. :) Her story is beautiful and I'm hoping to post it on Inner Owlet on Monday, with Cherie's permission!

BUT I have a second story that made me laugh out loud. I can't just let it go unrewarded. So, I will be giving JLea of Jello World a copy of Firebirds Rising :)

Thanks again to all the participants!

Translucent

2011-09-29T14:02:00.000-05:00

I have been remiss in posting my dreams lately, so here is a recent one. Enjoy :)

The giant sky this planet boasted stretched endlessly upwards – or so it seemed. She’d been past the blue. She’d seen other, seemingly endless skies.

But she’d chosen this blue orb for a very specific reason: the entertainment. As she zipped around the globe, she watched the denizens on the planet go about their lives. They fascinated her. So many ways for organisms to thrive here!

She was one of millions, similar to her species in all ways. Her energy was siphoned off to feed the next generation, light-years away on her home planet, and she lived only for the continuation of her race. Her purpose was to produce energy through movement, and she did it dutifully; flying was her way of eating, sleeping, exercising and reproducing.

Not many of her kind cared about the worlds they traversed, even though most went to many galaxies, used countless atmospheres to fuel their bodies. They could live in the airless space between worlds, or in the bosom of thriving planets, such as this one. It was only the movement that mattered, for being still was fatal to her species. Such was life. But she’d found this planet, this small blue dot among the stars, and it nourished her like no other place.

Her wings buzzed softly, constantly, and she hummed in time with the sound. The ocean she traveled over moved in ripples and waves, lulling her into a sleepy trance. Only when her wingtips caught sea-spray did she realize how far she’d fallen from the clouds.

Dark shapes loomed close under the water’s tumultuous surface, and she hastily beat her wings to gain altitude. But her efforts came too late; although translucent, she’d been seen.

A large creature shot straight upwards and snapped its jaws around her torso, tearing at her with its enormous teeth. She didn’t have a mouth to open, to scream with, but the pain was enough to send black spots dancing across her vision.

As the monster pulled her into the blue water, she sent her energy – all of it – off to her home world. Her death would provide enough energy to fuel the birth of a new hatchling.

Her tiny body dissolved before the shark got a second bite.

Blurb

2011-09-21T11:01:00.004-05:00

I just have a few things to point out, and then it's back to writing for me :)

A) Welcome new followers! I love meeting my followers, so feel free to comment or send me a tweet at @AMSupinger ! On a sad note, blogger doesn't always give me a link to the blogs/websites/twitter accounts of my followers, so it can be hard to follow you back.

If you've followed me and have been wondering why I haven't returned the favor, blame blogger. THEN send me your info in a comment or to my email at A.M.Supinger@hotmail.com (just put Inner Owlet Follower in the subject line)!

Thanks for the follow and I hope to talk to you soon!

B) One of my Fusion stories just got post on Anita Grace Howard's blog A Still and Quiet Madness :) Go check me out! Woot woot! It was a blast to write, and I would love to write another, so send me an email if you're interested!

Anita's Story: Raven Lullaby

2011-09-18T11:19:00.002-05:00

I have a CREEPY story for you today:) The lovely and talented Anita Grace Howard of A Still and Quiet Madness agreed to be my third Fusion participant, and she had a few ideas for her story:

Lullaby

Ravens

Abandoned mineshaft

Crushed roses

....The result is creeptastic. Enjoy!

*************************************************************************

Raven Lullaby

Rocks cracked and crumbled as they screeched at one another. Deadened plants already withered by winters cruel touch disintegrated and dusted the clean snow with ashes.

Anita, eldest sister of the remaining sirens, looked around at her squabbling siblings. Each had black feathers tucked in their hair, and their noses all looked rather beakish. Disgust curled her lips. “Silence,” she hissed. The forest quieted. Nine pairs of eyes turned to her, and Anita waited until she’d looked each creature in the eye before continuing. “We cannot afford to stand here and debate. We only have until moonrise to find a human, sisters. Let me make this choice simple: west or west. Choose.”

Defiance clouded each girls gaze, but Anita ignored that and turned west, towards the closest human town. They would follow. She let her arms spread, her body change. The magic cast upon her by a blighted human of centuries past seized her, and feathers sprouted from her once-pristine skin. A beak grew where her delicate nose had been. Claws crippled her hands.

As a raven, a black beast of dark omen, she swept toward the crowded city. Night fell like a curtain across the forest she’d called home for most of her life. Animals scurried away from her shadow, sensing her sinister nature. Squawks and croaks caught the wind, and Anita glanced over her shoulder in time to see her sisters swoop through the air in looping whirls. The silly creatures didn’t have the sense to be afraid. They didn’t realize how weak they were becoming.

A mewling howl wrenched Anita’s attention away from her siblings. A baby… it was a baby. Someone had ventured into the park near their home! A black baby carriage with old-fashioned wheels was parked near the lake.

Using her compact body, Anita careened toward her victim’s child. No parent would leave such a helpless creature alone! How easy this trip had turned out to be! A loud caw ripped free of her beak, and victory arched her wings as she dramatically descended upon the ancient carriage.

Anita spread her talons and glared around, daring the baby’s parents to scream and shoo her away. Come save your precious offspring, mortals! Come and let me sing to you…

But no one emerged from the snow-laden bushes. No shrieks or howls of outrage reached her. Only a soft gurgle. Anita cawed again, and then screeched up at her sisters to fly around the area. Surely the wayward parents were near.

The sirens needed to feed. Only the soul of a mortal, sucked out and consumed with the siren’s song, would sustain them, and they only had one evening a year in which to find their food. They had unwisely fed from a witch’s husband many years ago, and she, wretched woman, had cursed them.

Cruel creatures, your voices are as rotten as the hearts of scavengers and thus you will become. Ancient Gods formed you and claim your deaths as their own, yet I will bind your appetites to one short evening. Feed beyond that and condemn your bodies to resemble your ashen souls.

Blasted curse. Growling as no normal raven could, Anita glanced down into the baby’s carriage.

Surprise loosened her grip on the iron frame, and she almost plummeted to the icy ground. A porcelain doll with a cracked face leered at her. One glass eye was missing, and the other was encircled with soot or dirt. The toy’s tiny face reflected the age of the carriage, yet a newborn infant lay nestled into the contraption. A grimy blanket swaddled the baby, its color mirroring crushed rose petals. Anita squawked. Poor kid. The parents obviously had no taste…not that it would matter soon.

Humming in anticipation, Anita glanced to the sky. Her sisters flew overheard and croaked disappointing news; no other humans were near. Their voices split the air and then softened back into oblivion as the moon’s face peeked over the horizon, proving their time was short. Defeat and anguish plucked at her heart. She, eldest of the sirens, had failed. She’d doomed her sisters to a slow death.

A caw of sadness clogged her throat and a ragged half-sob broke the frozen silence of the forest. Her sisters all murmured their love, their forgiveness, but death clung to their raven tongues. They’d not live out the year without sustenance.

Laughter swirled on the wind.

Anita felt nine pairs of eyes turn toward her, and she, in turn, looked to the baby. No longer cushioned between the hideous doll and the plush blanket, now it stared up at her with a smile.

Had it…heard them? Could human children hear a siren’s voice? Did such small creatures have souls?

Anita let one long breath warm her chest before crooning to the infant. Hope fluttered beneath the ebony wings protruding from her body, bushing them out like a scared cat’s tail. The child dribbled drool down its chin, then giggled. Miniature hands reached up and tried to clutch at Anita’s clawed toes.

Pushing into the air proved challenging, but, once aloft, Anita let her feathers retract. Ice formed diamonds on her skin and her breath clouded around her face. Her human eyes detected a blue tinge to the baby’s face.

Croaking timidly, Anita sang tunelessly for the abandoned child. Her cursed throat stumbled over the notes of a lullaby, but the baby didn’t seem to notice. Happy gurgling washed over the snowy forest and filled Anita’s soul with the nourishment she’d been so long denied.

Her sisters dropped to the ground and huddled close. Each girl joined in the erratic humming, all trying to please the infant. Anita watched lines of hunger fade from around their eyes. She watched the beakish noses slim, returning every face to its former glory. Each girl outshone the next in an endless circle of beauty.

Faint moonlight glittered on their skin.

Spinning in alarm, Anita watched the luminous globe inch toward its zenith. If caught outside at the peak of its trip across the sky, the sirens would crack and whither to dust, much like the rocks and plants they’d encountered upon leaving their cave. No one would mourn their passing from legend to myth.

Anita shoved her sisters roughly back into the sky and turned to grab the baby. Its laughter wobbled, then stopped. Small sniffles protruded from the blanket-wrapped bundle, but Anita didn’t think to comfort her newest obligation. She ran back toward home, wheezing as ice formed in her lungs. How the infant was still alive in this cruel cold, she had no idea.

It was lucky that the horrible parents of this mortal had left it so near Anita’s home. The caves she haunted most of the year were the reason the forest was deserted – toxic gas had been excavated while miners had searched for coal. The noxious poisons had long-since evaporated, yet still humans avoided the area. It made feeding difficult every year. But, somehow, this baby was a meager distance from their home.

A black hole in a snowy hill up ahead resonated with the wretched voices of her siblings. They were singing for her! Anita clutched her bundle and stretched her legs, but as the cave came closer, a tingling sensation tickled the back of her head.

Her body lurched into the darkness of the cave. Cool air whipped around, but the icy death of winter stayed beyond the cave’s entrance. Anita gently set the infant down and watched the creepy doll slide to the floor. She reached down to pick it up but gasped before her fingers touched the horrid thing. Cracks lined her hands. The porcelain face mocked her with its disfigured beauty in comparison.

Anita reached her trembling fingers to her face and dug her nails into the crevices deepening there. Her sisters screeched and screamed, but Anita just looked at the baby. Its smooth face had lost the blue tinge of cold and its eyes watched her with too much sadness.

As her skin crumbled, Anita crooned for the infant one last time…

The Truth Fairy: Michelle's Story

2011-09-13T14:58:00.004-05:00

It's time for another Fusion story! (To find out what a Fusion story is - and to get one of your own- click here.) I have a great picture to go along with The Truth Fairy, but that will have to wait for another day. Right now I'd like to introduce you to Michelle Simkins of Greenwoman, the blog that talks about knitting, gardening, homemaking and writing! Michelle is a talented person! She is the creator of The Skeleton Key Blogvel and a friend of mine; I only hope our Fusion story meets her expections. When I asked her for an idea, all she said was, "Maybe something creepy? Not SUPER creepy, just a little creepy. I'm into creepy right now."

...Hrmm...I hope this fits the bill.

***************************************************

The Truth Fairy

She knew she’d be different. Crawling along branches had been torture – she’d been born to swim through the air, wings filled with heart-stopping swirls fluttering on her back. Her blubbery caterpillar body had been grotesque. Short hairs had sprouted from her undulating form, and brown slime had trailed after her. Her cocoon had been little better.

The endless days inside her cocoon had nearly killed her. When her shell had cracked, a sliver of daylight had infused her blood with passion and love and hope. Bright light had hit her face and she’d spread her arms – her beautiful arms – for the first time.

She’d known she’d be different. Although she wanted to fly – desperately – developing wings hadn’t concerned her. She knew that would happen. It was the change, the need to be different, that had set her apart. Her brothers and sisters were all aloft already, their staid wings flapping. But her magnificent body was unique. Instead of one trunk-like form, she had limbs like a human.

Her toes spread on the twig and she clasped her fingers together. Hands. Expressions she barely felt flitted over her face, and she reached up to trace her mouth and nose and eyes with her dainty fingers.

Her nameless siblings bobbed aimlessly in the air all around her, but she wondered at the joy of standing on two legs. She was different. Just as she was about to launch herself upward, a clear tube fell over her. Large pink worms clasped the tube, and she screamed as she was forced to fall to the ground. The pink worms slid down the glass and a giant face loomed in close. With eyes larger than her whole body and a fleshy face that jiggled with every movement, a human smiled.

“Hello, beautiful one. I haven’t met one of your kind in a very long time.” A thin white leaf slid under the clear tube, and she fell over as the human lifted the leaf, the tube and her all in one motion. “My name is Ted. I have so much to tell you! I know all about your kind. But you probably don’t even have a name yet, do you? You newly hatched fairies are so focused on flying that you always forget to name yourselves. How about Michelle? Does that sound pretty?”

She stared at the fleshy human and nodded numbly. Fear spiked her stomach with painful jabs and she could only watch as he brought her into a giant cocoon. It was dark but roomy. He took her through several layers, opening tree-planks and stumbling over thick stacks of the white leaves. His cocoon was strange. Things cluttered the space, and he could come and go as he pleased. Was he like a wolf, and this was den? She didn’t know a lot about humans…but she had seen a wolf while she was a caterpillar…and they had much more fur.

“I know you’re probably confused, so I’m going to keep you in this jar for a few more minutes. I just want to talk to you, to tell you everything you need to know. I am a scientist. My name’s Ted – but, I’ve already told you that!” Ted’s face stretched and he bared his teeth in a fake smile, his eyes twinkling. “So, Michelle – do you mind if I call you Michelle?”

She shook her head. If he wanted to call her ugly and stupid, she’d nod and agree right now.

“Well, Michelle, you are in for a surprise. I’ve been waiting for you. The last fairy to be born here was named Jessica, and she was a sweetie. She wanted me to tell you about your job as a fairy, and then she went off when a very handsome young fairy-man. I think they roosted in a tree about a mile away.”

Liar. Even she knew that there were no male fairies. Not knowing what else to do, and trembling in fear, she nodded. He seemed to take that as a positive reaction, and kept talking. “Now all we need to find out is what special powers you have. All fairies have powers. You’re supposed to be the guardians of small creatures, like butterflies and beetles. I guess that means nature knows how difficult a time such critters have nowadays.”

Michelle – it was a pretty and she liked having a name – shrugged. He sounded excited. But his eyes lied. She didn’t know how she knew that he wasn’t speaking the truth – maybe it was the talent he was blathering about – but she wasn’t falling for his helpful guise.

“Before I tell you anymore, do you have any questions? Have you learned to talk?”

Michelle shook her head and watched his smile fade.

“Ok. Well, I think I’ll let you out of this jar now. You seem much more calm.”

Michelle grinned. He lifted the clear tube and paused, as if waiting for her to try to fly away. Michelle just stood there, watching him. His fake smile was back and he turned away to set aside the jar.

She took her chance. Even though she’d never flown before, using her wings was her only hope of escape. With one powerful kick of her legs, she soared up. Two wingbeats later, she’d flown halfway back to the entrance of this awful cocoon.

A horrible, paralyzing, ripping pain seized her wings.

“You all think you’re so clever. Fly away before he can talk. Fly away when he tries to take you inside. Fly away when he lifts the jar. Fly away when his back is turned. You’re all the same. Pitiful, stupid little creatures.” Big pink fingers squeezed her wings together and her back arched in agony. “I’ve noticed that each fairy is smarter than the last – that is obvious. The first one was so stupid, but so beautiful. Nothing has ever been as breathtaking as the first time I saw her. But she was as dumb as an insect – like those butterflies you hatched with. She didn’t even deserve a name. Luckily, every time butterfly eggs hatched thereafter, a new fairy was born to replace the one before. Nature likes continuance, I guess.”

Ted squeezed her wings again and Michelle screamed. Her voice was weak and her vision blurred, but she saw him bare his teeth again; true amusement twisted his lips this time.

“It’s like nature is taunting me. Each fairy is smarter, each is gifted. Did you know one of your ancestors could actually camouflage herself? It took me forever to find her when she tried to run away. Another could create thorns all over her body, like some kind of strange little rose bush. But you don’t even have a talent. What a waste…you are almost as beautiful as the first fairy. Maybe beauty is your gift.”

Michelle barely heard him; his footsteps jolted her wings, and his nails dug grooves into the soft skin fluttering between his fat fingers. He dropped her on a flat surface and her wings automatically curled around her. With tears streaming down her face, she looked up. Ted was staring at her with a new gleam in his eyes.

“I want you to meet your family, Michelle. I love each and every one of them, even if they don’t deserve it. They never did…and yet.” His gaze moved away, to the wall of his giant cocoon. “I can’t stop thinking about them. I want them, and you, forever. Maybe one of you will learn to love me.”

Countless colors mottled the room, and Michelle’s eyes couldn’t focus. Salt clung to her lashes and her wings ached. When her mind settled, her heart froze. The room wasn’t mottled with colors – the colors were separated, pinned to tall wooden boards.

They were wings.

Thousands of wings were as unmoving as fallen leaves all around her. Michelle focused on the pair closest to her. Her throat constricted around a scream. Sound had barely squeaked out of her when Ted laughed.

“Yes, they can be alarming. The skin has a tendency to peel after I embalm them. But they’re still beautiful, even after years of being immortalized.”

No, they weren’t. The corpses – all shriveled and grey –held the wings together, but even dust could not have been more fragile. No hair remained on any of the fairies that Michelle could see, and each had a look of terror of her face.

He’d framed their deaths like art. Michelle turned to spit on him, to rake his face with her nails and pummel him with all her might, but a flash of silver caught the light.

A pin, clasped between Ted’s thick, pink fingers, was zooming towards her.

The Moon Shrine

2011-09-08T18:07:00.000-05:00

I get easily discouraged with my stories, so after three rejections from e-zines, this dream-inspired piece has found its home here on Inner Owlet. Enjoy - this is one of my favorite dreams ;)

**On a completely unrelated note: my blog contest starts on Saturday the 10th and runs until Saturday the 17th :D Email me your story anytime in that period and enter to win a stack of books!!!**

The Moon Shrine

The long walk from her village to this place – this horrid shrine of death – had bled her bare feet dry and numbed her heart. Warm sunlight surrendered the sky to cold darkness when her feet finally plodded to a halt, but her thoughts continued to stumble along.

Her father. Her sisters. Her tent, village, friends – all gone.

He’d come for her. But not just for her. The cluster of weeping girls, all from nearby tribes, all tethered together, made that obvious enough. He’d gathered together a flock of raven-haired maidens. She’d heard the rumors that claimed he took all the virgin-flesh he could find, but her beautiful friends had been left behind. She alone had been taken alive.

Her face was plain, her body too young for curves. More than her untouched womanhood had drawn him to her family’s tent; otherwise, she’d not be the only survivor.

As a cage was built around her and the rest of the flock, she glared at him.

Nightbloom vines wrapped around him now and she wished – prayed – they’d choke the life out of him, just like they choked the life out of every other plant. They were horrible weeds that needed moonlight, not sunlight, to thrive. He’d called them. He had strolled to the ridge topping the stone shrine where they’d gathered and had summoned the plants onto his body, urging them to grow unnaturally fast. Thick thorns had sprouted on the vines, and had ripped his flesh and drank from his essence while the unholy bonds twisted tightly around him. Blood seeped from his eyes and poured from his mouth as he was squeezed.

The Moon bathed his tanned skin in milk while his crimson juices soaked up the starlight.

She laughed when he gagged on his own pain, and hoped he would succumb to the xu-awa, the Moon-spirit that demanded he slaughter innocents.

Instead, his flesh glowed.

No fire brightened the night, and no one needed the hot light to see. He stood encased in ethereal radiance. The vines banded like dark scars against his limbs and they stretched him into taught lines. His back arrowed straightly, his head perched perfectly erect on his stiff shoulders, hands fisted at his sides while the muscles in his legs quivered; every dewy bead of sweat held the rapt gaze of the xu-awan tribe.

The Moon-tribe. The demon-tribe.

Her family had hidden her from them, as every girl-child in their valley had been hidden when the wind whispered that the demon-tribe was near. It hadn’t been enough. The evil Moon-spirit had guided the xu-awan. Her family’s blood drenched her soul as surely as it had stained her hands when she’d cradled their corpses.

The Moon had singled her out… some evil in her must have betrayed her, called to the round ghost who haunted the night sky. That meant she would never be allowed to join her sisters in the Dawn, where gentle mother-spirits rested. Nor would she be allowed to join her father in the Dusk, where warrior-spirits slumbered. Her death-place should have been among sunbeams, but some wickedness in her had cast her to the shadows.

The xu-awan’s shaman would banish her into the emptiness between the Moon’s children, the ever-changing chaos of the Constellations.

Dread pulled tears from her eyes as she waited, breath bated, for what would happen next. Rumors had never whispered more than a warning about the xu-awan. Tales of death-rites that forever split tribes in life, and in death, had scarcely been told to even the naughtiest of children.

Morbid curiosity sent her gaze upward. Where would she rest? Near the Star-Whale, who swam below the Star-Horse, who grazed along the Star-Tree’s furthest limb? Or somewhere else, a place unknown to any tribe that walked in the light, to be forgotten and truly lost forever?

She shivered.

The guards, who had impatiently waited for the Moon to arc into her kiss with Sun-Star – the Moon’s brilliant husband, who she was destined to align with only once a year, to bathe the world in unrivaled luminescence, and who was also the only star who brought sunbeams into the night – wrenched open the cage. One stepped forward and cut loose the first girl in the tethered string of captives, a bony child barely out of swaddling.

She’d scarcely been led up the hill and onto the ridge of the shrine before the celestial light darkened and lightning – white-hot power gathered from the ground to swell within the taunt Nightbloom vines, then passing through thorns and into the shaman’s willing flesh, and, lastly, rammed, burning and scorching into the child – zapped her to ashes.

The Moon swelled, a gleam riding the silver curve of her globe.

The next girl cried as her hemp bonds were shredded and she sought mercy from the Sun-Star, her prayers breaking the reverent silence. Piss stained her legs as she walked. The poor girl’s ashes soon joined the first pile.

Sun-Star paled and waned, a sickly yellow next to the Moon’s polished glow.

A guard slipped a bone knife between her wrists and yanked up. The filaments wreathing her hands snapped all at once, and she flexed her fingers before clenching them. Four crescents dug blood from each of her palms.

And then the guard’s blood smeared onto her right hand and mingled with her own, her small fist shattering his nose as she punched him. She leapt over his crumpling, lifeless body and pounded her feet into the ground, faster than she’d ever run.

Vines sprang up, captured her legs before she’d raced ten paces. She tripped forward and a mouthful of grime made her wheeze, but her fingers clawed the soil, chucking clumps of dirt on the evil tribesmen who snatched at her arms and legs; none caught hold. The Nightbloom vines tightened and sprouted new writhing whips that lashed at her, coiling and trundling her arms as neatly as her legs.

She spat grit on the three xu-awan who hauled her to the ridge. The iridescent Moonlight pulsated when her flesh smacked into the stone of the shrine, and her vine-ropes disintegrated as her bearers backed away.

Her heart ached, knowing her death-place would be in darkness instead of daylight.

Silence puckered the air and the stone beneath her thrummed. She scrambled to push away from the noiseless purr – to stand and face her death – but the shaman’s eyes kept her from attaining her full height. He had sunbeam eyes, beautiful golden irises that melted and pooled with intensity. She crouched before him, shocked.

Lightning hit.

Her skin didn’t burn to ash. Her hair didn’t catch fire. The halo of white light skipped around her, and then hopped away to dance upon the xu-awan shaman. The golden eyes drained of life and the man slumped forward, his vine-bonds snapping with audible cracks.

Her fingertips twitched toward him, unbidden, but her arms and body stood firmly as her gaze followed his progress. He hit the ground and his neck hinged grotesquely, the force of his weight mangling the delicate bones at the base of his skull…and hell broke loose.

The xu-awan wailed as one, their voices a cacophony that literally propelled the Moon past her sky lover, the Sun-Star. With the celestial bodies drifting apart prematurely, and their shaman gone, the xu-awan turned their demon eyes on her.

Sun-Star twinkled, and a single spark rained down from the sky. She reached up to claim the blessing in her shaking hands, but it fluttered to a stop just above her skin. Moonlight pushed at the spark, the Moon battling her husband. Sun-Star winked mischievously, and then millions of tiny sparks lit the sunless sky. His original spark dropped into her up-stretched palm as the Moon cast her power on the already-fading pin-pricks of light that had briefly overwhelmed the her children, her beloved Constellations.

With Moon distracted, and Sun-Star’s spark trembling in her cupped hands, she lowered her arms so that she could peer at her gift. It glittered beautifully, withering her caution. She flicked her tongue out to taste the starry essence. Glorious rapture filled her throat and she lapped at it again, feeling some soak into her lips while the rest beaded on her tongue.

The xu-awan and their captured girl-children all stared in awe.

A wave of glowing heat saturated her pores, delighting her into squirming as the starlight infused her body. And then a word overtook her mind, a word she did not know. It whispered past her lips, many languages seeping into the single syllable, commanding the other girl-children to flee.

Outrage whitened the lips of the demon tribesmen nearest her, and they turned to hiss at the surviving prisoners.

But the command had been obeyed, quiet though it had been. The raven-haired children skittered into the night, their cage and bonds vanishing in one bright flicker of Sun-Star’s sinking orb.

The xu-awan tried to catch the intended ash-offerings, but, with Moon fading, the children escaped. The tribesmen chased shrinking shadows for a while, but rage pulled them back to the ridge.

As they assaulted her – her lips still twinkling with starlight and her body still anchored over their dead shaman – the dimming Sun-Star embraced Dawn, and daybreak seared the xu-awan, scorching their soulless bodies.

Ashes welcomed the morning.

Guest Post and Blog Contest

2011-09-02T16:43:00.001-05:00

Hello :) I have a special guest today, but first I want to tell you about a little contest I'm hosting.

The Prize: A stack of books

The Contest:

Write a 1,000-word (or less) short story that takes place under water. The only restriction is that no character can exit the water - or surface for air. Be creative :)

The Rules:

- The contest is from Sept 10th - Sept 17th. UPDATE: I will extend the date until the 24th at midnight. I didn't advertize this contest as well as I should have. That should give people plenty of time to write 1,000 words or less! Good luck! All entries must be emailed to me no later 11:59pm on the 17th. My email is A.M.Supinger@hotmail.com

- You must be a follower of my blog to participate

- All entries must be PG-13 (if you have questions about your entry, feel free to email me :)

**this isn't required, but I'd love it if y'all could tweet this out to the twitterverse! **

The winner of the contest will have the option of posting their story here on Inner Owlet! Good luck and I hope to read some aquatic stories soon!!

**********************************************************************************

My guest blogger is a fellow AgentQuery Connect writer - y'all might know her as Moonshade :) I had the privilege of guesting on her blog, Questions and Archetypes, and now get to host one of her fabulous short stories. Please Enjoy!

The Fence

by Moonshade

Three hundred and twenty-five days.

It felt longer when you put it that way. Easier to say ‘just shy of a year’ or ‘ten months and change’, but I was getting ready to start a countdown. Forty-one more days and I’d officially be done with this job. I wouldn’t have to go back to our spot on the fence every day and check for signs that Mel had come back. I wouldn’t have to keep telling Ellen that her husband might just show up tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, all safe and sound like nothing had ever happened.

Now, if you wanted to get all technical, I didn’t have to wait until the whole year-and-a-day thing ended, but then people’d be saying how Campbell’s a deal breaker. Campbell can’t keep his word. No thanks. I’d keep up the lookout, like I’d promised Mel, but I knew better. We all did. Nobody stepped outside the fence and lived to tell about it.

The fence stretched on for what felt like forever, a forty-mile patchwork of chain link, cinder block, wood and steel, welded and nailed and zip-tied together to keep the creepers out, with a big ring of farmland just inside so only the farmers ever had to see or smell the damn things. You were only safe from the creepers if you stayed inside the fence, but that didn’t sit right with Mel. He didn’t like us getting corralled in like cattle. He wanted to find something better out there, something more. Regular Disney princess, that one.

I’d turned around and decided to call it a day when the wind changed, and I got a noseful of creeper reek: that nasty, slimy, sick-to-your-gut stench of rotting flesh and ripped-up innards, the eau de cologne of the shambling dead. It was almost enough to make you call them a downright zombie, except nobody with half a brain used that word. Not if they wanted to be taken seriously. I turned on my heel and raised my shotgun, but I didn’t fire. The creeper was too far away, and we didn’t have enough spare gunpowder inside the fence for me to waste any with a wild shot. At the moment I could just see the dark shape of it moving through the overgrown weeds outside the fence. I’d have to wait until it got close enough for me to see its rotting face, and then—

Its arms flew into the air over its head, palms toward me.

“Campbell, what’re you doing?” Mel shouted. “Put that damn thing down before you kill someone!”

“Mel?” I lowered the shotgun anyway. “What’s wrong with you, shambling around like a creeper? Scared me half to death, you idiot.” Covered in a mishmash of rags, he looked as much like one of them creepers as the real thing, but everyone knows those monsters can’t talk.

“I was tired, Campbell.” From thirty meters I could barely make out his face as he shook his head, buried under a pile of rags like the rest of him. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been walking in this wasteland?”

“More’n three hundred days.” I stepped so close to the fence that I could’ve pissed through the chain link. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know. “Did you find anything out there, Mel? Anybody else?”

“Yeah. I found some people. Not all that far away, either.” Mel’s shoulders sagged with a sigh that could’ve blown over a house. “It’s… It’s a good place, Campbell. I want Ellen to see it.”

“Other people. Dayum.” A weird kind of shiver buzzed through me, and I looped my fingers through the fence. “All right, Mel. The gate’s a few miles that way, remember?” I pointed to the west. “I’ll walk with you—you can tell me all about it.”

“No,” he said. “Listen, Campbell. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Can you just bring her here? It’ll be faster.”

“And have your grand reunion spoiled by a big whiff of creeper reek? She’s a lady, Mel. Try and be a bit romantic, will ya?”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “The smell kind of sticks to you after a while. Just about everyone out here stinks like this, so you just sorta stop noticing after a while.”

“She’s definitely gonna notice,” I said. “Come on in. You can take a shower at my place, get some of that stink off. Grab some flowers on your way, too. She’ll like that.”

“C’mon, Campbell,” he said. “I don’t have much time. Can you just bring her here to me?” He hadn’t come any closer.

“Since when do you have to worry about time?” I squinted through the fence, but his face was all covered up except for the eyes. The wind blew in my face, and I got another sniff of long-rotten meat. “Ellen’s not the brightest girl in town, but she’s not gonna up and move just because you say so. You’re gonna have to explain all this to her first.”

“I’ll explain on the way,” he said.

“You’re the one who said how tired you were,” I said. “Come in and sleep for tonight, at least, and you can get going in the morning.”

“For God’s sake, Campbell!” Mel shook his head in his fury, and one of the rags came loose from around his face. A big, long strip of flesh hung down from his cheek, dried and leathery like month-old road kill, and another wave of creeper reek made me gag. His hands flew to his face and he tried to cover himself back up again. Too late. I’d seen enough.

“God’s got nothin’ to do with it,” I said. I raised my shotgun and took aim. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Campbell, you don’t understand,” Mel said. “You don’t get it, things’re different out there. Things aren’t what we thought they were! Campbe—“

I pulled the trigger, and a handful of buckshot silenced the creeper for good.

All I had left was to tell Ellen what happened. But later. I didn’t have it in me to walk all the way back right then. I used the shotgun as a crutch as I lowered myself to the ground, and for a long time I just sat there, staring at his body.

He’d been talking to me, just like old times. Everybody knew creepers couldn’t talk. That used to be how you’d tell them apart from normal people, way back when the virus and all first started spreading. When it got dark and you couldn’t see them or smell the reek, you’d know who was safe because humans could yap at you, and the monsters could only moan.

“You always were the smart one, Mel,” I told the body. I felt dizzy and sick. “If any creeper could learn to talk, it’d be you.”

I took a few steps back and lay down in the long shadows of the corn. I shut my eyes and tried to block out everything, to focus on the rustle of the leaves and the hot earth under my back, and for a moment just not think about what I’d done.

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of uneven footsteps coming toward me, but I didn’t bother moving. I’d had enough creepers for one day, and they couldn’t get me from inside the fence. Hell, they probably couldn’t even see me from behind all that corn. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care.

“Oh God.” I knew everybody inside the fence, but I didn’t recognize that voice. I shifted just slightly, trying to get a better view of the sources of the sound. “Poor guy.” A wave of reek hit me so hard that I wanted to hurl.

“You know this man?” said the second voice.

“Yeah. Name’s Mel Ripley. Fresh out of reeducation. Just barely finished learning how not to eat his tongue. He kept coming by my office all of last month. Said he wanted to get back inside the preserve.” The guy bent low over Mel, and I caught a glimpse of a green-and-grey uniform. The kind you’d see on one of those forest ranger types from the old movies. “He told me once he’d go in alone, but I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

Second Guy whistled. “Damn. I know the cravings get bad, Cain, but—“

“Not like that. Said he had a sweetheart in here. He wanted to get her out with proper people.”

“Family man, hm?” Second Guy tsked, the sound coming and going like he was shaking his head. “You gave him the spiel, didn’t you?”

I turned my head just slightly, just in time to see one of the uniformed zombies sigh so hard that it whistled through a hole in his leathery chest.

“I give it to everybody who tries to come down here, Ace. Nobody ever believes me. Humans might look cute and all, but they’re wild animals. The only safe place for them is in a preserve.”

The Pit

2011-09-01T01:25:00.001-05:00

I've been on a bit of a roll the last few days. I dream, I write, I revise....and then sometimes I just need to purge an idea. Like tonight. Although most of my short stories are dramatic, I do have to warn you that this one is based off of a nightmare that just woke me up. I totally blame it on Gladiator and Law & Order: SVU. What a horrible combination.

******************************************************************************
The Pit

The sand was hot and the tiny grains stung the cuts on her feet. Sweat stung every other wound.

Danna added more salt to the slice on her cheekbone and winced at her own tears. Her naked body rippled with fear-bumps and adrenaline pushed blood through her heart with rib-cracking force.

Men and women were seated all around her, high above in the amphitheater. She was in the pit, bare and shivering like a dog. Cheers fluttered over her head and she heard the sound as though a bird’s wing batted at the wind. The people above her didn’t matter.

But the naked woman stumbling toward her did.

They had to fight. Only one could win the honor of survival. Danna would have to kill this woman. By the amount of blood dying her opponent’s pale skin crimson, it wouldn’t take much. This one would only need a quick snap of the neck. She’d never even feel pain. Danna tried to be merciful whenever possible. She’d killed dozens of them; some had let her, others had fought with their last tooth and every single nail. Scars and fresh scratches across Danna’s limbs proved their determination to live. But she couldn’t die… not yet.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to die. Because oh, did she ever. Even Hell would not be such torment. But she fought and screeched and performed. She was a true gladiator and when she killed enough of these sad, pitiful creatures, she’d be set free.

The proper citizens would laugh and toss her out, naked, into the streets. As a nonconformer, she’d starve within two weeks. She’d have to let them look at her and she’d have to endure their foul touches. She’d even kill for that chance. Breathing fresh air would mean she could find her husband, the father of her children.

The bastard.

She’d been married for ten years when he’d turned her over to the government. Nonconformity was an automatic sentence to the pit. She’d been stripped and branded a danger to society before she’d even realized what had happened. All because he wanted a younger woman. And now her children were probably on the streets, emaciated corpses like so many others clogging the sewers of this rotten place. After all, what use was a girl-child that couldn’t inherit?

So she had survived. Her babies at least deserved revenge. She’d kill him for them. She’d torture him. Every single vile thing that had been done to her and her daughters would be done to him – and she’d laugh as his wicked soul was dragged to Hell by demons. She burn the whole world with her vengeance.

But first she had to kill this other nonconformer. The poor wretch looked more like a child than a woman. She barely had breasts. But she’d been cast into the pit and now her pores were forever stained with gore. Her soul would bear the taint of this place, if Danna’s soul was any indicator.

Killing left its mark.

Danna feinted left, then right. The girl never moved. In fact, she didn’t even blink. With practiced skill, Danna jumped forward and grasped the girl’s hair. The poor thing didn’t cry out or resist…and the sound of her neck snapping swallowed the cheers from the seats encircling them.

She’d wanted to die. Danna knew what the guards did to the new nonconformers. She’d experienced it. Some women couldn’t handle it; some chose death over degradation. Danna had wondered, on occasion, what would happen when two such women were put together. Did one snap out of it and fight? Did both just stand there until the guards shot them dead? Did the crowds stone them?

She shook her head. It was a waste. So many women died in the pits. Ten fights a day – every day. She’d never been to the amphitheater before her husband had condemned her. She’d hated the thought of death. She’d heard the propaganda though, that the population had to be controlled. That women who threatened society didn’t need to breed anyway.

She hadn’t been a threat then. She had never dreamed that she would be considered a danger to society. Her husband had simply used her and then discarded her. He probably brought his new wife to watch her fight, to scare her replacement into obedience. He had no idea that he’d recreated Danna. Death clung to her and she craved it now. She would reap souls for the underworld, but soon she’d choose which lives to end.

He wouldn’t die first, but every drop of his blood belonged to her…and then she’d truly be free.

Elixir of Life

2011-08-30T10:10:00.002-05:00

            The edge of a lake kissed her toes.
            Tonight, the longest night of the year, was special. She had become a woman. Her first moon’s flow saturated her clothes and its warmth sent shivers racing across her limbs.
The transition to adulthood had been harder than she’d anticipated. An inner struggle had torn her – do I really want this? Should I pray for more time? – but she’d kept silent, and now it was done.
            Her trembling fingers trailed over her cheekbones. Moisture clung to her skin, and the metallic hint of blood smeared across her face.
            She smiled, her fingers pausing. With slow deliberation, she brought one fingertip to her lips. The tiniest of flicks from her tongue cleaned the blood away…and brought euphoria.
            So this is why we wait so long.
            The drop of life melted down her throat and spread vitality into her veins. Understanding and righteousness lent her strength as she kicked out, her foot colliding with the corpse in front of her. The bulk barely moved, but she kicked out again and again.
            Worthless man.
            When peace reclaimed her, silence descended. No animals ventured near the wooded clearing tonight, not on the full moon. The tranquility of the moment lent the moon’s light a brighter hue. She let her head fall back and opened her mouth to scream in triumph.
            A gasp escaped instead.
            The single drop of blood was gone from her body, its power used. She dropped to her knees in the lake of red that had kissed her feet. So much had fled from his body. The ceremonial knife in his back was dull, so its rough slices had let precious liquid seep outward. Not that such an inconvenience would stop her.
            With a growl, she lowered her palms to the gritty soil and clawed fistfuls of bloody pulp up to her face. Every rapturous mouthful of that muddy elixir of life burned her soul, remade her into a creature of myth. Her body tingled with power and strength. She would slaughter men endlessly for this, would crave their essence. Never again would she merely be a girl-child. Never again merely female.
            Now she was an Amazon.

***********************************************************

I tried submitting this piece to several e-zines, but no such luck. This is an intense story born of a dream, so I guess it belongs on Inner Owlet. I hope you like it:)

Grandfather Time: Cherie's Story

2011-08-29T15:51:00.001-05:00

I'm starting a new segment on my blog!!! I've dubbed this new segment "Fusion". My idea is simple: I'll write YOU a story. If interested, my followers need to email me at A.M.Supinger@hotmail.com. Tell me what you want your story to be about (please have Fusion in the subject line), and then I will let my imagination loose. Together we'll create a short story combining your life and my words.

Cherie of Ready.Write.Go. is the first Fusion participant. She wanted her character to be foreign in a new land. Wish granted!

OH! Side note: I have a guest post on Moodshade's blog and a short story in the contest on Jello World. Please check both out and vote for your fav short story!

********************************************************************************

Grandfather Time: Cherie's Story

Cherie stared around her grandfather’s home. The dark wood and musty chandeliers created a formal atmosphere that was familiar and comforting.

“Do not touch any of the clocks in this house, Cherie. You know that they are my domain…anyone else, even family, that touches them are forfeit to their power. I wouldn’t know you were in trouble until it was too late.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Alright, then.” His long mustache and matching beard twitched as he smiled. “I’m glad you’re here for a visit. If you go check your room, you’ll find a special present waiting for you.”

“Thank you!” Cherie bounced into his arms for a hug and then turned and raced away. The narrow passageways leading through her grandfather’s castle were familiar, and she skipped up steps and past creaking suits of armor with no fear. But her feet skidded to a halt just outside the bedroom always reserved for her.

A new clock hung next to her door, but it didn’t look like any of the other time pieces cluttering the rest of the house. It was oval and imperfect, bulging and curving over large gemstones set deep into the golden frame. The clock’s face was lost amidst hundreds of zigzagging swirls and clock-hands.

It was…mesmerizing.

Cherie leaned forward and stared at the unique design. Who would make such a ridiculous contraption? It made no sense. She reached a finger forward and poked the golden frame.

Screaming did her no good. She’d touched the clock! How could she have been so stupid? Pain warped her thoughts as her body twisted and writhed. The space between her Grandfather’s house and the clock’s dimension was vast and dark and horrible. She screamed endlessly.

Father had once explained that time was tied to dimensions, and that no two dimensions ever had exactly the same time. Time was literally endless that way. By touching a clock she had been sucked into its dimension…just as Grandfather had warned her she would be.

Light exploded around her as she materialized. The darkness retreated and Cherie stared up from the ground at a blue sky. Blue. Why was the sky blue? Her body screamed in continuing pain while her mind whirled with realization.

She’d never see her parents or her grandfather again. She’d never go home.

Standing took some effort. She hoisted herself upwards and reeled at how heavy her body felt. Brown sticks shot upward all around her and green frills at the top of each brushed the blue sky. How odd. Her clothes were the same as when she’d arrived at Grandfather’s castle – pink, yellow, red, orange and blue all competing for attention – but each thread seemed muted. Her skin wasn’t a vibrant yellow anymore, either. She looked sickly…more golden than anything.

Disgust and fear clenched her stomach.

Voices called out to her left, and Cherie turned just in time to see three men emerge from between the tall brown sticks. They all stopped and stared at her.

“Uh…are you lost?”

Cherie heard the words, the strange syllables clinging to and then sliding past the man’s lips, and was surprised that she could understand him. She nodded, unsure if she could speak the odd language.

“How on Earth did you get here? You’re three miles outside of town.”

Cherie gulped. Earth…? Grandfather had often told stories about the many dimensions of Earth. It was a strange and scary place in his tales.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. We’ll walk you back. I’m a Ranger Dave,” he pointed to a badge on his plain brown shirt, “and these two are both trainees.” The man pointed to the two men flanking him. Dave’s gaze curiously traveled down her gown. “What the heck are you wearing?”

Cherie looked down. “A dress.”

“I can see that.” Dave’s voice was low and playful, like he was teasing her. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Cherie.”

“Well, Cherie, it looks like you have a lot to learn about hiking.”

“More than you know, Ranger Dave. More than you know.”

Hil'yo (part three)

2011-08-21T16:02:00.001-05:00

This is the last installment of my blog novel!

Hil'yo is a mermiid that swam away from home and ended up in the care of the Kracken. You can read Part One and Part Two to catch up on her adventures.

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I have!

********************************************************************************

The murky water didn’t throb with her heartbeat, even though her whole body thrummed with panic and she was sure he could hear her accelerated pulse.

“Are you going to eat me?” She’d heard awful stories about mermiids being devoured by the Kracken. Hil’yo gulped.

“No.” Kracken turned away. “I will escort you to warmer waters whenever you are ready.”

“Wait!” She reached out a hand, her light skin bright in the gloom, and touched his emerald shoulder. “Please. I know I keep saying the wrong thing. I have a big mouth – everyone at home said so. I’m truly sorry.” Hil’yo pulled her hand away when he turned back around.

“I understand your fear.” He gestured at his squid arms and tentacles. “I am monstrous.”

“Oh, no! I don’t think your tail is monstrous. Actually, it’s… striking.” A hot blush seared Hil’yo’s face.

His green eyes lit. The water, which had been mostly stagnate and tepid, swirled and heated by a few degrees. A smile crept across his face and he offered her his hand.

She reached out and laced her fingers with his. Her cheeks heated more, and she swept her lashes down to keep from meeting his gaze. He led her out of the dark cave she’d woken up in, down narrow tunnels and through small chambers filled with sunken treasure. Piles of gold and silver gleamed faintly, their metallic hues almost indistinguishable from the rock formations that grew haphazardly in the murk.

She didn’t ask questions, but her fingers itched to explore the human trinkets. With every successive cave that she passed through, she relaxed more. Several times her arm or tail brushed against Kracken, and he would smile at her, erasing her discomfort over the slime that coated his tentacles. One long appendage seemed to like her more and more as they swam, and she gasped when it completely wrapped its length around her waist.

Kracken stopped, concerned. One look at her had him stammering apologies. His fingers pried the squid arm loose and she tried not to cry out; each grasping sucker left a round wound on her stomach when peeled away. A line of bleeding dots encircled her torso, starting at her scaled tail and ending just below her breasts.

Kracken gently picked her up and cradled her close to his chest. His tail trailed behind them as he swam again, zipping quickly – much more quickly than before – through the caves. A bright light enveloped them as he dipped under a low rock overhang and then propelled them upward.

Thousands of jellyfish floated near the walls of the chamber, all glowing brightly. Dark nets kept the enormous creatures from wandering the room. Hil’yo stared at the thread-like strings trailing each glowing blob.

“Those are deadly. My sister was killed by one.”

“They cannot hurt you. The net has kept them caged for hundreds of years.” Kracken set her down on a rock, and bent low to stare at her stomach. “I need to get medicine or you’ll scar. Do not move.” He turned and raced away, back into the gloom.

A sharp sting on her arm made her spin in alarm. A beautiful woman – not a mermiid – in a black robe flicked her nail across Hil’yo’s arm again. This time the sting was more pronounced but Hil’yo didn’t wince or ask who this lady was.

She knew.

“I see fear in your eyes.” Black hair drifted up and briefly covered the woman’s face; ebony irises peeked through the strands, colder than the soulless gaze of a shark. “You know who I am?”

“Ceto.”

The goddess’s laugh was quick, filled with delight. “So the mermiids remember me? How…amusing.” She flicked her nail across Hil’yo’s arm again, this time drawing blood. “I have never liked your kind. In fact, I think you’re all hideous – fish with the faces of humans.”

Hil’yo didn’t blink. She knew of Ceto’s dislike for her kind.

“But why are you here, little mermiid? Why are you in my Kracken’s lair?”

Hil’yo swallowed her fear and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. The goddess leaned in close, her lips only a breath from Hil’yo’s. A smile curved the beautiful face, but no humor lurked in her eyes.

“Are you scared? You probably should be. I don’t really care why you’re here. I’m going to kill you for your trespass.” The smile bloomed, became a toothy grin. The ragged points jutting from the goddess’s gums were too numerous to count. “I think I’m going to eat you.” Ceto dragged her nail down Hil’yo’s arm again.

Hil’yo watched her blood cloud the water with crimson.

“You smell…different.” The smile fell off Ceto’s face. “No mermiid has that much human in their blood – they’d never develop gills. Such creatures are abominations, perhaps able to change and live ashore, like men.”

Hil’yo gasped; the sound slipped from her and she wished she could take it back, but already the goddess’s eyes darted to her face, searching for answers. The nail digging in Hil’yo’s arm paused, then swept up to trail along her jaw. It didn’t slice or maim, but followed the curve of her neck and inched over every pore between her ear and shoulder.

“No gills.” The accusation was fierce. “How…disgusting.”

Hil’yo squeezed her eyes closed. She was going to die; her death echoed in each word the goddess spoke. She heard Ceto move and braced for pain – she even opened her mouth to scream. But it wasn’t her voice that shrieked.

“How dare you?”

Hil’yo opened her eyes and stared at the goddess; a dagger was embedded in the ebony-eyed deity’s robes. A flash blurred through the water a second dagger slammed into the goddess’s flesh next to the first.

Hil’yo spun and saw Kracken, anger contorting his features, framed in the cave’s entrance. She rolled off the rock he’d set her upon and felt Ceto’s nails scrape after her, flaying her back. A third dagger whooshed past her shoulder and the goddess screamed again.

Hil’yo fled to Kracken. One of his strong arms pulled her close and he planted a kiss on her hair before handing her a knife. Her knife, the one she’d found as a child. She gripped the familiar handle and faced Ceto.

“I will kill you for this, Kracken, and then eat your little friend.” The goddess licked her lips and then bared her jagged teeth.

“You can try, Ceto, but I will at least take a piece of you with me to the Underworld. I’m sure to be paid well for any scrap of your hide.”

The goddess paled minutely. “You’ve lost your usefulness, monster-mine. I will make a new Kracken and be sure to teach it more manners.”

Kracken’s arm whipped out and released another dagger before the last word left Ceto’s mouth; it hit her forehead and the force knocked her back. A plume of black blood drained out of the motionless body.

Kracken grabbed Hil’yo and turned, flinging them into the darkness of the caves. He zoomed past so many chambers that she lost count, but it was the rumbling sound following them that held her attention. It sounded as if the caves were…

A rock formation in front of them tumbled and Kracken barely dodged its massive column before it crashed into the floor. A gush of water pushed them faster, but more and more destruction pummeled them.

In a burst of speed, Kracken squeezed them through a small opening –

And into open ocean.

The black cold pressing in on them iced Hil’yo’s skin in seconds, but Kracken seemed able to keep the fatal pressure and temperature from killing them. He swam silently upward, Hil’yo tucked under one arm.

No other creatures lurked nearby as they ascended, and with every passing second more light streamed into the water. Waves and currents buffeted them, hinting that land was close by. Kracken didn’t speak to her, or even look at her. He just pulled them upward.

When her head broke the surface, salty air expanded her lungs and filled her energy. She looked around, squinting at the sun’s undiluted brightness, and saw an island in the distance.

When she sank into the water again, Kracken was gone.

The End