writing

Scar Tissue

The suspected stalker accused the stalked.

The stalked never accused. Had she crossed the line, trying to find the truth? Or did she reveal her hand of her suspicions?

Was he innocent and honest with his own concern? Not a part of it at all? Or was he only deflecting, realizing what she suspected?

She never wants to walk away from him; she knew his dark side from before and accepted it. There was so much light that the dark would disappear.

But, he brought up concerns of violence, something she would never be capable of. If it were him, was he capable of it now?

Her nightmare returned; one from years ago. The burning sensation of a bullet piercing her heart through her back as she protected her husband at the door. The pain was too real.

It scared her, to a point she couldn’t handle. Others need to be safe if he were to ever rage against her. She used to be able to handle it. Together, they could find their way back to sanity. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Her mind is at attention, no longer in dreamland of what might have been. She has her present and future to protect.

Space and time. It’s what he asked for; it’s what she will give.

writing

Alexandria – Part One

Princess Alexandria surveyed her father’s kingdom from her balcony. She gracefully glided across the floor, her crepe purple and champagne gown flowing behind her. Her hands interlaced before her as her wheat colored hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her tiara of amethyst and diamonds, fashioned with beautiful interwoven swirls of champagne gold, wrapped across her forehead.

Alexandria was the next in line for the throne. Her mother, Queen Elena, and her father, King Zachary, worked to ensure she had the best education and would be prepared for the challenges which lay before her. At only 15, she was trained in parliamentary procedures, a polyglot, and had a strong grasp of economics and business. Her heart was charitable and kind as well, knowing that she would serve the people, they were not her subjects but rather she was theirs.

However, on days like today, her crown sat heavy on her head. She longed at times just to be a teenager, having fun and enjoying life like others her age. She wondered if her life as the Princess would even be fulfilling enough for her. She had much work to do, but, what about her own dreams and desires?

Her gaze returned to the kingdom before her. To the east, the plains housed the farms which provided food for all. To the west, majestic snow capped mountains rose above the tree line, filled with adventure and forming a natural line of defense from the bitter winter weather which comes their way every fourth season.

“Alexandria,” a voice called her from behind, “Your father, King Zachary, requests your presence.”

Alexandria turned to see a page, a small man barely five-foot-two, standing in the archway. He bowed his head in her direction.

“Thank you. Does father wish to see me in the throne room?”

“Milady, he requests your presence in the garden,” his voice trembled with nervousness.

“Very well. May I ask your name?”

The page quaked a little. He thought he might have broke some form of decorum, and stuttered his name, “Ma’am, I am known as James.”

Alexandria smiled. “Thank you, James.” She began walking towards him. She softly placed her hand on his arm as she passed. “I am very pleased to meet you.” With those words, she passed the kindest smile at James, hoping his nerves would calm.

James nodded at her, “Nice to meet you as well.” He sighed and let out his breath which he had unknowingly been holding. His nerves settled.

Alexandria had this unflinching ability to make everyone in her presence at ease. “I’m off to see father.” She nodded as she floated down the hall, full of grace.

writing

Swans in the Mist – Part Two

Charlotte startled herself awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Nothing looked familiar. The walls were made of wood logs. The crackling fire in front of her looked unreal, no wood, no flame, just warmth, a glowing light and a tinny sound.

She sat up and realized her clothes had been changed. Some sort of odd tartan patterned button down in what looked like a dressing gown.

“Oh good. You’re awake!” a sweet voice spoke to her from behind. She was startled to hear another person’s voice, full of a strange drawl. “Henry, she’s awake!” she called out. “Here dear, have some tea. I’m Sarah,” she stated as she sat in the neighboring chair, handing her a cuppa with cream and sugar.

Charlotte took a sip. The tea was way stronger than she was used to. “Wow, what type of tea is this? How did I get here? Where are my clothes?”

Sarah smiled and understood her confusion. Charlotte wasn’t the first visitor they had entertained. “First, dear, what is your name? Then I’ll answer all the questions I can.”

“My name is Charlotte. Now, answer my questions please!” Charlotte looked down, then felt her left thigh. Sarah saw her reach for her dagger.

“Hi Charlotte. My name is Sarah. Don’t worry first of all. Your dagger is safely stored, for all of our safety. I found it when I unraveled your tattered dress from your legs. The fabric was wrapped around your leg quite tight and we were concerned it would harm you. Unfortunately, your skirt will not be salvagable. Your blouse and bloomers are in the wash.” Sarah drew out the word wash, it sounded more like warsh. “Don’t worry, Henry turned around. He didn’t see anything. We girls need to stick together.”

Charlotte was apprehensive, but Sarah seemed genuine. Sarah was dressed simply, some sort of soft clothed shirt and dungarees, nothing Charlotte had ever seen a woman wear. Sarah seemed to be in her forties, grey streaks ran through her dark curly and short hair.

“As for the tea, it is a Chai Latte with vanilla. Do you like it?”

Charlotte smiled, “It is more flavorful than what I normally drink.”

Sarah flashed a knowing smile. “And, to how you got here…we are not sure. We found you out by Cygnet Lake. You were passed out on the bench and looked to be in rough shape. We brought you home to help.”

“Home? My family owns the land in this area, acres of it. Are you one of our neighbors?” Charlotte grew confused.

Sarah smiled faintly. She hated this part of discussions with their visitors. She needed backup to help Charlotte understand. “Henry, could you join me please?”

The clunk of boots came down the hall. Six-foot three Henry entered the room. Charlotte stood and turned to greet him. In front of her stood a handsome man in his forties with short graying hair with her father’s face.

writing

Swans in the Mist – Part One

Charlotte stood in the middle of the sprawling garden of her family’s country home, looking over the small fountain’s flowing water. The smell of jasmine, lavender, and roses filled the air. Charlotte tugged at her bodice; its boning digging in to her waist. Her flowing skirt of silk brocade floated out over her bloomers. She never enjoyed wearing formal dresses and didn’t understand why it was so necessary, especially when they were not entertaining.

She spied a small orange butterfly and walked towards it, around some rose bushes and other shrubs. Why couldn’t she be free like her little visitor? She twirled the neck tie of her blouse. Oh, how she longed to be free of all her family’s expectations. Currently they were trying to match her, and she was tired of meeting suitors who didn’t suit her at all.

The butterfly floated towards an arched pathway. Two cement swan planters sat at the entrance, full of blooming flowers. Charlotte followed the butterfly down the path. She had never been this way, and looked forward to a new discovery and a distraction for herself.

As she walked the trail, a light mist started to fill the floor. An owl cried out in the distance. The noises from the forest frightened Charlotte. She reached through a pocket of her outer skirt and felt for her dagger strapped to her left leg. She learned to protect herself growing up, there were too many rogues willing to kidnap and harm members of her family. She felt the cold steel hilt; it calmed her.

She continued down the path. Fallen branches tugged at her heavy skirt. One snagged it, ripping a small patch of the deep red fabric. Her boots peeked out from the hem of her skirt. A cobbler made them to her specifications, brown with crossing straps, and tall enough to cover her calves, to just below her knees. They protected her legs from the scratching undergrowth of the trail.

As she continued to walk, she lost her footing and slid down an embankment. The only thing stopping her from falling into the ravine below was her skirt which had become entangled on twigs and branches. She dangled briefly, reaching for a nearby tree trunk and struggling to get her footing. Finally, she found a hold to pull herself up, but her snagged skirt would not let her move further. At least she could now firmly stand without slipping.

Luckily, her left hand was free. She reached for her dagger, pulled it out, and began slicing away at the silk. Her mother would be furious, but which was more important — her dress or her life? Finally, she freed herself and climbed up onto the tree trunk.

The trunk spanned the ravine, but Charlotte had lost her sense of direction during the fall. She saw two trails, one on each end as she sat on the trunk. She decided to take the closer one as that seemed to be the correct one. Carefully she traversed the trunk and stepped back on the trail.

With her skirt in tatters, and the bodice still digging in, she took her dagger and slid it under the strapping in the bodice. Her maid had tied the strapping in such a way she could not get out otherwise. Finally, as the straps loosened, she took in a deep breath and her blouse floated away from her skin, allowing her to relax, and the bodice fell to the forest floor.

She turned in the direction she believed to be back home. The trail continued to turn, but did not seem familiar. Finally, in the distance, she noticed an arched opening. She picked up her pace, ready to be home. But, when she reached the opening, home was not what she saw.

Her jaw dropped. Before her was a lake, covered with mist. Swans floated nearby. By the lake was a small bench. She sat down to take in the view and to rest up before heading back up the trail. As she watched the swans, her eyes grew heavy and she succumbed to slumber.

Two shadows in the form of a woman and a man approached the bench. The woman checked Charlotte’s pulse and alertness. She was completely out, but alive. The woman nodded her head at the man. The man slipped his hands under Charlotte’s back and knees, picking her up, and holding her close to his chest. The shadows then disappeared back into the mist with Charlotte in tow.

writing

Shimmering Aurora

Her boots crunch in the early Spring snow as she traipses along the trail. The sun glistens off the crystalline surface; the reflected light plays with her eyes.

A pulsing glow shines ahead. She steps towards the light, believing it to be some beacon, perhaps dropped by a fellow hiker. She stoops down, resting her knee in the cold snow.

Slowly, hers eyes adjust to the light and she sees delicate flower petals in the shapes of hearts, iridescently glowing in white with sparkles fresh from a rainbow, around a vibrant teal blue pistol. A small style of purple protrudes from the center, topped with a golden stigma.

She sighs from the beauty and she inhales the sweet fragrance which reminds her of warm tropical weather, a hint of coconut and banana. The heady odor is strong for such a diminutive flower. The blossom sits aloft a small tube like stem with a single broad leaf rising from behind it, protecting it from the elements.

What an amazing find! I think I will call it a Shimmering Aurora Fosteriana Tulip.

Fictional flowers are fun, don’t ya’ think?

@LadyJabberwocky – thanks for the prompt!

writing

Sweet as Maple

A sturdy maple stood tall in an open field. The leaves of the tree turned in the fall, leaving a cornucopia of color under its mighty branches, while in the spring, the leaves would come back bright green and build back in the shade for the summer months.

Picnickers and hikers often would lay out their blankets and pause for a break under this beautiful tree, hoping for relief from the sun. The maple would shade its visitors happily. The hikers claim renewed strength for their journey after a short respite.

Couples swore their love to each other under this tree. If the tree sensed their union, it would drop a leaf on the happy couple, so the folklore goes. This was a sign of the sweet maple feeling their love.

Young girls would visit this tree in the fall, sitting against its trunk, wishing for a glimpse of their future. It was another tale of the maple tree’s mysterious powers. Girls would take a leaf they saw fall and visit the pond which stood nearby. They’d drop that leaf into the pond and the face of their true love would be reflected to them. Many a girl would only see themselves, but occasionally, one lucky one would see someone else’s face staring back.

One night, someone tapped the tree and placed a bucket below to capture the sweet maple sap. No one knew who tapped it, but within a year thereafter, many newborns were delivered to couples in the nearby town. It was rumored a local doctor mixed a fertility concoction for these couples which the men drank; many grew to believe it was maple syrup from this very tree.

The tree stood tall for over a hundred years. However, over the years, the great maple started to age. When it finally fell, the community mourned over the loss of its special tree. Small trinkets were carved from the wood and passed down to future generations.

Recently a new sapling emerged in its original place. Perhaps sweet magic will soon return.

writing

Coastal Calamity – Part Eight

Riku and Morgen discussed their strategy for addressing the pollution issues impacting the oceans. “Morgen, the Terran’s are causing this. We didn’t have this issue before they settled on our world.”

Morgen pondered the issue in her mind and looked around, “Riku, let’s go for a walk. Let’s have Diana and Jon join us, but have them keep their distance. I need to understand Terrans better.” Morgen needed to observe how they live, she was an analytical creature.

Soon, she and the rest of the group found themselves on the walking path outside the central building. Aurora was bustling with activity. Terrans walked back and forth briskly, some pausing to look into windows, others sitting at outside cafes with others.

As they walked, children holding hands danced and skipped behind their parents. The terrans showed no fear in the city as they moved about. Others carried packages and bags, filled with wares, clothes, and goods.

Morgen leaned over to Riku. “Why do they need all this stuff? And, it seems they don’t actually grow or fish for their own food. They buy it from someone else.”

Riku shook his head. “I’m not sure, but is this what is causing our problems back home?”

Morgen pondered a moment. “Not sure. Let’s keep walking.”

A pungent smell filled the air. Morgen and Riku looked at each other with revolted faces. What is that? They turned down a small pathway behind the nearest cafe. A bin overflowed with spoiled foods and other waste. Morgen looked over the bin, saddened. She’d never seen quite a mess before.

Together they turned around and walked out of the area. They came to a wider path, filled with a variety of vehicles, able to move many terrans at the same time. Smoke billows out of one of them, but the others run clean. Morgen makes a mental note. “Riku, do you think they may already know they have a problem?”

He looked over the vehicles. “Maybe we can sit down with Lynnia and talk to her alone, go over what we see before we approach Edward with our concerns.”

Morgen wasn’t thrilled about getting with Lynnia alone, but Riku had a point. She nodded in the affirmative. “I think we may need to show Lynnia the problem as well. Do we have any ideas how the pollution is moving from here to our home?

Riku shook his head no. “Another mystery to work out. I doubt just Aurora is the source of the problem. There has to be something more than what we see here.”

The team headed back. Jon and Diana caught up to Riku and Lynnia.

Riku looked at them. “Did you all see anything from your perspectives?”

Diana let out a huff. “I just don’t understand terrans at all. They don’t really work to gather their own food, they just buy everything and what they buy is wrapped up and packaged. There is just so much waste. Even their foods are wrapped up. It’s just so, well, odd.”

The team exchanged knowing glances. “Very well. Let’s put our heads together back in our suite. I don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves.” Riku led the team back to the city center with plans to work up their strategy.

poetry, writing

The Old Man in the Tree

He slumbers all day, deep inside his tree.

As the sun sets, he opens his eyes to watch as people stroll by.

Most do not see him, and this makes him sad.

How can you just walk by without saying “Hi!” he wonders to himself.

But innocent children and creative minds will stop and smile.

When they do, he reveals himself in a most beautiful way.

A shudder of leaves and a joyful smile grows across his face, for he knows he is appreciated.

writing

Take a Hike – Part Three

Saturday had a chilly start. Bundled in a fleece jacket and warm lycra pants, she hunted down her camera in the predawn light. Slowly, the dark skies gave way to the distant glow of the sun.

She donned her sandals and stepped out of the tent. The field behind her was filled with white blossoms which had bloomed overnight. Hundreds upon hundreds of these flowers showed off their beauty in the early morning hours.

She wandered aside the field then over to the water for some sunrise photos over Florida Bay. The sun slowly peaked out through distance clouds as it rose above the keys out towards the east.

She headed back to the tent and was greeted with a hot tea, freshly brewed. Her partner had his coffee in hand. They took a seat on their tent’s porch and enjoyed the view of the water.

The temperature remained in the mid 70s during the day, perfect for a hike on the Snake Bight Trail. The trail was straight and long. It went from heavy shade to shady, to almost no shade in the final third of the trail.

Birds chirped, but stayed well hidden in the trees. No other wildlife was seen during their hike. Bromeliads and orchids dotted the tree limbs. Some had spiked flowers of oranges and reds, some even were purple.

As the trail approached its end, the trees turned grey and no leaves were to be found. They found themselves in a driftwood forest, barren except for the occasional ibis hiding in the tree. A small boardwalk led them over the stream which the trail had followed, allowing them to see out over Snake Bight. A bight is a small inward curve of the coastline.

Herons, egrets, and ibis made their rounds in the distance, fishing for their food. They stopped for a few minutes to get some snacks and water, then enjoyed the scenery before making the trek back inland.

The sun and exercise had zapped most of her energy. When they arrived back to the tent, she found her way to the bed, enjoying the cool breeze rushing through the tent. Quickly, she drifted off to a well-earned nap.

writing

Take a Hike – Part Two

The drive to the Everglades seemed to be never ending. The spine of Florida is long and covered with citrus groves, ranches, and small to medium sized towns filled with the standard fast food joints.

Finally, the road led her and her travel mate to the entrance of the Everglades National Park. The air seemed to change the moment she passed through the gates. Trees, open spaces, grass covered lands surrounded her. A wave of calm settled in.

The eco-tents at Flamingo Campgrounds are 34 miles from the gate. After a leisurely drive, they checked in and were assigned Tent 14. She made her way down the raised boardwalk with her traveling partner. The tent faced directly south overlooking Florida Bay. A field of grasses and other low growth bordered the little tent city.

To the east and the west, campers and backpackers were also set up. It wasn’t overly crowded even though it was prime spring break season.

They settled into the tent for the evening. As night fell, the temperature dropped to a mere 58 degrees, cold to a Florida girl. She found her fleece jacket and bundled up, adding a blanket to the bed as they headed to bed.

The winds picked up and the tent’s rain fly shuddered and slapped against the metal structure. Certainly, there were clouds in the sky and a storm on the way. Lightning flashed through the open screens facing the water.

At four in the morning, she awoke, startled. Mother Nature was calling, but she contemplated holding off. It was no use. She found her sandals and slipped out into the night.

She looked around as she stepped out of the tent to discover not a cloud in the sky. Surprisingly, the moon had set and thousands of stars shown overhead. She looked up in awe as she walked the winding boardwalk to the restroom.

On her way back, the cold air still struck her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the sky. She hadn’t seen the stars like this in ages. She let out a gentle sigh, grateful for this chance to get away, then made her way back to bed, serene and peaceful.