A Drift of Quills for February 2021

2/5/2021

We Quills are back with more flash fiction fun! (Do you hear that crowd cheering?)

Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, is the person we must thank for our excellent prompt this time around.

Please do take a look at what each of us have come up with for flash fiction stories and, if if this picture encourages you to write one of your own store, we'd love it if you shared it with us.

Coming in at roughly 650 words, I am keeping within my personal challenge not to exceed 1000 words for a flash fiction tale. (And as I've mentioned before, that is much more difficult than you might think . . .) So, here goes . . .

It is Truly Magic
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2021

Some say it doesn’t exist.

But they are wrong.

It does. It does.

“It does!” Nellie cried, as though repeating her mantra, whether in her mind, or verbally, would make it so.

She pulled her boots on, then wriggled her toes, testing the fit. “And now for my goggles,” she mumbled, as she donned them. She placed them over her eyes for a moment, adjusted them for a perfect fit, then slid them back up to rest on her forehead.

Climbing into the cabin, she grinned. Flying is almost as good as what I seek, she thought in anticipation of her coming venture.

She started her engine, pausing to listen to its purr, pulled her goggles back down over her eyes, and then started off. As her speed grew, each clump of grass, each rock strewn about on the runway, caused a jolt to her spine.

Nellie gave her engine even more throttle, then braced herself as her wheels lifted.

“It does exist. It does!” she exclaimed, before bursting into giggles, exuberant over her successful take-off.

For some time, Nellie glided through the air, watching below for signs that she neared her destination. From this vantage, she easily identified wildlife roaming the savannah below. Giraburrows, tall, furry, long-necked, four-legged creatures that liked to tunnel below ground, lifted their heads to the treetops to watch as she flew by. Meanwhile, monkions, carnivorous creatures that swung from limb to limb in search of food, jabbered amongst themselves in the treetops. A band of hyilla, dog-like creatures that beat their chests as a means to scare away potential predators, skittered off into a field of tall grass.

“There!" Nellie cried, on sight of a run down shed that she knew served as a safe place for someone caught in the wilderness when his jeep ran out of gas, or perhaps following his unexpected encounter with a pride of elemoose . . .

She thought back to the radio message she’d received earlier that morning from Dr. Eliza Hester, whom Nellie had assisted on numerous past occasions. The good doctor had spent years on her mission to find the origin of magic. She swore, following her last venture out, that she was very close, indeed! Nellie anxiously looked forward to learning what Dr. Hester may have discovered.

After lowering her altitude, Nellie took a final circle around, then committed to her landing. Having practiced her methods of late, this landing was perhaps her best of all time.

The moment her wheels went still, she jumped from the cabin to greet Dr. Hester, who had run to meet her.

“Well?” Nellie asked.

“I believe I’ve done it at last!” the doctor cried.

“Tell me!” Nellie urged.

“I will. I will! But . . .”

“Yes?”

“I am ever so hungry, and I’m out of foodstuffs here, and . . .”

“Say no more.” Nellie turned back and climbed aboard. Then, gesturing to the back seat, she invited the good doctor to join her.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Doctor Hester said as she settled in and buckled up.

“It’s no trouble at all." Nellie started her engine. Then, "Here we go!” she added as, once more, she donned her goggles.

No sooner were they airborne, than Nellie thought she heard something. She turned her engines off so she might concentrate more closely as she glided through the air in silence.

“Nellie!”

“Nellie!”

Catching a glimpse behind, confirming it was not the good doctor who called her, Nellie turned forward once more.

“Nellie!”

“Yes?”

“It’s time for lunch!”

There was no longer any question. In truth, Nellie would recognize that voice, her mother's voice, anywhere.

She landed her flying machine, hopped out, and then ran to the kitchen.

“Here I am,” she called.

“What have you been doing?” Mother asked.

“Just playin'.”

“I see,” Mother said with a grin. “You have indeed discovered the value of your imagination. It is truly magic. Is it not?”

I hope you enjoyed that. Now, let's see what Robin Lythgoe's imagination has drummed up for us . . .

Updates coming soon!

Last, but most certainly not least, is P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse. Take it away, Parker!

People don’t talk about it, probably because they don’t remember, but being eight is the hardest age. Even harder than being a junker. Or an evaporative farmer, or whatever we are now.

I guess it didn’t start right when I turned eight. So maybe it’s eight and a half. (Turning seven was even awesomer, ’cause that’s when I got my goggles, and my nickname, “Gogs.”) Even so, turning eight was pretty good . . .

Thank you so much, Parker. Gogs came alive right before our eyes!

That's it this time around. Do join us again!

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