 The year 2020 has taken its toll, but we Quills remain hopeful—and grateful. This month we decided to share whatever was on our minds and hearts about the holidays and so . . . here goes! I'm anxious to know what Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, is thinking. Robin? Take it away! (Along the way, I will share some photos that mean something to me during the holidays.)  (Every Christmas at my house, after the gifts are all done, I open a Charles Wysocki 1000 piece puzzle. it's usually about 10:00 pm. I get it started and then I finish it, usually between 3:00 and 4:00 pm or so the next afternoon.)  It's time for another (short!) article with my friendly neighborhood Quills. The subject? Christmas. Wonderful, right? Five minutes into it and I found myself in an unusually grumpy, Grinch-like mood. Half an hour later, still stewing, I thought about backing out. Reluctantly, I sat down to apply myself to a little "free-writing." One of the wonderful things about free-writing is how it sparks ideas and memories… Thank you so much, Robin. May you have the very merriest and blessed holiday!  (Last Christmas, our son was deployed overseas. We were able to connect with him by phone, but the hours were all wrong for doing our gift opening with him. In any case, while he was away for the year, his beautiful bride came to stay with us. She brought along with her, their Golden Retriever, Jake, and Eric, the cat. It seems Eric rather enjoyed sitting under the tree.) P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, what have you for us?  So what about the Christmas holidays capture us in a way the rest of the year misses? We laugh and joke about it, but for me a part of it is the repetitive, kitschy music. Aunty Maude’s fruitcake. (Blech). The cold. Christmas shopping. *groan* B-level holiday movies. (“You’ll shoot your eye out!”) Of course it’s also “family,” and “Jesus,” but what in the world have we been doing if we push those two into a storage box in the attic only to brush them off one day a year. Talk about absentee parenting and cold religion. Hopefully family and faith are daily encounters, not once-a-year reminders. Merry Christmas to you and to yours, Parker! And now, here are some of my reflections on the Christmas holiday.  Christmas always brings clearly to mind, how very different life is today than it was when I was a child. Certainly, we had what we needed. But as to extras—even the smallest of treats—they were few and very far between indeed, and that was true at any time of year. (Perhaps this explains why I have a vivid memory of a time I was given a simple Tootsie Roll Pop sucker. The event stands out in my memory as something most extraordinary.)
I remember that each Christmas, the local theater put on a free movie for all the kids to see. It was never anything you’d expect, like a Disney film, for example. But the novelty of seeing a movie at all was the thing of which memories were made. (I only recall having seen the following movies in theater in all my childhood years: Bambi; Yours, Mine and Ours (when I was invited for a friend’s birthday); and The Sound of Music (when a teacher of mine invited a few students to join her).) After the Christmas movie, we kids would crowd around to get to the Santa, who had for each child, one of those little stockings of netting that had hard candy treats in it. That entire day was like magic to all of us kids.  (There is one thing I need not worry about this Christmas, or really any Christmas, and that is, that it will be a white one. Here's a shot from out a back door.) Each Christmas one of our neighbors sent a box of treats over. All I remember were the small chocolates, wrapped separately. Considering there were ten (yes, TEN!) in our household, there were few treats per person, indeed. As to Christmas presents, we girls each typically received a single item from my parents. Truth be told, I only remember one of us ever receiving something that was actually on her Christmas list. (You know the list I’m talking about. It was the one, pages long, that listed pretty much everything in the Sears Christmas catalog.) Still, the homemade pajamas we received were excitement enough.
Notwithstanding the scarcity of treats and gifts back in the day, I have extremely fond memories of Christmas. Perhaps it was the lack overall that made each treat that much sweeter, each gift that much more appreciated. Consequently, the things that stand out are my memories of visiting grandparents after a drive there to see houses lit up with Christmas lights, time with our cousins, meals with rice pudding and lefse (neither of which I actually eat!), and of gift opening—after dinner and all the clean-up was done. It was exciting, but never so much that we lost the true magic of Christmas, or that we lost sight of its meaning as a season to reflect on God’s gift to us, to give unto others (and not necessarily to receive), and to gather with family and loved ones. With the world out of sorts in 2020, I’m unsure what this Christmas will bring for my family. Currently, the plan is that our daughter will be home from Pittsburgh to see the rest of us here. I hope everyone stays well and healthy in the meantime so that we can do that. Time will tell. In the meantime, I pray that you all stay safe, and healthy, and happy—and good (so that Santa can come visit you, of course!). Merry Christmas, all! Happy Holidays!
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Yes, 2020 will surely go down as one of at the most difficult years of all time. There's no surprise there. Our lives have been in turmoil from the outset, and as we are nearing its end, things are not looking any more stable, particularly since today is a Friday and the 13th of the month! So what better time than now to escape, even if only for a few minutes? Here's your chance with our latest flash fiction stories. This time, P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, chose our prompt.  The artist of this beauteous piece, entitled, "Golden Fish," is Laura Diehl, found online, here. As you all know, I consistently challenge myself to come in under 1000 words for my flash fiction. This time, I'm running at roughly 575 words. I look forward to hearing what you think. He Needed Her |
 | (If I had to say what Velia looks like, I might choose something like this pic here. |
Later, and at a time when Dixon is away, Mara awakens from a disturbing dream. Concerned it might be prophetic, she rushes to visit Velia. The following (as yet unedited) is a rather lengthy conversation between the two of them. However, I chose to share it because it shows how these two relate:
“Now, you were saying,” she prodded as she set the tray on the table, sat down, and then took up the pot of tea.
“It was awful.”
“Tell me.” Velia poured two mugs, one of which was missing its handle. She set the intact one before her friend, then wrapped her hands around the other as she leaned in to listen.
“Well . . .” Mara untied the holder that kept Jesse tight to her frontside. “You see, I was away. I don’t know where. But Jesse needed me. I could hear him crying.” She paused, swallowing hard, then started again in a rush. “In my dream I knew where he was and I knew he was hungry, and I knew I had to get to him, and I knew how far away it was, and I knew—”
“Slow down,” Velia said, patting Mara’s arm. “Have some tea and then start again.”
Mara tested the temperature of her drink with a tentative sip. Setting the mug back down, her hands shaking, she looked up at her friend.
“Velia, he was so hungry and he was crying so hard. But I couldn’t get to him. I—” Suddenly, she went silent. Her eyes narrowed. She pulled back. “You’re smiling. You’re not taking this seriously! Something is going to happen to Jesse, I just know it.”
Velia nodded. “Yes, I am smiling, but I’m also taking this seriously. And yes, something probably is going to happen to Jesse—but I don’t think it’s what you think it is.”
Mara stood as if to go. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you!” she huffed.
Velia grabbed her arm. “Well you do—bother with me, as you say. And you do it for the same reason that I bother with you, and that Lucy bothers with you, and that Basha bothers with you. It’s the same reason that Dixon does, and that Nina has for all these years. It’s also the same reason that the twins do, and that—”
“What are you talking about?” Mara snapped, pulling her arm free.
“Mara, you come to me for the same reason I go to you in times of need. It’s because I know that with you, I will get the truth along with a bit of wisdom, just like you know that with me, you will get the same.”
“Oh really,” Mara sneered. “And just what is this truth you’re alluding to that you seem to find so . . . amusing?”
Velia pointed at the chair across from her. “If you want to know, you’ll have to sit back down.”
In a huff, Mara sat. Then balancing Jesse face down across her lap, she folded her arms and glared at her friend.
“So,” Velia said, her brow raised, “you say that Jesse needed you.”
“It was a prophecy, Velia, I just know it was.”
Velia nodded. “Perhaps.” She took up one of the rolls, broke a piece off, and then ate it. “Mara, you know that at any given time, there are not many things we know about the future. And as I’ve heard you tell others over the years, that is a good thing.”
“It would kill us,” Mara interrupted. “If someone knew all the pain he’d go through in his future, he couldn’t stand it. Thankfully, the horrors we face in this life are spread out over time. But can you imagine knowing about them, fearing them, experiencing them, feeling them, all at once, over and over, day after day, before they even happen? Yes, I truly believe it would kill us.” She paused. “And that’s why I would never, ever, go to a fortune teller!” Her brow furrowed as she added, “Most of them are frauds anyway.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Velia said, patting her hand. “Still, there is one thing we do know about the future, and that is that good things will happen—and that bad things will happen.”
Mara rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That’s what you have for me, Velia? That’s the wisdom you have to share with me? The truth that I came to you for? Seriously? Is that the best you can do?”
“Yes, it is.” Velia took Mara’s hand. “Look, the Good One just blessed you with your dream, and now I’m going to tell you how.”
Mara pulled her hand away and glared once more.
“My dear friend,” Velia began, “your dream was a blessing.” She tore off another piece of roll. A warm, citrusy scent rose in the air. Then she placed another roll on a plate and set it down before Mara. “Look, you will not always be there for Jesse. That would be, to put it simply, impossible. There will be times you will be called away. There will be times you will allow him to try out his wings in a manner that will take him out from under your protection. You will need to do that, Mara, if he’s to grow up. And after all, that’s what you will want him to do. Ultimately, you want him to become a man.”
Mara scowled and rolled her eyes once more.
“Not too soon, for sure,” Velia continued. “But over time, your job will be to help him to grow up so that he will be prepared to leave you. For that to happen, he’ll need to experience some of the dangers out there without your protecting him all the time.”
A heavy teardrop rolled down Mara’s cheek. “But he’s just a baby, Velia. My baby. One I never thought I’d have! And he’s already been through so much.”
Velia smiled. “And he will go through so much more on this journey we call ‘life.’ You may as well admit it now—and you might as well prepare for it now. There will be times Jesse will need help when you will not be there. There will be times when perhaps you cannot be there. It is a fact of life—and it is one that you are well to take note of right here and right now before you try to manage every little tiny aspect of his life, to shield him from every possible or conceivable danger, however remote. You would smother him.” Pausing, she grinned and leaned in as though to share a secret. “Not to mention that you’d make the rest of us a bit crazy in the process. And of course, you’d be doing exactly what you warn others against. That is, you would be protecting him so intensely, you would keep him a baby for too long.”
Mara looked down, sighed, then glanced back up. “You think that’s all there is to this? That my dream was some acknowledgement of the way things are now?”
“I’m certain of it.”
Nodding, Mara bit her lip. Then, “I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered. She grinned ever so slightly.
“Whyever would you be?” Velia chuckled. “Mara, life is far too difficult to figure out every little thing on our own. We all need some help from time to time. Now, it’s true that some need a bit less aid than others. That’s probably why you and Basha and I are such great pals. We are all strong and capable women who rarely need much from others. But even strong and capable women can’t go it alone.”
Mara sat quietly for a long moment, taking in Velia’s words. “Did you ever have a dream like that?”
Velia chuckled. “Oh, yes!”
Mara leaned in. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. It was one of the things I was most surprised about when my firstborn came. I’d been responsible for the life and safety of a member of the Select in years prior. As you know, I’d even sworn to help you to protect the twins before I had any children of my own. But I’d never had dreams like the ones I had when Aden came. I still have one of them from time to time. I have fewer these days for sure, but every once in awhile . . .” She paused, then continued. “I just accept it as Ehyeh’s way of reassuring me that I’m doing everything I can, and that some things are out of my control. Then my dreams keep me from beating myself up.”
“What do you mean?”
“They help me to keep things in perspective, to stay constantly aware that I’m not perfect. I acknowledge that I’m sure to make parental mistakes along the way. You see, my job as a parent—as much as it is to protect and to teach my children—is to learn to let go of them. It’s one of those fine lines a parent walks: protect but don’t smother; provide but don’t spoil; release but don’t abandon. So, life goes on and things happen—and sometimes those things are not pleasant.”
Mara nodded, then sighed audibly. “Honestly, sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you—especially now that Dixon is away.”
We could all use a friend like Velia from time to time. One who knows us well enough to know when we need a dose of truth along with a bit of compassion. Do you think? Have you a friend like that?
It is September, and we Quills decided to write about risks. Specifically, each of us will share about a risk we’ve taken that paid off. I'll go ahead and then share the stories of my fellow Quills.
I have a confession. In truth, I’m not much of a risk taker. That said, there is one risk I took that ultimately changed the course of my life.
To fully appreciate what I did, it’s important to understand my roots. I was one of eight girls—yes, eight girls. The world has changed more than some might like to think in the past few decades, but back when I came of age, women still didn’t have all that many options. More accurately, options were opening, but it was quite unusual to do something out of the mainstream. Add to that the fact that my parents expected a single type of future for their eight daughters: that we would all be at-home moms, and not more. They did not encourage education and, in fact, tried to talk me out of it.
I had no college educated family around me, no encouraging support for what I wanted to do, and no financial support. Perhaps most significant—I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
To fully appreciate what I did, it’s important to understand my roots. I was one of eight girls—yes, eight girls. The world has changed more than some might like to think in the past few decades, but back when I came of age, women still didn’t have all that many options. More accurately, options were opening, but it was quite unusual to do something out of the mainstream. Add to that the fact that my parents expected a single type of future for their eight daughters: that we would all be at-home moms, and not more. They did not encourage education and, in fact, tried to talk me out of it.
I had no college educated family around me, no encouraging support for what I wanted to do, and no financial support. Perhaps most significant—I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
In any case, contrary to my parents’ wishes, I decided to go to college. Since my family was not about to assist me financially (or in any other way), that option was off the table. So I worked, and I saved through high school, and eventually, I moved from home to campus, a couple hours away, to live in the dorms. I had my savings account (which wasn’t much)—and no safety net. Since the avenues used for getting financial assistance required family input, that wasn’t an option for me. Eventually, I ran out of money and had to quit for a time, but I kept the dream alive, and some (six) years later, I quit my job so that I could return to school. While wrapping up with my undergraduate degree, I looked into the option of law school. Eventually, I took the LSAT, submitted applications, received acceptances, chose my school, and then moved so that I could attend. The move wasn’t out of state, but for me, it was significant.
My law school experience was an eye opening time for me. I worked extremely hard and in the end, because of how well I did, options opened to me for employment, that were open to very, very few. I took one of those options and the rest is, as they say, history.
So there you have it. I took a big risk and in doing so, I experienced a dream come to fruition.
So there you have it. I took a big risk and in doing so, I experienced a dream come to fruition.
I know that Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has experienced profound changes of late. No doubt, she also knows a little something about taking risks. Well, Robin? What have you for us today?
I’m not much of a risk-taker.
I am perfectly happy to stay home and quiet without any spikes of adrenalin or pounding pulse, thankyouverymuch. My husband frequently called me a houseplant. He was the adventurous one.
Now and then, though, I break out of my pot and try something crazy. Like spelunking…
I am perfectly happy to stay home and quiet without any spikes of adrenalin or pounding pulse, thankyouverymuch. My husband frequently called me a houseplant. He was the adventurous one.
Now and then, though, I break out of my pot and try something crazy. Like spelunking…
Last, but by no means least, P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has known risk. Take it away, Parker!
For more, follow this link.
We Quills are back again this month with some new flash fiction (FF) tales. This time around, I chose the pic that we used as our prompt. Here it is:
I didn’t know when I chose our prompt that I would be revisiting the past, but that’s what I’m going to do. You see, I decided to write once again about Calico Dew, a character I introduced in a previous FF story. (I believe Calico’s primary audience would be middle-graders.)
Calico is an official retriever of magic artifacts. Her dog, Sneaker, who travels with and assists her, is known to abscond with (and even eat!) small, shiny objects. Meanwhile, a witch, Rosita Brack, tries to outwit Calico at every opportunity.
I decided I'd also make use of some rather well-known lines from some rather well-known works of others from the past. See if you can identify the lines, and if you can guess the identify of the character who first uttered the words in question. (Actually, I think they’ll be pretty obvious.) (Even my title suggests something that came before . . .)
And now, without further ado . . . (coming in at 970-980 words, or so) . . .
Calico is an official retriever of magic artifacts. Her dog, Sneaker, who travels with and assists her, is known to abscond with (and even eat!) small, shiny objects. Meanwhile, a witch, Rosita Brack, tries to outwit Calico at every opportunity.
I decided I'd also make use of some rather well-known lines from some rather well-known works of others from the past. See if you can identify the lines, and if you can guess the identify of the character who first uttered the words in question. (Actually, I think they’ll be pretty obvious.) (Even my title suggests something that came before . . .)
And now, without further ado . . . (coming in at 970-980 words, or so) . . .
Calico Dew and the Vial of Duplicate Sin
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2020
Calico held back a chuckle as a memory bubbled up of her younger brother, River, calling the local graveyard a “skeleton park,” but then she quickly grew serious again as she continued, tiptoeing her way through the Graveyard of the Devout.
Stopping occasionally to hide behind a marble statue or concrete monument, Calico kept her focus on the evil witch, Rosita Brack, just ahead. It was rumored that Rosita had stolen the Vial of Duplicate Sin. The Vial held a putrid green slimy syrup that, if ingested, would cause a person to repeat the wrongdoings of the last person to hold the Vial. Calico shuddered at the thought even as she patted her pocket. Inside it, nestled a dried leaf that looked distinctly like a fairy’s wing. Fairy Flickernoodles had given it to Calico, along with an instruction, when she sent her out to retrieve the Vial. “Chew on this in the event of an emergency,” she had said. Thus, Calico kept it close at all times.
Sneaker remained at Calico’s heels—except when, like now, a shiny coin sitting atop a tombstone, distracted him. Fortunately, he didn’t usually disappear for long, but Calico couldn’t always trust him. Thus, she was relieved when, looking back, she found him loping her way. Once back at her side, he sniffed at her. Then the two looked ahead at the precise moment that Rosita entered a single-crypt mausoleum before them, leaving its door wide open behind her.
Stopping occasionally to hide behind a marble statue or concrete monument, Calico kept her focus on the evil witch, Rosita Brack, just ahead. It was rumored that Rosita had stolen the Vial of Duplicate Sin. The Vial held a putrid green slimy syrup that, if ingested, would cause a person to repeat the wrongdoings of the last person to hold the Vial. Calico shuddered at the thought even as she patted her pocket. Inside it, nestled a dried leaf that looked distinctly like a fairy’s wing. Fairy Flickernoodles had given it to Calico, along with an instruction, when she sent her out to retrieve the Vial. “Chew on this in the event of an emergency,” she had said. Thus, Calico kept it close at all times.
Sneaker remained at Calico’s heels—except when, like now, a shiny coin sitting atop a tombstone, distracted him. Fortunately, he didn’t usually disappear for long, but Calico couldn’t always trust him. Thus, she was relieved when, looking back, she found him loping her way. Once back at her side, he sniffed at her. Then the two looked ahead at the precise moment that Rosita entered a single-crypt mausoleum before them, leaving its door wide open behind her.
Sneaker growled low in his throat.
Calico patted his head, then crept closer. Soon she heard Rosita from inside, in her high sing-song voice.
“Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble,” the witch chanted.
Smelling smoke, Calico inched even closer. Then she peeked inside.
Rosita stood, faced the other direction. Against the wall before her sat a shelf, and on it, jars of dried herbs, bottles of unrecognizable liquids, and numerous tattered, well-read, books.
There! Calico spotted the Vial of Duplicate Sin. Now, to get to it . . .
On the concrete floor behind the witch, and nearer Calico, a cauldron hung over a fire that emitted a sooty black smoke that tickled Calico’s nose. She stifled a sneeze, crept inside, and then crouched low behind the crypt.
Rosita bustled about, picking up and then returning items from the shelves. When she found an ingredient she liked, she added a portion to a mortar. This she did several times before she opened the Vial. She poured a few teaspoons of the syrup into the mortar, resealed the bottle, and then set it back down. Once done, she grabbed the pestle and proceeded to grind the items together. All the while she hummed, unnervingly off-key.
A quiet minute passed before, quite suddenly, Rosita stopped. She lifted her head and sniffed the air once, twice, thrice. Then she muttered something about a pretty dog, or so Calico thought. Still, the witch's voice was so low that she couldn’t be sure.
Rosita turned around and stepped nearer the fire. Holding a grimoire in one hand, and the mortar in the other, she slowly emptied its contents into the pot, as she read out loud:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Calico held her breath, pondering how she might snatch the Vial and escape with it, when quite suddenly, Rosita cackled, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
Rosita had spoken loud enough that Calico knew with certainty, that her presence was no longer a secret and so, believing it best to face trouble directly, she stood.
Rosita loosened a sorry substitute for a laugh. “Do come closer, my dear,” she whispered, crooking her finger.
Calico shook her head.
“Ahhh, but I’ve something here for you. Now, now, you needn’t fear me, child.”
Once more, Calico shook her head.
“No fear! No more fear!” the witch cried before grinning her wicked grin. Then, “I have been changed for good,” she said as she inched closer.
Calico backed away, turned to her right, and then circled around the crypt, all the while keeping her focus on the evil witch. Soon, she stood near the shelf of potions and ingredients. For a second, she allowed herself to glance at them. There, just as she’d seen previously, sat the Vial. She grabbed it.
With a shrill and piercing scream, Rosita charged, but before she could reach Calico, Sneaker snapped at the witch, grabbing her skirt. He shook his head and growled, even as Calico rushed to the door.
“Sneaker!” she cried, the moment she reached its threshold. “Sneaker! Come!”
After loosening his hold on the evil witch, Sneaker ran to Calico. The moment he was close enough, and with the witch approaching from behind, Calico stepped out and grabbed Sneaker's collar. Then she put the leaf that Fairy Flickernoodles had given her in her mouth, and chewed.
In a second—and must to her surprise—Calico took to the air.
Shortly, she arrived back home. When her feet came to rest on the ground once more, she looked up.
“Fairy Flickernoodles!” she cried. “It worked! The leaf! I don’t know how, but I— I—” She stopped short, unable to find the right words.
She fairy chuckled. Then, “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,” she said.
“But it was amazing! That leaf was . . . like magic!”
“Oh, the leaf was just to give you courage, my dear. Indeed, it had no power whatsoever.”
“But— But, I flew!”
Once more the fairy laughed. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
Calico patted his head, then crept closer. Soon she heard Rosita from inside, in her high sing-song voice.
“Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble,” the witch chanted.
Smelling smoke, Calico inched even closer. Then she peeked inside.
Rosita stood, faced the other direction. Against the wall before her sat a shelf, and on it, jars of dried herbs, bottles of unrecognizable liquids, and numerous tattered, well-read, books.
There! Calico spotted the Vial of Duplicate Sin. Now, to get to it . . .
On the concrete floor behind the witch, and nearer Calico, a cauldron hung over a fire that emitted a sooty black smoke that tickled Calico’s nose. She stifled a sneeze, crept inside, and then crouched low behind the crypt.
Rosita bustled about, picking up and then returning items from the shelves. When she found an ingredient she liked, she added a portion to a mortar. This she did several times before she opened the Vial. She poured a few teaspoons of the syrup into the mortar, resealed the bottle, and then set it back down. Once done, she grabbed the pestle and proceeded to grind the items together. All the while she hummed, unnervingly off-key.
A quiet minute passed before, quite suddenly, Rosita stopped. She lifted her head and sniffed the air once, twice, thrice. Then she muttered something about a pretty dog, or so Calico thought. Still, the witch's voice was so low that she couldn’t be sure.
Rosita turned around and stepped nearer the fire. Holding a grimoire in one hand, and the mortar in the other, she slowly emptied its contents into the pot, as she read out loud:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Calico held her breath, pondering how she might snatch the Vial and escape with it, when quite suddenly, Rosita cackled, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
Rosita had spoken loud enough that Calico knew with certainty, that her presence was no longer a secret and so, believing it best to face trouble directly, she stood.
Rosita loosened a sorry substitute for a laugh. “Do come closer, my dear,” she whispered, crooking her finger.
Calico shook her head.
“Ahhh, but I’ve something here for you. Now, now, you needn’t fear me, child.”
Once more, Calico shook her head.
“No fear! No more fear!” the witch cried before grinning her wicked grin. Then, “I have been changed for good,” she said as she inched closer.
Calico backed away, turned to her right, and then circled around the crypt, all the while keeping her focus on the evil witch. Soon, she stood near the shelf of potions and ingredients. For a second, she allowed herself to glance at them. There, just as she’d seen previously, sat the Vial. She grabbed it.
With a shrill and piercing scream, Rosita charged, but before she could reach Calico, Sneaker snapped at the witch, grabbing her skirt. He shook his head and growled, even as Calico rushed to the door.
“Sneaker!” she cried, the moment she reached its threshold. “Sneaker! Come!”
After loosening his hold on the evil witch, Sneaker ran to Calico. The moment he was close enough, and with the witch approaching from behind, Calico stepped out and grabbed Sneaker's collar. Then she put the leaf that Fairy Flickernoodles had given her in her mouth, and chewed.
In a second—and must to her surprise—Calico took to the air.
Shortly, she arrived back home. When her feet came to rest on the ground once more, she looked up.
“Fairy Flickernoodles!” she cried. “It worked! The leaf! I don’t know how, but I— I—” She stopped short, unable to find the right words.
She fairy chuckled. Then, “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,” she said.
“But it was amazing! That leaf was . . . like magic!”
“Oh, the leaf was just to give you courage, my dear. Indeed, it had no power whatsoever.”
“But— But, I flew!”
Once more the fairy laughed. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
Did you identify the portions from works from the past? Here they are:
1. “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The Three Witches from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
2. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
The Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz.
3. “Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”
Second Witch from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
4. “I have been changed for good.”
Sung by both Elphaba and Galinda in “For Good,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked.
5. “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,”
Elphaba sings this in “Defying Gravity,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked
6. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
The Good Witch of the North from The Wizard of Oz.
1. “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The Three Witches from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
2. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
The Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz.
3. “Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”
Second Witch from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
4. “I have been changed for good.”
Sung by both Elphaba and Galinda in “For Good,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked.
5. “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,”
Elphaba sings this in “Defying Gravity,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked
6. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
The Good Witch of the North from The Wizard of Oz.
I do hope you enjoyed that.
And now Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has a tale for us all. Take it away, Robin!
And now Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has a tale for us all. Take it away, Robin!
Title
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2020
Smoke and the stink of rotten eggs shrouded the Issves te Ergint encampment. Thin, powdery ash drifted in eddies, settling over buildings, camp tents, wagons, hitching posts. Men… Despite the season, soldiers wore scarves over their faces, wet to stifle the fumes and poison. Ergint jidoma, the natives called it. Live silver. Invaluable to the rich and powerful; death to those forced to extract the stuff from the bowels of the earth.
Heat challenged winter’s bitter cold as the nearby mining town died in fierce shades of red, orange, bronze. Mostly red. It was foolish to set fire to wood permeated with poisonous dust. Or so the Dog thought as he strode between rows of gray- and vermilion-streaked canvas…
Heat challenged winter’s bitter cold as the nearby mining town died in fierce shades of red, orange, bronze. Mostly red. It was foolish to set fire to wood permeated with poisonous dust. Or so the Dog thought as he strode between rows of gray- and vermilion-streaked canvas…
Be sure to follow the link for the rest of Robin's story.
Finally, let's hear what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us. We're waiting anxiously, Parker.
Finally, let's hear what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us. We're waiting anxiously, Parker.
Stoppering Death
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2020
You would be forgiven for thinking you had stumbled into an apothecary. Or an herbalist's shop. It was actually a dead man's home. If you could call it a home.
A single room occupied the back of the junk and trinket shop, "Treasures and Troves," where the proprietor, Janey Muld, allowed, (or had allowed until very recently), Thadeous "Gutrot" Flynnder to live, in exchange for some small rent payment, (more often forgotten by both than not).
"Gutrot" Flynnder made a meager living doling out herbs, medicines and cures for everything from warts to the more severe and deadly cases of "blueface." He never set a price. Whatever the widow, or tramp, or jobless father from the Wayfair could afford. Which was often nothing. His remedies, unlike his finances, often hit the mark. This might have surprised anyone who cared to take notice, but hardly anyone except the hopeless even knew "Gutrot" Flynnder's name, much less where he could be found.
Hardly anyone.
Which means, almost no-one.
Which really means, someone.
Find more here.
A single room occupied the back of the junk and trinket shop, "Treasures and Troves," where the proprietor, Janey Muld, allowed, (or had allowed until very recently), Thadeous "Gutrot" Flynnder to live, in exchange for some small rent payment, (more often forgotten by both than not).
"Gutrot" Flynnder made a meager living doling out herbs, medicines and cures for everything from warts to the more severe and deadly cases of "blueface." He never set a price. Whatever the widow, or tramp, or jobless father from the Wayfair could afford. Which was often nothing. His remedies, unlike his finances, often hit the mark. This might have surprised anyone who cared to take notice, but hardly anyone except the hopeless even knew "Gutrot" Flynnder's name, much less where he could be found.
Hardly anyone.
Which means, almost no-one.
Which really means, someone.
Find more here.
Once again, be sure to follow the link for the rest of Parker's story.
Well, thank you so much for stopping by. Please do again. In the meantime, we'd love to hear what you think, or even to take a look at your flash fiction tales.
Until next time!
Well, thank you so much for stopping by. Please do again. In the meantime, we'd love to hear what you think, or even to take a look at your flash fiction tales.
Until next time!
There can be no mistaking that 2020 has been a most unusual year.
I believe Robin Lythgoe and I started our Quills posts in 2013. Later, Parker joined us. I do recall times when we’ve not all been able to put a piece together for our joint-post, but I do not recall a month when we did not post at all—until last month, that is. June 2020 came and went too quickly, and too many personal issues held us up. Consequently, we had no post last month. We are pleased, however, to be with you again, and just in time to wish America a very, very, very Happy Birthday, indeed!
The topic we chose this month was to put together a character sketch. I am currently in the process of introducing someone new, Athan Eamon, in Volume 4 of The Oathtaker Series, (for now, entitled, Blue Gloom), so I thought I would use Athan as a subject. I’ve known about Athan for a long time, although I was uncertain as to when he would actually show up. Then, wouldn’t you know it, a door opened and … there he was …
What follows is the beginning of a rough character sketch for Athan, and beyond that, an excerpt from my current work-in-progress. Keep scrolling from there, and you will find what my fellow Quills have for you!
I believe Robin Lythgoe and I started our Quills posts in 2013. Later, Parker joined us. I do recall times when we’ve not all been able to put a piece together for our joint-post, but I do not recall a month when we did not post at all—until last month, that is. June 2020 came and went too quickly, and too many personal issues held us up. Consequently, we had no post last month. We are pleased, however, to be with you again, and just in time to wish America a very, very, very Happy Birthday, indeed!
The topic we chose this month was to put together a character sketch. I am currently in the process of introducing someone new, Athan Eamon, in Volume 4 of The Oathtaker Series, (for now, entitled, Blue Gloom), so I thought I would use Athan as a subject. I’ve known about Athan for a long time, although I was uncertain as to when he would actually show up. Then, wouldn’t you know it, a door opened and … there he was …
What follows is the beginning of a rough character sketch for Athan, and beyond that, an excerpt from my current work-in-progress. Keep scrolling from there, and you will find what my fellow Quills have for you!
There is still much for me to discover about Athan and so, his sketch is an ongoing endeavor. Even so, some of the key elements are set out above, while others will make their debut in due course. Also, it is still possible that any of the above can change.
Below is a small clip from Blue Gloom, shortly after Athan arrives on the scene, although it too, could change in any number of ways. I hope you enjoy!
Below is a small clip from Blue Gloom, shortly after Athan arrives on the scene, although it too, could change in any number of ways. I hope you enjoy!
Excerpt from Blue Gloom, a Work in Progress
After much contemplation, Lucy finally determined she would allow Athan to accompany her and the twins—but only if he would allow her to retain Ignis until she learned more.
Athan agreed.
The first opportunity she had to address the flits out of his hearing, she instructed them to stay as close as possible, but to remain hidden from the man’s view at all times. They assured her they could do so.
As darkness fully descended, the foursome finished tying their belongings to their saddles. Then, as quietly as possible, they made their way out of the village, keeping to the main roadway.
Only two moons shone. One, a waning crescent, already neared the western horizon, as a consequence of which, its light would soon be lost. Fortunately, the other, in its third quarter approached the zenith, thereby providing sufficient light for traveling.
So as to keep an eye on Athan, Lucy insisted he lead the way. Then she followed, with one twin to each side of her.
For nearly the distance of a league, they spoke not at all, but finally, Eden turned to Lucy.
“He doesn’t look unhinged to me,” she whispered.
Lucy scoffed.
“Nor to me,” Reigna said.
“I am not mad, as thee intimate,” Athan said over his shoulder, clearly having heard them. “I admit that I was, but I am no longer. Thou need not fear me.”
Reigna urged her mount forward.
Fearful for her safety, Lucy quickly followed suit, Eden in her wake. Moments later, the four rode side-by-side. Lucy situated things such that Athan rode to her right, while the twins both rode to her left.
“Convince me,” Lucy said to the man, “that you are who you say you are, and that you are not mad.”
“I know not how.”
She sighed and bit her lip, in thought. Then, recalling how she’d seen Mara operate from time to time over the years, she said, “Why don’t you tell us your story.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “It is not possible, as it is an exceedingly long one, indeed.”
“Humor me.”
“But of course, if thou insist, Madam Lucy,” he said.
“I do.”
“Where shall I begin?”
Again, Lucy thought back to her experiences. Then she repeated what she’d often heard Mara say: “I suggest you start at the beginning.”
Athan sighed and then nodded as he pulled out from his pack, a cloth bag about the size of his palm. He untied its leather string, then reached his fingers inside. A moment later, clearly having removed something from the bag, he drew his fingers to his mouth.
“What is that?” Lucy asked.
Pulling back lightly on his reins, as his mount had been pulling ahead, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, ’tis nothing that need worry thee. ’Tis simply a nugget of hard, dried maple sugar. I did not stop earlier to dine, nor did I imagine traveling through the night, but now I find myself in need of a bit of sustenance, which I know maple sugar shall provide me.”
“Hand the bag to me,” Lucy said, reaching his way.
Athan pulled the tie closed, then dropped the bag in her palm. “Please, help thyself,” he offered.
She opened it, sniffed at its contents, and then, satisfied, returned it to him.
“You should have said you needed to eat,” she scolded. “There was plenty of food back in Snoring. But the only provisions we have with us are packed away—and in truth, I’d as soon not stop to get them out. We need to make up for lost time, accomplish what we set out to do, and return home as quickly as possible.”
“Concern thee not,” Athan said as he dropped the pouch into a pocket of his tunic.
“I won’t. Still, I admit I do not understand your claim as to the power of that sweet to sustain you,” she commented.
“No?” The expression of shock on his face was clearly visible in the moonlight. “Thou ought try it sometime. It has the power to make one feel . . . satiated. If only for a brief period.”
Lucy scoffed.
He grinned, then said, “Well now, if I recall, I was about to tell thee my story.”
“Yes, do!” Eden encouraged him.”
“Very well then, my tale begins where I was born, on the outskirts of a little town in the hinterlands.” Delivering each word with a flourish, he sat up straighter, pulled his shoulders back, and then added, his voice soft, rhythmic, and possessing a nearly trance-like quality,
“It was there I learned what the word ‘yonder’ meant.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy interrupted him. “Not that far back! Goodness, if it was possible to recall one’s birth, I fear you’d have started there.”
Once more, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, I had determined that might be a bit too far back—although I would be happy to tell thee of my first glimpse at the attending healer—or even better, of my joy at finding my mother’s breast.”
Eden giggled, following which Reigna joined her.
The full emphasis of Lucy’s glare at them, failed in the semi-dark. Then, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said to Athan. “You can’t possibly remember that. And if you say you do, you will convince me that you are, indeed, quite demented!”
Athan glanced her way. “Thou would have me lie?”
Once more, Eden giggled.
“No!” Lucy exclaimed in response before addressing Eden. “Stop that,” she scolded her.
“Ahhh, very well then,” Athan said, “I shall begin again—although thou might appreciate knowing the attendant healer at my birth— Well, goodness, but she was a sight! With eyes of two distinctly different colors, wrinkles like craters, lips so thin as to be nearly nonexistent, and—” He waved his hand. “Ahhh, but no mind! Perhaps instead, I ought tell thee of my charge?”
“Oh, yes!” Eden said.
“Ahhh. That is good, then. Now my charge, as thee well know, was a seventh. A seventh seventh, to be precise. Thus, and as thou all canst see, I have not aged for some centuries.”
Lucy glanced his way. “It would be the only explanation for your longevity, yes. Although if you tell truth, then clearly you had some years on you when you took your oath. That is, you were not a young adult at the time.”
“Indeed, ’tis as thou says. I had lived just four decades, was married and had a family. But I lost my beloved wife, infant daughter, and young son in a house fire. I tried to save them, but—” Athan paused to clear his throat, brushed the scar on his face, swallowed hard, and then continued. “’Tis true what they say, that time reduces pain, but never does it remove it entirely . . .
“Anyway, after spending a year or more wishing I had perished with my family, I determined I would not allow myself the luxury of loving another—ever again. I determined that the pain that could come of another such loss, was too great, indeed. Thus, I reasoned it appropriate for me to become an Oathtaker. I knew, you see, that once I took an oath and was sworn to the protection of my charge, I could not commit to another for so long as my charge lived.” With that, Athan went quiet.
Several long seconds later, Lucy glanced his way. “So you trained to be an Oathtaker,” she said. “Then what?”
Athan nodded, “I did, yes.” He took in a deep breath and then started in with his story in such fine detail as to seemingly invite his listeners to experience the events firsthand.
“Taking in the view from the hilltop behind Redgrove,” Athan began, “left one feeling as though Ehyeh had created the grandest canvas, then sat to paint His most glorious landscape, in colors and shades and hues that transformed as day progressed to night, and then circled back round to day once more. Above, the sun shone so brightly on roiling clouds piled high as mountains, that one might experience temporary blindness if he looked skyward for the span of more than a few fleeting heartbeats. Below, the vista encompassed immeasurable distances.
“It was such a view I had been enjoying that day. Half hypnotized with the glory I beheld, I would have missed the events had the panorama before me been a scene of rushing people or things, or had the wind been moving in the grassy meadows or through the treetops. In such event, I could not have discerned what transpired. But instead, the landscape was calm, serene, with a breeze, nonexistent. The birds had quieted for the late afternoon hour, and not even a lone hawk circled above by way of distraction. Thus, the singular place where movement occurred, was the one place across that grand vista, that caught my attention.
“There, in the nearish distance, rode three men. The sun glinted off the weapons they carried, whilst their dress identified them, most assuredly, as cutthroats, all. Soon, they dismounted, then slithered toward a group of travelers—who I guessed to be a peddler and his family, stopped to fix a wheel on their cart.”
Athan paused momentarily, then continued, “I watched transfixed as the criminals took cover in the brush surrounding the travelers. I was too far away to be heard. Nevertheless, I shouted for all I was worth and waved my arms madly, in hopes the travelers might see me. In truth, I could not have reached them in time to render my aid, even had I possessed the speed of a pronghorn.”
Once more, Athan paused. He cleared his throat and then said, his voice low, “And so, I was left to witness the worst. I assume the men used some prearranged signal, perhaps a bird whistle. Then the one who led the pack, with a double-edged sword in one hand and a battle-axe in the other, stepped out. While my heart beat but a handful of times, those men beheaded the peddler, then completed the slaughter of his family.”
Athan, pulling his shoulders back, exhaled audibly. Then, “I looked away,” he said, “but the images pestered me nonetheless, refusing to leave me. When I turned back, I saw yet another traveler, a lone young man, not terribly far from the bloody scene and, unfortunately, headed that way. He appeared about the age of the son I had so recently lost . . . Turning back, I watched as the criminals rifled through the belongings of their most recent victims, searching out anything of value. I knew in that moment that I had to hurry if I hoped to assist that young man.”
“Oh!” Eden exclaimed. “But weren’t you afraid of encountering those murderers?”
“I was not. Indeed, I had made a practice of interfering in such events. Countless times had I narrowly escaped what should have been my certain death. Yet I lived on.”
“But why?” Reigna asked. “Why would you court such danger?”
“See thee not, young one? I had nothing to lose. Nothing and no one to live for. No one to miss me. No one to mourn the loss of me.” Athan drew quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he continued. “But something about that young man drew me, cried out to me, begged me, demanded a response of me . . . Something of his certain predicament pressed me to run to his aid. As I said, I’d frequently sought out dangers, but in that moment— Well, the feeling that came over me could not be compared to any other. I could not then, nor could I today, hundreds of years later, describe it—except to say that it was of Ehyeh.
“And so, keeping my eyes firmly ahead, I ran down the hill and toward danger, hoping I might interrupt the otherwise certain meeting of that young one with the murderous trio whose evil I had just witnessed.”
Athan agreed.
The first opportunity she had to address the flits out of his hearing, she instructed them to stay as close as possible, but to remain hidden from the man’s view at all times. They assured her they could do so.
As darkness fully descended, the foursome finished tying their belongings to their saddles. Then, as quietly as possible, they made their way out of the village, keeping to the main roadway.
Only two moons shone. One, a waning crescent, already neared the western horizon, as a consequence of which, its light would soon be lost. Fortunately, the other, in its third quarter approached the zenith, thereby providing sufficient light for traveling.
So as to keep an eye on Athan, Lucy insisted he lead the way. Then she followed, with one twin to each side of her.
For nearly the distance of a league, they spoke not at all, but finally, Eden turned to Lucy.
“He doesn’t look unhinged to me,” she whispered.
Lucy scoffed.
“Nor to me,” Reigna said.
“I am not mad, as thee intimate,” Athan said over his shoulder, clearly having heard them. “I admit that I was, but I am no longer. Thou need not fear me.”
Reigna urged her mount forward.
Fearful for her safety, Lucy quickly followed suit, Eden in her wake. Moments later, the four rode side-by-side. Lucy situated things such that Athan rode to her right, while the twins both rode to her left.
“Convince me,” Lucy said to the man, “that you are who you say you are, and that you are not mad.”
“I know not how.”
She sighed and bit her lip, in thought. Then, recalling how she’d seen Mara operate from time to time over the years, she said, “Why don’t you tell us your story.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “It is not possible, as it is an exceedingly long one, indeed.”
“Humor me.”
“But of course, if thou insist, Madam Lucy,” he said.
“I do.”
“Where shall I begin?”
Again, Lucy thought back to her experiences. Then she repeated what she’d often heard Mara say: “I suggest you start at the beginning.”
Athan sighed and then nodded as he pulled out from his pack, a cloth bag about the size of his palm. He untied its leather string, then reached his fingers inside. A moment later, clearly having removed something from the bag, he drew his fingers to his mouth.
“What is that?” Lucy asked.
Pulling back lightly on his reins, as his mount had been pulling ahead, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, ’tis nothing that need worry thee. ’Tis simply a nugget of hard, dried maple sugar. I did not stop earlier to dine, nor did I imagine traveling through the night, but now I find myself in need of a bit of sustenance, which I know maple sugar shall provide me.”
“Hand the bag to me,” Lucy said, reaching his way.
Athan pulled the tie closed, then dropped the bag in her palm. “Please, help thyself,” he offered.
She opened it, sniffed at its contents, and then, satisfied, returned it to him.
“You should have said you needed to eat,” she scolded. “There was plenty of food back in Snoring. But the only provisions we have with us are packed away—and in truth, I’d as soon not stop to get them out. We need to make up for lost time, accomplish what we set out to do, and return home as quickly as possible.”
“Concern thee not,” Athan said as he dropped the pouch into a pocket of his tunic.
“I won’t. Still, I admit I do not understand your claim as to the power of that sweet to sustain you,” she commented.
“No?” The expression of shock on his face was clearly visible in the moonlight. “Thou ought try it sometime. It has the power to make one feel . . . satiated. If only for a brief period.”
Lucy scoffed.
He grinned, then said, “Well now, if I recall, I was about to tell thee my story.”
“Yes, do!” Eden encouraged him.”
“Very well then, my tale begins where I was born, on the outskirts of a little town in the hinterlands.” Delivering each word with a flourish, he sat up straighter, pulled his shoulders back, and then added, his voice soft, rhythmic, and possessing a nearly trance-like quality,
“It was there I learned what the word ‘yonder’ meant.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy interrupted him. “Not that far back! Goodness, if it was possible to recall one’s birth, I fear you’d have started there.”
Once more, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, I had determined that might be a bit too far back—although I would be happy to tell thee of my first glimpse at the attending healer—or even better, of my joy at finding my mother’s breast.”
Eden giggled, following which Reigna joined her.
The full emphasis of Lucy’s glare at them, failed in the semi-dark. Then, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said to Athan. “You can’t possibly remember that. And if you say you do, you will convince me that you are, indeed, quite demented!”
Athan glanced her way. “Thou would have me lie?”
Once more, Eden giggled.
“No!” Lucy exclaimed in response before addressing Eden. “Stop that,” she scolded her.
“Ahhh, very well then,” Athan said, “I shall begin again—although thou might appreciate knowing the attendant healer at my birth— Well, goodness, but she was a sight! With eyes of two distinctly different colors, wrinkles like craters, lips so thin as to be nearly nonexistent, and—” He waved his hand. “Ahhh, but no mind! Perhaps instead, I ought tell thee of my charge?”
“Oh, yes!” Eden said.
“Ahhh. That is good, then. Now my charge, as thee well know, was a seventh. A seventh seventh, to be precise. Thus, and as thou all canst see, I have not aged for some centuries.”
Lucy glanced his way. “It would be the only explanation for your longevity, yes. Although if you tell truth, then clearly you had some years on you when you took your oath. That is, you were not a young adult at the time.”
“Indeed, ’tis as thou says. I had lived just four decades, was married and had a family. But I lost my beloved wife, infant daughter, and young son in a house fire. I tried to save them, but—” Athan paused to clear his throat, brushed the scar on his face, swallowed hard, and then continued. “’Tis true what they say, that time reduces pain, but never does it remove it entirely . . .
“Anyway, after spending a year or more wishing I had perished with my family, I determined I would not allow myself the luxury of loving another—ever again. I determined that the pain that could come of another such loss, was too great, indeed. Thus, I reasoned it appropriate for me to become an Oathtaker. I knew, you see, that once I took an oath and was sworn to the protection of my charge, I could not commit to another for so long as my charge lived.” With that, Athan went quiet.
Several long seconds later, Lucy glanced his way. “So you trained to be an Oathtaker,” she said. “Then what?”
Athan nodded, “I did, yes.” He took in a deep breath and then started in with his story in such fine detail as to seemingly invite his listeners to experience the events firsthand.
“Taking in the view from the hilltop behind Redgrove,” Athan began, “left one feeling as though Ehyeh had created the grandest canvas, then sat to paint His most glorious landscape, in colors and shades and hues that transformed as day progressed to night, and then circled back round to day once more. Above, the sun shone so brightly on roiling clouds piled high as mountains, that one might experience temporary blindness if he looked skyward for the span of more than a few fleeting heartbeats. Below, the vista encompassed immeasurable distances.
“It was such a view I had been enjoying that day. Half hypnotized with the glory I beheld, I would have missed the events had the panorama before me been a scene of rushing people or things, or had the wind been moving in the grassy meadows or through the treetops. In such event, I could not have discerned what transpired. But instead, the landscape was calm, serene, with a breeze, nonexistent. The birds had quieted for the late afternoon hour, and not even a lone hawk circled above by way of distraction. Thus, the singular place where movement occurred, was the one place across that grand vista, that caught my attention.
“There, in the nearish distance, rode three men. The sun glinted off the weapons they carried, whilst their dress identified them, most assuredly, as cutthroats, all. Soon, they dismounted, then slithered toward a group of travelers—who I guessed to be a peddler and his family, stopped to fix a wheel on their cart.”
Athan paused momentarily, then continued, “I watched transfixed as the criminals took cover in the brush surrounding the travelers. I was too far away to be heard. Nevertheless, I shouted for all I was worth and waved my arms madly, in hopes the travelers might see me. In truth, I could not have reached them in time to render my aid, even had I possessed the speed of a pronghorn.”
Once more, Athan paused. He cleared his throat and then said, his voice low, “And so, I was left to witness the worst. I assume the men used some prearranged signal, perhaps a bird whistle. Then the one who led the pack, with a double-edged sword in one hand and a battle-axe in the other, stepped out. While my heart beat but a handful of times, those men beheaded the peddler, then completed the slaughter of his family.”
Athan, pulling his shoulders back, exhaled audibly. Then, “I looked away,” he said, “but the images pestered me nonetheless, refusing to leave me. When I turned back, I saw yet another traveler, a lone young man, not terribly far from the bloody scene and, unfortunately, headed that way. He appeared about the age of the son I had so recently lost . . . Turning back, I watched as the criminals rifled through the belongings of their most recent victims, searching out anything of value. I knew in that moment that I had to hurry if I hoped to assist that young man.”
“Oh!” Eden exclaimed. “But weren’t you afraid of encountering those murderers?”
“I was not. Indeed, I had made a practice of interfering in such events. Countless times had I narrowly escaped what should have been my certain death. Yet I lived on.”
“But why?” Reigna asked. “Why would you court such danger?”
“See thee not, young one? I had nothing to lose. Nothing and no one to live for. No one to miss me. No one to mourn the loss of me.” Athan drew quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he continued. “But something about that young man drew me, cried out to me, begged me, demanded a response of me . . . Something of his certain predicament pressed me to run to his aid. As I said, I’d frequently sought out dangers, but in that moment— Well, the feeling that came over me could not be compared to any other. I could not then, nor could I today, hundreds of years later, describe it—except to say that it was of Ehyeh.
“And so, keeping my eyes firmly ahead, I ran down the hill and toward danger, hoping I might interrupt the otherwise certain meeting of that young one with the murderous trio whose evil I had just witnessed.”
I hope you enjoyed that!
Now, let's see what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us!
I see that Parker has jumped right into the crux of his character description, so here goes. (Be sure to click on the link for more.)
I see that Parker has jumped right into the crux of his character description, so here goes. (Be sure to click on the link for more.)
At first blush, you would think the beard is his defining feature. He growls any introduction through a tangle of grizzled brush that looks like it would have taken high marks at a ZZ Top concert. The little bit of skin that can be seen behind his face wig is a cross between bark and old leather. He only introduces himself as "Doc." Combined with the gray streaked through the beard you get the hint that he might have already come home from Vietnam when Pink Floyd formed in 65'. A faded bandana that could have been blue with stars on it at one time holds back a mop of hair. An old hippie. Except then you see a flash in his eyes. Almost black in the shadows, but with an unsettling spark. Cunning. Intelligent. Watchful. This is no peace and love and weed hippie. A live-and-let-live Big Lebowski.
This is a fighter. A hunter.
This is a fighter. A hunter.
Robin Lythgoe! Robin! Oh, there you are. Well? What have you for us today? I can't wait!
I see that you, too, jumped right into your character. Thank you!
I see that you, too, jumped right into your character. Thank you!
KipKap… What would you like me to tell you about him? We are friends, I think. Some people find that distinction uncomfortable, for he is also a foreigner to our world. The term “demon” is insulting, for he is no such thing, though that is what he is labeled by most. He possesses a sublime sense of subtle humor, a keen mind, and a remarkable tolerance for idiots. This is, perhaps, what makes us so compatible.
'KipKap’ is not his proper name. When he says it, it’s longer. He makes the K’s more guttural and the P’s more spitty, which I find altogether too messy for my mouth.
“Did you name him?” Tanris asked…
'KipKap’ is not his proper name. When he says it, it’s longer. He makes the K’s more guttural and the P’s more spitty, which I find altogether too messy for my mouth.
“Did you name him?” Tanris asked…
We are a bit late this time around, but here we Quills are, returning to what I think has become our favorite type of post. Specifically, we each created a flash fiction tale for the same picture. This time, Robin Lythgoe selected the inspiration. Here it is:
I did not find a title for this pic, but it is offered by Maria Eduarda Tavares. (You'll find it here.)
It seems we Quills couldn't even agree on whether the pic was of a boy or a girl. I thought it was a boy when I first saw it. Robin wrote about a girl. And I'm not sure Parker ever did commit ...
I almost went with a story that would have been under ten words long (which I will share with you later), but in the end, after much ado, I came up with a story that is still (title and all) under 500 words. Here goes!
I almost went with a story that would have been under ten words long (which I will share with you later), but in the end, after much ado, I came up with a story that is still (title and all) under 500 words. Here goes!
The Contest
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2020
“It’ll be fun!” they said.
“You’ll have the time of your life!” they said.
“The amazing things you will learn about yourself! Why you’ll carry those lessons with you forever afterward!” they said.
And then there were the naysayers. There are always some of those, are there not?
“Are you out of your mind?” one asked.
“You’ll be a laughingstock,” suggested another.
“What if you … You know … I mean … Well, what if you have to leave early? It could be so embarrassing, don’t you think?” pondered yet another.
Weeks passed and for the most part, of those who’d been supportive, what “they said” was accurate. Daniel took each new challenge seriously, practicing for days and hours on end. His focus grew sharper as he committed the smallest details to memory. His overall physique changed; his core grew stronger. His growing self-esteem even came to the attention of those who followed his journey. And then there were the unintended benefits! He could not have anticipated that he’d experience such new-found grace. And while his career came with amazing personal relationships, this experience brought friendships he could never have imagined.
Excited for what was to come, he’d arrived early to find the stage set. Blue lights sparkled through dry ice, creating a smoky, ethereal effect, reminiscent of clouds. And peeking out from among them, shone miniature glow-in-the-dark stars that technicians shot into the air for another special effect.
But that was then … and this was now.
Dazed, Daniel tried to process what had transpired. He’d never missed that connection during practice. And certainly, he’d never fallen before. How embarrassing! His partner would be so disappointed in him.
The audience sat silent, apparently too stunned to know whether to laugh or to worry.
With their jaws set, the judges filled out their reviews.
Daniel, the star millions knew as Harry, lay stunned. He thought back to all those who’d supported him when this journey began. This much of what they’d said, was true: he really had experienced something extraordinary. This also, from what the naysayers had said, was true: he’d made a fool of himself. He’d spontaneously changed the routine in the moment, overcome with the audience’s zeal. As a result, he'd missed the connection and fell from his perch above, in a blaze of ridicule—and glittering stars.
Daniel determined he’d hold on to at least some of what his supporters had said. He really had learned amazing things about himself. As to the naysayers, he was determined he’d stop their comments from echoing in his mind forevermore, even as the words of his oldest and dearest friend passed through, mockingly. “But, Daniel,” his friend had asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? To put your reputation on the line for this? Are you serious? For Dancing with the Stars?”
“You’ll have the time of your life!” they said.
“The amazing things you will learn about yourself! Why you’ll carry those lessons with you forever afterward!” they said.
And then there were the naysayers. There are always some of those, are there not?
“Are you out of your mind?” one asked.
“You’ll be a laughingstock,” suggested another.
“What if you … You know … I mean … Well, what if you have to leave early? It could be so embarrassing, don’t you think?” pondered yet another.
Weeks passed and for the most part, of those who’d been supportive, what “they said” was accurate. Daniel took each new challenge seriously, practicing for days and hours on end. His focus grew sharper as he committed the smallest details to memory. His overall physique changed; his core grew stronger. His growing self-esteem even came to the attention of those who followed his journey. And then there were the unintended benefits! He could not have anticipated that he’d experience such new-found grace. And while his career came with amazing personal relationships, this experience brought friendships he could never have imagined.
Excited for what was to come, he’d arrived early to find the stage set. Blue lights sparkled through dry ice, creating a smoky, ethereal effect, reminiscent of clouds. And peeking out from among them, shone miniature glow-in-the-dark stars that technicians shot into the air for another special effect.
But that was then … and this was now.
Dazed, Daniel tried to process what had transpired. He’d never missed that connection during practice. And certainly, he’d never fallen before. How embarrassing! His partner would be so disappointed in him.
The audience sat silent, apparently too stunned to know whether to laugh or to worry.
With their jaws set, the judges filled out their reviews.
Daniel, the star millions knew as Harry, lay stunned. He thought back to all those who’d supported him when this journey began. This much of what they’d said, was true: he really had experienced something extraordinary. This also, from what the naysayers had said, was true: he’d made a fool of himself. He’d spontaneously changed the routine in the moment, overcome with the audience’s zeal. As a result, he'd missed the connection and fell from his perch above, in a blaze of ridicule—and glittering stars.
Daniel determined he’d hold on to at least some of what his supporters had said. He really had learned amazing things about himself. As to the naysayers, he was determined he’d stop their comments from echoing in his mind forevermore, even as the words of his oldest and dearest friend passed through, mockingly. “But, Daniel,” his friend had asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? To put your reputation on the line for this? Are you serious? For Dancing with the Stars?”
Yes, I know this is not my usual kind of story. It is not even fantasy, although it includes a character that played a fantasy character ... Still, this is what came to my mind when I first saw the pic. I mentioned I'd share with you, the extremely short tale I almost settled on. It went something like this: "Harry Potter Voted Out From Dancing With the Stars." Ha!
Well, it's time to move on. Let's see what Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has for us. (Be sure to follow the link below to her site and the rest of her story.)
Dusted
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2020
Darcy Channing heard the scratch of a fingernail on the door before she heard her name whispered. She opened one eye to look at the cellphone on the nightstand.
3:22 AM. Ugh. Nothing good ever happened at this time of the night ...
3:22 AM. Ugh. Nothing good ever happened at this time of the night ...
Thank you, Robin!
P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, is next.
It's your turn, Parker! What's that, you say? You have a title, but your story is only 11 words long? Hmmm. Well, have you an introduction? Very well then, we'll go with that for starters ...
(Readers, be sure to follow the link, below!)
It's your turn, Parker! What's that, you say? You have a title, but your story is only 11 words long? Hmmm. Well, have you an introduction? Very well then, we'll go with that for starters ...
(Readers, be sure to follow the link, below!)
Short stories, fantastic tales, spun from a single picture. It's flash fiction month! Our picture was chosen by the lovely Robin Lythgoe, and I've been thinking of a single storyline ever since. This may very well be the shortest short I've ever written...
Fairy Chaser
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2020
A Time for Encouragement
April Fools Day came and went with nary a joke. These are indeed, difficult times. Even so, we Quills have found things to be grateful for, things that encourage us. Today we'd like to share with you, some of those things. Hopefully, along the way, we will encourage you. So here we go!
Parker, you shared a poem recently with Robin Lythgoe and me. It was just what I needed that day. What have you for us, and for our readers, today?
I'm thankful. Thankful it's Spring. Thankful it's April. Every day brings new life. We dig in the dirt. The boys collect bugs and worms. We tend to a garden that has slept well all Winter, and is ready to wake as Spring sings it awake. I have more time at home, as many do, and I find opportunity to catch up on projects and chores that have waited patiently ...
Robin Lythgoe, notwithstanding all the issues that life has set before you, you continue to encourage me with your sense of humor and your practical means of handling things. What have you for me and for our readers today in the way of encouragement?
I’ll bet your email box and social media feeds look a lot like mine: they’re full of news and information about COVID-19. It’s easy to get lost in all the noise! But as the weeks have gone by, I’ve seen a subtle change. A beautiful change…
And now for my part ...
There is nothing like a pandemic to bring out the best in some people and things. Here is a list of ten things that over the past weeks have encouraged me and/or for which I have found myself most grateful. With the exception of No. 1, they are not in any particular order of importance.
10. Our leaders keep us informed on a daily basis of the situation and what each of us can do to help ourselves and others. We can choose to listen or to remain in the dark, but information is available to us (which is much more than many people around the world can say).
9. Businesses of all kinds have stepped up to manufacture much-needed goods and equipment and to get those products to those in need in record time.
8. Scientists are making daily discoveries about this virus, and are proposing the means to treat it in record time. (Every evening when I retire, I thank God that we are one day closer to an answer to this virus.) Recent scientific findings have allowed for true heroes—in the shape of those willing to be test subjects—to step forth. I read a story one day about a vaccine in testing. A volunteer stepped up to receive it, after which she would be exposed, intentionally, to the virus so as to see how it would work. Wow. Just … wow ...
7. Healthcare workers on the front line report to work each day, notwithstanding the risks to themselves and their own.
6. People are becoming aware of weaknesses in our system with respect to our dependence on other parties that are possibly unfriendly to us, and with regard to how we respond to the movement of people and goods. With this awareness, hopefully in the future, we will take action to correct problematic situations for the future.
5. Families and friends are able to stay in contact with one another through the internet, social media sites, by cell phone, and so on. It wasn’t that long ago when a situation like this would have left most of us largely alone and in the dark, and without information about those we love the most, but that is not the case today. (Fortunately, to date, my family and loved ones are all well. I hope the same is true for you.)
4. As the days pass, I find more people discovering a playful side to their nature, as they find humor in little unexpected places and things, and as they stay in touch (remotely and virtually) with their families, friends and other loved ones.
3. There is an increased awareness of our interdependence on one another and on the importance that various parties play. In many cases, people are showing gratitude to those who, too often, are overlooked. Today less focus is set on sports figures and celebrity entertainers, and more focus is directed toward truckers, clerks, mechanics, farmers, security personnel, and so on.
2. OK, this one is odd and very close to home, but I have to include it … Personally, I’ve discovered the benefits of CBD oil. Honestly, I do not know where I’d have been over these past weeks without it. I do have a tendency to be anxious (and even worse). This simple product has provided me with incredible relief and with better sleep. (If you are interested in a great source for a great product, let me know!)
1. The number one best thing I can share—which actually is so incredible that it is above the chart itself, and that is this: God is still on the throne and in control. I find comfort in His word. Here are just a few of the many versus that have encouraged me, of late:
10. Our leaders keep us informed on a daily basis of the situation and what each of us can do to help ourselves and others. We can choose to listen or to remain in the dark, but information is available to us (which is much more than many people around the world can say).
9. Businesses of all kinds have stepped up to manufacture much-needed goods and equipment and to get those products to those in need in record time.
8. Scientists are making daily discoveries about this virus, and are proposing the means to treat it in record time. (Every evening when I retire, I thank God that we are one day closer to an answer to this virus.) Recent scientific findings have allowed for true heroes—in the shape of those willing to be test subjects—to step forth. I read a story one day about a vaccine in testing. A volunteer stepped up to receive it, after which she would be exposed, intentionally, to the virus so as to see how it would work. Wow. Just … wow ...
7. Healthcare workers on the front line report to work each day, notwithstanding the risks to themselves and their own.
6. People are becoming aware of weaknesses in our system with respect to our dependence on other parties that are possibly unfriendly to us, and with regard to how we respond to the movement of people and goods. With this awareness, hopefully in the future, we will take action to correct problematic situations for the future.
5. Families and friends are able to stay in contact with one another through the internet, social media sites, by cell phone, and so on. It wasn’t that long ago when a situation like this would have left most of us largely alone and in the dark, and without information about those we love the most, but that is not the case today. (Fortunately, to date, my family and loved ones are all well. I hope the same is true for you.)
4. As the days pass, I find more people discovering a playful side to their nature, as they find humor in little unexpected places and things, and as they stay in touch (remotely and virtually) with their families, friends and other loved ones.
3. There is an increased awareness of our interdependence on one another and on the importance that various parties play. In many cases, people are showing gratitude to those who, too often, are overlooked. Today less focus is set on sports figures and celebrity entertainers, and more focus is directed toward truckers, clerks, mechanics, farmers, security personnel, and so on.
2. OK, this one is odd and very close to home, but I have to include it … Personally, I’ve discovered the benefits of CBD oil. Honestly, I do not know where I’d have been over these past weeks without it. I do have a tendency to be anxious (and even worse). This simple product has provided me with incredible relief and with better sleep. (If you are interested in a great source for a great product, let me know!)
1. The number one best thing I can share—which actually is so incredible that it is above the chart itself, and that is this: God is still on the throne and in control. I find comfort in His word. Here are just a few of the many versus that have encouraged me, of late:
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11.
But Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26.
When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. Psalm 56:3.
Also, I just found this on YouTube. I thought I would share it with you.
How about you? What things are you most grateful for these days? What things encourage you? Please, do share!
This month, we Quills are sharing our thoughts on a favorite recipe. Mine comes along with a story and with decades of memories. I’ll share it and then we’ll move on to see what my fellow Quills have for us today.
Oh, food! It is as critical a part of a well-spun story as it is of a well-enjoyed life!
Some years ago—let’s say 25 or so—there was a person in my life who had moved from the “acquaintance” column into the “among two best friends” column, where she has remained ever since. But even then, our relationship changed in a crazy and meaningful way, beginning with an exchange one Friday evening that went something like this:
Some years ago—let’s say 25 or so—there was a person in my life who had moved from the “acquaintance” column into the “among two best friends” column, where she has remained ever since. But even then, our relationship changed in a crazy and meaningful way, beginning with an exchange one Friday evening that went something like this:
Her: So … I was wondering … what are you doing on Monday?
Me: Monday? Monday … Hmmm.
Her: Memorial Day.
Me: Oh, of course, Memorial Day! Ahhh … nothing. Why?
Her: Well … (She looks away, back again, away again, back again) I was wondering if we could come over.
Me: To our place? (Having no idea what she had in mind …) Sure.
Her: (Looking away and back again, away and back again) And I was wondering if we could have a picnic lunch.
Me: Well ... sure.
Her: (Looking away and back again, away and back again.) And I was wondering if you would make those bars you make.
Me: The bars I make …
Her: The chocolate caramel ones with the oatmeal.
Me: Oh, sure! If you like.
Her: What time should we be there?
Later, she told me that her husband had been mortified that she’d been so bold as to invite her family of five, out of the blue, to my home for a holiday. But I will be forever grateful that she did. You see, by that time our friendship had become something special. But this helped to solidify it. And the truth is that I don’t know where or how my life might have gone without her, not to mention the lives of my children.
A Memorial Day get-together became a tradition for our families. From the time we began, my friend added two more children to her family, and we added two more to ours. We also shared the day with another friend of ours and her husband, and their family grew over the years with the addition of three children.
A Memorial Day get-together became a tradition for our families. From the time we began, my friend added two more children to her family, and we added two more to ours. We also shared the day with another friend of ours and her husband, and their family grew over the years with the addition of three children.
 |  |  |
Memorial Day has always been my children’s favorite holiday. Over the years, we’ve shared the best company, the best laughs, and some of THE BEST food I’ve ever had.
 |  |  |
Only one thing has remained constant on the menu from year to year: my Memorial Day Bars. So here is the recipe ... (I don't know where I got the original, but I made changes and here it is.)
Memorial Day Bars
1 box of German chocolate cake mix
3/4 cup melted butter
3/4 cup old fashioned oats
1/3 cup evaporated milk (I recommend you buy the small can, as it holds about twice this amount and you’ll need the rest later.)
Mix the above and divide it in half. Press one of the halves in the bottom of a 9X13 (very slightly) greased pan. Bake that at 350 degrees for 10 minutes.
Before the above step, I actually recommend that you get the following going:
Unwrap all of the caramels in a 13 oz. bag of Kraft caramels (we usually had the kids doing this while we were preparing the bar mix). Then put the caramels in a microwave safe bowl and add 1/3 cup of evaporated milk.
While the bars are in the oven for the first 10 minutes, melt the caramels and evaporated milk together. I usually pop it in the microwave for a minute or two, then stir, then repeat, until it’s a creamy smooth caramel. (I don't let the kids near this mix, because it is HOT.)
Remove the semi-baked bars from the oven.
Sprinkle 1 cup of chocolate chips over the top.
Then, very carefully, put the caramel over the chocolate.
Once done, drop bits of the remaining bar mix over the top. (I usually take teaspoon sized bits, flatten them a bit in the palm of my hand, and then drop them on top.)
Bake at 350 degrees for another 20 minutes.
You will want to let these bars cool a bit before you cut and eat them because the caramel is so very hot, but don’t wait too long because much of the fun is in the creamy warm goodness of the melted chocolate and caramel.
Enjoy!
Unfortunately, over the past few years, our extended "family" has been unable to connect on Memorial Day. My friend’s children (there are now five of them) have moved, some out of state; our other friend and her husband and three children all moved out of state; and I’ve one child out of state and one out of country. But last year, my friend sent me pictures of events from two of her children—one living about three hours away by car, and the other about three hours away by plane. What were those pictures of? Well, you see, they shared one thing in common that day: they both made my Memorial Day Bars.
I hope you enjoy my recipe. Maybe you can use it to help build some new and wonderful relationships and memories of your own.
I hope you enjoy my recipe. Maybe you can use it to help build some new and wonderful relationships and memories of your own.
Next up is Robin Lythgoe. Robin! What have you for us today?
A bite of something delicious and familiar can transport us in time, reviving feelings and memories from times gone by. Mama’s chicken soup isn’t just for curing colds. Cookies fresh out of the oven can remind you of holiday baking parties with the family. A dish of chocolate Knox Blox immediately brings to mind a summer evening spent on the front step, talking about anything and everything with our kids.
The foods we especially like—the foods that come with rich, warm memories—are different and unique to each of us. I will never forget the humid “green” smell…
The foods we especially like—the foods that come with rich, warm memories—are different and unique to each of us. I will never forget the humid “green” smell…
Finally! It's your turn, Parker. I can't wait to see what you have for us!
I'm surprised. I found (yet another) topic that is frustratingly difficult for me to write about.
Food. Turns out I can spin tales in fantastical worlds, make horses fly, cats talk, or craft a raging daemon - but the everyday sustenance that I depend on, that I look forward to - I come up vague and boring, like a bowl of tepid, gluey oatmeal. It's not necessarily bad, but it's certainly uninspiring.
But that is my failure, because food and drink actually weave a deep magic that not only bring hope, joy and happiness to our daily lives, but can even warp time and space, tying the fabric of our existence together in a way nothing else can.
Food. Turns out I can spin tales in fantastical worlds, make horses fly, cats talk, or craft a raging daemon - but the everyday sustenance that I depend on, that I look forward to - I come up vague and boring, like a bowl of tepid, gluey oatmeal. It's not necessarily bad, but it's certainly uninspiring.
But that is my failure, because food and drink actually weave a deep magic that not only bring hope, joy and happiness to our daily lives, but can even warp time and space, tying the fabric of our existence together in a way nothing else can.
There you have it, everyone! What do you think?
Hello, all!
This month we Quills are back to one of our favorite types of posts. That is, we will share some new flash fiction tales with you. (Here is a quick link to a page identifying where you can find our prior stories.)
This time, P.S. Broaddus, aka Parker, author of A Hero's Curse, chose the picture for which we each created a story. Entitled Learning to Fly, it is the work of Adrian Baluta, found on ArtStation. When I first saw the pic, the word "whimsey" came to mind. You'll see how I made use of it. In the meantime, let's see what Parker and Robin have for us ...
This month we Quills are back to one of our favorite types of posts. That is, we will share some new flash fiction tales with you. (Here is a quick link to a page identifying where you can find our prior stories.)
This time, P.S. Broaddus, aka Parker, author of A Hero's Curse, chose the picture for which we each created a story. Entitled Learning to Fly, it is the work of Adrian Baluta, found on ArtStation. When I first saw the pic, the word "whimsey" came to mind. You'll see how I made use of it. In the meantime, let's see what Parker and Robin have for us ...
Parker? Off you go!
Welcome to Sky
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2020
"My dad could eat your dad."
"Not if he can't catch him first."
"He's one of the best fliers we have!"
"He still can't outfly my dad. No cat can outfly a bird."
"Bet I could outfly you."
"Not a chance."
The nestling and the kitten eyed each other. The kitten broke the terse silence. "I'm Starbucks. I was named after-"
"I'm Boeing!" The nestling interrupted. "I was named after the fastest flying machines of the old gods."
Starbucks huffed. "As I was saying before you interrupted me, I was named after the elite fuel of the old gods."
"Not if he can't catch him first."
"He's one of the best fliers we have!"
"He still can't outfly my dad. No cat can outfly a bird."
"Bet I could outfly you."
"Not a chance."
The nestling and the kitten eyed each other. The kitten broke the terse silence. "I'm Starbucks. I was named after-"
"I'm Boeing!" The nestling interrupted. "I was named after the fastest flying machines of the old gods."
Starbucks huffed. "As I was saying before you interrupted me, I was named after the elite fuel of the old gods."
(Readers, be sure to following the link for the rest of Parker's story.)
How about you, Robin? I can't wait to see where your flash fiction tale takes us.
Learning to Fly
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2020
Striped Chasca, Seventeenth of the beloved and revered Fluffy, picked her way delicately down the garden path. She held her ears up, chin at a haughty angle, and let only the very tip of her tail twitch—just the way she’d seen the senior members of the clan do. Every dozen steps or so, she paused to preen, using the opportunity to sneak backward glances at her magnificent wings.
(Again, readers, be sure to follow the link for the rest of Robin's story.)
Thank you so much, Robin.
And now, it's my turn. Coming in at 970+ words, title and all ...
Thank you so much, Robin.
And now, it's my turn. Coming in at 970+ words, title and all ...
Huckleberry's Whimsey Day
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2020
His muscles aching and his wings tattered, Huckleberry tumbled through the air, his four legs akimbo, before finally righting himself. Looking down, he spotted a branch below, largely clear of brush. He aimed for it, confident that like all kittens, he would indeed land on his feet.
Keeping his knees loose, his paws touched. He bounced up, and then aimed yet again for another, even clearer branch, just below. On arrival, he teetered. Regaining his balance, he heaved in a deep breath in an effort to still his wildly beating heart. All the while, he contemplated on how his panic had added to his difficulties motoring through the air, which in turn, had resulting in his landing here—quite less than gracefully.
He glanced skyward, noting that the storm that brewed above the treetops had not yet made it to the ground, even as nearby leaves began to dance and to chatter. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought, so he’d best make it to the ground before the full fury of the tempest reigned down on him.
Turning away from the furious, roiling skies—skies that seemed to reflect his present mood—Huckleberry pulled his goggles up over his forehead. Then, “Oh, hello,” he mewed on realizing he was not alone.
“Hello, yourself,” chirped a ruffled-feathered sparrow, in response.
“I’m Huckleberry,” the kitten said.
“And I am Whimsey. Are you okay?”
“As best I can be under the circumstances, I suppose,” Huckleberry replied, “which isn’t saying much.”
“But you made it down safely. So that is something to be grateful for. Right?”
The kitten frowned. “Look, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get down before the storm makes its way here, into these trees.” He stepped past the bird.
“Wait!”
Huckleberry turned back, a scowl tattling on his impatience.
“I wondered if you might help me. You see, I was out for a joy-fly, when I got caught up in that storm.” Whimsey spread out a wing, showing a series of broken feathers. “I’m afraid it slammed me into these trees and, as you see, I’ve injured my wing and also— Well, it seems I’ve sprained an ankle.”
“Hmmm. But what can I do?”
“Well, you see, my nest is a distance from here and I'm unable to fly. Given this storm, I might be safer down on the ground at the present. Still, it is a long way down for me and in my present state I wondered . . . Might I hitch a ride with you?”
Huckleberry shrugged. Then, “Fine,” he mewed. “Hop up.”
Minutes later, Huckleberry’s feet met the soft moss that carpeted the forest floor. Sensing the storm was only seconds behind now, he made a quick inventory of his surroundings.
There! he thought, upon noting a hollowed out log just ahead. He made a mad dash for it, scooted inside, spun around, and then crouched down to watch.
Whimsey hopped from the kitten’s back, wincing from the pain that shot up his ankle on his landing. Then he turned to his savior. “I cannot thank you enough!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The sparrow cocked his head. “What happened to you up there?”
Huckleberry shook his head. “My day started out fairly acceptably—for a change. I was happy, even, I guess. So I decided to take to the skies. My take-off off went fine, but then, there I was, cruising along, when I found myself pondering on my problems . . . The storm came in, adding to my difficulties. I wasn’t prepared . . . and my motor gave out. That’s all.”
“Your motor?”
“My purr.” Huckleberry sighed. “You see, I purr when I’m happy. When my problems weigh down on me, I’m unable to sustain that and then— Well, you get the picture.”
Whimsey sat quietly for a long minute, looking out at the rain that now beat down, mercilessly. Finally, he turned back. Then, “Are you so injured that you could not fly back home if you could still purr?” he asked.
“Oh, no. These tatters you see? They’re nothing compared to some damages my gear has suffered in the past.
“So then,” Whimsey began, “you are injured and your gear less than perfect, and yet—”
The kitten covered his ears and responded sharply, “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it!”
“And yet,” the sparrow continued, “you are here . . . safe. You are whole. You are alive. You can mend. Your tattered wings won’t hold you back from returning home. There are so many things—”
“To be grateful for. Yes. Yes, I know.” Huckleberry sighed, then turned back to face Whimsey. “You are right about all of those things, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a funk. Still, I suppose I might eventually find my way out of this mess.” He paused. “So, yes, I appreciate your friendly reminder of how I’m to do that—of how I’m to find my purr again.”
Whimsey sidled nearer. “May I lie next to you, to warm up? I don’t know how long this storm will last. Likely until tomorrow morning, at least, and I’ve got quite a chill.”
“Sure,” Huckleberry said. He lifted a paw to make room for his new friend to draw nearer. Then, “I suggest we get some rest, then,” he said.
“I quite agree. And you just wait. Things will look better soon. Joy comes in the morning, you know.”
Whimsey snuggled in close and kept quiet. Finally, when he was sure the kitten slept, he nuzzled even nearer him, then whispered in his ear, “You are not alone. All will be well.” With that, the little sparrow closed his eyes to rest.
With morning, sounds of raindrops falling from the trees above . . .
And of birdsong . . .
And of a joyful purring . . . filled the air.
Keeping his knees loose, his paws touched. He bounced up, and then aimed yet again for another, even clearer branch, just below. On arrival, he teetered. Regaining his balance, he heaved in a deep breath in an effort to still his wildly beating heart. All the while, he contemplated on how his panic had added to his difficulties motoring through the air, which in turn, had resulting in his landing here—quite less than gracefully.
He glanced skyward, noting that the storm that brewed above the treetops had not yet made it to the ground, even as nearby leaves began to dance and to chatter. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought, so he’d best make it to the ground before the full fury of the tempest reigned down on him.
Turning away from the furious, roiling skies—skies that seemed to reflect his present mood—Huckleberry pulled his goggles up over his forehead. Then, “Oh, hello,” he mewed on realizing he was not alone.
“Hello, yourself,” chirped a ruffled-feathered sparrow, in response.
“I’m Huckleberry,” the kitten said.
“And I am Whimsey. Are you okay?”
“As best I can be under the circumstances, I suppose,” Huckleberry replied, “which isn’t saying much.”
“But you made it down safely. So that is something to be grateful for. Right?”
The kitten frowned. “Look, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get down before the storm makes its way here, into these trees.” He stepped past the bird.
“Wait!”
Huckleberry turned back, a scowl tattling on his impatience.
“I wondered if you might help me. You see, I was out for a joy-fly, when I got caught up in that storm.” Whimsey spread out a wing, showing a series of broken feathers. “I’m afraid it slammed me into these trees and, as you see, I’ve injured my wing and also— Well, it seems I’ve sprained an ankle.”
“Hmmm. But what can I do?”
“Well, you see, my nest is a distance from here and I'm unable to fly. Given this storm, I might be safer down on the ground at the present. Still, it is a long way down for me and in my present state I wondered . . . Might I hitch a ride with you?”
Huckleberry shrugged. Then, “Fine,” he mewed. “Hop up.”
Minutes later, Huckleberry’s feet met the soft moss that carpeted the forest floor. Sensing the storm was only seconds behind now, he made a quick inventory of his surroundings.
There! he thought, upon noting a hollowed out log just ahead. He made a mad dash for it, scooted inside, spun around, and then crouched down to watch.
Whimsey hopped from the kitten’s back, wincing from the pain that shot up his ankle on his landing. Then he turned to his savior. “I cannot thank you enough!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The sparrow cocked his head. “What happened to you up there?”
Huckleberry shook his head. “My day started out fairly acceptably—for a change. I was happy, even, I guess. So I decided to take to the skies. My take-off off went fine, but then, there I was, cruising along, when I found myself pondering on my problems . . . The storm came in, adding to my difficulties. I wasn’t prepared . . . and my motor gave out. That’s all.”
“Your motor?”
“My purr.” Huckleberry sighed. “You see, I purr when I’m happy. When my problems weigh down on me, I’m unable to sustain that and then— Well, you get the picture.”
Whimsey sat quietly for a long minute, looking out at the rain that now beat down, mercilessly. Finally, he turned back. Then, “Are you so injured that you could not fly back home if you could still purr?” he asked.
“Oh, no. These tatters you see? They’re nothing compared to some damages my gear has suffered in the past.
“So then,” Whimsey began, “you are injured and your gear less than perfect, and yet—”
The kitten covered his ears and responded sharply, “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it!”
“And yet,” the sparrow continued, “you are here . . . safe. You are whole. You are alive. You can mend. Your tattered wings won’t hold you back from returning home. There are so many things—”
“To be grateful for. Yes. Yes, I know.” Huckleberry sighed, then turned back to face Whimsey. “You are right about all of those things, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a funk. Still, I suppose I might eventually find my way out of this mess.” He paused. “So, yes, I appreciate your friendly reminder of how I’m to do that—of how I’m to find my purr again.”
Whimsey sidled nearer. “May I lie next to you, to warm up? I don’t know how long this storm will last. Likely until tomorrow morning, at least, and I’ve got quite a chill.”
“Sure,” Huckleberry said. He lifted a paw to make room for his new friend to draw nearer. Then, “I suggest we get some rest, then,” he said.
“I quite agree. And you just wait. Things will look better soon. Joy comes in the morning, you know.”
Whimsey snuggled in close and kept quiet. Finally, when he was sure the kitten slept, he nuzzled even nearer him, then whispered in his ear, “You are not alone. All will be well.” With that, the little sparrow closed his eyes to rest.
With morning, sounds of raindrops falling from the trees above . . .
And of birdsong . . .
And of a joyful purring . . . filled the air.
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AuthorCheck out Patricia's blog articles, interviews of other authors and book reviews here. |
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